by Greg Curtis
“As I said, all human elven offspring often have potential strengths greater and stranger than either of their parent races for reasons we don't fully understand. They often have wild unpredictability with it. Sometimes it's physical strength or impossible health, and some of your most powerful knights and our finest soldiers carry mixed elven human blood in them. Sometimes it's magic. All the most powerful wizards in any land carry both people's blood. And just occasionally it's something else entirely, like speed or charisma as they move faster than the eye can see or persuade others to their cause, however insane.”
“We call people with your heritage ‘vero eskaline', which means storm blood, and refers to the fact that children of such blood are touched by the wild side of nature. Something I think even you can accept at least now.”
Actually Sam had heard the phrase, whispered behind his back from time to time, and had wondered what it meant. It was a High Elvish term that had become part of regular Elvish. Unfortunately with his relatively poor mastery of the tongue he'd translated it as strong blood wind, and always thought it some sort of slight upon his character, though he'd never been game to ask. He liked the Elder's translation better.
“Our people don't detest you for your nature. Never did. They're simply frightened of you!” That at least woke Sam up from his fugue state. Frightened? Of him? That was something which had never occurred to him. He'd never posed any threat to the elves; never wanted to. All he'd ever wanted was to live in peace and rescue his wife.
“But –” His objection died on his lips as he saw the look in the Elder's eyes. He still wasn't finished with him.
“If you had been born in Shavarra, you would have been raised carefully. Watched over by elders and priests looking for any sign of the talents granted you by your blood. But you would never have been unwelcome. Far from it. As vero eskaline you would have been considered a blessing. A great boon to our people, and in time when your gifts became known, you would have been trained in them properly. Some of our greatest leaders, elders, soldiers and wizards carry the same blood as you, and they are honoured for it.”
“Had you come openly as an adult and told our people of your talents – had you accepted the guidance of the elders – the same would have still been true. You would have been brought to our wisest and taught carefully. But you did no such thing.”
“Instead you arrived as an outsider, and you remained as one. A dangerous stranger living within our midst. One whose gifts were unknown, whose friendship even was uncertain but who was known as vero eskaline. A warrior who didn't trust the people enough to tell them his true name. How would you expect our people to react?”
“If – and I say this with the utmost emphasis – if you were to live among the elves of Torin Vale – truly live among them and let them know you as you let yourself know them – you would be welcomed by them. They're not unfriendly people. They're just nervous around you. After all, they know you're half elven, half human. Therefore they know you're unpredictable and powerful. But they know nothing else about you. There's nothing about you that says you've adapted to our ways, or that you even want to.”
“And that has to change.” If he had been telling him off before, suddenly the Elder became even more forceful as he instructed him as he surely would any naughty student.
“You live apart from us in our midst. You dress like a human soldier at war when our lands have always been at peace. You even cut your hair like one, with that crude shaven skull.”
It wasn't crude! But Sam stopped himself from protesting out loud. It wouldn't help. And if the Elder didn't understand that close cropped hair was valuable when you wore a helm, that was his failing he decided.
“You speak our language yet seem to understand little if anything of our soul. You keep your past a secret, thinking either that we would not realise how little you reveal of yourself, or that we should not know. No more do you carry any elven markings. You display nothing of your family or kin to show you belong among us; nothing of any elven academies attended or stations achieved, nor of any normal elven trade practised.”
Sam would have objected to that too if he thought he could have got a word in, but the Elder had a point. He did perhaps stand outside the fold, by his choice as well as by theirs. It would have helped perhaps if he'd spent some time at the shrine in town. Perhaps offered a small tribute to the Goddess now and then. But he was from Fair Fields, raised all his life to follow the teachings of the All Father. Although he had nothing against the Goddess, it would have felt like a betrayal.
“You don't even tell us the truth of your name!”
Sam groaned briefly. Just when he'd thought things were coming to an end, they were back to that again. If there was one thing the elders hated even more than what he had done to their forests, it was not being trusted by him. And yet it was not a choice.
“Elder, that is for your protection as well as mine. If I did, if my birth name were made known, the consequences would be dire. For me, for my loved ones, and also for anyone foolish enough to be too near. You've already seen the wares of those who last came to kill me. There were many more before them. I have been attacked by assassins almost without number over the years, and they are only those who made it through the border patrols – the few who somehow managed to track me.”
“Imagine how many more would come should my name become common knowledge and people know where I live. At the risk of being rude Elder, I repeat; I am not a criminal. I have committed no crime in any land. I have the books by right, and I mean no harm to anyone. I simply hide from those who would do me harm. And there are many of them.” It had to be the hundredth time he'd said the same thing, and they still kept coming back to it, like a dog with a bone.
“In that at least Elder, I think he speaks the truth.” A woman's voice came from behind him, and Sam turned to see that a rider on a roan mare had joined them. When she'd arrived, he didn't know. Between his tiredness and the endless tirades, she could have been there for hours without him noticing.
“I thank you for your support good soldier.”
He thought he'd better acknowledge her defence of him as best he could. It was the only support he'd had all day. But secretly he was also curious. It sounded almost as though she knew something about him, and that could not be good.
“Save your thanks warrior wizard. You may not be so happy shortly.” The terrible thing was that she wasn't making some sort of threat. From the look in her eyes she did know something about him. Something that would cause him pain, and she sorrowed for it. He was even more certain of it when she turned her eyes from him back to the Elder so quickly.
“There are some ahead who would wish to speak with the wizard Samawain Ellosian. They say they may know him, and if he is who they think, they will explain all.” That puzzled Sam a little, until he realised it must be some of the elves from Torin Vale. Over the years some had become familiar. Some even knew a little of his life story. No more than he had told the elders, and none knew his true name. But they knew some of it, and that had to be a good thing if it supported his story.
“With your permission Elder?” She nodded to the Elder who was looking a little nonplussed, and he nodded back. The transfer of responsibility for the guest, prisoner, or wayward child had apparently been made, and in short order Sam found himself trotting beside his rescuer, as they headed closer to the front of the caravan.
Nothing was said as they made their way forward, partly because of the horses' fast paced trot which would have made it difficult not to have bitten their tongues as they spoke, but partly because of his guide's sombre mood. As they travelled, Sam paid his new – guard?, warder? – close attention, as she in turn scrutinised him. He had the feeling it was important. Also, he had the strangest feeling that he'd met her before. There was simply something familiar about her.
She was one of the border patrol from her armour, which consisted of a painted white leather breast plate over chain mail and over it all
a padded jacket which fell down over leggings. It was the standard light armour for cavalry. From the twin laurels decorating her shoulders he realised she was an officer of the griffin troop. But he didn't know her from his conversations with any of the patrols.
She was tall for an elven maiden, standing probably very close to his own six foot in height at a guess, and she was more powerfully built too. Even with her long blond hair that hung in loose braids down her back, and the dark tanned skin of her people she would have stood out among them. Her face though, that was what would really have caused her to be noticed among the crowd. Not that she was blemished or in any way plain. She was every bit as beautiful as any other elven maiden he'd ever met. But she had what would politely be called a stern countenance. The severity in her eyes, the hardness of her mouth and the rigid set of her jaw line; all were far from normal, and the firelight from the torches did nothing to soften her look.
This was a woman he suspected, with a bitter past. Things had gone hard for her somewhere along the line. Perhaps she had lost family, despite her youth. Maybe she had suffered a loss of reputation or betrayal at the hands of good friends. Then again she might just have seen too much death these last few days. Whatever it might be, he knew that it was a part of her. It no doubt made her a capable soldier and he was certain she could handle her weapons with skill born of endless practice. Perhaps whatever had happened in her life was the reason why she had become a soldier in the first place.
Despite the fact that she looked so familiar, he knew he had never seen her before, even in a crowd, nor spoken with her one to one. If he had he would definitely have remembered those piercing brown eyes. They drew the watcher in like the talons of a bird of prey did a mouse. Yet still there was something familiar.
After a long, painfully silent trip they drew alongside a group of wagons loaded down with elven traders. Sam figured they were probably merchants caught out at Torin Vale. Certainly they did not appear to be wounded and the horses looked fresh. They couldn't have been in the city itself to be so fresh. But more than the wagons caught his eyes, as he soon spotted a pair of familiar faces among them.
“Alendro! Pietrel!” Without a moment's thought he kicked Tyla in the flanks and galloped towards them like a mad man, waving stupidly. In a matter of heartbeats he was with them, already clambering up the side of the wagon as he looped Tyla's reigns over the side post, his escort forgotten.
“You're here! Free!” He picked up each of them in turn in a giant bear hug, so unbelievable happy to see them. It might have been extremely unelven, though they would never have objected. But he couldn't help himself. He was simply so overjoyed. Because if they were here, it meant Ryshal was free. Her parents would never leave Fair Fields without her. After five long years she was finally free!
Perhaps his brother had finally felt secure enough in his reign that he didn't need a hostage any longer? Maybe she had somehow escaped or been rescued? Either way he didn't care. It didn't matter how. All that mattered was that she was free.
And then he saw the haunted looks in their eyes, the grief written in their faces, and saw the priestess of the Goddess standing alongside the wagon. With a sense of dread he realised he had made a terrible mistake. There was always one other reason they would leave her. If she had already left them. And this day it seemed that the priests and priestesses of the Goddess were everywhere. Bringing comfort to those whose loved ones had left them.
“No!”
But his denial was in vain, and he knew it as the darkness clutched at his heart. As they told him what they knew of Ryshal's death, he refused to believe it. To have struggled and sweated for so long with only one goal in mind. To finally have that goal within his grasp and then be told it was too late! He couldn't accept it. He could never believe that his half-brother would be so stupid as to kill her. She was his leverage against him. She kept him safe and quiet. Surely he wouldn't have done such a thing?
Except it seemed that he had.
As they spoke, Ry's parents cried. They were clearly heartbroken and that more than anything else convinced him of the truth of their words. They wouldn't leave her for any other reason. Not unless they knew she was dead.
As he finally had to let their words in, he felt a yawning cavern of grief and bitterness opening up in his soul. One large enough to swallow him whole. And the largest part of him wanted nothing more than to jump in after. But another part, the angry part, refused to let him. As large as the cavern was, the anger was larger, and growing with every beat of his heart as he thought of what had happened to Ry. To the woman he loved. The one he was supposed to live with for the rest of his days. The one for whom he should lay down his life to protect. And that anger not only kept him from grieving, it began to take hold of his very soul.
Others could grieve; he could not. Not then, and not until he who was responsible for this evil was dealt with. Permanently.
“There will be blood!” Ry's parents looked up at him, surprised as the anger burst free from his mouth. They had obviously known of their daughter's fate for some time, and were well into their time of grieving. Besides, they were elves. Good and true elves. They hadn't expected his reaction. They probably didn't even understand it.
“But –”
Sam cut them off with a single look, and he watched them almost step back in shock as they saw it. The fury growing in his clenched jaw. The rage boiling in his eyes. The way his muscles were already rippling under his armour. They couldn't truly understand, he knew that. They never would. But one day, after he had done what had to be done, he hoped they could be friends again.
“Blood will be paid for the blood of the innocent that was spilt. My brother will burn in the Halls of the underworld for all eternity for this crime. That is my oath as Samual Hanor, son of Eric Hanor, Knight of Hanor. And none may nay say it.”
Alendro and Pietrel looked shocked at his words. The soldiers that seemed to be coming out of the very woods at him from every direction on the other hand looked determined. Apparently they had known the news before him, and had prepared for it. They were going to stop him. His sworn vengeance was unelven. He could almost see the objections on their mouths. Killing Heri would not bring Ry back. He knew that. He also knew that it would cause trouble in the land they would soon be entering. That it was wrong. But he couldn't listen to them. No more could he allow them to stop him.
With a single deft leap he was once more mounted on Tyla, a move that surely caused them some surprise, as he showed himself to be more agile than even most elves. He hadn't practised with his sword and armour every day for most of his adult life for no reason. A second command with his knees had her taking off even as they began shouting at him. Shouting at those ahead to stop him.
He couldn't let them. And despite being close to exhaustion, he still had magic to burn. Magic he hadn't told the elders about, though they should have guessed when they saw the books. A silent command sent to every horse within three hundred yards caused them all to suddenly stop. Their riders, pressing their knees into their flanks, suddenly found their mounts unwilling to obey. A ripple of Earth magic behind him opened up a ten foot wide trench parallel to the caravan. A trench that their unwilling mounts would have to jump in the dark if their riders wished to give chase.
Somehow he thought they might not, as he heard their surprised shouts behind him. Most didn't even know who he was, and those who did had thought him too weak to fight if it came to a struggle. But their surprise and even the tone of fear in their cries told him they had discovered their mistake. He had no doubt they would soon be running to the elders with the news. And all the while he would be putting the leagues between them.
It was fortunate that the caravan had stopped for the night in a region of open fields, with nearly all the horses untethered, as it allowed him to disappear quickly into the dark as he steered a path away from the elves. Somewhere up ahead he knew he would have to re-join the road, but hopefully that would be well past the f
ront of the caravan. And with a little more magic he would be well beyond where the elves could expect him to be.
Touching his ungauntleted hand to Tyla's neck, he granted her a little of the stamina and strength of his nature magic and felt her respond, galloping even faster than before, and yet feeling nothing of strain with it. Actually she was revelling in the feeling of power that he had granted her, and he knew she wouldn't have stopped without a lot of urging on his part. And with the night vision of the owl which he was lending them both, she had no need to worry about potholes or trees. She could see as clearly at night as she could by day.
She snorted with excitement as she found the extra strength coursing through her veins, and true to her nature and his urgings, galloped even faster. Though she didn't know it, the mare had many leagues to travel and Sam was determined to cross them in as short a time as possible.
His brother could not be allowed to live one single heartbeat longer than absolutely necessary. He had already lived too long.