by C A Oliver
The morning sun reflected on the fine wool of their togas, the silk of their dresses, the silver and the steel of their armour and arms. The sparkling, colourful procession contrasted sharply with their surroundings: a scattered collection of ruins, exposed to the elements and covered with dust.
Four representatives of the Ruby College brought up the rear of the parade. Dyoren noticed the sinister Anaron, first of his caste, and two other high mages walking at a slower pace behind an older sorcerer, who was surrounded by several knights of the Ruby.
‘Why has this lower-ranking high mage been honoured with the preeminent role here?’ Dyoren wondered. ‘The Fifth Arcane Master is carrying a jewel box. He seems to be the focal point of everybody around.
What could that box contain to be drawing such attention?’
The army formed a corridor on both sides of the majestic procession. The royal troops were vibrant, visibly proud to participate in such an unusual event.
On the Halls’ steps stood Ilensar, the king’s closest relative. Elder of the royal house of Inrod, this ancient High Elf had crossed the Austral Ocean with the Irawenti fleet. He was a cousin of late King Lormelin.
The prince was splendidly arrayed in the red silken cloak of the royal households and a bejewelled coronet. He was a great lord, known for his boldness, charisma and vision.
Ilensar Dor Inrod emphatically proclaimed the name and titles of each ambassador. He performed his task slowly, savouring every intonation, every stressed syllable used. Proud and noble, the prince-lord of Medystan paraded in front of the elite of Gwarystan’s army.
Nine noble houses of the kingdom were represented in the procession beside the Ruby College. Only the House of Dol Talas was missing because of its religious conflict with the king. Its envoy, the Lady Beadiele, had decided to attend the Pact Gathering on her own.
Dyoren was scanning the crowd gathered in front of him when he first spotted the silhouette of Naldaron, the Twelfth Arcane Master, among the group formed by the Ruby College high mages. From that moment on, Dyoren focused his full attention upon his target.
“Today you will not meet with Neyrod… but with Dyoren. One of us, Naldaron, will not see sunset!” he murmured, and his gaze hardened.
The Twelfth Arcane Master seemed totally oblivious to the celebration taking place around him. Lost among the crowd of the high mages and their servants, like someone wishing to remain unseen, his attention was drawn to the group of druids who were welcoming the envoys of the kingdom.
The priests of Eïwele Llya had arrived before dawn to lead the ambassadors towards the grove on Mount Oryusk’s slopes, where the Pact Gathering would take place.
Human and Elvin druids, dressed in their traditional brown clothes, walked among the Elves of Gwarystan and used this opportunity to preach the respect of the Mother of the Islands’ creations. The brown of their robes represented the essence of fertility their deity granted to all beings.
The Seeker closed his eyes for a moment and uttered.
“Kryd ecsao!”
When he opened them again, Dyoren could see the movements of the Flow. Its raw power was borne upon gentle winds. Faint auras glowed around most of the Elves present or upon their belongings, as many of them carried magical protective objects. This ability to probe and detect the Flow around him, he had learnt from his mother, a matriarch of clan Ernaly. It allowed him to identify the source and nature of that essential energy around him.
Just as Dyoren had expected, the air in Ystanargrond was clean of any unnatural influences. The druids had seen to it.
Feeling safer, he could then concentrate his effort on tracking his target’s every move.
Naldaron remained calm and focused, not even daring to share a word with his peers. Only he kept looking towards the group of druids on the other side of the esplanade, as if he was trying to identify one of them.
Ilensar Dor Inrod had finished enumerating the many names and titles of the Pact Gathering attendees. A respectful silence spread among the ranks of the assembly. The prince-lord of Medystan addressed the crowd. His tone was solemn.
Ilensar first told of the extreme natural events of the last years, especially of the tidal wave that damaged Gwarystan’s harbour. His account echoed more recent news as well, marked by shipwrecks and severe floods.
Dyoren had already heard rumours of these signs of Gweïwal Uleydon’s anger. Yet he did not know the reasons for holding this Pact Gathering now, so he listened attentively when the prince-lord of Medystan turned to the matters at hand.
“It is now more than one hundred years,” said Ilensar, “since a message of peace between Men and Elves was whispered by the druids to the ears of the belligerents. Word came that the Century of War should be ended, and the factions of the Islands should cease their mutual destruction. Some of us put forth another argument: that greater wealth and prosperity would be found in a world of peace.
For the first time in our long history, the works of the druids proved beneficial to all and the defenders of nature conveyed invitations to the lords of Men and Elves. They spoke of the grove of Llya on the slopes of Mount Oryusk and asked that all factions gather in that neutral territory to agree the terms of a lasting peace.
Since then, the realms of the Islands have held many such gatherings in the different corners of the Archipelago. Causes of strife are numerous among us: disputed territories, religious struggles, trade wars. Elves and Men will always find reasons to wage war against each other. But since the Pact was agreed, local crises have never degenerated into open conflict. We have also managed to keep the threat of the Three Dragons’ Cult at bay. And that was the original goal of our peace treaty.
Today, it is no mistake that we have returned here, to the depths of the valley of Nargrond. Gwarystan and the druids wished to mark the importance of this year’s Pact Gathering.”
Ilensar was interrupted. A voice rang out among the group of the ambassadors. It was Felrian Dol Urmil; the lord of Urmilla was known to be outspoken.
“Never before have I seen so many units summoned to protect Pact Gathering envoys! Why were such precautions necessary? Some might think war is on our doorstep.”
Lord Felrian’s intervention triggered a series of queries from the crowd. Others were also anxious about the unprecedented security. Questions filled the air. Most delegations had been kept in the dark as to the purpose of this Pact Gathering.
“Why were we summoned? We want to know!” the herald of House Dol Rondalen asked. His eyes were sparkling like the silver star on his banner.
He was not the only Elf with worries. “If there are rumours of war, can the druids guarantee our safety? Do they have the power to prevent our enemies from attacking us?” cried an ambassador of House Dol Valra.
A voice rose from the assembly’s front ranks. “Scouts have reported the representatives of Cumberae and Llymar are leaving the valley. They fled in the middle of the night,” advised the envoy of House Dol Warlin.
Out of the confusion came a warlike speech from the knight commander of House Dol Oalin. “The Pact sets out severe sanctions for those refusing to participate in debates. Cumberae and Llymar’s cowardice must be met with strength. Ships from these lands will no longer be welcomed in our waters. We ought to consider them our enemies,” he argued vehemently.
The steward of the House of Ogalen expressed his anxiety at the news, “If they chose to withdraw the day before the Gathering, they must know something we do not.”
This uninterrupted succession of questions and concerns added to the confusion. The tension built up for a while until the prince-lord of Medystan intervened authoritatively.
“Silence! Silence!” cried Ilensar. “Hear me, my lords! You have no reason to prepare for war; none of the factions attending the Gathering would dare break the Pact. In this hour of peril, it is not fear of the druids’ retaliation that would hold off our old rivals, but the necessity to unite before the threat which is arising.”
; The crowd’s unrest changed into murmur of collective curiosity. Ilensar was a consummate orator. To captivate throngs of anxious Elves, he used his storytelling skills to recall recent events.
“A few years ago, in the last days of Winter, a messenger came to the gates of Gwarystan. This Elf was a mere fisher, almost naked, barely covered by a cloak made of shellfish. His only weapon was his casting net. Some witnesses in the lower city claimed he had emerged from the harbour’s waters. ‘Though the sea raged, he walked above it,’ reported they.
The messenger called the king to his gate.
At this, the royal guards were greatly troubled, and gave no answer. They immediately alerted the tower of crimson.
After one of the high mages reached the scene, the messenger explained the purpose of his errand.
‘A mighty gift was made when the High Elves were in dire need. The time has now come to return it. I speak of a marine pearl coming from the depths of the ocean,’ he said.
Those words were bold indeed, for the messenger was referring to the Lenra Pearl, the most precious treasure of the kingdom. The fisher was arrested and taken to the dungeons of the Crimson Tower to be questioned. He was found guilty of demonic witchcraft by the College. Shortly afterwards, the fisher was thrown to his death from the heights of Gwarystan Rock. His corpse was burnt by the fire of the high mages, and his ashes were returned to the sea.”
Thereupon, Ilensar paused a while and sighed.
A long silence followed. Dyoren was hearing this tale for the first time. He wondered if the coming of that ‘messenger’ to the capital city was the cause of the king’s attempt at recovering the Testament of Rowë. The events seem to have occurred consecutively.
‘Did Norelin send his Mowengot servants to Nyn Ernaly because he feared divine punishment? The king desired above all else to know the content of Rowë’s will, despite the turmoil this sacrilege would cause among his own people. He even fought a battle for it. Was what this ‘messenger’ said the reason for his anguish?” Dyoren wondered.
After a while, the Seeker made the connection with the tidal wave that destroyed the lower parts of Gwarystan earlier in the year. He came to realize the Cult of Three Dragons was not the only menace threatening the Islands.
Meanwhile, Ilensar resumed his address. He chose to relate events long past that were associated with the Lenra Pearl.
“After the Battle of Ruby and Winds, Ffeyn was diminished and confined, but not destroyed. The Sea of Cyclones became his cage. But the bars of his marine prison can be removed, for they were made with the power of the Lenra Pearl. While it remains in our possession, Ffeyn’s destructive influence is restrained, but if that Spirit of Chaos was to recover the Pearl, what then?”
Silence fell. Even looking out upon the sunlit valley of Nargrond with the noise of streams and falls, Dyoren felt a deep shadow in his heart. All the Elves around him were looking at each other in bewilderment. To most of them, Ilensar’s tale was wholly new. Of the rumours they had heard before the Pact Gathering, they understood little.
‘At last, the things that have been hidden from all, but a few are being openly discussed. I now understand the great peril the Islands face,’ thought Dyoren.
Then, all listened attentively while the prince-lord of Medystan spoke in his clear voice once more.
“There can be but one course. The Lenra Pearl should be hidden forever. Those envoys who will sit today in the grove of Llya must now find counsel. We, the inhabitants of the Archipelago, all face the same peril,” declared Ilensar, allowing himself a pause before continuing.
“The king has requested this Gathering be summoned so that all parties bound by the Pact can decide the fate of Lenra. The Pearl is no ordinary treasure; it is the one guarantee that the Archipelago is kept safe from the devastation of cyclones and storms. It protects us from the wrath of the Austral Ocean. Losing it would bring about the Lost Islands’ doom. Until now, the power of the Ruby College has kept this looming threat at bay. This is how harmony and prosperity have been maintained, within our kingdom, but also beyond our borders.
Yet, Gwarystan cannot keep protecting the weak without compensation. The other realms of the Islands, who shelter comfortably behind us, need to do their part as well.
Today at the Pact Gathering, in this hour of need, our envoys will request their assistance. Only Gwarystan has the power to withstand Ffeyn. What strength remains to counter him lies with us.
Hence, the kingdom will request that the other realms of the Islands give the Ruby College their remaining control of the Flow, to prevent the coming storm from wrecking the Archipelago.
That is the true purpose of the king’s initiative to gather the Pact holders once again.
Envoys of Gwarystan, you now know what is expected of you today at the grove of Llya.”
The conclusion of Ilensar’s speech became the subject of passionate discussions. It made Dyoren react sharply.
‘Listen to that doom-monger prophesying imminent disaster! He is stirring up a climate of fear that will only lead to the alienation of all the Islands Elves,’ the Seeker thought.
Dyoren could read between the lines of the prince-lord’s discourse. Long ago, he had been taught by his mother in the lore of the Flow. Surely, the Seeker did not possess the knowledge and experience of a matriarch, but still he knew enough to understand what was at stake.
The Lost Islands were riven with the energy of the Gods’ gemstones, which drifted across the Archipelago. The powerful Flow, like a wind of pure energy, blew across all regions and was available to all those wise enough to control its force.
‘Most of the drifting energies have long ago been drawn to the tower of crimson by the high mages, stripping the druids, the matriarchs and other powers of their share. In this way, the Ruby College drains the Flow out of the Islands and prevents the influence of the Gods and deities, overwhelming everything and turning their kingdom into chaos,’ remembered Dyoren from his teachings.
‘Now, the threat coming from the ocean pushes the high mages one step further to keep their world safe from destruction. By scaring the participants here, their ambition is to concentrate the exhaustive control of the Islands’ Flow in their hands, depriving all other powers in the Archipelago of any influence.
For the other Elvin realms, there is a real danger that we will be jumping out of Uleydon’s floods and into Narkon’s fire,’ feared Dyoren.
Ilensar descended the ash-coated steps of the front porch, heaving his high-up position. He crossed the esplanade and came up to the Fifth Arcane Master, who was standing at the heart of the envoys’ procession.
A few words were exchanged, and signals were issued for the ambassadors to follow their druid guides. The group of the envoys started heading towards the gates of Ystanargrond, under the watchful eye of the soldiers. The column was made up of three figures of each Household. Only the Ruby College could send a delegation of four of its highest-ranking members.
In the silence of the cobbled laneways, accompanied only by the murmur of the nearby fragrant stream, the kingdom’s ambassadors walked with majesty, fully aware of their strength and power, deeply convinced that their cause was right.
At last, the procession disappeared down the hill and into the obscurity of the surrounding woods. The troops began to disperse around the camp, but in a highly disciplined manner, for each unit was to remain on high alert until the ambassadors were safely returned.
Dyoren’s heartbeat accelerated. For a moment, his vision blurred, and he could not maintain a clear focus on his target. The tension within him rose to an unparalleled intensity. The Seeker knew that the coming moments would be decisive. He was counting on one last throw of the dice: a momentous act of courage that would either ensure his victory, or kill him, and put an end to his long life of duty.
Dyoren moved forward as the Ruby College’s mages went back to their quarters. But before the Seeker had made his first step, he noticed the air change around Naldaron. The
sorcerer was using his powers. In the blink of an eye, he had sent forth a wave of energy to one of the human brown-robed priests. In the confusion that followed the end of the ceremony, nobody in the dispersing crowd seemed to notice. Dyoren, alone, glimpsed that brief jet of diamond powder flying like an arrow.
“I am sure he just sent a message to that bearded Man. Curubor once showed me something like it; he has just issued a command with his powers!” Dyoren exclaimed.
Trying to keep his panic at bay, his gaze darted from the druid, who stood several dozen yards downhill, to Naldaron, who had left his group and was now heading towards the maze of ruins in Ystanargrond North.
Dyoren looked back to the druid, trying to discern his features. He had barely seen his face before the bearded Man sharply turned on his heels and walked quickly away, towards the city gates. For a moment, the Seeker thought he recognized the druid from an earlier spying excursion he had made in Gwarystan, close to the tower of crimson. But he could not put a name to that strangely familiar face.
Dyoren immediately drew up a plan of action. Leaving his unit without a word, he rushed back to his tent. Once he made it inside, he went directly to a bird perch, where a hawk was quietly resting. It was a kestrel, a powerful and stocky falcon of brownish colour, which stood apart from the other members of its genus because of the dark slate-grey in its upper plumage.