Defenders of Ulthuan

by Graham McNeill

  Each step of the journey thou goest.

  And then it was over, the words ended and the tune played out. He lowered the harp and let the moment hang, his breath hot in his throat and the excruciating desire to please still hammering in his chest.

  Heartfelt cheers and applause greeted his song and Narentir rose from his seat at the edge of the rug. His face was smiling as he said, ‘Well done, Caelir, well done,’ and pulled him into an embrace.

  ‘It was just a simple wayfarer’s tune,’ said Caelir, faintly embarrassed by the praise.

  ‘True enough,’ said Narentir, ‘but you sang it honestly and played it well.’

  Caelir smiled and felt the muse within him cry out for more, but he handed the harp back to Narentir as another performer made their way to the rug.

  Hands clapped his back and kisses were planted on his cheeks as he returned to the fold of the audience. He felt their approval wash over him and smiled as he was handed yet another glass of dreamwine.

  Caelir passed through the audience in a blur, painted faces and smiles and kisses passing in a whirl of excitement and the rush of performance. He drained his glass and another was immediately thrust into his hand.

  He laughed with them and joined in their applause as more performers came to the rug. A hand slipped into his and he found himself face to face with Lilani, her dancer’s physique pressed close to his and her wide eyes looking up into his.

  ‘Your song was sad,’ she said and her voice was as silken as her movements.

  ‘It wasn’t meant to be.’

  ‘I meant beneath the words,’ she said, leading him beyond the torchlight towards the grassy slopes of a low hill. ‘Your heart is in pain, but I know ways to heal it.’

  ‘How?’ said Caelir as her hands slipped up and around his neck. Lilani pressed the curve of her body against his and without conscious thought he leaned down to kiss her. It was instinctive, and her boldness – which did not surprise him – felt like the most natural thing in the world. She tasted of dreamwine and berries, her lips soft and her skin cool beneath his hands.

  With barely a shrug her robe and his clothes were discarded and they lay down in the silvered grass together as music and song and laughter drifted on the air.

  But Caelir heard none of it, for there was only Lilani and the time they shared beneath the moon.

  Caelir opened his eyes and blinked rapidly in the light of the risen sun. For a moment, he wondered where he was, and then looked down to see the sleeping form of Lilani, her arm draped across his chest. Morning dew glistened on her skin and he smiled as the hazy memory of last night’s pleasurable exertions returned to him.

  ‘Ah, you’re awake at last, dear boy,’ said a voice and he looked up to see Narentir holding out a plate of bread and fruit to him.

  Caelir slipped from Lilani’s embrace and scooped up his clothes, feeling faintly ridiculous as he pulled them on before this stranger. He remembered hugging him last night and feeling as though they were as close as brothers, but without the effects of the dreamwine, he realised that he knew almost nothing about these people beyond their names.

  His stomach growled, reminding him that it had been days since he had eaten, and he gratefully took the offered plate, wolfing down great mouthfuls.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘You are most welcome,’ replied Narentir. ‘I trust you enjoyed yourself last night?’

  ‘I did, yes,’ said Caelir between bites of fruit. ‘I have never performed before an audience before.’

  ‘Oh I know, but I meant with Lilani.’

  Caelir blushed, looking back at the sleeping dancer and unsure of how to respond.

  Narentir laughed at his discomfort, though there was no malice to it, and said, ‘Don’t give it a moment’s worry, my boy. Here, we do not restrain our desires with antiquated moral codes, for we are all travellers on the road of the senses.’

  ‘The what? I don’t understand,’ said Caelir.

  ‘Really?’ smiled Narentir, slipping an arm around his shoulders and leading him towards the wagons, which Caelir now saw were lacquered in a riot of colours and patterns. ‘I thought from both your performances last night, you were only too well acquainted with the life of the voluptuary.’

  ‘Wait a minute…’ said Caelir, as the import of Narentir’s words sank in. ‘You said both my performances?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Narentir, gesturing towards Lilani. ‘Or did you think your singing was the only thing you had an audience for?’

  Caelir blushed at the thought of having been observed, but there was no judgement or lasciviousness in Narentir’s comment and he felt his embarrassment fade. Instead, he smiled and said, ‘Then yes, I did enjoy myself. As you said, she is a rare jewel.’

  ‘That’s more like it,’ said Narentir. ‘That’s the kind of attitude that will get you noticed in Avelorn. Now come on, sate your appetite and we shall be on our way.’

  ‘Wait, you are heading to Avelorn?’

  ‘Of course. Where did you think we were going?’

  ‘I… I hadn’t given it much thought, to be honest,’ said Caelir. ‘Everything happened so quickly, I didn’t get a chance to think about it.’

  ‘True enough, but isn’t that just the most delightful way of living life?’

  Narentir climbed onto the padded seat of the lead wagon and Caelir asked. ‘What takes you to Avelorn?’

  ‘What takes anyone to Avelorn, dear Caelir? Music, dancing, magic and love.’

  Caelir smiled, bemused at Narentir’s carefree attitude, but as he watched the revellers of last night rouse themselves from their slumbers and ready themselves for travel, he could not fault their enthusiasm in greeting the day. The group was made up of perhaps two dozen elves, and everywhere Caelir looked, he saw smiles and genuine affection for those around them.

  Laughter and yet more music filled the air and to Caelir’s eyes his surroundings seemed more vital, more alive than they had before, as though the land welcomed the travellers’ joy and returned it tenfold.

  He smiled as elves he had met only the previous night welcomed him with kisses and the familiarity of old friends. An arm slipped around his waist and he turned to see Lilani beside him.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said.

  She smiled and Caelir felt a surge of wellbeing suffuse him. Perhaps she had indeed healed his heart as she had claimed she could.

  ‘Do you travel with us?’ she asked, slipping around him and planting a kiss on his lips.

  Caelir looked at the love and friendship he saw in the elves around him and felt more at home than he could ever remember.

  ‘I think I will be, yes. At least until we reach Avelorn.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, dancing around him with teasing grace. ‘Because I think I’d like you to perform for me again soon.’

  The island of the Gaen Vale came into view as a beautiful swathe of green, gold and sapphire. Glittering blue cliffs, shaggy with lush forests, rose from the sea and the scent of wild flowers and flowering plants were carried from its centre. Game roamed free within the low-lying forests and Eldain could see deer and pale horses running wild through the surf that skirted the western shores of the island.

  The Dragonkin had sailed from Cairn Auriel with the first tide and Eldain had spent much of the journey sitting alone at the tiller with Captain Bellaeir, finding him a voluble conversationalist, so long as their discussions revolved around ships and sailing. The closer they had sailed to the Gaen Vale, the more excited Rhianna and Yvraine had become, their anticipation at setting foot on the hallowed soil of the Mother Goddess passing like a magical current between them.

  Neither seemed inclined to discuss the island, as though doing so with a male would somehow defile the beauty of it for them.

  He and Rhianna still slept together beneath the stars, but with each mile that brought them closer to the Gaen Vale, he felt the distance between them widening and prayed that it was simply the proximity of the island and not some
deeper gulf opening between them.

  On the morning of their third day of travel, Captain Bellaeir stood on the tiller step and pointed towards an outthrust spit of rock fringed with tall evergreens. As the ship swung around the peninsula, Eldain saw that it formed the edge of a natural bay and he gasped as he saw the wondrous landscape beyond.

  ‘Lady Rhianna, yonder is the Bay of Cython!’ cried Bellaeir.

  Rhianna and Yvraine joined Eldain at the gunwale and linked their hands at the sight of the island’s beauty.

  Golden beaches and verdant forests spread out before them, with crystal waterfalls tumbling from rounded boulders into foaming pools that ran to the sea. Flocks of white birds circled overhead and the sound of silver bells sounded from somewhere out of sight. The waters of the ocean were unimaginably clear, the sandy sea bottom rippling beneath the ship like the bed of the freshest stream of Ellyrion.

  Eldain thought the scene unbearably beautiful, but as he looked over at his wife, he saw that Rhianna and Yvraine were weeping openly.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he said.

  Rhianna shook her head. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  He shared a look with Bellaeir, but the captain simply shrugged and turned the tiller inwards towards the shoreline.

  No sooner had the vessel’s prow turned towards the island, than a silver shafted arrow streaked from the forest at the end of the peninsula and hammered into the mast. Eldain ducked as the arrow vibrated with the impact and Bellaeir swore, turning the Dragonkin away from the island.

  ‘They’re loosing arrows at us?’ exclaimed Eldain, catching a glimpse of a naked archer at the edge of the trees. ‘Why are they doing that?’

  ‘It’s us,’ said Bellaeir. ‘It’s because there are males aboard. I should have realised.’

  ‘Then how do we land?’

  ‘You don’t,’ said Yvraine. ‘Lady Rhianna and I will have to swim ashore.’

  Eldain rounded upon the Sword Master and said, ‘It’s nearly half a mile.’

  ‘The island will guide us.’

  ‘We’ll be fine, Eldain,’ said Rhianna, smiling as she looked towards the island. ‘Nothing bad will happen to us here.’

  Captain Bellaeir weighed anchor and the two elf maids stripped down to their undergarments in preparation for their swim. Yvraine reluctantly passed her sword to Eldain and it was clear how much it pained her to venture into the unknown without her weapon.

  ‘Be careful,’ he said as Rhianna took a deep breath at the edge of the rail.

  ‘I will be, Eldain,’ she promised. ‘This is a place of healing and renewal. Nothing bad can happen here.’

  ‘I hope you are right.’

  She leaned forward and gave him a soft kiss, then turned and dived into the water with the natural grace of a sea sprite. Yvraine followed her a moment later and together they swam through the clear waters of the Sea of Dusk towards the beach.

  Eldain saw more of the archer women moving through the forests as they shadowed these new arrivals to their island.

  He hoped that Rhianna was right.

  Hopefully nothing bad could happen here.

  Rhianna swam with powerful strokes, the water blessedly cool and crystalline. The waves were small and the island quickly drew closer, as though the sea itself were helping to carry them inwards. Yvraine swam ahead of her, her more powerful, warrior’s physique allowing her to pull ahead more easily.

  She swam onwards, feeling the cares of the world melt away with every stroke. Ahead, Yvraine splashed through the gentle surf of the beach and Rhianna felt an irrational stab of jealousy that Yvraine would set foot on the island before her.

  No sooner had the thought surfaced than it instantly washed from her mind as she realised how ridiculous it was. Yvraine was also a supplicant here by the simple virtue of her sex and a fellow devotee of the Mother Goddess. Competition between them was irrelevant. Such futile strife was the preserve of the race of males.

  At last Rhianna reached the shallows and began wading ashore. She felt the welcome of the island in her very bones, as though it had been waiting for her for uncounted years, and she cursed that she had waited this long to journey to it.

  Yvraine was waiting for her, her sodden undergarments plastered to her body, and they hugged as the island’s joy filled them with love.

  The ground beneath Rhianna’s feet felt charged with the magic of creation and they made their way hand in hand up the beach, the warmth of the white gold sand between their toes delicious and warm. Gentle winds carried homely scents and a life-giving breath that seemed to reach out from the trees and draw them in.

  ‘Which way do we go?’ asked Yvraine.

  ‘Just onwards,’ said Rhianna. ‘The island will show us the way.’

  Yvraine nodded and followed as Rhianna set off towards the edge of the forest.

  As she drew near the trees, Rhianna saw a narrow path winding upwards from the beach, its boundaries marked by gleaming white stones, and immediately knew that this would lead them to where they needed to go.

  The warmth of the sun penetrated the leafy canopy and spears of light waved through the shadowy forest as they followed the path up through the forest. Though the path was long and the slope steep, Rhianna found the going easy, as though the ground itself rose to meet her every footfall. It took an effort of will not to abandon all restraint and sprint to the end of the path. She could see the same excitement on Yvraine’s face as they passed between the ancient trees of the island.

  The forest air was a tonic in her spirit, the cares of the world far behind her and insignificant in the face of the ancient power that lay beneath the earth here. The mages of Hoeth might wield power that could destroy whole armies, but not one amongst them could create life as this sacred place could. Who amongst the warriors of the world could match the awesome power of the Mother Goddess?

  ‘Rhianna…’ whispered Yvraine.

  She stopped, though her feet ached to carry her onwards.

  ‘What is it?’ she said, turning to see Yvraine kneeling to examine the edge of the path.

  ‘Look at this,’ said the Sword Master, beckoning her over.

  Rhianna tore her eyes from the inviting horizon and knelt beside Yvraine as the Sword Master dug rich, black loam from around one of the smooth white marker stones. Dark earth fell away as she lifted it from the ground, and Rhianna recoiled as she saw that Yvraine held a smooth, fleshless skull.

  ‘Isha preserve us,’ she said, now realising that all the white markers were similarly gruesome artefacts. ‘Skulls? But why?’

  Yvraine replaced the skull in the ground and said, ‘I imagine that these belong to males who could not contain their curiosity.’

  Rhianna felt a chill pass down her spine and the forest, which had previously been filled with light and promise, now seemed a darker and more dangerous place. For the first time, she understood that the energy she felt here was elemental and raw, the awesome power of creation without the discipline of intellect.

  Perhaps Eldain had been right to counsel caution.

  ‘We should move on,’ said Yvraine.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Rhianna, backing away from the buried skulls and making her way uphill along the dead centre of the path.

  Their route curled uphill, weaving a circuitous route through shady arbours and golden clearings until, at last, they arrived at the edge of the forest and a rippling curtain of sunlight.

  Rhianna closed her eyes and walked through the light, feeling warmth caress her skin with soothing, welcoming affection.

  She opened her eyes and wept at the beauty before her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Duty

  Rhianna had lived amid the magical wonders of Saphery and ridden the enchanted plains of Ellyrion. She had seen the glory of Lothern and marvelled at the rugged splendour of Yvresse, but nothing could compare to the wonder of the Gaen Vale. The landscape spread out before her in a rolling patchwork of bountiful forests, fast-flowing rivers and wide g
roves of graceful statues and temples of purest white.

  Music filled the air, but it was not the tunes of elves, but the melodies of the earth: birdsong, the rustle of wind in the branches of tall trees and the gurgle of life-giving waters as they flowed from a rocky peak at the centre of the island.

  Together the sounds of the island formed a natural orchestra that played the symphony of creation in every breath. She felt Yvraine’s hand take hers and she squeezed it tightly as they made their way into the depths of the island.

  ‘I expected it to be wonderful,’ she said, ‘but this… this is incredible.’

  ‘I know,’ agreed Yvraine. ‘I wish I had travelled here sooner.’

  Rhianna nodded, only too aware that she had meant to travel here after her wedding to Caelir. She pictured Caelir’s face as she had last seen it, terrified and running for his life, and a strangled sob burst from her as a host of emotions, which until now she had kept buried deep inside her, were dragged to the surface by the magic of the Gaen Vale.

  Yvraine stopped and said, ‘Rhianna? What is the matter?’

  ‘Caelir,’ she sobbed, sinking to her knees beside a pool of mirror-still water. ‘I can’t even imagine the torment he must have endured at the hands of the druchii. I thought he was dead and I married another. I should have waited… I should have waited!’

  Yvraine held her tight and said, ‘You were not to know, Rhianna. His own brother told you he was dead. What more could you have done?’

  ‘I should have known,’ said Rhianna. ‘I should have felt he was still alive.’

  More sobs shook her frame and she cried into Yvraine’s shoulder.

  ‘I had a duty to him and I failed…’ she whispered.

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ stated Yvraine without pity, but not unkindly. ‘He was dead and you moved on. Now you have a duty to Eldain and your duty to him is to love him as you once loved Caelir.’

  Rhianna looked up into Yvraine’s face and felt her composure return at the Sword Master’s words. She smiled through her tears and said, ‘Thank you, Yvraine. I underestimated you.’