Soldier Undaunted -- Chapter 9.1

Nine

At six the next morning Arden joined Master Jalonn and Evénn on the fencing floor. The elf was still carrying the sword he had worn since they met. The sword of adamant was nowhere to be seen. Their training began almost at once, and lasted for three hours with almost no respite. Arden fared better against Jalonn than the last time they had crossed swords nearly a decade ago. Those were years Arden had spent mostly by himself in places beyond all aid, where either a Ranger’s sword was swift and his sword-arm strong, or death came with equal swiftness. Each encounter with the dragon’s men or the hunters who tracked Rangers for a price further honed the skills he had learned from Jalonn and Raynall, and in the hundred battles he had fought since boyhood.

Now that he was fighting with a cooler head, Arden also did well against Evénn. Yet still the elf moved more quickly than he could guess. Nearly every opening that appeared in his guard closed before Arden could exploit it; and those that did not proved to be traps laid for the unwary. But it was in defending himself against Evénn’s sudden strokes from uncanny directions that he learned the most, especially when they cost him bruises delivered by the flat of Evénn’s blade or its dull edge. All the while Jalonn circled them slowly, studying them as they fought. At every bruise he laughed, then laughed again when Arden scowled his way.

When it was Arden’s turn to watch the elf and the Master fence, he began to pick out some of the movements that led through a series of blows to the seemingly impossible strokes Evénn made, all of which Jalonn managed to parry. But Evénn was still not revealing his full strength and speed. At the farm he had cut down three men more than a dozen feet apart in the space of a final, few heartbeats; and Arden had survived his own duel with him only because Evénn wished it so. Seeing his power curbed now, as before he had seen it given rein, made him think of the black dragon as he was the night of the Fall, now sudden and bloody, now still as a cat. For them both, for Evénn and for the dragon, there was in the stillness of their power a greater terror. Arden wondered if Jalonn, if the other Rangers practicing and watching in the chamber, also perceived it.

As the match came to an end, he shook off the thought and rose to join them. Together the three of them discussed their morning’s practice in detail, making suggestions to each other and offering criticisms. For what they were about to attempt, every moment of this training was crucial. To kill the dragons, they needed to survive to reach them; and their path at some point would surely lead through a hedge of swords.

At length they were done, and in good time to wash and change for that morning’s meeting of the Council. They did not speak of it among themselves even when alone. Arden did his best to avoid contact with other Rangers, lest his eyes or expression betray the fierce excitement he felt. Last night he had withdrawn to his room directly after the common meal for the same reason. He could feel the tension in the room even more strongly than he had the night before. It was the excitement that arises from the feeling that hope long deferred is about to be gratified. Over the years he had been so forceful in urging the Masters to reconsider their decision that he feared he could not now conceal from the Rangers seated around him the near joy that blazed within him.

Today’s meeting would be more brief. To Arden it seemed that everyone present was relieved to be in the Council Chamber again, where they could discuss the dragons openly. For outside the chamber, throughout the many halls and rooms of the citadel and across the broad valley, the keen silence of the last two nights had settled into a brooding scrutiny, like a dense fog through which a shipmaster must steer for safety and home. In the Hall of Fire many of the older Rangers, those of an age to remember the time before the Fall, were sitting quietly waiting for an answer. Others, younger, had joined them in their vigil. Still others immersed themselves in activity to pass their last hours of waiting. They stayed, or came and went, as their duties allowed. Those who had to leave the Valley that day did so most reluctantly. The answer would come today, they knew, and, though all were confident of what it would be, yet they had waited so long that the final hours of their patience seemed longer and slower than all the years which had gone before.

Within the Council Chamber, Jalonn and Falimar proposed that, as Master Raynall had suggested, they begin with the red dragon of the City of Narinen. To this all assented at once. They argued, too, that stealth would avail them more than force to get close to the beast, and so any party they sent should be small. Keral supported this, pointing out that in the first war Evénn also had but a few companions; only in the case of the last dragon had men and elves marshaled armies to support them, since the last dragon had come forth to meet them with his own. Evénn agreed that this was so, and the Council deemed it best that there be no more than five or six companions. More would risk drawing the eyes of the dragon and his men.

Next the apprentices spread a great map before them on the Masters’ table, and they gave thought to the companions’ route to the City. By the shortest path – northeast across the Plains of Rheith to the Great Road, then east over the Coastal Range to Narinen – the journey was no less than a thousand miles, a month or more on horseback in high summer, travelling openly, but their need for secrecy denied this route to them. Various routes were considered, all following tree lined rivers down to the Rheith, then back up the valley of one of the many tributaries which flowed down from the western slope of the Coastal Range; once they reached the foothills they would move northwards until they came to a pass leading down into the coastal plain near the City.

Arden and others who knew those mountains objected. Such a route would force the party to travel north along the western slope of the Coastal Range in winter, a difficult task even without the need to force their way through a pass likely to be snowbound by the time they arrived.

“What do you propose then?” asked Orom, the Master of Horses, between puffs on his pipe. Several of those present stared at him in surprise. Orom had little to say in open council.

“Well,” said Arden, bending over the map as if to think, “first north through the forest until we reach the South Deer, east between the South and North Deer until they merge to form the Great Deer, then down to the Rheith and across it. That way we can travel nearly halfway across the Plains of Rheith and stay hidden within the Forest of Tasar. Once across we move through the hill country down to the Valané, which will lead us up into the Green Hills just north of Prisca. From there it’s not far to the City.”

He spoke so rapidly and his hand traced the route across the map so decisively, that Jalonn began to chuckle and Raynall looked amused, like men who realized they should have expected Arden to be prepared for this day.

“You always studied maps quite closely, Arden,” Keral said, remembering the younger man’s days as an apprentice, and then he smiled, “but you’ve clearly given this much thought.”

“I’ve had a long time to do so,” Arden replied dryly.

“But to cross the Rheith here,” Master Orom put in, tapping the map with the stem of his pipe, “will be very dangerous in early winter.”

“It can be done.”

“I know, Arden. I’ve done it.”

“As have I, Master Orom. The crossing will be difficult and dangerous, but it will also be unexpected. And the river Valané will also lead us directly to a region of the Green Hills I know well. I often hunted there with my father and brother as a boy.”

Orom regarded the map a moment more. A wisp of smoke drifted from the corner of his mouth. He grunted.

“Try not to drown,” he said.

With the size of the party and its route to Narinen settled, Master Raynall said he would dispatch messengers to apprise the Rangers abroad of their decision, and also to inform the bands of Rangers in the Coastal Range that a party would be coming east. News would be requested of them on the enemy’s strength and movements, and scouts sent out to spy on the cities, towns, and roads of the plains. All this would take well over a month. So they could not depart before the final gray weeks of autumn. The interval would be devoted to training, study, and to choosing the companions of Arden and Evénn.

Raynall had intended to announce the Council’s decision at the common meal that evening, but as soon as they rose to leave the chamber and the apprentices opened the doors it became clear their news would not wait until then. For Rangers old and young filled the broad hall outside. Silently they had gathered there as the morning wore on, and silently they stood waiting in long lines which ran down the hall. As the Masters emerged, the Rangers made way for them out of respect. No words needed saying. Raynall and the others understood what was being asked of them, and, although they took their authority seriously, they also respected those who followed them and had granted them that authority.

“We shall assemble in the Hall of Feasts,” Raynall quietly said, and proceeded down the corridor to the stairs, accompanied by the Masters and the Council; Evénn and Arden came last of all. As they passed, the Rangers bowed their heads and put their hands over their hearts in a gesture of thanks. Then they turned to follow.

In the Hall of Feasts Raynall mounted the dais before them. He beckoned to them to be seated, but one Ranger stepped forward, Hansarad, one of the oldest and most respected, and he spoke.

“Master Raynall, we would prefer to receive these tidings on our feet. Long have we waited to hear what we believe you are about to say. We stand ready to do what is required. Command us.”

“My friends,” Raynall answered, “hear now the decision of the Council. The dragonslayer has returned and brings with him the sword of adamant. We have also learned that the bow of Mahar is the bow Evénn carried against the dragons long ago. By god’s grace, Mahar found it where Evénn had hidden it, and Arden rescued it from the Fall. Thus we have two of the three ancient weapons, and Evénn says that even now his people should have the third. Armed thus, we may have hope against the darkness. We shall send forth a party to slay the red dragon.

“This errand will not be an easy one. It was not so long ago, and will not be so now. So the songs teach us. The consequences to our people and to others elsewhere will be dire. Freedom is dearly bought. Not before the last dragon is slain will we see an end to their retribution. For a while success may seem more costly than failure; but if we succeed, we will have met our responsibilities as Rangers even if we all perish.”

Unafraid, they all looked back at him. Again Hansarad spoke, “stand or fall, we will be worthy of the trust given to us. We shall do deeds worthy of song even if none survive to hear them.”

“My dear friend, your deeds are already worthy of song, and every one of us knows them,” Raynall said. “First messengers and scouts will set out to prepare the way. Then we must find companions for Evénn and Arden. They cannot undertake this task alone.”

“Name whom you will, Master,” Hansarad responded. “We will not refuse.”

“Aye,” the Rangers said as one.

“Then the Masters and I will choose among you. Tonight we’ll name the scouts and messengers, and tomorrow they will depart.”

“We await your word, Master Raynall,” Hansarad replied, bowed with a courtly flourish that brought a smile to many faces, and strode from the room. The other Rangers bowed as well, more formally, and followed him out.

As the hall emptied, Raynall told the Masters and the Council that they would meet again in one hour to draw up the list of messengers and scouts. Before long only he and Evénn were left, sitting on the edge of the dais not saying a word. They were listening. The citadel was awakening like a sudden spring. The hushed voices of three decades were speaking out loud. A different laughter came to their ears.

“If nothing else,” Raynall said with evident pleasure, “we have lifted a burden from their hearts.”

“For a time,” Evénn was about to say when the wolf stepped into the room, spotted him, and came trotting over. He, too, was in high spirits, playful and happy. Evénn rested a hand on his head, and scratched him behind one ear.

“To be sure,” Evénn said instead, “this is more the way I remember it here.”

“Those were green days, Evénn, and not just because I was young and foolish. The endless wars with Seraal were over, and we Rangers stood high in the people’s esteem. Narinen dreamed in peace and plenty.”

Raynall stopped and sighed, with pleasure at first, but then his clear eyes clouded over with regret as his thoughts moved on. The wolf went over to him, and gently nudged the back of Raynall’s hand with his nose.

“My friend,” Evénn said, “I have seen the ruins of Osenora, and the wasted fields of Sharilas, and two dozen other graveyards the dragons left behind them. I remember the terror burning in men’s eyes when they spoke of the dragons’ wrath, and tried to number the dead with their tears. The decision you made – to humble your pride and save the lives of your people – was the wisest you could have made.”

“It was the dragons that humbled our pride. We merely learned the lesson they taught us.”

“Not all would have.”

“Not all did, at least not a first. After Osenora there were sessions of the Council so full of discord that we feared it would break us. In the end, I think, it was only that fear which saved us. Only a few of Narinen’s soldiers survived the slaughter of the armies. Our cities were ruined or in chains. Our leaders’ heads adorned their walls. We alone remained. And if we were lost, what then?”

“Fear has its uses. Like pain, it is a warning we should sometimes heed.”

“Indeed,” Raynall replied, and shook his head, laughing quietly.

“What is it?”

“Of course, a few weeks later Jalonn and Arden showed up, with the bow.”

“It would have done you little good. Without the proper spells – ”

“I know, we would have met the same fate as Mahar, and more of our people would have died. That’s why we never sought to use it, and locked it away in Raducar’s rooms. But tell me something, Evénn.”

“Anything, old friend.”

“When you came to Narinen, we could have aided you in your search. Why did you never ask for our help?”

“My comrades and I considered it,” Evénn said, “but in the end we decided it was too dangerous. Our best hope lay in being even more invisible than you were. The eyes of the dragons see many things, and fear multiplies them, as men learn to spy on one another for gain or to atone for their own transgressions. More than a few searching would have drawn those eyes to the north, precisely where we did not want them. As it was, we learned in time that the red dragon’s men were searching, too. We did not know of course that the bow had been found, and that the dragons knew it.”

“They searched throughout the land, not just in the north,” replied Raynall. “Most of us believed they were looking for us, for this Valley, as no doubt they were. Master Raducar, however, who was always convinced that that the bow was yours, felt certain they were searching for it, too.”

Evénn nodded, considering all they had said.

“Well, it’s time we began,” Raynall said, and stood just as two apprentices came in to escort them back to the Council Chamber.

---

The next morning four dozen Rangers rode from the Valley in different directions. Hawks flew off with messages for the outposts across the plains to the east. Arden also joined Evénn and Jalonn in the fencing room again. He brought with him an even warmer passion for the training than he had shown yesterday. Not a week passed before Jalonn remarked to Evénn that Arden’s skills were becoming ever finer.

“Such is the power of wrath and desire,” Evénn answered.

They quickly fell into a regimen of training. Four hours with swords in the morning, four in the afternoon with the bow, for which Jalonn and Falimar also joined them. The lightness and flexibility of the legendary bow, and its astonishing range and accuracy, amazed all three of the men, even Master Falimar, who, though the bow had been in his care for some years now, had never used it before. Despite the hours he had spent examining it and retracing Mahar’s steps through volumes of ancient history and the oldest texts of the Songs of Evénn, his awe of what he felt the bow might be had stayed his hand.

On an afternoon late in the second week of their training, after Falimar struck a target so small and distant that he had scoffed at Evénn’s suggestion of it, he turned to the elf.

“Evénn,” he said. “I am a good bowman, but I don’t have the eyes of an elf. I should never have been able to hit that mark. Yet with this bow it was easy. It has been the same with every mark we have set ourselves. The skills of Jalonn and Arden I also know well, and we have all shot with an accuracy that is beyond us. When I aim the bow, I feel, almost, that the bow is aware of what I want to do and that it aids me. This sounds like madness, I know, but –”

“It does not,” Jalonn interrupted. “I have thought the same thing.”

“You’re right. I agree,” Arden added, remembering the perfect shot he had made without thinking in the garden of Sorrow. He had simply seen his target and struck it.

“Tell me, Evénn, how can this be?” Falimar asked. “Is it, as I think, because the bow is made of the wood of the Tree of Life? If so, how can the wood of such a tree can be used to kill? It does not seem to follow.”

“I cannot explain completely, Falimar,” Evénn said, “because I do not fully understand it myself. I don’t know if even Telkar could. But everyone who wields the bow feels the same as you. Somehow the bow is aware of the purposes of the one holding it, and aids them if they intend good. Evil the bow will not assist.”

“I do not understand that at all, Evénn,” said Arden. “Isn’t the bow a tool like any other we use, good or bad according only to our intentions?”

“No, it is not” Evénn said emphatically. “The bow is wholly good, unlike any other tool which man or elf may wield, except for the spear, since that is also made of the Tree. When Mahar used the bow to hunt for food, it aided him because his intentions were good. Had he sought to kill merely for pleasure, he would have missed his mark no matter how close he was. That goodness is part of the wood of the bow. It gives the bow its power. Else, the dragons could not be slain by it.”

“Then the bow judges the bowman as well as his target,” Jalonn said.

“Yes, it does.”

“The bow or someone else,” Falimar said.

“But with this bow,” Arden protested, “I slew a man who was running away. How can that be good?”

“Had he not already done evil?” asked Jalonn. “And if you had let him escape, would he not have returned with others to kill you.”

“But I killed him in wrath. I killed him in vengeance. I killed him in hatred. And his back was to me.”

“The bow will not harm the innocent, Arden,” Evénn said.

Arden pondered this for a moment, frustrated.

“Then the bow judges with a clarity I do not possess,” he said. Then he pointed across the Valley towards the gorge. “Out there, beyond the Valley, I see many men and women, and in disguise I have spoken with many others. There are those who join the dragon’s men out of fear for themselves and their families, fear of what would happen if they refused to serve the dragon. There are even some who tell themselves that in the dragon’s service they will be able to lighten the yoke of oppression and perhaps do some good for their town. I fight these men when I have to do so, but they are just that – men, like us – who act out of fear and necessity, or out of misconceptions. Not all serve the dragon because they are evil.”

“Evil done in fear is evil still, Arden, as is evil done in an attempt to do good,” Evénn said. “Necessity is an excuse our fears provide. It allows us to avoid facing the much more difficult choices before us that we do not wish to make. Between the men you describe and the men who serve the dragon willingly, there is indeed a great gulf, but their actions are nevertheless evil and they are answerable for them. As we are all answerable for our actions.”

“I still do not see how this bow can judge among us, no matter what wood it is made from,” Arden answered.

“I don’t know either, Arden, but if you are to bear and wield it against the dragons, you must have faith that it can. Master Falimar, would you give me the bow for a moment?”

Evénn took the bow and fitted an arrow to it. He looked down the Valley.

“There,” he said, gesturing with his head, “you see that sparrow above the oaks?”

They followed his gaze and saw a tiny, dark bird flying along the tree tops, its course rising and falling as it beat its wings, rested, then beat them again. It was nearly three hundred yards away, visible to the Rangers as a tiny dark spot and only when it rose above the tree tops.

“Let us see how the bow judges the sparrow,” said Evénn and drew the bow. He took aim. Then without warning he swung around and pointed the bow directly at Arden not ten feet away. He loosed the arrow. But it did not fly straight or true. It passed harmlessly over Arden’s shoulder and tumbled to the earth not far behind him. Evénn had moved so quickly that none of them could react.

“As I said, Arden, the bow will not harm the innocent. How else could I have missed you? You must have faith.”

He handed Arden the bow and walked off to retrieve their spent arrows. Falimar, eyes wide in surprise, smiled in disbelief at the other two, then went after Evénn.

Arden stood by, unable to say anything. There had been an instant of surprise and fear as the elf aimed at him and released the arrow, then shock as the arrow missed him. Jalonn came and stood beside him, arms folded across his chest. They watched Falimar and Evénn collecting the arrows.

“An intriguing lesson,” Jalonn said at last.

Arden gave him an evil look. “Yes” was all he could say.

“Where did you find him?”

“I didn’t. He found me.”

“Good thing, that.”

________________________

Chapter 9.2

Soldier Undaunted -- Chapter 8.2

 At two the Council of the Rangers convened in the chamber directly above the Hall of Feasts. Though of the same size, its walls were bare of the tapestries and arms, which, in the room below, told of the history of men and Rangers. That chamber opened on a well-lighted past; this peered into the dimmer shadows of days not yet come. In its center stood a chimney, with a hearth on each of its four sides. At this hour the fires took the autumn crisp from the air, but added only a little to the light filtering through the pines outside the high windows. The southern half of the chamber was entirely empty. In the northern half four tables described the sides of a square, open at the corners so that a speaker might enter and address the Council.

Arden and Evénn had been the first to arrive, about fifteen minutes early. Arden was restless: a crucial moment, long awaited, was now at hand. But he had thought so before, at earlier sessions of the Council like this one, where every argument he advanced for attacking the dragons proved vain. If only he possessed the eloquence his father had always shown in the Council at Narinen, then he might persuade them. But if the return of Evénn did not tip the balance, what good could any words do?

While Arden leaned back on one of the tables looking remote and unhappy, Evénn stood in the middle of the square, his folded arms pressing the long roll of blue silk to his chest. He was looking out the window. The ghostly play of bright sky and dark boughs tossing on the breeze took him back to another day and another chamber much like this one. No men were present that morning, over thirteen hundred years ago, when the elf lords met in haste to discuss the dragons summoned by Talinar. Evénn’s father had been there, with Neldas, his brother, Conaras, his dearest friend, and many others long deemed powerful and wise.

Now only he remained alive. Some fell in the first war against the dragons. All but one of the others perished with his father upon the Tower of Memory the day the dragons came again. Despite the years that lay between, despite their wisdom’s failure, he missed their counsel now. Other ghosts of those days rose before him, too – faces he longed for. From the corner of his eye he seemed to glimpse them, as always, and glancing over he caught sight of Arden instead. For all the pain and doubt written on him, Arden had not passed the first minute of the unfinishable hours of reflection known to Evénn.

When the Masters and other members of the Council entered the chamber, they all took their seats, the Masters with their backs to the hearth, opposite Arden and Evénn, and the rest on either side. Evénn counted six empty chairs. Nearly a third of the councilors were out of the Valley, scattered too widely across the land to be quickly recalled. After a moment the Master of the Valley opened the session, as was customary, with the Litany of the Rangers.

“Look upon the sun and the stars,” Indushan said in her strong, calm voice.

“Know that god made them,” they all replied.

All but Arden, who resisted the urge to tap his foot impatiently. He fixed his eyes on the inlaid table top and kept himself very still. At the least he owed them this courtesy. Offending them with childish mischief was no way to begin. What surprised him, as his eyes traced the elegant marquetry, was the sudden temptation to join in their prayer. Though Arden resisted this urge, too, in his mind he heard the nearly forgotten voice of the boy he had been whispering a simple plea for god’s help. He asked himself whether this was more than just the effect of telling that lad’s tale last night, but before he could answer he realized the chamber was silent again. The litany had ended. Looking up, Arden saw Master Raynall standing before him in the center of the square. The faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth and the glint in his eye made Arden feel that Raynall had heard his every thought.

“My friends,” Raynall began, “a simple question lies before us today. Is it now time to renew our attacks on the dragons? A simple question indeed, but one without an easy answer. Three decades ago we dispatched many of our best to slay them. That trial of strength went ill for us, and for our people. Those we sent out never returned; those who tried to aid them also fell; and the dragons requited our audacity by murdering thousands of innocents. Even today, in the far south of our land, the coastal lowlands of Sharilas, where we fought our last battle, are empty. The beasts and birds have returned, and willows grow once more amid the tall grass by the rivers, but no one lives there now. Rangers – sober, trustworthy Rangers, whose word is not to be doubted – have told me the land is haunted, that they dream of dragon fire and the cries of the dying whenever they must pass a night there. Nor is Sharilas the only place the dragons ravaged because we dared attack them.

“To see so many die in vain, to pay such a price without hope – we could not allow it. So we resolved to bide our time. And we waited, for a sign, for the weapons that had slain the ancient dragons to be found, or for new weapons to appear; we waited, too, for hands with the skill to wield them. Not everyone believed god would one day help us rescue our people. Arden here was not alone in opposing us, but he and the others like him have always been dutiful. We can only be thankful for their obedience. For who could be surprised at their doubts?

“Many years have passed since that decision. Those years have brought me near the end of old age. As the strength of my body has slipped away, I have devoted more time to reflection and prayer in the hope that what my body has lost my mind would gain. It is not always so, however, that longer life means greater prudence. Thus, though it is within my power to judge this matter alone, I have summoned you all here. The decision we reach will affect many lives in many lands. So it is right that no one man alone should decide. The kingdoms and republics of the world are no more; we few, in this place of hope and memory, must together seek the wisdom to choose aright for all. How then shall we decide, and who shall be the first to speak?”

Evénn slowly rose from his chair, shaking his head at Arden who was also on the point of rising. He leaned over the table, his hands flat upon it. All eyes were on him.

“Masters and Rangers of the Council,” he said softly, “you know I have come here to urge you to reverse your decision of years past. I can also tell you that the free remnant of my own people would favor this as well. For they sent me forth nearly twenty five years ago to seek the very means of fighting the dragons you say you are waiting for, the ancient weapons by which we first destroyed these dragons over a thousand years ago. My people made no effort to combat them directly after they overthrew our world. For we knew that no ordinary weapons could slay them, however great the skill and courage that wielded them. Such weapons availed nothing against these dragons in the past, whether twelve hundred years ago or thirty. They are just as impotent today.”

As Evénn spoke, Keral, the Master of Books, leaned forward in chair. He had the look of a man who has at last made a connection he long suspected, but for which he lacked the proof. Several of the others Masters did likewise. Raynall, who was still standing in the center of the square, looked on serenely as before, his hands folded in his sleeves. Jalonn slouched back in his chair, hand to his chin, eyes on the table before him.

“Evénn, are you saying,” Keral inquired, “that these are the same dragons you faced before?”

“Indeed they are, Master Keral,” Evénn responded, “and to explain that I must tell you a tale of shame and folly. As Raynall said, the years do not always bring greater wisdom. Often the labyrinths of time and memory serve only to confound us. We lose our way, and, not seeing that we are lost, we lose even more. But first I must tell this tale, though I do not wish to. For here all our woes begin.”

Evénn then stood upright and walked around the table. Raynall yielded the center to him. Evénn began to tell them, as he had Arden, of the folly of the elf lords: how they wished to heal and restore the world, but instead betrayed it and brought death on themselves and countless others. He told them the history of their error from its birth centuries earlier as a desire to do good, as a mistaking of memory for truth, as a confusion of good intentions with good actions. At first, he said, the elves had been wise enough to see that this desire was the path of error and that the world should be left as it was, but centuries of regret for what was lost led them astray: they did not cherish the good they had, nor see that the world was still beautiful; and they began slowly to consider how they might restore the world they had known long before the dragons came.

And so their wisdom failed. Their loremasters sought the secret ways of enchantment that might regain the paradise of their memories. If they considered that it was not the world or the dragons, who were at fault, but themselves, they did so only to dismiss the notion. Finally, his tale returned to the dragons and the misspoken enchantment that summoned the evil instead of the good. And ever and again as he told his tale, he spoke of his father, the Elven King, and of his brother, and of the role they played in bringing the great darkness upon the world. He spared them neither blame nor censure.

“So, Masters, you have the truth,” he concluded, in a voice choking with irony and shame. “The evil we seek to destroy was loosed upon us all by the elves, by my people, by those held the wisest and best among us. Their intentions, their motives, do not matter. In seeking beauty, justice, and healing, they went too far. Leaving wisdom behind, they found only evil.”

He ended there. In the hour he spoke, the chamber had grown still and silent. Only Arden had expected what Evénn had to say, but even he sat with his head down and lips pressed together. His arms folded tightly across his chest told of tension and restraint. Jalonn’s eyes never left the table before him. Keral and the other Masters looked at Evénn for some minutes after he stopped, their expressions astonished, but guarded, then they closed their eyes and turned inward. Raynall continued to look upon Evénn as he had throughout the hour. The Master’s face was composed, his eyes peaceful and sad. For a full ten minutes no one spoke or moved. At last one of the other members of the Council sighed aloud and said in exasperation.

“So all this was brought on by elvish arrogance. They could not be content with the world god gave us and set out to play god themselves. I should kill you where you stand, elf.”

“Better men than you have already tried, Belorin,” said Arden. His voice was cold and impatient.

Across the room, the corner of Jalonn’s mouth curled up. He glanced first at Arden, then Evénn, who looked back at him impassively.

“And yet you live, Arden,” Belorin barked in response. “Perhaps you did not try hard enough."

Jalonn raised his head, his smirk splitting into a grin. For he knew Arden, and how violent his response to this news would have been. Belorin saw Jalonn and turned to him.

“I see nothing amusing here, Master Jalonn. Arden knew what the elves had done and nevertheless he brought us this – dragonslayer.” Belorin spat the word out with contempt.

“You are right, Belorin,” Evénn said calmly. “It was arrogance. The leaders of my people thought they knew better than god, as you have put it. There is no excuse for their arrogance, and my people have paid a very high price for it. All I can do is try to repair their error.”

“Repair their error? And how will you do that, dragonslayer, when all the legions of elves and men together could not? Weren’t you one of the leaders of your people? I have not heard you tell of your own role here,” Belorin said and his hand came to rest on the hilt of his sword.

“Enough, Belorin,” Jalonn said, his face now stern. “I share your anger at this news. We all do. But we do not threaten our guests here. That is against all the laws of men, elves, and god. Unless of course you, too, think you know better than god?”

Belorin glared defiantly at Jalonn, then turned to Raynall.

“Heed him, Belorin,” Raynall said. “Do not shame us before our guest. Rangers do not act thus, and this matter is too important for wrath to guide us. How shall we defeat our enemy if we cannot master ourselves or forgive our friends?”

At these last words Belorin’s mouth, opening to reply until then, clamped shut. In his seething glance Raynall could almost see the deaths of his parents and nine younger brothers and sisters.

“This is much to forgive,” he said finally, in a voice savage, hoarse, and low.

“There is no measuring loss, Belorin, no matching one with another. Each is its own perfect hell, from which there is no escape,” answered Raynall, telling him that he both knew and did not know all he was asking of him. “But, tell me, how many more will suffer if the dragons are not slain?”

Belorin’s rage bled away in slow silence. He relented, and lowered his eyes.

But Jalonn leaned forward and, gazing at Evénn, he said:

“But Belorin’s questions are fair ones, Master Raynall, even if his manner gives offense. Where were you, Evénn, when your leaders and kinsmen went so badly astray, and how do you propose to defeat the dragons?”

“The questions are fair,” Evénn replied. “You said the other day, Jalonn, that I vanished after the last war with the dragons. The slaughter of that war lay heavily upon me. I had so much blood on my hands, of elves, men, and dragons. We fought them for over a hundred years before the weapons necessary to defeat them were ready. We survived that time only because the dragons did not act in concert then as they do now. Had they done so, the war would have ended as swiftly as it did thirty years ago. It was their selfishness and their contempt for all other living creatures, even for each other, that was their undoing. For they warred among themselves as much as they warred on us, squabbling like the petty kings they were, over borders and precedence. Yet when all had ended and the last beast was slain, the world itself was marred; forests were black and burned; fields and cities were laid waste; the dead were as numberless as the tears we shed for them. There were so many things I’d done and said that I had no wish to remember; and though I knew that god had guided and strengthened us to defeat the dragons, yet I wondered how a just god had permitted it all.”

Arden stirred at this, but did not raise his head. The others regarded Evénn in silence. For they had all been raised on the songs of that war and knew well the deeds of the dragonslayer, who disappeared in the hour of his greatest triumph, seldom to be mentioned again. When asked about him afterwards, the elves gave no answer, and the songs held no clue.

“There was no joy in victory. Doubts and troubles harrowed my soul, and the world was soaked in blood. So I turned away from that final battlefield – for so we all thought it then – and wandered the world at a loss. First I hid the three weapons. For they could not be unmade, and were too powerful to leave be. Then for over two hundred years I traveled, never staying long in one place and never finding the answers I sought. At long whiles I would return to my homeland and see my family, but I always moved on again soon.

“Finally my feet brought me back to the battlefield where we slew the black dragon. In the years since I’d left, the grasses and trees had returned; the streams crossing that plain had run clean of blood and were pure once more. All that marked the day and place of the battle was a single stone erected by my people to commemorate our victory. Through a long summer day I sat with my back against that cold stone, and watched the sun cross the sky. The world had moved on, but I had not. So of course the years of wandering led me back to their beginning.

“Changing places did not change me. So much for my wisdom. I went to see Telkar, the oldest of the elves, who had made the bow and the spear that helped bring the dragons low. He lived in the east near the Valley of Encounter, but deep in the woods to the north of it. His dwelling was so far away that the journey took me over two years on foot. When I arrived, I told him of my heartsickness and my doubts. “Seek god” was all he said. When I asked him how, he told me that, since I had not found him by wandering, I should seek him in one place without moving. So I left him and withdrew to a monastery in the southern mountains of Talor. There I stayed for centuries with others who sought god. And there I was not the dragonslayer or a lord of the elves. There I was a sweeper of floors, a tiller of fields, a beggar with a bowl on the ground before me. I was no one. But as a worker among workers and just another monk kneeling in prayer and meditation, I found as much of god as there is to find.

“After seven hundred years I returned home to find my people much changed. So many were longing for the past, not rejoicing in the day we had. There were some who held that this desire to remake the world was itself a sickness of the soul, but they were few and not among the greatest of our land. From the time I returned I strove to persuade my father and the rest to leave the world as it was, to trust that it was as god wished or allowed it to be, even if his reasons escaped us. We should repair the wrongs of the world by repairing the wrongs in ourselves.

“But all of them, even my father, looked at me as one possessed of a monkish simplicity, out of step with the life of the world. They listened politely and treated me with respect, but gave me no heed. In truth I was out of step, not with the world, but with them. It was in those days they sent me as an emissary to this land, where I had wandered centuries before, and here I met a young Ranger named Raynall, with whom I spent some months in this Valley.

“During my stay, I confided my true name to Raynall, but my father had forbidden me to speak of the path my people were considering. My father’s insistence on secrecy troubled me, but then I regarded their notions as mere foolishness. I didn’t know the full extent of their intentions yet, the means they meant to use to realize them, or the terrible danger those means entailed. Years passed before I discovered the incantation they were perfecting to summon dragons from the world of spirits. For these reasons I remained silent too long despite the misgivings of my heart.

“Oh, if only I had trusted them. By the time I learned the truth, it was too late to summon Telkar from the east."

"If all you say is true, my friend," Raynall said, "your father and the others wouldn't have listened, not even to the maker of the ancient weapons. The mad hear no voice but their own."

"You're right, I fear. For like me, Telkar had been withdrawn from the world too long to be taken seriously. No matter how we had devoted ourselves to god and the spirit, those who had not thought they knew what god wished, and they hurried recklessly over the precipice, to the destruction of all. So, Master Jalonn, you ask me where I was and what was my part? I was there, but failure was my part.”

“And what then, Evénn?” Keral asked. “You spoke of your search for the ancient weapons.”

“After our defeat at Elashandra my people were scattered. My first duty was to gather all I could find and lead them to a secret refuge we had established before the dragons ever came, during our first wars with Talinar. And if the dragons had not crossed the sea at once to attack Narinen, I doubt any of us would have made it there. That was their one mistake. They thought we had nowhere to hide. The men they left behind marched the length of Talor, sacking and burning, hunting and killing my people without mercy wherever they found them. For so their masters commanded them. The dragons did not want us as slaves. You see, they had not forgotten the past either.

“The road was hard. Sometimes we fought, sometimes we fled, but in the end we reached the sanctuary, where life proved harder still. For after the last war we believed there could never be another like it. In consequence the sanctuary was not prepared for a long occupation by so many. Nor could we grow our own food as you do here. We gleaned from ruined towns and farms. We hunted and fished. All at great risk of death, of capture, of discovery. That was twenty five years ago. And I have no idea how my people have fared since then. They sent me out with two comrades, Marek and Laindon, to find the sword and the bow.”

Evénn stopped. The afternoon shadows in the chamber seemed to close in around him, darkening his face and eyes.

“Three others we sent east to Telkar,” he continued. “I had entrusted the spear to him myself in the first years of my wandering, but he wouldn’t accept the sword and bow. He warned me that they should not all be in one place because evil would arise again – I remember how I looked at him in disbelief when he said that, and how he shook his head at me as if I were a fool for doing so.”

“ ‘Take them far from here,’ he said to me over his shoulder as he walked away with the spear in his hand, ‘Hide them. Tell no one where they are.’ ”

“So I crossed the sea and concealed the sword and bow in the far north of this land, where the Gray Mountains sink down into the plains you call the Fields of Winter. Twenty five years ago I returned, to seek again what I had wished lost forever. But ten centuries are a long time even for me. For many years my comrades and I searched through faceless wastes and bare hills, as I strove to remember the hiding places that the snows of a thousand winters had buried and changed. We found nothing but fading hopes; we had nothing but each other. Three years ago an avalanche in the Gray Mountains took my comrades from me, and I nearly gave up. But this year has been the warmest in decades, and even to the Fields of Winter spring came. As the snows fled and the grasses returned from their long sleep, I found the sword at last. And with it I found hope again.”

Evénn turned to the thick blue bundle lying on the table in front of Arden. With reverence he loosed the cords which bound it. Unfolding a flap on one end, he slowly unrolled it until it became clear that it held a single object, long and slender. Evénn glanced at Arden. He saw the Ranger’s eyes brimming with an eager light, and felt the weight of everyone’s gaze. Then he reached in, pulled out the sword, and faced the Masters. Even as he unsheathed it, the stained leather scabbard and the bindings of the hilt began crumbling away. Yet the sword itself looked new, untouched by time and the elements, immaculate after ten centuries entombed in ice and snow.

The afternoon light was gone from the chamber now, and in the twilight of firelit shadows a faint blue glow could be seen coursing along the edges of the blade, dimly illuminating the elf and the air around him. Evénn hefted the sword. On his face he wore a thoughtful look, like one trying to recall the weight and balance of a long neglected, but once familiar, tool. He held up the sword before him, running his palm down the flat of the blade to its point and back again, almost caressing it. All at once Evénn whirled about, brandishing the sword two handed high above his head; and as he sliced the air around him in swift, shining, elegant arcs, the glow of the blade grew steadily brighter until it filled the chamber with a light like starlight and moonlight.

And the sword seemed to sing, as if glad to be drawn again after so long. It sang not in words, but in a low, whirring hum, a voice all its own that spoke differently to each of those who heard it, reminding them of their homes and all the other dear things the sword had been forged to defend. Arden heard the sea and the morning breeze blowing across it; Jalonn the cry of a marsh bird from his youth beneath the moss hung trees of the south; Raynall the laughter of a raven haired girl to whom he written poems almost seventy years before. As the blade moved faster in Evénn’s hands and its flame grew brighter, the voice gained strength. Then he stopped as suddenly as he had begun. The voice fell silent at once, and sword’s light began to dim.

With one hand beneath the sword’s hilt and the other beneath its tip, Evénn held it out waist high before him for all to see, showing it to each table in turn. There, clearly visible among the other intricate designs, were words etched in letters which most of them found strange and exotic, almost familiar, though never before seen. Evénn laid the sword on the table before Raynall and the other Masters.

“The makers traced these words of power here for the ruin of the dragons,” Evénn said. “Who can read them?”

The Master of Books leaned forward. The words were fading with the glow of the sword.

“These are the first letters,” Keral said in the hushed voice of wonder. He bent closer to scrutinize the words. “So little written in these characters has come down to us, and the tongue is a form of elvish that was ancient before the dragons came. But I think I can make it out.”

Keral studied the words until no trace of them remained on the steel. For a moment more he pondered what he had read, then gave a quick nod of affirmation, and looked up.

“Do not speak the words aloud,” Evénn warned, “or the dragons will hear.”

“It is the sword of adamant,” said Keral. “If anyone doubted it.”

He spoke at first in so dreamy a whisper that, despite the stony quiet of the chamber, Arden could scarcely hear him. After a moment Keral began again more loudly, raising his eyes and quoting from the songs the words the makers said when they gave Evénn the sword:

Behold thy sword, edged in adamant, slayer of darkness,

A doom unto dragons, a bringer of light to the lands.

“Here is the first weapon,” Evénn said, “but we shall need more than one.”

“And what of them?” Jalonn asked. “You said you were searching for the bow as well, and that three of your people were sent for the spear.”

“Of the spear I know nothing. We had almost no means of sending a message to our people, and we could not risk the attempt. If all went well, they should have had the spear years ago, and be awaiting our long overdue return.”

“And the bow?” said Falimar, the young Master of the Bow.

“We never found it, but now I think I know where it is.”

“And where would that be?” Falimar said with a strange look on his face.

“Here among you, I think,” Evénn replied. “I believe it to be the bow Master Mahar carried against the black dragon, the same bow Arden and Jalonn brought back from Narinen.”

“What?” Arden stammered. He would have been surprised to learn that he had even seen the bow. The notion that he had rescued it from the Fall and wielded it was stunning. “The bow I brought...?”

“Yes, Arden,” Evénn said, smiling gently. “Until you told your tale last night I feared it was lost or, worse still, found by the enemy. I doubt any other bow, no matter how skilled or mighty the bowman, could have done the dragon any harm. A pity Mahar did not possess the knowledge to summon its full power. If he had, Mahar’s first arrow, which took the beast by surprise, would have killed him. Or many things might have been different.”

“But how did he get the bow, Evénn?” asked Arden. “I thought you’d hidden it.”

“I did, and set many spells to guard it. Mahar must have been meant to find it, but how he did I cannot say.”

“I believe I can tell you that part of the story,” said Falimar. “Until today I was unsure, but I have long guessed at this truth.”

“Nor have you been alone in this, Falimar,” said Raynall, and the other Masters nodded, “but perhaps we should send for the bow before you go on? Evénn will surely recognize it.”

“I will, Master Raynall,” the elf replied.

Raynall nodded to one of the apprentice Rangers who stood by the chamber door to carry messages for the Council and fulfill their other needs. As she saw Raynall’s gaze light upon her, the young woman’s eyes opened wide at the thought that she was being sent to fetch the bow of legend. At first she just stood there, awestruck. But when Raynall raised his eyebrows at this brief delay and Jalonn turned to add his own amused, but insistent, stare, the apprentice recovered herself and bowed.

“At once, Master Raynall.”

“You’ll find it in my rooms,” Falimar added. “The assistant master will show you.”

The apprentice bowed again and left the chamber. The hour was now growing late and outside the sun had sunk behind the Mountain of Stars above them. At a nod from Master Indushan, the other young Rangers set about lighting the lamps that hung above the tables, and began tending to the hearths. When all was done, they withdrew to their places near the door.

“Now, Master Falimar,” Raynall continued, “tell us of Mahar and the bow.”

“Thank you, Master Raynall. I didn’t know Master Mahar myself. He left the Valley to speak for the Rangers at the Council of Narinen several years before the Fall, when I was just a small boy. His tale came down to my predecessor, Raducar, who in turn told it to me.

“It was over fifty years ago when Mahar himself was young and had not yet come to us. He was from Caledon, as we all know, which lies at the far northern end of these Gray Mountains, where summer is rare and winter long. One day he and his brothers were out hunting for food to help their family make it through the coming winter. Near evening a storm came suddenly down upon them from the mountains and compelled them to seek refuge. By chance they discovered a cave quite close by. They found this odd, though, since they had often hunted in those woods before, and none of them had any memory of this cave. Yet there it was, and their need was great. So they did not question their good fortune.

“The hours crept slowly with the howl of the wind outside, and one by one Mahar’s brothers fell asleep around the fire. But not Mahar. A strange restlessness lay upon him. He felt there was something he had to do, but he could not remember what it was. Since he could not sleep, he tried to busy himself, thinking that in this way he might indirectly discover the thing he had forgotten. He groomed their horses, he checked on all their gear, he built up the fire when it began to burn low. He stood at the mouth of the cave, staring into the blind snowstorm. Then he lay down again. But it was no good. He could not sleep. Finally, he got up again, and, taking a branch from the fire to serve as a torch, he resolved to explore the cave.

“Mahar soon found that the cave extended much farther into the mountain than he and his brothers had thought. Narrow, winding ways and crevices led to a series of dark chambers whose roofs the light of his torch could not reach. Little thought did he give to where he was going or whence he had come. Then he entered a cavern that felt enormous. Ahead of him in the darkness the sight of something pale and glimmering in the light of his torch drew him on. It was a broad, flat stone on top of which lay a bow. The instant he saw it, his restlessness left him. He reached out and picked up the bow. To his amazement it was warm to the touch despite the cool air of the cavern. The bowstring was taught. The bow bent easily and smoothly. It seemed but newly made.

“With bow in hand he made his way back to his brothers, who were stunned to see him emerge from the cave into the bright daylight of a snow covered morning. They had awakened at dawn to find him gone. For the last hour they had been searching for him in the woods, but were perplexed when they discovered not a single footprint in the new snow. When he told them that, being unable to sleep, he had gone to explore the cave, they looked at him even more strangely. They had searched the cave first of all, they said, but it ended not two hundred feet back from its entrance. He assured them that this was not so. Held out the bow to them as proof, and told them where he had come upon it. Yet when he tried to show them the way, he could no longer find the path that he had followed only a few hours before. The cave ended where his brothers told him it did. Unsettled by this mystery, they gathered their gear, saddled their horses, and left the cave. They had a long ride home.

“Later that day, as they were passing through the woods near Caledon, Mahar’s eldest brother spotted a huge stag nearly invisible in the evening gloom beneath the trees, and he suggested that Mahar shoot it with his magic bow. The others laughed, but stung by his brother’s mockery, Mahar snatched an arrow from his quiver, drew and let go. In truth there was little chance he could hit it. The stag, far off and obscure, heard them, saw them, and sprang away. Yet the stag fell dead, his brothers silent, and Mahar’s family ate well for many days.

“And that soon proved the way of it. For, though Mahar was already an exceptional bowman, with this bow he defeated all the limits he had known. No matter how great the range or poor the conditions, the bow shot true. There was never a second arrow, never the slow tracking of the wounded prey, never the need to cut short its misery when he at last overtook it. This gratified his heart. His soul was gentle – as so many of you have told me. He did not hunt for the sport.

“But the bow troubled him as well. He hardly knew what to make of this thing, so alive in his hands, so warm to the touch even in the midst of winter, as if it had just spent a day in the summer sun. Once while climbing up a steep slope, Mahar lost his grip on it, and watched in horror as it clattered and bounced all the way down the scree. By the time the bow came to rest, its surface was badly scraped in several places. Yet the wood inside was as green as that of a living tree, and in a few days the gashes skinned over. Soon there was no trace of the wounds at all. The bow had healed itself.

“And so, since his father had died the winter before, he opened his heart to his grandfather. The old man told him that the bow must be some sort of sign, but of what he did not know. For some reason Mahar had been chosen to find it. But as useful as such a weapon was to his family, Mahar’s discovery of it could not be meant merely to make their lives easier and safer. There had to be more to it, and Mahar must leave his people to seek the answer, or to allow others to find it after him. When spring came, Mahar headed south.

“In time his path crossed ours, and he chose to become one of us. His search never ended, though, as Master Keral could tell you. For whenever Mahar was not away from the Valley he spent his nights in the library hoping that some forgotten book held his answers. From these studies he became a man of great learning, which he shared freely with all who were curious, and some who were not, but if he ever found what he sought he never said so. In all our records there was only one other bow like it – yours, Evénn, which had vanished with you a thousand years ago and half a world away – and no one seriously thought that the two were the same.

“But that was before the Fall, before Mahar met the dragon, before Arden told the Masters of their duel in fire and shadow at the world’s ending. Then the Masters began to guess at this truth. For what other bow could injure the beast? Yet how could it have come to the Gray Mountains and the Fields of Winter? We had no answers to these questions, until today. And now I wonder if Mahar, as he saw his first arrow pierce the dragon’s eye, finally understood what he held and why he had found it.”

Just then the young Ranger returned with the bow and began to approach the Masters with it.

“Give it to Evénn,” Keral said with a glance at Falimar, who nodded.

Evénn took the bow and thanked the young woman, who withdrew to her post by the door. The elf examined it carefully. It was over seven feet tall, fashioned of a single piece of plain, dark brown wood. The grip was about a third of the way up the bow, so that, when drawn, the upper curve swept elegantly back to the nock. Evénn strung the bow effortlessly, and smiled.

“Masters, this is the bow,” he said. “The description of the cave and its location was accurate. Mahar was clearly meant to find it there, or he could never have pierced the enchantments I wove to guard it. It may be that he had to find it first to keep it from the dragons, who have sent their own men to try to find the weapons, lest they be used against them once more. My companions and I often heard rumors of them, and sometimes they seemed to have news of us. We ran across them more than once.

“But in one such encounter three years ago Marek and Laindon lost their lives. That day the dragon’s men were scattered across the mountainside in small groups of a half dozen or so, and they were clearly searching for something – for us, we thought. For hours we managed to elude them, and night was not far off. Then a party of troopers spotted us, and some young fool of a trooper winded his horn to summon help. His commander struck the horn from his lips, but it was too late. As the echoes dimmed, we all looked at each other, wondering, but only for an instant. A great rumbling from the mountain answered the horn call. The snow came. Only I survived. A week or so later I found the cave, empty.

“But now, Masters, I know that my worst fears that day were unfounded. The dragons had not found the bow. So here we are, with two of the three ancient weapons. What shall we do with them?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” asked Arden abruptly, to a murmur of assent from many of the others. “Clearly the time has come.”

“The time has come, I would agree,” said Raynall, rising again from his seat, “but what we decide here will have consequences for others. We must consider them before we embark on a new attempt to slay the dragons, Arden.”

“Master Raynall,” Arden insisted, “if the time is now, there is only one decision we can rightly reach. The dragons must be destroyed or the peoples of the world will live forever in darkness. Whether Mahar was meant to find the bow, as Evénn has said, or whether he found it by chance, the path before us remains clear, if we take seriously our responsibilities as Rangers.”

Evénn opened his mouth to speak, but Jalonn spoke first.

“Arden, do not speak of responsibility to Master Raynall, who knew what it meant to be a Ranger before you were born. If years ago we abandoned our efforts to slay the dragons, we did so because making the attempt with no hope of success, and with only the certainty of consequences to our people, was surely not responsible. Our people were being killed and we were accomplishing nothing. Do not let your desire for vengeance shape your thoughts. It is an untrustworthy guide. You, above all, should grasp the malice of the dragons.”

“My brothers and sisters,” said Raynall calmly, “we all know what hangs in the balance here. Master Jalonn and Arden are both correct. There is only one choice open to us, but it is a hard choice: prosper or fail, we shall pay a terrible price. We remember the cost of the war thirty years ago, and the cost of our failure thereafter; and we know from the songs what happened in ages past. Suffering there was and suffering there will be, almost too dreadful to contemplate, but we must look down this path before we begin to walk it. For once embarked upon it cannot be abandoned. The dragons themselves will not allow it.

“Evénn has pointed out that the dragons worked as one thirty years ago, and many of us saw as much ourselves. When we tried to slay the red dragon, all of them struck back. They did not send their soldiers. They came themselves. Indeed, the black and the silver returned for across the sea to rejoin the two who were still here. From one end of this wide land to the other they burned and killed. It went on for months.

“Surrender did not matter. One day not long after the Night of Winter the four of them suddenly appeared outside Osenora, our second largest city, which had surrendered a year earlier. They commanded their men to withdraw at once, and seal the gates behind them as they marched out. From the walls the elders of the city pleaded with the dragons. Their efforts were as futile as ours. Indushan and I saw it all.”

Raynall stopped to look over at the Master of the Valley, but her eyes were lost in the past. She remembered well. The two of them had been camped deep in the woods near Osenora for some days, spying out the easiest way into the city, so they could meet those same elders in secret. When they came to the edge of the forest at first light, the dragons were already there. She and Raynall crept as close to the city as they dared, close enough to see the desperate gestures of the men on the walls as they begged for the lives of the innocent, close enough for their faces to be burned by the heat of the flames that consumed Osenora. Indushan had no doubt the dragons knew they were there, and let them go.

“If any Osenorans present in the city that day survived,” Raynall went on, turning his gaze back to Evénn, “no one has ever heard tell of them. What Indushan and I later learned was that the red dragon had come there directly from the annihilation of nearly twenty Rangers we had sent to slay him. Osenora was their answer to our impudence. For a hundred days after Osenora the slaughter went on. The dragons then had it proclaimed that their vengeance here was done for now. Their message was clear. With no means to harm them or defend our people from the flames, we could not continue our attacks.

“Yet now we have the means. I find I like that both more and less than not having them. For if the dragons murdered thousands when we failed, how many will they kill if we succeed? What if we slay the red dragon? Will the others still respond? Will they kill tens of thousands here? And what about the men and elves there, beyond the seas?

“We must weigh these questions well, because those we send down this path will not succeed alone. They will need shelter. They will need aid. Just as Evénn and his comrades did in those days that are so far off to us, lost in the stream of years but unforgotten. The more terrible and widespread the vengeance of the dragons is, the less help they may expect. For the fear the dragons wield over those they have crushed is enough to make brother betray brother. It is so even now all across this land. It has long been so. What do you say, Evénn? Yours is the greater experience.”

Evénn looked around the room. The others awaited his response. He thought again of that morning centuries before in the council of the elves. How alike the two meetings were. Despite all the differences between men and elves, the burden of their present cares was the same.

“Master Raynall, I do not know,” Evénn replied. “In the first war the other dragons didn’t strike back when we slew the first. Nor thereafter. Divided against each other, they each saw the death of the others as an opportunity to increase their own power. Only the last one, the black dragon, came out against us when the rest were slain, and he destroyed all in his path. Until we stopped him. This much you know.

“The second coming of the dragons has differed. They fought as one against us, denying the selfishness of their nature. But now let me tell you what you don’t know, since the seas and the world beyond them have been closed to you since Narinen fell. With your failure to slay the red dragon, they jointly punished the people of the world for your attempt. When they were done here, they turned first on us, whom they already had reason enough to hate, and then on others in other lands. We surmised someone had made an attempt against them. We thought it might be you, but how could we know?

“By the time my comrades and I set off for Narinen, the wrath of the dragons had cooled. The few reports we had said that each had withdrawn to the lands they claimed for themselves: the silver dragon to Elashandra, the black to Seraal and the east, and the golden to the endless grasslands in between, where the city of Belen rises like an island in the midst of an emerald sea. None of them has ever come here again, as you know, nor has the red dragon left Narinen. Yet to take this as a sign would be unwise.

“For once they learn they are vulnerable again, once they know the ancient weapons have been found, they will remember that they are mightier together. All of them will come if we kill the red dragon. Retribution will be swift and terrible. Of this the wise can have no doubt. For a while at least the darkness will grow darker.

“The war we are about to begin will be fought without truce or mercy. Some of your people will prefer the slavery to which they have grown accustomed to the agony that leads to freedom. They will curse us for what we do. Others, I think, will dare to defy death and the night. Yet whether fearful or brave, whether they rise up or kneel, your people will die in their thousands and tens of thousands. The dragons will make no distinction.

“And those of us who seek the dragons must be prepared to countenance these horrors. For – make no mistake – the dragons will be hunting us, and the blood of innocents will bait the trap they set. We will be given the bitter choice of watching while others pay the price for our actions, or of taking arms and dying for those we wish to defend. We must remain unseen and unknown. To choose otherwise risks the loss of all. If we fall and the weapons are taken, no time, no patience, no power ever in this world will overthrow them.

“Lastly, there is something else I must mention, though it is scarcely more than a feeling. Since the moment they first entered the world again I have felt that they and their power are somehow bound together in a way they were not before. I cannot explain it, and without understanding the nature of their bond, its consequences escape me. It is, as I said, only a feeling, but I do not doubt it is right. Whatever its nature, it bodes ill for us.”

“If what you say is true, do you still think the old weapons will work?” Indushan asked.

“Of that I am sure. Without knowing the spell to use the bow, Mahar still wounded the black dragon. That alone is proof.”

“But why didn’t the dragons recognize the bow that night, and take or destroy it once Mahar was dead?” Falimar asked. “According to Arden, Mahar simply leaned it against a column when he ran out of arrows.”

“Oh, they recognized the bow,” Evénn replied. “That much is certain. As for the rest, I have no answer. But Mahar should never have been able to find the bow in the first place. I wove veil upon veil of enchantments around it. Yet somehow he saw through them all. If the bow could reveal itself, or be revealed, to Mahar, the bow could also be concealed from the dragons. Remember, Telkar fashioned the bow from the wood of the Tree of Life, but even he does not understand all its properties.”

“You mean that’s not just a device of the poets?” said Falimar in a hushed voice.

“No,” Evénn responded, “though I know many over the centuries have thought so. You have seen the evidence of it yourself. On the coldest night, the bow is still warm to the touch. When harmed, it heals. This is because the wood of the Tree never dies, not even when separated from the Tree itself. The same holds true for the spear, which is also made of that wood. Thus they have great power against evil.”

Master Raynall lifted his hand to halt the discussion.

“Is the power of the bow and the sword enough for us to begin?” he asked.

“Yes, any of the weapons alone will suffice for a single dragon.”

“Then I put it to the Council,” Raynall continued, “that it is now time to abandon patience and take up arms again. I am glad I have lived to see this day, though the suffering that is to come will be dreadful. Yet it must be so. How else shall the day come again?

“So, if the Council agrees, let us begin with the beast at hand, the red dragon that waits in the Hall of Kings at Narinen. For thirty years he has reigned there with tooth and claw and fire. Our people have struggled beneath his yoke. If we slay him, many of our people will suffer, many will die, but in doing so we will show the peoples of the world that we begin by sacrificing ourselves, not others, to the wrath of the dragons. Arden?”

“Yes, Master Raynall.”

“As you have waited and long labored for this day, it is fitting that you ask the Council formally.”

“Thank you, Master,” said Arden and rose from his chair. His voice was firm and low, yet within he was trembling. His blood pounded in his temples. He put the question according to the simple formula used among them.

“Does the Council agree?”

It had always been the custom, when questions were put to the vote, for the members of the Council to take time to consider carefully and quietly before declaring their mind. At times the still and silent reflection lasted so long that the young Rangers waiting by the chamber doors thought the entire Council had fallen asleep. Today it was not so. Almost before the sound of Arden’s question died away, the answer came, with one voice.

“Aye,” they said.

“Do any disagree?” Arden asked in the proper form. “Now let your voice be heard. Now convince us of our error.”

Arden measured the full minute he let pass by the beats of his racing heart, by the slow deep breaths he drew as he tried to resist both the fear that someone would oppose and the exhilaration of impending success. But he surveyed the room and saw only looks of resolution, some grim, some almost joyous. No voice of denial spoke; no diffident foot scraped the floor. They were waiting for him to speak.

“We are agreed then,” he said finally, with one last glance around the tables. His eyes came to rest on Raynall, who smiled upon him, but seemed to be expecting something more of him. Arden broke into a wry smile.

“May god guide our hearts and our hands,” Arden said, completing the formula.

Raynall stood as Arden finished. The rest followed out of respect. The Master then addressed them.

“This concludes the Council for today. Let us meet again tomorrow to consider the best way to undertake this task, and whom we shall send to attempt it. Until that is resolved, do not discuss these proceedings. Tomorrow evening at the common meal, I shall inform the Rangers.”

He bowed to those assembled and left the room followed by the other Masters and members of the Council. Outside night had fallen. The young Rangers on duty went around the room extinguishing the lamps above the tables and shuttering the windows. Then they, too, withdrew. The fire on the hearth and lamps in the corridor gave the room its only light. As they had hours earlier, Evénn and Arden stood alone. In his right hand Evénn still held the bow. Arden looked at it in wonder, to think that he had saved it from the dragons and brought it here all those years before, never knowing he carried this precious treasure and the hope of his people. The sword lay on the Masters’ table where Evénn had laid it. He retrieved it, then turned to Arden and held out the bow.

“You will be needing this. Yours was lost, as I recall.”

Surprised by the offer, Arden stared at him, as he stood there half in light and darkness.

“The bow is yours. I cannot accept it,” Arden said.

“Someone must carry it. I cannot wield both bow and sword at once, and both will be needed. You know that it was so before.”

“So the songs tell us,” Arden said quietly, “but why me? The bow requires faith. I have little.”

“Why not you? And you have already wielded it.”

“Against a soldier, not a dragon, and I did not know what I held.”

“Do you believe that I have the faith to wield it against the dragons?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And what of Mahar? Do you believe he had the faith?”

“Yes, but –”

“Then believe in our faith if that is all you can do. That will be enough of a beginning.”

“But –”

“You keep using that word.”

“I don’t know how to use it.”

“I shall teach you all you need.”

“Evénn,” Arden protested.

“Arden, Mahar should not have been able to find the bow, yet he did. You were there at precisely the right moment to preserve the bow, and you survived to do so when all others perished. Something more than chance is at work here. The bow is yours. Now take it.”

With that the elf thrust the bow into Arden’s unwilling hands and started for the door. The Ranger followed, thinking how smooth and warm the wood felt in his hands.

_______________________________

Chapter 9.1