The Archer From Kipleth (Book 2) (6 page)

“Oh please,” Wynnfrith implored Frea, “hold nothing back. If you have heard even a request for provisions...”

“He has not responded to any of my letters,” Frea quietly said with downcast eyes.

“It may be the way of the wealdkin,” Garmee Gamee said. “We do not write flowery love missives. And he was raised by Alrhett and Wynnfrith, both wealdkin. And his father was of Reia. You, being of the Northern Kingdom of Man may not understand him at all.”

Frea quickly stood to face Garmee Gamee, who blankly stared with a look of practiced innocence.

Wynnfrith slowly rose. “If you hear anything, anything...” she said, her heart breaking. Then, Wynnfrith, like a ghost moved to the door and left.

“You may be right,” Frea said sitting again, staring at the floor. “It may be I do not understand him at all.”

“But you love him. So...” Garmee Gamee said, moving stealthily close.

“Yes,” Frea whispered to herself. Then Frea raised her face and wiped her tears. “But no one shall have sway over me, ever again. Ever.”

“Oh,” Garmee Gamee mewed, “because of what happened to you and that awful Ravensdred thing. You must have felt so helpless and weak. You must have been terrified. Everyone knows about it, and pities you. How embarrassing for you. I understand.”

Ronenth returned, composed. “I apologize for my outburst,” he gallantly said.

“No, no,” Frea said and rushed to hold his arms. “I am the one who should apologize, my dear, sweet Ronenth. Garmee Gamee, would you excuse us for a moment?”

Garmee Gamee rose and hurried to the edge of the courtyard where she found a young, ginger haired girl intently watching Frea and Ronenth.

“Hello,” Garmee Gamee said, tilting her head with practiced, false charm. “I am Garmee Gamee. Who are you?”

“Hetwing,” was all the young girl said.

And then Garmee Gamee followed Hetwing’s lovelorn gaze to where Frea and Ronenth held each other, and whispered quiet assurances to each other.

“Oh,” Garmee Gamee said to the fragile girl. “You love the Glaf boy. It seems he loves the princess of the Northern Kingdom of Man. Too bad for you.”

Hetwing broke into soul rending sobs, buried her face in her arm, and fled the courtyard.

Frea and Ronenth approached.

“Who was weeping?” Frea asked.

“No one,” Garmee Gamee said with a wrinkled smile.

Frea turned to Ronenth. “I am receiving Hetwing, daughter to Healfdene, king of Reia. I must see if she has arrived.”

“I will wait for you here,” Ronenth stoically said.

After Frea was gone Garmee Gamee said, “So you are Ronenth, the last of the Glafs.”

“Yes,” Ronenth said. “But, there are two other Glafs. But they are very old.”

“So you must never go to war,” Garmee Gamee said.

“Why?” Ronenth asked with a sudden scowl.

“It would mean the end of your people,” Garmee Gamee said with practiced innocence. “No one would doubt your courage or bravery. Why I’m sure no one needs your sword on the battle lines in Lanis or in the North. Why you’re probably not needed in Byland, even. Preserving your line is much more important. Think of it! What if there were no more Glafs!”

“No, I mean yes,” Ronenth mumbled. “It would be awful.”

“And Frea wouldn’t mind,” Garmee Gamee said with a smile.

“What do you mean?” Ronenth darkly asked.

“Oh, I thought you and she,” Garmee Gamee stumbled with false precision. “I thought you had feelings for her.”

“I do have feelings for her,” Ronenth blurted. “Just not ‘those’ feelings.”

“No?” Garmee Gamee wormed. “It seemed... You seemed so hurt when she... Oh, but never mind. A Glaf is always truthful, yes. Why, no one need be afraid of the truth. And you are courageous and brave. So why would you need fear telling Frea...”

“What?” Ronenth said, his mind on fire. “What?”

“’What’ indeed,” Frea blithely said, returning.

Ronenth tensely turned to face Frea. He suddenly stiffened like a puppet.

“Frea,” he said, his dark features turning red. “Frea.”

“Yes?” Frea asked with growing annoyance.

Ronenth seemed to be physically struggling with forming the feelings in his heart for which he had not yet found the right words. “I am not afraid!” Ronenth blurted, and then ran from the courtyard holding back his tears.

“Ronenth!” Frea called, then turned to Garmee Gamee. “What was that about?” Frea demanded.

“I do not know” Garmee Gamee lied. “But let me see to him. You have the business of your Kingdom which needs your attention.” And, she rushed after Ronenth.

Garmee Gamee caught Ronenth at the gate to Frea’s mansion.

“Leave me be,” he said to her.

“Oh, no,” Garmee Gamee said shaking her bleached locks. “I am your greatest supporter. I will not leave you now. So...”

“Then be silent,” Ronenth dejectedly said, as they walked through the bustle of New Rogar Li.

The new city was unlike any city ever built before in Wealdland. The large square structures in the city created closed, narrow avenues and alleys unlike any city ever seen before. The residents were all so eager to cram their houses and shops into the city that so consideration of space or parks was even thought of. The new city felt confined and too open at the same time, with no trees to shade or break the unending vista of box-like houses and halls.

A soft snow began to fall.

In the near distance a group of men yelled and huffed as they dragged a large wheeled wagon with a tank through the sleet and mud of the wide street.

“Give way! Give way!” They called. The fog of the breath of the new Fire Control Squad wreathed the men like a cloud of desperation.

“How large a fire can they stop with that little water jug?” Garmee Gamee snorted, pathetically laughing at her own joke. “They would be lucky to stop a child’s camp fire.” Garmee Gamee looked for approval from Ronenth, but his eyes were filled with sorrow and confusion, and his face dark.

“Do not think about her,” Garmee Gamee said. “It will only make things worse. Why you should think about all the wonderful things being built here in New Rogar Li. This city is being built so fast, it looks like a child’s toy box turned upside-down.” Garmee Gamee looked again for approval from Ronenth, but his dark countenance was now replaced with a scowl.

“Here you are!” An elderly man said approaching.

“What now, Yulenth?” Ronenth moaned.

“You were due in the library at mid day,” the white haired man scolded.

“I’m headed there now,” Ronenth mumbled.

“You have kept me, Solienth and Nostacarr, the master of the library, waiting for the whole day. It’s nearly night!” Yulenth exclaimed.

“I am Garmee Gamee,” the painted woman said with studied cheerfulness.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Yulenth said without looking at her. “The fate of the written word is resting squarely on your shoulders,” he said to Ronenth.

“Why should I care about the written word!” Ronenth snapped as they walked briskly towards the library. “I should be out in the field, with a sword in my hand. I should be in Byland, keeping more garonds from invading our land. But you and Solienth keep me cooped up in that empty barn like a fragile glass vase. The last Glaf! I wish I was dead already! My strength and skill are being wasted in this stinking city.”

The three arrived at the new library of New Rogar Li. It was an impressive building. It had a stone base the size of ten houses, ornately cut. It’s wooden floors rose in stepped platforms imitating the shape of the Old Rogar Li, lost to the ashes. On every wall were paintings of the titanic trees long gone to the Great Fire.

“I am not your son, nor your slave,” Ronenth hotly said turning to face Yulenth, whose elderly countenance creased with genuine sorrow and care. Then, the dark haired young man stormed into the looming edifice.

“He is usually so cheerful,” Yulenth said with a sad, wry smile.

“He is a good man,” Garmee Gamee said as she followed Yulenth into the library. “He has many worries on his mind. And it is hard to command a child whom you love as your own, but who is not.”

At the massive doors, carved of a light yellow pine, depicting animals and birds of the Weald, Yulenth stopped to look at Garmee Gamee with a soul searching gaze.

“He, Solienth and I are the last of our race,” Yulenth said with reproaching wonder. “We could not be more closely tied by blood.”

“Yes,” Garmee Gamee said as she entered the vast library with Yulenth. “But, at the end of the day, he is not your son. So... Oh, my.” Garmee Gamee stared up at the empty, empty library. Rows and rows of shelves had been built to replace the books lost in the great fire. Garmee Gamee stifled a giggle as she paced to the only shelf with a handful of books. “So this is the great library of New Rogar Li,” she said hiding a smile.

“Every book will be replaced,” an old, old man wheezed. “Copied from memory or other books from the libraries of Madrun and Reia. I am Nostacarr, who are you?”

“I am Garmee Gamee, a pleasure to meet you,” she said impolitely, ignoring the master of the library. Ronenth and Yulenth now whispered furiously with another elderly man with a stocky build.

“Do not dare to dictate my schedule to me!” Ronenth finally loudly said, and stalked off into the echoing caverns of the empty library.

Solienth sadly patted Yulenth’s shoulder, as the older man wearily sat.

“He is like a young horse,” Garmee Gamee said as she approached the two elderly Glafs. “He wants to kick around the meadow, when he should be learning how to obey his rider’s commands. Children are difficult.” Garmee Gamee falsely shook her hair.

“He is all we have,” Solienth said with a husky hint of sorrow.

“And he is so gifted,” Nostacarr added. “Why you show him a passage and he remembers it easily. He already speaks several eldritch languages fluently. And his penmanship is beautiful.” All three old men nodded in agreement at the remarkable line of Ronenth’s script.

“Perhaps we have tried to control him too much,” Solienth said shaking his strong chin. “He is a young man after all. At his age, all I did was chase girls and get into fights.”

“Every problem can be solved if you look at all the possibilities,” Yulenth said looking off in the direction of Ronenth’s departure. “I’ve always believed if you can get enough information, get close to the problem, you can unravel any difficulty. I must talk to him.” Yulenth rose and shambled after the boy.

Solienth sighed. “The brightest man I know, and that boy turns him into a simpleton.”

“Children must be controlled,” Garmee Gamee simply said. “This much I know.”

“That is all I knew of life,” Solienth quietly said. “I ordered my army and they obeyed. Where is my army now?” Solienth stared off to the empty heights of the beautiful, vast, bookless library. Then he rose. “I must see Halldora.”

“I will go with you,” Garmee Gamee said.

As Solienth heaved his elderly body, once a massive warrior, through the large doors of the library, Garmee Gamee diligently followed.

In the streets of New Rogar Li the snow fell heavier as the day dimmed to a close. Workers and messengers hurried to finish their day’s business. Every passing figure was a ghost rimmed with white, faces down, arms huddled.

“Tell me, great general,” Garmee Gamee said to the old general. “Is it true? The rumors I’ve heard?”

“What rumors?” Solienth growled without malice.

“That there is a traitor here in Wealdland,” Garmee Gamee innocently chimed. “They say the Dark Lord of Magic anticipates our every move, so there must be a traitor in our midst.”

“That’s nonsense,” Solienth grunted.

“But how can he move so freely about Wealdland?” Garmee Gamee needled. “And, he is building a citadel here under our very noses. How can he be allowed to do this unless someone of our race is aiding him?”

“I can think of only one man who would be so foolish,” Solienth frowned.

“I do not mean Apghilis,” Garmee Gamee minced. “Personally, I do not believe the lies about him. He has an army in the north and fights garonds. That is not the mark of a traitor. A traitor sits next to you at dinner, and smiles at you as he slips a knife into your back.”

“That may be,” Solienth said without caring.

The two arrived at the red and gold door to the home of Frea and Halldora.

“How funny,” Garmee Gamee said. “I was just here this afternoon.” The two entered and were announced. Solienth and Garmee Gamee were shown to a comfortable room with expensive, gold embroidered cushions, a large, elaborately designed red carpet, and an impressive fireplace carved of granite, in which crackled a large, comforting fire.

“It seems I host every leader of every nation today,” Halldora said as she entered, robed in a flowing dress of red and gold, the royal colors of Man, her red hair braided back. She wearily clasped her hands in front. Halldora was the exact image of her daughter, Frea. At only thirty winters, she still had youth and fire in her smile, but her blue eyes held back an inescapable sorrow for her murdered husband, Haergill, King of the Northern Kingdom of Man.