by Lana Axe
When the stars began to fade, Mi’tal gently shook one elf from each group. He requested that they remain silent and board the carriages for the last leg of their journey. Bread and honey were waiting for them in the carriages. The older elf was surprised to see that he was being fed, and he thanked Mi’tal for his hospitality.
Near mid-afternoon the Wildlands came into sight. Na’zora’s borders had extended up to a section of dense forest, which Mi’tal hoped was not guarded by any Wild Elves. “Stop here,” he told the driver as they neared the tree line. “We don’t want to be in range of their archers if they are hiding in those trees.” The driver obeyed without hesitation.
Mi’tal hopped down off of his seat and opened the doors of the first carriage. As promised, he removed the chains from the elves and handed the key to the driver of the second carriage. The man accepted the key nervously and proceeded to release the second group of elves from their chains.
“You are free now,” he said. “Please take our message to your people. If it leads to an end to this war, you will have done a great service to your own people and mine as well.”
“I will take this message for you,” the gray haired elf said. “My name is Tod, and I am a member of the Mulberry Clan. I hope this prince of yours is telling the truth. If so, my clan’s Overseer will listen.”
“Thank you, Tod,” Mi’tal replied respectfully.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“It is Mi’tal, First Guard of His Royal Highness Prince Aelryk of Na’zora.”
“You are a rare thing, Mi’tal,” the elf said. “You are a human who keeps his word. If you say this prince is honest, I will trust you. You have treated us well and freed us as you promised. I will not forget it.”
Mi’tal nodded and watched as the elves disappeared into the thick forest. He hoped his message had reached more than just the one elf, but he had no way to be sure. At least he had put forth the effort and extended the olive branch. It was up to the elves to accept or reject it.
Chapter 17
A chilly dawn descended over Enald as Yori prepared to leave his family behind and begin his journey into the Wildlands. The mood was somber, and silence lingered heavily throughout the small house.
Trella had prepared a large quantity of nuts and dried fruit for his journey. She had baked two extra loaves of bread which she wrapped carefully and placed in his worn knapsack. Having never spent any time in the forests, Yori had no idea which plants might be edible. He vaguely remembered picking berries with his mother when he was very young, but he had no idea which kind they were. With his luck, he would find something poisonous and make himself sick. The provisions his aunt had provided for him would seem like a feast in the dense forest.
Though he would be late opening his shop, Ren had decided to see Yori off that morning. “I have some traveling advice for you,” he said as Yori finished packing his knapsack. “There is a good possibility you’ll run into this war between the king and the elves. The best way to avoid it is to travel south near the borders of Al’marr. They are not at war, and there are no rumors suggesting they have the intention of joining one. Your mother once told me the Sycamores live near the bank of the Blue River just north of Al’marr. If they’re still there, that will be your safest road.”
Yori nodded, digesting the information. His uncle’s advice seemed sound. If he traveled near Al’marr’s border, he would spend less time lost in the woods. He had no idea how to navigate through a dense forest and feared he would end up walking in circles. The road to Al’marr is clearly marked as one heads south. From there, he could only hope that the route to the river was marked as well. Even if it wasn’t, he still felt safer being near civilization.
“I would also advise you to hide your ears near human settlements and uncover them when you’re in the woods. Hopefully that will save you some trouble along the way.” Ren shook his head, his expression troubled. “Do you know anything about surviving in the woods?”
“Not really,” Yori admitted.
Ren swallowed and looked at the floor. “Maybe your elven instincts will kick in,” he said.
Trella approached them and spoke quietly. “Meladee is refusing to see him off on his trip. She’s lying in bed crying, and she won’t listen to me.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Ren said, laying a hand on his wife’s shoulder. He hurried to the little girl’s bed to see if he could calm her.
“We’re all going to miss you,” Trella said. “Meladee is upset, but she’ll be alright. Ren is going to be lost without you. He thinks of you as his own son, you know.”
Yori was surprised to hear those words. He had never felt any special bond between himself and his uncle. Ren had never been one to show affection, and Yori had considered himself the man’s apprentice and nothing more. “He does?” Yori asked.
“Of course,” she replied, smiling warmly. “I know he’s not the warmest person, and he does like to yell at you when you mess up at the forge. That’s just how he is. Even if I bore him a dozen sons, he would still think of you as his eldest. He loves you, Yori. I do as well.”
Since his mother had passed away, Yori could not recall anyone telling him that he was loved. Until this moment, he had not missed hearing the words. His eyes began to fill with tears, and he reached an arm around his aunt, squeezing her tightly. She laughed softly and hugged him as well.
Releasing from their embrace, Yori looked up to see Ren holding Meladee. She buried her face in her father’s chest and refused to look at Yori.
He stroked the back of her dark hair and said, “I’m leaving, Meladee. Won’t you at least say goodbye?”
The girl squirmed a little, pressing her face harder against her father. She did not utter a sound.
Trella placed a hand softly on Yori’s shoulder. “She’s just too little to understand. She loves you, and I know she will miss you dearly.” She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a dark blue knit cap. “I managed to finish this for you last night. It will help keep you warm as the weather gets colder, and it will also help hide your ears when you need to.”
Taking the cap, he said, “Thank you, Trella.” He brushed through his sandy hair with his fingers and placed the cap on his head. Since losing his headband, he had felt exposed. Everywhere he looked, he worried that people were staring at him and judging him because of his ears. Covering them once again, he felt a little more at ease. At his height, no one would guess he wasn’t fully human.
As he opened the front door, the sunlight rushed inside to greet him. The cool air brushed against his face and filled his lungs. Winter would be here too soon, and he would be homeless. Luckily, he had thought to pack an extra blanket. It was old and torn, but it was still capable of providing warmth. Reaching the door, he turned back to look at his family. “I hope I see you all again someday.”
“You will,” Trella said reassuringly.
Handing Meladee to her mother, Ren grabbed Yori and hugged him tightly. Yori was surprised by the gesture but accepted it wholeheartedly. “Safe journeys, Son,” Ren said. “You take care of yourself out there and come back to us.”
Yori nodded and smiled nervously. He patted Meladee on her back and said, “Goodbye, Meladee. I’ll miss you.” Again, she did not reply. Her sobbing was barely audible as she continued to press her face into her mother’s shoulder.
Not wanting to prolong the goodbye, Yori turned and walked quickly to the edge of town. He intended to travel along the road and follow the merchants that were leaving to peddle their wares in Al’marr. Perhaps one of them had work he could do in exchange for a little companionship on the road. Though he had so far only traveled once, Yori knew just how lonely the road could be.
As he reached the road, he sighed with relief. Several merchant wagons were heading south this morning. One elderly merchant had paused on the road to tighten the ropes holding his load in place. Two reddish-brown mules brayed impatiently as their master fiddled with the ropes. Yo
ri gave the man a friendly wave as he approached. The bald old man glanced up and nodded.
“Could you use some help?” Yori asked.
“Sure could,” the man replied. “These old fingers just don’t work the way they used to. Damn ropes won’t cooperate either.”
Yori chuckled and pulled at the ropes. Giving one sharp tug, he secured the blanket over the load and tied off the ropes.
“You’ve got some strong arms there, young man. You heading down south?”
“I am,” he replied.
“I’d be glad to have you along to the markets.” The old man extended a hand for Yori to shake. “Name’s Atti,” he said. “You’ve got a real strong grip there,” he commented, pulling his hand away from Yori.
“I’m Yori,” he replied.
“What’s got you heading south?” Atti asked.
“I was apprenticed to the blacksmith here, but he can’t afford to keep me. I thought I’d look for work someplace else.” Yori felt bad lying to the kind old man, but he certainly had no intention of telling him the true story.
“Looking for a little adventure as well, I’d guess,” Atti said, his dark eyes twinkling. “When you’re young there’s nothing better than going far from home and seeing the world. I’ve been all over Nōl’Deron myself. Nowadays I just travel from Na’zora to Al’marr and back. I just can’t move like I used to.”
The mules brayed again, wondering what was keeping the men so long. The two of them climbed onto the wagon seat and started down the road.
“So what kind of goods are you carrying?” Yori asked.
“Bits and pieces,” Atti replied. “There’s some pottery and cloth and other household goods. Time was I’d carry jewels and high value items. I just can’t defend them like I used to, though.”
“I’d want an armed escort for that,” Yori said, laughing.
“Back then you could borrow a few guards to travel with you. Now they’re all off fighting in a war.”
“What do you think of the war?” he asked curiously.
“It’s a damn shame. The elves make good trade. They give you a good deal, and they make high quality stuff. Now I have to pick that stuff up in Al’marr. They don’t allow the elves to trade in Na’zora anymore.”
“Do you know any elves in Al’marr?”
“I do, as a matter of fact,” Atti replied. “The Sycamore Clan is just outside the border near the Blue River, and they trade freely in Al’marr’s market cities. I’ve traded with them for more years than I can remember. Good people, those elves.”
Yori was astonished by this stroke of luck. Not only could this man tell him how to find the Sycamore Clan, he was taking him straight to a town where he might find some of the clan’s members. That sounded far better than wandering through the forest while trying to avoid being shot. He smiled to himself and relaxed in his seat.
Chapter 18
Reylin led the way as his clansmen journeyed north. The elderly and children along with their nursemaids had already been sent across the river, and now the clan’s warriors were on the move. Stealthily, they traveled near the Na’zoran border. Two scouts scanned the area ahead to be sure the path was safe. The rest of the group hung back among the dense foliage, their weapons constantly at the ready.
“Reylin,” a voice called. A young elf appeared suddenly, dropping from a branch high above. Lon was one of the clan’s bravest warriors, even at his young age of seventeen. “Not far to the east I saw a small village. There were no guards nearby, and the humans there did not seem like they were prepared for any kind of battle. It looks to be a town full of sheep and cloth weavers.”
“I could go for a little mutton,” Reylin said with a smirk. He signaled his troops to gather near him. Essa strode forward to stand at his side. “There’s a village nearby, and I say we raid it,” he said. “We can even earn ourselves a good amount of meat.”
“No killing children,” Essa declared, her voice adamant.
“I don’t give a damn what you do with the kids, Essa. Leave them to starve in the wilderness for all I care. They’re just going to grow up and kill us like their fathers do.”
“My sword maidens won’t fight if you don’t agree.” Essa looked around at the women, many of whom nodded in agreement.
Reylin looked around at the men and said, “We’ll spare them too if it will shut you up.”
Essa looked displeased but said nothing. The group set out following Lon eastward to the village.
Reylin observed the setting and decided that surrounding the village was going to be impossible. Much of the land sprawled eastward for miles. These were large, spacious farms, and there was no active center to the town. “Looks like we’ll just have to charge in,” he said. “The trees are too far back to offer cover while we shoot, and those people are never going to run within reach of our swords.”
Essa nodded in agreement. “Ready the charge, ladies,” she commanded.
The village was alive with movement. People were walking here and there tending to their farm chores while children played in the fields. The archers crept silently to the north and south sides of town, hoping to pick off any citizen who tried to flee. The farmers would most likely stand and fight as the sword maidens rushed the village.
Silently, the charge began. Essa had ordered the women not to cry out and to run as quickly as possible. If the alarm went up too soon, the citizens would flee before the maidens could reach them.
Just as they reached the edge of town, the shouting began. Women were grabbing their children and leading them away from the charging elves. Just as they had hoped, the men grabbed whatever weapon was at hand: hay forks, woodcutting axes, and shepherd’s crooks. These tools did not stand a chance against the maidens’ broadswords, but the men were prepared to fight in any case.
Essa charged wildly at a blond-haired farmer wielding an axe. He swung down hard as Essa came within reach, but her two-handed sword blocked the blow. She swung at him with her blade while the farmer made a weak attempt to block it with the axe handle. The force of her swing splintered the handle into pieces, and the man staggered back, surprised by her strength. With one swift move she slashed open his chest. Silently, he crumpled to the earth.
Reylin and the archers picked off the women as they tried to flee. As they had promised, the children were spared. They ran eastward toward the Na’zoran city of Duana. Reylin knew that could only spell trouble for his people, but he did not dare break his word. Any more trouble out of Essa and their clan may be divided. He could not risk infighting. Every Wild Elf who could fight was desperately needed if there was any hope to win this war.
Once the fleeing citizens were dealt with, the archers moved to assist the sword maidens. Anyone who had yet to fall to their swords was quickly taken down by their arrows. Their victory secured, the men began retrieving any useable arrows they could find. The fate of the elven smiths was uncertain, and they would not risk wasting precious arrow tips. These were forged of steel, not simple bone or rock. Such arrows were useful in hunting, but in times of war, steel or iron was preferred. A few of the recovered arrows bore etched runes which greatly increased their chances of surviving to a second or third use. As he inspected the arrow tips, Reylin hoped silently to himself that his sister would find a living rune carver among the Sycamore Clan.
As she wiped the blood from her blade, Essa looked up at Reylin and nodded her head. “Good fight. This was more honorable than before.”
“It was,” he agreed, “and now those children can sound the alarm. Within hours, we could be tracked to wherever we choose to spend the night.”
“Na’zorans don’t have the skill to track us in the Wildlands. They are blind and ignorant in these forests.”
“Let’s hope they stay that way,” he replied.
The sword maidens slaughtered two sheep and prepared the meat for travel. It wouldn’t be safe to hang around much longer with the children raising the alarm, so the majority of the group returne
d to the dense forest to feast and celebrate. A few men stayed behind to search the village for any goods that might be useful and set fire to the homes once they had finished.
Lon was the last to rejoin the group. With him, he carried several pairs of iron scissors in a linen bag. “I’m guessing they use these to trim the sheep,” he told Reylin. “They look like iron. When we find a smith, he can melt these to make new arrow tips.”
“Well done,” Reylin said, handing him a mutton rib. “The rest of us were too busy thinking about our stomachs.”
“Who can blame you? We haven’t had meat in weeks.” Lon tore at the rib with his teeth.
“What’s next for us, Reylin?” Essa asked.
Swallowing a bite of mutton, he replied, “We keep heading north and raiding wherever we come to. Some of our clansmen should be reaching their destinations by now, so hopefully we’ll be joined by other warriors soon. We just have to keep moving to avoid the Na’zoran patrols.”
“Their king will be furious when he hears of these attacks,” Lon said, still chewing on his food. “I hate those mages, and I’ll bet he brings more of them into the fight.”
“Let him bring them by the dozens,” Reylin replied. “Our arrows kill them just as well as any other man.” He flung a bone away into the cooking fire.
“He’s right,” Essa said. “Mages are tricky. We don’t know what to expect from them. They might even think they can attack us in the deeper sections of the Wildlands.”
“I doubt that,” Reylin said. “They might have new tricks to perform, but they’re still cowards at heart. We’ll be safe if we hide deep in the forest, and we don’t have to raid every day. We just have to make sure our presence is known.”
Essa nodded her head in agreement. The warriors finished their meals and took to the trees to spend the evening in silence. Reylin climbed to a high branch and began the first watch of the night. Any Na’zoran who came looking for his clan this night would fall the instant he came into sight. None would be spared while Reylin stood watch.