Light Of Loreandril (6 page)

“Nymril is!” Eilendan raised his voice, standing. His blue eyes seemed to glow brighter, fuelled by his burning anger. He breathed deeply, trying to regain his self-control, smoothing his long, silver hair behind his Elven ears. “View it like the shock of jumping into a glacial lake. Imagine the ice-cold numbness that almost shuts down all senses and your brain. That’s what her body has been through, only much stronger, because through her the Aeonorgal found its release too.”

“But how long will she be like this?” asked Jaidan, a patient calmness in his voice, as he scratched his grisly chin. He just needed the important questions answered. With Nymril like this not only was the group weakened, but they were also forced to ride more slowly. This was the last thing they needed, considering the Empire would most likely empty its cities and strongholds of troops to find them.

“I’m not sure.” Eilendan flung his bedroll on the ground, just outside the tree line, the camp still insight. “I need to rest. We leave at dawn.”

“What about the night watch?”

“Are you volunteering? I don’t think any of us can forego sleep right now.”

“Eilendan is right. We all need to be alert and strong for tomorrow.” Jaidan collapsed exhausted on his bedroll, whistling goodnight to Khar perched in the branches high above them. Gomel and Gaular grumbled to themselves, as they too tried to get comfortable on their thin bedrolls.

Rolling over, stretching, Jaidan found himself blinking in the shards of new morning sunlight that streamed through the canopy. The small glen look quite appealing despite the blackened, gnarled trunks, thorny shrubs and grassy stumps. He glanced about the camp, and rubbed his bleary eyes in disbelief. Nymril’s bedroll was empty. He jumped up, startling Eilendan. “She’s gone!”

The group called at the top of their voices, searching the woods close to the glen. Nymril could not have gone far without her horse.

Eventually Jaidan found her, knee deep in a nearby stream. Its sparkling, icy blue waters were cleansing and refreshing. Her beauty momentarily moved him as she stood quietly, her elegant frame lit by the warm sunlight. Briefly, as he looked upon her, Jaidan forgot who and what she was. From the first time he had met her in Loreandril he had scarcely been able to believe Nymril wielded such great power. This female elf once was, and he prayed, still was, a great warrior, but this was yet to be proven in these new and dangerous times.

Feeling the reawakened spirit power surging through her veins, Nymril was lost, deep in thought. She looked out across the beautiful scenery before her, viewing it all through a fresh pair of eyes. Everything seemed sharper and clearer, with brighter shades and hues, making the dull pine trees and scrub seem full of life.

In an instant, her thoughts were swept back to the last time she had been connected to her Earth Spirit. In anguish, she remembered the searing pain of feeling her Earth Spirit ripped apart from her, their integrated magic divided. Deep mourning befell her as she envisioned the battlefield strewn with her dead comrades, Elves and Dwarves, with whom she had fought side by side against the Empire; their last stand.

She lifted her hand and with her fingertips gently touched the faint scar that was hidden just inside her hairline, remembering the terrifying sight of the mace coming towards her. Then there was nothing until she remembered the vague memory of Eilendan carrying her. Only from other survivor stories and what Eilendan had told her had she been able to piece together the rest of the events of the battle.

Nymril suddenly became aware of being watched. She shook herself out her distant memories and waded out of the water, purposefully striding back towards the camp.

“Come, we must ride!” She quickly saddled and mounted Sonda, and began guiding her out of the clearing.

“Well, it’s nice to see she’s back to her old, usual self. An explanation may have been nice!” mumbled Gomel under his breath. “Omph! Stand still will you!” His horse was moving sideways as Gomel, standing on a rotting tree stump, was trying to mount him. “Whoa! You awkward creature!”

The horse twitched his ears, snorting at Gomel. As he struggled to pull himself up into the saddle it bucked and began trotting off, leaving Gomel dangling with only one foot in the stirrup, hanging on for dear life.

Jaidan rode up, catching hold of the reins, and helped Gomel position himself correctly in the saddle.

Disgruntled by the fiasco, the gnome continued grumbling, already out of breath from the exertion. “Well, here starts yet another day of sitting on this sweaty, smelly beast!”

 The horse bucked again, swishing its tail, as if understanding his rider’s comment.

“Come now, he has carried you faithfully thus far!” Jaidan patted Gomel’s horse on the neck as he trotted passed, laughing.

Gomel scowled at Jaidan’s square-shouldered back as he rode off. After a few frustrated kicks and shouts, his stubborn horse reluctantly began to follow, marking the start of another day of fast riding. The comrades were all unaware of how quickly danger was closing in.

The Glamrind family was sat at the kitchen table. Jesfor had just broken the news to his two sons and was trying to explain the reason. Their mother seemed to be in a frenzied state, beating a bowl of batter frantically, as if she were taking her frustration out on it.

“But where will we go?” gasped Nechan.

 “And for how long?” Cradon finished his brother’s train of thought.

“Boys, I know you are scared, but believe me, it this is far better than being drafted,” Jesfor replied, understanding his sons’ fear.

“We all hear the stories of the riots. Young recruits are always getting killed!” explained their mother without pausing from her business, not even turning to look at the boys. She was trying to keep herself busy, preparing the last of the meat to be salted for winter.

The few days since the village celebration had flown by. Both the boys had anticipated the arrival of their summons, but as yet, thankfully, these had not been delivered.

Their mother had spent every waking minute preparing salted meats, whey biscuits and dried fruits. Every day, she seemed to think of yet another reason to send one of her sons to the village for more supplies. At first, they naturally assumed she was making last minute preparations for the cold winter months, but now the real reason had been made clear. It also explained why their father had suddenly spent days tending to the tack, and even the leather waterskins.

“I have friends in the neighbouring village who are watching the road. They have promised to send word as soon as they see any messengers or troops.”

Cradon pushed his chair back quickly and stood standing up. He placed his hands on the kitchen table, shaking his head. “But father, you always taught us to conduct our lives with honour, to respect and carry out our duty to the Empire. You did!”  

“Cradon, times are not as they used to be. A storm is coming and when it hits, those that stand in the way will be wiped out.”

“What on earth are you talking about? You sound like Nechan and his childish, ignorant stories of olden times!” Cradon laughed, slumping in his chair once more, running his hands edgily though his straggly, red hair.

“You are leaving and that’s final!” It was Jesfor’s turn to stand up, his blood starting to boil at his son’s outburst, but he did not want to lose his temper. Instead, he went out to the barn to continue preparing the bridles and saddles.

The boys sat in silence, Cradon with his arms folded, as their mother continued cooking and cleaning around them. Finally, Nechan broke the silence. “So, what do you
really
think, mother?”

She paused, twisting a rag in her hand, as she thought of the best thing to say. Her blue eyes were red and puffy from hours of crying. “All I know is that I do not want my sons dying for something that we…our family, does not believe in.”

“But what do you expect us to do? We cannot run from our duty forever!” exclaimed Cradon, now drumming his fingers on the table in front of him.

Rheordan sat down opposite her sons. “Hopefully, it will not be forever. I think you will know when it is safe to come home.” The tears once again formed in the corner of her eyes as she thought of her boys leaving home. Cradon could not bear to see his mother upset, so stood up and gave her a much-needed hug. Nechan reached across the table, holding her hands tightly. She accepted both gestures gratefully.

“Please, do it for me! Please go!” she choked, as she fought back the flood of tears she could feel building up. Cradon looked at Nechan, who gave a small nod. Reluctantly Cradon gave in and smiled at his mother, wiping a trickling tear from her cheek.

Another day passed, and still there was no word from the other village. Danula, their younger sister, had barely left the twins’ side that week. She hung round their necks, constantly demanding piggybacks and tickle fights. Although she did not fully understand the magnitude of what was happening, her parents had told her that Cradon and Nechan were leaving for a long trip. She knew that she would miss them immensely.

The mound of packs containing provisions and clothes for all seasons was growing. Nechan looked at it in disbelief thinking
how is this going to fit on our two horses? We will need to take an entire herd!
It would have been so much easier if they had known how long they were going to be travelling for.

“Stop dreaming, son. I need you to get that honey if I am going to make you more cakes!” Rheordan, stood in the doorway of the farmhouse, gently whisking the contents of a mixing bowl under her arm, wearing a white apron that showed the signs of hours of baking and cooking.

Nechan blushed, “I’m going. Sorry, I…..”

“It’s fine, Nechan,” she said in her smoothing manner. “And, if you want to stop by Barnon’s you can, but not for too long, tonight could be our last family meal together, so I want everyone here on time!” Continuing to mix her bowl, she turned back to the kitchen.

Nechan hurried into Feolin, walking and running as speedily as he could. His mother was right, Nechan had been anxious all week to see Barnon. He might help make sense of everything, perhaps even offer him some guidance as to where they should go.

Barnon’s house was on the far side of the village. It was set back from the main thoroughfare and constructed from the usual wattle and timber, with a flimsy roof of wooden tiles, many of which were cracked or missing. The house had not been looked after for some time, and even the chimney was twisted, looking as if the next gales would blow it down. Nechan waded through the jungle of undergrowth and rapped on the front door.

“Come in! It’s open!” a familiar voice called from within.

Nechan braced his shoulder and heaved the warped, rickety door open, its hinges creaking with the strain. He was greeted by an overwhelming smell of tabacco smoke that hung heavily in the air, shrouding everything in a thick fog.

“Nechan, my laddie! Come sit. I was expecting you several days ago. Where have you been? Neglecting your old friend?” Barnon sat in a high-backed chair,  legs outstretched, and his unshod feet resting in the hearth, toes wiggling in the fire light.

“No, not at all, Barnon. I, well my whole family have been busy with all sorts this week.” Nechan suddenly felt awkward, unsure whether he should tell Barnon they were leaving. He moved a stool into the firelight and sat himself down in front of the old man.

“You’re leaving before they come for you, aren’t you?” Barnon had already guessed from the way Nechan was acting. He knew him very well. A wave of relief washed over the boy, realising his friend was not disappointed in him.

“Well, you’re here now, that’s all that matters. I’m glad you came to see me before you leave. Any ideas where you might go?”

Nechan shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head. “I thought you might have a few suggestions. You’re the most travelled person I know!”

Barnon laughed. “That’s very true, although I haven’t left this village for many years now! The world has changed a great deal since I first came here and settled down.”

“That’s the thing. My parents both say this, but Cradon and I have known nothing different. The world is as it always has been!”

“Surely even you have noticed the presence of the Empire growing stronger. You can’t turn a corner in our small village without nearly running into one of their hideous, angular statues!” Barnon took a puff from his pipe, and blew the smoke into a billowing cloud. “The world has changed very much, perhaps even more than you realise. Why, the stories my father used to tell me, they painted a very different Empire.”

Nechan sat on the edge of his stool eagerly. He could tell Barnon was about to embark on a long tale of Imperial history, and he was not about to stop him. It would help him find an escape from reality for a short while.

“You see, Nechan, my father strongly believed that Elves still existed.”

Nechan sat up, his interest growing instantly.  

“And, the more I study and read, the more I think that the old stories are true. Maybe Dwarves and Gnomes existed also and perhaps still do?” Barnon scratched his grey, wild beard thoughtfully, contemplating his own words. Nechan leaned forward, listening intently, his chin resting in his cupped hands.

“The oldest folklore says that the Elves once ruled all of these lands. And trust me they were far more just, understanding and forgiving than our current rulers.
Loreandril,
I think my father called it
,
was a beautiful white city in those times. Gleaming, white towers filled the skyline, the streets paved with light grey stone, thoroughfares wide and open. This city was nothing like the black rock cities you and I know today. Ahhh, what I would give to see that city in its true majesty!” Barnon painted a clear picture of the beautiful place, his hands sketching out the tall towers and linear roads. For a moment Nechan closed his eyes, picturing Loreandril almost as if he were walking its streets.