Banewreaker(19)

Satoris' Gift, when he had one.

It was the one Gift the Ellylon were denied, for Haomane First-Born had refused it on his Children's behalf, who were Shaped before time came into being and were free of its chains. Only the Lord-of-Thought knew the mind of Uru-Alat. The slippery promptings of desire, the turgid need to seize, to spend, to take and be taken, to generate life in the throes of an ecstasy like unto dying—this was not for the Ellylon, who endured untouched by time, ageless and changeless as the Lord-of-Thought himself.

But it was for Men.

And because of it, Men had inherited the Sundered World, while the Ellylon dwindled. Unprompted by the goads of desire and death, the cycle of their fertility was as slow and vast as the ages. Men, thinking Men, outpaced them, living and dying, generation upon generation, spreading their seed across the face of Urulat, fulfilling Haomane's fears.

"A wedding!" Vorax exclaimed, pointing at the Ravensmirror. "See, my Lord. The Ellyl speaks of tents, here and here. Fresh water from thence, and supplies ferried upriver, a landing established there. From the west, the Rivenlost will come, and Cerelinde among them. They plan to plight their troth here in Lindanen Dale."

Lord Satoris smiled.

Above, the stars shuddered.

"I think," he said, "that this will not come to pass."

And other things were shown in the Ravensmirror.

The ravens of Darkhaven had flown the length and breadth of Urulat, save only the vast inner depths of the Unknown, where there was no water to sustain life. But to the south they had flown, and to the east and north. And every place they had seen, it was the same.

Armies were gathering.

In the south, the Duke of Seahold increased his troops, fortifying his borders. Along the curve of Harrington Inlet, where gulls cried above the sea, the Free Fishers laid aside their nets and sharpened their long knives. The knights of Vedasia rode in stately parties along the orchard roads and, here and there, Dwarfs appeared along the roadside, giving silent greeting as they passed. In Arduan, men and women gathered in knots to speak in the marketplace, full quivers slung over their shoulders. The streets of Pelmar City were filled with soldiers, and long trains of them wound through the woods. Along the eastern verge of the desert, the Rukhari whetted their curving swords. To the north, the stone fortresses of Staccia were shut and warded.

"What do they dream, Dreamspinner?"

"War, my Lord," Ushahin said briefly. "They dream of war. They dream of a red star arisen in the west, and the rumor of a wedding-to-come. They dream, in fear, of the rumor of Fjeltroll moving in the mountains, in such numbers as none have seen in living memory."

"Do they dream of the Arrow of Fire?"

Ushahin paused, then shook his head. "In Arduan, they do. All Arduans dream of Oronin's Bow and the Arrow of Fire. But they do not know where it is."

Satoris Third-Born, whom the Ellylon named Banewreaker and Men called Sunderer, watched the swirling images, motionless as a mountain. "Haomane," he murmured, then again, "Haomane!" He sighed, gathering himself. "They will not strike, not yet. Not unless this wedding occurs, and fills them with the courage of my Elder Brother's Prophecy, such as they understand it." A glare lit his eyes. "Then they will bring war to my doorstep."

"Not Staccia, my Lord," Vorax promised. "They guard their own, but they have pledged their loyalty on gold, and sent a company in earnest token. As long as we may ward the tunnels, our lines of supply shall remain open. And the desert Rukhari may be bought for swift horses, for they love fine steeds above all else, and despise the Pelmarans."

"Loyal Vorax," the Shaper said gently. "Your heart is as vast as your appetite. What you have done, I know well, and I am grateful for it. It the unknown that I fear."

When the unknown is made known…

Tanaros shivered, brushed by the feather-touch of the Prophecy.

"My Lord." Ushahin pointed at the Ravensmirror. "There is more."

Around and around, the dark maelstrom whirled, fleeting visions forming against the black gloss of feathers, the gleam of round eyes pricking like stars. Around and around, inevitable as time, link upon link in the Chain of Being, circling like the ages.

When the companies parted in Lindanen Dale, Blaise Caveros of the Borderguard—Aracus' second-in-command—went with the Ellylon. He spoke at length with a lieutenant in his company, a young man. who saluted him firmly, his jaw set. Aracus Altorus gripped his wrists, gazing into his eyes. And they parted. Blaise rode with the Rivenlost to Meronil, and did not look back, bound to a greater mission.

Tanaros watched him hungrily.

What need could be so great that it would part the second-in-command from his sworn lord? None, in his lifetime, in his mortal lifetime. And yet it was so. Blaise Caveros, who was his own kinsman many times removed, left his lord without glancing back, his grey-cloaked back upright.