The two at the front of their group were Connor and Lyr, the two of them clearing the snow from before the rest of their group, who followed the two of them in a bleak mood. The two were taller than any of the others save for Bardulf, who was the next tallest after Connor but who advanced just behind Lyr.

  Long did they trod a new path through the snow, with Bardulf and Corin just behind the two at the front, then they were followed by Glarald and Kyrenas, then Cormac and Indulf. After the lads the Elf-maids followed, with Ronald and Wiglaf at the rear, with the Tigrun helping the old man with a consternated expression upon his face.

  “You must take care,” Ronald said often throughout their walk, to the old man who harrumphed in response.

  “I shall manage, no need to worry overmuch for me,” the old sorcerer breathed unaware of just how weak he sounded.

  It was still in the Tigrun’s to worry overmuch as the elder had wished to dissuade him from. Fussing over the old man, the longer they traveled for just as Lauma soon did. The Elf-maid consumed by worry for one of the few men she had come to revere.

  It happened that Cormac in spite of his own concern was distracted by Indulf who asked of him, “Cormac, do you suppose we shall see Marian again?”

  “I should think so,” He said with utter conviction.

  “I shan’t help but think that highly unlikely,” Indulf murmured morbidly, “It took us all to survive those Depths and yet now she is trapped alone down there. I know I had urged us to move along without her, but now I do question whether that was right.”

  It was in truth a decision that haunted Cormac also. He had little desire to pursue this discussion though, as it only tore open once again his heart that he had thought cauterized. He had hoped to taper over his wounds with stitching needles as it might be said, yet he could not hide from the truth now.

  This made him all the more melancholic and long for Marian’s company. She had been the very definition of grandmotherly to him, and now that she was gone he felt akin to a man who had lost his right arm or leg.

  “It is what she might well have wished,” He said without any resolve, utterly miserable.

  Indulf did not continue speaking.

  *****

  This sorry state in terms of mood might well have continued, were it not for Corin. It was he who was to see the cloud of bleakness that loomed over a great many of them. He who with the aid of Glarald began to sing, this in itself was not entirely unusual. What he also thought back to how Corin rarely if ever sang, he had not done so since Murchadh had disappeared. Back then, he would sing Gallian epics and songs to entertain Cormac and Daegan, or at other times he would sing drunken ditties with Murchadh. Yet once his brother by most sacred and ancient oath had vanished in the waves, he was as a man who had been sundered in twain. Cut from crown to nave, he could not more sing than he could fly.

  This was why Cormac stared at him in dumbfounded shock, with Indulf likewise amazed aware as he also was that Corin had ceased to perform for others in this capacity.

  The song sung was of bright sunny skies and of the joy of fishing, a strange choice for two men who had only done so in passing over the course of their lives. It was a Caled song, and one that soon proved infectious with Connor, Meallán who was just behind Wiglaf and Ronald joining in also.

  “Oh why oh why must I fish

  For the lunar-disk?

  That which Nótt did up there at great risk,

  For fear that it might get caught like a fish,

  So why did the King ask for me to fish it?

  The King did so ask for the moon,

  This he asked regardless how it does loom,

  I do so wonder if he has room

  Or if he has considered how far

  It does lie up with the stars,

  Oh why oh why must I fish

  For the lunar-disk?

  That which Nótt did up there at great risk,

  For fear that it might get caught like a fish,

  So why did the King ask for me to fish it?”

  The song was one that drew a laugh from all of them. None chuckled more than Cormac himself doing so until he very nearly wept, Marian almost forgotten yet he almost danced about in the snow. But the moment the music was gone, he was to sag a little as her memory rushed once again back to the fore.

  “There was naught we could have done,” Corin murmured from just in front of him, as though he had read his mind. But the Gallian’s kindly storm-coloured gaze rested not upon him, but upon Kyrenas who regarded him coldly. “I understand you dislike what was done, Kyrenas but we had no other choice.”

  “I am aware,” Kyrenas retorted icily.

  “To be aware of something, and to accept it is quite different though,” Corin replied evenly, holding his gaze.

  Cormac expected some sort of quarrel. Kyrenas had never demonstrated himself to be particularly friendly towards men; he had little regard for the vast majority of his companions. He had accompanied them entirely against his will, a fact that he had made abundantly clear to all of them.

  Yet he did not lash out. He did not speak furiously at the Gallian. Rather, he appeared to consider his words, if sadly so. “There was a principle my grandfather believed in that cost him his position; the man who leaves another behind so to speak, is no longer a man. I have begun to question the reason for why I previously rejected this principle.”

  “Your grandfather was very wise,” Corin murmured quietly, gripping the arm of his friend, in a solicitous gesture.

  It was a quiet moment between two men of equal stature, of equal cynicism towards the world and who had become exiles from their homeland. They had done so for the same reason; love, and had found that to be exiled has changed them in ways far greater than they could possibly have previously imagined.

  Those who looked upon them in the past might have believed the two incapable of fondness or respect for one another, stubborn as they were, yet now they walked side by side full of esteem for one another.

  It was an inspiring exchange, though one that was a marked contrast to the coldness with which Kyrenas and Glarald continued to regard one another with. There had been a rapprochement of sorts as father and son once again disagreed over what was to be done over Marian.

  “We ought to continue to search for her,” Glarald complained bitterly.

  Kyrenas did not answer. Several around him grimaced, some such as Cormac were of a similar mind as the son was, others such as Indulf were undecided and still others such as Lyr kept their thoughts to themselves.

  Colwyn it was who was to attempt to knit back together the peace between father and son, “Peace the two of you, we did all that any could have done. Now we must look to the Tower of Iaranntùr if only to heal the wounds, of wise old Wiglaf. It is what Sister Marian wished for, deep in her heart of hearts.”

  His words had little influence, with Connor snorting rudely in response, “I do not think we should dishonour the old maid with excuses; we abandoned her. I have said it, and I say there is naught we could do to aid her, and must accept this as fact.”

  His words brought an aggrieved grimace to the Elf’s face as it did many others such as that of Bardulf.

  “We have little time to waste,” Corin answered at once in defence of the father.

  “I could go it alone, and search on my own,” Glarald attempted to volunteer, yet he never finished his thought.

  “Nay! You will not, if any should do so it ought to be Meallán,” Kyrenas snapped at once.

  “What do you mean by ‘it ought to be Meallán?” Asked Lyr who bristled at his hasty words, halting his advance to scowl red-faced at the Elf.

  “I simply meant that after searching nigh on fifteen years at one time for your father, if there is any among us who could find Marian it is he.” Kyrenas retorted with equal fury, never a light-tempered person, he might well have goaded the disagreement into a full quarrel were it not for Bardulf.

  “Cease this meaningless squabbling, the both of you!” Ordered the Wolfram at once, stepping between the two of them, meeting both of their angry gazes with his level one, “We are but a short distance from Iaranntùr, therefore why bicker now?” Neither of them answered him, this did not stop him, “I will tell you why you fight; it is because of the Blood-Gem. Its powers were once restrained by the locket, yet now that it has been damaged its influence has leaked out all the more. Therefore I plead with you all, wake up! See the anger you have needlessly directed against one another.”

  As he spoke he motioned with upraised palm to Calandra and pointed from one to another of his friends, reminding them of the nobility of spirit that lived on in them. They had come so far, they knew and for them to devour one another on behalf of the Blood-Gem, was madness.

  But it was a madness grown by unnatural, unclean means that Cormac knew as did they all brought about the end of Aganippe the Sorcerer-King and countless others.

  Shame filled each of their faces, with each of them avoiding the gazes of one another. It was not to be the last incident of anger on their part, against one another.

  *****

  Shelter was found some ways down the mountain, with each of them wearied as much from the journey up from the Edranite Depths and down part of the mountain, they were to put up camp early. The skies had not yet darkened by the time that Bardulf declared, it time to rest. It was foolish, yet they forgot that night as they huddled together in a small cave as they had before, with a small fire to keep them warm. Somehow they did not freeze to death, with each of them continuing down the ‘road’.

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  It was thanks to Kyrenas glancing out in the night just before he went back to sleep that they were to determine which way was north. Directed north they were to continue downhill, wherefore they redirected themselves in the small valley northwards, in between two large mountains. Unable to continue forward without rising up another mountain, they were to find a road that led up it much to their surprise.

  What truly surprised them was that the road in question was paved with actual stones. This discovery disturbed some such as Corin and Bardulf, both of whom were trained warriors accustomed to decades of war.

  Connor impressed remarked as he led the way up the great mountain, “This road must have required years to properly pave.”

  “Or a great labour force,” Lyr remarked quietly, he had been rather quiet almost defeated since the incident involving him and the Blood-Gem.

  “Or mayhaps both, but that is not the most remarkable part I think,” Corin replied just behind the two of them, as the group had to advance in a single-line up the mountain so narrow was the path. His words drew several glances from his friends, he pointed to the ground, saying as he advanced, “What is most remarkable are the ‘SPQR’ of the empire of Roma, but what is more is that there are in places the symbol of the lily and the name ‘éluanis’. Whoever paved this route has quite the admiration for both Roma and Gallia.”

  “Hmm, fascinating,” Lauma remarked for the first time genuinely interested.

  “Indeed, this éluan is the ‘Golden-King’ is he not?” Glarald asked with considerable interest eyes now downturned to the rear of the group.

  “Aye,” Cormac affirmed at once, almost bouncing in excitement, “He was Corin’s ancestor and the finest King in Neustria and Lyonesse’s histories.”

  It was a boast that impressed several of those around him, with Indulf grumbling behind him ill-naturedly, “Supposedly.”

  “It is a fact,” Cormac corrected him bristling a little, irritated at this muttered remark on his part ere he reminded himself that it was the Blood-Gem and therefore necessary to be all the more patient than he usually was. “Corin’s grandmother was the princess Augustine, eldest daughter of Clovis the Golden Duc, who was himself grandson of the Golden-King.”

  Foreseeing another quarrel with impending dire consequences, as they were upon a rather narrow road, Wiglaf spoke up from behind Indulf, just as Corin flushed red from embarrassment. Proud of his heritage, the Gallian always reacted shyly for some reason in regards to these ancestors, whenever he imbibed a little mead or ale he at times took to boasting of them. It was the one time that he appeared the most similar to Daegan.

  The elderly sorcerer muttered; “The King éluan’s finest accomplishments outside of sewage was certainly the repaving of the roads and paving of new ones.”

  “Did he link all the roads to his palaces and castles?” Meallán asked curiously, visibly impressed by this fact, “I do believe Gaston once spoke of these endeavours.”

  “Nay, he wished to link all the temples of the kingdoms together, with some of the forts indeed linked in this manner.” Ronald explained in place of some of his companions, with a shrug of his shoulders, “It was his view that this would better aid commerce and pilgrimages.”

  “He was wise,” Said Cormac with an approving nod of his head, he added with a small smile, “Were I a king I would do much the same.”

  “If you were king, I pity the fools who would serve as your vassals,” Kyrenas grunted with a roll of his eyes.

  Somehow his words did not seem as acrimonious, as they previously had proven themselves to be, or so it seemed to Cormac. Amused, he repressed a small rueful smile.

  *****

  The paved road went up the mountain as said, with the hard stone well-polished and organised, yet it stopped shy of the peak. Thereupon the peak they were to bear witness to the majestic vision of the other mountains, for this was one of the largest. It was also there that they saw after a day and a half of walking, the great sea that stretched ever westwards. The westfold sea as some had termed it, the Narratsi Ocean, also known as the Yawning Sea-Gap. Such was the majesty of that vision, of the boundless Oceania that many fell to their knees in prayer to Tempestas. Or in the case of the Elves to Salacia, Queen of the Seas all of them gave voice in celebration and gratitude to the goddesses for such a vision. The depth of the blueness, the kingliness of the life-nurturing waters that had fed mankind for millennia, and was destined to feed it for many to come, was as the first sight is to the blind. Bound in the cold of the wintry mountains, they felt their bones warmed by this unearthly vision of beauty that rippled and appeared to smile and welcome them home once more.

  For one such as Cormac who was by nature in love with the sea this vision was as a religious affirmation. Impassioned by the mountains he stood upon, this sentiment was however mitigated by the memory of all that had transpired below-ground. The sea though held no such mitigations or mixture of feelings, all he imagined at that moment was the joy of sailing away, far away. He could sail away he told himself, perhaps in search of the ancient homeland of the Elves, as they talked at length of coming from further west.

  His eyes as with those of his friends were inevitably drawn away from the great blue gap that stretched forever, to the great tower that stood at the center of the great green fields near to it. The tower appeared by no means small even leagues and leagues away. It was the darkest building that had ever been seen by any of those gathered thereupon the mountain. Dark and malevolent it had dark spires near the summit of the mountains, with its spike dominated peak reminding Cormac of the Knightwraiths. The tower was dark as night and one of the most horrible constructs ever built, stretching out for nigh on a full league up.

  Built as though it sought to cut through the heavens, it was surrounded by a hundred meter high walls that were black as the tower itself.

  This was the dark Tower of Iaranntùr, a fortress that had once been the seat of a local king by the name of Riagán; his kingdom was strangely native to the island of Antillia. The kingdom was a small one, with more in common with the kingdom of Caledonia or ériu than the rest of the other lordships upon the Misty-Isle. It fell centuries prior for reasons that Cormac did not know then, though he was to later be told that it had fallen at the hands of the Centaur-tribes. The burgeoning civilisation fostered by King Riagán, fell in his great-grandson Ougein’s time. Though many of the people survived and were driven out, they were to never return to these lands.

  The fortress though had lain untouched, with its fields for centuries having weeds planted upon her fields by the Centaurs and Amazons out of spite. The latter developing some disdain for the region, when they lost three consecutive battles thereon the fields of Iaranntùr at the hands of the Centaurs who lured them into the valley to ambush them. Pressing them against the sea, they had in this way forced the armies of Menippe, the then chieftain of the lesser Amazonian city of Mikróterople to choose between death by the sword, or by drowning.

  The fields were not all cleared and covered in weeds by this time though, they had seen trees overtake the region in the absence of people living and caring for the soil.

  But this had begun to change, since Gallchobhair had arrived in the tower.

  Trees had been cut down by the thousands and put into smelters and furnaces so that the land was blackened and left barren in many places. It was as though locusts had begun to swarm the whole of the land of Iaranntùr, devouring and destroying all around the tower.

  It frightened all of them to bear witness to, with even Wiglaf dumbfounded by the vision of the dark fields that surrounded the walls, and that had small dark mud-huts placed upon them.

  “Oh, Gallchobhair what have you done?” He moaned grief-stricken when he saw this terrible vision. So that his awe at the sight of the ocean wiped away by the evil that had been begotten, by the man of ériu.

  “Why destroy the forest?” Calandra asked with some heat, disgusted by the many crimes committed by the former Archdruid of ériu.

  Her outrage drew a worried glance from her cousin Kyrenas, who considered if briefly the Blood-Gem of Aganippe. He was not alone in this regard or in noticing how scarlet her eyes had become, in comparison to before that moment.

  “Regardless, we must investigate by our own eyes, any other means of judgement is based upon solely assumptions, and as all know assumption is proof of imbecility.” Colwyn grunted his face set grimly.

  *****

  They descended from the mountain pale and white as it was, to find the lower half of the mountain almost green. Still mostly in the grips of winter, the mountain had begun to falter towards spring in this place.

  The emerald forests made Meallán comment upon how he felt as though he were once more in ériu, to which Connor snorted. “Bah, this is as nothing in comparison to ériu. Here there is but sorrow and anger, whereas thereupon the Emerald-Isle there is but a sense of joy, of warmth. Behind every tree lies mayhaps fey, but more than they there are the gods in every glen, in every bog. Therefore friend, I say nay this is not at all like ériu.”

  “I misspoke then,” Meallán said with a small smile.

  Connor spoke true, Cormac decided crossing past black sycamore trees, manoeuvring his way under the branches of darkened ash and oak-trees. Such black cedar he had never seen before, so that he pondered how they had become so menacing as to remind him of those horrid trees that had sought to devour him and his friends.

  Indulf who was moving next to him, shuddered and averted his gaze from some of the trees also, equally alarmed to see the trees in such shoddy condition. There was evil at work, Cormac thought to himself, where it had come from he would not say aloud. He knew all too well, Wiglaf would not heed his words resolute as he was.

  “I do not much like this place,” Cormac stated determined to give voice in some capacity to his views on this dark forest.

  “Aye,” The old sorcerer agreed at once to his satisfaction.

  “If the forest is so hideous, the oaks darkened and the trees twisted as though they seek to escape this place, or to claw at all who wander through these lands, I think it may be wiser to turn back.” Ronald advised disturbed by the forest the more they crossed through it, his words though fell upon deaf ears much to Cormac’s disappointment.

  “Nay, not without first seeing Gallchobhair,” the old man retorted obstinately.

  The Tigrun sighed in response, he had tried and that was all he could have done.

  It happened that Calandra carrying the Blood-Gem still gave way to a fit of wicked madness. Hand upon one of the nearby trees, she fell to weeping as she had done at the tearing of her ear. In contrast to that situation though, this one was not from physical pain, but that of purest spiritual agony, so that the ordinarily delicate yet fierce lass gave way to fragility.

  “How could that monster pervert trees so?” She asked of no one in particular, halting to place a small hand upon one of the trees.

  Her fury was of a sort that many could well have understood. Most especially the Elves, with Lauma nodding her head of a like mind.

  It was as she pressed her hand upon a half-fallen oak that Cormac noticed, just as Glarald did, a scarlet glow escape from her palm. This glow was akin to the golden glow of healing of Wiglaf, Wulfnoth and most druids capable of miracles’ hands when they healed others.

  “I think it time to take the Gem from her,” Said Glarald drawing attention to the Elf-maid, who drew back angry and defensive of the Blood-Gem she had come to love, more than her own life.

  This they did, handing it now not to Cormac but to Indulf on the suggestion of Colwyn who uttered, “I do not think it wise to trust it to a complete innocent until we set out, for the north.”

  He disagreed heartily with this view Cormac however was not to be given a proper vote, with the rest of the companions who had all been necessitated in the restraining of the maiden. She had gained in strength and viciousness thanks to the Blood-Gem, so that she scratched with talon-like claws at Lyr and Connor, and kicked Ronald some distance from her and through a tree.

  Yet when stripped of the gemstone, she sagged wearily wherefore she was to succumb to wretched tears, with her cousins keen to comfort her.

  “We will remain here,” Glarald decided with a grimace.

  “I think I will remain also,” Connor stated with a wary glance towards the other end of the forest. “I do not like the look of that Tower.”

  “Does it remind you of your peoples’ past?” Colwyn japed meanly.

  To the surprise of all of them, the Bairaz gave a nod rather than being offended, as he might previously have been. “Aye, for it is those of us who suffered to darkness who always see it best in others or the world around us. For this reason, I say that Gallchobhair has not an ounce of good left in him if we are to judge by these fields and that tower.”

  “Very well,” Bardulf replied surprising them all at once, all over again as he rather than rage or insist the Bairaz should join them simply nodded his head. Saying as he did so to the startled son of Baronk, “We shall meet with you by the southern edge of the forest when we escape from this place.”

  *****

  It was not to be the Bairaz and Elves alone who preferred to keep from entering the gates of the great Tower, but also Meallán and Lyr. The prince’s wounds pained him so that he had little trust in the former Archdruid, claiming he preferred his wounds such as they were thank you. It happened that when they departed the forest they were to discover much to their bewilderment the fields’ barren. All of them stared all around them, in search of a single soul, with many of the buildings such as the furnaces and forges still in place, but without their workers.

  “What a horrid place, it has become little more than a blackened wasteland,” Ronald muttered his deep voice hitched with fear, “I regret accompanying you lot now.”

  His sentiments were comprehensible ones in the eyes of a great many of them, Corin was to wander off towards one of the smithies. Reporting when he returned, “I have found more stores of arms than I have ever seen elsewhere in all my years. Even the knights of Gallia do not keep so many arms as this!”

  “Wulfnoth this worries me also,” Bardulf complained, “I can smell only ash and strangest of all snakes.”

  “It cannot be that Gallchobhair would betray us,” Wiglaf insisted stubbornly, fighting as a drowning man for the one plank of wood to keep him adrift. “He and I were as brothers in the Tower where we learnt our arts, and I would not have it be that I turned my back upon him, without first hearing from him.”

  “If such is how you feel,” Cormac remarked grimly, pointing towards the gates of the tower where a tall figure, dressed in white awaited them, “You will soon have your wish Wiglaf.”

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