The Lady's Man

by Greg Curtis

  But as they continued their path up the trail towards the city he didn't ask. He was more interested in what lay ahead.

  In the end it was as he had expected. They rode three hundred paces to where the trail bent around a thicker patch of trees and found a reception committee waiting for them. A dozen elves on horseback blocking the trail. They'd obviously ridden out to meet them and then waited for some time. They looked impatient.

  There was however, one thing that caught him by surprise. At the head of the group there was a woman he recognised, Annalisse Brial Lon. And she was smiling knowingly – an expression that filled him with resignation. He gathered that she was responsible for the others being there.

  “Elder.”

  Yorik greeted her politely as was expected. And as he perhaps hadn't during the three days he'd escorted her and her party to Hammeral.

  “Yorik, finally wearing your true colours I see. And looking the better for it.”

  Yorik didn't answer her except to nod politely. He wasn't sure that there was anything he could say. Besides, her attention wasn't on him. It was on his companions. Something they proved a heartbeat later.

  “Annalisse!”

  Yorik turned around in surprise as he heard Myral address the elder by name, not just because he sounded pleased to see her – as if they were old friends – but because of the obvious question. He'd been a tree for five hundred years – how could he possibly know her? Unless of course she had also been a tree for five hundred years?

  “Myral, you've been in my thoughts for so long.”

  It seemed that Myral wasn't the only one who knew the other. But he was saved the bother of having to ask any questions as Myral jumped down from his horse and walked rather more quickly than normal to greet her with a hug when she too dismounted. After that there was no chance to ask anything as the two of them instantly fell into a quiet and somewhat hurried conversation in their own tongue as they walked off to one side, leaving him still standing there in front of the elders wondering what was happening. But they looked just as bemused as he felt and it was a while before anything was said.

  “Yorik son of Heric, welcome to Hammeral.”

  It was a woman who finally broke the silence. One of advancing years and a stern countenance. But Yorik sensed nothing in her of dislike, more … indifference. As if she was there because she had a function to perform and no more.

  “I am Odeletta Danse, Elder of Hammeral.”

  “I'm honoured.”

  He said it both because it was proper that he should say it, and also because she was showing him great respect in being there. In the end he was just a paladin, not the sort of person an elder should personally greet. And also she was speaking New Vinnish, not the tongue he would have expected to hear from her lips.

  “At least you're polite. After what the others had said I did wonder.”

  “My apologies to any that believe I slighted them.”

  And Yorik could imagine that there were a few who did think just that. One captain for a start who had brought Annalisse and her family back to Hammeral. If the opportunity arose Yorik thought he might one day have to buy the captain a drink. Not that elves really drank. They enjoyed sipping their sickly sweet wines over gulping a decent mead.

  “A matter for another day. For this day you have a task given to you paladin. One of utmost importance.”

  Yorik could have said something. He probably should have. After all it was not her place to assign him duties. But she didn't give him the chance, waving hurriedly at one of her companions and getting him to ride forward.

  “This is Ranger Ascollia of the Order of the Lady, your brother in arms. He needs an escort to Enders Fall where I believe you're heading, so that he may deliver a message.”

  Her words shocked Yorik, and he almost denied them outright on the spot. Until Ranger Ascollia opened his cloak a little to reveal gold chain armour. And that he couldn't deny.

  Like called to like as they said, and he knew the armour of the Lady even if he had never seen it before and it was completely different to any paladin armour he'd ever heard of. Gold chain and scale. Light armour that no paladin would ever wear. But he could not deny the Lady's presence in the spells woven into it. Which left him sitting there on his horse wondering what to think. But when the ranger rode over and reached out an arm he still knew enough to clasp it in the manner of brothers. Long lost brothers perhaps.

  “And Genivere I would ask you to accompany them as well. As an acolyte of the Mother and a druidess you can bring the understanding of our people to the conversation that must inevitably follow.”

  “Of course Elder.”

  Genivere smiled as if she was being given a reward instead of a chore.

  “Now is there anything that you will need for the journey?” She asked though it was only formality. They had everything they needed, and in fact from what he could see, Ascollia was carrying plenty of extra provisions in his saddle bags just in case.

  “No Elder, but I thank you for your concern.”

  “Good. Then I wish you a safe and quick journey. These rangers will show you the shortest route north.”

  And that was it. In a heartbeat his visit to the elven city was over, and he'd barely seen more than the most fleeting glimpses of its outskirts. Worse, while he would have liked to have taken his time returning to Ender's Fall, suddenly he was expected to hurry. That wasn't fair. But fairness wasn't his to ask for.

  So Yorik nodded respectfully to the elder – who was already looking as though she wanted to return to the city – and turned his horse around to face the rangers who were already staring impatiently at them.

  “Please lead the way Captain.”

  Maybe it was time to be polite to at least one elven captain. After all, the first one he had encountered he had surely angered by calling him slow and the second he had confused by telling her that he did not know where he was going. Perhaps the third should think better of him when their journey was done.

  It would be nice if somewhere in Hammeral there was one ranger captain who did not think ill of him.

  Chapter Nine.

  Five days later, just as they were leaving the Hammeral forests and heading into New Vineland, the party ran into their next threat. Unfortunately they weren't ready for it. They weren't ready for much in truth as they'd been riding hard. Ascollia was in a hurry to reach Ender's Fall, though why he wouldn't say.

  Left to himself, Yorik would have liked to have taken his time on the journey. There was nothing good waiting for him ahead, and he would have liked to enjoy the beauty of the forests a little while longer before having to face his fate. But he hadn't been given that chance. Ascollia, a military minded elf, had set a stiff pace for them to keep up, and each night when they'd set camp it was all they could do to eat and rest. Like the elves who had escorted them for the first part of their journey out of the lands of Hammeral it seemed he was in a hurry. A hurry that spoke of panic and fear, even if he would not explain. Always assuming he knew.

  It wasn't his hurry. Or at least the urgency wasn't only his. From the haste with which he, Genivere and Ascollia had found themselves hurried on their way, escorted as quickly as possible out of the forests of Hammeral themselves by a party of elven rangers, he knew others were impatient for their journey to end. Myral meanwhile, had left them for the city as they'd been escorted away, walking arm in arm with Annalisse and strangely Yorik found himself missing the querulous wizard. He hadn't even waved farewell as he'd left. Meanwhile Annalisse he had been told was more than just an elderly elf herself. She too was some form of master wizard, and an elder too. She was also the one who had given them their travelling instructions. Long before they'd even arrived.

  That he suspected, was her magic at work. Ascollia hadn't confirmed it, in fact he'd been quite reticent about just what her gift was. And Genivere had steadfastly said nothing. But Yorik could think of only two ways she could have known when they'd be arriving. She had either t
he gift of far sight or foretelling – he wasn't sure which – and with it she had been able to direct others to act before anyone knew that they had to. He suspected that was why she'd left even before they'd been given their instructions. Before he had even had a chance to open his mouth. But then she already knew what he was going to say anyway, and like Myral, she hated wasting her time on foolish questions. In fact the two of them were much alike; contrary and overbearing. That though was a thought that he kept to himself lest it upset the others. The elves were notoriously protective of their elders.

  Still, even if they kept things from him the elves were good company, and Ascollia in particular was a great source of information about all things of the forest. He had a sense of humour that could have made the dead laugh, and a detailed knowledge of just about everything elven which he was happy to share, and for some reason Yorik was glad to listen. It took his mind off his troubles, the pain of his past and his uncertain future. And having wandered through the forests of Hammeral for weeks, he was curious. Perhaps, one day, he would have the chance to return. Not as a paladin of course, but perhaps as a man.

  It wasn't going to be this day however.

  The first Yorik knew that there was trouble was when his armour started glowing, a sure sign that there was dark magic nearby. And strangely too Ascollia's armour did the same. But then it wasn't actually strange as he quickly realised. Despite having explained little or nothing of how there could be rangers of the Order of the Lady among the elves. Despite the fact that it was ranger armour. His armour was the same. It was bound by magic to the Lady, and it carried a trace of her presence. So it reacted exactly as did his. That wasn't strange. That was exactly as it should be.

  “Brother.”

  Yorik drew his great sword while Ascollia reached for his longbow. A few heartbeats later Genivere reached for her own bow. Then the three of them sat there on their mounts, hunting for the enemy.

  “Thoughts?” Ascollia didn't waste words, a sign of a warrior.

  “That the grass is long and the last time we were attacked in such lands it was by undead dire wolves hiding in it.”

  “Genivere do you have knowledge of the binding of root and leaf?”

  Ascollia's was a good suggestion Yorik thought. Even more so when she nodded and started mumbling under her breath. He didn't know if the magic would be powerful enough to hold a dire wolf, but when the long grass wrapped itself around their legs it should slow one down. Unfortunately it also told their enemy that they knew he was near. Yorik discovered that when he watched the first of them rise up from out of the ground.

  Undead soldiers, not wolves.

  Seeing them rise out of the grass barely fifty paces ahead of them, Yorik hurriedly sheathed his sword and drew his two crossbows. With two bolts apiece they would take out four of the enemy, and given the number that were rising up, he wanted to take out as many as he could before the distance between them closed and they were forced into melee battle.

  The others were ahead of him of course, and he watched four of the undead burst into flames even before he'd spoken the Lady's blessing upon his weapons. Six more were burning by the time he'd released all four of his bolts. As he should have expected the elves were capable with their bows.

  But the enemy was prepared for them as well. Even as he was reloading his weapons he heard the sound of a horse whinnying in fear and he knew it was bad. He turned instinctively to see that a band of undead archers were standing to one side taking aim. Aphallia had been hit and was snorting in pain, shock and terror. Genivere was having a hard time controlling her. She was a well-trained horse, but she had never been hurt before. Not like that. Not with an arrow to her side.

  Seeing her like that Yorik knew instantly what to do. He drew his great sword, screamed his battle cry and charged the undead archers to their left. It was a dangerous thing to do, but not as dangerous as simply remaining where they were and making themselves a target. They were the immediate threat, not the sword and axe wielding soldiers who were held back by the grass.

  As he charged, swiftly covering the seventy or so paces between them, the air all around him was filled with arrows. Some from his companions, most from the undead archers themselves. Thankfully they all missed him. The undead were never as fast or accurate as the living, and he knew to ride at an angle towards them, changing directions as he did. It made it harder for them to hit him. The spells on his armour helped as well, making it harder for the enemy to take aim at him.

  By the time they'd loosed their arrows and were reloading, he was among them, and they were falling right and left to his flaming sword. Many of them had already been in flames before he'd reached them and the fire blinded them. It might take a long time for the fire to destroy them, but while they burnt the flames blinded them and they had no idea where he was. That was the advantage he needed and he took it.

  Luckily they were a poorly defended and stupid enemy. Whoever was controlling them, or who had instructed them in battle, had told them nothing of dodging; only how to use their bows. So they actually stood there as he charged them down, calmly reloading as if they had all the time in the world, and loosed arrows at him. Unluckily for Yorik their master had also taught them nothing of formations either and so they weren't lined up in an archer's line. That would have made things too easy. Instead he had to constantly change directions as he hunted them down one by one.

  That gave them time even as it made him an unpredictable target, and several of them managed to hit him with arrows. They bounced off his armour though, none of them doing him any damage, and soon there were only the outliers of the mob to deal with. Thirty had become ten in short order and soon they would become none.

  It was as he was thinking that that he heard another war cry and turned around hurriedly to see that Genivere's spell had not held all the undead warriors at bay. Some of them had broken free of the grass holding their legs and were hurrying towards her as she sat there on her horse loosing arrow after arrow at them. But hers hadn't been the cry he'd heard.

  Instead Ascollia had put away his long bow and was charging half a dozen of the undead foot soldiers with a pair of flaming rapiers. Again they too were unprepared for his attack and had no thought of self defence, but in melee combat often attack was a form of defence. They didn't dodge but they still knew enough to strike at him as he charged them. And Ascollia was only lightly armoured.

  It was then that Yorik knew they had a problem. He needed to go and stand beside his brother, but he couldn't leave the remaining archers or they would be free to continue loosing arrows at them, and sooner or later they would get lucky. Yet at the same time they were no true threat to a properly armed and armoured paladin. Ideally he should be wading into battle with the foot soldiers while Ascollia was destroying the archers.

  “Genivere target the foot soldiers!” He screamed it at the maiden knowing that he had no need of her covering fire and Ascollia did. Then with a hurried prayer to the Lady he continued tearing the undead archers apart, moving as quickly as he could so that he could finish and then go and help his brother.

  It took surely less than a minute until the last of them was down, but it seemed like hours. And yet as he worked and the sweat poured down his face, he noticed that Ascollia seemed to be holding his own. In part it was because the foot soldiers were still somewhat held by Genivere's magic and so couldn't rush him as they no doubt intended. But in part it was also due to Ascollia’s exceptional training in the deadly arts. Seeing him in combat Yorik knew him for a brother in arms. He knew and practised many of those same moves himself.

  The ranger controlled his horse perfectly with just his knees and a few words, while they wheeled and charged the foot soldiers almost one at a time, and those swords of his were slicing through bone and leathery skin as if they were smoke. By the time Yorik had finished with the last of the archers, severing the top half of its body with a flat strike through its chest, Ascollia was done with his.

  Th
at left only another fifteen foot soldiers standing, all of them completely trapped by the grass no matter how they struggled against it, and half of whom were on fire. Yorik charged them, deciding that the sooner this battle was ended and they were all ashes the better. Ascollia had the same idea and they came at the mob from both sides screaming the same war cries.

  After that it was carnage. Golden swords flashed like lightning while the rusting steel weapons of their opponents went flying along with pieces of their bodies – arms and heads mostly. The foot soldiers might be stronger opponents than the archers but they were still too slow and lacking in training. Something Yorik assumed was due to their necromantic master's lack of knowledge in battle.