Chapter 8

They followed the tall stranger as far as the storage cellars and then they fell back to an antechamber and waited a bit as a precaution to guard against discovery. When they deemed it safe to do so they slipped up the stairs to the ground level of the castle and quickly made their way toward their rooms where they hoped desperately to find Raavan. Instead of the wizard, however, they found Kalea, who just happened to be calling on the Elflings and was disappointed to find them gone. Yet, her delight at their sudden return was quickly replaced by concern as she saw from their complexion that something was sorely amiss.
      ‘Have you seen Raavan?’ Talen asked the fair dame.
      ‘I have not,’ she replied. ‘Sir Talen, what is it that troubles thee? Prithee, wilt thou not tell me what hath transpired that could so disquiet thou and thy companions? I fear that some terrible revelation lurketh beneath these grim countenances.’
      ‘We were following one of the cooks in the basement,’ said Talen.
      ‘The basement?’ repeated the young lady. ‘Whatever were you doing there?’
      ‘That’s another story,’ replied Talen. ‘But Falco overheard a conversation between the cook and a dark stranger, a robed figure who appeared to have come from outside the castle through an underground passage.’
      ‘How strange,’ commented the girl. ‘And prithee, what was the nature of the conversation which thou didst overhear, Sir Falco?’
      ‘They were discussing the Regent’s meals,’ said Falco hesitantly, ‘—when he took dinner, what was his favourite wine, and of what courses he was most apt to partake. And they discussed dosages.’
      ‘Dosages?’ repeated Kalea. ‘Of what dost thou speak? My father hath taken no medicines this past year that I can recall.’
      ‘Dosages of poison,’ replied Falco reluctantly. ‘They are planning to assassinate your father the Regent.’
      The girl sat quickly on the edge of the bed behind her, all colour having left her face and a dizzy look showing in her eyes. The Elflings made her lie down for a moment to catch her breath, for they feared she would faint otherwise. She could not be kept down long, however, for her father’s life was in danger. Once she had regained her composure she was resolute in her insistence that they act at once, for she knew that her father was accustomed to take a cup of wine in the evening, especially at the end of the week.
      The four of them set out at once for the Regent’s study, the place in which the hard-working statesman was most likely to be found at this hour. When they arrived at the study they were relieved to find both Cenedain and Raavan present, but their relief suddenly turned to alarm when they saw that the two men were part way through a bottle of spirits.
      ‘Do not drink the wine!’ warned Talen.
      ‘It is a bit late for that,’ replied the wizard, noting the alarm in Talen’s voice. ‘What is the matter?’
      ‘The wine may be tainted,’ answered Talen.
      ‘Nonsense!’ replied the wizard. ‘This is the best wine in Greycastle.’
      ‘We have overheard one of the servants plotting against the Regent,’ explained Talen. ‘Falco listened in while he received instructions on placing a deadly poison into his food and drink.’
      Now Falco related all that he had heard of the conversation between the despicable cook and the hooded stranger in the basement. They all listened with displeasure as the Elfling recounted as much of the conversation as he could remember.
      ‘Well, this wine at least is safe,’ said Raavan. ‘I bought it in town myself, just this evening. But we must get quickly to the root of this treasonous plot. Can you describe the persons involved?’
      The Elflings described the loathsome cook in vivid detail, leaving nothing from their account.
      ‘Kalmaar,’ said Cenedain. ‘The new assistant in the kitchens.’
      ‘How new?’ asked Raavan.
      ‘Two weeks,’ replied the Regent. ‘He replaceth Makarne, who was found murdered in the East Quarter last month.’
      ‘Interesting,’ said Raavan. ‘Well, I think we should have a pleasant little chat with this Kalmaar.’
      ‘Knowest thou how to properly deal with these insurgents?’ asked Cenedain.
      ‘I have some little experience in these matters,’ Raavan assured the Regent. ‘I think in this case we would be well served by offering the good cook a refreshing draught.’ With that, the wizard drained his goblet.
      ‘Most certainly,’ said the Regent sternly. Clapping his hands he summoned the two knights who stood outside the study and instructed them to turn out the guard in search of Kalmaar.
      ‘We will confront this rogue soon enough,’ promised the Regent. And that they did, for before ten minutes were up the stinking wretch was dragged before the Regent and questioned. A search of his person did not turn up any suspicious articles, however, so the entire retinue marched straightway to Kalmaar’s room, and there Raavan and one of the guards searched high and low for the poisonous agent while the swarthy man was seated by the window and guarded by a pair of firmly-held halberds.
      The search did not take long. From a box in the closet Raavan produced a small phial containing a clear, scentless liquid, which Kalmaar eyed fearfully when it was held out toward him. He of course denied that it was poison, saying instead that this was a sacred ointment from his homeland in Mornea, and was to be used only for anointing communicants during sacred rituals. It was to be placed on the hands, or on the feet, never imbibed. To drink it would surely cause someone to become ill.
      ‘I am sure a tiny sip won’t kill you,’ insisted Raavan. ‘And if you were to become ill, then I am confident your benevolent employer would excuse you from your duties for a day or two. I doubt he will be so sympathetic if you refuse.’
      ‘Drink, or reveal your confederates,’ ordered Cenedain.
      The moustached man brought the open phial to his lips with a shaky hand, his eyes darting every which way as he sought an escape from his uncomfortable predicament. Suddenly he dropped the tiny vessel, seemingly by accident, and then stretching as if to retrieve the phial as it rolled across the floor he suddenly sprang to his feet and brandished the wooden chair before him as protection against the halberds that moved now ever closer. Raavan quickly scooped up the phial as its contents leaked out onto the stone floor, but as he did so the cornered man dropped his chair and jumped headlong out the open window. It was several seconds before they heard his body strike the ground four stories below. The would-be assassin was dead.
       
       
      In the morning they breakfasted together, Raavan and the Elflings and the Regent’s family. Many blessings were bestowed upon the meek Elflings for their role in uncovering the assassination plot.
      ‘Truly do I owe you my life,’ said Cenedain. ‘I and very likely my family. We all owe you a tremendous debt of gratitude.’
      ‘Not at all,’ replied Talen humbly, and he was echoed by Dannadar and Falco.
      ‘There is still the matter of the robed figure,’ said Raavan. ‘Have you any notion of who this instigator might be?’
      ‘I haven’t a clue,’ answered Cenedain.
      ‘Well, we may get some clues when Alatar returns,’ said the wizard. ‘He should be back this morning.’
      After breakfast Raavan and the Elflings mounted their steeds and rode out of the city toward Grey’s Ferry. There would be no training this day for the Elflings as it was Saturday. Today they would instead spend their time at the smithy with Raavan and Burak, for this was the day that the Dwarf would finally attempt to repair the broken sword, all the necessary preparations having been completed and the needed materials gathered.
      After taking the ferry across to the eastern side of the river they rode about a mile north along the bank till they came to a small village. In the back of this hamlet just within a small wood was the smithy. Here they found Burak and the blacksmith Leibm hard at work. So hot was the fire that they stoked and so loud the banging of metal against clanging metal that the Elflings found it very uncomfortable within the smithy and they soon decided to seek entertainment outside.
      They ventured first into the wood, which they found rather delightful. The early rays of sunlight filtering in at the margins lit the browns and greens of the wood with vivid colour and crisp contrast. The smell of the fresh air livened their hearts like nothing else. Presently they began to hear the echoing song of the wood thrush and the rapid drumming of woodpeckers. The wood was alive, and they could sense its energy. Druadaneth this was not!
      They wandered for a time, collecting nuts and other oddments they encountered on the forest floor and talking quietly amongst themselves.
      ‘You do realise that if Burak finishes the sword today we will be leaving Greycastle,’ said Falco.
      ‘Yes,’ replied Talen.
      ‘I am going to miss Kalea,’ said Dannadar.
      ‘We all will,’ said Talen. ‘And the others as well—the Marquis, Captain Palin, Kvelta—there really are some very dear people here. Little did I think when we set out from Laurelindor that the best part of our adventures would be the making of new friends along the way. Yet, parting is such a sad prospect.’
      ‘That’s why we have to go,’ said Falco. ‘The armies of Entira must be gathered for the resistance against Silgoth, or all these people will be subjugated by the will of the Deathlord.’
      ‘I know,’ said Talen. ‘But it’s good that we had a chance to rest and to meet some of the warriors who will be fighting alongside us. I feel much better now knowing that these gallant and formidable knights will be joining us in the coming battle.’
      ‘You can say that again,’ said Dannadar.
      As noon approached they ventured into the village in search of some lunch, but no victuals were to be found, for there were no shoppes or taverns, it being only a tiny hamlet on the outskirts of a major city.
      Outside a small house they encountered an old man drinking a cup of tea on his doorstep, a long cane laid at his side.
      ‘Hello, my wee younglings,’ said the man.
      ‘Hello,’ returned Talen.
      ‘Prithee, tell me from whence dost thou come, for I’ve not seen thy like before, unless ye be Elf children come from the Great Forest out of the east.’
      ‘No, we are Elflings,’ said Talen, ‘and we come from far over the mountains, in northern Aresse.’
      ‘Indeed,’ mused the man as he gazed in wonder at the Elflings. ‘First a Dwarf, and now Elflings. Our little town hath rarely seen so many strange faces all at once. Another sign of the times, I suppose.’ The elderly man took another sip of his tea.
      ‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Talen.
      The man replied, ‘O, there be changes ahead, I am afeared. Oft do I proclaim it, yet alas: little heed do men give to an old prating knave , as it were. Takest thou the Hyelpia for example.’
      ‘The what?’ asked Talen.
      ‘Knowest thou not of the winged horse, the Hyelpia of the West?’ asked the old man.
      ‘Does such an animal really exist?’ asked Talen.
      ‘Aye, my friend, it does,’ replied the other. ‘But ’tis a rare beast, and rarer still are they set to become. Word cometh now that Nahtar, the grand Hyelpion stallion who hath lived for centuries in the fields of far western Arnedia hath departed for Mornea, and there are whispers that the other Hyelpia have begun to follow suit.’
      ‘Fascinating,’ mused Dannadar.
      ‘But why would they leave?’ asked Falco.
      ‘The reavers,’ answered the old man: ‘Goblyns and Ghakhen. They raid the villages to the north and east. Mayhap they will strike here next. The Hyelpia sense their coming. They are leaving Entira before the spawn cover all the land with their vile pestilence. Verily I say, O young masters, dire times are ahead!’
      ‘Quite,’ said Talen, who harboured little interest in this conversation on a fine day such as it was. The other Elflings were similarly inclined and indeed would rather find something to eat just then than talk.
      ‘Will ye take some tea, my wee friends?’ asked the man. ‘Tea and biscuits? Or some nice scones, perhaps?’
      ‘Tea and biscuits and scones sound delightful,’ said Dannadar eagerly. The others agreed.
      ‘Tea and biscuits and scones it is, then!’ answered the old man, and with much effort and groaning he took up his cane and made his slow way into the house, aided by the Elflings. Soon they all were sitting again on the front steps drinking tea and partaking gratefully of the old man’s generosity.
      Amandon was his name, and the Elflings spent much of the afternoon sitting and talking with him. He taught them much about life in Arnedia, and about Arnedians, for he had been one himself for close on seventy years. Through talking with him the Elflings learned much about the beliefs and values of these people. Amandon explained to them that the strong desire all young Arnedian men have to become warrior knights could be traced to the belief that if a warrior lived a virtuous life and died for a noble cause then Angwë would revive him on Resurrection Day at the end of time to fight in his army of light against the hordes of the underworld. The outcome of that last battle was not preordained, but it was written in the stars that should the legions of Angwë triumph, then all who joined him would receive his eternal blessing and enjoy the bliss of a prosperous afterlife.
      He also confessed that while the foregoing were undeniably true, it was clear that Arnedians fostered their share of superstitions, especially regarding witchcraft and the practise of the black arts. For example, he pointed to the horseshoes nailed to the front door of every house (including his own) and explained that these were purported to protect the inhabitants from the power of witches and warlocks, and from black cats and other unlucky portents.
      For their part, the Elflings entertained the old man with a great many tales of their own, and as they parted company from him in the late afternoon he was compelled to admit that he had not had such a delightful group of guests for tea in many years. They in return thanked him many times over for the several cups of tea and the not-so-few biscuits and buttered scones which they had devoured during their enjoyable visit.
      When they returned to the smithy they found that they had come just at the right time, for not only had Burak and Leibm finally finished their painstaking task, but also Alatar and Cenedain had only moments ago rode in, the latter having been asked by Raavan to visit the smithy at about dinner time. Soon they all were engaged in admiring the Dwarf’s handiwork. The blade appeared virtually unblemished, a truly stunning achievement for Burak, and surely the crowning one of his career as a craftsman.
      Cenedain took the blade in his hands and wondered at its beauty. ‘Nifredir, Sword of the West. ’Tis humbling to hold in my hands the very blade which hath been the determinant of royal worth throughout Arnedian history. Surely this is cause for celebration.’
      ‘Ah, but there is one thing that yet remains,’ said Raavan, ‘and that is the real reason I have asked you to come, your Lordship.’ At this the wizard bade Cenedain to have his guards wait outside, which he did, and also the smith Leibm was given his due payment and sent home. All the doors and windows of the smithy were shut up, and all lights but one small candle were extinguished, so that it was now quite dark in the shoppe.
      Now Raavan produced a book from his pack and set it by the candle so that he could read from it in the dim light. On his right stood Cenedain, Nifredir drawn and blade held upright by the Regent, while Alatar stood to Raavan’s left. At a word from the wizard Alatar drew Noromendor from its sheath and the sword glowed a fiery green all along the length of its blade. As Raavan began to read aloud from the book in a strange tongue the two men were instructed to point their weapons toward the sky and to align them along the flat of the blade, so that in the dim light they appeared almost to be but a single sword.
      Raavan continued to read from his spellbook, his hands gesticulating all the while, waving now over the lengths of the blades, now over the forms of the two men at his sides whom the watchers now saw in the darkness to be remarkably similar in both build and appearance.
      Suddenly a flicker shone midway down the length of Nifredir where the blade had been broken, followed by a shower of sparks in the same place, and then lo! with a flash of light and a puff of smoke there suddenly blazed forth along the length of the blade a fiery red glow, not a simple incandescence, but a living flame within the blade itself like unto the green fire of Noromendor.
      ‘Gentlemen,’ said Raavan, ‘behold Nifredir, the Red Flame, and Lord Cenedain, King of Greycastle.’
       
       
      In the morning the companions broke their fast one last time with Kalea, Kvelta, Maril, and Cenedain. The night before they had held a very private celebration amongst themselves in light of the recent developments with the sword, and much of the attendant excitement was still in evidence this morning. Talen looked round the table at the smiling faces and knew then that he would look back on this time longingly in the not-so-distant future.
      After breakfast Cenedain presented gifts to all the members of the party. To the Elflings he presented fine shields and helmets bearing royal Greycastle heraldry marking them as high protectors of the realm . He also passed on to them new quivers full of properly-sized arrows for the small folk which had been sent them from Captain Palin. To Burak he gave a priceless ruby necklace on a thick gold chain, an heirloom that had been in his family for hundreds of years. Though the Dwarf tried to convince Cenedain that no payment was required for his services, the soon-to-be King of Greycastle insisted that the Dwarf take the piece, for as the Regent said, ‘Thou hast bestowed upon me more than any normal man hath the right to expect, and for that, and in hopes of establishing greater future interchange between our respective kingdoms, I offer thee this gift and beg that thou dost accept both it and my truest friendship.’
      Finally, to all the companions Cenedain presented new cloaks of grey and red matching the livery of the royal staff and with insignias marking them as friends of the realm .
      After this they gathered their things and prepared to leave. Kalea embraced each of the Elflings and gave them a kiss on the forehead to bring them safety on their journey. As they mounted up, Cenedain assured Raavan that he would journey to Valassea over Harvestmas for the war council.
      One more round of good-byes and they finally were off. Riding north out of the city they crossed over the Aglathrin at Grey’s Ferry and headed south along the river, leaving Greycastle behind.