The Last Elf of Lanis

by K. J. Hargan

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Ruins of Glafemen and Tyny

  As Arnwylf rode through the tall grass of the Eastern Meadowland, the night was lit by the rising full moon, Nunee, but the Wanderer was smaller than ever before, farther away, moving on a new, strange path.

  Conniker was keeping up nicely with his horse. It wasn’t long before he saw the western edge of the Weald on the horizon. Arnwylf turned Boldson northeast to follow the edge of the Weald to Glafemen.

  Conniker began to yip. Arnwylf turned to see three horse garonds in close pursuit behind him.

  He knew better than to stop or turn. If they could catch up to him, their horses would be that much more tired. Plus he had an advantage with his white wolf.

  “Over there!” Arnwylf called to Conniker. The wolf nodded and faded into the tall grass. The garonds were quickly closing. They roared, trying to unnerve their prey. Arnwylf smiled a grim smile.

  Two of the horse garonds pulled even with Arnwylf.

  “Now!” Arnwylf shouted. Conniker leapt out of the grass and pulled the garond on Arnwylf’s right off his horse by its throat. Arnwylf used the surprise to back hand the garond on his left with his sword, and killed it.

  The last garond was more cautious. It pulled up on Arnwylf’s right, watching for the wolf. Arnwylf gripped his sword in his left hand, and held onto Boldson’s mane with his right. His sword always felt more comfortable in his left hand.

  The garond swiveled on his horse and pulled close to strike. Arnwylf quickly flipped his sword to his right hand and jabbed the garond right in the middle of its body. It stared at him, then slowly pulled away from the sword. The third garond fell dead to the swaying grasses of the meadow.

  “Conniker!” Arnwylf yelled into the night behind him. He saw the white wolf bounding through the grass. “Come on, boy!” Arnwylf encouraged as they sprinted northeast.

  The dark rim of trees of the Weald flowed past as Arnwylf pushed on to Glafemen. The stars were brilliant in the cold, late autumn night. Arnwylf could smell the freshness of the grasses of the meadowland as his horse galloped on. Sometimes, nesting birds burst up in the darkness, startled.

  Except for the brief chatter of an angry bird, the night was silent. Arnwylf could hear the rhythmic panting of Conniker. He looked down at his wolf brother and smiled a crooked smile to see his muzzle wet with garond blood.

  Arnwylf listened to the soft, snorting breath of Boldson as he pushed on to their destination. The horse was starting to get sweaty, and it was getting difficult to stay on stop of the horse’s back. Arnwylf hoped he would find Yulenth among the Glafs. He hadn’t even known his grandfather was a Glaf. So much of his heritage had been kept from him. He was a prince of the Weald. He didn’t like that thought. He felt completely unsuited for such a title, but his grandmother had been so proud to introduce him to the wealdkin.

  Arnwylf realized his mind was wandering, and he forced himself to stay focused on the horizon before him. He was not going to be caught off guard by any horse garond patrols.

  As morning dawned in Tyny, Kellabald asked the elf, the Archer, Caerlund and Healfdene to discuss battle tactics. They walked to the edge of the human encampment. Kellabald was happy to see his troops setting up farther and farther out into the meadowland. They could also see the garond army staking their claim to the battlefield.

  “At the risk of being impolite,” Caerlund said, “we should have all the Kipleth archers right up front to break up those animal fighting formations.”

  “I understand your enthusiasm,” the Archer said, “but we faced a fraction of the garond army at Plymonley, we most certainly will be facing hundreds of horse garonds.”

  “What are the advantages of archers?” Kellabald honestly asked.

  “Distance,” was all the Archer said.

  “Do you think you could hit any of those garonds out there?” Kellabald said pointing to the garonds on the eastern edge of the battlefield.

  The Archer nocked, pulled, and let fly a bronze arrow. It wasn’t even close.

  “How do the archers of Kipleth usually fight?” Kellabald asked.

  “We stand back and support the infantry,” the Archer said, “until we have to become infantry ourselves.”

  “That makes sense,” Kellabald said. “What if the archers all shot straight up, so that the arrows came down in a group?”

  “That could be very effective,” the Archer said. “I will make sure we have all the arrows possible.”

  “What of the garond archers I have heard of?” Healfdene asked.

  “They are pathetic,” the Archer replied.

  “I am more concerned with the horse garonds,” Kellabald mused.

  “Perhaps,” the elf spoke up, “the garonds don’t know that the Weald soldiers are here. If we could somehow convince them that they will be flanked, they might hold back some of their force.”

  “A good idea,” Kellabald said. “So we keep our archers behind our infantry, and rain arrows down on them. How do we stop the horse garonds? We saw at Rion Ta how they charge in a line, and then circle once they’ve cut down their enemy's numbers.”

  “We have to stop that initial charge,” Caerlund said. The group looked out over at the enemy forces, their minds racing.

  “How do you stop horses?” Healfdene asked.

  “Spears?” The elf offered.

  “But the riders will just ride around the spearmen,” Healfdene said.

  Kellabald seemed to jump out of his skin as an idea struck him. “Perhaps not!” He exclaimed. “But what do we have as a natural advantage? If the garonds see the spears, they will simply avoid them! Yes! How many trees can we immediately fell?” Kellabald began quickly striding back to the camp, his outstretched hands running over the tall grass of the field.

  Arnwylf could see the dawn breaking over the blackened ruins of Glafemen. It must have once been a massive palace. Before him stretched a closely cropped meadow filled with long horned aurochs, shaggy doderns, muscled horses, and a few majestic stauers. The grazing animals became excited as they saw the white wolf trotting next to Arnwylf astride Boldson, and scattered before them.

  Three men on horses rode down from the ruins towards Arnwylf. The one in the lead was an angry, dark haired boy shouting threats. Arnwylf wondered if he should draw his sword, but then he made out Yulenth on one of the horses.

  “Yulenth!” Arnwylf cried.

  The dark haired boy pulled his horse up short and looked back at his companions.

  “Arnwylf!” Yulenth cried and spurred his horse on to meet him.

  Conniker began to excitedly bark. “Don’t you recognize Yulenth?” Arnwylf said to Conniker who immediately became calm, and vigorously wagged his tail.

  “The white wolf found you after all!” Yulenth cried as he rode closer. Yulenth pulled up to Arnwylf and leaned across to hug him. They both fell from their horses laughing. “This is my grandson, Arnwylf,” Yulenth said with a broad smile. “This is Ronenth and Solienth.”

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Arnwylf respectfully said.

  “And you,” Solienth returned, but Ronenth just scowled.

  “Look,” Arnwylf said marveling, “you have ropes on your horses.”

  “My invention,” Yulenth said, proudly handling the rope halters on the Glaf horses.

  “I want one right away,” Arnwylf laughed.

  “You have to earn one,” Ronenth huffed.

  “He can have one,” Yulenth said leading Arnwylf to the ruins. “Let’s get you something to eat. And, we’d best hide that wolf, or he might start a dangerous stampede.”

  Arnwylf told Yulenth and the Glafs all that had befallen him since the fight at Rion Ta. “If there are any Glafs left to fight,” Arnwylf said as he shoveled in stew, “we need to make for Tyny immediately.”

  “You see before you,” Yulenth said standing, “all that remains of Glaf.” Yulenth was filled with emotion and had to walk away to compose himself.

  Arnwylf didn�
��t know what to say.

  “Let them fight their own fights,” Ronenth said with a dark countenance, then rose and walked in the other direction into the ruins.

  After an uncomfortable silence, Arnwylf rose. “I must return at once,” he said.

  “Let me counsel with them,” Solienth whispered to Arnwylf as he laid a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Stay. We may yet return to Tyny with you.”

  In the early afternoon, Kellabald asked all the leaders of the nations to walk to the southernmost edge of the human army in the Eastern Meadowlands. “How is the plan proceeding?” Kellabald asked Healfdene.

  “Very well,” the King of Reia responded. “It’s a good idea.”

  “And your men are being cautious?” Kellabald inquired.

  “You’ve heard the expression, ‘sneaky as a man from Reia’?” Healfdene answered. “The Rangers of Reia are required to live a year on their own, in the wild, before they attain their rank.”

  “Do not forget, I am from Reia, my king,” Kellabald said with a smile. “And the arrows for the archers?” Kellabald asked the Archer from Kipleth.

  “Every arrow, made by a human, in all of Wealdland, will be at your disposal,” the Archer said.

  “Good,” Kellabald said. “Tell them, when the battle begins, do not wait for a command. Shoot and do not stop.”

  “It will be done,” the Archer said.

  “Do you think the garonds will use burning arrows against us?” Alrhett asked.

  “The wind is not in their favor,” Kellabald said. “It will remain easterly for many weeks, this time of year. If they start a fire among these grasses, it will be to their own destruction. No. I think their leader is wiser than that.”

  “What of the possibility of their army flanking us?” Caerlund mumbled.

  “Their numbers are great enough,” Kellabald darkly said. “We can only hope that Hermergh and his guild are convincing in their mission.” The group came upon the skeletal remains of a massive stauer. “Is this- ?” Kellabald exclaimed, and then he turned to survey the land. “This is the very stauer our clan brought down after you saved us in Bittel.” Kellabald said to the Archer.

  “I believe it is,” the Archer said, looking about to fix the location in his memory.

  “He was beautiful,” the elf said. “I had hoped he would live. If he had charged any of you, he would have gained his freedom.”

  “Yes,” Kellabald said, his mind turning. Then, he told the story of how they killed the stauer.

  “We must work together as effectively,” Healfdene said.

  “If we can,” Kellabald said, “this strategy may work. We must stretch our soldiers to the safest possible edges of the battlefield. And, we must try to encircle the garond force to keep them from beginning any kind of forward drive.”

  “All the nations must work as closely as your family,” Caerlund added.

  “If we can stretch our arms wide enough, we may be able to get these garonds running in a circle as you plan. Otherwise...” Caerlund trailed off.

  “Tell the story of the stauer hunt to your captains and have them spread it to every soldier,” Kellabald said. The group stared quietly to the east and the black movements of impending war.

  At midday, Arnwylf sat brooding, trying to decide if he should ride back to Tyny. Ronenth plopped down next to Arnwylf to closely inspect him.

  “You don’t look very strong,” Ronenth rudely said with a sniff.

  “I’m stronger than you,” Arnwylf said without looking at Ronenth.

  “I don’t think so,” Ronenth said with a sneer. He jumped up and lifted a large rock. “See!” He shouted then let the rock fall with a thud.

  Arnwylf sniffed, rose and walked to the rock. He easily lifted it over his head. Arnwylf then picked up a small rock and threw it as far as he could.

  “Ha!” Ronenth mocked, and picked up a small stone and threw it just short of Arnwylf’s stone. “What really matters are spears,” Ronenth said, and ran to get Yulenth and Solienth’s spears.

  “Stand even,” Ronenth said, “no cheating.” Then Ronenth threw his spear with tremendous force. It sailed out into the meadow and surprised several grazing animals.

  Arnwylf set himself and threw his spear. It landed just short of Ronenth’s spear.

  “Ha ha!” Ronenth crowed.

  “You won’t be fighting garonds with spears,” Arnwylf cried. “You have to face them with swords, as I have done.”

  “I’ve killed plenty,” Ronenth yelled.

  Arnwylf drew his sword.

  “Hey! Hey!” Yulenth cried, running down to the boys. “If you must duel, use tree branches.” Yulenth lead the boys to the woodpile used to fuel their camp fire. “Pick your weapon,” he said. The boys each picked a sturdy branch. “No clubbing,” Yulenth sternly said. “You’re not garonds.”

  Arnwylf and Ronenth walked away to a clear space while Yulenth and Solienth watched. The boys knew the older men were watching so their mock swordplay was polite and fair, but soon turned vigorous. Before they knew it, both boys were laughing and leaping about in play, rather than a serious contest of skill.

  “It was only a matter of time,” Solienth said.

  “For what?” Yulenth asked.

  “That they remembered they are still boys,” Solienth said with a sad smile.

  At midday, a single garond approached the human camp at Tyny with a white flag of peace. “You come now,” the garond said with difficulty to the surprised soldier. “Leader talk.” The garond pointed out to the center of the Eastern Meadowland destined to become a vicious battlefield.

  There in the midst of the tall grasses, Ravensdred and a single garond soldier waited.

  The human soldier quickly ran back to the village of Tyny to relay the message. In one of the houses in the village of Tyny, the leaders met.

  “It’s a trap,” Alrhett said. “They offered peace to the Weald and then attacked.”

  “Might be a good chance to catch that big leader with a carefully placed arrow,” Caerlund said with a smile.

  The Archer smiled back.

  “The tradition of talks before a battle,” a captain of Man said, “is honorable and age old.”

  “What do you expect them to tell us?” Kellabald asked. “That they will fight fair? That they will spare our women and children if we capitulate? I have nothing to say to the commander of the garonds. And, he has nothing I wish to hear.”

  “Then let me go,” the captain of the Northern Kingdom of Man said.

  “I will let you do no such thing,” Kellabald said. “Now let us discuss the terrain and where we gain an advantage.”

  “I must make sure my troops are all properly armed,” the captain said and excused himself.

  “You know,” Caerlund said, “he’s going out there.”

  Kellabald angrily rose. “My need for captains is too great to spare even a foolhardy one.” Kellabald rose to follow the captain, and the company followed him. Outside, Kellabald could see the disobedient captain jogging through the camp, towards the open meadow.

  “Captain!” Kellabald bellowed. “Come back!”

  But the captain and a loyal soldier were out onto the meadow before he could reach them. They walked out to Ravensdred and his single garond with their hands raised high in peace. When the captain reached Ravensdred they appeared to be talking and gesturing. The fool, Kellabald thought.

  And then, to no one’s surprise, five hidden garonds sprang from the grass and slashed at the captain and his soldier. They could only watch in horror at the slaughter.

  The Archer nocked one of the arrows of Yenolah. “I may be able to get that big one,” he said, pulling his bow tight, and closing one eye.

  “Don’t waste your arrow,” Kellabald said in frustration. “We need every weapon at our disposal for the battle when it comes.” With that, Kellabald led his generals back to the village with the two small houses.

  In the late afternoon, the Archer asked the elf to walk a
long the edge of the battlefield with him.

  “Tell me of the black arrows,” the elf said. “Hold nothing back.”

  “The star was Yeno,” the Archer said as they slowly walked through the trampled grass, “it fell to earth hundreds of years ago, somewhere far beyond Byland, past the Far Grasslands. The heart of Yeno was a lump of black metal found in a large crater where the star landed. Many tried to forge the heart of Yeno, but it was too stubborn. Finally someone brought the heart of Yeno to Weylund, the elvish oresmith, in Lanis. He knew that the fires were not hot enough to work the metal. They say Weylund spent four days making his forge fire hotter and hotter. On the night of the fourth day, Daniei Wylkeho came to him in a dream and showed him the seven arrows he was to fashion. On the fifth day, the heart of Yeno was melted and he forged the arrows as he was shown in the dream. On the night of the fifth day, as the arrows still cooled, the Great Parent came to him in a dream and told him to keep the arrows secret, until a blind human would come to him and ask specifically for them.”

  “A blind human?” The elf exclaimed. “It must have been the blind seer, Sehen.”

  “The very same,” the Archer said. “He gave the arrows to me and taught me to shoot in a new way.”

  “I would love to learn those lessons,” the elf said.

  “If we survive this battle,” the Archer said with a smile, “I will teach you. Sehen said the arrows were for a special purpose. He said he didn’t know what that purpose was, but I would eventually discover it.” They walked together in silence for a moment.

  “What did you say to me in Plymonley?” The Archer asked.

  “It was elvish,” the elf said. “I said ‘rise up’. But,” she struggled for words, “it means so much more. Elvish words have so many meanings. I have known elves to debate a four word conversation for days,” she laughed.

  “But what did you mean?” The Archer asked.

  “I meant many things,” the elf answered. “I meant for you to be more than who you are. I meant for you to be courageous in the face of impending disaster. I meant for you to touch the Great Flame. I meant for you to know I would always be beside you.” The elf felt embarrassment. The Archer could sense her discomfort and waited for her to gather herself. She looked at the dark melancholy face of the Archer and felt a new emotion stirring in her. His smile was kind and patient.

  The elf wondered to herself, could an elf love a human? She so wanted him to take her in his arms. She wanted to feel the warmth of his body against hers. She reached her hand up to stroke the Archer’s face with the back of her hand. A deep sorrowfulness passed over his countenance, and he pulled away.

  “You’re still thinking of your wife, aren’t you?” She asked.

  He so wanted to reach out to the elf. He wanted to stroke her hair. His lips burned for hers. He wanted to return her love. But, his wife’s smile played before his eyes and he was confused and broken hearted.

  “Can elves also read minds?” The Archer asked with a tortured sadness.

  “No,” she answered. “But, we have hearts like any human, and they can be broken as well.” Then, she had to leave him because of the torment in her heart, and she didn’t want him to see her cry.

  “Wait!” He cried, but she was gone.

  In the late afternoon, at the ruins of Glafemen, Ronenth showed Arnwylf the rolls of amazing fabric woven by the Glafs.

  “This material would make a good flag,” Arnwylf said running his hands over the cloth.

  “It would,” Ronenth said, and then an idea burned in his eyes. Chuckling, he scampered away.

  Watching the boys, Yulenth and Solienth prepared a meal. “Look at how happy they are,” Solienth said.

  “If the garonds win,” Yulenth said with a stern face, “there will be no safe place in Wealdland for any human.”

  “Then we must join the army of humans, no matter the outcome,” Solienth said with a troubled sigh. They continued the meal preparations in angry silence. Then, Yulenth slammed a cooking fork onto the ground.

  “We are Glafs!” Yulenth growled. “There must be something we can do.”

  “We are only three,” Solienth angrily said to the stew he was preparing.

  “Do you remember what the soldiers of the Northern Kingdom of Man used to say about us?” Yulenth said.

  “A well-armed Glaf is worth ten soldiers of any other army,” Solienth said.

  “Because we fought in an intelligent way,” Yulenth said.

  “Once, I had a fourth of my army wait in a valley,” Solienth said with a smile. “When the Man army went after them, the rest came down on their flank like thunder from the gods.” They continued cooking in silence, remembering past glories.

  “They only eventually won because of their numbers,” Yulenth mused.

  “Give me that army at Tyny and I would win!” Solienth crowed.

  “A bit too late to make a claim,” Yulenth softly said.

  “Yes,” Solienth said. “But not too late to die with honor, to die with soldiers in battle, as I should have years ago.” The old men watched the young boys play with the beautiful Glaf cloth.

  Ronenth pulled out a good length of the pale blue material. “This is the color of the Glaf flag,” Ronenth said with pride.

  Arnwylf ran up to Yulenth. “May I borrow a spear?” He asked. Yulenth smiled and nodded.

  “Here,” Arnwylf called, “let’s cut off a piece and make the Glaf flag.”

  “I have something I want to write on it,” Ronenth said as Arnwylf tied the cloth to the spear.

  In the Eastern Meadowland Ravensdred was furious. Night was falling, and his ruse to gain the Mattear Gram had failed. Humans were proving to be more intelligent and tenacious than he had supposed. He viciously pulled the bandage from his shoulder. That Archer will pay, he thought. Then, he touched the wounds on his face where the black arrow shattered and nearly blinded him. Everything in his sight made him angry because of his frustration. His master would tolerate failure only so long.

  Ravensdred shuddered when he thought of the Lord of Lightning. He seemed to be a human, but every garond saw the spirit in the shell of flesh. The human form was merely a mask. He was god.

  He was more than danger, or pain. He could send your soul to eternal torment, if disobeyed.

  Ravensdred thought the religious blather was only for the average, thickheaded garond. But his master had real power, and no such thing as mercy dwelt in his heart.

  Ravensdred strode among his battle weapons. The wooden structures for throwing large stones would be complete this night. His soldiers were anxious to go to battle. His troops were well trained and expertly skilled. Only the archers were a disappointment. With a few more days practice, they could be formidable. But with the battle looming, they were pathetic. Ravensdred considered taking their bows and crooked arrows away, and having them fight as a garond should, with a club and on foot.

  “Lord Ravensdred!” A captain called as he ran up to the war general. The garond captain prostrated himself in the respectful manner, but Ravensdred had no patience for formalities.

  “What is it?” He demanded as he viciously kicked the captain.

  “Voices,” the captain said, rising, holding his ribs. “There are voices again in the trees!”

  “Show me,” Ravensdred snarled. The garond captain, limping, quickly led the war general through Rion Ta to the edge of the Weald.

  “Listen,” the captain whispered. Deep in the woods a human voice echoed.

  “Bring those men around this way,” Hermergh’s voice rang. “Keep them out of sight.”

  “They mean to attack from behind,” the captain conspiratorially said.

  “It’s a trick,” Ravensdred said with contempt.

  “What if it is not?” The captain asked.

  Ravensdred loudly growled and clouted the garond captain with a deadly wallop. The garond captain fell, oozing blood.

  Ravensdred snarled at the weakness and walked back to inspire his tro
ops. His huge hands worked as he walked. He wanted humans to be dying under his sword. He wanted to see their blood flowing, spreading across, and filling the meadowland. His mind was a black nest of hornets.

  As the darkness of night spread over the ruins of Glafemen, Yulenth, and Solienth, sitting comfortably by their little camp fire, watched Arnwylf and Ronenth playing, waving their new Glaf flag back and forth, as Conniker nipped at their heels. A towering bank of winter clouds marched across the night sky.

  “Did he tell you what his horse’s name is?” Solienth asked Yulenth.

  “Boldson,” Yulenth quietly said.

  “No, Ronenth,” Solienth said with a smile. “He has named his horse, Quickly.” The old men smiled, staring at the fire.

  “Your horse is the only one without a name,” Yulenth gently said.

  “Sweetfoot,” Solienth said with a tinge of embarrassment. They both chuckled, staring at the fire.

  “I have to go,” Yulenth said. “For my Alrhett.”

  “I know,” Solienth mumbled.

  “The boys won’t stay here,” Yulenth added. “They’ll follow me.”

  “I know,” Solienth sighed.

  “They may have already fought the battle,” Yulenth said.

  “They may have,” Solienth lightly said. Solienth rose, and wrapped a blanket around Yulenth. “Winter is on the way,” he said. “We were so arrogant,” Solienth said staring out at the dark meadow filled with sleeping animals. “We thought we owned the world. We thought we were invincible.”

  “My wife lives,” Yulenth said, standing. “I thought her dead. I thought that I was the last Glaf. And, then I met you, then the boy!” Yulenth was becoming agitated. The boys stopped their play to quietly approach the men.

  “I must fight for her,” Yulenth loudly said. “I must fight for them,” Yulenth said pointing at the boys who drew near with silent, innocent faces.

  “Should we follow a doomed path for some kind of honor?” Solienth bellowed at Yulenth.

  “Should we weep in our sorrow,” Yulenth shouted back, throwing off the blanket, “as you did when you thought yourself the general of cattle?!”

  Solienth stared at Yulenth with an idea, an idea so huge it struck him momentarily dumb.

  “What?” Yulenth asked. “What?!” he said shaking his friend.

  “Get our horses!” Solienth cried. “And hope it’s not too late! Bring that flag!” Solienth urgently said to Ronenth.

  “I meant to ask,” Arnwylf excitedly asked as they mounted their horses, “what is that large word you have written on the flag?”

  “Justice,” Ronenth said, with fire in his dark eyes.