by M E Wolf
Maintaining the same form for twenty years was more trouble than it was worth. In his true form he was wanted for numerous crimes against the kingdom and if caught, he would be hung. His beloved son was working for the kingdom in order to clear the family name. Everyone believed, including his son that he had died in the fire that had consumed his good friend Robert.
In actual reality he barely made it out alive. If it were not for his friend’s brave act of pushing him out of the cabin inferno and being burnt alive himself, he would not have lived at all. The illness he got from the fire made it impossible to assume any form, but the form of Robert. His illness would not go away until he was able to revert to his natural form and stay in it long enough to heal. Being out of his natural form for more than twenty years he would probably need half of that to heal completely. It would mean that he would have to stay in his elf form for approximately ten years without changing into anything in that time.
His captors had made him too weak to maintain the form of Robert and it would take only a couple of weeks for him to lose his concentration, which would change him back to an exhausted elf and very vulnerable. It would also shock his comrades that happened to be tied to a pole similar to the one he was tied to.
“I am disappointed in you little man. It has come clear to me that you are the highest-ranking officer amongst the captives. Get out of your reverie you puny excuse for a soldier and tell us what you were thinking when your actions killed my older brother.
“We kill people your age, and do not let them have a part in the army. In your case I will kill you and eat you myself. One other thing, how is it that a human like you is able to fire ten arrows into my big brother and that is not the whole thing either. All of the arrows pierced his heart. It is inhuman to do so.”
A tall ogre like creature whacked Robert across the right side of his face with the back of his head sized hand. Pain shot up into his head from the contact of the hand to his face sending brief tears down his tear ducts and across his face.
His face split just below his right eye and across his cheek so deep that if the blood was not in the way, the bone of his cheek could be seen through the crack in his skin. The blow drained him of enough energy that he could not maintain the form of Robert any longer. Everyone, captives and captors alike, watched and observed him change from a fifty or so middle aged man to an elf who appeared to be no more than twenty-five.
He had long, thin, pointed ears and his skin was a pale bluish colour. His complexion was similar to that of a long since extinct race of elves or at least everyone thought that they were extinct, all except the ones who witnessed the appearance of this elf. This elf had lean rock hard muscles that looked flexed even when he was in a relaxed state. Robert had been a relatively short man of about five foot and seven inches tall and the elf was closer to six foot and five inches tall.
The shackles that had held his human hands were now way too tight for his elf hands and wrists. His head felt too heavy to lift it any higher than his heaving chest. The ogre took time to get over this unexplained event, but when he did he placed his hand beneath the elf’s prominent chin and lifted his head.
There was no scar where the ogre had hit him and the elf’s eyelids hovered open just enough for the ogre to see tiny pupils similar to the yellow half moon shape of a cat’s eyes. His clothes were the same as what was worn by the human form known as Robert.
“I knew that something was wrong when I did not smell human on you. An ogre magus is what I am and we ogre magi can smell the stink of magic. You reek of that stink of magic. It may be called something else besides magic, but it smells the same when you use it.
“Strong, you look, but not stronger than Ghak. Ghak can smash any who offend him, and you offend Ghak. Explain to Ghak why you take the form of the human man, Robert? Your comrades look like they would like to know too. My boss and I will know it soon.
“First, you tell us your true name even if elves do forbid it. We will have your name, if you don’t tell us, I will magic it from you. Now speak.” The ogre threatened him with his head sized hand.
“I am known as Hfhouelph. Humans and other races have known me as the mysterious one, Dolfald the dwarf, Ghult the ogre and many other identities over the years.
“Robert was a dear friend of mine and had pushed me out of a burning cabin that he had died in. Wanted by the kingdom for many false treasonous acts, I was forced to position myself into my friend’s identity. Now that everyone knows who I am I could be killed on the spot.
“My twenty years of service to the kingdom in the guise of Robert will be all but forgotten. I have lived the last twenty years without my family ever knowing that I was still alive. Still damaged by the fire that happened twenty years ago, I am left weaker than I have ever been.
“My magic, which is what you call it, will be of no use for many a year. Things like these even I cannot put a definite time for the healing to be complete or even possible.”
As he finished the last word in a trembling of his lips his body shook, his eyes closed and then he went into an involuntary deep trance that nothing would wake him from.
CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN
It was unusual that Tree would take so long to scout out the area ahead. SilverFox’s only recourse was to believe that something had gone wrong. What happened to him he did not know? He knew very well now that he could not go in the direction that his friend had gone and had to decide quickly, for his men’s sake, where they would go next.
“Listen up! We cannot stay here and we cannot go in the direction that Tree went to scout out ahead. Leave the road, we must. It is the only way that we can reach my father safely and deliver the message that is the only thing that will save our kingdom from our enemies.”
“But, Tree? What are we going to do about him? He is our best scout and has assisted our kingdom for many centuries,”
Interrupted the captain that was now posing as his acolyte.
SilverFox paused for a moment,
“If something or someone has done something to him then we are powerless to help him. The enemy is most likely heading down to our position right now, so we do not have much time left. I am in command and I do not want anyone to argue with me. Let’s go. Now!”
That last word came out louder and sounded angrier than he had wished to express to his men. He knew that if they did not move quickly that they would all be dead soon and felt like a coward and if not in the company of his men, he would have went to save Tree from his fate. A fate that was his fault and his fault alone. SilverFox knew that he was sending Tree into danger, a danger that made the hairs on his entire body stand up and nothing he did or could do would make them lie flat again.
After more mumbled complaints from his men, they finally agreed that Tree was on his own. They walked into the forest pulling their horses behind them. An eerie sound of some horrifying beast was heard from the position they were at only moments before now. Panic drove his men. The frenzy of it startled and spooked the horses.
SilverFox stopped momentarily to calm his horse and to switch the real letter with the phony message that was contained deep within his saddlebags. Just as he placed the message in his robe’s inner pocket, his horse bolted and disappeared deep into the forest. His hurried men seemed to forget him and jumped up onto their horses and went charging after his horse. They too disappeared deep into the forest.
He ran through the forest ignoring the pain that he suffered from all of the whipping branches and twigs that kept smacking him in the face and tearing at his robe. SilverFox ran until his legs burned and then ran some more. His men’s tracks could be seen through the mud as they had overturned the earth in their escape.
They had veered off to the left and were nowhere to be seen. He hoped that his comrades had made it safely to where his father was stationed, but it was not long before a volley of arrows fell like raindrops around his position. There was no time to move, but move he did. He heard many arrows sink deep into
the base of the trees surrounding his position.
Many more arrows were heard whistling passed him and sinking deep into the muddy earth in his general vicinity. Raindrops are easy to dodge in a forest, but arrows flew through the air with such speed and had a balanced weight to them. Ripping through branches and leaves and sticking in the ground or the trunk of a tree was where most arrows would go, but a few would hit their target.
Out of a hundred or more arrows one was all that was needed for each target that it was intended for. One arrow stung SilverFox like a bumblebee. He did not realize it until he had went to swat the bee with his hand only to have the pain shoot up into his brain. Looking at his hand made him realize that he was bleeding.
The purplish colour of his blood told him that his enemies put some sort of poison on the arrow that was jutting out from his chest with the arrow head protruding from his back. It pained him and for the first time in his life he was afraid to die. He had never thought that he would have died this way.
This arrow had to be removed and SilverFox knew this fairly well. Only, it would not be easy to remove the arrow. Trauma of the wound and the effort of removing the arrow could kill him. First, he had to find some place that he would not be bombarded with arrows or at least a less likely place than where he was now. He decided that he would run across the field and down the hill, which was about a hundred yards or more from where he stood at this moment.
Indecision and shock made him slow to act. He had to act now. The first step into his run across the field sent him into a panicked run. His feet made sucking sounds as he slipped and slid across the muddy field. SilverFox’s feet danced erratically just like they would if he had been running at full speed on ice. They crossed each other and almost tripped him more than once.
Directing his feet became a chore and he used all of his strength and agility to maintain the obscure footing that he had, let alone a solid footing. Agonizingly he made his way towards the edge of the clearing, but just before he got into the forest an arrow zipped through his left calf sending him into a cartwheel.
He went head long into the forest almost losing consciousness as the arrow in his left leg caught on a set of trees. His calf muscle was on fire from when the arrow had pierced it and was torn aggressively from it. He could not run or even walk on it, he could only continue falling. SilverFox was surprised to see and smell many dead of both enemy and ally alike askew all over the hillside that he was half tumbling down and half hopping down.
Everything, except for the pain, seemed to be going fine and he hoped that he would not run into another tree as he went downward. Stopping himself would be the hard part, living long enough to find someone to take the poison out of his system would be even harder. He paid more attention to the dead or almost dead people on the ground than he did to his surroundings. A fare amount of time into his descent he looked up or at least tried to look up.
Seeing something or someone coming up the hill made him look up again, but it was too late for both of them. He became entangled with whoever it was and his descent became faster. Bumping across rocks, stones and other unknown hard substances was the least of his worries.
The arrow through his chest snapped, he felt his leg with the torn calf twist around the persons leg that he was entangled with. His leg snapped and the pain caused him to pass out.
CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT
“What is it, Michael?”
An unschooled mercenary had asked. Michael Cronin detested when these barbarian mercenaries had insisted on calling him by his first name, after all he was from a long line of sorcerers. He demanded respect and expected to be treated that way.
Hating being away from his many wives and numerous children he was still here because his emperor, whom he loved with the same passion as he loved his wives, commanded him to find out about the holy men of their mutual enemy. The difference between his sorcerous ways and the ways of the holy men was that they showed mercy when him and his comrades were ruthless.
Holy men, as Cronin had come to understand them, were self-righteous holier than thou pompous idiots. To him, they were too good and believed in befriending their enemies. Michael wanted to rid his emperor’s land of all that was holy and bring back the dark powers that he now worshipped.
Darkness was all that he lived for and these murderers and assassins with him would learn that they too worshipped the dark powers even if their murderous deeds were not in their hearts. Anyone with blood on his or her hands would soon serve the darkness or go mad. That madness, which he knew very well, always followed the carnage of a campaign of this size.
Madness, or insanity as some called it, was said to be already with him. Many of his colleagues believed him mad and he never denied it. He never would deny it because he agreed with them. Insanity was a part of his cause in serving the dark and ancient powers that he believed would re-awaken some day.
It was inevitable and he loved it. Him alone, worshipped the dark powers, but little did his emperor know that by supporting him that he also supported the dark powers. Michael looked up at the tall dopey looking mercenary whom was always with him as his personal guard. Even compared to the shortest men in the kingdom, he was not very tall.
Standing at four feet and eight inches tall and weighing the same as a young calf at roughly one hundred and fifty pounds, he was dwarfed by most and his emperor insisted that he have a guard to protect him while he did the mission. The guard sent with him was a mercenary that happened to be seven feet and five inches tall weighing three hundred and eighty-five pounds.
“Everything is quite alright except for that spy that I have just caught”,
Cronin pointed to the tree on the other side of the camp.
“We must act fast, before he recovers because I was barely able to contain him. You will help me get him out of the tree.”
Michael chanted a few words that were from a long forgotten ancient language and pointed to the tree where the man lay unconscious. The man floated out of the tree and landed hard on the ground.
“Bring him over to my tent,” commanded Michael to his guard. After he was brought to Michael’s tent, he was hoisted up onto a cross-like structure and chained to it. An inhibiting collar was placed around his neck.
CHAPTER SIXTY NINE
Ghak did not know what to do with the elf called Hfhouelph. He hated to sit and wait for an audience with the commander. Being the head of his family he never had to wait for anything, but humanity was a different sort and their ways always puzzled him. The questioning and torturing of the elf would begin soon and he could not understand this delay.
All that Ghak could hear passed the guards that were in front of the tent was cursory mumbles, some blunt expletives and various profanities. It was plain that they were questioning the elf without him. Every attempt to get into the tent was thwarted by the guards. They told him that he would be allowed to come when the commander was ready for him. He would have to wait patiently to be let in the tent.
He was glad that the truce between Ogres and humans was only temporary. Ghak had missed the good old days when he was a young colt chasing after the calves at the human and dwarf roasts. Humans had ruined those fun days for him and now there was very little human and dwarf farms around.
If these humans knew that he was a Ghast Ogre and not just an ordinary ogre that ate like a human, they would be torturing him instead of this elf. The only other upright creatures that his kind was typically allied to were the Ice Deep Elf clan and the Burnt Deep Elf clan. These two clans were outlawed by the humans and usually celebrated at the roasts with the Ghast Ogres.
His people were organized in tribes and since his father and older brother had died against the elf’s men a few days ago, his coronation would be coming soon and with that coronation would be a roast. It would also be a wedding feast to renew ties with the Deep Elf clans. A daughter of each of the leaders of the Deep Elf clans would be wed to him. Ghak sucked on one of his tusk-like incisors in anticip
ation of the feast that awaited him at home.
“The commander will see you now”, boomed the guard’s voice abruptly bringing Ghak out of his reverie with a start.
He got up and allowed the guards to escort him into the commander’s tent. Ghak entered the commander’s tent. The tent was filled with what Ghak thought as useless baubles that had no real meaning to him. Maybe they had meaning to the commander, as he was human. Humans hoarded items and Ghak did not see any purpose in doing so.
Ghak believed, along with the rest of his tribe, that what you carried on your back or were able to carry on your back and still be able to fight well should be enough. Ghak needed no extra items. The glory of war was what he and his clansmen sought, that and a good wife or two.
There was only one thing that interested Ghak in the tent and it was not the commander. The bluish green elf that was tied to a scourging post was the only thing of import. Even though this was an Ice Elf that usually spent time in the cold tundra, Ghak felt disgusted and that sickening feeling one gets at the bottom of their stomach knotted up his stomach as he took in the torn up back of the elf with his big round eyes.
The commander’s voice echoed throughout the tent, “You look like you disapprove of our methods of interrogation. After all he is just an elf, a savage that is only passingly tolerated, like yourself.” The commander smiled diabolically at Ghak. and Ghak looked bewildered.