The Man With No Hands

by Toby Neighbors

  “I think I can help with that,” she said, moving closer.

  There was no attraction between the elf and the woman. She wanted Orin, and the fact that Feray had swept into the camp and stolen him away only made her resent the sorceress that much more. Allric had forced her to leave the big warrior, and they had not interfered with the attack. Via didn’t understand why, but she did understand that Allric had a plan, and for the moment she was willing to trust him.

  “You can help?” he asked, the skepticism dripping from his voice like honey from a comb.

  “Yes, I was talking with one of the prisoners, before you mixed him. He said the king of Floralon is coming to the Wilderness.”

  “The Wilderness, how quaint. It’s like barbarians calling civilization primitive.”

  “He said they’re coming, a whole army with weapons and armor.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “I have no reason not to,” Via said.

  “He was terrified. He would have said anything for you to free him.”

  “I don’t think so. You don’t know the Raven King.”

  “Your king is a carrion bird?”

  “No, that’s just what he’s called. It’s because he’s cunning and ambitious.”

  “And you are foolish and naive,” he retorted. “The humans have been content on their tiny strip of land for centuries. Why would they suddenly become interested in the Western Realm?”

  “Because of what Feray did,” Via said. “They want to control her power. That and they followed her to the pass. If they’ve found a way through the Mountain Veil they will come.”

  “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to find out more.”

  He waved his hand and two massive, white-tailed eagles launched themselves from a towering treetop, flying east. Allric began walking back toward the small shelter where his prized possessions were stored. Via followed and Hollis was already hard at work packing up the various items into chests and satchels. The dracons stood watch around the hut.

  Allric pulled a map of the Western Realm from a shelf in the small building and unrolled the parchment onto a table. He traced a long, pale finger across the brightly colored surface of the map. The quickest way out of the forest was due north, to the foothills of the Devil’s Teeth. From there he could skirt the Mossy Woodlands and arrive at the Keyhole Pass to meet the army of Floralon. He couldn’t decide whether he believed Via or not, but in either case he needed humans to build his army. He also needed more dragon flesh, but he was already working to solve that problem.

  It would be quicker to travel through the forest, but too many of his kinsmen were there, and the risk, now that he had revealed himself, was too great. They would be searching for him, and while he didn’t fear the elves of the Ivory Clan, destroying them was in direct opposition to his overarching goals.

  “We are ready, my lord,” Hollis said.

  Allric straightened and rolled the map up, before handing it to the rotund elf. He didn’t bother looking around at the little hut. It had been a temporary shelter, nothing more, and certainly wasn’t worth any sort of sentimentality. Outside the hut, a row of animals waited. His dire wolves were gone, as well as the boars, but he had other options. The dracons would have no trouble keeping up, even with the heavy packs that Hollis had saddled them with. And while Allric was capable of running through the tree canopies at great speed, he saw it beneath his dignity to travel on foot.

  Via gasped as she stepped out of the shadows of the hut and saw two magnificent-looking creatures. They were horses, but taller and more slender than any horse Via had seen before. Allric kept the creatures hidden most of the time. Their legendary horns were his own creation. He had taken two normal horses and magically enhanced them. They had the powerful feet of mountain goats, and their tails were long fleshy appendages with dangerous-looking stingers at the end. Each had a horn growing from the center of its forehead. The black horse had a great, curving tusk horn, while the white horse had a shorter horn that was glossy and straight. Neither horse was saddled, and each had a long mane.

  Allric sprang up onto the white horse. He was strong and agile, like most elves of the Ivory Clan. He waved at the other horse, who knelt low, so that Hollis could climb up onto its back. Then he reached out a hand for Via.

  “We must go,” he said.

  “Are those unicorns?” Via asked.

  “Indeed,” Allric said, not bothering to share that they weren’t real unicorns, which were the rarest of all magical creatures in the Western Realm, hardly ever venturing out of the densest forests.

  She took his hand and with a boost of his magical power, she was carried up onto the horse’s back.

  “What about the other animals?” Via asked.

  “They will follow. Let’s move!”

  The horses were fast animals and sure footed. They cantered through the forest, sometimes having to duck their heads to avoid hitting low limbs with their long horns. The dracons followed, running despite the heavy packs they carried and showing no signs of fatigue. The day passed quickly, and when night fell, the jagged peaks of the Devil’s Teeth were in sight like shadowy guardians looming over the forest.

  Allric felt a thrill of excitement. His plans were working out perfectly. There were setbacks of course, and resistance from those who couldn’t see the grandeur of his power without fear or jealousy, but he had made the discovery he was looking for. Mixing humans with dragons was a stroke of genius. The humans were like a blank canvas and the dragon flesh transformed them into powerful creatures that were a masterwork of Allric’s power, the pinnacle of all he had worked for. Soon he would have an army, an unstoppable force that would sweep across the Western Realm bringing every race and tribe under his direct control. He would have the wealth of the magical races. They would fall at his feet and call him the king of kings. He would use his power to remake the entire realm. It was within his grasp and he was certain that nothing could stop him.

  Chapter 26

  Making camp was simple enough. She didn’t have much food left, but it was enough. Feray shared the dried meat and what fruit she had with Orin. They sat together, neither speaking for a long time. Feray couldn’t help but stare at Orin’s newly formed hands. They weren’t like the hideous snake bodies that were bonded to the bodies of eagles, or the strange mix of creatures she had seen in the elf village of Braa’dun. His hands seemed perfectly natural, almost as if they had been there all along.

  “Do they feel strange?” she asked, finally getting past her concern that talking about his hands would somehow offend Orin.

  “It is strange to be able to feel,” he said. “My arms weren’t very sensitive. Now I can feel everything. The skin of this peach. The damp earth. The bark of the trees. It’s all new to me.”

  “But they don’t feel foreign,” she prompted. “Do you feel like they don’t belong?”

  “No,” he said, sounding overly protective. “They’re perfect.”

  “I didn’t mean that they weren’t.”

  “I know what you’re thinking, they’re the work of an evil sorcerer, so of course they must be evil too. I understand your concern, but I promise you, they are not bad. They are part of me.”

  “Would you mind if I looked at them a little more closely?” she asked.

  “I know you mean well, but I think I need a little more time.”

  “For what?”

  “Look, I don’t want to be rude, but you have to understand that I can’t give my hands up. All my life I’ve been different. People have looked at me as if there were something foul about me, like I was cursed. They whispered behind my back, and sometimes screamed their insults to my face while they beat me. I had no control over what made me different. I didn’t choose to have no hands, I was innocent, but I was treated like an outcast. Even my own parents looked at me with scathing disappointment. Somehow, through no fault of my own, I had failed them. I was a monster, cursed by the gods. All I ever wanted was to be normal
.”

  “But surely you see that you were normal,” Feray said compassionately.

  “Then what I wanted was to be treated like a normal person. There were things I couldn’t do, Feray. Things that most people take for granted. I’ve spent my whole life wondering how different things might be if I only had hands. Please don’t try to take them from me.”

  “Orin, I would never do anything to hurt you. Surely you know that about me.”

  “I know you have a good heart,” he said. “But I also know that you fear Allric. I can’t say that he is a good person, only that he did something good for me.”

  “People like Allric don’t do anything unless it benefits them.”

  “And how does helping me benefit him?” Orin asked.

  “I don’t know and that’s what makes me nervous.”

  “Look, I get it, we’ve been under a lot of stress and in almost constant danger. I wish that weren’t so. I regret that the dragons have forced you to be some type of figurehead in their war with Allric. But I am still me, you are you, and we are together. Surely, that is enough for this night.”

  “Okay,” Feray said.

  She felt the tension between them, a sense of distrust that reminded her of when Crucifus had forced Orin to help her. She looked at the line across his face, the dragon’s kiss, and wondered if he could really hurt her. He was sworn to protect her, but he had been changed by an evil sorcerer, and she didn’t trust him, not really. He might strangle her in the night, or betray her somehow. She wondered briefly if perhaps she was just expecting the worst because of her own past. Marc had been taken from her, murdered by Earl Uthar’s ghastly son Ian, yet a part of her blamed Marc for dying. He had left her all alone and vulnerable when she needed him most. It wasn’t fair to him, but her life was anything but fair and she had painful wounds to bear that no one could see or heal.

  She leaned back against the tree, her feet near the warm fire. The ground beneath her was damp, but so were her clothes. She was so tired that she didn’t really care if she was wet, or cold, as long as she could close her eyes, for just a little while. Orin was nearby, the same steady presence she had relied on, but she didn’t feel the same about him. He had refused to let her touch or look at his new hands, and that made her nervous. It seemed obvious that he was hiding something from her.

  The panther was asleep on a wide branch just above Feray. Her horse was hobbled nearby. All around she saw and felt the magic of the forest. And close at hand was the leaf-shaped sword that Marc had forged before his death. She checked to make sure she could have the weapon out quickly if she needed it. The last thing she wanted was to hurt Orin, but she couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t hurt her. She had to trust him, but she didn’t feel good about it. Nor did she take his word that the sorcerer hadn’t insisted on something from him. He could be lying, some men would do anything to get what they wanted, and while she had to sleep, she wouldn’t let herself drop her guard, not until she was certain that Orin was still the man she’d come to care so much about.

  It seemed to Feray as if she’d shut her eyes for just a few seconds when the sun came up and filled the forest with light. She wanted to stretch her aching body out on the soft ground and go back to sleep, but she couldn’t afford to waste a single second of daylight. Crucifus was waiting for her, and she needed to get back to Luc. When she looked around the panther was gone, but Orin was asleep against a nearby tree. She got to her feet, checked on her horse, and drank some water. Then she woke Orin, who started as if he’d been having a nightmare. Before he even looked up at her, he looked at his hands.

  “Afraid they weren’t really there?” she asked.

  “It felt like a dream,” he admitted, as he flexed his fingers.

  “We should get moving.”

  “I’m ready,” he said, getting slowly to his feet.

  They walked for nearly an hour before the panther reappeared. The stealthy cat moved silently through the canopy. Feray was sure the big predator had been hunting, although what type of animas the panther stalked was a mystery to her. She wondered if it ever came down from the trees at all. And when they finally came within sight of the elfish outpost, the panther disappeared again.

  “I guess he doesn’t like elves,” Orin said.

  “It’s a she,” Feray corrected him. “I’m not surprised that she likes her privacy.”

  “Women need time to themselves,” Orin agreed. “Not that I’m an expert, but my mother hated being around people. Me most of all.”

  “She was a fool then,” Feray said.

  “Mama!” Luc called as he and Rolo came running from behind a tree. “You’re back.”

  She snatched the boy up and twirled him around. It was something his father had done, but Feray was overjoyed to see her son. They stopped long enough to eat and pick up the rest of their supplies, then Terreek led them from the outpost.

  Feray could see the suspicion on the elf’s face. The fair race didn’t age like humans. Wrinkles were almost nonexistent from what Feray had seen, and they were almost always smiling, but their eyes revealed their feelings. And Feray could feel a strong sense of distrust from the elf, who stared at the big warrior’s new hands suspiciously. Orin seemed not to notice or perhaps he simply didn’t care. She hadn’t detected any deceitfulness in Orin’s actions or the energy that radiated from him. He seemed genuinely grateful to be with her again, but something was on his mind. Feray wanted to ask him about it but she wasn’t sure how. The tension between them was like a wedge, driving them further apart. Feray felt herself growing more uncomfortable with her protector hour by hour.

  They traveled to a wide river that flowed through the Mossy Woodlands, they turned and then moved along the bank of the swiftly flowing water. They moved north, while the water flowed south, but the area around the river was open and easier to traverse. Orin no longer had a horse, but being on foot the entire day didn’t seem to slow him down at all. Throughout the day he was constantly picking things up. Stones, sticks, leaves, and even old bones from animals who had been eaten by predators near the river. He wanted to touch everything, to feel the bark on the trees, the soft, cool moss on the boulders near the river, and the bushy fern leaves.

  “Mama,” Luc said in a quiet voice as they rode side by side on their horses. “Orin has hands.”

  “I know that, Luc,” she replied.

  “How come he wasn’t wearing them before?”

  Feray had to fight back a chuckle. She loved seeing the world through the eyes of her child. He was so innocent, so loving and open. She hoped he would be able to retain his sense of wonder and excitement as he grew older.

  “Luc, you can’t take your hands off. They’re not like gloves or mittens.”

  “Then how, mama?”

  “I don’t know, son. I’m still trying to understand it.”

  “Was it magic, mama? Like you can do to make people feel better?”

  “Something like that,” she told him.

  The truth was she had healed Orin after he had rescued Luc from the earl in Glory Keep. The knights had beaten Orin almost to death. He had broken ribs, a broken ankle, and his face looked so swollen he wasn’t recognizable. It had been a long, delicate task to feed the life-giving magic into Orin, and his body had mended completely, but he still had no hands. Nothing about the task of healing his body had involved growing new hands, and it made her wonder what type of magic actually could fashion hands where none had ever existed.

  Orin could feel things, his curiosity made that abundantly clear. He had spent nearly an hour rubbing Rolo’s fur at the elfish outpost. And he had taken the time to feel the horses, from their strong necks, to their soft manes, and even their tender noses. His hands weren’t just ornamental or crude fixtures that had been slapped into place. Fashioning them must have taken skill, patience, strength, and experience. Yet Orin insisted that he had promised the elf nothing in return for the magical work. He stood by his story that he had been forced to choose b
etween receiving the new hands, or becoming one of the dragon crossbreeds he called dracons. Which meant either he was lying to Feray, or he didn’t know what the magical work would cost him, both of which made her very nervous.

  “Mama, what’s that?” Luc asked, pointing up into the trees.

  “It’s a panther, watch out!” Terreek cried.

  He drew a small, curved knife that looked like it was made of polished stone rather than metal, and moved between the horses and the panther which was in the canopy further up the trail where a large alder tree spread wide branches toward the river.

  “Wait,” Feray said. “She’s a friend.”

  Feray dismounted and handed the reins of her horse to Orin. Then she lifted Luc free of his horse and walked with him ahead of the others. The panther hissed as it looked back at Terreek, but then it dropped to the ground as lightly as one might step down from a flight of stairs.

  Feray went to one knee and held Luc so that he wouldn’t be afraid. Rolo was whining back by the horses. Feray didn’t know if Orin was holding the dog back or if it was afraid of the big cat.

  “This is a panther, Luc,” Feray said as the cat slowly moved toward them. “She helped me get Orin back from the bad people.”

  “Thank you,” Luc said.

  The panther bowed its head.

  “What’s her name, mama?”

  “I don’t think she has a name. What do you think we should call her?”

  Luc thought for a minute, then said, “How about Shadow?”

  The panther purred, like.

  “She likes it! She likes it!”

  Luc reached out and stroked the panther’s soft fur.

  “What have you seen today, Shadow?” Luc said.

  Dragon, the panther purred softly, hurt.

  “What?” Feray asked. “You saw a dragon? Where?”

  The panther turned and looked back up the river in the direction they were headed.

  “How far?” Feray asked.

  Mountains, the big cat said.

  “We have to keep moving,” Feray said over her shoulder. “I think Crucifus may be hurt.”