“Oh, my,” said Aylis. “It must have taken forever.”
Aravan laughed. “Not quite, Chier. Not quite.” Then he sobered and added, “There are, however, some events that last forever, and the Felling of the Nine was one of these.”
“Signal events,” said Aylis. “Though some do not last, as you say, ‘forever, ’ still in every life they occur. At times they change the destinies of those involved.”
Aravan nodded his agreement and said, “Some events sweep up many in their wake-wars and such-while others affect only one.”
Aylis looked at him and asked, “What were some of yours? – Signal events, I mean.”
“The first time I laid eyes on the sea is one,” said Aravan.
“On Adonar?”
“Nay, on Mithgar. ’Twas dawn when I first rode out of Adonar and into Mithgar in the early days of the First Era, coming to the youth and wildness of this new world, leaving behind the stately grace and beauty of ancient Adonar. As I knew I would, when I emerged I found myself in a misty swale, with grassy crowns of mounded hills all about, for, as all such in-between crossings must be, the cast of the terrain was fair matched to that I had left on Adonar. But what I did not expect was the distant sound that to my ears came: shsshing booms. Intrigued, I turned my horse toward the rolling roar, riding southerly among the diminishing downs. Upward my path took me, up a long and shallow slope, the sounds increasing, the wind in my face, a salt tang on the air. And I found myself on a high chalk cliff, the white bluff falling sheer. Out before me as far as the eye could see stretched deep blue waters to the horizon and beyond. It was the ocean, the Avagon Sea, its azure waves booming below, high-tossed spray glittering like diamonds cast upward in the morning sun. My heart sang at such a sight and my eyes brimmed with tears, and in that moment something slipped comfortably into my soul, for it seemed I was home at last.”
“Oh, Aravan, how beautiful.”
Aravan grinned and said, “Not as beautiful as when thou didst come climbing o’er the rail of the Eroean. ’Twas the most signal event in my life.”
As she had done on that day, Aylis blushed, remembering the time. For she had seen Aravan ere then. . or his image, rather. As a neophyte in her first year at the College of Mages in Kairn, the City of Bells on Rwn, like many young maidens with Seer Talent she had cast a spell upon a small silver mirror, asking to see her truelove; in her case, Aravan’s visage had come into view. And so, years later when she had intercepted the Eroean and had clambered over the rail and set eyes upon him, her heart hammered and her face flushed, and Aravan had reached out to steady her, and a spark leapt between the two, startling both. And so, that first meeting had been a signal event for her as well.
Even as Aylis relived the experience, Aravan’s smile vanished and a bleakness stared out from his eyes. “But the second-most-important event of my life was when I thought thou wert gone forever into the deeps with Rwn. The loss of Galarun was hard, but the loss of thee was worse. It was then I gave up the sea, right after thy ‘death’ was avenged.”
“Oh, Aravan, I would not have had you forsake the ocean and certainly not the Eroean.”
“But for the time of the Winter War, the Eroean sat idle in the Hidden Grotto in Thell Cove.”
“You sailed her in the Winter War?”
“Aye. A crew and I took on the Rovers of Kistan during those terrible days. But afterward, we put her back in the grotto, and there she sat until the Wolfmage drew her forth and sailed her unto Port Arbalin for Bair and me to use in the time of the Trine.”
“No more, Aravan, no more,” said Aylis. “You must promise me that should ought happen, you will-”
“Chier, my heart went out of me when I thought thee gone forever. I had no love for ought, not e’en the sea or my ship.”
They rode in silence for long moments, and surreptitiously Aylis turned her face away from Aravan to wipe away her tears.
Noting her attempt to hide her shared desolation for Aravan’s long years of despair, Aravan said, “But then, mayhap e’en more signal than when first we met came but two winters past, for that was when I discovered that thou wert yet alive and not gone down with Rwn, and my heart and my love were restored unto me.”
Aylis smiled, her eyes again brimming, but this time at remembered joy. “It was so for me as well, yet I thought you might die, wounded as you were.”
Aravan reached out and briefly touched her hand, and they rode side by side in quietness, and only a soft sound of a nearby cascade showering down from the canopy above broke the peace of their shared solitude.
But at last Aylis asked, “Speaking of the time of the Trine, what about the death of Gyphon? Was that not a signal event in your life?”
A rueful smile twitched Aravan’s mouth, and he said, “It was, Chier. But even more signal was what Raudhrskal did right after; that will be with me forever.”
“Raudhrskal the Dragon?”
“Aye. He not only saved Bair and me, but the whole of Mithgar as well.”
“Tell me, love.”
Aravan took a deep breath and then let it out and said, “Gyphon was slain, and Ydral dead, and the Crystal Cavern began to collapse. Bair and I fled, but the Great Abyss was yet agape, with the entire world being sucked down and in. . ”
A furlong or two from the in-between, just as Aravan came to the last of his story, they passed by Lian sentries to come into Wood’s-heart, the Elvenholt at the core of Darda Galion, where thatch-roofed white cottages nestled among the trees of the soaring Larkenwald.
Even as they dismounted before the central hall, they were met by the newly crowned Coron of all Elves on Mithgar: flaxen-haired Tuon of the ice-blue eyes. And from the dais in the great hall, Aravan spoke to a gathered assembly of the winning of the Black Fortress on Neddra by a battalion of Elves and seven nines of Magekind. He spoke of the occupation of the stronghold and the plans to guard and control the nexus to keep it out of Ruptish hands, for one of its in-betweens was now the only known crossing to the Mage world of Vadaria, and to lose that would be to lose much.
Aylis then told of the subsequent massive attempt to regain the fortress by nigh a full Horde of Spaunen two fortnights and a sevenday later, and the victory achieved by allies, by might and main and Magery, and by the use of illusory Dragons, their intangible flames augmented by the castings of Firemages. She added, however, that it was almost a certainty that the Spawn would have been repelled even without the phantasmal Drakes: not only did Arandor’s company of Lian and Dylvana hold the fortress upon the high ground, but the reserve ‹fire› of defending Magekind was and is considerable; along with this she mentioned that using the illusions of Dragons simply meant less overall expenditure of ‹life essence› by the defending Wizards.
“What of Trolls among the Foul Folk?” asked slender, black-haired Dara Irilyn. “Could they not shatter the gates, given a ram like the one known as Whelm?”
Aylis smiled. “Aye, they could, yet my father says if Trolls ever again come to knock at the door, they will be greeted by searing lightning that will stroke their hides and send any survivors screaming into the hills.”
After the laughter died down, another Dara rose to her feet and asked, “Were there Draedani among the foe?”
Aylis shook her head. “Nay, yet there are Mages among those at the fortress who might be powerful enough-though that is not at all a certainty-to banish a Gargon back to the Demon world. If that proves not to be feasible, the Healers among the allies can cast calmness upon our forces, enough so that the Elves at the ballistas could launch spears at the Fearcaster, just like the ballista-flung lance slew the Gargon at Dendor during the War of the Ban.”
“Even so,” said the Dara, “with many Draedani among the foe would they not pose a dreadful risk?”
“They would,” replied Aylis. “Yet my father says that it would require a very powerful Black Mage to summon each one from Grygar, and for a number of Dread Ones to be called, it would take many powerful dark
Wizards. Modru, Durlok, mayhap Ordrune: they were powerful enough to do so. But they were in a class of their own; yet all three are now dead. Mayhap there is not a living Black Mage powerful enough to draw forth a Gargon from the Demon Plane, much less enough to summon several.”
A look of relief swept over the faces of many in the assembly, for they well knew the terror such monsters could bring.
A ginger-haired Alor asked, “Aravan, what are the plans for rotation of Lian and Dylvana in and out of the Black Fortress company? It cannot be pleasant living upon Neddra.”
“For the nonce, Theril, by choice that duty falls to our kindred on the High World; they cite the fact that it has been long since they were in battle against the Rupt, whereas the Dylvana and Lian on Mithgar have since engaged in two great wars-the Winter War against Modru, and the War of the Dragonstone against the Fists of Rakka and the Golden Horde of the so-called Dragonking-while they sat idle on Adonar. . through no fault of their own, I add, for in those times the Planes were yet sundered one from the other.”
At Aravan’s side, Tuon said, “Would that we of the Darda Galion ward had been in those battles, those of us who were here at the time. Yet we could not leave the Larkenwald undefended.” Tuon smiled and shook his head and added, “Though with the small company I had after Inarion and the others went unto the High Plane, we would have been hard-pressed to defend this realm against a force of any size.”
“Thou wert here in the Eldwood when Bair and I crossed to the Larkenwald from Adonar?” asked Aravan.
Tuon nodded. “Aye, though on patrol when the Dawn Rider and thee and the silverlarks came, though afterward Silverleaf told us of the event that he and the Dylvana had seen here in Wood’s-heart.”
When the questions had run their course, with Aravan and Aylis responding, Tuon called for a halt, for the mark of noon had come. Then Aylis and Aravan joined Tuon for a midday meal. As they retired to a bench under the spread of one of the giants, “Your weapon, Tuon,” said Aylis, gesturing at the dark spear Tuon set aside, “its aura bears strange ‹fire›.”
“ ’Tis named Black Galgor,” Tuon replied. “Some say it has a destiny to fulfill, though none knows what it might be.”
“What of the Well of Uajii?” asked Aravan.
Tuon shrugged. “Mayhap that was Black Galgor’s destiny, though Silverleaf claims it was his arrows brought down the wyrm, while Halid claims it was his great shamsheer did the creature in.”
“You must tell me this tale,” said Aylis, curiosity filling her gaze.
“Aye, that I will,” said Tuon. But then he shook his head, saying, “ ’Twill pale by comparison to the story of the Dawn Sword. Hai, would that I had seen that blade.” He glanced at Black Galgor and then at Aylis. “I ween its aura was filled to bursting with what you name ‹fire›.”
“Nay, not that sword,” said Aylis. “Though it was a token of power, it had no ‹fire› whatsoever.”
“But it slew Gyphon,” protested Tuon.
“Aye, it did,” agreed Aravan. “But Bair, too, saw no aura on it.”
“Nor did my father, Alamar,” said Aylis. “Nor did Dalor and Branwen, who were there as well. Father thinks mayhap that was its power, for all other things I have ever seen have had at least a flicker of aethyr, yet the sword had none. And mayhap by having no aura whatsoever, that’s why it could not be diverted by Gyphon, and why it could penetrate his ‹shield› and rip his ‹fire› from him.”
“Where now is that fabled blade?” asked Tuon.
Aravan shrugged. “ ’Tis gone forever, down into the Abyss along with Gyphon and Ydral and the Crystal Cavern and most of the Great Swirl and a monstrous gulp of the Sindhu Sea.”
Two days after, Aylis and Aravan rode out from Wood’s-heart and headed northward. They were bound for Drimmen-deeve, or as the Drimma called it, Kraggen-cor. They crossed the Cellener and late that eve came to the Quadrill, where they turned their mounts to follow along that watercourse. Two more days passed ere they emerged from the forest and came into sight of the Grimwall Mountains lying some four leagues to the west, the dark peaks heretofore shielded from view by the massive boles of the trees. The range ran beyond seeing to north and south; grim in its fastness it was, and said to be filled with the dens of Foul Folk. Yet those fetid holes lay not nigh the Eldwood, nor in the sweep of Drimmen-deeve, for neither Elves nor Dwarves abided Spawn to live in their immediate grasp. Southward the mountains ran toward the Great Escarpment, forking in twain: the main spine to turn westerly and head for far-off Gothon and Tugal and Basq to finally end in Vancha, the other to dwindle into the Gunarring, to arc about the land of Gunar and eventually rise once more to rejoin the main run of the range. Northward the peaks ran toward Gron and Jord, to turn easterly and flow all the way to Jinga and nearly reach the Shining Sea. But in the distance, mayhap three or so days away at the pace they were riding, they could see four peaks towering above the rest-’twas the Quadran, consisting of Greytower, Grimspire, Loftcrag, and Stormhelm, this last towering above all.
Below these four mighty mountains lay their goal-the Dwarvenholt of Drimmen-deeve-and Aravan and Aylis heeled their horses and rode onward, leaving Darda Galion behind.
14
Kraggen-cor
JOURNEY TO THE EROEAN
LATE SPRING 6E1
“I can see why Greytower is so called,” said Aylis, pointing at the ashen rock of that peak, “and the blackness of Grimspire would seem to give that mountain its name. But given the tint of the stone, I would think Loftcrag would be called Bluecrag or Skycrag, while ruddy Stormhelm ought to be called Bloodhelm or some such.”
“ ’Twas Humankind that gave them those names, hence I cannot say why they are called as they are. Elves, on the other hand, name them respectively, Garlon, Aevor, Chagor, and Coron.”
“Coron, as in the High King of Elves?”
“Aye, for it is the mightiest mountain in the Grimwall.”
Aylis laughed. “You think much of Elvenkind to name it so.”
“Ah, Chier, I did not say it was the mightiest mountain in all of Mithgar, for I have seen giants of mountains in the Jangdi Range.”
Again Aylis laughed and added, “I take it that Elvenkind is not the mightiest in all of Mithgar, then.”
“Oh, my love, surely I would not say that,” replied Aravan, and his laugh joined hers.
Again Aylis looked at the four peaks. “What do the Dwarves call them?”
“Uchan, Aggarath, Ghatan, and Ravenor.”
“And Drimmen-deeve lies under those four?”
“Aye,” replied Aravan. “And it is a mountainfast no foe could penetrate until the Gargon was set free from the Lost Prison. Then it lay open to enemies, though only the Rupt took advantage, for they were sent to occupy the Deeves by Modru. ’Twas he who summoned the Draedan to deal with the Drimma.”
“Ah, again Gargons,” said Aylis.
“Shall I tell thee the tale? How the Drimma, when mining starsilver, weakened the wall of the Gargon’s Lair? I know but part of it, not all.”
“Nay, love, let me ‹see› for myself; then I will tell the whole of it to you.”
“Ah, for the nonce I had forgotten thy calling,” said Aravan with a smile.
Aylis’s gaze swept over the four peaks of the Quadran. “A formidable fastness, you say?”
Aravan nodded. “Nigh impenetrable.”
“Well, then, I do hope they let us in.”
“Fear not, Chier,” said Aravan, “for I am Chak-Sol-Dwarf-Friend-so named long past by Tolak. After several perilous encounters during the many journeys to obtain that which was needed for the construction of the Eroean , it was by his decree that I became Chak-Sol. He also vouched for me when I went to the third Khana Durek in Drimmen-deeve for a pound of starsilver needed to paint the hull of the Eroean to keep barnacles and other such away from her bottom. And I intend to ask DelfLord Balor for another pound when we reach Drimmen-deeve.”
“ ’Twas a priceless gift they gav
e you,” said Aylis.
Aravan shrugged and said, “Paid back more than tenfold by the experience and knowledge the Drimma gathered in return, to say nought of a share of the goods received at the end of each voyage. Well-earned, I add, by each and every Drimmen warband that has served on my ship.”
“And now we go to recruit a new one, eh?”
“We do,” replied Aravan. .
. . and on they rode.
Three days passed and a part of another ere the golden sun in a high blue sky found Aravan and Aylis riding up the Pitch, a long slope of land rising into the embrace of the Quadran-four mountains lying more or less in a square: To the left flank stood ashen Greytower, and just to the west loomed ebon Grimspire; to the right soared azure-hued Loftcrag, while straight ahead towered ruddy Stormhelm. It was toward this latter they were headed, for there stood the Dawn Gate, the eastern entry into Kraggen-cor.
They had followed a pave past a rune-carved realmstone, announcing that from this point forward they trod upon a Dwarven domain.
They passed by another realmstone, this one broken, the top half of the column missing. It stood on a stone ledge jutting out from the shore of a small lakelet fed by the flow of the Quadrill down from the steeps lying between Stormhelm and Loftcrag. “Here at the Quadmere it was that First Durek declared this realm to belong to the Drimma of his line,” said Aravan, looking toward the shorn pillar.
Aylis frowned and turned her head to the right. “What is that distant roar?”
“ ’Tis the Vorvor, Durek’s Wheel, a whirlpool in a fold of stone along the flank of Loftcrag. There a furious river bursts forth from the mountain and spins ’round a stone basin to disappear down through a central cavity, like unto a drain in a vat. Whence from there, none knows. ’Tis said First Durek was cast by Rupt into that wrath and drawn far below the earth. ’Twas then that the Drimmen war with the Spaunen began, and has raged so ever since.”
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