The Last Elf of Lanis (13 page)

“And, I, as well,” the elf said.

Caerlund looked them over. “You
cannot
raise your arm, my friend. Best you go with the people. The elf can come if she wishes.”

“Harrumph,” Rebburn said from behind Caerlund. “Think you’re so smart.” Then, she toddled off.

Caerlund looked sheepish. “You can both come if you like,” he said to the Archer, “we leave at midday.”

The rest of the day was all bustle and movement. The black arrows were all found and returned to the Archer with thanks. The Archer found a member of the messenger guild and sent him on his way with a message.

Then, at midday, Caerlund, the Archer, the elf and fifty soldiers made for the northernmost bridge on the Madronwy River.

The rest of the day was long marching. It was difficult for the Archer. But, the elf made him lean on her, and he was able to keep up.

The first two bridges were easy to fell, but the terrain along the Madronwy grew rocky and the travel was slow.

Three more bridges were destroyed as night began to fall.

“Best to stop for the night,” Caerlund ordered, and the platoon made camp.

As evening meal was begun, a blast of lighting tore across the sky from east to west. A deafening bang of thunder followed. The men muttered to themselves in fear.

“I recognize that weapon,” the elf grimly said to the Archer. Clouds rolled in to hide the night sky.

In the middle of the night, as all but the sentries slept, the elf jolted awake. The Archer, sleeping nearby, woke.

“What is it?” He groggily asked her.

“Some evil whose fire is almost as hot as the sun’s has just passed by,” she said in a cold sweat.

“Was it Deifol Hroth?” The Archer joked, then fell back to sleep.

The rest of the night the elf stared, wide awake, at the boil of clouds overhead.

The seventh day since the Archer and the elf began to track Frea dawned with the clouds being pulled back like a curtain.

The company roused themselves, breakfasted and continued on their trek.

Caerlund strode beside the Archer. “How are you today?” He asked.

“I can move my arm,” the Archer said. “And, walking is no trouble.”

“We’ve four more bridges to drop. Then, as night falls, we can make for Kenethley, and spend the night there. Have you ever been to Kenethley?” Caerlund asked.

“No, I haven’t,” said the Archer.

“It is a beautiful city,” the elf simply said.

“There,” Caerlund puffed up with pride, “the approval of the elf folk.”

With that, they continued trekking through the rocky terrain that bounded the Madronwy River.

By midday, two bridges had been cut down, with two left.

Caerlund stopped the company to rest and hold council. “The Fallfont Gorge is the hardest to reach. We’ll go further south to fell the Singing Bridge, stop the night in Kenethley, and take care of Fallfont in the morning on our way back.”

All was agreed and they got up to continue. But, an angry, chattering seagull stood in their path.

“Do you think,” a soldier joked to the Archer, “your arm is well enough to shoot that bird?”

As they laughed, a soldier drew his sword to take a swipe at the seagull.

“Wait!” The Archer cried. “Do you recall the bird in Rebburn’s home?” The Archer asked the elf. “Is this not the same one?”

“I do not understand him. I can’t speak this bird’s dialect. Rebburn said her seagull was from the other side of the world.” The elf said studying the remonstrating bird. “But it does resemble the same seagull.

“What is it trying to say to us?” Caerlund puzzled.

All stupidly stared at the scolding bird.

“When does Rebburn usually speak up?” The Archer asked.

“When I’ve made an incorrect decision,” Caerlund sighed.

“Then we must go directly to the bridge over Fallfont Gorge,” the elf said. “Someone’s life depends on it.”

As soon as the elf finished, the bird seemed satisfied, nodded its head, and flew away.

Caerlund was flabbergasted. “I never question the old woman,” he huffed. “Off to Fallfont, then,” he said shaking his head.

The rest of the day was difficult hiking along steep ledges. But, no rest was taken, for all seemed to feel a strange, new urgency.

As night began to fall, Caerlund said, “Just over this ridge.”

For a change, the sky was clear, and the moons and stars shone with mad brilliance. Ragged, filthy, thin humans began to desperately top the ridge.

“What, what?” Caerlund stammered.

“Garonds! Garonds!” A woman cried as she neared.

Caerlund and his company ran towards the ridge.

As the Archer topped the ridge, he saw several garonds pursuing a band of tattered humans. He saw a large garond on the bridge pull a bow.

He turned his head to see what the large garond was sighting at, and further up the ridge he saw Arnwylf and Frea.

Barely able to lift his arm, the Archer set his bow, and nocked an arrow of Yenolah.

The large garond shot his arrow straight at Arnwylf.

The Archer, his arm pulsing with pain, shot without thinking.

There in the moonlight, the black arrow of Yenolah shot the garond’s arrow right out of the air.

The arrow of Yenolah clattered into the gorge far below.

“You’ve gone far enough!” The large garond bellowed.

“Aye,” Caerlund bellowed back. “I think you’ve gone just far enough!” And, Caerlund’s men descended with amazing, blood thirsty fury on the few garonds who had crossed the bridge.

But, before they engaged, all were frozen in their tracks, staring up, as a throbbing, terrifying, deep sound vibrated in pounding waves into the night sky overhead.

Chapter Nine

Frea

Once upon a time there was a young girl with flame red hair, named Frea. She had been taken from her parents by a cruel and ugly race called the garonds.

Garonds were squat, bow legged creatures, with long, dark, red hair, and ape-like features. Their arms and chests were thick, wide and muscular. Their viciousness was legendary.

No human understood the speech of the garond race. But this young girl, through some gift from the higher powers, was beginning to comprehend their tongue.

The young girl had come to understand that all garonds had been commanded by their great and terrible master to gather all red haired humans to him. There was some great and powerful object that their master sought, and it was said that their master saw, through his great and awesome powers, that a red haired human could uncover it.

In the captivity of three garonds, the leader slew one of the other garonds in a quarrel over whether or not they should eat the young girl.

The two remaining garonds traveled along the banks of the river Bairn in hopes of finding a place to cross over to their great camp in the south of Wealdland.

The travel was slow and filled with bickering between the two remaining garonds. The garond who drooled all the time also wanted to eat the young girl. But the garond with one large eyebrow protected her out of duty to his master.

Night fell, and they bedded down for the night, with their horses, on the sandy bank of the Bairn River.

“Be quiet,” the garond who held the young girl snarled.

The young girl thought of her grandmother, Miri, who had been her constant comfort back in her childhood home, the castle of the Northern Kingdom of Man. For, the young girl was actually a princess and heir to the throne.

That night the young girl dreamt of her grandmother. She dreamt that they were walking in spring fields of bluebells, simple meadow roses and clover buzzing with unmindful bees.

They walked for many paces and then her grandmother turned to her. And in her dream she said to the young girl, “When you have need, sing my name.” And then the young girl awoke, staring at the blackness of the early dawn.

In the early morning, Eyebrow decided the river was shallow enough for the horses to swim across. Once again the two garonds fell to arguing, but Eyebrow turned his horse, with the young girl astride, into the rapid waters of the Bairn. Drool screamed in rage and goaded his horse into the river as well.

In the middle of the river, the two garonds swung their clubs at each other, as their horses swam for their lives in the swiftly moving water. The young girl bravely clutched the horse’s mane as the dangerous water swirled all about her.

The third riderless horse screamed as a great, evil fish tore out its throat. The water of the river turned a bright red with the horse’s blood.

In the midst of this tumult, the two garonds continued to stupidly battle.

Miraculously, the two remaining horses made the southern bank of the Bairn River sopping wet and exhausted. Eyebrow and Drool dropped from their horses and weakly continued their battle. Clubbing and knocking each other with unwavering fury. Drool got a lucky swing in and knocked Eyebrow to his knees.

Drool then turned to Frea, the young girl, an evil hunger flashing on his face.

The young girl knew it was time. She opened her mouth and began to sing her grandmother’s name. But the note became a scream, which became a wind that buffeted the drooling garond.

The great moving wind began to take shape with leaves and debris. The young girl could see it was the shape of her grandmother, but three times her normal size.

The great shape of wind raised the choking garond off his feet. His hands gripped at a windy nothing, which held him by the throat. His legs frantically kicked at empty air.

Then, Drool was violently splashed down into the Bairn River, and held as he drowned with much thrashing and a fury of bubbles.

Then, the shape of wind raised the drowned garond from the river and dashed him against a tree growing on the river’s bank. The drooling garond was dead.

The wind moved on, down the river.

“Wait!” The young girl cried. But, it was too late, the shape of wind, turning into a rapidly increasing vortex, was gone. Eyebrow, rising from the shallows, roughly grabbed the young girl and threw her across his horse. He mounted too, and they traveled all day east along the southern banks of the Bairn River, with a riderless horse following.

At nightfall, they bedded down in the sand of the southern riverbank with neither speaking to the other.

“Stay silent,” Eyebrow snarled in garond at the young girl.

That night, the young girl dreamt she was alone, out on the Eastern Meadowlands with a wounded stauer. She called and called for her family and friends, but no one answered. The dangerous beast circled her and would not leave.

Early the next morning, the garond and the young girl rode east all day along the southern bank of the Bairn River.

In the early afternoon they saw thirty or more garonds riddled with arrows on the northern side of the river. The young girl thought of the Archer who had saved her and her family at Bittel.

Later in the day, the young girl saw a white wolf running with a pack of doderns. She thought of the white wolf that had joined their fight at Rion Ta. She dare not think of the young blonde haired boy of her village for fear of what might have befallen him.

Late in the afternoon, the garond and the young girl rode close to a swarming garond battlement. They could just see the three bridges that spanned the Bairn River and led to the great Weald city of Rogar Li.

The young girl was brought to an ornate tent set in the middle of the garond soldiers. She could hear the horrible battle being fought to win the three bridges by the garonds.

Eyebrow was dismissed and the young girl was left to wait alone in the plush tent.

The warm afternoon sun made the tent hot and insufferable. The watery smell of the river was overwhelming.

Demons and goblins danced just outside the tent making shapes on the cloth wall.

A large animal dressed in silk entered the tent. He magically turned into a large garond.

“What are you saying?” He said.

The young girl knew she had but one chance to escape.

“I speak human,” the large garond said. “I can understand your words.”

A spell came over the young girl so that the large garond could hear her inmost thoughts.

“Stop speaking at once!” The large garond bellowed.

Frea was silent.

He was fierce and a murderous fire burned in his eye. He inspected Frea closely. “I know what you’re doing.” He smiled. “I have seen this before in humans. Your race is clever but weak, and you retreat into fantasies. You’re telling yourself some kind of story to make these unhappy events more sensible to your fragile mind.” The large garond laughed a low, dangerous laugh.

Frea felt the dagger hidden under her dress.

“I am Ravensdred. I command the garond armies for Deifol Hroth.” He was a full head taller than any garond or man Frea had seen. His shoulders were bulky and restless. Yet, he wore no armor or sword, only silks and fine linen in dark blues and scarlet.

“Do you know where the sword is?” He asked Frea. She felt the hand of fate gripping her throat.

“No, no,” he said. “Stay here with me now. You have the red hair of the Northern Kingdom. And you reacted when I asked about the sword. What sword? Which sword? You will feign stupidity. Yes. It’s all in your eyes. You have seen the Mattear Gram.”

Frea felt panic enclosing her. Ravensdred took Frea’s hand. It was like a massive paw. It was as if some huge bear had stumbled out of the Weald and someone had dressed him in silk and fine linen, and taught him to talk. Ravensdred slowly pulled Frea close.

“You have seen the Mattear Gram?” He asked again.

Frea was compelled to nod her head in assent.

“Good,” he said. “Where is it?”

Frea simply lifted up the hem of her dress, pulled the dagger, and stabbed at Ravensdred’s throat.

But, for all his size, Ravensdred was quick, frighteningly quick.

He grasped Frea’s hand and slowly pulled the dagger away from her. He let her fall to the ground.

“I like you,” Ravensdred snarled at her. “I like you quite a bit.” His lustful smile revealed large, sharply filed teeth. “You will tell me all I wish to know… sooner than you think.”

He threw the dagger to his feet, in front of Frea. “Take it. You may find some use for this sewing pin, if fate weaves a hopeless garment for you. Return to your story.”

With a hearty, cruel laugh Ravensdred strode from the tent.

Once upon time there was a young girl who was held captive by a large and evil garond named Ravensdred.

She was far from her parents and deep in the land held by the garond armies. She could hear the shouts and crashes of sword on shield as human and garond fought for the Three Bridges of Rogar Li.

Then, all was silent. She could hear a human shouting something about no choice. No choice, the young girl thought.

Then the air was filled with smoke. The young girl stepped to the edge of the tent opening. Down by the river, she could see the three bridges burning in a swirling inferno.

The young girl waited for the garond named Ravensdred to return, since his attempt to take the bridges had failed, but he did not.

A small meal was brought to her. She ate very little of it. Then, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The next day, all was confusion. Their great warlord had left in the night without explanation. The assault on the Weald had failed with the burning of the bridges.

The young girl could hear the lower ranking leaders arguing among themselves. Should they stay here on the southern banks of the Bairn or return to the great encampment?

About
mid-day
, an earthquake shook the whole earth. The garonds screamed in superstitious fear. Some mighty power was unhappy with developments in the Wealdland, and it showed its disapproval.

The young girl was undisturbed the rest of the day, as no garond dared to enter the tent of Ravensdred without leave. She was left to herself to treasure her memories of happier times and distant loved ones and friends. She thought particularly of a blonde haired boy with a serious face and green eyes.

The next day, the garond army broke camp. Eyebrow, the garond who had captured her at Rion Ta, arrived to escort her, with the rest of the army back to the main garond encampment.

Eyebrow was strangely polite and careful with the young girl, as if some order had been given to ensure her safety.

They joined other horse garonds who trotted south to Harvestley at a leisurely pace.

About midday, the remnants of a garond army joined the main army. They were devastated, with many wounded.

Eyebrow told the young girl that they were defeated in the Madrun Hills by an elf and an archer with unfathomable power.

The young girl was happy in her heart since she knew it was her friends who had defeated the garond army in Madrun.

The whole contingent of garond soldiers stopped to treat the wounded and regroup.

In the late afternoon Eyebrow came to the young girl and said, “Our great general Ravensdred is escorting the Lord of Lightning, Deifol Hroth, triumphantly into Wealdland tonight. I have been ordered to quickly return with you, so you will be ready to be presented by Ravensdred to our lord.”

With that the young girl was seated with Eyebrow on his horse, and with a large platoon of horse garonds, they rode as fast as they could for the great camp in the south.

As evening began to fall, the young girl and the platoon came to the expansive garond encampment in Harvestley.

The young girl was taken by Eyebrow to the center of the camp, where Ravensdred’s large ornate tent had been reset. Inside were all the pillows and fine linen that had been her jail on the southern bank of the Bairn River. Guards were posted at the tent’s opening, and she was brought food that she despairingly picked at.

She could hear the business of the garond army all around her. She began to lose all hope now that she was at the very heart of the garond army.

When night arrived, so did a noisy retinue with Ravensdred, who came right to his tent to greet the young girl. He seemed worried and tired. He had obviously been riding back and forth many miles. And seeing to his master’s needs was no inconsequential matter. He was in a foul mood and short tempered.

“Come out of your little fantasy right now,” he snapped while gnawing on a leg of mutton.

Frea quietly turned to face Ravensdred. “I am here,” she said.

“Are you ready to tell me about the sword?” He growled.

“No,” was all Frea said.

“No? Not, ‘I don’t
know what you’re talking about.
What sword? Why whatever do you mean?’” Ravensdred was visibly turning red with fury.