Light Of Loreandril (38 page)

Eilendan thoroughly covered every step of their journey, much of which Nechan had not been apart of or heard about. The council sat in silence as they heard the story unfold, beginning with the arduous task of finding and retrieving the Aeonorgal, finishing with the fearsome attacks that followed from the enemy that led to the initial loss of the Aeonorgal. His narrative was clear and concise, meaning the Elders did not need to ask any questions.

As Eilendan explained Nechan’s involvement the young clansman felt his cheeks flush scarlet with embarrassment and humility as the Elders turned to look at him. He squirmed in his seat following the elders’ murmured response to Tavor’s betrayal.

Nechan’s thoughts turned to his brother. Although his ordeal had been terrifying, now it was over he was starting to dwell on thoughts of Cradon. He could not hide the guilt that swamped him. Cradon was somewhere out there. His stomach began to churn at the thought his brother may be dead, drowning out Eilendan’s words. He tried to reassure himself, that as a twin he would know his brother’s fate, yet there was a growing sense of unease. He knew something was not right.

The Elders had heard all they needed. It was clear the companions had been followed to Loreandril, but they did not place blame at their feet. They accepted that there was little else they could have done. The council members had already decided that Loreandril would move again and preparations were underway.

The only aspect of Eilendan’s narrative that was questioned was the escape of Gomel and Cradon. It was conceivable that these two would head straight for Ghornathia, but the real question was whether they would make safely. With the Aeonorgal in their possession the enemy would be drawn to them.

The only course of action was to send a messenger to their allies. Without further hesitation their most trusted fighter and a willing volunteer, Nilean, was sent out into the wilderness to Ghornathia.

Night was drawing in yet Gomel could hardly tell as he peered through the blinding, white wall of snow. They were trapped in another harsh, driving blizzard that was slowing their progress. There was no shelter in these barren mountains. Although cliffs and gullies surrounded them, the wind successfully whipped round, infiltrating every nook and cranny, piling snow in every niche. At least the snow would hide any tracks the pair had left.

Gomel allowed himself only a few hours rest each day, knowing that with every second lost Cradon drew nearer to death. Over the past five days Cradon had become more ill, progressively speaking less and sleeping more as the wound began to puss and weep. It smelt foul, like the flesh was starting to rot off his back, yet he worryingly felt no pain.

Cradon eventually lost consciousness two days earlier. The fever burned through his body even though the gnome did his best to keep the wound clean, washing and dressing it as best he could. The infection was already in the boy’s blood and time was running out.

Despite having the horses and makeshift sledge, their going was still very slow. The snowstorms and howling gales were persistent. It was as if an invisible force was trying to prevent them moving deeper into the mountains. With two steps forward they seemed to slide one step back, but he did not give up hope. The gnome knew they were less than a day away from Ghornathia.

The comrades were given no opportunity to speak to Eilendan; he left the chambers quickly to be by Nymril’s bedside. He was determined not to sleep, even though he was clearly exhausted, his face drawn and grey.

As Nechan went to leave, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder pulling him back. Surprised, he turned and was greeted by the earnest face of Neornil, his white hair falling forward as he leaned down to speak to the boy. Nechan tried to take a step back, feeling uncomfortably dwarfed in the stranger’s shadow. Sensing the boy’s wariness Neornil quickly removed his hand and bowed his head.

“My apologies for startling you, Nechan. My name is Neornil. I am Nymril’s father.”

Immediately Nechan smiled, trusting the elf. He went to shake the elf’s hand, but then remembered that was not their custom and so bowed instead.

“Forgive me, sir. I did not know….”

Neornil interrupted, waving his hand. “No apologies necessary, although they are appreciated. Your politeness is well taught, one would think you were a friend of Elves!” his voice was light-hearted, warm and friendly, putting Nechan at ease.

“Perhaps you would permit me to walk with you for a short while?”

“Well, of course! I mean…..Yes!” Nechan stuttered, surprised that the elf was asking his permission. He looked over at Jaidan and Gaular who nodded their approval before they left. They knew Nechan was in safe hands.

The two began walking slowly up the gentle hill, the elf’s footsteps completely silent despite the leaf litter covering the ground. After a few more words of politeness between the two of them, Neornil stopped in his tracks, pulling Nechan to one side.

“I hope you do not mind me asking but I could not help notice something in the council chambers. Something you were wearing.”

Nechan stopped, slightly confused.

The elderly elf took a step towards the boy and pointed at his chest. “I believe you wear something of great value around your neck.”

The young clansman paused for a moment, but suddenly became aware of the sphere of warm metal against his skin. It was the strange trinket Barnon had given him. With all that had happened he had complete forgotten about its existence.

 “You mean this!” He started to pull the chain around his neck, lifting the orb from under his shirt.

Neornil promptly stopped him. “Not here.” The elf’s eyes darted to either side as he leaned in closer. “I advise you do not show it to anyone. It will cause many people to ask questions about it, and may perhaps bring some unwanted attention.”

“But why? It’s Elvish isn’t it?”

Neornil nodded. “It is not its origin that will be in question, but how it came to be in your possession. That is the Aeonthel of Gileadon, once a revered Elven warrior.”

“I remember! Nymril told me. She said he died in the Last Battle at Andkhuin. But, why does that matter?”

“There are very few of these in the world. Only people trusted by the council carry them, and usually only Aeon Elves. But clearly this came into your possession by hands of a different kin.”

Nechan nodded nervously.

“A clansman, like you?”

The boy nodded again, feeling his palms start to sweat.

“Not a Brathunder then?”

“I…….” Nechan paused for a moment, searching his memory of Barnon. “I have always assumed he was of my clan, but how would I know the difference?”

Neornil’s tone returned to its light-hearted, warmness and he stood back from Nechan, continuing to walk up the hill.

“Do not be worried. I am sure it is just the folly of an old elf, but it has given me much to ponder.”

“He did say it had been handed down the generations………if that helps?”

“This truly is a riddle. Only the closest clansmen, a Brathunder, or friend of the Elves would have ever received such a sacred gift. But then, I forget how much time has changed the outside world,” he sighed.

They walked in silence for a short while until finally Nechan realised they were in familiar surroundings and he was close to their sleeping chambers. All around them tents were at different states of being taken down, with Elves of all ages rushing around carrying various things. Although at first glance it appeared a chaotic mess it was clearly well ordered, elves working together, knowing their part as if this were a daily routine.  

“Ahhh, do you think you can find your way back from here?”

Nechan nodded.

“Good, I must go and see how my daughter fares.”

“Is there not some kind of Elvish magic that can heal her?”

Neornil shook his head, casting his eyes downwards. “Unfortunately her fate depends solely on the Aeonorgal.” He turned to leave. “Remember, keep it hidden. While I believe it is an omen of good fortune, not all may see it that way.”

Nechan thanked him, assuring the elf he would follow his advice and then continued to rejoin Gaular and Jaidan.

When he arrived back Nechan was surprised to see several young elves starting to take their tent apart. Most of the curtain walls had been removed and carefully rolled up. A worker noticed the boy and with a wide grin, greeted him.

“
Shillhon!
My name is Esil.” The young elf bowed low.

Nechan smiled back. There was an instant connection. The elf was young, looking the same age as Nechan. His light blue eyes sparkled with youth and eagerness. He was as tall as Nechan, but his limbs were leaner and his frame not as heavy set.

 “Please forgive our intrusion. We were asked to help take down this tent.”

“Where are my friends?” Nechan asked, looking at the chaos.

The elf motioned to the side, behind a collection of poles and materials. Jaidan and Gaular were seated at a small table and it was quite clear that the dwarf was not happy, most likely irritated because he had nowhere to sleep or eat. Jaidan was pleased to see the boy’s safe return, but could not help asking about what the old elf wanted. Nechan just brushed off the question, claiming it was merely a friendly introduction as he was Nymril’s father. Nechan watched the busy workers, still bemused by the seemingly organised confusion.

“You are more than welcome to take refuge at one of the
Loth’commia.
” Esil paused from his work as if reading the comrades’ thoughts. “Forgive me…….I mean Communal Place in your tongue.”

“Will we get food there?” grumbled Gaular, his mood unchanging.

“Yes, yes!” assured Esil, smiling, “During the time of preparation several places are kept until the last moment. They provide a place for people to rest and eat in between work. My friend, Nolin, will take you there if you wish.”

“Thank you! That would be very helpful,” Jaidan nodded.

“Well, why didn’t you mention this before. A dwarf needs sustenance you know!”

“Yes, it sorely affects their mood!” joked Jaidan, scratching his head uncomfortably due to his friend’s rudeness.

“Umm, perhaps I can stay?”

Jaidan turned to look at Nechan. “Are you sure? Are you not hungry or tired?”

Nechan shook his head. “To be honest my mind is far too active at the moment to sleep. Besides…….I could do with the distraction…..Take my mind off things.”

“You are more than welcome to stay and help us……It will be time for us to rest shortly ourselves.” Esil beckoned the young clansman over to join them.

Once Jaidan was assured that Nechan was content to be left, he and Gaular were led off to the Loth’commia. He sensed something was troubling Nechan but decided he would ask him later when perhaps it was not so raw.

Nechan proved to be a hard worker, following the guidance of the young elves. Surprisingly it was not strenuous work. The silver poles and fabric were far lighter than they looked and seemed to shrink down in size. After less than an hour the tent was nothing but a small pile of poles and rolled up material, around which Esil tied a fine, strong rope. Once completed, they headed towards the nearest Communal abode.

“Come with me! I am sure you must have questions about Loreandril and Elves!” Esil sprinted away, still full of energy, with Nechan struggling to keep up behind him.

The Communal Place was a large, open-walled tent, with a huge white roof, stretched out to provide shelter to many small groups of elves. Female elves were passing out food and drink, tending to the workers, ensuring they were rested and comfortable. There were no beds, but instead large mounds of golden leaves in which elves were lying back, some sleeping, other whispering amongst themselves.

Esil found a vacant spot for him and Nechan to rest. Almost immediately a female elf brought two jugs of clear liquid and a basket of honey coloured, warm flatbread.

Nechan looked at it suspiciously. Both had an unusual smell and look.

“This is
Sriva
…….a mixture of honey, spring water and elderflower,” explained Esil, taking a long drink from his clay jug.

Nechan smelt the liquid again and dipped his finger in to taste it. The drop of liquid made the tip of his tongue tingle pleasantly. He took a sip and felt the sweet warmth spread through his mouth and down his throat. Nechan had never tasted anything so fresh and reviving before and happily took a longer draught.

“And…..this is what we call
Bavif.”
Esil handed Nechan a small square of the flatbread. “I believe it is similar to your bread, except with honey and ground almonds.”

Nechan bit into a corner of the flat bread. The outside was satisfyingly crunchy, but the creamy inside melted instantly in his mouth releasing a sumptuous blend of flavours. Quickly, he devoured the rest, hardly pausing to take a breath, much to Esil’s amusement. Anyone would think the clansman had not eaten for months.

“Do you know where we will be moving to?” mumbled Nechan through another mouthful of bread.

“Loreandril? Well, we travel until the elders tell us when to stop. They find their guidance through the ancestors.”

“You mean the ghosts in the mists?”

Esil’s face turned white. “We do not mention the Unnamed,” he whispered, looking over his shoulder.

“But I thought they protected you?”

“The Unnamed do protect us, but only at their wish. We can summon them, yes, but not command. Even Elvish magic is not strong enough to control the spirit world.”

“That’s why we had to be so careful passing through?”

Esil nodded. “Only friends of Loreandril can pass through unscathed and only if accompanied by an elf. But even then, if you set a foot wrong, go where they do not want you, the Unnamed take you back to the spirit realm with them.”

“Is that what happened to the soldiers that followed us?”

Esil nodded nervously again, picking at the crumbs in the basket at his feet.

“So……tell me about your home?” asked Esil, breaking the awkward silence, changing the subject. “I have never ventured out into outside world.”