Chapter 5

Northeast they rode, joined now by their Elven guides Taoren and Valataque. Sildin would be travelling with them no further as he had his regiments to prepare for the assault on Penyandil Pass, but he had wished the companions the best of luck, as had the king, for they both were well aware that their own fates depended much on the success of the party’s quest.
      Taoren and Valataque proved to be relatively quiet companions, though certainly amiable. They both were dressed entirely in green, from the green boots on their feet to the pointed green caps pulled snugly over their foreheads. On their hands they wore fingerless green gloves. Like all the other Elves Talen had ever seen they both were quite handsome, though being Itarien Elves their hair was very long and black, not golden like that of Valainis.
      After they had rode for some time Taoren informed them that they were now leaving the Livingrove, the section of Merethir which consisted primarily of teldarin trees and was roughly centred on the Meretree. Indeed, they saw that many firian and tumelya trees were now springing up to take the place of the teldarins , and before long the latter had become very rare indeed.
      The firian trees were tall and slender with rough bark mottled different shades of grey and leaves that were shaped like tear drops. Most of those leaves, however, now littered the forest floor, for the firians lost their leaves earlier than the teldarins . The tumelyas were coniferous trees with a deep red bark, large, stout trunks that stretched up into the sky, and exceptionally long needles.
      The part of the forest into which they now rode was known as the Larkwood, though as it was late in the year it was unlikely that they would see or hear any larks. Taoren told of how in the spring when the sunlarks returned, the forest would be filled with their intricate warbling song.
      It was this, told the Elf, which visitors to the wood invariably found to be the most enchanting aspect of Merethir. One could walk in the Larkwood on a spring or summer day listening to their uplifting melodies for hours on end, while time would stand still and hearts brimmed with joy and hope. Yet, in the fall the warbling songsters would head south to warmer climes, and then the Larkwood would be relatively silent again as the lonely trees waited through the long winter for the return of the sunlarks and their magical, warbling voices.
      The Larkwood was not entirely devoid of wild creatures, however, for the companions saw their share of woodpeckers and nuthatches and wrens and tits, and they even caught glimpses of several raccoons and a bear. Most surprising, however, was a red fox which came up and trotted beside the companions, for the fox seemed to know Valataque, and spoke to him thus:
       
      Tail of fire
      Burning bright
      Runs only in black of night.
       
      ‘A comet,’ said the Elf.
      ‘Very good!’ said the fox. ‘Now it is your turn. And pray, do not make it so easy this time.’
      ‘Very well,’ replied Valataque.
       
      Has no shadow
      Lives up high
      None can bear to meet her eye
       
      The fox considered this for a moment, then answered, ‘O, that is far too easy. The sun! Now try this one:’
       
      Sailing like a drop of sun
      Never will you see him run
      Hear his voice from miles away
      Yet, nothing does he ever say
       
      ‘I think that must be the sunlark,’ said the Elf.
      ‘You think right,’ said the fox. ‘Now one more for me, and then I will return to my hunting.’
      The Elf thought hard for a moment, then uttered a final riddle for the fox:
       
      Naked only when it’s cold
      In spring wears green, in autumn gold
      Like a king, stands tall and bold
      Holds the count of years untold
       
      ‘O, now you insult my intelligence,’ said the fox. ‘Surely you do not think you can trip up an old fox such as myself with this chestnut?’
      ‘Well, what is the answer?’ pressed the Elf.
      ‘Ahem,’ said the fox with slight indignation. ‘You will excuse me. I suddenly have a craving for the mice of the Meretree population.’
      With that the fox trotted off into the woods as Valataque with a chuckle watched him go. ‘I just love that old fox,’ said the Elf. ‘He always makes me laugh.’
      ‘How did he learn to talk?’ asked Talen with amazement.
      ‘All the foxes in Merethir have the gift of speech,’ answered Valataque. ‘Do not the foxes of Laurelindor speak also?’
      ‘No,’ answered Talen.
      ‘How strange,’ said the Elf. ‘Then again, perhaps they do speak, but only when you are not there to hear them.’
      Talen had no reply to this, for though he considered the possibility unlikely, he knew he could not be certain as there was no way anyone could sneak up on a fox and eavesdrop on him without his knowing. Not even an Elfling was stealthy enough to outwit a sly fox.
      The forest became somewhat denser not long after this and the land considerably more rough, so that their pace was slowed considerably. This part of the forest appeared wilder than that which they had yet seen, for the trail seemed to branch off less frequently and they encountered very few Elves. Many Elvenfolk still inhabited these parts Taoren assured them, though they did tend to be a bit more withdrawn than those living further south.
      Some ways ahead they would come to a modest waterway known as the Toadstream, and the Elves living in that part of the forest were among the most solitary in Entira. Very much like animals they were, frequently denning with bears and hunting with foxes. Yet, these still were Itarien Elves, for they spoke the same language and had a common lineage, and so they were afforded no less respect from their brethren to the south or to the north despite their differences.
      When evening was approaching the party were given a bit of a fright as a large animal jumped out from behind a wide tree to the side of the trail. The sound and the sudden movement startled them all so that they had reined in their steeds and were reaching for their weapons before they knew what it was that had so surprised them. Many in the party were familiar with this animal, however, for it was a common Wyvern.
      Grasping the branch with its long toes the reptile sat alertly in the tree to watch the companions with great interest. Its sharp eyes stared at them down the length of its long beak as the animal slowly folded its wings. With its long, muscular neck it shifted its head from side to side as rapidly its gaze wandered from one companion to the next, taking in their every detail and responding to their every move with a quick turn of the head and a narrowing or widening of the eyes.
      ‘Where does it go,’ said the Wyvern finally, ‘this pack of assorted peoples?’
      Raavan was nearest the creature and so it was he who responded. After the briefest moment to prepare his answer he said, ‘There is a Bad Evil that has risen in a distant land, and it threatens to bring darkness to all the lands, including this one.’
      ‘And prithee,’ said the Wyvern, ‘go you now to stop this Bad Evil?’
      ‘We go now to try,’ said Raavan.
      The Wyvern hopped to a closer branch to gaze at them all again with much curiosity, his head never resting as it turned this way and that to take them all in.
      Now Raavan asked the Wyvern a question: ‘Tell me, Little Dragon, is there a Big Dragon who yet remains in these parts that you can speak of?’
      ‘Big Dragons have gone,’ said the Wyvern. ‘Only Little Dragons remain. Why seek you a Big Dragon?’
      Raavan replied, ‘In the Great Wars of old, the Big Dragons helped us to stop the Bad Evils.’
      ‘Nnnnnnn, tic-tic-tic-tic-tic,’ said the Wyvern, ‘but it was the Bad Evil who took their fire. Now, gone is their fire. Gone are the Big Dragons. Have you fire enough to stop the Bad Evil?’
      ‘We have some fire,’ replied the wizard, ‘but we could use more.’
      ‘Then darkness comes,’ said the Wyvern.
      ‘It may,’ acknowledged Raavan.
      With that the reptile turned to hop from branch to branch back into the woods, disappearing after a time into a large cavity high up in the wide trunk of a tree.
      ‘If truly you seek a Dragon,’ said Taoren, ‘you will not find one in the Greywall Mountains. They have been gone for many years now.’
      ‘That’s what I thought,’ said Raavan, ‘but it never hurts to make sure. You’d be amazed at how much useful information the local wildlife will give you if you just ask them.’
      ‘You would indeed,’ said Falco under his breath.
       
       
      As nightfall came upon them they began to think about camping for the night. They now were coming into the region of the Toadstream and as such they would not easily find accommodations with the local Elves, for here the locals generally slept on the ground or curled up in a hole, or balanced themselves belly-up on a tree bough. The companions decided just to set up camp a short distance off of the trail.
      Quite by accident they chanced upon an opening beside a large and very ancient statue. So covered with leafy vines was it that at first they could not tell what manner of person or beast was represented. Walking round to the other side and clearing away a few vines they saw then what manner of creature this was.
      ‘Well,’ said Berethir, ‘here is your Dragon, Raavan!’
      ‘He’s a little on the small side,’ said Burak.
      ‘And he’s missing a wing,’ added Berethir.
      ‘That is Lhalfirion,’ said Taoren, ‘a Dragon who aided the allies during the Hélethrônium War against Uruvar. And I am sure he was much larger than that.’
      ‘Then, this is the Dragon you want,’ said Burak to Raavan.
      ‘Yes,’ said the wizard, ‘it would be nice to have Lhalfirion with us again. Unfortunately, he died long ago.’
      ‘Had he any descendents?’ asked Alatar.
      ‘That is a very good question,’ said Raavan, glancing at Taoren.
      ‘I know not,’ said Taoren. ‘I know only that his name goes with this statue, and that he was much revered for many years following the Great War. As I said before, no Dragons have lived in the Greywall Mountains, at least as far north as Foireách, for many lives of men. Whether there be any further to the north I cannot say.’
      ‘Certainly in the Yultauron Mountains,’ said Alatar.
      ‘Yes, it seems Tolor is the last domain of the Firedrakes in Entira,’ said Raavan.
      ‘Won’t we be going through Tolor anyway?’ asked Berethir.
      ‘We will certainly be passing through parts of Tolor, but how much of its extent we will be compelled to traverse will depend on whether Foireách is held by the enemy. If it is not, then I am planning to head for Thorwald or Dalathrôn—I have not yet decided which. In either case, we can at least run the idea past the Dwarves.’
      ‘They won’t like the idea,’ said Burak shaking his head.
      ‘No, I don’t expect they will,’ said Raavan, ‘but they don’t need to like it. They just need to realise that they have bigger enemies to contend with right now. And for that reason it would be good to have some bigger allies.’
       
       
      Their fire they built beside the statue of Lhalfirion. As they were in a forest there was no lack of firewood, and this was fortunate as it was turning into a very cold night indeed. They drank their hot lossara while nibbling on Oromenna cakes and speculating on the fate of the Greywall Dragons.
      ‘I still remember the days when the skies were filled with Dragons,’ said Raavan, ‘soaring on pinions wide. Those were wilder days, to be sure!’
      ‘And more dangerous, I would imagine,’ said Burak.
      ‘For some, yes,’ said the wizard. ‘Taoren, know you Erchaint ay Tatha Maechen Rhand ? It is long since I have heard that sung aloud, and only an Elven voice can render it properly.’
      ‘I know a few stanzas,’ replied the Elf, ‘perhaps half the song. I will sing you what I remember.’
      ‘In Tangwenyon, please,’ requested Raavan.
      ‘Of course,’ replied Taoren.
       
      Erchaint ay tatha maechen rhand
      Aladrim atha thil
      Angrim gelvellyn andel thlon
      Darth gannail estedril
       
      Athron echedinar pathuir
      Mathor gwestag eith bren
      Thant moerio, iathra linn
      Glinthel gilan athren
       
      Estadren linn iarwaith morch
      Erchaint ay maechen rhand
      Neledinor, celei thrim linn
      Cirio dhrim certhand
       
      Tewerian tortheri thil
      Nedhia bren agos
      Mallon aearono tammadas
      Deliant lamatlos
       
      Adlannadar hadon sammarth
      Cennas ith pathrion
      Drin Gwathuir egledhrond o’tharn
      Iaetho hadlannon
       
      Erein lenthangan gondrathen
      Aglonna erein thaint
      Cenedhu glinniach brethan
      Gwethron agos erchaint
       
      Egledhrond al rhethui brethad
      Esela Pennathar
      Sinnperad athron orthelis
      Gwathran belairn thambar
       
      Lagos rhovanneth, moeril rist
      Gannen achaen ganneth
      Nestathrado—atlanthir lhaint
      Dangerth rist mornedh breth
       
      Melchaenen gathro pennath lamm
      Barharem tavorn barth
      Eredir gannabon talag
      Canadar Gondrammarth
       
      Thorona gwestannen gollorn
      Narwaith ay alagan
      Talathra dangwedh orthas lef
      Fered nithryn tethan
       
      Torthas ay rodwaith lhamma narch
      Echedinar gellath
      Taladhron narch Mornediad
      Cenedhell galenath
       
      Elenas celerrim belais
      Andel idhrim crithren
      Athron pathral aphador eith
      Luithildin sorodben
       
      Atlanthir flossoth ladel rhaint
      Bathond danwedhi bren
      Earaeth lhimmida orodwen
      Galadha Ivannen
       
      Gladhrim hellen gollorn bathor
      Nestannen gwerin thlain
      Gado gaerui gorthas oerui
      Leithangado selain
       
      Nelchaen Dunaranadh onnath
      Tiriath elas harth
      Thelmuithil hebain, telerdain
      Aeglin ay Gwalonarth
       
      Moerio engrim iaetho
      Talag Sinnathrabeth
      Adlanthir Druadaneth mon
      Hitho aglo herveth
       
      ‘That is all I can remember,’ said Taoren.
      ‘That was beautiful,’ said Talen.
      ‘Thank-you,’ said Taoren.
      ‘It is a lay from the time when Dragons ruled the wild,’ said Raavan. ‘It tells of many heroes of the day, from Aladrim and his brother Estadren to the Elven queen Galadha Ivannen and her son Dunaranadh, who tamed the Dragon Gwalonarth. The Dragon bore the prince to distant Mornea to save the Elven princess Sinnathrabeth who had been abducted by the sorcerer Nestannen.’
      ‘It is nice to hear it sung in the heart of Merethir,’ said Alatar. ‘I have heard it performed elsewhere, but never so compellingly.’
      ‘Raavan,’ said Talen, ‘you mentioned the distant land of Mornea—is that not the place to which your brother has urged you to travel with all haste?’
      ‘It is,’ answered Raavan, ‘and no, I will not be putting aside the fate of Entira to find out what strange business my brother is investigating out in the middle of nowhere. Telion has drifted out of touch with reality these past years. All he can think of is his research, and little else seems to get through to him anymore.’
      ‘Your brother is a wizard, also?’ asked Berethir.
      ‘Yes,’ replied Raavan. ‘In fact, he is my senior by three years. He would be chief of the Kastairi except that he has a problem staying in one place for very long. It is very difficult to keep track of him.’
      ‘He has aided the Elves on several occasions,’ said Valainis.
      ‘O, he is a brilliant wizard,’ said Raavan. ‘Don’t get me wrong. Telion studies patterns in nature. It is a deep subject which few of the other Kastairi can even approach with his level of sophistication and mathematical rigour. Perhaps that is why we often fail to communicate well: his mind really is on an altogether different plane.
      ‘Erieth often disagrees with him, though—says many of the patterns Telion sees are spurious. I’m not sure which side of that argument I fall on. There is definitely a danger of reading too much into something, of seeing order which isn’t really there. It is often that way with the visions of seers, and prophetic dreams. What may seem like a foreshadowing very likely is often just a strange coincidence. But Telion believes there are meaningful patterns everywhere, that all the patterns are somehow connected into a coherent whole, and that we ourselves are no more than patterns that move through space and time.’
      ‘Wow,’ said Falco. ‘What do you think of that?’
      ‘It’s an intriguing idea,’ said Raavan.
      ‘Raavan, what about that painting by the seeress that Ceirdain showed us?’ asked Berethir. ‘Do you think that it is relevant to our quest?’
      ‘It is hard to say,’ said Raavan. ‘It is very tempting to assume that it is somehow relevant, but we still don’t even know exactly what it means. Does it mean that Falco is to somehow cleave the Thread with his Elven blade? And if so, then to what consequence? Or is it a warning for those who would dare interfere with the Thread, that the power of the Thread is much larger than our own? One cannot say. All we really have is a representation of a vision given to a woman long ago. It may have nothing to do with our situation, or it may be a scene that will come about regardless of our efforts one way or another; but to expect that it will somehow guide us or provide us with a vital clue is, I think, to hope for too much.’
      ‘Very interesting,’ said Berethir.
      ‘Ceirdain was rather impressed by it,’ said Talen.
      ‘Ceirdain is very wise,’ said Raavan: ‘likely wiser than myself. And for that reason I think we should not ignore the vision of the seeress. We do need to keep it in perspective.’
      ‘There have certainly been cases where it would have been better had the words of a seeress been ignored,’ said Valainis.
      ‘O, yes,’ said Raavan. ‘Tell them the story of Glindorn of Esgalvor.’
      ‘I think I’ve heard this,’ said Alatar.
      ‘Glindorn was an engraver,’ began Valainis, ‘who lived in the ancient city of Esgalvor, which you will not find on any modern map, for it no longer exists. Glindorn was retained by King Farannelind to work with the royal blacksmith in producing a fine sword for the king’s son, Prince Dannarel. His instructions were that the blade should be finer than any in the kingdom, and set with runes of power befitting the son of the most powerful king in the land.
      ‘Glindorn, knowing much of the art of engraving and little of the art of magical runes, consulted an old hag who lived in an alley near the wharves. The hag was a seeress known by the name of Ungorod. Ungorod provided Glindorn with an ancient book written in a strange, foreign language. Within the tome were contained many runes and strange devices, which to Glindorn all looked the same. The old hag advised that Glindorn reproduce these runes of power along the blade of the sword. She also prescribed that the words accompanying these runes within the book’s pages be uttered in ceremonial fashion upon presenting the blade to the prince.
      ‘All this Glindorn trustingly did, for though she was a hideous old witch, Ungorod’s remarkable power of foresight was widely respected and feared. Thus, when he presented the sword to the prince, Glindorn read from the ancient tome the words of power written there. As he did so the blade melted in the prince’s hand and with a sudden burst of flames there appeared a terrible demon fully as large as the king’s great citadel. The horrible creature ate all the people of Esgalvor as well as the ancient book of the seeress. Once he had utterly destroyed the city itself the demon burrowed into the earth and began digging his way back to the hot depths of Helh from whence he had been unwittingly summoned.’
      ‘The moral of the story is: don’t trust everything that a seer tells you,’ said Raavan, ‘even if sometimes she turns out to be right.’
      ‘That’s not the story I was thinking of,’ said Alatar. ‘I was thinking of Taelgellen, the king who had thirteen sons.’
      ‘O, the King of Esgaliad,’ said Raavan. ‘Different kingdom—but not very far from Esgalvor, actually.’
      ‘Tell us that one,’ said Talen.
      ‘There’s not much to tell,’ said Raavan. ‘Taelgellen was a good king, and he was blest with thirteen fine, strong sons. Unfortunately, they all wanted to inherit the throne, so they were constantly scheming against one another, and in the end, one way or another, they all died as a result of their own treachery. So, because his sons all killed each other Taelgellen had no heir, and when he died the crown passed to a cousin of the thirteen dead princes, who it turns out had done much to incite the brothers one against another. Gwaerlinn, I believe, was his name. Anyway, his line didn’t fare any better than that of Taelgellen, for of Gwaerlinn’s three sons, one was a simpleton who fell off a cliff and died, while the other two murdered their sister and their father, the king. They were executed, of course, and so then once again the kingdom had no ruler.’
      ‘Well, at least that kingdom didn’t get eaten by a demon,’ said Berethir with a laugh.
      ‘Yes, at least they had that to be thankful for,’ said Raavan.
       
       
      They woke to a very brisk morning, their breath showing white in the air, but once their bellies were full of Oromenna and hot tea they were ready to travel once again. They had not gone far before they came at last to the Toadstream, a wide creek that crossed the path heading eastward and only later turned south to wind its way toward the Svienya. Over this modest watercourse stretched an old, wooden bridge, which they soon had crossed and left behind.
      Another ten miles they went before the Larkwood finally came to an end, the firian and tumelya trees giving way to a species called the meriath , a type of birch having silver leaves and a smooth bark that was almost pure white in colour. Though deciduous, the meriath did not lose all of its leaves every year, so that although the forest floor was covered with silvery-brown leaf litter, overhead the canopy appeared as full as if it were spring.
      The effect of the sun’s rays reflecting on those shiny leaves was truly stunning, for the light was thereby distributed in roughly uniform fashion in every direction. Though this did make it very difficult to determine the position of the sun, so well was the forest understory illuminated by this effect of the leaves that all those who have walked there have afterward sworn that in no other place have they felt so fully bathed in the warm glow of the sun’s rays.
      The part of the forest to which they had now come was called the Whiteshade, and it was by far the most beautiful part of Merethir. Though the song of the sunlarks was surely divine, the warblers that inhabited the Whiteshade during the spring and summer months were as fully treasured by its inhabitants as were the sunlarks in the Larkwood. And whereas the sunlarks were but a single species of bird with a wonderfully rich repertoire of songs, the warblers of the Whiteshade were of many different species with a highly diverse range of plumages and repertoires. This and much more Taoren and Valataque shared with the companions regarding the wonders of the Whiteshade.
      They had travelled only a short distance into this bright, new part of the forest before the trees parted to reveal a wide lake of crystalline clarity. This cold water flowed down from the snow-covered peaks of the Greywall Mountains, and was held to be the purest water in all the land. As they stopped to top off their waterskins, those who had never partaken of the clear waters of Lake Kúvea remarked that it was indeed the sweetest water they had ever tasted.
      While the others filled the skins Alatar collected several types of herbs which were said to occur nowhere else in Entira. These were of use for medicinal purposes only, and the Elves instructed the man on their properties and application. Well he heeded their warning that these could instead act as deadly poisons if not applied properly.
      As they trotted along the edge of the lake the companions noticed that Airi now had several companions, for a number of owls followed along in the vicinity of the party. They played and hooted to one another, clearly enjoying themselves all the while. Often they would try to catch one another in flight or to displace their fellows from contested perches. The whole group of them went round and round in circles through the woods in a dizzying flurry of feathers. When finally the party had left the lake behind, the strange birds took their game off in another direction, leaving Airi to his earth-bound companions.
      Though they travelled as quickly as the forest would allow, still they were able to enjoy the beauty of the wood, and their hearts were uplifted by its effect. In early afternoon however a storm came up and a cold rain began to fall, softly at first, and then harder as the day wore on. Though the forest shielded them somewhat from the force of the storm, still the rain found its way through the canopy to the travellers below. By evening they were cold and wet and very much in need of a fire, though they were doubtful that one could be started.
      But the Elves were expert fire starters, and once they had decided to halt for the day it was only a short while before they had a respectable blaze going. They were glad the storm had passed, though still it was cold and the trees continued to drip on the company for some time. Also, the ground was wet, for much water had been dumped on it from the skies, but they laid out the tarpaulin in a curved fashion round the fire and did their best to stay warm and dry.
      ‘We must be very near the edge of Merethir by now,’ said Raavan.
      ‘Yes, we are,’ affirmed Taoren. ‘We are just barely within the wood. Another mile and we would be camping under its eaves.’
      ‘I hope we have not missed the riders from Foireách,’ said Raavan. ‘I do not wish to ride blindly into the pass with spawn about.’
      ‘They were instructed to return by the very path we have taken,’ said Valataque. ‘There is no way for us to have missed them. We will likely encounter them tomorrow on the road to the pass.’
      ‘What if they were ambushed?’ asked Talen. ‘I mean, if the pass is held by the enemy, then the spawn may have fallen upon the riders as they approached.’
      ‘It is a possibility,’ answered Raavan, ‘though I think it an unlikely one. Elven scouts generally are quite wary and vigilant.’
      ‘Still, it is a possibility,’ said Alatar, ‘and one that we will have to consider more seriously if we do not encounter them on the road to the pass.’
      ‘Yes, but hopefully it won’t come to that, and we can just slip through the pass without undue anxiety,’ said Raavan. ‘We do need to be quick about it, though. As soon as we leave the forest we shall pick up our pace considerably. We should be able to reach the pass before nightfall, and we shall want to be through and clear of it before making camp. The enemy is on the move, and we know he is giving at least some thought to the mountain passes and such, so the threat of encountering his forces at or near Foireách is still very real.’
       
       
      Taoren’s reckoning proved very accurate indeed, for it was barely after they had struck the camp and hit the road that they came finally to the Sungate, the place where the main road from Foireách entered the forest. Saying their good-byes to Merethir they set their sights on the north-east horizon, where the road led them ever closer to their immediate goal.
      On their left rose the majestic peaks of the snow-tipped Greywalls, while to the right stretched the plains of Anyar and northern Aresse. The Elflings knew that some three hundred miles in that direction lay their homeland of Laurelindor. Thinking on this, they could not help but imagine themselves comfortably at home. There, in the cosy village of Dunnoch, they could instead be sipping on a malt with Dannadar and Fifin, dreaming together of the wide world that lay outside their homes while they remained safely inside. Separately they each decided that if ever they finished their business in Tath and returned home in one piece, they would never feel the restless urge to go adventuring again!
      Not long had they been on the road when ahead they saw riders galloping their way. As the company stopped and drew their weapons in anticipation they saw that the approaching party consisted of only two riders. Soon it could be seen, much to their relief, that these were Ceirdain’s scouts returning from Foireách. When they reached the party the scouts reported that the pass was not only free of spawn, but also largely clear of snow and ice. On their return to Merethir they would advise the King to send a force at once to secure it against any future movements by the enemy.
      This was the news which the companions had hoped to hear, and now all that remained was for them to ride with all swiftness so that they could clear the pass before dark. Bidding the scouts good-bye they resumed their rapid pace, sparing their steeds but a little so as not to wear them out completely. Of course, a lame horse or pony would do them little good, and they wisely kept this in mind.
      At noon they stopped for a brief rest and then continued on again with all haste. By mid-afternoon they were entering the Wellorn Hills, which stretched many miles along the mountains into northern Anyar. Only some ten miles did they ascend into the hills, however, before they came to an intersection. The road which they currently followed, the Wellorn Way, continued north-easterly through the hills toward Mornaru in northern Anyar. Intersecting with this was the Old Foireách Road, which ran from the pass south-easterly into northern Aresse.
      They of course took the north-westerly way, so that they now were riding directly toward the great Greywall Mountains. Though the mountains grew in size with every passing mile, the land actually fell, for they had yet to come out of the hills and across a narrow valley before they would come to the true foothills of the mountains. Once they had crossed the valley they finally began the ascent toward the high mountain pass.
      Though Talen had remembered the pass appearing as a simple gap when shown on the map, the road did not simply cut a level slot through the mountains. Rather, it climbed quite high up the side of the mount, then passed through a long, narrow defile, eventually to emerge on the far side of the mountains where it would descend to the plains.
      The pass itself was some twenty-five miles long. The approach to the pass on either side consisted of a ten to twelve mile stretch of road that ran through an attenuating angle of land between the bordering mountain flanks. This land was exceptionally rugged, with very little vegetation but no shortage of boulders and bluffs, hillocks and mounds, crags and tors and ridges and knobs. Their ascent was slowed by its steepness, so that when they arrived at the pass proper it already was late afternoon and the westering sun cast deep shadows into the slot.
      Now they picked up the pace once again, though they did not wish to push the steeds overmuch, for it was colder at this elevation and the beasts’ white breath told of the great effort required of their lungs in the thin air. On they went, mile after mile, and they yearned for the end, for this was a tight place, and though the scouts had assured them that the pass was not held by the enemy, there still were the Oghors and bands of wild Troells that wandered the mountains after dark in search of a meal.
      The pass itself was strewn with boulders and piles of rock, for the road was no longer maintained by anyone. They rode round these as best they could, and in most cases they did not find it overly difficult to do so. The shadows lengthened as the miles went by, yet still they had not reached the far side. Suddenly the party came to a halt, for Falco’s pony, Huri, had twisted its leg coming down a slight incline and now refused to go on at all.
      ‘This is not good,’ said Raavan, as he and Alatar dismounted to inspect the animal’s leg.
      ‘He is in pain,’ said Alatar. ‘We can try tying him behind the pack horse, but even riderless he may be unable to keep up.’
      ‘Let’s try it,’ said Raavan.
      They removed Falco’s pack and waterskins from the pony and tried to coax him along on a rope, but still he refused to move. They rested for some fifteen minutes as the light continued to diminish, and then tried again, with the same results.
      ‘Then leave him,’ said Raavan.
      ‘What?’ exclaimed Talen. ‘What do you mean, leave him ?’
      ‘Falco can ride behind one of us and his pack and water we can redistribute,’ said Raavan, ‘but the pony we cannot bring along and we cannot stay here any longer. It is getting dark and we cannot spend the night in the pass. Some very nasty things can find their way into mountain passes at night, and it would not do to get cornered by any of them. So Huri will have to be left behind to fend for himself. In a day or two the Elves will return to secure the pass. When they arrive he will be safe, but we cannot stay to look after him till then.’
      And that was that. Falco mounted up behind Valainis on his fine mare, Marillasse, and onward they went. Glancing back they saw Huri disappear behind a large boulder as the twisting pass continued to slice through the mountain. They decided to pick up the pace once again, for once they had gone completely through the pass they still would have a ride of some ten or twelve miles down the far side of the mount before they could even begin to search for a safe place to camp.
      It was not long in fact before they had emerged from the slot and were starting to make their way down the mountainside. The sun already had set and the light was fast disappearing from the land. Another mile and it was getting quite dark. Talen rode on Fenfoot behind Windaris. Looking off to the left he suddenly noticed a speck of light in the distance.
      ‘What is that?’ asked the Elfling.
      ‘What is what?’ said Raavan as the column came to a halt.
      Soon they all could see that there was a light down in the valley, and though they were unsure as to its origin they all began to feel rather uneasy about it. Though they were eager to continue down the mount they stood fast watching the distant light, for as their suspicions grew they fell inescapably into the gripping realisation that the source of the light, whatever it was, was now climbing up the side of the mountain, on the very road which they followed.
      Straining their vision they were able to resolve the distant light into several smaller points which they decided must be the torches of a small party ascending the road toward the pass. Whether the approachers were mounted was not yet clear.
      ‘I say we ride down to meet them, whoever they are,’ said Berethir.
      ‘But what if they are Silgoth’s spawn, come to take the pass?’ asked Talen.
      ‘Judging from their torches, I would guess that their numbers are no greater than ours,’ said Raavan, ‘so, even if they turn out to be Goblyns or Ghakhen our chances of overcoming them or even just breaking through their ranks seem quite reasonable.’
      ‘I don’t think we would want to leave any of them alive,’ said Berethir. ‘They could end up following us and attacking our camp, possibly after recruiting help from others.’
      ‘True,’ said Raavan. ‘But either way, it is not a large enough force to warrant our fleeing back through Foireách and lengthening our route to go round Mornaru and Egladhren.’
      To this they all agreed. And so they continued cautiously down the side of the mount, keeping a watchful eye on the approaching force as they did so. As lighting their own torches would have given away their position, they went in darkness. Though the moonlight did help somewhat to illuminate their path, they were compelled to go very slowly, for they had learned their lesson with Falco’s pony and were not eager to wind up with another lame steed.
      Their descent was quite slow, as was the ascent of the approaching party, and Talen found the waiting to be very nerve wracking indeed. As they finally began to close the distance the companions readied their weapons and slowed their pace still further. Finally they stopped and waited in silence as the force approached. Now they could hear the clip-clop of hooves on rock. A moment longer they waited before they could hear their speech, and then they knew: it was a band of Daonracht-mounted Goblyns which approached.
      As Falco began slowly to draw his sword he was surprised to notice that the blade glowed with a red light. Suddenly he remembered Caelebrin’s words in Valassea regarding the blade’s sensitivity to malignance. Caelebrin’s surmise had been correct! The blade could detect the presence of evil and would give off a glow to show its proximity. Ninnyhammer! he thought to himself, If only I had drawn it before, we would have known sooner who or what approached. But of course it was too late for that, and now his only concern was that the glow might give away their presence. He saw then that Alatar held Noromendor by the hilt but had not yet drawn the blade, for that sword also would glow when drawn, though for quite a different reason. Following the man’s lead Falco returned his blade to its sheath and waited for the attack to begin before drawing it.
      ‘Hai! ’ shouted Alatar as the moment to charge arrived. Spurring their steeds forward the companions clove into the ranks of the enemy, taking them by surprise and visiting considerable damage on them with their first blow. Their enemy’s number was seven, two less than that of the party. Though the Goblyns fought savagely once they had recovered from their surprise, the last opponent soon was dispatched. No injuries had been sustained by the companions or any of their steeds.
      ‘That was easier than I expected,’ said Berethir as he wiped the black blood from his broadsword.
      ‘Having the element of surprise is always—’ began Alatar, but he stopped in mid-sentence, for something in the distance had caught his eye. As he stared the others looked out on the plain to where the man gazed. It seemed as they looked on that a fog was lifting from the plains below, revealing a veritable sea of torches.   A large force was approaching the pass—much larger than that which they had just dispatched.
      ‘More Goblyns?’ asked Talen.
      ‘Must be,’ said Berethir.
      ‘Falco’s sword still glows,’ said Raavan, ‘which I think it would not otherwise, for the Goblyns at our feet are quite dead.’ Glancing at Falco’s blade they saw that Raavan was right.
      ‘We certainly can’t engage them,’ said Berethir. ‘There are far too many.’
      ‘How much further till we reach the plain?’ asked Valainis.
      ‘Two miles, maybe three,’ answered Taoren.
      ‘If we rode quickly we could probably reach the plain before the enemy arrived,’ said Burak. ‘Then we could slip by them in the dark. Even if we were pursued, we would have the open plain before us.’
      ‘But we would need to light torches,’ said Valainis, ‘and then there would be no chance of a stealthy escape. They would certainly give chase. Could our ponies outrun them?’
      ‘Not if they are mounted on Daonracht,’ said Raavan.
      ‘Then our only other choice would be to hide among the crags and bluffs just off the road here till they pass us by,’ said Taoren, ‘or to turn and retreat through Foireách.’
      ‘Raavan, what shall we do?’ asked Talen.
      ‘I don’t know,’ said the wizard.