by Lana Axe
“How did you get so tall?” the elf asked, stunned.
“My mother was a human,” Yori replied. “My father was called Yon. He was rune carver for the Sycamore Clan before he was killed.”
Hydon continued to stare at Yori for a moment. “I’m sorry, he said. I never met a half-elf before.”
“I’m trying to locate my father’s family,” Yori said. “Did you know him?”
“I think I did,” he replied. “I was just a kid then, though. His father Darin is still the rune carver for our clan.”
“Can you take me to him?” Yori asked eagerly.
“I suppose I could,” he replied. “Does he know he has a grandson?”
“I don’t know,” Yori said, looking down at his feet. “I suppose he knows that my father and mother were together, but I can’t remember ever meeting him.”
“It couldn’t hurt to talk to him, I guess,” Hydon said. “We don’t usually bring strangers back to our village, though. Maybe I could ask him to come here tomorrow.” Hydon was inclined to believe Yori’s story, but no human had ever come into their village, with the possible exception of Yori’s mother. He could not remember her, and he did not feel safe bringing a half-human among his people.
“That’ll have to do,” Yori replied. “Do you think he’ll come?”
“I can’t say,” he said with a shrug. “If he knows you exist, I imagine he’ll want to meet you.”
Yori replaced his cap, once again hiding his pointed ears. “I guess I’ll look for you in the morning, then.”
As he turned to leave the shop, Hydon had a change of heart. He felt sorry for the young man who had come seeking his family. “Wait,” he said. “Come to the village with me this afternoon. Darin is too old to travel to the markets. The worst he can do is send you away.”
“Thank you so much,” Yori said, sounding relieved.
“I have some work to finish, but once it’s done one of the others can watch the shop while I take you to the village.”
“Could you use any help?” Yori asked.
“Only if you know how to construct an arrow.”
“I know how to forge the tips,” he replied, hoping that would help.
“You’re a smith?”
“I’ve been an apprentice to one for several years,” he replied proudly.
“Then you can definitely help. I’ll handle the feathers, and you can secure the tips.”
Yori gladly took a seat next to the elf and busied himself with the arrows. After what seemed an eternity, they finally finished and departed for the village. The pair entered the dense forest, the brown leaves crunching under their feet. A warmth permeated the forest air despite the chill of winter. The trees blocked the cold breeze and insulated the small amount of heat left on the ground. As the sun moved lower in the sky, Yori feared the warmth would not last, and the world would again succumb to winter.
After an hour in the forest, they arrived at the edge of the elven village. Yori took a deep breath at the sight of the huts and the scent of the campfires. He felt as if he were home, even though he had never before set foot in a Wild Elf village. These were his people too, and he felt a sense of belonging that he had never experienced before. In his heart, he hoped that they would accept him.
Hydon led the way to Darin’s hut. Yori followed, trying to quell his excitement. He did not want to appear as an over-excited puppy begging for a treat. Once he caught sight of the forge, he knew he had reached his grandfather’s home. A young, fair-haired elf was hunched over a workbench and did not hear them approach.
“Hello, Lem,” Hydon said. “Is Darin around?”
“He’s inside,” he replied without looking up from his work. Darin had just emerged from his hut and was heading back to the forge. He nodded at Hydon and stopped short when he saw Yori.
“Forest bless me,” he said as he stared at Yori. “You must be Yon’s boy.”
Hydon gave Yori a pat on the back and departed.
“I am,” Yori replied. “How did you know?”
“You look exactly like him,” Darin replied. “Well, except you’re a head taller. What brings you here?”
“I came hoping you could teach me to etch runes like my father did.”
“Is that so,” he asked suspiciously. “Do you plan to use this knowledge for humans or for elves?”
“I don’t know, honestly,” Yori replied. “I lived in Enald my whole life, and no one ever really accepted me. Na’zora’s prince offered to help me out of trouble if I would learn the runes and return to work for him someday.”
“Did he help you?”
“Yes,” Yori replied.
“Then it sounds like you owe him.”
“I suppose I do,” he said, knowing that it would be a very easy promise to break. There was nothing binding Yori to the commitment other than his word.
“I don’t like the idea of humans using runed weapons,” Darin said. “It is all too likely they will use them against our kinsmen.”
“Will you not teach me, then?”
“You are my grandson,” the old elf said. “I will teach you what I know, and I will trust you to make the right decision in the end.” Darin grabbed him and clutched him tightly, tears welling in his eyes. Looking at this young man reminded him of the son he had lost, and he was overcome with emotion.
Chapter 21
Slowly, the horses made their way through the dense forest. King Domren led the way, followed closely by General Luca. The scouts had reported that they were only minutes away from the Mulberry Clan’s village. With luck, they would catch the elves unprepared.
High in the treetops, the king saw movement. An elven scout, perhaps, but it was too late. The elves had little chance of readying themselves for battle in such a short amount of time. If they were truly ready for battle, archers would have filled these trees and began firing as soon as the king’s men were in sight. Domren smiled to himself, knowing that the battle was already won.
Drawing his sword, General Luca commanded his troops to do the same. The mages were positioned near the rear of the company, surrounded by highly skilled soldiers. The king would be furious to lose so many mages in battle again.
As they entered the village, they spurred their horses for the charge. Elves were already running frantically, desperately trying to arm themselves or flee. Many of their archers were running for cover in the trees, but Domren was prepared. He led his troops straight toward the archers as they ran. If he could prevent them from reaching the trees, they would be useless in battle. Thundering in their direction, his men trampled several of the elves as they scrambled to get out of their path. Some survived to climb the trees, but the mages had already locked onto their positions.
Two mages provided a magical shield for the other six. Focusing all of their concentration on defense left the other mages free to fire energy blasts at the elves. Coordinating their attacks perfectly, the shielding mages would drop the barrier only long enough for the others to fire and immediately replace the shield afterwards. Arrows flew toward the mages but glanced off as they hit the shining magical wall.
Three archers had taken to a very large tree at the farthest end of the village. Finding it impossible to take down the mages, they concentrated on the king’s men instead. Their arrows flew faster and faster, each one mortally wounding a Na’zoran soldier. King Domren stayed well out of their range, chasing down the elves who tried to flee.
In one coordinated attack, the six mages fired a concentrated energy blast which uprooted the large tree where the three archers stood. Two of them jumped for their lives, while the third was crushed beneath the massive tree. The force of the blast knocked four of the mages from their mounts and left the remaining four dazed in their saddles.
Seeing that the mages had spent all of their resources on one attack, General Luca ordered them to retreat. Mages had their uses, but none of them were properly trained in battle. He made a mental note to discuss the matter with the king. I
f he was going to waste men protecting the mages, they needed to be worth protecting.
The soldiers began lighting fire to the huts to flush out any remaining elves. A nursemaid with an infant in her arms emerged from a damaged hut. She ran desperately with all the speed she could muster, all the while clutching the child to her breast. King Domren spotted the woman and gave chase. She looked back with terror filling her eyes as the king’s horse advanced. With a single swing of his sword, he severed her head from her body. She fell lifelessly to the ground, suffocating the baby beneath her.
Spinning his horse around, the king surveyed the village. His losses had been heavier than he expected. Several of his own troops lay dead with arrows sticking out of their heads and necks. The casualties among the elves had been much greater, but there were not enough bodies around to account for the entire village. No sword maidens had been encountered. The village had been filled with older clansmen and small children. Domren began to fear that the warriors would return and find his army unprepared. They were no longer in formation, and many of his men were pillaging the ruined huts.
From the tree line came a second group of soldiers led by Prince Aelryk. Domren’s anger began to build at the sight of his son who trotted casually in his direction.
“Forgive me, Father,” Aelryk said. “We lost our way in the dense forest. It would seem you did not need our help after all.” He looked around at the desecrated village.
“Their warriors were not here,” Domren said angrily. “We could have all been slaughtered, thanks to you.” He signaled to General Luca to gather the men. “You can take your men and find the warriors,” he told Aelryk. “Let us know how it turns out.”
The king led his men back out of the forest while Aelryk and Mi’tal dismounted to inspect the village. All of the elven bodies belonged to those who were either too young or too old to fight effectively. Only a few archers appeared to be in good health and still in fighting condition. Aelryk hung his head.
“This was a massacre,” he said. “These people never stood a chance.”
Mi’tal inspected the fallen tree and marveled at the force necessary to bring it down. He was no fan of mages, but this feat was impressive. Beneath its massive trunk, he spied the arm of an elf. He moved in closer to see the face of Tod, the elf who had promised to deliver Aelryk’s message of peace. His heart dropped to the ground as he realized what must have happened. This elf had convinced his clan that Na’zora was ready to discuss peace, and they had felt safe leaving their village unprotected. Though he had not known of the king’s plan, he was overcome by guilt. Every death here was caused by his failed attempt at negotiating peace.
Returning to Aelryk’s side, he said, “These people wanted peace. They were willing to negotiate.”
“My father did this in retaliation for the orphaned children who came running into Duana a few days ago. The elves killed everyone in their town but spared the children.”
“That’s more than you can say for us,” Mi’tal commented, looking down at the crushed body of a trampled elf child. “Are we going to seek out their warriors, my lord?”
“My father is a coward for not seeking them out himself,” he replied. “I will not do it. Let them join forces with the other displaced elven warriors. That is their only chance of becoming a force worth fighting. My father will never yield if he thinks they are too weak to defend themselves.”
“How will we manage peace now?” Mi’tal asked.
Aelryk shook his head. “I fear this will escalate the war. I’m sure these elves will think we tricked them into complacency. They won’t make the same mistake again.”
“This was your father’s doing, not yours,” Mi’tal said. “I believe they are smart enough to realize that in time. Once their wrath has had some time to cool, they will think more clearly. All hope of peace may not be lost.”
“I hope you’re right, my friend.” Climbing back onto his horse, the prince led his men away from the ruined village. Instead of searching deeper into the Wildlands as his father had commanded, Aelryk decided to patrol along the border. He had no desire to fight the elves today, but he would not allow his own people to be massacred in retaliation. If only his father would allow him to negotiate peace, many innocent lives could be saved on both sides. Though he had tried to avoid admitting it to himself, the prince could no longer deny his true feelings. He despised his father and believed him unfit to rule. Na’zora was in more danger from its king than it ever was from any Wild Elves.
Chapter 22
A bright but cold morning arrived over the Sycamore Clan’s village. The entire clan was already stirring as the sun came up, and Yori felt more refreshed than he had in years. Sleeping in a hut under the forest canopy was good for his soul, and he enjoyed it in spite of the cold. His grandfather had already made his way to the forge, and Yori hurried to dress and join him.
“Good morning,” Darin said as Yori came into view.
“Good morning,” he replied, heading straight for the furnace. He checked the fire to be sure it was hot enough to begin working.
“Your cousin Lem tends to that,” Darin said with a smirk. “Looks like you already know more about smithing than he does.” The old elf chuckled while his apprentice stared blankly at him. “Come over here, Yori.”
Yori obeyed. On the workbench in front of him were several scrolls. Taking one and spreading it across the bench, Darin said, “You’re going to have to learn Ancient Elvish if you want to etch runes.” He pointed to the symbols on the scroll.
“You expect me to learn to read that?” Yori asked.
“Of course I do. It will be as easy as the first time you learned to read.”
“I never learned,” he replied.
“What do human mothers teach their children?” Darin asked, bewildered.
Yori gave it some thought and said, “I suppose she couldn’t teach me what she didn’t know herself. It’s not a necessary skill for common people in Na’zora.”
“Well, you’re going to learn Ancient Elvish. No one here speaks or reads it except me. They use it a lot in the Sunswept Isles, but they’re just a bunch of uppity bastards.”
Yori smiled, remembering how Atti had described the Enlightened Elves in a very similar fashion. “How long will it take me to learn?”
“Not long, I hope,” Darin replied. “Please tell me you’re smarter than this one.” He gestured his thumb at Lem, who was fighting with a pair of pliers. “While you’re at it, you can learn to read the common language too.”
Yori focused all of his attention on his reading lessons. There were thirty-two Ancient Elvish symbols to learn, each one representing a different sound in the ancient dialect. By noon, he could recite them in order, but his head felt like it was about to burst.
Taking pity on his grandson, Darin decided to take a break from the lessons. “I’ve got lots of weapons that need etching, so we’ll concentrate on that after we have a bite to eat. You can learn something a little more useful than just letters.”
“Sounds great,” Yori said, grateful for the chance to get away from the scrolls. “Will I have to speak this old language?”
“Not really,” Darin replied. “You just have to know enough to put the right runes in the right order. It’s not like you want to converse with a bunch of smart assed, magic-loving, sugar-sucking, full of shit elves anyway.”
“Have you had many dealings with Enlightened Elves?” Yori asked.
“A long time ago,” he replied. “They’re worse than you’ve heard. They’ll ask you to do something, but no matter what you do it’s never good enough for them. Never trust them. They’ll cheat you if they can.”
Lem fetched three bowls of stew from the gathering area of the village. Yori had hoped they could join the rest of the clan as they ate, but Darin had too much work to do and wouldn’t leave the forge. Getting to know his kinsmen would have to wait for another day.
Once they had finished eating, Darin placed a pile o
f iron arrow tips on the workbench. “You know how to forge these, I presume,” he said.
Yori nodded. Na’zorans did not typically use arrows, but Yori had crafted them many times for visitors to Enald’s marketplace.
“Good. We can skip that part.” He fetched a bundle of tools rolled up in a wide leather strip. Inside were thirteen different chisels, each resting in its own leather pocket. Darin took out a chisel and handed it to Yori. “What do you think?” he asked.
Yori examined the chisel, turning it over in his hand. “The iron work is good,” he said. “The tip is very fine and quite sharp. Back in Enald I would have used this to etch my uncle’s mark onto the blade of a sword or dagger.”
“We’re going to do something much better with it,” he replied. “But it’s good to know you’ve done a bit of delicate work and not just a bunch of hammering. Lem is great with a hammer but terrible with a chisel.”
Yori observed as his grandfather began to etch runes into an arrow tip. It appeared to him nothing more than etching any other mark or design into the metal. There were no magic words, no chanting, and no beams of magical light. The entire process seemed a little unimpressive.
“This arrow tip will now explode when it hits its target. Whatever is struck will burst into flame.” Darin handed Yori the arrow tip.
As he looked at the runes, he saw a faint red glow within the etching. Stunned, he asked, “How did you do that?”
“Do what?” he asked, giggling.
“The runes are glowing,” Yori said. “How do you give them their power?”
“It’s the blood in my veins, Yori, and it’s in yours as well.” He patted Yori on the shoulder and grabbed a second arrow tip. Yori bent down to watch more closely as his grandfather again chiseled a series of four runes into the arrow tip. To his amazement, Darin’s eyes flashed green as he chiseled into the metal. Yori realized that the process wasn’t the important part. The person doing the etching was what mattered.