The Last Elf of Lanis (29 page)

“He is a thief, kill him!” Apghilis commanded.

“Sheath your swords!” A dark voice cried behind Kellabald. The Archer and the elf stood beside him.

“Take your hands off of that man, and beg his forgiveness,” the Archer said. Then, the Archer grasped Kellabald’s hand in friendship. “I ask your forgiveness, my friend Kellabald,” he said, “as I am sure the men who once followed me into battle will, as well.” The men of Kipleth were stunned.

“Our general lives!” A soldier cried.

All slowly bowed, or offered their weapons to the Archer, who quietly acknowledged their fealty with a raised hand.

Apghilis looked around at the multitude of awe struck Kipleth soldiers. “I will take my case to Healfdene,” the cowardly Apghilis huffed, and pushed his way onto the bridge to cross the Holmwy.

“I am so, so happy to see you, alive and well,” the Archer said to Kellabald with a warm smile.

“You once commanded all these men?” Kellabald asked the Archer, looking around at the hundreds of soldiers who looked at the Archer with adoration, wonder and tears in their eyes.

“Men of Kipleth,” the Archer said, “will you help me avenge the destruction of our land?”

The answering roar was deafening.

As dusk was falling, the people of the Weald began to arrive at Tyny. The meadowland was full of wealdkin, hungry and covered in soot, walking out of the tall grass like dusky ghosts. A huge brown cloud covered half the sky on the horizon behind them. The day was dark with the massive amount of ash overhead. The setting sun and streaming clouds in the west were all blood red.

Alrhett, at the head of the nation of the Weald, carrying a small child, approached an armed sentry at the outskirts of the military camps gathering in eastern Tyny.

“I am Alrhett, queen of the Weald,” she wearily said to the sentry. “Please direct me to
whoever
is in charge.”

The sentry, mouth agape, suddenly saluted, and said, “
Follow
me, please, your Highness.”

As the wealdkin streamed into Tyny, they were met with compassion and food. The story of the great fire spread throughout the camps of soldiers.

Alrhett was brought to the center of Tyny, two humble houses, which had become the center of the gathering human army. Alrhett and her army captain were presented to Healfdene and Haerreth.

“Your Majesty,” Alrhett extended a hand.

“Alrhett,” Healfdene said with a big grin. “It has been much too long. Look how your hair has turned white.” And, then he affectionately hugged her.

“And look,” Alrhett said, “how large and handsome your son, the prince has become.” Haerreth actually blushed a deep red to match his ginger beard. Then he laughed a soft laugh.

“Where is your sister?” Alrhett asked.

Hetwing, a shy young woman, with light brown hair waved from a doorway of one of the houses.

“The Weald was set afire?” Healfdene said with wonder, shaking his head.

“All you knew of the Weald kingdom is lost,” Alrhett quietly said. “All we own now is our lives.”

“That is the most important thing,” Healfdene said with compassion. “Come and eat and drink. There are some here I think you should meet.”

Healfdene led Alrhett to one of the small houses and Wynnfrith, Halldora, Arnwylf and Frea emerged. They fell into each other’s arms with kisses, tears and laughter.

“We never knew the king and queen of the Northern Kingdom of Man lived among us,” Wynnfrith said stroking Halldora’s hair.

“We never knew the queen and princess of the Weald were our hosts,” Halldora said with a grin.

Then Halldora took Wynnfrith by the arm and whispered to her.

“What if our children should marry?” Halldora giggled to Wynnfrith.

“The princess of the Kingdom of Man married to the prince of the Weald,” Wynnfrith quietly laughed. “Why their nation would comprise the whole east of Wealdland.” Then Wynnfrith was quiet. “I remember little of my father before he was assassinated. He was always in court, or fighting the Eaststand. I never wanted this life for my poor, beautiful son,” she whispered to Halldora.

“I also thought,” Halldora quietly said with sudden soberness, “that my little girl would be spared the vicious intrigue of royal politics.”

“Oh, let me hold them,” Alrhett said with a happy pain as she grabbed Arnwylf and Frea, each in an arm, and hugged them as tight as she could.

“Don’t you ever run off like that again,” Alrhett said to Arnwylf kissing his face, and staring into his eyes. Arnwylf averted his eyes in embarrassment.

“Come into the house and eat,” Haerreth invited Alrhett.

“I must make sure all my people are safe and comfortable first,” Alrhett said with a matronly smile.

Healfdene smiled to hear this. “Learn son, how your people should ever be foremost in your thoughts. Learn from a great queen.”

“I will help you,” Haerreth said with eagerness. “No wealdkin shall want tonight.”

“Come meet our people,” Alrhett said as she took Arnwylf’s hand. They wandered out among the refugees who were being welcomed and fed by the soldiers already camped in the Eastern Meadowland.

The wealdkin were grateful and thankful as Alrhett moved among them. And, as Alrhett made sure all were safe, she introduced Arnwylf and showed him off like a proud grandmother should. The people of the Weald were over the moon to meet the new prince, and they adored him. Arnwylf was astonished at the praise and admiration, and more than a little annoyed.

“Why are they so strange,” Arnwylf unhappily whispered to Alrhett.

“You give them hope,” she whispered back. She turned to look deep into his eyes and smiled.

“Arnwylf,” Alrhett said, “I never wanted you to know, and hoped you’d live a simple, honest life. But you are descended of royalty, and now unfortunately, your life no longer belongs to only you. Your life belongs primarily to the citizens of the Weald.” Arnwylf frowned, but kept his thoughts to himself.

After a tour of the camp, after the last of the wealdkin straggled in from the Eastern Meadowland, Alrhett and Arnwylf returned to Tyny as night was falling.

In the small town, the high officials and captains met to hear the words of a mud splattered young man of the messenger guild.

“The garond army is on the march,” he said. “They move as a great black mass south of the Bairn River. They kill and devour everything in their path.”

“How many of them are there?” Haerreth asked.

“We count them at more than two hundred thousand.”

A worried murmur rippled through the men.

“We currently number less than fifty thousand,” Healfdene grimly said.

“There are hundreds of garonds on horses,” the young man went on. “And they have many machines of wood which can hurl large stones great distances.”

“We felt the brunt of those,” the captain of the Weald said with a nod.

“And,” the messenger paused, “they have hundreds of archers.”

“What!?” A captain yelled in surprise.

“They don’t use bow and arrow!”

“Then the flaming arrows of the Weald were true!”

“Quiet,” Healfdene held up his hands. “Quiet! Let him finish!” All worriedly quieted to hear the rest of the report.

“We estimate that the army will be in the Eastern Meadowland in two days,” the messenger darkly said. “That is all.”

“All right,” Healfdene said. “We don’t know if they’ll attack immediately, but we have an idea of how soon we may have to go to war. Organize and prepare all your troops. The rest of the armies on the other side of the Holmwy should be here by tomorrow midday. As soon as the last of the soldiers are across, we will evacuate all children and those too elderly to fight. That evacuation may happen as the battle rages, so let every human be resolute in their duties.”

A soldier trotted up to Healfdene and whispered in his ear. Healfdene walked over to Alrhett. “Bring your family,” he said and led them away.

They all followed the soldier to the foot of the bridge over the Holmwy River. A group of soldiers surrounded the Archer, the elf and Kellabald.

Wynnfrith ran to her husband and threw her arms around his neck. She kissed and kissed him. Arnwylf hugged his father and tried not to cry.

“I have something for you,” Kellabald said to Healfdene.

“So I understand,” the king of Reia said. “This way.” Healfdene led the group into one of the small houses of Tyny. Inside, Kellabald unwrapped the sword and held it out for Healfdene.

“The Mattear Gram,” Kellabald said, offering the brilliant sword.

“Amazing,” Healfdene said, but made no movement to touch the sword.

“Take it, father,” Haerreth said with joy. But, the old king restrained his son.

“Rest tonight, brave Kellabald,” Healfdene softly said. “A great meeting of all the leaders of the nations will be held tomorrow. Would you please offer the sword then?”

“Ah ha!” Haerreth laughed. “Then all captains and royalty will see the sword of leadership offered properly.”

“Your exuberance,” Healfdene sighed, “will be the end of you, son.” Then, Haerreth looked down in his red faced embarrassment.

“You are of Reia, are you not?” Healfdene asked Kellabald.

“Yes, your majesty,” Kellabald replied with respect.

“You were of the house of Konedene?”

“Yes, your majesty, how did you know?”

“I should hope I’m not so old I wouldn’t recognize a nephew,” the old king smiled. Then Haerreth looked at his cousin with bright eyes.

“I renounced my name and family long ago,” Kellabald quietly said.

“Yes,” Healfdene mused. “It was that business with the Cult of Hapaun.”

“Yes, I-“

“You will be happy to know, when their dark sacrifices were found in the light of day, I arrested and tried all of them for murder,” Healfdene said searching Kellabald for a reaction, “even your father.”

Kellabald was silent with shame.

“Let us leave the past in the past,” Healfdene said as he put a sympathetic hand on Kellabald’s shoulder.

“Tonight, use this house, eat and rest, friends,” Healfdene said, and with a pleasant smile, left with his son.

The rest of the night was quiet happiness as the residents of Bittel, the Archer, and the elf ate and told the stories of what had befallen them since their separation.

“All we lack are Haergill and Yulenth,” Kellabald softly said as they sat around the fire.

“My husband would be happy to see his wishes fulfilled,” Halldora said with misty eyes. Wynnfrith held her tight.

“He was a great king,” Kellabald said. “But more importantly, simply a good man.”

“But what of Yulenth?” Wynnfrith asked.

“I know not if he is alive or dead,” Alrhett said holding back her tears.

“It’s something,” Kellabald said, “How we all were drawn to Bittel. And how we all have played parts, were drawn apart, and now we are, almost all of us, together again.”

“The Water of Life,” the elf plainly said.

“What is that?” Frea asked.

“The elves don’t believe in coincidence,” the elf sleepily said. “Life is like water. It separates. It is diverted. But it always comes back together again.”

“The Water of Life,” Arnwylf said staring into the dying fire.

Chapter Eighteen

The War Council

Arnwylf woke with the fog of the early morning. He left his sleeping family and friends to explore a part of the Eastern Meadowland he had never seen before. Frea silently crept out of the house and joined Arnwylf. Neither spoke a word. They picked their way through the soldier’s camps, down towards the shore of the Holmwy River.

Frea quietly put her hand into his, and he didn’t pull away. She felt as if she could sense every part of Arnwylf walking next to her. Without looking, she could almost feel his face and the new, perpetual scowl he now wore. She closed her eyes, and she could feel his hair softly moving with the light, morning breeze. She thought she could even feel his heart beating. His fingers were cold and calloused. She felt his new strength with every movement of his body. Frea felt closer to Arnwylf than ever before, as they walked towards the river.

They picked their way through the soldiers of various nations, some asleep at their camp fires, all others watching to the east with weary eyes for signs of the garond army. A dull frost covered every piece of metal or leather. The soldiers all looked like they were already ghosts of themselves.

At the river, the trees were now all bare, blackened twigs reaching in every direction. Mounds of leaves smoldered in the early morning. Arnwylf and Frea sat down next to the river, which was swirling with plates of thin, transparent ice.

Arnwylf threw a leaf into the water and watched it spin down the stream like a helpless boat against a relentless tide.

Frea smiled. She remembered this game, and threw a leaf in as well, watching it float downstream. They looked at each other, and for a moment the children returned.

They each grabbed a sturdy leaf.

“Ready?” Arnwylf said, and Frea nodded her head.

They both threw their leaves into the softly gurgling, wide Holmwy River. The leaf boats raced each other in the current.

Arnwylf and Frea jumped up to watch their leaf boats race.

“Come on, Come on!” Arnwylf cheered.

“Beat him, you can do it!” Frea laughed.

Frea gently put her hand on Arnwylf’s arm to steady herself on the river’s bank. The leaf boats twirled out of sight. They both looked out at the rippling brown and gray of the Holmwy.

Arnwylf turned to Frea. They were very close together.

She stared into his wide, green eyes. Arnwylf stared back into the pale, pale blue of Frea’s eyes and wondered what it would be like to kiss her. He felt himself drawn to her, as though he had no control. Somehow, deep within him, Arnwylf knew he and Frea were always meant for each other. He could feel her trembling, either from the cold, or his nearness. He could feel the warmth of her body and slowly pulled her closer to him.

She was trembling under the soft clasp of his hands on her arms. She could feel his breath on her lips. She could feel his strong, lanky body close to hers. She slowly closed her eyes.

Then, a sudden sound in the trees made them recoil.

“What was that?” Frea whispered.

“Stay behind me,” Arnwylf said looking for a branch big enough to wield as a club.

Then, from the brush Conniker crawled, whimpering.

“Oh, my brother!” Arnwylf cried, running to him.

“He looks half dead,” Frea said.

Arnwylf gave the dirty, mangy wolf a great hug, and Conniker grunted with pleasure, licking Arnwylf’s face.

“Come on,” Arnwylf said, and he gently pulled the white wolf along by its matted mane. The soldiers who spied the limping wolf with the boy all sprang up, but Arnwylf stopped them with an up raised hand.

“He is my brother,” Arnwylf reassured. They brought Conniker to the house in Tyny and gave him leftover meat and milk. The wolf slowly and humbly ate with grateful, yellow eyes. Wynnfrith rebandaged Conniker’s tail. Alrhett spoke with the wolf, and then she told Arnwylf the tale of his adventures since he left Alrhett and Yulenth to battle the great black beast in the Weald. All stared in amazement at the courage and strength of the white wolf. Oblivious to his heroism, Conniker happily licked Arnwylf’s hand, and then rolled on his back to have his belly scratched.

The rest of the morning was spent preparing and organizing as more and more soldiers streamed over the Holmwy Bridge.

At midday,
Healfdene called a great council
. Every king, queen, general and captain gathered before a quickly erected platform. Thousands gathered in an orderly crush in the humble village of Tyny.

Haerreth calmed the worried chatter of the crowd. “Great human leaders,” he began, “now is the time to unite and bring the strength of our tribes together.”

“Why do you run this meeting?” A captain from the Northern Kingdom of Man yelled. “Your lands have not been decimated as ours have!”

“The Kingdom of Man has been no ally to any tribe here!” A madronite accused.

“Reia has sat safely behind the Flume of Rith and now they propose to take the leadership for all humans!?”

“We must not fight amongst ourselves!” A wealdkin captain bellowed.

“Now the Weald speaks up!” The captain of Man pointed. “You’re as bad as these cowards from Reia!”

“You’re one to speak, after driving your own brothers, the Glafs to extinction!”

“The business of the Skylds is the business of the Skylds, and the affair of no other tribe!”

The gathering degenerated into a contest of shouting and red faced accusations of blame.

“Silence! Silence!” Kellabald futilely called from behind Haerreth. Kellabald could think of no other recourse than to reveal the Mattear Gram. He carefully unwrapped the sword, and as he held the blade aloft, it caught the afternoon sun and burst into a brilliant, blinding beacon. The force of the light was humbling to all present.

“Will you all just be quiet and listen!” Kellabald boomed to the stunned group. It was so still you could hear a stauer call from far away.

“I was given this sword, the Mattear Gram by Haergill,” Kellabald said, shaking. “I did not know at the time he was the King of the Northern Kingdom of Man. When he lived in my village, he was simply my friend. He instructed me, with his final words, to bring this sword to Healfdene, to unite the tribes of humanity against the garond threat.” No other person spoke.

Healfdene slowly climbed onto the platform, and stood before Kellabald.

“King Healfdene,” Kellabald humbly said, “the Mattear Gram.” But, Healfdene made no motion to take the sword. He turned instead to the throng.

“I understand,” King Healfdene said, “King Haergill’s intention. I humbly wish, no, I humbly beg that we will find it in our hearts to fight as one.” The faces before Healfdene were confused.

“The Mattear Gram,” Healfdene went on, “is a battle sword, an ensign of victory, and should be carried against the enemy by a leader willing and able to fight. I am not that man.” Healfdene let a murmur run through the gathering. “I humbly request that you give the sword, noble Kellabald, to my son Haerreth, may he wield it with honor and virtue.”

“No! No! No!” Apghilis burst from the crowd and made his way to the platform. “Lies upon lies! I cannot stand by and let this infamy pass, even though it means my very life!”

“What do you mean?!” A captain from the Northern Kingdom of Man cried.

“I was with Haergill in his last moments,” Apghilis loudly said. “And he instructed me to carry the sword and lead the human armies. And, I can prove it!” A shock and tumult ran through the conference.

“Prove it!” The captain cried. A chant went up, “Prove it! Prove it!”

“As the higher ranking citizens of the Kingdom know,” Apghilis said climbing up onto the platform, “our rulers carry a mark of birth, as opposed to a birthmark.” Apghilis pulled out a knife and cut at his trousers.

“That mark is made,” Apghilis said showing his branded thigh, “by the sword of the ruler, the Mattear Gram. Haergill himself branded this mark upon me.” Apghilis turned so all could see the mark burned into the flesh of his thigh.

“And here,” cried Halldora from the crowd, “is where your deceit is revealed!” Halldora, Wynnfrith, Arnwylf and Frea pushed their way to the platform.

“Keep them quiet,” Apghilis commanded, but there were too many from other tribes for Halldora to be stilled.

Halldora climbed onto the platform, and pulled Frea up as well. “Yes, the lineage and rightful rule of the Northern Kingdom of Man,” Halldora called to the gathering, “is marked by a brand from the sword of the kings.” Halldora looked tenderly at Frea. “You will be safe here, my love,” Halldora said to Frea.

But Frea was completely unafraid. After all she had recently been through, she felt a kind of boldness surge through her blood. She pulled her dress up her thigh, just enough so that her brand could be seen.

“Many of you were there,” Halldora continued addressing the crowd, “when Haergill put the royal mark upon his daughter, Frea.”

“But he decided,” Apghilis interrupted, “that the kingdom needed a strong man to lead, not a little girl.”

“You branded yourself with the wrong side of the sword!” Halldora cried. “See the brand on Frea?! She is branded with the sun emblem. In your haste, you branded yourself with the moon emblem on the other side of the blade!”

Kellabald remembered the Mage clutching Apghilis and calling him a fool. He must have somehow seen the brand under the bandage, Kellabald thought.

“It’s true!” A captain yelled.

In plain view, Frea’s flesh was marked with the sun symbol unmistakably from the Mattear Gram, and Apghilis sported the moon symbol from the opposite side of the sword.

“Apghilis is a liar!” Another shouted.

Apghilis was white faced when confronted by the truth. But, he turned and snatched the Mattear Gram out of Kellabald’s hands.

“Look out!” Caerlund roared.

Apghilis swung the sword in a wide arc. Haerreth snarled and leapt at Apghilis. Had he been wielding any other sword, Haerreth would have had him. But, Apghilis cut and the sword brutally sliced Haerreth under both arms.

Kellabald grabbed Apghilis from behind in a tight embrace so that several soldiers could wrest the sword from his hands.

The sword slipped out of Apghilis’ hands, and as several soldiers clutched for the sword, it seemed to leap directly into Kellabald’s grip. Kellabald pointed the Mattear Gram at Apghilis and he surrendered.

Healfdene followed his son into one of the houses of Tyny to watch him being bandaged.

“He will heal,” a physician said, “but he will not be able to fight for many months.”

“I’m sorry, father,” Haerreth, said.

“My eager son,” Healfdene said affectionately patting his head. Kellabald and the others were admitted into the house.

“How is Haerreth?” Halldora asked.

“He
cannot
lead the human army,” Healfdene grimly said. “Now I must find someone whom all will follow.” Healfdene shook his head, knowing that the task would now be impossible.

“Apghilis has fled with a platoon loyal to him,” Caerlund said entering.

“Please take the sword,” Kellabald said to Healfdene.

“The war sword seems to like being in your hands,” the Archer darkly mused.

“It is not a sword of war,” the elf said with a small smile, “it is a symbol of peace. Behold.” The elf removed her crescent sword from its scabbard. She lightly took the Mattear Gram from Kellabald. The elf pressed firmly on the handle of the Sun Sword and the wooden center popped out. Then, she clicked the Moon Sword into the handle of the Sun Sword to make one unique fighting blade. The guard of the Moon Sword even fit neatly into a ridge in the guard of the Mattear Gram. “This was the peace pact made by Berand Torler,” The elf stopped as a deep vibration shook the whole company.

“He’s here!” Wynnfrith screamed.

Everyone in the room could feel the oppressive evil of the Lord of Lightning. They could feel his covetous eyes staring down at the Moon Sword joined to the Sun Sword. The waves of energy were exactly the same as when the Wanderer moon was moved out of its orbit.

The elf quickly tore the swords apart. As they clattered to the floor, the presence of Deifol Hroth dissipated.

“Please never do that again,” Arnwylf said, catching his breath.

“This is what he wants,” the elf said with growing horror. “The pieces were created long ago, fashioned with every magical device then known. Melded together, they comprised the mightiest, the last and only eldritch forces on the face of the earth.” The elf sat in growing realization.

“The Sun Sword,” she went on, “also known as the Mattear Gram, was forged at the time of the elf human wars in the fourth age by Berand Torler, and given to a human king whose name is lost in the maze of time. Berand Torler crafted the Moon Sword to fit together with the Sun Sword to symbolize the need for human and elf to always fight side by side against Jofod Kagir.” The elf stared into space. “There is a third piece,” she said turning with quiet urgency, “still in Lanis Rhyl Landemiriam.”

“Our most pressing concern,” Healfdene said with soberness, “is facing the garond army. Nothing else will matter if they prevail.”