Light Of Loreandril (52 page)

Gaular was the first to recognise the distinctive sound. “The Dwarves have come!”

There was a sudden flurry of activity and excitement, mixed with relief; aid had finally come. Orders were given, sending a small number of elves to meet their visitors and guide their passage through the ancestral mists. A renewed resurgence of hope began spreading through Loreandril.

Cradon and Nilean had continued their journey with the dwarves, although at a slightly slower pace than they would have liked. The captain had been right, and they had caught up with the rest of the dwarves, tagging on to the end of their vast numbers.

Cradon did not think he had seen this many beings gathered together, all moving as one. He watched the sea of dwarves in front snake across the gently undulating hills, red rays from the moon glinting on their armour, as if setting them on fire.

They finally halted, signalling they had reached their destination. Cradon could just about distinguish in the distance something like a white cliff, shining in the darkness. All around, the dwarves began blowing long, curled horns, producing loud, deep notes that rang out across the valley.

“What are they doing?” cried Cradon, cupping his hands over his head, trying to protect them from the ear-splitting noise.

“They are sounding their arrival!” replied Nilean. “See, we are here! Before us lie the mists of Loreandril!” he explained. “Come, let us ride to the head of the column. Even in such dark, desperate times, I am looking forward to showing you the place I call home.”

Cradon stayed close to the elf as they weaved their horses through the swarming army. The clansman was able to distinguish three different types of dwarves. Although facial features were similar, the three groups were identifiable by the height, ranging from shorter than gnomes, right up to those taller and far wider than Nilean, similar to Gaular.

His eyes were rapidly drawn to the white wall before them. As they rode closer, it grew taller and Cradon was slowly realising that it was not formed from solid material. Unless his eyes were deceiving him, the wall appeared to be made of out mist and clouds.

“These mists encircle Loreandril, providing protection from all other kin found in the outside world. Only Elves may pass freely through. Other kin must be accompanied by an elf and even then it can prove very dangerous if the ancestral spirits to not give their approval,” explained Nilean.

“I don’t understand.”

“You will, when you pass through!” Nilean smiled and continued to lead the way.

They reached the head of the column and joined another elf who had been leading the dwarves. He was clearly very surprised to see Nilean and even more surprised to see Cradon. The two elves spoke fervently in rapid Elvish.

The horns suddenly stopped, and the Dwarven army waited. Finally, out of the swirling mists, figures began to take shape. A handful of elves emerged from the whiteness, each heavily armed, dressed in white, shining armour, similar to Nilean’s. Again, these elves were just as surprised, if not overjoyed, at the sight of Nilean and Cradon. They babbled in Elvish, almost overcome with emotion. One elf turned and ran back into the mists.

“Cradon, are you ready?”

“Ready? To go in there?”

Nilean nodded.

“I don’t know that I want to go in there!” he stammered looking at the white mist with suspicion.

“You have no choice. Stay right beside me and no harm will come to you.” Nilean’s mare took a step forward and Sonda instinctively followed without any command from Cradon, recognising she was nearly home. Nilean quickly melted into the mists, disappearing from view.

“Oh, yes!” came his distant voice. “Expect a warm reception on the other side!”

As the fingery tendrils of wispy mist stretched out towards him as if luring him in, Cradon closed his eyes, praying, as Sonda happily trotted forward.

The army of Elves watched in confusion as one of the messengers sent out to meet the Dwarves suddenly returned, yammering excitedly, waving his hands at the elders. There was a stir of anticipation as the young elf fell up onto the platform. As the elves nearest the front caught snippets of the young elf’s gabbled message, word spread like wildfire through the lines, finally reaching the ears of Nechan and the other companions.
The Aeonorgal had returned!
 

The comrades’ thoughts immediately jumped to memories of Gomel and Cradon. Unable to wait, they scrambled forward, battling through the lines of elves, until they were reunited before the elders’ platform, eagerly wanting an explanation.

Theonil, the highest-ranking council elf, finally raised his hand, commanding silence. He made a slow, loud announcement in Elvish, which Nechan could not understand. Cheers and cries of joy filled the air about him.

“What is it? What’s the news?” begged Nechan, asking Eilendan to explain.

“The Aeonorgal has returned!” Eilendan was almost speechless as his eyes began to moisten.

“And what of my brother, and of Gomel?”

Eilendan smiled, grasping the shoulders of the boy. “They too have returned!”

Nechan could not believe it. He fell speechless and was forced to take a step back, placing a hand on the platform to steady himself. For a moment, he was unable to breathe,  the relief of the news hitting him hard.

The shouts and cries grew louder, eventually chanting in one voice. Nechan began to scour the crowd, looking for his brother, part of him still doubting until he saw the truth with his own eyes.

Then crowd at the rear began parting, opening a clear pathway through to the platform. Finally Cradon and Nilean came into view, still riding their two white horses. Nechan could not move, overcome by the emotion of seeing his brother again. He was unable to fight back the tears of happiness, pressing against his eyes and pinching the top of his nose, trying not to openly cry.

Cradon was in awe of everything around him. They had passed through the mists safely, although he had kept his eyes tightly shut throughout the ride, clinging on to Sonda’s saddle for dear life.

The shouting and cheers of the congregation of Elves could be heard as soon as they passed through the wall. It had taken them several minutes to ride to the centre of Loreandril, during which time the chanting had grown louder and louder.

Cradon’s jaw dropped, taking in everything around him in a daze. He had never seen anywhere so different from home. Even the Kingdom of Ghornathia had a feel of a city to it. But Loreandril was unlike anything he had seen or even imagined. It was so awe-inspiring he had not given thought to Nechan.

Nechan was the first to catch sight of his brother. Nothing in the world could have stopped him running forward shouting Cradon’s name.

The familiar voice calling snapped Cradon out of his stupor. Anxiously he searched the crowd until finally, in the clear pathway before him, he saw the familiar shape of his brother running towards them. He tapped Sonda into a faster trot to meet his brother, and without stopping his horse, he almost fell out of the saddle to hug him.

For a few moments there were no words between them, they just clutched each other tightly. There were no thoughts excerpt relief running through their heads. Finally they broke their embrace and looked at each other, laughing and crying simultaneously.

“You look good. Different! I like your armour!” Cradon rapped Nechan’s breastplate.

“Well, I look a lot better than you! You look awful!” laughed Nechan, wiping his nose with his hand.

“I have had a hard time recently!”

“It cannot have been as hard as what I’ve had to endure!” Nechan exclaimed.

“But, you look like you’ve been living in luxury here!”

“Hey! I mean everything that happened to me before I got here! You have no idea!”

“No idea! You don’t look injured!”

It was as if they had never been apart. Already they were competing, almost bickering. Suddenly they both laughed and hugged each other again.

Nilean left the twins to their reunion, choosing to continue, spurred on by the chanting. The elf arrived at the council platform, and slid off his horse, pulling his saddlebag with him. Bowing, he handed it to Theonil.

The crowd fell silent and all eyes were on the councillor. Slowly, his hands shaking, he pulled back the flap and lifted out a round bundle. Licking his lips, feeling the tension growing, he unwrapped it.

As the last drape of material fell from around the object, the light burst out in an explosion of white fire. Everyone was forced to shield his eyes for a moment.

The elder held up the Aeonorgal high above his head for all to see.

“
Aeonorgal en liboni mensi!”
 
The Spirit Star and our freedom!
he shouted at the top of his lungs. As one voice the congregation before him repeated the line, chanting over and over again.

Celebration gathered pace when the first dwarves entered. Only the captains and sergeants were brought in, their army being too large for Loreandril to hold. The host greeted them with applause and Elvish cheers. It was as if they had already won the war. Hope was definitely alive once more in the heart of Elvendon.

“What of our comrade, Gomel, the Gnome?” asked Gaular.

Cradon was surrounded by the comrades, almost under interrogation, as they quickly walked towards the Lor’natali where Nymril rested. Although it had been the first thing suggested by Eilendan upon the Spirit Star’s return, even he had not forgotten his old friend.

“He’s fine! I left him at home with his family. Although he may well be on his way here by now!” replied Cradon, not sure whom to look at in the gaggle that encircled him.

“You mean you went to Ghornathia?” Nechan asked, almost with indignation.

“Hey, don’t be jealous brother! It took me a long, arduous adventure to get there. Besides, you got to spend so much more time here.”

“I know, it’s absolutely amazing! You would never believe that a few weeks ago we were all on the move. And you should really see…………”

Nechan was interrupted.

“Do you know what happened to Khar, my bird of prey?” She had been an important friend to Jaidan, one that he sorely missed.

“I’m sorry……I really don’t know,” Cradon apologised. “She stayed with us for quite a while. In fact Khar helped us get to safety. I think the mountains became too harsh a climate for her and she eventually left to go her own way.”

“She did not follow you into the Kingdom?”

Cradon shook his head.

“That was her decision. She was always free to go whenever she chose. Perhaps one day Khar will find me again.” Jaidan was visibly saddened and disappointed by the news.

“Eilendan, do you think the Spirit Star will heal Nymril?” Nechan inquired, trying to keep pace with the long stride of the elf. They had followed closely behind the Elders who carried with them the Aeonorgal.

“I have faith in its healing power. But whether we are in time, I have my doubts.”

Nechan and the others were allowed into the hospital, away from the surging crowds, but only Eilendan was permitted upstairs with the Elders to witness the healing. The others could only wait and pray downstairs.

The warm air was filled with a variety of sweet aromas, a fragment melody of crushed herbs, leaves and petals. As Eilendan pushed aside the hanging veils, the only sound was that of the swishing material upon the rush floor. There was an air of intense silence.

Neornil was kneeling by Nymril’s bedside, holding her cold, limp hand. Her slender body, surrounded by a scattering of golden petals and leaves, seemed to have sunk into the bed, and looked almost vacant, as if her soul had already departed. She looked at peace. The only sign of trauma was the black, metal brace around her neck and the scarlet skin under and around it. The metal was like poison to her body, reacting with everything it touched. Even the healers were unable to touch it with their bare hands, their fingertips burning at the slightest of brushes.

Theonil stood on the other side, in line with Nymril’s head and neck, while the other Elders took positions up around the bedside. Watching, in silence, keeping a drape of thin material between himself and them, Eilendan waited. He clenched his fists, feeling his palms grow moist with sweat. Praying, he hoped he would witness a miracle.

The Elders began a slow, melodic chant, their bodies swaying as they lifted their hands calling upon the Earth Spirit and all Ancestral Spirits to find the strength to release Nymril from her bond of evil. The chanting grew louder, building to the final climax at which point the Aeonorgal would touch Nymril’s flesh.

The Spirit Star began glowing brightly, burning inside with a white heat, the light so bright it could not be looked at directly. It remained perfectly cool to the touch, Theonil still able to hold it in his hands, but grew heavier. The weight was pulling it down towards Nymril as if drawn to cast out the dark magic that held her body. Theonil’s arms began to waver, his strength faltering with the increasing weight. Finally, it fell onto her chest, depressing her lifeless body further into the mattress.

Immediately the Elders ceased chanting and everyone took a large step backwards.

Upon contact with the Spirit Star, Nimril’s grey skin began to glow. New life was being breathed into her body, the Aeonorgal acting as a conduit between her physical form and the Earth Spirits. White outlines began appearing one by one around the black etchings that decorated her skin. The whiteness began burning into the black, gradually eating it away, until finally they all shone with the same radiance as the Spirit Star itself.

The tension was rising in the room, and sensing something powerful was about to happen, the Elders took another step backwards. Eilendan gripped the curtain before him tightly, his palms now hot with nerves.

Without warning, her body began rising from the bed, and the flesh beneath the black brace turned white. Finally, with one sudden, intense burst of light the evil, metal choker fractured. The small, black fragments spun out from all sides, her body no longer tolerating their presence. They hung in the air briefly, spinning in the light, before dropping to the floor in a plethora of dull thuds.