by Wilson Harp
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Out in the night, Donal checked his equipment. His sword and dagger were snug on his belt, his quiver was secured to his side, and his bow’s string was at the proper tension. He could barely see after having come from the dim light of the inn, but he knew his eyes would adjust to the darkness soon. He also knew the new moon and the slight cloud cover dimmed Calaran’s eyes, so the elven benefit of star-sight would not help the wild elf in the woods either. If the bard was right, and he was almost always right, the elf they were hunting was about forty to fifty years old. It seemed odd to Donal that an elf his own age would only be considered a youth on the cusp of adulthood, but that was the way the elves saw it.
The lightly wooded fields that ran alongside the high road hid their passage from any who would be looking, but at two hours past midnight the odds were fairly low that anyone would be out and traveling, much less looking for an elf and a man who both moved like the shadows of clouds. Soon the deep darkness of the woods loomed before them. The Shadowmist Wood was named for the early morning fogs that would roll down from the mountains and shroud the fertile forest with a mist thick enough to last until noon at times. At night, the trees provided a canopy thick enough to block out most light, and if there was not a full moon most men would call the woods pitch black. Donal was used to working in very dim light, and he knew that if he had ten minutes or so under the branches of the woods he would be able to see enough to do the job.
Calaran motioned the woodsman to stop and moved up a tree to see if he could spot the area that they had prepared to trap the elf in. Even in clothes that were more appropriate for a king’s court, the bard moved with unerring grace and fluidity up the tree. Donal shut his eyes and listened. This would help him in two ways. First, when he opened his eyes again any light would seem magnified compared to when he had first slipped into the eaves of the trees. Second, it would allow him to hear the heartbeat of the woods: the animals, the wind, the falling leaves, the creaking trees. They all had distinct sounds, and if something were to disturb them he would be able to hear it before he could see it.
He heard Calaran slip down from the trees. When he opened his eyes, he could see a little better in the darkness. The bard was holding up two fingers on his left hand. That meant that their prey was in position and they were ready to start the capture.
Donal slowly slipped an arrow from his quiver. Any noise would be heard by the elf at this distance. He moved to a position where he could see the tree that would be his mark and nodded at Calaran. As the bard moved towards where the elf was located, Donal pulled back on the bowstring and waited until he heard the signal. Calaran uttered a harsh, single sound that was a command to halt in an ancient Elvish language. Donal loosed the arrow and heard the sound of the elf turning to land on another branch rather than the one he had leaped towards. Calaran had weakened the branch, though, and the sound of the limb and elf hitting the ground was clear to Donal. He quickly pulled another arrow and fired it into the bush they had planned for. Again, the elf turned when he heard the arrow ripping through the air and ended up crashing into the bard.
“Wait!” Calaran yelled. “Don’t move Donal! Don’t draw another arrow!”
Donal froze as he realized something had gone wrong. A second later Calaran dropped from a tree and scurried over to the woodsman.
“What happened?” whispered Donal.
“He disappeared,” said Calaran looking quickly through the trees.
“I thought you would be able to hold him once you had him.”
“I did, I had him in my grip and then he disappeared. I don’t mean he went invisible; I mean he vanished.”
It had been years since Donal had seen something that he couldn’t explain. Even with all he knew about magic, he had never heard of this. “What does that mean? I have never seen you scared.”
“You still haven’t. I scream like a little girl when I am scared. I know what has gone wrong; I’m just trying to figure out how to fix it.”
“What has gone wrong?”
“He isn’t a wild elf. He’s something else.”
“What?”
“I’m not sure, but this explains why he lived in peace with the people who frequent these woods. A wild elf would seek to dominate everyone he met.”
“What do we do now?”
“I need to speak with him. Stay here, and don’t touch any of your weapons.”
Calaran slipped back into the woods and left Donal alone. The last time Donal had been even uncomfortable in the woods was when he was a young child. But as he stood still in the deep shadows of the Shadowmist Wood with barely any starlight to see by, he felt as though he were being watched from every angle. He desperately wanted to set his hand on his sword hilt, but he knew that Calaran would not have warned him to keep his hands free of weapons without a purpose. He realized that he was still holding his bow and decided that he should set it on the ground. When he had finished placing his bow on the ground, Donal sensed that someone was standing in front of him. He finished standing up and started to reach out in front of him when his wrist was caught in a tight grip and a young elf appeared in the same instant. Donal’s right wrist was being held tightly by the elf’s left hand. A thick, sharp knife was in the elf’s right hand, which at the moment was still at his side.
The young elf whispered a few words in his ancient and primal language, but the woodsman could not understand them.
“He says you move well for a human and your senses are well developed. He is sad that you shot at him, although he senses that you did not mean to strike him,” said Calaran.
Donal could see the bard standing on a branch about fifteen feet behind the elf. Calaran said something in the ancient elvish language, and the elf sprang backwards at full speed. He twisted in the air and came down on his hands and feet. With no time to even blink at that incredible leap, Donal watched as he pounced onto the branch that the bard had just been standing on a moment before. The branch was a good eight feet off the ground. Donal couldn’t believe that anyone could be that fast and agile as he watched the elf dart deep into the shadows of the trees after barely touching the branch.
The sound of blade striking blade and grunts of exertion erupted from the quiet night, and soon Donal heard the sounds coming closer and closer to where he stood. The swirl of shadows and the sounds of swift movement were just at the edge of his vision when he suddenly heard a harsh word spoken by the elf and saw a knife flying out of the woods to land by his feet.
“Step on the blade!” Calaran called from the darkness. Donal stepped out and placed his foot over the blade of the knife just as the elf landed from a long leap. The young elf’s hand touched the hilt of his knife just as Donal’s soft boot pressed down on the blade. Donal froze and stared down at the elf, who seemed stunned. The elf slowly lifted his head to stare at the woodsman.
Calaran came out from the trees and said something in their language. The young elf released his knife and stood up.
“Don’t take your foot off of the blade until I tell you,” said Calaran.
Donal stared at the young elf, not daring to move his eyes to Calaran. “Why am I standing on the knife, and why is he just staring at me?”
“It’s instinct for him. Standing on your enemy’s weapon is a sign of dominance. He knows he has been defeated. Let me talk to him now,” said Calaran as he moved from the trees to where Donal and the elf were standing.
After a few words of elvish, the elf looked at the bard and stepped back two steps.
“Reach down and pick up the knife by the blade,” said the bard.
Donal slowly reached down and did as his friend said.
“Now hand it to him.”
Donal knew that Calaran wouldn’t put him in more risk than was necessary, so he handed the knife to the young elf. The elf took the knife and slid it into the sheath on his belt.
Calaran started speaking to the elf in the ancient elven language, and to Donal
’s surprise, the young elf started responding. Donal started to reach down to retrieve his bow, and both elves turned to stare at him. He saw Calaran slightly shake his head, so Donal stood back up to full height.
The two elves spoke for a good ten minutes before they each took one step back and bowed to each other. Then the young elf was gone, sprinting and leaping into the darkness of the trees as Calaran watched him.
“What happened?” asked Donal.
“We caught him and tamed him,” replied Calaran softly.
“As simple as that?”
“It wasn’t simple, Donal. We were in great peril all night. Thank you, my friend. You did exactly what was needed.” Calaran did not sound completely sure of what he was saying.
“Do you know anything more about him? Where he came from?” the woodsman asked.
“His name, in human language, is Filvan Hawk. His mother was an elven… woman, and his father was a human wizard.”
Donal was stunned by this revelation. Elves never mated with humans. It was against all sense and expectation. It was rare that an elf even had consistent contact with non-elves, so the idea that one would stoop so low, in their eyes, as to have a child with a human was impossible. Or so Donal would have thought.
“I don’t believe it,” he said, finally able to pass the words beyond his lips.
Calaran stood watching the spot of shadow that Filvan Hawk had disappeared into. “That’s why he has been able to keep from being seen. The wizard’s power must have been inborn in him.”
“Has that ever happened before? I mean an elf and a human?” asked Donal.
“Rarely, but never from the ranks of nobility. From royalty it would be a disaster,” whispered Calaran. “The bloodlines of royalty are from elves that can trace their heritage back for thousands of years through the most spectacular people of our race. The great elven heroes that humans talk about are journeymen sell-swords and tricksters compared to the grand champions that the elves produced in the misty memories of even our long lived race. From those legends the elven kingdoms came into being.”
Calaran seemed stunned and immovable as he spoke. The carefree, loose tongued bard seemed to have been replaced by a figure outlined in the faint starlight that was pure beauty and grace. As the words slipped quietly from his lips, he grew more and more grand and frightening to Donal.
“What is wrong Calaran? Tell me. What are we dealing with,” said Donal.
Calaran turned to face him, and the woodsman saw the sharp, hard eyes of the bard. Donal had seen those eyes on many men before. They were eyes bent on completion of a goal. Eyes bent on killing if need be. Suddenly they lightened and returned to what he normally saw when he spoke to Calaran—festive eyes with joy and intelligence and more than a splash of mischief.
“I need to go and speak with King Edelmere. He has to know what has happened here and what I must do. He may give me additional instruction as well, but what must happen will happen. Once I find out some more details, I will know better what I am dealing with.”
Donal shook his head in confusion. “King Edelmere? He is king over the Lyterian Elves, why would you need to speak with him?”
Calaran took a deep breath. He looked back to the woods and then back at Donal. “Filvan Hawk is not a danger to you or any other human, unless they are involved in the cult of Cathos. The cult will continue to hunt him, so we need to keep him safe. Somehow he is a threat to them. I have a guess as to how, but I am not certain.”
“That’s all well and good, Calaran, but why do you need to travel to an elven kingdom that is at least two weeks away by fast horse in order to seek an audience with their king?” asked Donal.
“He needs to know what I have found, and I need advice and guidance.”
“How do you know he will even talk with you? I have heard you often say that you are an outcast from that society and that other elves will have nothing to do with your frivolous life and wanderings.”
“He’s my father,” whispered Calaran.
Donal just stared back at his friend.
Calaran shrugged and continued. “I’m a prince of the Lyterian Elves, and I am an outcast. Neither my sister nor I comported ourselves fitting of our situation or stature and left our father’s care hundreds of years ago. I have fifteen other brothers and eleven other sisters that serve the Kingdom well, so who would miss the youngest son? Likewise, Milabella left knowing that the youngest daughter would be more likely to find fulfillment outside of our own world.”
Calaran lifted his head as he spoke. His eyes seemed to sparkle.
“She was my inspiration. My younger sister took off into the world and returned a few years later with stories of adventures that I could hardly believe. While the rest of our family scolded her and told her to take her rightful duties again, I wanted to hear more of her stories. I wanted to live them. When she slipped out of our Father’s palace again, I went with her. We travelled together for years, but eventually we went our separate ways. We would often see each other every couple of years, mostly through our paths passing by chance, but sometimes we would go decades between encounters.”
Calaran stopped talking and looked up at the sky. A small smile fixed on his face, and Donal thought he could see tears welling up in his friend’s eyes.
“Why are you telling me this?” the woodsman asked.
Calaran looked back at the woods. “Every elf knows the name of his mother and father by instinct. Really puts a limit on elves having illicit relationships, as any children know the truth. But Filvan Hawk only knows his father was a human wizard because that is what he was told by his mother when he was very young. His mother was Princess Milabella of Lyteria.”
“He is your nephew?”
“Apparently. There was a time about thirty-five years ago when I had not seen my sister for close to nine years. She must have had her child during that time. When I saw her again…” Calaran looked back into the woods. “When I saw her again was when I saw her last. She was gravely injured and died two days later. I buried her behind the inn and planted an apple tree over her grave.”
“Who took care of the child then?”
“He would have been old enough to survive on his own. He has been alone since she left him.”
“I’m sorry this has pulled up painful memories, but why would the cult of Cathos want him?”
Calaran looked back at the woodsman. “I don’t know. I need to speak with my father and others who might be able to reason this out. Let’s return to the inn.”
The night was still deep as they headed back to the inn. Along the way Calaran told Donal what he believed was happening.
“Part of the spell the Ravens designed was to take the blood of those present and use it as a pledge against Cathos breaking free of his tomb,” said the Bard. “Alinor gathered blood from each of us before the tomb to complete the spell.”
“I remember,” said Donal. “You were the only one she couldn’t find a wound on; you had me cut your arm for her to gather it from you.”
“Yes, and that is why I think they hunt Filvan Hawk. They need blood near mine to break the spell.”
“Blood near yours? What do you mean?”
“There were the seven Ravens, the King and his son, the Lord Marshal Noem, Elspereth, Taevis, Cassil, you and me. Six of the seven Ravens are dead, and Alinor has been missing for fifteen years. King Grallus is dead and his son sits on the throne. Noem, Elspereth, and Taevis have been dead a long time. Brother Cassil is alive, but his mind has slipped and he is in retreat in Gen,” said Calaran.
“Whoever has brought back the cult of Cathos must have figured out how Cathos is bound in his tomb. King Patrus, Alinor, Brother Cassil, you and I all gave blood to seal him in. The blood must be the key to the spell. Once all of those who gave blood are dead, the seal can be opened. That is why the Ravens wanted me there. As an elf, my living could have kept Cathos sealed up for hundreds of years. But now someone has figured out how to break the spell. If th
ey can’t kill everyone with the blood, they can use the blood of those related to act as a counterbalance.”
“That means that any member of the royal family could be in danger. As well as Lendin. When my sister died, he became my last living blood relative,” said Donal.
“And the girl staying with Orias, Mirari if I recall her name, is the daughter of Alinor. I don’t know if Brother Cassil has any blood relatives…,” said Calaran.
“But if he dies, it doesn’t matter,” finished Donal. “He is at great risk. I will gather Lendin and Mirari and put them somewhere safe. Then I will go to Gen and find Brother Cassil and keep him under guard.”
“The inn, keep them in the apple room of the inn. That’s the safest place. I’ll notify King Patrus of what we have discovered and have him increase security around his family. Then I will go to my father and seek guidance and counsel from him and his court.”
The two men were nearly running by the time they had decided their actions, and the Silver Sword Inn was just coming into view through the dim light of the pre-dawn sky. Two horses were tied to the front hitch, but no wagon or cart was there to indicate that a merchant or farmer had made an early morning start from Black Oak, and no horses had passed them on the road from the east.
Donal entered the common room with Calaran right behind him. In the dim glow of a candle and the low coals of the fireplace, they saw Croft, Martel and Ermine sitting at a table. All three bolted up from their chairs as the door to the inn swung open.
“What is happening, Croft?” asked Calaran.
“Baldric did something stupid.” It was Martel who answered. He looked at Donal. “Your nephew found out where the main group of the orcs has made its lair, and he and Horas talked Baldric into leading them there to purge the hills of their threat.”
Calaran caught Donal’s arm as the woodsman headed out the door. “Go get the girl, and then go get Brother Cassil. The dwarf will bring them back; you have to believe that. You know what is at stake.”