The Archer From Kipleth (Book 2) (16 page)

“I will go with you,” Arnwylf said.

“No,” Wynnfrith said. “You must stay here. Yulenth can escort me.”

“I’ll go, too,” Garmee Gamee blurted.

“It might be best if you stayed here,” Yulenth said.

“When do you leave?” Solienth asked.

“I must go tomorrow or sooner,” Wynnfrith said, rising to her feet with the aid of her son.

“How will you get past Byland and the garonds there?” Garmee Gamee asked.

“I may know a way,” an old voice said. All turned to see Nostacarr, the master of the library standing behind them.

But then, a loud commotion outside the front door of the library made all turn. “Arnwylf! Arnwylf!” Somebody outside shouted.

Arnwylf and Ronenth ran for the front door.

Outside, a hundred wealdkin had gathered around the wolf soldiers and their brothers. Swords were drawn, and a cacophony of angry accusations filled the street.

“Silence!” Arnwylf bellowed and the crowd quieted.

“What is the meaning of this?” Arnwylf demanded.

“The wolf mauled me!” Lumeien, Geleiden’s father yelled, as he cradled a badly bloodied arm.

“These beasts belong in the Weald!” A wealdkin shouted.

“Or in the ground!” Another wealdkin added.

“These wolves helped drive Ravensdred and his army back to the Far Grasslands!” Arnwylf challenged.

Summeninquis made his way through the crowd. “Which animal attacked a citizen of the Weald?”

“That’s the one,” Lumeien said and pointed at his son’s wolf, Lanner.

“The animal must be destroyed,” Summeninquis proclaimed.

Arnwylf whipped out the Mattear Gram. “I would like to see you try,” he said.

The crowd erupted into chaos.

“Shut it!” Husvet bellowed. “I will take the wolves out of the city. We will camp on the edge of the Weald. The wolves will be able to feed themselves best there anyway.”

“I will go with you,” Geleiden said, “and no one will harm my brother.” Geleiden clutched Lanner’s mane.

“You will not,” Lumeien snapped. “You will come with me!”

“I am done with you!” Geleiden yelled at his father. “You have never treated me as a son. I have been a slave for you all my life! That ends now!” The furious countenance of Geleiden made Lumeien back away in fear. He knew in the next instant his son would kill him. And, he cowered behind Summeninquis.

“The offending wolf-” Summeninquis started.

“-was provoked. Wasn’t it?” Arnwylf barked.

Geleiden nodded, still staring intently at his father.

“Husvet,” Arnwylf said. “Proudly take our brothers out of the city as you have offered. Geleiden, you may go with him if you desire.” The disturbance had drawn many of the soldiers who had served under Arnwylf, and as a body they defiantly marched out and down the street, following Husvet and Geleiden, until they were out of the city.

“I should arrest you for defying me,” Summeninquis snarled at Arnwylf.

Arnwylf slowly turned the Mattear Gram in his hand. “Please, please try,” he coldly said.

“That sword belongs to me,” Frea said stepping out of the crowd.

“Frea?” Arnwylf stuttered with a confused smile.

“The Mattear Gram belongs to the crown of the Northern Kingdom of Man,” Frea said without friendliness.

“But, Frea...” Arnwylf stammered.

“The Mattear Gram,” Frea flatly said, and held out her hand.

Arnwylf was crushed. He loved Frea, and knew it more than ever in that moment. But, here she was, embarrassing him, humiliating him. He felt no anger, only sadness. He slowly turned the sword, hilt first, to Frea.

Frea quietly took the Sun Sword.

“Arnwylf,” Wynnfrith called from the front door of the library.

Without answering, or turning, Arnwylf marched out to the street to follow his ejected wolf brothers to their camp outside the city. As Arnwylf strode through the streets of the town, the gossip of the city ran beside him like wildfire. His soldiers immediately stopped their revelry and angrily fell in behind him, as the hate filled eyes of the wealdkin followed Arnwylf and his triumphant army out of New Rogar Li.

Chapter Eight

The Mournful Return

The elf climbed out of her frost covered tent to a clear, crisp mid winter morning. A Child of Lanis, posted as a sentry in front of Iounelle’s tent, trying desperately to keep her eyes open, started awake.

“Iounelle!” He cried, fell to his knees, and scrambled over to the Archer’s tent only a few paces away. “Derragen! Derragen!” The sentry wailed, “She’s up! She’s up!”

The Archer whipped his tent flaps open and stood, rather embarrassingly, in only his under clothing.

“Dressed for warm weather?” Iounelle smirked at the Archer.

Derragen looked down, turned bright red, and then crawled back into his tent to fully dress.

“How are you?” The sentry asked the elf. “Are you hungry?”

“Very,” Iounelle smiled.

The Archer strode from his tent buckling and lacing the last of his outer garments. “How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Tired,” Iounelle answered.

“What do you remember of last night?” Derragen asked.

“We went out to mourn my brother,” Iounelle stared at the ground. “Then- Baalenruud!”

“That was the viper?”

“Yes! Did you kill her?” The elf eagerly asked.

“No,” the Archer said. “She was frightened off when she saw this, your brother’s sword, Bravilc.”

“I’m not surprised,” the elf said, taking a piece of bread from the Child of Lanis, who had returned with nourishment. “Bravilc was once my brother’s sword, but before that, my father’s sword. He used Bravilc to kill Baalenruud.”

“Kill-?” The Archer was puzzled.

“Baalenruud is an aesir,” the elf said between mouthfuls. “He may be the last one. He never truly dies. She is reborn, again and again, in different forms.”

“You keep switching genders when you speak of her- him-” Derragen fumbled.

Iounelle laughed that tinkling laugh that sounded like glass wind chimes. Derragen smiled. She so rarely laughed these days.

“Baalenrrud is neither male nor female,” Iounelle thoughtfully chewed. “But she is both. The elves have always alternated gender when speaking of Baalenruud. When I was a child, he tried to kill me.”

“Was that when your parents were killed?”

“It’s all in the ballad poem, Veranelle Dae Galehthaire,” Iounelle said with evident sorrow. “Some day I will sing it for you, both in Miranei and then again in your tongue. It’s quite beautiful.” And then, the elf grew silent.

The Archer became concerned for the elf, and switched the topic. “’Aesir’ as I understand it, is an old word, but it is plural. It means ‘gods’.”

“Yes,” Iounelle said. “It’s because Baalenruud always has two forms, one to communicate with, and one to fight with. That and being reborn again and again. So really, she is many.” Iounelle brightened for a moment. “They say she helped build the towers.”

“In Lanis Rhyl Landemiriam?”

“I wish you could have seen the view from Bawn Hae,” the elf said with a smile.

“But you have never seen it,” the Archer said, gnawing a piece of bread that was offered to him. “You were never married. You would not have been allowed to ascend the tower.”

The elf smiled a smile which said to the Archer, I will tell you quite a story some day.

Caerlund, stretching and scratching his waking body all over, joined the Archer and the elf.

Then the Archer became solemn. “We recovered the bodies of Haerreth and Maginalius from that cursed mist, last night.”

“What?!” Caerlund exclaimed.

“It will be a sad day in Reia,” the Archer said quietly.

“That mist is not natural,” Iounelle said.

Then shouting could be heard from the far edge of the camp. Derragen, Iounelle, and Caerlund rose and rushed to see what was the disturbance.

Stavolebe, convincingly bleeding and battered, dragged the blonde haired captain from Reia into camp. Stavolebe collapsed, as the soldiers attended to their wounds.

“This one has just died,” a Son of Yenolah said of the captain. “He is still warm.”

“We fought side by side,” Stavolebe said, “all through the night. I promised him I would take him to safety.” Then Stavolebe held his face in his hands and cried false, yet convincing tears.

The elf suddenly grabbed pieces of leaves from bushes nearby and applied them to Stavolebe’s wounds. She felt the captain’s chest, but knew it was much too late.

“What are these herbs?” Caerlund asked. “I’ve never seen these used before.”

Iounelle stared at the Chieftain of the Madrun Hills for a moment. “Me, neither,” she said in wonderment.

“It’s something I just knew.” The elf looked as though she were just recalling something, as she stared into the distance. “Tákkeg Daniei,” the elf said, and then had to be helped as she unsteadily sat down.

“What is it?” The Archer asked.

“I know,” the elf said. “I know so much.” Her eyes seemed to be seeing volumes of information. “I know ten different languages. I can now speak Garond. I know all the herbs of the field and their uses. I have hundreds of lifetimes of knowledge,” the elf said with astonishment.

“It was the crystal,” the Archer said. “It was shining on you when I found you. The light was shining into you.”

The elf could only shake her head, marveling at the endless store of enlightenment now in her mind.

“Take him to a tent,” Derragen said to the Son of Yenolah, indicating Stavolebe. “And put him with the others,” the Archer said, indicating the dead, blonde captain of Reia.

The Archer helped the elf to her feet, and led her back to her own tent.

Once the elf sat down she gripped the Archer’s sleeve. “The Lhalíi has power, power to impart information. I see how to use it,” she gasped. “It is so powerful. It can open doors into time and space.”

“Something happened to me,” the Archer said, “after I chased Baalenruud away.”

“What?”

“I... was somewhere... else,” the Archer stammered. “I saw you. You were older. I shot an arrow.”

Then the Archer suddenly turned and tore into his quiver. His shaking hands held out three of the Arrows of Yenolah.

“I had four,” he whispered. “I had four last night.”

“Maybe you shot it into the bushes?”

“No,” Derragen said. “I killed a man. Some time in your future. I saved your life. I-” Then, Derragen could say no more as the whole thought overwhelmed him.

“I guess I should thank you in advance,” the elf smiled.

“It really happened!” Derragen insisted.

“I believe you,” the elf reassured. “But now you have but three arrows, and you know it is only by these arrows Deifol Hroth can die. So, be more careful with them.”

The Archer quietly nodded. Caerlund looked at the Archer with both admiration and worry.

“We should take Haerreth to Reia immediately,” Caerlund said.

“He came from New Rogar Li,” the Archer said. “Two soldiers survived the attack last night. We are nearly on Deifol Hroth’s doorstep. Haerreth and Maginalius tried to attack his new citadel last night.”

“Then the mist is the doing of the Dark Lord,” the elf said with disgust.

“And it is impenetrable,” Caerlund frowned. “Perhaps we should go to New Rogar Li, return Maginalius’ body, and then we can escort Haerreth’s sister, Hetwing, home with his body.”

“A good plan,” the elf said. “Let us break camp and be away from this place as quickly as possible.”

“Until we return with greater numbers,” the Archer said with a dark smile. The elf understood, and her vicious smile matched the Archer’s.

After the Sons of Yenolah and Children of Lanis squared away their kit and gear, the march commenced, double time. The seven human bodies, including Haerreth, Maginalius, and the blonde captain were borne on stretchers.

Stavolebe hobbled near the Archer and the elf.

“We can fashion a litter to bear you, too” the Archer said.

“No, no,” Stavolebe protested. “How can I be of service to my leader and the great elf lass if I am reclining on some bark at the back of the column?”

The Archer and the elf exchanged a wry look.

“We will not slacken our pace for you,” the elf said turning her chin to the east.

“Nor do I ask you to,” Stavolebe puffed, struggling to keep up.

Stavolebe’s interrogation of all that had happened when he was away, and the mysteries of magical devices was cut short by the relentless gait of the march.

Late in the morning they came upon the Westernway Road.

Caerlund called a halt.

“I will take my men to Byland, to defend against the garond invasion,” Caerlund said. “It was our destination before all this trouble with the citadel. Byland is where we will do the most good. I think you and your soldiers will get to New Rogar Li without any trouble... so... we shouldn’t be needed.”

“May you travel well,” the Archer said with an affectionate embrace.

“May Wylkeho Daniei watch over your every footstep,” the elf said with a long embrace.

The madronite warriors all waved fond farewells to their new compatriots, and then marched down the Westernway Road to Byland.

“Forward!” Derragen commanded, and the Sons of Yenolah and the Children of Lanis continued their march north to cross the Bairn River, and then to New Rogar Li.

The march continued on into the afternoon, with Stavolebe struggling to stay near the Archer and the elf.

The beating Stavolebe had endured to make his absence plausible was thorough and a shade more than needed because of the delight the garonds took in administering it. By the late afternoon, Stavolebe was covered in sweat and breathing heavily.

“Have- have we crossed the Bairn yet?” Stavolebe winced.

“It should be just over that rise,” Iounelle said.

“Perhaps we should break for the afternoon meal, once we’ve crossed,” the Archer suggested.

“That will depend on how long it takes us to cross the river,” the elf said. “If the Bairn is high and rapid, we may have to march west for a bit.”

“Why, then we should make for Alfhich,” Stavolebe weakly suggested. “We’d be there before dinner.”

“It’s just as far to New Rogar Li,” the Archer said. “If you like, we can give you a sword, and you can rest on your own.”

Stavolebe said nothing. He just put more effort into the crutch he hobbled on.

Good as her word, over the rise, the Bairn river shone in the afternoon sun. The wide and vital river was barely a trickle.

As they approached the banks of the dry and crusty bed of the parched river, the Archer and elf made no hesitation whatsoever. They marched straight over the drought stricken waterway to the northern bank. 

“Let’s have mercy on Lord Stavolebe and break for an afternoon meal,” the elf said. She shouldered off her pack and removed her sword and scabbard. She flexed her tight and aching shoulders, and back.

“Halt!” The Archer cried. “A quick meal, and then we’re back on our feet!” The two hundred or more soldiers came to a halt and rummaged through their kits for anything edible they may have had left. Some searched for and found roots and edible tubers on the banks of the dried up river.

A son of Yenolah sited an arrow on an auroch grazing the lush grasses to the north. But, the Children of Lanis made a fuss, and chased the long horned beast away. A long standing dispute about the eating of animals briefly flared up, but soon died down when the Archer and the elf strolled through the troops, quiet and stern, like a martial mother and father.

As the Archer and the elf kept the peace, Stavolebe noticed they had left their packs and possessions behind. The Lhalíi lay swaddled in cloth, right next to the Moon Sword of Berand Torler.

Stavolebe looked around. All the nearby soldiers had moved near the heated argument hoping for the entertainment of a physical altercation.

The sweat poured down Stavolebe’s face. He carefully crawled near the elf’s sword and pack. His hands itched with greed. The Dark Lord had told him not to take the magical objects of power. He said the elf would give them to him. Wasn’t this just as good as giving? She just walked away. Stavolebe wasn’t sure what to do. His hands softly clawed the air in front of the elf’s pack. If he made the wrong choice, the Dark Lord of All Evil would annihilate him, waste his soul, leave him a whisper on the eternal winds. But, what if this was what He wanted? What if Lord Stavolebe failed when the opportunity he was supposed to seize passed him by?

Just a look won’t hurt, Stavolebe thought. He slowly pulled the cloth from the Lhalíi. A gleaming facet of crystal blinked in Stavolebe’s stunned eyes. He felt as though he hadn’t had any water for weeks, and this was the water he needed. He had to have the Lhalíi. With all his body and soul he desired the magic crystal device of the elves. His hands felt as if they were on fire and the only way to cool them was to cradle the oblong crystal device.

Stavolebe pulled more of the cloth from the Lhalíi.

“What do you think you are doing?” The Archer’s voice rang out from behind Stavolebe.