Chapter Seventeen
From the Weald to Tyny
The flames swept into the trees of the forest with a supernatural fury. All that Alrhett, the captain, and the soldiers on the north bank could do was run for the city.
“Alarm! Alarm!” A soldier cried. Sentries, who banged on metal gongs, sending the klaxon throughout the city, answered his call.
“Evacuate!” The call went up. The sleepy citizens of Rogar Li were perplexed, rubbing their eyes with waking queries. But the billows of smoke flying in from the south shocked everyone into action.
“To the west!” Alrhett cried. “Leave all possessions! Make sure you have all your children and elderly! Flee with only your lives!”
Alrhett ran for the Great Library with the Stralain close on her heels. She banged on the great, ornate doors of the library.
No answer came.
“Break it down,” she ordered the captain and his soldiers. They put their shoulders into it, and knocked the door down on their second try. Alrhett ran to the back chamber where the Nostacarr was sound asleep amidst the tumult. Alrhett shook the Master of the Library awake.
“What, what?” He sputtered.
“Take two books each,” she ordered the Stralain and the soldiers. “Whatever he wants, but only two books each. Then leave immediately. Do not tarry!”
Alrhett ran from the library to the palace as fast as she could. She met Meybonne, Prensy, and Kindoll at the front gates.
“Are there any others inside?” Alrhett cried.
“No,” Meybonne answered.
“Come with me,” Alrhett led the women down to the library where the soldiers, in defiance of her orders, were holding armfuls of books.
“Grab two books only,” she cried to the women, who quickly clutched the nearest books. “Now, out! Out of the city!” Alrhett said as she pushed the Master of the Library out onto the ramps of the city. The city was emptying at a good pace. The citizens of Rogar Li trotted as fast as they could in an orderly way.
Alrhett moved with the great crush of people as the smoke thickened in massive brown billows. “Don’t push!” She cried. The flames could be seen moving quickly in the tops of the distant trees.
“Keep moving west!” Alrhett ordered. “But don’t go down to the river, the garonds will be waiting there with archers.”
“The garonds have archers now?” A citizen moaned.
“Keep moving!” Alrhett said. “Parents watch your children.”
As the people moved farther away from the city it became easier to move quickly through the forest.
“Look!” A citizen cried.
Alrhett looked back to see massive houses and halls falling in flames. Rogar Li was destroyed.
“Don’t look back again!” Alrhett ordered. “The flames may catch us yet.” The thousands of people were organized on the run by the army, and a count was made.
“I cannot be absolutely certain,” Stralain reported to Alrhett as they trotted to the west. “But it seems all the citizens of Rogar Li have been accounted for.”
“If no souls were lost,” Alrhett mused, “then it will have been a miracle.”
“But, we have very little food,” the captain frowned, “and no one was able to open the armory before the fire reached the city.”
“It seems,” Alrhett said with soberness, “that we will join Haerreth in Tyny after all.” The Weald was dry and the fire raged all morning long. The fire was ever on the people’s backs, and the smoke poured through the woods. Frightened animals bolted every which way in the tangles of the timberland.
“Will it never stop?” Meybonne said with fear.
“The Weald has needed rain for many years,” Prensy said as they jogged for their lives.
“And the snow is late,” Kindoll said with worry.
“We will be safe if we can just reach the Eastern Meadowland,” Alrhett reassured.
Alrhett motioned Stralain near. “Have all able soldiers carry children or the elderly,” Alrhett said. “We may move quicker.” The captain saluted and jogged away to spread the order.
The great fire seemed to be spreading north faster than to the west, so the smoke began to diminish. The dawn was breaking through the hazy trees. The people had soot smeared faces, and were weary and terrified. Children were too stunned to cry, as soldiers, their arms painfully aching, heroically carried the little ones.
Moving farther west, Alrhett saw Nostacarr, the old Master of the Library being carried on the captain’s back. Alrhett winked and smiled at him to keep his spirits up. He stared back with a blank, disbelieving face.
At Rion Ta, the small town at the edge of the Weald, four garonds miserably sat in the town square. They all had arms and were in a nasty mood, spoiling for a fight.
The garond facing east rose with a satisfied smile. His companions roared with delight for they knew he had spotted a human coming out of the Weald.
Then, from the Weald, came all the humans who lived in the forest. The garonds stood in dumbfounded shock as the fifty humans became a hundred, and in an instant became several hundred. The garonds started to turn to run, but it was too late. Thirty, boiling angry wealdkin soldiers descended before the garonds could get beyond the edge of Rion Ta. They were soon hacked to pieces.
“Wait! Wait!” Alrhett called. But the garonds were already slaughtered. “It would have been good,” Alrhett said, “to have gathered what information they held.” The captain of the army glared at the over eager soldiers.
“Rion Ta” Alrhett said. “It has been barely seven days since I was last here. Captain, organize the people. Make sure no one was left behind. Feed the children with what we have.”
The captain saluted, and ordered his men. Alrhett looked out across the meadowland. It was only half a day to Tyny, but the wealdkin would be exposed out in the open fields. And, they were poorly armed. Behind them, the Weald was a billowing tower of brown smoke.
“Rogar Li and the kingdom of the Weald is gone,” Meybonne said as she sat in the dust of Rion Ta. Her daughters comforted her.
Alrhett looked all around at the thousands of people of Rogar Li and its neighboring towns, huddled together, covered in soot. Despair began to settle on the wealdkin. The tears and cries began to run through the people like a wild fire.
Alrhett rose in fury. “Stop it!” She boomed. “Stop your tears immediately!”
A calm fell on the citizens as they turned their tear stained, dirty faces to their queen.
“We are brokenhearted to have lost Rogar Li,” she said plainly, looking out into the sea of eyes. “But, do you think that city stood, majestically, where it stood, a thousand years ago? Somebody thought, here, here I will build.”
Alrhett paused to gather herself.
“We will never let go of that spirit, the spirit of the first of the wealdkin. They said ‘build’, and we will, by all the gods above, we will build again.” The people looked up, and their faces were all beautiful like little children.
“It will not be the Rogar Li that we knew,” Alrhett said, standing tall and proud like a lioness. “But, we will return and build a Rogar Li to rival the old city. It will have all the beauty of the former city, but all the promise of the future.”
The citizens of the Weald were all crying, not out of despair, but crying for the hope they held onto with all their might.
“Let us go to Tyny,” Alrhett plainly said, and then she turned to walk west. The people rose and followed her.
In western Tyny, about mid-day, Kellabald huddled in fear. He moved among the great crowd of soldiers making their way across the bridge, over to the Eastern Meadowland. He carried the Mattear Gram wrapped in a cloth. He had been able to evade the men of Kipleth, and Apghilis and his army in the mists of the night.
He mingled in with the hundreds of soldiers milling, ready to cross over the Holmwy River. It would only be a matter of time before he was discovered. The soldiers were mostly the men of Reia, but there were very many from the Northern Kingdom
of Man. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he simply asked someone to lead him to Healfdene, the king. Would they take the sword? Could anyone be trusted? Kellabald was hungry and tired, and didn’t know what to do.
The strange sign in the sky troubled him. How could Apghilis have known that the smaller moon would move out of its path in the night sky? Unless, he was consorting with whomever had done this terrible thing. The event was all the talk of the soldiers. Many said it was the work of the great Lord of Lightning, Deifol Hroth. Kellabald’s heart was very troubled. He had seen Apghilis working with the garonds at Bittel. It must be true. How else could he have known? Had Apghilis sold his very soul to this devil incarnate? For what? Power?
“Watch where you’re walking friend.”
Kellabald caught himself as he nearly stepped into a soldier’s campfire. The soldier caught Kellabald as he tripped.
“Ha, ha,” a soldier with a large black mustache said. “You’re worried about your little woman at home, aren’t you, friend?”
Kellabald simply nodded his head.
“Where’s your platoon? Who are your men?” He asked.
“I am originally from Reia,” Kellabald truthfully answered.
“Oh,” the soldier said pulling at his mustache. “No wonder you’re lost. These are all men of Man,” the soldier said using the short name.
“I am Forgrebbe,” he said extending his hand. “I’m really of no tribe. My family lives out in the Middle Wastes.”
“I am Kellabald,” he said, accepting his handshake.
“Eat,” Forgrebbe said. “You look hungry. A hungry soldier is a lousy soldier,” he laughed.
Kellabald ate a small plate of a stew made with some waterfowl. It was delicious.
“You have a sword,” Forgrebbe said, trying to take a peek at Kellabald’s bundle.
“It’s nothing,” Kellabald said clutching it to his chest.
“You should let me sharpen it,” Forgrebbe said. “A dull sword may lose you your life.”
A great noise went up as hundreds of men of Kipleth arrived.
“The archers of Kipleth,” Forgrebbe frowned. “The combined army thinks that they will be the great difference in the coming battle.”
“You do not think so?”
“If the garond army is a large as they whisper,” Forgrebbe said stretching, “we will have to kill fifty garonds each. Hmmph. Well, I’d best check with my commanders. Watch my camp for me, will you Kellabald?”
Kellabald nodded. He felt some measure of safety with Forgrebbe. He would ask him about the king of Reia, and how he could find him, when he returned. The soldiers of Kipleth kept pouring into western Tyny until they outnumbered any other army. There seemed to be a buzz amongst the soldiers, but Kellabald was too nervous to leave the little camp to find out what was the news. He feared, greatly, the news would be about him and the Mattear Gram.
“Healfdene is here!” A soldier cried. Kellabald’s head snapped up as a murmur went through the whole garrison.
In the middle of the camp, a platoon of brightly armored soldiers marched, flying the flag of the Green Hills of Reia, a white wolf on a field of bright green. In their midst a robust, older man with a red and white beard, dressed in golden armor, a head taller, happily marched towards the bridge over the Holmwy.
“Healfdene. Healfdene!” Kellabald cried, but the mass of soldiers shouted and pressed him on all sides. The parade was past and over the bridge in a matter of moments.
Kellabald looked all about for Forgrebbe. He didn’t like leaving his new friend’s camp unattended, but he had to catch Healfdene and give him the sword.
“Did you see him?” Forgrebbe called as he approached.
“I must speak to him at once!” Kellabald said. “Thank you for your hospitality, but I must leave.”
Forgrebbe whipped out his sword and held it before Kellabald. “You are not leaving for anywhere,” Forgrebbe said.
Kellabald was puzzled for a moment, but then he saw Apghilis and a platoon of men following behind Forgrebbe. Kellabald felt the Mattear Gram leap from the cloth, and into his hand.
“Run”, he heard it clearly say. Kellabald parried Forgrebbe’s sword with a mighty blow, and then Kellabald turned to run.
“The Mattear Gram!” A soldier who recognized the sword exclaimed.
Kellabald ran through the camp towards the bridge. He would not strike any soldier. It would be murder. The men clutched at him on all sides.
A large group of archers from Kipleth gathered at the foot of the bridge, ready to cross. Kellabald ran right into their midst. The Kipleth men grabbed Kellabald and held him tight. They tried to wrest the sword from his hand, but it was if the sword was part of him, and they could not.
Apghilis strode up. “Somebody run him through,” he said.
A soldier of the Kingdom of Man drew his sword, which was a mistake as the Kipleth men also drew their swords in response. All Apghilis’ men drew their swords, but they were surrounded by hundreds of soldiers from Kipleth with swords at the ready.
“He is a thief, kill him!” Apghilis commanded.
“Sheath your swords!” A dark voice cried behind Kellabald. The Archer and the elf stood beside him.
“Take your hands off of that man, and beg his forgiveness,” the Archer said. Then, the Archer grasped Kellabald’s hand in friendship. “I ask your forgiveness, my friend Kellabald,” he said, “as I am sure the men who once followed me into battle will, as well.” The men of Kipleth were stunned.
“Our general lives!” A soldier cried.
All slowly bowed, or offered their weapons to the Archer, who quietly acknowledged their fealty with a raised hand.
Apghilis looked around at the multitude of awe struck Kipleth soldiers. “I will take my case to Healfdene,” the cowardly Apghilis huffed, and pushed his way onto the bridge to cross the Holmwy.
“I am so, so happy to see you, alive and well,” the Archer said to Kellabald with a warm smile.
“You once commanded all these men?” Kellabald asked the Archer, looking around at the hundreds of soldiers who looked at the Archer with adoration, wonder and tears in their eyes.
“Men of Kipleth,” the Archer said, “will you help me avenge the destruction of our land?”
The answering roar was deafening.
As dusk was falling, the people of the Weald began to arrive at Tyny. The meadowland was full of wealdkin, hungry and covered in soot, walking out of the tall grass like dusky ghosts. A huge brown cloud covered half the sky on the horizon behind them. The day was dark with the massive amount of ash overhead. The setting sun and streaming clouds in the west were all blood red.
Alrhett, at the head of the nation of the Weald, carrying a small child, approached an armed sentry at the outskirts of the military camps gathering in eastern Tyny.
“I am Alrhett, queen of the Weald,” she wearily said to the sentry. “Please direct me to whoever is in charge.”
The sentry, mouth agape, suddenly saluted, and said, “Follow me, please, your Highness.”
As the wealdkin streamed into Tyny, they were met with compassion and food. The story of the great fire spread throughout the camps of soldiers.
Alrhett was brought to the center of Tyny, two humble houses, which had become the center of the gathering human army. Alrhett and her army captain were presented to Healfdene and Haerreth.
“Your Majesty,” Alrhett extended a hand.
“Alrhett,” Healfdene said with a big grin. “It has been much too long. Look how your hair has turned white.” And, then he affectionately hugged her.
“And look,” Alrhett said, “how large and handsome your son, the prince has become.” Haerreth actually blushed a deep red to match his ginger beard. Then he laughed a soft laugh.
“Where is your sister?” Alrhett asked.
Hetwing, a shy young woman, with light brown hair waved from a doorway of one of the houses.
“The Weald was set afire?” Healfdene said wit
h wonder, shaking his head.
“All you knew of the Weald kingdom is lost,” Alrhett quietly said. “All we own now is our lives.”
“That is the most important thing,” Healfdene said with compassion. “Come and eat and drink. There are some here I think you should meet.”
Healfdene led Alrhett to one of the small houses and Wynnfrith, Halldora, Arnwylf and Frea emerged. They fell into each other’s arms with kisses, tears and laughter.
“We never knew the king and queen of the Northern Kingdom of Man lived among us,” Wynnfrith said stroking Halldora’s hair.
“We never knew the queen and princess of the Weald were our hosts,” Halldora said with a grin.
Then Halldora took Wynnfrith by the arm and whispered to her.
“What if our children should marry?” Halldora giggled to Wynnfrith.
“The princess of the Kingdom of Man married to the prince of the Weald,” Wynnfrith quietly laughed. “Why their nation would comprise the whole east of Wealdland.” Then Wynnfrith was quiet. “I remember little of my father before he was assassinated. He was always in court, or fighting the Eaststand. I never wanted this life for my poor, beautiful son,” she whispered to Halldora.
“I also thought,” Halldora quietly said with sudden soberness, “that my little girl would be spared the vicious intrigue of royal politics.”
“Oh, let me hold them,” Alrhett said with a happy pain as she grabbed Arnwylf and Frea, each in an arm, and hugged them as tight as she could.
“Don’t you ever run off like that again,” Alrhett said to Arnwylf kissing his face, and staring into his eyes. Arnwylf averted his eyes in embarrassment.
“Come into the house and eat,” Haerreth invited Alrhett.
“I must make sure all my people are safe and comfortable first,” Alrhett said with a matronly smile.
Healfdene smiled to hear this. “Learn son, how your people should ever be foremost in your thoughts. Learn from a great queen.”
“I will help you,” Haerreth said with eagerness. “No wealdkin shall want tonight.”
“Come meet our people,” Alrhett said as she took Arnwylf’s hand. They wandered out among the refugees who were being welcomed and fed by the soldiers already camped in the Eastern Meadowland.
The wealdkin were grateful and thankful as Alrhett moved among them. And, as Alrhett made sure all were safe, she introduced Arnwylf and showed him off like a proud grandmother should. The people of the Weald were over the moon to meet the new prince, and they adored him. Arnwylf was astonished at the praise and admiration, and more than a little annoyed.
“Why are they so strange,” Arnwylf unhappily whispered to Alrhett.
“You give them hope,” she whispered back. She turned to look deep into his eyes and smiled.
“Arnwylf,” Alrhett said, “I never wanted you to know, and hoped you’d live a simple, honest life. But you are descended of royalty, and now unfortunately, your life no longer belongs to only you. Your life belongs primarily to the citizens of the Weald.” Arnwylf frowned, but kept his thoughts to himself.
After a tour of the camp, after the last of the wealdkin straggled in from the Eastern Meadowland, Alrhett and Arnwylf returned to Tyny as night was falling.
In the small town, the high officials and captains met to hear the words of a mud splattered young man of the messenger guild.
“The garond army is on the march,” he said. “They move as a great black mass south of the Bairn River. They kill and devour everything in their path.”
“How many of them are there?” Haerreth asked.
“We count them at more than two hundred thousand.”
A worried murmur rippled through the men.
“We currently number less than fifty thousand,” Healfdene grimly said.
“There are hundreds of garonds on horses,” the young man went on. “And they have many machines of wood which can hurl large stones great distances.”
“We felt the brunt of those,” the captain of the Weald said with a nod.
“And,” the messenger paused, “they have hundreds of archers.”
“What!?” A captain yelled in surprise.
“They don’t use bow and arrow!”
“Then the flaming arrows of the Weald were true!”
“Quiet,” Healfdene held up his hands. “Quiet! Let him finish!” All worriedly quieted to hear the rest of the report.
“We estimate that the army will be in the Eastern Meadowland in two days,” the messenger darkly said. “That is all.”
“All right,” Healfdene said. “We don’t know if they’ll attack immediately, but we have an idea of how soon we may have to go to war. Organize and prepare all your troops. The rest of the armies on the other side of the Holmwy should be here by tomorrow midday. As soon as the last of the soldiers are across, we will evacuate all children and those too elderly to fight. That evacuation may happen as the battle rages, so let every human be resolute in their duties.”
A soldier trotted up to Healfdene and whispered in his ear. Healfdene walked over to Alrhett. “Bring your family,” he said and led them away.
They all followed the soldier to the foot of the bridge over the Holmwy River. A group of soldiers surrounded the Archer, the elf and Kellabald.
Wynnfrith ran to her husband and threw her arms around his neck. She kissed and kissed him. Arnwylf hugged his father and tried not to cry.
“I have something for you,” Kellabald said to Healfdene.
“So I understand,” the king of Reia said. “This way.” Healfdene led the group into one of the small houses of Tyny. Inside, Kellabald unwrapped the sword and held it out for Healfdene.
“The Mattear Gram,” Kellabald said, offering the brilliant sword.
“Amazing,” Healfdene said, but made no movement to touch the sword.
“Take it, father,” Haerreth said with joy. But, the old king restrained his son.
“Rest tonight, brave Kellabald,” Healfdene softly said. “A great meeting of all the leaders of the nations will be held tomorrow. Would you please offer the sword then?”
“Ah ha!” Haerreth laughed. “Then all captains and royalty will see the sword of leadership offered properly.”
“Your exuberance,” Healfdene sighed, “will be the end of you, son.” Then, Haerreth looked down in his red faced embarrassment.
“You are of Reia, are you not?” Healfdene asked Kellabald.
“Yes, your majesty,” Kellabald replied with respect.
“You were of the house of Konedene?”
“Yes, your majesty, how did you know?”
“I should hope I’m not so old I wouldn’t recognize a nephew,” the old king smiled. Then Haerreth looked at his cousin with bright eyes.
“I renounced my name and family long ago,” Kellabald quietly said.
“Yes,” Healfdene mused. “It was that business with the Cult of Hapaun.”
“Yes, I-“
“You will be happy to know, when their dark sacrifices were found in the light of day, I arrested and tried all of them for murder,” Healfdene said searching Kellabald for a reaction, “even your father.”
Kellabald was silent with shame.
“Let us leave the past in the past,” Healfdene said as he put a sympathetic hand on Kellabald’s shoulder.
“Tonight, use this house, eat and rest, friends,” Healfdene said, and with a pleasant smile, left with his son.
The rest of the night was quiet happiness as the residents of Bittel, the Archer, and the elf ate and told the stories of what had befallen them since their separation.
“All we lack are Haergill and Yulenth,” Kellabald softly said as they sat around the fire.
“My husband would be happy to see his wishes fulfilled,” Halldora said with misty eyes. Wynnfrith held her tight.
“He was a great king,” Kellabald said. “But more importantly, simply a good man.”
“But what of Yulenth?” Wynnfrith asked.
&nbs
p; “I know not if he is alive or dead,” Alrhett said holding back her tears.
“It’s something,” Kellabald said, “How we all were drawn to Bittel. And how we all have played parts, were drawn apart, and now we are, almost all of us, together again.”
“The Water of Life,” the elf plainly said.
“What is that?” Frea asked.
“The elves don’t believe in coincidence,” the elf sleepily said. “Life is like water. It separates. It is diverted. But it always comes back together again.”
“The Water of Life,” Arnwylf said staring into the dying fire.