The Last Elf of Lanis

by Hargan, K. J.

  Within a year, the garonds had overrun the Ettonnes, the people of the Southern Wastelands, and the Kingdom of the North itself was almost crushed.

  The remaining families gathered what they could, and fled to the southeast in hopes of reaching the Weald, or sought refuge from their enemies in the Green Hills of Reia to the west. The garonds pursued and killed the humans wherever they could, until human beings were nearly extinct in all the Northern Lands.

  Haergill and his family found Kellabald and his clan in a small hamlet called Bittel, set inside an island of oaks and elms on the western edge of the Eastern Meadowlands. There, Haergill, Halldora and Frea lived happily for almost two years. It seemed the violent world outside passed them by unnoticed, until the day, a fortnight ago, when the garonds finally discovered their hidden village of Bittel.

  There were too many garonds to even consider fighting. It was surprising they weren’t killed immediately. After destroying Bittel, as though searching for something, they left a detachment of three soldiers to escort the shackled humans to their citadel somewhere beyond the Weald and Byland, rumored to be a great city of dark blue stones in the Far Grasslands.

  The garonds spoke a clicking guttural tongue, so no information could be gleaned from their captivity, but it was guessed they were part of a new plan to capture select humans for slave labor.

  Their destination, the village Rion Ta, was in sight. The thatched roofs were visible, but something was wrong. There were no curls of smoke in the handful of chimneys. The Archer broke into a run with Kellabald close at his side. The others caught up to them to discover the village completely empty. The clan searched every house and barn, but no humans were to be found.

  The group clothed themselves, ate handfuls of bread and dried meat that had been left on tables, and armed themselves with spears and bronze swords that were found as if dropped in fear.

  “The garonds have been here,” Haergill snarled.

  The Archer’s eyes blazed. “We need to get my other arrow from that elf.”

  “They’ll be back,” Kellabald said quietly. “The village is still standing.”

  The Archer gathered the clan in the main square of the village. “Everyone sit down here,” he said. The Archer laid out some vegetables on a cloth. “She must be hungry.”

  “Put down this mutton, too,” Haergill offered.

  “Elves don’t eat any kind of meat,” the Archer said. With that the Archer melted away into the shadows of the village.

  He found a good spot on the low branch of a tree where he could see the whole group seated in a circle, apparently eating. The Archer nocked a flint tipped arrow, and drew it back. He let his field of vision expand, not focusing on any one spot. Any movement, however quick would be seen. The Archer slowed his breath, and his hand was as steady as stone. He could keep this position for nearly half a day.

  The Archer didn’t hear any sound at all as the elf quickly, easily put her silver, crescent blade to his throat.

  He heard her tinkling laughter. Her voice was like music. “Did you think to trap me?”

  The Archer knew he had no time to waste. Without moving, he said, “you have to return my black arrow to me immediately. The horse garonds will be back any moment.”

  Again, the elf laughed that tinkling laugh. “Are they half horse?”

  “They’re the ones who scattered the doderns in the Meadowland.”

  The elf considered for a moment. “You hate them almost as much as I do.”

  “More,” The Archer said.

  The elf reached into her shimmering, olive green tunic, and handed the black arrow to the Archer. “Where did you get these arrows? They are of elvish design.”

  “I’ll tell you anything you like after the fight,” The Archer said in low, dangerous tones. He turned to see Haergill, his face pale white, standing amongst the sitting circle. The elf followed his gaze, and lowered her blade.

  “Quickly,” she said.

  In the square, all the clan was now on their feet. Kellabald was bellowing and pointing for the group to get to the safety of the enormous trees of the Weald at the edge of the village.

  The elf and the Archer rose and ran towards the square. The rapid drumbeat of horse hooves could be heard intensifying in the distance. As the Archer and the elf reached the communal open space of the village, Kellabald, Haergill, and Yulenth joined them with spears and swords ready.

  Haergill turned to see Arnwylf standing behind them. Kellabald shouted for him to go on to the trees, as the first garond horsemen broke through the thick, sheltering grass of the Eastern Meadowland.

  The garonds clung to the naked backs of horses, shrieking, and swinging bronze clad wooden clubs. They were a terrifying sight to Haergill. No human ever rode on the back of a horse. It seemed as though they were malformed, unnatural monsters.

  Haergill felt himself frozen with fear, and could see from the corner of his eye that Kellabald and Yulenth were similarly paralyzed with fright. But the Archer was calm and astoundingly fast. Haergill noticed how the Archer drew a black arrow from his quiver, nocked it, drew and fired with no waste of motion. He did this four times before Haergill could even draw breath. He turned to see four garond’s with arrows protruding from their faces, falling from their horses. Two more garonds continued with the initial charge.

  Haergill saw the elf run past him as fast as a deer. She leapt and seemed to hang in the air, almost as if flying. Her silver blade was a whirling crescent moon that described a wide arc taking the heads of the two garonds before her, in one swipe. Spinning, she lightly landed as though she had no weight and then sprinted back to the clan.

  The horse garonds halted. The rest of their group gathered in an organized line. There were at least thirty of them. And six of their number lay dead at their feet, killed in less than two breaths.

  The lead garond, in the center of the line, the only one carrying a thick, oaken shield, shrieked a loud, vicious war cry. The entire line charged forward at the group. Haergill saw the Archer sight and release an arrow at the lead garond that flew directly to the center of its shield. The black metal tipped arrow went right through the oak and caught the lead garond at the throat, throwing him bodily backwards. With his shield pinned to his throat, he fell from his horse. The Archer was able to shoot one more garond dead as the line of horse garonds reached the clan.

  The elf seemed to levitate with a jump and her blade cut through both a garond’s club and his skull. Yulenth cut at a garond, but only slashed at its arm.

  With his spear, Kellabald caught a garond full in the mid-section and lifted him high off his horse. Haergill slashed at a garond and cut its leg clean off. It fell screaming to the dust of the village’s open square as it died in a sudden pool of its own blood.

  As the broken line of horse garonds passed, two bore down on Arnwylf standing twenty paces behind the clan. Arnwylf held his sword high in defense. As the garonds swung their clubs at him, like a bolt of lightning shot from the edge of the grass, the white wolf bounded high and caught one of the garonds at the throat. The wolf landed hard, and shook and rent the garond to its death in the dirt. The second garond pulled up, and turned to take another swing at Arnwylf. But, as he drew his club up high for the stroke, a black arrow sprouted from his forehead.

  Twelve garonds lay dead.

  “To us!” Kellabald called to his son, and Arnwylf sprinted to the safety of the circle of besieged humans and the elf.

  “I’ve used all seven of the black arrows,” The Archer shouted to the elf.

  “Then you’d better be a sharper shot,” the elf shouted back.

  The horse garonds were excited, angry, and disorganized. Their leader was dead and their prey was more dangerous than they had reckoned. But there were still twenty or more of them. A garond whooped a war cry and they began to ride in a circle around the group until the whole clan was surrounded.

  The humans and the elf pulled together in a tight defensive group. Although the whi
te wolf ran snapping at the legs of the horses, the deadly circle of horse garonds tightened their trap on the desperate humans.

  Haergill was surprised to hear Kellabald quietly but firmly directing the small band. Kellabald waved his spear high to ward off any garond who got too close, and seemed to know when a horse garond would move in close for a strike.

  “Arnwylf, on your right. Yulenth coming in fast. Elf, behind him. Haergill, on the left.” The garonds were unable to strike effectively with Kellabald’s leadership. Haergill felt a burning of pride to have him as a friend these past few years. He had known Kellabald as only a fisher, a hunter, a father, the leader of a village, and here, he was a natural general. He wished he had known Kellabald when Haergill was the king of the Northern Kingdom. The other generals and lords had bickered and fought with themselves so much it was the undoing of their whole race.

  Kellabald caught a garond by the throat with his spear as it was swinging its club at Arnwylf. Kellabald dragged his punctured garond back into the rider behind it. Yulenth slashed into the surprised, second garond, nearly cutting him in two. But then the garond behind him caught Yulenth a glancing blow that nearly killed him. The Archer shot that garond squarely in the eye with a flint arrow. The circle of garonds pulled back, but not before Haergill cut deeply into a horse. The horse squealed and bolted for the grass.

  “Cut the horses when you can!” Kellabald shouted.

  “I need my black arrows,” the Archer growled to the elf.

  “Let’s see if we can move towards those two bodies over there,” the elf said.

  “Kellabald,” the Archer called.

  “I heard you,” he said.

  The clan slowly inched the circle closer to the two garonds killed by the Archer at the start of the attack.

  The garonds were more cautious and vicious. Arnwylf was clubbed on his shoulder and hurt badly.

  Almost as if in response, the white wolf tore into the leg of that horse, pulling that rider to the dirt, dragging the screaming garond away from the thundering circle, to die in a furious storm of slashing wolf fangs.

  Kellabald speared another rider, and Haergill cut the hands of a garond clean off as he swung his club at Yulenth.

  The group was close to the bodies pierced with the special, black arrows. The elf sprinted out between the horses. She reached the bodies and plucked an arrow from one body, but struggled with the second. A garond peeled off from the group to kill her. The Archer sighted on him and shot him with a flint arrow in the head through the ear. The flint arrows didn’t penetrate deep and unstoppable like the black arrows, but with the right target, they were lethal.

  The clan moved quickly to the elf and the Archer helped her extract the second arrow.

  As soon as the Archer had his two black arrows, two more garonds lay dead in the dirt.

  A mere handful of garonds now circled the group, but Arnwylf and Yulenth had been hurt. It seemed a standoff, with the garonds unable to strike effectively and the clan surrounded.

  The horses were frothing at the mouth and Haergill could feel an alarming weariness in his arms. If they could drive off the last few, just kill a few, they might make for the safety of the trees.

  The garonds evilly stared at the humans, unwilling to move in too close now. A garond spread his arms in pain as a launched spear pierced his body. The whole group turned in amazement to find Wynnfrith had thrown a spear from a good distance to kill the garond. Alrhett, Halldora and Frea brandishing spears they had found, stood with her.

  “Go back!” Haergill bellowed. But the garonds had seen them and four broke away from the group to attack. The remaining garonds took the opportunity to close in tight on the group. It proved to be a fatal mistake for them.

  The elf leap above Yulenth and, over his head, cut a garond from his horse. Kellabald lost his spear as he impaled another garond. And, Yulenth followed behind the elf and cut that garond’s head clean from its shoulders. The white wolf also pulled another garond from its horse.

  Haergill broke through the deadly circle to sprint after the garonds headed for the women.

  Haergill could see the four horse garonds bearing down on Alrhett, Halldora and Frea who held their spears out defensively, enclosing unarmed Wynnfrith. One garond swept Frea’s spear aside, and the garond behind him pulled Frea up onto his horse in one motion.

  In mid sprint, Haergill turned towards the garond who had Frea, but then turned back as he saw the other two garonds riding together to attack Halldora. The Archer followed behind Haergill, and pulled an arrow from a garond corpse on the run. He sighted and shot dead the garond raising its club to strike Halldora. The other garond flinched away defensively, and turned to strike Wynnfrith.

  Haergill leapt as high as he could, putting all of his fear of the horse garonds aside. He cut the garond at the shoulder and as it swung its club. Its arm came away from its body, saving Wynnfrith from a certain death stroke.

  But, the first garond wheeled around, and caught Haergill hard on the head with his club, knocking him to the dirt.

  There on the ground, with blood pouring from his nose, Haergill saw the four remaining garonds, with Frea captive, pull together and make for the safety of the tall grass of the meadowland. Haergill futilely stretched out his hand in pain to clasp his captive daughter to him. The garonds almost made the meadow, but Haergill saw the Archer extract a black arrow and shoot one more dead.

  “They have Frea; we have to go after them!” Haergill heard Alrhett cry. The world was silent, and he watched the trees at the edge of the Weald quietly sway. Birds began to tenderly sing again in merciful strains. Haergill felt Halldora cradling his head, but his body was cold and numb. Haergill turned his head to see the clan gathering to watch him die.

  Chapter Four

  Haergill’s Secret

  Kellabald felt helpless and angry. He saw Halldora holding Haergill’s head as he lay dying. He turned to see Arnwylf turning red, his hands clenching and unclenching.

  “They have Frea!” Arnwylf said in a quiet, pained, urgent voice.

  Kellabald saw the Archer was solemn and respectful. Wynnfrith and Alrhett quietly huddled next to Halldora in sympathy. The elf seemed to be whispering a prayer in her strange song-like language. Yulenth held his arms withdrawing into his pain.

  Almost thirty garond lay slaughtered around them, and all Kellabald could think was that he had failed. He had failed those who depended on him, his family, his clan, his friend.

  Kellabald saw Haergill lifting his hand to him. He moved in close to hear Haergill’s final words.

  Arnwylf felt as though his face was on fire. This new feeling welling up inside him was insurmountable. He saw only Frea’s face. Frea, with flame red hair. Frea, quiet and polite. Frea, who one day, silently sat next to him by the small stream which ran through Bittel, watched as he threw oak leaves into the silver water, watched as the small, leafy boats wafted away on the shimmering water, illuminated by shafts of golden, spring sunlight peeking through the leaves of the towering oak tree overhead.

  Arnwylf felt as though his throat was closing with pain.

  The garonds would kill Frea. They might work her until she was dead, or worse. They were known to eat human flesh. Arnwylf felt as though he had to scream, yell, cry out to shake the world. He felt a powerful emotion building in his body. No power on earth could stop him from saving Frea. Heaven and hell would be no match for his anger. And, may the gods have mercy on any garond in his way.

  His tearing eyes burned with rage. He knew what he had to, must do.

  Arnwylf edged away from the group huddled around Haergill. Without thinking, he found himself running through the grass, directed, unstoppable. He knew garonds never crossed rivers without bridges. He knew the area, the Eastern Meadowlands, the rivers, the roads and trails. He knew the garonds would travel far west around the Bairn River to reach their troops on the other side. He could cross the Bairn, he must cross the Bairn, and stop them before they reached their
armies to the south.

  Haergill could feel the darkness encroaching. The sky was filling with clouds, heavy, black, rain clouds. The weather had been strange the last few years, too much rain, or not enough. And the lakes had been filling to their utmost levels. It was as if Oann was reshaping the earth for a new people, for a new age.

  Haergill tasted the blood pouring from his nose. He knew he didn’t have long to live. He wanted to press his daughter to his chest and tell her all would be well. Then he remembered that the garonds had taken her.

  A sense of urgency roused him. He motioned for Kellabald to come near. He had so much to tell and only moments to tell it.

  His sweet Halldora held him, looking down with such concern, but not crying, his brave woman. She was his strength when he had none. She was his sanity, always his sanity, when the wars between the humans had been their worst. The wars between the humans! Such stupidity! Such waste! Wynnfrith and Alrhett held Halldora as though they were sisters. The family of Bittel was a good family.

  But there was something so urgent, the secret that Kellabald had to know.

  The elf felt the flame of life ebbing from the red haired, male human. She had only known this family of humans half a day, but she could see the brilliant light shining in them, and knew they were good. She felt a particular pain for the red haired woman who was clearly the dying human’s mate. She would be cut in half. Maybe the humans didn’t understand, but as an elf, she knew that mates become one flame. And, the loss of one is indescribable and continuing pain to the other, until they are reunited again in eternity.

  The elf whispered a prayer to Wylkeho Daniei to guide this human’s flame back to the source of all unseen fire.

  She felt a strange attraction to this human family. The elf had only followed them knowing they would attract more garonds for her to kill.