The Lord Of Lightning (Book 3) (28 page)

"You may one day have to tell a truth you do not want to tell. In that moment, feel my strength standing beside you. Be fair and be honest, like our greatest leaders. Know that I love you and will be with you in spirit always," Kellabald said in the vision. Then, the vision before Wynnfrith faded, leaving only the wickedly smiling face of Deifol Hroth, delighting in her pain.

"Do you realized that I have played you for a fool?" Deifol Hroth pleasantly smiled. "Do you remember our first encounter? You were having a rather intricate farsight vision at Rion Ta. I was looking through possible futures myself, and I saw you. Do you remember?" Wynnfrith slowly nodded her head. "The next time we ...met... in the Scrying of the Possible," Deifol Hroth continued, "you tricked me into killing one of my agents, a rather disgusting, yet effective man, named Feeblerod. That made me very angry. I don't like to be tricked."

Deifol Hroth slowly walked around Wynnfrith, enjoying her fear.

"It was then that I vowed to repay that treachery, and at the same time, I realized you could be very useful to me. 'Trickery' can be used against those who employ it."

Wynnfrith began to weep. "Oh, no," Deifol Hroth said, "don't get ahead of me. Our next encounter you tried to hide the Ar from me in your farsight vision."

Deifol Hroth tipped his head back and laughed joyfully. "As if you could hide anything from me!" He crowed. "There it was, the final piece! And yet... I could trust no garond to bring it to me. Once Mudsang or Ravensdred laid their paws upon the Heart of the Earth, their power would rival mine. That would not do at all." Deifol Hroth leaned in close to Wynnfrith and whispered. "Would you like to see how the vision should have gone? Before I altered it?" Deifol Hroth raised his hand, and Wynnfrith was in the farsight once again, and she was reliving the things she saw when the farsight came in New Rogar Li, only three moonths ago.

Wynnfrith was on a flat, grassy plain. It was the Far Grasslands. She was with Frea. They had the Ar. It was safe. Then, they headed East. The journey was long. They both became old, but the earth was safe. They had beaten the Dark One.

"And, this is what I changed," Deifol Hroth's voice echoed through Wynnfrith's farsight dream. Wynnfrith was giving the Ar to Arnwylf. It was the vision as she had seen before. But then Arnwylf was not Arnwylf. Her son's smiling face was peeled away and it was the Evil One. The farsight left Wynnfrith.

Wynnfrith screamed, crying in heartache, knowing she had failed her husband, her son, all of humanity. She took the Ar, with her bare hand, out of the nest of leather holding the stone. The shock of connection was slow and hazy this time, as if the Heart of the Earth did not want to help her, give her its strength.

"There is still a way to beat you," Wynnfrith said through her tears.

Wynnfrith concentrated on the Ar, and brought its formidable power into her mind. I can destroy Him, Wynnfrith thought. I can rend the earth asunder, smash the land to shards, she thought with rising anger. The earth began to shake.

But then Wynnfrith saw the sad, disappointed face of Kellabald in her mind. Destroy the earth to destroy Deifol Hroth? How could she face her husband if there were a next life? For just an instant, Wynnfrith let the power of the Ar go, and looked up, her face slack in innocence. It was all the hesitation He needed.

The Evil One made a slight gesture with two fingers, and then a thin, lightning bolt cracked down from the sky, hitting Wynnfrith square in the chest. A sphere of orange sparks exploded from the Ar in Wynnfrith's hands.

Wynnfrith began to crumple. Deifol Hroth moved in an incredible blur to catch the Ar as it fell from her hand. It was almost as if she gave the stone to the Lord of Lightning. He let her body collapse onto the dirt of the Westernway Road.

"Kellabald," Wynnfrith whispered just before she died.

Deifol Hroth stood over the woman's still body. The Ar was smoking as it nestled in His hand. He turned the black stone over and over in His hands. He stared down in fascination as the power of the Heart of the Earth coursed through Him.

"The greatest of all the vessels of magic hidden from me for so long," the Evil One smiled down at the Ar, and caressed its ebony surface. "The Children of Light were clever indeed."

Deifol Hroth extended His arms and tensed, but nothing happened. He looked down again at the Ar clutched in His left hand.

"How annoying," Deifol Hroth muttered. "I suppose I shall have to walk."

The clap of thunder woke Ronenth with a start.

"Frea!" Ronenth cried. Frea immediately sat up.

"Where is Wynnfrith?" Ronenth asked, quickly looking about.

"Where is the Ar?" Frea cried looking down at her empty hands.

The two jumped up.

"This way!" Ronenth said, spotting Wynnfrith's tracks in the dust of Harvestley.

At the crossroads, Ronenth and Frea ran to Wynnfrith's prone form. Her body was already cold.

"No, no," Frea moaned cradling Wynnfrith's head.

"This is my fault," Ronenth groaned. "I should have kept the stone. Then you could have watched her."

"She said she was going to sleep, Ronenth," Frea said between her tears. "You are not to blame. Oh, Wynnfrith. Why?"

Ronenth was silent. He let Frea immerse herself in her grief. In Ronenth's heart, the fire for revenge was stoked even higher.

All around the human encampment at Syrenf, the human race, man, woman, and child busied themselves with constructing battlements, spiked barricades, and ramparts along the River Syrenf, all under the light of torches illuminating hope against the blackness of night.

Before he was admitted into the tent erected for Caerlund's memorial, Arnwylf checked with Stralain.

"The earthquake was not of significant strength," Stralain said to Arnwylf. "All other preparations for war continue."

"Thank you," Arnwylf said to Stralain. "Make sure no one tarries. I will be back after the ceremony."

Arnwylf entered the tent of the madronites. Arnwylf sat with the keening warriors of the Madrun Hills. He was silent and respectful.

Caerlund's body had been washed, redressed in his finest armor, and laid upon a table raised up and set with flowers and garlands.

Arnwylf was not afraid to let the madronites see his tears. The warriors rose and sang short songs of praise for Caerlund. After each warrior finished his lament, he passed among his fellow madronites, resting a gentle hand on their shoulders. Arnwylf was included as though he was of their tribe.

Then, Rabblund rose.

"Halldora, the Queen of Man said our chieftain's last request was to pass the burden of chieftain to Arnwylf of Bittel," Rabblund softly spoke. "I followed Kellabald, Arnwylf's father, as did all of you, at the Battle of the Eastern Meadowland. War General Kellabald saved the day for humanity. I believe the son will be the figure of the father."

Arnwylf pondered the strange madronite allusion.

"I will honor my chieftain's wish," Rabblund intoned. He knelt in front of Arnwylf and held both his fists together in front of his bowed head. "My chieftain," Rabblund said to Arnwylf.

The other madronites rose and repeated Rabblund's rite of obeisance.

Arnwylf rose.

"I accept your fealty," Arnwylf said to the madronite warriors. "I will lead you with honor and courage equal to your own. I am proud to now call myself a madronite."

A commotion outside the madronite tents caused all to pause. A messenger begged to be admitted, and was allowed into the tent.

"Lord Arnwylf, sad news," the messenger said kneeling before Arnwylf.

Arnwylf, followed by all of the Madrun warriors, strode up to Frea and Ronenth, who stood over Wynnfrith's lifeless body.

"Arnwylf!" Frea cried as soon as she saw him.

But, Arnwylf brushed her embrace aside to hold his mother's cold face in his hands.

"What happened?" Arnwylf asked, holding back the torment rising in his breast.

"Deifol Hroth took the Ar once we landed on the shores of Wealdland," Ronenth said, neglecting to say anything of Wynnfrith's folly.

"So," Arnwylf said rising, with cold, hard eyes, "the Lord of Lightning gives me further reason to end his life."

"Oh, Arnwylf," Frea softly said. Arnwylf turned and gently enfolded Frea into his arms, and they wept together. The soft, girlish body of Frea that Arnwylf once knew was now the form of a hardened warrior. But, this did not displease him.

"Why is that glaf allowed in the camp?" An Atheling of Man sneered at Ronenth.

"What do you mean?" Ronenth challenged.

"All know that Yulenth of Glafemen consorts with the Evil One," the Atheling jeered.

Ronenth was about to strike the Atheling, but then he saw the cold stares of almost every human gathered.

"I know my fellow glaf," Ronenth returned with pride, "and he would give his very life to save any one of you. And where were any of you when Glafemen fell? Do not presume to tell me of the allegiances or loyalties of any nation." Ronenth roughly pushed the Atheling out of his way, and strode away into the dark.

"Ronenth!" Arnwylf cried, but his friend was gone. Arnwylf turned and struck the Atheling hard to the ground. "Any who dare speak such to Ronenth, or of Yulenth, in my presence, will lose their life."

"How dare you strike an Atheling of-" another Atheling began.

"You be silent!" Halldora commanded, arriving. "I have had enough of this insolence and subversion from my own Athelings! It stops now!"

All were silent.

"Back to your work," Halldora commanded. "We will be inspecting the battlements very shortly and woe to any man who has been lax in his duties." The gathered dispersed. Halldora then looked down, and took in Wynnfrith's still body. Halldora knelt next to Wynnfrith. She quietly cupped Wynnfrith's face with her hands. "Oh, my sister," Halldora softly wept, and gently laid her hands on Wynnfrith's breast. Frea hugged her mother to comfort her.

"She was never happy since the departure of my father," Arnwylf said without emotion. "And now she is reunited with Kellabald, once again."

Arnwylf and Frea stood to face each other as if they both felt the rightness of their being together. Arnwylf and Frea embraced. He felt all the love in the world in her arms, even in the face of the bitter loss of his mother. She felt the safety, strength and love that flowed from him without reservation or condition.

Halldora looked up and saw Arnwylf and her daughter holding each other. "Let me see to Wynnfrith," Halldora softly said. "I will prepare her to be buried in the tradition of the wealdkin."

"Halldora," Arnwylf softly said, "if we do not prevail tomorrow, it will not matter where or how any are buried. We shall most assuredly be left where we fall on the field of battle, for there will not be any human left alive to tend to the dead."

Frea gazed up at Arnwylf's face. In spite of the past moonths of constant fighting and terror, she thought there was no more wonderful sight in the world than her beloved's countenance.

"Come," Arnwylf said to Frea, "we have much to do tonight. No one will sleep. We must make ready to greet the Lord of Lightning when the sun rises."

"Then whatever you do tonight," Frea smiled, "I will be by your side." The madronite warriors, and Stralain and his wealdkin soldiers, walked with Arnwylf and Frea as they placed their soldiers and battlements.

At one point in the evening, Arnwylf was stopped by Len and Faw, two of the humans he helped escape from the great garond encampment in Harvestley, a year earlier. They both looked thin from hunger, but seemed to be holding back a happy secret.

"It is good to have you as our chieftain," Len said, the old man leaning on the young boy, Faw.

"Have you seen Derragen, the Archer from Kipleth?" Faw asked, interrupting.

"He has business in New Rogar Li," Arnwylf answered with a smile full of pain for the death of his mother, held in check. "We all have our assignments to fulfill."

"And we have fulfilled one for him," Faw said with smiling eagerness. Arnwylf saw Len tap Faw as if to keep a confidence.

"I will send him to you immediately when he arrives," Arnwylf said, not wanting to cause either to reveal something they had probably been sworn to keep to themselves.

"But where is Annen?" Arnwylf asked, changing the subject.

"She died a moonth ago," Len quietly said. Arnwylf could see that the subject hurt young Faw who was orphaned in the first garond invasions, and had come to regard Len as his father, and Annen as his mother.

Arnwylf embraced Faw.

"I lost my mother this evening," Arnwylf softly said.

"Then we both need to make them proud tomorrow," Faw said, "on the field of war."

Arnwylf was stunned by this wise sentiment from so young a boy. His sorrow suddenly choked Arnwylf. All he could do was nod in agreement. Len and Faw excused themselves.

The preparations to meet the garond army continued through the night. Moving among the people, supervising the placement of troops, construction of battlements and engines of war, Arnwylf and Frea tenderly held hands, as all of humanity readied to defend themselves from extinction.