The Archer From Kipleth (Book 2)

by K. J. Hargan

  Arnwylf dropped his head and shyly smiled. He respected Derragen and trusted him with his life.

  “I will,” Arnwylf said with a humble smile.

  The soldiers who heard cheered and prepared to break camp to return to the city.

  “But the wolves...” Arnwylf said.

  “Will behave themselves,” the elf strongly said. “Or they can stay here with a few of their human brothers if they must.”

  Husvet held his skinny wolf. “But who will make the wealdkin behave?”

  Iounelle approached the skinny wolf and huffed and growled to it, and it huffed and whined back.

  “You have a lovely wolf there,” the elf said to Husvet.

  “I haven’t named her yet,” Husvet shyly said.

  “Her name is Farren,” the elf said as a matter of fact.

  Husvet was stunned.

  “Elves speak to animals,” Arnwylf said to his captain.

  “Arnwylf,” Frea said moving from between some soldiers. “I followed. Arnwylf...”

  “Did you bring my sword?” Arnwylf coldly said.

  “The athelings of Man saw it, and I could no longer keep possession of the Mattear Gram.”

  “Now that is wonderful,” Arnwylf sneered. “I spent a year getting the Singing Sword from that beast, Ravensdred, and now I must win it all over again from the beasts of the Northern Kingdom of Man.”

  “I’m sorry,” Frea quietly said. “I was angry at Ronenth, I didn’t mean, I never meant-” Then Frea, weeping, fled back to the city through the gathering dusk.

  “Frea!” Arnwylf painfully cried. “Wait!” But she was gone.

  “Forget about her,” Garmee Gamee said. “She and Ronenth are just having a lover’s fight. Plus, she’s too full of royal airs to make a man happy.” Garmee Gamee reached to affectionately stroke Arnwylf’s arm.

  “Shut up, Garmee Gamee” Arnwylf flatly said brushing her away. “Let us go back to New Rogar Li, to mourn the dead, and repair what harm we’ve done to the living.”

  Chapter Nine

  Gillalliath

  All night candles were burned, ringing the bodies of Maginalius, Haerreth and the other recovered soldiers. Hetwing wept the whole night.

  In the morning, Maginalius’ people took his body from Halldora’s home to prepare the body for its last rites, in the tradition of their people.

  Summeninquis stroked his brother’s hair as his people packed Maginalius’ corpse with salts and chalk.

  “We will wrap him in cloth and his body will be preserved until the gods come to take him to their world,” Summeninquis solemnly said.

  As the dusky people carried the bound warrior from Halldora’s home, Summeninquis leaned in close to Halldora.

  “I have always loved you,” the Great Judge said without emotion. “Together, in marriage, we could unite the Weald and the Kingdom of Man,” Summeninquis said with his foul breath covering Halldora.

  “Wynnfrith has told me you have proclaimed your eternal love for her,” Halldora said. “Over your noble brother’s body, you try to further your own political power. Get out of my home, you pig.” Halldora’s eyes were filled with regal fire. The Archer and the elf sensing difficulty, rose to flank Halldora.

  Summeninquis muttered to himself and crept out to the street.

  “That one needs justice,” the elf said with a steady gaze.

  “Never mind him,” Halldora said. “Haerreth must be returned to his father and his home at once. If you will allow me,” Halldora tenderly said to Hetwing, “I will accompany you to Gillalliath, your home. King Healfdene will see for himself my sorrow at your brother’s death.”

  “Thank you,” Hetwing meekly said.

  Haerreth’s body was bound with cloth soaked in resins to prepare it for travel.

  “You must have an escort,” the Archer said.

  “But all the garonds have been driven from our land,” Halldora replied. “Arnwylf defeated the garonds in the north. And you defeated the garonds in the south.”

  “There are still those at the Dark Lord’s castle,” Iounelle said. “And you must pass near it on the Westernway Road. I will have one of my finest warriors of the Children of Lanis go to protect you.”

  “And I will send the bravest of the Sons of Yenolah to go as well,” Derragen said, not to be out done.

  The Archer and the elf each called forth a soldier. Derragen presented a scowling young woman. “This is Myanne, my finest archer.”

  “She is a Son of Yenolah?” Hetwing innocently asked.

  “I am the equal of any man,” Myanne said frowning through her short cut, dark brown hair.

  The elf presented a golden, curly haired young man who always seemed to have a laugh on his face. “This is Hanarry,” the elf said. “His tracking skills are unmatched.” The Dark haired girl and the curly haired boy regarded each other with disdainful, side long glances.

  “Please make sure I’m behind you when you draw your bow,” Hanarry laughed to the girl called a Son of Yenolah. Myanne tensed and seemed about to pounce on the merry lad, but the Archer took a hold of her arm.

  “We’ll have five swift horses ready,” Derragen said to Halldora. “Four for the living, and one for the dead.”

  A commotion in the foyer made all turn. At the door was Hermergh of the Messenger Guild.

  “Queen Halldora!” Hermergh exclaimed when he saw her. “Summeninquis will not see me, and Queen Alrhett has been in conference with the Lords of the Court all day.”

  “What is your concern?” Halldora asked.

  “I have just returned from Byland,” Hermergh said catching his breath. “Caerlund begs for reinforcements. A garond army is massing, the likes of which we have never seen. They mean to invade any day.”

  “It seems my errand to Reia must now take on a more urgent meaning,” Halldora said to the Archer. “We will leave at once and request the soldiers of the Green Hills of Reia from King Healfdene.”

  “If the garonds take Byland again,” the elf grimly said, “they will be able to protect the citadel, and open supply lines.”

  “I will speak to Arnwylf immediately,” the Archer said. “We can send our combined forces to strengthen the troops already holding Byland. Hermergh, come with me.”

  Then, the Archer and the elf left with the Chieftain of the Messenger Guild.

  In Halldora’s stable, they tied Haerreth’s body to a swift horse. Then, Halldora, Hetwing, Myanne, and Hanarry mounted fresh horses, and they all rode furiously to the west.

  The Westernway Road was south of the Bairn River, so they traveled on a road to the north of the dangerously, partly frozen torrent of the Bairn.

  As they crossed the hills that were the source of the Bairn, they picked up the Westernway Road, not far from the fishing town of Alfhich. The horses shied and foamed at the mouth, glancing ever to the south.

  “That must be where the citadel of Deif-” Hanarry began.

  “Don’t even say his name!” Myanne shouted. And the party glanced nervously at the mountain of mist to the south as they hurried to the west.

  Halldora noticed that Myanne and Hanarry constantly vied to be in the lead of their riding party, and she shook her head with a reserved frown.

  The people of Alfhich were very happy to see Halldora, Queen of the Northern Kingdom of Man. But Halldora remembered how she and Wynnfrith were nearly violated and killed by Apghilis’ henchman, Feeblerod, in the fishing town, just over a year ago.

  The Holmwy River was swollen and sluggish with ice. The Holmwy Bridge, that was once a series of connected, city-like piers, was still to be rebuilt. The first two piers on the southeastern shore still stood, but the charred stumps of the middle three piers were only blackened, jagged spears sticking up out of the ice.

  “Is there someone who will take us across?” Halldora asked a captain of a fishing vessel.

  “Aye,” the fishing captain said. “It’s dangerous. Most folks go up to Tyny if they want to go east. We’ll have to sail s
outh until we can get around the ice, but I’ll take you.”

  The horses were loaded onto the large fishing boat, and twenty sailors poled through the ice, until they reached the open water of the Mere Lanis.

  “I can’t take you all the way round to Gillalliath,” the captain drawled to Halldora. “The reians don’t allow any ships near their harbors. There’s red sails been seen in the Mere, and all thinks it bodes ill.”

  The fishing vessel quickly reached the northwestern shore of the Holmwy River, and the sailors pushed the ship through the ice until they reached the city piers that still stood on the lonely western shore. The horses were unloaded and the captain handsomely paid.

  “May Oann speed you,” the captain chewed. “Come see me when you wants to go back. I’ll stay here a fortnight or so.”

  Halldora, Hetwing, Myanne, and Hanarry mounted their horses and rode west on the Westernway Road through the southern end of the Eastern Meadowland. They could see the rocky shore of the Mere Lanis and the wide expanse of ocean shone like gold with the setting sun.

  The Westernway Road was flat and even from centuries of use. It was broad, and baked hard dirt. But, this day, the road was desolate. They met not a soul going east or west.

  A herd of grazing doderns, shaggy, one horned, muscular beasts, startled and thundered off through the crisp yellow winter grasses to the north of the Eastern Meadowland.

  “In the direction of those beasts,” Myanne called to Halldora, “lies my home, Kipleth.” The black mountains of Kipleth could be seen, faraway, a jagged line of snow topped darkness on the northern horizon.

  “You are the only girl among the Sons of Yenolah, are you not?” Halldora called over the pounding of their horse’s hooves.

  “I am not a girl,” Myanne sharply said. Then remembering respect added, “My Queen.”

  Halldora smiled. Myanne could not be older than nineteen. She thought of her own daughter, Frea, only sixteen years old, so desperate to grow up, and be counted as an adult. Why do the young wish to rush to be old, Halldora thought to herself, there is plenty of time for the sorrow and hardships of the adult years.

  Halldora looked over at Hetwing. The girl was only fifteen, and she had just lost her brother. Hetwing’s face was a blank. Halldora’s heart broke for her.

  Then Hetwing sat up in her saddle.

  “The bridges of Rith!” She cried.

  A speck in the distance, the Three Bridges of the Flume of Rith could be seen in the fading light.

  “We will make Gillalliath before night fall,” Hanarry said with a laugh. “Praise Daniei Wylkeho.”

  “Praise rather these excellent horses,” Myanne haughtily countered. Hanarry frowned at her, and urged his horse ahead of Myanne’s.

  To the north, Halldora could see the Lake of Hapaun, choked with towering blue mountains of ice calved from the Great Ice Fields of Eann in the far north. As they neared the Bridges of Rith, Halldora saw that they resembled in close detail the Three Bridges of Rogar Li which Yulenth had burned to save the city from invasion by Ravensdred’s garond army, a year before. The bridges were wide, beautifully decorated with ancient carvings, and elegantly spanned the chasm of the flume with a sweeping curve.

  “The bridges over the Bairn River must have been built by reians,” Halldora said to Hetwing. “They are exactly the same.”

  “The lore is that all of Wealdland was once a single kingdom,” Hetwing said, “ages before the elf human wars.”

  Halldora shook her head. Queen of the mighty kingdom of Man, and she still had many things to see and learn. She then began to feel apprehension. The Green Hills of Reia had always been the mortal enemies of the Northern Kingdom of Man. The kiplethites, the glafs and occasionally, the wealdkin were drawn into their generations old wars. But it had always been Man against Reia. Halldora had become a good friend to King Healfdene, but she wondered how the queen of their greatest enemy would be received amongst the people of Reia.

  “Where are the guards?” Hetwing wondered aloud. “There are always guards keeping the Three Bridges of Rith.”

  As their horses thundered over the middle, elaborately carved, unmanned bridge, Halldora looked down to see the flume bursting with ice. The Flume of Rith was a narrow gorge carved from a north to south erosion caused by the over spill from Lake Hapaun to the nearby ocean. Below them, huge chunks of ice whisked down the flume in a frigid, watery, lethal conveyor of slush. At it’s end, to the south, the jet of the flume sprayed down onto the shores of the Mere Lanis, great chunks of ice exploding onto the rocks of the shoreline below.

  As they crested the ancient, enormous bridge, Halldora saw the magnificent city for the first time. They stopped at the height of the carved bridge to take in Gillalliath.

  The city curved in an enormous crescent from the shore of Lake Hapaun down to the shore of the Mere Lanis. All was constructed of old, hewn timbers, ornately carved and gilded with brass. Every house, shop, and hall was an interlocking, rectangular shape, creating the appearance of mighty steps leading down to the ocean. Every eave and lintel was decorated with lacquered, light tan colored pine, carved in the shape of animals, snakes, wolves, auroch and boar.

  Amongst the houses and shops were eight, large, triangular halls. The largest was at the top of the city, nearest the lake. Each hall was raised by two crossing, massive timbers. The fourth Great Hall was burnt decades ago, and only the charred remains of the front cross beams remained.

  Snow encrusted every roof, gutter and shingle. The setting sun lit every brass decoration and snow pile aglow.

  Among the houses and halls, hundreds of water wheels turned, harnessing the energy of the water escaping the Lake of Hapaun. The water wheels moved boats and skiffs across narrow lochs and small harbors interlocked in cascading levels down through the city. The boats and skiffs were apparently tied to chains which moved in regular courses through the lochs, powered by the water wheels.

  Halldora was reminded of intricate clocks she had seen, carved and constructed by the old woodworkers amongst the wealdkin. The whole city was alive with regulated movement.

  Down at the ocean was a titanic harbor, at which, seven huge, gray ships were moored. The ships appeared to have been at their moorings for centuries. The lines running from the ships were crusted with age. The ships were of a curious, intricate design and didn’t fit in with the style of the rest of the city. The ships were large, so massive that the reians had built villages on board and lived on the ships as though they were floating towns.

  An eighth slip was empty where a sister ship had once moored, left, and never returned.

  The whole city was empty. There appeared to be not a soul in sight.

  “There!” Hetwing cried and spurred her horse on. Halldora followed Hetwing’s gaze and saw what her sharp eyes had spotted. A man carrying another man. Halldora, Myanne and Hanarry urged their horses after Hetwing.

  They clattered through the cobbled streets. The clangor of their horse’s hooves echoed throughout the deserted city.

  “Father!” Hetwing cried, dangerously leaping from her horse.

  Halldora pulled up to see Hetwing helping her father, King Healfdene of Reia, with an elderly man on his back.

  “Hanarry,” Halldora said. “Help them.”

  The curly blonde boy dismounted and took the burden of the elderly man from the king. Healfdene immediately turned to go back the way from which he had come.

  “Father! What are you doing!?” Hetwing cried. “Where is everybody?”

  “His wife is still back at their home,” Healfdene wearily said.

  “This young woman will help you,” Halldora said indicating Myanne, who dismounted to help.

  “They left the old and the orphans,” Healfdene said.

  “Who did?” Hetwing asked.

  “Your uncle, Eoric,” the king huffed. “He has persuaded every living soul in the Green Hills of Reia to flee to the western shores. There, they hope to avoid the coming war with the garonds and th
e Dark Lord.”

  “This is madness” Halldora said. “They have left a well positioned city wide open.”

  “With ice clogging the lake,” the king said with a frown, “the city is wide open for attack. The flume is easily crossed, even if the bridges are destroyed. We have no walls or battlements. An invading garond army would simply march right into our streets. Here we are.”

  Healfdene led the party into a home where an elderly woman lay in her bed. Myanne gently hefted the elderly woman onto her shoulders.

  They all trudged up through the city. The ascent was quick. They rode in the self moving boats across lochs, and were lifted up on platforms powered by the unmanned water wheels. They easily wound their way higher and higher, to the largest Great Hall on the shores of the lake, the Throne Room of Reia.

  Inside the Great Hall of the King of Reia, Healfdene had created a camp for refugees, the forgotten and left behind.

  “Not the finest courtiers I have ever seen,” Healfdene said with a laugh, “but certainly the most welcome.” The elderly, infirm, and orphaned crowded around the king as he entered to show their gratitude and praise.

  “Your two young warriors,” Healfdene said to Halldora, “can assist with the evening meal. It’s quite a chore.” Myanne and Hanarry bowed to King Healfdene and Queen Halldora and went to help with the preparations for the evening meal.

  Halldora took a moment to take in the Great Hall of the King. The tall timbers of the hall were ten times the height of an average man, and the apex of the hall was lost in darkness above the brass braziers hung much lower to light the vast room. The long, expansive hall held twenty long tables ringed with beautifully constructed chairs, filled with every refugee of Reia. At the far end of the hall was a raised platform with two thrones of carved stone for king and queen. All along the support timbers were leather and brass ornaments mostly depicting equestrians in various forms of sport or battle.

  “Why, these are for horses,” Halldora said.