16 August 814
I walked out on the terrace, brushing away the dust from my robes as I went. It seemed that dust might be the one substance that would persist unto eternity, abundant long after all else had fallen away. It found its way into everything as the task of construction continued, filling crevices and coating all our objects in its omnipresence. And while I complained of its ubiquity, I could not but smile when I thought of the purpose it served.
Sylvhara rises, from the very stone of this fair land.
The work elated me, its progress marking the first real signs of the fulfillment of our Sylvan destiny. Each day, my vision took shape – the palace, built as faithfully reminiscent of the one at Taur-na-Sylvhara as memory and our mastery of the arts would allow. Nathan saw to it with a feverish intensity unfelt since his work on the dragon cathedral so many years before. As each stage was completed, I grew stronger in my stewardship of Father’s legacy – and more, of the faith he had placed in me. And so I smiled, noting that a little dust was modest enough a price for a purpose so noble.
Sylvhara rises, from the very stone of this fair land.
The work elated me, its progress marking the first real signs of the fulfillment of our Sylvan destiny. Each day, my vision took shape – the palace, built as faithfully reminiscent of the one at Taur-na-Sylvhara as memory and our mastery of the arts would allow. Nathan saw to it with a feverish intensity unfelt since his work on the dragon cathedral so many years before. As each stage was completed, I grew stronger in my stewardship of Father’s legacy – and more, of the faith he had placed in me. And so I smiled, noting that a little dust was modest enough a price for a purpose so noble.
***************************
It has been 32 years since we found the place first seen in Ivy’s vision…that blessed spot where the elements converged. The early years of the search had foundered in folly; as parties sent forth returned with what soon became predictable reports of failure. After years of this futility – and Ivy’s ceaseless pleadings about how simple a task it would be for her to find the place would I but send her out – I succumbed to her logic. I appeared to her the next morn, dressed in my hunting leathers – the very ones Darius had fitted me in during our flight from Taur-na-Sylvhara – and announced: “You had best not tarry, sister…if we are to find the source of this vision of yours.” She smiled, knowing at once what I proposed; and hurried off to prepare for our journey.
Looking back now, it seemed an obvious step…that Ivy, whose vision was so clear and unerring, should be in the vanguard of the search. Was I protecting her? Or myself? I realized that morning that there was no safety in delay. Waiting merely played to Nargoroth’s wish to isolate, encircle and destroy us; and I knew that our greater end would be served by boldly venturing forth. And so we went – Ivy, Nathan, Carandon and the Sylvan Guard…and my dear Lady Sapphire, leading a band of Rangers intended as the Queen’s personal escort. Malikith had stayed behind, in the Shadowpine Forest, as the task of forming and training the armies of the Alliance could not wait. Loren stayed with him, focusing all her energies on the task, as warriors streamed in daily. And though she would not say so, her heart was bound to linger wherever Malikith was.
Obadiah was with us, of course, for he seemed scarcely able to leave my side – a fierce and protective dedication for which I had become increasingly grateful. We set out in the spring of that year, 782…just as soon as the thaw had cleared the roads for swift passage. For eleven months, through the heat of summer; the chill of autumn; and the coming of winter – we roamed the wild lands in search. Our direction was generally north and east, guided by Ivy’s instincts and recollections; and though the progress was slow, I do not recall a single occasion when she lost her missionary zeal for our quest.
At long last, in March of 783, we discovered a gentle slope where the forests fell away to fresh spring meadows – fields redolent with wildflowers and humming with bees doing nature’s work. At the far end of the field was a gentle rise. Beyond, I saw white-tipped mountains reaching up to touch gleaming clouds floating in a sea of deep blue sky. Ivy and Nathan had gone ahead, along with Lady Sapphire and her Rangers. As we neared, they stood there atop the rise, still and impassive. Ivy then turned to me, beaming a smile of purest joy. She whispered, softly, a tear welling in one eye as I came upon her: “We are here, Comet…we have arrived. We are…home”.
I looked to the north, in the general direction of her gesturing hand; and saw there an open land of breathtaking beauty. The meadow ahead became an open plain leading to a large peninsula surrounded by the sparkling, azure seas. In its center stood a giant spire, stretching to the heavens as if in noble supplication to the powers that looked down upon the fair land. To the east, backed up against the eastern shore, I saw a broad plateau that commanded the southern view. In the distance to the west, I could see sloping foothills that fell away to the sea – their outline suggesting the presence of a large, natural harbor. To the north stood the deep thickets of a birch forest; and further still a massive, rounded mountain that stood marking the entry to the northern sea. I was stunned to a reverent silence, and knew at once that Ivy was right – we were, indeed, home.
I jumped in sudden surprise at Ivy’s screech, my imagination racing to understand what new calamity might have befallen us. I felt her hand grasping for mine, and found, without thinking, that she had drawn me into a run…racing down through the meadow toward the shore of the broad river that snaked in toward the spire. We were running, bounding…as we had once done as girls on outings with Mother; and I heard Ivy’s joyful laugh as the meadow fell away behind us. The years melted away quickly – and I felt truly like a girl again, enjoying the simple pleasures of nature and family after so many years in the void. I felt myself laughing as freely as I could recall in some long time.
I heard Sapphire shout in protest, though it was clear her heart was not in it. I heard her urge on the Rangers, the sound of galloping hooves signaling the intent to stay within hailing distance of their Queen. We reached the river; and fell to the ground to pull off our boots and stockings. Ivy and I joined hands and leapt into the cool, healing waters of the stream, as the rest of our company stood watching from the southern banks. Nathan smiled as he watched, though he tried hard to mask it. He stood there, hands on hips – at once enjoying the fresh air and surveying the area around us for the work his mind had already begun. I wrapped Ivy in a tight embrace as we stood mid-stream, and told her: “Yes, dear Ivy. We are home. Here is our long journey ended.” I called for Carandon, and asked him to bring my bow; and upon taking it, I set an arrow to the string and sighted down a line to the northeast horizon, at the broad expanse of open land. I raised my voice that all about might hear, speaking word inspired by Father so long ago: “Where this arrow makes its mark shall be founded, anew, the House of Eyrturheru, which will live again in legend!” I unleashed the arrow; which flew high and true before falling from the heavens into the very center of the grass-covered plateau.
I watched as Nathan immediately marched off in the direction of the falling arrow – even before it had come to ground. He began, at once, to survey the land; and some of the men were soon digging a trench at the center of the hilltop. Nathan was elated to discover solid bedrock not six meters deep in the soil. He roared his approval – that this would, indeed, be a fine location for the main buildings of the new Sylvhara. For the next thirty days, he worked with little rest on the design of the place – sites for the Knight’s Hall, Library…and a temple for the dragons that he thought a fitting tribute to the work he had once begun for a different steward. He found nearby quarries abundant with granite and marble – almost as though they were left here by the gods with such a project in mind. Each new discovery made it ever clearer that our journey was destined to bring us here; that all the events since the fall of my Father’s house had led us inexorably to this place, at this point in time. I smiled in silent satisfaction; and then felt it fade a little as I thought of those lost to us…the cost of getting here. And I wondered how many more precious lives would be lost before we might know peace again in our lives.
Looking back now, it seemed an obvious step…that Ivy, whose vision was so clear and unerring, should be in the vanguard of the search. Was I protecting her? Or myself? I realized that morning that there was no safety in delay. Waiting merely played to Nargoroth’s wish to isolate, encircle and destroy us; and I knew that our greater end would be served by boldly venturing forth. And so we went – Ivy, Nathan, Carandon and the Sylvan Guard…and my dear Lady Sapphire, leading a band of Rangers intended as the Queen’s personal escort. Malikith had stayed behind, in the Shadowpine Forest, as the task of forming and training the armies of the Alliance could not wait. Loren stayed with him, focusing all her energies on the task, as warriors streamed in daily. And though she would not say so, her heart was bound to linger wherever Malikith was.
Obadiah was with us, of course, for he seemed scarcely able to leave my side – a fierce and protective dedication for which I had become increasingly grateful. We set out in the spring of that year, 782…just as soon as the thaw had cleared the roads for swift passage. For eleven months, through the heat of summer; the chill of autumn; and the coming of winter – we roamed the wild lands in search. Our direction was generally north and east, guided by Ivy’s instincts and recollections; and though the progress was slow, I do not recall a single occasion when she lost her missionary zeal for our quest.
At long last, in March of 783, we discovered a gentle slope where the forests fell away to fresh spring meadows – fields redolent with wildflowers and humming with bees doing nature’s work. At the far end of the field was a gentle rise. Beyond, I saw white-tipped mountains reaching up to touch gleaming clouds floating in a sea of deep blue sky. Ivy and Nathan had gone ahead, along with Lady Sapphire and her Rangers. As we neared, they stood there atop the rise, still and impassive. Ivy then turned to me, beaming a smile of purest joy. She whispered, softly, a tear welling in one eye as I came upon her: “We are here, Comet…we have arrived. We are…home”.
I looked to the north, in the general direction of her gesturing hand; and saw there an open land of breathtaking beauty. The meadow ahead became an open plain leading to a large peninsula surrounded by the sparkling, azure seas. In its center stood a giant spire, stretching to the heavens as if in noble supplication to the powers that looked down upon the fair land. To the east, backed up against the eastern shore, I saw a broad plateau that commanded the southern view. In the distance to the west, I could see sloping foothills that fell away to the sea – their outline suggesting the presence of a large, natural harbor. To the north stood the deep thickets of a birch forest; and further still a massive, rounded mountain that stood marking the entry to the northern sea. I was stunned to a reverent silence, and knew at once that Ivy was right – we were, indeed, home.
I jumped in sudden surprise at Ivy’s screech, my imagination racing to understand what new calamity might have befallen us. I felt her hand grasping for mine, and found, without thinking, that she had drawn me into a run…racing down through the meadow toward the shore of the broad river that snaked in toward the spire. We were running, bounding…as we had once done as girls on outings with Mother; and I heard Ivy’s joyful laugh as the meadow fell away behind us. The years melted away quickly – and I felt truly like a girl again, enjoying the simple pleasures of nature and family after so many years in the void. I felt myself laughing as freely as I could recall in some long time.
I heard Sapphire shout in protest, though it was clear her heart was not in it. I heard her urge on the Rangers, the sound of galloping hooves signaling the intent to stay within hailing distance of their Queen. We reached the river; and fell to the ground to pull off our boots and stockings. Ivy and I joined hands and leapt into the cool, healing waters of the stream, as the rest of our company stood watching from the southern banks. Nathan smiled as he watched, though he tried hard to mask it. He stood there, hands on hips – at once enjoying the fresh air and surveying the area around us for the work his mind had already begun. I wrapped Ivy in a tight embrace as we stood mid-stream, and told her: “Yes, dear Ivy. We are home. Here is our long journey ended.” I called for Carandon, and asked him to bring my bow; and upon taking it, I set an arrow to the string and sighted down a line to the northeast horizon, at the broad expanse of open land. I raised my voice that all about might hear, speaking word inspired by Father so long ago: “Where this arrow makes its mark shall be founded, anew, the House of Eyrturheru, which will live again in legend!” I unleashed the arrow; which flew high and true before falling from the heavens into the very center of the grass-covered plateau.
I watched as Nathan immediately marched off in the direction of the falling arrow – even before it had come to ground. He began, at once, to survey the land; and some of the men were soon digging a trench at the center of the hilltop. Nathan was elated to discover solid bedrock not six meters deep in the soil. He roared his approval – that this would, indeed, be a fine location for the main buildings of the new Sylvhara. For the next thirty days, he worked with little rest on the design of the place – sites for the Knight’s Hall, Library…and a temple for the dragons that he thought a fitting tribute to the work he had once begun for a different steward. He found nearby quarries abundant with granite and marble – almost as though they were left here by the gods with such a project in mind. Each new discovery made it ever clearer that our journey was destined to bring us here; that all the events since the fall of my Father’s house had led us inexorably to this place, at this point in time. I smiled in silent satisfaction; and then felt it fade a little as I thought of those lost to us…the cost of getting here. And I wondered how many more precious lives would be lost before we might know peace again in our lives.
**********************
Much had changed since those first days in Sylvhara. After our arrival, Carandon had sent out messengers to bring the news to Malikith, and to all the villages where our People and friends resided. Word spread quickly that the Northern Sylvan People had found their home; and travelers streamed in rapidly from all directions. Among them came architects and builders; and Nathan now commanded a small army of them…all busily going about the work of creating our new home. The first edifice to take shape was, of course, the Sylvan Palace on the bluff. The structure itself was now near complete, growing out from the center point found by my fallen arrow – a spot Nathan marked with stones to maintain its precise location in the chaos of construction that followed.
My mind wandered back to those early days – and to a particular day when Nathan came to me, nearly out of breath and with eyes wild with excitement. “You must come at once, dear Queen…there is something you must see!” He turned on his heels and ran from my tent; and, as I emerged, I saw him racing across the flat, even ground of the bluff toward its center. I followed him, a smile of bemusement on my face at his inexhaustible enthusiasm. I found him, though with some difficulty, for he now stood about 5 meters below the ground in the center of a gaping hole where the stone marker had been. I peered down, while balancing precariously atop the surrounding mound of displaced soil. I saw Nathan beaming up at me, pointing to the bedrock floor below his feet. His face was flushed from his exertion and…exaltation? He smiled broadly at me and asked, excitedly: “Do you see it?”
I looked more closely, the details still obscure to even my far-seeing eyes. Then I saw it – the source of his excitement: a small indentation in the solid rock that looked curiously crystalline in shape. The shape of it was so precise; and therefore so unnatural. It seemed impossible that it might have occurred there without the aid of an intelligent hand. But if so, what was its purpose?
Nathan’s next act revealed the answer to me. He bent down, and reached for an object wrapped in the soft, blue cloth he used for his most delicate surveying instruments. The hidden object was long and cylindrical, and appeared to be a single piece. I watched as he unfurled the cloth carefully; and gasped as I saw what was wrapped inside. The Hoon, I thought, recognizing the deep red crystal I had first seen at Nathan’s return from the dragons. The area around him exploded into glowing red light, as the precious stone refracted even the fading light within the depths of the hole. Of course! Myrrdin had instructed that the stone – a resonance keystone, he called it – must be set into the foundation of Sylvhara; that, so placed, it would lend extraordinary strength and power to our walls. He also said that it would allow us to communicate with its sister stone, set in the halls of Nargoroth, and from it might we learn much. Suddenly, the significance of this symmetrical cleft in the rock became clear to me.
As if our minds were connected in thought, Nathan looked in my eyes questioningly; and I simply nodded my approval of what came next. He lifted the glimmering stone, turned it upright and carefully lowered it into its receptacle. As expected, the stone slid easily into place – the perimeter of the cleft lighted as though the stone glowed from within. Once seated, about one-third of the Hoon was covered up by the stone receptacle; and the rest stood upright pointing to the sky. And then, unexpectedly, it began.
No sooner had the stone settled in place than the earth below our feet began to rumble and move. Nathan’s eyes, as he looked at me, were filled with a mix of silent wonder and vague fear as the tremors below us spread and grew stronger. I had never before experienced such a sensation – as if some gigantic being were shaking the world in anger. I wondered if we had made a mistake in our judgment; but that thought was driven abruptly from my mind as events quickly progressed. The tremors grew to a deep, thrumming vibration beneath the surface. To the north, the rumbling rose as if a great thunderstorm threatened. I raised my eyes to look in that direction; and watched in awe as the large, round-topped mountain in the distance erupted into steam and smoke. I was stunned by the raw power of violent destruction, as rivulets of molten rock appeared at the peak and streamed down the green-sloped sides of the mountain. Nathan scrambled up the sides of the ditch to stand beside me, panting – his eyes fixed in a hypnotic stare at the remarkable spectacle. We watched together, for some time, before said to him: “Well, Milord, it seems you are a prophet as well as a builder; for there in all its undeniable glory, is your gift of fire.”
My mind wandered back to those early days – and to a particular day when Nathan came to me, nearly out of breath and with eyes wild with excitement. “You must come at once, dear Queen…there is something you must see!” He turned on his heels and ran from my tent; and, as I emerged, I saw him racing across the flat, even ground of the bluff toward its center. I followed him, a smile of bemusement on my face at his inexhaustible enthusiasm. I found him, though with some difficulty, for he now stood about 5 meters below the ground in the center of a gaping hole where the stone marker had been. I peered down, while balancing precariously atop the surrounding mound of displaced soil. I saw Nathan beaming up at me, pointing to the bedrock floor below his feet. His face was flushed from his exertion and…exaltation? He smiled broadly at me and asked, excitedly: “Do you see it?”
I looked more closely, the details still obscure to even my far-seeing eyes. Then I saw it – the source of his excitement: a small indentation in the solid rock that looked curiously crystalline in shape. The shape of it was so precise; and therefore so unnatural. It seemed impossible that it might have occurred there without the aid of an intelligent hand. But if so, what was its purpose?
Nathan’s next act revealed the answer to me. He bent down, and reached for an object wrapped in the soft, blue cloth he used for his most delicate surveying instruments. The hidden object was long and cylindrical, and appeared to be a single piece. I watched as he unfurled the cloth carefully; and gasped as I saw what was wrapped inside. The Hoon, I thought, recognizing the deep red crystal I had first seen at Nathan’s return from the dragons. The area around him exploded into glowing red light, as the precious stone refracted even the fading light within the depths of the hole. Of course! Myrrdin had instructed that the stone – a resonance keystone, he called it – must be set into the foundation of Sylvhara; that, so placed, it would lend extraordinary strength and power to our walls. He also said that it would allow us to communicate with its sister stone, set in the halls of Nargoroth, and from it might we learn much. Suddenly, the significance of this symmetrical cleft in the rock became clear to me.
As if our minds were connected in thought, Nathan looked in my eyes questioningly; and I simply nodded my approval of what came next. He lifted the glimmering stone, turned it upright and carefully lowered it into its receptacle. As expected, the stone slid easily into place – the perimeter of the cleft lighted as though the stone glowed from within. Once seated, about one-third of the Hoon was covered up by the stone receptacle; and the rest stood upright pointing to the sky. And then, unexpectedly, it began.
No sooner had the stone settled in place than the earth below our feet began to rumble and move. Nathan’s eyes, as he looked at me, were filled with a mix of silent wonder and vague fear as the tremors below us spread and grew stronger. I had never before experienced such a sensation – as if some gigantic being were shaking the world in anger. I wondered if we had made a mistake in our judgment; but that thought was driven abruptly from my mind as events quickly progressed. The tremors grew to a deep, thrumming vibration beneath the surface. To the north, the rumbling rose as if a great thunderstorm threatened. I raised my eyes to look in that direction; and watched in awe as the large, round-topped mountain in the distance erupted into steam and smoke. I was stunned by the raw power of violent destruction, as rivulets of molten rock appeared at the peak and streamed down the green-sloped sides of the mountain. Nathan scrambled up the sides of the ditch to stand beside me, panting – his eyes fixed in a hypnotic stare at the remarkable spectacle. We watched together, for some time, before said to him: “Well, Milord, it seems you are a prophet as well as a builder; for there in all its undeniable glory, is your gift of fire.”
***********************
1 April 832
The sun rose a brilliant red over the silver sea to the east, its dawning viewed from the patio just outside my chambers. Such was my habit, to greet the sunrise each day since our arrival here, in this blessed land…and especially since the time of Nathan’s return to us with news of their escape from the dragons. I realized, long ago, that it was a form of waiting…of anticipating the arrival of new people and events, without any clear knowledge of what it was I waited for.
The Sylvan Palace was near completion. It had been fit to occupy some eighteen months ago…at which time I moved to the east-facing chamber. The other structures took form – the Knights’ Hall was becoming a splendid edifice, and many knightings had already taken place there. Eonwe, Draco, Lord Kilara, Roen, Lady Imstill, Ean, Eros, Zoffa and Sapphire, my dear Obadiah and a score of others knelt before me; and I felt anew the power of Eledhwen as I used Father’s sword to so dub them. The Library stood near, and held the many documents that had been held in safekeeping by all of our People across all the lands. The Dragon Temple emerged from the stone, with Nathan and Prince Draco conspiring as only two who shared a common vision of the project might do. Arenas and training grounds dotted the realm, the domain of Loren, her devoted warriors and a growing number of warriors-to-be. Most significantly, the Sylvan Court was erected; and there had I spent many waking hours with my guardian and friend, Malikith, as we devised and conducted the affairs of the budding Alliance.
Our numbers continued to swell, and there was a never-ending stream of visitors who came to call upon the Sylvan Court. Many would become members of the Alliance against the Shadow Lord. Others were emissaries from distant lands seeking to find their own parts to play in the drama that unfolded about us. And with the arrival of each elf, drow, man, dragon, fae or other, it became more clear what an astoundingly diverse group was coming together to fight the forces of Shadow. Still, my heart and mind wandered to they who were missing; beyond those who had come so newly to join us.
As my mind embraced this last thought, I heard the creak of the chamber door behind me; and I knew without looking who it would be. “Ivy”, I called over my shoulder. “Dear sister, you know my habits all too well. Only you would know to visit me before our land was yet awake; and find me here contemplating the beauty of the sunrise.”
“Yes, dear sister and queen. I am here as ever to stand at your hand. But I hope your love for me will forgive one small trespass; for I have brought a friend I thought you might be quite eager to see.”
I turned slowly, to see who had come with Ivy to these chambers; and froze in stunned surprise as my eyes found him. “Master Myrrdin! I knew, in my heart, you would one day return to us; but I must say that it is a most welcome joy to have you here at last! The best surprises are those that come so unlooked for. You are most welcome, Sir!” I extended my hand, and watched as the still-young wizard strode forward confidently, kneeled and kissed my hand gently.
The Sylvan Palace was near completion. It had been fit to occupy some eighteen months ago…at which time I moved to the east-facing chamber. The other structures took form – the Knights’ Hall was becoming a splendid edifice, and many knightings had already taken place there. Eonwe, Draco, Lord Kilara, Roen, Lady Imstill, Ean, Eros, Zoffa and Sapphire, my dear Obadiah and a score of others knelt before me; and I felt anew the power of Eledhwen as I used Father’s sword to so dub them. The Library stood near, and held the many documents that had been held in safekeeping by all of our People across all the lands. The Dragon Temple emerged from the stone, with Nathan and Prince Draco conspiring as only two who shared a common vision of the project might do. Arenas and training grounds dotted the realm, the domain of Loren, her devoted warriors and a growing number of warriors-to-be. Most significantly, the Sylvan Court was erected; and there had I spent many waking hours with my guardian and friend, Malikith, as we devised and conducted the affairs of the budding Alliance.
Our numbers continued to swell, and there was a never-ending stream of visitors who came to call upon the Sylvan Court. Many would become members of the Alliance against the Shadow Lord. Others were emissaries from distant lands seeking to find their own parts to play in the drama that unfolded about us. And with the arrival of each elf, drow, man, dragon, fae or other, it became more clear what an astoundingly diverse group was coming together to fight the forces of Shadow. Still, my heart and mind wandered to they who were missing; beyond those who had come so newly to join us.
As my mind embraced this last thought, I heard the creak of the chamber door behind me; and I knew without looking who it would be. “Ivy”, I called over my shoulder. “Dear sister, you know my habits all too well. Only you would know to visit me before our land was yet awake; and find me here contemplating the beauty of the sunrise.”
“Yes, dear sister and queen. I am here as ever to stand at your hand. But I hope your love for me will forgive one small trespass; for I have brought a friend I thought you might be quite eager to see.”
I turned slowly, to see who had come with Ivy to these chambers; and froze in stunned surprise as my eyes found him. “Master Myrrdin! I knew, in my heart, you would one day return to us; but I must say that it is a most welcome joy to have you here at last! The best surprises are those that come so unlooked for. You are most welcome, Sir!” I extended my hand, and watched as the still-young wizard strode forward confidently, kneeled and kissed my hand gently.
*************************
Myrrdin’s stories were, as ever, filled with rich details and anecdotes that created graphic images in the minds of his listeners. The dining tables at Sylvhara buzzed for three nights as he spun his tales of encounters with wondrous creatures and peoples. On the third night, we adjourned from dinner and assembled a smaller group at the large table in the Knight’s Hall. At Myrrdin’s request, I had asked Malikith, Obadiah, Ivy and Draco to join us. The group sat silently as Myrrdin began, his tone more somber than any I had known before that day.
“Queen Comet”, he began. “I have spoken here at length about my travels; but the astute know see the broad gaps in the chronology of my tales. In truth, the most vital story has not yet been told; and it is, I think, of grave import to all who may wish to hear it…and many who may not.” He gave a level look to those present, as if to say “like it or not, you must hear what I will say to you.”
Myrrdin drew us back to that moment, 107 years before, when he had last graced what was, then, the Sylvan Court. I thought back to his last, cryptic words to me: that he must attend to “matters requiring attention in other reaches of the world”. I knew, at the time, that he seldom engaged in trivialities; and that whatever had drawn him out would be of great import indeed. Like the others, I waited in patient silence as he began to speak.
“You will recall my abrupt departure from Greatwood, a day after Lord Darius left on his mission to the dragons – a mission that, like so much in the world in these times, led to both a stunning success for our cause; and a staggering tragedy. Not a fortnight prior, I had committed myself to accompany Darius – for no mission loomed greater than the recruitment of the dragons to the Alliance. But news had come to me that changed my direction…so urgently, in fact, that I set out somewhat ill-informed, and certainly poorly prepared, for the challenges that lay ahead.”
He hesitated, and then spoke words that sent a chilled hush about the room: “Maluila had been found; and was being held by my trusted brothers who had sent for me, urgently.” All present had heard the name, though it seemed none but Malikith and I knew of the legends of the Neldor and Maluila’s reputed link to the demons of the underworld. The others knew her as a witch – likely to be the most potent adversary Nargoroth might call.
“I set out at once for the western mountains”, Myrrdin continued. “And I arrived there after four months of very arduous travel. I sought my dear friend, Xanthius – one of my order whom I had known since our earliest days. It was Xanthius who was said to hold Maluila in his care; but when I arrived, I discovered it was a ruse. Xanthius was dead, slain by agents of the Shadow Lord; and I arrived to find Maluila waiting for me. I discovered the ruse, but too late; and so I was taken prisoner by the youngest of the Neldor and borne away to her mountain keep.”
The silence broke like a wave, the group bombarding Myrrdin with questions: Why had he been taken? What did she hope to learn? Had he been tortured for what he knew of the Alliance? Most importantly, what had he told them…and how badly was our cause compromised? Myrrdin, as was his fashion, sat back in his chair, quietly – his arms crossed as if in a modest defense against the assault of anxious queries. I raised my hand and gently bade the group to silence: “Be patient, and listen; for I have no doubt that Myrrdin will teach us all that we wish to know.”
Myrrdin nodded, and continued unperturbed by the modest outburst. “I was held, in Maluila’s dwellings, for most of these past hundred years. In the strictest sense, I was her prisoner, as I could not leave at will. Yet, in my time there, I was more like a companion and guest, and we learned much of one another. It was clear that she wished to learn what she might about the Alliance and my role in it. But her heart was not really in this interrogation, for she soon abandoned that tack and inquired instead about my history. She knew of me, and my brethren…knew I was ancient, though it may seem the years have treated me kindly. And though she is more ancient still, and in her own way does not age, her curiosity persisted. So, I told her what I could of my beginnings, my past…and while I could not speak of family, I was happy to tell her of my companions.”
The group buzzed once more in anxious conversation. I sat quietly. My mind yearned to understand Myrrdin’s past, just as the Neldor did; but I remained quiet for the moment. He smiled at their perplexity, and said “I can imagine what you think – that perhaps she bewitched me into telling her what I might about myself, my brethren, this Alliance…and thus weaken us all. But, I had an instinct that perhaps her curiosity was not born of any ill purpose; or at least no purpose that might serve Nargoroth. That belief”, he said, with a tone that fueled our anticipation “turned out to be well-founded.”
“Maluila is, indeed, one of the Neldor – the youngest of three ageless sisters who are not quite goddesses, but certainly more than witches. The Neldor have been in the world since long before the First Age…even before the Years of the Trees. They have lived through, and often played prominent roles within, all of the great upheavals of history and legend. Yet, while they have been in the world, they have not always been of this world. They move as easily in darkness and shadows as in the hidden places of light, all throughout what we call our real world. Maluila does, in fact, consort with demons – but not more so than with angels, mortals or your own People. She has traveled far, even to the Western Shores; and has often seen your father, my Queen, on her journeys there.”
I felt my heart beat rapidly at hearing this, but merely nodded and smiled as Myrrdin continued. “To the Neldor, the Shadow Lord is a minor player in a continuing grand drama that they have long enjoyed. Maluila would no more be in league with Nargoroth than we might conspire with the ants in our courtyard to make the grand plans of the Alliance. She might tryst with him, if it pleased her. She might even respond to his wishes; but would do so out of her own curiosity – and there is often a form of personal mischief in that curious nature.
So it was with Nargoroth, who has long explored the use of demonology to serve his thirst for power. Maluila first appeared to him as Ssinurn Brandriss, a Drow noble of unknown origin, but who tradition treated as a Priestess Queen of the Underdark. In fact, Ssinurn is but one of the forms – physical manifestations in the mortal world – that Maluila has used throughout time. Scrolls dating back over 3,000 years make note of her; and ascribe unique and mysterious powers to her. She appeared to Nargoroth at just the right time, as if Fate had demanded her arrival on the scene. She titillated and tempted the Shadow Lord with tales of demons and their powers; and stories of all they who had tried – and failed – to control those demons in the past. Nargoroth, in his arrogance, tried to seduce her – to suborn her to his cause. His insatiable lust for power has been the source of his great strength against us; and now, ironically, it would lead him to his greatest peril.”
I sensed the change in the group – a shift away from the concern of moments ago to rapt fascination with what Myrrdin told us. The sound of a swallow’s wings would be deafening in the silence that now enveloped us. Myrrdin smiled, the old storyteller reveling in the moment, and then continued: “In the earliest days, Nargoroth was wary of the power of demons. With Ssinurn’s help, he summoned Malus – a lower demon famous for inspiring savagery in battle. Malus’ spirit was infused into the body of Tz’arkan – who served his master well, commanding the armies of Shadow with unprecedented fury until his hubris undid him at River’s Rest, by the hand of Lady Sapphire. While a great loss for the Shadow Lord, his purposes had been well served. He was emboldened by this first embrace of the demon world. His appetite was now well whetted...and the game turned, much to Ssinurn’s amusement.”
A chill shook my body – for even in my hatred of Nargoroth I felt compassion for any made pawns by such mischief. Myrrdin went on: “Nargoroth petitioned Ssinurn to help him, promising wealth beyond imagining when his quest for domination was complete. But to one such as Ssinurn – or, more accurately, Maluila – this was an offer of little value. She desires nothing of worldly value, beyond what she might easily secure for herself. But, there was a splendid irony, for Nargoroth unknowingly offered the only thing for which she craved – the joy she might find in observing the unfolding drama. So, she agreed; and summoned six demons as allies to Nargoroth. The Shadow Lord could, at any time, take the form of these demons in this, the living world. The first form he took was Gaarmus, a denotaur – a powerful monster over 3 meters in height – equal parts lion, bull, horse and human. This is now his most prevalent form – though he may summon others: a dark angel with goat’s hooves, dragon armor and enormous wings; a centaur with three serpent heads; and others. Through each form, Nargoroth is able to channel his lust for death and destruction, and so is he made much more dangerous to us than we might ever have imagined.”
I watched Myrrdin, and felt a sense of fear, bordering on hopelessness, sweeping through me. But on his face, I saw only a wry smile…and so held my tongue as he continued. “Nargoroth failed to understand the other end of the bargain – the price he must pay for the power he so dearly craved. By the time he understood it, it was too late. For each time he took on a demon form, he relinquished ever more his grip on the material world. The longer he stays in those forms, the faster he fades – for the demons with which he shares that life are ever drawn to return to the dimension of the spirits. He is held hostage to his own arrogance; for he has lost his mortal form and may not return to it. His life force is draining; and it drains ever faster as time passes. A hundred years ago, the erosion of his material form was barely notable. Today, it passes so rapidly he is said to wither almost as we watch. His condition is growing desperate – much to the delight of Maluila, of course, who finds great joy in the irony.”
“But one such as Nargoroth – in all his evil ingenuity – is not so easily undone; and he has divined a means to replenish his fading form as time takes its toll. He must feed”, said Myrrdin, dramatically emphasizing the words. “He must feed on the life force of others to stay in this world. Any form of life may serve that need; and so the hordes of his own armies avoid him for their very lives. But as his needs have grown, he has found that orcs and goblins do little to serve his growing hunger. The most potent life forces, on which he might draw, run in the bloodlines of the great races; and those purer still are step out of the longest lineages…the royal houses. To stay in this world, he must find and take the life forces of those in whom the concentration is greatest.”
“And so, he seeks the queens”, he concluded, with a chilling finality. “He seeks those who hold the life energy of countless generations past; the life energies for all the generations to come. He seeks the mothers, daughters and sisters of their lines. One by one, across the lands, he will take them and drain them of that force in order to feed his dark ambitions. In so doing, he will lay waste to the heritages of all peoples…and still it will not be enough. For as he draws in that life energy, so is his own life force increasingly drained away. Too soon, not even the concentrated energies of all of the races combined will sustain him. Before that day, he must find a way to stop the decay of his material form; and so he has turned again to the black arts. In his mad desperation to find an answer, there is, as yet, a genius for evil that knows no peer. He has sought the answers far and wide, from wizards and witches, sages and wise men, sorcerers and necromancers, living goddesses and priestesses from every walk of life. Yet, as seems ever true within our times, so does irony appear again upon the stage.”
He stood, before continuing; and his pacing lent grave import to his words: “He discovered the answer in his own hands, buried in the magickal arts of Trefelgan, his inadvertent mentor. It was Trefelgan who taught him the birthing art that led to the creation of the Sereg’wethrin – breeding men with dragons to create the most feared race of assassins in our history. Nargoroth means to sire an heir; but he will never tolerate a rival, even one spawned of his own seed, so this must be no ordinary issue. So, he will use Trefelgan’s craft, and the gift of Maluila, to birth an heir; and this unholy scion will be no son. It will he Nargoroth himself – regaining mortal form while yet imbued with the spirits of the demons. By this means will he resolve the crisis he faces.”
The group reacted in shock and alarm. Malikith howled in outrage at the scheme presented here, vowing that he would stay Nargoroth from his vile purposes or die in the effort – as would all good men and women of the House of Malice. But the outrage was quickly quenched as Myrrdin spoke his final words of that day, in a voice so grim that our heated fury fell to a sudden chill. “The worst yet is this. The Shadow Lord will claim a Shadow Queen, who will be mother to the heir. But the quality of his design will not allow just any fertile woman. He will take an elf-maid from the Sylvan line, in whose blood lives the Coialambe. By this birth, the feminine line will be broken, and the living tongue will reside in that unholy heir. Nargoroth means to have his victory; and in this vile act will it be made complete.”
“Queen Comet”, he began. “I have spoken here at length about my travels; but the astute know see the broad gaps in the chronology of my tales. In truth, the most vital story has not yet been told; and it is, I think, of grave import to all who may wish to hear it…and many who may not.” He gave a level look to those present, as if to say “like it or not, you must hear what I will say to you.”
Myrrdin drew us back to that moment, 107 years before, when he had last graced what was, then, the Sylvan Court. I thought back to his last, cryptic words to me: that he must attend to “matters requiring attention in other reaches of the world”. I knew, at the time, that he seldom engaged in trivialities; and that whatever had drawn him out would be of great import indeed. Like the others, I waited in patient silence as he began to speak.
“You will recall my abrupt departure from Greatwood, a day after Lord Darius left on his mission to the dragons – a mission that, like so much in the world in these times, led to both a stunning success for our cause; and a staggering tragedy. Not a fortnight prior, I had committed myself to accompany Darius – for no mission loomed greater than the recruitment of the dragons to the Alliance. But news had come to me that changed my direction…so urgently, in fact, that I set out somewhat ill-informed, and certainly poorly prepared, for the challenges that lay ahead.”
He hesitated, and then spoke words that sent a chilled hush about the room: “Maluila had been found; and was being held by my trusted brothers who had sent for me, urgently.” All present had heard the name, though it seemed none but Malikith and I knew of the legends of the Neldor and Maluila’s reputed link to the demons of the underworld. The others knew her as a witch – likely to be the most potent adversary Nargoroth might call.
“I set out at once for the western mountains”, Myrrdin continued. “And I arrived there after four months of very arduous travel. I sought my dear friend, Xanthius – one of my order whom I had known since our earliest days. It was Xanthius who was said to hold Maluila in his care; but when I arrived, I discovered it was a ruse. Xanthius was dead, slain by agents of the Shadow Lord; and I arrived to find Maluila waiting for me. I discovered the ruse, but too late; and so I was taken prisoner by the youngest of the Neldor and borne away to her mountain keep.”
The silence broke like a wave, the group bombarding Myrrdin with questions: Why had he been taken? What did she hope to learn? Had he been tortured for what he knew of the Alliance? Most importantly, what had he told them…and how badly was our cause compromised? Myrrdin, as was his fashion, sat back in his chair, quietly – his arms crossed as if in a modest defense against the assault of anxious queries. I raised my hand and gently bade the group to silence: “Be patient, and listen; for I have no doubt that Myrrdin will teach us all that we wish to know.”
Myrrdin nodded, and continued unperturbed by the modest outburst. “I was held, in Maluila’s dwellings, for most of these past hundred years. In the strictest sense, I was her prisoner, as I could not leave at will. Yet, in my time there, I was more like a companion and guest, and we learned much of one another. It was clear that she wished to learn what she might about the Alliance and my role in it. But her heart was not really in this interrogation, for she soon abandoned that tack and inquired instead about my history. She knew of me, and my brethren…knew I was ancient, though it may seem the years have treated me kindly. And though she is more ancient still, and in her own way does not age, her curiosity persisted. So, I told her what I could of my beginnings, my past…and while I could not speak of family, I was happy to tell her of my companions.”
The group buzzed once more in anxious conversation. I sat quietly. My mind yearned to understand Myrrdin’s past, just as the Neldor did; but I remained quiet for the moment. He smiled at their perplexity, and said “I can imagine what you think – that perhaps she bewitched me into telling her what I might about myself, my brethren, this Alliance…and thus weaken us all. But, I had an instinct that perhaps her curiosity was not born of any ill purpose; or at least no purpose that might serve Nargoroth. That belief”, he said, with a tone that fueled our anticipation “turned out to be well-founded.”
“Maluila is, indeed, one of the Neldor – the youngest of three ageless sisters who are not quite goddesses, but certainly more than witches. The Neldor have been in the world since long before the First Age…even before the Years of the Trees. They have lived through, and often played prominent roles within, all of the great upheavals of history and legend. Yet, while they have been in the world, they have not always been of this world. They move as easily in darkness and shadows as in the hidden places of light, all throughout what we call our real world. Maluila does, in fact, consort with demons – but not more so than with angels, mortals or your own People. She has traveled far, even to the Western Shores; and has often seen your father, my Queen, on her journeys there.”
I felt my heart beat rapidly at hearing this, but merely nodded and smiled as Myrrdin continued. “To the Neldor, the Shadow Lord is a minor player in a continuing grand drama that they have long enjoyed. Maluila would no more be in league with Nargoroth than we might conspire with the ants in our courtyard to make the grand plans of the Alliance. She might tryst with him, if it pleased her. She might even respond to his wishes; but would do so out of her own curiosity – and there is often a form of personal mischief in that curious nature.
So it was with Nargoroth, who has long explored the use of demonology to serve his thirst for power. Maluila first appeared to him as Ssinurn Brandriss, a Drow noble of unknown origin, but who tradition treated as a Priestess Queen of the Underdark. In fact, Ssinurn is but one of the forms – physical manifestations in the mortal world – that Maluila has used throughout time. Scrolls dating back over 3,000 years make note of her; and ascribe unique and mysterious powers to her. She appeared to Nargoroth at just the right time, as if Fate had demanded her arrival on the scene. She titillated and tempted the Shadow Lord with tales of demons and their powers; and stories of all they who had tried – and failed – to control those demons in the past. Nargoroth, in his arrogance, tried to seduce her – to suborn her to his cause. His insatiable lust for power has been the source of his great strength against us; and now, ironically, it would lead him to his greatest peril.”
I sensed the change in the group – a shift away from the concern of moments ago to rapt fascination with what Myrrdin told us. The sound of a swallow’s wings would be deafening in the silence that now enveloped us. Myrrdin smiled, the old storyteller reveling in the moment, and then continued: “In the earliest days, Nargoroth was wary of the power of demons. With Ssinurn’s help, he summoned Malus – a lower demon famous for inspiring savagery in battle. Malus’ spirit was infused into the body of Tz’arkan – who served his master well, commanding the armies of Shadow with unprecedented fury until his hubris undid him at River’s Rest, by the hand of Lady Sapphire. While a great loss for the Shadow Lord, his purposes had been well served. He was emboldened by this first embrace of the demon world. His appetite was now well whetted...and the game turned, much to Ssinurn’s amusement.”
A chill shook my body – for even in my hatred of Nargoroth I felt compassion for any made pawns by such mischief. Myrrdin went on: “Nargoroth petitioned Ssinurn to help him, promising wealth beyond imagining when his quest for domination was complete. But to one such as Ssinurn – or, more accurately, Maluila – this was an offer of little value. She desires nothing of worldly value, beyond what she might easily secure for herself. But, there was a splendid irony, for Nargoroth unknowingly offered the only thing for which she craved – the joy she might find in observing the unfolding drama. So, she agreed; and summoned six demons as allies to Nargoroth. The Shadow Lord could, at any time, take the form of these demons in this, the living world. The first form he took was Gaarmus, a denotaur – a powerful monster over 3 meters in height – equal parts lion, bull, horse and human. This is now his most prevalent form – though he may summon others: a dark angel with goat’s hooves, dragon armor and enormous wings; a centaur with three serpent heads; and others. Through each form, Nargoroth is able to channel his lust for death and destruction, and so is he made much more dangerous to us than we might ever have imagined.”
I watched Myrrdin, and felt a sense of fear, bordering on hopelessness, sweeping through me. But on his face, I saw only a wry smile…and so held my tongue as he continued. “Nargoroth failed to understand the other end of the bargain – the price he must pay for the power he so dearly craved. By the time he understood it, it was too late. For each time he took on a demon form, he relinquished ever more his grip on the material world. The longer he stays in those forms, the faster he fades – for the demons with which he shares that life are ever drawn to return to the dimension of the spirits. He is held hostage to his own arrogance; for he has lost his mortal form and may not return to it. His life force is draining; and it drains ever faster as time passes. A hundred years ago, the erosion of his material form was barely notable. Today, it passes so rapidly he is said to wither almost as we watch. His condition is growing desperate – much to the delight of Maluila, of course, who finds great joy in the irony.”
“But one such as Nargoroth – in all his evil ingenuity – is not so easily undone; and he has divined a means to replenish his fading form as time takes its toll. He must feed”, said Myrrdin, dramatically emphasizing the words. “He must feed on the life force of others to stay in this world. Any form of life may serve that need; and so the hordes of his own armies avoid him for their very lives. But as his needs have grown, he has found that orcs and goblins do little to serve his growing hunger. The most potent life forces, on which he might draw, run in the bloodlines of the great races; and those purer still are step out of the longest lineages…the royal houses. To stay in this world, he must find and take the life forces of those in whom the concentration is greatest.”
“And so, he seeks the queens”, he concluded, with a chilling finality. “He seeks those who hold the life energy of countless generations past; the life energies for all the generations to come. He seeks the mothers, daughters and sisters of their lines. One by one, across the lands, he will take them and drain them of that force in order to feed his dark ambitions. In so doing, he will lay waste to the heritages of all peoples…and still it will not be enough. For as he draws in that life energy, so is his own life force increasingly drained away. Too soon, not even the concentrated energies of all of the races combined will sustain him. Before that day, he must find a way to stop the decay of his material form; and so he has turned again to the black arts. In his mad desperation to find an answer, there is, as yet, a genius for evil that knows no peer. He has sought the answers far and wide, from wizards and witches, sages and wise men, sorcerers and necromancers, living goddesses and priestesses from every walk of life. Yet, as seems ever true within our times, so does irony appear again upon the stage.”
He stood, before continuing; and his pacing lent grave import to his words: “He discovered the answer in his own hands, buried in the magickal arts of Trefelgan, his inadvertent mentor. It was Trefelgan who taught him the birthing art that led to the creation of the Sereg’wethrin – breeding men with dragons to create the most feared race of assassins in our history. Nargoroth means to sire an heir; but he will never tolerate a rival, even one spawned of his own seed, so this must be no ordinary issue. So, he will use Trefelgan’s craft, and the gift of Maluila, to birth an heir; and this unholy scion will be no son. It will he Nargoroth himself – regaining mortal form while yet imbued with the spirits of the demons. By this means will he resolve the crisis he faces.”
The group reacted in shock and alarm. Malikith howled in outrage at the scheme presented here, vowing that he would stay Nargoroth from his vile purposes or die in the effort – as would all good men and women of the House of Malice. But the outrage was quickly quenched as Myrrdin spoke his final words of that day, in a voice so grim that our heated fury fell to a sudden chill. “The worst yet is this. The Shadow Lord will claim a Shadow Queen, who will be mother to the heir. But the quality of his design will not allow just any fertile woman. He will take an elf-maid from the Sylvan line, in whose blood lives the Coialambe. By this birth, the feminine line will be broken, and the living tongue will reside in that unholy heir. Nargoroth means to have his victory; and in this vile act will it be made complete.”
> Chapter 9