City of Jade: A Novel of Mithgar
Page 9
Aravan stepped back and unslung his spear from its shoulder harness; he planted the butt of the weapon to the wooden floor and knelt on one knee. “My Coron, I will search for the killer and for the sword. If he or it is to be found—”
Aravan’s words were cut short, for the Coron wept. And so the Elf put aside the crystal blade and sat next to his liege lord, and with tears in his own eyes, spoke to him of the last days of his valiant son.
Aravan took a deep, shuddering breath. “That was some five millennia agone . . . and it was but a year past that Bair and I together finally fulfilled that pledge.”
Aylis nodded. “You recovered the Silver Sword and slew Galarun’s killer, to say nought of slaying Gyphon.”
“Strictly speaking,” said Aravan, “ ’twas Bair who slew Galarun’s killer, Ydral.”
Aylis gave Aravan a quick peck on the cheek and said, “Methinks you were busy at the time dealing with Gyphon.”
At Aylis’s words, Aravan’s embrace tightened about her. “Oh, Chier, we nearly lost it all: not only the pledge and our lives, but the whole of creation.”
“But you did not.” Aylis gave him another quick kiss. “Now let’s talk about something more cheerful . . . our trothing perhaps?”
Surrounded by winter-dressed aspens and silver birch, the crystalline waters of Lyslyn Mere lay mirror-smooth in the high, still air of the mountains. On the far side of the mere a cupping massif of alabaster stone rose sheer unto the sky, and mist twined among the trees along the shore. Snow lay upon the ground, but the broad, limpid pool held no ice; instead the waters embraced a clear reflection of stone and woodland and sky.
On a smooth outjut of pale grey granite lying along the brim, an assembly of Elvenkind stood, a female of Magekind among them, and the horses they had ridden to reach this place were tethered among the birch, their breath blowing white in the chill air. To the right of Aravan stood Inarion, for he had vouched for the Alor, and to the left of Aylis stood Faeon, who had done the same for the Dara.
Facing the four as well as the assembly stood Valar—second in command of the fort—for that Lian Guardian had been chosen to conduct the ceremony. And he had spoken the venerable words of plighting, conceived long past and pledged by trothmates ever since. He now came to the last of his guiding words and their replies and affirmations: “. . . Hence, to keep thy bond strong ye must share equally in the cultivation of the common ground and in the nurturing of the promises between; and ye must sort among all duties and participate willingly and fully in all which can be shared.”
Valar then took Aylis’s right hand and Aravan’s left and asked, his voice soft, “Do ye comprehend all that ye have declared?”
Both Aravan and Aylis looked into one another’s eyes. We do, they said in unison.
“Then speak true: Do ye vow to each other to tend the common ground and to cherish the pledges given and received?”
I do vow, they said in unison.
“Then speak true: Will ye plight thy troth to one another, forsaking all who would come between?”
I do vow.
Valar then placed Aylis’s hand in Aravan’s and clasped their joined hands in his. “Then, Dara Aylis, then, Alor Aravan, each having spoken true, go forth from here together and share thy joys and thy burdens in equal measure until thine individual destinies determine otherwise.”
Valar embraced each of them, first Aylis, then Aravan, and then called out to all: “Alori e Darai, va da, Dara Aylis e Alor Aravan, avan taeya e evon a plith.”
And even as Aravan and Aylis kissed, a great shout went up from all and echoed among the mountains of the Durynian Range.
They rode back to the fort, Elves singing the leagues away, and as they entered through the main gate, they were greeted by cheers from those who had remained on ward. Into the partially completed assembly hall they escorted the new-pledged pair, where they found a feast waiting. The celebration lasted long, Elven bards taking turns, while lyre and lute and drum and flute filled the air with music. Poems were spoken and songs were sung and dances sedate were stepped and dances wild were flung. Each in turn, all the Alori danced with Aylis and all the Darai with Aravan. And there was much laughter and cheer. But at last even Elvenkind had to call it a night, though they led Aravan and Aylis to their quarters, and sang them a pleasant eve.
Two days after, amid farewells and trailing packhorses, Aravan and Aylis rode out from the fort, heading for the Eldwood forest of Darda Falain, lying some three hundred leagues away. There they would cross over to the Eldwood forest of Darda Galion on Mithgar on their way to their beloved Elvenship Eroean.
Standing on the banquette along the palisades, Eiron and Faeon watched them ride away. And when the last of the trailing horses vanished among the distant trees, Eiron took Faeon by the hand, and they turned and went down the ramp and back to the business essential.
13
Darda Galion
JOURNEY TO THE EROEAN
MID SPRING, 6E1
In a tiny glade by a crystalline mere in the dawntime upon Mithgar, canting and chanting, their horses dancing an arcane sidle step, Aylis and Aravan came riding out from the in-between and into the Eldtree forest of Darda Galion. In the air above and winging across on their own came silverlarks singing, their carols heralding the onset of a new day, for a new day indeed had come. And in spite of a gentle rain, a warm spring breeze purled among the soaring giants, the trees shedding twilight down upon the woodland below, for within the Larkenwald Elvenkind dwelled, which the Eld Trees somehow sensed and responded to.
Aylis and Aravan were some three hundred leagues from Merchants Crossing in the south, there where the Eroean lay. Yet that Elven ship was not their immediate goal, but the Dwarvenholt of Drimmen-deeve instead, for Aravan would collect a Dwarven warband for his ship, and Drimmen-deeve held another treasure he needed as well as the warriors he would have.
Aravan glanced at Aylis and smiled and said, “This way, Chier.” And he heeled his horse and set off easterly, leaving the mere behind. Through long twilit galleries they rode, and the limbs and foliage far above formed a canopy o’erhead, sheltering them somewhat from the light rain carried on the air, more of a mist than a shower. Now and again, however, where great clusters of leaves on high overlapped to form a broad cover, the water collected and runneled together across the dusky green layer to come tumbling down through the dawn light in a long, streaming cascade.
And as they rode, Aylis marveled at the size of the soaring behemoths, some rising nigh nine hundred feet into the air, the girths of their boles many paces around, their broad limbs widely reaching. She knew, too, that the wood of the Eld Tree was precious—prized above all others—and she wondered how it was harvested. As if reading her thoughts, Aravan said, “None of these have ever been felled by any of the Free Folk, though long past, in the First Era, some were hacked down in malice by Rûpt. ’Twas the Felling of the Nine; but Elven vengeance was swift and without mercy. Examples were made of the ax wielders, and their remains were displayed to Spaunen in their mountain haunts throughout Mithgar; and never again has an Eld Tree been hewn in Darda Galion.”
“But I have seen dear things made of this wood,” said Aylis. “If not hewn, then how—?”
Aravan gestured at the surround. “At times a gathering is made in the forest, for occasionally lightning or a great wind from the south sweeping o’er the wide plains of Valon will cause branches to fall; and these are collected by the Lian storm-gleaners, and treasures dear are fashioned of this precious timber.”
“What of storm-felled trees?” asked Aylis. “Or those that simply topple of old age? Surely now and again a tree falls in the forest.”
Aravan nodded. “Thou art right, my love: Eld Trees sometimes die. And for each that does so, we mourn, for the trees somehow know when Elvenkind dwell nigh and shed their twilight down. And there are among Elvenkind those who in turn are attuned to the trees and feel the passing of each.”
“Some of you can
sense the loss of one of these giants?”
“Aye. Arin Flameseer of the Dylvana was one. In fact, she felt the deaths of the Nine, or rather I should say their murder.”
They rode in silence for a moment, and then Aravan said, “When an Eld Tree falls, the master carvers long study each branch and twig, each root and nub, and every inch of the full of the bole, sensing the grain, sensing the shapes trapped within, ere setting ought to ought.”
“Do these grow elsewhere on Mithgar?”
“But for the Lone Eld Tree in Arden Vale, they do not.” Then Aravan added, “This entire forest was transplanted here from Adonar. ’Twas the work of Silverleaf.”
“Oh, my,” said Aylis. “It must have taken forever.”
Aravan laughed. “Not quite, Chier. Not quite.” Then he sobered and added, “There are, however, some events that last forever, and the Felling of the Nine was one of these.”
“Signal events,” said Aylis. “Though some do not last, as you say, ‘forever, ’ still in every life they occur. At times they change the destinies of those involved.”
Aravan nodded his agreement and said, “Some events sweep up many in their wake—wars and such—while others affect only one.”
Aylis looked at him and asked, “What were some of yours?—Signal events, I mean.”
“The first time I laid eyes on the sea is one,” said Aravan.
“On Adonar?”
“Nay, on Mithgar. ’Twas dawn when I first rode out of Adonar and into Mithgar in the early days of the First Era, coming to the youth and wildness of this new world, leaving behind the stately grace and beauty of ancient Adonar. As I knew I would, when I emerged I found myself in a misty swale, with grassy crowns of mounded hills all about, for, as all such in-between crossings must be, the cast of the terrain was fair matched to that I had left on Adonar. But what I did not expect was the distant sound that to my ears came: shsshing booms. Intrigued, I turned my horse toward the rolling roar, riding southerly among the diminishing downs. Upward my path took me, up a long and shallow slope, the sounds increasing, the wind in my face, a salt tang on the air. And I found myself on a high chalk cliff, the white bluff falling sheer. Out before me as far as the eye could see stretched deep blue waters to the horizon and beyond. It was the ocean, the Avagon Sea, its azure waves booming below, high-tossed spray glittering like diamonds cast upward in the morning sun. My heart sang at such a sight and my eyes brimmed with tears, and in that moment something slipped comfortably into my soul, for it seemed I was home at last.”
“Oh, Aravan, how beautiful.”
Aravan grinned and said, “Not as beautiful as when thou didst come climbing o’er the rail of the Eroean. ’Twas the most signal event in my life.”
As she had done on that day, Aylis blushed, remembering the time. For she had seen Aravan ere then . . . or his image, rather. As a neophyte in her first year at the College of Mages in Kairn, the City of Bells on Rwn, like many young maidens with Seer Talent she had cast a spell upon a small silver mirror, asking to see her truelove; in her case, Aravan’s visage had come into view. And so, years later when she had intercepted the Eroean and had clambered over the rail and set eyes upon him, her heart hammered and her face flushed, and Aravan had reached out to steady her, and a spark leapt between the two, startling both. And so, that first meeting had been a signal event for her as well.
Even as Aylis relived the experience, Aravan’s smile vanished and a bleakness stared out from his eyes. “But the second-most-important event of my life was when I thought thou wert gone forever into the deeps with Rwn. The loss of Galarun was hard, but the loss of thee was worse. It was then I gave up the sea, right after thy ‘death’ was avenged.”
“Oh, Aravan, I would not have had you forsake the ocean and certainly not the Eroean.”
“But for the time of the Winter War, the Eroean sat idle in the Hidden Grotto in Thell Cove.”
“You sailed her in the Winter War?”
“Aye. A crew and I took on the Rovers of Kistan during those terrible days. But afterward, we put her back in the grotto, and there she sat until the Wolfmage drew her forth and sailed her unto Port Arbalin for Bair and me to use in the time of the Trine.”
“No more, Aravan, no more,” said Aylis. “You must promise me that should ought happen, you will—”
“Chier, my heart went out of me when I thought thee gone forever. I had no love for ought, not e’en the sea or my ship.”
They rode in silence for long moments, and surreptitiously Aylis turned her face away from Aravan to wipe away her tears.
Noting her attempt to hide her shared desolation for Aravan’s long years of despair, Aravan said, “But then, mayhap e’en more signal than when first we met came but two winters past, for that was when I discovered that thou wert yet alive and not gone down with Rwn, and my heart and my love were restored unto me.”
Aylis smiled, her eyes again brimming, but this time at remembered joy. “It was so for me as well, yet I thought you might die, wounded as you were.”
Aravan reached out and briefly touched her hand, and they rode side by side in quietness, and only a soft sound of a nearby cascade showering down from the canopy above broke the peace of their shared solitude.
But at last Aylis asked, “Speaking of the time of the Trine, what about the death of Gyphon? Was that not a signal event in your life?”
A rueful smile twitched Aravan’s mouth, and he said, “It was, Chier. But even more signal was what Raudhrskal did right after; that will be with me forever.”
“Raudhrskal the Dragon?”
“Aye. He not only saved Bair and me, but the whole of Mithgar as well.”
“Tell me, love.”
Aravan took a deep breath and then let it out and said, “Gyphon was slain, and Ydral dead, and the Crystal Cavern began to collapse. Bair and I fled, but the Great Abyss was yet agape, with the entire world being sucked down and in. . . .”
A furlong or two from the in-between, just as Aravan came to the last of his story, they passed by Lian sentries to come into Wood’s-heart, the Elvenholt at the core of Darda Galion, where thatch-roofed white cottages nestled among the trees of the soaring Larkenwald.
Even as they dismounted before the central hall, they were met by the newly crowned Coron of all Elves on Mithgar: flaxen-haired Tuon of the ice-blue eyes. And from the dais in the great hall, Aravan spoke to a gathered assembly of the winning of the Black Fortress on Neddra by a battalion of Elves and seven nines of Magekind. He spoke of the occupation of the stronghold and the plans to guard and control the nexus to keep it out of Rûptish hands, for one of its in-betweens was now the only known crossing to the Mage world of Vadaria, and to lose that would be to lose much.
Aylis then told of the subsequent massive attempt to regain the fortress by nigh a full Horde of Spaunen two fortnights and a sevenday later, and the victory achieved by allies, by might and main and Magery, and by the use of illusory Dragons, their intangible flames augmented by the castings of Firemages. She added, however, that it was almost a certainty that the Spawn would have been repelled even without the phantasmal Drakes: not only did Arandor’s company of Lian and Dylvana hold the fortress upon the high ground, but the reserve
“What of Trolls among the Foul Folk?” asked slender, black-haired Dara Irilyn. “Could they not shatter the gates, given a ram like the one known as Whelm?”
Aylis smiled. “Aye, they could, yet my father says if Trolls ever again come to knock at the door, they will be greeted by searing lightning that will stroke their hides and send any survivors screaming into the hills.”
After the laughter died down, another Dara rose to her feet and asked, “Were there Draedani among the foe?”