by C A Oliver
‘Master Aertelyr is not wise to show such insolence and spite,’ thought the young lord. ‘I will remember it.’
Camatael then turned to a High Elf, clad in shadowy-grey robes of rare elegance.
The newcomer welcomed him using the ancient Hawenti tongue. Camatael spoke haltingly in return. The High Elves seldom used their own language, even when dealing with each other. Nowadays, it was only used by a small elite of nobles who, it was widely felt, used it only to demonstrate their superiority.
“Welcome, Alton!” said Camatael, speaking slowly.
“I am glad to see you again, Lord Dol Lewin,” responded the young Dol Nos-Loscin, the cousin of princess Terela. “Our last reunion was not long ago, yet so many events have come to pass since then that it feels like an age. I seldom employ the rich and subtle language of our nation, so you will kindly excuse me if I take this opportunity that meeting someone of my kin and rank poses. You see, since House Dol Nos-Loscin left Gwarystan, such occasions have proven rare. We dwell in our city of Ystanloscin now. We mostly deal with the local Wenti. Our kindred in the North are sundered from us. Fortunately, I sometimes go abroad for the gathering of news and the obligations of diplomacy. We need to watch our enemies; you see… My uncle has gathered a rather impressive collection of them lately. It proves… entertaining, to say the least.”
The two high-born Elves continued to speak together in soft voices for a time. Then, the princess of Cumberae politely summoned her guests to one of the temple’s chambers.
It was not a large room. Nevertheless, the place was still protected by a roof, a rare commodity in these desolated ruins. No luxurious furnishings adorned its walls. Only at the back of the chamber, there was a dais covered with deep green linen, dotted with winged lions, one black and the other white, pinned down at the edges of the platform by heavy strips of gold. The place was filled with a few cushions, a carpet from Ystanloscin and rich furs of Nyn Llyandy. Seats were draped in beautiful tapestries, woven in looms on the Isle of Nyese. A silvery light from two precious chandeliers illuminated an improvised negotiating table, simply made of a wooden plank and two casks.
A bottle of wine, which had escaped the perils of the journey, was brought to the table by Alton. He handled it as if it were a delicate relic. Having carefully removed the cork, he took a set of crystal glasses out of a chest.
Camatael began to drink the nectar with his eyes. He recognized the white liquor as a fabled ice wine from Llacrag. Alton slowly swirled the contents of his glass before putting it down. In an effort to ease the tension that was palpable, he started discussing the merits of the nectar. His delicate voice possessed the unique aristocratic superiority of a noble Dol.
“Do you know what the Ice Elves say about the origin of the Islands’ wines? They claim it is the most precious gift that we ever received from the Archipelago’s deities. Llyi creates the flowers in the meadows which, infused in good wine, inspire hope. Llya gives the blood of her veins to enrich the soil where the grape vines grow, and Llyo provides the herbs and plants that lift the spirit, nourish the soul, and procure those dreams and visions that transcend our everyday lives.”
Myryae looked troubled at this. Among the Llymar priestesses, wine was often associated with the excesses perpetrated by the followers of the dreaded Eïwal Myos, patron deity of the Dark Elves. She disagreed with this interpretation, her tone one of condemnation.
“But, as with all good things in life, there is a price. The matriarchs of Llymar believe the Eïwali of the Islands made their own contribution too, though in a rather different manner. They dreamt up curses to counterbalance the gentle Eïwely’s gifts. Eïwal Vars poisons the sap of the vine leaves with a toxic substance that, if absorbed in great quantities, obscures the mind and drives one to violence. Eïwal Ffeyn’s winds carries alien pollens that stick to the grapes’ skin, provoking dizziness and loss of balance in the eventual wine-drinker. Worse still, Eïwal Myos alters the very seeds of grapes, imbuing them with qualities that alter judgement and encourage recklessness…”
Camatael felt the need to interrupt the matriarch’s admonition. “But, despite these perils, Elves have learnt to enjoy the gift of the Islands deities in moderation; if we are deprived of these elixirs, we would surely lose contact with the good things of this world.”
The young lord was anxious to preserve the reunion’s friendly atmosphere that had so far prevailed. With an exaggerated enthusiasm, he handed his glass to Alton.
“If my eyes do not betray me, what you have so kindly brought to us is one of the fabled ice nectars from Llacrag. I have grown very fond of white wines recently…”
The glasses were filled with the cold beverage and the conversation developed about the qualities of that rare vintage. Though Myryae did not participate in these scholarly exchanges, it was quickly agreed that the complex and elegant Llacrag wine lived up to its reputation.
At last, Terela decided to interrupt the debate. She ate and drank little and already seemed grave.
“Now is the time to begin our discussions…”
The five other Elves looked to her, impressed by her hidden power. The princess was here with them and yet appeared remote, as if her soul had not left the forest of Cumberae where her people suffered.
After they had all drank and eaten, Terela spoke again about the purpose of their meeting. She lifted her white hand and pointed west towards the shadowy form of Mount Oryusk.
“Both Llymar and Cumberae have decided to harden their hearts and respond to the call of the druids’ circles. Soon we will meet on the slopes of Mount Oryusk with the other factions of the Lost Islands. Though we do not know what will be discussed during the Pact Gathering, I do not doubt it will be of the uttermost importance. My father has sent me on this errand. He believes the king and the Ruby College must be facing a great peril, for they have not only called upon the aid of their allies, but also that of their adversaries.
As envoys of our realms, we will represent the true seeds of Llyoriane and face the lies and manipulations of Norelin’s representatives, those traitors who threaten the Islands Elves’ legacy.
The clans and houses of Llymar could have chosen not to answer the call, but the Council of the Forest proved wise, and here you are, at our side. None can be sure of peace, nowadays, even those who think themselves safe behind their borders.
As for us, Elves of Cumberae, our war against the Barbarians has brought us to the edge of doom. We have already summoned all available forces to protect our realm in its hour of greatest need. We are ready to fall into battle against the cult of Three Dragons.”
Camatael was moved by the princess’ words. Back in Llafal, he had pleaded with a certain success the cause of Cumberae before the Llewenti clans. The young lord felt he possessed legitimacy to speak in that moment.
“The Council of the Forest is resolved to go forward. Rest assured, my lady, that Llymar will stand at Cumberae’s side.”
Mynar dyl said nothing but looked troubled and doubtful. After a lengthy debate about whether to support Cumberae, the warlord of Tios Halabron had lost the vote.
Myryae immediately supported Camatael’s sentiment. She felt eager to demonstrate her role as the official envoy of Llymar. The Council of the Forest had empowered her to finalise the negotiations. Thus, she spoke with authority.
“It was decided that Llymar would make its way to the shores of Nyn Llyandy. We will provide you with our assistance.”
Despite the kind words of compassion, she was hearing, Terela realized the Elves of Llymar had not yet agreed in detail what they would do. It did not seem like they had a clear purpose, nor had they decided on a specific course of action.
Her cousin, Alton, reached the same conclusion.
“What have you agreed upon, exactly?” he asked with his usual detached air. “We would certainly welcome weapons and supplies. If we wish to turn back the course of history, however, it is fighters we desperately need.”
Aertelyr,
the only true navigator in the chamber, echoed Alton’s request.
“When you leave Llymar, you can no longer cross the Sea of Llyoriane. As you well know, our naves are not tolerated in those waters. The inner sea is the domain of the king’s warships and the Westerners’ galleys.
On which side of the Islands will you journey? The way to Llacrag and the clan Llyandy’s lands lies to the west, but the straight road to Cumberae lies on the other side of the Islands, upon the most dangerous shore. Which way will you choose?”
There was an embarrassed silence.
The two realms had agreed to finalize the terms of their coalition before the Pact Gathering. It was an opportunity to show a unified front before all.
Still the content of their alliance was not obvious as different opinions conflicted within the Council of the Forest as to the scale of its support.
Mynar dyl smiled. Camatael cleared his throat, visibly feeling embarrassed. He looked to the envoy of Llymar.
But Myryae could not commit to anything more at this stage before knowing more of the situation.
Terela understood that further efforts were needed to plead the cause of her realm. She spoke with a tone she tried to make as diplomatic and as gentle as the situation required.
“I see that you do not yet know what to do…
It is not my part to choose for you, but I wish to let you know what my people are living through.”
Terela then recounted in length all that had occurred upon the edge of Cumberae Forest during the days of spring. She spoke of her father and his banner, which still rallied all the Elves of the great southern wood. With a voice charged with emotion, she showed her admiration for her father’s deeds.
“I always carry in my mind the image of the prince of Cumberae, that formidable knight, his tall helm bent down to the flying horse’s neck, charging at the head of the armies of House Dol Nos-Loscin, his silvery plate mail ploughing deeply into the thick of battle. How many times was he drowned from sight by throngs of bucking horses, by swarms of brandished swords, by walls of uplifted shields? Always he reappears, to the joy of his troops, gaining ever more glory in battle.”
Mynar dyl felt the need to share his remembrance of his time at the prince’s side. He spoke with the compassionate tone of a poet.
“None can doubt how great Garael Dol Nos-Loscin has become; his princely seat and sovereign realm were well earned by his deeds of the past. My own modest contributions to those great events seem barely worth remembering; to compare us would be like holding a mere candle up to the sun.”
Aertelyr could not resist mocking him and broke his silence. “I did not know you could be so obsequious, Mynar dyl?”
Looking at princess Terela, the warlord protested. “I stand by what I said. I fought at Lord Dol Nos-Loscin’s side through several battles of the Century of War. My lady, your father is the greatest lord I have ever had the honour to meet.”
The princess thanked Mynar dyl for his kind words and resumed her story. She told them of the coming of Ka-Blowna.
“A Dragon Warrior then became a chief among the Barbarians, a warrior as had never been seen before,” Terela said. “He is both strong and terrible, appearing invincible when wielding his two-handed sword of black iron. Barbarians claim a terror walks with him, a force mighty enough to haunt our darkest dream and deprive us of the Islands’ Flow that protects the forest’s edge.”
The princess bowed her head and she turned her eyes to a small golden brooch upon her breast, wrought in the likeness of a white flying lion with outspread wings.
Camatael saw the brooch’s gem flash like the light of the sun. In that instant, he thought Terela royal and holy beyond measure. It seemed to him many years of toil had fallen on her thin and delicate shoulders. The young lord was profoundly moved by the princess’ genuine and pure concern for her subjects.
Indifferent to the reaction she had provoked, Terela resumed her plea.
“The druids did not eliminate the faith of Men in the cult of Three Dragons; they barely weakened its evil influence. Its strength will only wane when the lives of Men are severed from the Three Dragons’ power. I am telling you; these evil spirits have begun to stir. The barbarians are threatening our lands once again; they are unafraid to unite and launch massive raids, plundering anything they can from us. They have scorned farming in favour of stealing. When their attacks succeed in driving the population from their homes, the wild Men move in and settle, bringing their families and livestock on their long ships.
Llymar must be informed of these events. It is an outrage that such reckless aggression should be tolerated by the Elves of the Islands.”
Camatael watched Myryae’s reaction to Terela’s plea. To see her saddened features, one could have imagined that all the previous hundreds of sackings and burnings in Cumberae had been but fables, and this one the only fact.
‘It is always the way,’ the young lord thought, ‘when danger’s in the distance, when the worry remains unseen, you can send words of kindness and feel you’ve done your part. When you’re up close, however, and you see the terror etched across the faces of your friends, the only course of action is to rise up and fight.’
“The Southern Island, then, could be lost,” said Myryae unexpectedly. Her voice was low, but Camatael caught it. “Llymar cannot let this happen. We must stand ready.”
The matriarch spoke as one talking to herself aloud without knowing it, and none had heard but Camatael. He glanced at her and saw that her oaken staff was idle in her hands, and that her face had a dreamy and absent look to it. There were fleeting movements upon her lips, as if she were witnessing in that moment the horrific scenes of Cumberae’s battlefields with her own eyes. But she made no sound, silently suffering with the pain that the Southern Forest’s trees had endured at the hands of Men.
“There is one way the ancient Forest of Cumberae can be led to its salvation,” Myryae finally said aloud. “Llymar controls fifteen warships. A great swanship now commands our fleet. If the prince of House Dol Nos-Loscin sends for our help, Llymar’s army could sweep the barbarian tribes into the sea.”
The Elves of Cumberae murmured with content, and Camatael gazed at Alton in wonder. The young Dol Nos-Loscin had turned red with satisfaction and muttered some words of gratification. Aertelyr bowed as well as he could.
Camatael was genuinely seized with emotion. But, at the same time, he was making a quick calculation. With the support of Myryae and her father, the warlord of Penlla, Mynar dyl‘s faction would be outnumbered, and the Council of the Forest would most probably decide to muster the full army of Llymar. Camatael saw in that an opportunity.
“If this is to be the Council of the Forest’s will,” he proposed, his voice well assured, “I will lead the fleet of Llymar across the seas to wage war against the Dragon Warrior’s horde. The White Unicorn will come forth.”
“Cumberae will be rescued and made great again!” exclaimed Alton. As he said those last words, a sudden deep glow shone in his eyes.
Deeply moved by this generous proposal, Terela rose from her seat. Her breast heaved, and the colour rose in her face. Taking Camatael’s glass from the table, she refilled it with the cold liquor that remained, before going around the others until the bottle was empty and the six glasses were served.
“Now is the time to raise a glass to our alliance,” she said. “Drink, my friends, and let our hearts know no fear. Daylight will follow the night. But it is high time we rest, for tomorrow and the days to come will be full of new challenges.”
She brought the cup to her lips and bade them drink. Terela then arose, and her cousin Alton led her back to her quarters.
The two groups took their leave and returned to their respective meeting areas. The ambassadors of Llymar wished to take counsel together. For some time, they debated how best to fulfil their promise to Cumberae.
But they came to no decision, for Mynar dyl refused to support Camatael’s initiatives. Oddly enough, t
he mysterious matters that would be discussed at the Pact Gathering in the days to come were no longer at the forefront of their minds.
Camatael was weary in body and in heart. He cast himself down upon a bed that had been prepared for him, and fell at once into a deep, restorative reverie. Most of the Elves of Llymar had not waited up for him. Their dreams were undisturbed as they lay calmly on their beds of withered leaves around him. Those still awake could hear nearby voices singing. Outside, the Ice Elves of Cumberae were chanting songs of longing for their southern lands. Their words were sad and gloomy, and told of lament and mourning after the battles of the spring.
At last, their music died down and the starless night became quiet.
*
Gwa Nyn, Nargrond Valley, temple of O Vaha, middle of the night
A yellow moon played with the clouds in the night. The water of the fountain glittered with silver. Branches of nearby trees were waving and tossing in the wind.
