by Chris Ward
Reigin had remained behind for a time after the others set off, and waited with the Wolver. He wanted to speak some more with this man who was once a brother of sorts, and undoubtedly his kin by blood. Rema had left no orders about what was to be done with him, and he knew that Reigin would not take his life. Reigin never revealed what he said to the man, apart from telling Rema in the briefest terms when he caught them up in the midmorn, that should he ever meet the Wolver again, he would not hesitate to slay him.
He had let the man go free without weapons and had ridden off without looking back.
Rema had felt a rising excitement matched only by an equal measure of anxiety as he approached Wildwood. He was almost desperate to see Sylvion once more; to hold her close to him, and kiss her again whilst looking into her exquisite eyes; feeling her warmth and hearing her voice…
And yet she was changed; he knew that now.
What would it be like? He thought, as his heart pounded powerfully in his chest.
The five companions made an impressive scene as they rode majestically into Wildwood that evening. The noise of their approach had not gone unnoticed and the state of their appearance, matched by the foaming horses and the presence of Reigin the warrior created not a little fear and apprehension as they rode boldly up the main street and continued on out towards the mighty forest and what remained of the Greyfeld estate.
It was Goodman Cantor who greeted them with a wild call.
‘Rema, by the gods man it is good to see you!’ He ran forward to where they had dismounted in a cloud of dust and clatter of hooves. ‘Serenna you too, welcome!’
Rema was overwhelmed to see his great friend, and so many others about who clearly looked well prepared to ride with them. They stood and embraced and then made introductions all around as the other Highlanders looked on in awe, especially at Reigin. In the flesh he was even more impressive than they had been led to believe.
‘Where is she Goodman?’ Rema could contain himself no longer.
‘She is at her kindma’s grave,’ Goodman replied quietly. ‘Each day at this time she goes alone and sits with her. I am sure she will not mind a visitor. Leave your friends with me and I will see to their comfort and sort out the horses. It is good to see you Rema. We have worried so much, and Sylvion is not the same... well in a manner of speaking; you will see. Around by the orchard you’ll find her. Go now man.’
Serenna watched Rema go with a blade of pain thrusting deep into her heart.
And so Rema walked quietly around the ruins of the old house and felt a bitterness at such destruction. He nodded at a few of those whom he knew around about but did not stop unless his fear of meeting Sylvion froze him to the spot.
Goodman has seen a change. If he has seen it, then what does it mean?
She was standing by a fresh grave. It lacked a headstone, but as though to make up for this it was covered in freshly cut flowers. The sight of her made Rema’s heart leap in joy. At least she was safe, and now they would be together once more. He stood and watched her then; for a few moments he took her in, this beautiful grieving woman by her kindma’s gave. She did not seem to sense his presence as he walked quietly to her, but when he stood by her side she knew immediately who it was.
She turned and through her tears of grief smiled gently at him.
‘Why did she have to die Rema? Why all this violence and death? Everything was so simple, and now it is all changed?’ Her quiet but fierce composure took Rema by surprise, but then she threw herself into his arms and they held each other as close as it was possible to do, and felt each other’s pounding hearts and he kissed away her tears. They did not speak but savoured a moment which each had longed for and yet feared so much.
‘I am sorry for all that has happened.’ Rema said finally when he judged that his voice would not betray him. ‘Your kindma of all people should not have suffered such injustice. And you my love, I could not reach you when you needed me. For that I have suffered much.’
Sylvion smiled and once more her composure impressed him greatly.
‘I was angry with you for a time Rema Bowman, for indeed I felt bereft, but other strengths came to me and I discovered great things about myself that had lain hidden all my life.’ She stepped back from him and turned to the grave.
‘I have sworn an oath on this grave and my kindma’s life that I will see an end to this great evil which infects the land. I cannot promise much beyond this day, but my love and life, and these things seem easily ended and turned upon their head.’
Her words were those of one who had faced death and great adversity and won through, but they spoke also of change and the unknown which lay before them all. Rema knew in that moment that his love, Sylvion Greyfeld was no longer his alone but belonged to Revelyn and her destiny was the destiny of the land they loved.
‘Come,’ she said, ‘we have much to discuss, but good news Rema, for today the Equin have agreed to stand with us.’
He realised suddenly with a shaft of pain that she had not inquired of him or those with whom he travelled, for she seemed consumed with bigger things, and he knew then what Goodman had meant. He took her hand and they walked together back to join the others and plan what could only be a most fatal battle on which rested all hope for peace and justice in Revelyn. They both knew that there was little hope, for the forces coming against them were overwhelming, but they took great comfort in each other in that moment, and looked no further.
‘We will take each day as it comes Sylvion,’ Rema whispered and squeezed her hand. ‘I think we can promise each other no more than that.’ And as he spoke these words he felt a deep sweet grief creep upon him, for he too had acknowledged that change had come between them, forced by bigger things which had overtaken them, things which they could not avoid.
Sylvion squeezed his hand in silent reply.
‘It is good to see you Rema.’ Her words were like nectar to his ears, and yet he knew they were not the words of a lover.
Chapter 20
Rema stood on the fallen ramparts of Fellonshead, deep in thought. The past few days had brought him many new fears and little relief. He was tired, desperately weary now for the long days of travel and the need to be constantly on guard to face new dangers and mysteries, had taken a bigger toll than he would have thought possible.
They had left Wildwood on the new moon after but three days of preparation; three days in which his relationship with Sylvion had been gently reborn, but in a way they both understood was different. He still struggled with the realisation of this, despite the fact that it was mainly a subtle thing and had not been given assent by either in any form of words.
After their strangely calm reunion by Sylvion’s kindma’s grave they had spent one long day together in the orchard under a deep blue sky and separated from the rest of the world by tall grass and overhanging branches. They had shared every detail of what had happened since their innocent parting at Farview so long before. Rema had listened in amazement as Sylvion retold her story, at times amazed then angry but always proud. Whilst Reigin had told something of the magic of their escape, there was so much he did not know of how she had felt; the despair and bewilderment, anger and grief which had sought to bring her undone. As her story unfolded, Rema realised that once the Shadow Blade became her weapon and she had used it in anger, then she had changed. Sylvion herself hinted at this, for the account of her return to Wildwood was chilling. She told of her bold speech to the townsfolk and then her sacking of the soldier’s garrison, and she did so in as much detail as she could, such that the manner in which she spoke led Rema to believe it had scared her greatly; what this Shadow Blade could do in anger. He knew she had a need to share her burden on this matter with another.
She had ridden up the main street, leaving the frightened and bewildered crowd behind her. Her words still echoed in his ears, and the quiet ferocity of the telling alarmed Rema.
‘I dismounted and tethered my horse opposite that foul place. It was
here that I had first met Sleeman and Captain Bach. My kindma was still alive then. I had no idea what evil they had then plotted, but after all I had been through I was not about to pass by that place and leave any such men free to do as they wished in Wildwood. There were six horses tethered ready outside, and I could hear the sounds of rank laughter within. I counted my steps Rema, twelve paces to the door and I felt so calm, as though my heart was ice. I did not knock, but flung the door open and went in as though I was death to these few. They all stopped their stupid jokes and stared at me, I can see them now. What shook me most was the look upon their faces. It was not anger that I had dared to walk in upon them unannounced; no it was fear. They looked upon me with terror for they saw in me something which they could not best. I had the blade out before me and it glowed and sparked and I felt my anger rise like I had not felt before except upon the road when those bandits were about to kill me. I had never met these men Rema.’ And now her face was wet with tears as the violent memory flooded over her as she continued, ‘They were most likely farm boys, or stupid oafs attracted to soldiering by the uniform and the power of it. They had most likely never lifted a sword in anger. I watched them shrivel before me Rema. They could hardly move as the light poured forth from the blade; they were in thrall to it, and I was overcome by the power it gave me. I was about to slay them for all they represented; every evil that had been thrown at me...’ She paused and sobbed. Rema sat horrified at the picture she had painted. His beautiful gentle Sylvion, become death to these few, embraced by such anger and hate as to invite nothing but the worst of all violence. He reached for her then but she had shrugged him off, not yet ready for any consolation until her story was told.
‘I do not know what stopped me from taking their lives, but I cut them quickly, all of them, so they bled in memory of that awful moment in their lives when death had come so close; they were all but defenceless, and then I drove them out and let them flee upon their horses as I stood and held my blade which gave forth its amazing light which none could look upon and long remain sane.’ She took a breath and then spoke again. ‘Except me Rema, I could do what I wished. I shudder now, but I cannot put this weapon aside for it has become my strength. With this Shadow Blade I can do what I have sworn to do, to rid this land of the evil of Petros and his ilk.’ She had sat back then and sighed such a deep sigh and allowed Rema to take her hand and then hold her.
‘And then I burnt the place to the ground,’ she finished in a desperate whisper, ‘as they had done to my home here.’ She had been overcome by grief, and Rema was stricken by the manner her slight body shivered, as though the memory of such a story had a life within her.
He had told her his story then and she had listened intently, especially when he talked of the strange and evil creatures which Zelfos had introduced to Revelyn. She was fascinated by mention of El-Arathor and asked if he might return, to which Rema could only shrug and tell that he had no means to know the ways of such a one. She was shocked by his revelation that he had been stolen and sold as a child, and the possibility that somewhere in the land he had a brother who looked for him intrigued her. The involvement of the Edenwhood had left her greatly excited. They talked of the prophecy and by the end Rema knew that she saw for the first time how he too was to play a part in the dream which she now held so dear. To free Revelyn from a tyrant and build peace where evil now stood. That she would be Queen of the land or die in the attempt was abundantly clear, and he knew with a growing ache in his heart that the path ahead for them was now impossible to see. In the end they had lain together in the grass and kissed gently and talked of love, but each knew that what stood before them allowed no thought beyond the moment.
Rema shivered in the cold morning air and dragged his mind back from such recent memories. He stood and looked down upon the fallen stonework and crumbled walls of the once wondrous city he had learnt was Fellonshead, although not a span before, Elder Anderlorn had walked with him here and spoken of the forgotten history of where he stood. Anderlorn had seemed greatly overcome by what he saw, as though he was in some way linked to the memory of such a mighty ruin. He was a huge man and mightily impressive in his manner which spoke now of war and heroic deeds to come. He wore his sword Anderwyn as though a part of his very being, and Rema knew that his skill in battle would be terrible indeed. He had arrived shortly before them with the other promised Edenwhood who were now encamped amongst the ruins. The huge scythercats which some rode were carefully tended by their riders; they were fearsome beasts all dressed for war.
‘Rema this place was the last city of the Edenwhood upon the lowlands.’ Anderlorn had told him. ‘It was called Alderyn, which as you know is the name of our great city in AlGiron, for it simply means heart in our native tongue. This city was for an age, the heart of our life before the Great Separation. Here was fought the final battle which we chose to lose, for by then we had prepared the mighty gates to our new land with the help of the Mountain Dwarves who also had almost disappeared from the land. We were ready to leave the lowlands forever. But other men pursued us without mercy and whilst we had chosen to depart in peace they would not let us, and sought by all means to slay those who lingered in this place.’
‘Why is it known as Fellonshead?’ Rema had inquired, greatly moved by the sorrow in Anderlorn’s voice as he told his sad tale. The Elder sighed and continued.
‘A great army like none had ever seen before came against my people. Their commander was a huge giant and warrior by the name of Fellon. He hated the Edenwhood with a passion beyond all reason. He loved war and violence and his name was known throughout all Revelyn for he was a hero in the service of the House of Hendon. They came in numbers too great for even our skills in warfare and by then our heart was no longer in visiting death upon others. The walls here were breached and Fellon led the final attack, but when he entered the compound there,’ here the great Elder paused and indicated below where amongst the ruins his small but deadly army was now encamped. ‘When he entered there was only one remaining; the rest had departed. This brave Edenwhood warrior facing certain death challenged Fellon to mortal combat, and so with his soldiers watching from all around, Fellon eagerly rushed upon this lone man.’
At this moment Anderlorn withdrew his mighty sword from its sheath and swung it round most fiercely as if reliving that deadly fight of ancient times. The next words he spoke sent a chill through all of Rema’s body, for he spoke as one recounting a story often told.
‘I am the son of the son of that man. He was Elder of the Edenwhood then, as I am now. He slew the giant Fellon, and cut off his head with this very sword, named rightly Anderwyn which means giant slayer in our tongue. He stood surrounded by an enemy greatly cowed. He tossed the evil head far into the air and as all around watched it fly in fascination; with a cry he disappeared down the tunnel by which all the others had departed. It led far outside the city underground, and there he joined the last of the Edenwhood to set foot upon the lowlands for almost half an age. There was no pursuit, and so the Gates were sealed and the Edenwhood withdrew to AlGiron where we have since lived undisturbed.’ The Elder gave one last flourish with his sword which sung as it cut through the cold morning air, before continuing in a whisper. ‘Until now when strangely we stand once more in this place, about to go to war in aid of those who once sought to destroy us all; The House of Hendon, of which you, Rema Bowman have informed us this Sylvion Greyfeld is heir.’
As he re-sheathed his deadly weapon their eyes met and Rema had read in him a deep pain and anxiety, but of fear there was no hint at all.
‘And that Rema Bowman is why this ruin has been called Fellonshead ever since by those of the lowlands,’ he said sadly, ‘but it was never the name by which we Edenwhood knew it.’ The two had stood in silence then. One remembering an ancient history of his people; the other overcome by a sense of destiny which he felt too frail to meet.
‘Look there Rema,’ Anderlorn commanded suddenly, ‘and see what awaits us this d
ay.’ And Rema had turned then and looking out across the plains he saw, as the morning mist rose up from the chilled earth, the dreadful sight of a mighty army encamped but three leagues off. Thousands upon thousands of warriors all waiting to do battle, whilst behind them rose the impassable barrier of the Vaudim, for King Petros’ men had arrived first and taken their stand in the very place where Rema had planned to do so.
‘Once more a great army seeks us out, and they have the best position,’ Anderlorn had said grimly before leaving Rema to ponder what action must take place that day. ‘But we have water. That well you see in the compound below was the life blood of this once great city. This is why we came here, for it will never run dry. There is no water out there on the plains under the shadow of the Vaudim. This perhaps is knowledge that you as commander of these forces should think upon, for I have agreed that you shall lead us. If the prophecy is to be true then this is how it must be. I will go to my army now and will await your orders.’ He paused but a few paces distant and turned back to add. ‘And our fate.’
And with that the proud Elder of the Edenwhood was gone and Rema had stood alone upon the ramparts, filled with dread at the mighty force which stood waiting to utterly destroy them.
Rema scanned the vast force which was arrayed before them. Rank upon rank of foot soldiers stood patiently waiting. Hundreds of Lancers before them made a seemingly impenetrable wall of lethal sharp tipped spears. He knew each lance, twice the length of the tallest man would have a solid base prepared for it in the hard earth to hold it firm against the charging force which must impale themselves and hope only by sheer weight of numbers to break through. He could see archers further back, and horsemen to the south, gathered ready to charge on command and sweep through any who came on foot. Spread through the mighty tide of death were many coloured banners, and hundreds of small fires, he presumed for warmth still sent columns of bluish smoke toward the heavens; columns which seemed to hold up the very sky, for not a breath of wind moved across the plains.
