And Talos showed his workings freely to Helm. The Vigilant One understood that knowledge of the scourging band could be used to his own advantage-and that such advantage would not be unpleasing to Talos.
Thus, in mistrust and suspicion, but full awareness of mutual desire, the purposes of Helm and Talos became aligned.
4
Two proud steeds crested a grassy hill and paused restlessly, drawn back by their riders. One of the prancing mounts was a huge, shag-hoofed war-horse of chestnut brown; the other was a nimble, long-legged mare of purest white.
The pristine valley of Myrloch Vale swept away below them. Off to the right, the huge lake gleamed in the sunlight, heartbreakingly blue and dazzlingly clear even from a distance of more than ten miles. The placid water filled the southern end of the vast, roughly circular valley. The northern stretch of the vale sprawled beneath a blanket of lush vegetation, forests of pine, oak, aspen, and elm, interspersed by numerous meadows, each dotted with a blazing mosaic of flowers.
The riders were as diverse as the horses: A tall, strappingly powerful man rode the dark gelding. He wore no armor, but a huge sword swung easily at his side, and everything about his appearance suggested an accomplished warrior. He rode with the ease of a man born to horseback, guiding his horse with knee pressure alone as he gazed in wonder across the spectacular vista before him.
The white mare's rider was smaller and female, with straw-colored hair that tumbled about her shoulders and the slender, almost fragile features of an elf. Nevertheless she, too, rode with an easy grace that suggested many years of experience in the saddle. Now, like the human warrior, she paused reflectively to enjoy the sweep of valley below.
'It's spectacular!' said the man, after a few moments of silent admiration. 'Every Ffolkman has heard of the Myrloch, of course, but it seems a shame that so few of us have seen it!'
'Perhaps that's why it's still spectacular,' suggested the elfwoman dryly. 'Do you think that a smelting house beside the stream or a smoking forge in the meadow would help the picture very much?'
The elf was Brigit Cu'Lyrran, Mistress Captain of the Sister Knights of Synnoria, and her prejudices against rapacious and populous humanity ran deep. Still, she smiled at her companion to take the sting from her words. Clearly she regarded him in an altogether different light than she did the vast bulk of his kinsmen.
'You're right,' agreed Hanrald Blackstone, the Earl of Fairheight. 'So much of its beauty comes from that same isolation.'
The two had chosen to enter the vale from one of its eastern passes, taking the long route to Brigit's home in the elven valley of Synnoria. The detour would allow them to see some of the most beautiful terrain in the Moonshaes, according to Brigit. She hadn't said that it would also postpone the homecoming that she anticipated with a feeling akin to dread.
How, after all, could one of the prime protectors of Synnorian fastness go before the rulers of her people and tell them that she had fallen in love with a human? It was a question that Brigit still hadn't been able to answer, and so each day that postponed its necessity was another day of exhilarating freedom.
Hanrald Blackstone had no such weighty concerns. He knew only that he rode beside the woman who had come to mean life itself to him. He would follow where she led, confident in the love that bound them. Of course he knew that sooner or later he would have to return to his holding, in the kingdom of Callidyrr, but for now, that was a distant, unreal eventuality. Even further removed from his conscious thought was the knowledge that he would grow old and die in the space of the next half dozen decades, while his love could look forward to many centuries of vibrant life.
They came through the low pass of Aspenheight after six days of easy riding out of Caer Corwell. Each night they had camped under the stars, the goddess favoring them with clear skies and warm temperatures. Now, as they rode into the valley, they found another pristine meadow, surrounded by a protective ring of rocks arrayed as a perfect windbreak.
'How many more days until we reach Synnoria?' Hanrald inquired after they had built a small fire and settled back to watch the emerging stars.
'I don't want to think about it,' Brigit replied honestly. 'Let's cross the valley north of the lake. I haven't been up here in decades, and besides, I'm still not in any hurry to get home.'
'Fine with me,' Hanrald agreed, drawing the elfwoman close with a brawny arm. She curled against his side, and they watched-awestruck, as always-as the curtain of daylight drew back from the sky. The stars emerged for their nightly march across the heavens, and the two tiny creatures on the ground sat rapt in wonder, absorbed by the stately dance of the cosmos.
Later, as the night grew just a little cooler, they shared their own warmth and at last fell into a relaxed and restful slumber. In the morning, each awakened with a sense of vitality and alertness that, they deduced, must come from the enchanted nature of the valley itself.
For three days, they meandered easily through the glades and fields of pristine beauty. They crossed a shallow stream at a gravelly ford-Codsrun Creek, Brigit remembered. 'Imagine-all the outflow of that great lake compressed into this little stream,' she remarked.
They remained beside the splashing rivulet for the better part of an afternoon, diving into a placid pool and letting the sun dry them on the mossy bank. Once again the surroundings seemed so pastoral, so serene, that it seemed quite possible for the two of them to forget the cares and concerns of the outside world.
When they finally mounted again, they planned to ride only a few more miles before finding a place to camp. The forest was open here, with little underbrush and a wide expanse of grass and fern, so they loped easily along, relishing the rhythm of a good ride after their rest and swim.
Abruptly Hanrald's war-horse reared, almost dumping him from the saddle. Brigit cursed as her own mare sprang backward, whirling to face something that rustled in the bushes.
'Ambush!' cried the earl, spotting a number of small forms rushing toward them. Even as he shouted, he drew his massive sword while the great horse spun through a circle, kicking menacingly at the figures that materialized in the shadowy wood, apparently from nowhere.
The earl kneed his horse, ready to charge through the ring of attackers, when something held his assault. He saw that most of the stocky, bearded figures held metal-barbed crossbows, with perhaps a dozen of the deadly quarrels pointed at his chest and head. Reluctantly he relaxed the pressure of his legs, halting the charge before it began, though he still held both hands firmly around the hilt of his sword.
'Dwarves!' spat Brigit, the term as hateful as any curse.
'Dwarves who caught you in a tidy trap, we did!' proclaimed one of the stocky figures, swaggering forward with brawny hands wrapped around the hilt of a silver-bladed axe. Despite the creature's bristling beard, Hanrald realized, with considerable shock, that the speaker was female.
'You have no claim to this land!' shot back the elfwoman. Hanrald had never seen her so enraged. He worried that, despite the crossbows, she might do something rash.
'I think we're all visitors here,' the earl said placatingly. He sheathed his sword as a gesture of goodwill. 'There's no need for us to talk behind drawn blades or taut bows!'
'There is if we're going to be ambushed like skulking orcs!' retorted Brigit. She challenged the apparent leader of the dwarves. 'By what right do you march through these woods?'
The dwarfwoman snorted derisively. 'You ought to know. It's because of trouble in Synnoria that we've left the comfort of our village to go on the march!'
'What trouble-when?' demanded the elf, chilling at the thought that some dire fate had befallen her land during her absence.
'Coupla weeks ago,' replied the dwarf. Hanrald was relieved to note that the crossbows finally had come down, though the ring of dwarves still held them in its center. 'Something big came out of the mountain. We wanted to make sure that if it got away from you, we had fair warning up in Cambro.'
