"Vile deed?"
"Aye: the Felling of the Nine."
They spent a sevenday with Dalavar at his cottage in a central glade: resting, for they had journeyed far with little letup, and the horses and mules needed time to regain vigor. Too, they replenished their supplies from Dalavar's stores, for they had spent awhile out on the open plains, where there were few crofters and no villages to speak of. And during this time they told Dalavar what news they held, for the Magus had not been out in the world for nearly a hundred seasons. In turn he told them of the Wolfwood and of the creatures therein, but what he said is not recorded, and the Elves spoke to no one thereafter regarding his words.
And while they rested, the forest changed in color from gold and scarlet to russet and bronze and umber, and when it rained, barren branches were left starkly behind here and there.
On November third, one hundred and twenty-six days after Arin had had her vision, she and her companions said good-bye to Dalavar and set out for Black Mountain, the Wizardholt in Xian. And as they fared through the forest, a pair of Draega padded nearby, while brown leaves fell all around, the two Silver Wolves trailing, leading, and warding on distant flanks.
In midafternoon of the following day, Arin and her companions splashed out across a river ford and left the Wolfwood behind. Dalavar stood back among the barren trees and watched them ride away, and at his side sat a single Silver Wolf. When the Elves passed beyond sight 'round the flank of the hill, the Wolf mage turned toward the Draega beside him. "Come, Greylight, let us run." A dark shimmering came over Dalavar, and then two Silver Wolves loped away toward the heart of the wood as snow began to fall.
CHAPTER 19
Light!" Ruar shouted the single word to Arin riding double behind, his voice barely heard above the howl of the blizzard.
Arin slipped back the cowl of her cloak and peered over Ruar's shoulder. Ahead up the mountain vale she, too, could see a flicker of yellow light glimmering through the shrieking darkness. Turning to the others strung out behind and barely glimpsed in the hurling snow, she beckoned to them and pointed ahead and called out, "Lantern-light! Mayhap a village!" but her words were shredded by squalling wind and lost in the yowl.
Struggling, up the vale labored the six horses, deep drifts barring the way. The seventh horse, Arin's, lay dead a hundred miles and twelve days arear; even farther back, nearly five hundred miles, were the corpses of the two mules. The mules had been blizzard-slain, having broken away from the campsite and gotten lost in the second of the howling winter storms. Their corpses had been found three days later when the blast had finally expired. Arin's horse, on the other hand, had simply collapsed and died; her heart had given out as she had labored in the deep snow left behind by another blizzard and another. And now the fifth winter blow whelmed upon the Elves, and they struggled through the thundering dark to find shelter…
… And up ahead they saw lanternlight, or so Arin believed.
But Ruar's horse had stopped, unable to go farther, its energy gone. "Down!" he called to Arin, and together they dismounted.
Floundering through a deep drift, Arin worked her way to the fore, and together, she and Ruar pulling and calling to the steed, they managed to get the horse moving again, the other Elves doing likewise in the track behind.
And with wind and snow battering at them, into the tiny mountain village of Doku they finally came, eight hundred miles and fifty-three days from the cote of Dalavar the Mage, fifty-one days of which had been through driven drifts of snow.
It was a village of huts and hovels, though it had a town square in the center of which stood the community well. All this they discovered as up the snow-covered frozen-mud streets came Arin and her band, while the unrelenting wind raged and clawed and battered at them with stinging ice crystals and tried to steal their heat away.
Since there didn't seem to be an inn or tavern, Arin chose one of the larger huts and bearing her quarterstaff knocked on the door, loudly, to be heard above the wind.
Nothing.
No response.
Again Arin knocked, this time with the butt of her staff.
Moments later the door slid aside, revealing a small yellow man. Surprised that he had a visitor, his gaze took her in-chestnut hair, alabaster skin, tilted hazel eyes, pointed ears, holding a big stick-
"Waugh!" he cried and leapt backwards, for surely this was a snow demon come to claim him, for who else would ride a howling blizzard down from the mountain and come to his very own door?
The demons spent two days sheltered in Doku, until the storm died, and when they left, the one who had ridden the blizzard was now mounted on a rugged mountain pony, with four more of the sturdy animals laden with supplies and trailing on tethers after.
The villagers behind were glad to see these demons go, even though they had not slain a single person, nor had changed a single time into the hideous monsters they truly were. Instead the demons had been polite and had enriched the village exceedingly with two gemstones in trade for the supply of food and five ponies and grain. Nevertheless, it was a great relief to see the seven demons gone.
Down the frozen path they went, the great demon horses broaching the drifts of snow; then leftward they turned, heading perhaps for the col to gain entrance into the realm of the towering Grey Mountains to the east, where other demons dwell.
And when they had passed from sight, the entire village celebrated.
On the fourth day after leaving Doku, Arin and her companions found themselves moving upslope between grey stone ramparts looming left and right, perpendicular slabs soaring up, immense somber massifs, towering dark giants overlooking their progress, and clad with ice and snow.
And although the sun shone down upon the Elves, little warmth did they gather from its light, for it was the dead of winter-just seven nights past they had celebrated Year's Long Night, stepping through the Elven rite of the winter solstice ere the blizzard had struck. And now although the day was clear and the sun rode low in the southern sky, it was small and diamond bright and cast no heat unto them or to the grey mountains at hand.
Up through this windswept frozen hard land of dark unyielding rock plodded horse and pony, led by the Elves afoot, the air thin about them. And as they came through the col, in the distance before them they could see peak upon peak without number marching beyond an unseen horizon.
Yet, to the north and east stood one snow-covered crest above the others, and where the stone shone through it was ebon as the night.
"There," said Rissa, pointing, "there lies our goal."
"Black Mountain," murmured Perin.
"The Wizardholt," added Biren.
Arin shook her head. "We know not whether this is our goal. If the green stone lies within, then perhaps it is. Perhaps all I need do is deliver my vision to the Wizards and then we are done. Yet perhaps this is but a way station along a predestined route."
The other Elves looked at her and somberly agreed, and Silverleaf said, "If that is what Fortune has in store, then so be it," and he turned his eyes once again toward the mountain of black.
They stood and gazed out across the bleak range for long moments more, then, still leading the horses and ponies, down through the col they continued, the way turning northeasterly, heading for a winding vale below that led toward the ebony stone. Night fell ere they came down from the heights, and weary, they made camp in the curve of a mountain wall.
As they sat huddled with their backs against the chill stone rampart, no fire warmed them, for there was no wood to burn among this sterile rock.
The wan light of the dawn of Year's End Day found the Elves ready to move onward, for they had not rested well in the frigid night, for even Elves get cold, though not as easily as Men. Down from the col they fared, and as they rode toward the twisting barren valley below, the sun rose up into the sky, remote and chill, its hard, bright rays lacking comfort. And still the silent grey stone of the high bleak mountains of Xian frowned down upon them, as if this band now intruded where none were meant to go. Yet the dark mountain ahead drew them onward until night fell and they halted travel.