by A. D. Green
It was not so dark when he cracked his eyes and looked through his lashes. Some primal instinct told Darion they were not alone. He lay still searching with his senses.
“If man is awake I would talk with him,” said a voice. It had a lilt to it similar to that of the ilf in his arms only deeper. Conscious suddenly that he held an ilf in the crook of his body Darion sat up, his hand reaching behind for his dagger and sword. They were gone, of course they were.
The ilf sat across the fire staring at him intently. He was a male, taller and broader than the female he’d saved. She stirred at the cold air on her back where the warmth of his body had left her and Darion tucked the cloak around her.
R’ell rocked back on his heels, his eyes drawn to the token hanging about the man’s neck. The token changed everything. Who was this man to wear such a thing? Dragging his eyes back to the man’s face the ilf considered a moment. “Is man hungry? You must be thirsty at least. Come sit by the fire.”
Darion rose warily; he was stiff, sore and still cold. Crouching opposite the ilf Darion warmed his hands, making his own assessment. The ilf bore the same leaf like scales as the female but they were a darker green. Black eyes regarded him in turn and Darion didn’t need his instincts to tell him he was in trouble. Talk was, if you entered ilfanum lands you didn’t come out again. Darion knew this was not the whole truth but he also knew the ilfanum had a disdain for humans.
Though he sensed danger, Darion’s mind was slow with fatigue still. The ilf awaited an answer but it took Darion some time to work out a reply. “You’re welcome ilf ta my fire. I’m sorry I’ve no food ta break with you or water ta slake your thirst.”
R’ell laughed. “Ah man is bold. I know where there’s water.” Rising smoothly, the ilf walked past Darion towards the river. On the ground where the ilf had sat were his dagger and sword.
Darion got to his feet, moved round the fire, and stood over his weapons. Desperate to pick them up he instead turned and gathered his clothing from the surrounding bushes. He started suddenly. A raven sat, brazenly staring at him from a branch not an arm’s length away cocking its head at him. It was unsettling. Stepping back a pace Darion glanced at the bird before struggling into his still damp clothes. Ravens were not common in these parts. Darion shrugged into his leather jerkin, then looked again to find the bird gone.
The ilf was back. Darion watched him striding into camp. Tall and rangy he walked with a smooth grace, making almost no sound. The ilf was perfectly proportioned, the muscles of his arms and chest clearly defined. The darker green of the ilf’s leafskin Darion saw was not uniform. Looking closely he saw now that it was mottled, some of the leafscale darker than the rest. His features were sharp and elegant, a thin lipped mouth, the tell-tale notched skin over his nose and large canted eyes that looked black in the glow of the fire. The ilf held out a water skin.
“I'm obliged,” Darion said taking it. Removing the bung he took a long swig.
“Most welcome human.” The ilf crouched once again by the fire, his eyes barely touching on the sword and dagger.
He’s a cool one alright Darion thought. The water was icy cold and refreshing and he gulped it down thirstier than he'd realised. Wiping his mouth he replaced the bung and, rising, offered the skin back.
“Man may keep it.”
Darion nodded and sat back down. “My thanks…” he trailed off. “My name is Darion what may I call you?”
“Darion may call me R’ell.”
“Thank you R’ell, the water was much needed. I'm sorry I have nothing ta give in return.”
The ilf laughed again. “You have shared your fire with me yes?”
Darion allowed a grin to form. “Indeed, but I suspect it was a poor fire when you found us. Perhaps there is something else I might offer?”
Darion blessed his old lore master at the Order hall who taught him of the ilf and drummed the lessons into him about etiquette and tradition. Those lessons, along with his own memories from that time before, were serving him well now. He absently touched the token hanging from his neck.
R’ell observed the gesture with interest. “Perhaps you could tell me how you come to be in Da'Mari uninvited? Yes I would very much like to hear that tale.”
Darion blinked; the question was direct and abrupt. Still he was feeling impatient himself, he had Marron and Nihm to get back to. Hopefully they’ll have left for Thorsten by now. Darion dragged his mind back to the camp fire and R’ell sitting patiently before him. With a nod of acknowledgment he began. R’ell sat impassive and silent throughout. When Darion finished he took a swig from the water skin and waited.
“I owe you thanks. We are aware of the urakakule to the east of Fassarunewadaick,” R’ell said, pausing briefly in thought. “The urakakule are probing these lands, they threaten to cross the river.”
Darion considered this news. “Then the urak will not return from your lands, but why do you tell me this?”
R’ell inclined his head in acknowledgment whether at his statement or his question Darion was unsure.
“I offer this so you know it is unsafe to return to the east bank and your home, if it still stands. I offer this so that when I take you to meet my K’raal you will come willingly.”
Darion felt his pulse rising. From his lessons a K’raal was like a Lord or Lady, someone of power. If they were like the Lords he knew of it would mean a lengthy delay, one he could ill afford.
“I’m afraid I can’t. Much as I would like ta meet your K’raal I have a wife and daughter in need of me. I would ask your help in crossing the Fossa so I can return ta them.”
A frown creased R’ell’s face at the mention of the Fossa and Darion mentally kicked himself. The Fossa was a bastard word to the ilf, an insult to the river. He thought furiously a moment before bowing his head and giving a wry grin. “I apologise, I meant Fassarunewadaick of course. I have been with my own kind too long ta know better.”
R’ell inclined his head. The man was uncouth but at least he had the good manners to apologise. Despite his earlier impulse to drive a blade through the man’s eyeball, he grudgingly conceded he'd been right to restrain himself. Da’Mari knew and Da’Mari had spoken. Still, it left him with a problem. D’ukastille, his K’raal, would want to see this man and pass judgment. Then there was the token the man wore pronouncing him friend and granting him status in Da’Mari and all Nu'Rakauma. How had he come by it? That would be a tale to hear. For now though the token was a problem.
“I understand your concern. You seem wise for a human, so when I say, on my honour, returning you to the east bank would likely mean your death you know I speak true. What use then will you be to wife and child. You must find another way.”
Darion was torn. To challenge the ilf on this would be to risk insult. He had no way forward.
R’ell watched him carefully. “I offer knowledge. We have scouts on the east bank and deeper into the eastern forest. They may have news of your family or at least the urakakule and their movements.”
Grudgingly Darion conceded. “How far is your K’raal? Will you help me safe back to my lands if I meet with him? I must make all haste.”
“He is two turn’s south of here. Safe passage will be for my K’raal to decide,” R’ell said. “But we leave soon, you must decide.” He could see Darion wavering. “Tell me ilf friend, where did you come by said token.” He indicated the talisman.
Darion lifted his neck thong and held it feeling the token with his fingers. “That is a long story and I’m not sure it is mine ta tell.”
“Perhaps you might permit me to look at it?” R’ell held his hand out.
Darion looked at R’ell but couldn’t read the ilf. He sensed no deceit but…
“On my honour I shall return it.” R’ell said extending his hand further. Grudgingly Darion went to lift it from his neck.
“Tsk R’ell, shame on you,” a soft voice spoke up. Darion turned at the sound and saw the female ilf propped up on an elbow. She looked
haggard, the green leaf scale of her skin leeched of colour and there seemed a deep weariness about her. But all things considered, she looked a hundred times better than she had the night before.
She returned his gaze. “My thanks Darion for my rescue; you saved my life thrice and my honour once.” She emphasized the word honour, pointedly looking at R’ell as she said it.
“Let the token lie where it is. I suggest you never remove it, especially so when in Da’Mari.”
Darion released the neck thong and glared at R’ell who held his hands up. “Forgive me ilf friend I would have returned it as I promised.”
“Maybe. After you had struck his head from his shoulders or after D’ukastille, my brother, had decided his fate yes?” M’rika rasped.
R’ell bowed touching his head to the floor exposing his neck. “Forgive me, K’raal, if I have offended you.”
“You do offend me. But it is Darion, ilf friend that you insult. Apologise to him?” she retorted.
R’ell raised his head, his eyes flickered to Darion and reluctantly he turned and bowed to him. R’ell’s shoulders shook in anger and humiliation as he tried and failed to keep the hard edge from his voice.
“Darion, I would not have harmed you, on my honour, but forgive me, I would not have returned your token until after you had met my K’raal.” R’ell stayed with his head bowed.
Uncomfortable, Darion stared at the ilf. A response was required but glancing at the ilf lady she gave no help. That she was K’raal was a surprise but reason enough for R’ell's forced apology. Darion saw the tension in R’ell’s shoulders and heard the edge in his voice when he’d spoken. He would have to tread carefully. Deciding bravado was best Darion waved a hand nonchalantly at R’ell.
“No forgiveness needed, friend. You broke my thirst did you not? I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding.”
R’ell sat up and nodded his thanks. All saw the lie but it had allowed R’ell to save face, despite this Darion felt hostility behind his black eyes and knew he had no friend in the ilf.
“I am M’rika dul Da’Mari. You may call me M’rika.” She addressed Darion.
“Honoured ta be of service lady,” Darion inclined his head.
She gave him a smile in return. “R’ell is correct in his assessment. To return to the east bank would likely be your death. This you know I think,” M’rika said. “I will head south to meet my brother, D’ukastille, R’ell's K’raal but first I have another matter to attend. I would ask you to go with R’ell and I will join you later. Then I will help you return to your family.”
“Thank you M’rika but I’d like ta track the river south and cross where it’s safe,” Darion replied. “I need ta find them and I need ta warn my people what’s coming.”
R’ell glared at Darion and opened his mouth to respond but M’rika held up a hand, silencing him.
“Family is important, this ilf understands, but with the urakakule threat many of our young will come to blood themselves. I fear you are in more danger on the west bank than the east but for the protection I and R’ell give you,” M’rika said.
Darion knew he was being manipulated but could see no way out. Like it or not he needed the ilf’s help. R’ell unexpectedly stood and scrapped leaves and detritus from the forest floor. He grabbed a stick and etched a mark in the dirt.
“Fassarunewadaick runs so, looping to the south east before turning back to the south west. My K’raal is here.” R’ell made a mark on his make shift map. “To avoid the urakakule you must go south. It is quicker and safer for you to travel with us and it is in the right direction.” He drew a line through the forest, bypassing the loop of the river, to his K’raal.
Darion looked at the dirt map following R’ell’s reasoning, it was sound. He twisted his heart ring. Its warmth told him Marron was alive but not whether she was safe. Standing he walked past R’ell and, bending, retrieved his dagger and sword. “Soonest gone, soonest arrived my old Da used to say. But I think, lady, you carry an injury.”
“I have someone to help M’rika,” R’ell said. He moved to the edge of the clearing, paused, then looked back. “M’rika, can I dissuade you from this other matter?”
“No.” Her reply was blunt and final.
Chapter 10
: Road to Thorsten Part 2
The morning saw Marron and Nihm heading south once more. The rain had cleared away through the night leaving a clear sky and crisp wind. Neither spoke much.
Albert had told them earlier, as they hitched the ponies to the cart, that they would wait to hear from Darion. He’d gone to find out more hadn’t he? Maybe it was just a hunting or foraging party. Marron urged him to reconsider or at least to send the women and children to Thorsten. He had promised to think on it but both knew it was empty words.
Most of the families had gathered to see them go but it was a disconsolate send-off, not helped by Marron’s final warning. “Keep your eye to the North. If you see smoke they have fired our homestead. That might be all the warning you’ll get.”
So they were in a sombre mood as they followed the road to Thorsten but not just because of the Encomas. They passed more holdings as they travelled and Marron duly stopped at each to pass her warning on. She had refined her story and made it simpler, saying only that urak were seen in the north and raided south. It made no difference, none of the steaders heeded her warning and some even ordered them from their land disgruntled.
The further south they went the better maintained the roads, so despite the added stops they made good time. The weather was clear, the early autumn sun warm and the dogs happy exploring the sights and smells. Ash and Snow even took to chasing hares. Watching the two dogs tearing around helped to lift the dark mood that had descended on both Marron and Nihm.
“Ma what is the Order?” Nihm said, asking the question that had itched away at her all day. “I mean I’ve heard of it of course but I don’t really understand what it is or how you are part of it.”
Marron had known the question was coming and was only surprised Nihm had waited so long to ask it. She’d thought hard on how to answer.
“It’s a long and complicated beginning but, in simple terms, the Order was a collective formed during the War of the Taken. A group of people with unique skills that banded together to fight against the Morhudrim. You know your history of the War of the Taken. Well we survived and won in large part because of this collective.” Nihm listened avidly. Marron had already told this story, had taught her the history of the Taken, but now she listened with a fresh perspective.
“The Morhudrim or Takers as they’re oft called are alien to all that was known in the world. We don’t know where they came from, just that they could take or possess a thing, anything. They enslaved all they encountered.” Marron paused and glanced at Nihm.
“Humanity is very good at finding things to war on and fight over but this was different. How do you fight an enemy you do not understand? All the races, Urakakule, Dwarves and others fought the Morhudrim and were losing. The urak were all but enslaved. Only one of their great tribes resisted the Takers. The rest, well they reaped havoc and war across the lands. Man, with all his petty squabbles, kingdom vying against kingdom, lords fighting lords, did not realise the danger until too late. Why help the neighbour you warred with the year before? So senseless.” Marron said this last to herself.
“But we defeated them in the end,” Nihm said.
“Aye we did and that was largely down to the Order and the ilfanum who came at the last and turned the tide. But as to the Order, well that came about because of one woman and a being said to be not of this world.”
“A demon?” Nihm cried.
“No, no, not a demon but perhaps just as strange,” Marron stated. “The woman was called Elora dul Eladrohim.”
“An ilf!” exclaimed Nihm.
“Yes indeed an ilf. Now if you want to hear the rest no more interruptions,” Marron chided.
“Sorry, go on.”
“Elora
bonded with this being and gained the knowledge of the Morhudrim, what they were and how to defeat them. Elora spent many years gathering a disparate group of people, wizards, warriors, lords and priests, even a thief, and from all races. Any that were deemed suited. They called themselves the Order and swore an oath placing them outside the rule of man or ilf or indeed any race. An oath to protect all.” Marron paused and handed the reins to Nihm whilst she took a sip of water. She was not used to talking so much and since the Encomas holdstead that was all she seemed to do; and all for nothing. She took another sip and offered the water skin to Nihm before taking back the reins. “Now where was I?”
“The oath,” Nihm said.
“Ah yes. Many took the oath for many were needed and many saw the need. Small victories gained the Order friends and allies. This lead to greater victories and some defeats but in the end they forced the Taken back and back until finally a battle was fought far to the North, in Nordrum where the Morhudrim were and we won…just. The ilfanum showed up at the end and turned the tide otherwise we likely would have lost. That is how the Order came to be.”
Nihm chewed her lip, a childhood habit that reappeared whenever she was thinking. Nihm suspected her mother told less than she knew.
“Following victory at Nordrum the Order were much admired and honoured. An Accord was struck in Tal’Draysil and the Order became keepers of the peace and arbiters of justice. But man has a short memory and the Order's influence has since waned. Most still honour the Accord that was made but it’s mostly lip service. Few hold the Order in esteem, the rest tolerate or ignore us. Some, like High Lord Twyford even banish the Order from their lands in breach of the Accord.”
Nihm heard the sadness in her mother’s voice. She had a hundred questions to ask but sensed her mother was done. Instead Nihm put her arm about her and gave a quick hug.