The Archer From Kipleth (Book 2) (28 page)

Derragen started a fire and roasted the goat. After several mouthfuls, Derragen eyed the old, blind man.

“You heard it,” Derragen said, “up on the rocks.”

The old man smiled and wiped grease from his chin.

“Now its time to sleep,” the old man said.

“Tell me your name,” Derragen respectfully asked, “please.”

“I am Sehen,” the blind sage said with a laugh, “and you’d best get some sleep yourself. We start the lessons very early in the morning.”

Derragen barely slept that night. He could have stole away in the night. He could have leapt off the rocky edge of the steep mountain trail, no more than three paces away.

But, this was Sehen.

Sehen was a legend. Some believed he never existed. Some thought he was only a character in a popular song. Some said they had met the blind sage in the mountains of Kipleth, but no one ever believed such tales. Why did the blind sage want to teach him? The questions kept Derragen awake, and curious enough to see what the old man had in store for him in the morning. Eventually, Derragen drifted off to a fitful sleep.

In the gray morning, Derragen awoke to find Sehen greedily chewing a piece of the remains of the goat they had left to smoke over the campfire for the night.

“Ready?” Sehen cheerfully said.

“How did you...?” Derragen started to ask, but then caught himself. I must remember to never ask that again, Derragen said to himself.

The blind sage led Derragen back up the trail. The old man never tripped or stumbled, and Derragen found it difficult to keep up with him.

After a good hike back up the trail, Sehen stopped. He seemed to be smelling the air. Derragen looked around. What did the old man smell?

“Shoot an arrow,” Sehen directed.

“At what?” Derragen asked, still looking around.

“Shoot an arrow!” Sehen insisted.

Derragen nocked an arrow and shot it into the gorge below. The faint sound of the arrow clattering below could be heard.

“Good,” Sehen said. “That was your first lesson. What did you learn?”

Derragen was dumbfounded. That was the first lesson? What did he learn?

“I shot an arrow,” Derragen shrugged.

“And what did you hit?” Sehen asked.

“...nothing,” Derragen said.

“What were you aiming at?” Sehen asked.

“Nothing,” Derragen said, with a dawning understanding.

“So if you aim at nothing,” Sehen said with a crinkled smile, “you hit nothing.”

“Is your name really Sehen?” Derragen asked, thinking himself suddenly very clever.

In response, the old, blind man tore the bow from Derragen’s hands. Sehen snapped his fingers until Derragen handed him an arrow. Once he had the arrow, Sehen quickly nocked the arrow, turned and fired.

The arrow whipped along the mountain and thocked against a dead tree, narrowly missing a crow that Derragen had missed seeing earlier.

“You missed the crow,” Derragen said.

“No,” Sehen said. “You missed the crow. You could have shot at the crow, but instead you chose to shoot at nothing. I didn’t hit the crow because I saw no reason to kill an animal that meant me no harm, and I couldn’t eat. That was lesson number two,” Sehen haughtily said as he threw the bow on the ground for Derragen to pick up.

The rest of the day was spent using up Derragen’s sizable reserve of arrows, shooting at trees, rocks and animals, of which, Sehen had an uncanny awareness for a blind man.

As the night approached, Derragen felt he was becoming a better shot, opening up his hearing and smelling to be better aware of what Sehen always seemed to sense long before he did.

“That’s the last one,” Derragen said as he embedded an arrow in a twisted stump high up the steep mountain side.

“Go get all the arrows back, and I’ll meet you back at the camp for dinner,” Sehen said as he quickly trotted down the trail.

Much later, in the middle of the night, Derragen made his way back to his little camp to find Sehen happily asleep. Most of the roasted smoked goat was gone. Derragen dropped the quiver full of arrows next to Sehen in hopes of waking him.

The blind sage turned with a sleepy smile.

“Get them all?” He asked.

“Some were lost for good,” Derragen said with a frown as he chewed the meager portion left of the goat.

“Nothing is ever lost for good,” Sehen said. “You can find the rest tomorrow,” he then turned on his side to snore the night away.

Derragen angrily stared at the sleeping old man, but then he smiled to himself. A peace settled over his heart. He felt something surprisingly like relief, although he didn’t understand why. Yes, he thought, I’ll get the missing arrows tomorrow. Nothing is lost for good.

The third day Sehen led Derragen out to a wide, flat place on the trail where a rare tall oak leaned.

“Nock an arrow,” Sehen said. Derragen did as he was directed.

“Draw,” Sehen said, and Derragen pulled the arrow taut.

“Now hold it as long as you can,” Sehen said with a sniff. “When you get tired, come back to camp.”

Derragen was left holding the drawn arrow, staring into the vast expanse of the mountains of Kipleth.

His muscles ached and began to tighten up.

No, Derragen thought to himself. Use the effort in balance. Derragen let the tension even itself out. He regulated his breathing and let his field of vision expand.

About mid day Derragen began to notice smells, sounds and his own sense of touch with amazing intensity. He found himself focusing on the acute perception flooding over him. Sights, odors, sounds that his mind initially passed over without pause became immense concepts to digest and comprehend. The sensations were at first overwhelming, and he thought he might let go of the drawn arrow shaking in his hand. But, then he let the act of holding the arrow become a center of the meditation he now felt flooding his mind. Whenever he felt lost, he could come back to the simple, yet difficult task before him of holding the arrow taught against his bowstring. He centered his thoughts and tried to think of nothing, allowing his mind to be calm and uncluttered. Thinking of nothing became a task in itself. He found his mind instantly wandering, and the discipline needed to focus and empty his thoughts soon added to the expansion of his whole awareness. The dark thoughts and troubles of his heart began to recede with the realization of the beauty of all things around him on the earth. Eventually Derragen felt a flowing part of all creation rather than a separate consciousness, alone, disconnected, fighting to understand itself.

The sun began to set when the arrow twanged off the bow string with Derragen’s exhaustion. He stumbled wearily back to camp.

“Where have you been?” Sehen demanded.

“I was holding the arrow,” Derragen said. “I learned so many amazing things. I saw the world in a whole new way, discovered strengths I never knew I had.”

“Really?” Sehen said. “I just did that because I was tired of you and wanted a break. You really held the arrow for all day?”

“Yes,” Derragen said with a smile, knowing the old man always meant more than he ever let on.

Sehen merely huffed to himself in mild, annoyed astonishment.

The next few days, Sehen improved Derragen’s stance and position while holding the bow. Derragen was already very accomplished with weapons of all kinds. He was a general and a soldier by profession.

After several days, Sehen brought Derragen to a flat plateau in the mountains.

“I want you to hit the dead tree in the middle of the field,” Sehen said. “The dead tree is still there?”

“Yes it is,” Derragen smiled.

“Give me your bow and an arrow, and face the tree,” Sehen said.

Derragen gave Sehen his bow and an arrow. The sage nocked the arrow to the bow. Then, he gave Derragen the bow and arrow pointing the opposite direction of the tree.

“Shoot!” Sehen commanded. “Now!”

Derragen was holding the bow and arrow backwards, in the wrong hands, pointing in the wrong direction.

He quickly turned at the waist and shot over his hip. The arrow thudded into the tree.

“Wait,” Sehen said. “Was the tree over there?”

“You know where the tree is,” Derragen said.

“And you managed to hit it,” Sehen said with a wry smile.

“Because I hit what I shoot at,” Derragen said with an affectionate smile.

“Yes,” Sehen said. “How many days have I trained you?”

“It’s been seven days,” Derragen said.

“Have you learned anything?”

“I have learned the world, friend.”

“I wish you’d shoot another goat for us,” Sehen said as he wandered back to the camp. “That roasted goat was delicious.”

Derragen spent the rest of the night searching for a mountain goat he could bring his teacher, Sehen. But, eventually he gave up and returned to camp empty handed.

“No goat,” Sehen sniffed. “Ah, well, it will make the next one I eat that much more delicious. Get plenty of sleep. Tomorrow is the last day we will ever spend together.”

“Sehen, do you believe in god?” Derragen asked.

The old, blind man shifted in his bed roll.

“I know why you ask,” Sehen smiled to himself. “How could god, if he exists, allow the murder of your wife and children?” Sehen wiped his nose. “I often wondered why I was born blind. I think some things just happen. I don’t believe there is a being so powerful he could create and control us all, who would want to control us all. You were a parent once. You know commanding a child in all things makes a child  insolent and rebellious. A truly loving creator allows you to find the divine presence in your own self. And what of evil men? Well, how can evil men be condemned in the next life if they are not allowed to do evil?” Sehen scratched his wispy beard. “But an innocent’s life may be taken unjustly. Really? Did we not come from nothing? What were you before your parents made you? Nothing. What are you after you die? Nothing. No one can bring you back, see you, or hear you. You might as well be the person you were before you were born.” Sehen settled onto his back. “I am grateful for every moment I have of life. It is wondrous and filled with amazing experiences, interesting people, and new things to discover everyday. Even a little of life is a lot of life. No one should be ungrateful for that. Even with blind eyes, I can see that. Now go to sleep and do not ask me anymore questions. I want to sleep.” The old man rolled over and immediately began snoring.

Derragen stared up at the stars. He missed his wife and children. But he had found some comfort in learning from this strange, old man. He had discovered many things. He had discovered himself.

The next day Sehen, the blind sage talked a long time with Derragen. He told him many things. He told him how he is connected to everything he encounters. And when he connects with an arrow to a target, he is already connected even before the arrow leaves the bow string. Sehen told Derragen many, many more secrets. And then finally he brought a bundle before the Archer from Kipleth.

“Your anger and sorrow still burn within you,” Sehen said. “But I had a dream last night and these are for you.”

Sehen unwrapped the bundle and presented to Derragen the seven large, black Arrows of Yenolah. Sehen told Derragen where they came from and how they were fashioned in Lanis Rhyl Landemiriam by Weylunne, the Prince of the elvish capital.

“You will stop a great evil with one of these arrows,” Sehen said. “But only when the storm inside your soul is completely stilled. I fear you will never know that peace, and so the world and all who live in it are already lost. But I have hope.” Sehen rose. “I have hope because I like you.”

Sehen patted Derragen on the head, and then he gathered his belongings and ambled down the trail.

Derragen stared down at the Arrows of Yenolah. He still had so many questions. He leapt to his feet. The old man had left. Derragen pulled together his pack and ran after Sehen.

Derragen turned a corner in the trail. Sehen was no where to be seen. Derragen looked back. He looked up. He looked over the edge. But, Sehen was nowhere to be seen. The old man was gone, gone suddenly like sunlight at day’s end.

The Archer stirred the dwindling campfire. It would be dawn soon.

“And you never saw him again?” Stavolebe asked.

The Archer just shook his head.

“An excellent tale,” the elf said stretching and rubbing her arm.

Deifol Hroth appeared in the camp and held up his one hand to Stavolebe.

“They neither hear nor see me, Stavolebe,” the Evil One said. “Come into the citadel at once.” Then the Dark Lord was gone.

“But master-” Stavolebe stuttered.

“’Master’?” The elf asked suspiciously.

“’But master-’ what?” The Archer, squinting, asked Stavolebe.

Stavolebe just stared at the Archer and the elf, his mouth open.

Chapter Seventeen

The Far Grasslands

The garond soldiers bound the human’s hands behind their backs and sat Yulenth, Frea, Wynnfrith and Garmee Gamee down in the dry winter grass. The garonds stupidly hadn’t searched the humans, only taking what trinkets and satchels were obvious to the naked eye. Wynnfrith still concealed the Ar, and Frea still hid her slim blade strapped to her thigh.

The unconverted garonds were systematically questioned and tortured. The Garond Mother was left for last.

Having touched the Ar, the humans understood everything that was said in garondish. None of the tortured garonds gave away any information or revealed that Wynnfrith had the Ar.

“Get up,” Mudsang, the garond with the crown of red feathers, said.

“You will not torture me?” The Garond Mother quietly said.

“We are going south,” Mudsang said. With that the humans and the captive garonds were forced to stand and march to the south along the coast. The shore line was flat with coarse sand, and they covered a great distance quite easily The sun rose over the flat savannahs of the Far Grasslands.

“I saw large, hairy animals with long, long noses in my vision,” Wynnfrith said, staring out at the bleak landscape.

“They were hunted until there were no more,” the Garond Mother said. “When the Dark One took control of our people, every thing fell out of balance.”

“No talking!” A garond soldier bellowed and pushed Wynnfrith. They marched on in silence.

It was uncomfortably warm for only half a moonth past Midwinter. The humans all began to sweat. Yulenth stripped off his cloak, and a garond immediately grabbed it from him and put it on, even though the garond was heavily clothed in furs. Yulenth knew better than to argue.

Covered in sweat, Frea kept her cloak on, for fear of revealing the short sword hidden just under her dress.

Garmee Gamee began to loudly moan as the march continued and Wynnfrith shushed her. Walking beside her, Wynnfrith held Garmee Gamee’s head, and carefully watched a vicious garond who hungrily eyed Garmee Gamee.

The garonds suddenly began to jabber to each other, and Wynnfrith looked in the direction they were pointing. Out to sea, out on the Bight of Lanis, a huge ship with three, large, red sails slowly patrolled the waters.

Mudsang turned and stretched out his arms, in one hand he held a leg bone that had to be from a human. The femur was  intricately carved and was adorned with blue and green feathers. Mudsang chanted and motioned at the ship with the red sails. Nothing happened.

“The ship will sink tomorrow,” Mudsang proclaimed with feigned certainty. He grinned a knowing, smarmy smile, and smoothed the hair on the sides of his head. With a grand flourish from Mudsang, the march resumed.

Trudging over the sand of the coast was difficult and began to tire the humans. Their legs burned, but none complained out of fear. The garonds marched on, oblivious to fatigue.

Frea studied the converted garond soldiers, although fearsome, when they marched, they had a blank, slack expression on their faces, as if their very souls had been somehow extracted.

The natural garonds, by contrast, moved smoothly across the sand, but the turmoil of their emotions was so evident on their gentle faces, it broke Frea’s heart. She knew that Deifol Hroth had to be behind this twisting of the natural state of the garond race. She remembered the garond that came to the castle of her father when she was just a small child. That garond looked just like Dond, and could have been his father.

Frea hung her head in shame at the humiliation and awful death that garond had endured at the hands of the Athelings of Man. It was so clear to her. Deifol Hroth had begun his conversion of the garond race, and that garond had come to the Northern Kingdom of Man for help. If only we had aided him, Frea thought, if only we had tried to understand him, we might have stopped Deifol Hroth before he created his terrible army.

Frea’s thoughts turned to her grandmother, as they often did when ever she faced insurmountable difficulty. Her grandmother was a strong woman, and had stood up to the athelings to protect Frea’s mother. Her grandmother had short, curly, grey hair. Whenever she was near, Frea knew she was safe. Last year, Frea thought the spirit of her grandmother had protected her when the garonds who kidnapped her wanted to kill and eat her. But now she felt lost and alone.

Frea wondered how her mother, Halldora, was faring in Reia. Please, Frea silently prayed, let my mother be successful in convincing the warriors of Reia in helping us to defend Byland.

The sun was setting in the west. They had marched along the southern coast of the Bight of Lanis all day. Wynnfrith noticed that the garond soldiers seemed to become excited and anxious. The natural garonds marched closer together in fear.

Just up the coast, Wynnfrith could see large stones, part of some dismantled structure, glowing a pale blue in the setting sun. Wynnfrith caught her breath.

They had been taken to the first Bluestone Citadel of Deifol Hroth.

As they approached the remaining stones, Wynnfrith could see that they comprised a massive circle of huge megaliths. There were only gigantic foundation stones remaining to mark where the tower of the Dark Lord had once stood. She remembered seeing this place, intact, in a farsight vision last year, when she had seen the Dark One for the first time, and he had first taken notice of her.

Mudsang brought the captives to the center of the spacious ruins of the citadel that had been dismantled to rebuild in Wealdland, along with the elvish bricks of Lanis Rhyl Landemiriam. The circle still held power. It was evident when one entered the vile ruins.

The unconverted garonds were positioned in a circle, facing in to Mudsang, who hummed and chanted as he put himself into the appearance of a mystical trance. The Garond Mother was unimpressed.

The soldiers, each stationed behind an unconverted garond, menacingly laid their clubs on their captive's shoulders, then pushed the initiates to their knees.

“In the beginning,” Mudsang said in a smooth, persuasive voice, “there were many kinds of spirits. The greatest of these were the garond spirits. All of these spirits worked together to create the world and all that is in it, so that we may have a pleasant place to live. But there were bad spirits among the good and great spirits. The bad spirits made bodies for themselves. These bad spirits became human and elf. These are pollution, vermin, filth upon the earth that belongs only to us. The True God made bodies for the good spirits and they became garonds.”

The Garond Mother started to speak, but the soldier behind her violently clapped his great paw over her mouth.

Mudsang was only slightly annoyed, and he immediately recovered. He smiled a charming smile at the other, unconverted garonds. “The greatest of the bad spirits took power from the greatest of the garond spirits in the first world. This Great Usurper rules as a god to the human. The True God to the garond came to this world in physical form,  to save us. The True God went into Deifol Hroth to save us. And he commands and protects us. What are his commandments?”

Mudsang theatrically turned with arms spread wide to look at all his captive and willing audience. The soldier garonds began to grunt and growl.

“What will they do with us?” Garmee Gamee fearfully asked.

“I think we’re the celebration banquet,” Yulenth said.

“The True God commands us to destroy this polluted world!” Mudsang called out in a musical voice. “The True God wants us to bring out the beast inside us, and use our strength against the bad thing called human. How best to destroy, utterly, these bad things? We eat them-”

The Garond Mother pulled the soldier’s paw from her mouth. “Enough!” She said with authority.

She stood and fixed Mudsang with an overpowering eye. “These are lies. We have fought these lies for over twenty years. The garond is kin to human and elf. The garond is the guardian and custodian of the earth. Without garond to live in happiness and peace with all things, the world would be thrown totally out of balance. The Great Spirit made elf first, then human, then garond. All are brothers and sisters who desperately need each other to live in peace and love at home.”

Mudsang gestured and the soldier standing behind the Garond Mother swung his club, crushing her skull. The Garond Mother died, looking at Wynnfrith with a crucial, unspoken plea in her eyes.

Mudsang looked at the slaughtered garond leader with contempt. “Thus ends all our enemies,” he said with a graceful flourish, and a broad, charming smile. “You must see the power of the Dark Lord,” he continued to the unconverted garonds, who all openly wept.

“You will join us or you will die,” Mudsang said as he shook his leg bone talisman. His body shook, and a light spark emanated from his body, glowing in the setting sunlight.

“No, no,” Wynnfrith said to herself as the farsight came to her. The vision pushed in like a cresting wave. But then He was there, and He had a pulsating, shining fruit in his hand. No, it wasn’t fruit, it was glass. No, not glass, it was the Lhalíi. Wynnfrith screamed.

Frea turned to look at Wynnfrith, just as Yulenth pulled her away. A bright, blue flash, from far away, hit Wynnfrith with a soft huff of intense power. Everyone shielded their eyes too late. The light enveloped Wynnfrith. Then she fell to the dirt as the light faded.

“Wynnfrith!” Frea cried, pulling at her.

Wynnfrith rolled over, apparently unharmed.

“He took my farsight,” Wynnfrith moaned. “He took it with the Lhalíi. He took it forever.”

The garonds all recovered in the gathering night.

“He has shown his power,” Mudsang proclaimed, seizing the opportunity to use the event to his advantage. “Will you accept the Dark Lord into your heart?” Mudsang said to an unconverted garond. The poor garond shook his head. Mudsang nodded, and the guard behind, swung his club, killing the kneeling garond. Mudsang moved on to the next garond.

“Will you taste the flesh of human and accept the Dark Lord of All Evil Magic into your heart?” Mudsang charged the next garond. The poor, terrified garond nodded his head in assent.

Mudsang turned to the humans.

“He’s the one you want!” Garmee Gamee said in perfect garondish. “His name is Yulenth. He is the husband of the Queen of the Weald. You can ransom him, or make him talk. But you have to let me go!”

Frea turned to Garmee Gamee with incredulous disgust.

“Take him!” Mudsang said. Two garond soldiers roughly grabbed Yulenth. Mudsang quietly spoke to the soldiers and they dragged Yulenth away into the night.

“Whatever happens now,” Frea said to Garmee Gamee, “if I survive, I will end your life.”

“She has the Ar!” Garmee Gamee cried to Mudsang.

The garonds were shocked to stillness.

“What did you say?” Mudsang quietly asked as he slowly approached Garmee Gamee.

“Get ready to run,” Frea said to Wynnfrith.

“Kill them all,” Mudsang pronounced with a sneer.

Frea clasped the short sword under her cloak. She flipped it up to cut the twine that bound her hands, and quickly rose with a spinning cut that beheaded the garond behind her. Frea pulled Wynnfrith to her feet.

Twenty garonds closed in.

“Cut my bonds,” Wynnfrith said.

“Run,” Frea said holding out her sword to the advancing garonds.

“Cut them!” Wynnfrith commanded.

Frea half turned and with an precise slice, cut the rope that  bound Wynnfrith’s hands.

“Kill them now!” Mudsang cried.

“Noooo!” Garmee Gamee wailed, stretching out on the dirt in a pathetic act of supplication.

Wynnfrith unwrapped the black stone hidden in her pocket. She cupped the Ar in both hands, but kept it cradled in it’s leather cover. She knew not to touch the stone. She felt calm and peaceful. The Ar warmly vibrated. She could see the faint yellow glow of the spark of life in everything around her. She saw the sparkle of every blade of grass. She saw the wavering, flickering flames of life of the garonds charging at her.

Wynnfrith closed her eyes. She felt the earth underneath her. She felt the pulsing waves of immense power in the earth. She could feel the blue lines of the earth’s power, like ropes stretching out into the distance. She nudged the coursing spans of power.

Frea steadied herself to take as many of the garonds as she could. Then the earth moved. She saw a ripple of earth emanate out like a wave of water. The grass burst and spit stones and dirt, with an immense shrug, as the earth rocked like a surging sea. The attacking garonds flew, bodily, into the air like rag dolls. She turned to see Wynnfrith serenely holding the Ar. She felt the energy, hot, radiating from Wynnfrith. Frea turned to see the garond soldiers all fallen and unconscious on the dirt of the ruins of the citadel.

“Run!” Frea pulled at Wynnfrith.

Wynnfrith opened her eyes. She rewrapped the Ar, and pulled at Garmee Gamee. “Come on,” Wynnfrith said to her.

The three woman ran north, into the dark of the night smothering the Far Grasslands.