Chapter 2

Chapter 2




    The fiery red heat of the fierce merciless sun began to fade with the over powering shadows of the towering Black Mountains hungrily crept upon them.  Braxon Reinhold and some five hundred of his men rested in a small glen before they prepared to set up camp for the night.  The air was dry but cooling quickly and from time to time, the wind picked up in a gentle slow blowing caress of longing desire to soothe the weary warriors.  Some of the men breathed heavily from the strenuous track up the steep-rocky terrain.  Others slumped from over exposure to the cruel sun that beat down upon them with vengeance as they attempted to remove some of their armor and padding.  The horses, those that did not die on this venture, were slick with sweat and their heads hung low with exhaustion and thirst.  This was a beaten and weary troop with heavy hearts.
    Reinhold, as he began to catch his breath stood from his sitting position on a boulder just under the reaching branches of shade cast by a small Pin Oak.  “Before camp is set.”  He said, before taking a gulp of water from his thinning skin.  “Get the horses watered and fill all the skins.  There is a fresh stream over there -a short walk.”  He gave a nod of his head in the direction he implied causing the wet-sweaty strands of his thick black hair to fall across his eyes.
    He swiped the hair from his face with his gloved hand.  As he did so, he caught whiff of a foul odder, he inspected both of his hands in front of him.  Then with discuss, he spat on the ground and tugged at his blood soaked -dirt embedded leather gloves with repulsion and annoyance.
    “Captain!  Set up a perimeter and post guards…have the men set up camp away from the stream.  We don’t want to chance any nightly encounters.”  Reinhold ordered.  He then proceeded to remove some of his upper armor that looked as if it had swallowed his small framed body.  One would think him a very stout man to carry his armor with such ease; however, Reinhold’s armor was made of Mithiril and was as light as it was strong.  He had it made special so he would appear larger and stronger than he really was.
    He rubbed his hand across his jaw line at the beard that was now not close cut like he preferred.  He closed his eyes momentarily and imagined himself back at his keep soaking in the hot basin with his servant girls tending to his every desire; wine served in silver goblets, hand rolled smokes of tobaccos from across the seas, pleasures of subtle brushes of soft lips and hands, invigorating sex.
 The sounds of cookware pinged and dinged as the cook organized his campfire kitchen.  Boots thudded and scuffed the earth adding to the sounds of the clanking pots and stirring the aroma of dirt and grass into the air.  Flapping of canvas tents being unfolded, ropes being pulled tight, bags being unpacked and finally, the crash of firewood being dumped to the hard rocky ground was more noise than he could tolerate.  
    “By the Abyss…”  Braxon breathed harshly under his breath as his pleasant thoughts changed to images of a camp being set up by armored filthy men that reeked of blood and sweat
    “My league…How often should the guard be changed to meet thy lord’s requirements?”  The medium sized man dressed in studded leather armor asked as he stepped up to the resting place of Braxon.
    “Daemar - I don‘t really care how you handle your dilemmas.”  Braxon snapped slightly showing his irritation.  He turned his gaze to look up at his captain for any other disturbing questions.  “Are my quarters ready yet?”  He then asked, in a tired and careless voice.  
    “Of course sir.  I had men assigned to that immediately as soon as it was decided that we rest for the night.”  Daemar answered, quickly.
    “Excellent, now do you have any further inabilities that require disturbing me or do you think you can manage things as your title suggestsss?”  Braxon grumbled.
    “No sir!”  The knight replied, and then swallowed his anger that boiled suddenly and then turned to take his leave.  He interrupted three knights working on a makeshift hitching post. “You three.” He said.  The men turned their attention immediately to their captain.
    “Yes Sirrr” They each replied.
    “I want the three of you to bring in some fresh meat.  I saw some score of rabbit up here, t’wood make a fine skew over the fire.  Don’t you think?”  He said, giving them a kind smile.  The men looked at each other and grinned from ear to ear.  
    “Yesss Sir” they answered with a salute, then turned to fetch their bows.  The three of them were in a sprint, weaving in and out of the hustle and bustle.  Daemar watched them approvingly as his spirits lifted with their enthusiasm.
    Down by the stream the tickling sounds of the water spilling over the smooth rocks filled the air.  The icy cold water raced and splashed white as it searched for a quick way down the mountain.  Several knights kneeled down and slurped at the invigorating liquid as the horses drank.
    One of the men sighed in relief as his never-ending thirst was finally quenched.  “Ya know there’s talk that a Platinum knight fights aginst us.”  He blurted out in a husky voice.  He looked over at his companions searching their features for a clue to there thoughts.
    “I heard that as well.  Some are saying they seen him kill Artemun.  They say he fell before he even had a chance to move.”  A large barrel chest man with a thick red beard said as he patted cool water on the face of a horse.  He raised his eyebrows high on his forehead and paused in thought.  “Knight of Habbuku or not?  Killing our previous captain with that kind of ease says a lot.”  He then returned to the task of cooling off the horse.
    Another of the men pouring water over a horse chuckled at the talk.  “All the knights of Habbuku fell during the Great Catalyst.”  He then said, shaking his head at the absurd idea.
    The man who spoke first glared up at him, “You don’t know that fer sure, what do any of us know fer sure.”  His tone was sharp from the indirect insult.  The burly red-bearded man just shook his head uninterested in arguing.
    A man kneeling beside him that had remained quiet up until now spoke his mind.  “Legend tells of their fate, and no one has seen or heard of any of the Platinum knights since.”  He met his friend’s eyes with a pleading light in his own.
    The young clean-shaven knight shot to his feet.  Foolish feelings stirred in his gut struggling with his reason.  He looked to each of them and seen only humor and pity starring back at him.  “The demon fell to this man.  Both, from what I have heard.  He stormed the tower defeating all the guards.  Some of our own men turned traitor and joined him at the mere sight of him.”  He argued his evidence as his breathing became rapid.  He strengthened his glare with inner will.  “What pray tell kind of man is capable if not a Knight of Habbuku?”
    “He makes his point well.”  The man who claimed to of heard the rumors said in support. He gave his young friend a look to ease up and relax.  “What man indeed has not only the ability to prevail over such tasks, but the courage?” He added rhetorically.
    The temperament of the others became serious.  His words stirred possibilities in their thoughts.  “What’s going on here?” Daemar inquired as he picked his way carefully through the rock littered ground.
    The men looked to each other for support and in that look, it was decided their talk would not be mentioned.  “Just taking care of the horses captain.”  The barrel chest knight answered.
    Daemar stepped before them, laid a hand on the flank of a horse, and began to pet it with long firm strokes. “The stream looks tempt’n.”  He said in an attempt to break their silence.  The knights held their tongues and gave him only the satisfaction they agreed by nodding their heads.  “Are there any fish in it?”  He asked with a smile on his face as he looked to each of them for a response.
    “Unfortunately the fish I seen were far too small to bother with.”  The man who provoked the youngster said.  
    Daemar sensed something was amiss, but was sure it was of no consequence.  So he pursed his lips together and as he turned to walk away, he replied.  “Very well then, finish up here then do as you will.”  Then he carefully selected his footing in the loose rock as he continued to make his routine check to insure his orders were being carried out.
    “Captain Daemar…”  The young man called after him.  Daemar stopped and turned.  “Sir…If we should find some fish, would you like some caught?”
    His captain gave him a smile.  “That would be nice, should you find some fish.”  He replied, and then continued on his way.  The men gave him hearty smiles as he walked among them, a sure sign that they were glad for the chance to rest.
      Night fell rapidly on the secluded glen that was scattered with small trees and thin patches of soft grass.  The fire roared brightly, sending cinders dancing wildly in the cool breathless air.  Wood cracked and pebbles popped, sparks flew as the immense heat of the licking flames forced surrender.  Smoke carried with it nestled softly in its shapeless bosom the charring scent of meat and potatoes as it swept across the campgrounds.  The breeze brought with it the inviting robust aroma of rich-black coffee. Shadows shifted and swayed from the orange and yellow light as men gathered around the fire to tell tales and eat. The knights were at ease as the promise of peace and rest drifted unto them from the secluded glen.
    Hidden in the dark, a guard leaned against a large Walnut tree resting as he tore a piece of crispy rabbit meat, with his teeth, from the skew he held tightly in his hand.  Subtle sounds of laughter from the camp found way through the darkness to his ears as he stared hard at the distant fire.  Suddenly, the snap of a twig caught his attention.  He stopped chewing the savory food in his muscled jaw so he could listen more intensely.  His eyes darted from shadow, to bush, to boulder as he searched for what caused the sound.
    The darkness was silent.  The guard rested his grip on the pommel of his sword still resting in its sheath at his side.  Feeling secure, he glanced down at the meat in his hand, “Must a been your little brother.” he chuckled to himself.
    Suddenly and swiftly from the very air its’ self, a ghoulish hand of decaying flesh and bone covered in tattered leather slapped across his mouth.  The strong ghastly hand began to illuminate in a strange soft green hue as the fingers clutched tightly at the surprised man’s face.  With immense strength it jerked him back against the tree he rested on, as the guards head bounced of the thick hard wood, his eyes closed to an unconscious darkness of his own.
    Across the same campgrounds at that very moment, another guard was pacing as he bit deep into a crisp, juicy-red apple.  Unexpectedly a large, strong and ghoulish hand burning with a soft green fire came from behind him and crushed the apple into his mouth.  The guard struggled to free his hand with his other as the apple pushed farther into the opening of his maw.  His eyes screamed out in shear terror and agony as his voice was muffled, swallowed by the pitch of black that surrounded him.
 As if all at once, all around the camp, the other three guards fell to the spectral warriors, flaming green and rotting beneath their armor as they seemed to materialize from the darkness. Not a sound was made, not one of the guards was even able to pull a sword and try to defend them selves.  The specters attacked quick and killed even quicker.  No one in the camp suspected their companions had fallen, the guards had fallen, and they were being surrounded.
    Braxon Reinhold sat among his men feasting around the fire.  They all carried on with their stories as some filled their bellies with food and dwarven ale, and others poked at the fire with long sticks stirring the coals.  Braxon’s mood was lighter than usual now, as he chuckled with a smile every now and again.  He was grateful his men had found some heart that had been stolen by earlier battles and hardships.  
    “We shall all of us rest well this night!” He exclaimed, pleasantly, and then drew forth a mighty swallow of dark ale.  He wiped the froth from his lips with the back of his hand.  “By night fall tomorrow, we shall be in the safety of Demoria.”  He added, lifting his mug high into the air suggesting a toast.  The men cheered out in a thunderous roar of joy and laughter as they returned the gesture, sloshing ale from their wooden mugs then tilting them to their eager lips.
    Suddenly, Braxon’s eyes widened and his movements froze.  From behind him, out of the darkness, a thin narrow blade of blackened steel pressed against his throat.  Some of the knights nearest to where he sat fell witness to the deadly action.  They in turn, stun by the large shadowy figure behind him, fell silent and unmoving as well so as not to provoke the wielder of the blade.  Many others were still oblivious to the new and sudden threat but as the fire suddenly flared fiercely, fueled by angry magic, the raging orange glow gleamed of the cold steel at their lord’s neck.
    Silence washed over the camp like a violent storm.  Several men rose to their feet and reached for their own blades, but as the blade pressed a little harder, he held his hand out to stay his men.  The fire died back down to normal and the dark filled with an eerie green glow.  Fear breathed its icy breath throughout the camp and the knights felt it clutch at their throats as the spectral warriors came between them and the dark of the mountainous terrain.  
    “Wraiths…”  One of the men whispered beneath his breath as he gawked at the huge number of ghoulish warriors that surrounded them.
    “Why are you here in my mountains?”  The figure behind Braxon demanded, in a chilling, woman’s voice.    
    Braxon swallowed his fear against the bite of steal at his throat as he struggled to answer.  “We make way to Mt. Demoria.”
    “Why…Are…Yooou here?”  She hissed.  Anger threatened in her tone.
    Braxon closed his eyes and fought the chills that crept over his body like tiny spiders, and then opened them as he tried again to speak with fear tearing at his voice.  “We were pursued by our enemy after a defeating battle…We fled into the mountains knowing they would not follow.  We are on our way-”
    “Were yooou followed?”  The figure interrupted him.
    “No!”  He responded quickly.
    The warriors closed ranks and stepped in closer.  They could clearly be seen now by the knights who grew uneasy at the sight of their corpse like appearance beneath the green glow.  “Faerie Fire.”  One of the knights said to his shaken friend beside him as he stared at the burning warrior.  “It does not grow hot, nor will it burn.”  He added, furthering his attempt to ease his friend.
    The man breathed in deeply and turned his gaze form the horrid warriors to his companion.  He fought hard to fight the frantic urge to run.  Doom filled his eyes as he stared at the brave man who tried to ease him.  “They are ghouls.  Dead warriors damned to walk the earth.”  His eyes dropped to the sheathed blade on his friend’s hip.  “Mere weapons will not harm them, only enchanted or blessed steel will sting their rotting flesh.  Weapons few of us here posses.”
    The dark figure moved around Braxon slowly to stand before him, turning the blade as she did so as the point was upon his throat.  She then lowered it to his chest, dragging the point on his brown wool shirt.  “This was not the plan…You are not suppose to be here-Brrraxon!  What happened?”  She commanded coldly.
    Her flesh was the color of ash, her lips were absent of the luscious rose- pink that would have made them full and tempting.  Her thick dusty, red curls toppled passed her shoulders tangled and uncombed.  Her eyes were cat like in shape, daring, intriguing yet full of danger.  Darkness loomed in depths of their acorn color.  Her armor, once bright and shiny, now was covered in soot and dried blood.  Even the air around her was dark, filled with the essence of death and decay.  Fear poured from her like blood, staining all who it touched, leaving a bitter taste in their mouths like a kiss that promised death.
    Several of the knights’ eyes glanced up at the figure upon hearing her words then darted over to Braxon who sat, still unnerved.  Hushed voices stirred among the men as questions arose to the woman’s knowledge of their lord’s name, and her claim of a pre-existing plan.  Braxon relaxed just a little.  He averted his eyes from her piercing dark orbs as he contemplated his answer carefully.
    “Dra'nel…”  He said finally, addressing her by her name.  “King Brightblade-um, the demon, failed us.  Narsh-Turath was unexpectedly attacked.  Elves came to aide Hauken Moonspur and his men, as did dragons.  The demon underestimated our enemy…The tower is lost.”  He said in a bold tone, making sure no blame fell to him.  “I regrouped my men and came to warn you of the news and join forces as I though would be your wishes.”  He added, insuring his loyalties to her.
    Dra'nel lowered her sword and flicked her gaze from him.  With a nod of her head, the ghostly warriors sheathed their cruel weapons and lowered spear tips to the ground.  “Have your men break camp.  You will follow us back to Demoria; it is but a few hours from here.”  She ordered, her voice calm now.
    Braxon breathed out a sigh of relief then jumped to his feet to give the orders.  Dra'nel turned to her army.  “These men are to follow us and will not be harmed by my orders.”  Then before Braxon could speak, she snapped her neck around and scorned him with her dark gaze.  “I expect details of thesss- unfortunate twist of eventsssa as soon as we arrive at Demoria.”  Her tone insinuating he was not off the hook yet.
    Braxon held her gaze and gave her a respectful bow of his head.  The woman in her blackened armor spun on her heels and stride off into the darkness from where she had come.  Braxon looked at his men as both relief and disbelief washed over their features.  “Break camp!”  He shouted the order.  “We finish our travels tonight” He said, displeased.  
    The men looked at him in question, longing for some sort of answer to what had just transpired.  His eyes darted around at them, as they remained unmoving.   Braxon threw his mug to the ground and yelled at his captain, now angered by their insubordinate actions.  “Captain, get them moving…Now!”  He then stomped off to his tent and jerked the flap closed behind him.
    Daemar watched him for a moment then turned his attention to the shadows where the female intruder had gone.  His eyes squinted as he scanned the darkness searching for the distinct shape of human like figures.  It was not long before he spotted the shifting shadows.  
    Dra'nel stood, concealed by the darkness, her arms folded across her dark armor as her eyes blazed while she watched the man Braxon called captain.  Daemar could feel the weight of her stare upon him but his eyes could not see her.  Not wishing to give cause for the warriors to re-enter camp, he turned to the men.  
    Some of them were mindlessly at work, collecting miscellaneous items feebly.  Others had begun the painstakingly dreaded task of dismantling, folding and packing the tents.  A few men stood staring at him as they waited for an explanation.  “Get to work…”  Daemar said half-heartedly.  
    His eyes told them he was just as much in the dark as they and he knew not what to expect.  Solemnly they turned to join their fellow knights as they prepared for departure.  Feeling anger churn inside him for letting them down he called out behind them, “Make haste, we leave out in an hour.”
    Braxon pillaged through his belongings violently as his temper surged out of control.  “B***h” He swore under his breath as he tossed some papers aside.  His hand then fell upon a slender, cold golden handle.  His fingers wrapped around it tightly as he snatched it from beneath the litter on his desk.  He held the mirror up before him and gazed at his reflection as he pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck.
    A tiny thin red line was visible from were Dra'nel’s blade barely cut his flesh.  He then noticed a black thread unraveled in his fine silk shirt.  He started to tug at it when he saw the broken weave running down to his chest.  “That b***h” he growled through clenched teeth.  He then flung the mirror back onto the shoddy wooden desk scattering the contents to the floor.  
    He leaned down, picked a map up from the floor, and spread it open atop the desk.  Astute red lines were drawn over the originals showing lands that would be conquered.  In addition, in blue ink were markings showing positioning of troops and from where they would march.  He drew in a deep controlled breath filling his lungs then let it out slow as he composed himself.  
    Braxon studied the map hard as he slowed his breathing, shedding the stress from his body like tattered clothing.  Four points of attack were clearly marked.  He traced his finger along Dragons Gorge, then down to the coastline of the Anamur Sea.  From there his finger slid over eastwardly to the valley of despair and taped the spot hard.  “It will not come soon enough for this all to be over with.  I will be king and rule over all and you Dra'nel, will return to your dark lair where I’ll finally be rid of you.”  He said with his voice calm and his tone convinced.
 Far across the vile Black mountains, to the Northwest, below the heavy-protective cover of the ancient trees of Edgewood,   The silver face of the moon stared up from the blackened surface of water mirrored with the night’s velvet blanket of stars.  Suddenly a tiny ripple silently disturbed the heavenly image causing it to bend and shift as it swam across the small quiet brook.  The ripple spread out as it sliced beneath the starry surface until finally, it found the grassy bank sprawled beneath a pair of heavy leather boots.
    The boots were empty however, slumped ever so slightly away from each other. One of which was nearly ready to fall over if it had not been for the leg it rested against.  Tyrell sat in deep thought staring hard against the shinning brook.  The plush grass comforted his bare feet as he worked his toes against the tiny green blades.  So deep in thought, he was that the ripple in the water came unnoticed.
    Once again, movement, ever so gentle, disturbed the water. The movement made no sound; only a tiny ripple sailed out across the brook rolling the image of the night sky beneath it as it made way to the grassy shore on the other side where Tyrell sat quietly, oblivious to his surroundings.  In that moment, Tyrell stirred from his trance seeing the image of the bright full moon shift with the waters movement.  
    Slowly without moving his head, his eyes traced the invisible path of the ripple in the direction from where it came.  His senses were alert now, yet he felt no danger or threat so he did not reach for his sword.  His eyes continued to search the waters surface until the embankment on the other side came into sight.  There, his search stopped at the sight of a figure crouching at the waters edge.
    “Is there room for one more set of eyes here to gaze upon heavens window?” came the sweet soft sound of a voice, a woman’s voice, familiar and soothing.  His eyes flowed up her slim body to meet her loving gaze.  The green of her eyes sparkled wildly in the light of the moon but he could see concealed within them her ache for his troubles.  
    He smiled up at her, a half smile, and patted the ground next to where he sat.  “Of course, there is always room for more beauty among the stars on such a night.”  He said, invitingly.  
    Galedian rose to her feet and made her way around the brook staying next to the waters edge.  Tyrell let his gaze remain on her as he watched her graceful stroll.  Her beauty was so radiant, he thought, that it should be scattered across the nightly heavens so all who gazed up at the stars, could see her.  He could not help but wonder how she had grown since he had first met her.  Disguised as a young wealthy page she courageously defended her fallen friend though fear griped her heart in its vile clutch.  His smile broadened as she neared him.
    He held his large, strong hand up to her.  She took it firmly in her own, her long slender fingers curling around his as she sat next to him.  He then tossed a small pebble in the cool inviting water.  The ripples sang outward from the plop mimicking his thoughts as he searched for the words her ears longed to hear to sooth her worried heart.
    Several moments passed in silence as she waited patiently for him to find his way.  Galedian laid her delicate hand upon his tight muscled thigh reassuringly then leaned her head upon his thick shoulder and pressed her cheek against him.  “It is so lovely here, I can see why this is your favorite place.”  She whispered under her breath.
    He placed his strong hand over hers, curling his thick finger between hers and pressing them gently into the palm of her hand in a silent reply.  She could feel the heavy thud of his solemn heart as it ached from some torment unknown to her.  She could wait no more; his suffering was breaking her heart beyond what she could bare.  Her trembling voice broke the silence.  
    “Tyrell,” she said.  “Tell me what it is that tears at you so.”  She lifted her head to look at his sun-baked face.  In the time that she had known this bold-courage born man, she had never witnessed him let so many emotions paint his features.  Galedian’s insides quaked in an unfamiliar stir of helplessness causing mild stabbing pains all over her chest.  She turned her gaze from him and stared at the Moon above, silver and full, in a blanket of tiny holes.
    His words finally found his voice, deep as usual, but with a hint of sadness.  “For over three hundred years I have tried to find a way to make things right…to restore the balance of magic and the doorway to the realm of Gods.”  He turned his gaze upward to stare deep into the glistening heavens.  “Now, I have the pieces of the shard that I shattered so long ago, and I have yet to find a way to put them together.”  He let out a long sigh and let his shoulders slump forward.  “It is a long time to disappoint others.”
    “I know it has been said before, but hear it from me…The book of Aleron is riddled with uncertain babble of prophecy.  I don’t think it can be taken for literal sense.”  She let her gaze fall back to him and almost instantly, he met her eyes with his deep blue stare of endless oceans of wonder.  “I know this my dear, you will save us all.  You will restore what has been lost. I feel it in my heart, thus, I know it to be true.”
    “Galedian, it’s just- It’s right here in my grasp and I can’t do anything with it. It has become frustrating and depressive.  I just don’t know.  I don’t have any answers, I feel the hopeful eyes and triumphant hearts of those who believe in the last legend and yet…I also see the many who don’t…I am- Lost.”  He said, snatching a stone from the ground then tossing it into the brook.  
    Once more, there was a plop and the water recoiled at the intruder.  Galedian watched the ripples and his blank expression.  It was as though with each tiny wave his thoughts were wiped clean and replaced with a new one.  “So many words have been said over the years.  So many memories of sadness and despair…It seems…”
    With cat like agility, Galedian spun herself around and straddled his lap.  Her hands clasped the back of his neck as she leaned back looking him in the eye.  “You are Tieyarkiel…The greatest and last of the knights of Habbuku.  Yes, many look to you for salvation in these dark times.  Even myself, but I love you. And no matter what the outcome, my heart will not change…Neither will their hearts.”  
    She leaned in close to him, so close her nose nearly touched his.  He could feel her hot breath, smell her sweetness, and see the truth of her words in her eyes.  He felt a faceless voice stir within his soul and rebuke his torment.  “I will stand with you, not behind, but with.  I will always love you.”  Her voice was soft with undying promise.  She then kissed him on the brow with gentle reassurance.
    Tyrell gave her a wide smile.  He knew she held hope as much as he did for humanity, and her words were comforting.  “I know you do.  Neither this have I ever questioned nor my love for you.”  His voice had lost the sullen echo it carried earlier.  “Here, I want to show you something.”  He reached into his pocket and held up between them in his open hand two parts of the crystal.  She looked at them with some interest, but was confused.
     “Take them, one in each hand”.  He said with excitement.  She did as he asked slightly puzzled though were her thoughts.  She rolled them between her fingers turning them in her hands as she examined them.  Tyrell searched the ground to his right for the pommel of his sword.  His fingers grazed the cold stone in the mouth of the dragon hilt.  He clasped his fist around it and lifted it form the grass.
    “Watch this…” He said, his eyes daring her to not believe what he was about to show her.  He slowly moved the hilt of his sword towards the two shards she held between them.  Galedian looked from her hands to Tyrell then to his sword, her breath hung on her delicate full lips.  As his sword neared the two she held, they began to illuminate.  Soft and dim the silver-blue glow was, but as the crystals came closer together the light grew brighter.
    “What does-” Galedian started to question, but Tyrell cut her off quick.
    “Shhhhs…Listen,” He ordered softly.
    “Listen for what?”  She asked, confused.  Her heart raced wild with anticipation and curiosity.  He did not answer her though; he simply gave her a look to be patient and quiet.  A smile began to show in his eyes as the corners of his mouth stretched ever so slightly.  Her eyes blinked in disbelief and she was compelled to tilt her head just a little as she listened more intensely.
    Her eyes lit with amazement, the sound was clear to her now.  A voice, a faint hum without words, a sound of song hardly a whisper floated in the air filled with both joy and sadness at once.
    “What is it?  It’s like, like I…”  She began to ask, but could not began to describe what exactly it was she was hearing.
    “I know.  This is why I know there must be a way.”  Tyrell replied.  “I am not sure myself if it is talking, singing, music…I don’t know, but, but it is-” His voice trailed off as his eyes roamed the darkness around them.  Curious, Galedian turned around to see what he was looking at.
    “Sweet Habbuku!”  She exclaimed.  From the other side of the brook and all around, tiny fireflies filled the night with their soft yellow glows.  There were thousands of them flying, completely encircling them now.  Galedian looked on in wonder and joy as her heart felt a sense of great and rare magic.
    “I’ve not seen fireflies in a hundred years.”  Tyrell proclaimed in complete astonishment.  He too felt his heart flood with a sense of renowned joy and a magic he would never forget.
    Galedian let out a soft laughter, as she was overwhelmed with glee.  “What- you didn’t know this would happen?”  She asked shocked, thinking this was part of what he wanted to show her.
    “No.  The fireflies never came before.”  He replied.  Laughter escaped his manly chest as he stared on at the spectacle.  “It is absolutely beautiful Galedian.”  His eyes met hers and his heart warmed.  He could feel her fall into him and tug at his heart.  His body tingled all over with life making him aware of every part of himself.
    Galedian’s breath slowed and her heart fluttered as it did so often when she fell into the mesmerizing blue swirls of his eyes.  This time was different somehow; different in a way that she felt is if the wings of angels were carrying her.  Her body quivered as she felt his very soul touch hers.  All at once, she leaned in and kissed him softly with all the passion that filled her.
    His lips were warm and inviting, His breath sweet and enticing.  Together they flowed into one another as a gentle stream into a river.  As their love, their passion flowed through them the light enveloped them and became so intense that it swallowed them both.  At the same instant, they pulled away from each other in alarm, and Tyrell jerked his sword away.  The light faded.
    “What happened?” Galedian asked catching her breath.
    “I’m not sure.”  He reached up, took the crystals from her hands, and placed them back in his pocket.  “But I don’t think it was anything bad.  It just caught me off guard.”  He added, still amazed.
    “Me too, I could see the light through my eyelids it was so bright.”  Galedian stated as she rubbed her eyes.
    Tyrell chuckled, then just as swiftly he was serious.  “I would have you kiss me like that more often.”  He said under his breath as he tried to save the moment.  The fireflies still blinked on and off all around them.  Galedian understood and she wanted to keep the moment alive as well.  She pressed her palm against his jaw.  Her eyes spoke her love for him as his did for her, they did not have to put into words to quench the thirst of ears that which their hearts knew and felt.
    He leaned toward her and she met him half way.  Their lips touched in a momentary promise that would last until the ends of time.  Galedian then spun in his lap and pressed her back into his broad, thick chest.  His long, well muscled arms wrapped around her lovingly in a blanket of comfort and safety.  Together they sat in silence absorbing their moment together among the stars, the moon and all the magical fireflies.
    Zimnefin light foot raced across the veranda to where Eldamire stood in thoughtful prayer near an ancient stature of Andron, Elven king long since passed.  “My king, might you know the wher’bouts of Tyrell?”  He inquired of his lord politely.  His breathing was controlled, but the tone of his voice was concerned.  “I fear Tyrell will sneak away in the night to pursue the mission alone, Eldamire, my king?”  Unaware of his rude interruption of the king’s prayer, he asked his again.
 Eldamire opened his eyes and turned to look at the young elf, He seemed to be unbothered by his intrusion.  “Zimn”, he said in a subtle voice.  He stepped sideways.  “Do you know that this statue was made in the likeness of Andron, king of kings, wisest of all, my father?”
    “Yes, but-” Zimn answered.
    “But, you have disturbed my prayers, so you shall hear me out.”  Eldamire cut the young elf’s words short.  Zimn opened his mouth to protest, but Eldamire’s expression prevented the troubled elf’s tongue from working as he thought otherwise.  Therefore, Zimnefin closed his mouth and politely stood to attention, then apologized accordingly.
    “Forgive me.  I know this place is sacred and that you pray here often my king.  I would not-” Zimn stopped himself this time knowing he would only succeed in insulting his king again.  Eldamire only raised a single brow in question to whether or not he was done rambling.
    “Yes this place is sacred, but do you know why young Zimnefin?”  Eldamire eyed him curiously.  Zimn did not answer his king, he knew the question was rhetorical and that he was about to have the answer revealed to him.  His patience trembled, though they were far from running out.  He could oblige his king’s delay of answering his question.
    “I was a youth, not quite the age you are now.  In fact I had just celebrated my five hundred and sixth birthday.”  Eldamire’s gaze drifted with his memory for a moment before he turned to look upon the statue.  “There were too many differences and beliefs among our cousins.  Ultimately, the others left the Elven family split into many pieces.  My Father had grown weary from his life long efforts to maintain peace among the Elven nations.”  Eldamire pursed his lips together, his shoulders rose with his deep breath as he paused before continuing his tale.
 Zimnefin became confused, he has not heard this tale before and was not sure of its relevance, and his intrigue grew as well as his intent to listening.  He stood silent, waiting for Eldamire to continue.
    “So he sought out Saraphine, goddess of truth and knowledge.  His search took him far from Crystndale.  No one knew where for sure.  Nevertheless, he found her.  With his plea for the wisdom to unite the Elven nations, she made him an offer.”  Eldamire strolled around the statue admiring the uncanny detail until he found himself facing Zimn.  “From the stone, she produced a goblet like none he had ever seen.  Upon offering it to him, she told him this. ‘Drink and you shall become like the goblet filled with wisdom, or in your wisdom now, refuse my offer and never return.’  He took from her to the cup and stared at the golden elixir within it.”
    Zimnefin turned his gaze from Eldamire to the statue of Andron.  “He drank from the goblet…and became stone as it was, filled with knowledge.”  He exclaimed with disbelief.
    “No.  He refused the offer.  He understood in his wisdom what he must do.  He must be a king of kings and listen, for the true paths are revealed with time.  He had the statue made so all the kings would remember this wisdom.”  Eldamire finished his tale and as he did, he pulled away the growth from the base of the figure with his hand.  There at his feet was an empty goblet like none Zimnefin had ever seen and written in Elven script were the words, “True wisdom is not found in a cup or any one being, but in the many and all their differences.”
    Zimnefin read the words aloud.  He understood now that not only did Eldamire answer his question, but enlightened him as well with the tale.  “Tyrell would not stoop to sneaking away.  In my fears, I overreacted and did not think clearly.  I know where to find him.”  He smiled his thanks to Eldamire and turned to leave.
    “Zimn,” Eldamire called to him.  The young ranger held his stride and glance back over his shoulder.  Eldamire returned his smile then said, “He is probably down by the brook if not elsewhere.”  Even though the king was aware Zimn knew this, he could not help but tell him anyway.  Zimnefin’s smile grew larger, and then he sprinted off.
    Stealthily he made his way down the wooded path with out sound and with such ease, that only an elf could.  Zimn slowed his pace at the sound of voices as he neared the brook.  He could clearly hear Tyrell and Galedian talking so he paused in the cover of the trees to make sure he did not intrude on their privacy.  His keen eyes could see them sitting on the ground near the waters edge admiring the diminishing flicker of scattered fireflies.  Feeling reassured that they were descent; he stepped away from his hiding not wishing to spy.  “I came to give support to my dear friend, but I see it is not necessary for the lady has beaten me here.”
    Tyrell and Galedian both turned to the new arrival.  “Nonsense, come join us Zimn, you are just as welcome.”  Tyrell insisted.
    “Of course.”  Galedian agreed.
    Zimnefin found his spot in the grass next to Tyrell and crossed his legs.  “Where is Odin?”  He asked.
    “He’s at home sleeping, said he needed plenty of rest before tomorrow comes.”  Tyrell answered casually.
    “Yea, we all should, but I think were feeling a little anxious to sleep.”  Galedian added.
    “Wow, I haven’t seen fire flies in a long time, what a sight.”  Zimn said finally realizing it.
    Tyrell and Galedian exchanged glances but said nothing, only smiled.  Together the three of them sat for a few hours sharing thoughts and exchanging stories.  Zimnefin could see a change in his long time friend.  A change for the better and he was thankful Galedian had come into his life.  In fact, he was quite thankful she had entered all of their lives.  Although she was his superior, she treated him first and foremost as a friend.  The fireflies faded in and out of the night as well as the laughter of the lighthearted spectators.







 

Reviews

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Gripping from the first word to the last !! I love that last sentence. Pammy