THE SURVIVOR
Girn was glad, for their work was almost completed. The merfolk who had escaped Marhyn’s deadly attack had hidden themselves in the caverns, and Girn was told that he was the first human ever to be admitted since the time of Frehu. Oddly, while he was grateful, Girn didn’t feel especially special. There were only eighteen of the merfolk left alive, and only three of them were men. They had not been able to fight, so they had escaped with Girn by taking secret tunnels that led deep below the ocean floor.
The caverns were amazing, though. They had holes above ground to admit light, which was magnified and reflected by various lenses and mirrors so it appeared as if it was daylight inside. The caverns were nearly thirty meters tall, and had canals crisscrossing them in all directions so the mermen could traverse them easily. Surprisingly, grass was growing down there, and Girn even saw that they had a few horses grazing.
In normal times if there was a shipwreck, the mermen would take the wood that washed up and use it to construct the houses underwater, but this time was different. Tustor had said that all the wood and bodies must be collected and burned together. The mermen’s bodies were to be thrown out to sea to their grave where the tides would take them, but the invaders were all to be burned in one heap together with their ships. Since Girn was the only one able to reach many inland areas, he had the almost monumental task of retrieving everything that the merfolk could not reach.
Girn had never touched a dead person before, but almost surprisingly they seemed just like normal people, except that they were so cold. Girn felt the chill as he hefted them onto the pyres that were being built in the center of the shoals. Girn was making one last sweep through the beach when he saw a body that he had missed. He went over to pick him up, but something seemed different. As he approached closely, the body moved.
Girn jumped back in shock, unsure if he had seen it or just imagined it. He reached down to feel for a pulse. The man had one, but it was feeble and irregular. The young boy turned around in shock. He didn’t know what to do. He knew that he should kill the invader right then and there. Girn knew first hand the damage these people had caused. He had friends that had been killed. Girn’s hand tightened around his dagger in his belt.
His arm tensed up. He couldn’t do this. This was actually killing another person. Girn was only a young boy. He couldn’t kill someone. What if this man had a family? What if he had a son like Girn himself? And now, to just kill him, even though he was already almost dead, it just wouldn’t be right.
Tarthur would kill him, the back of his mind told him. And Derlin too, that’s why they’re great heroes and you’re not, because they’re not chicken like you, you weak little boy. And, the man would probably die anyway…
Yet, still Girn could not plunge his dagger into the exposed man. He realized with embarrassment that he didn’t even know how to kill someone. Oh, he was sure he could manage it, but where should he stab him? Suddenly, the man on the ground gave a groan.
“Tarthur…”
Girn started at the name. “What did you say?”
The man only groaned incoherently again. Had he heard his friend’s name? Or, had he just imagined it so he would not have to kill this man whom he wanted to kill but knew he couldn’t? He wished a merman would swim up and finish it for him. That gave Girn an idea. He would go to Tustor and ask what to do, reminding him that he had uttered his friend’s name.
Girn rushed away, and soon came back with Tustor. At first, the merwizard had only casually suggested killing him; he was still in much pain after seeing his people blown away. But, when he had heard Tarthur’s name, the merwizard had become curious. So he had accompanied Girn. What he saw made him gasp. “Prince Dalin!!! Quick, Girn, go get that man some help! Bring him to me and I’ll carry him down. Be careful not to move his neck.”
Girn went over and carefully lifted the man. It made him worried, though. Tustor had said that Tarthur and Derlin’s guide was named Dalin. Tustor had said that Tarthur and Derlin were okay, but that their guide had become captured by Queen Marhyn. So this must be the Dalin who they were speaking about. That left no doubt about who had attacked the merfolk.
Tustor cradled the elf prince in his arms, and swam away to get help.
In the next few days, Dalin recovered, although his recovery was very slow. He had been beaten and nearly drowned. But he had not sustained any wounds of considerable size, and this was probably the only reason he made it. He had babbled whenever he had the chance, trying to tell as much as he could, and it wasn’t until Tustor used some magic to calm him and tell him that Tarthur and Derlin had escaped and were well, and that other things were known, that he finally rested easier. Three days after the initial attack, Dalin was still in bed, but the mermen decided to hold the fire.
Girn gazed out northeast over the endless expanse of the sea. What would it be like to traverse it? It seemed as if it would never end. It made Girn wonder, what could possibly be on the other side of that? Was there another land, with people like those in Daranor? Or was it just an endless ocean of water, going on forever? Well, something had to be there, it couldn’t go on forever, because no matter how many miles he sailed, he could always sail another. Girn resolved someday to try to find out what was out there.
The sun hit the shoals and gave off a brilliant mix of purple, red, and orange. All the enemy corpses were piled up on a rocky island, along with whatever wreckage of their ships was left. Girn saw Tustor swim up to it and light it with a torch. It caught slowly at first, and then started to burn quicker until the heat from the roaring flames made Girn take a step back to avoid burning his skin and singeing his hair. The extreme heat bent the air, something Girn had never seen before. The wrinkles in the air caused the sunset to be all the more stunning. Yet, this was not like the dazzling radiance of a sunrise, which laughed and danced and sung out for joy. No one said a word. This was an ending, and it had such a bittersweet sadness that Girn almost thought his heart would burst. It was soft, and the feeling flooded through him. The colors of the sunset mingled with the reds and oranges of the flame, so Girn couldn’t tell what was being burned by the sun and what was being burned by the fire. He looked over and saw the mermen crying freely for what seemed like an eternal moment, and then turned back quickly and began to cry himself. Girn stood motionless for many hours into the night, until the remains had been turned to nothing but a pile of smoldering ashes. Tustor came up and put a hand on his shoulder, and the two silently left.
It was a week later when Dalin was ready to travel. Girn had gotten to like the elf rather well, and was feeling extremely lucky that he had not killed him. Now that he was near full strength, Girn began to doubt whether he had even actually had the chance or not, Dalin seemed so strong and in control of everything.
For a moment, Girn though he was finally going to rejoin his friends at the capital, but Dalin was only going home to Breshen. All the lines of communication had already been established, and Dalin was needed by his people. Tarthur and Derlin themselves were going to embark with the army to attack Darhyn anyway, and Girn desperately wanted to join them, but he realized that he’d just be slowing up Dalin. Also, Tustor had convinced him that he really was needed in the shoals to help rebuild. Zelin was nice, sure, but for the first time Girn felt like he had a family. He loved the shoals, and the sea constantly called out to him. Before the attack, he had even learned how to swim. So when the others had asked him to stay, he really had no choice, but he was not bothered. He liked living by the sea. He told Dalin to give his regards to Tarthur and Derlin, and watched him ride off into the mist.
* * *
The company set out from Tealsburg on a fine morning, and all were in good spirits. Flags were flying high and the knights were resplendent in their brightest apparel and newly polished boots. General Cilio had wished they could leave secretly and give his adversary less time to prepare, but since this was obviously not possible, he made a full show of the exit. Neither Tarthur
nor Derlin had ever seen so many people in one place before. The parade was announced, and the citizens turned out by the thousands cheering and waving flags. It was an emotional spectacle, and before it was over and the last soldier had marched from the city, dry eyes were rare indeed.
Tarthur and Derlin had never had the experience of traveling with an army before and while it was exciting and there was always something to do and someone interesting to talk to, their progress was exhaustingly slow. They were traveling through open grasslands, yet they barely covered ten miles on the first day. The horses, endless lines of supply trains, and sheer time it took to do every little thing slowed their pace considerably. It was enough to make the boys think that they might never make it to Breshen.
At the beginning of only their third day of travel, a messenger came from the spy network and held a hurried council with the leaders of the army. General Cilio looked relieved, and then announced that they had word that Marhyn’s army was beginning final preparations to leave her base, and that it was moving to attack northward in an attempt to destroy towns and crops in that area. General Cilio explained that their idea was probably to destroy the king’s supplies, let the two armies in the north destroy each other, and then attack the weakened victor, who would have no food and submit easily. The army was only three thousand strong and Cilio would take four thousand out of their present force of ten thousand and go back to meet them. This he believed would effectively foil their plan. The Duke of Walis also accompanied him, as that was his land. The rest of the six thousand troops would continue on to Breshen and wait for Cilio and his group before attacking the Death Lord.
Tarthur and Derlin weren’t sure where they were to go, but Zelin assured them that they were to travel with him to Breshen. If the Death Lord made any surprise attacks, Tarthur and the Water Orb spell would be needed on the front lines. Yan would go with the force under the command of General Cilio to deal with magical monsters that were sure to be a part of her army, and to counteract the magic of Queen Marhyn herself. King Garkin went ahead to Breshen, to fulfill the necessary diplomatic duties, and so that he could stay with the bulk of his troops. As for the weapons, the Rune Sword went to Breshen and the Light Sword went with Cilio. Neither yet had bearers.
It had been nearly two weeks since the separation of the forces, and Tarthur and Derlin were finding that the army travel wasn’t as bad as they had first thought. Many of the initial quirks that had plagued them on the first day had been worked out, and with the separation of the army they had been able to travel much faster.
Traveling with the army was an incredible experience for the two small town boys. Six months ago, it would have been a normal and commonplace occurrence for them, being conquering heroes traveling with their army to destroy the Death Lord personally and banish him from the face of the world. Only this time they were not pretending. It seemed so easy back then, when only the bad guys died. People who had no other wish than to be left alone just stepped to the side. Now, it seemed as if the whirlwind was encompassing them all, drawing everything into a chaotic mess, and Tarthur had to wonder at the outcome. Their side had many strengths, he realized. They had lightning-quick Yan, whom it seemed no one could ever touch. They had Zelin; they had magic swords, and almost two elements of power, not to mention thousands of hard working people willing to die for their cause. But who could really understand a monster such as Darhyn? He had the power of fear and he would love for the people to die, for any cause.
So it was that on the thirteenth day since they had set out from the capital city that they came in sight of Breshen. It was a thick forest, full of trees taller than any Tarthur or Derlin had ever seen. The trunks reached forty to fifty meters into the air, and the branches spread out over huge areas. Derlin was stunned with their majesty, but Tarthur just wanted to climb one. Derlin and Tarthur dismounted with the advance party of the army; obviously it would be impossible to use horses in the dense foliage.
“A wise decision, my friends,” came a familiar voice. “It is always better to let an animal go unburdened if possible.”
“Dalin!” Both boys cried at once, running into the arms of their friend. Ever since they had received a letter saying that Dalin was alive and well, they had been waiting for his story. He had not sent it with the letter; he preferred to share stories personally. So without further ado, they left the rest of the main party and proceeded to Dalin’s personal rooms to exchange tales.
Dalin’s tree was a large one in the middle of dense foliage. It was at least twenty feet wide at the trunk and seemed impossible to climb, were it not for a small door opening in the base. The boys ducked under the door frame and soon found themselves in a small but comfortable room. From there they climbed a winding staircase that brought them to the top, some thirty meters above the forest floor. There were many more rooms there, some built into the tree and some attached onto the side of the tree nestled between the humongous leafy branches. The boys followed Dalin out onto a roped-in balcony that seemed to be made of some combination of bark, solid wood and green vines. They had a seat on a pair of leafy and extremely comfortable chairs, and Dalin began his story.
Dalin told them of his escape with the poison needle, joining Marhyn’s army, his failed escape and capture, the journey on her ships to the shoals of the merfolk, and their sad annihilation. Tarthur and Derlin had been told of the defeat of the merfolk and that Marhyn had returned to her base, but it hadn’t really struck them yet. Hearing Dalin tell it made it so much more real. He told of the fight, of Tustor’s attack on the boat that had freed him, and what he had heard of Truin’s death. Tarthur shed a tear for his friend. He remembered his promise to go back and help the people of Krendon and the merfolk understand and befriend each other, but now it was for nothing. There would not be a merfolk race of any size for quite some time.
The only bright part that Dalin had to relate besides his own survival was the fact that Girn and Tustor were still alive. Tarthur knew that Tustor was valuable to their cause; he knew more about the Water Orb than any other being now living. And more importantly, Tarthur knew that Tustor would not only be there and ready, but also able to help him when the time came to test the skills Akin had taught him.
Tarthur and Derlin then proceeded to tell Dalin their story from the time the three became separated, much of which Dalin had already heard. But there was also much that he had not heard, and he thought strange, such as the business with Yan and the town that was under the wizard’s control. When the boys were finished, they could tell that Dalin thought they had been extremely lucky. They could also see in his face that he had gained a great deal of admiration for them since they had last met.
Soon after they had finished their stories and were enjoying a cold tea made from roots and berries, a servant came in and told them that it was time. Tarthur and Derlin didn’t know what time it was, but it certainly seemed important to the servant and to Dalin also. Dalin explained to them that it was an elven custom whenever foreign heads of state or dignitaries came that they must all bow to each other in the sacred lawn. Foreign heads of state? Didn’t they all live in the same world? Tarthur shrugged his shoulders and followed.
Dalin explained that as they were members of King Garkin’s entourage they must be on his side for the bow in, so they left him and went to look for their best clothes, found that they were already wearing them, and then hastened to join the procession.
Tarthur and Derlin took up a place behind Zelin, which they guessed was appropriate and followed the king. Twenty or so of his officers and advisors did the same. They walked in a thin mist that wrapped the trees and floated through the branches. Soon, they left the trees entirely and began walking into a clearing. The king walked to the center, bent down, and kneeled. It seemed that he was familiar with the ritual. Zelin and Warren kneeled down on the right and left of King Garkin respectively, and the rest of the knights and commanders followed. When they were all kneeling, they waited, and watched.
Directly opposite them in the field, the fog began to lift. As it rose, Derlin could discern shapes, and soon, he saw them to be an equal number of kneeling elves. In the direct center was a gnarled old elf, looking himself almost like a tree. His beard fell to the ground. All of the other elves were clean-shaven. On the right of the elf king was Dalin, who looked somehow older and more noble than he had looked five minutes earlier, and as Derlin turned his gaze, he caught his breath. On the left of the elf king was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life.
She was dressed in a long black dress that seemed tight to her body as she knelt. Her hair was jet black and done up formally above her head in a way that let one strand curve down along the line of her cheek. All of this was stunning to derlin (who was so enthralled that he forgot to capitalize his name) but what was most astonishing and beautiful were her eyes. They were black, matched her hair and dress exactly, and went well with her light golden skin. Those eyes called to Derlin, they wrapped around him, dragged him in, and held him with a tenderness that made his heart ache. The voice of the elven caller who called out the names of those present was doubly lost on Derlin, firstly he was speaking in the ancient elven tongue, and more importantly he was captured by the beauty of the girl. When the caller had finished, the elves bowed in unison. Derlin saw the girl lift a delicate hand to her cheek, brush away the strand of hair, and then put both of her hands on the ground and bow with the rest of the elven envoys. He had never seen anything so graceful.
Lands of Daranor: Book 01 - DreamQuest Page 23