by C A Oliver
“Protector of the Forest,” he began, raising his hands in prayer to invisible Deities, “I understand your dilemma. Surely Eïwal Vars, who gave us victory in this campaign, must have blessed Curwë to bring him so much glory. But it is not so simple. Curwë has done us a great dishonour by trying to rob the forbidden testament of its secrets.”
Still standing straight in the middle of the great tent, like an offender being tried, Curwë spoke out boldly.
“Who, by his brave acts, saved the army of Llymar from ruin? Have I not served you well? Are my deeds not more valuable than cunning words?”
Leyen dyl Llyvary, warlord of Penlla and captain of the fleet, had been silent until now. He usually remained passive, for he was more celebrated for his ability to draw vessels ashore than for his bravery in battle. But the navigator was troubled by Curwë’s words, which seemed to be referring to his own ineptitude at fighting.
“Protector of the Forest,” Leyen dyl said with his soft voice, “if I have ever done you service, in counsel or in act, heed my advice now. You must honour our clans, whose blood has been shed for the sake of that testament. Curwë has offended our Deities; they have left us a message, and Curwë wished to steal it. Do yourself honour, Protector of the Forest, by arresting the insolent criminal and letting the matriarchs of Llymar do their duty.”
At this, Gal dyl looked deeply troubled, his fair brows furrowed. He could tell that the vast majority of the army’s chiefs supported Mynar dyl’s proposal. Aewöl looked into the Protector of the Forest’s eyes and knew that he feared the wrath of the matriarchs. It was common knowledge that Gal dyl avoided quarrelling with the eldest of the high priestess, Lyrine, his former consort and the mother of his daughter, Nyriele.
In that moment, Aewöl understood that Gal dyl’s only fear was that Matriarch Lyrine would mock him. The one-eyed Elf could see the Protector of the Forest inclining his head, nodding purposelessly, failing to consider the matter with fairness or resolve. He suddenly understood that the weak commander would go back on what he had just resolved. Curwë was in danger. Aewöl stepped in front of his friend and cried to the vast assembly in front of him.
“Stop blaming Curwë. You are accusing the hero who has saved your lives!
How can you be so ungrateful?
Have you already forgotten what you owe him… what you owe us?”
This sudden intervention shocked the assembly; the numerous captains began to lambaste the arrogant one-eyed Elf at once, the cacophony of their angry cries filling the great tent. Aewöl felt the roar of voices like rams thudding against a weak gate. His face was very white. His only eye blinked in the light of the mirrors. He looked from face to face, like a beast encircled by his hunters. Slowly, Aewöl drew himself up. Clad in his dark clothes, he looked like the embodiment of looming menace.
“Curwë is innocent...” Aewöl declared, knowing he was about to condemn himself. “It was I who looked into the sacred box…”
The anger of the crowd inside the great tent exploded. Aewöl had seen similar outbursts of public anger in the past, but this manifestation of rage was stronger than any other. It risked alienating the Protector of the Forest further. He tried arguing his case, but no one was listening anymore. Only his companions from Mentollà, who still stood by his side, heard his plea.
“The glyphs had already stopped glittering… I was concerned… I opened the box’s cover to verify its contents. I wanted to know… I wanted to make sure that the knight sorcerer had not spoiled it. Is that such a crime?”
Realizing that his explanations were falling on deaf ears, Aewöl raised his voice above the thundering crowd.
“Hear me, Protector of the Forest!” he cried, in an extreme exertion of effort. “Hear me, Gal dyl Avrony, who holds the Spear of Aonyn. Hear me with your heart and soul. Ask yourself this: if I had committed any sacrilege, would I be here standing before you, in the middle of your warlords and captains? I offer my sincerest apology. Grant my prayer, Protector of the Forest; leave me in peace, for I am innocent of any crime.”
Aewöl thought he had managed to appease the chiefs of the Green Elves with this conciliatory tone. Having spoken these words, he sat down to demonstrate his humility. On this, the rest of the assembly, with one voice, advocated forgiving the one-eyed Elf and accepting his apology. But not so Mynar dyl, the warlord of clan Ernaly spoke fiercely to Aewöl.
“How can we tell you did not commit the mortal sacrilege of reading the will of Rowë?”
The assembly feared Mynar dyl; this fear gave the warlord of Tios Halabron significant influence. The crowd expressed its agreement with an approving murmur.
“No one will ever read the testament of Rowë….” Aewöl replied with a low voice.
“What was that? We can barely hear you. Speak loud, so that all can hear your lies,” replied Mynar dyl furiously, his large chair trembling with the rage that inhabited him.
“The testament is neither scroll nor parchment...” said Aewöl, barely audibly. “Rowë’s final legacy is distilled into a vial of golden liquid, a precious nectar… that can only be drunk once,” he explained.
Rising suddenly from his seat, the high priest of Eïwal Lon, Camatael, intervened.
“So, the testament of Rowë is a potion, and its hallucinatory powers will reveal the message of Eïwal Lon…”
“The Daughter of the Islands did say before leaving,” recalled Tyar dyl, “that the testament of Rowë had not been ‘altered’. She used that particular word on purpose; she must have been referring to the purity of the golden nectar.”
Camatael considered the issue further. “I have heard of certain ancient vintages of the Nargrond Valley that possess similar properties. The Elf drinking such delicate nectars can experience visions of what will come to pass.”
Camatael possessed the authority of a high priest of the Demigod of Wisdom, so the entire assembly listened to him with attention. Meanwhile, seeing that Aewöl was turning the crowd, Voryn dyl Ernaly was horrified. Mynar dyl’s brother could not control his wrath any longer.
“You will not leave this hall before admitting your crime. You have acted disgracefully. You have insulted us. What! You were welcomed generously by our communities, you pretend to respect our customs and then, at the first opportunity, you ignore our authority and seize forbidden knowledge for yourself. Do you believe that we are powerless, that our strength counts for nothing?”
The violence of the attack surprised Aewöl. Destabilised, he tried to adopt a different stance.
“I ask for equity. And, in accordance with the laws of Essawylor, Feïwal dyn Filweni, my only liege, must administer justice as warlord of Mentollà. This is the principle of the supremacy of Irawenti law over their subjects,” requested Aewöl in an attempt to escape the matriarchs’ judgement.
Facing this new challenge to his authority, Gal dyl exclaimed.
“I will not hear another word. The community of Mentollà freely choose to live in the forest of Llymar.That means every single member of that community is subject to our ancient laws. Justice among the Green Elves has nothing to do with the merciful whims you call the ‘will of your liege’.It is not goodness nor mercy that decides what is just and what is not. Our only judge is the council of the matriarchs.”
“I wonder,” protested Aewöl, a hateful sarcasm in his voice, “is your ancient justice so very different from that of the tyrannous Gwarystan kingdom you so despise?”
Mynar dyl intervened, mindful to re-establish his supreme understanding of the law. Now that he could anticipate he would eventually have the upper hand, he spoke patiently, with a soft, delicate voice.
“The Green Elves have been organized in a collegial manner from the beginning of time. Its principles are inherently designed to be applied by our matriarchs, the undisputable descendants of Queen Llyoriane. In other words, keeping the harmony of our world is their responsibility…”
Mynar dyl paused at this, before suddenly turning to the accused.
“Aewöl has attempted to breach the order of things. The Deities of the Islands brought harmony to our clans by ensuring that each one of us remained in their proper place. There is a natural hierarchy of Elvin beings. It is the council of matriarchs’ duty to bring peace by ensuring that this order is respected within our cities. Justice is not the vague arbitration of some Irawenti guide…” the warlord of Tios Halabron concluded.
Everyone thought he was finished. But using his usual professorial tone, Mynar dyl reminded the members of the assembly of their traditions.
“Equity is when everyone stays in their place. Otherwise, the world becomes chaos. The council of matriarchs edict judgments, for the high priestesses are both wise and knowledgeable. They are the head of our cities. The noble dyn and the warlords defend our territories, for they possess the strength of the heart. The fighters obey, for they know that it is in the best interest of all. Below, the common Elves simply respect the harmony they have inherited from our history. The law is broken when one who was intended to play a specific role within the forest thinks himself different and acts inappropriately. He thus commits a fault by trying to occupy a position other than his own, breaking the natural order of things.”
After taking again his breath, Mynar dyl finished by clarifying his accusation.
“Aewöl has committed a great sacrilege by opening the testament of Rowë, by looking beyond the mirror where only the Islands Deities dwell. For this crime, he must answer to the council of the matriarchs.”
Listening to his elder brother’s eloquent words and seeing with relish how the crowd was persuaded by them, Voryn dyl rose up, angry and sure of his victory. His heart was black with rage and his eyes flashed with fire as he yelled, staring at Aewöl.
“Evil foreigner, you may well have brought us to ruin with your sacrilegious act. For such a felony, I believe that the only just punishment can be death. Let our matriarchs condemn you, so that we might offer sacrifice and appease the just anger of the Islands’ Deities.”
These terrible words echoed long in the ears of those present in the halls of sails.
“I have something of a counter-argument,” someone in the assembly opposed.
This was Roquendagor, his deep voice sounding out as the tall knight moved towards Mynar dyl, the true master of Voryn dyl. He leant down into Mynar dyl’s face, placing his hands upon the armrests of the warlord’s chair, before continuing.
“I am not sure I understood that scholarly little speech you just made for us, small Elf with the delicate face. To tell you the truth, I am not sure I care to understand the intricacies of your laws… But what I am sure about is this: if you do not let my friend Aewöl leave this place unharmed, you will find yourself at war.”
Roquendagor was furious, unable to control his wrath any longer. His was in two minds over whether to draw his sword and kill the warlord of clan Ernaly on the spot, or to push the crowd aside and attempt to flee with Aewöl. While he was deciding, slowly drawing his two-handed sword from its scabbard, the assembly stood frozen, waiting to see if Roquendagor would pay for his insolence with his life.
Camatael Dol Lewin rose from his chair and stood as a high priest of the Demigod of Wisdom.
“Stay your anger, Roquendagor! And you also, Voryn dyl, control your rage! Eïwal Lon, who inspires me, cares for both of you alike. However angry you may be, I command you to hold your peace, and obey the Protector of the Forest,” he said with his deep voice.
Camatael’s hand rested on the golden pommel of his rod, the symbol of his power. Roquendagor looked at the lord of House Dol Lewin with all the contempt of a first-born towards his youngest brother.
“Do not think you have any authority over me, priest-lecturer! I am a knight without banner. I answer to no one.”
With this, Roquendagor dashed his two-handed sword onto the sandy ground and returned to his former position, while the brother of Mynar dyl withdrew back to the warlord of Tios Halabron as his rank dictated. Curwë used this opportunity to feverishly plead for Aewöl’s cause, addressing Gal dyl directly.
“Lord Protector! Will you be swayed by the reason of force? You can decide to maintain harmony by not showing your power. We ask that you be magnanimous!”
Thereon, Camatael spoke boldly.
“An Elf of Llymar cannot stand alone against the anger of a clan warlord such as Mynar dyl, the foremost of the Green Elves who, if he hides his displeasure now, will yet nurse revenge till he has wreaked it. Will you protect Aewöl by granting your forgiveness before all present?”
With these words, Gal dyl sat down, deeply embarrassed. At last, the Protector of the Forest said, with a new sincerity and goodwill.
“Let us hear from Curubor, wisest of counsellors, who knows events past, present and to come. He has guided us well on many occasions before.”
The smooth-tongued Blue Mage rose. The consummate orator started to talk, and the words fell from his lips sweeter then honey wine. Five generations of Llewenti warlords born and bred on the Lost Islands had passed by as he counselled them, and he was now advising his sixth. With a calm voice, Curubor addressed the assembly.
“Somewhere, in the depths of the Ruby throne’s halls, King Norelin must be rejoicing. His courtesans in Gwarystan, too, would be delighted if they could hear our murderous in-fighting. Trust my experience; I have counselled Elves greater than you, and none ignored what I advised. Never again will I sit beside Aonyn, the Giants’ Bane, Rowë Dol Nargrond, the maker of legendary blades, or Yluin, peer of the warriors of yore. These were the bravest Elves to walk the Archipelago’s paths. There are none under this great tent to match them, but those ancient heroes all heard my words and listened to them. So be it with you, for this is the wisest choice at your disposal...”
Curubor’s voice trailed off. If some had forgotten his value and experience, this introduction stood as a stark reminder. After a moment of calm, the Blue Mage resumed his speech.
“Mynar dyl and Voryn dyl of clan Ernaly, though you may well truly believe you are acting rightfully, calm your zeal. The testament of Rowë is safe, unspoiled and in the possession of the Daughter of the Islands.”
Curubor then turned to the tall knight in a histrionic way. His voice was deep and severe.
“And you, Roquendagor, strive no further against the warlords of the clan, for no Elf who wields a sword to threaten them will find grace with the matriarchs. You are brave and have proved your valour on two occasions, but the high priestesses of Llymar Forest are stronger than you, for they have been entrusted by the Deities with the control of the Islands Flow, the mightiest form of magical power.
I implore all of you, therefore, to end this quarrel, this poisonous argument, which in the battles to come would only be a dear comfort to the king of Gwarystan and his human allies.”
Having quarrelled so angrily neither Mynar dyl nor Roquendagor seemed inclined to obey this offer of reconciliation. Both looked at each other as opponents eager to fight in close quarters.
Despite this apparent challenge to his authority, Gal dyl ignored the belligerents, and chose to talk discreetly to Curubor. Their conversation lasted some time and, despite the silence reigning inside the great tent, nothing could be heard of their exchange. After a while, Gal dyl put his hand on the shoulder of Curubor and gave him a knowing smile. The grin on the Protector’s face made it clear that the Blue Mage had found him the compromise he was looking for. Gal dyl stood up straight and motionless, his hands at his sides, avoiding eye contact with the Elves around him.
“Stand before me, Aewöl of Mentollà,” he proclaimed, “and hear my decision.”
Aewöl stood up and moved slowly towards the Protector of the Forest. His gait was hesitant, but his gaze was challenging. His only eye showed his silent determination and the cold hatred of humiliation. The voice of Gal dyl rose high; even outside the great tent, all could hear his judgement.
“Aewöl of Mentollà, you are banished from the army. You will not retu
rn to Llymar with the fleet, and you will remain outside of the forest’s boundaries until the council of the matriarchs has pronounced its sentence upon you.”
Aewöl kept his gaze fixed upon Gal dyl, pursing his lips, on the point of an outburst. He became deathly pale. Now a murderous look was in his eye; his vengeful nature was beginning to surface. He could not utter a word of protest, overwhelmed as he was by a deep sense of dishonour and injustice.
The Protector’s guards moved forward. Their ceremonial, earth-coloured cloaks fluttered before Aewöl like some awful nightmare. They seized him at the wrists to lead him outside. It all occurred so slowly, in total silence, as if time itself had stopped and all noise ceased around him. Images ran by, one by one, just like in a night terror.
The one-eyed Elf saw distinctly the faces of his executioners as if Leïwele Sysa, the Goddess of Strife and Revenge, wanted him to remember their faces in that instant: the wrath of Voryn dyl; the disappointment of his brother Mynar dyl; the satisfaction of the warlords from Llafal and Penlla; the sadness of Camatael; the coldness of Curubor and the relieved look of the Protector.
Still looking fixedly at Gal dyl, Aewöl murmured incomprehensible words that sounded as dreadful as a powerful curse.