Revelyn: 1st Chronicles - When the last arrow falls

by Chris Ward

  A few gasps from the crowd came audibly to her and Sylvion knew that her boldness would not go unnoticed or unreported.

  ‘I inform you now that the child you knew is before you not a prisoner returned, but far more, for I am Sylvion Greyfeld, daughter of Sontim, son of Sentor, and a cousin to the dead King Frederic by Raven Hendon, Sentor’s wife and my kinkindma, a woman many here will remember well. I am the rightful heir to the throne of Revelyn and I declare to you all this day that I claim that throne. You will decide what you will, but as for me I will no longer see Revelyn suffer under the tyrant who calls himself Lord of Light, for he is nothing of the kind.’

  She paused to let her words sink in.

  ‘I would like to think that my town has such men and women of character that they will stand with me in this. I will speak with you all again, but now I go to bury my murdered kindma. You know where to find me, but understand people of Wildwood, what has been, is over, this place cannot go on as it has. You all will need to chose carefully, for great consequences will flow from your decisions this day.’

  She spurred her horse on, and as she left them behind the crowd burst into great discord for never had such words been spoken and with such authority in the town. Surely this is just young Sylvion Greyfeld, how can it be that what she claims is true? But if it is? By the gods there will be war? What are we to do?

  She heard the questions fade and did not look back for not far ahead lay the soldier’s barracks and alone she must face them, but within her heart she had no doubt as to the outcome.

  Some time later Sylvion stood in tears before her home. She felt so alone, and longed for Rema’s strength and gentle embrace, but it was not to be. The building was a burnt shell, and although in truth there was more standing than she expected, it was no longer the home of her delight. The roof had fallen in, and most below had burnt; but the stone walls were straight and true and Sylvion knew it could be rebuilt, but it would be many long days before that dream might come true, for other needs demanded her attention. She found a single room at the rear next to the demolished kitchen that would afford her some shelter, and after letting the horses roam free in the orchard where feed was plentiful, Sylvion made a small fire against one stone wall and found some dry straw for a bed. There was food in a cellar which the fire had not reached, and her heart was lifted in spirits to realise that none had come to steal what was left.

  Having delayed the moment as long as possible, Sylvion walked slowly around to the rear of the stables, and there was the pile of earth now growing fresh grass below which lay her precious kindma. Her emotions overcame her then for it was moment she both longed for and dreaded; this awful homecoming.

  ‘I am here kindma,’ she wept on her knees before the simple grave, ‘I am sorry for what they did. Please forgive me my part in all of this.’ And she collapsed onto the grave and let her emotions take her where they would, for she was then a little child lost, without her dearest, her kindma, her protector and friend. Her grief was deep and dark and angry, but sweet in the fulfilling, for she finally became calmer and was able to sit and talk to her kindma about many things. That sharing was a precious memory.

  Suddenly a man stood there, silhouetted by the sun and she jumped at his appearing until a familiar voice came clearly to her.

  ‘Ah Sylvion my child, I knew you would come back to us. I have waited for you, for I would not bury your kindma without you being present.’

  ‘Oh Grenfenger!’ Sylvion jumped up and rushed joyfully to the old gardener who had worked so faithfully over many years in the garden of her home. The old man held her close and her tears flowed once more.

  ‘Thank you dear friend, for I have dreaded this time and now I can do it, for I have your strength and support.’

  They worked hard throughout the heat of the afternoon, and finally before sunset, a new grave by the orchard, near her kindma’s favourite tree had been completed, and the distressing task of laying her kindma to rest was accomplished. Grenfenger had seen to the body for it was not an easy job, but he was well used to working in the earth and seeing life and death as the seasons ruled. He spoke nothing of what he saw but followed Sylvion’s instruction as to how she wanted her kindma lain. The fresh earth covered her now and Grenfenger promised to see that a headstone would be placed just as Sylvion desired, and inscribed with the beautiful words copied from the small parchment which now lay in his grubby hand, written long before in the Vault one night, as Sylvion planned it all. She gave him gold to pay for it, for she had carried a small fortune with her in her saddle bags which the treasures of the dead thieves Mord and Ljotr had provided.

  As the sun set, Sylvion, now alone once more, stood by the new grave and felt a deep relief that this at least she had achieved, of all the oaths she had sworn, this was the first and most important to complete, for without it, the others would not seem possible.

  After a simple meal she stoked the fire high, and drawing her cloak around her, and her wonderful blade at her side, Sylvion slept deeply and without dreams only to be woken by the thunder of hooves approaching fast from the town.

  ‘I can’t believe the soldiers have been reinforced so quickly!’ she exclaimed, jumping to her feet and throwing off her cloak. She walked calmly out to meet the new foe, for death held no fear, and her new weapon gave her great comfort although she did not understand what allowed its magic to flow.

  The morning sun low down was streaming into her eyes, so Sylvion could not see how many her new enemy were, but she knew enough of horses to understand that many mounted men were fast approaching. They swung into view and galloped up to surround her. She stood like a statue and waited, ready to do whatever she needed, for no man was going to desecrate her home again no matter the blood that needed to be shed, no matter if she died in its defence.

  And then a cry.

  ‘Sylvion it’s me, Goodman Cantor, I have come to set you free!’

  And then her dear friend was in her arms, and they swung about in the greatest joy as fifty mounted men cheered them on, for most knew her, and had feared greatly for her life.

  Sylvion was overjoyed at such a wonderful turn of events. She thanked the men for coming and then realised that four women were amongst the company and paid them a special due. After introductions were over she invited them to find lodgings in the huge barn which had escaped the destruction, and was full of hay and provided privacy in places for those that required it. She addressed them all sombrely before they took up her offer.

  ‘My friends I have many things to say to you but today I have a pressing task. I have little food although the orchard will provide fresh fruit, and the horses will have enough feed for many days. It would do us well if some might visit the town and speak with the merchants, for a few might see fit to assist us, although I do not expect much from them as yet. I will give Goodman a bag of gold for him to dispense as he sees fit, for that is one thing we have in plenty.’ Her remarks were so inclusive and gently spoken, that the company dispersed happily and were soon well lodged, and several offered to see what the town might provide.

  Sylvion took Goodman aside and spoke of her pressing task.

  ‘I must visit the forest without delay for I believe we may have great allies therein.’ Goodman was puzzled and inquired as to her meaning.

  She explained to him of the Equin and he was amazed but not discouraging, although he knew of the fear associated with the great forest and seemed anxious that she be kept from any harm, to which she laughed in reply.

  ‘Goodman after what I have been through there is no danger in this; all I fear is failure in what I request of these wonderful creatures.’

  ‘I will go with you,’ said Goodman bravely.

  ‘No, I will go unaccompanied, for I alone are one they trust,’ and Goodman saw her resolve and agreed.

  Sylvion left shortly after, and with a growing sense of anticipation entered her magical forest once more. She carried her little horn which she had used to call
the Equin, for it had travelled with her throughout her ordeal and been of great comfort whilst first imprisoned and friendless in the Vault. She was desperate to see her faithful Lightfoot once more and so her horn rang out before she had barely stepped in amongst the tall trees and tangled undergrowth.

  She walked for many leagues and never ceased to call, through favourite glades and grassy open swathes where the sunlight warmed the insects which rose in clouds around her at every step, until in a deep sadness she sank onto a grassy knoll and shed tears of bitter frustration for she knew that they would not come.

  ‘Thunder!’ she called, ‘please come to me for it is Sylvion, and I miss you greatly. I need so much to talk with you dear friend.’

  But there was no reply, no distant thunder of hooves which might resound around the hilltops. And so Sylvion slowly made her way home, and said little to any but her mood was clear to all.

  Gathering herself, Sylvion talked deep into the evening to the gathered company who listened in the light of roaring fire from many places around the huge old barn. By the time she was spent, they all knew of her story and everyone declared that they would stand with her in her quest for the throne. She realised that they were young like her, and understood that a tyrant like Lord Petros would eventually threaten even their beloved Highlands, and so there was little choice expect perhaps denial, and this could not ever be considered. She ended her passionate story with sad words.

  ‘I have failed today in my most important task, for without the Equin we have no great chance of much beyond irritating the King, and seeing the destruction of this town and all its people. I will try again in the morning, but now I am weary beyond measure, and must sleep. I bid you all a safe night.’ And so she returned to her small room, which despite it dankness she preferred for it was part of her home and closer to where she had lived all her life. She slept fitfully and dreamt of mighty horses running from her despite her pleas, and dark shadows reaching for her and those she loved.

  The sun had just sent its first warming rays over the treetops when Goodman woke her breathlessly.

  ‘Sylvion you must come see this for it is magic indeed!’ Bewildered, she stood and shook herself awake. Stumbling into the dawn she looked to where Goodman was pointing, watched by most of the gathered company. She gasped, for there at the very edge of the forest was Lightfoot, and standing behind him, half in shadow was the huge and imposing shape of Thunder, leader of all the Equin.

  ‘They have come Goodman!’ she cried, ‘The Equin have heard my cry.’ She stumbled forward in shock and great relief. ‘Please keep back friends,’ she cried over her shoulder, ‘for perhaps in time you will all meet these creatures. For now keep back!’ And then she was running towards the two beautiful steeds. Lightfoot whinnied and pranced in joy and Thunder snorted such that many birds around took flight and circled noisily overhead.

  Sylvion stroked her horse and talked gently to him, whilst he nuzzled her with genuine affection. And then she went to Thunder and stood before the huge horse with tears of pure joy streaming down her face.

  ‘Oh Thunder, you heard me. Thank you for coming for I am in desperate trouble and need your help. All Revelyn needs your help.’

  The mighty horse looked wisely at her, and then with a toss of his great mane and handsome head, he indicated that Sylvion follow him and all three disappeared into the forest.

  ‘I have never seen such a huge creature,’ said Jonas Bielsen in awe. A tall blonde young man with great humour and energy, he worked at Cantor’s candle business but in that moment he spoke for all who watched. ‘I have heard something of the legends, but never thought for a moment that any of it was true. I can’t wait to tell my kindpa that I have seen the Equin.’

  ‘And I hope you do Jonas my friend,’ said Goodman quietly, ‘but we have much to achieve before that happy day and we should not plan too far ahead, for who knows who will return.’ And on that sombre note they all returned to the many daily tasks which such a company demanded.

  Sylvion returned by nightfall accompanied by Lightfoot, and in better spirits, although she spoke to no one of what had taken place that day. When Goodman inquired, all she would say was that the Equin understood her deep need and perhaps in days to come would respond to her call.

  ‘So what do we do now Sylvion?’ Goodman inquired further. She looked him in the eye and took both his hands purposefully.

  ‘We wait and make preparation as best we can,’ she said quietly. ‘My friend Reigin will return here by the next full moon, and much turns on what news he brings. Let us prepare for war, Goodman, for there will be no end to all this until that has been accomplished.’

  Chapter 16

  Rema cursed loudly as the pain shot angrily up his leg and exploded across his lower back. He had lost count of the number of times his bruised body had taken the full force of the limp figure he held close to him, braced by his right leg between the two bunks, and hard up against the hull. Serenna lay unconscious in his arms, unable to protect herself from the violent motion of the ship as it ran before the tempest, and her weight pressed mightily upon him with every lurch and pitch of the Scoira.

  He had lost almost all track of the time, for it seemed eternally dark and gloomy. Almost no light penetrated into the cabin, for the small port opening was tight shut, and the oil lamp which swung safely from its clever iron bracket kept going out, and Rema had given up relighting it, for there was precious little time when the ship was stable, and he dared not leave Serenna at the mercy of the waves which never ceased to toss them about like butter in a churn.

  Rema guessed that it was at least a day, possibly two since the monstrous storm had engulfed their stout ship, but how long it had been was not important anymore, he just longed for it all to be over. His strength was fast running out, and he had not eaten since they had both taken refuge in their cabins shortly after being ordered below by Captain Lethyne Tyne, for once the maelstrom had overtaken them, there was no safe place above deck. Indeed Rema wondered if the Captain and the helmsmen were still alive; for perhaps the waves had swept them away and the ship left to fight alone and unguided. It surely seemed by the motion that there was no one alive on deck ...or else the rudder may have been torn lose... or...a thousand scenarios had played through his exhaustion until every jolt and lurch spelt their doom.

  There was water swirling coldly around the floor and up onto the bunks when the ship heeled far over, for the shutter on the small port opening, despite being secularly fastened was never designed to withstand being actually immersed in the ocean, which it had been on several occasions. Serenna had hit her head hard against the edge of her bunk many spans past, and the deep cut bled greatly before Rema had staunched the flow. She knew nothing of her injury for the blow had knocked her senseless, but the water all around them was stained deep red with her blood.

  It crossed Rema’s mind that there was a sorcery behind the storm, for never would he have believed that such a violence existed in nature, or that it could continue for so long. He cradled Serenna’s head as best he could for her neck was subject to a most terrible motion and he feared greatly for his lovely cousin. Although he knew now that she was not his cousin, and in fact he was not who he thought he was. In so short a time, his life had been overtaken by events beyond his understanding. How he wished to be back home in the Highlands, with Sylvion by his side, looking out over the vast mountains and beautiful forests, smelling the clean air, smelling the intoxicating scent of her close by.

  ‘Sylvion.’ He whispered as though in a dream. ‘Where are you now? For I am lost.’

  At that very moment Serenna stirred in his arms, and Rema realised the bitter irony of his desperate position. Separated from his love; lying here and holding another beautiful woman, whispering into the dark, tossed remorselessly by the ocean, and unsure what the outcome might be.

  ‘He does not love me.’ Serenna spoke suddenly from some faraway place in a slurred manner which frightened Rema. He pulled
her closer to him, for it was all he could to do to comfort her. She struggled strangely, as though trying to free herself from some unseen bonds.

  ‘I loved him always. He never knew.’ Her words were so full of anguish that Rema felt a deep sadness, for she spoke of him, and he looked upon her in the darkness with tears that sprang from a deep bewilderment. She spoke more, but it was indistinct and Rema was torn, for he felt that he had no right to hear her deepest thoughts, but he could not help but try to make out what she was saying. With a great guilt he pressed close upon her so that she spoke to his face as he strained to make out her incoherence.

  And then suddenly her eyes opened, and they were by some trick of the light staring into each other’s eyes. Rema was startled by Serenna’s sudden seeming serenity.

  ‘I knew you would come for me Rema,’ She whispered with a most beautiful smile, ‘thank you...thank you...’ her voice trailed off, and then just as suddenly she returned to her far off world where the present trouble could not reach. Rema felt his heart pounding against his chest as bitter tears streamed down his face. He remained like that, for so long, in a somewhat twilight world that when he began to think once more upon the things around him, he realised that the motion of the tortured vessel was easier, that no longer did she fall on her side and the pitching was more fore and aft, and less rolling side to side.

  ‘We have made it through the storm Serenna,’ he spoke with great relief as he stroked her pale forehead. ‘We will survive....... we will survive.’

  For several spans he stayed holding her like that, with his aching body braced against the movement as the seas fought less violently against the ship, until at last he was able to lift Serenna back to her bunk and he knew that she was no longer in danger of further injury. Using the bedding from both their beds Rema was able to secure her safely and he was free at last to stretch and massage his battered body. He lit the tiny lamp once more and surveyed the sodden scene. At that moment there was a pounding on the cabin door, but the visitor did not wait for an answer for he came straight in. It was Scion.