Chapter III:
The State of Weldera
To Belnan
After leaving Peiraso, Daryas found himself following the same road that had brought the Galva army into the Mountains three years ago. He came to the place where he and Sion had supped and where he first heard his companion speak of the daughter of Grendas. His heart sunk as he thought of his friend. Since the expedition of Bronning, not a soul had so much as heard a whisper concerning the fate of the Cheftan of Lavri-la. At Daryas' urging, his office was filled, temporarily, by his wife - a thing never before heard of in Noras. But the returning Galva lords were neither questioned nor opposed in anything they set their minds to do. Thus the word 'Cheftana' was uttered for the first time in the history of the Noras people. It was understood that upon his return, full lordship should pass immediately to him. But despite the wide publication of this decision, no news of him had found its way to Noras.
'Who knows where life has taken you, my friend?' Daryas said sorrowfully, 'Do you not know that at any moment you could return, and have all again. Friendship, lordship, your family and your good name would be all restored to you in an instant. Can you make yourself low, but just this once, that you may be made high once again? My friend, return, return.'
Daryas continued on into the south, coming at last to South Lake. There he saw all the bustle of the merchants and the woodsmen, carrying on with their trades with renewed vigor since the fall of Ponteris. 'Into the light of day the people of Noras have come at last, but I cannot let the sun shine upon me,' Daryas said, suddenly feeling cold and tired. 'I must flee into the shadows; into the dark shadow of a black doom.'
'But you needn't press on into that darkness entirely alone,' came a voice unexpectedly from behind. Daryas turned to look, and saw to his surprise Rahdmus, mounted upon a horse burdened with a great many packages.
'Lord Rahdmus?' Daryas said with surprise, 'What is your purpose here?'
'I have come to bring you provisions,' he answered in his thunderous voice, 'I mean to say, I have come to bring us provisions.'
'You intend to follow me, then, and not hinder me, though I go to my doom?'
'Indeed,' he laughed, 'For we must all, at some time or another, go to our dooms. But tell me, young Galvahirne, why you call it a 'doom' and not a 'Fate' or a 'Destiny'? I suppose you do not see them as all of one and the same meaning?'
'No, my lord,' Daryas answered, 'A Fate is indifferent, and can almost be noble, a Destiny carries with it even a glimmer of hopefulness. But a Doom is a dark thing, and most fitting to describe my own expectations.'
'Why should you expect such black things to come upon you?'
'Because they will come upon me. Whatever I imagine my destiny to be, it is always MY destiny, and black therefore. Were it conceivable that my fate might lead me, not only far from my present state, but also far from my present self, then and then only would I have cause for hope, and cause for a better choice of terms.'
'The past always follows close behind us, my son,' Rahdmus said somberly, 'But take heart; it shall never overtake us! Whether for good or ill, we must take care, not for the past, nor even for that which is to come, but only for that part, that little part of life that we can control. I mean, we must take care for the present moment only, but not without reference both to the errors and glories of the past, and the hopes and perils of the future. I have my own darkness to contend with, and my own demons to face.'
At those words Daryas felt a strange calm pass over him. 'Then I am not alone in my tormented fate,' Daryas said.
'Now you call it fate? First doom, then destiny - Daryas Galvahirne, will you not choose one term to describe what is to come?' Rahdmus laughed loudly, and then stepped from his horse to bind a portion of his burden on Novai. 'You are not alone, Daryas, not in anything. You must know, and you must always bear it in mind: In life, there will always be found your better, but also your lesser. But do not let this be either a discouragement or a comfort; for we will not be excused in that day because we were better than devils, nor condemned because we were less than gods. It is always for our own portion that we must be judged. For to ask of one what is impossible for him is an absurdity.'
'That I have a portion at all is a fact in which I find little comfort. For only I know my own heart, and what lies hidden therein. I would rather, sometimes, that I were but a creature of stone and not a living soul.'
'You are not in a bad state, then, Daryas Galvahirne. And I say, do not forget your inadequacy; for there are many who shun the forgiveness of the Eternal One because they are not willing to let the blame for their failures rest upon their own heads.'
The two men found lodging in the city for that night, and spoke of many more things. From Rahdmus Daryas learned about all that had transpired in the time since he had left Dadron.
Of the End of the War
When Natham the monster departed from his warriors and followed his fate into the dark of Noras, the residue of his army marched swiftly northward along the Libros River, releasing all those towns from the dominion of Marin. In some places the soldiers of Marin resisted them, remaining loyal to the faithless Quendom. But in all cases the hirelings threw off their old loyalties without hesitation, leaving those brave, but foolish soldiers to battle Natham's rebels alone. At this news the whole country of Daevaron was soon awakened, and their brave men ousted the invaders from their cities. Little by little, over the course of the next several months, Marin withdrew; in some places honorably, only after great bloodshed in others, but always with great haste. By the time the Noras sat down to feast, it was all but certain that by the end of the month there would remain not a man or woman of Olgrost in all the land of Falsis.
This is not including, of course, those of Marin that turned and followed Natham. Of these there was a great number, some reckoning it to be as high as ten-thousand souls. Great evil had been done by them in coming to Falsis, and in the sieging of Dadron. Natham, ere he left them, told them that, 'You must fight till either life departs from you, or until your enemies forgive your former errors. Seek neither life nor honor, but rather to right that which you have wronged. Only in this way will you become worthy, if heaven permits, of your enemy's grace.'
Even as the Noras dined and sung, this band of warriors battled in the distant east, ever pushing Marin toward the sea. The Senators in Kollun, one might well imagine, were all applauding their restraint, for coming not to the aid of Marin in their ambitions.
Lord Akellnarva, when he had been informed of all that had transpired, declared Natham to be a hero of the city, and named the day the monster turned against the army of Marin a holy day. In Dadron and in all of Daevaron as well there was a perpetual festival it seemed. Fresh vows of loyalty were exchanged between the Daevaron and the lords of Dadron and between each of these and the nine clans of Noras.
Yet in all of this there was as yet no account given for the aggression of their western neighbors in Amlaman, nor was any treaty made or any truce called for. To those in the east it seemed, for the time, almost sufficient that the hosts of Volthamir had been driven off. There were many, however, that were not content to let matters be; nor would it have been just to do so.
Almost as soon as the sounds of battle died away in Dadron, councils of war began afresh, this time planning how the men of Daevaron, Noras and of Dadron might avenge themselves upon Amlaman. But it was generally acknowledged that the power of the east may be sufficient to defend against Amlaman, but not nearly enough to challenge Volthamir in Japhrian.
These things and many others Daryas and Rahdmus discussed well into the night. But when morning was come they set their words aside and traveled with haste into the south, making their way to Belnan. From there they sought out the path that had led the Galva army into Coronan - to the very place where the two had crossed swords.
Volthamir
It was not long after the coming of Dynamis to Dadron that the secret camp of the Galva, or rather the remains
thereof, was at last discovered by scouts from Amla City. 'Why was this intrusion not discovered sooner?' Volthamir demanded of his servants.
'We had not discovered it as yet,' he was told, 'for we had not searched for it.'
'Was not a party sent into the mountains to discern the fate of the army of Galva?'
'Indeed, but finding so vast a number, burnt, even as the goblins are wont to do, we judged them to be altogether perished.'
Twenty men were put to death in cruel ways as the result of this oversight, although within his own breast Volthamir knew he was as much to blame for this error as they. Indeed, he knew of Lord Havoc's defeat from the very beginning, but he failed to take seriously the remnant of Galva. He had assumed that the survivors would have hidden themselves away in Noras, or in some remote region of the Daunrys. He did not imagine that they would, or even could, hide themselves in Ramlos.
Any opposition to Volthamir in those days was swiftly rooted out. And there was much opposition in those days. The people had been led to war, they believed, by a god; indeed, in some sense they had been. But finding themselves in retreat, and finding their numbers so thinned, they lost faith in the dark religion of Amlaman - and in their king as well. Some openly called for the King to be brought to justice, but these were, instead, brought to justice themselves.
It was just ten days after he returned to Japhrian that Volthamir was approached by Fanastos with a message of great importance. For the past several years Fanastos had been proving both his might and his loyalty by waging a relentless war on the western frontiers against the rebellious bastard sons of King Voltan. 'My lord,' he said, his face pale and serious, 'A force marches against Amlaman from the south - a force such as our men have not seen before.'
Solran had, in the time since he sent his son to sack Ilmalam, spread his influence throughout the southern wastes of Amlaman. He had taken control of all the towns south of Mulinan and sacked the fortress of Jopil, which lay just a hundred and fifty leagues to the south of Japhrian itself. Much to Fanastos' relief, Volthamir showed no anger at the news of this turn of events. The failure of his guardians to prevent this invasion was passed over unmentioned, while Volthamir ordered his army to prepare for war, with a faint smile on his lips. 'My sword is thirsty for blood,' he said with a cold voice. 'Is the sword of Fanastos thirsty as well?' he asked. Fanastos looked uneasy. But when he saw the ferocity in the king's eyes he felt strength enter into his heart.
'It is thirsty, my lord,' he said, bowing low to the ground.
'Then let the men of Amlaman have their fill; this time without the women of Marin bungling every strategy.'
Amlaman Is Mighty
In less than a week's passing Volthamir and his army found battle. He summoned some three thousand soldiers from Japhrian and rode into the south to confront the invaders. In his first encounter with the elves of Solsis he found their unique appearance an oddity. But as he saw more of them, driving them with great difficulty from the area surrounding Mulinan and retaking the towns that had been held captive by Folran's armies, it became clear to him that these creatures were no mortal men. The battles were fierce, and it was only by summoning still greater numbers that their enemies could be beaten back. 'They are elves,' Volthamir said to Fanastos when they were alone. 'I am sure of it; this is no southern tribe. Do you see their eyes? Full of experience, yet without weariness. Full of wisdom without forgetfulness. Their hair is gold or silver, with not a hint of gray - not even among their commanders. Yet their skill proves that they are no novices; these are trained men, who have seen more war than we have - nay, more war than we could ever hope to see.'
'Hope?' Fanastos laughed, 'Who hopes for war?'
'Who indeed?' Volthamir said coldly.
Their next concern was the fortress of Jopil, which was named for his ancient father Joplis. 'How dare they insult us in this manner,' Volthamir said. 'The elves survived their ancient struggles only because our fathers held Xanthur at bay in this place, weakening his army little by little. Now they come against the descendants of their saviors as brigands.' Volthamir surprised himself by how little emotion he felt. It was a fact, he thought, but in truth the betrayal did not anger him.
'A thousands curses to them,' Fanastos said, invoking the name of Agonistes. 'Let us turn their silver hair red with blood, and darken their bright eyes in death.'
If they had not already learned to fear the swords of Amlaman, the elves of Solsis learned it well at Jopil. The warriors of Amlaman, angered that any force should assail their first king's stronghold, fought like devils, tearing and cutting through the immortals with a ferocity only rivaled by the goblins. It was not long before the walls were breached and the warriors of Amlaman entered the fortress. Volthamir slew a hundred elves that day, casting their bodies to the earth as though they were made of cloth. The strength and hatred of Agonistes shone brightly in his eyes. Several of the elves cried out, 'Agonas!' when they saw him, taking him for the god himself, and not a mere mortal man.
By midnight the fortress had fallen, and the last of the elves had locked themselves within the old keep. Volthamir pounded upon the door with his mighty fist, shaking it upon its hinges as though his hand were made of iron. 'Who dares assault the land of Amlaman, which served you well enough in the ancient days?'
'Amlaman belongs to the devil,' came a voice from within the keep. 'The elves shall rise again, and they shall put an end to your dark ways, Agonas.'
Volthamir laughed, 'Who is your captain?'
'I am Folran,' another voice spoke out. The voice was familiar, and Volthamir felt sick to his stomach as he searched his memory for the place and time he had heard such a commanding tone.
'Who are you?' Volthamir demanded.
'I am Folran, son of Solran, heir of Lord Solruvis.'
Volthamir's eyes darted around nervously, looking at the faces of the dead. Almost every one of them bore that same ageless wisdom, even now as they lay dead. There was a nobility about these creatures that he had seen before. His breathing grew labored and he felt a surge of strong emotions; revelation, confusion, clarity and anger all vied for the mastery. But he conquered them all, and let his mind return to the past. Lord Havoc, his old master, was one of these creatures. He laughed ferociously and turned from the keep.
'My lord, what should we do?' Fanastos asked, 'about these captives.'
'Burn it to the ground,' Volthamir answered. Fanastos looked at him as though he had spoken in another language. 'Burn it to the ground,' he repeated. Silence fell, the elves realizing that there would be no negotiations, no captivity and no hope of survival. The men of Amlaman obeyed, but their eyes filled with tears as they watched the ancient structure smoke and burn.
As the fire grew and raged, swallowing up the screams of the elves within the keep, Volthamir remained near the door, staring thoughtfully into the leaping flames. For a moment Fanastos feared that the king meant to perish in the blaze as well. But before the keep came crashing to the earth he turned and walked quickly toward the northern gate of the fortress. 'Burn it all to the ground,' he ordered as he left. He leapt astride a horse, casting its rider to the dust in confusion. He thought of Ghoras for a moment, and then he kicked the horse, cruelly in the side, spurring him into a trot and then into a gallop. As he rode away from Jopil he remembered all the things his old master had taught him. He knew it already, he thought, shaking his head, but it had not struck him in its full force: Lord Havoc had deceived him. 'But this is childish,' he mumbled to himself. 'I already knew this.' But it had not, until this moment, been proven. 'He knew all those secrets because he witnessed them; he knew the secrets of Falruvis because-' As the realization came to him that it must have been Lord Havoc himself that betrayed the old Elven King, a smile broke out across his face. 'Is this, pride?' he asked himself. As the land passed beneath him and the sun rose in the east he began to laugh madly at how conflicted his own mind had become. Was Havoc his enemy? His master? His friend? he asked himself silent
ly. 'No,' he said audibly, 'He was my teacher. And he is no teacher that does not impart to his pupil his full substance; and he is no pupil that does not surpass his instructor. I have learned from you, master elf,' he thought, and his mind became settled. His thoughts now turned to Leonara, and for an instant he felt a deep desire for her - to see her smile and to hear her laugh. But almost as quickly as this feeling had come upon him it turned to an unquenchable rage.
When he returned to Japhrian, much to the shock of his servants, and much more to the shock of Fanastos, who had pursued him with such haste that he arrived only three hours later, the King ordered a great host of warriors to march to Sten Agoni. 'Forget the south,' he told his captain, 'it does not concern me.'
'But,' Fanastos began, but Volthamir's eyes silenced him. They were filled with resolve and certainty, and they were overflowing with passion, but they were not mad.
'A devil lurks upon the mountain,' he said. 'Surround the mountain, and wait for my coming.'
What he referred to was, of course, that goddess of Desset, Evna, who had for all this time thwarted his efforts to take Leonara as his wife. 'It is time,' he thought to himself, 'that I leave all other purposes behind and pursue my own course without the old man's dreams. I never wanted Dadron.' His heart swelled with passion as he thought back upon his failure.
Now it seemed to him that the hand of Leonara alone could truly establish his own kingdom, joining with his own right to the throne and crown the lineage of his uncle Vulcan. With coldness and indifference he noted how changed this feeling this was from the love he once bore toward her.
But for some reason the very fact that she resided in a so-called 'Holy Place' seemed to make him resentful of her. Despite having within his own flesh the power and will of the very god that hallowed that mountain and that valley, he hated them all as much as ever. The hill, the temple, the valley, the god himself, and even the princess whom had once loved, had now become mere means to an end; an end which, now that he had been driven from Dadron, he scarcely could remember. It was indeed time, he thought, to pursue his own ends.
There was a time when he was enamored merely by the beauty of the Princess, but now he was enamored by the challenge. He was a strong man with a brave spirit, and he did not take kindly to any who resisted his will. In his waking hours he cursed the princess and her goddess, who had refused to admit him to the Nunnery, and in his dreams he cursed that man of the east, Dynamis, who, alone of mortal men, had turned aside his blade. Now he cursed Lord Havoc, and all the lying elves of old.
His servants did his bidding as before, though there was a great deal more whispering and a lot less praise and cheering. They knew not what his ambitions had become, however, or they would have wrested the kingdom from his hands that instant. But in his heart he said to himself, even in defiance of that god that had possessed him, 'The love or the blood of the Siren I will possess, and neither of these shall I prefer to the other. The blood of the Noras I will spill, for no man mocks the power of the lord of Amlaman.'
He had truly learned, all that his mentor had meant to teach him. He lived as one who cared not at all for any other living soul. In the shadow of his defeat in Falsis, his wrath festered and grew, and his will became dark and destructive. In the end, even the dark god Agonistes found himself to have little power over the will of his host. He, like Legion before him, was absorbed and subordinated by the malice of the King of Amlaman.
'I never wanted Dadron, nor revenge against Pelas,' he cursed the dark god, 'and never again shall I do your will.'
The voice of Agonistes came into his mind, saying, 'Do not forget, man of earth, that one day you must lay your head down in death. Then I shall walk free again, and give my council to another.'
'You mean your deceit, lord of Crows!' Volthamir laughed. 'So be it, death is nothing to me, for in it I shall be extinguished, and what then can harm me? I may as well settle what scores I may ere the end.'
Agonistes, who in his heart, knew well the folly of what the King had said, grew silent, content to watch his hateful master bring ruin upon his own soul.