Chapter 9

Although they would like to have stayed the evening and enjoyed the thick drinks and atmosphere at the High Horse Raavan insisted that they get back on the road at once. He hired a courier to return Alarus’ palfrey to Aberlaven and then mounted his new steed, Windaris.
      ‘Goodbye, Ernest,’ said the Elflings to the pony as he was led away by the young man.
      ‘Never fear,’ said Raavan, ‘Thobb will take good care of him. I am sure there will be an apple or two waiting for him when he reaches the stables back home.’
      Soon they were once again on the road. Across the Eyebright the stony highway led them and for a mile more it continued westerly before turning south for Culrossan. This southern course they did not follow, for their path yet lay west. They plunged instead into the dry bushlands of Arenya, where they found the going tougher than on the highway and their pace consequently suffering. There also was scant opportunity for talk, for Raavan had them picking their way along paths both thick with brambly bushes and crumbly with uneven, broken ground. The track was mostly a narrow one and they were forced to ride in single file, which of course afforded the Elflings little opportunity to learn much about their new travelling companion.
      The day was hot, but the air soon began to cool as late afternoon turned into early evening, and evening into dusk. As the dark crept upon them they still were slowly picking their way along a rocky trail bordered with dry, waxy-leafed bushes. If the party had begun to wonder whether their leader intended ever to stop for the night they soon found out, for when they had come down a steep incline into a gully housing a lively little stream the wizard dismounted. He then led them to a grassy area just beyond the watercourse where he rather unceremoniously indicated they were to set up camp. Once they had collected a supply of tinder and had set their supper on the fire they sat around the modest blaze and looked up to observe the twinkling stars.
      Alatar quietly prepared their meal, and as he did so the Elflings watched the mysterious man with great interest. Though he was clearly a warrior (and very likely a formidable one at that), he seemed to have a strangely benign, almost noble way about him, though none were able to properly articulate in their minds what exactly was this unnamed quality. He was a tall man, with long shanks and long brown hair that fell straight to his broad shoulders and then some length down his back. Clothed in cowhide he was, even to his hands, which sported fingerless gloves which looked much worn, but of nearly perfect fit.
      The hands which those gloves enclosed and the fingers which protruded menacingly from them had the appearance of great strength and agility, and there could be little doubt that these were attributable to his long years at the blade. A lengthy saber hung scabbarded at the man’s side and as he went about his business his hand seemed always aware of its precise location and angle. The Elflings noticed that as his fingers strayed casually to the handle it was never a searching movement, but rather an intimate one, more like as to a part of the body than a foreign object. Indeed, they little doubted that that sword could be drawn in a vanishingly small space of time, were the need to arise. This made them feel both uneasy for the potential of violence that it bespoke and yet comforted to have such a formidable warrior in their company, and in such obviously close relation to their leader.
      The meal they enjoyed immensely, for Alatar had added to it one of the several types of spices which he kept in his satchel, and with which the Elflings were to become pleasantly familiar over the coming weeks.
      ‘Yes, Alatar knows something of plants and their useful application for medicinal and culinary purposes,’ explained Raavan in response to the surprised mmm’s and ooh’s that described the Elflings’ first encounter with the man’s exotic cooking.
      ‘Very spicy—but good!’ said Dannadar. ‘What did you add, may I ask?’
      ‘That zesty flavour you detect comes from the crushed seeds of the rhithuio plant, which grows abundantly only in Mornea, though I occasionally (and always with surprise) come across it in much smaller quantities elsewhere,’ answered Alatar.
      ‘Is that why you recently travelled to Mornea?’ asked Fifin.
      ‘For spices? No!’ laughed the man, ‘though I wish it were only as lighthearted a business as that.’
      ‘Where is Mornea?’ asked Falco. ‘I don’t remember it on any of the old maps.’
      ‘I would be very surprised if it did occur on any of the maps you are likely to have seen,’ said the man. ‘It is a very distant land, far to the south-west, and most conveniently reached by ship out of Pencairn or Seagate, though I had occasion to go the long way around—by horse.’
      ‘Not that a horseman from northern Aresse would find such a long ride particularly unbearable,’ said Raavan with a healthy dose of sarcasm.
      ‘Even I can get a bit sore after a few hundred miles in the saddle,’ replied Alatar. Then, noticing Talen’s glowing orb as the Elfling returned from washing his dish in the stream he asked, ‘What is this shining object that you carry, Talen? I have never seen its like before.’
      ‘O, this,’ said Talen, ‘—quite handy isn’t it? I found it in a tomb, of all places.’ Talen offered the orb to the man for inspection.
      ‘Which is where it would have stayed,’ said Raavan, ‘were I not given to a degree of laxity when under the spell of certain Elflings and their most endearing charm.’
      ‘Endearing!’ said Dannadar. ‘That is surely one of the nicer things you have called me, Raavan.’
      ‘O, forgive me, Dannadar, I did not mean to include you in that statement,’ said Raavan with a smile.
      ‘I am sure of that!’ replied the Elfling. ‘But anyway, wasn’t it you, after all, who took that great sword from the dead king? I should think that was a good deal more presumptuous than Talen’s scooping up a little odd or end lying among the debris.’
      ‘Many a little odd or end , as you put it, has come by and by to be the object of great trouble, as I think our very quest amply demonstrates,’ replied the wizard.
      ‘What sword, Raavan?’ asked Alatar inquisitively. ‘And what tomb?’
      ‘Dannadar and Fifin here stumbled into a tomb at Imrë Aithiúil during our journey to Aberlaven,’ answered the wizard. ‘The main chamber turned out to belong to Folláineádlan—’
      ‘Of the Unquoril dynasty,’ interrupted Alatar.
      ‘Yes, I think so,’ continued Raavan. ‘Anyway, the more remarkable find was to come, for in the stone grasp of His Majesty’s likeness was none other than Noromendor.’
      ‘The Green Flame!’ said the man, his eyes grown big, and for a moment those green gems seemed almost to burn with a flame of their own.
      ‘Indeed,’ said Raavan.
      ‘And you took it?’ said Alatar.
      ‘Yes, it is with Windaris, hanging there beneath my pack,’ said the wizard, pointing to where the horses were tethered. Raavan looked thoughtfully at the man as his gaze was drawn thither to the great steed. The wizard’s other sword, Fheoir, he yet wore strapped to his back.
      ‘It’s a pretty sword,’ said Dannadar. ‘Shall I retrieve it so you can have a look-see?’
      ‘No,’ replied the man resolutely, though with deep thought visible on his face. ‘Mine is not the hand for that kingly sword. It is fitting, I think, that one of the Kastairi act as custodian of that fair blade for now, until the rightful heir comes forth to claim it.’
      ‘Are you sure you don’t want just a peek?’ asked Dannadar.
      ‘In the morning,’ replied the man with a friendly smile toward the eager youth. ‘For now, I think I shall go to bed. Raavan, I think you and I are in agreement that our pace needs to improve somewhat. On the morrow I shall lead the way, if you will permit me—I have some little experience in moving quickly through unfamiliar terrain, as you may know.’
      ‘Yes, of course,’ agreed the wizard, ‘though I doubt very much whether there is any terrain left in Entira which you can solemnly call unfamiliar .’
      The man answered only with a modest smile.
      Raavan continued, ‘It is good that the six of us have come together to perform this task—a seemingly mundane one, but, mind you, one of tremendous importance. Any extra effort that we expend now may pay us back manyfold in the coming months. Remember, sacrifices are nearly always smaller the sooner they are made.’
      ‘Yes, when they are not altogether needless,’ retorted Falco.
      ‘They are only needless when rashly made, and I think all of you know me better than that,’ replied the wizard sagaciously. ‘Now let us all get a restful night of sleep so that we may fly the more quickly tomorrow. We’ve another name yet to add to our roster and then I think we shall be ready to assail that dark fortress that lies in our path.’ With that they all rose and began preparing to bed for the night.
      ‘The Green Flame,’ said Alatar softly with another brief gaze into the fire. Then he turned to Raavan. ‘Things truly are proceeding apace, then, are they not?’
      ‘Alas, but they are,’ replied the white-haired wizard.
       
       
      Early morning found them all up and about, even if they were not all entirely awake. Amid yawns and the stretching of limbs they struck the camp and readied their steeds. Alatar had again provided them with a hot meal, even tea, so that they soon were ready to mount up and be off, though the sun had not yet shown its face above the horizon and their only light was that of the day glow sneaking up over the edge of the world.
      It was to be another hot day, reinforcing their notion that the spring had indeed gone by and summer was now come fully upon them. No more migrating flocks of birds did they see and flowers were now few and far between. Though the country through which they had been passing had been rather barren and rocky, covered mostly with drought-resistant bushes, they soon returned to more open ground and found that the meadows afforded the faster pace which they were after.
      Alatar led the way and Raavan followed him without hesitation, as did the Elflings. Airi had left his usual shoulder perch and was hunting here and there from the low branches of dead trees that sparsely dotted the fields. The party kept a brisk pace through most of the day, though they took frequent rests to give the less vigorous steeds some respite, and they also took a lengthy break at mid-day for lunch. Talen even managed a quick nap before being called back to the saddle by Raavan and Alatar, this making up somewhat for his lack of sleep the previous night owing to the rocky spot where he had pitched his bedding.
      When finally they stopped for the night the Elflings felt nearly as tired as their ponies, for to ride long hours upon the back of a trotting horse or a pony is not so easy as it may seem. Once they had supped, however, they felt much refreshed and they no longer felt the urge to go straight to sleep. As Alatar had built the fire before a large fallen tree nearly the whole lot of them were able to lean back against the giant trunk and stretch their legs out toward the crackling flames. Here they sat comfortably as they talked into the night.
      ‘In the morning we should begin to see the Hills off to our south,’ Alatar was explaining. ‘I think we would have seen some hint of them earlier this evening but for the thick haze. Nevertheless, it is necessary that our course continue mostly west for some time at least, for Khazâl’s halls are reached most easily from the north.’
      ‘Absolutely,’ agreed Raavan, who was thoroughly enjoying a pipe of good leaf. The wizard appeared highly relaxed in his reclined position atop the fallen tree. His back rested against the giant roots that were thrust so unnaturally toward the sky and he blew great rings of smoke out over the heads of his companions below. ‘The other approaches are rather more tricky, and if I know Khazâl’s people, they tend to get suspicious of anyone not approaching from either of the main roads. I would even have preferred to go the long way round and approach from the south, except that the road through Culrossan would have added another day onto our travel time, at the least.’
      ‘These men we are going to visit—do they live at the bases of these Belling Hills or on the tops of them?’ asked Dannadar.
      ‘Neither,’ replied Alatar. ‘They live inside them.’
      ‘Inside them?’ said Falco doubtfully.
      ‘Yes, but they are not men,’ said Raavan.
      ‘They’re not?’ said Talen.
      ‘Of course not!’ said Raavan, ‘They’re Dwarves.’
      ‘Dwarves!’ said Talen with surprise, and he was echoed by the other Elflings.
      ‘Have you ever met a Dwarf?’ asked Alatar.
      ‘My great-grandfather Erasmus met Dwarves on some of his journeys,’ said Talen.
      ‘Yes, but nobody is really sure how many of those adventures actually took place,’ insisted Falco. ‘I for one find many of his tales hard to swallow.’
      ‘O, but they are fabulous stories!’ said Dannadar. ‘My mother used to read them to me when I was but a lad.’
      ‘You still are but a lad,’ sneered Falco.
      ‘O, shut up!’ cried Dannadar.
      ‘And if you were any smaller I think I’d have to call you a lass instead,’ taunted Falco.
      ‘And if you were any closer, I’d flatten your nose,’ shot back Dannadar.
      ‘I’d flatten yours first, you little runt,’ said Falco, getting the dander up.
      ‘Children!’ exclaimed Raavan. ‘Please! Let us not flatten any noses tonight. Heaven knows, none of us can spare the energy. And anyway, if it helps to settle the matter any I happen to know that many of those tales in Erasmus’ book are bona fide . I cannot speak for all of them, of course, for I’ve not read all of them, but those that I have read went more or less as I remember them.’
      ‘You know of my great-grandfather Erasmus?’ asked Talen with some disbelief.
      ‘Well, of course I do!’ answered Raavan. ‘After all, who did you think was the wizard that figured so prominently in many of his tales?’
      ‘That wizard was called Greycloak,’ insisted Falco.
      ‘I’ve gone by many names,’ said Raavan. ‘When you’ve lived as long as I have and met as many people as I’ve met—Elflings, men, Dwarves, Elves, wizards, giants, mermaids, nymphs, good gracious! —you tend invariably to develop quite a colourful history and take on a good many names and roles. And the stories I could tell you!’
      ‘Yes! Let’s have a story!’ urged Fifin.
      ‘I wasn’t offering to tell a story right now ,’ replied the wizard.
      ‘I’ll tell you a story,’ offered Alatar, who had been polishing his sword with an old leathern cloth and was just now returning it to its scabbard.
      ‘Please do!’ said the Elflings.
      ‘Very well,’ began the man. ‘It is the story of a very ancient sword called Haranwë.’ Here he held up his scabbarded blade and they beheld for the first time that the scabbard was very ornate indeed, though so very old that the colour of what once must have been a thing of bright beauty was much faded and now quite dull.
      ‘In the time before time there dwelt in a modest hall a lord of men—a simple man, to be sure, but a noble one, with a heart that was filled with fairness and the desire to do good. His name was Natektelen, and he ruled over the quaint land of Terenyale, which is not far from what today you call Laurelindor.’
      ‘Fabulous!’ said Dannadar.
      Alatar continued: ‘In Natektelen’s time, however, there were many Dragons abroad—many more than today, and though most lived further west toward the Greywall Mountains there was a particularly nasty beast who came to live on the spur of Arroch (which you now call Laurelstone). The name of this beast was Ferelvalima.
      ‘Ferelvalima was wicked, through and through. There have been good Dragons and there have been thoroughly evil ones, but Ferelvalima rivals them all for the title of most foul . In just a few short years of his arrival Ferelvalima had depeopled entire districts of Terenyale. His appetite for men (and especially women) seemed insatiable and as he ate he also grew, so that in time he was not only the most wicked, but also one of the largest and strongest drakes of his time.
      ‘Of course, something had to be done to stop this beast, but few men would dare confront him and of those who did none lived to bear the shame of failure. Ultimately it fell to the lord Natektelen who, though a brave man, to be sure, had made his name not as a warrior but as a wise and judicious ruler. Nevertheless, he called upon his blacksmith to forge him a sword: a very special sword, with runes set indelibly upon it and many spells beside, all the work of a local magician who worked side by side with the smith for weeks. Together they produced the finest and most enchanted blade that anyone in the kingdom had ever seen. This sword they called Haranwë, for it was the hope of the kingdom that through its use they might be freed from the terror that rained down upon them from the sky.
      ‘Natektelen went forth himself with only Haranwë at his side, and no other man. Into the beast’s craggy lair he stole high up in the Arroch Spur where winter came early and all was ice and misty breath. His one hope was that he might catch the beast asleep and so take him at unawares. But it was not to be, for Ferelvalima was not yet an old Dragon, given to long months of slumber as are the older drakes. He was very much awake and greeted Natektelen thus when the man entered his lair:
      ‘So, you have come to slay me, Man. And instead I shall slay you, and eat you, as I have done all the bold men who have foolishly walked into my sanctum as you now do. Declare yourself, so that I may have the pleasure of knowing whom it is I consume when I partake of your flesh.
      ‘The king replied: I am Natektelen, son of Naorten, son of Lentenaor, King of Terenyale, and I have come to rid my kingdom of the foul beast who steals my people in the night, and who burns my crops and my villages.
      ‘To this the Dragon replied: A king? Truly? I am most flattered! But tell me, King Natektelen, what right has a king of men to slay a Dragon, least of all the great Ferelvalima?
      ‘The King’s reply: You threaten the kingdom over which I have inherited absolute sovereign rule. It is my right and royal duty to protect my kingdom.
      ‘But the Dragon was unswayed, saying: A king of men you may be, but I am King of the Skies, Ruler of the Winds, and Wielder of the Searing Flame. Your petty fiefdom is to me but a speck on the map of my great kingdom, a single anthill in a great wide land. To me you are but a goat-herder, a keeper of men who are to me as livestock.
      ‘The king persevered: Ply me not with your poetic similitudes, Beastie! Of the two of us here, only I may make legitimate claim to dominion, for I can trace my lineage back over five hundred years to the first king of Terenyale. You, on the other hand, are but a worm crawled out from beneath a rock and grown fat on stolen meat.
      ‘Long the dragon laughed at this effrontery, and when finally he came again in control of his mirth he said to the king: Pathetic man! My bloodline can be traced back to the very first Dragon that winged his way over Hellon in the time before Man was born. I am descended from the great Talathren himself. If you still believe you have the authority to slay me, then it must lie on other distinctions than these.
      ‘The king replied proudly: I am brave.
      ‘This time the Dragon did not laugh, but said: You are no coward, indeed, to have come into my very den thus. But I am sure I am braver.
      ‘Truly? the king replied.
      ‘Braver by far , asserted the Dragon. And wiser, too.
      ‘I doubt not that , answered the king.
      ‘Now the Dragon held his head high with great pride and looked out beneath sagging eyelids upon the inferior being who stood before him.
      ‘The king went on: But it is your bravery that I would contest, for I do not believe that you are in fact braver than I.
      ‘Pah! spat the Dragon dismissively.
      ‘To which the king replied: Prove your bravery, then, worm.
      ‘And how do you propose that I do that? asked the Dragon.
      ‘The king had already prepared his reply, but he feigned deep thought. After a moment he said: Allow me to test my blade on your adamant scales.
      ‘Your blade would break was the Dragon’s simple reply.
      ‘I doubt not that it would , said the king, but it is your courage that I wish to test, not the strength of this simple blade.
      ‘Very well , agreed the Dragon. Here is the tip of my tail. Do your worst.
      ‘But the tip of the Dragon’s tail was not what the king had in mind, and he replied: That will hardly show your bravery, for you could surely get by with a shorter tail. To show your bravery it must be something vital. Your belly, perhaps, or your chest.
      ‘Never! spat the Dragon.
      ‘But the king pressed on: If you are not to be known henceforth as a cowardly drake, then it must be one of these.
      ‘And who is to know me for such if I simply eat you now? said the Dragon menacingly.
      ‘The king replied: The stars will know, and the sun, and the very rocks of this mount, for they are the stuff of long ages: that which lives far longer than the memories of mere men. Will you prove your courage to them?
      ‘The Dragon became very irritated, but he could find no way to talk himself out of this cunning challenge and his pride was too great to give in to any suggestion of cowardice. He said to the king: Very well. But first you must allow me to sniff the blade. If there is any enchantment upon it, then I will burn you for a wizard.
      ‘The king knew the blade was enchanted, but he gave no hint of this in his reply: There is none. Sniff away .’
      Alatar drew his sword then and held it aloft as if he were Natektelen offering it up to the Dragon, one hand on the hilt and one on the blade.
      The man continued: ‘And so the Dragon stretched out his long neck and sniffed at the blade, at first with polite timidity, and then with greater interest as he began to discern something of the enchantment which lay upon the weapon.
      ‘The Dragon spoke between whiffs: I smell something strange about this blade, king of men. It is some wizardry, is it not?
      ‘The king replied: No.
      ‘Bring it closer , bade the Dragon, for he was intrigued by the complex of spells that he was beginning to discern, though he quite vainly considered himself beyond their power. He was beginning to feel very pleased now, for he had caught the king in a lie and he knew that he soon would be eating the man. I will have another whiff, said the drake.
      ‘And so the king approached the Dragon’s gaping nostrils. As Ferelvalima took another deep whiff he closed his great orbs of eyes to concentrate on the elusive scent. It was then that the king swung the magical blade with all his might at the Dragon’s twitching nose. So sharp was the blade and so mighty the swing that it cut clean through the Dragon’s skin, lopping the glistening nose at the end of his snout clean off. The Dragon roared in rage—a deafening roar that nearly threw the king back against the cave wall with its mighty force. But King Natektelen was not taken surprise by any of that which had transpired, for he was a quick-witted man, and as the Dragon threw back his head to vent a powerful wail the king sliced through the Dragon’s throat, slaying him.
      ‘In this way the terror of Terenyale was destroyed and the king received the adoration of all his grateful subjects. But so great was the life-force of the beast that it had slain and so potent the counter-magic in the drake’s breath that many of the spells that were on the blade were broken that day. It is said that Haranwë no longer is a magical weapon, but rather is now no more than a common blade, that its force has gone out of it. Yet, always it has been kept and cherished by the descendents of Natektelen, for it is a token of his bravery and wit.’
      ‘And this is that very sword?’ asked Dannadar in near awe, motioning to the blade that rest across Alatar’s palms.
      ‘It is,’ replied Alatar, holding out the weapon so that Dannadar could inspect the ancient relic more closely.
      ‘And this Natektelen is your ancestor?’ Talen asked.
      ‘He is,’ replied the man, ‘though many generations it has been since the time of that king and even indeed to the last true king of my house, for our modest kingdom was utterly destroyed in the Great War, as were most of the other kingdoms of the East. Many years have I wandered the plains of Aresse, yet not a soul have I found to call my brethren, for none that descend from my house survive, save myself.’
      ‘Then, since you are the only descendent of a king, I suppose that makes you a king—of sorts,’ said Fifin.
      ‘No, Fifin, I am no king,’ replied the man. ‘And even were I so presumptuous as to take the title of Lord for myself, no kingdom would I have to rule. I would be the king of no kingdom.’
      ‘But perhaps someday you will have a kingdom again, and so be king,’ suggested Talen. To this Alatar offered only a doubtful look and a humble shake of the head. Raavan, however, seemed rather interested in the exchange.
       
       
      The following morning dawned cool and clear and as their eyes gazed south the party saw grey hills rising one upon the other and stretching away toward the west. They did not make directly for these, but continued due west, so that the hills marched slowly by on their left for most of the day. In late afternoon the party finally began at Alatar’s bidding to angle southward.
      Soon they had come to a crude earthen road which turned progressively less crude as they rode south, eventually taking the form of a well paved stone highway. Passing a side road which led off to the west the party began finally to ascend up into the highlands.
      As they made their way upward the character of the land and the vegetation which clothed it once more began to change. They at once saw that the hills were very stony, with many large rocks and boulders dotting the landscape, and the grass, where it was able to get a foothold, did not grow very tall nor appear to be in any way thriving in this environment. Many different types of lichen did however thrive in the hills, and what appeared from the distance to be a grass-covered slope upon closer inspection often turned out to be a field of lichen-clothed rocks, the lichen imbuing the stone with a healthy green. Many other colours of lichen there were as well, and these very often were mixed together in patches so that the common effect was one of dull brown or grey. In rare places there grew a tree or two, but by and large the hills were unforested.
      Though the Belling Hills rose to quite a respectable elevation the company made fairly good time even during their ascent, for the steeds were at last getting used to the exertion of day-long travel and were able to keep up quite a goodly pace. As the last rays of the sun were disappearing in the west they crested a rise to see standing some distance ahead of them a low wooden tower constructed of whole timbers lashed together with rope and topped with a pointed roof of wooden shingles. Toward this structure the road straightway took them, and when they had closed half their original distance from it a horn was heard to call out hahn! to be promptly answered by another some distance ahead.
      ‘They have seen us,’ warned Raavan as the group advanced on the wooden lookout tower. ‘Now, do please be on your politest behaviour—Dwarves are not the most hospitable of hosts and they tend to be highly suspicious of strange guests, especially when they are unlooked-for.’
      ‘By which you mean they are probably going to chop us up into little bits and cook us over a slow fire?’ said Dannadar.
      ‘I did not say they were barbarians,’ replied Raavan. ‘They are merely very careful people, and not the most trusting. But they are good to have as allies (and I would imagine very bad to have as enemies!). In any event, we just need to be extra polite and respectful, at least until we have been conveyed to the king and are in the company of some of the Dwarves who know me. Then we can expect to be treated quite well, and even fed some hearty victuals, I fancy.’
      ‘Dinner!’ said Dannadar. ‘Mmm, I’m starved.’
      ‘Hold!’ came a voice from the tower as the party came into parley distance. ‘State your names and your business, and be quick about it.’ The voice was rough with the sound of both strength and unbending authority.
      Raavan answered: ‘I am Raavan of the Kastairi, chief wizard at Aberlaven; this is Alatar from Aresse; and these young folk are Elflings from the land of Laurelindor. We wish to speak with your noble king and master, His great Highness, Khazâl, Lord of the Hills.’
      There was a brief delay then as the occupants of the tower conferred amongst themselves. Several heads could be seen above the rail on the wooden platform that stood midway up the tower. They wore iron helms on their heads and thick, curly beards on their faces. Soon another horn sounded ta-tahn! and the party was instructed to ride ahead to the next lookout.
      The companions rode forward past the tower and on for some distance before a second post became visible just beyond a rock outcropping that jutted out from the face of the hill. On the left the party noticed that a deep fissure had opened in the earth some ways back and had now grown so wide that no thought of leaping across it safely could be seriously entertained. As the company approached the second lookout they saw that a long wooden bridge crossed the expanse just at the point where the wooden tower stood. When they reached the lookout a hand waved them onto the bridge as a horn once again announced their arrival to the next outpost with a ta-tahn! ta-tat!
      The bridge, which looked to consist of wooden planks suspended by thick ropes, was a narrow one which they would certainly have to cross in single file. The Elflings were at first doubtful that it would be safe for their heavy steeds to cross, even singly, owing to the bridge’s apparently flimsy construction. But when they arrived at the span they saw that it was made not of wood and rope as it had seemed, but rather of planks that were wrought of solid iron and steel chains cleverly fashioned to take on the appearance of simple braided lines. As Raavan led Windaris onto the bridge the Elflings saw that the span was a very sturdy one indeed which swayed but little as the horse and rider made their way with ease to the far side.
      When they all had crossed the chasm they followed the well marked road as it wound southward through clefts of rock and round lichen-covered outcroppings. The evening was now come fully upon them and they lit torches to illuminate the path. They began to notice that the air had become very damp and soon a fog had sprung up which limited their vision to only a score or so yards. It also was quite cold for the time of year.
      They passed another of the wooden lookout towers, and then another and another, all of them dark by the side of the road and each of them blowing a signal on a low horn as the party rode slowly past. Now the winding road straightened and ahead they could see a hazy light in the distance. When they neared the light the company saw that they had arrived at a modest stone structure with rounded top and buttressed sides and torches mounted along its outer wall. Immediately behind this structure the hill reared straight up in a sheer wall of rock which climbed into the foggy night. Close at hand was a large campfire and a number of Dwarves.
      Before the open door to the stone hut stood two heavily armoured Dwarven guards. With stout arms they bore deadly looking double bitted axes. Around the campfire sat four more of the broad-shouldered warriors, all attentive to the approach of the party. And upon the road directly before the company stood a grey-bearded Dwarf in black helm and shiny black armour who with raised hand bade the party halt.
      ‘Your names?’ said the Dwarf in a deep voice.
      Raavan replied: ‘I am Raavan of Caer Carnoch, and these are my travelling companions: honourable warriors all, who have come to speak with your noble king on a matter of great import. We come from Aberlaven on business of the Kastairi, order of wizards, protectors of Entira of old.’
      ‘Warriors, you say,’ replied the Dwarf, ‘yet if appearances do not deceive, your party consists in large part of mere children. What business have children with my king?’
      Raavan replied, ‘You are a most astute Dwarf, captain, but in this case appearances do deceive: these are no mere children, but rather Elfling warriors from the land of Laurelindor in northern Aresse. They are my travelling companions, and as skilled archers they have offered their services to me on my quest. As to the details of that mission and its relevance to your king’s interests, these are things I am certain His Highness would prefer to hear in person.’
      The Dwarf looked upon the wizard and the other companions with great interest, though he said nothing. He appeared to be an astute observer indeed, for his eyes touched all of the party that was visible to him: their weapons, their steeds, and that part of their gear which was not stowed away in packs. He dwelt especially upon the Elflings, taking in their bright eyes and their pointed ears, and when he had had a good long look he seemed convinced indeed that these were no mere children.
      Finally he spoke: ‘Very well. I will send a messenger to the king with your request. It should not take very long: His Majesty is in the North Halls tonight.’
      ‘Good,’ replied Raavan, and then to the Elflings and the man he explained, ‘that means we will not have to travel through miles of underground tunnels to reach the king’s court. I was hoping he would be in one of the closer halls, and it seems we are in luck.’
      A messenger was dispatched immediately, and as they waited the Elflings watched the Dwarven guards who stood alertly at their posts. The Elflings could not help but marvel at the Dwarven physique, for none of them had ever before seen such brawn. Though approximately the same height as an Elfling (between four and five feet), these delvers of stone were broad of shoulder and very solidly built. Their hair, which was shoulder length or longer, was mostly brown with varying degrees of a ruddy tint and their curly beards hung down low on their chests. Steel hauberks they wore over leather underclothes, and all manner of weaponry did they wield, though they clearly favoured the axe (the mace and war-hammer appearing to compete for their second choice).
      After a brief delay the messenger returned with instructions to lead the party straightway to the king’s court. Their steeds were taken by Dwarves and led through the impenetrable fog to stables that lay near at hand. Into the stone structure went the party, and passing out of it again on the far side they found themselves entering the very earth through a smooth-walled passage that led downward and toward the south. As they made their slow descent the Elflings marveled to think that verily they walked within and through the living hills.
       
       
      As they followed the Dwarven guide through the many twisting passages Raavan explained to the rest of the party that because the north gate was not commonly used for trade (that function being reserved mostly for the south gate, which offered more convenient traffic with Pilinon and southern Arenya), the way to the king’s hall was not as direct as it might be. Indeed, the way of their going was quite circuitous, and labyrinthine, so that the Elflings quickly lost track of which way they had gone and no longer even knew which way was north.
      The passages through which they travelled were not impressively large, though the stonework and architecture were certainly first rate and the Elflings knew that Raavan had been quite right to assert that the Dwarves were in no way barbarians. On the contrary, the Dwarves’ propensity to craft the most aesthetic and enduring structures was well known through legend even to the Elflings, for they had all heard of the wonderful creations of the Dwarves in their distant halls, and also of the Elves in their magical woods; and at rare times even jointly by members of both races in cooperation, as with the swords of power of which Raavan had earlier spoke.
      They saw very few other Dwarves along the way, and they spoke to fewer. Their guide, whose name they did not discover, spoke little even to the party except to regularly grunt, ‘this way.’ The few others that they did encounter appeared little different from those they had already seen, being fully as muscle-bound as any of the guards they had observed at the gate.
      At length their guide led them into a wide hall with columns marching down either side. At the far end was a broad stone dais on which sat an empty throne and several wooden chairs to one side. On the lower floor behind the row of columns on the right was a recessed area with several polished stone tables, and around one of these were gathered a handful of Dwarves.
      ‘Where is the king?’ whispered Fifin to Talen, but Talen only shrugged his shoulders in reply, for he did not know.
      ‘Ah, Raavan!’ belched an especially stout Dwarf at the table who was just then setting down a golden goblet and licking the wine from his lips.
      ‘Hello, Khazâl,’ said Raavan to the Dwarf. ‘You look well.’
      ‘As do you, my friend,’ replied the Dwarf, ‘as do you. And I see that you have brought some friends—Greylings, indeed!’ At this the king leant forward to gaze more closely at the Elflings who now stood a respectable distance across the table from him. He appeared to be slightly inebriated.
      ‘Brought them to work in the mines, eh?’ bellowed the king. ‘What say you, lads—shall we make Dwarves of you? Would you like to work in the service of good King Khazâl, mining gems and pouring hot iron?’ The king looked intently at them. ‘Hmm?’
      ‘I think these fine lads will have to forego your generous offer, Khazâl,’ replied Raavan, to the relief of the nervous Elflings. They still were rather in awe of the muscular physique of this broad-shouldered person who was by appearances only as tall as the tallest among them, yet much heavier in build. He wore no markings to show that he was king, but merely donned a pair of short breeches and a sleeveless tunic besides his heavy work boots. His massive sinews bunched and rippled when he moved, and some among the Elflings imagined that were he to take one of their heads in his hands he would need only to squeeze with modest effort in order to crush their skull. But then the king laughed a loud, deep laugh which went on for some time, so that they all felt compelled to join in his mirth and chuckle along with him. They decided that Dwarves were jolly people after all.
      ‘Sit, my friends,’ said the king when he had had his fill of laughter. ‘Sit and have some wine with me, and tell me of your adventures.’
      The party did as they were bidden, sitting each one on the low benches that surrounded the stone table. Presently, silver goblets were brought out by a servant and a great bottle of wine was passed around. Cold meat also was brought forth on a large platter, and fresh bread with butter, and they all ate and drank as Raavan spoke with the king.
      ‘Upon what noble quest have you set yourself this time, my wizard friend?’ asked the king, his great goblet in hand. The Elflings saw that the golden cup was very ornate, even kingly, and judging by its size it must have held a great quantity of wine. The king poured some of that quantity into his mouth as the wizard replied.
      ‘We go now toward a deep, dark hole, Khazâl,’ said Raavan: ‘We go to Ilimath.’
      At this the king choked on his drink, coughing up red wine onto his beard and tunic. ‘Leave me be!’ he shouted to the servants who came to him bearing a cloth to wipe up the wine and who slapped him on the back to expel the drink. ‘I am fine,’ bellowed the king, then to Raavan: ‘Ilimath, you say?’
      ‘That is correct,’ answered the wizard. ‘We go to retrieve an item that was discovered there by the Kastairi at the end of the Great War, the significance of which was not at that time fully known. It was an item that belonged to Mythron.’
      ‘That name is black!’ said the king with near vehemence. ‘Pray, do not utter it here again, Raavan. You set my people at unease.’ Though the king had by now quite regained his composure the other Dwarves were certainly still taken much aback, and the surprise was not quick in leaving their faces.
      ‘It is a name black to us all, Khazâl,’ Raavan replied unapologetically, ‘but the point of the matter is that if you would not see another rise in his place with equal or greater power, then this quest of mine must be given full consideration.’
      ‘Of what do you speak—a second Deathlord?’ asked the king.
      ‘Nay,’ replied Raavan, ‘not a second, for there have been more than two already in the long ages of the world, but say rather a new Deathlord, and very possibly a one so powerful as to render the memory of the last one much less fearful.’
      The king took a moment to collect his thoughts. ‘These are grave words you speak, Raavan. Yet, if they be true then say on, for I know well not to gainsay your word on these matters, being as they fall well within your sphere of expertise, old friend. Tell me: what is this thing you deign to retrieve from our Kâlandelf of old?’
      ‘The identity of the artefact is not important, and I would rather not risk the giving out of information which may by one means or another find its way to the ears of would-be spies,’ explained the wizard. ‘What I can say is that it is a small item which the Kastairi discovered in the Deathlord’s chambers during the purging of Ilimath after the war. It must be retrieved at any cost.’ Raavan then motioned toward Alatar and the Elflings and said, ‘My brave companions here have volunteered for this mission, and I deem that our number is now nearly commensurate with the task we undertake...’
      ‘But?’ queried the king.
      ‘But I think another strong pair of arms and a guide wily in the Dwarven ways of underground exploration would be of immense value to our quest,’ continued the wizard.
      ‘Hmm...’ said the king thoughtfully, nodding his head slowly in agreement and tapping the base of his goblet with a stout finger. ‘So you intend to slip in quietly, retrieve this item, and steal away before stirring up any trouble?’
      ‘That is the plan,’ Raavan replied.
      ‘Then, in that case, you might just succeed,’ said the king. ‘And I can certainly provide you with the strong pair of arms you have requested. I shall need to consider whom to send. Will you be leaving in the morning?’
      ‘Yes, I am afraid we must,’ answered Raavan. ‘Have you any notion of who or what we may encounter in the upper levels of Ilimath?’
      ‘It is many years since any of us have ventured into the place, for the pain of its loss has passed down through the generations undiminished. In this way the collective memory of Dwarves likely rivals even your own, Raavan. Nevertheless, I think you are safe in expecting no more than a few Troells and perhaps an occasional Goblur. Unless their numbers have swelled in recent years you should encounter only modest numbers of them in the upper levels, though in all honesty I really cannot be certain of this.’
      ‘No Ghakhen, then, or Oghors, or undead?’ queried the wizard.
      ‘I do not think so,’ said the king. ‘Such spawn were mostly evicted during the Purging, and I’ve had no reports of their return to the ancient Kâlandelf. But Raavan, you do know it is rumoured that something terrible haunts the deep?’
      ‘I have heard that rumour,’ replied the wizard. ‘Many years ago, it was said that a Ghâtal had appeared in the depths, but I have had no independent confirmation of this. Yet, even if it is so, a demon such as that would not typically inhabit the levels close to the surface. And Ilimath goes very deep.’
      ‘Aye,’ replied the king, ‘it does, my friend. Deeper than you want to find out, if you take my meaning.’
      ‘I do,’ said the wizard.
       
       
      The companions had finished their meal and the king had some business needing his attention, so the party was led away to the rooms where they were to be quartered for the night. They were shown the way by the same mute Dwarf who had led them to the king, and so they were taken to their rooms in virtual silence. Two rooms were given over to them, low-ceilinged and smooth-walled, and connected by a wide arched doorway which made the rooms seem almost as one. Small and cosy were the chambers, and very comfortable the six beds which they were provided, though Raavan and Alatar could have used a bit more leg room.
      In one room were bedded Fifin, Dannadar and Raavan, and in the other, Talen, Falco and Alatar. As they lay in bed they spoke awhile of the Dwarves and their stone halls. After some time, talk turned to their quest.
      ‘Raavan,’ asked Fifin, ‘what is a Goblur?’
      ‘Goblur is the Dwarven word for Goblyn,’ answered the wizard.
      ‘And what kind of foe is this?’ continued the Elfling.
      ‘Goblyns are formidable enemies,’ answered Alatar from the closely adjoining room. ‘Fully as tall as a man they are, and skilled in the use of weaponry. What’s more, they are often mounted on Daonracht: foul, horse-like beasts with hard scales and pointy fangs.’
      ‘How awful!’ said Fifin.
      ‘What do they look like—Goblyns, I mean?’ asked Dannadar.
      ‘Goblyns look like little more than skeletons with yellow-brown skin stretched tightly over mere bone, yet they have more than enough strength to wield their weapons with deadly effect,’ replied the man.
      ‘That is an apt description,’ agreed Raavan. ‘I think you will know it if you see one. Their heads appear quite inhuman, with a tiny jaw that fits up tight against the palate, and they have a large, round braincase—probably the reason for their comparative intelligence. They also have long, bony fingers, and very large, pointed ears consisting of flaps of translucent skin stretched thinly over a bony frame.’
      ‘That sounds truly horrid!’ exclaimed Fifin.
      ‘And what about Troells?’ asked Dannadar.
      ‘Troells are much smaller,’ answered Alatar, ‘—about the same height as an Elfling. They also have large, pointy ears, but otherwise they look quite different from Goblyns. They usually have a thick, greenish-brown skin which is finely wrinkled over much of their body. They have fangs, and large, dead, staring eyes. I have never seen them ride steeds, and they are far less skilled at fighting than the Goblyns, which is fortunate, because when they occur together there tend to be far more Troells than Goblyns. The Goblyns typically act as the captains of small Troell parties, with perhaps five or ten Troells to each captain.’
      The talk dwindled after this as they each had their own thoughts to keep them occupied while drifting off toward sleep. When they awoke in the morning they felt well-rested, for despite the talk of monsters the night before, they all felt safe in the Dwarven stronghold and their sleep had been largely free of nightmares.
      Soon after they had all risen and washed up in an adjoining washroom a Dwarf appeared in their doorway whom they had not yet met. He had a light brown beard and he wore a red cloak with a red hood that he wore over his head even indoors. His name was Burak, and he informed the companions that he would be accompanying them to Ilimath.
      ‘Well met, Burak,’ Raavan greeted the Dwarf. ‘Have you been to Ilimath before?’
      ‘I have not,’ answered Burak, ‘but I have made a special study of its lore, and I am familiar with many of the old ways, as it were.’
      ‘By old ways , do you mean to say that you have committed many of its floor plans to memory?’ asked Raavan.
      The Dwarf replied, ‘Nay, for there are no maps of Ilimath that survive, save rough sketches of its overall layout and these I have certainly committed to memory. Rather, I mean that I am familiar with the old ways of construction and architecture, of planning and building, of execution. This will give me some predictive advantage, even if I know not the exact layout of passages and chambers of our ancient stronghold.’
      ‘Good enough,’ said Raavan. ‘Now on to more important matters: know you the way to breakfast?’
      ‘Indeed, I do,’ replied the Dwarf.
      ‘Divine,’ said the old man, and this was echoed by the others.
      They made their way to a well-lit hall high up inside one of the hills. Window shafts opened out onto the world, and in streamed the faint light of early morning. They sat at stone tables and ate a sort of hot porridge with bits of stringy meat which was very filling, if somewhat bland. Tea was available, and even honey, which they added to the tea and also spread onto slices of warm bread.
      After breakfast Burak led them to one of the Dwarves’ many armories for the purpose of outfitting the party with suitable armour and weaponry. The Elflings he provided with lightweight corselets of fine chain-mail, iron helms, and long-knives which to the Elflings were as short-swords. Thus outfitted they did indeed look like small warriors and they laughed to see each other, fully armoured and with weapons in hand, for they looked as though ready to step right into battle. Raavan and Alatar had little need for extra weapons or armour, though they each took a long-knife like those given to the Elflings, for Dwarven blades were of high repute and always good to have at hand.
      Next they were taken to a storeroom where they replenished their supply of provisions and collected a few oddments which might be of use along the way, such as rope and extra torches. Their water skins were refilled and they took a few extra cheeses and a bag of apples. Their main food stores, however, consisted of small, flat cakes expertly baked by the Dwarves, called Melimbar. Just one of these cakes provided enough energy to power a strong Dwarf for much of the day. Thus provisioned, the company should be able to make the entire journey to Ilimath and back without needing to replenish any of their supplies other than water.
      Their last stop before setting out once again was the king’s court, where they were to thank the king for the generous aid he had provided and to take their leave of him. This they did briefly, for the king was well engaged with other business. Before they departed, however, the king wished them good fortune and bade them cleave as many Troell necks as practicable. This they agreed to do, and with that they were on their way.
      Back through the labyrinthine corridors Burak led them, through the north gate and to the stables where they found their steeds awaiting them. Soon they were all back on the highway leading north. Out of one Dwarvenplace they had emerged, and now on toward another they rode, nearly four hundred miles to the north-west.