Page 17 of The Rise of the Gods

  Chapter VII:

  Dalele Marinea

  When Creatures strange assailed the fleet,

  She shrunk not from a daring feat,

  But with a fatal dwarf-steel spear,

  Taught the water-born beasts to fear.

  Folly As Teacher

  'Now the Lord Elf shall summon the Aguians from the deeps,' Folly said, as Pelas' ships turned away from the sun and began their journey back to Grenost. It was with great reluctance that Lord Pelas agreed to return to their harbor, fearing that he had missed his chance to slay the great Serpent.

  'But it wasn't a chance,' Bralohi encouraged him, with a hand on his shoulder. Pelas rarely accepted such treatment, seeing all signs of friendship or affection as weak and slavish. But with Bralohi alone he had a greater tolerance. He still remembered how it was Bralohi, first of all his servants, who had sworn fealty to his cause. 'The legends are false, my lord. The Serpent is at least twenty times larger than has been reported in myth. It is a reality worse than a fever dream, a folk tale more true than a sage's chronicle. Let us take counsel in Grenost, and see what can be done.'

  'How shall he do this?' Death asked with no hint of genuine in­terest. Old Man Sleep just shook his head, seeming somewhat irri­tated that his brother Death was encouraging Folly. It was unlike him, Sleep thought, to say anything that might induce their broth­er to speak.

  'He shall pull them on strings,' Folly laughed.

  'Strings,' Death said, his voice so cold that it was unclear whether or not this was a question, or whether he simply meant it as an affirmation.

  Old Man Sleep, however, looked at Folly with confusion.

  'Surely you have been informed,' Folly laughed boastfully, his voice scarcely concealing his excitement, 'that the lord god Pelas is the center of the wheel around which all things spin.'

  'Hush!' Sleep ordered quickly, 'Don't say such things, even in jest.'

  'Come now,' Folly said, only losing his humor for a moment. 'It isn't false if I am false when I say it. How else could any man joke or tease, without lying before the heavens at every turn.

  'Perhaps men oughtn't jest at all,' Sleep said somberly.

  Death did not need to say anything to show his approval of this suggestion.

  Folly just sighed, 'Well, you know as well as I that we three have traded freedom for holiness.'

  'Now you call yourself holy?' Sleep said, his voice filled with ex­haustion.

  'Just continue your explanation,' Death commanded. The other two ceased their argument and returned their attention to Pelas.

  Sleep whispered, 'Just do not speak of him as if he were a god; if only for my sake.'

  Folly laughed, but agreed, saying, 'Very well; we are kin after all.'

  'Let us take counsel,' Pelas growled beneath them. 'Let us take counsel with the fiery sun above and the cold moon too; none will bring us an answer. Let the gods take the Serpent! I am just a man.'

  Bralohi looked at him in amazement; such fear he had not seen in his face since the two sons of Parganas wandered into the Swamp where he and his father's servants troubled the taxmen of Alwan.

  'My lord,' he said, shaking his head, 'You forget who you are! You are the-'

  'I know who I am, Bralohi,' he said fiercely, silencing his com­panion. 'I know better than you, I am certain.' With those words he turned toward his cabin.

  Folly's face lit up with a toothy grin. 'Isn't that a thing to see!' he exclaimed. 'He turns the world verily, but he doubts it now - even as his own power summons the Sea People!'

  Sleep groaned and asked, finally giving in to his brother. 'Wherein, oh Master Folly, does he summon the Deep Dwellers, when he neither knows of them, nor speaks to them.'

  'He pulls upon them with the very strings of Fate! Watch, Watch, you shall see!'

  'I do not wish to see,' Sleep said slowly, 'I cannot doubt your words, brother, for, as you said, we have sacrificed freedom for righteousness, and I know that you would not deceive me - at least, you would not do so permanently.'

  'You ask "wherein", but what do you mean when you say it?' Folly asked. 'Do you mean to ask how he shall do it, or do you mean to ask for what purpose?'

  'Since I have already said that he knows nothing of them,' Sleep replied wearily, 'I must mean the former, for he cannot purpose that which he knows not.'

  'Then you are inquiring about the causes by which he shall sum­mon them from the Sea floor?' Folly said happily. 'But why should we speak of causes, if we know not a cause.'

  'More riddles?' Death said humorlessly. He turned a glance to­ward his brother that struck the glee from Folly's face for an in­stant.

  'Nay, just give me a moment,' Folly said, his smile returning slowly, 'I was about to explain myself. How can we speak of caus­es, calling all of some group of things by the same name if we know not what that name means? I cannot speak of pigs unless I first know what is a pig. So what business have we speaking of causes if we know not what makes a cause a cause to begin with.'

  'And you think that I, Death, know not what is a cause?' Death asked mirthlessly.

  'Everyone knows what a cause is,' Folly said. 'At least, everyone who knows, knows.'

  'Riddles!' Sleep protested.

  Folly sighed, and quickly said, 'Those who possess knowledge know what is a cause.'

  'Then what need have they of your lessons?' Sleep groaned.

  'Not all they who possess knowledge know,' Folly retorted.

  This time Old Man Sleep only shook his head tiredly.

  Folly took this to mean that his audience was now ready for his explanation.

  'What is it that all men say, whether they be of Sunland or La­pul, Alwan or dark Kharku? They say, nothing happens without a cause. Or they say, perhaps, everything that comes to pass hap­pens for a reason. Now, a reason, we must acknowledge, belongs to men - but they say it of mountains as well as oxen, so, though they say variously 'reason' and 'cause', they do not mean that ev­erything has a 'reason' in the sense we commonly mean 'reason' - this is a trick. They really mean cause with both words.'

  'The work of Folly no doubt,' Sleep mused.

  'No doubt,' Folly said, unperturbed. 'They say that everything that comes to pass has a cause, and nothing happens without a cause. But what happens then? For they certainly do not see ev­erything happen, nor could they, nor could they be justified in speaking of everything that happens if they only witness the smallest portion of all that happens. So if they speak with such certainty concerning happenings and causes, then it must be with­in the very idea of happening that they draw their fierce certainty, and not from having seen all things. And if you have ever listened to a lecture in the Magic Tower as I have - or helped a man to write one, as I also have done - then you would know just how fiercely men believe in the connection between what happens and causes.

  'So their belief is only sensible in light of the fact that it is in the very notion of happening that the idea of causes is to be found. It is not as though they made a tally of it, and found that things have causes. No, such an endeavor would be as impossible as it would be ambiguous.'

  'You have said as much already, we are not schoolchildren that need to have everything repeated to them so that they can return every word by rote,' Sleep grumbled.

  'Nor are you schoolchildren in the sense that one may slap your bottom for speaking out of turn!' Folly complained with a laugh. 'Now, consider what it means for a thing to happen, or to come to pass. If a thing is, it is not clear if it has come into existence, or if it has always existed. There are two ways in which a thing may come to be. It either is or is not; if it is, then it's becoming is simply a change. If it is not, then its coming to be is, while not a change in itself, a change in the state - for there must first have been a state where it was not in order for it to become. But in either case, whether it is or is not, it is in the change that we discover our in­ference.

  'Change, you should understand-' Folly began to explain, but Death hissed
.

  'Do not presume to lecture me concerning change,' Death said. 'You make boasts, brother, saying that Sleep rules over men at night, and I rule over them only when they are no longer men - as if you were in possession of greater might and authority than your kinsmen. But mark it well, brother, that is is I, Death, who rules over every moment, for every moment passes away. I slay the in­fant, that the child may emerge, and I slay the beast, that the hunter may fill his belly. I slay the moment itself, that the new mo­ment may come. In every change I am present, refuting the past with the present and the present with the future. For without the opposition, there is no change.'

  Folly panted for a moment, as if he was out of breath. He shiv­ered, and then ran his hand across his face. 'Brother you terrify even us gods!'

  'Call us not gods!' Sleep thundered, suddenly roused. Folly laughed, and made to continue his explanation.

  'The coming to be is a change, the change is a contradiction, contradiction has no being except in time. Time is the order of mo­ments, and so coming to be is coming to be only in time. But in time, as it is not one moment, but many, the first and latter mo­ments imply one another - for you cannot have a change without a first and last.'

  'Speak plainly, brother,' Sleep insisted.

  'Change requires two moments; the first of which is called the cause and the second the effect. But it is not merely the order that constitutes the passing from cause to effect, it is not as though Lord Pelas' sneeze is the cause of a tempest in dark Kharku! Nay, the two events are separate! But his sneeze is the cause of some­thing, and the tempest, as something that comes to be, is the effect of something - they are just not cause and effect to one another. So one must not simply have a passing away and a coming to be, one must have a change in the thing - and not merely a change. The motions of Pelas' body are the causes of what his body comes to be, even as the motions of the wind in the hot south are cause to the tempest which comes into being.'

  'You still have not explained wherein Lord Pelas pulls upon strings to summon the Sea People from the deeps,' Sleep objected. You have explained causes, which children understand, though perhaps in terms the Mages would be hard-pressed to compre­hend; but you have not yet explained yourself.'

  'You, oh Sleep, of all spirits,' Folly said, waving his finger at his brother, 'should be patient.'

  Sleep shook his head, looking more exhausted than his brothers could have thought possible.

  Folly continued undaunted, saying, 'What keeps Lord Pelas from drowning?'

  'What?' Sleep asked, suddenly roused once again. 'What is it you are asking now?'

  'I am asking you, brother, how it is that our dear Pelas has not fallen beneath the waves? If I were to hold a stone over the edge of the water, and release it, do you not doubt but that it would sink to the depths, hesitating only as long as it must ere the water parts for it?'

  'I would expect this,' Sleep affirmed.

  'What is the cause, then, for that which has come to be - that Pelas should ride upon the waves without doing the same? I mean, what is the cause that makes him float even as he now floats, and in the place he now floats.'

  'He is on a ship, brother,' Sleep said perplexed.

  'Ah, yes,' Folly laughed, 'of course, of course. But let us consider his circumstances more closely. He does not merely float upon the water's surface, he also skims the bottom of the heavens, as though he had already sunk to the bottom of an ocean of air. What is it, brothers, that keeps him beneath the starry skies above? Is it the boat also? You know, brothers, that all things would fall down toward the Root of the world if it were not for that upon which they stand. Dig a hole, be it ever so deep as you please, and you will find that where the dirt and stone of the earth has been moved away, things will sink still lower. The boat is in a similar circumstance. What draws the boat? Is it the boat itself, moving with will as though it were a man? Or is the cause that principle by which all things tend downward toward the Root?'

  'I should say it is the principle, for it holds for all things, and not merely the boat.'

  'Indeed,' Folly continued. 'But consider further, brethren, that Pelas is not a faceless man. When we speak of him, saying, Pelas, do we not mean that very person who stands in the boat beneath us?'

  'Of course,' Sleep answered.

  'But Pelas is downhearted as we speak, and he was not always. His anger and frustration came to be, but is it the boat that causes this? No, brothers, it is not. Yet when we say, Pelas sinks not, we mean THIS Pelas - the one with the sour face. So he has his cause in his mission, in his mood, in his upbringing, in his failure to slay the Serpent and more. So do you not see, brothers, that every cir­cumstance conspires together to generate that which comes to be, and that which comes to be conspires with all else to bring forth what comes next. So it will not do, in any circumstance, to say that this thing causes that thing, as if they were things alone in the void of heaven, not touched by or affected by aught else. To speak of causes, not acknowledging the effect of the All, is to speak inade­quately.'

  'The All? I have heard that before, I think,' Sleep said with inter­est. 'Are you quite certain that you are not capable of error, broth­er?'

  Folly snickered, 'Think on it brother; really think on it. See the ocean, vast as it is, it is what it is due to causes - as surely as the Fatewind is the work of the Knariss of Sunlan. If the land which contains it had a cavity, would not the water spill therein? And if it spilled, would it not, even if ever so slightly, be lowered, even as a jar that has sprung a leak empties itself through the hole? And if it is ever so slightly lower than it was, is it not then different, and will it not, then, carry Pelas' ship differently? So if Pelas' ship is to occupy the place it presently occupies, then mustn't there be no such a cavity, so that the Fatewind can occupy its current place and not the other - not the place it would occupy if the earth had a cavity through which the ocean might leak away?'

  Sleep looked up suddenly, as if he finally realized that this whole endeavor had not been some long but ill-planned jest. Fol­ly, seeing his sudden interest, grinned slyly.

  'Now turn your attention to the Dadiiron, brothers,' Folly said, pointing his hand to the east, where the rest of Pelas' fleet fled the ever darkening eastern sky. 'Among the mortals of Bel Albor, brothers, I have frequently led inexperienced nursemaids to fill a child's bathwater to the brim. Can you guess what happens when the child is put in the tub?' He bellowed deeply, and for a moment it seemed as though he were not present with his brothers - in­deed, even as he spoke he was present in every place where such a deed was being done. 'SPLASH!' He bellowed even louder.

  Death breathed in through his nose, and his brothers grew pale.

  Folly mastered his laughter and, closing his eyes as if to drive the thought from his mind, he continued, 'Now, what would hap­pen to our ocean - and it has happened - if you were to add to it the weight of the Dadiiron? Would not the whole water be dis­placed, ever so slightly? And do you imagine that this would not, ever so slightly, affect the Fatewind? So it is not merely the Fatewind that keeps Pelas in place, but also the Dadiiron, the earth, the water, the wind - what else?'

  'The All,' Sleep said comprehendingly. 'The All is the only cause.'

  'Brother, you are getting ahead of our discourse,' Folly com­plained, crossing his arms.

  'Why should we speak any more of the matter?' Sleep said. 'It is clear what follows; and I see that you are quite correct. It is not until All is considered that one can speak truly of causes. But still-'

  Folly interrupted him, 'Still, we have not seen wherein Lord Pelas is the center of the wheel, turning all things.'

  'Indeed,' Sleep said, sounding exhausted once again.

  'It is simple,' Folly said, 'Remove Pelas, and you change every­thing; add him and you change everything. If everything is changed, then it is not what it is, but something else. But we are not seeking the causes of the Else, but of the Is. Pelas is the cause by which all things come to be, as they come
to be - and what oth­er being do they have?'

  'You speak of Possibility?' Sleep said.

  'Do not utter that name in my presence,' Death said coldly and with more authority than any spirit or god could have imagined. 'Finish your speech quickly brother,' Death commanded.

  Folly hesitated for a moment, and then said quickly, 'There is a saying, "The drop that burst the bucket," but it is not that last drop that breaks the bucket, but every other drop with it.'

  Lohi

  Dalia did not speak for the rest of that voyage.

  Her back, striped now with the deep, red wounds of her pun­ishment, sent her into agony with every movement. Despite her pain, however, she did not shed a single tear. She alone, with the exception of Ghastin, shed no tears - her kinsman Amro shed tears of sadness, Bralohi shed tears of compassion, Pelas shed tears of admiration at the sight of her brave suffering.

  'All things are forgiven; all things are forgotten, daughter,' Pelas had said to her when the scourging was finished. Never had a sailor, man or elf, seen one bear that punishment with more strength of will. Some, indeed, bore the pain almost with joy, de­fying their punisher by making a show of their rage and strength. But alone among such sufferers was Dalia, who bore it all without anger or bitterness - for before her eyes she only saw the suffering of her beloved, who had received wounds for her sake at the hand of her own father.

  The pain kept her awake for nearly three whole days, and she could neither eat nor drink during that time. Lohi, the father of Bralohi and Kolohi, took upon himself the task of restoring her to health. He, more than most of the other elves, was skilled with medicine and healing.

  All the while that he worked to bandage her wounds Ghastin stared at him as if he were ready to strike him down the first mo­ment the healer's movements caused her any further pain than was necessary. His careful hand could not keep her from all dis­comfort, but in the end the work was done, and Lohi still breathed - and Ghastin breathed easily again. When at last Lohi put his hands in a basin of water and washed the blood away, Ghastin rose and departed from the room without a sound, as if at last he was satisfied that Lohi meant her no ill will.

  After the fourth day she was able to sit up, though it hurt her immensely. Lohi fed her warm broth and sang her songs that had been written before the age of Parganas. 'It was not as it is now among the elves,' he explained. 'Our mothers were mortal, and doomed to die. So beautiful were they to our fathers that they for­sook the heavens to dwell with them. But in a short time - nothing compared to the life of an immortal - the women grew old, and perished. The whole land was filled with death, and the elf fa­thers,' he paused when he saw her brow furrowed with confusion. 'The elf fathers,' he explained, were the first elves, the children of the mortals and the gods. I was one of these, as was Lord Par­ganas' father and mother, and many others besides. But we, the elf fathers, had to watch our mothers grow frail and die. The land was filled with mourning over their going, and the mourning turned into anger. The gods had left heaven for these women, but they slipped right through their hands. There was nothing they could do. They sought to bring them back into the heavens, but the gates were shut fast. There was really nothing that could have been done about it,' Lohi said, 'But we did not think so at the time. Our fathers thought that the gods had as good as murdered them, as if they had made them age and wrinkle as well as pass into the grave. It was an age of folly, of love, lust, courage, revenge and be­trayal.' Dalia's eyes sparkled as she listened, fascinated at hearing things she had never before imagined.

  The elves of Sunlan had broken away from Alwan, and for the most part their history agreed with the history of Parganas, though the records of Sunlan did not portray the King of Alwan in a favorable light. To the Sunlan elves, Parganas was something of an opportunist; they thought of him as one who steals the banner from the corpse of a hero and leads it the final three steps to a vic­tory another had accomplished. But this was more true of their founder, who, emulating Parganas, recreated for Sunlan a history that made them seem like more than an offshoot of Alwan. Par­ganas wrote his histories to make his incredible deeds look right­eous. But the elves of Sunlan wrote their history to make their or­dinary deeds look incredible.

  From Lohi Dalia learned a great many things about the world as it was ere the rise of Parganas - or at least, she learned some shad­ow of the world's true history. He also would talk for hours about different forms of government that had been proposed from time to time by various thinkers. Much to Dalia's surprise, much of his knowledge came from mortal writers.

  'But are not the elves wiser than men, on account of their long lives and their many experiences?' she asked him, when her dis­comfort had lessened enough for her to speak.

  Amro had seen to it that she be given the softest mattress on the ship, which was taken from Falruvis' own cabin. The elf, captain over the ship though he was, did not dare oppose him. A nod from Ghastin and a glance from his fierce dark eyes affirmed that he made the right choice in relinquishing his bedding.

  She now lay beside Lohi, who was changing her bandages, with her cheek resting upon her forearm and her dark eyes staring up at him with a student's curiosity.

  'The highest knowledge,' he answered, 'is to understand that knowledge is born of perspective. Many things are missed by us elves, whose experiences fail to reveal to us the little things, or the important things. A man who expects to live forever thinks in years or in decades. But when thirty seven years are given to you - sixty years at the most, every day, nay, every moment has more weight than Mount Vitiai itself.'

  'I have never heard such speech before,' she said.

  'It is hard to hear such things,' he said with a kind laugh, 'when you live betwixt Ijjan and Pelas.'

  'What do you mean?' she asked, her dark eyes revealing honest confusion.

  'Forget it,' he murmured as he gathered together her old ban­dages. He had spoken carelessly, he realized. It was not his nature to honor or respect those deemed kings by the rest of the elves. He had assumed that Dalia, kinswoman of Amro, would have shared his thoughts. 'But she is Dalta's daughter too,' he thought to him­self, 'and he is not a natural rebel.' A chill ran down his back as he pondered what he had just done. For centuries his sons had, at his command, thwarted the labors of Lord Parganas' tax men. Dalta had fallen in with them in those days, and served them quite faithfully. But he was the sort that would have served the lord of Alwan if it had been Parganas who had come to him instead of Bralohi. Lohi knew that he could speak somewhat freely with Amro, who was loyal to Pelas, though perhaps not faithful - if my meaning is understood. Amro would tell no one what was said in secret, even if Lohi plotted against Pelas or Ijjan. It was only when Ele, Ghastin or Dalia were endangered that he sprung into action. He had seen some of Amro's independence in her already, insofar as she would not be deterred by her father's attempts to control her, and in her willingness to immerse herself in a world about which she had previously known nothing, and to travel to places few other mariners had gone. But she was born and raised in Ilvas, and refined in Sunlan - and she was not raised by Amro, but by his gentle relative Ele.

  Ele was like the petals of a flower, which can be crushed by the gentlest of pressures. She wept over insults, though none were ever directed toward her. She once threw herself between Lord Pelas and his brother Agonas when she witnessed them quarrel­ing.

  Lohi looked at her innocent eyes. 'No,' he thought to himself, 'she is Amro's kin, and she can therefore muster what strength she needs for the task. But her nature is more like her mothers. Pity that this is a world which requires Ele to become like Amro!' The thought struck him, and he could find no means of considering it further than to simply say to himself, 'She is most like Ghastin in truth.' He shook his head and continued his tidying.

  If Dalia understood what he had said, however, she gave no sign. She lay her head back on her forearm and sighed, closing her eyes with exhaustion. He would have to be more careful with hi
s words. She was too tired to press him, but this would not always be the case. Lohi concerned himself with the welfare of those over whom Fate had placed him. But he was no sworn servant! He had fought upon Vitiai, and would not bow his head to anyone: man elf or god. But he would bow his head for his people.

  At Grenost

  By the time Lord Pelas had returned to Grenost, Dalia was up and walking again, howbeit with considerable discomfort. She in­sisted upon taking up some of her duties, though Ghastin and Amro made sure that she was not overworked. The sailors, mortal and immortal alike, marveled at her fortitude. 'A man would yet be whimpering in his bed,' Alsley said with amazement. It was in those days that men first began to sing songs and write lines of poetry about Dalele Marinea. But the extent of their affection for her was not yet at its peak. Twice more would Fate see fit to make her a hero.

  From that day on no man ever treated Dalia as though she were 'merely' a woman. She soon grew to be as skilled as any other sailor, though perhaps not as strong of arm. But what she lacked in strength she made up for in dedication. Every hour of every day the name of her beloved was upon her lips, and however much she was forced to endure, she endured it all gladly.

  Her scourging had left deep scars upon her shoulders, however, and there were many moments when tears would spring from her eyes at the thought of them. She did not believe that Thuruvis would think her uncomely for them - and that knowledge brought her some peace. But she knew that he would mourn for her suffer­ings, and that as long as he lived he would wish that he could have taken her place. 'Do not be sad for me, beloved,' she would whisper to him, vainly.

  There were some who wished to grant her a life of luxury when the Fatewind and the Dadiiron made land. Amro and Ghastin cer­tainly would have wished it, but they knew her purposes, and would not press the matter. Pelas had half a mind to marry her then and there; he seemed to have forgotten that it was his own order that had caused her to be flogged. When his intentions be­gan to be rumored about she made a point to bare her arms so that the scars on her back could be more easily discerned. This seemed to remind the lord of the elves that there were yet many maidens remaining in Sunlan, any one of whom he might choose for his bride. For some reason Indra came to his mind, and he sighed as he remembered her beauty.

  Though he was cured of his ill-considered intentions, Pelas came to regard Dalia quite highly. He bid her dine at his own ta­ble each night, and acted in every way as though they were com­rades and equals. For the most part she disdained his company, but it would not do to endure all that she had hitherto endured only to anger he who would, should their voyage prove success­ful, be her rewarder.

  Nearly two months after their return Pelas announced a great feast. He had recovered, it seemed, from his disappointment at having failed to slay the Serpent. Jarot the dark-skinned Snakil was constantly at his side, giving him both counsel and praise. The other elves seemed to dislike the man, but Lord Pelas found him amusing. He seemed to know more about the Serpent than any one else, and he seemed to know more about it every day, so Pelas was loath to send the man away. 'The beast is bound to you now, my lord,' he would say. If you sail out in force to challenge him, he will come to you, and Fate shall decide between you.'

  Dalia awoke on the day of the feast with the bright sun shining on her face. It was a cool day, however, so she lay there for a long while without opening her eyes. The only change in the weather Grenost experienced was the occasional downpour of rain. Whether it was winter or spring, the sun beat down hard on that land. But this day the mighty sun gave the land a respite, permit­ting a cool breeze to blow across the settlement. Almost as soon as she sat up in her bed she was greeted by a servant girl, a Snakil woman by the name of Orix. 'My lady,' she said bowing low, 'to­day is the feast; we must begin our preparations.'

  Dalia sighed. No doubt one of the elves had informed her that the high elves of Sunlan take all afternoon to prepare for a feast. She shook her head. 'What preparations must be made?' she asked.

  'I have been commanded to take your lady-ship,' Orix seemed to struggle with the word, 'to the steam baths, and then we must prepare your hair, and your nails, your skin must be-'

  'Think no more of it,' Dalia said. 'Who commanded all this?'

  'Lord Falruvis,' she answered.

  'No doubt he means well,' Dalia said thoughtfully. 'But I am a sailor here, not a lady at court. I will go to the baths, but not before I go to the smithy.'

  'The smithy?' Orix said with great surprise. Her eyes were wide with amazement. Dalia also sensed some worry.

  'Fear not, dear Orix,' she said with a smile. 'I promise you I will not get you in trouble.

  With those words she rose and dressed herself, putting on a plain brown dress cut just above the knees with a sturdy black belt. She knelt for a moment to tie on her sandals before taking her sword from its place at her bedside. She held it up and looked at its keen edge.

  Orix looked at it with wide eyes, probably fearing her mistress might decide to strike her down.

  Dalia just sighed and returned the sword to its sheath.

  It was a good blade, and it had more than served its purposes thus far. But it was a woman's blade, made as a last resort against brigands or rebels. It was not made for war; it was not made for the sort of deeds that might bring one wealth and glory. She sniffed at that thought. 'Pelas can have the glory,' she said to her­self, 'I just want my own weight in gold.' She laughed when she saw the confusion upon her maidservant's face as the hearing of such words.

  Dalia pushed the door wide open and started down the hall to­ward the entry hall. The Fortress of Grenost was built into the side of a small cliff that overlooked the harbor. Nearly the whole struc­ture was made of wood, since the elves did not intend to make a permanent home in Dominas. The cliff wall was only three heights from the beach in one place. Here the elves built up an earthen ramp, leading up to the main hall of Grenost. There Pelas both dined and took counsel with his servants. There were long hallways running out from the northern and southern ends of the main hall. These hallways led to the apartments where Pelas' ser­vants dwelt. Dalia's apartment was one door shy of being the very last door in the hallway.

  Amro insisted upon taking the last room, so that he might be the first to face any danger that might come to the fortress from that direction.

  Ghastin took the next room after Dalia, probably to make sure that none of Pelas' servants dared to approach her room. On two occasions he had found Cheru attempting to charm her with sto­ries about his many battles. 'Battles?' he had laughed the second time he witnessed this, 'It must be a battle every time you have to remember your own name.'

  Dalia made her way swiftly southward toward the main hall.

  Orix hurried to keep up with her. To the Snakil, who took the elves to be something akin to the divine, her strange behavior was not merely whimsical, but mysterious. She entered the hall, which was already being prepared for the night's feast. A long, low table was being placed before Pelas' seat, and cushions were being car­ried in by dark Snakilmen, each of whom was clothed in brightly painted animal skins.

  'You see, my lady,' Orix said frantically, 'They are already pre­paring the feast; now we must get about preparing the lady.'

  'I am no lady,' she said to Orix. Dalia had already attempted to relieve her maidservant of her superstitious regard for the elves. But her attempts had only ended with Orix in tears, thinking that she had somehow wronged her new mistress. 'I am a sailor; and a warrior, and I must be about the business of warriors,' she had said.

  Orix followed silently with her head lowered so that she did not stand higher than the elves. The Snakil were, almost to a man, taller than the elves; some of the tallest standing well over seven feet high. The women were, as it is with all races, somewhat short­er, but not so much that it was not obvious to any onlooker which of the two women entering the main hall were the larger. But Orix' self-deprecations had the effect of making the elf all the mor
e stunning to behold, even in her plain clothes. The workmen stopped and stared, amazed both at the paleness of her complex­ion as well as the nobility of her walk. No amount of time at sea, and no hardship could drive from the elves the refinements that long years of training had instilled within them. Once they were grown, they were noble, and all men would recognize it on sight, even if they recognized no other difference.

  She made her way from the main hall down the ramp toward the harbor. Amro would already be in the smithy overseeing the production of whatever the elves might need for their ships.

  The sound of a hammer clanging on metal arose from the smithy as Dalia and her maidservant approached. Amro was ap­parently not preparing for the feast either. When she entered the smithy she saw him already covered in sweat, flattening out a red hot piece of iron with a great hammer.

  'Aren't you supposed to be preparing for the feast?' he said, without turning to look at her.

  'Dear uncle,' she said, trying to suppress her amusement, 'how­ever did you know that it was I who approached you?'

  'I smelled you,' he answered without any hesitation.

  'Do I smell that bad?' she asked, suddenly feeling very foolish. 'Perhaps I shall go to the bath house after all.'

  'It is quite the opposite, Dalele,' he said confidently. 'Most of the people here do not even know what a bath house is; even the smell of day-old soap stands out among such folk.'

  'We don't get to smell much soap in here especially!' added one of Amro's workers.

  Amro looked at Dalia for a moment, taking in her dress and her frightened servant. 'What are you here for, Dalele?' he said with a kind voice.

  'I am here because I need a sword,' she answered.

  'You have a sword,' he replied almost before she had ended speaking. Something about his tone seemed to say, 'That is all I have to say.'

  'You are a true artist, uncle,' she said. It was easy to tell from her voice that she was on the edge of laughter. 'I am not disappointed with what you have given me already. A lady's sword such as no lady, mortal or immortal, has ever possessed. I cannot resent such a gift. But it is, for all that, a lady's sword, meant as a last resort against assassins and the like. Who can tell what we shall face, though, either on land or at sea.'

  'You call it a lady's sword,' Amro said. 'But what would you have me make for you? A man's sword? Are you a man, Dalele?'

  'I am a mariner,' she answered, 'I did not choose it; I did not want it; I would leave it all in a heartbeat if only I could be flown by the wind back to the side of my beloved. But nonetheless, here I am, a sailor and a warrior - but I have not a warrior's weapon. If the Fireships of Lapul come against us, or if one of the warring clans of the Snakil assail our fortress, what shall I do? Shall I fight every battle with my dwarf-steel dagger?'

  'It is not a dagger!' Amro bellowed, this time he actually did be­gin speaking before she had ended.

  'But neither is it quite a sword,' she protested.

  'Do you know what you ask?' Amro said, pausing from his work as he argued with her. 'It is no easy task to make a sword – not for me.'

  'You make swords day after day, and every other man bears a blade made by Amro and made for war.'

  'Those swords I make for mortal men, and they are good blades, good for protecting their lives - to the extent that their mortal lives need protecting. In the end, no sword or spear, word, proverb or magic spell shall preserve what must pass away. There are pre­cious few souls that I care for; and I will not give you a sword such as I give to others. Your sword is sufficient to preserve your life against any other sword, save perhaps that of Pelas and his brother.'

  'And Ghastin's sword, and your own, and your axe,' she added to the list. 'And Falruvis, Bralohi and all the rest of the high elves.'

  'Do you need to best any of these in combat, Dalele?' Amro asked with irritation.

  'I have already dueled one high elf,' she said, referring to her contest with Dalta, her father. 'How should I know what the fu­ture may bring to me? I am not asking for a sword with which I might, at the very final moment, defend my own life. I did not sail all these leagues to preserve my life, but to win my weight in gold.'

  Amro sniffed, a tiny smile breaking his lips. As angry as he felt, he could not get used to her speaking like that.

  Orix looked horrified; she apparently did not know what to make of her mistress' lust for wealth. 'To hear you speak like that I would almost think you really did just want the gold.'

  'Gold is as worthless as dung except insofar as it is a means,' Dalia replied.

  Orix did not seem to understand what she was saying at all.

  'Be gone from here, Dalele, I am sorry. I have enough work as it is; to make a sword worthy of you would take even me a month, and that is only after I acquired the right kind of steel. That, I as­sure you, is not easy to come by in Grenost.'

  'You cannot think that I will believe that you have none with you, uncle,' she said, disdainfully.

  Amro said nothing more, but returned to his work. It was clear to Dalele that the conversation had ended. Amro was jealous of dwarf-steel, and refused to use up the last of it until a new supply was firmly in hand. And he was too jealous to leave it behind in Sunlan.

  'Well,' she said turning toward Orix and trying to hide her welling tears, 'To the baths.'

  The Feast

  The reason of the feast remained a mystery to the elves, and re­mains a mystery even to this day. There was no victory to be cele­brated, no anniversary to be marked, no alliance to be sealed and no accomplishment to be praised. But nonetheless Lord Pelas poured gold out freely into the hands of the Snakil to make it a memorable night. The best explanation that has come to my ears is simply that he threw the feast in defiance of his failure, to show Fate that her attempts to rob him of his due had not shaken him.

  It was a cool night; an almost chill wind had passed over the land from the sea, entering into the fortress of Grenost like cold fingers. But there were bright fires burning in the main hall, keep­ing the guests warm and sending great pillars of smoke rising into the starry night sky. Every high elf, with the exception of Ghastin (if it is proper to recon him among their number – he certainly did not recon himself so), was present at Pelas' table.

  Pelas sat on a great seat at the head of the table with Jarot seated on his left side. Bralohi sat to his right. Aside from these arrange­ments, the elves sat where they wished and spoke to whom they wished. Kolohi sat beside Sol, no doubt comparing thoughts on the ways of mortal men. Amro sat beside Dalia, to separate her from Cheru, who had first taken the seat beside her, no doubt hoping to take advantage of Ghastin's absence.

  There were dancers and musicians, storytellers and magicians, all hired from among the Snakil. There were strange furs and strong dark arms in every corner of the hall, as the Snakil labored to entertain Pelas' guests. There was a man who demonstrated the courage of the Snakil by swallowing a live serpent. Jarot rose from his seat and cheered when the last part of the serpent's tail van­ished between the performer's teeth. The elves were amazed, and cheered the Snakil on generously.

  Amro was silent for most of the night, nodding respectfully when the Snakil did anything that was truly unique or impressive. But otherwise he just sat quietly, ready to glare at Cheru if the fool so much as looked at Dalia.

  Dalia watched everything with wonder at first, almost forget­ting the wounds her host had inflicted on her for a moment. This was not because she had forgiven him, but simply because while the wonders were before her eyes she had no room for any other thought.

  Amro let her be, glad that she was able to have a moment with­out frustration. He knew that she was still quite wroth with him, but there are perhaps none that could have been so angry that they would have chosen the company of Cheru instead.

  As Dalia watched the performers, however, a sense of sadness rose within her. Here she was, watching wonders from a strange and beautiful world, while her beloved waited in sorrow for her to
return. Slowly her wonder faded, and her smile was replaced by a pensive frown.

  Amro shut his eyes for a moment and sighed, thinking to him­self, 'Joy visits for just a moment; sorrow comes home to dwell.'

  When he opened his eyes again he turned his attention away from Dalia and her sorrows. He did not want her to see his worry; that would only make her feel all the more melancholy. Instead he picked up his fork and fixed his gaze upon the food.

  There were hundreds of steaming lobsters, shrimp and crabs, piled high on wooden platters. Everything had been cooked in great pans with plenty of coconut oil and sea salt. There was ale from the ships and great pitchers of Dau dew, the favorite liquor of the Snakil. Amro had tasted it once, but it made him feel quite sick after just a single sip. Oblis drank quite a bit of it. That sight alone was enough to make even the stoutest sailor sick to his stomach. He laughed to himself, thinking, 'Is it the sight of him drinking, or is it just the sight of him?'

  He grabbed a hot crab from the table and cracked its shell open with his fingers.

  Cheru attempted the same, but after a few failed attempts he took up a hammer and struck the creature. Amro considered how this singular instant seemed to capture the man's whole person and history as if it were an illustration of his very soul.

  Dalia, noticing all this, smiled again, and for the moment at least, things were tranquil between her and her uncle. She wore a beautiful blue dress wrought after the fashion of the Snakil, with a crown of white feathers in her hair. This had been a gift from Jarot. She almost certainly would have refused such a gift had it come to her in any other circumstances. She did not want to fall out of Lord Pelas' favor again.

  'Even though you did not spend the entire evening polishing your face,' Amro joked with her, 'you are still the most beautiful guest at this ball.' His eyes quickly flashed between the white-haired Snakilman at Pelas' side and Oblis, who very nearly wal­lowed in a large plate of fried fish.

  Dalia laughed sincerely.

  Aguians

  Ghastin was at the water's edge that night, spear in hand, fish­ing for lightfins, the strange glowing fish that dwelt in the waters near Grenost. He had three on a string already, tied to a harpoon that he had thrust into the sand. When the elves had first made peace with the Snakilmen, he had been informed that a skillful fisherman might spend their whole life trying to catch one of these strange creatures. They were unbelievably quick; darting away from nets and spears with ease. They were too cunning to bite a hook, and one could not hope to catch one with their hands any more than they might hope to catch the west wind.

  Nonetheless, Ghastin had caught at least three of them each night since the Snakil fishermen issued their challenge. When the time came to sail again, Ghastin would have enough of their bril­liant scales to buy the forest itself. He thought he might do just that: wait until it was time for the fleets to return and then remain behind to live as a king. A man who had caught so many lightfins could easily proclaim himself god-born, and the king of all fisher­men. A single scale from one of those fish, once it had been dried and preserved, was enough to buy a league of good farmland. He could buy all the farmland in eastern Dominas with what he had caught already. But he might just settle for peace and quiet.

  He thought of his brother, though, and of Dalia and her mother Ele. He thrust the spear into the water, releasing his rage beneath the surface and pinning one of the quick fish with the point. He would return to Sunlan with Amro.

  He probably could have caught more lightfins that night, but there was something strange in the air. A different scent, he thought, had come in with the breeze. There was something new happening.

  He tied the fourth fish to his spear and lay down on the sand, looking up at the sky. The moon was large overhead, staring down at him through a cloudless sky. 'There are no wolves here,' he thought suddenly. 'That is what is missing from such a scene.' In Ilvas there had been many wolves. The elves used to hunt them for sport, but Ghastin hated it. To make the hunter into prey was despicable to him.

  He did not know how long he lay like that, staring into the sil­ver light of the moon. Suddenly the smoke from the feast was blown across its surface, darkening its light for just a moment. This change was enough to remind him that evening was getting on, and there would be work to do in the morning.

  As he rose from the sand he heard shouts and the sound of pan­icked voices. Looking toward the docks he could see many strange shapes moving about, some swinging swords and spears, but others swinging their arms around as though their fists were hammers. 'By the pit!' he cursed, gathering up his harpoon and hurrying toward the fighting. The lightfins flailed about as he ran, their colorful scales shifting beautifully even in death.

  When he reached the docks he could scarcely believe his eyes. There stood about two dozen creatures, giant frogs by every ap­pearance, battling a group of sailors.

  Taller than men by a head, their muscles were as enormous as they were supple, and their flat, rounded heads seemed to come right out of their torsos – nothing of a neck could be discerned. There was a great variety among their forms, but they were all strong, large and quick. Their pale, slimy skin also seemed to come in several different hues. Some were deep brown, others light yellow and still more of them green or even blue. Most of them had speckles, spots or some other incongruity on their flesh, and among these speckles were barnacles, scars and many other deformities.

  'Aguians!' Ghastin whispered as he matched their appearance to the legends he had heard among the Snakil.

  Alsley was in the midst of the sailors, shouting orders and sounding in every way like a man prepared to meet his death bravely. 'Ghastin!' he shouted when he saw the elf. 'To the feast! Warn the high elves!'

  'Curse you, child!' Ghastin replied harshly, 'warn them your­self.' He pushed his way through them and thrust his spear into one of the Aguians. The creatures flesh was as soft as pudding - at first. As soon as the point found its mark the flesh seemed to turn into stone and the shaft of the spear snapped in two, sending Ghastin back onto the ground. His fish fell to the ground and were trampled beneath the monster's feet.

  The creature's mouth was large and toothless, gaping open as if the creature were in constant amazement. There was no nose; the creature only had two small nostrils just beneath two surprisingly intelligent eyes. The creatures stood erect, but it was clear from their posture and their movements that they were more at home in the water than on the land. Their hands and feet were enor­mous, each finger and toe webbed by tough leathery skin. Around their heads they wore pendants, gold chains and an assortment of decorations, but otherwise they wore no clothes at all. They had no need for armor it seemed. Their soft-looking bodies could be hardened at will, as Ghastin had just learned.

  One of those soft hands swung down at Ghastin, becoming as hard as iron as it struck him across the face. He was sent flying into the sailors knocking six of them to the ground. The creatures stepped forward, their awkward motions punctuated now and again by fierce attacks, their blubbery flesh taking on the hardness of metal when their blows were landed.

  Ghastin could taste the blood on his face as it poured from his nose into his mouth. 'We may not be able to stop you devils,' he said. 'But I shall give you a taste of what is to come if you continue to march up the beach.'

  He drew his sword from its sheath. It was not his sword, by his reckoning at least. Pelas still bore the sword his father had left for him. This blade was made by Amro, and was at least its equal. He dreamed that one day the opportunity would arise for him to re­claim it - preferably from Lord Pelas' dead fingers. This thought filled him with a fierce desire to live - to live to see that day ful­filled. He cut into the Aguians with a ferocity their aquatic forms were not prepared to counter. They hardened their flesh against it, but the blade cut through their limbs as if they were stalks of wheat ripe for the harvest. Their blood poured out and they stum­bled as he cut at them.

  For all this, however, they were n
ot stopped. A man thus wounded would lay upon the ground until death took him. But these creatures lumbered on as though they had not been injured at all. Many of them fell dead, their lives spilling out with their blood. But they did not react as though they had been hurt. 'They feel no pain!' he shouted. 'Hold them back as long as you can!' he commanded the sailors. 'We cannot stop them with these weapons!' He spoke, of course, not of his own weapon, but of their iron swords. Looking around quickly he sought out the weakest of them, a Knariss youth by the name of Jandon. 'Boy!' he shouted at the golden haired young man. 'To the feast!' he com­manded, 'Tell them we need dwarf-steel at the docks!'

  The boy ran off toward the fortress, more than happy to have an excuse for abandoning the fight. As he ran away another twenty Aguians appeared on the docks, leaping from the water and land­ing on the wooden planks with great force. The whole structure shook under their weight, and the men closed into a tight circle.

  Axe, Sword and Spear

  Jandan ran into the feast hall frantically waving his arms and screaming. There was an awkward moment where he simply froze in his place, feeling as if he had stumbled into another world, and not quite being able to remember why he had come. The sights, sounds and smells were all strange. The dark Snakil were all over the hall, serving food, playing music and dancing. At this very same moment the elves turned their attention to him, at first believing him to be some new act or show.

  'What is this new devilry?' he heard one of the high elves laugh, misunderstanding the nature of his sudden appearance.

  'Monsters!' he shrieked, suddenly remembering his reason for coming.

  Amro pushed his seat back carefully and rose to his feet. He was about to ask the boy a question when the room erupted with the clamor of breaking dishes, clanging forks and panicked shouts. Amro looked at Pelas and saw only rage in his eyes, as if his challenge to Fate was being mocked.

  'Aguians!' Jarot screeched in terror. 'They have come to avenge the wounds given to their master!'

  Amro grabbed Dalia by the arm and pulled her away from the table. 'Go to the inner room, block the door and wait for me. I must go to Ghastin.'

  'We shall go to him,' she said sternly.

  'This is no time for an argument, Dalele!' he hissed.

  'Agreed,' she said defiantly, 'then learn your own lesson, uncle.'

  His eyes opened in wonder. He could not believe that she would choose this moment to defy him. 'Stay close to me!' he com­manded. 'Does she not understand,' he asked himself, 'how I must, for her mother's sake, keep her safe?'

  Just as he had spoken there was a loud crash and a strange form appeared atop the table, its bare, webbed feet crushing the dishes and forks without showing any signs of discomfort. It's arms moved about awkwardly, as if the creature was unused to moving in the open air.

  Amro took note of this, and drew his sword. Cheru had already drawn his blade and swung at the Aguian, his sword rattling against the creature's stone hard flesh. The creature swung its arm and struck him, sending two teeth flying from his mouth in a splatter of blood. Cheru fell to the ground in a heap. Oblis repeat­ed Cheru's mistake, attempting to cut the creature's flesh with iron. When the creature made to strike him, however, he pulled out a knife and braced himself for the blow. The great force of the attack sent him flying, but sunk the dagger deep in the creature's hand.

  'That is one way to do it,' Amro mused. In an instant, however, he had his own troubles to contend with. A huge Aguian with shoulders the size of Ginat's head charged into the room like a bull, sending high elves and Snakil men flying. This one had dark brown skin with bright yellow flecks of color all over his back. His fist struck down at a Snakil dancer on the floor, splattering his blood like wine is spilled from a ripened grape.

  The Aguian looked about the room as if it did not know what to do next. It fixed its gaze upon Amro, who alone of the high elves was standing unshaken, and charged. The creature lowered its head like a bull and its smooth head grew as solid as steel, shatter­ing the dinner table into pieces as it struck. Amro pushed Dalia aside, rolled toward the beast and drew his sword as he came out of his tumble. The quick upward slash nearly severed the mon­ster's head, sending it lumbering into the wall where its neck snapped from the force of its own charge. It fell to the ground and its flesh became once again like jelly.

  It was not long, however, before more such beasts came into the hall, leaping from place to place in mighty bounds. Several elves and many of the Snakil perished when the Aguian they attacked leaped clear over their heads, landing behind them even as they struck at the empty air where their foe had stood. It only took one such moment of confusion to give the Aguian its opportunity.

  Amro looked toward the front of the hall. Pelas stood there, fighting a now armless monster with Ginat and Oblis at his side. With their iron swords the latter two could do little more than slow the creatures down.

  'Child!' he shouted at one of the Snakil servants, a dark young man in the pelt of some spotted beast.

  'Yeah, my lord,' he answered without looking; his eyes were fixed on the Aguians.

  'Run to my room and get my axe; it is beneath the bed. Bring it to me now! There is also a spear on the wall; bring it to me with­out delay!'

  'What is it?' Dalele asked worriedly.

  'These creatures cannot be slain but by dwarf-steel,' Amro ex­plained. 'Their flesh is too strong for iron.'

  The young man hurried off, glad to be getting away from the fight.

  'How is such a thing possible?' she asked, her eyes filled with fear, not for her own life, but for the sake of her beloved.

  'Nevermind how it is possible!' he shouted, quickly severing legs and arms from one of the monsters. Dalia cut the flailing beast's throat with her own dwarf-steel blade.

  'Where is Ghastin!' Amro shouted, fearing for his brother's life.

  Ghastin sat perfectly still. He was submersed in water up to his nose, which he would lift ever so slightly from time to time in or­der to fill his lungs. What had become of Alsley and the others he did not know, nor care. It was Dalele and Amro he was concerned with. He only hoped the youth he had sent had arrived at the hall before the monsters. For the moment he could do nothing for them. The Aguians still leaped from the water, landing on the docks with amazing force. Several times he had been all but cer­tain that the wood was about to give way, bringing the docks and monsters down into the sea. But these were creatures of the sea, and such a fall would likely do them only a little harm. He learned from watching the Knariss sailors that their blades could not pierce the flesh of these beasts. If they took the monster by sur­prise, or struck it in the back, where it could not anticipate their blow, then and then only would their weapons inflict a wound. Where the monsters saw the attack coming they were very nearly invulnerable. As the monsters moved about, Ghastin could see their flesh move like jelly, but when they were struck or when struck out against their enemies, their bodies would tense and all the solidity in their form seemed to concentrate upon the point of contact, so that they were smooth and agile in motion, but hard as steel when they attacked.

  'Dalele!' he thought fearfully. His mind raced for a way of es­cape. 'I swear it by all that lives and breathes, if anything befalls you I shall peel Pelas' flesh back like an unripened fruit, torn apart ere its time has come. Strip by strip I shall flay him!'

  When he was a boy, he did not understand why he and Amro had suddenly left their smithy and all they knew behind. He knew now, and understood that it had been to save Ele's and his own lives. He would never forgive Pelas for what he had done. He shut his eyes, blinking back tears. 'Curse him!' he thought, ashamed of his sorrows.

  Twice in the course of this skirmish Amro saved Pelas' life. And each time Pelas looked at him with more jealousy than gratitude. 'There is plenty of glory to go around,' he wanted to say. But he just continued his fight in silence, only speaking when it was to give another warrior warning. It had been nearly a minute, but the Snakil b
oy had not yet returned from Amro's room. This he took to mean that the monsters had also invaded the inner quarters of the fortress. They were now to be found in every corner of the hall, and the bodies of the Snakil were cast about like dust.

  'The poor souls,' Dalia said to herself. Their weapons, made mostly of wood, could do nothing but shatter against the Aguians' tough skin. Dalia felt only a little more useful than they, however, as her blade could scarcely cut her enemies, despite the quality of its material. She felt great frustration welling up inside of her, but she would not say anything against Amro, not while he fought with everything within him to save their lives.

  The creatures continued to pour into the hall, showing no sign of remorse or concern. Kolohi found himself cornered by a pair of the brutes, but managed to escape their grasp, losing the small fin­ger off his left hand to one of their gaping mouths. Bralohi rushed to his side when he saw his brother imperiled. Lohi wrapped his hand in a cloth quickly and made as though he would bring him from the battle. 'There is nowhere safe now, father!' Kolohi shouted. 'Turn and fight; and give me my sword!' Lohi reluctantly helped him rise to his feet and gave him his blade. 'I am not a warrior,' Lohi said.

  'You might surprise yourself, father,' Kolohi laughed, his face full of pain.

  A dozen rather large Aguians entered the hall at that moment, and the three of them made their way to the west side of the hall, knowing that none of them were a match for beasts such as these. Together they took down one of the smaller beasts. 'See father?' Kolohi said as he watched Lohi draw back his sword. 'In truth,' the older man said somberly, 'I don't know whether it is better to kill than to die.' His sons said nothing, but turned to face still more enemies.

  There were nearly sixty of the creatures in the hall when at last Ghastin emerged from his hiding place. He had no choice but to allow them all to pass him by unchallenged. Had he revealed him­self sooner they would have overwhelmed him easily. Now, how­ever, they were not expecting him, and that would give him, not quite an advantage, but at least less of a disadvantage. Within the hall, the survivors were now huddled into two different groups, each with the high elves fending off the invaders with dwarf-steel while those who could not fight huddled in fear. These were mostly Knariss sailors and Snakil - neither of whom would have any weapons that could have aided their protectors.

  Amro looked out at the monsters and saw a tremendously large Aguian preparing to charge them, his head low and hard as iron. Ere he took his first step, however, Ghastin fell upon him, leaping from atop the remnants of the dining table. He sunk his blade deep into the beast's head, the tip of his blade emerging from the monster's mouth. With a swift motion he drew it out again and jumped from the creature's back as it thudded to the floor, death stealing away all of its solidity. With a swirl he beheaded another creature and with two strong strokes he took the arms off of an­other. This beast kicked him, though, ending his fierce attack. The wounded creature grunted, and a deep rumble poured from his throat. Amro and Dalia turned their attention then to Ghastin, who now lay senseless upon the floor. They rushed toward him.

  Suddenly, a small voice cried out, 'I am here! I am here!'

  Amro looked with amazement upon the Snakil boy, struggling to carry both a spear and an axe in his thin arms. In an instant Amro was in the midst of the monsters with his mighty axe, cut­ting their limbs off as if they were made of straw. They braced themselves, they prepared themselves, they readied their limbs for a counterblow, but he took them to pieces with ease ere they could do anything.

  Dalia also leaped into the fray, piercing them two at a time with the dwarf-steel spear. The two of them hovered over Ghastin and fought with every bit of their strength and skill while he rose from the ground, shaking the dust from his sleeves. 'If I had a choice,' he said to the others, 'I would never set foot in a boat again, if such monsters are hidden beneath the depths.'

  'There are monsters on land too, brother,' Amro said.

  'Indeed there are,' Ghastin said, his eyes flashing toward Pelas and his companions, who were now standing dumbly as he, Amro and Dalia battled the Aguians. Between axe, sword and spear the Aguians could do nothing. They had never met such weapons before, and their dead soon outnumbered the dead among the Snakil and Knariss.

  A great Aguian made an attempt to ram his head into them, but Dalia threw her spear headlong and it pierced his head, leaving through the back of his bulky shoulders to pin itself to the wall. Three more approached, and she drew her sword to fight them. She slashed at them desperately, her slender blade unable to do more than cut them. She slit one of their throats, and the monster clutched its neck as its life poured out on the floor. The others seemed uninterested in their companion and one of them took her throat in his hand. He only squeezed for a moment, though, for with a roar Ghastin had cut the beast's limb off, dropping Dalia and the severed arm to the ground with a thud.

  By this time the other elves came to their senses and joined the fight, standing beside the others with their dwarf-steel weapons. In a line they guarded the Snakil, the Knariss sailors, and those elves who did not have such weapons. It was not until they found themselves moving steadily forward that they realized the crea­tures were fleeing. Although, with beasts such as these it was hard to call such a departure a flight. They had certainly taught them better than to attack the elves of Grenost, but they did not leave as those who are fearful of their lives, or who are in a panic. It was almost as one who leaves the market because they realize the merchandise is more expensive than they had anticipated.

  Howbeit, a great many treasures vanished from the hall that day, taken as the Aguians vanished from Grenost. Mostly jewels and chains of gold, taken to adorn mighty warriors in sunken halls for as long as time shall endure.

  It took the elves the better part of three months to restore the docks and the fortress to its former condition. The Snakil came on the day following the attack to dispose of their dead. 'They have been claimed by the sea,' Jarot explained sadly. 'So they must go to the sea.' The dead were loaded onto rafts and gently released to sink into the ocean. The boatmen muttered some sort of prayer or chant as they worked, but there was otherwise very little ceremo­ny. The Knariss, who always buried their dead at sea, followed their lead, though they grieved for their companions in their own way in a ceremony upon the shore. The elves who had perished were burned, Lord Pelas offering them up in the element of fire as if to make a show of his defiance of the sea.

  Many evenings thereafter he could be seen walking along the shores, looking out over the water with an intense look in his eyes. 'You shall see me again,' he would swear, 'and then I shall show you who is master of the water.

  Though it had been the Aguians who assailed them, Pelas took it as a challenge from the master of the sea.

  It was a challenge he now began eagerly to anticipate.