A great noise went up as hundreds of men of Kipleth arrived.
“The archers of Kipleth,” Forgrebbe frowned. “The combined army thinks that they will be the great difference in the coming battle.”
“You do not think so?”
“If the garond army is a large as they whisper,” Forgrebbe said stretching, “we will have to kill fifty garonds each. Hmmph. Well, I’d best check with my commanders. Watch my camp for me, will you Kellabald?”
Kellabald nodded. He felt some measure of safety with Forgrebbe. He would ask him about the king of Reia, and how he could find him, when he returned. The soldiers of Kipleth kept pouring into western Tyny until they outnumbered any other army. There seemed to be a buzz amongst the soldiers, but Kellabald was too nervous to leave the little camp to find out what was the news. He feared, greatly, the news would be about him and the Mattear Gram.
“Healfdene is here!” A soldier cried. Kellabald’s head snapped up as a murmur went through the whole garrison.
In the middle of the camp, a platoon of brightly armored soldiers marched, flying the flag of the Green Hills of Reia, a white wolf on a field of bright green. In their midst a robust, older man with a red and white beard, dressed in golden armor, a head taller, happily marched towards the bridge over the Holmwy.
“Healfdene. Healfdene!” Kellabald cried, but the mass of soldiers shouted and pressed him on all sides. The parade was past and over the bridge in a matter of moments.
Kellabald looked all about for Forgrebbe. He didn’t like leaving his new friend’s camp unattended, but he had to catch Healfdene and give him the sword.
“Did you see him?” Forgrebbe called as he approached.
“I must speak to him at once!” Kellabald said. “Thank you for your hospitality, but I must leave.”
Forgrebbe whipped out his sword and held it before Kellabald. “You are not leaving for anywhere,” Forgrebbe said.
Kellabald was puzzled for a moment, but then he saw Apghilis and a platoon of men following behind Forgrebbe. Kellabald felt the Mattear Gram leap from the cloth, and into his hand.
“Run”, he heard it clearly say. Kellabald parried Forgrebbe’s sword with a mighty blow, and then Kellabald turned to run.
“The Mattear Gram!” A soldier who recognized the sword exclaimed.
Kellabald ran through the camp towards the bridge. He would not strike any soldier. It would be murder. The men clutched at him on all sides.
A large group of archers from Kipleth gathered at the foot of the bridge, ready to cross. Kellabald ran right into their midst. The Kipleth men grabbed Kellabald and held him tight. They tried to wrest the sword from his hand, but it was if the sword was part of him, and they could not.
Apghilis strode up. “Somebody run him through,” he said.
A soldier of the Kingdom of Man drew his sword, which was a mistake as the Kipleth men also drew their swords in response. All Apghilis’ men drew their swords, but they were surrounded by hundreds of soldiers from Kipleth with swords at the ready.
“He is a thief, kill him!” Apghilis commanded.
“Sheath your swords!” A dark voice cried behind Kellabald. The Archer and the elf stood beside him.
“Take your hands off of that man, and beg his forgiveness,” the Archer said. Then, the Archer grasped Kellabald’s hand in friendship. “I ask your forgiveness, my friend Kellabald,” he said, “as I am sure the men who once followed me into battle will, as well.” The men of Kipleth were stunned.
“Our general lives!” A soldier cried.
All slowly bowed, or offered their weapons to the Archer, who quietly acknowledged their fealty with a raised hand.
Apghilis looked around at the multitude of awe struck Kipleth soldiers. “I will take my case to Healfdene,” the cowardly Apghilis huffed, and pushed his way onto the bridge to cross the Holmwy.
“I am so, so happy to see you, alive and well,” the Archer said to Kellabald with a warm smile.
“You once commanded all these men?” Kellabald asked the Archer, looking around at the hundreds of soldiers who looked at the Archer with adoration, wonder and tears in their eyes.
“Men of Kipleth,” the Archer said, “will you help me avenge the destruction of our land?”
The answering roar was deafening.
As dusk was falling, the people of the Weald began to arrive at Tyny. The meadowland was full of wealdkin, hungry and covered in soot, walking out of the tall grass like dusky ghosts. A huge brown cloud covered half the sky on the horizon behind them. The day was dark with the massive amount of ash overhead. The setting sun and streaming clouds in the west were all blood red.
Alrhett, at the head of the nation of the Weald, carrying a small child, approached an armed sentry at the outskirts of the military camps gathering in eastern Tyny.
“I am Alrhett, queen of the Weald,” she wearily said to the sentry. “Please direct me to whoever is in charge.”
The sentry, mouth agape, suddenly saluted, and said, “Follow me, please, your Highness.”
As the wealdkin streamed into Tyny, they were met with compassion and food. The story of the great fire spread throughout the camps of soldiers.
Alrhett was brought to the center of Tyny, two humble houses, which had become the center of the gathering human army. Alrhett and her army captain were presented to Healfdene and Haerreth.
“Your Majesty,” Alrhett extended a hand.
“Alrhett,” Healfdene said with a big grin. “It has been much too long. Look how your hair has turned white.” And, then he affectionately hugged her.
“And look,” Alrhett said, “how large and handsome your son, the prince has become.” Haerreth actually blushed a deep red to match his ginger beard. Then he laughed a soft laugh.
“Where is your sister?” Alrhett asked.
Hetwing, a shy young woman, with light brown hair waved from a doorway of one of the houses.
“The Weald was set afire?” Healfdene said with wonder, shaking his head.
“All you knew of the Weald kingdom is lost,” Alrhett quietly said. “All we own now is our lives.”
“That is the most important thing,” Healfdene said with compassion. “Come and eat and drink. There are some here I think you should meet.”
Healfdene led Alrhett to one of the small houses and Wynnfrith, Halldora, Arnwylf and Frea emerged. They fell into each other’s arms with kisses, tears and laughter.
“We never knew the king and queen of the Northern Kingdom of Man lived among us,” Wynnfrith said stroking Halldora’s hair.
“We never knew the queen and princess of the Weald were our hosts,” Halldora said with a grin.
Then Halldora took Wynnfrith by the arm and whispered to her.
“What if our children should marry?” Halldora giggled to Wynnfrith.
“The princess of the Kingdom of Man married to the prince of the Weald,” Wynnfrith quietly laughed. “Why their nation would comprise the whole east of Wealdland.” Then Wynnfrith was quiet. “I remember little of my father before he was assassinated. He was always in court, or fighting the Eaststand. I never wanted this life for my poor, beautiful son,” she whispered to Halldora.
“I also thought,” Halldora quietly said with sudden soberness, “that my little girl would be spared the vicious intrigue of royal politics.”
“Oh, let me hold them,” Alrhett said with a happy pain as she grabbed Arnwylf and Frea, each in an arm, and hugged them as tight as she could.
“Don’t you ever run off like that again,” Alrhett said to Arnwylf kissing his face, and staring into his eyes. Arnwylf averted his eyes in embarrassment.
“Come into the house and eat,” Haerreth invited Alrhett.
“I must make sure all my people are safe and comfortable first,” Alrhett said with a matronly smile.
Healfdene smiled to hear this. “Learn son, how your people should ever be foremost in your thoughts. Learn from a great queen.”
“I will help
you,” Haerreth said with eagerness. “No wealdkin shall want tonight.”
“Come meet our people,” Alrhett said as she took Arnwylf’s hand. They wandered out among the refugees who were being welcomed and fed by the soldiers already camped in the Eastern Meadowland.
The wealdkin were grateful and thankful as Alrhett moved among them. And, as Alrhett made sure all were safe, she introduced Arnwylf and showed him off like a proud grandmother should. The people of the Weald were over the moon to meet the new prince, and they adored him. Arnwylf was astonished at the praise and admiration, and more than a little annoyed.
“Why are they so strange,” Arnwylf unhappily whispered to Alrhett.
“You give them hope,” she whispered back. She turned to look deep into his eyes and smiled.
“Arnwylf,” Alrhett said, “I never wanted you to know, and hoped you’d live a simple, honest life. But you are descended of royalty, and now unfortunately, your life no longer belongs to only you. Your life belongs primarily to the citizens of the Weald.” Arnwylf frowned, but kept his thoughts to himself.
After a tour of the camp, after the last of the wealdkin straggled in from the Eastern Meadowland, Alrhett and Arnwylf returned to Tyny as night was falling.
In the small town, the high officials and captains met to hear the words of a mud splattered young man of the messenger guild.
“The garond army is on the march,” he said. “They move as a great black mass south of the Bairn River. They kill and devour everything in their path.”
“How many of them are there?” Haerreth asked.
“We count them at more than two hundred thousand.”
A worried murmur rippled through the men.
“We currently number less than fifty thousand,” Healfdene grimly said.
“There are hundreds of garonds on horses,” the young man went on. “And they have many machines of wood which can hurl large stones great distances.”
“We felt the brunt of those,” the captain of the Weald said with a nod.
“And,” the messenger paused, “they have hundreds of archers.”
“What!?” A captain yelled in surprise.
“They don’t use bow and arrow!”
“Then the flaming arrows of the Weald were true!”
“Quiet,” Healfdene held up his hands. “Quiet! Let him finish!” All worriedly quieted to hear the rest of the report.
“We estimate that the army will be in the Eastern Meadowland in two days,” the messenger darkly said. “That is all.”
“All right,” Healfdene said. “We don’t know if they’ll attack immediately, but we have an idea of how soon we may have to go to war. Organize and prepare all your troops. The rest of the armies on the other side of the Holmwy should be here by tomorrow midday. As soon as the last of the soldiers are across, we will evacuate all children and those too elderly to fight. That evacuation may happen as the battle rages, so let every human be resolute in their duties.”
A soldier trotted up to Healfdene and whispered in his ear. Healfdene walked over to Alrhett. “Bring your family,” he said and led them away.
They all followed the soldier to the foot of the bridge over the Holmwy River. A group of soldiers surrounded the Archer, the elf and Kellabald.
Wynnfrith ran to her husband and threw her arms around his neck. She kissed and kissed him. Arnwylf hugged his father and tried not to cry.
“I have something for you,” Kellabald said to Healfdene.
“So I understand,” the king of Reia said. “This way.” Healfdene led the group into one of the small houses of Tyny. Inside, Kellabald unwrapped the sword and held it out for Healfdene.
“The Mattear Gram,” Kellabald said, offering the brilliant sword.
“Amazing,” Healfdene said, but made no movement to touch the sword.
“Take it, father,” Haerreth said with joy. But, the old king restrained his son.
“Rest tonight, brave Kellabald,” Healfdene softly said. “A great meeting of all the leaders of the nations will be held tomorrow. Would you please offer the sword then?”
“Ah ha!” Haerreth laughed. “Then all captains and royalty will see the sword of leadership offered properly.”
“Your exuberance,” Healfdene sighed, “will be the end of you, son.” Then, Haerreth looked down in his red faced embarrassment.
“You are of Reia, are you not?” Healfdene asked Kellabald.
“Yes, your majesty,” Kellabald replied with respect.
“You were of the house of Konedene?”
“Yes, your majesty, how did you know?”
“I should hope I’m not so old I wouldn’t recognize a nephew,” the old king smiled. Then Haerreth looked at his cousin with bright eyes.
“I renounced my name and family long ago,” Kellabald quietly said.
“Yes,” Healfdene mused. “It was that business with the Cult of Hapaun.”
“Yes, I-“
“You will be happy to know, when their dark sacrifices were found in the light of day, I arrested and tried all of them for murder,” Healfdene said searching Kellabald for a reaction, “even your father.”
Kellabald was silent with shame.
“Let us leave the past in the past,” Healfdene said as he put a sympathetic hand on Kellabald’s shoulder.
“Tonight, use this house, eat and rest, friends,” Healfdene said, and with a pleasant smile, left with his son.
The rest of the night was quiet happiness as the residents of Bittel, the Archer, and the elf ate and told the stories of what had befallen them since their separation.
“All we lack are Haergill and Yulenth,” Kellabald softly said as they sat around the fire.
“My husband would be happy to see his wishes fulfilled,” Halldora said with misty eyes. Wynnfrith held her tight.
“He was a great king,” Kellabald said. “But more importantly, simply a good man.”
“But what of Yulenth?” Wynnfrith asked.
“I know not if he is alive or dead,” Alrhett said holding back her tears.
“It’s something,” Kellabald said, “How we all were drawn to Bittel. And how we all have played parts, were drawn apart, and now we are, almost all of us, together again.”
“The Water of Life,” the elf plainly said.
“What is that?” Frea asked.
“The elves don’t believe in coincidence,” the elf sleepily said. “Life is like water. It separates. It is diverted. But it always comes back together again.”
“The Water of Life,” Arnwylf said staring into the dying fire.
Chapter Eighteen
The War Council
Arnwylf woke with the fog of the early morning. He left his sleeping family and friends to explore a part of the Eastern Meadowland he had never seen before. Frea silently crept out of the house and joined Arnwylf. Neither spoke a word. They picked their way through the soldier’s camps, down towards the shore of the Holmwy River.
Frea quietly put her hand into his, and he didn’t pull away. She felt as if she could sense every part of Arnwylf walking next to her. Without looking, she could almost feel his face and the new, perpetual scowl he now wore. She closed her eyes, and she could feel his hair softly moving with the light, morning breeze. She thought she could even feel his heart beating. His fingers were cold and calloused. She felt his new strength with every movement of his body. Frea felt closer to Arnwylf than ever before, as they walked towards the river.
They picked their way through the soldiers of various nations, some asleep at their camp fires, all others watching to the east with weary eyes for signs of the garond army. A dull frost covered every piece of metal or leather. The soldiers all looked like they were already ghosts of themselves.
At the river, the trees were now all bare, blackened twigs reaching in every direction. Mounds of leaves smoldered in the early morning. Arnwylf and Frea sat down next to the river, which was swirling with plates of thin, transparent ice.
Ar
nwylf threw a leaf into the water and watched it spin down the stream like a helpless boat against a relentless tide.
Frea smiled. She remembered this game, and threw a leaf in as well, watching it float downstream. They looked at each other, and for a moment the children returned.
They each grabbed a sturdy leaf.
“Ready?” Arnwylf said, and Frea nodded her head.
They both threw their leaves into the softly gurgling, wide Holmwy River. The leaf boats raced each other in the current.
Arnwylf and Frea jumped up to watch their leaf boats race.
“Come on, Come on!” Arnwylf cheered.
“Beat him, you can do it!” Frea laughed.
Frea gently put her hand on Arnwylf’s arm to steady herself on the river’s bank. The leaf boats twirled out of sight. They both looked out at the rippling brown and gray of the Holmwy.
Arnwylf turned to Frea. They were very close together.
She stared into his wide, green eyes. Arnwylf stared back into the pale, pale blue of Frea’s eyes and wondered what it would be like to kiss her. He felt himself drawn to her, as though he had no control. Somehow, deep within him, Arnwylf knew he and Frea were always meant for each other. He could feel her trembling, either from the cold, or his nearness. He could feel the warmth of her body and slowly pulled her closer to him.
She was trembling under the soft clasp of his hands on her arms. She could feel his breath on her lips. She could feel his strong, lanky body close to hers. She slowly closed her eyes.
Then, a sudden sound in the trees made them recoil.
“What was that?” Frea whispered.
“Stay behind me,” Arnwylf said looking for a branch big enough to wield as a club.
Then, from the brush Conniker crawled, whimpering.
“Oh, my brother!” Arnwylf cried, running to him.
“He looks half dead,” Frea said.
Arnwylf gave the dirty, mangy wolf a great hug, and Conniker grunted with pleasure, licking Arnwylf’s face.
“Come on,” Arnwylf said, and he gently pulled the white wolf along by its matted mane. The soldiers who spied the limping wolf with the boy all sprang up, but Arnwylf stopped them with an up raised hand.
The Last Elf of Lanis Page 27