Previously on the Tale of Jarthen, our the intrepid if elderly Jellihondor challenged Svava to a duel to settle the issue of access to the Vinkenti gate. Meanwhile Bertronius was busy charming information about the current location of Larthon Ractor out of the eminent magicologist, Phinneas Flumpert.
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Over the next several days Jarthen and the rest of the rebel captives were privy to the numerous preparations necessary for the controversial duel between their commander, Jellihondor, and Svava, the fearsome queen of the blue elves. Jarthen, who had no experience whatsoever with the elaborate traditions and conditions necessary for the conduct of a proper elvish duel, was amazed at the flurry of activity being carried on right outside of the cage.
Immediately following Svava’s acceptance of Jellihondor’s challenge, the blue elves began to construct an impressively large arena to play host to the duel: it was a stadium with bleachers big enough to accommodate Norsa’s substantial population, but it seemed to be formed out of some incredibly dense, woody bush that was cultivated to grow at an astonishing rate into the shape of benches! Jarthen noted that it had a large open space in the center that was cleared of all plant life, which he presumed would serve as the arena proper. This display of the blue elves’ magic – for there was no other explanation possible for the way that the plants were trained to grow into the exact right configuration without any need for trimming – made Jarthen not a little worried about the outcome of the duel. Though he had seen some touches of red elf magic, none of it compared to the kind of savage power that the blue elves demonstrated in constructing the arena.
When the day appointed for the duel arrived – it was precisely a week after the challenge had been issued – Jarthen and the rest of the rebels arose early to see Jellihondor and Glothnafar released from the cage at dawn, which left the imprisoned rebels with nothing to do save to nervously pass the time until the duel would begin. Jarthen observed that everyone was in a state of tense silence: few words were exchanged, and he could tell that the situation in which they found themselves was grave indeed.
By midmorning, the first blue elf spectators began to file into the magnificent bleachers. Within half an hour, huge numbers of blue elves were streaming into the arena, packing the seats to capacity, leaving some unfortunate watchers to sit on the ground next to them.
When midday arrived the packed crowd, which had been chattering and cheering happily, was immediately silenced by the beginning of a powerful, steady drumbeat. Though it started from a distance, the elves (red and blue alike) seemed to have been prepared for it because they fell silent as one, and turned their heads toward the direction from which it was coming. As the drums drew nearer their volume increased to such a level that Jarthen could feel each beat reverberating through his rib cage and teeth. He stared as best he could towards the tremendous sound spotting a procession led by a half dozen of the most powerfully built elves Jarthen had ever seen beating the slow tempo on enormous drums. Behind the drummers came Svava and Jellihondor marching solemnly side-by side, both of who were in finely dressed resplendent silken robes, followed by the unmistakable form of Glothnafar, the blue elf priestess, Drasha Must, and the Old Man – who, during Jellihondor’s initial challenge, had unexpectedly materialized from the strange purple mist to offer his services as the third, impartial judge.
It had turned out that the Old Man – the very same elderly mage who had convinced Jarthen of the evil ways of Queen Lilhelndine – happened to be staying in Norsa at the very same time that the rebels had been brought there in bondage. After having volunteered to act as the third judge, he had informed the rebels how, after leaving them to attend to urgent business in the Erkenheld and points northward, he had found himself in need of a place to rest for a period: as he was in the vicinity of Norsa and had always been fond of that city, the blue elves, and what he described as “their quaint ways…so much lovely foliage!” he decided to spend a few weeks there in recuperation.
When the procession had reached the center of the arena, the drummers suddenly ceased their tattoo, and the Old Man stepped forward to address the now silent crowd. He spoke in what Jarthen thought must have been a magically amplified voice that boomed loud enough for all to hear, “On this day, we, the assembled, shall bear witness to a duel between Svava, Queen of the blue elves of Norsa, and Jellihondor, esteemed commander of the Rebel Army. The latter has challenged her highness to the duel on the basis of a perceived injury to his standing as a member of the pan-elvish community on her part, in refusing to grant him access to the Vinkenti Gate. Svava has accepted this challenge with the terms that if Jellihondor should win, he and his party shall be granted safe passage and access to the aforementioned gate, while, if she proves victorious, the party of rebels will be forced to leave her lands and Jellihondor shall remain in Norsa for the rest of his days. The outcome shall be determined by myself, Glothnafar the Seer, and Drasha Must.” With these words, Glothnafar and Drasha stepped forward, shook hands with the Old Man and each other, bowed, and took places at a table that sat in front of the bleachers, with the best view of the arena. The Old Man then continued in his booming voice, “In keeping with the long tradition of elvish dueling, I must warn that no one but the two combatants are permitted to use magic during the contest – failure to abide by this rule will invalidate the results. Now, Jellihondor, as you have issued the challenge, have you reached a decision as to whether you will be using offensive or defensive magic in this, the very first of rounds?”
As Jellihondor stepped forward, the entire group of rebels, who had hitherto remained silent during the old man’s peroration, erupted into jubilant cheers. Jarthen found himself yelling and screaming with more passion than he had ever before: perhaps it was the fact that so much hinged on the outcome of the duel, but it could also have been that the lad had never had a cause in which he so wholeheartedly believed in as he did now. Jellihondor gave his subordinates a coy wink, but motioned that they should keep quiet as he spoke, stating, “I believe I’ll take ta defensive first, if tha’s a’right with ye, Svava?” The blue elf Queen, who had maintained a somber, defiant countenance, responded with a curt nod to the old elf’s query.
To Jarthen’s surprise, Rethnaki who had been watching the proceedings with an exceptionally intent look in his eyes, spoke under his breath, “tha’s a good decision. This way, ol’Jelli’ll get a chance ta see wha’ she’s got up her sleeve.” He was joined in this by further speculation and commentary by the rest of the rebels.
The Old Man spoke again, addressing Svava, “Have you, Svava Taggar, the challenged party, selected the type of magic to be used during the duel?”
The blue elf queen strode forward confidently to the thundering cheers of her people to respond, “yah, I vish ta use elemental magic.” These words, if anything, further amplified the frenzied cheering of the blue elves: clearly, Jarthen thought, this must be her strong suit.
“So it shall be!” the Old Man boomed to the roaring crowd, with a sweeping gesture of his hand, “let the first round begin!” With these words, the blue elf drummers began beating a slow tempo at first as Svava and Jellihondor assumed positions at opposite ends of the arena. The speed of the drums increased until the elves’ sticks were moving too fast for Jarthen to see -- until they abruptly ceased, and a tense silence engulfed the stadium, as the audience watched breathlessly for the combatants to make their first moves.
Even from the geographically removed vantage point of the cage – the blue elves had kindly built the arena in such a way as to provide the rebels with a line of sight to the duel, albeit not the best seat in the house – Jarthen could tell that all traces of affability and charm had faded from Jellihondor’s face, to be replaced with a look of grim, calculating seriousness. Glancing over to the judge’s table, the lad could see that Drasha bore a calm, almost smug look: it was clear that she had no doubt about the duel’s outcome. Glothnafar wore the same brooding expression he typically wore, while the Old Man’s face was not even turned towards the duel: rather, he appeared to be very engrossed in observing the habits of a sparrow, tending to its nest in a treetop just overhead.
Jarthen felt his companions growing restless as they all huddled against the side of the cage nearest to the duelists, waiting for them to take action. Some of the elves towards the back were having a conversation about what Jellihondor’s strategy might be in this first round, but they were hushed by a clearly annoyed Rethnaki, who had devoted the entirety of his attention to observing the stance of the two participants. Finally, after the two opponents had silently sized each other up for a solid ten minutes, Jellihondor called out to Svava in a jeering tone, “’given up already ‘ave ye, Svava?”
To this Svava responded by spreading both her arms out, palms forward, and turning her face to the sky – though Jarthen could not see her face directly, he could tell that she was in the midst of some sort of chant. As she recited the strange incantation, the lad observed that the palms of her hands had begun to glow with a strange, luminous red light, which got progressively more intense as the seconds dragged on. While she was doing this, Jellihondor remained motionless with his arms crossed – though he maintained a somewhat skeptical look on his face, Jarthen suspected that this was merely a tactic aimed at cracking the cool veneer of his opponent.
All of a sudden, with her palms now so bright that it almost hurt Jarthen’s eyes to gaze upon them, Svava slammed her outstretched hands together with a terrible crack. When her hands met a tremendous ball of flame, over two feet in diameter exploded forth from her joined hands moving towards Jellihondor at so fast a rate as to leave a tail reminiscent of a meteor as sped inexorably on! Gasps erupted from the rebels, while triumphant cries could be heard form the Norsans
Terrified that his commander was about to be immolated by this flaming projectile, Jarthen quickly turned his eyes to Jellihondor. Despite his age, the red elf commander moved like lightning! His hands outstretched before him as he yelled something incomprehensible in Athenorkos. With the ball of fire rapidly descending upon him, a pillar of ice issued forth from Jellihondor’s hands that met Svava’s projectile a mere few yards before it struck him. Though the fireball’s advance was checked, and its size greatly decreased, it still had sufficient heat and momentum to scorch Jellihondor’s robe and hair, knocking him slightly off balance.
Svava, in the meantime, had sunken to one knee apparently exhausted from the extreme exertion that generating the fireball had required. The first round over, Svava and Jellihondor both left the field to a pair of private tents that had been erected along with the stadium: both of them were clearly drained by their first spells. As they left the field both the rebels and the blue elves cheered loudly for their champion.
Not entirely sure how to interpret the outcome, Jarthen turned to Rethnaki for explanation, “So, who won, Naki? Is it over?”
Rethnaki whose spirits had been greatly lifted after getting over his initial anger at Jellihondor’s brazen plan, replied in a thoughtful, cautious manner, “it certainly ain’ over lad – there’s three more rounds ta fight yet. As ta who won, if I had ta say, I think Svava may ha’ ta advantage fer tha round, wha’ with her fireball havin’ scorched ol Jelli’s whiskers. Tha’s a’right tho, cause I reckon Jelli was jus’ usin’ tha round ta get a fix on Svava’s style.”
Zartheim, who was using his great height to see over Rethnaki’s head, also weighed in on the results, “Aye, I think that Rethnaki’s put the point quite well. Now, I’ve only had the privilege to observe a handful of elvish duels in my time, but I must say that all of the magic combined in those that I have witnessed does not equal what was just displayed by these two! Really, though I am certainly greatly invested in the outcome of this contest, it is truly a pleasure to be privy to these goings on!” The first round over, both the rebel captives and their Norsan counterparts set to packing pipes with pipeweed, and consuming this elvish delicacy to pass the time before the next engagement.
“Hey, Elcrona,” Jarthen called to the attractive female red elf – she, along with Rethnaki, Zartheim, and the lad were seated in a circle in their cage, having just finished consuming the last of several bowls of elvish pipeweed. Approximately two hours had elapsed since the first round of the duel had been fought, and the rebels, Jarthen especially, were growing impatient with the wait. “when is the duel going to start again?”
“Be patient, lad,” Elcrona replied patiently. Though she tried not to show it, she herself was just as anxious for the event to continue so that they might have a clearer insight into their collective future. “They need ta recuperate, y’know,” she continued, “castin’ spells like tha’ is hard work, even for the likes o’ Jelli an’ Svava.”
However, just as she uttered these words, the blue elvish drummers began hammering out the same rising tempo, reaching the crescendo as Jellihondor and Svava emerged from their tents to retake the pitch, both looking much refreshed. Again, both sides cheered their champion, and the rebels’ yells were outweighed by the vastly greater number of blue elves.
Instead of waiting in awkward silence, Jellihondor began this round by calling loudly to Svava, “are ye sure tha’ ye be wantin’ ta continue wit’ ta duel, lass? I don’ wan’ ye ta ha’ ta lose face in front o yer people!”
Svava responded with a cold, forced laugh, while saying, “ya are da one vat needs ta be careful, Jellihondor! I don’t vant ta break yer hip: ya are too old ta be doing this, I tink!” Once this remark had been translated into Vinkenti by the few blue elves who spoke the common tongue, the stadium erupted into laughter at the old elf’s expense.
Jellihondor, however, was not paying any mind to the jeering mass of blue elves, and had, instead, lifted his hands and face skyward as he yelled in the language of the red elves. As he did this, the sky above grew slowly darker: the sun, which had been beating down through the foliage disappeared behind a thick mass of roiling black cloud, which began twisting and turning in on itself like an ominous whirlpool. Jarthen could hear thunder and see bright, jagged shafts of lightning playing in the swirling tempest above the field.
With the storm now looming ominously overhead, the arena fell silent, growing more tense with each passing moment. Suddenly, with one swift movement, Jellihondor swept his hands down towards Svava, causing a furious barrage of grapefruit-sized hail to pelt down towards the blue elf queen. Never to be caught off guard, Svava immediately yelled out something in Vinkenti, while hunkering down in a defensive position.
As she did so, a very curious transformation took place. Svava’s body suddenly went rigid, and her skin, hair and even her garments took on the steely grey color of granite. Within moments of this miraculous change, the enormous hailstones started to mercilessly strike her body. Jarthen couldn’t see the blue elf queen’s body as the hailstones engulfed it and the icy dust created by them as they crashed on and around her obscured her from view.
an impressive defense!
“Did ye see that?” Helkint asked Rethnaki and Elcrona excitedly, “ol Jelli nearly took her arm off, he did! No doubt about it now, he’s got her where he wants her!” Rethnaki impatiently shushed the younger elf, stating that he’d rather watch the duel itself than hear Helkint’s recounting of it.
When the barrage had finally ceased, Svava remained in exactly the same position as when the hailstones had first struck her. In a moment, however, her body seemed to reanimate, and she arose, albeit shakily, to her feet. Though she seemed to be mostly intact after this maelstrom, she was grasping her right arm, clearly in pain. The two combatants again left the arena to retire to their separate tents.
Jarthen, who was absolutely blown away by this tremendous display of magical abilities, turned to look at the judges’ reaction to what had transpired. Glothnafar nodded gravely to himself as he apparently wrote some notes on a pad of paper before him. Drasha, on the other hand, no longer bore an expression of smug confidence so much as a look of concern over the injury that her monarch had just sustained. The Old Man, in the meantime, seemed to be more focused on the bowl of blue elvish mush that he was busy eating, though it was clear that he did not find it particularly appetizing.
Jarthen then turned to his elvish comrades who were busy discussing the outcome of the second round. Helkint once again exuberantly stated how well he thought Jellihondor had managed the round, which Elcrona seconded with much enthusiasm. Rethnaki looked at the two younger elves with a slight expression of bemusement before responding, “I dunno abou tha.” Rethnaki continued in a thoughtful, serious manner as he looked abstractedly towards the now empty pitch, “tha was a pretty tremendous counter-spell she came up wit. I suppose it’ll probably weigh out evenly again’ her fireball.”
By the time came for the third round, the sun was rapidly beginning to set, casting an attractive pinkish glow throughout the city of Norsa and over the dueling field. During this break, many of the spectators had retired to their homes to consume a quick repast, and prepare for the next round. The rebels were brought their usual cauldron of paste, which they ate hungrily while discussing their leader’s prospects in the coming round. The general consensus was that they had faith in the magickal abilities of their aged, intrepid commander, though the blue elf queen was proving to be a quite a challenge to beat.
Jarthen heard the unmistakable sound of the drums which once again signaled the approach of the two combatants as he took a deep inhalation from Zartheim’s generous pipe and passed the pipeweed to his fellows. Once he stopped coughing, the lad saw that the two competitors had taken the same positions they occupied in the first round. He noticed that in the interim, a series of strange lanterns had been placed around the arena to provide better illumination: they seemed to have been crafted out of a mysterious root with a glowing sap, and cast an odd blueish light which gave the tournament an even more unearthly ambience.
If Jellihondor and Svava had been drained by the exertion of the previous rounds, neither of them betrayed any sign of it as they stood facing each other in the ring. Without any formality or pretense, Svava launched into her spell immediately. She dropped to her knees and stretched her hands above her head, chanting in a shrill, powerful voice. Jarthen could see by the light of the lanterns that, as she did so, her eyes appeared to roll back into her head and a strange blue light began to emanate from her hands. At the same time, the sky took on that same tumultuous aspect that it had when Jellihondor conjured the hailstorm, and the clouds twisted and swirled in a most sinister way.
Jellihondor, in the meantime, calmly observed the transformation being wrought on the sky above. He gazed upwards towards the sky with an intent expression, almost as if he was reading its hidden meaning. In a moment, a look of realization spread across the old elf’s face, and he quickly dropped into a crouch, before springing upward in a spry jump. However, instead of a single Jellihondor landing, there were now seven slightly smaller exact replicas of himself.
With this startling turn of events, both crowds released a collective gasp, while Rethnaki exclaimed, “Tha’s bleedin’ amazing! I’ve heard o’ such splinterin’ spells, but I’ve ne’er seen’un successfully cast! And, how many is t’it…six…seven! Seven copies!”
Jarthen could only gape in response as he watched the seven diminuitive Jellihondors caper about, taunting Svava as they hopped about in a sprightly fashion, some dancing little jigs while others taunted her with mild insults. Svava, for her part, was clearly perturbed by this dramatic spell – she did not stop chanting, but her eyes rolled back to gaze at Jellihondor. As the storm reached its boiling point, she brought her hands together causing three twisters to descend, sometimes catching and thrashing about Jellihondor’s doppelgangers, but not causing them any appreciable damage.
Seeing this result, Rethnaki laughed for the first time since they had been captured by the blue elves, explaining to Jarthen and his comrades, “she ha’ ta split her twister inta three ta counteract Jelli’s splinterin’ spell! She couldn’ ha seen it comin’.”
After the twisters dispersed, the seven Jellihondors ran towards each other, slamming together at the same moment, leaving a single, grinning Jellihondor to gaze at the clearly disgruntled Svava.
“So, this is like the last round, right?” Jarthen asked Rethnaki – his friend was in the process of packing his pipe with pipeweed.1
“Aye lad it tis,” Rethnaki responded, as he took a glowing stick, and touched it to the now full pipe, inhaling the rich smoke deeply: darkness had fallen a few hours ago, leaving only the eerie light of the lanterns.
“When will we know if Jelli’s won?” Jarthen asked, still not entirely clear on the exact process of the duel.
Rethnaki paused, and exhaled calmly – Jarthen felt infinitely more hopeful now that Rethnaki was acting more like his old self. “Well, it often takes ta judges hours, or even days ta reach a decision, if there ain’ a clear winner. I tink in this case tha it’ll probably take a while, given ta skill o’ Jelli and Svava.”
As he uttered these words the drums resumed, announcing the arrival of Svava and Jellihondor as they entered the arena, their heads held high. Despite the late hour, both sides roared louder than ever to support their heroes.
Without uttering a word, Jellihondor bowed to Svava, who inclined her head in response. The old elf gazed at his younger opponent, with a wry smile on his lips. Svava looked paler and somewhat drained, but her expression was as determined as ever: she was not a woman to give up.
After a moment of staring at one another in silence, Jellihondor suddenly issued a sharp yell, slamming his fist into the ground. Svava, caught off guard by the old elf’s quick movement, remained where she was: it seemed that Jellihondor’s spell had had no effect. Seeing this, Svava allowed a smile to break across her stern face, but Jellihondor did not seem perturbed by the apparent failure of his spell: he merely straightened up, and stared back at Svava with the same wry grin on his face.
However, within seconds, Svava’s look of triumph had turned to dismay, as she realized that she was now knee deep in quick sand – and sinking fast. The crowd of blue elves let out a frightened gasp, as they realized the seriousness of the situation. Nevertheless, Svava kept her wits about her, and yelled out an incantation that caused the trees above her to bend their strong branches toward her outstretched arms. She grasped firmly onto one of the branches, and yelled another command, that caused the tree to pull her – she had by this point sunk in up to her neck – out of the morass and onto solid ground. She landed with a thud, sinking immediately to her knees from the exertion, but her amazing escape still elicited thunderous cheers from the blue elves.
Jarthen turned his gaze toward the judges, who had been watching the events intently. Drasha had a serious look on her face, while the Old Man seemed cheerful and carefree, amusing himself with various moths fluttering around a nearby lantern. Though he couldn’t be sure, Jarthen thought that he saw the glimmer of a smile in the centaur’s usually stern eyes. The final round over, the judges left the table and retired towards Norsa to deliberate.
The judges deliberated for the rest of the night, while Jarthen and the rest of the rebels spent that time in their cage in tense discussion. The combination of anxiety and excitement the rebels felt meant that no one slept that night. Instead, there was a great deal of speculation over the outcome of the duel: each round was analyzed and revisited in detail throughout the night, as each of the rebels gave their opinions on the minutiae of the fight, and thoroughly analyzed the judges’ expressions.
As the sun was rising, one of the city’s great horns was blasted, calling its inhabitants back to the arena. When the bleachers were full again, the judges and the two combatants emerged and walked towards the center of the pitch. The Old Man, raised his hands for silence, before speaking in his magically amplified voice, “we have reached our decision!” He paused and gazed at the assembled spectators before continuing in a somber tone, “though this duel was bravely fought by both sides, there can be only one winner. Based on our deliberations, we have concluded that…” and the Old Man stopped here, clearly relishing teasing the spectators with such an overlong dramatic pause, “…Jellihondor is the victor!”
Jarthen could hardly believe his ears! Jellihondor had won! Overcome with emotion, Jarthen erupted into a jubilant cheer, breaking the cold silence of the rest of the assembled who had remained completely impassive.2 Upon hearing the verdict, Svava motioned to the guards by their prison who released the imprisoned rebels. As she did this, Jellihondor walked over to her, and, again, took and kissed her hand. She gave him an indulgent nod, and appeared to bear him no ill will. As the rebels emerged from the cage that had been their home for close to two weeks, Svava called out the name of a blue elf warrior, who stepped forward. “This,” she said, “is Sveren, he will take you to the Vinkenti gate.”
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1 The blue elves had not been so cruel as to deprive the red elves of this source of comfort: indeed, over twelve hundred years ago, representatives of the three major elvish races reached an accord over the treatment of elvish prisoners that guaranteed access to pipeweed, among other basic essentials.
2The etiquette regarding elvish duels usually holds that since the resolution of a duel is permanently binding, and therefore can not be challenged, the outcome should paradoxically be treated as if it was not the product of a duel at all. The elves reason that if one wins a duel, then they could have one the duel at any point – thus, the duel is simply an affirmation of reality and does not contribute to it. Bringing attention to winning, therefore, is considered akin to bragging and thought to be very uncouth.
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