Revelyn: 1st Chronicles - When the last arrow falls

by Chris Ward

  ‘He is still the king!’ He spoke it firmly yet without superiority as though it were a problem that could not be easily overcome.

  The people round about, suddenly jolted from what they looked upon, all turned and stared at Zelfos who smiled weakly in submission.

  ‘He is still the king.’ He repeated once more, ‘there is an army waiting beyond this place and all have sworn allegiance to his rule.’ He let the words sink in for they were but a score and weary with battle. To face another larger foe so soon was surely a daunting prospect.

  ‘And furthermore,’ Zelfos continued trying hard not to sound as though he had the answer, ‘the people of the land have all accepted his authority for he has held the Royal Sceptre and survived. This test he has passed, and none can deny it is, in Revelyn, the proof of who shall rule.’

  At this point Sylvion could no longer be contained and shrugging off Reigin’s calming hand she strode toward the man for whom she held such hate and loathing. As she went her Shadow Blade appeared in her hand, and suddenly it was at his throat, and in a panic he thought he had gone too far. The Blade did not give off its deadly light for she held it merely as a threat and wanted him to answer her.

  ‘You dare to think that this man can continue on as he has done?’ Her words cut the air into pieces and echoed shrilly around the rocky walls. ‘You are death and he in weakness and folly has allowed the land to fall into shadow; almost to doom, and you kneel there and dare to suggest that he has any right at all to rule.’

  Zelfos fought hard to keep some composure for her eyes spoke death and the blade against his throat gave him good reason to understand that this embodiment he had chosen could be a fearful thing.

  He smiled as best he knew with such a threat before him. It was not graceful and seemed more a leering twitch but it was all he could manage then.

  ‘I merely point out that this battle cannot be the end, and your gaol cannot be achieved by any lawful means unless the Royal Sceptre had been held and that test passed before appropriate witnesses. Lord Petros has done this. I cannot see how you can hope to undo what has been done.’

  With all the bravery his humanity allowed the sorcerer looked full into her eyes and wished her weak and undecided.

  Sylvion wavered for a moment; he made a point and she had seen so much death. The idea that Revelyn should be further tortured was not something she wished for.

  ‘What do you suggest then sorcerer?’ She asked more quietly but the icy edge to her voice was still clear to all.

  Zelfos flinched at her naming him so, for he had worked hard to seem something other than a common conjurer and merely one who channels other’s spirits. The land had seen too many such tricksters. He was far more than a sorcerer. Despite this slight he took a deep breath and laid out his desperate plan.

  ‘I propose that all hostilities shall cease, and we return to Ramos where the King shall once more claim the Royal Sceptre, and if he survives then his rule shall be confirmed and you will accept the consequences that follow.’

  The audacity of such a proposal took them all by surprise.

  Reigin hissed in great anger. ‘It is a trick and he cannot be allowed to draw another breath. This battle had been hard won,’ he pointed then to Rema’s body and swept it out over the grassy plain and ended pointing over the walls of the Vaudim to where they all knew many had met death in the previous days. ‘I do not trust this monster. My Lady you must not agree to this!’

  Sylvion did not flinch. She had heard Reigin’s words but did not turn or answerer them for in her mind she knew by some deeper intuition that there was a hidden victory in Zelfos’ proposal that he had missed. It was a gamble but she told herself that now was the time to have faith in her belief, and let the detail take care of itself.

  Ever so slowly she pushed forward on her blade into Zelfos’ unprotected throat. He flinched in terror as it cut the skin and blood tricked quickly down his neck. He tried to swallow but could not.

  ‘And what guarantee do you have for me,’ she whispered with deadly intent, ‘that you and any else of your kind would abide by any such agreement.’

  Zelfos thought hard but could not respond.

  ‘You see my point sorcerer,’ she continued,’ you deal in lies and so none can believe you when there is a need.’

  The point of the Shadow Blade made Zelfos’ breathing difficult and he lent back as best he could to relive his fear and discomfort.

  ‘And yet,’ Sylvion continued for all to hear, ‘there is logic in what you say. The people must accept their ruler and see that the Royal Sceptre has given the authority. That test must be passed.’

  Zelfos felt a rush of exultation. She would accept his plan. He knew that the Lord Petros had once held the Royal Sceptre. He had been there and witnessed it. He could pass the test again and then this royal upstart, Sylvion Greyfeld would be bound by her own promise. She would have to accept defeat and all that this would bring, and Petros once more would rule as he, Zelfos wished, and the final part to his plan would continue unopposed. Whilst all about looked like defeat he had found a way.

  ‘I will agree to this proposal sorcerer,’ Sylvion spoke slow and evenly to his face, ‘and you will live or die by what will comes to pass. And just so that you do not further confuse us all with words which cannot be trusted, I give you this.’

  And with a sudden flash the Shadow Blade gave a burst of light and power and Zelfos felt his throat attacked by a searing pain. It lasted but a moment and then the Blade was quickly back in its simple sheath.

  Zelfos felt as though some deadly viper had bitten him, for his neck swelled and contracted and then settled back to a more normal shape, but when he went to speak he found that he could not, for his voice had been destroyed.

  Sylvion strode over to Leander.

  ‘You heard this agreement. We will travel to Ramos and see what the law and the Royal Sceptre allow. On pain of death this moment you have a choice. You will assist us in this endeavour and take the army back from war. You will swear allegiance to me for this time until in Ramos matters are decided, or you will die now.’

  And once more the Shadow Blade was at a throat, and Leander knew that she was deadly serious. He had seen her destroy the Shadow Hunters and understood that he as Commander of the army was vital to her plan. He would surely die, if he did not agree.’

  ‘I will so swear Sylvion Greyfeld. I will take the army from the battlefield and see that you and your party are allowed safe passage to Ramos. I will then abide by whatever comes to pass.’ Leander gave his oath and so it was done.

  At this point the king, Lord Petros stood and seemed to have recovered a little from his great grief. He had heard Zelfos’ words, and now with nothing left but his throne, was prepared to do whatever was demanded to hold it, for he still believed he was the people’s choice and that his strong rule was needed in such times.

  ‘I am still the King,’ he said as proudly as he could, but all who heard saw a broken man and did not think he would long be so.

  *

  Cordia and Rhynos carried the still warm body of Rema on a simple stretcher made of stout spruce poles lashed together and covered in soft and yielding moss. Reigin led the way back up to where the opening in the sombre cliff walls offered release from that place of death, where a great victory had been born in such deep sadness. The dead were left as they had fallen, to join the countless others who had fallen in battles past. They passed out of the Vaudim through the strange cleft which closed behind them as they passed. Leander hobbled bravely at the head with Reigin and found his army strangely quiet and accepting of defeat, for despite Zelfos’ claims, the magic of the Vaudim had not lessened in half an age. And so they came to the king’s Pavilion and Rema was in honour gently laid upon the royal bed. The silver arrow still remained where it had struck. Many candles were lit around his body so that from without, the tent glowed in warm remembrance of the mighty man who had by such skill and sacrifice turned the battle to vict
ory.

  The Edenwhood were summoned from Fellonshead and were a mighty sight as they marched triumphant through the enemy camp. They took up guard around that place where Rema lay and as night fell, a deep and respectful silence fell upon the Plains of Amrosi in the shadow of the Vaudim mountain.

  *

  The Underlourde Aaraghant had seen, in a strange fog of mind the Shadow Blade cut the evil creatures which Zelfos owned, to pieces. From his cowardly hiding place well back in the trees he had stood in awe and watched. At one point his muddled mind had caused him to step out into the awful light and by some fate upon that steep and rocky slope he had tumbled down into a pit and struck his head upon a large rock. When he finally came around once more, long shadows of the evening lay dark upon the ground. He struggled up and shook his head, and looked down upon the grassy plain and saw that it was empty. None living remained. The bodies of a few could be seen, a Wolver and his steward lay where they had fallen, but all the rest had long since departed. In a growing panic Aaraghant made his way down to the empty island of rock upon which the battle had been fought. He stood and looked about at the shadowy ramparts and called long in echoing pleas for any to hear him.

  He was alone.

  In desperate panic he tried to find the cleft but he could not for it had closed. As the darkness grew deeper he knew that he was not alone and he returned in half mad fear and sat upon the rocks once more. And then he trembled and lost all strength for all about the spirits of those long dead and yet unable to rest as others might, came forth to view this living reminder of how they once had been.

  And so Aaraghant was forced to fight his final battle upon that rocky shelf. With his useless sword sweeping back and forth, with oaths and terror intermingled, he stood and tried to stand against the misty floating spirits of the dead who taunted and howled and terrified him, until in final exhaustion, he fell mad upon the ground and let them haunt him unto death, where he too became as they were, forever trapped within the Vaudim to play ephemerally amongst dark shadows and relive past battles in endless repetition.

  Chapter 22

  Rema opened his eyes and immediately recognised where he was. He was lying on the beautiful bed in the same wonderful room he had once visited long before when Mentor had saved him from capture as he lay helpless and ill in the dirt on the dusty street of Efilon where he had collapsed, surrounded by a frightened crowd, cowed by the presence of armed soldiers of the king. In a flash, that vivid memory came back to him, full of the smells and sounds of it; and then the powerfully kind eyes of the monk who stooped low over him; and the command, ‘do not open your eyes or you will die.’ And then an amazing journey through space and time to this place where he now lay once more, in the magical room on the hillside, overlooking the forest where he had slain the first three Wolvers. The hillside from where he had set out on an amazing quest which had in full circle, brought him back once more.

  The room seemed even brighter now; the colours and carved designs gave off a texture which as he looked about filled him with a most wonderful peace.

  Suddenly, but without any shock he realised that an arrow was protruding from his chest and once more came visions, a vivid scene of his final moments came to him, a sense of panicked fear, people facing death as if it were a blanket descending down upon them, and then running like the wind; he could smell the tortured air, then diving, a flashing blur of shaft and feathers, and then no more.

  How long have I lain here, he thought as he gazed upon the arrow, curious that there was no pain or blood.

  At that moment a marvellously carved and panelled door opened, and there stood Mentor smiling at him. Behind him the doorway seemed to beckon warmly and within Rema there grew a mighty curiosity to see what lay beyond.

  ‘Am I dead Mentor?’ Rema spoke quietly to the man who stood before him.

  The great man’s smile deepened; it spoke of humour but also seemed tinged with sadness, as if the talk of death brought him pain.

  ‘No Rema Bowman you are not dead. About five paces short I would say.’

  Rema frowned. ‘Mentor I do not understand. Five paces short of death?’

  Mentor continued almost humorously. ‘This door behind me. You could step five paces and pass through it. And then you would be dead, as men measure death, for you could not return again.’

  At these words Rema felt the pull of curiosity within him grow, for what stood beyond seemed to call him there, but Mentor brought him back.

  ‘You are not dead, but choices must be made. You have been granted special treatment, for most never see this room. The gravity of the situation in Revelyn has demanded certain interventions which, whilst not normal, have been necessary. You have done well against great opposition, much of which you did not see, nor will you now. It is good that you have been spared this.’

  Rema felt a great seriousness descend upon the room and he felt the lovely texture of it wane a little.

  ‘I thought that I would fire the last arrow Mentor.’ As he spoke he knew that this remained a puzzle in his mind.

  ‘There is much which men assume and is not,’ was Mentor’s firm reply. ‘The great evil which faces Revelyn has almost been turned back. It is of a nature which cannot be defeated by the weapons of men no matter the valour or skill with which they are wielded.’

  He paused and came and sat by Rema who realised that he could not move. His mind worked well enough, but his pieced body had no function beyond his speech and even then he did not think that when he spoke his lips moved at all.

  ‘The last arrow to fall is this arrow Rema, and it took your life. At least it has almost taken it. It marks the evil which men will do each other. But it is defeated by acts of selfless love. When Sylvion showed mercy to her enemies it turned the tide a little, but your sacrifice Rema, won the day. You had a choice and wilfully made it. You threw yourself upon this arrow to save a life by giving yours. No evil can stand against such an act.’

  He paused.

  ‘You knew that I would face this?’ Rema asked quietly.

  Mentor nodded. ‘I knew what you would face, not what you would choose. It all hung upon this.’

  They sat there for a time and Rema let the room speak to his soul and it felt wonderful. Mentor continued smiling as though well pleased. After a time he spoke once more.

  ‘You have been granted a choice Rema and I think you know what it is.’

  Rema knew.

  ‘I am not yet dead; if I wish, I can return.’ Mentor nodded seriously.

  ‘That is true, Rema. You can come with me through that door and to an experience which will cause all else to fade to shadow by comparison. Or you can go back to Revelyn. It is your choice, but I think you have unfinished matters there with one.’ Mentor stood and walked to the marvellous door which seemed to Rema to call to his very soul.

  ‘But you must choose and then what follows for all concerned will flow from here.’

  And with this final comment, Mentor seemed to become impassive and distant, and Rema knew that he was upon an awesome threshold. His mind raced wildly through many scenes of people and places, and all touched by the deepest hopes and feelings. He looked to Mentor and the door before which he stood, and felt it draw him powerfully to it.

  ‘Will I return here if I go back now?’ he asked, but Mentor just smiled and Rema knew that he must decide upon what he knew, not what might be. And so it was done.

  ‘I will return Mentor. You are right. There is one with whom I have not yet settled matters as they should be. I will go back. This is my decision.’

  Mentor smiled more deeply, ‘And you will return one day through this door Rema, and not this room.’ He came over and sat once more beside Rema, only as he sat he seemed now to Rema to appear more as that kind old monk who upon the dirty road had stooped low and taken him to safety.

  ‘And now let us see about this arrow,’ said Mentor, and Rema seemed to hear the words from far away as the wonderful room shimmered and faded from his
view.

  *

  Sylvion sat alone in the soft candle light next to Rema’s body. They had laid him on his back on the king’s bed and placed his bow and empty quiver by his side. The silver arrow remained as it has struck him, for none had yet wished to try and remove it. The deadly shaft pointed straight up to the roof. A faint stain of blood had soaked his tunic at the chest but strangely his body had not cooled, and many who had come to pay respects had touched him and remarked on it; but there was no pulse or breath.

  Sylvion had shed all the tears that were possible. Her grief was deep and painful and her mind struggled to understand the depth of it. She had lost her kindma; murdered for no reason beyond selfish hate. Her wonderful kindpa Sontim had been lost some years before, and the anguish of this had returned to multiply her grief. And now the man she had planned to spend her life with had been taken. He had sacrificed his life so that she might live and perhaps set Revelyn right. It was too hard.

  She knew her heart had been hardened by the use of the Shadow Blade and this frightened her.

  Why do I not weep eternally she thought? And am I so calloused now that I can sit here and feel sorry only for myself when others all around have suffered too?

  ‘I am sorry Rema,’ she whispered and stretched out her hand and stroked his cheek, ‘I am sorry, for the coldness I showed you over recent days. I would that it was different, but even now I know that if even we had the last few days to live again, it would not be, for I have changed. You knew this, but despite it, you died in my place.’ She shook her head, for it was beyond her understanding.

  Sylvion Greyfeld sat on into the night, her mind a turmoil of many thoughts and memories as the many candles burned ever lower until, as that day ended and another was begun, a voice came gently to her.

  ‘Sylvion there is someone here who would like to pay respects.’ It was Clarynda the graceful one who spoke. She had come in quietly and now stood behind and waited for her response.