The Dunderfosse’s western edge was bounded by a mountain range so high its icy caps were lost in cloud year-round. Gom’s spur led up the grandest peak of all, called Snawbyr Crygg. On gazing up at it you’d certainly be awestruck. You’d never dream, though, as even Gom did not, that it was hollow, and that people dwelt therein. . . .

It was night now, the sky was clear, and they could see the stars. By their light, they saw a mist rising from what had been the forest floor. Shouldering the precious sacks, (they) paused to take a long look back towards the basin. Then moved on to find their people.

A youth was struggling up the pine-strewn slope. His face was streaked with blood, his hair was wild, his eyes dark with shock. At the sight of Feyrwarl poised upon the brink, he reached out and cried again: “Don’t go down there!”

Steeling her nerve, (Vala) filled the bowl with water, and, cupping her palms, lowered them into the bowl. The water swirled, went cloudy. . . . But instead of clearing, (it) darkened, then turned black.

No more Aelyth-Kintalyn, he’d told them. And no Án Telfahn, either. When he left, he must make sure of it—and he knew how! He strode to his desk, picked up a quill, and began to write.

Time to go, (Urolf) told himself. Aelyth-Kintalyn is quite used up. But if he simply left, that would leave the place wide open for the exiles to come sneaking back. . . . He couldn’t have that. No more Aelyth-Kintalyn, he’d told them. And no Án Telfahn either. When he left, he must make sure of it—and he knew how! He strode to his desk, picked up a quill, and began to write.

Mortals have such short lifespans, and even shorter memories. Now, let’s head off trouble at the gate—and work on our story as we go.

“Well, now hear my words: You shall this very day leave our domain and never set foot in it again on pain of death. Take him off.”

The water swirled, and glowed, and slowly an image formed. Leana floated on her back, eyes closed, her hair uplifted, waving like lake weed in the currents. Her face was bone-white, her lips were black, and ripples played across her face.

The lake lord would never treat any woman as Urolf treated Leana. But the lords of Aelyth-Kintalyn have ever been thus. Proud—no: arrogant. Ruling purely at their own pleasure, acting only to gratify themselves, whatever the cost to others.