by Jack Conner
“The Moonstone,” Alathon said, rubbing his chin. “So it is still in play, then? Interesting. Yes, well I remember its forging.”
“Tell us, Father,” said Isella. “I learned it of it, long ago, but I confess I never knew much of the Moonstone. It was far away, and in the hands of Men. It seemed less important. But if it is still a force in the world, I would hear what you can tell of it.”
Alathon leaned back. “I will make this quick, as I have spoken overlong already. But the forging of the Moonstone is wrapped up in the War of Light Divided, in the Fall of Men—or his creation, anyway. For back then, at the time of the Exodus, there were no Men, only Elves, Dwarves and a few other races, such as the Giants, on the side of the Light—if the Dwarves can be said to be so.
“But after the Exodus, Gilgaroth corrupted one noble house of the Elves, who commanded a large kingdom, and that house made war on the others, wanting to usurp the throne which Gilgaroth had convinced them was theirs by right. They were defeated and their Grace was stripped from them by the Omkar, making them into mortal Men, and the fallen kingdom was driven into exile. Some repented and took up Lord Varan for their king. He alone of the wicked royal house had spoken against the mad war. His elder brother Kor worshipped the dark powers, though, and tried to defeat Varan’s faction. Illiana intervened, gifting Varan the Moonstone, showing that there was still some favor from the Omkar, and with its might the dark arts of Kor’s host were defeated, and Varan led his host from the lands of Kor.
“Varan, the first great king of goodly Men, established his own kingdom, of Gelmion, and for a time in the light of the Moonstone it flourished. He had four children, all long-lived, as were all of his line at that time, blessed as they were by Illiana, and each established separate kingdoms. Though they would wax and wane, these were the four kingdoms from which all Men came from. They would spread throughout the world and become distinct from one another over the epochs, but they all began there, in the deeps of time.
“The land of Kor became a dark empire of fell Men, and they worshipped the Shadow and served it faithfully, making war on the Gelmions, the Elves and Dwarves. Their empire was Kor-Tal, and Kor’s descendants still reign, all dark, sorcerous and evil beings. All save one, perhaps. She, a beautiful daughter of one of the noble houses, Lydea, wishes things were otherwise.
“After the founding of Gelmion came the Great War that ended with the all-but-death of Brunril and the expulsion of Lorg-jilaad from the Circles of the World. The Dwarves participated in the early wars, and were fierce fighters against the Enemy, but one Dwarf king was captured, tortured and enslaved by the arts of Gilgaroth. He was set loose and returned to his kingdom, but during a critical battle he, having been corrupted, refused to send out the agreed-upon troops, and many Elves were slaughtered, including the Elvish King. The son of that Dwarvish lord rose up against his father and usurped the throne, and the evil Dwarf king led his loyal faction away, becoming allies of the Korians. Thus there are both evil Men and evil Dwarves, but no evil Elves—though Men were once Elves.
“The great city of the Omkar was called Eyathol, in the land of Erethon, and many Elves lived there with them in the beginning of days, blessed in their sacred glow. After the Exodus, and even before, the Omkar aided the free peoples and made war on Lorg-jilaad, and this lasted for many centuries until Lorg-jilaad and Brunril overthrew each other. Then Gilgaroth forged his terrible hammer and journeyed deep into the earth, then used it to break apart the foundations of the world, sundering Eyathol from the world. Then he became the new Dark Lord and sought to spread shadow over Vatha.
“The Moonstone is thus one of the few artifacts of the Omkar left in Vatha and is very sacred and important. When it was broken, that was a huge blow to the goodly races. If it can be restored, that would be a boon to the North.” To Rolenya, he said, “But how can restoring the Moonstone be accomplished? What precisely was your errand in my city, if I may ask?”
“One of the Omkar was Sarena, goddess of nature,” Rolenya said, speaking partly for Baleron’s benefit, “and she had a sacred grove of great trees in Eyathol. They were her great and special labor, and all the residents of the holy land delighted in strolling through the enchanted grove, where they could feel the echo of creation and feel the touch of the One.
“She gifted the seeds of the greatest of the trees to King Toron, who was the greatest of the Elvish houses to lead his people from the city to spread Light throughout the world. He defeated a mighty demon and became a renowned hero. He planted the seeds in the gardens of his Palace in his great empire, and those trees became symbols of his House and his Realm. After the Great War, when Gilgaroth’s forces spread unchecked, that empire was overrun and the sacred trees burned. Seeing the end coming, King Toron took several cuttings and sent his children away from the city to establish their own secret cities, cities that could survive in this new age. He stayed to defend the city and so fell to the dragon Gorlonth. My mother’s hidden city grew too large to stay hidden and so took strength in arms instead, becoming the great empire of Larenthi. There remain three more hidden kingdoms, though. One fell, but two remain, this and one other.
“During the most recent war, Vilana’s sacred grove was burned, but there still might be two possible sacred groves left in Vatha, or maybe just one. After all of my research, I believe that if the Moonstone could be planted in the ground at the roots of one of the great holy trees, that it could be healed.”
“So that is your quest, then?” Baleron said. “To find one of these sacred groves? And you think one might be here?”
She said nothing, but Alathon was shaking his head. “Sadly, we have no such grove here. We did have seeds, and we did plant them … in the first location we settled. But that city was discovered and overrun, forcing us into flight. It was only then that the survivors, which before had maintained the culture of the High Elves, became mingled with the Gray Elves, who had never looked upon the Lamps of Etheil or walked in the Groves of Sarena. We became the Green-Elves, the Wood-Elves.”
Rolenya nodded, but her eyes showed great sadness. “What of the other hidden city? Does it contain one of the mystic groves?”
“I know not. I do not even know where it is. I and my people were able to maintain a dialogue with the outer world through—well, we have already spoken of the seeing stone and I need say no more—but my brother Calost has no such stone, and he told no one where he would take his people. His House and his folk vanished and were never seen again.”
Rolenya hung her head. “I was so certain … The Blessed Vale was my last hope. I knew that if I could find you, then I could heal the Moonstone … or thought I knew. But now all my hopes are dashed, and the world is bereft without the sacred sphere. Mogra will be free to deliver her unholy spawn and plunge the world into an Everlasting Darkness.”
“We won’t let that happen,” Baleron said. “We’ll retrieve the Swords of the Sun, one way or another, and use it to destroy the Altar, if it can be found. I’m sure Lorivanneth’s team is still translating the Book even now, following up on the leads Karkost was pursuing.”
Lorivanneth blushed as attention returned to her. Bobbing her head in assent, she said, “Yes, it is so. Hopefully soon we will have some idea where to look for the Altar, and then you can destroy it, if you have one of these Swords. At least, that is what Karkost believed.”
“Since his arts are sufficient to place his soul into the body of a dragon, I’m inclined to trust him—or at least his arts,” said Feren, which was the first sensible thing Baleron could remember him saying.
“Then I must be off to the Ivaeronians,” Baleron said. “I started this journey, and I mean to see it through. I will not ask anyone else to go with me.”
Surprising him, Rolenya leaned over and squeezed his hand. “I will go.”
“Are you sure?”
“You will need me, as you said, and evidently my own quest has failed. There is no reason why yours should, too. At least, if we work t
ogether, it may have some chance for success.” To Alathon, she said, “You have aided us enough, and I would ask no more of you, save to continue translating the Book. We will return if—no, when—we have one of these Swords.”
Alathon frowned. “The cities of the Ivaeronians are far, and on the other side of some very perilous land. No, I will not send you alone, with the weight of the world riding on the outcome. No, I will send you with troops, gear and supplies—not a large enough host to attract attention, but one sufficient to protect you from the more common types of danger.”
“I could simply fly them,” Calendil said. “I could take a wing and have them there within a day or two, three at the outset.”
“You forget where the Ivaeronians are located,” Feren said, not unkindly. “On the other side of the Aragst from them is the great Oslogon city of Vog, ruled over by a brood of terrible worms. Their kind fill the sky in that quarter, and they’ve forced the Ivaeronians to hollow out the mountains for their citadels. It would be folly to travel by air that way.”
“Feren is right,” Alathon said. “Baleron and Rolenya must travel by land, and with a small enough party that they can remain secret. Besides, my son, I need you to lead the attack on Karkost, and to defend the borders. I cannot spare you or your men for a trip to visit your cousins.”
“That is not what I was after, Father.”
“I know. Nonetheless I need you here.” Alathon paused, sweeping the small gathering with his shrewd gaze. Finally his eyes alighted on Feren. “You, my son, should accompany them.”
“Me?” said Feren, in tones of scandal.
“Really, we’ll be fine on our own,” Baleron said.
“Listen to the mortal!” said Feren.
Alathon almost smiled. “One of my House must accompany this quest, on which much may depend—even the saving of our world from the Shadow. I will not have it said that my family refused to participate or that we sent brave Baleron and shining Rolenya to their doom unaided. But Calendil is needed here, as is Lorivanneth. Isella can fight, when pressed, but that is not her skill. You, Feren, are a doughty warrior, though you choose to spend your time on more frivolous pursuits. This will toughen you, and your quick blade will be a boon to our friends.”
Feren frowned, but at last he nodded. “I am yours to command, Father.”
“I would not have you do this because I command it, but because you believe in the cause at hand.” When Feren said nothing, Alathon sighed. To Baleron and Rolenya, he said, “When do you propose to leave?”
“As soon as we may,” Baleron said.
“Dawn,” Rolenya said. “We’ll leave at dawn. And may the Omkar smile upon our mission.”
Chapter 12
On his way out of the chamber of the meeting, Baleron paused, then told Rolenya he would meet her in their suite. Alathon was just wishing his children good evening, and he looked surprised when Baleron approached him. When they were alone, the King said, “Yes?”
“It concerns Tiron.”
“Ah. You wish him spared from the trials of your quest? If that is so, he may remain with us.” But there was a watchful quality in Alathon’s gaze as he said this.
That encouraged Baleron. “Actually, no.”
“Please, go on.”
“You see, I’ve had experience with the Enemy before, and I know the ways of the Shadow well. They like to take my friends and loved ones, and assume their shape.”
“And you worry that Tiron could be under a similar sway. Yes, of course. We wondered the same thing, and we have updated our protocols for dealing with those we suspect may be false, in part based on what we’ve learned of your story during the War. We put Tiron through every test, and even invented some new ones for the occasion. He passed every trial or he would not be here. Still … I sense something …”
“Yes?”
“Not the Shadow, but a shadow. There is a shadow upon his soul, and I cannot explain it. It could simply be the specter of loss and grief, but I wonder. And I confess that his presence in my Palace, where my own children sleep, unnerves me.” Alathon paused. “What will you tell him of tonight’s meeting?”
“As little as I can,” Baleron said. “And I will take him on my quest, at least part-way. I don’t know if I trust him enough to take him all the way—or however far we get, I should say. I don’t want to jinx things. I’ll leave him somewhere—some town, some inn. I’ll give him some mission that sounds important, but that is really an excuse for him to be away from us. I wouldn’t want him sabotaging our efforts to obtain one of these Swords of the Sun. Nor would I have him remain here and be a threat to you and yours.”
“That is thoughtful, Baleron.” Alathon took a moment to smile and clap Baleron on the shoulder. “I have spent precious little time around mortals, but if they’re all as worthy as you, then I may need to adjust how I arrange my hours.”
“I thank you for that. Always Elves seem to like me more than my own kind. But I don’t mean to sound self-pitying; I know well enough my luck and good fortune. Back to Tiron—I would ask you to place some of your folk to watch him. Not close enough to attract his attention, but close enough to make sure he doesn’t get up to any mischief—just in case.”
“I will see it done. Was there anything else?”
“No. You have been most gracious, and I thank you.”
They bid each other goodnight, and Baleron returned to the suite he, Rolenya and Tiron shared. Tiron was listening to Rolenya give an account of their meeting. Baleron thought to interrupt, then realized that Rolenya was doing exactly as he would have done in limiting the account. In fact, she omitted details Baleron probably would have given.
When she was done, Tiron said, “Amazing! So … the plan is to set out tomorrow, bound for the Southeast?”
“That’s the plan,” Rolenya agreed.
“The Ivaeronians certainly sound intriguing,” Tiron said. “I wonder what they’ll be like in person. Not as soft as the folk of Ivenien, I have a feeling.”
“Me, too,” Baleron said, thinking, Only you’ll never see them.
Tiron stretched. “Well, if we’re to be off early tomorrow, I’d better get some sleep. I have some nerves to burn off first, though. Baleron, want to accompany me for a walk?”
“Sure, but only for a ways,” Baleron said. “I’m for bed soon.”
Together the two left Rolenya and set out through the elegant, spacious halls. Elves came and went about them, lithe and graceful. Even the very air seemed like some sort of perfume. Baleron relished the sights and sounds—and smells—and lamented that they would have to leave so soon.
As if picking up on his thoughts, Tiron said, “It is a shame to leave this place. I’ve only just arrived! And you can’t beat Elves for a sense of wonder. At least,” he added, “that’s what I’ve always been told. The truth is I’ve only ever met one Elf before—a wandering scholar—back when I was a lad.”
“I hadn’t either, until the War. Ah, the White Tower of Elethris! That was a sight and no mistake.”
“Is it true that it fell?”
Baleron nodded sadly. “I was there the day it happened.” And the fell deed was accomplished by an agent of the Enemy wearing a friendly face, he didn’t add.
They reached a window and paused to admire the panorama of the city, with its myriad of twinkling lights shining from the trees, illuminating the charming dwellings in soft light. Little bridges sprang from tree to tree along their upper branches, creating stately concourses through the bowers. Elves excelled at leaping from limb to limb, but here they didn’t need to (though Baleron was sure many strayed from the paths). Fireflies, surely enchanted, buzzed among the branches, casting soft light of many colors.
“Lovely,” said Tiron, and his voice sounded awed, and strangely sad.
Baleron studied him. “It is good to have you back with us. For a while I wasn’t sure if the Elves would agree to go out after you. But Alathon is a kindly king, and his sons are brave.”
&n
bsp; “One of them is, anyway. I’m not sure about the other.”
Baleron smiled ruefully. “Too true. But time will tell. That one is coming with us.”
“And this Book—is it coming with us, too?”
“No, it’s staying here under guard. The Elves haven’t finished translating it yet, and so it must reside here until that is done.”
“Why not just burn the Book?”
“A partial translation yielded the idea of finding the Swords of the Sun. Who knows what a complete translation will turn up?”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Tiron said. “Only …”
“Yes?”
“It seems an awful risk to leave it intact. Should it find its way back to the Enemy, who knows what harm could befall?” Some odd note had entered his voice, and he sounded grave and leaden, as if ruminating on some inevitable doom. He sighed then and pointed to a glowing dome amidst the trees a few miles away. “Is that the Library?”
“You must have studied a map of this place.” Even now Baleron pictured Lorivanneth hunched over the Book at the Library, surrounded by her fellow scholars and translators.
“A good soldier always knows the layout when entering enemy territory,” Tiron said.
“The Elves are not our enemy.”
“Of course not, my lord. But they aren’t … us, either. If you see what I mean.”
“I think so.” I see that they make you uncomfortable, and that you’re mapping out their city as if for … what? What could Tiron, alone, do?
Surreptitiously, Baleron glanced around, scanning the shadows. Sure enough, two Elves loitered in a hallway not far away, seeming to make idle conversation, but hadn’t Baleron seen them earlier, as well, just as he and Tiron had started out? The tail, he thought. These were the Elves Alathon had sent to keep tabs on Tiron. Good.
Satisfied that all was well, Baleron yawned and said, “Well, I’ll leave you to your walk. I want to get some rest before we set out.”