“Did I not tell you of the riddle? Oh? Well, I will tell you now. There was so much to do and so little time, I do not wonder that you feel ill-equipped to begin this journey. I thought I had told you.
“The riddle goes like this:
Over tooth and under claw wend your way with care.
When mountains sleep, sharp vigil keep, you shall see the way most clear.
When you hear laughter among the clouds and see a curtain made of glass
Take no care for hand nor hair, or you shall surely never pass.
Part the curtain, divide the thunder and seek the narrow way;
Give day for night and withhold the light
And you have won the day.”
“It sounds simple enough,” said Quentin. “Where did you find it?”
“That we shall see. I am certain that it will seem more than difficult enough when the time comes to unravel its meaning. As to where I found it, you should know that already.”
“How so?”
“At Dekra. That is where I discovered most of what little I know of this affair. Yeseph himself translated it for me.”
“He never told me about it.”
“Why should he? It was years ago, and I was a pestering young man digging through his library like a mole. I chanced upon the riddle in a book which made mention of the mines of the Ariga.”
“Those are the mines we seek?”
Durwin nodded. “You see, the blade is to be made of lanthanil.”
“The stone which glows,” said Toli. “My people have heard of it. It is said that of old the Ariga gave gifts of glowing stones to the Jher for their friendship in the time of the white death. Whoever touched the stone was healed and made whole. They were called Khoen Navish-the Healing Stones.”
“Yes, that at least I have heard of, too. But I assumed that like much of the lore of the Ariga, the lanthanil had passed from this earth.”
“I think not, though we shall see,” Durwin said. “The Most High will show us aright. We must remember that it is he who guides us to his own purpose. We need not fret ourselves overmuch about the things we cannot foresee. The things we see too well will require our utmost attention, I have no doubt.”
Theido and Ronsard, with a force of three hundred mounted knights behind them, rode southward as fast as their coursers could take them. They wanted to reach their rendezvous with Lord Wertwin on the third day and then undertake to engage the enemy before he had a chance to travel very much further and strengthen himself on the spoils of Mensandor.
At midday on the third day they reached the prearranged place of meeting. The knights dismounted and walked the wide greensward while they waited for Wertwin’s army to arrive. Squires in attendance watered the horses and saw to their masters’ armor; some polished breastplates and repainted devices erased by use, others set up their sharpening stones to hone blades long unused, and the smiths at their wagons pounded out dents in helm and brassard upon their anvils.
The day was filled with the clatter of an army looking to its armament. Theido and Ronsard had withdrawn under a shady branch to await their comrade. Ronsard dozed, and Theido paced while the afternoon came on in full.
“He has not come yet?” asked a sleepy Ronsard as he rose to his feet, stretching.
“No, and I am beginning to wonder if we should send a scout ahead to see what may have become of him. He should have been here waiting for us. Instead it is we who wait for him, and he shows not.”
“I will send Tarkio ahead a little and see if he can discover what has become of our tardy friend. Perhaps it is nothing. You know it is no small task to mobilize a force of knights in a single day. He may have gotten a late start.”
“Let us hope that is what has happened,” said Theido. He did not need to mention the other explanation which came to his mind. Both of them knew what it was, and neither wanted to hear or believe it.
Ronsard sent a squire to fetch the knight, and they waited for the courier to ready himself. “You are wearing a path in the grass, brave sir. Your pacing has bared the earth.”
“I like this less and less, Ronsard. I do. Something has happened. I feel it here.” He smacked his fist against his flat stomach.
Ronsard stared at his dark friend. “Your instincts in the ways of battle are keen, sir. What would you have us to do?”
Before Ronsard could answer they heard a battle horn sound in the wood; it seemed to surround them as it blasted a note of alarm. They turned and looked out across the greensward and saw a knight on a charger come crashing out of the wood. They watched as one of their own apprehended the man; there was a wild waving of arms, and then the knight looked toward them and spurred his mount forward. In an instant he was pounding toward the spot where Theido and Ronsard waited.
“Noble knights, brave sirs! I come from Lord Wertwin,” the breathless soldier said as he flung himself from his saddle. “We were on our way here and were joined by the enemy…” He gulped air; sweat ran down his neck and into his tunic. His armor was battered and dashed with blood.
“How far?” asked Ronsard.
“No more than a league, sir,” the knight wheezed.
“What was the disposition of the rank when you were sent to find us?”
The knight shook his head slowly; his face was grave. “There is little hope. The enemy is strong, and there are many of them. My lord was surrounded on three sides, his back to the lake that lies at the edge of the forest.”
“There is no time to lose!” shouted Ronsard. “Marshal, sound the trumpet. We move at once!” He dashed to his charger and began shouting orders to the men who had gathered around to see what the commotion foretold.
In three heartbeats the greensward was a confusion of knights buckling on armor and clamoring into their saddles. Out of the chaos emerged a ready-mounted, fearsome host. Theido and Ronsard each took their places at the head of a column and the army moved off at a gallop, leaving the armorers and squires to load the wagons and follow along behind.
The dash of battle could be heard long before it was seen. The King’s forces dropped down the wooded slope into a broad grassy bowl, lumped over with green tufted hillocks, which formed the higher end of the lake’s basin. Once below the level of the lower trees they could see that the enemy had indeed surrounded Wenwin’s troops and were attempting to push them into the lake.
Theido and Ronsard ranged their army along the rim of the bowl and, when the knights were in position, sounded the attack. They came swooping down out of the wood and encompassed the field, driving straight into the thick of the enemy.
The startled Ningaal turned to meet this unexpected charge and found themselves blade to blade with a fresh foe. Ronsard half-expected that the sight of the King’s knights descending in numbers upon them would send the horde scattering into the wood, where they could be driven to earth like cattle.
But the warlord Gurd’s men were seasoned to battle. They dug in and met the flying charge head-on. Many Ningaal lost their lives in that first surge. But dauntless and seemingly immune to fear, those who survived the onslaught merely stepped over the bodies of their comrades and fought on.
Theido forced a passage through to the shoreline of the lake and struck toward where Wenwin labored in the thick of the bank. When Theido reached him, the brave commander’s horse’s hind legs were in the water. Several valiant knights, having been unsaddled, had drowned along the strand in shallow water, unable to right themselves.
The fallen were everywhere. The blood of friend and foe alike stained the gray shingle a rusty red.
Ronsard led his contingent around to the rear to begin a pinching action upon the enemy caught between Theido’s forces and his own. By sheer force of weight-the knights being mounted, and the enemy on foot-Ronsard was able to join Theido in short order, successfully dividing the Ningaal into two isolated halves.