The Valley of Nargrond

by C A Oliver

  Mynar dyl had always proven interested in genealogy. He could not help but ask.

  “Are you referring to Elrian Dol Urmil, the Smith of Nargrond Valley who became one of Lord Rowë’s closest companions?”

  “I am. In the second part of his life, Elrian lived alongside Rowë in Yslla, but he frequently visited Ystanargrond, which was the main centre of the valley.”

  “The feats of your forefather are well known in Llymar. Our matriarchs recount he was one of the four smiths who forged the Blades of Nargrond Valley.”

  “So, it is said. But it did not bring him much luck…”

  Seeing an opportunity to demonstrate his value to the lord of Urmilla, Mynar dyl recalled his own participation in recent events on Nyn Ernaly.

  “The corpse of your forefather now rests quietly in a safe sanctuary in Llymar Forest. The Llewenti clans kept him safe from the defilement of Norelin’s servants. Many paid for the peaceful repose of his remains with their blood.”

  “I suppose I must thank you, and perhaps also for not mentioning that the sacrilegious king you mention is also my liege…

  Anyway, these feats will not recall him to life, nor will they help us save ourselves on our own day of doom.”

  Their attention was then drawn to the cracks in the outer wall, through which they could hear the rough voices of the Oryusk Giants stomping down a nearby street. The smell of burnt wood started filling the air in the cave. Moments later, smoke was seeping through the gaps in the wall.

  “The Giants must be burning the ruins of Ystanargrond to the ground,” guessed Mynar dyl.

  His hawk was becoming restless, growing anxious at the thickening smoke. Mynar dyl did his best to soothe it, stroking its neck with the back of his hand. Meanwhile, Felrian whispered to his horse in reassuring tones. He then muttered a short incantation, calling upon the forces of the Aquamarine Flow. The smoke of the burning city was held at bay for a moment, while the lord of Urmilla repeated his magic words louder and louder. The dangerous fumes eventually cleared completely, disappearing into the waters of the cavern’s pool. Felrian’s features became calm again.

  “I must have been meant to survive that day,” he said, enigmatic.

  “You were among the envoys of Gwarystan who attended the Pact Gathering. I saw you in the cortege that left the city walls,” remembered Mynar dyl.

  “I believe I was the only Dol lord taking part alongside Prince Ilensar. All the other great Elves of the kingdom opted to remain safely in their strongholds, sending their stewards or knights in their stead.”

  “What happened in the grove of Llya?” Mynar dyl asked feverishly. “From what I saw from afar, it must have been submerged by the burning flow which descended towards the Sian Senky Vale.”

  “The lava was initially stopped by the stream that borders the sacred glade. As it kept on coming, the slopes of the hill around us collapsed, but the rocks formed a protective boundary around us,” explained Felrian, still not believing what he had witnessed.

  “A miracle,” acknowledged Mynar dyl in awe. “An intervention of the Islands’ deities.”

  “I now know what is meant by the word miracle,” agreed Felrian, utterly convinced. “What I saw with my own eyes happened to be just that. But the Grove was far from safe…”

  Mynar dyl understood the lord of Urmilla was still suffering. With a gentle tone that Mynar dyl almost managed to make convincing, he invited him to share his story.

  A long silence followed. Felrian smiled sadly. Dread could be seen in his eyes.

  At last, he stood up, as if he was about to address a crowd. Felrian was known as a bold knight and a charismatic commander. Yet his voice was shaky as he recalled the tragedy he had witnessed first-hand.

  “I believe in omens. You might find that surprising coming from a lord of Gwarystan Kingdom…

  I regularly visit the matriarchs of clan Llorely in their tree city of Tios Aelie. They had foretold a great disaster. ‘The Islands’ Flow is trapped’, they would tell me. ‘We have never sensed this before’

  I usually listen to their wise advice, and it has proven useful over the years.

  But this time, duty prevailed over wisdom. The prince-lord of Medystan had called upon me, and I would not evade my responsibilities.”

  “It is said that Eïwele Llyo holds our destiny in her hands, and that escaping our fate is impossible,” cut in Mynar dyl.

  “The Llewenti deities may well be right…” replied Felrian, thoughtful. “I know fear as well as any Elf. I fought many battles during the Century of War, but this time, the dread within me was different. All through the day, my anxiety grew constantly, to the point of gradually impairing my will. When fear is not properly controlled, it builds its own momentum, and eventually acquires a will of its own…

  As I listened to the debates in the grove of Llya, I tried to focus on the Pact Gathering’s points of contention.

  I remember Cetoron, the Fifth Arcane Master holding the Lenra Pearl out in plain sight. I could see with my own eyes the power of the jewel, whose azure heart blazed so brightly, as if reflecting the primary force of the grove’s well. It possessed a hidden magic of its own nature and was most impressive to behold. I felt hypnotized.

  Then, quite suddenly, as if I had awoken from a dream, I understood why the Ruby College had risked bringing the Pearl from the safety of the Crimson Tower to the Pact Gathering. The Lenra Pearl was fashioned with the spells of the Gods, and the high mages were using its power to persuade the other participants to agree to their proposal. Indeed, as all beheld the jewel, the three red sorcerers were speaking eloquently to further their cause.

  But there were some who resisted its mighty charm. The clan Myortilys would not accept the Ruby College’s proposal. They bluntly refused to bow before the king and surrender their share of the Islands’ Flow. With mocking taunts, the Dark Elves managed to rally the clan Llyandy and the barbarian chieftains to their side. The noble houses of Gwarystan and the Westerners sent by the Sea Hierarchs were of no help to the high mages, who were by now calling on deaf ears.

  Meanwhile, my attention was concentrated upon the Arkylla who, assisted by a dozen other druids of the first circle, were leading the Gathering. The Daughter of the Islands was tense. I could see she was watchful of any perturbation in the Flow around the grove, as though she had been suddenly made aware of a supernatural phenomenon about to happen.”

  “A power mighty enough to trigger a volcanic eruption would have been impossible for her to comprehend,” speculated Mynar dyl.

  “It is completely beyond any of us to understand…” said Felrian, and his gaze seemed lost in that instant.

  Seeing the lord of Urmilla losing his train of thought, Mynar dyl pressed him. “But what happened when the eruption began? What was the fate of the other participants? Did they all perish?”

  Felrian held his eyes wide open, as if he were reliving what had happened.

  “When a catastrophe occurs, time seems to slow down; events unfold in such a way that they look inevitable.”

  “What did you see, Felrian? Tell me!”

  “I saw… everything,” the lord of Urmilla replied, standing still in total amazement. “I was in the front row of an impossible spectacle…”

  Mynar dyl allowed Felrian to catch his breath. He anticipated what was coming next would be dreadful.

  “First, the air all around us filled with rumbling… Then, I smelled sulphurous vapours… I felt an unbearable heat… and I saw…

  Yes, I saw Mount Oryusk spewing liquid fire from a fissure in its flank: lava spurting straight from the earth’s core.

  I saw burning rocks fall from the sky, hitting the barbarian chieftains that stood close to the great stones bordering the Grove.

  I saw a huge boulder land right beside me, killing the ambassadors of House Dol Ogalen instantly.

  I saw a knight of House Dol Valra fall into a crevasse created by the explosion of a burning boulder.

  I was p
aralysed as I watched the horror unfold.

  The high mages managed to form a triangle at the centre of the glade and united their powers to form a powerful shield. A sphere of reddish colour seemed to protect the grove from the constant bombing of fiery debris.

  Some of us used that moment of respite to try to escape. The clan Myortilys’ envoys attacked the Westerner ambassadors, ruthlessly slaying them and stealing their horses. Meanwhile, the Ice Elves left the glade and disappeared into the surrounding woods.

  On the opposite side of the Grove, a barbarian chieftain set himself on fire after he interpreted it all as a sign that the Three Dragons had returned. During his ghastly suicide, he cried that he could see the Fire Drakes flying around the glade.

  Following the Daughter of the Islands, many of the other druids suddenly turned into birds. They flew high into the sky. Some were hit by cindery fragments and plummeted into the flowing lava below.

  Prince Ilensar gathered his knights around him. They attempted to withdraw in good order towards Ystanargrond, under the protection of their shields. Most of the noble houses’ ambassadors sought his protection and followed his group. But the column was overtaken by a torrent of lava, and they disappeared into its flow. All were killed.

  As the eruption intensified, the high mages realised they could not avoid the inexorable destruction of the Grove. One by one, they disappeared into thin air.

  One moment they were in front of me, the next they were gone.

  The three highest ranking mages escaped that way, but Cetoron, the one holding the jewel box with the Lenra Pearl, did not. Before my eyes, as he was unsuccessfully incanting his spell, the sorcerer was attacked from behind by an Elvin druid who had remained behind. The assassin’s bright sword beheaded the old Eunuch as cleanly as a scythe cuts wheat…

  Finally coming back to my senses after all that horror, I jumped on my terrorized horse, and galloped straight into the torrent which circumvents the Grove. Rushing to certain death, the only word that came to me was: Uleydon!”

  A long silence followed Felrian’s tale.

  “If I make it back to Urmilla,” the Dol lord said at last, “I will have a great shrine built to the glory of the Greater God of all Waters. Its columns will be perched upon a cliff above the sea. The hall of worship will look like a mighty vessel with several masts, carved in the white marble quarried at Tios Aelie. Facing the Austral Ocean, at the entrance, a colossal bronze statue of Gweïwal Uleydon will await the Irawenti coming to the Archipelago, as in the prophecy of the clan of Filweni.”

  Mynar dyl had a disapproving look in his eye, but he did not feel like questioning his unfortunate companion further, who was only just starting to comprehend his situation. His two units from Urmilla were most probably lost. The Dol lord would never again see the knights of the White Wings and the fighters of clan Llorely who had come with him.

  Mynar dyl cupped his hands and brought the pool’s water the to his lips. The refreshing liquid swelled in his mouth with a burst of delicious flavour.

  Encouraged by the taste, he lowered himself slowly into the bath of chilled water. Immersing his entire body in the reviving flow, he felt a great relief, as if this underground source had the power to sooth his soul as well as clean his body. Mynar dyl rested, bathing his spirit in restorative slumber. But the dream hovering at the edges of his mind was soon interrupted.

  “May I ask you a question, noble dyl?” enquired Felrian.

  “As it stands, I could not very well refuse you anything, noble Dol. My head would be on a Giant’s pike if it were not for your wise advice.”

  As if trying to bring his mind into focus, the lord of Urmilla wondered aloud.

  “How is it that you are here in front of me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Felrian resumed, his tone now much colder.

  “The envoys of Cumberae and Llymar left the valley the day before the carnage. They fled after nightfall, as if they had suddenly learnt about the coming disaster. You did not! What made you stay? And please do not tell me you were still hunting down your brother...”

  Mynar dyl hesitated. Until now, he had felt nothing but genuine gratitude. Now the warlord understood that, should he limit his answer here, there would be a lot more Felrian would want to know. The conversation could turn into an interrogation. Hence, after a while, Mynar dyl relented, and told Felrian what happened after Dyoren had visited Curwë in Llafal.

  His summary of events was somewhat short and did not shed any light upon his own questionable actions. He concluded by accusing the Seeker, so sure of his ground that he saw no need to offer any rationale with his judgment.

  “That is why I came to your tent yesterday morning asking about the Renegade. I suspected he was hiding among the guards of clan Llorely who serve you. I feared he had some new scheme in mind.

  Bringing him before the Arkys’ justice had become my obsession.

  After what happened today, my actions might look insignificant to your eyes,” Mynar dyl said as he climbed out of the pool.

  “Your initiative was indeed petty. It was also disproportionate and unjust,” countered the lord of Urmilla harshly.

  Mynar dyl was not ready to be walked over, even by a powerful High Elf lord.

  “I know Dyoren was your friend, but the Seeker did what he did. He must answer for his crimes,” Mynar dyl insisted with hatred in his eyes.

  Felrian Dol Urmil stood up, and in that instant, he was truly a proud lord to behold, despite his filthy blue cloak, burnt boots and damaged plate mail.

  “At least you are using his name again! I cannot tell you how my ears hurt when you shame him by calling him the Renegade.

  Dyoren is his name.

  No pompous cleric, however close to the deities he pretends to be, can make me think otherwise. No unfair judge hiding in his secret vale can make me change my mind.

  I have known your brother since he was born.

  Never have I met with an Elf so dedicated to protecting his people. Do you hear me? Never!”

  The sincerity of this poignant plea made a distinct impression on Mynar dyl. He remained speechless, feeling the pressure mount upon him. Felrian became emotional.

  “I want you to know something. When I sent you away from the House Dol Urmil camp, empty-handed, your brother was hiding among us… under my protection and with my blessing.

  Many misfortunes have befallen Dyoren, but at least he is still alive.

  On my way to the Pact Gathering, I saw his kestrel flying over the south-eastern slopes of Mount Oryusk, leagues away from the grove of Llya and the ruins of Ystanargrond.

  I believe your brother found shelter in an area spared by the eruption. I find it a deeply comforting thought, that the Seeker was destined to escape Mount Oryusk’s wrath.”

  Giving into his impulses, Mynar dyl responded with pure bravado.

  “Your touching sentimentality for my half-brother does not change the facts. Dyoren is a renegade and a murderer. He killed Voryn dyl. You were protecting a criminal, my lord. That is all there is to say.”

  The accusation made Felrian’s blood boil. Becoming blind with rage, the Dol lord leapt up from where he sat and drew his blade.

  “Leave this place immediately! Get out, miserable worm! I will gladly cut your throat if you dare spit one more poisonous word.

  I swear before mighty Gweïwal Uleydon himself that Dyoren is no renegade, no murderer and certainly not a brother-slayer.

  Dyoren was the first knight of the Secret Vale to ever find one of the lost blades. He fought a duel against Saeröl, the wielder of Moramsing. He almost paid for it with his life.

  Ask your friend, the Blue Mage Curubor! Ask the young lord of the House of Dol Lewin! They know the truth… for they played a treacherous role in those events. I know exactly what happened in Nyn Ernaly. Dyoren told me.

  Now be on your way! Go and face what lurks outside. This holy sanctum is no place for you.”

  Mynar dyl knew the Do
l lord’s threats were real. The warlord of Tios Halabron understood he had no choice but to leave. Feeling humiliated, he quickly gathered up his equipment. Soon, Mynar dyl had recovered his precious javelin, his bow, arrows and satchel. An instant later, he was out of the hidden shrine and back on the street.

  A quick look behind him confirmed the secret passage was closed again.

  All he could think of now was how to escape the ruins of Ystanargrond.

  Mynar dyl wrapped his dark hooded mantle about his shoulders. He covered his thin body from head to toe, including gloves and boots. Despite the darkness, his hawk flew above him, scanning the surroundings. Mynar dyl thus managed to remain unseen amid the alleys of the devastated city, until he reached the ruins’ limits. There was still a lot of ground to cover between the old walls and the gloomy riverbanks that lay downhill, along the Sian Senky.

  Mynar dyl realized how dangerous it would be to cross the open space which separated the two. He feared that, even if he reached the cover of the woods, he could well draw a chase behind him.

  Mynar dyl decided to follow a small stream which had formed nearby after the destruction of a marble fountain. At several points along it, its banks were trampled and torn. The waters were fouled, as though some beasts had deliberately polluted it. The night was dark. Only the occasional campfires of the Oryusk Giants were shedding any light.

  Mynar dyl’s night vision nevertheless enabled him to progress swiftly between the remains of the stone houses and the burning debris. He grew bolder and started retracing his steps towards a breach in the city walls which he had noticed earlier on.