The Eye of the Hunter (23 page)

Inarion looked down upon the two Wee Ones. “Ye have come before me to make a pledge of mating. I understand that among mortalkind mating pledges attempt to bind a pair until Death comes between. Yet heed, ‘Till Death do us part’ is not a term used in an Elven vow, for Death was ever meant to be a stranger unto Elvenkind.

“Too, we have become wiser in our long lives than to believe that things stay the same: change is a rule of existence.

“All things change with the passing of the seasons, though for some things the change is imperceptible, whereas for other things, change is swift, sometimes deadly. Individuals, too, change with the passing of seasons, and vows should not bind one in a relationship in which the common ground no longer exists, no matter the type of oath, be it for mating, fealty, vengeance, or aught else. For just as Death may part one from a vow, so too does the loss of common ground.

“This concept of common ground is no abstraction, for ’tis common ground which drives all relationships, be they simple acts of working with one another as well as working against one another…or be they more formal, such as lovers’ vows, or oaths of fealty, or compacts among friends or even vows concerning foe, vows of vengeance and retribution.

“Hence, common ground is the key to a relationship. And for a relationship to become strong, to remain strung both parties to an agreement must work more or less in equal measure in tending the common ground and nurturing the vows between. For when but one tends the ground and the other does not, the ground suffers, becomes less fertile,
the things planted in common weaken, mayhap to wither altogether. After a span of this behavior, when but one nurtures and the other does not, a time will come when the ground will lie fallow, perhaps becoming barren, as those involved go their separate ways, or perhaps it will become ground supporting nought but bitter weed should they sow enmity thereupon. Too, there may be times when the ground disappears altogether, when individuals no longer have aught in common. And so, to keep the ground fertile and the vows planted therein robust, each must do a goodly part of the work to make it so.

“Even in the best relationships, there are ofttimes onerous or tedious duties involved, most recurring time and again. Heed me, on Mithgar various Folk have long-held beliefs that some things are females’ work, while other things are the males’ to do; these Folk usually separate all tasks along these lines, with a rigid boundary between. Those who well and truly consider this division of tasks eventually come to realize that there are but a very few things which fall only into one domain or into only the other—but this we can say: males seldom give birth to babies; females seldom are as strong as males; at times males are more fleet; at times females endure surpassingly; all else merely requires the skills or talents to perform the tasks. Hence, among Elvenkind, on Mithgar and upon Adonar, all duties are shared—except for those requiring strength or speed or endurance or other physical attributes beyond one’s capacity and those requiring the birthing of a child and its suckling, and those requiring skills not yet acquired or talents beyond reach. By sharing all else, we keep the common ground among us fertile and everlasting.

“Hence, to keep thine own relationship strong ye must share equally in the cultivation of the common ground and in the nurturing of the vows between; and ye must sort among all duties and participate willingly and fully in all which can be shared.”

Inarion knelt down and took each Waerling by a hand, his voice soft. “Do ye understand the meaning of that which I say?”

Both Gwylly and Faeril looked into one another’s eyes and then to Inarion.
Yes
, they said in unison.

“Then speak true: Do ye vow to one another to tend
the common ground and to nurture the pledges given and received?”

“I do vow”
they said in unison.

“Then speak true: Will ye plight thy troth to one another forsaking all who would come between?”

“I do vow.”

Inarion then placed Faeril’s hand in Gwylly’s and clasped their joined hands in his. “Then Gwylly Fenn, then Faeril Twiggins, each having spoken true, go forth from here together and share thy joys and thy burdens in equal measure until thine individual destinies determine otherwise.”

Inarion embraced each Waerling, first Faeril, then Gwylly, and then stood, calling out to all.
“Alori e Darai, va da Waerlinga, Faeril Twiggins e Gwylly Fenn, avan taeya e evon a plith.”
And a great shout went up from all.

Riatha and Aravan then turned and escorted Gwylly and Faeril through the gathering, harps and lutes and pipes and flutes and drums and timbrels began playing a merry tune and Elven voices were raised in song.

Out from the hail they went—Riatha and Aravan in the lead, Gwylly and Faeril directly behind, Inarion and all the others following—out into the moonlight and among the white cottages and into the woods, song filling the air. Easterly through the forest fared the procession, Riatha and Aravan drawing the Warrows after, with a long train of Elvenkind following behind. They came at last to the glade where was the cote of Gwylly and Faeril. Three times ’round the cottage they marched, or danced, circling deasil, the long promenade curling after, Elven voices lifted in joy. At last they stopped before the stoop, and Riatha and Aravan led the Waerlinga to the small porch, the dwelling glowing white in the platinum moonlight, the rest of the procession remaining in a ring encircling the cottage, the elegant hues of their silks and satins and leathers muted in the silvery beams. And all Elven voices were lifted in a final song whose melody filled the heart near to bursting. And when it was done, Riatha and Aravan each hugged the Waerlinga, then all the host quietly left, moving away to the notes of a silver harp drifting on the air, leaving the Wee Folk unto themselves.

* * *

The next evening came the second night of the celebration of the equinox, and the evening afterward held the third
And on this final night Gwylly and Faeril found Riatha in a communal kitchen helping dozens of others prepare the meal. Aravan, too, was there, up to his elbows washing pots and pans.

“’Tis the sharing of duties,” responded Riatha to Gwylly’s question. “Three nights do we celebrate, each taking turn on one of those nights serving others.”

“Oh,” exclaimed Gwylly. “I understand. This way, all get to enjoy the singing and dancing.”

Riatha smiled. “Aye, for two nights of the three, ’tis so. But even more so, all get to share the joys of the labor.”

Faeril rolled up her sleeves. “Well then, Gwylly Fenn, it’s time we did our part.”

And so, that third evening of the equinox celebration, Elves were treated to the sight of two Waerlinga carrying platters of food and jugs of wine and ale and
wela
, a heady Elven mead. And later, the twain aided in clearing away the trenchers and platters and jugs and cups and flatware.

After the hall had emptied, Gwylly and Faeril and Riatha, as well as several others, worked at cleaning the tables and floors—Gwylly pushing a broom, Faeril and Riatha wiping down tables.

Faeril took advantage of this time to seek an answer to a puzzle. “Riatha, I was told by my dam that during the Winter War the Elves of Arden Vale were led by Lord Talarin and by Lady Rael, yet I find now that Lord Inarion is the leader.”

Riatha paused in her wiping. “Aye, my mother’s brother, Alor Talarin, was the Warder during the Winter War. And indeed Dara Rael was his Consort. Yet they have ridden the twilight and are again in Adonar.” The Elfess resumed cleaning.

“Talarin was your uncle?”

“Aye, though the Elven name for uncle is
kelan
.”

“Why did they go back to Adonar?”

A look of sadness came over Riatha’s features. “My
sinja
, my cousin, Vanidor, was slain at the Iron Tower in the early days of the Winter War. And near War’s end many Lian of Arden fell at the Battle of Kregyn, the place you call Grūwen, and their Death Redes were like unto a cold wind blowing through the souls of Elvenkind. Neither Talarin nor Rael ever recovered from the loss of one of their sons, nor from the loss of so many who fell at Kregyn. However, they
did not take the twilight ride immediately, for they had pledged fealty unto the then High King, Galen. Yet when Galen died some forty or fifty years after War’s end. Talarin and Rael journeyed unto Darda Galion, and with Coron Eiron and a retinue of like-minded Lian, they rode the twilight. Ere setting out, however, Talarin asked Inarion to become the Warder of Arden Vale.”

Finishing the wiping down of the table, Faeril and Riatha moved to the next…. And then the one after…. And the next.

“He was named after our
kelan
.”

Faeril looked up at Riatha’s words. “Who?”

“My brother, Talar,” answered Riatha, her eyes grey and glistering with unshed tears. “Talar was named after Talarin—his
kelan
, my
kelan
, our uncle.”

Riatha brushed at her eyes with her sleeve, then looked with a clear gaze at the wee damman. “On the morrow we begin preparing. On the morrow.”

Faeril nodded, and together they moved to the next table.

* * *

That night, when buccan and damman fell into bed they were exhausted by worthy work. Gwylly turned to Faeril. “Truth be known, my sweet, these Elves have the right of it—sharing the burdens as well as the joys.”

“Mmmm,”
responded Faeril from that state halfway ’tween wake and sleep.

Gwylly smiled at his love and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead.
Rest well, my dammia, for as Aravan told me, on the morrow we start training in earnest for the mission ahead, for he intends to go with us
. The buccan turned over and blew out the candle, then rolled back and snuggled spoonwise unto Faerii.

On the morrow we begin
….

Late 5E985 to Late 5E986
[Two years Ago]

W
inter came swiftly upon the heels of fall, and snow fell thickly down. Time and again the prevailing winds drove churning storms to crash upon the steeps of the Grimwall Mountains above the Elvenholt, for the long ravine of Arden Vale lay at the foot of the western climb to the Crestan Pass. And snow fell and fell again and pressed deeply upon the land and bent the boughs of the pine tree forest, and more snow fell as the days and weeks went by. The surface of the River Tumble froze, and hoarfrost and rime glittered upon the vertical walls of the deep gorge. Aravan took the winter opportunity to teach the Waerlinga the art of snow shoeing, and the making of shelters using cut blocks of snow or using pliant pine branches bent and woven into bowers and anchored upon the ground with pegs or rock nails and covered over with insulating snow. Too, he and Riatha began training Gwylly and Faeril in the skills of climbing rock and ice. Time and again did the four of them clamber up and down and across the sheer walls of the hemming bluffs. The Waerlinga learned of ice axes and picks and crampons; of jams and rings and rock nails; of climbing harnesses and ropes and belaying and rappelling; of free climbing and hoisting goods. And Gwylly and Faeril and Riatha and Aravan drilled at aiding one another in ascents and descents and crossings. Aravan showed them a technique named “swiftswarm” by the Drimma who had taught him, where a strong-gripped climber could come hand over hand
up a rope while at the same time companions above haled the rope upward, hence the climber ascended at double rate; as could be expected, this technique worked particularly well with a Waerling climber and Elven halers.

Drilling in all that they had learned, they climbed in the night as well as the day, for who knew what Fortune held in store? And this training was cold and frigid, yet necessary given their goal and the time of year they planned to arrive.

The Elves fashioned winter clothing for Faeril and Gwylly, light and supple yet exceedingly warm, with boo** and gloves to match, all mottled in greys and whites and blacks to blend with a winter ’scape. Too, for summer wear they clad the Waerlinga in soft leathers crafted to their stature, these too mottled of pale greys and greens and browns and tans to conceal. Raincloaks were made, reversible, browns and tans on one side, greys and greens on the other; and even Elven eyes were fooled by such.

They drilled in knife throwing and slinging, in swordplay and spear casting and wielding. They practiced supporting one another in combat, studying tactics ’gainst Rūck and Hlōk and Vulg and other such, for where they would go was fraught with Foul Folk. The Waerlinga began learning the skills of plying long-knives as swords, though these weapons would be last used by them should it come to combat, their deftness at hurling blade and bullet being considered more valuable.

And Gwylly’s lessons in reading and writing continued. Faeril teaching him not only on a regular basis but at every opportune moment as well. His progress came swiftly, for the buccan seemed to have a natural aptitude for such. And both buccan and damman took up the Elven tongue, living among the Lian as they did. At times Gwylly’s speech became entangled among Sylva and Common and Twyll, yet always did he unravel the words, and his flair for apt expression grew.

But it was not all lessons and learning, training and practice, for the Elves oft held celebrations, Winterfest among these. At times Gwylly and Faeril participated in the dancing and singing and other ceremonies; at other times they cooked and served and cleaned alongside Elves doing the same, sharing in the burdens as well as the joys. And in their own cottage they worked together or took turns doing the chores, be it cooking, cleaning, or aught else, for they had fully embraced the Elven way. Gwylly learned to sew,
Faeril to chop wood; both learned to cook a variety of dishes, crowing over their successes, laughing over their failures. These and more did the Warrows share, and their common ground grew as did their love.

The first eve of Winterfest—Year’s Long Night, the night of the winter solstice—found Gwylly and Faeril in the kitchen standing on overturned crates, washing pots and pans, while the sounds of music and singing and dancing and gaiety drifted in from the great room of the gathering hall. Even so, at mid of night all labor stopped and everyone took up a cup of pure water and assembled to see Inarion raise his own cup and hear him speak the invocation. And though his words were in Sylva, still Faeril and Gwylly understood what he said: