Chapter 10

In the morning they broke their fast and then having paid the proprietor they went out into the grey morning to retrieve their steeds. Riding south they left the Dragonslayer Inn behind and soon they found the river again keeping pace to their right as on toward Aglathrad they went.
      Before long the clouds were drawn away and a sunny morning began to unfold about them. The early birds had already caught their worms and were now singing about the joys of summer. Robins perched on hedgerows to watch the travellers pass, and ahead they could see a pair of hawks catching the morning breeze.
      By Alatar’s reckoning they should reach the capital by nightfall without too much effort and for this reason they went easy on their steeds for much of the day, switching between a walk and a canter as it took their fancy. Expecting no trouble on the road today they allowed themselves to enjoy the ride, taking in the scenery as it rolled steadily by. There were flowers and dragonflies and jackrabbits about. There were meadowlarks and butterflies of several colours, mostly blue, but also yellow and pink. When they stopped for lunch Talen brought out his fife and played a bit, for he found the beauties of the land inspiring.
      As dusk was approaching they saw that they had reached the outskirts of the great city, for they began to pass through the many villages and outlying towns that surrounded the capital. Many people were out and about, farmers and merchants, women and children, even here and there a knight and his squire, all wrapping up their day’s business with befitting complacency.
      As they approached the city proper they could see that it was enclosed in a great protective wall, and beyond this wall they spied the roofs of houses and beyond those the castle at the centre of it all: towers and turrets, buttresses and spires, some with interconnecting catwalks between them, and all with magnificent architectural ornamentation and grandeur. All was grey stone, and though it was very grand, it was also quite obviously very old, for Aglathrad was an ancient city.
      Before arriving at the city gates they saw in the twilight a small round structure off to their left amid an open space before the great wall. It appeared to be a shrine of some sort, for it was splendidly sculpted out of white marble and upon approaching it they could see that a statue stood within. They dismounted as Raavan entered and lit the torches he found inside.
      ‘King Eldäron,’ said Raavan when the statue and its accompanying inscription were illuminated, ‘ancient ruler of Arnedia, and the first to be chosen by Nifredir. He was actually born a peasant, but the line of the kings had died out and fate chose the young man to lead the nation. He went on to become a very popular king, as I recall, much beloved by his people. He did many great things for his kingdom. The High King will probably tell you about some of them.’
      ‘You’re going to take us to meet the High King?’ asked Dannadar hopefully.
      ‘Yes,’ said Raavan. ‘He is very fond of children.’
      ‘We’re not children,’ objected the Elfling.
      ‘No,’ agreed Raavan, ‘but you look like children.’
      ‘O? And just what is that supposed to imply?’ asked Dannadar indignantly.
      ‘Come to think of it,’ continued the wizard, ‘you act like children, too.’
      ‘And you act like an irascible old man!’ replied the Elfling.
      ‘In fact, I’m planning to tell the King that you are my children,’ Raavan went on.
      ‘O, wouldn’t that be splendid?’ cackled Dannadar gleefully. ‘A bunch of cranky Elfling magicians! You’d have to give us lessons first on acting like a rude old crab.’
      ‘On second thoughts, maybe I won’t,’ said the wizard.
      ‘Change your mind, did I?’ taunted the Elfling.
      ‘No,’ answered the wizard. ‘Eboenninar always fancied taking an Elven wife. He might get jealous.’
       
       
      Through the enormous gates and on into the great city they went as all round them lanterns and streetlights were lit to ward off the dark. In the dim light the Elflings could see that the capital city of Arnedia was much like the other cities of this land. There were homes and shoppes, inns and ale houses, all crowded along cobbled streets that lay in varying degrees of repair. And on those streets walked the multifarious denizens of the urban community.
      At the first inn to which Raavan took them they were turned out on account of the house being already quite full (this due in part to many of the rooms being under renovation), whereupon Alatar suggested another with which he was familiar and to which Raavan did not too strenuously object. Although the wizard agreed that the establishment in question did tend to have very good ale, he did not care much for the clientele.
        The establishment in question was the Old Anchor Inn, a favourite among sailors and fishermen. Aglathrad was a port city, and a major one at that.
      ‘You have a dislike for seamen?’ Alatar asked with a sly smile.
      ‘I’ve a dislike for the tall tales of fishermen,’ replied the wizard. ‘And those told at the Old Anchor are indeed among the tallest.’
      ‘That is true,’ conceded Alatar. ‘But the ale is very good.’
      That the quality of the ale was first rate they soon could all attest, for they were halfway through their second mug before the serving boy brought their food. The fare consisted entirely of fish—boiled fish, baked fish, fried fish. Cod, halibut, bass, and tuna. Their bowls were filled with variously sized chunks of fish, complete with bones, and they picked at and ate them with their fingers, for such was the custom at many of the hostels in Aglathrad, and certainly at this one.
      The patrons of the Old Anchor were indeed an interesting lot, the Elflings decided. As they nibbled on their sloppy victuals the Elflings gazed round at the many faces of the men that congregated in the common room of the inn. There were anglers and crabbers, skippers and coxwains, pilots and longshoremen. Some smoked pipes, others ate or drank, and all seemed perfectly at home in this place, for with the many nets and anchors decorating the walls and the smell of sea air (which Talen rather suspected the patrons brought with them) about the room, it was an environment that quite obviously suited these customers very well.
      Of all the inn’s patrons there was one that interested the Elflings rather more than the others, for he sat not far down the long table from them and sitting with him was a small, four-legged animal with a furry tail that was again as long as its body. The bearded old man had quite a ragged appearance, his clothes a patchwork of variously coloured but uniformly soiled fabric. He sat picking through his supper, eating the larger portion himself but generously offering scraps to the little animal. Presently he noticed the Elflings who were watching him.
      ‘Greetings,’ said the old man with a polite nod. Though he spoke gruffly he did make some effort at least to contort his wrinkled face into the likeness of a smile.
      ‘Hello,’ replied the Elflings, who of the party sat closest to him. Raavan and Alatar took no notice as they debated with Burak over the utility of a visit to the Dwarven stronghold of Ihm-ennar.
      ‘We’ve never seen an animal like that,’ said Talen to the old man.
      Looking at the little beast and then again at the Elflings the seaman replied, ‘Well, I daresay ’e’s never seen the likes o’ your kind, neither.’
      ‘We’re Elflings,’ said Talen.
      ‘I know that,’ replied the old man with a slightly injured look.
      ‘You do?’ said Talen with surprise.
      ‘O’ course I do,’ replied the old man. ‘I been all o’er this world, seen all manner o’ folks, an’ beasts far stranger than this ’ere one.’
      ‘So you’re a sailor, then?’ asked Dannadar.
      ‘Aye, lad,’ said the man as he picked his teeth. ‘Tho’ ’tis more fishin’ I find meself doin’ these days than voyagin’, and that mostly on th’outer shoals. Ah, but in me youth I sailed the Great Sea from one end clear t’ the other! From Mornea all the way to Fingal, and then on to Avarian-turkil and the lands beyond that almost no man ’ath seen save the crews of a few brave ships. Seen the shining twin cities of Pelerin and Vesser on the far shores of Laiqualon I ’ave, nigh to the promised land o’ the Elder races.’
      The man paused to take a pull on his mug while the Elflings gazed at him with new respect and wonder.   Then he went on: ‘I picked up this ’ere beast during mine adventures in Mornea, close on thirty years ago. I was a soldier in those days, servin’ in the royal fleet o’ Mornea’s great king Uyalimaar.’
      ‘Really?’ said Dannadar excitedly.
      ‘Aye,’ said the man, nodding his shaggy head. ‘Servin’ in the royal navy I was. Spent seven years afore the mast with Cap’n Sinyam I did. Sinyam the Slayer they called ’im. Ha! Pyrates fled for dear life when they saw our flag a-comin’, let-me-tell- you ! No doubt about it, we were the unchallenged rulers o’ the seas, we were.’
      ‘Pyrates?’ said Falco with great interest.
      ‘Aye, lad: pyrates,’ confirmed the man. ‘Many a bloody buccaneer did I ’ave occasion t’ cross swords with in those days! Between me an’ Cap’n Sinyam we must ’ave cut down more’n a hundred of ’em.   I’m remembered of a time when ol’ Sinyam an’ I, we boarded and took over an entire frigate, jus’ the two of us, an’ me with a bum leg an’ a notched sword besides!’
      ‘Wow,’ said Talen. ‘That can’t have been easy.’
      ‘You better believe it,’ said the seaman in total agreement. ‘Fightin’ pyrates ain’t like pickin’ daisies. Aye, but a great sailor and a mighty brave warrior was I. O’ course, that’s why King Uyalimaar made me cap’n when ol’ Sinyam retired. In command o’ half the armada, I was. Aye, but then me first mate, Agol: he turned me own crew against me. Tried to mutiny, ’e did. But I made the traitor walk the plank! Ha! And after that, all the men—they was loyal to me for good, they was. O, a great cap’n was I.’
      Another gulp of ale and the old seaman resumed his tale, telling of the great deeds of he and his men at sea. He recalled how their ship, the Black Kallon, once raced before the winds chased by a hungry Sea Drake for nearly a hundred miles before finally escaping near death at the jaws of the perilous creature. Then there was the crew member who was swallowed alive by a whale and heroically rescued when the old man caught the whale with a hook and forced the willful leviathan to spit him out again. After that there was the fish he caught for the king’s dinner that was so big it had to be towed back to land on a line and hauled ashore by a team of thirty strong men using an intricate system of winches and pulleys.
      Now he moved on to his adventures on land. It seems he worked for a time as the king’s royal hunter, stalking the finest deer in the king’s private forest. He tamed the Hyelpion Tanatar so that the king could ride him across the sky to the distant lands of his neighbours, with whom he would then sign historic treaties. For all these things the old man received rich reward from the king, and he lived on a private estate as a Lord of Mornea. He had a great manor and many fine horses, and no fewer than eight wives, the most beautiful in the land. The furry animal at his side was in fact a gift from the king, for the animals were the sole pets of the Lords of Mornea, and this was for a time the symbol of his achievements.
      But then king Uyalimaar died and the kingdom was overrun by invaders, forcing him to flee Mornea and return to a life at sea. Eventually he became a simple fisherman and returned again to his home city of Aglathrad. Yet, many of his fine riches he was able to smuggle out as he fled his manor, and these he buried in a sturdy chest on an island in the south sea. Someday he would dig up the treasure and return to his life as a great lord.
      For several hours the Elflings listened to the old man’s endless stream of words before finally bidding him good-night and retiring to their room. As they prepared to bed down Raavan enquired with the Elflings as to what they thought of the fisherman’s tales, of which the wizard had caught only pieces.
      ‘Entertaining,’ said Talen.
      ‘Fascinating,’ said Dannadar.
      ‘Very, very tall,’ said Falco.
       
       
      In the morning they took breakfast (fish again) and then went off toward the castle, which was called Piryanor. Part way there Alatar and Burak split off from the group to run a few errands. As the pair departed Talen glanced round to see them go, and doing so he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a hooded figure sidling through the crowd at the intersection. When he looked again the figure was gone, and though his suspicions had been roused he could not be sure that what he saw was anything other than a cloaked commoner.
      Soon they reached the castle, which was surrounded by another great wall, and around that was a wide moat. Over the span lay a drawbridge for them to cross. Reaching the gatehouse they saw that the massive iron portcullis was down and before it stood a pair of armed guards. Once the elderly gatekeeper had emerged and greeted Raavan the order was given to raise the gate, and soon the party were riding through. On the far side they were led by a servant to the stables, which adjoined the outer wall, and there they left their steeds.
      As they walked now toward the main castle the Elflings wondered again at the impressive architecture of the place: the buttresses and towers and the winding stairs and catwalks that allowed soldiers to mount up to the lookouts perched atop the highest points of the structure. There were banners and flags hanging here and there fluttering their ensigns and heraldry in the warm wind that blew up from the nearby sea.
      The companions were admitted into the king’s court with little delay. When they marched into the ancient hall they found King Eboenninar seated on his throne with only guards and a page in attendance. The king was obviously very old and frail, and the clothes he wore looked nearly as old as he. An embroidered white robe was draped over his thin form surmounted by a red cape and on his head he wore a sort of hat which opened into a tent-like structure that fell to his shoulders and likely would provide him with shade should he venture out into the sun. The Elflings found it very difficult not to laugh at his silly headpiece.
      The king’s great white beard moved rhythmically as he spoke: ‘Raavan, mine old friend! It hath been a year and more since last I saw thee. How goest it with you? And who are these fine young warrior-lads thou hast brought?’
      ‘Hello, Eboenninar,’ replied the wizard. ‘It’s nice to see you too. Let me introduce to you my friends Talen Featherby, Falco Whiteleaf, and Dannadar Hawksbill: three Elfling warriors, come all the way from Laurelindor.’
      ‘I welcome you to Aglathrad,’ said the king with a polite nod. ‘And hello to thee as well, Airi,’ he said with a playful smile to the owl perched on Raavan’s shoulder. An emphatic hoot! was the bird’s reply, much to the enjoyment of all those present. The Elflings immediately took a liking to the frail king.
      ‘I am afraid we have important business to discuss,’ said Raavan. ‘Indeed, business of the most important kind—war.’
      ‘Say on,’ instructed the king.
      With that, Raavan launched into an account of the partial decoding of the Nurune Codex by Alarus at Aberlaven, and of the terrifying revelations it offered regarding the Thread and the Unsundering.
      He went on then to describe their tragic foray into Ilimath to retrieve the original manuscript of the codex and their failed efforts to prevent Nostaite from delivering the tome to Silgoth at Hélethrôn. Of Silgoth’s growing power, as evidenced by their own encounters and by the intelligences provided through Alatar’s earlier quest, he spoke as Eboenninar solemnly listened from his throne. When the wizard finished his oration the companions stood in silence as the High King considered all that he had heard. Eboenninar did not look pleased.
      ‘Thou hast conferred with mine underlords in the north, I would presume?’ said the King, for Raavan had outlined only briefly the path which took them to Aglathrad.
      ‘Yes,’ answered Raavan. ‘Those with whom I have spoke have agreed that preparations for a harrowing contest must be made with all haste, and have pledged to send representatives to a council which I am hoping will take place soon after Harvestmas, in Valassea. I have offered to organise this conference myself. We have yet to visit Pencairn, and also to confer with the Elves.’
      ‘And what of the Dwarves?’ asked the King. ‘Surely this matter concerneth them as well?’
      ‘One of our number is a Dwarf, Your Highness, though he had errands to run in the city and could not join us this morning,’ explained Raavan. ‘He will be parting company with us at the opportune moment in order to bring word to his people.’
      Presently the king arose, and taking a staff from the page he began slowly to pace before the throne. After a moment he spoke haltingly: ‘Long hath it been whispered by some that the future would bring us another great contest like unto the Great Wars of old. Over the centuries a prescient voice hath come down through the ages to warn us of this, but always it was drowned out by the business and the clamour of the day. I certainly had no hope to see this during my own reign.’ Now he stopped and leant on his throne. With a deeply distressed look he faced the wizard. ‘I am old, Raavan. Not as old as thyself, perhaps, but I am old in the years of men. Thinkest thou that I have the strength for this, to face this final challenge?’
      ‘I don’t think any of us feel especially strong right now, Eboenninar,’ replied the wizard. ‘If you want hope I have little to offer. I will not paint for you a rosy picture of our prospects, for they are indeed bleak. Yet, this I know: that if we are not to go willingly into the endless night which Silgoth threatens to bring to all of Entira, then the resistance must begin now . What glimmering of a chance we have to thwart the enemy will soon be snuffed out completely if we do not act with swiftness and determination. The might of Arnedia is absolutely essential to our success, no matter how unlikely victory may seem at present. You must sound the alarm, Your Highness, and begin preparations for war. We are left with no alternative but this, I am afraid.’
      The King gazed for a moment at the wizard, then looked off into a dark corner as he considered the desperate message which the company had brought to him. Finally he spoke: ‘Thou wilt break bread with me, thou and thy companions, before thy departure into the East.’
      To this the wizard replied, ‘We will gladly sup with you this evening, Your Highness. For today I have other business which I must pursue in the city. I can return this afternoon with the rest of our party.’
      ‘Very well,’ replied the king.
      With that they departed.
       
       
      Mounting up again they left the castle, riding over the drawbridge and then heading east. Now they rode along a rather stately looking street with many tall stone buildings having about them a manifestly official appearance. In the streets they saw many people, both commoners and nobles, and not a few knights. Presently some among them guessed that they were passing by some warriors’ guild or armoury for there were many well-armed men milling about out front, their varied weapons much in evidence.
      ‘Well, there certainly appears to be no lack of fighting men in Arnedia,’ observed Talen.
      ‘Yes, they are one of our most powerful allies,’ agreed the wizard. ‘Their help will be sorely needed.’
      ‘So, will the King contribute his forces to the alliance?’ asked Falco.
      ‘I think it is likely,’ replied Raavan. ‘Eboenninar is very wise, as far as men go. I think there is little chance that he will fail to see the folly of withholding his support.’
      ‘With all the recent raids on their lands, it is hard to see how they could realistically expect to stay out of the conflict,’ said Falco.
      ‘Yes, well, unfortunately the trouble is not in convincing the King, but in getting through to some of the more obstinate nobles on the Council of Piryanor,’ explained Raavan.
      ‘Will you be speaking to the council?’ asked Talen.
      ‘Only if Eboenninar strenuously urges me to do so,’ said Raavan, ‘which I don’t expect him to do. Most of the Lords of Piryanor dislike me, and the King knows that. I think there is a better chance that the King, perhaps with the aid of his top generals, will be able to bring the good lords to their collective senses without my staring them down. Anyway, at the moment we have other business to attend to.’
      ‘What business is that?’ asked Talen.
      ‘Yes, where are we going?’ echoed Dannadar.
      ‘To Saint Astasan’s—the cathedral,’ answered Raavan. ‘To see the Bishop.’
       
       
      If the Elflings had been impressed by the Castle of Piryanor, they were truly stunned by the beauty of the Cathedral of Saint Astasan. The massive wooden doors, which Raavan held for the Elflings on account of their great weight and size, opened directly on the main church. Looking up they saw that the arched roof was supported high above by tall stone walls of black that were punctuated regularly by wide windows. From the floor up to the level of the stained glass windows the walls were carved in the most florid fashion, and they were lined with tall lanterns of polished steel. The floor also was of a black stone and had been polished to a smooth shine.
      There was stained glass in the ceiling as well, and from the arched rafters hung several large candelabra that could be lowered by a system of ropes. Small tables spaced along the walls supported sconces for yet more candles, though as it was morning none of them were lit.
      At the far end of the church was a low dais upon which sat a large stone altar, and to either side of that was a wooden lectern. On the altar sat a fine silver chalice next to a dried fern frond.
      But most amazing of all was to be seen behind the altar, for the back wall of the church featured a row of magnificent stained-glass windows that were closely spaced so as to appear almost as one great window. This work of art depicted a most glorious scene in which multitudes of armoured warriors knelt before a noble face that hung in the sky before them amidst silvery clouds and bright rays of sunlight. At the far left was a moon glowing brightly upon a saintly figure below who held aloft a great flag. On the flag could be seen an emblem consisting of an inverted V with its top half circumscribed.
      Though the artwork was skilfully wrought, what brought vibrance and life to the display was the bright sunlight filtering through from the east, casting a splendid array of colours all across the inside of the church. The Elflings stood in that light and were filled with happiness by it. Talen closed his eyes and felt the warm glow of sunlight on his eyelids, and he was content.
      ‘This way,’ said Raavan as he beckoned them to follow through a portal to one side of the chancel aisle. Through this they went to find themselves in the chapel. Though much smaller than the main church, the chapel was quite splendid as well, for its walls also featured windows of stained glass, and upon the highly decorative chancel sat an altar, somewhat smaller than that in the main church, but of greater adornment. It appeared to have been constructed variously of carved wood, ivory, and marble, and within its scrollwork was gold inlay.
      ‘The good bishop should be here somewhere,’ said Raavan. ‘Perhaps he is in the vestry, or in the kitchen...’
      Just then a tall man with a large belly emerged from a doorway off to the left. He wore a fine robe of red and white and had upon his head a conical hat which also was red. He was obviously quite old, having white hair and white whiskers, but his ruddy complexion told that he still was in good health.
      ‘Raavan, mine old friend!’ said the bishop upon seeing the wizard.
      ‘Feanelin,’ said Raavan with a smile as he shook the old clergyman’s hand. ‘How have you been?
      ‘Much the same as always,’ came the reply. ‘Keeping up appearances, keeping the place clean. And doing very little else to serve my god.’
      ‘Ah, but are you serving your king?’ asked Raavan.
      ‘At every opportunity,’ said the bishop with a wry smile.
      ‘So, how fares Angwë these days in Aglathrad?’ asked the wizard.
      ‘As he hath for years, my friend,’ said the bishop. ‘The church remaineth practically empty even on Sundays. The people seek the blessing of their god for their marriages and birth rites, but they have not the time to offer him their worship. They are too busy. Business in Aglathrad is brisk as ever. Every week there are new ships at the dock. Gold is the new god of Aglathrad.’
      ‘Not Úvar?’ asked Raavan.
      ‘Heavens, no!’ replied the bishop with surprise.
      ‘Then you’ve heard no rumours of Úvarian sects, burning triangles, human sacrifices?’ pressed the wizard.
      ‘I have not—dost thou mean by this that I should?’ asked the bishop.
      ‘No,’ replied the wizard, ‘probably not. I was just checking. Didn’t mean to startle you.’
      ‘Well, thou hast most definitely startled me!’ said the bishop. ‘But fearest not, for it is nothing a bit of the good Lord’s blessed wine cannot mend. We shall take the holy sacrament of Angwë together.’ With this the aged priest produced from behind the altar a rather large jug of red wine and five tall goblets. Pouring generous portions into the cups he gave a simple benediction and then handed them the drink.
      ‘Angwë bless us,’ said the bishop.
      ‘Bottoms up,’ said Raavan.
      They then spent the remainder of the morning gulping the strong wine and listening as Raavan and Bishop Feanelin reminisced. It seems that Raavan had lived for a time in this great city and was on quite good terms with the bishop, for they bantered like old friends.
      Many humorous tales did the Elflings hear, quite a few of them featuring King Eboenninar. First was the time the well intentioned King introduced the Duke of Fortridge at a most solemn yearly ceremony, mistakenly calling him the ‘Duke of Partridge’ instead. Then there was the time that the King was presiding over the blessing of an important nobleman’s marriage, when suddenly the King sneezed on the bride. As he tried clumsily to aid the lady in wiping her face clean he stepped on the edge of her dress. This unfortunately caused her to stumble and fall backward into the rather large wedding cake behind her, while at the same time having her dress ripped clean from her body by virtue of the King standing upon it. Needless to say, the nobleman and his new bride were not in the least amused.
      But the mirth of these tales dimmed in comparison to the hilarity which Raavan evoked with his account of the Saint Antil’s Day parade of 1204. The King, who always led the parade, suddenly found his head bared when a gust of wind blew off his tent-like headdress. Down the cobbled street the elderly king tottered after the rogue hat as the tumbling coiffure stayed always just out of his reach. Finally a dog snatched it up and made off with it down a side alley. Though a replacement top was readily made for the King following the episode, he never forgot the beast which had made off with his royal headdress, and he was ever suspicious of any dog which he encountered thereafter.
      There was much solemn discussion then of the various goings-on in Aglathrad, particularly those relating to the activities of certain disreputable persons, about whom Raavan carefully enquired. Though Raavan gave a careful description of the sorcerer Magorath, neither the description nor the name brought any significant recollection to the red-faced cleric. Yet, it was clear that Feanelin was an astute observer of the people of Aglathrad, of both their attitudes and their doings, and through him Raavan was able to collect quite a sizeable amount of information, though it was not always evident to the Elflings what was the significance of it all. Yet, one thing was clear: that Feanelin was as much a spy for Raavan as were Nostaite or Magorath for Silgoth, and he was a very effective one at that.
      In early afternoon they bade the bishop farewell and rode back to the Old Anchor, where they were joined by Alatar and Burak for a late lunch of boiled fish heads. Afterward, the Elflings lingered over a cup of tea or two while Alatar and Burak gave report of their ‘errands’ to Raavan in the privacy of their room. They were just finishing up this task when the Elflings returned to the room.
      ‘No, it sounds as if the Úvarians have not ventured yet into Aglathrad,’ the wizard was saying, ‘though I would not rule out the possibility that there are other agents at work here, just as we have seen them at work elsewhere. We must be ever alert, and so must the King.’ Then seeing the Elflings arrive he asked, ‘Well then, are we ready for dinner with the King?’ Finding that they were the wizard led them down to the stables and from there they rode up to the castle.
      When they all arrived at Piryanor the king was still at court seeing to the business of the day, but a servant was instructed to take the party to a private study where they soon were met by two of the king’s generals. Raavan and Alatar spent some time describing the extent of the hordes which they had observed, and some speculation was entered on the likely sizes of the forces which they did not see.
      The generals appeared to know Raavan well enough to trust his judgement and they agreed that the situation was becoming increasingly dire. They described for Raavan the extent of their own army and offered their best guess as to what additional forces they would be able to organise by year’s end. Though basic weapons and armour were in abundant supply much work would be required in the training of additional troops and the manufacture of the other items needed for a massive campaign against Tath. There would be siege engines and ballista to construct, missiles and arrows to stockpile, supply trains to organise, and many other details to consider as well.
      In addition to the generals the party were visited also by a man with a hawk-like appearance named Count Cenathon, whom Raavan appeared to know quite well, and much of what was communicated to the generals was repeated to the count. Cenathon was one of the few nobles on the Council of Piryanor with whom Raavan remained on good terms and he promised he would act swiftly to neutralise any opposition among the other council members to the king’s call for war. Raavan seemed very pleased at the Count’s eager pledge of assistance.
      Finally the king came ambling into the room with the aid of his page and his wooden staff and bade the companions join him for dinner. They ascended several flights of steps (which took the King quite some time) to a modest but very comfortable dining room at the very top of the main castle.
      As the red sun set far to the west the Elflings gazed out the south windows, there being panes facing every direction. In the distance they could just make out beyond the tops of the trees the blue haze that was the ocean. The Elflings had never seen it.
      ‘You will get a much better view when we come to Pencairn,’ said Raavan. ‘Unlike Aglathrad, Pencairn sits right at the edge of the sea.’
      It is fair to say that they passed a delightful evening with King Eboenninar at the top of Piryanor, towering high above the capital city of Aglathrad. To begin with, the food was very rich indeed—no boiled fish heads tonight! Starters consisted of strawberry salad with walnuts and blueberries. This was followed by a main course of thick, tender steaks with mushrooms and steamed asparagus shoots dipped lightly in butter. With this course they were served a fine, white wine that sparkled lightly in the glass and turned bubbly when swallowed, and if quaffed too quickly tickled the nose. Finally, they were offered crumpets and tarts and pudding for dessert.
      With this good, solid fare came pleasant conversation, for there was no talk tonight of the gathering darkness to the north, or of the call to war which Raavan and his companions had suddenly thrust upon the frail leader with whom they dined. Instead, the old king shared with them his great store of memories of life in Aglathrad: of his adventures as a prince and later his successes as a young king in a thriving capital city.
      And much lore was shared that night, not only from the considerable stores possessed by Eboenninar, but also from that of Alatar, Burak, and of course Raavan, so that between them their knowledge covered much of what is known about the history of all Entira. It should be no surprise then that the conversation lasted late into the night.
      From King Eboenninar they heard the epic tale of the conquest of Arnedia by the Earl of Anderslie from the year 988 through 992 of the Second Age. Together with his generals Ruentaanir and Maimelten the Earl subjugated the many savage warrior-chieftains throughout the land and installed a new order based on knighthood and fealty. The Earl’s tour was said to have been one of the bloodiest ever on Arnedian soil, but in it lay the seeds of the greatness to which Arnedia would one day climb.
      They heard how Anderslie’s son Lîquessär was chosen in 1021 as the first High King to rule over a united Arnedia, first from Fengold in the east and then from the newly constructed capital of Kingholm which later was renamed to Aglathrad. Lîquessär’s son Eilimistéar ascended the throne twenty-four years later and came to be known as the king who successfully repulsed the great waves of Mornean invaders which descended upon the land in the 1050’s—an important milestone in the early history of Arnedia.
      They heard of Sir Erondor’s celebrated encounter with the dragon Andrath in 1138 and of the tragic loss of his wife Iquisa and their two young daughters to the Black Pestilence soon after his triumphant return.
      Moving on to the Third Age he told them of Saint Antil’s rise to prominence as a prophet of Angwë, culminating in his healing of High King Hïthûil in the year 874 through pious fasting and prayer. In 895 Antil was formally sainted and soon thereafter he prophesied that one day a shepherd would become a king following his baptism in a great, searing flame. Thirteen years later, in 997 of the Third Age, the three Swords of Power were forged in Ilimath by the Dwarves and the Elves and given to the sons of men as tokens of friendship and warders of evil.
      The following year the peoples of Entira were united in a war against the Deathlord Rúlatár. The war lasted six years and saw devastation spread over the land like none had seen before. High King Léire was killed in the war and Arnedia went for many years without a king, for the line of the kings of Aglathrad had failed.
      Then in the eight and sixtieth year of the Fourth Age a shepherd name Hyastal chanced across the sword Nifredir in a shallow creek nigh to the great battlefield where King Léire had fallen. Immediately as he put his hand to the hilt the blade lit up with a red flame that proclaimed to all that this lowly peasant was to be the next high king of Arnedia. The people christened him Eldäron, for though he was a humble man he possessed great wisdom. His rule of Arnedia was one of the most prosperous of the Fourth Age.
      Though many other tales were told that night they were nearly too numerous for the Elflings to remember or even count, and there certainly were too many to record here. But it soon was clear to the Elflings that not only was Eboenninar a dear old man with a fondness for the company of friends, but also that much would be lost when the frail king’s reign came to an end.