Light Of Loreandril (44 page)

“So, does that mean he can come home with me today then?” asked Gomel, also inspecting the wound in between glances at the Healer.

He did not reply, but instead applied a new set of clean, white bandages, winding them painfully slowly, taking his time and contemplating his answer. “I just need you to demonstrate your mobility of the limb. If you’d please…….” He gestured to Cradon to begin.

Sitting up tall in bed, the clansman stretched out his arm before him, lifting it until it was horizontal. He began drawing circles in the air, progressively larger with each revolution. The Healer showed no response, not wanting to be too hasty, allowing Cradon to continue for a few more revolutions, then put up his hand as a sign to stop. Pleased with how well he had done, Cradon nestled back down into his pillows, waiting for the Healer’s comments.

The Healer rubbed his finger up and down his nose, finally coming to rest on his pursed lips, his eyes staring intently at the floor, deep in thought. “I believe……..ummm….”

Gomel leaned forward in anticipation.

“Yes!” the Healer nodded his head. “I believe you can leave us today.”

“That’s my boy!” Gomel sprang up, laughing, and punched Cradon joyfully in the shoulder, forgetting it was the one that was injured.

“As long as no harm comes to the shoulder…….” warned the Healer, looking at Gomel down his nose. Gomel paused, nodded, and then continued congratulating Cradon.

The Healer turned and clapped his hands. Two nurses came running over. “If you would be so kind as to fetch this young man’s clothing, his visit with us is concluded.”

At once the nurses trotted off down the corridor and disappeared. The Healer, happy to let Cradon go, shook his hand, claiming it was a pleasure to meet such a nice young clansman, a first for the hospital, and then took his leave to continue with the other patients. Gomel and Cradon were still beaming, almost speechless when the nurses returned.

Cradon was so pleased to have his belongings back. His clothes had all been washed and ironed and smelt so clean and fresh. He put them on quickly, still sitting in the bed, requiring some help to ease the shirt over the dressing. Taking a deep breath, he swung his legs off the bed, feeling the cold tiled floor under his feet, and slipped on his socks and boots. He was amused to find even his boots had been polished, the leather softened and buffed and the soles replaced.

Cradon paused for a moment. It had been quite a while since he last walked.

“Here, take my arm,” offered Gomel, understanding Cradon’s nervousness.

For a moment he wobbled, feeling light-headed but thankfully it passed quickly and with a small amount of help from Gomel, the clansman walked down the corridor. Cradon’s head almost brushed the arched ceiling in places. He had never felt so tall.

The streets were beautifully paved and lined with small, decorative homes and buildings, each with glowing windows peeping onto the street. Cradon could not help but marvel at the amount of work that must have been required to build such a kingdom. He kept checking with Gomel to make sure he was telling the truth about an entire kingdom lying under the mountain chain.

Gomel explained that there had originally been a vast system of caverns and caves, carved out by water, most of which had now been diverted to form one large river, the Gholibin, which ran straight through the centre of the Kingdom, their main supply of water. Over many centuries it had carved out a deep chasm and tremendous waterfalls, forcing the people to build an elaborate system of pipes, pulleys and waterwheels to pump the water.

Although it was not far to Gomel’s home, the walk took a long time. Cradon had to keep stopping for many minutes at a time to catch his breath. It gave Gomel more time to ramble on about the place he loved some much.

At each rest stop he would take great care to point out what each of the surrounding buildings was and who lived there. Cradon had to admit, Ghornathia was a truly remarkable place and far larger than he ever imagined. He tried to take note of all of his surroundings, finding it fascinating how some buildings stood alone, while others were carved directly out of the cavern walls.

The whole kingdom was built on many levels and Cradon could see small windows twinkling high above him, almost like stars. Each level could be reached by an intricate maze of tunnels and ladders, or by lifts that ran up and down the sides of the caverns. The lifts themselves, spaced periodically along the walls, were powered by concealed water wheels, carrying several people at a time in decorative, metal cages.

As they walked, the pair could not avoid being swamped by curious gnomes, many of whom had only ever imagined Clansmen in their bedtime stories. Cradon shook each hand offered, greeting every face with a smile. He began to feel like royalty. Each female gnome seemed to bring out freshly bakes pies, cakes and bread, offering it to them to eat then and there or to take away with them. They could have eaten a meal several times over, and taken many baskets of treats home with them, but Gomel finally had to start refusing.

Some way down the main street they climbed into one of the many lifts. Gomel pulled the large brass lever. They waited, hearing water gurgle somewhere behind the wall, and slowly the lift began moving upwards. It struggled at first, the metal cage groaning, but then gained momentum until they were being powered at quite a speed. Cradon was mesmerised, captivated by the Kingdom lain out before him as they gained elevation.

They reached the top with a judder and Gomel slid open the cage door, helping Cradon step out.

“Omph, we are nearly home. You will get to meet my family,
finally.
”

Gomel tottered off down the path with Cradon in tow, until he stopped at a beautifully carved door, with a large, brass handle.

“Here we are!” Gomel began turning the brass knob, but someone from the other side was eager to greet them.

The door swung open and a gaggle of smiling faces greeted them. The doorway seemed full of round faces of all ages, each eager to meet Cradon. There were even squeals of delight from somewhere.

“Come now, let us in! There will be plenty of time to get to know the boy!” Gomel ushered the congregation back until the doorway was finally cleared. He bowed low to Cradon, showing him the way in.

“Welcome to my humble house, Cradon. It truly is a pleasure!”

Cradon stooped under the low doorway into the front room, finding he had to keep his knees bent in the low-ceilinged room.

“Please, please have a seat.”

A plump, grey-haired gnome curtseyed and offered Cradon a chair by the fireside. Thankfully, gnomes are generally quite wide, so he was easily able to fit into the chair.

Introductions followed. There were far too many names to remember, and in his excitement Gomel was running through them very quickly. There seemed to be a mixture of immediate family, distant relatives, neighbours and family friends, all piled into the one room just to meet him. The clansman, somewhat overwhelmed by the attention tried to make a mental note of the most important people.

Eventually, after Cradon had exhausted himself answering the bombardment of questions about everything under the sun, Gomel asked people to leave until only the closest family members remained.

The three children sat at Cradon’s feet, just staring at him, their mouths open and eyes wide, as if waiting for him to speak or do a magic trick. Cradon squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, occasionally smiling at them, hoping this would do the trick. They just kept smiling and staring back. Gomel’s son and daughter in law were only slightly better. They had at least positioned themselves in chairs a small distance away. While Cradon was always happy to be the centre of attention, this was encroaching on being uncomfortable, even for him.

“I’m sorry, Cradon, you must forgive my family and friends!” grovelled Gomel, offering the boy a cup of steaming herbal tea. “As you know, it’s been a long time since a clansman, like yourself, has entered our Kingdom. It’s something a bit out of the ordinary for us folk.”

Cradon chuckled. He sat back in the chair, quite dazed by the day’s events. A wave of tiredness soon hit him and it became clear he no longer had the energy to answer any more questions. Gomel helped him up, minding his head on the ceiling, and showed him into one of the backrooms that the family had made up into a bedroom for Cradon.

The ceilings here were even lower and Cradon was forced to stoop very low. He was grateful to lie down onto the soft mattress, smelling the lavender-scented sheets. Unfortunately his feet hung over the edge, as they had done in the hospital. Gomel closed the door quietly behind him to leave Cradon to sleep.

Cradon yawned. He blinked and stretched a few times, careful not to tear his wound, before swinging his legs out slowly. He stood up, banging his head, forgetting how low the ceiling was.

At first he had been kept awake by the incessant snoring of what seemed like a choir of gnomes, but when he did eventually drift off, he slept well on the comfortable, feather mattress and smooth, cotton sheets. Apparently, snoring was a common problem for gnomes of all ages and the walls in their houses were not sound insulated.

After pulling on his clothes he made his way out into the kitchen. Gomel and the rest of family were already up and had clearly been pottering around for several hours.

“Ahh, at last! Come, sit. Glona will dish up breakfast for you.” Gomel was tucking into a mound of food, which included fried eggs, and long rashers of wood-smoked bacon, with a side plate of toast. Gladly, Cradon took his seat, the tasty smell making his mouth water. Instantly a similar plateful of food was placed before him.

“So how are we this morning?” asked Gomel with a mouthful of food.

After finishing his first mouthful, Cradon answered. “Well, actually I feel great. I slept exceptionally well and my shoulder seems much better.”

“Good! Because we have much to talk about.”

“Oh must you now? You’ve hardly given him time to even start his breakfast.”

“Glona, my dear, this is important and cannot wait!” replied Gomel, ushering his wife to continue with the baking for the day.

“I don’t mind!” mumbled Cradon as he stuffed a chunk of warm bread into his mouth.

“Well, unfortunately the time has come for you to make a decision. Now you are on the mend we need to decide what you are going to do next.”

“What do you mean?”

Gomel sighed. “War is coming. Even here, under the mountains we cannot escape from it. Our kin has entered into the final stages of preparation by decided to honour the elves request for help.”

“Alright, I understand that, but I’m still not sure what decision I need to make.” Cradon continued eating.

“To put it bluntly, my laddie, you need to decide whether you are going to go to war or whether you are going to go home?”

Gomel’s words hit Cradon hard. He had been so obsessed with getting better that he had not even begun to think about the future. His fork dropped to the side of his plate and Cradon sat back in his chair.

“I see this question has taken you by surprise.”

Cradon nodded.

“Well, you don’t need to decide right now. Winter is very close to cutting of the mountain paths. You will need to wait until the first thawing if you decide to leave.”

Cradon nodded again.

“You are of course welcome to stay with us for as long as you need.”

“Thank you!” muttered Cradon quietly. In that moment he had lost his appetite. His thoughts had been thrown into turmoil, with his brother, Nechan, at the forefront of his mind, alongside thoughts of what could lie in wait for him if he returned home. It was ironic: they had left to escape being drafted into the army, but somehow they had found themselves amidst the gravest battle known.

While in hospital, he had been given a lot of time to think about his brother and possible fate. Somehow Cradon reached the conclusion that if he had survived it was quite likely Nechan would have also survived.

“I’m sorry, I think I need to go lie down again for a short while.”

The clansman took his leave, apologising to Glona for not finishing his breakfast. In the quiet darkness of his little room Cradon continued searching his thoughts.

Marching on foot was not something Govan was suited to, he much preferred to be on horseback. It was six days since the fateful attack on him and his men; six days of long hard marching through the worst weather imaginable.

The lonesome captain tramped angrily through the clods of thick, viscous mud, slipping and sliding as he tried to free his boots with each step. Late autumn had bought an excess of rain over this region, and now he was paying the toll. The man was encrusted in mud, his black armour now a mouldy brown, his arms and hands encased in brown ooze from where he had reached down into the wells of muck to retrieve a lost boot. It was miserable, and to top it all, he had no one he could shout at or blame. He was alone.

After several more hours the drizzle finally stopped and the persistent captain managed to climb onto slightly elevated ground. Looking across the land lying before him, in between the ground-hugging, grey clouds, Govan could just see a village hiding in the mists.

Govan had no idea where he was, having lost his bearings in the heavy clouds and rain. It also had not helped being unsure of his direction when he left the
devil
mists of the Elves. In a panic to get away, he had run blindly into the night before composing himself. Although he had retold the story many times in his mind and knew what he would omit and what he would embellish when before his Dark Lords. It was important he save face.

Planning his route, taking note of the faint landmarks that he could just see through the clouds, the captain began a half-paced run to reach the village before nightfall. Driven by thoughts of a warm, dry bed, clean clothes and food, he forced himself forward.

At his quick pace, his long, sturdy legs brought him to the village within two hours, well before nightfall. Disappointedly, it was a mere dust village, with only a small handful of houses set amidst a muddy, grassy plain. Worst of all there was no inn.