Fallon approached, holding a very small a gold-lined chest with an open lid. With poorly concealed regret, Ususi placed the Keystone into the chest.
The Nentyarch said to the mage, “Your integrity is beyond recall. You, more than any other, have a claim to the stone, yet you return it to me despite that. When we have finished with our business here, I will show my gratitude.”
Ususi’s frown hesitated before smoothing away. Marrec wondered what the Nentyarch meant by his comment about the mage’s claim to the Keystone, but then it was the cleric’s turn to speak.
Marrec addressed the Nentyarch, internally reminding himself that the elf was due his respect, “Honored one, I am the servant of Lurue, the Unicorn Queen. I have been on a road long not only in length but also in years. I hope that you may have the answers I seek.”
“Your quest is not unknown to me,” said the Nentyarch. “My hunter, Elowen, whom we missed in her long absence, has explained your plight and your quest.”
Fallon, still standing nearby with the chest holding the Keystone, shot Elowen a frown. She favored him with a small shrug in return, the ghost of a smile on her lips.
Marrec responded, “Then can you tell me for what reason my path has led to this girl, Ash, and now to you? Do you know what her significance is, and… can you tell me what ails Lurue?”
“I can try. Let the girl come to me.”
Marrec guided Ash a little closer to the pool, then released her hand.
The Nentyarch studied Ash for a good minute. Quiet reigned in the hall, save for a few small coughs in the back. Finally the Nentyarch said, “I can see there is something more to this girl than meets the eye. If what I suspect is true, then I don’t doubt that all the Rotting Man’s thoughts and many of his agents are bent on finding this girl you name Ash.”
Marrec held his breath, waiting for the revelation.
“But I must be sure.” So saying the Nentyarch stood and walked through the crystal pool surrounding his throne. The pool was only a few inches deep. Marrec noticed that the Nentyarch waded through the pool without getting the least bit wet. He stepped out of the shallow pool to stand next to Ash.
“Let us have a better look at you,” the Nentyarch murmured. He placed one hand on the girl’s shoulder and raised the other above his own head. In his raised hand he held a sprig of greenery. The girl was unfazed but spoke: “Ash.”
The Nentyarch smiled, saying, “I doubt that is your true name. Let us find out, shall we?”
Then he began to utter a series of sharp, ringing syllables, one after the other, which continued to ring through air as if individual voices. As the Nentyarch uttered each new syllable, the ones before it continued to sound, until after just a brief time, a mighty melody of rich sound reverberated through the hidden hall. Still the Nentyarch added to the voice, layering on yet more notes. The slow crescendo slowly built to a sound so intense that many stopped up their ears.
Finally, the Nentyarch brought down his raised hand, throwing the plant cutting he held into the pool. The sound cut off instantly, but light blossomed in the pool, growing from the point where the plant cutting had splashed. The light formed the image of a night sky. The sky seemed idealized, shorn of obscuring clouds, but sprinkled with thousands of tiny points of starlight.
A ray of light shot up from the pool, becoming a wide shaft of light. To Marrec’s eyes, the shaft seemed to burn with hope. He reached for it, but just as suddenly, the light winked out, as if extinguished before its time. Marrec felt that the light had been stolen away, but as despair threatened to claim him, a tiny of flicker, a spark, rose up from the pool. It was but a twinkle compared to the beam of before, yet it was a glimmer of hope.
The spark rose from the pool, moving toward the Nentyarch. The tiny firefly light came to rest, hanging just above the brow of the little girl, Ash, like a flashing jewel bound in a queenly circlet.
As the light blazed stronger on her brow, Ash said, “Araluen.”
The light flickered out and the scene in the pool died away. Marrec held his breath, looking to the Nentyarch for explanation.
The Nentyarch laughed. He said in a wondering voice, “This is the aspect of good long promised. The Child of Light!”
Wondering whispers broke out in the court. “I don’t understand,” said Marrec. “This is the Child of Light, sent to the world by Lurue. Lurue long promised a champion of the green, which would aid us in our long fight against the growing power of the Rotting Man, who is a servant of the evil goddess, Talona, the Lady of Poison. The name of this champion, this Aspect, the true name of the Child of Light, is Araluen. Lurue sent the Child of Light to contest Talona’s champion, the Rotting Man, but something has gone very wrong.”
Marrec gazed at Ash, if he could still call her that, with open wonder. Was Ash, herself, sent down from Lurue? He asked the Nentyarch, “What’s wrong with her? She is no champion; she is a frail child. True, she does have some healing ability, and she defended herself once…”
The Nentyarch said, “This is not the aspect promised, but only a fragment. She is separated from herself, and the Rotting Man holds the answer. I perceive it is his foul necromancy. He has somehow diverted the divine charge of Araluen. It is possible that Lurue’s waning power is also connected, though I sense there may be other forces at work, too. Somehow, Lurue is still connected to her lost aspect. As long as the Rotting Man possesses that stolen power, the goddess you know as Lurue may continue to weaken.”
“How can that be?”
The Nentyarch thought, then said, “The aspect gains its power directly from Lurue. The theft of the aspect is like a slow leak in a basin of clear water. Until the hole is plugged, the water will diminish. The aspect must be found, restored to herself, and returned to Lurue.”
Marrec pulled his spear from his back, an involuntary reaction, and said “Then I must defeat the Rotting Man, to complete my quest, and release Lurue’s power back into the wild.”
The Nentyarch considered, then said, “That would be a mighty act and one we would support, but the Rotting Man is a great power, possessing the favor of his evil deity, Talona. You see, the Rotting Man, who I also name the Talontyr, is my enemy, too. He has ousted me from my years-long seat in Dun-Tharos. I shudder to think what evil he has stirred up in that ancient grave I sought to keep under my guard.”
Marrec replied, “The Rotting Man must feel vulnerable, somehow. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be pursuing little Ash so hard and for so long.”
“True enough. Perhaps Ash is the seed required to re-ignite the power of the Child of Light in the world. Lurue’s Aspect would be more than a match for the Talontyr, I doubt not.”
“I will fight him, and I will win,” promised Marrec.
The Nentyarch motioned for Fallon to attend him. He told the elf, “Give Lurue’s cleric some history of our enemy.”
Fallon nodded, cleared his throat, and began to speak as if reciting a passage from a well-rehearsed tome, “Deep in the heart of the Rawlinswood lies a festering wound, the wreckage of Dun-Tharos, the ancient Nar capital. There the malevolent creature we call the Rotting Man has raised his own dark citadel, marshalling forces of corruption and evil against the surrounding lands. The Rotting Man’s handpicked lieutenants and emissaries are the Blightlords. The Blightlords are powerful in their right, and hold the power to warp the creatures of the forest to their sick purposes.
“The Nentyarchs of ages past raised a living fortress of magical trees over the ruins of Dun-Tharos and chased off explorers for centuries. You see, the treasures of Narfell’s sinister lords lie in buried storehouses and conjuring chambers beneath the old ruins. Without the Nentyarchs to watch over the old capitol, the Talontyr and his blightspawned servants are free to ransack those treasures for secrets of evil from which the world has long been spared. The longer the Rotting Man is allowed to remain in the Rawlinswood’s heart, the more certain it becomes that he’ll unleash a fell power worse even than his own Blightlords.” Fallon coughed, his face slightly red, as if in embarrassment, though Marrec didn’t see what could be bothering the elf. He had recited the history clearly and without stumbling.