"They did well," he agreed.
Once upon a time, he had been the Commander of the Guard in Altoria. Once upon a time, he had taught Men to master their instinctive fear at the sight of the hideous, bestial visages of the Fjeltroll, taught them to strike at their unprotected places. Now, he taught the Fjeltroll to carry shields, and those hideous visages were the faces of his friends and brethren.
Hyrgolf's small eyes were shrewd beneath the thick shelf of his brow-bone. "Shall I report to debrief, General?"
"No." Tanaros shook his head. "The lads fought boldly, Hyrgolf. I saw it myself. Go, then, and claim Lord Vorax's reward. We'll return to regular drills on the morrow, and work on such weaknesses as I perceived."
"Aye, General!" Hyrgolf saluted smartly and set off for the barracks.
Tanaros sat his horse and watched him go. A rolling gait, better suited for the steep crags of the highlands than the floor of this stony hollow. The Fjeltroll's broad shoulders rocked from side to side as he marched, bearing lightly the burden of his battle-harness, the badges of his rank. Such loyalty, such courage!
It shamed him, sometimes.
Above his heart, the mark of his branding burned.
Bloody rays from the setting sun sank low under the overhanging clouds, striking a ruddy wash of light across the Vale of Gorgantum. Following in the wake of his troops, Tanaros shuddered out of habit. Haomane's Fingers, they called it here, probing for Lord Satoris' pulse. Somewhere, in the depths of the mighty edifice of Darkhaven, Satoris cowered, fearing his Elder Brother's wrath that had once made a desert of his refuge.
It angered Tanaros. Flinging back his helmeted head, he watched the dim orb of the setting sun in the west; watched it, issuing his own private challenge. He was a Man, and should not fear the sun. Come, then, Haomane First-Born! Send your troops, your Children, your Ellylon with their bright eyes and sharp blades, your allies among Men! We are not afraid! We are ready for you!
The sun sank behind the low mountains, the challenge unanswered.
A red star flickered faint warning on the western horizon.
Tanaros sighed, and turned his horse toward home.
LINDANEN DALE HELD THEM LIKE a cupped hand, green and inviting. It was ringed with stalwart oaks that stood like sentries, their leaves not yet fully fledged. In the distance, Cerelinde could hear the Aven River, a sound evocative of Meronil and home. Overhead, the sky was clear and blue, Haomane's sun shining upon them like a blessing.
"What think you, my lady?" Aracus smiled at her. He sat at ease on his mount, one of the Borderguard, his second-in-command, a half pace behind him. Sunlight made his hair blaze, copper threaded with gold. "Your kinsmen and mine once met to take counsel in this place, when Altoria ruled the west."
"Then it is fitting." Cerelinde smiled back at him. "I would fain wed in a place of such beauty."
"Duke Bornin of Seahold has pledged a company," he said. "It will be witnessed by Men and Ellylon, that all may know what we do."
A shadow passed over the greensward. Aracus shaded his eyes with one hand, gazing at the sky. It was limpid and blue, empty. Amid the oaks, a raven's hoarse call sounded once, then was silent.
"This is not without risk," Cerelinde said quietly.
"No." He glanced at her. "But it must be witnessed, Cerelinde. It must be done openly. Haomane's Prophecy will never be fulfilled unless we fire the hearts and minds of Men. Is Lord Ingolin willing to admit hundreds upon hundreds of us to Meronil?"
She shook her head. "You know he is not. Our magic has grown weak in this Sundered World. The wards would not hold. We must be able to defend our last stronghold."
"Here, then." His smile returned. "We will put our faith in mortal steel."
Cerelinde inclined her head, turning in the saddle to address Aracus' companion. "I do not doubt my lord Blaise is capable," she said.
The two Men exchanged an uneasy glance.
Cerelinde raised her brows. "Will you not be in attendance?"
Blaise Caveros bowed briefly in the saddle. "Lady, forgive me, but I will not."
She studied his face. He returned her regard steadily, his dark gaze haunted by the shadow of his lineage. Once upon a time, his distant kinsman Tanaros Caveros had served as second-in-command to a scion of the House of Altorus; served and betrayed, becoming one of the Three. The enormity of his betrayal had tainted the name of all who bore it, and all their descendants thereafter. Aracus had been the first in a thousand years to set aside the ancient mistrust the Caveros name engendered, and Blaise was willing to spend his lifetime in atonement for his ancestor's sin. His loyalty was fierce, defiant and beyond question, and Aracus would never spare him unless grave doings were afoot.