by K. J. Hargan
Zik paused and was serious for the moment. His attractive, ebony face was calm as he tried to see as far as he could out on the limitless horizon.
“I believe there is something there,” Zik said with out turning from his long stare. “You saw that huge fish come out of the water? You didn’t know it was there before? No? There are many things under the water that are not known to us. Do we say they are not there? Only a fool would say that. Think of it like this. You have a heart? Yes, you wealders are not that ignorant?”
“I know we have hearts,” Arnwylf defensively frowned.
“Have you ever seen your heart?” Zik asked with a mocking frown. “Do you know what shape it is? What color? How large or how small? But you know it is there.”
“Yes,” Arnwylf said. “Because of what it does for me.”
“We could always cut it out and prove that you have a heart,” Zik said with a mischievous smile, starting to pretend to draw his cutlass.
“No thank you,” Arnwylf laughed. “But what of evil? If god made everything, then certainly this powerful being made evil and all the evil spirits.”
“If I cut out your heart, what are you?” Zik asked.
“Dead.”
“Not, living but with no heart?” Zik smiled. “No. Did your parents allow you to become a man? Of course they did. Did your mother move your hands for you with everything you did in your life? No. She let you become independent and enjoy life. I believe there is something so much greater than us, and this mind, this power, knows the joy of learning and growing. And why deprive your children of this joy? But what if you abuse and corrupt this gift? Is this the Great Parent’s fault? No. Evil, to me, is simply the denial of joy. Evil and evil men are devoid of god’s love. We do not prosecute the parents if the child grows up to rob and kill. We do not blame the fire for depriving us of heat and light if we allow it to go out. No. Everyone is accountable as an individual, accountable for their own lives. And each of us must work to keep the fire of god’s love burning in our own hearts.”
Zik and Arnwylf spent a long moment staring out at the sea. Then, Arnwylf turned to Zik with a small smile.
“Thank you,” Arnwylf said slightly nodding his head.
“We will take you home when the night has fallen,” Zik said as he resumed his duties as captain. “You wealders have become frightened and hopeless because of the Lord of Lightning, and a frightened and hopeless man is very dangerous.”
Arnwylf spent the rest of the day helping the sailors on the ship with the red sails. There was always something that needed attention and Arnwylf was fascinated with the workings of the massive vessel.
After the sun set, and the two moons rose, the ship was brought as close to Harvestley as possible. Zik, Myama and five other sailors loaded Arnwylf into a long boat and rowed him towards the shore.
As they approached the gentle growl of the surf, a bright blue flame shot up in the night sky from somewhere deep in the heart of Wealdland and arced out over to the Far Grasslands.
The sailors began to nervously chatter to each other, but a quick shush from Zik brought back their resolve.
The long boat rocked up through the surf and slid up onto the sand. Zik and Arnwylf hopped out of the boat. Zik clasped Arnwylf’s hand.
“I hope to see you again someday,” Zik said with a smile bright enough to light up the darkest night.
“Thank you for everything,” Arnwylf said. Then Zik and his sailors all rowed their long boat out over the surf. Arnwylf stood in the water and watched his friends row back to their ship with the red sails. Then Arnwylf turned and began the climb up the steep cliffs of Harvestley, up to the growing human army ready to defend Byland.
The night passed uneventfully for Ronenth as he prepared a morning meal for Solienth and Nostacarr. New Rogar Li was quiet, empty and still. The noise of Halldora and her refugees following the wealdkin in their evacuation the previous day was now only an unsettling memory.
No argument in the world could make the old Master of the Library leave his pathetically empty library, and Solienth argued that he was the best one to protect the old man if any of the alleged monsters slithered out of the Weald. Of course Ronenth had to stay to watch both old men.
Ronenth dropped the plate of fried eggs he was carrying as a long, dark shadow wriggled past a large, covered window. As quietly as possible, Ronenth ran for his paricale. He quietly, quietly gathered up each of the silvery metal segments.
Then, Ronenth cautiously hurried to the small camp Solienth and Nostacarr had set up in the center of the library.
Ronenth froze as he found Nostacarr hunched over Solienth, who was sprawled on his back, clutching his chest.
“Help!” Nostacarr cried.
“Shush!” Ronenth whispered. “There’s something just outside the library.”
Solienth motioned Ronenth to come close.
“I haven’t long for this world, listen carefully,” the old general whispered. “You must take Nostacarr east.”
“I can not travel,” the Master of the Library whispered. “I will soon be following you. But I can help the young one escape, and maybe take some of these unnatural beasts along to death’s domain.”
“Good, good,” Solienth said. “Then listen to me, Ronenth. I must discuss some strategy with you. Then we will prepare a welcome for the vyreeoten.”
Solienth spent the rest of the day propped on a couch, whispering urgently to Ronenth. Nostacarr shuffled around the empty library setting clay pots. All day the sound of large creatures crawling through the streets of New Rogar Li made them pause in silence.
As night fell, a flash of blue lightning lit up the empty city.
“What was that?” Ronenth whispered.
But no one had an answer. The rest of the night was fearfully silent.
As night fell, Alrhett made her way to Caerlund’s camp. The chieftain of the Madrun Hills stood outside his tent, next to a fire, preparing to take his warriors over the rickety, hastily constructed bridges that spanned the Flume of Gawry with the first light of morning.
Caerlund happily welcomed the Queen of the Weald, and they shared a mug of ale.
“Any news of Arnwylf?” Caerlund quietly asked.
“My grandson is resourceful and clever,” Alrhett said with a sad smile.
“Aye, that he is,” Caerlund sighed. “I wish he was here to lead this fractious gang of human nations.”
Caerlund poured out the dregs of his mug with disgust, as he remembered the treachery of the Battle of the Eastern Meadowlands.
“I wish Kellabald was here,” Caerlund said. “How is it that we humans are so noble and yet so good at betrayal?”
“Perhaps,” Alrhett said with sorrow, “whatever the Great Parent gives in virtue, the Great Parent also balances with equal vice.”
A blue lightning bolt flashed across the southern sky.
Alrhett and Caerlund both stared in worry.
“That was headed to the Far Grasslands,” Alrhett said. “My daughter travels in the Far Grasslands with a strange garond.”
“It seems we all find ourselves on strange paths this night,” Caerlund worriedly said.
With morning’s light and Deifol Hroth’s demand that he enter the citadel, Stavolebe was frozen with fear. He looked over at the Archer and the elf who stared at him with cautious curiosity.
“You said, ‘But master-’,” the elf said as her hand inched back towards the hilt of the Moon Sword strapped to her back.
“Who were you talking to?” The Archer demanded as his hand rested on the hilt of his elvish sword, Bravilc.
Stavolebe dropped everything and ran for the mist surrounding Deifol Hroth’s citadel.
The Archer flipped his bow off his back and nocked a bronze tipped arrow, but Stavolebe immediately disappeared in the mist as if the foul miasma reached out to embrace him.
“After him!” The elf cried.
The Archer and the elf ran after Stavolebe, but soon found themselves
lost in the blinding curtain of mist.
“We have to go back!” The Archer cried to the elf. The spindly arms of a supernaturally deformed garond grabbed a hold of Derragen’s arm. The Archer whipped out his sword and hacked the arms off the garond who squealed with pain. Derragen backed up in what he thought was a direct line. He could hear garonds gibbering to each other.
A short squat garond with bulging shoulders rushed him. All he could do was leap over the garond as it rolled out of sight.
“Iounelle!” Derragen cried.
The mist covered the sun overhead. All was a blanket of whiteness.
Then hands grasped him, arms pulled him back. The Archer swung his sword back over his head.
“Careful!” Iounelle cried.
The Archer suddenly saw the elf, Geleiden and Husvet dragging him back out of the mist. As they moved out of the polluted murk, the Archer saw a line of wolves facing the mist, their keen eyes staring into the enchanted fog, looking for any movement of attacking garonds. Derragen was relieved to see Conniker amongst the wolves.
The Archer turned to see Halldora greet him with relief. Derragen looked around with confusion. It was nearly sunset.
“I was in the mist for only a moment,” the Archer said.
“You’ve been gone all day,” Iounelle said touching his cheek. “I thought-” Then, the elf blushed, and was unable to speak.
“Good to see you!” Geleiden said to cover the elf’s embarrassment.
“And Halldora is here?” The Archer said with confusion.
“I was stranded, alone on the northern bank of the Bairn River when New Rogar Li was evacuated,” Halldora said. “I came upon Geleiden and Husvet leading Conniker and the wolves west to a crossing at a shallower part of the Bairn.”
“Stavolebe?” The Archer asked.
“Still in the citadel,” the elf said.
“Right under our nose,” the Archer said with frustration. “He was right under our nose.”
“He won’t get far when he comes out,” Husvet said with a firm smile as he patted his new wolf, Farren, who suddenly bristled.
Every wolf suddenly faced west.
“What is it?” Geleiden wondered.
“What is in that direction?” Derragen asked.
“There is a river, the Syrenf River,” the elf answered. “The wolves are saying ‘bad things’ once again.”
“That’s what they said-” Husvet started.
“-when they smelled the vyreeoten in the Weald,” Geleiden finished.
The wolves further to the west pulled back to join the main body of wolves in a tight pack surrounding the humans.
Two dripping wet vyreeoten squirmed out of the woods. One was yellow and large.
“Hellooo agaaaain whiiiite thiiiing,” Klaaug lisped in greeting to Conniker, who growled deep and low.
“Metal swords will not work on these things,” Halldora breathlessly said.
“We have already discovered that,” the elf answered.
“Oh aaand the reeeed haaair,” Klaaug hissed at Halldora, pointing a sickly, sinewy arm.
“Go back to the hell you’ve come from,” she cried to the rippling creatures.
“Spread the wolves out,” a voice hissed from behind. Baalenruud coiled as a large black adder. “The wolves can kill them, and they know it.”
“Why should we trust you Baalenruud?” The elf snarled.
“Ask the white wolf,” Baalenruud hissed, watching the vyreeoten with a blood lust.
Conniker looked up at the elf. He had already understood and quickly barked out an order to his pack. The thirty wolves skittishly, against their nature, spread out in a semicircle around the vyreeoten, heads low. The sun set.
“Nooooo tiiime to plaaaaaay,” Klaaug drooled with slime. “Myyy maaaaster caaalls.” Both vyreeoten quickly slithered into the foul mist protecting the citadel.
“Cowards,” Baalenruud lisped, his massive black coils itching for a fight.
“Assume your other form,” the elf commanded. “You are unnerving the wolves.”
Baalenruud shimmered and pulsed. Her body transformed into a short, naked, featureless woman.
“Ugly in any form,” the elf sneered.
“Such ingratitude,” Baalenruud lisped. “I just saved your life.”
Iounelle had no response, but she stared hard at Baalenruud.
“We need to set up a perimeter to catch Stavolebe when he comes out, before it gets too dark,” the Archer said to the elf.
“Unless you can lead us through the mist,” the elf angrily said to Baalenruud.
“I no ally to the Dark Lord,” Baalenruud sniffed.
A huge spear of blue lightning burst up and out of the mist, arcing out through the darkening sky. The blue fire crackled, and even though a league away, they could feel the heat of the pulse of energy.
“Deifol Hroth moves,” Baalenruud hissed.
Stavolebe wandered in the mist. Garonds would grab at him and gibber with delight at his fear.
Eventually Stavolebe made his way to a stone portal into the citadel. He knew the dark winding corridors. A large garond covered with large, porcupine-like spines blocked his way. The garond grunted at Stavolebe. He didn’t understand garondish, but he knew he was being commanded to wait.
Stavolebe sat down in the dank, shadowed corridor.
He waited for what seemed an eternity.
He thought he heard something very large squish past in a nearby corridor. Then he heard the sound of another large unnamable creature squelching past. Or was it another part of the same huge obscenity?
Just when Stavolebe was about to turn back and risk getting past the Archer and the elf, the spiny garond guard grunted and urged him to ascend the stone steps up to the highest chamber, the chamber of Deifol Hroth.
In the center of the room Deifol Hroth held a crystalline object, the Lhalíi, with his newly restored hand. Against a wall leaned a beautiful sword that had to be the Mattear Gram.
“Now is the time, Stavolebe,” Deifol Hroth said with a dark smile. “Now is the time to stop a most annoying vermin.”
A blue light filled the chamber. Stavolebe fell to the floor in fear. A blue fire leapt from every corner of the chamber. Stavolebe held up his hands, and they curled with blue fire, but he was not burned.
“Reach out to my mind” Deifol Hroth commanded.
Stavolebe felt his thoughts being swept up into the Dark Lord’s mind as effortlessly as a leaf drifting down a stream.
The fire flowed out of the chamber. Stavolebe could see the chamber had no ceiling and the blue fire flowed out and up into the sky.
Stavolebe’s mind flowed with the fire, out across the black, night sky.
There was a woman, far away, a woman with dark hair and blue eyes. And she could see the Dark Lord’s mind. She was the one who interfered. The blue fire was from the Lhalíi. In his mind, Stavolebe flew with the bolt of energy out over the Bight of Lanis. The massive spear of blue flame hit her. She was far away in the Far Grasslands. Stavolebe could see that she was surrounded by garonds.
She had a power. She had the power of farsight. She clouded Deifol Hroth’s vision.
Her power was drawn up into the blue fire. It was drawn into the Lhalíi. The shock of the power being pulled into the large crystal was painful to Stavolebe. He clutched his head in pain.
Then all was calm as Stavolebe fainted away into unconsciousness.
Chapter Nineteen
No Return
Ronenth stole out of New Rogar Li just before dawn, and as far as Nostacarr could tell, had escaped without incident. It had taken all night to convince the young Glaf to escape, but finally he left.
The old Master of the Library held a candle in one hand and wrapped the other arm around the cold form of Solienth, who had died just before the dawn crept up from the east.
Nostacarr heard a slow persistent cracking of something pushing through one of the barred doors. Then there was a loud crash as the door came
down. Nostacarr could hear something large slide into the library. He saw undulating shadows rippling through the dawn light streaming through the windows of the library.
Nostacarr thought of all his old books. The library of Old Rogar Li had been the envy of every librarian in Wealdland.
A large, blue and green vyreeoten slithered up in front of Nostacarr. It’s nauseating mandibles worked with hunger. Another vyreeoten slide up behind it.
“My only regret,” Nostacarr said, “is that there aren’t more books for you.”
Then the old Master of the Library laid the candle he held down onto a pool of liquid at his feet. Instantly a line of fire split into many lines that raced out into all the parts of the library. Nostacarr pulled a cord, and a long line crashed a balanced shelf down against the front door.
The vyreeoten screamed.
Their long, slimy bodies caught fire with a shocking rapidity. They thrashed about trying to put out the quickly growing fire. They rolled on the wooden floors, crashing into empty, burning bookshelves, spreading the fire. They futilely beat their long sinewy arms against their charring, cracking bodies.
One by one, they dropped to the floor, greasy mounds of flame and black burnt flesh.
There were six of the ghastly creatures that died gruesome deaths by fire.
Nostacarr smiled as the rest of the library went up in flames.
Arnwylf climbed and walked all night. With the dawn, he entered the growing human army in Harvestley. The great push was on to get as many human soldiers across the Flume of Gawry as quickly as possible. The word from the messenger guild was that the garond army in Byland was growing by the moment.
Many soldiers immediately recognized Arnwylf, and a happy group escorted him to Caerlund’s contingent.