The Last Elf of Lanis

by K. J. Hargan

Chapter Ten

  The Mattear Gram

  “Yes,” Apghilis said stepping from behind a tree. “Show us the sword.”

  Kellabald whirled his spear around to the large man. Apghilis raised his hands in a mocking gesture of defense.

  The village of Bittel was silent and cold in the morning after the night’s rain. And Haergill’s funeral pyre dwindled to a thin tower of smoke.

  “Fellow human, I mean you no harm,” Apghilis said. He was large, fat and muscular. His hands were massive, and his head was shaven and square with fatness. He had a grey patch of a beard on his chin, and his mouth cut a perpetually wide, sarcastically curling smile. His eyes were small and black, like a pig’s eyes, and he seemed to be always squinting to hide the direction of his gaze. He wore the red and gold of an Atheling of the Northern Kingdom of Man, a metal breastplate, and metal shoulder guards. A large bronze sword swung from his belt.

  His smile creased the smooth skin of his whole face as he stepped cautiously towards Kellabald.

  “Apghilis,” Halldora breathed from behind Kellabald.

  “My Lady,” Apghilis flourished a deep bow. “We thought you and your husband, the king, were dead. And your daughter?”

  “She was-“ Halldora stumbled with grief and caution.

  “She was last in Rion Ta,” Wynnfrith interrupted, sensing something wrong.

  A fat, bald man peered from behind Apghilis.

  “My Lady,” the fat man said in a nasal tone.

  “Feeblerod,” Halldora returned in polite fear.

  Feeblerod was average height, very fat, bald, and had a long crooked nose that bent way over to the right. He also had a large red birth mark splashed on the side of his face. A facile smile played across his arrogant, pursing lips as he dipped his head, his black eyes dangerously staring from beneath his neatly trimmed eyebrows.

  “You say you’ve found the sword? The Mattear Gram?” Feeblerod said with a feminine shake of his head.

  “No,” Kellabald answered.

  “Who were you calling to you?” Feeblerod asked.

  “We, we thought we saw his ghost...” Kellabald stammered.

  “And did you?” Apghilis drew closer.

  “A grieving mind may see many things,” Wynnfrith said, seeming to read the souls of these two strange warriors.

  “This was his funeral pyre,” Kellabald honestly said.

  “Then the sword must be here,” Apghilis said with a greasy leer.

  “He left-“ Kellabald began.

  “He left no visible sign,” Wynnfrith cut him off.

  Kellabald could feel Wynnfrith’s determined eyes on the back of his head. He knew she sensed something was wrong. So, Kellabald lowered his spear, but tightened his grip, ready.

  “We do not know the location of the Mattear Gram,” Kellabald said, watching the Atheling and his vassal with a closer vigilance, holding his breath.

  “Well,” said the massive, warrior lord, shifting his bulk. “Then, we must search together.” Apghilis calmly turned, and motioned Feeblerod to follow him.

  Wynnfrith gripped Kellabald’s arm.

  On the other side, Halldora hissed in Kellabald’s ear, “Do not trust them.”

  “We’d best go through all the rubble of your village,” Apghilis said without looking back at Kellabald. “Perhaps there will be some clue as to the sword’s whereabouts.”

  Feeblerod turned to look at Halldora. “Haergill did have the Mattear Gram when he fled Ethgeow?” Feeblerod put a contemptuous emphasis on ‘fled’.

  Halldora knew it best to be honest with these two. “Yes,” she said. “But I do not know where he hid it.”

  “Did your daughter?” Feeblerod said looking with an uncomfortable length of time at Wynnfrith.

  “She is not here to ask,” Wynnfrith defiantly said.

  Feeblerod laughed a vicious little laugh to himself, and his gaze lustfully followed after Wynnfrith.

  The whole of the rest of the day was spent sorting through the debris of the village. Some food was left as garonds only ate meat. With some grains, vegetables and flour Wynnfrith was able to make enough of a meal to satisfy all.

  As evening set in, the five humans sat around a modest fire.

  “We will have to dig up the floors of the houses,” Apghilis said.

  “I do not think Haergill hid the sword under any of the houses,” Kellabald said with firmness.

  “Were you here every moment of the day?” Feeblerod craftily said. “Were you privy to his every action behind closed doors? We most definitely will need to dig up the foundation of every house, and demolish the houses as well.”

  “What?” Wynnfrith said with tempered anger.

  “Are we to find the famous Mattear Gram and unite the human race against the garonds? Or are your houses more precious?” Apghilis said with a grunt as he rose from the fireside. He turned around and began to urinate.

  “Please do that outside the village,” Kellabald said with angry disgust.

  “Why?” Apghilis said finishing. “To honor the ruins of this insignificant animal pen? You should see the ruins of mighty Ethgeow. Now there is something to cry over. Yet, I do not shed a tear for that once mighty city. When we have driven the garonds from Wealdland, I will build a city ten times as magnificent.”

  All were silent with tension.

  “I will sleep the night in Haergill’s former home. Any care for the warmth of my carcass?” Apghilis pointed the last question at Halldora.

  “We three will fare the night in my husband’s house,” Wynnfrith said with quiet, angry strength. “Only we three.”

  Apghilis laughed a deep, repulsive laugh. Then shambled off to Haergill and Halldora’s house. Puffing, Feeblerod flabbed after him, and threw a last longing look at Wynnfrith.

  Kellabald, Wynnfrith, and Halldora stared into the fire.

  Then Kellabald rose. “We need sleep. Best to take turns with one of us always awake. I fear we camp with serpents tonight.”

  “You know not how truly you have spoken,” Halldora said. With that, they wearily rose and went to Kellabald and Wynnfrith’s house. The three made themselves as comfortable as they could.

  “I will watch first,” Wynnfrith said.

  Kellabald turned to Halldora. “I am truly sorry for your loss of Haergill. He was a good man. If I did not think so, I would never have allowed him to stay in Bittel. Whether he was a king once or not, he was a good father, and I’m sure a good husband.”

  “He was my king,” Halldora said. “We never meant to deceive you. We thought if we kept our royalty secret, it would protect you and your family.”

  “We all have secrets,” Wynnfrith said to Halldora with a comforting assurance. “And your family was never a burden here in Bittel. But, I think it best we keep our conversation as simple as we can. There may be unwanted ears to hear our words.”

  “You don’t know the great depth of your wisdom,” Halldora said. “Watch those two with the attention a mouse gives to a hungry hawk.”

  Kellabald grunted with assenting understanding. Soon Halldora and Kellabald were fast asleep with Wynnfrith keeping the first watch over that uneasy, cloud filled night.

  The next day, Apghilis directed Kellabald and Feeblerod as they dismantled the three, modest houses of Bittel. Kellabald removed roofs and beams with care, with every intention of rebuilding his village. Feeblerod heartlessly kicked down beams and supports to hurry the work along. Apghilis, of course, didn’t lift a finger in actual work, but instead was constantly lecturing Kellabald and Feeblerod in what was to be taken down and how urgent their mission was.

  At midday, a strong wind momentarily whistled through the stand of trees, which encircled Bittel.

  “That is a sign to take a break,” Wynnfrith said, bringing bread and hot porridge to the men. Halldora said nothing, but seemed to be listening for something, perhaps singing, far away.

  “Maybe the sword is not here,” Wynnfrith ventured.

  “He would h
ave hidden it where he could quickly lay his hands on it,” Apghilis said, spitting pieces of bread, the crags on his face were like weathered stone.

  “Leave men’s work to men,” Feeblerod said leering at Wynnfrith, his egg-like head bobbing as though he were telling a joke. Feeblerod had a scruffy, dark goatee, which looked as though his mouth were always unwashed.

  Wynnfrith shot Kellabald a disapproving look.

  “Everything in Bittel has been demolished,” Kellabald said clearing his throat. “Surely you don’t mean to dig up the foundations?”

  Apghilis squatted in his fatness. His face, when he was thinking, had a pursing frown as though he were just about to vomit. “You don’t understand the importance of the Mattear Gram,” he said. “It’s more than just a pretty sword. It’s a unifying symbol of all humanity. Only the rightful king of all men can carry it at the head of an army.”

  “The rightful king of all men is dead,” Halldora snapped, her red hair appeared to be aflame in the sunlight shafting through the trees.

  “Then there must be another” Feeblerod said standing. Then he began a silly dance, rolling his obese body from side to side, kicking out his legs, and flapping his arms. It was clear the dance was meant to draw out laughter, but no one laughed. Feeblerod watched his audience with sharp eyes.

  Kellabald stood, and Feeblerod stopped his dance.

  “If we are to dig up the foundations, let us be to it,” Kellabald sighed. “An extra pair of hands will be welcome in this work,” Kellabald said to Apghilis.

  Apghilis nodded, his exceptionally large ears lay perfectly flat against his square, fat head. “The women should help with the digging, as you have said.”

  Kellabald was aghast. “I meant you should help. My wife and her friend will do no such labor.”

  Apghilis shook his head, the large, bloated ridge above his eyebrows quivered. “As you say, but this means more work for you.” Apghilis leaned heavily against a pile of housing beams as though he owned them.

  Kellabald began digging the foundations of the house, which were once Haergill and Halldora’s. Feeblerod complained of a pain in his back, and so Kellabald did almost all of the digging. In the early evening, the digging shifted over to Yulenth and Alrhett’s foundation with no discovery.

  As night fell, Apghilis lit two torches, and brought them over to the foundations of Kellabald and Wynnfrith’s house.

  “We have no need to dig here,” Kellabald said.

  “No?” Apghilis pursed his thick, cruel lips.

  “Haergill could not have hidden the sword here without my knowledge.”

  “No, certainly if you were at home,” Feeblerod sneered. “But, he might have had help when you were away,” the last he insinuated at Wynnfrith.

  “You can eat by yourselves,” Wynnfrith said, throwing several loaves of bread to the ground at Apghilis and Feeblerod. “I have had enough of your company.”

  Kellabald, Wynnfrith, and Halldora ate at a small campfire, while Apghilis and Feeblerod ate apart at another. Apghilis sat with his back to the other campfire, while Feeblerod constantly looked over to gauge the mood of Wynnfrith and her company.

  Tents were made of linens, as the houses had been pulled down. A watch was set again, with Halldora staying awake first. Kellabald was drifting off to sleep, the day’s labors throbbing in his hands, when he suddenly sat upright.

  “What is it?!” Wynnfrith hissed to keep quiet.

  “The riddles!” Kellabald whispered. “I know where the sword is!”

  Outside the tent, a sudden sound of twigs cracking made all freeze.

  “Say nothing more.” Halldora urgently whispered. “Our lives are now in even greater danger.”

  With that, Kellabald and Wynnfrith fell to a fitful sleep, with Halldora keeping the first watch.

  The next morning, Kellabald woke with a start. He had not been woken for his turn at the night watch. He looked over to see Wynnfrith sound asleep. But, Halldora was not in the tent. Kellabald quickly rose to pull on his trousers and buckle on his belt. He hissed at Wynnfrith, who awoke in a sleepy daze.

  “Did you take your turn with the night watch?” Kellabald whispered to Wynnfrith.

  Wynnfrith’s eyes popped open. “Where is Halldora?!” Wynnfrith jumped up and pulled on her dress over her undergarments. Kellabald drew his sword and Wynnfrith grabbed her spear. Slowly and with caution, they exited the tent.

  Feeblerod sat like a child, lolling on a stump. He grinned at Kellabald and Wynnfrith. “Good morning,” he said with an infantile mushiness.

  “Where is Halldora?” Wynnfrith demanded.

  “No morning greeting for me?” Feeblerod pouted.

  “Where has he taken her?” Kellabald drew near with his sword.

  “They have gone for a stroll on the meadow,” Feeblerod said with feigned compassion, “to talk of old times.”

  “If he has harmed her...” Kellabald trailed off as Apghilis and Halldora strolled into the center of Bittel from the meadowlands. Apghilis’ face was slack, and he walked with his hands behind his back. Halldora clasped her hands in front and had a haunted, hunted look.

  Wynnfrith ran to her side without concern for her safety.

  “Has he harmed you?” Wynnfrith said stroking Halldora’s hair.

  “No,” she said, “no.”

  Wynnfrith then led Halldora away.

  “Where were you? What have you done?” Kellabald demanded of Apghilis.

  Apghilis’ face was contemptuously slack, and without answering, he turned and shuffled away to sit by his and Feeblerod’s campfire.

  Kellabald watched Feeblerod lean into Apghilis to mutter in secrecy. Kellabald then edged away to join Wynnfrith and Halldora.

  At their camp fire, Wynnfrith stroked Halldora’s face, but Halldora remained silent. Kellabald gathered together what food he could find to make something for them to eat.

  All the rest of the morning, the two groups remained apart, watching each other.

  Later in the morning Halldora began to cry.

  “What is it?” Kellabald sympathetically asked.

  “I told him of the riddles,” Halldora sobbed. “He threatened awful things to you and Wynnfrith. I told him the first two riddles. I withheld the third. I told him there were only two No matter how he pressed, threatened or coaxed, I insisted there were only two.”

  “It’s okay,” Wynnfrith held Halldora. “We should have been there for you.”

  “But he knows,” Halldora said through sobs. “Feeblerod heard Kellabald last night. He knows that you know where the sword is,” she said to Kellabald.

  “If he was certain I knew, they would have attacked me by now,” Kellabald said standing with determination.

  “Sit down,” Wynnfrith firmly said. “There are three of us, and they must have supposed Halldora and I can fight. So we are safe for now. Let us eat and gather our strength.”

  Kellabald immediately grasped the wisdom of Wynnfrith’s words. He kissed her on the top of her head, and sat next to her, but with a vantage so he could watch Apghilis and Feeblerod. They ate and waited.

  About midday, Feeblerod began screaming. Kellabald, Wynnfrith and Halldora grabbed their weapons and rushed towards the screams.

  At the edge of Bittel three garond soldiers stood before Apghilis who confronted them with his drawn sword.

  Before Kellabald could reach his side, Apghilis began swinging his sword over his head and bellowed at the garonds. The garonds soldiers weakly swung their clubs, and then ran off into the high grass of the eastern meadowland.

  As Kellabald reached Apghilis, who was breathing hard, Apghilis turned to him and said, “We have no time, they’ll be back with reinforcements.”

  Kellabald stared hard at Apghilis. “I have never seen garond soldiers turn and run without a fight.”

  “He saved us!” Feeblerod whined. “What more proof do you need of his good faith?”

  Kellabald backed away from Apghilis and Feeblerod. He could fee
l Wynnfrith and Halldora with their spears at his side.

  Apghilis stared hard at Kellabald, then broke into a deep laugh from his gut. Apghilis raised his hand and cuffed Feeblerod hard to the ground. “I told you he was more intelligent than he appears.” Apghilis then turned and called out to the high grass where the garonds had disappeared.

  From the edge of the meadowland twenty five garonds swaggered into Bittel.

  Kellabald, Wynnfrith and Halldora backed up in horror.

  Feeblerod began gesturing and grunting to the garonds while Apghilis looked on in contempt.

  Feeblerod turned to Kellabald. “Put aside your weapons or they will kill you,” he said.

  “You traitors!” Halldora screamed.

  Apghilis raised his hand in disgust, as the garonds advanced.

  Kellabald readied his stance, but then Apghilis called sharply to the garonds and they stopped in their tracks.

  The leader of the garonds approached Apghilis and made gestures of obedience.

  Apghilis turned to Kellabald and said, “Well?”

  Kellabald turned to Wynnfrith. “There are too many,” he said with despair. Kellabald, Wynnfrith and Halldora surrendered their weapons.

  The rest of the day was spent torturing Kellabald, who would not talk.

  As evening fell, a garond messenger on horseback arrived, and all but three garonds left Bittel in a hurry.

  Apghilis had Kellabald released, to eat and to be seen to by his wife.

  As Wynnfrith dressed her husband’s wounds, Feeblerod squatted next to them. “Why continue to hide the sword? We will find it, and your life will have been wasted. I can save you. Tell me where the Mattear Gram is hidden. I have saved many lives! I am on your side.” When there was no response Feeblerod rose with a repugnant huff and carried his obesity away.

  “What shall I do, wife?” Kellabald said with pleading eyes to Wynnfrith.

  “I have no sight for this. I only know we survive to see our son,” she said.

  That night they slept little under the cloud filled night sky.

  In the late morning, Apghilis woke Kellabald with a kick. With an imperious gesture he had the garonds remove the shackles from Kellabald, Wynnfrith and Halldora.

  Food was brought to Kellabald and the women. They ate while watching Apghilis secretly conferring with Feeblerod throughout the morning. Two more garonds had joined the others in the night, so now there were five. The garonds snarled and restlessly waited for their human captain to order them to violence.

  The sun was breaking through the clouds and filling the village with light and warmth.

  After what seemed a long morning, Apghilis and Feeblerod rose, and with the garonds close behind, approached Kellabald, Wynnfrith and Halldora.

  “All this time Haergill was hiding here,” Apghilis said with a belch. “Did an atheling named Varknifl ever call here in Bittel? No? He was like a son to me. I sent him to find the coward king, and he was never heard of again.” Apghilis turned, and with a dismissive flip of his hand had the garonds drag Kellabald and the women over to the large fire set up in the center of Bittel.

  “There will be no more delay,” Apghilis said, and sat on a pile of clothing as though it was his by right.

  “Throw the dark haired one into the fire,” Apghilis proclaimed to Feeblerod. A look of lecherous disappointment briefly passed Feeblerod’s face, and then he turned to grunt to the garonds, who then roughly grabbed Wynnfrith and pulled her towards the fire.

  “Wait!” Kellabald cried. “I don’t know where the sword is. But I think I know.”

  “Do you or don’t you?”

  “Don’t tell them,” Wynnfrith bravely cried.

  “Our lives are more precious than some piece of metal,” Kellabald said. “There are three riddles.”

  “Three!?” Apghilis shot a venomous glance at Halldora, who looked down in the bright afternoon sun.

  “I want your promise,” Kellabald said. “As an atheling of the Northern Kingdom of Man, that you will free us when you have the sword.”

  “Yes, yes,” Apghilis said disdainfully.

  Kellabald rose and, turning, took in all of Bittel.

  “The first riddle,” he said, “seems easy. But it is deceptive.” The pain of the torture from the day before ached in Kellabald’s bones. Kellabald recited the first riddle.

  “I shelter you from rain and sun,

  Warm you when the cold days come,

  With arms outstretched, old and grooved,

  A leaning friend, I can’t be moved.”

  “Yes,” said Apghilis, “a house.”

  “No,” said Kellabald, “a tree.”

  “Of course! I knew it all along!” Feeblerod cried. “It’s buried under a tree!”

  But the sudden enormity of his statement made him freeze in his quivering fatness, for Bittel had almost a hundred trees.

  “But which one,” Apghilis derisively said.

  Feeblerod dumbly stared at the numerous trees surrounding Bittel, and was silent.

  “The second riddle tells us which tree,” Kellabald said. Then he recited the second riddle.

  “To the silver traveler I have no end,

  I’m the mother winding round your friend,

  As long, as far, as distant lands,

  Pick me up, I’m not in your hands.”

  “It means nothing!” Feeblerod cried.

  Kellabald snorted. “To you it means nothing.” Kellabald turned and walked, and the whole company rose and followed him.

  Kellabald led them to the creek that ran through Bittel.

  “Here,” said Kellabald with outstretched hand, “is the mother of all lands. Water. And see,” he pointed to small fish darting in the shallows, “are the silver travelers.”

  “As long, as far as distant lands” Apghilis said contemplating the winding stream.

  “Pick me up, I’m not in your hands,” Feeblerod said as he scooped a handful of water and let it trickle through his fingers.

  “But the mother,” Kellabald said limping along the edge of the creek, “winds around our friend.”

  “A tree,” Feeblerod shrieked, “by the stream!”

  “Yes,” Kellabald said with a quiet look to Wynnfrith.

  “But there are still twenty, thirty trees by this water,” Feeblerod said with girlish exasperation.

  “The answer,” said Kellabald, “is clever. Because the first riddle and the second together tells us which tree, but the third riddle tells us where the sword is hidden.” And then Kellabald recited the third riddle.

  “I build the castle, then tear it down,

  I count the minutes without a frown,

  I’m found by the score under land and sea

  And what you seek is under me.”

  “Explain,” Apghilis said excitedly scratching his round belly.

  Kellabald stopped by the stream, then pointed. “A leaning friend, from the first riddle.” Across the stream, an enormous oak leaned across the water.

  “Cut it down at once!” Apghilis ordered.

  “Wait!” Kellabald said. “You have completely neglected the third riddle.”

  “It’s sand,” Halldora said. “I always knew it was sand.”

  All stared down at the sandy bank under the water which wound around the large oak leaning over the stream. It seemed to sparkle like effervescent gold in the midday sun. No one moved.

  Then, Kellabald tenderly stepped into the water. He gingerly put his hands into the sandy shoal, stirring clouds of silt in the water. The air was still, no breeze disturbed Bittel. All seemed to hold their breath. The quiet, red and tan leaves of the oak overhead softly rocked in anticipation. Kellabald seemed to have a hold of something.

  Then, Kellabald lifted the Mattear Gram from the sparkling water. The sun was like shafts of brilliant gold, beaming through the trees as he held it aloft, with diamond droplets of water dripping from the sword.

  It had no scabbard, so the naked blade reflected the su
nlight like a hundred brilliant mirrors as Kellabald held it high in wonder.

  The hilt was gold and seemed to be cradling a dark wooden core on one side. It also had a strange, long, metal tube that protruded from the end of the hilt. The blade was long, light in thickness and an average width from edge to edge. It was made of a light, silvery metal not seen in any other sword in human hands. Along the flat of the blade was a gold pattern, a sun, near the hilt, some elvish writing, and a flag or banner that seemed to curl and twist all the way to the tip of the sword.

  Kellabald turned the Mattear Gram in his hands. The other side showed a gold pattern of a crescent moon, with more elvish writing, and a similar banner winding up the length of the blade. The sword seemed to sing or speak to him as he moved it.

  Kellabald was so filled with wonder that he hardly noticed Apghilis splashing into the water, until Apghilis wrested the sword from his hands.

  Apghilis held the sword high in victory. “I have it!” He crowed. Feeblerod clapped his hands and minced a little dance of joy around Wynnfrith.

  As Apghilis held the sword, the earth began to shake in disapproval. The earthquake fiercely splashed the water of the stream, and was so violent, all had to cling to something to keep from falling to the ground. The trees of Bittel shook with anger.

  Apghilis fell to all fours in the water, but then regained his footing as the earthquake abated.

  Slogging out of the water, Apghilis said, “We have no time. Come. We must do this at once.”

  All followed Apghilis as he strode to the great fire at the center of the village.

  There, he thrust the sword into the edge of the fire to heat the blade.

  “You gave us your promise you would free us once you had the sword,” Kellabald firmly said.

  “Maybe. If you swear allegiance to me, once I become the new king of the Northern Kingdom of Man.”

  “That will never happen,” Halldora said without thinking.

  “Will you not become my queen?” Apghilis said with a dangerous meaning, then checked to see how the blade was heating.

  “You gave a promise as an atheling,” Kellabald said.

  “You’re ruining this moment,” Apghilis dismissed. “Keep him silent.” Two of the garonds roughly grabbed Kellabald.

  “All rulers of the Northern Kingdom of Man wear the mark of birth,” Apghilis pronounced. Then he pulled the blade from the fire and it was white hot, the gold of the blade shone like the sun.

  Apghilis stripped away his trousers to reveal his naked legs.

  “I now take the mark and all the honor which it holds,” Apghilis said. Then to Kellabald he said, “The kings of old sacrificed humans to celebrate their ascension. You will do.”

  Then, Apghilis laid the white hot blade to his thigh. His flesh sizzled. Greasy smoke rose from the brand. He bellowed in pain.

  Kellabald struggled with his garond captors and shrugged himself free.

  Blind from agony, Apghilis handed the sword to Feeblerod, but the blade seemed to leap from Feeblerod’s hands into Kellabald’s.

  Kellabald quickly turned and cut the head clean off from one of the garonds who was holding him.

  All were paralyzed by the suddenness of the action.

  “Get him!” Apghilis yelled in pain. The four remaining garonds drew their swords and rushed Kellabald, while Feeblerod drew a long, slim blade and gyrated behind the garonds, pretending to fight.

  Kellabald could feel the blade singing to him in low, sweet, reassuring tones. He was no great swordsman, but every movement was perfect with this blade. He turned, with no effort, and in one fluid motion blocked the thrust of two garonds swords.

  It seemed as though time were standing still. Apghilis was crumbled into his pain, and Feeblerod was no threat. Kellabald could see and discern the position and shift of weight of all four garonds. In slow motion he could see that they worked together to make openings for each other. It would be impossible to counter this many garonds, impossible if he did not hold the Mattear Gram.

  Kellabald swung the sword underhanded at a blurring speed to cut the arms of the third garond. He continued the arc and cut right through the whole body of the fourth garond with no effort.

  Kellabald’s body and arms were weary and weak from the torture the day before, but the sword seemed to revitalize him and give him an unnatural strength.

  The first two garonds were already attacking again. Kellabald could feel them, rather than see them. He turned his body, continuing the same arc. The blade was still low, and it told him to cut at the feet of the first two garonds. But, the garonds were quick, the first one leapt over the blade. The second one was not so quick. The Mattear Gram, slicing upwards, cut the second garond’s leg clean away, through the thigh.

  The third garond, his arms bleeding, valiantly tried to turn half way and thrust with the momentum. But Kellabald and the sword saw this move and they parried, whirling the garond’s blade around and around, until the Mattear Gram cut his head off with a fiendish, hooking slice.

  The last garond standing backed away into a defensive posture. Kellabald moved forward with lightning speed, simply extending his arm straight ahead. The poor garond had no time to react. The sword went straight into its face.

  Kellabald withdrew the sword, then quickly dispatched the garond with the severed leg. The deaths of five garonds had taken but two moments.

  He turned to Feeblerod who shrieked, panted hard, and fell to the dirt of Bittel pleading for his life.

  Apghilis, curled in pain, said, “The sword. Give it to me. It is mine by right.”

  Kellabald stood over the atheling. He raised the blade. “You have no honor and barely a right to the life I will now spare you.” Then, Kellabald lowered the sword.

  “Go to your garond masters, traitor,” Kellabald said. Then to Wynnfrith he said, “We must flee to Alfhich as fast as our legs with allow.”

  With that, Kellabald, with the Mattear Gram wrapped in cloth and strapped to his back, and Wynnfrith and Halldora, with as many supplies as they could carry, fled Bittel for Alfhich.

  All that afternoon they marched westward as quickly as they could. Towards the early evening, Halldora exclaimed and pointed back the way they had come.

  In the far distance, two figures could be seen following them. It was unmistakably Apghilis limping along, leaning heavily on Feeblerod.

  As night fell, Alfhich came into sight, a patchwork town of wooden houses with steep roofs, raised on stilts, connected by wooden ramps, cluttered together on the shore of the Holmwy River. Some of the houses had collapsed from the earthquake that afternoon. Several docks stretched out into the Holmwy, dotted by hundreds of fishing boats. The strong salty smell of the Mere Lanis drifted ashore.

  As they entered Alfhich, they could see the fishing town was jammed with refugees from all over Wealdland. Halldora pulled a scarf over her flame red hair. And, the three of them headed straight for the bridge of Alfhich.

  The bridge was a long, narrow series of spans that were held up by seven, piers which each nestled a small village. The Holmwy River was the widest river Wynnfrith had ever seen. Muddy and swift, it was three times as wide as the Bairn, and it seemed to blend right into the ocean it was flowing into.

  At the entrance to the bridge a large crowd of people milled. Some sold wares or fish, some looked for lost loved ones, and some tried to convince others a boat ride across the Holmwy was easier and cheaper.

  As Kellabald, Wynnfrith and Halldora pushed through the crowd, someone pulled the scarf from Halldora’s head and her flame red hair danced on the ocean breezes.

  “Halldora!” Someone in the crowd called. Her name was called again and again. Someone mentioned a reward, some gave thanks and others cursed her as the crowd pushed in.

  “Take the sword to Healfdene of Reia as Haergill wished,” Wynnfrith urgently whispered to Kellabald. “I will stay with Halldora.”

  And before Kellabald could answer, the crowd pushed him aside to swarm a
round Halldora as Wynnfrith angrily yelled and pushed the crowd back.

  Kellabald and Wynnfrith locked eyes across the crowd.

  “Go!” She yelled at him, and pointed at something at the far side of the crowd.

  Kellabald followed her indication and saw Apghilis and Feeblerod talking to ten armed men. The armed men pushed into the crowd and seized Wynnfrith and Halldora.

  There were too many, and too many innocents. With the special blade in his possession, Kellabald could have slain the whole town of Alfhich, but he was not a man who would ever murder.

  He knew she was right. Kellabald said a prayer of protection for his wife and friend. He knew he had no choice but to cross the Holmwy Bridge and deliver the Mattear Gram to Healfdene of the Green Hills of Reia by himself.