And occasionally, while setting up camp or taking a meal, they would touch one another, and shy away from the contact.
She is not Châkian.
He is not Man.
And slowly, westward they went, at times making little progress, for it was winter and the snow deep.
They were caught in a blizzard for three days, and camped out in the shelter of a pine forest. The nights became nearly unbearable, the temperature falling to drastic depths; and fully clothed, they slept together under the same blankets for warmth, arms clasped about one another. Yet this gave them pause, for blood ran hot even though the past reached down through time to stay them, honor and tradition barring the way. And so when they could, when the weather turned for the better, when the nights were not as frigid, once again they slept apart.
But it was at this time of togetherness in the night, under the same blankets, arms about one another, when they were talking most quietly, their words soft upon the darkness, that suddenly Thork fell silent, cocking his head to one side, as if trying to hear an elusive sound. “Hist” he whispered and pressed his ear to the frozen ground, listening a moment, then motioning Elyn to do the same.
Thinking perhaps he heard oncoming danger, pursuit, attack, Elyn placed her own ear to the earth. It was not the sound of hooves, not the sound of a chase or hunt she heard, but rather a faint, deep knelling, rhythmic, patterned, as if it were someone delving, or signalling.
“This is the same as I heard just after Andrak’s spire fell,” she whispered. “What is it, Thork?”
“Châkka call it Utruni signalling,” he answered, “though we are not certain at all that it is a sound made by the Stone Giants.
“Listen to its pattern, Princess. To me it is familiar in its cadence, as hammer-signalling through the stone, though I cannot read it.”
Now Elyn remembered the conversation they had had as they stood before the tapestry within the Wizard’s holt of Black Mountain. And in her mind rose the vision of the great being with the jewels for eyes.
“They say that evil flees when the Earthmasters are about,” murmured Thork. “Though I think that is but an eld Châkia’s tale.”
Long they listened, strangely comforted as the signalling went on, eventually the two falling asleep. And eld Châkia’s tale or not, they slept soundly, as far below the faint knelling continued throughout the night, a deep heartbeat within the earth. Finally, as dawn approached, the tapping fell silent, the distant sounds stopping at last.
Weeks passed, winter deepening, as they slowly crossed the silent land by day, nought but the wind shushing o’er the open space. Yet every night as they listened to the earth, the tapping continued in the depths far below, as if the signals followed them.
At last they came to a small town, where Thork traded the brigands’ armor and weaponry and Elyn’s pony and tack for a chestnut horse with bridle and saddle, and more supplies for the trail. And when they set out westward, Elyn rode proudly, a high Warrior Maiden once again, though it affected not at all the undercurrents running between the twain.
And there came an evening when Elyn sat by the fire, poking at it with a stick, and she asked Thork what the birch rod was for. When he told her the full tale, of old Tai’s advice, she smiled and shook her head. “It was best that you said nought when we were in that village,” she said with good humor, “for I deem I would have taken the rod to him.”
“Aye, and to me too, I think,” added Thork, laughing.
After long minutes, “Adon, but we are a good team, Thork,” declared Elyn. “Mayhap after we slay Black Kalgalath and stop the War”-her words admitting to no possibility of defeat, no way of not accomplishing their sworn goal-“divide the treasure, and bring peace between our two Folk, mayhap we should take to the road as sellswords. . or in my case a sellsword, in your case a sellaxe.” Elyn fell silent for a moment, then added: “Ah, Thork, what I am trying to say is that I do not want this to end.”
Thork saw that there were tears in her eyes, and his own heart swelled with an emotion that threatened to overwhelm him, and he stood and walked to the extent of the firelight. And after a while, Elyn joined him, standing at his side. “Me too, Princess,” he said at last, his voice hoarse, his hand reaching out. “I do not want it to end either.”
And they stood beneath the crystal skies with the myriad bright stars wheeling above, staring out across the softly glinting snow, looking into the night, her hand in his.
Westerly they rode, along the trail they had followed to the east, Thork unwinding their journey, crossing the same wilderness, wending among the same hills and forests, passing through the same hamlets and by the same farms and cottages as they had passed in the opposite direction. And they took the opportunities to quarter in inns and eat large meals and take hot baths using soap, or to stay in haylofts if it was a crofter’s place where they stopped for the night, or to sleep in cabins if a hunter’s cote they shared.
At times the snow fell gently about them; at other times the wind was cruel, forcing them to seek shelter; and there were days when the Sun glared down upon the snowfield, threatening their sight had they not worn the slitted shades. Yet there were also days when the world seemed soft and yielding, and all appeared in harmony; but even on these most gentle days, still the snow lay across the land and the way west was slow.
Even so, the tapping deep within the stone followed them, keeping pace with their journey.
And Elyn’s training at the hammer continued, her skill improving dramatically, though she could not match Thork’s.
As winter rose out of its depths and stepped toward spring, at long last the wayfarers came unto the borders of the Wolfwood, and Greylight and the Draega escorted them through. But of the Wolfmage they saw nothing, though at times a great dark Silver Wolf could be seen in the distance, pacing them far aflank.
And once again, when the two rode forth from the marge of that wood, Greylight and his pack lifted their muzzles to the sky and long lornful howls filled the air as the Draega sang out their songs of calling, or keened their dirges of mourning.
Long did Elyn and Thork ride across the wide land ere the knells of the Silver Wolves became too faint to hear.
Ere reaching the margins of the Khalian Mire, Thork swung somewhat northerly of west, aiming for the Grimwall, his track bearing them above the great bog, for now they were heading toward Dragonslair.
Finally they came into the mountains, slopes covered by pine, though the white-capped crests were bare, Thork leading them through deep vales as they talked about the future, about becoming sellswords, about living a dream. And now there were days, when the Sun shone bright, that water would cascade down from snowmelt and dash through the evergreens, filling the air with its sound. And on the sunward side of the lee of a boulder, Thork showed Elyn a snowflower, perhaps the first of the year, its blue blossom bravely thrusting out from a shallow layer of snow, petals fluttering in the chill breeze; and she gazed upon this promise of life renewed, tears springing to her eyes; and hand in hand they looked at it long ere moving onward.