"Vio Vanidar!" called Silverleaf in response. "Vi didron enistori! Darai Rissa e Arin, e Alori Ruar, Melor, Perin, e Biren."
Stepping out from the shadows and into the light cast by the ferryboat lamps there came a tall Lian. "Vio Tarol. Vhal sa Darda Gallon."
Silverleaf turned to the others and smiled. They had come at last unto Darda Galion. In two days, mayhap three, they would come to Wood's-heart, where Rael dwelt. And then perhaps she would tell them how to set aside the terrible destiny Arin had seen in the fire.
CHAPTER 9
Alos smacked his lips and peered at his mug and then at the ale flagon, both empty. "You tell a powerful tale, Lady Arin. Works me up a great thirst, you know. And there's none left in the pitcher, what with Egil here drinking, too."
Egil smiled and glanced at his mug, his first, and still half full.
Aiko stared impassively at the old man.
Alos peered into the empty pitcher once again and then looked at Arin. "Is the story done? Surely not. And don't you think that Egil here needs some more ale to last him through the rest of the tale? I know I've worked up a great thirst, or did I say that already?"
Arin sighed. "Nay, Alos, my tale is not yet complete; there is more to tell. Much more."
"W'll, if that's the case, then I say we'll need another flagon or two, eh?"
Aiko stalked to the window and stood peering out at the growing day, her fists clenched behind her back.
Arin stepped to Egil's side and felt his brow and took the measure of his pulse. "Art thou able to listen to more? I would not overtire thee."
Egil flashed a smile at her. "I am well enough." Then his face grew somber. "I would hear further of this doom you have foreseen and why it brought you to this place."
Alos took up the pitcher. "But first we get some fresh ale, Lady Arin. Right?"
The Dylvana shook her head. "Nay, Alos. First I shall tell more of the tale and then shall I let thee see to the replenishment of the flagon."
The old man's face fell, and he peered wanly into the empty pitcher.
Egil smiled and held out his half-full mug. "Here, Alos, perhaps this will hold you a moment more."
With alacrity, Alos stepped to Egil's bedside and took the offering, grinning his brown-stained smile. He bore the precious cargo to the table and eased down in his chair.
Aiko remained standing and staring out the window as Arin returned to her seat by the fire and took up the thread of her tale once again:
"We had just come unto the marches of Darda Galion…"
CHAPTER 1 0
Bordered on the north by low-running foothills and an open windswept wold, on the south by the Great Escarpment falling a thousand feet sheer, on the west by the jagged fangs of the towering Grimwall Mountains, and on the east by the ever-flowing mighty River Argon, there lies a twilight land, an Elven land, a land known as Darda Galion, as the Eldwood, as Larkenwald, as the Land of the Silverlarks. It is a vast forest of gigantic trees, Eld Trees, trees not native to Mithgar but borne one by one as seedlings from the Hohgarda to the Mittegarda, from the High Plane to the Middle, and planted in this rich land of many rivers. A weald from Adonar borne as seedlings yet now they are giants; the scale of the work undertaken by the Elves to bring an entire forest of these trees to Mithgar is truly staggering.
And the trees now tower hundreds of feet into the air; and the girth of each bole is many paces around. The ages needed for them to reach this height?… only the Elven foresters know.
Yet the enormous reach of time required is of no moment to the Elves. After all they are an immortal Folk whose lives are forever just beginning, no matter the span of their age. And so what matter that it had taken a thousand years or ten thousand for the forest to be born and soar upward hundreds of feet toward the sky?… What matter? Why, none at all to the Elves; the only thing that matters is that the presence of the Eld Trees reminds them of home.
The wood of these forest giants is precious-prized above all others-but none of these trees has ever been felled by any of the Free Folk. Yet at times a harvest of sorts is made in the soaring timberland, for occasionally lightning or a great wind sweeping up from the wide plains of Valon below the escarpment in the south will cause branches to fall; and these are collected by the Lian storm-gleaners and the wood cherished, each priceless limb studied long ere the carver's tools touch the grain. And gentle Elven hands make treasures dear of this precious debris.
It is said that time stands still in the lofty silence of this twilight land, yet that cannot be, else the trees would still be nought but seedlings.
And to the edge of this vast forest came Arin and six others, their mission urgent.
CHAPTER 1 1
As the ferrymen hitched the mule to the barge, the Elven warden-Tarol-continued speaking in Sylva: "Tonight ye shall stay in our campsite, and tell us whatever news ye have." He glanced at the men now ready to hale the float upriver along the tow path. Turning to the Elven band he lowered his voice and said, "But first we shall follow these Rivermen and make certain they gather no wood but return instead straightly to Olorin Isle."
Silverleaf raised an eyebrow. He canted his head toward the men. "Is there some cause for distrust?"
"Rumors," answered Tarol. "We shall speak of them once the boat is away."
The Riverman on the shore called to the men on the barge, and upon receiving their grunted replies, he began leading the mule upstream and towing the ferry by a long rope behind. On the boat turn by turn each of the three men stepped to the bow and set his pole against the bank and pressed away from the shore, all the while keeping his place by slowly walking toward the stern, only to do it all over again when he reached the end of the deck; in this way the three men kept the boat from grounding. Pacing along the tow path behind came the Elves, Tarol leading, seven following, horses in hand. Stars wheeled up into the spangled sky and traveled nearly a third of the way across the vault ere the ferry arrived at the west-shore dock somewhat north of the northern extent of the midriver isle. The Rivermen took a short rest. Then they unharnessed the mule and walked it aboard and coiled the rope and stowed the poles and unshipped the oars. One of the men hawked and spat in the Argon and they shoved off for Olorin, torchlight along the far dock glimmering in the distance.
The Elven band sat at the campfire in the march-ward camp down among the enormous Eld Trees and took a late meal along with members of the Lian border patrol. The seven had arrived at the change of shift, and Lian drifted in and out, some departing for their posts, while others, now relieved of duty, came to the fire and a warm meal. Some spoke briefly with Silverleaf and the Dylvana Elves, looking for news from Darda Erynian, trading news of Darda Galion. Of their mission, the seven held tongue, saying instead that they would speak of it to Coron Aldor first.
During a lull in conversation, Melor gestured at the camp and turned to Tarol and asked, "Why is it ye need a border patrol?"
Tarol smiled. "Two reasons, my friend: first, we protect the Eld Trees. They are precious and we would not have any come unbidden to steal the wood away-such as at times the Rivermen try to do.
"Second, unlike Darda Erynian, this mighty forest harbors no Hidden Ones-not that they would be unwelcome; nay, they would be greeted with open arms."
"Oh," exclaimed Melor. "Do they shun Darda Galion? If so, why?"
Tarol sighed and shook his head. "They do not, as you say, shun these woods. Instead, none dwell herein because this forest was not in existence when the Fey came unto Mithgar; they put down their roots elsewhere."
Silverleaf nodded in agreement. "Aye. 'Tis true. They were well settled in Darda Erynian even as we began riding the dawn to bring the seedlings from the High Plane to this land of many rivers. As Coron of the forest aborning, I sent emissaries unto the Hidden Ones to welcome them to abide herein. They declined. -Not out of malice or dislike, but simply because they were favorably set in their own warded wood."