The Archer From Kipleth (Book 2) (7 page)

“My dear, Solienth,” she said as she kissed the old warrior. “How may I help the last Glaf soldier?” Halldora said with an honest smile.

Solienth shifted uncomfortably in his lavish chair. “It’s the boy. Ronenth. He’s troubled. He’s neglecting his studies.”

“I’m not surprised,” Halldora delicately sat. “He spends every moment here.” She shifted her gaze down in shame. “He burns for my daughter. It is plain. But he also knows she loves only Arnwylf.”

“Have you tried talking to Frea?” Solienth pled. “Perhaps she could dissuade him, bring him back to his senses.”

“Oh, she won’t do that,” Garmee Gamee said. “I know young girls. They love to dangle boys like a cat plays with a mangled mouse.”

Halldora and Solienth stared at Garmee Gamee in polite, shocked disgust.

“There must be something you can do,” Solienth said to Halldora.

“I think it best to not meddle in the tangles of young love,” Halldora said with apology.

“Coming between two lovers is like a civil war, is it not?” Garmee Gamee mused. “Not unlike the war between the Kingdom of Man and the Glafs.”

“This is nothing like that,” Halldora said.

“Oh, I think so,” Garmee Gamee said. “The Kingdom of Man ended up with everything and the Glafs, nothing. Just like Frea has everything, and Ronenth has nothing.”

“That is not true,” Halldora breathed. “Ronenth is his own man.”

“But Frea has his heart in her hands,” Solienth added. “He is at her mercy.”

“This is preposterous,” Halldora stood.

“Will the Northern Kingdom of Man destroy Glafemen again?” Solienth quietly chewed, clearly anger brewing in his heart.

An uncomfortable silence filled the opulent room.

Halldora quietly rose, crossed the room, and knelt at Solienth’s feet. “What would you have of the Kingdom of Man?” She quietly asked. “Take what you will. Our people pushed yours to the brink of extinction. I apologize.”

Solienth was motionless. He stared at the fire. Garmee Gamee brought her hand to her open mouth. Solienth slowly lifted his bulk. Standing, with an emperor’s posture, Solienth said, “the men of Glaf need nothing from the Northern Kingdom of Man.” And then Solienth stalked from the room.

Halldora rose from her knees and sat in Solienth’s chair.

“What could you do?” Garmee Gamee said. “Perhaps you should have given him your kingdom. Perhaps you should have given him your body. The violence of your people murdered thousands of his people. What excuse is there for such violence? What forgiveness?”

Halldora turned to stare at Garmee Gamee in disbelief, but then the guilt of years of bloodshed weighed her gaze down to the richly embroidered carpet.

“I never went to war,” Halldora softly said. “I have never killed any single human being in my life. But I know my husband did. I know I enjoyed the riches of his conquests. I know I reaped the treasures of the misery and death my people visited on innocents.”

Garmee Gamee smiled as she let Halldora suffer in silence.

“Queen,” a servant said, bowing as he entered. “Prince Haerreth is leaving, and he’s very upset.”

“Oh, no,” Halldora breathed. “I forgot about Haerreth!”

Halldora rose and rushed from the room, with Garmee Gamee at her heels.

Halldora and Garmee Gamee came upon voices increasing in anger, near the marbled foyer of the mansion. A ginger haired man with a blonde beard, wearing ceremonial armor berated servants who apologized and begged him to stay. Hetwing shyly stood in her brother’s shadow, her eyes red from crying.

“Take your hands off of me,” Haerreth boomed as servants pawed at his cloak and shoulders. Haerreth stopped as he spied Halldora and Garmee Gamee arriving. “In all my days, I have never been treated so rudely, so disrespectfully. All day! All day I have waited with scraping sycophants mewing and pawing at me!”

“My dear Haerreth,” Halldora spread her hands. “I do apologize. I lost track of time.”

“It is nightfall,” Haerreth huffed. “I meant to leave the Weald by nightfall. I have word that the Evil One’s citadel here in our lands has been discovered. I meant to ask for the support of the armies of Man in the siege. But, apparently the Heir to the throne of Reia isn’t important enough to be included in the plans of the new Wealdland. Let me tell you-”

“Please, Haerreth!” Halldora said.

“Let me tell you,” Haerreth went on, “Reia is still strong, and the jealousy of the other nations will not preclude us from the governance of Wealdland as a whole. It is not our fault the garonds never attacked our lands, but plenty of reians died in the Battle of the Eastern Meadowlands. Plenty!”

“I beg you to stay,” Halldora said. “Or let me come with you to show my support.”

“It’s too late for that,” Garmee Gamee said. “He needs to ride with his men. So...”

“That’s right!” Haerreth boomed. “It’s too late! Why I’ve received more respect from Maginalius, the brother of that damnable Summeninquis than from you, or Caerlund, or Derragen, or Alrhett, or- or-”

“You are the prince of Reia after all,” Garmee Gamee simply said.

“I AM the prince of Reia,” Haerreth shouted. “I am done with this place.”

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

“Yes,” Halldora’s eyes were dark, “I think you’d best.”

Haerreth burst from the mansion striding through the slush of the new fallen snow, with Garmee Gamee at his heels, trotting to keep up with Haerreth’s angry pace.

Without lanterns or torches to light the streets, the city was dark.

“Solienth thinks there is a traitor,” Garmee Gamee almost shouted.

Haerreth skidded to a stop in the snow and turned. “What?” He asked, his face reddening.

“Solienth thinks there is a traitor,” Garmee Gamee repeated. “Otherwise, how could the Dark Lord even survive here? How could his armies maintain their advantages after being so thoroughly defeated last year?”

“Does Alrhett know this?” Haerreth said, with fire in his eyes.

“Perhaps we should ask her,” Garmee Gamee said.

“Too right,” Haerreth angrily breathed, and then turned to stalk in the direction of Alrhett’s home.

At the simple house, Haerreth banged on the green door. A servant wearing a sword answered the door.

“Let me in,” Haerreth said as he pushed past the servant, with Garmee Gamee right behind him.

Haerreth found Alrhett and Wynnfrith seated at a dining table with a humble meal before them. Wynnfrith stared down at her plate, not touching anything.

“My Lord Haerreth,” Alrhett said with affection, rising to greet him.

“Is there a traitor in our midst and I was not told?” Haerreth demanded.

“Ah, Garmee Gamee,” Alrhett said with knowing. “I see you’ve made quite a few new friends in one short day.”

“Well?” Haerreth challenged.

“From whom did this revelation come?” Alrhett quietly asked, her eyes squarely on Garmee Gamee.

“It matters not,” Haerreth said. “If there is someone passing information to the Dark Lord, it puts all my men’s lives in peril. I feel as though I have been excluded from too much of what has been going on around New Rogar Li. I should know these things.”

“Unless you are suspected,” Garmee Gamee said with rehearsed innocence, looking out a window.

Haerreth, mouth agape turned to Alrhett, who almost spoke sharply to Garmee Gamee, but then had to turn to Haerreth, whose face was now a bright red.

“In all my waking days-” Haerreth shouted.

“My Lord Haerreth, I assure you-” Alrhett raised her voice.

“This will not stand-” Haerreth boomed.

“If you would let me explain-” Alrhett yelled.

“Now I see!” Haerreth shouted. “Now I see! I am suspected! How dare you! The men of Reia saved your worthless hides!”

“My Lord forgets himself!” Alrhett said.

“Perhaps I will withdraw all my men in Byland and let the garond army come and see who is truly trustworthy in all the Weald!” Haerreth shouted.

“Haerreth!” Alrhett yelled. There was quiet, as both parties caught their breaths. “My Lord Haerreth,” Alrhett said evenly, trembling. “No one in all of Wealdland is more trusted than you. We all owe our lives to the armies of Reia, that is not in dispute. Please stay and let us speak quietly and reasonably.”

“My men are riding tonight,” Haerreth mumbled, still swollen with anger.

“Can they not wait one day?” Alrhett implored.

“There is word of the discovery of a new citadel, here in Wealdland, in the midst of construction by the Evil One,” Haerreth said into his beard.

“This is the first I have heard of this,” Alrhett said.

“Summeninquis knows,” Haerreth said. “He sends the armies of the Weald led by his brother Maginalius.”

“This is a complete surprise to me,” Alrhett said with shock. “That the armies would be employed without my knowledge-”

“Now you see how it feels to be excluded in matters of your own responsibility,” Garmee Gamee said.

“Be silent, girl,” Alrhett said, then to Haerreth. “I beg you to stay one day that I may investigate... and understand this action. I swear to you, I had no knowledge of any of this.”

“If Deifol Hroth is building a new citadel under our very noses,” Haerreth said, “and he is vulnerable, we must strike immediately.”

“Please do not be rash,” Alrhett said.

Haerreth suddenly turned red. “I will tolerate that nonsense from my father, for I must, but not from you!” And then Haerreth stomped out of Alrhett’s home, slamming the door.

The defeated silence was deafening.

Then Alrhett turned to Garmee Gamee. “You must learn to be more discreet in your conversation.”

“I apologize, my Queen,” Garmee Gamee said. “With the defeat of the Eaststand by your house, I was left to be raised without the instruction of the manners and ways of high bred society. So...”

“Perhaps I can find someone to help you,” Alrhett dejectedly said, looking off in the direction of Haerreth’s exit.

“Oh, great queen” Garmee Gamee shook her bleached locks, “that would be wonderful. But only Your Highness could teach me the best.”

“I have so little time-” Alrhett tiredly said.

“I will be quiet as a mouse,” Garmee Gamee said. “I am your greatest supporter, and I will learn as a daughter ought to.”

Wynnfrith, still silently seated at the dining table, flinched.

“Where do you live?” Alrhett said.

“I live with my two brothers and their families, in a one bedroom house near the lumber yard,” Garmee Gamee said.

“We have a spare room, don’t we?” Alrhett asked Wynnfrith, who simply nodded.

“Oh, my queen! Oh, my queen!” Garmee Gamee crowed, kneeling to press Alrhett’s hand to her forehead. Then she sprang to her feet. “I will go and get my things right away. I have so little anyway. I will be right back.” Then, Garmee Gamee rushed from the house.

Out on the street, in the cold winter night, Garmee Gamee happily skipped. Then she stopped, and slowed to a walk.

She tipped her head back, and laughed, and laughed.

Chapter Four

The Lhalíi

The Archer rode closely behind the elf, who balanced precariously on her horse, without a saddle. The horse went wherever the elf wanted without any commands or prodding. The Archer knew she spoke to animals, but on horse back, it seemed her mount knew precisely what she wanted with the lightest of touches.

Caerlund and his men had already been riding for most of the day to reach their camp in Lanis, and so were straggling towards the rear of the furious squadron of human warriors hell bent on catching up to Deifol Hroth and the remnant of his garond army.

The two moons, Nunee and the Wanderer, slowly tracked in the night sky. The larger moon, Nunee, slowly and majestically paced the heavens overhead. The smaller, newer moon, the Wanderer, perturbed in its orbit last year by Deifol Hroth careened across the night sky like a runaway horse and cart.

Even in the darkness, the traces in the snow of the fleeing army had been easy to track.

The countryside was only shades of black and white at night. Bare trees stretched empty branches against the dirty blanket of snow. The empty tree’s shadows cast by the two moons seemed like ghosts of slain warriors embracing their enemies in the shadow realms of the afterlife.

A mist began to roll up to the riders, and Iounelle calmed her horse to a trot. She seemed suddenly concerned, and turned to the Archer.

“Have we ridden in a circle?” She asked.

“I see no recognizable landmark to be sure,” the Archer answered. “This mist is strange for winter weather.”

“Unnatural,” the elf corrected. “The mist seems thicker in that direction,” the elf pointed.

“Could the Dark Lord be hiding his citadel?” The Archer asked.

“Almost certainly,” the elf said. “Best to camp for the night, rather than blunder into an ambush.”

“Make camp!” The Archer called to the sixty or more riders.

Caerlund staggered to the front. “Excuse me,” he said to the Archer. “I don’t mean to be impertinent, but didn’t we leave much of our provisions back at ‘Ailliaden’?”

“Foolhardy and head strong,” the Archer said to himself. “We’ll have to make do with what we have. It’s clear we can’t siege a citadel so poorly prepared. In the morning we should make for Alfhich or Plymonley.”

“Aye,” Caerlund said. “Plymonley is a town of ghosts. You’ll find most of the Madrun Hills empty. And, we provisioned in Alfhich before we came to you. It is a hard pressed place.”

“What do you suggest, Caerlund, Chief of the Madronites?” The elf asked with tenderness.

“It seems sense to me, in the morning, to cross the Bairn River where it’s shallow, and make for New Rogar Li. We can consolidate with the wealdkin there, and get properly resupplied. And if we determine the citadel we seek is truly hidden in this mist, why, then we know exactly where to return to.”

“Once again,” the Archer said with a clap on Caerlund’s shoulder, ”you speak the greatest wisdom. On the morrow we make for the Weald.”

“And let us find what signs we can of this new citadel on the way,” the elf added.

As the soldiers of Madrun, the Sons of Yenolah, and the Children of Lanis made camp, the mist became heavier and heavier.

“I hear movement out there,” the elf told the Archer.

“I’ll set double sentries,” the Archer said.

“I think we should break up our followers,” the elf said as she ate a roasted turnip.

“A fine idea,” the archer said as he finished his small portion of bread. “Attention!” He called to the whole camp. “Sons of Yenolah, I request that you no longer follow me. It’s best you join an established military group. I wish to move about Wealdland more quickly and quietly, as well.”

“The same goes for the Children of Lanis,” the elf said. “We have retaken Lanis Rhyl Landemiriam. Your cause no longer exists.”

“But you promised us one more archery lesson,” a sour faced Son of Yenolah pouted to Derragen.

“Very well,” the Archer said. “Gather your bows.”

All the camp, including the men of Madrun arraigned themselves in lines to hear the technique of the Archer from Kipleth.

“As this will be your last lesson,” Derragen began, “I am going to teach you the most important thing Sehen, the blind sage, taught me. Everyone set down your bows and sit.” The assembled did as they were bid. “We have discussed proper breathing, stance, sighting, pacing, and even some philosophy. You remember the last lesson I said, Sehen told me, you must be connected to your target. You must create, in your mind an invisible, golden cord between your mark and yourself. When you become the target, you no longer need to think, nor decide to release the arrow. All will unfold as it ought to.” The Archer paused and his face grew serious. “This point Sehen impressed on me most gravely. You have a responsibility to life and death. You can not take life, of any kind, without serious consequence. It is as if, Sehen said, you are sighting your arrow on yourself. I never really understood his words until just recently. I have been so thirsty for garond blood, because of the slaughter of my wife and children, I never thought upon the damage I have done to my own soul. I know most of you have lost family and friends to this war, but nothing is more sacred than life, even the life of your enemy. I see now, this idea brings one closer to the Great Parent, as the elves call god. But, we fight to preserve life, the life of our family and tribes. And so, our cause is just. But, we must not let this war make killing easy or commonplace. So, let the seriousness of our actions, whenever we take up the bow, weigh heavy on our souls, so that we may not lose them. That is the lesson for tonight. Now let us set up our camp.”

“A good speech,” Caerlund grunted, nodding. “Let us set the sentries, then.”

As Caerlund assigned his men, the Archer noticed the elf towards the back, silently gripping her bow.

“Have you been listening to my lessons?” The Archer asked.

“I haven’t missed a one” she soberly answered. “This last one has meant the most to me.”

A scuffle and raised voices made the Archer and the elf turn, then run to the edge of camp.

Two sentries held a man between themselves. The man was dressed as though he were wealthy once, but his clothing was now filthy and worn.

“Who are you, and why do you sneak about our camp at night?” The Archer demanded.

“I do no sneaking!” The man protested. “I am Lord Stavolebe of the Weald. I serve the wealdkin on a mission of the utmost importance.”

“Oh, Lord Stavolebe?” The elf asked. “And what important mission is that?”

“It is secret,” Stavolebe said with exasperation, then blurted, “but I can tell you. I was sent to find the new citadel of the Dark One.”

“Was it not a Lord Stavolebe,” the Archer said, “who falsely accused Queen Alrhett of a murder he himself committed?”

“It was self defense!” Stavolebe cried. “I was exonerated! I serve the wealdkin on a most dangerous mission to pay for any unhappiness I caused.”

“We have no way to verify your words, Lord Stavolebe” the Archer said. “We will prove your words when we arrive at New Rogar Li. We are searching for this supposed citadel, as well. What have you discovered?”

“Well,” Stavolebe said conspiratorially, “it is hidden by this very mist you see. You are wise not to wander into it. Many garonds hide in concealed places. Their clubs would be on your heads before you could even draw your sword.”

“How do you know this?” The elf asked. “Have you seen the garonds kill thusly? And how did you escape alive?”

“I fought for my life!” Stavolebe protested. “But I have been discovering the secret paths and traps of this labyrinth of mists, and I think I can lead you through it.”

“That would be most helpful,” the Archer said. “But something about you is untrustworthy. Watch him carefully all the night,” the Archer said to a guard. “In the morning we will see if your words have honesty in them,” the Archer said to Stavolebe.

As the human warriors settled their camp for the night, Nunee, the mother moon slowly rose. Right on her heels, in the crystal clear night sky, the Wanderer, the second moon followed, large and craggy. Its pace was unrestrained and frightening. In a matter of moments it passed Nunee and shrunk in size as it careened on its new, dangerous orbit, out away from the earth.

The humans worriedly murmured to each other with fear. It was well known that Deifol Hroth had somehow moved the Wanderer out of its settled path in the heavens, a year ago.

“Three times it paces the sky,” the Archer said gazing at the celestial wonder. “Only last year it paced the night sky but twice.”

“Its gaining in speed,” the elf somberly said.

“Lady Iounelle,” a Child of Lanis approached, “the Children wish for you to tell them a tale before we go to sleep.”

“Children who fight, kill and die,” the elf sadly whispered to herself. “I will be there in a moment,” the elf said. “You have to help me this time,” the elf said to the Archer.

“I?” The Archer was incredulous. “I can not tell a tale of the elves.”

“I know what story they are going to want to hear,” Iounelle said. “If this is to be their last night with us.”

“Oh,” the Archer said with awareness.

The whole camp was gathered around a central fire. The soldiers huddled together for warmth against the winter cold. The elf was sadly impressed by the youth she saw in all their faces, and she thought of young Valdey. The bonfire was large and brilliant, and it felt good to have the light and heat against the dark and cold of the night.

“It all began in a small, unnoticed village called Bittel,” The elf said.

The assembled Children of Lanis and Sons of Yenolah squirmed with delight and murmured to each other, knowing which story had been chosen.

“I was tracking a garond platoon, and noticed a path along the edge of the meadowland,” the Archer said. “It was a perfect place to pick off garonds, so I climbed an elm tree for a better line of sight. I nocked an arrow, and waited.” The Archer momentarily warmed his hands at the fire. “Sure enough, a group of garonds appeared dragging eight humans in chains.”

“Lord Arnwylf was in their number,” a Child of Lanis blurted and then was shushed.

“I had tracked a platoon of garonds from the Holmwy river to Bittel,” the elf resumed with an look of amused forgiveness to the enthusiastic interrupter, “killing several garonds that had doubled back.”

“I had just sighted on the first garond,” the Archer said.

“When I landed on a branch in his line of sight,” the elf added, “I didn’t see Derragen, and I was ready to spring on the garonds from above.”

“I knew I had to make a decision quick,” the Archer said. “So, I resighted, and pinned Iounelle’s cloak to the tree with an Arrow of Yenolah.”

The two continued the story of their first meeting on into the evening, as Nunee, half waxing, slowly paced the sky, with the Wanderer now no bigger, nor brighter than a star.

Sidelong glances were made at Lord Stavolebe as the treachery against Alrhett in the Weald unfolded. The story concluded with the Battle of the Eastern Meadowlands.

Caerlund approached the Archer and the elf.

“A pleasing tale,” Caerlund smiled. “Well,” he muttered, sensing a romantic tension rising between the elf and the Archer, “I’d best see that my madronite warriors are all settled for the night. Good night.” Caerlund quickly stumbled away scratching his thick, brown and red beard.

As the human soldiers bedded down for the night, The elf set up her single tent next to the Archer’s tent.

“Our story will become a legend,” she said rising and moving close to him. The Archer was quiet and stone faced as he continued tying off the support ropes of his small tent.

“The story of my father and mother became a song, a legend. Galehthaire dae Veranelle. Have I ever sung it for you?” The elf asked as she gently laid her hand on his arm.

The Archer was unsure of what to do with the elf’s hand on his arm. Her whole being had been centered on recapturing her city, and now that the task was complete, she seemed different, calmer, yet no less sorrowful.

“I never thanked you for your companionship,” the elf said.

The Archer rose and gently gripped the elf’s arms. He was mesmerized by her sea green eyes. His body longed for hers. But then a strange, melancholy emotion blanketed his entire mind. The elf could see the change on the Archer’s face.

“Every time you come near me, you think of your dead wife, do you not?” The elf said with her eyes downcast. She pulled away from the Archer’s grip.

“No,” the Archer stammered, “Well, yes. I was just thinking, I can’t seem to remember their faces.”

“Oh,” the elf said. “Oh.”

“What?” The Archer asked.

“You have not properly grieved for your beloved dead,” she said. The elf stared off to the dwindling fires of the camp. “And, I have not grieved for mine.”

Then, the elf seemed energized. “Come with me,” she said. “We will go a few paces into the dark of the night, and you shall be my witness.”

“Witness?”

“It is required for my... way,” the elf said. “Maybe, you too will find some peace, a way to finally grieve.”