CHAPTER 9
It was a beautiful early afternoon as Taigren and his group returned back to their home in the forest of Mim, the ancestral homeland of the Elves. The journey back from the mountain had taken them a full day and a night, and they had barely exchanged words during the journey down the mountain. Even though Geriner had woken soon after they had started their descent, he was ashamed by his actions in the dragons’ lair. No one had expressed feeling any anger at him – they seemed more amused than outraged in fact, which only heightened the feel of shame in Geriner’s mind. But as was the way of the Elves, such matters were soon forgotten and forgiven. There is no shame in feeling fear meeting the mighty dragon Taigren had told him, and true it was. A true elf did not lose respect for another lightly, even if the young sometimes teased and ridiculed each other over trivial matters as children do. And so it was that by the time they had reached the outskirts of the forest and plunged into its warm, familiar embrace with lush green cathedrals of trees over the mossy soil, Geriner had already regained his composure, swearing to himself he would never cause any further shame on his companions.
Although the forest was vast and hard to travel for any unwelcome visitor, for the elves it was their home they knew like the backs of their hands. Mim was the very largest and perhaps the oldest of the elven forests in Brodérunn; the centre of the forest elf culture. It was not known exactly how large the forest actually was, for it reached far between the northern mountain ranges and the Orc Mountains to the east. Neither was the number of the elves dwelling there known, but if asked, Taigren and the others would have merely shrugged their soldiers and perhaps answered that there were vast numbers of their kin. And indeed it might well be the forest elves were the race that had the greatest numbers in all of Brodérunn, although elves were rarely spotted outside the forests they occupied, much in the same way dwarves were practically never seen outside their mountains and mines to the west. In the ancient times before the Time of Oblivion they had lived everywhere in Brodérunn, but according to tales they had started to retreat to their forests aeons ago, giving way to other races slowly pouring into Brodérunn and avoid conflict with Firnaraee during the Oblivion. Taigren knew of the pact the elves had long since agreed to – with little pleasure – with the Mistress of Thraewyns. They would sacrifice no elves in their unholy rites and stay clear of the forests in exchange for certain items and provisions from the elves. This among certain other things the elders had ruled over was a matter that greatly disturbed a warrior such as Taigren, but he understood and complied with the elders, as he knew the pact had saved the lives of innumerable elves. Even though the Elves with our superior skills of war could wipe the earth clean of the cult if we wanted to he often had thought to himself. He was proud of their ancient heritage and the fact that theirs was the only race that had dealings with the mighty dragons. But in the end, the forest elves were a quiet people who avoided bloodshed at any cost. Because their life spans were so long in the eyes of other mortals, they rather kept to themselves and were seldom in a hurry. They had little need for neighborly visits and communication either, with villages leading their independent lives in the eternal forest like they had since the Erstwhile Ages. Thus the party quietly passed a few Elven villages on their way, well hidden amidst the trees, but it was easy for them to find their paths through the thickets.
As they finally reached their own village and the others ran straight to their homes to greet their families, Taigren rode straight through their village all the way to the temple. As he reached the temple he barely stopped his horse when he stormed in, anxious to deliver the news. But even in his haste he had to hesitate for a moment at the door. It always struck him with awe to enter the temple, which to any observer would simply look like a magnificent tree with a large opening in between its root branches, but as one entered the doors it seemed impossible the vast rooms inside could fit within the confines of the living tree it was built in. As he stepped inside, the enigmatic atmosphere in the temple engulfed him. Green smoke whirled here and there and dozens of torches cast strange shadows on the floor and the murals. The temple was where the elders lived, and there was an air of tranquil eternity about it even stronger than elsewhere in the elven forest. The elders did not actually rule the villages, but they formed a council who provided advice when asked, and usually that advice was heeded. Taigren walked straight into the main hall of the temple, where seven figures, clothed in greenish robes, were sitting in a straight line, expecting his arrival. Taigren knelt down in front of them and bowed his head, going straight into the matter he had on his mind.
“Oh doyen, the dragons…” he started, “…they are going to leave. They will leave us to fight by ourselves.”
There was no answer.
“Galtrone asked us to join them…” Taigren continued, glancing at the elders to see if they would respond. But they merely looked at him.
“I declined, naturally” he continued and laid his eyes down again.
“Did you have, the permission, an order from us, to give such an answer?” One of the figures suddenly broke their silence. Taigren lifted his head, frightened.
“No! But…I thought…”
“It is irrelevant, what you were thinking of. What is not, is the fate of the world.”
“But…I do not…”
“No, it is not a matter of argument at the moment, no, we are not blaming you Taigren” said the same voice in a much more pleasant voice, while all seven figures revealed their faces by letting their hoods slid down.
“There is the matter of the dragon,” one of the elders took a step forward towards Taigren and spoke.
“But I have just told you that the dragons are leaving” Taigren said, still puzzled.
“Ah, you did not listen to us child. It is Bathalá we are speaking of” The elder continued.
“The dragon god? But even the dragons refuse to believe it exists? How would the elves, then…?” Taigren exclaimed, even more confused.
“We are sensing that there are disturbances in dimension. We now believe that the path to Bathalá will soon be revealed.”
“Well then, the dragons, do they know? Perhaps they would not be leaving if they heard of this”
“They will find out; it is not our concern to inform them. At any rate, there is nothing the dragons, or us can do now.”
“I fail understand. Who can, then? Shall we not try and find the path?”
One of the oldest of the elders leaned forward, and the others fell quiet in expectance.
“History…will show us the correct path” he said.
“History? And shall we only act after our families have become history? Shall we continue or pacts with the cult as they laugh at our faces and destroy the world as we watch idly by?” Taigren felt his blood run hot as he felt he was not understood at all.
“Taigren…there is always a beginning to any path, as well as an ending. And the path is something we cannot change. You should know there was a world before us, a different world. We believe before the Time of Oblivion, six thousand and four hundred twenty two years before the devastation, foundations were set for this world. Little is known of that. What is certain, however, is that there was a great battle against Firnaraee. And there will be yet more to come. It may seem impossible to you now, Taigren, but there were dozens of towns long forgotten now…hundreds of thousands of beings…all decimated by the beast as it was released.”
“Yes I understand, and should we not do something now the beast is raising again?”
“Nobody knows whence Bathalá came from, or why it vanished again. All we know is that Firnaraee was captured and buried in stone, for it could not be destroyed. But in those times two religions were founded, the cult of Firnaraee the dark Mistress leads in search of its grave, and the Order of Templars, which serve Bathalá. But that was over two thousand years ago now, and woe to us, the dark cult has but gained more strength of late, whereas the Templars…little remains of them as far as we kno
w. The Time of Serenity is nearing its end.”
“That is what I fear as well…and…what can we do then? What is your command to your servant?” Taigren bowed his head.
“Fear not my child” another elder said, pausing for a moment. “The only thing that we can do to help is help the knights of Bathalá. It is not for us to find their god, even if have foreseen it happen. You must find their leader and offer your swords, bows and souls at their disposal.” Then the eldest of the council spoke simply:
“Find Sharn.”
“By your command.” Taigren answered promptly. Not once in his experience the elders had been wrong, and he would not be the first to doubt their word. He nodded his head and with that, exited the temple. He now had a tangible mission; a chance to do something for his people. He had prayed he would not just have to wait and watch his kin face the threatening fate. Now he could call his best warriors to arms and find Sharn, the knight the elders spoke about.
Back in the temple the elders retreated in their chambers, but before they parted, they exchanged a few more words:
“Are we sure it is Taigren we must send to this task so imperative?” asked one of the elders. There was no answer. The eldest of them – he who they suspected had perhaps witnessed the devastation as a small child himself – merely walked away from them, not even turning his head to reply and leaving the others puzzled and pondering:
“The path…is set.”
It did not take long for Taigren and a dozen other warriors before they were already riding towards Kiarra, where they knew the remnants of the Order of Templars should be found. They sped through the glens and open steppes like the storm wind during the fall and their beautifully pedigreed elven horses’ hooves pounded the soil like a drum tattoo. The roar of the riders could be heard already from a great distance as well as the dust cloud the hooves kicked up could be seen, for they spared no time or effort in getting on with their task. All the twelve elves were master swordsmen and equally masterful in the art of archery, the traditional weapon of the elves. It had taken but a short while for Taigren to call up his warriors. No questions were asked, no doubt expressed – they simply kissed their loved ones goodbye, as it was not the way of the elves to distrust their kin and their captains. They trusted each other perfectly, as just as perfectly their wives and family trusted that their men would return home…and even in case they would not, there was still no need for lengthy goodbyes. The journey to Kiarra from Mim would normally take up to two months, but the elves had their means to accomplishing the trip in half the time. They knew their haste was well justified, so they did not spare their horses much to gain ground quickly. Days would run their path, and they had to make haste. They rode on in silence with nothing but the thunder of the horses’ hooves, until the sound was drowned out by a real thunder and a heavy rain began to fall on them. Taigren eyed his troops, who rode on in the rain, slowing their pace only slightly to allow the horses to better hold their balance on the slippery surfaces. They were on a mission for the elven kind, to locate a Bathalá templar named Sharn, but they did not know why. Even Taigren had no real idea what would they say or do once they found him. That information had not been offered by the elders, and it had not been his place to demand more information. The path was set. He only knew that he was to do as the elders commanded, until his dying body would be unable to comply or the Great Wheel of Time would finish its journey through the aeons. The thunderstorm raged on and the elves raced through the landscape like ghosts trying to escape the approaching darkness on their heels.