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not be here now.”
    Then, looking often at the child, he told them a strange story.
    Vohnkar’s Tale
    Legends say that in the olden times all the land was open, all the land was free. They say that in those days, the broad road led north out of Nelwyn Valley all the way to the Far Mountains and the High Kingdom of Tir Asleen. They say that all Daikinis once lived in harmony under the good king, and there was little to fear on that highway through his domains. Some brigands prowled, of course, so that a prudent man would carry a good blade, and from time to time marauding bands of trolls would swarm out of the swamps in such numbers that they would have to be beaten back by Asleen cavalry. But such events were rare.
    In those days, many travelers passed along the road. Messengers and administrators used it to reach all the domains. Merchants used it to peddle their wares from the backs of horses and from lumbering caravans. Strolling players, minstrels, and acrobats used it to make festive the many fairs and carnivals. Adventurers used it to travel to strange lands. And, because there were two splendid festivals a year at Tir Asleen, ordinary folk used it to journey to that great castle each spring and fall.
    Like all Nelwyn lads, Vohnkar had heard these fables. Unlike most, however, he longed to see the world beyond the valley. Perhaps because he was an orphan who had grown used to long solitudes while hunting in the hills, it was easier for him to leave. Early one morning he put his few belongings into a sack and set off northward to find the fabled castle of Tir Asleen. He traveled out of the valley northward, finding his way without much difficulty until he reached a woods beyond the Daikini crossroads. There he lost the road and never found it again. Far afield he wandered, and farther still. For three years he journeyed in strange lands. He reached the Western Sea and voyaged with men whose dragon-vessels slid through drifting fields of ice. He went north to the lands of the white bear and saw herds of strange deer so vast that their antlers shimmered in his dreams like a moving forest. He journeyed east, welcomed among the tents of nomads who urged him to stay forever, for the coming of a small man had been foretold by their seers, and Vohnkar’s courage in the hunt fulfilled all their prophecies. Long he lingered there . . . But still he was restless, still the castle of Tir Asleen glimmered like a jewel in his memory, drawing him onward in his quest. Regretfully at last he turned west again, taking with him a ruby earring and a golden necklace, mementos from a lady of those silken tents . . .
    Many months he journeyed westward, home. He had much time to think about Tir Asleen, to imagine how it must appear, and it grew ever more fabulous in his imagination. He had time to consider the strange way in which he had been led around it in his adventures, until he had encircled the place where it was said to be. He had time to muse on how he had been changed since his departure from Nelwyn Valley, for he had learned the skills of the field from all the peoples among whom he had lived. In those years he had served an apprenticeship. Now, he was a warrior.
    At last, famished and exhausted, he found his way back to the lands north of Nelwyn Valley. There in the mountains, in the midst of a fierce blizzard, he huddled alone in a cave and prepared for death. There was no warmth left in his small body. Cold had turned his feet clumsy and his fingers stiff. He embraced his weapons and curled into a ball, so that he might be found like a warrior, like those northern swordsmen he had seen frozen so perfectly that it seemed they must spring magically to life at a touch.
    So, he lost consciousness.
    Elves found him before he died. They bore him down into their deep caverns, warmed him, and fed him well until his strength returned. He told them of his long quest for Tir Asleen, and when he asked them if the castle really existed,