“Are there many battles for the land?” asked Leilas. She hadn’t heard of any battles between the elves.
“We haven’t had a battle in many years. But we’re always vigilant to keep what is ours. Occasionally, a small group of dark elves will try to claim land that belongs to Edan.”
“It must be difficult to fight against your own people,” murmured Leilas.
“They are not my people. They are my sworn enemies.”
“They are still elves,” said Leilas.
“The dark crafters are still crafters. Do you find it difficult to fight them?”
“I do. I would find it even more difficult to fight them if they held to the pure dark magic.”
Erion frowned at her answer. “There are no dark crafters who hold to the pure magic.”
“I believe there are some,” replied Leilas, thinking of Garabaldi and the masters she’d seen at the council meeting.
“You’re mistaken,” said Erion.
“Perhaps,” said Leilas, not wanting to argue with him. They’d fought enough on this leg of the journey. “You were telling me of Adan and Edan. Please continue your story.”
Erion hesitated, and Leilas knew he wanted to convince her that all dark crafters were her enemies, for her own safety. Instead, he picked up his story where he’d left off. She knew that he was bound to keep her from choosing the dark magic. Her assertion that she believed some of the dark crafters were pure was more fuel added to the fire of disbelief in her fitness to be the Chosen One. Erion had told her he believed in her and she didn’t doubt his word. The fact that he hadn’t argued with her was proof of his loyalty. But that didn’t negate his oath to protect his people from a crafter who’d chosen the darkness. She wished that he could believe in her with no need for reservation, but it was his destiny to judge the purity of the Chosen One.
“Edan told Adan,” Erion picked up the thread of the story, “his father had chosen the land for each of them and that he wouldn’t defy his father’s wishes. Adan went away angry. Still, he would have been content to let it be, had Edan not fallen in love with Tana. She wasn’t the fairest daughter of the elves, but she was the most loved. Adan had always desired Tana, though he didn’t love her. Tana knew that Adan didn’t love her. Also, she’d chosen to follow the light magic, not the dark. It was no secret that Edan loved her and in time she grew to love him. Adan was furious. Not only had Edan received the better half of the land, now he had taken the beloved maiden. There was no placating Adan. He declared himself an enemy forever to Edan. All his descendants would be taught that light elves were their enemies.
“Even though we are enemies, dark elves will not kill us without just cause, nor will we kill them without just cause. But we know them for what they are, servants of the dark magic.” Leilas knew he added that last bit for her benefit.
Erion frowned as he continued. “The dark elves were not as concerned as the light elves to avoid mixing with other races. They let their desires guide them. As a result, darklings began to appear, half dark-elf, half some other race. Darklings didn’t keep their magic pure. Their minds were easily twisted by the corrupt magic introduced by Rengailai. In some instances, the races the dark elves mixed with had already embraced the twisted dark magic. Darklings have no compunction in killing, elves or anyone else.
“For the most part, we’ve lived peacefully for thousands of years, despite our differences. We respect each other’s borders and people,” concluded Erion. “Light elves don’t wander into Ehanya and dark elves don’t wander into Atana.”
“How much danger are you in coming here?” asked Leilas, concerned for her companion.
“Does it just now occur to you that coming with you might put me in grave danger, as well?”
Leilas was ashamed to say this was the first time she’d thought about it. “Are we near Ehanya?”
“Not close enough for it to be a concern, yet,” replied Erion. “But we’d be wise to avoid it. Getting caught by the dark elves, here in this forest, would be almost certain death.”
To her, Erion was almost invincible. The idea that he could be killed hadn’t crossed her mind. She was ashamed she’d been centering her thoughts on her danger. Falling silent, she brooded on all he’d told her.
Evening began to fall. According to the map, they should reach the area they were hunting, by morning, if they rode through the night. She was still feeling weak from the poison and not much rest, but she didn’t suggest they stop. Although the feeling of twisted and chaotic magic was weaker on the open road, it was still there and would be stronger once they left the road.
She didn’t know how long she’d dozed. The sounds of many feet moving through the trees awakened her. Erion had already nocked his bow. He turned to check that she was awake and urged his horse into a gallop. Leilas was close behind, busy trying to ready her weapons as she rode. “Who are they?” she yelled to Erion’s back.
“Darklings. A lot of them,” he yelled back.
Leilas turned and looked behind her. The darklings were hot on their trail, having abandoned the forest and running along the road. The horses weren’t much faster than the creatures following them and Leilas was fairly certain they wouldn’t hold out as long. She didn’t know what would happen if she used her magic here, or even if she should. Perhaps she should just keep running. While she struggled to keep up with Erion’s expert horsemanship, she tried probing the minds of those chasing them, so she could understand what their intentions were and who’d sent them. She pulled her thoughts back at what she found in their minds.
Erion pulled his horse to a stop in front of a rocky outcropping and scrambled to an advantageous position to fire. Leilas followed more slowly. Until Erion ran out of arrows and they needed to rush into battle, she simply needed to not get in the way of any arrows and not wear herself out helping with spells. In this instance, her fighting skills would be more helpful than her magic.
The darklings slowed when five of the leaders fell in succession. They split into two groups and scurried into the trees, making Erion’s bow less lethal. Still, as they neared the rocks, he picked them off, until his quiver was empty. Throwing his bow aside, he loosed his sword. It didn’t take the darklings long to realize he’d released his last arrow. They reassembled and then began to circle around their stronghold. Leilas counted twenty darklings still standing and twenty lying dead. The odds weren’t in their favor. Erion’s grim expression told her he’d come to the same conclusion. Though these people weren’t purebred, they still had elven blood. They would be worthy opponents and her magic would be less effective, if it affected them at all, if she were forced to use it.
Waiting for their enemies to reach them, they stood back to back. Leilas had her sword and long knife in hand. She would have preferred the axe, but it would be too cumbersome in this fight. All twenty attacked at once. Leilas countered the strokes that came close, worrying only about the rhythm of the battle. The darkness was hovering just on the fringes of her consciousness. She felt a satisfying connection with one of her opponents and saw him fall, but she didn’t do more than notice before another darkling took his place. Her arm was already burning. Her breath was coming in gasps. The poison had sapped a great deal of her strength, putting her at even more of a disadvantage. Her next opponent drew first blood, catching her arm with a glancing blow. She caught him with a knife thrust through his ribs. She pulled the blade loose as he fell. Sweeping her sword in an arc, she caught the neck of the next to step too close. She was tiring quickly and knew she had little chance against the attackers when she heard a shrill whistle. The darklings backed away then disappeared into the forest. Leilas looked around in puzzlement as she bent to catch her breath. “Where did they go?” she asked the obvious question.
Erion shook his head, his sword still at the ready. “Someone or something called them away.”
“Never let it be said I’m not grateful for little blessings. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go on fight
ing.”
Erion cast a worried eye over her. “We need to find some place to rest, evil magic or not. You need to sit down and eat.” He put his sword away and rummaged in his pack, coming up with a bottle of beer. “This will help for now.” He passed the bottle to Leilas and began to collect his arrows from the slain darklings. This time, they left the bodies for their companions to collect. Mounting their skittish horses, they continued down the road at a gallop. Erion spied a darker spot among the rocks and investigated. There was a small opening in the rocks that was large enough to house them.
“Who do you think called the darklings away?” asked Leilas, as she took care of her animals.
“Someone who didn’t want us dead quite yet,” answered Erion grimly. “I don’t understand this cat and mouse game, and I’m tired of being batted around.”
“There was no laughing this time,” mused Leilas absently. “Just that twisted power.” She leaned against her saddle, the fatigue beginning to overtake her. “What is it they know, that I haven’t discovered yet?” She didn’t hear Erion’s answer. She gave in to the need to sleep instead.
She was standing at the Chasm of Ceryk again. A young woman was with her. Rengailai stood on the opposite side of the gorge with someone hidden in a cloak. That twisted feeling of power was there, but it didn’t come from Rengailai, but from the man next to him.
“It’s in her hands,” said Rengailai, to the person next to him. “The treasure you’ve been seeking. Go take your prize.”
Leilas looked in her hand. There was the Crafter’s Staff assembled, the crystal orb adorning the apex. The person next to Rengailai took the form of a griffin and began to cross the chasm. The young woman next to Leilas began to chant. The staff began to glow. The griffin screeched and began its attack.
CHAPTER 20
Leilas woke with a start, her hand on her axe. They were still in the shallow opening in the rocks. Erion opened one eye to see if she was all right then went back to his rest. Dropping her hand from her weapon, she brushed back her hair and tried to calm herself. It was nearly dawn, so she rummaged in her pack and found some breakfast. Munching on the bread and cheese, she tried to make sense of what she’d dreamed. She was certain she’d never met the girl before. But she knew that she would meet her before her journey was done. The woman in her vision was petite, with jet-black hair, and maybe Brenth’s age. She was wearing the garb of a healer.
Who was the crafter? He’d felt very powerful, yet it was a dark, twisted power. He was the same person who was in these woods. It was this crafter who wanted the Crafter’s Staff. The same staff she was seeking. So why send his minions to try to kill them? Why try to poison her? Or were those mistakes? Were his people not totally under his control?
Leilas finished her meager breakfast still lost in thought. She looked over to find Erion still resting. Why would this crafter want the staff and why would Rengailai give it to him? She sighed in frustration. There were so many questions for which she didn’t have answers. Maybe if she had more time. But she didn’t. The whole of Preterlandis was at war and would be destroyed or inalterably changed if she didn’t find the pieces of the staff and meet Rengailai and this crafter at the Chasm of Ceryk. And then? That part was less clear. She could only hope that as she found the pieces of the staff, its use would become clear, as would the identity of the woman in her dream. Leilas knew she was the third one to be chosen and that she had a task to complete, too. One that was tied to hers, if her dreams were showing her pieces of her future. For now, she would take some comfort in the fact that the people following her didn’t want her dead until she’d completed her task, either. Of course, that didn’t mean they were safe. Yesterday’s foray belied that idea.
She poked Erion in the arm and then began to pack the animals. Erion was soon helping and they were quickly on their way. With luck, they would reach the spot marked on the map as the temple dedicated to Crog by midday. None of the new maps referenced it. Either no one had been to this spot in a very long time, or the temple was hidden and they would have their work cut out for them finding it.
Either way, they were going to have to leave the road and travel through the forest. Leilas fretted over whether to use magic to protect them or not. It would be like lighting a beacon fire in this forest of dark magic. In the end, she decided to chance the danger of the forest without the protection of magic. Between Erion and herself, they were already attracting more attention from the dark creatures that lived here than they wanted. There had been several occasions when she was sure she’d seen eyes watching them from behind the trees and rocks. No one but the darklings had dared to attack, but the animosity she’d felt was potent. Also, she’d like to make this crafter and his servants have to work to find them. The more time she had to find the temple, the better. As Joshuas said, why use magic when a sword would do?
Erion turned to the right, off the road, and headed into the forest. If he was apprehensive about entering this cursed place again, he didn’t show it. The animals snickered nervously, but entered the wood obediently.
“According to your map,” said Erion, after they’d traveled through the trees for most of the morning, “this path we’re on should lead to the temple.”
Leilas looked forward, then turned and looked back. “This is a path?” she asked doubtfully. “I thought you were just leading us through the trees.”
“It appears not to have been used for many years,” agreed Erion. “But I can see where it leads.”
“Why do you think the people abandoned this temple?” asked Leilas as they rode.
“As the dark magic became evil, they grew apart from the pure magic of Crog. They were no longer interested in giving homage to a pure being.”
“They prefer to give homage to Rengailai?”
“No,” said Erion thoughtfully. “They fear Rengailai’s power and position. They fear his power to destroy them. But they don’t pay him honor.”
“So they do what they believe it’s right to do, with no authority?”
“And chaos is the result,” agreed Erion.
“And they’re lost in the darkness,” said Leilas, sadly.
“While we live, there is always hope,” replied Erion.
“And hope is what makes us what we are,” Leilas finished the benediction.
“So, let us hope it can be set right.”
The trees broke into a clearing about a mile down the trail. When he reached the clearing, Erion stopped and dismounted. “It’s quite a temple don’t you think?” he asked, swinging his arm over the empty meadow, the sarcastic tone brought on by the dark magic back in his voice. There was no sign of any temple ever being in this place. But Leilas wasn’t willing to abandon the search quite so easily. This clearing was at the foot of Mount Pyrion, Crog’s mountain. Leilas slipped from her saddle, her mind working. Crog, who is the fire crafter. Mount Pyrion, which is the Fire crafter’s mountain. Could a mountain, a volcano, she corrected herself, be considered a temple?
If that were true, she wouldn’t find a temple here in this clearing, but a door. “We aren’t looking for the remnants of a temple,” she told Erion excitedly as she began to search. “We’re looking for a door.”
Erion looked around skeptically. “Where do you think we’ll find this door? In a tree, perhaps?” he said sarcastically. It hadn’t taken long for the magic in these woods to worm its way through his natural immunity once he’d dismounted. His reaction to this magic frightened Leilas. What would happen to the forest elves if this magic spread into their forest? Their natural defense against magic wouldn’t protect them. She feared they’d be destroyed.
“That might depend on who made the temple,” replied Leilas, ignoring his attitude. “If elves created it, then it could be a tree, couldn’t it?”
“Well, it’s not. There are no doors,” retorted Erion.
“Since I came all this way, I’m going to keep looking, if you don’t mind.”
“And if I do mind?” asked
Erion.
Leilas would have laughed at the change in him if it wasn’t so serious. “I’m going to look anyway.”
Erion plopped down in the grass and closed his eyes. “Look away. I’m going to take a nap.”
Leilas was tempted to use magic to snap him out from under the influence of this spell, but resisted. He could wait here. She would find the temple door while he rested. She was fairly certain he could take care of himself should trouble arrive.
Despite his assurance, Leilas checked each tree that ringed the clearing for anything that resembled an opening. Finding nothing there, she studied the rocks that rose up at the edge of the clearing. There were no caves or any signs of a door. Pulling out the map, Leilas studied it again, looking for some clue. Erion continued to nap. The map marked the temple in the center of this clearing. Leilas looked around and frowned. There was nothing in the middle of this clearing but a sleeping elf.
The afternoon was wearing on and soon she would lose her ability to search. In spite of what her eyes were telling her, she went to the center of the clearing and began to search for something, a door, an opening, or remains of a building. She felt herself growing irritated at Erion for doing nothing to help her. It was the dark magic. She knew that in her head. It was hard however, to convince the rest of her not to be angry.
Near the center of the clearing, there was a boulder. This was the only boulder in the clearing. That fact drew Leilas to it. There was nothing remarkable about the boulder at first glance. She was about to move on then changed her mind. Examining it closely, she found some etchings filled with dirt. Brushing away the dirt, she found the etching to be a rune. The same rune she’d seen in Rengailai’s dungeon. Leilas frowned. She’d hoped she could find what she was looking for without any magic. It appeared that wasn’t going to be the case. She looked over at Erion. He was still sleeping, or pretending to sleep. Turning back to the rock, she raised her arms and spoke the ancient words of opening she’d learned in Rengailai’s study.
First Comes The One Who Wanders Page 35