The Last Elf of Lanis

by Hargan, K. J.

  “It was only a matter of time,” Solienth said.

  “For what?” Yulenth asked.

  “That they remembered they are still boys,” Solienth said with a sad smile.

  At midday, a single garond approached the human camp at Tyny with a white flag of peace. “You come now,” the garond said with difficulty to the surprised soldier. “Leader talk.” The garond pointed out to the center of the Eastern Meadowland destined to become a vicious battlefield.

  There in the midst of the tall grasses, Ravensdred and a single garond soldier waited.

  The human soldier quickly ran back to the village of Tyny to relay the message. In one of the houses in the village of Tyny, the leaders met.

  “It’s a trap,” Alrhett said. “They offered peace to the Weald and then attacked.”

  “Might be a good chance to catch that big leader with a carefully placed arrow,” Caerlund said with a smile.

  The Archer smiled back.

  “The tradition of talks before a battle,” a captain of Man said, “is honorable and age old.”

  “What do you expect them to tell us?” Kellabald asked. “That they will fight fair? That they will spare our women and children if we capitulate? I have nothing to say to the commander of the garonds. And, he has nothing I wish to hear.”

  “Then let me go,” the captain of the Northern Kingdom of Man said.

  “I will let you do no such thing,” Kellabald said. “Now let us discuss the terrain and where we gain an advantage.”

  “I must make sure my troops are all properly armed,” the captain said and excused himself.

  “You know,” Caerlund said, “he’s going out there.”

  Kellabald angrily rose. “My need for captains is too great to spare even a foolhardy one.” Kellabald rose to follow the captain, and the company followed him. Outside, Kellabald could see the disobedient captain jogging through the camp, towards the open meadow.

  “Captain!” Kellabald bellowed. “Come back!”

  But the captain and a loyal soldier were out onto the meadow before he could reach them. They walked out to Ravensdred and his single garond with their hands raised high in peace. When the captain reached Ravensdred they appeared to be talking and gesturing. The fool, Kellabald thought.

  And then, to no one’s surprise, five hidden garonds sprang from the grass and slashed at the captain and his soldier. They could only watch in horror at the slaughter.

  The Archer nocked one of the arrows of Yenolah. “I may be able to get that big one,” he said, pulling his bow tight, and closing one eye.

  “Don’t waste your arrow,” Kellabald said in frustration. “We need every weapon at our disposal for the battle when it comes.” With that, Kellabald led his generals back to the village with the two small houses.

  In the late afternoon, the Archer asked the elf to walk along the edge of the battlefield with him.

  “Tell me of the black arrows,” the elf said. “Hold nothing back.”

  “The star was Yeno,” the Archer said as they slowly walked through the trampled grass, “it fell to earth hundreds of years ago, somewhere far beyond Byland, past the Far Grasslands. The heart of Yeno was a lump of black metal found in a large crater where the star landed. Many tried to forge the heart of Yeno, but it was too stubborn. Finally someone brought the heart of Yeno to Weylund, the elvish oresmith, in Lanis. He knew that the fires were not hot enough to work the metal. They say Weylund spent four days making his forge fire hotter and hotter. On the night of the fourth day, Daniei Wylkeho came to him in a dream and showed him the seven arrows he was to fashion. On the fifth day, the heart of Yeno was melted and he forged the arrows as he was shown in the dream. On the night of the fifth day, as the arrows still cooled, the Great Parent came to him in a dream and told him to keep the arrows secret, until a blind human would come to him and ask specifically for them.”

  “A blind human?” The elf exclaimed. “It must have been the blind seer, Sehen.”

  “The very same,” the Archer said. “He gave the arrows to me and taught me to shoot in a new way.”

  “I would love to learn those lessons,” the elf said.

  “If we survive this battle,” the Archer said with a smile, “I will teach you. Sehen said the arrows were for a special purpose. He said he didn’t know what that purpose was, but I would eventually discover it.” They walked together in silence for a moment.

  “What did you say to me in Plymonley?” The Archer asked.

  “It was elvish,” the elf said. “I said ‘rise up’. But,” she struggled for words, “it means so much more. Elvish words have so many meanings. I have known elves to debate a four word conversation for days,” she laughed.

  “But what did you mean?” The Archer asked.

  “I meant many things,” the elf answered. “I meant for you to be more than who you are. I meant for you to be courageous in the face of impending disaster. I meant for you to touch the Great Flame. I meant for you to know I would always be beside you.” The elf felt embarrassment. The Archer could sense her discomfort and waited for her to gather herself. She looked at the dark melancholy face of the Archer and felt a new emotion stirring in her. His smile was kind and patient.

  The elf wondered to herself, could an elf love a human? She so wanted him to take her in his arms. She wanted to feel the warmth of his body against hers. She reached her hand up to stroke the Archer’s face with the back of her hand. A deep sorrowfulness passed over his countenance, and he pulled away.

  “You’re still thinking of your wife, aren’t you?” She asked.

  He so wanted to reach out to the elf. He wanted to stroke her hair. His lips burned for hers. He wanted to return her love. But, his wife’s smile played before his eyes and he was confused and broken hearted.

  “Can elves also read minds?” The Archer asked with a tortured sadness.

  “No,” she answered. “But, we have hearts like any human, and they can be broken as well.” Then, she had to leave him because of the torment in her heart, and she didn’t want him to see her cry.

  “Wait!” He cried, but she was gone.

  In the late afternoon, at the ruins of Glafemen, Ronenth showed Arnwylf the rolls of amazing fabric woven by the Glafs.

  “This material would make a good flag,” Arnwylf said running his hands over the cloth.

  “It would,” Ronenth said, and then an idea burned in his eyes. Chuckling, he scampered away.

  Watching the boys, Yulenth and Solienth prepared a meal. “Look at how happy they are,” Solienth said.

  “If the garonds win,” Yulenth said with a stern face, “there will be no safe place in Wealdland for any human.”

  “Then we must join the army of humans, no matter the outcome,” Solienth said with a troubled sigh. They continued the meal preparations in angry silence. Then, Yulenth slammed a cooking fork onto the ground.

  “We are Glafs!” Yulenth growled. “There must be something we can do.”

  “We are only three,” Solienth angrily said to the stew he was preparing.

  “Do you remember what the soldiers of the Northern Kingdom of Man used to say about us?” Yulenth said.

  “A well-armed Glaf is worth ten soldiers of any other army,” Solienth said.

  “Because we fought in an intelligent way,” Yulenth said.

  “Once, I had a fourth of my army wait in a valley,” Solienth said with a smile. “When the Man army went after them, the rest came down on their flank like thunder from the gods.” They continued cooking in silence, remembering past glories.

  “They only eventually won because of their numbers,” Yulenth mused.

  “Give me that army at Tyny and I would win!” Solienth crowed.

  “A bit too late to make a claim,” Yulenth softly said.

  “Yes,” Solienth said. “But not too late to die with honor, to die with soldiers in battle, as I should have years ago.” The old men watched the young boys play with the beautiful Glaf cloth.
<
br />   Ronenth pulled out a good length of the pale blue material. “This is the color of the Glaf flag,” Ronenth said with pride.

  Arnwylf ran up to Yulenth. “May I borrow a spear?” He asked. Yulenth smiled and nodded.

  “Here,” Arnwylf called, “let’s cut off a piece and make the Glaf flag.”

  “I have something I want to write on it,” Ronenth said as Arnwylf tied the cloth to the spear.

  In the Eastern Meadowland Ravensdred was furious. Night was falling, and his ruse to gain the Mattear Gram had failed. Humans were proving to be more intelligent and tenacious than he had supposed. He viciously pulled the bandage from his shoulder. That Archer will pay, he thought. Then, he touched the wounds on his face where the black arrow shattered and nearly blinded him. Everything in his sight made him angry because of his frustration. His master would tolerate failure only so long.

  Ravensdred shuddered when he thought of the Lord of Lightning. He seemed to be a human, but every garond saw the spirit in the shell of flesh. The human form was merely a mask. He was god.

  He was more than danger, or pain. He could send your soul to eternal torment, if disobeyed.

  Ravensdred thought the religious blather was only for the average, thickheaded garond. But his master had real power, and no such thing as mercy dwelt in his heart.

  Ravensdred strode among his battle weapons. The wooden structures for throwing large stones would be complete this night. His soldiers were anxious to go to battle. His troops were well trained and expertly skilled. Only the archers were a disappointment. With a few more days practice, they could be formidable. But with the battle looming, they were pathetic. Ravensdred considered taking their bows and crooked arrows away, and having them fight as a garond should, with a club and on foot.

  “Lord Ravensdred!” A captain called as he ran up to the war general. The garond captain prostrated himself in the respectful manner, but Ravensdred had no patience for formalities.

  “What is it?” He demanded as he viciously kicked the captain.

  “Voices,” the captain said, rising, holding his ribs. “There are voices again in the trees!”

  “Show me,” Ravensdred snarled. The garond captain, limping, quickly led the war general through Rion Ta to the edge of the Weald.

  “Listen,” the captain whispered. Deep in the woods a human voice echoed.

  “Bring those men around this way,” Hermergh’s voice rang. “Keep them out of sight.”

  “They mean to attack from behind,” the captain conspiratorially said.

  “It’s a trick,” Ravensdred said with contempt.

  “What if it is not?” The captain asked.

  Ravensdred loudly growled and clouted the garond captain with a deadly wallop. The garond captain fell, oozing blood.

  Ravensdred snarled at the weakness and walked back to inspire his troops. His huge hands worked as he walked. He wanted humans to be dying under his sword. He wanted to see their blood flowing, spreading across, and filling the meadowland. His mind was a black nest of hornets.

  As the darkness of night spread over the ruins of Glafemen, Yulenth, and Solienth, sitting comfortably by their little camp fire, watched Arnwylf and Ronenth playing, waving their new Glaf flag back and forth, as Conniker nipped at their heels. A towering bank of winter clouds marched across the night sky.

  “Did he tell you what his horse’s name is?” Solienth asked Yulenth.

  “Boldson,” Yulenth quietly said.

  “No, Ronenth,” Solienth said with a smile. “He has named his horse, Quickly.” The old men smiled, staring at the fire.

  “Your horse is the only one without a name,” Yulenth gently said.

  “Sweetfoot,” Solienth said with a tinge of embarrassment. They both chuckled, staring at the fire.

  “I have to go,” Yulenth said. “For my Alrhett.”

  “I know,” Solienth mumbled.

  “The boys won’t stay here,” Yulenth added. “They’ll follow me.”

  “I know,” Solienth sighed.

  “They may have already fought the battle,” Yulenth said.

  “They may have,” Solienth lightly said. Solienth rose, and wrapped a blanket around Yulenth. “Winter is on the way,” he said. “We were so arrogant,” Solienth said staring out at the dark meadow filled with sleeping animals. “We thought we owned the world. We thought we were invincible.”

  “My wife lives,” Yulenth said, standing. “I thought her dead. I thought that I was the last Glaf. And, then I met you, then the boy!” Yulenth was becoming agitated. The boys stopped their play to quietly approach the men.

  “I must fight for her,” Yulenth loudly said. “I must fight for them,” Yulenth said pointing at the boys who drew near with silent, innocent faces.

  “Should we follow a doomed path for some kind of honor?” Solienth bellowed at Yulenth.

  “Should we weep in our sorrow,” Yulenth shouted back, throwing off the blanket, “as you did when you thought yourself the general of cattle?!”

  Solienth stared at Yulenth with an idea, an idea so huge it struck him momentarily dumb.

  “What?” Yulenth asked. “What?!” he said shaking his friend.

  “Get our horses!” Solienth cried. “And hope it’s not too late! Bring that flag!” Solienth urgently said to Ronenth.

  “I meant to ask,” Arnwylf excitedly asked as they mounted their horses, “what is that large word you have written on the flag?”

  “Justice,” Ronenth said, with fire in his dark eyes.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Eastern Meadowland

  Snow began to softly fall in the faint glow just before dawn. Human soldiers huddled against the blinding fog of the cold morning. The first garond soldiers slowly lumbered towards them through the light snow like pitch black monsters set against a rising field of white.

  Kellabald had not slept that night, and sprang to his feet with the clanging of hammers on metal pots, the alarm system he had set up for the whole army. All around him, soldiers were in frantic motion.

  “Wait, wait!” Kellabald bellowed to his troops. “Wait for the horse garonds!” Kellabald grabbed a captain. “The first garonds are only to test our defenses,” Kellabald said to the captain. “Do not let our all our soldiers rush to the front lines.”

  The Archer rushed to Kellabald. “The bowmen of Kipleth are assembling,” the Archer yelled, “we only need a few more moments!”

  “Tell them to wait for the sound of the screaming!” Kellabald ordered. He then ran to the front lines to fight and direct his forces.

  Near the middle of the Eastern Meadowland, humans and garonds were engaged in individual skirmishes. The garonds were holding back their main force, when the armored formations would surge forward.

  “Tell them to fall back!” Kellabald shouted.

  “Fall back! Fall back!” The cry went up. The human troops fell back, the preliminary garond soldiers did not press their advantage. They waited for the sound of thunder.

  And the thunder came. Hundreds upon hundreds of horse garonds surged forward. The growing sound was terrifying, and the garonds cried their awful war cries as they hammered towards the human army.

  Then, the horses began to scream. Large wooden spikes were hidden among the tall grasses of the meadowland, and the riders ran their mounts at them at full gallop. The horses were cruelly impaled again and again. The spikes were set in unordered groups, so there was no riding around them. The human soldiers fell back and let the horse garonds destroy their own ranks.

  The garond foot soldiers were momentarily confused, but the main mass of the garond army came up behind them.

  “Now!” The Archer commanded his men. “Fire and never stop!” The archers of Kipleth tilted their bows at an angle towards the field, and cascading ranks of arrows began to fall on the garond army from directly overhead.

  Hundreds of garond foot soldiers went down under the torrent of arrows, and the horse garonds, completely without armor were hel
plessly slaughtered. Nearly two thirds of the horse garonds were gone in the opening movements of the war.

  The Archer walked among his men of Kipleth adjusting their angles of fire as he keenly surveyed the battlefield with his sharp eyes. He could see the looks of lethal satisfaction on the faces of his archers as they let fly deadly arrows again and again.

  Out on the field of death, garond soldiers pushed through and engaged the human army. Kellabald was at the front with his soldiers, fighting face to face with the vicious invading warriors. Kellabald could also tell that Ravensdred was keeping back a portion of his army for the attack he expected on his rear flank from the Weald. His ruse with Hermergh had worked.

  Kellabald could see towering wooden structures being moved forward, from behind the enemy lines. These were the machines he had heard about. Now we will see their intent, Kellabald thought, as he thrust his sword through a garond soldier.

  “Stay spread out!” Kellabald cried to his troops. He saw the closest, wooden structure shudder and a massive stone came flying from it. It sailed high over the soldiers and into the ranks of the archers. Then the other towers began to fling huge stones as well. The heavy stones came in at an angle skipping across the meadow killing five or six archers as it landed.

  Kellabald fought his way back to the Archer. “There is no way to defend your archers from those things!” He cried. “Take them far around the south of the battle and begin again on their left flank.”

  “The towers may not be able to reposition quickly,” the Archer said in understanding. The Archer called several of his captains to himself as the colossal stones continued to take a toll on the men of Kipleth. “At a run,” he cried, “as fast as you can, take your men out and around the enemies left flank!”

  The captains understood and obeyed. The archers and their arrow stewards sprinted away and to the south.

  As the Archer watched his men move out, a growing fury and desire for revenge against the tower slings grew in his heart. His mind raced. How can I get close enough to destroy them and take them out of the battle, he wondered.