by C A Oliver
‘The Greater Gods Agadeon and Uleydon must have fought for control of this ford,’ Camatael thought to himself, contemplating the geological scars that still bore witness to the chaotic clash of stone and water.
Over time, the fast-flowing stream had eroded the natural limestone barrier, resulting in the gorge he now stood before. The raw power of nature never failed to amaze him. The torrent sprung from ancient, sub-glacial streams, and here it disappeared again into the deep limestone gorges. The lord of House Dol Lewin marvelled at the surrounding cliffs.
The rest of his group, composed of two-dozen clan Llyvary guards, were scaling down into the depths of the gorge, like fearless explorers sinking into the abyss. The Llewenti fighters were protecting Matriarch Myryae dyl Llyvary, ensuring her safety and closely monitoring her progress as she descended the natural steps into the canyon.
Camatael then began his own descent through an impressive beech forest that was anchored into the rock. In order to descend into the canyon, the group had to cross the gorge at several points, down along the various natural stairways forged at various points in this place’s violent geological history. Camatael’s first crossing was along a set of large boulders wedged between the gorge's walls. It offered him a memorable sight of the torrent below, running almost two hundred feet beneath him at the bottom of the chasm.
Once surrounded on both sides by the naturally excavated gorge, Camatael had the strange sensation that he was walking between two layers of long, ornate curtains. Erosion had revealed many fantastic shapes and brightly coloured mineral deposits. A beautiful palette of greens, ochres and blues were dimly illuminated in the failing sunlight. At one hundred feet above the torrent was a second natural bridge, in the form of a mighty chunk of limestone that arched from one side of the gorge to the other.
The Elves of clan Llyvary ahead of Camatael were crossing that bridge one by one. Their green cloaks seemed to fly hesitantly above the void, like as many small birds caught in a storm.
‘This crossing will take some time, given how careful they are being,’ thought Camatael.
The air was calm. The silence was deepened by the murmur of insects and the chatter of squirrels playing in the vines which decorated the dense woods along the river. The young lord decided to sit on a rock while he waited for those ahead of him. His silvery chain mail was proving heavier each day. He could barely remember how light the armour had felt the first time he had put it on: a true masterpiece made in the smith guild of Tios Lluin. It was hot. Beads of sweat were collecting on his forehead. Camatael adjusted his long purple cloak and looked towards the Mountain of Oryusk to the west. A plume of steam and black smoke was rising from the summit of the volcano. It kept the ambient temperature constantly high throughout the Nargrond Valley.
A few yards behind, Mynar dyl could see that Camatael was taken aback by the natural spectacle of the gorge. Since the beginning of their journey, Mynar dyl had brought up the rear, voluntarily staying alone.
The Llewenti warlord approached silently, like a cat stalking its prey. His travellers’ clothes mingled into the canopy.
“When clan Myortilys’ army invaded Nargrond Valley, they desperately needed to cross that gorge. They wanted to launch a surprise attack against the city of Yslla from the north. For no want of trying, however, the bridges they built would systematically collapse. Let down by their own engineers, the Myortilys turned to the Gnomes, who dwelled nearby. The first inhabitants of Nargrond Valley agreed to a pact: a bridge in exchange for the soul of the first Elf to cross. The Gnomes then called upon their divine father, Gweïwal Agadeon, who unleashed a mighty avalanche. The largest boulder became stuck, spanning the torrent. The cunning Myortilys then forced one of their prisoners to cross it first. No one ever found out what became of that High Elf, but the furious Gnomes, feeling cheated, avowed revenge against the clan Myortilys…” Mynar dyl said.
Camatael immediately understood the story’s hidden meaning. Of all the Elves who had travelled with them from Llymar, he was the only High Elf. Mynar dyl was secretly delighted at his isolated situation. The warlord of Tios Halabron must have sensed his discomfort.
Before their departure, Camatael had insisted on being escorted by some of his followers. He had suggested Aplor, the steward of House Dol Lewin, and some knights of the temple of light. But the Council of the Forest had decided otherwise. Matriarch Myryae, the official envoy of Llymar to the Pact Gathering, was to benefit from the protection of an entire unit of clan Llyvary guards, while Mynar dyl and Camatael, the other ambassadors of the Forest, would escort her without their usual retinue. The young lord had therefore felt uncomfortable since their arrival in Gwa Nyn. As fatigue settled in after so many days of traveling, this feeling of unease was evolving into anxiety and annoyance.
Despite Mynar dyl’s provocation, Camatael remained largely undaunted. He replied in a haughty tone, his icy blue eyes beaming with intelligence.
“I like the brisk way you tell the old myths, Mynar dyl. You certainly have a talent for relating these gripping tales: like a fireside bard of old, inviting us to chuckle along with you…”
Mynar dyl stood stolid. The irony behind those words made him smile. He was looking at his own javelin with pride. It consisted of a thin shaft, armed with a leaf-shaped head, the colour of emerald, with silvery points at the edges. A long strap was situated at the lower end of the javelin: it allowed him to recover his projectile after throwing it.
Mynar dyl dropped his precious weapon onto the stony ground. He bent down, picked up a handful of sand, and let it fall silently into the void of the chasm.
“Perhaps the fate of the Gnomes’ prisoner was not so very different from that handful of sand,” the fair Elf suggested, his tone deeply pensive. “Perhaps the hostage followed the same path.”
Camatael was shocked by what Mynar dyl’s conjecture seemed to imply. As if haunted by an unseen threat, he could not avert his eyes from the mountainous circle surrounding the valley. The unseen swarm of life hidden by the green wall of wild vegetation disturbed him. He felt the presence of countless beings silently encircling their group. Despite his unease, Camatael interpreted his current predicament as a challenge to his courage.
“Don’t think I can’t see through your innocent little performance,” the lord of House Dol Lewin countered, no longer concealing his aggression.
Mynar dyl, calm as ever, swept back a couple of his long blonde hairs that had come loose. Despite the trials of their long journey, he had somehow managed to maintain an impeccable appearance. His shining leather boots hadn’t the faintest trace of scuffmarks or dirt, and his long cloak, the colour of leaves, was miraculously free of creases.
After a moment’s pause, Mynar dyl responded, acting surprised.
“Please do not misunderstand me! I would not dare offend the lord of House Dol Lewin, high priest of Eïwal Lon, and the Council of the Forest’s newest member.”
Camatael looked angrily at the warlord. “Watch your words, Mynar dyl! Remember that the council has appointed me ambassador of Llymar. I hold the same rank as you.”
“Oh! I am well aware you were honoured with that responsibility. It is the first time, I believe. No doubt the pressure of the position is getting to you. I know how it feels. I have performed the role of ambassador many times. I even played my part at the Pact Gathering which ended the Century of War. That was some time ago and, since then, the Council of the Forest has always sent me as their representative. I think you could treat your peer with a little more respect,” Mynar dyl suggested maliciously.
A ray of sunshine pierced the canopy. The emerald stone of his diadem glittered.
Camatael was far from impressed.
“Why don’t we step back, look at the points of contention, and work to resolve them. We need to collaborate, after all, and I will be entitled to the same prerogatives as you during this summer’s Pact Gathering.”
Mynar dyl’s tone changed, becoming as sweet as honey, as if he
wanted to lull his interlocutor into a false sense of security.
“My lord Dol Lewin, rest assured we are on the same side: that of the Elves of Llymar. Anything else is unimaginable! Our opinions may differ from time to time, no question, but we are fighting under the same banner.”
Below, it was taking more time than anticipated to cross the gorge. One of the Elves, struggling with all his equipment, had just slipped on a wet rock and almost fell into the precipice. He had dropped several quivers filled with arrows.
It was subsequently decided that guide ropes would be fixed along either side of the bridge to limit the risks of falling. So far, only half of the clan Llyvary Elves had made it to the other side. The rest of the group were waiting, and these dwindling guards felt anxious about the safety of Matriarch Myryae, who had still not crossed.
Camatael decided that now was the time to clear up the numerous latent conflicts which had accumulated between himself and Mynar dyl since House Dol Lewin had entered the Council of the Forest. A deeply rooted enmity had built up between the High Elf lord and the Llewenti warlord over the last few years. With the tone of a judge pronouncing a sentence, Camatael began.
“You have systematically opposed every single proposal I have made to the assembly. I appreciate that our respective ambitions for Llymar are far from harmonious. But I have come to believe that your antagonism is of a different nature…”
Mynar dyl had a wry smile. “This is pure speculation... though it is true, I did voice my concerns about your recent campaign to bring the House Dol Talas to Llymar. But I had my reasons.”
“That was a mistake. The lord of Ystanalas is bravely resisting King Norelin and his alliance with the Westerners. He was ready to abandon his city and join us in Llymar. House Dol Talas have rightfully earned their place among the seeds of Llyoriane. They have faith in the Archipelago’s deities and are protectors of the Llewenti cults.
That day, you won the vote at the Council, but the outcome was gloomy. House Dol Talas is still besieged inside its stronghold, at the mercy of the king. We have lost a powerful ally because of you.
In truth, I believe you are afraid of other High Elves coming to Llymar. You wish the ancient clans to retain their dominant influence in the Forest at all costs. Your fundamental vision for the Islands is warped by the wars of Ruby and Birds, when the first Hawenti king subjugated the clans of the Llewenti one after the other. That was long ago, Mynar dyl. Now the Elves of the Islands are confronting the unavoidable rise of Men and their thirst for conquest. Here is our true enemy!” pleaded Camatael.
Mynar dyl nodded. “You speak with conviction, Lord Dol Lewin, for one so young and inexperienced. Indeed, I share some of your views. You know I greatly admire your skills as a speaker.
But surely you can see the reasons behind our current organisation: High Elves should only be granted entry into Llymar once they have proven their value to us. The precedent is that every Hawenti house must demonstrate their fidelity to the Llewenti clans’ cause. Look at history! Remember the great feats of House Dol Etrond during the Century of War, and to some extent, those of House Dol Lewin, over the recent years…”
Camatael did not fall into the trap set by Mynar dyl. “What I remember is that you exerted your influence among your allies, trying your very best to prevent my admittance into the Council of the Forest,” he recalled, and the young lord’s blue eyes were as cold as ice.
Once again Mynar dyl needed to retreat, like a falcon regaining altitude after a failed attempt against its prey.
“That is not untrue. But you will note I failed.” The warlord immediately made another attack. “Frankly, I do not believe that House Dol Lewin has any real power, at least not enough to be of significant use to our assembly. How many units can you muster? Barely three would fight for the White Unicorn, no more than seventy fighters in total, by my estimates. I command more than twenty units, made up of the fiercest troops of Llymar Forest. My fighters have proven their worth on many occasions. This is what I call influence. Power without force is barely power at all.”
Trying to control his anger, Camatael looked away for a moment. He fixed his gaze upon the eroded limestone rock opposite. Within the stones, mineral rich water circulated under pressure. As it seeped to the surface, the pressure dropped, and thin lines of salt lengthened downwards from the crevices. Then Camatael spotted a chamois in the dim light of early evening. The agile animal crossed the steep rock to lick the salty stones. For some reason, the charming spectacle appeased his wrath. Now master of himself again, Camatael resumed his argument.
“You also argued against welcoming the pilgrims of Eïwele Llyi to Llymar. That was despite them refusing to return to Gwarystan after they heard the knights of the Golden Hand had tried to defile the forbidden will of Rowë. Surely it’s in our interests to exploit the malaise that the king has provoked among his subjects with this sacrilegious act.”
“Again, I cannot agree with you, my lord Camatael. These Elves can no longer be considered Llewenti. For several generations, they have lived under the yoke of the kings of Gwarystan. After Lormelin’s conquests, their forefathers could have joined the ancient clans in the four corners of the Islands. They made a different choice. They kneeled in front of the Conqueror and chose weakness and corruption.”
“Those Elves should also be seen as seeds of Llyoriane,” Camatael countered, “and they are our natural allies. Despite centuries of persecution, they have remained faithful to the Islands’ deities. They were brave enough to start a pilgrimage forbidden by Norelin. They deserve better.”
“Your story is always the same. I know what you have in mind. Your goal is to rally as many of these ‘would-be allies’ as possible under the banner of Llymar. Your ambition is to build a realm that could rival Gwarystan.
Perhaps you secretly seek to re-establish House Dol Lewin in all its splendour and glory. High Elves never change; you are all obsessed with influence, gold, great cities and splendid fortresses… the High Elves are corrupted by their everlasting addiction to the trappings of power. Only your ego can match your lifespan. What you promote with such eloquence is no different from Lord Curubor’s ideas. Some see you as his advisor; I say they give you too much credit, for in reality you are only his puppet,” concluded Mynar dyl, with a deliberate intent to harm.
Camatael felt deeply offended by this latest insult, which relegated him to the status of a mere hireling. This time, he did not even attempt to conceal his anger.
“I can only imagine what sordid past events must have warped your character into its pitiable current form. What trauma, Mynar dyl, has given you such a miserable, malicious and delusional outlook? Everything you say, everything you think, is utterly devoid of reason and, balance.”
“My happiness results from my very misfortune,” Mynar dyl replied mysteriously, and not without pride. “I am indeed deeply dissatisfied by the state of the world, and this dissatisfaction shapes my way of thinking. More importantly, it shapes my creations. That is why my art is unique.”
The schism between the two Elves was confirmed. Each was the agent of opposing forces: Quartz versus Emerald. Each wished to lead the Council of the Forest.
The two contenders then maintained a stony silence. There was nothing more to be said.
The entire unit had now, at last, made it across the natural bridge. The fighters of clan Llyvary looked to their leader in wonder.
Matriarch Myryae had drawn a pentagram in the soil, with five different runes at its tips. She was now lighting incense, muttering words of elemental power, and conjuring airy spirits to do her bidding. The ceremony took some time, as the matriarch was calling upon the energy of the Sapphire, one of the components of the Islands’ Flow. Four little whirlwinds began to appear at her side; they initially took the shape of truncated, inverse cones, before they grew in power and evolved into the shape of fluttering swans. Like a queen during a majestic parade, the high priestess was then transported above the narrow bridge
by her four servants of the wind. Everyone else present simply looked on, enthralled by this display of power.
It was now Mynar dyl’s turn to cross the dangerous passage above the wild torrent. First, he threw most of his equipment across to the guards on the other side. A leather bag, his long cloak, two quivers full of arrows, his two swords and their scabbards all made it over the chasm. The warlord only kept his javelin with him. Feeling more comfortable with only his leather armour on, Mynar dyl edged outwards onto the narrow bridge. Its surface was slippery because of the spray from the torrent below. Moss and climbing plants had grown all around the stones, presenting even more traps to avoid.
To the surprise of the clan Llyvary Elves who were watching him closely, Mynar dyl was using his javelin as a walking stick. The weapon’s tip struck the ground with each of his steps, penetrating the limestone as if it were mud. Feeling more confident with this unusual support, the warlord progressed resolutely across the dangerous passage with his habitual majestic gait.
Then, from the depths of the chasm below, a small stone flew through the air.
The missile hit Mynar dyl square in the forehead.
The shock and force of the blow caused him to lose his footing. He desperately shifted his body weight backwards, to lurch away from the brink. But his efforts were in vain. After one slip more, he fell from the bridge. stone sank into his forehead