Chapter Two
The day after the fight was chill and misty, a mighty fog that swept down from the Annulli mountains and cloaked everything in shadow. It was the perfect environment for stealth and secrecy, but for once, Caryndil and his men were not seeking vengeance. Instead, they pursued a more basic need: food. The land they were in, once full of game, fish and wildlife, was now a barren land of bleak forests and steppe. Occasionally, as his troop walked on the great highway which led southwest to Ellyrion and Tiranoc, they caught a glimpse of some great ruin, a mighty tower cast on its side , a proud palace in rubble, all sad reminders of a happier day, when the Shadowlands were full of glad folk.
At length, Caryndil and his men came up to a settlement, nestled around a small stream which ran through the waste. Although it was not in his nature to make contact with other elves, Caryndil had no choice but to approach the door of the largest house and beg for food. His elves were hungry, for even their elven strength and endurance could not withstand a full week without nourishment. The fight, too, had exhausted them.
The owner of the house peered out cautiously from behind the door, and on seeing Caryndil and his soldiers, he gave a cry and made as though to leave, but Caryndil stopped him.
"No, brother! We are not Dark Ones, but fellow elves of the land of Ulthuan! Gaze upon us!" And with that he showed him his shield. It was black, but etched upon it in silver was the elf rune "lecai", which is "light" in the ancient tongue. No Dark Elf under the sky would carry such a noble rune. The elf stared at it in confusion.
" You must then be Shadow Warriors, I assume" he said, coldly.
" We are, and now we beg of you food and assistance, for my warriors are hungry."
The owner of the house studied him with disdain.
" No wandering barbarians are welcome in our house. Get thee gone, son of Nagarythe, and trouble us no longer."
Hot anger rose inside Caryndil's mind, yet he held it back.
"We seek only a morsel of food, and we will be gone. Wouldst thou turn back thine own brethren in need?"
"You are no brothers of mine," replied the owner, " Now return to your little caves in the hills, and leave honest elves in peace! " These last words were spoken as a yell.
It was too much for Hylindor, a young, hot blooded elf who had recently joined Caryndil. He drew his sword, and cried,
"How dare you name us so, coward! Who protects your homes and fields by night? Who bleeds and dies so that cravens like yourself can continue with their lives?"
But here, Caryndil stopped him, for the owner of the house had run inside and barred the door in fright. He looked sternly at Hylindor, and said, " We must reserve our anger for our enemies, young one, and not those whom we are sworn to protect."
But Hylindor's blood was up, and he responded "He showed us not one shred of respect or kindness, to shut his door in our face."
In his heart, Caryndil knew he was right, but he reprimanded Hylindor anyway, and commanded the troops to move on. As they passed through the village, jeers and laughter came from the windows of the houses, the people of the town mocking them. Caryndil wearily continued the march. Sometimes all the sacrifice, all the horror and the madness, the hiding, the many skirmishes and battles seemed useless. He and his people would never be appreciated, never be rewarded for their unfailing loyalty. The world was cold and dark for his people. What was it that his parents had said? "The life
But his mother had disagreed.
Yet what she thought of the matter, Caryndil never knew, for in week both lay slain, killed in their sleep by Dark Elf raiders, and from then on, Caryndil had assumed the mantle of leadership for his band. Many had died and now the group was down to six warriors. Four trained soldiers, but one a mere youth and one an elven maid, the last of the womanfolk of his band. Caryndil was still young by elven standards, having seen seventy winters, but already they seemed cold and bleak years, fraught with useless fighting and deaths, too many deaths.
Yet a more pressing matter now came to the surface of Caryndil's mind; one that had driven him to take the southern road. For he had pondered the reasons, the motives for the Naggorothi raid which had reached so deep. There was a rumour about the tomb of Alith Anar- but was it real? If so, it was a matter of dire importance. For there was a prophecy passed down from generation to generation, down through the ages, and spoken only amongst the Shadow Warriors, that when the rest of Anar was disturbed, the land of Ulthuan would be in grave danger.