The Valley of Nargrond

by C A Oliver

  The steward struck her across the face.

  His anger had been steadily building throughout their conversation, and this final defiance of his authority tipped him over the edge. He started grabbing and then shoving her repeatedly, and the violence escalated until he was punching and slapping her without restraint. He continued hitting her even after she had fallen to the ground.

  “Leosca!” She cried in a desperate effort to escape his grasp.

  A tiny snake sprung from her wrist and bit the steward’s neck. For a moment, his look was one of disbelief; he could not understand how the silver bracelet the lady wore could have transmuted into a serpent. But soon, the pain above his shoulder became intolerable and the steward released his hold on her. The lady wriggled out from under him and rushed towards the door. She opened it and suddenly faced an Elf clad in a dark green cloak.

  “Gelros,” she cried, her breathing heavily, “kill him! Dispatch that vermin!”

  A first dagger flew through the air. It hit the steward just above his heart, piercing into his left shoulder.

  The victim turned and rushed to the far side of the room, seizing an ivory staff adorned with two bronze dragons that lay on his desk.

  The second dagger caught him in the lower back, burying deeply into his spine. He fell heavily onto the ground, his head striking the corner of his imposing desk with significant force.

  In a final, desperate effort, his hand managed to seize the ivory staff, but the dark blade of a short sword severed his forearm just below the elbow. Blood gushed onto the floor. The terrified steward simply stared at the fountain of blood, as powerful as a geyser, erupting from his arm. A split second later, and the dark blade had swung back around and sliced his throat.

  *

  Llanoalin was quiet. Its streets were almost empty that evening and the rare inhabitants enjoying an evening walk remained unaware of the bloody events that had occurred in the steward of the port’s mansion. Mainly High Elves dwelled in the small city. They lived in rectangular stone structures, several stories high, the size depending on the wealth of the family. Their buildings’ architecture interweaved with natural surroundings, creating beautiful and tranquil environments. The stone houses were organized in parallel alleys around the central square. The port was fortified like any other Hawenti city and served as a defence outpost providing protection to the nearby manors and settlements. A long distance separated the city from the closest fortress.

  Inside the steward’s house however, the confusion was great.

  “What are you doing with him? What is this new horror?” the lady was asking, speaking now in lingua Morawenti, gawping at her protector in disgust. She could not restrain herself from vomiting.

  “I am sorry, Lady Drismile, but these are the master’s orders,” explained Gelros in that same language of the Night Elves.

  “What can be the purpose of this atrocity?” she barely managed to reply.

  “The acid will burn through his eyes and dissolve his brain. Master Aewöl believes that this prevents sorcerers from questioning the dead. I must warn you, my lady, I had to kill three other Elves within the house and compound. I will need to take the same precautions with them. It is a necessary evil if we wish to leave no tracks,” Gelros insisted.

  Faced with the horror of the scene, Drismile made a supreme effort to control herself. She knew that time was of essence, and that they had to decide upon their next actions quickly. The lady began to think through their next moves.

  “We have little time!” she warned. “I must get back to the swanship before nightfall. The guards of House Dol Oalin are awaiting the steward’s permission for the passengers to disembark. Failing to deliver the stamped documents in time would expose us to a thorough search of the boat. I promised I would come back with them.”

  Her voice had regained its usual calm. As she spoke, she walked up to a mirror to check her appearance. Her face was covered in bruises and her makeup was smudged. The intensely pale colour of her skin was now showing through on her cheeks.

  “Gelros, take the ring from that severed hand. The steward utilised it as his seal. Use the red ink on his desk and stamp his hallmark on the scroll I have prepared. Then you are free to do… what you must do… and then leave discreetly. The passengers will join you aboard your canoe just after nightfall. You must then depart immediately up the river.”

  Drismile had drawn from one of her pockets an elegant box adorned with small gems. In it were a variety of perfumes and make-up ointments. Sitting in front of the mirror, she started to rebuild her appearance, forging afresh her external beauty.

  “What will you do, Lady Drismile?” Gelros inquired.

  “First, I will take as many of the steward’s possessions as I can. I know where he stashed his treasure; the key to his vault is hidden in a secret drawer of his desk. I will retrieve the precious gemstones he has accumulated. The steward kept rubies that will be precious to Master Aewöl. I will also burn the documents detailing his illegal dealings with the Alqualinquë to ashes. I will make the scene look like a robbery. Lord Dol Oalin’s guards need to believe it was the work of clan Myortilys’ assassins,” Drismile explained, coming up with her plan on the spot.

  “What I meant, my lady, is what will you do once you leave this house? Many Elves know you in this part of Gwa Nyn. You need to escape unnoticed,” recommended Gelros.

  For a moment, Drismile wondered whether the merciless scout was concerned about her safety, or whether he was considering silencing her forever. She knew what an asset she might be to their enemies; she was one of the few Elves who could trace their master to wherever he was hidden. Understanding this new danger, she responded immediately, eager to demonstrate her control of the situation.

  “Thank you for your concern, Gelros. But I have already made up my mind. Once the passengers are safely with you on the canoe, I will return to the swanship and persuade its captain to leave the shores of Gwa Nyn this very night. We will simply cast off and travel the river at low tide. The current of the Sian Senky will carry us to the open sea. We will not even need to row a single stroke.”

  “What if the guards who are currently stationed around the swanship return to the steward’s house?” questioned Gelros.

  “I have thought of that too. It is almost nightfall, and once all the formalities associated with the shipment are fulfilled, I will release the guards from duty. I will say that the steward’s house is closed and that he wishes to be left alone for the night.”

  “Are you sure that will work? Will no one doubt your words? What if they find out what’s happened here? If we have the knights of House Dol Oalin on our heels, I doubt we will make it to Nargrond Valley,” the scout feared. He seemed to doubt her persuasive capabilities.

  “Remember, Gelros, I have spent the last few years by the steward’s side. I have represented him as his envoy in Ystanoalin and even in Gwarystan. I have participated in all the celebrations here at Llanoalin and have greatly contributed to his recent prosperity. There are Elves who owe me in this small port. Many here trust me.

  I would say I can offer you eight hours before the hunt begins.”

  Gelros looked at her with scrutiny, like a wild cat stalking a potential prey. After some time, he came to his decision, his tone still cold.

  “I do not know when we will see each other again, Lady Drismile… but rest assured I will tell Master Aewöl of how well you have served him.”

  “Thank you Gelros, I appreciate it. You know…” stressed Drismile, “I am a devoted servant of the Guild of Sana…”

  She looked away as Gelros seized the severed forearm of the steward, with no more delicacy than a hunter handling a piece of meat.

  *

  Gwa Nyn, Ystanoalin harbour, the same night

  The canoe slipped rapidly over the low waves of the Sian Senky, darting between the heavy merchant vessels, the Elvin naves with elegant aft castles, and the frail fishing boats.

  It avoided the roya
l warships like a dolphin fleeing dark-wood leviathans. Their enormous stern castles, with classical sea creatures of ruby and gold carved into them, rose above the surface of the water. Hanging from their masts were heavy, swaying pendulums wavering overhead as if to threaten the frail canoe. Innumerable ropes enveloped these apparitions like nets waiting to capture them.

  “See, the port of Ystanoalin hosts many ships,” said Gelros as he turned towards his three passengers. “These are naves which sail the Sea of Llyoriane. They can withstand deadly collisions. But there are also larger warships of the royal fleet. Those ships can take on the ocean.”

  A voice with a foreign accent rose from the back of the boat.

  “These marine giants sprung from a Hawenti mind. They carry in their heavy hulls all the violence of the Austral Ocean. But, let me tell you, it takes more than that to confront the infinite sea.”

  Fractured tree branches, the size of sharks, rose up on the water’s surface, almost reaching the canoe's deck, before slipping back down on their tails and gracefully drifting under the small nave.

  The river was a salty green, and deposits of algae had formed at the base of the small boat. A vague smell of seaweed permeated the air, and the night cries of black seagulls were incessant.

  The canoe was progressing upstream. The force of its rowers was such that even the strength of the Sian Senky current could not resist them. A weak wind from the north was filling the boat’s frail sail. That gentle breeze, like the friendly breath of Eïwal Ffeyn, helped the canoe on its journey away from the sea.

  As Gelros heaved the oars, he could not take his eyes off the golden facades of Ystanoalin port, which shimmered upon the mirror of dark liquid behind them.

  The ancient palaces of the High Elves appeared one after the other in the gloom, tall and proud. When the rooms were lit within, he could make out the numerous paintings, candelabras and bookshelves, below the richly ornamented ceilings.

  “We will soon have left the city of Lord Dol Oalin behind us,” announced Gelros between strokes.

  Despite the darkness of a starless night, he could just about make out the faces of his companions: the severe features of Roquendagor; the sad look in Curwë’s gaze; and the closed face of Feïwal, captain of their small boat.

  It had been a few years since Gelros, then with his master, Aewöl, had last visited the great city of Ystanoalin, the rich harbour that connected the prosperous plains along the Sian Senky to the Sea of Llyoriane, the heart of the Lost Islands’ trade. Seeing the fief of Lord Dol Oalin again was captivating, even for an Elf like Gelros who valued first and foremost the beauty of natural surroundings.

  Ystanoalin was located in north-eastern Gwa Nyn, and the capital of the Sian Senky regions. The city itself was spread out across a group of small islands that were separated by canals and linked by bridges. It had been built by the first Lord Dol Oalin in a shallow lagoon, an enclosed bay that lay at the mouth of the Sian Senky. Its large natural harbour was unique across Gwa Nyn, which was otherwise feared by sailors due to its dangerous rocky shores and treacherous currents.

  After being conquered by King Lormelin, the city had become the main port of Gwa Nyn, and had been known ever since as the ‘City of Water’.

  During the reign of the Conqueror, it had developed into a major maritime power, and one of the major stages upon which the wars against the Dark Elves of clan Myortilys were conducted. Ystanoalin was known also as a very important centre of commerce and art. The silk, grain and spice trades had filled the coffers of its elite class; its guilds had been the richest organizations to emerge from the Elvin Wars of old. This had made the stronghold of House Dol Oalin a wealthy city through the ages, and it was still very much renowned for the beauty of its architecture and artworks.

  Gelros proudly recalled the time he spent with his master in the City of Water.

  “Aewöl believes that Ystanoalin is the most beautiful Elvin city he has ever visited,” he confided to his companions in a low voice.

  After a moment’s pause, Curwë replied. “Ystanoalin has always been at the forefront of culture and learning; it has inspired many a great author and scholar over the years.”

  “So, I have heard,” replied Roquendagor, remembering a recent conversation with Fendrya. “There are many prized books and rare manuscripts to be found in its libraries. The most celebrated of the city’s writers were the city’s merchants who recorded their voyages to the many isles of the Archipelago.”

  “Aewöl acquired many volumes when he travelled here. They contain important information about the islands surrounding Gwa Nyn.”

  This last comment from Gelros further piqued Curwë’s interest.

  “It sounds as if Aewöl and I share a similar passion for this place. What fascinated me most in the books I read in Llafal is the City of Water’s rich and diverse architecture, most prominently the Vauis style. This trademark style, named after the God of crafts, meant Ystanoalin came to be known as one of the most important centres of creation across the Lost Islands.”

  “Never before had I seen Aewöl be so loquacious,” Gelros recalled. “For hours, he discussed the designs that had come out of Ystanoalin. He kept saying how everything he saw around him was inspiration for what he could achieve in future. He even started drawing up blueprints for a new city.”

  “You were here without the protection of the royal rune. Were you not worried about being discovered?” wondered Roquendagor.

  “Oh no,” replied Gelros in a reassuring tone, “We spent many days here, relaxing in some of its most famous venues. Such luxury! Never did anyone question us. Aewöl saw to it.” The scout raised a smile, not wanting to say more.

  A dry comment abruptly issued by Feïwal jolted Gelros from his reminiscences.

  “I heard at the Council of the Forest that Ystanoalin is in trouble. Since King Norelin forged his alliance with the Westerners, it has lost most of its power as a naval base. In terms of influence, it is now lagging behind its rivals, because of fierce competition with the Sea Hierarchs over maritime trade. Since the advent of King Norelin, his elite circles have become decadent, with nobles wasting their gold through partying and gambling. Though it is still a serious contender to Gwarystan in terms of luxury, it is no longer an important centre of power.”

  “Unfortunately for Curwë,” added Roquendagor with a smile, “we don’t have time to sample the city’s luxuries on this visit…”

  Ignoring the irony, Gelros turned to Feïwal. “Maybe you are right, noble Guide. But there are still many Elves in the service of Lord Dol Oalin. We don’t want them to find out that you disembarked in Gwa Nyn.”

  Looking at the silver feather upon the palm of Feïwal’s hand, the scout added, “That’s the wrong rune protecting you.”

  The canoe veered to the right, coming away from the shore and exposing itself to the full force of the river. It felt heavy, and the effort needed to propel the boat almost pushed the four rowers to their limits.

  Fortunately, the northern wind soon picked up, bringing unexpected support in their struggle up the Sian Senky. The Elves of Mentollà looked one last time at the high towers of House Dol Oalin's palace as they slowly disappeared into the night.

  “Nelwiri must have reached the open sea by now,” said Feïwal. “I hope the Alqualinquë is safe. Aewöl was right. King Norelin has the river route to the Nargrond Valley closely watched. I would never have anticipated finding so many royal warships guarding the mouth of the Sian Senky.”

  The Elves of Mentollà remained quiet thereafter, concentrating on coordinating their efforts to get away from Ystanoalin. They needed to row across a populous region, referred to by the Elves of Gwarystan as the ‘Garden of Gwa Nyn’ due to the abundance of vineyards and fruit orchards that lined the banks of the river.

  It was an exceptionally beautiful landscape that comprised of small cities and fortresses of architectural splendour, home to the vassals of Lord Dol Oalin. These lands had been shaped by centurie
s of interaction between Elves of different kin and the Sian Senky itself.

  It was a moonless night. From time to time, however, the silhouette of a fortress would become visible on the hilltops.

  “The House Dol Oalin’s vassals have dozens of fortresses in these parts,” noted Curwë, who had remained silent until then. “When Lormelin the Conqueror began constructing Ystanoalin, they were built up from the riverbed as a representation of the High Elves’ power. The Hawenti nobility did not want, or dare, to be far from the seat of power, hence they followed suit.”

  The Elves of Mentollà could not marvel at the sights around them, however. When dawn came, they had already managed to row upstream as far as a vast swampy area that Elves generally avoided. They remained hidden in their canoe the whole day, concealed behind high plants and long reeds.

  Roquendagor, who was sat closest to Gelros, took the opportunity to commemorate their reunion. The tall knight was visibly enjoying himself.

  “I am glad we are together again, Gelros. It has already been a few years since you followed Aewöl into exile. I still have dark memories of that sad day.”

  The stealthy scout raised a smile, vaguely embarrassed. So many events had occurred since then that his time in Mentollà seemed long past.

  Roquendagor remembered.

  “You made a good choice that day when you followed Aewöl. I am sure you have proven your value at his side many times over. You have always been strong and resilient, probably the best hunt master Ystanlewin has ever seen.