by James Dale
"There is nothing more to tell," Tarsus sighed, staring into the fire.
"Whatever you say," Jack shrugged casually. "What has passed is passed. It's none of my business. But if you want to talk...?"
"My mother died before I could even walk," Tarsus said quietly after a moment of silence. "I don’t even remember her. My father died when I was a boy fighting for the young King Theros against the Kadinar in some pointless skirmish on the border. Tereil raised me after that. That old man filled my head with stories of kings and palaces and how great Amar had been. How great it could be again."
"He wanted you rebuild Amar, didn't he?" Jack asked.
"He thought I was Amar’s own Promised One,” Tarsus sighed. “That I would be the king who finally lifted our people out of the ashes,"
"And you didn't?"
"I am not a foolish dreamer," Tarsus snorted. "Amar has been dead for eight hundred years. There is nothing left of it but widely scattered villages. When I could see what Tereil couldn't, I left. It was easier than being reminded every day how far we had fallen."
Jack laughed quietly.
"What's so funny?"
"Well...at least now you can stop calling me m'Lord."
"Why is that?" Tarsus asked.
"Because we're in the same boat," Jack smiled. "We're both wandering kings without a crown."
"You at least have a crown," the Amarian muttered. "They keep it at the palace in Immer. I saw it with my own eyes several years ago at Haelfest when they brought it out to show the crowds. Tars Aernin's is probably locked away in some forgotten treasure room in Gorthiel's belly."
"Even so, you can at least cut it out until, or if, I'm ever the Grand High Poobah," Jack laughed. "Deal?"
"Deal," Tarsus nodded, finally managing a grin of his own.
It was at that point Tereil reappeared with an arm load of thick furs and tossed them at their feet. "Here you go. It's the best I can do for now. If you two are planning on staying awhile, I'll clear some of the mess out of the spare room later."
"Thank you, grandfather," Tarsus nodded. "We are making for Brythond. I don't know yet if it will be in a few days or a few weeks. We can decide that tonight after the celebration."
"The celebration?" Tereil asked, his face unreadable.
"There's going to be one isn't there?" Tarsus grinned. "It's not every day the King of Amar returns to his home."
"I guess not," the old man smiled. "I'd better go see to the preparations then."
"When it’s over," Tarsus asked, "might it be possible to speak with the Regent? We'll need to see the Council of Elders as well."
"I suppose I could arrange it," Tereil nodded hesitantly. "Been a long time since anyone wanted to speak with the Regent. Is it important?"
"It is the most important thing he will ever hear," Tarsus assured him.
"Is that so?" the old man asked, wondering what weighty matter his grandson was carrying. "Tonight then, after the celebration the Regent will call a Shan'ra."
"Thank you," Tarsus bowed.
"Get some rest," Tereil said, tossing the furs at their feet. "I think you'll be needing it before the night is over." With that, he left to start the preparations for the celebration.
"Do we need this Council of Elders for the Elohara?" asked Jack, sitting down on the hearth to unbuckle his sword belt and remove his boots.
"We must have their approval for the Elohara," Tarsus nodded, doing the same. "And their witness is also required."
"And the Regent of Amar, when do we meet him?"
"You've met him already," Tarsus laughed, spreading the furs on the floor. "The Regent of Amar is Tereil."
"Why didn't you say so?" Jack cried with exasperation. "Here I am drinking his beer and sleeping on his floor like some kind of freeloader. He probably thinks I'm as disrespectful as his grandson!"
"Don't worry," Tarsus grinned. "He knows no one is more disrespectful than me."
Chapter Twenty two
The Elohara
A few hours later Tereil returned to awaken the weary travelers. "Up," he said, pulling the furs off the pair. "It's time. Everything is ready."
Braedan stretched and yawned sleepily, then sat up and sniffed the air, suddenly wide awake. A delicious aroma had followed the old man inside. His stomach rumbled loudly, recognizing the tangy scent before his mind could place a name on it. When his brain caught up with his stomach and identified the smell, he smiled broadly and quickly began to pull on his boots. When both of the men were ready, Tereil motioned for the pair to follow him.
Once outside the hut the smell was almost overpowering. Even if the old man hadn't taken the lead, Braedan could have found his way to the village square simply by following his nose and rumbling stomach. While they had slept, some of the village men had dug an enormous pit, lined its bottom with stones, and filled it with seasoned wood. Now that wood had burned down to coals above them, rotating slowly on separate iron spits and tended by a dozen of the older women of the village, were the sizzling carcasses of four hefty goats. The women paused briefly as the three men approached and one ancient crone, who was a hundred years old if she was a day, bowed in deference to Tereil, or perhaps Tarsus. When the Regent returned the honor, the old woman smiled and motioned for the others to return to their work.
Around the barbecue pit scurried a multitude of small children, laughing and shouting to each other as they spread animal skins on the ground in a large circle around the fire. Unlike the women, they paid little attention to the three men, in fact, they didn't seem to notice them at all as they ran helter skelter around the square. When the furs were all in place, the children disappeared in all directions still laughing and playing, their task apparently complete.
At the edge of the clearing were the men of the village, gathered around a wagon containing two stout barrels. With their arrival, the men reluctantly moved away from the wagon and its barrels, which Braedan immediately suspected held some sort of strong brew if their unsteady gait was any indication. When more than a few of them had to be shown to their furs around the fire pit by their more sober companions, it removed any doubt. When everyone had settled into their places, the women momentarily stopped worrying over the barbecuing meat and turned to watch.
Tereil motioned for Tarsus and Jack to each take a seat on one of the furs, then raised a cup of ale handed to him by one of the villagers. "Hail Tarsus Aernin!" he cried. "Long live the King of Amar!"
"Long live the king!" the others toasted in unison, then drained their cups.
"Long live the king!" Tereil repeated, downing his own mug, then assuming a seat between Tarsus and Jack. When he was comfortable, he clapped his hands and a flurry of activity erupted.
The children reappeared with shouts of laughter to form a line at the cook fire, each carrying a large wooden bowl. The women began carving off generous portions of sizzling meat and heaping other delicacies into the bowl; baked potatoes, roasted corn, wild rice and a variety of other vegetables, until the bowls were almost overflowing. Each child then took the meal to one of seated villagers.
The youngster who served Braedan was a beautiful cherub of a girl perhaps seven or eight years old, with jet black hair and round blue eyes like two deep pools. She smiled shyly as she set the bowl down before him and when he thanked her, she blushed furiously and ran away laughing. When every villager had been served the children disappeared again, only a few of the older ones remaining to refill cups as they were emptied.
"So, what have you planned for the evening grandfather?" Tarsus asked as he dug into his bowl.
"First we eat," Tereil replied. "Then we'll hear a few songs and perhaps a story or two."
"A rather tame celebration for Amarians," Tarsus grinned. "Are you getting civilized in your old age?"
"There may be a surprise later," the old man chuckled.
"I thought there might be," Tarsus laughed.
The food was delicious and plentiful and Braedan could not remember the last
time he'd eaten so much. He and Tarsus had been living on what they could catch for the last few weeks and that had been precious little in the land through which they had traveled. His mug never seemed to empty and soon he was light headed from the strong ale. When everyone had finished eating, the few children remaining cleared away their bowls and once again ensured every mug was brimming with ale, then they departed, leaving their elders alone in the square.
Tereil motioned to one of the men seated across the fire and he stood to take a place in the center of the gathered crowd. "Rol Aeson will now sing to us the tale of Tars Aernin, King of Amar, and the fall of Tanaevar." he announced. The villagers nodded their approval and Rol Aeson bowed, then lifted his head and began to sing in a rich baritone.
"In Tanaevar there was a king, young and straight and tall.
On winter nights when the north winds blew,
his laughter filled the hall.
His sword was sharp, his shield was bright,
his words were true and fair.
His people came from far and wide,
to hear his judgment there.
Around him were the Galekindar, champions of the realm.
With axe and bow and sword and lance,
they kept the land from harm.
One hundred were the Sons of Storm,
a valiant, mighty host.
Never had they fled the field, or e'er a battle lost.
Eirthawyn his lovely queen, was like the morning sun,
her voice the summer rain.
Her skin as white as ivory, her hair an ebony mane.
Her sons were fit and healthy lads,
the joy of every clan.
t'were none fairer every born, not in any land.
The earthe was rich and bountiful,
grain flourished in every hill and dale.
The mountains too gave forth their wealth,
to all who labored there.
Then one bright and glorious spring,
of unsurpassing fair,
a darkness blew in from the east
and Amar was laid bare.
A darkness blew in from the east
and Amar was laid bare.
A Lord of Staff once loyal, had found a dreadful stone
Aralon he coveted, each wood and field and home.
To Tanaevar the dark King went,
to parley with the King,
to bid Tars Aernin lay down his sword,
and fall to worship him.
Our King was young, proud and strong, he defied the fallen Lord.
Said Tars Aernin who was once his friend,
"Bring on your dreadful horde!"
"They shall not defeat the Galekindar!"
On that I give my word!
They shall not defeat the Galekindar!"
On that I give my word!
Then Graith did flee, but vowed return,
to crush the haughty King.
For not only Hiru followed him,
but demons he could bring.
Summoned from the pits of Hell,
by the dread Bloodstone.
And though the West prepared for war,
Amar stood alone.
and though the West prepared for war,
Amar stood alone.
The King at once did warn the land,
and girded them for war.
But no such evil had mortal man ever faced before.
Tanaevar he ringed with stone,
and crops were taken in,
and every man prepared to fight,
for home and kith and kin.
Though the men were valiant, warriors one and all,
they could not stand before the horde,
at the darkKing's beck and call.
For wolves now roamed throughout the land,
and dragons filled the sky.
And before the gates of Tanaevar,
did many a brave man die.
The Galekindar then did sally forth,
with a mighty shout,
But not even the mighty Sons of Storm,
could stop the darkKing's rout.
Not even the mighty Sons of Storm,
could stop the darkKings' rout.
Soon Tars Aernin stood alone, his head held high with pride.
and though the battle was now lost,
he fought to stem the tide.
For a day and a night he struggled,
Beneath Tanaevar's shattered gate,
the sight of his fallen Galekindar filling him with hate.
One hundred grim'Hiru did he slay,
and many more did flee,
And the people hoped against all hope,
and prayed for victory.
And the people hoped against all hope,
and prayed for victory.
But the demon Urioch then strode forth,
and lightning filled the sky.
He struck the king with a flaming sword,
and the hope of Amar died.
He struck the king with a flaming sword,
and the hope of Amar died.
grim'Hiru took his body,
and tore it limb from limb.
And Tanaevar they did burn and loot,
till none were left within.
The people fled into the hills, weeping as they ran,
For their king was dead, their city burned
and darkness filled the land.
Though Deathbane, the Great Sword of Life!
soon proved the darkness' bane,
Ruined Amar was a kingdom, now only in name,
a fading memory.
A kingdom now only in name,
a fading memory.
But we remember days of old, doomed never to forget!
Tanaevar will rise again! Your glory lingers yet!
The swords upon our village walls,
are stirring to and fro.
In our dreams they front uplifted shields,
and into battle go!
Afar beyond the Bergaweld, that dreadful battle place,
our sons have stretched their hands to death,
before the dark King's face.
Down the misery of our years,
their warnotes strongly blow,
an echo of what was before,
Revenge for Tanaevar!
Their warnotes strongly blow,
an echo of what was before,
Revenge for Tanaevar!
There was not a man in the village, though rough barbarians all, who did not have a tear in his eye when Rol Aeson sang the final note. Tereil Annen wept unashamedly and Tarsus stared bitterly into his mug of ale and heaved a mighty sigh. Braedan felt through the emotions of those rough men their eight hundred years of pain and suffering, and though his voice almost caught in his throat, he lifted his cup and whispered. "Revenge for Tanaevar."
Tereil Annen heard him and smiled, wiping the tears from his single, piercing blue eye with the heel of a callused hand. "Forgive us Jack Braedan. Though it has been almost a millennium, to some of us it seems like only yesterday. Perhaps we'll should have something lighter now." Tereil said. "Rol! Sing for us the tale of Tiralen the Midwife and Arlnar One Hand!"
The gathered men roared their approval and Rol Aeson began another tune, lively and humorous, about a red haired midwife and how she turned the mighty Arlnar into love smitten dreamer who followed the small woman around like a panting puppy. When Rol was finished the men were again weeping, but this time from laughter. One of the men handed Rol a mug of ale, slapping him on the back as he resumed his seat and another villager took his place.
This went on for two or three hours as men from the village took turns standing to recite poems and songs of warriors, battles and women. Most were of Tanaevar and Amar, but many had traveled throughout Aralon when they were younger as Amarians were wont to do, so many songs and legends of other kingdoms and lands were also heard. Even Tarsus joined in, much to the delight of the villagers.
His p
oem was a short one, a brief tale of the Highswords. Though his voice rang strong and clear, his words were meant only for Braedan, and while he stood in the center of the throng his eyes never left his friend.
"Five swords Yh ‘Adan forged, for the Kings of the West,
to fight and keep them free.
One for the Ailfar King in the Golden Wood,
and one for the King by the sea.
One sword for the King who ruled in the south,
and sat on a mighty horse,
one for the King in Ithlemere,
who guarded the lands of the north.
And the greatest He set with the jewel from his brow,
and gave to the High King of all,
and in his hands it caused the darkness,
to waver, to flee, then to fall.
Now the High King is gone and only two swords remain,
in Brydium and Ail’'itharain.
And Great Sword sleeps, it is wielded by none,
it awaits on the isle,
for the High King's son.
At the Temple of the Sword,
Deathbane cries from its sleep,
For Ljmarn's long lost son."
"That was...one I have not heard in many, many years." Tereil remarked when Tarsus had returned to his seat. "It loses a much of its beauty when translated from Ailfar, but it was interesting none the less. What brought that poem to your mind?"
"The reason should be told before the entire Council of Elders," Tarsus replied.
"As you wish grandson," nodded the old man curiously. "When we are finished, I will ask them to assemble at my house."
"It should be soon grandfather. Some of them are...well, some are enjoying themselves a bit too much. They will need a clear head when they hear what I have to say."
Tereil raised an inquiring eyebrow at the remark. "What is this news you bring us from the south? I see dire tidings in your eyes."
"Dire tidings indeed," Tarsus said gravely. "But hopeful as well."
"Very well," Tereil nodded. "You have roused my interest." The old man rose from his fur and went to speak with one of the villagers. The man nodded and Tereil returned to his seat and smiled. "We will meet after this last event."
