Soldier Undaunted -- Chapter 10.1

Ten

In the darkness two hours before dawn the company assembled, eager to be gone. It was a chill morning near the dead end of autumn. Stars blazed everywhere in the black sky. Six horses stood saddled, five for the companions and one pack horse. The Masters were there and gathered round them in the night were dozens of Rangers, looking on in silence, hard to see in their gray or green cloaks, hoods thrown over their heads against the cold. In the distance hounds were barking loudly.

“I still don’t like it,” Arden grumbled to Evénn at the noise.

“Leaving the dogs and wolf, you mean?”

“Yes. It doesn’t feel right.”

“I know,” Evénn said sympathetically. “I don’t like it either, but it makes sense. If anyone sees us, they will know at once who we are. Wolfhounds are the mark of Rangers, and the wolf will draw even more unwanted attention. Master Raynall is correct. We cannot afford to be recognized.”

“But they’re damned useful, and Argos always goes with me.”

“None of us likes it, Arden,” said Master Raynall, walking up to them, Keral and Falimar by his side. “In my youth, and in yours, parties of Rangers and their hounds were a common sight. No longer. You and your companions must get as far as you can unnoticed, and without giving battle. That would only bring more dragon’s men.”

“I understand, Master, and I will comply. I feel we shall need them before the end, however.”

“That may be so of many things, Arden. But it is time for your journey to begin. It will be long and winter is pressing upon us.” Then he turned to the entire company and said “May god guide your hearts and your hands. Now go.”

Arden and the other Rangers mounted their horses. Evénn stayed a moment longer to clasp Raynall by the hand.

“Farewell again, old friend. I’m glad we had this chance to meet once more.”

“Old friend is right,” Raynall said, and shivered against the cold. “Yet maybe we shall see each other once more, in a time of peace.”

“That is my hope also,” said Evénn. “Fare well, Master of Rangers.”

“And fare you well, dragonslayer.”

Evénn then let go his hand and smiled upon him. He mounted Moonglow, and with a look and a nod to the others, he began to ride away, side by side with Arden. Behind them followed Jalonn and Agarwen. Last came Niall, leading the pack horse, and gazing steadily off towards the woods to the south. Not until he passed the part of the Valley where his cottage stood did he look forward, setting his eyes firmly on the road now before him.

All along the way across the Valley, the company passed groups of Rangers and others, dimly visible, their faces unseen and names unguessable. Some raised their hands in a gesture of parting, several could be glimpsed bowing deeply, a few called out words of encouragement in low voices. Each time, one or another of the party answered with a wave of the hand. Even to Arden, who seldom saw other Rangers and had not visited the Valley for this long for many years, the kindness of their encouragement was welcome. The unity the Rangers had shown in supporting the Council’s decision and in stepping forward to offer help in any way made him recognize that he had not been as alone as he thought in disliking the Council’s former policy. He also knew that his party would not be the only one to go abroad in the next few weeks. Many others would also scatter alone or by twos or threes across the land to wait upon the events at Narinen, and their repercussions. The Masters wanted the Rangers to be ready when the storm broke.

Throughout the crossing of the Valley, the hounds never stopped barking. It had been difficult to coax them into cages to keep them from following. They seemed to understand that they were being left behind. The wolf had bared his teeth and snarled as soon as he saw the cages. It was only when Evénn spoke to him in a soft voice and whispered in his ear that he consented. And how long the wolf and the hounds would need to remain confined, no one knew. Evénn suggested the wolf might have to be kept there a very long time. Arden had seen how it pained him to say so. The wolf had never before been restrained in any way, and it seemed a betrayal of his willingness and his friendship. For, as Evénn said, the wolf had chosen him and was his own master.

Arden shared several glances with Evénn, and once looked back to Agarwen. She shrugged when their eyes met, looking as ill pleased as the rest of them. Arden turned forward again, listening to the confusion of the hounds’ voices as they echoed off the Valley’s stone walls. The closer the companions came to the gorge of the River of the Stars, the louder the desperate noise seemed to grow, until Arden realized that every wolfhound and other dog in the Valley had joined in. Arden did not envy the Master of Hounds this morning.

Then a single voice, haunting and melodious, soared above the rest: the wolf howling of grief and betrayal. Evénn stiffened, the reins tightening in his hand, but he rode on into the gorge, where the deeper darkness and the water roaring through the mist drowned their senses. It reminded Arden of riding waves in the sea as a boy, of being buried in that salty, foaming, turbulent rush, and knowing no other life. Yet this moment was not the same, not as complete. There was too much of himself in it, too many thoughts of what was, what had been, and what was to come.

When they emerged into the winter-bare forest, the colors of dawn filled the sky, and tinted the high snows on the Mountain of the Stars above and behind them. Turning north the companions began their long ride, first to the gore of the North and South Deer rivers, then east towards the sea, the City of Arden’s youth, and the red dragon.

All that day they rode through the forest, seeing no one, but at times they felt the watchful presence of the Guardians silently letting them pass. Now and then Evénn cocked his head slightly to one side to listen, then nodded to himself and smiled, but he gave no other hint that he heard any sound but those natural to the woods late in the year. The forest had changed of course since Arden and Evénn had first ridden through these woods together nearly two months ago. The scarlet and golden canopy – the flowers of red handed autumn, as a poet in centuries past named them – which had arched over their heads on the road south, now lay strewn across the forest floor before their horses’ feet in an equally glorious carpet of many colors.

In places the horses waded through leaves as high as their knees; and here and there in some small hollow of the land or against the thick bole of a fallen oak luxuriant drifts of leaves piled themselves far deeper, harbingers of the snow drifts that would soon succeed them. The persistent rains this year had left the leaves sodden and at times slippery beneath their horses’ feet, and they moved through the drifts with care. But the snows had not yet come, and all that day they hurried north, now trotting, now cantering through the bare trees and beneath a blue sky. In the dusk they stopped for the night.

By noon of the next day they passed the clearing where Jalonn and the guardians had first met Arden and Evénn, and evening saw them well to the north of it. On the third day they began to push their horses harder since they were far enough away from the Valley that they need not worry about leaving tracks. That night the sky clouded over, followed by a cold, soaking rain which lasted for days. Its chill penetrated their bones. The next night they built a fire in a cave to regain the warmth the rains had stolen, but for the two days after that they had to shelter under the lee of rock walls. Not the least patch of blue broke through the clouds by day and the mountainsides above them grew white. Each day dawned colder than the last, and each morning the snows had crept further down the mountains.

Late on the seventh day after they left the Valley they came to the Great Road. Across the first blue sky Arden had seen in days clouds went scudding, their edges sharp and luminous when they crossed the face of the sun. In their swift progress they reminded Arden of ships he had seen as a boy running for port on the ragged wings of a storm. All day he had kept his eye on the clouds as they sailed in succession over the Gray Mountains and raced eastward across the plains. They held the promise of more rain, a promise Arden had no doubt they would keep.

Still he watched them now as he lay beneath a thicket on a hill overlooking the road. Two hours ago a strong company of the dragon’s men, sixty all told, had marched by heading east. Since then nothing had moved on the road except shadows, first of the clouds, then of the mountains themselves as the sun sank behind them. Night would soon fall and the party had spread out in a long line, fifty yards apart from each other, to keep watch on the road. Trees, rocks, and brambles lent them cover while they waited. There they would lie concealed until it was fully dark. If they saw nothing, they would gather and cross the road one by one. While the Rangers had no knowledge of a hidden force of troopers in this area now, in the past the enemy had established small bands of spies in unexpected places, both here and elsewhere, to observe any who passed by.

Whenever the Rangers discovered such a post, they destroyed it. But the troopers were many and the Rangers few, and there was good reason for the enemy to spy on the Great Road, which left the Mountain Gate of the City and traversed the mountains and rivers, forests and plains of Narinen to end at the port of Sufra beside the Western Ocean. For hundreds of years it had been the main route east and west for troops, merchants, and other travelers. Countless feet had walked and ridden its wide stone paved course. Cisterns and wells bordered it at intervals, and a high curb on either side ensured that no one could easily wander from it even on the darkest night. Towns and cities flourished where it crossed other roads – lost Osenora had been the greatest of these – and between them isolated taverns and villages sprang up beside it.

But that was before the Fall. These days the road was mostly frequented by patrols of the enemy or couriers or the few licensed merchants who still existed. Only at harvest time was there much traffic, when the grain was gathered to Narinen or other strongholds, and herds of cattle or swine were driven to the slaughter pens to feed the dragon’s soldiers.

From where he lay at the eastern end of their line Arden looked down this road that led to his long ago, far away home. Now his path led back there at last. But this time, he hoped, it would end differently than it had when he was a boy. He could see nearly a mile down the road to the east before it ran out of sight around a bend between two low hills. And if his eyes could see that far, so could those of any enemy who might be watching. He found himself wishing the hounds and the wolf were with them. Here they would have proved their worth. They could have scouted far down the road and through the woods, where even Evénn could not see – as good as his eyes were, they could not see through hills and trees to find a hidden foe – and run back through the woods to alert the party to any threat. Arden and the others may have had a good view of a long stretch of road, but with Argos, the wolf, and the others’ hounds, they could have seen farther and deeper.

In the darkness an hour after sunset, they drew together. In three patient hours none of them had seen or heard anything. Evénn crossed the road first, quickly and quietly, on foot with Moonglow and the pack horse behind him. His eyes and ears were less easily fooled in the darkness, and if he detected any danger in the woods beyond the road, he would signal them. But no signal came. Ten minutes later, Niall followed with his horse and Arden’s. Afterwards they let a half hour go by, long enough for any watcher, who might have thought he saw a shadow moving on the road, to decide he had been mistaken. Then Agarwen slipped across with Touchstone and Bufo. Jalonn and Arden let nearly an hour pass before they came over together, bows in hand and arrows notched. To Arden’s relief no wolves howled as they crossed the road.

For a time they kept near the road, only listening. Then they walked their horses about a half mile into the forest, and rode for several hours before making camp for the night, safe again in the deep woods that were their home. Evénn, tireless as always, took the first watch while the rest slept. In the night Arden dreamed he had ridden down the whole length of the road to the City and was approaching the Mountain Gate just as the sun rose. It looked just as it had in his childhood. The gates were intact and the banners of the Republic rippled in the breeze off the sea. For a moment he thought his whole life had just been a bad dream. Then a passing shadow made him look up. A dragon sailed high overhead and when he turned his eyes back to the City, the other three dragons sat perched upon the walls and gate, watching him. He felt they were waiting for him. A pall of smoke spread behind them, and the early sun glowed redly through it. Arden then awoke to find it was almost morning. Evénn was sitting with his back to a tree, his eyes upon Arden. It was raining again. He joined the others in preparing to move on.

On the afternoon of the eleventh day as they were drawing close to the South Deer, Agarwen called out to them to halt. Since dawn she had been riding at the rear of their line, taking her turn leading the pack horse. Several times in the last few hours she had stopped and let the others draw ahead. Once the hoof beats faded, she sat in the silence for a while before hurrying after her companions. Now she rode forward.

“What is it, Agarwen?” Master Jalonn asked.

“We are being followed,” she said. “All day I have felt there was someone behind us. Now I’m sure.”

“Who do you think –” Niall began, but stopped when Evénn raised his hand. The elf was listening closely.

“She’s right,” he said after a moment. “Someone is back there, coming up fast. Not horses, though.”

“What, then?” Jalonn asked, as he gestured to the others to get out of sight.

“I can’t tell yet.”

The Rangers had already scattered into the forest, leaving Evénn and Jalonn alone. Even at this time of year, they could vanish almost at will. Without a word, Evénn slipped from Moonglow’s back and handed the reins to Jalonn, who rode off to conceal the horses. For a moment Evénn peered back the way they had come, then withdrew behind a nearby beech. He was still listening, his head cocked to one side and a look of intense concentration on his face. No one moved, except to loosen their swords in their sheaths and unsling their bows. They wondered how they could have been discovered so soon.

Strangely, then, Evénn began to smile, a compact, mischievous smile, which gave way to a burst of joyous laughter that amazed his hidden comrades. He leaped from cover, just as Argos and the wolf trotted into sight. Arden stepped out to greet Argos, who knocked him to the ground and licked his face. The wolf was also glad to see them, but he gave Evénn a dark look, and laid his ears back.

“I’d say that was a look of reproach, Evénn,” Niall said as he walked up.

“Which I deserve,” the elf answered, gazing happily down at the wolf. “Being caged was a sore test of a loyal heart.”

“This complicates matters,” said Jalonn, not entirely displeased, “but they are here now and will prove useful.”

“Yes, they will,” said Arden, as he wrestled Argos off his chest and stood up, “and we can hardly take them back.”

“Not that they would go,” Agarwen added, patting the wolf, who was rather fond of her. “Their pens were strongly built. I’m surprised they escaped. It’s a pity they didn’t all get away.”

Not long after they resumed their journey they came to the South Deer. The current was strong with rainfall and the water icy cold. Still with care they made it across safely, then turned east towards the Plains of Rheith. At dusk they made camp. Their plan was to rest the horses here for a day or two and take stock of their situation. Now that the dog and wolf were here, some attention would also have to be devoted to them. At the very least they had to be exhausted, hungry, and footsore. After bolting down the food Niall set before them, they curled up and went at once to sleep.

It was a bitter night, lit by fierce stars and a moon three days past full. The sap popped and cracked in the maples around them. Since the edge of the woods was miles away, or perhaps because he silently approved of the heroic efforts of Argos and the wolf to overtake them, Master Jalonn agreed to a small fire. While Agarwen kindled the wood gathered by Niall and Arden, Evénn sang a whispering song of concealment. Though glad of the fire, none of them wished to take any chances. For Rangers were not the only ones to wander in the wild.

As they warmed themselves, they assessed their progress. All agreed that Arden’s route had proved a good choice, since north of the Great Road the Gray Mountains began to bend eastward towards the Coastal Range, until, not far from where the companions crossed the South Deer, they split into two smaller ranges. One spur, at the end of which lay Caledon, ran back to the northwest; the other turned sharply eastward until, another few days' ride to the north, the gap between the Gray Mountains and the Green Hills was no more than two hundred miles wide. Jalonn calculated that they had already shortened their journey across the less sheltered plains by nearly three days.

From here it was about three days’ ride down to the tip of the gore, where the North and South Deer joined to form the Great Deer. Men who knew only maps often scoffed at this river’s name, Arden told them, because it was so short, no more than a long day’s ride. They did not grasp how impassable its racing, narrow stream and its banks cut deep into the rich black earth made it, winter or summer; and the closer to the Rheith, the more perilous it became to try crossing it. So powerful was the Great Deer that it did not flow, but struck into the Rheith, turning its waters, which ran broad and swift themselves, into a maelstrom of treacherous, conflicting currents. For this reason the companions would cross the North Deer before it met the South, and, following the northern bank, come down to the Rheith above its confluence with the Great Deer.

In the morning Evénn and Niall examined the legs and feet of the horses closely, to make sure they had taken no harm from the long days and fast pace of their journey. For over ten centuries the Masters of Horses had been breeding horses, selecting always the hardy and the swift. And by their care they had provided the Rangers with mounts almost matchless in speed and endurance. But there were many leagues to travel yet, and the companions were glad to find no sign of injury or weakness.

Not so with Argos and the wolf. Their paws were swollen and almost raw from constant running, and they were still clearly very tired. There was no telling when they escaped, yet every day in the Valley meant another fifty miles they had to make up. With tears in his eyes, Evénn fetched herbs and a salve from his saddlebags. After steeping the herbs in hot water, he bathed their feet and applied the salve. Then he murmured a spell of healing sleep over them, and let them rest. That afternoon and evening he repeated the treatment and fed them. In the morning the two were much improved, and the wolf began to look upon Evénn with a kinder eye. Though they wished to move about the camp, Evénn allowed them to do little more than eat and sleep that day and the next.

On the morning of the fourth day the companions set out again. The sky was bright, without a cloud, and as the sun mounted towards noon the wind dropped away to nothing. It even grew warm enough for them to think of removing their cloaks. As she rode along, enjoying the day after so many days of cold and rain, Agarwen summoned up the image of the maps of this region they had studied before leaving the Valley. She had never been in this land before, though Arden and Jalonn had. They seemed to know it well. Every now and then the other night Jalonn had nodded in confirmation while Arden spoke of the rivers and where they should cross them. In her mind now she envisioned the gore narrowing to its point as the rivers drew closer to each other. She wondered how far away the North Deer was right now, and when they would be close enough to hear it.

She also noticed that the land began to drop steadily the further they travelled from the mountains. It grew moist and full of brooks and rills. The maples they had camped beneath on the nights they were resting slowly gave way to alders and willows, tress that rejoiced to grow on the banks of streams and rivers. By the time they finally crossed the North Deer just before noon on the third day, there was not a maple to be seen. The forest had transformed itself.

Evénn had changed as well. All afternoon he kept quiet, dwelling in some thought or memory, an absent look in his eyes. At times his fingers brushed across a tree trunk or hanging branch. That evening in camp he seemed unaware of the mad roar of the Great Deer that filled the woods around them. Even as the twilight faded into night he kept staring off into the woods, running his hand over the branch of the willow beside him.

“What is it, Evénn?” Agarwen asked him when it had become so dark she could barely see. “What are you looking at? Or maybe I should ask where you are instead?”

“Oh? Forgive me, Agarwen,” he answered, a little startled. He came back to sit among them. “This place has made me think of the Forest of Willow in Talor. I dwelt there once.”

“That place has an ill name, Evénn, especially for those who seek the dragon.”

“But it is an ill deserved name,” he said. “For thousands of years the Forest of Willow has been a place of magical beauty and peace, beloved by my people, and by all who know it. Your people loved it once, too, before they crossed the sea. It’s true. The black dragon bewitched Conaras there. But the dragon’s spite doesn’t make the forest itself evil, does it? We were on our way home to visit our families, and Conn went walking in the woods that night.

“In the springtime there, Agarwen, the meadows and woods are awash with the color and fragrance of flowers. In the light airs hosts of daffodils gently nod to the violets growing beside them. Their numbers are greater than the heart of elf or man could hope for; and the willows around them blossom as well, with catkins, green above and gray below, gracing their supple limbs. Dogwoods and cherry trees are scattered among the willows and fill the eyes with their profusion of white and pink blossoms. At night frogs sing in chorus until the songbirds of morning return.

“Summer shimmers with heat and warm, moist breezes from the sea. Under the grateful shade of the willows, forget-me-nots grow, and endless lilies spread throughout the forest from the banks of countless brooks. The red lilies beside the waters are bright as lanterns that light your way into the dusk. Farther from the banks are white and yellow lilies, mixed with hyacinths and nasturtiums and wild raspberries with their red fruit and white flowers. And all the meadows that were so full of daffodils and violets are now covered in poppies, white, yellow, orange, and red. At night the nightingale sings and fireflies laze on the balmy air.

“On the northern edge of the forest not far from the sea there is a hill. It is not a tall hill, but it rises high enough above the tree tops for one at its summit to see the waves rolling in from the ocean to the long, white strand. To me it was the best place in all the forest. For there, sitting beneath the hickory trees which grew on the crown of the hill, I could be surrounded by the forest and all its joys and yet still see and hear the waves, and smell the salt in the air. It was not far from my house, and I spent many an afternoon and evening there, reveling in the heart’s ease I felt there, and watching the sun sink into the ocean at the day’s end. Afterwards I would sit among the fireflies and gaze up at the stars, and listen to the sound of the waves mingling with the rustling of the leaves on the trees. Sometimes when the breeze would come and go gently, it was hard to distinguish the two sounds. For the rustle of the leaves would ebb and flow just like the murmur of the waves running up the beach and back again. And the difference did not matter. They both were blessed with the loveliness of things that grow and move and change from one moment to the next.

“Rocks and hills and mountains have their own beauty, and they do change, but so slowly that even we scarcely notice it. They are the constant stage on which the drama of living, growing, and moving things plays out. There is a comfort and hope in their timelessness, just as a promontory or fixed sea mark is a comfort and a hope to mariners; but it is the beauty of the sea, ever changing and ever the same, that captures their souls and gives them joy.

“Once I was fortunate enough to live beneath the eaves of this forest, to walk its paths, and to think my thoughts in peace while I watched the beauty of living things – both the forest and the sea – come and go and come again. For a time I also had my family beside me there as I sat through evenings of summers long gone. The Forest of Willow is a wondrous place. For your sake I hope that one day you will walk there in peace. Maybe we shall do so together.”

Evénn’s voice, so gently persuasive and longing for ghostly pleasures, conjured in each of them a vision of those woods. Though they were thousands of miles across the sea from the Forest of Willow, beneath other willows which slept in the wintry night, Arden could see the sunlit sea, and hear the sounds of leaves and waves; for a moment he remembered without bitterness the peace he had known for much of his youth. Niall could see these things, too, but his thoughts returned more to the wife and children he had left behind in the Valley, and to how much he missed them already.

Agarwen had never seen the ocean, but she had seen its light shine in the eyes of Arden and Niall when they spoke of it. She wondered if it could truly be more beautiful than the Forest of Tasar and the peaks of the Gray Mountains, which were the only home she had ever known. The trees and the flowers of those forests were different from those of the Forest of Willow, but she knew what he meant when he spoke of the heart’s ease he had felt there.

Though Jalonn’s childhood off in the south of Narinen was hardly a memory of peace, he was not unmoved by Evénn’s words. Without parents or any kin except his grandmother, he had fought to survive as a boy, but the Forest of Willow sounded not unlike his own land: a profusion of growth in the spring and sultry summer that he had not observed with his senses as much as his senses were so filled to brimming with their colors, shapes, sounds and fragrances that he became lost in them. It gave Jalonn pleasure to recall these things, but only for themselves, not for any pleasant associations they might have had with his childhood. For he had none, and did not trust the emotions that memory inspired.

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Chapter 10.2

Soldier Undaunted -- Chapter 9.3

The next morning Arden met Agarwen and Niall on the stairway leading to the fencing hall. Agarwen was talking excitedly about her practice with the bow the afternoon before. Niall and Arden smiled at her enthusiasm, a mirror to their own, but both of them had reflections of their own that went beyond the pleasure of handling the bow. Niall contemplated his children, his conversation with Evénn, and the hard road ahead; Arden the responsibility that fate, as he wished to call it, had imposed on him by making him the bearer of the bow. He tried to recall everything he knew of Mahar and that night in the City square. Still he could not escape the thought that he was not Mahar, or Evénn, or any of the other Masters or Rangers who seemed better choices to wield a weapon that demanded faith of its bearer.

As they drew closer to the fencing room, they heard the ringing of swords, clear and sharp, though the doors to the chamber were shut. Evénn and Jalonn had evidently begun early that morning. They stood outside waiting for a pause in which to knock. None came for several minutes and so they stood and listened. It was ancient custom not to knock on the doors while swordplay could be heard. At last the room grew quiet and Niall rapped twice on the oaken door.

To their surprise Master Raynall opened the door to admit them. They returned his greeting as they entered. Evénn gestured to them to be seated as he and Jalonn approached.

“Today we will begin training with the sword of adamant,” Evénn began. “For, though I shall carry it, you must all be ready to use it if evil befalls me. You have all handled the bow, and so you know that it is unlike other bows. The sword is similar. You will find it lighter, sharper, and stronger than any sword you have ever used. Enchantments are woven about it and into it for the doom of the dragons. Yet unlike the bow and the spear it is not good in itself. It may be used to kill anyone. This is why I had to hide it. In the wrong hands, it is capable of terrible evil. Even in the hands of someone who is good, but unskilled, it is perilous.

“How so, Evénn?” Niall asked.

“Master Jalonn and I will show you,” the elf replied.

With that he and Jalonn crossed the floor. From a rack Evénn took down a two-handed great sword, far longer and heavier than was in common use. Jalonn picked up the sword of adamant from a nearby table. The old scabbard and the worn grip on the hilt had been replaced since the day Evénn revealed the sword in the Council Chamber. Jalonn slowly drew it slowly, feeling its balance, then took up a defensive pose opposite Evénn. The same blue light pulsed down the edge of the blade.

With a cry Evénn sprang forward, moving with a speed that Arden had not seen since the night they met. He handled the heavy sword without difficulty. At first Evénn’s blows were light, and so rapid that the two blades scarcely seemed to part before they met again. For a moment Jalonn was very hard pressed – that in itself impressed the three Rangers – but he soon adapted, and increased his speed to match Evénn’s. Then Evénn struck a blow so hard it would have shattered any other sword, but the sword of adamant blocked and absorbed it.

The balance now shifted. Jalonn began to advance, moving, thrusting, slashing, testing Evénn as much as the sword. The pulse along the blade’s edge quickened and brightened. Though Evénn parried every blow, he was driven backwards. So far Jalonn had used only the flat of the blade, but now he struck twice with the edge. At the second blow there was a flash so brilliant that the Rangers had to glance away. When they looked back, Jalonn was standing perfectly still, his blade poised at Evénn’s throat. As the swordmaster lifted it up and away, Evénn took a step back, and beckoned to the Rangers. Little more than the sword’s long hilt remained in the elf’s hands. The rest lay on the floor at his feet.

They rose and hurried over. Agarwen picked up the shard. The blade had not been broken, as she expected it to be, but cut cleanly through about an inch below the hilt, the strongest part of any sword. She passed it to Arden and Niall.

“As you see,” Evénn said, when they were done examining it, “the sword of adamant is not idly named. To make it, my father’s smiths labored in the forges beneath Elashandra for nearly a century. I doubt even they could tell the number of times they hammered the glowing steel flat and folded it back upon itself, day after day, year upon year; or the number of incantations they sang as they worked the metal, to render each layer strong and flexible. The greatest of the elf lords came as well, with spells woven of the pain and lamentations of our people, which they sought to turn back against the dragons who caused them. That grief kindles into flame when the sword is drawn. But the flame you see is no more than the outward show, like tears, of what lies hidden within.

“There were many attempts to perfect the sword, and many failures that the smiths melted back down. Yet with each failure they learned, and began again, and in the end forged this blade. They made it to kill dragons. You must learn to wield it with the greatest care, or you could easily kill someone you wished merely to disarm. Now that all my companions have been chosen, we will practice with the sword every day until we leave. Remember, while you are training, use only the flat of the blade.”

Jalonn handed the sword to Arden, and indicated that he would be the first to try it.

“Evénn,” Niall said, “you said that all have been chosen. Who besides us will go?”

“I shall,” Jalonn answered.

“That is good news,” Niall said. “I was hoping you would come.”

“As was I,” added Agarwen. “Then we are the entire party?”

“Yes,” Evénn replied. “The Masters and I are agreed. We must go unnoticed for as long as possible; and, if seen, be taken for no more than scouts or spies. So the fewer we are the better.”

“Well,” said Arden, almost absently. He was studying, not the heft and balance of the sword as another might do, but the fire ghosting along its edge. “It is fitting that you should come, Jalonn.”

Jalonn, who had been watching him, merely turned up a corner of his mouth at this remark, but Agarwen asked.

“Why is that, Arden?”

“Master Jalonn and I started on this path together the day he found me. It is right we walk the end together as well.”

"A road that begins and likely ends in fire," Jalonn answered dryly. It has, I confess, a certain symmetry." But, if we wish to escape the fire that awaits us, we had best begin. Time is wasting.”

“Before we do,” Evénn interrupted, “let me tell you one other thing.” As he said this he reached into a pocket and took out folded slips of paper. To each of them he gave one.

“Here you will find the words of the enchantment necessary to use the sword’s full power. Learn them, then burn the paper. Do not speak the words of the spell aloud, even under your breath. If you do, the dragons will hear you. They will know the sword has been found and is in the hands of one who knows how to unleash it. They will also sense the direction in which the sword lies, and they will come looking. We cannot afford that. The power of the sword must remain unknown until we need it.”

“The spell is so brief,” said Niall, somewhat surprised.

“Yes, a brief incantation is more easily remembered and easier to pronounce correctly. Long enchantments have greater power, but are difficult in battle. Misspeaking one can be disastrous.”

“So we have heard,” said Arden.

“Let us hear no more of that, Arden,” said Raynall gently.

“It’s all right, Master Raynall,” Evénn said, then resumed. “Now, if the time comes for you to use the sword, and the dragon’s men are nearby, do not say the words aloud. Remember the sword can be used by anyone that knows the words.”

“There’s something I do not understand,” Agarwen said. “If the dragons can recognize the words, they must know them, and be able to tell their men.”

“True, the dragons do know the words. They have heard them before. But they wouldn’t tell them even to their most trusted servants. For the dragons do not trust them very far. They are wicked, not foolish. They would not even let one under their spell know the words. The danger to themselves is too great.”

“But why?” Agarwen asked. “If a man is enspelled, how could he harm them?”

“Because if another found a way to counter the spell, whether to remove it completely or overmaster it, then that man would have the weapon and the words to use it.”

“Who could do that?” Agarwen asked again.

“Perhaps one of the other dragons. That is what they fear most – their own kind. But for our purposes we must remember never to utter the spell needlessly or aloud. This afternoon I shall give you the spell for the bow. With it we will exercise the same care. Master Raynall will be joining us starting today. Since we are now five, we need another sword for training.”

From that morning on their training began anew. For the sword of adamant placed new demands on their skills. Years on the fencing floor and in battle abroad had not prepared them for a weapon to whose edge granite and steel were as soft as flesh. To fight with a weapon no other could resist required greater balance and control, not just to avoid killing, but to avoid being killed. Without resistance it was too easy to overreach. Each of the Rangers learned this lesson the first day. Even Jalonn stumbled.

After the first day Master Raynall took charge of their instruction. All agreed that the best method was for them all, including Jalonn, to start using the sword in the very rudiments of swordsmanship. They began again with the positions, footwork, thrusts and parries they had first learned years before as apprentices, repeated without pause to the crisp insistence of Master Raynall’s commands, which carried over the ring and clash of Evénn and the other three as they fenced with their own blades. And, although the doors to the fencing room were shut upon them throughout their sessions, an unusual number of apprentices and young Rangers found that their duties required them to pass that way during the first hour of the day, when it was rumored that Master Raynall put Master Jalonn rather severely to the test. The source of the rumor was never known, but the older Rangers, not a few of whom were also seen at times in the corridor nearby, believed it to be Raynall himself.

The afternoons continued to be devoted to the bow, though after another week Arden began arriving late. As soon as their fencing was done, he would leave the Valley with Argos and the wolf to ride for hours on the new mount given him by the Master of Horses. When questioned, Arden said he needed to grow familiar with the horse, a brawny, rough-haired chestnut called Impetuous. Late in the day he would join them, take a single turn with the bow, then leave with Jalonn for the Time of Reflection.

“He is troubled,” Agarwen said as Arden came cantering across the Valley one afternoon. She lowered the bow and looked over at Evénn, who was also watching him approach.

“All his life he has waited and prepared for this hour,” Evénn answered. “Now it is upon him, and he fears he will fail because he thinks he lacks faith, the one thing he never reckoned he would need.”

“I might be short on faith, too, had I seen what he has.”

“But Arden does not lack faith.”

“Why do you say that?” she asked in surprise.

“Those without faith have no doubts. He will discover that in time. Now take aim.”

---

At night after the common meal they also gathered now for several hours in the library. There they discussed the route proposed by Arden to the Council and which passes might be open in the Green Hills when they arrived. Master Raynall informed them of the location of several small camps of Rangers where they would find shelter and news of the enemy. Arden and Niall both offered many useful details about the mountains and their forests, and how the crossing of one pass or another would place them for their approach to the City. Keral brought out fine old illuminated maps, richly and accurately drawn, over which they pored for hours, weighing one route through the mountains against another.

Agarwen was particularly attentive and full of questions. For she had been born three years after the Fall, and alone of all her companions she had never been to the City or that part of Narinen. To her the City was almost a myth, a symbol of their fallen country and the sufferings of the world beyond. Yet she could see that to the others it was much more than that. It was a real place as well, and to Arden and Niall it was home. Listening to them speak of it now, she was glad she had finally heard Arden tell his tale in full. Those nights as they studied the maps and Arden spoke of the City and the countryside nearby, the warm flicker of the oil lamps seemed to ignite an answering fire in his eyes.

They also read over the texts of the dragon songs and compared what the poems said about the dragons to Evénn’s account of his experience. Now that he had been among them for a month, they had for the most part grown quite accustomed to him. In the fencing chamber, on the archery ground, or when they were together at table, it became almost easy to forget who he was, but sitting with him every night in the library, listening to him tell of those ancient days, and hearing his answers to their questions, reminded them that just a few weeks ago he had been little more than the mythical hero they had heard tales of as they grew up.

Yet his modesty about those days was disarming. He always emphasized how important the deeds of others were. Neither he nor anyone else could have succeeded alone. Often he referred to Arden’s descriptions of the behavior of the dragons and also drew on much that Master Jalonn had seen that day. Niall, too, had seen the dragons in the west, and, at Evénn’s request, he spoke of their actions there at some length.

Above all Evénn told them over and again that, as fearsome as the strength and speed of the dragons were, their powers of enchantment were to be dreaded far more. They could raise the wind or waves of the sea one instant and calm them the next. They could make the earth tremble and gape open beneath their feet. With a thought they could uproot trees and boulders and hurl them. Worst of all they could enchant even the strongest and the wisest, and make them unwilling thralls to their malice. At great and painful length he recounted the story of Conaras and his slaughter of Evénn’s family and his own.

“You must never look the dragons in the eye, never converse with them, never heed them. They are old in lies and treachery. Nothing they say can be believed. For them to kill you outright would be a greater kindness.”

“Why didn’t the red dragon kill me?” Arden asked. “I’ve never understood that.”

“I don’t know, Arden,” Evénn replied. “I can only think that it was as you surmised: it amused him that you, a lone child, had the effrontery to challenge him with a useless weapon.”

“But if their powers of body and enchantment are what you say they are, Evénn,” Niall said, “how will we be able to stand against them? Why would they not destroy us from afar before we ever came close enough to attack them?”

“Remember the songs, Niall, and remember Mahar’s duel with the black dragon in the square. The dragon would not have come down to fight Mahar and the others if he didn’t despise them. Had he feared them, he would have destroyed them as you say. The arrogance and malice of the beasts are also their vulnerability. They will not take the threat we pose seriously enough – at least not at first – and they will let us come near them in order to sport with us before they kill us. There lies our chance.”

“Not at first you say,” Jalonn said, “but you’ve also said that they are different this time. They have learned from the mistakes they made the last time. That much is clear. Doubtless they will learn the lesson if we kill one.”

“No doubt they will learn it in time. But since they despise each other as much as they do us, I hope they may not learn it immediately. But as it is, we must do our best.”

“That we will,” said Jalonn.

Over the weeks they had many such conversations, sometimes the five of them alone, but more often several of the other Masters joined them. Often they remained in the library till late, the walnut tables piled high with maps and books of song or history. They learned as much of each other here as they did on the fencing floor and archery ground by day. It was here, too, very late one night as the lamps were burning low that Evénn and Raynall brought before the companions and the Masters one last matter touching upon the dragons. At a sign from Raynall, Evénn interrupted their studies.

“My friends,” he said, “our first task is to kill the red dragon. That we all know. But I also know that some of you have not asked the next question.”

“What then?” said Jalonn.

“Yes, what then? For when the dragon is dead, we must leave quickly. The others will come seeking vengeance. We cannot be there when they arrive, to be trapped in Narinen with three of them hunting us. Our strength is too little to face them all at once. To meet them one at a time is our only chance. And so we must surprise them and cross the sea. There we can obtain the spear, and when the silver dragon returns to my city, attack him there.”

“So you have a ship,” Jalonn said.

“I do. Late on the night I arrived in the Valley I went to Master Raynall and we spoke of it. We agreed to say nothing of it to until just before we left here. We must keep this secret, or we shall never have the spear. It is the mightiest of the three weapons, and we shall need it before the end. So, yes, I have a ship, and you must trust me. I will not tell you more.”

Autumn grew colder and wetter as it waned into winter. One by one the scouts and messengers returned, as did the hawks, which had been sent to bring word to the Rangers in the mountains beyond the Plains of Rheith. All the news they brought back to the Valley received thorough discussion each evening in the library. From all they could hear there was no unusual activity anywhere by the enemy. The dragon’s men patrolled and at times encountered Rangers who engaged them. The dragon remained in Narinen, to which, now that the harvest had been gathered, long trains of carts and wagons traveled, rumbling along the old republican roads that crossed the broad continent.

The only ill news was the weather. Rain seemed to be falling everywhere, in a numbing gray drizzle when it was not pouring. The constant wet sapped the last warmth from the year, allowing a chill uncertainty to creep into many hearts which only a few short weeks ago had discovered a new hope. Now they were not so sure. When some said that the rain would help the companions move unseen, others answered that it would also swell the rivers they had to cross, and that what was rain in the Valley of the Rheith was snow higher up. Few passes in the Coastal Range would still be open when the companions reached them if this rain kept up. Though none despaired, those of a more somber cast of mind saw a bleaker, more dangerous journey ahead of Evénn and the others.

For members of the party itself, their sense of purpose and accomplishment in their training offered some remedy. Yet it was clear to Jalonn, who from long habit watched the movements and eyes of others, that the thought of the grim path they were soon to walk was not without effect. Agarwen threw herself into training with more passion than any of them except Arden, and was even more devoted to their studies in the library, as if by learning all she could about the Republic and the dragons now she could make up for being born too late. From her concern for Arden’s solitary rides – for Jalonn had seen this, too – he gleaned more of her heart than she would have wished to reveal, but the secrets of Agarwen’s heart had never been a mystery to him. Yet the swordmaster saw little cause to worry about her.

Arden was another matter. No one knew him better than Jalonn did. From the night he found him sleeping in the rain beside three fresh graves it had taken them twenty one brutal months to reach the Valley. The dragons’ men were everywhere. More than once he and Arden had to turn back from a route they found blocked, only to discover that the way they had come was now cut off as well, compelling them to hide for weeks at a time and wait for the enemy to move on. More than once the rage that soon came exploding out of Arden almost cost them both their lives. Those months had taught Jalonn much of patience.

Once they came to the Valley, he took Arden as his apprentice – that was Master Galt’s price for letting Arden stay. For the next five years he was never long away from Jalonn’s side: two years of training with sword, horse, bow, and hound, and instruction in history, letters, and geometry; and then three spent wandering the land alone together. Arden learned every lesson well. In many he excelled his peers. He became a Ranger through and through. Yet he remained apart, seldom speaking first or long, even with Jalonn and Raynall. There also came to be a strange remoteness in his eye, as though he looked upon a world others did not see, a world lit only by dragon fire.

Jalonn knew Arden’s strength and his conviction as well as he knew the habit of solitude and silence he had long cultivated, so he could be alone with the wounds he would not let heal. If healed they could be. Some could not. So it pleased him to hear Arden talk as much as he had since returning with Evénn. It also pleased him when Arden agreed to attend the Time of Reflection for the first time since completing his apprenticeship over twenty years ago. It was the only way, Jalonn thought, that Arden could master the rage still coiled within him. However much discipline, strength, and time had allowed Arden to contain it, just over two months ago he had tried to kill the first real hope they had had in a generation.

Jalonn also noticed that Niall was speaking of his children more frequently of late. Not much more, of course, but enough for him to mark it. It was natural, he supposed, for a father to think of his children when his death might well lie before him, and when he was seeking to create for them a future that did not entail hiding in a secluded valley waiting for the inevitable day when the dragons found and destroyed them. Niall and Evénn talked about the children, the younger two who were still at home, and Erinor, his eldest, now serving his apprenticeship far away. Niall never mentioned the daughter taken by fever ten winters ago. Evénn’s tale of the doom of Conaras had a greater effect on Niall than the rest, though even Jalonn found it heartbreaking to hear the story from the mouth of Evénn himself.

As Jalonn sat in the final meeting the night before they departed, he supposed he could not himself be immune to the burden of responsibility which their errand placed upon them. Did it manifest itself in the increasingly vigilant eye he had been training on the others? He smiled to himself as he considered the notion. To look after them went with being one of the Masters, but he conceded to himself that there was more to it than duty. For each of the others there was something personal here that went beyond their duty as Rangers. This was true of Evénn, too. So why not himself? He had no children of his own to save or to lose now, no childhood friends or family he had lost then, no one from whom he wished more than he could have, no misdeeds of his people he might redeem. And Jalonn could not say whether this was a good thing or not.

______________________

Chapter 10.1

Soldier Undaunted -- Chapter 9.2

Word of Evénn’s lesson spread quickly through the Valley. Others practicing nearby had witnessed it. Nor did it escape the notice of the Rangers on guard in that area. Rumor had it that, when the report of it reached Master Raynall soon afterwards in his study, he had thrown back his head and laughed. He wished only, he said, that he could have seen the looks on the Rangers’ faces, for seldom could an outsider teach Rangers such a lesson.

In the following days children and some of the younger apprentices began approaching Evénn when they saw him walking about the Valley with Arden, Argos, and the wolf. The apprentices he sent on their way, back to their instructors. The children, he welcomed; and often when not training with Arden or exploring the library, he was to be found sitting beneath a tree or in the morning sun, surrounded by children who plied him with questions, or begged him for stories, or even hesitantly ventured to pet the wolf that sat beside him.

Each day he told them tales of ages past and kingdoms that were no more; of wondrous creatures he had seen in distant lands; of flowers whose hue and fragrance delighted the senses and cheered the heart; and of trees so tall that their crowns stood wreathed in cloud, and so old that even elves like him were as children beside them. He told them of storms at sea and snow upon the mountains; of great desert winds whirling with dust a mile high; and of dew covered grass in mornings of ancient summers. He spoke of kings and queens of elves and men that he had known, of healers, of clowns, of smiths, of farmers, of poets. And in his laughter and smile and the sparkle of the sunlight in his eyes he made the myth and history, the history and myth, of his five thousand years live for them as it did for him. The children hung wide eyed upon his words and ran shouting to greet him as soon as they saw him. He stroked their hair or held their hands and soon called them each by name. To see him with the children lightened many hearts and made even the oldest and most dour Rangers smile before they turned back to their labors.

Early one afternoon three weeks after the meeting of the Council, as he sat in a sunny patch of grass, telling the children around him a story of his own youth, he noticed a Ranger walking towards them. He was not as tall as most, but his shoulders were broad and his chest deep. His blue eyes shone brightly from a tanned face surrounded by light brown hair. He scanned the circle of children. When he spotted the two he was seeking – Dorlas, a boy of about eight summers, and his sister Rinn, who insisted she was almost seven – he sat down behind them outside the circle. He grinned at Evénn and put a finger to his lips. While Evénn finished his story, he watched the Ranger’s attention constantly shift from him to his children and back again. The pleasure he took in their laughter was evident in his broad smile and shining eyes. Before long a hound trotted up and lay down beside him. The Ranger threw an arm over his shoulders, then rolled him onto his back to scratch his belly.

Evénn recalled seeing him frequently, instructing the young in riding and giving more advanced training to the apprentices. He had also seen him practicing his swordsmanship in the fencing room, and almost every day at the Time of Reflection. He remembered his rapt attention to Arden’s tale of the Fall, especially when Arden had spoken of the girl he called Sorrow; and the two had exchanged a meaningful glance once Arden finished. Clearly there was some connection between them that had begun before they were Rangers.

When his tale was done, Evénn told the children he would see them tomorrow if he could. The children pleaded loudly for just one more story, but with a laugh he dismissed them until the next day, and reluctantly they began to disperse. As he got up to leave himself, he saw the Ranger on one knee speaking to his children. Both were blue eyed and sandy haired like their father. The girl and boy waved to Evénn, then hugged the Ranger and said goodbye to him. They ran off together, the hound, larger than them both, loping along beside them, but the Ranger stayed behind waiting for the last of the other children to leave. Then he approached Evénn, a smile still on his face.

“My children are quite fond of you and your stories,” he said. “Even now they are rushing home to repeat them to their mother. Just last night Dorlas informed me that someday he will tell his grandchildren how, when he was just a lad himself, he met Evénn, the dragonslayer.”

Evénn laughed.

“Children are the greatest blessing the world affords us,” he said.

“That is true,” the Ranger replied, and held out his hand. “My name is Niall, and I was hoping we might have a word while you’re on your way to the archery ground.”

“Yes, of course,” said Evénn, taking Niall’s hand. “I remember you from the day Arden and I arrived. You greeted us, you and another Ranger.”

“Yes. That was Agarwen. She’s one of the Guardians of the Forest, and has been away for some weeks now.”

“You are Arden’s friends, I recall her saying.”

“We know him as well as anyone, I suppose,” said Niall. “We have spent much time around him, you might say. He and I often served together as young Rangers; and Agarwen was Arden’s apprentice. They spent three years together over the mountains to the west.”

“Yet you knew him before.”

Niall looked at Evénn in some surprise.

“Arden told you that?”

“No, but you both share the same accent, that of the educated folk of the City. You are close to each other in age, and I noticed the look he gave you when he finished telling of the Fall.”

“The look?”

“As if you would understand.”

“You see much, Evénn, but I am not the only Ranger from the City of Narinen. It may not seem so to an elf, but thirty years ago the seven years that lie between us made a great difference. I knew him by sight, little more.”

“But that was not the way he looked at you,” thought Evénn, and he said, “but you do understand.”

“Of course I do. Narinen was my home and my family’s for many generations, as it was for Arden’s. To us it was more than the chief city of the land. More than our country died that day.”

“He sees in you, then, a link to what was lost?”

“Or so I guess. I don’t know. We’ve never spoken of Narinen.”

“Never?”

“No. Except when he tells of the Fall, Arden says little of those days.”

“That I have observed as well. Now, what of you, Niall? What do you wish to discuss with me?”

“I would like to go with you and Arden. So would Agarwen,” Niall said.

Evénn nodded as if he had been expecting this, and kept walking. Niall wondered if he should say something more, but decided against it. There was nothing more for him to say.

“Do you know what Master Raynall said to me last night?” Evénn asked after a few minutes.

“No,” replied Niall, catching the sly look that went with the question.

“‘A moment if you will, Master,’ they all say when they catch me in the corridor or knock on my study door late at night – the light seems to draw the younger ones like moths – and then they spend a quarter hour talking to me as if I hadn’t known them all their lives.”

“Well, I’ll admit I’ve spoken to him,” Niall said, laughing at Evénn’s imitation of a weary, exasperated Raynall. “It was in the morning, though. But I thought I would speak to you as well.”

“And?”

“And what do you think?”

“I think the journey will be perilous,”

“We are accustomed to that.”

Evénn stopped and took Niall by the shoulder. His eyes were cold with menace.

“But this will be a greater peril than you have ever known, Niall. The dragons cannot just kill your body. They are not merely creatures of bone and talon and flame, as the songs taught you. They are spirits of overwhelming might. They can enslave your soul if they so desire and if you are not cautious. If you converse with them or meet their gaze, they can easily enchant you. Then all the suffering you have lived through these last thirty years, and all the horror of which you already know them to be capable, will be as nothing beside the nightmare in which you walk. If they bid you slay your friends, or your wife, or even your beautiful Dorlas and Rinn, you will do so, but even as you do you will know what you are doing and be unable to stop yourself. To dare the dragons entails dreadful risk. Not even the strongest of us are safe from them.”

“You speak of Conaras.”

“Yes, of Conaras, my friend. Conn we called him then. He was a mighty warrior and enchanter, even among elves. We were friends for over two thousand years, and I never had a friend more faithful or true. We stood together against the dragons from the beginning, but the black dragon caught him unawares one night as he walked in the Forest of Willow and laid a spell on him. At the dragon’s bidding he returned home and slew his wife and four children as they came running from their home to greet him. Covered in their blood he then went to my home, where he killed my wife, my two children, and my mother before we could overtake him. No counter-spell could release him. We all tried, my brother, my father, and I. In the end my brother had no choice but to kill him. All the while we could see in his eyes that he knew what he had done. No words can tell of the anguish we saw there. No song could do it justice, that injustice which he committed, knowing but unwilling. With his last breath he thanked us.”

All his life Niall had known of the bewitchment of Conaras, but no art of a singer or poet could have prepared him to hear the woe in the voice of the father of the slaughtered children, the husband and son of the wife and mother slain, and the friend of the unwilling murderer. It made him shudder. The pain of this loss so lived and breathed in the elf after a thousand years that Niall saw him with new eyes. No longer the serene elf lord who had dwelt for centuries in a monastery and each day joined the Rangers in meditation, no longer the playful, learned storyteller who enthralled wide eyed children and led them in mirth and wonder, no longer the mighty warrior who emerged from the darkness of legend to bring hope. At this moment the dragonslayer was no more than Niall was, a father, a husband, a friend. But even as Niall’s heart mourned, he closed his eyes to find a stronger resolve within, to dare as much as Evénn had to deliver them all from the dragons.

“Are you prepared to risk that?” Evénn said.

Niall opened his eyes and saw again the old Evénn, now composed and peaceful once more, his grief subdued for now.

“I am. For what hope can my children have if I am not? I will face it for them, and for all the other children. And Arden is my friend. In the days to come, we shall all stand in need of friends.”

“Well said,” Evénn quietly replied, a smile crossing his face. “What of your friend, Agarwen?”

“In this we are of one mind.”

“If not chosen, you will follow?” Evénn asked, but it was not a question.

Niall answered with only a smile. Evénn laughed to himself, as if prompted by memory.

“Then I think you shall come. Join us tomorrow in the fencing room.”

“And Agarwen?”

“I shall speak to Master Raynall this evening. She will be recalled.

“Thank you, Evénn.”

“This is no favor I do you, Niall. We may be grateful to god in the end if we survive. One who wakes in the night from a terrible dream may thank heaven in the morning that it was not real, but he is not grateful for the dream.”

“Then we shall save our thanks for the coming of the morning.”

“Indeed,” said Evénn, but as he turned to go he spoke once again. “Your children are beautiful, Niall.”

“For that, I will thank you, Evénn.”

“For that, you are welcome.”

Then they parted and the next morning met again. Arden welcomed Niall and said he was glad that he would be joining them. Since they would be seeking the red dragon first, another Ranger familiar with the east coast and the City would be a great benefit. More than that he did not say, but he smiled each morning at Niall’s arrival. Now that there were four of them the training became more intense and more like real combat. Every half hour they switched fencing partners so each could learn from the others.

Master Raynall had also approved Evénn’s choice of Niall and Agarwen both, and a messenger rode off that first morning to summon her back. It was late in the afternoon of the next day that Agarwen entered the Valley in haste, galloping Bufo, her horse, straight to the archery range. While Niall was shooting under Evénn and Falimar’s instruction, Arden and Jalonn stood by and watched Agarwen approach. She reined in her horse and leaped from the saddle. Her wolfhound, Rana, came running up behind her, to be gladly met by Evénn’s wolf and the other hounds. Beneath its tan, her face was flushed from her ride and her brown eyes shone with excitement. She was beaming.

“We weren’t leaving just yet, you know,” Arden said. “In fact it will probably be some weeks before we go.”

“Unless of course she has already found us a dragon,” Jalonn added, “and it has chased her back here. Arden, perhaps you’d better inform Niall of this, since he has the bow at the moment.”

“And I thought you older Rangers were all supposed to be grim and sober,” Agarwen answered them with a laugh. “Yet here I find you joking like schoolboys.”

“Was I joking?” Jalonn replied, cocking an eyebrow.

“I simply wanted to get a quick start on my training,” she said.

“Then you should take your turn with the bow now that mine is done,” Niall said as he came up to her. Evénn and Falimar were walking off down the range. Agarwen took the bow from Niall and examined it.

“So this is really the bow?” she asked.

“It is,” Niall answered.

“And we had it all the time?”

“Not quite all the time,” Niall said, “but for about the last fifty years.”

“Nonetheless,” she said absently, studying the bow, tracing its curves and smooth surfaces. “It is warm to the touch, and the afternoon’s so cool. Surely the hand of god guided Mahar the night he found it.” She looked up and smiled. “It is a good omen.”

“Omens do not slay dragons, however,” Jalonn said in a low voice, his head down and eyes glinting from beneath his brows. The faintest smile was on his face.

“But the bow will,” Agarwen said.

“Aye,” he said, now in a whisper scarcely to be heard. He then lifted his head and raised his eyebrows as if he expected something more of her.

“And the sword.”

“Yes, and we shall need them both, and more, if this omen of yours is to prove more than a might-have-been.”

“The omen is a sign of hope, is all I meant, Master Jalonn,” Agarwen responded.

“I know, and I am glad of it. Hope we need. It is long since we had much of that. Faith we also need. Yet Master Mahar had faith and the bow. Even together they were not enough. Arden saw his faith and his skill with bow; and he saw him die.”

“He did not know the proper enchantments,” Arden said.

“My point exactly. He did not have all the weapons he needed. We must, or we shall also fail. Now that we are all gathered, we must begin our training in earnest. Agarwen, you will begin your practice with the bow once Master Falimar and Evénn return. Tomorrow morning you will join us on the fencing floor.”

“Yes, Master Jalonn.”

“And you, Arden, will come with me now. It is time you began attending the Time of Reflection once more. Too long have you been absent.”

“Yes, Master Jalonn,” said Arden, but his reluctance did not escape Jalonn.

“The elf said you must have faith to wield the bow, did he not? You can begin by showing some.”

“And if I have doubts?”

“Doubts are fine. God expects doubt. But if you bring the body, the mind will often follow. So, too, the soul.”

“Strongbow had faith.”

“But, as you just said, he lacked the knowledge to use the bow effectively. And you saw him wound the dragon even without them. Such was his skill and his faith, even in his ignorance. Spells are more potent if you believe in god’s power to realize them. You have waited so long for this, Arden. Why would you refuse any step that will make our errand us easier?”

“I wouldn’t –”

“Then do this. A sword must be sharp if it is to cut.”

“Very well,” Arden said. “I will go, but my faith is not much.”

“It need not be much. It need only be enough. Mahar was guided to the bow and you were guided to Mahar. Then I found you and brought you here, as Evénn also did later on. Do you think all these things happened by chance? If not,” and he paused to smile at Agarwen, “they are omens that it belongs to you to wield the bow. You must have some faith in that.”

“I didn’t think you believed in omens.”

“I did not say that. I said omens do not slay dragons. Of themselves they are only signs. We must have faith to act upon them.”

“Still, if all this is so, Master, then I was meant to have the bow. That is a thought I find overwhelming.”

“So do I. Who wouldn’t? But enough talk. Let’s go, or we’ll miss the beginning of the meditation. Agarwen, what are you waiting for? Master Falimar and Evénn are nearly back. Go get the arrows and begin. Tomorrow will be harder.”

“Yes, Master Jalonn,” said Agarwen, who nodded to Arden and Jalonn as they, joined by Niall, headed for the gates of the citadel. Just then, Evénn and Falimar walked up to her.

“So, you’ve arrived, Agarwen,” Evénn said, offering her an arrow. “Are you ready to begin?”

“As you wish, Master Evénn,” she said, awestruck to be standing face to face with him.

“No, don’t call me that. Evénn will suffice.”

“Of course. What is my mark?”

“Do you see that small wooden block atop the post down there? Look closely. It is rather small.”

“I can’t hit that. It’s over a hundred yards away.”

“I think you will. Let the bow guide you.”

“Very well,” she answered, aimed, and let the arrow fly. A moment later she gasped.

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Chapter 9.3