Star-Song,
praising the night.
Raising shine
falls upon my face,
through my body,
into my soul
and moves it to tears.
Star-Song
cursing the day.
Glistening rays of rapture
enfold me,
raise my spirit,
lead me to awareness
and bestow solace.
Star-Song,
in roaring silence,
compelling and imperishable
do I stand and listen embraced
to the ringing nothingness,
the roaring calm,
night for night.
North of Middle-Earth, Twenty-Seven miles east of the Conclave, End of the Third Age
»Cadhalor!«
The black-haired Elf turned the head to his left and looked up to the crown of the black-beech, whose dark-grey leaves were softly swaying in the evening wind. Somewhere there hid Aitholon, a good friend, who had wanted to accompany him. Cadhalor held the bow in his left; the right lay nonchalantly on the belt quiver in which he carried his hunting arrows.
»Be quiet«, he gave back muffled. »I see it myself.«
Meant were the deep tracks that the young troll had left in the ground of the forest. They had pursued the creature since the rising of the day-star and it did not make it easy for the two Dark Elves. Ever again did the troll seek for cover in the groves in which it was nearly invisible, thanks to the texture and color of its hairy skin. Though even the slowest of men would recognize the obvious scar in the earth. The continuous hunt likely had made it inattentive - or did it set the tracks for the hunters to lure them into a trap?
Leaves rustled, then Aitholon jumped to the ground next to Cadhalor. He as well carried a bow with him. »It is my first troll«, he said joyful. »I wonder how long we need until it surrenders.«
»It is a youngling. One shot should be sufficient.« Cadhalor drew an arrow whose tip was equipped with a flat iron pane in the size of a coin. A hit on the right spot on the head and the troll would collapse helplessly.
Aitholon followed his gesture. »Well, it is still taller than an Orc and heavy like an ox. Troll-teeth are supposed to strike even through Galvorn armor.«
»Afraid, Aitholon?«, Cadhalor scoffed in a friendly tone and laid an arrow loosely on the string.
»No. Aware of the danger, I would call it«, gave the friend as answer. »My immortality does not need to end today, between the teeth of a troll.«
»One realizes that you are young. The elder of us would try to catch the beast with but their bare hands.« Cadhalor laughed quietly and stalked forward.
Side by side they went through the thin forest that was ideal for the hunt with the bow - given their target would show itself.
Initially, Cadhalor had taken up the tracks of a mountain goat with Aitholon, but the troll had been there first and devoured the goat. The last troll in these parts he had seen thirty-seven moons ago; the hunting group that had gathered back then had been immense. Today they were only two hunters, however. A good outlook that he would be the one who would fire the deciding shot.
»Remember: We need it alive!«, he urged Aitholon, for he wanted to catch it and bring it to his daughter. Esmonäe possessed exceptional skills when it came to force her will upon nether creatures. She would be very glad about such a gift - quite to the contrary of her mother. But first they should find the troll, before he would worry about Enoïla's opinion and her revilement.
»To the left«, he said and pointed with the tip of the arrow towards a downright island of deep thicket. »Throw something to lure it out.«
Aitholon looked around, found a fitting branch, picked it up and hurled it into the brushwork.
An angry roar sounded up. It rustled and then the troll broke out of its hiding. Almost three steps tall, walking on two feet and with grey-brown scaly skin, did it rise up fifty steps infront of the two Elves. It was indeed somewhat alike to the northern Orcs, only that it possessed a much more powerful and longer lower jaw in which sat crooked but sharp teeth. From its deep lying, small eyes it glared at the hunters. Fear looked differently. The claws on the five fingers opened themselves ready to fight. One strike would be alike to a swipe with five knives.
»Woha«, made Aitholon and drew the string of his bow. »Impressive.«
Cadhalor raised his weapon, aimed and shot yet before his friend did. The blunt projectile flew in a straight line towards its target, but the troll struck against it and let it splinter. The same it did with Aitholon's arrow and then it stormed against the Elves. The mood to be hunted seemed to have passed. Now it became a hunter itself.
»That you want to bring your daughter?«, it escaped Aitholon bewildered. Quickly he drew a second arrow.
Cadhalor was again faster and this time the iron pane hit the spot right on the upper end of the creature's nose.
The troll sunk for a moment to one knee, shook dazed its head and made two evasive steps to catch its balance, then it rushed on. Leaves and dirt flew up behind it into the air, the mighty steps thundered against the soft ground. Aitholon's arrow hit, the by scales covered arm that the troll held defensively before its skull. It roared up and called its desire to kill through the grove.
Cadhalor threw the bow away and picked up a club. The wind carried the scent of the troll to him. Bitter and stinging, young and strong came the smell to his nose: Obviously it wanted to prove itself before the assailants.
»Are you robbed of your senses?« Aitholon slowly withdrew and fired one arrow after the other against the troll that roared angrily by every hit. »We will need to kill it.«
»No.« Cadhalor positioned himself infront of a tree, lay down his quiver and freed himself off his mantle and awaited the attack. He relied on his speed, on his agility in battle. Usually he would use two long, slim daggers, but against this being helped only brutal, inelegant violence, if he wanted to bring it to his daughter alive.
Eleven steps.
Aitholon drew an arrow with a sharp tip. »Just in case«, he said shortly.
Cadhalor spared him his answer. The troll stood infront of him and threw itself with spread arms against him, the jaws opened for a roar and ready to bite. Hot was he met by the stinking breath on which still glued the remains of the devoured goat.
The Elf shot upward. Vertically he jumped up and pulled his legs close to his body; his free hand caught a low-hanging branch. He felt the concussion that traveled through the tree as the troll rammed in full speed against the trunk; leaves sailed down and past him. He looked down.
Black blood ran in a broad stream from the multiple times broken nose and by the absent look in the eyes of the troll, Cadhalor could perceive that it had lost its orientation. Also its scent had altered itself. Out of powerful might was born fear.
And fear was of use alone to the Dark Elves.
Cadhalor let go and jumped unto the staggering creature, that despite the massive impact did not want to fall. During his fall he moved to perform a two-handed strike with the wooden club and as soon as the sole of his boots touched the shoulders of the trolls, he struck.
The thick club broke, the troll wailed fearfully and sank unto its knees, the arms fell robbed of their power.
Cadhalor jumped behind the creature, during which he gave it a kick so that it would fall over. It landed on the soft, black leaves.
There it uttered blubbering sounds, turned at last unto its side and attempted to strike him with the claws on its right feet.
In that moment, a great shadow flew by, collided with Cadhalor's chest and hurled him several steps backwards. He caught the force with a roll and came unto his feet, drew his knives and held himself ready to attack.
A third Elf had appeared! She sat on a black steed with glowing, vicious eyes with which she had toppled Cadhalor and stabbed with an overly-long spear at the troll. The slim blade drove through the throat of the creature. The Elf stood up in her saddle and pressed the shaft with all her weight down, so that it traveled deep into the flesh and pierced the ground beneath. Then did the unknown maiden slide down on it and landed gracefully next to the dying troll.
»Ho!«, Cadhalor called angrily. »What are you doing with my prey?« He hurried to the black-haired maiden, who just drew a filigree knife and slit open the side of the creature, let a sting follow and then held a long-throated vial at the broad wound to let it be filled with a dark yellowish substance.
»Your prey? It rather looked to me as if you would be fighting for your very life with this troll«, replied the Elf over her shoulder.
»I wanted it alive«, Cadhalor said in anger. »The catch would have been a success.« He came next to his adversary to stand. »But then you appeared.« He knew what was going on. The spleen of the mountain trolls was filled with an incredible precious substance, the Dimgold-yellow. Artists used it to create color. That had been the reason for the hunt thirty-seven moons ago.
»I think that I just saved your life«, answered the Elf and continued to fill the vial. »It tried to kick after you. Without my steed, its claws would have struck you. So be thankful, my friend and be on your way.«
Cadhalor perceived the runes of the black, richly adorned armor of hardened leather: a warrior, unmarried, several times decorated for her bravery in victorious battles for the Conclave, as the plates of Galvorn told. That this Elf maiden was wearing her precious armor away from the field of battle showed Cadhalor how much value she put on her accomplishments and triumphs. He would never have come to the idea to spiff up like that.
»Your friend I am certainly not«, he spoke. »You carry the fault that I cannot bring the gift to someone, whom I love very much, although I promised to do so.«
The last drop of Dimgold-yellow ran into the vial, that was withdrawn by the Elf from the body of the dead troll. She wiped her hands with a handful leaves clean from the black blood, closed the vessel and stood up.
»I know you«, she said. »You are Cadhalor.«
»Have we ever met?«
»You did not recognize me. We met at the reception of the bravest. You belonged to those who had been blessed by the Conclave, in the hall of triumph.« She nodded to him. »I am honored that I could rescue such a magnificent warrior from a troll.« Her voice was filled with ridicule, her expression was evident that she was not serious about her words. There even was a hint of scorn. Condescendence. Envy?
Cadhalor felt that his anger was not quite diminishing. He stood infront of a presumptuous, aspiring warrioress, one of those, who would do anything to rise in the favor of the Conclave. »The troll would not have struck me. My friend Aitholon was guarding me. As he did not fire, I was not endangered. At most by your dubious riding skills.«
»No hard feelings! That I have killed your present, I regret. Let the corpse be hollowed out and put a few slaves inside that bring it back to life. Surely, no one would notice.« Not in the least compunctious did she raise the vial with the shimmering substance. »Farewell. I want to bring a picture to an end.«
Cadhalor's right hand shot up. Doing so, he turned the dagger in his hand and struck with the handle against the tin glass of the vessel.
But the reflexes of the Elf maiden were quick and she evaded the attack - right into the second. The precious vessel splintered, the Dimgold-yellow splashed about and spread on the forest ground.
»What a shame«, Cadhalor said with a false smile and shed his knives. »It surely would have been an unique, incomparable picture.«
Sullied did the Elf stand before him, the throat of the vial in her hand. Yellow drops ran over the dark armor. It seemed as if dark lines would appear on her face, as if it would splinter as well of anger any moment. »That I will not forget«, she swore sinister and threw the remains of the vial before Cadhalor's feet.
»Just as I will not forget your deed«, Cadhalor gave back. He almost expected an attack. The darksome glimmer in the eyes of his opponent were spreading unpredictability, guile. Next to him appeared Aitholon, one hand laid on the hilt of his short sword.
The Elf went over to her steed and swung herself up into the saddle. In a swift trot did she ride through the grove, away from the two Elves.
»You do not know who that was, do you?« Aitholon took his hand off his sword's handle and moved to gather up the bows and the quivers.
»No. Should I have known?«
»Her name is Thangrineth. She is one of the most ambitious warriors of the Conclave, who is just as outstanding as she is arrogant.« Aitholon gave Cadhalor his bow and quiver. »She belongs to those who call themselves Comets. They would rather start today than tomorrow with the expansion of our borders, to acquire more allies and vassals with which one could march against the forces of the Dark Lord. Thangrineth is looking like mad for fellow campaigners.« He looked into the direction where the black steed and its rider had vanished. »I think that she has left on a battlefield a part of her sanity. Despite all her victories and accomplishments she did not yet receive the blessings of the Conclave.«
So that is her reason to envy me. Cadhalor remained silent and looked at the corpse of the troll and the yellow spots on the fallen leaves. »That we will find another is highly unlikely«, he said quietly. »My daughter will not to be comforted.«
Aitholon nodded. »But instead we are bringing a very good story.«
Cadhalor peered at the claws on the legs of the dead troll. »Would it have struck me, Aitholon?« He bend down and cut off two claws to take away as trophies, broke the strongest teeth from the jaw and put them away. A small solace for his daughter.
The Elf thought for a moment. »Did I fire or did I not?«
»You did not hold the bow in your hands«, he replied with a knowing smile. »Even if you would have wanted, a shot would have been impossible.«
Aitholon's face became slim. »You noticed?« He sighed. »I thought that I would be more effective with a blade. And no: The troll would have missed you. You owe that Thangrineth nothing.«
»I had hoped so. Nothing would have been more uncomfortable.« Cadhalor took off the string from his bow and shouldered the weapon. »Let us return and tell of what has happened to us.«
Aitholon had to laugh. »I bet, Enoïla will be very glad that you did not manage to catch the troll alive. Your daughter would never have tamed it.«
»She would have«, Cadhalor gave back convinced. »She is a matchless girl.« Together they made their way back. »Has she been already talking to you?«, he asked after a while.
Aitholon let his eyes roam and inhaled deeply. »Who do you mean?«
»You know exactly, who I mean.«
Aitholon wiped a spot of troll-blood from his glove. »I like our ventures into the surrounding lands. It is dangerous, but it always gives me the feeling to live an adventure. And that today was a great adventure.«
»So I take it that Thangrineth has been talking to you. She has tried to pull you on the side of the Comets.«
»Yes.«
»Then why didn't you say so?«
»Because I do not like conversation of this kind. Not about politics. I evade them, if I can.« Aitholon looked into the face of his friend. »But as you started about it: I count myself as you do to the Stars. I share your opinion, that we should strengthen our borders against assailants from outside. That means that I would not start to expand our land. With that, we would only have more to defend. On our allies and slaves we cannot rely in the hour of battle.«
Cadhalor laid a hand on his shoulder. »Wise words for someone who does not like politics.«
»But the ones that think so are growing ever thinner«, Aitholon added. »The mood plays into the hands of warriors like Thangrineth. The more news of battles and troubles from the south and east reach us, the more rise the doubts about continuing our strategy of defense.«
Cadhalor became thoughtful. »May be that Thangrineth is partly right. Maybe it is our own fault that the mentioning of our name and the appearance of a Dark Elf is no longer enough to drive fear into the hearts of the other races. Have we lost our dread?«
Aitholon remained silent.
It already was midnight as they closed in on the border of the land of the Conclave and came near to the hidden plateau in the mountains where they lived. They left the forest of black-beeches and walked over an easily defendable bridge, with a broad river traveling beneath. Now they would only need to follow the stream.
It turned out to be getting broader, until it was nigh fifty steps in width. In different intervals there had been islands raised in the river that were connected with bridges that could be raised and lowered by the guards. The islands themselves were equipped with small fortresses that only required a minimum of soldiers to be effectively warding off intruders and entire hosts. The slope of the mountain was seamed by catapults that with help of heavy weights could fire far over the distance an enemy would expect. But as far as Cadhalor could remember, they never had been in use, as no one, not an Orc, not a Man or any of the Eldar had ever found the land of the Conclave. And why would anyone travel here anyway? To the north lay only the ever-on-going wastelands.
Aitholon gave a short signal with the help of a horn. Rattling did the bridges lower for them.
»Mind Thangrineth«, he said immediately.
Cadhalor looked at his friend. »Why do you say that?«
»You have acquired from the Conclave that what she strives for and now given her a reason to hate you. She knows that many warriors look up to you and would follow you, no matter, what you plan. As you do not stand on the same side as her, she will see you from this day on to all eternity as an enemy.«
»That is a rather sinister estimation, Aitholon.«
»I told you that she sought for me to pull me on her side. As I send her away, she promised me that I could not hope for help on the field of battle. And she implied something about astray going arrows.«
Cadhalor wanted to say something, there did the bridge lower itself on the rock formation on which the two stood. The numerous thick chains were clashing loudly. A conversation was impossible.
After the ear-deafening noise had ended, did Aitholon point to the plateau. »Be warned«, he repeated and went off. »More I cannot give you as advice.«
Cadhalor understood that his friend did no longer want to talk about it. »She should be wary of me. After all did she ruin the surprise for my daughter!«, he tried to jest. But in his very inner, he suddenly recognized a much greater threat to the Conclave as any war could bring them: Inner discord. Comets against Stars - the Expansion against the Perseverance.
The Conclave soon had to speak a final word, to drown the smoldering conflict.
