The autumn wind blew sharply through the few scraggy pines, the last outposts of the empire of conifers which lay below, spreading north and westward. It whipped the cloaks of the three travellers into a frenzy, slowing their progress across the crest of the hill. But elves do not easily tire, and when Caryndil halted, it was to survey the land in front of him. Lindenal and Famenon stood beside him, gazing at the snow topped peaks ahead. Caryndil pointed at one which lay three leagues off.
" To the side of that mountain lies a trail, built for quarrying the stone which makes up the Eagle Gate. We will find the gate below. "
Lindenal nodded, and Famenon absentmindedly sharpened his great axe against a boulder. It had been eight days since the destruction of Caryndil's band, and after the fight, Caryndil had led them into the wild foothills of the Anulli, seeking to evade the Dark Elves who prowled the lowlands. The situation, as far as he could tell, was grave. Well nigh half of all Tiranoc was overrun, they had come across the bodies of their kin, and many wrecked chariots. The last of the elves they had met had told them that Prince Tyrion himself was mustering an army, and that the Phoenix King was readying the fleets of Lothern. Now, however, they were alone, adrift in the hills.
Lindenal shifted the weight of his sword. " The air is uneasy here," he spoke. " The winds of magic blow stronger ". Caryndil nodded grimly. " We shall have to take our chances. It is a choice between the Druchii and the Hills. " He turned to the two of them. " Which would you choose? "
Famenon grinned. " The only thing I mind is that we're above the tree line- I'm a little out of my element." It was true- the White Lion had been of inestimable value in helping them through the woods. Caryndil patted him on the back, and then the two of them continued on, under the darkening sky.
The next night, as they lay huddled around their tiny campfire, the three were silent as they gazed into the flames. Suddenly, Lindenal stirred. He stood, and softly cried, "Look!" Caryndil turned, and recoiled as he saw tendrils of vapour stealing around them. They all stood up, and drew their weapons. The mist like coils surrounded them now, and as they reached the fire, it suddenly blazed up in a fury. Caryndil tried to stamp it out, lest their position be given away, but the fire burned brighter than ever. Lindenal stopped him. " You cannot!" he whispered. " It is the wind of Chaos!" In the night, they could hear moans, and occasionally, a piercing cry from unimaginable heights. However, nothing bothered them that night.
In the morning, the mists remained, as did the fire, though all the wood was ashes now. Caryndil was dumbfounded- where was the Gate? Stumbling forward in the gloom, he tried to remember what direction they had been going. At last, his scout's sense returning, he remembered vaguely- north. Trekking off into the mist, he led Lindenal, in a kind of daze, and Famenon, who was shouldering his axe, in the direction he hoped would lead them through. In the mist, strange noises, as before, issued from above- twisted calls and distant shuddering cries, like those of some warped bird. Throughout the mist, Lindenal could see- or said he could see-the very waves of magic pulsing through. It made them all aware of their great peril.
Finally, the mists began to weaken, and towards evening, they emerged onto a rocky slope, fog free. In exultation, Famenon turned to jeer at the mists-but found that they were completely gone. The hills appeared as normal as they had before the hellish mists came. Caryndil shivered at the thought, and led the way across the rock strewn slope towards the mountain road he could see in the distance.
The next day, the three walked down the smooth mountain road which curved around the flanks of the hill, going down. They began to meet a few trees again, and soon, the air became warmer. As the chill of the mountains faded, Caryndil's heart began to ease, and again, he thought of his friends, his murdered kin. He saw all their faces, before him, and those of his parents as well. He saw those times in camp when the eternal war was not omnipresent, when there was laughter- the first time he held a bow, how he had hit himself in the face with the string, and all the elves around had laughed as he furiously twanged the string and lost his arrows. He saw, in pain, the last battle, and the deaths of all his friends, cut down by arrows, sliced by swords- his eyes hardened, and he shook his head. As he rounded a steep corner, he saw before him the Eagle Gate, in all its splendour.
In this magnificent structure, the genius of the Elves was brought to full flower. The base of the high wall, some hundred yards long, was hewn from the very rock of the granite cliff itself, and the high white wall of towering stone which rose four hundred feet high above the base was smooth, without a chink, as though this too was fashioned from a single mighty rock. The gate itself, twenty yards wide, was of glittering silver and steel, with a magnificent eagle emblazoned in fiery ithilmar upon it. The lofty battlements were decked with deadly bolt throwers, and even from here Caryndil could see the helms of many warriors glinting in the westering sun. It brought a deep swelling of pride to his heart to see the glory of Ulthuan abound in the great Gate.
They made their way down, towards the entrance of the Gate, until they were hailed by one of the sentries. " Who seeks entrance into the Kingdom of Ellyrion?"
Caryndil called back, " Caryndil son of Morindil, a warrior of the Northlands, Famenon, a White Lion of Chrace, and Lindenal, a Swordmaster of the White Tower. "
There was a pause, and then the great gates swung open. A party of at least twenty elves on horseback stood ready, bows in their hands. They relaxed when they saw Caryndil.
One laughed. " Beware, Ylien, a ferocious band of Dark Ones is near. " The others chuckled at this, and the one who had spoken dismounted and greeted Caryndil.
" My apologies, " he laughed. " But my commander Ylien is over cautious, and would have my elves ride down any and all who come within a mile of his Gate. "
Caryndil had stiffened at being called Dark Elf, even in jest. "He is right to be cautious," he snapped, "for the Druchii are near and in force."
The Ellyrian refused to lose his smile. "And when they come, we'll be ready for them. Four thousand screaming Witch Elves couldn't take this Gate if anyone was alive in it. "
Caryndil maintained his stiffness, but his tone lost his anger. "They will come, and be assured that they will stop at nothing to get past you."
The Ellyrian looked playfully at Lindenal and Famenon, "Is he always this cheerful?" he asked, smiling. "Enter, please enter. You are the guests of Ylien, our overcautious commander, and Virlain, yours truly!" He took off his plumed helmet and reared his horse. Caryndil managed an exasperated smile, and as they went through the Gate. Famenon whispered in his ear- "Inner Kingdom Elves". And at this, Caryndil did truly smile, despite the weeks of hardship and loss. The elves of the Inner Kingdoms were always more removed from the concerns of the North and West, and seemed rarely to lose their gaiety and laughter, a fact which many of the solemn northerners from Chrace, Cothique and Tiranoc found exasperating, but which, in the end, always cheered them up.
Virlain led the travellers to a high white stone building which sat back about fifty yards from the Gate itself.
"There are rooms spare in the West Wing of the barracks," he said, "and while they are hardly like the chambers of her Majesty the Everqueen, I hope they will suit you for the duration of your stay"
Caryndil nodded. "They will suffice. I would speak with your commander, if he is able."
Virlain frowned slightly. "Well, alright, but you'd better not upset him any more- he hasn't slept for a fortnight-always standing on the tower tops, looking out for the Eagle messengers. " he smiled ruefully. "He takes out his anger on my poor squadron." There was a chorus of half sullen, half amused agreement from the Reavers behind.
Caryndil and Lindenal went up to speak with Ylien, while Famenon stayed behind to ready the rooms. They found Ylien gazing out of a high arched window, in a chamber at the top of the central tower. He turned to meet them, and he did indeed look tired and pained.
"You are the visitors? You should not be travelling this late- there are Druchii patrols everywhere."
He looked at their clothing, and recognised Lindenal's silver and blue armour.
" Ah! A Master of the White Tower!" he cried, and hastily poured some wine into a jewelled cup. "It is my pleasure to welcome you to the Eagle Gate. My grandson is currently studying at the Tower- Anlien is his name- do you know him?" Lindenal nodded. "Dark hair, sort of moody fellow?"
Ylien nodded vigorously. " Aye, that's him! I-"
Gently, Lindenal interrupted him. "I believe my friend Caryndil thirsts as well."
Ylien paused, and looked at Caryndil. His eyes travelled quickly over Caryndil's grey cloak, hard boots, longbow and sword, his blood stained white tunic and his matted blond hair. Ylien's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and Caryndil recognised the condescension in his face. " A pleasure to meet you, too," said Ylien coolly, and poured another goblet of wine.
They talked for a half hour, as the golden evening light faded and grew dim. The talk was mainly of Ylien's grandson, and his studies, and the advancement of the family in court. Ylien seemed relieved to speak about these things at length, and Lindenal had a wonderful way of showing interest in discreet ways, at all times courteous and polite without becoming too involved. Having borne the one way conversation for a while, Caryndil attempted to turn the discussion to the day's events.
"You must be able to tell us something of the enemy outside the Gate." At this, the commander showed a little annoyance, but with a nod of interest from Lindenal, he spoke.
"According to the latest messages, the armies of the Dark Ones have overrun much of Tiranoc, and if what we hear is true, then Tor Anroc itself is besieged." He sighed tiredly. "The Northlands are of course in their hands, though there is some trouble from the few loyal hill elves, who pester the enemy incessantly, though they cannot have much overall effect." Caryndil bristled at this scathing remark, but said nothing. Ylien continued, " There is every indication that they will attempt to attack the Gate, but I have not received any word from the Eagles so far today, I do not know-"
At that moment an elf in a white tunic and green vest strode into the room, bowed, and calmly announced. " My lord commander, there is a patrol of the enemy five hundred yards beyond the Gate." Caryndil stiffened, and Ylien asked, " How many? "
The guard answered. "About a hundred. Horse, but with a detachment of Shades on the flanks. They think they are hidden amongst the rocks. "
Caryndil got to his feet, and said, "Well commander, it seems the Druchii have presented themselves at last. "
But Ylien frowned, "A hundred is nothing. Merely a nuisance." Caryndil was surprised. The force that had murdered his command had numbered scarcely more than a hundred.
"Come," said Ylien, tiredly. "I think we all need some cheering up."
They went outside, Caryndil had strung his bow and was looking into the distance, where he could see a huge troop of Black Riders wheeling their horses in front of the Gate. To his shock, he saw that the Gate below was open. He turned to Ylien in surprise, but the elf waved him quiet. "Not a sound. With any luck, they'll come right up to the Gate, see the open door, and think they can charge through, by which time the Reavers will be able to catch them. Caryndil understood his plan, and felt a grudging admiration for the commander's shrewd plan.
"I wish to join the attacking force, " he said, but before Lindenal could say anything, Virlain appeared, with Famenon behind him. " A capital idea, " said Virlain. " We could use a real archer, to show us horse boys how to shoot. " Lindenal chuckled, but Ylien reddened. " I'll have you know, " he said to Caryndil, " that these reavers are amongst the most skilled in Ulthuan. "
Caryndil nodded. " I do not deny it. "
Virlain patted him over the shoulder and motioned him down the stairs.
"You have to forgive Ylien- he is very proud of his command, and he doesn't take kindly to criticism. "
"So I gathered," remarked Caryndil.
They made their way to the Gate, and there Virlain vaulted onto his horse, who with the rest of the Reavers was waiting in the shadow to either side of the Gate. Virlain spoke in a whisper.
"You must remain inside the Gate until we have all passed outside. Only then may you follow. I'll not have you trampled by us. " Caryndil smiled, and nodded. He notched an arrow to his bow string, but started as Famenon spoke behind him, " Make sure you get back in before the Gates close."
All the elves waited as the sounds of horse hooves outside grew louder. Knowing that the Druchii could see very well in the darkness, they kept their swords sheathed and stayed in shadow. Soon, dark cloaked figures appeared out of the night, scarce yards beyond the Gate. Harsh voices could be heard murmuring. There was an argument, and a soft cry. Caryndil seethed- he knew that the Dark Ones were "nominating" one unlucky fellow to go through the Gate first. His suspicion was confirmed when a solitary horseman came through the Gate, with a rider in black, massaging his bruised side. He needn't have bothered. The arrow which took him in the back came as almost an afterthought, as the Reavers surged through the Gate, their voices raised in song, as they spurred on their mounts. An explosion of noise, arrows hissing and voices crying, came through the Gate. Caryndil could tell that the Dark Ones had been taken completely by surprise. He ran outside, and found the Reavers riding skilfully around a knot of Dark Riders, exchanging fire. The Dark Elves masterfully controlled their panicking steeds, focussing on their hatred to overcome their fear. Reavers fell as bolts took them off their horses. But the Reavers retreated, firing arrows out of range of the cumbersome repeater crossbows. The Dark Elves, packed tightly together, died en masse. Caryndil leapt to a low outcropping of rock near the cliff wall. He vaulted over a boulder to find a Shade waiting with a crossbow. Quickly, Caryndil lashed out with this sword and cut the weapon in two, and then dealt the Dark Elf a mortal blow across the stomach. He then took up his bow, and scanning the rocks for more Shades, delivered deadly shots across the valley. From behind him, he heard a low moan, and turned to find Famenon confronted by three Shades who had dropped from the rocks above. One was dying on the ground, sobbing over his lost legs and arm, but the other two were forcing the Chracian back. Famenon wielded his huge axe with amazing speed and skill, pushing against the enemy blades, and giving as good as he got. Caryndil rushed to help, but then a sudden sweep of the axe decapitated a Shade, and the last one retreated, as Famenon retook control of his axe. The Shade whipped out her crossbow and fired, before Caryndil could move. Two bolts embedded themselves in Famenon's back. In horror, Caryndil raced to pull them out, but Famenon shrugged him off, and with an angry yell ran towards the Shade, who was refitting her crossbow. She fired again, and again two bolts hit home, in the white lion skin, but before she could fire again, the mighty axe swept clean through her midriff, and she fell apart. Famenon turned to the amazed Caryndil, pulled the arrows off of his cloak, and scowled. " That bolt hit Algare in his paw, and it hurt. "
Algare was the name of the lion that Famenon had slain. Turning back to the fight, Caryndil could see that the Dark Riders were almost all slain. The last few tried to escape, but were cut down, and as their horses fled they too were shot. Caryndil felt the cold satisfaction of blood vengeance, and he walked over to where Virlain's horse stood. He saw a look of great sadness and grief on the Reaver's face. Virlain, seeing that he was being watched, turned in the saddle and spoke.
"Whenever we fight our dark brethren," he rasped, "the most odious task is to slay the steeds that bear them. " Caryndil could hear the Reavers moving in amongst the injured Dark Steeds of the Druchii and spearing them. He understood, and bowed his head. The Dark Steeds were stolen as foals from the Ellyrians, and from the worst of that noble race of horses were bred these black beasts, with wild manes and angry eyes. It was a terrible corruption, and so the Reavers killed them whenever they could, to reduce the number of breeding stock available, but it was a foul task. The elves of Ellyrion loved their horses, and even such twisted beasts still bore some of the marks of their nobler forbears. It was another nameless horror of the eternal war between the Dark and High Elves.
Wearily, Caryndil and Famenon made it back inside the Gate with the Reavers. Casualties were light; only eight Reavers had fallen, but there were numerous wounds, and Caryndil fell asleep in his bed after aiding with bandages and other medicine. It was absolute luxury to sleep in a real bed with sheets and pillows, and it reminded the weary Shadow Warrior of the austerity of his life. No doubt an Eastern or Southern noble would cringe at the conditions here in the northwest, but to Caryndil, who was the last of a long line of nobles, and the last of his band, it was heaven.
In the morning, after making sure that there was no more help required, Caryndil set out with his companions east once more, heading through the rocky gorge, steadily descending. And came, at about noon, to a bend in the road, from whence he could see the green plains of and rolling foothills of Ellyrion. There were few visible settlements, but even from this distance Caryndil could taste the freshness and spring of the air. There was a sea breeze in it, and it beckoned the trio on, towards Avelorn.