Author: The Nimrodelian Tale-Spinner

Endhorg the Fierce, Commander of Riverwatch’s forces, paced the floor of his estate that lay not far from the palace. Weapons of every shape and style lined the walls and every once in a while Endhorg would stop and stare at some priceless object, a gift from his adopted father. Vasper’s dance was only a few days away and Endhorg felt conflicting emotions wrack his simple and brutish brain. At times it would be too much and wails of rage would escape the warrior and some expensive treasure would meet its end. Fuming, Endhorg sat in a luxuriously embroidered chair, rubbed his temples and tried to sort it all out.

Visions of the fair Gwindaelin haunted him and he saw her once again, singing before Lord Almavar’s hearth, a delicate Dale-land flower. Feelings of longing gripped the militarily minded warrior, feelings that had been wholly foreign to him before. He wanted to rise up and storm the palace and claim the lovely maiden for his own, and woe to any that stood in his path. But then, as he looked around his palatial estate, at the trophies of battle and items of fatherly affection, feelings of intense loyalty rose up in direct opposition, and he was unsure once more.

Finally, when he could take it no more, Endhorg arose and made his way to a park that lay between his house and the palace, hoping that the fresh air might clear his thoughts. All his life, he had aspired for nothing but military might, to have towns and armies tremble at the mere rumor of his approach, fleeing before the strength of his arms. And in service to his father, he had attained this and with his aid had become an invincible and unstoppable force. As he walked the cobbled pathways, he thought on all that father and son had attained and with a deep breath made his decision. Let Vasper have his prize, she seemed happy with him. Why should one woman affect him so? Mind seemingly made up, he made his way back to his house when a sweet sound came to his ears.

As he looked up at one of the palace windows, he saw Gwindaelin and all his resolve melted away. She was beautiful in the moonlight and sang a song of love and longing that pierced his heart to its core. Their eyes met and she smiled at him, but Endhorg could see that there was a sadness in that smile. He made to call to her, but she placed her finger to her lips and motioned behind her and he was silent. There Endhorg realized, was the bedroom of the High Lord and he watched as Gwindaelin suddenly disappeared behind the curtain. He made to turn away, but she returned briefly and Endhorg saw as she waved good-bye, a piece of parchment drift from the window and land at his feet.

Endhorg picked up the parchment and looked up to the window, but Gwindaelin was gone and all he saw was the curtain fluttering in the breeze. On the parchment, written in fine lines, was an invitation to meet in that very park before the festivities of the dance. Nothing else was said, but at the bottom of the note was an impression of lip rouge and the words ‘My Love’. Endhorg stared at the words for a long time and uncertainty crept back once more into his mind. Quietly, he found his way back to his house and laid down to troubled dreams.

Meanwhile in the palace, where activity ran high in preparations for the dance, a different game was being played by the servant girl Gwen. Ever was she with the High Lord, charming and enticing, and Vasper’s greed for her was stoked to full flame. Often would she sing to him, and as her musical voice lifted to the ceiling, all thoughts of his domain would slip from the High Lord’s mind. Lord Almavar was often at the palace as well, under pretence of assisting with the party, and occupied the High Lord’s time with trivial matters, and the warnings of his spies went unheeded. They spoke of rumors that Meragil and his band were on the move again, but Vasper dismissed them as Gwindaelin entranced him with another song.

Soon the day of the dance arrived and activity at the palace reached a fury as High Lord Morianart oversaw the final preparations. Servants ran quickly from place to place, as Vasper barked out orders, not wishing to earn the wrath of the High Lord who was in a particularly excited state. As the day wore on, the stables began to fill with the horses and carriages of the rich merchant families who comprised the city’s nobility. The air was charged with excitement as the guests began to arrive, and both supporters of the High Lord and those who only feigned support out of fear, were amazed at the lavishness of the proceedings.

The nobles and their wives entered the palace, dressed in their finest and gave their obedience to High Lord Morianart before partaking in the feast he had prepared. The musicians struck up the music and food was brought out and laid overflowing on the tables as the dance began.

And there was the High Lord, high upon his throne, reveling in it all. Gwindaelin was nowhere to be seen, Vasper had planned to bring her out towards the end of the dance as his final attraction. Lord Almavar stood by his side and the High Lord asked his advisor to see if Gwindaelin was ready and to inquire as to the whereabouts of his son, who had not arrived yet.

Almavar nodded and left the main room as the nobles danced and whirled around. He came back after a time in a flustered and frantic state and Vasper wondered at his advisor’s countenance as Almavar whispered something into his ear. Curiosity turned to anger and the High Lord bolted off of his throne and made his way to the park outside his palace.

There Endhorg paced the cobblestone pathways nervously. A rustling of leaves made him turn and there was fair Gwindaelin, radiant and beautiful. She rushed at him, her gown trailing behind her and wrapped her arms around his large frame. Haltingly he placed his hands around the delicate girl, a surge of conflicting emotions warring inside him as she looked up with wide tear-stained eyes.

“Oh! How I have missed you,” she proclaimed, burying her head in his chest. “I have been so lost without you.”

Endhorg tried to master himself. “You have seemed happy enough with the High Lord, at least by all accounts,” Endhorg managed dryly though he said it with difficulty.

“It is all for show my love,” she professed earnestly. “I have seen what the High Lord does to Ladies-in-waiting who displease him, and feared for my life. But my heart has always been with you I assure you.”

Endhorg knew as well what Vasper did with disobedient servants and sickened at the thought of that fate befalling Gwindaelin. He placed his giant arms around her more assuredly and dreamed once again of running off with her. She snuggled against him tighter and the feel of her body and the smell of her hair quite disabled the normally stoic warrior.

“TRAITOR!” a roar came that startled the two, and there at the edge of the clearing stood Vasper Morianart. He was apoplectic with rage and approached Endhorg and Gwen menacingly. He seethed at his adopted son, jabbing his fingers up into the warrior’s barrel chest.

“I have given you the world and laid treasures beyond count at your feet, and THIS is how you repay me?” Vasper fumed angrily at Endhorg, who shrank before the fury of his father. “Baseborn child, how dare you presume to touch what is rightfully mine? Where would you be without me? A giant oaf, swinging his axe and fighting drunks at lake-side taverns for pittance! I made you what you are!” With that Vasper grabbed Gwindaelin roughly from Endhorg’s side and flung her to the ground behind him.

This proved too much for Endhorg who roared mightily, shaking the trees around them. He grabbed the High Lord and lifted his vast bulk as if he were a child, and Vasper’s look changed from anger to fear as he looked into the murderous eyes of his son.

“Baseborn child am I? Giant Oaf?” Endhorg raged. “Where would you be without ME? You viper, you serpent!” Endhorg tightened his grip and Vasper squealed. “Do you think you hold Riverwatch with your riches and wiles alone? I assure you father that when the nobles cower before your commands it is with visions of ME that keep them in line. How many revolts would have overtaken you, and left you for dead with a dagger in your bulbous back if I did not protect you?” Vasper hissed but this only made Endhorg angrier and he slammed Morianart against a nearby tree, knocking the air out of him.

“And even if I am guilty of what you accuse me of, what of it?” Endhorg continued. “I am Endhorg the Fierce, mightiest of men and it is by my hands that you hold Riverwatch in your grasp.” Vasper squirmed and reached behind his back and then quick as a snake, stabbed at Endhorg with a dagger that he kept hidden there. But Endhorg was quicker and turned the blade in Vasper’s wrist and plunged it into the High Lord’s chest in his anger. Thus fell Vasper Morianart, High Lord of Riverwatch, slain by his adopted son.

Gwen held her hands over her mouth, aghast at the violence of the scene. Endhorg stood over the body of Vasper Morianart, whose life’s blood stained the grass, his face a mixture of uncertainty and shock. Vasper had been a father to him, and he had loved him as he had loved no one else in his life. As his temper subsided and he came to grips with what he had just done, the weight of it threatened to crush him, mighty as he was. A commotion broke him out of his thoughts and two soldiers ran frantically to where Endhorg and Gwindaelin stood.

“Commander Endhorg!” one of them yelled and then stopped and stared with horror at the body of the High Lord on the ground.

Endhorg turned his head slowly and snarled at the soldier, “What is it?” But the soldier just stood frozen in fear. Endhorg felt his temper rise again, “WHAT IS IT?”

The soldier stammered frightfully, “The palace is…is…under attack Commander. Mer..Merigal!”

For Almavar’s servant had reached the mercenary commander and read his message and summons. It was welcome news to Meragil who had been looking for weeks for a way to penetrate Riverwatch’s defenses without risking an open battle outside the walls with its famed commander. Almavar’s note had included timetables and patrol routes and the date of the dance as the best time to strike directly at the palace. He wished to severe the head of the snake with as little risk to the populace as possible and Merigal concurred.

With the aid of Lord Almavar, Merigal and his band had infiltrated the palace and silenced the gate guards with skill and efficiency. It wasn’t until they were deep inside and had secured the main hall that their presence set the alarm bells off and there was battle in the palace. But Merigal’s adventurers were the victor and with the nobles’ safety assured. Merigal took a couple of his trusted companions and sought to bring the High Lord to justice.

Endhorg heard the sounds of a melee that was getting closer and he sent off the two messengers while he prepared himself for battle. Unstrapping his lethal two-handed battle axe from his back, he flexed and stretched his muscles as the sounds of fighting closed in. He sent Gwindaelin back inside for safety, and it was Endhorg alone besides the body of his slain father, that Merigal Quickblade found when he arrived.

His bearing was proud and stern for one his age, with a thick mustache that flowed down past his chin and hawk-like eyes that could pierce like daggers. Hard but just, Merigal inspired loyalty in his men and fear in his foes and no one who met him, ever forgot his imposing presence. In one arm he held a longsword that he used with masterful skill and in the other arm a curious shield. It was shaped like a multi-pronged star and in the center was embossed the image of a lone mountain and Merigal used it to devastating effect.

“Endhorg, so called the Fierce.” Merigal announced. “I am here to make you and Vasper Morianart answer for your crimes against the people of Riverwatch.” Merigal looked down and noticed the body of the High Lord. “But I see that half of my job is already taken care of.”

But Endhorg only laughed and brought himself up to his full height and frame. “So the pup has finally shown himself has he,” Endhorg sneered and flexed his large muscled arms. “Come Merigal Quickblade, let us see who is the greatest warrior in the Dale-lands once and for all. For I am Endhorg the Fierce, mighty and unbeatable. And I will slay you as I’ve slain many other would be heroes.”

“We shall see,” Merigal said simply with determination, nodding in salute.

So began the duel between Merigal Quickblade and Endhorg the Fierce. Tales and songs were written about that conflict, and many a Dale-land boy later mimicked the fight in their play. The giant Endhorg swung his mighty battle axe with skill and power, rending large gashes and dents in the trees of the park, and Merigal was hard pressed at times to avoid decapitation. But Endhorg was equally put to it by the speed and smooth mastery of Merigal’s blade as the hawk-eyed hero blended sword and shield in a graceful dance of death. Furiously the conflict moved back and forth across the park and both combatants knew that they were in the presence of an equal. But finally Merigal drew first blood, and with a brilliant double feint, cut the wrist of Endhorg’s ax arm.

Endhorg stared at the wound in shock. It had been years since any blade or arrow had harmed him, and he knew in that moment that Vasper Morianart’s dark protection was no longer with him. The cut was not great but Endhorg knew from seasoned experience that it would hamper him more over time, and against a foe like Merigal, it would prove deadly. With a roar Endhorg swung his axe in a wide arc, forcing Merigal back before retreating deeper into the park with Merigal in pursuit.

A guard lay dead on the ground, his horse standing near him and Endhorg mounted the steed and made off towards the gates of the city. But Merigal picked up the dead man’s spear and with a long distance throw that would be regaled in song, fatally pierced Endhorg in the side and the giant warrior slumped forward and was carried from the battle.

After the defeat of their commander, the rest of Vasper’s forces were quickly overcome and those nobles who were known to be friendly with the High Lord were driven from the city. Cheers and celebrations broke out everywhere at the news of the death of the tyrant and Merigal and his band were treated as saviors and liberators. Lord Almavar was voted Lord Protector of Riverwatch though he made a point to give credit to his lovely servant girl whenever possible.

The modest Gwen was overwhelmed with her newfound celebrity and would blush furiously whenever her part in the events was brought up. She quietly disappeared into the confines of Lord Almavar’s estate, preferring to let her master and the warrior Merigal receive the adulation of the crowd.

As for Merigal and his band, soon they left for other places and adventures, not content to be idle for long. In time, Merigal would return and long would he serve as Lord Protector, and Riverwatch knew peace and prosperity for years and years. Eventually he would have a son, who would seek to make his own mark on the world. But that . . . is another story.

Mericc finished his tale as the last embers of the fire burned low. He looked off towards the north, where long leagues still remained between him and his home of Riverwatch.

“A fine tale to be sure”, Aqualondo said finally with a smile. “I shall only assume that the son sits before me at this very moment.”

“Aye”, Mericc replied, his eyes still looking northward. “Though what mark he will leave has yet to be seen.”

The Elf laughed lightly. “Well he will have to leave it in the morning for it is getting late. Get some rest while I go scout out tomorrow’s path. “

Mericc nodded and laid down to sleep. Visions of his childhood home flitted through his memory and he thought, if he listened hard enough, that he heard the soft singing of a beautiful voice, caught in the night-time breeze.

 

 

“Greetings High Lord Morianart,” Gwindaelin spoke with dulcet tones, curtseying low. “The splendor of your court is spoken of all the way in Dale, though I see now that they are but images of the truth.” With a smile she finished, eyes shining like starlight, and resumed her place at Lord Almavar’s side.

Vasper leaned forward on his throne, still enraptured with the pleasing creature before him. The supports of his great seat groaned under his weight as he bowed on his throne, flattered by Gwindaelin’s greeting. Lustful thoughts flitted through his mind as he gazed at his advisor’s daughter, but he disassembled them and returned her fair greeting.

“The splendor of my court pales in comparison to the splendor of Lord Almavar’s daughter, whose countenance outshines the brightest jewels of the earth. The rumors spoke truly that Lord Almavar had a treasure in his household.” Gwindaelin beamed and gave a polite nod as Vasper looked to his advisor. “I had not known that you had a daughter Lord Almavar and I am sure I would have heard of such a beautiful young lady before.”

Lord Almavar responded, “She has been living in Dale with relatives of mine for some years getting her education. If I had not mentioned it before it is merely because matters here in Riverwatch have occupied all of my thoughts these past years and the subject had never been brought up.”

High Lord Morianart drank from his large flagon of wine and wiped his lips, his eyes fixed on Gwindaelin. “Yes, I suppose I have kept you quite busy Lord Almavar, perhaps you have earned some time to rest and recuperate from matters of state. But I am curious, how comes it that the pretty lady was so close at hand?”

“Ahhhh, well,” Lord Almavar began. “My daughter has been so enamored with the stories I have told her about the magnificence of the High Lord’s court and the benevolence of High Lord Morianart himself that she wished me to present her as a potential Lady-in-waiting at the first opportunity.”

Vasper smiled absurdly, the flames of lust rekindled in his dark heart as he looked down on the pretty girl who blushed crimson under his gaze. “Is that so? Well I would be delighted to have such a lovely young lady at my side if it pleases her. There are many tasks at court and I am sure we can find something befitting her particular talents.” Lord Almavar felt his stomach clench, he knew quite well what tasks Vasper gave to his female servants, and it took all of his inner fortitude and discipline to not show the disgust he was feeling. He regretted now the path he had set his servant Gwen on and would have considered scuttling his plans if they were not already too deep in.

“Then it is settled then,” Lord Almavar managed finally. “I will make the preparations and present her officially at the palace tomorrow. Gwindaelin is quite the songbird, I am sure the High Lord will be pleased with her.” With that the two of them bowed low and departed and Vasper watched the young girl with greedy eye as she disappeared through the door.

The next day Gwindaelin was officially presented as a Lady-in-waiting to the court and proceeded to charm the High Lord with her singing and graceful demeanor. Never was she far from his side and often she would sit at the foot of his throne as he attended to Riverwatch’s business. There he would he run his fingers through her hair lecherously and make lewd comments as she gazed up to him affectionately as her Lord. It was in just such a position that she sat when Endhorg returned from his mission days later.

Endhorg was in a sour mood when he entered the palace doors and attendants gave the large warrior a wide berth. The hunt for Meragil Quickblade and his band of mercenaries had been fruitless and Endhorg and his soldiers had found nothing but rumors of their passing. Endhorg longed for battle and to prove himself to everyone once and for all that he was the greatest warrior in the Dale-lands. It gnawed at him that anyone would think some young upstart like Meragil could defeat him and it was with a surly grunt that he pushed open the doors to the palace’s main room.

Inside he found his adopted father, chuckling and giving his attention to a girl that Endhorg did not at first recognize. But as his presence became known, Vasper grinned at his son, greeted him and showed off the girl at his side. As she lifted her head and Endhorg became aware of her, he stared with wide eyed shock at the woman that Lord Almavar promised would be his. His discipline almost broke down but he managed to maintain his composure as Gwindaelin shot him a quick sad look. Morianart misinterpreted his son’s expression and laughed with glee.

“Quite the little prize is she not?” Vasper Chortled. “Newly acquired from Lord Almavar.”

Endhorg jaw clenched and he stared hard at the girl who averted her eyes so as not to meet his gaze. He knew as much as Almavar, what Vasper did with the ladies of his court. “Very nice,” he responded. In his mind his rage was building and he wanted nothing more than to hunt down Lord Almavar and get revenge for the insult and effrontery of the merchant noble. But stone-faced he gave his report and High Lord Morianart frowned mightily upon hearing that Merigal had slipped from his son’s grasp.

“Troubling news indeed, my son,” Riverwatch’s tyrant said. “But Merigal will show his nose eventually and when he does, we shall cut it off and hang his body from the palace walls as a warning to other aspiring heroes.” Endhorg nodded with barely controlled anger as Vasper laid his hand upon Gwindaelin. “In the mean time I would like to host a dance with my newly acquired Lady-in-waiting as the main attraction. She is quite the singer and I want all the nobles and their families to be there to admire my latest treasure’s talent.”

Endhorg nodded his assent and dismissed himself from the High Lord’s presence. His rage had reached a boiling point and he quickly mounted his steed and made his way to Lord Almavar’s residence. Lord Almavar heard a loud banging on his door but before he could react, the hinges were shattered and the doors were flung open haphazardly and he stared terrified as the massive giant stood enraged upon the threshold. Before Almavar could speak, Endhorg, his face red in anger, grabbed the merchant and flung him up against the wall. Lord Almavar feared for his life as the bloodshot eyes of the deadly warrior stared him down.

“I should kill you now foolish little man,” Endhorg fumed. “How DARE you give your daughter over to High Lord Morianart after promising her to me. Did you think that such an insult would go unpunished?” The muscles of the great man bulged as he held Almavar clear off the ground and Almavar winced in pain as he was slammed again against the wall.

“It was not my idea!” Almavar managed to gasp when he had caught his breath. “The High Lord takes what he pleases, you know this none better. When he heard rumor of my daughter, he sent for her and before I could protest, the deed was done and she was made a Lady of his court.”

Endhorg eased his grip slightly as he considered Almavar’s words. He knew indeed the possessive greed of his adopted father. How many lands had he helped seize in his name? How many farmer’s daughters had he made off with that had caught the High Lord’s eye to become nothing more than toys for his insatiable, lustful appetite? Images of Vasper’s bed and of fair Gwindaelin upon it haunted him as he looked at the frightened man’s neck held firmly in his hands. Endhorg needed time to think. Unceremoniously he dumped Almavar on the ground and the noble crumpled on the floor, gasping for air. The giant warrior left without a word, pushing what was left of Almavar’s door away before heading off to consider how he would next act.

Lord Almavar lay on the floor and caught his breath as his servants came out of hiding and attended to him. He was still in a state of shock at how close he had come to death at Endhorg’s hands and thanked the gods that the deadly warrior had not acted before he could speak. Almavar drank a glass of wine to calm his frazzled nerves as he summoned one of his trusted servants to his side.

“This is very important and must be done as secretly as possible,” he confided to his servant. “Ride out and see if you can get word to Merigal Quickblade or one of his people and give him a message. Be careful for the spies of Vasper Morianart are all around” Lord Almavar whispered his message and the servant nodded before departing. His plan was approaching its conclusion and Almavar brushed himself off and collected his thoughts as night came on.

The former servant girl, turned Gwindaelin, stood before the barrel-chested brute, the power of her song holding him in her sway. She sang before them both, unbeatable warrior and noble lord, but Endhorg noticed that her eyes were for him alone. With a smile she captivated him and the great man, who had spent his life in martial pursuits, found the flames of desire lit within him. Behind him stood Lord Almavar, one hand on the soldier’s shoulder, watching with approval at the effect Gwen’s song was having on Vasper Morianart’s adopted son. Finally Gwindaelin ended her song, the world came back into focus, and Endhorg came out of his deep thoughts.

“That was excellent my dear Gwindaelin,” Lord Almavar finally spoke. “What say you, Endhorg?”

Endhorg’s look fell upon the girl and she blushed beneath his gaze though her eyes still sparkled coyly at him. “I think Lord Almavar that I spoke rashly before. A treasure you have in your household and no mere jewel.” Gwindaelin curtseyed with a bright smile and nodded her approval at the compliment.

“I quite agree Sir,” Lord Almavar said with a grin. “But now this treasure must go to bed for tomorrow will be a busy one for her.”

Gwindaelin laughed soft and gaily and curtseyed a final time before the two men. Endhorg watched her leave and noticed as she turned that her eyelashes fluttered playfully, as she stole a final glance at him, before she disappeared into the connecting corridor.

Lord Almavar watched Gwindaelin go as well and inwardly marveled at the skill she showed in playing her part. Almost he hesitated to open the next moves in the game, moves that must be delicately played if they were to succeed. But there was no turning back now and with a deep breath he turned his attention back to the dangerous man before him and motioned towards the table.

“Shall we continue our celebration Sir?” he spoke.

“I am afraid not,” Endhorg responded. “It is late and I must get back to the High Lord and make my report.”

“Of course, of course,” Almavar nodded cordially. “But before you go, might I lay a problem before you that has vexed me since my daughter’s return?”

Endhorg looked to the corridor where Gwindaelin had exited, the fires that she had stoked still simmering in his heart. “If it does not take too long, I suppose I can wait to hear.”

“Well,” Lord Almavar began. “My daughter is a grown woman now and it is high time that she find herself a husband. But most of the sons in the other merchant families are either already spoken for or have sons that I consider unsuitable for my daughter’s hand. I could send inquiries to Dale, but I am rather fond of Gwindaelin and would hate to match her to someone who lives so far off.”

“I do not see how I can help you there,” Endhorg responded. “I am only a soldier; the dealings of noble families are unknown to me.”

“Ahhhh, but you can help me,” Lord Almavar said with a knowing look. “The eyes of a father are not blind and I saw the sparks that flew between the two of you. Gwindaelin has never blushed so much and so fervently; I am sure that she was quite taken with you.” Endhorg’s eyes widened and Almavar knew that his words were striking the mark. “It is high time that you found yourself a wife as well, and I believe that the union would be beneficial for us both.”

Endhorg was dumbstruck and the man who had faced down countless heroes without a trace of fear, felt a catch in his throat as the implications of Lord Almavar’s request hit him. The flames of desire in him were relit at the thought that the woman, who had so suddenly ensnared his heart, might become his. Finally, with slow tongue, he managed to regain his voice.

“I am flattered by the generosity of your proposal and happily agree,” Endhorg managed, fumbling with the words.

“Splendid!” Lord Almavar beamed slapping the back of the giant man. “Give me a week to make some arrangements and then we will see to the wedding. I am a glad father this night for the problem of my daughter’s marriage was beginning to trouble me greatly. I thank you, Sir.”

“No, I thank you Lord Almavar,” Endhorg responded with a bow. “And now I must take my leave. Good night to you.” With that Almavar escorted the warrior to the door and watched as he mounted his horse and headed off towards the High Lord’s estate. Lord Almavar took a deep breath, the first part of his plan complete. After a time he summoned one of his faithful servants to his side and spoke to him in a whisper.

“I want you to go to the High Lord’s estate tomorrow and pass the rumor amongst his servants that a treasure has been found in Lord Almavar’s house. One that might be of interest to High Lord Morianart.” The servant nodded in understanding and with a final look towards Vasper’s palace, Lord Almavar went to bed.

Meanwhile, the gate guards at the palace of the High Lord parted as the massive Endhorg approached the gates. Inside he found Vasper, lounging on a luxuriously decorated divan, and lazily drinking from a goblet of the finest wine. One of his many servant girls was feeding him grapes from a bronze plate and doing her best to discreetly avoid Vasper’s lewd looks and comments towards her. Upon seeing his son, he lifted his portly form from its repose and shooed his servant girls away.

Endhorg made his report and High Lord Morianart listened gleefully as his son told him of his routing of the rebellious nobles and assured him that he would have no trouble from that quarter for some time. Vasper asked him about his lateness but Endhorg only replied that Lord Almavar had gotten word of his arrival first and held a banquet in his honor. Endhorg did not know why he left out mention of Gwindaelin and his promised marriage but he felt that for now, the image of that beautiful girl was his alone, and his father was a greedy and possessive man.

But thoughts of Gwindaelin would have to wait, for Morianart had another task for his son. The High Lord had heard troubling news that threatened his position in Riverwatch and he wanted Endhorg to ride out to investigate. A band of mercenaries for hire, lead by one Merigal Quickblade, had heard rumor of Riverwatch’s troubles and spies had spotted them making inquiries in some of the townships to the north. Their leader had become somewhat famous over the past couple years as a swordsman of great skill and valor, winning every contest of swordsmanship that he entered. What he lacked in years, he made up for with a determination of spirit that was unsurpassed and tales of his band’s exploits had been heard far and wide.

Endhorg scoffed and assured the High Lord that the ‘pup’ was no threat and that he had heard word of this Meragil Quickblade and was not impressed. But to assuage his father’s concerns he would go and investigate and if he found Merigal there, that he would strike him down with ease. Vasper laughed wickedly at his son and was satisfied. They went down into the deepest room of the palace and Vasper Morianart performed dark magic of protection over his son, shielding him from blade and arrow. Black smoke could be seen, lifting from the rooftop of the palace and the observant knew that trouble would come of it.

The next day after Endhorg rode out, Almavar’s servant performed the part he had been given well and word reached the High Lord of Almavar’s great treasure. Lord Almavar was summoned and with Gwindaelin by his side, he entered the palace grounds. Before reaching the doors to the Great Hall, Almavar told Gwindaelin to wait off to the side while he spoke with the High Lord of Riverwatch.

“Ahhhhh, Lord Almavar!” Morianart opened his arms wide and beckoned his advisor too him. “So good to see you. Come in my good man, come in.” Almavar gave a formal bow and approached Riverwatch’s tyrant. Vasper asked his advisor about various mundane matters of state and Lord Almavar performed his official duties before the High Lord got to the real point of the summoning.

“I have heard word that you have recently come into possession of a treasure of incredible value and worth,” Vasper asked with a gleam in his eyes. “Are the rumors true?”

“They are High Lord Morianart, though perhaps not the kind of treasure you are thinking of,” Almavar said. “In fact, if you wish, I can show you that treasure now?”

“By all means,” Vasper responded with a greedy look and Lord Almavar clapped his hands and told one of the High Lord’s servants to bring the ‘treasure’ that had come with him.

Soon Gwindaelin entered the room, dressed more radiantly than before. A necklace of great worth, an heirloom of Almavar’s family, graced her neck and many other pieces of his family’s jewelry enhanced her natural beauty. As she walked towards the two men, she sparkled and shone and her smile lit the room far more than either jewel or firelight could. High Lord Morianart gripped the armrests of his throne tightly, almost unable to control the greedy thoughts that took hold of him. Almavar presented his daughter to the High Lord and Gwindaelin bowed gracefully and greeted Vasper in her musical voice.

 

Stars wheeled overhead as the noble man approached the source of the weeping in his garden. As he brushed away hanging strands of flowers and leaves, he came upon a man-made pond that sat at the center of the garden. By the waterside he found one of his servant girls, staring into the lily-pad laden pond with tears upon her face. As he approached, she turned and seeing her master, she quickly rose and brushed herself off; her cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. Lord Almavar smiled and held his palm up reassuringly once he recognized the source of the weeping.

Her name was Gwen, born into Lord Almavar’s household from one of his families of long time servants. She had grown up knowing nothing of the world beyond the sizable estates and lands of her master and of the town of Riverwatch to which they belonged. Lord Almavar favored her and treated her kindly, so as she blossomed into a lovely young woman, she grew to love her master and served him faithfully. Often she would entertain her Lord’s family with singing that was both piercingly keen and poignantly sweet, lifting the cares of the world from their shoulders, a flower in the gloom. For this, Almavar sheltered her from the unsavory elements of the town and the wicked men in service to Vasper Morianart.  Due to his protection, though she was a servant, her life was good and she was content.

“What are you doing here Gwen, and why were you weeping?” Lord Almavar asked as the servant girl brushed leaves and grass from her plain-spun dress. Gwen looked down deferentially, cheeks still flushed as she answered haltingly.

“Your servant saw her master walking in the garden with a troubled brow and wished to follow,” she began. “Often he has come here in recent years with heavy heart. When I saw you beat your head against yon tree, I grew distressed and wanted badly to heal whatever thoughts plagued my lord so.” Gwen wiped a tear from her eyes and continued, “But I was afraid to disturb you Lord and knew not what I could do to help in any way, so I fled to this pond and began to weep in my sadness.”

Lord Almavar smiled tenderly and wiped her face with his fingers. “Ahh, my little songbird, you are a dear one and I appreciate the sentiment. But I am afraid that there is not much anyone can do in these dark times, be he great or small.”

Gwen buried her head in his chest, fresh sobs welling up inside her. “Your servant only wishes that there was something she could do, for her lord has been so kind to her and treats her and all his servants well. Often we hear stories of the cruelties of some of the other lords and the High Lord most of all. We give thanks that we serve your family instead, for you are just and fair and gentle in your dealings.”

As he held her reassuringly, this faithful and good-hearted girl, Lord Almavar had a thought that disturbed and intrigued him. Could it be that here, in this garden of repose, he found what he had been looking for? Could the fate of the town truly rest in the hands of one so gentle and frail? Might a servant girl accomplish what so many great warriors and Lords could not and could he even ask it of her? With his hand he lifted her chin and looked into Gwen’s eyes and wondered. She could almost be a daughter of his, this jewel of a servant girl, and he struggled with the idea of losing her. For the plan that he now had would put them both in danger, and her most of all, but finally he decided that he would leave it up to her. Almavar cleared his throat and stepped back, his decision made while the servant girl looked at her master curiously.

“Perhaps you can be of service Gwen, and not just to your master, but to all of Riverwatch and the good people in it.” Lord Almavar placed his hands on her shoulders and looked at her gravely. “It will be perilous and I lay this on you with much trepidation, for if we fail, it will likely end with death for the both of us. But, if we succeed, the people of Riverwatch will sing our praises for years to come.”

The servant girl considered the gravity of what her lord was asking of her as he told her of the plan that he now had. She bit her lip and stood long in silence and Lord Almavar was certain that she would refuse. But finally with a deep breath Gwen spoke, “My Lord is wise and his servant spoke truly when she spoke of his generosity of spirit towards his family and servants. She also spoke truly when she said she would do anything to help. I do not know if I am worthy or capable of such a task, but if my master wishes it, I shall do as he commands.”

Lord Almavar looked down at his faithful servant, his delicate flower, and smiled. “Then let us make our plans and the Gods willing, release us from the hands of those who oppress us. Come Gwen”, he beckoned. “Let us get you ready.”

Days later, Enhorg rode into Riverwatch with a troop of hand-picked soldiers. High Lord Morionart had gotten word of a coalition of nobles on the borders of Riverwatch’s reach who were plotting to break away. But the loose-knit band of mercenaries and retainers were no match for the deadly skill of the powerful man and many fell before the might of his terrible battle-axe. The sorceries of Vasper Morionart kept both blade and arrow from him and his martial prowess did the rest.  Soon the rebellious lords were brought to heel. As he stabled his horse, one of his soldiers brought him an invitation from Lord Almavar, wishing to hold a private celebration for Endhorg’s most recent triumph. As he approached Lord Almavar’s residence in the city, he was greeted with open arms by the noble himself.

“Well met Endhorg! News of your recent success reached my ears this morning. I trust matters are under control now?” Almavar asked cordially, ushering the large warrior into his home.

The warrior nodded with a grunt, “They are, and I doubt we will have trouble from that quarter for some time now. It is a shame that the lessons of Lord Malahar were not learned.” Lord Almavar averted his eyes not wishing Endhorg to see the pain that etched his face over his lost friend. After a moment, he recovered.

“Yes, a regrettable situation. I tried to warn Lord Malahar of rash action but he was always a lord of temperamental nature.” Almavar said, shaking his head. “But enough of such thoughts, my wife has overseen a lovely private dinner for us in honor of your victory.” He led the large man into his dining room where Endhorg exchanged formal pleasantries with the noble’s wife before she left the two great men to the feast on what the family’s servants had laid out for them. Wine flowed freely and Endhorg gave his approval for the bounty of Lord Almavar’s table, a welcome boon to a warrior returned recently from battle. The servants made sure that the warrior’s cup remained filled as the two men discussed matters well into the evening. Almavar lifted his cup in toast to Vasper’s adopted son.

“Cheers to Endhorg, rightly called The Fierce,” Almavar spoke. “For who in all the lands can stand before his might and not tremble?” Endhorg raised his cup in salute and Almavar continued. “It is a happy day for me, for not only has the great Endhorg returned from another excursion protecting Riverwatch’s interests, but my daughter Gwindaelin has returned after many years amongst my relatives in Dale.”

“I had never heard that you had a daughter, Lord Almavar,” Endhorg remarked.

“Her mother felt that her education could be more greatly served in Dale.” Almavar responded. “I have exchanged letters with her often since then and it is only just this week that she has returned after years away. She is a lovely young woman and if you would like good sir, I shall introduce her to you?” Endhorg nodded gratefully and servants were sent to summon Gwindaelin hither.

Soon she arrived and Enhorg looked approvingly on her beauty and even Lord Almavar found his breath caught in his throat. She was dressed in a gown of green and gold interlaced with cleverly wrought tiny gems that sparkled in the firelight. Her dark hair was tied up in a fashion popular among Dalish noble women, tresses falling in pleasing curls down around her ears and the back of her neck.

Gracefully, she approached the two men with a bright smile and with a melodious voice, delightful to the ears, she spoke. “You summoned me father. Has the feast ended already?” She asked, her gaze falling on the massive Endhorg. “But I see our guest is still here. Greetings, good Sir. It is a pleasure to meet the fine warrior that my father has spoken so much about.” With that the servant girl turned Gwindaelin, curtseyed low, her eyes never leaving those of Endhorg’s.

Endhorg got up and bowed stiffly. “The pleasure is mine, Lady. I had not heard that Lord Almavar kept such a jewel hidden in his household.” Gwindaelin blushed and smiled, giving him another curtsey in response.

Lord Almavar laughed and laid an arm around Gwindaelin in fatherly affection. “My daughter is quite the jewel I agree and as fine a singer as can be found in all the land. Come Gwindaelin, sing a song for our noble guest and then you should be off to bed.”

Gwindaelin gave Endhorg a shy look, and Lord Almavar led the mighty man to two great chairs that sat before the fireplace. Her cheeks flushed, Gwindaelin stood before them, radiant in the light of the fire. She opened her mouth and began to sing.  Endhorg found himself entranced and amazed at a voice so soft and sweet that yet carried within it a power that caught hold of his senses with its clarity and strength.