Revelyn: 1st Chronicles - When the last arrow falls

by Chris Ward

Twelve Wolvers down with just six arrows. He shook his head and smiled a little; but then looking up a new and deadly horror overtook him.

  On the far side of the grassy plain, higher up in the trees he saw a sudden movement, and as he gazed, bent over to the knees and sucking air in great gasps, a figure emerged. He did not immediately recognise the distant man but he was well dressed for battle, with polished body armour and a helmet which well protected his head and neck. A great sword hung at his waist, but it was not the weapon he bore, for he held a bow. Rema squinted hard and saw the tip of an arrow shining silver as the man drew the string full to his cheek.

  In a sudden shock he knew the target.

  Sylvion!

  She still lay unresponsive on the rocky shelf despite Reigin’s best efforts to rouse her. Rema could see he was kneeling by her side, his great back towards him; but she was unprotected and Reigin unaware of any danger. In that instant, as if the sun had burst through darkest night Rema understood the prophecy. It was this arrow which held the secret.

  This was the final arrow to fall.

  Instinctively he reached to his quiver to take an arrow and fell this new threat but he knew that it was empty. He had fired his last. He had no more.

  And then he was running, as fast as fear can drive a man; back towards the rocky platform where she lay, and an agony of fear once more filled his heart. He could not call out for his mouth was dry and as he ran he had no plan but that he should somehow protect this woman upon whom so much depended.

  Higher up in the trees, a fuming Zelfos was surprised to see the King, Lord Petros suddenly appear from behind a stout oak and take aim towards the rocky shelf upon which the prone form of Sylvion Greyfeld lay. He had been about to call up his three Shadow Hunters and finish the job which all others had now failed to do. He had watched in startled amazement as Rema Bowman had singlehandedly slain the Wolvers with such deadly skill and fearlessness that even he had found a small admiration in his strangled heart. But now he knew that she was helpless, and the deadly blade she wielded was no threat. It would take but an instant and they would be upon her, and all of the foolish enemy who wished to die in useless resistance.

  And then the King has stepped out and taken aim with Aaraghant’s weapon. Zelfos paused. This was good. The arrow would surely find its mark for whatever the skill of the king with the bow, Zelfos knew that he too could bend an arrow just as he knew the archer Rema Bowman had done when a day before another deadly shaft had carried almost two leagues and landed at the king’s feet.

  He waited in suspense for the King to fire. The bow was bent, the arrow aimed. He saw Rema start to run but even he was powerless now to change the course of fate, despite his mighty victory over the Wolvers just completed.

  And then Lord Petros let fly the deadly shaft.

  Rema ran as he had never run before, and as he did he kept an eye upon the figure with the bow, willing him to hold for just a moment longer. He reached the rocks and sprang like a startled Orax up and onto the shelf. Reigin turned at his sound and Rema saw him begin to frown and unsheathe his sword in alarm, but he could not see, he did not know. Rema ran on and glimpsed the arrow fly; a shining blur against the trees it came with lethal force and bent to its target by the sorcery unseen above, who willed it so.

  Three paces short; so Rema judged his failure, but with one final effort and having lost sight of the arrow as it closed upon Sylvion, he dived headlong into its path.

  The arrow hit Rema in the heart.

  With no further thought, not flashing memories, not final breath, no whispered promises or regrets, no soulful cry and with no pain, Rema Bowman died.

  He fell like a lead weight to the rock and lay still, his eyes unseeing and with no flow of blood at all.

  Zelfos gave a cry and then realised that she was still alive. In anger then, knowing that it was not yet finished he called in the strange tongue which no human understood and the three Shadow Hunters immediately sprang up from where they hid close by and leapt to his side. Together they bounded down from the shelter of the trees and out onto the grassy plain. All who saw them come stood frozen to the spot, for worse than death approached and no weapon known of man could stand against such evil, except the Shadow Blade.

  Sylvion was near awake when Rema fell dead at her feet, the silver arrow in his heart. She felt the thud, and this at last roused her from the stupor which had held her captive so long. Her mind did not at first understand the world into which she woke. She saw a dead man at her feet and Reigin standing white and pale and motionless and looking off beyond to some terror which approached.

  She knew that dead man, she was sure of it, and then it all came back and the pain which rent her being in that moment had no equal in her life.

  ‘Rema!’ her cry of anguish echoed endlessly about the towering cliffs. She sprang to his side and in disbelief ran her hands over his body and touched his face so peaceful now and calm beyond her knowing. And then an evil scream tore her tormented sight away and she too saw the three great Shadow Hunters almost now upon them.

  The anger and hate which then rose within her fragile frame was like some molten metal escaping from a forge. White hot it rose and one thought only possessed her very being.

  Death to these fell creatures. This instant. Death.

  Elder Anderlorn waiting and watching upon the ruined rampart of Fellonshead saw it first; a mighty flash of purist light which tore up into the heavens from within the Vaudim Mountain. It hit the clouds and lit them up and made them boil with lightning from within.

  The plains about were for a moment bathed in white light, and then it disappeared and sometime later a rolling thunder shook the earth beneath them.

  Sylvion held her blade high and wove a deadly web and none who looked upon it could escape. All within the Vaudim who still drew breath fell in thrall to her Shadow Blade.

  The three Shadow Hunters moved as though trapped in thickest honey. They screamed and twisted back and forwards but could not tear their evil eyes away. Zelfos seemed frozen in terror like a statue. Sylvion approached her deadly foe with death in her heart and revenge pouring forth in deadly light. She cut the creatures into shreds and limbs and talons fell to earth as each tried desperately to escape; but she danced amongst them, cutting and stabbing until one by one they fell, and with an eerie shriek seemed to evapourate into the air, leaving nothing behind but a few severed body parts and a dreadful stench which lingered long upon the earth.

  It was quickly done; such was the power of her weapon. And then she turned to Zelfos who slowly crumbled to the ground and held his hands above his head in meek submission and anticipation of the awful retribution which was to come.

  She walked around him and felt his fear, and deeper things beside which words could not describe. But as she did her soul cried out that this was but a man, lost and evil beyond understanding, but once he had been human and perhaps a spark remained. She fought herself, for in her heart she had pronounced his fate. The blade crackled and sparked and the pure white light seared into the sorcerers eyes, for he could not pull his gaze away. He felt the greatest fear but something deep within his being was held to the dancing blade.

  She raised it high and swung it fast and with the flat of it felled him with a single blow to the head. He fell unconscious to the ground and did not move. Sylvion lowered the Shadow Blade and the light snapped off, the spell broken. In a moment it was resheathed and slowly all those who remained alive shook their aching heads sand rubbed their burning eyes, and sought to make sense of what they had seen come to pass.

  ‘Tie him well,’ Sylvion ordered Reigin, who obeyed without a word, and in a trice the sorcerer was safely secured in a manner which would prevent any further acts of evil treachery.

  And just as quickly she fell to her knees by Rema’s side and cried the tears of the desolate.

  Two Hundred paces off, higher up and in the trees, the King, Lord Petros Luminos, Lord of Light regained his senses, and stood mot
ionless surveying the scene which lay before him. Zelfos captured, the Shadow Hunters destroyed and Leander prisoner. He had seen it all; and the Wolvers lost. And worst, the woman still lived and now she had the upper hand.

  At least I slew the archer, he thought. It was some tiny consolation as he took another arrow and drew once more. Again he aimed for Sylvion now kneeling by the archer’s body. He smiled a smile which Zelfos might, and then just as he was about to release the shaft, a voice came from behind.

  ‘You are dead if that arrow flies. Put down the bow.’

  King Petros stiffened in sudden shock but did as he was commanded. He slowly took the arrow and placed it over his shoulder into his quiver, and dropped the bow to the ground. With empty hands outstretched, he turned, and there not ten paces away stood a rough and rugged man holding a full drawn bow, the arrow aimed for his heart.

  ‘It seems you have the best of me my friend.’ The king spoke with an easy grace, but the man cut off his oily words.

  ‘We were friends once, but you can no longer call me that,’ said Ofeigr for it was he who stood there in so deadly a manner.

  The king frowned and looked harder at the man. ‘You... I know you!’

  ‘And I know you Refr Cantiri, imposter King of Revelyn. I have known you all your life.’

  The king in deepening shock suddenly recognised the man who once long before, had been his childhood friend.

  ‘Ofeigr, it is Ofeigr, but this is impossible!’

  ‘No more impossible than you being King in Revelyn,’ came the terse reply.

  The king was thinking hard and fast. To meet this man again like this was bewildering in the extreme. He could not understand how it might be, but perhaps he could turn the situation to his benefit.

  ‘Surely you would not shoot me, like this, unarmed? What fight have you with me. I have made sure the Faero Islands were left alone, the people there have ruled themselves...’ Again Ofeigr cut off his words.

  ‘I have a fight with you and you well know why I stand here.’ The arrow did not waver and Ofeigr knew he could stand like that for half a day. He had long dreamed of this moment and played it over and over in his bitter mind.

  The king suddenly remembered that thing which he had done and pushed far down in his forgotten store of memory that for an age it had seemed no longer true. In that moment he had no words, but stood in trembling fear for he saw that Ofeigr was intent on his revenge.

  ‘She was fifteen Refr, only a child when you took her. She had no skill in the ways you wanted, she thought of you as a brother, as a friend. She was my only sister and apart from you my only friend, and when you had finished with her, you despised her, and that drove her finally to death. She hung herself, but you tied the rope as surely as I stand here to kill you.’ He paused and his eyes of bitter sorrow bored into the King. ‘I lost the two of you that day. I swore I would be avenged of one.’

  Each word hit the king like a mighty war hammer, and deep inside he squirmed as though to avoid the searing pain which the renewed memory brought to him. He found no words of sorrow for this was a skill he did not posses. He only thought of how it had all come down to this.

  ‘I do not understand Ofeigr.’ He spoke as gently as he could for he knew that death was but an instant away. ‘How did you find me, how did you know who I was? Why are you here with these enemies of mine?’ He found a thousand confused questions tumbling from his tongue.

  ‘Your middle name is Peter. You came to the throne and Revelyn then had a ruler called Lord Petros. Do you not remember telling me that this was the name you liked, the one which you would one day be called? Did you not tell me that Refr the fox had not been cunning enough to save his parents the day your brother was stolen from you. I heard stories of this new king and how he came to the throne, favoured by King Frederic, a usurper many said. I knew who you were, and I swore that one day I would come to be avenged.’

  The king was amazed at the ferocity of Ofeigr’s words, for he had forgotten that those he had hurt and left behind might still have some claim upon him.

  ‘I had no plan until by chance your brother returned to the Islands.’ Ofeigr continued.

  At this news the king started to shake, and his demeanour changed remarkably.

  ‘My brother returned? Little Remy came home. Ofeigr are you sure? I searched for him for many years but lost all hope and then...’ his voice trailed away.

  ‘And then you fell in with King Frederic and other things became important, like power and lust and domination.’ Ofeigr hissed the words of deadly accusation. King Petros was unable to reply for he knew it was all true.

  A silence stood between them for a time. Ofeigr’s arrow remained motionless over Petros’ heart and they looked long upon each other as many unspoken thoughts passed by them; vivid memories of times lost and twisted into other shapes became a vice like bond they each could not resist. Until one spoke.

  ‘Please Ofeigr tell me this,’ the king pleaded quietly, ‘I have been in error in many things but I always loved my brother. What happened to him? Where is he now?’

  Ofeigr smiled for he knew that in this he would be avenged.

  ‘He is with us here, this day. Over there where your sorcerer lies in bonds.’ Ofeigr nodded with his head.

  The King turned quickly and gazed upon the battlefield and searched the group of people who now stood in numb shock upon the rock shelf where the archer had slain the Wolvers and turned the battle singlehandedly.

  ‘Which one?’ Petros demanded for he knew not which it could be.

  Ofeigr’s next words tore a jagged hole through his deadened heart.

  ‘He is the archer. The one you have hunted with such hatred. You have just slain him. He is your brother, Refr Cantiri. The one for whom you so longed in anguish is now dead. I lost my sister at your hand. You lost your brother at your own.’

  In white and trembling anguish, and as the awful truth swept over him, the defeated King of Revelyn stood and stared in horror. Finally Ofeigr spoke once more with a deadly biting sarcasm.

  ‘Long live the king, for because of him, his brother will not.’

  *

  The small and war weary band which stood upon the rocky shelf watched with some amazement as Ofeigr marched his prisoner down to them.

  ‘It is the King himself,’ said Reigin quietly.

  ‘Ofeigr has surprised us all,’ commented Scion who had greatly wondered what had become of his new friend.

  Zelfos grimaced and swore, for he knew that they had lost, but he was a creature of great cunning and his mind searched for some means to gain the advantage despite his desperate situation. Leander had been stripped of his weapons and sat in the long grass, his hands bound behind him. Cordia had staunched the bleeding from his wounded leg and he had recovered quickly from the mighty blow to his head for he came from a people renowned for the thickness of their skulls. He too felt the bitterness of defeat, but unlike Zelfos or the King he did not fear what might come to pass. In fact a part of him was glad that the two men he had tried to serve were no longer able to make his life a misery with their vain bickering and impossible demands.

  The King reached the rocky shelf in a state of deep shock. He had walked down from the trees at Ofeigr’s command in great turmoil. His eyes were fixed upon the fallen archer and his heart pounded relentlessly in his chest. The realisation that after so many years of missing his little brother and then searching in vain, he had killed him. He could not yet believe it to be true, but he could not deny the logic of what Ofeigr had said. It all made sense and yet it could not be true.

  That man lying there so still is not my brother. Not my little Remy who I last saw stolen away in the arms of a Norz raider. No I can’t believe it.

  ‘Behold the king of Revelyn!’ Ofeigr announced with not a little triumph in his voice.

  At this Sylvion looked up from her sad and tearful grief by Rema’s side and there was death in her eyes. Reigin saw it and was quickly at her side.
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  ‘My lady,’ he advised in a voice which she found hard to ignore, ‘there has been enough death; now we need to look beyond. Let us leave this place and see what peace lies in the future. No violence now will undo what had been done. Rema is dead and he gave his life for you. Let that be the end of it for now.’

  He placed a huge but gentle hand upon her shoulder and she responded to its warm direction. The hate and anger died, replaced once more by an even deeper sadness.

  King Petros ignored them all and in a daze walked slowly up to Rema and fell to his knees by his side. The others watched in wonderment as he looked upon the fallen man. He reached gently down and caught up the tiny whale bone pendant carved in the shape of a sword which hung round Rema’s neck, and in that moment he knew that this indeed was his brother and he had slain him. And then he began to weep.

  As Ofeigr explained what had come to pass such that all who heard were greatly shocked, the mighty King of all Revelyn, Lord of Light was torn apart by grief.

  Zelfos and Leander were speechless at this amazing revelation, but could do nothing but watch and wait for what might happen next; and yet Zelfos had no sorrow in his ugly heart. The death of the archer gave him a divided emotion. All death and violence between humankind gave his strategy support, but this selfless sacrifice of life was grievously bad; it set back his plans and threw confusion where he had smoothed the way. But still his mind worked ever quicker to seek a way to once more gain the upper hand. He knew the battle was lost; he suspected that the magic of the Vaudim of which he had no knowledge would seal that fate, but still there was a way perhaps with guile and not the blade to win through in the end. As the company stood and watched the pathetic spectacle of the king weeping for his slain brother, the pieces in Zelfos’ mind began to form a desperate plan and so when the time seemed right, he spoke. He was bound firm and on his knees, only his tongue would save the day. His words must be like a golden coin found unexpected amongst the poorest rags of poverty.