by V K Majzlik
Chapter 7 – A Lesson in Imperial History
The Glamrind family was sat at the kitchen table. Jesfor had just broken the news to his two sons and was trying to explain the reason. Their mother seemed to be in a frenzied state, beating a bowl of batter frantically, as if she were taking her frustration out on it.
“But where will we go?” gasped Nechan.
“And for how long?” Cradon finished his brother’s train of thought.
“Boys, I know you are scared, but believe me, it this is far better than being drafted,” Jesfor replied, understanding his sons’ fear.
“We all hear the stories of the riots. Young recruits are always getting killed!” explained their mother without pausing from her business, not even turning to look at the boys. She was trying to keep herself busy, preparing the last of the meat to be salted for winter.
The few days since the village celebration had flown by. Both the boys had anticipated the arrival of their summons, but as yet, thankfully, these had not been delivered.
Their mother had spent every waking minute preparing salted meats, whey biscuits and dried fruits. Every day, she seemed to think of yet another reason to send one of her sons to the village for more supplies. At first, they naturally assumed she was making last minute preparations for the cold winter months, but now the real reason had been made clear. It also explained why their father had suddenly spent days tending to the tack, and even the leather waterskins.
“I have friends in the neighbouring village who are watching the road. They have promised to send word as soon as they see any messengers or troops.”
Cradon pushed his chair back quickly and stood standing up. He placed his hands on the kitchen table, shaking his head. “But father, you always taught us to conduct our lives with honour, to respect and carry out our duty to the Empire. You did!”
“Cradon, times are not as they used to be. A storm is coming and when it hits, those that stand in the way will be wiped out.”
“What on earth are you talking about? You sound like Nechan and his childish, ignorant stories of olden times!” Cradon laughed, slumping in his chair once more, running his hands edgily though his straggly, red hair.
“You are leaving and that’s final!” It was Jesfor’s turn to stand up, his blood starting to boil at his son’s outburst, but he did not want to lose his temper. Instead, he went out to the barn to continue preparing the bridles and saddles.
The boys sat in silence, Cradon with his arms folded, as their mother continued cooking and cleaning around them. Finally, Nechan broke the silence. “So, what do you really think, mother?”
She paused, twisting a rag in her hand, as she thought of the best thing to say. Her blue eyes were red and puffy from hours of crying. “All I know is that I do not want my sons dying for something that we…our family, does not believe in.”
“But what do you expect us to do? We cannot run from our duty forever!” exclaimed Cradon, now drumming his fingers on the table in front of him.
Rheordan sat down opposite her sons. “Hopefully, it will not be forever. I think you will know when it is safe to come home.” The tears once again formed in the corner of her eyes as she thought of her boys leaving home. Cradon could not bear to see his mother upset, so stood up and gave her a much-needed hug. Nechan reached across the table, holding her hands tightly. She accepted both gestures gratefully.
“Please, do it for me! Please go!” she choked, as she fought back the flood of tears she could feel building up. Cradon looked at Nechan, who gave a small nod. Reluctantly Cradon gave in and smiled at his mother, wiping a trickling tear from her cheek.
Another day passed, and still there was no word from the other village. Danula, their younger sister, had barely left the twins’ side that week. She hung round their necks, constantly demanding piggybacks and tickle fights. Although she did not fully understand the magnitude of what was happening, her parents had told her that Cradon and Nechan were leaving for a long trip. She knew that she would miss them immensely.
The mound of packs containing provisions and clothes for all seasons was growing. Nechan looked at it in disbelief thinking how is this going to fit on our two horses? We will need to take an entire herd! It would have been so much easier if they had known how long they were going to be travelling for.
“Stop dreaming, son. I need you to get that honey if I am going to make you more cakes!” Rheordan, stood in the doorway of the farmhouse, gently whisking the contents of a mixing bowl under her arm, wearing a white apron that showed the signs of hours of baking and cooking.
Nechan blushed, “I’m going. Sorry, I…..”
“It’s fine, Nechan,” she said in her smoothing manner. “And, if you want to stop by Barnon’s you can, but not for too long, tonight could be our last family meal together, so I want everyone here on time!” Continuing to mix her bowl, she turned back to the kitchen.
Nechan hurried into Feolin, walking and running as speedily as he could. His mother was right, Nechan had been anxious all week to see Barnon. He might help make sense of everything, perhaps even offer him some guidance as to where they should go.
Barnon’s house was on the far side of the village. It was set back from the main thoroughfare and constructed from the usual wattle and timber, with a flimsy roof of wooden tiles, many of which were cracked or missing. The house had not been looked after for some time, and even the chimney was twisted, looking as if the next gales would blow it down. Nechan waded through the jungle of undergrowth and rapped on the front door.
“Come in! It’s open!” a familiar voice called from within.
Nechan braced his shoulder and heaved the warped, rickety door open, its hinges creaking with the strain. He was greeted by an overwhelming smell of tabacco smoke that hung heavily in the air, shrouding everything in a thick fog.
“Nechan, my laddie! Come sit. I was expecting you several days ago. Where have you been? Neglecting your old friend?” Barnon sat in a high-backed chair, legs outstretched, and his unshod feet resting in the hearth, toes wiggling in the fire light.
“No, not at all, Barnon. I, well my whole family have been busy with all sorts this week.” Nechan suddenly felt awkward, unsure whether he should tell Barnon they were leaving. He moved a stool into the firelight and sat himself down in front of the old man.
“You’re leaving before they come for you, aren’t you?” Barnon had already guessed from the way Nechan was acting. He knew him very well. A wave of relief washed over the boy, realising his friend was not disappointed in him.
“Well, you’re here now, that’s all that matters. I’m glad you came to see me before you leave. Any ideas where you might go?”
Nechan shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head. “I thought you might have a few suggestions. You’re the most travelled person I know!”
Barnon laughed. “That’s very true, although I haven’t left this village for many years now! The world has changed a great deal since I first came here and settled down.”
“That’s the thing. My parents both say this, but Cradon and I have known nothing different. The world is as it always has been!”
“Surely even you have noticed the presence of the Empire growing stronger. You can’t turn a corner in our small village without nearly running into one of their hideous, angular statues!” Barnon took a puff from his pipe, and blew the smoke into a billowing cloud. “The world has changed very much, perhaps even more than you realise. Why, the stories my father used to tell me, they painted a very different Empire.”
Nechan sat on the edge of his stool eagerly. He could tell Barnon was about to embark on a long tale of Imperial history, and he was not about to stop him. It would help him find an escape from reality for a short while.
“You see, Nechan, my father strongly believed that Elves still existed.”
Nechan sat up, his interest growing instantly.
“And, the more I study and read, the more I think that the old stories are true. M
aybe Dwarves and Gnomes existed also and perhaps still do?” Barnon scratched his grey, wild beard thoughtfully, contemplating his own words. Nechan leaned forward, listening intently, his chin resting in his cupped hands.
“The oldest folklore says that the Elves once ruled all of these lands. And trust me they were far more just, understanding and forgiving than our current rulers. Loreandril, I think my father called it, was a beautiful white city in those times. Gleaming, white towers filled the skyline, the streets paved with light grey stone, thoroughfares wide and open. This city was nothing like the black rock cities you and I know today. Ahhh, what I would give to see that city in its true majesty!” Barnon painted a clear picture of the beautiful place, his hands sketching out the tall towers and linear roads. For a moment Nechan closed his eyes, picturing Loreandril almost as if he were walking its streets.
“But what happened to it if it really existed? Surely there would be remains somewhere?”
Barnon chuckled to himself, sucking on his pipe. “You ask the same questions I used to pester my father with. He believed that the new rulers destroyed everything that remained, completely wiping the memory of Elves off the face of the earth.”
Barnon dwelled on these thought for a few moments then continued. “Anyway, my father always said that Loreandril was where the Elves ruled from. Hundreds, if not thousands of Elves lived there, filling the streets with the sound of their laughter and singing, practising and teaching their White Magic. They were very good at imparting their knowledge to men, you know? They strongly believed that everything contained its own magic. Spirit Magic as they called it…….hummmm…..” he took another long puff on his pipe and watched the smoke escape up the chimney.
Nechan was still perched on the edge of his stool, hanging onto every detail divulged by Barnon. Once again, he had become lost in his friend’s words, able to imagine these old times vividly. “So how did it all end?”
“I was coming to that.” Barnon was not one to be rushed, especially over such an intricate, long story. “There was many years of warring, but it was all brought to an end by the Great Battle of Andkhuin. It was bloodier then any previously or since conducted, and hopefully ever will be. Very few survived on either side.
“You see, the Elves, did not foresee the darkness that was brewing. Perhaps they were too egotistical and believed they truly were immortal and untouchable? But their blind wisdom was ultimately their downfall. Even you’ve heard the old songs!” He coughed, and leaned forward to pour two cups of herbal tea before continuing his history lesson.
“Yes, I seem to remember my grandfather used to sing us all a very old song about it all. Pity……I can’t remember the words or the tune anymore, but it was something to do with the key to their strength. Yes, that’s right!” Slowly a faded memory was becoming clearer in the old man’s mind. “Something called the Aeonorgal, or Spirit Star in our tongue.
“The Rjukhan, like all other clans, knew about this Aeonorgal. They understood the powerful hold it had over the Elves.”
“Wait….you mean they where clansmen? How? They are nothing like us!” This was truly intriguing news to Nechan. No one had ever seen one of the Rjukhan, or none that had lived to tell anyone about it. They were steeped in mystery, a bit like the karzon, who were said to be their spawn. Children’s rhymes often painted a picture of them being strange, mythical beings, centuries old, not that Nechan really thought that was true.
“Now, no! The Rjukhan are nothing like us. They are no longer human! Just think, have you ever read back in history about one of them dying, or even what they really look like?” Nechan shook his head, agreeing with his friend.
Barnon continued, pleased to have an audience hanging on his every word. “The more I have thought about it over the years, the more I think that it has something to do with the Elves teaching them magic. We all know the stories about Elves being centuries old, as ancient as the Earth itself, so perhaps they imparted this knowledge to these men, along with all the other magic stuff!”
“But then surely they would be good, like the Elves were?”
“No, no!” Barnon shook his head, and filled his pipe with more tabacco. “It’s true that history tells us Elves only had the power to do good. White magic and so on! But, maybe, and this is between you and me………maybe they somehow helped the Rjukhan unlock their own magic. Left to their own devices, perhaps they found the Black Magic.”
“And you think that’s what led to the downfall of the Elves?”
Barnon laughed again, leaning forward to rub Nechan’s flaxen head. “I like your thinking, Nechan. You and I really are one and the same!” He tapped out his pipe on the hearth and sat back again before lighting it once more.
“My father used to say that they sold their soul to some dark beast they had accidentally conjured up. While I am unsure of this theory, something along these lines must have happened. The Elves refused to teach them anything further, and without their guidance, this Dark Magic turned their bodies into the malevolent, noxious beings we now know. Unable to stand the light of day, they hide in their dark towers, conjuring their evil spirits, ruling the Empire with their stygian malice. You could say, perhaps, that the Elves created their own enemy.”
“Do you really think that’s true?”
“I’m not sure. In some ways I’d like to think so, but if it is even partly true, then mankind is doomed to be under their terrible rule for eternity!”
“But the Empire is not so bad!” joked Nechan, rubbing his clammy palms.
“Well, none of us is free! You have now discovered that! Anyway, the history has always been hazy. You and I both know we are only told what they want us to know as truth. The rest gets amalgamated with myth. To think that such terrifying beasts existed, like the ones I’ve shown you in the past, from old manuscripts, well, that does not bear thinking about!”
Nechan shook his head in agreement, remembering the sketches of scaly beasts with huge talons, and dog-like heads. He shuddered at the thought.
Barnon stood up slowly and Nechan watched the old man, hunched over, supporting himself with a cane. It was so easy to forget how old his friend really was when he was telling his stories so enthusiastically and with such energy. Barnon disappeared into the kitchen. He appeared few moments later, grunting and groaning, carrying a platter of cheese, bread and cold meats. Nechan had not realised how quickly the time was passing. It was nearly mid-afternoon. After cutting a few large slices of cheese, Barnon sat back in his chair and started the tale again.
“We all know how deadly the karzon are, and they are said to be the children of the Rjukhan. But you’re the one who experienced them first hand, what do you think? Are they born from evil?”
Nechan’s blood suddenly ran cold, the memory of the karzon’s touch making the tiny hairs on the back of his neck prick up. “How do you know about it? Even Cradon has not told anyone.”
“Your father came to see me to ask my advice. He wanted to know if I thought there would be any permanent damage.”
Nechan was surprised his father had done that. “Do you think there will be?”
“Well, do you? We’ve all seen poor old Cadin.”
“What do you mean?” Nechan gasped, thinking at once of the old man as he had last seen him, screaming with terror.
Barnon leant forwards. “He is someone who did not escape as luckily as you!”
“You mean….he was touched by a……” Barnon nodded, making Nechan’s voice trail off as he turned pale. “Will I…..?”
“I think you can be assured that you will not end up like Cadin. We would have already begun to see the effects.” The old clansman sucked on his pipe for a few moments, contemplating quietly. “Anyway, I think it helps to prove my point. There is more to the Empire than meets the eye. We all know that the Great Battle happened, even they let us know that much. And it is recorded in history that the remaining clans signed treaties to the Empire.” Barnon paused to brush the crumbs of bread f
rom his beard and lap.
“But that helped reunite the clans, to bring peace!”
“A false peace, yes, but not really harmonious tranquillity. If that were so, how do you explain the riots, the so called outcast clans, the people going missing, or even the mysterious deaths?”
Nechan shrugged. They both sat back in silence and Barnon took several long draws on his pipe.
“So, do you really think Elves are somewhere out there?”
“Well…..perhaps you can tell me when you return! Who knows, you might bump into them!” laughed Barnon, then coughing on the smoke he had just inhaled. “Anyway, I have some things I thought you might like to take with you, as a bit of fun. I have absolutely no use for them!”
Barnon reached down beside his chair, and pulled out several rolls of paper. Carefully, Nechan untied the pieces of string, and gently unravelled the paper, revealing intricately drawn maps. He laid them out on the floor to study them, careful not to tear the browning edges.
“This is the Empire and outlying lands,” explained Barnon, pointing at blobs of faded colour with his cane. ”You asked me where you should go. Well, if I were you I would choose one of the most remote places, somewhere far from the Imperial cities, and make my way there.” Nechan sighed, looking at some of the possible areas his friend suggested. They all seemed so far away from civilisation, but then, he guessed that was the general idea, the best way to avoid the Imperial troops.
“I have one more thing that I want you to have!” Barnon pulled a small, leather box out of his pocket and handed it to the boy. “This is something I have kept hidden for years. It was given to me by my father, who was given it by his.”
The box squeaked as Nechan opened it. He drew a sharp breath of pleasant surprise at the small, intricately carved, silver orb that sparkled in the light of the fire. Nechan gently lifted the silver treasure from its box, letting it dangle on the fine, silver chain. It twisted and danced in the glow of the firelight.