The Lord Of Lightning (Book 3)

by K. J. Hargan

  The coincidence was too much for Iounelle. And coupled to that, the gathering to Bittel of the only elf blood mixed into the few humans in all of Wealdland also troubled her mind, as the leagues were covered by her horse.

  Iounelle had the reoccurring, uneasy feeling that a Hidden Hand was moving events all around her. But for what purpose and how, she was not sure.

  Iounelle began to worry about the human baby nestled against her breast. Although the child had drunk deeply of wolf's milk the night before, she had no way to feed the infant now.

  But, little Mót slept soundly against her warm body, thus far on the journey.

  As she rode, Iounelle thought about what Yulenth had said in Bittel about the coming garond invasion.

  "Two days at the latest," He had said last night.

  Which meant that the garond army could be expected to arrive tomorrow, Iounelle thought, or earlier.

  Iounelle wondered how she would get the reian army to Syrenf in time, even if they were persuaded to fight. If every reian had a horse, they might arrive tomorrow evening, on foot, it would be too late.

  In the late afternoon, halfway across the Westernway Road through the Western Meadowlands, Iounelle felt as though someone was watching her. She scanned the horizon in every direction and saw no sign of life, not even wild animals.

  The elf just couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, and suddenly she pinpointed the source. She looked straight up as a straight blue streak of energy screamed across the clear, cloudless sky, leaving behind an unsettling humming sound.

  Instinctively ducking her head, Iounelle wondered at the sight. But since it didn't impede her progress towards Gillalliath, she didn't let it occupy her thoughts, and urged her horse onward.

  Iounelle looked out to the south, to the Mere Lanis. The ocean was placid and calm, reflecting the setting sun of the late afternoon. She thought of the corsairs that once visited her city, Lanis Rhyl Landemiriam, when she was still a child.

  The corsairs, from lands far to the south, had a rich, dark brown skin, and the elves loved them. They would bring gems, minerals, and skillfully crafted goods in exchange for elvish jewelry and cloth. Iounelle remembered that the corsairs seemed to always be laughing. Her people cherished laughter, and any who displayed a keen sense of humor was always welcome among the elves.

  Iounelle thought that maybe she saw a sail in the reflecting glare on the sea, but wasn't sure if she simply wanted her old life to come back to her. She brought her mind back to the present and focused on the task at hand.

  "Hvus leenas savathal, rágnde? " Iounelle called down to her steed.

  "I'ol lepa hlau'a ," the horse breathlessly replied. Iounelle knew the horse must be weary, and had to be careful because she knew the animal would run until its heart would burst, such was the animal's love for her.

  Iounelle knew Gillalliath was near. The Westernway Road was now as flat and as even as the surrounding Eastern Meadowland. The road began to very gradually rise. Glimpses of silver reflected from the north, sunlight shining off of the Lake of Hapaun, rumored to now be teeming with vyreeoten.

  Iounelle thought about the Archer. It had been his face she had seen when, against all elven laws, unmarried, she had climbed to the top of Bawn Hae. How could the streams and patterns of time single out a specific face, and a human one at that?

  The elf so desperately wanted to see him again and spend more time with him. She thought with tenderness about their night together, the previous night, and wished to spend many more nights in such a manner.

  The elf and horse cleared a rise, and suddenly the Westernway Road dipped down to its end, the Flume of Rith and the Three Bridges of Gillalliath.

  Iounelle pulled on the mane of the horse. She neither saddled nor bridled her horse, since she could speak directly to her steed and the horse would obey her.

  All three of the magnificently, curiously carved Bridges of Gillalliath, that spanned the icy, deadly sluice of the flume were shattered.

  Like the bones of a carcass, the remains of the bridges reached to the ruins of the other side. Down below, the flume was full to flooding its banks with icy water filled with huge chunks of ice flowing from the bursting Lake of Hapaun.

  The distances between the remains of the bridges were too far for the horse to jump. Iounelle had to find a way to get across the flume. Her mind raced. Then she patted her horse's neck.

  "Sava fareima naskreim, rágnde? " Iounelle asked the filly, who frothed at the mouth in exhaustion. In response, the horse nodded her white starred head with affirmation.

  Iounelle moved the horse into position along the middle bridge, which seemed to have the shortest gap. The elf carefully watched the ice chunks rushing down the flume.

  "Tró! " The elf cried and kicked the horse to a sprint.

  The horse ran directly to the broken span of the bridge, and jumped.

  Just as the horse reached the end of the arc of her jump, a huge chunk of ice swiftly moved directly beneath her hooves. The horse kicked off the iceberg, shards of ice spraying, and leapt for the far span of the broken bridge.

  The elf and the horse clattered to safety on the far side. The horse reared and loudly neighed in triumphed, but the elf quickly shushed her, sensing the eyes of vyreeoten watching.

  Iounelle softly urged her charge towards the city at an apprehensive walk. The elf continued to scan every corner and shadow for movement.

  Gillalliath was a city shaped like a crescent. The uppermost streets and halls sat on the banks of Lake Hapaun. And the streets, houses and halls stepped down to the beaches of the Mere Lanis far below, near where the Flume of Rith sprayed down onto the sand of the shore. At the place where the city met the ocean, seven, huge, elvish ships sat moored for what looked like hundreds of years. Seven ships and eight slips. One had sailed and never returned. The reians had populated the gigantic vessels, turning them into small cities at the foot of Gillalliath.

  All the city was intricately carved, dark oak; warm, yellow pine; and black walnut trim. Each level of the city had long, narrow lochs with boats constantly moving, pulled by chains, powered by ever moving water wheels. The whole image made the city look like a kinetic clock the elf had once seen carved by an expert woodworker of the Weald.

  Gillalliath was empty and quiet. Water streamed down the streets and poured off the eaves of houses. The whole city was flooding from the overflow of the swelling lake up above.

  Iounelle noticed that much of the city had shattered walls, as though large animals had smashed its way through the houses and halls of the city.

  "Vyreeoten," Iounelle whispered to herself.

  Iounelle guided her nervous horse over the slippery cobblestones of Gillalliath. The constant sound of trickling and splashing water was disquieting.

  Iounelle thought she heard the sound of something large sloshing down a side street, but when she whipped her head around, all was still but for the continuous dripping, pattering water.

  The baby nestled against her breast began to stir. She shushed the child, but the infant woke and began to cry.

  Something very large splashed two streets down. Then, behind her, another large body sloshed quickly past.

  "Narl hreilaplótrykk ghen pak, rágnde, " the elf whispered down to her filly.

  From the closest corner of the wood paneled street, a blue vyreeoten, three times the size of the horse, revealed itself with a squealed, noxious war cry, it's horrible mandibles working with saliva.

  The elf's horse reared in fear and lost its footing on the wet cobblestones. The elf fell, and tried to protect the baby as she tumbled from the horse.

  The horse rolled over on its back as another vyreeoten squealed its hunting cry behind them. The horse righted itself and bounded down a street in a panic.

  "Rágnde!" The elf cried as a third vyreeoten loomed behind the first. The horse turned a corner and was g
one.

  Iounelle drew the elvish blade she had kept for herself from the armory of Lanis Rhyl Landemiriam. She knew, even though it was a fine blade, that the metal would have no effect on the otherworldly animals. Experience had taught all in Wealdland that the vyreeoten were impervious to metal.

  Iounelle looked back at the street from which she had come. There were no other options. She ran for her life as the three vyreeoten charged.

  Iounelle could hear the greedy monsters jostling for the front position, hoping to be the first to strike, as she sprinted as fast as she could down the slippery street.

  At the next intersection, a fourth vyreeoten reared with a disgusting squeal, its long, sinewy arms spasmodically flailing. Iounelle immediately spun and ran in the opposite direction.

  The elf heard a loud crash, and knew the vyreeoten were burrowing through the reian homes to cut her off.

  At the next intersection, Iounelle turned left just as a vyreeoten exploded out of the hall on the corner, wood shards flying through the air. The creature snatched at her with its thin arms. Iounelle ducked under the monster's long claws, and ran.

  The next junction was only a right turn, and Iounelle followed the street. At the turning, the elf found herself at a dead end, trapped by the high, stone wall of the loch of the next, upper level of the city.

  The four vyreeoten crowded onto the narrow street leading to Iounelle. A fifth vyreeoten slithered up behind the gang of creatures.

  Iounelle looked to the houses that lined the street. By the time she kicked a door in, the vyreeoten would be on her.

  A human male voice called from above in a strange language.

  Iounelle looked up, and saw a muscular, young man, with a wide, crooked nose, and close cropped blonde hair extending his hand down to her. He urgently shook his hand, urging her to leap up for it.

  The vyreeoten paused with the sight of the strange human, and Iounelle used that moment to her advantage.

  Checking her grip on the baby, the elf jumped up and kicked at a corner of the stone wall, and then spun and kicked at the abutting wall. From the kick, Iounelle leapt up high enough to just reach up, and grab the young man's outstretched hand.

  Iounelle could hear the vyreeoten squealing and lunging for her, and she felt the talons of the long arms of the closest monster brush the sole of her boot, as the young man hauled her up.

  "Thank you," Iounelle breathed, taking in the young human who had just saved her life.

  He was healthy and clean for a human. He had the face of a fighter; a broken nose; wide, muscular jaws; two fine scars on his left cheekbone; and staring, ice blue eyes. He wore a tight, form fitting suit of mesh, blue metal. He was so beautiful, Iounelle instinctively looked to his ears to see if they were pointed, since her first thought was that he must be an elf.

  The young man looked down at the baby in Iounelle's arms, and for an instant, Iounelle thought he might harm the baby, so aversive was his glare. The elf pulled the infant back, and the young man shook his head and let the moment go.

  The young man spoke again in his foreign tongue, rising, and smiled a tight smile of frustration, knowing he wasn't being understood.

  Iounelle rose and nodded, thinking she comprehended his meaning.

  The young man sprinted for the edge of the loch, and Iounelle followed close behind. She could hear the smashing of wooden walls as the vyreeoten on the level below worked their way up. The street ahead was straight, and led to the far edge of the city. He's leading me out of the city, to the western side, Iounelle thought.

  The elf turned and looked back as she ran, the vyreeoten had made their way up and were behind them. The young male human was pulling ahead of Iounelle, which surprised her as no human could run faster than an elf.

  The young man turned right at the intersection, and there was a bright flash of blue light. Iounelle caught up to the corner and turned to see the young man nowhere in sight. He had vanished.

  From the next intersection, down the block, Iounelle's horse screamed and rose up to get her attention.

  "I'ol fnala sjogee'au! " Iounelle's horse cried.

  Iounelle ran for the horse, she looked over her shoulder to see all five, vile vyreeoten bearing down on her, their disgusting bodies rapidly undulating like gigantic caterpillars, their gangly arms thrashing with greedy hunger.

  As the elf reached the intersection, Hanarry, of the Children of Lanis, pulled the elf out of the way.

  "Fire!" Hanarry bellowed, and a dozen archers turned the corner to released a volley of wood tipped arrows.

  Iounelle turned to see the wood arrows embed deep in the screaming vyreeoten.

  "Let's finish them!" Myanne ordered, rounding the corner. Fifty reian warriors, brandishing knives that seemed to glow, ran behind Myanne. A group of soldiers with wooden spears followed close behind. The mad group of warriors pounced on the wounded vyreeoten and slashed and hacked at their abominable bodies.

  "I am so happy to find you," Hanarry said with that brilliant smile that he always flashed, his golden curls shaking with joy.

  Myanne returned with the reian warriors, their bodies splashed with the disgusting, dark purple blood of the vyreeoten.

  "Those knives," Iounelle said in astonishment.

  "Myanne found the crystal knives," Hetwing said as she approached.

  "Hetwing of Reia!" Iounelle said with sudden happiness. Iounelle immediately noticed that the shy, orange haired girl who had become the heir of the throne of Reia, now carried herself with confidence and strength.

  "Iounelle of Lanis," Hetwing said with affection. "And I see you have a child with you. Is it elfling?"

  "No," Iounelle said. "The baby is an orphan who will not let any other hold him. But he hasn't suckled for a day now. Do you have any wet nurse that can give him sustenance?"

  "We will find one for you," Hetwing said, then she held up her hand with an imperious gesture. "Uncle Eoric, find a wet nurse for this infant." An older man with large shoulders and flowing white hair, who seemed humbled and grateful to Hetwing, stepped forward.

  "It will be done at once, My Queen," Eoric said with a smile, and carefully took the baby from Iounelle. The child immediately began to wail.

  "But what of Wealdland?" Hetwing asked with worry. "Do you flee the extinction of the human race?"

  "All balances on the sword's edge," Iounelle answered. "I have come to ask the reians to join the battle that most certainly will come tomorrow."

  "Where must we go?" Hanarry eagerly asked. Iounelle noticed that Hanarry and Myanne, who had hated each other so vehemently only four moonths ago, now stood close to each other in open affection, and gently held hands.

  "The Evil One hopes to receive the swords of power from his garond general at his citadel here in Wealdland," Iounelle answered. "He will bring his entire garond army across the New Sea. If He succeeds in obtaining the Moon Sword and the Sun Sword from Ravensdred, all is lost."

  "Then we must make for the Plains of Syrenf," Myanne said, her dark eyes shining, "and stop him."

  "I fear we will not be able to move the armies of Reia quick enough. We will not be in time," Iounelle said with a frown. "We know the garond army will come tomorrow, but it will take an entire day to move the reian army to Syrenf." Iounelle took in the thousands of warriors now moving into the city stretching out behind Hetwing.

  "If we could use the great elvish ships down there in the harbor," Hetwing began.

  "But who knows how to sail them?" Myanne darkly asked.

  As if guided by the Great Parent, Iounelle's gaze was pulled out to the Mere of Lanis, the unending ocean to the south. The sun was just setting, and threw golden spears of light on the green glass of the sea. There on the ocean stood a single ship with red sails.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nightfall

  The small sailboat rocked on the waters of the New Sea as the sun began to sink in the west, over the thin strip of dark land that was home.

 
The sails continued to billow with the wind created by Frea as long as she held the Ar. Frea felt exhausted and weary. The Ar put a great strain on any human who held the palm-sized, black, cup shaped stone. Frea now knew that the Yarta, the Heart of the Earth, the Ar was never meant for humans to use.

  Ronenth was silent the whole trip. Frea knew it was because he was heart broken. They both knew that Frea was for Arnwylf, had always been for Arnwylf. Just as Arnwylf had always been for her. Frea knew that Ronenth was finally accepting this truth, with difficulty, but accepting it.

  Wynnfrith's silence troubled Frea more. She hadn't slept and she stared uncomfortably at Frea the whole trip. Frea wasn't sure, but it felt as though Wynnfrith was jealous of Frea using the Ar to create the wind that drove the small sailboat home to Wealdland.

  Frea felt eager to be back in Wealdland. It had been almost four moonths since they left for the Far Grasslands, but it felt like a lifetime. Frea had found her own strength and resilience, living day to day, fending off the occasional garond patrol. She had become quite skilled at swordplay with the daily necessity of fighting to survive.

  Frea looked down at the odd sword she had found buried beneath the sod of the Far Grasslands. She wondered who it once belonged to. How had it come to be buried? It was clearly of human design. Frea knew of the histories of humans going back several generations, but anything before the elf human wars, and the great migrations of the Skylds and Wylflings to Wealdland were simply legends.

  Perhaps the elf would recognize the sword, or the race that made it. But the elf, for being only three hundred years old, was young among her people. This sword had to be thousands of years old, and the blade was still intact.

  Frea could hear the crashing of the breakers and sat up straight.

  "We're close," she said.

  Ronenth and Wynnfrith sat up and faced the white cliffs of Harvestley looming above the foam of the surf.

  "Keep your eyes open for any vyreeoten," Ronenth said scanning the murky waters.