The Valley of Nargrond
Page 1
SONGS
OF THE
LOST ISLANDS
Part Three
THE VALLEY OF NARGROND
Copyright © C. A. Oliver 2019 – All rights reserved
The right of C.A. Oliver to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents act 1988. A SACD catalogue record for this book is available from the « Société des Auteurs et Compositeurs dramatiques » in France.
ISBN: 978-1081491420
Legal deposit: July 2019
SACD Catalogue record: 000178361 – 28/04/2016
Book’s cover and portraits:
Virginie Carquin - Brussels, Belgium
Heraldry, genealogy and maps:
Sylvain Sauvage - La Tour-de-Peilz, Switzerland
Editorial correction:
Thomas Bailey - Oxford, UK
Editorial review:
Laurent Chasseau - Paris, France
Eric Train - Biarritz, France
INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY CLAUSE
C.A. Oliver owns, or has title to the rights to, all the items that make up this Document, particularly the text, names, maps, logo and designs. It is prohibited to reproduce, represent, distribute or redistribute the contents of the Document by any means whatsoever, whether in whole or in part, without the prior express authorization of C.A. Oliver. Such action constitutes an infringement of rights for which penalties are provided under Articles L. 335-2 et seq. of the French Intellectual Property Code.
TRADEMARK PROPERTY CLAUSE
“Songs of the Lost Islands” and all associated marks, logos, creatures, names, races, insignia, devices, symbols, locations, maps, characters, products, games, designs, illustrations and images from the “Songs of the Lost Islands” world that appear on this Document are registered trademarks of Copyright © C. A. Oliver 2019 – All rights reserved.
Any reproduction, whether in whole or in part, of said trademarks and said logos, made using parts of the Document without the prior authorization of C.A. Oliver or any assignee thereof shall therefore be prohibited, within the meaning of Article L. 713-2 of the French Intellectual Property Code 13.
SONGS OF THE LOST ISLANDS SERIES
Now Available
An Act of Faith
The Lonely Seeker
The Valley of Nargrond
Forthcoming publication
Two Winged Lions (2021)
For more information, visit songsofthelostislands.com
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
It has taken me five years to write the first three instalments of Songs of the Lost Islands. But developing the world that is the basis for these books was an even longer process.
It is now thirty years since I first joined forces with four of my closest friends to devise the world of the series. It began in the summer of 1989 with the creation of an RPG wargame campaign, in which different Elvin civilizations fought for the control of a distant archipelago. The arrival of Curwë and his companions in Llafal, an Elvin port on the island of Nyn Llyvary, marked the starting point of a story that would go on to last decades.
For the first twenty-three years, we had no intention of sharing these myths, legends and adventures with anyone outside our tight-knit group. It was a secret garden, or perhaps rather a dragon’s lair, rich with treasures built up over 3,500 hours of gameplay. No intruder ever broke their way into our various dungeons: the garage of 37 Domaine de Hontane, near Bordeaux; a cramped bedroom in Oxford; and a flat in Arcachon, with a beautiful sea view we never found time to enjoy.
After the campaign had drawn to a close, the years went by and I found that I was missing the thrill of those night-time gatherings: the smell of smoke, the taste of wine and, above all, the noise of the rolling dice.
I therefore eventually gathered the material accumulated over all those years of frenetic creativity, and soon realized that I possessed enough content for twelve books. The distinctive nature of this story lies in its genesis: characters, embodied by players, interacting with plots and settings developed by the game master. Outcomes were decided by applying a set of specific wargame rules, the authority of which was unquestionable.
The result was quite stunning: a fifteen-year long campaign made up of dozens of characters, whose destinies were determined by both the roll of the multifaceted dice and the choices made by the players.
Much to my surprise, the first readers of An Act of Faith were very enthusiastic in their responses, and eager to discover what would follow. Some were fascinated by Roquen or Curwë, others resonated naturally with the more reckless Irawenti, while the more aesthetically minded readers were attracted to the Llewenti.
My mind was made up. I embarked on a quest to complete the twelve-book series.
When I started, I had no idea how complex it would be to forge Songs of the Lost Islands from all the material I had before me. I now look in utter fascination at the copies of An Act of Faith, The Lonely Seeker and The Valley of Nargrond sitting on my desk and feel relatively confident that the remaining tomes will follow. The debts of gratitude that I owe are therefore very significant.
Firstly, I must thank my beloved family: Mathilde, Marion and Agatha, who probably think me mad, but who nevertheless continue to provide their unwavering support.
I am enormously grateful to the scholars who have helped me negotiate the pitfalls of writing fantasy: Eric Train and Laurent Chasseau read the first drafts of the Songs and provided me with their insightful responses and suggestions. Their feedback was invaluable, not least because their passion for the Lost Islands dates all the way back to 1989.
The series could not have been written without Thomas Bailey, a gifted poet who studied at Oxford University, whose expertise and enthusiasm turned a manuscript into the finished article.
I am also extremely grateful to Virginie Carquin and Sylvain Sauvage for wonderfully designing and illustrating the Lost Islands, that last refuge of the Elves. Their prodigious efforts gave me the strength to push ahead, at a time when I was finally waking up to the full scale of the challenge before me.
Virginie is illustrating all twelve books of Songs of the Lost Islands. She has produced a series of twenty-three portraits of characters in the novels. Her work also features on the covers of the collectors’ editions.
Sylvain has served as chief concept designer for the Lost Islands’ world. His achievements include creating the maps of Oron, the genealogy of the clans and houses, and all their emblems and insignia. His overall contribution to the project is even more far-reaching; it includes, among many other things, designing the series’ website.
Lastly, I must thank the readers of Songs of the Lost Islands, for already making it through more than a thousand pages of stories and legends about the Elves. As Feïwal dyn puts it:
“The quest for the Lost Islands is a journey that cannot offer any hope of return. It is a leap in the unknown. It is an act of faith.”
TABLE OF CONTENTS
SONGS OF THE LOST ISLANDS SERIES
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
MAPS
CHAPTER 1: Mynar dyl
CHAPTER 2: Fendrya
CHAPTER 3: Gelros
CHAPTER 4: Camatael
CHAPTER 5: Alton
CHAPTER 6: Dyoren
CHAPTER 7: Lynsing
ANNEXES
ELVIN NATIONS
MAIN ELF FACTIONS AND CHARACTERS
GENEALOGY
OTHER BOOKS IN THE SERIES
ABOUT C.A. OLIVER
MAPS
CHAPTER 1: Mynar dyl
2716, Season of Eïwele Llyi, 101st day, Nyn Llyvary, Llafal
“Stop at once! This is painful.”
Though Mynar dyl spoke softly,
all those who stood within the great edifice could feel his discontent. He shook his head sadly, a look of poignant regret upon his face. The fair warlord of clan Ernaly seemed upset by his troupe’s poor performance. They were hardly living up to the grandiose spectacle he had envisioned.
Although they knew their director was unhappy, most of the dancers and musicians gathered in the central part of Eïwele Llyi’s temple had missed what he had said. Like apprentice actors struggling to appreciate some nuance in Llewenti pronunciation, all those assembled leaned forward and strained their ears. Silence descended like a rapid gust of wind across the nave. Tension in the rehearsal reached its peak, as the troupe’s collective attention focussed on Mynar dyl. It felt as if all the heroic characters, whose images decorated the numerous stained-glass windows above the nave, were holding their breath along with the performers below.
Within the spacious white temple of Llafal, Mynar dyl’s voice rose.
“This shrine will soon host the music festival of Llafal. When the time comes, this very stage, at the heart of the temple, will become the centre of the Lost Islands.”
Mynar dyl allowed a little time to pass before continuing, so that all could measure the importance of what would follow. He was dressed with elegance. Three white feathers hung from a dark green cloth tied around his blond hair, and his dance costume was a beautiful sapphire blue. Fierce beauty radiated from his features. The warlord continued.
“Our troupe has been chosen by Matriarch Nyriele to open the festival. I am sure you can all understand her reasoning. I believe she wants her temple to remain the greatest place on the Islands to worship artistic creation and sovereign beauty. Our sole purpose is to honour her ambition. This is the task which was appointed to us by the high priestess of Eïwele Llyi.”
Reaching the centre of the nave, Mynar dyl stopped in front the temple’s main altar, taking a moment to contemplate it. This unique sculptural masterpiece was made entirely of black marble, except for its base and decorative moulding.
From his high position in the temple’s chancel near the altar, Mynar dyl looked down at the brightly coloured throng of dancers and musicians who formed his troupe. His hawk-like eyes admired the drawings and paintings displayed across the stage. Over fifty days of artistic devotion had gone into setting the impressive scene before him.
Seeing the anxiety he was instilling in his troupe, Mynar dyl glowed with pleasure. before continuing his speech with his usual professorial tone, going back to the genesis of his musical composition. He enjoyed the thrill of his power.
“The beginning of this year was marked by a major disaster, a tragedy unseen for several centuries. From the chaotic surge of the Sea of Llyoriane emerged a tidal wave, which devastated the lower city of Gwarystan, killing hundreds, if not thousands, and destroying entire boroughs near the harbour where mostly Men dwell. Elves in the richest parts of the great city were left unharmed. But among the traumatised victims who had witnessed the devastation, rumours circulated of gigantic waves repeatedly hitting the walls of the upper city, as though Gweïwal Uleydon himself had come to challenge the might of King Norelin’s great stronghold.”
The evocation of the recent tragedy provoked a deep silence. A growing malaise could be felt among the audience. Though they, as Elves of Llymar, would all be considered rebels by the king, none of them saw the inhabitants of his capital city as their enemies. No true Llewenti would ever wish such evil upon another Elf, even a Hawenti of Gwarystan.
“Victims of the natural disaster are still struggling to cope with the trauma of losing their homes and livelihoods. They witnessed first-hand what happens when the full force of nature is unleashed. It should remind us all the overwhelming power of the God of all Seas...
Faced with the tragedy that has ravaged Gwarystan, the Elves of the Islands should call upon Gweïwal Uleydon to seek his clemency. This is what we are trying to achieve with this grandiose ballet today: to pay homage to the Master of the Oceans and thus proclaim that we, the ancient Llewenti clans, remain his devoted servants,” insisted Mynar dyl.
All Elves present nodded in agreement.
Ever since their coming to the Archipelago, the Llewenti had exclusively worshipped the deities of the Islands, and they did so with fervour. But they also understood the influences of other Gods. Though they did not worship them, they feared them, as one fears a threat on the distant horizon.
The God of Seas and Waters was an exception, due to his realm’s proximity to their Islands. The Llewenti would often offer Gweïwal Uleydon sacrifices in the hope of appeasing his wrath.
Now that Mynar dyl was sure he commanded the full attention of his troupe, he elaborated further on the origins of his work.
“This ballet recounts the battle of Ruby and Winds… It depicts the great confrontation between the deity of winds and storms, Eïwal Ffeyn, and the fleet which carried Lormelin the Conqueror and his armies to our shores.”
Mynar dyl looked fixedly towards an imaginary horizon, as if he were contemplating the infinity of the Austral Ocean’s grandeur. His tone became more delicate. He seemed about to unveil an intimate secret.
A few dancers chose to sit down.
“You may be wondering why I decided to base this ballet upon events that occurred over 2200 years ago. I chose this decisive moment because it was the turning point in Llewenti history. This year’s terrible events in Gwarystan somehow resonate with that long-forgotten past… when Gweïwal Uleydon roamed our waters.
I believe this piece has the power to evoke those heroic times when history became legend. I am eager to see your standard of performance start to meet those expectations.”
Mynar dyl looked in the direction of a tall dancer, perched on narrow, six-foot stilts, dressed in the garments of the God of all waters. Gweïwal Uleydon was represented as being almost naked, barely covered by a toga made of shellfish. The towering dancer bore a harpoon and a casting net, the traditional weapons associated with the Master of Oceans. Painted across the upstage floor was a palace of coral and aquamarine. A beautiful backdrop depicted the Sunrise Gates, the entrance to Gweïwal Uleydon’s marine domain. Emblazoned upon the dancer’s crown was the god of waters’ symbol, a casting net creating a tidal wave.
Now turning fully towards the tall dancer, Mynar dyl continued, his masterful tone now tainted with irony.
“My dear Ollayu, it is painfully evident from your performance that you have not yet sufficiently imagined what being a God would mean. Have you even considered the burden of your responsibilities towards Oron and its inhabitants?” he asked, like someone who had.
“When I see you crossing that stage, I am afraid. I feel utterly terrified. You’re dancing in a way that looks like you’re about to unleash a tidal wave against the entire Archipelago. You will know from your history and indeed from the very fact that we are standing here today, that nothing of the sort happened at the battle of Ruby and Winds…”
Mynar dyl abruptly mimicked some of the character’s body movements in an exaggerated, grotesque way, mocking the dancer’s substandard performance. A few Elves laughed, but the majority chose to remain silent. Any one of them could be the next target of Mynar dyl’s ire.
Indifferent to his audience’s mixed reaction, the warlord turned to other ancient myths to hammer his point home.
“After the genesis of Oron, each Gweïwal received his own realm to rule. After millennia of devastation, the chaos was ended. Since that time, the Greater Gods have avoided openly influencing the fate of the world.”
Many of the dancers and musicians looked to the various marble statues which adorned the temple’s nave, as if their frozen expressions could verify what Mynar dyl was saying. The statues all showed legendary figures from the Islands’ history.
“Hence my humble request, my dear Ollayu! I do not want to see Gweïwal Uleydon stomp across that stage as though he were about to bring down the walls of the white temple with all his wrath.”
Humiliated in f
ront of his peers, Ollayu looked awkward, almost ridiculous in his supposed divine attire. Mynar dyl ignored his dismay.
“Music!” he ordered with a commanding tone.
“Mynar dyl will dance,” announced the conductor of the symphony orchestra as he tapped his staff on the stand before him.
Soon a servant, who stood inside one of the numerous alcoves of the white temple, emerged from the shadows and brought forth a wooden box subtly carved from a reddish wood. The young Elf drew from the box a pair of fine sandals. Silver lace adorned the precious shoes, and hawk feathers had been set on their sides. The servant kneeled to put these dancing shoes on his master’s feet.
The troupe’s silence was so deep that nothing was heard but the careful fitting of the sandals. Then, Mynar dyl stood and, like a dancing king, sovereign of his realm, began gracefully stretching out his limbs, before rolling his head and torso down towards his feet to release tension throughout his body. Finally, the warlord performed three slight gestures of his hands, each possessing a magic of its own.
“Asna,” Mynar dyl uttered, and he thrust his hand forward in a commanding way.
“Eyu,” he said, his right foot tracing an elegant wave above an imaginary ocean.
“Ron,” the warlord concluded, as he mimed the God of all waters launching his mighty harpoon.
The music began to play.
Like an astonishing, gravity-defying acrobat, Mynar dyl began a true dance of waters, a sea ballet, the likes of which had rarely been seen.