by Jake Yaniak
These things and many others Daryas and Rahdmus discussed well into the night. But when morning was come they set their words aside and traveled with haste into the south, making their way to Belnan. From there they sought out the path that had led the Galva army into Coronan - to the very place where the two had crossed swords.
Volthamir
It was not long after the coming of Dynamis to Dadron that the secret camp of the Galva, or rather the remains thereof, was at last discovered by scouts from Amla City. 'Why was this intrusion not discovered sooner?' Volthamir demanded of his servants.
'We had not discovered it as yet,' he was told, 'for we had not searched for it.'
'Was not a party sent into the mountains to discern the fate of the army of Galva?'
'Indeed, but finding so vast a number, burnt, even as the goblins are wont to do, we judged them to be altogether perished.'
Twenty men were put to death in cruel ways as the result of this oversight, although within his own breast Volthamir knew he was as much to blame for this error as they. Indeed, he knew of Lord Havoc's defeat from the very beginning, but he failed to take seriously the remnant of Galva. He had assumed that the survivors would have hidden themselves away in Noras, or in some remote region of the Daunrys. He did not imagine that they would, or even could, hide themselves in Ramlos.
Any opposition to Volthamir in those days was swiftly rooted out. And there was much opposition in those days. The people had been led to war, they believed, by a god; indeed, in some sense they had been. But finding themselves in retreat, and finding their numbers so thinned, they lost faith in the dark religion of Amlaman - and in their king as well. Some openly called for the King to be brought to justice, but these were, instead, brought to justice themselves.
It was just ten days after he returned to Japhrian that Volthamir was approached by Fanastos with a message of great importance. For the past several years Fanastos had been proving both his might and his loyalty by waging a relentless war on the western frontiers against the rebellious bastard sons of King Voltan. 'My lord,' he said, his face pale and serious, 'A force marches against Amlaman from the south - a force such as our men have not seen before.'
Solran had, in the time since he sent his son to sack Ilmalam, spread his influence throughout the southern wastes of Amlaman. He had taken control of all the towns south of Mulinan and sacked the fortress of Jopil, which lay just a hundred and fifty leagues to the south of Japhrian itself. Much to Fanastos' relief, Volthamir showed no anger at the news of this turn of events. The failure of his guardians to prevent this invasion was passed over unmentioned, while Volthamir ordered his army to prepare for war, with a faint smile on his lips. 'My sword is thirsty for blood,' he said with a cold voice. 'Is the sword of Fanastos thirsty as well?' he asked. Fanastos looked uneasy. But when he saw the ferocity in the king's eyes he felt strength enter into his heart.
'It is thirsty, my lord,' he said, bowing low to the ground.
'Then let the men of Amlaman have their fill; this time without the women of Marin bungling every strategy.'
Amlaman Is Mighty
In less than a week's passing Volthamir and his army found battle. He summoned some three thousand soldiers from Japhrian and rode into the south to confront the invaders. In his first encounter with the elves of Solsis he found their unique appearance an oddity. But as he saw more of them, driving them with great difficulty from the area surrounding Mulinan and retaking the towns that had been held captive by Folran's armies, it became clear to him that these creatures were no mortal men. The battles were fierce, and it was only by summoning still greater numbers that their enemies could be beaten back. 'They are elves,' Volthamir said to Fanastos when they were alone. 'I am sure of it; this is no southern tribe. Do you see their eyes? Full of experience, yet without weariness. Full of wisdom without forgetfulness. Their hair is gold or silver, with not a hint of gray - not even among their commanders. Yet their skill proves that they are no novices; these are trained men, who have seen more war than we have - nay, more war than we could ever hope to see.'
'Hope?' Fanastos laughed, 'Who hopes for war?'
'Who indeed?' Volthamir said coldly.
Their next concern was the fortress of Jopil, which was named for his ancient father Joplis. 'How dare they insult us in this manner,' Volthamir said. 'The elves survived their ancient struggles only because our fathers held Xanthur at bay in this place, weakening his army little by little. Now they come against the descendants of their saviors as brigands.' Volthamir surprised himself by how little emotion he felt. It was a fact, he thought, but in truth the betrayal did not anger him.
'A thousands curses to them,' Fanastos said, invoking the name of Agonistes. 'Let us turn their silver hair red with blood, and darken their bright eyes in death.'
If they had not already learned to fear the swords of Amlaman, the elves of Solsis learned it well at Jopil. The warriors of Amlaman, angered that any force should assail their first king's stronghold, fought like devils, tearing and cutting through the immortals with a ferocity only rivaled by the goblins. It was not long before the walls were breached and the warriors of Amlaman entered the fortress. Volthamir slew a hundred elves that day, casting their bodies to the earth as though they were made of cloth. The strength and hatred of Agonistes shone brightly in his eyes. Several of the elves cried out, 'Agonas!' when they saw him, taking him for the god himself, and not a mere mortal man.
By midnight the fortress had fallen, and the last of the elves had locked themselves within the old keep. Volthamir pounded upon the door with his mighty fist, shaking it upon its hinges as though his hand were made of iron. 'Who dares assault the land of Amlaman, which served you well enough in the ancient days?'
'Amlaman belongs to the devil,' came a voice from within the keep. 'The elves shall rise again, and they shall put an end to your dark ways, Agonas.'
Volthamir laughed, 'Who is your captain?'
'I am Folran,' another voice spoke out. The voice was familiar, and Volthamir felt sick to his stomach as he searched his memory for the place and time he had heard such a commanding tone.
'Who are you?' Volthamir demanded.
'I am Folran, son of Solran, heir of Lord Solruvis.'
Volthamir's eyes darted around nervously, looking at the faces of the dead. Almost every one of them bore that same ageless wisdom, even now as they lay dead. There was a nobility about these creatures that he had seen before. His breathing grew labored and he felt a surge of strong emotions; revelation, confusion, clarity and anger all vied for the mastery. But he conquered them all, and let his mind return to the past. Lord Havoc, his old master, was one of these creatures. He laughed ferociously and turned from the keep.
'My lord, what should we do?' Fanastos asked, 'about these captives.'
'Burn it to the ground,' Volthamir answered. Fanastos looked at him as though he had spoken in another language. 'Burn it to the ground,' he repeated. Silence fell, the elves realizing that there would be no negotiations, no captivity and no hope of survival. The men of Amlaman obeyed, but their eyes filled with tears as they watched the ancient structure smoke and burn.
As the fire grew and raged, swallowing up the screams of the elves within the keep, Volthamir remained near the door, staring thoughtfully into the leaping flames. For a moment Fanastos feared that the king meant to perish in the blaze as well. But before the keep came crashing to the earth he turned and walked quickly toward the northern gate of the fortress. 'Burn it all to the ground,' he ordered as he left. He leapt astride a horse, casting its rider to the dust in confusion. He thought of Ghoras for a moment, and then he kicked the horse, cruelly in the side, spurring him into a trot and then into a gallop. As he rode away from Jopil he remembered all the things his old master had taught him. He knew it already, he thought, shaking his head, but it had not struck him in its full force: Lord Havoc had deceived him. 'But this is childish,' he mumbled to himself. 'I already knew this.' But it had n
ot, until this moment, been proven. 'He knew all those secrets because he witnessed them; he knew the secrets of Falruvis because-' As the realization came to him that it must have been Lord Havoc himself that betrayed the old Elven King, a smile broke out across his face. 'Is this, pride?' he asked himself. As the land passed beneath him and the sun rose in the east he began to laugh madly at how conflicted his own mind had become. Was Havoc his enemy? His master? His friend? he asked himself silently. 'No,' he said audibly, 'He was my teacher. And he is no teacher that does not impart to his pupil his full substance; and he is no pupil that does not surpass his instructor. I have learned from you, master elf,' he thought, and his mind became settled. His thoughts now turned to Leonara, and for an instant he felt a deep desire for her - to see her smile and to hear her laugh. But almost as quickly as this feeling had come upon him it turned to an unquenchable rage.
When he returned to Japhrian, much to the shock of his servants, and much more to the shock of Fanastos, who had pursued him with such haste that he arrived only three hours later, the King ordered a great host of warriors to march to Sten Agoni. 'Forget the south,' he told his captain, 'it does not concern me.'
'But,' Fanastos began, but Volthamir's eyes silenced him. They were filled with resolve and certainty, and they were overflowing with passion, but they were not mad.
'A devil lurks upon the mountain,' he said. 'Surround the mountain, and wait for my coming.'
What he referred to was, of course, that goddess of Desset, Evna, who had for all this time thwarted his efforts to take Leonara as his wife. 'It is time,' he thought to himself, 'that I leave all other purposes behind and pursue my own course without the old man's dreams. I never wanted Dadron.' His heart swelled with passion as he thought back upon his failure.
Now it seemed to him that the hand of Leonara alone could truly establish his own kingdom, joining with his own right to the throne and crown the lineage of his uncle Vulcan. With coldness and indifference he noted how changed this feeling this was from the love he once bore toward her.
But for some reason the very fact that she resided in a so-called 'Holy Place' seemed to make him resentful of her. Despite having within his own flesh the power and will of the very god that hallowed that mountain and that valley, he hated them all as much as ever. The hill, the temple, the valley, the god himself, and even the princess whom had once loved, had now become mere means to an end; an end which, now that he had been driven from Dadron, he scarcely could remember. It was indeed time, he thought, to pursue his own ends.
There was a time when he was enamored merely by the beauty of the Princess, but now he was enamored by the challenge. He was a strong man with a brave spirit, and he did not take kindly to any who resisted his will. In his waking hours he cursed the princess and her goddess, who had refused to admit him to the Nunnery, and in his dreams he cursed that man of the east, Dynamis, who, alone of mortal men, had turned aside his blade. Now he cursed Lord Havoc, and all the lying elves of old.
His servants did his bidding as before, though there was a great deal more whispering and a lot less praise and cheering. They knew not what his ambitions had become, however, or they would have wrested the kingdom from his hands that instant. But in his heart he said to himself, even in defiance of that god that had possessed him, 'The love or the blood of the Siren I will possess, and neither of these shall I prefer to the other. The blood of the Noras I will spill, for no man mocks the power of the lord of Amlaman.'
He had truly learned, all that his mentor had meant to teach him. He lived as one who cared not at all for any other living soul. In the shadow of his defeat in Falsis, his wrath festered and grew, and his will became dark and destructive. In the end, even the dark god Agonistes found himself to have little power over the will of his host. He, like Legion before him, was absorbed and subordinated by the malice of the King of Amlaman.
'I never wanted Dadron, nor revenge against Pelas,' he cursed the dark god, 'and never again shall I do your will.'
The voice of Agonistes came into his mind, saying, 'Do not forget, man of earth, that one day you must lay your head down in death. Then I shall walk free again, and give my council to another.'
'You mean your deceit, lord of Crows!' Volthamir laughed. 'So be it, death is nothing to me, for in it I shall be extinguished, and what then can harm me? I may as well settle what scores I may ere the end.'
Agonistes, who in his heart, knew well the folly of what the King had said, grew silent, content to watch his hateful master bring ruin upon his own soul.
Chapter IV:
Coronan Revisited
Daruvis
After several days had passed Daryas and Rahdmus came to the place where the last encampment of Cheftan Faros now lay in ruin. It had been abandoned by the Army of Galva, plundered by the spies of Ponteris and ravaged by wild animals. Even now, as the two men approached, there were several small childish creatures rummaging through what refuse yet remained. These took to flight as soon as they caught sight of the travelers, running from the camp with bundles of cloth and hands full of trinkets.
'Are there yet goblins in this land?' Daryas asked with surprise. 'I would not have thought that they would have returned so swiftly to the place wherein they met so sound a defeat.'
Rahdmus laughed and said, 'It has now been almost five years since the army of Galva marched, and how old must these goblins have been then? They would not remember that war any more than you would remember the fall of Luma, or the burning of the wooded realm of the Mortari.
'Besides,' he continued, 'Even as men are of different races and kindreds, so also are the goblins of different breeds and tribes. These are goblins of Coronan, not of the northern Daunrys from whence the army that assailed Noras was originated. You should know, son of Biron, that I know these things because it was I who led this army into the east.'
Daryas was silent for a moment as he wrestled with his emotions.
'I will not blame you if you find nothing within you but hatred toward me; but know that the one you hated was slain, and what remains of me is the work of Paley alone, parading my corpse about you might almost say, attaining righteous ends through a means that once was naught but evil. Take comfort, then, in knowing that what I am now I am much to my own shame, and as long as I am alive I spit in my own face as it were. And when at last I am dead, I will trouble the world no longer. I know that I have caused you no small amount of pain.'
'Who are you?' Daryas demanded with anger in his eyes.
'As I have told you before, I am the one who was once called Daruvis, and I was heir of Lord Falruvis of Dadron. In that mighty city I reigned with my father for an age, but in the end I brought about its ruin.'
'That much I know already,' Daryas said, 'But I wish to know why? To what end have you so wickedly dealt with the world?'
Rahdmus was silent for a long time. After a while he stopped and pointed to the ground. 'Do you see that print?'
Daryas looked close to the ground and there he could make out what appeared to be the print of a small child. 'Yes, it must be from one of those goblins.'
'Indeed, and what, do you suppose, would become of any who sought to harm this small one? Would not the wrath of the parents fall upon them swiftly?'
'Yes, of course,' Daryas answered.
'What is it about the young and the innocent that excite within us such passion? What would not a father do to save his child? What would not a father do to avenge him?'
Daryas said nothing, but noticed a deep sorrow in the eyes of his companion.
That evening they made no fire. They did not want to draw any attention to themselves, knowing from the children they had seen that there must be some encampment of goblins close by. But the darkness seemed to ease the tension that had arisen earlier, and Rahdmus, when the last of the day's light was extinguished, began to speak of his own history:
'In the ancient world Falruvis was a mighty warrior. Such was his might that even those who are dee
med gods feared him. In those days, Pelas and Agonistes were lords of a great kingdom, and they ruled over it as flesh and blood; not as the frail spirits they have become. The fathers of the elves, and by that I mean those traditionally held to be the fathers of the elves, were every one of them servants of these two gods. Falruvis and his cousin Solruvis (they were not brothers, despite the legends), Dalta and Morta (who bore no relation to each other whatsoever), and Bralahi along with his brother Kolohi were but vassals of these greater lords. And there were a great many other lords beside them, all serving either Pelas or Agonistes.
'Those were the days of the Immortals, when the undying, through their ancient cunning, ruled over the entire known world. To this day I can still remember the warmth of Lord Pelas' hand when he would greet us in his palace, even as I can recall the coldness with which his brother met us. 'This one looks like trouble,' he told my father with a grin when I was first introduced to him (this was when I was a very small boy). But truer words were never spoken.
'When I became an adult, I fell in love with a woman named Nashai-ne-malia, a name which meant, 'bearing no darkness', though her hair was darker than a moonless night. She was the youngest daughter of Lord Morta, whom my father hated. Morta, alone among us at the time, pitied the mortals, but he was too weak of will to openly oppose the other Immortals. It was against my father's will and counsel that I wed my beloved, and it drove a wedge between he and me, that would last through many ages of the world. But I was too strong willed, as you can imagine, to let my father's qualms rob me of my love. I took her to wife despite his objections, and soon afterwards she bore a son, whom we called Durivis. And what a boy he was! He was strong and smart, and loyal and caring. He had Morta's heart and Falruvis' nobility. If he.... if he had only lived to see adulthood I do not doubt he would have become greater than all the other Immortals.