by K. J. Hargan
Arnwylf rose.
"I accept your fealty," Arnwylf said to the madronite warriors. "I will lead you with honor and courage equal to your own. I am proud to now call myself a madronite."
A commotion outside the madronite tents caused all to pause. A messenger begged to be admitted, and was allowed into the tent.
"Lord Arnwylf, sad news," the messenger said kneeling before Arnwylf.
Arnwylf, followed by all of the Madrun warriors, strode up to Frea and Ronenth, who stood over Wynnfrith's lifeless body.
"Arnwylf!" Frea cried as soon as she saw him.
But, Arnwylf brushed her embrace aside to hold his mother's cold face in his hands.
"What happened?" Arnwylf asked, holding back the torment rising in his breast.
"Deifol Hroth took the Ar once we landed on the shores of Wealdland," Ronenth said, neglecting to say anything of Wynnfrith's folly.
"So," Arnwylf said rising, with cold, hard eyes, "the Lord of Lightning gives me further reason to end his life."
"Oh, Arnwylf," Frea softly said. Arnwylf turned and gently enfolded Frea into his arms, and they wept together. The soft, girlish body of Frea that Arnwylf once knew was now the form of a hardened warrior. But, this did not displease him.
"Why is that glaf allowed in the camp?" An Atheling of Man sneered at Ronenth.
"What do you mean?" Ronenth challenged.
"All know that Yulenth of Glafemen consorts with the Evil One," the Atheling jeered.
Ronenth was about to strike the Atheling, but then he saw the cold stares of almost every human gathered.
"I know my fellow glaf," Ronenth returned with pride, "and he would give his very life to save any one of you. And where were any of you when Glafemen fell? Do not presume to tell me of the allegiances or loyalties of any nation." Ronenth roughly pushed the Atheling out of his way, and strode away into the dark.
"Ronenth!" Arnwylf cried, but his friend was gone. Arnwylf turned and struck the Atheling hard to the ground. "Any who dare speak such to Ronenth, or of Yulenth, in my presence, will lose their life."
"How dare you strike an Atheling of-" another Atheling began.
"You be silent!" Halldora commanded, arriving. "I have had enough of this insolence and subversion from my own Athelings! It stops now!"
All were silent.
"Back to your work," Halldora commanded. "We will be inspecting the battlements very shortly and woe to any man who has been lax in his duties." The gathered dispersed. Halldora then looked down, and took in Wynnfrith's still body. Halldora knelt next to Wynnfrith. She quietly cupped Wynnfrith's face with her hands. "Oh, my sister," Halldora softly wept, and gently laid her hands on Wynnfrith's breast. Frea hugged her mother to comfort her.
"She was never happy since the departure of my father," Arnwylf said without emotion. "And now she is reunited with Kellabald, once again."
Arnwylf and Frea stood to face each other as if they both felt the rightness of their being together. Arnwylf and Frea embraced. He felt all the love in the world in her arms, even in the face of the bitter loss of his mother. She felt the safety, strength and love that flowed from him without reservation or condition.
Halldora looked up and saw Arnwylf and her daughter holding each other. "Let me see to Wynnfrith," Halldora softly said. "I will prepare her to be buried in the tradition of the wealdkin."
"Halldora," Arnwylf softly said, "if we do not prevail tomorrow, it will not matter where or how any are buried. We shall most assuredly be left where we fall on the field of battle, for there will not be any human left alive to tend to the dead."
Frea gazed up at Arnwylf's face. In spite of the past moonths of constant fighting and terror, she thought there was no more wonderful sight in the world than her beloved's countenance.
"Come," Arnwylf said to Frea, "we have much to do tonight. No one will sleep. We must make ready to greet the Lord of Lightning when the sun rises."
"Then whatever you do tonight," Frea smiled, "I will be by your side." The madronite warriors, and Stralain and his wealdkin soldiers, walked with Arnwylf and Frea as they placed their soldiers and battlements.
At one point in the evening, Arnwylf was stopped by Len and Faw, two of the humans he helped escape from the great garond encampment in Harvestley, a year earlier. They both looked thin from hunger, but seemed to be holding back a happy secret.
"It is good to have you as our chieftain," Len said, the old man leaning on the young boy, Faw.
"Have you seen Derragen, the Archer from Kipleth?" Faw asked, interrupting.
"He has business in New Rogar Li," Arnwylf answered with a smile full of pain for the death of his mother, held in check. "We all have our assignments to fulfill."
"And we have fulfilled one for him," Faw said with smiling eagerness. Arnwylf saw Len tap Faw as if to keep a confidence.
"I will send him to you immediately when he arrives," Arnwylf said, not wanting to cause either to reveal something they had probably been sworn to keep to themselves.
"But where is Annen?" Arnwylf asked, changing the subject.
"She died a moonth ago," Len quietly said. Arnwylf could see that the subject hurt young Faw who was orphaned in the first garond invasions, and had come to regard Len as his father, and Annen as his mother.
Arnwylf embraced Faw.
"I lost my mother this evening," Arnwylf softly said.
"Then we both need to make them proud tomorrow," Faw said, "on the field of war."
Arnwylf was stunned by this wise sentiment from so young a boy. His sorrow suddenly choked Arnwylf. All he could do was nod in agreement. Len and Faw excused themselves.
The preparations to meet the garond army continued through the night. Moving among the people, supervising the placement of troops, construction of battlements and engines of war, Arnwylf and Frea tenderly held hands, as all of humanity readied to defend themselves from extinction.
Chapter Fourteen
The Dead of Night
Zik Mkichaa held the enormous gray wheel of the elvish boat tight in his ebony hands. The wheel turned with the slightest touch. It had taken an immediate reassessment of his sailing skills. The huge elvish ships responded so quickly, two had almost collided when they first set out from Gillalliath, fully laden with a hundred thousand reians. Men, women and children, every human that lived in the Green Hills of Reia had been brought aboard the all seven of the great ships.
Zik's ship, the Kyrial, red sails full, zipped back and forth, just as fast as the titanic elvish vessels. Zik frowned over at Myama helming his ship.
"If that fool puts a single scratch on her," Zik grumbled to himself. Zik could see Myama on the bridge of his ship, laughing his fool head off.
The Mother Moon was full and the night was calm, except for a good, steady breeze. The great elvish ships danced across the ocean as though they had longed to be out upon the waves for centuries. Zik was amazed at how responsive the ship was to his every touch. He began to sing to the ship in his native tongue to calm the vessel as it pitched like a cantering horse that had been left in its stable for too long, nervous and full of powerful energy.
"When will we arrive at the mouth of the Syrenf?" The elf politely asked.
"At this rate," Zik said, keeping his eye steady on the horizon, "Most likely by dawn, possibly sooner."
The elf seemed to suddenly be struck by a thought.
"Could we, Great Captain, arrive but a little later?" Iounelle asked with a gleam in her eye.
Zik immediately caught her meaning and flashed that devious, brilliant smile.
"We can swing a little south, to time our arrival," Zik said with a bloodthirsty little laugh. "The flanking stratagem is well known in my land."
"Thank you, Captain," the elf said and then excused herself from the bridge.
"Anything for the People of Light," Zik said to the wind curling about his head. His keen eye scanned the ocean's horizon. "Steady, my mistress," he said to the huge, elven ship as it pitched to
port. Zik resumed his calming song to the titanic ship quivering with power under his hand.
Iounelle made her way down to the main deck. She thought about the Ar, the Heart of the Earth, the powerful stone that Wynnfrith went to retrieve from the Far Grasslands.
The elf tried to remember the uses of the Ar. What was it for? What was its purpose? She faintly remembered a story her Great Aunt Silfliette told her about how the garonds had come to possess the Ar. Before then, the Ar had been in the protection of the People of Light, the elves.
Something tugged at the corners of Iounelle's mind. She had a terrifying experience with the Lhalíi, the sacred crystal. The Lhalíi had seemed to place massive amounts of knowledge into her mind. Yet, she had no way to access that knowledge. Things came to her, scattered, unordered, never when she needed them.
The Ar, Iounelle seemed to remember, was an object that worked best in the act of giving. Iounelle shook her head. The thought made no sense to her. Once the Yarta was out of one's hands, how could it then be used?
Iounelle came upon Hanarry and Myanne cuddling together at the gunwale.
"You must tell me everything that befell you after you arrived at Gillalliath with Halldora," Iounelle said with a smile. "I specially wish to know how it came to be that you two, who so seemingly despised each other, came to fall so deeply in love."
Hanarry smiled. "I suppose we have time," he said. "But first, will you sing that elvish song you sang for the Children of Lanis, Your Smile Always? I have tried to sing it for Myanne, but I fear I went wrong in some parts."
Iounelle smiled a smile that did nothing to hide her sorrow. "I will sing it in Miranei, the elvish tongue, first," she said. Iounelle turned to the ocean and in a clear voice sang:
"Dánt lee'a mytúsbromrthal venrek
Langangr ból i'othal thrakkrekk.
Sae i'ol verhyda naskreim omenalethfa
Tekathal vekmeithau dánraklomgivÊnarsknee aklosm’rel.
Drayel sjogee'anau m’rana mirau mytúsfa
Mandékapfa fyrfenau lee'ateklir dae langmokslir.
Sae slaetath lee'a vertafa akloslee'ath
Dae wylk sjobré'a'anoniola omen aklosm’rel.
Aytr h’nvalee'a fnaln rosum dánte'auryst
Dae avanfa lante naumyta lyan.
Sae pael lee'a tayakrn dae lankakrnanon
Svás paetakrthal pegranathfa narsknee aklosm’rel.
Ortek eyapandré'a úd veygra heralath
Paeldafa sjogandilsigan lanteverothal paelpak.
Sae i'ounvek dae maefn lee'a omenanon i'ounathalahl
Ovithglir i'ol lepee pegranee'i'ola narsknee aklosm’rel."
Iounelle stood very still, looking out at the waves. A breeze at the last stanza seemed to pick up, to carry her words to the east. Then, Iounelle caught her breath and sang, loud and clear in wealdish:
"The day is howling wind
Treacherous cold, unending darkness.
But I see you before me
Breaking the clouds, warm as the sun is your smile.
False friends speak words of pain
Bonds of trust are broken and ruined.
But forgiveness is found, happiness
And honor walks always with your smile.
Food is not brought for many days
And lack of water torments the body.
But all is satisfied and slaked
With the sweet, filling memory of your smile.
War rages. Blood flows. Destruction
Covers the uncomforted, weeping earth.
But heaven and love is with me eternally
As long as I can remember your smile always."
As Iounelle finished, the wind seemed to increase to carry her words far away to Derragen, her Archer from Kipleth.
Iounelle bowed her head as she tried to hide the tears that streamed down her face.
"We will tell you our story a little later," Myanne said with a sympathetic hand on Iounelle's arm. Hanarry and Myanne quietly, respectfully, left the elf alone to stare out at the lonely waves cresting on the sea.
The Archer rode his horse hard along the road north of the Bairn River. The road was becoming more in use with the burning of the Three Bridges of Rogar Li. Whereas most travelers would have taken the Westernway Road to the Three Bridges, now with no way to cross the Bairn River, they had to cross further west and use the less traveled North Bairn Road to access any land north of the mighty, swift Bairn.
The dark, tangled wall of the Weald forest loomed on the Archer's left for many miles. The sun had set long ago, and the Archer would be entering abandoned New Rogar Li in the dead of night. The rumors and reports from Arnwylf of the vyreeoten that had overrun the city were unnerving.
Derragen came to the outskirts of the city. The Archer slowed his horse to a walk. There across the main road was the blackened heap of the fire barrier Yulenth had set to save Arnwylf in his flight from the city. Glistening in the moonlight, the vile, charred skeletons of two, huge vyreeoten laid sprawled in the ashes.
The Archer guided his horse through a break in the ashes of the fire debris. He would have to cross the entire city. His goal, Yulenth's old work yard, where the old glaf experimented and tinkered, was all the way on the north eastern side of the city. The Archer thought about traveling along the edge of the city. But, if he was to find and pack up Yulenth's device, he had to know if any vyreeoten lay in wait for him. It would be best to find and kill them now.
The Archer flipped his bow off his shoulder and nocked a wood tipped arrow. He had special arrows made especially for the vyreeoten, with wide, sharpened, wood arrowheads.
"Hallo!" A voice called from the shadows.
Derragen turned to see a large, burly, bearded man striding from the darkness of an alleyway.
"Greetings," the Archer said, and quivered his wooden arrow.
"They aren't around," the jolly man said. "I chased them off. They'll be back soon enough. So, I won't keep you long."
Derragen noticed that the husky man appeared to be dressed in green from head to toe, and wore a felt hat at a jaunty angle. His cheeks were rosy red, even in the moonlight.
"I came to thank you for cleansing the Weald of the Black Circle," the man said through his thick, full beard. "It long festered in the Green. But needed a firmer hand than mine to remove it."
"Oh," the Archer said. "You mean the circle of intertwined trees that the Evil One used to contact his unnatural bride."
"Yes, yes, the very same," the Green Man said with a warm smile. "I didn't want to seem ungrateful for so important a deed. So... again my thanks."
"You are most welcome," the Archer replied. Then thinking slyly, "perhaps you can show your gratitude by helping me in my task. I'll need some extra hands moving my friend's device."
"I cannot directly involve myself in your affairs," the Green Man apologetically smiled. "I can choose no side, but that of the Green." Then the burly man hesitated. "How do you mean to stop him without your arrows, your special arrows?"
The Archer almost fell off his horse. "How do you know of the Arrows of Yenolah?" The Archer asked in astonishment.
"Oh," the Green Man said with a hearty laugh, "I know more than I should, and less than I ought. But what of the Arrows of Yenolah? How will you stop the Dark One?"
"My teacher told me once," Derragen said, looking down, "that which is lost may be found again."
"Old Sehen truly had more vision than the sighted," the Green Man smiled. "Now I will repay my gratitude in full. I will tell you something that maybe I ought not to." The Green Man hesitated. Then he tilted his head and said, conspiratorially, "You will be faced with a choice, Archer from Kipleth, a choice most terrible and overwhelming, a choice I would not wish on the worst of men. In that moment, remember your heart and you will know what to do. I can say no more." The Green Man turned to depart.
"I seem to know you," the Archer said to catch him. "And yet, I know I have never seen your face before in all my life."
"Do you remember when your father took you to Rhyd Bawr when you were only seven summers old?" The Green Man said turning back.
The Archer shook his head. "I should be surprised that you know that," the Archer mused, "but then I suppose I shouldn't."
"When you looked at the plentiful trees at that place," the Green Man said, "you asked why none where red, as you were told they would be."
"And my father said," Derragen said with wonder, "that the Green Man still walks among these trees. And I thought I saw someone, but... That was over forty summers ago. You haven't aged a day."
"On the shortest day of the year I die," the Green Man said. "And every Spring I am reborn again as you see me now. I am in every stand of trees that give cool shade. I am in every field bursting with verdant life. I am in the simple flower that you pick to please the Song of Your Heart. As long as I come with the renewal of every year, there will be life for humanity and all her cousins, and I will be there."
The Green Man turned and walked away to the shadows. The Archer moved his horse forward to watch him go. The Green Man strode north past the houses on the western edge of Rogar Li, to the line of trees that marked the edge of the Weald. There the Green Man stopped, as a pillar of moonlight fell beside him. The moonlight shimmered and seemed to take the form of a beautiful Silver Woman who walked with the Green Man into the depths of the forest to disappear into the arboreal vaults of the Weald.
"We had best take advantage of the break he has given us," the Archer said to his horse. Derragen spurred his horse on with haste to Yulenth's work yard.
At the enclosure of the old glaf, all was as if it had been abandoned in haste. Some engines of curious construction had been left half built. Tools and materials dropped where the workmen had left them in the hurried evacuation of Rogar Li.
Derragen dismounted and pulled through Yulenth's stored devices that had been stacked against each other. Finally, the Archer found a group of structures marked with a 'D'. He knew that these were the pieces he needed to find. But, the pieces and beams of the device were too large and numerous for his single horse. He might create a sledge, and he and his horse could pull the device along, but that would take several days to transport to the Plains of Syrenf.
