goals in mind for this journey—and he had promised Brielle that he would return Rhiannon to Avalon soon after the summer’s wane. So he set the pace a bit quicker and kept the course straight along the line of the River Ne’er Ending.
Fully pleased in her dealings with other people, even in large numbers, Rhiannon wanted to press right on to Pallendara, the greatest city in all the world. But Belexus held fastto his plan that Pallendara would serve as their final stopover as the season turned to autumn before they turned back toward home. The ranger wanted to cross over the famous Four Bridges and view the western fields, lands he had never journeyed to before.
The green fields of the season’s crop waved in warm breezes over the tilled soil of the wide Calvan farms. Herds of cattle and sheep grazed lazily, for not even the onset of summer could shake the beasts from their perpetual lethargy. Farmers and shepherds greeted the northerners at every stop with friendly smiles and invitations to dinner.
The region had known peace for many years, no monsters threatened the borders, and strangers were a welcome sight. Indeed, the small company could have dined as guests of one farmer or another for every night since they had crossed into the more populated farmlands. But they politely declined more often than they accepted. Their friendship was newly formed, fresh and exciting, and ultimately private. While they enjoyed the company and stories of the Calvans, they enjoyed each other and each other’s stories—a supply still far from exhausted—all the more.
“We’ll be finding more of the same across the water,” Belexus explained to Rhiannon. “The towns’re bigger near the Four Bridges, and scattering out wide far, far to the west.”
“And how far to the west will ye be taking me?”
“Corning,” the ranger explained. “Fair-sized and the second city of Calva.”
“Seven thousand strong,” Andovar added. “But o’ the same flavor as the smaller towns. We’ll make the bridges this very morn, and Corning in two days.”
“How much farther could we go?” Rhiannon asked. “The land’s seeming so wide.”
“Another week of hard riding’d bring us to thewestern-most borders of Calva,” Belexus replied. “Hardy towns of hardy folk. To go beyond them’d be folly.”
Rhiannon seemed not to understand.
“The dark lands,” the ranger continued. “Home to talons and lizards and beasts darker still. Not for the wise.”
His grave tone passed beyond the young woman. Growing up among the flowers of Avalon, Rhiannon could not understand such evil notions as talons.
Not yet.
“We’ll be wandering about Corning for a week or more,” said Belexus, and he cast a wry glance at the innocent witch’s daughter. “And then ye’ll be seeing Pallendara.”
“Caer Tuatha,” Rhiannon said, using the elven name for the great city. “Istaahl and Uncle Ardaz have told me such grand tales of the place. Suren she’ll be a fine sight if only half their spoutings run to truth.”
“More liken that Pallendara will outweigh the most wonderful o’ their tales,” said Andovar. He had been to the white city only twice since his childhood, but the image had stuck in his head vividly. Pallendara was the only true city of Ynis Aielle, a place of towers and markets, and minstrels—a thousand minstrels! It rested at the tip of a narrow harbor, and the sails of a hundred boats rose up along the sea wall like the bare, jutting tops of a wintry forest.
“But first to Corning,” Belexus reminded them, not wanting their visit to still another splendid place lessened by thoughts of what was yet to come. And as the small troupe passed the crest of a hill, off in the distance, shrouded by the morning mist that rose off the river, stood the unmistakable shapes of the Four Bridges of Calva, structures that had spanned the great river for centuries, before the elves or even the talons had walked the land.
They kicked up
Fully pleased in her dealings with other people, even in large numbers, Rhiannon wanted to press right on to Pallendara, the greatest city in all the world. But Belexus held fastto his plan that Pallendara would serve as their final stopover as the season turned to autumn before they turned back toward home. The ranger wanted to cross over the famous Four Bridges and view the western fields, lands he had never journeyed to before.
The green fields of the season’s crop waved in warm breezes over the tilled soil of the wide Calvan farms. Herds of cattle and sheep grazed lazily, for not even the onset of summer could shake the beasts from their perpetual lethargy. Farmers and shepherds greeted the northerners at every stop with friendly smiles and invitations to dinner.
The region had known peace for many years, no monsters threatened the borders, and strangers were a welcome sight. Indeed, the small company could have dined as guests of one farmer or another for every night since they had crossed into the more populated farmlands. But they politely declined more often than they accepted. Their friendship was newly formed, fresh and exciting, and ultimately private. While they enjoyed the company and stories of the Calvans, they enjoyed each other and each other’s stories—a supply still far from exhausted—all the more.
“We’ll be finding more of the same across the water,” Belexus explained to Rhiannon. “The towns’re bigger near the Four Bridges, and scattering out wide far, far to the west.”
“And how far to the west will ye be taking me?”
“Corning,” the ranger explained. “Fair-sized and the second city of Calva.”
“Seven thousand strong,” Andovar added. “But o’ the same flavor as the smaller towns. We’ll make the bridges this very morn, and Corning in two days.”
“How much farther could we go?” Rhiannon asked. “The land’s seeming so wide.”
“Another week of hard riding’d bring us to thewestern-most borders of Calva,” Belexus replied. “Hardy towns of hardy folk. To go beyond them’d be folly.”
Rhiannon seemed not to understand.
“The dark lands,” the ranger continued. “Home to talons and lizards and beasts darker still. Not for the wise.”
His grave tone passed beyond the young woman. Growing up among the flowers of Avalon, Rhiannon could not understand such evil notions as talons.
Not yet.
“We’ll be wandering about Corning for a week or more,” said Belexus, and he cast a wry glance at the innocent witch’s daughter. “And then ye’ll be seeing Pallendara.”
“Caer Tuatha,” Rhiannon said, using the elven name for the great city. “Istaahl and Uncle Ardaz have told me such grand tales of the place. Suren she’ll be a fine sight if only half their spoutings run to truth.”
“More liken that Pallendara will outweigh the most wonderful o’ their tales,” said Andovar. He had been to the white city only twice since his childhood, but the image had stuck in his head vividly. Pallendara was the only true city of Ynis Aielle, a place of towers and markets, and minstrels—a thousand minstrels! It rested at the tip of a narrow harbor, and the sails of a hundred boats rose up along the sea wall like the bare, jutting tops of a wintry forest.
“But first to Corning,” Belexus reminded them, not wanting their visit to still another splendid place lessened by thoughts of what was yet to come. And as the small troupe passed the crest of a hill, off in the distance, shrouded by the morning mist that rose off the river, stood the unmistakable shapes of the Four Bridges of Calva, structures that had spanned the great river for centuries, before the elves or even the talons had walked the land.
They kicked up
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