so.
Nay, whatever promise Llynya had shown for
the magia mysterium would not be lightly cast aside by
Ailfinn Mapp. The mage would come, if only for the sprite—and just
by her mere presence be a hindrance to Madron.
Rhuddlan would have Carn Merioneth slip into
the mists, hide it completely from the rest of the world with his
arboreal dabbling, and mayhaps after the debacle of Balor Keep he
was right. Mayhaps ’twas time to let Carn Merioneth fade from the
memories of Men, but a path had to be left open. One path must
always be left open, for there were travelers besides Prydion Magi
who needed passage into Merioneth. If Rhuddlan couldn’t see the
need for it, she could, and she would ensure that a path did stay
open.
At the river, she turned south, following a
worn track along the bank, her soft Quicken-tree boots leaving nary
a mark. The Bredd grew narrower and deeper before it plunged
beneath a giant’s cairn of tumbled boulders on the southern edge of
Riverwood, never to surface again. The waters of the river flowed
down into caverns, winding through a labyrinth of corridors and
passages before reaching Lanbarrdein, a cavern of near unimaginable
size and riches deep in the earth. From Lanbarrdein, part of the
river cascaded over a cliff into Mor Sarff, the Serpent Sea. The
rest of the river disappeared into the deep dark, a place of
mysteries and mazes that had never been fully mapped, not even by
the Quicken-tree.
The boulders marked her father’s, Nemeton’s,
southernmost path into Merioneth, a path he had laid with traces of
magic, and ’twas with the antes magicae she had learned from
him that she kept it open. She knelt dose to the cairn by the
river’s edge and performed a ritual with fire, using the contents
of the four pouches hanging from her belt. At the end of it, she
spoke a few warding words and scattered forest debris over the
small patch of scorched earth. ’Twas no safeguard against Rhuddlan
discovering her trespass on his bramble, but ’twould hide it well
enough from others. The Quicken-tree leader wouldn’t countenance
her breach, and if he found the path, he could undo her spell with
little more than a flick of his wrist. As quickly as that the stems
would begin to turn and the branches wind around one another.
Damned elf-man. He was forever tripping her
up.
She reached for another handful of twigs and
leaves, but inadvertently dug too deep and came up with black muck
as well.
A soft curse left her lips. Here was
Rhuddlan’s true bane; the richness of summer had spilled over into
rotting ripeness. Winter could come none too soon this year, nor
the icy blasts of the north wind to freeze the blight from the
earth.
She stared at the sodden remains of decayed
vegetation, letting it drip from her open palm onto the ground
where she’d made her elemental potion. Each drop sizzled and smoked
as it hit the sanctified earth. Strange, wicked stuff, its presence
in Riverwood kept Rhuddlan awake at night. Coupled with Mychael ab
Arawn’s heated, nocturnal pacings, Carn Merioneth never knew a
moment’s peace.
Rhuddlan was sending Mychael and the
Liosalfar into the deep dark on the morrow to see what they could
find. An ill-advised move, she’d argued. The youth’s time could be
better spent with her, exploring Druid wisdoms and teachings. How
else was he to learn to call the dragons and take his mother’s
place? Or, she’d asked, did Rhuddlan now believe Druids to be as
irrelevant as Men in the course he would take?
Damn Rhuddlan. He would have them all slip
into the mists and no longer move even through the shadows of men’s
lives, and a graver error he hardly could make. For all his great
knowledge of the past, Rhuddlan knew little about the future, and
’twas that aspect of the world that she would protect. The ways
must be left open. ’Twas her duty and her desire.
As to the deep dark, she already knew what
they would find: worms still churning, things still coming undone,
the
Nay, whatever promise Llynya had shown for
the magia mysterium would not be lightly cast aside by
Ailfinn Mapp. The mage would come, if only for the sprite—and just
by her mere presence be a hindrance to Madron.
Rhuddlan would have Carn Merioneth slip into
the mists, hide it completely from the rest of the world with his
arboreal dabbling, and mayhaps after the debacle of Balor Keep he
was right. Mayhaps ’twas time to let Carn Merioneth fade from the
memories of Men, but a path had to be left open. One path must
always be left open, for there were travelers besides Prydion Magi
who needed passage into Merioneth. If Rhuddlan couldn’t see the
need for it, she could, and she would ensure that a path did stay
open.
At the river, she turned south, following a
worn track along the bank, her soft Quicken-tree boots leaving nary
a mark. The Bredd grew narrower and deeper before it plunged
beneath a giant’s cairn of tumbled boulders on the southern edge of
Riverwood, never to surface again. The waters of the river flowed
down into caverns, winding through a labyrinth of corridors and
passages before reaching Lanbarrdein, a cavern of near unimaginable
size and riches deep in the earth. From Lanbarrdein, part of the
river cascaded over a cliff into Mor Sarff, the Serpent Sea. The
rest of the river disappeared into the deep dark, a place of
mysteries and mazes that had never been fully mapped, not even by
the Quicken-tree.
The boulders marked her father’s, Nemeton’s,
southernmost path into Merioneth, a path he had laid with traces of
magic, and ’twas with the antes magicae she had learned from
him that she kept it open. She knelt dose to the cairn by the
river’s edge and performed a ritual with fire, using the contents
of the four pouches hanging from her belt. At the end of it, she
spoke a few warding words and scattered forest debris over the
small patch of scorched earth. ’Twas no safeguard against Rhuddlan
discovering her trespass on his bramble, but ’twould hide it well
enough from others. The Quicken-tree leader wouldn’t countenance
her breach, and if he found the path, he could undo her spell with
little more than a flick of his wrist. As quickly as that the stems
would begin to turn and the branches wind around one another.
Damned elf-man. He was forever tripping her
up.
She reached for another handful of twigs and
leaves, but inadvertently dug too deep and came up with black muck
as well.
A soft curse left her lips. Here was
Rhuddlan’s true bane; the richness of summer had spilled over into
rotting ripeness. Winter could come none too soon this year, nor
the icy blasts of the north wind to freeze the blight from the
earth.
She stared at the sodden remains of decayed
vegetation, letting it drip from her open palm onto the ground
where she’d made her elemental potion. Each drop sizzled and smoked
as it hit the sanctified earth. Strange, wicked stuff, its presence
in Riverwood kept Rhuddlan awake at night. Coupled with Mychael ab
Arawn’s heated, nocturnal pacings, Carn Merioneth never knew a
moment’s peace.
Rhuddlan was sending Mychael and the
Liosalfar into the deep dark on the morrow to see what they could
find. An ill-advised move, she’d argued. The youth’s time could be
better spent with her, exploring Druid wisdoms and teachings. How
else was he to learn to call the dragons and take his mother’s
place? Or, she’d asked, did Rhuddlan now believe Druids to be as
irrelevant as Men in the course he would take?
Damn Rhuddlan. He would have them all slip
into the mists and no longer move even through the shadows of men’s
lives, and a graver error he hardly could make. For all his great
knowledge of the past, Rhuddlan knew little about the future, and
’twas that aspect of the world that she would protect. The ways
must be left open. ’Twas her duty and her desire.
As to the deep dark, she already knew what
they would find: worms still churning, things still coming undone,
the
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