Last Knight (The Champion Chronicles Book 2), page 14
Glaerion took a deep breath and bowed his head slightly. “My apologies. The anger in me is strong, but for this task, I will hold it at bay. I will do as you ask.”
“You will avoid contact with them as much as you can. You will need to hide your appearance as well as your purpose. We do not know who has been tapping into the web of magic, or why. Once you have answered those questions, then you will return to report to the Collective. We will make a decision on our next course of action.”
“What if I discover who it is and I have a chance to end it?”
“That is not a decision that you must make, it is for the Elven Collective to decide.” The king help up a hand as Glaerion was about to argue. “It is not up for debate. This is too important of a decision to leave to one elf. It must be done through the Collective, especially if we must go to war to stop these wizards.”
Glaerion remained silent for he knew it was futile to continue with his argument.
“Prepare for your departure, then.” King Illichian said. “And one last thing, I know your anger is deep. It can feed the turmoil within you. I trust you to this task because you have been a loyal servant to myself and all elven kind. I need you to control your anger and go no farther than what I have asked of you. You cannot let yourself be discovered or we will lose our advantage. Secrecy is a must. There is no shame in turning down this important task, but I cannot have your anger interfere with your actions.”
“Of course, my lord,” Glaerion replied. “I will control my anger and my emotions. Forgive me for showing it now as it has been some time since I have let myself think about what had happened so many years ago.”
“We all carry the burden of our history,” the king said. “It is how we handle our present that will determine our future. Now be gone, and safe travels.”
With the dismissal, Glaerion retreated into the shadows of the dark cavern.
King Illichian stepped down from his throne and walked slowly in the opposite direction from which Glaerion left. He walked slowly because age was finally starting to catch up to him. Elves were not immortal, they were just long-lived. While man aged with the passing of each year, elves aged only with the passing of many decades. In the old days, an old elf was rare, as the wars and battles with men and beasts claimed lives before old age could. But since the exile, there was little death in his kingdom. It allowed the old elves to live long, comfortable lives. Eventually, time would catch up to them and they would pass on and the younger generation would take over. He just hoped that his greatest fears were not coming to light and he would have many more generations to rule his people.
His eyes easily picked out the door hidden in the darkest of shadows. It opened with a slight push and a gentle and warm nighttime breeze touch his skin. He stepped out onto a balcony that overlooked a great chasm. Far below, a river was cutting its way through the mountains. His sharp ears easily picked out the rush of waves over stone. It was a soothing sound that he took in with closed eyes.
After some time, he opened his eyes and looked up to the clear northern skies. The star was there, shinning brighter than any other star in the sky. It was not coincidence that the coming of the star, the appearance of the Deceiver, and the return of magic to the realm of man were happening at the same time. He did not believe in coincidence, only in the plans of the Creator. He could only imagine what those plans might be.
He wished that the Creator walked the earth, as happened in the ancient past. In those times, the Creator spoke to His people and communed with them. But then He had left with just one promise that He would return one day. And upon that return, the Age of Man would end, and a new age would begin.
There was no doubt that the star in the sky was a symbol of the promise of His return. Which meant that the Age of Man would come to a close. But there was no way for King Illichian to know if that meant that Man would no longer exist on the earth or if it was time for someone else to take over. He hoped it meant that it would be time for the elves to return to their homeland and take back what they had lost. For too many centuries, they had sacrificed and lived simple, isolated lives. He did not want to get his hopes up, but the thought of returning to this homeland was more than a dream come true.
***
Glaerion left the mountain chamber of his king and walked quickly along a wide well-worn path towards the Village. The path meandered through a small dense wooded area where some of his kind had built their homes. But his home was farther away, in the center of a small grouping of cottages. They called it the Village only because it did not have any other name. This was not their homeland, so they did not want to give a name to it.
Most of the buildings were small homes built from the trees of the jungle that was just to the south of them. Only the smithy was built with stone walls. It was a rather large building with a large furnace for the construction of various farming instruments and the occasional weapon. But there was no reason to have many weapons, as there were no indigenous people anywhere nearby. A tiger or black puma would occasionally wander to the edge of the forest, but they never offered much of a threat.
The path came to an end at the edge of the Village, where the ground was trampled and worn from years of walking. There were others about, but Glaerion ignored them and headed straight for his own cottage.
He opened the door to his wife sitting on a rocking chair, a partially knitted sweater in her lap. She had a smile on her face, which surprised him.
“I have news,” Glaerion said.
“And I, too!” she countered. Hallendrielle had long, shimmering dark hair that came down to her back. She had it parted into two thick strands that hung down on either side of her thin body.
“There is to be a youngling!”
Glaerion was about to share his own news first, but the news of his wife had caught him off guard. “A youngling?” he repeated in a less than excited tone.
“Are you not excited? We have not had a birth in almost a hundred years.”
“It has been Ninety-seven years,” Glaerion replied coolly. “Until we return to our homeland, it should be a crime to bring a child into this world.”
“It will be good to hear the cry of a young child, once again. It has been too long.”
Glaerion shook his head, trying to hold back his anger. He had been a proponent of rules that would have made it a crime to bring a child into their community. To raise a young elf outside of their homeland should be a sacrilege to their entire existence. But enough others had disagreed with him so that it never became law. But his point had been taken by most, and the birth of an elf become a very rare event. With their long lives, it would have quickly become a logistical nightmare if they bred like Men did. In theory, he understood why Men needed to procreate so often, as their lifespans were but a blink of an eye. But he would have been okay with them just stopping all together and letting their race die out.
“I will be leaving for some time,” Glaerion said.
“Is that your news?” Hallendrielle asked.
Glaerion had walked over to a large chest that held many of his clothes. He began hunting through it for warmer clothes. Their village rarely got cold. On rare occasions when the days were shortest, there would be cold nights, but the days hardly got cold enough to need a cloak or another layer of clothes. But high in the mountains, where he liked to hunt, it got cold in the winter. It was for those hunting expeditions that he needed a cloak. With the realm of Man being so far north of them, he would have to be prepared for cold weather and maybe even snow. With a pause of reflection, the thought of snow on the ground made him feel warm inside. Their homeland become covered in snow during the winter months. A childhood full of running through deep snow and packing it together to make snow forts came back to him, which made him feel both sorrow and anger.
With his back to his wife, he replied, “Yes. I will be going north.”
“North?” she asked. “To the homeland?”
“To the land of Man.”
“The land of Man?” she repeated incredulously. “Why are you going there? Is it not dangerous? Are you going alone?”
“You suddenly care?” Glaerion snapped back. In his agitated state, he let his emotions seep out into his words. He instantly regretted them. Not because he had hurt his wife, but because he had revealed his thoughts to her.
“Of course,” she replied. “The love that we once had may be lost, but that does not mean I no longer care for you.”
“Love is an emotion for the weak, for creatures like Man. It is an unnecessary emotion that serves no purpose.”
“Yes, of course. But it once existed. Do you not remember?”
He glanced up at his wife, looking at her closely for the first time in a long time. She was still as beautiful as she had been when they had first met, but it was a beauty that he had gotten used to. He eyes were large, almost too large for her face. But that was a common trait of the elven race. Her nose was thin, hardly more than a bump above her full, ruby tinted lips. Although her face was smooth and silky, there were lines of age at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She had aged, but as slowly as them all. She would still be considered a youthful woman, in the terms of humans, but in terms of elves, she was as old as most.
“Your stare teases me,” she said. “It was how you once looked at me.”
“You remember that far back?” he asked with a smirk.
She didn’t appreciate his attempt at humor. “I remember when you used to dance with me. Or even just hold me.”
“Then you miss our love?” he asked.
“You do not?” she retorted.
“It ran its course. You know that. We have gotten too used to one another, too comfortable. I care for you as much as you care for me, but that is as far as it goes. I enjoy your company, your presence pleases me. But that is all. Love, being an emotion, is unnecessary to our existence.”
“And you do not miss it,” Hallendrielle stated.
“No,” Glaerion replied. “I do not. It has run its course. Our people have evolved beyond love.”
Glaerion walked over to a small dresser and pulled open the top drawer. He pulled out two long and thin objects wrapped in an oily cloth.
“You are taking your daggers?”
Glaerion gently unwrapped the daggers from their cloth. They were almost eighteen inches long and sheathed in a plain leather scabbard. He drew them out, one at a time and inspected their blades. They were not simply hunting daggers, but the weapon of choice of elves. They were light and sharp and served as extension of his own arms. An elf with one dagger was a formidable foe. An elf with two was almost invincible.
“The land of Man is rife with danger,” he said softly. He removed his belt and detached the smaller hunting knife he normally kept on his self. He strapped the two scabbards to his belt and put it back on.
“You are to leave now?”
“The ship is ready for sail. It is stocked with supplies and provisions. I only need to bring myself. Good day, Hallendrielle. I shall return as soon as the journey is done.”
He turned to leave, but Hallendrielle had quickly crossed the room and touched him on his shoulder. Glaerion turned to find her face right next to his. She leaned over and gently kissed him on his cheek.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“To remember me,” she said.
Glaerion smiled at her. “You are my wife, how could I forget you?”
“You have forgotten our love,” she said softly.
He shook his head. “Not forgotten,” he said.
Glaerion stepped away and gave her one last look before he walked through the door. He closed it behind him and stood for a moment. He touched the cheek where she had kissed him. He had forgotten how much he truly loved her.
***
It was a several hour walk from the village to the ocean. He arrived at a small inlet that had a small dock that stuck out into the water about fifty feet. A reef protected the inlet, which also made the water very shallow. It was good for swimming, but bad for any type of ship. A small rowing boat was tied to the dock. Far out past the reef, the sailing ship that he would take north was anchored.
It had been some time since he had been on the water, so it took him a while to get used to rowing the boat. After about twenty strokes of the oars, he got into a groove and cut through the water towards the ship.
As he approached, he could hear the captain shouting orders to the sailors. He glanced back to see his elven brothers running across the deck, preparing the ship for departure. It was a single mast ship with a tall and wide sail. There was a raised deck both fore and aft. The captain was on the aft deck, standing next to tiller. He was shouting and pointing, trying to get his sailors to do their job.
“Hello!” Glaerion shouted.
The captain glanced about and then down. He gave a slight wave and then shouted at another sailor. One of the sailors dropped a rope ladder down from the deck. Glaerion knew that he was supposed to guide the boat up next to it and then somehow grab ahold of it and climb. As he was wondering what was to happen with the rowing boat, the sailor dove headfirst into the water just beyond the rowing boat. A moment the sailor popped up and climbed into the boat.
“Yo!” the sailor said. He took the oars from Glaerion and guided the rowing boat to the rope ladder. “Climb up!”
Glaerion carefully stood, trying to balance himself in the shifting water. He grabbed the rope and started to climb. The moment he cleared the rowing boat, the sailor took off, heading back for land.
The captain greeted Glaerion at the top of the ladder and helped him over the railing and onto the deck.
“Thank you,” Glaerion said. “I am Glaerion Lereharrishia”
“I am Captain Janari. Welcome aboard. Do you not have any provisions?”
“Other than food and water, I have all that I need.”
Janari nodded and stroked his beard. His facial hair was shaggy, but not very long. Most elves chose not to grow a beard, as the elven kind tended not to be very hairy, unlike their human cousins. But Janari and his crew all had let their facial hair go. “Supplies will be limited, but we will make due. It is a long trip even for a ship this size.”
“How long?”
The coast of Krania is six weeks with a good wind. Although I’ve heard that it could take ten or twelve if the weather goes bad.”
“You’ve never gone there?”
Janari burst out a laugh. “To the land of Man? Not on your life. This here’s a fishing vessel. We’ll stay out for two, maybe three weeks at a time, but we’re always only a few days’ sail from land.”
“And you know where to go?”
Janari looked up in the sky, directly to north and pointed to a bright light in the sky that was not the sun. “I would dare say that we sail towards that. Now get yourself settled and we’ll raise anchor within the hour.”
Chapter Fourteen
The ride to Tara City was cold and wet. It rained hard for several days, making every waking moment miserable. Even nights under the shelter of a tent were miserable. There was no way to get completely dry as even the air was saturated with moisture. Conner did not know why they just didn’t find a village to stay at until the rain stopped. A warm meal and a warm bed sounded heavenly right now. He didn’t even really care what the food was, as long as it was warm and not the sloppy lukewarm porridge that had been their only food for days.
The centurion Farrus had kept them to a steady pace, following a well-traveled road that skirted the forests where the bandits roamed freely. But in this weather, it would have been unlikely for them to have been attacked. Any bandit with any sense would be holed up next to a warm fire waiting for the skies to clear. Only the most desperate would be out in this weather. Even the four centurions that rode with them grumbled at the pace that their leader had set. Hibold had said nothing the entire ride. He kept his cloak pulled tight around his body and his hood pulled low over his head.
When they had started, they followed a trampled path that was more of a grassy lane than road. The horses then were able to move at a nice, quick pace. Over the course of their days of travel, the road was wider and more traveled. It also became a muddy, sloppy mess slowing them down. Much of their time was spent maneuvering around slow wagons, some of which were stuck deep into the soft mud.
It might have been different with a warm sun beating down on their backs. But with the cold, dreary rain, the road was a miserable place to be. Travelers pretty much ignored one another. Some gave the centurions a nod of respect and moved out of the way, but most simply trudged ahead through cold and wet, head down, eyes focused only on the road ahead.
It was on the tenth day out of Iseron that the rain had finally stopped. It had been a steady drizzle all night, but the morning brought a break in the clouds. Through the morning, the clouds attempted to part to let the sun shine through. The wind had died down and the air had warmed up. Conner was finally beginning to dry out.
They came around a bend in the road and Conner suddenly stopped his horse. Hibold, who had been riding directly behind him, stopped his horse next to Conner. They sat quietly for several minutes taking in the city.
“It is quite a sight to see,” Hibold said.
“Amazing,” Conner said. Tara City was many times larger than South Karmon, stretching from horizon to horizon. The enormity was overwhelming and he could only sit and stare, trying to take it in all at once.
“I never get tired of seeing it,” Hibold continued. “I have traveled the world, and there is no city like it. A million or more people live in the city or around it. It has been ages since the city walls could contain all the city. Now, most of the city has expanded beyond the walls.”
“And if there is war? Will those people not be protected?”
Hibold let out a snort. “War has not come to Tara City for generations. There is not a Taran alive who has remembered an army marching on the city. It will be generations more before another army marches on her. War, I am sure, is the last thing on their minds. Taran has built itself and empire that is far and wide. Too far for an army to traverse. Any army that would attempt it would be slaughtered before it even reached sight of the city. Plus, there is no other kingdom or empire that would have the soldiers and weapons to even think about attacking the city.”
