by I K Spencer
Although Teya had been quiet that first morning after learning they would have to soon separate, she had quickly regained her light-hearted manner. Anthen's ego was bruised a bit that she recovered so quickly but he was not surprised that the warrior-woman adapted quickly. In their trade, one lived for the moment and learned to accept what could not be changed.
Later, after the fire dwindled, the comrades and lovers crawled into their bedroll. With Teya curled up at his side and sleeping peacefully, Anthen lay awake, drawing comfort from her serene face as she slumbered. Though his placid face did not betray him, the guardsman waged an inner battle, fighting a growing fear that threatened to consume him.
First, a foreboding of his own imminent death had followed him since dreaming of Garrick's death, not simply that he might not survive the dangerous quest, though that fact was likely. This was a premonition; his death seemed a certainty, like the sunrise. He had not spoken of it to Teya; she could do nothing and he saw no reason to add to her burden. However, thoughts of his impending death didn’t bother him nearly as much as another, worse fear—the fear that he would fail.
The next morning was cool and crisp and felt like autumn to Anthen. It would get colder still as he climbed up into the mountains, where winter came early, and it was said that many feet of snow covered much of Baenkeep the year round, even in the warmest summers.
Teya seemed her usual cheerful self and their parting was not difficult. She put on a brave face and neither shed a tear. She did, however, sternly warn him to be careful and promised that she would return. They kissed and hugged and she galloped off on the filly, yelling to him that she would hurry before disappearing in a clump of trees. Two loyal warriors just doing their duty, but in Anthen's heart, it was as though a light went out when he lost sight of her.
Chapter 40
Anthen looked up and judged, from the subtle change in the light, that dusk was approaching. He looked around the small clearing and decided it would serve as a camp; he could hear the sound of a stream a short distance through the brush.
He felt very weary and chilled to the bone from the endless dampness of the Valhaan forest. Rorc's head dipped and he could tell the bay stallion was also exhausted from the endless climbing. He’d now ridden three full days since parting with Teya and, it seemed, every step had been uphill. At least the sun had accompanied them for much of the first two days but this morning he had entered the great forest, thick with the tallest trees the guardsman had ever seen. Since then, he had not caught a single glimpse of the sun.
While the land had sloped ever upward over the three days, Anthen's hopes had steadily fallen. He worried over Teya's safety and moreover, he sensed with growing surety the coming of his own death. Death alone was not that troubling a thought to him if he could be assured that he would not fail but he felt no such confidence.
He listlessly removed his packs and saddle from Rorc and led his friend a few feet through some bushes to a tiny stream rushing down the hillside. Looking down the slope, the warrior spied a sizable pool but he felt too tired to fish. He left Rorc by the water to drink his fill and went back to start a fire.
Besides being tired, cold, and damp, the guardsman was on edge. Since noon, his senses had been continually warning him of nearby danger and on a few occasions, he had caught brief glimpses of movement out of the corner of his eye.
He used some dry tinder from a store he kept in his pack and soon had coaxed a smoky blaze from the damp, green wood. He banked the fire high and arranged more of the soggy limbs nearby to dry. He had considered skipping the fire but those following him already knew his location and he needed to warm up and dry out. Like Anthen's spirits, the temperature had dropped steadily over the last three days and he was now shivering after the day's ride under the cold rain. The days of being baked by the hot desert sun now seemed like a distant memory, though it was just a few days ago.
The spent guardsman ate a cold, hasty supper, readied his weapons, and arranged his bedroll near to the fire as possible. He soon fell into a fitful sleep, wrapped in his cloak for extra warmth. He awoke often during the first hours of sleep, each time certain that there was someone or something just beyond his vision in the nearby woods. Each time, the slumbering warrior came fully awake in an instant, grabbing for his bow and scanning the perimeter for movement. He watched for a few minutes, waiting for his pounding heart to calm, then lay for a few minutes more listening for abnormal sounds before allowing himself to drift off to sleep once again.
Shortly after midnight he awoke for the countless time and scrambled to his feet, his weapon ready. Like each time before there was nothing when he surveyed the nearby woods. The exasperated guardsman noted that the fire was getting low so he banked it again and arranged more wood nearby to dry.
He knelt to rearrange his bedroll when he suddenly felt an overwhelming presence, very close by. He whirled about while scooping up his weapon and was greeted by a terrifying sight; at least a dozen Hraedari were coming at him from the woods to the east. He felt unnerved for a second by their freakish grins and noiseless rush but gathered himself and, learning from his first encounter with the wraiths, fell four of the advancing figures with four head shots. The others paused briefly, stunned by the flurry of arrows from the single man, and the marksman dropped two more using his handbow.
The shadowy forms rushed forward, not giving him time to reload either weapon. Anthen used his sword and a stout piece of firewood to keep the apparitions at bay while his mind furiously sought an escape. He turned to flee in the opposite direction and found more of the demons drawing near. They quickly circled him, cutting off any chance of flight, and closed to finish him. The enraged guardsman savagely fought off their first rush, dispatching two more, but he knew there was little chance for victory. Was this where it would end? Was this the death he had foreseen, not even to face Cidrl?
The Hraedari were gathering themselves for another rush when suddenly one pitched forward, a long arrow lodged in the back of its skull. A second later another fell in the same manner. The new threat momentarily confused the wraiths and Anthen took advantage, darting forward to finish another. Then, without a sound, the remaining few retreated, floating off into the woods away from the direction from which Anthen's apparent aid had come.
The dark forest was deathly silent once again and Anthen took the opportunity to reload both his bows, neither sure of his savior's intentions nor certain that the unearthly warriors' retreat was final.
"Friend or foe!" Anthen called out, his crossbow trained on the dark woods. He glanced behind him to make sure the ghostly marauders had not returned.
He heard no answer but a small figure emerged from behind a tree and Anthen stared in wonder. He couldn't be sure but from slight form's appearance, the guardsman would swear he was staring at an elf! The figure cocked his head and stared at the guardsman, not speaking for a long time. It seemed more slender and taller than Anthen had expected, though the guardsman knew little of the mythical wood dwellers.
The figure approached and paused at the edge of the clearing, his face illuminated by the flickering firelight. There was a greenish tint to his skin and his eyes were big and cat-like, golden in color. Short, dark hair framed his narrow head and he bore a close-cropped beard and thin mustache. He seemed to blend in with the dark forest behind him and Anthen found it difficult to see his clothing clearly. One thing the guardsman could see was that he carried a great bow, nearly equal to his height.
Finally the stranger spoke. "Greetings Guardsman."
"Greetings kind sir," Anthen replied respectfully, though he heard sarcasm in the other's tone. "And whom am I to offer thanks? Are you—"
"An elf?" the stranger interrupted. "Your eyes do not deceive you Guardsman".
Anthen lowered his weapon and the elf strode forward into the camp. His feline eyes scrutinized the guardsman from head to toe.
"So you are the one ... So young."
"Do you know me?" Anthen as
ked.
"I know of you," the elf said matter-of-factly and looked around the campsite.
Anthen saw that the elf wore a cloak similar to his own but not so plain. He was shod with soft shoes and carried only a small satchel.
"Have any food?"
"Yes. Well, traveling food. I supped on jerky and dried apples. You are certainly welcome."
"Sounds horrible," the elf replied with obvious disgust. "You have coffee? I hear some in the realm drink coffee and it is a rare commodity in this part of the world."
Anthen nodded. "I will make some."
Anthen fed some wood to the fire and set water to heat. As he did so, the elf moved around the camp, gathering up the remains of the fallen wraiths. Sometimes, the sprite moved so quickly that he seemed to disappear from view, to suddenly appear again a few feet away, a very unsettling affect.
"How do you know of me?"
"Anything of import in your world is known," the stranger answered without looking up from his task. "Certainly this dark lord of yours is reason for concern." The elf had thrown the Hraedari cloaks and swords in a pile and now stared at them and stroked his chin.
"Cidrl?"
"That one, yes." The elf was now picking through the pile, scrutinizing each piece. "He is delving into dangers far beyond what his puny mind can fathom. And to bring forth the ancient enemy from the sky ... The Wise Ones are not happy."
"Enemy from the sky? Is that a winged creature nearly invisible?" Anthen asked excitedly.
"The phaantor yes. If you have seen it and are still alive, then you are lucky. It is an ancient enemy of the wood folk, an abomination created by dark elves and banished from this earth for centuries. Your Cidrl has somehow summoned the demon."
As the elf spoke, he was carefully arranging the Hraedari gear, as though building a shrine.
"And seems to have power over it," Anthen added. "We think it was not luck that saved us."
"Likely ... Anyway, the wizards have been foretelling of terrible omens, though they often do, and the Wise Ones have watched with great interest."
"The elves will unite with the realm and Arnedon against Cidrl and Dolonar?" Anthen felt hope for the first time since leaving Teya.
The elf chuckled derisively. "The elven race does not form alliances with men, young Anthen. That would be as if your kind held council with rats. There was much debate and the Wise Ones agreed to send me, mainly to deal with the phaantor. We cannot tolerate that foul demon in this world."
"One elf?" Anthen felt his ire stirring. "A threat of such magnitude and you send a single warrior?"
"We care not for the affairs of men, Guardsman. Should you destroy one another it is of little consequence to us. All the better actually." The elf looked up from his task for the first time and Anthen saw contempt in his countenance.
"Then why help at all?" Anthen asked angrily, his moment of hope quickly lost.
"Your kind is not without its supporters among the Wise Ones. Some see this as your opportunity to evolve and redeem yourselves and those supporters want to see you have a fighting chance."
"But what about Cidrl's plot? What if he succeeds? Will not he then be a threat to you?"
"Ah yes. The divine atop Baenkeep." The elf's hard expression softened, then seemed to sadden. "We can only interfere if they petition our assistance and they have not done so."
"Do they know the danger that is at hand?"
The elf laughed again, as though he were tutoring an ignorant child. "If you know, then you can be certain that they are aware."
Anthen did not know what to say. He felt drained by the elf's answers; all were aware of Cidrl's terrible plan but none seemed willing to stand against him. If not for the fact that the winged stalker was involved, Anthen probably would be dead at this moment.
"What about that coffee?" the elf snapped, interrupting the guardsman's thoughts.
Anthen absently set the coffee to brew, still somewhat in shock.
"Guardsman, you have always known that it is your destiny to face him," the sprite said softly. "It is up to you to set your own house in order. Our paths converge for a time; I will guide you to the mountain, where, I suspect, both our destinies await. My fate is to face the phaantor. Beyond that I do not know."
Anthen nodded numbly, pouring them both a cup of hot coffee.
The elf scooped up the dead Hraedari's cloaks and heaped them on the fire. The flames shot high and gave off a strange light. The elf made some strange signs over the fire, then returned to make further adjustments to the pile of weapons.
"What are you doing?" Anthen finally asked.
The elf did not look up. "I am making sure these spirits do not return. There are plenty enough of the unpleasant creatures left to face as it is."
"Do you know of Teya, and Garrick?" Anthen asked, hoping for news, especially good news, of either of his comrades.
"Your comrades. Yes."
"Have you any news?" the guardsman asked, fearful of bad news about Teya and expecting the worst news of his fellow guardsman.
"No. They are not my concern," the sprite answered flatly. "Get some sleep, Guardsman. I will stand watch but keep those strange weapons of yours handy."
Anthen nodded, feeling very tired. He would not normally have dropped his guard so but he sensed the elf was no threat. He climbed back in his bedroll. The elf had finished with the wraiths' weapons and sat on a log at the edge of the clearing. The guardsman remembered something and sat up again.
"What is your name?"
"I am called Kyreial."
"Thank you again for your help Kyreial."
"Rest, Guardsman. You will need all your strength."
Chapter 41
It looked cold and gray when Anthen opened his eyes in the morning but someone, presumably the elf, had fed the fire through the night so he was warm and cozy. He looked around for Kyreial to thank him but didn’t see the sprite. Alarmed, the guardsman grabbed his weapon and jumped to his feet. There was no sign of Kyreial and if it wasn't for the shrine of Hraedari swords, he might have thought it all a dream.
"Stay, Guardsman. All is well," the approaching elf called from the edge of the clearing. "I was merely foraging for breakfast."
He carried a basket containing nuts, berries, and wild roots and vegetables; still wet from being washed in the nearby stream. Kyreial pushed half the food into Anthen's bowl and suggested they eat as they travel. He waited patiently while Anthen broke camp before the pair resumed the trek, moving ever uphill beneath the great trees.
The elf refused an offer to share Anthen's horse. Instead, he trotted along ahead of the guardsman, often darting off for a few minutes at a time before returning. At first the elf's quick movements startled Anthen, who naturally assumed there was trouble behind Kyreial's abrupt changes in direction, but he soon learned to ignore the elf's unusual mode of travel.
At midday the unlikely pair rested briefly and Kyreial again shared a cache of fresh food, which Anthen guessed he’d collected during the morning's travel. The guardsman offered Kyreial some dried meat in return but the elf refused and the disgusted look on his face suggested that maybe the wood dwellers were not meat eaters.
While the pair moved steadily northwest, Kyreial said little and discouraged conversation. Anthen gathered that the elf was not overjoyed with his company. He didn’t think it personal but rather, sensed that the elf disdained humans in general and so minimized their interaction. Though extremely curious himself, Anthen complied and matched Kyreial's aloof and formal manner.
During the early part of the afternoon, Anthen saw that they had reached the mountains. The dense Valhaan forest allowed no view of the range from a distance so it was only when the travelers were in the very shadows of the great peaks that the guardsman had his first glimpse. The sharp, rocky summits ahead looked far more foreboding than those the guardsman had scaled to reach Dolonhold.
The temperature dropped as the pair pushed on through increasingly rugged terrain. T
hrough the afternoon they toiled up and down steep mountainsides and passes. The elf's warning that Anthen would need his strength seemed appropriate; he felt nearly spent by late afternoon. Conversely, the elf seemed to possess endless endurance and looked as fresh as when they started out that morning. Kyreial showed no signs of weariness and the guardsman guessed he would move even faster without Anthen along.
They did not halt until no daylight remained and by then, it had started to snow. With visibility no more than a few feet, the elf led Anthen down an obscure trail to a giant spruce. The guardsman followed him through a cleft in the thick boughs and was amazed to find a small shelter under the tree. It was close, especially with Rorc, but with still enough room for a small fire and a few bedrolls. Anthen saw a cache of dry firewood and a circle of stones in which to kindle a small blaze. He also noted that no branches had been cut to make the shelter; they simply had grown so as to leave a small, completely enclosed chamber.
Kyreial suggested the guardsman start a fire and make coffee, then slipped out. About the time the coffee was ready, he returned with a full basket as well as an armload of greens for Rorc. They ate in silence, then the elf rose and before leaving, said that Anthen need not stand a watch. The guardsman saw to Rorc, readied his bedroll, then banked the fire. He lay awake for some time to see if Kyreial returned but there was no sign of the elf. He could hear the muffled sound of the howling wind but nary a draft in the cozy space beneath the giant spruce.
Though his spirits had risen briefly with the appearance of the elf, they had quickly fallen again upon learning Kyreial's limited role. After their confusing discussion, he had felt even more like a pawn, soon to be sacrificed. Why, with such powerful forces at work, had it been left to him, a mere apprentice, to face this terrible threat on his own? It made no sense to him and devoured his hope. He felt Kyreial's disdain and couldn't help but wonder if the elf might even want him to fail.