Down the perilous cliffs they climbed, until they reached the edge of the gorge above the river of brimstone, where they sought another bridge of spider-silk to span it. Making their way across one seeming abandoned by the creature that spun it, ever-cautious, Jaris was caught unaware when small Mara, behind him, drew the parry-dagger from her back and called out. Turning, he found one of the feared spiders of Hellsfurrow, greater in size than the largest dog, making its rapid approach.

The bridge swayed and bobbed in a terrible dance, causing Jaris great difficulty in preparing a defense. In the meanwhile, the tiny Hob gripped a strand of silk with one trembling hand and struck out with the thrusts she had been taught at the approaching horror, keeping its fangs at bay.

At last Jaris grasped a sturdy strand of silk tightly and drew his sword, saying to the girl-child, “Come! Grab my belt and hold tight!”

Dutifully, she did so as Jaris kept the monster at bay, then with a powerful stroke cut through the bridge itself, separating the two combatants onto opposite portions as they swung away, falling against opposing sides of the gorge.

Clinging to its ruined bridge, the spider hissed curses in its tongue while Jaris climbed, Mara hanging tightly to his belt, up the opposing side.

Safely rooted again on the rock, Jaris bent to the child, who shed no tears but shook terribly in the attempt not to, and placed his hand upon her. “You did well, child. Were it not for your blade, ill might have befallen both of us. There is no shame in shedding tears at your first battle. Still, we must press on.”

And so he bore the child on his back, up the steep cliffs, until at last they were again in the fertile hills she had once called home but were now naught but wild-wheat and the cinders of farm-huts. Few were the bones left, for the beasts had devoured the Hob dead and scattered what remained, and the child did not weep openly, but rubbed tears from her eyes in silence at the thought of the days spent there in happiness.

No time was there for mourning, and onward did they press into the steep hills of the north, and the Hob lands there. Many were the eagles and wolves, but of Hob there were none, remnants only of encampments abandoned the year past at the approach of the campaigners.

Further the search took them, beyond the mountains and into the fertile valleys beyond, where at last they found a place where many Hob made their home. It was not a place as Jaris had once imagined it, of bestial demeanor, but a town of sorts, with farm-fields and houses along the river that slithered through the green valley as might a great blue snake.

Knowing not what else to do, Jaris approached a Hob, with the child behind him, and drew its attention. The creature cried out in terrible alarm and bared its farm-tool at Jaris, then motioned to the girl and spoke words that Jaris could not understand. The girl was frightened by this display, and shrunk behind Jaris, so he admonished her. “Speak to him and tell him you are orphaned and seek a home among your people.”

“I am sorry, sire,” said she. “I know only a few words that my mother taught me, but I shall try.”

And so she did, but the Hob seemed taken with great fear at her words in the common tongue of the Realm, and fled. The same attempt was made with the next Hob they encountered, with the same result.

After a third such attempt, at last did a Hob Jaris took as a chief among them appear, flanked by many warrior-Hob brandishing spears of wood.

He spoke in the harsh tongue of the Hob, and the child answered in faltering words, and then he spoke further to her. The exchange completed, she turned to Jaris with her eyes cast down, and said, “’Tis hard for me to understand his words, sire, but I think that he says you must leave here, and I with you, or we will both be killed. The ones like me, who speak like Men, brought the warriors from the south, and are hated greatly. Others in the valley will be less kind still, and we must leave before they come.”

Jaris pondered this with great consternation, but there was naught to do but believe the child’s words. And so they left, following the river to where it met a great cliff and fell into Hellsfurrow, where its blue waters would mingle with those of the brimstone torrent.

There, the child, who had been silent, finally asked: “Sire, what is to become of me? For you have shown me great kindness, but I have no-where to go now. So much have you taught me, sire, yet I fear I will not know what to do once I am alone in all the world.”

And Jaris cast his eyes down on the child fraught with uncertainty, and lay his hand upon her shoulder, and said to her, “Fear not, child. I will care for you hence, and teach you the things you will need to know to make your way in the world, even if there are none to give you aid.”

At this the child seemed greatly relieved, and took the warrior’s hand, and gave him thanks. So it was that Jaris resolved that day to raise, himself, the child who had been deprived of home by his own hand and forsaken by her own kind.

Then along the edge of the precipice they traveled for many days and weeks, until they found a place hidden among the crags that they might again make their home. As he built again a crude hut from branches, Jaris found strange comfort in the act. Exceeding strange was the kinship, and unnatural more, yet there was mercy in it for both, and it would come one day to play a role in the fates of nations.