Book 1 of the Lay of Merialeth
Book 2: The Black Shores of Kisiyuka
I
Doleful wert the days,
That passed them by
They whom applied Shalvar’s ways,
And who didst ply
Their trade and ways
By the sea, and ne’er didst lie,
Save in measly manner, and turn’d their gazes,
From sea to caverns far below the sky,
Such their greatness in past ages
When they ruled Ifriquya and didst defy,
Beasts, men and demons of all races,
Their robes of cast in many a-dye,
Happy and forlorn wert many faces,
At the revelation that their most high
King, he of many days,
Had not the same eager desire to die,
That might they of wicked ways
And despair embrace, such be the lie
Of evil and born in wicked ages,
Forlorn for his people and daughter, gone his wry
Humour that earn’d him much praise,
Hardly able to see why,
Argylos be favour’d, thus Shalvar malaise
Infecting his spirit, thrice didst deny
Him Merialeth’s hand,
Lo! Of her love,
Shalvar wouldst glove
Truth, and shove
It away, and hold above
All such talk, words of war,
Against the brute who rove
Through Elvish and manly lives near and far,
Ne’er could she whom e’ery dove
Didst adore as one might a lovely star,
That they oft dove
Down from the skies to unmar
The air betwixt earth and air above,
Suns’ kiss’d days they shared,
Bathed in love’s joy,
Many days they compared,
Shore to shore, wits they full deploy,
This they might well hath declared
To be the hour in which they rejoice,
‘Twas in this hour that shadows flared
To life, to inspire little joy
In those who oppose those shadowed
By the darkness that hates the poise
And dignity of those who dared
To look to love and enjoy
All that life offered,
Great was the favour
That her sisters dared
To look on the joy
Of their sister, she who shared
Their father’s greatness and made a great noise
In a world that long declared,
Neither love, nor happiness a ploy
No matter what Shalvar proclaimed,
Of her affection he ne’er didst toy,
Nor was any steel bared,
For fear that she might lose what joy
She felt, and be left impaired
Of life as her mother was, to oceanic void,
Until at last Shalvar squared,
Broad shoulders and didst destroy
As best he might, no longer unprepared,
By wooden beams, as by local trees he didst repair
That which had carried
Merialeth’s joy
To bronze shores, whereupon they wert harried,
Time and again for much might Shalvar dare,
In her eyes he found the light of the suns’,
In her hair the evening night,
Within her hair he saw many stars,
Dancing about under sunlight,
By the trees before the last of Adamantios’ sons’,
Feet flashing free of scars,
With all the brilliance of starlight,
Lo! Her white dress pure as snow,
Gilded with cerulean gems, as her arms
Flew and danced as though in flight,
Free as a doe,
Such was the vision
Argyros beheld, and he alone,
In days of greatest peace,
And unyielding light,
II
Baleful as a vulture,
Ne’er caring for culture
Therein his fortress
Wounded he saw to the redress
Of his wounds,
Hiding away from feuds
And prying eyes alike,
That he might prepare to strike
Once more, such his fury
At the besmirching of his glory,
His dark fort darker
In days made starker,
By injury and decay,
To none didst he relay
What sorrows befell him,
Preferring them all left dim,
If possible, and for them to fear
And ne’er hear
Tell of his losses,
To the masses
Of those who served
Him, Nalmigoth conserved
Only words of hatred,
Of his vast realm the most unsacred
Of all those who measured
His every word, the leopard
Lord, Zalapæk was the most devoted,
Most resolved to have head sever’d
From Dorian shoulders,
His fury such his banners’
Many there wert he savaged,
Many the lands he ravaged,
Greatly built on dark spires,
Upon myriad pyres,
And thereupon mountains of such sizes
There amidst a great many rises,
They who lit many fires
In the hearts of men, turned them to vices
And into beasts, for they who entices
To cruelty, they are ne’er far from pyres,
They whom were birth’d in the direst
Of lands, he who lit the fires
Of the forges and pits of immense sizes,
Away went to the skies,
This then was proof of the vices
Of he whom was King of reprisals,
Chief most of Nalmigoth’s advisors,
He whom held the dread spires
In trust thereupon the isle that entices
Always the eye, even as it frightens,
Many wert his devices
By which he heightens
Always the dread of being torn to slices
Of those within his grasp that widens
The sorrows and entices
Much evils among those he seizes,
Thereupon molten isle,
The many days away in vile
Torment of others, he passed,
Until he at last,
Withdrew from hearth and home,
To go whither to loom
O’er deep grottos and slopping valleys,
This he didst by way of galleys,
Vast ships he stole
From the Dorians ere they wert whole
As a people, in those days
They had yet to prove their ways,
So that thereupon the bay,
He made his way,
This he didst in fidelity,
He thus with full clarity
Further broke peace
And tore from delicate sheath
Many glittering blades
As he commanded many raids,
That he might better humiliate
And dilapidate
The many monuments of Elder-Folks,
That he might tie there the yokes
That they wouldst deny,
And upon which Nalmigoth didst rely
For his great many works,
He and others of forks
Tongues, that didst hiss
And offer much reason to resist,
Swords glittering,
Shields shimmering,
And boat masts spread,
To the great dread
Of all who beheld them,
So that they might condemn
All those they despise
By way of every steel device
By which he might destroy
The totality of the joy
Of the sons’ of Shalvar,
III
Of Konnar much has been sung,
Many tapestries once hung,
In dark halls that number in the thousands,
His body lay thereupon the sands,
Noble and mighty, his life wrung
From this realm in which all the young
Do so dream, dreams that expands
Age after age, until all their bands
Tear themselves asunder, traitors hung
And loyalists that flung
Them from the walls by their own hands,
Built once upon a time, in the most southerly lands,
Of the bravery of Prince Konnar, many had sung,
Of his noble deeds, many a songs poets had flung,
He who commands
The vast numbers of all those who demands
Blood for blood, that the slayer be hung,
From a high rope ere he is no longer young,
Of Khalvar’s son
In every hall wails wert heard,
Faces awash in tears, his life undone
By savage hands beneath unfurl’d
Leopard banners that hung
From mast to mast, fear’d
Across all shores, by Elvish hands newly won,
Of Shalvar’s brother’s son, whom he rear’d,
And all knew to be as dear as a son,
Many wert those who once fear’d
The leopard standards and at full-lung
Didst once bellow and sear’d
Itself into the mind of every son
Of the Elves that they once steer’d
Far from them, and sung
Only to avoid and ne’er near’d
Them, yet now had under the suns’
Endured the loss of well-beloved
Konnar, he whom all worshipped like a sun,
He who all cheered,
All loved and none
Didst hate, his hair that so endear’d
So very many and was as spun
Onyx and his blade that had ne’er spear’d
Any such was his youth, such his hard-won
Goodness, all especially Argyros had rever’d
Him above all others more than
His own crew and kindred,
O Konnar Fedhmoyo son
Of sons! How bereft
The world now is without thee!
So chanted
All those who wander still, free
And alive, both beard’d and unbeard’d,
Both those who live in caverns, as among the trees,
None who heard
His wails, and those who did not all agree,
How terrible and wicked
Was the loss of Shalvar the Great!
Of the sorrow of the house
Of Shalvar, none could speak,
Such was the weight that ne’er didst douse
The flame of grief that didst reek
From chamber to chamber so only one didst rouse
From sorrowful slumber, to seek
To remove him from his chambers in his house
‘Twas deem’d futile and made to reek
In the eyes of those of his house,
Yet when grief melt’d away, hot speech
Followed just as did every lout,
Such was that which didst leech
Him of strength and leave him more mouse
Than lion, such the grief
That he with every ounce
Of his being, gave way to, that he lay heap
Upon heap of his being, as he fail’d his vows
Such the pain of the loss of his nephew,
IV
By tender speech,
Ne’er didst he screech,
Nor by leech,
He didst so seize
He thus didst beseech
What ship might be
Put out to sea,
By ship they might reach
The lands where he might unleash
His grief-stricken fury, by which
He might enrich
Noble Shalvar, the chief
Of the Elves, he whom all agreed
Was the most wise, he who didst achieve
More than any other chief
In recent memory, even as all disagrees
With his preference for grief,
His inability to properly address the disease
To the north that didst in brief,
Bring to the land of Ifriquya, where ease
Hardly exists, in this hour
That he might once more teach
Nalmigoth the vigour
Of those of the west and southerly reach,
Though of high-mind,
Of deep disdain,
That he sought to grind
Down Argyros and not to drain
Him of vigour, and didst find
In him little he wish’d to retain,
Shalvar King, didst remind,
‘I shalt still disdain,
And shalt not invite thee to dined,
With mine and Merialeth, and dost maintain
Dismay and hearty dislike of thy unrefined
Northerly ways, and shalt not feign
To consider thy request, if such be thy designed
Will,’ he didst exclaim,
To this Argyros noble and fair,
Didst dare
To utter, ‘I wish only to fare
The waves, and to dare
To do what any kindred aware
Of their duty, and bare
The weight of honour,’
This he didst utter, in no way despair
Had its sway, ne’er didst it impair
Him or those who didst hear
Him speak, so that they didst warn him beware,
Such was the newfound care
That o’ercame them,
By sea he strove,
Forward he dove,
A treasure-trove
Was not what he strove
For, but for love,
As justice, he rove
Through the waves away he didst move,
Away from his new home,
That he might remove
The monster who didst approve
Of all wicked misdeeds of the most crude
Sort, and thus diffuse
Evil still further and exclude
The world from its grasp, and infuse
A little more good into it, and return to consume
Once more he didst choose,
And many times, he refused to make this his tomb,
Neither thereon the ship, ere he be made groom
Wouldst he perish, or so he didst muse,
Lo! He by sea didst strove,
And only at sea he throve
When not in Merialeth’s embrace,
Until by storm
As by treacherous worm,
In the face of such firm
Resolve thus it didst swarm,
Ship and stern both it didst deform,
Torn was its form,
Not one man left warm,
By waves of autumn
Sort that didst worst than any wyrm,
Lo! The blackest storm
In the memory most firm
Of that time of autumn
Grief, such was scorn
That the waves born
In that hour upon forlorn
Sailors and heroes, who torn
From warm sails, down into the false storm,
Worse than any thorn,
In the blackest of morn’
The waves Zalapæk didst adorn
The sea with, and so charm
And so bring harm
By storm
As by blade, upon those sworn
To avenge Konnar, they the forlorn
Who together cease’d to mourn,
And sought to escape malform’d
Seas, that Zalapæk didst malform
By bloody ceremony that he might swarm
Them wholly and utterly,
V
Adrift with nary
Any comrades, no longer merry,
His path didst not vary,
Only Tharalthin the most wary
Of his crew only he didst not vary
Without any means to ferry
Them to that very
Port, they that survived didst carry
One and another, past waves made scary
By black-hands, none unwary
Of dark spirits, each wistful as a canary
To flutter and flurry
Away, away to the heavens,
Ashore thereupon the sand
Heart aching with a thousand
Pains, a full score
Elves and one man, tore
Their path from sea
To sandy shore that they be
Welcomed from it,
Far be it
They remarked to themselves,
That they as Elves,
Must not be revealed,
Lo! That they should be conceal’d,
By rote as by hymn,
Flesh sag’d
Eyes became dim,
Tissue sank,
Clothe became as iron,
Lo! How they stank,
Thus, didst the scion
Of Adamantios, sought the dank
Dungeon wherein ruled
The great lord,
Utterly ill-used,
Wert the ignored
The forgotten men
Of yon days that storm’d
Back when
Argyros lay in the ocean,
It was thence
That full of devotion,
He resolved to undertake
That most beloved notion
Of men, and to overtake
Those guards that didst shield,
Tunnels dank and deep,
And ensure that all must yield
To the new crew that didst seek
To take keep and hearth,
This was why none didst speak
Of flight, for none had a dearth
Of Valour and Manly
Vigour, that loathe
To leave they sadly
Met in the courtyard
Nary a soul,
Yet many a guard’s
Arrows, so that their only console
Lay in not knowing
The traitor that stole
Away liberty’s ring
From them, and left
One and all within
Utterly bereft,
Now was known to their chagrin,
Though their fingers be deft,
Battle’s din,
Was made to once more
Wait a full score
Of days, ere death
Ended the health
Of many a Elves.