The second guard smirked. He seemed like the type to enjoy the hunting.
“Understood,” Dain replied, fighting down his temper at the man’s insults. I am not here to fight, he reminded himself.
Boon needed a little coaxing before trusting himself to the living bridge. Once he gained his footing, though, he crossed the span quickly, eager to be rid of the strange walkway, and Dain let out a held breath once they were across.
“Dirtman. They tell you about the three-day crossing?” came a voice. Four more golden elves lounged in the mushroom at the bridge’s exit. Even from a distance, Dain could see the disgust writ plain across their faces.
“I heard,” he muttered and spurred Boon into a trot. This certainly isn’t the friendliest of lands.
In the storybooks from his childhood, elves had always been wise and time-honored allies of humanity. Working together humans and elves had fought against the world’s darker creatures. Those books had been burned after the neighboring grey elves attacked his homeland and, from that along with his own experiences, Dain had learned a different truth about elves. Elves, like other races, were a mixed bag, as likely to slit your throat as do you a kindness.
The road was paved with flat, gray stones and ran broad and straight. Narrow lines of bright green moss traced the cracks between the stones like a living mortar. North of the road, groves of oak and maple were broken up by open fields, while a solid wall of forest grew on the south.
Dain rode, enjoying the warmth and admiring the surrounding plant life. Most were varieties that he knew, but several taller trees with white bark and bright purple leaves were foreign to him. These seemed to grow exclusively on the south.
The sun had kissed the horizon before he finally made a roadside camp. By full dark he sat over a small fire, contentedly roasting a pheasant he’d taken with his bow earlier. Woodsmoke mixed with the bird’s aroma while yellow leaves rustled in the aspens above. A few of their number had fallen, scattering and shifting on the cobbled road. And these wind-guided drifters were the only other travelers he’d seen. He had picketed Boon a few feet away, and the greedy horse cropped after tufts of grass.
After eating the last of the pheasant, Dain was unrolling his bedding to lie down when Boon raised his head and stared north, away from the campfire. Dain stood and faced the same direction. He could see and hear nothing himself, but glanced at Boon. The warhorse drew deep breaths, nostrils flaring wide, trying to catch a clear scent of whatever had bothered him. His ears were alert and pointed out into the darkness.
Minutes ticked by and Dain still saw nothing. He trusted Boon though, as a guard, the horse was infallible. Something or someone is out there.
From the way Boon acted like it was an animal, not a man, which stirred his senses. And only a threat, a predator of some kind, would hold his attention for so long. In these enchanted woods that might mean anything from a bear to a wolf pack.
Dain belted on his sword. Then he gathered his bow and quiver. A predator would likely avoid the fire, but if one decided to get close, he wanted to be armed. Once he had an arrow nocked he backed away from the light, melting into the shadows. He continued to watch for signs of the intruder, but neither heard nor saw anything himself.
The wind had died down with the setting of the sun and the night was still. Crickets chirped. An owl hooted in the distance.
Finally, he heard the snap of broken twigs and crackle of leaves from the far side of the road. Unless badly injured, an animal wouldn’t make such sounds. The noises continued and grew louder, and as the intruder drew nearer, he noticed a strange dragging noise along with the crashing steps. There was the click of a hoof or claw on stone. It was on the road now.
Drawing the bow into a full flex, Dain remained perfectly still and waited for his visitor to step into the light.
First he saw the blue eyes, reflecting the flames’ dancing light. Then a vague outline appeared. It didn’t seem large, not half as large as a bear, smaller even than a wolf. He aimed the arrow for a blue eye. Whatever it was, he was ready.
Briefly, the fire flared up and revealed a small, white doe.
The doe struggled, dragging one of its hind legs as it stepped closer. When she reached his fireside, she dropped in exhaustion. From the shadows, Dain relaxed the bow’s tension and studied her.
What manner of wild animal would seek shelter at a fire? And why had Boon acted like she was a threat? He continued to study her.
At first he had believed the doe to be pure white, but looking closer now, a series of small round spots of tan colored her flanks like freckles. Her hooves and nose were the darkest black of midnight and her eyes shone a brilliant shade of pale blue. Her beauty was marred though, by a black arrow buried in her left hip. A thin trickle of blood seeped from it.
Hunting an animal so pristine couldn’t be possible, no matter how hungry.
Looking again to the doe’s blue eyes, they were perfectly fixed on his own. A strange mix of defiance and pride shone in them.
He scolded himself. Animals didn’t have such emotions. Happiness and anger? Yes, he could remember Boon having those at times, but defiance and pride? Surely he was imagining things. The impression wouldn’t leave him though. He had never seen an animal seem to radiate with such feelings.
Slowly, he set aside the bow and quiver and stepped closer into the light. The doe’s gaze followed him, never wavering. He unbelted his sword and lowered it onto his bedroll. Then he showed her his open palms to let her know he held no weapon and meant no harm.
“Easy girl, let’s see if we can get that arrow out,” Dain said in his calmest tone.
The doe did not move, other than to rotate her head so that she could continue staring at him, when he got down on his knees to examine the wound.
“It has to come out. And this is going to hurt rather badly, I’m afraid.”
I’m talking to a deer, he thought, shaking his head slightly. He looked into her eyes again and sensed in them an understanding. He couldn’t quite bring himself to believe she understood him, not truly, but why else would she allow him to approach her wounded side? No wounded animal, wild or not, would hold so still without being restrained.
The doe stopped staring and stretched her head out across her forelegs when Dain took hold of the arrow. He felt her wince, but only slightly, as he drew it out. He covered the open wound with a bandage from his pocket as bright red blood flowed from it.
The wound was deep. Much deeper that he had thought; she would bleed out if nothing was done.
Dain raised a hand above his head and started to pray. The words came easy, even though he couldn’t remember when he had last uttered them. With concentration, he called to the Light and a tiny, glowing spark sprang to life. It hovered above his open palm. His prayer continued. And the spark grew in both size and intensity as the seconds passed. In some ways it felt a part of him—it pulsed in rhythm with his own heart and lungs—but in other ways it felt a separate thing with a life and will of its own. Pushing himself, he drew on all his strength to will the spark larger until it reached the size of an apple. His mind strained with the effort. Sweat broke out along his brow.
When he felt he could hold no more Light, he removed the bandage and plunged the pulsing spark into the open wound. A sphere of the purest white burst outward from the doe. It flashed over the small clearing like a shooting star, lasting only for a second, fading just as quickly as it had come.
Dain, breathing hard, tested his legs and was unable to stand. He blinked away the sweat from his eyes and his vision was blurred. The spell left him disoriented. It had been too long since he performed a healing. His instructors had always said that using magic of any kind was like using a muscle. Everyone was born with a different level of strength, most with none at all, but working with the power made it stronger, and failing to do so led to atrophy. He hadn’t drawn so much power from the Light in many months, and healing had never been one of his stronger talents. It felt lik
e plunging into a deep pool and then trying to lift a boulder from the bottom.
When his vision finally cleared, he looked at the now-healed wound with a measure of relief. She would carry an ugly scar for the rest of her life, but the doe would survive.
With the small remainder of Light he still held, Dain laid a simple blessing spell on the recovering animal. She shivered as the spell took effect and he felt her aura relax and strengthen. The blessing would speed her body’s natural healing and improve her stamina for a few days. Exhausted, he stood up just long enough to take long drink from his canteen, then rolled into his bedding and almost instantly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The morning’s first crisp rays woke him. His mind was still thick with sleep, and he took in the area around him. Boon had drifted off a bit, but was busy ruthlessly munching on the tender grasses. He enjoys this enchanted place, Dain thought with a smile. The campfire had died down to mere embers, and would have to be rekindled if he wanted warm water for tea.
The white doe lay motionless. She must have moved around sometime in the night, though; she was now bedded down in some tall grasses near the dead fire.
Dain slid aside his blankets and approached the sleeping animal. Her breathing was deep and even. With the exception of the small scar, no trace of the injury remained.
He turned away and leaned over the fire’s ashes. Then he fed a few bits of wood and tinder to the glowing coals, coaxing a small flame into existence and setting his kettle in place.
In the growing light, he examined the black arrow closer. An arrow could tell you a lot about a hunter. Did he hunt small game or something larger? Did he care for his tools or was he reckless with them? This one had a forged metal point with wicked barbs along its edges designed to lodge in its victim. The straight, wooden shaft was fire-hardened to give it a black color and feathers from either a crow or raven had been used for fletching. Each was held in place by a thin, red thread. This arrow almost appeared orcish. Theirs were usually dark in color, but the craftsmanship was too refined. A slight trace of spellpower emanated from it—it had been enchanted, then.
What manner of hunter would use an enchanted arrow on a small deer, Dain wondered. Unwilling to destroy such expert craftsmanship, he stowed it in his own quiver. Then he studied the sleeping doe.
Who could want to harm such a creature?
After finishing off some hardened biscuits and jerked meat, he began packing Boon for the day’s travel. While stuffing the saddlebags Dain found himself staring at the torn gold thread where his emblem had once been. He cringed, remembering the day Lord Chalmer had ripped the badge off and cast him out of the brigades. That hadn’t been the worst though. The worst had been the look in his father’s eyes when he had disowned him afterwards.
What would they be doing this time of year? Mother would be baking, preparing for the winter feast, his younger brothers both training to fight in the spring tournaments, and little Rylee would be learning to stitch by now. And father…
Dain stopped himself. There was no use going further.
“I still have my honor. No matter what Chalmer thinks or says…I am still a paladin, still a knight,” he muttered to no one in particular. Given another chance, an opportunity to go back and undo his sin, all the harm it caused and all the cost he bore…the choice would remain the same.
At the tightening of Boon’s saddle cinch, the doe began to stir. She tilted her head toward the closed wound as if to examine it, and he was again struck by what seemed to be an unnatural intelligence in her manner. She turned to face him.
“Well girl, this is where you and I part ways,” Dain spoke. “I’ve got a good distance to go today and you should be all healed up. Ready to go do…whatever it is a white deer does.”
The doe began by testing her weight climbing first on her forelegs, and then after several attempts, managing to get up on her hind legs as well. Gingerly, she took a few steps on her healed leg. After making a small, slow circle, she plopped down again beside the fire.
“Looks like you’re more tired than I thought,” Dain said. He hated the thought of leaving an exhausted animal near the roadside, particularly one that had been nearly killed, but could see few options. Finally, he hit on an idea.
“If you don’t mind horses, I can put you up on Boon and you can ride for a bit. Maybe we’ll see more of your kind and I can release you near them.”
He needed to prevent the doe from injuring either Boon or herself, so he bound her front and back hooves together. She didn’t fight him, but from the way she stared at him the entire time, he could tell she wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement. He finished the last tie and was leading Boon closer to where she lay when the horse raised his head and cocked his ears to the north again.
Another visitor?
Most likely someone or something that followed the doe’s blood trail. Dain drew his bow and nocked an arrow. This time there were no shadows for concealment.
“Leave her behind,” a voice soon called from the trees across the road.
“She was wounded when she arrived in my camp last night. I healed her up,” Dain said.
“You have my thanks then, human. Now leave her and go. She is mine.”
“She doesn’t seem to be wearing a collar or mark, friend,” Dain replied in what he hoped was a casual tone. He scanned the trees and shrubs, trying to locate the speaker. He felt uncomfortable being so exposed and not knowing exactly where the voice’s owner was.
“My mark is there, in your quiver. I put that arrow in her three days ago and followed her trail here. Now ride on, leave her be,” the voice commanded. “You may keep the arrow for a souvenir, if you like.”
No more than twenty paces away, a golden elf stepped onto the roadside. Standing slightly shorter than Dain, he wore chainmail and thick plate armor from head to toe. His breastplate was painted with a roaring lion’s head over a field of bright red, and a leather band held his long blond locks back behind his pale face. Slung over his shoulder were both a sword and a quiver full of the black arrows. He held one ready in a great bow.
This then, was the kind of man who would hunt such a young and defenseless animal. A coward. One needing armor and the weapons of war to pursue a simple deer.
The appearance of the elf caused the doe to thrash at her bonds. Dain heard her struggle and wanted to cut her loose so she could flee, but knew he couldn’t afford to take his eyes off the elf.
“Will you leave her or shall I take her from you, dirtman? This is none of your affair. It is a private matter. One of family honor.”
“I may decide to make it my affair. There is no honor in killing such an animal,” Dain replied. He had been taught the ways of honor most of his life. Had grown up with it. He couldn’t imagine any in slaying a helpless doe. The over-proud elf offended him, and certainly, he’d already had his fill of arrogant golden elves since he’d crossed their bridge the day before. He could feel the anger boiling up in his chest now, anger at the pride of them, anger at the absurdity of the desire to hunt for mere sport. He wasn’t about to let such a beautiful animal be slaughtered.
“What could an ignorant dirtman like you know of honor?”
“Enough to know wrong when I see it.”
“As you will, then. I have not killed a human before. But no one defies Prince Haldrin and li—” was all the elf could get out before Dain whistled at Boon.
Springing forward, the warhorse charged the elf and knocked him sideways from the roadway with a powerful shoulder. The elf’s arrow flew far right of Dain, and his own glanced off the falling prince’s armored shoulder.
Dain drew to shoot a second, but the elf had rolled clear and vanished back into the woods. He pivoted to face the trees more directly then called Boon back to him. The horse’s keen senses would help to track the elf. He held his bow ready and the elf’s own lay on the paved road.
As Boon returned, the prince leaped from the woods, knocking Dain’s bow aside.
&
nbsp; Both combatants rolled into a heap, and Dain barely stopped Haldrin from driving a short dagger into his unprotected chest. The prince struggled to climb on top of him then bore down with all his weight, trying to drive the dagger in. Dain used both hands to first slow the blade and then to force it up and over his shoulder into the dirt. With the elf off balance, he strained his legs and heaved Haldrin away.
Scrambling to his feet, Dain drew his longsword just in time to parry the prince’s. Haldrin circled a bit and then, with his sword striking from all directions, advanced.
For the first few minutes Dain was hard-pressed to stop the elf’s attacks, and he could force no counterattack. The prince’s blade nicked and gouged at his own. Sparks flew each time the two weapons met. He gasped for breath. He couldn’t recall ever fighting a quicker opponent.
“You can’t hope to defeat me, dirtman,” the elf hissed. “You can barely catch your breath and you wear no armor.”
“We’ll see,” was the best Dain could muster as he parried another swipe. He pushed himself faster to keep up with the elf’s attacks. His lungs burned with the effort.
He recognized that the prince had been well trained, but despite Haldrin’s speed, Dain had been taught weaponry almost from birth by his homeland’s finest swordsmen. He knew too that he was far stronger than the elf, feeling it whenever their swords met. Without armor though, unless he tried something different, this fight could only end one way. Sooner or later he would be too slow to deflect one of the elf’s attacks.
In desperation, Dain reached out to the Light. Healing the deer last night left him weak, unable to pull deeply on the power, but he drew in what little he could. He felt the Light surging in his limbs, fortifying the muscles there. His mind willed it into the sword and the blade’s edge started to glow. With so little strength, the charge wouldn’t last more than a single strike. It would have to count.
Kingdom's Forge: Book 01 - Paladin's Redemption Page 2