The Elf Messiah
I
. . . Immortality Lost
Prologue
The hooded stranger strode into the darkened, empty chamber he had long sought. The carved stone walls reflected only silence. The chamber had lain empty for uncounted years. Before him, the room was stark and bare, save for the lone object at its center. There, a lone shaft of sunlight fell from high above to illuminate the large bound book that lay upon the stone-carved pedestal. Dust lay thick on the ancient tome, while motes fluttered in the golden shaft of light.
He approached the book carefully, holding his breath. It couldn’t be what he’d searched the last two years for. And yet, it was. No symbols or lettering adorned its leather bound cover, which cracked slightly as it was opened. But inside, the musty first page revealed the truth of his discovery; simple words written in Avanyar.
By my hand, the hand of Hadrin the Old, scrive of all things ancient and forgotten, are hereby recorded in this work
The last days of the Illuminar, who are no more.
With trembling hands, the stranger turned the page. Forgotten were the plans to carefully retrieve the book for perusal elsewhere. Lost in the spidery script laid down on the yellow parchment, he began, slowly, to read….
“How glorious was their first appearing, when they rode down from the hills upon their winged white stallions, their golden locks trailing in the wind. They were tall, lithe yet strong, and a golden light shone in their tan faces. Their hair was pulled back to reveal their ears, tapering to points like elm tree leaves. Their armor was of a strange metal, repeated in their swords, long and straight. Yet, they wielded not those blades, but sheathed them as they reached us. Their band rode straight to us and then halted as one. They dismounted from their steeds, leapt down from small, ornately tooled saddles, and their leader presented his sword to us, laid across upward-turned palms in a gesture of friendship. And so, we first met with the Illuminar, the immortal race of old, who sought our help against their age-old enemy, The Demon Lord.”
The stranger’s eyes were wide. They grew wet with tears. Shaking, he quickly turned to the final pages. He began to read again, and discovered the end of the Illuminar, and the prophecy he was to fulfill….
Chapter One
“Brinn, the way is blocked!”
Brinn never heard the lieutenant’s cry. The Illuminar commander was too busy shouting orders to an army of retreating soldiers, desperately trying to be heard over both the sounds of battle and the howling wind. “Hold your positions! We must stand against the enemy!”
The malevolent wind seemed intent upon thwarting Brinn’s commands as it drove clouds in from the east, turning the sky a dark grey. It swirled around the tall Illuminar in a stinging maelstrom of dust and debris that sent his long golden locks streaming as if each gilded strand had come alive.
Sand stung Brinn’s eyes, reducing his sight to nearly that of mere mortals. Normally, he could hear a whisper through a foot of solid stone; today Brinn’s tapered ears were overwhelmed by the wind and he could barely hear the sound of his own voice. The conditions only made him more determined. An intense look of resolve replaced the ageless splendor in his tan, chiseled face. He would not be denied. Sheathing his sword, Brinn cupped his hands to his mouth. “Stand against the enemy! We must hold this line!” His voice rang out with the confidence that came from commanding this division for the last thousand years. He was an Illuminar, of course. An Immortal.
This time his voice overcame the power of the wind. His troops answered the call and the collapsing flank began to hold.
Through a melee of immortal and enemy, the lieutenant fought his way closer to Brinn, battling the wind as much as any physical foe. He tried once more to relay his message. “Brinn, the way is blocked! Commander, we cannot pass!”
The call again went unanswered. “Rearguard, move up to aid the fallen!” Brinn swept his hand forward to signal the advance. “Fill in those gaps,” he ordered to a squad dressed in chainmail and brown leather. “If those cursed things get through we’ll be routed!” Troops under flapping emerald banners raced with all they had toward the weak spots in the line.
We must hold, Brinn thought. Our existence depends upon it!
The howling wind ebbed for just a moment and Brinn took advantage of the lull to inspire his troops with the ancient cry of the Illuminar: “Breallen e negleith, mier án! Ár-Ádun galan y ón!” Children of starlight fear not! The Creator smiles upon us!
He repeated the command, accentuating the order with an upraised fist. Again, his voice reverberated through the troops, and as one they shouted the ancient response: “Mier án! Mier án!” Fear not! Fear not!
On a broad prairie of yellow grass, the fighting echoed with the constant clang of swordplay as two massive armies fought to destroy each other. Far too frequently on the whistling wind were heard the sickening thuds of iron and steel upon soft flesh, causing another screaming voice to join the chorus of the injured and the dying. Despite the cries of terror and despair, Brinn held fast. “Turn back these hell-spawned devils,” he roared, the sheer determination in his voice lending strength to the brave but battered troops. All around him, swords and their wielders rallied with vicious counter thrusts that beat back the charging spears and lances of the seemingly endless waves of enemy attackers.
Brinn’s forces protected the northern flank of a massive retreat of all that remained of the Illuminar. Mighty in ancient days, they were once the proudest and most numerous of all races. Now their dwindling numbers fled westward in a last ditch effort to avoid annihilation, chased by the armies of the Demon Lord.
To look upon that dreaded enemy would freeze the soul of all but the hardiest of soldiers. Fierce red-eyed goblins formed the bulk of the ground force, accompanied by large leathery trolls riding bareback on wolves the size of horses. Above them flew the gargoyles, creatures of living granite armed with crossbows that reigned fiery bolts down on the Illuminar. Highest of all were the Nil'Ganash, most hated of the enemy. Violet-skinned creatures spawned in ancient days to oppose the Immortals, the Nil'Ganash flapped their dark, bat-like wings and directed the movements of the Demon Lord’s army. All together, it was the largest gathering of evil that could be remembered. And it was winning.
Despite the overwhelming odds, the Illuminar soldiers would not yield. Bright blue eyes shone with determination as the soldiers fearlessly engaged their enemy. Their skill revealed centuries of fighting. They had battled for years uncounted against the Demon Lord, never losing a battle; not, at least, until today. Perhaps that was the reason something was missing on the battlefield today: Singing. The Illuminar were a musical people; even in battle, their clear voices would lift up enchanting melodies in their haunting tongue. The absence of song from a race renowned for it told that they recognized their plight: They were battling extermination.
“Brinn!” the lieutenant screamed to his commander again. “The way is blocked!”
Hearing at last the call, Brinn turned away from the carnage. Looking westward, his far-seeing azure eyes caught the reason for his kinsman’s cry of despair. Moments ago, the land behind them had been only rolling hills of short, golden grass. Now, behind the thousands of retreating Illuminar, a mysterious forest materialized.
Before Brinn’s very eyes, thousands of tiny seedlings sprouted from the ground. Launching upward in seconds, thick trunks soon formed an impenetrable wall, cutting off the Illuminar retreat.
Overhead, a bolt of lightning flashed with a deafening boom, illuminating the forest. A cold rain began to fall. “Cut down the trees!” Brinn shouted, gesturing with an axe wielding motion. He looked southward, down the line of Illuminar warriors, to see if the rest of his kin were also immobilized.
Next to Brinn’s troops on the right were the golden banners of the King’s guard. They bore the brunt of the Demon Lord’s onslaught, and their banners fell in frightening numbers. Pashan, their leader, was lost.
Farther south, Brinn glimpsed the third Illuminar division. Though far from him, his heart leapt as he saw the silver banners of R’ille’s forces, defending the southern flank.
“R’ille,” he spoke aloud, “oh beloved wife; how I wish I were with thee.”
I am here, husband! Let us fight on with the hope of meeting again, victorious, having won the day!
Brinn heard not his wife’s response, for he had long ago lost the Kalláh. His blue eyes lingered on her banners until they vanished from sight behind growing curtains of falling rain. In the worsening deluge, Brinn turned to divide his troops against the goblins in front and the malevolent forest behind. “Cut down the trees!” he called again. Those in the supply wagons nearest the trees attacked with axe and saw. Watching them, a tiny feeling of desperation began to creep into Brinn’s thoughts.
The melee against the goblins ebbed for a moment, but Brinn wasn’t fooled. “Brace for another attack!” he shouted, and the call was repeated up and down the line. Moments later another enemy wave approached; rusty pikes, crude lances, and curved scimitars materialized through the driving sheets of rain. Climbing over their dead comrades, the goblins massed.
They were squat figures, with ugly, misshapen teeth. Visible under their dirty leather jerkins and rotting wool shirts, their leathery skin was greenish black and covered with carved tattoos and scars from self-mutilation. Though the torrential rain should have had a cooling effect, their green goblin tongues wagged as they prepared to rush forward.
“Shûan laset beh, Gathâni!” howled a goblin warlord with pierced hoops dangled from his nose and large pointy ears. Death comes quickly, Illuminar!
The warlord ordered the charge. The goblins advanced out of the sheets of rain in a mottled green wave, intent upon trapping the Illuminar against the wildly growing forest beyond. Their charge was no match for the Illuminar. The tall warriors in the forefront tossed Limnos spheres at the feet of the goblins, and the small, faintly glimmering globules shattered upon impact. Instantly, the evil host was blinded by a flash brighter than harnessed sunlight, and in their dazed condition they fell like wheat before the scythe. Goblins with eyes turned milky white and useless were felled by the hundreds by the swords of the Illuminar. Leather helms flew from patchy-haired misshapen heads and thudded upon the muddy turf.
The effect of the Limnos spheres was short-lived however, and soon more goblins rushed at the Immortals, trampling the bodies of their dead brethren. The Illuminar were forced to fall back under the weight of the never-ending attack. Because of their sheer numbers, some goblins got through, and more than once an Illuminar soldier fell headless beneath a goblin’s iron shoe. Rain continued to fall, forming pools and muddy patches that were soon stained black and red with goblin and Illuminar blood.
Rain washed the smell of spilt blood and death from Brinn’s nostrils as he stood with his troops at the center of the northern flank, surrounded by fallen goblins. Suddenly, there was another lull in the fighting. Brinn took advantage of the pause and used the precious seconds to gauge how the rearguard handled the forest blocking their retreat. Illuminated by a flash of lightning, the forest seemed bigger than ever. “How do you fare against the trees?”
“We are losing the battle,” a soldier shouted dejectedly above a clap of thunder. It was tall, wild-haired Dártan, Brinn’s closest friend. Brinn started to ask more, but then a low growl, menacing and vicious, caused him to turn.
A giant black wolf had appeared, ridden by a hulking troll brandishing a jagged lance. Steam rose from the wet, matted hair of the wolf-mount. Others materialized from the mist. They growled and snapped their jaws at the tall warriors before them. Their riders jabbed their ribs with iron boots and spurred them forward. In seconds they fell upon the Illuminar. Riding wolves, the trolls had the advantage over the Immortal warriors; for their hairy steeds made them faster and more maneuverable. In ancient days, the Illuminar had ridden the Illayin, the winged horses, but the Illayin were no more.
Brinn reacted instinctively as the wolf-riders rushed forward, drawing his sword and meeting the charge with words long remembered by all who heard them.
“Elin Yllirin, i Nyakil! Negleith Bruannen!” Behold Yllirin, a Nyakil blade! Starlight incarnate!
His voice carried such command that a charging troll leader checked his mount and slid to a stop before the mighty Illuminar, glaring at Brinn’s weapon. The troll knew his rusty scimitar was no match for Brinn’s Nyakil, greatest of the Illuminar weapons. That deadly black blade was ever-sharp and extremely light, and its wielder had a thousand years of experience with it. Still, the troll was on wolf-back, and he decided it would provide him the advantage, even against a sword forged from the molten ore of a fallen star.
“Elin Yllirin,” Brinn said again in warning. Behold Yllirin.
“Bah,” the troll leader responded, his flat nostrils flaring. The wind carried away his breath, a fetid stench that smelled of carrion. The next instant, he jabbed his heels into the hide of the lead wolf and resumed his charge. The lunge would prove costly.
In the pouring rain, Brinn gripped the leather-wrapped pommel of Yllirin, ‘dawn-bringer’ in the Avanyar tongue, and wielded it like an extension of his own arm. With a downward stroke, he drove aside the charging lance of the troll warlord. Dodging the snapping jaws and poisonous breath of the wolf mount, Brinn’s black blade found its mark in the breast of the troll leader, who fell alongside the goblin corpses that littered the field.
Brinn pulled Yllirin free, and black dripped from the blade as if it were leaking some of its inky color. In a high arc, Brinn brought the blade down again in a sweeping motion and a headless wolf dropped to the muddy ground.
“Brinn, it is useless!”
Brinn heard Dártan’s cry of desperation above the downpour.
“We cannot cut down the trees fast enough,” Dártan continued. “Where one falls, two spring forth. Our wagons are pinned, unable to move farther. We are trapped!”
Hewing the legs from a leaping wolf and sending its rider tumbling into the swords of the troops behind him, Brinn turned and saw that the eastern and southern flanks were squeezed against the trees, as well, forcing all three divisions into a protective half-circle around the Illuminar children and the wagons. This tightly packed group was all that were left of the Illuminar. Lightning flashed, and Brinn glimpsed precious few of the gold, silver and emerald banners on the rain-soaked battlefield. The battle was turning into a slaughter.
Endless waves of goblins and wolf-riders leapt to the attack over hills of fallen corpses. They knew well the few ways to kill the Immortals: beheading, immolation, or hacking Illuminar bodies to pieces. All three ways were terribly effective, as the Illuminar’s regenerative powers could not heal parts that were detached from the body or engulfed in flame.
And so, the Illuminar found their immortality of little help against the blood-lust that came at them on the ground and now began from the air. In the dark skies above, a new terror attacked. Gargoyles flew in low amid the dark clouds that emptied rain onto the battlefield. Wheeling and diving to avoid return fire, they shot flaming arrows into the Illuminar host. Their fiery arrows were unquenched by the falling rain and caught fire to whatever they hit, whether wet prairie, or the cloak of an Illuminar soldier.
The Illuminar returned fire with arrows that surged upward toward the gargoyles. At first, their return fire appeared to be wasted ammunition; their arrows shattering harmlessly against the gargoyles’ stone skin. But the sharp-eyed Illuminar knew the gargoyle’s weakness. Fine tuning their aim, they soon began bringing down the stone creatures in droves, crashing to the earth with arrows protruding from their eyes. Yet despite their skillful aim, the Illuminar fared little better with the gargoyles than they had with the goblins. While they brought many down, always more replaced them. There was no relief from the continuing barrage of fiery darts that fell in sheets upon the trapped Illuminar, darts magically unquenched by the watery downpour.
Though reaching the gargoyles, the arrows of the brave Illuminar were useless against the Nil'Ganash, for they were far above the gargoyles, well out of reach. Hovering just below the dark cloud bases in the rain-filled sky, they commanded the Demon Lord’s host, screaming at their charges as they pointed and directed them against the hated Immortals.
Despair continued to gnaw Brinn’s thoughts as he watched the battle rage. He surveyed the Nil'Ganash far above, frustrated that his arrows couldn’t reach the enemy’s leaders. His gaze dropped back to the battlefield. From the ground and the air, always the enemy horde kept coming. He knew they would not stop until the Illuminar were no more. There would be no truce, no surrender. The Demon Lord’s goal was clear: extermination.
Far above Brinn, a Nil'Ganash sensed the Illuminar’s despair and smiled, fangs glistening in the rain. “Shûan laset beh, Gathâni!” Death comes quickly, Illuminar!
Legion, leader of the Nil'Ganash and supreme commander of the Demon Lord’s troops, watched with glowing lavender eyes as the protective barrier of Illuminar troops began to collapse. Flapping his great wings, he savored the sight for a moment longer, and then resumed shouting orders to his troops. He continued with his plan, sending the tens of thousands of wolf-riders, gargoyles, and goblins against the more skilled Illuminar, caring little for the losses he sustained. The Demon Lord’s troops, after all, were expendable.
For Legion, the battle was going well. It would not be long now, he thought with a wicked leer, especially since he had the use of the Zori, the four Wands of Power, greatest of the weapons of the Demon Lord. Legion looked for the captains who wielded them.
He spotted Hood,who had begun inflicting heavy damage with red bolts of molten fire sent down from the tip of Arazor, the wand of Fire, most powerful of the four wands.
To Hood’s right were Zirnach and Styxx wielding their wands Maladzor and Zor-nîm, the wands of Air and Water. Zirnach’s wand was commanding the four winds to rush inward and upward to form a huge thunderhead directly over the Illuminar. Styxx’s wand commanded the condensing raindrops in the thundercloud to fall in torrential sheets. Using their wands in unison, they created the monstrous storm that now hovered over the Illuminar and pounded them with lightning and rain.
Legion looked for the fourth Nil'Ganash, wielder of Illinzor, the wand of Earth. He could not find Grawl. “Ath za na, Grawl?” He wondered aloud. Where are you, Grawl?
Legion’s face turned to a sour frown as he found Grawl hovering far below the other captains, much lower than was safe. “Shûannich!” He screamed. “Shûannich Grawl, shûannich u las gan!” Stop, Grawl, stop and come up!
Grawl did not hear the command. The violet-skinned creature in armored black leather was too engrossed in executing his devilish plan. Beneath black brows Grawl’s eyes glowed with the lavender fire of his kind as he gestured wickedly with Illinzor and muttered a strange spell, giggling as he spoke. He was so enthralled with his plan that he failed to notice his slow descent toward the very earth his wand commanded. Soon, he was dangerously within reach of the arrows of the sharp-eyed Illuminar.
“Zirnach!” Legion called to the Nil'Ganash controlling the wind. He pointed down at Grawl. “Get that fool up here before he takes an arrow to the gut.”
Zirnach tucked his leathery wings and dove toward Grawl.
At the same moment, down on the battlefield, Brinn’s gaze left the fight and peered upward into the sky where he, too, spotted the Nil'Ganash hovering far lower than the rest of his kind. As he watched the black shape silhouetted against the rain clouds, he saw it wielding a strange wand, gesturing purposefully in an upward motion toward the wildly growing forest behind. Brinn realized with a shock that the Nil'Ganash was causing the growth of the forest cutting off their retreat.
“By the grace of Ár-Ádun,” Brinn said with a start, recognizing the legendary wand in the creature’s hand. “He wields Illinzor, the wand of Earth!” Brinn knew of no other weapon that could twist and pervert the growing things of the earth to do the Demon Lord’s bidding. He saw a fleeting opportunity. Sheathing his sword he pulled a longbow from his back. “Your bows!” he called to three Illuminar nearest him, pointing upward toward the Nil'Ganash.
The others sheathed their swords and, like Brinn, brought their longbows to bear. While they did so, Brinn quickly searched his quiver and drew out four special arrows, black shafted with silver fletching and tips that were inlaid with silver. He tossed three of them to the other archers and nocked the fourth, his wet hair blown free of his face by the fierce gale. As he drew his bow, Brinn saw a second Nil'Ganash diving toward the lower one. He shifted his aim and called to two of the archers, who were twins. “Limnet! Skye! Take the lower Nil'Ganash.” They drew and took aim.
“Dártan,” Brinn said to his friend, “you and I will take the one diving from above.”
Dártan, shorter than Brinn, nodded with a huge grin, his wildly tossed blond hair flopping like a worn out mop.
“Steady now,” he told all of them. “Wait until the second one is in range. Not yet. Wait. Now!”
The arrows flew from the archers in a high arc, tightly grouped at first, but then diverging at the last, toward each of the violet fiends. Their aim was true.
Brinn watched his arrow bury itself deep in the breast of the higher Nil'Ganash, and a second later, Dártan’s shaft hit just a few inches lower.
At the instant the arrows impacted, the sky lit up as lightning shot down in a thunderous crash from the storm above. As the thunder rolled into the distance, it was replaced by two eerie screams as the pair of Nil'Ganash fell toward the earth, flapping their wings in a frantic attempt to stop their fall. Clutching arrows in their chests, they plummeted together in a weird spiral. Seconds later, one recovered enough to slow its descent. Southward it drifted, careening toward the silver banners of R’ille’s southern flank until Brinn lost sight of it through the pouring sheets of rain. He watched the other Nil'Ganash continue straight downward until it landed with a crumpled thud just yards from his position, splattering mud everywhere.
Far overhead, Legion screamed, watching the two Nil'Ganash fall until their forms were lost in the rain below. The deluge that had given his forces an advantage now hampered his view, and he couldn’t see the fate of his two captains. Legion dared not descend and make himself a target, too.
Legion was angry. He couldn’t believe that the Nil'Ganash had let themselves be hit. He doubted their falls would be fatal, and was confident that their skill with their wands would keep them alive on the ground, but for now their fate was a mystery. He barked orders to a swarm of gargoyles and sent them down into the grey skies below to concentrate their efforts on the spots where the two Nil'Ganash fell. He didn’t care if he was sending them to their deaths. When Legion got angry, things died.
At that moment, another gargoyle, a messenger, brought news. “Wolf-riders to the south are faltering against the Illuminar under silver banners.” The gargoyle watched Legion scowl, recognizing he had no choice but to fly there to shore up that part of the attack. Joining his master as he turned to fly south, the gargoyle heard Legion instruct Hood to determine the fate of the two fallen Nil’Ganash. His last words rang ominously in the gargoyle’s ears.
“Ashnaga orishet, sada Gathâni han ish hûn sada Zori!” Whatever happens, the Illuminar must not get the wands!
The gargoyle grew worried, realizing for the first time that the race that ruled him was not invulnerable. For the first time, a Nil'Ganash was down.
Far below, Brinn already knew the fate of one Nil'Ganash. The one at his feet had impacted the wet ground with a fatal thud, shattering whatever life had remained in it. Brinn watched as the violet-skinned corpse began to smolder and smoke. Almost immediately, it dissolved into a vapor that quickly dissipated in the rain. Seconds later, only an empty pile of leather remained. Brinn bent to examine the smoking pile and pawed gingerly through the ashes. In the refuse, he found it; a slender blue wand. It sent painful jolts through his hand when he picked it up. One of the creatures just brought down had been commanding the growth of the forest. Was this what the Nil'Ganash had been wielding?
The Trees! Brinn wheeled about to see if bringing down the two Nil'Ganash had made a difference. It hadn’t. Looking westward, Brinn saw that he and the other archers had been too late. The massive forest behind him now loomed complete, grown into place as a permanent barrier. The Illuminar were pinned against it by the encircling forces of the Demon Lord.
