The Valley of Nargrond

by C A Oliver

  In the absence of a verified story, the most bewildering tales were circulating the streets of Llafal. Some described how Mynar dyl had wandered alone in the plain of ashes after miraculously surviving the volcano’s eruption. Others claimed he owed his life to the intervention of an emissary sent by Eïwal Vars.

  The fact was, however, that of all those who had journeyed to Gwa Nyn, only Mynar dyl witnessed what had happened at the Pact Gathering. His own story was much anticipated, and his silence since returning was becoming unbearable.

  A sense of frightful mystery surrounded the dreadful events of Nargrond Valley, as only bits and pieces of contradictory information had reached Llafal until then.

  Nyriele positioned herself behind the statue of Aonyn dyl Llyvary, her forefather and the first Protector of the Islands. From that dark corner of the temple, she could watch the scene without being observed herself. Yet, despite this precaution, Nyriele did not feel at ease, as if some looming threat was hanging over her head.

  Five days had passed since Curwë had sailed with the fleet of Llymar towards Cumberae, and to war. She already was feeling profoundly alone. Only Fendrya, who had become her friend and confidant, could now be of any support.

  After that marvellous night of pure happiness and pleasure, an insidious sense of foreboding had gradually grown within her. Doubt had followed excitement, and now guilt was replacing fervour. She felt she had acted against Llewenti customs, against what was expected of a matriarch. Her thoughts were confused.

  Like in a tragedy of old, she was aware higher powers were toying with her destiny, as if Eïwele Llya was furious with the gifts Eïwele Llyi had offered her.

  Now, as Nyriele stood in the Hall of Eïwal Vars, surrounded by the statues of her heroic ancestors and mixing with the Llymar elite, she felt strangely out of place.

  ‘How odd I did not dare stand by the matriarchs’ side tonight! I have the feeling they are all judging me, accusing me! I know it cannot be so, but I still cannot bear to look any of them in the eye.

  It is just Llewenti in the temple tonight, as if the clans needed to gather and unite before the rising dangers. Even Mother and Father have come. I have not seen them standing side by side for a long time; it’s like they wanted to show their unity. The situation must be critical,’ she thought.

  Her gaze turned to Mynar dyl, who was now slowly climbing the stairs to reach the temple’s altar. Silence spread throughout the nave. All looked at the warlord of Tios Halabron, who faced the crowd with a proud look. His outfit was simple and plain, but somehow it enhanced his striking beauty. He bent his fair head to salute the matriarchs and the Protector of the Forest, who stood in the front row.

  ‘He is changed,’ Nyriele realised, amazed by his charisma and majesty. ‘He has been entrusted with new authority,’ she understood.

  Mynar dyl was holding his usual instrument, a lyre made of silver strings, which legend said had belonged to Queen Llyoriane’s brother, a fabled bard of that time.

  The warlord of Tios Halabron was adulated in his native land, where some of his verses had even become proverbs. When he started to sing, the Elves of Llafal were hanging on his every word and seemed to be agreeing in advance. His voice rang out, low and wonderful.

  Nyriele had never heard this song before and guessed he had written it for the occasion. The composition was perfectly adapted to the grave message the singer wished to convey.

  The audience was immediately enthralled, as if by a strange spell. What carried through the nave from the lyre was more than music. It sounded like a timeless ode to the glory of all mythology. It started with a few simple notes. Though delicious, the innocence of this first stanza would not have caught the audience’s attention if they had not anticipated what would follow. Then came a sublime torrent of complex composition; stanza after stanza, chorus after chorus, the heroic symphony built to unmatched heights of beauty and audacity.

  Mynar dyl’s clear voice rose, sounding out under the temple’s arches.

  “When the Arkys called, I answered them blind;

  And the Lonely Seeker was I sent forth to find,

  They spoke of a Renegade who no reprieve sought,

  Before their high justice, Dyoren must be brought.

  I was their Elf in each and every quest,

  The Vale valued me as their brightest and best,

  But Dyoren had lost any favour he had won,

  They spoke only of the evil my brother had done.

  Far did I search for his hiding and his hold,

  But the rebel escaped, for the rebel was bold,

  I heard told he had fled to the Oryusk Mines,

  For the darkest places hide the darkest crimes.

  The faithful Lonely Seeker had by fortune ill,

  Wandered Nargrond Valley: every river, every hill,

  To his glorious errand, my brother held steadfast

  He had hoped all his life, and he hoped to the last.

  Then the proud Dyoren was attacked and slain,

  His death, like his life, had been in vain,

  In the Sian Dorg, I saw him pale and dead,

  Then a sudden fear took me, and I fled.

  For the Oryusk Hounds had followed my scent,

  My dear dead brother, I could barely lament,

  One mighty dog pounced with flaming eyes,

  Then amid the snarls, the blows and my cries,

  Lordly Eïwal Vars seemed to whisper in my ear,

  Half-dead, I reached out, and found his spear.

  It was his holy strength that saved me that day;

  To his infinite glory shall I ever pray.

  Eïwal Vars has given my life back to me,

  And whispered a truth that has set me free,

  A glorious spell upon me he binds,

  To impress upon your faithful minds

  That a crown shall be returned, with a green stone,

  To the Islands’ fair child who shall sit upon a throne,

  Vars bids me find a most beautiful bride,

  And commands our future daughter be seated by his side.”

  The bewitched crowd listened, speechless and soundless, until the artist finished his tale and the last echo of his instrument died away.

  *

  Ignoring the crowd’s applause, Mynar dyl left the altar and returned to his quarters inside one of the temple’s wings. His personal guards would ensure he was not disturbed after the performance.

  He walked into the vaulted room, elegantly furnished with tapestries, carpets and fine woodwork. Hunting weapons, ranging from spears to short bows, decorated the walls, giving the place a rather warlike atmosphere.

  Mynar dyl quickly set about preparing the room, as if anticipating the arrival of an important visitor. First, he lit a dozen candles, the wax an unusual yellowy orange. Sensual and passionate smells immediately filled the room.

  ‘Their fragrance captures the fresh, spiced and sensual scents of the Secret Vale. The Arkyllyi described how these smells create the perfect playground for seduction,’ he remembered.

  He then retrieved a beautifully adorned phial from a locked chest. It was filled with a golden liquid. He looked at the contents for some time, before finally tipping a good portion of it into a jug of wine that sat on the main table alongside two crystal glasses.

  As he placed the potion safely back inside the chest, Mynar dyl uttered a few words aloud, as if he was addressing an invisible companion.

  “We will soon know whether the gift the Arkys offered me for returning Rymsing is worth a Blade of Nargrond Valley. I am looking forward to seeing the effects that the Daughter of the Islands’ elixir will have.”

  Mynar dyl then caressed a long object, covered in a blanket, and placed it behind his bed, so that no one would see it.

  Having finished his preparations, the warlord of Tios Halabron looked at himself in the mirror. Happy with his fair appearance, he decided to allow himself a moment of repose.

  He sat on a comfortable
chair, filled the two glasses with the wine and marvelled at its yellow colour. Mynar dyl could not resist a taste.

  ‘There is a perfect balance of sweetness and a zest of acidity. There are notes of apricots, honey and peaches. Good! The elixir is perfectly undetectable, as was promised,’ he noted with satisfaction.

  The warlord of Tios Halabron did not have to wait much longer. Soon, one of his guards introduced a visitor into the small room.

  The newcomer was none other than Gal dyl, the Protector of the Forest. The commander of the armies of Llymar looked tense, almost embarrassed. His noble attire and shining jewels could not mask the deep lack of self-esteem he was feeling in that moment.

  “I did as we agreed. I spoke to her and she came to visit you. Nyriele is waiting outside,” Gal dyl confirmed.

  “Has she been informed?”

  “I told her the Daughter of the Islands perished during the eruption.”

  “Does she understand what that means? A new servant will have to be appointed to serve by Eïwele Llya’s side,” stressed Mynar dyl.

  “She does,” replied Gal dyl, visibly eager to be finished with the discussion.

  “Does she know her duty towards the clans, what is expected of her?” insisted Mynar dyl, not impressed in the least by his visitor’s impatience.

  The Protector tried to elude the question. “I did not dare remind her, but Matriarch Lyrine has seen to that on many occasions. Nyriele knows that producing a child destined to become the new Daughter of the Islands will be up to her.”

  Gal dyl shuddered, feeling humiliated by the whole affair. Out of sheer awkwardness, he moved forward, intending to seize the second glass of wine which lay waiting on the table.

  But Mynar stopped him with an authoritative gesture of his hand.

  “I regret, noble Protector! I have poured that glass for your daughter…”

  Gal dyl looked with dismay at his host. Mynar dyl seized the opportunity to exploit his advantageous position further.

  “You have done well, Gal dyl,” he declared with a lordly tone, “and I am sure that history will remember the part you played in saving our clans.

  Indeed, your legacy will be utterly untarnished by the stain of infamy; I know how important that is to you,” he added, his sickly-sweet voice full of hidden threat.

  But the fair warlord had not finished. “Now comes the time for the most… embarrassing question of the lot. It is no easy thing for me to speak to you about it; after all, you are her dear father, are you not? But I suppose these issues lies at the heart of our agreement. Let me put it bluntly. Did she agree-…”

  Gal dyl cut him off, as if more than anything he did not want to hear the humiliating question in its entirety.

  “I did… Well, I tried… She is a matriarch of clan Llyvary, sovereign in those matters. I thought it would be wiser to address the matter through parable and metaphor…”

  “What clever words did you use, Gal dyl? You are worrying me.”

  “The best a father can use with his daughter,” the Protector claimed. “I told her the story of her birth, what was expected of me, what was expected of Matriarch Lyrine.”

  This response left Mynar dyl puzzled. He was far from sure about the pertinence of Gal dyl’s strategy. Shrugging his shoulders, he ended the conversation abruptly.

  “I will see Nyriele now. I thank you for your assistance, Gal dyl. It is important that we, the Llewenti, never forget where our roots lie.”

  The Protector of the Forest was more than happy to be done with the embarrassing meeting. Without a word, he turned on his heels and disappeared behind the alcove’s door.

  A moment later, Nyriele entered. She looked extremely nervous. Mynar dyl had never seen her look so defensive. Her keen sense of smell immediately alerted her to the scented candles. Mynar dyl could tell she was trying to identify the nature of the sweet odour in the room. The dubious frown on her face made it very clear to him that, if he wanted to put her at ease, he would have to call upon all his skills in seduction. Feeling under pressure, the warlord of Tios Halabron began.

  “Nyriele, your visit honours me greatly. After all the hardships I have been through, this meeting is the best reward I could have dreamed of.”

  The young matriarch did not respond. Mynar dyl saw she was regretting visiting him as her father had suggested. He decided to act quickly and tried to flood her with information.

  Mynar dyl was first and foremost a storyteller, who excelled at captivating his audience. He knew how to adapt to his public and focus on the details that would most pique their interest.

  Deliberately minimising the part he had played, as though it had been of little importance, he told Nyriele what had happened in the valley of Nargrond. He did not spare her any details about their entrance into the valley, the Pact Gathering or the volcanic eruption.

  Nyriele was the first to hear the full tale, and her curiosity gradually grew as the events, vividly described by Mynar dyl, unfolded before her eyes. He had that rare ability to make his listeners feel part of the story he was telling.

  She was deeply saddened when she learned the details of Dyoren’s death, though Mynar dyl withheld news of the Seeker recovering Lynsing, insisting instead on his efforts to perform funerary rituals in accordance with their faith.

  Her initial cold attitude began to soften at this story.

  “I am glad Dyoren was sent off properly,” she confided.

  “He was my elder brother,” replied Mynar dyl, and there was a small tremor in his voice.

  For a long time then, the warlord of Tios Halabron continued his story. He seldom looked Nyriele in the eye, but rather stared into the middle distance, as though he could actually see what he was so vividly describing.

  All the while, Mynar dyl was discreetly observing the effect the candles’ fumes were having upon his beautiful interlocutor. Her eyes were widening, her attitude was relaxing, and she was even showing the first signs of empathy towards him.

  Mynar dyl felt the time had now come to offer her the drink he had prepared. Eagerly seizing his own glass to quench his thirst after his lengthy recount, he emptied it in a single gulp.

  His features froze as he realised how rude he had been not to offer his guest a glass first. Immediately he set about correcting his apparent impoliteness.

  Still absorbed by the tale and eager to know how it would end, Nyriele wet her lips and took a sip from her glass. She was not even paying attention to the fine nectar’s characteristics, and quickly finished the full contents of her drink. The air was dry due to the candles’ fumes, and she felt particularly thirsty.

  At this, Mynar dyl inwardly rejoiced. Eager to mask what he was feeling, he turned away, pretending to look for a map which might better illustrate his story.

  Fully master of himself again, he laid out a detailed chart of Nargrond Valley on the table and resumed his explanation.

  “My journey out of Nargrond Valley was difficult. I had to cross the sheer precipices of the Arob Far. I encountered fell creatures that had lurked there since before the coming of the Elves. There, monsters abide, wandering the mountains’ cliffs to snare their prey, hunting silently in the wilderness. There is no food for an Elf in those desolate parts: only death.”

  The horror of his journey seemed to return to Mynar dyl’s mind as he spoke. His features were marked with dread.

  “This journey through the Arob Far was the greatest hardship I have ever faced, an unprecedented deed. At times, I was sure I would never get home alive. But finally, I found a way out of the Arob Far and into the plain of ashes, along paths that no Elf has ever dared tread.”

  Mynar dyl paused. His breath was short, as though he could still feel the pain, he had experienced.

  “I then had to pass through the mazes the Dark Elves weave about their realm on the other side of Mount Oryusk, until I finally came stumbling onto the beaches of the Sea of Isyl, exhausted and bowed after so many days of woe.

  I wandered
for a very long time along those vast expanses, like a solitary outlaw, with only birds and animals for companions. The truth is, I did not fear death itself, but rather being taken captive by the clan Myortilys. I know about their cruel ways. Finally, news of my lonely errand must have reached the Secret Vale, for the Arkys sought me out. A swanship was sent to fetch me.”

  Nyriele looked at him with intensity, appreciating the full extent of his perilous errand. Mynar dyl could tell she was feeling a certain admiration for his deeds.

  He himself was starting to feel the faint exhilaration that the candles’ fumes procured. He thought the young matriarch immensely attractive in that moment.

  She was dressed in light robes with a rounded collar that plunged towards her breast. A pale light from outside was caressing her face, highlighting her exquisite features. Her blue eyes were wide open and shining.

  Mynar Dyl knew he was going through one of those unique moments in life, when prudence and wild emotion jostle for supremacy in the mind.

  Nyriele was standing very close to the door. He suddenly found himself in front of her, barring her exit.

  So slender was she and so beautifully frail that the overwhelming attraction made him mutter incoherent words of desire into her ear.