The Last Elf of Lanis (30 page)

“You must lead,” Kellabald said picking up the Mattear Gram and offering it to the King of Reia.

“I am too old and filled with pains” Healfdene said. “I wouldn’t last the first moments of the battle. We need a man in the prime of his life, someone like you.”

Healfdene realized the correctness of his words as they escaped his lips. All looked on Kellabald with new eyes as he held the Mattear Gram.

“It does seem to like being in your hands,” Caerlund said. “And as the father who has raised such a fine boy, I know you must be filled with just as much strength and virtue.”

“I agree,” the Archer added.

“No, no, no,” Wynnfrith said protectively standing before her husband with outstretched arms. “Find yourselves some other sacrificial lamb. My husband is no war general.”

“I saw him lead with greatness at Rion Ta,” the elf simply said. “We were outnumbered three to one.”

“The garond army out numbers the human army ten to one,” Wynnfrith said with exasperation. “And we had an elf with a moon sword and an archer with special arrows.”

“All those will be there for him again,” the Archer said. “I, and my men of Kipleth will follow, if you lead,” the Archer said to Kellabald.

“You have the allegiance of Madrun,” Caerlund said.

“And the Weald,” Alrhett added.

“No, no, mother,” Wynnfrith pleaded.

“Daughter,” Alrhett said, “these matters go far beyond our personal wants. Forces and needs much larger than our simple lives now guide our destinies. We owe it to all the humans out there, to fight and be noble and brave.”

Wynnfrith couldn’t answer, for she knew her mother was right.

“But the sword really belongs to Frea,” Arnwylf said, and then caught himself, feeling he had misspoken.

“That is true, son,” Healfdene said. “And that is how we may convince the captains of the Northern Kingdom of Man, who seem ready to leave the field at once.”

“We’d best resolve this with haste,” Caerlund said. “Let me speak first,” he added to Healfdene. “I am of the
Wylfling
tribe, but the soldiers of Man may listen more easily to me, as they have never gone to war against a madronite.”

Healfdene nodded at this wisdom, and the group left Haerreth in the house with his wounds. As they exited, Healfdene pulled Arnwylf aside. “You know, great nephew, the white wolf is the totem of Reia. You can see it emblazoned on our flag, and here you have one as a pet.”

“He is my brother,” Arnwylf said with boldness, then worried that he spoke too plainly to a king. Healfdene laughed and affectionately patted Arnwylf on the back.

Back at the gathering, the crowd was angry and restless, but the shouting and accusations were subdued with the revelation of Apghilis’ treachery.

Caerlund, Healfdene, the Archer, the elf, Alrhett and Kellabald, bearing the Mattear Gram, climbed onto the platform. Caerlund held up his hands to quiet the host of humans. “I am Caerlund,” he began, “Chief of the Madrun Hills, Brother to Lanis, Storm Master, Ore Author, and of the
Wylfling
Tribe. Does any man dispute this?”

This was the traditional madronite greeting, and statement of rank. And, the throng was respectfully quiet in response.

“I do not claim the Mattear Gram or leadership over these combined armies. It may be that tomorrow, none of this chest beating will matter anyhow,” he continued. The faces of the soldiers were grim and gray.

“I have a few things I’d like to say,” Caerlund went on, “with your permission.”

“Speak, Caerlund!” A madronite captain shouted in the traditional manner of encouragement.

“I have seen a pattern,” Caerlund said speaking with force and nobility, “which, dear god, I wish I had seen earlier.” Caerlund paused to look over the visage of the assembled men and women. “Man has struggled against man,” he said, “to the ruin of all the Wealdland.” He paused to suppress the sorrow welling up in his breast. Then, he faced it with courage. “Has it not occurred to anyone,” he bellowed, “how coincidentally fortunate all these human against human wars have been for our great mutual enemy, Deifol Hroth?!”

A silent, horrific realization dawned on the gathered.

“My father,” Caerlund went on, “was assassinated. Many of our lords were killed. I feigned the death of my mother to protect her. You of the Madrun kept my confidence that the seer Rebburn was actually your queen.”

Caerlund went on with strength. “The Weald civil war against the Eaststand. The Northern Kingdom of Man, the strongest among us, fighting two wars to the west and the south against Reia and the Glafs. How very, very fortunate for our wise enemy to weaken us by setting us against each other. Who can stop the garond army now? We have done their job for them!”

The surprised and saddened faces of the crowd were heart breaking.

“And now,” Caerlund shouted, “we squabble over who will hold a sword!?” Caerlund stopped to fight back his tears of anger. “Are we human?” He thundered. “Or are we beasts of the meadowland?”

No person spoke, so great was the shame felt by all.

“I know one among us,” Caerlund said, “who has nobly struggled against lies and fought and won when the odds against him were overpowering. I speak of Kellabald, noble and true.”

An astonished murmur of assent ran
through
the throng.

“But, this sword belongs to the heir of the Kingdom of Man,” Kellabald said with his voice breaking, and he bowed to present the sword to Frea.

“Gentle Kellabald,” Frea said with a quiet voice which carried throughout the whole host, “friend of my father, leader of my village, I can think of no other man here more worthy to lead the combined armies of humanity.” As she spoke Haergill’s ghost in resplendent battle armor, golden shoulder guards, a battle helmet with an iron crown of spikes, a silvery waistcoat of chain mail, stood between Frea and Kellabald. The visage lovingly put one hand on Frea’s head, and the other, brotherly, on Kellabald’s shoulder. Then the ghost was gone.

“King Haergill!!!” The men of the Northern Kingdom of Man shouted as one.

Then, on the platform, Caerlund knelt to Kellabald offering his
battle-axe
. As he did, all the madronite soldiers knelt, as well. Then, Alrhett knelt, and all the captains and soldiers of the Weald knelt, too. The Archer offered his bow and knelt to Kellabald, and all the archers and soldiers of Kipleth followed their general.

Healfdene got down on one, old tired knee to recognize Kellabald, and all the men of Reia knelt as well.

“Will the men of the Kingdom of Man be shamed by the very counsel of their dead king!?” A captain of the Kingdom of Man shouted. Then, slowly, the captains and soldiers of the Kingdom of Man bent the knee to Kellabald.

Lastly, the elf knelt to Kellabald, so there was not one in that great mass who did not kneel in allegiance to him.

Kellabald was frightened and overcome. He could not speak, but then he found his voice. “Please, please,” was all he could say. He looked down at the Mattear Gram in his hands.

“Let us fight,” Kellabald said, “not as some group of nations who desire to fight together. What is my hand, my shoulder, and my arm by itself? One part cannot work and lift and fight back without the other parts. What is one man by himself without the strength of other men? We do not need to join together to fight the garonds. We are already joined together by our common humanity. For Humanity!”

“For Humanity!” The combined armies shouted as one.

“I do not want to do this,” Kellabald bellowed, “Let no man say I aspired to this calling. But we must have a leader, and I will never shrink from my duties. Let every man vote now to fight with me to crush the garond army, and wipe their vile presence from Wealdland forever by saying ‘Aye’!”

“Aye!” Resounded with power from every throat in a deafening roar. Then the assembled broke for their camps. Kellabald asked all the leaders to meet and discuss strategy.

As the evening approached Kellabald went with the highest of the captains and the kings and queens of the nations to survey the Eastern Meadowland, which would serve as the battle for humanity’s right to exist. Wynnfrith, Halldora, Frea and Arnwylf went with them.

In the distance, the lights of fires could be seen as the garond army gathered and prepared for war. The dark shapes were numerous and constantly busy.

“How long will it take for them to cross the meadowland?” Kellabald asked a captain.

The captain rubbed his face. “If they start to inch their forces out into the meadow,” the captain said, “they could be on us without any warning.”

“Then we must stake as much ground towards them as we can,” Kellabald said, “without beginning the conflict.” The group walked south, watching the dark shapes on the horizon move with evil purpose.

“From my son’s account of his journeys in Harvestley,” Kellabald said, “our best strategy is to try to get the main body of the force moving from the north to the south. If we can get them turning on themselves, even with a force a tenth of theirs, they will fall on themselves and become easy prey.”

“If,” was all Caerlund said with a grim smile.

“I do not think we can succeed by facing them head on, Kellabald said. “From what I understand of the battle of Plymonley, they move in strange groupings. We need to break those groups as the Archer did, and get them moving, somehow...” Kellabald trailed off.

“We need more men,” the Archer said. “Has every region and nation been accounted for?”

“There was a report this afternoon,” Kellabald said, “from a platoon looking for more men in the north, that there were Glafs still in Glafemen.”

“What?!” Alrhett said, catching Kellabald by the arm. “You have not told me this. Was Yulenth among them?”

“I didn’t want you to hope above hope,” Kellabald said apologetically. “The soldier from the Kingdom of Man said he saw two men, and a boy. They wouldn’t let him approach, so he couldn’t tell their true numbers. He thought there might be hundreds still hidden in the ruins of Glafemen.”

“We must send for them at once,” Alrhett exclaimed.

“A hundred men might make the difference,” a captain worriedly said.

“If the garonds attack tomorrow,” Kellabald mused, “then none of it will matter. How can we get a messenger there quick enough? Not even the messenger guild can travel that fast.”

“I can travel faster than the messenger guild,” Arnwylf said.

“Son,” Wynnfrith softly said.

“If there are men who can help” Arnwylf continued, “then they should be called. If Yulenth is among them,” Arnwylf turned to Alrhett, “he would never forgive us for not asking him to join us.”

“No, he wouldn’t” Alrhett said. “It will be very dangerous to ride alone to Glafemen.”

“I have faced down the whole garond army in Harvestley,” Arnwylf said with pride.

“He has, you know,” Caerlund said with a frowning smile.

“I must see you as a man,” Kellabald said with a mixture of pride and sadness, “and command you to go to Glafemen and bring what soldiers will fight with us.”

Wynnfrith clasped Arnwylf to her breast and held him tight. Her tears made it impossible for her to speak in protest.

At Tyny, as darkness fell, Arnwylf prepared his horse for the long ride through the night to Glafemen. Frea came to say goodbye. She stood before him, unable to speak.

“I’ve been thinking my horse must have a name,” Arnwylf said. Frea was choked with emotion and couldn’t answer him.

“I thought you might have a good idea,” Arnwylf said, moving close to her. In the reflected light from the campfires, her hair glowed red and gold, radiating from her face like the golden sun emblem of her nation. There is no woman more beautiful on the face of the earth, Arnwylf thought.

Frea gazed at Arnwylf. He was tall and lean, dressed in protective leathers, a sword buckled to his side. He looked like a boy playing soldier. She wanted to hold him and never let him go. A fear that she would never see him again played across her heart.

Conniker quietly licked his fangs and softly growled, eager to go.

Arnwylf held out his hand. Frea took it. Arnwylf pulled her close. He let his lips move close, and softly press to hers. He felt such joy. Frea wished that she would die in this instant, knowing she would never be more happy, frightened, or sad. Arnwylf held the kiss. It was as if his whole soul was flowing out to her. Frea felt his grip slightly tighten. She wanted him to never let her go. Then, the weight of his task fell on his shoulders, and Arnwylf pulled away.

“Boldson,” Frea said.

“What?” Arnwylf asked.

“Your horse’s name,” Frea said with tears in her eyes. “His name should be Boldson.”

Arnwylf smiled wide. “I like it.”

Wynnfrith and Kellabald, who had been politely keeping back in the shadows, approached.

“Do not fight any garond,” Kellabald said. “Ride to Glafemen straight and true.”

“Come back to me,” was all Wynnfrith could manage before she was choked again with tears, and then kissed and kissed Arnwylf’s face.