The meeting was ended, and though Cormac felt mortified by his outburst he had no desire to apologize to Lauma, for it was she in the wrong to his mind. She who had uttered the most foolish of all solutions imaginable, it was tantamount to surrender he mused still furious that an Elf, could utter such a foolish statement.

  The first to step out were the érians, who one and all appeared deep in thought, with the eldest, the hero Meallán of incredible fame for his quest to reunite with his nephew, many a-years ago paused in front of Cormac. “Well-said, lad your father would be proud.”

  His words were uttered with such warmth, such respect that Cormac felt his chest swell ever so slightly at them; Colwyn did not do much more than nod his long-chin at him. The Tigrun-twins stepped past him with nary a glance in his direction, with Bardulf squeezing his shoulder briefly.

  “I never thought you had it in you, to speak so during such a council. I see that Wulfnoth and Wiglaf were not mistaken, in their praise of you, Cormac.” Bardulf complimented sincerely.

  Leaving with Indulf who remained quiet as ever, until they were safely outside the house of Arduinna, it was only when they found themselves upon her veranda that he revealed his own thoughts, on what had transpired. By this time, the suns were high in the heavens up above them it suddenly felt as though it were night to Cormac, who felt a wave of weariness overcome his spirit. It was in this sort of mood and one of immense pride that he drank in his friend’s words, “You spoke true Cormac, and though my mind is abuzz and spinning with all that we have heard, I have never been prouder.”

  His words surpassed the feeling of warmth that being praised by the likes of Meallán and Bardulf had inspired inside of the younger of the two Caleds’ belly. Pleased, some of the embarrassment that had previously haunted him. “Thank you Indulf, mayhap it is time to visit your brother.”

  Indulf remained quiet, with the other lad and the druid listening upon their arrival attentively, both of them amazed at all that they heard.

  The druid took the revelations with a sombre mien, while Trygve appeared more stunned than worried. “An Elf proposed that they could hide from such a threat?”

  The incredulousness in his voice was a sentiment shared by his brother and friend, with Wulfnoth the first to speak out. “If such is the case, I do not believe we ought to rely upon the Wilder-Elves for aid in the battles to come.”

  “Why? Because of one cowardly princess?” Indulf asked.

  “What? Nay, frankly she has reason to not wish for what is to come.” Wulfnoth countered darkly only to with a sigh add. “War. War is coming I can feel it in my bones, and can feel that all that awaits is sorrow unending, and pain untold for all who venture wither where the wraiths go. This is known to this princess, and she fears it and the loss of the comforts her people have gathered about themselves.”

  This description of the princess and her fears made Cormac question all he had said, and wonder if he had been right. It did not appear to him wrong though, with his friends uncertain, with Trygve the first to voice what he was also thinking.

  “I had hoped that wars were a thing of the past. Why, oh why did I have to be born in such an age when there is such sorrow upon the horizon?” Trygve moaned full of sorrow, falling back from his seated position in his bed, to lie in it.

  “That is what all people who are born in such ages think, and well they should. But it is our duty to take the time given to us, and pour it into changing such ages into better ones. For true nobility comes not from the denial of our duties or the hiding from them, but devoting ourselves to them.” Wulfnoth told them, looking from one face to the next, with the old druid reserving the majority of his sternness for the youngest of Ida’s sons.

  Trygve winced at the disapproval that was cast in his direction, wounded by the sharp tone that the druid’s words had taken.

  Cormac felt pity for his friend he knew he only wished to help yet was continuously needled by the old man, with Cormac the one who sighed in a resigned voice. “I suppose the path was set for us, the moment we departed from Glasvhail.”

  At this Wulfnoth looked on him with sympathy, “Aye, though there are still choices before you, all I could counsel given my current state is to choose wisely.”

  *****

  Later Corin and Daegan were informed of what had gone on, visiting at the same time that Wulfnoth and Bardulf did. The latter two have just left the large manor-house near the summit of the village, after their private meeting with Arduinna who had wished to know exactly what it was that they intended to do, regardless of the decision of the council.

  Daegan was shaken at the conclusion Wulfnoth had reached where most had assumed that she might burst with zeal at the thought of war and the glory that could be won in it. Corin for his part, remained grim and kept to the back of the room, near to where Wulfnoth’s bed was.

  It was Bardulf, who explained once they had finished informing father and daughter of all that had happened, of what Arduinna’s thoughts were on the matter were. “She intends to support us, though she has little hope of a proper series of alliances. She will speak on the morrow; I have told her that regardless of what happens, I shall leave to give chase after those demons.”

  The passion in his voice won him several nods from those present, and it appeared as though the approval Indulf and Wulfnoth demonstrated along with that of Corin, pleased the Wolfram.

  What worried Cormac was not Arduinna possibly not giving her full support to the quest, but rather Bardulf himself. He had been so filled with anger when he had spoken during the assembly of how his fellows had fallen, and the passion that lingered in his eyes when he spoke of the Blood-Gem.

  The pull of the stone was one that Cormac could still feel somewhere deep within him, and he knew that Daegan felt it also. For this reason, he worried that the quest may prove too much for the Wolfram-hero.

  Wiglaf did not share his concerns, volunteering bombastically with a great deal of cheer, “You shall have my support of course, old friend. I would not have you venture forth so far from your people without aiding you.”

  This offer visibly pleased the warrior who gave a nod of thanks, though his eyes circled the room, it was a shame; Cormac thought that he had to disappoint his friend. “What of the Blood-Gem? What will you do with it once you have seized it from the wraiths?”

  It was however Wulfnoth who spoke up with his own suggestion, “Destroying it is the only answer.”

  At this, several of those present objected much to the consternation of not only the druid but the son of Kenna also.

  The first to speak out was Indulf, “Let us not be over-hasty, for it is surely a powerful weapon and we will have need of those in the war to come!”

  “I should think turning it upon them would surely occur to you, as the only possible means to survive what is to come, if this Dark Laird is as terrible as you claim him to be, Wulfnoth.” Trygve added scornfully to the druid, returning much of the disdain that the cleric had previously shown towards him in the past, with a healthy amount of interest so to speak.

  Next came, the objection of Daegan, “Exactly! Surely if we were to give it over to Wiglaf or Arduinna we could rely upon them to turn its power upon this Gargath!”

  “And as far as I am aware, destroying such a powerful tool of magic could result in all of its energies bursting outwards and destroying all who are near it.” Bardulf added swiftly, with a glower towards the druid also. “I would have thought a man of your age and wisdom, in such things would already be familiar with such facts.”

  Wulfnoth studied each one of their faces carefully, seemingly piercing into the deepest parts of their spirits. It was apparent to him, just as it was to Cormac whom he exchanged a worried glance with that they had been near the Cursed-Gem for too long.

  Wiglaf for his own part gave the matter considerably more thought than the four who had objected, “There may in fact be a way, to destroy the Gem safely.” When he saw the stunned shock on the faces of all those around him he added slowly, “Though Wulfnoth spoke with his usual addled wits-” This won him a scowl from the druid, whom he ignored. “-I must contend that our only hope is to destroy the gem, and not to give it to either Arduinna or myself. That would only bring about even worse tragedies I think.”

  “Why is that?” Corni asked curiously.

  “Because of the great temptations contained within the stone,” Wiglaf answered in a grave tone. “I am a master-sorcerer if you will permit me a rare moment of vanity; I am quite well-trained and mighty for a human. Arduinna was trained in the arts of my Order long ago, and has since honed her arts a great deal. For this reason, as this is a container of sorts for a great deal of similar energies to our own, the temptation is all the greater. Remember, Aganippe the Sorcerer-King was a mighty sorcerer of unparalleled ability and wisdom, though his heart was black as night. In comparison to him, my own powers and knowledge, and those of Arduinna are as naught.”

  This was grim news and visibly disconcerted those around him.

  Such was the fear they felt to hear him speak so long of the temptations contained within Aganippe’s Bane that for a time they all glanced at one another uncertainly.

  “Is there truly no hope?” Trygve whispered plaintively, looking as though he might crumple inwardly.

  “I never said that, you all forgot the first part of what I uttered,” Wiglaf replied testily, adding in a resolute voice. “Hope lies if you will trust in the knowledge of old Marian, whom I spoke to after the meeting before I came here to speak to you all. She has spoken of an ancient mountain, one which has a song regarding it that I found most interesting. If you will permit, I shall recount it to you, for I heard it some time ago from Shaltair also.”

  “Flowers, trees and harvests did so grow,

  When Cyril let their life flow,

  Blooms of gold by his whim did glow,

  Harvests he let overflow,

  All hurts on his road he did thus heal,

  This the gods do so sing of the Misty-Isle

  O’er in Antilia that doth wait to beguile,

  Green lands fertile,

  Where fools ne’er tread and tyrants vile,

  Are made to choke on their bile,

  Thunder crashed and crones grew jealous,

  For by wicked design,

  For his might men grew zealous,

  All said ‘his arts and spear shall be mine,’

  Thus disheartened, high atop firm rock,

  Providential spear upraised,

  It was made to be impaled until the stone did thus rock,

  Cyril as a stork did flew up hover-heard,

  This the gods do so sing of the Misty-Isle

  O’er in Antilia that doth wait to beguile,

  Green lands fertile,

  Where fools ne’er tread and tyrants vile,

  Are made to choke on their bile,

  Kingly-javelin thus from stone does still glow,

  Icy-blades of holy countenance do grow,

  Above caverns and fields that remain hollow.

  For liberty this spear shall to a king a crown-bestow.”

  The words echoed throughout the room, bringing light to even the deepest shadows and hope where the deepest despair lay. Unfamiliar with the song or with the figure of whom he spoke, all of them waited with bated breath for the sorcerer to continue.

  This he did quietly, “The song is one of the great-spear of the god Cyril, brother to Sephiria and Cyndereus. All three gods who escaped in days long past, to near to these lands, another name you may know Cyril by is that of Dagda. It is said that the three were imprisoned upon the Misty-Isle by Crius the Titan, thereon they abided until such a time that they could free themselves, wherefore they fought to tear apart their captor. Such was the violence of the battle that the land was ashen, and Cyril the Green vowed never to pick up a weapon ever after. He thrust his spear that which had been dubbed ‘Freasdal’ into the mountain known as Mt-Cyril. It is said that this spear if it can be drawn or one of the stalactites that lie within it could cut through even the oldest magicks or relics safely. We must rely upon this ancient god to aid us in this quest of ours.”

  The first to object to this scheme was of course Wulfnoth. It was apparent that a great many of those present at hand, had their own doubts and misgivings regarding this tale, for the majority of them were of a pious nature. Only Bardulf and Corin appeared as though, they were tempted and believed this possible scheme.

  Though as the rest of them were to discover, they had questions of their own regarding the nature of this spear and the icy-stalactites of Mt-Cyril.

  “What is this heathen nonsense? You shan’t expect us to place our trust in heretical poems from bygone ages!” Wulfnoth cried blanching with wroth and stupefaction at the proposal the sorcerer had just uttered.

  “Too true,” Daegan added at once.

  “It was not I who proposed this possibility Wulfnoth, but rather a member of your order, the Sister Marian.” Wiglaf argued in an exasperated voice.

  “What is a greater concern is how do we know for certain if these icy-spikes or this spear will truly succeed?” Bardulf asked from where he stood to the rear of the room between the seated Corin who sat at the back of the room near the bed of the druid and the druid.

  This question was a good one.

  Wiglaf though had a ready-answer for it, “Dear me, I seem to have uttered everything out of order how remiss of me! The gemstone according to Sister Marian was crafted using precious metals and some of the crystals found within the mountain in question. The materials were found there and apparently brought to Aganippe over in the lands where Lutèce now stands in eastern Gallia. It is said that the crystals and precious metals sprung underneath the mountain just as all the greenery sprung up a-top it the moment the god Cyril thrust his spear into it.”

  It appeared to all of them a desperate plan. One for which they had precious little proof would work, with none of them all, that familiar with the nun in question. The fact that it involved trusting in ancient gods displeased all of his listeners.

  “I would prefer not to trust in the knowledge of this nun, who is she to speak of such things and to advise heathen stratagems of this sort?” Wulfnoth queried petulantly.

  “She is your better,” Wiglaf snapped impatiently, with the dislike in his eyes causing Cormac to wonder how the two men could agree upon so much, yet hold such a strong distaste for one another. “She has at least given us a hope of sorts, a sliver if we are completely and utterly honest. What alternative would you provide us with Wulfnoth?”

  Thus silenced, everyone looked at one another awkward. All save for Corin.

  Once again as he so often was, he supplied much reason wherever and whenever tempers grew frayed, “If I may, I think it is not against the laws of the Canticle to seek these means by which to destroy the wraith.”

  “How so?” This time it truly was Cormac who piped up.

  Corin replied, “In the chapter about proverbs, in the book of Ziu, it says; ‘Victory comes not from doubt, but from faith and right-action.’”

  “This relates to our dilemma how?” Indulf asked confused.

  “Simply put; it signifies that we should mayhap simply have faith and not doubt so much, less we should think ourselves into defeat ere we have begun.” Corin countered with increasing impatience.

  Nothing more was said on this topic, for it was deemed that all that needed to be said had been uttered. Those still full of doubt kept it to themselves, and went to bed that night uncertain of themselves, and full of anxious thoughts. Though he ought to have been one of those, strangely Cormac found himself purged of his doubts.

  Certainly, he did not like the notion of placing so much faith, into heathen writings but as he thought of his father and later dreamt of his last moments with him, the decision felt made for him. If only the quest could be resolved so easily as that, he mused to himself in the days that followed.

  *****

  The assembly gathered once more, though this time it included Corin and Daegan, with several other Elves also in attendance, such as Delauvaran, and others that Cormac had not been introduced to in the time he had spent in the village of Duskenvale.

  “We convene what I hope to be one of the last debates on this matter, for it has run over-long as is the manner of all things bleak and sinister in nature. This has been the most dreadful of matters to have been discussed in these halls since the dark days of the age of Achaius. A King unrivalled who in his long decades of rule sought to end just such darkness, which I sense stems from before his time and even during his time. My fire-haired comrade would surely have regretted our having to carry out such a quest.” Arduinna bemoaned sadly, her tone grave and the light that was forever in her eyes dimming a little in sorrow for what awaited the world.

  This remark captured the attention of Daegan who spoke up, in an almost shy voice, from where she sat to the right of Bardulf who sat nearest to the stairs with Indulf to his left. “You knew High-King Achaius?”

  “Aye, I knew him all too well for he and I were kin,” The matriarch of the Wilder-Elves of the Longwoods revealed in the same heavy tone as before.

  “He was kin to our clan, mother?” Asked the younger of her two daughters, the long-haired daughter to be exact: with her own surprise serving to stun her mother’s guests, almost as much as the revelation itself.

  “His was the blood of Mythandralius, from centuries ago,” Said Arduinna quietly, as all hung upon her every word, with bated breath as always. “Mythandralius you see, left the forest after a battle between the humans; we had joined with the Pechs against the legions of Roma. The trouble was that these men occasionally brought their families with them to their forts.

  They had established one to the north-west of these woods. The daughter of a legionary was lost in the woods with Mythandralius having discovered her after a battle which ended her father’s life. Wherefore he took her south to the nearest of the Romalian forts in Brittia, my father had long coveted his post as chieftain and wickedly put the choice before him, in front of the council of elders; help the lass or stay in the forest.

  He could do nothing, for he was trapped for both offenses could result in his disgrace. Mythandralius for this reason preferred to do what he knew to be the best decision for all concerned. It was in the south that he found this lass, to have lost her father and repentant he raised her. By the time she came of age, as I later discovered she had fallen in love with him, and together they had a family.

  Mythandralius became a great Romalian chieftain and governor, and helped to guide North-Agenorian and Bretwealda policy for centuries until his death four centuries after his banishment. His son was a mighty warrior and chieftain in his own right, yet in the days that followed Roma’s fall, he became a King. His line was forced out of the lands of Norlion, and into the distant north. It was not long thereafter that his own son wed a Pechish princess, only for their only daughter to wed the heir of Ríocht-Riada.

  This is how Mythandralius’s line come to rule the north of the Lairdly-Island, with Achaius’s own father having been of this line, with it said that he was so beauteous to behold that either an Elf, or the goddess Scota came to him and bore him a son.”

  The genealogy of the kings of Caledonia thus revealed, those who had never known the truth were stunned, with others thinking to themselves that it explained a great deal.

  Unsurprised by any of this talk of divine and Elvish-mixed blood, the nun Marian remarked, “Aye, I have heard some talk of this, it is said that in his youth Alwin the father of Achaius, was the fairest and most manly of all the people of the Lairdly-Isle to look upon. He was fair-natured too and did not desire the throne, but to retire into a monastery to study the ancient scriptures and histories. But this goodness and wisdom was what drew the goddess to him.” She paused to take a breath, with her voice no longer seemingly dreamy in quality but rather sorrowful. “It is said that the goddess took on the shape of a mortal woman, one by the name of Iona for she was as fair as the land from which all the people of this island sprung from, or so Alwin thought. His cousin, a jealous man by the name of Bridei saw the two together and sought their deaths. Luring Alwin one day with the pretence to accompany him to the goddess’s own temple-Session he slew him treacherously before both of their sons… and the goddess who saved her son by taking up the shape of a giant dove carried them away to the northern mountains, where she left them in the hands of a local laird. For it was forbidden that gods raise undivine children themselves.”

  This tale was a surprise as was the song she crooned in the next moments, with even Arduinna amazed to hear it.

  “At dawn Alwin started on a journey,

  Never wondering, what he might go through,

  Crossing from Highlands where high-peaks are looming,

  At the beginning alone he was standing,

  None sung, that he might the goddess find,

  Unforseen what he might do to her soul,

  By the isle of Kull he found her, waves crashing,

  At dawn they did their hearts bind,

  On many a journeys they embarked,

  Rivers glimmering and suns burning,

  Bound together as in a dream,

  There by the Mounts a home they were building,

  Thrice upon a hunt he departed,

  Silver-steel brightly did they gleam,

  Happily upon his return was she waiting,

  Just after dawn did she greet him,

  At dusk Alwin returned from a journey,

  Never wondering, if it was true,

  That his bride came from high-realms a-shining,

  In the spring together they were fishing,

  None knew that he the goddess did find,

  Firth gleaming and seas a-rocking,

  Four sons did they begat as in a dream,

  By the Thern each noontide they were fishing,

  Bridei did their joy envy them,

  He was there to steady her when the boat was rocking,

  When the sea was swept by storms,

  In the morn’ his wounds, was she dressing,

  At noon they did picnic,

  To the temple did Bridei invite Alwin,

  A foul deed done in the dark,

  Thus did Iona’s dream did depart,

  She waited for him over-long,

  At dawn Bridei turned upon the sons after much stabbing,

  Blood-red did so leak from Alwin as a river-flowing,

  At the strike of dawn Iona shape herself anew,

  A great crane did she become to seize her sons thus flying,

  The world all about them spinning,

  Storm flailing and temple shattering

  About Bridei who lay askew,

  Victim of Achaius’ full-score seasons’ wroth

  At dawn Achaius started on a journey,

  Never wondering, what he might go through,

  Crossing from Highlands where high-peaks are looming,

  At the beginning alone he was standing.”

  “What is this song? I have never heard it before myself,” Arduinna asked agitated.

  “Really? It is quite old, and passed down in some of the older temples in the outside world,” Marian replied with a small smile.

  “I too have heard some talk of this sort of tale, though it was in my time in Gallia,” Corin admitted as he stared at the crone. “And those were from douvards and douvardes who were steeped in the teachings and ways of the goddess Saga, the lady of the oldest histories.”

  “Poor goddess, I had no knowledge that she had endured such sorrow,” Daegan murmured full of pity for the goddess, ere she regained some of her previous spirit. “She had the comfort that her son achieved the heights of glory.”

  “Is that truly a comfort though?” Marian grunted noncommittally, “For glory is tied in with sorrow and tragedy.”

  “Just as all our fates currently are,” Lyr commented with a hint of impatience in his voice, “I appreciate a good tale especially one about such a great man as Achaius, but what does this talk of him have to do with the evils that bedevil us to-day?”

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  “I reveal this now so that you all may walk forward, knowing the truth. In my experience the dark is always mightier, than light and have seen what appeared to all to be the final victory over darkness only to prove itself to be no great victory at all. The triumph over evil must begin within one’s own heart, lest you will turn into another Giric the Usurper, or Modron,” Said Arduinna evenly though not with any great amount of reproof. Rather she spoke so gently as to almost appear genial. “I have seen the people of the island achieve such victories as those against the forces of Vengerion the Proud, along with his many conquerors from the distant east turned into a disastrous defeat, when Hengest of Hwicce took up with his daughter. There are also the great hopes all had for ?thelred the Great to liberate the whole of the lands of the Arnlaw, which ended in him simply abandoning them. His grandson ?thelwulf began life a hero, only to spill untold amounts of blood throughout the island.”

  The despair and grief in her voice stuck in the throats of all those around her. Some such as Bardulf bowed their heads in mourning, others such as Wiglaf tugged at his beard. Corin for his part nodded his head, eyes shiny with anguish for the past.

  “Yet fight on we must,” Cormac said urgently, stunned to hear her talk so despairingly of the past and without any hint of hope for the future. “If we do not fight, we submit.”

  “Even if it is futile?” Arduinna queried without any hint of emotions.

  “Especially if such is the case,” Replied the youth, “for without having tried, we prove ourselves not only effete and cowardly, but supportive of those who would do us harm.”

  “Well-said,” Meallán approved with a proud gleam in his eyes, “There were many a times over the years when I was told to simply accept my sister’s son for dead. But still I persisted, and I was reunited with him regardless of their words.”

  Their spirits roused it was then that drunk on the fervour of his own beliefs that Cormac proclaimed without thought, eyes meeting those of the Wilder-Elf who stared back at him. “I intend to give chase at the soonest opportunity. I will not resign myself, simply because final victory always eludes us all. I intend to accompany Bardulf, if he will have me that is.”

  This last part was about the time that some thread of his former doubt in himself appeared if briefly so, with the Wolfram seated next to him staring long and pensively at him. When next he spoke, he did so with a broad smile.

  “But of course lad, it would be an honour to have so bold a spirit to accompany Wiglaf and I,” He agreed with genuine warmth which caused Cormac’s cheeks to turn the same colour as that of Daegan’s hair. He added after a moment, with a glance towards the sorcerer seated to the left of Lauma, “It appears that Cormac has surprised us both.”

  “Indeed, though I must confess that as in the case of all that his father achieved, and who his grandfather was, I ought to have known better than to underestimate him.” Wiglaf remarked only to laugh a little, “I must confess that all Caleds seem to have a touch more courage and fire in their veins than any other peoples in the archipelago. You can take the most timid of their breed, or the most childish and still they will surprise you, with a sudden burst of courage or wrath when in a pinch of trouble as they say.”

  Cormac was grateful to him for his approval of his words, now what he wished for most was Bardulf and Corin’s blessings. The former gave it though not in so many words at first; his gaze was steady, brown and pleased. It was a tenuous friendship, he mused to himself though it was one that he had full confidence in. There was such concern and something that almost resembled anger on the Wolfram’s face.

  Corin though as always kept his judgements and counsel to himself unless directly asked for or looked to for a length of time. Cormac may have pushed for such counsel, were it not for his gaze being momentarily distracted by the look that Daegan had just shot him.

  There was a pride there unlike any he had ever seen before, and yet there was a fear and outrage that he had never thought to associate with her either. Daegan looked utterly vulnerable and miserable

  . Capturing his gaze with the intensity of her own emerald one, that at that moment was far greener than the gazes of Arduinna or her lovely daughters could ever hope to be, he tried and failed to break his gaze from hers. If only to keep from the weakness that beckoned to him through her eyes, he knew he had to go and yet looking at her made him not wish to leave.

  “If Cormac wishes to go, so will I! I must avenge Inga and uncle Murchadh also,” Indulf volunteered loyally at once, clasping his shoulder from his other side which pulled his gaze from Daegan’s fearful one to the determined one of the older lad.

  The anger that Indulf felt was as a flame that could have melted even the scales of a dragon or the Blood-Gem of Aganippe itself or so the son of Murchadh thought to himself. It was incomprehensibly deep and unbending. He was filled with a kind of anger and drive that was similar in passion and resoluteness. And yet, he could not help but ponder if Indulf’s passionate drive may not one day be the end of his friend.

  “Who would have thought that there could be such courage, in even the youngest of Caleds, eh Ronald?” Fergus teased awed and bemused by the determination of the youths, only to shrug his shoulders, his brother nodded whilst he continued to stare at them. “If such is the case I shall have to compose a worthy ballad for the lot of you, when the time comes.”

  “Should we live to see such a day,” Lauma grumbled pessimistically, from her place to the left of her mother. Arduinna did not scold her daughter, leaving it to that the younger of the two hissed at her, with this simply serving to further exacerbate her sister’s exasperation, when she huffed. “It is the truth Calandra.”

  If her daughters found themselves at odds over the speech given by Cormac, Arduinna kept her thoughts to herself. She stared at him with a fascination that he hardly noticed, not that this distressed the chieftain of the Longwoods’ Elves.

  There was an admiration in her gaze that had not been seen in more than a century, and at that time it had been reserved for a great King of the north, one who’s preceded the terrible wars that had divided and near-destroyed the Caleds. “And I had begun to think men; especially Caleds had nothing more to impress me with. Such courage, I see now I was wrong to resign myself to fate and the slow disappearance of my people. Very well, Bardulf, Wiglaf and Cormac shall lead the expedition to Antillia and shall do so with my blessings and aid.”

  “A wise decision, chieftain,” Delauvaran approved with a nod to himself, his next words surprised all and alarmed more than one spirit. “When next we meet our ancestors which shall not be long now; we shall do it as their equals rather than as cowards’ bare worthy to stand before them in the halls of Orcus.”

  *****

  After the meeting, news of the matriarch’s decision to support their cause with food, arms and guides spread throughout the woods as though the news were a flame in the driest of corners of the woodlands. Though many had not spoken, at the outset of that meeting, the youth was approached shortly afterwards by prince Lyr and his delegates. At this time, Cormac was in the middle of having a quiver and arrows selected for him by Bardulf, who proved to be rather picky in the selection of arms.

  As they stood upon the solid earth far below the home of Arduinna, with the two of them and Wiglaf offered a series of goods and arms by the Wilder-Elves who to Cormac’s surprise did not have any weapons made of iron or steel. Their arrows were fashioned from the same enchanted alder-wood stones that only the Wilder-Elves appeared to know how to fashion, according to Bardulf. How they did so, was a mystery even to the Wolfram after he had lived amongst them, for a time on the Continent.

  Approaching the two of them, Lyr surveyed them for a long moment only to remark with a hint of mockery, “If you intend to give chase after those wraiths, I predict a number of tragedies ahead of you, if you intend to be the only ones who depart when the time comes.”

  Bardulf growled a little at the sight of them, sounding rather akin to an angry dog or wolf. If the Wolfram took the mockery from the prince poorly, with his gaze meeting that of Connor the Bairaz as the two growled at one another full of animosity for one another. Wiglaf though reacted with amusement, raising one thick white eyebrow.

  “Really? I had thought we had more than enough people to accompany us, for my finest apprentice waits’ for us to the south, and between Bardulf, Indulf and Cormac we have all the hands we shall need.” He replied with a hint of mockery in his voice and with a knowing gleam in his eyes.

  The prince’s uncle sniggered a little, and remarked to his great-nephew, “There you see Lyr, it appears that they have already predicted that you will not be needed and therefore you can return home, safe in the knowledge that all will be well.”

  Lyr frowned, and threw in his uncle’s direction an annoyed glance. One that served only to pull a smirk from that man, with Cormac and Indulf fighting to repress snorts at the prince’s expense, for he appeared then almost ridiculous.

  With a small huff of irritation, the prince who appeared no older than Indulf himself was, said with patented irritation. “I daresay you will require the aid of a strong sword-arm or three. Especially, with the feeble ones these lads likely provide.”

  “What did you say?” Indulf growled visibly insulted and outraged at the slight to his abilities to wield a weapon he had used but a handful of times in the past.

  Consternated by this, Cormac sought to grab a hold of his arm, hissing out his name and pleading with him, with Bardulf simply continuing to glower back at Connor and Wiglaf appearing unperturbed, which only worsened his frustrations. He would have liked it had they, aided him in the restraining of his old friend, from a potentially fatal clash. For though only lightly trained in arms himself by Corin, he had enough savvy to know with a single glance that a clash with Lyr could only prove itself a disaster. The prince was not only well-trained, but had Meallán’s talent for arms and combat.

  Aid came from the érian hero though, with the grey-haired veteran of a hundred battles grabbing his nephew’s son by the shoulder with one calm and measured hand, a small crook of his lips appearing on his lips. “Calm, Lyr, there is no need to make enemies when the opposite is what you wish for.”

  Lyr grumbled beneath his breath, with Cormac taking the opportunity to hiss into his friend’s ear, “Indulf what in the name of Scota’s golden tresses do you think to do? You shan’t fight with the prince of ériu, not if you hope to win!”

  Indulf to his stupefaction took this not in the spirit it was intended, but in such a way that it left the younger lad gaping at him. “So not even you believe in me, Cormac?”

  Unsure of how to answer his query, with the lad saved from doing so by Wiglaf reluctantly accepting the offer of aid by the princes. “Very well, you may accompany us if such is your wish, though I would appreciate it if you would apologise to my friend, whom I value the skills and spirit more than you could know.”

  It was difficult to see who took his conditions or acceptance of the aid offered by those from ériu, the companions of Wiglaf or those of Meallán, with the first to object being Indulf, “I will not fight side-by-side with such a man!”

  “And I will not apologize, not before I see this knave sword in hand, unafraid in the face of the enemy!” Lyr cried out with self-righteous indignation.

  At these words, Bardulf rounded upon the sorcerer though he kept the Bairaz within the periphery of his line of sight, as he uttered, “There you see, Wiglaf? We shan’t rely upon them, for they have not the humility or integrity necessary.”

  “What did you say, dog?” Connor roared with fury, attracting now the attention of a great number of the Elves still within the village (for most had left for the day) stared at the small group.

  “What?!”

  “Peace you all, by Brigid there is no reason for this madness! Why seek to quarrel with one another, when it yields us naught but bitterness?” Meallán questioned rapidly losing patience with the lot of them now, to the relief and gratitude of the youngest of all the men present.

  “Agreed,” Cormac agreed at once nodding his head several times, with some of those around him grumbling beneath their breaths.

  “I fail to see how it is my fault,” Lyr complained beneath his breath.

  Before Indulf could snap back at the prince, Wiglaf grumbled now also, “If you all insist upon hatred towards one another, could make this a long journey…”

  “Aye,” Meallán said with a glower to his nephew and their guard.

  Infuriated, Bardulf and Indulf left to go see to training the latter in proper swordsmanship with sticks, some distance away to the bemusement of a number of the villagers. Taking Meallán aside to discuss some of the particulars of the journey, with the other two from ériu insisting that they be present for this discussion, the four of them were soon joined by Ronald and Fergus.

  Cormac would later learn that this was when the two of them, offered their services for the quest for the Blood-Gem.

  This left the blonde-haired youth to seek out Trygve and Wulfnoth, both of whom were themselves in the middle of something worst than any petty squabble; angrily ignoring one another. It was evident the moment he entered that there had been another quarrel, one that resulted in Cormac glancing from one to the other man in exasperation.

  “Not you as well!” He cried a moment later, bemoaning his fate that he had to be caught up in the middle of so many quarrels in one day. “Why must everyone batter themselves against one another, so?”

  Startled by his words, the druid blinked in surprise and asked, “What do you mean Cormac? Has something happened?”

  Explaining rapidly what had happened earlier in the day, Cormac almost left part way through the explanation, so anguished was he by the incessant petulance on the part of his friends and weary of playing at mediation betwixt them all.

  Guilt writ upon their faces, both of his hosts soothed him as best they could, both of them join together in spite of their mutual disdain to soothe him. He had the sneaking suspicion though that it was less out of loyalty to their friendship than because they had no wish to once again be left alone with one another.

  When he had concluded his summation of what had taken place he was paid immediate praise by an impressed Trygve. “Well done Cormac, I am awed by your bravery.”

  The statement much as it made his chest briefly puff up with pride, was offset by the brooding edge that overcame his friend. Certain that it had to do with concern for Indulf, misreading it as such for he had little awareness of the inner fears and insecurities that lay underneath the surface, he said to him, “Do not fret too much Trygve, I shall do my best as will Bardulf and Wiglaf to keep Indulf safe.”

  “What? Oh yes, please do so, otherwise he may go off and throw himself upon one of the swords of those Knightwraiths.” Trygve said tartly, stammering at the first with an air of surprise and melancholy mixed together in his voice.

  Before his friend could quite pick apart the meaning behind his words and response to his own statement Wulfnoth weighed in on their discussion. “That lad worries me; I do hope that Wiglaf and Bardulf are aware of the demon that has taken root in your friend’s soul, Cormac.”

  Cormac nodded his head, feeling tired and almost grief-stricken as though he were burying a friend rather than swearing an oath to keep the man safe. Before he could reply though, Trygve rounded upon him with his own warning. “And do take care not to hurry to your own death Cormac, for you could just as easily fall to rage as my brother appears on the verge of doing.”

  This warning and the knowing tone behind his words caused Cormac to brood. Simple-minded as he was moon-calf though his mother had termed him, he could not help but wonder if he truly was so easy to read. It was rather hypocritical of him, to feel resentful. He knew of the warning being cast upon him, when he had rejoiced to hear others castigate Indulf but a heartbeat earlier.

  Wulfnoth was to interrupt his thoughts with the words, “If only I could accompany you lads, for I do not think I could be of much assistance in the condition I am in.”

  “Why not heal yourself? Surely, you still have some miracles in you?” Cormac asked desperate to try to make him feel better, while at the same time failing to understand why he had not already healed himself.

  The answer was a bark of bitter laughter, “No druid or cleric could do such a thing, our gifts flow only one way; outwardly not inwardly. We give shape to the desires of the gods at that moment in the physical world.”

  This simple clarification served to only confuse Trygve, with Cormac himself puzzling over it for some time, even after he had left. Feeling remorseful for how his friends felt, angry with them for doubting him as he pondered the meaning of the idea that druids simply gave shape to what the gods wished for.

  Did that meant that the druids were but tools of the gods, and that when they called upon the gods to heal someone, or to push back a demon it was not the individual druid’s wish? Or was it that they chose which prayer to answer, and which not to answer?

  The whole notion of the relationship between the spirituality of the druid and their ability to make their faith concrete in the form of miracles was brought into question to an extent, or so Cormac mused. The particulars of this line of thought fascinated him, and were certainly a much more enticing thing to ponder than the questioning of his actions by his friends, or the bitterness that had served to divide his companions ere their departure in pursuit of the wraiths.

  *****

  The following day saw more preparations with Cormac dragged over to practice his own swordsmanship with Bardulf, who wished to ensure he would be ready when the time came. The large Wolfram made certain to use sticks, the youth still walked away with his every muscle aching and some blue bruises for decoration all over his arms, sides and legs. There was some satisfaction to be had in the knowledge that he had dealt his friend two noteworthy blows.

  A set of achievements that had won him the praise, of the older man who had slapped his shoulder in masculine fashion so that Cormac’s chest expanded a little with pride, only for his moment of sunshine to deflate when he saw the envy in Indulf’s eyes.

  Wishing to aid his friend, he later took him aside personally to pass along as much of his own lessons from years of time spent with Corin, in the hopes of helping Indulf do better the next time he sparred with the hero.

  They were en route for their temporary home, when they were waylaid by Corin who had been previously absent visiting with Delauvaran, whom he had wished to consult in private with. It was he who volunteered next for the quest.

  “You did well, though I do believe you over-extended some of your blows,” He said reprovingly to Cormac who felt his cheeks turn pink, lowering his eyes feeling sheepish at his mistake. Corin though showed little mercy, “You have to be quite honest, rusted a little as an ill-kept sword might.”

  “Apologies Corin,” Cormac muttered kicking at some rocks beneath the short grass that so frequently fed some of the local deer who sometimes wandered into the village. It was a marvel how so many animals tended to do so, as though they did not consider the fey-like Elves to be different from themselves.

  It was now that Corin told him, “You shall have need of me and my sword-teachings, it seems. Lest you wish me to bury you, as I did your father.”

  Keen for his company in the days to come, especially since Corin was the most reasonable man whom Cormac had ever met, he therefore readily (and enthusiastically) accepted his offer.

  All but a second father to him, he briefly worried about the man’s actual child though, asking of him, “What of Dae?”

  “She is to stay herewith Wulfnoth and Trygve.” Corin declared almost sternly, an irritated frown on his bearded lips.

  This explained why the youth had not seen her all day, he thought to himself and though he agreed with the decision, he could not help but feel a little hurt and concerned for Daegan’s pride. Others tended to think of it as an unendurably thick and high wall, when in reality it could be as brittle as glass at times.

  *****

  It was the day before they left that Colwyn offered his own assistance, doing so during a lesson taught by both Corin and Bardulf. Watching the lesson from start to finish, he laughed and mocked from time to time, all the participants until such a time that Indulf, red-faced with anger snapped back at him.

  “Will you not keep your mockery to thyself? Or do you think you could do better than I, with a sword?” He demanded of the long-haired and bearded prince of Gwyneira, hot with anger which only drew another chortle from the older man.

  “Mayhap I am, mayhap I am not.” Colwyn snorted with another series of sniggers, ere he added rather knowingly, “I shan’t help but imagine that this quest will take far more, than mere sword-swings to see it completed.”

  His words drew a sharp bark of laughter now from Bardulf, with Corin shaking his head at the man’s presumptuousness. Neither rebutted his taunt or the validity behind them though it was evident that the pretentious Cymran annoyed the both of them.

  No less annoyed, Cormac though decided to ply his own wit against that of the older man, by taunting him back, “You do not deny that you shan’t wield a sword, and have yet to illustrate what skills you do possess, what possible reason in that case, do we have to accept your offer of assistance?”

  The taunt irritated Colwyn, with Cormac taking pride in being the first to succeed after Lyr in doing so. “Swords are not all that men can utilise in war, lad.”

  “This I know, though I feel better knowing that you know so too, I had worried you had forgotten that lesson.” Cormac mocked him back, with a roll of his eyes hating the smugness of the prince, whose brow arched a little upwards.

  Ignoring him now, Colwyn replied, “You shall have need of my wits I should think.”

  “Such as they are,” Corin replied with a slap to the Caled’s back ere he told the prince before the latter could withdraw his offer of aid. “We accept your aid good prince, though may I ask what other skills you have?”

  “I can shoot a bow, and track as well as any laird could,” boasted the Cymran proudly. “Ask any of the Elves, who have hunted with me in the past few days.”

  The sheer arrogance of the man worried and annoyed the two Caled lads, with Corin raising an eyebrow in the face of it. Unimpressed as he was, the Gallian did not say anything further only gave a curt nod of approval to the southron-born man.

  Bardulf though appeared far more impressed and pleased by the boast, proclaiming that they would be grateful for such abilities. At which time the prince gave a slight smirk in the direction of the ever more annoyed Cormac, who felt certain that the older man knew he could barely shoot an arrow.

  *****

  The succeeding day was the date of their leaving the Longwoods behind them. The date had been chosen by common consent, though all knew that it was in reality Bardulf who had selected the day. This worried Corin who thought it too soon, and pleased Colwyn who found that it was far too much of a delay.

  It was as they all stood assembled at the easternmost edge of the village that the whole of the inhabitants of the forest came out to see them off. Some were dressed in finery, such as Arduinna who came out in a dress of fine white silk, bracelets of wood with emerald shining upon them, rings of near golden branches crafted from red and alder-wood upon each of her fingers and a alder-wood green and golden, emerald crusted circlet upon her head with wreaths of leaves also visible in it.

  Her daughters stood to either side of her though, and were dressed in leather armour and fur cloaks they oft-wore when out upon a hunt with some of the men and women who bore this important duty.

  There was a weight and a kind of naive awe in the eyes of many of the Elves though a few appeared grateful to see the backs of the majority of their guests. It was at this time that Cormac knew with certainty, as surely as he breathed the air of the forest; he would never again set eyes upon this village.

  The knowledge left him stricken so that he felt as though he ought to warn them, he also understood at that moment the need for song, if only to express the depths or near to the depths of the sorrow that prevailed throughout his soul. He opened his mouth to speak, only to close it and re-open it once more, wherefore Arduinna met his gaze with a small knowing smile.

  “Fret not, Cormac,” She murmured so softly that few of his companions, truly heard her, busy as they were worrying as they were over their packs. “Just as all things, death and evil are but temporary hallways through which time and the gods operate their will.”

  Her words were to remain with him in all the days to come that he had left, at the time though, he remained stricken and knew not what to say to her. In return, she gripped his hands and patted them with sincere feeling, smiling tremulously at him.

  Behind him, his companions such as Lyr, Meallán and Wiglaf railed against one another over the issue of packs. Lyr and the sorcerer felt that they were all carrying more than their share.

  This led to the rather humorous decision on the part of Wiglaf to re-sort some of their rations so that Ronald was to carry a little more, when the younger sorcerer asked of him. “Thank you Master Wiglaf for agreeing to take my brother and I along, on this noble quest. I look forward to learning a great deal from you, in preparation for my Trial.”

  “Ah perfect, I have a lesson already in mind for you, if you feel that eager to learn.”

  “Really? What is it?”

  “You must train your body, in order to better your mind,” Declared Wiglaf with a short little laugh, ere he added much of the contents of his pack to that of Ronald and Fergus, the latter whom glared at his brother for his mistake.

  In spite of how he argued over this decision while doing his utmost to ignore the cackles of Meallán and Lyr, along with those of Bardulf, in time Ronald resigned himself to carrying the majority of the master-sorcerer’s possessions.

  While this argument took place, Indulf asked of Connor who had volunteered to carry not only his own pack but that of the prince of ériu. “Where has that old nun gone? Marian I think her name was- I do not see her here.”

  And indeed she was not, with the Bairaz replying with a shrug of his massive muscular shoulders, “She has gone wither ahead down the road, to secure for us horses from a nearby horse-rancher she is familiar with.”

  This caught the attention of Colwyn, who frowned to himself, “I was not aware that there were any horse-ranches near here. How strange…”

  It was at this time that Arduinna pulled away from Cormac, removing from around her neck a pendant- one in the shape of an eagle. An animal that according to Glarald was an animal sacred to the Duskenvale, with the chieftain saying to him as she placed it around his own neck, “This is an heirloom my uncle Mythandralius passed down to me, just before he was usurped. I will say to you, what he said to me on that day; this eagle shall protect you and never desert you as surely as I never will. Go now young hero.”

  Rising to her full stature, while the lad touched the pendant moved by her words, only to look up at her, as he resettled it against the war-horn that was also there around his throat. “Thank you.”

  She smiled, and in that smile was sorrow mixed with love and gratitude. For what? He knew not. He knew only that at that moment she was the most beautiful sight he had ever set eyes upon.

  Face aglow with a bright light, Arduinna met Meallán’s worried frown and nervous glance in her direction with a smile, “I am not certain we will be enough, but I thank you good lady for all that you have done for us.”

  “If you doubt yourselves so,” Arduinna replied turning now to her people to ask of them, “Hear now people of the Longwoods, those who spurned the Unicorn as surely as you spurned Mythandralius and all his sons and daughters. Who amongst you will venture wither these noble and brave incomparable heroes of a hundred past adventures and a hundred thousand more yet to come, into the worse danger that ever bedevilled our fair isles in the after-days of the Wars of Darkness?” None volunteered, not at once. There was fear in many of their eyes, and doubt, along with quiet murmurs ere long she turned to her daughters. “If none shall volunteer and show the courage once so common amongst our noble lines, I shall do so in a fashion; Lauma, Calandra you both shall go.”

  “What mother?” Lauma asked disturbed but not surprised, while her sister appeared stricken at the order. “But why?”

  “You are among the finest hunters and trackers of our clan, and as my daughters you must represent our people, else they shall whisper of the little we did to aid in this quest.” Arduinna argued with such sternness that her daughters could only open and close their mouths. The elder of the two appeared as though she would have liked naught better than to do just that, just as the younger nodded her head face almost alight with tears. It was evident that she had no wish to go.

  “Is that why you have had us dress as though to hunt, with our arrows and quiver a-ready?” Calandra whispered heartbroken, her saddened and hurt face making the heart of every man ache with pity for her, even the hard-hearted Connor and Colwyn.

  “I entrust my daughters to you, so that they may assist in the quest to come, do right by them, this is the only favour I shall beg of the lot of you.” The heiress of Brigantia pleaded of the adventurers, who all swallowed and nodded or coughed their assent, their throats suddenly tight.

  All save for Corin.

  It was he who threw himself to one knee before the lady, pledging as he took her hand, with an earnestness and passion that Cormac had never seen him show in all the years he had known him (save in matters that concerned Daegan of course). “Fear not, fair lady, we shall all vouch for thy safety just as we would our own children.”

  His genuine words, the strength of the conviction behind them brought out a wan smile from the near goddess-like lady.

  So grateful was she that she surprised all with a gesture that left the Elves disturbed and some of the heroes envious of the blacksmith; she pressed a short kiss to his brow, whispering something to him and only him that none of them heard. Later, Corin would not speak of it, yet it was easy to tell that he was moved by whatever it was that she said to him, with the lady’s daughters divided into resentful glowers or apprehensive fear respectively.

  *****

  Once she had composed herself the lady of the Longwoods turned once more to her people for volunteers. This time though she seemed to Cormac’s eye almost pleading as though she were anxious for their sakes.

  To the surprise of few, and to the immense pleasure of the young lad along with Indulf, came the voice of Glarald. “I will volunteer! Take me upon this quest, o heroes of the two Isles!”

  Bursting forth from the crowd, which partway through his jostling and pushing parted open for him, at the sight of him Arduinna broke into an even more brilliant smile. Almost gleaming with light itself, she embraced him saying when she had separated from him, “I am proud of you. Go forth with my blessings and gratitude. It is right that it should be you who represent us.”

  A smile on his own lips, he accepted her blessings with visible pride, having his quiver and arrows already in hand, he moved to join those who had volunteered to chase out the darkness from the archipelago. It was at this time that two voices rose in objection; that of Kyrenas, and to the surprise of all unfamiliar with the tribe, Lauma.

  “Nay! You cannot, Glarald!” She objected visibly stricken to the same extent her sister had previously shown herself to be.

  “I forbid it!” Kyrenas shouted at the same time, throwing himself forward from the midst of the crowd of Elves, seeking to pull his son back into place by force when his words failed to sway the youth. “I am your father, and I forbid you from joining in this madness!”

  It appeared as though Glarald were lost to how to respond, with the daughter of the matriarch attempting to support the older Elf, “Aye there you have it, Glarald; Kyrenas forbids your joining us.”

  “Silence Lauma,” Arduinna growled in the first show of anger any of them had ever seen her exhibit, she turned then upon Kyrenas. “I have recognised Glarald’s right to leave. As chieftain my word is law in this matter, as in all such crucial matters. Only Delauvaran may question me so, out of respect for his age and suffering in recent times.”

  “Must you take all from me?” Kyrenas accused after a moment of stunned fury, a kind of anguished resentment bubbling forth.

  “It is not my wish to take from you, for I have always considered you kin,” Arduinna replied sorrowfully, “I seek now only to lend aid where it is necessary.”

  It was now that Glarald took the matter into his own hands, keen to defend his own honour and stand up to his father himself without the aid of the venerable lady of the Duskenvale. “Father, I have always sought to honour thee, and have never openly defied you or questioned you. Though, we have rarely in recent days agreed upon much if anything, for this reason, I ask for your blessings in this endeavour.”

  Kyrenas stared long and hard at him, anger slowly growing behind his emerald green gaze, only for him to growl from between his teeth. “How is it that you came to be so ungrateful, to your father?”

  “It is not ingratitude.”

  “It is also dishonouring your mother.” At this accusation, Glarald appeared visibly hurt. He set his jaw though, wherefore his father seeing that he could not dissuade his son, let a cry of anger and anguish escape his lips, “Why will you not listen?” No answer. At this time he wailed, “If you will not relent from this folly, I shall have to trail you to the end of our days until you once again see reason!”

  Shaken as she was Arduinna pronounced her approval for Kyrenas to join them, though no one appeared at all keen to have him along, with the least keen being Glarald. He held his tongue, and received several pats on his back, with Colwyn murmuring to him in a conspiratorial voice. “I shall talk to your father, he will come around.” This offered a small ray of hope for the young Elf, though it earned a scowl from his father.

  An expression of grief and frustration overtook the Elf-matriarch’s face, when she called once more for her people to volunteer for this quest. When they refused, she turned away from them to pronounce her blessings to the adventurers. “Go forth, heroes with the blessings of our gods and goddesses also, may Freyr and his bride Gerda light your path and keep you all safe in the darkest of nights.”

  Her words earned her a nod of Lyr’s head, a pleased look from the young prince’s great-uncle, and an embarrassed, if equally moved look from the piggish Connor. It was Colwyn who uttered an extended farewell, one that served only to exacerbate the irritation his companions felt for him.

  “Fare thee well o beauteous Elf of Elves, and mightiest of all Elves of the fairest of all the isles that has ever graced these seas! May you never forget the role which you played, in this war and the heroism of your younger brothers, born of men, wolves, boars and lions.” The sentiment of bitterness and mockery behind his words made even Arduinna’s eyebrows rise in annoyance at him, as he taunted her people who grew restless.

  “Come along you,” Wiglaf growled at the same time that Fergus took the Cymran by the arm to pull him along after the rest of them.

  This drew a round of snickers from the arrogant prince, with more than one head shaking at him, for his thoughtless action.

  Annoyed by the Cymran laird of Gwyneira, Cormac glanced all around them as his companions urged him to follow after them, only Corin stayed by his side to wait for him to leave, with the older man asking him. “I understand your reluctance lad.”

  “It is not that, Corin,” Cormac muttered adding with another sweeping glance throughout the impatient crowd that had begun by this time to disperse itself, “It is Daegan. I shan’t find her, and had hoped to see her ere we departed on this adventure.”

  Corin eyed him for a long time, sighing when he spoke wearily if miserably, “She will not come, for she is angry with me for refusing to allow her to come with us.”

  Cormac felt vulnerable and weak for his reluctance to go without at least having said farewell to her. Swallowing his feelings of melancholy, he looked to Arduinna when he said, “Could you give her my regards milady?”

  The annoyed expression she had shown at Cowlyn’s harsh words, shifted to one of impish bemusement, with Arduinna agreeing at once. “But of course, though I am not so certain it shall be necessary on my part, young Cormac.”

  “Come Cormac, we really must leave.” Corin pressed urgently, tugging on his arm until the lad gave in with a sigh.

  They turned away then, hurrying after their companions, who had firmly left the enchanted village of Duskenvale, behind them. What neither of the two men had expected was for the group to have come to a stop, with the majority of them glancing back over their shoulders towards Corin.

  Their expressions were a mixture of nervousness and amusement, with neither of the two at the really understood, until the small crowd of travelers dispersed a little just as a familiar voice let loose a song.

  “Many are they who oft-dream of the far-places,

  Where the road has thus taken me,

  My journeys has inspired envy even in the Fates,

  And my voice keeps a-laughing at thee,

  O’er bogs, o’er glens and past rivers,

  I have trodden and forded yet still remain strong,

  Every league, and every forest-green may differ,

  But this far-road is rightfully where I belong,

  Away stretches the unknown path I now turn my face,

  O’er yonder road I shall wander to thee,

  My journeys have caught the envy of the Fates,

  This I know though thy voices snigger at me,

  As the shooting-star past the night’s rivers,

  I will trod and ford o’er all lands,

  For in this matter, we shall never bicker,

  As we trod united are our hearts and hands.”

  The song though a new one, was sung by a voice that Cormac could have recognised anywhere. What took him a moment to recognise though was the figure dressed in the green-leather hunting tunic and trousers of the female hunters of the Longwoods who stood before them all, with a pack tied to a stick and slung over her left shoulder. Her red hair was as untamed as ever, with her eyes filled with mischief and defiance all at once, the unicorn-tipped hilt of the sword girt to her belt visible and catching the eye of more than one person.

  The first to recover from his shock was, at the sight of her was Corin who barked out furiously, “What are you doing here? And why are you dressed as one prepared for the hunt?”

  “My friends helped select this garb for me,” Daegan replied a little of the old determination returning to her voice and face, “I am going also.”

  “But Dae, it could be dangerous,” Cormac said to her urgently, worried for her safety which won him an angry glower from her.

  “Aye, yet that did not stop Arduinna from volunteering her daughters.” She argued back, scowling at him as though he had betrayed her.

  Gaping, Cormac did not know what to say in response, with the lass’ father appearing as though he were prepared to leap forward to strangle her. Her reasoning won a small smile from Calandra, with it being Wiglaf who came to the defence of the young lass just as Bardulf intervened with a warning of his own.

  “It will be dangerous,” Warned the Wolfram in a cautious voice.

  “Regardless, wherever Cormac and Indulf and my papa go, I go,” Daegan retorted just before she shot a glance to the men in question, with only one of them nodding his head with a slight grin in her direction, where the first two remained unconvinced.

  “Bah, I fail to see the difference between this and the situation involving Glarald.” The sorcerer remarked, interrupting the lass’ friends and father ere they could object once more.

  His words won for Corin a sneering laugh from Kyrenas, and also Cowlyn, with the blacksmith shooting the two of them a withering look that failed to make them balk.

  Resigned he ordered his daughter to stay close, with Cormac falling in step next to her as her father stomped past her and the troupe of twelve stepped forth from the village of the Wilder-Elves.

  Just before the village disappeared from sight, Daegan though she appeared determined to ignore him, reached over to his neck to pull his war-horn over to her only to suck in a breath and expostulate it into the horn.

  The sound that echoed throughout the woods and echoed from glen to glen, from clearing to clearing and throughout all the souls of the forest with the animals of the woods to remember this great blaring sound for many a years.

  The annoyance that was sent in her direction, from those around her such as Wiglaf, her father, Meallán, Kyrenas and Cormac, with only Bardulf, Glarald and Connor amused.

  Defiantly, the foolish daughter of Corin thusly announced to all in sundry, that they had at last left the Longwoods.

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