Samual

by Greg Curtis

  Half asleep on Tyla, Sam had answered a few of the Elders' questions as best he could while they rode the last few leagues into Torin Vale together, before he had collapsed completely in the saddle. By then he knew he had gotten as far as he could under his own power, and others would care for him until he was awake again. Half elf or not, the elves did not abandon anyone. Besides, if they hadn't, they wouldn't have been able to interrogate him. And he was beginning to realise the elves were curious.

  He had awoken to find himself in the town itself and was soon being interrogated by a veritable menagerie of wizards and war masters, all of whom were desperately trying to work out what had happened. Even from the town they had seen and heard some of the battle, while the wizards – especially those with any sensitivity to fire – had felt it. The elves he was with were of course only too happy to tell them what they knew, which naturally only wetted their leaders' appetite for answers. The only part of which he could tell them before he had collapsed again was that the nearer machina were gone, and the rest were a long way off. He had bought them some time.

  That was when he'd finally done the intelligent thing and fainted. Unfortunately he'd foolishly woken up.

  He had awoken in the middle of the morning to find himself lying on a wagon and being carted out of town as the people of Torin Vale itself were packing up and joining the caravan. But he hadn't been lucky enough to be in one of the wagons peopled with villagers. Instead he had been left to sleep in the midst of a bunch of wizards, war masters and elders, all of whom were more than a little curious about him and what he'd done, and actually seemed to be happy to threaten torture to find out. To make matters worse he'd awoken with a headache vicious enough to make the idea of torture look good.

  Of course while he was still asleep they had started doing a little sleuthing of their own. It was a polite way of saying they'd searched him thoroughly. They'd started by removing his helmet and discovered his half human half elven nature, something that naturally enough hadn't gone down well. Then they'd moved on to his armour, quickly identifying the crest of the House of Hanor, as well as the fact that he'd tried to remove it. They'd put two and two together and soon decided that he was some sort of rogue knight. It was actually close enough to the truth, even if he still remained true to his vows and was in good standing with the Order of Hanor.

  After that they'd gone through his saddle bags and kit, examining first his weapons, and then finding his books of wizardry. Things that should not exist outside a guild. Such books should they fall into the wrong hands could be dangerous, and for that reason alone they were closely guarded. The wizards were understandably upset by the discovery, the more so when they saw that some of the books were of the higher levels of fire and ice magic as well as earth magic and nature magic, and that all were written for warring wizards. Thus with a single discovery he'd gone from being a rogue knight to a rogue wizard and possibly a criminal from another land. But at least the books weren't from any of the elven guilds. That would have been proof of a crime in their lands. But the books weren't written in Elvish and he had been cleared of that accusation at least.

  Their pet theory had become a near certainty when they'd gone through all that Aegis was carrying in her packs. He'd loaded the poor horse high with valuables before he'd left, just in case he needed to find some coin on the way. Perhaps that hadn't been such a clever idea after all.

  The three sets of blackened snake scale armour they took as evidence of his antisocial nocturnal activities. Only thieves and rogues had such armour they reasoned, and only the most successful ones at that. The others couldn't afford it. The brace of stilettos and vial of dragon bane poison bore testament to another grisly trade. Then they'd found the shadow cloak, and all their theories had somehow become proof. After all, none but the most exclusive and expensive assassins would have such a cloak. Their cost was beyond anyone else's means. By the time Sam awoke fully he'd practically been convicted.

  The only reason he wasn't being punished – other than for the fact that they no longer had a gaol, a labour camp, a court, or for that matter evidence of any crime – was that their own scouts had managed to confirm the few details of the battle that he had given them the previous day. That steel rats by the hundreds had been destroyed, along with their precious forest, and that no more machina were nearby. According to their far-seers the nearest rats were still rebuilding their numbers slowly in Shavarra itself. Thus he had saved them, and as far as they knew he had committed no crime in elven lands.

  Meanwhile the wizards had determined he was suffering from the effects of having over exerted himself in combat due to his inexperience, and had prescribed rest and some of the worst herbal tea he'd ever tasted. That tea he rather imagined was the source of his headache. His own brain hated the taste so very much it was simply trying to claw its way out of his skull rather than remain anywhere near his tongue.

  Of course a rock pounding headache wasn't about to save him from their interrogation once he'd awoken again, and for the rest of the day he had been subjected to their endless questioning. Who was he? Who had trained him? Where had he learned those spells? Where had he got those books? And above all else, what had he done?

  It had been a very long day.

  He had been given a brief respite for afternoon tea, when the entire train pulled to a stop. The horses needed rest and water, the people food and a chance to stretch their legs, and the wizards confirmed that there were no rats nearby. Something Sam, even in his weakened state could agree with.

  Like the rest Sam too had been given a chance to get up and do the basics, naturally while being closely watched by the city guards. But by the time he'd stretched and had some warm food inside him, he'd been beginning to feel a little like his old self. He'd been exhausted as he had never been before. The usual roaring bonfire of fire magic in his centre remained little more than embers, and he could find no way to fan it back into life. The elders had told him that it would return with time, for which he was relieved. The magic had been with him all his life and he didn't want to lose it. Especially not now when it had finally grown powerful enough to do all that he needed it to.

  Actually he could already feel a little of his fire returning, but only a very little. There was a lot more to come. Much more than ever before. He knew that by the size of the hole it had left in him. A gaping hole larger than he had known could exist within him.

  Unlike the other sick and injured though, Sam had chosen to dress himself for battle once more, and had pulled on his full armour and gathered his weapons to him. Exhausted or not he would not lie like a corpse in the back of a wagon when there might still be battles ahead. The wizards had disapproved of course. They'd told him he should rest. They didn't truly understand him. But the soldiers did and they'd made no move to stop him. He was a soldier, and no soldier ever born should have to face the enemy half naked. Besides, most of the elves by then had known something about what he had done from the gossip that had been flying around, and seeing him up and about was a morale booster for those in the nearer wagons.

  Pulling his greatsword to him once more had also provided a surcease from his suffering. The sword still had some of the fire magic he'd imbued in it, and having it close helped to fire up his own energies a little. It wasn't much, but it was enough to brighten his mood a little.

  Tea done, some warm stew and bread which had gone down happily if far too quickly, he'd spent the rest of the break grooming his two horses, both of which were tied alongside the wagon he was in. Both had been ridden hard, and both had been through a lot for little reward. They were due it, and he'd fed them from a bag of the best oats he could find and groomed them thoroughly. Elsbeth the goat had gone out to the bushes on the side of the road to chew away happily at some gorse, and he'd decided that she could ride on the wagon instead of in a saddle bag for the next part of the journey. She would like it better and at least his saddle bag would remain free of her deposits. While she'd eaten, a young
boy had spent some time milking her, something she was quite used to, and her tail had wagged furiously with pleasure at the thought of the carrots to come. At least someone had been enjoying the journey.

  Neither of his horses were presently being ridden as the elves seemed to have more than enough for their people. Also Sam suspected, the horses being both so large and black intimidated them. He wondered if any of them had realised that they were also fully trained war horses. Tyla had been trained by the stable masters for the Fair Fields dragoons, and Aegis by him. He hadn't told them. It would have just created more problems.

  Grooming the horses had also given him the chance to study some of the other elves in the nearer wagons. A necessary yet upsetting chore. The soldier in him had needed to gauge their fighting strength, to know if they could defend themselves should the need arise; the knight had needed to confirm the truth of their plight. But the man simply wanted to weep as he saw their suffering. And their numbers.

  Torin Vale was a large town with nearly ten thousand residents, while the city of Shavarra itself had held over thirty thousand more, but the caravan had swelled by at least twenty thousand more than that, as elves from the nearer towns and the outlying regions of the city had joined them. He gathered many more were coming. Unfortunately it had been easy to tell who had come from the city.

  Sam knew many of the elves from Torin Vale, and by and large he recognised many of them among his neighbours. They were the ones with the better carts, the fresher horses, and the more generous supplies. The city elves were the ones wearing the bandages, crutches, slings and casts. They had the horses that had been ridden too hard for too long, and many pulled carts that would normally have been broken down for fire wood in due course. They were also the ones with the physicians hovering about, and whose faces were lined with terrible pain as they grieved for those they had lost.

  Even worse than seeing them had been listening to their tales of woe, for they had suffered losses that no man should ever have to bear. Their kith and kin, their homes, their livelihoods, their pride and even their hope. He had known that first night that they were refugees, but it still hadn't prepared him for what that meant. Nothing could. It wasn't even as if he'd asked them of their troubles. He'd simply listened as they'd spoken among themselves, and he'd known that they spoke the truth. They weren't deceiving him for some typically incomprehensible elven reason. To them he wasn't important enough to even notice, and he hadn't broken into their grief with his sympathies. His words could not have helped. Instead he'd just listened quietly.

  After the break, when the wagons had started rolling again, Sam's woes had been redoubled as his interrogation had started in truth. Choosing to ride alongside the wagon instead of in it hadn't helped him. His questioners having decided that he'd had enough rest and that they had the time to spare, had been both relentless and merciless. Moreover, they had already known enough about him by then, to make it damnably near impossible to hide anything.

  By the first hour he'd practically retold them every single detail of the battle a hundred times over. By the second they'd known almost the entirety of his life. The only thing he managed to hold back was his family name, though they'd known he was keeping it back and had been far from happy about it. But it was a matter of honour, not to mention safety, and Sam had stayed firm.

  While in Shavarra he had used his mother's maiden name and had been known as Samawain Ellosian. It was even more vital that if they entered into Fair Fields lands, as he assumed they would, that they use only that name. The creator would have to have mercy on them all if any of the people of Fair Fields ever realised he was Samual Hanor.

  But slowly they'd at least started to accept his assertions that he wasn't a criminal. That those suits of blackened snake scale armour were from those who had hunted him. After all why else would he have had three, only one of which might even have come close to fitting him? Or so many poisoned stilettos? Persuading them that the tomes of fire, earth and nature magic were his by right had been more difficult, as he still couldn't give them his true name. But weak as he had been when he had fled Fair Fields, he had still been the ranking wizard in Fall Keep. As such he was the rightful custodian of the tomes and none could take that from him.

  Though they might have listened to his words Sam was sure that they hadn't accepted his assertion that the tomes belonged to him. Least ways he hadn't noticed any of the wizards looking to give him his tomes back. Not without proof, and somehow he suspected, not even with it. Ranking human wizard or not, he was a half elven wizard of enormous power, and well intentioned or otherwise they clearly considered him dangerous. In their eyes he was a wild creature suddenly residing free among them. They didn't know the half of it. But then that was something his brother would learn instead and he'd let that knowledge sustain him.

  When darkness had finally fallen on Sam's the day, the interrogation had finally ceased, but far from being able to breathe a sigh of relief, his woes had only begun to grow again.

  The battle masters had left early on, having decided they could learn no more from him and had duties to attend to. And happily for him the priests had left too. They had duties to attend to. Though unhappily they had promised to return. But the elder wizards and members of the Ruling Council had remained. They too had learned enough of him to make their own judgements – often unfair ones in his opinion – and so instead of continuing with the questioning, they'd moved on to the chastisement phase of the ritual. And it was a ritual, though it had taken him a while to realise that. He recognised it in the way each new elder was given his own turn to berate him. It was like a pecking order among chickens, except that he was the only one being pecked.

  The Council elders and particularly the wizards had taken it in turns to explain to him how badly he'd failed in everything he'd done. In coming to Shavarra, in having such books of power, in not having immediately spoken to the local guild about his talent and the books, in having lived apart from the elves and in having thought of the elves as hostile to him. In practically everything he'd done.

  The list of his mistakes seemed to keep on growing, and not once had any of them mentioned the fact that he'd destroyed their pursuers and in doing so allowed them to travel more slowly and yet safely away from the enemy. Thanks to him the once panicked retreat had become a properly organised exodus. They had managed to spend some time however, decrying the devastation he'd caused to their beloved forest.

  And so his long day had continued, as he'd had to listen to endless lectures about his many failings.

  His sole comfort as the hour grew late was in the knowledge that he had finally found all the strength he needed and more to do what he should have done five years before. In a few days, perhaps a week he would be fully recovered, and regardless of what the elves wanted, he was going to reclaim his wife. Nothing could stop him any longer, not with the power he'd finally found within himself. Not his half-brother. Not his half-brother's guards. Not even the whole castle. He carefully kept that plan a secret though. The elves would not have approved, and they would surely have tried to stop him.

  “Don't you know why those of half elven and half human blood are hard to accept?” Elder Bela, Master of nature magic and a member of the Ruling Council itself, began his turn chastising Sam.

  “No Elder.” Sam tried to sound as though he was listening, but really he wasn't. It was late and Master Bela was simply the latest in a long line of accusers. Unfortunately he might not have been convincing judging by the scowl that appeared on the Elder's already long face. But then he was growing tired and Master Bela's complaints were much the same as everyone else's. It was getting hard to keep his eyes open. And to remember not to speak.

  “Because those of your blood are so powerful!” The Elder raised his voice a little, perhaps in frustration.

  “Powerful?” That caught Sam's attention. It even woke him up a little.

  “Those bolts you threw were so strong that every magic user in a dozen le
agues felt them. And the fire ring, that's something that even an experienced master of fire would have trouble conjuring let alone surviving. Your power is immense. And you've been hiding out in our lands for five years, pretending to be a simple soldier – while all the time practising your magic without permission, and without even an instructor!”

  “But –!”

  “Creator have mercy on us all! You could have destroyed the whole town by accident!”

  “But –”

  Sam wanted to say, yet again, that he hadn't ever thought to unleash such power, hadn't even known that he could, and that had he known he would never have done it in or near the town or intentionally harmed any elves. But the Elder shut him up before he could say any of that, and he realised it wouldn't have mattered anyway. This wasn't about him defending himself. It was about him being told off. This wasn't a conversation.

  “Don't interrupt me boy. I'm not finished with you yet!”

  Sam was cowed once more before the Elder, who looked to be working himself up into a full blown tantrum. It wouldn't be the first of the day and probably not the last either. It was better just to take it in silence and glean the few pearls of wisdom he gathered from each master in turn as they berated him. Because despite everything else, these sessions were the first real chance he'd had to learn anything about why the elves disliked half elves so much.