by K. J. Hargan
Then.
He was again in somebody else’s body. He was falling, in a room all made of flat, polished wood. There was nothing he could do. He fell, flat on his face. He felt his teeth break. The shards of his teeth skittered across the wood floor. He scrambled to snatch the broken pieces of teeth. He cried in horror, knowing his teeth were ruined forever. And then pain. Pain in his broken teeth, blinding, excruciating pain.
Then.
He was in another body gasping for breath. All about was a carefully mowed lawn, and borders of dirt. Adults gathered over him, staring down, shouting as though their words could save him. He couldn’t breathe. Someone had kicked him, with both feet, jumped at him, landed with both feet squarely on his chest. He felt blackness all around the edges of his vision as he struggled for breath.
Then.
He was in another body, much older. It was night. He was curled on a tiled floor in a small room. The pain filled his body from head to toe. He hadn’t slept in two days. He was hungry and nauseous at the same time. He hadn’t been able to keep any food down in those last two days. Pain racked his body. His head was blinded with a headache that felt like fire. He suddenly rose and vomited blood into a porcelain container filled with water.
Then.
Stavolebe was in blackness, and he knew this was death. He understood. He understood how pain keeps us alive. How the Great Parent cares so much for us, we were given the gift of pain. And the love when the soul returns to the Creator opens the tightly woven fabric of all that is with a generosity too great to imagine, except after the soul has left the body.
Then.
Stavolebe was on the floor of the uppermost chamber of the citadel, gasping for breath. The skull, which he had been holding, had melted to ooze on the stone floor before him, sizzling as though it had been cooked by a very high heat.
Stavolebe rose and turned to face Deifol Hroth.
“I understand,” Stavolebe said, and his face was a million shadows.
“Good,” Deifol Hroth gently hissed. The Dark Lord turned to quietly speak with two garonds who had entered while Stavolebe was unconscious. Then He turned back to Stavolebe.
“Stay with the Archer and the elf,” He said. “Do not try to take the Moon Sword. As I’ve seen, she will give it to you freely. All the pieces will be yours with no effort. The selfish elves kept the Sun Shard and the Light of Nunee for themselves. But they gave the frame, the Allmen to the humans. All the pieces will be assembled before you, my dear Lord Stavolebe. Make no effort to contact me. Let no one even guess at your allegiances.”
Suddenly Deifol Hroth held very still. Stavolebe was about to ask, but held his tongue.
With his new knowledge and insight, Stavolebe could feel the waves of reality rippling around him, and he knew that his master was deep in a vision of farsight. Stavolebe was filled with envy. Some day he would be able to see into the what will be. Someday he would be able to move objects with only his will. He would live nine hundred years, and even more. He would shake his fist at the Almighty and roar with power. Then Stavolebe caught his breath, for he supposed he knew, just a little, how Deifol Hroth felt and thought.
The Lord of Lightning blinked as though just waking.
“That woman is becoming more annoying by the day,” The Dark Lord of Magic said. “She constantly interferes with my gathering of information. I shall have to have her killed as soon as I can arrange it.”
“Let me kill her for you!” Stavolebe exclaimed with lust.
Deifol Hroth turned with a smile to look at Stavolebe with new eyes. “Look who has been reborn,” Deifol Hroth affectionately said.
Stavolebe felt a warm rush of power he had never felt before. He could kill anyone who stood before him. He could destroy the world.
“Listen carefully,” Deifol Hroth said, “Do not try to steal the Moon Sword or the Lhalíi, or even the Sun Sword. They will be delivered into your hands. Do I have to repeat myself?”
“No, Lord,” Stavolebe said. “I understand.” And then Stavolebe thought that the Lord of Lightning must have seen some point in the future where he, Stavolebe, could lay his hands on the objects of magic power, but he would have to control himself or all the plans would be ruined. “I will follow your commands. Even unto my death.”
“I know you will,” the Dark Lord smiled. “Now go back to the confidence of the Archer and the elf. Listen to all they say. I will be able to hear with your ears, see with your eyes, now that you are truly my servant. Wait here in the citadel. In the morning, find their camp and bring this dead soldier with you.” Deifol Hroth turned and two garonds brought in the freshly slaughtered captain of Reia, half his body scorched by the black bricks of the citadel walls. “You will tell them you heard sounds of battle and rushed off to help. You were fighting all night, and here is a soldier you saved.”
“But he is dead,” Stavolebe said.
“Oh,” Deifol Hroth said. “But he was alive a moment ago. Such is war.” The Dark Lord laughed a little laugh. “His body will be warm when you return to camp.”
“Where do you go now, Great Lord?” Stavolebe asked.
Deifol Hroth turned with imperious fury, and Stavolebe cowered. Then Deifol Hroth was calm.
“I’m off to see my oldest friend, my lover, in the deep, dark heart of the Weald,” the Lord of All Dark Magic said with a courteous smile. “Now you be good, and do as you’re told.”
Stavolebe was escorted from the chamber by the garonds, who dragged the body of the captain of Reia behind them.
As soon as the door was closed, Stavolebe heard a great rushing of wind, and blinding dust blew from the cracks of the door.
Stavolebe was shown through the black corridors of the citadel by his attendant garonds, as they dragged the captain’s corpse.
The night was still winter cold, and sharp with freezing pain. The cruel, dangerous mists swirled in every shadow, mocking, taunting. Howls of the tortured, and moans of the dying resounded throughout the labyrinthine chambers of the citadel of evil.
The twisting halls of darkest brick were no longer frightening to Stavolebe. Now they were thrilling and comforting.
A deranged smile crawled up the face of Lord Stavolebe as his eyes filled with hate and destruction.
Chapter Seven
The Triumphant Return
The hammers and saws of New Rogar Li fell silent as the five hundred bedraggled warriors staggered into town. The wealdkin rushed to the streets to see the spectacle of columns of soldiers, bloody and battered.
In the lead, Arnwylf seemed lost. He stared at the gawking citizens of the Weald wrapped in their comfortable winter clothes.
Arnwylf raised his hand, and the long line of soldiers stumbled to a halt.
“Can some one point me in the direction of the house of Alrhett and Wynnfrith?” Arnwylf asked the growing crowd.
A workman pointed his saw down the wide main street, too shocked to speak.
“Thank you,” Arnwylf said. Then gave a gesture to continue the march.
The wolves marching with the soldiers seemed nervous and skittish with the ever growing crowd turning out to see their returning prince.
Arnwylf could hear his name being whispered louder and louder in the growing throng.
“Watch your wolves,” Geleiden called out to his wolf brothers, and each wolf soldier grabbed a good handful of his wolf’s mane.
“Arnwylf. Arnwylf.” The crowd began to quietly chant.
Arnwylf looked over to Geleiden, who just shook his head with a smile. Arnwylf looked over to Husvet, and was happily surprised to see him clutching, with both hands, the mane of the skinny, greasy wolf who had failed to bond with the human soldier. The skinny, greasy wolf was more nervous than any other wolf, and Husvet spoke to the untamed wolf with stern, but loving commands.
The crowd of wealdkin had swelled so much that the people crowded onto the street, clapping the backs of the soldiers and cheering. There was no going any further. The crush of ha
ppy citizens was too great.
“Watch this,” Arnwylf said to Geleiden with a wink. And Arnwylf unwrapped and held aloft the Mattear Gram.
The Sun Sword was a shaft of sparkling sunlight in the cold winter afternoon. Breathtaking in its silvery beauty, Arnwylf turned the sword over to reflect the sun with a magnificent, reflective gleam. The crowd was stunned to an eerie silence.
“I return with the Mattear Gram!” Arnwylf boomed.
The crush of wealdkin went hysterical with joy. The screaming and cheering was deafening. Men overcome with happiness actually clouted themselves over their own heads. Parents held children aloft to keep from being crushed by the delirious dancing and writhing of the joyful citizens of the Weald.
The wolves squirmed with fear.
“Arnwylf! Arnwylf!” The wealdkin screamed in unison. Several men hoisted Arnwylf on their soldiers. He laughed and cheered himself, until he saw the wolves becoming agitated.
“Watch the wolves! Mind the wolves!” Arnwylf shouted to keep the ecstatic citizens from treading on the wolves, who cowered and growled in nervous bewilderment.
“Prince Arnwylf! Prince Arnwylf!” The mob now chanted.
“That’s enough! Stop, please!” Arnwylf shouted to no avail.
“At least carry me to my mother’s house!” Arnwylf shouted to the men carrying him through the thousands upon thousands of wealdkin, who seemed to grow in numbers by the moment.
One of the men holding Arnwylf aloft saluted and urged his compatriots on through the crowd. Arnwylf looked back to see several soldiers being hoisted up on shoulders.
Arnwylf could just make out the wolf brothers, with Geleiden and Husvet, huddled in an open space keeping the adoring public at arm’s length from the wolves. The wealdkin still tried to reach out to pet the wolves not knowing they were inches from having their happy hands snapped off.
Inside Alrhett’s home Summeninquis angrily strode around the small hardwood dining table.
“How dare you order the armies of the Weald out into the field without my knowledge?” Alrhett angrily said to the High Judge.
“An unimportant matter,” Summeninquis dismissed with a wave of his hand.
“Unimportant?” Alrhett sputtered.
“Yes, unimportant. What is important, is my time! This is ridiculous,” the Great Judge of the Weald intoned. “It is as if she is hiding from me.”
“I assure you,” Alrhett said, “my daughter is not hiding from you.”
“And you are colluding with her,” Summeninquis shook a dusky finger at the Queen of the Weald.
“That,” Alrhett stood in the way of the furious circle the judge was treading, “is a treasonous statement, Great Judge. And we’ve seen how your spurious accusations have turned out in the past.”
“Your trial was a mistake,” Summeninquis shrugged, “but your daughter is still of a marriageable age, and I should be allowed to at least put myself forward-”
“-to insinuate yourself into the royal lineage of the Weald?” Alrhett sharply said.
“I have feelings for Wynnfrith,” Summeninquis flatly said without emotion. “And I can provide the best home and life for her. The fact that she is in line for the throne should make no difference.”
The chanting, nearing mob outside visibly annoyed Summeninquis.
“My daughter is still mourning her husband, Kellabald,” Alrhett said with a growing fire in her eyes.
“It has been over a year since his glorious death at the Battle of the Eastern Meadowlands,” Summeninquis had to raise his voice over the noise from the crowd out in the street. “Surely she has had plenty of time to mourn. She should move on. Think of the wealdkin. They need leaders they can believe in! And neither you nor a dead husband will stand in my way!”
The loud mob actually burst through the green, front door of the home of the Queen of the Weald. Summeninquis was livid.
“What is the meaning of this interruption!?” Summeninquis boomed. “I will have every one of you arrested and sentenced to hard labor!”
Arnwylf swaggered in from the midst of the mob.
“I beg your pardon, Great Judge,” the boy general sneered at Summeninquis. “Are you in the middle of falsely trying my grandmother for murder, once again?”
Summeninquis drew his regal frame up as high as he could. The joyous men all about Arnwylf suddenly turned to serious looks of menace directed towards the Great Judge of the Weald.
“Arnwylf!” Summeninquis, quickly sensing the mood of the mob, suddenly put on an affected air of conviviality. “My son, it is glorious to have you home.”
“I am not your son,” Arnwylf said drawing near to Summeninquis, his jaw clenching, “and I never will be. I have been informed you are pursuing my mother for marriage...?”
“Your mother,” Summeninquis stammered, his black hair shining with sweat, “Wynnfrith and I are in love, and want to marry.”
“I have heard otherwise,” Arnwylf said, tall enough now to look Summeninquis directly in the eye, and then he brought the Mattear Gram up to display it under Summeninquis’ chin. “Have you seen the sword I brought back?”
Conniker, right by Arnwylf’s side, began a deep growl, with his yellow eyes fixed squarely on the judge.
“This is outrageous,” Summeninquis whispered, “threatening a judge.” Summeninquis looked around for support, but all he saw were a hundred cold, cold faces. Then, Summeninquis mumbled and pushed his way out of Alrhett’s home.
A great cheer went up as the judge fled through the streets.
Alrhett grabbed her grandson and showered him with kisses, firmly holding his smiling face. She softly touched the long thin cut Ravensdred had left on Arnwylf’s face. Her eyes welled with tears of pity and sadness.
“Where is my mother?” Arnwylf was finally able to ask.
“She’s hiding over at the new library,” Alrhett said. “I’ll come with you.”
“You are very late for court, Queen Alrhett,” a meek voice said. Arnwylf turned to see a blonde haired woman shaking her bleached locks, her eyes over made with mascara, her mouth a round, open, black hole.
“Arnwylf,” Alrhett said with a sigh, “meet Garmee Gamee. She’s of a royal family from the Eaststand. And you’re right, my dear, I am late. Garmee Gamee will you show Arnwylf the way to the library?” Then to Arnwylf, Alrhett said, “I’ll join you for the evening meal. It’s so good to see you again, my beloved grandson. My heart is singing.” Then, Alrhett scratched Conniker on the head, and the wolf smacked his mouth like a happy puppy. Then, Alrhett hurried out to attend her royal court.
Arnwylf turned to the hundreds crushing into and around Alrhett’s house.
“Please go to your homes,” Arnwylf said. “We’ll have a celebration tonight or tomorrow.” Then he turned to Garmee Gamee, “lead me to the library, please,” he said.
Garmee Gamee emphatically nodded her bleached locks. “This way, Prince Arnwylf,” she said breathlessly.
“Just Arnwylf, please,” then he raised his voice to the throng now filing out. “Please, no ‘Prince’ or ‘Lord’. My name is Arnwylf, nothing more.”
The crush of people smiled and muttered admiration to themselves at their Prince’s lordly humility.
Outside, Geleiden and Husvet waited with the other wolf brothers, who stood in a ring, safely enclosing their wolves.
“They keep trying to pet the wolves,” Geleiden said with a frown.
“We’ll have to find some place for them,” Arnwylf said as he followed Garmee Gamee out onto the street. “Somewhere safe from the wealdkin.”
Geleiden and Husvet fell in step with Arnwylf, as did half the army. Arnwylf stopped.
“Good soldiers,” Arnwylf said. “I doubt my mother can house and feed us all. Those of you with families here in New Rogar Li, please go to your homes, and take a soldier or two with you.” Then Arnwylf turned to Geleiden, “You have family here. Why not give Husvet and his brother a place to stay.”
“I’m not goin
g to my father’s house,” Geleiden said looking down.
“There you are!” A middle aged man with creases on his face, and receding curly hair said to Geleiden. “Gone for months and you can’t come and say hello to your family.” Geleiden’s father indicated a haunted looking woman behind him, and a sallow faced boy and girl behind her.
“Hello, father,” Geleiden said with a scowl.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Arnwylf said, interjecting himself into the growing tension. “Your son is one of my finest captains. I know you would have been proud to have seen him on the field of battle.”
“Eh,” the older man said. “I would have preferred to have seen him helping his family as he should have done.”
“Sir,” Arnwylf said calmly. “I’m sorry, I am Arnwylf, what is your name?”
“Eh. I know who you are,” Geleiden’s father sneered. “I’m Lumeien, father and master to that boy.”
“I assure you,” Arnwylf said, lowering his voice, “Captain Geleiden is no boy, and I am his master.”
“Eh? Is that so?” Lumeien said, raising up his sizable frame.
Lanner, Geleiden’s wolf brother growled low and deep.
“Don’t you threaten me with your beast, boy,” Lumeien said balling his fists in anger.
“If he strikes, the wolves will kill him,” Conniker said to Arnwylf, his ears up and alert.
“Father. Son,” Arnwylf said putting himself directly between Geleiden and Lanner, and Lumeien and his family. “Let there be no quarreling on this happy day of our return. My captains and wolf brothers are accompanying me to the library to see old friends and my mother. Your son may visit with you later if he so chooses.” With that, Arnwylf quickly led his men and wolves away from the explosive situation.
“I thought we were going to see a human torn apart by wolves right in the streets of New Rogar Li,” Husvet said with relief.