Post by Pseudomuse on Feb 17, 2006 18:42:47 GMT -8
erm...this isn't exactly a short story, but I wanted to test this out on you guys to see what you had to say. It's my new fantasy project, Faeid, based in the made up world of Aea. This is just part one, but if you are interested I'll post some more. All comments, suggestions, and crits welcome.
PM
-useful vocab-
Ilen Vocabulary
Feren – son, pronounced: fair-en
Dîthen – riders of Gongolas, stationed at the Lord’s keep, they are specially chosen for abilities, and their captain is Elandir. Pronounced: dith-en, really just like it’s spelled.
Kaeling – Ilen endearment meaning ‘little sister’, pronounced: kay-ling
Elin – brother, pronounced: el-in
Elinëd – a name describing blood brothers, pronounced: el-lin-ned
Hanneth – endearment roughly translating to ‘blood brother’
The Tarad – the high council of Ilen
Elinen – common tongue of Ilen translating, mostly used in Gongolas and in the tribes of Ragrock, meaning ‘my twin’, though only used between males, pronounced: el-lin-en
Nanoc – thank you
Saos’im – traditional Ilen greeting, pronounced: say-os im
Na – No
vis – The affectionate name by which Damek calls Elandir, translates to ‘little lord’ or ‘youngling’
Myraven – the Perdhel’s keep, near the capital of Gongolas Escavelion
Windelwyn – Sir Lionet’s estate, he is Caedyr’s father.
Dramatis Personae (and others…)
Perdhel – pronounced: per-hell, (the d and h silent), means ‘thoughtful one’, and is High Lord of Gongolas and one of the lords of the Tarad.
Thaniel – pronounced: than-i-el, meaning ‘gift of the gods’. He is the eldest of Perdhel’s children, and the crowned one of Gongolas (the next in line to become High Lord if Perdhel abdicates, dies or is unfit to serve).
Emer – pronounced: e-mer, just like it’s spelled, meaning ‘swift’ or ‘one of many talents’.
Elandir – pronounced: el-an-deer, meaning ‘peace tree’ from the Ilen élan meaning tree, and dir meaning peace. He is the third child born to Perdhel, champion at Lamlis, captain of the Dîthen, and blood brothers to Dagoreth and Andras.
Danneth – pronounced: dan-eth, meaning ‘the gods are my judge’. She is the fourth of Perdhel’s children.
Sariel – pronounced: sar-i-el, meaning ‘princess’ or ‘star-dotted shawl’. She is the youngest of Perdhel’s children.
Shellahan – pronounced: shell-a-hawn, meaning ‘blind hapiness’. She is wife of Thaniel, daughter of Lughda, the High Lord of Dran, and Aristae, Lady of Waters.
Dagoreth – pronounced: dago-reth, meaning ‘rule of the blade’. He is the elder twin of Andras, and blood brother of Elandir. He is also one of the Dîthen.
Andras – pronounced: awn-dras, with a long ‘a’ meaning ‘spider’ in trade tongue, and ‘courageous/invincible’ in Ilen. He is the twin of Dagoreth, and blood brother of Elandir. He is also one of the Dîthen.
Lord Keldin – Lord of Faen Dün, the highly wooded area and western forest of Ilen, and father of Saoirse and Ainneth.
Ainneth – pronounced: ain-neth, nickname Aina, pronounced: Awn-ña, meaning ‘hapiness’. She is the younger daughter of Lord Keldin.
Saoirse – pronouched: sor-sha, meaning ‘freedom’. She is the elder daughter of Lord Keldin.
Connacht – pronounced: con-naught, meaning ‘mighty warrior’; High Lord of the Tarad.
Arafeis – pronounced: air-a-fy-i-ss, with a long s at the end, meaning ‘morning splendour’ in desert tongue, from the words ara meaning morning, and feisa meaning splendour, the name of Elandir’s desert mare.
Dragonet – pronounced: drago-nay, meaning one of dragon-heart, from the Sundi words drago meaning dragon/fiery spirit, and net meaning heart; one of Elandir’s Sundi hunting cats.
Etailiné – pronounced et-tay-il-lean, meaning snow flower from the Sundi words etail meaning snow, and Iné: a flower of deep orange colour; one of Elandir’s Sundi hunting cats.
“And what of your son, sire?”
Lord Perdhel of Gongolas shifted his gaze to the advisor at his side.
“Elandir is very skilled, and since his majority has shown nothing but promise. I have no doubt he will seal this day.”
The advisor nodded, and turned his attention back the tournament arena.
Inside the Ilen lord was not so sure of his second son’s abilities. He had seen the lists; many a gifted warrior had signed their name in this tournament. But he reminded himself Elandir had bested some of his own captains. He had commanded many raids since gaining stewardship of the lord’s Dîthen. He was more than ready, whether he would win or not remained to be seen.
When the first of the day rode to the centre of the sand, they saluted the high council before taking their respective places. The heat of the morning sun pelted down prickling along the exposed skin, and the horses shivered, twitched from the anticipation. The tension was stretched taught like that of an archer’s bow. The collected hush of the crowd a heavy shroud. Only the swish of the dropped flag cutting the air like a loosed cutlass broke the oppressive silence.
Perdhel watched with little interest as pair after pair approached the high council, saluted, and launched themselves at one another. Armour and the shimmering flats of blades were canvassed with blood and sweat, most of it dripping or dried in the sand, scattering the floor of the arena with dark splotches.
By the time the sun had reached its zenith Perdhel had watched his fair share of boys playing with toys. Near the end of the first round Perdhel took to perusing the crowd, it seemed all of the five cities had gathered in Lamlis. From his corner box he could see, Lord Keldin, the lord of Faen Dün and his two striking daughters, Saoirse and Ainneth. He caught the lord’s eye and smiled. He had hoped to see him here, they had much to discuss after all.
Round one was over and two sets into the second round Perdhel tried his best to remain impassive as Elandir’s name was called. Riding in, his chosen signet of faithful Sundi hunting cats on his chest, he carried the colours of Gongolas silver and green. Clad in traditional mesh armour of Gongolas, he wore no helmet, as he claimed it was worth forgoing protection for more ability to see. He urged his faithful russet desert mare Arafeis forward, her scarlet veined golden mane trembling in the currents of air, and met with his first opponent. The initial clench in his heart lifted; he had no cause to believe Elandir would not carry the day.
Both competitors were weary. Sweat muddled with dirt streamed off each in rivulets and mixed with blood at their feet. Swords were raised lower, and footfalls slower, due to fatigue. At least dusk had come, with that the sweet reprieve of cool breeze, and the disappearance of the fiery Lamlis sun. Perdhel watched with pride in his heart as Elandir parried another blow. Both men were loosing ground, Perdhel could see, but Elandir was battling back admirably. The Mithrir knight might be broader and stronger but he was tiring quicker due to his bulk, unlike the lighter, slender Elandir. Perdhel sucked in a breath as Elandir was broadsided by the knight and staggered.
The patient will rule the day. Just wait for an opening, feren.
Perdhel sucked in another breath as Elandir dropped to one knee, letting his sword slip from his grasp. The sand spiralled upwards in displacement as the weapon hit a dull thud sounding around the now hushed grounds. The knight thinking it was a position of surrender swung his sword towards Elandir’s shoulder, but he was startled as with one fluid movement Elandir lurched forward bringing a glinting silver throwing-knife to the knight’s throat.
Sentiments of ‘yield’ and ‘yay’ were shared. Perdhel felt the twitch of a smile forming at the corner of his lips when the herald sounded the end; and after the calling of the victor, the eruption of the crowd deafening.
Perdhel quickly made his way from the visitors’ seats to his son’s chambers to congratulate him in person.
When Perdhel arrived Elandir was ensconced in a large tub, his eyes closed, arms hung limply over the sides, dark hair fanned out in the water.
“Do not drown, feren, the world awaits (for) their new champion.”
The young champion opened his eyes unfazed by the intrusion, and scowled, “What if I decide to stay here?”
“It would cause much uproar among the court especially of the ladies.”
Elandir made a face, “Mayhap I’ve spent too much time in here already.”
Perdhel procured a towel, as Elandir removed himself from the water.
He took the towel, twined it around his waist, and headed for the wardrobe.
Perdhel took a seat, and watched the young man pick at clothing. His cherry-wood hair was slick against his neck, features scrunched in concentration, grey-green eyes intent on the contents of his wardrobe, his bottom lip captive beneath worrying teeth.
“Would you have me wear the colours of Gongolas father, or of my own choosing?”
“I think you earned the right to choose this night; that was a fair showing Elandir.”
“I got lucky,” he replied pulling out a tunic of deep red, liquid blood, with silver embroidered cuffs. Lodas vines if Perdhel was not mistaken.
“I do not think luck has as much to do with it as you claim.”
“Pfft,” Elandir looked up to his father, as his finished the laces on his black leggings, “Do I look presentable enough?”
“Yes, enough.” Perdhel tried to keep the mirth out of his voice. He still marvelled how Elandir out of all his children resembled his beloved dead wife the most.
“Good then,” the youth spoke, “let the real games begin.”
As soon as Perdhel and Elandir entered the great hall of Lamlis a throng swarmed upon them, all to congratulate the new champion. Perdhel vicariously basked in his son’s light ushering him through until the Lord of Faen Dün arrived, flanked by his daughters. Both were beauties of their own right. Saoirse, the elder, was pale skinned with straight golden hair, her dark blue eyes the color of a midnight sky. Ainneth was shorter, the darker of the two, but no less lovely with a more rounded figure, red apple lips, her brown hair loose flouncing at her hips. He couldn’t understand why Elandir had no interest in either.
“Milord, ladies.”
All bowed, before Perdhel and Elandir shook the lord’s hand.
“You and I have much to talk of, Elandir will you escort these fair ladies while we old men open old war wounds.” Perdhel said lightly gesturing for Lord Keldin.
Both lords watched as Elandir did his best to entertain the ladies, Perdhel knowing full well he would rather be running the gauntlet. He was reminded of one instance just before Elandir had reached his majority and they entertained the Great Lords and Ladies of the North. After feasting Elandir had come to him saying, “Papa, I just don’ understand girls, they are so confusing.” Perdhel had laughed then, but it was no cause for mirth now with him trying to make an alliance marriage.
Lord Keldin butted into his thoughts, “My Ainneth is practically smitten with him, they would make a good match, you agree, no?”
Perdhel pondered that, his attention on his son and the young maiden secured to his arm. She glowed in his presence, while the other seemed not so enthusiastic. He had been hoping to annex Elandir with the elder Saoirse but he’d take whatever the Lord of the Wooded Lands would give.
“Yes, verily.”
Lord Keldin nodded, and sipped his wine.
“We will speak of this again then, good morrow sire.” Perdhel detached himself, and went on to other conquests.
“Congratulations Perdhel, your son brings much honour to your house this day.”
High Lord Connacht heralded as Perdhel entered the Council chambers. It seemed he was the last to join the Tarad.
“Nanoc sire, I will send on your kind words.”
“Come join us Perdhel, Voleth has sent word, it seems it is time for change after all.”
Perdhel peered down at the map again, making mental notes of the surrounding wilds, entering it in to the number of troops needed in a worst case scenario. He did not like the outcome, if he agreed to aid in this, he would be sending far more than he wanted, farther than he wanted.
The High Lord interrupted his thoughts, “Do we have your agreement?”
“I would not agree on the sole purpose that this I fear will not solve the Council’s problem, that is my personal opinion, but in troth you have my men sire.”
Many of the lords looked shocked at Perdhel’s frank answer, though they tried not to show it, but Connacht raised his hand to stay any comments, and tipped his head forward, “Ilen thanks you, and foremost I thank you.”
Perdhel sent the High Lord a grim smile.
“Elin!” A smile broke across Elandir’s features at the whirlwind that threatened to engulf him.
“Kaeling, I was gone less that a moon surely you cannot have missed me so.” Although Elandir’s tone was mocking, he opened his arms to his youngest sister Sariel.
She flung herself, with all the decorum of her youth into his waiting arms, and buried into the hollow he made.
Elandir tugged on the ends of her golden braids and tried his best not to snicker at their father’s exasperated expression.
There was a familiar smell. It was the smell of fresh berries and fresh tilled soil, and it wafted from her pungently.
Elandir bent down to whisper in Sariel’s ear. “If you don’t let me go and tend to Arafeis, I’ll tell father you’ve been in the hothouses again.”
She jerked upwards, and furnished him a murderous expression, which he alleged she learned from their eldest sister Emer, younger only to Thaniel of the lord’s children. When he did not yield, her hazel eyes glistened with disbelief.
“You wouldn’t?” The words sprout forth from her lips in a forced whisper.
He arched a challenging eyebrow, and she jutted her chin forward stubbornly.
The rough rumbling sound of someone clearing their throat broke their battle.
Elandir looked up to see the eldest of Perdhel’s children, his brother Thaniel dressed in riding leathers, arms crossed over his chest. He resembled Perdhel the most, with his thickset features, flaxen hair, and blue eyes that flickered hazel in the sunlight.
“Some others would like to greet the new champion, Kaeling, lest you steal him away.”
Elandir extricated himself from a pouting Sariel, who was mumbling about Thaniel spoiling all her fun, and drew Thaniel into a one armed hug.
“Saos’im elin.”
“Looking well, ‘lan, break many hearts?”
Elandir shook his head, “How’s Shella?”
“Practically glowing. The healer says the worst is over.”
Elandir turned to his neglected Arafeis. “Walk with me then, I wish to hear of what went on in my absence.”
Elandir ducked as he entered the chambers of the Lady of the Keep, the green trimmed white curtains fluttering in the opened windows. The place was a much cheerier place since Shellahan had taken these as her permanent quarters. Elandir’s mother had been ill for a long time before death finally spirited her away her sickness infiltrating her surroundings.
Elandir passed through the small anteroom to encounter Shella curled on a divan, embroidery in her hands. Her fiery hair was in a simple braid, and her brown eyes seemed to have more life to them. She was still pale, but he expected that.
She beamed seeing him enter, and started to rise.
“Na, don’t trouble yourself, I’ll come to you.”
“Hmpff,” she let out as Elandir put his hands forward to prevent her from exerting herself, “everyone in this place treats me as if I am a glass bauble about to break.” She imparted after Elandir place a kiss on each cheek in his habituated greeting.
“They have cause to.” He spoke solemnly.
She brushed off the comment, and patted the space next to her, “Come sit, I want to hear all about Lamlis.”
“A lot of it was luck,” Elandir continued, “I drew worthy challengers.”
Shella fixed her doe eyes on Elandir, “Nonsense, I’ve seen you spar, there is a reason you are the New Champion of Ilen, and not some reckless, ambitious farm-boy. But enough of your modesty, tell me of the feasting, who was there, and have the fashions changed so since last spring?”
“The High Court of Lamlis gives quite the spread as you know, and there wasn’t a lord or lady in all of Ilen that was not in attendance. I do not think I have seen so many bright colours in one event in all my life. As you know well, me I am lucky if I match much less pay attention to other’s choice of attire.”
Shella rolled her eyes, “as always.”
He had the sudden childish urge to stick out his tongue. “You wouldn’t want me any other way.”
“I should go before Thaniel thinks I’m stealing his lady away.”
“Off with you then, O charming rogue!”
Elandir exited and made his way to the bathing halls clouded with thoughts. Shella appeared much recovered than when he had set out for Lamlis. The color was back in her cheeks, and she was sitting up on her own. He just hoped his brother was as thankful for this, though he seemed not as troubled by both the loss of the child and Shella’s countenance. Thoughts of his new awarded title broke in then, Champion at Lamlis, Champion of Ilen, that would keep the men talking, and he inwardly groaned, the ladies coming. He was thwarted though by his standing, he wished they would just understand that there were things far more fulfilling than meaningless trysts in his view. Thaniel claimed he hadn’t a romantic bone in his body, Danneth, (the sister between him and Sariel), argued that he just was waiting for the right person. Over the years Elandir had taken a lover, but not often and never for any length of time. He cared for his men, his kith and kin, his horses, and his cats. But that did not mean that his father was not arranging a marriage with one of the loyal high houses of Ilen, or that individuals of both sexes stopped their badgering. He was content in his place, Captain of Gongolas’ Dîthen, the second son of Lord Perdhel. It ended there, that was the allotment in life and he was not one to badger the gods when his cards were admirable.
So caught up in his thoughts that he did not realize his feet had carried him all the way to the warrior’s pools, where the Gongolas’ captains took respite, and that he was not alone.
A familiar figure and midnight hair greeted his eyes, the strong planes of a muscled, tanned back rose upwards from the steaming water. Just above the ridge of the pool, in the hollow of the man’s lower back was a shimmering tattoo. In the tongue of the ancients, the mark reminded Elandir of his own identical one; it held connotations of friendship and fellowship, of when Elandir passed his majority and shed first blood as a man.
Quickly disrobing Elandir slipped into the rock slate pool, hissing when the searing water sizzled against his skin. He sighed as the knotted muscles started to ease; he moved to lounge next to the other.
“So the hunting cat returns victorious.”
“Saos’im Dagoreth, how did the Dîthen make without me?”
“Not bad, not bad, some cuts and bruises to show to lovers and kin, but nothing worse. Did you miss us, with all those lovely Ilen lords and ladies to keep you company, I am surprised you even returned?”
Elandir opened his eyes, confused at the dead pan delivery to see if his fellow Ilenan was serious.
“Truth?”
Dagoreth flashed him his most winning smile before grasping Elandir and dunking him.
Elandir came up sputtering, “Ai, I’ll get you for that!”
Dagoreth’s deep green eyes were dancing, “I’ll remember that hanneth.”
“Taking advantage of our poor elin, tsk-tsk Dag, what would mother say?”
Both turned at the interruption. An exact match to Dagoreth in looks and stature was leaning against the stone entrance; same dark hair, bottle green eyes, solid but towering, robust features. Elandir was supposedly the only one who could tell the Ilenan twins apart, it was all in the way they moved. But them on a battlefield, on in a sparing arena he could say with absolute certainty which was which. Even under armour and helmets.
The intruder awarded both with a smug smile.
“Come Andras; join us before my good mood dissipates,” Dagoreth interrupted.
“Only you, elinen, would act so.”
Elandir relaxed again, in the calm company of his elinëd, against the siding and let out a sigh, “How are Dragonet and Etailiné?”
“Thankful for your return I assure you, as am I.” Andras spoke as he meticulously rid himself of his sparing gear; Elandir chuckled at the thought of his two Sundi cats with only Andras for company, knowing that even for him, there person, the pair could be a handful.
“Any news of what the Tarad expects from us this winter, ‘lan?”
“I have it from father they are at the end of their rope with the uneasy peace, most likely they will have us hunting rather than scouting come Yule.”
Dagoreth awarded that with a disgusted snort, “Any reasons for this new development, or is it to appease the lords?”
“Nothing tangible yet, but I heard rumours that a few Voleth Riders have gone missing on patrol; and some traders and merchants having weird experiences, missing goods and such.”
“Still just a rumour,” Andras alleged.
“True.”
Elandir knew exactly where the twins stood on the Ilen law, and the Tarad’s view on the Sidhe: Faerie creatures that lived in clans on their northern and eastern borders, and in the Outlands past Ilen rule. Mostly they inhabited the Anthagoreth (The Dark Hills) and the Great Môrdha (The Great Forest). He stood right between the brothers on this. The few times he had seen Sidhe slaves it made his stomach churn, and left a sour taste in his mouth. It was no different than enslaving an Outlander, or ‘One of the Darker Skin’ from the Isle of Lor. But the Tarad had strict policies, based on happenings centuries before when Ilen and Sidhe had waged The Great Wars. Even if the Tarad claimed that the treatment of the Sidhe was recompense for ‘our dead’, in Elandir’s opinion no soul deserved to be enslaved; it was a debasing cruel act only serving the ones in power. But he wasn’t about to go against the Tarad, and if word from his father, who was fairly neutral on the enslavement, was correct the laws were not changing soon. So he followed orders, but that did not mean he cared for them.
“Come hanneth, we cannot let you drown with all this thinking. Let’s get you to those cats you so love, and the Dîthen, for they as well are anxious on your return.”
PM
-useful vocab-
Ilen Vocabulary
Feren – son, pronounced: fair-en
Dîthen – riders of Gongolas, stationed at the Lord’s keep, they are specially chosen for abilities, and their captain is Elandir. Pronounced: dith-en, really just like it’s spelled.
Kaeling – Ilen endearment meaning ‘little sister’, pronounced: kay-ling
Elin – brother, pronounced: el-in
Elinëd – a name describing blood brothers, pronounced: el-lin-ned
Hanneth – endearment roughly translating to ‘blood brother’
The Tarad – the high council of Ilen
Elinen – common tongue of Ilen translating, mostly used in Gongolas and in the tribes of Ragrock, meaning ‘my twin’, though only used between males, pronounced: el-lin-en
Nanoc – thank you
Saos’im – traditional Ilen greeting, pronounced: say-os im
Na – No
vis – The affectionate name by which Damek calls Elandir, translates to ‘little lord’ or ‘youngling’
Myraven – the Perdhel’s keep, near the capital of Gongolas Escavelion
Windelwyn – Sir Lionet’s estate, he is Caedyr’s father.
Dramatis Personae (and others…)
Perdhel – pronounced: per-hell, (the d and h silent), means ‘thoughtful one’, and is High Lord of Gongolas and one of the lords of the Tarad.
Thaniel – pronounced: than-i-el, meaning ‘gift of the gods’. He is the eldest of Perdhel’s children, and the crowned one of Gongolas (the next in line to become High Lord if Perdhel abdicates, dies or is unfit to serve).
Emer – pronounced: e-mer, just like it’s spelled, meaning ‘swift’ or ‘one of many talents’.
Elandir – pronounced: el-an-deer, meaning ‘peace tree’ from the Ilen élan meaning tree, and dir meaning peace. He is the third child born to Perdhel, champion at Lamlis, captain of the Dîthen, and blood brothers to Dagoreth and Andras.
Danneth – pronounced: dan-eth, meaning ‘the gods are my judge’. She is the fourth of Perdhel’s children.
Sariel – pronounced: sar-i-el, meaning ‘princess’ or ‘star-dotted shawl’. She is the youngest of Perdhel’s children.
Shellahan – pronounced: shell-a-hawn, meaning ‘blind hapiness’. She is wife of Thaniel, daughter of Lughda, the High Lord of Dran, and Aristae, Lady of Waters.
Dagoreth – pronounced: dago-reth, meaning ‘rule of the blade’. He is the elder twin of Andras, and blood brother of Elandir. He is also one of the Dîthen.
Andras – pronounced: awn-dras, with a long ‘a’ meaning ‘spider’ in trade tongue, and ‘courageous/invincible’ in Ilen. He is the twin of Dagoreth, and blood brother of Elandir. He is also one of the Dîthen.
Lord Keldin – Lord of Faen Dün, the highly wooded area and western forest of Ilen, and father of Saoirse and Ainneth.
Ainneth – pronounced: ain-neth, nickname Aina, pronounced: Awn-ña, meaning ‘hapiness’. She is the younger daughter of Lord Keldin.
Saoirse – pronouched: sor-sha, meaning ‘freedom’. She is the elder daughter of Lord Keldin.
Connacht – pronounced: con-naught, meaning ‘mighty warrior’; High Lord of the Tarad.
Arafeis – pronounced: air-a-fy-i-ss, with a long s at the end, meaning ‘morning splendour’ in desert tongue, from the words ara meaning morning, and feisa meaning splendour, the name of Elandir’s desert mare.
Dragonet – pronounced: drago-nay, meaning one of dragon-heart, from the Sundi words drago meaning dragon/fiery spirit, and net meaning heart; one of Elandir’s Sundi hunting cats.
Etailiné – pronounced et-tay-il-lean, meaning snow flower from the Sundi words etail meaning snow, and Iné: a flower of deep orange colour; one of Elandir’s Sundi hunting cats.
*
Faeid
Draft II, Mon 13 Feb 2006
Part One: Dawning
[/b]Faeid
Draft II, Mon 13 Feb 2006
Part One: Dawning
“And what of your son, sire?”
Lord Perdhel of Gongolas shifted his gaze to the advisor at his side.
“Elandir is very skilled, and since his majority has shown nothing but promise. I have no doubt he will seal this day.”
The advisor nodded, and turned his attention back the tournament arena.
Inside the Ilen lord was not so sure of his second son’s abilities. He had seen the lists; many a gifted warrior had signed their name in this tournament. But he reminded himself Elandir had bested some of his own captains. He had commanded many raids since gaining stewardship of the lord’s Dîthen. He was more than ready, whether he would win or not remained to be seen.
When the first of the day rode to the centre of the sand, they saluted the high council before taking their respective places. The heat of the morning sun pelted down prickling along the exposed skin, and the horses shivered, twitched from the anticipation. The tension was stretched taught like that of an archer’s bow. The collected hush of the crowd a heavy shroud. Only the swish of the dropped flag cutting the air like a loosed cutlass broke the oppressive silence.
Perdhel watched with little interest as pair after pair approached the high council, saluted, and launched themselves at one another. Armour and the shimmering flats of blades were canvassed with blood and sweat, most of it dripping or dried in the sand, scattering the floor of the arena with dark splotches.
By the time the sun had reached its zenith Perdhel had watched his fair share of boys playing with toys. Near the end of the first round Perdhel took to perusing the crowd, it seemed all of the five cities had gathered in Lamlis. From his corner box he could see, Lord Keldin, the lord of Faen Dün and his two striking daughters, Saoirse and Ainneth. He caught the lord’s eye and smiled. He had hoped to see him here, they had much to discuss after all.
Round one was over and two sets into the second round Perdhel tried his best to remain impassive as Elandir’s name was called. Riding in, his chosen signet of faithful Sundi hunting cats on his chest, he carried the colours of Gongolas silver and green. Clad in traditional mesh armour of Gongolas, he wore no helmet, as he claimed it was worth forgoing protection for more ability to see. He urged his faithful russet desert mare Arafeis forward, her scarlet veined golden mane trembling in the currents of air, and met with his first opponent. The initial clench in his heart lifted; he had no cause to believe Elandir would not carry the day.
Both competitors were weary. Sweat muddled with dirt streamed off each in rivulets and mixed with blood at their feet. Swords were raised lower, and footfalls slower, due to fatigue. At least dusk had come, with that the sweet reprieve of cool breeze, and the disappearance of the fiery Lamlis sun. Perdhel watched with pride in his heart as Elandir parried another blow. Both men were loosing ground, Perdhel could see, but Elandir was battling back admirably. The Mithrir knight might be broader and stronger but he was tiring quicker due to his bulk, unlike the lighter, slender Elandir. Perdhel sucked in a breath as Elandir was broadsided by the knight and staggered.
The patient will rule the day. Just wait for an opening, feren.
Perdhel sucked in another breath as Elandir dropped to one knee, letting his sword slip from his grasp. The sand spiralled upwards in displacement as the weapon hit a dull thud sounding around the now hushed grounds. The knight thinking it was a position of surrender swung his sword towards Elandir’s shoulder, but he was startled as with one fluid movement Elandir lurched forward bringing a glinting silver throwing-knife to the knight’s throat.
Sentiments of ‘yield’ and ‘yay’ were shared. Perdhel felt the twitch of a smile forming at the corner of his lips when the herald sounded the end; and after the calling of the victor, the eruption of the crowd deafening.
Perdhel quickly made his way from the visitors’ seats to his son’s chambers to congratulate him in person.
§
When Perdhel arrived Elandir was ensconced in a large tub, his eyes closed, arms hung limply over the sides, dark hair fanned out in the water.
“Do not drown, feren, the world awaits (for) their new champion.”
The young champion opened his eyes unfazed by the intrusion, and scowled, “What if I decide to stay here?”
“It would cause much uproar among the court especially of the ladies.”
Elandir made a face, “Mayhap I’ve spent too much time in here already.”
Perdhel procured a towel, as Elandir removed himself from the water.
He took the towel, twined it around his waist, and headed for the wardrobe.
Perdhel took a seat, and watched the young man pick at clothing. His cherry-wood hair was slick against his neck, features scrunched in concentration, grey-green eyes intent on the contents of his wardrobe, his bottom lip captive beneath worrying teeth.
“Would you have me wear the colours of Gongolas father, or of my own choosing?”
“I think you earned the right to choose this night; that was a fair showing Elandir.”
“I got lucky,” he replied pulling out a tunic of deep red, liquid blood, with silver embroidered cuffs. Lodas vines if Perdhel was not mistaken.
“I do not think luck has as much to do with it as you claim.”
“Pfft,” Elandir looked up to his father, as his finished the laces on his black leggings, “Do I look presentable enough?”
“Yes, enough.” Perdhel tried to keep the mirth out of his voice. He still marvelled how Elandir out of all his children resembled his beloved dead wife the most.
“Good then,” the youth spoke, “let the real games begin.”
§
As soon as Perdhel and Elandir entered the great hall of Lamlis a throng swarmed upon them, all to congratulate the new champion. Perdhel vicariously basked in his son’s light ushering him through until the Lord of Faen Dün arrived, flanked by his daughters. Both were beauties of their own right. Saoirse, the elder, was pale skinned with straight golden hair, her dark blue eyes the color of a midnight sky. Ainneth was shorter, the darker of the two, but no less lovely with a more rounded figure, red apple lips, her brown hair loose flouncing at her hips. He couldn’t understand why Elandir had no interest in either.
“Milord, ladies.”
All bowed, before Perdhel and Elandir shook the lord’s hand.
“You and I have much to talk of, Elandir will you escort these fair ladies while we old men open old war wounds.” Perdhel said lightly gesturing for Lord Keldin.
Both lords watched as Elandir did his best to entertain the ladies, Perdhel knowing full well he would rather be running the gauntlet. He was reminded of one instance just before Elandir had reached his majority and they entertained the Great Lords and Ladies of the North. After feasting Elandir had come to him saying, “Papa, I just don’ understand girls, they are so confusing.” Perdhel had laughed then, but it was no cause for mirth now with him trying to make an alliance marriage.
Lord Keldin butted into his thoughts, “My Ainneth is practically smitten with him, they would make a good match, you agree, no?”
Perdhel pondered that, his attention on his son and the young maiden secured to his arm. She glowed in his presence, while the other seemed not so enthusiastic. He had been hoping to annex Elandir with the elder Saoirse but he’d take whatever the Lord of the Wooded Lands would give.
“Yes, verily.”
Lord Keldin nodded, and sipped his wine.
“We will speak of this again then, good morrow sire.” Perdhel detached himself, and went on to other conquests.
§
“Congratulations Perdhel, your son brings much honour to your house this day.”
High Lord Connacht heralded as Perdhel entered the Council chambers. It seemed he was the last to join the Tarad.
“Nanoc sire, I will send on your kind words.”
“Come join us Perdhel, Voleth has sent word, it seems it is time for change after all.”
Perdhel peered down at the map again, making mental notes of the surrounding wilds, entering it in to the number of troops needed in a worst case scenario. He did not like the outcome, if he agreed to aid in this, he would be sending far more than he wanted, farther than he wanted.
The High Lord interrupted his thoughts, “Do we have your agreement?”
“I would not agree on the sole purpose that this I fear will not solve the Council’s problem, that is my personal opinion, but in troth you have my men sire.”
Many of the lords looked shocked at Perdhel’s frank answer, though they tried not to show it, but Connacht raised his hand to stay any comments, and tipped his head forward, “Ilen thanks you, and foremost I thank you.”
Perdhel sent the High Lord a grim smile.
§
“Elin!” A smile broke across Elandir’s features at the whirlwind that threatened to engulf him.
“Kaeling, I was gone less that a moon surely you cannot have missed me so.” Although Elandir’s tone was mocking, he opened his arms to his youngest sister Sariel.
She flung herself, with all the decorum of her youth into his waiting arms, and buried into the hollow he made.
Elandir tugged on the ends of her golden braids and tried his best not to snicker at their father’s exasperated expression.
There was a familiar smell. It was the smell of fresh berries and fresh tilled soil, and it wafted from her pungently.
Elandir bent down to whisper in Sariel’s ear. “If you don’t let me go and tend to Arafeis, I’ll tell father you’ve been in the hothouses again.”
She jerked upwards, and furnished him a murderous expression, which he alleged she learned from their eldest sister Emer, younger only to Thaniel of the lord’s children. When he did not yield, her hazel eyes glistened with disbelief.
“You wouldn’t?” The words sprout forth from her lips in a forced whisper.
He arched a challenging eyebrow, and she jutted her chin forward stubbornly.
The rough rumbling sound of someone clearing their throat broke their battle.
Elandir looked up to see the eldest of Perdhel’s children, his brother Thaniel dressed in riding leathers, arms crossed over his chest. He resembled Perdhel the most, with his thickset features, flaxen hair, and blue eyes that flickered hazel in the sunlight.
“Some others would like to greet the new champion, Kaeling, lest you steal him away.”
Elandir extricated himself from a pouting Sariel, who was mumbling about Thaniel spoiling all her fun, and drew Thaniel into a one armed hug.
“Saos’im elin.”
“Looking well, ‘lan, break many hearts?”
Elandir shook his head, “How’s Shella?”
“Practically glowing. The healer says the worst is over.”
Elandir turned to his neglected Arafeis. “Walk with me then, I wish to hear of what went on in my absence.”
§
Elandir ducked as he entered the chambers of the Lady of the Keep, the green trimmed white curtains fluttering in the opened windows. The place was a much cheerier place since Shellahan had taken these as her permanent quarters. Elandir’s mother had been ill for a long time before death finally spirited her away her sickness infiltrating her surroundings.
Elandir passed through the small anteroom to encounter Shella curled on a divan, embroidery in her hands. Her fiery hair was in a simple braid, and her brown eyes seemed to have more life to them. She was still pale, but he expected that.
She beamed seeing him enter, and started to rise.
“Na, don’t trouble yourself, I’ll come to you.”
“Hmpff,” she let out as Elandir put his hands forward to prevent her from exerting herself, “everyone in this place treats me as if I am a glass bauble about to break.” She imparted after Elandir place a kiss on each cheek in his habituated greeting.
“They have cause to.” He spoke solemnly.
She brushed off the comment, and patted the space next to her, “Come sit, I want to hear all about Lamlis.”
“A lot of it was luck,” Elandir continued, “I drew worthy challengers.”
Shella fixed her doe eyes on Elandir, “Nonsense, I’ve seen you spar, there is a reason you are the New Champion of Ilen, and not some reckless, ambitious farm-boy. But enough of your modesty, tell me of the feasting, who was there, and have the fashions changed so since last spring?”
“The High Court of Lamlis gives quite the spread as you know, and there wasn’t a lord or lady in all of Ilen that was not in attendance. I do not think I have seen so many bright colours in one event in all my life. As you know well, me I am lucky if I match much less pay attention to other’s choice of attire.”
Shella rolled her eyes, “as always.”
He had the sudden childish urge to stick out his tongue. “You wouldn’t want me any other way.”
“I should go before Thaniel thinks I’m stealing his lady away.”
“Off with you then, O charming rogue!”
Elandir exited and made his way to the bathing halls clouded with thoughts. Shella appeared much recovered than when he had set out for Lamlis. The color was back in her cheeks, and she was sitting up on her own. He just hoped his brother was as thankful for this, though he seemed not as troubled by both the loss of the child and Shella’s countenance. Thoughts of his new awarded title broke in then, Champion at Lamlis, Champion of Ilen, that would keep the men talking, and he inwardly groaned, the ladies coming. He was thwarted though by his standing, he wished they would just understand that there were things far more fulfilling than meaningless trysts in his view. Thaniel claimed he hadn’t a romantic bone in his body, Danneth, (the sister between him and Sariel), argued that he just was waiting for the right person. Over the years Elandir had taken a lover, but not often and never for any length of time. He cared for his men, his kith and kin, his horses, and his cats. But that did not mean that his father was not arranging a marriage with one of the loyal high houses of Ilen, or that individuals of both sexes stopped their badgering. He was content in his place, Captain of Gongolas’ Dîthen, the second son of Lord Perdhel. It ended there, that was the allotment in life and he was not one to badger the gods when his cards were admirable.
So caught up in his thoughts that he did not realize his feet had carried him all the way to the warrior’s pools, where the Gongolas’ captains took respite, and that he was not alone.
A familiar figure and midnight hair greeted his eyes, the strong planes of a muscled, tanned back rose upwards from the steaming water. Just above the ridge of the pool, in the hollow of the man’s lower back was a shimmering tattoo. In the tongue of the ancients, the mark reminded Elandir of his own identical one; it held connotations of friendship and fellowship, of when Elandir passed his majority and shed first blood as a man.
Quickly disrobing Elandir slipped into the rock slate pool, hissing when the searing water sizzled against his skin. He sighed as the knotted muscles started to ease; he moved to lounge next to the other.
“So the hunting cat returns victorious.”
“Saos’im Dagoreth, how did the Dîthen make without me?”
“Not bad, not bad, some cuts and bruises to show to lovers and kin, but nothing worse. Did you miss us, with all those lovely Ilen lords and ladies to keep you company, I am surprised you even returned?”
Elandir opened his eyes, confused at the dead pan delivery to see if his fellow Ilenan was serious.
“Truth?”
Dagoreth flashed him his most winning smile before grasping Elandir and dunking him.
Elandir came up sputtering, “Ai, I’ll get you for that!”
Dagoreth’s deep green eyes were dancing, “I’ll remember that hanneth.”
“Taking advantage of our poor elin, tsk-tsk Dag, what would mother say?”
Both turned at the interruption. An exact match to Dagoreth in looks and stature was leaning against the stone entrance; same dark hair, bottle green eyes, solid but towering, robust features. Elandir was supposedly the only one who could tell the Ilenan twins apart, it was all in the way they moved. But them on a battlefield, on in a sparing arena he could say with absolute certainty which was which. Even under armour and helmets.
The intruder awarded both with a smug smile.
“Come Andras; join us before my good mood dissipates,” Dagoreth interrupted.
“Only you, elinen, would act so.”
Elandir relaxed again, in the calm company of his elinëd, against the siding and let out a sigh, “How are Dragonet and Etailiné?”
“Thankful for your return I assure you, as am I.” Andras spoke as he meticulously rid himself of his sparing gear; Elandir chuckled at the thought of his two Sundi cats with only Andras for company, knowing that even for him, there person, the pair could be a handful.
“Any news of what the Tarad expects from us this winter, ‘lan?”
“I have it from father they are at the end of their rope with the uneasy peace, most likely they will have us hunting rather than scouting come Yule.”
Dagoreth awarded that with a disgusted snort, “Any reasons for this new development, or is it to appease the lords?”
“Nothing tangible yet, but I heard rumours that a few Voleth Riders have gone missing on patrol; and some traders and merchants having weird experiences, missing goods and such.”
“Still just a rumour,” Andras alleged.
“True.”
Elandir knew exactly where the twins stood on the Ilen law, and the Tarad’s view on the Sidhe: Faerie creatures that lived in clans on their northern and eastern borders, and in the Outlands past Ilen rule. Mostly they inhabited the Anthagoreth (The Dark Hills) and the Great Môrdha (The Great Forest). He stood right between the brothers on this. The few times he had seen Sidhe slaves it made his stomach churn, and left a sour taste in his mouth. It was no different than enslaving an Outlander, or ‘One of the Darker Skin’ from the Isle of Lor. But the Tarad had strict policies, based on happenings centuries before when Ilen and Sidhe had waged The Great Wars. Even if the Tarad claimed that the treatment of the Sidhe was recompense for ‘our dead’, in Elandir’s opinion no soul deserved to be enslaved; it was a debasing cruel act only serving the ones in power. But he wasn’t about to go against the Tarad, and if word from his father, who was fairly neutral on the enslavement, was correct the laws were not changing soon. So he followed orders, but that did not mean he cared for them.
“Come hanneth, we cannot let you drown with all this thinking. Let’s get you to those cats you so love, and the Dîthen, for they as well are anxious on your return.”
