15 August 591
The high days of summer are here, and with them the world is once more bathed in warmth and light. Even in these deep reaches of the forest, the healing touch of the summer sun reaches us; and the forest teems with life in response to its gentle caress. It is hard to imagine any beauty more pure than this.
For ten long weeks, we have made our way southward – at times on a path as straight as the swallow’s flight, and at others by routes that confounded any real sense of direction or progress. For my guardian and guide, caution will ever trump speed; and so we have moved slowly and made many, often abrupt detours – the last of which occur whenever anything appears amiss. Ever though, his unerring senses lead us back to the southward path.
We have had few encounters with living things other than the creatures of the deep wood, and these welcome us as if we are some long lost kin. The animals approach us with curiosity; some, it seems, to see what gifts we might offer of food or comfort. The law of the wood seems simple: that all are welcome who bring no harm – a bond we have kept for the most part. Oddly, it seems understood that we must hunt to live – and what fowl or rabbit have fallen to the bow, or what fish to the spear are in rhythm with the life of the forest. And so, our journey has been one of peace and quietude these many months – moreso than any period in my life, since time out of mind.
At the midday, we sat to make our meal of salted venison and waybreads taken from a village five days past. It was simple fare, enjoyed as much as a great meal at Court as we sat quietly talking in a sun-dappled clearing. We had ridden or walked since just after dawn, the terrain as gentle and forgiving as we had seen in many days. As we rested, I removed my boots, and thought I might soak my feet in the cool stream where our horses now took water, before we packed up and renewed the journey south. As had become our habit, I quizzed Darius about stories of his past (it seemed it might be some time before I would have stories of my own). I laughed with delight as he told me of his encounter once with a village full of Halflings, while about the business of his Master. It seemed the Halflings’ stature belied their wit; for, despite his fearsome size and strength, they doped him with a sleeping draught and trussed him up like a Solstice goose in suspicion of his agency for the Shadow Lord. He woke from his stupor tied in a neat little bundle and surrounded by every adult (and most of the children) from the town, gathered together as much by curiosity as mutual defense. It was only after a long (and creative) story about being cast out as a babe and left to fend for his own in the wild – and, of course, a pledge to do no harm to any citizen of the village – that he secured his own release.
His face slightly reddened in embarrassment, Darius was just launching into a theatrical presentation of the speech that earned his release from the Halflings; when he suddenly stopped. His face went blank, attentive to the sounds about him; and his body assumed the defensive crouch of a beast ready to spring into action if provoked. I saw his hand slide to the hilt of the dagger at his thigh as he signaled me to silence.
I listened closely, a task made easier as the soft, chirruping din of life in the forest fell suddenly still; and yet, for some time, I could hear nothing but my own quickening breath and thumping heart. Darius listened, his head cocked slightly to the right…and then I heard it: the soft shuffling step of booted feet on the leaf-strewn forest floor. The sound came nearer, not fast or threatening nor even as if alert to our presence just ahead, or of the warning signs of the stillness all about. The sound grew louder as its source drew near, and then I saw a soft blur of movement to my left. Darius was already in motion, pulling the long dagger from its sheath and leaping across and down to his right as the interloper approached. But before he could raise his arm, a soft, calm voice spoke: “I pray I am not too late for the noonday meal”.
Darius froze as he gazed in the direction of the voice, his mouth a soft “O” of surprise and confusion. I am sure my face looked even more astonished than his, and my heart hammered away harder than ever upon hearing the odd hailing that came from within the veil of the forest. We stood, as if we were figures carved from stone, our wide eyes fixed on the dark green of the wood just beyond the clearing. And suddenly, in one swift blur of motion, the curtain of foliage parted and a smallish figure in a worn grey cloak popped into view. “Ahhhh, greetings my friends. It is long that I have sought for you in this enchanting place!”, said the soft voice.
Even now, it is hard for me to find the words to describe what I saw. Before us stood, by all appearances, a wizened old man of short stature and slight frame – two hands shorter than me, and a good deal thinner. His skin looked worn and leathery, aged as much by the elements as by the passing years; and yet with a white cast as if never touched by the sun. His hair stuck out from under the grey hood, nearly matching its color except for the streaks of white in the fine, limp strands that went every which way. It appeared quite long, in keeping with his generally unkempt condition; and the tattered state of his vest and breeches – just visible inside the cloak – accented the sense that this fellow had long abandoned any care for fashion (or even utility!). His walking boots looked so worn, I half suspected the soles were gone. He carried only a large, ill-fashioned tree limb as a walking stick; and a rucksack made of cloth similar to his cloak was slung over a fragile shoulder. I should have thought him a mad hermit – lost and wandering in the wild for an eternity for reasons known only to the gods; but then I saw his eyes. They shone with a light and color that seemed unearthly – brilliant sapphire orbs that sparkled forth from the shimmering white sea in which they floated. Never before had I seen such powerful, intelligent eyes; and I knew at once that we were in the presence of a most unique and remarkable fellow. He smiled at me as if sensing this revelation, and I felt my breath return. A warmth came over me as if the sun had just emerged from behind the clouds to light my face. I reddened in my modesty, and smiled in return.
Darius was clearly less charmed, and stood there tensely, his knuckles white from his firm grip upon the dagger’s hilt. I moved to him, my hand extended as if to touch and calm him – to tell him all was well and to bid him reseat his weapon in its sheath. But before my second step, I saw his warning glance; and I knew in an instant its meaning. Darius had long wandered the world, in all its open and hidden places; and he had seen much – too much, as he so often reminded me. I heard his voice inside my head, repeating an earlier lesson he had offered me: Things are not always what they seem; and people even less so.
I stopped abruptly, frozen in place, and listened as he spoke to the strange old man: “Old traveler…if you have wandered in the wild as long as your manner suggests, you would know it unwise to come upon a party by stealth. For what purpose do you come, if indeed you have been seeking us?”
“Heru’loki”, said the old man, fixing Darius with his piercing eyes. “Your wisdom is as great as your years…at least as those years and your Master have taught you to know evil in all its forms. If I am not what I seem, as you are bound to think, then surely you know your danger is neither lessened nor made greater by the passage of a few moments. Pray, let an old man sit and rest his aching body…and perhaps enjoy what food you might spare me. In return, I believe I can satisfy your thirst to know all that I might tell.”
Darius’ brow furrowed in anger, and then quickly softened as the truth of the old man’s words found purchase. Or perhaps being addressed so – “Lord Dragon” – had taken him as completely off guard as it had me. In either event, he bowed theatrically and motioned for the man to come sit with us in the clearing.
For some time after – an hour at least – our guest rattled on in a stream of random observations about the weather, the beauty of the wood in summer, the abundance of celeb’lingwe swimming up river and what that meant for the prospect of a hard winter. As he spoke, he ate what remained of our venison and bread – devouring it with an impressive display of appetite which did little to interrupt his dissertation. As he did so, I noted a most curious sight – his face seemed to shift…to reform…as though it were naught but a thin mask hiding another just behind it. I watched with rapt attention until I thought I could see, quite clearly, the image of a young man – just out of boyhood, really – with curled golden locks of hair framing a smooth, cherubic face. The young man’s visage came and went, as though peeking out from behind the shroud of the old man face, and then slipping back beneath the hoary image shown to the world. But the eyes never changed – those penetrating instruments that so caught my eye in the first minute were the one constant as the face shifted back and forth, from young to old to young again.
I glanced at my guardian, sure I was witnessing some parlor trick this old man was foisting upon us. But Darius’ eyes caught mine, confirming that he had seen it too and quietly bidding me to remain silent. And so we listened as the young/old man droned on with his mundane, disconnected stories.
At that point, as if on cue, the man wiped his mouth dramatically; uttered a small belch (perhaps to show his satisfaction); and leaned back rubbing his small stomach. His eyes fixed on me, and I was sure that he saw in that single look all that I had ever been or thought to be. He spoke: “I thank you, Heru’loki; and you, Corm en’Quessir. Your grace and generosity speak well of the Court of Sylvhara; and your father would be most proud to see it.”
I gasped in surprise, suddenly feeling exposed. His eyes bored into me; and I felt at once that we had been undone by some agent of Nargoroth. I saw Darius leap to his feet, his hand going once more to the hilt of his long dagger. But the old man’s eyes held me; and I saw…something…the boy-spirit? And I heard a thought form in another voice, saying “I hold no malice, child. We meet as Fate has long intended it; and so have I come through all these long years unto this moment. Pray, ask your Guardian to stay his hand.”
I held up my hand at once to Darius, and rose to my feet to stand between them. “Darius…please. There is no danger here. He has come to us in the rightful hour, just as it was meant to be.” For the first time, I saw uncertainty in my guardian’s eyes – though my own, I was sure, were calm and confident. His arm relaxed – just a bit, as the tension held him still. He sat, slowly…guardedly; and I returned to my seat, facing the old man. “Tell us your tale, friend; and I beg you spare no detail in the telling.”
The high days of summer are here, and with them the world is once more bathed in warmth and light. Even in these deep reaches of the forest, the healing touch of the summer sun reaches us; and the forest teems with life in response to its gentle caress. It is hard to imagine any beauty more pure than this.
For ten long weeks, we have made our way southward – at times on a path as straight as the swallow’s flight, and at others by routes that confounded any real sense of direction or progress. For my guardian and guide, caution will ever trump speed; and so we have moved slowly and made many, often abrupt detours – the last of which occur whenever anything appears amiss. Ever though, his unerring senses lead us back to the southward path.
We have had few encounters with living things other than the creatures of the deep wood, and these welcome us as if we are some long lost kin. The animals approach us with curiosity; some, it seems, to see what gifts we might offer of food or comfort. The law of the wood seems simple: that all are welcome who bring no harm – a bond we have kept for the most part. Oddly, it seems understood that we must hunt to live – and what fowl or rabbit have fallen to the bow, or what fish to the spear are in rhythm with the life of the forest. And so, our journey has been one of peace and quietude these many months – moreso than any period in my life, since time out of mind.
At the midday, we sat to make our meal of salted venison and waybreads taken from a village five days past. It was simple fare, enjoyed as much as a great meal at Court as we sat quietly talking in a sun-dappled clearing. We had ridden or walked since just after dawn, the terrain as gentle and forgiving as we had seen in many days. As we rested, I removed my boots, and thought I might soak my feet in the cool stream where our horses now took water, before we packed up and renewed the journey south. As had become our habit, I quizzed Darius about stories of his past (it seemed it might be some time before I would have stories of my own). I laughed with delight as he told me of his encounter once with a village full of Halflings, while about the business of his Master. It seemed the Halflings’ stature belied their wit; for, despite his fearsome size and strength, they doped him with a sleeping draught and trussed him up like a Solstice goose in suspicion of his agency for the Shadow Lord. He woke from his stupor tied in a neat little bundle and surrounded by every adult (and most of the children) from the town, gathered together as much by curiosity as mutual defense. It was only after a long (and creative) story about being cast out as a babe and left to fend for his own in the wild – and, of course, a pledge to do no harm to any citizen of the village – that he secured his own release.
His face slightly reddened in embarrassment, Darius was just launching into a theatrical presentation of the speech that earned his release from the Halflings; when he suddenly stopped. His face went blank, attentive to the sounds about him; and his body assumed the defensive crouch of a beast ready to spring into action if provoked. I saw his hand slide to the hilt of the dagger at his thigh as he signaled me to silence.
I listened closely, a task made easier as the soft, chirruping din of life in the forest fell suddenly still; and yet, for some time, I could hear nothing but my own quickening breath and thumping heart. Darius listened, his head cocked slightly to the right…and then I heard it: the soft shuffling step of booted feet on the leaf-strewn forest floor. The sound came nearer, not fast or threatening nor even as if alert to our presence just ahead, or of the warning signs of the stillness all about. The sound grew louder as its source drew near, and then I saw a soft blur of movement to my left. Darius was already in motion, pulling the long dagger from its sheath and leaping across and down to his right as the interloper approached. But before he could raise his arm, a soft, calm voice spoke: “I pray I am not too late for the noonday meal”.
Darius froze as he gazed in the direction of the voice, his mouth a soft “O” of surprise and confusion. I am sure my face looked even more astonished than his, and my heart hammered away harder than ever upon hearing the odd hailing that came from within the veil of the forest. We stood, as if we were figures carved from stone, our wide eyes fixed on the dark green of the wood just beyond the clearing. And suddenly, in one swift blur of motion, the curtain of foliage parted and a smallish figure in a worn grey cloak popped into view. “Ahhhh, greetings my friends. It is long that I have sought for you in this enchanting place!”, said the soft voice.
Even now, it is hard for me to find the words to describe what I saw. Before us stood, by all appearances, a wizened old man of short stature and slight frame – two hands shorter than me, and a good deal thinner. His skin looked worn and leathery, aged as much by the elements as by the passing years; and yet with a white cast as if never touched by the sun. His hair stuck out from under the grey hood, nearly matching its color except for the streaks of white in the fine, limp strands that went every which way. It appeared quite long, in keeping with his generally unkempt condition; and the tattered state of his vest and breeches – just visible inside the cloak – accented the sense that this fellow had long abandoned any care for fashion (or even utility!). His walking boots looked so worn, I half suspected the soles were gone. He carried only a large, ill-fashioned tree limb as a walking stick; and a rucksack made of cloth similar to his cloak was slung over a fragile shoulder. I should have thought him a mad hermit – lost and wandering in the wild for an eternity for reasons known only to the gods; but then I saw his eyes. They shone with a light and color that seemed unearthly – brilliant sapphire orbs that sparkled forth from the shimmering white sea in which they floated. Never before had I seen such powerful, intelligent eyes; and I knew at once that we were in the presence of a most unique and remarkable fellow. He smiled at me as if sensing this revelation, and I felt my breath return. A warmth came over me as if the sun had just emerged from behind the clouds to light my face. I reddened in my modesty, and smiled in return.
Darius was clearly less charmed, and stood there tensely, his knuckles white from his firm grip upon the dagger’s hilt. I moved to him, my hand extended as if to touch and calm him – to tell him all was well and to bid him reseat his weapon in its sheath. But before my second step, I saw his warning glance; and I knew in an instant its meaning. Darius had long wandered the world, in all its open and hidden places; and he had seen much – too much, as he so often reminded me. I heard his voice inside my head, repeating an earlier lesson he had offered me: Things are not always what they seem; and people even less so.
I stopped abruptly, frozen in place, and listened as he spoke to the strange old man: “Old traveler…if you have wandered in the wild as long as your manner suggests, you would know it unwise to come upon a party by stealth. For what purpose do you come, if indeed you have been seeking us?”
“Heru’loki”, said the old man, fixing Darius with his piercing eyes. “Your wisdom is as great as your years…at least as those years and your Master have taught you to know evil in all its forms. If I am not what I seem, as you are bound to think, then surely you know your danger is neither lessened nor made greater by the passage of a few moments. Pray, let an old man sit and rest his aching body…and perhaps enjoy what food you might spare me. In return, I believe I can satisfy your thirst to know all that I might tell.”
Darius’ brow furrowed in anger, and then quickly softened as the truth of the old man’s words found purchase. Or perhaps being addressed so – “Lord Dragon” – had taken him as completely off guard as it had me. In either event, he bowed theatrically and motioned for the man to come sit with us in the clearing.
For some time after – an hour at least – our guest rattled on in a stream of random observations about the weather, the beauty of the wood in summer, the abundance of celeb’lingwe swimming up river and what that meant for the prospect of a hard winter. As he spoke, he ate what remained of our venison and bread – devouring it with an impressive display of appetite which did little to interrupt his dissertation. As he did so, I noted a most curious sight – his face seemed to shift…to reform…as though it were naught but a thin mask hiding another just behind it. I watched with rapt attention until I thought I could see, quite clearly, the image of a young man – just out of boyhood, really – with curled golden locks of hair framing a smooth, cherubic face. The young man’s visage came and went, as though peeking out from behind the shroud of the old man face, and then slipping back beneath the hoary image shown to the world. But the eyes never changed – those penetrating instruments that so caught my eye in the first minute were the one constant as the face shifted back and forth, from young to old to young again.
I glanced at my guardian, sure I was witnessing some parlor trick this old man was foisting upon us. But Darius’ eyes caught mine, confirming that he had seen it too and quietly bidding me to remain silent. And so we listened as the young/old man droned on with his mundane, disconnected stories.
At that point, as if on cue, the man wiped his mouth dramatically; uttered a small belch (perhaps to show his satisfaction); and leaned back rubbing his small stomach. His eyes fixed on me, and I was sure that he saw in that single look all that I had ever been or thought to be. He spoke: “I thank you, Heru’loki; and you, Corm en’Quessir. Your grace and generosity speak well of the Court of Sylvhara; and your father would be most proud to see it.”
I gasped in surprise, suddenly feeling exposed. His eyes bored into me; and I felt at once that we had been undone by some agent of Nargoroth. I saw Darius leap to his feet, his hand going once more to the hilt of his long dagger. But the old man’s eyes held me; and I saw…something…the boy-spirit? And I heard a thought form in another voice, saying “I hold no malice, child. We meet as Fate has long intended it; and so have I come through all these long years unto this moment. Pray, ask your Guardian to stay his hand.”
I held up my hand at once to Darius, and rose to my feet to stand between them. “Darius…please. There is no danger here. He has come to us in the rightful hour, just as it was meant to be.” For the first time, I saw uncertainty in my guardian’s eyes – though my own, I was sure, were calm and confident. His arm relaxed – just a bit, as the tension held him still. He sat, slowly…guardedly; and I returned to my seat, facing the old man. “Tell us your tale, friend; and I beg you spare no detail in the telling.”
****
I do not know how long we sat and listened to his story. It was several hours, at least, for the sun had been overhead when he appeared and now was crawling down the western sky. He explained that he had been known by many names across the many lands he had traveled, but that we might think of him simply as Myrddin. I asked him his age, and the question seemed to amuse him. “I think it is fair to say I am no age; and all ages at once”, he said. When I asked what he meant, he could say only that most men would mark their time by a path not unlike the sun we now watched moving inexorably toward the horizon. His own path allowed him to see the sun from where we stood; and also from the west as it approached; and from points beyond number along the way, or from above, or below…or inside it. And, apparently, to see them all at once and as one. In other words, his life pattern though time and place was somewhat random – even chaotic.
He talked of many things that he had seen; though he seemed to find it difficult to recall which were in our past, or our future…or happening as we spoke. In the one instance, he told a tale of my mother in her youth; but seemed to think that I was she…and had a very hard time accepting that was not the case. His stories dated to the Years of the Trees, and before; and far forward into the future. He had known many generations of my family – Mother, Father…my Aunt Lirimaël…had witnessed the boyhood of Gildarion, my father’s grandfather…and the famous courtship of Athanor and Meleanil, and the birth of my mother’s mother, Lindelea. I delighted in the stories – some of which I had heard before; though many were new or had nuances I had never understood.
Naturally, my interests turned to the future – of my family, the kingdom and most especially, the People. But as I turned the subject there, his face took on an odd cast that puzzled me. He saw and knew my quizzical look, I think; likely because he had oft seen it in his prior audiences.
“My dear Lady”, he said. “You must know that I will deny you nothing that I might capably offer you. But the future can be tricky, deceptive…as if intended by its nature to remain beyond our grasp. It is as if it folds over itself, many times, just as one might fold a soft, wool blanket for travel. Find a loose thread on that blanket, and it will get lost within as you fold it and fold again, until you may no longer guess the thread’s location with any real precision. If you unfold the blanket to find it anew; it will end up in an entirely different place or position when the blanket is folded once more. So it is with what images I hold of the future. They lie obscured within the folds of time; and what I see is more an impression than a picture suffused with rich detail.”
I told him that I thought I understood his meaning, and yet would bid him still to tell me what he saw; for even a thread of insight was better than none. He nodded, indulgently; and for the briefest moment I saw the face of the young man peek through again, his smile beaming brightly. “Gladly, Milady…in fact, it is for this reason only that I have sought for you in the wild.”
He began by telling us that Nargoroth was building his strength and would soon extend his war into the furthest reaches of the world. Like his Masters before him, he would not be content to share the world’s powers and riches with any other – he alone must dominate all living things. He was growing increasingly bold, arrogant – now that his greatest enemies, the Elven and Dragon Kings among them, had been dispatched from the field. “His arrogance will make him blind”, said the old man. “That is ever the way of tyrants, and so may it expose his weaknesses as well. But make no mistake about the terrible power he wields; and the danger that exists to all good creatures of this world”.
I listened, attentively; and noted with a sideways glance that Darius did the same – for he knew his former Master better than most. “And so, he will hunt us – the heirs to his greatest enemies – until we have perished from the earth? Is his hatred so great that he will kill all who stand in his path, beginning with the daughters of Eyrturheru?”, I asked.
His brilliant, azure eyes went wide; and for a moment he stared blankly as if lost in his own thoughts. He glanced quickly at Darius, and then back to me, blinking to clear his eyes and mind. After what seemed a long, awkward silence, he cleared his throat and said: “Lady Comet, like your great father you see and know much. But there is one element here – the most important link, I think – that I fear you do not understand. Yes, Nargoroth is an evil, wasted creature – perhaps the most evil that has yet trod upon the earth. But he is not a fool…would that he were, for our task would be made much simpler were that the case. He is a student of the world – twisted, yet brilliant in his own way; and he knows that he cannot achieve dominance over all the living things of this world through their destruction. If he is to hold dominion over all, he must follow a different course – and it is the knowledge of this which makes him perhaps the most dangerous threat the world has yet faced.”
He stopped for a moment, as his eyes wandered off. And when he spoke again, his words chilled me beyond my imagining: “He knows there is a power that resides in you…and in Lady Ivy…though you may not as yet know the truth of it. He means to take you as his Queen, my child; and with you by his side will he have what he needs to enslave the world and thus realize his birthright.”
I lost my breath in one explosive gasp; and the world swooned around me into a riot of whirling colors and sounds. As if from some distant place, I saw Darius leap to his feet; and heard him roar out in raw, guttural rage: “THAT SHALL NEVER BE! BY MY LIFE I SWEAR IT!”
Myrddin merely sat – quiet, unmoving, as a look of sadness claimed his eyes and dimmed their ethereal light. After a few moments, I recovered enough to slow my racing heart; and I motioned for Darius to sit. He did so grudgingly, a feral look still upon his darkened face; and, I thought, the slightest wisp of smoke curling from his lips and nostrils. It was enough to remind me that I did not wish to see him roused to his fullest anger. I summoned the strength to speak: “Please go on, Master Myrddin. Tell us what you may?”
He nodded, somberly; and then spoke again. “There is a gift that runs in the blood of your family...a power both great and subtle. Your mother possessed it, and it is strong in your sister Ivy as well. You have seen this as a small, perhaps amusing talent, have you not…their unique abilities to commune with all manner of living things?”
I listened, and pondered this; and then smiled as the memories flooded in. How many afternoons did I sit and watch Ivy as she went on and on for hours talking to the birds, or to the small animals of the forest – or even listening patiently to the wind in the trees or the chuckling of a stream? And just so had it been with Mother, who delighted in each living thing. I thought of the tale of the doe felled by Father’s arrow in his first meeting with her; and how she had coaxed the animal to life while the men watched, amazed. I nodded my head, holding the old man’s eyes and said “Yes, old father; I have seen it. It was ever a wonder and a delight to my eyes.”
“Then know, child, that there is more to it than you understand”, he replied. “It is no small thing, this ability. Your aunt, Lirimaël, has come to see it for what it really is; and her youngest sister, Elëanil, may in her craft approach what your grandmother, Lindelea, knew of the power and how to yield it. Go back further, to your great-grandmother Meleanil, and you would begin to understand how the power gave the Northern Sylvan elves command over all that lived and moved about them.”
“From the earliest times, our sages knew of Coia’lia, the life-thread that ran through all things – not just the plants and animals, and the peoples of the world; but even to the flowing stream, or the earth…or the very rocks that formed the core of mountains. The life-thread connects them all, and pulls them together in the harmony of life in the world. Through the Ages, there have been some few who held the gift of speech and ear; who could understand and speak the languages of these living things. In the ancient times, there were very accomplished practitioners who wielded the power well, and put it to good use…Meleanil was one of these. In our days, those who have the gift may merely see it as a certain affinity with nature…though it remains, in its essence, much more. While its powers can be learned and harnessed, for good or ill, it may not be learned by those who do not hold the gift. And it seems that may only be passed by blood, through the ages, from one generation to the next.”
He paused, thoughtfully allowing my racing mind to catch up; but it was Darius who spoke first, his color now restored to normal and his mind working quickly. “So the Witch King must claim the heirs, not to slay them; but to control the gift of speech. And in it will he find the final key to his true dominion in the world. But it is a fool’s errand, if what you say is true; for he may not claim that great gift other than by blood.”
The old man nodded, sadly; and his next words came slowly and deliberately, as if to mark their import. But I had grasped the full meaning even before he spoke the terrible words: “And so Nargoroth means to have an heir as well – a Shadow Prince to stand beside him; and through the heir will he realize that which others have long sought, but never claimed. He will use the gift to enslave all living things in the world.”
****
Evening drew nigh, and I found myself suddenly exhausted by the news borne by this strange old man. I craved sleep as badly as I ever have, and soon rose to excuse myself from his company. Darius was already making camp – there would be no more travel this day, for my legs and body now felt the weight of a dreadful weariness. “I will seek for you in the morn, old father”, I said; but stopped as he held up a thin, quavering hand.
“My time here is too short, Lady Comet”, he said. “I have my own destiny to fulfill – something I do not yet know, but that I fear will remove me from the world for no small time. Please let me offer what counsel I may before I must away?”
I nodded my head softly, sat beside him and listened as he continued.
“The Enemy moves in the world, and his strength grows by the day. His agents are everywhere – this you have already seen firsthand. For now, you are safe – you travel alone, with a good Guardian in the quiet places of the world. But no place will be safe for long; and you have much work to do if you are to play your part in the grand drama that unfolds around us.”
I listened, and placed my hand gently on his bone-thin arm. “Tell me, good father, what I must do?”
“You must gather your People, and become their Queen, the heir to Eyrturheru. That much you know full well without my saying so. But you must look beyond the restoration of the Northern Sylvan People. You must bring about a grand alliance for good to counter the evil Nargoroth brings your way. You must find your allies, one by one, and lead them to a common cause with strength enough to parry the blow when it falls. Seek first the Drow, for they are once and distant cousins of the Sylvan People and may be counted on for strength and courage when all else falter. They are proud, and ancient; and will not come gladly. But come they will if you convince them of the cause.
The Dragons must come to your aid – at least they who stand for the side of good. Bragollach was the best of them, and knew and served your father well; but he is gone now – fallen to the hand of Nargoroth just one month ago. You must make a mission to the Dragon Council, and plead the case. I do not know if they will come to your side – that part is not clear to me; but I do know that it is vital to try.
Most important, you must bring the armies of Men to the aid of the alliance. Often have they swung the balance between the forces of evil and those that oppose them. They are an enigma to me, these men – they can show valor and courage like none other on the earth; and yet succumb to the basest forms of treachery, greed and spite. This endeavor will fall short without them; so you must find those who are true of heart and strong of arm. Around these, bring the others – the races of elves who remain in the world, and dwarves and fae. They must not see you as a rival to Nargoroth for dominance; but rather as one who rallies the forces for good to keep the great evil at bay.”
“I am sorry to place this burden on your small shoulders, dear girl; but that you must bear the duties of the Queen at such a tender age is a circumstance of the times and there is no denying it. I wish I could tell you other.”
He looked away, sad and embarrassed; and I gently clasped his arm and whispered that it was well to know what I must. “I accept the counsel you bring, Myrddin. But Milord, the tasks are great and many, and I do not know how to begin them. What counsel can you give?”
He stood, and took up his rucksack and stick as if reminding himself that he had stayed overlong at some friend’s hearth. He looked up into my eyes as I stood to face him, and offered these final words: “Seek first your sister, who lives with your Aunt in the company of the fae. She is in great danger, and must know the nature of it to better keep her from harm’s way. It will be for you, your sister…and your Guardian…to decide how best to protect her; and to keep yourself safe in the bargain. On that I cannot advise.”
“Next, you must bring together the core of the alliance. Find the Drow Lord who lives in the favor of the Goddess, for he will stand by you amidst all the storms if you convince him of the merits of this quest. Seek out the Dragons, and leaders of Men, and all the Elven brethren who remain in the recesses of the world. Build what strength you may – and quickly; for our Enemy will not delay while you make a measured pace.”
“The last counsel I may offer is this, for then the light of what I can see goes dim. You must rebuild the city of your father, as a beacon to your People and all of those of the alliance. But heed this well: the city, when rebuilt, must stand on a foundation of mountain rock; for rooted so in the bones of the very earth, it will be a counterpoint to the power of Tal Nargor. Remember that there is life within the rock; and so the mantle of the earth may be engaged to play its own vital role. Nargoroth knows this, and draws strength from the stone walls and floors of Tal Nargor, carved from the bosom of the earth. There are some, few men of skill walking freely in the world who know this art; and can bring the power of the earth to Sylvhara. It is important that you find him – the architect of your city – from among these few. And so might you bind to your cause another force to meet the peril that will come to you.”
As he spoke, I had turned to walk – contemplating what I was hearing, just as my eyes reached out to watch the sun setting blood red in the west. I turned as he finished, to offer my thanks; but the spot where he had stood was now empty. The last evidence I had of him was the soft rustle of branches and the crunch of undergrowth as he moved quickly into the deep wood. I smiled, and raised my fingers to my lips in delighted wonder; and heard him call out “Make haste, good Queen; for your destiny awaits impatiently for you to claim it!” I stood for a moment, staring after him into the wood; and then turned back to the camp to find Darius and do what I might to enjoy our last evening in this place.