The Lord Of Lightning (Book 3) (13 page)

"He swimsth dooown," the queen vyreeoten whispered as if she were watching through her children's eyes, the vyreeoten in the New Sea who stalked the Kaprk-Uusshu and the Archer.

"He swimsth with the hornthed beasts. He is afraidth. Ah! He hasth it! He isth by the shthores of the New Sthea, my love."

The image and the voice faded.

"I do beg your pardon, I must leave at once," Deifol Hroth said with mock courtesy to Yulenth and Desprege. "Continue to gather information and report again to me in two days."

"You," Deifol Hroth pointed at Desprege, "watch him," and then the Dark One pointed at Yulenth.

Deifol Hroth tilted his head up and opened his hands to the sky. Without warning, he suddenly sprang into the air like an arrow, and flew away into the fading blue of the late afternoon sky, as quick as a starling.

Chapter Six

The Hye

Iounelle walked among the beautiful streets of Lanis Rhyl Landemiriam.

The elves, happily strolling through the cobbled avenues of the capital of the elven lands, were dressed with bright colors and wore festive costumes to celebrate Lengdyth Narlimé, the longest day of the year. The warm peaceful weather during Lengdyth Narlimé always gave Iounelle an energetic, happy feeling, as though she could do anything, or go anywhere.

What a wonderful dream, Iounelle thought to herself. I have not dreamt of my ruined city since its destruction.

Iounelle delighted in the wonderfully curved streets in her city. She could see that the street plan in the capital must have been laid out as a series of overlaid circles. Iounelle smiled to herself. It had taken the awfulness of the world outside the Empire of the Elves to achieve the maturity needed to truly appreciate the intricate details of her city. She let her gaze follow the pattern of walls of succeeding structures. No rooftop came even with an adjacent building, breaking up the line of sight as one stared up at the gorgeous, cerulean blue, summer sky. There was clearly an effort on the part of the elves to vary the architecture of each building as they stood along every street. There was very little uniformity, and this delighted the eye. Also, each house, hall and shop had ample room, with yards and gardens about its perimeter, unlike the crowded construction of human cities.

Iounelle looked up at the Towers of Miriam, the tall, slender turrets that resembled unopened flower bulbs. The towers were the tallest structures ever built in the entire world. Iounelle smiled a mischievous smile as she looked at the tallest of the Towers of Miriam, Bawn Hae. She had a secret connected to that tower. The beautiful spires were completely still, as there was no breeze. The day was warm and glorious.

Yet even with these thoughts, like many dreams, she knew she had to find Morinnthe, the Prince of the City. For what reason, she did not know, such is the nature of dreaming even for the elves.

Iounelle puzzled at the colors displayed for the holiday, the only day on which elven marriages may be solemnized. The colors were green, her house colors, and black, a house she did not recognize. Iounelle puzzled, whose house was black? Iounelle looked about to see if she recognized someone she could ask about the strange house colors.

Then Iounelle began to get excited. If the house colors of Wendralorn were being flown, then surely it must be her brother who was to marry, and she was filled with happy anticipation to see her brother, Albehthaire, once again, even if only in a dream. She thought about Albehthaire often and sometimes cursed him for allowing her live, when all her people had died. But her dark thoughts towards her brother were usually quickly dispelled as she loved him and admired his strength and skill. He was one of the few elves that could make Bravilc, the Burning Sword, shine. He had never told her how he did it, and that was a sore point of contention for Iounelle. If I see him in this dream, she thought, I will surely ask him how to properly work Bravilc.

Iounelle stopped by the wide plaza next to Welm, the deep, black, healing pool. Musicians, in the nearby plaza, were setting up for the afternoon performances. They would play until the late afternoon, and then the singing contests would commence. The marriages were always solemnized at sunset.

Several old elves had already set up Jaefa Smiota playing tables in the shade of Mildarilg, the World Tree. The table of honor would be a table inset with the colors of the marrying houses, green and black. Iounelle scanned the elderly elves, but didn't see Morinnthe.

Iounelle looked out across the dark, placid surface of the pool Welm to where the stream Rhyliette Tel fed the waters as a laughing waterfall. She remembered, with fondness, trying to throw a rock far enough to hit the foam where the waterfall splashed. Her brother had challenged her. It was on the day when the aesir came to trade for her life; the day when Silfliette and Weylund had disappeared into the Lhalíi; the following night Veranelle and Galehthaire, her parents, were killed by Baalenruud, the aesir, all over two hundred summers ago.

Iounelle looked about and sadly noticed the conspicuous absence of children among her people. She had never realized that she was quite possibly the last child born to the People of Light.

Iounelle couldn't help but to stop and stare into the dark depths of Welm with the reoccurrence of the memory. It was said Welm could heal any ill, even wounds to the spirit. Then a happier thought gave Iounelle pause.

She wondered if she would see her parents in her dream. She smiled to herself. She would like that.

The musicians began to tune their instruments.

Orinne Silversong Ranandell, Iounelle's singing teacher, began to tune the rhylarghef set up before him. The rhylarghef was a large triangular frame of oak, with strings strung from side to side, and a small bell attached to each string. The ringing, humming effect as he struck the strings with a small, silver hammer was enchanting. Orinne wore a cloth glove on his other hand to mute bells or strings as he wished.

Nearby, a dozen weldrmiran, horns made of silver, bronze and gold, straight and curled, made sure they were in tune with each other. The pleasant tones of the weldrmiran were said to mimic the sound of the trees speaking to each other, hence their names, which in the common tongue meant 'tree voice'.

Five elves with a vast display of drums, both metal and wood, small and large, discussed the best arrangement of their percussion. The drums were seemingly piled into a huge heap, but the clever set up allowed the five elves to simultaneously play every type of drum as they moved around the cluster of drums in a carefully practiced way that resembled a rhythmic dance. They struck with both batons and hands, each producing a wide variety of percussive tones.

Tinvethe Braveheart Thurivere, her maternal great grandfather, who Iounelle was surprised to recognize, waved to her from the section filled with flutes, both wood and metal. She had met her great grandfather only once, when she was barely eighty summers old, the equivalent of a human of six winters. He was leaving Wealdland with many other elves, leaving on one of the great ships moored at Gillalliath, and a great feast was set in honor of the elves who had chosen to sail away.

"Oslee vertaferaryst Morinnthe, ," Iounelle said as she approached Tinvethe Braveheart.

Tinvethe was a great warrior who had fought alongside Berand Torler in the elf human wars, when he was only very young, barely two hundred summers old. The elderly elf was covered with the scars of war, but his smile was endearing and sweet when it graced his battle-weathered visage. He was renown among the People of Light for his kindness and gentleness, even though all knew he was a fierce warrior if ever his sword was needed.

"Sae taenlee'iwidef, ," Tinvethe said pointing to just behind Iounelle. 

Iounelle turned to find Morinnthe Stoneface Wendralorn, her paternal great grandfather, standing just behind her, his face creased with smile lines, his withered arms open for an embrace.

Iounelle hugged Morinnthe tight.

"Verhydhvus naskreim benn laemoksn! !" Morinnthe exclaimed, his elderly eyes filled with tears of joy.

"Iol benn hingraln naskreim, gadlmrchel, ," Iounelle said her voice choking with tears, "."

"!" Morinnthe exclaimed. Then the Prince of Lanis Rhyl Landemiriam's eyes narrowed. "?"

Iounelle thought for a moment

"", she answered.

"", Morinnthe said with a twinkle in his eyes, "."

Iounelle looked around at the elves organized with their musical instruments as they began the opening strains of Your Smile Always.

"," Iounelle said with astonishment.

"," Morinnthe sniffed. "?"

"Toh, ," Iounelle breathed, "."

"," Morinnthe said, "."

"?!" Iounelle nearly shouted. "?"

"," Morinnthe said with growing impatience. "."

"," Iounelle cried. "!"

"," Morinnthe said with a patient smile. "."

"," Iounelle cried. "!"

"Hínn! !" Morinnthe shouted, shaking the young elf. ""

Iounelle opened her eyes to find Caerlund gently shaking her.

"You must wake," Caerlund whispered. "Wake up."

"What is it?" Iounelle instinctively also whispered, as she rose up on her elbows.

"I think I hear a fight," Caerlund pointed off into the dark of the trees of Lanis. "The sound comes from the direction of the River Hye. I'm surprised your elf ears did not hear the commotion before me."

"I- I was in a dream," Iounelle apologized. The elf strained her sensitive ears, listening.

"I hear the cry of an infant," Iounelle said with alarm. "Quickly!" Iounelle sprang to her feet, and followed the sound of the clash of battle into the darkness of night.

Caerlund and Halldora, who were camping with Iounelle, grabbed their weapons and chased after the elf.

The humans had accompanied the elf to Lanis. Iounelle had been withdrawn and unapproachable since she witnessed Alrhett, the Queen of the Weald, poisoned just after the Battle of Byland. Iounelle seemed disgusted and repulsed by humanity.

The Archer had tried and tried to assuage her dark feelings, but eventually he thought it best to leave her alone, and traveled north to find the Lhalíi.

Caerlund and Halldora tripped and stumbled in the dark, as they ran through the tangled wood of Lanis. Both moons had set for the night. The Wanderer would make two more erratic passes through the night sky, but for now, the forest around the River Hye was pitch black.

The woods of Lanis were filled with much more growth than any other forest in Wealdland. Humans knew to not cut lumber in Lanis. The elf human war was said to have begun over the felling of a single tree on the peninsula when humans were migrating back into the land uncovered from millennia of ice.

The Weald had more trees, huddled together in their dark, arbor cathedral, but Lanis had more variety. Bracken and ferns of all sizes, towering or crawling; clumps of different grasses and heather; shrubs with meandering, tripping branches; gorse with painful, thorny arms all grew in a riot under the interlocking branches of military straight pines, and spreading, ancient oaks and elms. There were also trees and plants that grew no other place than Lanis, and for which, humans had no name.

Caerlund could hear the clash of weapon against weapon clearly now as he stumbled as fast as he could behind Iounelle. He also heard violent pleading, and an infant's wailing.

Caerlund came upon the shadowed scene of Iounelle, the elf standing over a wounded human man, laying flat on his back as though he had already expired, and a wounded human woman clutching a baby. Caerlund had never before seen the thing that faced Iounelle.

Caerlund held out an arm to stop Halldora, who was close on his heels.

The creature facing the elf seemed to once be a human. It was tall, too tall. Hunched over, it looked like a man who had been unnaturally stretched. Its clothes were ragged and dirty. Its face was withered like a decomposing corpse. Its eye sockets were dark and black. It had no nose, just two black wounds. Its head was elongated and square. The skin was pulled back and dead around its too large mouth that was filled with long crooked, yellowed teeth. The thing grasped a long, long, black iron spear. It tried to speak.

"Givm babm," it muttered from its rotting maw. And, its long, claw-like, skeletal hand clutched the air in the direction of the wailing infant.

"Not while I draw breath," Iounelle said with a burning courage that bordered on blood lust.

The tall creature clumsily lunged forward with its black spear. Its body shook and rattled like an enormous, mummified frame covered with streaming, dirty tatters.