The Dragonstone (10 page)

Arin glanced at Rissa, but she tilted her head and shrugged. “If someone knows, ’tis not I.”

Arin nodded and fell into silence as onward they strode. At last they mounted again and continued riding southwesterly, Vanidar aiming for a ford across the River Rothro some thirty miles hence. The Eldwood was a land replete with rivers—the Rothro, the Quadrill, the Cellener, and the Nith, and all of their tributaries—their sparkling waters flowing down from the wold and from the nearby Grimwall Mountains to course easterly through the forest and issue at last into the broad rush of the mighty Argon. In all, the Elven band would have to cross two of the great forest’s primary rivers—the Rothro and the Quadrill—though they would splash through many of the lesser streams.

*   *   *

They had not yet reached the ford when the sun sank into the horizon and dusk stole over the twilight woods. Now the Silverlarks took up their evensong, and surrounded by this glorious caroling, Arin’s heart swelled and joyous tears ran down her face. Of a sudden there was a flurry of wings and the songs rose in crescendo as the
Vani-lêrihha
took elegant flight among the trees…and disappeared, songs vanishing in midnote, as the larks crossed the
in-between
to return to Adonar.

Arin’s heart fell in the sudden absence, and she sighed and wiped her cheeks with the heels of her hands, and saw through the lattice above that the early stars had begun to shine. Under their scintillant light the seven made camp, for none felt like traveling farther.

*   *   *

That night Arin, gasping, bolted upright, wrenched from her sleep. She was covered with a sheen of perspiration.

Rissa, too, moaned in her slumber, but did not awaken.

Perin on watch asked, “What is it, Dara?”

“I thought I heard screams,” replied Arin.

They held their breath and listened.

Nothing.

Stillness.

Nothing but the soft sound of a gentle breeze high in the branches of the Eld Trees.

At last Perin said, “Mayhap ‘twas nought but an ill dream.”

Arin sighed as if in doubt, but lay back down and closed her eyes. Yet sleep was long in coming and she dreamed of flashing blades.

*   *   *

Once again Arin was awakened at dawn by the singing of Silverlarks.
Ah, my little
Vani-lêrihha,
no wonder mortals call this forest the Larkenwald—how could any hear your songs and not name it so?
But even in her joy of the larksong, still the dregs of last night’s dreaming filled her with unease.

*   *   *

By midmorn they reached the shallow crossing on the Rothro and splashed into the crystal waters, pausing in midriver to let the horses drink.

“Now we go south,” said Vanidar as he watched his steed take water, “to ford the Quadrill.”

“As planned,” said Arin.

“How far is Wood’s-heart?” asked Ruar.

“Eight leagues or nine,” responded Silverleaf, tugging on his reins. “We will be there early next morn, if not this very eve.”

Horses watered, they surged on across and up the far bank and into the twilight beyond.

*   *   *

Just after the mid of day they reached the north shore of the swift-running Quadrill. Westerly turned Vanidar, faring upstream along the bank, the others following. The sun had crossed two full handspans of sky ere the riders
came to the eastern end of a midriver isle where the water danced broad and shallow. Here they forded to the opposite shore.

Wood’s-heart lay some twenty miles due south.

On they rode among the massive trunks towering upward, the dusky leaves interlaced overhead, the land below fallen into a soft gloaming though the sun stood on high.

*   *   *

True twilight came and went, and along with it the carols of the Silverlarks came and went as well, as the
Vani-lêrihha
sang and flew and vanished.

Full night had fallen when the seven passed through a picket of Lian warders. They had come at last to the Elvenholt of Wood’s-heart to find a peaceful thorp. They rode into a village of softly lighted dwellings nestled amid the giant Eld Trees. South they fared, past thatch-roofed cottages here and there, glowing with lanternlight, yellow gleaming out through unshuttered windows.

Along the mossy ways they rode until they reached a large, low building in the midst of the others. It was the Coron-hall, where a warder asked their names while attendants took charge of their steeds.

“
Vio Vanidar
,” replied Silverleaf. “
Vio ivon Darda Erynian
, as do my comrades. We would speak with the Coron.”

“The Coron and Consort are at banquet with much of the Court, Alor Vanidar, Coron apast,” replied the warder, stepping aside. “They celebrate the trothing ‘tween Dara Rael and Alor Talarin. Thou and thy comrades are surely welcome.”

The warder summoned an Elven page, who escorted them across a foyer and into the lambent Coron-hall, where vivid colors and the smells of food and the ebb and flow of conversation assaulted their senses. Bright Elves turned as Silverleaf and the Dylvana entered. Talk fell to whispers and laughter stilled, for with but a few exceptions the Dylvana were reclusive and seldom visited Darda Galion, and for six Dylvana to simultaneously appear at the Coron-hall, well, something must be afoot. Led by Silverleaf, the Dylvana threaded their way among
the Lian seated at the long, food-laden boards. Nodding now and again to acquaintances, Vanidar moved toward the dais, where sat Coron and Consort at the head table, and as was the custom at Lian betrothal banquets, they were flanked left and right by the pledged pair and their two attendants-of-honor.

Aldor smiled when he saw Vanidar, and he stood in greeting. “Silverleaf, welcome again to the land of the Silverlarks and unto this hall.” Aldor’s hair shone like burnished bronze, and he was dressed all in dark brown, with tan insets in sleeve and breast and legging. His eyes were hazel.

Vanidar bowed in acknowledgment. “Coron Aldor, I bring thee Dylvana from Darda Erynian: Darai Rissa and Arin, and Alori Ruar, Melor, Perin, and Biren.” As each was introduced they acknowledged the Coron with a brief bow of the head, for that is the Dylvana way.

Before Aldor could respond, a golden-haired Dara leaned forward, her eyes a deep blue. Dressed in green she was, with green ribbons twining through her long tresses. “Dara Arin? The flame seer?” At Arin’s nod, the Lian said, “Long have I wanted to meet thee. I am Rael.”

“And I thee, crystal seer,” responded Arin.

Aldor laughed. “It seems conversation precedes introduction, yet ere it runs away, let me name names:
Darai Elora e Rael e Irren, Alori Talarin e Rindor.
” As the Consort and betrothal party acknowledged Vanidar and the Dylvana, Aldor asked Silverleaf in a low voice, “Hast thou come on a mission?”

Vanidar nodded.

“Urgent?” asked Aldor.

Before Vanidar could respond, Arin said, “I have come to seek Dara Rael’s counsel, yet I deem it can wait till the morrow.”

Aldor cocked an eyebrow. Vanidar looked at Arin, then said, “Aye. Tonight we shall eat and drink with ye all and join in the celebration of troth.”

Aldor looked from Silverleaf to Arin. “So be it,” he declared, then called out, “Make room for our Dylvana guests.”

As they made their way toward the tables, again conversation and laughter filled the Coron-hall, and Arin gazed about at the joyous assembly and wondered if this merriment was perhaps the last the hall would ever see.

E
lora leaned forward, her black hair unbound and brushing against her face. “And thou didst no more?”

Arin shook her head. “I seem to recall there were other images, yet what they were I cannot say.”

They sat at breakfast in the common room of the guest lodge did Consort Elora and Coron Aldor and crystal seer Rael. Arin and the rest of the Dylvana band were ranged ’round the long table. There, too, were Silverleaf and Talarin.

Aldor sipped his breakfast tea. “’Tis a wicked vision thou hast seen.” He turned to Rael. “Hast thou beheld its like?”

Rael shook her golden locks. “Nay, Coron.”

Sitting beside Rael was Talarin, the tall Elf now dressed in grey. Like Rael, he, too, had golden hair, but his eyes were green. He placed a hand on Rael’s shoulder. Briefly she smiled at him and then turned back to Aldor. “That I have seen none of this is of no moment, my Coron, and does riot make it less true, for Visions are heedless as to whom they show their sights. ’Tis likely no two seers in a thousand will view the same image, or so said Elgon the Mage.”

“Not even events of this import?”

Rael turned up her hands. “Not even.”

Arin cleared her throat. “Dara Rael, can Seen events be set aside, avoided?”

Rael’s brow furrowed in thought. Melor poured himself another cup of tea. “I have never tried,” answered Rael at last. “To do so would be to tamper with Fate…and who knows what would happen then? Mayhap the Wizards…but not I.”

Arin sighed. “Like thee, Dara, I too have never tried. Yet this vision of mine, it seems as if
something
must be done to negate the oncoming doom.”

Arin paused a moment and then asked, “What about the green stone, then? Has any here heard of such?”

The Lian looked at one another and all shook their heads.

“Not even rumor?”

“Perhaps it is a thing of the Drimma,” conjectured Talarin. “They work gem and jade and stone, and from thy description it could be any of these.”

“True,” replied Arin. “Yet I have not seen its like among any artifacts of the delvers.”

“It just struck me: mayhap it is a creation of Magekind,” volunteered Perin.

Biren turned to his twin. “Why would they do such? To what end?”

Perin shrugged. “Who knows the ways of Wizards?”

Aldor slowly shook his head. “Whatever it is—Drimmen or not, Wizards or not, or even the gods themselves—this green stone would seem to be a true token of power.”

“Nevertheless,” said Elora, “Perin’s suggestion is as valid as any other. Surely someone in the world knows of this particular thing.”

Aldor set down his teacup. “I shall have discreet enquiries made among the Lian. Too, I shall send emissaries unto Drimmen-deeve to ask the DelfLord as to knowledge of the artifact. But as to the Wizards…”

“As to the Wizards,” said Rael, picking up Aldor’s thread, “I would suggest that Dara Arin seek out one of Magekind.”

Arin turned to the crystal seer. “Thou didst speak of a Mage, Dara Rael—Elgar?”

“Elgon,” replied Rael.

“He knows of seers and seeing?”

“Somewhat…though it was not his, um, specialty.”

“Perhaps I should seek him out, then,” suggested Arin.

Rael shook her head. “I know not where he dwells.”

“Rwn? Black Mountain?”

Rael shrugged. “Mayhap. Yet there is one closer than
either of those two places: Dalavar in Aralan. He dwells in Darda Vrka, or so I am told.”

“The Wolfwood?” Rissa raised an eyebrow. “I know it. Dalavar, too.”

The others looked at her. “Aye—Dalavar Wolfmage. I met him once when I passed through in other days,” she explained. “His is a shaggy forest…and warded.”

Rael frowned. “Warded?”

“Aye. By the Draega, by the Silver Wolves.”

“Draega in Mithgar?” exclaimed Ruar. “I thought they all dwelt in Adonar.”

“Evidently not,” said Silverleaf, smiling at Rissa and reaching out to take her hand.

“This Darda Vrka, where lies it?” asked Arm.

“East and north in Aralan,” replied Rissa, “some eight hundred leagues as the hawk flies, longer by the route we would take.”

Biren looked at Perin. “Eighty to a hundred days by horse at a goodly pace.”

“A great deal less if using remounts,” replied his twin.

Arin sighed. “And Black Mountain—where does it lie?”

“Beyond Darda Vrka,” said Rissa. “Another two hundred leagues or so. In the realm of Xian.”

Arin thought a moment. “Can we save time by riding the dusk and the dawn?”

The Elves looked at one another, but none had aught to volunteer. Finally Silverleaf said, “I know of no
in-between
crossings shorter than direct.”

Arin groaned. “I was hoping to save time by riding into Adonar and then back unto Mithgar—crossing several times, if necessary.”

Ruar cleared his throat. “Would it not be swifter to go to Rwn? We could ride down to the Avagon Sea and take passage on an Arbalinian merchant ship.”

Aldor shook his head. “The Rovers of Kistan have the straits blocked, or so I am told. No ship but the
Eroean
is said to have made it through.”

“Aravan’s ship,” said Arin, her eyes brightening. “He would give us passage.”

Aldor shook his head. “The King’s herald said Aravan
is no longer in port but has sailed through the blockade and beyond again. The herald also said even now the High King is assembling a fleet to break the stranglehold. Yet that could take awhile, perhaps months.”

“We could ride north and sail from the Boreal…or west to the Ryngar,” suggested Melor, “and hope to catch a trader going our way.”

“Or engage one,” added Ruar.

“Rwn or Darda Vrka or Black Mountain in Xian,” said Arin, sighing, “no matter our choice, it will take time.”

“There is this,” said Rael. “If ye go to Darda Vrka to find answers with Dalavar, if he knows not how to aid ye, then Black Mountain lies just beyond.”

Rissa nodded. “Aye, Darda Vrka
is
on the way to Xian.”

“I would suggest, then—” began Aldor, but his words fell short as there sounded the distant belling of a bugle echoing among the Eld Trees. “An alarm?” muttered Aldor. He stood and stepped to the front window of the lodge.

Again the bugle sounded, closer this time.

Now all the Elves got to their feet.

Silverleaf girted on his long-knife. The visiting Dylvana took up swords and bows. Elora retrieved Aldor’s sword from the table and carried it to him.

Aldor turned from the window and received the weapon and began girting it about his waist. As he did so he looked up at Arin. “Let me say this to thee, Dara, ere it is pushed from my mind by this clarion call: I would suggest that thou and thy companions follow the counsel of Dara Rael and hie to Darda Vrka. Seek out this Dalavar and ask his advice. And if Dalavar cannot help ye, then go on to Black Mountain beyond, for none—”