Lost Lore: A Fantasy Anthology

by Ben Galley

  The alpha bared its teeth and bounded forwards quicker than she had anticipated. She suffered a moment of hesitation. Breath left her. She loosed the arrow but it lodged into the cu-sih’s mane, too high to be lethal.

  Hitting the ground with a heavy thud, the enraged cu-sih snarled, locked its mighty jaws around the protruding arrow shaft and ripped it free.

  On it came.

  Elsie’s hands shook from the lingering effect of the cu-sih’s cry. This was why you only got one shot.

  The cu-sih reached her in a heartbeat, leaping high. She fell backwards, thrusting an arrow upwards like a dagger. The sharp head scraped the cu-sih’s belly, drawing hot, steaming blood. She felt the beast land and thump on several paces.

  Elsie’s breath came in panicked gasps. Blood thundered in her ears as she scrambled upright, barely on her knees as the marsh hound pivoted for a second attack. It was so close now. And all arrows save one had spilled from the quiver at her hip.

  The alpha jumped.

  Elsie nocked her last arrow; drew; loosed. The beast yelped, and its dying body hit her square in the chest, knocking the breath from her.

  On her back again, Elsie wheezed horribly. Her coughing and spluttering was made worse by the cu-sih’s choking odour of wet leaves, and her hands struggled to find purchase on its slippery, almost slimy, fur. After managing to roll it off herself she lay panting for a moment and closed her eyes. Then she grinned broadly. She could still do the job, after all.

  Elsie slammed the white tail of the alpha triumphantly down upon Marshal Balliol’s desk and stood back, casually flicking the top of her bowstring with one thumb.

  Balliol eyed the tail as though it were the hundredth he’d received that morning. He was an imposing man, tall, with a keg of a chest and thick, neck-crushing forearms. He would have been formidable in his day, but he was twice Elsie’s age now, and his hair thick with grease. Giving nothing away, Balliol looked at her at last, raising one bushy eyebrow.

  “Looks like my lord will have to keep ye, then.”

  Elsie scowled and held out her hand. “Pay up.”

  Balliol clicked his tongue. “Room and board and,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “maintenance of reputation not enough for ye, lass?”

  She gave him a cold stare. “Nothing has been set in stone. Until it is, you can pay me fairly for removing a threat from Lord Heath’s outer lands. Do it,” she added, “or I’ll tell Roy.”

  “Master Roy is still your lord n’all,” grumbled Balliol, though he began grudgingly counting out silver coins from a fat pouch. He made a note on a sheet of parchment, shoved the coins into Elsie’s hand then shooed her away.

  Elsie gave him a pained smile before turning and striding off. Some distance outside the town of Torridon, on the shores of the Loch Minian, she halted. Here, the Great Crannog of the Heath family dominated the view, propped above the water’s surface upon hundreds of wooden posts. She wanted to return, of course, but Balliol had infuriated her. No one would dare speak to her like that if she wasn’t alone. The days she’d spent in the wild had been a welcome break from it all. What right did they have, anyway? It was her life. Her business. Nothing to do with them.

  Closing her eyes, Elsie fought against the prickling sensation in her face that signalled the approach of tears. She vented by kicking a pebble, which hit the rippling water with a satisfying plop.

  As she trudged back into town, the silver in her hand jingled softly, and the thought of picking up the order she’d placed before going on the hunt lifted her spirits some. The attitude of Wynda, the old seamstress, however, made her feel worse again.

  “Lord Heath ordered three swaddling suits, y’know,” Wynda said. She sat hunched over in her rocking chair amidst a sea of cloth and spun thread. A black mourning cowl obscured her wrinkled face and she worked a pair of needles in a rhythmic clicking. Elsie had never seen her not sewing. She imagined the crone took her needles to the privy as well.

  “Of course he did,” Elsie muttered.

  “What’s that?” Wynda asked, raising a cupped hand to her ear.

  Elsie huffed. “Did you make it or not?”

  “Make it, dear? ‘Course I made it. Nice pale blue, yellow thread. Costly, mind.”

  Elsie handed over the required silver, reducing her earnings considerably. A few extra coins had been negotiated for Wynda’s silence on the matter.

  “Thank you muchly,” Wynda said. She bent low to rummage in a wicker basket at her foot. After a moment she pulled up Elsie’s order, a look of great pride lighting her grey eyes.

  Elsie took it. It felt soft as moss; it would be cosy, and looked so beautiful.

  “He’ll look lovely in it, dear,” Wynda said kindly.

  “Thank you,” Elsie said, a little choked, feeling guilty for being curt with the woman.

  She left Wynda’s hut as the midday sun reached what counted as a zenith for the marshes, leaving the air hot and sticky. A breeze off the loch cooled her as she crossed the gangway to the crannog, though not enough to dispel the mixture of nerves and excitement at returning.

  A young man near the entrance of the crannog was lowering packed goods into a rowing boat. Strapped atop one package were two swords and she caught the gleam of a helmet already sitting in the boat. He must have heard her coming for he turned to meet her, head cocked and arms folded.

  Elsie thought Roy the finest man in all the Cairlav Marshes. Others had broader shoulders, sharper jaws, hair not in the early stages of thinning, and were taller, but none had Roy’s smile. None had the energy which pulsed from him. None made the world brighter like he did.

  Elsie smirked. “Is something wrong, my Lord?”

  “Oh, only that my beloved abandoned me to chase a dirty swamp hound while I was forced to endure my parents’ dulcet talk of family and station and,” he yawned widely, “duty. Why, even thinking of it makes me dreary.”

  “That’s a shame,” Elsie said, stepping up to him. “Any idea when she’ll return?”

  “Not a clue. If you see a redhead kitted out in leather armour, and probably covered in bog slime, let me know?” He grasped the tip of the hat she still wore and pulled it off with a flourish. Elsie laughed. She’d forgotten she still had the hat on, her long hair scrunched into a knot underneath to better blend into the due hues of the marshes. Roy gave a mock gasp. “But here she now stands. Is this some fairy sorcery at work?” He pulled her close and kissed her.

  “So close to the house?” Elsie said in a hushed whisper.

  “I don’t care if they see,” said Roy. “They might as well get used to it. I’ve told father, once I’m back from the war, we’re getting married. End of discussion.”

  Jubilation burst inside her, white-hot and indestructible; dread plunged down at the same time, ice cold and unavoidable. The two forces collided, fought, and left her dizzy.

  “You’re going… going now?” she said slowly. The swords and helmet and packed gear finally clunked into place. “No,” she said as though to make it untrue. “No, you can’t. The dragons aren’t to land for months.”

  “That’s what we all thought,” said Roy. “Seems a smaller force has landed ahead of the main one, bypassing the islanders completely. We can’t let a legion of dragons run unchecked in the Dales.”

  Why was he acting so calm? What was still compelling him to smile? Sometimes he was a real idiot.

  Elsie rallied her thoughts. “Why must you go?”

  For the first time, Roy gave her an impatient look. “Because the king up in Brevia has commanded it so. All those with sword, armour, and horse.”

  “And the king thinks he can win, does he?”

  “It’s just one legion,” Roy said with a shrug, though he did not meet her eye. “If we can’t defeat three thousand dragons, what hope do we have against the rest?”

  Elsie bit her lip. �
��I’ll come with you.”

  “No,” Roy said, his voice hard and hoarse. He sighed and his bright smile dimmed. “What would you be, some camp follower? There’s no place for hunters in the army, never mind a wo—”

  “An arrow through the neck will kill a dragon just as well.”

  Roy rubbed her shoulders. “You’re needed here. Aleck needs you.”

  “He needs you, too. We need you.”

  “I’ll be back,” Roy said. “It’s not so far from here to the Dales. We’ll smash this legion, teach the dragons a lesson for their arrogance, and I’ll be back to fish the loch for harvest.” He kissed her on the head. “Father needs you here, too.”

  Elsie snorted at that, looking resolutely at her toes.

  “He’ll soften towards you, you’ll see,” Roy said. He put a finger under her chin and pushed her head back up. “I love you,” he said. “And I’ll be home soon. I promise.”

  Two months passed. Two messengers arrived.

  The first declared the king’s noble army pursued the enemy across the rolling plains of the Dales. The second message brought ill news of the battle, and the names of the dead.

  Time dragged for Elsie after that, creaking by like a sleepless night alone in the dark. She missed the midsummer celebrations. She might have missed meals, too, were it not for Aleck, who still needed her milk. Holding him close was her only shelter from the storm during those first few days.

  On the third night after the news, she changed him out of the Heath family greens and buttoned him into the blue cloth she’d bought for him. His big round eyes watched her curiously, and he rubbed his tiny hands all over this new, wondrous thing. A light giggle of laughter followed, sealing his approval of the new clothing. Despite herself, Elsie smiled too.

  Later, when Aleck had long since drifted off and only moonlight streaked through the narrow window in her room, she heard the door scrape ajar. Lord Heath must have reckoned himself subtle, but she could smell the drink from here. He was crying, his breath coming in choked gulps. From the corner of her eye, she watched his dark outline in the doorway. He didn’t enter. A honed huntress’ sense told her he was looking at her, although whether out of pity, sympathy, or hatred, her training could not illuminate.

  It was with some trepidation, therefore, that she answered Lord Heath’s summons the next day. Stranger still was his decision to take a boat out onto the loch together when the skies were such a foreboding grey.

  “Will help to get away from everything,” he said.

  He took up the oars, not one to delegate every small task. Elsie sat huddled opposite him, bleary-eyed and blinking fast to stave off her own exhaustion. Heath pulled at the oars in silence, his own eyes raw and bloodshot. Over the years his hair had wasted away in something of a horseshoe. She’d teased Roy endlessly that would also be his fate.

  Curses, but must everything remind her of him? How would she be able to stay on here when every way she turned a dozen memories sprang up to taunt her, mock her, that they would never be again?

  Heath rowed until they were a good bowshot from the shore. Despite the ominous sky, there wasn’t a hint of wind. The water lay flat, for all the world as if it were dead; as if the whole world around her was dead.

  Heath let go of the oars and let his shoulders sag. “I just had to get away. It’s been trying, having to deal with a crisis on top of… on top of it.”

  Elsie nodded. She didn’t feel she had to speak.

  Heath cleared his throat. “You’re my best hunter, Elsie. I need you to know how much I value that.”

  Perhaps he hadn’t meant to phrase his words so, but Elsie had developed a new sense for picking up on Heath’s hidden meanings. What he valued in her was her skill with a bow, and not her as a person.

  “I’m flattered, Lord.”

  Heath gave no sign he had heard her. “I hoped to call upon you for a difficult task. Humanity is in a dire position, and we in the marshes even more so. This Prince Dronithir and his legion now have little opposition. The Dales are theirs; we’re the closest region, and all we have left by way of a fighting force are hunters.”

  Elsie tensed. It was clear where this was going.

  “I’ve sent word to the Boreac family, urging them to send hunters from the southern mountains. If they can join the Cairlav hunters, we’ll stand a better chance of delaying the dragons’ march west. Our greatest advantage will be the land itself.”

  “Hunters aren’t soldiers.”

  “You may have to become them,” Heath said. “I want you to lead our contingent.”

  “Can I refuse?” The thought of leaving Aleck behind was untenable. But she knew what the answer would be.

  “I’m afraid not.” He threw up a hand to stop her speaking, but she carried on.

  “This is low, even for you. You’d tear me away from my child? Roy’s child? Do you hate me so much?”

  Heath winced as though scalded. “Hate is a strong word. I’ve never approved of you, but you knew that. And I admit that having a ruined woman with a bastard child under my roof does nothing for my family’s reputation, but this isn’t a personal matter. It’s about survival. For our land. For our homes.”

  If they were on solid ground, she would have risen defiantly, fists clenched and chest puffed. As it was she settled for the fists, squeezing her knuckles white. She didn’t have much choice. She could take Aleck and run, but he was Heath’s rightful grandson as well. She couldn’t steal him away, not after the family had suffered such a loss already. The thought of her little boy sleeping softly in her arms sparked a burning zeal in her.

  “If I do this,” she said, “I do it for my son; not this wet, stinking land. Not for you.”

  Heath’s mouth twitched. He considered, grunted in approval and snatched up the oars and rowed, taking them back to the crannog.

  Part 2

  Elsie crouched among the reeds and steadied her breathing. Dragons crashed through the vegetation nearby. She could see them between the reeds and tall grass, protected by thick golden armour and plumed helmets, each as broad-shouldered as the strongest of men. She’d gotten over how much they looked like humans weeks ago, her childish terrors of fearsome creatures with forked tongues, snouts and razor teeth wiped clean away. Although why the king had taken them head-on she’d never understand.

  It was insanity. And Roy had died because of it, leaving her and their son all alone. She should have been with him; but then, Aleck wouldn’t have either of them.

  Anger and frustration and grief reared their heads again, each vying for control. Her blood boiled. All thought and sight narrowed into the closest dragon, some great lump confident enough to strut around without a helmet. She’d teach him a lesson for that.

  An arrow had found its way into her hand, notched against the string, her fingers sliding back along the feathers.

  “Captain,” someone whispered fiercely.

  Elsie shook her head and blinked. Her brow and neck were slick with sweat, not helped by the muggy air, nor the hood of the cloak she had drawn up to hide her flaming hair.

  “Captain, do we attack?”

  “Are our mountain friends in position?” Elsie said.

  The young hunter shrugged. “We’ve lost touch with them.”

  Elsie ground her teeth. The mountain hunters’ lack of knowledge of the marshes had proven a hindrance. If they’d gotten lost, then these dragons might prove too large a patrol to take.

  Roy’s smile crept unbidden into her thoughts, almost as though she was looking for the excuse. She wanted their blood.

  “We take them anyway,” Elsie said. The boy gulped. Her own heart thumped painfully. Elsie drew back her arrow this time, rising to take her shot. Once she’d hit her mark, her hidden hunters would attack as well.

  The foolishly helmetless dragon was standing still as a target dummy. His brigh
t armour might have made glare an issue in a land of sun and clear skies. But this was the marshes. She took aim.

  A howl rent the air. Not a human cry, not even a dragon.

  A second shrill howl ripped through the grass.

  “Cu-sih.” Elsie voiced her fears aloud, unable to focus her mind quickly enough before the third howl of the beasts rang; before the true fear came. Ice ran up her spine like a scuttling spider. Her hands froze in place, her lungs seized from an unknown chill.

  “Halt,” the helmetless dragon called. He sniffed intently at the air, then drew his sword. “Humans are near.”

  No, Elsie thought desperately. If the dragons formed one of their shield walls it would be unlikely that an arrow would find a soft spot. If only she could move.

  With her head locked in place, it wasn’t long before the lead dragon spotted her. He thrust his sword towards her. “There,” he cried. A nearby companion of his pivoted, drew back a javelin smoothly and launched it. It missed Elsie by a hair, skewering the young hunter beside her. Elsie wanted to scream, but even her throat was frozen solid.

  “These bog devils have crept upon us again,” the leader cried. He charged forwards.

  Elsie’s muscles began to thaw, starting with her extremities. Fingers tingling, she managed to let go of the arrow even as the rest of her remained solidly in place.

  The iron-tipped shaft flew straight and true towards the lead dragon, who had not altered his route. Another dragon threw himself between the arrow and the leader, taking the full impact at a proximity not even dragon plate could resist. The diving dragon crumpled and the leader paused.

  More arrows zipped from hunters unseen. Elsie forced her lethargic arms to draw another arrow, but her target blocked the shot, raising his shield with inhuman reflexes.

  “Charge the cowards,” one dragon yelled.

  Elsie swore with a passion that would have made her mother’s eyes pop. The ambush had failed; they’d have to bolt and try again. She placed her thumb and forefinger between her teeth and gave two clear whistles to retreat.