by Ben Marshall
“The Lady Halarniel was one of a few of us that were around him when elements conspired against him, and the mental demons’ assault was too powerful for him to withstand. As he turned under the malevolent influence most of us drew our weapons, but Halarniel remained by his side, trying to reason with him. I don’t know whether it was how close she was to him, or if it was the sight of our weapons prepared to strike him down, but he unleashed power of a level I hadn’t even heard rumours of before the event, and the three of us that had accompanied My Lady were blasted away from him. My back and shoulders were badly bruised, and my companions were similarly injured and stunned as they collided with the nearby trees, but nothing hurt as much as the sight of him bearing down upon Halarniel. Her face showed both surprise and fear in substantial measures as she tried to bring her blades out to fend him off. I think it was her feelings for Katchanga that was slowing her actions, but I don’t know his full arsenal of magic so I cannot be certain, and she couldn’t raise them in time to prevent his clawed hand from striking her across her beautiful face.” Taleinith paused then, both in his recollection of events and his movement through the misty forest, the memories seeming painful to the hardened veteran of many a battle. He rubbed his back and shoulders without thinking about it before taking another deep breath and continuing, noting as he did so that his sole listener had reached up and was running a finger along his scar.
“His strike sent My Lady reeling, slicing her cheek where his claws landed, and before any of us could attempt to reach him he faded into mist, his mind regaining control long enough to transport him back to his own realm where measures were in place to keep the demons under control when they become that strong. Halarniel was shaking, I believe from shock since it was a warm summer’s night, and the right side of her face was covered in blood that was pouring unabated through her fingers. She couldn’t bring herself to speak while we helped her return to her home within the forest centre. Though her wound was healed the following day when Katchanga returned, the demons banished once more, she kept bringing her hand up during the following evenings to where the claws had pierced her flesh, her body shivering despite the lingering warmth.”
While Taleinith had been speaking, Lonariel had been remembering his own experience and the severe cold when his mentor’s demonic power had sapped the life force from him. He knew this had been the cause for the shivering, because Clerics had reported he had done likewise after the wound had been closed to the scar that remained. His question still hadn’t been explained during the tale, and he was about to raise the point before Taleinith cut across him.
“I know, I haven’t yet told you how the scar upon My Lady’s face was made, but I felt you needed to know the reasoning behind her decision before I informed you of what she had chosen. It occurred a week after Katchanga healed the wound, and she had been away from everyone since the event. When she returned to the city she walked straight to the House of Healing and demanded a meeting with the Head Cleric. She ordered her to be present in a clearing, notably the same clearing you were taken to, the following day. She then approached me and requested my presence. I was surprised that she didn’t order me, but I assume that was due to the fact that I had been there when she had been hurt. The three of us reached the clearing at around noon, accompanied by her brother who seemed to be ill at ease with something. He kept asking Halarniel to reconsider, though at the time neither I nor the Head Cleric knew why. When we were all gathered, and My Lady had made it clear to her brother that she wouldn’t change her mind, she told us of her intentions. She bade me take my sabre and…” the Warden paused, unsure of what the ramifications of his statement would be. The Loremaster could guess what had occurred and, though he believed such actions to be the most deplorable save for open treason, betrayal and murder, he knew the deed had been at the command of Lady Halarniel. He needed to hear the Warden say the words, and he thought that they needed to be said if Taleinith was ever going to come to terms with the dark event. He encouraged the warrior quietly, a hand upon his escort’s shoulder to convey his knowledge and acceptance of what had been done.
“I wanted to refuse, and tried to dissuade her from what she wished of me, but she would have none of it. She told me that if none of us would help her accomplish what she desired she would do it herself and, because of the difficult angle required and inability to heal the wound, the result could be far more disastrous. I tried once more to beg her, and told her I loved her too greatly to bring myself to harm her, but she told me if I truly loved her I would do it, and allow her to come to terms with what had happened. She pulled her hair back so that nothing obstructed my task, and smiled as I reluctantly drew my sword, and traced the line with her finger. She had me draw my sabre from just below her hairline to the base of her ear, and gave no sign of pain except for a few tears. Then the Head Cleric healed the mark until it was the scar that now remains. She believes it stands for all the times she shared with Katchanga, and the memory that he faces more demons daily than any being should.” Lonariel sympathised with this, for he had desired to keep his own scar for similar reasons. When the wound had been caused he had felt the coldness of death as the positive energies within him had been lost, followed by the great warmth of life as the negative forces were drawn into Katchanga’s own broken frame. That feeling of warmth had stayed with him, and it still served as his motivation for all things.
So enraptured with the tale had he been, the Loremaster was surprised when he saw the faint sight of the mountain trail through the throng of softwoods before his eyes. He hadn’t realised that they had resumed their journey, and had been walking for the best part of two hours. As the forms of six other Forest Elves, the remainder of the escorting party, became visible around a small fire just beyond the boundary of the Elven realm Taleinith visibly stiffened, and he turned earnestly to face his companion.
“What I told you is known solely to those of us that were involved, and Lady Halarniel has always felt that the truth would be distorted if the tale was told to the younger and, well, less rational of our number. Those of us that know are old enough and wise enough to know when someone isn’t responsible for his actions, and as such I hold no ill feeling for Katchanga. Truth be told I respect him all the more, knowing he must fight the demons every hour of every day.”
Lonariel nodded in agreement; until now he had respected his mentor for his knowledge and skills, but now he realised the reason for so many of his mentor’s actions, and respected him for being how he was despite so much pain. The Loremaster knew he could never have coped with such pressures for one day, let alone the countless thousands his teacher had borne the burden. The pair fell back into silence as they emerged from the forest, the bare rock of the mountains no longer blocked by the many greens that had surrounded the companions just minutes ago.
The group already gathered around the small fire saluted their commander with great respect as he walked over to a space close to the soft warmth. Lonariel joined him, looking as if he had many questions but didn’t know how to word them without undoing the careful work to keep the events he had just heard of a secret. Still deep in thought, he bowed his head as he was given a platter filled with a multitude of herbs, their aromas joining and hovering pleasantly around him as the sky was lit a glorious orange by the sun, unsure of whether to end its trip or linger over the scene of serene tranquillity. Much to his surprise many choices of meats were included within his portion, for he had deemed the Forest Elves to be vegetarian from their stance on killing the innocents of the land.
“Why do you hate the other races for their hunting of the wild animals, when you seem to do so quite extensively yourself?”
“Because we only take what we need, whereas the humans hunt for sport and the Dwarves are known to simply gorge themselves rather than moderate their tastes. We also only use dead wood for our fires, yet the other races will simply hack at the first tree they find,” Taleinith explained, his tone that of a father explaining
the reasons to a small child.
Faced with irrefutable facts, for he had witnessed the mighty appetites of the Dwarves and had heard from Katchanga of the hunts many humans took part in, the Loremaster knew the grudge was justified even if their actions where a little extreme for his mind. He didn’t dwell on the matter though, his thoughts pulled back to the unknown question that was jostling at the back of his mind. Something about how Katchanga had lost control shocked and scared him; ex-demons were known to revert back to their wild state when their corruptor gained strength, yet many had turned dangerous due to an inability to overcome the evil that had drawn them down and had invariably risen to be the most malevolent and deadly of beings. Was Katchanga losing his battle with the evil within his soul, or was Carrassiel, a being of purest malice whose name was spoken aloud by only a few, rising again from his banishment since his defeat? Many who knew of the warrior’s past had believed him a danger to all who allowed themselves to believe he had changed, and perhaps that had been what had motivated him to do all that he had since he had brought about his old master’s downfall, but had he finally been defeated as so many of his home nation had?
So many questions and Lonariel possessed only rudimentary knowledge of such events, with no answers coming to him. His mentor had hated discussing such matters, seeming to try and deny that his past had been more than a bad dream, and had spoken only when he had felt it important. The Loremaster could recall several such moments, and each one had hinted that almost the entire nation known to many simply as the Eastern Elves had fallen over time. There was never a mention of a lust for power being the downfall, but more a desire for vengeance against the Enemy that had swept over them, overwhelming them by the sheer numbers of minions he could command. It seemed ironic, then, that such wishes had further enslaved them to his will, which only fuelled their desire and perpetuated the cycle. Many had resisted, but they had to then try and ignore the sight of their friends and family succumbing to the evil. Katchanga had once mentioned his younger brother, though only in a sweeping statement that he hadn’t embellished upon, and had described him as falling to the darkness within him within but a year of resistance. Many of the young within the nation had fallen swiftly, their hatred less controlled than those of the seasoned warriors, and in doing so had aided in the corruption of the veterans and the near-extinction of their culture.
He was brought from his reverie by Taleinith announcing that they were to move out, and by one of the escorts bringing forth a grey-scaled wyvern. The degenerate dragon-cousin species is a notoriously feral race, and Lonariel’s people had often tried to tame their savage nature with no success. Indeed the specimen that was being led by its bridle appeared to be just as wild as those that dwelled within the small ranges that dotted Naturien, yet was perfectly willing to accept the touch and even the commands of the Forest Elves. The Loremaster reached the conclusion that this was another skill gifted to the followers of Nature, for there seemed to be a strong bond between each Elf and his vicious mount. The wyvern that was apparently intended as his own steed for the journey turned its pointed snout towards him to sniff his unusual robes that changed their shimmering hues constantly between gold and red, the effect bringing images of fire to the mind of the beast as he locked his golden orbs with the emerald ones of the Fire Elf. With a dignified shrug the creature appeared to dismiss him as insignificant and crouched with its leathery wings curled against its flanks, outstretching a clawed hand to indicate that he had been accepted.
“Bow in acceptance or he will attack you for disrespect.”
Taleinith whispered the instruction as he mounted his own blue wyvern, which stretched nonchalantly as he watched the display. Lonariel was quick to follow the instructions, for he had witnessed the severe burns inflicted by an outraged wyvern, not to mention the apparently excruciating effects of the three-inch stinger at the tip of the curled and whip-like tail. He swept into a low bow, his hand brushing against the hilt of his blade as he did so. The wyvern opened his eyes angrily, the inside of his maw lit a faint orange by the fire that was gathering at the back of his throat, but visibly calmed considerably as the Loremaster brought his sheathed blade out horizontally before him in a gesture of truce. The Fire Elf tried to hold his gaze steady, but almost drew his blade as the wyvern’s tail curled around him, the stinger withdrawn but the constricting feeling as he was tangled almost too much for him to take. The action was brief, however, as the beast gently placed him upon a small seat of pine that nestled almost unseen between the scales halfway along the creature’s back. Taleinith watched this with surprise upon his face, and asked him how he had known what to do with his blade.
“I don’t know, I just heard Katchanga’s voice inside my head, and I did it.”
“Halarniel commented that she often heard Katchanga’s voice when she had to consider an action when around a wild beast.” Taleinith had started to whisper again, which had made the younger escorts look curiously over at the pair. Seeing their intent gazes, the Head Warden tapped the flanks of his mount with his feet, but the wyvern had already started a sedate walk, its wings flapping slightly with each stride. Lonariel was about to do likewise, but a rumbling voice inside his head told him I already know, hang on. With a yawn and a stretch the slim beast beneath him rose, rocking backwards and forwards slightly as its weight was shifted. Curling its forelimbs as it stood at its full height of five metres the creature set off after its cousin, its gait a gentle rock similar to how it had risen. Shocked by the voice, the Loremaster wondered if the beasts were telepathic, to which the disembodied voice promptly responded Indeed I am, for how else could we have thrived against the efforts of our cousins? Suddenly it all made sense as to how the Forest Elves had been so effective against the hordes that had followed the banners of Carrassiel’s generals, in the later battles of the Age of Conflicts. It also shed light on how wyverns had prospered as they had, considering they were so much weaker in both strength and magical prowess than the dragons that dwelled in great colonies within the larger ranges, notably around Lebruskt and the desolate mountain region surrounding Katchanga’s homeland know as the Orc Trails. With a lazy leap and a flap of his leathery wings the wyvern pulled adjacent to the blue-scaled steed of the Head Warden, who casually looked in their direction before continuing:
“I have often wondered just what happens when Katchanga heals a wound, because it seemed to me as if he transferred the pain to himself when he dealt with My Lady’s slash. I think he may transfer a part of himself to those he aids, and so when you hear Katchanga’s voice it is because that is how he would approach the situation. It took several generations before my kin discovered the way to begin to form a bond with the wyverns, yet I suspect that as Nature’s Most Favoured he was told by Her how it was to be done.”
“Nature’s Most Favoured? What do you mean by that?”
“Katchanga is the warrior dedicated above all others to upholding Nature’s Order. The only warriors that defend Her laws, besides those that still serve him, are we of this Forest, and we cannot pass through the lands of Men with the same impunity as he can. I know that the fickle and constantly warring humans could never allow someone as dangerous and neutral a soldier to pass freely, yet I have seen the potency of his magic and so I know he can travel through all lands unseen should he so desire. This allows him to go wherever the Order comes under threat and he has served Her more than just dutifully, but passionately since he received her forgiveness.”
Lonariel remained silent, due mainly to the fact that words could never come close to describing the swirling thoughts and feelings he experienced as he heard Katchanga’s new life described in such a fashion. He had never believed that anyone could follow so complex a faith so completely that they knew nothing beyond it, yet here he was beside an Elf who led such a life and he himself had been taught by a being more devout than any. During his training Lonariel had seen his mentor at most two weeks in a month, with it more often being just a few days when
he travelled across the wide expanses of ocean and earth to defend this unknown Order.
“What exactly is Nature’s Order?” he finally asked Taleinith as their mounts slowly rose into the air upon their bat-like wings, their relaxed pace allowing the rest of the escort to draw level as the mountain trails lay below them like a web of scars across the range.
“You sound as if you believe we are all blind followers of religion, but such is not the case. Every nation has a military that is perpetually active, and like me those soldiers are used to protect the boundaries of the realm they call home. Nature is followed devoutly and unquestioningly by many of my people that much is true, but it is mainly those that rely solely upon such influences for guidance in all matters rather than those of us whose duties are clear from the off. Those people that follow Her completely are the Clerics of the land as well as Lady Halarniel and her brother, and I believe she was influenced greatly by her relationship with Katchanga. During the Age of Conflicts he was the one who went to the various realms to recruit fresh troops to strengthen the army that opposed the Evil that held full dominion of the East, and so it was mainly My Lady’s feelings for him that involved us in the battles after these mountains were cleansed of the armies who travelled under the black banners of Carrassiel.” His words had been spoken without any real emotion, but the calm way in which he had used Carrassiel’s name and talked about an involvement in something as historic as the war to end his reign of terror upon the Mortal Plane was almost frightening.