Chapter Four.

  The Witching Mistress, Justalyn of Luxtan.

  The next morning; refreshed from a sturdy night's slumber in the refuge of the Manor of the Mage of Eredun; Eldamar and Artanis prepared to journey onwards. Starshadow was clad in the war-mail, and they wore the raiments of the Galdor Huskaars. Beriana thought this should prevail as a sound subterfuge for any barbarians they might encounter, if such barbarians drew too near. However, there was no manner of cloaking that they might employ to their Algethi countenances, to gift the lie that they were Horanaurk. There stood a need for some guile in this matter.

  Alyx came forth with a settlement. Did Beriana still hold the raiments of the two Galdor Kerystaers who came to the Manor in the summer since past, in seek of her; the young wench who held a taste for other than males; of which they had been told? The two Galdor Kerystaers were high-ranking procurers of females for the pleasures of the Mongrel Court of the tyrant Berenvag. Such a prize as Alyx would be a prize indeed. She promised great sport, as to whom might be first to turn her to embrace the carnal pleasures of males.

  The Galdor Kerystaers had entered the Manor, beset with an arrogant demeanour; demanding that the Mage of Eredun give up her young companion for the pleasures of the Court of the tyrant Berenvag. Beriana gave intimation that she was cowed by their self-perceived power of subjugation. She had brought forth Alyx, who stood defiant, before them. This only sharpened their intent to remove her to Court.

  Whilst they were so distracted with thoughts of the rewards they would garner for such a prize; Beriana had instructed Alyx to bring refreshments for these Masters in her Hall. Alyx had brought forth a mead cordial, enriched with a sturdy sum of the essence of a singularly clement, but pernicious hemlock plant which prevailed in abundance in the shadowy glade hard by the Manor for the refreshment of the two regnant barbarians who lolled indolently, before her. They drank deeply; this was no more than such as they would expect in tribute from this old hag.

  Within a small span in passing, they began to sweat and dribble. Their chairs were scraped back as they rose, and staggered out into the fresh air in manner as if, they were deep in their cups. In the courtyard, they could not hold their balance and lounged against the walls, jesting that their legs were heavy, and this mead cordial was indeed, a potent brew. Later, they complained of retching, and they could not perceive soundly with their eyes. Soon enough, they could not move, as the grip of the malignant hemlock clamped about them. T'was not long before they embraced their deaths. In sum; from first taste, to their dying, spanned scarcely one-half of a Sundial-shadow. Beriana and Alyx dragged the carcasses to the stables and stripped them of their fine raiments. Then they were hauled to the midden pit, and therein, deeply buried.

  Galdor Kerystaers held richness of raiment far beyond that of Galdor Huskaars. Their tunics were boldly emblazoned with the cypher of Berenvag; being a crossed pair of Lahbrys War-axes; "Lahbrys" meaning "Double-headed"; upon which was centre beset a skull that lacked a nether jawbone. This cypher was crafted in golden braiding, and laid warning to all of the Kerystaer's standing. None; not even the dreaded "Tur-anion" would dare impede their progress, nor challenge them in the prosecution of the same.

  To this end, so that they might be recognised at distance; the Kerystaer wore a helm, specific... a helm they called a "Malaer." T'was closely shaped to the skull, with an eye slot which left the lower half of the face exposed. T'was often worn with a "Shalaes,"... being a gorget of mail which covered the throat and chin. Should Beriana still hold these helms and raiments; why, then… this would be the key to the conundrum. These helms would cloak the Algethi hue of eye that Eldamar and Artanis possessed; and their faces could be stained with a meld of woad and charcoal; thus, to present the hue of countenance of Horanaurks.

  Beriana smiled,

  'Aye, the barbarians' raiments and helms prevail as yet, in the great chest in the Undercroft. They wore no Shalaes; so, needs must, we cloak your countenances with the darkening stain. But I fear, My Lord; you need divest your countenance of that beard you wear. The barbarians have no hair about themselves, save for the lank and stragglesome hair upon their heads.'

  Eldamar held no great store of pleasure in this, but saw that it needs be done to strengthen the subterfuge. Thus, he sat disconsolate, as Alyx and Artanis tended the delicate scraping of his face with a keenly sharpened dagger. At length, he stood shorn and resigned before them. It felt uncommonly strange to be lacking in beard. He had worn it for countless summers, and the air upon his face was most curious and cold. The maids and Beriana all held accord; indeed, he was a most handsome fellow in lack of beard.

  Such felicitations stood not sturdy in his acceptance of the same; but, t'was but, a small sum to lay out in the face of such cunning subterfuge; so he held his counsel whilst Alyx anointed his face with the meld of woad and charcoal. Soon enough; with helm emplaced, it was not for the knowing that here stood an Algethi, and not a Horanaurk... perhaps, less gaunt in features... but beyond this; t'was not to know that this was not a Galdor Kerystaer Cabal-master who stood before them; the cypher of the tyrant Berenvag shining brazen in the sunlight.

  Alyx then anointed Artanis in manner, the same as she stood in the Galdor Kerystaer raiments. The raiments were a trifle snug across her bosom, but that was of small regard. Helmed, she stood plainly, as a Galdor Kerystaer Captain. Farewells were passed, and the route they would need to follow to strike the Shire of Ardaltun and the valley of Rhonas-Mhoir was laid before them. They were supplied with provisions, and thence, they mounted, and rode away from the Manor of The Mage of Eredun.

  Riding to the south-east, they broached the Great Plain of Astalan. Here, were few settlements, but those they found were ruined... as of all the rest they had so far prospected. The land lay empty and silent all about them. They rode the morning; two arrogant Galdor Kerystaers on business of the Court of the tyrant Berenvag. None would dispute their ride; with the cypher of Berenvag brazen upon their raiments. But there were none seen who might dispute their standing.

  To their left-most hand, the Smoky-blue hills began to rise; swelling from gentle uplands to a great rocky scarp. They had ridden perhaps, the span of a pair of Sundial-shadows, when... There! On the crest of the scarp they saw a parcel of horsemen, black against the sky. At such a distance... perhaps, close on a league; they were as, but a menacing shadow that moved as did Eldamar and Artanis. The horsemen followed their progress, holding station with them.

  The horsemen did not seek to approach; indeed, they could not, for the scarp ran steeply to the south for perhaps, five leagues or so. At length, the scarp crept down to the plain. This was where the intercept... if there was to be an intercept; would manifest itself. Eldamar and Artanis rode on; as if lacking the slightest interest concerning these ominous black riders. T'was odds even that they were one of the Tur-anion Death Cabals employed in the seeking out of "The Partisan, Yellow-Haired Slut", or as they called her in their own tongue... "Vagehal Hetenloske Mahok". They would not find her here, and it stood fair assumption that they would be embraced with a bilious ill-humour for their singular lack of achievement in prosecuting their seeking of her. All now stood or fell on whether these Tur-anion vermin did hold a consummate fear of meddling in the business of Galdor Kerystaers... and a Cabal-master and Captain, to boot. Soon enough, they would see; for the scarp now began to sink to the Plain.

  Eldamar and Artanis rode at steady pace. The intercept would come within the next half-league. The parcel of black riders broached the plain and moved towards the pathway, a distance before them. Eldamar and Artanis drew themselves up in their saddles and affected a most haughty, and disdainful demeanour. Closer came the black riders; spreading across their pathway. In sum, there were at least a score of them. The Sun shone brightly, and merrily upon the silver emblems the black riders wore upon their tunics... the emblem of The Tur-anion. This emblem took the form of a wicked hook; the curved, spiked end pointing down; with a cross piece at the upper reach of the hook shaft. This was a dreadful image of the weapon with which they despatched their captives... if despatched was indeed the word to use.

  This weapon, called "Baes-Myr," or "Neck-Jerker" was employed thus: the victim was held pinioned, whilst the executioner, or more properly… torturer, stood before his victim and positioned the hook of the "Baes-Myr" behind the victim's neck. Then, with a sharp pull, the hook spike pierced the victim's nape of neck. Were he, or she, fortunate; the hook spike clove the backbone cord and brought a swift release. If not so fortunate, the victim languished for some sturdy span in passing, as the hook spike was twisted about within his or her nape of neck until, at length, the backbone cord was severed. The cypher of this dreadful device shone brazen upon their black tunics.

  They waited; spread across the path like a covey of black crows. Still, Eldamar and Artanis made approach. They were Galdor Kerystaers, and these lowly dogs held no concern to them. Closer they came; the sun glittering upon the cypher of Berenvag plain upon their raiments; and the gleam of their "Malaer" helms, shone balefully in the bright of the afternoon. The Mage of Eredun had gifted Eldamar one more subterfuge; a singular portion of the mongrel tongue of The Horanaurk... a command; which she caused him to repeat again and again until she was content. This would be their last wager with fate, were it need be used. The Tur-anion Death Cabals should fall back in cower at the sight of the golden cypher of Berenvag; but if they garnered an impudent courage and did not fall back; this command would carry the day… or so she had said.

  There now stood, but a handful of cubits betwixt Eldamar and Artanis, and the black riders. T'would seem that the subterfuge must fail. The Tur-anion Death Cabal sat upon their mounts in insolent array; denying the pathway. Eldamar could perceive some unease prowling about the riders, but their leader stood, defying passage. T'was certain; there could be no doubt; by simple regard of the black riders' demeanour, that the sight of the cypher of Berenvag and the gleam of the "Malaer" helms made the Tur-anion Death Cabal troopers fearful of what they might bring down upon themselves in issue of this insolent affront to The Will of Berenvag.

  Eldamar swiftly chose to grasp advantage from their uncertainty. A little way before the black riders, the Galdor Kerystaer Cabal-master reined in his War-mailed mount, whilst his Captain halted at his flank. Then, in the guttural mongrel tongue that gifted a sudden clamp of fear to the troopers' bowels, he snarled:

  "Tenkuld Saa Berenvag. Lu Harneka!"

  and as if, by magick; the Tur-anion Death Cabal troopers melted away from out of his pathway; not daring to look towards the shadowy helm eye-slot, where they knew his eyes would be marking each one of them in his memory.

  With their pathway cleared; the Galdor Kerystaers rode on, leaving a Tur-anion Death Cabal sternly admonished to rearward. They had ridden, perhaps, a hundred cubits distant, when there came from behind them, a harsh cry of "Kamcha!"... "Kamcha!" In any tongue, it would mean the same; "Halt!"... "Halt!"

  Eldamar and Artanis cast gaze backwards. The Tur-anion Death Cabal leader was galloping in pursuit; his discontent and ire wrapped about him like a cloak. His troop, now cowed; saw the Galdor Kerystaer Cabal-master make a disdainful signal to his Captain to pay no heed to this dullard, and to progress their ride. This enraged the Tur-anion Death Cabal leader even more; and in this arrogance lay his undoing. Beset, as he was by his wrath at this slighting of his self-perceived authority in this place, he committed two grave misdemeanours.

  Misdemeanour… The First, was this:

  As he drew close to the Galdor Kerystaer Captain, he grasped at the reins of the Captain's mount to deny further progression of ride. This was deemed, under the Dictate of the tyrant Berenvag; as the laying of hand upon the person of a Galdor Kerystaer; Penalty: Forfeiture of offending limb.

  Misdemeanour… The Second, sealed his doom. He reached for his sword. This was deemed, under the Dictate of the tyrant Berenvag; as laying stern threat upon the person of a Galdor Kerystaer; Penalty: Death.

  He opened his mouth to snarl some challenge, but the mongrel words never came. What did come was a flash of blade; and suddenly, he was less the sum of one head which tumbled merrily along the dusty pathway. The Tur-anion Death Cabal troopers gazed in shocked horror as their leader's carcass pitched into the dust.

  Here was the catechism for miring the progression of Galdor Kerystaers plainly laid to view before them. There would be no more challenges thrown this day; and for certain sure, word would be laid in the Tur-anion barracks that night, that Galdor Kerystaers were not those to be meddled with.

  The Captain sheathed his sword, and the Galdor Kerystaers rode on, as if 'naught had manifested itself upon this lonesome pathway this day. The Tur-anion Death Cabal troopers turned their mounts about and slunk away; on occasion, gifting swift and fearful glances behindwards to these fearsome, helmed riders who bore the cypher of the tyrant Berenvag, brazen, upon their raiments.

  As they stood further away, fully out of earshot of the black riders; Artanis gazed upon Eldamar and spoke; her voice, still tight and knotted from the jeopardy of this intercept they had faced.

  'What then, did you say to those black vermin, My Lord? For I knew not that you had the gift of the barbarian tongue.'

  Eldamar laughed,

  'I have no grasp of that mongrel tongue; t'was, but a gifting of words from the Mage of Eredun. Methinks it compassed in meaning: "In The Name of Berenvag; Stand aside, you black dogs," or such as that. No matter; it seemed to gift us a sturdy advantage. And that was a most singularly convincing sword-stroke. Methinks, we shall not be waylaid again, once word creeps about the Tur-anion barracks of what manifested here, this day.'

  Thus, they rode the Astalan Plain for the sum in remain of the day, without let 'nor hindrance. There were no more black riders seen; in truth, nothing moved, except once. To the east, in the skies there appeared a black speck, which wheeled and drifted towards them as they progressed forward. It was a Kaarok, which made approach to perhaps, half-a-league distant; and then, seeing the sun gleaming brightly upon the "Malaer" helms, and the cypher of the tyrant Berenvag; wheeled away, and was not seen again.

  As dusk was creeping, they came upon a hamlet in a deep coomb that stood less ruinous than those they had seen previously. There was life in this place; the smell of hearth-smoke hung in the air, and candle glow shone in some of the bothies. The clatter of their mounts' hooves brought forth dwellers from that place. Seeing the dread "Malaer" helms, and the cypher upon the riders' raiments, the dwellers shrank back; the fear standing naked in their eyes.

  Eldamar and Artanis gazed about; the fear in this place was palpable. It stalked these folk; as would a wild beast stalk them. In this lay a truth, and a danger. In truth, it seemed certain-sure that this settlement had not been pillaged by the Horanaurks. Herein, would lie the danger. Were this the case, then the villagers would know only that these riders sought out the youngling females, to carry off into the thrall of licentious servitude at the Court of the tyrant Berenvag, or worse; to abandon them to the despoilments of some Galdor Naigias.

  Eldamar knew that if this were so, they could expect resistance from the young males of this place. It was not his wont to harm these folk; nor, for his part, to chance that he, and Artanis might well be hacked down with billhook and timber axe as the young males strove to protect their maids. He knew he needs-must now hold himself in reveal; for the young men were already circling, all wary and threateningly. This reveal would also hold danger, should there be any spy of the Darklings in this place. The young males were closing about them; their bravery was becoming sturdy, as it is wont to do in the young. Eldamar un-helmed; they saw his eyes were bright Amethyst-violet, and not the blood-red of a Horanaurk.

  The villagers stood, mouths agape, in complete surprise. This rider, garbed in the dreaded Galdor Kerystaer raiments; the cypher of the tyrant Berenvag brazen upon his chest, was Algethi. Artanis also un-helmed; they saw her Emerald-green eyes, and shining red hair. This too, was an Algethi... and a maid, to boot! Embracing the advantage of surprise, Artanis spoke:

  'See you now, before you; Eldamar, Lord Guardian of The Light, from out of The Shining Lands in the far western reaches of Amriath. I am Artanis, of the Cabal of Bradda, in distant Arfeiniel. We ride in seek of the Shire of Ardaltun and the valley of Rhonas-Mhoir, cloaked, as we are, to deny the barbarians the knowing of our presence. We would be beholden to you for shelter, this night.'

  For some sturdy span in passing, there was complete silence. Then an Elder came forward. He stepped up to Eldamar and spoke:

  'My Lord Eldamar; we have heard of you, even here. You are most welcome in our humble settlement. We have thus far, been spared the pillage of the Darklings; hidden away in our coomb as we are. Forgive us our demeanour; for we thought our time was upon us when first, we spied you ride in.'

  Eldamar smiled,

  'There is naught to forgive... but tell me; how know you of me here, being so distant from Amriath?'

  The Elder smiled in return,

  'There is one amongst us who has laid tell of The Lord Guardian of The Light. Many are the tales he has spun around the hearth fires of a winter's night. He has laid upon us the brave tales of the Great Suhai Wars; tales of the Assault on the Ragnor Redoubt; and more.'

  Eldamar was now curious. Of whom did this Elder speak? For there were none here in Astalan that he knew of. The Elder watched this conundrum prowl about Eldamar for a little while, and then spoke again:

  'My Lord, come with me. Soon enough, shall you know of whom I speak.'

  He led Eldamar to a small bothy, and stepping therein, motioned to a figure sitting by the hearth, honing a great long-sword. Eldamar studied the figure and the sword. A whisper of remembrance stood fleeting in his thoughts. The sword... he knew that sword; he knew it as well as his own sword, Eithelhwen; or the swords of his sons: Dagnorath, or Farahuine. It was "Eisys-Taelas." It was not a sword of The Light; but, in simple truth; it deserved to be. 'Aye; it was "Eisys-Taelas"…"Armour Cleaver"; last seen at Ragnor, all those long summers past. It could not be, but it must be… the figure sitting there, before the hearth… who, in turning, spoke:

  'Eldamar, you old fool; what do you here? And in that clown's costume, to boot. But, you never held a shred of sense, even back then; and you most certainly have not accomplished any firm grasp of the same in your old age.'

  There sat Eldamar's old Sword-brother, Trethan... Trethan of Chandar; not seen since the Assault on the Ragnor Redoubt, and long thought of as dead. He held much the same span of summers as did Eldamar; being tall and sturdy, possessed of a great beard, with the locks of his silver mane falling about his shoulders. His face, brown as a hazelnut; all creased with lines that might be thought of as age, but were, in fact, gifted by his humour. For Trethan of Chandar was endowed with a surfeit of good cheer; he had ever been the one who raised their spirits; no matter how bleak was their circumstance. Eldamar stood wordless, as Trethan strode the bothy and embraced him. At length, Eldamar found word:

  'Trethan, what do you here, so far from home? We had thought you lost in the mellay at Ragnor. And now, here you are in this forsaken land.'

  Trethan told that after the Assault on The Ragnor Redoubt; he had lain on the field of battle as the Algethi forces gave rout and pursuit to the ragged remains of the Suhai. He laid there for some two moons with his shoulder torn asunder. He feared that he would be taken by the dreaded Green Rot, but his wound became maggoty, and these tiny comrades ate out the moulder, cleansing his wound. He had been found, close to dying, by a young Succour maid, come seeking any forgotten wounded. She tended him well, and soon enough, he began to recover. At length, they found attraction, one to the other, and bonded. They had journeyed into Astalan; for here, was her homeland. They had settled in this place and their life was good.

  His bond-mate, who held name: Clailya, had borne him a son and a daughter. He had worked the land, and held arms as Militia in this place. Some five summers since past, Clailya had been lost to the Sweating sickness which prowled about the land for two full summers. Then, had come The Darklings. They had not progressed this place, passing some five leagues to the east. But, there was ever the lurking peril of the Galdor Huskaars, or the Tur-anion.

  Trethan elected that they should remain in his bothy and take of their ease. Food and wine would be brought; but first, they should rid themselves of their Horanaurk disguise. Water was brought for them to wash away the woad and charcoal, less any of the villagers should think that they were indeed, barbarians. Eldamar asked, was there fresh woad about this place? For they needs- must assume once more, the darkened countenances when the time came to ride out. Trethan laughed; he had better in store than that; the Sorceress of the settlement would weave magick about them to cozen such Darklings as they might meet.

  Eldamar held a certain unease at this; they had prevailed thus far, without the need to spell-casting, and though, embracing the knowing of the Old Magick; he held no small distaste for magick used blithely. Trethan shrugged; no matter... that was for the morning. Now, was for the taking of refreshment and the telling of tales.

  Eldamar asked; where were Trethan's son and daughter? Trethan replied that when it was seen that there rode two Galdor Kerystaer towards this place; the young females had swiftly decamped to a secret cave farther up the coomb, where they would remain safely guarded by young male swordsmen; amongst whom, was his son. Word was sent, even now, that all was well; they would soon return. But, now... why did Eldamar and his companion ride the dangerous plains of Astalan? And more; why did they ride south, towards the lair of the tyrant Berenvag? For Trethan could not lay thought upon a more perilous endeavour, were he to try so to do. Always, the Tur-anion Death Cabals patrolled and quartered the land in seek of Partisans; and Kaaroks prowled the skies.

  Eldamar laid tell of the quest to his Sword-brother of old. Much stood upon the accomplishment of this thing. Trethan hearkened to the tell; his face held a cast that Eldamar remembered from long ago at the Assault on the Ragnor Redoubt... a look that spoke of a reckless, and flamboyant supposing of what might manifest itself in this thing. Then, Trethan spoke:

  'Methinks I shall join with you in this quest... as will my son and daughter. They both possess consummate skill with the blade, and we have this…'

  He moved to a closet in the far wall, and brought forth a curious device. It held the appearance of a diminutive crossbow, but having thongs of leather, and buckles attached. With these thongs, he strapped the same about his forearm, and looped a drawstring about the finger next to his thumb. He then laid a slender bolt to the stock and pointed his arm towards the door of the closet from whence he had brought this weapon forth. He bent his finger towards his palm. The crossbow loosed its bolt which splintered the door of the closet, so swift, that it close, defeated sight of eye. Trethan smiled;

  'With this, I can lift out an eye at forty cubits. It will pierce all leathern armour with which the barbarians would clad themselves. We shall arm with these, and ride out with you as if we were captive; for in this subterfuge, we shall prevail; and I find I have a taste for the promise of mayhems to be laid upon these Darkling vermin.'

  As he spoke, the door to the bothy opened; and therein, stepped his son and his daughter. Both were wearing great swords. His son was a true likeness of his father. T'was as though Eldamar had looked across the span of summers, and seen the young Trethan... as he was, at Ragnor. The maid was a sturdy wench; some three, and one-half cubits in standing; being not truly beautiful, but more… comely. Her hair was a deep chestnut, and she possessed her father's eyes… a pale blue-grey. Trethan spoke,

  'These are my younglings; Kerrin, my son, and Lirilith, my daughter.'

  Then, to them both, he said,

  'This is my old sword-brother Eldamar, Lord Guardian of The Light from the Shining Lands... He, of whom I have laid you the tales, all down your youngling spans. Make greetings, for he is most welcome here.'

  The young ones duly passed greetings, seeming a trifle overawed in the presence of this Lord Guardian of The Light. Eldamar made to furnish them their easement; he was 'naught, but an old comrade of their father. Soon enough, they became contented in his company, but, t'was seen that Kerrin seemed hard pressed to keep eyes away from Artanis; and she, the same to him. Perhaps, there might be the seed of a concord here.

  Eldamar asked of the swords the younglings wore. They were imposing blades; each of measure close on three cubits from pommel to scabbard drag. The moulding of the cross-guards held two flaring, subordinate guards to either side of the root of the blade. These swords were not of Algethi design, for Algethi blades held not this affectation. These were not even Questor's swords; they stood far back in the mists of forgetfulness. The blades were ridged from cross-guard to pointing; being double-edged in their full length... which stood close to two, and one-half cubits. They were truly fearsome weapons.

  Trethan told that they had passed to him through the lineage of his bond-mate Clailya, whose kinship stood far back in unbroken line down the long lost summers of misting forgetfulness to one of The Custodians of Asteth Tarsi, who held name: Tyrod Holmath. Clailya was not true Algethi; she was "Peredhil"... being only half-Algethi. But her lineage was such, that she was revered in her span as "Sha'Algethi" or "Friend of The Algethi."

  T'was the tell... as was handed down from father to son, from mother to daughter; that they were swords of the Custodians of Asteth Tarsi; "The Guardians of The Star of The East", who held the land that was now Astalan safe in their charge in the First Age of The Light; long before came the time of The Algethi.

  When they became sturdy enough in measure, Trethan had gifted these swords to Kerrin and Lirilith, and tutored them in ways of the Old Warriors. Swords such as these deserved nothing less. Eldamar knew full well, that of all the swordsmen he had ever known; Trethan, most consummately held this art which had long since been cast aside for more frivolous sword disciplines. But, when you needed to butcher your foe; why then, you fell back upon the Old Ways.

  Trethan had shown his mastery of The Old Ways at the dreadful Assault on The Ragnor Redoubt, when he despatched above a score of Darklings single-handed, without seeming to need draw too sturdy a breath. T'was said that he had hewn down close on two score; the Leissor blade of "Eisys-Taelas"... "Armour Cleaver" filling the air with her terrible, shrilling shriek as she sundered the Darklings' plate armour. T'was said that he might have prevailed with many more, had he not been struck down from behind by a Suhai war-axe.

  But, that was long ago; this was a perilous task, and they were not as young as once they were. Perhaps, they should not gather such thinking about themselves. Trethan, together with Kerrin and Lirilith decried him in haste. This was not for debate; they would ride with Eldamar and Artanis in the manner of the subterfuge that Trethan had laid forth. Now, t'was time for refreshment and rest. They would elicit the Sorceress of the settlement for a charm of concealment and ride out on the morrow, and that was an end to it.

  So it was; the next morning, Trethan led them to a bothy at the far reach of the settlement. Entering in, they perceived a woman sitting at a table, reading from a great volume there, before her. Trethan spoke,

  'Fair morrow, Seremela; I have need of your skills this day.'

  Eldamar had not known what to expect. He had thought he would encounter some old crone; but this one... this Sorceress, held not beyond a score, and ten summers. She was slender and blonde; with serious, deep blue eyes. She spoke,

  'Good morrow, Trethan. I see you have company, and if my gaze be not cozened; a Wiccen Rede warrior, and a Guardian of The Light. How may I be of service to you?'

  Trethan swiftly explained the supposed conundrum; how might they progress to the south lacking molestation by the barbarians? Eldamar and Artanis could travel cloaked in the garb of Galdor Kerystaers; but for the others, some charm stood sturdy in the require. He told of the quest; he told of the great defeat of the Mordbrood of Valdarthost in distant Amriath. In listening to the tell, Seremela smiled.

  'I shall weave you an enchantment, Trethan, which will cloak you all in your great endeavour. I shall send word to my Wiccen Rede sisters to spell-bind your progress into the south, so the enchantment may prevail in strength as you distance yourself from me.'

  She stepped to a chest laid upon a shelf, and brought forth five Periapts… or charms. Each Periapt was fashioned in gold, and took the shape of a leaf... a leaf that Eldamar knew... the Lothluthil Rowan Leaf; being the symbol of The High Goddess Elaiana... "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being."

  Here, was conundrum indeed; how came this Lothluthil leaf image to Astalan? For Lothluthil was close on nine-hundred leagues to the west; what then, of this thing? Seremela, seeing his incertitude, smiled a soft and secret smile; she spoke,

  'My Lord Eldamar, it is not only the Algethi of the west who revere Elaiana... "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being "… she is known in this distant, and doubtless heathen land, in like fashion as you know Her in the west!'

  Eldamar gifted her a chastened glance,

  'I thought not… I meant no offence'…

  She smiled again,

  'I know you did not. T'was but a gentle jesting on my part; but, now… to the enchantment.'

  She sat at table and opened the great volume, seeking some efficacious spellbinding which would lend them advantage. She turned page upon page slowly, making study; and then, she smiled,

  'Here it is. I shall intone this Wreathing Enchantment in Ancient Astalanian Algethi; then lay the tell in common tongue, so you may understand the sum of all.'

  She bade them tie the Lothluthil leaf Periapts about their necks with the leathern braids attached thereto; then she spoke the charm:

  'Shol saes aer shor shaes os torol,

  Mer saes aes shor cyrn os shol;

  Vyndraer ol ail kyre molaeli,

  Shor si mesti; tylaer mael.'

  Then, she laid the words of the enchantment to them in the common tongue, thus:

  'Blind their eyes with wreaths of misting,

  Shut their ears with howl of wind;

  Progress on, in ghostly silence,

  Whilst they stumble; senses dimmed.'

  And, as she ended the intonement, there came a whimpering sigh of wind about the thatch of the bothy... 'though there was no wind across the settlement that morning.

  Eldamar asked of Seremela; how then, did she elect to cloak their countenances? For certain sure, Trethan, and Kerrin and Lirilith could only expect the subterfuge of seeming to be captives of the Galdor Kerystaers to prevail until they came upon the lair of the tyrant Berenvag. Such deceit would swiftly come undone if they were seen to ride on, away from this place. Seremela smiled again;

  'I have a subterfuge for this conundrum as well. You came to this place, with your countenances cloaked in woad and charcoal. I have a better deceit; and we shall cloak Trethan, and Kerrin and Lirilith as if they were Galdor Auxiliaries.'

  She brought forth, from out a great chest; a slender phial, saying,

  'Here… this is the juice from the fruit of the Gall Oak; it grows further up the coomb. It is used to dye cloth as black as the blackest night; but, if at the first, you anoint yourself with a balm I have prepared; then its hue of concealment of your Algethi countenances shall not linger beyond the span of its need.'

  She moved to the great chest once more, and brought forth an diminutive earthen pot which held a curious yellowish balm; saying...

  'This is the sap from a singularly ugly plant found far to the south. The plant is called "Aloe" and is possessed of fat and fleshy leaves, and little else. This balm is taken from those leaves; and if smoothed upon the skin before the juice of the Gall-Oak is thereon laid; will deny the staining juice a sturdy hold; and will be simple to discard with washing in water when the said cloaking of countenance stands no more, in need of prevailment.'

  She then gave them the key to the enchantment. When came the need to manifest this thing; they were each to take the Golden Lothluthil leaf Periapt betwixt finger and thumb of their left-most hand, and, as one, intone the Ancient Astalan Algethi spoken charm: "Shaerol Iartyraes," which, in the common tongue, would mean: "Cloak us with your breath." When the danger had passed, and the need for the cloaking spell had diminished; then, they were to intone: "Uu-tuulo'Shaerol," which, in the common tongue, would mean "Un-cloak your breath from us."

  Seremela told that, when the golden Lothluthil leaf Periapt was taken betwixt finger and thumb of their left-most hand, and, as one, they intoned the Ancient Astalan Algethi spoken charm: "Shaerol Iartyraes;" a mist would rise about them… a grey wall through which none might see. Beyond the mist, the winds would howl and whimper, but would not molest the mist itself. Herein, they could ride; for no sound of their gallop would be heard beyond the mist. Within the cloak of enchantment, they would see plainly, the pathway of their travel. In this, they could pass by the lair of the tyrant Berenvag, and none who, perhaps, chose to gaze into the mist from the Citadel battlements would know of their passing.

  So it was; they anointed their countenances with this curious, soft, yellowish balm that Seremela called Oil of Aloe. It was uncommonly soft and cool upon their skin. She then poured a little of the juice from the fruit of the Gall Oak into a shallow bowl and, with a pad of soft fabrick, smoothed it upon their faces. When she was done, they all bore countenances that were dark and sombre; at swift glance they would pass as Horanaurk.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Trethan, Kerrin, and Lirilith then garbed themselves in tunics, breeches, and helmets of sturdy leather. They would pass as Galdor Auxiliaries well enough; for such lesser barbarians were not gifted with the fine raiments of the Galdor Kerystaers. Galdor Auxiliaries wore what was best suited for their endeavours. Eldamar and Artanis wore the full raiments, with the dread "Malaer" helms.

  As they stepped out into the soft of the morning; fearful glances were cast in their direction from several of the villagers, even though t'was common knowing that they were not as they appeared; for such, was the terror that the sight of these raiments solicited. Seremela spoke;

  'I shall fly out my hawk to my sisters of the Wiccen Rede who compass your southern progress, in tell of the enchantment. They shall weave the same; from one to the other, so that you may ride all girded about with this subterfuge that shall not dim as you progress the further away.'

  Then, lifting her arms, in singular embrace of them all, she laid Benison of the Wiccen Rede upon them, in the Ancient Astalanian Algethi Tongue:

  'Vyra elol caesi, shyr bol eil pae,

  Thys syri, shai syr mael aistaedi

  Si Jhol, ail vyndraer ol air shae.

  Ai byrn ailyji Sholael Vaedi

  Tylerol, byrn iadyl saes jhae,

  Sor air os shor, mai tyri air shi!'

  This Benison of the Wiccen Rede; when spoken in the common tongue was thus:

  'Protection here, both night and day,

  From those, who would seek to impede

  The Light, in progress on its way.

  I now invoke the Wiccen Rede.

  Confusion, now upon them lay.

  This is our will, so mote it be!'

  This was not in a manner of some common spell-bind. This was an intonement of benefaction, laid forth in the name of the Wiccen Rede for protection on their ride. It may have held no more meaning than a simple farewell. It may though, have been something else. For there was no knowing the power of the Wiccen Rede; in manner the same, that there was no knowing the intricacies of the spellbinding of women. Such diverse and subtle spell-casts might hold anything; in manner, much the same, that female humour could never be breached with simple fancy.

  Eldamar had seen a fleeting glance shared betwixt Seremela and Artanis, who knew of these things... a glance that told Eldamar plain, that there was more to this than simple benefaction. He knew not what; but the look in Artanis's eyes told him that he would not wish to be a Horanaurk who chanced upon their progress.

  Having gathered provisions and water, they rode out into the south. Soon, they accomplished the Plain of Astalan. To the southerly-east, there rose again, the smoky-blue hills. To the far southern reach of this range of hills would lie the lair of the tyrant Berenvag. Once, in more untroubled times, it had been the Royal Palace of Astalan; now, it was a black canker overseeing the despoiled Realm.

  It was needful to pass within a pair of leagues of this ominous edifice for there was, but one sturdy road to the south; and Galdor Kerystaers did not progress by lesser track-ways. They were the Masters; they rode the broad ways. Anything other than this arrogance might lay the seed of suspicion in any watcher that these Galdor Kerystaers perhaps, were not all they would seem to be. So; the broad way would be taken, until the ominous edifice loomed before them. Then, would the enchantment be invoked.

  The Companions rode on. A pair of times they were examined at length by Kaaroks that wheeled and drifted about them; but these creatures seemed to accept that which they espied as truthing, and t'was not long before they flew on. Beyond this, no sight was laid of patrolling riders, and soon enough, the companions came upon the borders of the Great Marsh of Rachlareth. There was, but one causeway across this black marsh. To wander from the causeway was a barter with fate; countless travellers had been lost in this place, sucked down without trace if they had been so rash as to prospect their own design of passage.

  Why then, had these misfortunate travellers knowingly gainsaid the causeway? The purpose stood plain. The causeway led them towards the lair of the tyrant Berenvag. None made approach to this place by choice; See there… it squatted like some odious toad upon the shoulder of the distant hill. In approach, there would be seen the carcasses of the victims of the Galdor Huskaars all hanging about the walls of the tyrant's Citadel; the marks of their mutilation and torture in plain view. For certain-sure, this was not a place to approach. Better by far, to lay wager with fate in the Great Marsh of Rachlareth, then to gaze upon the abomination that once, had been The Royal Palace of Astalan.

  The companions though, had not the need to seek some other pathway. Boldly, they rode the causeway; they were Galdor Kerystaers with Auxiliaries, returning from some scouting for fresh flesh for the Court of Berenvag. As they drew closer to the ominous edifice, t'was seen that the causeway clove in twain. One arm turned towards the Citadel; the other progressed into the south.

  Eldamar spoke;

  'When we are within a half-league of the fork; then, shall we invoke the sum of the enchantment. See! We are spied upon, even as I speak.'

  He motioned to the walls of the Citadel, now in clear view. Dark figures were gathered there, watching their progress. Brazenly, they continued their ride. T'was seen that the gates of the Citadel were opened, and from therein, rode a parcel of black riders... Tur-anion, riding in intercept to escort them to the tyrant. Softly, the companions took hold of the golden Lothluthil leaf Periapts betwixt finger and thumb of their left-most hand; waiting for Eldamar to give signal that they should intone the Ancient Astalanian Algethi spoken charm.

  The black riders were making sturdy pace along the subordinate causeway towards where the cleave lay. The companions looked to Eldamar; how long must he wait? The Tur-anion had almost accomplished the cleave in the causeway; Eldamar spoke:

  'Hold hard…. wait… wait...'

  And then:

  'Now, Speak!'

  And, as one, they intoned the cloaking charm:

  "Shaerol Iartyraes."

  At first, it seemed nothing must happen; then slowly... slowly; tendrils of wreathing mist began to rise out of the Great Marsh of Rachlareth. The sky began to gather cloud, as if some paltry storm was chasing in from the north. The mist thickened; sight of the causeway faded, and they heard plain, the cursings and warning cries of the Tur-anion, who… in losing sight of the causeway, began to veer into the reedy borders of the Marsh.

  But to the companions, the causeway stood in plain sight within the mists which now, had progressed into a dank, and sturdy grey fog. They heard, muffled now, in the grey wall of nothingness; the cries and splashing about of the stricken Tur-anion blundering blindly, as they sank deeper into the binding clutch of the quagmire that would claim them all.

  With the dreadful cries of the stricken Tur-anion muffled by the clinging fog as they were sucked to their doom ringing in their ears; the companions lay heel to flank and galloped the causeway. T'was as if they rode a grey passageway. The causeway stood in plain sight to them, yet all around was dismal grey that writhed and swirled in their passing. They would hold full gallop for a sturdy span of time, so they might lay distance betwixt themselves, and this evil place.

  Eldamar knew there would be no raising of the hue and cry; the watchers at the Citadel would not hold concern for the tumult that drifted through the fog from out the marsh. He had seen their singular lack of concern towards the fate of their brothers stand manifest at the Battle of Rhyddu. These Tur-anion had approached the marsh holding most slovenly regard for the lurking peril. In this, they had paid the price, and t'was, as like, had taken the Galdor Kerystaers and Auxiliaries with them.

  In this too; t'was, as like... that upon being gifted with the tell of this calamity; The tyrant Berenvag would shrug his shoulders, call for more wine, and reach for yet one more captive maid. Such was the fellowship of the barbarians; all were held fully in the expend.

  Though holding such assumption, Eldamar elected that t'would be prudent to hold the enchantment in cloak about them until they had ridden clear of the Great Marsh of Rachlareth. What they did not know; indeed, what they could not know, was this:

  Less than half-a-league behind them, rode three Tur-anion who had escaped the clutch of the marsh, and were now resolved to ride down these Galdor Kerystaers and Auxiliaries… if indeed, that was what they were. For, in their minds, there was a thing here that stood not plain to the eye. How then, might these Galdors prosecute full gallop in this cloaking and swirling fog? Why then, could the Tur-anion perceive; albeit faintly now, the causeway in trail of the Galdors? Their comrades had been blinded by this swift-risen fog, and sucked to their doom. This smelled of enchantment, and enchantment was not in the remit of Galdors.

  See there! A pale glow; as like some firefly that danced in the swirling glim, a half league before them. The fools had fired a link to thin the fog from their sight of the causeway! All that needs be done was to follow the same, and then intercept the Galdors when the far reach of the Great Marsh of Rachlareth was accomplished. And thus, in their prosecution of this supposed guileful endeavour, were the fates of the Tur-anion troopers sealed.

  For what they supposed was a flaring link, was in truth, the pommel stone of Eldamar's great Sword of The Light: Eithelhwen; shining forth her alarm that Darklings were close to hand. Eldamar had watched her glow for some two leagues now; and being fully forewarned, had eased pace to hearken what there might be to hear. The sharp senses of the Algethi companions had listened to the muffled and hollow drumming of hooves in approach from their rear, as the Tur-anion galloped in pursuit.

  To each side of the causeway, the reedy grasses and mosses were slowly diminishing as the far border of the Great Marsh of Rachlareth was approached. Soon, would be the time to spring the trap about these barbarians. Eldamar said he would call halt and turn-about, a quarter-league beyond. They would invoke the uncloaking charm and take down these pursuing vermin at a stroke. As they rode; Trethan, Kerrin, and Lirilith spanned, and lay bolt to their forearm bows.

  There! The Plain of Astalan was widening out before them. They reined in, and turned to face the oncoming thunder of gallop. Holding the golden, Lothluthil leaf Periapts betwixt finger and thumb of their left-most hands; as one, they intoned the uncloaking charm:

  "Uu-tuulo'Shaerol."

  The grey wall of fog gave writhe and swirl, and began to lift. Trethan, Kerrin, and Lirilith lay forth their bow-arms as three faint shadows came into view. The shadows gathered shape of horsemen; and three fingers pulled their drawstrings. Three bolts thrummed away into the glim; three horsemen tumbled out of saddle. One gave a shriek; the others did not.

  They rode back to see what they would find. Three Tur-anion lay there; one briefly and screamingly writhed; the others were silent and still. The two who lay unmoving had been struck in their foreheads; the bolt bursting from out the backs of their skulls, wherefrom their brains dribbled from the small hole punched therethrough. The one who had screamingly writhed; writhed no more. He had been pierced through his left eye; with the bolt still standing forth from his shattered eye socket.

  The carcasses were gathered, and thrown into the marsh, where they slowly sank into the sucking, clutching depths. There was 'naught to lay the tell that Tur-anion troopers had ever been in this place; their horses were cantering away towards the Citadel. These would be thought of, as being stragglers from the earlier calamity.

  The Companions turned again to south; now they would ride hard. The fog would hold for a while yet, about the Great Marsh of Rachlareth and the Citadel of the tyrant Berenvag. Whilst it held, the Kaaroks would not fly. The sky was lifting cloud, and t'would be prudent to make as much distance as they might, in the time that they were given.

  As they rode the remain of the day, there was much debate concerning the blight of the tyrant Berenvag and his Darkling Hordes. The Western Realms would never know peace whilst he held sway in this land. Astalan was ravaged; all about were the signs of his destruction. Settlement after settlement had been burned and pillaged; bodies lying where they had fallen. Scarce a living soul was to be seen. Eldamar held stern conviction that, were The Oneness of The Light ever to prevail in this desolate Realm, then Berenvag and his black spawn must be engaged in battle and annihilated. But how then, might this be accomplished?

  The Forces of The Light were diminished. Where might they garner allies for this endeavour? Trethan pondered this thing. There was, but thin chance of raising arms in Astalan. Most of the males of sword-bearing age were lost as the Mordbrood swept up from the south. Artanis had previously told that there were no males within close on a hundred leagues about Arfeiniel; but there was one place that even the Mordbrood would not have dared to incurse. That place was The Realm of Seuna.

  The Realm of Seuna lay to the furthest south-easterly borders of Astalan. There would be small purpose for the Hordes of the tyrant Berenvag to prosecute his will here. For if he did, the sum of the score would doubtless be greater than the sum of the prize. Seuna was the Realm of the Warrior women. No full-grown males were permitted to reside in Seuna. Once, each summer; in order to prevent their race from dying out, they visited the Taithoni; a neighbouring tribe. After choosing suitable partners, the Seuna warriors would take them into the darkness of the forest and there they would mate with them.

  When the time came, and if they gave birth to a male; they would, as like, kill; blind, or cripple the infant. If they chose to keep them alive, they would then use them as slaves when they grew into youngling males. Should they be suitable, they would be used as a supply of male seed.

  They also took males prisoner in battle. After choosing the most handsome, they then used them for their carnal pleasure, and would either kill them, or use them as slaves once their usefulness had been held in expend. The female infants so sired, were kept, and raised by their mothers; trained in agricultural pursuits; in hunting, and the Art of War. Such females as these Warrior women were not to the taste of the tyrant Berenvag and his Darkling Hordes; his humour was for submissive females whom he could bend to his licentious will.

  Artanis pondered this thing. Perhaps, the Seuna Warrior women could be entreated to be allied to The Light. T'would need careful counselling, but she had heard tell that the Darklings were loathed with a singular venom by these females. T'was said that any Darklings taken on, or about their borders, were despatched in gruesome fashion, and hung upon linked stakes along the borderlands of Seuna like so many dead crows taken by the watchman of some Lord's landholding. The Sisterhood of the Wiccen Rede would know of this thing; they needs must prospect now to easterly, to seek out the Witching Mistress, Justalyn of Luxtan.

  Luxtan was an ancient, fortified farmstead behind the far reaches of the smoky-blue hills. Here dwelt the Witching Mistress, Justalyn; Wiccen Rede Priestess of Astalan. If any would know whether the Seuna Warrior women would countenance alliance, t'would be her. T'would be twenty leagues in the gallop, and t'was already three Sundial-shadows beyond zenith. If they rode without hindrance, they might strike Luxtan before came the goldening in the west. They would need to strike out to easterly.

  Trethan told that there was an old Military road hereabouts that led up into the smoky-blue hills. Perhaps, t'would be prudent to trace this passage, rather than seek another way further to the south. This Military road led to the encampments and training grounds of the Horanaurk Hordes. In Trethan's counsel there lay an insolence that shone brightly beyond any insolence that might be imagined. For it was certain-sure that none who held even a shred of sturdy wit, would progress this way unless they were indeed, none other than they appeared to be; Galdor Kerystaers, perhaps, upon some covert inspection.

  In this there lay the need for more subterfuge. T'was, as like, that they would be studied most sternly as they progressed the encampments. Horanaurks held no female warriors in their ranks; females were lesser creatures to them, fit only for carnality and menial homesteading tasks. Though the Darkling raiments gifted Artanis and Lirilith with the demeanour of Galdors, their femininity was betrayed by the swell of their bosoms. A needful cloaking was the require. Artanis and Lirilith had debated this issue, and now held a guileful settlement.

  They called out to break ride, and entered a spinney that lay close by the trackway. There, they dismounted and began to divest themselves of their tunics. The others turned away to gift the maids some modesty, knowing that neither wore shift 'nor bodice beneath their tunics. Artanis brought forth from her pannier, bindings of cambrick. These, they would wind tightly about themselves to deny the fulsome swell of their breasts beneath their stern tunics.

  As they were thus engaged, it was seen that Kerrin, though; was hard-pressed to keep his eyes averted from stealing side-long glance at Artanis's delightful breasts; soft kissed, as they were, by the gentle, early eventide sun. Eldamar smiled; this was the very nature of males. Be they in receipt of sum of five or fifty-five summers; always, would gift of such sight of sweet femininity addle their resolve. He needs must keep careful watch on this one; for the flame of desire blunted the spear of common good sense... and common good sense would be much needed in this endeavour.

  At length, when they were done; the maids bore small sign of their femininity. They had resolved this issue, thus: At the first, they had cupped their hands about their breasts and pushed them aside towards their arms... in the manner that their breasts would assume, were the maids laying upon their backs. The bindings had then been wrapped round and about, capturing their breasts in this manner. The bindings were sternly wrapped, but not so much that they might deny normal drawing of breath.

  Enclothed in their tunics, the maids appeared as males, albeit, of slender stature. Of bosom, there was no sign. The maids spoke of some discomfort in this; but such discomfort concerning this deceit would be as nothing, to the discomfort they would embrace, should the Horanaurks perceive the truth of their standing.

  The companions rode out of the spinney, and turning to easterly, rode again the Military road. Within two leagues, they came upon the first watchpost. Two Horanaurks lolled there, bored and indolent. Hearing the approaching thrum of hooves, they gazed down the road. Their indolence fled as swift, as a sparrow pursued by a hawk will fly as they perceived the dreaded "Malaer" helms and the golden cypher of the tyrant Berenvag brazen, upon the tunics. The Horanaurks close-fell over themselves to stand rigidly in salutation as the Galdor Kerystaers and their Auxiliaries swept past.

  The Galdor Kerystaer Cabal-master gifted them a disdainful nod; his companions paid them no heed at all. Fully un-nerved, the Horanaurks made hasty retreat into their watchpost. T'would seem the encampment farther along the road would soon be gifted the rudest of awakenings. Perhaps, this dreary penance of watching the empty plain was not so bad in the sum of things. They watched with nervous eyes as the Galdor Kerystaers made distance from them.

  Half-a-league on; a sentinel spied the approach. Dropping his Kelek-Bersker, he rushed to the encampment with the fear rising and clawing at his bowels; and shrieked to the Galdor Huskaar Captain, of what rode towards them. The Captain rushed about the encampment rousting out his Huskaars. They managed to form regimented rank as the dreaded "Malaer" helms appeared on the rise.

  The Galdor Kerystaer Cabal-master and his companions rode the ranks with overbearing arrogance. It seemed he chose to find no fault in the dishevelled, and slovenly turned-out encampment; for he gave a curt nod to the Captain, then rode on to east with his companions.

  The Galdor Huskaar Captain permitted himself a sly smirk; He had prevailed in this surprise inspection. The next encampment might not hold such good fortune. For here, there was settled a Naigias. By now, the swilling of wine and rutting of wenches would be well in hand. He smirked again; these hubristic Kerystaer swine were not known for their accommodation of humour in these matters. T'was like as not, the Captain of this next encampment might well find himself relieved of the weight of one head if the reverie was beyond the inclinations of these high, and mighty coxcombs.

  As it was, the encampment was fully in its cups as they rode in. Artanis paused without the Naigias. Might it be, that Sanya, the younger sister of Laurana; once Princess of Astalan... now called "The Partisan, Yellow-Haired Slut," was in this place? Eldamar bade her not to prosecute such a perilous thought; but this was Artanis. He may as well have cast his bidding at the nearest tree.

  She dismounted and strode to the Naigias. Swiftly, Eldamar followed; bidding the others to remain where they were. He entered, and beheld the keeper... who was yet one more loathsome half-breed; a corpulent female making offer of wine to this Galdor Kerystaer Captain who had so honoured her establishment with his eminent patronage. So effuse were her felicitations, that she did not even see the sweeping sword stroke gifted by Artanis that separated her fat carcass from her ugly head.

  Eldamar groaned; he was in receipt of far too many summers for all this nonsense. Artanis had already progressed the stairs; throwing open the door to each rutting chamber in turn; and in a cold and guttural voice, calling "Sanya," above the din of grunt and whimper. When there was no reply, she slammed the door and moved to the next. The rutting Horanaurks held such fear of the dreaded "Malaer" helm and the golden cypher of the tyrant Berenvag, that none chose to prosecute issue on this unwarranted disturbance of their pleasure.

  At the sixth door, as she called the name; a sobbing voice made reply. She spied a young, golden-haired maid spread face down, with a Horanaurk despoiler aboard her, who was brutally imposing upon her shivering body, the same most debauched and unnatural rutting that would seem to be the chosen perversion that these vermin gleefully inflicted upon Algethi maids.

  The Horanaurk rolled off the maid, and made good his feet. Then, he was upon his knees; clutching and clawing at his tumbling bowels. Frantically, he tried to push them back into his gutted belly, as he shrieked in his desperate agony. For Artanis had made him gift of the dreadful Wiccen Rede Death blow.

  She wrapped the young maid about in a discarded cloak and hurried her out of the chamber. Swiftly, they accomplished the stair and decamped from the Naigias. A horse was taken from the stable, and the young maid put upon its back. Then they rode out of the encampment. There were none to see their passing by; for all the Darklings were deeply in their cups and snoring loudly.

  As they rode, Artanis communed with the young maid. Was she Sanya, the younger sister of Laurana? The maid replied that she was the same. She had been taken with her elder sister as they fled the Palace of Astalan. When she was taken, she had held just twelve summers. Since then, she had been kept in the encampment Naigias and had spent the last two summers being carnally pillaged by The Darklings. Artanis asked, did she know the countryside about here? More; did she hear tell of the farmstead of Luxtan?

  Sanya replied; it was commonly spoken of by her tormentors. Luxtan was not a place the Horanaurks would choose to prospect. They told of a Mighty witch who dwelt there. Make too close an approach; they said; and t'was as like, they would embrace a grim doom. For this witch had a score to settle with them.

  Artanis smiled. At what distance was this place? Did Sanya know? Sanya replied; as close as she could tell; Luxtan was no more than five leagues distant; being on the nether edge of the training grounds. No Horanaurks would train here, this night; their progress was now assured. These words had scarcely fallen from her bruised lips, when out of the dusk ahead of them... as if, from nowhere; rode a squadron of the black riders. It was a Tur-anion Death Cabal riding for home. Swiftly, Artanis loose wrapped Sanya's wrists with a cord, and said she should assume a humour of fearful resignation. She would be their captive... fresh flesh for the Court of the tyrant Berenvag, and recently taken from out of the Naigias and the clutches of the encampment scum.

  In approach; the Tur-anion Death Cabal sundered rank to allow the Galdor Kerystaer Cabal-master and his companions free passage. As they passed by, the Tur-anion Captain nodded acknowledgement, which was returned by the Cabal-master and his Captain. He regarded the dishevelled, golden-haired maid. These wastrels at Court were beset with fair fortune with such wenches as this; free for the taking. He rode on. Perhaps, one day; should he snare "The Partisan, Yellow-Haired Slut," he too would lounge in the Court of the tyrant Berenvag, with such sweet morsels to hand.

  His troopers were not thinking the like. They were feeling their bowels clench as the dreaded "Malaer" helms glittered coldly in the swiftly dying sun. Had they but known! They were not the only ones with clenching bowels that night. The companions were hard-pressed to hold their arrogant and haughty demeanour; with every fibre of their good sense telling them to lay heel to flank and gallop away. But they did not.

  They sat tall in saddle and progressed on without a backward glance at this Tur-anion Death Cabal now fading into the gathering dusk. All the while, they expected to hear the harsh cry of "Kamcha!... Kamcha!"… "Halt!... Halt!" as they were discovered. But the cry never came.

  As they made distance from the encampment, the companions gave a sturdy sigh. T'was, as like, they would not encounter more Horanaurks abroad this night. At most, perhaps there would be one more watchpost, and then, they would be into the broad span of the training wastes of Sennragen. In a little while, the watchpost came into sight, there was no movement there. The clatter of their approach stirred no curiosity.

  As they rode past, they perceived the guards sprawled snoring in their drunken stupor; the drained wine pouches scattered all about. Had they the humour, the companions could have slit the guards' throats with consummate ease; apportioning the Darklings a doom of which they would have grasped no knowing of either the why, 'nor the wherefore. But, they rode on. Now, before them lay thirty leagues of empty desolation. The Training wastes of Sennragen, where the barbarian Hordes were schooled in their mayhems, stretched before them; eerie, and silent as the tomb.

  Here, to be seen, lay the sum of tell of the venomous indifference of the Horanaurk to the value of life. Hereabouts were scattered the bleaching bones of those who were not so gifted in mayhem as others. Here, was no quarter given in their schooling. If they could not prevail in their combat, then, they would perish. For in truth; the reach of the training wastes of Sennragen was 'naught more than a slaughterhouse for those less skilled with blade; or perhaps, those who yet embraced some faint shadow of caution.

  There would be no more encampments on this road. Now, it wound up into the smoky-blue hills, which stood, fading to indigo in the lowering twilight. Another pair of leagues and they would encounter The Farmstead of Luxtan. A little further on, they broke ride at a little stream tumbling from out of the hills. Here, they would wash away the darkening cloak of their countenances, and unmask themselves. There was no knowing how Justalyn, The Witching Mistress would receive them, were they cloaked in their Darkling disguise. Just as Seremela the Sorceress had foretold; the curious Aloe balm had decried sturdy hold of the Gall Oak stain; and soon, the companions bore again, the pale countenances of Algethi.

  Turning to east again; they rode the lowering twilight, until they came upon Luxtan. The farmsteading lay in a hollow below the shoulder of the hill and was girdled all about with a great wall... much in manner the same as had Amberdrove been so walled. As they rode to the gateway, a figure appeared in the doorway of the stone-built farmstead dwelling. The figure held a staff; the staff held a great crystal in its headstock; the crystal held a pale, golden glow. The companions reined in. The figure stood silently before them. Artanis spoke swiftly,

  'Stay where you are, and do not move; for we are to be weighed in balance here. If we are found false, and wanting in this thing, we shall be destroyed where we stand.'

  Then came a great swathe of golden light from the crystal in the staff. It swept about them, and then it was gone. The figure came towards them; they saw it was a woman, holding some two-score of summers upon her. Her stature was tall and imperious. This then, was Justalyn, the Witching Mistress… Wiccen Rede Priestess of Astalan. She spoke,

  'Welcome, Artanis of the Cabal of Bradda. Welcome, Eldamar, Lord Guardian of The Light; Welcome Trethan, Sword-master of Chandar. Welcome to you all. How may I be of service to your questing?'

  Artanis swiftly told all that needed to be told. She told of the quest; she told of their subterfuge, and the enchantment that held them safe. She told of the hope that the Women warriors of Seuna might rise to the need of The Light. Justalyn smiled,

  'This supposed endeavour might well be brought to being. I shall elicit such favour from the Seunaians as I might; for I find myself grown fulsome-weary of seeing these barbarian vermin disporting in the meadows that once were my bond-mate's landholding.'

  Surprised; Artanis spoke,

  'T'was not known that you held bond-mate, Mistress.'

  Justalyn smiled sadly, and replied;

  'Aye... The Lord Thalor. He made sturdy resistance when the tyrant Berenvag and his Hordes swept up from the south. His fate for this affront was to be nailed to the door of his Manor which lies slighted and ruined, out yonder. I was stripped naked, and thrown upon a rude table. There, before his eyes, I was defiled and pillaged in manner, most carnally diverse, by a score or so, of these animals. When, at length, all had sated their lust; the Manor was fired all about him. It took the span of three full Sundial-shadows 'ere he perished, and I was forced to watch the whole. They then left me; taking my two younglings with them as hostage. I have not seen or heard of them for close on four summers. I know not if they are alive or dead. 'Aye, I will give you full aid in this thing, and glad of it.'

  Justalyn led them into the farmstead. She turned to speak, and her eyes beheld Sanya standing there, shivering and dishevelled. Surprise stood plain upon her face. She gasped,

  'T'is the Princess Sanya; Oh, child, we had thought you dead; what have they done to you?'

  She took Sanya into her arms; as would a mother, her daughter. Artanis told of the finding of Sanya in the encampment Naigias, and of what befell such maids, there, so held. In the hearing; Justalyn's eyes became cold and hard; the same look Eldamar had seen in Artanis that day when they came upon the first slaughtered settlement. He held firm assumption that if Justalyn could gain these women warriors of Seuna as allies, this would indeed, be a great, yet terrible advantage. For, if the look in the eyes of Artanis, and now... Justalyn; these, who were civilised women; made the blood run cold in the seeing… what then, would be unleashed if these Seuna warriors allied themselves to The Light? For, as Artanis had said; they were, in repute, merciless in battle.

  Justalyn said that she would send out her messenger hawk to the Stronghold of Ardenrhyne. This place was the seat of the Throng Mistress, Segartis. Though the warrior women of Seuna of held no affinity to the Sisterhood of The Wiccen Rede, there stood a long-held accord betwixt Justalyn and Segartis, rooted in their shared, consummate loathing of the tyrant Berenvag and his barbarians.

  The Throng Mistress, Segartis; Justalyn said; was The Exalted One, who mustered the warrior women of Seuna in times when mayhems had need to be laid. Segartis would raise her army of warriors by commanding the beacons be fired across Seuna, from hill-top to high place; to watchtower, and onwards, across all of her Realm.

  Justalyn told that it was whispered that Segartis might raise an Army above two hundred thousand standing, of her merciless sisters in this manner. Such a gathering would span a sturdy stand of time in passing; perhaps, a Se'nnight or so; but, if such alliance could be forged, it would be more than enough to bring down the tyrant Berenvag and his army of barbarians. Meantime; she said the companions should take of refreshment and rest. She would convey Sanya abovestairs to a chamber; there to bathe away the taint of the Horanaurk Naigias, and comfort her needs.

  As they sat at table, the companions reflected upon what Justalyn had laid before them concerning the warrior women of Seuna. Artanis and Lirilith held eager accord with this endeavour; Trethan and Kerrin held no issue over this thing, although t'was certain- sure that the attentions of Kerrin were befogged by his thoughts of Artanis. T'was plain to see; and Artanis was not decrying his attentions.

  Eldamar though; was wary of this Throng Mistress, Segartis. If the women of Seuna held such little worth of males as had been said; why then, should they deign to forge alliance with him? Would it be prudent to lay foot in Seuna at all? This indeed, held all the portents of an alliance of disquietude.

  On the morrow, as they were taking of morning oatcakes, there came the clear call of a horn from the greening that lay to the east of the farmsteading. As they cast gaze thereto, from out of the greening rode a pale rider. Justalyn raised her hand in salutation and welcome, which was returned in like fashion by the rider in approach. Justalyn smiled;

  'T'is Segartis. She has made sturdy progress down from Seuna, this night in passing.'

  The Throng Mistress Segartis of Seuna rode into Luxtan on a great dun stallion. She reined in her mount and made good her feet before them. She was tall; close as tall as Eldamar, who held a little above three, and three quarter cubits in standing. She was also beautiful. She held in sum perhaps, a score, and six summers. Her hair was the hue of a meadow buttercup; her form was taut, yet fulsomely feminine.

  She wore leather, as seemed the wont of all warrior women; tight breeches and bucket-top boots, fortified with plates of some shining silvery metal to calf and to shin. Her hips were beset with a great sword-belt whereon was frogged a short stabbing sword. Upon her nether hip was slung an arrow quiver, with arrows fletched with hawk feathers. Upon the saddle of her dun stallion, there hung a double-curved, and powerful bow.

  She wore a bodice of sorts, which spanned only to beneath her ribs, leaving the soft plane of her flat belly to view. T'was more a jerkin, which lacked sleeves, and covered scarcely half of her breasts; being laced across with leathern thongs, yet leaving a full hand span spread betwixt each closing edge of the bodice, wherethrough, was plain to see, the innermost halves of her breasts and the sweet valley betwixt them. About her throat, she wore what might be called a torc, yet, was not a torc. It was more a collar, or gorget; fashioned in a pale gold, beset with a great gem of deep blue, that some called Lazulum, and others called Lapis Lazuli. The great gem shimmered in the morning sunlight as she moved; for it was flecked with some element that caught the light. This great gemstone closely matched her hue of eye, which was as blue as the wing of a Kingfisher.

  She approached the gathered company; her eyes hard, and untrusting as she gazed upon Eldamar, Trethan and Kerrin; yet not so hard and untrusting as she looked to Artanis and Lirilith, and Sanya. Eldamar pondered; was she then, of the same persuasion as Karina, the Faluan Guard Captain of Shandalar, who was lost at Rhyddu? She, whose paramour was the young stable maid Caron, who was revealed at Rhyddu, as being "The Chosen One" of The High Goddess Elaiana... "She, who is the Wellspring of All Being." Caron, who brought down the wrath of The Goddess upon the heads of The Mordbrood of Valdarthost, and utterly destroyed them? But then again, perhaps, she was not of such persuasion. For, as Artanis had laid tell; no full-grown males were permitted to reside in Seuna, other than as slaves and playthings. Seuna was a Matriarchal Society, or more exactly, a Gynarchy, as it was so called; being a society ruled by women for the advantage of women.

  In this, it would be seen that there would be no imagine that males would stand close to equal, 'nor yet, more equal than women. Now, here before her stood two powerful males and a handsome young stripling. Here, was a thing to be in deep wary of. Her intuition told her of the power besetting this Guardian of the Light from far out of the west. His companion; this Trethan, who gazed upon her in manner that was not familiar; being both appraising and admiring; was one more thing that gifted her unease. The stripling was of no consequence; a choice morsel for breeding, but no more.

  The Throng Mistress, Segartis would though, need to embrace a sturdy vigilance towards these other two; being both of them, sanguine and masterful in their grasp of their masculinity. This Trethan, particularly, need be regarded with judicious care; for, as his admiring gaze caressed her, she felt a blush, as softly pink as the petals of a dog-rose, begin to stain her cheeks.

  This was a newness; for never had Segartis felt anything other than contempt for such males who came before her... the defeated and cowed warriors; the subservient and fawning slaves. This Trethan stood now, seeming holding her as equal. This was a grave provocation to her Seunaian culture, but, in truth, she found it strangely exciting.

  This fleet, and pleasing diversion soon faded as they sat to council that morning. Segartis held reticent issue. Why should the Seuna warriors ally themselves to this endeavour? She laid her thoughts before them...

  'We Seunaians believe that in this world, there is good and evil; there is right, and there is wrong. But we also see that all is not as it might seem. We know this world is not perfect, and that it will not become perfect either by our actions, or the actions of the many; for we are all, in the end… mortal... perhaps, not so mortal as some other races in this world, but still mortal, nonetheless. Therefore, we strive to defend those that are wronged through evil deeds, and to defend that, which we hold as sacred. We may choose alliance with others of good intent, to defend those who cannot defend themselves; and thus, help them to be safe and to live freely.

  A warrior maiden such as I, understands and acknowledges that she will have to make sacrifices of herself to achieve what is right in this world. It is through the sacrifices of training in physical or mental combat that we strive to set ourselves apart from every person who is not as we are. Why then, should we ally ourselves with you?'

  Eldamar made to speak, but Justalyn stilled him. She spoke;

  'This is not the issue here, Segartis. The Forces of The Light are diminished in depth, from their great battles against the Forces of The Darkness in the Western Realms. The Lord Eldamar sees true, the need to rid this tortured land of the blighting grip of the tyrant Berenvag and his barbarian hordes. Astalan will never rise again to become what she once was, whilst these vermin hold sway. This council is not a Summons to Arms, but more, a representation as to whether you would stand with The Lord Guardian; his comrade in Arms, the Sword-master; the Wiccen Rede, and I… should the Lord Guardian's quest stand futile. For with you allied, then these vermin might be removed with the singular ease of manner, that fly droppings are swept from casement ledge.'

  Segartis, pondered; then gazing at Trethan, spoke; her words edged with a slender allusion of disdain:

  'So, you are Sword-master then? T'is said, some Clans prefer a Sword-master, though they can be unreliable, and hard to find. It makes for a better laying of tales around the hearth fires and taverns, I suppose.'

  Justalyn laid curious question,

  'Prefer a Sword-master? For what purpose, Segartis?'

  Segartis smiled; a cold and insolent smile,

  'Why… for trouble! But, when you are beset by trouble, you should send for the warrior maidens of Seuna; albeit, sometimes, a Sword-master is wont to find you, and the trouble first. Against this, a warrior maiden of Seuna is much to be feared. The call of battle runs strong in our blood; Why; if you should see a warrior maiden turn... as if to flee; you need be very afraid; for she will return with five score of her companions.'

  Justalyn, more curious now; asked,

  'Turn as if to flee? But are not all the warrior maidens of Seuna, heroes? Your prowess is legend. The Horanaurk dare not incurse your land. Does that not then, make you all heroes, and thus: all Sword-masters?

  Segartis replied, with an insolent smile...

  'I am a warrior maiden, so I must also try to be a hero for my people. Others would say that none, but a male may be a Sword-master, and thus, also a hero. All Sword-masters are indeed, heroes; but then, it is also true that not all heroes are indeed, Sword-masters.'

  She gifted Trethan a sidelong, and insolent glance; this sentiment plainly crafted to elicit some outburst of vexation or spleen. In this, she singularly failed to accomplish her design. Trethan turned to face her, a wry smile playing about his countenance.

  'That was neatly said, Mistress; but, then… what is a Hero? To my knowing, he can be, but one, of two things. He is either one who finds himself beset by some calamity whereby he needs-must garner all his courage to his advantage, or to the advantage of his comrades; or he is one who is so guileless that he cannot see the peril with which he besets himself around, and yet, still prevails by fair fortune in his foolish, and reckless endeavour. Which then, think you that I might be?'

  He held no rancour in his voice, and his eyes still smiled; though he raised one eyebrow as he laid this before her. And now, the blush rushed to the cheeks of Segartis. But, it was not now, the soft pink of a dog-rose, more… it was a scarlet, as if she was clutched by a fever.

  Eldamar laid an admonishing intrusion to this fence and parry of words. Sternly, he spoke,

  'Mistress; think not to lay belittlement upon the name of Trethan, Sword-master of Chandar. He may truly be called Hero. You could not know of his demeanour at the Assault on the Ragnor Redoubt, in the Great Suhai War. And no reason you should, for t'was long before you were born. He, whom you would now demean; despatched above a score of Darklings single-handed, before he was struck down from behind by a Suhai war-axe. This Sword-master is a true Hero, and you would do well to remember this thing.'

  Trethan spoke swiftly,

  'Nay... this is of paltering consequence; and t'was long ago. Do not admonish the Mistress in this manner, old friend. There was no way she might have known of our adventures in our early summer days.'

  He gifted a gentle, and companionable smile to Segartis, who glanced towards him in a manner that told of shame and remorse prowling about her for her hasty judgement, and the thoughtless mockery of her words. Trethan spoke again;

  'Beset yourself not with ruefulness for this thing, Mistress Segartis; it holds something less in issue, than the span in passing that some vexed farmer might squander in fretting the tally of grain pillaged from his corn-field by a single harvest mouse.'

  Segartis looked long at Trethan, as she studied this unassuming and forbearing warrior before her. Never had she known one such as him. She studied him. His face, all tanned and lined; his great beard and mane of silver hair. But it was his eyes; eyes that held her as gently as a nest-fallen fledgling is held in the hand. Kindly grey eyes; grey as the winter storm-clouds out of the east. Eyes that smiled; compassed and beset by the crinkling of laughter; eyes that held mirror to his pleasing humour.

  But then, the one thing that shone brightly above all the rest. By his very nature, Trethan held her as equal. This was a thing so rare in this land, that it needed stern resolve to accept the same as truth. Segartis held great measure of perplexity in this thing she felt. She had never held males as more than either enemies to be vanquished, or slaves to be dominated. But here, this was a newness of feelings, and it frightened her. All that she had held as truth since she played at her mother's knee; all that was woven into the creed of the warrior maidens; it all now seemed to be crumbling away. Might it be that this Trethan was beguiling and cozening her to his advantage?

  But, no sooner had she grasped this thought, than she knew it held not the truthing. And with this, came her undoing. Her close-fettered sentiments and desires were now straining to escape their long confining bonds. She could not believe this thing that was rushing down upon her like some high mountain stream in the spate of springtime. She was falling into love with this Trethan, and there was nothing she might do to elude this calamity. Though, in truth… in the safe, and secret seclusion of her heart, she knew it were no calamity at all.

  Eldamar had watched Segartis, as she strove to rid herself of this sweetest of confusions. He watched her face as she, at last, had surrendered to this insidious allurement of her heart, and her gaze upon Trethan had softened. And, in this moment in time; he knew that, as she surrendered her stubborn will and embraced this oldest, and sweetest of songs; that the Horanaurk breed was irrevocably doomed.

  Segartis would return home, and when came the need; would order the firing of the gathering beacons; The War-Host of Seuna would ride out. Astalan would rise again from the ashes. The venomous will of The Dark Entity: "Baelar," called too, "The Lord of The Underdark" would be smitten down in this land; and one more prospect of the invocation of The "Sath-Ninduru"… the dreadful, so-called "Night of the Shadows Rising" would lie in ruins at his feet.