The Archer From Kipleth (Book 2)

by K. J. Hargan

  Sehen patted Derragen on the head, and then he gathered his belongings and ambled down the trail.

  Derragen stared down at the Arrows of Yenolah. He still had so many questions. He leapt to his feet. The old man had left. Derragen pulled together his pack and ran after Sehen.

  Derragen turned a corner in the trail. Sehen was no where to be seen. Derragen looked back. He looked up. He looked over the edge. But, Sehen was nowhere to be seen. The old man was gone, gone suddenly like sunlight at day’s end.

  The Archer stirred the dwindling campfire. It would be dawn soon.

  “And you never saw him again?” Stavolebe asked.

  The Archer just shook his head.

  “An excellent tale,” the elf said stretching and rubbing her arm.

  Deifol Hroth appeared in the camp and held up his one hand to Stavolebe.

  “They neither hear nor see me, Stavolebe,” the Evil One said. “Come into the citadel at once.” Then the Dark Lord was gone.

  “But master-” Stavolebe stuttered.

  “’Master’?” The elf asked suspiciously.

  “’But master-’ what?” The Archer, squinting, asked Stavolebe.

  Stavolebe just stared at the Archer and the elf, his mouth open.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Far Grasslands

  The garond soldiers bound the human’s hands behind their backs and sat Yulenth, Frea, Wynnfrith and Garmee Gamee down in the dry winter grass. The garonds stupidly hadn’t searched the humans, only taking what trinkets and satchels were obvious to the naked eye. Wynnfrith still concealed the Ar, and Frea still hid her slim blade strapped to her thigh.

  The unconverted garonds were systematically questioned and tortured. The Garond Mother was left for last.

  Having touched the Ar, the humans understood everything that was said in garondish. None of the tortured garonds gave away any information or revealed that Wynnfrith had the Ar.

  “Get up,” Mudsang, the garond with the crown of red feathers, said.

  “You will not torture me?” The Garond Mother quietly said.

  “We are going south,” Mudsang said. With that the humans and the captive garonds were forced to stand and march to the south along the coast. The shore line was flat with coarse sand, and they covered a great distance quite easily The sun rose over the flat savannahs of the Far Grasslands.

  “I saw large, hairy animals with long, long noses in my vision,” Wynnfrith said, staring out at the bleak landscape.

  “They were hunted until there were no more,” the Garond Mother said. “When the Dark One took control of our people, every thing fell out of balance.”

  “No talking!” A garond soldier bellowed and pushed Wynnfrith. They marched on in silence.

  It was uncomfortably warm for only half a moonth past Midwinter. The humans all began to sweat. Yulenth stripped off his cloak, and a garond immediately grabbed it from him and put it on, even though the garond was heavily clothed in furs. Yulenth knew better than to argue.

  Covered in sweat, Frea kept her cloak on, for fear of revealing the short sword hidden just under her dress.

  Garmee Gamee began to loudly moan as the march continued and Wynnfrith shushed her. Walking beside her, Wynnfrith held Garmee Gamee’s head, and carefully watched a vicious garond who hungrily eyed Garmee Gamee.

  The garonds suddenly began to jabber to each other, and Wynnfrith looked in the direction they were pointing. Out to sea, out on the Bight of Lanis, a huge ship with three, large, red sails slowly patrolled the waters.

  Mudsang turned and stretched out his arms, in one hand he held a leg bone that had to be from a human. The femur was intricately carved and was adorned with blue and green feathers. Mudsang chanted and motioned at the ship with the red sails. Nothing happened.

  “The ship will sink tomorrow,” Mudsang proclaimed with feigned certainty. He grinned a knowing, smarmy smile, and smoothed the hair on the sides of his head. With a grand flourish from Mudsang, the march resumed.

  Trudging over the sand of the coast was difficult and began to tire the humans. Their legs burned, but none complained out of fear. The garonds marched on, oblivious to fatigue.

  Frea studied the converted garond soldiers, although fearsome, when they marched, they had a blank, slack expression on their faces, as if their very souls had been somehow extracted.

  The natural garonds, by contrast, moved smoothly across the sand, but the turmoil of their emotions was so evident on their gentle faces, it broke Frea’s heart. She knew that Deifol Hroth had to be behind this twisting of the natural state of the garond race. She remembered the garond that came to the castle of her father when she was just a small child. That garond looked just like Dond, and could have been his father.

  Frea hung her head in shame at the humiliation and awful death that garond had endured at the hands of the Athelings of Man. It was so clear to her. Deifol Hroth had begun his conversion of the garond race, and that garond had come to the Northern Kingdom of Man for help. If only we had aided him, Frea thought, if only we had tried to understand him, we might have stopped Deifol Hroth before he created his terrible army.

  Frea’s thoughts turned to her grandmother, as they often did when ever she faced insurmountable difficulty. Her grandmother was a strong woman, and had stood up to the athelings to protect Frea’s mother. Her grandmother had short, curly, grey hair. Whenever she was near, Frea knew she was safe. Last year, Frea thought the spirit of her grandmother had protected her when the garonds who kidnapped her wanted to kill and eat her. But now she felt lost and alone.

  Frea wondered how her mother, Halldora, was faring in Reia. Please, Frea silently prayed, let my mother be successful in convincing the warriors of Reia in helping us to defend Byland.

  The sun was setting in the west. They had marched along the southern coast of the Bight of Lanis all day. Wynnfrith noticed that the garond soldiers seemed to become excited and anxious. The natural garonds marched closer together in fear.

  Just up the coast, Wynnfrith could see large stones, part of some dismantled structure, glowing a pale blue in the setting sun. Wynnfrith caught her breath.

  They had been taken to the first Bluestone Citadel of Deifol Hroth.

  As they approached the remaining stones, Wynnfrith could see that they comprised a massive circle of huge megaliths. There were only gigantic foundation stones remaining to mark where the tower of the Dark Lord had once stood. She remembered seeing this place, intact, in a farsight vision last year, when she had seen the Dark One for the first time, and he had first taken notice of her.

  Mudsang brought the captives to the center of the spacious ruins of the citadel that had been dismantled to rebuild in Wealdland, along with the elvish bricks of Lanis Rhyl Landemiriam. The circle still held power. It was evident when one entered the vile ruins.

  The unconverted garonds were positioned in a circle, facing in to Mudsang, who hummed and chanted as he put himself into the appearance of a mystical trance. The Garond Mother was unimpressed.

  The soldiers, each stationed behind an unconverted garond, menacingly laid their clubs on their captive's shoulders, then pushed the initiates to their knees.

  “In the beginning,” Mudsang said in a smooth, persuasive voice, “there were many kinds of spirits. The greatest of these were the garond spirits. All of these spirits worked together to create the world and all that is in it, so that we may have a pleasant place to live. But there were bad spirits among the good and great spirits. The bad spirits made bodies for themselves. These bad spirits became human and elf. These are pollution, vermin, filth upon the earth that belongs only to us. The True God made bodies for the good spirits and they became garonds.”

  The Garond Mother started to speak, but the soldier behind her violently clapped his great paw over her mouth.

  Mudsang was only slightly annoyed, and he immediately recovered. He smiled a charming smile at the other, unconverted garonds. “The greatest of the bad spirits took power fro
m the greatest of the garond spirits in the first world. This Great Usurper rules as a god to the human. The True God to the garond came to this world in physical form, to save us. The True God went into Deifol Hroth to save us. And he commands and protects us. What are his commandments?”

  Mudsang theatrically turned with arms spread wide to look at all his captive and willing audience. The soldier garonds began to grunt and growl.

  “What will they do with us?” Garmee Gamee fearfully asked.

  “I think we’re the celebration banquet,” Yulenth said.

  “The True God commands us to destroy this polluted world!” Mudsang called out in a musical voice. “The True God wants us to bring out the beast inside us, and use our strength against the bad thing called human. How best to destroy, utterly, these bad things? We eat them-”

  The Garond Mother pulled the soldier’s paw from her mouth. “Enough!” She said with authority.

  She stood and fixed Mudsang with an overpowering eye. “These are lies. We have fought these lies for over twenty years. The garond is kin to human and elf. The garond is the guardian and custodian of the earth. Without garond to live in happiness and peace with all things, the world would be thrown totally out of balance. The Great Spirit made elf first, then human, then garond. All are brothers and sisters who desperately need each other to live in peace and love at home.”

  Mudsang gestured and the soldier standing behind the Garond Mother swung his club, crushing her skull. The Garond Mother died, looking at Wynnfrith with a crucial, unspoken plea in her eyes.

  Mudsang looked at the slaughtered garond leader with contempt. “Thus ends all our enemies,” he said with a graceful flourish, and a broad, charming smile. “You must see the power of the Dark Lord,” he continued to the unconverted garonds, who all openly wept.

  “You will join us or you will die,” Mudsang said as he shook his leg bone talisman. His body shook, and a light spark emanated from his body, glowing in the setting sunlight.

  “No, no,” Wynnfrith said to herself as the farsight came to her. The vision pushed in like a cresting wave. But then He was there, and He had a pulsating, shining fruit in his hand. No, it wasn’t fruit, it was glass. No, not glass, it was the Lhalíi. Wynnfrith screamed.

  Frea turned to look at Wynnfrith, just as Yulenth pulled her away. A bright, blue flash, from far away, hit Wynnfrith with a soft huff of intense power. Everyone shielded their eyes too late. The light enveloped Wynnfrith. Then she fell to the dirt as the light faded.

  “Wynnfrith!” Frea cried, pulling at her.

  Wynnfrith rolled over, apparently unharmed.

  “He took my farsight,” Wynnfrith moaned. “He took it with the Lhalíi. He took it forever.”

  The garonds all recovered in the gathering night.

  “He has shown his power,” Mudsang proclaimed, seizing the opportunity to use the event to his advantage. “Will you accept the Dark Lord into your heart?” Mudsang said to an unconverted garond. The poor garond shook his head. Mudsang nodded, and the guard behind, swung his club, killing the kneeling garond. Mudsang moved on to the next garond.

  “Will you taste the flesh of human and accept the Dark Lord of All Evil Magic into your heart?” Mudsang charged the next garond. The poor, terrified garond nodded his head in assent.

  Mudsang turned to the humans.

  “He’s the one you want!” Garmee Gamee said in perfect garondish. “His name is Yulenth. He is the husband of the Queen of the Weald. You can ransom him, or make him talk. But you have to let me go!”

  Frea turned to Garmee Gamee with incredulous disgust.

  “Take him!” Mudsang said. Two garond soldiers roughly grabbed Yulenth. Mudsang quietly spoke to the soldiers and they dragged Yulenth away into the night.

  “Whatever happens now,” Frea said to Garmee Gamee, “if I survive, I will end your life.”

  “She has the Ar!” Garmee Gamee cried to Mudsang.

  The garonds were shocked to stillness.

  “What did you say?” Mudsang quietly asked as he slowly approached Garmee Gamee.

  “Get ready to run,” Frea said to Wynnfrith.

  “Kill them all,” Mudsang pronounced with a sneer.

  Frea clasped the short sword under her cloak. She flipped it up to cut the twine that bound her hands, and quickly rose with a spinning cut that beheaded the garond behind her. Frea pulled Wynnfrith to her feet.

  Twenty garonds closed in.

  “Cut my bonds,” Wynnfrith said.

  “Run,” Frea said holding out her sword to the advancing garonds.

  “Cut them!” Wynnfrith commanded.

  Frea half turned and with an precise slice, cut the rope that bound Wynnfrith’s hands.

  “Kill them now!” Mudsang cried.

  “Noooo!” Garmee Gamee wailed, stretching out on the dirt in a pathetic act of supplication.

  Wynnfrith unwrapped the black stone hidden in her pocket. She cupped the Ar in both hands, but kept it cradled in it’s leather cover. She knew not to touch the stone. She felt calm and peaceful. The Ar warmly vibrated. She could see the faint yellow glow of the spark of life in everything around her. She saw the sparkle of every blade of grass. She saw the wavering, flickering flames of life of the garonds charging at her.

  Wynnfrith closed her eyes. She felt the earth underneath her. She felt the pulsing waves of immense power in the earth. She could feel the blue lines of the earth’s power, like ropes stretching out into the distance. She nudged the coursing spans of power.

  Frea steadied herself to take as many of the garonds as she could. Then the earth moved. She saw a ripple of earth emanate out like a wave of water. The grass burst and spit stones and dirt, with an immense shrug, as the earth rocked like a surging sea. The attacking garonds flew, bodily, into the air like rag dolls. She turned to see Wynnfrith serenely holding the Ar. She felt the energy, hot, radiating from Wynnfrith. Frea turned to see the garond soldiers all fallen and unconscious on the dirt of the ruins of the citadel.

  “Run!” Frea pulled at Wynnfrith.

  Wynnfrith opened her eyes. She rewrapped the Ar, and pulled at Garmee Gamee. “Come on,” Wynnfrith said to her.

  The three woman ran north, into the dark of the night smothering the Far Grasslands.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Fire in the Sky

  Arnwylf clutched the rail of the massive wooden ship. Myama, the first mate, had told him to stare up at the huge, fluttering red sails, but it didn’t help the queasiness in his stomach. The sailors were constantly playing pranks. They brought Arnwylf a plate of greasy, half cooked fish, which made him vomit over the side.

  “Ho,” called one of the sailors, a tall thin man wearing only a pair of swaddling, red shorts.

  Arnwylf looked over. The Tall Sailor had organized seven other, ebony sailors to stand straight upright in the center of the main deck. They all swayed in the opposite direction of the pitching of the ship. Arnwylf was stupefied. How was it possible? The counter rocking of the sailors made him even more ill.

  “Hey-aah!” Captain Zik yelled as he swung from a rope, slamming into the pranksters and scattering them.

  “Get back to work!” Zik commanded. “You all have more important duties than tormenting this pale skinned boy.”

  The sailors all slunk away to their chores.

  “Kyrial is a harsh mistress, but the love of my life. How is she treating you?” Zik smiled with that wild smile of his.

  “Kryial?” Arnwylf weakly croaked.

  “My ship! Kyrial, my lady of the seas, beauty with red sails, lover of wood with the taste of salt, rocks me to sleep safely on the ocean. Oh, sweet one! Kyrial, ship of ships, my life, my soul is here with you moving on the face of the seas.”

  Arnwylf had no response, and looked positively green.

  “Still not found your sea legs?” Zik said with a hearty slap on Arnwylf’s back, which caused Arnwylf to let loose the spew he was holding back.

  As Arnwylf leaned over the
gunwale, he saw something move in the dark, green water below.

  Zik pulled Arnwylf back up.

  “We’ll take you back to your land at night,” Zik said with a sniff. “You wealdlanders are all too skittish these days. Not that I blame anybody with a garond army and the Lord of Lightning breathing down their necks.”

  “Captain Zik,” Arnwylf humbly said, “do you believe in god?”

  “God?” Zik said with a rueful rub of his lean, dark face. Zik was wiry and crazy, and Arnwylf instantly liked him. “Back in my country we have so many gods its hard not to believe in one.” Zik seriously looked up at the billowing red sails. He heard the torment in Arnwylf’s voice and wanted to be serious for the moment. But before Captain Zik could answer, a cry was heard from the stern lookout. Then all the crew cried out.

  “Oten!” The calls rang out from the quarter deck to the fo’c’sle.

  “Is it Vyreeoten?” Zik yelled.

  “No!” Came the answer from a sailor high up in the rigging.

  Arnwylf looked to where the crew all pointed. It was just off the thick gunwale on which Arnwylf had just leaned.

  A large, long, fish, with rows of needle sharp teeth, exploded up out of the water. Zik pulled Arnwylf back right before he would have been decapitated by the huge, slithering, blue fish.

  “Excuse me,” Zik said, then whipped out his cutlass and hacked at the long neck of the fish trying to wiggle aboard to eat anything it could get its grinning jaws around. Wide, blue fins with sharp spines flapped at the crew as they crowded around the gigantic sea monster. Pikes and swords made short work of the hungry ocean beast, and its carcass was fully dragged aboard.

  Zik hacked off a piece and ate it raw. He smacked his lips.

  “Quite good,” he pronounced. The hungry sailors set about happily carving up the ugly sea beast with hoots of delight at the impending dinner of fresh fish, even a monstrous fish.

  “Where was I?” Zik said as he licked his fingers. “Oh yes! God. There are so many gods and religions back in my home. We have cities so large, they would astound you wealders. We have tall brick buildings. Roads that stretch right across the whole land. Why do I tell you this? In my land it is very easy to be caught up in someone else’s passion. And when they have any little control over you, like a weeping wife trying to stop one of her husbands from going off to sea, they never let it go.”