"My lord, a dread rider approaches!" A far off watcher had cried out these fateful words as a faint spot moved quickly across the green horizon like a pale shadow rolling towards them.
        Gawaith, Captain of the Northfeld, spurred his great horse up to the ridge of a low bluff when he heard the cry, and halted there a moment looking deeply into the North. It was early morning, and he shielded his eyes from the brightness of the rising sun upon his right. At first he saw nothing but the green fields of tall grass stretching beyond sight, but then he saw him: a lone rider clad in grey, hard riding a horse that stumbled with its weariness. As he drew near the company, they saw that the man's face was haggard and worn; he looked as if to speak, but at first he could form no sounds. They surrounded him on all sides, though all could see that he had no strength in him for battle.
        "Speak, man!" commanded Gawaith. "Why do you ride thus? And what are you doing in this land?"
        "I am in need of a new horse," said the man at last, and he dismounted, nearly falling to the ground upon his hands. "I am Gidderon, and I come in haste from Tir Naríndor. The word has come at last that the hour of the muster is upon us. These are the tidings I bring. I have ridden without pause this last sevenday."
        "This news is dread," said Gawaith, "for it means that the Enemy no longer fights in secret, and war indeed is upon us. We will give you a new horse as you ask and ride with you to the gates of Elmhome. You are now but four hours from it borders. You shall not speak your news again until you are before the king. But I think you are off in your reckoning: no man may ride from the Citadel of Glamoureth in seven days and stand where you do now. Thrice that, maybe, if you neither ate nor slept on your way."
        "And yet I have," said he, wearily. "I have come by secret ways through the Stronghold, plotted for me by Lord Grithstane High Elder. I have never ridden a path so dark. Many was the time I thought I would perish within those sunless tunnels."
        "Grithstane Firestorm!" said Gawaith. "Only he would send a messenger on so dire and deadly a road as that. Come, the news that you bear must not be delayed; we waste precious time here in idle discourse. We must go with as much haste now as any other mile of your road."
        Gidderon was brought a fresh steed from the ranks of horsemen, and he was able to mount it only with the assistance of many men; then he with Gawaith and a company of ten men rode hard into the south and east, toward the tall looming shadow that was the impenetrable wall of trees surrounding the city of Elmhome. The vast expanse of plains that stretched before them seemed without end, broken only here or there with white stones suddenly appearing in broken piles, marking the way to the city.

        It took all of four hours and more to reach the wooden platform that lifted them hundreds of feet over the plains and allowed them passage through the branches above. They hastily led their horses across the treacherous causeway, and Gidderon stood in restless unease as the second platform lowered them into the City. Gidderon remarked several times on the wonder of the great wall of massive trees surrounding Elmhome, as did all strangers to that land. Once they landed in the porch on the inner side, Gidderon and Gawaith immediately rode their horses quickly through the cobbled streets, and before the amazed looks of the citizens who walked there.
        "Clear yourselves from our way!" cried Gawaith, and his voice scattered the people before them. Such sights were not seen in Elmhome in those days, and folk wondered in fear what it meant.
        Through the streets the riders went, until they came at last to the grand Elmhall, glowing golden in the light of late morning. They leapt from their mounts and ran for the stairs. The men at the great doors stepped up to waylay them, for two men running with such hazard caused alarm in them; but when they saw that it was Captain Gawaith and that he ran with such a look on his face, they stepped aside without further word and let him pass. Gidderon followed him through the old and majestic corridors, and by long ways they descended and came before the throne of Sharlane, in his cold and shadowed hall.
        They quickly walked the length of the long dark hall, and through the pillars of tall grey elms, each now bearing many leaves; and Gidderon could barely discern the throne that sat silently at the far end. The yellow morning light spilled down in bright shafts upon the dark stone floor, smooth and clean.
        "Gawaith!" said a noble voice, breaking the stillness. "Kinsman, you look as if you bear tidings of ill omen. Your face betrays you." Sharlane rose from where he sat on his royal seat of finely carved elm and gold. "What ails you? Why have you come hither in such a manner, and abandoning all your duties on the Northfeld?"
        "My lord," said Gawaith, "here is Gidderon, coming urgently from Netherwess, and he bears the mark of the King of that land. He has brought us the dreaded words that we have long waited for."
        Sharlane's face grew grave, and he stepped forward to meet Gidderon, who stood in silent reverence and fear in the ancient hall of Elmhome and could not move, for the majesty of the King was very great.
        "Step forward," said Sharlane. "You have nothing to fear here. Be at ease, and speak to me of the news that you have borne with such haste."
        Gidderon in answer produced a folded parchment from his breast, and the letter bore the red seal of Grithstane. The King took it from his hand, and turned back to sit upon his throne as he read it. When he finished, he carefully folded it again and held it in his hands.
        "You have served your lord well," he said. "I see by the day written in the proclamation that you sped here with speed unheard of. We thank you for your pains. Grithstane, whom I consider as my trusted counsellor, directs me in this letter to bring you back to him, and to bring with us every man capable of bearing arms. We are called forth to war." He stood suddenly very tall, and looked resolutely into the unseen distance, as if he were preparing to utter fateful words, and those who looked upon his countenance were struck with awe. For a moment nothing stirred; no sound of wind or breath broke the dark stillness. "Fathers of old who lie in the stone beneath my feet," he said in echoing voice, "may I prove to be of that worthy stock which hath preceded me, and earn now some small part of the glory which is bestowed upon you. In the hard days hence may I prove my worth to my people, and in so doing merit my resting place within this hallowed stone."

*Material copyright 2000 by Kenneth E. Harding.  All rights reserved. No duplication or reproduction without permission.