by Adam Bishop
Galdrinor felt close. He knew he was on the path to discovering what had happened to Arnion on his journey to the Viridian Veil. All he had to do now was watch the past repeat itself. He stroked his long, leafy beard and readied himself for the journey.
***
Arnion rode across the fields of Dale accompanied by three friends. He felt deeply ashamed fleeing his home, but he knew in his heart it had to be done. He took the secret path along the cliffs of Tullin’s Bay, to remain hidden from the army of Mensurrounding his kingdom. He could hear the screams and roars of the foul men who had burnt his forest to the ground just a few yards away. A thought burned inside him—of riding straight toward them and firing his bow with furious speed. He pictured the men he would kill plummeting to their demise. He was enraged, and he could feel the urge to kill coursing through him—but he was no barbaric human. He could control his feelings and remain focused on the task at hand.
Arnion and his friends rode for hours crossing into the lands of Colt before they stopped to set up camp.
"The horses need water. We shall spend the night by the river," Arnion said bleakly. The other elves felt his pain and shared their feelings of remorse. As they rode to the riverbank, Arnion’s oldest friend, Endrin, dismounted his horse and went to speak with him. His dark-green cloak lingered in the wind, revealing his graceful Elven daggers.
"I wanted to fight just as much as you, my friend. But if we don’t send aid, many others will die."
At first, Arnion didn't answer, even though he knew his friend spoke true. He was glad to be in good company. He turned to Endrin and nodded.
"I know ... I just wish I could have—" Arnion was cut off by Endrin.
"We all do, Arnion. But one does not always decide for himself. We must make our way to the Viridian Veil and warn the others."
Arnion knew his friend was right. He placed an arm on Endrin’s shoulder in respect. "You’re a good friend, Endrin, I’m glad to have you with us."
The other two Elves, Thal and Fernd, set up camp. The four of them had ridden most of the night and had grown hungry. Thal lit a fire and filled his pipe. He was the rowdiest of the group and always enjoyed a good bit of fun.
"Arnion, come here my friend. This will ease your pain," Thal said, drawing a long pull from his pipe.
Arnion and Endrin made their way towards the fire and sat beside Thal.
"Where is Fernd?" Arnion asked.
"He went to gather some more firewood. I’m sure he'll be back shortly," Thal answered, drawing once again from his pipe. He blew rings of smoke beneath his shadowed face. He always wore his hood, and many Elves of Rhan had never seen his face before. Some wondered if it was covered in scars or disfigured in some cruel way. Neither was the case.
"Thirty years with no war. Thirty years and now some baleful King decides to set fire to our woods," Arnion said through gritted teeth. "Who would dare challenge the Elves? No human army could best us in the art of war."
"How could we know, my friend? We've never left the forest of Rhan," Fernd replied as he arrived with a bundle of wood. "We've only heard stories of the human kingdoms. None of us have ever met or spoken to anyone outside of our own forest." Fernd was a man of few words, but when he spoke his opinions were well met.
"That’s true. But we know enough to make assumptions on some of the human Kingdoms," Thal added.
"Do we?” Arnion questioned. "The stories we heard were of Kings who died in the War of the Fallen. Who’s to say their sons and daughters share the same mentality?” Arnion had always been the most intellectual of the bunch. He was raised to judge one’s character fairly, without the shortcut of presumption. None of the Elves answered at first. They’d realized the truth behind Arnion’s words. And so hesitation followed.
"Arnion is right. We have no way of knowing who attacked us. Our purpose is to reach the Viridian Veil and send aid to Rhan. Arnion’s father can wield a blade better than any Elf I’ve ever seen. He will hold the Kingdom until we return," Endrin said in a confident tone.
"Alright, we need our rest. We shall eat and then sleep through the little night we have left," Arnion proposed, thus ending their conversation. He appreciated what Endrin had said, but he remembered the look in his father’s eyes when he told him to leave. He could tell it was a sad look of farewell. His father had never looked at him that way before—but when he did, Arnion knew his father had accepted his fate and would die fighting to protect the Elves of Rhan.
A few embers were still glowing in the fire as the four Elves awoke early the next morning. They packed their things and continued on their journey to the Veil. None of them had slept much. Their minds were haunted by death and destruction. All they could do was hope that they made it to the Viridian Veil in time to save their beloved home.
They rode with great speed across the lands of which they had only seen on maps or read about in books. The beauty of the approaching mountains shocked them all. They had never seen anything of such magnitude.
"The Valley of Larin is just ahead. We should have enough daylight left to make our way through!" Arnion said, looking up at the sun.
"Let us make haste then. My mouth yearns for the taste of my pipe," Thal shouted with the hint of a smile.
Endrin snickered at this remark. They rode in a diamond formation as they entered the valley, with Arnion leading up front. The mountains bordered their sides and lined the skies with vast beauty. The four of them galloped through the valley, completely unaware of what lay ahead.
A taut rope emerged from the earth out of nowhere. Arnion and his companions had little time to react. This trap sent Arnion’s horse tumbling to the ground, throwing him from his saddle. The other Elves quickly realized what was happening. They jumped off of their horses, twisting in midair. The three of them grabbed for their bows and drew arrows. They spotted the camouflaged men behind them, immediately shooting them down. The six men were pierced with arrows before they had a chance to get up. The foliage hiding them did no good, as by now the Elves had realized they were under attack.
"Are you alright, Arnion?” Endrin shouted.
"I’ll be fine, my friend. Keep watch for others!”
"Fucking cowards," Thal blustered. "Hiding in the grass like a couple of snakes!"
Twenty more men rode from around the bend, charging straight toward the four of them. Arnion snatched a cuivie root from his satchel and started chewing on it. He spat out the remains and spread them over the base of his horse’s ankle. He wrapped the wound and sent his horse back the way they’d come. "Run Thalian, I’ll come back for you when it’s safe … Ride!" Arnion yelled as he smacked the backside of his horse.
The approaching cavalry held the banner of house Arinfray. Their family’s sigil was of a golden eagle sitting atop a drum tower. It blew in the wind as they charged toward the Elves. Thal shot down the first two soldiers leading the charge, piercing them between the eyes. Endrin and Fernd ran to the right of the valley and began picking off the horsemen as they rode toward them. Six more soldiers fell from their horses, collapsing to the ground with the ends of arrows protruding from their skulls. Arnion ran straight at the advancing horsemen and unsheathed his sword. He leapt at them, removing the heads of two soldiers before his feet met the ground. Blood dripped from his sword as the remaining men rode past him.
The riders split up, targeting each of the Elves. One of the soldiers swung at Endrin’s midsection as he rode past, slicing through his leather chest piece deep enough to draw blood. Endrin stabbed the leg of the next rider, pulling him from his horse. He thrust his other dagger through the man’s head once he’d hit the ground, splitting his skull open with a loud crack. Fernd ducked under the advancing horsemen’s swings and sliced through the legs of their horses, knocking two more soldiers to the ground. His sword ended their lives before they had a chance to defend themselves. The remaining soldiers rallied around the Elves and charged forth in a second wave of attack.
Arnion watched in horror
as a spear tore through Endrin’s stomach. Their friendship was over in one single, bloody burst. His rage grew, further adding to the adrenaline coursing through him. His ears began to ring, and the continued chaos played out in slow motion as he reminisced of times past.
“NOOOOO!" Arnion cried, dismayed by the death of his friend. He drew his bow and fired three arrows at the soldier who’d murdered Endrin. Each one struck him square in the face. The rider’s neck snapped from the impact.
Four of the horsemen surrounded Fernd and cut him down where he stood. Thal was bleeding from his left shoulder, and one of the riders had managed to slice through his leather armour as they rode past. He threw one of his daggers at the men surrounding Fernd, hitting him in the back of the neck. The remaining soldiers dismounted their horses and readied their shields.
Arnion ran to Thal and saw the blood flowing from his left arm "You’re injured ... you need to get out of here … I'll take care of them!"
Thal laughed at Arnion’s request. "I’m not going to let you have all the fun, my friend. Let’s kill these bastards together."
Arnion had no time to argue. Together they turned and fought the remaining soldiers of Talfryn. He pared their swings swiftly, hacking and slashing at their limbs. But one of the soldiers managed to plunge his sword into Arnion’s right side, nearly cutting into his ribcage. He dropped to one knee, preparing for death.
But before the soldier could finish him off, Thal slashed the man’s neck open. In return, one of the remaining soldiers propelled his sword in a downward thrust and pierced Thal’s collarbone. The blade entered his chest, killing him instantly. Arnion rose to his feet and sliced the man’s arm off before he could remove his blade from Thal. Arnion then quickly reached into his quiver as his sword made its way through the bone, grabbing an arrow and plunging it into the armless man’s neck, thus killing him in a graceful flow of attacks.
The remaining three soldiers were struck dumb by Arnion’s speed, which gave him enough time to fire an arrow into one of their heads. Arnion removed the sword from Thal’s body and ran at the two soldiers, wielding a blade in each hand. He removed the head of the first man while blocking the other soldier’s attack with his second blade.
The last soldier backed away, fearing his imminent demise. Arnion dropped his swords and peered at the frightened man with a look of animosity. He walked towards him empty-handed, without fear of death. The soldier swung his blade and narrowly missed Arnion’s face. He swung again and again, missing every time. Arnion ducked under the soldier’s final swing and snapped the man’s tibia in half with a swift roundhouse kick. The man sunk to the ground and peered up at Arnion, who was drawing his bow.
Arnion fired three arrows into the man’s skull—one for each of his friends. He stood there frozen in place. He couldn’t grasp what had just happened. All of his friends were dead. Gone. He stood alone in the Valley of Larin. A loud ringing filled his head, screaming, splitting his mind in half. He began to feel faint from the amount of blood he was losing.
Then, he fell to the ground, joining the lifeless bodies around him.
***
Galdrinor opened his eyes, shocked by all he had witnessed. He now understood—the meaning behind Arnion’s arrival was far more significant than he’d first thought. The image of Rhan engulfed in flames lingered in his mind like a festering nightmare, reminding him of the great evil in the world.
He searched for the scroll Arnion’s father had given him before his departure from Rhan. He found the bloodied parchment in a pocket around Arnion’s waist. He feared the contents of the message as he broke open its wax seal. Galdrinor knew the era of tranquility between Elf and Man was nearing its end. The misfortunes of war would soon consume all in its path. As he read Lord Brannor’s words, he felt the illusion of peace the Elves had come to know dissipating into darkness. He looked over at Arnion, skeptical of his recovery.
“Do all you can to keep him alive … He may very well be the last living heir to the throne of Rhan,” Galdrinor said to the healers. He then turned around and made his way to the throne room so he could inform the Lord of the Veil of what he had learned.
Galdrinor hurried through the lush halls of the Viridian Veil. It was hard to tell you were inside while walking through the Elven Kingdom. Its walls were covered in lively vines, plants, and flowers, which looped in and out of each brick. Much like all Elven architecture, the castle was designed to grow in unison with the forest, strengthened by the countless strong roots flowing throughout its core. Most of the hallway ceilings were lined with sky holes, swallowing the light of the sun during the day and the moon in the night. Few areas of the castle were fully enclosed, and most of the structure had open ceilings. Many areas were connected by elegant stone bridges branching across enormous trees, serving as support beams or doorways.
Galdrinor entered the throne room with a look of distress. He was noticeably out of breath, and his eyes remained fixated on the floor. His footsteps echoed through the room and bounced off the high walls, which were draped with beautiful tapestries. Artwork lined both sides of the room: embroideries with deep greens and gold and burgundy, displaying years of historical lore, from the Submerging of Wayward to the War of the Fallen decorated the room. Every previous Lord of the Viridian Veil could be seen across the walls. They were honoured long after their deaths.
Lord Thinduill was sitting on his throne, whittling away at an Elven flute. Crescent wood chips fell on his lap and piled atop his emerald robes. He was a master craftsman, known to have carved his own throne out of a dying oak tree. Its artistry was exquisite, right down to the finest details. The wide, shapely armrests captured the beauty of the waterfalls at Talons Peak in the southernmost part of the forest. Thinduill loved to watch the hawks in this region of the forest. He spent hours watching the beautiful birds soar above the misty falls. He honoured this joy of his by carving the head of a hawk into both sides of his throne, creating the illusion that the waterfalls poured from the beaks of the proud creatures. The backrest of the throne was carved in the likeness of the oak tree it was made from—the left side being a fully-leafed version of the tree when it was rich with life, and the right side being a frail leafless version when the tree had lost its will to grow.
“Ah, Galdrinor. What's this I hear of an Elf from Rhan present in our forest? It's been years since we've last had a visitor from another Kingdom.”
Galdrinor peered up at Thinduill with a look of discontent. “'Tis true, my Lord. The Elf is Arnion—son of Lord Brannor, he came under … grim terms. I fear we may soon be in grave danger,” Galdrinor handed Thinduill the scroll Arnion had brought with him.
Thinduill unraveled the parchment and began to read its message:
The forest of Rhan is no more. Its ashes cover the ground. The time of war is upon us once again. The human Kingdoms have grown strong and their armies are at our doorstep. You must send aid to Rhan before our Kingdom is taken. Ready your army. Prepare for war. The fire the humans possess burns stronger than anything I’ve seen. I pray your Kingdom does not share the same fate. They have come for the Book of No Quarter; I have no doubt. We cannot let them win, or the realm will fall into darkness, ending all life as we know it.
Lord Thinduill sat frozen, letting the significance of the message settle in his mind. He had known this day would come, but he had never deemed the humans capable of attacking the Elves in their own forest. “We must send aid to Rhan at once. We cannot let their Kingdom fall! What more do you know of this calamity?”
“I believe I know who attacked the Kingdom of Rhan, my Lord. When I entered Arnion’s mind I saw soldiers from Talfryn ambush him and three other Elves as they travelled through the Valley of Larin.”
“Soldiers from Talfryn?” Thinduill uttered in disbelief. “We have no quarrel with them. King Richard has always been a friend to the Elves”
“This may be true, my Lord. However, their loyalty must have been stolen over the years. I watched their men run do
wn Arnion and his kin in the Valley of Larin. Arnion lies in the infirmary clutching to the strings of life. It would be a miracle if he made it through the night. The other three Elves he was traveling with were killed during the ambush.”
“Did you see King Richard set fire to the forest of Rhan?” Thinduill asked.
“No … Arnion left the kingdom before I could see the army. But Richard Arinfray must have known that Lord Brannor would send for aid. And the valley of Larin is a perfect place for an ambush, would you not agree?”
Lord Thinduill pondered the thought briefly. “I suppose they had little time to spare. Riding around the valley would have cost them another three or four days if the weather remained favourable. Did you see the flames Lord Brannor spoke of?”
Galdrinor paused for a moment. The image still burnt in his mind. “I did, my Lord … I’ve never seen such evil. The fire seemed to swallow the forest. Trees turned to ash in seconds.”
Lord Thinduill could only imagine the destruction Galdrinor spoke of. He would not let such flames ravage his kingdom. He knew much work had to be done, and he refused to waste any time. “Ready the council. We will prepare for war at once. No fire will take my Kingdom. I shall send a thousand Elves to Rhan, as we can spare no more. Our own kingdom may soon be in danger. The other Elven Kingdoms must be informed as well. We will discuss this task further with the rest of the council. Meet me in the council chambers when everyone is ready.”
Just then, a beautiful Elf by the name of Avolin burst into the throne room. Her tear-streaked face was anguished. “My Lord, I must speak wi—”
“I just sent for the rest of the council,” Thinduill said, interrupting her frantic tone. “Rhan is under attack. We will speak further on the matter when the others arrive.”
“I suppose that’s one down, then,” Galdrinor said, taking his leave to gather the others. Many years had passed since a meeting of such importance was held. Now the winds of war were blowing once again. The old Elf could feel its wrath approaching.