by C A Oliver
‘The four main elements which compose the Flow… the ring is magic,’ as the lady had put it.
Aewöl suddenly realized he did not know her name. It was odd that they had not even introduced themselves. Everything had happened so quickly. He looked at his copper ring even more closely, looking for any trace of magic. After a while, the unnatural glittering of the Amethyst fragments caught his eye. He moved sidewise and observed that, every time he shifted towards the dungeon’s entrance, the sparkle of that particular gemstone was more intense, as though it were attracted to the lady’s presence or, perhaps more accurately, to the lady’s ring proximity.
Stunned by what he just discovered, Aewöl stood immobile in front of the dungeon, as motionless as the statues of the Unicorn Guards which still guarded the entrance.Slowly, he unrolled the thread of his reasoning.
‘These copper rings given out by the Blue Mage are indeed magical. They possess the rare power to attract each other, like magnets. It was no coincidence that this charming lady stumbled upon me. She came to assist me on purpose. How could I have been so naïve? Nothing can be taken for granted in this world. I should have known better.’
Aewöl was sure that the mysterious lady had uttered no lies. Very few Elves had ever managed to hide their deceptions from his insight. But that did not mean she had told the full truth.
‘I won’t let her get away with this. I certainly won’t be drinking her fine wine, which is probably drugged, if not poisoned,’ he decided.
Aewöl looked around him. There were many pilgrims walking inside the courtyard, most of them drunk and fully immersed in the celebrations. But guards of Eïwele Llyi’s temple, dressed magnificently in white cloaks and silver mail, were also stationed nearby, commanded by knights bearing the symbol of Eïwele Llyi, a jasmine flower.
‘This is no place to force her to talk. I need to get inside the dungeon. There, I will interrogate using my own means,’ he decided coldly.
Aewöl felt angry as he crossed the gate of supreme vigilance. The dungeon was dug into limestone. A long gallery running from east to west gave access to a number of smaller corridors leading to cellars and storage rooms.
“I should not have hidden my weapons near the crow’s nest. Now, I have only my dagger to defend myself,” Aewöl regretted.
He had decided to remain inconspicuous, dressing like a pilgrim of Eïwele Llyi and avoiding drawing unnecessary attention in his war attire.
A few muttered incantations were all that was needed to summon the glow of dark fire upon his blade. Its weak light was enough to guide him. In his left hand, he held the copper ring of the Blue Mage. By the variable intensity of its glow, he could choose the route that would lead him through the underground maze to his prey.
Before long, he arrived at a doorway to a cellar. It was a cramped, humid room of roughly two hundred square feet, with stale air and no ventilation. Sneaking silently into the dark, empty room, he noticed that an object lay at the far end.
It was a heavy book bound in leather. A few pages of parchment had fallen out on the sandy soil of the cellar. The tome contained several hundred pages. Looking more closely, he noticed that a copper ring had been placed on top of the book. He could not be completely sure, but this new ring resembled the one the lady had shown him.
“This looks like one of Curubor’s gifts. And my own ring has stopped glittering now that he has found its twin. What could this possibly mean?” he wondered.
Aewöl looked around anxiously and inspected the area. He strained his ears to the silence of the dungeon for several moments, confident that his keen hearing would pick up any suspicious presence. No noise could be heard. Somewhat reassured, he returned to the book, and risked conjuring more light to read by. He could not help shiver when he discovered the title on the cover.
Written in ancient Morawenti script were the words: ‘The Manuscript of Sana’. His surprise was so great that he had to sit down. A strange dizziness overcame him, and he felt confused and disorientated. His vision became blurred. After a while, he tried to order his thoughts.
‘Someone wanted me to come into this cellar. It is a trap. But why then have I not been attacked already? Unarmed, underground, far from help and desperately alone, I would make easy prey. Yet I am still alive…’
Aewöl could not make sense of all the issues his predicament raised. Giving up on thinking any further, he looked at the few slips of parchment that seemed to have fallen from the ancient manuscript. He started to examine the material. The writing looked recent. The finely crafted words in lingua Morawenti seemed to have been written with a trembling hand.
When Aewöl pressed his finger to the ink, he became sure that these pages had been written barely a few days ago, if not that very same day. He seized one of the pages at random, bringing his glowing dagger up to the parchment. The last line immediately drew his attention.
‘And for the crime of treason, there can only be one sentence. The Guild of Sana hereby sentences Camatael Dol Lewin to death. It falls to the Master of the Guild to decide how this sentence shall be carried out.’
Aewöl could not believe his eyes. Confused, almost panicked, he seized several other pages which appeared to come before this first. He started reading the language with difficulty. It was apparent that the lingua Morawenti he was trying to decipher differed significantly from the form it took in Essawylor, which he had learnt in his younger years.
‘From the very beginning, I was extremely ambitious. True to my bloodline, I soon demonstrated a desire to act. My father was my constant inspiration. Elriöl represented strength of character, boldness and success. I wanted to be like him. Elriöl had developed a mythical vision of our household’s history. He possessed great knowledge and the gift for creation.
The young bard I was truly admired his father, despite his scorn towards me. Elriöl had emerged from the humiliation caused by the fall of House Dir Sana, rising to an even higher rank due to his craft. My father had paved the way for me. But, due to my lack of proficiency in alchemy, he only ever showed me disappointment and disrespect. Elriöl also despised me for my passion for letters. Nevertheless, I dreamt of achieving what my father had failed to do, despite his great reputation. I wanted to prove myself. In pursuit of our common goal, I, unlike him, chose to rely on my ability to conceal, deceive and manipulate.’
‘This text has been written by Elriöl’s heir! What did Gelros tell me? This Elriöl was the first son of Princess Sana, and the elder brother of my forefather Egalmöl…’ Aewöl muttered to himself. He plunged back into the script.
‘Dreams of glory fed my ambition. For that reason, early on I began fighting against the supremacy of the High Elves, and more particularly against the haughtiness of their lords. I always believed that I alone could improve our condition. But ambition was not all. I was also an extremely gifted and skilled individual. The contempt my entourage showed never altered my determination.
I was the son of the most illustrious Night Elf. This meant influence and wealth. Nevertheless, I revolted against the mediocrity of my position and I wanted to fight for my place at the head of the kingdom. I secretly planned an unprecedented rise; I wanted to integrate into the nobility and re-establish House Dir Sana with all its prerogatives.
Despite the honours, I never developed a true sense of belonging. I was torn between the pride of playing a role at the top of the kingdom, and the desire to be my own master, to write the story of Saeröl Dir Sana.’
Aewöl stopped reading.
“Saeröl! The author of these lines is the murderer of King Lormelin!” he exclaimed.
Now, avid of knowledge, Aewöl immersed himself in Saeröl’s account.
“Unsatisfied as I was with my fate, I then entered into a relationship with Lady Nuviele Dol Ogalen. The heir of House Dol Etrond, the young Almit had also developed a passion for her.
I knew how to seduce and succeed in getting myself noticed by the noble ladies. In trying to charm one of the most
praised maidens of the nobility, I knew I was playing a very dangerous game, for it was inconceivable that anyone, still less a Night Elf, would try to court the favours of a lady to whom everyone owed only their deepest respects.
The nobles in Gwarystan believe that any common Elf who looks at one of their ladies lustfully has already committed a crime in his heart. In their eyes, it means he desires a home which is not his to claim. I must admit I agree with them. Pining for the consort of another, even only desiring her, means thinking that the institution of nobility could fall. If a Night Elf can seduce a noble lady, it means their higher position counts for nothing. This is exactly what I had in mind.
For me, the conquest of Nuviele’s heart was revenge, a campaign against the High Elves and their great noble houses. I must admit, I took delight in seeing this lovely lady breaking every custom and rule of her caste to become the mere mistress of a steward without land.’
Again, Aewöl listened with attention to the silence surrounding him. All was still quiet. He was alone.
‘Why has Saeröl written such things down? Is it a testament, a confession? I have heard about Nuviele Dol Ogalen. She eventually became the lady of House Dol Etrond after she married Almit. She was Loriele’s mother but, I think… she died… or rather went missing…’
Aewöl was extremely interested by genealogy and since his arrival in the Lost Islands; he had learnt the family trees of all houses of the High Elves. He resumed his reading.
‘At that time, the kingdom of Gwarystan was under the undisputed control of Lormelin the Conqueror, but the balance of power was changing fast.
We were on the eve of clan Myortilys’ revolt and the fall of Nargrond Valley which followed. The assassination of my father in the mines of Oryusk, followed shortly after by the fall of Nargrond Valley and the destruction of Yslla, pushed me to adopt the attitude of an extremist. My hatred was concentrated above all upon the clan Myortilys, who had committed genocide against the Night Elves of Nargrond Valley. I called upon the survivors of my household and urged them to swear the Oath of Shadows. I remember confiding to them in that ceremony: ‘I have no honour.’
Thus, in order to satisfy my thirst for revenge, I suddenly refused to collaborate with the houses of the High Elves, who had remained impassive after the conquest of Nargrond Valley by clan Myortilys. The court of Gwarystan had barely mourned the death of Rowë Dol Nargrond, still less that of my father. The king himself had shown no compassion following the extermination of the Night Elves, and I could not help but think that the ruin of the Nargrond Valley’s guilds was not such a bad development for our sovereign.
Putting my personal dreams of glory aside, like an Elf who voluntarily asks for his own imprisonment, I committed myself to the rise of the guild of Sana…’
Aewöl was suddenly interrupted in his reading. A deep voice came calling through the shadows.
“You are not the first Elf to follow Drismile underground; nor the first brave enough, or should I say foolish enough, to descend towards the Halls of Gweïwal Agadeon!”
The silhouette of a tall Elf appeared at the cellar’s doorway, blocking all escape routes. The newcomer was clad into a long black cloak. His face was masked by a hood. He was using a long blade, the colour of dark iron, as a walking stick. He seemed to be limping badly. The glowing amethysts on his sword’s pommel diffused a weak light that illuminated his steps. A silver pendant necklace was tied to his left wrist. A jewel of unusual size, the form of a complex rune, hanged from it. The tall Elf was holding a glass of wine in his left hand.
A single glance was all it took to send Aewöl’s dagger flying away to the opposite corner of the cellar, out of his reach.
Aewöl quickly reacted to the threat. He called upon his inner power, trying to reach for the Flow of the Ruby, that strong fiery energy which was the basis of his alchemy. To his surprise, the area was totally deprived of any source of magic. He soon realized that he was powerless. The one-eyed Elf fixed his gaze upon the bare blade of the dark bastard sword. He soon understood that its metal somehow distorted the circulation of the Flow, preventing anyone around from casting spells, making its wielder impervious to their effects. After watching Aewöl’s pitiful attempt to defend himself, the tall Elf rejoiced.
“Good! This is extremely good! I see that, despite all your anguish, you have not yet quenched your thirst for survival. You must have already known that only one of us will leave this cellar alive. You already thought it through.”
The newcomer raised the glass to his lips and drank a long gulp, before taking a deep breath.
“418 was a very good year for O Wiony, without doubt the finest of that vintage. It is extraordinarily rich, powerful and concentrated, with traces of exotic plants, truffles, spices and black fruits.”
Aewöl stood defenceless against the back wall of the cellar, petrified by fear. Without warning, the dark sword flew through the air, its range extraordinary. It slashed Aewöl’s right arm, wounding him badly. Before his other hand had even reacted to control the bleeding, the dark blade was back in the tall Elf’s glove. Pain was stretched across Aewöl’s face. Indifferent to his prisoner’s suffering, the tall Elf licked the edge of his blade, tasting Aewöl’s blood as though it were precious nectar from Nargrond Valley. Finally, he gave his verdict.
“I was not deceived. The blood of Sana flows in your veins.”
Aewöl’s attitude had completely changed. He realized that he would never get out of this cellar. Pride, hatred, and murder were now in his eye. If he was destined to fall, he would make his ending spectacular.
“Give me a weapon, master assassin!”the one-eyed Elf ordered.
The tall Elf looked at him with surprise, as though he had finally seen Aewöl’s true nature.
“You act with bravery for one in such a hopeless position. I see in you something exceptional that offends the mediocre, younger offspring of Sana. I can see that your life has been full of pain. Your companions must have looked upon you with hate. They made you pay for your presumption. I see it in your eye, you have already found it by yourself. There can be only one remedy: have trust only in yourself. I am sure your conduct is ruthless. For us, Night Elves, our merciless nature is the only resource available.”
Aewöl spat in his direction in an attempt to provoke his anger. Now only a mistake of his jailer could save him.Indifferent, the tall Elf continued with his reasoning like a scholar to a student.
“We were born alone, we live alone, and we will die alone.Only through our family can we create the temporary illusion that we will escape the anguish of solitude.”
There was a long silence. Finally, the tall Elf resumed.
“I have only one regret. Maybe I should have mentioned it in the few pages I wrote hastily today. It deserved a better place in my memoirs…”
There was a silence. Aewöl now understood who he was facing Saeröl, son of Elriöl, the author of the last few pages of the manuscript of Sana that he had just read. After drinking another sip of his exquisite wine, Saeröl spoke like one needing to share his inner turmoil.
“For us Night Elves, carnal relationships do not always have to be about satisfying lust. When it comes to marriage, our nature tends towards maidens of noble blood. The history of House Dir Sana illustrates it well. High Elvin ladies are perfect, without fragility; their beauty is eternal. It will not fade. Their perfection and immortality make them utterly unique. They are irreplaceable, and therefore guarantee the perpetuation of the lineage of House Dir Sana. Conquering creatures who represent the summit of grace to perpetuate our race… this is not only our pleasure, but above all else, it is our duty…”
Saeröl took another sip of wine before continuing.
“Our existence should stay governed by a balance between destiny and freedom, between unavoidable fate and conscious choice. But this balance has always seemed tipped in the favour of destiny. Such was the case with beautiful Nuviele… The Night Elves, with their blind devotion, gave the
Dir Sana the right to decide the life and death of their consorts, and also of their children. It guaranteed loyalty within the community. Unfortunately for Nuviele I made use of that prerogative...”
The master of the guild of Sana continued as if he were talking to himself.
“My heart was pure. My life goal was to be worthy of her love. But, in the end, she turned me down and married another. She would not give me an heir. I made her die miserably, like a wild animal, throwing her like a doe to the wolves…. I now realize… That was a crime.”
Silence endured. Aewöl stood still, unable to decide what course of action to take, faced with this Elf who he now thought mad. Saeröl seemed to be lost in a world of mourning and regret.
“I finally understand the paradox that has obsessed me for my entire life. When the High Elves of yore accepted the gift of immortality from the Gods, they dug their own grave. Remember those songs from our infancy, with their constant references to Gweïwal Agadeon and how he forged the great Halls of the Dead, where the souls of those High Elves who died in violence would forever remain. In the early days of the world, only very few of us were supposed to end up in those Halls, but things have turned out quite differently, and now the majority of us have been deprived of the night sky’s beauty.”