The Archer From Kipleth (Book 2) (17 page)

“I was just covering it up-” the rest of Stavolebe’s excuse was swallowed in a loud, ear splitting light. The light was sound. It blared from the Lhalíi. Stavolebe held his ears in pain, doubled over on his knees.

The Archer was blank faced as the Lhalíi chose him.

The Archer was enveloped in white. He worried for a moment that he was once again in the hated mist, but this was more than that vile mire. This was all encompassing. It was like a warm bath. It was the foundations of reality. He felt an infinite love. The Archer couldn’t feel his hands or feet, but he felt no fear nor anxiety.

Then, the world began to take shape around him. He was dizzy and all was blurred. He blinked several times.

He was shocked to find himself in a completely metal room. Hundreds of lights blinked all along the walls. The atmosphere was muggy and hot. He could hardly breathe. Two people knelt at the base of a metal panel pulled from one of the walls.

There was a window. Beyond the small window was the blackness of night, and a dead, rock of a world.

One of the people kneeling looked up.

It was Iounelle.

She was older. She was still beautiful, and her hair was a striking white.

“Derragen!” The older Iounelle cried.

The Archer wasn’t sure what was happening. Perhaps he was saving her life in the future once again. He instinctively nocked an Arrow of Yenolah.

The other person looked up at him. He was an older man, lean, and had a long, craggy face.

Beyond the metal panel were colored strands. Inside the wall, a bright light flickered, and then a loud alarm sounded.

Iounelle stood and stepped towards Derragen. Behind her the long faced man pulled a small, metal device from his waistband. The Archer sighted. He had seen those weapons before.

Iounelle looked back.

“No, Sigmund!” She cried to the long faced man. Then turned back to the Archer. “Derragen, no!”

The Archer released the Arrow of Yenolah.

Then, all was white again. The same comforting light wrapped around his whole being. The sound came slow and steady, then intensified until he cried out in pain. He squeezed his eyes tight.

Then, he opened his eyes, and he was flat on his back on the banks of the Bairn, the elf looking down at him. Stavolebe crouched nearby, with a look of terror etched on his face.

“What just happened?” The Archer asked.

“You- you were there,” Stavolebe said with horror, “then you weren’t.”

“I saw you,” the Archer said to the elf. “You were so much older. I wasn’t sure what was happening. I think I saved your life again.” The Archer paused. “Or I may have done something terribly awful.”

“The Lhalíi activated again,” the elf said. “We need to find some safe place to store it. Have you used another Arrow of Yenolah?”

The Archer reached into his quiver, and held out only two Arrows of Yenolah. The Archer and the elf shared a grim look.

“I couldn’t help myself,” the Archer said. “Perhaps these last two arrows are meant for someone with more self control than me,” he said with a frown.

“Nonsense,” the elf said with a smile and a wink. “No one is better than you.” Then Iounelle, the last elf of Lanis shouldered her pack. “Let’s get to New Rogar Li. I have many questions for the Master of the Library.”

The contingent of soldiers was organized and the march resumed. Lord Stavolebe stayed near the back of the regiment with a dark, greedy look on his face. All day he warily watched the Archer from Kipleth.

Late in the afternoon, the column of soldiers neared the southwestern edge of the Weald. A dark line of trees was evident on the horizon. Twisted, black remains of trees, left over from the Great Fire of the Weald, the previous autumn stood out in contrast to the thick, old pines and bare, silver pale oaks. To their right, the Bairn River had gathered in size and intensity.

“Look!” A sharp eyed Child of Lanis cried, pointing down the trail.

“Garonds,” Iounelle breathed. “They’re attacking humans.”

Barely a speck on the horizon, the dark, violent shapes of garonds contorted as they attacked a cluster of humans they had surrounded. The humans didn’t have long to live. 

“Archers!” Derragen cried. “At a sprint!”

Five of the best archers of the Sons of Yenolah, and five of the best archers of the Children of Lanis ran at an all out pace behind the Archer from Kipleth.

As the Archer neared, he saw an old man, an old woman, and a young child fighting a good defensive fight with sword and spear. But there were at least twenty garonds, and they were becoming more vicious in their attacks.

“Pick a target!” Derragen commanded. “Each will have to kill two.” The Archer nocked a bronze arrow. Then he whistled loud and long. The garond’s heads popped up with the whistle, and a great murderous growl went out from the platoon of garonds.

Half the garonds left the easy fight against the three humans, and turned to run directly at the sprinting line of archers.

Derragen knew almost precisely the maximum distance of his slim, yellow yew bow. At a run, he needed to compensate for the uneven ground, and the hammering of his heart.

“Deep breaths!” The Archer cried to his phalanx of the sharpest archers.

“Ready!” Derragen cried. “Fire”

Eleven arrows darted from the line of running humans. Eleven garonds fell dead on the brown dried, winter grasses of the Eastern Meadowland.

The garonds attacking the three humans roared and left off their attack. They turned and charged the greater threat.

Without breaking stride, Derragen cried, “Once again, just like before! Deep breaths!”

The charging garonds spread out perfectly, making them ten easy targets.

“Fire!” Derragen cried. Eleven arrows zipped through the air. But one garond was hit with two arrows. Two of Derragen’s archers had sited on the same garond, leaving one last garond who was closing much too fast.

Derragen quickly reached back to his quiver. He instinctively pulled an Arrow of Yenolah and nocked it. He hesitated for a moment. He didn’t want to use his precious arrow, but the garond was nearly on top of him. Derragen released and the thick, black Arrow of Yenolah flashed straight through the barking garond, who fell stone dead at the Archer’s feet.

The line of archers began to cheer with their success.

But Derragen would have none of it. He stalked forward searching for the Arrow of Yenolah which had passed completely through the garond. He jogged forward scanning the crisp, frosted grass.

The three humans who were initially being attacked trotted up to the Archer.

“Thank you, thank you!” An old man said. “You certainly saved our lives. I am Len.”

“And you are Annen,” the Archer said indicating the older woman. “And you must be Faw,” the Archer said to the young boy.

“But how did you know?” Annen said in wonder.

“The story of how you saved Arnwylf in Harvestley is well known to me and my elf companion,” Derragen said.

“You are the Archer from Kipleth!” Faw exclaimed.

“I am,” Derragen said. “But if you will excuse me, I must find my special arrow.”

“The black arrows!” Annen said.

“Yes,” the Archer replied.

Annen, Len and Faw, and the hand picked archers spread out looking for the spent Arrow of Yenolah. The elf and the rest of the soldiers caught up.

“I’ve lost an Arrow of Yenolah,” the Archer said to the elf with a frown.

“That means you’ve only the one left,” the elf grimly said.

“Here it is!” Faw cried with joy, holding aloft the large black arrow of curious design.

“Praise Eann,” the Archer said.

”Rather praise the sharp eyes of a bold child,” the elf murmured to the Archer.

“Thank you so much,” The Archer said to Faw. “Are you headed to New Rogar Li? You can come with us.”

“We are going back to the Madrun Hills to scour our home of the garond scum,” Len said with bravery.

“I will send a soldier with you,” the Archer said. “Alyngen!” The Archer called, and a thin, young archer with dark hair and blue eyes jumped to attention. “Alyngen, you will accompany Len, Annen and Faw. See that no harm comes to them. Whatsoever.”

Alyngen snapped a smart salute.

“I have a special request of you,” the Archer said to Faw. Then Derragen bent low and whispered in the boy’s ear. “Do you understand?” The Archer asked, and Faw eagerly nodded his head.

“Fair you well,” Derragen said. “Alyngen is my best soldier. He is more than any match for any garond.” Alyngen smiled a sharp smile at the chance to see more action. Then, the four said goodbye and traveled west.

The march to new Rogar Li was resumed and many other humans traveling to and from the great city were encountered.

The houses and halls of New Rogar Li stood out against the early evening sky. A platoon of soldiers hailed the Archer’s column.

“Are you come to join us?” A soldier asked.

“We are always ready to help,” the Archer answered.

“No,” the soldier said. “I mean to camp with General Arnwylf, to spite the citizens of New Rogar Li.”

“Spite?” The elf questioned.

“Go into the city,” the soldier said. “You will understand.”

The platoon went on their way to the north, as Derragen and Iounelle led their soldiers into New Rogar Li.

The reception from the wealdkin could not have been colder if it was blizzarding.

“What has happened?” The Archer wondered aloud. Then to a passing citizen Derragen asked, “Can you please direct me to the house of Queen Alrhett?”

The citizen rudely pointed down the street and then went on his way without saying a word. The Archer and the elf shared a worried look, then continued searching for the home of the Queen of the Weald.

The Archer was astounded by the sullen angry stares of the wealdkin.

“Halt!” He called to the troops. “Uncover the bodies.”

“Do you think that wise?” The elf asked.

“Let the wealdkin see the sacrifice up close,” the Archer said. “Slow march!” The Archer commanded. And the troops began a funerary, slow march to the humble house of the Queen.

The wealdkin saw the bodies of Haerreth and Maginalius, along with the other recovered soldiers. The gasps of wonder and sadness grew in intensity. Maginalius was of Summeninquis’ family, immigrants from lands far beyond the Far Grasslands. But, Maginalius was very much loved by the wealdkin, and he had repaid their love with the cost of his very life. Some citizens began to openly weep and wail.

As the Archer arrived at the green door to Alrhett’s house, the crush of citizens was overwhelming.

“I understand,” the Archer said loudly, “that Arnwylf and his soldiers do not feel welcome among the people they have protected.” The citizens cast their eyes down. “Shame,” the Archer said. “Shame,” he said again. Then turned to enter Alrhett’s house.

Inside, Alrhett held an improvised conference with Summeninquis and twenty or more Lords of the Weald.

“He can not be allowed to camp outside the city,” Summeninquis said. “It puts him in an adversarial position.”

“Where would you have my grandson go?” Alrhett said. “To the Eaststand? Will the people of Ferndale house our very own soldiers? And what of those who actually have houses and families here in New Rogar Li?”

“We can not simply bow down to him,” A Lord with a fat face said.

“I would kiss his feet for driving Ravensdred from Wealdland,” the Archer said. The arrival of the Archer and the elf put a murmur through the political gathering.

“Lord Summeninquis,” the Archer quietly said. “I regret to inform you, the body of your brother lies without.”

The exclamations drove the honored conference from their seats and out the door.

Outside, the mob of citizens choked the streets.

“Oh,” Summeninquis gasped as he beheld the body of his slain brother, and Haerreth, the heir of Reia. “Healfdene will blame us for this.” All were shocked by his insensitivity. From this tragedy, all he thought of, was his politics.

“Bring them inside,” Alrhett said, and the slain soldiers were brought into Alrhett’s home.

“Will no one entreat Arnwylf and his men to return?” A city elder cried.

The Lords of the Weald looked around at each other.

“He will listen to me,” the elf said.

“Someone needs to tell Hetwing her brother is dead,” Alrhett said with pain. “She is at the residence of Halldora.”

“We will come with you,” Derragen softly said. “Then we will bring Arnwylf home.”

“I would like to stop at the library,” Alrhett said. “I need Yulenth.”

Then, Alrhett, the Archer and the elf walked to the library.

Inside the library, Yulenth and Solienth received the sad news of the deaths of Haerreth and Maginalius with silent grief.

“Come with me, husband,” Alrhett said. “I must tell Hetwing, if the gossip has not already reached her.” Yulenth quietly nodded his head. Then, Alrhett and Yulenth left for the mansion of Halldora.