Revelyn: 2nd Chronicles - The Time of the Queen

by Chris Ward

  ‘Over time, but fuelled by deep sorcery, a great passion gripped the people, and gradually the desire to build a new city without the reminder of their failure to obey the ritual and the law, of which the sunken Celestra was a daily reminder, became too much, and so it was decided that the city was to be abandoned and remain only as a place of true sacrifice whilst a new and unblemished city was to be built in a place far off.’ Giraldyn spat into the fire with such a sudden ferocity it made them all jump. ‘Of course it was a ruse. A deception by Ungarit and his sorcerers.’ And Sylvion once more went to ask a question but Giraldyn was having no interruption...

  ‘It will become clear, for now just listen,’ he said firmly and there was now a sense he was irritated that she knew more on some matter than he, but he continued.

  ‘A place was found, by the servants of Zabor. The reports were of a safe place, well protected and of a lush flat plain, of plenty of timber and stone. But it was not so. At least the worst of it was not so. There was indeed water, and a fertile land on which to farm, and there was more stone and rock than any could possibly want for the construction of dwellings and a fortress... but the truth was only later revealed that the place was the home of Ungarit. He was bringing a whole people to his lair...’

  ‘Svalbard,’ Sylvion said and looked directly at Giraldyn who was for the first time taken back by her strength of personality and fearlessness. He stroked his chin for a moment then nodded.

  ‘Yes, it was Svalbard, and at its centre a mount which later became known as the Horn of Svalbard. If only they had known what a place it was,’ the old man whispered, and then even more silently, ‘indeed what a place it is.’ A silence ensued for a time, but Giraldyn then continued. ‘A thousand only set out from Celestra, for this was all that remained of the Ravalin. War and sickness and the sacrifice and the fear of one’s children being chosen had all seen a great decline. It was well known that it was an honour to be chosen but it was easy to pour honour on another if it might have been you,’ Giraldyn said bitterly. He took a few deep breaths and once more went on. ‘They travelled west along the northern escarpment which marks the boundary between the lowlands of Moran and the land of the Ravalin. They entered new lands to the west and finally reached the eastern slopes of the Redoubt Mountains, and so they entered Svalbard, which is a mighty old volcano, and at its heart the Horn. And there they built a new city and a new palace for their kings and also a place of sacrifice at the top of the mount where a mighty abyss falls far away to the black lake of death. It is there that the sacrifice continued. This was more than half an age ago, and still in Celestra and Svalbard the same ritual has continued to this day, for the great city where the temple stood was not to be left deserted but was to carry on the rituals without ceasing.’ The grim picture which Giraldyn had painted stood before them as an awful thing until Sylvion suddenly spoke with a voice which none could ignore.

  ‘Not anymore,’ she said. And Giraldyn looked at her in a most puzzled manner, as did Tyron and Tess his beautiful wife.

  ‘I am not sure of your meaning, Sylvion.’ Giraldyn said quietly.

  At this Sylvion stood. She went and placed herself before the fire in an act which seemed to all to be most deliberate. ‘Not anymore,’ she repeated. ‘The sacrifice is no more in Celestra, Giraldyn, I slew the sorcerer Shevryn there not six days hence and I cast his body to Ungarit and it was not rejected.’ She looked hard at Giraldyn. ‘This is what I meant by...not anymore.’ A shiver ran through all in the chamber and the look of surprise on Giraldyn’s face was quite genuine. And Rema looked upon Sylvion and felt his love for her increase as did his awe, for she seemed in that moment to be ageless and from a higher place.

  ‘You killed Shevryn, that evil sorcerer and tool of Ungarit?’ Giraldyn whispered hoarsely in disbelief. Sylvion nodded. Giraldyn and the other two of the true Ravalin shook their heads in amazement.

  ‘With what power could you stand against Shevryn?’ Tyron demanded suddenly. ‘He has ruled in Celestra as the High priest to Ungarit for many lifetimes. Long have we hoped to see him slain, but none would dare to enter his temple. What you say is...’

  But Sylvion did not wait for further words. In one easy action which spoke of great familiarity, she drew the Shadow Blade and held it shimmering before them all. A great hush fell upon them and the true Ravalin looked on in awe.

  ‘This is Shadow Blade,’ she said in the voice of the White Queen who had no doubts as to her authority. ‘This is the Blade that slew Shevryn. It is the blade you spoke of Giraldyn that turned the battle of the Iridin so long ago. I wield it, and its power is mine to use as I see fit.’ And with a single stroke of the Blade she made the air sing and shimmer with a wonderful light. The power of the Shadow Blade was unescapable, and all looked upon it and were enthralled, even Reigin who had seen more of it than any other. Giraldyn looked upon Sylvion and was speechless for a time, a time in which she held his eye and allowed him space to think upon the implications of her revelation. A time in which, as she held his gaze, she returned the Shadow Blade to its sheath at her side. Then, finally Giraldyn spoke.

  ‘If what you say it true then you must be the White Queen of the south... of Revelyn.’ It was as much a question as a statement, but Sylvion did not reply. ‘You look but a score of years, so I cannot see how this can be.’ He shook his head utterly perplexed. ‘And yet you have the Shadow Blade; you have slain Shevryn.’ After another pause he spoke quite softly once more. ‘I think Sylvion you must explain this to us for in truth it is beyond me.’ Sylvion smiled warmly then for she sensed now a better mood.

  ‘None but my four friends here, and one who has returned to Ramos know the truth,’ she said, ‘but I am the White Queen, a name of which I cannot say I am not fond.’ She nodded to herself. ‘But I am not as old as you see, in fact I am far older, as indeed Giraldyn I suspect you are.’ Once more the two looked hard at each other but did not speak until Sylvion gave a little more of her story. ‘Long ago Giraldyn, there was a mighty battle against the evil in Revelyn. Evil which was given life by a corrupt king, one Lord Petros and his sorcerer Zelfos...’ At this name Giraldyn nodded.

  ‘Zelfos, was one I was about to speak of,’ he said, but Sylvion knew her moment was important and continued...

  ‘I slew him, at the end of all things when the battle was over and he was taken captive, when the prophecy of the last arrow had been fulfilled. In Ramos before my people I took his life and Revelyn was freed of a great tyranny.’

  ‘You!’ Giraldyn cried, once again amazed. ‘You slew Zelfos!’ His exclamation was loud and very emotional.

  ‘I did,’ Sylvion said with great emphasis, ‘and Reigin here, who you should know is really the Elder of the Edenwhood, he was with me.’ Giraldyn, Tyron and Tress looked in shock from Sylvion to Reigin and back and could not speak, and so Sylvion explained. ‘The Shadow Blade has stopped me aging. I am older than I look, for although the seasons pass, my body does not suffer what time offers to others.’ She shrugged. ‘It is a hard thing to accept but that it the truth of it. Whilst I bear the blade I will never die.

  ‘But this is beyond expectation,’ Giraldyn shook his head dumbfounded, and finally he turned to Tyron and Tress. ‘It was this one, the White Queen, the one who slew Zelfos who gave us our chance for freedom.’ He turned back to her, ‘without you Sylvion we would not be here this day.’ And now it was Sylvion’s turn to be confused.

  ‘I do not know understand this,’ she said.

  ‘Then I will continue my story and it will become clear,’ Giraldyn replied. He took some time to gather his thoughts for he was preoccupied with many. All present knew that this time was of great importance and even though war threatened they knew things had to told, and so they waited and finally Giraldyn went on.

  ‘In Svalbard the remnant grew slowly and seemed at first to prosper. King succeeded king and they were all called Svalbard. Svalbard I became Svalbard II, and so on right up to the last king, who was King Svalbard
VIII. After the city was built a small army went south and captured the Varanii people who lived in Revelyn below the Watchtower not far from the forest. These poor people were imprisoned within Svalbard and allowed to keep their ways, but in return their tribute was the sacred ones; those to be sacrificed.’

  ‘You mean a people were enslaved to breed children to be sacrificed?’ Rema had not spoken for a long time but he could not help himself.’ Giraldyn nodded.

  ‘Indeed that is just what happened. They had no choice then, or now.’

  ‘Even now?’ Sylvion asked; incredulous.

  ‘Even now,’ Giraldyn whispered. ‘They number many scores now, but they are have no hope and the Ravalin do not care, for the Varanii have released them from the fear of the sacrifice.’

  ‘Is there no end to the evil?’ Reigin asked quietly, his anger clear enough to those about him.

  Giraldyn gave a wry smile. ‘Let me tell you how much worse it gets,’ and once more they all found themselves listening to his story.

  ‘Near two hundred winters ago, twins were born in Svalbard to a man of contentious character. They inherited all his meanness, but worse, from an early age they were fascinated with anything to do with sorcery and power. It seemed they had a talent for knowing the ways of Ungar, and before long they were feared in Svalbard, for they became sorcerers of the strongest kind. Their names were Zelfos and Zydor.’ Giraldyn looked at Sylvion and saw that this was not something she knew of, but that she was listening intently, indeed hardly daring to breathe. ‘They grew up with a dream to rule over all lands, and they scared many with their words.’

  ‘But they were jealous of each other and could come to no agreement how best to see their plans come to fruition, and yet being twins they were bound together by a deep bond. At the age of twenty, Zydor murdered the last king of Ravalin, Svalbard VIII, and took power for himself and shared it with Zelfos. By this time they had great power and it was believed they had done a deal with the Lord Ungarit, for it seemed his spirit lived within them, indeed possessed them. No one could stand against them. No one dared. Svalbard became a sad and miserable place. The crops struggled and the animals died or were deformed at birth. Illness was common but still the sacrifice went on. One day Zelfos and Zydor fell out. Zelfos wanted to use his sorcery to gain power through violent means. Zydor was more cautious and wanted to learn how to control the will, thereby making war irrelevant for then all would obey without coercion. In the end Zelfos left and went south into Revelyn where he ingratiated himself with the usurper king, Lord Petros, the one of whom you spoke Sylvion.’ He paused and refilled his pipe once more, allowing his words to sink in to his captivated audience.

  ‘I was twenty two,’ Giraldyn said quietly, ‘when Zelfos left. I remember it well, for there were some now among the Ravalin who no longer accepted that the ways of Ungarit were true. To speak out was death but we met in secret and hoped for a time when we might escape the evil tyranny, but there was no possibility. Not with Zydor in power and his evil eye searching, always searching for any who might stand against him.’ Sylvion knew then that Giraldyn was as old as she almost to the season, and she understood something of his deep knowledge of his people for he had lived long, and whilst his body showed more of the wear of time than she, it was amazing that he had done so, and she wondered what power was given him that he might live so long.

  ‘I will not bore you with much more,’ Giraldyn said, ‘but there came a time when Zydor’s power was suddenly lost. Or at least it seemed so to those of us who watched without ceasing for a chance to get free. I did not know at the time, but now I know it was when Zelfos was slain in Ramos. Zydor lost his twin and the knowledge of it greatly reduced him.’ Giraldyn looked than at Sylvion, and smiled most warmly. ‘When you slew Zelfos you gave us our chance Sylvion. Four score of us, women, children and men, escaped one night into the forest with a few horses and little food, but we had been promised protection by a one whose name I do not ever mention, but he is one who came to me one day in Svalbard when I was deep in a lostness of spirit which I could not seem to overcome. He seemed a traveller of some kind and first I thought he had found a way into Svalbard which no other knew. This was true but he was more than a mere wanderer...’

  ‘You met El-Arathor,’ Sylvion whispered in awe. And once more Giraldyn was shocked.

  ‘You too have met this one? Sylvion nodded.

  ‘Indeed, and Reigin here, and Rema too.’ The group looked at each other and felt a bond of common strength and purpose grow between them.

  ‘We can speak further on this one, but what of you story Giraldyn,’ Sylvion said, wanting desperately to know what happened to those who dared to flee from the evil of Zydor who sounded even more evil than Zelfos.

  ‘We went into the forest and although there were many wolves about we were not harmed. I cannot say how this came about for we did not see any others on our journey. El-Arathor had told me that a time would come when Zydor would look away, and then I was to lead those who would follow to freedom. We were not to look back, but flee and if we did we would not come to any harm.’ Giraldyn was in tears now as he told this. ‘I have never mentioned this to any, for it has seemed at times a dream to me, the meeting I had with this one. I thought perhaps it was a vision or.... I do not know, but what I do know is that his words were true. We got clear away and no beast of the forest took a single one although all about in the night we heard the wolves and the bears, and other creatures, but we were kept safe.’

  ‘You came here, to KingsLoss,’ Reigin spoke at last, and Giraldyn nodded.

  ‘We came to the ruin of KingsLoss and worked hard to make it secure. We knew that Zydor would come for us eventually, for word would get out in some manner and his anger and sorcery would be mighty indeed, but we had tasted freedom and we pledged to die rather than submit once more to the ways of such evil. We found much stone ready to be used. The hill beneath us has many passages from the days of the mountain Dwarves and we found there enough cut stone to build higher battlements and further walls. We had the strength of many despite being so few, and like those who first came to this place we had three summers in which we laboured without ceasing and in the end we had our fortress and we knew we had a chance, for even the sorcery of Zydor cannot easily move stone and rock when it is laid in truth and honesty, and El-Arathor had promised we would be safe. This we held onto when they came.’

  ‘Zydor found you then.’ Sylvion whispered.

  ‘By chance they were making a new road to the east, to Celestra and it happened to pass just north of here and a worker spied us from the ridge, and so what was once long forgotten, was now found. And so they came and they have come twenty times since then, and each time we are stronger and have built more and have not been defeated although they too have plotted hard to find our weaknesses. Zydor cannot bear that any are not under his thrall. We are like a boil on his backside, and try though he might he cannot lance it and it infuriates him. Each time he comes he has some new weapon of war. This time,’ Giraldyn shrugged, ‘who knows what will be our fate. We will be sorely tested, but our preparations are sound and we knew some days ago that he was on the march. In any case the morrow will decide it.’ Giraldyn took a deep breath.

  ‘And so my friends, that is my story, and one in which I see you are entwined although why, you have yet to tell me.’ He looked at Sylvion and smiled. ‘Please, Queen Sylvion of Revelyn, speak.’ And with that Giraldyn rested back in his chair and allowed Sylvion to have the floor.

  ‘I am honoured,’ Sylvion said at last with a deep sincerity, ‘honoured that you have shared so much with us. We are strangers and yet you have taken us in and offer sanctuary, and with war in pursuit. You do yourselves great honour.’ She bowed to the true Ravalin who seemed much pleased by her manner.

  ‘I will speak of our quest, but first let me ask some questions, for some things intrigue me. Will you allow this?’ she asked. And Giraldyn nodded warmly.

  ‘Please Sylvion, as
k what you will, we will hide nothing.’

  ‘You are near my age,’ Sylvion said then, looking at the old man. ‘I was near twenty summers when I slew Zelfos and took the Shadow Blade. It was then time stopped for me in one sense, but you Giraldyn, why have you lived so long?’ The question hung in the air for a time as Giraldyn thought how best to answer.

  ‘The one of whom we spoke,’ he said at last, ‘El-Arathor. He granted me this time. He said if I was to follow his word, and lead my people out of their bondage, then I would live to lead them, for they would need one who knew Zydor and who would remind the ones to come what he was like, and to what lengths he would go to find us, and destroy us.’

  Sylvion nodded for this seemed a true answer. ‘And how long did El-Arathor say you would live?’ she asked.

  Giraldyn took a breath. ‘He said until Zydor was destroyed, I would live.’ And this was what Sylvion had feared, and her face saddened.

  ‘If I slay Zydor,’ she said quietly, ‘what happens to you Giraldyn, leader of the true Ravalin?’ At this the old man smiled, and held Sylvion’s eye with a strength she found most powerful.

  ‘There comes a time,’ he said softly, ‘when we must all give up what we have been granted. It is not right to presume to hold on to it forever.’ And Sylvion felt her heart break for she knew that he meant his life was in her hands, but further, that he spoke of the Shadow Blade and she was not yet ready to think upon it as Giraldyn directed, and so she changed the subject.

  ‘I see the horses you ride are the stock of Equin,’ she said quickly. ‘Did not all leave KingsLoss when the first rebels fled? How is it that they these are still here?’ At this sudden change it seemed Giraldyn did not want to speak further and waved his hand toward Tryon.

  ‘You speak Tyron,’ he said and fell silent.

  ‘It is a strange thing,’ Tyron said then, ‘when Giraldyn and the others came here to KingsLoss they found a small number of the horses grazing on the open ground behind the ruins. It seems they had not all departed but a very few had been left behind, and had lived on in the safety of the tunnels and the ruins. They had protected the gates which although fallen, still required the leap of a mighty creature such as one of these to enter. And the walls still stood strong and high enough to keep out all else...and so they prevented any wolves or bears from entering. Their numbers were small for the open ground would not support many, although we believe in the day they would go out into the forest for the wolves are beasts of the night and seem bigger then. But in the day they know the horses will kill them in a fight. By night it is different, but with the gates protected, by some miracle they survived here for half an age, and we are grateful for they give us speed and power in battle, and are the most wonderful companions.’ Sylvion was overjoyed to hear this story.