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Varlarsaga Volume 3 - Consolation

Chapter 67 - Varlar Titans

Now did the Red Ones sense the first pangs of uncertainty for here, howling before Them, was one of Their own kind made-over, enemy to Them; Sköl, bound and harnessed to the designs of this World Nimrod, this Drotnar-Lord Valandir, who had risen again from the depths of an ice-dungeon prison, locked away in frozen Yah-Tenki, where never was it thought that He should free Himself whilst Varlar remained unchanged.

Especially did Taraka wince at Valandir's appearance, for that Dæmon of the Nether World had done battle with the Drotnar once, ages before, and been put to flight down and back into the safeholds of Earth-Heart beyond the Adamantine Doors. Yet now the way to Earth-Mouth lay behind Their adversary. Now the Māādim Themselves were cut off from the avenue of retreat. To win through, must They first grapple with this World-Lord, who had already overcome One of Them after a mighty trial of strength. To win through, to destroy Valandir forever, was to win the World.

The rest: goblin, elf, troll and wolf, man, dwarf, winged dragon, pixie, imp, brownie, pecht and ogre could but withdraw; fleeing such titanic struggle. For what could their feeble warring avail, on the outskirts of this singular battle?

Even the Māādim's servants, the wizards eight, fled the field leaving it empty to those mightiest protagonists; the Red Ones and Their hordes from Earth-Heart set against the Jutunn of Ice-Home, led by Drotnar Valandir.

And did that conflict last a moment, or a day, or longer? None after lived, who might tell. The sky over Aileen Plain and the southern sea, indeed over all those regions, turned to night or what should pass as night; though no stars shone, nor sun or moon broke through. Only was there a whirling of dark cloud, like the vast wings of hunting bats, that enveloped everything. And this, at times, was lit by frightening red and white storms; the blows of those so enjoined.

Upon the hills and cowering the shores and mountain hollows, the forces and peoples of Varlar could only look on, in awe and fear.

Orange and crimson was the wrath of the Māādim, swift Their streaming javelins, terrible Their screams of war. White and blue was Valandir's retort, turning aside those dreadful barbs with saw-blades, plucked from out the vibrating air. Altogether, They burst in thunder-claps of steam and turmoil, and the claws and cavernous jaws of Sköl the She-Wolf, wrapped about Sharappu the Burner, matching the fire of that Māādim Lord with such issuing from Her own mouth. And so They fell intertwined, each with the other, groping and grappling.

Meantime, did Waroch strike Valandir a mighty blow; warded only by the World-Lord's raised right arm, whereby the force of it fell across the Unbreakable Chain that bound itself to Sköl's throat.

Ahh, but alas! For though Unbreakable, the links slipped from Valandir's grasp, plummeting to The Plain in a tremendous rattling, whilst the Drotnar's steed reared on high, lashing at Waroch with razored hooves. And there, was that Red One brought to his crackling knees.

Then, in the midst of confusion, Isbadden the giant swept up the fallen chains, and even as he toppled, felled by Taraka's hammer-hand, and even as Harfang the Snowy-Owl flew at the fiery orbs that were eyes to the Māādim and was brushed aside in anger, was the Leash restored to Valandir's outstretched fingers. And with a cruel loop, hauled He it round Taraka's feet, bringing Him to the earth, encircled.

Now as Sköl fought, and tugged, and dragged at the bond that held Her fast, amongst the agony of struggle with Sharappu, so did Valandir twirl the linked Chain about His wrist. And so did that Chain tighten about the Māādim's legs; giving no respite, nor release to Taraka.

The Jutunn, led by Angrbotha and Grith, bore down on Waroch as He knelt; grinding Him into the mud and mire and bending His bulging arm so that He was forced face-ward down to the very dirt of Aileen, where He thrashed, crushing and snapping the sticks of trees that had once been the trunks of a forest there. Yet He threw them off and away from Him with supreme strength, and gained His footing; there to cast a last dart, which was his own flaming sword, at the Rider upon His steed, towering over Him. Then the animal was pierced through and fell in a rut, kicking and squealing out of pain and fear.

But Valandir laid His hand to the creature, drawing out the baning sword, and the horse rose again snorting cloudy vapour, its injury healed. And between Them, They toppled Waroch; crushed Him and splayed Him so that He was enmeshed within the snare of Chain that still be-hooked Taraka.

Behind, Thurse and Cawr and others, dragged the low-laid giants away from this devastation.

But Sharappu was not done. Wrenching free of Sköl's gaping maw, He sprang upon Valandir's back, so that He bestrode Rider and Mount; breathing breath of flame into Them. All three crashed together in Earth-quake, rumbling the Land.

Still it was Valandir who recovered the swifter. He held out His be-ringed hand and from it burst the light of Enduring Grace. And there it caressed the Māādim's brow, and Sharappu was at once subdued. This, Valandir did again, twice-over unto Taraka and Waroch, and each in turn was quelled.

The Red Ones were stilled.

Valandir had triumphed!

The unearthly night of Varlar was ended. The sky began to clear, whilst darkness fled. Sun broke through, taking hold of the blue void above.

Valandir rested, leaning against His heaving steed, a muscled and sinewy arm thrown about that creature's arching neck. But in His free hand held He now the Unbreakable Chain, linked through the collars forged by Him and the Jutunn, at His instruction. And these collars, bands of unyielding iron steelified, were closed about the throats of Sköl and Sharappu, Waroch and Taraka, so that They were rendered helpless. The weapons of Their terror were taken from Them and destroyed: the fire of Their eyes and breath, doused by the Powers of Valandir's hands and inimitable Being. Though even then, were Their Spirits not totally broken. They were, after all, Beings of the Nether World; representatives of Varlar-Heart's Chothic might. They were the wild-willed emanations of Those Bellows-Lungs, set free and in revolt, who now were calmed and turned to Valandir's directions.

Then, whilst the assembled multitudes watched spellbound, did Valandir the Drotnar gather round Him His faithful giants, and released them from further service. And, bearing their fallen ones, did they take leave; trudging slow, into the north, whence came they. And never once, looked they back.

Yet there were many, on that day, who swore that they glimpsed the shadowy outline of a great Snowy Owl wending, wounded, low against the bleak crags of the Ramabad mountains.

 

Meanwhile, what had become of the thronging enemy? The Nugobluk had all but vanished when the Jutunn passed by. Only Skragga, screaming defiance, was killed by Cawr's unintentional step, where he walked unheeding. Thus crushed was the captain of the North World goblins and so fled, terror-filled, his legions, out of that dreadful path. The Eight Warlocks were scattered in all directions. The dragons had gone. Wolves and their perverted animal and birdkin, slunk and slid away to cringe, shivering in the refuge of night's shadows. Dragon-squib and trolls, boiling and rasping, had made off to the shelter of the wilder lands.

And what of the horrendous hordes brought up from Earth-Spine; they, who had spilled out over the lips of Earth-Mouth and into Varlar? Many faded into the lands north and east. But most, seeing the downfall of their Lords, sought sanctuary within the Nether Regions; for they thought haven to be below, as it had been in the ages past.

At this, the Free Peoples on Aileen Plain were alarmed and, riding swift, attempted to stop such escape. Indeed, they did engage the laggers and fall-behinds, and some fighting was done until Valandir World-Lord commanded them halt.

‘ENOUGH!’ He exclaimed, lifting His mighty arm.

And His voice was as a single bugle to the pursuers. And they pulled to a standstill at His stentorian cry, allowing their enemies to seek Earth-Mouth unhindered.

Then all of the Free-folk were astounded as they turned to Him. For where before had been those mighty Titans, there now were beings the same, but of human stature, shrunken from the colossi of Māādim and Drotnar to mortal likeness.

But Valandir, seeing their wonder, said unto them, ‘BE AT EASE, YE VALIANT ONES. TEND YE YOUR WOUNDED FLESH AND AID THOSE PASSED BEYOND LIFE. GIVE THEM OF THEIR LAST WORLDLY RITES AND SPEED THEM ON THEIR ROADS.

WEEP, IF YOU WILL. YOUR GRIEF SHALL NOT FALL UNNOTICED.

THE SHADES THEMSELVES HEED SUCH LAMENT AND ARE THANKFUL WITHER THEY DEPART, TO EARTH-HEART OR ELSEWHERE, THEY CARRY THAT MUCH OF YOU WITH THEM. AND THINK YE NOT THAT THEY GO TO SOUR DOOM. SOME SHALL ABIDE IN THE STONE AND IN ALL THE THINGS THAT GROW IN THE WORLD. OTHERS TRAVEL FAR FROM VARLAR, TO THE STARS AND BEYOND. AND SOME SHALL SIT BY ME, IN THAT REALM, WHERE I AM BOUND. THEY, WILL I CARE FOR.

I, VALANDIR, WORLD-LORD DROTNAR, PLIGHT THIS COVENANT.

NOW, DO MY BIDDING; TAKE YE REST AND REPAST. DWELL HERE, TOGETHER IN PEACE, 'TIL SUCH TIME AS A SIGN BE GIVEN OF YOUR DIRECTION. AND BEWARE! HEED THAT WHICH I HAVE SAID. THERE STILL, ARE THOSE LEFT IN VARLAR, WHO WOULD DO HARM IN YOUR MIDST.

SO HAVE I SAITH.

SO WILL IT BE!’

Thenceforth, without further speech, Valandir rode through their be-stilled ranks, taking with Him those made captive; departing through Earth-Mouth's portals. Never to be seen again in the lands of Varlar.

 

And when He was gone, there was an outcry, once those so glamouried had come to themselves.

‘What is to be done now?’

‘What for the best?’

‘Whence shall come the sign, and how shall we know it?’

‘What is to become of us?’

‘The World Serpent has risen, as was foretold in the Doom of Ny´æ. Are we to perish and Varlar to end?’

So they clamoured, one and all, and the tumult was made more by the emergence of Zwergedom from their fastness within the Ramabad fortress.

 

It was not until the sun sank low in the east and the lords, leaders, kings and commanders and the wisest; at least those left living, met in conclave at the feet of dwarf-home, that those questings were considered and, in part, resolved.

At that gathering, Silval presided, in company with his sister the Lady Goldal, Darion, and Bel-Thalion of the Nolvæ. But there were many more in that keeping: the Wizard He´Remon, Lord Menkeepir ashen and discomforted, Wanax Orsokon, proud Prince Clovell of Pechts, King Ordrick, Rosac of the gentle Booca, Possum Wollert, the Dwarf-king Elbegast, Wick and Sambuka for those from Rî-mer-Rī, and Minca of Dorthillion with her wounded secret love Mendor; who had been cut and hewn and yet, proud-borne, stood beside her.

After long discussion amongst the many, it was Goldal of elfdom who spoke out clearly, ‘Hurt and wounded peoples of Varlar and you grief-stricken with loss of loved-ones, each and every of us who thought death be but few breaths away and stand yet alive, delivered for at least a little while longer. Harken to me. There is much to be done, so speech needs be short and swift. Too many are the mysteries unwinding about us. Of too much, are we still unaware. Our faintest hopes have come to pass. We have survived, when everything seemed lost. And still are we caught up in a fate in which we may only play our part. We know but little, the truth of these later events. Though we, and every creature of Varlar are, in some small way, shaping that truth. Still, might it be time to hazard guess at what has come to pass and what might occur in the future. Was Corin Avarhli wrong in his deeds? Was it he who broke down the barricades to the Inner World? Did he do so, as part of some greater destiny? Was he ordained for such task, or was he beguiled, as were we? Think you well on this. And bide, remember the words of those treacherous Eight, "We are the Powers who taught him, aided him, duped him to our ultimate goal; the release of our Lords, the Māādim."’ She held up her hands to them. ‘I say to you, no. No! Avarhli was not to blame, not traitor, nor hapless fool. I deem he had a mission, a quest greater than he, or we, dreamed. World's Doors had need to be thrown open. And somehow, beyond our knowing, was that task accomplished for the ultimate good of the world. Somehow Valandir was freed of His bondage, in far off Earth-Eye. Think ye that coincidence?’ She shook her brow, gold-strewn of locks. ‘I think not. Some vaster plan, beyond our conception, was in force. Now, we perceive, Earth-Spine at last laid bare, the Evil within has outed and been defeated by a Power unthought possible. That Power of World-Lord has now descended, the Victor leading the Vanquished into the domain He is to claim. This, done to bring an order, a new order, to Varlar. To that, can we but grope and hope to be the final aim. As yet have we been spared, though blood and calamity and death have come upon us. If any were beguiled, were we not so enchanted? We came hither, as if bidden, and of free will. We contributed this wise to our Enemy's plans. We played therefore into trickery; to be gathered here, that the Enemy might be victorious at one earth-shaking stroke. Yet could we have done otherwise? Think ye back. Could we have not come? Yea, some might say that Avarhli the One Master, should have been restrained; even destroyed. That Earth-Mouth might never then have been broached. And still would we have fallen, in any stance, to the Nugobluk and their brutal might; made slaves to them across all of Varlar's breadth. That itself, would have been to their gain. However, not alone was that the design of the Powers beyond the Nugobluk. The release of the Māādim was the true end, and to that end worked everything. Both goblindom, and we, did so contribute. And so nearly, was that obtained.’

Goldal, Queen of dead Elf-King Elberl, rested, taking seat of simple brush-wood made ready for her by Belda, Queen of dead Mortal-King Erryldene.

Thence Bel-Thalion, Nolvæ Lord from those far distant forests of the Mayhenyodaro, stood forth and spoke to they assembled. In accent strange to many gathered, though knew he both the Ellor of Elfame and the Ren of men, he said, ‘Your Lady, Queen of Elves across the flowing seas, who has seen the passing of three precious to her, speaks with the ends of graciousness and valour left within her.

I, of whom you have scant knowledge, shall take up her lead, that she may conserve herself for the hardships still to befall. She told of what has come to pass. But of what might be our future, the Lady Goldal has left me to conclude.’ The Nolvæ Lord swept his deep gaze over Aileen and each there felt as if he looked directly upon them. 'Cleanse our wounds, as Drotnar Valandir bade us do. Tend the dead as told. And cleanse our hearts and heads as well. Look to our merits, our weapons and defences. Feed our courage, as we feed our bodies; for in both need we strength to face whatever test be sent against us. And must we stand united, for as Valandir warned, evils abound still within the world. Our enemies have been broken, scattering into Earth-Mouth before Him. But many more escaped into the wilds. If they were to reform under the banner of the Warlocks, those Eight servants of the Māādim, then we should have much need of each other to hold them at bay; maybe to triumph over them. In the meantime ready yourselves and wait with patience for the sign promised by World-Lord Valandir; that it will come, must we fervently pray.’

 

Thus was it that those upon Aileen Plain went about their tasks: mending and mourning, weeping, repairing and waiting. And still there were some plagued by questions unanswerable. For the most, the commonest of these were, what was unfolding within the deeps of Earth-Heart and what should come of such events? Indeed what should become of Varlar itself and those upon it? For the Free-folk could not forget the awesome prophesy of Ny´æ. Nor had the paralysing fear, engendered at the rising of the World Serpent, left them. Some, such as Silval Birdwing, were much puzzled at another, more insidious question; Corin had spoken of nine hermits, though only the Eight had shown themselves. Where was the Ninth?

Meanwhile, his sister, Goldal, bereft of husband and dear friends, could do no more than pine for her daughter Alluin and Aneurin Seamaster. But no news came to tell if they yet lived, or were lost to the wide, wild oceans forever.

Too, Talisar the Daræ maiden, prepared and reprieved from death, pondered Corin, her loved one's fate and hoped on without avail

There were many left with questions, their hopes unfulfilled. And many more with answers unwanted, as they picked the battlefields to make the grim discoveries of those who would never walk and talk and laugh again. The fallen were never to be full counted. Some were disfigured beyond recognition, others lost to the sea. Some, so mauled and maddened, that they had staggered away to hide in the wilderness, until death closed their eyes.

The days that followed were filled with funeral and fire.

There were those, magnificent in last-stand struggle; shaming the living with their desperate, noble valiancy. The kind of courage that, in aftermath, rends onlookers to tears.

Yet there were moments of singular wonder as when, amongst all that crowding throng, Branikin Goosie and his family came upon Fin leading Tocky the donkey, a young pixie, Pika, wounded but alive, perched upon the animal's back.

‘Ho Brother!’ cried the kettler, waving a weary arm, ‘Can we go home now?’

‘Not until we build one, for all of us, dear Tinker,’ replied Anser, hugging him and silently thanking her lucky stars for the preservation of her close kith and kin.

 

Yet the sad list wore on: Siriole the elf and Varion too, both of Darion's peoples. And Lyneth, covering Andarion who had tumbled alive, beneath his comrades body. Nivalthar and Ellion, brave Ellion, elf who had sustained much; ridden with Mysingir to ambush, across the Mirthin mountains, returned, to find death on Aileen Plain. Ladimar and Lowri, Perigol, Ovaldi and Lippa; all of Silval's Nemorians. Quillet One-eye for men. Last of the four conspirators; finally mourned by his wounded son Bartram. Farmer Magle of Ravenmoor. Ippikin and Morag, Imberise the elf. Shalim, Orsokon's Door-ward. Tudhalya, Khen Aton, Ulatar and Tashair. Tilmatle, Eitun and Ursha, all of Kutha Kesh; all dead and gone, to await their renewal, according to Kurigaldan belief.

Under a heap of goblin corpses, lay Strella the Zwerge, and Cembra Fireface, their scramasaxes notched to uselessness, their dwarf-mail riven and bent. They both were seated, back to back, stone dead. Nearby, were Sviar, Har and Duf. Young Thekk Coinmall was killed on the low hills of Zangarh. Rathsvith and Frosti, Niping and Rashi, at the foot of Sagarmat. Harthanut, Prince Clovel's second, died embracing a dead troll; a feat incomparable. Albern Sternath, the Boar of Ravenmoor, sprawled amidst a field of foe. Many, had this soldier of Penda brought low with fierce courage alone, for it was seen that he had cast away his useless weapons and fought on with hands and teeth unto the end. Jofrid the Horsetamer, too, was so low-laid beside the body of his close friend Curlic. And long did Farica his wife weep for her Flamehair. It was left to Nalda, Belda's cousin, arrow-pierced through her own arm, to comfort the Horsetamer's widow.

Then there were Wollert's people, new-come to the North World, who had suffered alongside those of dead MorganFane's. It was too long, that weary role-call. Too long, the names, ghosting by: Kamnia, Kurwin, Tombonda, Wi, Wirli, Yarro, Tarni and Binni, and the many more unnamed of Possum's folk. Those sorrows were multifold, each different, according to peoples and beliefs. Each, however great or small, a tragedy in itself.

Beneath another pile of dead: goblins, imps, wolves, men and elves, a lone, living creature struggled free; a dog, Chaser, the sole survivor. Behind, left he his brethren, Rags, Briddy and Pad, all perished. And perished with them, the men of Ravenmoor, of Indlebloom and Dorthillion and the elves of Bel-Thalion's tribe. Badger and Jeriah Rudd, Gosh, Talpa the Mole, Faran and Slidan, Fursa, Worthig and Stane. Haltaf, Higlak, Cempa and Erimdal. Dorch, Feara and Fossa. Jaromir, and his squire Thithric. Picdor and Cylos, the brother of Cyon Bone-setter. Nobelin and Elanthro of the Nolvæ. And their kindred, Hiarandi, Sirdar and Bel-Dib, cousin to Bel-Thalion himself. All these, passed beyond knowing. And there was grief and wailing for them in their passing. Especially for Sianor of the Nolvæ and Filma of Niniath, beloved of Falnir and Silval.

Many were the pyres that burned on Aileen during those days and nights. Many the graves dug on the heights of sea-cliff and mountain foot. Many, the ocean's bosom claimed for its own, whilst tears flowed as raindrops, or the early morning's dew, in the wetlands in winter. None more so, was the lamentation for the elvin sky-burials. The principle of which were those of Filma and Sianor. And of Morgan Seawanderer, King of Ellor, last of all known Fanes to walk Varlar's haunts. Long did Penavar, Lady of Swans, circle the skies in farewell to Her Master-Elf. Long and lonely, She soared. The winds of the earth took hold of his chariot; blowing Morgan's fadedness higher and higher, until he was lost from sight amongst worldly clouds, gone forever from worldly eyes. A memory.

And it was, that after long time, when She again returned, She had become mute, never to speak with any. And it was seen that in Her eyes were swan-tears.

That was the suffering penitence of Penavar.



 

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