Neutral Parties

by Christopher J Taylor

“Then my people will kill them,” Aylathan said with a shrug. “The god of chaos can wander the world alone till he dies.”

  “Brother, please,” Ayliaster said. “Let them pass by.”

  “And why should I do that?”

  “Because one of our uncles seeks to topple the empire of another and when an empire falls, civilization shrinks and the forests grow to reclaim the land.”

  Aylathan stood, this time without anger or the snapping of vines, and walked to a pile of rubble at one side of the room. He bent and picked up a simple gray clay pot that had been overturned. A large shard of the pot was missing and dirt fell to the ground as he lifted it for a closer look. The sapling within had spread roots through the break. Its thin trunk had bent around the lip of the pot to grow up to the light, despite finding itself on its side.

  “My sister,” he said, eyes on the sapling. “I was content to let my heart wither. Now you ignite an ache.” He stroked the tender leaves, his mind lost on idle thoughts. “I will commune with the wood. My people may yet kill the minions of Bartleby, but not by my will. Now go before I begin to believe you have once again tricked me into misplaced compassion.” His sharp eyes flicked toward her and a scowl marred his features. “And don’t feed the deer!”

  As Ayliaster fled Aylathan’s tree, she caught glimpse of a bobbing pink light flying across the pond. Another faerie, a blue one, emerged from trees behind it and the goddess of love smiled.

  ***

  Taelyn sat quietly, looking over an immense forest. To the east and west, the mountains that divided this new world from the valley he’d called home all his life curved southward. Cazmeran had said the forest was a single, wide basin, but there was no sign of the other side, even in the clear mid-morning sunlight. Nowhere in Halsted could someone stand at one edge of the valley and not see the other side. The way Kovol and Cazmeran spoke, even this massive wood was tiny compared to the world, and Taelyn was supposed to save it all.

  The three refugees had taken their time breaking camp this morning. Partly this was due to an ongoing disagreement between Cazmeran and Kovol. Cazmeran believed they would find a quick path through the trees once they got past the brush at the edge of the forest. Kovol insisted the wood was haunted by spirits better left alone. He wanted to stay as high in the hills as possible. Both man and orc squatted over a patch of dirt, each with a stick, each taking turns to scribble on a makeshift map as they tried to convince the other. There was no discussion of their direction. The empire was east. Kovol’s tribe had gone west. Taelyn wasn’t certain the orc would spare their lives if they tried to follow. The other reason for the late start was that they had spent half the night fleeing from some howling beast.

  Once Kovol had decided to join them, the other orcs wasted little time looting the bodies they could easily reach. Most sought out weapons but several departed with newly acquired chain armor. Kovol had picked up a sword with a red stag’s head painted on the blade, just past the hilt. It seemed small in his hands, but the orc claimed it might be traded for something more useful. Cazmeran had found a pair of boots and pants that fit;they were sturdy and mostly clean. Taelyn now wore leather armor pieced together from items discarded by the orcs. It smelled of dust and rain and hard work. It also itched and chaffed where the fit wasn’t quite right and it held the heat in like a winter coat. At his hip he still wore the sword taken from the knight he’d killed.

  The three had walked away from the pass, tired but in fair spirits, shortly after mid-day. Cazmeran told the story of their flight from Taelyn’s farm as they walked and Kovol was quick to laugh, even at the embarrassing moments Taelyn did not find amusing. As dusk approached, the stories were interrupted by the terrible howling of some furious beast. Cazmeran had though it was a bear but Kovol insisted it was human. All had agreed that running was a good idea. Who knew what reinforcements had arrived or what creatures might have been drawn out by the avalanche? And so they had run well past dark and halfway into the night. Even now, Taelyn shuddered while thinking of that terrible howling.

  Taelyn was suddenly broken from his thoughts by the impact of a pebble on the back of his head.

  “Well?” shouted Cazmeran from behind him. “What’s your answer boy?”

  “Answer to what?” asked Taelyn as he turned to face the old sorcerer.

  “I told you he wasn’t listening to us,” Kovol said to Cazmeran. “He daydreams.”

  Cazmeran opened his mouth to speak, but stopped and took a deep breath before saying anything. “Kovol and I are not going to agree on which path to take. What do you think?”

  “How should I know?” Taelyn complained. “I’ve never been here.”

  Kovol pointed to Cazmeran and said, “He wanted to flip a coin, but I do not trust the luck of someone who survived riding an avalanche like a wild horse.”

  “That’s not entirely unwise,” Cazmeran admitted with a shrug. “Now, boy, tell the orc there’s nothing to fear from superstition and spirits that don’t exist so we can head down into the woods.”

  “A few days ago I didn’t think magic was real,” said Taelyn. “I would have said the orcs were all dead. Now you want me to accept that the world is just how I always thought it was?”

  “Heh,” chuffed Kovol with a smile as he crossed his arms. “I am beginning to like him, graybeard.”

  “Yes,” said Cazmeran, scowling. “Me, too. Well then, oh wise shepherd of the north, which way do we go?”

  “We go…” Taelyn couldn’t continue for a moment. He knew what he wanted to say. The forest was a bad idea for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was that Kovol seemed to fear it. The safe, sane thing to do would be to go around the forest as much as the mountains would allow. But he couldn’t say it. Some deep instinct made him hesitate. Regardless of logic, it didn’t feel like the right answer. “We go through the woods.”

  Both Kovol and Cazmeran were shocked into silence for a moment.

  Then Kovol threw up his arms, grumbling “Stupid humans,” as he set about breaking camp.

  Cazmeran tilted his head one way, then the other as he looked at Taelyn through a squint.

  “What?” demanded Taelyn. “it’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  “It was,” the old man replied. He didn't sound pleased. “When we have some time, you and I are going to talk.” Then he, too, began collecting their things.

  ***

  Sir Gorgorran’s camp was a shambles. Survivors and servants had made off with most of the food and other useful things the day before. Daniel stumbled into the camp in the dark. Cook fires still smoldered and a hanging lamp left dangling from a tree branch provided enough light to see that no one else was there. Sir Daniel felt this was probably a good thing. He knew he was not currently a pleasant sight.

  He had spent an hour chasing vultures around the rock-strewn battlefield and had killed at least a dozen. Their feathers were still glued to Daniel’s hair and armor by their own blood, as well as some of Daniel’s. Gore and dirt stained his once white cape. Dried blood was caked in his hair and down the side of his face, below a gash that still oozed red. His armor was scraped, dented and broken. His helm and shield were missing, though he had managed to keep his sword.

  During the mountainside rampage, Daniel had noticed signs that someone had looted the dead soldiers, and each outrage fed his own rage against the vultures. Eventually, exhaustion had caused a misstep and he had gone down in a clang of armor on stone. His voice had failed some time before and he could now manage only a rasping whisper, not that there was anyone nearby to converse with. Daniel had laid there a time, catching his breath and allowing his anger to cool. Now, the burning hatred was quenched and Daniel would begin the work of grinding it to the razor sharpness of vengeance.

  After a difficult night of sleeping in his armor, Daniel began searching the camp. He found a loose warhorse wandering, untethered. Either it had arrived while he’d slept or its dappled black coat had kept it hidden in the dark. The animal was
unfamiliar and proved mean-spirited. Most likely, even the greediest camp followers had been unwilling to approach. If not for his sturdy gauntlets, Daniel would have lost a finger to a nasty bite. A backhanded slap to the side of the creature's head subdued it. The saddle was missing, but there were pack saddles left in the camp and Daniel was able to make one fit well enough. Among the tattered remains of tents and the broken remnants of tools and camp furniture, he was able to collect a few nearly empty sacks of food and a cask of water. Daniel scavenged a mostly intact tent and felt a perverse thrill when he discovered Gorgorran’s own camp stool still in one piece. Soon, the horse was laden with food and equipment, including Daniel’s broken armor. He kept his sword belted on.

  Half the day was gone by the time the battered knight started uphill, leading the war horse. Daniel had managed to wash away most of the gore. He was clothed only in the padded doublet and leggings worn under his armor. It was stained with blood in a dozen places and torn in a dozen more, but it still functioned. The train of squires with his provisions and luggage had never reappeared.

  He looked up to the pass and rasped, “When I find you, Taelyn, I’ll have honed my hate sharp enough to take off your head by itself. Run, you bastard. I’m coming.”

  ***

  Hands did not like the current situation. He and his fellows had spent all day stuck in a ravine. It was not a large ravine, even for a short sheep like himself, but the fog was gone and the blanket of night had been pulled away with the rising sun. The people ahead of them on the mountain had nearly seen the hiding flock, but they were more interested in making progress up the steep incline. They struggled with animals and dragged a dying person. Hands was fairly certain they didn’t plan to eat him, but he didn’t want to risk offering himself or the Provider’s flock as an alternative. The sheep had been able to find the ravine just as the sun came up.

  Some time ago, part of the mountain had come crashing down. The path of falling debris was a long way uphill, but the people ahead had suddenly become terrified and had fled. They had dropped most of their burdens, including the injured man, and run downhill. As they ran, they laughed and smiled. This behavior confused the flock. Was this how the Provider’s people showed fear? Once the running people were safely away, Hands gathered the flock for a discussion. It had taken forever to figure out how to speak properly, almost an entire day, but now it was a favorite method for making decisions.

  “All right, everyone,” Hands said. “What should we do now?”

  Almost immediately, two of the sheep raised their hands. Well, one just raised a hand; the other excitedly bounced up and down and waved.

  “Ok,” he said. “Jumper, you first.”

  “Oh, oh,” started Jumper. He started everything like that. “They left stuff behind. We should have more stuff. I want a hat too.”

  “Bah,” said Grumbles, arms crossed in disapproval. “That’s what I was going to say but I never get picked first.”

  “Ok,” said Hands. “That sounds like a good idea. Anyone else?”

  “We should probably wait till dark,” said Longtail. She was often quick with good advice.

  Most of the others voiced agreement to the notion so Hands made sure everyone was settled and safe before settling down for a nap.

  The flock had been awoken by a terrible howling just as the sun was setting. Everyone was scared. No one could remember ever hearing such a thing. It was reassuring when a quick count showed everyone was still there. The twenty frightened sheep huddled together until the bellowing stopped. By that time it was dark, though there was enough of a moon to see.

  Before anyone could stop him, Benthead left the flock as he said, “I’ll go see if there’s anyone out there. I’ll be right back.”

  Benthead had shown himself to be the bravest of the flock. Everyone agreed he was insane. However, a few moments later, he did return.

  “There’s no one out there so we can go get stuff,” Benthead said.

  The idea of having stuff had been a regular topic of conversation since Hands had acquired his turtle shell hat. Excitement quickly overcame fear and soon the flock was picking its way carefully up the mountain.

  When they reached the place where the people had left their stuff, Hands was dismayed to find the injured one was was dead. Instead of taking it with them, the people had cut its throat and its feet were missing. The stumps of its legs stank of rot. Now it lay, still strapped to long pieces of wood used to drag it along.

  “We should cover it up,” said Hands.

  “Why?” asked Biter from nearby. She was testing the quality of an oddly pointed stick by chewing on it. This wasn’t unusual. It was something she did with everything, including friends.

  “It will stop animals from eating it,” said Hands.

  “Um, why do we care?” replied Biter.

  “Well, I don’t want animals to eat me when I’m dead, so I’d like to be covered with rocks,” said Hands, deeply concentrating with what was suddenly a difficult thought. “I think it seems like the right thing to do and if it’s right for me, we should do it for other people who probably didn’t want to be eaten by animals.”

  “It looks like something already started. Its feet are gone,” said Biter.

  It didn’t take long, once everyone was convinced it was necessary, to cover the dead person with rocks. Then they all reveled in the collection of the other people’s stuff.

  Traveling downhill was more difficult than climbing up to the pass had been. Loose and fallen stones shifted under Taelyn’s feet every three or four steps and it was a struggle to avoid gaining momentum. The last thing he wanted was to end up running down the mountain with no way of stopping. It didn’t help that the sword scabbard at his waist kept getting tangled in his legs. Cazmeran was having a harder time. He had fallen twice and was now favoring his right leg. Kovol seemed to be having an easy time of it, but his scowl made it plain that he was unhappy about going in the woods.

  About fifty yards from the tree line, they found a small clear spot that was either an outcropping of rock or the top of a very large boulder. Cazmeran stopped and sat.

  “Time for a break,” he said with irritation. “My knee needs a rest.”

  “You tire too quickly, old man,” said Kovol as he set down his pack. “This journey will last longer than you do at this pace.”

  “Yes, well let’s hope not,” Cazmeran replied. “You both still need my help.”

  Kovol chuckled and then asked, “Taelyn, I have yet to see you fight. Is there a reason you wear your sword backwards?”

  “Backwards?” asked Taelyn. “I didn’t know it mattered.”

  “If you carry a weapon, causer of chaos, you should know how to use it,” replied Kovol. “We will fix this while the old man naps.”

  “I’m not napping!” Cazmeran shouted from where he was huddled under a blanket.

  “Kovol, I’m not a soldier, I’m… I was a shepherd,” Taelyn said with a shrug.

  “So? You will stand still and allow those who chase you to stab and cut you?” Kovol asked as he moved to the center of the clear area.

  “No! I’ll fight if I have to. I just don’t know how.”

  “Good! Kovol will show you how. You will need it in those woods,” he said, gesturing at the trees behind him. “Now draw your sword and attack me.”

  Kovol stood, arms crossed behind him, waiting.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Kovol” said Taelyn.

  “You will not. You do not know how to wear a scabbard correctly. Do you even know which end of the sword is sharp?” taunted the orc.

  “I’ll make sure not to cut you,” promised Taelyn as he drew his sword.

  “NO!” bellowed Kovol. “You wield a weapon to injure or kill. You must be willing to do so every time you wield it or you will not hit your enemy.”

  “You asked for it,” said Taelyn as he charged, swinging wildly with the blade. As he closed on the unarmed orc, he aimed a blow at Kovol’s head. Th
at way, he thought, Kovol could duck.

  Instead, the orc snapped up a hand and hit Taelyn’s wrist hard. For a moment, there was no feeling in his fingers and the sword flew from his grasp. As it skittered across the stone, a second blow, one Taelyn never saw coming, slammed into the back of his head. If not for the leather armor, his knees and elbows would have been scraped and bloody as he slid across the rock after his sword.

  Kovol walked over and offered Taelyn a hand to help him up.

  “Little one,” he said with a sigh, “go get your sword. You have a great deal to learn.”

  ***

  Delsaryn watched the human and orc spar from his perch halfway up a tree while the second human, the old one, slept. The human wasn’t even a novice, though he did learn quickly. Already he managed to deflect one blow in five, though he had yet to land one. The orc was clearly the greater threat. If they came any closer, he would kill them, as duty demanded. Intruders in the lands of the elves were not tolerated.

  For the moment, however, they seemed content to engage in swordplay. Delsaryn had seen enough to determine it unlikely they would kill each other. The ugly gray-skinned orc and dark-skinned humans were very different from his own pale pink skin. Of the three, only the old one had a face thin enough to be civilized. The young human and orc both had round faces, as if they were fat. A proper, elven face was narrow with visible angles at the chin, cheekbones and nose. Their round, flabby features made them look ill. Worse were their malformed ears. Delsaryn’s own ears were only a few inches long, a sign of youth. As the centuries passed, they might exceed a foot in length, offering unmatched sensitivity. These three had likely missed the roar of the avalanche that had occurred two days prior.

  The intruders wore a motley collection of leather armor, hardly better than clothing. Real armor was made of afsha leaf. The leaf was light, moved easily with the wearer, and offered protection superior to any hide. Afsha leaf armor naturally blended into any wooded surroundings, making the wearer almost impossible to notice. Delsaryn did grant that only the elves held the knowledge of working or even finding afsha leaf, so he supposed they did what they could with inferior materials. He did wish those materials didn’t smell so badly.