The Valley of Nargrond

by C A Oliver

  “Did the journey go well? Are our friends pleased that the Sana Guild is helping them with their endeavours? You know I would rather be locked up than betray their trust,” declared Aewöl, and there was a hidden threat in his words.

  “Master, the journey went well. Your friends all have reasons to be pleased and satisfied with the Guild’s involvement. However, that S’in in Llanoalin, the steward of the port, proved to be a scoundrel. He kept demanding explanations from Drismile, he refused to obey orders, and he even threatened her. We jointly decided that death should be the consequence…” confided Gelros.

  Aewöl was not perturbed by this news. “To the virtuous Elf, the terror of death is nothing compared to the stain of dishonour.”

  Gelros did not understand this saying. “Also,” he added, “Drismile has served you extremely well. She is now on her way to Mentollà, aboard the swanship of Alqualinquë.”

  “Good. Very Good! Now let us join our companions! We have missed them so much! There is nothing better than a gathering of old friends. For a second there, I even felt as if the five of us were still those children who dreamed of might and glory in that tiny ‘Dragon Cave’ below Ystanlewin’s dungeons...”

  *

  Moments later, Gelros returned to the small square, and with him was Aewöl. The one-eyed Elf moved with confidence and vitality and still looked like a young Elf, but he seemed much more seasoned than in the days of Essawylor. He was taller and thinner than his servant, and dressed in elegant clothes, which gave him an undeniable air of power. As he approached, his only eye remained fixed upon Curwë. He stopped in front of his friend when he reached the fountain. Aewöl’s cold and grave face could not fail but resemble that of the statue behind him.

  “Welcome, my companions! Follow me! I have organized a meal to celebrate our reunion!” Aewöl said with an affable voice.

  The Elves of Mentollà rejoiced. They had subsisted during the journey on various fruits and vegetables, but they had a strong preference for delicate foods and wines. Aewöl knew their tastes were extremely discerning.

  The one-eyed Elf invited the newcomers to join him in climbing a steep path that led to another of the estate’s squares, protected from the sun. From there, one could look out over the hills that ran to the banks of the Sian Dorg. A table had been set up in the shade of a large, ancient oak tree, and they settled down for their meal. Ladies, bowing their heads, approached with warm bread, fresh water from underground springs and honey from the Sian Llewa. They also offered around platters of ripe fruit. The simple scents of the food and drink mingled and counterbalanced each other with delicacy. The travellers savoured this first dish with pleasure, in silence. Once finished, they were given water from large jars. They washed their hands and rinsed their mouths.

  Wine, served in the finest of glass, was then offered to them. The Morawenti considered themselves as the most knowledgeable of all Elves in that field.

  The colour of the nectar, like a deep red dress, was the first thing they appreciated about the vintage. As it made contact with the air, it then rapidly changed its aroma, flavours and most noticeably its colour. It became as dark as truffles; the dress transformed into a powerful black.

  When Aewöl rose to address his companions, it was as if the five Elves had been there, in the shade of that great oak, since the beginning of time, smelling the same delicate aromas and breathing in the same vitalizing air. Aewöl poured himself a little more wine and began.

  “As just and virtuous Elves united by unwavering friendship, let us drink this ancient vintage of O Wiony, the prized legacy of this land.”

  Aewöl did not speak again until he had finished his glass. When he resumed, his tone had changed.

  “Feïwal dyn, you will know that sincere words are seldom beautiful, and that beautiful words are seldom sincere. Nevertheless, you will also understand that all of us are filled with gratitude for this second life you have offered us. You strode ahead and led us all beyond the Austral Ocean. That is no small feat.

  Over the past few years, I have wondered how I could possibly demonstrate the sincerity of my commitment to you. Indeed, I think I speak for all of us when I say this.

  Well, the time has now come. The spring of our second lives had not yet begun when you ordered, ‘Arise and follow me’. We are now well into its summer, and here are your true friends, gathered around you in the valley of Nargrond to do your biding.”

  Feïwal responded like a priest addressing his disciples.

  “I thank you for honouring your word, my companions. Tonight, we sit together in the valley of Nargrond, the heart of the Promised Islands…

  Since we reached the shores of Nyn Llyvary, I dedicated lots of efforts gathering information about that sanctuary of nature and beauty. I spent many days meditating, trying to unveil its mysteries. Throughout the millennia, this land has been the focus of all civilizations.

  The first Gnomes erected their three columns of knowledge at its entrance.

  Eïwal Ffeyn brought about the fall of a meteorite which formed the final landform of the Valley. With divine runes, the deities of the Archipelago engraved the fate of the free Elves in the Stone, the heart of the meteorite. Then they devoted their care to making it the most beautiful place of the Islands, a beautiful garden promised to the Elves.

  Like so many vengeful servants of the Greater Gods, the Giants of Oryusk appeared in the lava of the volcano to drive out the rebellious deities of the Archipelago. These spirits of fire fortunately failed in their work of destruction.

  Then, for many centuries, the Elves of all nations, houses and clans fought for its control. Here were forged the fabled Swords of Nargrond Valley by the most renowned blacksmiths of the Elves. They made their weapons with the unique metal from the meteorite. After this feat, the Valley developed into a glorious Elvin civilization under Rowë’s rule. Lon the Wise, whose true divine origin is still being discussed, was born in the main city of the Valley. There he demonstrated his capacity to work miracles, by controlling the light of the sun itself. His protector, the lord of the house of Dol Nargrond, gave the Valley its name before his realm was destroyed by the savagery of the Dark Elves, jealous of the loss of clan Myortilys’ homeland. Rowë and the other makers of the fabled swords were murdered in the mines of Oryusk before their corpses were defiled. Lon the Wise was never seen again after that dark day, and a shadow now conceals the entrance to the mines.

  Even Men have sought to conquer it. Barbarian tribes from the vast Mainland, blinded by the obscurantism of their evil cult, did not hesitate to cross the dangerous straits and the perilous seas to confront the great Elvin kingdom of Gwarystan. They considered the slopes of Mount Oryusk as the lair of their accursed Three Dragons.

  The Nargrond Valley is mentioned in all the sacred texts of the Gnomes, Giants, Men and Elves.

  What is the cause of this all-pervading obsession? Can it be anything other than a mighty curse?

  These questions will haunt our minds.”

  After this long preamble, the guide of the clan of Filweni chose not to elaborate further, failing to address the specifics of their situation. This voluntary silence caused certain dismay among his companions, whose impatience was growing. But Feïwal had something else in mind, something he judged more important. Getting up from his seat, he made a request, his tone firm.

  “My companions, I invite you to rise. Let us form a circle in the open with only the wind in its centre.”

  Roquendagor and Curwë immediately stood. After a time, Aewöl obeyed the command too; but Gelros withdrew behind them, simply bowing his head and bending his knee in a demonstration of humility. Seeing this move, Feïwal did not show any irritation. He understood the scout’s profound nature.

  Solemnly, the guide of clan Filweni performed the ritual.

  “The circle is an emblem of friendship. It represents our common virtues. The circle is also an emblem of eternity, having neither beginning nor end. Bonds can be broken by deeds
; virtues may be challenged by trials… but friendship will never alter.”

  Feïwal indicated for the four Elves to gather together and form the circle.

  Gelros immediately regretted his withdrawal.

  ‘They will form a square, not a circle!’ he thought, suddenly filled with worry.

  The sun was setting behind the threatening silhouette of Mount Oryusk. The heat was still overwhelming, though night was approaching. The air felt dry due to the proximity of the volcano. Despite the scorching heat and the thickening of the night’s shadows, a sudden breeze ran through the branches of the great oak tree, bringing them unexpected relief. They felt a sense of ease and serenity, suddenly reminded of the Austral Ocean’s emerald green waters.

  The servants, guards, indeed all the Night Elves present around them, withdrew from the small square as if secretly ordered by the light evening breeze. Only Gelros remained, still kneeling, as the only witness.

  Feïwal opened the council with a prayer to Eïwal Ffeyn.

  “Eternal spirit of freedom, Protector of the Austral Ocean’s seafarers through all dangers, we remain your devoted debtors. Keep us true to our obligations.”

  He finished with the ritual words of his faith.

  “There is no freedom, but the freedom granted by the wind!”

  The four Elves looked towards the heavens.

  “We, Feïwal, Roquendagor, Curwë and Aewöl,” the Irawenti guide proclaimed, “are castaways of the Austral Ocean. We are the survivors that were granted a second life by the mercy of Eïwal Ffeyn.

  We solemnly promise we will faithfully serve the true god of Elvin freedom.

  We swear.”

  Like in a dream, a majestic Storm Eagle appeared in the evening clouds. The four Elves contemplated it in all his glory. The great bird flew towards where they stood and landed on a branch of the great oak tree above them.

  ‘DO NOT FAIL THE DEITY OF WINDS!’ they heard as fragments of an unknown language reached their mind.

  The Storm Eagle vanished, and the four Elves were left astonished and confounded. This vision had made them utterly determined. They stepped forward with their right feet, raised their right hands and displayed their runes to mark their consent. Feeling like they had been transported to the realm of Gods and deities, they cried to the heavens:

  “We swear!”

  For a long time, well beyond when the sun had completely disappeared behind the western horizon, the four Elves remained silent and motionless.

  A few steps behind, Gelros also remained immobile, fully amazed at the scene although he had not seen himself the mighty Storm Eagle. Aewöl and his companions seemed to have made a commitment after experiencing an ecstatic moment, he reckoned.

  Gelros understood it was largely the work of Feïwal who had transmitted to his companions his own emotions. The scout wondered if his master had willingly agreed or if his consent had been gained by treachery. Though imperceptibly worried, Gelros concluded that no living Elf could force the master of the Sana Guild against his will.

  ‘Whatever that undertaking is, it has to do with our coming to the valley of Nargrond.’ Gelros thought and the fearless Elf shivered.

  At last Curwë decided to break the silence. He realised now was the time to reveal what he knew and had kept secret so far. Perhaps his revelations would also press Feïwal to say more of his purpose.

  “In truth, we are not the only ones who have journeyed to the valley of the volcano. Dyoren is in Nargrond Valley too. He must be hiding somewhere, perhaps just a few leagues from us…

  The Seeker will try to seize one of the legendary swords. He found the trail of Lynsing. Until then, the Blade of the South had remained beyond his reach. Now, he who wields it will come out of his impregnable stronghold and participate in some important gathering summoned by the druids in the grove of Eïwele Llya, on the slopes of Mount Oryusk.”

  “I learnt from Lord Curubor,” Roquendagor intervened, “that druids have the authority to gather all the factions of the Islands, be they Elves or Men. The druids are organized into communities they call Circles. They recruit their members, whatever their kin, from among the priests of the Mother of the Islands. They gained their undisputed power of conciliation after they convinced the belligerents of the Century of War to agree to ‘The Pact’, a pledge made by all factions to cease the destruction of the Mother’s creations. Imagine such a reunion: The kingdom of Gwarystan, the clans and houses of Llymar Forest, the principality of Cumberae, the Ice Elves of clan Llyandy, the Dark Elves of clan Myortilys, and the factions of Men, meaning the Westerners from the great ports of Tar-Andevar and Tar-Miniar, and the multitude of the barbarian chieftains.”

  For a moment, the five Elves pondered what this new development could imply. Surprisingly, the usually silent Gelros, whom all had almost forgotten, spoke up.

  “I know from Alef Bronzewood, the druid who first led us into Nargrond Valley, that only the barbarian tribes who worship the cult of Three Dragons are excluded from the Pact.”

  “This is true,” confirmed Feïwal. “The sayings of Alef Bronzewood can be trusted. I have met that druid on several occasions, and he should be regarded as a close ally. He performed significant services for our cause.”

  “As far as I am aware,” added Roquendagor, “the druid circles have not organized a meeting like this since the battle of Lepsy Peak and the fight for the testament of Rowë. That was four years ago, and the council broke up without any of its members reaching an agreement. I heard rumours that King Norelin threatened he would never attend a Pact Gathering again. Lord Curubor believed that this reunion in Nyn Ernaly would be the last. He visited me in Mentollà over the winter. I still remember his exact words when he warned me to be prepared: ‘Be sure that you retrieve your prodigious armour from that hideout in the wood of Silver Leaves,’ he advised ‘you are certainly going to need it.’”

  Aewöl concurred with what had been said. “There are many signs that another Pact Gathering is being prepared as we speak. My spies have advised me that other Elvin factions are also gathering in the valley of Nargrond, usually the most barren place on the Islands.

  As we speak, high-ranking Elves from Llymar are journeying towards the ruins of an ancient shrine dedicated to Eïwal Lon, a few leagues from here, near Yslla. A group of envoys from Cumberae await them in the deserted temple.

  My view is that a Pact Gathering will take place this summer in Nargrond Valley. Norelin must have reconsidered his position on the circles of the druids’ peace-making initiative. It is in the interest of most of the Islands’ factions to promote cooperation and order, and to prevent mutually destructive conflicts. I believe the king has been somewhat forced to the table after the flood that damaged his capital city this spring. An unnatural catastrophe of that magnitude had not happened for a very long time in the Archipelago. To my mind, it represents the culmination of a deep-rooted turmoil.

  Look at what has happened these past few years.

  Dragon Warriors have come out of the shadows to restore the cult of Three Dragons among barbarian tribes, challenging the influence of the druids. Two of them, Ka-Bloozayar and the dreaded Ka-Blowna, have openly broken the Pact that had guaranteed peace for almost a century. They waged war against the Elves both in the South, where Cumberae is still under attack, and in the North, where they were defeated at Mentollà.

  The weak response of Norelin to the aggression caused both Llymar and Cumberae to break their vows to Gwarystan. The Llewenti clans and the House of Dol Nos-Loscin eventually denied the leadership of the king, and the factions of Elves are dividing. As a result, a great alliance between the Westerners and Gwarystan, between Men and High Elves, has emerged. More powerful than ever and haunted by a mysterious fear, Norelin’s first decision as ruler of this larger realm was to send his servants after the testament of Rowë. The clans of Llymar intervened and saved Rowë’s will.

  What fear for the future drove the king to that quest for the Forbidden Will?
He must have understood the gravity of the act, utterly sacrilegious in the eyes of the many Elves who still worship the deities of the Islands. Many are those among the seeds of Llyoriane who believe that the catastrophe that partly destroyed Gwarystan was a divine punishment. Norelin must now be pushed to seek the support of the Islands’ other powers by an even more potent threat.

  Now, Feïwal, I know you have the answers to some of these riddles. What is the part you are playing in all this? Why have you called upon us to gather here, in the valley of Nargrond, where all but the Elves of Mentollà were summoned?”

  Gelros nodded, in support of his master’s questioning.

  CHAPTER 4: Camatael

  2716, Season of Eïwele Llya, 64th day, Gwa Nyn, Nargrond Valley, North of Yslla

  Camatael Dol Lewin removed his bronze helmet. The polished, sturdy metal was embossed with figures of unicorns, and a crest of white plumes was proudly displayed above. His long black hair was tightly pulled black, clear of his pale face.

  The young lord was standing before a precipice. Below him were heavy boulders covered in moss. They had fallen away some millennia ago.

  This gorge offered a spectacular demonstration of erosion, a phenomenon characteristic of the Arob Nargrond foothills. The torrent would have originally flowed down through a deep vale before striking a limestone barrier of gigantic boulders.