Chapter 10

Raavan did not remove their spell until they were well away from the cavern entrance, at the niche behind the boulder. Here they donned again their coats and helmets and their various weapons and began to make their slow way back down the mountainside.
      Talen found that he was quite relieved to be visible once again, for he had found it a most uncanny experience to be unable to see his own hand before his face in broad daylight. It would occur to him later that had Raavan been killed by the Dragon the spell might have remained fixed permanently in place, leaving him invisible for the rest of his life. How terrible! he thought. I would be no more than a voice on the wind, a ghost to startle and haunt those round me; an abomination even to myself . He decided he did not want to be put under any more spells, even by his good friend Raavan, and his mind was quite made up on the matter.
      It took them longer to climb down the mountainside than it had to climb up it, for the inexperienced climbers were looking down most of the time and the dizzying height gave them greater pause. Also, Talen’s knees were still wobbly from the terrifying encounter with the Dragon and this slowed him down a bit as well. When they reached the cave by the mossy crag they found Dordrü comfortably napping within. The Dwarf then went before them, showing them the way down again and patiently waiting at each awkward spot for his inexpert fellows to follow.
      By the time they had finally returned to the grove where their companions anxiously awaited them it was late afternoon and soon the light would be starting to fade from the winter skies. Though the others were eager to hear the details of their encounter in the beast’s lair, Raavan insisted that they resume their westward trek at once so that they could at least cover some ground before dark. There would be plenty of time later to satisfy their curiosity.
      Dordrü decided to continue with them as far as Thorwald, for it seemed all but certain that the Sochail Pass was in enemy hands, and he would have to wait for his compatriots from Mornaru to retake it before he would be able to rejoin them. He would instead wait at Thorwald for word to arrive from his people that their armies had begun the march for distant Tath, at which time he would join in the advance. In the meantime he would aid King Baradren’s generals in planning their own part in the assault, sharing with them what details of Baaragh’s forces and strategy he was able.
      They continued on past dark, covering some four more miles before halting for the night. They camped in a small dell next to a great block of granite that thrust crookedly out of the ground. Here they made a fire in the lee of the sheltering rock, and round it they sat, munching variously on a wafer of Oromenna or Melimbar, each to his own tastes.
      Raavan then recounted for them what had transpired within Thorodrim’s den.
      ‘There are other drakes in these mountains,’ said the wizard with a shrug when he had concluded his tale. ‘I am sure Baradren can point us toward one or two of them.’
      ‘But are you sure you want to go through that experience all over again?’ said Berethir. ‘From your account it doesn’t sound like a very auspicious undertaking.’
      ‘It sounds downright suicidal to me,’ said Burak.
      ‘Dragons are not all the same,’ insisted Raavan. ‘Thorodrim is a relatively young drake, and not a very well brought up one, either. My guess is that he probably migrated here from Hellon and has had little or no contact with men other than during meals. If we can find a drake that is older, perhaps even one that was apprenticed to a mage or a wizard, we might have a better chance of enlisting his help and that of any members of his tribe that he can recruit. Even one or two of their kind could give our allies significant advantage in battle.’
      ‘But I thought we didn’t need to win the battle,’ said Falco. ‘Why bother taking unnecessary chances?’
      ‘What do you mean?’ said Berethir.
      ‘I thought the allied assault on Tath was merely a ruse to distract Silgoth while we infiltrate Hélethrôn,’ said Falco. ‘Once we have dispatched Silgoth and severed the Thread, won’t his armies give up the fight?’
      ‘Some of them may, yes,’ answered Raavan, ‘but certainly not all. And if we should manage only to prevent the Unsundering without actually destroying Silgoth then the onslaught will likely go on unabated. Either way, we cannot just leave the fighting to our brethren if help can be found, for they are far outnumbered and will sustain terrible losses at the hands of the spawn.
      ‘What exactly is this Thread?’ asked Dordrü.
      ‘The Thread, we believe, is a spiritual link of sorts,’ answered Raavan, ‘a disembodied reservoir, or channel, from which the Deathlord can draw his power. Some have speculated that it acts something like reincarnation, that every new Deathlord is but an embodiment of the Thread in a new form, which would help to explain why every few thousand years the nations have been brought together in a Great War against a dark, unspeakable power. If the thread merely reconstitutes itself in a different form when the old one is destroyed, then overthrowing Silgoth will merely postpone the inevitable cataclysm yet another millennium. Of course, this is largely speculative.
      ‘We do know that the Unsundering is the procedure which allows a Deathlord to access the core resources of the Thread. The only Deathlord thought to have achieved the Unsundering is Omenaton, and as a result of his researches he was rendered far more powerful than even Silgoth is now.
      ‘Were the free peoples of Entira pitted against the likes of Omenaton it is certain that all would be utterly destroyed. That is why our mission must not fail. In just over two weeks the Day of Darkness will come, when the light of the sun is blotted out by the moon and the window of the heavens that connects our world with the next will be open. During that brief moment Silgoth will have the opportunity to perform the Unsundering, and it is all but certain that he will. That is when we must strike, for then will he be the most vulnerable.’
      ‘I see,’ said Dordrü thoughtfully. ‘And about this sword which Falco carries: how certain are you that it is the one to which the prophecy refers?’
      ‘We are not certain at all,’ answered Raavan. ‘Indeed, as I mentioned this morning, we don’t know for sure whether the prophecy even applies to us, or to Silgoth, or to anything, for that matter. The visions of seers and seeresses are often useful as general guides, and on occasion they even prove to be highly accurate depictions of events to come—but not often.’
      ‘May I see the sword, Falco?’ asked Valainis.
      ‘Of course,’ said Falco as he handed the blade to the Elf.
      Valainis inspected the runes on the sword very carefully, holding the blade at angles to catch the firelight. Presently he spoke: ‘Here is the insignia of Valainator, my ancestor. Much power was infused into this blade. And I do sense something strange about it, though I cannot say precisely what it is at the moment. I can tell you its name, however. It is written here: Athrónath.’
      ‘That cannot be,’ said Raavan.
      ‘See for yourself,’ said the Elf, passing the blade to the wizard.
      ‘I inspected these runes at Valassea,’ said the wizard, ‘but it seems my Eldarin has gotten a bit rusty. Athrónath it is.’
      ‘What is signified by the name Athrónath?’ asked Burak.
      Valainis answered, ‘In the Old Kingdom, before the fires of Mount Gwiniath consumed the fair land of Evershade, there were three duchies, each ruled by an Elf Lord who possessed one of these three swords: Athrónath, Úvandil, and Hêligod. It was thought that the swords perished with their owners when the mountain blew itself apart, yet rumours told of secret expeditions back to Evershade to reclaim the lost talismans. Some have it that it was Hêligod which later slew the witch queen, Velima, and there were whisperings that Úvandil had fallen into the hands of a necromancer who tried to use it to see into the mind of Angwë but was driven mad and threw himself onto the blade. Yet, nothing had I heard of Athrónath till today.’
      ‘This is a most unexpected revelation,’ said Raavan as he handed the blade back to Valainis.
      ‘Yes,’ agreed the Elf, ‘for it means that the old hag’s vision, if it is indeed prescient, very likely depicts the fate of this very blade and of the one who wields it.’
      ‘Why do you say that?’ asked Burak.
      ‘Because the forgings of Valainator’s Three were completed at special times during the year,’ replied the Elf, ‘at which time their enchantments also were set: Úvandil at summer solstice, Hêligod at winter solstice, and Athrónath during a noon eclipse.’
      ‘That is very interesting,’ mused Alatar.
      ‘What fascinates me,’ said Berethir, ‘is that there were three of those swords. There also are three of these Swords of Power that Alatar and Cenedain and Telurin now wield. Isn’t it odd that in both cases there are three?’
      ‘Three is a powerful number,’ said Valainis. ‘It is written in the stars that the number three in this world corresponds to seven in the previous world, and to thirteen in the next. In this way, the three worlds are connected by invisible strands, the purpose of which has not been fully revealed to us. That is why it troubles me, Raavan, when you express hope that the Thread can be severed, evil though that strand may be, for that there would be serious repercussions in the other worlds cannot be doubted.’
      ‘This I know,’ said the wizard, ‘and it has been gnawing at the back of my mind for some time now. Yet, the Kastairi believe that it is a concern which should be considered secondary to all others in this matter, for if the gods won’t intercede on our behalf, then the mortals cannot be expected to protect their lofty designs.’
      ‘Let us hope the gods think as you do,’ said Burak.
       
       
      For the next two days they travelled westward along the edge of the mountains. Though the snow limited their pace significantly they prefered to follow a direct line toward Thorwald rather than travel the extra thirty miles south to the main road and then back again when they neared the Dwarvenholt. Also, they were concerned that a larger force may be sent from Tath to reinforce the spawn at Sochail and it was deemed likely that any such detachment would use the main road.
      Sticking so close to the mountains did involve its share of dangers, however, for many wild Troells and Oghors lived in those mountains. Though the party encountered no Troells, they did spy the odd Oghor lumbering along here and there. Fortunately, none were close enough to make a rush on the party. These beasts were large and muscular, with big, dumb faces bordered by massive jaws below and a tiny brow above. Though they carried with them nothing more sophisticated than a wooden club, their sheer strength warranted keeping a healthy distance.
      The companions also spied wolves, though these were no danger to the party, for they preyed only on wildlife and had come to fear men. Unlike the grey wolves of Merethir, these wolves were uniformly white, so that they blended in quite well with the surrounding snow.
      On the morning of the second day it began to snow. It continued heavily all day, once again limiting their view of the surrounding landscape, and then died down somewhat just before evening. It was at this time, just as the skies were darkening, that they arrived at Thorwald, the easternmost Dwarvenholt in Tolor. This was the domain of King Baradren, whom all in the party were urged not to offend if they wished to keep their heads attached to their bodies. It was explained that the Dwarven king had a short temper and could be relied upon to lose it several times during their stay. Talen decided that he would keep his mouth firmly shut during their entire visit.
      Thorwald appeared quite different from Mornaru, at least from the outside, for it had the appearance of a castle emerging from the living rock of the mountain. An outer courtyard was bordered on two sides by great arms of the mountain and on a third side by a massive outer wall. On either side of the front gate stood two lofty towers from which sentries kept watch over the surrounding lands. The castle itself took the form of a four-storey façade that merged directly into the sheer rock.
      They were admitted at once, for Dordrü was well known to the guards. Immediately upon entering Talen noticed that Thorwald was quite a bit grander than the other Dwarvenholts he had seen, for its dimensions and level of ornamentation were consistently in excess of what would reasonably be expected of a prosperous Kâlandelf. The ceiling of the main hallway down which they were now led was fully twice as high as that at Mornaru, and nearly three times that at the Belling Hills. The walls were carved and sculpted with the most intricate artwork, and in the many chambers which opened onto this passageway he saw a glimpse of yet grander architecture and ornature.
      The place also was exceptionally clean and well-lit, as if there were a constant and conscious effort to make the very grandness of Thorwald everywhere apparent and nowhere hidden. The eye had rarely to strain to see any detail, up high or down low, though everywhere one looked there was much to see and barely time to see it all.
      Baradren’s court was surely the grandest chamber at Thorwald, for every wall and column was extensively sculpted and gilded over. All the metal fixtures were of solid silver, and even the floor featured intricate patternings that were inlaid with gold leaf. Many lanterns hung from the ceiling on long, silver chains, providing more than ample illumination to this remarkable chamber.
      Upon an intricately gilded throne sat Baradren, king of Thorwald. He was richly dressed in an impressively ornamented suit of Dwarven armour and upon his head sat an elaborate helmet of black steel that featured two great horns projecting straight upward. The king himself appeared very rugged, with a weather-worn face and a bushy grey beard that hid all but his lower lip. His piercing eyes were accented by a cruel-looking V-shaped brow.
      Before him stood three Dwarven warriors who appeared to be giving a report of some engagement or other that had recently taken place. The king did not look pleased.
      ‘Raavan,’ said the king in recognition when he saw the wizard approach, his seven companions in tow.
      ‘King Baradren,’ said Raavan with a slight bow.
      ‘Know you that Goblurs and Ghakhen have been wandering Tolor in sizeable numbers?’ asked the king. ‘My forces chopped a large band of them to bits this morning on the northern highway. And I doubt we have seen the last of them.’
      ‘Your doubts are well-placed, Your Highness,’ said Raavan.
      ‘Then why don’t you tell me what in Amgamman is going on?’ roared Baradren.
      Raavan appeared to be used to such vehement outbursts from the Dwarven king, for he launched unphased into a summary of the recent developments in Tath and elsewhere, ending with a description of their plan to steal into Hélethrôn and face Silgoth directly. Baradren listened patiently while the wizard spoke.
      ‘This is not good news,’ concluded the king.
      ‘No, Your Highness, it is not,’ agreed Raavan.
      ‘I am especially disturbed that all of your planning has proceeded without representation by any of the Tolorian kingdoms,’ complained Baradren.
      ‘As I said before, messengers were dispatched to all the leaders of the free lands, but unfortunately, many of them did not reach their destinations,’ said Raavan. ‘The passes over the Greywalls have mostly been taken by the enemy, so communication has become increasingly difficult.’
      ‘I see,’ said the king. ‘And know you any more of the situation at Druindor?’
      ‘I do not, Your Highness,’ answered Raavan. ‘The first news of the siege came to us some ten days ago, and we have heard nothing since.’
      ‘And what of Baaragh?’ asked the king. ‘When will his forces begin the march on Tath?’
      ‘Probably within the next two days,’ said Raavan. ‘According to Dordrü’s reckoning they should have reclaimed Sochail yesterday and will likely assail Foireách tomorrow. If Ceirdain has been successful in securing Penyandil and was able to meet Baaragh’s intended schedule for Foireách, both forces should be able to begin their journey toward Tath in perhaps two days’ time.’
      ‘Time is of the essence,’ said Baradren thoughtfully. ‘If you are correct about the coming eclipse and what may transpire at Kilu-kânan during that time, then no expense must be spared in commencing the assault.’
      ‘Without doubt, Your Highness,’ agreed Raavan.
      ‘Our first priority must be to aid our brethren at Druindor,’ said the king. Addressing one of the Dwarven warriors there, he continued: ‘General, have our forces ready to march out tomorrow. Arrange for the speediest deployment possible. As many must go mounted or by waggon as can be managed. Also, I want you to send a rider ahead to Dalathrôn with instructions to repeat all that has been said here today.’
      ‘Yes, My Lord,’ replied the Dwarf.
      ‘I want scouts sent throughout Malindor as well,’ continued the king. ‘We must ascertain the position of our allies in the south. According to Raavan they will be attempting to converge on Enediad, but we need to coordinate our own assault with that of the men and Elves, so timing is of the greatest import.’
      Obviously, there was much planning to do, and the Dwarves went right to it. Raavan and the others provided what information they could on the state of the allied armies and the strategies which had so far been formed. Baradren seemed as eager to go to war as had Baaragh, though his reasons were not as clear, for no collection of Goblyn heads was exhibited and no specific desires voiced for revenge or other such motivation. Yet, it was clear from the new light that appeared in Baradren’s eyes that some fire had been sparked within. Just what was behind it Talen could not guess, but he kept his mind and his ears open should any hint happen to fall.
      Eventually Raavan brought up his notion of soliciting help from the Dragons for the allied assault, but his proposal sparked no more enthusiasm here than it had at Mornaru.
      ‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Baradren. ‘You might just as well ask the Oghors, or the Giants. You will never find an honest Dragon to help you.’
      ‘It has been done before,’ insisted Raavan.
      ‘What will you offer them in return?’ demanded the king. ‘All they want is Dwarven gold, and there isn’t enough of that in the whole world to slake their greed.’
      ‘I think I can inspire one or two of them,’ said Raavan confidently, ‘but first I need to find their lairs. That is where I am hoping you can help us out.’
      ‘Surely,’ said Baradren, ‘I know of several drakes who will gladly roast you alive. You can take your pick. In whose belly would you like to be at this time tomorrow?’
      With a bit more effort Raavan was able to pry the information from the Dwarf king, though he was not able to obtain the king’s wholehearted approval. The locations of no fewer than four Dragons’ lairs were reluctantly pointed out on a map, though as before the party would need more detailed directions if they were to travel to any of them. Yet, Baradren had his price for this information.
      ‘I will provide you with a guide who can show you safely to any of these locations,’ said the king, ‘but he must accompany you to the very end of your mission.’
      ‘You mean to Hélethrôn,’ said Raavan.
      ‘Yes,’ replied Baradren. ‘Right up to the final task.’
      ‘The number of our company was specifically chosen to allow both for secrecy and strength,’ said Raavan. ‘Though I would gladly welcome the added might of a Dwarven warrior, I dare not swell the size of our party any further, for I deem it is already overlarge.’
      ‘Then you will have no guide,’ said the king resolutely.
      Raavan was clearly irked by this, for his face began to glow nearly as red as Falco’s enchanted sword, yet after much huffing and puffing he relented.
      ‘Very well,’ said the wizard. ‘But let there be no misunderstanding that it is I who leads this mission, and from whom all orders originate.’
      ‘Meledrü has no difficulty with authority,’ assured the king. ‘I think you will find him an invaluable addition to your company.’
      The Dwarf Meledrü was sent for immediately, as was dinner, for they all were quite hungry by then. Planning continued in another chamber filled with many tables and chairs where they could eat fresh bread and large chunks of warm beef while poring over detailed maps of Tolor and Tath. Along with the victuals were provided wine and mead, all in plentiful abundance, so that soon all tensions were eased and the work went along quite smoothly.
      Meledrü proved to be a very agreeable Dwarf, if somewhat grim, and was able to contribute much to the planning process. He was in fact very large for a Dwarf, being some eight inches taller than Burak and significantly bulkier. None were surprised when it was revealed that he prefered to wield a heavy broadsword rather than the typical Dwarven axe, for there was no doubt he could handle such a massive weapon.
      Their list of Dragons dwindled quickly as Meledrü shared with them his considerable knowledge of the drakes and their lairs. The first to be struck from the list was Halithren, a relatively sedate creature who unfortunately lived deep within the rugged Yultauron Mountains, some five days’ journey on foot from Thorwald. The second was Gulgoth, a black drake whose lair was much more accessible, but who was known to be one of the most ferocious drakes ever to blot the sky.
      About the other two rather less was known. Anwaith was the closer of the two, living in a cavern some eighty miles west of Thorwald. Though the mountains were especially rugged in that region, Meledrü had once guided a team of treasure hunters to the site who were able to climb to the lair without great difficulty. Unfortunately, they were promptly eaten, as Meledrü could attest from the shrieks of terror that echoed among the rocky crags as he waited outside.
      The last Dragon which they considered was a green drake who lived rather further away than the others. He resided within the ruins of an ancient city overlooking Cuimsitheoir Pass. None there knew his name.
      ‘Then, let us pay a visit to this Anwaith,’ suggested Raavan, ‘and if that proves fruitless we can try this other drake at Cuimsitheoir. Neither of them will take us out of our way, so the delay should be minimal.’
      ‘And what of your further route?’ asked Baradren.
      ‘I have not yet decided,’ said Raavan. ‘I am putting it off till later. For now, I have enough to occupy my mind.’
      ‘Indeed,’ said Baradren. ‘You have two Dragons to worry about as well as a journey of several hundred miles in freezing temperatures.’
      ‘It’s nothing I haven’t done before,’ sighed Raavan wearily.