The Sword of Aviondore

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The orcish host still sat on the other side of the river. No champion had emerged yet to take the place of the dead Warlord. The threat was lessened by the presence of the host of Silverwood and the orcs had no chance of forcing the crossing now. The orcs did not know it yet, but a mannish host approached from the south and another from the west.

They would be trapped soon with the river and Elvish host acting as anvil to the hammer of the two human armies.

Ral was waiting when T'larin gingerly climbed down from the platform. He smiled at her and she knew she was already smiling. The strange grin had not left her face since she crawled out of bed and dressed.

"I see, that the prophecy has been fulfilled," he said with a look that a father might give his daughter on the day she was betrothed. Part pride, part hope and part concern.

"Thus far it has been a good one, but there still remains the question of Angrost ending the line of Aviondore," T'larin said. Tess had just reached the ground and T'larin's arm went around her and held her close without conscious thought.

Ral smiled again and said, "Angrost was the instrument which delivered your love from the jaws of death and I can hardly envisage your pairing producing a child, though with you anything is possible I suppose," he said with mock gravity.

T'larin smiled down at her lover and then laughed until it hurt. Thus the riddle was answered. The Prophesies never lied she thought, but they never seemed to turn out the way one expected either.

End