by Candy Rae
The forests of the Wood Elves spanned many leagues north, south, east and west in the northern part of Alfheimr. The mountains of the Orodedhel spanned approximately twice the same area immediately north of the forests and marked the northern border of the Five Kingdoms. North of the mountains were the Ice Wastes. Aranel had read about them. The ‘Epic Saga of the Bard Enduin’ was both famous and popular. The Ice Wastes sounded too terrible for words and Aranel never, ever wanted to go there.
To the south of the forests were the Lowlands, home of the Ndoredhel, the Land Elves. This was relatively flat, arable country and was the largest of the Elf Kingdoms. The Ndoredhel were also the most numerous of all the elven types. By tradition, the King of the Ndoredhel, the Land Elves, was the High King of the Elves but these days the title was rarely used. Each kingdom was autonomous although the High King had the right to call the warriors of the other four kingdoms to arms in the event of war which, in effect, meant an attack on Alfheimr by enemies from outside.
This had never happened.
The Meneledhel were the Sky Elves. Their home was a low mountain range and forested area on the eastern border of Alfheimr, to the east of which was the Great Desert, a gigantic expanse of sand with little water. Aranel had read about this too and, like the Ice Wastes, was resolved to never go there.
The Aluedhel were the Water Elves. They rarely visited the mainland and kept very much to themselves. Their kingdom encompassed many of the islands off the west coast of the mainland wherein lay Alfheimr. Aranel thought sometimes she might like to visit the islands someday but the thought of an extended journey by boat did not really appeal to her either. The one time she had been on a boat trip, she had suffered horrendously from seasickness. She had informed her father later, that she would have to think about it a lot more before she ventured a-sail again.
She wondered if she would see a patrol of Sky Elves up here at the T’Quel. Although the blue-haired Sky Elves were sometimes seen in the area, more so now than when Aranel had been an elf child, they did help the Mountain and Wood Elves by flying over the area and reporting anything that might be a danger. They might see changes in the composition of the T’Quel, in its colour and size, which might indicate dangers to come.
Aranel really hoped they would fly over. She had been told it was a wonderful sight, watching the v-shape of dragons and riders streaking in, the sun’s rays glinting off the dragons’ hides. The Sky Elves had always been closely linked to the dragons. Some Sky Elves spent their entire lives with their giant-winged friends, bonded at egg crack; only death could sever their life-bond.
Aranel knew that dragons loved to fly. The gryphons, the steeds of the Mountain Elves, they were not so keen and usually only flew to hunt. Dragons however, would fly for days at a time just for the fun of it. It was a pity the Sky Elves rarely fraternised and were aloof and wary of strangers. Aranel knew very little about them.
As she marched with her fellow warriors, she hoped the time they spent guarding the T’Quel would be incident free and that she would see some dragons.
* * * * *
Aranel was stunned beyond speech when she got her first glance of the T’Quel. Others had told her about it, described it, often in fulsome, graphic detail, but no words could have prepared her.
The valley in which the T’Quel sat had sides that were tall and brooding and peaks that looked unassailable. And on the floor of the valley itself – the mist that formed the T’Quel was like an impenetrable lightness and blackness both. It was also silent; no whispery, windy sounds were emanating from its depths, in contrast to the forest sounds from the woods they had just travelled through, which was a three-cian march from the large wooden, palisaded fort that the duty Nosse called ‘home’, the Keep of Nossequel.
“Right,” called out Aranel’s rank commander, “listen up.”
Aranel’s eyes flew to his face. He was an elderly elf with a grizzled face and his hair no longer silvery and shiny, but almost dull grey. Aranel had heard rumours that this patrol stint would be his last before he took his well-earned retirement.
“For those of you who haven’t been here before I’ve only got one thing to say. Keep your eyes and ears open.”
Aranel thought her ears twitched in response, rather like those of a unicorn when he or she had heard something unexpected. She blushed, hoping that no one had noticed.
She certainly felt more alert. The old elf’s voice-tone had held within it a sense of real warning.
“The T’Quel, as you can see for yourselves, looks quiet and unthreatening now but it can change in an instant as those who have been here before will tell you, as they have been telling you, I am sure. They are right. Sometimes, the only warning we get is a faint feeling of unease or a puff of wind that feels or smells wrong. Do you understand?”
Aranel, together with the other first-timers, dutifully nodded their heads.
“Don’t be frightened to shout out if you think the mist is stirring. No one will laugh at a false alarm. Better that, than some creature bursting through and you and your fellow warriors getting hurt.”
Aranel, with a glance at her shield partner, Enelya, nodded again.
“Right,” the old elf continued, “in groups of four, sort yourselves out, start patrolling along the T’Quel.”
There was a short flurry of movement as the patrol did, as he said, ‘sort themselves out’. Aranel, with her shield partner Enelya found herself in a four with another grey-haired, experienced warrior and his shield partner, whose looks combined his grey hair with a craggy, lined face. Aranel noticed that the experienced made sure they paired with the younger, newer warriors and their shield partners.
With a wave, the commander of the outgoing patrol rank led her warriors back to the keep at Nossequel for a well-earned rest.
Aranel settled her armour on her shoulders, catching the eye of the grey-haired warrior who grinned at her.
“Ready?” he asked.
Aranel forced herself not to gulp as she assented and stepped up to his side.
Enelya and her mentor, his shield partner, stepped up behind them.
Aranel could hear him instructing Enelya in a low voice about what and what not to do and her own mentor, whose name was Isil, began talking too.
“Most of this is pure and utter boredom,” he confided as they began to march along the edge of the T’Quel. “We veterans prefer it that way. A quiet T’Quel is a good T’Quel. The alternative is sometimes rather unpleasant.”
Every elf kept an eye on the T’Quel, every sense alert for the tell-tale sign that the purple mist was shimmering, a sure indication of trouble ahead. Aranel and Enelya were no exceptions.
“Were you here when the big reptiles came through?” Aranel inquired.
“I was,” Isil answered with a grimace. “Lost a few friends that day, friends I had been serving with for a long time.”
Aranel didn’t quite know how to answer that.
He smiled, a long, slow smile.
“We are warriors, you and I. Me, I am nearing the end of my career, you are just beginning yours. I would prefer that nothing happen during the entire time our Nosse is up here. Boredom I can live with. I hate the stink of battle.”
“We’ve been told it’s horrible,” said Aranel, surprising herself as she answered. Like many newly fledged warriors she had believed that her life would be one of fighting. That was why she had become a warrior, after all. Dimly, she began to see that warriors fought when it was necessary, did not like killing and spent much of their time hoping that they would not be asked to fight and to kill.
Towards dusk another patrol rank came to relieve them. Aranel’s legs were aching from the constant walking up and down and her neck felt sore from the strain of constantly scanning the mist.
“The mists are restless tonight,” said Isil, still marching beside Aranel as they went back to the keep for, as he called it, some rest and relaxation. The fact that they often walked rather than marched, especially w
hen going off duty, had been another eye-opener for Enelya and Aranel. During training, they had been expected to march and march well. Casual to-ing and fro-ing had not been encouraged. Walking had been on the list of “Casual Misdemeanours for Trainee Warriors’.
“Restless?” Aranel enquired, not quite sure what he meant. “It seemed really still and quiet to me.”
“I have a premonition,” he answered enigmatically.
Aranel didn’t answer, but a faint feeling of foreboding entered her heart.
* * * * *
Enelya was busily stirring the fourth rank cabin’s breakfast cooking pot the next morning. She stared into its depths. “I must say this is looking pretty good.”
As the newest warriors to the rank, many unpopular tasks had fallen to Aranel and Enelya’s lot. Aranel was just back from clearing out the latrines.
“But will it taste pretty good?” teased Aranel, also looking in and sniffing appreciatively.
“Don’t I always cook decent food?”
Aranel pretended to think about it.
“Well there was that time …” she began.
“Don’t say it,” cried Enelya with mock crossness, shaking the spoon at her partner before stirring again, this time with concentrated endeavour. “It was just the once and I got distracted.”
“By handsome Colyne walking by and winking at you perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” said Enelya, not looking up. Aranel thought she could discern a faint tinge of colour on Enelya’s face as she blushed and decided not to press the matter any further. Enelya’s hopes in that department were not for her to worry about.
“How long?” she asked, referring to breakfast.
“You’ve just time for a quick wash and brush up,” Enelya replied, “and you need it too.”
Aranel had to agree and sped off to the ablution hut to rectify the matter. Cleaning out latrines was one of the messier occupations of warrior life.
They were finishing breakfast when they heard the horn.
Despite Aranel’s teasing, the meal porridge (standard military breakfast) had turned out perfectly and the pot had been scraped clean by the appreciative members of the rank.
One or two of the members of the cabin were heard to suggest that Enelya should be appointed the permanent cook, which, thought Aranel, wouldn’t be pleasing news to Enelya at all. She did like to cook, but not all the time.
Every elf stopped what they were doing and ran for their weapons and armour.
“Told you it was restless,” panted Aranel’s warrior guide of yesterday as he sped past her. How does he do it, she wondered. He must have been at least three times her age and here he was scampering past her as if he was a unicorn colt!
“Hurry up girl!” he shouted.
Aranel did.
She got into her armour in double quick time, picked up her bow and arrow, sword and knives; then ran from the cabin and nearly collided with the nearest member of the rank who was standing just outside.
“Sorry,” she stammered.
“Over here!” called Enelya, beckoning to her and Aranel scudded over.
The two of them checked over each other’s armour and weaponry, making sure, just as they had been taught, that it was all accounted for and, more importantly, was fitted correctly in the right place.
“It’s breaching,” called out the Commander of the Nosse, who was, as Aranel saw, being checked over by his shield partner. No warrior who wanted to live to old age would forego the checking ritual when circumstances permitted. It was the nature of war and battles for emergencies to be thrust upon soldiers ‘out of the blue’ with scant opportunities for a careful scrutiny of equipment.
“Checks done?” he demanded impatiently as his shield partner gave one last tug at his leg greave and stood up. “Right, into ranks now and be quick about it.”
There was a jingle of movement as the fighting pairs of warrior and shield partner hurried into their allotted places. Aranel and Enelya fell in beside their mentors of the day before and shared uneasy grins. Both were excited but also nervous.
“Run!” commanded their commander.
They ran.
It was a mad dash through the trees. Aranel would remember it later but now, at this moment, all she could think of was trying not to think about what was ahead of her and Enelya.
Enelya, not as fleet footed as Aranel, was thinking about making sure she wasn’t left behind. To lose your warrior partner before the fight was unheard of and shameful.
* * * * *
They arrived at the T’Quel.
It was indeed, as Isil had told her the evening before, restless. The mists within it were swirling and had a faint purplish tinge.
Aranel sniffed. Why! She could definitely smell a smell that had no right to be here, here in the mountains.
Aranel could smell the tang of the sea.
“Into two rank formation,” ordered the Commander of the Nosse. The words were hardly out of his mouth before the warrior pairs were in place.
“What now?” asked Aranel of Isil who was standing at her side.
“We wait,’ he mouthed back to her.
The two ranks waited in silence. Aranel could hear Enelya’s rapid breathing to her left. Her heart was hammering inside her chest. She hoped Isil couldn’t hear it.
The mists were eddying faster now. The purple became more prominent. The tang of the sea became stronger. Aranel could almost taste it.
“Soon,” murmured her mentor, steady as a rock at her side. “Steady. Remember, this is what you’ve trained for. Listen out for the orders. Keep calm.”
“I’m trying,” Aranel whispered back, licking her lips nervously.
“Try harder,” he snapped. “Battle adrenalin will kick in soon enough. Don’t waste your energy.”
Aranel took a deep breath and found her heartbeat slowing.
The calm before the storm, she was thinking. Perhaps it will be a false alarm. There were more of these than actual incursions she knew, but almost before she had thought it she realised that this was going to be the real thing. There were noises coming from inside the mist, and they were unfamiliar.
* * * * *
“Steady,” the voice of Prince Amras Telemienar, Commander of the Fourth Nosse was calm and exuded a sea of confidence. He was, in fact, overall commander of the Nosse of King Huor, not just the fourth, which was his special charge. He had served in the fourth himself when a young elf. The elf warriors of Aranel’s Nosse listened to him and were comforted. Prince Amras, brother of Huor, the King of the Wood Elves, had never lost a battle at the T’Quel.
Tall, muscular Amras, was known to be brave and was acknowledged as the best tactician in all of the Five Kingdoms. If any elf could defeat whatever came through the growing rift in the T’Quel, it would be he.
The two lines of elf warriors were ready and waiting hoping that it was a false alarm and if not, that whatever came through was not dangerous. The last time all that had emerged from the mist had been a most peculiar and disgusting smell, like rotten (very rotten) eggs.
“Steady,” repeated Prince Amras, his voice carrying up and down the lines, adding, for the benefit of those like Aranel who were new to battle, “remember, do not allow even a wisp of the mist to touch you.”
Every elf present knew to heed this warning. If even a tendril touched the tip of your cloak, you might well be dragged in, never to be seen again. During the previous year, when some large insect-like creatures had emerged, two warriors had disappeared. One moment they had been there, the next, a swirl of wind, the purple mist eddying and they had disappeared.
* * * * *
Until this moment Prince Amras had been confident that his Nosse could repel whatever it met but the rift forming before his eyes was gigantic. The elves under his command were nervous and he knew it. Did he have enough warriors? What would he and his Nosse be facing?
The hole forming within the purple mist was rapidly becoming similar to a gaping mouth and wa
s visibly growing darker, the swirling wisps of mist-tendrils were coalescing into what appeared, to the wide-eyed Aranel and the other new warriors, to be a dark maw into nothingness.
Almost like the mouth of a cave-tunnel, thought Aranel as she unclipped her sword guard, sniffing at the sour smell of rotten seaweed that was beginning to emerge from the maw. The lines braced.
Aranel, who was standing close to Prince Amras in her position in the middle of the back rank (the inexperienced were always placed in one of the rear ranks), glanced at him.
He turned, winked, and Aranel instantly felt a lot better.
To Aranel’s left, and so close she could almost hear her heart beating, stood her sturdy shield elf, Enelya.
For both girls this would be their first encounter with whatever creatures that might emerge from the T’Quel. They had trained together, Aranel the warrior to be and Enelya her battle partner to be, her protector until death.
Aranel grasped her long sword tighter. In her belt her knives, sharpened like razors, were ready.
She was ready.
* * * * *
In her wildest dreams Aranel could never have imagined what ran through.
In the past years and months there had been the reptiles, the insects, the hornless unicorns and the cats. They had been creatures, animals of varying intelligence.
The group of outsiders who were charging towards them were warriors!
They were of the same form and shape as elves, except for their bulk and size, and the fact that they had hair on their faces. They were wearing mail armour, strange looking helmets, and they were, without exception, brandishing huge swords and axes. They were also carrying large, round, brightly decorated shields, each with a spike jutting out from its centre.
For a stupefying moment Aranel froze. Enelya, for once the quicker of the two to come to her senses, nudged her sharply in the ribs.
This time it was not vicious animals that were coming through. These warriors, whoever they were, looked dangerous and were obviously ready and eager for a fight.