Light Of Loreandril (51 page)

He reluctantly opened his eyes and stretched, eventually groping his way back onto his feet. Nilean had already resaddled the horses and was making the final adjustments to the Sonda’s bridle.

“I’m sorry. But we have no more time to waste!” The elf sprang lightly into his saddle and waited for Cradon.

Cradon grabbed the reins and placed his foot in the stirrup preparing to winch himself up into the saddle. He winced for a fraction of a second, his shoulder smarting as he twisted his body. While riding, he had been forced to remove his sling to maintain his balance, but it was actually helping to improve his mobility. Only occasionally did he receive a sharp, sudden reminder of his injury.

“Your shoulder, is it causing you pain still?”

Cradon shook his head. “Don’t worry, it’s only when the wound is pulled at a certain angle.”  He tapped Sonda’s sides gently and she broke into a nimble trot, catching Nilean up quickly.

“Will you be fit to fight?”

“Definitely! That’s why I am here!”

Nilean almost laughed, impressed by Cradon’s bravery in the face of such danger. Since their last confrontation with the enemy, Cradon had become even more determined to see this thing through to the end.

They had long left the mountains behind them and the cold, hard ground was far easier to travel upon. They were making exceptionally good progress, covering the distance quickly, but something warned Nilean that it was still not fast enough. Once the two horses were warmed up they increased their pace to a fast, smooth gallop. The horses were willing, as if they also sensed the urgency.

Both horses unexpectedly stopped. They reared and whinnied loudly, nearly throwing their riders.

“Lina, lina!”
Easy, easy,
urged Nilean, stroking his mare’s neck, trying to calm her. Sonda was just as agitated.

“What’s wrong with them?” Cradon cried, desperately trying to remain in the saddle, pulling Sonda’s reins as she bucked and paced from side to side. Something had disturbed both of them. Their riders looked up, staring forward towards the distant horizon. Cradon’s jaw dropped, and for a moment he was completely still, unable even to breathe.

Nilean calmed his horse sufficiently to come alongside Cradon. Even the elf had turned a paler shade. Both travellers were unable to take their eyes off the horizon.

They watched as the moon rose, turning a violent shade of red, emitting a crimson glow. Even the shadows it cast seemed soaked in blood. There was not a single star to be seen, nor the shape of a storm cloud. The sky was a threatening, jet-black colour.

“We must ride as fast as we can. It has begun!”

“What has?”

“War!”

Nilean leapt away, his horse obediently following his commands. Cradon followed close behind, both horses now barely touching the ground beneath them as they galloped as fast as their weary muscles would allow. The further they travelled, the darker it became. They were riding into the heart of the storm.

They rode for a few more hours, until they came to a small, wooded ravine with a dry streambed. Nilean halted, signalling for Cradon to do the same. As the young Hundlinger slowed to a walk, Nilean motioned for him to be quiet.  Gently stroking the foam-flecked neck of his white mare, he eased her forward a few paces. The elf had sensed something. Cradon remained perfectly still and silent, although seated on Sonda he felt an easy target. He began to sweat heavily, wishing he could silence the loud beating of his heart.

Slowly, Nilean slid out of the saddle, landing silently on the stony ground. Without warning there was a multitude of singing whistles through the air, and a torrent of arrows landed at Nilean’s feet. He froze, not even daring to turn.

Cradon slid his hand to the hilt of his sword, hoping the small movement would go unnoticed.

A hidden loud voice called out. “Identify yourselves! Be you friend or enemy?”

Unmoving, Nilean replied, “That is a difficult question, as I do not know your kin!”

There was no response, only the sound of rustling. Cradon was speechless as he looked at the being who had emerged before him. He was clearly not a man, an elf, nor a gnome. Yet, something inside him told him he was not allied to the enemy.

“Turn, and let me look into the eyes of that before me!” demanded the being.

Obediently, Nilean turned, his hands slightly raised, away from his sword hilt. Upon looking at his face, the stranger fell to his knees and a smile spread across Nilean’s face.

“Forgive me, friend. I did not know your kin!”

“You and your comrades are wise to be wary. Dark forces do control these lands. Stand, please. There is no need to bow to me.” The elf offered the stranger his hand. “I am Nilean, a warrior and messenger for Elvendon.”

As he rose, his movement was accompanied by a rustling on all sides. In an instant the whole ravine seemed full of more beings, emerging from behind bushes and boulders and climbing down from trees. There must have been several hundred.

“I am Gaunal, a captain of the Danin Dwarves. At your service.” The dwarf bowed low again.

Cradon was now very confused. He had already met a dwarf, Gaular, and these dwarves looked nothing like him. Although they were dark-skinned like Gaular, they were much shorter, only to his shoulder, and they certainly did not look as strong. Some were even shorter and seemed of fairer skin, carrying only flimsy bows. He clearly remembered Gaular carried a very large war hammer.

“You are on your way to Loreandril, Yes?”

“Indeed. We are only a few leagues away.”

“How many are you?”

“Five hundred and sixty! Danin and Minda Dwarves that is.”

“Is that all?” Nilean seemed taken aback.

“Do not fear. Several larger companies of Dun and Danin Dwarves have gone before us. They should have nearly reached the borders of Loreandril. An elf guides them! I am sure with some fast paced marching we could catch them up.”

The elf realised he had forgotten his travelling companion and called Cradon over. Slowly, the clansman slid off Sonda, careful to not jar his shoulder.

“Meet Gaunal, captain of the Danin Dwarves.”

Cradon stepped forward, offering him a hand to shake. The dwarf did so, awkwardly, as though he had not done such a thing before.

“Forgive me, Nilean, but why do you ride with a clansman?”

“It is a very long story, too lengthy to explain now.”

The dwarf nodded, accepting that Cradon must be a friend if accompanying the elf. “Our meeting is a good omen. We should travel together for the final stretch.”

Nilean looked up at the darkened sky. “That would be wise, but we must hasten!”

All morning horns had continued to sound. Loreandril was ready for war, its warriors armed and the cavalry prepared. No one had much more than an hour’s sleep. Even if they had found the time, it was unlikely their bodies would have made it possible with the amount of adrenaline coursing through their veins.

Nechan looked at his armour laid out on his bed. It had been a last minute gift from Eilendan, specially crafted for him.

It was pure white, decorated with stars and a silver edging. There was separate armour for his torso, bearing the signature star of Loreandril, and matching shoulder pauldrons. Each piece was skilfully crafted from a lightweight, yet strong metal, forged only by Elven smiths. There were two lower arm braces, and guards for his shins and thighs. These were of strong, flexible leather, bleached white and studded with silver stars, designed to deflect any glancing blows. He had also been given a tall, white shield, again inlaid with the Loreandril star. The final piece of armour was the helmet. It too was white, studded with silver stars, designed with swooping sides to cover his cheeks and an elongated gold star that would protect his nose.

“Would you like some help putting it on?” It was the warm, friendly voice of Neornil.

Nechan dragged his gaze away from the armour. “I was just admiring it!” he replied quietly, embarrassed he had been caught.

“Our smiths are skilled. They have managed to transform an evil item of necessity into something beautiful. But it will not put itself on!”

Nechan realised Neornil was dressed in similar armour. “You’re fighting as well?” The clansman was surprised, given the elf’s apparent age.

Neornil nodded. “We must all fight, male, female, young and old. Let me help you!”

With the old elf’s aid, Nechan slowly dressed himself in the armour. He was pleased to find there was still plenty of flexibility when wearing it, and amazingly it carried no weight. He could just as easily been wearing his normal tunic and breeches.

“Well, now I look the part at least!” he joked, nervously.

“Do you still have it with you? The Aeonthel?” Neornil whispered.

Nechan nodded.

“Good! Promise me you will keep it with you at all costs!”

“But I thought it was useless without the Aeonorgal?”

“My hope has not yet dwindled. I still believe that the Aeonorgal will return to us. Indeed, many others and I have felt its power growing. It is nearing Loreandril.”

“Do you think it will get here in time?” Many doubts still filled Nechan’s mind.

The elf patted him on the shoulder. “Have faith!”

“Nechan! Are you ready?” Jaidan, who had come to fetch Nechan, interrupted them. He was surprised to find Neornil with him but acknowledged him with a polite nod.

Jaidan was also dressed in his armour. Of his own design, this armour was green and grey, but still bore the gold star of Loreandril alongside a different symbol that looked like a stylised eagle landing on a crescent moon. Jaidan realised Nechan was studying it.

“A bit different from yours, I know! This is of my own design, similar to what my ancestors would have worn at the last battle.” He pointed to the eagle emblem. “And this is the symbol of my clan, the Brathunders.” Jaidan picked up Nechan’s bow, quiver and sword, handing them to the boy. “So, are you ready?”

“Yes! I think so!”

“Good! Bring your shield and follow me. It’s time you took your place!”

Neornil took his leave and Nechan followed Jaidan. There was an eerie emptiness to the streets of Loreandril now. Only one or two elves were present, making the last few preparations. It was soon revealed where everyone was.

Jaidan led Nechan to where the council chambers once stood. In their place was just a large, empty space, an area big enough for the few hundred Elven soldiers to congregate.

As they slipped through the rows of armoured elves, Nechan realised Neornil was right: there were female and male elves of varying ages, some as old as Neornil, others younger than him. It was clear they were in specific groups, according to their weapon skills.

Jaidan was taking Nechan to join the archers, hopefully one of the safest groups he could be in, staying out of the main fray of battle longer than most. They both prayed that this assumption would prove correct.

Nechan took his place next to a young male elf, the image of Esil. He ignored the clansman, too focused on thoughts of war. His armour was similar to Nechan’s, except the helmet. The archer’s helm curved down and round to cover the back of his neck, and had three white feathers, their fronds swept back to a single point.

“Where will you be?” he asked Jaiden nervously.

“With the Aeonate guards, alongside Gaular and Eilendan. They would have both come to see you, but….well…..time has not permitted it.”

“I would much prefer to stay with you.”

Jaidan shook his head. “I’m sorry, Nechan, but we will be on the frontline. Even with the intense training you have undergone, I would not put you in such a dangerous position. This is where we must part.”

Nechan had no words. He fought back the tears and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. It was as if Jaidan were saying his last goodbye.

It all seemed so final, as if the Elves had given up hope, going willingly to their deaths; and he was marching out with them. Nechan tried to shake such bleak thoughts from his mind, attempting to focus on Neornil’s confident words. At least someone had a shred of hope remaining.

Nechan and the elves stood for some time, as the council elders, spoke words of encouragement to the troops from a small wooden platform. However, it was all in Elvish, and although Nechan understood one or two words, most of it was unintelligible. The elders  were also wearing armour, all except Ethonal, whom Nechan could see seated towards the back of the platform.

All the time his thoughts kept being dragged back to the silver orb hanging around his neck. Was it growing heavier and warmer, or was that just his imagination because he was focusing on it?

Jaidan joined Gaular on the other side of the congregation. Gaular, too, was dressed in armour, although his was stained a dark brown, and only covered his upper body, leaving his strong, muscular arms bare. Strapped to his back was a newly forged war hammer, a large flat head at one end, tapering to a cruel pick at the other. He also carried with him a variety of smaller axes and hammers tucked into his wide, leather belt, along with two daggers stuck into his boots.

Together, they stood alongside Elven foot soldiers, all dressed in their traditional white and silver armour, armed with long, thin, silver swords and tall spears. Their helmets however, carried no feathers, but were gently rounded, covered with silver studs.

Eilendan had taken up his commanding position with the Aeonate guards. These were the elite warrior-elves, who also protected the Aeon Elves, of whom, including Nymril, there were only three remaining. They were armed with double-ended weapons, one end a curved, sweeping blade and the other a long, straight sword. They were designed for stabbing and slashing, and if used correctly, could attack on a full circle radius with minimal movement from the wielder. They carried tall, wide shields, which would be placed around the Aeon Elf as a defensive barrier.

The congregation fell silent after the last elder spoke his final blessing. All heads were bowed as if in deep prayer.  All at once the silence was shattered by the sound of low, resounding horns in the distance. The bellowing continued, gradually getting louder as the elves listened. These were not Elven horns, nor were they the horns of the enemy.