The Last Elf of Lanis (15 page)

As the sun rose, the countryside became easy riding with open, rolling meadows, dotted with only a few trees.

About midday, as they crested a ridge, someone exclaimed, and Frea looked back to see hundreds upon hundreds of garond riders in black armor only a few miles behind them. If they catch us, she thought, they will show no mercy.

All that day, the hunting party seemed to be closing.

The white wolf ran beside Frea’s horse. It seemed to be watching Arnwylf as carefully as a brother. The white wolf looked at Frea.

“We will get him to safety,” she told the wolf. And, it seemed the wolf understood and grimly focused on keeping up with the horses.

As the sun began to sink in the west, the older human who was leading the band of horses pulled up next to Frea. He told her they were going to cross a secret bridge, which they could destroy once across, then the garonds would not be able to follow.

In the dusk, they climbed up through steep terrain. The horses huffed and slobbered from exhaustion.

The night was clear and all the stars and the two moons shone with brilliance.

As they came to a sheer gorge, the order was given to dismount. Up ahead a gangly rope bridge could be seen. From the sound of the hunting party, they seemed to be right on their heels.

The humans clambered across the rope bridge in single file. The white wolf crossed in front of Frea who helped Arnwylf at the end of the line. Arnwylf was fading in and out of consciousness, and bleeding from his nose. Frea pulled at him with all her might.

“Come on!” She yelled at him. He roused and they made it off the bridge, but the garonds were already crossing, with Ravensdred in the lead.

An arrow struck a sentry in front of her, but Frea kept pulling at Arnwylf to help him get away from the bridge.

The older human helped Frea with Arnwylf. They stumbled to the top of a ridge. Frea could see a platoon of armed humans rushing towards her.

Two arrows seemed to shatter in the air just above her.

“You’ve gone far enough!” Frea heard Ravensdred bellow.

“Aye, I think you’ve gone JUST far enough,” a human answered as a battle cry.

The armed humans descended on the garonds with a burning fury.

But all stopped as a shuddering enveloped the night. Great waves of energy pulsed, painfully washing over everyone. A terrible sound began, a thousand screams, emanating from the night sky.

Up above, The Wanderer moved in its orbit. The smaller moon quickly moved at a terrifyingly acute angle from its quiet, slow orbit against the back drop of the stars. A thousand invisible shrieks emanated from the sky, with the energy pummeling the companion moon. Something, someone was moving the Wanderer, and the whole earth was now in danger.

The spectacle froze all for a moment. Then, a short, red haired man screamed at the garonds, “Get them!”

The armed humans seemed possessed, fighting with a strength that drove the garonds back to the bridge. Ravensdred knowing what was soon to happen, began quickly back across, throwing his own soldiers out of his way, to fall to their deaths in the gorge below.

The red haired man hacked at one of the ropes of the bridge and it severed with the mighty cut. On the bridge, Ravensdred, clutching the rope of the bridge, pulled himself up onto the other side. With another towering strike, the red haired human severed the other rope, and the secret bridge of Fallfont gorge fell into the Madronwy River with several screaming garonds.

The Archer and the elf found Frea and Arnwylf, and there was a happy moment, until they saw how bad Arnwylf fared.

“We must take him immediately to Kenethley,” the elf said inspecting Arnwylf. “Otherwise, he is lost.”

Chapter Ten

The Mattear Gram

“Yes,” Apghilis said stepping from b
ehind a t
ree. “Show us the sword.”

Kellabald whirled his spear around to the large man. Apghilis raised his hands in a mocking gesture of defense.

The village of Bittel was silent and cold in the morning after the night’s rain. And Haergill’s funeral pyre dwindled to a thin tower of smoke.

“Fellow human, I mean you no harm,” Apghilis said. He was large, fat and muscular. His hands were massive, and his head was shaven and square with fatness. He had a grey patch of a beard on his chin, and his mouth cut a perpetually wide, sarcastically curling smile. His eyes were small and black, like a pig’s eyes, and he seemed to be always squinting to hide the direction of his gaze. He wore the red and gold of an Atheling of the Northern Kingdom of Man, a metal breastplate, and metal shoulder guards. A large bronze sword swung from his belt.

His smile creased the smooth skin of his whole face as he stepped cautiously towards Kellabald.

“Apghilis,” Halldora breathed from behind Kellabald.

“My Lady,” Apghilis flourished a deep bow. “We thought you and your husband, the king, were dead. And your daughter?”

“She was-“ Halldora stumbled with grief and caution.

“She was last in Rion Ta,” Wynnfrith interrupted, sensing something wrong.

A fat, bald man peered from behind Apghilis.

“My Lady,” the fat man said in a nasal tone.

“Feeblerod,” Halldora returned in polite fear.

Feeblerod was average height, very fat, bald, and had a long crooked nose that bent way over to the right. He also had a large red birth mark splashed on the side of his face. A facile smile played across his arrogant, pursing lips as he dipped his head, his black eyes dangerously staring from beneath his neatly trimmed eyebrows.

“You say you’ve found the sword? The Mattear Gram?” Feeblerod said with a feminine shake of his head.

“No,” Kellabald answered.

“Who were you calling to you?” Feeblerod asked.

“We, we thought we saw his ghost...” Kellabald stammered.

“And did you?” Apghilis drew closer.

“A grieving mind may see many things,” Wynnfrith said, seeming to read the souls of these two strange warriors.

“This was his funeral pyre,” Kellabald honestly said.

“Then the sword must be here,” Apghilis said with a greasy leer.

“He left-“ Kellabald began.

“He left no visible sign,” Wynnfrith cut him off.

Kellabald could feel Wynnfrith’s determined eyes on the back of his head. He knew she sensed something was wrong. So, Kellabald lowered his spear, but tightened his grip, ready.

“We do not know the location of the Mattear Gram,” Kellabald said, watching the Atheling and his vassal with a closer vigilance, holding his breath.

“Well,” said the massive, warrior lord, shifting his bulk. “Then, we must search together.” Apghilis calmly turned, and motioned Feeblerod to follow him.

Wynnfrith gripped Kellabald’s arm.

On the other side, Halldora hissed in Kellabald’s ear, “Do not trust them.”

“We’d best go through all the rubble of your village,” Apghilis said without looking back at Kellabald. “Perhaps there will be some clue as to the sword’s whereabouts.”

Feeblerod turned to look at Halldora. “Haergill did have the Mattear Gram when he fled Ethgeow?” Feeblerod put a contemptuous emphasis on ‘fled’.

Halldora knew it best to be honest with these two. “Yes,” she said. “But I do not know where he hid it.”

“Did your daughter?” Feeblerod said looking with an uncomfortable length of time at Wynnfrith.

“She is not here to ask,” Wynnfrith defiantly said.

Feeblerod laughed a vicious little laugh to himself, and his gaze lustfully followed after Wynnfrith.

The whole of the rest of the day was spent sorting through the debris of the village. Some food was left as garonds only ate meat. With some grains, vegetables and flour Wynnfrith was
able to make
enough of a meal to satisfy all.

As evening set in, the five humans sat around a modest fire.

“We will have to dig up the floors of the houses,” Apghilis said.

“I do not think Haergill hid the sword under any of the houses,” Kellabald said with firmness.

“Were you here every moment of the day?” Feeblerod craftily said. “Were you privy to his every action behind closed doors? We most definitely will need to dig up the foundation of every house, and demolish the houses as well.”

“What?” Wynnfrith said with tempered anger.

“Are we to find the famous Mattear Gram and unite the human race against the garonds? Or are your houses more precious?” Apghilis said with a grunt as he rose from the fireside. He turned around and began to urinate.

“Please do that outside the village,” Kellabald said with angry disgust.

“Why?” Apghilis said finishing. “To honor the ruins of this insignificant animal pen? You should see the ruins of mighty Ethgeow. Now there is something to cry over. Yet, I do not shed a tear for that once mighty city. When we have driven the garonds from Wealdland, I will build a city ten times as magnificent.”

All were silent with tension.

“I will sleep the night in Haergill’s former home. Any care for the warmth of my carcass?” Apghilis pointed the last question at Halldora.

“We three will fare the night in my husband’s house,” Wynnfrith said with quiet, angry strength. “Only we three.”

Apghilis laughed a deep, repulsive laugh. Then shambled off to Haergill and Halldora’s house. Puffing, Feeblerod flabbed after him, and threw a last longing look at Wynnfrith.

Kellabald, Wynnfrith, and Halldora stared into the fire.

Then Kellabald rose. “We need sleep. Best to take turns with one of us always awake. I fear we camp with serpents tonight.”

“You know not how truly you have spoken,” Halldora said. With that, they wearily rose and went to Kellabald and Wynnfrith’s house. The three made themselves as comfortable as they could.

“I will watch first,” Wynnfrith said.

Kellabald turned to Halldora. “I am truly sorry for your loss of Haergill. He was a good man. If I did not think so, I would never have allowed him to stay in Bittel. Whether he was a king once or not, he was a good father, and I’m sure a good husband.”

“He was my king,” Halldora said. “We never meant to deceive you. We thought if we kept our royalty secret, it would protect you and your family.”

“We all have secrets,” Wynnfrith said to Halldora with a comforting assurance. “And your family was never a burden here in Bittel. But, I think it best we keep our conversation as simple as we can. There may be unwanted ears to hear our words.”

“You don’t know the great depth of your wisdom,” Halldora said. “Watch those two with the attention a mouse gives to a hungry hawk.”

Kellabald grunted with assenting understanding. Soon Halldora and Kellabald were fast asleep with Wynnfrith keeping the first watch over that uneasy, cloud filled night.

The next day, Apghilis directed Kellabald and Feeblerod as they dismantled the three, modest houses of Bittel. Kellabald removed roofs and beams with care, with every intention of rebuilding his village. Feeblerod heartlessly kicked down beams and supports to hurry the work along. Apghilis, of course, didn’t lift a finger in actual work, but instead was constantly lecturing Kellabald and Feeblerod in what was to be taken down and how urgent their mission was.

At midday, a strong wind momentarily whistled through the stand of trees, which encircled Bittel.

“That is a sign to take a break,” Wynnfrith said, bringing bread and hot porridge to the men. Halldora said nothing, but seemed to be listening for something, perhaps singing, far away.

“Maybe the sword is not here,” Wynnfrith ventured.

“He would have hidden it where he could quickly lay his hands on it,” Apghilis said, spitting pieces of bread, the crags on his face were like weathered stone.

“Leave men’s work to men,” Feeblerod said leering at Wynnfrith, his egg-like head bobbing as though he were telling a joke. Feeblerod had a scruffy, dark goatee, which looked as though his mouth were always unwashed.

Wynnfrith shot Kellabald a disapproving look.

“Everything in Bittel has been demolished,” Kellabald said clearing his throat. “Surely you don’t mean to dig up the foundations?”

Apghilis squatted in his fatness. His face, when he was thinking, had a pursing frown as though he were just about to vomit. “You don’t understand the importance of the Mattear Gram,” he said. “It’s more than just a pretty sword. It’s a unifying symbol of all humanity. Only the rightful king of all men can carry it at the head of an army.”

“The rightful king of all men is dead,” Halldora snapped, her red hair appeared to be aflame in the sunlight shafting through the trees.

“Then there must be another” Feeblerod said standing. Then he began a silly dance, rolling his obese body from side to side, kicking out his legs, and flapping his arms. It was clear the dance was meant to draw out laughter, but no one laughed. Feeblerod watched his audience with sharp eyes.

Kellabald stood, and Feeblerod stopped his dance.

“If we are to dig up the foundations, let us be to it,” Kellabald sighed. “An extra pair of hands will be welcome in this work,” Kellabald said to Apghilis.

Apghilis nodded, his exceptionally large ears lay perfectly flat against his square, fat head. “The women should help with the digging, as you have said.”

Kellabald was aghast. “I meant you should help. My wife and her friend will do no such labor.”

Apghilis shook his head, the large, bloated ridge above his eyebrows quivered. “As you say, but this means more work for you.” Apghilis leaned heavily against a pile of housing beams as though he owned them.

Kellabald began digging the foundations of the house, which
were
once Haergill and Halldora’s. Feeblerod complained of a pain in his back, and so Kellabald did almost all of the digging. In the early evening, the digging shifted over to Yulenth and Alrhett’s foundation with no discovery.

As night fell, Apghilis lit two torches, and brought them over to the foundations of Kellabald and Wynnfrith’s house.

“We have no need to dig here,” Kellabald said.

“No?” Apghilis pursed his thick, cruel lips.

“Haergill could not have hidden the sword here without my knowledge.”

“No, certainly if you were at home,” Feeblerod sneered. “But, he might have had help when you were away,” the last he insinuated at Wynnfrith.

“You can eat by yourselves,” Wynnfrith said, throwing several loaves of bread to the ground at Apghilis and Feeblerod. “I have had enough of your company.”

Kellabald, Wynnfrith, and Halldora ate at a small campfire, while Apghilis and Feeblerod ate apart at another. Apghilis sat with his back to the other campfire, while Feeblerod constantly looked over to gauge the mood of Wynnfrith and her company.

Tents were made of linens, as the houses had been pulled down. A watch was set again, with Halldora staying awake first. Kellabald was drifting off to sleep, the day’s labors throbbing in his hands, when he suddenly sat upright.

“What is it?!” Wynnfrith hissed to keep quiet.

“The riddles!” Kellabald whispered. “I know where the sword is!”

Outside the tent, a sudden sound of twigs cracking made all freeze.

“Say nothing more.” Halldora urgently whispered. “Our lives are now in even greater danger.”

With that, Kellabald and Wynnfrith fell to a fitful sleep, with Halldora keeping the first watch.

The next morning, Kellabald woke with a start. He had not been woken for his turn at the night watch. He looked over to see Wynnfrith sound asleep. But, Halldora was not in the tent. Kellabald quickly rose to pull on his trousers and buckle on his belt. He hissed at Wynnfrith, who awoke in a sleepy daze.

“Did you take your turn with the night watch?” Kellabald whispered to Wynnfrith.

Wynnfrith’s eyes popped open. “Where is Halldora?!” Wynnfrith jumped up and pulled on her dress over her undergarments. Kellabald drew his sword and Wynnfrith grabbed her spear. Slowly and with caution, they exited the tent.

Feeblerod sat like a child, lolling on a stump. He grinned at Kellabald and Wynnfrith. “Good morning,” he said with an infantile mushiness.

“Where is Halldora?” Wynnfrith demanded.

“No morning greeting for me?” Feeblerod pouted.

“Where has he taken her?” Kellabald drew near with his sword.

“They have gone for a stroll on the meadow,” Feeblerod said with feigned compassion, “to talk of old times.”

“If he has harmed her...” Kellabald trailed off as Apghilis and Halldora strolled into the center of Bittel from the meadowlands. Apghilis’ face was slack, and he walked with his hands behind his back. Halldora clasped her hands in front and had a haunted, hunted look.