Light Of Loreandril (7 page)

“But what happened to it if it really existed? Surely there would be remains somewhere?”

Barnon chuckled to himself, sucking on his pipe. “You ask the same questions I used to pester my father with. He believed that the new rulers destroyed everything that remained, completely wiping the memory of Elves off the face of the earth.”

Barnon dwelled on these thought for a few moments then continued. “Anyway, my father always said that Loreandril was where the Elves ruled from. Hundreds, if not thousands of Elves lived there, filling the streets with the sound of their laughter and singing, practising and teaching their White Magic. They were very good at imparting their knowledge to men, you know? They strongly believed that everything contained its own magic. Spirit Magic as they called it…….hummmm…..” he took another long puff on his pipe and watched the smoke escape up the chimney.

Nechan was still perched on the edge of his stool, hanging onto every detail divulged by Barnon. Once again, he had become lost in his friend’s words, able to imagine these old times vividly. “So how did it all end?”

“I was coming to that.” Barnon was not one to be rushed, especially over such an intricate, long story. “There was many years of warring, but it was all brought to an end by the Great Battle of Andkhuin. It was bloodier then any previously or since conducted, and hopefully ever will be. Very few survived on either side.

“You see, the Elves, did not foresee the darkness that was brewing. Perhaps they were too egotistical and believed they truly were immortal and untouchable? But their blind wisdom was ultimately their downfall. Even you’ve heard the old songs!” He coughed, and leaned forward to pour two cups of herbal tea before continuing his history lesson.

“Yes, I seem to remember my grandfather used to sing us all a very old song about it all. Pity……I can’t remember the words or the tune anymore, but it was something to do with the key to their strength. Yes, that’s right!” Slowly a faded memory was becoming clearer in the old man’s mind. “Something called the
Aeonorgal,
or Spirit Star in our tongue.

“The Rjukhan, like all other clans, knew about this
Aeonorgal.
They understood the powerful hold it had over the Elves.”

“Wait….you mean they where
clansmen
? How? They are nothing like us!” This was truly intriguing news to Nechan. No one had ever seen one of the Rjukhan, or none that had lived to tell anyone about it. They were steeped in mystery, a bit like the karzon, who were said to be their spawn. Children’s rhymes often painted a picture of them being strange, mythical beings, centuries old, not that Nechan really thought that was true.

“Now, no! The Rjukhan are nothing like us. They are no longer human! Just think, have you ever read back in history about one of them dying, or even what they really look like?” Nechan shook his head, agreeing with his friend.

Barnon continued, pleased to have an audience hanging on his every word. “The more I have thought about it over the years, the more I think that it has something to do with the Elves teaching them magic. We all know the stories about Elves being centuries old, as ancient as the Earth itself, so perhaps they imparted this knowledge to these men, along with all the other magic stuff!”

“But then surely they would be good, like the Elves were?”

“No, no!” Barnon shook his head, and filled his pipe with more tabacco. “It’s true that history tells us Elves only had the power to do good. White magic and so on! But, maybe, and this is between you and me………maybe they somehow helped the Rjukhan unlock their own magic. Left to their own devices, perhaps they found the Black Magic.”

“And you think that’s what led to the downfall of the Elves?”

Barnon laughed again, leaning forward to rub Nechan’s flaxen head. “I like your thinking, Nechan. You and I really are one and the same!” He tapped out his pipe on the hearth and sat back again before lighting it once more.

“My father used to say that they sold their soul to some dark beast they had accidentally conjured up. While I am unsure of this theory, something along these lines must have happened. The Elves refused to teach them anything further, and without their guidance, this Dark Magic turned their bodies into the malevolent, noxious beings we now know. Unable to stand the light of day, they hide in their dark towers, conjuring their evil spirits, ruling the Empire with their stygian malice. You could say, perhaps, that the Elves created their own enemy.”

“Do you really think that’s true?”

“I’m not sure. In some ways I’d like to think so, but if it is even partly true, then mankind is doomed to be under their terrible rule for eternity!”

“But the Empire is not so bad!” joked Nechan, rubbing his clammy palms.

“Well, none of us is free! You have now discovered that! Anyway, the history has always been hazy. You and I both know we are only told what they want us to know as truth. The rest gets amalgamated with myth. To think that such terrifying beasts existed, like the ones I’ve shown you in the past, from old manuscripts, well, that does not bear thinking about!”

Nechan shook his head in agreement, remembering the sketches of scaly beasts with huge talons, and dog-like heads. He shuddered at the thought.

Barnon stood up slowly and Nechan watched the old man, hunched over, supporting himself with a cane. It was so easy to forget how old his friend really was when he was telling his stories so enthusiastically and with such energy. Barnon disappeared into the kitchen. He appeared few moments later, grunting and groaning, carrying a platter of cheese, bread and cold meats. Nechan had not realised how quickly the time was passing. It was nearly mid-afternoon. After cutting a few large slices of cheese, Barnon sat back in his chair and started the tale again.

“We all know how deadly the karzon are, and they are said to be the children of the Rjukhan. But you’re the one who experienced them first hand, what do you think? Are they born from evil?”

Nechan’s blood suddenly ran cold, the memory of the karzon’s touch making the tiny hairs on the back of his neck prick up. “How do you know about it? Even Cradon has not told anyone.”

“Your father came to see me to ask my advice. He wanted to know if I thought there would be any permanent damage.”

Nechan was surprised his father had done that. “Do you think there will be?”

“Well, do you? We’ve all seen poor old Cadin.”

“What do you mean?” Nechan gasped, thinking at once of the old man as he had last seen him, screaming with terror.

Barnon leant forwards. “He is someone who did not escape as luckily as you!”

“You mean….he was touched by a……” Barnon nodded, making Nechan’s voice trail off as he turned pale. “Will I…..?”

“I think you can be assured that you will not end up like Cadin. We would have already begun to see the effects.” The old clansman sucked on his pipe for a few moments, contemplating quietly. “Anyway, I think it helps to prove my point. There is more to the Empire than meets the eye. We all know that the Great Battle happened, even they let us know that much. And it is recorded in history that the remaining clans signed treaties to the Empire.” Barnon paused to brush the crumbs of bread from his beard and lap.

“But that helped reunite the clans, to bring peace!”

“A false peace, yes, but not really harmonious tranquillity. If that were so, how do you explain the riots, the so called outcast clans, the people going missing, or even the mysterious deaths?”

Nechan shrugged. They both sat back in silence and Barnon took several long draws on his pipe.

“So, do you really think Elves are somewhere out there?”

“Well…..perhaps you can tell me when you return! Who knows, you might bump into them!” laughed Barnon, then coughing on the smoke he had just inhaled. “Anyway, I have some things I thought you might like to take with you, as a bit of fun. I have absolutely no use for them!”

Barnon reached down beside his chair, and pulled out several rolls of paper. Carefully, Nechan untied the pieces of string, and gently unravelled the paper, revealing intricately drawn maps. He laid them out on the floor to study them, careful not to tear the browning edges.

“This is the Empire and outlying lands,” explained Barnon, pointing at blobs of faded colour with his cane. ”You asked me where you should go. Well, if I were you I would choose one of the most remote places, somewhere far from the Imperial cities, and make my way there.” Nechan sighed, looking at some of the possible areas his friend suggested. They all seemed so far away from civilisation, but then, he guessed that was the general idea, the best way to avoid the Imperial troops.

“I have one more thing that I want you to have!” Barnon pulled a small, leather box out of his pocket and handed it to the boy. “This is something I have kept hidden for years. It was given to me by my father, who was given it by his.”

The box squeaked as Nechan opened it. He drew a sharp breath of pleasant surprise at the small, intricately carved, silver orb that sparkled in the light of the fire. Nechan gently lifted the silver treasure from its box, letting it dangle on the fine, silver chain. It twisted and danced in the glow of the firelight.

“What is it?” Nechan let it fall into his palm, allowing him to study it more closely.

“Press the clasp on the side,” advised Barnon.

Nechan did as instructed and watched in amazement as the small orb snapped open in his hand, revealing a delicately engraved and moulded inside.

“My father gave this to me just before he died. He told me it was Elven. It’s the only evidence I own, or have ever seen, that truly testifies to their existence.”

“What does it do?”

“Maybe that’s something you will find out on your journey! You’re more likely to discover what it’s for, rather than it being hidden away in the cupboard under my stairs. Let me in on the secret when you get back!” The old man raised his bushy eyebrows, smiling, with twinkling eyes. Part of him felt sad that he was not going with the boy. He knew what wonders lay out in the wilderness and wished he could see them one more time, but he knew, realistically, that he had left it far too late.

Nechan stayed several hours more, scrutinising the maps with Barnon, who helped translate the ancient script that was scrawled across them. He eventually got up to leave in a daze, overwhelmed with the amount of information Barnon had piled upon him, but he still had no idea where he was supposed to go.

“Nechan.” Barnon placed a hand on his shoulder. “Stay wary, and keep away from home until you know it’s safe. I know that this is the right thing to do, even if you and your brother do not think so.”

Comforted by these words, Nechan left in the dimming light.

His brother was waiting on the doorstep when he returned, out of breath from the run home.

“I’m sorry. Is she angry? I lost track of time!” he panted.

“I can see that! I can also see you didn’t remember her honey!!” Cradon laughed, slapping his brother on the back. “So, did Barnon tell you any interesting stories? Anything that might help us?”

“Well, you know Barnon! But, he did give me these.” Nechan held up the maps. “I’ll show  you later, after dinner.”

It was not yet dawn when their father woke them, literally dragging the boys out of bed before they had opened their eyes.

“My friend sent word! They are coming for you!” he stammered urgently, handing the boys clothes to fling on.

Almost in shock that the time was finally upon them, they followed their father downstairs, their insides trembling.

Their mother was already in the kitchen waiting for them. She was still in her white flannel nightdress, looking terrible. Her face was scarlet and blotchy, a sure sign she had just been crying. On the kitchen table two tightly wrapped, brown bundles lay. Jesfor handed one to each of the boys.

“Here, take these. Keep them with you at all times!”

Simultaneously unwrapping the brown paper, the twins found themselves each holding a bone-handled shortsword and small leather shield. The blades gleamed in the candlelight as each boy unsheathed and held them up. They were sharp enough to skin a rabbit in one clean slice.

“These should serve you both well. They are good blades, Halde Tunde promised me they are his best work!”

The boys nodded, placing their newly forged blades in the leather scabbards.

“When do we need to leave? How long do we have?” asked Nechan, feeling his hands shaking.

“There is no time. You need to leave now!”

As Jesfor broke the news, Rheordan  burst into tears once more. She grabbed both the boys, pulling them in tightly.

“The horses?” croaked Cradon, fighting back his tears.

“I have already sorted them,” their father replied. “They are watered, fed, and ready to ride.”  There were a few more awkward moments of silence, which Jesfor finally broke. “My friend says the soldiers are travelling via the main thoroughfare. It would be best that you cut across our fields and join the old track round the back of the village.”

Nechan and Cradon nodded, taking on board their father’s advice.

“No one must see you! Make no sound! And do not light a lantern!” Rheordan gripped Cradon’s arm, a pleading look of desperation on her face.

“Of course, mother! We understand!” Cradon embraced his mother again as she began to cry once more.

Together, with their father, they made their way out into the barn. They did not light any of the lanterns, but instead felt their way through the cold, morning darkness. A strange heaviness hung in the air and the wind was starting to pick up, a sure sign that a storm was brewing. There was only the slightest glow of sunrise on the distant horizon, so the boys still had a couple of hours of dim light to escape under.

Boalen, the grey carthorse, stamped his shaggy hooves, irritated at the early, rude awakening, but it did not stop him eating. Climbing over the stable door, Nechan said a fond good morning to Danfor, his faithful bay. The animal stood proudly and whinnied softly as Nechan ruffled his dark mane, giving his tack a final check.