The Valley of Nargrond

by C A Oliver

  Camatael found Mynar dyl’s overly poignant display of mourning for his lost brother hard to believe. Instead, he focused on the events in Nyn Ernaly that had led to Voryn dyl’s disappearance. He knew Saeröl, the wielder of Moramsing, could have been involved in the bloodshed that had occurred in the forest of Mentolewin. For some reason, what had happened in Nyn Ernaly made him feel guilty. Wanting to discourage any retaliation against Dyoren, who he intuitively believed was innocent, the young lord tried to instil doubt in Mynar dyl’s mind.

  “We all came to know that Dyoren fought a duel in Mentolewin, during the pilgrimage of Eïwele Llyi, as her followers were gathered in the ruins of the great fortress of the West. But nobody witnessed that fight. The Seeker was found severely injured inside the ruins of the ancient temple of Eïwele Llyo. Pilgrims tended to his wounds and managed to heal him. The other duellist was never found. It can only mean he fled and managed to hide.

  It was also reported by the Council of the Forest’s spy that, just before the duel, Dyoren was having words with another bard he confronted in the amphitheatre. All the Elves present that day in Mentolewin attested that never in their lives had they witnessed such an outstanding musical challenge. I believe that this other bard was the duellist.”

  But there was no way Mynar dyl would change his deeply rooted conviction, given the rage within him.

  “Do not muddy the facts, Lord Dol Lewin. Voryn dyl was in Mentolewin Forest at the same time as the Renegade. Voryn dyl never returned, his body was never found. Only the power of the legendary blade that dug his tomb could mask the location of his remains. This, I know. These are the facts.”

  A long silence followed. It was as if the three Elves needed time to measure the implications of Mynar dyl’s accusations. Camatael was puzzled, almost torn apart by the question of what to do next. His natural righteousness forbade him from letting the accusations of Mynar dyl spread further. In the meantime, revealing what he knew about the master of the Guild of Sana and his potential implication in the bloody events of Mentolewin Forest would trigger a series of questions, the extent of which could not be measured. Of course, he felt compelled not to divulgate that secret, which would also compromise Lord Curubor. To tell the truth and be vulnerable, or to hide it and remain safe. It was a most persistent question. Camatael thought of the smiling face of Loriele Dol Etrond, his consort, the mother of his future children. So much was at stake. He was not alone in this.

  At last, Myryae expressed what she had in mind. Her recollection of events was also tainted with regret.

  “When I learnt that your brother had remained behind in Nyn Ernaly to exact revenge against the outcast Aewöl, I sensed only a great evil could result from that terrible act. Aewöl, whatever his crime, had already been judged. The Protector had sentenced him to exile. It was a wise judgment. Know this! The Council of the Matriarchs never condemned Aewöl to be banished by fire and water. His status was different. None of us could treat him like a criminal, like an Elf without rune. None of us was entitled to chase him and punish him.”

  “You will recall how I echoed that very sentiment in front of the matriarchs’ council when the matter was discussed in Llafal,” Mynar dyl reminded her. “I did not support my brother’s initiative, nor did help him prepare for it in any way. Overwhelmed by anger at Aewöl’s sacrilege, Voryn dyl made an unfortunate choice. But all of us can acknowledge that, whatever his wrongs were, my brother rid us of that despicable Aewöl. The one-eyed Elf was never seen again after he was banished. The matriarchs and the Daughter of the Islands confirmed that he had disappeared without trace. Voryn dyl must have fed his body to the vultures. My brother could prove ruthless at times.”

  After the sheer violence of Mynar dyl’s last words, Camatael had had enough. He would not have any further part in the enmities of these ferocious Elves. Feeling utterly disgusted by what he had just heard, he moved away from the grass and trees and stepped onto the rocks bordering the canyon.

  The clan Llyvary fighters were now sitting around, resting. They felt safe under the watchful eyes of their sentries and refreshed themselves among the wild vines and cool fountains. Their long march along rough roads down to the gorge had been hard.

  It was now several weeks since the delegation from Llymar had disembarked from Gwarystan. Norelin had granted them special permission to travel across his kingdom. After they had left the great domes and high spires of the majestic city behind them, glittering in the sunlight over the hills of Gwa Nyn, their journey had been long and dreary. They were given no trouble by the royal cavalry units they had occasionally crossed thanks to the royal rune they bore on their hands. It was an odd feeling for those Elves, usually considered rebels by the king, to see High Elf commanders in their shining plate mails and lordly red cloaks, bow before their passage.

  Looking at the royal rune glittering upon his palm, a sudden thought crossed Camatael’s mind.

  ‘I can barely remember the Elf I was during my time at the royal court, though it was merely a few years ago. Reaching Gwarystan as a fleeing refugee who lost all his wealth during the Century of War, I had to climb the ladder and make many compromises. That young apprentice of the Ruby College, who became a royal steward and eventually the king’s envoy, still has reason to be pleased. Becoming a high priest of Eïwal Lon was always, in the end, my fate. In a moment of ire, Norelin banished me from Gwarystan for treason. But now is the time for me to return, proud and tall, to the kingdom that shamed me.’

  During the journey, the lord of House Dol Lewin had noticed how, beyond Tios Pasy, the kingdom’s roadways were less frequented by travellers, owing to the extensive plain that had suffered considerable deforestation. The summer’s heat was intense, and the scarcity of provisions and water had proven painful. It was obvious Eïwele Llya had abandoned these lands. Then, pathways had proven rough and dangerous in the wilderness around Tios Senen. They had braved many dangers. Yet they had managed to overcome every obstacle and had finally reached the high passes of the Arob Nargrond’s northern range. Despite the difficulty of walking along these mountainous tracks, this part of their journey had been the most pleasant, though also the most time-consuming. Fortunately, plenty of fresh water and fruits were available for walkers along this route.

  The descent into the valley of Nargrond had required crossing rough and dangerous terrain, before passages through deep gorges and above wild torrents, not to mention high waterfalls and steep hillsides.

  Finally, they had reached the green banks of the ever-running Sian Senky and had been able to progress onwards through the valley to the lake of Yslla. They had circumvented the ancient city of Yslla, keeping a cautious distance. All Elves shun those ruins, for it was said that the ghosts of the dead Morawenti, drowned during the genocide perpetrated by the Dark Elves, still haunted the place. The greenery of the Sian Sian Senky valley had been a stark contrast to those vast, deserted ruins. They had passed through many beautiful groves, cool fountains and ancient vineyards that had been long left abandoned.

  Now, the Elves of clan Llyvary were enjoying a well-deserved pause after the tumultuous events of the day. The sun was disappearing in the west behind the threatening silhouette of Mount Oryusk. It was generally assumed by the entire party they would be spending the night here. But Myryae felt that they had rested enough already. She seemed impatient to leave the site of the Gnome’s attack.

  “Arise, Elves of Llymar!” she cried. “Let us move on. We must not tarry longer, for we have only a couple of leagues further to travel before we reach our destination.”

  The matriarch bid her followers be cheerful, as their long journey was almost at an end. She pointed out the ruins of the ancient temple in the distance, which was their goal. An Elf in her retinue even claimed he could make out the glistening tents of their brethren from Cumberae upon the hilltop.

  After a while, the old route they were following diverged, one leading directly north and the other up the banks of the River Sian Senky to
wards the west, by way of Ystanargrond. Myryae ordered them to follow the latter route. Later, they passed through a deep wood of ancient trees, where long ago the Elves of Nargrond Valley had felled and prepared timbers for the building of Yslla and Ystanargrond.

  Eventually, just before nightfall, the group reached a bend in the Sian Senky, which formed a desolate beach. A hill made of tons of gigantic stone blocks acted like reefs and provided a safe harbour, sheltering them from the tumultuous waters of the river. Quantities of quarried stones had been dragged upstream by marine architects of great talent. The Elves of Nargrond Valley had built a lasting bulwark that, centuries later, the Sian Senky’s wild current had not yet succeeded in washing away. They must have had plans for a harbour in this desolate place.

  The old road went up and the group reached a hillock from which they commanded a dominant view of the entire valley. They could distinguish the ruins to the west. Although wildly degraded, beautiful traces of the original architecture were still visible: the twisted collars, the pure ornamentation of the facades, and the large windows open to light. After this fleeting vision, they felt relieved.

  The group continued walking in silence until, after another short climb, the road suddenly revealed the remains of a great temple. Formerly, this place of worship had been famous. It had consisted of high walls, a formidable keep and even a drawbridge. When they approached it, they saw the ditches were without water and the bridge was no longer rising. As for the keep, it had utterly surrendered itself to the bonds of the pervasive ivy. Large blocks weighting several tons had been transported up the slope and lifted on top of one another, forming high walls several dozen feet high. Stones had been cut with precision, and they were still polished, as if the site had only recently been abandoned in the middle of its construction.

  From afar, the ruins still possessed a certain ancient majesty. Up close, however, the extent of the desolation afflicted the newcomers.

  The known name of the temple was ‘Makom co anan vaha’, but it was generally simply referred to as ‘O Vaha’. The Elves of Nargrond Valley had built it to celebrate light.

  *

  Gwa Nyn, Nargrond Valley, temple of O Vaha, at night

  The sun had already sunk behind Mount Oryusk when the Elves of Llymar finally reached the ruins of the temple. Shadows invaded the surrounding woods and thickets. The fighters of clan Llyvary lit their crystal lamps. They came out into the open and found themselves in front of what used to be the walls surrounding the holy edifice. There was a treeless space before them, which ended in a large ditch. Oaks and pine trees rose above the great stones, like as many unlikely lookout towers. A voice, with a strong southern accent, was heard in the darkness.

  “Welcome to O Vaha, Elves of Llymar! We’ve been expecting you.”

  A silhouette appeared in the shadows. By his snow-white hair and cold blue eyes, the ambassadors from Llymar knew the sentry as one of the Ice Elves. He looked to be of high rank, given the finesse of his garb and the quality of his equipment. The golden rose of Cumberae adorned his tall helm.

  There were old stones running from the brink of the ditch, forming something like a passage into the compound. The gates opened silently, and lights sprang forth until the whole hill top seemed to sparkle with stars. Among the ruins, numerous tents, whose greenly colours comingled with the wild vegetation, were built and hung with many silvery lamps. The travellers were welcomed by a dozen Ice Elves, easily recognizable in their white garments. They were also Llewenti, but from different kin as they hailed from the cold woods of the southern island. The Ice Elves were clad in silvery mail, armed with javelins and oval shields and from their shoulders hung long cloaks made of pelt. The fur was a tawny grey, lighter on the hind part of the back, where the white-tipped hair became wavy.

  Many excited voices were heard murmuring about the arrival of the Elves of Llymar. The gates were shut behind them.

  When Camatael entered the compound, a light breeze coming from the west carried dark fumes which obscured the atmosphere.

  It was an acrid scent; it spread like steam, but its odour was one of ashes. Even if there were a great fire burning nearby, there was no way it could emit a smoke this dense. Only a volcano could throw its poisonous fumes as far away into the valley, just as the ocean can send the scents of salt and kelp far inland.

  The fighters of clan Llyvary began to unpack their equipment and goods. The Ice Elves, who formed most of the retinue from Cumberae, came to them, visibly eager to help. They could speak the same tongue, though their southern accent made their interpretation of lingua Llewenti less subtle. The Ice Elves brought many gifts of food and beverages as per the tradition in Nyn Llyandy. These dishes were mostly in the form of cakes and biscuits made of cereals baked in salty cream. The liquors were dry and strong, lacking the sweet complexities of Nyn Llyvary’s nectars. At first, the Elves of clan Llyvary looked at these gifts with a doubtful eye but were soon eating and drinking with relish. The food of the Ice Elves was fortifying, and such replenishment was exactly what they needed after their long trek through the wild.

  The Elves of clan Llyvary demonstrated their own generosity in return. They offered to their hosts wrapped parcels of clothes they had brought with them from Tios Halabron. There were cloaks, green as oak leaves, with large hoods made of that special silk, only found in Llymar. They also gifted boots, brown as a vivid wood in spring. Each shoe was fastened with a brooch like a swan’s feather veined with emerald. All the clothes were made in different sizes, so there were items to fit the Ice Elves and the taller High Elves who made up the knights of the Rose, the personal bodyguards of Cumberae’s envoy.

  Meanwhile, the group of ambassadors from Llymar went along a narrow path and climbed up a hill across boulders and stones until they reached a dried-up marble fountain, formed of several concentric circles.

  To the south-east, beyond the confines of the great temple ruins, stood a great oak. This ancient tree had a massive trunk, and its leaden branches shielded the clearing from high above, like a protective giant with powerful arms.

  Below, three Elves, elegantly dressed, were comfortably seated. They sprung from their seats as the ambassadors from Llymar approached.

  The Ice Elf captain, who had led them this far, lifted his tall helm to make a ceremonious announcement.

  “The envoy of Cumberae dwells here with her ambassadors. The princess wishes to greet you personally,” he declared.

  The ambassadors from Llymar parted ways with their retinue. Camatael joined Myryae and Mynar dyl, while their personal guards were shown to the quarters that had been prepared for them.

  An Elvin lady came forth to greet the three representatives from Llymar. She saluted them with a simple nod. Her arrival made a deep impression on Camatael.

  Terela was her name. She was the only child born to the lord of House Dol Nos-Loscin, and heir to the throne of Cumberae. Camatael remembered the words Lord Curubor had spoken about her.

  “Terela is the noblest life that was born into the Islands since Lon’s disappearance.”

  Looking at her martial air with amazement, the young lord marvelled at the single fact that made her so unique.

  “Since the beginning of the Islands’ history, Terela Dol Nos-Loscin is the only Hawenti lady who has ever commanded an army.”

  Although she was dressed very simply in a white linen dress, from her person emanated an impression of natural majesty. She was as young as Camatael. Barely six feet tall, she could be considered small compared to the standard of her kin. There was an expression of firmness and serenity upon her face. The tense, hard lines of her strained features looked like the scars war sows upon old warriors. Her square-back haircut framed her beautiful face like ramparts protecting a marvellous city.

  Her gait looked graceful, and her cold beauty was so extraordinary that Camatael admired her elegant silhouette with relish. Yet, he felt no guilt of going beyond the bonds that Hawenti conduct dictated. There was in her face ser
enity and purity that justly reflected her spiritual nature. The princess Terela possessed a serious character and it gave her countenance a certain melancholy. Her great self-confidence made her inwardly strong and superior.

  Suddenly, Camatael felt out of place in front of the Elvin princess. The trials of the last few days had made him unrecognizable. The lord of the house of Dol Lewin was emaciated after expending so much energy and burnt by a sun that he had endured with difficulty. All the fatigues of this long journey and the marks of his encounter with the Gnome could be read on his face. He normally relied on his sophisticated and noble appearance to make strong impressions and help him achieve his aims. In that moment, he was a fighter without his armour.

  Just as he was trying to rid his mind of this line of thinking, Camatael saw Aertelyr, the guild master of the Breymounarty approaching, as if to reply to his inner monologue. Smiling, the Ice Elf merchant walked towards him, his features pale and his hair snow-white. He was wrapped in a cloak of white lion skin. Aertelyr nodded distantly to greet the lord of House Dol Lewin. His attitude betrayed a kind of haughtiness that Camatael was not used to. The guild master of the Breymounarty said nothing after his slight gesture, but quickly turned aside to salute Mynar dyl.

  Camatael remembered a letter that Aertelyr had sent him to complain about the trade competition with Alqualinquë, the new merchant company promoted by the community of Mentollà and protected by the Council of the Forest. Aertelyr had lost the monopoly of trade between Llymar and Cumberae. He felt it unjust how quickly his rivals were gaining influence. Camatael, who was responsible for matters of trade among the Council of the Forest, had judged it sagacious not to dignify what he considered a misplaced request with any kind of reply. To his mind, there was nothing wrong with sharing the profits of maritime trade.