Danel

Continued from A Hard Lesson

“And that is what I heard happened to the Lady Danel. It was a training lesson, that is all, nothing more, nothing less,” Sogadan finished.

In a wide room arrayed with all manner of decorations, 

He stood silently by the window, deep in thought as he stared out across the valley. The leaves had turned from green to gold, and from gold to brown, and he could feel the time slipping away. Winter would follow soon, and many of the passes would become closed until spring arrived, the chance to leave the valley lost. The last of the day’s sunlight flowed lazily through the thick glass, casting his shadow across the richly-inlaid desk behind him. A map and a letter lay upon the desk, but otherwise it was bare.

Estarfin turned the large brass key in the lock, hearing the mechanism click open. Pulling the heavy ash door open, he stepped inside the dark room, the torch that he carried flickering as a breeze caught it. He thrust the torch into an iron loop that hung upon the wall and looked around the Vanimar armoury. There were weapons of all varieties hanging upon the walls, or stacked on shelves. Large war hammers lay propped against the wall, next to a rack of delicate single-handed swords.

Continued from Letter to Anglachelm and Veryacano: esteemed Lords of Bar-en-Vanimar

“So what will you do with him?”

I shrug, inadvertently jostling my hand so that Maltariel’s neat strapping falls loose. She gives me a reproachful look and reaches for the ends of the cloth, her deft hands tying it up again with quick, sure movements. Although it is only bruised, my wrist is stiff and sore still when I come to lift a sword, and she has decreed that it must be strapped, for now, until it is recovered. While she reties the cloth, I look up across the river, enjoying the peace for a moment.

Continued from A Word In Sogadan's Ear

As he ran through the forest, the undergrowth clawed at his deep-green clothes with every stride and the odour of stagnant, rotting leaves filled his nostrils. Clutched in his one hand was a great, beautifully carved bow and in the other was a long, slender, elven knife. The air was heavy underneath the canopy of the trees, and even the elf, who was accustomed to the woods, felt the closeness of his surroundings. The forest-floor was carpeted in dead, brown leaves, fallen branches, and old lichen, but the hunter ran sure-footed and made almost no sound in his pursuit.

Belegos stared into the fire. The flames danced in front of him as they always did, though he did not pay any heed to them this time. He had returned to the valley only a day ago and now stood, as he had done many times before, in the Hall of Fire. In front, and slightly to the left of him was his friend, Estarfin, a warrior of the Hammers. He was dressed all in black and nursed a burned hand from his recent work at the forges.

I was bringing a tray of thin wafers and broth to Rainith, and thinking of a hundred ways to coax my stubborn mistress to eat a bit of this delicate fare if she refuses it