by Adam Bishop
“I’m sorry. But the gods have presented this grim vision to you for a reason. It’s our duty to unravel its true meaning,” Thinduill said.
“I agree. I believe this vision hints at the possibility of Talfryn’s innocence concerning the attack on Rhan. I still don’t believe they had a hand in the matter.”
Thinduill pondered this. He knew that what Galdrinor had seen when he had entered Arnion’s mind was true—yet at the same time, Avolin had never been wrong before. “You can’t expect me to ignore what Galdrinor saw. I’ve also spoken with Arnion since he awoke. He confirmed the ambush Galdrinor spoke of. He told me directly that he was attacked by the knights of Talfryn upon entering the Valley of Larin.”
“I understand how you may have reached this conclusion. But you also know that Talfryn has always stood by our side. They aren’t like the rest of the mortal Kingdoms. Why would their Kingdom also be under watch? Something is missing here, and we just don’t have all the pieces yet,” Avolin said. She hoped Thinduill would see things in a different light.
“You may be right, but for now there isn’t enough proof to let our guard down. For all we know, Talfryn has started a war with another Kingdom as well. They’ve always had many enemies. Let’s hope we don’t have to be one of them,” Thinduill said as he stood up. He placed a hand on Avolin’s shoulder before he took his leave. “I’ve never doubted you before. I’m not going to start now. I too, still have hope for Talfryn,” he said softly. “I must go see Methron now. He claims to have information concerning the arrow Faron brought back with him.”
Avolin looked over at the pipe Thinduill was carving as he left the Birch Garden. Her face flushed thinking of the meaning behind its design. Thinduill’s wife had been one of her closest friends. She too missed her dearly.
***
Methron balanced on the rolling ladder in his laboratory. He swung back and forth in a careless manner, searching through the thousands of books along his dusty bookshelves. “Mmmm, hummm. No, no not this one. Where … you? No. Ah yes, yes! Here you are,” Methron muttered to himself. He was extremely knowledgeable when it came to alchemy and sorcery, but many wondered if his adept knowledge in these arts hindered his intelligence in other areas. He was eccentric and possessed odd idiosyncrasies. Nevertheless, he was one of the smartest Elves in the Viridian Vale—that much was undeniable.
“Methron?” Thinduill called out as he entered the laboratory.
“Up here, my Lord!” Methron shouted. He slid down the ladder, clutching the book he had just found under his arm. “Come, come. I’ve much to show you,” he said. Thinduill methodically maneuvered through the maze of glass beakers and flasks scattered throughout the room. The layout of Methron’s lab was an ever-changing array of glassware, tables, plants and books. The placement of every object seemed to change every day. The only things that stayed in one place were the four walls that contained his disarray. “The Art of Distillation: Concerning the Plants of the Swamp Lands. This book is sure to answer any questions regarding the arrow Faron brought back with him,” Methron said as he dusted off its cover. He was gentle as he flipped through its pages, as the book’s spine was stiff and worn, barely able to keep half of its pages in place. Although the book appeared to be on its last legs, none of the pages were missing, and the text remained surprisingly clear. “Ah yes, here we are. Festering Lludicil—this dark red weed has a tangled, root-like appearance and grows in the darkest regions of the Smouldering Swamps. It can reach lengths ranging from six to ten inches long. It is commonly found near the water’s edge, and the oil extracted from its stem is extremely potent—the key component in crafting Kindled Rain,” Methron read.
“Kindled Rain?” said Thinduill. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Yes, yes. It’s a very old elixir, very uncommon to our lands. I believe this is what that spy drank before his fiery death. When Faron first brought me the arrow, my initial thoughts led me to believe that he had drunk Phoenix Peril … yet after further examination, this theory proved implausible. You see, the arrow was barely singed. The black marks left behind were mostly residue left from burnt skin. The wood itself was virtually unscathed. The only known substance capable of such concentrated incineration is Kindled Rain. But I’ve never even seen nor worked with such ingredients before, for they are only obtainable for those living in Melderwin. I’ve never even come across a single merchant who stocked any plants from Melderwin. The Swamp Lands are sacred to the pyromancers, and any who dare to profit off their lands would have to be completely mad.”
Thinduill felt a deep concern upon hearing Methron’s conclusion. “Melderwin, you say. So you believe a pyromancer to be working alongside our enemy?”
“Well, ummm…yes, yes I believe so. That or a merchant was lucky enough to enter the Swamp Lands and escape with his or her life. Though that is very unlikely,” Methron said.
“Thank you for this information, my friend. I’d ask that you keep this between us for the time being. Inform me at once if you learn anything new on the matter.”
“Of course, of course! I shall not linger on my findings,” Methron said, nodding excitedly.
A foreboding shadow fell over Thinduill as he left Methron’s laboratory. If a pyromancer was working alongside their enemy, then his Kingdom was in far more danger than he’d initially anticipated. He wished never to believe in such an allegiance, but it was near-impossible to deny now. The burning of Rhan finally made sense to him. A pyromancer working side by side with the humans is unheard of, no one would believe such absurd claims, Thinduill thought.
It was the only explanation for the fall of Rhan. He had found it hard to believe that a human army was capable of burning down an entire Elven forest, but after hearing what Methron had to say everything started to make sense. Despite how odd this unlikely partnership seemed, he knew it could not be ignored.
Thinduill suddenly stopped, realizing he had passed his destination while lost in thought. He lingered for a moment before starting on his way again. He intended to go speak with Galdrinor, yet something crossed his mind—something that troubled him.
He changed direction and headed to Arnion instead. He was the only one who could answer his question.
***
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Thinduill said as he entered Arnion’s new room. Arnion was sitting in front of a large tapestry of Rhan hanging on the back wall of his room.
“Yes ... very. A peaceful reminder of what once was,” Arnion replied.
“I thought it might be nice for you to have a reminder of your old home. Of what it truly looked like. That is, considering your last memory of it.”
Arnion looked down at the floor, a lump rising in his throat. “That it is. Yet every time I look at it I still see the flames dancing … laughing … mocking me in their destruction.”
“I can have it removed if you’d like,” said Thinduill
“No, no. I don’t want to forget. I shall not ignore what happened. Besides, it’s a skillful piece. I don’t wish to disrespect its craftsmanship.”
“My wife would’ve be pleased to hear such kind words,” Thinduill smiled. “She wove this many years ago. Weaving came easy to her, as carving does for me. She used to spend countless hours sitting in front of her loom, the thread gliding through her fingers with such grace. Many of her works can be found throughout the Kingdom.”
“And I will make sure to see them during my stay,” Arnion replied. “I can’t thank you enough for all that you’ve done for me. As soon as I am fully healed, I will do all I can to make sure no harm comes to your home. This, I promise. Have you learned anything since we last spoke?”
“I have. That is the reason I came to speak with you today. A scout I sent to Rhan returned with an arrow, which led to some rather useful information. You see, he spotted a spy just outside our forest, and this arrow was pulled from the spy’s remains … I say remains because he burned to a pile of ash before my scout could speak to him. Oddly enough
, the arrow remained intact. The wood was hardly singed.”
Arnion’s face took on a puzzled look. Like everyone else, he had never heard of any fire that could bypass wood. Despite his want to question such matters, he refrained from asking anything until after Thinduill had finished speaking.
“I asked our alchemist to examine the arrow. His findings led me here, to you. Have you ever heard of the Pyromancers of Melderwin?” Lord Thinduill asked.
“In passing, yes. But I know very little … This arrow you speak of. You mean to say it was in the spy as he burned?” Arnion asked.
“Yes. It had pierced his foot,” Thinduill replied. “Methron believes he ingested Kindled Rain, an ancient elixir only obtainable to those who hail from Melderwin.”
“So you believe Talfryn has sided with a pyromancer?” Arnion asked.
“We are still unsure if Talfryn is behind any of this. I understand you were attacked by their men in the Valley of Larin, however we sti—”
“What do you mean unsure?” Arnion said, cutting him off. “I was there! I watched as they cut down my friends and burned down my home!”
“Easy, my friend. You are still recovering,” Thinduill said, calming Arnion back to a sitting position. “I’m not saying we’ve ruled them out. But war is no time for rash decisions. Things are not always as they seem, and not everyone in my counsel is convinced Talfryn is responsible.”
Arnion tried to remain calm. He reminded himself that he was in the company of friends. His father always spoke highly of Lord Thinduill, and he meant never to disrespect his father’s judgment.
“I came here because something crossed my mind,” Thinduill said. “Methron believes a pyromancer is working alongside our enemy. You said you know very little concerning the Pyromancers of Melderwin, which doesn’t surprise me—they’re an ancient race. I can’t recall a time when any of the pyromancers set foot in Cellagor, let alone sided with the likes of men. This makes the supposed alliance very unlikely … suspicious even. However, what’s not unlikely is Talfryn’s age-old alliance with the Great Eagles of Thorondoren. And that is what I mean to ask you: did you see or hear a single eagle when you fled from Rhan? Or when you were attacked in the Valley of Larin?”
Arnion was well aware of Talfryn’s close relationship with the eagles of Thoronbor. He knew the majestic creatures were an important part of their culture—that they lived and fought together in unison. Thinduill’s question had left him feeling both anxious and lost. He had never thought he would question Talfryn’s innocence until now. All he thought of since waking was how he was going to avenge those Talfryn had stolen from him—now he found himself wondering if he had been played for a fool. He fought with the possibility back and forth, trying to convince himself otherwise.
“Arnion? Arnion!?” Thinduill shouted, wresting the young Elf’s attention. “Did you see or hear any eagles?”
Arnion looked back at Thinduill with an empty expression. He shook his head.
“No. Not a single one.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Off the Beaten Path
The hollow thud of an arrow striking a tree trunk brought a smile to William’s face. He’d been practicing everything Baldric had taught him over the past few days, and he was finally beginning to notice an improvement.
“You’re starting to get pretty good at that,” Baldric said as he approached, ducking under a low-hanging tree branch.
William nodded. “Well, I have a good teacher. At least I think I do,” he said with a smirk.
“The best Cellagor has ever seen!” Baldric boasted.
“Oh yes, I’m sure even the Elves couldn’t best you,” William shot back. He knew Baldric was joking, but sometimes it was hard to tell how greatly his ego actually swayed his beliefs. Surely he couldn’t think himself better than the Elves, could he?
His cocksure friend then answered his question, as if reading William’s mind ...
“Even the best of the Elves would bow to me, my friend,” Baldric replied in a laughing manner. “In all seriousness, you should gather your arrows. Noon is approaching, and we should be on our way if we plan on reaching the Viridian Vale before winter catches up with us.”
“Right,” William agreed. He handed the Elven bow to Baldric and began collecting his arrows.
***
After the two novice travellers finished packing up the rest of their things, they continued on the path they had been following since entering the rocky lands of Colt. Colt sat in between the lush grasslands of Dale and the dense maze of cliffs and forests that made up Larin. Few inhabited the lands of Colt, as it was lacking in vegetation and its dry, rough terrain was unsuitable for farming. This made the possibility of hunting for game bleak during their stay. If not for William’s fishing skills, the two would’ve most likely felt their pants hanging a tad looser around the waist.
Being in such an open area didn’t sit well with William. He worried they were too exposed to outsiders. He was anxious to reach the wooded hills sitting in the distance. He knew there would be more predators patrolling the hillside, but he favoured the thought of being out of sight. He still feared the possibility of being captured by the Braxi, no matter how unlikely it seemed. Baldric had assured him that the Braxi were long gone by now—if someone had discovered their escape, they would already be dead. Nevertheless, William still worried. His eyes were always on the lookout.
“We should reach the forest just before nightfall,” said Baldric. “But we need to quicken our pace if we mean to have a fire tonight.”
William quickened his stride. He never walked at a slow pace, but his legs were much shorter than Baldric’s and he often found himself falling behind. “That’s easier said than done when your legs are long and slender like a lass,” William huffed as he caught up in a steady jog.
Baldric grinned. “Well thank you, Will. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
They continued down the road until Baldric came to a halt. “It ends here,” he muttered.
“What? What do you mean it ends’?” William asked.
“The road. It ends here,” Baldric answered. “We are to go southeast into the lands of Larin. No roads exist beyond this point. It’s the cut-off point between the lands of human and Elf. A sort of mutual border between the two races, if you will.”
William felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. His fear of being spotted by Braxi was replaced with a new concern. Despite everything Baldric had told him, he still feared the Elves. He wanted to believe they were a peaceful race, but the warning words of past friends echoed in the back of his mind. “What about Rhan? We began our travels there. How is it that the border ends here?”
“Well, you’re a fisherman, Will. You must be familiar with maps, no?” Baldric asked. William nodded. “Right … as we both know, the forest of Rhan borders the sea, and if you were to look for Rhan on a map you’d find that it sits on a cape. You see, Rhan is … or was, the most northern situated of the remaining Elven Kingdoms. Being such, it was used as the starting point for this border. If you were to draw a line across a map just above the cape Rhan sits on, we would be standing right on top of it. Now we must cross that line.”
They continued forward, entering the lands of Larin. The setting sun cast their shadows out across the lush meadow they stepped through. They walked in silence for some time. Although neither of them spoke about it, they both felt vigilant as they crossed into this foreign—some would even say forbidden—land of the Elves. They were venturing where few humans ever had.
The hillside was much further away than they’d first anticipated. It took them three hours of walking at a brisk pace before they’d reached the first slopes climbing into the forest. The remaining sunlight was stolen by the web of branches that formed overhead. Both William and Baldric began collecting firewood upon their entry to the forest on the hillside.
***
Their fire was but a dull crackle as they finished eating dinner. William’s
eyes wandered nervously, despite his only being able to see a few feet in front of him. The forest’s darkness didn’t deter him. He couldn’t help but think they were being watched, and he’d been told of the Elves’ stealthy silence.
“You must relax, my friend. We’re safer now than we ever have been,” Baldric said. “Forget everything you thought you knew about the Elves, and remember what I told you at the riverbank in Colt, about the War of the Fallen and such. The Elves are a peaceful race. They certainly wouldn’t throw you in prison for next to no reason. You’ve already met the evilest in Cellagor. We escaped them together.”
William considered this. What Baldric had told him about the War of the Fallen proved hard to overlook, and in his heart he believed it. What if the Elves had grown to hate humans after all these years? Especially after the horrific events that took place in Rhan.
After a short moment, William replied, “I know, I know. It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just … well, don’t you think it possible that the Elves have decided to turn against the humans? Why wouldn’t they, after all the havoc our race has brought upon them?”
“If the Elves decided that, everyone would be dead by now. You and I both that,” Baldric answered.
“And how’s that? Didn’t you tell me there were only four Elven Kingdoms left … three now that Rhan has been destroyed?”
“Yes. There are now only three Elven Kingdoms, leaving the Elves drastically outnumbered compared to that of the remaining human armies. Yet it’s said that one Elf can take on ten men in battle, and that’s just a common warrior. If we were to take into account an elder Elven warrior who has fought for a hundred years, he could lay waste to twenty or even thirty human soldiers singlehandedly! Not to mention that the Book of No Quarter has eliminated entire Kingdoms in mere minutes.”