“We have a long day ahead of us,” Bardulf awoke them all, with a genial smile one that reassured many of Cormac’s traveling companions. They were to all to let slip several yawns, pick themselves up and make ready for the day ahead. Once finished with breakfast the Wolfram concluded with one hand combing through the long fur on his snout. “Eat swiftly, lest we should lose valuable time.”

  After this came the task of packing the horses, of mounting the horses and making their way down the path set out for them by Bardulf. The previous days were hazy in her memory, or at least those she had held the Blood-Gem for were. Daegan though excited to climb up onto the horse once again with Vragi’s aid felt a small amount of shyness. She did not much fancy making a fool of herself, as she had with the gem.

  Baleful, Yngvarr looked upon her and Cormac as they rode side-by-side so that she returned his malice with her own gaze of that sort. The notion of why a hero, of Bardulf’s rank should demean himself by favouring a man of Yngvarr’s ilk was a mystery to her.

  “He ought to find himself a sword, to throw himself upon,” She grumbled her right hand finding its way to the unicorn-pommel girded still to the left side of her waist. Her legs slung as before, down the same side of her horse, so that she rode it in a decidedly feminine manner. It was easier than hiking up her dress, so that all could see her legs, an act that she deplored in one of her few acts of feminine timidity.

  “Peace Dae, though I quite agree,” Cormac whispered to her from where he rode next to her, a small smile upon his lips.

  This secret dislike for Yngvarr, as with all whispered words between them was their secret and was a rare moment only for the two of them. This was how Daegan preferred things to be, and though she hungered still for the Blood-Gem, she made certain to ride at the rear of the group just behind Trygve, Wulfnoth and Indulf who rode between her and the lad at her side, and those at the front of their troupe. Vragi, Yngvarr and Ardwulf were at the front, with Bardulf quiet as a shadow taking the rear, for reasons of ‘safety’ he had said to them.

  So quiet was he that Daegan hardly after a few minutes noticed his presence there. Her attention was fixated firmly upon the road before them, and fighting the shadows that awoke within her heart. Shadows that she feared had existed in her prior to when she had held the terrible gem of Aganippe.

  Cormac took to his usual day-dreams, and inner-thoughts never letting slip, any hint of how he felt about such matters. Trygve to her irritation was in no way as silent, as the lad she fancied with such fervour or Kenna’s pupil.

  “By the gods, this wind is unbearable,” He groaned and whined, as the wind which the previous night had been ice-cold, chill as only the fingers of death could be warmed itself.

  “Do cease with your simpering complaints,” Daegan retorted with every bit the old bitterness she felt for him.

  “I will cease my ‘simpering complaints’, only upon the day that you cease your own.” Trygve countered with equal venom.

  “Enough the both of you,” Bardulf interrupted with a sigh, “Do you always bicker so, when out traveling?”

  “They argue in this manner, everyday,” Cormac admitted with an annoyed glance in both their directions, “Such is their nature.”

  “Brigantia preserve us all,” Bardulf grunted with a shake of his head.

  After this, though they exchanged stern glowers between them, neither Daegan nor Trygve spoke, for neither of them wished to make himself or herself appear, any more foolish than already done. With the fields with their high-grass, tall trees and distant farmers, shepherds and manor-houses soon left behind them. They were to sing their song no longer or so it appeared to the freckled ears of Daegan, for they were entering the lands of the Longwoods.

  A high green treed and green-bark covered place, full of alders, oaks and ash-wood trees of the most unwelcome variety. They ran high, much higher than those of the other forests they had previously seen. The trees made Trygve flinch with nervousness, with his brother eyeing them for some time with a suspicious gaze. Wulfnoth for all his professed lack of fear laid down the tankard he had stolen from Vragi earlier that morning.

  There was an air about this forest, it was dark and though it did not hide the suns as Alette’s woods had, there was such a solemnity that none could quite tear their gaze from the trees. Cormac in particular, stared here and there before he reached over to pull Daegan’s horse nearer his own, in a protective gesture that served to reassure her. A single glance to his face though, revealed he was as white with apprehension as she was.

  “This place is no safe place,” He murmured cautiously, “Stay near Dae lest you should become lost and never again seen by any eyes that are mortal in nature.”

  “A wise statement if ever there was one,” Bardulf uttered from behind them, making them both leap. “These are the Longwoods, from which a great many fey of the Lairdly-Isle originated from. It is also here that the first peoples of the isle fled millennia ago, from the Dark Elves millennia ago.”

  Daegan could barely swallow as the warm breeze flapped through the brushes, past the tall grass, mushrooms and strong-thewed trees all around her. There was such stillness in this place that she found proper thoughts difficult to muster. “They found safety here?”

  “Nay, not safety never that,” Bardulf said with a dark glance about them, “Though from their midst Roparzh the Reclaimer strode forth, to restore greenness to the land and to push the darkness back. This he did at great personal cost though, for it is said that he buried during this war, his brother, sons and wives.”

  “It was also during this war the first hero named Cormac arose, to fight the darkness,” Daegan said with some small amount of eagerness.

  “Yes, it is true that Cormac was a great hero, and that it was he who did more to push back the darkness than Roparzh ever could. It is said amongst my people though that Roparzh grew jealous of him and his deeds.” Bardulf recounted with a wary glance all about them.

  “That was not part of the tales that were sung to us, in infancy,” Cormac remarked amazed, “Are you certain that your folks have the right of it?”

  “Aye, do not doubt me lad,” Bardulf snapped a hint of anger in his voice, “And doubtlessly some of it has slipped into your own tales.”

  “How so?” Daegan asked now, grateful for the conversation if only to keep herself, from pondering on the shadows that appeared everywhere in these woods, waiting behind every fallen log or still standing tree, with a dirk in hand.

  “Cormac was exiled by Roparzh,” Bardulf explained seeing the stunned shock upon their faces he remarked, “It is something that has its roots in this very forest.”

  Daegan could hardly keep from gaping at him. The ridiculousness of the revelation was one that she could hardly bring herself to believe. Cormac and Roparzh were the greatest of those heroes from the Lairdly-Isle of the age of the First Wars of Darkness. Theirs was a tale that had been recounted time and again, throughout the ages with nary a single change to the epic. Songs had been sung across all of North-Agenor, of their heroism, of their valour and of their noble deeds in the battle of the Pelendran Fields, far to the south near where Auldchest now stood.

  It was said that Cormac who was but the son of a woodcutter, had saved Roparzh the Reclaimer countless times, so many that there was not gold, enough in this world, to properly repay him.

  “But Brother Conn has long said that the Canticle recounts how deeply their friendship ran,” She stammered only to look to Wulfnoth to clarify this matter.

  If she hoped for reassurance though, Wulfnoth offered none. Rather he confirmed the tale Bardulf, spoke of, “In the Canticle it is said that though Cormac began as a good friend to Roparzh’s son, Roparzh the Younger, enmity soon grew between the Reclaimer and the hero. I have no doubt that in the memory of your druid, the two figures must have somehow blurred together, and as he does not understand the old Romalian tongue, he could not discern the truth.”

  This was a revelation of the likes which near bowled her over from her horse. Daegan did not like being made to appear a fool; always she had liked the tales of Roparzh, for his heroism in spite of his being the ancestor to Brittia.

  Cormac appeared equally aggrieved and asked of Bardulf and Wulfnoth, “but why was he envious?’

  Wulfnoth tugged at his moustache, before he shrugged helplessly, “I know not why, it is a mystery.”

  “I could answer that question,” It was once again Bardulf whom spoke, “It was in this forest that their enmity was born. You see, Roparzh had some initial successes, however he was soon pushed back once more it was herein the Longwoods that his son encountered the wood-cutter’s son Cormac. Whereupon they struck an immediate friendship, Cormac though lived near fey and Elves. Those few the few who remained in this part of the world long after their kindred departed east, from this place millennia ago. Here he learnt much of ancient lore, learning it not from ancient druids or from kings but from the first folk of Bretwealda- nay all these isles as is told in the hymn which the Elves composed in his honour, in ancient times.”

  “This be Cormac’s tale,

  Quiet in birth in that far vale,

  Black shores welcom’d Elves,

  Dark wore the foul ones,

  Slack found they the Lairdly-Isle,

  Hark sayeth they the most vile,

  Stolen story; please report.

  Years uncount’d pass’d whilst war ruled,

  Corpses untold heap’d wither they annex’d,

  Flowers withered in all fields,

  Amongst both the corps and the reeds,

  Paint’d all scarlet didst they with steel,

  Vale to vale was red seen,

  Wails wert shed by clean and unclean,

  Short ran the plenty until famish’d,

  More cry’d all who bled,

  Vast travel’d was Neithan Oak-manstle,

  Father to he who never didst rankle.”

  “What a sorrowful song,” Daegan murmured struck by how awful it made war appear to be, “Do the Elves despise war so much?”

  “Some do, others glory in it but none of those Elves of the isles gloried in it for they lost too much, to its gluttonous appetite. But tush now lass, and listen,” Bardulf said to her, the indignant lass came near to speaking out once more when to her wonder, from deep within the woods came the echo of the song Bardulf had sung.

  The woods themselves appeared then to sorrow for the loss of noble Cormac, who was banished across the waves to the distant Nordic shores, with but a handful of companions and Elves for company. This part of the song in particular, the forest appeared to be in mourning for as the trees themselves, especially the older oaks and ash-trees appeared to curve a bit more at the spine in regretful memory.

  The leaves that waved in the wind appeared no less grief-stricken. There was nary any animal in sight, as the song was sung not only by an echo but from some other voices that lay deep within the deep of the Longwoods.

  *****

  For a time they wandered through the largest of Caledonia’s southern forests, still the forest echoed back the song of Cormac’s sorrow. With Ardwulf’s eyes twitching from irritation at times which was followed by him glaring at those all around him.

  This was observed by Daegan, and her friends with great consternation, with Bardulf often preferring to position their troupe so that Trygve and Daegan were as far away from the gemstone, as possible. This thankfully signified that she could avoid the unpleasant Yngvarr.

  Daegan regardless preferred things this way as it meant that she rode near the rear of their group alongside Cormac. He was as always solicitous to his companions, though he appeared stricken by his typical curiosity, one that appeared directed towards the forest much to her annoyance.

  “That blasted song,” Yngvarr grumbled towards the end of the third day in the Longwoods, “Why is it that the echo of it persists even now?”

  They were trotting at a slow pace, with Daegan bewildered to discover another branch from several of the rivers that they had hitherto crossed in the past. This time though, rather than a purely grey-stone bridge the half-league long bridge that they now found themselves upon, had the appearance of green stones.

  Yet when Cormac hopped down to touch it he exclaimed in delight ucthat it felt like alder-wood. “What is this? It feels like alder-wood yet it is not.”

  Amazed by this discovery, the rest of them soon hopped down to imitate him and were equally amazed. The rampart to either side of the bridge was the only part that had the appearance of wood, being brown and green where the once polished stone-wood surface of the large bridge which was wide enough for three dozen horses to trod upon side-by-side. Much of the forest appeared to have reclaimed the bridge though, as there were branches from some of the nearby trees that had worked their way through the ramps. There were some places where the stone-wood work had faltered leaving little holes that left the river-water visible.

  In all the size and proportion of the monument amazed all of them at first sight, with their newfound companions having pressed them onwards. The rest of his friends from Glasvhail had joined him in examining the bridge, with Wulfnoth smiling at them from beneath his long-moustache.

  “This is incredible, did the Romalians build this?” Daegan inquired unable to imagine any other ancient people who could have built a monument as impressive as this one.

  “I thought they never made it so far north as Rothien or the Longwoods,” Indulf murmured in equal amazement as he touched the wood-stone before he said over his shoulder to Trygve who was the only one amongst them who stayed a-horse. “Trygve, feel this green stone with your hands, it is strange and incredible.”

  “I am quite aright where I am, thank you,” Trygve answered stiffly.

  “Back on your horses!” Bardulf barked at them in exasperation, “We have no time for such a detour, not if we wish to reach the forest-citadel.”

  “Leave them be for a few minutes Bardulf,” Wuflnoth said with a smile playing upon his lips, “I shan’t imagine it will do them any harm to pay homage to this old Elvish monument.”

  Bardulf grumbled beneath his breath, yet did not say anything to counter his point though it was evident that he disapproved. Ahead of them Vragi pulled Ardwulf and Yngvarr to a sudden halt, to wait for them.

  Still Cormac would not be deferred from his self-appointed inspection of the alder-stones, asking with wonder in his voice. “Wait, the Elves built this? I did not know they built structures in this manner.”

  “Oh but they did, long ago before the Romalians ever came here, and before the Dark Elves also. It was their presence hereon Bretwealda that drew the dark ones to this distant isle as surely as it attracted them to ériu.” Wulfnoth revealed with a hint of softness in his voice and in his dark-chocolate eyes, “The Elves were not hunted from this place by their evil cousins but rather by those men that they chose to fight alongside in those first dark wars.”

  “What? How could this have happened?” Cormac asked, ever the lover of Elf and fairy-stories his eyes gleaming brightly with wonder.

  Wulfnoth laughed once more charmed by his curiosity as he commented. “I am not familiar with all of the details, only that they were herded upon the boats that took Cormac away from this place. It is said that before Roparzh’s ancient ancestor of the same name, the Wilder-Elves built a mighty kingdom here. And that the forest was part of their great monuments and was grown in defence of their city. They fought many valiant wars against those Cyclops who came hither to conquer as they were wont to do, in ancient times in the ancient age.”

  “Wilder-Elves?” Daegan asked now, as intrigued by this term as Kenna’s son was, her own eyes shining greenly with curiosity.

  “There are many Elves in this world, they came from the west- from some distant land and continued their journey east, after many a centuries it is said. The Wilder-Elves though were those who dispersed to the north, farther east and who remained here.” Bardulf explained now, if reluctantly, “Most Wilder-Elves did not form true kingdoms however some of their chieftains did as those of the Lairdly-Isle did, before they were shattered by their feuds with the Cyclops people. It was not until men came to these shores and the first Roparzh King was crowned that the Cyclops people were driven into the sea and slaughtered that peace was restored. By that time, the Elves were but a shadow of their previous glory hereon the Lairdly-Island.”

  “How do you know all of this?” Cormac asked amazed and fascinated, by the depths of the Wolfram’s knowledge.

  “I too wonder about that, it appears that in twenty years your own knowledge has come to outstrip my own on the matter, of the history of Bretwealda Bardulf.” Wulfnoth praised if cautiously so, a bit of displeasure in his voice. Evidently he liked being the one whom people turned to for answers to such questions.

  The hero flushed a little beneath his fur with a small smile, soaking in the admiration of the lad and apparently appreciative of his love for all things fey.

  His dog-lips pulled back to show his large white fangs as he smiled as he spoke in earnest, “I have met several of their folks, and have come to call a few friend, for there is an ancient trust between the wilder-folk and my own.”

  “Why is that?” Cormac asked as soon as the question had been answered, his awe towards all things fey near bowling over their guide.

  “You ask questions faster than I can answer them,” Bardulf complained good-naturedly. “It lies in the tale of Féavonoé and his bond with the great High-Elf prince Féalandvil the Magnificent. Theirs is the most beautiful of the Elf-tales and I could sing the whole of the song and we would still be here therefore, I shall refrain from doing so.”

  Cormac looked as though he might prefer it were their guide to begin the song. The story of Féavonoé one that Wiglaf had hinted at in the past, so that Daegan could well-understand his frustration. Indulf for his part regained his feet in order to regain his horse’s saddle, with Daegan quick to follow his example.

  “Do you think we will encounter, any Elves?” Cormac asked his eagerness undiminished by the harsh tone of their guide.

  “I should hope not,” Bardulf replied softly.

  “But you said you were friends,” Daegan objected bemused.

  “Because, any encounter with Elves is often a prelude to dark events or tragedies for those who meet with them outside their homes,” Bardulf warned ominously.

  *****

  The other side of the bridge had two great mighty oaks to either side, with their mighty trunks more than four meters thick. Mighty and glorious, they were every bit as green as the rest of the great trees of the Longwoods, though these oaks nonetheless paled in comparison to the majesty of Ciaran’s Oak.

  The path through the forest which had before been as green save for how well-trodden it was the road now became a road-proper. It was hardly paved in the way you or I might be accustomed to, but rather in the same way that the alder-bridge was paved. The ground was alder-wooded with grass lain down upon it also, with the greenness of it shining in the sunlight not unlike emeralds.

  “Such is the art of Elf-craft,” Vragi said with some pride and admiration in his voice, “It is said that they had aid from we Wolframs.”

  “Who said that?” Yngvarr challenged with a quirked brow.

  “The elders of my clan,” He replied at once, irritation leaking into his voice.

  “Bah, mere hearsay,” The Norseman sneered.

  The two went on to bicker at some length, over the topic of how much assistance the Wolframs had truly lent to the Wilder-Elves efforts.

  As they argued at length, and as Cormac sought to heckle both Wulfnoth and Bardulf over the topic of fey and Elves, a topic they both wished to drop. It was thus a disappointed Cormac who turned to grumbling beneath his breath, about those around him. Indulf and Trygve for their own part went on to bicker between themselves, about the glow of the ground beneath their horses’ hooves.

  It was as the road curved two leagues away from the bridge that a new song echoed, in mockery of Yngvarr, which drew a snarled curse form him in his mother-tongue of Arnish. With the song drawing a further snarl of fury from him, and gasps from his traveling companions who stared, all about them in the hope of seeing one of the Elves.

  “Oye! Why do you tread that way,

  And how do you intend to?

  Your pony is as grey

  As sure as it sways fro and to,

  The forest keeps growing,

  He-ha-ha-ha

  Are you sure it is sober?

  Oye! Is it swaying?

  Or is it you?

  Yngvarr you are reeking,

  The tankard in hand on cue,

  Oh look how jolly he rides!

  What brings Yngvarr

  And his sober friends hither?

  O if only Yngvarr was not Yngvarr

  Then there might still be liquor,

  Enough for old Wulfnoth!

  Will ye sway off o’er the hill?

  Or will ye sleep it off?

  Day is falling near the hill,

  Dusk rising to ride drunk

  Would be folly, though ye are so jolly,

  O Yngvarr do cease swaying golly!

  How we worry about this drunk!”

  In the days that followed, this was not the only song that echoed through the forest which remained darkened with the shadow of past glories. The old bells of primordial civilizations rang loud and true through those woods the younger children of the world knew to be the Longwoods.

  Though Bardulf insisted that the Elves had not ‘deformed’ or ‘reshaped’ living trees, it was Cormac who insisted that in many a places there were engravings in the trees. Notably the ash-trees held carvings that were not carved into the bark of the trees, or so Cormac claimed. With many of the trees also appearing to have inter-tangled branches that may have formed bridges overhead or what appeared to be a great dome of sorts.

  This was denied by Bardulf, who though he had admitted that there was much that he was fairly certain that there were no Elves left upon the Lairdly-Isle.

  “How can the Elves have left this place, and yet insist that you have met them?” Trygve asked with a small cynical smile.

  Daegan resented having to agree with him, though in this situation she did had to acknowledge, “Agreed, surely there must be some left here, what of that song from the other day?”

  “That was the fey; they are all that remains of such people upon the Lairdly-Isle.” Bardulf insisted only to state with a glance towards the sandy-haired lad, “And those Elves I encountered live upon the Continent, notably in some of the forests therein Gallia. For they have remained there over the millennia, in rivalry with the Zulvrain people until their conquest by the Romalians, who attempted to push them out of the lands that we now call Gallia.”

  Though he adored learning about the Elves, Cormac appeared doubtful of the notion that those distant cousins of the fey had been truly pushed out so completely from Bretwealda.