Chapter 6
Sunlight filtered through the leaves, painting the clearing in shades of vibrant green and yellow. The air was still and smelled of wild flowers. There was not a sound to disturb the eerie quiet—no bird or insect song, no rustle of hidden creatures in the grass, no water cascading over rock, not even the creak of a swaying branch. The clearing was empty, a small sanctuary in the midst of a vast forest, save for the body that lay sprawled in the middle of it.
There was a faint rustling as four figures emerged at the edge of the clearing, following a narrow trail through the undergrowth. The leader of the group was an elf, tall and lean, with long white-gold hair. His colorful attire, once fine and no doubt expensive, was torn and stained with sweat and grime from many days of hard travel. At his waist he carried a long sword in a sheath of hand-carved leather and across his back was a yew bow and quiver of arrows.
The elf moved with great caution, his gray eyes scanning the surrounding wood, his hand never drifting far from his sword hilt. He approached the body and crouched beside it.
“What is it, Loth?” said the man behind him.
“Ander, my friend, come take a look,” Loth said. “Apparently, we’re not the first travelers to be waylaid and attacked.”
The body lay in such a manner as to suggest that the traveler had been running—obviously not fast enough—when he fell. A black-feathered arrow stood out from his back, another had pierced his hood, and a third shaft caught in the folds of his cloak. He wore no armor and carried neither shield nor sword. His only accoutrement was a tube-shaped container of hardened leather suspended by a thin strap looped over his shoulder.
“He appears to have been a messenger of some sort.” Loth leaned forward and carefully removed the cap on the leather tube, doing his best to avoid coming into contact with the bloated corpse. The man, Ander, joined him, crouching down beside the body.
Ander was a tall Northman with a mane of dark hair and a growth of beard covering his square chin. He had a hungry look about him, like that of a hunting wolf with eyes the color of cold steel. He was clad in leather and wool, with a ring mail shirt and bracers on his wrists. Across his back he carried a shield, and a broad sword hung at his waist. Despite his size and muscular frame, he moved with the grace of a stalking panther.
“We don’t have time for this,” Ander said. “They’ll be on us again at any moment.”
Ignoring his friend’s comment, Loth slid a roll of yellowed parchment from inside the tube and stepped back, unfurling the document and holding it up to better view the sprawling script that covered its surface.
The remaining two members of the group crept forward to peer over the Northman’s shoulder. These were twin wood elves, similar in feature to Loth, but smaller and leaner, with sun-bronzed skin and an air of mischief about them. The twins were as much alike to each other as they were different from their human companion, whom they observed with some disdain. They each had the same high cheekbones, the same aquiline nose, and the same fine, honey-colored hair. One was a woman clad in leather armor with a long sword on her hip. The other was a man, naked to the waist, clad only in black leather breeches and tall supple boots. He wore a simple leather harness across his back that held two long curved swords, the handles rising above his shoulders on either side.
“You two shouldn’t sneak up on me like that,” Ander glanced back at the twins, laying a hand on the pommel of his sword. “I might have mistaken you for orcs and taken your heads off before I realized my mistake.”
The twins folded their arms simultaneously and gave each other an amused smile.
“Rayzer,” said the woman, “did you hear what this great big oaf said?”
“I did, Blayde,” said the man, “and I for one would like to see him try.”
Ander rose, giving his companions a lopsided grin. “It’s always a game with you two, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Blayde said. “And we very much like to win.”
“So do I,” Ander turned his back on them, giving his full attention to Loth and the note in his hand. “What’s it say?”
“It’s addressed to Baron Cedric an Nachtwald. It says that the village of Woodhall has been set upon by orcs and goblins—’”
“That much would seem obvious,” Blayde unfolded her arms and began circling the body.
“Those are orc arrows,” Rayzer nudged the dead human with his boot. “This fellow hasn’t been here more than a day or two.”
“‘—No road is safe. Urgent you send help. Please aid us in our plight.’” Loth read.
“Plight? What exactly does that mean?” Ander said.
“’Plight’ means they’re in trouble and need someone to come rescue them,” Blayde gave the Northman an exasperated look.
“I know what ‘plight’ means.” Ander growled. “I just want to know—”
“‘—signed Gotterlin, Priest of Aedon.’” Loth continued.
“I wonder if help ever came,” Blayde said.
“That’s what I was asking,” Ander said.
“I doubt it,” Loth nodded at the body. “This road isn’t exactly well traveled. In fact, I’d hardly call it a road at all.”
“More like a trail,” Blayde suggested.
“A footpath even,” Rayzer added, giving Blayde a gentle shove.
“Well, we can’t stay on it,” Ander said. “I don’t like the look of this place. We’re too exposed. There could be orcs watching us from the trees right now and we’d never know.”
“I would,” Rayzer said.
“What about the messenger?” Loth asked. “I hate to just leave him here like this.”
“He’s beyond our help,” Blayde said, “and the day is wearing on. As much as it pains me to agree with Ander, I think it would be wise for us to be gone from these woods when night falls.”
“There’s bound to be more arrows where those came from,” Rayzer said.
“Let’s get moving then. We can’t be far from Nachtwald and we should be able to reach it before dark.” Loth tossed the parchment next to the body and turned away, finding the trail where it plunged into the forest on the far side of the clearing. Blayde and Rayzer swept past him, taking the lead, and leaving Ander to bring up the rear.
Loth paused at the edge of the clearing to take one last look at the body. The surrounding forest was suddenly filled with menace, and every shadow contained some hidden foe.
“Come on,” Ander said, “I’ll buy you an ale when we get there.”
“I prefer wine, as you well know. A nice Tragosian red, supple and fruity, with a delicate finish.”
Ander sighed, shaking his head in obvious disapproval. “With the way you dress, and the way you drink, you’re going to give us wayfaring adventurers a bad name.”
* * *
The group traveled through the wood for several more hours, the ground rising steadily, before they emerged from the forest at the edge of a broad, green valley. Dark clouds loomed on the horizon, threatening rain, but they were still far off and didn’t seem likely to arrive before dusk. Two rivers cut a path across the valley floor. The larger of the two, the Alleg, ran from north to south, while the other, the Koblar, snaked a path from the northeast to the southwest, before running into the Alleg. At the point where the two rivers converged stood a castle, set upon a tall hill, with a walled city spreading out beneath it. The city was a closely packed collection of houses and shops, bifurcated here and there by roads and alleys, with a high curtain wall surrounding it. The land to the west and south had been cleared for farming and boasted well-tilled fields laden with barley.
“That it?” Ander asked.
“Welcome to Nachtwald,” Loth said.
“Doesn’t look like much,” Blayde said. Rayzer, standing next to her, nodded his head in silent agreement.
“Legend has it Aedon himself built Nachtwald, although it had a different name then, and that when he raised his castle on Arrom’s Rock, he transferred the seat to the captain
of his Nine Valiants, Sir Veryan Emrallt—”
“The first of the Rowanin wood elves,” Blayde said.
“The very same. Sir Veryan was also the first lord of Nachtwald, after Aedon of course, and some say that he never left, that his body is entombed there.”
“That’s not our way,” Blayde frowned at the notion. “Wood elves don’t hide their dead behind walls of stone.”
“This coming from a woman who dresses in armor and conducts herself like a hedge knight,” Ander said. “You may look like you’re from the Rowanin, but you act like you’re half human.”
“Call me human again, Northman, and I’ll conduct you into the next world.”
“You forget,” Loth continued, ignoring the interruption, “that Sir Veryan, despite being elf-kind, was also loyal to Aedon. He stood on the brink of two worlds, and who can say to which he had greater devotion.”
“And who’s to say he wasn’t devoted to both,” Blayde said.
“As fascinating as this little history lesson is,” Ander said, “shouldn’t we—”
The Northman’s words were interrupted by a crashing noise in the undergrowth. A ragged howl rose from the woods behind them. Turning they saw a company of goblins clad in leather armor as they sprang from the shadows and ran toward them. The goblins carried curved swords, spears, and axes, and brandished small round bucklers, emblazoned with designs from several different clans. War cries and bloodthirsty oaths split the air as the goblins broke cover, waving their weapons over their heads.
No doubt the goblins were used to dealing with unarmed villagers and expected them to flee, but the four confronting them now did not respond like prey. Ander slid his shield from his back and drew his sword while Loth quickly strung his bow and knocked an arrow, his hands a blur of motion. The first goblin to clear the trees fell, an arrow standing out from its throat, and a fraction of a second later, another dropped in front of the first, an arrow through its left eye.
Rayzer sprang forward, leaping into the midst of a dozen attackers. He moved like a whirlwind, dealing death on all sides of him with his twin swords. Blayde was close behind and was nearly as deadly as her brother. She plunged into the goblin ranks, trusting her armor to deflect their clumsy blows, her long sword breaking bone and cleaving flesh. Ander was beside her. He roared like an angry bull as he cleaved through one goblin after another.
The battle lasted less than a minute before the would-be assailants broke and ran, stumbling over the bodies of their fallen comrades and slipping on the wet grass, their war cries turned to howls of fear and dismay. But now a company of orcs appeared, hurrying along the trail in their direction.
“By Onar’s frozen beard,” Ander snarled, “this is no ambush, but a full on assault!”
Loth slung his bow and lifted his hands, his fingers weaving a pattern in the air. A tornado of swirling dust and debris rose up from the ground to envelope the approaching orcs. Loth smiled at the sudden cursing, coughing, and shouting that came from somewhere behind the swirling mass.
“The Winds of Prathos will not hold them for long,” he shouted. “Run!” He sprang away down the hillside, knocking another arrow to his bow as he went.
Ander followed, but Blayde was forced to take Rayzer’s arm and drag him away. The wood elf’s pale eyes were wild with battle fury and bloodlust. “Come on!” Blayde shouted. “There’s too many of them. Another time.”
Rayzer wrenched his arm free, pausing, as if uncertain which direction to move, but then, cursing, he turned away and pursued his sister and the others down the hill.
* * *
They ran as fast as their weary legs would carry them, reaching the base of the slope before the orcs realized they had fled. Here the ground leveled out and Loth spotted a road, coming from the west and running perpendicular to their course. He adjusted his stride, moving at an angle to intercept it. Somewhere behind he could hear the orcs and goblins, now free of his spell, nipping at their heels like a pack of ravenous wolves. Ahead someone was blowing a horn, and he could hear voices raised in fear. He chanced a glance over his shoulder. There were at least twenty orcs following and perhaps another ten goblins, all that remained of the initial ambush. Ander was keeping pace with them, but the Northman’s face was red with exertion and his breathing ragged.
They ran into an open field, the city off to their left but growing nearer. The smell of barley and raw fear was pungent in his nose. At the appearance of the orcs, frightened peasants dropped their baskets and other tools, and ran screaming for the protection of the city. There were several little farms on this side of the river and a small community of houses and other buildings occupying the land below the south wall on the other side. Loth came suddenly upon the road and veered left, clattering over a long wooden bridge with his companions close behind. The road curved to the north and a second bridge, this one made of stone and much older, appeared ahead.
Loth sprang onto the bridge and ran headlong for the gate. A pair of bewildered guardsmen stood beside the open gate, ready to close it once the last of the peasants was through. Here, too, was a collection of smaller dwellings. Loth glimpsed pens containing a variety of livestock, pigs, cows, oxen, sheep, and goats. Brightly colored chickens, that had been contentedly pecking at the dirt in the road, now fled in all directions, wings flapping, and raising a fierce cacophony of sound. Somewhere above, along the castle wall, the horn continued to blow.
Loth shot through the gate, with Rayzer, Blayde, and Ander close behind. The villagers, many of whom still clustered in the little dirt yard just inside the wall, drew back from them but did not try to bar their entry. Loth turned, raising his bow, but their enemies had slowed and came to a halt near the road, just out of bowshot. Then, as the last of the field workers scurried inside, the gates were thrown shut and a heavy bar dropped into place.
* * *
By the time Nachtwald’s soldiers had armed themselves and ridden out, the orcs and goblins had faded into the woods. That was fine with Loth. He’d had enough of running and fighting for one day, and was more interested in a bath, food, and a nice bottle of wine, although he didn’t hold out much hope for what might be in Nachtwald’s cellars.
“You there,” came a commanding voice from the direction of the castle. Loth turned to see a group of men in purple tabards and gold cloaks hurrying toward them across the yard. Several of the men bore crossbows, and all of them were armed with swords. Their leader was an armored knight with a barrel chest and thick limbs.
“Drop your weapons at once, or we will be forced to shoot,” the knight said. The guards quickly surrounded them, training their crossbows. Those without bows drew their swords and stood ready.
“Try and take them!” Rayzer snarled, twirling his twin blades.
“Easy,” Blayde said, “these are friends. At least I think they are friends.” Blayde knelt and gently placed her sword on the ground, raising her hands as she straightened.
Ander, who was still stooped over, one hand on his knee as he drew breath into his aching lungs, straightened and tossed his sword to the ground, following it with his shield. His face was red and rivulets of sweat gleamed on his skin.
“We need to see your lord... and master,” Ander said. “Sooner the better.”
“And you will,” said the knight, “just as soon as you cooperate with my request.” He eyed Rayzer as if he were a wild beast he might have to put down.
Blayde laid a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “These are no orcs. They may be ugly, rude, and stupid, but they are only doing their duty. We’re in no danger here.”
Rayzer looked at her, then back at the armed guardsmen surrounding them. He made a disgusted noise, and then sheathed his swords, folding his arms across his chest and assuming a defiant stance.
“Uh, sorry to drop in on you like this,” Loth said, slinging his bow and raising his own hands. “Bit of a shock I suppose, our sudden appearance, not to mention our friends out there. They’ve been tracking us for thre
e days; quite annoying actually, but it did expedite the journey. This is Nachtwald, yes?”
“Aye,” said the knight. He sheathed his own sword and appeared to relax. “You’re in Nachtwald, right enough. I’m Sir Eris Moot, the lord’s master-at-arms. Baron Cedric an Nachtwald is master of this city and he will most certainly want to meet you four.”
“Excellent,” Loth said, “and something in the way of food or drink wouldn’t go amiss. We’ve had a long and difficult journey.”
“We’ll see what we can do,” Sir Eris turned away, gesturing to his men with one hand. The soldiers fell into line on either side of the four travelers. “Come along then.” Sir Eris said over his shoulder. “We don’t have all day.”
Chapter 7
The great hall was filled almost to capacity and more people stood in the courtyard outside, pressing in close to the windows. It wasn’t often that Nachtwald received such interesting guests. Everyone was anxious to get a look at the newcomers and to hear about the orcs and goblins. Their appearance so close to the city’s walls was more than a little disconcerting and something that had not occurred in Portia’s lifetime. She remembered her last conversation with Zerabnir and how he had hinted that change was coming to Nachtwald. She couldn’t help but wonder if this wasn’t the beginning of it. What would come next? She wanted very much to talk to the old wizard just then, but that conversation would have to wait.
As was the custom, Cedric sat in his massive chair atop the dais, peering down on everyone as if he were himself one of the Nine Judges. The table had been taken away and Sir Ardunn stood on the floor below with Sir Eris and the Briar Knights. A handful of guardsmen stood along either wall, with dozens of candle makers, bakers, cooks, brewers, blacksmiths, weavers, carpenters, farmers, fletchers, potters, carters, porters, dyers, pages, fullers, and a number of well-to-do merchants taking up the remainder of the hall. Father Moram was there along with his young charge, Ren, and a small contingent of acolytes. Portia and Finn, being the baron’s children, were allowed to stand up front and so had a better view. However, they were sternly commanded to stay out of the way and to keep their mouths shut.
A Way with Magic (The Draakonor Chronicles Book 1) Page 7