by Caden Nantes
He turned toward Sylin, who involuntarily stumbled backward Aeyn's irises glowed bright blue. Anthony stood beside him, gaping at first Aeyn and then Sylin.
"What did you do to him?" He whispered.
Sylin shrugged. "I just gave him a little Dragon's Blood is all,"
Aeyn frowned. "Where are we? And why do I have so many scales?"
Sylin chuckled. "I'll explain later. For now, we need to get out of this hole,"
Aeyn's frown grew deeper. "How? All the walls look so steep,"
Sylin couldn't help a guffaw. "You carry us with your new wings,"
Aeyn's eyes grew wide. "Wings?" As if in answer, they unfolded and gave an experimental flap, lifting Aeyn into the air. A grin spread across his face, and he extended his hands. "Hop on,"
Anthony clambered onto his shoulder, beaming. Sylin hopped onto the other shoulder as Aeyn took flight. His wings flapped as they rose high into the air, above the stunned faces of elves standing beside the pit.
Chapter Seven
Nickname? Demon
Aeyn relished the newfound strength in his limbs. The two forms clinging to his back felt like no more than stale air as his wings propelled them high above the stunned faces of the elves. He tucked his wings into a dive, swinging his scaled leg out to kick the chest of an elf. “Demon!” he screamed as he flew backward into a dirt wall while Aeyn dodged oncoming arrows with the ease of a cat. A flying cat, that is. He turned right down another tunnel, his legs involuntarily swinging into a strange elf wearing green and blue robes. The startled humanoid fell onto his back and slammed his head against the clay floor. Aeyn flew down halls, not knowing where he was going as he dodged spears and arrows.
He entered a room housing nothing but an open rock overhang. Air whipped across his face as he flew through the opening. Ricocheting off his scales, an arrow snapped on his back as it spun around. A yelp sounded out from his right shoulder, and Anthony shifted. Whoops. Thankfully, when Aeyn looked at Anthony, he sported nothing more than a small nick on his ear. Reassured he was ok, he turned back toward the scene below him. Dirty-looking clay houses dotted a dirt clearing in the meadow, with the occasional stone building scattered between. Startled faces greeted him as he flew into one house after the other, searching for his gear.
“What in Aran’s name are you doing?” Screamed Sylin as he clung to Aeyn’s shoulder as if his life depended on it. Well, I guess it does.
Not bothering to reply, he flew into yet another clay house. An elf woman and her child screamed in union as Aeyn pulled up, his wings beating while he hovered in mid-air. These are only people’s homes. Maybe I should have done a more thorough search in the tunnels. Spinning about, he exited the home, searching for something different from the clay houses.
Finally, he spotted a large building made of stone. He landed inside the building, which seemed to be a training area for the elves. Practice weapons lined the walls, and wooden dummies were positioned throughout the room. Only two elves occupied the area, and one turned to look at him. His eyes wide with fright, he raised his spear and cried out,
“Demon!”
Aeyn’s lips turned down, and he narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like that word much. Would you mind using a different one?”
The elf’s eyes widened as if just realizing the ‘demon’ could speak. Then, he did the stupidest thing Aeyn had ever seen. He charged. Aeyn sidestepped and grabbed the spear shaft. He yanked hard, sending the elf flying head first out of the building as Aeyn snapped the spear.
He turned toward the other elf, ignoring the cries of warning coming from his shoulders. Something sharp pricked his back, and he stiffened.
“Well, well, well, it seems I’ve finally caught the rampaging demon and his friends,” sneered a voice from behind.
Aeyn stiffened. Whoever was behind him didn’t know he couldn’t pierce his scales, and he intended to keep it that way.
“Nothing to say for yourself? First, my elves report you and your friends trespassing on our lands and fatally injuring several elves. But you remember, don’t you? Oh, no, you were unconscious,”
“Father!” The elf in front of Aeyn turned toward whoever was at his back. “Don’t do this! They must be the ones of the prophecy!”
The other elf snarled. “Enough of that so-called prophecy. It is merely the delusions of a few old elves,”
The younger elf gasped. “You can’t mean that!”
“Oh, I mean it,” the elf pressed the sword harder against Aeyn’s flesh. Wait, flesh? His eyes widened as he remembered Sylin giving him some sort of potion. That must have been the reason his scales had spread so quickly! And all potions had limited use. He cursed himself for not thinking of that earlier as his strength seeped away, and the two weights on his shoulders got heavier.
He shivered as sweat pooled on his scalp. His arms sagged, and he looked pleadingly at the young elf. The elf’s eyes enlarged as seemed to notice his predicament, and he reacted. The dagger shot hilt-first out of his hand, and based by the way the sharp pain on Aeyn’s back fell away, it hit the elf behind him.
“Get off me,” he said to Sylin and Anthony through gritted teeth.
“I thought we were lighter than your head?” Mocked Anthony as he hopped off.
“This is not the time,” growled Aeyn.
The young elf looked back and forth between them, before nodding as if coming to a decision.
“Follow me,” he said, and without seeing if they would follow, spun on his heel and marched further into the room.
“Can we trust him?” Asked Sylin.
Aeyn shrugged. “It’s not like we’ve got any other choice,”
Anthony strode ahead, looking back at them impatiently as the elf turned a corner. “Come on!”
They found the elf waiting beside a closed door. The room they were in was mostly empty except for a few banisters hanging from the ceiling. Above the door were the words, 'Weapons Room'. Aeyn raised an eyebrow, but followed the elf in as he opened the door.
Aeyn's gaze swept across the room. Scattered about were dozens of weapons and armor. Most were common, like swords and bows, but there were others Aeyn had never seen before, such as sharp metal stars. He even spotted a few pieces of jewelry and clothing.
Seeing his own gear, he scooped them up and put them on as fast as he could. He turned to find the elf had disappeared. He frowned and looked at Anthony, who shrugged.
Aeyn shifted his gaze to Sylin, who held a plain black ring in his hand. He put the ring on, and it suddenly turned into a small buckler padded with black leather. The thief grinned as it turned back into a ring.
Aeyn shook his head and turned back to Anthony, who was trying on different leather armor. Finally, he found one that fit. He strapped a short bow and quiver on one shoulder and slung a case of spears on the other shoulder. He grinned at Aeyn, who rolled his eyes.
“Do you even know how to use those things?”
Anthony shrugged as he strapped a long knife to his thigh. Footsteps came from outside the door, and Aeyn drew a sword. It felt comfortable in his hands, as if he’d used it a hundred times before. The young elf stepped through the doorway, hefting three packs. He gave one to each of them, raising an eyebrow at Anthony’s new garb but saying nothing.
Aeyn noticed the elf had an extra sword strapped to his thigh, and an extra dagger on his hip.
“How’re we going to get out of here? And why are you helping us? What prophecy? We don’t even know your name!”
The elf waved his hands in front of his face as if to ward off the questions. “Whoa! Too much! I’ll try to take it one at a time. First, we are going to visit a friend who will be able to answer your question about the prophecy. Next, we will grab the horses I have ready.” He glanced toward the doorway as if expecting someone to come through it. “The reason I am helping you is because I think you may be related to the prophecy. As for my name, you can call me Tristan,” he turned toward the door. “Now, we really must be going, s
o come on!” With that he rushed out of the room, not looking back. Aeyn sighed, starting to get a feel for the elf’s personality. He pushed away his misgivings and followed Tristan out the door.
∆∆∆
Aeyn rushed down corridor after corridor with Anthony and Sylin just behind him, and Tristan somewhere ahead. He was regretting ever trusting the strange elf. At one point they’d re-entered the tunnels, but that was over ten minutes ago. Is this just some intricate plan to make sure we don’t escape? He pushed the thought away.After all, Tristan had attacked his own father to help them.
Aeyn skidded to a stop, nearly crashing into Tristan, who stood in the middle of the corridor.
“What are-” he cut himself off as he realized the source of the problem. There, cutting off the end of the corridor, was the strange elf wearing the blue and green robes. Beside him were a dozen armed elves, maybe more. An old elf stepped forward, leaning heavily on a cane. Tristan’s eyes grew big.
“Girrdan?”
The old elf nodded sagely, as if Tristan had just unlocked the door to the heavens. “Yes. We must forget that old prophecy, and move on,”
Tristan shook his head, his teeth chattering as he looked back and forth between the elf wearing the robes and Girrdan. The elf with the robes chuckled.
“Girrdan has admitted the prophecy is nothing more than a story meant to frighten bad children like yourself, son,”
Aeyn’s eyes widened as he stared at the lump on the elf’s forehead. Tristan’s response confirmed his suspicions.
“Why, father?”
The elf’s lip curled and he shook his head.
Tristan’s expression turned steely. “Fine then. I won’t run from you anymore, father.” He drew his swords. “I will stand and fight,” Aeyn drew his own weapons as he sidled up next to Tristan.
The elf smirked. “I don’t think so, unless you want to say goodbye to your new friends so soon,”
Aeyn looked behind him to where Tristan’s father was pointing and gasped. Elf guards had his friends bound with rope, and sword tips were at their throats.
“Drop your weapons, and no harm will come to them,”
Tristan’s hands shook as he looked between his swords, the guards holding Anthony and Sylin captive, and his father. Finally, he let go of his weapons. They clattered to the ground beside Aeyn’s own swords.
“Now kneel, and put your hands behind your head,” Aeyn did as he was told, with Tristan following suit.
“Guards, bind my son. Kill the others,”
“No!” screamed Aeyn and Tristan in union.
The old elf smiled. “I’m sorry, Aredan, but I cannot allow you to do that,” he said to Tristan’s father. He slammed his cane into Aredan’s cheek bone. The elf reeled back in surprise as Girrdan thrust the butt of his cane into his temple.
Aredan fell to the ground, unconscious once more. Aeyn rose to his feet beside Tristan and picked up his swords. Twisting about, he found Sylin had somehow freed himself of his bonds, and was working on Anthony’s as he warded off their guards’ attack. After seeing his friends were ok for now, Aeyn turned back to Girrdan.
The elf was fighting for his life. He raised his cane high into the air, and a root formed on the ground, stretching toward the nearest elf. It wrapped about his ankle and pulled him to the floor. He slammed his head against the ground and fell limp.
Tristan ran toward Girrdan, swords in hand.
“No!” shouted the old elf. “Run! I will hold them off best I can!”
Tristan’s face contorted as if he was in pain, and then he nodded and dashed off toward Sylin and Anthony.
“You!” Aeyn turned to look at Girrdan. “Take this!” The elf tossed a rolled-up scroll toward Aeyn, who caught it and shoved it into his cuirass.
Aeyn spun about, not looking back as he ran toward the others, who were fighting three elves. Wildly leaping into the air as he neared them, he slammed the flat of his blade against an elf’s face. As soon as he landed, he swept the dull edge of his blades toward another elf’s legs. Focused on fighting Sylin, the elf didn’t notice until it crashed to the floor.
Aeyn turned toward Anthony, who was fighting a losing battle against a dual-armed elf. Suddenly, Tristan was there, cracking the elf on the temple with the hilt of his blade. He sheathed his blades and drew his longbow, nodding to Aeyn as he ran out into the corridor.
Aeyn followed, with the others on his heels. Hearing the snap of a bowstring from behind him, he dodged to the side, narrowly missing an arrow.
“This way!” Shouted Tristan as he ducked into a side tunnel. Aeyn was turning to follow when a sharp pain pierced his arm, and he fell to his knees.
“Gah!”
On instinct, he lashed out, slicing another arrow in half with his sword. He gaped at the weapon and shook his head. The others were getting further and further away.
He sprinted down the tunnel, turning another corner just as an arrow whizzed by, breaking in half as it hit the wall. Daylight shined down the tunnel, and he sped toward it. Bright light illuminated his senses. As his eyes adjusted, he realized he was back in the Zenpheir Meadows.
His companions stood around him, all gasping for breath except for Tristan, who looked like he’d just took a summer stroll in the meadows. The elf put his fingers to his lips, and a loud whistle sounded out. Clomping hooves rushed toward them, and four horses appeared.
One, a brown and red roan, sidled up to Anthony. He held his hand out tentatively toward her, and she immediately licked it. He laughed and slung his leg over the saddle. A black stallion approached Sylin, and a light brown one Tristan.
Aeyn turned as a dapple-gray steed trotted toward him. Tears welled up as he thought of how much he looked like Squire. He blinked them away as his inner voice laughed at himself. You’re getting all teary about a horse, now? It said. Aeyn pushed it away as he mounted the steed and turned toward Tristan.
“Now what?”
He shrugged. “The prophecy said something about a school. I guess just go wherever you were going before,”
Aeyn blinked as he wondered about the mysterious prophecy. Thoughts of Girrdan and the scroll subdued him as they rode into the distance.
Chapter Eight
Scary Scrolls
Looking into the flames, Tristan envied their freedom, their purpose. They danced and flickered, not caring what was going on in the outside world. Occasionally they would lash out, greedily devouring whatever food they were given. He shifted his gaze to the meadows around them, and the forest just ahead.
Tristan sighed, turning to his two companions. The younger one had gone to sleep minutes before, his quiet snoring irritating an already on-edge Tristan. The dragon-like one turned to him with an inquisitive stare.
"Why are you really here? What is this prophecy you talk about?"
Tristan sighed again. "It's... complicated. If only Girrdan were here to explain,"
Aeyn frowned. "Girrdan? The old elf?"
Tristan nodded, and Aeyn's face brightened. "He gave me some sort of scroll-"
"Scroll?" Interrupted Tristan. "Let me see,"
Aeyn handed him a rolled-up piece of parchment. Tristan unraveled it and read,
The days of the prophecy are near. If you are reading this, son of the head Clansman, then my days are past, and I have left this world. The prophecy clearly states that Druid, Shifter, Dragon, Walker and Slayer must combine forces to thwart the evil that lurks deep within our very souls. We may put up a fortress to guard from it, we may cage it, but it is forever there, teasing us with tales of greed and glory. No man, elf, dwarf, pixie, dragon or the like may hide from it. Some choose to absorb it, to let it take over, and these are the ones who we must defend against. We must defend against our Shadow-Selves, or all shall be lost. Beware your dark self, as it may lure you into its void, leaving you trapped in a cage of your own making.
Tristan's hands shook as he set down the parchment. He gaped as it turned suddenly blank, leaving no trace the wo
rds on the page had ever existed. Aeyn frowned.
"What good is a blank parchment?" He picked it up and gasped, his eyes scanning the page before setting it down again. "What could this mean?"
Tristan furrowed his brow. "So you saw it too, even though it seemed to go blank?"
Aeyn's frown grew deeper as he showed him the parchment. "You can't see anything?"
Tristan shook his head. "No. Not anymore,"
"Let me see," said Sylin, jutting into the conversation. Aeyn thrust it out toward him, but the thief waved him away. "No. Set it on the ground. It seems as if it is imbued with some sort of magic,"
Aeyn complied, and Sylin peered at the scroll. "Revilo nefus enki," he chanted, while waving his hand toward the scroll. Nothing happened. Spreading his hands, he shook his head. "It uses a powerful spell I don't know of. But what is strange is for a spell like this to work, you would need something from each person, such as blood or hair," when all he got were blank looks in response, Sylin sighed and said, "It seems as if someone enchanted this scroll to respond differently to certain people,"
Tristan nodded. "Girrdan was a powerful seer," he made no mention of Sylin's magical ability.
"So, he basically sent a message to each of us." Aeyn looked at the thief.
"Theoretically, yes." Sylin took the scroll in his hands. "But I still have to rea-" he cut himself off as his jaw fell open. He closed it, and a few moments passed before he cleared his throat. "Yes. It also says something to me,"
Tristan stared at the strange halfbreed. "Well? Are you going to tell us what it says?"
Sylin opened his mouth, but only a squeak came out. He tried again, but ended up coughing. Tristan frowned at the part-elf. What was wrong with him?
"I-I can't tell you," he stuttered.
Tristan narrowed his eyes. "Why?"
"A spell, somehow..." he trailed off, shaking his head. Tristan glared at him for a moment before turning to Aeyn,