About midday, a too thin, middle aged man in front of Arnwylf began to limp noticeable. Arnwylf moved close to the man to hold his arm and give him some support. They both watched carefully for Ratskenner or Deepscar.
“I thank you. My name is Len.” The thin man whispered to Arnwylf, as they continued northward.
After several more hours of relentless marching, a rim of trees was visible in the distance. Wounded garonds lined the side of the road, and what appeared to be leaders grunted orders and pointed further down the way.
The company was then forced into a run, and the wall of trees loomed close. More and more garond troops were gathered in the road. Their broken swords and battle scarred armor were evidence of a fierce battle Arnwylf and the company was headed right towards.
As they entered the forest, there was confusion, and hundreds of troops. The company was allowed to rest for a moment as Deepscar received instructions from a higher ranked garond.
The company was goaded to their feet and even the garond soldiers were complaining in their tongue as they continued North through the forest.
Arnwylf heard the bellowing and screams of the conflict before he could see it. The road began sloping quickly downhill. The Bairn River was suddenly in view, and three great wooden bridges spanned the wide and tumultuous river.
As the company came to a halt, Arnwylf could see human archers on the northern side of the river in ordered ranks. They protected the groups of thirty or more humans at the center of each of the three bridges. The garonds had no archers of their own on the southern side of the Bairn, but many, many more soldiers than the humans.
Garond soldiers, swords high, rushed onto the bridge and slashed at the humans. But they were repulsed again and again on all three bridges.
On the south side of the river, garond soldiers massed. It was clear they were preparing to rush the bridges, and that would spell the end for the wealdkin.
Arnwylf and his human captives were put to work moving heavy carts filled with arms and supplies.
“Move! Put your backs into it!” Ratskenner screamed at the starving, weary humans.
“We’ve had nothing to eat for two days. Still yourself.” Arnwylf said to Ratskenner.
“What!? What did you say!?” Ratskenner pushed his long sharp nose up to Arnwylf’s face. “I could have you killed and eaten right this very moment!”
“If I were not in these chains I would shut you up this very moment,” Arnwylf said.
Ratskenner stared at Arnwylf, disbelieving his defiance. After a moment passed with neither speaking, Arnwylf turned his back in disgust to lift the cart he was being forced to drag.
Ratskenner whipped Arnwylf across his back. As Arnwylf turned, the sharp nosed cretin hit him again. In rage, Arnwylf lunged at his human keeper, who leapt back, but Arnwylf’s chains held him in check. Ratskenner raised his fist, shaking with rage, but he dared not come close to Arnwylf, who was ready to kill him.
Ratskenner backed up, with his terrified eyes on Arnwylf. He then picked up a branch lying by the road and began to whip the weak and hungry humans. But he stayed well away from Arnwylf, whose dangerous gaze never left him.
Down by the Three Bridges of Rogar Li, a great screaming and yelling was heard. The garond armies were charging the bridges. Their numbers swelled and the garond soldiers were unstoppable, no matter how many were killed by sword, spear or arrow.
On the far banks, at the end of the center bridge, a white haired man bellowed something to the garonds. They seemed to pause in their surge. Then all three bridges seemed to magically burst into flames. The garonds on the bridges tried to fight their way back as the fire intensified, but there was such a crowd of soldiers on all three bridges, it became impossible. Garonds on the bridges began jumping into the Bairn River. They were quickly drowned and swept downstream, as no garond knew how to swim, or eaten by malevolent fish.
All became panic. Garonds ran back and forth. The army was in complete disarray. The three huge, beautifully carved bridges were infernos that quickly collapsed into the Bairn. On the far banks, the humans cheered.
They began to pepper the garonds with arrows, and the garond army had to retreat to the safety of the trees on the southern bank.
But, the garonds were quick to reorganize. Leaders barked orders, and the whole army was turned back to the main encampment in Harvestley.
It was a slow, painful march, with humans forced to carry heavy burdens and drag loaded carts.
As night fell, clouds covered the night sky once again, and again no rain fell. The garond encampment was busy dressing the wounded and regrouping. The humans gathered together for warmth. Arnwylf stared up at the boiling night clouds, planning his escape.
On the morning of Arnwylf’s fourth day of captivity, a garond came around and argued with Deepscar, then looked over his captive humans, picking out the strongest and healthiest. Of course, Arnwylf was chosen, and his shackles were unlocked. He was then reshackled with a new group of men and led away. Deepscar and Ratskenner also came with the platoon of garond soldiers and captives.
The new group headed east right through the garond army encampment towards the Flume of Gawry. The humans in this new company were healthier and stronger, so the marching was quicker. By midday, the road was flat and definitely sloping downhill. After a couple of hours of marching, Arnwylf could smell the ocean. He had accompanied his father to the fishing town Alfhich once, and the thing he remembered most was the pervasive smell of fish and salt water.
There were no fields or villages now, just flat, rolling land with close cropped grass. Grazing animals must have once moved through this area regularly. Arnwylf realized they were in Byland, the entrance to Wealdland from the rest of the world. Arnwylf felt farther from Bittel and his family than he had ever been his entire life.
A roaring sound could be heard on the breeze. Soon, more garonds came into sight, and more soldiers marching west to the encampment. The roaring sound was louder and louder.
The furious sound was the Flume of Gawry. The company was stopped. All the human men flopped to the ground to rest, but Arnwylf remained standing to understand his surroundings.
They stood right on the steep precipice of a narrow channel of water rushing for two miles from north to south. The water in the flume was white, frothy, and moving extremely fast. Garond soldiers were carefully moving over the thirty yard wide flume by rope bridges. The garonds were ungraceful and frightened, so they moved very slowly on the ropes spanning the wild water.
Deepscar unshackled a human at random, dragged him to the edge of the flume and threw him in. Garond soldiers crowded the edge of the flume, laughing as the human was quickly swept away to die as the flume crashed down on the shores of the Bight of Lanis.
The company was roused and marched south along the flume. In only an hour, in the late afternoon, they came to the spout of the flume.
More than a waterfall, the flume was a massive jet of water roaring high up, out of a white chalk cliff in a downward, arcing, white cascade into the ocean below. Next to the flume, Arnwylf noticed curious structures constructed of large wooden beams meant for lifting heavy weights up the white cliffs, from the ocean shore below. And, as he wondered at the massive crane, the beams and levers began to move.
Arnwylf and his fellow humans were whipped into place by Deepscar. They grasped thick ropes and pulled, as a large wooden crate lifted off the shore below. The heavy object was wet and poured water. As the crate lifted above the cliff’s edge, Arnwylf could see within it was a large marowdowr lying on its back.
An earthquake began to roll and rumble under their feet. The earthquake vibrated right through Arnwylf’s bones, a deep resonating rumble. All the rocks and hills shook. All the humans looked at each other in a paralytic shock, helpless, fearful. Earthquakes were rare and supposed to be an expression of dissatisfaction of the gods. The whole world seemed unsteady to Arnwylf. He clutched the thick ropes not to support the huge crate, but to keep
his own feet. He could feel the organs in his very body vibrating with the shaking.
The towering wooden structure trembled and shook. The great crate swayed back and forth with the shaking of the earth. Most garonds fell to their knees in terrified prayer, and some fled the great wooden crane in fear it would fall. Deepscar compelled the humans to stay at their ropes, and kept the crate from dropping. Timbers creaked and the towers of the wooden machine strained, but they held.
The shaking stopped. Then, there was a great stillness. Human and garond alike looked at each other unsure if they were still alive.
When fears were finally calmed, the lifting of the great fish resumed.
Arnwylf was surprised to see that garonds caught marowdowr, and mistakenly supposed they ate them. The crate was swung onto the cliff and released from the crane.
The humans were forced to grab braces around the crate and lift it. The marowdowr, as large as four men, slowly opened its mouth full of jagged teeth.
“It’s alive!” Someone screamed, and the humans dropped the crate. The immense fish squirmed in its wooden cage.
“Pick it up! Pick it up!” Ratskenner screamed at the men. Arnwylf and about thirty men lifted the heavy crate and were forced to quick march along the flume northward.
Arnwylf was near the beast’s head and his fear and fatigue were quickly overcome by fascination. The marowdowr had black, black eyes. Its triangular head had a mouth so wide, it could swallow a full grown man whole. Its teeth were triangular and irregular, as if it had a mouthful of knives. The monstrous fish had been unaffected by the earthquake and complacently lay on its back. The marowdowr wheezed, needing water desperately. Humans bearing buckets of water doused the beast often.
After about an hour of back breaking marching northwards, a large lake was seen, the Great Lake of Ettonne. It was light blue and swollen. Scores of white islands seemed to bob and drift in the water. As they moved closer, Arnwylf could see that the islands were actually large pieces of ice drifting in the placid water of the expansive lake.
The crate was marched right to the shore. Several other empty crates stood nearby. With directions, the humans turned the crate over so the marowdowr was upright. It suddenly thrashed to life. It’s body bucking wildly in the crate. Men were directed to open the wooden cage, and as soon as a crack was opened the marowdowr thrust through, shattering the crate, flopping towards the lake.
The garonds cheered and laughed in ugly grunts as the massive monster slowly swam out on to the quiet body of water.
Then, brown shapes popped up like corks. Merebroder gasped for breath, appearing like magic. The garonds screamed in anger as the merebroder methodically attacked the sluggish marowdowr. The garonds threw rocks and spears at the merebroder, who quickly dipped below the surface.
The marowdowr Arnwylf and the men had carried to the lake turned belly up, dead from the sudden merebroder attack in the cold, light blue water of the Great Lake of Ettonne.
A horse garond rode up to the company. He snapped and grunted at Deepscar. Deepscar bellowed and the whole company stood to march back west to the main encampment.
Deepscar was in a foul mood the whole way, whipping indiscriminately, and Arnwylf especially.
Night was falling as they returned. Arnwylf was rejoined with the other humans he had been captive with before. He saw Annen, Faw and Len, and they seemed to be grateful that he was once more with them. Again clouds obscured the night sky. Arnwylf fell quickly to sleep, dreaming of marowdowr and merebroder fighting in the sea.
Morning broke on Arnwylf’s fifth day in garond captivity. The garond encampment roused with the break of dawn, but the humans were left to themselves.
Faw awoke, looked at Arnwylf and said, “We were worried we would never see you again.”
Arnwylf smiled. “We were sent to the Flume of Gawry to carry marowdowr from the Mere Lanis to the Great Lake of Ettonne.”
“Marowdowr!” Faw exclaimed.
“Yes. But it was killed by merebroder who seemed to spring from the very water itself,” Arnwylf said. “Now I understand my friend Caerlund when he was surprised to see marowdowr in the Bairn River.”
“It’s true,” old Annen said. “The garonds are putting the evil fish in the rivers and lakes to kill humans.”
“You know Caerlund?” Len scrutinized Arnwylf.
“I met him several days ago. We crossed the Bairn together.” Then Arnwylf told the story of how he had met Caerlund and what befell them together.
“Well,” said Len, “He is our chieftain. We are of the Madrun, most of us.”
At this Ratskenner approached. “Quiet you,” was all he said.
Arnwylf motioned to Ratskenner to come close. Ratskenner came as close as he felt safe.
“Listen to me carefully,” Arnwylf said staring hard at Ratskenner. “See how we are all chained together?” Arnwylf indicated the mass of human prisoners. “One of us will grab a hold of you, any moment, and we will pass you down to me, and I will break your neck.” The group of humans seemed to regain their spirit and grumbled together. Terror played across Ratskenner’s face.
“Or,” Arnwylf continued, “you can find us food and water, and we may yet remember you are human and not garond.” Ratskenner stood gasping for breath, realizing the truth of Arnwylf’s words, and then scrabbled away.
Len shook his head. “He was like a son to me.”
“Him?!” Arnwylf said with surprise.
“He was of the Madrun Hills. His family was all thieves and murderers who met justice. I took him in as a boy, raised him as my own. But he betrayed us to the garond army for his station over us. They say he speaks garond. It may be he has lost his humanity,” Len said as he sank into his rueful sadness.
They were not put to work in the morning, so Arnwylf stood up above his squatting human companion prisoners to more fully understand the garond encampment. He saw that they were held on the western edge of the encampment that filled the shallow valley and grew larger every moment. Garonds arrived from the west bringing spoils, more humans, metal goods to be forged into weapons, animals to be consumed and wood timbers for their machines of war. From the east more garond soldiers arrived by the hour. Arnwylf estimated at the moment, there were over one hundred thousand garond troops.
In the late afternoon, Ratskenner clambered up to the group of humans. In a cloak, he concealed several loaves of bread.
“See?” Ratskenner clicked, “You see? I provide for my humans. I take care of you.” Ratskenner looked for approval from Arnwylf, but Arnwylf would not return his gaze. The bread was carefully and secretly divided, and furtively eaten.
Ratskenner came close to Arnwylf. “Our great leader arrives in Wealdland today to claim it as his own.”
“Who’s that?” Arnwylf asked with resentment
“The Lord of Lightning, Deifol Hroth.”
Arnwylf sat up at the name.
“He is immortal and has the very forces of nature at his command,” Ratskenner went on. “Now that he comes to Wealdland from his bluestone citadel in the Far Grasslands, humanity is through. He also comes with his great war general, Ravensdred. All must be prepared for their arrival.”
As Ratskenner said this, a great company from the west arrived, in a hurry, and with many wounded and dead garond soldiers. Ratskenner scurried away to learn where this battered company came from.
Annen leaned close to Arnwylf. “We may be sacrificed in a great feast tonight. It makes sense as to why they have kept us this long.”
“Then we must escape before that happens,” Arnwylf said evenly. Arnwylf looked down at his fetters. They were locked, and the only key to all their chains was held by Deepscar.
Ratskenner scrambled back to Arnwylf. “There was a great defeat. An archer who, aided by an elf, slew many.” Ratskenner scuttled away to help the wounded garonds.
Arnwylf was happy in his heart because he knew it was the Archer who had saved him at Bittel, and the elf who had fought by his side at
Rion Ta.
The rest of the day was chaos, getting the camp in readiness for their great leader, and tending to the defeated army arriving from the west.
In the early evening a great company of nearly a hundred horse garonds arrived. Arnwylf caught his breath. A red haired girl riding with a garond was unmistakably Frea. He saw her taken to the center of the encampment and noted the large ornate tent to which she was taken.
Arnwylf watched the horse garonds carefully and realized that the herd of horses simply followed a lead horse that was thoroughly trained. The horse garonds dismounted and brought their horses to the edge of the encampment. The humans were pushed back from their nesting place to allow the horses to bed in their straw. And, a simple rope corral was set up to keep the horses from wandering. A plan formed in Arnwylf’s mind.
The evening’s clouds began to gather. A large and colorfully dressed group of garonds arrived from the east.
Ratskenner scurried up. All he said was, “Great Warlord Ravensdred is here!” Then he hurried away to see the spectacle of his arrival. The procession paraded to the great tent at the center. From his vantage point Arnwylf could see a large garond, larger than the rest, astride a massive war horse. He thought, this must be the war general, Ravensdred. But, he wore no armor, only a fine silk tunic. The warlord and his retinue entered the large tent to which he had seen Frea taken. The rest of the encampment busied their selves with looking presentable if inspected.
The garonds began to bed down and it was clear that the Lord of Lightning would come the next day, and so the feast would wait. After the horses, the humans were brought buckets of fresh water, which they drank suspiciously.
“This is to make our meat more tender,” old Annen said with a frown. Arnwylf realized that she was probably right, then began to chuckle at the grim absurdity. The hushed laugh spread to the rest of the humans, then quietly died out.
The Last Elf of Lanis Page 8