The Lord Of Lightning (Book 3) (29 page)

Chapter Fourteen

The Dead of Night

Zik Mkichaa held the enormous gray wheel of the elvish boat tight in his ebony hands. The wheel turned with the slightest touch. It had taken an immediate reassessment of his sailing skills. The huge elvish ships responded so quickly, two had almost collided when they first set out from Gillalliath, fully laden with a hundred thousand reians. Men, women and children, every human that lived in the Green Hills of Reia had been brought aboard the all seven of the great ships.

Zik's ship, the Kyrial, red sails full, zipped back and forth, just as fast as the titanic elvish vessels. Zik frowned over at Myama helming his ship.

"If that fool puts a single scratch on her," Zik grumbled to himself. Zik could see Myama on the bridge of his ship, laughing his fool head off.

The Mother Moon was full and the night was calm, except for a good, steady breeze. The great elvish ships danced across the ocean as though they had longed to be out upon the waves for centuries. Zik was amazed at how responsive the ship was to his every touch. He began to sing to the ship in his native tongue to calm the vessel as it pitched like a cantering horse that had been left in its stable for too long, nervous and full of powerful energy.

"When will we arrive at the mouth of the Syrenf?" The elf politely asked.

"At this rate," Zik said, keeping his eye steady on the horizon, "Most likely by dawn, possibly sooner."

The elf seemed to suddenly be struck by a thought.

"Could we, Great Captain, arrive but a little later?" Iounelle asked with a gleam in her eye.

Zik immediately caught her meaning and flashed that devious, brilliant smile.

"We can swing a little south, to time our arrival," Zik said with a bloodthirsty little laugh. "The flanking stratagem is well known in my land."

"Thank you, Captain," the elf said and then excused herself from the bridge.

"Anything for the People of Light," Zik said to the wind curling about his head. His keen eye scanned the ocean's horizon. "Steady, my mistress," he said to the huge, elven ship as it pitched to port. Zik resumed his calming song to the titanic ship quivering with power under his hand.

Iounelle made her way down to the main deck. She thought about the Ar, the Heart of the Earth, the powerful stone that Wynnfrith went to retrieve from the Far Grasslands.

The elf tried to remember the uses of the Ar. What was it for? What was its purpose? She faintly remembered a story her Great Aunt Silfliette told her about how the garonds had come to possess the Ar. Before then, the Ar had been in the protection of the People of Light, the elves.

Something tugged at the corners of Iounelle's mind. She had a terrifying experience with the Lhalíi, the sacred crystal. The Lhalíi had seemed to place massive amounts of knowledge into her mind. Yet, she had no way to access that knowledge. Things came to her, scattered, unordered, never when she needed them.

The Ar, Iounelle seemed to remember, was an object that worked best in the act of giving. Iounelle shook her head. The thought made no sense to her. Once the Yarta was out of one's hands, how could it then be used?

Iounelle came upon Hanarry and Myanne cuddling together at the gunwale.

"You must tell me everything that befell you after you arrived at Gillalliath with Halldora," Iounelle said with a smile. "I specially wish to know how it came to be that you two, who so seemingly despised each other, came to fall so deeply in love."

Hanarry smiled. "I suppose we have time," he said. "But first, will you sing that elvish song you sang for the Children of Lanis, Your Smile Always? I have tried to sing it for Myanne, but I fear I went wrong in some parts."

Iounelle smiled a smile that did nothing to hide her sorrow. "I will sing it in Miranei, the elvish tongue, first," she said. Iounelle turned to the ocean and in a clear voice sang:

"Dánt lee'a mytúsbromrthal venrek

Langangr ból i'othal thrakkrekk.

Sae i'ol verhyda naskreim omenalethfa

Tekathal vekmeithau dánraklomgivÊnarsknee aklosm’rel.

Drayel sjogee'anau m’rana mirau mytúsfa

Mandékapfa fyrfenau lee'ateklir dae langmokslir.

Sae slaetath lee'a vertafa akloslee'ath

Dae wylk sjobré'a'anoniola omen aklosm’rel.

Aytr h’nvalee'a fnaln rosum dánte'auryst

Dae avanfa lante naumyta lyan.

Sae pael lee'a tayakrn dae lankakrnanon

Svás paetakrthal pegranathfa narsknee aklosm’rel.

Ortek eyapandré'a úd veygra heralath

Paeldafa sjogandilsigan lanteverothal paelpak.

Sae i'ounvek dae maefn lee'a omenanon i'ounathalahl

Ovithglir i'ol lepee pegranee'i'ola narsknee aklosm’rel."

Iounelle stood very still, looking out at the waves. A breeze at the last stanza seemed to pick up, to carry her words to the east. Then, Iounelle caught her breath and sang, loud and clear in wealdish:

"The day is howling wind

Treacherous cold, unending darkness.

But I see you before me

Breaking the clouds, warm as the sun is your smile.

False friends speak words of pain

Bonds of trust are broken and ruined.

But forgiveness is found, happiness

And honor walks always with your smile.

Food is not brought for many days

And lack of water torments the body.

But all is satisfied and slaked

With the sweet, filling memory of your smile.

War rages. Blood flows. Destruction

Covers the uncomforted, weeping earth.

But heaven and love is with me eternally

As long as I can remember your smile always."

As Iounelle finished, the wind seemed to increase to carry her words far away to Derragen, her Archer from Kipleth.

Iounelle bowed her head as she tried to hide the tears that streamed down her face.

"We will tell you our story a little later," Myanne said with a sympathetic hand on Iounelle's arm. Hanarry and Myanne quietly, respectfully, left the elf alone to stare out at the lonely waves cresting on the sea.

The Archer rode his horse hard along the road north of the Bairn River. The road was becoming more in use with the burning of the Three Bridges of Rogar Li. Whereas most travelers would have taken the Westernway Road to the Three Bridges, now with no way to cross the Bairn River, they had to cross further west and use the less traveled North Bairn Road to access any land north of the mighty, swift Bairn.

The dark, tangled wall of the Weald forest loomed on the Archer's left for many miles. The sun had set long ago, and the Archer would be entering abandoned New Rogar Li in the dead of night. The rumors and reports from Arnwylf of the vyreeoten that had overrun the city were unnerving.

Derragen came to the outskirts of the city. The Archer slowed his horse to a walk. There across the main road was the blackened heap of the fire barrier Yulenth had set to save Arnwylf in his flight from the city. Glistening in the moonlight, the vile, charred skeletons of two, huge vyreeoten laid sprawled in the ashes.

The Archer guided his horse through a break in the ashes of the fire debris. He would have to cross the entire city. His goal, Yulenth's old work yard, where the old glaf experimented and tinkered, was all the way on the north eastern side of the city. The Archer thought about traveling along the edge of the city. But, if he was to find and pack up Yulenth's device, he had to know if any vyreeoten lay in wait for him. It would be best to find and kill them now.

The Archer flipped his bow off his shoulder and nocked a wood tipped arrow. He had special arrows made especially for the vyreeoten, with wide, sharpened, wood arrowheads.

"Hallo!" A voice called from the shadows.

Derragen turned to see a large, burly, bearded man striding from the darkness of an alleyway.

"Greetings," the Archer said, and quivered his wooden arrow.

"They aren't around," the jolly man said. "I chased them off. They'll be back soon enough. So, I won't keep you long."

Derragen noticed that the husky man appeared to be dressed in green from head to toe, and wore a felt hat at a jaunty angle. His cheeks were rosy red, even in the moonlight.

"I came to thank you for cleansing the Weald of the Black Circle," the man said through his thick, full beard. "It long festered in the Green. But needed a firmer hand than mine to remove it."

"Oh," the Archer said. "You mean the circle of intertwined trees that the Evil One used to contact his unnatural bride."

"Yes, yes, the very same," the Green Man said with a warm smile. "I didn't want to seem ungrateful for so important a deed. So... again my thanks."

"You are most welcome," the Archer replied. Then thinking slyly, "perhaps you can show your gratitude by helping me in my task. I'll need some extra hands moving my friend's device."

"I cannot directly involve myself in your affairs," the Green Man apologetically smiled. "I can choose no side, but that of the Green." Then the burly man hesitated. "How do you mean to stop him without your arrows, your special arrows?"

The Archer almost fell off his horse. "How do you know of the Arrows of Yenolah?" The Archer asked in astonishment.

"Oh," the Green Man said with a hearty laugh, "I know more than I should, and less than I ought. But what of the Arrows of Yenolah? How will you stop the Dark One?"

"My teacher told me once," Derragen said, looking down, "that which is lost may be found again."

"Old Sehen truly had more vision than the sighted," the Green Man smiled. "Now I will repay my gratitude in full. I will tell you something that maybe I ought not to." The Green Man hesitated. Then he tilted his head and said, conspiratorially, "You will be faced with a choice, Archer from Kipleth, a choice most terrible and overwhelming, a choice I would not wish on the worst of men. In that moment, remember your heart and you will know what to do. I can say no more." The Green Man turned to depart.

"I seem to know you," the Archer said to catch him. "And yet, I know I have never seen your face before in all my life."

"Do you remember when your father took you to Rhyd Bawr when you were only seven summers old?" The Green Man said turning back.

The Archer shook his head. "I should be surprised that you know that," the Archer mused, "but then I suppose I shouldn't."

"When you looked at the plentiful trees at that place," the Green Man said, "you asked why none where red, as you were told they would be."

"And my father said," Derragen said with wonder, "that the Green Man still walks among these trees. And I thought I saw someone, but... That was over forty summers ago. You haven't aged a day."

"On the shortest day of the year I die," the Green Man said. "And every Spring I am reborn again as you see me now. I am in every stand of trees that give cool shade. I am in every field bursting with verdant life. I am in the simple flower that you pick to please the Song of Your Heart. As long as I come with the renewal of every year, there will be life for humanity and all her cousins, and I will be there."

The Green Man turned and walked away to the shadows. The Archer moved his horse forward to watch him go. The Green Man strode north past the houses on the western edge of Rogar Li, to the line of trees that marked the edge of the Weald. There the Green Man stopped, as a pillar of moonlight fell beside him. The moonlight shimmered and seemed to take the form of a beautiful Silver Woman who walked with the Green Man into the depths of the forest to disappear into the arboreal vaults of the Weald.

"We had best take advantage of the break he has given us," the Archer said to his horse. Derragen spurred his horse on with haste to Yulenth's work yard.

At the enclosure of the old glaf, all was as if it had been abandoned in haste. Some engines of curious construction had been left half built. Tools and materials dropped where the workmen had left them in the hurried evacuation of Rogar Li.

Derragen dismounted and pulled through Yulenth's stored devices that had been stacked against each other. Finally, the Archer found a group of structures marked with a 'D'. He knew that these were the pieces he needed to find. But, the pieces and beams of the device were too large and numerous for his single horse. He might create a sledge, and he and his horse could pull the device along, but that would take several days to transport to the Plains of Syrenf.

Then, the Archer froze. A soft breeze wafted through the work yard. The Archer thought he heard his beloved elf's voice carrying on the wind, a song of love and longing. Derragen very much desired to hold Iounelle once again.

As Derragen stood in thought, a creaking sound caught his ear. He flipped his bow off his shoulder and nocked a wood arrow.