The stauer smelled the humans and lifted its massive head with a reverberating snort. The animal was a huge male. Its coat was a reddish bay with black stripes. Around the top of its massive legs and around its throat was shaggy, dark brown hair. Its deer-like muzzle was wet with saliva, and it munched as it looked around at the enclosing humans. Its antler rack was big enough to cup four men at once. Its neck was thick and massive, the power behind the dangerous sweep of its antlers.
Kellabald, Haergill and Yulenth moved closer to the beast as it shook its head in annoyance. Arnwylf instinctively moved forward, but the Archer caught him by his filthy rags. The Archer’s eyes were two stars of burning fire. Arnwylf scanned the grass for the shadow he had seen before.
All the humans stood erect now. The stauer angrily snorted again. And, instead of charging or bolting, the huge animal lumbered in a tight defensive circle, finding itself surrounded. This is what the starving, desperate humans wanted. The animal had to remain stationary to be brought down.
The birds in the meadow suddenly stopped chirping and calling. The only sound was the stauer turning and grunting at the sudden sight of these humans all around it.
Kellabald moved dangerously close to the beast. Throwing a spear or broken branch at the immense beast might be somewhat effective, but the thick hide and layers of muscle would protect the beast from barely being penetrated. The spear would have to be worked into the body to bring it down, to feed the anguished, starving families.
Kellabald looked over at his son standing so resolute with his tree branch spear, and his mind wandered back to his own youth in Gillalliath, the capitol of the green hills of Reia. His father was a noble, and so he was admitted to the higher households, structures made of carved, dark wood, the eaves trimmed with gold lettering from an ancient tongue. He started to turn over the events of his father’s trial in his mind, and then he caught himself, and focused on the task at hand.
The stauer shivered and grunted loudly. Its instinct now was to stand and demolish the puny creatures before it. It angrily tore large divots of earth with its thrashing front hooves, while dangerously nodding its head.
Arnwylf sneaked a look at the Archer. He seemed to stare at a fixed point in the grass, away from, but near the stauer. His bow and arrow were as still as ice, unmoving, but ready. Then, he pulled his arrow tight.
It all happened so quickly and simultaneously Arnwylf wasn’t sure if it wasn’t a dream even until his days as an old man.
The Archer was looking at where the shadow was, not to where it had moved. Arnwylf saw the shadow move impossibly, quickly through the tall grass. For an instant, he saw her. Her clothing was a shimmering cloak, which he could only describe as olive green, but seemed to reflect the tans and browns of the grass, blending perfectly. The elf moved behind the stauer and seemed to lock eyes with Arnwylf. Then the elf slapped the massive beast’s hindquarters, startling it into a charge.
Arnwylf pulled at the Archer’s sleeve, and was pointing at the elf, as the stauer reared up, more than twenty feet into the air. Before the stauer could bolt, Wynnfrith drove her sharpened branch into the animal’s hind leg. The stauer wheeled, turning its massive weight to crush Alrhett.
Without hesitation, with astounding speed, the Archer pivoted, and in an amazing shot, hit the stauer right in the eye. Instead of crushing Alrhett, the stauer flinched away from the pain of the arrow.
At this opportunity, Kellabald drove his spear into the stauer’s front leg, and as he clung to the thrashing, angry beast, drove the sharp branch deep into the animal’s limb. The stauer stumbled for a moment.
Haergill swung the garond club at the stauer’s massive head as its great reach of antlers swept in front of the humans. Instead of hitting the beast, Haergill spun, and was caught by the antlers, and thrown up high onto the back of the animal with a thud.
Yulenth rushed forward and drove his spear into the animal’s body, but the hit was low and ineffectual. The stauer was now mad, frothing, and bucking, with Haergill desperately clinging to its back.
As one, the humans all raised their hands and shouted to distract the massive beast. Its huge antlers swept back and forth trying to crush the puny, starving humans that encircled it.
Kellabald leapt upon the branch stuck in the stauer’s hind leg and pushed the sharp, wooden branch deeper. The stauer bellowed a shocking, ear splitting cry of pain, and almost went down. If it had lain down, the hunt would have been over, but this animal had spirit. And, it caught its legs under itself and stood upright.
Haergill, atop the stauer tried to position himself for a blow to the animal’s head with his garond club. But, the heaving and stamping of the stauer kept him off balance.
The Archer held Arnwylf, “Do you see her? Do you?”
Arnwylf contemptuously tore himself from the Archer’s grip and moved towards the stauer.
Yulenth had taken Alrhett’s spear and tried again for the body of the rampaging beast.
Arnwylf cautiously advanced on the stauer. The beast powerfully turned in short circles, and with its remaining eye tried to see and trample the humans. The group jumped and maneuvered to stay out of the sight line of the furious beast.
Surprisingly, Halldora rushed the beast and drove her spear into the spot right behind the front leg, but the animal shrugged violently and threw her to the ground. Frea leapt forward and dragged her mother away from the continuous, terrible striking of the stauer’s front hooves. Atop the stauer, Haergill had lost his club and hung onto the animal’s mane for dear life.
Arnwylf saw that Halldora’s spear was in the right place and leapt forward to grip it. He tried to force it into the animal’s heart. But, Arnwylf found himself suddenly thrown back and forth by the stauer’s mad battering. It’s front and rear legs were wounded and instead of bolting, which might have saved its life, its instinct now was to stand and fight.
Arnwylf felt his own body’s weight pulling the spear from the stauer’s body and feared he might ruin the hunt. But he knew if he let go, he would be immediately trampled to death.
The moment seemed to stretch into infinity, the pungent smell of the animal, the cries of the other humans, the massive rocking of the beast's rippling muscles, the mangy hair above the animal’s leg whipping at his face, the crunching of the autumn grass of the meadow, the light blue of the afternoon sky, the silence of the meadow’s birds, the mystery of the elf. Arnwylf tasted his own blood in his mouth and knew in a moment he could be dead.
From the corner of his eye, he could see the Archer, pulling tight on another flint arrow, looking for a chance to pierce the stauer.
The world felt warm and unreal to Arnwylf. Then, as if in a dream, he felt his father’s arms behind him. Kellabald was shouting and he could feel his father behind him pushing on the spear to which he clung.
As the stauer rocked and fought, Arnwylf could see his family and friends waving their hands in front of the animal to confuse it, and keep it from bolting. Arnwylf saw Haergill fall from the stauer’s back and almost laughed in delirium. Then Arnwylf felt the warmth and strength of his father as he pushed on the spear, and knew in that instant, to add his own strength to the spear working its way into the stauer’s heart.
Arnwylf could feel the warm, sticky blood of the stauer running over his hands. He was so hungry he wanted to let go and lick his fingers, but he knew to hold on, even though the spear was slippery.
Then the world seemed to stand still. Arnwylf could see the other human, with their mouths open, silent, expectant. Then he felt a shudder as the great beast was dying. The massive body of fur and hair began to topple to the ground.
Arnwylf felt his father pulling him away from the stauer. And as if from very far away, he heard his father shouting at him, “Let go! Let go!”
Arnwylf let his hands go slack, and for a moment he was a child of four in his village. His father was swinging him around in a merry circle with his massive hands. He felt the laughter and joy just bubbling out of
him, and knew at this moment in time, he would never be happier.
Then, Arnwylf came to his senses as he tumbled to the grass with his father. He immediately looked up and saw the stauer right itself, fighting for that last moment of life. Then the great beast crashed to the meadow grass with a bouncing, resounding thud. The humans stopped and stared in astonishment. The stauer was dead.
The families of Bittel advanced on the stilled beast. Halldora helped Haergill to his feet. Kellabald inched towards the massive animal. The spear protruded, pointing to the sky as if imploring Kellth the god of the sun.
The Archer handed Kellabald a bronze knife. Kellabald nodded in thanks. Then, stepping to the dead stauer, he raised his hands in a prayer of thanks to the father of the gods, Eann, and then he plunged the knife into the animal’s flesh. The humans now crowded around Kellabald as he cut away strips of venison. The clan eagerly ate the raw meat having been starved by their garond captors for days.
Arnwylf felt a surge of momentary happiness. His family was free, and they had something to eat. But the meadowlands were dangerous and they needed to get to the safety of the Weald, the massive forest on the far side of the Eastern Meadowland. The Archer seemed on edge. Arnwylf saw him refuse a piece of meat offered by Wynnfrith, and then he pulled a bronze tipped arrow from his quiver and simply held it in his hands.
His father and Haergill argued about how much meat to cut from the stauer. Yulenth then spoke, and both Kellabald and Haergill nodded in agreement. The three humans plunged their hands deep into the animal and pulled out its dark, slick liver. The clan gathered around the piece of meat.
“We thank you, oh great Stauer of these meadowlands,” Yulenth spoke solemnly to the dead beast. “We thank Tareia goddess of the wood and ask for her safe guidance.” With these words the humans all reverently took a bite of the liver. When Arnwylf bit deep into the flesh, the bitter liver was satisfying and gave him a sense of being connected to all living things. He looked up and locked eyes with the elf standing behind the group in the tall grass. Her look of pain and disgust surprised him. Yet he sensed she felt what he felt, and was confused and surprised also. Then the elf seemed to hear something and darted away.
All of this happened in a split second, before Arnwylf could even swallow.
The Archer put the arrow he held to the string of his bow. Frea held the liver in her hands, but was frozen. The clan turned their eyes to see what she saw. A pack of meadow wolves inched into the clearing, their yellow eyes blazed with hunger.
The lead wolf was tall. His snout could have rested on any man’s shoulder without raising its head. It was grey and grizzled. The black wolf by its side was almost certainly the lead female of the pack. There were eight wolves including a young male that had a snow-white coat. The wolves stepped closer, their hunger a beacon in their eyes. The Archer pulled his arrow taught. Its tip sighted on a point centered dead between the lead wolf’s eyes.
Alrhett slowly raised her hands, her braided white hair swaying. “We are clan of the Wylfling and have need,” she spoke directly to the lead wolf. “And we respect these stauer are yours by right. Let us depart in peace.” Alrhett thought of the many treaties she had failed to negotiate among the crafty lords of Rogar Li, the capitol of the Weald. Would she be unable to make a truce with a simple animal? The lead wolf snarled.
“He says we may leave,” Alrhett said with relief.
With that the humans slowly retreated into the grass of the Meadowlands. As Arnwylf slowly backed away from the scene of the kill, he could hear the wolves snarling and tearing the stauer’s hide as they ripped the carcass to pieces.
Unknown to the human clan as they made their way east across the tall waving grass of the meadow, the young, white wolf broke away from the devouring of the stauer and turned to follow the elf following the humans.
Chapter Three
Rion Ta
Haergill limped through the pasture of the Meadowlands. The vast, level grasses had more shrubs as they traveled further east, and the passage was a little more difficult. Haergill held his thick, barrel chest. It hurt to breathe. He had probably broken a few ribs when he had fallen from the stauer.
And, the raw meat wasn’t sitting well in his stomach. He was used to cooked meat, but he felt good that his family had eaten. The tall, dark green rim of trees that started the edge of the Weald was visible now. The village, Rion Ta, would be right where the forest began. Humans ruled the wooded areas. The thick canopy of interlocking oaks and arching elms was a perfect environment for ingenious and clever humans.
Haergill thought of the night Varknifl and his henchmen found him hiding in Bittel. That rainy, summer night, he had killed them all not too far from where they had just passed. Perhaps he was treading over their very bones at this very instant. The thought put him in a foul mood.
Something gnawed at Haergill, and he had to reconcile his feelings. Haergill worked his way up the line of quickly moving humans with some difficulty. He saw Arnwylf smile at him as he passed him, and returned the smile. The boy was a good person and would someday be a fine, honorable man.
Haergill passed Kellabald and they shared a grim look. With difficulty Haergill made his way to the Archer’s side. The dark haired, dark eyed man turned slightly to notice him.
Haergill spoke boldly to the Archer, “Why didn’t you use one of those black arrows on the stauer? You could have killed it in one shot.”
The Archer turned his head slightly to pierce Haergill with a sharp look, but continued on in silence.
The anger of Haergill’s race, his people, welled up inside of him. He was the son of a warrior king, but he tried to control his violent feelings. He had seen almost his whole people wiped away by useless civil wars. The wars had weakened the Northern Kingdom of Man, making the attack of the organized and swift garonds too easy, too devastating.
Haergill could feel his hands moving of their own accord and he reached out to grab the wool of the Archer’s dark green hood. In a flashing instant, the Archer held a bronze knife to Haergill’s throat, as the whole party came to a halt.
The Archer and Haergill regarded each other in tense silence, both their eyes burning. Kellabald quietly stepped to the two, but was careful not to speak or make sudden movements, which would precipitate a fight.
Haergill spoke quietly but courageously, “We thank you for saving us from the garonds, but we are free humans, and will not be treated as slaves.”
The Archer spoke in slow, deliberate tones, “The black, metal arrows are only for the killing of garonds. It is an oath I made. And I hope you will feel no dishonor in this, to you or your clan.”
Haergill was surprised. It made perfect sense, and he was immediately sorry for his anger. He was at a loss for words.
Kellabald spoke gently, “We need to make the village on the edge of the Weald before Kellth carries the sun over the rim of the earth, and Nunee ascends to follow her husband into the night sky.” Both the Archer and Haergill relaxed, but Haergill quickly held his hand up for stillness. The humans were immediately motionless.
Haergill could hear a crashing sound in the meadow. The humans quickly huddled together for protection. From all sides a herd of doderns crashed through the grass. They were compact and strong. Their muscular bodies were covered by a hide that was thick and hard like armor. They were also covered with shaggy, light brown hair and each had an enormous horn protruding from its snout, with a smaller horn behind the larger. The doderns were frightened and running from some danger. They gave no notice to the group of humans crouched together for safety. Then, just as suddenly as the stampede began, it was over.
“We need to move faster,” The Archer spoke to the group. As one, they all rose and began walking rapidly for the looming edge of the Weald.
Haergill felt both satisfaction for having confronted the Archer, and shame for having caused the conflict. His family was defined by violence and war, and Haergill had his fill of blood and anger. Now his only conce
rn was his lovely Halldora, and their radiant daughter Frea.
When he was a boy, he remembered his young father returning from battles with the people of the Green Hills of Reia to the West. His father would sometimes return badly wounded and the whole palace would resound with prayers to Oann, the Battle God, and creator of all things.
Priests and Mages would make pilgrimages to the great ice walls to the far north of the kingdom where Oann was thought to reside with all the other gods. They would beseech the heavenly powers to heal their gravely wounded king. Nobles and Lords would look knowingly at Haergill with the unspoken mandate that he would have to lead the kingdom if his father died.
When his father became too crippled to fight, Haergill was sent out as a teenager to lead the Kingdom of the North. He held the legendary sword, the Mattear Gram, a silvery, brightly shining length of special metal, unlike any other sword. It was light and unbreakable. The sword was reputed to have been forged by the elves of Lanis and had been handed down by at least ten generations of kings.
The sword felt uncomfortable and too light in Haergill’s hands when he first went to war against the tribes that lived along the shores of Ettonne, the Great Lake to the east. The sword moved quickly, and cut through bronze, wood and flesh, as though forged by Yonne the Lord of the Dead himself.
When the Ettonnes charged the front ranks of his warriors their eyes were very wide and their faces were slack. He felt detached and horrified. The world seemed to be submerged in liquid.
The Ettonnes had long, bronze spears and caught many of his warriors before they could get within striking distance. The toll of the dead was awful that day, and the great waste of human life sickened Haergill.
The battles raged for almost nine years with Haergill at their head, wars to the West, wars to the East, and wars to the South. So, when the Ettonnes no longer came to battle, and the squat, dark faced garonds arrived, moving in arranged, cascading ranks, Haergill’s people were too stressed and depleted to resist.
The Last Elf of Lanis Page 2