The Last Elf of Lanis

by K. J. Hargan

Chapter Eleven

  Kellabald

  Kellabald struggled his way onto the Holmwy Bridge with the growing crowd behind him. Someone yelled something about collecting a toll or fee to cross the bridge, but too many people pushed their way forward with the confusion. Kellabald simply let the crowd carry him onward.

  The bridge could only accommodate four abreast, and it creaked ominously with the hundreds of pilgrims fleeing to the west.

  The Holmwy River was brown and insistently rippling. At least a hundred small fishing boats, crammed with passengers, also made for the western shore. No boats traveled east.

  Night was falling and lanterns could be seen flaring to life with light on the boats and along the bridge.

  At the first pier many of the people on the bridge crowded around the hot food merchants, ale houses and lodgings, so Kellabald decided to move on without trying to find something to eat. He was not alone as the bridge continued to crowd with people walking through the night to reach the Western Meadowlands and the safety of the green hills of Reia beyond the Flume of Rith.

  As Kellabald continued on to the second pier he realized that he had no money, nor anything to barter for food. He decided it would be best to keep moving anyway, in case Apghilis and his men were right on his heels.

  The second pier was much like the first pier, houses, merchants and inns teetered on the edges of a large wooden platform, which held up the continuing span of the Holmwy Bridge.

  As Kellabald passed the third pier, crowded as the first two, he noticed in the Holmwy River, a large fishing boat lined with soldiers who dipped their oars in unison. The soldier laden boat was making quick time for the distant shore. He thought he saw Apghilis amongst the boat’s crew and struggled through the crowd on the bridge with more determination.

  Kellabald pushed his way onto the fourth and middle pier. He was half way across the river. This platform was three times the size of the first three and was the size of a small town. The massive vertical logs which held up the center pier creaked and slowly swayed with the hundreds of people crowding its wooden planks. The Holmwy River below darkly pushed against the fourth pier with an insistent foamy wake.

  Kellabald was lost and unsure of the direction to the next span of the bridge.

  “Kellabald! Kellabald!” Someone called. He didn’t recognize the voice, so Kellabald roughly pushed through the crowd. Then, a bony, wizened hand clutched Kellabald’s cloak and pulled him to a stop. Kellabald tuned to find an old man with flowing white hair, and a kind face wrapped in a dark cloak.

  “Kellabald? It is you, isn’t it?” He said.

  Kellabald looked around worriedly to see if any had heard his name mentioned aloud. Then he pulled the old man to the side.

  “Who are you?” Kellabald asked.

  “I stopped in Bittel many years ago. You fed me rabbit and parsnips. So delicious. I never forgot.” The old man smacked his lips.

  “I don’t remember-“ Kellabald stammered.

  “Oh, it would have been,” The old man squinted into the depths of time, “before your soon to be wife and her mother came to your village from the Weald. Yes. It was soon after you had fled the priests of Eann in Gillalliath. So you would have just settled Bittel.” The old man smiled with satisfaction for having remembered.

  “I, I think I remember. But that was over twenty years ago.” Kellabald stared in wonder, but then looked around again in worry. “I’m sorry I have no time to reminisce with you. I am in a hurry. A great hurry.”

  “Oh, I suppose,” The old man said. “But, I must repay you for that meal. Such kindness is rare in this age. Have you any money?”

  “No,” Kellabald answered. “In fact I have nothing.”

  “Nothing,” the old man smiled eyeing the sword wrapped in folds of cloth and trapped to Kellabald’s back. “Very well, we must do this the old way. Then we can continue across the bridge.”

  The old man pulled Kellabald to a hot food vendor. He pointed to two meat pies. The vendor held out his hand and the old man made a pretense of counting out gold coins. The vendor behaved as if he had been paid, and the old man handed a warm meat pie to Kellabald. A watching child nearby started to protest until the old man hissed at him and sent him running, crying.

  Kellabald bit into the meat pie and it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted, having not eaten properly for many days. “How did you do that?” Kellabald asked between mouthfuls.

  “He simply saw what he wanted to see,” the old man replied. “He will be no poorer for it. Our presence will make him far richer than if he had actually collected the money he thought he saw.”

  “You are a mage,” Kellabald reverently said.

  “If you like,” the Mage’s eyes sparkled.

  They continued on, making their way to the fifth pier as night deepened.

  “Magic is fading, almost gone,” the Mage said. “Magic is connected to what it touches. Objects. Ways of using objects.” Again the Mage eyed the swaddled object strapped to Kellabald’s back. “Some people will do unbelievably despicable things to obtain objects of power. Others will hold onto objects of magic for no good reason other than that they possess it, and want no other to have it.” The Mage spat into the water.

  As they traveled on to the sixth pier, a gangly young man of the messenger guild pushed past them.

  “We’re almost across,” the Mage said to Kellabald. “You’ve been awfully silent.” Kellabald only nodded his head. He was unsure about this old man.

  “I met a man,” the Mage continued as they made their way across the bridge in the darkness of night, “A man, who may be the great father of all new magic.”

  “New magic?” Kellabald watched the Mage carefully.

  “Old magic,” the Mage said, turning a finger in his ear, “was all a part of using your spirit to understand and manipulate the smallest of parts of the all that is. If you could understand a thing to its elemental core and become one with it, then you could tell it what to do. It would seem surprising and supernatural to you.”

  “And this new magic?” Kellabald focused on crossing the bridge.

  “Oh,” the Mage frowned, “it’s all about thinking. Thinking. Thinking. Thinking. Understanding in a new way. But being outside of the thing. From the outside he bends a thing to his will with his mind, and not his spirit, this new mage.”

  They walked on in silence towards the last pier.

  “He’s a pleasant enough youngster,” the Mage choked back a laugh, “but he gets lost in the woods too often.”

  The last pier was no different than the last six, but there were fewer people as more of the pilgrims had stopped for the night along the way.

  As they came to where the bridge touched the western shore, they saw a contingent of fifty or more soldiers stopping and searching those who stepped off the bridge to the dry land. The soldiers argued with the youth of the messenger guild. The soldiers demanded to see the message he carried, but the argument was to no avail. No one would dare to cross the guild in an open public place. The messenger went on his way, his message safe.

  Kellabald hesitated. He saw Apghilis behind the platoon of soldiers, bored, imperiously sitting on a cask.

  The Mage firmly grabbed Kellabald’s cloak and pulled him forward to the checkpoint. Kellabald kept his head down, and pulled at the Mage to no effect, for he was much stronger than his years belied.

  Kellabald felt for the Mattear Gram. He could fight his way. Then he felt the Mage’s hand on his.

  “Why not go quietly,” the Mage said.

  Kellabald was filled with despair.

  The soldier huffed as the Mage and Kellabald reached the front of the line.

  “Yes mother,” the soldier said to the Mage, “where are you and your daughter going?”

  Kellabald opened his mouth in surprise and almost spoke.

  “We travel to Rith and safety beyond,” the Mage said in an old woman’s voice.

  “Let us see your possessions,”
the soldier gruffly said.

  “As you can see,” the Mage continued, “we have fled with only our lives and the clothes on our backs.”

  “Have you seen a yellow haired fellow with a large, shining sword on the bridge?” The soldier asked in boredom.

  “No, can’t say I have,” the Mage winked at Kellabald.

  “On your way,” the soldier said with a yawn.

  The Mage and Kellabald quickly walked away from the checkpoint, and out onto the Western Meadowlands. Off the well-beaten paths, the Mage made a small campfire by simply snapping his fingers over a pile of gathered wood.

  “You’d best sleep the rest of the night,” The Mage said to Kellabald. “We’re not safe yet.”

  As Kellabald was fading to sleep, a sound in the tall grass made him start awake. The Mage stared into the fire.

  “Do not be afraid,” the Mage said. “He just wants to get a good look at you.”

  “Who does?” Kellabald sat up.

  A massive hog, tusks gleaming, bristles of his back majestically erect, carefully stepped into the clearing of their campsite.

  “Kellabald, the Great Boar of the Western Meadowlands,” The Mage introduced. “Great boar, Kellabald,” the Mage mumbled.

  The huge, beautiful beast grunted.

  “Hmm, yes,” The Mage answered the Great Boar. “He wants to see it.”

  Kellabald was about to object, but then realized it would be useless. He unwrapped the Mattear Gram and held it to sparkle in the firelight. The Great Boar grunted, then knelt in fealty. Then, the massive beast turned and trotted off into the darkness.

  The Mage curled up to sleep. “You should be filled with pride,” he laughed softly, “you’re an honorary pig now.” And then the Mage was fast asleep. Kellabald soon followed him into slumber on that dark, cloud filled night.

  The next morning, Kellabald woke with a start to find the Mage holding the Mattear Gram in his hands, turning it, staring at it wistfully.

  “There are so few objects of power left on this earth,” the Mage slowly said.

  Kellabald held out his hand to take the sword, but the Mage did not hand it over.

  “There were so many in ages past. Some were destroyed. Some were merged into objects like this one. It’s good that some of the darker objects of power have been eradicated. Some powerful objects are neither good nor evil. Like this one.” The Mage hefted the sword. “It focuses the spirit, strengthens it. Did you feel it speaking to you when you killed the garonds in Bittel?”

  Kellabald was not surprised. He knew now that the Mage was more than a human. “It was more like singing,” Kellabald answered. Kellabald was filled with an ominous sense of responsibility and felt his own inadequacy. “Would you like to keep the sword?” Kellabald offered.

  The Mage laughed. “I now know the Mattear Gram is in the wisest of all hands in Wealdland.” The Mage handed the sword to Kellabald. As Kellabald took the sword, it lightly cut the Mage, and he looked as though life was surging out of him.

  Kellabald exclaimed and rushed to the Mage’s side. But, there was no cut to be seen on either of his arms. The Mage simply, weakly smiled. “We must go,” he said, rising with effort.

  After traveling west for most of the morning, a line of soldiers could be seen in the distance.

  “We must travel north,” the Mage said with alarm.

  “Make us appear as mother and daughter again,” Kellabald desperately said.

  “I can do no more magic,” The Mage feebly said with a sickly smile.

  All that afternoon they turned and traveled quickly north, with the Mage fading and speaking in almost a delirium.

  “We must make for the Kipleth town of Pelych. We will find safety there,” the Mage coughed.

  “I have lived many lives,” the Mage ranted from between cracking lips. “Sometimes I have lived many lives at the same time.” He laughed a dry laugh. “I have seen many methods and tools rise and fall. Did you know in a far gone age, every man rode upon a horse? Now there is but one man who can do so.”

  “Only garonds ride horses,” Kellabald said, trying to keep the Mage’s spirits up.

  “Heh, if you only knew,” the Mage cackled. “Garonds once only used clubs, now they use both arrow and sword. Once a thing is seen, another learns it. It is all part of the new magic, which will take you far into the age after the next. That is if all learning is not lost in the next age.”

  In the late afternoon, the dark hills of Kipleth could be seen.

  “They are close behind us,” the Mage croaked. “Leave me. You must go faster.”

  “I will not,” Kellabald said lifting the Mage under one arm.

  “I can see through time now,” the Mage weakly said. “She will give her life to save the one she loves. But her life will not be lost. The next age is a dark and ignorant one. But, she will find new love on the other side of the world as the sixth age closes. Did you know the world is round like an apple? Then in the last age, her love expands to the all of all that is. She will take all evil and all good, and take it to the center of life.”

  Then, the Mage was silent as Kellabald and the Mage limped into the empty, spoiled town of Pelych as night was falling. A clap of thunder rolled across the meadowlands from the south.

  “Hello!” Kellabald called. “We need help!”

  Behind him Apghilis answered, “I am here to help you.” Apghilis’ soldiers crowded around Kellabald and the Mage. “Be careful,” Apghilis said. “The sword makes him very dangerous.”

  The Mage, with his last ounce of strength, pulled away from Kellabald and threw himself at Apghilis. The Mage weakly clutched at him, stared and seemed to see some great mistake Apghilis had made. Then, he laughed in Apghilis’ face. “You fool!” The Mage laughed. Two of the soldiers drove their swords into the Mage, killing him.

  “No!” Kellabald cried, wielding the Mattear Gram. There were about twenty of Apghilis’ soldiers and Kellabald turned to face them as they carefully closed into a tight circle around him.

  “Put down your weapons!” A voice in the darkness cried as a hundred bows were drawn in the shadows of Pelych by the army of Kipleth.

  “This is none of the business of the men of Kipleth!” Apghilis cried to the arriving army.

  “No human shall lightly shed another human’s blood on Kipleth soil, Apghilis of the Northern Kingdom,” the Kipleth captain said. “And anything you do in Kipleth will assuredly be my personal business.”

  “Then let us take him out of your lands,” Apghilis said.

  “I ask for your mercy, and you can see they have already shed the blood of my friend,” Kellabald cried.

  “I do not know which of you to believe. But, all armies are massing at the Holmwy River,” the captain declared. “Your fates shall be decided there by those who know you. Until such time any violence will be met with instant death. You,” he indicated Kellabald, “you may safely spend the night with our army. But do not think you are out of the hands of judgment. If you are a thief or a murderer, you will meet justice, but not here on the sacred lands of Kipleth.”

  “Fair enough,” Apghilis said. “He has stolen that sword from me. I shall prove it tomorrow and also claim your allegiance. Until the morrow.”

  With that Apghilis and his men set a camp a space apart from the Kipleth army.

  The captain helped Kellabald bury the Mage. He was so thin and weightless, Kellabald thought. It was almost like they were only burying his clothes.

  The Kipleth captain then found Kellabald a place to sleep for the night with his men. Before he fell to sleep, Kellabald noticed the young man from the messenger guild he saw on the bridge also camping in the midst of the grim, heavily armed men of Kipleth.

  The next morning, after a quick breakfast, the army, Apghilis and his soldiers, and Kellabald all marched east. The young man from the messenger guild ran at a loping gait, gathering speed, west, towards the green hills of Reia.

  The whole company marched across the dry, Au
tumnal grasses of the Western Meadowland. Kellabald stayed near the captain, who was kind, but quiet.

  About midday, Apghilis limped his way close to Kellabald and the captain.

  “What day is it?” Apghilis asked the captain.

  Without turning his head the captain said, “I believe it is Mid-Autumn, atheling Apghilis.”

  “Yes, Mid-Autumn,” Apghilis said with a small smile. Then he turned to Kellabald and said, “Why not give me the Mattear Gram now? It will not go well for you at Tyny when we meet my armies of the Northern Kingdom of Man.”

  “We will go first to Rhyd Bawr,” the captain of Kipleth said with no emotion.

  “Oh,” Apghilis said. “I have men in Rhyd Bawr as well.” Then he turned to march with his own soldiers.

  The captain watched Apghilis leave, and said to Kellabald, “As much as I detest Apghilis, I am inclined to believe him. Many of my men, although they have fought him in mortal combat, respect him for his leadership. All our old rivalries mean nothing, when many nations are without a leader.”

  The army stopped to eat and drink in the middle of the Eastern Meadowland. The captain of Kipleth, apart with Kellabald, asked him, “Your name is Kellabald, yes?”

  “Yes, as I have told you,” Kellabald honestly answered.

  “You have not stolen this sword from Apghilis or any other man?” He asked

  “It was hidden by Haergill, king of the Northern Kingdom, in my village, where he lived for two years,” Kellabald said.

  “I know the Mattear Gram,” the captain said. “I have fought in battle against Haergill and this sword. The men of Kipleth and the Northern Kingdom were once great enemies. Now we are all uneasy allies against the garonds. Or, so it is hoped.”

  Kellabald looked down, for he knew what was coming next.

  “You are a Wylfling, of Reia?”

  Kellabald nodded.

  “Can you tell me, please,” the captain asked with dark eyes, “how a king of the Skylds, Haergill, king of the Northern Kingdom of Man, entrusted his most treasured possession into the hands of a man of the Wylfling tribe, his bitterest of enemies?”

  Kellabald had no answer.

  “And you say,” the captain continued, “that this king of the Skyld tribe wanted you to deliver this most valued sword into the hands of a king of the Wylfling?” The captain’s voice rose slightly.

  “I think,” Kellabald said, his voice cracking, “that Haergill wanted all humans to unite to fight the garonds who are our real enemy.”

  “I believe that,” the captain plainly said. “I have a message from the guild which says to protect you at all costs. The message was from our general long thought to have died, so I do not know the truth of the message. Unfortunately, your words have the ring of a thief and a liar. I do not know if I can protect you from my own men if they see falsehood in your words.”

  With that, the captain rose and rallied the men to begin their march to Rhyd Bawr.

  Along the way, Apghilis’ men began marching chants to lighten their spirits. And, the men of Kipleth joined in. All the chants ended with the call, “All Hail Apghilis!” Trouble played upon Kellabald’s heart as he caught the dark looks the men of Kipleth were giving him. And he thought he saw Apghilis’ soldiers mixing among the soldiers of Kipleth, talking furtively in whispers, which ended with venomous looks in Kellabald’s direction.

  Night began to fall as the company approached Rhyd Bawr, a village that sat between the forks where the Holmwy River split. The forks were easy to cross. Rhyd Bawr was aptly named, as the village was surrounded by birch and maple trees, with leaves that had all turned blood red for the autumn. There were only a few houses, and a great hall, but many soldiers from all over Wealdland had made camp there.

  The army of Kipleth met and greeted many old friends and acquaintances. And, a large contingent of soldiers from the Northern Kingdom of Man greeted Apghilis with a hero’s welcome. It was true, the armies of both Wylfling and Skyld seemed to enjoy an uneasy truce in Rhyd Bawr.

  Apghilis quieted them as they gathered around him.

  “Great men of the Northern Kingdom, I welcome you and return your love!” A great cheer went up. “Wylfling men I respect and honor you as great warriors with whom we must join against the garond menace.” Another hearty cheer went up with the combined voices of the two armies.

  Apghilis raised his hands and said, “But, more wondrous, I bring you the Mattear Gram!”

  All was silent.

  “Where is it?” A voice called from the crowd. Then began a chant of “Show it!” Apghilis silenced the great throng of soldiers.

  “It lies in the hands of a thief and a traitor!” Apghilis cried, turning to point at Kellabald who had the sword wrapped in cloth.

  The men pressed close to him.

  “I was given the sword by your king!” Kellabald cried, “To unite the armies of man! And besides, he has consorted with the garonds! He is the real traitor!” Kellabald pointed at Apghilis.

  All was dangerously silent.

  “If I am a traitor,” Apghilis began, “then let any man confirm his charge.”

  A murmur ran though the thousand soldiers. But, no man accused Apghilis, nor supported Kellabald.

  “If I am the rightful king of the Northern Kingdom,” Apghilis said, his voice rising, “and of all the human armies, then let there be a sign in the heavens!”

  And as he said it, the Wanderer, the second moon in the bright night sky, moved quickly out of its place with an overpowering wave of energy, pulsing, screeching, terrifying. The waves of power from the unnatural event painfully pounded all who gazed up at the horrific sight.

  The soldiers at Rhyd Bawr fell to the earth in fear. Apghilis, himself, fell to his knees, terrified, overwhelmed, by an event, of which he seemed to suspiciously have foreknowledge .

  Kellabald knew they would kill him now. In the confusion, he turned and ran from the village as fast as he could. He could hear in the dark of the night, a great cry go up. The whole army was on his heels.

  Kellabald saw the fork in the Holmwy River and stayed on the eastern side where there were fewer soldiers. His only hope now was to somehow find Healfdene of Reia and beg for his protection.

  His heart pounding, a thousand men on his heels, Kellabald ran alone through the deep, black, evil night.