"At the Beginning of Time," Hal went on, "the One sang out earth and sky, days and seasons, and all the plants and beasts. And Aene loved that song. You were in it, Adaoun, and your mate Elveyn. You loved peace and beauty, and lived alongside the beasts. Progeny came to you."

"Anwyl here was among the first."

"What was it like, Adaoun, in those Beginning days?"

"Ah, Mireldeyn, it was beautiful, so beautiful," Adaoun sighed. "Great birds flew in the air, and little ones made music in every tree. Life was abundant; nowhere was there desolation, for even the deserts bloomed. Many wonderful creatures have since vanished from the earth;

shining dragons and playful sea-beasts. . . . But of all creatures that walked upon earth, the noblest were the horses, and their kin, the unicorns. And of all creatures that soared the sky, the noblest were the eagles."

Adaoun rose to his feet and, putting fingers to his teeth, blew a piercing whistle. From the distance came a musical cry like that of a great bird. Then around the curve of a hill swept a herd of great horses, clean-limbed stallions and long-legged mares, such lovely horses as Alan had seen only two of before. . . . One of these, Arundel, ran at the fore, his silver-gray flanks flashing in the sun. But ahead of him, and the leader of all, sped a

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blazing white steed who stood shoulders above the rest, and from his sides rose a shimmering pair of golden wings. His fetlocks also shone golden, and as he and his herd reached the shore of the lake, a white and golden image sparkled betow him in the midnight blue of the water. The steed raised his head; Alan was stunned by the flash of his deep eyes. The winged stallion shrilled an eerie whistling scream, and from the skies overhead came reply. Great golden birds appeared, led by one whose aureate wings were almost as broad as those of the stallion below. For a moment they formed a brilliant tableau, the white and the gold mirrored in the blue of the unfath- omable lake. Then, like the last flashing beams from a westward sun, they were gone, and the thunder of hooves faded in the distance.

"Dweller in the Eagle Valley," breathed Alan. "Did Arundel come from here?"

Hal seemed unable to answer, but Adaoun was quick to reply. "While he was still a colt, Arundel was called away from here, as Asfala was a few years later. But, Mireideyn, how did you know?"

"Many times I have seen this place, Adaoun, in dreams and waking visions. But I hardly dared hope I could ever find it."

"Have you also seen the past, Mireldeyn?"

"I have seen one who may be Elveyn. She has rippling hair of dark gold and wears a garment of deep, stormy purple. I see her on rocky sea cliffs, facing the gray water."

"Ay," said Adaoun, "she always loved the sea. When men overran the earth and forgot the Ancient Tongue, it was she who showed us how to sail away from them in ships."

"Why was man put on earth?" Hal asked bitterly. "He has turned it into a desolation of strife and bloodshed.

Was it not better, the way it was?"

"Too good! Nothing ever chanced; and Time, which had just begun, was likely to pool itself into eternity.

Moreover, the One was lonely still. We elves could not satisfy Aene's craving: we know only mindfelt love. We choose our mates with judgment; we are quiet, patient and reasoned. We do not shout or laugh for joy, nor do we weep."

Alan glanced up at Lysse, startled. Her smoky green

148 THE SILVER SUN.

eyes were as deep as the mountain lake, as intense as the brilliant gem that hung about her neck. She smiled down at him, and Alan wondered at that smile.

"So the One made man," Adaoun went on, "a being could feel the strength and passion of Aene*s love. . . .

But the wisdom which counters passion could not be man's. Only in Aene are wisdom and love complete, to- gether, and this is one of the great Mysteries."

"I can imagine what happened, though I was not there," Hal muttered. "First we began to kill the ani- mals-"

"That is your nature," Adaoun interrupted. "The fox kills the pheasant and the marten slays the mouse and men hunt the fleet red deer; they are all in Aene. But alas, I believe that is why man fell away from the Old Language; it would be a hard thing to kill a creature which speaks with you soul to soul."

"I know," said Hal wryly, "for I have done so, many a time. And then, I suppose, we began to kill each other. Is that also in Aene?"

Adaoun sighed. "As the wolf is in the Forest, Mirel- deyn, or as the old sow slays her farrows-but not often.

It seems to me that the great wheel is wobbling off of bal- ance. There is need of more love in your world." Adaoun paused significantly. "Say also, Mireldeyn, that man be- gan to kill the elves."

"I had hoped not to say so," Hal faltered, stricken.

"A few of us. My son Freca was the first. . . . Be- cause we do not know the love that burns in the heart, men called us cold and evil, and ran from us, or stoned us and laughed, or hunted us ruthlessly, according to their whim; for men are above all creatures of passion. The One had made them mortal so that they might know to the fullest every passion of living, joy and sorrow and the begetting of progeny. This was forbidden to my children, lest they in their immortality overrun the earth. But in spite of death, men grew more and more numerous, so that even in the wilderness we could not avoid them. At last, at Elveyn's advice, we built ships and started across the sea in search of a new place.

"Six times since then have we sailed, and we call this our Seventh Age. Sometimes we have found peace, but always it has collapsed in war as a blight of man's greed has spread across the earth. Five hundred turnings ago

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we came to this Welas and withdrew to this mountaintop, as we had learned to do, for we knew war would not be long in following us. As indeed it was not. But first Veran came.

"He sailed up the Gleaming River, out of the west, a dark man, but with a glow about him like ancient gold.

The tribal chieftains bickered and brawled across the marches between their wooden towers, as they had always done, but Veran cowed them with a glance and the power of his grip. Within a season all of Welas hailed him as King. Then he came straightway to this mountain, and no fear of us was in his heart. That was marvel enough, but something chanced which we had never known before.

One of my daughters, she whom we named Claefe, the dove, clave to Veran and chose to go with him as his wife, committing herself to a mortal death. We rejoiced in their love, though we mourned her going from us. Lysse was begot to replace her in our number. But Veran had to lead Welas against the invaders from the East. While he was gone, Claefe died in childbirth, as a mortal woman will. Then overweening grief seized my Elveyn, so that she went to the sea cliffs and hurled herself into the gray salt waters she loved so well.

"It was then, Mireldeyn, that I first heard of you. For with the death of my mate and the coming of war's blight yet once again, I cried out to the One in great pain and despair of mind. And Aene came to me here, in this valley, walking on earth in a cloak of flesh, as often is Aene's wont, whether seer, sage, youth or prophet, mother, maiden or ancient hag. But I knew the Song- maker at once, for we have met before.

"Elwestrand awaited us, Aene said, the western land from which Veran had come, where there were folk with whom we could live in harmony and whom my children could take to mate-they who have been celibate these thousands of years. And in the fulfillment of this prophecy, the One said, elves and men would join and a new crea- ture arise, the best of each. But first the Age must be fulfilled in this Isle, the farthest outpost of the Middle World. For if the blight of war which has followed us so long is not stopped here it will follow us yet, to the uni- corn fields of the west. The Wheel teeters in its rounds, Mireldeyn. Not even the One can foresee how it will go.

"But Aene foretold that at this time, when the blight of

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the Easterners had reached even to Welas, a youth from the world of men would come to us, a descendant of the line of Veran, heir to the throne of Isle by a right far greater than that of birth. The blood of the elves would run strong in his veins- He would find us and speak to us in the Language of Eld, which no one learns unblessed.

He would arm himself only with friendship and unen- sorcelled steel, for the Easterners have made magic an accursed thing. He would know all mortal joy and sorrow, but not mortal greed and pride; an elf's vision, an elf's thirst for knowledge, and an elf's keenness of mind would all be his. And we would call him Mireldeyn, the elf-man, for he would be neither fully elf nor fully man, but the best of each. You are he, Hal, son of Gwynllian, heir of Torre and of Taran and of the Blessed Kings of Welas, for you have fulfilled all that was said, and more."

Hal saw his destiny as a doom. "Brand, the son of

Veran and Claefe," he protested. "Was he not an elf- man, more so than am I?"

Adaoun gently shook his head. "When Claefe went with Veran, she became woman, though perhaps the most golden and gifted of women. She bequeathed her heirs insight, a quickness of perception rare in the world of

men, and also the love of lore and wisdom. Nothing more."

Adaoun had been speaking steadily, but now he hesi- tated before he slowly continued.

"You are the one person, Mireldeyn, who can stop the plague of war which has followed us for seven ages- You are the one person who can end the age of bloodshed and terror in Isle. You are also he who must help us, the Peo- ple of Peace, to EIwestrand across the Western Sea. Only if you vanquish the evil lords of the lowlands can we ever reach the Bay of the Blessed to set sail.

"I do not know whether you will succeed. Not even the One knows that, 1 believe. It depends not only on you, but on every person in Isle, on every man, woman and child. Only if the balance can prevail-the stakes are so high-the future of the race of men as well as the en- tire race of elves-" Adaoun struggled to voice what he had to say. "The People of Peace can no longer withdraw from the bloodshed of life. At whatever sacrifice, we will

do what we must do, Mireldeyn, to survive. We will fight for you. He Who Rules."

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The magnitude of the gift fell on Hal like a burden of fire. To be fated the deliverer not only of Isle but of the elves as well-it was an obligation that smote him nearly to the ground. Hot rebellion swept him up, and blindly he strode away from the anxious elves. But Alan walked beside him, weak with fever though he was; and in his steadfast mortal friendship Hal found the strength he needed to win his struggle with himself.