The Archer From Kipleth (Book 2) (33 page)

The water began to subside, and the elf, the Archer, Caerlund and Ronenth, cradling his paricale, surfed the iceberg into Harvestley.

Ronenth looked out to where Byland used to be. With the isthmus shattered, the water now flowed with a quiet insistence. He saw long, dark shapes being pulled along with the current, vyreeoten.

Above in the night sky, the Wanderer was larger and closer than ever.

Chapter Twenty One

Losses and Discoveries

All the rest of the night was spent picking through the debris of Harvestley, looking for any left alive. Most of the women, children and elderly in the support camp had survived  by running to the west when the King of Waves destroyed Byland. Now every tent and provision was a soaked shambles.

Fully half of the human army had been either killed by the garond army or swept out to sea.

It was still midwinter and it was cold, cold and wet. The humans began fires to warm and dry themselves, and tended as quickly as they could to the wounded. The remaining humans stared out at the deluge of dark water, filled with mountains of ice, flowing from what was once the Great Lake of Ettonne into what was once the Bight of Lanis.

Halldora found Alrhett gathering families together, a basket of food in each arm.

“Is there word of Arnwylf?” Alrhett asked Halldora when she spotted her.

Halldora just shook her head.

“I have lost him so many times since we left Bittel,” Alrhett said with a tired smile. “But, he always seems to make his way back.”

“You saved some food,” Halldora said.

“Here,” Alrhett offered from the baskets in each arm, “have some of the cakes Garmee Gamee baked for Arnwylf. I was saving them for a celebration, but this seems as good an occasion as any.”

“Save me one for later,” Halldora said and moved off to help other wounded soldiers.

After checking several campfires, Halldora came upon the elf, the Archer, Caerlund and Ronenth.

“I am so glad to find you alive!” Halldora exclaimed. “Is Arnwylf with you?”

The silent, somber faces told Halldora more than she wished to know.

Halldora helped the water soaked quartet over to sit at a  blazing camp fire with several other humans.

“Ravensdred had a hold of his ankle, and he let go of me to save us all,” Ronenth darkly said, his paricale cluttered next to his wet, shivering body. “I tried to keep a hold of him. I tried.” Then Ronenth buried his face against his knees.

“Do not blame yourself,” the Archer said.

“I do not,” Ronenth said, raising his tear stained face. “I blame Ravensdred. And I swear, if it takes me the rest of my days, I will find Ravensdred and bring his corpse back to New Rogar Li, to sit next to me at the Banquet Hall during our Victory Celebration.”

“And what of Arnwylf? And Frea, Wynnfrith, and Yulenth?” Halldora asked with pleading eyes.

“We can search the beaches for Arnwylf’s body,” the Archer said. “If the sea wishes to return him to us.”

“Frea, Wynnfrith, and Yulenth?” The elf said. “They have taken a divergent path. I feel they are still alive in the Far Grasslands. But who knows for how long.”

“Then I will go there and save them,” Ronenth said standing.

“You have taken a lot on your shoulders, Ronenth,” Derragen tried to be calming. “Sit, eat, sleep. We will have many things to do in the coming days. Deifol Hroth is still among us, even though Wealdland is now safely cut off from the garonds of the Far Grasslands.”

“You have but one Arrow of Yenolah left,” the elf added.

“I had better not miss, then,” the Archer said with a tight, serious smile.

“You made it through the flood,” a familiar voice hissed from the shadows.

“Show yourself, Baalenruud,” the elf said, standing.

The immense black viper coiled out of the shadows, frightening away many humans who sat with the elf and her friends.

“I saved your life, and now we are friends, yes?” Baalenruud hissed.

The elf turned and bent down to grab the hilt of Bravilc, the elvish sword worn by the Archer. The elf whipped the sword up and out as she leapt, beheading Baalenruud with one stroke. The giant snake’s head rolled onto the fire with a crackle.

“I will never forgive you for killing my parents, Baalenruud,” the elf said to the burning snake’s head.

“Wolves, wolves!” The cry went up.

The Archer sprang to his feet, and the rest followed him to the sound of alarm.

Geleiden and Husvet led Conniker and the thirty wolves of his pack into the human camp.

“What has happened here?” Geleiden said. “And what is that?” He said pointing up at the massive iceberg melting in the middle of Harvestley.

“You missed the fight,” Ronenth said. “The garonds have been turned back. Byland is no more. And, Arnwylf is unaccounted for.”

The white wolf started at the announcement.

“No body has been found,” the Archer said holding up his hand. “He may yet be found alive.”

“Help! Help!” Someone urgently cried in the camp. “The Queen! The Queen!”

“Alrhett!” Halldora whispered and ran to the place she last saw her.

A large group of people gathered around a group of humans sprawled around a campfire, among them was Alrhett, Queen of the Weald.

“What happened?” Halldora demanded.

“They just started foaming from the mouth,” a woman said.

Conniker sniffed the half eaten cake in Alrhett’s hand.

“Poison,” the white wolf said to the elf.

“The cakes are poison,” the elf said. “Where did they come from?”

“Garmee Gamee made them for Arnwylf,” Halldora moaned as she fell to her knees to stroke Alrhett’s hair.

Conniker lifted his head and huffed to the elf.

“The white wolf wants me to tell you,” the elf said, “he and his pack will have nothing more to do with humans.”

With that, the wolf pack began to move out.

“Wait!” Husvet pled, but his own wolf, Farren, snapped at him.

Every wolf disappeared into the shadows of the night.

“I can not blame them,” the elf said. “Perhaps, I, too, should have nothing more to do with humans.”

Derragen, the Archer From Kipleth, wanted to desperately plead with the elf, but he had no words to stop her.

Just before dawn, Ravensdred washed ashore onto the rough sand of the shores of the Far Grasslands. He growled to himself, still remembering the dark haired boy with the silvery, moving weapon. He sputtered and coughed himself to an upright position. Then he held aloft with wonder, the fused Sun and Moon swords he still clutched in his huge paw.

As dawn broke over the water soaked Far Grasslands, Wynnfrith and Frea looked out at the new sea birthing before them. Wynnfrith tightly gripped the stone wrapped in leather in her hands. She had no idea where to go or what to do next.

Frea stared out across the bluing water. Wealdland now seemed impossibly far away to Frea.

“Arnwylf,” Frea whispered with a broken heart.

In his citadel in Wealdland, Deifol Hroth moved his hand, and his Jaefa Smiota table reset itself. The pieces moved back to their starting positions, reset by the Dark Lord’s unseen forces.

The door opened and a human entered.

“Do you play Jaefa Smiota?” Deifol Hroth asked his visitor. “I will teach you. Stavolebe did just as you predicted. But something went wrong. There is another part of the Heaven’s Key. A stone I had not foreseen.”

Deifol Hroth turned and a look of concentration played across his face. His other arm wiggled and snaked up out of his empty sleeve. He clenched both his fists, and gently moved both his arms like a dancer.

“No matter,” the Dark Lord of All Evil Magic said. “Once the Lhalíi is recovered, it will be simple to bring the Ar to me.”

“Will the Lhalíi be so easy to find, in the depths of a new sea?” Yulenth said, stepping from the shadows.

“My dear Yulenth,” Deifol Hroth laughed, “you have no faith.”

Chapter Twenty Two

A New Dawn

Zik helped his sailors push the shattered, heavy main mast over the side of his ship. They had lost both masts and the spinnaker as well. It was a miracle they had survived the colossal wave. The towering wall of water had used most of its energy shattering Byland, otherwise his ruined vessel would have been sunk.

Without sails, they were now at the mercy of the currents. But, fortunate for him and his crew, the ocean’s waters would push his crippled ship due south anyway, south to their home.

The new sun, rising in the east, made a sparkle like diamonds across the surface of the ocean. The day was warm and clear. The worst of winter had passed. There was now the rebirth and reawakening of the earth to look forward to.

“Man at sea!” A cry went up.

The sailors all ran to the opposite gunwale to spot the man floating in the water.

Grisn was at home in the water, its hind legs folded back, his lower body thrust side to side and threaded the water like a fish. The gigantic beast carefully pushed the boy with his massive horns. He had to be gentle, the Kaprk-Uusshu knew his horns were covered with spikes, and he didn’t want to hurt this boy.

Zik couldn’t believe his eyes. He turned to see several sailors with spears poised.

“Put those down!” He commanded, then leapt over the side. Myama was right behind him.

Zik bravely swam right up to the beast who regarded him with a large eye with a rectangular pupil.

“I can take him from here,” Zik tensely said to Grisn as he took a hold of Arnwylf.

Myama caught up to Zik.

“He’s still alive,” Zik told Myama. The two sailors carefully swam away, keeping a wary eye on the strange sea beast.

Grisn then sank into the sea with nary a splash or bubble.

The sailors hauled their captain, the First Mate and Arnwylf up onto the Main Deck.

“Put him in my cabin,” Zik ordered.

“We can not take him home again,” Myama said with a frown.

“The fates have brought young Arnwylf once again to my ship for a reason,” Zik said with a crooked smile. “I do not know this reason, and who am I to debate the Greater Powers?”

Myama laughed.

“Back to work!” The captain bellowed.

The whole crew went back to repairing their wounded ship as it aimlessly floated south.

Here ends:

Book Two: The Archer From Kipleth

The story concludes in:

Book Three: The Lord of Lightning

Apocrypha:

Book Four: Legends of Haergill and Conniker’s Tale

www.thelastelfoflanis.blogspot.com

on twitter: kjhargan