Light Of Loreandril by V K Majzlik Page B

I study and read, the more I think that the old stories are true. Maybe Dwarves and Gnomes existed also and perhaps still do?” Barnon scratched his grey, wild beard thoughtfully, contemplating his own words. Nechan leaned forward, listening intently, his chin resting in his cupped hands.
    “The oldest folklore says that the Elves once ruled all of these lands. And trust me they were far more just, understanding and forgiving than our current rulers. Loreandril, I think my father called it , was a beautiful white city in those times. Gleaming, white towers filled the skyline, the streets paved with light grey stone, thoroughfares wide and open. This city was nothing like the black rock cities you and I know today. Ahhh, what I would give to see that city in its true majesty!” Barnon painted a clear picture of the beautiful place, his hands sketching out the tall towers and linear roads. For a moment Nechan closed his eyes, picturing Loreandril almost as if he were walking its streets.
    “But what happened to it if it really existed? Surely there would be remains somewhere?”
    Barnon chuckled to himself, sucking on his pipe. “You ask the same questions I used to pester my father with. He believed that the new rulers destroyed everything that remained, completely wiping the memory of Elves off the face of the earth.”
    Barnon dwelled on these thought for a few moments then continued. “Anyway, my father always said that Loreandril was where the Elves ruled from. Hundreds, if not thousands of Elves lived there, filling the streets with the sound of their laughter and singing, practising and teaching their White Magic. They were very good at imparting their knowledge to men, you know? They strongly believed that everything contained its own magic. Spirit Magic as they called it…….hummmm…..” he took another long puff on his pipe and watched the smoke escape up the chimney.
    Nechan was still perched on the edge of his stool, hanging onto every detail divulged by Barnon. Once again, he had become lost in his friend’s words, able to imagine these old times vividly. “So how did it all end?”
    “I was coming to that.” Barnon was not one to be rushed, especially over such an intricate, long story. “There was many years of warring, but it was all brought to an end by the Great Battle of Andkhuin. It was bloodier then any previously or since conducted, and hopefully ever will be. Very few survived on either side.
    “You see, the Elves, did not foresee the darkness that was brewing. Perhaps they were too egotistical and believed they truly were immortal and untouchable? But their blind wisdom was ultimately their downfall. Even you’ve heard the old songs!” He coughed, and leaned forward to pour two cups of herbal tea before continuing his history lesson.
    “Yes, I seem to remember my grandfather used to sing us all a very old song about it all. Pity……I can’t remember the words or the tune anymore, but it was something to do with the key to their strength. Yes, that’s right!” Slowly a faded memory was becoming clearer in the old man’s mind. “Something called the Aeonorgal, or Spirit Star in our tongue.
    “The Rjukhan, like all other clans, knew about this Aeonorgal. They understood the powerful hold it had over the Elves.”
    “Wait….you mean they where clansmen ? How? They are nothing like us!” This was truly intriguing news to Nechan. No one had ever seen one of the Rjukhan, or none that had lived to tell anyone about it. They were steeped in mystery, a bit like the karzon, who were said to be their spawn. Children’s rhymes often painted a picture of them being strange, mythical beings, centuries old, not that Nechan really thought that was true.
    “Now, no! The Rjukhan are nothing like us. They are no longer human! Just think, have you ever read back in history about one of them dying, or even what they really look like?” Nechan shook his head, agreeing with his friend.
    Barnon