Her voice dropped off and she swallowed hard.
“—Yes, it would,” reasoned Shar’ran. “I may be out of a job!”
Shar’ran stood in front of the entire assembly. Grit stood with the other eleven warriors who had qualified for the contest. They had already been told the rules. They get a knife, they wear only the bakree, they may not kill their opponents—but wounding them to render them helpless was acceptable. Grit knew from his conversations with Shar’ran that they were to battle alone, alliances were not tolerated. There would be observers, hidden in the Valley of Challenge; they would be monitoring the event and would expel those who violate the rules. They were also the named ones who would render determinations as to whether an injured party may stay in the challenge, even if hurt.
Grit studied the others as Shar’ran explained the rules to the ever expanding crowd. He tried to estimate their ages, but gave up. They could have been seventeen years or they could have been four-hundred. The Life Spell made it impossible to tell. From what X’all had told him, most of these competitors had trained for centuries—for some it was a lifelong challenge; their villages did their work for them so that they could train from morning to night. It was more than a bit unsettling.
Grit spotted the elf with the shorter leg. X’all had said his name was Val’aer and that he came from the mountain clan. He was stockier than others and more muscular. He remembered that he had been good with his knife. One by one, he mentally tallied his competition and their skills. When he got to the last two in the line, he stopped. These two had shown up early this morning and had not practiced with the others. They stuck to themselves. X’all had not had any information about them, other than their clan.
“They are not warriors,” the voice in his head said. “See how small their muscles are. They are to be feared, because they will battle with their minds.”
Grit found himself nodding and had to force himself to stop. Grit wasn’t sure who the voice was, but he paid close attention. The voice was informed, that much was for sure. He had thought about mentioning the voice to X’all, or maybe Shar’ran, but didn’t. When people heard voices, they were normally not balanced. His position amongst the elves was delicate. He didn’t think he could afford to be labeled unbalanced.
“Are there any questions?” Shar’ran asked.
None in the group spoke up.
“Well then, we are ready to begin. Follow me,” he said, as he turned and walked out of the council chambers and headed down a narrow path.
The sun was almost up. The sky was turning and the rims of the high cliffs that surrounded the village were tipped with golds and reds.
Before long, they entered a narrow ravine. The walls towered above Grit’s head and the path became narrow, forcing him to walk sideways in places. He heard conversation behind as some of the elves prattled between themselves. He wasn’t sure what was being said, but from the tone of their voices—they were nervous. Grit frowned to himself, wondering if he too should be nervous. He wasn’t, and that was just strange. As a matter of fact, he felt down-right calm. He knew he should have paid closer attention in the language classes that master Lorne had taught. How was he to know that he would get the chance to use that knowledge seven-hundred years later? It seemed pointless at the time—like most of what he learned in the Keep—because wizards were not allowed outside of the grounds of the Keep.
After many minutes of walking, they entered an enclosed valley that couldn’t have been more than half a league across in any direction. The cliffs were sheer. They stopped just after they entered.
“The contest will start here.” Shar’ran said. “You will be given one hour to choose a direction and run. I suggest separating yourselves.”
X’all stepped up. “I will blow the Horn of Aaron after the hour has elapsed. That is when the official contest begins.”
Grit stared at the large ornate horn that X’all was holding in his hand. “I will also blow the horn when the game is over and someone has been declared the victor. Any questions?”
Nobody uttered a word. Grit placed his hand on the butt of his knife, checking that it was securely sheathed at his waist. X’all set down the horn and picked up another and held it above his head.
“At the end of the day, I will sound this horn,” X’all lectured, blowing on the high pitched horn made of yew, “Once for each downed elf. Is that clear?”
Everyone nodded.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
There were nods across all eleven competitors.
“Good luck! Then—let the contest begin,” he said, lowering the gold horn to his lips and blowing it hard.
The sound went out and echoed in the valley.
Challenge
The voice in Grit’s head spoke. “Go out, as far and as fast as you can. Find food, shelter and water—there will be time enough for the contest tomorrow.
Grit turned and looked at Shar’ran and X’all. They nodded and Grit took off in a lobbing run for the far side of the valley. As he was leaving, he saw the two elves that had arrived late running together to the east. He reached the trees quickly and wove his way through their tangled mess.
“Look to your left,” said the voice.
Grit did and he spotted an old elf sitting in the notch of a tall tree. Grit nodded in his direction and kept moving.
“You need to stay alert at all times,” the voice warned. “We do not know that we are not being followed.”
Grit face paled. He had not even considered that as an option. He stopped and listened, but heard nothing but the birds. He continued working his way into the woods. Before he got too far, he turned toward the cliff wall, figuring that it would be easier to defend himself when attackers could only come from one side.
He continued running for close to two hours when he came upon a rock outcropping of big boulders that would make a defensible shelter. He stopped and rested. He was getting thirsty.
While he rested, he used his knife to harvest a small tree and fashion it into a staff. After he checked several trees by bending them, he settled on his choice. The wood had to be hard. He spent almost a half-hour chopping it down and stripping it of its bark. He would treat it over a fire later in the evening, but for now, it would serve its purpose and felt good in his hands.
Grit almost didn’t see the thin trip string in time to duck beneath the sharp stakes that whizzed over his head. The trap had been cleverly hidden and covered with dry grass. Only his lightning-reflexes had saved him. His heart was beating loudly as he laid there in the grass. The gravity of his situation hit home at that moment—now he was anxious, anxious and afraid!
Grit pushed himself to his feet and continued his way, keeping his head down and watching his every step. Now, he was moving slow. He didn’t want to trigger any more traps—and he found plenty. He made mental notes of their locations. Maybe, they might come in handy later in the contest.
He lucked out, finding a small trickle of water sliding down the side of the cliff not more than a couple hundred yards from his camp. He used a large leaf against the wall to gather the water into a homemade bowl he had fashioned from another leaf. He stayed for a while, drinking his fill and left the leaves he had fashioned hidden under a log when he left.
His next task was finding food. He wasn’t likely to catch a rabbit or squirrel without a bow, but figured he could make a snare. He found some vines growing up a tree and sliced them down, and tested them for flexibility. He fashioned several snares, hoping to increase his luck and placed them on the paths where he saw rabbit droppings. If he caught one, he would have to thank X’all for his instruction.
Along the way, he found a few berry bushes and gathered what he could. He also found some cattails in a marshy section, although he couldn’t seem to find the source of the water. This led him to believe it was spring fed.
He felt better when he got to his camp and began using his knife to shape downed branches into a lean-to cover for the rocks. He wov
e smaller branches between the large and eventually, had a respectable cover to layer with the larger leaves he had found farther down the wall.
He smiled as he chopped the leaves from the plants, taking care to remove them all the way to the ground, leaving no signs that he had been there. Shar’ran had showed him how to cover his trail. The leaves would keep his shelter protected from the elements.
It was nearing nightfall when he finished his canopy by making it blend in with the surroundings; he threw some small dead branches and leaves over the top. He shielded a small rock pit with thick chunks of bark stripped from birch trees and used his knife and a piece of flint rock he had found along the wall to light a small fire. He stepped back from his camp and checked it from many angles, making sure it wasn’t visible. Before night set in, he checked his snares one last time, and to his surprise, found a plump rabbit hanging from the noose. He re-set the trap and carried the animal home, skinned it and roasted it slowly over the open flame.
Grit ate the rabbit and the tubers he had dug up, as well as a handful of the berries he had found. His head was beginning to hurt when he remembered that he had forgotten to cast his life spell for the day. He quickly formed the spell in his head and was soon feeling better.
Sitting in a high tree, not more than thirty yards from Grit’s camp was another elf. She watched intently as Grit prepared for the night. She nodded to herself, this one was careful, well prepared. She wasn’t sure how she felt—he was human—he didn’t belong. Yet, Shar’ran was impressed with the wizard. Perhaps he had good reason.
Grit cast a series of wards, a skill he had just learned during his week of intense study. They were not sufficient to really protect him from much of anything at all, but they would give him warning if something approached his camp. His magic skill was improving, but he didn’t have mastery yet. He couldn’t wield the new power with his previous mastery. The ward only extended out fifty feet or so, barely enough warning for him to prepare himself—he hoped. He tied off the spell, satisfied that it would hold.
Grit stayed awake as long as he could, waiting for the sound of the high pitched horn, but it never sounded.
Fatigue set in and he found himself crawling into his shelter and covering himself with leaves just after nightfall. Tomorrow he would hunt—for elves.
The chirps of birds woke him before first light. Grit brushed himself off and made his way along the wall, searching for water. He found his place and used his homemade bowl to gather enough to quench his thirst. He slipped on the mud at his feet and a grin crossed his face. He reached down and grabbed a handful of mud and began spreading it over his body. He got down on the ground and squirmed, covering his back. He looked at himself and not quite satisfied, stepped to the forest and rolled in the dead leaves and debris. Some chunks stuck to him. He crouched in the leaves and was satisfied. Today, he would hunt the forest.
He checked his snares on his way back to his camp and found them all empty. His stomach growled. He searched carefully outward from his camp, moving slowly through the trees as X’all had showed him. He spotted the elf in the tree watching his camp. He moved slowly until he was under her tree. He tapped on the tree, startling her. She looked down and didn’t see him until he moved. He had blended in with the forest floor. She saw his teeth first, then the outline. The hat he had made of vines with leaves had rendered him completely invisible. He waved and moved off into the forest.
Dharma, the elf of the woodlands, smiled. This human was clever.
Grit had removed his moccasins. He ran silently along the forest floor, weaving between the trees effortlessly. Movement in front of him caught him by surprise and he froze. He saw an elf picking berries. He moved slowly crouched to the forest floor. The elf looked in his direction. Grit froze, lowering his head. The elf scanned the horizon, but didn’t see anything.
When he was within twenty feet, he rushed the elf. Startled, the elf threw up an arm and tossed a knife in Grit’s direction. Grit batted it away with his staff as he rushed in. Using the blunt end of his staff, he knocked the elf in the stomach and pushed him over.
Grit heard the air go out of the elf and could see it in his eyes. He swung his staff in a short semicircle and clipped the elf in his head, knocking him unconscious. Another elf popped up, causing Grit to swirl with his staff. It was the girl elf that he had seen in the tree. She motioned him to stop, and he reversed his motion just inches from her face.
He calmed down as she walked over to the downed elf and checked him. She nodded to herself; he was going to be fine. She marked him with red berries across his chest.
“You may go,” she said, in a whisper. “I will wait ’till he wakens and make sure he gets safely out of the valley.”
Grit turned and headed further up the valley. He hunted the entire day, returning to his camp near nightfall, but he didn’t find any other elves. That night, all he ate was berries and roots. He heard the horn sound twice that night. Now there were nine of them left.
The next day, Grit hunted again, sticking to the thick forest. Grit found no elves and ended his day with a nice fat rabbit for dinner. He had found a clever trap; a deep hole covered with thin reeds and leaves. When he had lifted it, he saw how deep it was. Anyone who fell in would surely injure their ankle, or worse. He made note of it and covered it, using the skills that X’all had taught him. The horn sounded three times that night.
It was early morning when the elf spotted Grit digging tubers in the deep mud. The elf circled slowly, approaching through the thick reeds.
Grit heard the elf. He had disrupted the calm of the reeds that rhythmically swayed in the breeze. Grit bent over and picked up the tubers he had already gathered and headed out of the reeds, back into the forest. He turned, staring into the reeds and could just make out the eyes of the elf.
Grit smiled to himself and started to walk with purpose back toward his camp. He hoped the elf would follow.
The elf took the bait and followed Grit, slowly closing the distance between the two. Grit turned suddenly and acted surprised, dropped the tubers and started running. The elf chased.
Grit zigzagged between the trees, staying just ahead of the elf, who had drawn his knife. Grit recognized the patch of ground where the trap was and he knew that the elf was trying to cut-off his escape by taking shortcuts every time he changed directions.
Grit gave him the opportunity.
The elf’s face showed the horror as his foot passed through the thin reeds. He threw his arms out, hoping to find purchase, but he had been running too fast and already lost his balance. His chin hit the far side of the hole and snapped his neck back, right before he plunged into the abyss. He was already unconscious before he hit the floor, where his leg twisted awkwardly—emitting a loud snap.
Grit stopped running and walked back to the hole, where he saw the crumpled body of the elf curled at the bottom. Once again, the girl elf that watched him appeared out of nowhere and excused him.
“I’ll help you get him out of the hole,” he offered.
She shook her head, “There is no need. Help is already on the way.”
Grit shrugged, turned and headed into the woods.
The elf girl stared down into the hole and shook her head. This elf was careless and had misjudged the human. She had inspected the trap after Grit had fixed it. She was not sure that she would have seen it either. X’all had trained this one well, she thought to herself. She heard the call of a bird in the distance and she answered. The bird tweeted twice. She smiled. Within minutes another elf broke through the trees and headed in her direction.
“What have we here?” he asked.
“It looks like the east clan has lost their last warrior,” she answered. “Grit led this one straight to the trap.”
The older elf scratched his head. “I’m a bit surprised that this one didn’t see the trap.”
“It wasn’t evident,” she replied. “Grit had reworked that covering when he found it yesterday. I’m not sure
I would have seen it either.”
The older elf snorted and yanked on his waist length beard. “Now, how are we going to get him out of that hole?”
The girl elf pulled out some rope from her bag. “You lower me down, I’ll tie the rope to his waist and climb out, and then we’ll both pull him up.”
“Well, let’s get moving,” said the wizened elf.
“What’s the matter, Tale? Afraid someone is going to win the game without you being there?”
The elf scowled. “I just don’t want to miss the fun, that’s all.”
“Fun? Is that what you call it?”
He squinted. “Sure, don’t you?”
She finished tying the rope to her waist and jumped down into the hole. He heard a flurry of expletives as she disappeared over the edge.
“I’ll take that as a no,” he growled as he strained to hold on to his end of the rope.
On the fourth day, Grit made his way to the meadows, following the edge of the woods. He tried to stick to the edges, where his camouflage provided a bit of invisibility. Before long, he spotted an elf in the center of the meadow, crouched holding a bow. The elf had not yet spotted him.
Grit circled around to the side and slowly crawled through the tall grass on his belly. When he was closer, he saw the elf shoot to his feet and draw his bow, pointing it in his direction. Grit rolled to the side when he heard the bowstring snap, and heard the arrow whiz by where his head had been. He was shocked. They were not supposed to be trying to kill each other. Grit rolled over a second time and came up in a crouch. The elf had his bow drawn full with another arrow notched.
Grit saw the elf watcher, standing at the edge of the field. He did nothing to stop the fight. Grit waved at him, thinking that he may have missed the elf’s attempt to kill him. The elf just stared.
Grit held his staff at the ready and swayed from foot to foot. He saw the elf’s eyes shoot left, just before he heard another bowstring snap. Grit lunged into a summersault and felt the arrow cut the skin of his back, narrowly missing him.
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 03 - Darkhalla Page 36