The Shadow Tome (ch. 8 & 9)

Chapter Eight
The Sorceress of the North

         The sun waned below the mountain ridge, ushering in the night, as Matthew came upon the small hovel that rested on the edge of a grassy knoll.
         That morning he had departed from the great library to retrieve an item from the possession of Sheela, the sorceress of the north. The Historian had said that he alone could accomplish the task.
         He remembered what the old man had told him.
         “There is prophecy that speaks of the knowledge you seek. ‘And for thousands of years will the keeper of secrets hold fast the knowledge of the dark one, until one comes who is strong in faith, and he will bring the enlightenment to the world, and will begin the end of these things.’”
         “Ancient one, am I the one who will do these things,” Matthew had replied.
         The historian had gazed at him. “My son, even I do not know such things. The only way for them to be revealed, is for you to do them.”
         “Then I must go,” he declared.
         “Yes,” the old man had replied. “You must go”. Matthew’s response was certain.
         “ I will go, for there is nothing more for me here.” The historian nodded in solemn concordance.
         “Then go, son of Aurorai. You will travel west from here to the abode of Sheela, the sorceress of the north. There you must win from her possession an item known as the Elvynglass, and then bring it back to me. In the morning, you will depart, and may Aurorai guide you in this endeavor. I do not speak presumptiously  when I tell you that the fate of men may lie with your success.”
         That was the previous night. Matthew and his companions had rested at the library guest quarters that night.  In the morning, the historian showed him to the food stocks where he filled a sack with salted pork and dried fruits. He also took a skin of water for his journey.
         Once all was prepared, he said goodbye to his companions and set out west.
         They hoped he would return.
         It had taken the course of the day for Matthew to navigate the Upper Dellwood forest and reach the sorceress’ home.
         Sheela.
         He had heard the name before. Explorers had told many stories of her while in the taverns of Cyrinth Myriad. A vile witch, they had said, that stole the souls of men and transfigured them into the worms of the soil. They said her face was death itself, and snakes grew from her scalp with venom dripping from their fangs.
         Thousands of years had she lived, one of the last immortals upon Leodoria. Her birth was the product of the vile union between the Death Crafter Jaileth, and a Laerian Princess, who’s name had been forgotten. The black wizard had forced himself upon her as a experiment in the black arts, and a bastard child was born. The princess was reviled as a thing of evil, and the baby girl, an abomination. They cast the mother and child into the waters of the Eth’Vwyn, and offered prayers to Laeriana to destroy the evil that had festered.
         While the mother laid at the bottom of the waves, the child did not die and had washed up upon the southern shores. In that time, goblins from Darkwood dwelled in the mountains that bordered the Eth’Vwyn, and they took the infant with them and the ancient magic inside her remained unbeknownst to them.
         They took her to the Goblin city of Gremel, where she lived in slavery for many years, never learning of her ancient magic.
         And then her father returned, the Death Crafter, and he took her from them and taught her of the power that lived inside her. For all he taught her, she despised him.
         When the time was right, she escaped his dark abode deep within Mulden Mord. She fled to the north, where she made her home among the trees of Dellwood and turned her magic to her own devices, making it her own.
         Matthew was afraid as he approached her home.
         It was a simple wooden cottage, thatched in straw, and reminded Matthew of his own, modest home he had once had in Dellwood Vale. He cried silently at the memory.
         Grasping strength from within, Matthew walked to the entrance of the house. Drawing his sword, he slowly eased the door open.
         It was not as he had expected.
         Matthew had stepped inside a palace fit for a queen. The entrance chamber was enormous. The walls were a pristine white and adorned with banners and tapestries of radiant colors, and large windows lined the walls of either side with draperies of crimson red falling beside them, adding to the color of the room. Chandeliers of gold hung from the painted ceiling that depicted ancient fairly tales and love stories from long ago. The stone floor was tiled with brilliant white squares that reflected the light, and a carpet of rich burgundy ran down the center of the room, ending at a luxurious grand staircase that was adorned with golden banisters. The stairs were carpeted in the same burgundy fiber, and lavish stained glass windows rose above it and sunlight streamed through them, creating a prismatic display upon the floor.
         Matthew was amazed at the luxurious abode before him. What had been a moment ago, a modest cottage in the woods, was now a palace of grandeur, rivaling that of the finest homes in Leodoria.
         As he approached the staircase, he saw a figure descending to meet him. It was a young man and his long golden hair and fair complexion identified him as one of the Elvynwood. He was donned in elegant fineries of blue and gold.
         Still gripping his sword, Matthew stood to meet him.
         He spoke in a soothing tone. “Greetings traveler. My name is Kyln. My lady sends her warmest welcomes to you, and bids you stay and eat.” Matthew was startled by the warm greeting. He could sense the magic that surrounded the place and did not trust the young man’s words. After a moment, he spoke with confidence.
         “And who, might I ask, is your lady?” Kyln seemed taken aback. “Why sir, do you not know? Lady Sheela of the north welcomes you.”   
         Matthew scoffed. “The sorceress of the north welcomes me with glad tidings?” He spat incredulously.
         “Aye sir. That she does. You are fearful, I sense, but that is not your own failing. Much ill has been spoken of my fair lady. I see in your eyes that you have come here for some great purpose. Is this so?”
         Matthew’s thoughts were awry. Had he really entered the domain of the evil sorceress of the north? The place did not frighten him anymore. He sensed something, but he could not derive it. It was not evil.
         After hesitating, he spoke. “Yes, I have come for a great purpose. I must have an audience with Lady Sheela. I have been sent by the ancient one himself, Giahamas Elyvwyn.” The young man nodded with an unexpected understanding. “Of course, Matthew Xavious, we have been expecting you for sometime now.”
         “How do you know me?” He asked. The sudden use of his name had greatly startled him.
         Kyln laughed briefly. “My lady see’s much, sir. And she often visits the old one in his sanctuary.”
         “So you will bring me to her then?” He asked.
         The young man nodded. “Yes. But I must warn you. That which you seek is not given freely. Before you can take it, you must prove that you can have it.”
         Matthew frowned. “Im afraid I don’t understand.”
         The other only smiled. “She will explain all things to you.”
         He turned back towards the stairs and began to ascend. “And please sir, put your weapon away, for there is no need for it here.”Matthew quickly sheathed his sword, realizing it was still drawn.
         They ascended to the second level of the palace that overlooked the entry hall. The floor was adorned in the same rich burgundy carpet as the stairs, and the white walls were speckled with marvelous mosaics that depicted ancient kings and religious figures.
         Kyln led him down a hallway away from the terrace and deeper into the palace. The passage was lit by torches held in golden brackets and every so often the walls would recess into coves that contained brilliantly colored stained glass windows.
         As they walked, Matthew could see there were others that dwelled in the palace. Men of all races were there, all apparently living in harmony. Auroran, Laerian, Vahemian, and Aragothan. Matthew’s heart burned with bigotry, and his hand itched to reach for his sword, but he stayed it, for he felt no harm from them. He nearly laughed at the sight of the pale faced Aragothans donned in elegant robes of bright colors. No, he was not threatened by them.
         “You all live together here?” He asked as they continued down the corridor. “Yes, Northman. Our lady has destroyed the bigotry that plagues the people of Leodoria. I feel for you Auroran. It grieves me for I know the hatred that dwells within you.”
         Matthew shot back, insulted. “The only hatred I own is righteous, ordained from my lady, the goddess of all that is good!”
         Kyln shook his head sadly. “No Matthew, your hatred is your own.” Defiantly he responded. “Nay, I harbor none but which comes from...
         Kyln interrupted him. “Look around you. There is there is no battle here. No strife. All is cared for. Our mistress gives us hope. What do you call a life spent fighting for a goddess that condemned you to such a fate!”
         “A Cause! A purpose! What is a man with out a purpose?”
         Kyln shook his head again. “Your words sadden me. I wish that  you could know that which I know. Feel that which I feel everyday. And the time may yet come when you will know such things. Ah, here we are.”
         They had stopped at an elegant archway. Beneath it were two heavy oak doors. At the center of each was a single oval stained glass window that ran the length of the doors.
         Kyln turned to Matthew. “My lady will see you now.” Matthew only nodded, and without a word, the other pushed the doors open and Matthew entered the chamber of Sheela.
         The room was large and decorated much the same as the rest of the palace. The floor was covered in rich burgundy and windows of stained glass were inset into the walls, which were paneled with marvelously carved oak. The ceiling was covered in gold leaf and sculpted masterfully with sprawling designs. The ceiling shone brightly and accentuated the royal feeling of the chamber. Two hearths, crafted of marble,  faced the center of the room on either side of the entrance, and a fire burned brightly in them, producing a pleasant warmth.
         At the far end of the room, stood a magnificent oak bed. Sculpted pillars of rosewood reached the ceiling supporting a brilliant crimson canopy of silk, and the bed sheets and pillows were of the same red fabric, embroidered in golden hemming. Beside it were two night stands each with a single gold candlestick, and a flame danced upon their wicks. Matthew was awed by the beauty and seductiveness of the place.
         “I see you have found your way to me, Matthew,” spoke a soft, silky voice from behind him. He had not heard the doors swing open. He turned and looked upon the sorceress of the north.
         She was the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Radiant hair of flaming red hung down in curls passed her shoulders, and brown eyes danced in the light. Her face was a perfect complexion and her skin was the color of a rose peach. She was draped in a thin red dress that rippled gently against her skin and did little to hide her perfect curves and firm breasts. A thin gold chain hung from her neck, and a shard of blue-green glass dangled from its end. The shard of Elvynglass.
         “Lady Sheela, I presume,” he said. He tried in vain to turn his eyes away. “You are. . . not as I was expecting, if I may?” Sheela showed the slightest signs of a blush, and her red lips curled slightly.
         Regardless of the stories he had heard of this woman, he found himself not frightened by her. He knew she meant him no harm. He wondered why the stories of her portrayed her as they did.
         “It is quite alright,” she responded. “I trust you have been treated well since you first arrived at my home?”
         Matthew remembered how kind and noble the young man Kyln had been to him. Was he going mad? Not an hour ago he was ready for a battle of almost certain death. He had been lied to, but by whom. The Lady Sheela? No, it was not her. He could sense her heart, and it was true. Then who?
         “Yes, my lady,” he responded at last. “Everyone was been most kind.”
         She smiled. “You seem perplexed. Is not all as you expected it to be?” She took a graceful step toward him.
         “In truth, no Lady Sheela. I find myself lost in a mess of lies and mis perceptions.” She nodded sadly. “I know of what you speak, and we will come to that. But first...”
         She began to trace the edges of the Elvynglass with her finger. “You have come for this, have you not?” Matthew responded confidently. “You know this is true.”
         Sheela only nodded. Still caressing the shard, she strode over to the stained glass window at the left of the room. Matthew watched her as she peered into its vibrant colors. After a moment, she beckoned him to come beside her.
         “Do you know what the Elvynglass is, Matthew?” She asked him as he came alongside her. “I’m afraid not lady. I only know that it plays some part in the things to come.”
         She nodded. “Indeed.” She gazed again at the image upon the window.
         It was nearly five hundred years ago when the Elvynglass came into being,” she began. “Many believe that the Laerian people crafted it from the waters of the Eth’Vwyn, but such tales are not true. In fact, it was not created, but simply came to be.”
         “Surely it was created in some way,” he said.
         “Oh, indeed it was, but not in the way that men understand it. I will tell you the story.” She stared into his eyes as she began her tale.
         “Half a millennium ago, the Laerian kingdom reached far to the east, past the borders of what is now the Elvynwood. The king at that time was a man named Ayden-Vaaryn, and his reign was known as the golden reign. It was during his rule that the armies of life fought back Aragoth’s hordes all the way to the gates of Grimlock. All the people of Elvynwood prospered during this time.”
         Sheela’s face darkened suddenly.
         “There is more to his story however. While Ayden was a good king, he was also a religious zealot. While his devotion to Laeriana was praised by most of the people, many in the east looked upon it as foolish. As Ayden’s popularity grew, so did the disdain of the east landers. At the peak of his power he had grown tired of their irreverence and proclaimed new laws concerning religion and the worship of Laeriana. These laws were primarily targeted at the east lands. Naturally the people of the east were outraged, but most did nothing as the kings power was absolute at that time.”
         “Soon after, many arrests were made of leaders and authority figures. The end had finally come, for they would take no more.”
         “Did they fight him? The easterners?” He asked, immersed in her tale.
         “Oh yes, they fought. For ten years they fought, and thousands died. A story was once told of a merchant who had been traveling through those lands. He thought to make camp on a hill that overlooked the valley, but when he reached it, he found it to be a mound of corpses. Such was the destruction.”
         She wept then, silently and bitterly. Matthew put a strong hand on her back and caressed it gently.
         “I am sorry,” she said after a moment. “Why are you sorry my lady. Is it not right to feel sorrow for such destruction?” She looked up at him. “Do you know why I weep Matthew? I weep not for their deaths, for was it not those very people that cast me to the wild and killed my mother for the sins of my father?”
         “Then why do you weep?” He asked. She traced the edges of the shard again, looking down its graceful surface. “This shows me the truth, and so I weep.”
         Matthew raised an eyebrow, perplexed by her statement. After a moment, he spoke. “And what is the truth sorceress.” She shook her head. “You would not here it. Not yet, anyways. The Elvynglass shows me your heart, and it is still closed to what I would tell you.”
         “Lady, what is the Elvynglass, and how is it that you know my heart?
         She answered, “It was said that the sight of her children making war upon each other was to much for Laeriana to bear, and her heart shattered, scattering pieces of it across the world.” “And is that true? Is the Elvynglass the broken pieces of her heart?”
         She shook her head. “No, it is not. How much do you know about the arcane science?”
         Matthew looked at her quizzically for a moment. “I know only that it was banned by the religious leaders across Leodoria centuries ago.” Sheela gave the slightest showing of amusement. “Of course they would ban such a thing, for it threatens the very fabric of Leodorian religion.”
         “Does the arcane science explain the Elvynglass?” He asked.
         She nodded. “Indeed it does. After this piece of Elvynglass came into my possession, I sought to learn its origins, and discover its power. I traveled to the great city of Sunderia, home of the finest minds in Leodoria. There I spent more than a decade learning about the arcane science.”
         Matthew knew that its teaching had been strictly banned by Auroran law, but now, such a thing seemed meaningless, and he burned to know the knowledge that had been kept from him.
         Aurorai’s light dimmed.
         He asked her, “Tell me lady, what is the arcane science?”
         She looked at him with mild amusement. “So, the great son of Aurorai would listen to my tale, knowing that it had been banned by his goddess? Tell me, Auroran, is your heart still closed to what I would tell you.”
         “Lady, you can see my heart, and you know it, so why must I answer this. . .”
         “Tell me.”
         Strengthened with resolve, Matthew answered. “I will listen.”
         She only nodded. “In short, the arcane science is the study of the world as a magical entity.”
         “I don’t understand.”
         “Let me tell you it all first. All life on Leodoria is the product of magical threads of energy that make up our world. These threads are called Vendara. The Vendara originate from the center of the earth, or Nirvalla,  where the four entities were conjoined in the beginning of the world. When the Vendara reach the surface of our planet, life is created. All life comes from the Vendara, from the tiniest insect to the mightiest dragon. However, all these things are considered to be lesser Vendara, because they are not man.”
         Her tale had captivated him and he drank in her words that fed his hunger for knowledge. Although his mind, beaten down by twenty five years of religious doctrine, wanted to question her words, he did not.
         And Aurorai’s light dimmed.
         She drew closer to him, and spoke in a hushed tone. “Listen carefully Matthew, for what I will tell you now is near the heart of what threatens this world.”
         He met her gaze and listened intently to her words.
         “When a Vendara dies, it does so from within. The magic with in it evaporates, leaving a hollow shell, or conduit, which lasts only for a moment before it collapses and returns to Nirvalla. In that brief moment, some suggest that it is possible to direct power through the empty conduit and into the very heart of Nirvalla.”
         Matthew could see it now. The dark lord, although his identity still remained unknown, Matthew could now see a glimpse of the gods plan. It all made sense now. The massacre of Dellwood Vale and the slaughter of Cyrinth Myriad. He was attempting to open conduits to Nirvalla, the heart of the world. But why...?
         Matthew brooded for a moment before Sheela spoke again. “You are beginning to see it now, aren’t you? You are beginning to see what he is after.”
         Matthew nodded. “Yes, but I don’t understand why.”
         “I can tell you no more, for it is not my place. When you return to the Historian he will tell you all that has been hidden.”
         Matthew laughed to himself suddenly. The Historian. He had nearly forgotten why he had come.
         “My lady,” he said. “What of the Elvynglass?”
         She fingered the shard again, staring at its radiance before she answered. “When two Vendara of the same magical properties are extinguished simultaneously in a violent act, it is possible, however extremely unlikely, that the conduits can shatter. If such a thing took place, the broken pieces of the dead Vendara would scatter themselves throughout the world.”
         “So the Elvynglass are broken pieces of dead Vendara?”
         Sheela nodded. “In essence, the Elvynglass are pieces of Laeriana herself, since the Vendara that create the Laerians originate from Laeriana’s power. So the myth is not as false as it first seems.”
         Matthew thought for a moment before speaking again. “And what is the power of the Elvynglass? Is it the power of life that comes from Laeriana?”
         “No. The Elvynglass did not take on the exact manifestation of Laeriana’s power, however they did take on a characteristic of it. In essence, the power of the Elvynglass is the power of heart.”
         Matthew frowned. “The power of heart? I don’t understand. Where is power in such a thing.”
         She touched his chest. “Don’t you see. I’ve answered your question. The Elvynglass shows the bearer the true will of their heart. Do you not wonder if what you believe yourself to be is truly what you are?”
         “Of course. It is our nature to question such things.”
         “You speak the truth. All people question their will, and there integrity of spirit. Can you imagine the power a man would hold if he did not question himself? If he knew his way to be true.”
         She was so close to him now he could feel her breasts brush across his chest, and the fragrance of her perfume filled his nostrils with a sweet, pleasant scent. He shuddered with pleasure.
         “Such a man would hold much power indeed,” he managed to say after a moment.
         Sheela still held the shard with one hand, and with the other she began to trace the muscles of his chest with her delicate fingers.
         She whispered into his ear then. “The Elvynglass will show more than that, however. If another heart is open to them, it will show the holder there heart as well.” She looked into his eyes.
         “And so is that answer to why you know my heart? The Elvynglass shows it to you?”
         She nodded. “It does, but only some of your heart is open to me. Why do you still pull away from me?”
         He longed for her, but knew that such a thing was not possible, for he could not corrupt his spirit with impurity.
         “Why does she tempt me so?”
         Sheela spoke. “Why do you stay so closed to me Matthew? I know how you long for love. You want to believe that your goddess is that fulfilment, but you doubt it and it is rightly so.”
         Instantly, the last stronghold of faith within him erupted in anger at her words. He did not know why, but he struggled to hold on to his religion that seemed more and more a lie.
         The light was fading.
         He pushed her away from him and spoke strongly. “You would question my faith, sorceress! Is this your evil! Is this how you lured all these men here with your enchantments!”
         Sheela spat back venomously. “You would call me a doer of evil, Auroran, but tell me, how many lives have perished at the tip of your sword and how much blood now feeds the earth by the words of your faith? You would preach to me your righteous words while blood still dripped from your blade!”
         Matthew retorted. “Never have I killed in pleasure!”
         She scoffed. “No? So you did not take pleasure in the death of your ladies enemies? Were you not proclaimed in the streets as a mighty warrior and a son of Aurorai?”
         “I only ever killed to defend her name.”
         “A name not worth defending!”
         “You speak poisonous lies!” He spat. “Is this the so called truth that I would not hear?”
         They glared at each other with flames in their eyes. After a moment, it was the sorceress who lowered her stare, and the flames died away. She touched the shard again, and a tear fell from her eyes.
         She said,” Matthew, you think you were created in love, as her scriptures proclaim, but such is the divine lie.” His rage burned a new, but she silenced him.
         “Matthew, all life on Leodoria was created for one purpose. The four entities had nearly torn their world apart by eons of cosmic war. So, they decided to continue their battle upon another plane. And so, Leodoria, the final battlefield of Aragoth, Vaheme, Laeriana, and Aurorai was set. By conjoining their powers, the world was created, and when the Vendara gave birth to life, the Four set down their words to their children so that they would believe they had been wanted as such, and would follow and obey their will.”
         “They condemned us to war and pain!” She spat. “They gave us elegant words and prophecies that turned us against each other!”
         “No!” He screamed. “Aurorai’s words are true. I was created in love. She loves me!”
         Sheela’s heart ached at his desperate words, but she could not stop. Not yet.
         “No,” she spat back. “Such is the divine lie. Do not let your life’s teachings hide you from the truth I know you see. She, as they all did, created man as pawns on a chess board!”
         Matthew tried to hold on, but his faith was slipping. “No, I chose to battle her enemies, to draw her sword.”
         “You chose nothing and lost everything! It was they that condemned men to kill their brothers. There is no race among men. All were created the same, but were pitted against one another by evil whispers.”
         Matthew began to feel his weight bearing him to the ground. He was weak now, and his legs could barely carry him. Sheela went to him and grasped his shoulders, helping him to stand as she looked into his eyes.
         “Don’t you see? The goodness she preaches is false. With her left hand she would give you love and with her right, the sword. Such a thing is not love. She is no better than the god of death himself, for they are one in the same. Why do you hold on anymore, Matthew? Why do you fight against me? I am not your enemy. The Elvynglass shows me your heart and I see the light of Aurorai is almost gone from you. What is it that you are so afraid to lose?”
         Images filled his head. Thousands, all clustered together and he remembered them. They were his past, and in every memory, the shadow of Aurorai was there. There was never a moment when he was not beaten down by her doctrine. He remembered how his entire life had been spent in her service. He now saw how he never loved, for it had always been given to her.
         He remembered the night in the woods.
         She did not hear him.
         He remembered the burning homesteads of Dellwood Vale.
         She did not hear him.
         He remembered the slaughter of Cyrinth Myriad.
         Still, She had not heard him.
         Everything he had given to her, and She remained silent.
         Sheela asked again. “What are you afraid to lose, Matthew? I know you see it now. She has not abandoned, because she was never with you!”
         He collapsed on the floor and began to cry.
         The light faded and was gone. His heart opened.
         Sheela came to him then, and ran her fingers through his rough, brown hair. As the time passed on, Matthew’s tears began to dry and the sadness that had consumed his heart was now replaced by a growing rage against the gods. He hated their war that tore life limb from limb, and it was then that he understood her heartache, for he felt it as well.
         He rose to his feet then and looked at her. “You would give love to men? Those that have none?”
         She simply nodded.
         “Why?” He asked. “Is it your task to mend the pain the gods have forged?”
         She responded. “Am I not closer to the gods then most? During my time with Jaileth, my father, I learned of the true nature of the Four, and I learned of the nature of pain and the absence of love. Jaileth taught me to use my powers to destroy, and by his doing, I have learned how to restore.”
         Matthew replied. “And so you would seek to abolish that which the Four have laid in stone?” Sheela shook her head. “No, for you know such a thing is impossible, for they have made it so. Hatred runs deep in their so called children’s hearts, and for most, they can never revert from it. I love the race of men, but even with the power of the Elvynglass, there are few that will accept me.”
         She began to weep. Matthew opened his arms and she fell into his embrace, crying softly into his shoulder. He comforted her with soft words and held her body close to his. He felt his heart open to her, and the Elvynglass began to glow.
         Sheela stopped crying and looked into his eyes.
         “You have opened your heart to me,” she stated, and her eyes betrayed her joy.
         Matthew smiled. “I have, my lady.”
         Sheela smiled back. “ I am glad that it is so.” She then slipped away from his embrace and stood before him. “My love, I see your heart, and it is good. The path you lead is a noble one, and only you can now save the race of men from certain death.”
         He watched her then as she released the gold chain from around her neck and grasped the Elvynglass in her hand. She held it out to him. “Matthew, in love I do offer this to you, for you are the one who is destined to carry it.”
         Matthew reached out and took her hands in his. “Thank you Sheela,” he spoke.
         The Elvynglass began to glow in his hands, and he saw the sorceress for the first time. He saw her heart, and returned her love. Sheela smiled at him warmly. Taking the Elvynglass from his hands, she hooked the chain around his neck. Then, with her hands resting on his chest, she kissed him gently.
         “I give my love, and myself to you,” she declared as her lips parted from his. They held each other close then and the Elvynglass glowed brightly.
         “I do as well,” he said after a moment, and they kissed passionately. “Might I stay with you tonight?” He asked.
         “Of course my lord. “I am yours.” She reached her hands to the golden clasps at her shoulders that held her dress, and released them. The light fabric fluttered down around her legs and rested upon the floor. Matthew followed the graceful curves of her body with his eyes and drank in her beauty. They kissed again, and her hands grasped the seams of his shirt and lifted it over his head, revealing strong sinewy muscles and deep battle scars on his chest. Matthews bare arms wrapped around her naked body and a fire erupted within them. He released his belt and let the sword and scabbard at his side fall to the floor. Sheela slid her hand below his stomach as they fell upon the bed.
         For the first time in there life, they were at peace, and the Elvynglass glowed brightly.          
         
Chapter Nine
The Horn of Stormgale
         
         Kendalar Bane, first knight of the now shattered sacred brotherhood, sat upon a log, staring into the open fire. Through the trees of Dellwood, the first knight watched the sun gently wax into the sky, and brilliant reds and violets began to fill it, reminding Kendalar of the blood that had already been shed. “And it would not soon be over,” he thought to himself.
         It had been many days and nights since he and the surviving Aurorans had escaped the slaughter that had swept the city. Under the last orders from the high cleric, Kendalar had led the refugees south through the forest, toward the country of Galahadran. Of the once mighty nation of Aurorai, only five hundred now remained.
         It had been a perilous trek through the forest. Men had struggled to keep their families and few possessions together. There was also many small children with them, frightened by the last days events. Kendalar hoped he could keep them safe, but for how long, he knew not. It could only be a matter of time before the evil that befell the Aurorans swept through the other nations.
         What had confused him most was that their enemy had not given chase to their flight. Kendalar knew that they could not have gone unnoticed . It was as the high cleric had said, that night in his quarters. Something else drew the eye of the enemy from them.
         “Sir?”
         The first knight was pulled away from his musings as his lieutenant addressed him.
         “Yes Frogan?” He responded, and his exhaustion was evident in his voice.
         “Sir, shall we ready the people for departure?”
         Kendalar blinked his sleepy eyes. “Is it time already?”
         “Aye sir”, was his response. “I reckon we will reach Buckley today if our journey is unimpeded.”
         Kendalar gave a long groan as he stood from his seat on the timber. “We can only hope, lad. You may ready the people. Have riders been dispatched to prepare the regent for our arrival?”
         Frogan nodded. “Yes sir. They left several hours ago.” The young man’s face showed concern, which did not go unnoticed by the first knight.
         “Something troubles you, lieutenant.”
         “Frogan nodded. He took a moment to find his words. “My lord, will Regent Hornwall welcome us in his land? Ties between our two people have been strained for years. Will he not turn us away? What if no one will have us? Where will we turn?”
         The young man’s voice was filled with panic, and Kendalar moved to comfort him, placing his strong calloused hands on Frogan’s shoulders. He looked him in the eyes and spoke firmly. “We must be strong lad, in times such as these. You are of Auroran blood, and I know your heart is true. The walls of men may crash down around us, but our path is set. And when the hand of justice lays limp and feeble before the armies of darkness, then my lad, shall we draw the sword of righteousness and slay the minions of the night, that spread fear into the hearts of men!”
         Frogan’s face now beamed with confidence and he responded to Kendalar’s fiery words. “Forgive me for having doubted lord Bane.”
         Kendalar shook his head. “Nay, none is required, for it is right to fear that which you do not know. But one must not let the unknown control him. You must draw strength from that which you do know, and our holy mother will take care of the rest.”
         Frogan was awed by Kendalar’s scholarly words and bowed in obeisance. “It is an honor, sir, to follow you. You speak words that can only come from the goddess herself. I can promise you that as long as I draw breathe, I will fight for the hope of our people.”
         Kendalar bowed his head as well then, and clapped a fist to his chest in salute. Frogan did the same, then he turned back to the camp to prepare the people for departure.
         “So young,” Kendalar mused to himself as he watched Frogan go about his duties. He was an idealistic young man, full of strength, and would make a great leader someday if they lived long enough to make it so.
         It was mid morning by the time all was prepared for departure. Crude wagons and sledges drawn by horse and mule carried the bulk of the load, while the people carried sacks filled with their possessions. They were dirty and tired, having marched endlessly, and the little sleep that was awarded them was plagued by nightmares.
         Of the five-hundred that traveled, only four were of the brotherhood and only a very few  men were capable of bearing arms. If they were attacked, they would be destroyed, Kendalar knew. If they could reach the province of Buckley and gain the protection of the Regent Lord Hornwall, they would be safe, for a time at least.
         The country of Galahadran had once claimed Aurorai as their sovereign, and had sworn allegiance to the Auroran kings. But just as it happened in the east, so it happened in Galahadran. It would be hard for Kendalar to deal with the Regent Lord, for the first knight still harbored feeling of disdain towards the godless. He saw them as lost without a leader to follow or a beacon of light to guide them. With all that had transgressed in Dellwood, Kendalar still kept the holy mother’s words close to him, for without guidance, they were lost.
         Certainly it was true that Kendalar had been, and still was at a loss for the fall of the old kingdom, but his devotion knew better than doubt. She would remedy all things in time. Of this, he was certain.
         Kendalar Bane thought of these things as he rode beside his brothers Sir Tomin, Sir Thaden, and Sir Balmort, the last of the sacred brotherhood. They stood before the people as the last symbol of Aurorai’s light. Since Cyrinth Myriad, the faith of the people had been shaken and their lady did not answer their prayers. Kendalar knew that the mere presence of the brotherhood among them would instill hope and courage even in the hopeless. They rode at the head of the people, so they might see and believe. Such was their charge.
         The midday sun rose high above the country of Galahadran as Kendalar and the last of the brotherhood emerged from the forests of Dellwood, ahead of the Auroran refugees. From the hills of the Moon Rung, Kendalar could see the valley sweeping before him, flanked by the graceful peaks of the mountains. To his left, below the hills, the gentle waters of the lake caressed the southland shores, and seagulls glided elegantly along drafts of wind, searching the beaches for clusters of shellfish. The beauty of the southland was a much needed remedy for the beleaguered spirits of the Aurorans, and they welcomed the hot sun, quenched by the gentle, freshwater breeze.
         They could see the town of Buckley, on top of the highest hill . It rested above the valley, perched safely in the Moon Rung Foothills,  and looked as a crown upon a kings brow. The keep stood upon the motte, ringed by a palisade, and the grey banners of Galahadran flew from the towers. From the keep, the town spread out across the hill. Straw thatched houses and shops lined the dirt roads and people filled the streets, going about their daily tasks. The bailey encircled the city, built by sturdy oak timbers and soldiers manned the walls and towers, watching the valley for any signs of invaders.
         They had already seen the Aurorans.
         From the city gates, a company of men emerged on horseback, riding toward where Kendalar and his people had stopped at the edge of the forest. After a moment, Kendalar and the other knights rode out to meet the Regent Lord.
         When they approached them, it was Kendalar who spoke. “Peace to you, my lord Hornwall.”
         The lord of Buckley, a stocky man with short brown hair and a well trimmed beared, eyed them suspiciously before answering. “Peace is it you bring, knight of the old ways?”
         “Aye, my lord,” responded Kendalar with a bow.
         Hornwall shook his head. “No sir, it is not peace but war that brings you here. Is this not true? My country is not blind to the plight of the north”.
         Kendalar chose his words carefully. “My lord, what you say is true. By the point of a sword have we been driven from our homes and lands, with the blood of our brothers weighing on our boots. But this battle we do not bring with us. I seek only safe haven for my people, whom are without such comforts of home, for all but their lives has been taken from them. Most, my lord Hornwall, were granted less then that.”
         Lord Hornwall turned to the two men beside him and consulted them in private. After a moment, he turned back to Kendalar.
         “Sir knight, long have we been bereft of the old ways, free of the hypocrisy spewed forth from the ancient religions. However, we have not forgotten our compassion.”
         “Then you will allow my people their haven?”
         Hornwall nodded. “It is granted. But that request that you speak not now, I can say nothing of.” Hornwall gestured toward the city and surrounding countryside. “Your people may settle in the valley, and we will accommodate you as best we can. I will dispatch riders to Weeding to request aid from the regent lord Durnham.”
         Kendalar nodded in gratitude. “My thanks to you, lord Hornwall. You give hope to my people.” He then turned to go.
         “And Northman,” Hornwall called to him. “We will discuss the other matter this evening.” He then left Kendalar, returning to the city to prepare things for the Auroran refugees.
         Kendalar and the last of the brotherhood led the people into the valley where they spent the day toiling in the hot sun. The people of Buckley brought them food along with clothes and other provisions.
         As the sun began to wane below the mountains, the Aurorans had accomplished the bulk of their task, having set up tents to shelter them from the sun, and wooden fences to heard their cattle.
         Kendalar walked through the camp, speaking with his people and administering to their spiritual needs. Traditionally it was the clerics duty to do such things, but none had escaped the horror of nights before. They had all perished in the fires of the dark lords rage. He found himself thinking of Romand, and wondered if he had escaped the other brother’s fates. He also thought of Matthew, the young knight of Aurorai. He hoped that he had reached the Historian. All their fates depended on his success.
         “My lord Bane,” spoke a voice behind him. Kendalar turned to see one of the regents men standing before him.
         “What is it, soldier? He asked.
         “My lord Hornwall wishes to speak with you, he awaits your arrival at the keep.”
         Kendalar nodded and followed him to the makeshift stable that they had constructed. After both men mounted their horses, they tore off towards the city gates.
         It was a short ride from the camp to the city, and they made it in silence.
         For years it had been as such, for the people of Galahadran had rejected the goddess that the Auroran people held so close. Kendalar had not wanted to ask them now for help, for he still harbored feelings of resentment for their betrayal. He had done what he had to, as much as it pained him to do so. Lord Hornwall’s willingness to open his land to the Aurorans had surprised him, and he wondered if he would have done the same.
         The city was lit by burning torches and the bright summer moon when they arrived. The soldier led him down the main road through the city and to the second palisade, surrounding the keep.
         Lord Hornwall watched their approach from the keep gate and greeted them as they arrived. “I trust you have received all that you need,” he asked, as Kendalar dismounted.
         “We have, my lord. My people and I are greatly indebted to your kindness.”
         Hornwall nodded in acceptance. “Though we travel different paths, knight of the old ways, we are still men, and brothers. I hope that one day you will come to embrace this.”
         Kendalar was silent. After a moment, he spoke. “What news do you have that brings me here this night?”
         Hornwall gave a nod. “Indeed. Have you dined? Let us speak of these things over a hot meal and cold ale.”
         “My lord, if we might just discuss the matter.”
         “Come lord Bane, we will speak in private.” The lord of Buckley turned back towards the keep and Kendalar followed in submission.
         The regent led Kendalar to the second level of the keep where the kitchen and dining rooms were located. Hornwall barked out orders to the serfs in the kitchen and soon after plates of roasted venison and lamb were brought out, along with bowls of steamed vegetables and hot bread. The serfs then brought out tankards of cold, frothing ale.
         Kendalar did not have much of an appetite, but the strong aroma of the freshly cooked meal was to much for him to ignore, for it had been many days since he had eaten more than wild berries and tough strips of cured beef.
         The two men ate in silence for a time. When they had finished, their pipes were lit and it was lord Hornwall who spoke. “Couriers arrived early this evening from the other regent lords,” he said.
         “And?” Kendalar asked, fearing the response.
         Hornwall exhaled a large cloud of smoke. “They will not commit to battle,” he stated bluntly.
         Kendalar spoke strongly. “Why do they invite destruction to their people!” Do they not know the horrors that have fallen on mine? Surely they must see that such death has not been reserved only for the north. They will come my lord, thousands will march at the beat of the drum, and under that black flag of the lord of vengeance, as he is called, they will bring war to your sons and daughters. Surely you must see this.”
         Hornwall thought for a moment, sucking on his pipe profusely. “It is the belief of my nobles, my lord Bane, that the tragedy that befell your people was brought on not by the will of this dark lord to wreak vengeance upon all men, but by the wrongs committed by Aurorai’s people.”
         Kendalar started in disbelief. “Wrongs!” He cried incredulously. “Such is the folly of the non-believer!”
         Hornwall kept calm amidst Kendalar’s ranting. “You expect to much, lord Bane. They remember all to well how your king’s brought war to my people when they rejected the decrees of your goddess.”
         “Kendalar responded, “It is so, yes, but now is not the time to dwell in the past. You are the regent of Galahadran, leader of the confederation of states. Surely they will follow if you commit to battle.”
         Hornwall shook his head. “No Auroran, it is not as you say. I merely head the tribunal, and without the support of lord Durnham or lord Danforth, I can do nothing. Only if the Horn of Stormgale, the last great king of Galahadran, is blown will the others join your cause.”
         Kendalar spoke strongly then, rising form his chair. “Then blow the horn! Unite the feudal states once more under the banner of Stormgale. Reforge the ties of brotherhood that have kept the people of the south strong for centuries!”
         Hornwall shook his head. “I envy you Kendalar. You are a warrior and war is what you know. Things are so simple for you. But I am a statesmen, and I have other things that I must consider...”
         Kendalar roared,” You coward! Behind your throne you sit, like a dog who whimpers before his master’s belt.”
         “How dare you sir!” He cried, rising from the table.
         They glared at each other, each consumed by a fearful frustration. Finally, Hornwall eased his stare.
         “Things are not so simple, my lord Bane,” spoke Hornwall.
         “Everything is simple, do you not see! Have you not the courage to stand for what is right, even when some believe it to be wrong? You defend your lordship, but for what purpose? Soon the plated boots of thousands will trample your fields, and war will be upon you, but it will not be a war upon some distant battlefield. It will be a battle that will be fought here in your homes and among your wives and your children! My lord I beg you to reconsider!”
         Hornwall tried to find the words to speak, but he could not.
         Then the sentry bell rang, a heavy, iron sound that brought ill news. Kendalar eyed the regent intently. “It is beginning.”
         Finally, fear began to grow inside the lord of Buckley. He rose from his chair and hurried to the stairs that led to the top of the keep. Kendalar followed at his heels.
         Lord Hornwall emerged onto the keep and looked out into the country in horror. Fires dotted the country side and the shores of the lake, emitting a wicked haze that rose into the sky like blood.
         Hornwall stared into the red aura as a messenger spoke. “My lord, soldiers from Auron have attacked villages and homesteads along the border, raping and pillaging as they go!”
         Hornwall did not speak.
         My lord, we have been attacked!”
         Still he said nothing.
         Kendalar stood beside him then, staring off into the flames. “You are beginning to see it now. The legions of the dark lord will leave no life unscathed, and no heart unbroken. Every where his hordes go he will poison the land and render everything to ash in its wake. My lord, please, must the whole world burn before you will listen to reason!”
         Hornwall turned his head. “What would you have me do?”
         “Sound the cry of war! Blow the Horn of Stormgale and let the armies of Galahadran march once again under the banner of war! Let men stand strong , and give hope to those have none.”
         After a moment, he found the words to speak. Giving a quick look to Kendalar, he turned to the messenger who still awaited a reply. Strongly and confidently he spoke.
         “Soldier.”
         “My lord?”
         “It is time. Send word to my knights and lords to have their armies ready for battle!”
         “Will they come my lord?” He asked.
         “They will come. I am certain.” Without another word, he reached into his robes and drew out a small, perfectly crafted bone horn.
         The Horn of Stormgale.
         Putting the horn to his lips, he blew a crisp sound into the night air. As the ring of the horn faded, it began to echo into the mountains of the Moon Rung. At first, a little louder, than louder still. In moments a deafening roar filled the valley like a thousands horns, and miles away, the armies of Galahadran prepared for war.