by V K Majzlik
Beads of sweat were pouring down Govan’s brow, dripping salt, making his eyes sting. He wiped his face and peered into the white blankness. Where are they coming from next? From which side will they attack?
Try as he might, he could not stop the panic welling up inside him. For once, Govan’s nerves of steel had been shaken and he was left fighting the urge to flee.
The clamour of Elvish surrounded him, the chorus growing louder and louder, becoming an unbearable din. It was followed by the ringing sound of swords being unsheathed. He could bear it no more and began running as fast as he could, stumbling over hidden roots and rocks. Battling through the mists, fighting invisible foes, Govan swung his sword wildly before him, hacking his way through the white sheets. All the while the Elvish taunts followed him on all sides.
The mists suddenly parted and Govan fell forward, a shuddering wreck, landing in the mud. The noise stopped. He rolled over, ready to fight whatever came towards him, but there was nothing except the faint wispy tendrils that reached out, calling him back. Sweating profusely, panting, covered in grey mud, the captain crawled away desperate to put some distance between himself and the danger that hid in the mists. Finally he collapsed on the ground, rolling onto his back, allowing the cold, soothing rain to wash the mud from his face.
It took him some time to find his composure again. He had not experienced fear like that before and did not intend to feel it again. Knowing that Elvish magic must be responsible for conjuring up such spirits, he was now certain he had stumbled across Loreandril. Govan set his mind to returning to the council with this news. He might have lost the captives, but this information was far more valuable.
Laughing to himself, he began the long lonely march back to the Imperial lands, confident he would be returning soon with an entire army.
“What was that!” Nechan whispered, glancing all around him. The sound of distant screams could be heard. It seemed to bounce off the white curtains.
“Pay no attention! Stay close. You do not want the spirits to confuse you with one of the enemy!” Eilendan replied, plainly unconcerned.
“It sounds like someone tried to follow us!” Jaidan added, grimly.
“You mean, that’s people dying?” Nechan paled at the thought.
His comrades did not answer. Their looks said enough.
“So, how far is it? I would like to get out of these mists now!” Nechan said, his eyes closed as he tried to block the sounds and images of dying men from his head.
“We’re here!” Eilendan smiled.
As if Eilendan had waved a magic hand, the mists began to fall away, fading either side. The comrades found themselves blinking in bright moonlight. It cast its silvery glow upon them, draping their long shadows on the ground. They all stood still, as if waiting for something, surrounded by a calm darkness, except for the patch of moonlight they stood in.
Nechan began to feel even more scared, his stomach tying nervous knots. He was just about to speak when the bright flicker of torches flared up. They were surrounded. A figure stepped forward out of the ring of fire. It was an elf.
Chapter 40 – Heart of Elvendon
“Fornatha! Com thay lornthin!” demanded the Aeonate guard. He repeated his command in common tongue. “Halt, identify yourselves!”
Nechan saw he was dressed in white and gold armour, the ornate engravings glinting like gems as they caught the moonlight. He also had hair the colour of silver sand, tied back in a plethora of tiny plaits away from his chiselled, handsome face.
The elf took a step forward towards Eilendan, a cold, stern look on his face. “Friend or foe? State your purpose!” His tone was more forceful this time.
“Our fallen ancestral guardians would only allow true friends of Elvendon to pass through their realm!” Eilendan replied, sitting tall and proud upon his black stallion. The rest of the comrades sat in silence, unsure how to respond to this unexpected type of welcome.
“Spoken like a true Elf. What is your name, traveller?” The guard’s tone had softened considerably and the fire in his cold blue eyes seemed to have been doused, leaving only shining, sea gems.
“I am Eilendan, of the House of Eiliand. My fellow companions are friends to all Elves.”
The guard took another step forward, holding his lantern high above him, allowing the golden light to shine onto the travellers’ faces.
“Forgive us, my friend and Captain. We did not recognise you! The alarm was sounded. Enemies have crossed our borders!” Another elf stepped out of the shroud of darkness. He too was dressed in ornate armour, but wore a white cloak draped about his shoulders. This elf carried a different aura of grace and wisdom.
“We can never be too vigilant in such troubled, dark times!” Eilendan slid down from his horse, trying not to show his exhaustion and injuries. He embraced his fellow elf as if they were old friends reunited.
“Shillhon! It’s a welcome to see you, Eilendan.” The elf caught sight of Eilendan’s ears, but averted his gaze, choosing to say nothing.
“Shillhon! And you as well, Nilean! You as well!” said Eilendan, hugging his friend once more.
They broke the embrace, but Nilean still held Eilendan’s shoulders, looking into his eyes as if trying to read his thoughts.
“I sense you do not bring good tidings, friend. What of Nymril?” He looked back at the travellers mounted on their horses, eager to find Nymril. His expression changed as he saw her lying unconscious in Jaidan’s arms.
“She needs the healers’ help immediately!” Eilendan explained, as Gaular helped to lift Nymril’s lifeless body gently from the horse. She was ghostly pale, her skin cold and clammy. Nilean quickly motioned for other elves to carry Nymril away, leaving the helpless comrades standing, watching her whisked away, disappearing into the darkness.
“She is in good hands now.” Nilean turned to the comrades. “Jaidan, I am glad you have returned. Gaular, you as well, my friend. And you both appear relatively unscathed.” He offered them homage of friendship, bowing low, his arm across his chest, as was the traditional greeting for friends of different kin.
The elf then turned to Nechan, but did not speak. The young clansman could not help but squirm under the gaze of the probing eyes upon him.
“This is Nechan, of the Hundlinger clan. He has aided us on our travels.” Eilendan introduced the boy, bringing him forward out of the shadow of his horse so that the guards could see him properly.
Nilean paused for a moment, studying him. “Shillhon!” He bowed low once more. “I sense no ill-will in you. Only great courage of heart! Let me be the first to welcome you to Loreandril, safe haven for all Elves and allies.”
Nechan was relieved. For a moment he had felt he was an unwanted intruder who would be cast back out into the mists where death awaited.
“Come, let me unveil Loreandril to you!”
He turned, spoke a few melodic, light-spirited Elvish words, and as if a dark curtain had just been lifted, Loreandril suddenly burst into life. Nechan was in awe, his breath taken away. Never before had he witnessed such magic. In front of him lay the most beautiful, fascinating vision his eyes had ever fallen upon.
“Welcome to Loreandril!” Nilean raised his arms in celebration. “The heart of all Elvendon and Earth Magic!”
Nilean beckoned forward several young elves who came scampering out towards the comrades. Nechan watched, fascinated by these beings that appeared no older than him. They led the four horses away, taking the reins from the travellers’ weary hands, disappearing quickly amongst the multitude of tents and marquis of Loreandril. The tired comrades followed closely behind Nilean as he led them down into the heart of Elvendon.
The atmosphere was filled with the vibration of life and magic. It hummed with joy and music, laughter and song permeating from all around them. Nechan was mesmerised, his senses almost overwhelmed. Even the air was filled with a perfume that Nechan could only describe as a mixture of honey and white roses, mixed with the faint, clean essenc
e of a summer sea breeze.
As they walked down the central causeway, Nechan was fascinated by all that surrounded him. The ground was covered with soft, brown bark and golden leaves that cushioned their weary feet. Intrigued, Nechan could not help but study each abode they passed. He could see they were tents, but not the usual ones he had previously seen belonging to caravans of touring tradesmen. These tents were festooned with long drapes of material, shimmering in delicate hues of gold, silver and translucent colours, all held up by spindly, white poles, so finely carved they hardly looked load bearing.
Some abodes were small, while others were large enough to house entire families. Some were even two storeys, with platforms suspended like canopies above them. As they passed each doorway, the residents came out, greeting them with their musical language. The voices of the young and old seemed to sing, their words filling the air.
Nechan was amazed at the variety of ages. He had always for some reason assumed that Elves never aged. It had never occurred to him that there would be Elvish children or old Elves that looked like grandparents.
“What are they saying? What does glorifidiua nomarnin lifria loreandrilina mean?” Nechan tried to mimic the Elvish words as he followed closely behind Jaidan.
“I do not know.” he replied, returning the bows with a courteous nod of his shaggy, brown head. “I may be a friend of the Elves, but I do not know their language. They no longer teach it to any other kin.”
“But why? That seems so sad……”
“They have already experienced the greatest betrayal possible. Why tempt fate again?” Jaidan’s brow was deeply furrowed with sorrow as he thought about the Elves’ past mistakes.
“Nechan, come forward. You must have questions!” Eilendan beckoned for the bright-eyed boy to come walk alongside him. Nervously, somewhat intimidated by the multitude of Elves watching his every move, he joined Eilendan and Nilean.
“What are they saying?” whispered Nechan.
“Glorifidiua nomarnin lifria loreandrilina?”
Nechan nodded.
“They are paying homage to you. It roughly translates as honour to the men who fight to free Loreandril!”
“Oh. they must be referring to Gaular, Jaidan and yourself then!” smiled the boy.
“You underestimate yourself, Nechan. Do not forget you found the Spirit Star, protected it and made a great journey with us.” Eilendan placed a hand on Nechan’s shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. “You are as much a part of reviving Elvendon to its true glory as any of us.”
“You must all be exhausted from your long travels. The council has been informed of your return. They will want to see you once you are refreshed but first, food and beds have been prepared for you.” Nilean motioned to the three comrades, leading them to a small tent. Its material was a blue-grey, transparent hue, underlain with a thick, silver material. He bowed low once more and parted the curtains to show them the way in.
“Eilendan, what about you?” Nechan asked, as he realised the elf was not following.
“I have things I need to tend to…..people I need to converse with urgently.” He smiled, but Nechan could tell his friend was not telling him everything. “Do not look so worried, I will rejoin you shortly.”
Tiredness seemed to hit like a wave and Nechan felt his knees start to weaken under the weight of his body. Jaidan led the boy, nearly asleep on his feet, through the tent and into the sleeping chamber. With his eyes closed, the aroma filling their new abode became even more fragrant. It was rich yet subtle, a scent that seemed to soothe their weary minds and aching bones.
They did not care for the plates of food laid out for them; their first thoughts were to sleep. They used their last ounces of energy to remove only the most necessary bits of armour and clothing before collapsing on their beds.
Nechan quickly fell asleep, his head barely having to touch the pillow. Gaular, too, fell into a deep slumber, his snoring rising gently into the darkness of their tent, becoming lost in the folds of fabric.
Jaidan lay back on his bed, feeling his body sink into the deep, soft mattress, almost enveloping every muscle and limb. He wanted to sleep, desperate to calm his racing mind but his thoughts were fixed on one thing only: Nymril. He could not shake the image of her drawn, pale face, her limp body, her spirit and light visibly fading before his very eyes. Every part of his mind was begging his body to move, to find where she had been taken and offer his help, yet his muscles would not and could not move. The bed seemed to hug him, and gradually he felt the individual muscles relax, starting across his shoulders, down his arms and legs and finally down each vertebrate of his spine. Soon, he too was in a deep slumber.
Chapter 41 – Lor’natali
He was home. With his still eyes closed, waking from a deep, refreshing sleep, Nechan could smell the fresh baking his mother had lain out in the kitchen. The taste of the warm bread wafted under his nose making his mouth water and his stomach grumble greedily. Still in a sleepy stupor, he could almost hear his mother calling, telling him breakfast was ready.
Slowly, wakefulness beckoned, and as he buried his head into his pillow the dreamy smell faded into a memory. Reality began to dawn on him. A sudden emptiness filled his chest and a deep coldness clutched at his heart as he remembered he was not at home.
He blinked, opening his eyes in the heavy darkness. Stretching his shoulder muscles and chest he sat up and yawned and swinging his legs over the edge of his bed, he fumbled for his boots.
“Hello?” he whispered, running his fingers through his straggly, blonde hair.
“You’re awake at last!”
Nechan was pleased to hear the familiar, deep voice of Gaular, lying in the bed next to him. “Are you still asleep? Where’s Jaidan? And Eilendan?”
“So many questions already?” There was a grumbling groan in the darkness. “Your mind is far too active! And for your information I have been awake some time, waiting for you to wake up. As for your other questions, I am not sure. I can only imagine they are already making preparations to see the council, or perhaps helping to nurse Nymril.”
“Nymril! I had nearly forgotten! I was so tired, I…….” Nechan was suddenly flooded with guilt. How could he have forgotten her so quickly?
“There is nothing we can do to aid her. I suggest we eat………then perhaps you would like to look around Loreandril?”
In the darkness Nechan heard a heavy, dull thud, as Gaular’s large feet landed on the floor. He listened to him shuffle away and could not help wonder if dwarves were able to see in the darkness. There was a strange huffing puff and gradually a dim glow began to fill the sleeping chamber. Gaular was holding a shining a ball of light cupped in his black hands. The dwarf blew gently onto the light again, making it grow brighter until the bedroom was illuminated. Nechan stood up to take a closer look as Gaular hung the object from a small hook on the central pole of the tent.
It was a small lantern that appeared to be made out of transparent sugar paper. Inside he saw what looked like dancing balls of bright sparks. Intrigued, he carefully lifted the lantern down to peer inside. To Nechan’s amazement, he saw four tiny glow-worms flitting around each other. Gaular must have woken them as he breathed into the lantern. How clever, simple, yet effective. Gently, he returned the glowing lantern onto its silver hook and pulled back the curtain through which Gaular had disappeared.
Gaular had found the food immediately, driven by his huge appetite. He was devouring a large plate of fresh cold meats, crusty bread and yellow, creamy cheese. The dwarf, his mouth stuffed, gestured for the boy to join him at the table, smiling with dark lips covered in flaky crumbs.
Nechan did not need to be asked twice, taking a seat on the smooth wooden bench opposite Gaular. Together they launched an assault upon the feast laid before them, barely taking time to munch before taking another bite. It had been days since they had eaten a proper meal. They savoured the last few bites forced into their mouths, relishing the delightful taste
s that seemed to burst free. Satisfied, the two friends sat back, pushing away from the table with contented sighs.
Jaidan had woken sharply from his deep, dreamless sleep as if something had slapped him in the darkness. Breathing heavily, he listened in the velvet blackness that enveloped him. To his right he could hear the faint murmuring of Nechan dreaming, and could not mistake the rumbling of Gaular’s deep-bellied snoring. He flexed his toes, and stretching out his lean calf muscles, pleased to feel the welcoming warmth of the soft mattress beneath him. His eyes began to close once more and a wave of sleep began to creep into his mind again.
Jaidan opened his eyes with a jolt as emotions forced their way back into his mind. Nymril.
Now wide-awake he groped to slip on his boots in the darkness, careful not to wake his companions. Even in the darkness, he knew Eilendan had not returned. Perhaps he was with Nymril, by her bedside faithfully? Throughout their arduous journey, he could not deny that there was a deep connection between Nymril and Eilendan, something they did not act upon. He had watched as Eilendan, a man of steel and might, had softened in an instant as he spoke to his fellow elf. Frequently he would catch glimpses of discreet looks and smiles between them.
Yet, try as he might, he could not fight the attraction he had felt instantly as soon as his eyes fell upon Nymril’s elegant visage and figure. He was drawn to her sharp mind, the courage of heart and the deep compassion that seemed to well up in her eyes.
She had sparked something back to life in him from her first gentle touch. His father had spoken of the earth magic Elves had taught his clan, but he had assumed it had all but died out with the passing of many generations. Yet, the surging power he felt coursing through his veins had grown as he had spent time with Nymril, even more so when they had released the Spirit Star. He understood more than ever the power it held and the true reason for their mission.