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 The Solitary Arrow by Mack the Knife

   Part Twenty-Two

   While the citizens of Embalis were glad of the arrival of the Windy
Island Rangers, mood was somber this day, though as it was a day of
mourning.  The people greeted the newcomers with polite words, and with
generous smiles and warm embraces, but slight was the joviality in the
meeting.  The rangers, for their part, noticed this subdued mood and
restrained their natural exuberance.

   Thirty-two of the Rangers of Morrovale and seventy-five of the elven
guard and villagers had died.  A hundred and seven small pyramids of wood
were on the large field that had been the site of the battle.  They had
buried the, more than three hundred, traitors in the woods over three miles
from the village.  A geomancer had just opened a massive hole in the ground
and the bodies laid at the bottom of it, and then he had refilled it.  The
priests said a prayer over the Isolationists' bodies, but none of the
villagers mourned their passing, at least not in public.

   It was, by far, the largest funeral that the citizens of this village,
save a few who had fought on the Windy Isles, had ever seen.  Some of them
walked in silence among the pyramids of wood.  They read the parchment
attached to the foot of each, detailing the name and some part of the
history of each fallen.  The elves and men who moved among them were
reverential, and many wept.

   Seeing a widow of the battle being already comforted by a new lover
seemed odd, at least it seemed so to Harlen.  Yet, he saw the wisdom of it,
she now had someone who could comfort her, rather than forcing her to
endure it alone.  Her having a new lover did not diminish her love for her
former mate, but she could gain from the presence of someone who cared for
her now.  No few widowers were among the survivors, as many elven women had
manned the battle lines, as well, though not in the numbers that males had.
Some of these men also had new lovers with them, to help them in their time
of mourning.

   Some pyres had no survivors to mourn them, and some few families had
experienced no losses.  The members of that clan would attend to those with
no mourners, by showing their own respect in a form of a transferral.  They
repaid with their grief for the unmourned, their fortune for having no
losses of their own.  Clan Yavanaur was one such clan.  They took for their
`adopted' fallen a man of Morrovale.  A huntsman Harlen had known for some
time, but had never had a family, and had no one on the expedition into
Windir to mourn him.  His name was Kenik.

   Kenik had fallen in the initial charge, pierced through the heart by a
traitor's spear.  He had died in mere moments.  No one could aid him, any
normal elf, or even their skilled healers.

   A grim thought came to Harlen why elves used many piercing weapons in
warfare.  Their healing ability was of almost no use against deep
punctures, such as arrow, spear, or stabbing hyandai.  Weapons that impaled
were the deadliest things to elves, and they reflected it in their choice
of armaments.

   As Hyandai had explained, "No man who put himself in harm's way for us
will go without his proper remembrance.  His spirit is forever welcome in
Embalis." She gathered up her brother, sister, father, and Harlen, then she
escorted them to the pyre of Kenik.

   Wendy was with Tammer, who had lost a nephew in the battle, and mourned
alongside his own son, Padrick, whom Harlen had never known very well. 
Padrick had still come, though.  As had their fallen kin, Mallon.  An elven
girl, a scant twenty years of age was with them, wearing a long flowing
white gown.  She was to sing the dirge for Mallon.  Hyandai would do so for
Kenik.  Every pyre had a white-gowned elven maiden standing by it,
preparing to sing at the first touch of the sun on the horizon.

   They would sing until the sun had set, then the people would light the
fires.  It would be a massive inferno this night.  It would be visible,
reflected in the skies for miles.  Harlen, in his heart, hoped that the
traitors would see it and it might give them thought as to the death their
ways wrought.  Many remained.

   They were beaten and broken as an army, but they might still cause some
measure of trouble.  Reports from returning deep-forest scouts were
beginning to trickle in.  It seemed many of them were moving toward the
coast.  They hoped that there the Isolationists would take ship and leave
Windir.  Perhaps they would go to Starre Island, where they would be able
to live out their lives free of humans and other non-elven folk.  Or so
they hoped.

   Hyandai had spent the day asking other huntsmen about Kenik.  She, like
all the other singers of dirges this night, and regarded her duty with
serious solemnity, and was learning all she could regarding the man to whom
it was her part to dirge.  Harlen, himself, had spoken to over twenty other
elves.  The dirgers asked him what he knew of the fallen humans of the
battle.  All of the singers had been very diligent, and very serious.

   "I have never partaken of a mass dirge before, Harlen," said Hyandai,
looking around and wearing an expression of immense concern.

   Harlen smiled at her, and kissed her brow.  "You will sing perfectly, I
am sure," he said.  He had just watched Hyandai comfort the girl with
Tammer's party, who seemed to share similar concerns.  "I remember the
dirge you sang for Melanie, in Morrovale, and it was flawless."

   Hyandai smiled and nodded.  "I will do my best, then," she said,
sniffing back a tear.  The time was growing near, and the people were all
congregating to where they would be for the ceremony.

   It was not an organized thing, this mass dirge.  So they had told
Harlen, it was what occurred when the many related deaths faced a
community. They held all elven funerals at sunset, as was their tradition,
it symbolized the ending of a thing, and did so well.  They held many
Morrovalian funerals at such an hour, as well, for much the same reason.

   One voice rose, a distance from Hyandai's group, it climbed with
inexorable power into the darkening air and seemed somehow to fill the
entire valley.  Harlen looked toward the voice's origin and saw it was
another young elven girl, no more than twenty-five.  A lower toned voice
soon joined her clear soprano, but with equal power, from another
direction.

   They did not coach, nor tell the singers when to start.  They started
when they were ready.  It took almost two minutes for them to all begin
singing, and by then the sound of the dirge was staggering.  Harlen felt
his heart clench, as if steel bands were wrapped about it.  Tears stung his
eyes and started rolling down his cheeks.

   The lives cut short, the regrettable necessity of the battle, the people
whom their loved ones far away again would never see.  It struck Harlen as
unjust that he was happy now when so many would be sad for a long time. 
More than a hundred good men and women had passed to protect those
remaining.  These hundred and seven had stood before the enemy and paid in
their blood, the toll that fate demanded for the freedom and happiness. 
Did they begrudge it?

   No.  Great hearts did not begrudge others' fortunes, their spirits
rejoiced in the happiness of those for whom they sacrificed.  They asked
that people but remember them, and perhaps, thanked a little.  Harlen was
sure that those men who had been his colleagues for several seasons, some
of whom had born arms alongside Harlen before, were good men.  They would
not resent his happiness, no more than he had theirs.

   The voices rose high and sang of the glory that the fallen had brought
upon themselves.  To give of oneself was worthy.  The spirits would guide
their new companions to peaceful places in the afterlife.  Oneians among
the gathering knew this place of succor was with the One, but it mattered
little if they had angelic or elven guides to find it.  The Oneian faith
also taught that elven folk were angels made flesh, thereby making the
point moot.

   Harlen could see Kenik, wielding his broadsword with a fell hand in
defense of people he had never met, and would now never meet.  Kenik was a
thoughtful man.  He knew what he risked.  Still, he risked it, for his
friend, for an oath, and above all, to save good people.

   Those that fought alongside him told of how he had smote the hateful elf
that had pierced him.  Then Kenik had thrown himself to the fore to stop an
attempted charge of many elven spearmen.  His sacrifice had gained precious
time for the Rangers of Morrovale to consolidate their line in the first
swirling wave of the melee.  Thereby he helped prepare the way for the
rangers to drive a deep wedge into the faltering Isolationist ranks.

   Not all the stories of the fallen were so glorious, but all were just as
important.  Each had a voice, and they sung each dirge with warm heart and
gentle thanks.  As the harmony blended, many eyes saw the fallen.  They
stood in a long file, shoulder-to-shoulder, ready to stand, even after
giving all, in defense of others again, if they called them.

   Now free of the bonds of the flesh, they could go anywhere, it was
known. But, they were invited to stay with the spirits already in Embalis
if they wished.  Else, they could go wherever it was they thought they
would be happiest, and the most at rest.  None would know what their
choices were, save the clerics of the elvenkind, whom the elven folk said
spoke with them.  These clergy were sworn never to give away the secrets of
the spirits, though, and would not, unless a spirit, itself, bade such.

   The sun's top touched the horizon, and the voices lifted in a stirring
crescendo.  This was to send the spirits forth to their rest on a gale of
beautiful sound and with the blessings of the living gathered at the
ceremony.  Then the voices, almost as one, dropped off.  In their place was
a stunning silence.  It seemed to last a long moment, then they could hear
the wind again, and birds, and the sounds of people's shifting.

   Elven boys, and young huntsmen, wearing long tunics of purest white
moved toward the pyres.  Each held a long torch, unlit.  The first set his
torch to the wood, and it burst into flame, the next down that row followed
suit, doing the same, then the next.  Down each row, the flames began to
leap, crackling and red at first, then darkening to blue at the base.  The
elves had treated the logs with some mixture of the elves that caused the
wood to burn with an intense heat.  Within a mere moment, all the pyres
were aflame.

   The cool air tried to subdue the heat of the fires, but it failed, and
it grew quite warm in the valley that evening.  The sky reflected the
orange glare of the fires, as it was thought.  Indeed, folk would see it
for miles about, perhaps even as far as the nearest other elven
communities. People, both men and elves, stood before their chosen pyramid
of flickering flames, and they talked in hushed tones among each group.

   The pyres burned well into the night, full dark was now upon the valley,
as the elves had extinguished all other lights for this night.  The people
started to move back toward the main village in small groups.  There they
sat in quiet pairs, trios, and a few groups of more and talked with
reverence by the sole light source they had this night.

   "Still so many," said Hyandai to Harlen as he held her.  He stood behind
her and had his arms about her shoulders.  She rested her hands upon his
forearms.

   Harlen kissed the top of her head.  "It is this way with the battles of
men, every time," he said, coming out of deep thought.  His voice had the
sound of resignation.  "Or worse.  I have seen far larger bonfires for the
fallen," he said.

   "How terrible," said Hyandai.

   Harlen's face grew dour.  "Do you still think blending with the humans
is a good idea?" he asked.

   "Yes," replied Hyandai without pause, "perhaps it will lessen humanity's
desire for war, having elven blood tempering their emotions."

   He smiled.  "Perhaps it will," agreed Harlen.

   Wendy approached them, and stood beside Hyandai, facing the fires, her
face lit by the dancing flames.  Harlen moved to between them and put one
arm about her shoulder, as well.  She smiled back and up at him, and rested
her hand on his forearm, welcoming his touch.

   "It was beautiful," said Wendy in a soft voice.

   Hyandai nodded.  "It was," she agreed, reaching out a hand to touch
Wendy's still tear-streaked cheek.

   The young ranger who spoke Westron, Rigilus, approached the trio. 
"Commander Harlen?" he asked, "may I speak a moment with you?"

   The use of a formal title took Harlen aback, but he nodded nonetheless.
He kissed Hyandai on the top of her head again and then kissed Wendy's brow
as he walked toward the Windy Islander.

   They walked on a path perpendicular to the long line of burning pyres,
both of them spending long moments watching the flickering flames of the
hundred fallen.  "So, what can I do for you?" asked Harlen after they had
moved a good way from the women.

   "My commander has requested that I to go to Morrovale with your company,
when you depart on the morrow," Rigilus said with his ever earnest voice.
"They wish me to act, in part, as an emissary between your rangers and
ours."

   Harlen gave a slow nod.  "I see," he said.  "We, of course will welcome
you, but you will need to secure the permission of our duke to remain in
Morrovale.  I foresee little trouble in that, though."

   He thought a moment.  "Why did you not speak to Master Tammer of this?"
he asked.

   Rigilus coughed in his discomfort.  "Commander Tammer told me to speak
to you," he said.  "He said that he would be standing you in his place once
this campaign is completed."

   "Did he?" asked Harlen, eyes widening.  "Well, that's something I wish
they had told me of sooner." Harlen donned a wide smile.  "Very well, then.
Of course you may join our march back to Morrovale tomorrow, and you are
most welcome."

   "Thank you, sir," said Rigilus with an air of immense relief.  "I have
not been a ranger for long, and the idea of trekking through a long stretch
of Windir alone was somewhat daunting."

   "You should understand one thing, though, Rigilus," cautioned Harlen. 
"We are not the same as your rangers in the Windy Isles.  We do not
organize ourselves at most times.  We are huntsmen first, and foremost."

   "So I have heard," said Rigilus.  "I will, then, try to fit in within
that structure, sir."

   Harlen nodded.  "Conveniently, there have been recent vacancies in
allotments, I fear," he said, looking with much significance toward the
bonfires.  "Given your more thorough training, I fear not that you will be
a fine huntsman, perhaps the very best of us."

   Rigilus blushed and lowered his head in humility.  "I have heard of your
company's prowess on the field," he said.  "I would not belittle your
skills as either warriors or huntsmen, sir."

   Harlen chuckled, and grabbed the smaller man's shoulder. 
"Diplomatically said, Rigilus," said Harlen.  "You will be a fine
emissary."

   They had managed to walk all the way to the far side of the village. 
They now stood upon a low hillock that just a day ago had been one of the
defensive positions of the village.  Harlen marveled at how thorough and
efficient were the elves whom had cleared away the detritus of battle.  A
large portion of the palisade was now burning as part of the pyres.  The
grass was already regrowing and several saplings that were planted just
yesterday in place of felled trees were already showing many years' worth
of growth.

   True to Hyandai's promises, the villagers were constructing new homes in
the boughs of the mighty ornthalion trees of the village.  No homes would
be on the ground now.  Civic buildings and places that had to be so, of
necessity, were all that would remain ground-bound.  One such was her
father's smithy, which Harlen intended to visit ere the Morrovale company
left on the morrow.

   "Am I dismissed, sir?" asked Rigilus.

   "What?" asked Harlen, blinking.  "Oh.  If you wish to be," he said. 
"You will learn quickly.  We are not a military group, Rigilus.  We do not
stand on formality," Harlen paused, "or ranks."

   Rigilus nodded.  "Commander Tammer said you would say that," he said,
smiling.  "Just as well, sir, as I would ask a few questions of you."

   Harlen turned from his survey of the village.  "Please, ask," he said.

   "Rumor has it that you are betrothed to an elven woman," said Rigilus.

   A brief nod from the huntsman answered him.

   "What is Lady Hyandai like?" He asked, with eager eyes.

   Harlen looked at him a moment.  "You know of her?" he asked.

   "Of course," the young ranger replied.  "She was with our greatest
general when he died, and she now carries his wisdom.  He was Verus, a
former Abian Centurion who led our armies after the Abians fled our
nation."

   Harlen remembered, in part, tales of that war, despite its distance from
Morrovale, and the duchy's utter lack of involvement.  The huntsman had
been but ten when it had ended.

   "So that is why she was the Warleader of Embalis," muttered Harlen. 
"You say part of his mind is within her?"

   Rigilus nodded.  "Indeed, the very part that made him a great general,
his knowledge of warfare and combat," he replied.

   "Well," said Harlen, thinking a moment.  "She is an amazingly loving
woman, Rigilus, and she is kind, and strong."

   A broad smile formed on Rigilus' face.  "I am glad she is now happy," he
said.

   Harlen blinked at that odd statement.  "Why is that?" he asked.

   "After she took part of Verus into herself, she became something of a
pariah," said Rigilus, showing obvious discomfort.  "My people held her in
awe, and the elves feared her." He thought a long moment.  "They were
afraid she would go mad from absorbing the war-spirit of a human, moreso
one so steeped in military ways.  We, of course, held her in awe that she
could even do such a thing.  To know that there is a man who can look past
all that and sees a woman, who she could love and would love her, it
gladdens me."

   "Well, certainly, love her I do," said Harlen.  "But I knew not of Verus
until recent days.  Though, I wager, it would not have changed my heart,
had I known when I first met her."

   They continued a circuit of the village, walking about its outer
periphery.  Harlen asked Rigilus many questions of the near mythical figure
Hyandai was to the Windy Islanders.  In turn, he asked many questions of
Harlen, always respectful, of the real person who was Hyandai.

   "She was always something of a hero to me in my youth," confessed
Rigilus, again lowering his head in embarrassment.  "Well, Verus was my
hero, but to know that the warrior of him was within her mind made me a
devotee of hers as well."

   Harlen nodded.  "That makes two of us," he said, without any trace of
sarcasm.

   They were again approaching the two women, and Hyandai was sitting upon
a log with Wendy laying her head in the elven woman's lap.  Hyandai shushed
them as they approached, and Wendy was asleep, the elven maiden stroked her
dark hair with a gentle hand.  Somehow, Wendy looked even younger asleep
than awake, with her attractive features softened and at rest.

   Rigilus nodded and bowed low.  He then withdrew and walked away in the
direction of the barracks in which all the rangers, both Morrovale and
Windy Island, were quartered.

   He regarded the beloved Wendy for a long moment, then lifted his eyes to
Hyandai.  "You are amazing, do you know that?" asked Harlen in a whisper as
he bent to kiss her brow.

   Hyandai blinked up at him a moment, then smiled.  "Why do you say that?"
she asked.  "Did that Windy Islander tell you tales of my amazing
abilities?" Her eyes widened in a half-mocking gesture of surprise.

   Nodding, Harlen sat beside her.  "In a manner, yes," he whispered.  "You
fascinate him."

   "As all men should be," said Hyandai with a flick of her head, sending
her long red tresses flying over her shoulder.

   "Yes," agreed Harlen, leaning inward and kissing her.

   Hyandai responded to the kiss with passion, stroking his cheek with her
free hand while continuing to pet Wendy's soft hair with her other.

   As they pulled apart, Hyandai said, "I am fully satisfied to have one
man fascinated with me." Then her eyes flicked down to the dozing Wendy. 
"And one woman."

   Harlen nodded.  "That will take growing used to," he confirmed. 
"Though, I think that the path to that will be far more pleasurable than
arduous."

   Lifting Wendy from the log, Harlen carried her up the stairs to
Hyandai's chamber.  He laid the still half-dozing young woman upon the bed
as Hyandai pulled down the coverlet.

   Wendy favored Harlen with a smile.  "I am exhausted," she said.  "You
two play without me, if you've a mind."

   Hyandai snickered behind Harlen, and he turned to face her.  She had
already slipped out of her gown and was kneeling onto the foot of the bed,
crawling up Wendy's body with catlike grace.  She held herself low and
dragged her body against the young woman's.

   "It is not so easy, Wendy, to leave you out of love play," said Hyandai,
and kissed her.

   With a twitch, Wendy's eyes shot open.  "Wow!" she exclaimed.  "Is that
what you do to Harlen when you make him rise again?"

   Hyandai nodded, smiling at her as Wendy grabbed her around the neck and
kissed her again.  The two were pressing together, and Hyandai had one leg
between Wendy's long thighs, pressing the muscular upper side to the young
lady's groin.

   Soon, Wendy had slipped her gown up and over herself, despite Hyandai's
weight on her chest.  Hyandai lowered her head to Wendy's rounded breasts
while Harlen began to kiss his way up her smooth thigh.

   Harlen reached the top of the thigh and began lapping at Wendy's folded
slit.  She gave out a quiet moan at the stimulation of two mouths moving
over her form.  His tongue entered her and she gasped out, even as Hyandai
began to kiss her neck and ear.

   She watched Harlen begin kissing his way up her, and soon he entered her
with a practiced and smooth stroke of his thick organ.  She pushed up to
meet him and Hyandai watched the two, sitting back, yet still touching
Wendy's smooth skin with her cool fingertips.

   Harlen moved into her with long, even strokes, building up speed and
urgency with deliberate lack of haste.  Wendy glanced over and saw Hyandai
moving toward the foot of the bed.  She then felt a tongue moving over her
private places even as Harlen filled her inside.  Both groaned as Hyandai
plied her tongue over their individual body parts.

   Then, with a gasp that startled Harlen, Wendy climaxed.  She arched her
back upward and lifted him from the bed clutching him to her as he
continued thrusting.  Wendy relaxed after a long moment; still gulping air
from the intense explosion of pleasure they had just given her.  Harlen
looked down at her with an inquisitive look in his eyes..

   Wendy tried to grunt out an answer to the question he did not ask.  "If
you had just felt what Hyandai did with her tongue just now, you would have
climaxed, too," she said.

   "No worries," Harlen said, smiling, then speeding up, causing Wendy to
wiggle in response.  She felt his muscles in his arms tighten and knew he
was about to spend himself.

   She nodded eagerly at him.  "Give me your seed, lover," said Wendy,
gripping his rump with her hands and pulling him into her.  Harlen lifted
his upper body from the bed and curved his back as he finished a last few
strokes of his cock into her.  Then he grunted out in pleasure, and Wendy
felt his seed fill her.

   For long moments, they lay together with Hyandai coming up to lie beside
them, still stroking Wendy and Harlen's flanks.  Then Harlen moved to one
side, pulling his now limp organ from Wendy.  He lay beside her and stroked
her other side, opposite Hyandai.  Wendy smiled at the two.  "I am so glad
you two desire me," she said moving her hands over both, exploring the two
very different bodies on either side of her with her fingertips.

   "We are glad you want us, as well, are we not Harlen?" asked Hyandai,
peering over Wendy's body.

   Harlen nodded enthusiastic agreement.

   --

   The sun was peering from behind the cloudy sky, but there was little
sign that rain would come, when the Rangers of Morrovale formed up the next
day at midmorning.  Of the two hundreds and fifty-four that had left
Morrovale, one hundred and seventy-one would be returning, with Harlen,
Hyandai, and Rigilus, as well.  Every elf in Embalis turned out to watch
them depart, a number that surprised Harlen, almost eight hundreds.

   Harlen had visited Hyandai's father earlier in his smithy.  He had yet
to meet the large, powerful elf.  He walked into the shop amid the clamor
of a hammer and steel, he peered at the floor, and the walls, and even at
the fire, then steeled his will and spoke.

   "Greetings, father of Hyandai," said Harlen, bowing when the smith
turned toward him.

   The middle-aged elf nodded.  "Greetings, Harlen of Morrovale, betrothed
of my daughter," replied Emorianel, studying the man with an air of someone
appraising a weapon's quality.

   "I have come to ask your blessing upon our union," said Harlen, forcing
himself to meet the elder elf's stern eyes.

   Emorianel looked at him a long moment, still judging what he saw.  "I
would ask you, Harlen," he said.  "Do you love her for her beauty?  Or do
you love her for her heart?"

   Hyandai had warned Harlen that elven parents often questioned their
children's suitors when they sought blessing.  Which was the right answer
to such a question?  On the surface, the heart was the more proper answer,
showing the person not shallow.

   "I love every part of Hyandai," began Harlen, "I love her beauty, and
her heart, and I love her fey, and I love her abilities.  Most of all, I
love her love for me." He did not know if bringing up a girl's fey, moreso,
Hyandai's, to her father, was a wise choice.  However, he was trying to be
honest with the man who would be his father as well, when they wed.

   The elf thought about that answer, setting down his hammer and walking
to the doorway.  Harlen hoped, with all his heart, that he was not ready to
dismiss Harlen from the smithy.

   Emorianel did not dismiss Harlen, however, he looked out into the field
before his little smithy.  "I have reservations of my beloved daughter
marrying a human, Harlen," he said, switching with ease to the Westron
tongue, "I will not lie to you.  I know that she has a choice before her
when she does so.  To be widowed while she is still young, or to shorten
her life to extend yours.  It grieves me to know she will suffer either
way, and I do not wish to give blessing to such a losing proposition."

   Harlen felt his heart clench in his chest, and prepared to speak in his
own defense.

   "Nay, stay your lips," said Emorianel, interrupting the huntsman before
he could speak.  "I do not wish to bless that, but I must bless my
daughter's happiness." He looked at Harlen with saddened eyes.  "And being
with yourself and Wendy gives her much joy.  I see it when she but looks at
you and Wendy, or even speaks of either or both of you.  I am glad that you
love her fey.  For many humans do not understand how important it is not
just to tolerate an elf's fay, but to embrace it." He leaned against the
doorframe.  "It is not just a part of her, it is the center of her, the
foundation upon which the remainder is built."

   Harlen nodded.

   "I grant my blessing," said Emorianel, "to both you and Wendy to stand
beside my daughter, to become one with her, and to join our clan." He
turned and offered Harlen a big smile.  "Harlen of clan Yavanaur." He
embraced Harlen in a crushing hug.  "Normally, her mother would be whom you
would speak to of this," he said, wearing a broad, playful, grin.  "I did
not envy your having to face her father instead."

   Harlen had never had a surname before, being the first of his line a
freeman.  He would have passed on his name, in the form of Disharlen, to
any children had.  Now, however, he had one, or would once they were wed.
The idea of taking the wife's name did not strike Harlen as odd.  Many
freemen who had themselves no surname married freewoman who did, and would
take that surname as their own at that point.  It pleased him to think of
this.

   "Thank you, Emorianel," said Harlen in elven, bowing.

   Hyandai's father nodded still wearing a small smile.  "You can call me
father, if you would prefer, for I am old enough, I deem," he said. 
"Hyandai says your father died when you were but a child of a few summers.
A tragedy.  I will try to act as one, if you would have it."

   "I would welcome it very much," replied Harlen, almost in tears. 
Emorianel embraced him again.  "Then go with my blessings, son, and be my
daughter's groom when the time comes."

   Harlen bowed and exited the small workshop; he spied a worried-looking
Hyandai in the shadow of a small tree nearby.  He walked toward her with a
purposeful gait.  Wendy had a worried expression on her face, though she
contrived to look at rest, sitting at the base of the tree.

   "Well?" asked Hyandai, her normal formal speech pattern forgotten for
the nonce, else her association with humans was telling on her.

   Harlen kissed her brow, helped Wendy up from the ground, and gave her
forehead a similar kiss before speaking.

   "Your father welcomed us to be of your clan, if that is what you
wished," said Harlen, smiling at her, and taking both Hyandai and Wendy's
hands.

   Hyandai's face, in an instant, shifted from worried to elated, and tears
ran down her cheeks.  Her tears had been poised for either eventuality, but
these were the happier sort.

   "Then it but remains for the year to pass," said Hyandai, kissing Wendy,
then Harlen.

   --

   The Rangers of Morrovale began their march for home.

   Forming two lines, they moved off into the forest.  The elves did not
cheer their departure, they observed and would wave and smile at any of the
rangers who looked upon them.  It took a brief time for the regiment to
pass out of Embalis.  In truth, the company was quite small, not even two
hundreds now.

   There was no organized marching order.  Men moved up and back at their
whim, to walk beside friends or to change to whom they were speaking. 
Harlen, Hyandai, and Wendy were near the rear of the column, Harlen walking
N'umessa behind him with Wendy riding upon the beautiful steed.  The arts
of the healers had healed her foot, for the most part, but some mending was
still needed.

   The scenic forest about them kept the marching men entertained.  As
huntsmen, and huntsmen who appreciated nature, they were thrilled at some
of what they saw.  Now that they could walk at leiseure, and were not
forced to watch for possible enemies, they could enjoy the travel, itself.
Tammer had to round up wanderers with some frequency, when they strayed
from the main company.

   The company had been marching for the better part of four hours when
Tammer called for a rest.  They fanned out over a small area under the
boughs of an ornthalion.  Food was broken out of small rucksacks packed by
the elven folk to last the three days' march back to Morrovale.  The trio
sat to one side, eating and speaking in a quiet group.

   "Harlen, I have a wondrous thing to tell you of," said Hyandai, unable
to contain herself any longer and having kept her secret for almost two
days.

   The huntsman looked at her, and then grinned.  "Oh?" he asked.  He had
his side to the women and was whittling, a habit he had picked up again as
things had settled into something of a routine.

   Wendy moved behind Hyandai, and squatted, bracketing the elf with her
knees and putting her arms about Hyandai's shoulders.

   "I am with child," said Hyandai, her smile so broad as to show every
tooth she possessed.

   Harlen sat still for a moment.  His hands idle at last.  He executed a
slow turn and held up what he had been carving.  It was a tiny cradle.

   "You knew?" accused Wendy.

   Harlen gave a very abbreviated shrug.  "My grandmother midwifed half of
Morrovale as I grew up," he said.  "I would be remiss if I did not know the
signs of a pregnant woman on sight.  I was going to tell you soon."

   The two women moved toward him with menacing expressions, in a low crawl
and then sprung upon him.  The three tumbled to the ground and the women
took turns tickling his ribs as the other held his arms as best she could.
He made a half-hearted attempt to resist their attack and their giggles and
laughter brought many odd looks from the other rangers, followed by
accommodating smiles.

   Harlen managed to grab Hyandai's head and brought it to his own for a
long kiss.  "I am beyond happy, my love," he said upon pulling away from
the kiss.  "Thank you."

   She smiled.  "Thank you," said Hyandai.

   Wendy sat back and smiled at them.  "Me next," she said with an air of
petulance.

   "I'll do my best," promised Harlen to Hyandai's delight.

   She giggled.  "I am certain he will, too," said Hyandai.  "We will hold
him to his commitments."

   --

   The march took two days to the edge of the wood.  Their luck was good,
and the weather was pleasant, excepting a light rain on the morning of the
second day.  They saw no sign of the Isolationists, but did run across a
few of the deep-wood scouts that Embalis had begun to send forth again.

   The company was rather startled as they forded the river, though, and
found the far side occupied by troops of the duke.  A handful of riders
rode out of the ruins of Markam's Ford and met them as the last of the
company emerged, wet, from the shallows of the ford.

   The lead rider hailed them as they watched, and Tammer stepped forth.

   "Hail, soldier of Morrovale, what passes?" said Tammer, curiosity
etching his lined old face.

   The cavalryman reined his horse and looked down at the huntsmen.  "The
duke would speak with you, Master Tammer, and with your senior huntsmen,"
the rider said.

   "We will report to him at once, then, upon reaching Morrovale," said
Tammer.

   The cavalryman looked over the group again.  "There is no need to wait,"
he said.  "The duke is in Markam's Ford, overseeing the rebuilding of a
garrison there.  We will escort you and your entourage to him." He paused a
long moment.  "He is most insistent that he has questions to put to you,
Master Tammer, and is quite in a state regarding your return."

   A look of faint worry passed over the old ranger's face.  "Then let us
go to him at once."

   Tammer picked out Harlen and a few other senior huntsmen and Rigilus. 
The group of a half dozen walked with the horsemen falling in behind them.

   An uncomfortable image of the time Harlen had been escorted to the
whipping post a few years ago flashed through his mind.  His palms began to
sweat with nervousness.  That was also the last time he had faced Duke
Anasper.  There was murmuring among the other senior huntsmen, but Harlen
walked in silence, as did Tammer.

   Amid the ruins, they came to a large tent, one capable of having many
chambers within.  They had pitched other tents about and the noise of
construction was quite loud.  The duke must have brought half his army here
to act as crew on the work teams, judging from the number of men working
and resting about the old central square of the town.

   The cavalryman leaped from his saddle and entered the tent's main flap.
The other horsemen formed a loose ring about the huntsmen, not menacing,
but, as if by intent, interposing themselves between the group and any
possible escape.

   There was a long pause as the gathered huntsmen waited.  Then, the
leader of the horsemen emerged, and held the flap back.  A moment later, a
man exited the tent, a man with long limbs, and an overall slender
appearance.  It was the duke.

   Harlen was always surprised at the duke's youthful appearance, he was
only a few years Harlen's senior, and the huntsman often forgot that fact.
The huntsmen knelt before their sovereign and bowed their heads.

   "Well, Master Tammer," intoned Duke Anasper, "what have you to say for
yourselves?"

   Tammer rose from his knee.  "Milord, we emerge victorious from battle,"
he replied.

   Duke Anasper regarded the huntsmen with cool eyes.  "That was not what I
meant, Master Tammer," he said.  "You raised an army in my lands and waged
war within another nation.  Should I allow this?"

   Tammer paused to think.  "My lord, the Rangers of Morrovale, by custom
and by law, are required to assist the Windirii in time of need," he said.

   The duke's eyes widened a bit.  "A VERY old law, which we have not
observed for generations," retorted Anasper.

   "This was the first time they needed our help," said Tammer, his eyes
hardening.  "Or should we have failed even an old ally?"

   Anasper paced back and forth a moment.  "Do you know why it offends me,
Master Tammer?" he asked, his own eyes taking on a hardness of their own.

   "I would never presume to know the mind of my lord until he has spoken
it," replied Tammer.

   "Because you did this thing without consulting me," said Duke Anasper in
a most insulted tone, "denying me the option of joining you."

   All of the huntsmen blinked at those words.  "My lord?" asked Tammer.

   "You think you alone care for the elves of Embalis?" the duke asked,
eyeing the old huntsman.  "Given the choice, I would have sent a thousand
men to the succor of the people of our sister village in the elven lands.
But, alas, you have denied that choice to me."

   "I apologize, my lord," said Tammer, lowering his head.  "Yet in my
defense, I say that had we not moved with the haste we did, we would have
failed to arrive in time to help.  We arrived in scant time as it is."

   "I will accept that excuse," said Anasper, "and your apology." His eyes
softened a bit, and he looked at the huntsmen, all of whom were still
kneeling, except Tammer.  "Stand up, you lot," he commanded.

   The other huntsmen stood up, including Harlen and Rigilus.  The duke
looked them over for a long moment.  "Quite a fetching uniform you have
there," he said, his voice appreciative.  Then his eyes came to rest upon
Rigilus.  "That man is new to me," he said, pointing at the Windy Island
Ranger.

   Rigilus bowed low, elven style.  "I am Rigilus Evindus, Ranger of the
Windy Isles, milord," he said in a formal tone, as he stood upright.

   "I see," said Anasper in a whisper.  "And your purpose here?"

   A moment passed as Rigilus thought.  "The Rangers of the Windy Isles
have sent me to act as an emissary between the Rangers of Morrovale and the
Windy Island Rangers, milord," he confided.

   "An ambassador then?" asked the duke.  "How wonderful.  We've not had an
embassy from the Windy Isles for long years."

   "Milord, I am not . . ." Rigilus started to speak.

   "Going to tell me you're not an ambassador," interrupted Anasper.  "Lest
you seek to be removed from Morrovale this very day."

   Rigilus looked toward Harlen, who gave him the slightest of nods.  "Yes,
milord, I seek to be an embassy between your lands and peoples and my own,"
he said with a broad smile.

   "Well said," said the duke.  "You will be a fine ambassador.  I accept
your embassy, and will reciprocate at the soonest opportunity."

   "Master Tammer," said Anasper, changing tack and mood with ease.  "You
left my realm, from all reports, with two hundreds and fifty men.  "Yet,
now I am told you have only a hundred and seventy in your ranks.  Was the
battle so fierce to claim such a horrible toll in men's lives?" he asked.

   "No, milord," replied Tammer.  "Thirty-two were lost in the battle.  And
that despite the fierceness of the combat."

   "Thirty-two," said Anasper, his eyes lowering and his expression
becoming somber.  "A high, but reasonable number, for fierce fighting. 
What of the other fifty?"

   "They remain in Embalis to guard against further insurrection by the
enemy," said Tammer.  "And to receive instruction at the hands of the
elves."

   "A year and a day?" asked Anasper.

   Tammer nodded.  "Of course, milord," he said.

   "As you can see," the duke said, waving his hands toward the
construction crews.  "I have decided to resettle and garrison Markam's
Ford. I will expect a contingent of you rangers to take up abode here,
though I leave that to your own affair to decide who, and how they will be
organized." He favored the group with a broad smile.  "By donning those
uniforms, you have all just reentered my service as auxiliaries of my
armies." He gave Tammer a cunning look.  "I doubt Master Tammer has quite
so informed you."

   A shocked look crossed the faces of all the huntsmen.  "Only during time
of war," countered Tammer.

   "Yes, yes," said Anasper.  "Only during time of war.  Still, I can
require up to one tenth of you at any time, even in peace, to drill
alongside my troops.  And I will.  Master Tammer and my commanders will
work out the details, I am sure.  Now, if you will excuse me, I have
construction to oversee."

   With that, the huntsmen all knelt again and Duke Anasper turned and
reentered the pavilion.

   The huntsmen all looked at Tammer.  "What is that about?" asked Harlen.

   "Just what he said," replied Tammer with a sour tone.  "We rejoined the
armies when we formed into a company again.  I will work out a favorable
arrangement with the commanders for the service periods.  There is a simple
solution for any man seeking to avoid the service, though.  They have to
but turn in their uniform and swear never to don it again."

   A murmur arose among the senior huntsmen, and they reached a consensus
that none of them would do so.  They doubted that many other men would do
so, either.  The horsemen moved off and the huntsmen walked back to the
waiting company.

   As Harlen approached, Hyandai and Wendy stood from beneath the shade of
a low, ruined wall.

   "What happened?" asked Wendy.

   "It seems we've been levied," replied Harlen as he watched Tammer mount
upon another section of ruined wall and begin to speak.

   The men listened, and then they held a long discussion between various
groups of men.  After much discussion and debate they achieved another
consensus.  A few of the men would not serve in the army, and would
relinquish their uniforms and arms.  However, the number was less than ten.
They thrust no shame upon these men, as it was their right, and military
service, even as an attached ranger, was not to everyone's liking.  Tammer
spoke with the little knot of men for a few moments, instructing them of
the procedure they should follow when they get to Morrovale.  Of course,
they could remain huntsmen, he assured them.

   Wendy looked at Harlen with accusing eyes.  "I have to call you sir
now?" she asked.

   "Only on duty," replied Harlen.  "Still, according to Tammer, I will be
an officer, or the equivalent of one, anyway," he kissed her brow, "but you
CAN call me sir, if you like, anytime."

   She nudged him in the ribs, giggling.  "That will happen when frogs leap
from my arse," said Wendy, giggling.

   Tammer called camp, and ordered the huntsmen to go and help with the
construction work for a few hours.  Half the company set up camp while the
other half went into the ruins and volunteered their assistance to the work
crews.

   Captain Farridin, after an hour came forth from the ruined village and
spoke to Tammer for long hours.  They hammered out an agreement between
them how the rangers would serve with the army.  It came down to each
ranger would serve three weeks one period and two weeks another.  They
would draw lots during the new year's festivities to discover their service
periods.

   It seemed an equitable arrangement, most of the rangers decided.  The
treasury would pay them for the period they served, and not a paltry sum,
either.  Captain Farridin valued scouts and compensated them well.

   --

   The Rangers of Morrovale were welcomed home with some measure of
celebration.  Most of Morrovale turned out to meet their approach, and
there was much cheering and waving at the returning huntsmen.

   To Tammer fell the undesirable duty of telling folk of dead loved ones.
Harlen, Hyandai, and Rigilus went with him to each home during the first
week after their return.  Widows were to be paid a stipend from the moneys
that huntsmen paid as part of their allotments.  It was a trial for all of
them, dealing with the grief of parents and wives and children. 
Nevertheless, they worked through it, and offered what comfort they could.

   One widow wished to relocate to Embalis, to live among those whom her
husband died to protect.  A week later, a half dozen elves appeared at her
doorstep with a wagon and horses, and they took her in honor to Embalis, to
live among them.  Her husband had paid the price for that honor, in the
minds of the elves.

   Things in Wendy, Harlen, and Hyandai's life settled into a comfortable
and soothing routine.

   --

   Wendy, Harlen, and Hyandai plaited again a few days later, weaving their
hair and performing the little miracle that allowed each to carry the
other's tresses as their own.  The three separate locks intermingled in the
braids, dark brown, lighter brown, and red.

   "So, we have to wait a year and a day from today for Wendy to be wed to
us?" asked Harlen.

   "It is the way of it," replied Hyandai.  "Though it is ultimately
Wendy's choice, she is not an elf, and not bound to the year and a day, and
I am free of it the day we can marry."

   Wendy shook her head.  "Elves and ceremonies," she muttered.  "Do you
ever just do something?"

   "Not if we can help it," Hyandai said, kissing her.  "We have much time
to fill," she added, with eyes glinting.

   --

   Winter was settling in soon after, and the pace of Morrovale slowed to a
bare crawl.  Harlen hunted for the needs of the household, and even he
always returned before dark settled in, riding N'umessa to his allotment
and returning with all the haste that he could.  Morrovale had cold, snowy
winters, and the landscape was covered in a light white dusting most of the
time.

   It fascinated Hyandai, and, as an elf, not very discomfitted by the
cold. She would go forth to the market each day wearing just her skirt and
half-top, much to Wendy's alarm.

   When Wendy caught her making snow angels in the back courtyard with
Trevir one morning after a new snow, she was beside herself.  She fretted
and fussed until both Hyandai and Trevir were ensconced at the table with
hot soup in their hands, despite their protests of not being cold or
chilled.

   The winter passed at a languid pace.  Harlen found himself expecting
another child three months later.  The healers of Embalis had given Hyandai
the recipe for a concoction that would calm the stomach of a pregnant
woman. It served just as well for Wendy as it had Hyandai.

   When a party of elves braved the cold to visit Morrovale for a few days,
and conduct some trading, Harlen managed to speak to one of them.  He sent
him off with a letter to Hyandai's father and a small package.

   Spring came about in time, as it always does.  This time found the
people preparing for the new year's celebration.  Hyandai and Wendy were
caught up in the preparations, and soon were gone much of the day at other
people's homes, planning and preparing things.

   The villagers accepted Wendy's status as `handmaiden', as they did her
upcoming birth.  Harlen enjoyed a small measure of status from this at the
Boar, but it was kept rather quiet, as to not upset Tammer.

   Harlen began making longer hunting trips, taking the weed like Trevir
with him now.  Trevir was quite good, Harlen discovered, and the trips were
pleasurable and profitable, with the lad's company and help.

   Rigilus spent his time between Morrovale and the duke's palace outside
town.  He was welcomed into the village, being both personable and quite
entertaining when he told stories of the Windy Isles.  He was soon courting
a woman of Morrovale and there was talk of impending nuptials.

   Spring gave way to summer.  An elf appeared at Harlen's door one summer
morning, with a package and a short letter from Hyandai's father.

   Hyandai was now great with child, and due any time.  Wendy's belly was
growing with notable speed, but not due for some months yet.  Harlen's
grandmother fussed over the two young women, and browbeat Harlen for
putting the poor lasses in such a state.

   "I taught him better than to do something like this," fussed Gramma, "To
put both of you in such a state simultaneously.  He should be ashamed."

   "It was not as if we were helping not to get pregnant," confided
Hyandai, defending her man, even if in jest.

   Gramma looked at her, smiling.  "I know that dearie," she said.  "But
you can't let that man know it," she added in a low whisper.

   At midmorning of the eighteenth day of Fervamens, in late summer, Tammer
Disharlen of Clan Yavanaur was born.  Wendy sat beside Hyandai upon the bed
and leaned inward, admiring the baby.

   Gramma washed her hands in a basin on the nightstand as Harlen came in.
Hyandai had the newborn pressed to her bosom, and he was feeding, his eyes
closed.

   "Our child is a boy," said Hyandai, pride filling her voice.  Harlen
suspected she would have said it the same way, were their baby a girl.

   Harlen sat upon the side of the bed and peered over at the newborn,
suckling upon his mother's breast.  He smiled as he traced a finger along
the point of his tiny ear.

   "He's got your ears," he said in the reverential tone fathers have when
speaking in the presence of new mothers.

   Hyandai giggled.  "He has your eyes, though, beloved," she said.  "And
your voice, should you try to deny him his want, trust me."

   Harlen reached out and stroked Hyandai's hair, then bent forward and
kissed her.  "Thank you, beloved," he said.

   Wendy and Harlen left the room at the goading of Gramma, who went across
the hall to the spare bedroom, where she had stayed for a week, waiting for
the birth.

   Harlen and Wendy went downstairs.  "Harlen," began Wendy, "do you regret
having me into your relationship with Hyandai?"

   A moment passed while Harlen thought.  Wendy liked this about him.  He
almost never answered without thought.  "It has crossed my mind that you
may not feel loved in equal measure," said Harlen.  "I fear you feeling
that way, anyway."

   "Should I?" asked Wendy, sitting with great care in one of the rocking
chairs, her round belly making it a bit of a challenge, despite Harlen's
quick assistance.

   Harlen again thought for a bit.  "No," he said after the pause.  "I
don't think now that I could say I love her more than you.  I am not even
sure if I know how to love only one of you, anymore.  You are part of us,
and we a part of you, I should think."

   Nodding, Wendy smiled.  "I feel the same way," she said.  "I don't know
how I would feel with just one of you two.  I don't wish to find out,
either."

   Harlen knelt before her and kissed her hand.  "I love you, Wendy," he
said, his eyes filled with reverence.  "As much as I love life."

   Taking his hand from beneath hers, Wendy placed it upon her belly, where
he could feel the movements of the unborn child within.  "I am glad of
that," she said.  "Immensely."

   Harlen rose from his knees and kissed Wendy.  Trevir came into the room.
"One protect me, don't you lot ever stop?" he exclaimed as they parted lips
to look at him.  The lad had a wide smile, though.  "Miss Hyandai's does
well then?" he asked.

   "Indeed," answered Wendy.  "She is a mother now."

   Trevir smiled at that.  "Great, it was a boy, wasn't it?"

   Harlen nodded.  "Yes," he said.

   "I knew it, pay up!" exclaimed Trevir, holding out a hand to Harlen.

   Wendy had a look of playful dismay on her face.  "You bet on the birth?"
she asked.

   Harlen dug into his belt pouch and produced a half mark coin.  "Um. 
Well, yeah, I guess I did," he said looking sheepish.

   "Bet and lost," said Trevir, gloating as he pocketing the coin and
grinning at Harlen and Wendy.

   In an attempt to sound offended, Wendy asked, "Is this child under such
a bet?" She rubbed her belly as she raised an eyebrow at the father of the
unborn child.

   Harlen again looked sheepish and rubbed the back of his neck.  Wendy
looked up at him with an open-mouthed smile of shock.  "You villain!" she
said, giggling.  "What did you bet the child to be?"

   "A girl," Harlen muttered.

   "Right then.  Put me down for ten marks that it is a boy, Book-Maker
Harlen of Morrovale," Wendy said, putting her hand out to be shaken.

   He took it, but did not look pleased.  "Very well, but you will lose,"
said Harlen.

   Wendy scoffed at him.  "Yes, you've made a great prediction so far," she
said.  "You wait until I tell Hyandai of this!"

   "She'll probably put another ten marks against me," said Harlen, shaking
his head.

   Giggling, Wendy said, "Hyandai has made some real money scribing
records, Master Harlen.  Do not be surprised if she makes a fifty-mark
wager."

   Harlen kissed her for a moment, then escorted young Master Tammer toward
the kitchen for a beer and to discuss the proper etiquette for settling
wagers.

   --

   The chill wind blew stiff in the morning air.  Ceriandel stood before
the altar in the back courtyard.  Trevir had rebuilt it several times,
refined, and was quite a fair approximation of an altar in Embalis.  He
watched as Harlen shifted from foot to foot.  He was wearing the green
silken tunic the elves had given him after the battle.

   Wendy and Hyandai came out of the house, and both were wearing the blue
silken gowns from the same day.  Each had flowers woven into their tresses
and walked slowly to the altar.

   Ceriandel grinned widely at the nervous man.  "You are really done for
now, Harlen," he said in a hushed tone.  "Having experienced the affections
of two women, I envy you not committing to a lifetime of it."

   Harlen smiled back.  "It is a risk I face willingly," he said.

   The two women stood before the altar now and the three turned to face
each other.

   "Elven life is full of ceremony," said Ceriandel standing before the
trio.  "But you three now engage in one of the simplest of them.  The one
that leads to one of the most complex of futures." He stopped for a moment.
"Marriage," he concluded.

   "You three have decided to make it complex indeed.  I warn you that you
will be forever working out the intricacies of the delicate balance you
must maintain.  There is no elven word that sunders a marriage, and there
is no ending one, save by death.

   Harlen's eyes flicked from Hyandai to Wendy and back.  He saw that their
eyes did the same.

   "Harlen, are you sure of the path you walk?" asked Ceriandel.

   Harlen looked toward him.  "I am sure," he said.

   "Hyandai, are you sure of the path you walk?" he repeated the question
to his sister.

   Hyandai nodded and said, "I am sure."

   Ceriandel looked at Wendy.  "Wendy, are you sure of the path you walk?"
he asked.

   "I am sure," replied Wendy.

   "You three are now committing your lives to one another.  You will
forever place the needs of the other two before your own, and will forever
be at their service," said Ceriandel.  "If you are ready for that, then
speak so."

   "I am ready," all three said in unison.

   Ceriandel walked around them, handing each a ring, the one to be worn by
their betrothed on their right.  Harlen had sent off to Embalis for that, a
third ring, one that matched the other two.  He refused to reveal its cost
to anyone, as did Hyandai's father, who had arranged to have jewelry smiths
in Embalis craft it.

   They glowed with a faint light of their own, and they glittered as if
tiny lakes reflecting sunlight.  The mithril alloy they were crafted in had
a slight blueish tint to it.

   Harlen placed the ring upon Hyandai's finger, then Hyandai slipped the
ring she held onto Wendy's finger.  Wendy turned to Harlen, to complete the
circle by sliding the larger ring over his finger.

   "It is that simple," intoned Ceriandel.  "Hope that your lives have such
simplicity again, Harlen, Wendy, and Hyandai of Clan Yavanaur.  You are
wed."

   He bowed and then hugged his sister who was beaming.  There were no
witnesses for the ceremony, save the conductor.  Elven marriages were not
public events, even if the result was a public change.  It was a covenant
between the people getting married, and no one else.  Society had to accept
it.

   Inside the house, however, were guests aplenty.

   Tammer was there, smiling and speaking with Emorianel, Hyandai's father.
Harlen's Gramma was there, as were Tessa and Maegan.  More than two dozen
huntsmen, the best acquainted with Harlen, were attending, one with a
soon-to-be elven bride of his own with him.  Rigilus and his new bride were
there as well.  Her own rounded belly, alone outmatched by the nearly
absurdly large one that Wendy was now forced to endure.

   The celebration went late into the night, and much happiness filled the
little house, and around it.  More elves were, this day, in Morrovale than
at any time that anyone knew of, for the wedding, and to accompany those
who came for the wedding.  It seemed that half if Embalis was in Morrovale,
and the Morrovalians welcomed the company of their neighbors.

   Wendy gave birth on the thirty-second of Comamens, as winter was fast
approaching.  Morlani Disharlen of Clan Yavanaur was a healthy and happy
girl, and Harlen made sixty and a half marks.  Morlani had been Hyandai's
mother's name.

   --

   Harlen was sitting in the Pierced Boar, enjoying a rum with a beer for a
chaser.  He had one every Brimdor, just before the day of rest after he
came back into town from hunting.  Someone cleared their throat from behind
him.

   Turning, Harlen saw a man wearing the Livery of the duke.  "Yes?" he
asked.

   The page held out a scroll to Harlen.  "Duke Anasper requests your
presence at the soonest opportunity, Ambassador Harlen," he said.

   THE END

   Epilogue --

   Ryssa sat upon the old foundation's edge, peering at her palmset as it
displayed the images that the chronothaumic recorder saw.  She heard the
crunch of macadam under tires coming from the road.  Looking up, she saw
Danis parking his carraige and emerging with the solid thunk of the door.

   "Have you found what you sought?" he asked as he walked with care over
the grids of the excavation.

   Nodding, Ryssa Yanour stood and brushed her auburn hair back behind her
elegant, pointed ear.  "I have, beloved, though you may grow alarmed at my
discovery."

   Danis smiled at her, taking her in his arms, after giving her time to
set down the expensive palmset.  "I don't know how anything about you and
your lineage will dismay me," he said, kissing her.

   She responded as she always did to his kiss, forming herself to his body
and accepting him and his touch.  As the kiss ended, she turned to the
palmset again and picked it up.  "Oh, I don't know this time, dear.  It may
shock you."

   He looked over her shoulder at the tiny illusographic display, as he
peered at it, it grew to fill his vision.  Thaumic electronics always gave
him the willies, though he was never sure why.

   Around him, an old house formed, and in it were people, frozen in place.
They were dressed in leathers and homespun cloth, except three of them. 
Those three were dressed in silk that would not look out of place at a
high-society party today.  Two pretty women in long gowns, matching blue
with silver piping.  And a huge man, wearing a green tunic and matching
silken pants piped in silver.  One of the women was great with child, the
other holding a infant in her arms.

   Ryssa guided him through the illusory room, past an old man who was
holding up a wine glass, as if to toast.  "These fine folk here," she said,
pointing at the trio in silk.

   "What of them, angel?" asked Danis.

   "That man," said Ryssa, "is my great grandsire, six times over.  His
name was Harlen." Then she turned to the woman in a gown with flaming red
hair and remarkable emerald eyes.  "This is my great granddame, Hyandai."

   Ryssa then adopted a wicked grin.  "And this lovely woman, with the dark
brown hair, is Wendy, your great granddame, Danis Disarlen," she
pronounced.

   "Where's my great grandsire, then?" he asked, peering about the illusory
room.

   The smile finished growing upon Ryssa's lips, and she turned back toward
the massive man who stood between the two attractive, petite women. 
"Here," she said, "Harlen."

   "The same man sired both our bloodlines?" said Danis, incredulity
clouding his voice.  "How do they justify that arrangement, as Oneians?"

   Ryssa shrugged.  "They were never married in a Oneian ceremony.  They
married under an elven ceremony, and elves accepted mutual polygamy," she
said.

   "Lucky bastard," said Danis.  "The two are lovely women, I have to say."

   Nodding, Ryssa smiled.  "Hyandai was a purestrain elf," she said,
smiling at the illusory people, "and Harlen and Wendy were purestrain
humans."

   "So, were they part of the start of the blending?" asked Dannis.  "As
your thesis states?"

   Ryssa held up the palmset.  "I have enough proof to verify it,
especially if you got permission to go into the Windir Reserve to examine
the Embalis dig," she said.  "Please tell me you got it."

   Danis held up a document printed upon a sheet of thin plastic.  "One
federal reservation permit," he said, beaming with pride.  He thought a
moment.  "So we're some sort of cousins?" he asked.  "Does that call off
the wedding?"

   "No way on Feldare," said Ryssa with no uncertainty in her voice.

   She switched off the palmset and started packing it up, along with the
recorder.  "I suppose you heard I quit seeing my mentalist," she said as
she fussed over the expensive gear.

   "Yes, and I meant to ask you why you quit, and quit taking your
medication," said Danis.

   "Because, my beloved Danis, I am not mentally ill," replied Ryssa.  "I
am not a nymphomaniac, or any other sort of maniac," she declared as they
walked to the awaiting carriage and she put the equipment into the trunk.

   They sat in the vehicle and Danis fired up the manareactive motors, and
the carriage hummed with power.  "How are you so sure of this?" he asked,
looking at her as she sat in the passenger seat.

   She pulled off her sunglasses and flashed golden eyes at him.  "Because
I have a fey, not an illness," said Ryssa uncharacteristic confidence
filling her voice.  "And it is a fey you will love to have around,
darling," she concluded, her voice taking on a deeper timbre and a certain
level of ominous threat.

   *** AUTHOR'S NOTE *** I wish to thank all of you, the readers of The
Solitary Arrow, for following the sprawling tale of Harlen and Hyandai, and
their lover Wendy.  I hope that the story has been enjoyed by all who have
given it the time to read it.  It has been a joy reading from each of you
your commentary, criticism, suggestions, and corrections.  I am honored by
the number of people who have chosen to let me tell them a story.  I thank
you.
   ---Michael