Gaëlea

When I awoke from my painful slumber, Gwen was standing next to me. I moved around, but the pain was still there, and it ripped through my body, though the arrows were gone. I looked around at the place. I was back at my house, and my mom wasn’t home. “I can’t heal all these,” she said. “The poison is too strong, and the burns to great.”

“So, I’m going to die?” I asked, my words broken.

“If I don’t take you to Gaëlea, then yes,” she said.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I am Gwendolyn,” she said, “daughter of Queen Élwyn of the High Elves. Now before I explain more, he of the High Elves, princess of Du Stórr Eylnir,” she said. “I live in Gaëlea, a magickal place of wonder with dwarves and elves and the extremely rare spellcasters. Giants, Ilthrím, and even the wretched creatures we just encountered, the Skolliir reside there. It is hidden, revealed only to those who are worthy of entering it. You must come with me there to be properly healed, but it will not be easy. There aren’t many spellcasters in Gaëlea.”

“Spellcasters? Are they like… wizards?”

“Yes, only, different. You, are a spellcaster,” she said. “Untrained at that, but so am I. But I do not know the proper healing spells to help you.”

“You did before,” I said.

“I only quickened it,” she said.

“I don’t know if I should believe you about this stuff,” I said. “Arkanon said the same kind of things.”

“You are already acquainted with Arkanon Síethdril?”

“Yeah,” I said. “He’s really freaky!”

“We need to get to Gaëlea,” she said. “I know a shortcut.” Guinevere snapped her fingers, and the book Arkanon had given me floated out of the garbage can and shrunk.

“I didn’t know it could do that!” I exclaimed. She slipped it into my pocket. “What about my parents? They won’t know! And my history project!”

“We cannot worry about those things right now! You’re dying,” she said. She picked me up and threw me over her shoulder. She had surprisingly amazing strength for a girl. “Elves have great strength and speed,” she said as if she’d read my mind. She limped to the window, and I remembered her being struck with arrows as well. She pushed open the window, and I gasped.

“What the hell are you doing?!” I exclaimed.

“Saving your life,” she said. Gwendolyn climbed out of the window while I was still strung over her back, and leapt the ten foot drop to the ground. I closed my eyes, and gasped for air as my stomach knotted itself. The air pounded in my ears, as we fell… and landed soundlessly on the front lawn, then began moving again. I opened my eyes, and saw that we were moving extremely quickly in the dark of the night.

Trees passed as we outran cars and animals when Gwendolyn veered off the side of the road into a thick forest. She dodged past trees like it was simple until she stopped abruptly at a lake that I’d been to a thousand times before. “Why are we here?”

“This is a shortcut that will take us near Du Stórr Eylnir, we’ll be in the outskirts of the Fyst Desert,” she said then launched them both into the lake.

The water was like ice as they plunged deep into the glacial water. Flecks of silver light swirled around them in an endless tornado of inconsistent light as they went deeper and deeper into the water. Suddenly, I saw sand hills, rising somewhere within my mind. Finally, we plunged out of the water. Literally. We exploded from the surface of the icy water, landing on a warm sand bank. I shivered as I attempted to stand, realizing that I was completely dry. No water dripped off of I, or Gwendolyn. I looked up at the starry night sky and ran my fingers through the warm sand on the ground. I looked around—at the endless stretches of desert sand, and at the crystal clear river that sparkled in the silver moonlight. The river was beautiful; the starlight that reflected off the surface, the moonlight beating down on it that seemed to shimmer on the water.

“Welcome to Gaëlea,” said Gwendolyn, looking around at the desert. “This is the Fyst Desert, and that’s the Síeth River.” She pointed far into the distance, about fifty miles south there was a vast expanse of green. The thick forest stretched on for miles, emerald green forestry standing tall on the horizon. “That’s where we’re going,” she said. She picked me up, scooping me into her arms, and then began to run. Her inhuman speed carried us through the barren desert, quicker than a car even. Sand banks raced past us as if they were the ones running as we ran parallel to the Síeth River. The glistening river shimmered in the faint moonlight as they ran easily, towards the forest that dotted the horizon miles and miles out.

“It’s going to take weeks to get there on foot!” I exclaimed angrily. “We’ll never get there before I…” I moaned as a sharp pang of pain ripped through my body once more.

“You forget something,” she said determinedly. “Elves have superhuman speed.” She began moving faster, gradually picking up speed to the point where I knew that if I spoke, my voice would sound as significant as a leaf falling from a tree while a lumberjack cut it down. So she ran, and all I could do was look around as pain blotted my vision and searing twinges stabbed through me until I couldn’t help but close my eyes and sleep.

Lord Seniphos stood before his great mirror, looking at a moving image of a boy being held by a running elf. They were running through the Fyst Desert, straight towards Du Stórr Eylnir. He was angry. The Drëngr du Veykva was to be killed immediately, before he lent hope to the rest of Gaëlea. I have conquered all of Skaldj, have an army of Skolliir, and I’ve forced the Glym under my command. Once I am able to summon the Dracolich, all shall fall under my command. I shall conquer all of Gaëlea and force them to kill each other. All I need is to find the three items I require for the summoning, he thought.

Seniphos turned to his giant archway that acted as his door out into the Great Hall. He snapped his fingers, and the door flew open. “Brymbr! Silas!” he exclaimed. The two men rushed into the room, fully clad in silver armor. Their helms were in one of their hands while their swords were sheathed. “Go to the Fyst Desert, send all of our men, and stop the Drëngr du Veykva from reaching his destination point. He is traveling with a single elf, so it should be simple. Just kill him!” Another man walked into the room.

“I think that…” he started. “Elves are much stronger than you think, sire, and if you’d allow me to lead your army for just—”

“Did I ask you to lead the army?” asked Seniphos.

“No, sire, but—”

“So what makes you think that I should even allow such an ordeal to even cross my mind? You are part of my army, and my army is how it shall stay. I have no need for insolent, unfit, leaders.”

“I am just as qualified as you, sire,” he said.

“Excuse me?!” Seniphos waved his right hand, muttering a magickal word. The swords from Brymbr and Silas’s sheaths slid out and lifted into the air, and then slashed forwards, the crossed blades hovering inches before the man’s neck in one second flat. The swords were surrounded by a blue nimbus as they hovered there, forming an X shape. Seniphos’s eyes grew crimson as he stepped forwards. “What did you say?”

The man stood there horrified as the blades crossing in front of his neck trembled, threatening to impale him.

“For a minute there, it was almost as though you’d implied that you could be just as much of a king as I could. Is that what you were getting at?”

“No! I simply—”

Telea du verieas!” he exclaimed in the primordial language of Gaëlea. The magickal language took effect, and the man stood upright.

“I should be kind, not you! You are a cruel, ailing leader who should be eaten by a dragon for your crimes, and you should see your family die by my hand just as mine died by yours!” The spell wore off and a look of fear crossed the man’s face. “I’m sorry!” he yelled.

“Very well,” Seniphos said, turning. The blades floated away from the warrior’s throat. And just as the man breathed out in relief, Seniphos turned as fast as an elf, and thrust the swords across the man’s throat, slicing an X. There was a scream of pain, and Seniphos turned from the scene, blood dripping swords clattering to the ground behind him. “Someone needs to clean this up. And place his head on a plaque, for all other rebellious warriors to see. That should ensure that no one opposes me any further than this.” Lord Seniphos left the room, his cape billowing around him as he left.

 

The End

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