The Last Elf of Lanis Page 9
Chapter Nine
Frea
Once upon a time there was a young girl with flame red hair, named Frea. She had been taken from her parents by a cruel and ugly race called the garonds.
Garonds were squat, bow legged creatures, with long, dark, red hair, and ape-like features. Their arms and chests were thick, wide and muscular. Their viciousness was legendary.
No human understood the speech of the garond race. But this young girl, through some gift from the higher powers, was beginning to comprehend their tongue.
The young girl had come to understand that all garonds had been commanded by their great and terrible master to gather all red haired humans to him. There was some great and powerful object that their master sought, and it was said that their master saw, through his great and awesome powers, that a red haired human could uncover it.
In the captivity of three garonds, the leader slew one of the other garonds in a quarrel over whether or not they should eat the young girl.
The two remaining garonds traveled along the banks of the river Bairn in hopes of finding a place to cross over to their great camp in the south of Wealdland.
The travel was slow and filled with bickering between the two remaining garonds. The garond who drooled all the time also wanted to eat the young girl. But the garond with one large eyebrow protected her out of duty to his master.
Night fell, and they bedded down for the night, with their horses, on the sandy bank of the Bairn River.
“Be quiet,” the garond who held the young girl snarled.
The young girl thought of her grandmother, Miri, who had been her constant comfort back in her childhood home, the castle of the Northern Kingdom of Man. For, the young girl was actually a princess and heir to the throne.
That night the young girl dreamt of her grandmother. She dreamt that they were walking in spring fields of bluebells, simple meadow roses and clover buzzing with unmindful bees.
They walked for many paces and then her grandmother turned to her. And in her dream she said to the young girl, “When you have need, sing my name.” And then the young girl awoke, staring at the blackness of the early dawn.
In the early morning, Eyebrow decided the river was shallow enough for the horses to swim across. Once again the two garonds fell to arguing, but Eyebrow turned his horse, with the young girl astride, into the rapid waters of the Bairn. Drool screamed in rage and goaded his horse into the river as well.
In the middle of the river, the two garonds swung their clubs at each other, as their horses swam for their lives in the swiftly moving water. The young girl bravely clutched the horse’s mane as the dangerous water swirled all about her.
The third riderless horse screamed as a great, evil fish tore out its throat. The water of the river turned a bright red with the horse’s blood.
In the midst of this tumult, the two garonds continued to stupidly battle.
Miraculously, the two remaining horses made the southern bank of the Bairn River sopping wet and exhausted. Eyebrow and Drool dropped from their horses and weakly continued their battle. Clubbing and knocking each other with unwavering fury. Drool got a lucky swing in and knocked Eyebrow to his knees.
Drool then turned to Frea, the young girl, an evil hunger flashing on his face.
The young girl knew it was time. She opened her mouth and began to sing her grandmother’s name. But the note became a scream, which became a wind that buffeted the drooling garond.
The great moving wind began to take shape with leaves and debris. The young girl could see it was the shape of her grandmother, but three times her normal size.
The great shape of wind raised the choking garond off his feet. His hands gripped at a windy nothing, which held him by the throat. His legs frantically kicked at empty air.
Then, Drool was violently splashed down into the Bairn River, and held as he drowned with much thrashing and a fury of bubbles.
Then, the shape of wind raised the drowned garond from the river and dashed him against a tree growing on the river’s bank. The drooling garond was dead.
The wind moved on, down the river.
“Wait!” The young girl cried. But, it was too late, the shape of wind, turning into a rapidly increasing vortex, was gone. Eyebrow, rising from the shallows, roughly grabbed the young girl and threw her across his horse. He mounted too, and they traveled all day east along the southern banks of the Bairn River, with a riderless horse following.
At nightfall, they bedded down in the sand of the southern riverbank with neither speaking to the other.
“Stay silent,” Eyebrow snarled in garond at the young girl.
That night, the young girl dreamt she was alone, out on the Eastern Meadowlands with a wounded stauer. She called and called for her family and friends, but no one answered. The dangerous beast circled her and would not leave.
Early the next morning, the garond and the young girl rode east all day along the southern bank of the Bairn River.
In the early afternoon they saw thirty or more garonds riddled with arrows on the northern side of the river. The young girl thought of the Archer who had saved her and her family at Bittel.
Later in the day, the young girl saw a white wolf running with a pack of doderns. She thought of the white wolf that had joined their fight at Rion Ta. She dare not think of the young blonde haired boy of her village for fear of what might have befallen him.
Late in the afternoon, the garond and the young girl rode close to a swarming garond battlement. They could just see the three bridges that spanned the Bairn River and led to the great Weald city of Rogar Li.
The young girl was brought to an ornate tent set in the middle of the garond soldiers. She could hear the horrible battle being fought to win the three bridges by the garonds.
Eyebrow was dismissed and the young girl was left to wait alone in the plush tent.
The warm afternoon sun made the tent hot and insufferable. The watery smell of the river was overwhelming.
Demons and goblins danced just outside the tent making shapes on the cloth wall.
A large animal dressed in silk entered the tent. He magically turned into a large garond.
“What are you saying?” He said.
The young girl knew she had but one chance to escape.
“I speak human,” the large garond said. “I can understand your words.”
A spell came over the young girl so that the large garond could hear her inmost thoughts.
“Stop speaking at once!” The large garond bellowed.
Frea was silent.
He was fierce and a murderous fire burned in his eye. He inspected Frea closely. “I know what you’re doing.” He smiled. “I have seen this before in humans. Your race is clever but weak, and you retreat into fantasies. You’re telling yourself some kind of story to make these unhappy events more sensible to your fragile mind.” The large garond laughed a low, dangerous laugh.
Frea felt the dagger hidden under her dress.
“I am Ravensdred. I command the garond armies for Deifol Hroth.” He was a full head taller than any garond or man Frea had seen. His shoulders were bulky and restless. Yet, he wore no armor or sword, only silks and fine linen in dark blues and scarlet.
“Do you know where the sword is?” He asked Frea. She felt the hand of fate gripping her throat.
“No, no,” he said. “Stay here with me now. You have the red hair of the Northern Kingdom. And you reacted when I asked about the sword. What sword? Which sword? You will feign stupidity. Yes. It’s all in your eyes. You have seen the Mattear Gram.”
Frea felt panic enclosing her. Ravensdred took Frea’s hand. It was like a massive paw. It was as if some huge bear had stumbled out of the Weald and someone had dressed him in silk and fine linen, and taught him to talk. Ravensdred slowly pulled Frea close.
“You have seen the Mattear Gram?” He asked again.
Frea was compelled to nod her head in assent.
“Good,” he said. “Where is it?”
Frea simply lifted up the hem of her dress, pulled the dagger, and stabbed at Ravensdred’s throat.
But, for all his size, Ravensdred was quick, frighteningly quick.
He grasped Frea’s hand and slowly pulled the dagger away from her. He let her fall to the ground.
“I like you,” Ravensdred snarled at her. “I like you quite a bit.” His lustful smile revealed large, sharply filed teeth. “You will tell me all I wish to know… sooner than you think.”
He threw the dagger to his feet, in front of Frea. “Take it. You may find some use for this sewing pin, if fate weaves a hopeless garment for you. Return to your story.”
With a hearty, cruel laugh Ravensdred strode from the tent.
Once upon time there was a young girl who was held captive by a large and evil garond named Ravensdred.
She was far from her parents and deep in the land held by the garond armies. She could hear the shouts and crashes of sword on shield as human and garond fought for the Three Bridges of Rogar Li.
Then, all was silent. She could hear a human shouting something about no choice. No choice, the young girl thought.
Then the air was filled with smoke. The young girl stepped to the edge of the tent opening. Down by the river, she could see the three bridges burning in a swirling inferno.
The young girl waited for the garond named Ravensdred to return, since his attempt to take the bridges had failed, but he did not.
A small meal was brought to her. She ate very little of it. Then, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
The next day, all was confusion. Their great warlord had left in the night without explanation. The assault on the Weald had failed with the burning of the bridges.
The young girl could hear the lower ranking leaders arguing among themselves. Should they stay here on the southern banks of the Bairn or return to the great encampment?
About mid-day, an earthquake shook the whole earth. The garonds screamed in superstitious fear. Some mighty power was unhappy with developments in the Wealdland, and it showed its disapproval.
The young girl was undisturbed the rest of the day, as no garond dared to enter the tent of Ravensdred without leave. She was left to herself to treasure her memories of happier times and distant loved ones and friends. She thought particularly of a blonde haired boy with a serious face and green eyes.
The next day, the garond army broke camp. Eyebrow, the garond who had captured her at Rion Ta, arrived to escort her, with the rest of the army back to the main garond encampment.
Eyebrow was strangely polite and careful with the young girl, as if some order had been given to ensure her safety.
They joined other horse garonds who trotted south to Harvestley at a leisurely pace.
About midday, the remnants of a garond army joined the main army. They were devastated, with many wounded.
Eyebrow told the young girl that they were defeated in the Madrun Hills by an elf and an archer with unfathomable power.
The young girl was happy in her heart since she knew it was her friends who had defeated the garond army in Madrun.
The whole contingent of garond soldiers stopped to treat the wounded and regroup.
In the late afternoon Eyebrow came to the young girl and said, “Our great general Ravensdred is escorting the Lord of Lightning, Deifol Hroth, triumphantly into Wealdland tonight. I have been ordered to quickly return with you, so you will be ready to be presented by Ravensdred to our lord.”
With that the young girl was seated with Eyebrow on his horse, and with a large platoon of horse garonds, they rode as fast as they could for the great camp in the south.
As evening began to fall, the young girl and the platoon came to the expansive garond encampment in Harvestley.
The young girl was taken by Eyebrow to the center of the camp, where Ravensdred’s large ornate tent had been reset. Inside were all the pillows and fine linen that had been her jail on the southern bank of the Bairn River. Guards were posted at the tent’s opening, and she was brought food that she despairingly picked at.
She could hear the business of the garond army all around her. She began to lose all hope now that she was at the very heart of the garond army.
When night arrived, so did a noisy retinue with Ravensdred, who came right to his tent to greet the young girl. He seemed worried and tired. He had obviously been riding back and forth many miles. And seeing to his master’s needs was no inconsequential matter. He was in a foul mood and short tempered.
“Come out of your little fantasy right now,” he snapped while gnawing on a leg of mutton.
Frea quietly turned to face Ravensdred. “I am here,” she said.
“Are you ready to tell me about the sword?” He growled.
“No,” was all Frea said.
“No? Not, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. What sword? Why whatever do you mean?’” Ravensdred was visibly turning red with fury.
“You may try to kill me if you wish,” Frea simply said.
“Do you still have your hat pin,” he snarled.
Frea lifted up the hem of her dress to draw the dagger from its sheath strapped to her leg.
Ravensdred froze. Then, he bounded forward, roughly slapped the dagger out of Frea’s hand, and pulled up her dress.
“What is this!” Ravensdred bellowed pointing to a patterned scar on Frea’s leg.
“It is the mark of my birth.”
“I know what it is!” He shouted. Ravensdred dropped Frea, strode a step away, then he turned to study her with keen eyes. “You are the daughter of the king of the Northern Kingdom of Man, you are heir to the throne.” Ravensdred tipped his head back to fill the tent with loud, raucous, evil laughter. “Here I thought I would be punished for failing to deliver the Three Bridges of Rogar Li, but I have a greater prize than that.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Frea defiantly said.
“Oh please, my lady,” Ravensdred dipped a muscular, mocking bow. “I know that the royal line of the Northern Kingdom of Man are all branded with the blade of the Mattear Gram to mark their birth.” Ravensdred triumphantly plopped down onto a pile of cushions. “You should tell me about the sword,” Ravensdred slyly said. “Because you won’t like my master’s methods much. No, not at all.” He chuckled to himself.
Frea was silent.
“Very well,” Ravensdred said with a sure, leering grin. “As you wish. I need to inspect the troops. You can dine without me. But you will share my tent tonight.” Ravensdred pierced her with a knowing stare, then rose, bowed with an elaborate flourish, and left the tent laughing to himself with a newfound, evil delight.
Once upon a time there was a young girl who was trapped in the midst of the garond army. Exhausted, she fell into a light, fitful sleep in the general garond’s tent. The young girl woke with a start to find a skinny, large toothed young man leaning over her with a disturbing expression on his face.
“I am Ratskenner,” the unshaven young man said. His breath smelled of corpse flesh and rotting vegetables.
The young girl leapt to her feet. The young man, with the skittering movement of a rodent, circled her, his hands splayed out to calm her.
“Please be quiet. The guards have orders to kill you instantly if you so much as even speak,” he lied. His small glassy eyes ran up and down her body with lustful hunger.
“You are to be my queen. I am to be the king of all remaining humans. I will save you, and you will be grateful to me all the rest of your life.” He said, lightly stepping closer with short mincing steps.
“What is your name?” He asked.
“You told me if I was to speak, I would be instantly killed,” the young girl said with a smile of defiance.
“Yes,” the gangly young man said. “But you can speak with my permission.” He frowned with disdain. “Tell me your name. Where do you come from? Who are your kin?”
The young girl said, “Surely these trifling details are not important to the
great king of all humans.”
The young man shot out skinny arms with an animal like quickness and roughly grabbed the young girl, pulling her close to his pointy nose.
“Don’t amuse yourself at my expense,” Ratskenner said, gripping Frea’s arms tight. “I can beat you to death here and now with no consequence to my safety. I am too, too valuable to these conquerors. They need me. Not you. I can do what I please with you. Howsoever I please.” He said the last with a dry kiss of scabby lips on her trembling, pale cheek.
The sound of guards snapping to attention caused Ratskenner to release Frea and scurry out, under a side wall of the tent.
Ravensdred entered, tired and annoyed. He grunted at Frea, flopped himself onto a pile of pillows and was immediately heavily snoring in a deep sleep.
Once upon a time there was a young girl who sat shivering, wide awake staring into the hopeless night, in the tent of the garond general, in the middle of the garond army.
The young girl awoke in the morning to find Ravensdred violently chewing and devouring his breakfast.
“I have no time for you today,” he said pointing a bloody, half chewed leg of lamb. “My master will be here soon. I must make sure all preparations are in order for his arrival.”
With that the general of the garonds rose from his breakfast and swept from the tent.
Some fruits were brought to the young girl, but she ate nothing. Outside she heard the garond guard’s gossip about a wolf that was circling the camp. It was white and had already killed two garond sentries. There was a good reward for its pelt.
About midday, the disgusting, young man slipped under a wall into the tent. He danced around the young girl who stood when she saw him.
“You have been promised to me when they are done with you,” he snickered.
The young girl was silent.
The unpleasant young man ran his dirty, busy, long fingers over the bowls of fruit and cured meats set out on gold trimmed tables.
“You desire me, don’t you?” The young man drew near to the young girl.
The young girl felt for the dagger hidden under her dress.
The young man leapt for the young girl. She twisted away and knelt to pull the dagger from its sheath. Ratskenner grabbed Frea roughly and spun her to find Frea’s dagger at his throat.
They both were still for moment. Then Ratskenner began to laugh a dry, wheezing laugh. “Why do you not kill me?” He snickered. With a rapid strike, he slapped the dagger from Frea’s hand. “Better you should hold that blade to your own throat, considering what is coming for you. Shall I tell you? All humans will be killed. There will be none left. Ravensdred may force himself on you. I care not. Then, you will be given to me for my pleasure and to rebirth the human race.”
Ratskenner held Frea close. His long bony fingers dug into her arms. She wanted to scream, to sing, like at the river. She opened her mouth and started.
But, Ratskenner was too quick, he grasped her throat in both hands, and Frea’s scream died on her lips.
Frea felt the whole world fading to black. Ratskenner’s face was twisted with rage and lust. Just as Frea was about to lose consciousness, a garond guard entered the tent. He barked an order at Ratskenner, who quickly released Frea and scurried out under a wall of the tent.
Frea fell to the carpets laid out in the tent, gasping for breath. The garond guard threw a dress of expensive red gossamer and brocaded purple cotton at her, and ordered her to put it on.
Once upon a time there was a young girl who passed the day with great fear and worry. The sounds of soldiers preparing for the arrival of their leader were loud and incessant. Horns loudly announced leaders arriving in the camp, but not yet the Lord of Lightning.
In the early evening, the evil young man once again scrambled under the wall into the tent. He cautiously circled the young girl who held the dagger out at him in a defensive stance.
Anger and viciousness played across his toothy mouth.
“All your family is dead,” Ratskenner said. “They were soon captured after the fight at Rion Ta. The man with the red hair, the man with the yellow hair, the old man and woman, the woman with the black hair, the woman with the red hair, and the boy with yellow hair. They were all caught and killed. The archer and the elf were caught later in the Madrun Hills and killed there.”
“You lie!” The young girl cried.
“You have no one left,” the young man said. “You can willingly give yourself to me, and I will provide for and protect you, or you can take your own life. It is why the general has left you the dagger.”
“Get out!” The young girl cried.
The garond guard heard the young girl’s cries and checked the tent. He barked at the young man, and Ratskenner scuttled under a wall of the tent. Night began to fall. A loud commotion could be heard in the camp. The Lord of Lightning was arriving.
Once upon a time there was a young girl who was desperate.
Frea contemplated the dagger in her hand. It would have to be quick.
Once upon a time there was a young girl with no hope.
Frea thought of her father and mother. She thought of Bittel and Arnwylf. She thought of her grandmother. And Frea knew she had no choice.
Once upon a time there was...
Frea barely noticed the brilliant flash of light in the camp. She barely registered the screams and cries of the blinded garonds. She didn’t even flinch with the resounding boom of the lightning. All she saw was the blade with which she was going to take her own life.
Once upon a time there was...
And then Arnwylf burst into the tent. The dagger slipped from Frea’s hand. She felt numb. She seemed to not even move her feet. She was in his arms holding him as though she would never let him go. She kissed his beautiful, dirty cheek.
“We must go quicker than the wind,” Arnwylf said.
They ran from the tent. Garond soldiers writhed on the ground, grasping their eyes in pain, staggering and screaming.
They ran through the camp, to a group of filthy, starved humans who cast the chains from their wrists the moment they saw Arnwylf.
“Now! Now!” Arnwylf shouted. Arnwylf put Frea on a horse, got on as well, and then the whole band of horses, with human riders, escaped into the night.
Frea saw the white wolf running beside the herd of horses and a great joy leapt into her heart. Ratskenner had been lying about everything. Her loved ones were safe.
After riding for what seemed a long time, Arnwylf pulled his horse to a halt and all of horses stopped.
“Len!” Arnwylf called to confer with his friend, but a garond with an ugly scar across his fore head dragged Arnwylf from the horse. Arnwylf drew his sword and the garond slapped it from his hands.
Frea could not believe what she was seeing. Where had this garond come from? He beat Arnwylf savagely. She got down from the horse.
“Do something!” She cried. The humans were stunned and broken. She picked up a large stone and hit the garond as hard as she could. The garond roared in pain and quickly turned to knock Frea unconscious.
She was only out for a moment. She came to looking up at the stars. She could hear the struggle between the garond and Arnwylf. She saw a young boy reach out, pick up the sword and put it in Arnwylf’s hand. Arnwylf drew the sword down, and quickly slashed the garond’s throat. The garond let go of Arnwylf, who quickly thrust the sword back up into the garond’s body.
The garond stood and tried to pull the sword from his body, but Arnwylf gripped the sword’s hilt, and twisted and thrust it deeper into the garond, who died with dark blood bubbling on its sneering lips.
Frea saw Ratskenner behind Arnwylf and called, “Lookout behind you!”
Ratskenner pulled the sword from the garond and advanced on Arnwylf. Frea didn’t know what to do. Then she felt an animal’s mane under her hand.
Ratskenner was saying something to Arnwylf, boasting.
Frea looked down at the white wolf. “Save him,” she ur
gently whispered to the beast. The white wolf seemed to instantly understand. Growling, the wolf bounded forward and caught Ratskenner by his back bone. Ratskenner shrieked high and shrill. The wolf shook and shook until Ratskenner was dead.
The humans worriedly mumbled until they saw the white wolf affectionately lick Arnwylf’s face, who assured the animal with words of praise.
Frea helped Arnwylf who could barely stand because he was so badly beaten by the garond.
It was agreed that an older human would take the lead horse and they would make for Scatterstone, a shallow part of the Burnie River.
Frea clutched the mane of her horse and felt Arnwylf weakly holding her waist from behind.
The horns and shouts of a tracking party of garonds could be heard gaining on them all that dark night.
Once upon a time-
No, Frea thought, I must stay here and now, for him. Frea was frightened and cold, but her only thought was to get Arnwylf to safety. The night was dark, heavy clouds obscured the light of the moons and stars. Frea could feel the horse under her, its coarse hair, smooth rippling muscles, moving to her commands. She could smell the trees as they rode past, pine, oak, and elm. Frea could hear the thundering of all the horse’s hooves. Every shadow was only what it was. No demons lurked in the dark. The real monsters were the hunting party behind them. Frea felt a new, strange strength in her arms and legs, as though she could do anything as they rode all that shrouded night.
Near dawn, they rode down into shallows of Scatterstone. Silver water laughed over smooth stones. Tall, dark pine trees enclosed the open, shallow river. The horses drank heavily the sweet water of the Burnie. The older human cautioned the riders that they still had a day’s ride to cross the Madronwy river into the safety of the Madrun Hills.
They continued riding. Frea could feel Arnwylf weakly clinging to her. She looked down at his hands. They were stained with blood. From himself or the garond he fought, she could not tell, but she hoped he could just hold on until they reached the Madronwy.
As the sun rose, the countryside became easy riding with open, rolling meadows, dotted with only a few trees.
About midday, as they crested a ridge, someone exclaimed, and Frea looked back to see hundreds upon hundreds of garond riders in black armor only a few miles behind them. If they catch us, she thought, they will show no mercy.
All that day, the hunting party seemed to be closing.
The white wolf ran beside Frea’s horse. It seemed to be watching Arnwylf as carefully as a brother. The white wolf looked at Frea.
“We will get him to safety,” she told the wolf. And, it seemed the wolf understood and grimly focused on keeping up with the horses.
As the sun began to sink in the west, the older human who was leading the band of horses pulled up next to Frea. He told her they were going to cross a secret bridge, which they could destroy once across, then the garonds would not be able to follow.
In the dusk, they climbed up through steep terrain. The horses huffed and slobbered from exhaustion.
The night was clear and all the stars and the two moons shone with brilliance.
As they came to a sheer gorge, the order was given to dismount. Up ahead a gangly rope bridge could be seen. From the sound of the hunting party, they seemed to be right on their heels.
The humans clambered across the rope bridge in single file. The white wolf crossed in front of Frea who helped Arnwylf at the end of the line. Arnwylf was fading in and out of consciousness, and bleeding from his nose. Frea pulled at him with all her might.
“Come on!” She yelled at him. He roused and they made it off the bridge, but the garonds were already crossing, with Ravensdred in the lead.
An arrow struck a sentry in front of her, but Frea kept pulling at Arnwylf to help him get away from the bridge.
The older human helped Frea with Arnwylf. They stumbled to the top of a ridge. Frea could see a platoon of armed humans rushing towards her.
Two arrows seemed to shatter in the air just above her.
“You’ve gone far enough!” Frea heard Ravensdred bellow.
“Aye, I think you’ve gone JUST far enough,” a human answered as a battle cry.
The armed humans descended on the garonds with a burning fury.
But all stopped as a shuddering enveloped the night. Great waves of energy pulsed, painfully washing over everyone. A terrible sound began, a thousand screams, emanating from the night sky.
Up above, The Wanderer moved in its orbit. The smaller moon quickly moved at a terrifyingly acute angle from its quiet, slow orbit against the back drop of the stars. A thousand invisible shrieks emanated from the sky, with the energy pummeling the companion moon. Something, someone was moving the Wanderer, and the whole earth was now in danger.
The spectacle froze all for a moment. Then, a short, red haired man screamed at the garonds, “Get them!”
The armed humans seemed possessed, fighting with a strength that drove the garonds back to the bridge. Ravensdred knowing what was soon to happen, began quickly back across, throwing his own soldiers out of his way, to fall to their deaths in the gorge below.
The red haired man hacked at one of the ropes of the bridge and it severed with the mighty cut. On the bridge, Ravensdred, clutching the rope of the bridge, pulled himself up onto the other side. With another towering strike, the red haired human severed the other rope, and the secret bridge of Fallfont gorge fell into the Madronwy River with several screaming garonds.
The Archer and the elf found Frea and Arnwylf, and there was a happy moment, until they saw how bad Arnwylf fared.
“We must take him immediately to Kenethley,” the elf said inspecting Arnwylf. “Otherwise, he is lost.”