City of Jade

Drimmen-deeve instead, for Aravan would collect a Dwarven warband for his ship, and Drimmen-deeve held another treasure he needed as well as the warriors he would have.

Aravan glanced at Aylis and smiled and said, “This way, Chier.” And he heeled his horse and set off easterly, leaving the mere behind. Through long twilit galleries they rode, and the limbs and foliage far above formed a canopy o’erhead, sheltering them somewhat from the light rain carried on the air, more of a mist than a shower. Now and again, however, where great clusters of leaves on high overlapped to form a broad cover, the water collected and runneled together across the dusky green layer to come tumbling down through the dawn light in a long, streaming cascade.

And as they rode, Aylis marveled at the size of the soaring behemoths, some rising nigh nine hundred feet into the air, the girths of their boles many paces around, their broad limbs widely reaching. She knew, too, that the wood of the Eld Tree was precious-prized above all others-and she wondered how it was harvested. As if reading her thoughts, Aravan said, “None of these have ever been felled by any of the Free Folk, though long past, in the First Era, some were hacked down in malice by Rupt. ’Twas the Felling of the Nine; but Elven vengeance was swift and without mercy. Examples were made of the ax wielders, and their remains were displayed to Spaunen in their mountain haunts throughout Mithgar; and never again has an Eld Tree been hewn in Darda Galion.”

“But I have seen dear things made of this wood,” said Aylis. “If not hewn, then how-?”

Aravan gestured at the surround. “At times a gathering is made in the forest, for occasionally lightning or a great wind from the south sweeping o’er the wide plains of Valon will cause branches to fall; and these are collected by the Lian storm-gleaners, and treasures dear are fashioned of this precious timber.”

“What of storm-felled trees?” asked Aylis. “Or those that simply topple of old age? Surely now and again a tree falls in the forest.”

Aravan nodded. “Thou art right, my love: Eld Trees sometimes die. And for each that does so, we mourn, for the trees somehow know when Elvenkind dwell nigh and shed their twilight down. And there are among Elvenkind those who in turn are attuned to the trees and feel the passing of each.”

“Some of you can sense the loss of one of these giants?”

“Aye. Arin Flameseer of the Dylvana was one. In fact, she felt the deaths of the Nine, or rather I should say their murder.”

They rode in silence for a moment, and then Aravan said, “When an Eld Tree falls, the master carvers long study each branch and twig, each root and nub, and every inch of the full of the bole, sensing the grain, sensing the shapes trapped within, ere setting ought to ought.”

“Do these grow elsewhere on Mithgar?”

“But for the Lone Eld Tree in Arden Vale, they do not.” Then Aravan added, “This entire forest was transplanted here from Adonar. ’Twas the work of Silverleaf.”

“Oh, my,” said Aylis. “It must have taken forever.”

Aravan laughed. “Not quite, Chier. Not quite.” Then he sobered and added, “There are, however, some events that last forever, and the Felling of the Nine was one of these.”

“Signal events,” said Aylis. “Though some do not last, as you say, ‘forever, ’ still in every life they occur. At times they change the destinies of those involved.”

Aravan nodded his agreement and said, “Some events sweep up many in their wake-wars and such-while others affect only one.”

Aylis looked at him and asked, “What were some of yours? – Signal events, I mean.”

“The first time I laid eyes on the sea is one,” said Aravan.

“On Adonar?”

“Nay, on Mithgar. ’Twas dawn when I first rode out of Adonar and into Mithgar in the early days of the First Era, coming to the youth and wildness of this new world, leaving behind the stately grace and beauty of ancient Adonar. As I knew I would, when I emerged I found myself in a misty swale, with grassy crowns of mounded hills all about, for, as all such in-between crossings must be, the cast of the terrain was fair matched to that I had left on Adonar. But what I did not expect was the distant sound that to my ears came: shsshing booms. Intrigued, I turned my horse toward the rolling roar, riding southerly among the diminishing downs. Upward my path took me, up a long and shallow slope, the sounds increasing, the wind in my face, a salt tang on the air. And I found myself on a high chalk cliff, the white bluff falling sheer. Out before me as far as the eye could see stretched deep blue waters to the horizon and beyond. It was the ocean, the Avagon Sea, its azure waves booming below, high-tossed spray glittering like diamonds cast upward in the morning sun. My heart sang at such a sight and my eyes brimmed with tears, and in that moment something slipped comfortably into my soul, for it seemed I was home at last.”

“Oh, Aravan, how beautiful.”

Aravan grinned and said, “Not as beautiful as when thou didst come climbing o’er the rail of the Eroean. ’Twas the most signal event in my life.”

As she had done on that day, Aylis blushed, remembering the time. For she had seen Aravan ere then. . or his image, rather. As a neophyte in her first year at the College of Mages in Kairn, the City of Bells on Rwn, like many young maidens with Seer Talent she had cast a spell upon a small silver mirror, asking to see her truelove; in her case, Aravan’s visage had come into view. And so, years later when she had intercepted the Eroean and had clambered over the rail and set eyes upon him, her heart hammered and her face flushed, and Aravan had reached out to steady her, and a spark leapt between the two, startling both. And so, that first meeting had been a signal event for her as well.

Even as Aylis relived the experience, Aravan’s smile vanished and a bleakness stared out from his eyes. “But the second-most-important event of my life was when I thought thou wert gone forever into the deeps with Rwn. The loss of Galarun was hard, but the loss of thee was worse. It was then I gave up the sea, right after thy ‘death’ was avenged.”

“Oh, Aravan, I would not have had you forsake the ocean and certainly not the Eroean.”

“But for the time of the Winter War, the Eroean sat idle in the Hidden Grotto in Thell Cove.”

“You sailed her in the Winter War?”

“Aye. A crew and I took on the Rovers of Kistan during those terrible days. But afterward, we put her back in the grotto, and there she sat until the Wolfmage drew her forth and sailed her unto Port Arbalin for Bair and me to use in the time of the Trine.”

“No more, Aravan, no more,” said Aylis. “You must promise me that should ought happen, you will-”

“Chier, my heart went out of me when I thought thee gone forever. I had no love for ought, not e’en the sea or my ship.”

They rode in silence for long moments, and surreptitiously Aylis turned her face away from Aravan to wipe away her tears.

Noting her attempt to hide her shared desolation for Aravan’s long years of despair, Aravan said, “But then, mayhap e’en more signal than when first we met came but two winters past, for that was when I discovered that thou wert yet alive and not gone down with Rwn, and my heart and my love were restored unto me.”

Aylis smiled, her eyes again brimming, but this time at remembered joy. “It was so for me as well, yet I thought you might die, wounded as you were.”

Aravan reached out and briefly touched her hand, and they rode side by side in quietness, and only a soft sound of a nearby cascade showering down from the canopy above broke the peace of their shared solitude.

But at last Aylis asked, “Speaking of the time of the Trine, what about the death of Gyphon? Was that not a signal event in your life?”

A rueful smile twitched Aravan’s mouth, and he said, “It was, Chier. But even more signal was what Raudhrskal did right after; that will be with me forever.”

“Raudhrskal the Dragon?”

“Aye. He not only saved Bair and me, but the whole of Mithgar as well.”

“Tell me, love.”

Aravan took a deep breath and then let it out and said, “Gyphon was slain, and Ydral dead, and the Crystal Cavern began to collapse. Bair and I fled, but the Great Abyss was yet agape, with the entire world being sucked