by K. J. Hargan
Arnwylf stooped and scribbled in the dirt. "I can only remember the first word," Arnwylf frowned. "But that is close to what I saw."
Iounelle stared down at Arnwylf's writing in the dirt, her mouth open.
"That is my name," Iounelle said in astonishment, "written in Miranei, the script and tongue of the elves."
Then Arnwylf dug in his pocket. "This gold piece I took from the treasury in Kenethley, in the Madrun Hills, do you remember? This elf's face, the same on this coin, was carved in the red mountain, next to the writing, by a human who helped the elf carve the elvish writing in the stone wall."
Iounelle turned the elvish gold coin over in her hands.
"This is the image of my Great Uncle Weylund," Iounelle said with amazement. "He went traveling and had not returned by the time of the garond invasion that killed all my people."
"Perhaps he is still alive," Frea said.
Chapter Nineteen
A Question is Answered
Ronenth stood on the strange new beach. The Sea of Lanis had cut away the sod of the forest where it had crept up higher and higher with every passing day. Some sand had been stirred up from the ocean's depths, and created a narrow strip of shore line, cast at the feet of the trees.
Ronenth impatiently kicked at the dirt and sand. The glaf's face and manner were darker than ever.
A splash made him turn and look out to the ocean. Barely a league out, Iounelle surfaced and swam back to shore.
The two riding horses and three pack horses behind Ronenth shifted their legs in boredom.
Iounelle, drenched, waded ashore.
"I think one last trip," Ronenth said looking down and surveying the small pile of brilliant swords laid out on the edge of the forest.
"Good," the elf said. "I hoped to finish before dark. Perhaps you can start a small fire for when I return from this last trip."
"I wish I could go with you," Ronenth said looking down at his shoes.
"All you would see would be sand and stone," Iounelle said. "Lanis Rhyl Landemiriam, the empty city of the elves is no more. It is lost to the ocean, sleeping under the sea."
Ronenth was about to protest, but Iounelle held up her hand.
"If you saw where the elvish armory was," the elf said matter-of-factly, "you could be tortured to reveal its location. I do this for your own safety."
Ronenth sulked, but nodded his head in agreement. He turned and gathered the last of the brilliant, silver swords and began lashing a leather strap around them.
"I should take your paricale on this trip," the elf said. "Then I can close the doors."
Ronenth opened his mouth and then shut it. He turned in a circle, then faced the elf.
"You said yourself," Ronenth finally said, "that it was as if the paricale was meant for me. And what if there is another invasion? How will I get to it?"
Iounelle looked at Ronenth a long time. His face seemed clouded, and she could tell there was something he wanted to say to her. The elf had hoped this trip would help him find the words, but the glaf remained silent the whole time, clearly struggling with some inner turmoil. Iounelle softened.
"If I have your promise-" she began.
"My most solemn promise!" Ronenth exclaimed.
"Only you touch the paricale. Only you."
"I will not allow anyone to touch it, not even Hetwing, not even my children!"
"And," the elf said, "I want it back when you die."
"It will be left to you in my will," Ronenth said with a serious face.
Iounelle looked at Ronenth for a long moment. "Very well," she said. "I am putting my trust in you."
An infant cried from the bushes. Iounelle rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Why will no human mother take this child?" Iounelle lifted little Mót up from where she had nestled him with many soft blankets. She handed the baby to Ronenth and took the burden of the lashed swords.
"He will cry until I return," Iounelle said to Ronenth. "Consider this a test of your promises." Ronenth hefted the wailing infant as Iounelle waded back out into the sea.
Little Mót wailed and wailed, no matter how much Ronenth tried to comfort him. Finally Ronenth set the child down where the elf had left him, and started a small fire as he had been instructed. He picked up Mót, who was fussing, but not crying. The child immediately began to cry again, sensing that it was not the elf holding him. Ronenth shook his head, but held the child anyway. The sun had gone down into the shining Mere of Lanis, turning the ocean into a sea of silver before it bowed its head into the waves. Soon it would be dark.
The elf was taking longer this time. Of course, Ronenth thought, she's closing the doors. Ronenth imagined all kinds of disastrous scenarios until he heard the splash of the elf surfacing. Ronenth sighed in relief.
Iounelle sloshed ashore. Little Mót stopped crying the moment he saw the elf.
Ronenth had a blanket ready for the elf, so she could dry her clothes. Iounelle smiled at Ronenth. The elf turned once in front of the small fire, and she was dry, without disrobing.
"Fabric from Lanis," Iounelle smiled at Ronenth's astonishment. "Is it true," the elf asked Ronenth, "that you placed Ravensdred's corpse next to you at the victory feast in Rogar Li?"
Ronenth sheepishly smiled and darkly nodded his head. "You were invited," he said.
"I still had much weighing on my heart," Iounelle quietly said. "What is it that weighs on your heart, Ronenth of Glafemen?" The elf boldly asked.
Ronenth looked down. The black cloud that weighed on the dark haired young man seemed to be heavier than ever.
"When I killed Ravensdred," Ronenth quietly said, "it was the first time I had ever looked right into the eyes of another as their life was extinguished."
"I thought you were happy to revenge yourself on the designer of the massacre of your people," the elf said.
"Yes, yes," Ronenth mumbled. Then tears began to rapidly run down Ronenth's face. He hung his head so that Iounelle couldn't see his sorrow, torment, and misery.
"Ronenth," Iounelle tenderly said and then quietly waited for him to answer.
Ronenth lifted his tear stained face in torment. "It was the most awful thing I have ever done!" Ronenth cried. "I am a monster as bad as Ravensdred! How could I do such a thing! I saw the light go out in his eyes, as my hand squeezed... And squeezed... I did that! I murdered! How can I face my wife and daughter knowing I could do such a thing?"
Iounelle let Ronenth weep for a moment, then she knelt next to him and put her arms around his head.
"Ronenth," the elf tenderly said, "don't you see? The very fact that you are so tormented by what you had to do is the very proof that you are not like Ravensdred. The Elven Way is one of respect and awe for life, so much so that elves will not eat the flesh of another living being, no matter how small."
The elf rose and saw to Mót. "But," the elf continued, "there are times when good men and women... and elves, must take up arms to protect the ones they love and care for. You would not have the daughter that you have now if you did not fight and prevail over Ravensdred. All the good things here on the earth would have been swept away."
Even though night had fallen, it seemed that a light had fallen on Ronenth's face.
"At first," Iounelle said, "I was motivated, like my beloved Archer, by revenge and a desire to destroy those who had taken my happiness from me. But, then I realized that if I continued on that path, I would become no better than those I hunted. Eventually I saw that I fought not for the wrongs of the past, but for hope for the future. How could the good things of the earth grow without protection from the evils of wanton devastation?"
Iounelle let her words sink into Ronenth, who quietly stared out at the darkening ocean for a time. Then Ronenth turned to the elf.
"Thank you," Ronenth said to Iounelle.
"Do you feel like traveling tonight?" The elf asked the young glaf. "We can turn the pack horses loose. They'll be safe here in Lanis, there are no predators. We can make Alfhich by midnight,
catch a boat, and have you in your queen's arms in Gillalliath by morning."
"Let's do it," Ronenth smiled, the cloud over his head dissipated. He now seemed very eager to return to his home.
They removed all ropes and harnesses from the pack horses and set them free, and mounted their own horses and rode.
The summer night was calm and warm. Ronenth noticed how peaceful and fragrant it was in Lanis. This land would be a magnificent land to settle, were it not for our promise, Ronenth thought to himself. The moon rose and filled the woods of Lanis with a glowing, serene light. Ronenth felt a peace he had not felt since before the destruction of Glafemen.
"Once," Iounelle said softly as they rode, keeping her voice low as to not wake little, sleeping Mót, "there grew in these woods a certain kind of tree. The tree was called a Mínrekk tree. The sap of the tree, the only thing still living, fed the elves during the Great Winter when the ice fields stretched all the way down to Lanis. The Mínrekk trees were planted in circles and were the elves' temples, used for prayer and meditation. It is said the Elf Human Wars were begun over the felling of a single Mínrekk tree."
"Are there any more?" Ronenth quietly asked. "I would like to see one."
"The Mínrekk trees, with its silver bark," Iounelle said, "and towering golden branches, honey colored wood, easy to cut and then becomes hard as steel, are said to have all died of shame as they felt that they were the cause of the Elf Human Wars."
They continued in silence. They crossed the River Hye, and once out of the woods, rode at a gallop to Alfhich.
It was midnight, and a fisherman with a boat happily agreed to take them to Gillalliath, since it was considered very good luck to have the last elf on your boat, even for a brief trip.
As they rocked on the water, a light wind filling the sails of the fishing vessel, Ronenth turned to Iounelle.
"I understand that you wanted all the elvish weapons out of the hands of the humans," Ronenth said to Iounelle. "But it seemed to me that you were looking for something more when I met you at New Rogar Li. Yulenth said he felt this as well."
Iounelle looked at Ronenth for a long moment.
"It has been a year since the Battle of Syrenf," Iounelle finally said. "All is peace and prosperity. Who needs elven weapons beyond their capacity to control?"
Ronenth understood that the elf was evading his question and he let it go.
The fishing ship arrived at Gillalliath with the golden rays of the morning sun. The Flume of Rith had broken in the previous winter, and the Lake of Hapaun became part of the Mere of Lanis. Now, the city of Gillalliath that once stretched up to the higher lake in tiers stood high upon a mountain on the edge of a pass to the new Reian Sea.
Ships and boats moved all about the pass. Gillalliath had become an important seaport with vessels traveling all the way around Wealdland by the Mere of Lanis to Kenethley on the southern coast, to New Rogar Li on the Bairn River, and New Ethgeow on the New Sea in the east.
Gillalliath exploded with pageantry and rejoicing to have her king home again. Flags were raised, ribbons streamed and flowers thrown in the streets. Ronenth looked over at the elf with embarrassment as they rode their horses through the thronging streets, up to the Royal Hall at the topmost tier.
"I will never get used to being the King of Reia," Ronenth said with a crooked smile to Iounelle.
Iounelle just quietly smiled. After their tired horses reached the Royal Hall at the summit, Ronenth leapt off his horse to embrace Queen Hetwing who waited with open arms.
Hetwing pulled away and looked at Ronenth's face twice. She saw immediately that the black cloud had been lifted from her beloved glaf. She kissed Ronenth passionately right in front of the whole city, which exploded with rapturous cheers.
"Our land is blessed to have you as a guest," Queen Hetwing said to Iounelle with an affectionate gesture.
Iounelle grabbed Hetwing's hand and stared into her eyes with such a sudden movement and intensity, the royal guards were alarmed and drew their swords.
Ronenth immediately held up his hands to stay the guards.
"Have I offended you, my friend?" Hetwing sweetly asked Iounelle, who held little Mót on her hip, and searched Hetwing's eyes. Iounelle released Hetwing's hand and suddenly seemed very tired.
"I apologize," Iounelle said with affection. "I needed to be sure. Now I need rest. Unfortunately, I must leave as soon as possible to see Arnwylf and Frea at New Ethgeow."
Hetwing was at a loss for words and turned to Ronenth.
"The elf lives her life the way she sees fit," Ronenth said groping for an explanation. "We can only hope to understand. And, say, weren't we going to visit our old friends after I got back from New Rogar Li? Now we can all travel together."
"I wanted to show Iounelle our daughter," Hetwing said with a frustrated smile, trying to be polite.
"She will see her," Ronenth said with reassurance.
Hetwing was satisfied and the elf was welcomed into the Royal Hall. Iounelle left to immediately rest in her guest room and missed the feast in her honor as she slept the whole day, and then night away.
The next morning, Queen Hetwing and King Ronenth had to hurry the royal traveling retinue to catch up with the elf, who was already aboard a ship and ready to cross the Reian Sea, back to the Western Meadowlands, and the heart of Wealdland.
During the brief trip across the pass by ferry, Hetwing stood next to the elf, showed Iounelle her infant daughter, and caught up with the doings of Wealdland. She heard the elf's journeys as she traveled across the whole of Wealdland collecting the elvish swords that had been distributed prior to the Battle of Syrenf the summer before.
"So Deifol Hroth had an evil spirit in his body?" Hetwing asked, saying the wizard's name low as though she might summon him by saying his name.
"Jofod Kagir," Iounelle said plainly. "The first of the fallen. The King of Devils. When the Vilest of Spirits finds the right kind of body, he can inhabit it. But, I will destroy whatever body he takes, from this day forward." The elf said the last with such viciousness, Hetwing recoiled and refrained from talking to Iounelle for the rest of the trip.
After disembarking at the new port city on the eastern shore of the Reian Sea, the elf rode furiously to the east through the Western Meadowlands. Ronenth and Hetwing had to leave most of their guard and royal retinue behind to keep up.
In the late afternoon they rounded the Black Mountains of Kipleth and rode hard to the north across what was once called the Wastes of Yonne, but was now a verdant farmland, as indeed almost every corner of Wealdland was becoming beautifully cultivated farmland.
As the sun began to set, they saw the black line of a city under construction, New Ethgeow.
Athelings and warriors immediately recognized the King and Queen of Reia and the elf, and fell into a ridiculously rapid pageant stampeding through the Wastes to the city being rebuilt.
King Arnwylf met them at the outskirts of the city. Arnwylf now had a dark blonde beard, and had added a few pounds of husky muscle to his tall, lean frame. Arnwylf held his arms high to welcome his friends, a great grin on his face.
"My dear, dear, DEAR friends!" Arnwylf bellowed as the elf pulled up on her horse. She leapt off her beast and, still cradling little Mót, gripped Arnwylf's arms and stared into his eyes.
"What is it? What is it?" Arnwylf pleasantly smiled.
"She did the same to me," Hetwing said, out of breath. "Perhaps it's a new elf way of greeting."
"Where is Frea?" Iounelle asked without affection.
"She's overseeing the moving of the stones," Arnwylf said, suddenly confused. Then a great smile broke on his face. "We're using the stones of the old fortress that was uncovered from the ice field, the fortress that Ravensdred was hiding in? Frea likes to supervise the moving of the stones. They've really been able to move quite a bit of stone under her supervision."
"I see," Iounelle said with a suddenly dark look on her face. "When is Frea due back?"
"Any moment now," Arnwylf said with a smile that was fading. "Is there something that troubles you?" Arnwylf asked Iounelle.
Then, the elf let the shadow fall from her countenance. "My dear Arnwylf," the elf said with a friendly smile. "It is so, so good to see your face. Welcome us into your home."
"You must come and see my son!" Arnwylf said with a slap on the back to Ronenth, as they headed for the center of the city and the royal residence. "We have named him 'Marenth' after your father."
Ronenth laughed heartily. "We've just had a girl, and named her 'Miri' after Frea's grandmother!"
The elf stopped and faced Hetwing. "How long ago did you give birth?" The elf asked.
"A little less than a moonth ago," Hetwing said with a pale smile. "I thought you knew."
"Oh, Wylkeho Daniei!" The elf exclaimed. "I am so sorry! I would never have pushed the travel so hard had I known. And we traveled with the newborn!" Iounelle was ashamed.
"I wanted to surprise you," Ronenth frowned, "but you slept through the feast in your honor."
"I have been a beast," Iounelle said downcast.
"Let me show you to your room right away, so you can rest," Arnwylf said to Hetwing as they arrived at a large stone hall that was the royal palace. All about New Ethgeow was wooden scaffolding, as the new, stone city was being raised.
After Hetwing was shown to her room and made comfortable, Arnwylf turned to Iounelle. "Now what is this all about?" He demanded. "If there is evil about you can count on my sword to be right at your side."
"And mine," Ronenth exclaimed, not to be outdone by his old rival.
"All will be told once Frea returns," Iounelle said. "In the meantime, can I have a wet nurse for little Mót? He has been a very good boy on this difficult trip, and I'm sure he will be hungry."
"He's getting to be so big," Arnwylf said, hefting the child, who immediately began crying once out of the elf's hands.
Mót was taken away to a wet nurse, and the three friends walked out to greet Frea.
"I was thinking of rebuilding the city of Glafemen," Ronenth said to Arnwylf as they walked.
