CHAPTER 21: THOSE WHO FOLLOW HIM

They were all sitting before the fire breaking their fast when they heard the tell tale sound of hooves trotting up the canyon toward them. Runner stood, sniffing the wind, ears pricked. Instinctively, Jarren and Tia readied their bows, moving toward the mouth of the concave. Drogan and Faldrek followed, unsheathing their swords, and motioning Marek, Kendrick, and Kieran to ready the horses in the event they may have to flee. Jarren and Tia both knelt, leaning close to the canyon wall with arrows ready, when around a bend rode a company of Haira'hem. The lead most rider held his hands up, palms outward as a sign of peace. Jarren lowered his bow, motioning for Tia to do the same. 

"Be ready," he looked at Drogan and Faldrek. "Just to be sure." Then he walked out to the center of the canyon in full view of the approaching riders. "Hail, Haira'hem!" he called. "Where do your loyalties lie?"

"We are Haira'hem, "Those Who Follow Him", in your tongue, their leader shouted back. "We are those who still live by our namesake! We come in peace!"

"We encountered Haira'hem yesterday who were not friendly!" Jarren shouted.

"We saw the dead!" The Haira'hem leader called. "We found others who now join them!"

"How many are you?"

"We are seven, with another seven behind." He lowered the scarf from his face, bidding the others to do the same. "May we enter your camp?"

"You may," Jarren answered. 

The seven Haira'hem dismounted and walked the remaining distance to the camp, leading their horses behind. The horses were a bit shorter and slimmer than those of the companion's, bred for speed and long distance runs. They shied upon first catching the wolf's scent, and upon first sight, but the seven men were able to calm them. Still, they were skittish, so Jarren bid Runner to keep his distance, having him stay near the inner wall. The Haira'hem smiled as they entered the camp, quickly moving to warm themselves by the fire, and rubbing their hands together and hugging themselves for warmth. They were a dark skinned people, with dark hair, some wearing beards, while others, like their leader, kept their face shaven. 

"I am Ayen ena Haimek ena Jaruun et Harus'iam," the leader said after a moment, looking at each of the companions. "You may call me, Ayen," he smiled. Ayen was tall, nearly as tall as Jarren, and when he lowered his hood he revealed long dark brown hair woven, at random it seemed, with braids each affixed with a silver bead. He wore three braids on the right side, with two on the left, and two braids traveling down his back. His eyes, the color of his brown skin, gave him a kind appearance and his features were strong and commanding.

"Will you drink water with us?" Drogan asked.

"I appreciate that you show respect to our culture," Ayen smiled. "But under the circumstances, I believe we would prefer something warmer, such as tea."

"Ayen son of Haimek son of Jaruun of the Tribe of the Horse," Jarren said. "I regret we have no tea."

"Ah, you understand our language," Ayen said. "No worry. We bring tea with us. All we require is your fire to warm the water." As they set a small pot of water with tea leaves over the fire, they each exchanged names. "Jarren," Ayen said upon hearing Jarren's name. "The one they call Traveler?"

"Yes," Jarren answered with a nod.

"I am most pleased to meet you," the Haira'hem smiled. "Even among us, your name is legend. It is said you are a man of great honor as well as valor."

"You are too kind, Ayen." Jarren shook his head. "I am simply a man, like any other. I do not take pride in all that I have done."

"I understand," Ayen nodded.

"Where do you travel?" Tia asked.

"Interesting you should ask," Ayen answered. "We are searching, actually."

"What do you seek?" Kendrick asked.

"Interesting you should ask as well, Kendrick," Ayen laughed. "We search for you."

"For me?" Kendrick asked. The others looked on in confusion. "I don't understand."

"You are Kendrick the priest, are you not?" Ayen asked. "Are you and your companions carrying a certain item of historical nature and extreme importance to our hopeful victory in this war and this Long Winter?"

"What makes you assume we carry anything of importance?" Jarren asked, and moved his hand instinctively to his sword. Drogan and Faldrek also loosened their blades an inch from their scabbards.

"Peace, Traveler." Ayen put his hands up, and pointed toward the Haira'hem horses. "Our weapons are with our mounts. We are friends here, I assure you."

"Speak then, Ayen," Jarren said. "What makes you assume anything?" He looked upon the men with suspicion.

"Well, to begin," Ayen said. "Your hands on your hilts betray your thoughts quite clearly that I may be correct." He smiled. "But aside from that, I have quite a story for you."



Ayen woke from a restless sleep, sitting up in his bedroll and rubbing his face. He stood and walked to the opening of his tent and lifted the flap, gazing at the tents outside. His tribe slept, most of them. A few were awake, sentries posted around the perimeter who always kept a sharp eye for danger, and candle light from within one tent or another proved someone else may be having a sleepless night. There was an occasional snicker from a horse, or the low quiet words of those who kept watch, but for the most part, it was a still and quiet night. He wrapped his robes about himself to ward off the cold, and stepped outside to take a walk. He passed the chieftain's tent. The snores from within told Ayen his father was sleeping soundly. He chuckled, wondering how his father's snores failed to wake the entire tribe. He was stopped at the perimeter by a sentry.

"What brings you out into the night, Ayen?" he asked.

"I could not sleep," he answered. "I thought perhaps a walk would help. I will not go far."

"I should go with you. The son of a chieftain should not walk away from his tribe, alone at night."

"I will be fine," he smiled. "Besides, what sort of chieftain will I be some day if people believe I am afraid of the night? I will be fine, I assure you."

"Take my spear then, Ayen. There is often danger in the sands, be it man or beast." He handed the spear to Ayen, who took it with a nod of thanks. The moon was high in the night sky, casting its light upon the sands below which shimmered like a multitude of tiny stars. Ayen wondered if this is what it was like to walk in the heavens, with stars glistening beneath his feet. He walked into the dunes in the distance, climbing one small hill and then another. He let his mind remain clear, not thinking on anything in particular, just enjoying the walk. He descended another dune and was just beginning his ascent of another when a sudden light cast his shadow on the sands before him. He turned quickly, spear leveled, to defend himself if necessary. Before him stood a man glowing in clothes of light, with armor that appeared as translucent gold.

"Rest your spear, Ayen ena Haimek ena Jaruun et Harus'iam," the man said. "I come in peace."

"Who— who are you?" Ayen asked. 

"My name is Gaulin," he answered. "A drayan, who comes to you with a mission from the One God."

"I believe you are who you say, Gaulin." Ayen took a step back. "But I do not consider myself worthy of such."

"Would you, Ayen ena Haimek ena Jaruun et Harus'iam, deny the One God what he commands of you?" The drayan's voice grew stern.

"I— I would not." Ayen shook his head. "For— forgive me, Gaulin."

"I am not the one whom you should beg forgiveness!" Gaulin said, but then softened his voice. "You are a Haira'hem. 'Those Who Follow Him.' And you are one who still lives by that creed. A war has come, and as a soldier of Jandrous and the One God, you have been given a mission of great importance. Will you hear what the One God commands of you?"

"Of course," Ayen stood tall. "What does he want of me?"

"Kendrick, a priest from Danir, in Rylos will soon enter the Barren Wastes. He travels through the Axeweavers with friends, carrying an item of great importance, a sword that when placed in the hands of its rightful owner will determine the outcome of this war. You are to take your best warriors and protect him, and escort him to the Valley of Dragons. Fourteen of you will ride at their sides and fight and die for them."

"Thirteen of my tribe's best warriors? And myself?" Ayen asked. "This will not be easy for me to accomplish, even being the chieftain's son."

"You must," Gaulin said. "The sword must reach the Valley of Dragons and be handed over to he who will wield it."

"What is this sword, drayan?" Ayen asked.

"The Sword That Slew Him, The Bleeding Blade."

"The Sword of Jandrous?" Ayen's question was a whisper; his eyes grew wide with shock. "And this sword will be handed over to— ?"

"Jandrous, The One True King, son of the One God," Gaulin said. Ayen dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "Do not kneel before me, Ayen ena Haimek ena Jaruun et Harus'iam. I am only the messenger sent to deliver this mission to you."

"I do not kneel before you, Gaulin. I kneel before the One God, who is beside you, behind you, and above you, who is in the sands at our feet and the air that surrounds us, and the sky above. I kneel before the One God as his soldier. I will do as he commands of me, even if it leads to my own death, for I know that in death I will only meet him in the heavens to live eternal. I am blessed that he has chosen me in this cause."

"Of course," Gaulin smiled. "Now go, Ayen ena Haimek ena Jaruun et Harus'iam. There is little time to waste. Just as we know that there are those who would give the sword to Jandrous, there are others who know as well; those who would seek to stop them." And just as he appeared, he was suddenly gone, and the light with him. Ayen found himself standing in the dark with the sound of running feet approaching.

"What has happened, Ayen?" The sentry who loaned him his spear approached. "I saw a strange light. Are you alright?"

"I am fine, Mubar." Ayen said. "I have been given a mission of great importance. I need warriors. You are my first choice."



"Convincing the tribe elders and my father the chieftain of my story was no easy task, and without Mubar's witness to a strange light, I do not think they would have believed me. But as you can see, in the end they believed, and here we are today."

"I had intended to keep our journey as secret as possible," Jarren said. "With fourteen more of us, I'm not so sure we can hide our movements as well. We need not be detected by eyes unfriendly."

"This is true, Traveler." Ayen nodded. "But do you not believe the One God knows best? Just as Gaulin the drayan said, there are those who would seek to stop you. If the drayan know that Jandrous walks the lands, we must assume the drayan'os do as well. We can be sure Belkarus has sent others who's mission would be to capture the sword, or Jandrous himself. The sword will need all the protection we can give it."

"Of course I believe the One God knows best," Jarren said. He walked near the fire and accepted a small cup filled with the warm tea. "But my point stands. How can we move undetected with so many of us now?"

"Ah, but Traveler," Ayen smiled. "Now you can send out forward and rear scouts, and perhaps to our flanks as well. If there is danger, now perhaps you can have fair warning and either prepare for it, or avoid it all together."

"What he says is true, Jarren." Drogan said. Faldrek and Tia both nodded in agreement. Jarren looked to Kendrick.

"What do you think, Kendrick?" Jarren asked the priest. 

"I must believe that Ayen speaks the truth," Kendrick said. "I think we should accept them."

"Then it is decided," Jarren said. He pulled the wrapped sword of Jandrous from his shoulder and handed it to Kendrick. "Perhaps this is the One God's way of assuring that you hold the sword, and that you are the one who places it in Jandrous's hands."

"Are you sure, Jarren?" Kendrick asked uncertainly. "But are you not better able to protect it than I?"

"Twice the blade has been in danger while in my possession. Once in Ravenhold, and again here in the Barren Wastes. In Ravenhold I at least had the sense to get it away from the battle while I yet fought, but here I rode blindly with it into danger that could have been avoided. You will be protected as you carry it. My duty, I believe, is to fight to protect it. If I die while it is in my possession, I cannot." 

"But when I left with the sword, and you had to come after me, did I not place the sword in danger as well?" Kendrick was still uncertain.

"Yes, Kendrick," Jarren nodded. "You did. However, you thought only of the mission. You knew the sword must go east, and you did what you believed right, while my stubbornness was preventing that."

"But the sword was first placed into your hands, Jarren." Kendrick shook his head.

"Perhaps," said Tia. "But then if it had not been given to Jarren in Rosenguarde, it would still be there. And with Rosenguarde perhaps still under siege, how could you enter her walls to retrieve it yourself?" Jarren nodded in agreement. 

"It is decided," The Hunter said. "You were the one visited by Gaulin. You carry the sword." 

A short time later, Runner's ears stood up, and then they heard the sound of horses approaching. The rest of Ayen's men were riding near. Jarren and Ayen, with Drogan following, walked out into the pass to meet them. Those Who Follow Him had joined their cause.

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On a makeshift litter, the skraeg pulled the dragon's head behind them. They complained repeatedly that the head could bring wolves upon them, but Andorin cared not. 

"If wolves come, I'm certain you can deal with them," he told them. "It is soldiers from Rylos, and perhaps elves from the Mistwood we should be wary of. Perhaps even Haira'hem. But wolves should not be a problem. Besides, there's a great big dragon carcass we left behind that should keep them occupied for some time." He kept the skraeg moving, mostly at night, through the Borderwood. His thoughts rested mainly on his quest for a command in Belkarus's army, hoping the dragon's head would purchase favor. It would make a great trophy for a wall in his throne room perhaps. He could imagine a great skull behind a throne, striking terror and demanding respect by all who would come to pay homage to the dark armored lord. Despite the honors he believed he might gain from the dragon's head, he refused to look at it. The great beast's last words echoed in his head every time he laid eyes upon it. "Where, human, will you go?" he heard over and over in his mind. He had the skraeg wrap the head in furs to cover it. But it was still there, and he still heard the words. He almost felt guilty. He could not stop thinking of the dragon, of Annyaa, or the priest he killed, or burning the temple in Misting Hill, and even the young soldier from Drogan's squad he killed while fighting Haira'hem. He hated Drogan. It was jealousy, he knew, that fueled the hate. Drogan was respected by many, not only in his own squad, but by other squads from other companies. Captains and commanders all respected him. Even some in Andorin's own squad had respected him. He was an honorable man, a great soldier, and a great leader. Andorin preferred to gain respect through fear. In combat he was deadly. And off the field of combat he was not one to be trifled with. He was quick to anger, and very slow to forget a spite. And Drogan spited him just because of who and what he was. And somehow, Andorin even felt guilty of his hate for Drogan. He shook his head, angry at himself, and disgusted by the guilt he felt. He should have killed him a long time ago. If not for him, he would likely still have Annyaa and the priest and the riders that were with him. But Drogan pursued him relentlessly, and in the end caught up to him just outside of Ravenhold. He was hoping the skraeg that ambushed his pursuers would be the end of Drogan. But as he watched just out of sight and bleeding from an arrow wound, Drogan and those with him were reinforced by others, including a massive wolf, and the skraeg were defeated. Andorin supposed it should not matter any longer. He had skraeg with him now, and a dragon's head to present to Belkarus. He could still buy his way into Belkarus's favor with that. He would have his command or die trying. But— "Where, human, will you go?" repeated in his mind once more. "Why should I even care, dragon?" he thought. "I intend to make my name known and remembered in this life. I have no cares about what comes after." Or did he? Again he shook his head angrily, gritting his teeth. He looked over his shoulder at the skraeg behind him, as the slowly pulled the litter behind. 

"Put your backs into it!" he yelled at them. "I would like to find Belkarus before this war is over!" A few of them glared back at him, but he dismissed it and turned away. They would kill him if they knew he had lied to them. But they did not have to know, and once they found the army it would no longer matter. So Andorin rode on while the skraeg behind him dragged the litter through the snow.

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While the siege was lifted in Rosenguarde, countless villagers were allowed inside the walls of the great city, and Erinor's capital was crowded with people and livestock. King Erehk, standing atop the wall as the snow fell around him, knew the skraeg would return, and used the time to bolster his defenses. More catapults were built, and more men were trained to fight. Yet as time went on, the skraeg failed to return. He sent his best scouts into the mountains and into the Griffinwood, men well skilled in remaining undetected, and each one returned with news that there were no skraeg in the immediate areas surrounding Rosenguarde. It was a griffin rider named Hardis who brought the news that the majority of the skraeg that besieged Rosenguarde were now marching on E'eldaduranus. It appeared, with their numbers bolstered, the elven city would be a sweeter treat. Ravenhold had fallen to the skraeg, and the survivors were now in the elven city where they had hoped to find safety, as entry into Rosenguarde was cut off at the time. It would be only a matter of time before the skraeg returned if Elven Home fell. The king found himself torn. He could ride to the defense of the elves, a long time ally, or he could remain in Rosenguarde and build his own strength. He knew Grey Home was under siege as well. Should he ride with his army there, break the siege, and then join his forces with Duke Nordhelm's before marching to the aid of E'eldaduranus? By then it could easily be too late to aid the elves. Grey Home was strong, as well defended as Rosenguarde. The city to the south could hold against attackers for a long time if need be. He beat his fist atop the wall, angry, feeling that his hands were tied. Any decision could be the wrong one. 

"What would you have me do?" he asked the One God. "Give me the power to do so, and I'll push your enemies into the sea. But right now I know not what to do! A great army is coming this way. And it will devour us all like a great wave. Do I sit within my city waiting for it to come crashing upon the walls, or do I ride out in force to meet it?" And then he had his answer. Waiting within Rosenguarde was only delaying what was possibly the inevitable. He had never waited on an enemy before. He always rode out in force to meet them. Why should he wait now? If he marched to Grey Home he could end the siege there, if in fact they were still under siege, and then join forces and march toward E'eldaduranus from there. Grey Home was closer to the elven city than Rosenguarde. He already expected help from Flame Wind. He could send riders telling them to join with him elsewhere. Soldiers from New Blade and Last Home were likely already aiding Grey Home, if not on the march. It suddenly made sense to King Erehk; The attacks in Erinor were only meant to slow them down or perhaps open a door for the rest of Belkarus's army. The storms that had forced the skraeg to leave the siege had foiled any hopes of taking the great city of Rosenguarde, and the enemy had been halted just as much as the defenders had been. "Oh they're going to find themselves in a dire situation now," he said. "If the elves can hold long enough for us to come to their aid, their attackers are going to rue the day when we arrive." 

That very day another griffin rider landed at Rosenguarde. The fighting in the Griffinwood had already begun. For seven days before the rider had left, the elves struggled against the attackers. The elves were laying traps and ambushes for the enemy, and although they were slowed, they still advanced closer toward the great city. Erehk learned that Grey Home was no longer under siege either, and just as had happened at Rosenguarde, those attackers turned into the Griffinwood to attack from the south as the skraeg moved in from the north. Duke Nordhelm had given chase shortly after. He meant to trap his enemy between his army and the elves if King Erehk could do the same from the north.

"Tell your people that I am coming," Erehk said. "They must hold out until we can arrive. And send word to Nordhelm to slow his foe as much as he can before we can meet."

"The entire e'eld nation gives you thanks, King Erehk," the griffin rider said. "I will spread the word." He turned from Erehk and climbed atop his griffin's back. "There's more. There was a report that another rider witnessed a large force leaving the Forever Lands, traveling east."

"Friend or foe?" Erehk asked.

"E'eldradin, King Erehk." The rider smiled. "With dwarves and taurians. The rider spoke to Prince Lian'asuran, himself. He leads the army alongside his father, and the Border Guard ride with him. They expect to be reinforced by soldiers from Kyrolis."

"That is good news indeed," Erehk said as the griffin leapt to the air. Taurians alongside the e'eldradin and dwarves. They would be welcome allies indeed. Erehk could see the noose tightening around Belkarus's throat. But first he and his allies had to turn the tide in the Griffinwood, and time was as much an enemy as Belkarus and his armies. If they could all come together they could move in force against the enemy before they reached the Axeweavers, and hopefully drive them back into the Shadowlands. Perhaps Rylos could hold them long enough. The kingdom had a strong army, and even outnumbered, would be a force to be reckoned with in the mountain passes Belkarus would have to travel. Likely they were already engaging in skirmishes, as Belkarus would want to test their defenses before arriving in full force or sending a portion of his army. And what of the E'eldhiavan, elves from the Mistwood? Were they joined with Rylos, or were they fighting their own battle? He had heard news of a dragon attack against the E'eldhiavan. Black dragons had swooped down from above destroying much and killing many before white dragons arrived and drove the blacks off. But after receiving that news, Erehk had heard nothing else. He was sure word would come from Rylos or the Mistwood by griffin rider before long, but was no less irritated by the lack of news so far. He thought of Jarren, and the Sword of Jandrous. Where was The Hunter? Was the sword safe with him? Was he in Ravenhold when the skraeg attacked there? "Are you alive old friend?" He had traveled to Ravenhold with Greandor, Rosenguarde's high priest. Was Greandor alive? How did he fare? He shook his head once more, to clear his thoughts. Now was not the time to worry. He had preparations to make, a city to secure, and an army to mobilize and muster.

©Anthony David Rosenthal/To The Valley Of Dragons 2010

CHAPTER 20: A FOOL GIVES HIMSELF AWAY TO HIS ANGER...

Another two months passed before the weather finally permitted the companions to leave E'eldaduranus. Prince Arden wished them well on their journey, and personally supplied them with warm cloaks and furs, and food for their packs, and an assortment of necessities and other items. He regretted not traveling with them, but they understood that with the war coming to Elven Home, he would be needed in the Griffinwood. If the weather was good enough for the companions to leave, it was more than adequate for skraeg. He considered them all close friends, he told them, and that they were all welcome at any time in the palace. Hardis was present at their leave taking as well, and he promised them he would be sure other griffin riders kept a close watch for them, as he would himself if his duties found him traveling in their direction. No other riders knew what their mission was, only that they were important allies. In fact, only Hardis, and Arden and their friends including Annyaa and Broan and the others knew of the sword of Jandrous. They all agreed, the less who knew, the better for them. Drogan and Annyaa held each other long while the rest waited, until finally Tia led Drogan's horse over.

"We better get moving, Rabbit's Bane," she smiled. This brought a chuckle to teary eyed Annyaa, and a sarcastic look from Drogan.

"You'll never let me live that down, will you?" Drogan said.

"No, likely not." She handed him the reins. "We'll keep an eye on him, Annyaa. I promise."

"I know, Tia and thank you," Annyaa said. "Although it makes it no easier. It seems we keep finding each other only to be torn apart again."

"May the One God be your protection," Donnagan said to each them. "May he see you through your mission safely." He stopped in front of Kendrick and hugged him close. "Feel blessed, young Kendrick, that you have been chosen for this task of such great importance— I will pray for you all daily until we see each other again." The old high priest held him by the shoulders at arms length so he could look the younger priest in the eyes. "I feel doubly blessed knowing that you were brought up at my temple."

"Thank you, Donnagan." Kendrick embraced him again.

"And take care of that horse," Donnagan said, patting the grey on the neck.

"We've been through a lot together," Kendrick said. He patted the horse's neck as well. " I will."

"Be safe," Broan said to them all.

"And try not to catch fever again, Kieran," Durinald said. "We would see you healthy when you return."

"You stay safe as well," Kieran said as she hugged Broan and Durinald. "There are rivers to travel, when this is all over." She smiled through her tears. Broan and Durinald were like older brothers to her, and had been her friends for many years. Leaving them was hard, not knowing what might befall them or even herself. She missed them greatly already.

"Look after her, Kendrick," Broan said with a hand on Kendrick's shoulder.

"I'm certain I'll need her looking out for me, rather than me looking out for her," Kendrick laughed. "Already she is better than I am with that staff." He rubbed a bruise on his arm where she had struck him while sparring. "Be assured we will look out for each other," he smiled.

They all mounted up, and with waves of farewell they rode into the trees leaving their friends behind. Drogan turned back once to see that Annyaa was still watching them leave. From where he sat upon his horse he could still see those beautiful green eyes— those love filled eyes. He held the lock of hair in his fist and waved one last time. He smiled when he saw her hold something up in her hand as she waved. Reluctantly, he turned his horse around and joined the others.

"I notice you seem to be missing a good bit of hair on one side, Drogan." Jarren chuckled as Drogan rode beside him. Drogan looked sheepish, and the others joined in laughter.

"Perhaps you could have slain a rabbit for her instead?" Tia smiled.

"Funny," Drogan said. "Very funny. It was a last minute idea, and I didn't have anything to give her to remember me by. I didn't think it was so noticeable."

"Oh no," Kieran laughed. "Not noticeable in the least— at least it wouldn't be if you wore your helm." Everyone laughed as Drogan placed his helm over his head.

"Do not worry," Jarren said as he slapped a palm on Drogan's helm. "It will grow back— and you'll look less a fool when it does!" Everyone laughed again, and even Drogan joined in.

They traveled out of the city and into the trees, each wondering at the seeming impossibility of their task. Their mission was to journey to the Valley of Dragons, somehow find Jandrous— whomever he may be and give him the sword. They knew not his appearance, how they would find him when they reached their destination, or even if he would be there when they arrived. How long would they have to wait? How would they know him if even The Teachings stated he would not know himself? What would come after? For soldiers like Faldrek, Drogan, and even Jarren and Tia, not having a clear mission laid out was bothersome, confusing, even reckless. This was a mission based solely on hope. All they had was Kendrick's tale of being visited by a drayan and given the mission. But they all knew the importance of the sword, of its reaching Jandrous, and they would do whatever must be done to ensure their mission was a success. At the least, they knew the path they were taking. They would travel northeast through the Griffinwood and into the Axeweavers, taking a narrow pass through the mountains to the Barren Wastes beyond. The pass would open up directly into one of the many dry canyons that spider-webbed the barren, dry lands, and from there they would travel east into the Mistwood and to the Lake of Dreams. From there they would travel the River Danir as it snaked its way north to Durgin's Pass in the Stormblade mountains and into the Shadow Lands. Then they would turn south for the Valley of Dragons where they hoped to find Jandrous. Jarren informed them it was the most direct path, but it wouldn't be without the possibility of danger. However, going around the Barren Wastes was a longer journey with the possibilities of danger as well. Skraeg were moving throughout the Griffinwood to the north, and more enemies could also be moving about. There was also the ever present threat of weather. At least while traveling the Barren Wastes, there were countless caves within the canyons that could offer shelter.

The first days of their journey were traveled in a light snow. And at times the winds blew through the woods with such force that trees bent to the point of snapping their trunks. But every night the winds would calm and the companions could warm themselves near a fire. The all took turns at watch, concerned that skraeg could be lurking nearby. There was also the concern of enemies discovering the glow of their fire. But in the cold, the fire couldn't be helped, so they the party would search for areas thick with growth or find small hills to conceal their camp under. Anything they could do to remain hidden became a high priority each night. They spoke of possible dangers and enemies they may encounter, including walven. Jarren told them that in death, the walven often were consumed by fire. In death they can be as deadly as when alive. If the walven they battled on the bridge had not fallen into the river, they may have seen them burst into flames. They spoke of the Skraeg, how best to defeat them if they were encountered. Black Wood elves were encountered in the Griffinwood by Drogan and Faldrek when they pursued Andorin. Halin from Misting Hill had died in the battle. Tia told them all they were masters of concealment within forested lands, much like all the elves. In battle they were quick and brutal, and without mercy. At the sight of humans or elves loyal to the One God, they would attack. If they were within the Griffinwood, they were likely scouts, and would not want their presence discovered. The Axeweaver Mountains in their part of Isandros were mainly dwarven territory, but they could possibly encounter skraeg, or any number of enemy or beast. Wolves would be a danger as well. Once in the Barren Wastes they could encounter Haira'hem loyal to Xandrous. Drogan, who had fought the Haira'hem many times, told how they could appear and disappear out of the sands like ghosts. The desert dwellers could be a danger, that when seen, defense might be too late. They hoped any Haira'hem they encountered were friend and not foe. At least with Runner along, and even the roa'an, they may have some warning before danger was upon them. With the threat of possible danger, Marek, Kendrick, and Kieran continued to drill with their weapons at every rest.

On the third day of riding through the Griifinwood they were discovered by a griffin rider who informed them of skraeg encamped as near as a mile north of their location. The skraeg were part of a large force resuming their march through the Griffinwood toward E'eldaduranus. Some villages further north had already been razed and skirmishes had broken out as the elves tried to slow their advancement. It would not be long before the grey skinned hulks would be nearing the capital city of the E'eldroan. The companions were forced to circle wide around the enemy and even had to hide during the night as a scouting party drew near. They all held their breath and soothed the horses, not wanting any sound to alert the skraeg as they moved past. They collectively exhaled when Jarren said it was safe to move on. Wanting to get as far away from the skraeg as possible, they did not rest that night, but rode through the dark trees until dawn. When they finally halted, the rest was a short one. After a quick meal they continued on until night fell once again. They all worried about the e'eld and their friends, especially Kieran who worried for Broan and Durinald and the rest of the men with them, and Drogan who worried for Annyaa. Kendrick of course was concerned for Donnagan. As much as they all disliked leaving their friends behind, they knew they were out of their hands. They could do nothing for them, nothing to help them, except pray to the One God for their safety.

The journey through the narrow pass of the Axeweavers was arduous. The winds screamed ferociously through the pass between tall cliff like mountains to either side. Wrapping themselves in furs and covering their faces with their cloaks, they labored slowly onward. Finding shelter each night proved a difficult task even for Jarren and Tia. And when they made camp they all huddled close around a fire either Kendrick or Marek produced. Their worst fear was to be caught in the pass in the event of a winter storm, and they found themselves more than once spending a day or more in a cavity of rock or an abandoned wolf's den as blizzards brought their journey to a complete and sudden halt. One such den proved inhabited by a mother wolf and her pups whom they did not discover until well inside the small cave. Neither Runner, or the horses, or the roa'an gave any warning that an animal may be inside. Curiously, the wolf appeared not to worry about their presence either, and Runner joyously received the attention the pups showed as they climbed and jumped on him, and gnawed on his ears and tail and pawed at his fur. With a big grin and a wagging tail he would growl, scaring the little pups, and then continue again and again as they always returned for more. The mother wolf simply watched and nursed her pups. When they first entered the den, the wolf would let out a low growl if the companions drew too near. But as the pups began venturing off to explore the humans and elf, or the horses and roa'an, her concern lessoned. They worried the wolf sire might return at any time, but after three days they decided the mother and her pups were alone. The day they left the den, Tia had been hunting and returned with half a dozen mountain fowl. When they left the den, she left three of the foul with the wolves, explaining that in allowing them to stay in her den, the wolf deserved half of what they had for herself and her pups.

When they finally began riding out of the mountains, they could see the Barren Wastes below them. For as far as they could see was a barren dry wasteland of canyons and dry hard ground. In the distance they could see large mounds which Jarren informed them were dunes. The sight was never the same from one day to the next as the winds shifted the sands, carrying the dunes from one location to the next. Even in the midst of the Long Winter, the Barren Wastes were dry. While behind they left a snow filled pass through snow covered mountains, the lands below them remained deprived of any precipitation. There were few trees to be seen, and most were stunted, short pathetic looking things covered in thorns and void of foliage. The winds blew strong in the desert, and cold, and clouds in the distance seemed to taunt the lands, never letting go of a single drop of rain or flake of snow. It did rain on occasion, Jarren told them, and when it did the waters would rush in a flood destroying much as it raced along the low grounds and through the canyons. Higher ground was the only defense in such an occurrence. But such rains were very few and very far between. Another danger were the storms of sand that blew across the wastes. Monstrous clouds of sand kicked up by heavy winds could roll angrily along the ground, sometimes so severe they buried everything in their path. Jarren instructed everyone on how to cover their mount's mouths, muzzles, and eyes if they were caught in a sandstorm. And just as if they were caught in a blizzard, in a sandstorm they would join their mounts by rope to prevent each other from being separated and lost. The heat in the Barren Wastes was a dry, terrible heat, Jarren told them, that slowly sucked the life out of everything. One needed an ample supply of water to travel such lands. But now the lands were cold as was all of Isandros. And although heat would not be a danger they faced, there were still many other dangers they may have to endure.

The mountain pass led directly into one of the many canyons that crossed the wasteland, and the companions found themselves leaving the snow of the mountains as it gradually turned to dry, brown and rocky terrain. The wind roared through the canyon forcing them to lower their heads against the cold wall that beat at them fiercely. Their cloaks whipped about behind them, and their eyes stung as blown dust and sand found their faces. Clouds were sparse, and the sun directly above teased them with the possibility of warmth, but there was no warmth to be enjoyed. The winds were as cold screaming through the canyon as they were in the mountains. Shivering, they leaned low against their mounts for what warmth the animals could give. It was a cold desolate landscape, leeching away not only their heat, but their spirits as well. Occasionally, Kieran would softly sing, and her voice was a delight to all, bringing a smile to their mouths and a bit of warmth to their hearts. When Tia would join in, the harmonizing beauty of the elven and human women's voices lifted their spirits immensely, and they all could forget the discomfort they felt for at least a while. At night when they rested, Kendrick, Marek, and Faldrek all took turns reading aloud from The Teachings. Even Drogan would open up the book he had received from Halin and read. One passage in particular caught his eye.

"And when Jandrous restores the balance, and evil is put once more to the underworld," he read as they all huddled around a small fire in shallow cave. "The warmth of the sun will return in its glory and the snows and ice of the Long Winter will melt, bringing forth green fields ripe with harvest. The peoples of Isandros will restore their homes and homelands, and peace will thrive for a time. The One True King will cut off the hand of the Xandrous the Betrayer, the hand of his strength, and his worldly armies will vanish like water under a hot sun. He will show favor on those with honor who sought him out, and he will heal the hand of the blacksmith." Drogan looked to Marek for an answer. "What does that mean?"

"Perhaps," Marek answered. "Perhaps it means the people will rebuild what was lost to them or destroyed in this war."

"But it says above that, the people will restore their homes and homelands. "Why repeat what was already written? It would make more sense to write the hand of the carpenter or builder, I would think," Drogan said as he glanced at the passage once more.

"I do not know," Marek answered. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps it means that production of all things will begin anew."

"I suppose you're right," Drogan said. "It only makes sense that all production, be it farming, building, and even metal working would begin anew." The others nodded in agreement. "It's good to know I'll have work when this is all over." Drogan chuckled, and everyone joined in. "I still intend to take over my father's work as a blacksmith."

The following day, they rode through a narrow canyon under a cloud filled sky that had them all wondering if snow would fall on the usually dry lands below. But as they rode, the clouds slowly thinned, until the skies above were blue under a bright sun. At one point, Jarren brought them to a halt, scanning the rocky cliffs above them after some loose stones tumbled into the canyon. Runner's eyes followed those of Jarrens, but after a few moments, Jarren decided it likely was only loose rock and they began riding again. However, he told them to keep a sharp eye above to be certain. For another hour they rode without incident, Jarren and Tia in the lead, with Marek, Kendrick, and Kieran following, and Drogan and Faldrek bringing up the rear. Runner trotted alongside Jarren's horse, but occasionally he would run ahead for a bit, or behind for a bit, or run circles around each of the companion's mounts, always with a big wolfish grin and his tongue hanging out to one side. He had just ran ahead of the rest and startled a flock of desert fowl, jumping and spinning and trying to catch them in his teeth as they erupted into flight. Suddenly he stopped. Jarren brought them to a halt, scanning the cliffs above.

"What is it, Jarren?" Drogan moved his horse beside Jarren's and followed his gaze. "Does Runner see something?"

"Not certain," Jarren replied. "Something has caught his attention." He turned his attention on the big wolf. "What is it, Runner? Do you see something?"

"What's wrong?" Kieran asked, looking above. But Jarren held up a hand for silence. Loose stones and dirt tumbled down into the canyon once more.

"Is there something above, Silverprince?" Tia asked her roa'an.

"No scent," the roa'an sent his thoughts. "Winds carry away."

"There's a way up out of the canyon there," Jarren pointed. "I'll take Runner and have a look." He dismounted and took a step, just as a Haira'hem archer became visible above. The Haira'hem wore loose fitting clothing the tan color of sand and copper, of sandstone, hooded, with a scarf covering the features of his face. The winds blowing his silk like garments caused the colors to shift and blend. In an instant he drew his bow and loosed an arrow, narrowly avoiding The Hunter as the arrow struck the ground near his feet. Jarren was already in the saddle, shouting at his companions to ride as a dozen of the desert dwellers appeared above to either side of the narrow canyon.

"Ride! Tia shouted, though everyone was already riding as fast as they could, spurring their horses to a full gallop as the arrows rained down.

"Oh!" Kieran cried out in pain as an arrow grazed her cheek. She could feel the warmth of blood on her face. Her heart was beating fiercely in her chest from the sudden surprise of danger, and fear. But they soon left the ambush behind them, although Jarren kept them riding to put as much distance between them and the Haira'hem as possible. He was about to bring them to a halt when they discovered more of the desert dwellers ahead. They blocked the path armed with spears, another dozen of them.

"Ride through them!" Jarren shouted. And in one fluid motion, as they galloped, Jarren and Tia had both drawn their bows each letting fly two arrows a piece directly at the Haira'hem center. They felled four of the enemy, the last arrows meeting the chests of their ambushers just as the companions burst through their center riding low in their saddles. They rode on for a few moments more, leaving the Haira'hem behind. And then without warning, The Hunter ordered them to keep riding as he brought his horse to a skidding stop, turned hard, and rode back through the canyon toward the ambushers with Runner close behind. A moment later, Drogan cursed and followed.

"Keep riding!" Drogan shouted. "I have to stop him before he gets himself killed!" He drew his sword as he rode. "And he has the sword!" Drogan said to himself. "Reckless, Jarren. Very Reckless!" Jarren did not seem to Drogan, the kind of man to make foolish decisions, but he was truly making one then. He rode back down the canyon with Jarren already out of sight beyond a bend. "Too many of them, Jarren. Even for you, legend or not. I pray you know the Haira'hem as well as I do!"

"This is who I am," Jarren thought as he raced toward the enemy, sword in hand, the big Forever Lands wolf sprinting at his side. The Haira'hem faced him, eight of them. They spread out as he drew near, leveling their spears, and ready to meet his charge. "This is what I do."

When Drogan was around the bend, and Jarren was in sight once more, he slowed his horse. There was Jarren on his knees in the dirt, with his head down, beating a fist into the earth, and surrounded by the bodies of his slain enemy. Runner stood nearby sniffing the body of a Haira'hem. The wolf looked up at Drogan's approach with blood on his muzzle. The Hunter, still on his knees, raised up and threw his hands to the sky. He screamed, an anguished, terrible scream, filled with sorrow. Drogan dismounted, and stood by Jarren amongst the bodies. He wanted to scream at Jarren in rage, but was as saddened for him as he was angry. Deciding his lecture could wait, he put a hand slowly on Jarren's shoulder.

"Come, Jarren." He said. "We have to go. The archers are still out there and likely drawing near." He put a hand under Jarren's arm, helping him rise to his feet. "Let's get out of here." Jarren nodded, and moved to his horse.

"I'm— I'm sorry, Drogan." Jarren raised himself into his saddle. When they turned their horses around, there were the rest of the companions.

"Save it, Jarren." Drogan said. "For the moment, let's just get as far from here as we can."

No one spoke as they rode on, although Kieran did ride next to Jarren with a hand on his shoulder. It was Drogan who called them to a halt as the shadows grew in the canyon beneath the setting sun. They had come upon a deep concave in the rock, and he deemed it would be as good a shelter for the night as any. Kieran was roasting a desert fowl over a fire, occasionally looking up at Jarren who stood at the edge of the concave with his back to them. Tia was inspecting Kieran's cheek. The arrow head had not cut terribly deep, but it would scar. Drogan sat near the fire and watched The Hunter for a while, before finally standing and moving to his side.

"What were you thinking, Jarren?" Drogan asked. Jarren said nothing, only stared toward the canyon wall opposite them. "You could have been killed, Jarren!" He said louder than he intended, but his anger was rising. "The sword could have been taken." He grabbed Jarren's arm and turned him. "Look at me! What were you thinking?"

"I grew angry," Jarren explained.

"You of all people should know that letting your anger consume you as you did, could have ended your life and doomed our mission to failure!"

"It had to be done!" Jarren excused. "They could have followed!"

"The archers may yet!" Drogan said loudly. "But that doesn't matter. You carry the sword with you! What if they had taken it? We need you, Jarren!"

"I know!" Jarren yelled. "I know," he continued more softly. "I let my anger take control— Kieran was hurt." He inhaled a deep breath, and slowly breathed it out. "We're lucky the rest of us made it out unscathed, or alive. My actions were foolish." He placed his hand on Drogan's shoulder. "I appreciate your following after me. Forgive me."

"You're forgiven, Jarren." Drogan turned to look at those behind him. "They're going to need to hear it as well."

"You're right," The Hunter nodded. "And perhaps I should place the sword under another's protection?"

"I think not," Drogan shook his head. "No man can doubt you are a legend for a reason. In the event of danger, I believe you are the most likely to escape with it. That is, as long as you don't repeat your actions of today."

"My actions today, Drogan, are in part why I am a legend. I am not proud of it." Jarren walked away and sat beside Kieran. She did not raise her head, speak, or otherwise acknowledge that he was there. She turned the fowl on a stick over the fire, as Tia cleaned the wound on her cheek. Occasionally she would wince after the elven woman applied too much pressure, but otherwise kept a straight face devoid of emotion. "How do you feel, Kieran?" Jarren asked her. She ignored him, focusing on the fowl and the fire. "I— I apologize for my actions today. I can be a man quick to anger," he explained. "And sometimes, like today, I let that anger consume me."

"You are a monster," Kieran finally spoke, barely above a whisper. Tia stopped tending the wound for a moment as her eyes grew wide, and looked briefly at Jarren. The Hunter was speechless, and felt as though his heart would shatter. "You slaughtered them all— every last one of them. How could anyone do that? We could have just rode away, leaving them far behind."

"I— " He struggled, trying to find the right words. "I am," he said. "Or at the least, I can be a monster." He put a hand to her chin and turned the wounded cheek to the light. "We could all have been killed. You were wounded. I lost my temper. What I did is unforgiveable, but I must ask for it regardless."

"You frightened me to near to death, Jarren." She said. "The attack was one thing, but then your riding off alone was far worse." She allowed a tear to run down a cheek. "I was afraid I might lose you," she whispered. "Leave me be, please, for now." Jarren nodded, and stood. Cursing himself for a fool, for his reckless actions, and for upsetting Kieran, he silently walked away to stand once more at the mouth of the concave. Runner trotted over to sit beside him. "I'm happy you were with me, Runner. One of them nearly had me if not for you." He scratched the large wolf behind one ear.

"I did not mean to call him a monster, Tia." Kieran said as she watched Jarren standing with his back to them.

"I know," Tia said. "You love him." It was not a question.

"Yes," Kieran took a deep breath and let it out slow. "Yes I do."

"Jarren can be a hard man," The elven woman said. "But you bring something out in him, a softer side that I have witnessed as a friend. But it is more so with you. I see it in his eyes, the way he looks at you. He loves you as well, Kieran." She smiled at Kieran, and placed an arm around her shoulders. "What he did today frightened me as well. But I assure you he's angrier and more disgusted at himself, than you, or I, or anyone else is. He knows what his actions may have led to, and he does not take it lightly."

"I was hard on him," Kieran said.

"Well," Tia said. "Perhaps. But no one can really fault you for that. I am quite surprised you didn't raise your voice with him. I wanted to myself. But knowing he upset you, I think, hurt him deeper than any scolding we could have given him."



Jarren rode hard through a canyon, walls of sandstone and rock a blur to either side. He was vaguely aware of Runner sprinting alongside. "Nearly killed us all!" he shouted in his mind. "Kieran was hurt." He urged his mount to run faster, slapping the reins against the animal's flanks with one hand as he held his sword in another. "What am I doing?" he thought. "This is madness! I have to turn back. No, I cannot. They could follow. Kieran was hurt. I need to make an example of them, frighten any others enough to think twice before following us or attacking again." He rounded the bend and the Haira'hem turned at his approach. For a moment he thought they might flee, but upon realizing he was alone, they readied their spears to meet him head on. Still, even alone, the sight of his big chestnut horse barreling down on them would have given many a man pause. Yet they did not run when he and all his companions charged through them before. There was one thing about Haira'hem he knew for certain. They were brave. "Eight of them," he thought. "Too many." It did not matter. He would slay them all or die in the trying. He had faced similar odds before, even greater odds. This was nothing to Jarren The Hunter. "This is who I am," he thought. "This is what I do." Deep down he hated himself for it. He tried to justify that he had killed so many for the greater good. Many that he had slain were evil. Many as well were simply soldiers in an army opposing the army he fought for at the time. He was a killer. "This is who I am," he thought bitterly. He leaned to one side in his saddle as he drew near his enemy. "This is what I do." Runner crashed into the Haira'hem at the instant Jarren did. And as the wolf went for the throat of one, Jarren's sword went for the throat of another, hacking through the haft of a spear in the same swing. He let the horse carry him through and then reined hard, the chestnut charger skidding to a stop and flinging dust into the air. He pulled the horse around to face his foe once more. A Haira'hem ran right at him. Jarren reared his mount and let the horse kick. Heavy hooves found the man's head, and he dropped to the ground unmoving. Another thrust a spear, but Jarren shifted in his saddle and caught the spear in his fist before taking off the spearman's arm with his sword. He finished the man off with his own spear before tossing it into the gut of another. As Runner attacked another just before his spear would have found The Hunter's ribs, so did Jarren, and as the wolf's sharp teeth felled the one, Jarren's sharp blade felled the other. In a matter of seconds, of the eight Haira'hem, only one remained. The last of them turned and ran. Jarren calmly slid out of the saddle, bent to pick up a spear. "This is what I do." He hurled the spear, striking the fleeing man in the back. "All dead," he thought. "We killed them all." He looked at the dead men around him. "I should have let that last one go, I should have let them all go." He stared at the sword in his hand, the blood smeared on the blade. He wiped it clean on one of the bodies and saw his reflection in the steel. What stared back at him was grotesque; a hideous monster. "I'm a monster," he said and fell to his knees. "Kieran said it herself. I'm a monster. He beat at the ground with his fist, screaming his anguish to the One God. "I'm a monster! I'm a monster!" He screamed it over and over again. "I'm a monster!""Wake up, Jarren." A calming voice whispered in his ear. "Wake up." He heard the voice, but continued beating the ground.

"I'm a monster!" he screamed.

"Wake up, Jarren. It is only a dream. Wake up, shhhhhh."

"I'm a monster!" Jarren sat up straight, screaming. Someone put her arms around him, pulling him to herself. "I'm a monster!" he screamed again as the arms held him tight.

"A dream, Jarren." Kieran whispered to him, soothing him. "Only a dream. Only a dream." Jarren leaned back against her and wept.

"I'm sorry," he said. "So sorry. I am a monster."

"No, Jarren. You are not a monster." Kieran wanted to cry for him. "You are not a monster." She held him against her, as the others, awakened from their slumbers by Jarren's shouts looked on. Drogan and Faldrek, who had been standing watch, turned as well. Tia stood and joined the two at the mouth of the concave. She hugged her cloak around her to ward off the cold.

"That was a bad one, it sounds like," she said.

"Do you suppose anyone heard him?" Faldrek asked.

"Perhaps," she replied. "If anyone is down in the canyon as we are. The sound carries through here. Above, perhaps not."

"We'll have to keep a sharp ear open," Drogan nodded. "And our eyes peeled. You should get some rest, Tia."

"No," she said. "I wasn't sleeping well anyway. And I have better eyes and ears than you both. I suppose I'll join you for a while."

"Has he always been like this?" Faldrek asked, looking toward Jarren and Kieran.

"For as long as I've known him," she answered. "His dreams seem to be coming more frequent however."

"What kind of man is he, really?" Drogan asked.

"I suppose he is simply a man," she said. "I would like to say he is a good man, an honorable man. Perhaps more so than others. But he has done things in his past that even he is not proud of. What he did today is likely one of those things. He has a good heart, and he's genuinely caring of others, wants to do what is right and good, not only by himself but what is right by the One God as well. He strives for that. Yet his relationship with the One God is a struggle. He feels unworthy because of the things he's done." She was silent a moment, then continued. "It's the things he has done in his past that cause his nightmares."

"Ah, yes." Faldrek nodded. "Many soldiers struggle with dreams and situations that are stressful. I have been known to relive a few of my own."

"And I have as well," Drogan agreed. "Perhaps someday the dreams will trouble us no more." The three of them all nodded their heads in agreement.

"I pray so," Tia said. She looked back at Kieran and Jarren. She still held him against her, a look of sorrow upon her face as Jarren slept once more. Her tears fell upon Jarren's face, mixing with his own, creating a tiny river of sadness that flowed down his cheek and dropped off his chin. "I pray when I can once again hold Lian, my betrothed, that our tears are of joy and not such sorrow."

********************************************************

With Rylos to the north and the Barren Wastes to the south, the small company of skraeg with Andorin at their lead picked their way carefully through the Borderwood. There was always the possibility of detection by Rylosian hunters, or Haira'hem loyal to the One God, and if discovered, Andorin might never make it to Belkarus, whom he hoped would give him a command in his army. He had hoped his prisoners, the young woman from Misting Hill and the young priest would grant him favor in Belkarus's eyes. But that plan had failed. He had killed the priest when he tried to prevent him from taking Annyaa. She was eventually rescued by Drogan near Ravenhold. His followers had all been killed or imprisoned. If they were lucky they would live the rest of their days in a rat infested dungeon in Grey Home. But then, to Andorin, that would be worse than death. He had burned the temples and killed priests as a show of his loyalty to Xandrous and Belkarus, but he had not a single witness to his deeds. Belkarus would have to take him at his word. Still— Annyaa had been a hindrance. As much as he hated to have lost her, he was also pleased she was gone. Despite her hitting him in the face with an empty flagon, she was quite innocent in nature, although she sometimes had a sharp tongue. "You are a pitiful human being. I have been afraid all this time—but now I wonder if perhaps I should just feel sorry for you." she had said to him. She of course had been afraid still; she cried and sniffled and shook, and prayed to her god to be rescued. She wept for herself, and wept for her friend, the priest. He had not intended to kill him, but under the circumstances, what choice did he have? "Why am I even thinking about it?" he wondered. "Why am I even thinking about her, and why should I even care? She was nothing but cargo. A small present for Belkarus to do with as he pleased, whether to keep her, enslave her, or give her to his army. Drogan my old brother at arms, I should have killed you long ago. Perhaps someday I'll get that chance." He shook his head. Likely, he would never lay eyes on Drogan again. Even if they fought in opposing armies, those armies were large; they may be on the same field, but on opposite ends between a raging sea of struggling bodies. "What does it matter?" he thought. "—but now I wonder if perhaps I should just feel sorry for you." Annyaa had said. He shook his head angrily, trying to clear it of his thoughts. "She is just a stupid girl," he thought. "What do I care what she thinks? I care for one person, myself." And he cared about a command in Belkarus's army, a company, a cavalry, perhaps achieving the rank of captain or even general. He grinned, relishing the thought. With rank came power and with power came riches.

His thoughts of power were interrupted by a piercing cry above; a sound akin to a screech and a roar combined. He and the skraeg crouched low, looking to the sky, trying to peer through the canopy of trees above them. Two shapes, massive and winged, one black and one white, were interlocked and tumbling to the ground below them. Dragons. Downward they spun and rolled and struggled against each other, biting, clawing, and breathing fire until just before they both would have crashed through the trees, the black suddenly released himself from the white. The beating of its massive wings pounded at the canopy and the ground below causing snow, ice, and small branches to explode upward and out. Andorin shielded himself with his cloak, kneeling and turning his face away from the stinging debris. Yards away the white dragon crashed through the trees to the snow, sending another explosion into the faces of Andorin and the skraeg. The black dragon soared away with a roar of triumph. Startled, the skraeg turned to run, but Andorin's shout brought them up short.

"Do not run!" he commanded. They looked uneasily behind them. "Let's take a look," Andorin said. He walked through the trees, leading his horse behind, toward the massive shape before them. As they drew near, Andorin's horse became too frightened to move any closer to the dragon. It reared and kicked, pulling on the reins in a stubborn attempt to break free and run. He was forced to hand the reins to one of the skraeg who would stay behind. As they drew closer, the dragon was breathing laboriously. It opened one massive eye and stared. Weakened and grievously injured, it attempted to raise its head, but if fell back to the snow with a thud. The skraeg refused to move any closer, but Andorin walked within a yard of the huge head and stared back at the dragon. "You are dying," he said aloud. Deep bloody wounds were rent in the scales along its body and across its face, deep red rips and slices and puncture wounds marring the white, blue, and grey scales. The thick blood ran like thin streams into the snow, where it pooled under and around the great creature.

"Yes," the dragon answered.

"How does it feel?" Andorin asked with a smile. The dragon looked long at Andorin and then let its gaze sweep over the skraeg behind him.

"You have a wicked heart, human." It made a sound similar to a cough, red liquid sprayed forth between its teeth. "If you must know, human, it is painful. However, I go to be with the One God." It affixed it's eyes on Andorin and slowly turned its head to face him. "Where will you go when you leave this world?" It coughed again, spraying Andorin with blood. Startled, Andorin jumped back. He wiped his face on his cloak. "Where, human, will you go?" The dragon asked again. Then it closed its eyes and shuddered, and the breathing stopped. Andorin stared long at the dead dragon, before becoming angry and kicking it.

"Take off its head." He turned to the skraeg behind. "It will make a nice trophy for Belkarus's wall." The skraeg refused to draw any nearer. "It's dead!" Andorin shouted. "Forget it. I'll take its cursed head myself. He snatched an axe from one of the skraeg and began hacking at the dragon's thick, trunk-like neck. The dragon's last words echoed in his head. "Where, human, will you go? Where, human, will you go? Where, human, will you go?" The words repeated with every stroke of the axe. Andorin's anger grew with each strike. "Where, human, will you go?"

"Where, human, will you go?"





©Anthony David Rosenthal/To The Valley Of Dragons 2010

CHAPTER 19: AN ALLIANCE OF FORMER FOES

The journey south through the Griffinwood was uneventful but cold as they traveled along the river toward E'eldaduranus. On the first night the temperature dropped and the clouds brought snow, reminding the small company that they were in what was named in prophecy as the Long Winter. It was a terrible time that would bring terrible war, and they had already witnessed it first hand. And with Jarren entrusted the Sword of Jandrous, and all of them trying to find the two priests who had taken it from his possession, they had become key players in the war. So much rested on that ancient blade, so much rested upon The Hunter's shoulders. Jarren was a man who rarely allowed anxiety to show, and although he remained calm on the outside, he grew more anxious, more stressful on the inside. The party talked little on their journey, with the exception of when they stopped to make camp, and Jarren found himself spending more time with Kieran. Each night her conversation, regardless of its content, helped to calm his nerves and he found himself drawn to her more and more. As well, he had found that the nightmares that plagued him on so many nights were soothed not by his long time friend Tia, but by Kieran. She had proven her worth already in their journey by tending Faldrek's burns which were healing well. And on the nights when they built a fire to chase away the cold, she had proven to be an excellent cook, preparing whatever game they were able to hunt for their meals. Tia and Arden had proven to be their most effective hunters, but Drogan as well had caught a rabbit or two— once having dived head first into some bushes to chase down a good sized rabbit. He emerged from the bushes with wet leaves and branches hanging from his hair and held the animal high in triumph. His wide smile giving away the pride he felt in conquering the creature, he also shouted a cry that would have been impressive on any battle field. From that day on, Tia would jokingly call him Drogan Rabbit Bane, when conversing with him. Jarren rarely smiled on their journey, but "Rabbit Bane" brought forth a chuckle from his mouth every time. He also smiled during those nightly conversations with Kieran, and his heart swelled to nearly bursting one evening when he asked if she was frightened when wolves howled in the distance and she nearly jumped.

"I feel safe knowing that you're here," she said. "I realized you would not let anything happen to me or any of us if you could prevent it, when you reached over to take my reins and guided my horse when we fled from the walven." She leaned into him and reached an arm around his shoulders, hugging him close.

"Oh how The Hunter was slain," Drogan joked later on his and Jarren's watch. "It was an arrow of love that sunk deep into his heart, killing the great warrior of legend. He fell to his knees in death, and turned into a puddle of water."

"You're one to talk, Drogan, with that lock of hair tied about your neck," Jarren chuckled. "Every night when you sleep you grip it in an iron fist as though it might grow legs and sneak away while you sleep."

"Well you're just— a fool," he laughed.

"As are you," Jarren retorted. He enjoyed the younger warrior's presence, and was beginning to think of him as a friend. Drogan reminded The Hunter of himself in many ways. He was a good leader, honorable, and caring. And he had proven himself a brave warrior when they encountered the walven. When he was not talking with Jarren, or the others, he would open the copy of The Teachings he had received from Halin and read. Often he would ask Faldrek about a passage or two, and the older soldier was always happy to explain something Drogan did not understand. Although he was yet to make up his mind whether or not he believed everything written within, Drogan could not deny that much of the writing, especially those concerning the Long Winter, appeared to ring very true.

When they finally reached E'eldaduranus, the elven city was abustle with movement. E'eld everywhere were busy preparing for war. They knew skraeg were coming and were doing everything they could to prepare themselves and their city. Soldiers ran to and fro carrying out what orders they were assigned, and others appeared busy with any number of different tasks. Cheers rang out when Arden and the others rode into to town, for they all respected and loved their e'eld prince. They wondered about those that traveled with him, and another shout rang out when many discovered that one of them was the man known as Jarren The Hunter, The Traveler, the man of whom so many legends were told. Upon entering E'eldaduranus, Arden immediately asked about the two priests and learned they were staying in the home of the griffin rider, Hardis.

Arden knocked upon the door, and when Hardis answered, the two priests were sitting at a small table. Their eyes flew wide, and Runner stood from laying near a fire and happily moved to Jarren, wagging his tail and grinning a huge wolfish grin. Jarren stared at Runner grimly with his arms crossed and the big wolf whined and sheepishly lowered his head and lay down, covering his eyes with a big paw.

"We're going to have a long talk, Runner," Jarren said. "I am not pleased with you." Runner whined again and looked to the two priests. "Don't look at them Runner, I doubt they forced you to follow." He then looked at Marek and Kendrick. There appeared to be a great anger behind his eyes as he pointed at them both. "As for you two," he began quietly with a dangerous tone to his voice. Marek and Kendrick said not a word. But fidgeted restlessly as they both stood awaiting Jarren's wrath. The look in his eyes made Kendrick think that at any moment lightning might burst from his sockets and turn both he and Marek into piles of ash to later be swept out the door. "What—" he said very slowly. "What— were— the two of you thinking?" By the time the last word came out, it arrived in a shout that the priest could have sworn they felt in their chests. "How could you completely ignore what I said, and take the sword regardless?" His gaze seemed to rip right into Marek's heart.

"It— it was me," Kendrick said. "I'm the— I'm the one who took it. Marek only—"

"Followed along with you?" Jarren shouted. "When he should have stopped you and brought you back? Do you two know what we had to go through while hunting you down? And I'm sure I've pieced together what you two went through as well. You should feel blessed that you're still living. You should feel blessed that the sword isn't sitting at the bottom of a river or in the hands of skraeg!"

"You would not listen to reason, Jarren!" Marek rose to his full height and pointed at The Hunter accusingly. He was no longer afraid of Jarren's anger, but had grown angry himself. "The sword must go east. We have to try and find Jandrous himself! We cannot just hide behind Rosenguarde's walls expecting the son of the One God to come traipsing through the gates calling out to all that he was there for the sword!"

"Well we wouldn't have made it to Rosenguarde anyway!" Jarren shouted. "They are under siege by an army of skraeg! But the point is—" he said as he stepped close to the two priests and stared at Marek eye to eye. His furrowed brow gave over his prominent nose gave him a menacing appearance. "The point is, that sword was entrusted to me! Not to you, not to Kendrick, not to Runner!" He stared long at the wolf who slunk behind the priests. "I take that very seriously, and you should have as well!"

"And I do Jarren!" Marek exclaimed. "But I take even more seriously what that sword is, and the importance of its reaching Jandrous. Kendrick had the right of it, Jarren! The only way that sword was going to where ever it needs to go is if it was taken from you! It must reach—"

"I was visited," Kendrick said suddenly. All eyes turned to him. He struggled with how to find the right words for what he was about to say. "In Ravenhold in my room."

"Visited by whom?" Jarren asked, wondering what the young priest was getting at.

"Gaulin, the drayan— he came to me in my room," Kendrick replied. Jarren raised an eyebrow. "He told me I was given a mission by the One God, to see that the sword was delivered to Jandrous in the Valley of Dragons." No one spoke. Jarren looked long at the priest, judging whether he lied or spoke the truth.

"You are serious," Jarren said. It was a statement, not a question. Kendrick nodded and told of his encounter. "A mission from the One God himself?"

"Y— yes," Kendrick replied. Jarren stepped away from the priests and lowered himself slowly into a chair. He placed his elbows on the table and rubbed his face in his hands. Everyone else present stood in shock. Kieran was the first to break the silence.

"Does not a mission from the One God himself take precedence over a king's mission to you, Jarren?" she asked.

"Woman—" Jarren began. He looked long at her and appeared as though he wanted to shout but held his tongue. "Yes. Yes it does, Kieran." He leaned back in the chair and ran a hand through his hair. He was quiet a moment and looked at the priests, the wolf, Kieran and Tia and the others. Hardis still stood by the door with a look of total confusion. Everyone else looked to Jarren, wondering what he was going to say next. First he turned his attention on Hardis.

"Forgive me for my outbursts in your home," he said. Hardis nodded.

"No forgiveness necessary," the griffin rider said. "It appears this is a matter of great importance." Jarren thanked him, and again looked long at the others. His gaze travelled over them all, and rested finally on Tia. He let out a deep breath in an attempt to relax himself, but his jaw still visibly clenched as he ground his teeth.

"I'm not certain what decision I should make," he said.

"The right decision, Jarren," Tia said. "If what Kendrick says is true, then he must do as he was instructed by the drayan.

"Are you prepared to make that journey to the Valley of Dragons, Kendrick?" Jarren asked. "It will be a hard journey. There are likely skraeg and who knows what else, between here and there. There could be more walven— or worse."

"I do not see any other choice," Kendrick said with a tremble.

"It is decided then," Jarren rose from his chair and stood calmly before Kendrick. "You must do just that. But I will be coming with you and the sword returns to me and remains with me, understood?" He looked at Tia.

"Where you go, I go." Tia said.

"I will go as well," Marek said and took a step forward.

"You better believe you will, Marek." Jarren said. "We will resume your training in the sword tomorrow."

"Why do I suspect you're going to use my training to teach me a lesson other than in swordplay?" Marek asked. Jarren only smiled. One by one the others stepped forward. They would all go with them. All except Prince Arden, and the griffin rider."

"I'm afraid we take different paths, now." Arden said. "I must remain with my people, and prepare for the coming enemy." Drogan took Arden's hand in a strong shake.

"Thank you for all your help, Arden," Drogan said.

"You are welcome, " Arden said. "As of now, I must go to the E'eldakune A'hule A'e'eldroan. I will see you all again tonight. I would have you stay at the palace and rest until you are ready to begin your journey." He then stepped through the door.

"We should find a place to rest the day and make plans for our journey," Tia said after Arden had gone.

"You are welcome to stay here, until called to the palace if you like," Hardis told them. Tia thanked him and they all agreed, pleased to relax after the journey they all had. They had a small meal and told each other of their encounters with the walven.

"We tried to make Runner return to you Jarren, but he would not leave us," Marek said.

"It was a blessing he did not," Kendrick said. "If not for him—" The younger priest could not finish the thought.

"He has never left my side before, unless otherwise instructed to do so," Jarren scratched the wolf behind his ears. He was no longer angry with Runner. "He must have felt he had good reason to do so."

"Animals sometimes sense things we do not," Hardis explained. "Forever Lands wolves are very intelligent creatures." Jarren nodded in agreement.

"It would seem the walven were more interested in Marek and Kendrick, than in fighting Runner." Jarren looked at the two priests. "Walven smell those who are loyal to Jandrous. I also suspect they could smell the blood on the sword. Jandrous's very own blood. You two are lucky to be alive."

"We would not be, if not for Runner," Kendrick said.

"And it would have been for nothing, if Hardis had not found us," Marek finished.

"And Hardis," Jarren said. "I should ask you to keep the sword a secret."

"No need to ask," the griffin rider said with a nod. "I understand its importance and the danger of its existence reaching the wrong ears. I will tell not a soul that you carry it."

"You have my thanks," Jarren said.


They were summoned to the palace, the E'eldakune A'hule A'e'eldroan, later that night and their stay proved longer than expected as strong winter storms arrived, bringing strong winds, and heavy snow. Not wanting to risk traveling in such weather, they decided they would have no choice but to wait until the weather eased.

"But what if it does not, Jarren?" Kendrick asked as they all sat at a long wooden table.

"Well it has once, and we can hope it will again," Jarren answered. "If there is no change within the week, than we will take our chances. We are likely to encounter more weather as we travel anyway."

"I hope the others from Ravenhold are alright." Kieran said.

"As do we all," Drogan agreed. He was thinking particularly of Annyaa. "At the least, this weather will slow down the skraeg."

"Not by much," Jarren informed them. "The Skraeg handle the cold quite well. They've been known to move about in the worst blizzards. Remember, they were at Ravenhold's walls after the storm froze the river." No one could deny what he said.

"Let us just hope our friends, and the people of Ravenhold make it here safely," Kieran said. Drogan held Annyaa's lock of hair in his fist and said a silent prayer for her safety.


Three days later, they arrived in a heavy snow, cold and tired, and were met by the Griffinwood elves with a hospitable welcome. Upon hearing the news, Drogan rushed from the E'eldakune A'hule A'e'eldroan calling out Annyaa's name as he moved among the mass of refugees. They were still entering E'eldaduranus in droves. He found her somewhere in the center of the crowd, and held her in a long embrace as the people continued to move past. She buried her face in his chest, and they stood together without saying a word. Broan, Durinald, and Donnagan stood nearby watching silently as Jarren and the rest met them.

"Drogan," Annyaa said finally. "I've been walking for days in this cold. I'm exhausted and I think I've forgotten what being warm feels like. Can we go inside somewhere now, please?" This brought forth a hearty laugh from the others as they watched, and they all moved closer to offer hugs to one another.

"Come you fool," Jarren placed a hand on Drogan's shoulder. "Let us all get inside and warm." Drogan smiled sheepishly, and they all returned to the palace.


"I'm going with you," Annyaa said that night as they all gathered.

"What?" Drogan shook his head. "No, Annyaa. We've already been through this. It's far too dangerous!"

"Meanwhile, an army of skraeg advances toward this very elven city, and I've already been through one dangerous experience after another," she argued. "Will I truly be safe anywhere now?"

"You will be protected here, Annyaa."

"For how long, Drogan?"

"You are not a soldier, Annyaa." Drogan shook his head. "I will not always be able to protect you if we face danger."

"And how can you protect me if you are not here with me? I can learn to protect myself if I must."

"Against skraeg, Annyaa?" Drogan asked. "Against walven? Or worse?" He shook his head. The matter was closed. "The truth of the matter is you are likely going to have to learn to protect yourself. But not where we are going. Broan, the elves, someone here can train you to fight if you must fight. Here you have a chance to survive and here you will stay." He did not want to tell her that he may not return from the mission he was taking. There was a good chance none of them would. They knew not what they were traveling into, what dangers were out there waiting for them. They could be killed by skraeg, walven, any number of people or creatures, and just as easily freeze to death if caught in a storm. They may never make it to the Valley Of Dragons. He knew she was still recovering from her captivity by Andorin as well. Her ribs had taken a beating from continuously being thrown over a horse's back on her stomach. He reached down and grabbed her side with one hand and squeezed. She winced from the pain and cried out. "You are still hurt, Annyaa. I cannot allow it. And I know the others will not as well."

"I don't want to lose you, Drogan." She said quietly and lowered her head.

"And I don't want to lose you either, Annyaa. So you better be waiting for me when I return." He reached for her and held her close.

"Do not worry so much for your beloved Drogan, Annyaa." Tia said with a smile. "I have seen him in battle. He is a fierce conqueror of rabbits." This brought a round of laughter from all, including Drogan and Annyaa.


The next few days found Jarren training Marek once more in the use of his sword. Much to the everyone's entertainment. Marek was becoming quite proficient, but Jarren repeatedly smacked him with the flat of his blade.

"That hurt!" Marek complained, as Jarren struck him in hard in the ribs. It became apparent to Marek that The Hunter was punishing him for taking the sword along with Kendrick.

"I know," Jarren smiled.

"Perhaps you should take some of this aggression out on Kendrick?" Marek said as Jarren deftly moved the priest's sword aside, and struck him again. "Ouch!"

"Kendrick does not use a weapon," Jarren said circling to Kendrick's right.

"Well perhaps he should learn," Tia said. She arrived carrying three long staves, nearly as long as Jarren was tall.

"Oh no," Kendrick stood nearby, waving his hands to dismiss the idea. "I could never use a sword."

"Who said anything about swords?" Tia smiled. "That's what these are for. A staff would better suit you, I think."

"This is going to be grand," Kieran laughed and patted Kendrick on the back.

"You will notice, Kieran," Tia smiled mischievously. "I carry three staves." Kieran gulped and swallowed her laughter. "You will need to be able to protect yourself as well, Kieran." Everyone winced as Marek let out another shout of pain. Jarren had smacked him quite sharply on his backside and smiled triumphantly.

"Is Runner going to get any of this punishment?" Marek shouted.

"No, I think not," Jarren replied. "Runner could eat me, which of course I may have him do just that to you. Besides, I've come to the conclusion he went along with you simply to keep an eye on you two villains." He smiled as he locked his blade against Marek's and put his boot to the priest's chest, knocking him onto his back in the snow.

"Oh forgive me," The Hunter apologized. "I don't believe I've instructed you in that move yet."

"No," Marek grunted. "I don't believe you have." Jarren simply smiled.


Terrible winter storms enveloped the Griffinwood that night, a massive front of blizzards that in fact covered much of Isandros, and postponed the party's journey not only days, but for weeks. They spent their time in E'eldaduranus planning their journey and drilling in weapons tactics. Kendrick grew more restless with each passing day, but Jarren and the others considered it a blessing. With each passing day Kendrick, Marek, and Kieran grew more proficient in their weapons. Jarren and Tia explained to them the more skilled they became at protecting themselves, the better off they would all be if they encountered danger. Although Kendrick was anxious to be on the move, he knew The Hunter and the elven woman were correct. Marek began sparring with other partners. Jarren advised him that sparring against only himself would hinder his progress. All combatants would act and react in different ways. So the priest found himself sparring with Drogan, Faldrek, Tia, and occasionally Prince Arden as well as many of the e'eld soldiers. Kieran and Kendrick were put through the paces as well against Tia and many others. Jarren especially was pleased with their progress and congratulated them all accordingly. Especially on one occasion, when sparring against Marek. Jarren had moved in close to Marek, and the two had locked swords. When Jarren stepped away from the priest, Marek had snuck his left foot between The Hunter's legs and hooked the heel of his right boot. Marek stepped forward and gave Jarren a light shove, knocking him off balance. When he fell on his back, he found the point of Marek's sword at his throat.

"Well done, Marek!" Jarren smiled as Marek grabbed his hand and helped him to his feet. "I do not recall showing you that move. Was it Drogan? One of the elves?"

"No, Jarren," Marek smiled back. "It simply seemed a good idea at the time."

"Well done indeed then." Jarren brushed the snow from his backside as the rest applauded Marek with hand claps and shouts. "However, remember Marek. If you can do that to someone, then someone can do the same to you. Do not make the mistake of putting yourself in the situation as I did. I made a mistake. I underestimated you, and if this were a real battle I would be dead." Those words sobered the moment of victory Marek felt. And his companions sobered with him. What Jarren said was true. At some time on their coming journey they may find themselves fighting a real battle against real enemies. When that time came, any one of them could fall. Even the legendary Jarren The Hunter.

Drogan spent much of his time with Annyaa, and when the weather permitted, they would walk through the elven city holding hands and sharing stories of their childhoods in Misting Hill. These walks were far and few between because the weather would always quickly return to the heavy snows and high winds. But the two made the most of their time and enjoyed each other's company immensely. Jarren spoke with and walked often with Kieran as well. She rarely asked him about the "legend" he had become known to so many, but rather asked about his experiences in his own words. He was pleased to explain to her who the "real" Jarren The Hunter was. Of course, often times the legend and the real Jarren were very much the same. But Kieran was more interested in knowing who the man behind the legend was. The Hunter, or The Traveller as some called him, would have to wait. Who was Jarren the man? What were his beliefs, his dreams, his favorite food? What drove his honor or his faith? Why did he struggle with his relationship to the One God, despite what would seem a strong faith? Why did he have such terrible nightmares?

"They come and go," Jarren exclaimed. "The majority of them are memories, battles I've fought, terrible things I've witnessed and perhaps even done. I relive them often in my sleep. "They appear so real, sometimes I forget I'm waking from a dream when I sit up from where I lay sweating and shivering. I've been known to wake up thinking I'm still in the middle of the dream from time to time." He smiled and looked down at Kieran as they walked. "Sometimes, I think the One God allows the dreams only to keep me humble." Jarren chuckled softly.

"When you are awake," Kieran said. "You seem so in control of your emotions, normally. You seem calm and level headed, even while in danger. But sometimes when you sleep you thrash about violently and shout. Are the dreams really so terrible?"

"Indeed they are," Jarren replied. "Indeed they are."


The storms and heavy snowfall brought Isandros to a halt. Even the skraeg either retreated to find shelter, or in some cases even returned to Ravenhold. The skraeg besieging Rosenguarde had no choice but to move into the mountains surrounding the walled city where they would find caves to wait out the weather. In the Forever Lands, the elves held a great council. They were joined by dwarves come down from the surrounding mountains and taurians, including Turohk, the general who's army came to the aid of the elves and dwarves at E'eldfellen. It was Turohk who made the case that they must combine their armies and march east to meet the massive horde under Belkarus's command.

"Belkarus's allies are already spreading across the lands like wildfire," he said. "And the full strength of his forces still march with him. It is my understanding that massive amounts of skraeg have already sacked some cities and towns and villages, and that Ravenhold and Rosenguarde would be under siege if they are not already. We stand no chance against them if we simply wait for Belkarus to take one city at a time, and in the end one kingdom at a time."

"We cannot, however, leave our own lands undefended," Grea'oran argued. "Sending the majority of our own armies east so more skraeg can swoop down out of the mountains and take our own homes, killing everyone and everything in their path?"

"We send two thirds," Turohk said. "There are no more enemies from my homeland, Grea'oran. Those that survived at E'eldfellen are on the return to Kyleria in chains. The rest swore allegiance to Jandrous before my army sailed on their heels. We keep one third in our homelands as a precaution."

"As well," Thol Durgan added. "The grey beasts from the Axeweavers, the very same that took Eagle's Crest have moved east nearly in their entirety toward Rosenguarde." Thol Durgan was big by dwarven standards, standing taller than most of his kind, with arms nearly as big a taurian's. He wore his thick red hair in a braid down his back, with braids woven into his beard and mustache. The dwarven general's deep voice was one that commanded attention, and his fierce ice blue eyes appeared to bore into one's very soul. He was clothed in black leggings and black mail armor with a surcoat and cloak the color of blood. "A foolish move on their part. They have enabled us to march freely east." He let his gaze pass over all the elves, dwarves, and taurians assembled at the long table. They came to a rest on Turohk. "In my lifetime alone I have seen taurians kill my kindred and our elven allies, and I have killed many taurians. Let the dwarves now offer a hand of friendship to you and yours, Turohk, and become allies and friends in this war. I stand with you and agree." He slammed a big heavy fist on the table to emphasize his words. "We must march!" The council erupted into arguments between those for and those against marching east.

"Quiet please," Grea'oran shouted above their voices but was unheard above the tumult. "Everyone, please!" Suddenly, and without warning, Turohk slammed his massive fists hard upon the table with a resounding boom, and bellowed a frightening bull-like roar. The council was shocked into such a silence they could hear each other's breathing.

"As you were saying, Prince Grea'oran." The big taurian general gave him a nod.

"I understand, and take to heart all arguments for and against," he said while looking around the table at all present. "I looked upon the sky myself the night the horn sounded and stars disappeared. I knew this day would come. Marching to war is never an easy decision, but it is a decision that must be made today. Shouting amongst ourselves is not helping us come to that decision. I have already made up my mind in what we should do, but I would like to hear from my son." He looked at Lian, sitting at his right side. Lian rose and drew his sword from his scabbard. He placed it on the table with the point facing east.

"The Border Guard stand ready to ride out of the Forever Lands." Lian said nothing more, and sat down. The silence was deafening. Never in history had the border guard ridden out of their homeland. Lian'asuran was respected by all, and for him to suggest the Border Guard was needed elsewhere rather than in the Forever Lands spoke volumes. They all looked upon the sword. No one blinked. Finally, Thol Durgan rose and broke the silence.

"I propose we put it to a vote," the dwarven general said. "What say you all?" One by one, some immediately and others hesitantly rose. One by one they nodded their agreement. All stood at the table, with the exception of Lian who still sat. Looks of confusion began to appear on their faces until Lian, still sitting, lifted the sword once more and then slammed it upon the wooden table.

"East," he said.

The remainder of the meeting focused on when they would march, and where, and how they would get where they were going. Although many were concerned with the weather, another vote decided they would march regardless. Even among them, the taurians, the dwarves, and the elves, there were priests who had discovered the gift of asking the One God for fire and being able to find warmth even in the event of blizzard or the lack of dry woods. They would march with an army of priests if they could gather enough of them. As well, the dwarves and the e'eld were well skilled in finding shelter even in open lands, and the dwarves could build tents strong enough to weather the strongest of winds and house large numbers of soldiers. At the end their biggest concerns were food— how much they should take with them and how they would find it as they journeyed. This was something, of course, that the elves could do well, but feeding an army was an undertaking. The dwarves had an abundant supply of short, long haired cattle accustomed to cold climates, as well as sheep and goats that could be driven along with the armies, and the elves had grains and dried wheat and numerous other dried foods, as well as berries and fruits that grew in the Forever Lands in all seasons. Taurians were master fishermen, and with the help of the elves could quickly gather large amounts of fish from the rivers and lakes of the Forever Lands. The fish would be preserved in salt for the long journey. It was a huge task, they all agreed, but working together they concluded it could be done. Dwarven, elven, and taurian smiths would make all manner of weapons and armor and tools, and the taurians along with the dwarves could make siege engines if a siege was necessary. They covered all plans and possibilities in their council, and when the meeting was over they immediately got their people to work. Riders were sent to the mountains to spread the word to the dwarves, throughout the Forever Lands to the elves, and south to Kyleria to the taurians. The armies would move east as soon as all were assembled. To Rosenguarde, they would go— capital city of Erinor and the center of the allied kingdoms of Isandros. East to defend themselves against slavery and death. East to ensure life for their people. East under the banner of the One True King, Jandrous.

East to war.



©Anthony David Rosenthal/To The Valley Of Dragons 2010