Their meals were served in their rooms, which were beautifully decorated and had the most comfortable down beds in their memories. Each room had a small wooden desk and chair and pages of parchment to write upon. There were several vases full of flowers and bowls of various fruit. Once their bellies were full, they retired, it now being far into the night. Each member had his or her own room and each slept very deeply. When the knock came, as morning returned, they were soon dressed and waiting in the hallway for Ethylianae to join them. They did not wait long, for soon she turned the far corner and quickly strode toward them. Her attire had changed somewhat. The design of the robe was the same but the colors were different. She wore an elegant white robe, the collar of which was a delicate lace woven together with thin purple thread. At the hem was also the sudden hint of color, dragging the floor behind her as she seemed to float in their direction. She had pulled her dark hair up and tied it fancifully, holding it in place with a tiny silver clasp. She was simply stunning. A truly noble Elven woman, full of pride and independence.
She led them into a new section of the third level, one where many more guards stood watch and music filled the air around them. Eventually, they came to a large set of doors with handles carved like soaring hawks. A sentry to either side pulled them wide, allowing them access to the king’s inner chambers. A long burgundy carpet ran the length of the inner hall and they were reluctant to tread upon it, it’s design so ultimately flawless. At Ethylianae’s wave, they followed reluctantly. The walls at their sides were draped with aging tapestries, depicting scenes from Elven history. Images of the Elfmother and times before the Elves were divided. There were many battle scenes portrayed there upon the walls to Hagan’s surprise. He had no idea that the Elves had been involved in so many wars. He knew of none within the recent past, that was certain. There were scenes that puzzled them as they passed, odd images that they could not easily explain. Elves in strange settings with strange beasts. It all added to the mystery of this wonderful culture.
The hall came to an end before a giant door more elaborate than all others thus far. Every flower that had ever existed seemed to be portrayed on its surface, set there in subtle relief.
“Lyndremaene is within. He is expecting you. He has promised not to keep you long and is aware of your situation. Please ... ” she paused, smiling at Hagan.
“Enter.”
As the heavy door was pulled aside, the king’s huge throne room opened before them. Bright sunlight hit their eyes, white parallel beams of light slanting in from the walls and high ceiling. Lyndremaene was nowhere to be seen but as they moved forward into the room proper, they heard his voice. Somewhere within, he was singing.
There were many small alcoves and sitting rooms that branched off from this chamber and they followed his heavenly voice deeper in, drawn by the rich and somewhat melancholy tune. They rounded a curving column and on a wide balcony jutting out into the forest, the king stood, eyes closed. To his sharp nose he held a delicate white orchid, inhaling its fragrance. For the first time, the group had encountered an Elf that showed signs of age. Small lines crossed his high forehead and ran down from the corners of his thin lips. He wore a many-layered robe of sky blue that gathered where it hit the floor behind him. He was barefoot with skin as dark as the woodwork around him.
The hair of his head was coal-black and dropped to the center of his back like a curtain of night, gently swaying as he moved. He finished his song on an uplifting note and rested momentarily in silence. Only the sounds of the city outside were audible, birds and people sharing greetings. Then, he turned his gaze to them, his eyes flashing a deep amber color and history’s wisdom shown within. He smiled then and bowed deeply before them to their surprise. Imagine a king bowing to his subjects!
He held the orchid gently, cradling it in both hands before them.
“This is the true beauty, my guests. Not that which we possess but that which allows us to share its life. We should be honored to exist in the same world as this life we sometimes take for granted. This flower, so fragile and so easily crushed in ones hand-yet it’s structure, its perfection holds one’s eyes like a dream one never wishes to wake from.”
“I am sorry. Please, join me here on the terrace. Come, look upon the wonder of my fair city. Raeldarea vin Hael. The trees do speak.”
His voice was very pleasant and warm but also somewhat haunting, echoing off of the ceiling. He quietly stepped into the morning sunlight of the partially covered balcony. Many lavishly decorated tables and high-backed chairs were set there, adorned with large baskets of fruit and fresh bread. Each of the group seated themselves close to the waist-high handrail that skirted the perimeter.
From this vantage point, Nael Daren was a singular work of art. The sheer size of the place amazed them, only outshined by the magical molding of the trees themselves, their shape and flowing lines woven together like a frozen dance. With their woodland arts, they had coaxed the trees in new directions as needed. The forest was never harmed in these acts, this being taboo among the Elven people.
They moved about the trees everywhere that could be seen, at some points upon the suspended walkways and at others on curving flights of stairs created within the very skin of the tree. And there was color and music everywhere. The Wood Elves, especially the women, seemed very proud of their appearance, dressed perfectly from head to toe, their shoulders thrown back as they walked. Hagan’s gaze passed from one side of the city to the other and his vision settled on a familiar figure.
Ethylianae.
She stood below; several members of her council gathered about her, intently listening to her speak. She glanced up then and saw him, waving with a smile. He returned the gesture and for a moment felt childishly embarrassed, as if he had done something wrong.
What was that about?
“The city of Nael Daren has stood for thousands of years,” Lyndremaene began again, lifting a goblet of liquid from the table. “Prosperous, the envy of all that have cast an eye upon it. We are a good and fair people. We respect what nature has provided us. Since the Morning of the World, we have sought nothing but peace with those that came after us and with that which was here before. You are welcome here, my friends. Welcome to Nael Daren.”
“Hmmm. Many thanks wise Lyndremaene. We are humbled before you. We are honored to set foot within your borders. Let us wish you well in the coming autumn and aid you in any way we can. We have heard news of the coming of the Elfmother.” Gorin said, his head bowed slightly.
“Yes, it is true. She has returned to us after so many years. If we can only discover the key. A way to wake her. For you see, she sleeps. She is closed to us. Soon, our wisest will wake her and the prophecy will be fulfilled.”
“Once again, my King, we are deeply honored to walk in your forest during such a precious time.” Gorin said.
The King drank from his cup, seeming to struggle to swallow the contents.
“The honor is mine, son of Rathnok. If only the circumstances were different and we could talk at length-“ he paused then, a brief expression of pain on his face. He placed the goblet back on the tabletop with quivering hands.
“What is it, my King?” the Troll asked, leaning forward, hand extended to assist him.
From somewhere within the King’s chambers, a young Elven woman quickly made her way to his side. She placed a palm to his forehead and the other upon his slumping shoulders.
“Lord, please, come in out of the sun.” she whispered.
“As you wish, Mahnderia.”
His eyes slowly opened with a glazed and faraway look. With her help, he stood and together they walked inside, Hagan and the others following. She led him to the tall wooden throne and helped him to sit. He fell back against the soft cushion, h
ands clutching each armrest. They noticed, then, the dark bruises upon his forearms as his sleeves drew up beyond his wrists. The king’s aide motioned for the others to return to the terrace with her and soon they were once again seated, although now with much more concern.
“Wind, my lady. What ails Lyndremaene? In what way can we help?” Windenn asked, her voice shaking as she spoke.
Mahnderia closed her eyes briefly and then began her explanation.
“Our Lord’s condition springs from an Elven custom that began far before the existence of Man. You may wonder how it is that even in times of war and great hardship, the Elven people show no grief or fear. You will see no frowns among those of Elfwhere. Part of an Elven ruler’s chosen responsibilities is to bear that burden for his subjects.”
“I don’t understand.” Hagan said and the others nodded.
“Look with me down upon the city. There, just beyond the doors of Darendae. See the fountain within that square?” she pointed to the area below that Ethylianae’s group had previously occupied. There stood a large stone fountain surrounded by many Elves, some bearing flowers. As they watched, one of them stepped to the edge and gently placed a blossom upon the water’s surface. Smiling, they went on their way.
“That is Rael Akis, Kingsdraught. There our people place their sorrow and pain upon the water in the form of the flower, relieving themselves of the pressures of worry. Each morning, a vessel is filled from Rael Akis and our King drinks of it, taking the burden on himself. It is a duty that he solemnly accepts and through his sacrifice, the good of the city is assured. Traditionally, these burdens are a simple matter for our Lord to overcome, but as you know, autumn is come. Fear has grown. No, it is not evident here ... ” she pointed out across Nael Daren. “But, it is obvious in the eyes of Lyndremaene.”
D’Pharin simply could not believe his ears. If this were true, imagine the amount of darkness that the King must take in each day. How could one person endure? How could he survive?
“It all lies on his shoulders? That’s hardly fair, is it?” he asked with a hint of anger. To him, this seemed a silly tradition. Lyndremaene was senselessly suffering.
“It is our way, young friend. I do not expect you to understand. He does this out of love and would not relent were it possible. He knows the danger. As the forest fails, so too will our King.”
“And if the forest dies?” Windenn asked.
“Then, there will be little left to live for.” she answered.
“This is ridiculous,” Hagan said. “Maybe your people should take on some of their own burdens, eh? Instead of killing their leader, they could do their share of worrying. A community survives best when everyone shares the burden, you must agree.”
“I mean no offense, Lord Hagan, but the communities of Man are still floundering in infancy compared to that of the Elves.” she said, nearly lighting a fire in Hagan’s eyes.
He shook his head, eyes shut.
“It is our tradition, regardless of how ridiculous it sounds to you. Is it ridiculous for women to cower and obey their mates simply because they are women? This a tradition among the kingdoms of Man, is it not? Is it ridiculous for the wealthy to look down upon the less fortunate? Another human tradition. These beliefs do not exist here. Need I continue?”
Hagan could not respond. What she had said was true. His culture was certainly not perfect.
“Hmmm.” Gorin interrupted, diffusing the growing conflict. “Is there nothing we can do?” he asked, his deep voice vibrating the very wood of the table.
“I am afraid not. Since the Morning of the World, no King has succumbed to the burden of the Kingsdraught. We can only make him comfortable until this time passes.”
“You forget, Mahnderia, that autumn has never visited Elfwhere in the past. Your King may be in much more danger than you know.” Windenn said with a glance into the throne room.
She did not answer.
Lyndremaene called to them, hoarsely, from within. His voice was weak and cracked as he talked. Once again, they joined him, standing before his gloriously wrought throne.
“I am truly sorry, my guests. These ... are trying times and my spirit is ill. Lord Hagan, the Elf that you seek is a day’s ride to the north. You ... have my permission to seek him out and if he agrees, to take him from Elfwhere. He is my best and bravest, but I know your need is also great. I warn you, however, that as we speak he fights on the front lines. Matters have never been worse in my kingdom. You may encounter great peril. A small branch of my archers ride to the north soon and you may join them.”
“Your steeds will be brought to you immediately, although I am afraid your reunion will be a short one. The only possible path out of Northern Elfwhere will be the Illdredge River. Your horses cannot accompany you upon the boat that I have sent upriver to deliver you out of the forest. Take what supplies you need and ... Wind save you all.”
His head dropped to his chest and rolled to one side. Windenn quickly bounded up the five steps to his side and touched his hand, much to Mahnderia’s surprise. The Woodwarden suddenly recoiled as if struck by lightning, her hand to her chest. It was as if Lyndremaene was inside of her head or she in his.
Wind. I felt his torment. For a moment, I felt it. All of it. He is dying. Oh Wind, there is no hope inside of him.
Hagan caught her as she staggered back.
“What’s wrong, Windenn?” he asked, holding her upright.
Mahnderia cradled the King’s head in her hands, while staring disapprovingly at Windenn.
“What did you do?” she asked through her teeth.
Windenn did not understand.
“No, I-“ Windenn stammered in sudden confusion. “Hagan, let’s get out of here. I need some air.”
Together, they left the King’s chambers; Gorin bringing up the rear and quickly walked down the long hall, unaware of the decorations this time. As they passed through the double doors, they ran into Ethylianae.
“Are you leaving us so soon? My Lady, what is it? What has happened inside?” she asked of Windenn, who held her head against Hagan’s shoulder as she walked.
“My head ... I think I am just tired from traveling.” she said.
Ethylianae brushed hair out of Windenn’s face and touched her head with a frown.
“There is fever upon you. You should have rest.”
“No, no. I’m fine and there isn’t time.” Windenn said weakly.
Gorin cleared his throat. “Are you certain Woodwarden?” he asked.
“Yes, Grimandin. Do not worry, old friend.” she said with a smile.
D’Pharin wanted to comfort her but knew it would be obvious to all, his feelings for her. After the many jibes from Gorin and his brother, he had tried to keep his distance. To this date, she had not returned his affections and perhaps he should give up on the idea. He felt like such a child when it came to women. His brother had always made it look easy, being completely at ease with the opposite sex. He made up his mind to ask Hagan’s advice as soon as the opportunity presented itself.
“We are to accompany the archers into Northern Elfwhere and need to ready our horses. Can you tell us where they are stabled?” Hagan asked trying to shift the focus of their conversation. Something was indeed amiss with Windenn, but the looks she had given him, told him she was all right.
“Lord Hagan, I had wished ... well, I had wished you would be staying with us a few more days.” Ethylianae said, visibly uncomfortable. From the moment they had seen each other near Finnenmist, there had been an almost tangible connection between the two. Neither had spoken of it, but both knew it to be true. It was unexplainable but it was there nonetheless.
“It is times like these that I wish I was someone other than myself. If the occasion permitted, I would gladly remain within your beautiful city and-with much regret, I walk toward battle once more and leave possibilities behind. In another time, you and I-“ he paused, forcing down a lump in his throat. He noticed the others fidgeting uncomfortably
so he grabbed her hand and placed a gentle kiss upon its back. He fought the overwhelming urge to embrace her and only squeezed her hand lightly as he released it.
One of the King’s guards strolled up to them and saluted. Hagan bowed his head. “Lord Hagan, I am Kraed of the first branch of Lyndremaene’s army. It is my duty to direct you to your steeds and into the company of the Archers.”
Hagan looked to Ethylianae’s face once again and smiled. He turned back to Kraed.
“Lead on.” he said.
“Lord Hagan ... Ah, it seems that King Lyndremane wishes you to bring someone else along with you, if you would be so kind.” Kraed said as he walked.
“What? Who?”
“She is ... well, she is of the Graelund. A researcher from across the Sleeping Sea-“
“Wait. A High Elf? Are you serious?” Hagan asked. He knew of the Graelund’s reputations. The term itself meant wanderer in the Elven language but may as well have been translated into ‘spoiled and pompous’. This would not work.
“Kraed, please. I don’t think-“
“Lord Hagan, I have my orders. These are the King’s wishes and they must be carried out. Lyndremaene must have his reasons for wishing the Lady Shindire to accompany you-“
“But, we go to war, Kraed. You know that. What am I supposed to do with a researcher in the middle of battle? It’s just one more person at risk.” Hagan explained.
“Actually two more ... ” Kraed said. “She also has an assistant.”
“Wind. She doesn’t know what’s coming. You must understand-“
“There are no choices in this matter. I am sorry but she will accompany you into the forest. She is not your responsibility, Lord. She simply wishes to record the events as they transpire. To create a factual account of Kirkaldin’s great history.”
“As she sees it, correct?” Hagan added with no response from Kraed.
“That is she.” Kraed said, pointing along their path.
Shindire stood to the side of the walkway, hands across her chest, her high-arching brows brought nearly together as she watched them approach. Her eyes shone an ice blue as she stared in their direction. At her side was a very thin, nearly skeletal Elven male holding a huge leather case. He struggled to support its weight, leaning to one side. He stood in silence.
She wore very elegant black attire, what seemed to be a silken shirt and trousers and long flowing cloak clasped at the neck. All about her wrists were countless pieces of silver jewelry and many beautiful gems graced her neck. Her hair hung to her waist, despite the large clasp that held it up and tight to the back of her head. It was straight and as black as night, her skin very pale in comparison.
“My Lady.” Kraed said with a slight bow as they reached her. She did not respond, her eyes looking down upon him as inferior. With her assistant in tow, she fell in line behind Kraed, successfully taking Hagan’s place next to him. He looked to his companions and they all shrugged their shoulders.
They followed Kraed away from Darendae to the north. They took a path between the giant roots that crossed the hilly earth. A group of children fed small fluttering birds nearby, tossing seeds into the air and watching as they dove from the trees.
‘Do they know what’s coming?’ Hagan thought.
Soon, they approached a group of Treehomes surrounded by horses and mules. Several Elven men groomed and fed the animals in large fenced-in corrals. As they came to the great open gates, they recognized their two horses tied just inside. Maelstrom nickered a welcome as Hagan stroked his face. They had been saddled and stood ready for the ride. Kraed pulled the gate open and they stepped inside.
A small and spotted white mare had been prepared for Windenn, which she accepted graciously. She smiled broadly as two young stable boys gazed at her mischievously, winking and arching their eyebrows. She hoped one day to return to this joyous place that knew no sorrow. She tied her pack across the saddle and hopped up.
Shindire had also been supplied with steeds, one for her and one for her assistant, who still had spoken not a word. They gathered together, readied for the trip and rode out of the corrals following Kraed, Shindire moving her way into second position once more. He led them away and down a long hill to a creek. The horses splashed across, tossing their heads with excitement after their containment. After following the creek for some time, Kraed slowed and pointed toward a far grove of heavy trees. As he did, a lone Elf stepped into view, longbow slung across his back, waving in their direction.
“Here we are. That is Vedaene, one of the King’s archers. His father was killed many years ago in battle and some say it is Vedaene’s wish to follow in his footsteps. He is reckless but an excellent soldier to have at your side. Nonetheless, they await you beyond those trees. Wind go with you, friends and luck as well. It is dangerous in the north. None speak of it, but many of our people have perished in recent days at the hands of the Pith. It is information that I believe you should have.”
“Thank you, Kraede. I appreciate your forthrightness. You have been most helpful. I hope we can visit Nael Daren at length in the near future. Walk with the Wind.” Hagan replied and Kraed turned with a wave back toward Darendae.
After a short time, they had joined the ranks of the archers, riding near the rear and had gone some distance into the forest. Occasionally, a solitary leaf would float to the ground in their midst drawing long faces from the Elves. Their world was changing around them uncontrollably and they had nowhere to go. This was all they had known for so long. They had gone far from the city and only the sounds of the woods reached their ears creating a somewhat lonely atmosphere. They rode toward war. They rode toward the Pith, enemy of all that was good and pure.
Hagan and his companions had been informed that the trip to the front would take them until day’s end. One more day and they would be in the middle of it all. Hagan felt his heart quickening in his chest. He mentally prepared himself for combat, recounting previous encounters and practicing his skills within his head. Strange how scant days ago, he had been a slothful drunkard. He could admit it to himself now and he felt ashamed. He still did not like the title of ‘hero’ but it sounded much better than ‘drunk’.
D’Pharin and Windenn had struck up a conversation from the start of their trek and showed no signs of stopping. The topics ranged from wildlife, to D’Pharin’s careful prying into the Woodwarden’s marital status, which produced many a grin from Gorin and even a few of the archers. The High Elven Graelund still had not spoken, only shooting haughty looks in their direction. Hagan had remained fairly quiet throughout, sinking inward, going through his memories like old and discarded papers. His life before the war. His mother. Old comrades, some alive, some long dead. He found himself wondering once again about Deria, the woman he had left behind before the war. Before he had become ‘Lord’ Hagan.
I will not lose you to this war. Better I end it now and never know the outcome. It is your choice, Hagan.
Wind, how it hurt when he remembered that day. Where was she now? Had she a husband and children? Was she happy without him? If he had only chosen her over the Black Sun, but his world and everything in it would belong to Mournenhile. Why was it his fate to choose? Why was he put into that situation? These were the questions that kept him awake in the night.
Dammit. I have to stop this.
“Gorin, do you have a wife back home?” he asked to get his mind off of his past.
“Hmmm ... No, I ... ” Gorin began. “None of the Stone Troll women will choose me. I lack the stature required, I believe. I sometimes doubt that I will ever have a mate. It is part of my disgrace in Rathnok. To be born small, is truly a curse to me. Others look down upon me.”
“Are you certain? From what you have told me of your people, they seem very just in their ways. Male and female are treated equally, money does not cause prejudice.” Hagan responded.
“I-“
“I do not mean to doubt you, my friend, but perhaps the way you see things is not t
he way it truly is. Maybe these are things that you have set upon yourself. Because you are small among your people, perhaps you feel a certain insecurity and do not display confidence in yourself. You seem to be a great Troll to all of us here. What hides inside of you is what is important, correct? Not outward appearances.”
Gorin thought long and hard, chewing on his lower lip. For a moment, he seemed angry then, puzzled. His gaze returned to Hagan and he smiled.
“Perhaps you speak truly. I will consider these things and ... thank you, Hagan.” he said, his smile never disappearing. This man truly deserved the title he had been given and in time, he would rise to that level once more. And Gorin hoped to be in his presence when that time presented itself.
A Dream of Storms, In the Shadow of the Black Sun: Book One Page 9
