Desperate Times (Fate of Periand Book 1)

by Ben Marshall

  “The wind sends word to me that you bring this Elf of Fire to see Lady Halarniel, and I have come to take him the rest of the way. The name Lonariel is remembered fondly by My Lady due to its tie to the name of Katchanga, and she shall happily see him but does not wish him to be brought before her under armed guard like some intruder. Return his blade to him and return to your posts.”

  “At once Yanaliel,” the soldiers answered as one, each Elf bowing low before turning and marching away towards the mountain the wyvern colony called home.

  “Come with me, Loremaster, for My Lady is waiting to hear why you desire to see her,” Yanaliel commanded the Fire Elf with a curl of her finger to augment her order. Turning to walk beside him deeper into the city she clasped her hands together with the fingers interlocked over a tear-shaped pendant that hung upon a silver chain about her neck, the movement showing a ring upon her right hand that was shaped into a tree of emeralds that rose up from the golden band that held it in place upon her finger. The ring seemed to pulse with subtle power as Lonariel gazed into the many facets presented by the gemstones, and it seemed as if the air around him was filled with a sweet fragrance that made his whole body relax into warm calmness.

  “Who are you, that you command so much respect from those around you?” he asked with amazement as a group of ten Forest Elves repeated the salute he had seen the Guards perform.

  “I am Head Cleric for these people, the healer of their pains and the pains of all who are Nature’s creations, and my depth of knowledge into the Order is the reason for both my powers and the respect I receive.” The answer was spoken with the same oneness in her tone as the Loremaster had heard in the speech of Halarniel and her brother, though at the same time it seemed to be the very wind itself; a mystical quality that was surely unique.

  “I am honoured to make your acquaintance,” he told her with a bow, the comment drawing a laugh that was as light as one of the wispy clouds which could barely be seen overhead.

  “It is I who has the honour in this encounter, Student of the Exalted Katchanga. To be in the presence of one who has entered the secret vale Nature’s Most Favoured has made his home, is an honour beyond any I dreamed I would ever receive.”

  The remaining length of the journey through the city of literal tree-houses was conducted in silence, the Loremaster staring in awe at how magnificent the sight was of civilisation and the wilderness coexisting so harmoniously while the Head Cleric was simply content to be in the presence of one who had seen a sight her heart longed to witness.

  “What is the Vale like?” she asked as they reached a building unlike any of the others in Faluvii, formed from three trees growing so close to one another that their branches had interlinked and formed many levels of arches while the trunks had become one as the saplings had grown into large adults many years ago. Truly it was the palace of a queen within this land of natural beauty, and Lonariel almost failed to hear Yanaliel as he gazed over every inch of the building that his green eyes could witness.

  “It is as the rumours tell and more, for the rumours do not tell how the animals will approach without fear, or how even the soft songs of the birds can carry unbroken through every inch of the land while the sound of conversation, or the sound of battle when I learnt the use of my blade, can barely reach your own ears before the wind comes to snatch it away before its disharmony can break the spell that seems to be upon all things. When you are within the realm you are afraid to do more than whisper for fear of ending the fragile calm that hangs in the air, yet for all the delicacy you believe to be present you have a sense of safety and security that even your own home cannot match. You can stand upon the mountain and see to the edge of eternity, seeing my homeland to the North and the Valinians to the South while East and West there is only calm ocean beyond the forest, and you feel you are between worlds; half upon the Mortal Plane and half in a place that transcends this world.” Yanaliel closed her eyes as he spoke, the images entering her head as the necessary words were spoken, and the same tranquillity as the Loremaster described flowed through her like a thermal spring.

  “Are you intending to stand outside until the moon replaces the sun within the sky?” a masculine voice asked from what appeared to be the entrance into the palace, bringing the Head Cleric from her reverie with an embarrassed look crossing her beautiful features, as she gazed at the Elf that stood before them with an impatient frown upon his slender face. He was very much like Halarniel in appearance, with the same eyes, face and hair, but he had a muscular frame that was more the build of an average human that the slender one that was the most common among the Elven race. He wore long robes of white beneath a mantle of silver, the two garments subtly blending into one another unless they were separated by a movement from the Forest Elf.

  “Forgive me Lord Cecilan, but I was just-”

  “You were just lost in the majesty of a rumour that may never be proven, despite the sugared words of this Loremaster, until you enter the realm yourself. Since Nature has not yet given you guidance that you shall head thence, perhaps we could get this audience to a swift conclusion. My sister has asked that both of you are present rather than the Loremaster alone.” The Elf’s voice held within it the same eerie bond with the forest it had possessed when last Lonariel had heard him, along with the same impatience with which he had spoken upon that occasion. The Elf Lord did not wait to see if he was followed, but simply turned upon his booted heel and returned to the darkness within the palace; his shadow thrown upon the wall by what could have been firelight had it been possible for fire to burn without damaging the dry wood that surrounded it.

  Yanaliel followed her Lord silently, her face still alight with embarrassment after Cecilan’s abashment of her before Lonariel, paying no heed to the flickering light that sent a warming glow throughout the passage that led to the chambers of the incredible dwelling. The Loremaster was more hesitant as he crossed the open threshold, looking about him to see that the fiery light originated from some small plants shaped like tankards used by the Dwarves and, from what he had heard during Katchanga’s lessons, the factions of Men. Slender roots burrowed into the wall to transform the plants into torch brackets, and small candles of what smelt of beeswax sat within the confines of these natural torches, the plant itself coated with a thin layer of liquid that appeared to confine the fire to its holder and remove the risk of destruction being wrought within the trees that formed the palace. The Lord of the Forest stood at the far end of the thin passage with his hands clasped in front of him as he waited for the pair to catch up, more firelight casting dancing shadows upon the wall behind him. He was positioned upon the entrance to a chamber that was formed, judging by the slight curves within the walls, from one of the three trunks, and which had within it very little save for a low table and a pair of thrones. The low table, upon close examination, appeared to be a sort of shrine, covered with more candles of beeswax and with the centre of the surface carved into a single rune; the symbol of Nature. The wall that touched the table’s rear was covered with a number of finely scripted parchments, each one headed by the single rune and then covered in what appeared to be laws.

  “They are the laws that define Nature’s Order Lonariel, Student of Katchanga,” Halarniel suddenly told him, her voice seeming to materialise from the air around them rather than coming from her lips, as she rose from the throne she had been sitting upon almost unnoticed when the Fire Elf was faced with so many strange wonders. She wore dark green robes beneath a mantle of silver, the light fabric catching the soft glow from the fires and sending it back against the walls so that she appeared to shine with majesty. Her gold circlet lay upon her head, though it was tilted slightly as if she had been resting and had dislodged it when she had been disturbed to hear of the Loremaster’s arrival and purpose.

  “Now, explain why you have been sent to fair Faluvii. What pressing matter has concerned your Council this time?” Cecilan commanded as he settled upon his own throne, the firelight dan
cing in his eyes as he looked to Lonariel with impatience clearly visible. Yanaliel moved to kneel between the two thrones, her eyes looking into the emerald ones of the emissary and pleading with him to be quick. The Lord of the Forest lacked the calm temperament of his sibling, a reminder of his time as a warrior when there wasn’t the luxury of time to pause, and his short temper had made the respect shown towards him born partly by a fear of the consequences if the Forest Elves did not show such courtesy. He had a skilled mind and an authority that was shown in all his actions, yet such was the tradition of his nation that he was lower in status to his sister, and it seemed as if he was forever trying to ignore the burning jealousy that dwelled within him.

  “My previous journey brought about the discovery of an amulet Katchanga calls the Amulet of Planar Shifting. He says it is a powerful weapon created by Moragil in the Age of Conflicts, and a weapon that must be destroyed. He knows it cannot be destroyed beyond the caverns wherein it was forged, and he seeks the aid of many nations to bring about this end. Rumours have reached him that Moragil is raising an army to attempt to bring about what Carrassiel desired, and if the Amulet is not destroyed with haste those dark efforts could be successful. He asks that Halarniel attends a meeting within my people’s lands where the chosen representatives shall learn all the facts, and then decide whether or not they wish to aid him. He has instructed me to say that Your Lordship and a suitable entourage are more than welcome if you so desire.”

  “Well that is noble of him I’m sure,” the Forest Elf replied with a sarcastic smirk, but Halarniel ignored her brother and seemed as if she paid equal attention to the explanation given by Lonariel.

  “How is Katchanga?”

  “He is well, My Lady, though the memories brought to the front of his mind by recent events are taking their toll.”

  “Will he be present at the meeting?”

  “Indeed he shall My Lady, though it is mainly memories of you that trouble him so much now. The demons are resurfacing again, and the memory of…that night is hurting him.”

  Halarniel seemed distressed at this news, her lip trembling as she leaned forwards with her hand upon her brow. She seemed to be muttering to herself, but the Loremaster could not distinguish the words.

  “I shall attend, and shall accompany you to your homeland immediately,” she finally told him with a sureness in her tone that made it clear neither Cecilan nor Yanaliel would have any success in changing her mind.

  “It is a foolish endeavour, since it shall only have the effect that Moragil will launch his assault earlier than he may be planning. If he does that then the nations shall not be adequately prepared to resist his army.” The Lord of the Forest waved his hand dismissively before turning away from the three of them to gaze into one of the candle-bearing plants.

  “Yet an early deployment may not give Moragil adequate time to prepare either. That would mean that even the hasty efforts at defence from the Easternmost nations that are not yet controlled by him will buy time for the others, and an army can be raised to challenge him the way it did in the Age of Conflicts.”

  “The Age is dead, and no bonds of fellowship exist between the races; in fact there is no sense of brotherhood between any of the human factions. No army can be created to recreate the one that found victory over a thousand years ago. A millennium has been all the time it has taken for the greed of Man to make such a history unrepeatable.”

  “I am going, brother, and leave it up to you whether the warrior blood within you wishes to feel the thrill of attempting such pastimes again.” The statement forced Cecilan to glare at his sister, biting back a retort that was tantamount to treason within their society.

  “Then go, but think about whether you go to aid the world or to be beside Katchanga upon a venture that may cost both of you your lives. He believes in Rebirth, has seen it granted to his own troops over the years, but his position means Nature’s expectations are higher for him than the soldiers he commands, and so he may die without having earned the reward. He is not the being you fell in love with, and he never can be that again, so do not throw your life away on a pipedream.” The siblings exchanged angry looks before Halarniel stormed from the chamber, tears beginning to show within her eyes.

  “She is going with you, so you should leave this palace as well, Elf of Fire,” The Lord of the Forest commanded, raising his right arm to point towards the chamber exit. Lonariel looked helplessly at Yanaliel, his eyes willing her to bring reason to the madness of Cecilan, but she looked away from him and whispered the words “just go” before burying her face in her hands as she knelt between the thrones.

  “Never have I known an Elf to allow himself to become as petty as a human, but you have allowed jealousy to dominate you. You hate Katchanga for the demons within him, yet you are worse in that you can only ever control your own demons barely!” the Loremaster found himself shouting to the Elven Lord before turning and leaving the chamber, feeling the cold gaze of Cecilan upon him until he was completely gone from the Lord’s sight.

  “Is she right, Yanaliel? Is he right? Am I truly so far asunder from what I should be?” Each question was accompanied by a sigh of self-resentment, for Cecilan despised himself that he felt as he did whenever he looked upon his sister. He hated that he was not the one who was sought as she was in matters, and yet he could not bridge the gap that had grown between him and his people.

  “They are correct, My Lord, but so are you. She does not go for any reason other than Katchanga, that much is shown by her not speaking of going until she knew he would be present, but the Loremaster is right in that you are human in your emotions. She is higher than you in stature, a fact you knew to expect throughout our childhood, but you are both the rulers of this realm. She looks to you for guidance; yet you do not see it. It is clear in your eyes that you desire to be a part of this venture our visitor spoke of, yet you fear that Nature will not keep you if you do so.”

  “My sister speaks of her visions, the messages she hears in her head, and I am reminded that I have received nothing from Her over so many years. You receive visions, yet never has Nature granted it that you can see the realm of Her Most Favoured.”

  “I know it is not yet my time, but we are all rewarded in some way for our devotion. You are a warrior, you have been throughout your time serving Her, but now you do not follow that road and choose to sit upon a throne while others perform the tasks that were yours. You receive no guidance because you are ignoring your path. Now that you have sent your sister upon the quest you have denied yourself the possibility of being the warrior again, and further do you stray from the path you were given.”

  “What am I to do?”

  “You said that the destruction of this amulet would force Moragil to assault the lands, and you made it seem to be the last thing you desire, but do you not remember the Age of Conflicts? Carrassiel did not attack our land, he wanted to remove the other races before making such an attempt, but he allowed our warriors to fight beside you upon the battlefield and end his reign in so many realms. Moragil did not advise against his master, so why would he attack us before the other races in this attempt? If the destruction of the amulet should force this assault upon the Free Lands, then once again you can lead our people to fight within the world. Our numbers are fewer, but our weapons are stronger than the Age of Conflicts saw us bear. As a warrior you received your guidance, and you shall again when you fight beside Katchanga again.”

  “How can I do so when I can no longer even stand the memory of the being?”

  “You see only the evil in him, yet that same evil lies within all creatures. Lonariel told you of your own demons, and they are all ones that our race has never allowed to take control. Remember your past, and allow it to be your present and future. Katchanga has respect despite his vices, especially as his path brings him to reveal his virtues to many, and so do you. Katchanga spoke that you would be welcome at the meeting, and it would seem that he also desires you to give judgement. H
e respects you, and if you can respect him in return there is no battlefield you can’t find victory upon together.”

  Yanaliel put her arms over the shoulders of Cecilan, touching her head against his in a short embrace before slowly walking from the room, leaving the Lord of the Forest gazing into the gentle flames, his mind filled with thoughts both good and bad.

  ***

  October 4th, 1190

  Halarniel had been silent throughout the flight from her realm, a flight made longer in duration than it would have been had they both been mounted upon the swift and powerful wyverns. In great contrast to her nation’s warriors, due both to personal preference and her social status being far above that of her realm’s defenders, she followed Lonariel seated bareback upon the golden body of a palomino-coated hippogriff. The creamy tail of this strange relative of the griffon, a beast almost as elusive as the legendary unicorn, flowed behind it as it made its unique flight beside the wyvern that was nearly three times its length, without considering the whip-like tail that twisted from side to side behind the draconic creature. The hindquarters, being similar to those of a horse, moved as if the creature was cantering through a meadow within the clouds yet its forelegs, akin to those of a powerful eagle, remained stationary ahead of the Forest Elf. Powerful wings of dark golden feathers beat upon either side of her, the wind softly whistling across the broad surface, while the eagle-like head scanned the ground below with almost unblinking eyes of gold. When first he had seen the creature waiting beside its mistress the Loremaster had feared it would attack him, but instead of striking the beast had appeared to sense that he was one in whom the Lady of the Forest had great trust, inclining its head towards him before seeming to dismiss him from its thoughts.