The tale of éluan at an end, Bardulf soon fell quiet. Thirsty he could speak no more of the great High-King who had restored some small amount of glory to Neustria ere it gave way to Gallia. The latter part of the tale of the High-King was not spoken of for some time, with the monarch having already Cormac could see, a source of fascination to the Elves.

  Calandra sighed softly, almost in love with the figure of whom they spoke. Lauma was most pleased by talk of éluan’s victory over Mydan, with Kyrenas equally awed by the tale. It was his reaction that most surprised those around him.

  “An astonishing man,” the father of the equally awe-struck Glarald murmured, almost as pleased as his son was by the legend of éluan, “How did he perish?”

  “There is a song to that effect, composed by his great-grandson Guillaume the Loyal,” Fergus informed the Elf with a sad smile. Sucking in a breath he soon sang of the end of éluan’s tale, with Cormac amazed at his fluid ability to translate the song from its native Gallian so fluently into Caled.

  “In the reign of éluan there was much joy,

  He was ere his death wed to Foy,

  The realm in his reign was free and merry,

  All ate meat and many a-berry,

  His sword bore the name of his virtue,

  All songs that praise his name are true,

  His blade was that of the brave,

  As the suns in the heavens he was ne’er depraved,

  Romus Dragon-Lord did the King hunt,

  As the King had many a lions in the past did hunt,

  For his wife, this third-sun did die,

  Over in the Lyons-Forêt in Gallia where men still cry.”

  “He deserved to perish more honourably,” Daegan fussed with a frown, having never been particularly fond of how the High-King had died.

  Her words remained all that were uttered for a time, with the still moved Kyrenas nodding his head melancholically, saying as the suns began to dip a little. “It has ever been the way of the world that the noblest and most heroic of men always perish first. They are either, sought out and slain, by those envious of them for their goodness, or seek to do right and thus, become martyrs.”

  “Aye,” Glarald agreed with a sad nod of his head, “And this monarch’s heirs are the present kings of Gallia?”

  “Aye, my cousin Clovis the Conqueror is his heir both in title, and blood!” Daegan boasted with such enthusiasm that several around her stared in stupefaction at the revelation that she was a relative of the Gallian royal line.

  Some doubted, as in the case of Lyr who muttered, “Have you any proof of your royal status, Daegan?”

  “Have you any of yours?” Glarald argued back with a cheeky grin that served only to cause the prince to fume at him.

  “Regardless of proof, it is highly doubtful that a peasant lass from Caledonia could possibly be related to the King of Gallia,” Ronald added cynically.

  “Though Daegan can be a little too boastful for my own taste, I have never known her to lie,” Calandra enjoined with a warm almost sisterly smile in the direction of Daegan who beamed back. Pleased by the warmth and support she had found among the Elves, whom she had as warm a place in her heart for, as Cormac did.

  Silent throughout these exchanges of songs and tales of golden éluan, Cormac had the thought as they drifted into a new period of silence, if the Golden-King would have liked being the subject of songs. He had never before considered this possibility, yet the thought proved to be one that he could not quite quash. He wondered when the time came for Bardulf to be sung of would he himself or his friends be remembered at all.

  It made his head hurt, so that he was grateful for quiet that overtook the pit. Though, his mind continued to be plagued by musings about the nature of eternity, of music and of people themselves, for a long time.

  *****

  It was the next day that Andvari was next seen, appearing once more covered in dust and dirt. Letting out a great cry of alarm at the sight of more of them, he wondered aloud, “How is it that there have come to be more of you? Where did they find thee?”

  His question was answered by an annoyed Daegan who never had much love for the smelly Dwarf, “They were recently found upon the rocks near the promontory, where we were rescued by rope.”

  Andvari remained steadfastly hostile towards them, with the most notable person to take a dislike to him being Lauma. Between her disdain for him and the old tales of Dwarves eating Elves that she grew up with, he was soon treated in the following days to a healthy amount of ridicule for his lack of height, his scraggly appearance and derided for his seeming paranoia towards the influence of the Dark Laird.

  Sharing in her disgust towards Andvari, Fergus refused to have dealings with him, and where he had previously criticised the songs of others as he considered himself almost the rightful judge of what made good or bad poetry. Fergus did not join with Lauma in singing songs ridiculing the Dwarf, or speaking that they ought to increase the number of guards twofold a night, out of mistrust towards him.

  It was a song of such ridicule that only an Elf or fey could have sung it, and it drove poor Andvari so mad that he became red with wrath, and his mouth foamed with froth at the sound of it. Singing it until the guards up above them, banged their spears upon the bars of the cell, having grown insulted and outraged by the insults to their brother he was no longer recognised by the vast majority of the tribe as such.

  “There be a Dwarf,

  Down by the surf,

  Grey-bearded and starry-eyed,

  Upon his brow all the hair has died,

  Tra-la, look upon the stout,

  Somebody really ought

  To exercise his stubby legs,

  Lest he should in the sea

  Cry out and out and beg,

  He really is quite pitiful we all agree,

  There be a Dwarf,

  Down by the surf,

  Grey-bearded and starry-eyed,

  Upon his brow all the hair has died.”

  “Quiet! Quiet! Do not sing of me so!” Andvari shrieked as one possessed, filled with hatred he lunged at Lauma, with his hands upraised.

  He might well have struck her a terrible blow, or otherwise done her some great harm, were it not for the timely intervention of Connor who was all the swifter. He was aided by Lyr, who threw him back down near where he had surged from. It was then that the man to the Elf-maidens’ tune of the mocking song delivered a great blow with his foot, to the Dwarf’s chest.

  It was then that the guards interceded with great bellows, for quiet lest the Elves should prefer that Andvari’s folk rain down a rain of spears upon them.

  “I shan’t believe, he attempted to lunge at me,” Lauma muttered to herself, with no small amount of self-righteous indignation.

  While he typically was warm towards her, it was at that moment that Glarald turned away from her, rose to his feet and stalked away to the opposite end of the cavern. Refusing to gaze at her, her sister or his own father for that matter, he seated himself by the side of Bardulf and said no more. The Wolfram for his part stared at the Elf-maids with disappointment and a great deal of displeasure in his eyes.

  “And you call yourselves, the heiresses of Arduinna,” He said sharply, each word serving to wound the two fair maids, ere he turned now his gaze upon the men from ériu. “I expected no less from the two of you; therefore I have naught to add save that Bradán, Meallán and Gaston would be filled with sorrow to know what you have done.”

  “Aye, Andvari is small and helpless,” Cormac added in support, having been too shocked ere that moment to intervene, yet now that he had seen violence done to the poor Dwarf he felt fury rouse itself n his spirit.

  “Hardly helpless, he lunged at Lauma,” Daegan argued heatedly, keen to defend her friends.

  “Dae, he is small where Connor and Lyr are large, weak from starvation where they are not. Is it right for the mighty to strike the weak? Is that your notion of glory and honour? If so, I would have no part in it.” Cormac said inflamed by outrage at what those around him were implying.

  This was how division grew in the pit, with the likes of Calandra soon feeling ashamed, with the érians looking away from others as they later sought to fumblingly apologize to Andvari who would not hear of it. His refusal to accept their apologies, won him no favours with them, Kyrenas who was too proud to admit to a mistake and Fergus. Accepting only Cormac’s offer of aid, he soon left for the shadows of the right-hand corner of the prison, preferring to ignore them and play at deafness when they sought to apologise.

  Angered by his brother’s joining in the humiliation of the Dwarf, Ronald moved away from him to go sit by the silent Bardulf and Glarald.

  As to Daegan she seated herself by Calandra’s side, while the miserable Cormac once his anger had bled away from him was made to sit alone. Previously seated between the Dwarf’s hiding place and where the Elves were, he was now shunned. He could have gone over to sit with Bardulf, yet he had no desire to, due to the stench of sweat-mattered fur being one he hardly cared for. What was more, was that he was too tired from the heat to truly move and could hardly bring himself to think of moving.

  *****

  It was later that he was to miss the heat to an extent, when the suns fell and coldness galloped over to replace the heat, accompanied by its groom; hunger. Fed only once a day, most fell hungry, and being full of bitterness against one another they could hardly stomach each other’s company. It was perhaps the most difficult night, of their whole quest. It was a night which seemed to Cormac to stretch out forever without end, or so he thought for a time, until there was a small orange glow that overcame his corner of the pit.

  Looking up in surprise, he was struck by the sight of the sorcerer standing over him, with his staff aglow once again though this time it was not with a blue-glow but an orange one. It was a glow that came with a feeling of warmth that he had not felt for what had to be an eternity.

  “Th-thank you, Master Ronald,” Cormac murmured moved by his uncharacteristic act of kindness.

  To his complete bafflement, since out of all his companions it was Ronald whom he knew the least well. He whom he had had the least amount of conversations with, and it was the Tigrun-sorcerer that he had hardly exchanged more than a few words in passing with. As far as he knew the magii did not like him, a conclusion he had reached due to the surliness of the older male’s nature.

  “May I sit by you, Cormac,” Ronald requested politely, his face as composed as ever, with his eyes giving no hint to his innermost thoughts.

  “But of course, I do not mind,” Cormac agreed at once, unable to guess the reason why the older man had asked when he appeared already determined to sit next to him.

  Once seated primly with his back straight and pressed against the rock of the cavern behind them, Ronald the sorcerer did not begin to speak at once.

  “I understand that you alone, alongside Bardulf have shown pity to that wretched creature,” Ronald stated quietly, which pulled a hasty several nods from the lad in question. Pleased, he continued with an air of satisfaction, “I expected no less from one so friendly with old Wiglaf.”

  Flattered, Cormac tried to stifle the burst of pride that warmed his chest, aware as he was that undue pride could rapidly lose him the approval of this Tigrun. And at the moment, he could sense that this was his only chance to possibly learn more about the secretive Ronald, who always appeared to hold himself aloof from the rest of them.

  “I do appreciate your kindly words,” He stammered clumsily, flushing a little in pleasure at the praise, as he liked the idea of the old sorcerer Wiglaf, liking him. He had always been fond of him, rather in the manner of a nephew with a kindly old uncle, or a grandson towards his grandfather.

  “I did not say them out of kindness,” Ronald told him rudely, his stiff manner acting much as the shock of cold water often did upon one who was in the middle of a deep rest. “I said what I think of your actions, not of you as a person.”

  “I see,” Cormac replied quietly, uncertain if he ought to be insulted or not by the tone and manner in which the sorcerer had addressed him.

  There was another period of silence, as Ronald demonstrated what Cormac was beginning to see, was his preferred manner of communication. Some men such as Bardulf were hearty and open about their views of others, some such as Wiglaf though private with his thoughts never left anyone in any doubt if he liked the said person. Or so the youth had observed, in all his time spent with the wise old mage. The both of them were gregarious men, prone to enjoying an open and highly friendly conversation.

  Ronald was the opposite. He preferred silence, so that he was considered unfriendly and cold by those around him.

  “Wiglaf is very kind, do you think he survived?” He asked hoping to keep the topic light-hearted in nature.

  “If he did we shan’t know where he is at, at the moment. He has deep magicks of which we could only imagine, at his disposal and could have transported himself anywhere or simply trapped himself upon a nearby stone as my brother foolishly thought to do.” Ronald retorted brusquely.

  “Your brother clung to that rock, to save your life,” Cormac snapped feeling rather petulant towards the unfriendly Tigrun.

  “It does not make it any less foolish a thing to do,” Ronald replied shortly, with a certain amount of sheepishness and softness in his voice.

  Confused by this description of the man’s own brother, for he would never dream to describe Indulf or Trygve that way, and they along with Inga had been the closest people he could have described as siblings. The very notion of criticising one’s family in this fashion was bewildering to him. “Why do you describe him as a fool? Do you dislike him?”

  The Tigrun sorcerer stared at him for a few minutes, ere he broke out into a long laugh. “Not at all, it is just that I find Fergus’s impulsive nature difficult to understand at times.”

  “Have you never done anything impulsive in your life?” Cormac queried rather more sharply than he had intended, as well as a little more needled. If anything the Tigrun’s laughter only quintupled for a time before he calmed himself, enough to draw out more of the lad’s ire, “What? Why do you laugh so?”

  “I have never heard anyone, in all my life, ask such a ridiculous question,” Ronald replied earnestly, his eyes gleaming with the light of joy and amusement for the first time, since the youth had made his acquaintanceship.

  Affronted, Cormac came so very near to asking him why it was that no one had ever asked him such a question. Only to bite down upon that query, suspicious that it would only result in his being mocked once more.

  Thankfully there was to be no extended uncomfortable silence, to weigh down upon either of them, with Ronald no longer interested in pursuing his strange, cold period of quietness. “If I may ask, did your father ever speak of the geography of this island?”

  “Nay,” He said at once puzzled by the question, one that he had not heard before and had not expected to hear from the Tigrun. The youth came near once again to saying more; only to trip over himself with the Tigrun with his staff placed upon his knees silenced him with a wave of his hand. Confused, Cormac stared at him in consternation, when Andvari emerged from the shadows trembling and shivering with an eager gleam in his glittering eyes. Unsettled, Cormac looked from him to the sorcerer, “You are not going to chase Andvari away?”

  “I wish to hear his tale about the Dark Laird, and what Andvari has to say about him,” Ronald explained to him, calm as the wind was, signalling for the Dwarf to seat himself with them. “Do sit down, Andvari and tell me of your views regarding Thvalin and his uncle.”

  Andvari to the lack of surprise of the youth did as exactly as bidden. Though he did lower his gaze from his own, in a demonstration of timidity that appeared to his mind wholly uncharacteristic for the Dwarf.

  The tale he told though was a little different though, once he had finished with his view that the Misty-Island had been conquered by this time, and that the Dark Laird intended to use similar tactics in the lands of Bretwealda.

  It was at this time that Ronald intervened, sharp as the most well-forged Dragonsteel blades, he asked a question that Cormac had thought the last time he had heard the Dwarf speak of this topic yet had not the courage to ask. “How did you come by this knowledge? Who were you ere you were cast down, into this pit Andvari?”

  The Dwarf seated before them on what appeared to be almost broken knees, bowed his head before them, his beard trailing down to the aforementioned knees in question. “I was chieftain of the Margdvarrovs,” When he saw how puzzled they were by this term he clarified for them, “Our clan, it is what we ‘Sea-Dwarves’ call ourselves in our tongue.”

  Testing the word for a few minutes, Cormac thought it rather strange and almost unsightly though there was a similarity to his tongue’s word for the sea; ‘mar’. At least the beginning of the term had that similarity he mused, keenly interested in the topic of the Dwarvish language now.

  But Andvari had no more to say of this topic, cast in shadows with the darkness of night looming out over them and the coldness of the cell upon them all, he spoke of darkness unending and sorrow yet to come.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  As Cassandra of Ilion was he, that fabled tragic seer who foretold to her liege Priam all the sorrows that were to come upon his kingdom, thus did Andvari speak in similar tones and manner of what awaited them. “I discovered upon my last visit to the ‘Deep-Dwarves’ as you might know them, our brothers whom we have long loved and clung to since we made peace during the Wars of Darkness. Yet somehow had begun to quarrel with as of late, it was there that I found their king, my wife’s cousin Dwalor a changed man from the last I had spoken to him.

  Rather than welcoming me, as one might a kinsman he listened to the whispers of a Ratvian by the name of Mortivan. Sly and cruel, Mortvian lied and lied, and coming from the lands of Tuathmurdún, he spoke of the envy of my people, of how I was there to unseat Dwalor. It was then that the king seized my son and daughter, along with my wife whom I had dearly loved since first we met. He did this because he thought; I would not act against him as chieftain of the Margdvarrovs.”

  At this time tears sprung into his eyes, only for him to dab at them with the edges of his dirt and mud encrusted beard.

  A disgusted expression on his face at this gesture, Ronald tended to him a simple black linen cloth which the Dwarf eagerly rubbed at his face and blew his nose upon. He came near to tossing it away, he was however stopped by the Tigrun who simply waved his hand over it, and thus was it clean again.

  Eyeing this accomplishment with trepidation, Andvari did not appear to trust the magic of the Tigrun, which reminded Cormac of the mistrust that Indulf felt towards deeds such as these. Asking of the Dwarf, as he eyed the other non-human’s hands suspiciously, “You were chief of your people?”

  “Aye,” Andvari affirmed with another sniffle, handed the handkerchief by the sorcerer he simply held it between his trembling hands as he spake. “I was chief, at the time of when I speak of, and it was at that time that I turned now to make common cause with the Jarls in the north-east. I found them as corrupted as the rest were; the Jarl Sweyn was a broken man whose sons were divided over his inheritance. Ketill was wholly keen to follow the path set for him by the Dark Laird, as to the last of the three he was entirely dominated by his wife, who was the daughter of Stáli.”

  “Was there truly none you could turn to? What of the Amazons and the Centaurs, of whom you spoke of before?” Ronald asked rubbing at his chin in a pensive gesture, leaning forward as he spoke ever so slightly, keenly interested in what the old Dwarf had to say.

  “They are barbarians with nary any good in them; they are too divided in their petty internal quarrels and fickle to negotiate with.” Andvari stated dismissively looking up the Tigrun as though he were half mad, wherefore he continued his sad tale of the fall of lairds and kings to ignominious surrender and vassalage to their enemy. “The next group of whom I sought to tie myself to were those newcomers to this island. They reached this place nigh on seventy years ago, and are Norléanians.

  Ferocious warriors, they may as well be half-horse so well do they ride, with their appetite for conquest and battle such that they have claimed the largest of the corners of the island. Their lands serve as a knife to divide we Margdvarrovs from the northern-men who inhabit what we have termed the Nardlandrs.

  It is in this interceding land that the knight Arnaud of Roven arrived, the son of Balderic one of the greatest of the Dukes of Norléans. It was he, along with his three younger half-brothers, his half-sister’s two sons and countless other knights and warriors colonized the east of the island.

  We Sea-Dwarves had traded frequently with those from Norléans, and I had thought to find allies in them, and believed that as the fiercest force upon the island they would be the most reliable force to rally to my cause and to daunt the others into righteous action. Rather than join with me, they imprisoned me for a time, with their new chieftain the youngest of Arnaud’s sons, Balderic, having usurped his elder brother and his children. It is with a great deal of the laird of Tuathmurdún’s wealth flowing to aid in the buying of grain, slaves and other useful goods, he has begun to encroach upon the lands of the Northmen.”

  It was at this time that Ronald, to the shock of Cormac and Andvari pulled forth from the many folds of his robes a small tankard of ale that the Dwarf accepted with relish. Drinking it almost empty in a single gesture, gulping it down greedily with a loud smack of his lips, Andvari thanked him enthusiastically. “Thank you for that! I have not had proper Dwarf-ale in years, thank you so much!”

  “Not at all, keep the tankard I have one last one should you wish for it,” Ronald offered at once, not unkindly as he encouraged him to go on, when the Dwarf nodded his head most eagerly. “What did you do next?”

  “I escaped by disguising myself as a druid of Ziu, returned home and began to rally my people. It was then that a messenger from the Dark Laird arrived, informing me that he knew of my sorrows. He offered to have my kinsmen and wife returned to me, if I were to follow in the steps of those other leaders of the island and Sivrard of Jorvik and Uhtric of Rheged, and swear myself to him. I refused, and it was two days later that my cousin and his nephew Thvalin threw me down and had me imprisoned here. They did so to foil my attempts to rally all the other Margdvarrov tribes together against our mountain cousins, and the Dark Laird.” Andvari carried on, almost weeping by the end of his tale.

  Ronald was visibly affected by this tale of woe and the manifold sorrows that had befallen the former chieftain of the coastal Margdvarrovs. The weight of his grief, of all that he had been made to endure shook Cormac, to his core.

  How was a man to maintain his strength and vigour in the face of such cruelty, from those who ought to have been one’s allies? This question haunted him, and made him think darkly of all that had been inflicted upon the chieftain who sat before him. Thus, though hardly a man prone to tears in recent days, Cormac could hardly blame him for shedding tears as he did.

  *****

  It was some time ere Ronald next addressed the Dwarf, speaking in his eternally slow and methodical manner that hinted at the depth within him. “You have given us a great deal to ponder, Andvari. I shall have to ponder it and meditate upon all the tendrils that the Dark Laird has spread throughout these lands.”

  “Hurry, for I shall not remain idle for long,” Andvari retorted shortly, snuffling and wiping at his nose once more with the handkerchief that the sorcerer had handed him which he returned to him.

  Ronald nodded his head, leaning back against the wall his eyes soon closing as he fell into a quick sleep.

  Having never heard of someone sleeping whilst sitting up, Cormac could not help but stare at him. All around him, he heard the even breathing of his other companions, save for that of Kyrenas, who shifted a little in his sleep, yet otherwise did not waken.

  It was when he returned his gaze to that of the Dwarf that he found the old man staring at him, keenly interested, much to the bewilderment of the nettled Caled. He could feel his temper rise a little, disliking being stared at in such a manner, so that when he next spoke, with a little more heat than he might have otherwise preferred (due to pity for Andvari). “Why do you stare at me so?”

  Andvari answered rather less nervously than he had in the past, rather than back away or react in any frightened manner towards the hint of heat in the youth’s voice. Saying with genuine feeling, “You are kind lad, for this reason I shall return thy kindness.” The observation that he was considered kind by the stranger, embarrassed him, he was fumbling for a reply when the Dwarf went on. “For this reason, I shall share with you my secret.”

  Without another word to explain what it was that he spoke of, Andvari turned away signalling for him to follow him into the shadows. Through shadow and darkness crawling forward against his will a part of him that sounded rather akin to Daegan whispering that it could be a trick on Andvari’s part.

  His breath hitched a little in fear, his cheeks warmed with anger he followed for an unending period of time. One that felt somehow colder, less hospitable than all the rest of the cavern that their captors had dug to imprison the most undesirables of their society. It was with a start that he realized he really did not like being below ground, or at least the depths of his dislike for the feeling darkness and the weight of the earth up above him. He needed cool breezes, warm suns and the breeze of the wind against his skin, to properly feel at home.

  Full of self-pity, Cormac found this the most unpleasant part of his entire journey. This sentiment was countered by his next thought, which caused a whole series of shudders to run through him, as he recalled the visions, shown him by the Kingwraith’s shadow.

  His dark musings were pulled to a sudden halt as he bumped into the back of the Dwarf, who suddenly stood up, with the shadows of this corner of the pit running deeper than he had originally believed them to. Startled by how long he had been crawling for, as much as he was by the almost manic joy in the eyes of the Dwarf who loomed over him then. This was the true first moment of trepidation and fright that Cormac felt towards Andvari.

  “Do you see? Do you see it?” Andvari asked of him almost madly, gesticulating to the shadows that lay ahead of them.

  “N-nay,” Cormac admitted hating that his voice stuttered then.

  His face falling, the former chieftain did not lash out as he expected, though there was a flash of anger in his eyes. One that made him quail a little deep within his being, with the youth squashing this sentiment as ruthlessly as he could, having no wish to show the sort of weakness.

  The anger did not entirely fade, though it was to fall back behind an intent exterior that was difficult to read, with Andvari muttering to him. “I have dug for years, and have recently taken to widening the hole in order to assist you also, when the time comes.”

  “What do you mean by ‘when the time comes’?” Cormac asked stupidly.

  “For when you wish to escape also, mooncalf!” Andvari hissed at him in a fit of anger, one that hardly registered itself in the mind of the lad kneeling before him.

  Shocked, he allowed himself to be encouraged forward to investigate the hole, which was where there had once been a wall. Or where Cormac imagined there to have been a rocky wall, with the youth amazed to find that there was a black tarp of dark wool that hung from two nails just above his lowered head and that past it was a hole.

  It was dark and gave a putrid scent as though there were a great many rat-corpses that lay down this path. Disgusted it was all Cormac could do not to vomit. When he did swallow down his revulsion he found himself rather more impressed than he ever was before, at the Dwarf’s cunning.

  Struck by the ingeniousness of the Dwarf’s actions he found that his hands came to rest upon the cool feel of two small wrist-sized picks which were almost worn to the nub. Neither of them appeared as though they could have dug this hole.

  “How long have you dug at this hole, and how did you come by these tools?” He asked of the paranoid prisoner who cackled a little if under his breath.

  “Nigh on six years since I was first cast down into the shadows,” Andvari confessed to him, “I was given those tools, the blanket and the nails by trading my meal shortly thereafter for them, with a guard.”

  Studying the darkness that lay ahead, Cormac felt hope return to his breast, whereupon he turned back from the cavern to ask of the scraggly captive who’s glittering eyes almost shone in the darkness. Thinking to persuade him of the value of the others, he asked of him in a quiet voice, “What of the others chief Andvari?”

  Being addressed as chief appeared to take the Dwarf by surprise, as his eyes watered a little at the title. Moved by the title, he almost did not answer so distracted was he; by thoughts of his lost station in life, with the old Dwarf whispering back to him in a flat voice, “What of them?”

  Once again Cormac was struck by the indifference of the Dwarf, and had to search for a valid reason that might persuade his fellow prisoner of the value his friends had. He might have appealed to reason, or to the fact that a great many of them were skilled in arms, but this was not the route he undertook. For in truth, such things mattered but little to the Caled, who preferred to speak as all men do in such situations, of what might draw the most sympathy of his listener.

  “Andvari, you have been here for six years, surely you of all people must know the terrible darkness that lies at the heart of this pit, and that all men especially my friends do merit freedom. The freedom to feel the wind upon their faces and tresses, to run about and to eat a proper meal, therefore why deny them that which you, yourself crave?”

  Andvari appeared to hesitate.

  It was quite some time ere he answered his rhetorical question. When he did, it was with a sudden flare of anger that startled the Caled and nearly made him strike his head upon the nearby rock. So startled was he by the outburst, he could do little more than stare in fright at Andvari who suddenly appeared to him, as no different in appearance and manner, to his other captors.

  “Nay! Never! I forbid it,” His voice rose something that the Dwarf briefly forgot so swept up by his own ill-feelings towards the others was he. “I will never assist them, and why should I? What have they done for me, other than humiliate and beat me? I will never aid them in escaping this place. For these reasons, they have come to merit their ends, whatever they may be.”

  *****

  After this Andvari did not speak to Cormac the following day, whether this was because he remained furious or because he was digging some more it was a mystery.

  Not that Cormac had any great desire to speak with him, any further upon the subject of escape. He knew he would have to soon, but as he did not know what awaited them on the other side of the tunnel, as he had begun to suspect the Dwarf of having lost some of his wits as others had suggested.

  There was also the matter of Cormac feeling a touch of anger at the fact that he had allowed the Dwarf to frighten him, and that he had forbidden him from speaking to the others.

  In spite of his fury though, he did not immediately address the others, as he had a great deal weighing upon his mind.

  This was the reason near the end of yet another scorching hot day that when Daegan complained rather more bitterly than he had expected, “Why do you remain so silent? Why do you not acknowledge how you have been wrong about Andvari? And why do you sit by Ronald, occasionally whispering to him in such a manner?”

  “It does not concern you,” Ronald snapped sharply to the consternation of Cormac, who had hardly forgotten his previous quarrel with Daegan, though he had forgotten his earlier anger.

  In truth, he had come to think that she may have been a little right about Andvari, with that said; he was not at all pleased with her insults and childishness, and thinking that a little silence might do her some good.

  This along with the continued silence on his part towards the rest of his companions had a visible effect upon some. Certain ones such as Fergus had hardly grown attached to him, and thus, cared little for his stony silence. Others such as Connor had come to respect him, if strangely in his own way, while Lyr still held him as beneath him.

  Lauma held him in little higher regard than that which she held Andvari in. Same in the case of Kyrenas, with it being Calandra of the three who appeared most stung by his shunning of them. Gazing at him, with quiet wounded green eyes that reminded him so very much of her majestic mother’s gaze, so that he felt himself to be in the utter wrong for treating her so.

  It was Bardulf and Ronald alone that he spoke to, though the former was not particularly talkative at the moment, visiting the two of them only when the heat grew too much for him. Fergus and Ronald though not originally speaking to one another, were soon reconciled if in whispers ere, the former took up Bardulf’s place within the cool blue halo cast by Ronald’s staff.

  Ignoring Daegan proved far less easy than he thought it might prove itself to be. For there was some fundamental part of him that was repulsed by her comportment, the day prior; he had never seen her take satisfaction or justify the bearing down upon a weaker individual. It was a side of her he had never seen before, and had never wished to. So that now that he had been made to see it, a part of him felt both disillusioned and disappointed.

  The Daegan he had played with when he was young had been a wee lass who dreamt of defending the weak, the helpless and who loved to sing of fine deeds of honour. She would have been as revolted he told himself, by the Daegan he had seen one day ago, as he felt.

  He was soon distracted though, from his brooding about his oldest friend by Glarald approaching him with a friendly look in his eyes. Always keen to speak with the friendly Wilder-Elf, Cormac gladly made space for him where he was seated against the wall opposite to that which Ronald was seated with his back against.

  “I wished to speak to you, of the matter of this Dwarf,” Glarald murmured to him with considerably more warmth than he had previously used when speaking with Lauma. The Elf-maiden as though to provide proof of the differences between the two of them, glared foul murder in his direction and that of his friend.

  “Why is that the case?” Cormac queried curiously of his friend.

  “Because, I have concerns though they are not at all similar to those of my kindred,” Glarald informed him genially, grimacing nonetheless in spite of his warm tone. “As you well know, we Elves have always held Dwarves to be our enemies, and I am not certain that as an elf-friend, any affection Andvari feels for you is genuine.”

  At this warning, Cormac let a harsh sigh of irritation escape from his lips, annoyed by the trepidation which the son of Kyrenas felt towards his newfound friend. “Is this more rubbish about Lauma and Calandra muttering about Andvari or other Dwarves devouring Elves?”

  Glarald offered up another smile, one that was as amused as it gleamed white due to it being an open and full grin. One he had offered but upon few occasions as of late, saying as he did so, “Aye, though I would not quite word it in that manner, I do appreciate your honest thoughts on this subject Cormac.”

  Pleased, Cormac did not flush red though as he might previously done, too ground down by the heat and weary after an almost sleepless night to react as he might otherwise have done. He longed to tell the Elf of the tunnel that the Dwarf had dug; when he noticed the Dwarf’s head poke suddenly out from the shadows if briefly so.

  Seeing the young Elf and Cormac seated side-by-side together, he scowled to himself. Not that the Caled paid much attention to his anger, too weary to truly feel guilt or at all disturbed by the anger of the other man.

  Pulling himself back into his shadowed tunnel, he was to disappear for the remainder of the day. Glarald eyed the Dwarf with a speculative gleam in his eyes, one that Cormac was stunned to notice that was shared by Kyrenas. The older Elf visibly as interested in the former chieftain of their captors, as his son was.

  This though was not chief-most in Cormac’s mind though, as he soon if unwillingly so found his gaze drawn over to the ‘harrumphing’ Daegan next to Calandra. The red-haired lass was doing her utmost it seemed to him, to both glower at him, and ignoring him all at once.

  Saddened in spite of himself, he failed to properly this sentiment from his face, for Glarald wasted little time in identifying the cause for his poor mood, saying as he did so. “Fear not Cormac, my friend this quarrel will pass.”

  A part of Cormac would have loved little more than to deny the cause, for his poor mood and he came near to doing so. His preference to say what he thought and felt, were part of what others had deemed simple about him.

  “Are you sure?” He hated then how painfully young he sounded, for he knew himself to be a youth, yet his voice at that moment sounded almost half his current age. It was a strange thing to know that he had long since left his child-voice behind him, and become a man in voice and come near to one in stature, yet to sound utterly unmanly in spirit and voice.

  “Aye, I know she will forgive you if we could only tear her away from my cousins,” Glarald assured him. There was a revelation in his words, for it was at that moment that Cormac came to realize that the man was related in some capacity to the daughters of Arduinna. Stunned by this realisation, he stared until such a time that the Elf chuckled a little. “You did not know? It was why Arduinna was deeply concerned to see me leave, just as he hoped Calandra and Lauma would.”

  It was on the tip of the tongue of the blonde-youth to point out that he did not think that kinship was the principal reason for Lauma’s concern. But he thought better of saying so, his hesitation borne as much from the suspicion that such talk was unlikely to be welcome to the Elf.

  From there the two went on to discuss the source of the Wilder-Elves’ disdain for Elves, with Glarald earnestly unsure of it. Completely unaware as to the reason behind why, the two spent quite some time discussing the reason for this.

  To the amazement of Cormac, who had come to expect the Elves to know entirely everything that one could imagine about themselves, Glarald knew even less than him about why this was the case. He only knew that there were ancient tales of Elves being eaten by the Dwarves, something that he had a healthy amount of scepticism towards. “The true reason for our division remains a mystery to me, my friend, likely it was due to some sin that they committed against us that we forgot.”

  “How could you forget, a tragedy so scarring that it has eternally divided Dwarves and Elves against one another in such a manner?” Cormac inquired bewildered.

  Glarald appeared to grimace, as though this question physically pained him in some capacity, admitting reluctantly, “I am not certain, as I have never heard the reason why our particular clan has never much loved Dwarves. It appears to me, it must have occurred, many millennia in the past, long before the age of Brigantius. Or so I have come to believe, and that since that time the old divisions between us, have only grown wider.”

  *****

  Left with much to ponder the great mystery of the divide that existed between the Elves and the Dwarves, only made Cormac all the more curious about them.

  He wondered all of a sudden, if his father had ever seen this village. He also wondered if he or Corin, given their own knowledge of the Elves and Dwarves, from their dealings with them over their lives, had learnt the true reason behind the division between the two peoples. It was troubling to think that hatred, could so divide two once glorious people, who had faded to the corners of the world.

  It made him also muse about whether they might one day fade entirely, to be replaced in their many castles, forests and even in their boats by men and the beast-folks.

  This made him also think on how it was said that the Faun and satyrs were fading, or so it was said by Corin who had informed him once, many years ago when he had seen a few at a festival that they would likely one day be gone in their entirety from the world. It was a terrible thought, and one that made him question the meaning of eternity and time itself as mortal men, perceived it.

  Will our songs and deeds be remembered across the ages, if our own people were to disappear? The thought made him hesitate and balk in the face of death and what might await him on the morrow.

  It was times such as these that he wished Corin or Wiglaf were present at hand, to answer his questions.

  *****

  Daegan was to approach him the following day, with an air of frustration, irritated that he had not already apologised to her. He had yet to properly forgive her for her part, in the poor treatment doled out to Andvari; he nonetheless spoke to her of his thoughts.

  He was too accustomed from a lifetime of confiding in her, though there was still that ever-present tension between them that would likely remain, until she apologized to Andvari.

  Puzzled when he worded it exactly as he had thought it the previous day, she pondered it at some length ere she asked of him, “Why do you think so deeply on this? What difference does it make to us?”

  “It makes all the difference; for example will Bardulf or your father be remembered past a generation or three, even if they engrave their names into the minstrels’ songs?” Cormac queried troubled by the temporary nature of life and the universe.

  Daegan shrugged uneasily, having never given it much thought, only to pontificate as she was always prone to do when she felt she had something of importance to say. “But of course it matters, and our songs will live forever so long as there are people to sing them.”

  “But what if our people die out, and say Ratvians outstrip our time in this world?”

  “Ratvians, you truly think they will outlast us men and women?” Daegan teased a little, some of the earlier tension in her eyes fading. Cormac could not resist a small chortle, admitting if only to himself that his example was ridiculous. “I’faith Cormac, why waste time pondering such nonsense? Here I had thought that there was a great deal else, to worry about.”

  “It has to do with something that Glarald told me that made me ponder about whether men might disappear as satyrs, Faun, and even the Elves appear to be doing.” Cormac replied morosely.

  “All that matters is the deeds we accomplish, and that we remember to sing what songs we know,” Daegan snapped impatiently as though it were the most apparent thing in the world.

  It was something that made him think also. Much as he liked her answer, he was not certain as to the merits of her argument. He was not certain that she had properly addressed every part of his question. Though it was as close, he supposed that one might get to the truth of the matter. Another conversation he decided was in order with Glarald.

  Seeing the surprise on his face at her words, Daegan added if a little irritably, “Why do you look so surprised?”

  “I am just surprised, as you sounded rather akin to your father,” He praised with a small smile, which made her cheeks flush red and a small smile find its way to her lips.

  “Of course I did,” She said pompously, every bit as proud of her sire as he was of his, her smile faded as an expression of feminine worry replaced it. “You do not suppose that, he perished in the sea do you?”

  “Of course not, how could you ask such a question?” Cormac asked incredulously of her, as the thought that he or any of their companions had perished, had never occurred to him.

  “Have I thanked you yet, for having saved my life, Cormac?” She asked of him pleased with his reply, her face soft and eyes glittering with gratitude.

  “N-nay, not that I thought there was a need.”

  “Thank you Cormac, for that and your kindness,” Daegan murmured sincerely.

  The smile she directed towards him was so utterly brilliant that it felt as though it could have eclipsed the suns. Affection welled up within his heart, with his cheeks reddened so moved and warmly did he feel towards her vivid grass-green eyes and toothy-grin. Returning the smile, which caused her own cheeks to become warm and heart to be filled with affection in turn.

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