Chapter 6

In the morning they took a breakfast of tea and salmon in the common room at Bart’s. Settling their account with the whiskered proprietor they then gathered their packs and their steeds and rode out. When they passed by the outdoor market, much to their satisfaction the Elflings were able to procure a bag of apples for the road.
      Passing through the front gate of Stonecastle they now took the road that wound up into the hills. Here they passed by several fine estates, most of them heavily fortified so that they resembled tiny castles. This main road branched several times before eventually leading the party down again into the lower lands bordering the Nientile. Now they were passing through the fertile farmlands south-east of Stonecastle, where farmers could be seen working their fields as the sun hoisted itself into the sky to preside over another summer day.
      At a major fork in the road the party turned south-east, and this bearing they largely kept for the rest of the morning and into the early afternoon. Many more farms did they pass, though occasionally they were compelled, as dictated by the road, to climb through a low set of hills or to pass among a stand of trees or even a modest wood.
      In mid-afternoon they came to a large, three-sided stone column of a crimson hue that stood before them at a widening of the road, tapering skyward to a point.
      ‘The Redstone,’ said Raavan as they reached the massive monolith. ‘We are now passing out of the dominion of Stonecastle and into that of their beloved neighbours, the Greycastlers.’
      ‘I don’t suppose the colour of this fine monument holds any special significance,’ said Burak dryly.
      ‘O, of course not,’ answered Raavan with equal sarcasm. ‘Nor does that pointy tip, nor its marked resemblance to a spear head.’
      ‘I didn’t think so,’ replied Burak.
      Although the land had increasingly taken on an almost barren quality, as they proceeded along the easterly winding road they again came to productive farmlands and were now regularly met by workers toiling in the bountiful fields. Through great seas of crops they sailed on their trotting equine ships: corn and wheat, oats and rye, soy and barley. Fallow fields too, they saw, and even large stretches of wholly uncultivated land growing wild between the well-manned farmsteads and manors.
      By nightfall they had reached a broad range of hills which Alatar reckoned to be some twenty-five miles from their destination. Though they could with some ease have found comfortable lodgings for the night by retracing their steps and presenting themselves at the most recent homestead, as it was a pleasant evening they decided instead to camp in the open atop a bare hill just off the road. Alatar concocted a nourishing and not untasty meal out of their recently replenished supplies, cooked over the campfire and liberally accented with several herbs and spices collected before their arrival at Stonecastle.
      In the morning they resumed their eastward trek through the hills. Soon they descended again to lower lands, and now the road turned south-east on its approach toward Greycastle. More farms they encountered, and also many orchards and vineyards. Another warm day was unfolding about them as they continued their tour through Arnedia. By mid-morn the great city of Greycastle was in sight, and now they were encountering travellers to and from the city, though there were rather few of these, and they exchanged little more with them than a polite good morning or how do you do? as they passed one another on the road.
      Unlike Stonecastle, the city of Greycastle was not encircled by a protective outer wall, though it would be seen later that the castle itself was so enclosed. The city was actually a sprawling assemblage of stone buildings that were most densely concentrated about the central castle yet lacked a definite outer boundary except to the east, where the river Aglathrin coursed by on its way south. Because of this, the city had a more open feeling to it as compared to Stonecastle. There were many trees and expansive green lawns and overall it seemed a more wholesome place, perhaps due to the absence of any ‘city smell’ such as they had encountered at Stonecastle.
      Yet, there was something else that was strangely lacking in the place—namely, people, for there were hardly any of them to be seen. The Elflings might have wondered if the Greycastlers were a race of extreme slugabeds, it being now nearly eleven o’clock, but the intermittent sounds of trumps bugling in the distance told them that something plainly was going on south of the city and that a number of the inhabitants of this place were likely to be found there.
      ‘Of course!’ said Raavan as he smote his forehead, ‘Today is Midsummer’s Eve: the Festival of the Sunstill must be going on at this very moment.’
      ‘Great!’ said Dannadar. ‘I love festivals!’
      ‘Well, then, that should give you plenty to do while I take care of our official business at the castle,’ said Raavan.
      ‘Of course, I also love castles!’ said Dannadar. ‘Why don’t we go with you now to meet the king, and then we can all join in the festivities later?’
      ‘Well, first of all, because there is no king in Greycastle for you to meet,’ answered Raavan, ‘and secondly, because it will be more expeditious for me to handle matters unencumbered for the moment by introductions and the various other distractions that that would needlessly entail.’
      ‘By which you mean that we unimportant people will just get in the way,’ said Dannadar.
      ‘Don’t be silly,’ replied Raavan. ‘You’re not unimportant. And anyway, if you did get in the way I could always just turn you into a rutabaga.’
      ‘You wouldn’t!’ said Dannadar with big eyes.
      ‘Only temporarily,’ Raavan assured him. ‘Now, why don’t you and Burak and Talen and Falco go explore the nice festival while Alatar and I take care of the mundane necessaries relating to our quest. We will join you this afternoon.’
      With that the company split in twain, the two men heading off east with the pack pony in tow toward the unseen castle, and the Elflings and the Dwarf slowly making their way southward. As they carefully picked their way toward the distant sounds of merriment they wondered at Raavan’s curious proclamation that there was no king in Greycastle, but as none of them had any clue as to the nature of this riddle the matter soon was dropped.
      They were still navigating about the sparse outskirts of the city when at last they began to catch glimpses of the well attended carnival. Colorful banners and many makeshift booths and tents stood out amidst teeming masses of people. And they were people of every stripe: knights and nobles, commoners and peasants, merchants and clergy and artisans. There were the rich and the poor, the young and the old. And quite a merry gathering it was, for the people were eating and drinking, singing and dancing, the young were frolicking and flirting while the old reminisced fondly of many summers past.
      Now the companions had arrived at the scene of the revels. They tethered their steeds and without delay began to mingle, and soon they too were caught up in the act of merrymaking, for there was a contagion in the air, one of joy and amusement, to which none of the companions were immune.
      There was much to see, and they strove with many turnings of the head, this way and that, to see it all. All around them people laughed and ate, talked and drank, many of them dressed in bright colours of the most gaudy hue. Short men with painted faces and funny hats walked towering over the crowd on tall wooden stilts. Jugglers juggled all manner of items, from apples and eggplants to knives and burning torches. A man made show of swallowing a short-sword nearly to the hilt. Another pulled disappearing tricks with hard boiled chickens’ eggs, vanishing them with a quick flick of the fingers and then producing them from his mouth or from the pockets of passers-by. The eggs themselves were seen to be laid by a large white rabbit, which could produce any number of them when required, already hard boiled when they came out.
      Quite a number of booths and tents there were, arranged neatly in rows with crowded avenues between. Some of these dispensed food and drink of various sorts while others offered games of chance or skill (or both) to any who would try them. As it was going on noon the former exerted more of an attraction to the companions, who soon were sampling mince pies, dumplings, rich crumpets and fruity tarts. There was beer aplenty, and ale, and spiced cider, and honey mead. With a tankard in one hand and a fist-full of food in the other they continued their merry tour of this celebration of nature’s bounty.
      Now they dunked for apples, threw knives at a bull’s eye, and guessed the weight of a fat goose. They tossed marbles into goblets for trifles and trinkets, giving away their winnings as toys to children. The children in turn showed the Elflings how to hop the scotches and to do well at leap-pole.
      There were dances and plays and other pageantry. A mock battle was waged between a man with a wooden sword and another made up as a Landrake , which the Elflings discovered was the Arnedian word for a Tsaurek. On a modest stage was performed a re-enactment of the Arnedian legend of Sir Erondor and the Dragon , in which Sir Erondor fools the Dragon, Andrath, into helping him forge a mighty sword which Erondor then uses to slay the wicked beast.
      ‘This is so much fun!’ said Dannadar as the actors bowed to generous applause.
      ‘Yes,’ agreed Talen, ‘it reminds me of Sunfest back home. I had quite forgotten we were going to have to miss it this year.’
      ‘I think this is better than the Sunfest,’ proclaimed Dannadar.
      ‘Maybe, but we also missed the Greenfest,’ countered Falco.
      ‘O, that’s true,’ agreed Dannadar. And then after some reflection, ‘And I don’t suppose we’ll be home in time for Léirmas or First Harvest.’
      ‘No,’ agreed Falco, ‘and you can probably forget about Year’s Eve, too.’
      ‘O, that’s a shame,’ lamented Dannadar.
      ‘Truly, Elflings are fond of celebration!’ observed Burak.
      ‘Yes, we are!’ confirmed Dannadar.
      ‘Then what say we refill our tankards and see what else this fine gala holds for us?’ suggested the Dwarf.
      ‘Agreed!’ came the unanimous reply.
      Now they were wandering closer to the river, where were concentrated the booths of the craftsmen such as the leather workers, the carvers, and the smiths. The latter especially interested Burak, who asked many questions and discussed various details of the trade which were quite beyond the Elflings’ knowledge, and occasionally the men’s too. Later, he would confide with his companions that although the metallurgical knowledge of the Arnedians was clearly inferior to that of the Dwarves, still they had some rather proficient blacksmiths among them, as clearly evidenced by the quality of their weapons.
      Now as they wandered further downriver they came to the section of the fairgrounds devoted to the tournaments. Chief among these was the joust, for it attracted many spectators as well as many hopeful contestants. Knights in polished armour rode bestride mighty war horses and proceeded to unhorse one another with long, wooden lances. This the Elflings had certainly never seen before, and they were shocked at the violence of it, at the sheer force of impact evidenced as lance met rider and rider met ground.
      ‘They do this for fun?’ asked Talen incredulously.
      ‘Aye, that they do, lads,’ confirmed Burak, who himself had never witnessed such a spectacle but who had heard tell of such contests many times. ‘And also to test their skill on the battlefield. Training for the tourney also helps to prepare a man for war. And that’s a good thing.’
      ‘Yes, I suppose it isn’t entirely at odds with our purpose in coming here, at least,’ said Talen.
      ‘No, indeed,’ agreed Falco. ‘I am beginning to see now why Raavan is so intent on enlisting the undivided assistance of Arnedia in the conflict against Silgoth. I for one will be glad to have these men as allies.’
      ‘I too, lad,’ agreed Burak.
      Now they were wandering further from the river, where yet other contests were in progress. The first of these was the rock throw, in which Burak eagerly entered himself.
      ‘Those rocks weigh more than I do,’ observed Dannadar.
      ‘Then perhaps the contestants would rather throw you instead,’ said Falco.
      ‘Perhaps,’ replied Dannadar, ‘but they probably would rather not deal with all the screaming and squirming I would do.’
      ‘O, that’s true,’ agreed Falco.
      Burak found himself competing against two large men. Removing his chain mail and his cloak he exhibited his large muscles as the others did the same (though they were much less hairy). Then the two men in turn strained to lift their projectiles and fling them through the air as far as they could. Burak seemed impressed, yet when he hoisted his boulder and sent it sailing through the air all observed that his was the most powerful throw, for the great missile passed the others and established a solid margin of several feet. The onlookers cheered as the Dwarf raised his strong arms in victory. Yet the contest was not over, for now the boulders were rolled back to the three contestants, who exchanged projectiles according to the established rules of the game. Now they repeated the trial, each with a new rock, but the results were the same: Burak came out solidly in the lead. Now the final rotation and throw was performed, yet this time Burak’s throw surpassed that of the two men by an even greater margin than before. With shaking heads the men shook hands with the Dwarf to the energetic cheers of the spectators.
      Donning his cloak and armour once again the Dwarf led the Elflings to the next event, which was the tug-of-war. As luck would have it, teams were just then being formed for the next tug. Burak was quickly elected as anchor for the red team. The two teams would strain at either end of a long rope stretched over a deep mud pit in an effort to pull their struggling opponents into the mess. The Elflings opted out of this event as well.
      Now as the tug began Burak pulled hard at his end of the rope, which was looped about his shoulders. The blue team provided a great resistance, but slowly they began to inch toward the pit. Step after step they came closer to the slop, till finally their first puller plopped into the mud and then all the others were quickly dragged in after him.
      Again Burak was cheered as a victor. Now teams were reformed with some shuffling from a group of fresh contestants and those from the victorious side, and again Burak was chosen as anchor. Again the opposing team was pulled into the thick black slop, which covered them head to toe, to the delight of the roaring crowd. Now Burak competed a third time, and though he had to strain even harder this time to achieve victory, achieve it he did, for yet another group of tall men were subjected to the indignity of a visit to the pig sty.
      After this Burak was provided with a fresh tankard of ale and many pats on his strong back, though he declined to compete yet again. ‘There are other contests,’ he said, and with that he led the Elflings to the next field.
      Now the Elflings were able to put some of their skills to the test, for here was the fencing competition. They set down their bows and quivers and were outfitted with face masks and thin fencing blades. Then they went to work. At first they competed against each other, but Falco consistently outfought the other two Elflings and Talen and Dannadar quickly tired of losing to him. Now Burak watched from among the audience as the Elflings competed against young men of roughly their own size. Many of them had received formal training in the art of fencing and were formidable opponents to the Elflings despite the companions’ experience with real swords in battle against real monsters. On the whole the Elflings did not fare too poorly and they had fun, which of course was their only purpose here even if it was not so for the other fencers.
      When they came to the archery competition, however, they needed make no apology for the extent of their abilities, for so finely had their skills in that art been honed by their past (and recent) experience with the bow that none who dared oppose them at the bull’s eye could even come close to matching their accuracy. And not only were the spectators astounded, but so also was the referee, who was himself a captain in the Greycastle army. After he saw the Elflings perform he sent a runner to fetch several of the army’s best archers, and though they proved worthy opponents to the Elflings at the bow, even they were defeated by the tiny foreigners.
      When the Elflings had exhausted their supply of willing opponents they bowed to the cheering onlookers and made to leave the field. It was then that the referee, dressed in formal livery, approached the Elflings and introduced himself as Captain Palin.
      ‘From whence dost thou come, my diminutive warrior?’ said the captain to Talen as he shook the Elfling’s hand. ‘Thou hast the look of an Arvallan.’
      ‘We are Elflings from Laurelindor, far away in northern Aresse,’ answered Talen.
      ‘This is most astounding,’ said the man. ‘Methinks thy skills at the bow are unrivalled. Shouldst thou delight in doing so, it would surely honour His Lordship if thou wouldst offer thy services as instructors to His Lordship’s archers. Wouldst thou and thy companions consider such an appointment were it to be arranged?’
      Talen answered, ‘O, that would be quite an honour for us, I assure you! But I’m afraid that we are on a quest of great importance, and I am not sure that Raavan would have us stay here while our companions pursue the fulfilment of our mission.’
      ‘I see,’ said the man with some thought. ‘And this Raavan of which thou speakest—would he by chance be the renowned wizard of the same name?’
      ‘As a matter of fact, he would,’ answered Talen.
      ‘This is most remarkable,’ said the man, pausing and looking at the Elflings even more intently than before. Finally, he shook their hands and said to Talen, ‘Then I wish thee success on thy quest, and if thou dost decide to tarry awhile in Greycastle then I hope thou wilt reconsider my proposition, for thou wouldst be offered generous payment as well as lasting gratitude for thine efforts.’
      ‘Of course,’ said Talen as he shook the man’s hand and cheerfully bid him farewell. ‘I must say,’ he noted to his companions when they had left the archery range behind, ‘these Arnedians are rather polite people.’
      ‘Yes, it would certainly seem so,’ agreed Falco.
       
       
      The next and final exhibit was the falconry range, but as they had no falcons (nor even an owl, for Airi was not with them), they watched briefly and then retraced their steps in search of anything they might have missed the first time around.
      When they came again to the jousting field they stopped once more to observe the ungentle sport. Two combatants had just taken the field and were not yet mounted on their heavy horses. Both were housed in armour of shiny steel and they shone bright in the late afternoon sun. Now they faced one another in ritualised discourse. Standard insults were traded and gauntlets thrown down, and then finally the combatants were ready to initiate their engagement. Now they retreated to opposite ends of the lane and with the help of several squires they each mounted their steeds.
      Burak excused himself to have another quick try at the rock throwing contest, for he felt his strength coming back to him. The Elflings wished him luck though they opted to stay and ‘watch the men in steel batter each other to death.’
      ‘I still find it amazing that such a violent activity could have been made into a sport,’ said Talen, noticing then that a very pretty young lady was eyeing the three companions curiously. Smiling at Talen, she introduced herself.
      ‘Hello, I am Kalea. Ye are the Elvish youths I observed at yon archery range.’
      ‘Actually, we are Elflings, Miss,’ replied Talen with a smile and a bow, ‘and it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Talen, and these are Falco and Dannadar.’
      ‘It is most charming to make your acquaintance,’ said the young lady, and she offered them her hand, which they in turn took and gently kissed, for they knew from observation that this was the proper custom in this place. Now they saw from her fine dress that she was rather well-to-do, most likely a member of nobility.
      ‘My betrothed competes today in his first joust,’ she went on, nodding in the direction of a group of younger knights assembled some way across the field. ‘And I agree altogether with thy shrewd assessment, Sir Talen: it is a rude sport.’
      ‘My apologies, Miss Kalea,’ said Talen, ‘I meant no offence to your betrothed—’
      ‘O, no, Sir Talen, thou hast no need to apologise.’ replied the young lady. ‘The joust is an obligation unto all young knights, though many of them do so look forward to it, even if anxiously. For many it is the first trial of their manhood and will signify their coming of age.’
      ‘We also recognise a coming of age in our country, though it is quite different in nature,’ said Talen.
      ‘Is thy country far from here?’ asked she.
      ‘It is very far,’ Talen replied.
      ‘And are all Elflings like thou and thy companions?’ she asked with a smile.
      ‘Well, I suppose so...,’ answered Talen vaguely.
      ‘If I may say so, Sir Talen,’ said Kalea, ‘thou and thy friends are most endearing! And thou are so not only in thy appearance, but also in thy speech, and thine uncommon accent, which is most delightful!’
      ‘Well, thank you!’ Talen replied, and they all found that they too were beginning to enjoy the company of this pleasant young lady, for not only did she have a charming personality and a very comely appearance, but also they detected something about her that spoke of honour and nobility. They wondered if perhaps she was a princess or the daughter of some duke or other.
      ‘O, my betrothed!’ said she, her attention now riveted on the two knights coming onto the field.
      ‘What is his name?’ asked Talen as the two young men exchanged their ritualised unpleasantries.
      ‘Selen,’ replied Kalea. ‘The one on the right. See there,’ she said pointing, ‘he weareth my favour upon his sleeve.’
      Now the two knights retreated to their respective sides and mounted up in preparation for the charge. The Elflings watched with renewed interest, for now one of the combatants was the friend of a friend, no longer just an anonymous foreigner hidden within a steel encasing. They hoped for Kalea that he would be the victor.
      Suddenly the charge began. The thundering of hooves set them all on edge as the knights set their lances firmly in place. Time seemed to slow immeasurably as Talen’s mind took in every movement of the horses, the rising and falling of their hooves and the contraction of the many muscles that drove those legs to run. Sunlight sparkled on armour. Soon they would hear the brusque sounds of crashing steel, but as of yet it had not come, and as the image stood frozen in Talen’s consciousness he thought suddenly of the dearness of life, of each individual life, and of the deep sorrow and loss that were the unavoidable consequences of war. Now the certainty that a depth of sorrow and loss such as these people had never seen would follow the coming war against Silgoth filled him with horror, and suddenly he found that he could no longer watch.
      When the crash came it was followed by cheers from all the companions. Talen looked up to see that Selen had unhorsed his opponent, and then he saw that Kalea wore a smile of relief at seeing her betrothed emerge the victor, though she also had tears in her eyes, for she, like Talen, had strong misgivings about the propensity of her people to favour armed conflict.
       
       
      Kalea had congratulated her betrothed on the success of his first joust as the Elflings watched from a distance. Soon Burak had returned and was introduced to the young lady once she had wished Selen luck in his coming rounds. She was off now to see her sister perform in a puppet show and she implored the companions to accompany her, which they now gladly did.
      In time they had made their way through the crowds back to where they earlier had watched the performance of Sir Erondor and the Dragon . Though it now was approaching evening the crowds had not lessened one bit, and indeed, quite a throng had gathered for the puppet show, for Arnedians were quite fond of puppets and small, funny people.
      Upon the stage was set a large puppet theatre and soon puppets began to appear thereupon acting out all manner of scenes. There were jousts and battles, coronations of kings and knightings of knights, all performed with wonderfully fashioned little hand dolls and many expertly crafted props. There were drinking contests in which puppet men quaffed impossibly large tankards of ale, then stumbled inebriated off the stage, or simply passed out as soon as they swallowed their final gulp.
      And there was much comedy. Puppets beat each other over the head with tiny brooms, pelted each other with little pies, and slipped on banana peels. There were cows that would give milk only if the farmers would sing them passionate love songs, and horses that slept in beds and were drawn about during the day in carriages pulled by people.
      The Elflings and the Dwarf stood at the very front of the audience with Kalea, and they laughed as hard as any at the hilarity of the show. As the sun dipped below the horizon torches were lit so that the revelry could go on. Now Kalea slipped backstage to have a word with her sister as the puppeteers took an intermission. When she returned she wore a cryptic smile, but for what reason none of the companions could tell.
      Now the curtains opened on the theatre to reveal several tall puppet men and also a shorter, stouter doll with a big bushy beard. In their tiny puppet hands they held miniature boulders, which the taller men threw a pitiful distance across the theatre. Now the Dwarf-like figure tossed his stone with all his might and the projectile was flung so far it flew several feet beyond the end of the stage. ‘Behold the mighty strength of the Dwarf, Burak!’ said one of the puppet men to the cheers of the audience and the surprise and delight of the companions.
      Now little wooden cows marched out onto the stage and the Dwarf doll flung those farther than any of the men were able. Finally, a pale disc was affixed several feet above the puppet theatre to represent the full moon, and as the men struggled to toss the wooden cows over a low fence the little Dwarf flung his cow clean over the moon, to the great satisfaction of the cheering crowd.
      After this the Dwarf puppet was pitted against five tall men in a tug-of-war. The men grunted and strained while the Dwarf stood unmoving. Then with a single heave the Dwarf yanked on the rope and the other puppets were tossed through the air into the crowd. Again the audience roared with laughter while Burak, himself chuckling, turned bright red with embarrassment. Many in the crowd had seen the Dwarf compete earlier in the day and now they urged him to take the stage. Reluctantly he did so, bowing low several times with a humble smile as the audience cheered. When he descended again the Elflings laughed most merrily, for although the play had been quite entertaining, funnier still did they find it to see their friend embarrassed so at the dramatisation of his athletic exploits.
      Now there appeared upon the stage a group of tiny puppet archers, some tall and some rather short in stature. The tall ones plied their tiny bows and exclaimed that they had all missed their targets by a mile whereupon the shorter puppets took their turn and it was proclaimed that all of their shafts had flown true. The target was moved further back and the performance repeated with identical results. Finally when the target had been removed fully to the edge of the stage a pale moon again appeared overhead and now the shorter archers made as if to shoot their projectiles at the moon. At an exclamation from the puppeteers that the shots had struck true a hand was seen knocking the moon from its place as it died from its wounds. This led to accusations of murder among the puppets, who then went about beating each other over the head with their bows and shooting each other in the rear end.
      It was of course the Elflings’ turn for embarrassment, though like the Dwarf they took the jestful stagery with good humour. Now the Elflings were urged to take the stage and receive their due applause, which they happily did. Bowing low and waving, they then made toward the stair to descend. But when calls voiced the audience’s desire for a song the three companions after a quick consultation with one another took again to centre stage and launched into a lively performance of The Little Men of Brechinairn , followed by a string of mirthful songs and vigorous jigs that had the audience nearly in stitches.
      By the time they had sung and danced themselves nearly into exhaustion the crowd had swelled into a massive throng. To many protests the Elflings finally insisted on leaving the stage. Coming down to the crowd they were met by Raavan and Alatar with Burak and Kalea, all of them smiling broadly and congratulating the Elflings on a performance well delivered.
      Raavan then stooped to them and said, ‘Allow me to introduce you to someone now,’ whereupon he led them to the back of the crowd while a crew of jugglers took the stage. Raavan led the companions to a fine coach beside which stood an important looking man and a finely dressed woman. The man was dressed in a highly decorative armour that appeared better suited for court than actual battle. At his side hung a scabbarded sword with an intricately detailed and richly jeweled pommel. On his breastplate was etched the sign of a Gryphon holding an undulating banner in one forepaw and a sword in the other. But what the companions found most impressive was the man’s face, for though he was tall and proud, he had the look of an honest man, and an intelligent one. They took to him immediately.
      ‘Talen, Burak, Falco, and Dannadar,’ said the wizard as he gestured to each of the four companions, ‘it will please you to meet His Lordship Cenedain, Regent of Greycastle.’
      The Regent met the companions with a smile, as did his kind wife, Maril. The charismatic leader shook their hands and then informed the Elflings that he had found their regalement to be most enjoyable. This both pleased the Elflings and humbled them, for had they known that such a distinguished observer was in the audience they would perhaps have not given such a silly and sprightful performance. Yet, they were pleased to know that Raavan thought them important enough to introduce them to the Regent, and it went some way toward dispelling their growing feeling that they were little more than extra baggage on Raavan’s all-important quest.
      Excusing himself from their company the Regent now moved through the crowd with two knights and took the stage, where he raised a large goblet to the cheering Greycastlers and drank to the continued health and prosperity of the kingdom. His words were brief, for he was not an overly loquacious man, yet the people received him with great cheer, for they loved their Regent as he were a king.
      He was just finishing up with a final blessing on the land and its people when there arose a disturbance on the left side of the crowd. The Regent paused as the throng parted to make way for a person hurriedly approaching the stage. Reaching the stairs a wide-eyed young man grasped the railing and caught his breath before shouting: ‘The White Lady! The White Lady is come, and she bears tidings most dire!’
      There was immediate panic. People began to flee every which way. Quickly the Regent and his knights followed the curly haired youth from the stage and east toward the Aglathrin with Raavan and the other companions following as well as ever they could in the general pandemonium that now had taken over. A few short minutes later they found themselves at the river, where the Regent and his retinue stood apprehensively on the bank. Over the water hovered the disembodied form of a white lady of extreme but cruel beauty. She did not speak, for already she had delivered her message, but now the spectre began slowly to sink back into the water from whence it came, silent but yet dreadful to behold. Not a soul was present who did not feel chilled at the very sight.
      The Regent turned to Raavan and said, ‘What little doubt thou hast left me hath verily been allayed, but I fear that thou mayest be too late, wizard friend. The White Lady foretelleth of a catastrophic battle and vast numbers of dead. And her words hath ever borne the terrible fruits of truth.’