Light Of Loreandril (43 page)

The other four High Advisors each answered their King, one by one, all stating similar advice. Some suggested waiting for the Elves to come to them while the others advised their entire army march into the wilderness, sending scouts as messengers ahead. The last to speak was Gomel.

“My Lord, unlike most here, I have had recent experience of the outside world. To many, it would be an unrecognisable world, with unimaginable foes. To take the Aeonorgal out would be as good as handing it to the Enemy.” He paused, scratching his beard. “Messengers would be the best course of action, although I believe the Elves are wise enough to have the foresight to send their own people to us as they are yet to receive any news, good nor bad.”

Silence fell in the hall. It was up to the King to make the final decision based on the advice given. Although he tried to hide it, there was an anxious look on the King’s face and he was wringing his hands nervously. He closed his eyes as if praying, taking a deep breath before passing his verdict.

Gorthel cleared his throat. “As usual my scholarly advisors have spoken wisely. This decision bears heavily on me, as there is no easy answer. Whatever I decide the Kingdom will be affected in some way.”

He fell silent again for some time and the advisors began to twitch restlessly in their seats, some trying to stifle sneezes and coughs. There was a general feeling of relief when the King raised his head once more to continue speaking.

“As King of Ghornathia it is my decision that we will send messengers out into the wilderness to find the Elves and be the bearers of good news. I will leave the decision of who in the capable hands of Advisor Gothanal.”

A stout, broad shouldered gnome stood and bowed his head accepting his new orders. Gothanal was of similar age to Gomel and one of the few who still ventured out into the wilderness on occasion, ensuring small garrisons scouted the mountains and surrounding lands to track movements of the enemy.

The King waved his hand, thanking the loyal gnome.

“It is also my decision however, that these messengers will not be sent out until after the First Thawing.”

A quiet murmur filled the hall, some waggling their beards in disapproval while others stroked their gristly whiskers and nodded their heads.

The King continued, ignoring the mutterings. “With Winter settling in it would be a fools wish to send them out now. I believe we can use this timing to our advantage. Even our Dark Enemy cannot move against us in such harsh weather.”

The King had spoken. His decision was final. He motioned for the Speaker to stand and dismiss the advisors, ceremoniously banging the heavy bronze gong. The King stood, beckoned for a page to carry the prized treasure, and left the chamber, his entourage scuttling behind closely on his heels.

In silence, some happy, other disgruntled about the decision, the gnomes filed out of the chamber to return to their daily business.

With aching shoulders, Nechan was pleased the company had finally come to a halt. Carefully, he and Esil eased the load off their shoulders and onto the grassy ground.

“Is this where we are going to rebuild?” asked Nechan breathing deeply, his hands resting on his knees as he bent over to get his breath back.

Esil was completely unaffected by their efforts. “No! This is just a rest stop. When we reach our new place they will sound the horns.”

“Oh, so there is going to be more walking and more carrying?”

Esil laughed. “You are young, yet your strength dwindles quickly! Are all Clansmen so weak?”

“Please! You sound just like my brother!”

“Your brother? I have not heard you speak of him before.” The elf handed Nechan a small leather flask of water as they sat down on the ground.

Nechan was silent. He took a long drink and then slowly pushed the cork back in, thrown into a world of his own. Esil sensed the deep sorrow of his friend.

“Forgive me. I did not mean to cause you sadness.”

Nechan shook his head, looking around him. “Cradon is my twin. He was left behind with a gnome and your Spirit Star. I have no idea what happened to him.”

“Well, he has good fortune!”

Nechan turned his head quickly, confused by Esil’s response.

“You left him in capable hands!”

“I’m not so sure. You didn’t see how many men and dark things were after them.”

“But I know how sturdy and spirited gnomes are. They are one of the best kin to go to war with, despite their size!”

Nechan could not help but smile, comforted by Esil’s words. Besides, the image of a truncated gnome fighting men was slightly comical. Horns began ringing out, the sign to move on. Huffing and puffing, Nechan braced himself as they lifted the load up onto their shoulders to begin their march once more.

They did not stop again until after dark. Small congregations of elves quickly lit campfires and, still hugged by ancestral, protective mists, the travellers ate and drank heartily. Despite having to move Loreandril and the imposing threat of the enemy on the outside world, the Elves still managed to find something to be happy about. It was as if they found delight in merely being alive.

Esil’s family and friends were no different. They had welcomed Nechan into their midst and treated him as one of their own, even trying to speak in the common tongue, although they would often slip back into their native Elvish. Nechan did not mind; he loved listening to the sound of their beautiful language. It had a light, musical tone that seemed to form images in his mind through the emotions with which the words were conveyed even though he did not understand their meanings.

Three days later the Elves finally stopped and rebuilt Loreandril. Nechan marvelled as to how quickly the city sprouted up. From what was one moment piles of poles and swaths of material, the Elvish world was suddenly reborn.

As soon as the last tents were up a peace fell about Loreandril as gold and bronze leaves began falling from the sky. Nechan was speechless. He held out his arms, feeling the leaves brush softly against his skin before landing silently on the floor.

Esil laughed, as if sensing Nechan’s thoughts.

“Where we go, our magic follows!” he explained.

Nechan just stood watching Loreandril turn to shades of gold and bronze before his eyes. Soon there was the deep, familiar leaf litter covering every inch of the ground.

“Nechan!” The voice was familiar. He turned to see Jaidan and Gaular heading towards him. Shaking himself from the mesmerising effect of the leaves he greeted them, unable to stop himself from embracing them both. Jaidan returned the hug, but Gaular went stiff like a board and tried to resist. It was clear Dwarves were not an emotional kin.

“It’s good to see you, Nechan. How are you?” asked Jaidan, patting the boy on the back.

“Well, apart from my entire body aching, I’m fine!”

“It will help build up your strength.” Gaular laughed, watching as Nechan massaged his arms to ease the sore muscles.

“Come, let’s walk. It is important you are kept informed.” Jaidan led the way.

“Informed?” Nechan turned to wave goodbye to Esil, but he was too busy to notice. The three comrades began walking through the paths between the tents. The Elves seemed too engaged to take any notice of them, busily adding the finishing touches to the abodes and communal places.

“Is it Nymril? Is she…….”

“She’s all right, as well as she can be,” replied Jaidan, trying to put a stop to Nechan’s worst fears.

“So, she’s conscious now? The Elves healed her?”

Jaidan shook his head. “No. They will not be able to, not without….”

“The Spirit Star.”

Jaidan looked at him, surprised.

“Neornil told me. I just hoped he might have been wrong.”

A short distance further Jaidan pulled aside a curtained door of a tent to the left, and holding it up, motioned for Gaular and Nechan to enter. He followed them in.

It was dimly lit with faint orange glow-lights and a sweet musty aroma filled the air. Nechan’s eyes quickly adjusted and he was pleased to see Eilendan, as sombre-faced as ever, seated at an elegantly carved round table. Jaidan and Gaular quickly took their seats and pulled out a third for Nechan. For some reason his stomach was filled with nervous anticipation, as though tiny butterflies were trying to escape.

“It’s good to see you again, Eilendan.” Nechan pulled his seat closer towards the table.

“And you also, my brave, clansman friend!” Eilendan smiled and for a moment the stern look disappeared, only to return quickly.

“I’m afraid you have an important decision before you. How easy it is to decide depends on your state of mind, my friend.”

Nechan swallowed hard as he felt small beads of sweat start to form on his forehead. The air was filled with an intense silence.

“What is it I have to decide?” he asked nervously.

“We are on the brink of war,” replied the elf.

“A dark war,” continued Jaidan.

“One that will determine the fate of all kin, Elves, Dwarves and Clansmen alike,” finished Gaular.

“You need to decide what part you wish to play. Do you want to continue on this path lain before you when you took into your protection the Aeonorgal, or do you wish to escape this war while you still can? The Council of Elders has begun calling all allies to their cause. Messengers have been dispatched to seek out our friends from ancient times. We are preparing for war!”

Eilendan’s words were to the point, and struck a cold cord in Nechan’s heart. The boy studied his shaking hands on the table before him, feeling his palms sweat.

Jaidan stepped in. “But you do not need to be apart of this, if you so choose.”

“You mean, I could leave?”

Jaidan nodded. “But time is short. You would need to leave in the next day or so. Although you may not feel the effects in Loreandril, winter is drawing in all around us in the outside world, closing your opportunity.”

“But I can’t go home.” Realisation suddenly dawned on Nechan. “War is the reason I left there. If I returned I would end up being drafted, or worse still, killed as a traitor.”

There was silence around the table as his comrades assessed his words. It was true that if he tried to return home he could end up being forced to fight on the other side. The only other option would be to wander the wilderness by himself, but even that could prove  as dangerous as going to war. Perhaps his only real option was to stay and finish the journey he had started.

“I don’t know that I want to - I mean - I,” Nechan stumbled with his words, too many emotions coming into his head at once. It was such a hard decision and one unexpectedly thrown down before him. He had not had the slightest thought of leaving Loreandril. Although he longed to see his family he had constantly told himself he could not return for many years, almost reaching the point of accepting it. Besides, he could not bear the heart-wrenching thought of returning without his brother.

“If I were to stay, what would that mean?”

“You would have to fight, like the rest of us,” Gaular replied, patting the hammer that leant against the table.

“But I don’t know how to! I can shoot a bow, but my aim is quite poor!”

“We will teach you!” Jaidan responded. “We will not let our friend face the dark armies without the skills necessary to defeat them.”

“Do you need tonight to consider? Perhaps Esil would be able to give you counsel about this? It is not a decision to be made lightly.”

Nechan breathed deeply, focusing hard, trying to steady his mind. “I cannot go home, especially without my brother. And, I do not want to spend the rest of my years wandering through the wilderness by myself.”

“But you would be safe……at least away from the immediate dangers of war.” Jaidan, a look of kind concern on his face, watched the boy agonise.

“Jaidan, even I know that I cannot escape this war. No one can. Perhaps it is time I became a man and lived up to my father’s expectations.”

“The boy speaks wisely and bravely.” Gaular smiled. “You have the heart of a true warrior!” He slapped him on the back, almost winding the boy.

“You are right in what you say. There can be no escaping this, only postponing,” agreed Eilendan.

“Then, it is decided………I will stay and finish what I started.”

Movement was starting to become easier, although Cradon still could not lift his left shoulder and arm past mid-height without the searing pain causing his eyes to stream. The healers had forced him to stay two more nights, concerned about his lack of movement, fearing the limb was more deeply damaged than they realised.  It had disappointed him to the core, so he had spent the rest of his time exercising, determined to demonstrate improvement.

The nurses began their rounds, pottering between beds, fussing over the occupants, applying new bandages, checking for fevers, remaking the beds and so on.  Cradon could not wait to show them how his shoulder had improved. It still hurt, but he could force the movement, gritting his teeth through the pain. He was determined not to stay another night.

“Do you think the doctor will let me leave today?” The boy’s voice was almost squeaking with anxiety.

The nurse declined to answer, saying she could not speak for the Healer.

Much to Cradon’s surprise and delight he saw Gomel trundling down the corridor towards him accompanied by the Healer.

“Good morning, my laddie! How’s that battle wound fairing?”

“It feels much better today!”

Gomel leaned in. “Omph! Have you been practising?”

Cradon nodded, smiling.

“Ahh, that’s my boy! With any luck we’ll have you out of here today!” He ruffled the boy’s red hair, flopping it in front of his eyes.

“Good morning, Cradon. How are you feeling?” The Healer, despite being a gnome, had an appearance of grandeur and height about him.

“I feel well, sir! Ready to leave!”

“Let’s not be too hasty. That nasty wound would have stopped any gnome, or clansman. If you would allow me to have a look for myself.”

With Cradon’s approval, the Healer began unwinding the bandages. This time there was no smell of decay, and thankfully no maggots to remove. The Healer breathed in and out slowly, inspecting the wound thoughtfully. “Very good,” he finally said, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “Yes, that is healing quite nicely now.”