by C A Oliver
Like all matriarchs of the Llewenti, Lyrine had been trained in the lore of all the Archipelago’s deities, but Eïwal Ffeyn was especially important to her. Her dedication to the Deity of Winds and Freedom, to the protector of those islands, was profound. It meant that she loved this place of power, this towering shrine from which the world could be surveyed, from the white shores of the peninsula bordering the Austral Ocean to the north, to the blue waters of the Halwyfal in the east and the green Forest of Llymar[19] to the southwest.
Lyrine surveyed her surroundings for a long time, her thoughts lost in the morning breeze before she finally joined Nyriele.
“Never in my lifetime have I experienced such frantic violence, such an eruption of the elements as in the tales of old,” Lyrine said, her voice distant and weary.
She met her daughter’s gaze making no attempt to hide her disdain. The secretive Nyriele seemed gentle and naïve, staying silent whenever she could, only ever revealing her thoughts after lengthy observation. Lyrine considered her a weak priestess whose thoroughly frail nature was expertly concealed behind a compassionate and tranquil façade.
“We should rest,” proposed Nyriele in her calm, soft voice. “This long struggle has depleted so much of our energy. I am sure that our efforts will not have been in vain. But soon our attention will be demanded elsewhere. The hurricane has devastated the coast. There will be many Elves looking to us for help and guidance.”
“What of the wrecked ship found by our seabirds?” Lyrine reminded her, “What fool would sail into our waters at this time of year?”
“They must have faced the gravest dangers,” Nyriele replied, “though the ship seems to have been spared from destruction. It could be a sign. I felt something during the storm, an intuition of what might come to pass. I would even say that what I foresaw has already begun.”
The darkness in Nyriele’s eyes dissipated, and a smile broke across her face. Lyrine grimaced at her daughter’s words. She showed little love for her daughter but had great respect for her divinations. Nyriele, unique among her people, was the lone inheritor of special powers of foresight. After all, the noble blood of two Llewenti clans flowed through her veins.
Nyriele’s had been a late birth; she arrived when Lyrine’s union with Gal dyl, warlord of the clan Avrony, was already coming to an end.
The common Elves saw Nyriele as an incredible beauty. She reminded them of the time of Queen Llyoriane, in the early days of the archipelago when the deities themselves could be seen wandering the Islands. In her mother’s eyes, her daughter’s calm and quiet nature was a sign of weakness, a legacy of her own companionship with Gal dyl whose kinship the Avrony, was considered the lowest of the six clans.
The Llewenti lived according to ancient traditions and customs which dated back before their long exodus to the archipelago.
It was the mothers who assumed the task of mentoring the children. This was particularly true for those of noble blood, and even more so for those daughters whose bloodline promised a future full of potential. Lyrine had imposed a strict and demanding education on the young Nyriele; the ambition she harboured for her only heir was great. Lyrine had especially resolved to cut her daughter off from the influence of her father and his clan. This had proven difficult.
As the young matriarch had developed her own personality, everyone could see that she naturally tended towards the ways of the clan Avrony. She favoured the cult of Eïwele Llyi[20], divinity of Love and of Beauty, enjoyed and promoted the arts, and had an instinct for protecting the weak. This evolution was an intense disappointment for her mother. Lyrine was used to seize every opportunity to make her daughter feel as insignificant as possible.
Once Nyriele had spoken of her divination, there followed a long silence between the two matriarchs. For hours, they rested quietly on their chairs, their eyes half-closed, their breathing deep and steady, their minds finally at peace. Their auras were enveloped in the sanctity of the shrine.
But such peace could not last long. The sun was still high in the sky when, suddenly, a commotion could be heard coming from outside of the temple. Tyar dyl Llyvary, a commander and warlord of the city of Llafal, had come forth at the matriarchs’ bidding. Several fighters marched in alongside him. They were all dressed for war, clad in green. The white swan, their clan sigil, could be seen on their cloaks.
“Noble Matriarchs, the swanships found the wreck…” he declared, breathless.
“Indeed! So, my seabirds were right. Is it a barbarian long ship from the Mainland?” inquired Lyrine.
“No, noble Matriarch, it is a large boat, thrown upon the shores of Pyenty by the hurricane. The vessel has run aground. It has suffered considerable damage.”
“Then it must be a galley of the Westerners. What madness drove them to sail into our waters?” asked Lyrine.
“Noble Matriarch, the vessel is Elvin-made: it is a big ship, two-masted, like none that was ever seen on our waters,” replied Tyar dyl.
“What fool would dare sail the Austral Ocean just before the arrival of Eïwele Llyo’s season[21]? And why? This is sheer madness. How close did you get? Did you see its colours, or its coat of arms?” Lyrine demanded hurriedly.
“I took advantage of the darkness, slipping aboard while the survivors rested,” Tyar dyl revealed.
The elder matriarch was growing impatient. “Be brief! Who or what did you find?”
“The sailors are Blue Elves, Matriarch Lyrine! Irawenti! Their hairs are azure...their eyes shining like sapphires! They bear a silver feather on their clothes.”
“What fiction is this? To my knowledge, no one has hoisted the silver feather since the days of the sons of Filwen. Few can even remember it, Tyar dyl. You must have been mistaken.”
“There is more, Matriarch Lyrine.”
“More?”
“A number of High Elves are with them. They look like powerful warriors, clad in plate armour and talking in the Hawenti language of old.”
“What can this mean?” Lyrine was incredulous.
“Their banner is a white unicorn against a field of purple.”
Realising, Lyrine replied, “Would Dol Lewin fighters dare to defy us by sailing into forbidden waters?”
“It is a white war unicorn, Matriarch Lyrine, not the racing unicorn we are familiar with! I know the heraldic lore of the High Elf houses. It is without doubt the sigil of Dol Lewin, but these colours, I am sure, are those of the elder branch.”
“The realm of the elder branch of Dol Lewin is beyond the ocean, Tyar dyl. They dwell in Essawylor, in the Kingdom of the Five Rivers. We are far beyond each other’s reach. It has been so for twenty-two centuries. You speak nonsense,” Lyrine dismissed.
“I swear it. These Elves come from Essawylor beyond the Nen. You have my word. The hurricane must have brought them to our shores. Somehow, the passage was granted to them.”
It was then that Nyriele, interrupted. “Mother, Tyar dyl is right. This is what I felt during the storm. This is what I saw in the waters of Halwyfal. They could pass through.”
“This simply cannot be… Tyar dyl, you will go back to the ship and bring me its captain,” Lyrine commanded.
Tyar dyl was an experienced warlord among the clan Llyvary, and perhaps its most seasoned fighter. He knew that a command such as this, uttered by the eldest of the matriarchs, was not to be questioned. Whatever their titles or accomplishments, male members of the clan Llyvary had no involvement in strategy. This had been the prerogative of the matriarchs, servants of the deities since the days of Queen Llyoriane.
He bowed respectfully and was soon on his way to the city of Llafal, his warriors hard on his heels. Tyar dyl was well known for his fiercely independent nature. He had always steered clear of any clan decision-making, instead focusing solely on his duties as commander of the Llafal guards. He was shorter and less imposing than other noble Elves of his kin, but he was very thin, flexible and renowned for his agility and endurance. His tanned skin and dark eyes c
ontrasted with his long, snow-coloured hair. He was dressed in light leather and his helmet was adorned with a long swan plume.
As he strode quickly down the path from the shrine of Eïwal Ffeyn, his mind raced. He was trying to determine the best course of action to capture the captain of the wrecked ship. As he saw it, he faced several options: brute force, intimidation, treachery or, perhaps, honesty.
He carefully considered each of these possibilities and what they would involve in terms of resources and planning. Keeping his thoughts to himself, he did not share a single word with his companions. Tyar dyl could feel the excitement building within him, a thrill that was becoming overwhelming. He could feel it driving away his ennui; he would keep this precious sensation to himself. For far too long he had endured a life of passive contemplation. He was aware that his days as an Elf would soon come to an end. He knew that sorrow, weariness and disillusion had corrupted his spirit irredeemably. Now he was drawn to silence, isolation and communion with nature. This was a clear sign that it would soon be time for him to join the trees. He had seen others before him follow that very path. And yet, today, this task had been entrusted to him. He interpreted this undertaking as an opportunity to prove himself, to show his younger brethren that the “Old Bird”, as some ironically called him, was still warlord of Llafal.
Marching in single file behind him, his retinue hastened down the path from the temple. The high winds gradually diminished as the shelter of the hill began to protect them. The gates of the city were then opened before them. Below, the lower expanses of the city, on the side which surrounded the harbour, were hidden in the shadow of the hill. In the moving mists, Llafal could be glimpsed fleetingly, like an amorphous mosaic of green and pearl. The city was built among pines and cedars, sheltered by that high hill which protected it from the storms of the Austral Ocean and the Llewenti’s elegant white houses were scattered amid the colourful, abundant vegetation.
Tyar dyl and his band descended the hill along a wide street lined with tall wooden houses and slender pines. All was calm and quiet. It was as though the inhabitants had locked themselves in their homes in anticipation of a new disaster. As they continued their descent, a sunbeam tore down through the foliage above, illuminating a secluded flower garden.
They reached the top of the wide, stone steps that led down from the main road to the heights of Llafal, to Temple Square which looked out over the Halwyfal basin. Here stood the ancient stronghold of the clan Llyvary, the dominating edifice of the esplanade. It was a striking building made of wood, glass and stone, its architecture fine and delicate. Its white lime walls gleamed in the golden light of the sun. Thick green vines, interspersed with blue and yellow flowers, painted a floral decoration across its front. One could see the entire city from the esplanade. Layers of terraces had been built into the slopes above the shores of the great basin below, and from afar they resembled a crescent moon caressing the vast green water. This vista of symmetrical terraces, walled gardens and natural greenery was perfectly serene, surrounded by the afternoon’s golden mist.
After continuing down through several different neighbourhoods, the group finally reached a vast square. In it a fountain stood, with a statue of a great swan in its centre. Clear water flowed from the spring in the middle of the marble pool. Tyar dyl paused, taking a moment to embrace the entire scene with his gaze.
In an hour, the sun’s orb would disappear completely behind the treetops but, for now, the Elves of the clan Llyvary were busy. Every afternoon, many gathered at Daly Nièn[22], the name of the great fountain square of the city, to exchange goods, services and news. This was the very heart of Llafal where all the guilds were located, and growers and artisans alike all ran stalls. Gold, silver, coins, indeed currency of any kind, were all prohibited according to the ancient laws of the Llewenti. Instead, each guild was responsible for producing what was required by the community. Every day, food, drink and raw materials, but also furniture, tools, weapons, and all sorts of other goods, were available at Daly Nièn. The guilds conducted their business freely, relying on the Council of the Matriarchs to find resolutions to disputes.
Tyar dyl decided to sit at the top of the steps to the Armourer’s Guild. From there, he could enjoy the excitement that swept across Daly Nièn in the last hours of daylight when everyone was eager to close their deals. Not wanting to draw any attention to himself, he dismissed his guards, keeping only his second-in-command with him, a young noble Llewenti of the clan Llyvary called Nerin dyl.
A smile played on Tyar dyl’s lips; life was ironic. He believed that the arrival of this ship from beyond the Austral Ocean would change the course of history. A mission of the utmost importance had been entrusted to him, an old Elf who nobody cared for, who spent most of his time alone, and who was already contemplating the prospect of his passage. He had no heirs, no companions, and indeed no compassion. All he had left were the memories of an ageing warrior. He checked himself: no, not an ageing warrior, a great champion and an exalted servant of the clan. Despite his high rank, he knew that he had been merely a servant for all his life. He had dedicated his entire existence to others, neglecting his own needs and desires. This used to make him proud and even now he did not regret it. He simply no longer cared. Everything had become meaningless; a void had absorbed all trace of lust, ambition, greed and even life within him. He now knew the tree that had chosen him.
How many times had he climbed it?
How many happy hours had he spent sitting on that branch near the top, looking out across the coast?
How good it had been to feel the wind envelop him! He knew that one day a wind like that would take his spirit away to the forest and he wished for that day to come. A priestess of Eïwele Llyo[23] had already prepared him. The deity of Fate’s cleric had stayed up for many nights with him, under the starlight, explaining how to interpret his dreams and absent musings.
“How shall we operate, Tyar dyl?” asked the young Nerin dyl.
Tyar dyl took some time to answer, as this question from his second-in-command slowly brought him back to the world of Elves, to Llafal.
“I will go,” he replied slowly.
“Alone?”
“Alone. This is the best course of action. I will need a swanship, as I intend to bring the travellers food, water and wine, as welcome gifts.”
“But they are not welcome here,” Nerin dyl protested. “I doubt that the matriarchs will…”
“What Matriarch Lyrine wants is to talk to their captain. I will bring him to Llafal. Alone.”
“I will do as you command, Tyar dyl.”
The ‘Old Bird’ then added, “It’s extraordinary what wine can achieve. I’d wager that it’s far more effective than intimidation. But we must act quickly; Blue Elves are, of course, incredible swimmers. I recall from ancient tales that they are also masterful dolphin-tamers. We do not want them to start spreading around the Gloren peninsula searching for food. Nerin dyl, you will command the rest of the swanships’ fleet, forming a ring-fence around the isle of Pyenty. But do so at a distance. Whatever happens to me, you are not to attack without a direct order from the Council of the Matriarchs. Have no fear; I will return safely.”
And then, Tyar dyl thought, “From her secret halls in the depths of Nyn Llyvary, Eïwele Llyo has already made her plan for me.”
He turned back to Nerin dyl. “Now go to the guilds and load a boat with water, wine, bread, fruit and meat for more than a hundred Elves. Make no effort to explain just yet. Use the clan’s seal. We must sail before sunset and need to reach the passes of Halwyfal by nightfall, so that we can cross to the bay early tomorrow with the morning tide… The forest will need to wait for me a little longer,” he concluded enigmatically.
The swanship that Tyar dyl sailed was the last to leave the port of Llafal. The clan Llyvary’s most important city was also the largest harbour on the northern shores of the archipelago. It could host many vessels, protecting them from the tumult of the Austral Ocean
.
All those ships were currently out at sea, on an errand to deliver supplies and aid the many settlements along the coast that had been badly damaged by the wrath of Eïwal Ffeyn during the hurricane. As his boat was heading east into the Halwyfal waters, to circumvent the headland around Llafal, Tyar dyl looked back to admire the amazing scenery of the seashore. Towards the west, in the fading light of the evening, a tumultuous sky charged with threatening clouds towered the high tops of the Mountains. As in a colourful painting of Eïwele Llyi’s temple, shades of azure filled the relief on the horizon while taints of forest green marked the Arob Salwy[24] hills in the background. The white houses of the Llewenti sparkled amid the vivid seashore plants, like crystalline stars in a naturally emerald sea.
Suddenly, a few yards from the boat’s wake, a great white swan sprang from the blue waters of the vast basin, taking off into the air. Tyar dyl watched this elegant bird, symbol of the clan Llyvary, flying high into the sky. He stayed in this contemplative stance for a moment, his eyes full of admiration for the beauty of the scenery.
*
From the top of the hill, from the heights of Temple Square, Lyrine watched the last swanship depart, with close attention and not without a certain degree of anxiety. She noticed that Tyar dyl had chosen to go alone. It was a dangerous decision, but she was unsurprised. She had given her orders; it was now up to Tyar dyl to set up a strategy to complete his mission. It was so, now as it had always been among the clan Llyvary. Watching the ship sail out of the harbour, Lyrine reflected upon Tyar dyl’s past service.
’’The Old Bird’ can be trusted. He has never failed me or our clan. He is the most experienced and cunning warlord of the forest. He fought with glory during the last invasion and survived the Century of War, commanding troops and leading the army of Llafal into battle. Nevertheless, he is still a far lesser Elf than Father was. But then, no one in the clan ever would, or could, replace Father. Tyar dyl has no charisma. He seldom even talks. Although a skilled fighter, he is no commander. He inspires respect, but not devotion nor worship.’
