Fait Accompli
© by Kemander on February 24, 2015
Forebode
They huddled quietly around the fire, these five lads, fearless and well versed in the ways and waylays of the forest, each of them a fine ideal of bravery and valor in his own way, hardened in many battles and fit well for many more, garbed now as befitted simple forest wardens, but for long dirks at the belts, frogged leather baldrics over their wide shoulders to hold their long swords at their sides, while their quivers filled with grey goose fletched arrows and their bows were laid aside. They now sat on logs around the fire where a quarter of freshly slain stag venison slowly roasted, the nightfall having found them halfway along the way to do their Queen’s bidding, their present quest.
This quest was to collect the overdue tribute to their Ælfheim Queen from the dwarf, Dvalin, two days’ trek from the nearest border of her Ælfven Realm’s safe sanctuary to the surly dwarf’s cavernous forge at Bahnbůrkin Tor. The eldest amongst the men, and he with the longest ears, had on his shoulder what appeared to be, at first glance, an over-sized firefly, which upon closer observation turned out to be a small female with little opalescent wings, a Dísirin Faerie, called Liëstrifa, snuggled up to his neck to bask in his body heat as she listened to their low voiced discussion of what warmth of welcome they might expect to receive upon arrival at their destination; open hands, or open warfare.
As their voices rose above the level of murmurs, each man set upon a theory of his own, Liëstrifa finally fluttered her shimmering wings and flew from her perch to the fire, where she threw a handful of runes into the flames, singing:
“Helping-runes you must know,
If needs be ye’d desire console,
And see release’t thy unknown,
Ye seeks tidings bide and grow.
If thou may be cut from enjoins,
Your lives hacked of thou loins,
To learn, ask the Dísiri to show.”
With the last word of her spell she tossed the runes in the fire, and a cloud of smoke erupted.
Her damage irrevocably evoked with the incantation, Liëstrifa, quick of temper, short of patience, yet ever aware of dire danger, hurriedly flitted and skittered back to the shoulder of her large protector, hiding in his beard. “Damn it, Liësti, why do you always do things like this without ever warning me?” he grumbled to her softly.
“Shhh, my sweet,” she whispered in his ear, “you must listen now.”
The dense smoke took on an eerie shape, seeming to solidify as the four other men clasped at their bucklers to draw their swords. “Fools, you cannot slice life out of smoke.” a deeply booming voice proclaimed. “Listen well, nor to thy sorrow, or have strands o’ thy fates shriven from thee anon the morrow.”
“Anon the late morn, E’er reaching the pass o’ Dorn, Send thine best archers to the heights o’er borne, To feather the dwarf’s awaiting suborn, Or drink death for thy own foolish scorn. Heed well thou, Fae Queen’s vexing thorns.”
The smoke cleared as suddenly as it arose, leaving the five braw men staring at each other, wide eyed and dismayed for several seconds, as the spectre’s words sank deeply into their minds, their flesh yet goose-pimpled at what they’d just witnessed and heard. Yet with this worthy foreknowledge at their disposal, and knowing well the lay of the land yet to be traversed, they were soon excitedly discussing a well laid plan of battle for the morrow.
It seems Dvalin’s deceit and betrayal would cost him even more dearly than if he’d been less greedy and far more punctual in giving over his due of gold and silver jewelry commissioned of him, with the aethereal armors’ supernatural abilities of granting engirding magical sheathes of protection, plus swords, pikes, war axes and bows with other worldly powers of unleashing indominant destruction.
Late the following morning, a dozen of Dvalin’s best mercenaries lay dead on the rocky crags overlooking the pass, shafted in the most literal sense. By late afternoon the five men led a caravan of heavily laden pack animals provided by Dvalin, leathern sacks bulging and chests cross tied, with tightly bundled iron weapons wrapped in waxed gunny, goading the horses to be well on their way back to their Queen’s Ælfven Realm, proud of another undertaking in her service carried out, yet still wary against reprisal’s from the angry wrath of the short but powerful under mountain blacksmith, who yet owed more labor and goods he’d promised the great Queen on his last sojourn to her.
Feeling their odds of returning in good order with every further step taken, they soon felt sure they’d return to the haven of the Realm in victory, and with good tales for the bards to compose poems and sing of with their lutes, flutes, and harps at the great welcoming feast on the next morrow’s eve.
Duty Calls
Liësti, flying near her hero’s head, hissed, “Hark, my sweet.”
From behind him came a call, “Knelhamer, how much further? One of the mares is starting to favor a hoof.”
He halted the procession and dug in his pouch, withdrawing an empty leather sack. Stepping off the trail he searched around the bases of the giant trees, plucking up sphagnum moss and coltsfoot sprays and stuffing them into the sack before shifting his tunic and pissing into the bag. Stepping back to the trail, he came to where his sinewy rough companion stood with one of the horses.
“Which foot?” he asked, and bent to inspect the mare’s frog within the sole of her indicated hoof, picking out a tiny stone from it and tossing it off the trail before slipping the sack over the hoof and tightening it around her fetlock. “That’ll pad her step and start healing the bruise and any puncture. Let’s transfer most of her load and divide it evenly between the other horses so we can continue. We aren’t far from the border now and should be feasting at Sylfheim Hall before sundown.”
As he strode back to the head of his group of vigilant stalwarts calmly leading the pack animals once everything was divvied up and secured, he felt a light step on his shoulder and a kiss at his ear. He turned to his little sprite and said, “Liësti, I’d like for you to fly ahead and warn the border guard of our approach, telling them to be wary and on the lookout for any ambush we may yet run into, as if it should occur, their assistance could be very timely.”
“Then proceed on to Sylfheim Hall, my sweet, and tell the Queen of our progress. Since we’re this close I doubt Dvalin’s foolish enough to bring all of the Alfven Realm’s might down on him, as would so surely happen were he to attack us this close to home. Fly my imp.”
Liësti kissed his ear again and flew away, happy to carry the brilliant news of her rough charges’ heroism to her great Queen. Happy also to have the opportunity to boast amongst her sister Fae, knowing they’d delight in her joy and the success of her mission, and sighing at the hopeless depths of her love for her strong and brave Knelhamer, and in so, giving her warm hugs in romantic commiseration at her heart aches, knowing it could never be physically culminated without their dear Queen’s magical intercessions.
After updating the border guard captain on the perils of the quest and the possible consequences to be on the alert for, Liëstrifa flew on to cover the distance to Sylfheim Hall quite rapidly, eager to give glad tidings to her Royal Mistress. Upon her private audience with the Ælfheim Queen in her private chambers, detailing every event, action and word spoken, she hurried to her communal quarters she shared with all of her sylvan sisterhood. Once surrounded by her sweet company of Faerie femininity in their cloistered hollow enclosed behind shrouds of silk and gold spun webs of long, diaphanous, draping, hidden within their cloud-like veils with her dearest companions clustered around her, she told her story again to the amazed exclamations and sighs of wonderment or awe the large gaggle of frail-seeming female delights echoed back to her.
A few of her closest cortege timorously queried on more delicately intimate topics, and as she relayed the unrealized longings she felt, before long Faerie tears were being collected in soupçon amounts, adding up swiftly, for the later use of washing beams of starlight on moonless nights, to filter out their star dust, so as then to be dried out for all the little ladies’ personal collections of magic Faerie dust they relied on for so much. Of course, moonbeams held a far more sinister purpose, and thus must be kept separated.
Ere nightfall the pack train of promised goods came to the hall, with attendants quickly seeing to the animals and promised goods retrieved from Dvalin’s forge, relieving Knelhamer and his men of further worry, but with a summons for them all to come see the Queen as soon as they rested and refreshed themselves. Deeming it unwise to keep their Lady waiting, the five men quickly cleaned up well to don proper court attire, and then assembled together before the Queen’s chamber, entering when summoned as one unit.
Queen Dylvadrifa welcomed them warmly, complimenting them all for their bravery, acuity and cleverness, working together, as they did, to keep Dvalin unbalanced and thus forcing him to honor his word. To their pleasure, she interviewed each of them, listening intently to their perspectives and impressions on all that occurred, asking them pertinent questions and probing to see if they might have done things differently at any point along the way. The men all concurred there was nothing they felt wasn’t handled exactly as it should’ve been.
When they were dismissed, after being told she expected all of their company to dine at her table with her at the feast to be held in their honor in a short while, as the men were filing out, she said, “Please, Knelhamer, I’d like you to sit next to me at our supper. I have much to discuss with you this eventide, concerning a much larger venture I’d like you to handle for me. It may not turn out so nearly pleasantly, but I suspect you may be more than up to the task and will bring it to a far better conclusion than any of my other Captains. Meanwhile, think on which of our best men you might take on a mission likely to require a great deal of cunning and hard fighting. Your numbers shouldn’t need exceed more than twenty of Dain’s battle hardened Ælfen warriors.”
Knelhamer bowed, replying, “Yes, of course, M’Lady’s Highness.” his thoughts turning to his oldest uncle, the might of Ælfheim, Dain, and how it would be a pleasure to quaff mead with him as he listened to his yarns of war, laced with his wisdom’s advice once again, maybe even yet before the e’en’s gala festivities were over with. A warmth of belonging and feeling the welcome of his kind washed over his senses of duty as he exited the Queen’s chamber to catch up with his men.
To Quest
As the celebratory feast in Sylfheim Hall wore on into the night, Knelhamer, with a visibly glowing and bursting with pride Liëstrifa brightly sitting high upon his left shoulder, above his heart, listened closely as he bent heads with his Ælfheim Queen and her high legion commander. This great warrior was his wise uncle Dain, famous for valorous deeds and many victorious battles in his long years tenured of service in selfless gallantry, protecting the Ælfheim Realm, as a foot soldier at first, but rapidly working his way up through the ranks during the costly wars against evil Draugars. Those vile Undead of the Nether World, in the Sacral Upheavals, raised by dark rites from that icy world. Dain protecting the Realm, and indeed the entire carnal world of the blessedly unknowing humans, oblivious to their imminent peril, from the fœtid wickedness of their evil will, just a mere century prior. Earning his fame the hard way, just as, also unaided by special favors, Knelhamer was now doing, proving out his own worth as an Ælvan captain in her Majesty’s legions.
As the feast’s festivities carried on around them, lively songs of fine heroism being sung to the Ælfen instruments by the minstrel bards as onlookers sang along and drank mead, The Queen and her two most trusted men conversed, unheard by any others but the Queen’s closest confidant, tiny Liëstrifa, with the commotion going on around them.
The lovely and powerful Queen Dylvadrifa told them of greatly disturbing events she had become aware of, saying, “My heroes, for quite some time now, I have felt disturbances. At first only slight ripples against the protective veils around our Realm, but later deeper probes against it and vibrations of shifts in the time barriers of the outer world and even in the carnal world of the humans. The intensity and incidences have been increasing, causing me to send out secret querents to find out the source of these powers. All but one of my spies has failed to return, and her news is most distressing.”
“It seems there is a being, of human origin I’m quite positive, but he’s studied the Arcane Arts well and has gathered enough dark powers to become a considerable Sorcerer, dangerous, if as yet unsuccessful in his conjuring. He appears to be reciting the Sacral Rites once more. From whence he learned of them, I know not, but he must be stopped ere he raise up the Draugars in an Upheaval again, as it seems he is trying to do, whether knowing or not, the dire consequences of his actions.”
“My brave Knelhamer, I wish you to speak with my great Dain, and learn all you can from him of his knowledge and strategies against the Draugars and the evil powers they wielded against him. I dare not send Dain, as his prowess is greatly needed here to protect the Realm, so I want you to go in his stead. This Sorcerer must be stopped or all of creation be cast into eternal darkness, dooming all life and living, as we know it. If he can be eliminated by edge of blade, so be it. If not, you shall have powers invested in you to send him forever into the Nether World, imprisoned with the Draugar and at their mercy.”
“If you decide you are willing, when you are rested and prepared, and have selected and provisioned for your fellow champions to go with you, I shall give you an ancient torque, a relic of great salience and transcendence. With this mystical torque worn round your neck, when you speak the cantrip Liëstrifa will whisper in your ear in any time of need, exactly as you hear her pronounce the incantation, it will give you and your warriors invisibility and invincibility. It will also give you powers this sorcerous human worm can only dream of having, so you must use it with great care and wisdom. Know you this though, the less you use the powers of the torque, the less are your chances of this inhuman human warlock discovering you and your quest. What say you, my hero, will you accept your Queen’s quest?”
“Aye, Your Highness, that I will, and with pleasure to be so honored by your trust. I shall prove your trust worthy of me and do my best to eradicate this threat to all creation, failing only by my own death in it’s trying. For all else matters, it shall be a great opportunity to once more sit at my revered uncle’s knee, to take in his vast war knowledge again, much as I did in younger days as a wet eared lad when my Sire yet lived and uncle Dain visited for to partake of home cooked hot meals. Again, M’Lady Queen, you honor me greatly, so please accept my thanks and fervent fealty in return.”
Their important business agreed to, they moved on to more pleasant subjects, Dain and Knelhamer making arrangements to meet for more discussions on the morrow. Whilst, before long, the Queen excused herself from the festivities, bidding everyone to carry on, as she departed to her chambers with Liëstrifa in her tow, the both of them whispering excitedly to each other of matters only they could know, when one observing might have seen Liësti hug her Queen’s finger tightly whilst bouncing in joy, her translucent wings fluttering madly, and heard her squealing in high pitched glee over some delightful bit Dylvadrifa promised her, the both of them carrying on like two young girls as they left the din of the great Hall’s gala.
Knelhamer saw in true pleasure, wondering what feminine secrets the two shared, and chuckled with a rare smile as he watched the too cute antics of his diminutive sky eye and fetch, assigned to him by Queen Dylvadrifa, this pesky little sprite who so quickly seized the heart of his heart, before turning his attention back to his uncle and the festive proceedings when the two women disappeared from sight.
The next day found Knelhamer up before first light, soon joined by his lieutenant, the swarthy, sinewy and rough looking Jiorvar, (pronounced Yorvar), his right hand man and most trusted friend and companion. Over potent morning draughts of fiery hot ćimochian brew to rattle their brains awake, he filled Jiorvar in on what the Queen told him the prior night and asked him to casually and very cannily feel out some of the better fighters amongst the legion, as to how they may or may not be itching for action, and if they were, might they feel so eager were it likely to be a suicide mission outside in the carnal world of humans, where death could actually mean their real demise, were they so unlucky.
They discussed plans to man their venture further until it was time for Knelhamer to go closet himself under his uncle Dain’s tutelage, when he and Jiorvar stood, clasped and shook hands, then parted their own ways. Liësti lit on his shoulder as he walked out of the door of their barracks, kissing his ear and giggling delightedly. It was hard not to be in high spirits with her joyfulness, even with such serious affairs at hand.
Masques
In Dain’s quarters, seated at the table, with a mug of frǽlvian herbal tonic each, Dain was saying to him, “M’lad, the greatest danger from those Draugars, beyond their demonic ability to fight and the only means of killing them being by decapitation, because they’re too stupid to know when they’re dead, is that to look them in the eye is to have your mind frozen, mesmerized, and thus your body numbed and at their mercy. Yet, you can’t fight with your eyes closed and the eyes tell of your enemy’s next move every time. This is why we lost so many of our great warriors in the Sacral Upheaval. I’ve spent a vast deal of time thinking about this factor and trying to find a solution to this damned vex of a handicap and believe I may have hit upon it.”
With this, Dain rose and went to a large chest in the corner, opening it and removing a strange object. At a closer look when he returned to the table with it, it was obvious it was a half mask to cover one’s face and nose, with large, shiny glass-like egg shapes where the eye holes would normally be, the crystals of the oval eyes reflecting back what ever objects were before them, perfectly, like mirrors, even giving the viewer a heightened sense of the dimensional distances in their virtual reflections.
“Put it on, son, see what you think from looking out from behind it.”
Knelhamer slipped the mask over his face, settling it comfortably in place and tightened the laces holding it in position, shocked at how it formed to his features and at what he was seeing. “It’s strange. The eye panes look so very dark, as if turning day into night when I first held it over my face to put it on, but once all the external light was blocked off as it rested tightly in place, it’s as if I can see twice as well as normally, yet somewhat differently.”
“Yes,” Dain replied, “they magnify what you’re looking at slightly and seem to enhance the light passing through them, but somehow alter the light refracted through them. All the lenses are made of one quite large Nyćovian crystal, for which I traded a thief his life, a horse, and day’s ride head start before I set out after him to kill him. Of course, I never bothered setting out after him, but he didn’t know I had no intention not to, and felt he got off with a great boon at a chance to save his life for a mere bauble. That being all he thought of it as, too ignorant to know what a valuable treasure he had. So, I had our best Ælvan gemsmiths cut the crystal in slices and polish them to a mirror shine, then had our craftsmen make a few †sceafas of these masks and set the mirrored crystal slices into them. But they’re untested and may not work on the Draugar, no one being willing to invoke one of them to find out if causing him to stare back into his own eyes will paralyze him.”
Liëstrifa now spoke for the first time since entering Dain’s quarters, startling both men, who at her silent observance had forgotten she sat perched on Knelhamer’s shoulder. She asked, “But Commander Dain, would it be possible to test it’s effectiveness on one of the fae forest’s serpents who hypnotize their prey? If they were to put them self into a trance, it seems very likely a mindless brute like a Draugar would do the same thing also, doesn’t it?”
“Brilliant! Liësti, you’re brilliant. No wonder Knelhamer and our fae Ælfan Queen both think so highly of you. Yes, you’re quite likely very right. We need to try an experiment, it seems. Shall we go find us a serpent’s nest, Knelhamer, my lad?”
“Certainly. I’m too intrigued by the potential advantages of being able to use your idea here to win some revenge in honor of our valorous fallen heroes to put off finding out if these masks will work. Liësti, it was your idea to try it on serpents, would you care to lead on?”
Liësti was beaming and glowing at the praise and honor given to her by the two noble heroes, and replied, “Yes, Captain. I know where I saw a serpent a week ago while gathering flowers, wrapped around some poor little furry he was swallowing, mayhap either a mole or a mouse. Be he as most of the scaled ones are, he’s probably near the same place and sleeping his meal off, or just waking up and hungry again. Let’s go see if we can find him again.”
Within no lengthy period of time the three companions were laughing uproariously as they returned to the safer environs of Sylfheim Hall, having to hold their tummies as they laughed so hard. At the hall the three split up, Dain to prepare to dine with the Queen, Knelhamer off to confer with Jiorvar further and to learn what his nosing about revealed, and Liëstrifa flitting away to fill her sisterhood in on the day’s hilarious adventures.
Dain was anxious to tell his Queen the good news, confident now to show the masks to her as a potential potent defense against the oft’ dreaded Draugar, knowing as their experiment proved that wearing the mask and staring into the hypnotic eyes of a hungry viper had no effect on the wearer of the mask, but put the viper into his own trance, until he fell limply to the ground in the most unsophisticated manner, and slept.
Knelhamer told Jiorvar what he learned about the Draugars’ eyes and the mesmerizing paralysis staring into them caused, making warriors against them in battle far too easy prey, and about the masks with the reflecting eyes a wearer could see through which Dain had made, and which they tested out on a snake during his morning absence. Soon the two friends were writing down names and listing the traits of all their preferences for potential hearty stalwarts to attend them on such a highly dangerous mission to be undertaken, against a mortal human warlock of unknown magic capabilities, and out into the world of the humans, where their lives could be put in jeopardy by the least slip of awareness or attention to details. The total reliability of the alertness, manner and temper of each comrade in arms on this quest was every bit as important as his skill in battle. Each must be steadfast.
For her part, Liësti was still holding her tummy and laughing while relating her morning activities with the snake her sister Faeries were so frightened by when they saw it as they were out in the deep forest collecting flowers, herbs and berries the day before she left out with Knelhamer. They were soon all laughing loudly, which gathered an even larger audience, as she was mimicking how the huge serpent rose and began it’s entrancing swaying until it began staring into it’s very own features in the reflective eyes of the mask. She showed her gathered friends how it wavered, drooped and tried to snap its sagging head upward again as it’s slithering tongue stopped it’s rapid flicking in and out, but just hung from it’s mouth. Then how it’s jaws relaxed and it’s mouth slacked open, just before the snake collapsed in a nearly liquid looking heap as it’s eyes closed and it fell asleep. Their boisterous glee even drew the Queen from her chamber to laugh as well at Liësti’s impressions before they all scattered to get ready for their mid-day meal.
As she retired back to her chamber to prepare her attire to dine with Commander Dain, Queen Dylvadrifa mused she was more than just a little impressed with the details she just learned about her warrior commander and his perceptively examining mind and abilities. She suspected his nephew was much the same cut of cloth as his uncle. Suddenly she was very glad of her promise to Liëstrifa. It bode well for the future, should the nephew live through this quest.
†sceafas: Akin to sheaf, a word used in Middle English for two dozen arrows, or a quantity of two dozen items.
A Spat
Knelhamer and Jiorvar soon had the three other close comrades from their quest to the surly dwarf Dvalin’s dark forge at Bahnburkin Tor in on their planning and strategizing. Strafion, Djeleg (think: Dyalag) and Gjior (G as in gore, but said as gyore), had all been through much with Knelhamer and Jiorvar. They all found brethrenhood with mutual fae attitudes, manners and calm self possession to be present in each of them, having each others’ backs in any time of need with skill in arms yet to be equaled by any they’d been up against. Even their thoughts and actions being so in common with each other as to seem as if they were generated by a mutual mind they all shared. They formed an excellent, companionable and formidable team.
Strafion, always pondering and thinking ahead, asked Knelhamer, “Knels, what of our weaponry? What can we expect to come up against in the Mortal Realm, and will our weapons be fit for our needs?”
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“Mortals bleed and die more easily than do we, so our weapons are suited for what we must ultimately accomplish, and we’ll go on our quest with all of our personal preferences of what we’d normally take into battle with us. But, they may put us at a disadvantage, since, if needed, the wounds caused may draw unwanted attention to our being alien to their world. We may have to go about appropriating suitable human weaponry upon arrival in their Realm. A very good question, my brother. How about if you go pick the brain of the Queen’s returned spy and see what all you can learn about the strange customs of the humans, any knowledge which might help our quest, their weapons and any dangers we need be aware of, if we’re to live and succeed.” Knelhamer explained.
Strafion replied, “Aye, Knels, I spoke with her once, anon already, and will gladly do so again. She told me of fast moving carts powered by some smelly mechanization, which, visible or not, everyone must be constantly on the alert for, as they come out of seemingly no where and will crush you speedily, be you in it’s path, as one tries to cross over their vast pavings. She said, though their human world be very busy at little or nothing, the beastly humans take little notice of much or anything, let alone each other, so if one does nothing to draw any notice, it’s not difficult to go unnoticed.”
Gjior spoke up, “Also, Knels, I’ve heard we can’t survive on human’s food, for all the poisons they put into it. What do we do to keep our men fed and strong? Won’t we need provisions?”
Knelhamer replied again, “Another good question, Gjior. The Queen has commissioned us, so we’ll look to her larder to provide for us. Why don’t you and Djeleg make your way to the Queen’s kitchens and see what sweet cheeks you must kiss to have a month’s supply of our Ælfheim frændulage we can each carry made up for us. I know it’s considered the Royals’ food, but for the little space it takes up and for how delicious, nutritious and filling it is once it swells to full size with water added, we’ll see it ideal for our needs. I suspect the Queen would order it supplied for us, were you to seek an audience with her. I know she kept our legions supplied with frændulage during the Sacral Upheavals. I’m sure a few tickles and kisses will be in order for the cooks, however, because I understand it’s a real messy pain to prepare and make it, because of so many ingredients and processes they must go through for it.”
Djeleg asked, “Captain, may we draw from some of the fine weapons we brought from the forge of the dwarvin mastersmith, Dvalin? My own sword be showing a trace through it’s blade I’m not in trust of.”
“Let me see it.” Knelhamer requested, as Djeleg drew his sword and handed it, haft first to his captain. Knelhamer retrieved a jug of apple cider and poured a stream of it down the runnel of the blade, which showed a fine line from about a third of it’s length on toward the curve to the point. “Aye, Dag, this blade be near shattering. See how the acid in the apple shows a crack? Take it to the armory with my chit, and they should let you take your pick of the weapons for a replacement.”
“You’re born under a bright star to have found it before it found you, lad. Best ye not select a new one Dvalin may have left a curse upon as he forged it. Keep your senses sharp as you make your selection. That much is serious, but to ease the strained strand of fate you avoided having severed, I’ll tell you the gristle I heard as a boy. They say, it only takes the sound of a cat’s footfall, a hair of the beard of a frog, the root of a mountain, the ghost of the Sun, the breath of a fish, and the lips of a bird for Dvalin to instill a curse in his iron as he forges it, but should he achieve those needs, it be much to the sorrow of it’s wielder.”
The men all chuckled at Knelhamer’s jest as Djeleg slid the sword back into the frog at his buckler with a grin.
Knelhamer continued, “Aye lads, the day spares us time ere e’enfall and supper. We’ve all got tasks to attend to, as Jiori and I need go interview fifteen good men of our legion while ye lads tend to your needy deeds. Let’s be about our duties and we’ll discuss more over the e’en meal. I believe Dain will attend as well, and likely will have some important news for our ears only. See ye go gently and don’t arouse curiosity about our business among others. The least said, the least be spread.
Leaving their barracks in a group, Liësti alit on his shoulder once again as he walked out of the door, whispering excitedly into his ear, “My sweet, two more of my sister faeries our Queen sent out as spies have returned from the world of the humans. We may have much to learn from them in preparation to leave for our quest.”
“Have you talked to them, my little star?”
“No, my love. They’re still cloistered with our Great Lady in her chambers as she asks questions of them and tends to their ailments. It seems they’ve each been sorely hurt and are very weak.”
“Hmm… Liësti, mayhap you should stay behind on this sortie. I’d sooner die than see something terrible happen to you.”
At this, Liëstrifa raised her voice, “No, my Captain! I cannot! It is the Queen’s will, and thus it is my own. Plus, I must go, go and watch over you. I must see you home to safety. We must end this Sorcerer’s threat to creation, together! I feel it is in our destiny to do this, but to do it together. We must do it together, you and I, or I fear, the threads of the Fates will be badly mangled and tangled within all nine Worlds. Please don’t ask me how I know this. Just accept that I am Dísirin, so I do know. It must be done as it is written.”
“Liëstrifa, are you telling me you have foreknowledge of yours and my fates?” Knelhamer asked with knit brows.”
Liësti plopped her butt down hard on his shoulder, a storm brewing on her face, fire glinting in her eyes and a pout on her pretty lips, arms crossed over her full chest and her heels tapping out an angry rhythm on his collar bone, refusing any more effort of further explanation.
Jiorvar, striding along at Knelhamer’s right side, chuckled at the rare lover’s spat.
A Report
When they came together for the evening meal, Dain did indeed join them, and, a rare event when they weren’t on a duty away, yet back in their barracks, Liëstrifa attended as well. The mess steward set roast with vegetables on the table, with bread, honey, cheeses and pitchers of cider to drink and lit the candles, as the room so quickly became dim when the evening light began to fade and the low ceilings of their barracks rooms loomed a bit closer somehow, or so it always seemed.
Dain sat at the head of the table, with Knelhamer on his right and Jiorvar on his left. Then Strafion sat at Jiorvar’s left as, across from him, Gjior sat at Knelhamer’s right, and Djeleg sat at the opposite end of the table Dain was at, six feet away from him. Liësti, earlier having resolved her miff at Knel’s protective compulsion over her going on the quest by finally informing him he couldn’t complete this quest without the torque’s powers, which he needed her to recite the cantrip to him for, as it must be enunciated precisely for it to work, as Jiovar joked about them “kissing and making up”, now occupied her usual perch on Knel’s left shoulder, close to Dain.
As the food was served onto wooden plates, Dain began telling them there were some new issues to be considered that would effect their plans to a great extent. Once the steward was gone to his own mess, he went into details.
“As you probably have heard, two of The Queen’s spies have returned and came back worse for their efforts, but with important news. This bumbling warlock has succeeded at invoking a being from the Nether World, but I doubt very much it was what he was trying for. He called up a Wyrm. Better in many respects than what we were afraid of, but worse on many levels at the same time, and I suspect he wasn’t ready for the difficulties he’s now faced with.”
“This Wyrm be much like the Welsh Wyvern, or the basilisk of ancient mythology, and is highly dangerous, looking very like a great winged serpent, lizard, or dragon, with nasty teeth and almost impenetrable scales and it can kill by its noxiously toxic breath or by vision. Any person or animal which looks directly in its eyes will be stunned immobile, and will thus be Wyrm food. So, how does one contain such a beast, control it, or make any sort of working compact with it? Very simply, one doesn’t. At this juncture I don’t believe we have to worry about the human wizard too much, because if he still lives, and we have every reason to believe he does, he’ll be far too busy trying to tame his new pet to create any more mischief for a while, and more than likely he has found out he has overreached himself.”
“This means your mission has become simplified, yet potentially even more dangerous. I would like to assume the masks I had made for use against the Draugar will work with the Wyrm as well, but I can’t say for sure that they will. And if they do, you’ll still have to destroy this beast while holding your breath the entire time you’re battling it. This is an unacceptable condition to fight under, so we yet need to find a means of allowing your men to breath, as the larger portion of them destroy the Wyrm while the rest of you destroy the would be wizard.”
Djeleg now spoke up, saying, “Sire, when I was a lad in our ǽutlynd village, before he died, my father was the blacksmith, but he was also always ready to fight fires if a chimney caught flames to set villager’s dwellings on fire. Something he created in his forge to help him fight fires was a tin tube he made and filled full of finely crushed charcoal, covering each end of the tube with several layers of the thin inner surfaces of fish skin he tanned. He made a mouth piece for it and would strap it around his head to use it to breathe through in even the thickest room full of smoke. Maybe the same idea would work against the Wyrm’s poisonous breath.”
Dain replied, “See me first thing in the morning and you and I will go to our craftsmen so you can explain it’s design to them and we’ll have several made up to try out. The gases from a Wyrm are very like the gases emitted from the Ragdoknálfar Swamp, which are just about as poisonous. If we can get a working attempt of what you’re describing, we can ride to the swamp, seeing how close we can get to it while using your father’s idea to breathe through, to find out if the effects of the gases become overwhelming. Hopefully it will work and the gases won’t bother us. In which case we’ll have a few dozen of them made up to wear with the masks I had made.”
Dain continued, “Alright lads, one more issue I’ve been asked to bring up with you. It seems, this afternoon, shortly after two of you were granted an audience with our Queen to ask about having staples of Ælfheim frændulage made for this quest by the Queen’s kitchens, there was some sort of a disturbance in those very same kitchens. I am to let it be known that our Queen very highly values her present cooks and doesn’t want to have to replace any of them. And therefore she has decreed that there are to be no buns put in any ovens, which are then left unattended. Is that clear?”
Knelhamer spoke up, saying, “I apologize Sire, and I will go make my apologies to our Queen on the morrow.” He felt a very painful pinch on his ear lobe at this point. “Ouch! Sire, it was my fault. I asked two of my men to see about having the Ælfheim frændulage made up and suggested since it was such a toilsome task for the cooks that they go kiss a few cheeks in the kitchens to try and ease the hard feelings such a task might incur.”
Gjior said, “Actually, Sire, it was I and Djeleg. The Captain said kiss some sweet cheeks. He suggested we seek an audience with the Queen to ask her to have a month’s supply made for us, also saying a few tickles and kisses in the kitchen would be in order to ease the pain of the labor we were causing. Djeleg and I discussed what to do, but neither one of us have ever kissed any women before, and felt we’d make fools of ourselves if we tried. We thought maybe a few tickles and pinches might work just as well. No one specified which cheeks though, so I guess maybe we got it wrong?”
Dain was laughing, and the further the explanation went, his laughter only grew louder as the men sat looking mortified. Then, trying and failing at not chuckling, he said past his laughter, “None of you need worry in the least about this. Knels, if you go to the Queen and try to apologize to her, she’ll only fail at containing her laughter as you do so. Her admonition was entirely in jest and none of you daren’t say any more about this lest you bring the whole Hall down in laughter. After which you’ll never be able to set foot in Sylfheim Hall without embarrassment again. Lads, I’m to bed. My thanks for good food and better company. Good night.”
As he headed out of the door, Liësti kissed Knels’ ear, whispering good night, and flitted off to leave with him. After Dain and Liësti’s departure the men discussed what a great Commander he is, as one by one, each of them headed to his bed to sleep as well. In the meanwhile Djeleg sat up for a bit and drew up a plan of his father’s design for a breathing filter. Before long, he blew out the candles and was off to bed also, thinking the design was simple enough it would take but three days at the most to have skilled craftsmen make a couple of working samples to try out for effectiveness, test them, and if they worked as expected, complete enough of them for each man going on the quest. They may be able to head off to Mortal World afterwards.
Treasured
The next few days were a flurry of activity, Knelhamer and Jiorvar having selected the necessary men from the Legions and then having to put all of their warriors in some specialized training as they had to learn what it would take to kill the Nether World Wyrm. Djeleg went the day after Dain’s reconnoiter report to see the Ælfen craftsmen with his plan of his father’s design for a breathing filter and then attended the training sessions, as did Dain also, for it was he who gave the men instructions on the beast’s only lethal points on it’s body.
The Wyrm was said to have a spot of about a foot in diameter under it’s front forelegs, what would be our armpits, where which it could be penetrated with a sword, arrows, or preferably, spears. Depth of the wound was quite important in order to reach the beast’s heart. It was also worth noting, the man were told, that apparently all of the creatures of the Nether World had any of their vital organ placements within their bodies all formed opposing to the Fae, Ælfen, and human internal organs, so the heart was closer to the right side on the Wyrm, just as was the case with Draugars and the Vanargand Fenris Wolves.
With the tested success of the breathing filters, though all of the men felt hampered in simulated combat while wearing both the masks and the filters, of which complaints about lessened greatly with further hard adjustments to them whilst riposting and parrying blows as attention was paid to the risks at hand, Knelhamer and Jiorvar felt they were ready to begin the foray into the human’s Midgard World.
As the hard training men took a break one afternoon, quenching great thirsts on cool water, and eating thick, strengthening soup from a cooking fire, several were haggling over their chances of winning through victorious against such great seeming odds putting them to such disadvantage. Liësti, present as usual, watching the battle canny aptitude of her favorite warrior with glee, heard their nay saying and flitted forward with a handful of runes, singing her rune magic canto,
“Helping-runes you must know,
If needs be ye’d desire console,
And see release’t thy unknown,
Ye seeks tidings bide and grow.
If thou may be cut from enjoins,
Thine lives hacked of thou loins,
To learn, ask the Dísiri to show.”
The dense smoke took it’s eerie shape, solidifying as the men clasped at their swords. The booming voice proclaimed, “Foolish Heathens. Ælfanjár Gjallia, hold thy pleas. Know thy quest will pass with ease.”
Upon these words the smoke cleared with the breeze.
Meanwhile the Queen had reduced her information to the exact whereabouts of the offending Sorcerer’s location at a place the human’s abandoned, buildings and mostly collapsed underground shafts no longer used, called Krügershall Mine near Teutschenthal, Halle, Saxony-Anhalt, Germany.
The company of men, now being referred to as Ælfanjár Gjallias, set with the aethereal armors’ engirding sheathes of protection, the masks and breathing filters, spears and stout arms, provisions of frændulage, were captained by a golden torque wearing Knelhamer. He’d assigned Jiorvar, Strafion, Gjior, and Djeleg as leads of four teams with five men each to them, and with their legion’s battle hardened and staunch warriors, Theidrek, Rothgar, Thjorólf, and Híorvag as their seconds.
They stepped into the Queen’s outer reception to have her lead them to a heavily curtained archway. Accompanying them was the Dísirin Faerie, Liëstrifa, who’d learned from her sister Faeries sent out as spies, returning with their tiny lungs almost unable to breathe, and was thus prepared with her own little version of a breathing filter. There, once they each stepped through it, Queen Dylvadrifa told them, they would find themselves transported to almost their exact destination, where they should find the Sorcerer at his leisure within the largest standing structure.
Two by two, they stepped through the liminal portal, disoriented at the passage, but standing fast once upon firm ground as they scanned the area for threats, until they were all assembled as a unit again. All of them could taste the tang of the poisons in the air, despite the new breathing tubes. Even with the death-like stillness and eerie silence of the place, the gold torque around his neck vibrated and warmed at some energy it was attuned to, which led Knelhamer to slowly turn until he felt it grow the pulses of vibration. He signaled to the men to follow him and began a fast stride toward a large structure, looking a bit tumbled down at one corner.
As practiced in advance, Strafion and Rothgar with their three men split off and stealthily approached an entrance to the building, Gjior and Thjorólf following with their three men when the first five were in place. Once positioned, Strafion gently tried the door. The handle wouldn’t move and the door didn’t look as if it would yield. Strafion turned and looked as if about to say something to Gior, when they heard a click and the door eased open slowly. Liësti’s face appeared in the widening crack, and the men all grinned as Strafion helped her open it.
“How did you get in there?” He whispered around his mouthpiece to her.
“What are you whispering for? It wasn’t hard. There are plenty of openings big enough for me in this ruin.” she said in salty reply.
Liësti flew to Knels, whose remaining men had joined the advance party, settling by his ear. She told him, “My Captain, if Sorcerer he be, he certainly stepped in over his head on this venture. He’s laying just within, very nearly dead of the noxious air he’s breathed. Easy prey for the loss of his head and death’s tolling, if ye be merciful to him.”
Knels stepped through the open door and knelt by the recumbent man, shaking his shoulder and asking, “What did ye with the Wyrm, you fool?”
The man shuddered and wheezed, barely able to speak, but rasping out, “The stairs leading down will take you to the great chamber he’s in, but you can’t go there. He’ll kill you, as he has nearly me.”
“I’ll claim that privilege, thou ignorant scum.” Knels said, as he slit the man’s throat with his dirk.
The men slipped quietly past the corpse and into a large room, seeing stairs leading both up and down. Noiselessly they followed the stairs downward, coming at last to a dark passage. They followed the passage in the direction a cloud of fog was coming from, seeing a glow gaining brightness as they advanced. Knelhamer stopped to peer around a corner, seeing the massive Wyrm squatted in a cavernous open mine chamber.
The gigantic reptile’s speech came as a thick, deep rumble, “Halt, Ælfanjár Gjallia, thou hearty valiants who come prepared to do battle with this beleaguered Wyrm, Ragnaröggja. Oh, mighty warriors of thine Great Ælfheim Queen, Dylvadrifa, have a care and hear my pleas. Spare me, oh thou avenging Ælfans, for I am not here by my own accord, but was behest upon by the thrall of a wicked and putrid spawn of Midgard, ain who thinks himself a most powerful sorcerer, whose faulty incantations and lack of purity in Rune Speak and thus corrupting the Runes’ magic are what cast me here from my tranquil slumbers.”
Knels and his men stepped out into the open, spears at the ready as they slowly surrounded the Wyrm.
“Hear me, great heroes, for it is said if I die from severe wounds inflicted upon me, the Nine Worlds will in result suffer from an era of long, cold winter, whence the Sun shalt shine not, and violent winds shall rage unabated, but if you spare me and slay me not, helping me to return to my lair, it being in the subterranean vaulted hall far ‘neath the roots of Tor Tarnvidiur, where you now be knowing I dwell, and have dwelt most peacefully in content, sleeping on my vast hoarded heaps of gilt, my gold and silver treasures and fine precious gems, for the last five millennia, having no truck with the vile denizens of the Nether World, no, nor inflicting no harm on any habitants who dwell in the further eight worlds, but wouldst preferrest to be left to my slumber ’til the day of Ragnarok. If you can see your way to releasing me back to my peace, I will grant a tithe of my treasure to your Great Queen and have it delivered to her treasury.”
Knelhamer replied, “Why shouldn’t we slay you and have done with you, thou over-large lizard? Then we can seek out your lair and have it all, this vast treasure you tell us of.”
“Aye, wouldst thou do so, you may carry away the treasure, plus the evil curse placed upon it’s theft, couldst thou and thine ward off the many multitudes and voracious swarms of the daemon Iarnvidiur wytch wraiths who would feast on your meat and crush your bones for their marrow, and then thus live only long past your labor enough to regret thy choice of ignoring the curse. If thou sparest me, I will further grant the boon of my aid to you in any time of thine most dire needs, as I also gift a tithe of my treasure to Queen Dylvadrifa, and give ye promise of my word thrice on all this coming to pass.”
“Trust not thy own greed over my thrice sworn word and ye’ll learn the truth of a Wyrm’s promise to no wisp of any regret to thyself, oh noble Captain. Upon the greatest honors of any ain ye might name, I swear this, I swear it twice, I swear it thrice. I beseech thee to ponder on my sworn words with clear thought.”
Liësti, hidden behind Knelhamer’s beard and peering into his ear rather than looking at the Wyrm for fear of staring into his paralyzing eyes without the aid of the Nyćovian crystal lenses to see through, now whispered to him, “Agree to his request, my love, for he’s as good as his word and need not be entrapped in the Nether World nor destroyed by your hand. I will recite the incantation to you to have the torque bring his wish to pass and return him to his cavernous lair deep beneath Tor Tarnvidiur mountain where he will do no harm. It’s but an easy task and an end to this quest, with the auld torque of Angebolga, and will profit our Queen and ourselves as well.”
And so it was, with the forces of the torque called upon, the massive Wyrm, Ragnaröggja, was instantly vanished and banished back to the depths of his dark den under the great mountain, Tor Tarnvidiur.
To the Queen, it seemed her brave adventurers were no sooner gone, but that they returned, bearing the news of their success and telling her of all that came to pass.
And so also did the coffers of the Queen’s treasury expand to nearly bursting when a caravan of heavily laden wagons arrived with piles upon piles of gold, silver and flawless gemstones of great value.
The Queen’s promise to Liëstrifa? Only that she would be altered to a size where she could couple with the one man she loved as much as her Queen. It was made to happen as promised, and a huge wedding was held at Sylfheim Hall with all of Ælfheim in attendance and all celebrating their nuptials. Queen Dylvadrifa was well pleased two months later to learn she was to gain future heroes by way of her dearest friend and confidant, Liësti’s pregnancy.
fini
