Neutral Parties

by Christopher J Taylor

  Delsaryn considered how he would dispatch these particular intruders. He ought to take the orc with an arrow. Orcs had the advantage of greater strength. This one also seemed to have fair reflexes. If it were a duel, he was certain the orc would be no match, but even an unskilled ally, such as the young human, might prove enough of a distraction to give an opening for the orc to inflict real injury before he was taken down. Delsaryn had also not yet had the opportunity to gauge the skills of the older human. He had likely lost speed and reflexes to age but might make up for it in skill, though he did not seem to even carry a weapon. Shooting the orc first seemed the best tactic, likely followed by the old human, then the young one.

  While he waited, Delsaryn made sure his weapons were ready. Both were carefully crafted from springwood. Strong, durable and flexible, springwood rarely splintered or snapped. The best pieces were made from the core of the tree, though these weapons were for princes, not scouts. The light blond wood was streaked with iridescent bands. Delsaryn caressed his longbow, enjoying the perfectly smooth finish, even over the silver inlay that decorated the tips. When unstrung, the bow was almost as tall as Delsaryn. At the center of its five-foot length, a sinew-wrapped grip provided a secure hold. The best bows used woven silk strings. Delsaryn envied those who had earned such a reward, though his own waxed gut string was certainly functional.

  The sword was of typical elven design. Unlike the iron blades of humans and orcs, springwood would not hold a sharp cutting edge. Thus elves preferred narrow stabbing swords. Delsaryn’s sword was three feet long with a hilt protected by a basket woven of thin strips of springwood. It was light and fast, but also strong enough to pierce leather, afsha leaf, and even the linked iron chain favored by some humans.

  Delsaryn knew he was better with the bow than sword. Any scout was required to master both weapons, but the bow had come easily while swordplay had taken constant effort. Within his scout camp, none could hit a target at a distance as far or with as much reliability as Delsaryn. The three intruders would have been easy shots, but it was dictated by the elders that intruders be allowed to enter the forest before an attack. For centuries, outsiders entering the forest had, as far as those outside the wood could tell, simply disappeared. It made Delsaryn smile to imagine fearful and superstitious humans telling wild tales of the monsters and spirits that awaited unwise travelers. He eagerly looked forward to the opportunity to play the part of vengeful spirit.

  Turning his attention back to the three intruders, Delsaryn saw that they had completed their sparring. The old human had woken up and the three were heading toward the tree line. In moments they would be within the trees and their lives forfeit. Delsaryn readied three arrows from his quiver, placing them carefully on the branch where he perched. Each arrow was thirty inches of river cane tipped with a bone broad head and fletched with green and yellow feathers. It had taken weeks to collect the materials for the arrows and then each of the thirty arrows in the quiver had taken two days of careful crafting. Delsaryn had been teased for the care he’d taken, but each one was perfectly straight and would fly an identical path to the others. His skill crafting arrows was, he knew, no minor contribution to his accuracy with a bow.

  The orc led the way into the forest, followed by the old human and then the young one. None openly wielded weapons, but the orc kept a hand on the haft of a heavy axe. Of the three, only the orc appeared nervous. Delsaryn reached for his first arrow just as an acorn fell from above. The nut bounced off the branch and knocked all three arrows from the tree. The soft clatter as they fell to the forest floor was loud to Delsaryn, but his quarry seemed not to notice. With brief hesitation, he reached back to pull a new arrow from his quiver and found his hand grasping a snake. The reptile immediately coiled around his hand. Delsaryn had to set his bow aside, securing it with a foot in case more acorns materialized, and used both hands to remove the animal. Quickly he regained his bow and wasted no more time nocking an arrow. The orc had proceeded further into the trees than Delsaryn had intended but he was still well within range.

  With a shallow breath, Delsaryn drew back the arrow and took aim. Then a green-plumed sparrow landed on the arrow. Delsaryn was neither superstitious nor particularly pious. He did not care much for signs and omens. The green sparrow, however, was rare. More, it was never seen this close to the edge of the forest. The bird was the living symbol of Illyathen, center of the small elven pantheon. The green fletchings of Delsaryn’s arrows had been made from the discarded feathers of this bird. It was more than mere superstition that to harm Illyathen’s sparrow was to court ill luck.

  “Shoo bird,” Delsaryn whispered with a twitch of the bow.

  The bird clung to the arrow. Worse, it looked him in the eye.

  “What do you want?” he whispered.

  The bird tilted its head and chirped.

  “Gods forgive me,” he said and shook the bow violently. The bird flew away and Delsaryn quickly took aim. The range made the shot difficult, but he was confident he could still make it. Then the branch that had held his weight for half the day gave way and the elf plummeted to the forest floor. Delsaryn spun and twisted to ensure he landed on his feet. ready to roll forward to reduce the impact. He was almost there when his head hit another branch, filling his vision with stars and sending him spinning. He crashed down on his back, the impact with the ground knocking the air from his lungs. As he gasped for breath his vision cleared, just in time to see a piece of broken branch fill his vision. It only hurt for a moment before everything went dark.

  ***

  Delsaryn dreamed. There was no other explanation for was he saw. Nowhere in the elven wood was there a waterfall that fed a pool next to which grew a short squat tree that glowed. It was difficult to move, as if the air were thick. Breathing took effort, too, the air tasting of honey and smelling of a thousand different flowers. The sun glowed green in an orange sky, as if it drifted through perpetual twilight. Most disturbing was the sense that everything was moving just a little bit more slowly than it should. Delsaryn could see individual droplets of water falling down to the pool and he could count the wing beats of a dragonfly flitting along the pool’s edge.

  Hello, my child.

  Delsaryn wasn’t sure if the voice was in his head or simply everywhere at once. He glanced slowly around, trying to find its source, but it was impossible to tell direction. Finally, he saw an elf striding toward him from the strange glowing tree. He was tall, easily two feet taller than Delsaryn. Long green hair flowed down his back and blended with the green feathers he wore as a shroud, down to his feet and down each arm. No, it was not a shroud; they were HIS feathers. His arms were wings that ended in hands, feathers reaching just past them like the long-sleeved robes the elders wore. His eyes were green and they glowed as he looked into Delsaryn’s soul, as he was sure the elf was doing. Delsaryn finally realized who this was.

  “Lord Illyathen, am I dead?” asked Delsaryn.

  No, my child. You live. You must hear me before you wake. The god’s mouth did not move as he spoke.

  “I am listening, Lord Illyathen.” Delsaryn stood up straight before his god. Elven gods did not require their worshipers kneel and Delsaryn did not kneel for anyone.

  You are being cared for. When you awaken, stay your hand and guide them.

  Why would Delsaryn need to stay his hand? He must have been found by fellow scouts. No others would offer assistance.

  “I don’t understand,” he said with a scowl. “What do you mean? What will happen?”

  You will learn soon, my child. Your healing will be swift. It pulls at you even now.

  Delsaryn could feel something tugging. The scenery around him grew dimmer, fuzzier, as if becoming shrouded in mist.

  “My Lord!” he shouted. “I don’t understand!”

  As darkness once again engulfed him, the warmth in his god’s voice and smile were unable to offer comfort through the confusion.

  ***

  Kovol led the way into t
he trees, followed by Cazmeran. Taelyn, sore and battered, followed slowly behind. The orc had said Taelyn was now less likely to cut himself instead of any foe he might face, but that barely seemed like praise. Perhaps, Taelyn thought, if every move didn’t highlight a different welt or he couldn’t feel the heat of a dozen bruises, he might have felt more confident. He had yet to land a blow on the orc, and he had been sincerely trying. Every attack had been countered, often with the snap of Kovol’s sword hitting exposed skin. Taelyn did have to admit the orc had patiently issued commands and demonstrated techniques after every failure. And there had been many, many failures.

  When Taelyn had initially decided to go into the forest, he had taken some satisfaction at Kovol’s apparent fear. Almost since meeting him, the orc had seemed overwhelming. To see him flinch from something seemed to prove he was as mortal as Taelyn or Cazmeran. Now though, as they approached the forest, Taelyn had second thoughts. From the sparring rock, the trees had seemed closer. Now it was clear they were just massive.

  Each one was three or four feet across and rose up at least a hundred feet. The trees Taelyn was used to rarely measured more than a few inches around or a score of feet tall. They also rarely grew in copses of more than a dozen trees. Here there were thousands. Once the three of them pushed through the underbrush at the edge of the forest, the ground was mostly clear. Moss and dead leaves carpeted the ground and muffled their footsteps. The scent of earth and rotting leaves was overwhelming. The air was cool and damp and sunlight barely filtered through the canopy of leaves and branches above . In the deep shadows of a thousand trees, the world felt alien. Taelyn realized quickly that he, Kovol, and Cazmeran were the aliens. The feeling crept over him that this was a mistake and none of them belonged here.

  “Cazmeran,” he whispered. Both the old man and the orc turned around as if he’d shouted.

  “What?” asked Cazmeran.

  “This may have been a mistake,” said Taelyn as he looked around nervously. “I don’t think the forest wants us here.”

  “Did I speak of the angry spirits?” grumbled Kovol.

  “Nonsense! It’s just a forest. There may be bears or wolves, but that’s all. We’re completely--” the old man’s reassuring declaration was suddenly interrupted by the snapping and crashing of branches coming from the path they’d taken into the trees, “--safe?”

  “We should leave,” said Kovol.

  “We should keep going,” insisted Cazmeran.

  “I think we should see what that was,” said Taelyn. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t seem to control his own voice, but whoever was taking over needed to shut up.

  “The boy might be right,” said Cazmeran. “If nothing else, we can prove it was something mundane and not some spirit sent to steal us away.”

  Kovol shrugged and said, “It gets us closer to the edge of the forest. Let us go.”

  As they backtracked, Kovol noticed a small gap in the canopy ahead.

  “That tree right at the edge has lost a branch,” he said, pointing out the hole where sunlight streamed in.

  They changed course slightly and quickly came to the base of the tree where someone appeared to have landed after falling from the tree. A bow and a few arrows were scattered around, as were twigs, leaves and a single thick branch. It appeared to be male and wore clothing that seemed to be made from sewn together leaves. He had long black hair and very pale skin. While his eyes were closed, Taelyn saw that he had very sharp features. Chin, cheekbones and nose were all angles and his ears were pointy and at least four inches long. He wore a sword at his side and a small pack had also fallen nearby.

  “What is it,” Taelyn asked.

  “It looks mortal enough,” said Kovol, “but it is nothing my people remember.”

  “Ignorance and superstition,” Cazmeran said softly with a shake of his head. “Humans and orcs quickly forget allies and enemies and this man’s people have been both to each of you. This,” he said pointing to the creature,” is an elf.”

  “Is it dead?” Kovol asked.

  “Hmm, I don’t think so,” replied Cazmeran as he bent to investigate. “No, he breathes, but look at those nasty lumps. He hit his head on the way down.”

  “We should kill it while we can,” Kovol said, reaching for his axe.

  “No!” Taelyn and Cazmeran shouted in unison.

  “Why would we kill him?” asked Taelyn.

  “We do not remember what they look like,” Kovol explained. “but I have heard legends telling of them. They are difficult to hit, hard to kill, and rain death from the sky. If the legends haunting this forest are because it is infested with elves, then we are in more danger than if there were spirits and demons. It is unconscious. If we let it wake up, we may not have another chance.”

  “I think we should wait,” said Cazmeran “The elves are not adherents to the empire’s law, and in fact, are as much victims of imperial expansion as orcs.”

  Kovol shrugged and returned his axe to his belt as he said, “This is a mistake that will kill us, sorcerer.”

  “What do we do?” asked Taelyn.

  “Well, this poor fellow clearly needs some help,” said Cazmeran. “Let’s offer it and see if we can’t gain some good will.”

  Above, sitting on a twig, a little green sparrow chirped.

  ***

  The elf, head bandaged and resting on a pillow of bundled blanket, began to stir.

  From across the small cook fire, Kovol saw and warned the others as he stood. “He awakens.”

  Cazmeran and Taelyn also stood and turned. The elf had slept through to dusk. In the mean time, Taelyn had gathered dead wood while Kovol dug a pit to keep the fire from spreading. Cazmeran had suggested that the fire be carefully contained and kept small to avoid offense. While the old man had tended the injured elf, Kovol and Taelyn set up camp and cooked a meal.

  Now, the three gathered around the elf as he regained consciousness, just out of arm's reach. When its eyes opened, Taelyn was shocked by the color. They were an icy blue that was almost white and the pupils in the center were very large. The elf’s eyelids fluttered as he struggled to regain his sight. When he saw the three of them standing nearby, he scrambled to his feet and almost immediately swooned, leaning hard on the tree behind him.

  “Easy there,” Cazmeran said softly. “We won’t harm you. We’ve helped, actually.”

  “Anly ambelen!” spat the elf. “Erendel affa nael corren!”

  “Language again,” sighed Cazmeran.

  “What did he say?” asked Taelyn.

  “Oh, he demanded the return of his weapon so he can smite us for intruding in his forest. Hush a moment.”

  “Andra lass nin dorath nemba,” Cazmeran said to the elf. Then, in a more severe tone he began a chant, “Aggak nach taleas drin-”

  “Pereth!” shouted the elf, as if he knew what Cazmeran was doing. “Anly pereth!”

  “I do not need to understand his words to know he is not happy with what you do, old man,” warned Kovol.

  “Kord nakka cis dreloth dren!” continued Cazmeran as the elf shouted. “Pereth na anly arras! Nef telatha stop your chanting!”

  “There now,” said Cazmeran. “That will make things easier.”

  “Do as I say, human” demanded the elf. “Return what you have stolen.”

  “It’s all right,” Taelyn offered. “We’re just trying to help.”

  The elf was shocked to silence for a moment. “How do you now speak elvish?”

  “Actually, we’re all speaking the human tongue,” said Cazmeran.

  “I know nothing of your ignorant language,” said the elf.

  “Yet you understand us,” said Kovol with a shrug. “These two like to interfere.”

  Cazmeran shot the orc a withering look, which was ignored. Then he turned to the elf and said, “Now, like it or not, we can understand one another. We found you injured and have tried to help. Your belongings are right there,” he said pointing to where they had collected th
e elf’s weapons and pack. “But we would prefer not to be attacked.”

  “You will return my ability to speak elven, wizard,” said the elf as he edged toward his belongings. He was careful not to get between anyone and kept them all in sight. Kovol helped by moving close to Cazmeran.

  “It’s not gone,” replied Cazmeran. “When you wish to speak elven simply do so. I have added understanding, not taken it away.”

  The elf quietly gathered his belongings, strapping on the pack and sword while slinging the bow and quiver over a shoulder. He never took his eyes from Kovol, Cazmeran or Taelyn, but made no aggressive move. If anything, he seemed confused. Taelyn understood that feeling well. Cazmeran had that effect on people.

  As he finished checking his gear, the elf said, “Why do you come here? You do not belong.”

  “We need to cross your forest to reach a pass we think is on the other side,” Cazmeran said, still trying to sooth with a soft voice and careful movements.

  “There are many passes,” said the elf. He scowled, as if troubled by what he himself said.

  “We seek one to the east, if you know it,” said Cazmeran.

  “I know it, and… and I will guide you there.” The elf ground out the words as if resenting them.

  “We thank you,” Cazmeran said with a bow.

  “I care nothing for your thanks,” the elf spat back. “I don’t do this for you.”

  Taelyn wasn’t sure why he would have agreed to help if doing so seemed to bother him so much. Cazmeran had said the empire had treated elves as badly as it had the orcs. They must be as wary of humans as the orcs had been. Kovol claimed he owed a debt for the lives of his men and had joined them to repay that debt. Taelyn could see the sense in that even if he didn’t entirely understand it. Why did this elf agree to help? Had that been part of Cazmeran’s spell?