Varlarsaga Volume 3 - Consolation

Chapter - 54 White Bridge

It was a meeting all bound with joy and tears. Dalen the pixie was there, crying, laughing, reaching up to be hugged. Silval and Elvra, clean and clear of face like two grown children, though wise by far beyond that state, stood silent smiling their beautiful smiles. Pitrag, that roisterous imp, squeaked and chattered his fangs in evident excitement. Bim the cat, his wide eyes filling all his face, sat awaiting his turn, whilst Falnir held quietly in the background beside the hissing dragon, whose scales rippled, multi-hued as are the dragonfly's wings when coloured by the sun. And Corin drew them each to him, and gave thanks for his deliverance.

So it was.

And for a time they bided together in the sighing grass. Thoughts were passed there on that rolled hillside: consolations offered for the healing of mind and body, silent pledges of renewed friendship exchanged with the touching of hands and deep, searching gazes. Thus they took and gave, drinking fill of each other until they were refreshed enough of spirit, then the elves produced silver filigreed horns that held their pure, waterlike wine, so soft and delicate and illusive the bouquet, the flavour, the heady feel of it that, for a while, Corin quite forgot all befallen him.

With the wine they slaked their thirst in the warm sun, and it merried them; even to the imp who drank some, cat who took the stroking of Corin's fingers with long, contented purrs, and dragon who allowed a trickle from a horn between his needled teeth, rolling his head like a puppy, ears flicking, tongue licking in quick, and out again.

But eventually the business of the larger world demanded them.

In the coldness of eventide they huddled closer, warming themselves beneath the dragon's scorching maw. To mortals, might that have appeared incredible; folk, strange and unreal, out in the freezing air, heated by such queer extravagance. After all, it was not usual to find comfort at a dragon's mouth.

‘He has grown much again,’ ventured Corin, barely a handspan from Sgnarli's snout.

The elves nodded, but Bim alone looked up out of the darkness, through sad-yellow orbs. ‘You have been away longnesss Masterr,’ he mewed.

‘I had not realised the time, until now,’ replied Corin, cupping the cat's head. ‘I was hurt by loss and suffering, as now you know. Darkelfari, poor, dear Darkelfari. He was precious to me. He was as a closest friend. He died for me, because of the quest. He gave his life to bear me to Earth Eye and Valandir. Ah, noble Lord Valandir; ensnared with Maadim Sköl, the wolf-shaped. Both held fast, the Good and the Evil, grasp for grasp. And I am left, and all that power bestowed by Valandir is mine to own, if...’ He shook his head, the burden seeming to weight him so that his eyes dimmed in the dragon-light. ‘Perhaps it would be best to depart from here, the quicker to return wherever the Elloræ bide now. Can we not fly by night, events unknown to me told as we ride?’

‘That is best to do,’ said Elvra, rising, running slim fingers through her dark locks. ‘If you, Avarhli dear, have won your goal, it is useless tarrying further. We are needed in many places all at once. Though most, at Queen Goldal's side.’

‘Aye, Huntress Elvra speaks wisely,’ answered Falnir, springing up next Sgnarli's glowing snout. ‘Come Master, climb aboard and we will stir this slovenly ymp into kick starting a dragon!’

Thus was it done. In the coldness, where cloud had given way to starry sky, the company took each a place and the dragon, fanning throat-flame, lifted into the air.

Beneath, on the rolled hillside, a dark mink alone, hesitant and awed, watched, whilst Sgnarli and his riders soared over the moon.

Towards morning, as the distant west grew into grey light and the moon tilted on its way, the dragon and his passengers flew south, making for the coastline. Beneath them, in places, fires raged unchecked, smoke billowing up like great cathedrals of cloud. Ash and sparks near blinded their eyes as Sgnarli batted his way through, buffeted on the rising waves of heat.

And ever so gradually, a vast, dream-like vision began to unfold before Corin's squinted, watering gaze. To eastward, leagues beyond real sight, he yet saw them in his mind: peoples of Kutha-Kesh and their dire foe the Hiung-Nu, both now banded together against a common enemy, the plundering, ravaging goblins, risen out of the Cindered Mountains and the wastes of the deserts. To north-east, he glimpsed many skirmishing bands, men, late of Indlebloom perhaps, and those from Dorthillion, warring against the hordes of nugobluk pouring in from the outlying regions. Southward, amongst the trees of the hilly regions that spread before the dead lands, his vision showed elves flitting, bole to trunk, goblins slinking in the long shadows behind. In the west were dwarves, driven together, harried on their own front steps, backing out of the coming day into Zwerge-made holds.

Coming to himself, Corin shuddered as he grasped at Sgnarli's raised hackles. They were flying into a nightmare, a world where all seemed near to destruction.

He clenched his eyes, choking, and shook his tormented head, and in the darkness of horror, Silval spoke out deep within his mind, ‘That which you see is a combination of what has gone before and what is happening now in many lands. You witness events we elves project to you, our thoughts all bound together. Yet do not think the world's lot less. Varlar lies wounded, and soon the wounds will fester into gangrenous sores. But now, despair itself is vain, for no more can we do until we come to the last hold of elves, if elves hold there still. May that be, they will have need of your news and advice, since it seems that you are the One, the One Master with Power unique, that perhaps can bring salvation.’

Corin tightened his grip on the dragon's frills. The sun bowled into the sky whilst they flew, Sgnarli snorting through cloud and smoke-drift.

The day curved over them, west to east.

By late noon, Corin saw the southern sea. And, like a wonderful heart-filling delight after so much chaos, there glimmered the white bridge of the Elloræ; Sarnyanora, finished, complete, rising in a mighty arch that spanned the ocean from the northern world to the precipitous cliffs and mounts of Ravenmoor. There was movement on that broad expanse. Travel to and fro, but most seemed bound for a central point on the northern shore. There, were erected many pavilions and temporary shelters, score upon score of rough-hewn dwellings, no more than daub, wattle and turf. And, as the dragon-riders closer drew, Corin saw amongst the Elloræ, men and women bearing their belongings over White Bridge, out of Ravenmoor; coming to explore and pioneer, to swell the ranks of those who had saved their lives. With axe and pitchfork, scythe and spade, the peoples of the Raven Isle were at last, after many generations, on the move, and with them, they brought a new hope. Here was life's slender thread, the blood trickling in over that single artery, that might help sustain an ailing land.

The dragon circled, now recognised by elvish eyes below as the bearer of their own kin, and there beyond the outermost boundary defences that arose closest the gleaming bridge he landed, to rest and discharge his passengers.

And, at sundown, over the long, westward-easting shadows, came forth a mixed party of folk to greet them. There were elves of course, led by Filma and Darion of Veleth, and there were pixies and dwarves, notably represented by Clovell and Farinmail. And there were men: Ordrick, Izod the Fair, his long locks stirring in the wind, and Beald the Bold. These three held well back from Sgnarli, having not seen a dragon before. Though as Corin stood forth, they ventured a little nearer, their faces clearly astonished, hands yet close by weapons. There was a silence, broken by Sgnarli's grey-blue belly breathing, and the chittering of the imp Pitrag. Then Falnir crossed the gap between to embrace Filma. Clovell, Farinmail and Dalen spoke softly together, and Elvra, Pitrag, Silval and Darion went off amongst the gathered.

Only Corin was left, clutching Bim in his arms, the dragon at his back, the men in awe before him. It was he who spoke first, ‘All hail, Fair one and Bold one, and you King Ordrick, my once cousin. It seems years of men's lives since last we looked on each other's faces, though forsooth I know that is not so; merely the fancy of a wearied mind. At any rate, tell me, how go things in Ravenmoor? Is the land at peace?’

Ordrick gulped, then nodded, ‘Aye, by the favour of Darion the elf, all has been aright with us, and I have seen fit to bid our peoples journey this far, that the Elloræ may know of our debt to them and, mayhap in some way repay it. I, and the good folk with me, have set our feet to this northern soil, aiding elves where that can be so done. As to events of our own land, the Lady Belda is well and my Lord Erryldene still encumbered by his withered legs. Yet even he has come more alive since... Well, since his abdication. And Quillet One-eye takes great care of him. Young Bartram, Quillet's boy, does much to help them both. Together, they have seen more sun than many of us...’ He halted his gallop for a moment. ‘It is you Myl…’ he clipped the name, as if ashamed, ‘Master Corin…You are so changed; your face bearded, your back straightened, your eyes...’ And here Ordrick ceased, lost for words.

Corin managed a skin-wrinkled smile. ‘I know,’ he answered. ‘I know that I am changed, and changing. Will it be, I wonder, in the end for the good?’ He shook his unkempt head uncertainly. ‘Come, let us leave this field. I am tired now and need a place by firelight to rest and learn of what has foregone during all the sun and stars of my absence.

So the elves awaiting ushered them within the stockades that stood, tall into the sky, like the risen bridge of Sarnyanora where it curved, now pale cream against the last blue ember of southern mantle.

By glimmering lamplight, they came to canopies flung high, and yellow within. There, awaiting them sat many, many folk. Too many to at once tell of. But the lady Goldal, wife to perished king Elberl, was there, as were others unknown to Corin. They were strange to look upon, dark and fierce. These, dressed in sombre greys and blacks, merged with the deeper shadows at the dimmest ends of the tented halls. Then too there were familiar faces, elves and men.

Of special, the Goosies, Bran and Fin. ‘We've come over Sir, we have, and it's a joy to see you once again,’ said Fin, capering about a bit, a fiddle and bow clutched in his hands. His brother however remained quiet, waiting it seemed to speak, or be so spoken to.

And thus did Corin, falling easily into the manner of their brief friendship. ‘Ah, it is good and grand to catch hold of the hands of Fin and Bran. Men are meek and men are mild. Some are bold, some the bravest. Some are gay, others gentle. You two are all those things, better, and well met!’

‘You have little time for greetings Avarhli,’ said a voice both distinct but seeming far off. ‘Time slips away too swift, and all flies before the storm clouds. The vultures of doom hover nigh!’

Corin turned about, startled, for he knew that voice, knew it well. And yet thought that he would never hear it again.

A figure stood up out of the shadows. It was smallish and heavy cloaked. Beside it, nestled close, was a large bird, the swan Penavar.

‘Morgan? Morgan Seawanderer, is it you?’

The figure moved into the light that fell across Goldal, and there came to her side. ‘Yea, it is I, come out of the far south upon the wings of Penavar, who bore me. Though Elfame is gone beneath the wave, we two did not perish. Nor came we straightway here. Storms of malice blew us away, many score leagues, and forced our landing in distant parts, to those same lands that once were the first realms of the Bran Kings of Men; they who found haven on the island of the Raven.’ Morgan threw back his cowl, revealing the shock of white locks, and gestured to the folk at his back who ventured forward into the radiance of the elf lanterns. They were tall and noble statured; their eyes, hair and skin dark, hands large, legs long and strong. ‘These are the children of men of generations before, who invaded a kingdom and forced those within to take to the unknown oceans of the north. They are the descendants of the conquerors of King Ordrick's forefathers. Now, he and they stand together on new shores, though not as enemies. These people come to lend aid, if all here will it. For their lands too, are threatened as Elfame's, under ocean's grasp.’ The white swan ruffled her feathers and craned her head toward the Seawanderer as he continued, ‘It was fateful hap that drove Penavar and me to their country, for they received us and heard out my tale, and heard they too the promise of this northern region. And thus, some followed hither in great canoes, believing our arrival to be sure sign that they so should do. Others, however, remained behind, awaiting reversal of their fate. But these amassed before us pledge alliance, with head and heart and stout weapons. They are come to settle, without desire for conflict with any here, for it is plain that an enemy, far greater, is at hand.’

Goldal lifted a pale arm, ‘It is needful to welcome and shelter these folk, to trust them, Men come up unexpected out of the wastrel seas. Their leader is Wollert the Ulqua, that is rendered Possum King. And they give to themselves this name, Munana-Karakara-Piya, which is Ancient-Black-Birds, according to their tongue. Now, with some haste, let Wollert-Possum speak for his peoples,’ she commanded, lowering her fingers toward the nearest of the strangers.

Wollert, though stocky, towered over Morgan, as the dark man drew back his grey robe so that his muscular arms and powerful shoulders had free play. He began to speak, both in word and sign, slowly, that all might catch the meanings as translated by Morgan who, with little hesitation, seemed to understand the charming-fierce language. And there was something innocent and childlike about this savage, yet noble man, and Corin could not help but be impressed by the grace and bearing of the Possum King.

Meanwhile, Morgan was saying, ‘Wollert tells how, by Rarakoo, Myth-time, Long-time, he and his followers, at my direction, sailed in their mighty Kooroongs, sea-canoes, across the Tarni, the wide salt-water, upon a great Yanni, journey, beneath Rarcamba, the sun, through Booren, the night, to Burrai, the morning. Now are they come seeking Ku, shelter. In return they offer Binni, strength; Mermeran-Kumanka, comrades brave, and wise folk, Tjuruku. Yunki is their word for friend. Already have they spoken thus with the Elloræ, yet they know now of you, Master Corin, as one who is especial; the possessor of much wisdom and magic. It is Wollert's wish that you accept him and his peoples to your service, they would be as your warriors, women and men both, if you desire it.’

At this, Corin was somewhat taken aback. Here was he presented a whole army, a willing army, out of nowhere, who pledged themselves to his bidding. Yet he could not take up that offer. His was not the lot to lead. His was but to do, or not do, alone. ‘Thank them, thank Wollert Possum for me. But I cannot bind them to me. I must be of my own self and my own counsel. None can follow me to do the things that I am unsure to attempt myself. If I have a say in this matter, pray, join them in fealty to King Galidor. For elves, it seems, now have much need of the arm of men.’

‘King Galidor dwells no more within the domains of Varlar.’ The words sprang from Goldal's lips, chilling and final, and Corin was shocked to silence, his hands uplifted to his face, horror held in them. ‘The new King is dead?’ he managed at last.

‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘that is how Men would tell of his passing.’ Her words were absolute and dreadful.

Corin raised his eyes to face them all. ‘Then who now of the Elloræ bears the heavy duty of leadership?’

Goldal, the twinkle of lamplight across her saddened brow, made a gesture of distress, saying, ‘Time is come for me to speak. Elberl, my dear Lord, is gone to the stars, and now Galidor. Strong, gentle Galidor, killed, after you Avarhli went away. He fell beneath the stars, cut down, mauled by many, cornered in benighted fields. Last of few, fighting fiercely. For the rest, fleeing blindly, hurt and hindered, hauling hither. Alas, good Galidor set out to aid those left from Elberl's doom, to find them and bring them home. Found death instead, on the sweet meads, along the starry way. Nay!’ she shook her hair in motion of frustration. ‘And I live on. On and on, all in despair.’

Corin heaved a sigh that beat a'pulse with hers. ‘Do say on, dear Lady. I would know it all, if that be your will.’

‘My will,’ she said, rueful, ‘I have little will left, for I am bereft. Perhaps might I have become all-powerful with the loss of these two great Lords, and perhaps that might have been ill to do. But that is not to be. Aneurin falls next in line, Seamaster of Fane ancestry. Yet he is all at sea, with my Alluin by his side, wheresoever they sail. My Brother Silval too, might lay claim, though he desires nothing more than freedom and the joys of company with Elvra, and she he. Darion also is a mighty elf, and worthy. Though even he will say that his lineage fails him in comparison to the others.’ The elvess, Elloræ Queen, tilted her eyes. ‘There is a one left. He has come again, from whence was reckoned his end. He was King, ere all tribulation began. He behoved Kingship to another, for reasons passed. Now those reasons exist no longer, any more than Elfame exists. Out of hopelessness has he arisen. And he is still the last, true Fane.’

Morgan bowed his brow in assent, as many of the elves raised a clamour about him.

For a moment, it seemed to Corin that the Fane grew appreciably, whilst Goldal shrank into the shadows, diminishing as a glowing coal embers, winking, fading out. Then the white-haired elf lifted an arm for silence, and taking the Lady's hand in his, said, ‘I will take up the staff of King once more. I did my heart's duty to home, until the final setting, and survived. My allegiance to Elfame of the Elloræ is ended. That to these strange, new lands, begins. By right of ages, of birth and kin, by agreement of those here gathered, do I accede to the throne and crown over Elvenkind. And may MorganFane Seawanderer rule and guide you wisely!’

Again there was acclaim, until he quieted them thusly, ‘If so it be, then I, at Master Avarhli's request, shall secure these new come Blackbird people to me. After all, in me, put they their trust. Though the lives of Men fleet across those of elves, even so shall I treat with these peoples, and mayhap with their children's children; lest dark, rides my demise, following after Elberl and Galidor. And now,’ here he fixed his gaze upon Goldal, ‘I would say this, rise up again, gracious Lady. Rise against all odds and evils. For you have the strength to withstand adversity, and the courage to beat back woe. Although dearly loved Elberl is gone, and Galidor has followed him like a worthy attendant who weeps to be with his friend, there is yet a need for the Queen in this desperate time. Whilst I do pledge to take up the King's cudgel, will you not plight troth?’

Goldal upstood, her maidens prettying her robes, the twinkling tears rolling her face. ‘I will take thy proffered favour. But I will drink yet from Elberl's cup, though at need, die in Morgan's labour.’

Then there came a burst of elvish music, approvement and singing. And round about the tented hall rang out a merry ringing. But Corin alone, sank back, his hands together wringing. His burden, like a caul, to him invisible clinging.

When the celebration subsided, the elves called, ‘Now tell us your tale Avarhli. Tell of your pilgrimage and worldly journeyings. What know you, Corin Bright-eyes, what wisdom have you learned?’

At their insistence Corin found his voice, though a tiredness enveloped him, and began his long story. Of riding north from the dwarf-dredged mounts of the Ramabad to his meeting with the Nolvæ elves deep within the borders of the Mayhenyodaro, he told. Of his arduous journey to Jutunn Home, to Earth-Eye and black horse end, told he, never pausing or faltering through the tears that marked his words, one by one. Then he related his audience with Valandir, and so finally back, back and down to realm of snowgnomes, hefted by a giant, and later led on by the kin-cousins of dwarves to the lower pastures, to be found there by dragon-carried elves.

And thus he drew his tale, as purse-strings, to a close.

‘Last of all have I this to show,’ he said, lifting aloft the sword-staff for each there to clearly see. ‘Here is the fused symbol, the emblem and catalyst of any power conferred upon me. This weapon, this blade and cross, wrought by Talisar, is all and everything that I bring back from Earth-Eye; sanctioned by the Hand and Will of World Lord Valandir, who endures never-ceasing torture that Varlar remain unhindered by Maadim Sköl. Here is this great and powerful Talisman. In it, and in myself now, dwells the Design of Valandir, whatever that should be. I and this, have become inseparable. Together, only together, is the Power manifest.’

‘You mean then, Avarhli, that you are invested with the Dis-Spell that will unlock the portals of the Underworld,’ said Morgan, softly but earnestly.

‘It would appear to be that way,’ Corin replied, each word coming slowly, as if he too realised for the first time. ‘And yet,’ he continued, ‘there are others mightier than I to whom this awesome responsibility should have fallen. But then,’ he reasoned, ‘the blade itself came to me, a legacy of Daræ folly. The metal, if such it truly is, is Orichalc; beaten, tamed, pacified to obedience. This fusion,’ and here he indicated the dwarf conduct ring, ‘was given me by one of your kinsfolk, Master Farinmail. A dwarf named Thekk. Now, as an honour, has it become a part of the work. And this,’ he touched the tiny shell which lay within the circle of the ring, ‘was given me by the Princess Alluin. It is in my mind that the Zwerge token stands for metal hewn of the earth, the shell for sea, and thus water and life, and...’ Here he paused. ‘And the Orichalc itself, for the unknown; for something mysterious. Now these three, conferred freely, and I, are welded insolubly together. Here in my hands lies Valandir Drotnar's ultimate authority, bound up and to me.’

‘But if that be so,’ burst in Farinmail the dwarf, ‘then you have become er...’ Here he flagged for want of words.

‘Saviour, destroyer?’ offered Corin.

‘Or living bearer. Keeper of the one choice and chance; the one decision that now may win or lose Varlar for Elloræ, Zwerge and Mankind, and all wild creatures of earth, sea and sky,’ ventured Morgan.

‘Then you, Corin Avarhli, have become precious to us beyond esteem.’

This was said by Silval Birdwing, and as he spoke he stood, drawing the beautifully wrought sword at his side. ‘Therefore I pledge to you now, and to all here gathered, that as the emblem borne and you are united, so shall I be united with both. Henceforth, the Sword-Staff Næglind and its Master must never be parted. My life I shall give, before I see that done.’ And here Silval looked earnestly, first at Elvra, and then to his own sister. ‘No matter our fate, I give my word and my blade on this.’ And thus he cast the weapon at Corin's feet, as did many others, following.

‘Your life and mine,’ added Elvra, raising her slender elf bow, ‘for I am with you, dearest Birdwing, to the end. By our lives, Avarhli shall not fall or fail.’

At this the Lady Goldal said, ‘That then is settled. Master Corin need be watched over with much care. If he is lost, there will be no choice to make. It will be made for us.’

‘Well then, it becomes clear that we must gain possession of Earth-Mouth,’ said MorganFane, his age-weary eyes filled with concern. ‘If we do not, we will but hold the key to the Doors, yet the enemy will still have claim to them. We must break through our foes, before anything else can take place.’ He turned to Silval, saying, ‘There is the dilemma, for though Avarhli holds the key, many others need come to decision. Is the path so to be forced? Tell us Birdwing, what is known of the enemy's movements and strengths?’

‘At present,’ replied the elf, ‘the nugobluk appear to have divided into three major forces: two are land based, one encamped upon Aileen Plain, where they not only hold Earth-Mouth but lay siege to Farinmail's peoples.’

‘That is true,’ remarked the dwarf. ‘Why, I would have been there myself, but at the last, King Elbegast dispatched me as leader of our best cohort, that we remain a link to those outside the Ramabad.’ And craftily he added, ‘To remind them of their oath for aid.’

‘We gave our word to come to the mountains of the Zwerge, and come we did,’ said FaInir curtly. ‘Yet coming and staying were two different things.’

‘Aye,’ Farinmail assented, ‘still it was promised us that help would be given...’

‘And still it may,’ Silval interrupted, ‘if you will be patient and allow me to continue.'

The dwarf assumed a stern look, folded his stubby arms and fell silent.

‘Now,’ went on the Birdwing, ‘the second force seems spread over a large area that ranges from the coast about Greystone Rioncion and on to the lake lands. As far as Indlebloom Vale and the mounts north of there, everything is laid waste, and only the nugobluk roam those regions. Of the folk beyond the mountains named Mirthin, little word has come, though we have reason to believe that there is some resistance. The third force is on the water, and lies somewhere off the Ramabad coast, west-away. They, by reason of vast numbers, have held Aneurin Foamhair out to sea. Several battles were joined, none decisive. Yet it would appear that our enemies have twofold thoughts, firstly, to hold the Plain of Aileen at all costs, by ocean and earth. Secondly, to use their massed forces to take Sarnyanora and drive us down the coast eastward, eventually into the sea. Even now our scouts, the Booca people, report movements that indicate the goblin's presence upon our right flanks. That is why, at your earlier urging Avarhli, Darion and many others of elves and men have come over White Bridge to swell our ranks.’

‘But tell me,’ asked Corin, ‘has there been no word from the Indlebloomers? I do not see the young Lord Mysingir here. What then has become of him?’

‘Lord Mysingir came hither, borne over the ocean in Galidor's keeping, as you wished,’ Goldal replied. ‘And with us he tarried, till healed. Twenty and seven suns altogether, he stayed. Then he borrowed a steed, Ebolian son of Cornarian, and set out to find his brothers in the country beyond their homeland. He travelled in the company of Lior and Ellion, and of the three only Ellion returned. He and his mount had been separated from the others during an ambush by the nugobluk somewhere in the Mirthin Mountains. Ellion was forced to flee south, and returned to tell his tale. Ebolian Silverfoal, too, returned riderless some time later, though he could add no more, other than that Mysinger and he were parted.’

‘But what of the east, of Orsokon's peoples? What of Rî-mer-ri?’ Corin ventured. ‘Did not you, Silval, or you Elvra see some sign whilst on dragon flight?’

‘We saw what we could see, Avarhli,’ answered Elvra, gently. ‘To fly the day-sky is no longer safe. Many cold-drakes and other winged denizens are abroad. Often over enemy held lands, flew we at night, dusk or early dawn. Often, did we shelter during day, whilst death buzzed to and fro overhead.’ Elvra smiled and laid her delicate fingers to Corin's. ‘It was only that we were far enough from danger, and dared be aloft, that we spied you. For in truth we were not searching for you, but hoped to find any sign that might bring news and good tidings. We knew not of our Nolvæ kindred, these folk dwelling within the Ancient-wood-of-tree-shadowing-rivers, of whom you have spoken. Else perhaps we would have made some contact. Yet here are vast lands, and their secrets are still to be found. Returning with you, did we take risks. We were aware that we took them, flying in the daylight, though was that done at great need.’

‘Of course, of course,’ said Corin, sighing. ‘You must forgive me, You see, I am... tired.’ He lay the sword Næglind down amongst the others at his feet and there it shone, distinguished. ‘One last question, before I am done. Where now is the Wizard He´Remon?’

‘Where indeed,’ muttered the dwarf, gruffly.

‘He left Sarnyanora of his own will a short time ago,’ said the Lady Goldal. ‘He told me, directly after Galidor's demise, that once recovered from his own exhaustion he would set out to find the peoples, the allies that you, Avarhli, desired brought hence; that they carry with them the binding strength so desperately needed.’

The bereaved Queen of Elves linked her arm with that of the Seawanderer. ‘Such strength we dearly require. Whether it be brought by MorganFane, Aneurin Foamhair, or by the Wizard. Aid needs be our accomplice, if we are to survive.’

‘Aid, oh yes, aid is needed... must be found...’ Corin answered dreamily, feeling his legs giving way. Slowly and slowly, he slumped, many hands helping brace his fall to the softness of cushions that awaited him.

He stirred, wan and laden.

‘Burdened,’ he muttered, still sleep encumbered. Passive, he lay quiet, warmed by the life-force sun, keeping his eyes firm shut. ‘If I stay here, unmoving, unchanging, blocking out the to-fro goings of the world, might I not remain this way? Might I not relinquish and forget my wearisome quest? Perhaps,’ he thought, in the misty vaults and traps of his mind, ‘perhaps I might forget, be forgotten. Be free of all responsibility, all toil. Perhaps the World, my Varlar, will go away and leave me to the simplicity of death. Death, how easily could death come to me now. How easy that easiest of roads. Life is such a hardship. Especially to prolong it, when death, death and peace await. It would be so simple to give up life, and to begin dying. Life is much too harrowing to beat on, when one is beaten. Better to seek the poisoned, bitter bread and eat, like those before have eaten. I could wait for death to come me hither; as a leaf on autumn branch, to wither...’

So he rambled in his misery, stretching out his arms to the dark red ball of sun that throbbed against his hard-closed eyelids. ‘Darkelfari!’ cried he from within. ‘Dead horse, dead friend. The dead, dead, dead: Talba Eyebright, Elberl, Galidor. All dead and what to show for them?’

He let fly the twin shutters that held his eyes imprisoned. A bright, dazzling light struck them, hatched against a gauze of blue. ‘The sky, oh how the sky dominates everything there ever was,’ he thought. ‘And orb of sun, how it bestrides the sky. There is nothing more, nothing...’

There was nothing more.

Not until a grave, wide-eyed black face loomed to look down enquiringly at him. ‘Purrhaps it is time to rise again Marrsterr,’ said Bim.

He rose again. Dredged up from death's pit, he rose.

And in early morning, bone tired, Corin hobbled forth, to meet day's adversaries.

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