“He is my brother,” Arnwylf reassured. They brought Conniker to the house in Tyny and gave him leftover meat and milk. The wolf slowly and humbly ate with grateful, yellow eyes. Wynnfrith rebandaged Conniker’s tail. Alrhett spoke with the wolf, and then she told Arnwylf the tale of his adventures since he left Alrhett and Yulenth to battle the great black beast in the Weald. All stared in amazement at the courage and strength of the white wolf. Oblivious to his heroism, Conniker happily licked Arnwylf’s hand, and then rolled on his back to have his belly scratched.
The rest of the morning was spent preparing and organizing as more and more soldiers streamed over the Holmwy Bridge.
At midday, Healfdene called a great council. Every king, queen, general and captain gathered before a quickly erected platform. Thousands gathered in an orderly crush in the humble village of Tyny.
Haerreth calmed the worried chatter of the crowd. “Great human leaders,” he began, “now is the time to unite and bring the strength of our tribes together.”
“Why do you run this meeting?” A captain from the Northern Kingdom of Man yelled. “Your lands have not been decimated as ours have!”
“The Kingdom of Man has been no ally to any tribe here!” A madronite accused.
“Reia has sat safely behind the Flume of Rith and now they propose to take the leadership for all humans!?”
“We must not fight amongst ourselves!” A wealdkin captain bellowed.
“Now the Weald speaks up!” The captain of Man pointed. “You’re as bad as these cowards from Reia!”
“You’re one to speak, after driving your own brothers, the Glafs to extinction!”
“The business of the Skylds is the business of the Skylds, and the affair of no other tribe!”
The gathering degenerated into a contest of shouting and red faced accusations of blame.
“Silence! Silence!” Kellabald futilely called from behind Haerreth. Kellabald could think of no other recourse than to reveal the Mattear Gram. He carefully unwrapped the sword, and as he held the blade aloft, it caught the afternoon sun and burst into a brilliant, blinding beacon. The force of the light was humbling to all present.
“Will you all just be quiet and listen!” Kellabald boomed to the stunned group. It was so still you could hear a stauer call from far away.
“I was given this sword, the Mattear Gram by Haergill,” Kellabald said, shaking. “I did not know at the time he was the King of the Northern Kingdom of Man. When he lived in my village, he was simply my friend. He instructed me, with his final words, to bring this sword to Healfdene, to unite the tribes of humanity against the garond threat.” No other person spoke.
Healfdene slowly climbed onto the platform, and stood before Kellabald.
“King Healfdene,” Kellabald humbly said, “the Mattear Gram.” But, Healfdene made no motion to take the sword. He turned instead to the throng.
“I understand,” King Healfdene said, “King Haergill’s intention. I humbly wish, no, I humbly beg that we will find it in our hearts to fight as one.” The faces before Healfdene were confused.
“The Mattear Gram,” Healfdene went on, “is a battle sword, an ensign of victory, and should be carried against the enemy by a leader willing and able to fight. I am not that man.” Healfdene let a murmur run through the gathering. “I humbly request that you give the sword, noble Kellabald, to my son Haerreth, may he wield it with honor and virtue.”
“No! No! No!” Apghilis burst from the crowd and made his way to the platform. “Lies upon lies! I cannot stand by and let this infamy pass, even though it means my very life!”
“What do you mean?!” A captain from the Northern Kingdom of Man cried.
“I was with Haergill in his last moments,” Apghilis loudly said. “And he instructed me to carry the sword and lead the human armies. And, I can prove it!” A shock and tumult ran through the conference.
“Prove it!” The captain cried. A chant went up, “Prove it! Prove it!”
“As the higher ranking citizens of the Kingdom know,” Apghilis said climbing up onto the platform, “our rulers carry a mark of birth, as opposed to a birthmark.” Apghilis pulled out a knife and cut at his trousers.
“That mark is made,” Apghilis said showing his branded thigh, “by the sword of the ruler, the Mattear Gram. Haergill himself branded this mark upon me.” Apghilis turned so all could see the mark burned into the flesh of his thigh.
“And here,” cried Halldora from the crowd, “is where your deceit is revealed!” Halldora, Wynnfrith, Arnwylf and Frea pushed their way to the platform.
“Keep them quiet,” Apghilis commanded, but there were too many from other tribes for Halldora to be stilled.
Halldora climbed onto the platform, and pulled Frea up as well. “Yes, the lineage and rightful rule of the Northern Kingdom of Man,” Halldora called to the gathering, “is marked by a brand from the sword of the kings.” Halldora looked tenderly at Frea. “You will be safe here, my love,” Halldora said to Frea.
But Frea was completely unafraid. After all she had recently been through, she felt a kind of boldness surge through her blood. She pulled her dress up her thigh, just enough so that her brand could be seen.
“Many of you were there,” Halldora continued addressing the crowd, “when Haergill put the royal mark upon his daughter, Frea.”
“But he decided,” Apghilis interrupted, “that the kingdom needed a strong man to lead, not a little girl.”
“You branded yourself with the wrong side of the sword!” Halldora cried. “See the brand on Frea?! She is branded with the sun emblem. In your haste, you branded yourself with the moon emblem on the other side of the blade!”
Kellabald remembered the Mage clutching Apghilis and calling him a fool. He must have somehow seen the brand under the bandage, Kellabald thought.
“It’s true!” A captain yelled.
In plain view, Frea’s flesh was marked with the sun symbol unmistakably from the Mattear Gram, and Apghilis sported the moon symbol from the opposite side of the sword.
“Apghilis is a liar!” Another shouted.
Apghilis was white faced when confronted by the truth. But, he turned and snatched the Mattear Gram out of Kellabald’s hands.
“Look out!” Caerlund roared.
Apghilis swung the sword in a wide arc. Haerreth snarled and leapt at Apghilis. Had he been wielding any other sword, Haerreth would have had him. But, Apghilis cut and the sword brutally sliced Haerreth under both arms.
Kellabald grabbed Apghilis from behind in a tight embrace so that several soldiers could wrest the sword from his hands.
The sword slipped out of Apghilis’ hands, and as several soldiers clutched for the sword, it seemed to leap directly into Kellabald’s grip. Kellabald pointed the Mattear Gram at Apghilis and he surrendered.
Healfdene followed his son into one of the houses of Tyny to watch him being bandaged.
“He will heal,” a physician said, “but he will not be able to fight for many months.”
“I’m sorry, father,” Haerreth, said.
“My eager son,” Healfdene said affectionately patting his head. Kellabald and the others were admitted into the house.
“How is Haerreth?” Halldora asked.
“He cannot lead the human army,” Healfdene grimly said. “Now I must find someone whom all will follow.” Healfdene shook his head, knowing that the task would now be impossible.
“Apghilis has fled with a platoon loyal to him,” Caerlund said entering.
“Please take the sword,” Kellabald said to Healfdene.
“The war sword seems to like being in your hands,” the Archer darkly mused.
“It is not a sword of war,” the elf said with a small smile, “it is a symbol of peace. Behold.” The elf removed her crescent sword from its scabbard. She lightly took the Mattear Gram from Kellabald. The elf pressed firmly on the handle of the Sun Sword and the wooden center popped out. Then, she clicked the Moon Sword into the handl
e of the Sun Sword to make one unique fighting blade. The guard of the Moon Sword even fit neatly into a ridge in the guard of the Mattear Gram. “This was the peace pact made by Berand Torler,” The elf stopped as a deep vibration shook the whole company.
“He’s here!” Wynnfrith screamed.
Everyone in the room could feel the oppressive evil of the Lord of Lightning. They could feel his covetous eyes staring down at the Moon Sword joined to the Sun Sword. The waves of energy were exactly the same as when the Wanderer moon was moved out of its orbit.
The elf quickly tore the swords apart. As they clattered to the floor, the presence of Deifol Hroth dissipated.
“Please never do that again,” Arnwylf said, catching his breath.
“This is what he wants,” the elf said with growing horror. “The pieces were created long ago, fashioned with every magical device then known. Melded together, they comprised the mightiest, the last and only eldritch forces on the face of the earth.” The elf sat in growing realization.
“The Sun Sword,” she went on, “also known as the Mattear Gram, was forged at the time of the elf human wars in the fourth age by Berand Torler, and given to a human king whose name is lost in the maze of time. Berand Torler crafted the Moon Sword to fit together with the Sun Sword to symbolize the need for human and elf to always fight side by side against Jofod Kagir.” The elf stared into space. “There is a third piece,” she said turning with quiet urgency, “still in Lanis Rhyl Landemiriam.”
“Our most pressing concern,” Healfdene said with soberness, “is facing the garond army. Nothing else will matter if they prevail.”
“You must lead,” Kellabald said picking up the Mattear Gram and offering it to the King of Reia.
“I am too old and filled with pains” Healfdene said. “I wouldn’t last the first moments of the battle. We need a man in the prime of his life, someone like you.”
Healfdene realized the correctness of his words as they escaped his lips. All looked on Kellabald with new eyes as he held the Mattear Gram.
“It does seem to like being in your hands,” Caerlund said. “And as the father who has raised such a fine boy, I know you must be filled with just as much strength and virtue.”
“I agree,” the Archer added.
“No, no, no,” Wynnfrith said protectively standing before her husband with outstretched arms. “Find yourselves some other sacrificial lamb. My husband is no war general.”
“I saw him lead with greatness at Rion Ta,” the elf simply said. “We were outnumbered three to one.”
“The garond army out numbers the human army ten to one,” Wynnfrith said with exasperation. “And we had an elf with a moon sword and an archer with special arrows.”
“All those will be there for him again,” the Archer said. “I, and my men of Kipleth will follow, if you lead,” the Archer said to Kellabald.
“You have the allegiance of Madrun,” Caerlund said.
“And the Weald,” Alrhett added.
“No, no, mother,” Wynnfrith pleaded.
“Daughter,” Alrhett said, “these matters go far beyond our personal wants. Forces and needs much larger than our simple lives now guide our destinies. We owe it to all the humans out there, to fight and be noble and brave.”
Wynnfrith couldn’t answer, for she knew her mother was right.
“But the sword really belongs to Frea,” Arnwylf said, and then caught himself, feeling he had misspoken.
“That is true, son,” Healfdene said. “And that is how we may convince the captains of the Northern Kingdom of Man, who seem ready to leave the field at once.”
“We’d best resolve this with haste,” Caerlund said. “Let me speak first,” he added to Healfdene. “I am of the Wylfling tribe, but the soldiers of Man may listen more easily to me, as they have never gone to war against a madronite.”
Healfdene nodded at this wisdom, and the group left Haerreth in the house with his wounds. As they exited, Healfdene pulled Arnwylf aside. “You know, great nephew, the white wolf is the totem of Reia. You can see it emblazoned on our flag, and here you have one as a pet.”
“He is my brother,” Arnwylf said with boldness, then worried that he spoke too plainly to a king. Healfdene laughed and affectionately patted Arnwylf on the back.
Back at the gathering, the crowd was angry and restless, but the shouting and accusations were subdued with the revelation of Apghilis’ treachery.
Caerlund, Healfdene, the Archer, the elf, Alrhett and Kellabald, bearing the Mattear Gram, climbed onto the platform. Caerlund held up his hands to quiet the host of humans. “I am Caerlund,” he began, “Chief of the Madrun Hills, Brother to Lanis, Storm Master, Ore Author, and of the Wylfling Tribe. Does any man dispute this?”
This was the traditional madronite greeting, and statement of rank. And, the throng was respectfully quiet in response.
“I do not claim the Mattear Gram or leadership over these combined armies. It may be that tomorrow, none of this chest beating will matter anyhow,” he continued. The faces of the soldiers were grim and gray.
“I have a few things I’d like to say,” Caerlund went on, “with your permission.”
“Speak, Caerlund!” A madronite captain shouted in the traditional manner of encouragement.
“I have seen a pattern,” Caerlund said speaking with force and nobility, “which, dear god, I wish I had seen earlier.” Caerlund paused to look over the visage of the assembled men and women. “Man has struggled against man,” he said, “to the ruin of all the Wealdland.” He paused to suppress the sorrow welling up in his breast. Then, he faced it with courage. “Has it not occurred to anyone,” he bellowed, “how coincidentally fortunate all these human against human wars have been for our great mutual enemy, Deifol Hroth?!”
A silent, horrific realization dawned on the gathered.
“My father,” Caerlund went on, “was assassinated. Many of our lords were killed. I feigned the death of my mother to protect her. You of the Madrun kept my confidence that the seer Rebburn was actually your queen.”
Caerlund went on with strength. “The Weald civil war against the Eaststand. The Northern Kingdom of Man, the strongest among us, fighting two wars to the west and the south against Reia and the Glafs. How very, very fortunate for our wise enemy to weaken us by setting us against each other. Who can stop the garond army now? We have done their job for them!”
The surprised and saddened faces of the crowd were heart breaking.
“And now,” Caerlund shouted, “we squabble over who will hold a sword!?” Caerlund stopped to fight back his tears of anger. “Are we human?” He thundered. “Or are we beasts of the meadowland?”
No person spoke, so great was the shame felt by all.
“I know one among us,” Caerlund said, “who has nobly struggled against lies and fought and won when the odds against him were overpowering. I speak of Kellabald, noble and true.”
An astonished murmur of assent ran through the throng.
“But, this sword belongs to the heir of the Kingdom of Man,” Kellabald said with his voice breaking, and he bowed to present the sword to Frea.
“Gentle Kellabald,” Frea said with a quiet voice which carried throughout the whole host, “friend of my father, leader of my village, I can think of no other man here more worthy to lead the combined armies of humanity.” As she spoke Haergill’s ghost in resplendent battle armor, golden shoulder guards, a battle helmet with an iron crown of spikes, a silvery waistcoat of chain mail, stood between Frea and Kellabald. The visage lovingly put one hand on Frea’s head, and the other, brotherly, on Kellabald’s shoulder. Then the ghost was gone.
“King Haergill!!!” The men of the Northern Kingdom of Man shouted as one.
Then, on the platform, Caerlund knelt to Kellabald offering his battle-axe. As he did, all the madronite soldiers knelt, as well. Then, Alrhett knelt, and all the captains and soldiers of the Weald knelt, too. The Archer offered his bow and knelt to Kellabald, and all the
archers and soldiers of Kipleth followed their general.
Healfdene got down on one, old tired knee to recognize Kellabald, and all the men of Reia knelt as well.
“Will the men of the Kingdom of Man be shamed by the very counsel of their dead king!?” A captain of the Kingdom of Man shouted. Then, slowly, the captains and soldiers of the Kingdom of Man bent the knee to Kellabald.
Lastly, the elf knelt to Kellabald, so there was not one in that great mass who did not kneel in allegiance to him.
Kellabald was frightened and overcome. He could not speak, but then he found his voice. “Please, please,” was all he could say. He looked down at the Mattear Gram in his hands.
“Let us fight,” Kellabald said, “not as some group of nations who desire to fight together. What is my hand, my shoulder, and my arm by itself? One part cannot work and lift and fight back without the other parts. What is one man by himself without the strength of other men? We do not need to join together to fight the garonds. We are already joined together by our common humanity. For Humanity!”
“For Humanity!” The combined armies shouted as one.
“I do not want to do this,” Kellabald bellowed, “Let no man say I aspired to this calling. But we must have a leader, and I will never shrink from my duties. Let every man vote now to fight with me to crush the garond army, and wipe their vile presence from Wealdland forever by saying ‘Aye’!”
“Aye!” Resounded with power from every throat in a deafening roar. Then the assembled broke for their camps. Kellabald asked all the leaders to meet and discuss strategy.
As the evening approached Kellabald went with the highest of the captains and the kings and queens of the nations to survey the Eastern Meadowland, which would serve as the battle for humanity’s right to exist. Wynnfrith, Halldora, Frea and Arnwylf went with them.
In the distance, the lights of fires could be seen as the garond army gathered and prepared for war. The dark shapes were numerous and constantly busy.
“How long will it take for them to cross the meadowland?” Kellabald asked a captain.
The Last Elf of Lanis Page 28
