The Valley of Nargrond

by C A Oliver

  After several passes, he stopped and addressed an imaginary public, like a Master of Dance would a lay audience.

  “Gweïwal Uleydon is one of the chief architects of the world. He comes third in majesty among the Greater Gods, after Zenwon, the Air, and Agadeon, the Earth, but before Narkon, the Fire. Gweïwal Uleydon ensures the fluidity of all water upon Oron, blending with air to form clouds, freezing it into ice, running it down rivers and mixing in with all aspects of life. All bodies of water are under his government: lakes, bays, rivers… and even the streams under the earth, for his influence runs through the very veins of the world...”

  Mynar dyl improvised a few dance steps, as light as the foam which floats above cresting waves, to illustrate the God of all waters’ fluidity of movement. Catching his breath, he went on for the benefit of his troupe.

  “The audience needs to understand the reason for Gweïwal Uleydon’s presence in the Austral Ocean on that dramatic day. It was no accident but his secret bond to the Elves that drove him to those latitudes, as the great Irawenti fleet travelled the high seas with King Lormelin’s army onboard…”

  Fully absorbed by what he described, like a seer experiencing an intense vision, Mynar dyl recited an entire passage of an ancient text by heart. The warlord possessed a gift for recounting tales. Acting came to him naturally.

  “Afterward, with the glorious Dawn of Spring, those majestic Vessels were primed to set Sail, towards the lost Archipelago where the Star had fallen. Flying atop the Ships’ Masts, billowing in the morning Wind, were the Colours of the noble Houses: the royal Red of the Dor Princes, the dark Green of the House of Dol Nos-Loscin, the midnight Blue of the House of Dol Etrond, along with many other prestigious Insignia, which all signified the Challenge that this Fleet did issue to the Austral Ocean, and their Ambition to conquer a new World.”

  Silence followed. The troupe’s attention had been completely captured by the melody of the prose. Mynar dyl continued his explanation, like one enflamed with a mission. He wanted his artists to acquire a full comprehension of the tale, so that they could share his vision of the story. The warlord worked to inspire his listeners.

  “You need to imagine the vastness of the Austral Ocean covered in the sails of the Irawenti ships. You need to see hundreds of their naves sailing south, their ship-decks bustling with High Elves in their thousands, their masts displaying the colours of the prestigious houses. The migration of an entire nation across the ocean: this is what I want you to contemplate…”

  Mynar dyl looked down at a dozen Elves who were covered in wood and canvas. Positioned at regular intervals across the stage, they were meant to represent the Irawenti naves. His voice still melodious, he went on.

  “Gweïwal Uleydon is escorting this great fleet of Elves secretly. He does not wish to be seen. Do you understand? Of course, he is the protector of all seafarers, but most of all he is the chief god of the Irawenti clans. Imagine him as he is represented in most Elvin traditions: a lawful power with a benign influence, a god who takes great care to preserve the world’s harmony. Gweïwal Uleydon is offering calm seas to facilitate the migration of the children of Ö, as he calls his beloved Elves.

  He remains their secret protector. Imagine that, on that historic day, the God of all waters is peacefully swimming in the wake of the Irawenti ships he so cherishes.”

  To illustrate his words, Mynar dyl performed in a few elegant steps amid the performers representing the Irawenti naves. Then he stopped, as if caught in sudden fright. None could understand the source of his fear, but all Elves present looked up to the temple’s ceiling, where the warlord was pointing.

  “Eïwal Ffeyn has come!” he cried out. “The deity of storms will sink Lormelin’s fleet! The divine rebel will not let the High Elf king reach the shores of the Lost Islands!”

  Answering his cry, numerous acrobats jumped from the shadows of the wooden beams that held up the white temple roof. Clad in grey garments, their silhouettes arced along great curving trajectories above. Thin, almost invisible ropes held them to the temple’s roof. The acrobats, mimicking the flight of Eïwal Ffeyn’s eerie servants, crossed the central nave’s large space like as many priests of the deity of winds atop griffons and hippogriffs. They began a frantic battle against the Irawenti naves. The eyes of those fantastic creatures shone like the sun. Their golden colours glittered, as if their brightness could drive away the harmful invaders from the Islands.

  “But the evil has not yet passed! The battle of Ruby and Winds begins!” cried Mynar dyl, as the music of the heroic symphony intensified.

  A moment later, Mynar dyl stopped the ballet once again to give his own interpretation of the drama to the ensemble. From the humiliated Ollayu’s hands, he seized a brightly coloured stone meant to represent a rich jewel with azure shades. Dancers and acrobats, musicians and actors, all stopped again to listen to his words.

  “It was at this very moment, just as the celestial cohorts of Eïwal Ffeyn threatened to sink the fleet of the High Elves and the fury of the deity of winds could not be held back any longer, that Gweïwal Uleydon chose to offer the ‘Aquamarine Pearl’ to King Lormelin.

  The God of all waters was forever changing the fate of he who would become the conqueror of the Archipelago. He had intervened in the destiny of the Hawenti nation… and therefore that of the Llewenti.

  At this precise moment, I want the music to stop. I want only the sound of silence then: a long, very long and deep silence… as deep as the Austral Ocean itself. The public must understand that History was changed forever.”

  Brandishing the fake bluish stone above his head, as though it were the legendary jewel of Gweïwal Uleydon, Mynar dyl returned to the role, his eyes set ablaze by the passion that inhabited him.

  “The Lenra Pearl!” he exclaimed like one possessed. “Gweïwal Uleydon has given the purest Aquamarine jewel to the king of the High Elves! Do you know what this means?”

  Like enraptured children entranced by a powerful wizard, the troupe remained motionless and silent.

  “Legends tell us that Lenra was a gem cut by Leïwal Vauis, the God of crafts, from the very essence of the Inner Sea. When the Pearl was offered to Gweïwal Uleydon, it was among the most prized of all the wonders crafted by the Gods and was coveted by many of them. It was said that the power of the Aquamarine Flow was woven through it…

  Do you understand now? Lormelin took the Lenra Pearl. He used its power to defeat Eïwal Ffeyn.

  The deity of storms and his celestial army were cast out of the Archipelago to their doom, incarcerated in the vast expanse of the Sea of Cyclones…”

  Mynar dyl let a moment pass before concluding.

  “The defeat of Eïwal Ffeyn will be the final act of our ballet. I will perform the role of the deity of storms when he understands that his fate has been sealed.”

  All looked at him in awe, already impatient to learn about the performance he had secretly prepared for the day of the spectacle. Such was the appeal that Mynar dyl could generate; he was a sufficiently complex artist to evoke a compelling mixture of fascination and repulsion.

  *

  Since the beginning of Mynar dyl’s discourse, a clan Ernaly guard had been waiting in the shadows of the temple’s colonnade, never quite daring to interrupt his chief. Seeing that Mynar dyl was now finished, he rushed forward, eager to deliver his message.

  “Noble Warlord!” the guard of clan Ernaly called.

  “What is it?”

  “He… He is in Llafal!” The Elf pronounced, his trembling voice betraying a keen emotion.

  Mynar dyl remained stolid, apparently unconcerned by the news. Nevertheless, with a quick gesture of his hand, he indicated to one of his servants his intention to change clothes. Water, soap and towels were brought to him, along with a fresh tunic and his favourite weapon, a long javelin decorated with hawk feathers. He washed his body thoroughly and replaced his dancer’s outfit with his usual attire. Mynar dyl quickly finished dressing in his respl
endent clothes, fitting for an Elf of his position. His long cloak, robes and boots, all a tasteful mixture of brown and green hues, were embellished with silver markings. A rich ermine fur was wrapped around his neck. He completed his gear with two shining long swords. Finally, he placed on his head the diadem of Tios Halabron, symbol of his authority upon the city of Eïwaloni.

  “Are you sure of this?” he responded at last, with a tone of cold authority.

  “Noble Warlord, the Renegade was seen near the port, disguised as an Irawenti sailor,” started the guard of clan Ernaly, visibly under pressure.

  “How do we know it is him?”

  “Well,” the messenger hesitated, “by accident, I would almost say. He came across Sarady, who saluted him according to the Blue Elves’ custom. Sarady, as you know, has become fluent in lingua Irawenti since dealing with the community of Mentollà.”

  “And?”

  “This supposed sailor failed to answer in his own tongue. Sarady suspected something was amiss. There are signs that never lie. After the Renegade’s initial mistake, Sarady became sure that his sailor’s clothes were merely a disguise. He went with discretion to Naloy with his suspicions, who immediately ordered his troops to surround the west boundaries of the port, where the Renegade was seen last. He sent me to warn you straight away.”

  “This is fascinating! The Renegade is being hunted throughout the Archipelago, yet he chooses to come to Llafal, under my very nose... what can he be up to? Now, lead me to him, we must capture him immediately. We can leave nothing to chance,” concluded Mynar dyl.

  The pace of his speech and his striking appearance made his determination very explicit.

  The two Elves began to leave the temple of Eïwele Llyi. They took the passage of gigantic fluted columns that led north from the main sanctuary. In the antechamber at the end of the majestic hallway was a fountain, its water continuously running out from six ancient pools of marble. A dozen clan Ernaly guards, fully armed, were stationed in the courtyard. With a simple nod from their warlord, they were hurrying on his heels.

  The messenger continued his report as they sped through the temple grounds.

  “He is unarmed, posing as one of the port’s workers, carrying bags in and out of the storage buildings.”

  “Unarmed? Are you sure he left his glaive behind?” checked Mynar dyl.

  “No one has seen his sword, noble Warlord, but it is possible he has hidden it nearby.”

  “Then time is of essence. This is an unexpected opportunity.”

  In the glare of the early summer sun, the clan Ernaly unit left the quiet pathways of the temple’s garden. The low, steady beat of their footsteps echoed like a band of faraway battle drums, detracting from the beauty of the place which was covered in vines and shrubs. They rushed through the shadows of the trees and along its vibrant flowerbeds.

  The group soon reached Temple Square, which looked out over the Halwyfal Basin. The entire city could be seen from the esplanade. Layers of terraces had been built into the slopes above the shores of the great basin below, and from afar they resembled a crescent moon caressing the expanse of green water.

  Mynar dyl looked out across the city, seizing a moment of respite to clarify his thoughts and shape a plan of action.

  Dense woodland covered much of Llafal’s surroundings. Beyond the high hills encircling the city of clan Llyvary was the forest of Llymar, a green sea of evergreen pines. It was an area of thick undergrowth and tangled passages. Apart from the occasional game trail, only a few paths led out of the city.

  “Have we secured all escape routes out of Llafal?” checked Mynar dyl.

  The messenger nodded to confirm. “Naloy immediately dispatched guards to each gate. We are checking everyone who enters and exits the city. We have not yet involved clan Llyvary in any of the steps we have taken. We have been discreet.”

  The clan Ernaly Elves descended the temple steps, passing the House of Essawylor, a large wooden construction which stood slightly downhill on the outskirts of the city.

  Marching in single file behind Mynar dyl, the retinue hastened down streets, lined with tall wooden houses and slender pines. The lower expanses of the city surrounding the harbour were hidden in the shadow of Eïwal Ffeyn’s hill. Under the afternoon sun, Llafal could be fully admired in all its beauty, like an amorphous mosaic of green and pearl.

  The passages were lively and vibrant. It was as if the inhabitants had all decided to leave the shelter of their homes to celebrate the impending Season of Eïwele Llya.

  After continuing down through several different neighbourhoods, the clan Ernaly Elves finally reached a promenade that bordered the Llafal docks. Opposite the water, colourful paintings of dolphins decorated the ports’ warehouses. Streams flowed from several marble fountains. Mynar dyl paused, taking the entire scene in with his ever-discerning gaze.

  In a few hours’ time, the sun’s orb would disappear completely behind the treetops of Llafal’s rugged coastline, and the small fishing boats would return to port. But, for now, the sailors of the clan Llyvary were nowhere to be seen. In contrast with the city, which was bustling with life as its inhabitants went about their business with their usual enthusiasm, the harbour of Llafal was almost empty. Only a small fishing boat could be seen gently drifting away on the calm waters of the Halwyfal. It was the time of the clans’ sailing regattas, and the entire fleet of Llafal swanships had set sail for Penlla, the other harbour city of Llymar Forest.

  Mynar dyl decided to stand at the top of the steps to the Llafal sailor’s guild. From there, he could oversee the movement of his fighters as they spread around the area, closing in their encirclement of the warehouses.

  Mynar dyl called upon his second-in-command, a veteran fighter of the clan Ernaly, known for his blind obedience and fierce nature. Naloy’s leadership skills were in no way comparable to those of Voryn dyl, Mynar dyl’s younger brother, who had gone missing a few years before. Nevertheless, Naloy was considered a capable commander. But on this occasion, a kind of excitement had pervaded his mind, like an inexperienced hunter impatient to snare a much-desired prey.

  “We are ready for the catch, noble Warlord,” he proudly announced, his eye as murderous as that of a hawk ready to dive for a kill.

  “Prepare your fighters for a deadly confrontation. This prey will not surrender,” Mynar dyl replied bluntly.

  Oddly enough, however, Mynar dyl’s eye was fixed on the sea’s horizon, as though he were more interested in the drifting of that lonely fishing boat than by the final manoeuvres of his troops.

  “I remember a small path,” he said unexpectedly, “leading from the bottom of these warehouses down to the beach of Eïwele Llyi. I don’t suppose that this path is currently being watched, Naloy?”

  The veteran fighter was visibly caught off guard by the question. “That path is a dead end,” he replied, his voice strained with a new tension, “bordered by cliffs as steep as Gwarystan’s walls. It leads only to a small sandy beach. Getting to that beach would be difficult.”

  Mynar dyl had a grim smile, yet somehow looked deeply disappointed.

  “Getting to that beach would be difficult... You are not wrong,” he murmured, with an almighty effort to restrain himself. “And there is a good reason for it!” he added, now looking furious.

  Mynar dyl breathed heavily, trying to gain control of himself. Naloy was puzzled, unable to understand what his warlord meant and the reason for his sudden anger.

  After a while, Mynar dyl managed to calm his raging emotions. Most unexpectedly, he started to relate legends of the love affair between the deities Eïwal Ffeyn and Eïwele Llyi. It was as if time were no longer a priority, and that Mynar dyl had forgotten about the capture of the most wanted renegade on the Islands. His tale told how the deity of winds had established the site for the very city of Llafal. Eïwal Ffeyn used his extraordinary powers to carve a gorgeous bay at that precise point on the Halwyfal’s shores, to create a beautiful port for Eïwele Llyi. Hi
s magnificent gift had earned him a passionate kiss from his muse.

  “It was no mistake that Eïwal Ffeyn made access to the beach of Eïwele Llyi difficult. Can you imagine why?” Mynar dyl asked.

  After a time, the now abashed clan Ernaly commander responded.

  “...No.”

  “The reason is simple. The deity of winds, may the Gods protect us from his wrath, did not want anyone to witness what he was planning to do with his beloved Eïwele Llyi after she had given him that passionate kiss.”

  “Ahh!”

  “Legends has it that he had his way with her over the course of many moons, savagely possessing her like a storm unleashed upon an isolated island, until she finally managed to flee his grasp... swimming into the Halwyfal... towards the sea, Naloy...”

  Mynar dyl’s eye was now calm, still focused on that small white sail still drifting away on the horizon.

  Naloy looked from his warlord to the fishing boat, back and forth, several times until he reached the conclusion in panic.

  “You mean to say that the Renegade is fleeing on that small nave? We must call upon clan Llyvary and send their swanships to stop him.”

  “Swanships?” Mynar dyl wondered, “What swanships? They all left days ago for Penlla to participate to those ridiculous regattas Leyen dyl Llyvary has organized. I am afraid, Naloy, that there are no vessels for you to command. Besides, our fugitive seems to have organized his departure with great care. If my calculations are correct, his small sailing boat will reach the passes of the Halwyfal just in time, before the change of the tide. It means he planned his escape very carefully and made sure no pursuing ship would follow him into the open sea.”