by James Dale
"I do indeed," Arrinor nodded. "Though only through stories. What more do you know of Cil’lena?"
"Not much," Jack admitted. "In the three months I stayed in her cave, all she ever said was she was an Ailfar Healer and she had taken up a watch on Gorthiel because she'd lost her husband to the Shadow."
"That is true," the elf nodded, "but it is not the whole truth. Where shall I begin? Perhaps with her full name? Cil’lena is known among the Ailfar as Ailcil’lena An'Mera. She is a Healer yes, but much more. She is also a Lord of the Staffclave and sister of Cilidon, my father, King of Ail'itharain."
"Excuse me, highness," Kirk interrupted, "Are you saying that my lord's Cil’lena is the same Cil’lena in the epic tale of Arahil Galad’drion?"
"The White Prince," the elf nodded. "Fial'ducal Aifalion. Star of the Dawn. He has a hundred other names as well. After Ljmarn Bra ‘Adan, he was perhaps the greatest hero of the War of the Stones."
"Are you talking about The War of the Stones?" Jack asked quietly. "Against the dark-King? That would mean Cil’lena...that would make her at least... over eight hundred years old."
"The Lady Cil’lena is one thousand two hundred," the elf corrected. “She is father’s older sister.”
"I find this…difficult to believe,” Jack said hesitantly. “Alnordel claimed to be over five hundred. He was my friend so I didn’t press him about it.”
"We Ailfar are considerably longer lived than the other Children of Yh," Arrinor replied. "My father Cilidon was almost two hundred years old when Ljmarn Bra‘Adan broke the gate of Gorthiel."
"Arri...how...how old are you?" Jack asked.
"Not old enough to be out of the kitchen according to mother," the prince smiled.
"How old is that in years?"
"I was born on the First Night of the Festival of Yh’Adan. One hundred and thirty years ago last winter. And how old are you Jack Braedan?"
"Thirty...two. Why?"
"You seem to place some significance on age," Arrinor shrugged. "Now that we are aware of each other's, perhaps I may continue?"
"Sorry."
"As I was saying," the elf began again, "After the High King Ljmarn, Arahil Galad’drion is perhaps the greatest hero of this age. He slew King Umrag of Forhein at the breaking of the siege of Dorshev. As well as King Glimaal of Gothgor at the Battle of Norway Fields. At the Battle of the Bergaweld he and the Ailfar of Ailsantain protected the southern flank of the Whesguard's army from sunset to sunrise against the combined might of Duinlor and Minbrad. When the sun rose that morning, Ailsantain as a nation no longer existed, but Ljmarn's army survived to march on to Gorthiel. And through all this, Lord Ailcil’lena An'Mera was never farther than a few feet from her husband's side.
But there was a price for her bravery. She was injured, gravely injured, during the Battle of the Bergaweld, and was unable to accompany her mate as he marched on with Ljmarn to Agash Thugar. That was the reason she was not beside Arahil while he held the great dragon Gheelam The Red at bay as Ljmarn threw down the Black Gates of the Iron Tower. Though he slew Gheelam, Arahil was consumed by the fire of the dragon's last breath. There... there was not even enough left of him to bury. Perhaps if there had been a body for her to mourn over, her grief would have been lessened. Perhaps.
After Graith was cast into Mount Sheol and his armies were routed, Ljmarn and the Whesguard stayed at Agash Thugar until summer's end. Cil’lena joined them when she was well enough, doing all she could for the injured. She is counted the greatest healer the Ailfar have ever known. But she could not heal her own broken heart. When they marched north again in the fall, Cil’lena stayed behind. Because of the chaos surrounding those days, her absence went unnoticed for some time. When Cilidon discovered she was missing, he took a company of Rangers and searched the length and breadth of Grethor for his sister, turning over every stone in the Margalags. But Cil’lena was an elf maid and a Lord of the Staffclave and did not want to be found. With winter coming on, my father reluctantly gave up his search, returning with a heavy heart to Ail'itharain.
Every spring, he sent Rangers back to renew the search. Each fall they returned empty handed. They would leave supplies for her. Food. Books. Medicines. Clothes. When they returned the next spring, the supplies would be gone and, in their place, would be a list of things to bring the following year. Over time, it became a ritual among the Ail'itharain Ailfar to make this pilgrimage to Grethor. But no other sign of Ailcil’lena An'Mera was ever seen. Five years ago, grim'Hiru began looting her supplies. Twice more Cilidon allowed his Rangers to return. When they never returned that third year, he forbade any further travel to Grethor. We have had no word of her since then. Until now."
"I am glad I can report she is alive and well," Jack nodded. "Or at least she was until this spring."
"Do not fear for the Lady Cil’lena," Arrinor smiled. "It will take more than a few grim'Hiru, or even Galen Severa to put an end to her."
"I hope you're right," Jack sighed. "There's a growing list of people I must repay someday, and she has a place very near the top."
"Well...we have traded tale for tale," the young elf mused. "I judge yours to be the better. You have informed me the aunt I have never seen is still alive and recounted the greatest adventure in the last eight hundred years. How shall I repay you? With another tale perhaps?"
"As long as it's something lighter," Jack sighed. "I've heard enough about death and loss today."
"I have just the one," Arrinor replied. "Would you like to hear the story of the first meeting between Princess Ailanna and the young Ljmarn Bra ‘Adan?"
"I would be delighted to hear that tale," Jack nodded.
"Then settle back kinsman and listen to the greatest love story the world has ever know," Arrinor laughed.
It was truly a tale to lift the spirits of weary travelers. Such was its healing power that by the time Arrinor was halfway through his narrative of the beautiful princess and the man who would soon be High King of all Aralon, Jack had become lost to everything but the flow of images painted by the Ailfar. He found himself transported back to a simpler time when Aralon was still one united continent of races, Hiru, Human, and Ailfar. To a time when two young, innocent lovers could dream their coming union could help shape the world into the paradise its maker had intended, into a world where the Children of Ail lived in peace and harmony. It was a time when no one imagined a red stone would soon rise from the bowels of the earth and drown the world with death and suffering and despair.
Time passed quickly caught up in this carefree place. Unnoticed, the morning was gone in an instant. One minute, Jack was taking out his pipe again, the fragrant smoke now reminding him only of pleasant things, and the next Arrinor was completing the story book wedding and he was looking up with surprise to discover they had traveled the entire ten miles and their destination was suddenly springing up before them.
Despite his surprise however, Jack could see Goldenbriar Gate had been aptly named. The entrance to the forest kingdom of Ail'itharain was a pair of tremendous trees, their tops reaching two hundred feet into the air, crowned with leaves of the color of molten gold. The two monoliths stood on either side of the Elfway, their branches intertwined above the road running between them in a golden archway would have graced the entrance to any palace on earth. Yes, Goldenbriar Gate had been aptly named.
Braedan could not miss noting the similarity between these two trees marking the entrance to Ail'itharain and the two oaks he'd found, ages ago now it seemed, in the Appalachian mountains. It could not be mere coincidence the gateway into the kingdom of the Ailfar was all so similiar to the gateway between his world and the world where Ljmarn and Ailanna had given birth to his family, eight hundred years ago?
"They are beautiful, are they not kinsman?" Arrinor smiled.
"Yes...yes, they are," Jack nodded, returning his smile.
"Do you think your Kaegel will find rest here?"
"I think he will indeed."
"I am gl
ad," the Ailfar prince nodded. "Come Captain Vanar. Let us find him a place to rest beside the road, where the blessing of Goldenbriar Gate will always provide him shade."
Under Arrinor's direction, the Lions brought Kaegel forward, as did the Dragon guardsmen with their fallen comrades. Together the humans, along with several elves, began to dig with swords and campaign spades. The rich, black soil was soft from the last few days of steady rain and in no time at all a large, common grave had been prepared. Each man was placed reverently inside, hands crossed over the weapons laid upon his chest, then draped with a cloak and finally covered with earth.
As the last spade of dirt was shoveled onto the final resting place of their comrades, the Dragons gathered quietly around the grave site to hear Company Sergeant Vad'drueil solemnly recount each trooper's name and a brief history of his service. When he was done, Vad'drueil moved aside and Kirk stepped forward to take his place, rendering the same honor for Kaegel. Eyes closed in grief as Vanar finished his eulogy, Jack half expected to hear the painfully familiar command of 'Ready...Aim...Fire' and a bugler sounding taps. Instead, a strong, clear voice began to sing.
Brydium's sons, find solace here.
Your work on this world done.
We send you to a better place,
to service with the Son.
Beneath the shade of Goldenbriar,
where Darkness dare not stretch his hand,
nor evil cannot dwell,
we consecrate this resting place,
to honor those who fell.
Men of the North, of Brythond Fair,
Shield of the Dragon's arm,
find rest beneath the Golden Wood,
protected from all harm.
Beneath the shade of Goldenbriar,
where evil cannot dwell,
we consecrate this resting place,
to honor those who fell.
Oh brave sons of Norway Fields,
of Thondil and of Ath’niel,
find peace among the Ailfara,
for peace we give to thee.
Beneath the boughs of Goldenbriar,
where evil cannot dwell,
we consecrate this holy ground,
and honor those who fell.
"Hail Sons of Brydium!" Arrinor finished, drawing his sword in salute.
"Hail!" Ailfar and humans cried in a single voice.
"We shall have a monument erected," A'randraial and Cilandrion announced together, "with the names of all buried here."
"A thousand years may pass..."
"...but the memory of their sacrifice..."
"...will not be forgotten."
"The honor you have rendered Brydium is beyond the praise of mortal tongue," Theros said quietly, his blue eyes glistening with tears. "A thousand years may pass and Illroc Adar may fall to dust, but the names of the Sons of Cilidon will live forever."
"Come Lord Dragonslayer," A'randraial bowed. "Now that we have seen to thy dead..."
"...we shall see to thy wounded," Cilandrion concluded.
With that the company remounted and the twin princes and their Ailfar archers led the men of Brydium beneath the living archway of Goldenbriar Gate and into the kingdom of Ail'itharain.
Chapter Twenty-one
Elvendale
As he had on the way to Goldenbriar Gate, Arrinor joined Jack and the Lions at the rear of the column as they resumed their journey along the Elfway to Elvendale. They rode in silence for a time, for no one wanted to be the first to break the spell cast by the moving ceremony for the fallen guardsmen. That they had been well and properly laid to rest was without question. But the burial had taken almost two hours. Two hours some of the wounded could not afford to spare. And though Jack would not be the one to detract from the honor the dead had been rendered by voicing this fear, his distress was clearly evident by worried glances he cast at the troopers riding in litters before him.
"No more will die," Arrinor assured him. "They are under our care now. Ailfar treat wounded with even more concern than the dead."
"But two more days?" Jack fretted. "Sergeant Danning is already unconscious from loss of blood."
"It will not be two more days."
"But you said..."
"It would be two days if my brothers were not leading this column," Arrinor corrected.
"I don't understand."
"Look around you Jack Braedan," the Ailfar instructed. "Tell me what you see."
"The road. A forest.
"That is all?"
Jack looked closer at their surroundings. Tall, straight trees lined each side of the Elfway, their thick canopy of golden leaves casting deep shadows over the forest. Normal for a densely wooded area. A thin mist was slowly forming on the road around the horses...Mist?
"The mist?" he asked.
"In the middle of the day? When the sun is high?" the Ailfar smiled.
Jack looked again at the road. The mist thickened even as he watched, quickly reaching almost to where his boots rested in their stirrups three feet off the ground. With a start, he realized it was confined entirely to the road around the company, stopping a few feet beyond the lead and trail horses and reaching only a short distance into the surrounding forest.
"Now that's...odd," Jack remarked, not afraid, for he could see that Arrinor obviously was not concerned.
"As I said," the elf grinned, "my brothers are leading this company. Did I forget to mention they are both Spellweavers?"
"Spellweavers? What do you mean...like wizards? Or sorcerers?"
"I suppose to those unfamiliar with Ailfar majik they are somewhat similar," Arrinor nodded. "Except for one important detail. Wizards and sorcerers, even Lords to some extent, practice a learned skill. Spellweaving is a gift, granted by Yh at birth and only to Ailfar."
"And what...what are your Spellweaving brothers doing?" Braedan asked. The mist had thickened now. He could no longer see the road beneath him and the trees along the Elfway had become blurred. It was as if the air surrounding the company was...changing?
"What they are doing," Arrinor explained, "is shifting us into a different phase of time. Two days I said? That is the normal length of time it would have taken for us to travel from Goldenbriar Gate to Elvendale. For the sake of the wounded, A'rand and Cil are weaving a spell to shorten the journey."
"Shorten how?" Jack asked, becoming engrossed.
"It is difficult to explain," Arrinor sighed, “Think of time as...as a river or stream. It flows along set banks and objects caught in its current are carried along with it. In all streams however, there are things…such as rocks or islands...which sit unmoving as the water flows around them. Imagine if you could somehow remove yourself from the river by stepping onto one of those islands? The flow of water would no longer touch you. Time...the river, would move on while you remained apart from its flow."
"Okay." Jack nodded, "I...guess I can see that. Step on the island and time passes you by. But, won't we...when we step off again into the normal flow...won't we still be in the same spot? Only at a different time?"
"You do see, don't you?" Arrinor grinned. "Now suppose this island could somehow be made to move? Not only move, but move even faster than the stream, like a ship on a river, the wind in its sails driving it along even faster still. Time moves, we would move, and..."
"When you step off the island again..." Jack interrupted, "and you rejoined the normal flow, time would have passed and you would also have traveled, perhaps even...the same distance you would have traveled if you hadn't bothered with juggling time. Depending on several factors of course."
"Exactly." Arrinor smiled.
"Okay." Jack nodded, "I'll take your word for it." The idea was simple, but the application was...staggering! Yet who was he to argue about Spellweaving when he had traveled between worlds? "But how long...or, should I say...how short, is this trip going to take?"
"Judging by the thickness of the mist...and I am just guessing mind you, I do not pretend to know the mystery of
Spellweaving, I would say our journey will be shortened to about...oh, an hour, while two days will have passed for everything else traveling normally in the stream."
"I know a professor of quantum theory at Boston College who would absolutely be having a stroke right now," Jack grinned. "What... what else can a Spellweaver do?"
Could they open a doorway between worlds? Maybe even send me back home? Now where the hell had that thought come from? Jack wondered. Do I want to go home, even if it was possible? If the two Ailfar Spellweaver's could alter time, why not dimensions as well? But...but Annawyn was here!
But you could go home!
No! Jack argued. My home is now where Anna is. I don't care if it's another world.
But...
"No." Jack replied fiercely, banishing the thoughts. "You're not going get rid of me that easily.”
"Is something wrong kinsman?" Arrinor asked anxiously. "You look troubled."
"No," he lied quietly. "Nothing is wrong." A reassuring smile. "You were about to tell me what else Spellweavers can do?"
"Spellweavers have many talents. And also varying degrees of strength. It depends on what measure of gift Yh granted. The Lady Ara’fael, who is considered the strongest Spellweaver of this age, cannot alter time as deftly as my brothers, not without someone to aid her. But I have seen her call lightning from a clear blue sky and toss boulders weighing several tons as if they were mere pebbles. It is the same for Yh's other gifts as well. Healing. Foretelling. Dreamwalking. Your ability to Mindspeak."
"How...how do you know I can..." Jack stammered, caught off guard.
"Eaudreuil told me." Arrinor smiled.
"Eaudreuil told you? You mean you can...Eaudreuil?"
"Arrinor is also a Horse-brother," the roan beamed.
"Why you deceitful, hairy..."
"Do not blame," Arrinor interrupted soothingly. "He only did what I asked."
"Then you must be a better Mindspeaker than I am," Jack muttered. "He hardly even does anything I ask."