Dragondoom

CHAPTER 32

The Quest of Black Mountain: Elyn

Early and Mid summer, 3E1602

[This Year]

Groggily, Elyn opened her eyes. Framed by the blue sky, Mala’s features swam into view, fretting, and the Princess wondered why she was lying down, her head cradled in her aunt’s lap. Momentarily confused, Elyn groaned and looked left, seeing a shattered stone wall. With a rush, memories flooded back: Black Kalgalath! The keep!

The Princess started up, and pain lanced throughout her being-“No, no!” cried Mala. “Don’t move! Devon is on the way.”-and Elyn fell back. Now she remembered the Drake whelming her into a wall.

Slowly, gingerly, over Mala’s protests, Elyn rolled leftward and pushed herself up into a sitting position. All about, the stone of the keep lay in ruin, the main tower of the castle nought but rubble. Groaning, the Warrior Maiden stood, Mala gaining her feet as well, lending support to the Princess.

Elyn could hear moans coming from the wreckage. “Get them help,” she hissed through teeth clenched against the pain. “They’re trapped, hurt, broken; mayhap some are slain.”

“Help is on the way,” responded Mala. “It was the first thing I called for after that monster took wing.”

In that moment, Old Devon came picking his way through the ruins. As the healer examined the Princess, Elyn asked, “Who dragged me from the wall where Black Kalgalath hammered me?”

Mala answered, “I got you out when he went to tear down the gate-”

“Here, get her to a bed and give her this,” interrupted Devon, handing Mala a small vial taken from his healer’s bag. And ere Elyn could protest: “Dispute me not, my Princess. You’ve taken a nasty hammering. Black and blue all over tomorrow. The Realm needs you, but it needs you healthy, not banged up. Now go! I’ve got more important things to do than to argue with a stubborn Woman.”

From other parts of the ruins came members of the Castleward bearing victims of Black Kalgalath, the rescuers calling for healers. Devon turned his back upon Elyn and clambered across the rubble to aid the other wounded.

Mala led Elyn to one of the outbuildings, where she found a cot and bade the Princess to lie down. Elyn swallowed the contents of Devon’s vial, and as her aunt gently washed grime from the Princess’s face, the Warrior Maiden fell asleep.

The rest of that day and all the next the Princess slept, waking but a time or two to take long drinks and to relieve herself. And just ere dawn on the following day she awakened full. By the dim light of a small oil lamp Elyn could see Mala asleep in a chair beside her bed, the lines on her aunt’s face softened in slumber. Quietly, Elyn sat up, discovering that Old Devon had been right: she was black and blue, great bruises blotching her back and side, some on her legs as well. And she hurt. It hurt to sit still and it hurt to move. Even so, she got to her feet and gathered clothing unto herself and slowly, painfully dressed, for she was ravenously hungry.

Slipping out through the door, gritting her teeth against the soreness, the Princess slowly made her way to the dining hall of the Castleward; meals for the guards were served there at all odd hours. She entered a hall buzzing with conversation, for a shift of the ward was about to take place. As she stumped toward the mess line, talk within the hall ceased, and the old Men and boys sprang to their feet to offer aid. First to reach her was Ardu, the fourteen-year-old brother of Reynor.

“My Lady, let me help,” Ardu’s words tumbled out, and the slender yellow-haired youth caught up one of the wooden trenchers as well as a knife and spoon. Ushering her through the line, Ardu spoke of the Dragon’s raid and Elyn’s well-aimed but futile arrow shot ’gainst the mighty beast: “None else had the courage to stand up to the monster, my Lady. But by Ardon, you did! This will be a tale long told: that a Warrior Maiden would face a Drake with nought but bow and arrow. Hai! It be a thing that bards sing of.”

All through her morning meal, Ardu’s words rushed one atop another, and she heard that Mala had commanded the rescue teams as well as organized repair crews. “Not only has she been the guiding hand behind the work, but she’s been sitting beside your bed each and every hour that she’s not been directing the efforts of others. No disrespect intended, Princess, but that Mala, well, she’s a tough old bird,” confided Ardu, his voice filled with the knowledge of youth. “All the warders jump at her command, and gladly, for she’s the one who seems to know what to do; while all the rest of us argue about what should be done first, she thinks things through and decides what’s important and what’s not. Then it’s crack the whip and we hop to; and you know, Old Devon says that Lady Mala is right more than she’s wrong, and that’s all that counts.”

After breaking her fast, accompanied by Ardu, Elyn hobbled about the keep, examining the damage, the dawnlight casting long shadows across the bailey. And as she looked in dismay upon the wrack, Mala arrived, lines of worry now creasing her countenance.

“Child, you should be at rest,” admonished the spinster.

“No more than should you, my Aunt,” responded Elyn, “since you’ve guided the efforts here as well as watched over me-and for that I am grateful, though such a double undertaking might well put you into the sickbed alongside your patient.”

Mala glanced down at her hands, pleased that she had been complimented yet knowing that in the same breath she had also been admonished.

“Have you sent word to my sire?” asked Elyn.

“Not yet, Princess,” replied Mala, “for I did not know just how the news of such a calamity might affect his conduct of the War.”

“Aye,” agreed Elyn, “there is that to consider. Even so, Black Kalgalath swore to take vengeance upon Aranor for the deeds of Elgo: the Drake seeks to extract payment from the sire for the act of the son.” Elyn stood in thought for a moment. “Mala, I deem Father must be warned of that e’en though news of the devastation here might act ill upon him in this fight with the grasping foe.”

Elyn turned to Ardu, her words bringing a swift grin of pleasure to the youth’s face. “Saddle a swift horse and tether a remount, Ardu, for I would have you bear a message to your King. Stock up with enough provisions for yourself and the steeds for a swift journey to Kachar. Weapons, too, bear weapons, for ’tis not known what you may encounter. Go now, and return to me when you are ready, for I will have a letter for you to carry.”

As Ardu raced away, Elyn turned to Mala. “Let us find pen and parchment, and compose a missive to my sire, couching it in terms true, yet terms that will cause the least distress.”

Sire:

Two days apast, Black Kalgalath descended upon Jordkeep. The gate is broken and the main tower fallen, whelmed by Dragon might. Twenty-six people were slain, by flame and falling rock, and forty-three horses were destroyed by fire; and Sleeth’s trove is gone, borne off by the great black Drake.

Mala and I are well, and we are repairing the damage: A force has been dispatched to Reachwood to cut timbers for a new gate, though the iron cladding will now have to be replaced by the hands of smithies different from those who first installed it, with whom we presently war. Too, experienced masons are being called upon to begin rebuilding the tower. Though this work will go slowly, chafe not about our shelter, for the remainder of Jordkeep is in good repair, but for a stable or two lost to the Dragonfire.

Father, the prime reason for this message is to warn you of Black Kalgalath’s words: the Drake has sworn to seek you out and extract vengeance for that which Elgo did-the slaying of Sleeth. Take care, Father, and let not this Dragon find you unprepared.

We would welcome news of the progress of the War.

Your loving daughter, Elyn, Regent

Letter in hand, Elyn stood at the sundered gate and watched as Ardu led two horses toward her: one bridled and saddled, bearing a bow and arrows and a saber, as well as a light bedroll and waterskins for rider and steeds alike-though clear streams were to be found all along the route to Kaagor Pass-and saddlebags bulging with grain for the horses as well as waybread for the rider; the other a remount upon a long tether behind, this horse bearing nought. Ardu would ride swiftly, changing mounts every hour or so, one laded with his lithe frame and the supplies, the other running behind unburdened.

As the lad came to her, Elyn handed the wax-sealed letter to him, and Ardu slipped it into a leather message pouch securely fastened beneath his jerkin. “You will be able to exchange horses when you reach the drovers watching o’er the cattle herd this side of the Grimwall, this side of Kaagor Pass,” said Elyn. “Ride swiftly, but do not founder the steeds. Heed me! Take care to not dwell upon our troubles here when you speak with the King, for he will have enough to burden his mind without adding more. And bring to us word of the War.”

Ardu mounted up, and with a rakish grin, spurred forth, the horses running at a canter, the first of the varying paces of a Jordreich long-ride. And as the lad hammered out upon the plains, long did Elyn watch, her spirit racing across the prairie with the youth.

Over the next eight days Elyn steadily healed, the soreness soaked from her bruises by hot baths laced with herbs and mineral salts. Gradually, the purple blotching turned to a yellowish green and slowly faded from her Dragon-battered frame. And during those days, Elyn and Mala began to see to the repair of the keep, assigning work crews to clear the rubble, speaking with eld masons as to the rebuilding of the tower. The old Men and youths made good progress, though the Princess did wonder how swiftly the work would have gone had the hale and hearty Men who had ridden off to War been here to do the labor instead. And as to the eld masons, many were glad to be at work upon a great endeavor once again, for in their declining years they had puttered only at small tasks, the greater ones being accomplished by those who were younger, stronger; and the faded eyes of these old Men gleamed at the thought of rebuilding the central tower.

On the fifth day a waggon train bearing heavy timbers returned from Reachwood, and eld carpenters set to, making a mighty wooden-beamed gate to set in the west wall, a gate to take the place of the portal sundered by Kalgalath.

It was on the evening of the eighth day that horns sounded the arrival of a messenger: Ardu had returned from Kachar.

Elyn received the yellow-haired youth in the hall where in days past she and Mala had first begun to keep track of the logistics needed to supply the Host afield, a chamber not in the main tower of the keep, hence one that had escaped destruction; now it was the chamber where nearly all the business of the Kingdom was conducted. And here it was that Ardu came to make his report.

When the youth stepped in, Elyn noted that his face was drawn and weary; yet it was not only the fatigue of a long-ride she saw, for something else lurked within his eyes, a doom that she could not at first fathom; but when he came nigh, she could see that it was despair filling his being, hagridden torment.

Stepping before the Princess, Ardu saluted, striking a clenched fist to his heart. “My Lady”-his words poured out as he reached into his jerkin, pulling forth his message pouch-“I have failed you: your missive remains undelivered, for Black Kalgalath has descended upon the King’s Legion, driving them into Kachar.” And hammered by emotions he but little understood, the lad burst into tears.

The next day, Elyn called an unprecedented meeting: she not only gathered together her Counsellors, she also asked that any who had knowledge, knew tales, or even heard rumor of the ways of Dragons to attend as well; and if any had even the faintest knowledge of Black Kalgalath, then they were doubly welcome. Some sixty or so came to the assembly, a meeting held in the mess hall of the Castleward, for it was the only chamber still standing that was large enough to hold that many. The tables had been arranged in an open square, Elyn at the head board, Mala to her right, Ardu upon her left, with the Counsellors arrayed to either side. All others were bidden to sit where they would. When all had taken a place, she bade Ardu to repeat his tale in full, and the youth, now rested, stood and delivered the story in a clear voice that all could hear:

“Nine days past, I rode forth from Jordkeep with a message from Princess Elyn to be delivered to my Lord Aranor. I was to change mounts this side of Kaagor Pass when I reached the drovers keeping the herd nigh the Grimwall, the cattle needed to feed the Legion.

“The horses ran well, and water was aplenty, and so I made good time. But on the third day, I came upon the remains of a waggon train, burnt, all Men slain by fire, steeds too.”

A low rumble of voices sounded about the tables, but quickly subsided when Elyn rapped upon the board. When quietness fell, she signed Ardu to continue, and the lad spoke on:

“ ’Twas a Vanadurin hospital train. Destroyed. Dragonfire, I deem.”

Again voices erupted, this time in anger, and even though the Princess gavelled repeatedly, using the hilt of her dagger to do so, silence was a long time in coming. But at last the noise subsided, and again Elyn nodded to Ardu.

“It was clear that the waggons were bearing wounded home from the War with the Dwarves. Just as clear was the fact that a Dragon did the deed: the great clawed footprints were plain to see.

“I rode onward, heading for the cattle grounds to gain new mounts from the Harlingar there, but when I arrived, cattle were running free, no drovers in sight. Yet it did not take me long to find them. They were dead. Fire-slain as well. Drake-slain.

“Up through the mountains I fared, up through the Grimwall. And when I cleared Kaagor Pass, south and west I rode, heading for Kachar, where warred my Lord Aranor.

“I rode in the night through forests blackened and burned, and now I knew that most likely it was Dragon that had set fire to the wood.

“It was dawn when I came nigh the valley of Kachar, the Sun just rising o’er the peaks. In the distance before me, I could hear a terrible roaring, and I pressed ’round the last flank and came unto the vale. And in the early morning light, I beheld a sight that like to drove me mad:

“Black Kalgalath raged within the valley, gouting great flames, slaying, destroying. The Legion was trapped before the distant gates of the Dwarvenholt, and all to a Man were dismounted. The gates stood wide, yet were closing, and inward fled the Host, into Kachar.

“Kalgalath landed upon the floor of the vale, and roaring and blasting fire, toward the gates he raced, but ere he got there, they slammed shut. But hundreds were trapped without, cut off from safety by the cowardly Dwarves.”

Tears streamed down Ardu’s face, and his voice quavered in distress, his eyes now seeing again the horror of that hideous dawn days past, yet on he spoke:

“And Black Kalgalath slew and slew, his claws rending, his breath burning, his bulk smashing.

“They didn’t stand a chance. . They didn’t stand a chance. . ”

The lad’s voice juddered to a halt. And silence reigned as he regained his composure.

“After it was over, the Dragon clawed down a mountainside of stone, burying the gate, burying it completely, trapping the survivors within the holt of the enemy.

“After the Dragon had gone, I rode up into the vale, up to the buried gate, up to the place where he had slain so many.

“None were alive, and there was nought I could do. As to good King Aranor, he was not among the slain, yet whether he survived, I cannot say. And so I turned back, turned my horses back toward Kaagor Pass.

“And as I rode up out of the vale, I took one last look over my shoulder at the slaughter grounds, and all I saw was a great squawking whirling cloud of gorcrows and vultures, fluttering like falling black leaves swirling down upon the dead.”

Again long moments passed as Ardu fought to regain his composure. Finally:

“The journey back took longer, for I had no fresh steeds to ride and must needs spare those who had borne me thither. Yet I pressed on, passing back through Kaagor Col that day.

“At the next dawning, in the distance, again I saw Black Kalgalath, winging on a course that would carry him unto Kachar once more.

“I remained hidden behind crags upon the low northern slopes of the Grimwall, hidden until he was gone. And then I rode forth once more.

“I saw him not again that day, nor on the days thereafter, and at last I came unto Jordkeep, yestereve, and that is my tale.”

Ardu fell silent, his story told, and Elyn reached forth and briefly squeezed his hand, then motioned for him to sit. A low murmur of conversation rose up as the lad took his seat, but talk ceased as Elyn stood, turning to the Counsellors and guests, bringing her emeraldine eyes to bear upon each and every one of them. And after her gaze had swept ’round the room, she spoke: “You have all heard the words of Ardu: The Legion is trapped within Kachar, within the strongholt of our enemies, and mayhap King Aranor is trapped within as well, trapped by a Drake that has sworn vengeance ’gainst my sire. And mayhap each day Black Kalgalath returns to Kachar, for what, we cannot say-mayhap he seeks to see that his victims do not escape.

“Therein lies the heart of the dilemma we face: we must find a way to defeat a foe whose power and cunning and wickedness is beyond knowing, beyond enduring, a foe who alone, with the merest exercise of his might, destroyed this keep, slew drovers and scattered the great herd across the plains, slew our wounded, laid waste to an entire army: Black Kalgalath.

“Yet not only must we defeat such an opponent, we also must find a way to deliver our countrymen from the hands of our enemies. This I deem: if we find a means to destroy Black Kalgalath, then surely we shall find a way to rescue the Legion from the strongholt of our foe.

“I have called you all together to bring what knowledge you bear to help resolve this quandary. I ask your help, and ask it now, for I fear that time is of the essence.

“Let any who know aught, be it rumor or fact or nought but a hearthtale, say what they will, for e’en in the oldest of hearthtales there may be a germ of truth. Take care, for no matter how wild or fanciful the tale may seem, let no one here make sport of the speaker, for what may sound foolish to some ears may bring long-forgotten notions and tales to the minds of others, one or more of which may lead us toward a solution. Hence, dig deep within your memories, e’en back into childhood, and let us speak of Dragons.” Elyn took her seat and waited.

Long did the silence stretch out within the room, each pondering what had been said, each waiting for another to speak. Yet none did, for a moment, but then Mala spoke up:

“Come, come. This is no time to be tongue-tied. If any have aught to say, then let them speak. Here, I will start: it is said that Dragons sleep for a thousand years and then raid for two thousand-at least, so it is sung.”

Upon hearing Lady Mala’s words, Morgar, acting Captain of the Castleward, stood. “Princess, my mother, bless her memory, always told us that Dragons had the power in their eyes to charm a being witless, and that their voices could beguile the wisest of Men and Women. I don’t see just how that may help, but there it is.” His say done, Morgar sat back down.

Nodding sagely, Mistress Beryl, head seamstress, seemed to agree with Morgar, and when she saw that the Princess’s eye was upon her, she added her own words: “Aye, that I’ve heard they can do. And ’tis said that nought can move within their domain without them knowing it. But how they know, well, that’s not told.”

“What about their magic?” asked Counsellor Burke. “I’ve heard tell that they can cast glamours upon themselves and walk about as would a Man.”

“Ach,” averred white-haired Marna, Heraldmaster, “mayhap they can look like a Man, but what I’ve heard the bards sing is that no Dragon will ever be slain by the hand of a Man.” Marna held up his hands to forestall protests. “Now don’t take me wrong, for I know that the Prince lured Sleeth to his doom in the sunlight, but when all is said and done, ’twas Adon’s Ban that truly killed the Drake. So mayhap the bards be right, and mayhap they be wrong; I only tell it now because none else had brought it forth, and it be Dragon tales we speak of here. In any event, if the bards speak true, then nought we plan here this day will succeed lest it take into account that no Drake will ever be slain by the hand of Man.”

As eld Marna sat down, conversation hummed, and a lengthy time passed ere anyone else stood to speak. But at last, someone stood, and another Dragon myth was broached, and in the end each and every fact, fancy, and fairy tale ever uttered about Dragons seemed to find its way into the council. Dragon’s gold, Drakes’ lairs, their eyes and armor, their power and cunning, fire and poison, all were spoken of. And it seemed to be a consensus that each and every Dragon had a chink in his armor, a place of vulnerability where a well-thrust blade or well-aimed arrow would do him in.

During all of this telling of rumors and tales, Elyn sat in skeptical thought, believing some, disbelieving others; yet she said nought, for she feared that one wrong word from her mouth would shut off all converse.

Yet at last Parn stood, an eld stablehand, and Elyn signed that he was to speak.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Princess, but it seems to me that what’s needed here is the same as what I heard the Armsmaster speaking about some years back, when you was but a young lass training at weapons.”

“Do you mean Armsmaster Ruric?” queried Elyn, wondering what it was that the stablehand referred to.

“Aye, my Lady,” responded Parn. “He was speakin’ to you and young Elgo about Black Kalgalath. Talked of a thing called the Kammerling. Said it was the Dragon’s doom, he did. Told that it was the bards what says so.”

Elyn’s mind flashed back in time, her memory seizing upon a long-forgotten conversation among Ruric and Elgo and herself, back when Elgo was seeking a means to slay Sleeth, a means to humble Trent the Bard. Now Elyn remembered: They had found Ruric at the stables, mucking out a stall. . no! rather, inspecting horses, and they had spoken to him about killing Dragons. Parn was right! Ruric had spoken of the Kammerling, of Adon’s Hammer.

“Too, Princess,” Parn spoke on, “it seems to me that the Armsmaster said that Black Kalgalath lives in Dragonslair, a great dead firemountain.” Parn scuffed his feet and jutted out his jaw, glaring at those around him. “I weren’t eaves-droppin’, Miss-Princess. Truly I weren’t. It were just that I were workin’ in the next stall, and had stopped a moment to catch my breath.”

Amid a hubbub of conversation, Parn sat back down. Elyn’s heart beat swiftly as she gathered her thoughts. He’s right. I remember. Ruric did say that the Kammerling was fated to slay the greatest Dragon. And that has to be Black Kalgalath. And the maps show that Dragonslair is in the Grimwall Mountains, easterly, the same direction that Kalgalath flew when he bore away the trove. Elyn’s voice cut through the babble: “Does any know where this Kammerling, where Adon’s Hammer might be?”

Again silence descended in the room, to be broken at last by Morgar: “Princess, I don’t know whether this has aught to do with the Kammerling, but when I was a child put to bed, there was a little song sung to me by Mother, rest her spirit, and it went something like this:

In the Land where Wizards dwell

In dark confusing maze,

Twisting, turning, near its heart,

A silver hammer lays.

“What it means, my Lady, I cannot say, yet the only place I’ve heard tell that Wizards dwell is Black Mountain.”

“Well, if there be aught that’d be a dark confusing maze,” spoke up Beryl, “then I’d say that the Wizardholt of Black Mountain would be the place.” A murmur of concurrence rose up as the seamstress again nodded sagely to any and all, as if what had been spoken was a proven fact rather than speculation. Even so, Elyn had to agree that there seemed to be a germ of truth not only within Morgar’s simple rhyme, but also in Beryl’s deduction concerning it.

Marna stood again. “Aye, now that it is recalled to my mind, I think it be true that the bards sing that only the Kammerling can stand ’gainst the greatest Dragon of all; but they also tell that there is a doom on the wielder of the hammer as well. . something about being plied by one who has lost a love.”

In the silence that followed Marna’s statement, Beryl spoke up, her voice gentle: “To my way of thinking, the lost loved one, well, that’d be Prince Elgo then, for none were loved better, and now he is gone.” The seamstress’s comment received sympathetic nods of agreement from many in the gathering.

The council lasted long into the night, yet nought else spoken of shed any more light upon what had already been said.

The next day and the next, Elyn brooded within her quarters, coming out only to take meals, leaving the business of the Realm within Mala’s capable hands.

On the third day, Elyn bade Mala to go hawking with her, for there was that which she would discuss with her aunt, out in the open, out upon the green grass of the Jordian plains.

Skree! Skree! Redwing’s hunting call scaled down through the clear air, the guide feathers at the very end of the hawk’s rudden wings tipping this way and that as he wove a coursing pattern through the heights above and scanned the long green grass below, his marvelous eyes seeking prey.

Elyn and Mala sat upon a blanket and took a meal, their own eyes locked upon the raptor’s flight. Long did they sit thus, without speaking, but at last Elyn’s soft voice broke the silence: “Mala, I intend on going to Black Mountain, after the Kammerling.”

Mala’s face blanched, and her fists clenched. She turned to Elyn. “Child, you can’t. You can’t desert the post your sire gave over to you. There’s the Kingdom to think of.”

“That’s what I am thinking of, Mala, the Kingdom.” Elyn stood and began pacing. “Unless someone goes, Black Kalgalath will have destroyed this Realm, for the Host is trapped within the strongholt of our enemy, and nought will free them unless first the Drake is slain and then the Dwarven foe defeated. The Kammerling seems to be our only choice, and surely such a potent token of power can be turned against the greedy enemy, once the life of the Drake is ended.”

“But the danger!” cried Mala. “If it must be done, then let someone else do this deed.”

“Who else, Mala?” rejoined Elyn. “Would you have me send an old Man, one whose stamina is gone, one whose failing endurance will not allow him to succeed? Or instead should I send a child, one full of energy but untrained in the ways of weapons? Nay, Mala, none else at Jordkeep has the youth and the training but I. I am a Warrior Maiden! And as such, am fitted to fulfill this quest, if any can do so.”

“Elyn, all the strong young Men are not trapped within Kachar,” protested Mala. “There are others within the Land. Let one of them go.”

“Mala, all the warriors are trapped; or if not trapped are filling other needs. . border patrol, garrison duty, whatever. Everyone who could be spared answered to the muster. Those who could not, did not go, for either they did not have the skills, or they must needs remain at other posts.” Elyn stopped her pacing and looked down upon her aunt. “But I, I have the skills and I can be spared.”

“Nay, Princess,” disputed Mala, “for if you go who will then guide the Kingdom?”

Elyn’s quiet answer stunned her aunt: “Why, you, Mala. You will guide the Realm.”

“Oh, no, Elyn,” objected Mala. “Your sire gave that duty to you. You cannot merely cast it off onto another, for it was his command.”

“Circumstances yield me no other choice, Aunt,” responded Elyn, casting her eyes heavenward. “Were my father here, he would agree. Ere he left he told me that ‘Chance and circumstance oft’ lay out a different course than the one first charted. . do that which is best for the Realm.’ Don’t you see, Mala, that chance and circumstance in this matter leave me no other choice? I must go and seek the Kammerling.”

Mala’s face twisted into a mask of apprehension. “Oh, Elyn, do you forget? The bards say that no Dragon will ever be slain by the hand of Man.”

Elyn raised her hand up before her own eyes, slowly rotating it front to back, studying palm, knuckles, thumb, and fingers. “Mala, this be not the hand of a Man.”

Tears ran down Mala’s face. “But you may be hurt, Princess, even slain.”

Elyn knelt down and embraced her aunt, comforting her. “If I do not go, dear Mala, the Realm itself may fall,” whispered Elyn.

As she rode back to Jordkeep, back to the broken castle, for some reason the lines of one of Trent the Bard’s songs echoed and re-echoed through her mind:

Would you fight to the death

For that which you love,

In a cause surely hopeless. .

For that which you love?

And Elyn removed the hood and jesses from Redwing, and cast the bird into the air. “Fly free, my red hunter, fly free.” And russet hawk soared upward into the bright blue sky.

The following day, Elyn called her Counsellors together and announced her intention to seek out Black Mountain and the Kammerling. After the uproar settled, Elyn appointed Mala Regent, decreeing that she was to hold the post until the return to the Kingdom of her sire or herself. Elyn also decreed that should aught happen to her aunt, to Aranor, or to herself, the Counsellors were to appoint a suitable Regent until Bram were to come of age, mentioning Arianne and Gannor as possible choices.

The transfer of authority was swift, and within the hour all in the keep knew of it, and dispatch riders were sent galloping to outlying posts with the remarkable news.

Next morning, as dawn broke upon the Land, Elyn slipt out from the ruins of the castle and bore eastward upon her swift steed, Wind.

She rode all that day and the next and the two following. And late afternoon of the fourth day found her wending upward into Kaagor Pass, Wind’s steel-shod hooves clattering upon the stone, sending echoes chattering along the length of the sheer slot and into the crags high above. Up the granite col she pressed, and dusk found her midway through the gap. Yet it was summer, and night at these heights at this time of year was bearable, and so she made camp as darkness fell.

After tending to Wind’s needs, Elyn managed to find a scrub pine, dead, its limbs twisted by the mountain winds, and soon a small cook fire blazed. She heated some water for tea, dropping in one of the precious leaves. As it steeped, she stared into the flames, and her mind ranged back to the early morn, back to the burnt waggon train with its slain warriors. Ardu had been right: it clearly had been a hospital train bearing wounded Harlingar. And later, she had come across the charred bodies of the cattle drovers. Of the herd, there was no sign: Likely scattered, she mused. Left alive by Black Kalgalath so that he can feed upon them. And as she sat beside her small campblaze, her mind turned ever and again to the sight of the burnt victims-the wounded, the attendants, the drovers: all slain-Dragon-slain, destroyed by the searing breath of a monster. Adon, what a hideous way to die.

And as Elyn sipped her tea, a fire smoldered deep within her green eyes.

The dawn light seeping into the pass found Elyn breaking camp. From the east a chill drift of air slid down from the mountain peaks, and the Warrior Maiden donned her fleece vest as proof against the raw flow. As she affixed her bedroll to the saddle cantle, Wind snorted and shied aside. “Steady, girl,” murmured Elyn, casting about but seeing nought that could have caused such skittish behavior in the mare.

Mounting up, easterly she rode into the cold breeze, and a dull overcast palled the skies. Again Wind skitted, dancing aside, snorting, tossing her head. “What is it, girl?” No sooner had Elyn uttered the words than in the distance she saw a dark shape winging westerly across the leaden sky: Black Kalgalath!

Her heart hammering, Elyn reined the mare into the lee of a large boulder, seeking concealment. As she did so, at hand in the wall of the pass she spied a dark opening and urged Wind forward. But the horse refused to enter. Swiftly dismounting, the Princess haled on the reins and pulled the reluctant mare into the entrance, stepping into the deep shadows of the cave.

Inside, a foetid stench drifted unto her nostrils, yet it was faint, as if from years past. No wonder Wind did not want to enter. This smells rank, as if it were a-shock registered upon Elyn’s mind-a Troll hole. Golga’s hole! Quickly stepping to the grey, the Warrior Maiden drew her saber, her eyes seeking to penetrate the ebon blackness deep within the cave, the hair prickling upon her arms and the nape of her neck. Wait, you silly goose. Golga was slain by Elgo but three years past. And surely no Troll has since taken up residence. Yet even after these years, there still is a sickening stench. . How could Elgo have ever searched this hole in the first place? It must have been unbearable then. Her brother’s face rose up in her consciousness, yet she refused to let sorrow interfere with her alertness as she kept her eyes locked upon the darkness at the back of the cave. Hammer and anvil: a Dragon without, and who knows what within, mayhap nought.

An hour or so she waited, all the time watchful, yet nothing came upon her and Wind from the interior of the cave. And she allowed enough time to elapse for Kalgalath to fly league upon league onward, for although she did not know what goal the Drake pursued, she did know that now was not the time to confront the monster. And so she waited as time seeped away, watching the blackness at the back of the Troll hole. And when she deemed that she had waited long enough, out into Kaagor Pass she led Wind, the horse eager to be free of the stench, and they came forth into a thin drizzle raining coldly from the lowering skies.

Of Black Kalgalath, there was no sign.

It rained all that day as Elyn first rode westerly and verified that the gates of Kachar were indeed buried-beyond redemption, it seemed, for it appeared as if a massive slide had tumbled down from above, and the gates were pressed beneath unnumbered tons of rock.

As she rode up to the heap, she began to see the remains of the slain-felled Harlingar, burnt, charred, rent by Drake talon. Yet lo! Some of the slaughtered were Dwarves. Ardu had said nought of Dwarves falling to the Dragon. Elyn sat a moment in speculation, seeking to resolve the mystery before her. Yet nought came to mind, and she found that her eyes sought to look everywhere but at the horrid evidence before her.

Realizing that she could accomplish nothing here, the Warrior Maiden turned easterly and rode back through the charred forest, it too destroyed by Dragonfire, and nightfall found her some seven leagues from the valley of Kachar, on the way toward the distant Land of Xian.

As rain fell from the black sky above, she made a fireless camp in the lee of a sandstone butte. Huddling within her oiled-leather rain-cloak, her back to the gritty rock, at last the emotions of the day caught up to Elyn; and she quietly wept for the Dragon-slain, and for her lost brother, too, as well as for the unknown fate of her sire.

The next morning dawned to clear skies and Elyn rode into the sunrise. And as she fared to the east, once again she was startled to see the ebon shape of a Drake winging west; once more she took shelter, this time within a nearby thicket of trees, as the Dragon hammered past her, a mile or so to the north.

In less than an hour, she saw Black Kalgalath once more, this time his leathery pinions driving him dawnward, back along the path whence he came.

Easterly she rode throughout the long summer days across the northern fringes of Aven, her solitude broken only by an occasional animal scurrying athwart her path, or by birds on the wing. To the left through the high clear air could be seen the jagged white crests of the distant Grimwall. Of Black Kalgalath, she saw him four more mornings, each time more distant, winging west with the dawn, returning shortly thereafter. What he did on these flights, she knew not. But on the fifth morning and those following, she saw him not again.

East she rode through the land, fording an occasional stream, at times swimming across a river, passing among still forests, riding ’cross open grasslands with but an occasional thicket to break the horizon. At rare times she would come upon a farmstead or a hunter’s shack, but in all she met few people; even when she did, they would eye this strange Warrior Maiden, helmed, gleaming weaponry at hand, grey leathers showing beneath her cloak, as if she were a hearthtale come to life. When possible, she would replenish her supplies from these steaders, from these hunters, paying with good copper for the grain and waybread, for the smoke-cured meat and flour, for the jerky and dried fish.

At times, while Wind cropped grass, Elyn had to hunt to have aught to eat, walking afield with sling or bow, stalking the woods likewise, now and again grubbing for roots or foraging for berries. And although she did not truly go hungry, at times she dreamt of sumptuous banquets at her sire’s table.

And summer crept forward as days and weeks and the leagues behind her fled into the past.

At each crofter’s place or hunter’s cote she would ask the way to Xian or to Black Mountain, receiving nought but a vague wave of a hand to the east, though occasionally one would tell her that it was a place to avoid at all cost, for who knows the ways of those who dwell within.

And at the very last place, not only did Elyn receive a warning about the Land of Xian, she was also warned of the Khalian Mire: “They be bad things in there, Miss,” cautioned the trapper. “Best you go around.”

“How far through; how far around?” asked Elyn.

“Well now,” answered the trapper, “if ye be wise to its tricks, then it be a full day through, sunrise to sunset. Around, it be three, four days. Yet, Miss, around be the way to go, for vileness is said to dwell within.

“Ye ought to be like t’other what I seen yester: on a pony, he was; I saw him at a distance. I think he went around. If he didn’t, then he’s a damned fool.”

Thanking the trapper for the advice and paying him for the grain and meat and bread, Elyn set out to the east once more.

That night she stopped within sight of the mire, a great bogland standing across her way.

As the Sun rose the next morning, Elyn broke camp. She had decided last night that she would ride through the swamp this day rather than take the extra time going about. And so, into the marsh she headed.

Large hoary old trees, black cypress and dark swamp willow, twisted up out of the muck, looming, barring the morning light, their warped roots gnarling down out of sight into the slime-laden mud. A greyish moss dangled down from lichen-wattled limbs, like ropes and nets set to entangle and entrap the unwary. A faint mist rose up from the bog, reaching, clinging, clutching at those who would seek to pass through. Snakes slithered from drowned logs into green-scummed water, and swarms of gnats and flies and mosquitoes filled the air like a grey haze.

And into these environs rode Elyn, she and her grey mare swathed with the stench of gyllsweed to repel the bloodsucking insects.

As the day wore on, the heat became oppressive. Clouds of swarming pests flew all about, and at times Elyn would have to smear more of the odiferous juice upon herself and Wind to keep the insects at bay.

The bog itself was a veritable maze of water and mire and land. Often Elyn had to backtrack to get around some obstacle, and at times she and Wind had no choice but to wade the scum-laden pools; and they would emerge with leeches clinging to the mare’s legs, razor mouths clamped tight, bodies bloating with blood. Elyn scraped them away with her dagger, treating the oozing wounds left behind, while insects, driven mad by the smell of blood, darted and swarmed and clotted upon the horse’s shanks.

Slowly the Sun crept up and over, glaring down upon the swamp, the mire steaming in response; and it seemed as if the air itself became too thick, too wet to draw a clean breath. The marsh heaved with gases belching from slimy waters, bubbles plopping, foul stenches reeking the air. And Elyn had no idea how far she had come, nor how far there was left to go. Yet she pressed onward, for now she had no choice but to push on through.

Seeping downward, the Sun sank into the west, and lengthening shadows streamed from the hunched hummocks, from the twisted trees, from the sharp-edged reeds and saw grass, filling the bog with gloom. And above the incessant hum of the swarm of flying pests, other noises began to fill the air: a chirruping and breeking and peeping of swamp dwellers, along with ploppings, splashings, wallowings, slitherings.

The Sun began to set. Long shadows slanted across the darkening bogland. Elyn and Wind came among a stand of tall, thickset marsh reeds, the rushes blocking Elyn’s view: she could not see more than a few feet ahead. She was yet some unknown distance from the far edge of the Khalian Mire, and she did not want the night to find her still within the clutches of the swamp, in the grasp of this place of dire repute, stranded here within these malevolent environs. Wind skitted and shied, and snorted nervously, as if she sensed some evil.

And then from beyond the reeds, past the foul moss adrip and lifeless branches of a twisted dead cypress standing in the oozing muck, a panic-stricken scream of a terrified steed rang out, filling a sudden silence.