The Archer From Kipleth (Book 2) (24 page)

They flew south over the storm. Arnwylf felt no cold nor wind.

Arnwylf looked over at Deifol Hroth. The Great Lord of All Evil Magic seemed complacent, almost human. He turned to smile at Arnwylf. The Lhalíi in his hand shone like a beacon in the dark winter’s night

“This is how you got into the elvish capital,” Arnwylf said without raising his voice as he felt no wind, although it raged all about them.

“Flying has many advantages,” Deifol Hroth said. Then he pointed down. “There, see, through the snow, New Rogar Li?”

Arnwylf could make out a grid of lights and rectangular shapes, so small and toy-like, so far below.

“Do you see?” Deifol Hroth said. “Do you see how insignificant humans are? Do you finally see how small and pathetic they are? How endless and tedious their squabbles for miniscule material gains, or dominance over each other? But you can be more than that. Don’t you want to be a god?”

Arnwylf didn’t answer. He looked down at the snow covered fields of Harvestley. They had flown past the snow hurricane, and now the night was clear and the stars were brilliant in the night sky.

Soon, they were over the icy waters of the Bight of Lanis.

“If I were to drop you,” Deifol Hroth, suddenly serious, said, “you would die.”

Arnwylf looked down at the black, winter night water.

“I have no answers for you, Deifol Hroth, Jofod Kagir, whatever you wish to call yourself,” Arnwylf softly said. “I can not prove the Great Parent lives. I do not know what awaits us after death. I know I have very little power in this life.”

The wind was soft and quiet now, as though nature itself strained to hear Arnwylf’s answer.

“I wish my father was alive,” Arnwylf said through the tears that started in his eyes. “I wish that every day. Even if I had the power to bring him back from the dead, I would not. I know my father. I know he would never forgive me for doing something so abominable as that.”

Arnwylf swallowed as he tried to get the next words out.

”If I accepted your offer,” Arnwylf said, “I would undo all the good my father has done in this life. And now I see. I see it all. Our days as mortals are short and counted. But I am grateful for every day I had with my father. I am grateful for every cherished moment. And I will not dishonor his memory.”

Arnwylf took his hand away from Deifol Hroth’s hand and fell, fell down, down far into the black, winter night waters of the Bight of Lanis below.

Chapter Fourteen

Under Byland

As the weak winter morning dawned through the heavy cloud cover, the elf helped the Archer limp from the edge of the Weald, followed by the pack of wolves.

A sentry from Arnwylf’s camp ran forward to meet them.

“What happened? Did you find Arnwylf?” The sentry cried.

“Rouse your men, get every able body in New Rogar Li out here,” the elf said. The sentry was dumbstruck for only a moment, then he turned and ran for the city as fast as he could.

The Archer sat down on a log, and ripped open his trousers. The bite he received from Baalenruud was red and swollen. The elf pressed on his leg and a clear fluid ran out.

“Can you feel your leg?” The elf asked.

“Yes” the Archer said with a grimace. “That hurts quite a bit.”

“That’s good,” the elf said. “It means there’s no venom in your leg. But we must be wary of infection.”

The garond shaman that had saved their lives in the Weald, pulled some brown leaves from a leather pouch on his belt. The garond chewed the leaves, and then pressed them onto the Archer’s wound. The Archer flinched, but then raised his head in surprise as he suddenly an easing of his pain. The garond wrapped the Archer’s leg with precision.

Almost immediately warriors and able wealdkin of New Rogar Li began to straggle into the northern camp on the edge of the Weald.

“Keep your eyes open for any movement,” the Archer commanded to the growing ranks of warriors. “But hold your fire.”

“There!” A sharp eyed soldier cried.

From the edge of the Weald, Conniker, the white wolf tiredly approached, his head wearily hanging low.

The elf sprinted to Conniker’s side.

“Did you see Arnwylf?” The elf asked in wolfish.

“He flew away with the Bad One,” the wolf quietly said.

“Flew? Like a bird?” The elf asked in amazement.

“Yes,” Conniker replied and then collapsed into the elf’s arms.

“Take him into the city and nurse him,” the elf told a young soldier, who carefully carried the white wolf away.

“What has happened to the Only Father?” Lanner, the black wolf, asked the elf.

“He is just tired, he will recover,” Iounelle told Lanner.

“And what of his brother?” Lanner asked.

“He will be found,” the elf said.

“Did Conniker see Arnwylf?” The Archer asked.

“The white wolf says Arnwylf flew off with Deifol Hroth,” the elf grimly replied.

“Flew? Like a bird?” The Archer asked. The elf only quietly nodded her head.

“That means Deifol Hroth has both the Mattear Gram and the Lhalíi,” the Archer said with a low voice. Again, all the elf could do was nod assent. “And if he gets your Moon Sword...”

“He will not,” the elf said.

“We must go to the citadel and save Arnwylf,” the Archer said through gritted teeth. “At once. We need horses.”

Stralain, the First Captain of the Weald Army, and a hundred of the wealdkin arrived, hastily still dressing and clutching what weapons they could immediately lay hands on, some swords, some pitchforks, some clubs, and other sharpened wood working tools.

“Watch carefully the Weald,” the Archer said to Stralain, “but do not go in. There are unnatural things in the Weald.”

“Are there garonds?” Stralain said eyeing the garond standing next to the Archer and the elf.

“There are no garonds as far as I know,” the Archer said. “And if they look like this one, please for the love of the Great Parent, do not shoot it with an arrow or kill it.”

The wealdkin looked at the strange garond with suspicion and wonder as it accompanied the Archer and the elf back to New Rogar Li.

“Zad gar bud ”? the elf asked the garond as they trudged through the new fallen snow.

“Koo bug Dond ,” the garond said with a smile pointing to himself.

“His name is Dond,” the elf said to the Archer. “Iounelle,” the elf said pointing to herself. “Derragen,” the elf said pointing to the Archer.

Dond suddenly stopped. “Iounelle,” he said and clutched the air as though he had taken the word into his fist. “Derragen,” Dond said and closed his other fist. Then, the garond pressed his fists to his chest as though he had just put their names into his heart.

“Very good, Dond,” the Archer said and then pulled the garond along. “We’re in a hurry.”

At the house of Alrhett, the elf, the Archer, and Dond were admitted.

They sat with Alrhett, Yulenth, and Frea, and told them all that had befallen them that evening. 

“Oh my grandson,” Alrhett cried and buried her head in Yulenth’s shoulder.

“He has almost certainly taken him to his citadel here in the Weald,” Derragen said.

“Perhaps Dond will help us get through that strange mist that envelopes the citadel,” the elf said. 

Wynnfrith came through the front door, her arms filled with various foods, followed by Garmee Gamee who held a basket of freshly baked goods.

“I made some cakes for Arnwylf,” Garmee Gamee said, “as an apology-” She stopped short as she caught sight of the garond.

Wynnfrith dropped everything in her arms when she, too, saw the garond.

“This is a friend,” Yulenth cried. “Don’t be worried.”

“No,” Wynnfrith said and rushed to cup the garond’s face in her hands. “This is the garond from my farsight!”

Dond began to babble excitedly to the elf.

“Yes, slow down,” the elf told the garond. “He says he saw you, too, in a vision. His quest was to come here and bring you back to Garondia, to give you the Heart of the Earth.”

“Yes,” Wynnfrith cried. “Yes! We must leave at once!”

“But the garond was coming with us,” the Archer said.

“I learned long ago to always heed the vision of a heid, a female seer,” Iounelle reproached the Archer. The elf spoke briefly with Dond in garondish. “I asked him how he intended to get past the growing armies on both sides in Byland. He says there is a secret way. He is very determined to leave right away with Wynnfrith.”

“And, I am determined to go with him,” Wynnfrith said.

“You can’t go alone,” Yulenth said. “I will go with you.”

“And I will go as well,” Garmee Gamee said with mock courage.

“You will stay here and learn to speak when spoken to,” Alrhett said with finality.

“I guess we will have to find our own way into the citadel,” the Archer said to the elf. “Frea will you come with us to rescue Arnwylf?”

Frea was very quiet.

“It is very strange,” she said. “At this moment my heart cries out to find my beloved Arnwylf. But I know I must go with Wynnfrith and Yulenth.”

“I never told you,” Wynnfrith said touching Frea’s shoulder, “but you were with me, in my vision, in the Far Grasslands. I have seen that you will come with us, but I never wanted to influence you.”

“What do you think,” Alrhett addressed the Archer, “Should we evacuate New Rogar Li with those... vyreeoten, those serpent monsters, in the Weald?”

The Archer bowed his head in thought.

“There are not many garonds at the new citadel here in Wealdland,” the Archer slowly said. “Deifol Hroth will try to consolidate his power by bringing his garond armies, from the Far Grasslands, here, through Byland. We have had constant word from Caerlund of the garond forces massing there. As a general, it is my belief that every human in Wealdland should be in Byland to repulse the impending garond invasion.”

The Archer paused to let this sink in.

“If you do send your warriors to Byland,” the Archer continued, “you leave New Rogar Li unprotected.”

“Then we must evacuate,” Alrhett said with a calming breath. “It is best for us to camp in Harvestley so that we may support the troops in Byland in any case. I will send the word and see which of our allies in the rest of Wealdland will respond. I believe the Kingdom of Man will support us, as will the remnants of the Madronite people. Most of the soldiers of Kipleth are already in Byland. It only remains to see if Reia will join with us. May the hands of the Great Parents lift your feet and speed you on your quests.”

The Archer and the elf were given horses. Iounelle removed the saddle and halter from her horse. Then, the elf spoke quietly to each animal. She and the Archer mounted and as soon they were upon their horses, the beasts sped away with a personal urgency that could have only come from understanding the words they heard from the elf. 

Yulenth, Wynnfrith, Dond and Frea stole away after kissing their good-byes with Alrhett, south to the Bairn river.

There, a ferryman waited with a boat to transport them across the swollen, rocking waters of the river.

Once across, Dond quickly led them south through Harvestley. 

Back at the river, the ferryman was met by another seeking passage, Garmee Gamee, who shook her bleached blonde locks to wrangle a free passage across the Bairn river to follow Wynnfrith and her fellow travelers.

The path through Harvestley was uneventful. The flat farmland was still untended and deserted with the constant movement of military forces through the land. Although beautiful and verdant, Harvestley was where the great garond encampment had been up until last year, and so held many bad memories for any who wished to live in the area. 

The sun was low as Wynnfrith and her company reached the rocky southern beach of Byland on the Bight of Lanis. Easy paths cut into the white cliffs made a descent down to the beach a simple affair, with Dond leading the way.

As they made their way over the broken, white rocks of the shoreline, Frea shouted and pointed behind them. Garmee Gamee was easily spotted.

“Go back, Garmee Gamee,” Wynnfrith yelled. But, she kept on her pace.

Dond grunted in unintelligible garondish, pointing back at Garmee Gamee, but Wynnfrith shook her head and urged the garond to continue on without waiting for the straggler.

No garond or human soldier patrolled the beach since it ended in the sheer, unscalable limestone cliffs of Byland. The garonds, the year before, had been pulling marowdowr, great dangerous fish, from the Bight of Lanis, lifting them with cranes and releasing them into the Great Lake of Ettonne to make the waters and rivers of Wealdland unsafe for passage.

Now the beach was empty and all that remained of the garonds occupation were weathered timbers and the burnt skeletons of the cranes.

They stopped and stared up at the Flume of Gawry. A massive jet of water sprayed from a cleft high up on the cliff face, fed by a canal eroded from over spill from Lake Ettonne. It was exactly like the Flume of Rith in the west. The spray of water was a gentle, light rain by the time it hit the beach, and the perpetual rainbow brightening the incessant waterfall began to fade as the sun set.

“How do we get to the Far Grasslands from here?” Yulenth wondered aloud. “We have no boat. We can not scale these cliffs. There’s two armies up there anyway. It’s impossible.”

As they caught their breaths, Garmee Gamee caught up with them.

“Go home, Garmee Gamee” Frea said to her.

“Oh, no,” she said, her eyes running black with mascara. “I’m coming with you.”

“We have no time to reason with you, not that it would do any good,” Wynnfrith said. “If you must come, stay up with us, and for the Great Parent’s sake, keep your mouth shut.”

Garmee Gamee happily shook her colored hair and eagerly climbed up behind them.

Dond began to jabber in garondish and pointed up at the white rock cliff that stretched away to the Far Grasslands.

“He can’t expect us to climb that,” Frea said with exasperation.

“Just trust him,” Wynnfrith said with certainty as she followed the garond up to the cliff wall.

“If only we had someone who spoke garondish,” Yulenth frowned, “to tell him how crazy he is.”

The humans picked their way up the white, crumbled rocks behind the garond who climbed ever closer to the sheer cliff. The spray from the flume was directly overhead and soaked the climbers, and made the rocks slippery.

Yulenth looked down at the raging surf. The Bight of Lanis was notoriously dangerous, with unpredictable tides, and huge crashing waves. The surf below boiled with an intensity far beyond the ordinary sweep of wave upon the shore. It seemed as if water was gushing up from under the shoreline to add to the intensity of the breakers. Columns of anger water burst up through the thrashing waves. Falling down into that furious cauldron of roiling ocean would most certainly end in a quick and watery death.

Dond disappeared behind a flat boulder.

“Where’d he go!?” Yulenth exclaimed.

“Come on!” Wynnfrith who was right behind Dond yelled, then she too disappeared.

Yulenth heard Garmee Gamee, last in line, grunt as she slipped. Quick as a snake, Yulenth turned and grabbed her arm just before she fell to the angry water below.

“Best you stay in front of me,” Yulenth moved her ahead of him.