8 October 591
It has been seven weeks since our encounter with Myrrdin. As our journey has taken us steadily southward, the character of the forest has changed greatly (though the slow pace of our progress has made the daily changes subtle). Darius has noted the change as well; though I know this only by careful observation, not by his words. His mood has lightened, and his ever-seeking gaze has grown a bit less distant…less guarded. I watched as he led us down a short slope that slipped from a long, shallow ridge to a lower level of the forest floor. As he went, I could hear him humming some tune unknown to me…a song at once melodic and slightly melancholic; yet soothing to me as it issued forth in his rich baritone voice. He glanced my way, in a manner that suggested an uncanny awareness of being observed. I averted my eyes, staring off at the pale green of the forest just ahead; but I sensed he saw my controlled smile which, indeed, I did little to try to conceal.
As I peered down the gradual slope, the ethereal beauty of the wood captivated me. The rich, dark greens of the old forest, broken only by the iron-grey or earth-brown trunks of the massive trees there, had steadily given way to the pale green of fresh, young growth. The slender white trunks of birch in the thickets complemented the olive-brown bodies of the beech. The area shone in the sunlight filtering down through the branches; and the air was delightfully fresh and clear. A soft breeze rustled the tree tops, creating a faint, whirring rhythm to the place. It felt as though we had passed a threshold from the wild into a new space, one that thrived under the hand of some benign caretaker. The very thought raised my spirit; and I leaned in, whispering to my mount to gently encourage her forward.
The floor of the forest had changed as well, the thick undergrowth of the wild lands replaced by the dark loam and decaying humus of fertile ground. The earth was undisturbed – with the exception of a large area to our right where the slope played out and a small clearing opened up to enjoy the clear blue sky and bright afternoon sun. Darius spotted the trampled ground just as I did. He sat up alertly and raised his hand to motion me to stop. He swung his left leg up and over the saddle of his horse, and in one noiseless, agile motion dropped lightly to the ground. He strode forward – alert, ready, his senses tuned to hear or feel any threat or movement. He crouched as he reached the clearing, examining the earth before moving to the next spot…and the next after that. After some few minutes of this, he rose and quickly covered the ground to stand by my side. His voice came, sure and unrushed: “A fair sized party, with many horses, rested here but two days past…well armed, by the weight of them. I can not tell if they were men or elvenkind, nor if they moved for good or ill. Expert horsemen they are, though – for they took care to disguise their numbers and their purposes. We would do well to proceed with caution.”
Darius’ words trailed off to silence, and the clearing and surrounding wood went still…too still, in fact; for all the thrumming resonance of life in the forest seemed to have fallen away. I looked at Darius, and saw his face go blank – a look I had seen too many times on this journey, and its sudden appearance chilled me. His senses were up, and I saw his body go tense as if in preparation for a fight. He motioned for me to dismount, and swiftly tore loose the rope that held Eledhwen, wrapped in sackcloth, from its place beside my saddle. He handled me the coarsely shrouded bundle, and pushed me forward into the clearing. I heard the ringing of his own sword as it cleared his scabbard and we moved swiftly to the center of the open space.
The sun bore down on us, feeling suddenly oppressive in its heat. Darius knelt, deftly unwrapped my father’s sword from the coarse cloth, pulled it from the ornate scabbard and folded the hilt of it into my trembling hands. “I pray you will not need this, my Queen; but should events so dictate, I bid you trust your hand unto this worthy blade. As long as you may hold it high in battle, the line of your Fathers will give you strength to wield it”, he said. I was confused by his words and the sudden urgency of his voice; but as my fingers closed about the hilt of Eledhwen, I felt a sudden rush of white heat and light flow from my hand to all my extremities. My body rose up – as if I were growing within my skin – and the weight of the sword disappeared as it moved effortlessly in my hand. My heartbeat slowed; my mind cleared; and I turned to wait, calmly, for what was to come.
Darius turned in the opposite direction, and I felt him there with his back to me. I at once understood that whatever danger came near would move on us from all directions. I peered into the woods before me, now dark and threatening as I gazed from my position in the blazing sun. I heard, saw, felt…nothing; nothing but the last remaining whisper of a breeze in the treetops. The moments moved by, slowly…a seeming eternity. I was about to speak to Darius…to ask him what it meant…when I heard him say, in a low voice, “They come.”
As his words fell on my ears, I saw them…first as shifting shadows under the cover of the wood, and then more clearly as they emerged, as one, from just inside the line of trees that marked the clearing’s edge. Wolves. No, I thought, not just wolves. Too large – almost the size of our horses. Wargs…the fierce, demonic wolves of the Wilderland. I watched as they came forward into the light, and numbered six of them emerging from the half circle of the forest that I faced. I saw others in my periphery; and did not doubt that Darius faced an equal number. I looked at them, directly into their dark, soulless eyes as they came slowly on. Their mouths were contorted into fearsome snarls, their long white fangs bared and gleaming bone-white in the sunlight. Saliva fell in rivulets from their twitching maws; and the silence of a minute ago was now filled with a guttural, growling sound – a sound as close to pure hate as any I had ever heard. My hand clenched the sword, drawing down its strength as I prepared for the looming attack.
The advancing beasts moved to within a dozen feet of us. Some instinct caused me to raise my sword above my head, with both hands gripping it firmly and the blade pointed down at the Warg coming straight toward me. I saw the feral beast’s eyes narrow, and watched his weight shift to his hind legs as if preparing to pounce. A sudden rasping series of snarls and barks came from behind me, and the approaching wolves suddenly stopped and settled, panting, onto their haunches.
I made a quarter turn, peering past Darius’ shoulder to see what I might. My breath caught in my throat as I saw, sitting just a few yards in front of him, a Warg that stood fully two hands taller than the one standing in my front. The enormous beast had a coarse coat of matted, slate-grey fur; and a massive head marred by the scars of a horrendous injury to the left side of the face. The oozing patches of bare skin; the opaque white film covering his ruptured eye; and large bite wounds that turned his maw into a permanent snarl spoke of wounds suffered in some terrible battle long ago. It was clear the beast enjoyed the effect he had on us – he sat there quietly and let us take in his blasted face for a full minute before he spoke.
The voice was guttural, harsh…a succession of growls and snarls, snapping of the jaw and short barks that made me want to shield my ears to shut it out. Oddly though, I knew he was speaking an intelligible language – could even make out parts of it, though I did not know why. For some reason, I understood parts of his language – hearing something about a “Master”…and stolen property…and death. It was all bewildering – and terrifying. I feared for the worst, beginning with our inability to comprehend this speech; and then heard Darius’ voice reply in the tongue of the wild wolves. I suddenly recalled the unique skills of my Guardian…one of which was his knowledge of obscure languages.
I listened to them parlay, feeling a mix of both fear and fascination as the two carried on their dialogue in the horrible, rasping language of the Wargs. After some few minutes of this, I heard Darius speak to me – his voice resuming his normal, soothing tones. “Comet, listen carefully to what I say. These are wild Wargs of the Wilderland in the north. They have been sent by Nargoroth to find us – me for my betrayal, that he might personally see me brought to his justice; and you as the heir to Eyrturheru and the Sylvan People. This one, the leader, is called Nazgrimm. He is long in years, having survived the great battles of the Third Age. He, like the Wargs who follow him, are coarse and evil beyond measure – but they are not without cunning. They have followed our path from Taur-na-Sylvhara to this place; and would take us now to their Master. I have no doubt they would rather kill us where we stand, and make a feast of our flesh and bones; but their fear of the Witch King is greater than their desire for carnage.”
I nodded, unspeaking, as I listened to Darius’ words. None that he told me was new; and yet I sensed there was some other purpose for his words to me. I breathed deeply and waited for him to continue. “Comet, I tell you this with great pain in my heart; for I could not place such a burden upon you had I any other choice to make. If we stand against them, our death is almost certain. They are many, and strong…and seasoned in battle. They will offer no quarter, and our deaths will not be swift. But in my heart, I know that if we surrender our will to them – if we allow them to take us to their Master – greater perils than death alone may await us; and greater still will be the perils of your People.”
His voice broke off, and I knew he was struggling to say what he could not…that after all these months in the wild, as Guardian and protector, we had come to a point where the choice must be mine. Before I could speak, his voice found the words: “There are great forces at play here, dear Comet – things beyond my power to understand. Neither reason nor valor alone will show us the right course; you must find inside you the voice that speaks in your mind – for that is the only true guide you have. If I might, I would lift this burden from you, and gladly carry it…but that is not mine to bear. But know, in the choosing, that ever will I stand by your side – that no harm may fall on you that these arms have power to stay.”
As his words fell away, my body began to tremble violently…but fear was not the source of the tremors. The sensation began at my fingertips, my knuckles gleaming white with the pressure of my hands grasping the sword of my father. It was as if the sun had focused all of its energy on the shimmering blade, heating it to a point that might sear mortal flesh. But the blade did not hold that heat – rather did I feel it radiate down and out through my arms and into my torso, and then on down through my legs to the very tips of my toes inside the tight leather boots. My entire body shook and surged with the sudden flush of warmth and strength; I felt my eyes go wide and the sky seemed to brighten – allowing me to see everything about me with extraordinary clarity. It seemed, in fact, that I could see the whole scene as if from above – the circle of wolves forming a ring about us within the outer ring of the clearing. My mind was clear and free of fear and doubt; and the sword felt light in my hand as I turned to face Nazgrimm.
I saw something there, behind those cold black eyes – a brief flash, as of a spark leaping from the flint when suddenly struck by the sparking stone. The glimmer passed as quickly as it had come, falling back behind the harsh façade of the old wolf’s ruptured face. But it had been there – of that I am sure – and I thought in that moment that the old beast had felt something like fear. I leveled my gaze at him and spoke – knowing that, despite the drama of the previous dialogue with Darius, he would understand my spoken words full well. My voice rang out over the open ground, strong and bold even to my own ears. I saw Darius glance at me in quiet wonder.
“Great wolf. You have come here on a mission for your Master…but I say to you that mission is folly. Even now, you know this quest will fail; and that it must come to an inglorious end here, in this circle. Death will call upon this place – whether yours or mine, the Fates alone may decide. If you fall, then all your life has led you but to this failed moment. And if Fortune dictates I shall fall, and with me the future of my People; then so will your mission end. And I would not count upon the favor of your Master to greet you kindly on your return to him. So, Master Nazgrimm, the choice is yours – I bid you return in safety to the Wilderland from whence you came. Live out your years with your people, and trouble these lands no more.”
The clearing fell quiet, with even the panting of the waiting wolves stilled as my words died out. My gaze remained fixed on Nazgrimm, who returned it without reaction to my words. The silence grew ponderous, each of us locked in the unwavering stare as the seconds ticked past. I noted then a subtle change in his tortured face – and if one might imagine the face of such a beast twisting into a sneer, that would be close to the nature of what I saw. Nazgrimm began to huff, and the huff became in turn a dreadful, mocking laugh. At last he spoke: “You are eloquent, Princess…and brave, for your part. I did not know your father, but the tales speak of his courage and eloquence. It seems those traits are visited upon his daughter. I fear, though, that your fine words are lost to these ears; for I know that grand and brave speeches, and their speakers, will pass from the world when the tumult of war comes. So it was with Eyrturheru, and so must it be with his heir, it seems. This choice is not mine to make, but one which you take upon yourself. And so, let me be its INSTRUMENT!”
At this last, the foul Warg leader crouched deep into his haunches and launched itself forward in a powerful leap – clearly intent on taking us off-guard with a sudden and vicious attack. He covered the ground to Darius in two bounds, and then pushed forward and up, his massive head turning and his maw opening to bare his large, razor-sharp teeth. It was clear that it meant to rip out the throat of my Guardian; and thence to deal with me. That proved a miscalculation – and a fatal one – for the ancient wolf.
The grey mass flew forward through the air, straight at Darius. But Darius had expected it and, once the beast was committed by his lunge, the dragon lord moved with blinding speed, falling away to his left to avoid the closing jaws and thrusting his sword upward with both arms as the Warg leader fell upon him. One long fang of the charging wolf caught his left side, opening a ragged gash along the ribs; but the sword found purchase under the breastbone of the attacking wolf and sunk to the hilt as the thrust drove upward and the body of the beast fell upon it. The Warg leader yelped horribly in pain and surprise; but the sound died quickly on the air as I spun around Darius, swinging Eledhwen around and down in a killing arc. The blade of my father’s sword took the wolf at the neck, just above the sinewy shoulders; and, with little resistance neatly cleaved the massive head from the Warg’s falling body.
I spun about, as if completing a simple, circular movement with the blade that – practiced at length in the yard – had merely been interrupted in its plane by the head and neck of the Warg leader. The remaining wolf pack remained frozen in place, perhaps even more in wonder than I at what had just transpired. I did not know where the skill or speed or force of that blow had come from; nor even the source of the smooth, instinctive movement that led up to it. But as I eyed the waiting wolves past the steady blade that now dripped with black blood, I knew the skill would be there again, when needed in these next few moments.
Darius pushed away the carcass of the dead Warg leader, and struggled to his feet behind me, a steady stream of blood running down his side. He held his sword at the ready, and waited for the pack to attack us. I wondered for a moment if, like many wild beasts, the loss of the leader might paralyze them – render them unable to act. But any thought of that soon vanished as the wolf before me snarled and said “Nazgrimm has fallen – as much a victim to his ego and ancient ways as any power of an elven blade. You have shown yourself worthy against a single Warg; let us test that luck against the pack, shall we?” He sneered, and snarled; and issued barking commands in the Warg tongue to the wolves encircling us. All leapt to their feet at once, moved to close the gap in the line left by their fallen leader, and – on the command – bounded forward toward the center of the circle.
All thought was lost in the chaos of that moment…only instinctive movement remained available to us. I saw Darius stoop and swing his sword in a murderous arc at the first wolf, slicing open the belly of the beast as a second leaped past and knocked my Guardian to the ground with the full momentum of his springing body. At the same time, the new pack leader came on. The blade of Eledhwen found his throat as he sprang, releasing a torrent of black blood into the air. I felt the weight of the Warg’s falling body drive me down into the ground…smelled the foul odor of carnage and death on the beast’s breath…and felt the bolt of white hot pain as his jaw closed and the fangs sank deep into the meat of my shoulder. My head struck the earth, hard; and the world went dark.
It has been seven weeks since our encounter with Myrrdin. As our journey has taken us steadily southward, the character of the forest has changed greatly (though the slow pace of our progress has made the daily changes subtle). Darius has noted the change as well; though I know this only by careful observation, not by his words. His mood has lightened, and his ever-seeking gaze has grown a bit less distant…less guarded. I watched as he led us down a short slope that slipped from a long, shallow ridge to a lower level of the forest floor. As he went, I could hear him humming some tune unknown to me…a song at once melodic and slightly melancholic; yet soothing to me as it issued forth in his rich baritone voice. He glanced my way, in a manner that suggested an uncanny awareness of being observed. I averted my eyes, staring off at the pale green of the forest just ahead; but I sensed he saw my controlled smile which, indeed, I did little to try to conceal.
As I peered down the gradual slope, the ethereal beauty of the wood captivated me. The rich, dark greens of the old forest, broken only by the iron-grey or earth-brown trunks of the massive trees there, had steadily given way to the pale green of fresh, young growth. The slender white trunks of birch in the thickets complemented the olive-brown bodies of the beech. The area shone in the sunlight filtering down through the branches; and the air was delightfully fresh and clear. A soft breeze rustled the tree tops, creating a faint, whirring rhythm to the place. It felt as though we had passed a threshold from the wild into a new space, one that thrived under the hand of some benign caretaker. The very thought raised my spirit; and I leaned in, whispering to my mount to gently encourage her forward.
The floor of the forest had changed as well, the thick undergrowth of the wild lands replaced by the dark loam and decaying humus of fertile ground. The earth was undisturbed – with the exception of a large area to our right where the slope played out and a small clearing opened up to enjoy the clear blue sky and bright afternoon sun. Darius spotted the trampled ground just as I did. He sat up alertly and raised his hand to motion me to stop. He swung his left leg up and over the saddle of his horse, and in one noiseless, agile motion dropped lightly to the ground. He strode forward – alert, ready, his senses tuned to hear or feel any threat or movement. He crouched as he reached the clearing, examining the earth before moving to the next spot…and the next after that. After some few minutes of this, he rose and quickly covered the ground to stand by my side. His voice came, sure and unrushed: “A fair sized party, with many horses, rested here but two days past…well armed, by the weight of them. I can not tell if they were men or elvenkind, nor if they moved for good or ill. Expert horsemen they are, though – for they took care to disguise their numbers and their purposes. We would do well to proceed with caution.”
Darius’ words trailed off to silence, and the clearing and surrounding wood went still…too still, in fact; for all the thrumming resonance of life in the forest seemed to have fallen away. I looked at Darius, and saw his face go blank – a look I had seen too many times on this journey, and its sudden appearance chilled me. His senses were up, and I saw his body go tense as if in preparation for a fight. He motioned for me to dismount, and swiftly tore loose the rope that held Eledhwen, wrapped in sackcloth, from its place beside my saddle. He handled me the coarsely shrouded bundle, and pushed me forward into the clearing. I heard the ringing of his own sword as it cleared his scabbard and we moved swiftly to the center of the open space.
The sun bore down on us, feeling suddenly oppressive in its heat. Darius knelt, deftly unwrapped my father’s sword from the coarse cloth, pulled it from the ornate scabbard and folded the hilt of it into my trembling hands. “I pray you will not need this, my Queen; but should events so dictate, I bid you trust your hand unto this worthy blade. As long as you may hold it high in battle, the line of your Fathers will give you strength to wield it”, he said. I was confused by his words and the sudden urgency of his voice; but as my fingers closed about the hilt of Eledhwen, I felt a sudden rush of white heat and light flow from my hand to all my extremities. My body rose up – as if I were growing within my skin – and the weight of the sword disappeared as it moved effortlessly in my hand. My heartbeat slowed; my mind cleared; and I turned to wait, calmly, for what was to come.
Darius turned in the opposite direction, and I felt him there with his back to me. I at once understood that whatever danger came near would move on us from all directions. I peered into the woods before me, now dark and threatening as I gazed from my position in the blazing sun. I heard, saw, felt…nothing; nothing but the last remaining whisper of a breeze in the treetops. The moments moved by, slowly…a seeming eternity. I was about to speak to Darius…to ask him what it meant…when I heard him say, in a low voice, “They come.”
As his words fell on my ears, I saw them…first as shifting shadows under the cover of the wood, and then more clearly as they emerged, as one, from just inside the line of trees that marked the clearing’s edge. Wolves. No, I thought, not just wolves. Too large – almost the size of our horses. Wargs…the fierce, demonic wolves of the Wilderland. I watched as they came forward into the light, and numbered six of them emerging from the half circle of the forest that I faced. I saw others in my periphery; and did not doubt that Darius faced an equal number. I looked at them, directly into their dark, soulless eyes as they came slowly on. Their mouths were contorted into fearsome snarls, their long white fangs bared and gleaming bone-white in the sunlight. Saliva fell in rivulets from their twitching maws; and the silence of a minute ago was now filled with a guttural, growling sound – a sound as close to pure hate as any I had ever heard. My hand clenched the sword, drawing down its strength as I prepared for the looming attack.
The advancing beasts moved to within a dozen feet of us. Some instinct caused me to raise my sword above my head, with both hands gripping it firmly and the blade pointed down at the Warg coming straight toward me. I saw the feral beast’s eyes narrow, and watched his weight shift to his hind legs as if preparing to pounce. A sudden rasping series of snarls and barks came from behind me, and the approaching wolves suddenly stopped and settled, panting, onto their haunches.
I made a quarter turn, peering past Darius’ shoulder to see what I might. My breath caught in my throat as I saw, sitting just a few yards in front of him, a Warg that stood fully two hands taller than the one standing in my front. The enormous beast had a coarse coat of matted, slate-grey fur; and a massive head marred by the scars of a horrendous injury to the left side of the face. The oozing patches of bare skin; the opaque white film covering his ruptured eye; and large bite wounds that turned his maw into a permanent snarl spoke of wounds suffered in some terrible battle long ago. It was clear the beast enjoyed the effect he had on us – he sat there quietly and let us take in his blasted face for a full minute before he spoke.
The voice was guttural, harsh…a succession of growls and snarls, snapping of the jaw and short barks that made me want to shield my ears to shut it out. Oddly though, I knew he was speaking an intelligible language – could even make out parts of it, though I did not know why. For some reason, I understood parts of his language – hearing something about a “Master”…and stolen property…and death. It was all bewildering – and terrifying. I feared for the worst, beginning with our inability to comprehend this speech; and then heard Darius’ voice reply in the tongue of the wild wolves. I suddenly recalled the unique skills of my Guardian…one of which was his knowledge of obscure languages.
I listened to them parlay, feeling a mix of both fear and fascination as the two carried on their dialogue in the horrible, rasping language of the Wargs. After some few minutes of this, I heard Darius speak to me – his voice resuming his normal, soothing tones. “Comet, listen carefully to what I say. These are wild Wargs of the Wilderland in the north. They have been sent by Nargoroth to find us – me for my betrayal, that he might personally see me brought to his justice; and you as the heir to Eyrturheru and the Sylvan People. This one, the leader, is called Nazgrimm. He is long in years, having survived the great battles of the Third Age. He, like the Wargs who follow him, are coarse and evil beyond measure – but they are not without cunning. They have followed our path from Taur-na-Sylvhara to this place; and would take us now to their Master. I have no doubt they would rather kill us where we stand, and make a feast of our flesh and bones; but their fear of the Witch King is greater than their desire for carnage.”
I nodded, unspeaking, as I listened to Darius’ words. None that he told me was new; and yet I sensed there was some other purpose for his words to me. I breathed deeply and waited for him to continue. “Comet, I tell you this with great pain in my heart; for I could not place such a burden upon you had I any other choice to make. If we stand against them, our death is almost certain. They are many, and strong…and seasoned in battle. They will offer no quarter, and our deaths will not be swift. But in my heart, I know that if we surrender our will to them – if we allow them to take us to their Master – greater perils than death alone may await us; and greater still will be the perils of your People.”
His voice broke off, and I knew he was struggling to say what he could not…that after all these months in the wild, as Guardian and protector, we had come to a point where the choice must be mine. Before I could speak, his voice found the words: “There are great forces at play here, dear Comet – things beyond my power to understand. Neither reason nor valor alone will show us the right course; you must find inside you the voice that speaks in your mind – for that is the only true guide you have. If I might, I would lift this burden from you, and gladly carry it…but that is not mine to bear. But know, in the choosing, that ever will I stand by your side – that no harm may fall on you that these arms have power to stay.”
As his words fell away, my body began to tremble violently…but fear was not the source of the tremors. The sensation began at my fingertips, my knuckles gleaming white with the pressure of my hands grasping the sword of my father. It was as if the sun had focused all of its energy on the shimmering blade, heating it to a point that might sear mortal flesh. But the blade did not hold that heat – rather did I feel it radiate down and out through my arms and into my torso, and then on down through my legs to the very tips of my toes inside the tight leather boots. My entire body shook and surged with the sudden flush of warmth and strength; I felt my eyes go wide and the sky seemed to brighten – allowing me to see everything about me with extraordinary clarity. It seemed, in fact, that I could see the whole scene as if from above – the circle of wolves forming a ring about us within the outer ring of the clearing. My mind was clear and free of fear and doubt; and the sword felt light in my hand as I turned to face Nazgrimm.
I saw something there, behind those cold black eyes – a brief flash, as of a spark leaping from the flint when suddenly struck by the sparking stone. The glimmer passed as quickly as it had come, falling back behind the harsh façade of the old wolf’s ruptured face. But it had been there – of that I am sure – and I thought in that moment that the old beast had felt something like fear. I leveled my gaze at him and spoke – knowing that, despite the drama of the previous dialogue with Darius, he would understand my spoken words full well. My voice rang out over the open ground, strong and bold even to my own ears. I saw Darius glance at me in quiet wonder.
“Great wolf. You have come here on a mission for your Master…but I say to you that mission is folly. Even now, you know this quest will fail; and that it must come to an inglorious end here, in this circle. Death will call upon this place – whether yours or mine, the Fates alone may decide. If you fall, then all your life has led you but to this failed moment. And if Fortune dictates I shall fall, and with me the future of my People; then so will your mission end. And I would not count upon the favor of your Master to greet you kindly on your return to him. So, Master Nazgrimm, the choice is yours – I bid you return in safety to the Wilderland from whence you came. Live out your years with your people, and trouble these lands no more.”
The clearing fell quiet, with even the panting of the waiting wolves stilled as my words died out. My gaze remained fixed on Nazgrimm, who returned it without reaction to my words. The silence grew ponderous, each of us locked in the unwavering stare as the seconds ticked past. I noted then a subtle change in his tortured face – and if one might imagine the face of such a beast twisting into a sneer, that would be close to the nature of what I saw. Nazgrimm began to huff, and the huff became in turn a dreadful, mocking laugh. At last he spoke: “You are eloquent, Princess…and brave, for your part. I did not know your father, but the tales speak of his courage and eloquence. It seems those traits are visited upon his daughter. I fear, though, that your fine words are lost to these ears; for I know that grand and brave speeches, and their speakers, will pass from the world when the tumult of war comes. So it was with Eyrturheru, and so must it be with his heir, it seems. This choice is not mine to make, but one which you take upon yourself. And so, let me be its INSTRUMENT!”
At this last, the foul Warg leader crouched deep into his haunches and launched itself forward in a powerful leap – clearly intent on taking us off-guard with a sudden and vicious attack. He covered the ground to Darius in two bounds, and then pushed forward and up, his massive head turning and his maw opening to bare his large, razor-sharp teeth. It was clear that it meant to rip out the throat of my Guardian; and thence to deal with me. That proved a miscalculation – and a fatal one – for the ancient wolf.
The grey mass flew forward through the air, straight at Darius. But Darius had expected it and, once the beast was committed by his lunge, the dragon lord moved with blinding speed, falling away to his left to avoid the closing jaws and thrusting his sword upward with both arms as the Warg leader fell upon him. One long fang of the charging wolf caught his left side, opening a ragged gash along the ribs; but the sword found purchase under the breastbone of the attacking wolf and sunk to the hilt as the thrust drove upward and the body of the beast fell upon it. The Warg leader yelped horribly in pain and surprise; but the sound died quickly on the air as I spun around Darius, swinging Eledhwen around and down in a killing arc. The blade of my father’s sword took the wolf at the neck, just above the sinewy shoulders; and, with little resistance neatly cleaved the massive head from the Warg’s falling body.
I spun about, as if completing a simple, circular movement with the blade that – practiced at length in the yard – had merely been interrupted in its plane by the head and neck of the Warg leader. The remaining wolf pack remained frozen in place, perhaps even more in wonder than I at what had just transpired. I did not know where the skill or speed or force of that blow had come from; nor even the source of the smooth, instinctive movement that led up to it. But as I eyed the waiting wolves past the steady blade that now dripped with black blood, I knew the skill would be there again, when needed in these next few moments.
Darius pushed away the carcass of the dead Warg leader, and struggled to his feet behind me, a steady stream of blood running down his side. He held his sword at the ready, and waited for the pack to attack us. I wondered for a moment if, like many wild beasts, the loss of the leader might paralyze them – render them unable to act. But any thought of that soon vanished as the wolf before me snarled and said “Nazgrimm has fallen – as much a victim to his ego and ancient ways as any power of an elven blade. You have shown yourself worthy against a single Warg; let us test that luck against the pack, shall we?” He sneered, and snarled; and issued barking commands in the Warg tongue to the wolves encircling us. All leapt to their feet at once, moved to close the gap in the line left by their fallen leader, and – on the command – bounded forward toward the center of the circle.
All thought was lost in the chaos of that moment…only instinctive movement remained available to us. I saw Darius stoop and swing his sword in a murderous arc at the first wolf, slicing open the belly of the beast as a second leaped past and knocked my Guardian to the ground with the full momentum of his springing body. At the same time, the new pack leader came on. The blade of Eledhwen found his throat as he sprang, releasing a torrent of black blood into the air. I felt the weight of the Warg’s falling body drive me down into the ground…smelled the foul odor of carnage and death on the beast’s breath…and felt the bolt of white hot pain as his jaw closed and the fangs sank deep into the meat of my shoulder. My head struck the earth, hard; and the world went dark.
*************
“Comet! Comet?” I heard the voice, filtering down to me through layers of grey. It was distant, muted…as if heard from inside my head rather than through these ears. I tried to open my eyes, and then to clear them to see; but the world swam in greys and whites and a swirl of other colors – as if trying to see the light from below the waters of a rolling river. That voice, I thought. I know it! Mother! Yes, it was Mother! My head spun with a thousand thoughts and emotions. She has come…but how can it be? How can she be back from the world of the dead? How did she come to be here?
“COMET!”, the voice screamed; and its effect was like a cold slap to my cheek. My eyes shot open and saw the wood frame and hanging gauze of a fine bed; and beyond it glimpses of a whitewashed ceiling and walls. My head turned to the left – toward the sound of that insistent, feminine voice. And there I saw the fair face, with the familiar golden hair cascading around it…and that unmistakable, beaming smile that had filled so many warm days at home, and so many cold nights in my dreams in the wild.
“Ivy?”, I said, the words croaking out from a throat that felt as if subject to the file. My head reeled…Ivy? How could Ivy be here? What is this place, this bed? How did I come to be here? What has become of Darius? I looked into the eyes of my sister, seeing the reflection of the room in the tears forming there. I extended a hand to touch her cheek – though she seemed impossibly distant to me; but before I could feel the soft skin of her young face on my fingertips, she leaped up and into the bed, burying her face in my shoulder and sobbing without shame. I held her head there, my hand caressing it through the soft, fragrant mass of her hair. As I did so, I heard the soft, earnest voice of Myrrdin speaking in my head, saying “And so as the two are joined, may it be as the braiding of a thread, that one might increase the strength of the other”. I felt a wild rush of emotions wash over me, along with confusion about what it all meant…or was it even real? But before I could make sense of it, I fell once more into the peaceful oblivion of sleep.
*************
4 November 591
I swam upward, toward the light, feeling the warmth surround and welcome me as I neared the surface. I could see the light flickering, above the waves…almost there…I kicked hard and burst through the surface, my mouth opening to take in the fresh air…
My eyes clicked open, and I was there again…in the bed, in the white room. Ivy, I thought. Was she a dream? I reached up to rub my eyes, to push the last of the sleep (and the dreams) from them. I turned to my left, and saw fine lace curtains billowing in the soft breeze coming in through the open window. I could hear the wind in the trees outside the window, and the chatter of songbirds. The light was pale and soft – morning light, I thought – and the air was remarkably fresh. I wondered anew, Where am I, and how did I come to be here?
I turned my head to look the other way, to try to make some sense of the unfamiliar surroundings. It was then my eyes caught the form of my visitor, who sat quietly watching me as I came back to the world. How many times now had I awakened to those same mournful eyes, watching me so closely? I smiled, weakly…and managed to croak out “Darius” through my sore, dry throat.
He motioned me to be still; then rose and went to the sideboard and poured water from the ewer there into a silver cup. He returned to my bedside, helped me raise my head and held the cup to my lips as I drank. The cool liquid exploded into my mouth, throat and stomach…immediately quenching the intense thirst yet leaving me craving more of it. He smiled, pulled the cup gently away, pushed back the hair from my face and said “Slowly, milady…best to go slowly…it has been some time.”
I lay back on my pillow, and began to fire questions at my soon overwhelmed chief Guardian. “Where am I? How did I get here? How did we get here? What became of the Wargs? How did we survive that? Where is Ivy…is she here? Is she real?” And on and on ran the list, as my Guardian merely sat and smiled patiently, in that infuriating manner of his. It soon became clear that I could not satisfy my curiosities until I lay back, silent and patient, and let him tell the story his way. I fixed my face in a fierce and willful pout, crossed my arms and lay back to listen.
I learned first that we were at Tal Rilma, the legendary elven “City of the Glimmering Light” deep within the harboring confines of the Greatwood Forest. Tal Rilma was an ancient dwelling of the Southern Sylvans, cousins of the descendants of Athanor and Meleanil in the North. The city and surrounding wood were home to many of the Fae, as well – it was here that Lady Rowenna d’Noir was born, and was the same spot to which she had taken Lady Ivy in her exile.
On the day the Wargs attacked, we had reached the very doorstep of the Greatwood forest, some short distance from Tal Rilma. Unbeknownst to us, we had been followed for three days by the border watch – Sylvan People so skilled in woodcraft that they might pass unseen for days on end while tracking others in the forest. Word had gone ahead to tell of our approach, had reached the city…and then soon found the ear of Lord Andelmir – the defender of Taur-na-Sylvhara’s final days, and the leader of the elven armies in the field at River’s Rest. Andelmir had ridden hard to Tal Rilma in hopes of finding us; and it was the evidence of his party’s earlier visit that we had discovered in the clearing. When word reached him, the Elf-Lord rallied his party and left the city, riding as fast as their mounts would bear them. He arrived at the clearing just as the band of Wargs fell upon us; and his warriors and bowmen joined the fray in the very nick of time, killing six of the wolves on the spot and running down and slaying the others before they could leave the confines of Greatwood.
Darius was badly injured from the assault, but my condition was the most alarming to Lord Andelmir and his band. It took them some time to find me beneath the body of my wolf attacker, and much of the strength and life had been crushed from me. Worse, the bite to my shoulder had poisoned my blood; and the wolfbane threatened my life. Andelmir carried me by horseback to Tal Rilma, to this house, as fast as he could ride; and it was only by the ministrations of the elves and the fae, led by the ever true Lady Rowenna and her sisters, that I was able to recover. Even then, it was through the blessing of uial kaima, the healing twilight sleep of the elves, that I mustered the strength to fight off the foul bane. I was surprised to hear that I had been sleeping for most of these past four weeks.
Darius was well-healed from his own wounds, and I teased him that it must be the dragon-hide of his skin that rendered him so free of injury. In truth, his dragon-self did possess remarkable healing abilities…seen here not for the first, but not for the last time.
I sat up in the bed, suddenly aware of a ravenous hunger…and a strong need to see my sister Ivy. Darius smiled, and rose to see to both…but turned before he reached the door to stare back at me. His lips curved into the slightly mischievous smile of a man with a secret, and he said “Oh, and by the way…happy birthday, Comet”.
> Chapter 4