The Archer From Kipleth (Book 2) (20 page)

“It’s a vortex,” Yulenth said, “anything with magical properties-”

“The Jewel of Atrundr,” Alrhett said in horror. “The large green stone in the middle. It was said the center jewel was an elvish gift.”

“The ‘stone of knowing’,” the elf breathed. “It gives the wearer intelligence.”

“I think you must have one of those in your pocket,” the Archer smiled.

“Something has happened to me,” the elf said gripping the Archer’s arm. “That night with the Lhalíi, in the mist, I think the Lhalíi has affected my mind.”

“Let us discuss that later,” Yulenth said with worry as the crown began to flip and shudder with increasing violence.

“Everyone out!” The elf commanded. Last out, the elf pulled shut the bedroom door, as the jewel in the crown exploded with a green fireball, blowing the door off its hinges, throwing everyone in the house to the floor.

In the silence after the smoke cleared, the house creaked with the fury of the storm outside. In the center of Alrhett’s bed was a blackened, smoking hole where the royal crown had once lain.

“Thank Eann, you weren’t wearing it,” Yulenth said to Alrhett.

“Will the Lhalíi explode like that?” The Archer asked the elf  with alarm.

“No,” the elf said. “But we must do something quickly.”

In the wreckage of the mansion of Lord Desprege, Stavolebe emerged from his hiding place. Desprege still mourned his lost magical horn, picking up the pieces of the obliterated horn.

“So much for calling allies,” Stavolebe sneered.

“How did this happen?” Desprege said in a fog of loss.

“The elf,” Stavolebe hissed. “She must be killed. We must convene a secret gathering of all sympathetic to our cause.”

Lord Desprege, fat and balding, sitting amongst the bits of his ruined wyrm horn, quietly nodded.

The official mansion of Summeninquis, High Judge of the Weald was all rare, black wood and gold trim.

In his most private chamber, Summeninquis removed a elaborately constructed wooden box from a hidden panel. He opened the box. Inside, it was lined with red silk. In the center of the box lay an ornate dagger. The sheath was hammered gold, with three large sapphires set in an uneven line. On the sheath was a depiction of a large insect with splayed wings, and an entire man, in profile, holding a flower up to the rising sun. The hilt of the dagger was a greenish blue alabaster.

Summeninquis held his hands over the dagger as if drawing power from the blade. He invoked a prayer to his infernal gods, his eyes rolling back in his head.

Summeninquis opened his eyes just as a glowing slit opened in the air above the dagger. A hand wearing a ring set with a large, yellow, triangular stone reached out from the slit, grabbed his dagger, then quickly withdrew back into the rip in time and space.

“What!?” Summeninquis boomed. He turned the box over and over, then fell to his knees to search his room. The High Judge rose to his feet, his face a mask of frightening anger. He burst from the room.

His servants in the hallway cringed. “Where is His Honor going?” A servant sniveled.

Summeninquis stopped at the door to his mansion. He turned to fix his servant with a murderous glare.

“To the house of the thieving Queen of the Weald,” he said.

Frea and Arnwylf arrived at the large house of an atheling of Man. The front door of the house was constructed to resemble a massive war shield, complete with a vulgar scene of gruesome victory on the field of battle. Garmee Gamee stood behind them. The huge metal door of the mansion was ajar.

“Hello?” Frea called to the seeming empty house.

“Let’s look,” Arnwylf said, and they entered.

“Hello?” Frea called again.

“Let’s get out of here,” Garmee Gamee fearfully said.

“In here,” Arnwylf said.

Arnwylf and Frea entered a large, luxurious room with seven athelings, warrior lords of the Northern Kingdom of Man, sitting stock still, all staring at the Mattear Gram laying on the floor in the center of the room. One atheling stood near, as though the sword had just fallen from his hands. All seven were frozen with their heads turned as though listening to unheard music.

“Excuse me?” Frea politely said.

“Can’t you hear it?” Arnwylf said, staring at the Sun Sword.

“I hear nothing,” Frea said.

“Is the sword there?” Garmee Gamee hissed from the door. “Get it and let’s get out of here.”

“It’s beautiful,” Arnwylf said, suddenly becoming motionless. “The singing.”

Frea slapped Arnwylf. And, he shook himself, fighting the trance.

Frea threw a silk blanket on the Sun Sword and picked it up.

The athelings never stirred.

Slowly Frea, Arnwylf and Garmee Gamee left the mansion with the Mattear Gram.

Out on the street, Frea nudged Arnwylf. “Where do we take it?” She called above the raging snow hurricane.

“To the elf,” Arnwylf sleepily said. “At Alrhett’s home.”

“Stay with me,” Frea sharply said to Arnwylf, who walked as though in a dream.

Blinding snow whipped them. The wind was so forceful, it was difficult to walk in a straight line. The coldness of the snow hurricane immediately bit at the hands and feet.

“If Ronenth is there,” Garmee Gamee whispered to Frea, as though an evil idea had just been given to her, “you should show him some affection, make Arnwylf jealous. He doesn’t appreciate you as he should. He should fight for you.”

Frea said nothing, staring into the lashing snow.

Alrhett snuggled close to Yulenth and kissed him repeatedly.

“Oh, my Yulenth,” Alrhett whispered.

The Archer held the elf close.

“I have always loved you,” Derragen said to Iounelle. She was breathless and couldn’t reply.

“What is going on?” Yulenth loudly said. “You all act as though you’ve lost your minds.”

Wynnfrith stumbled into hallway.

“Mother,” she said to Alrhett. “My head is aching. It feels as though it will split. I constantly see the Heart of the Earth. It is ever before my eyes. I must go to the Far Grasslands and retrieve it, before all is lost.”

Wynnfrith collapsed in a heap in the demolished hallway.

The Archer and the elf passionately kissed.

“Who is doing this?” Yulenth said aloud, as he chewed on a knuckle, his mind furiously working. Alrhett never stopped kissing his neck.

“So nice,” a voice hissed from a shadowed corner. “Don’t you feel the passion, Glaf?” A coiling black snake said.

“How is it you speak?” Yulenth said. “How can I hear your words? Who are you?”

“So curious,” Baalenrrud slithered. “Better to be like the other Glaf.” Baalenrrud tossed her black triangular head to indicate Solienth who had sat down in the hallway, his head buried in his hands. He was racked with sobs.

“Are you doing this?” Yulenth demanded.

“Noooo...” Baalenrrud hissed drawing near the Archer and the elf. “But I feed from the opportunity.” She writhed, growing  larger. “Time to kill this one.” Baalenruud opened wide his mouth and bared his venom dripping fangs.

“Stop!” Frea yelled and thrust the Mattear Gram at the snake.

Baalenruud leapt back and quickly slithered out of the hallway.

Garmee Gamee helped Arnwylf into the house. “Careful, my love,” she said to the groggy boy.

Ronenth pushed his way into the house, past Arnwylf.

“Frea,” the young Glaf said, “I love you. I don’t care who knows it.”

“What are you doing?” Arnwylf said to Ronenth with sleepy anger.

“It’s you,” Yulenth said, turning to the elf. “You are a magical being. Elves are born of magic. You are channeling this energy. You are doing this. You must stop.”

“How do you know it is not Deifol Hroth?” The elf slowly asked through a fog of confusion.

“Do you feel His presence? You know what it’s like when He’s near,” Yulenth shouted at the elf, trying to rouse her.

“Shut up, Arnwylf!” Ronenth angrily said. “You had your chance, but you’d rather go off and play soldier!”

“Shut your stinking mouth!” Arnwylf cried, his fists curling..

“Silence the both of you,” the Archer commanded.

“Oh, go on back to Kipleth,” Solienth nastily said from his spot on the floor.

“Iounelle,” Yulenth firmly said. “It’s you. You’re magnifying our emotions. I can feel inexplicable anger. It’s irrational. Try to clear your mind. You must before this storm of magic overtakes you!”

The elf looked at Yulenth as though she were intoxicated, but then some kind of understanding seeped though.

“It’s me,” she drowsily said. “I’m connected to the objects somehow. I can feel them. It’s so clear to me. I can feel them.”

“Forget her,” Garmee Gamee said, stroking Arnwylf’s cheek and trying to pull him close.

“Get off me,” Arnwylf said and pushed Garmee Gamee to the ground. “And, shut that black hole you call a mouth. The only thing that ever comes out of it is filth.”

Garmee Gamee was shocked. Staring at Arnwylf, never looking away, she rose and stumbled from the house.

“Focus,” Yulenth forcefully said to Iounelle, gripping her arm.

Wynnfrith stirred from her heap on the floor.

“Yes,” the elf said. “It’s me.”

Solienth, Alrhett, Wynnfrith, Arnwylf, Frea, Ronenth, and the Archer all suddenly held their heads in pain.

“Stop. Stop!” Yulenth cried, then held his hands to his head.

Baalenruud, now a huge black, undulating snake slithered down the hallway.

“Yes. Yes,” she hissed. “Feed me.”

Baalenruud lunged and buried his fangs deep in the Archer’s leg.

“No!” The elf cried. She pulled the Archer’s sword and swung at Baalenruud.

“Ahh!” Baalenruud cried and recoiled.

Yulenth brought a burning log from the fireplace in the next room and swung it at Baalenrrud.

“Gakrau! (pigs!)” Baalenruud cried and banged out of the back of the house in circling coils, out into the raging storm.

The elf quickly cut the Archer’s leg, bent down and sucked on the wound. She spit out the poison, as the Archer gasped for breath.

“We need to get a group of men and kill that thing before it gets out of town,” Yulenth urgently said.

“I will help you,” Solienth said, shaking off his stupor.

“As will I,” Ronenth said, collecting his wits.

“Be careful,” Frea said, and gave Ronenth a short kiss on the cheek.

Alrhett, Wynnfrith and the elf helped the Archer into the sitting room. As Yulenth, Ronenth and Solienth grabbed swords and headed for the door.

“Wait for me,” the elf said.

At that moment, Summeninquis burst through the front door.

“Where is it?” Summeninquis boomed. “What have you done with my dagger?”

“What are you talking about?” Alrhett demanded. “And what do you mean by coming into my home like this?”

“The dagger of Enon Shoth,” Summeninquis dangerously said. “Return it to me at once.”

“The dagger of Enon Shoth?” The elf said moving close to the Great Judge, “the dagger that gives one power over men’s minds?”

“Enon... I don’t...” Summeninquis stammered.

“Power over men’s minds?” Yulenth said. “You’ve lost your trinket that gave you power over men’s minds?” Yulenth moved close drawing his sword. “If that is so, then you must know that you now have no power to stop me from cutting your throat if you don’t get out of this house and never return.”

Summeninquis blanched. He turned and stumbled from Alrhett’s house in cowardly fear.

In the howling wind, Yulenth and his hunting party passed Garmee Gamee as she stepped into an apothecary.

Inside, the proprietress rose to help the new customer.

“What can I get for you on this blustery evening?” She cheerfully asked.

“We have a problem with rats,” Garmee Gamee said shaking her bleached hair. “I need a good, strong poison.”

At Alrhett’s house Frea came to her senses and tried to hold Arnwylf, but the young man was too hurt.

“Please,” Frea said. “I’m sorry.”

“How many times will you apologize?” Arnwylf snapped. “As many times as you go to him?”

“No, Arnwylf, please,” Frea said as tears ran down her cheeks. “None of us were in our right minds.”

Arnwylf was filled with fury. He snatched up the Mattear Gram. Then he stopped. He turned and tore into the elf’s pack. He pulled out a bundle and tucked it under his arm.

“No,” Frea pled.

“None of you have sacrificed what I have sacrificed,” Arnwylf said to Frea, his eyes full of pain. Then, he ran out into the savagery of the storm.

A moment later, Yulenth, the elf, Solienth and Ronenth returned, shaking snow from their cloaks.