A Story Of River (11 page)

“Report,” Ulda said sternly.

“Your highness, there was a small uprising
in one of the villages,” General Fru began. They said they would never accept
you as their king and attacked the guards you had posted in their village.
Three of them were killed. I immediately led troops to secure the village and
have filled your dungeons with those citizens who refused to stop the fighting
and swear fealty.”

“Well done, General,” Ulda replied. “I
have need of some prisoners to use as test subjects. My new potion is ready to
be tested on humans.”

“Shall I have some of them brought up,
sire?”

“Yes. Bring four or five of them to my
laboratory. Were there any children?”

“Yes, majesty. There were two.”

“Bring them as well. I need to test the
dosage compared to the size of the subject.”

“Right away, my lord,” Fru said, bowing.
He turned and headed quickly from the throne room.

Ulda rose from his velvet throne cushion
and walked slowly to his lab. The potion had worked fairly well on the spiders,
but they were still weak at the eyes. The vast majority of Na'zorans fight with
swords, so he doubted they would figure out where exactly they needed to stab.
They have very few, if any, archers among them which means the spiders should
be able to deal more damage than they take. He had already tested his
concoction on the wolf hybrids, and they had responded well. They were not
indestructible, but their skin was now as tough as leather armor.

Arriving at his lab, he began mixing
enough potion to test on his captives. He would start with the highest dose
first. If necessary, he would scale it back based on the subject's reaction.
Once he had finished mixing, he grabbed his necklace with one hand and placed
the other hand on the flask. A pale purple magic surged through the liquid
causing it to bubble. He swirled the mixture and held it up to his nose. It
smelled faintly of moss.

Just as he was finishing up the potion,
the prisoners began to file into the room. Each of them wore chains to prevent
them from trying to harm their captor. “Welcome,” Ulda said. “Through your
disobedience, you have volunteered as test subjects. You will assist me in
making my army stronger.” He grabbed one of the two children and dragged him
closer to his work table. Holding forward a vial full of potion, Ulda said,
“Drink every drop.”

The boy glared at him and tried to twist
out of his grip. Ulda released the child, and shot an energy blast at him. The
child dropped to the floor, gasping for air. Ulda grabbed the child's nose,
tilted his head back, and dumped the entire potion down his throat. He clapped
his other hand over the child's mouth, preventing him from spitting it out.
Once he was sure the boy had swallowed, he released him from his grip.

Within seconds, the boy began to seize. He
thrashed violently as the other captives cried out in horror. Ulda watched and
shook his head. He had a feeling the dose was too high, but the children were
more expendable than the adults. He needed adults for mining and to serve in
his army. The children, however, were of very little use.

He grabbed the second child, a terrified
little girl. This time, he offered her half the amount of potion, and the girl
drank it without a fuss. A few seconds passed, and her skin began to glow. Ulda
grabbed a knife from his table and slashed at the girls arm. She jumped in fear
as the blade struck her, but she was completely unharmed. He smiled at her and
said, “Well done, child.” She stood motionless, her eyes wide.

He estimated the potion would last up to
twenty-four hours before it needed to be readministered. The girl would be
monitored by his Soulbinders to test that theory. This process was proving far
less expensive and much faster than producing armor for his troops.

Ulda prepared a vial that contained three
quarters of the dose that had killed the boy. He offered it to a young male
prisoner, who promptly spat in his face. Ulda grabbed the man's throat and
unleashed fire with his hand. He did not release his grip until the man's head
was nearly severed by the potent, searing magic. The other prisoners stood
silently, unable to express their horror at what they had just witnessed.

“You see, I will not hesitate to take your
life. You can either serve me and live, or you can die in agony. It matters not
to me, as I can always find someone else to use for testing.”

A woman with dark hair extended a chained hand
to Ulda. “I will take it,” she said. Ulda handed her the vial, and she downed
the potion in one gulp. After a few seconds, her skin began to glow. He grabbed
his knife and slashed at her arm. She was unharmed. He stabbed the knife into
her shoulder, and it sank into her flesh while offering quite a bit of
resistance. She gave a muffled cry but managed to endure the pain.

“Excellent,” Ulda said. “You now have skin
equivalent to leather armor. You are not immune to damage, but you are much
less fragile than before.”

“Slave!” Ulda shouted towards the door.
The boy popped his head inside and bowed. “Have these prisoners taken back to
the dungeons. These two ladies will require beds here in the laboratory. Send
for my Soulbinders to monitor their progress.” He looked down to the floor and
added, “Have someone clear away these bodies.” The boy ran to obey his master.

It was late afternoon by the time Mel had
located all of the horses. He returned to the camp they had set up not far from
where the battle had taken place. Tied to the back of his horse was a boar he
managed to take down in the forest.

Mi'tal approached to help him unload the
beast. “I hear these things are difficult to hunt, as they can be quite
clever.”

“Not this one,” Mel replied, untying the
ropes. “He just stood there and stared at me, so now he's dinner.”

Mi'tal chuckled and carried the boar over
to the campfire. A good meal was just what they needed after the day's events.
Everyone was exhausted, and Aelryk's and Morek's wounds would heal easier if
their bellies were full. Nothing, however, could ease the pain in their hearts
after the loss they had suffered. Only time could soften the blow Thinal's
death had dealt them all.

They ate silently as the waxing moon rose
in the sky. The forest was brightly lit under its watchful gaze. From the
corner of his eye, Mel noticed a glow near the area where the slain sorcerer
lay. Without a word, he stood and went to investigate. Clutched in the dead
elf's hand was a small purple gem the size of a duck's egg. Mel picked it up
and returned to the camp.

“Any idea what this might be?” he asked,
showing the stone to Mi'tal.

“It looks like an amethyst,” he replied.

Mel stared at him blankly. Clearly, the
word meant nothing to him.

“They're precious gems usually used for
jewelry or other ornamentation. It's worth quite a bit of coin.”

“Why would a sorcerer be using an
amethyst?” Aelryk asked as he came over to look at the gem.

Willdor answered, “Mages can use them as
sources of power. Different gems hold properties from different schools of
magic.”

“Perhaps it was powering his energy
attack,” Mi'tal said.

“May I see it?” Willdor asked. Mel handed
him the gem. “This gem is empty. He may have used up whatever magic was stored
inside. Enlightened Elves use magic in a very different way from us humans. I'm
afraid I can't be certain what he was doing with this.” He gave the gem back to
Mel.

Mel shoved the gem into a pocket, and the
conversation was over. Having eaten their fill, they settled in for the night.
The soft hooting of an owl lulled them to a deep, dreamless sleep.

*
* * * *

Two more days of travel brought them out
of the woods. They had reached the banks of the Blue River at last. It was very
wide and flowed rapidly south. The water was cool and clear with a crystal blue
hue. A kingfisher rattled noisily overhead as Mel knelt before the water and
drank a handful. It had a sweet, pure flavor to it and was still chilled from
its source high in the mountains.

It was mid-afternoon, but the summer's
heat was blown away by the cool breeze blowing across the river. “We should
camp here tonight,” Mel said. “We can get to work building a raft.”

“How will we get the horses across?” Utric
asked. “It's too deep for them to walk.”

“I've never seen a horse float on a raft,”
Morek said, laughing. The gash on his head was beginning to heal, and he was in
much higher spirits than he had been.

“It would have to be a much bigger raft
than I'm planning,” Mel said. “We'll have to leave them.” He thought for a second
and then added, “I guess someone can stay behind with them.”

“Do you think it's safe?” Willdor asked.

“No, I don't think anywhere is safe,” he
replied. “You might be alright since you have your potions this time.”

“I'm afraid you overestimate my skill in
battle,” Willdor said.

“Well, how should I know?” he shot back.
“I've seen what other sorcerers can do. Maybe you should give that a try.”

“That was dark magic,” he replied quietly.
“I don't practice that kind.”

“Let's get started on that raft,” Aelryk
interrupted. “I don't think any of us want to try to swim with that current.”

They busied themselves searching for
suitable fallen timber. Mel gathered green vines and began braiding them for
lashing. A raft large enough to hold the five of them was going to require a
lot of rope to hold it together. Once enough logs had been gathered, the others
began braiding vines as well. By nightfall, they had enough rope to attempt
assembling the raft.

“Let's get some sleep,” Aelryk suggested.
“We don't want to cross in the dark anyway. We can tie the logs together in the
morning.”

No one offered any argument, and they
settled in for the night. The air was much more comfortable here since it
lacked the heat of the rest of the forest. The sound of the water was very
soothing and sleep came much easier.

In his dream, Mel saw Thinal floating on
her back in the river. She wiggled her toes to create a splash and giggled as
the cool water droplets flew through the air. As he approached the bank, she
propped
her head up and waved to him. He wanted to go to
her and wrap his arms around her, but he could not enter the water. Looking
down to his feet, he saw the ground was clear. Nothing was preventing him from
reaching her, yet he could not move. When he called out her name, she stood,
waved her hand, and turned to leave. Still frozen in place, he tried
desperately to break through the unseen barrier. She had already reached the
far bank and was fading into the distance. He awoke with a start and looked in
every direction. Finally, he realized it had all been a dream, and he
remembered that Thinal was gone.

Dawn was approaching, and the forest was
beginning to wake. Unable to return to sleep, Mel began tying the logs together
to complete the raft. By the time the others awoke at sunrise, Mel was ready to
place it in the river. “Let's see if she floats,” he said. Aelryk helped by
lifting the other side of the raft, and together they placed it in the river.

It sank like a stone.

“Son of a bitch!” Mel exclaimed.

Everyone else stared in disbelief. The
raft had not even floated for a second before it sank. Mel knelt next to the
bank and placed a hand on the water where the raft had gone in. For an instant,
he thought he saw a face in the water amid the ripples. Drawing his hand back
quickly, he began to feel very uneasy.

“There's something watching us,” he said,
sounding rather disturbed.

“From where?” Aelryk asked.

“From the river,” he replied.

Aelryk and Mi'tal exchanged glances.

“I thought I saw something, but it's gone.
It's just a feeling I guess,” Mel added.

“Well, this is a land of fairy tale,”
Mi'tal commented. “Perhaps there is something more to the water. It may be,
your majesty, that you've reached what you seek. We just need to figure out
what to do.”

“No, Mi'tal,” Aelryk replied. “We have not
yet reached the Vale. What I seek lies in the land of spring, and it's clearly
still summer here. It's cooler, but it isn't spring. We must find a way to
cross the river.”

As dawn broke through the Vale, River
waded out into the cool waters of the Blue River. He stood at the base of the
waterfall and began his ritual of speaking with the Spirit of the river. As
always, Lenora stood at the bank to watch.

“Mother,” Rogin said as he made his way to
the riverbank. “I need to speak with Father. How long until he's finished?”

“It all depends on what he sees in the
water. Some days it takes longer than others. You know that, my son.”

“There is urgent business, and he is
needed. Intruders have set up camp on the far bank. They have just tried to
cross the river.” Rogin's expression was very serious.

“You cannot interrupt him. If they've
tried to cross the river, then he already knows about it. I'm sure he will want
to speak with you when he's finished.”

“But-,” he began.

“Patience, child,” she cut him off.

“I'm hardly a child, mother,” he replied,
annoyed by her remark.

“You'll always be
my
child,” she
replied. She reached up and kissed his forehead. His demeanor softened
somewhat, but his face remained concerned. Impatiently, he stood staring at his
father.

Finally, River emerged from the water and
dressed. “You bring news, Rogin?” he asked.

“Yes, Father, there are intruders on the
east bank.”

“I know,” he replied. “I have seen them.”

“Are they a threat to us? Should we
eradicate them?”

River placed a hand on his son's shoulder.
“My son, you should not be so quick to fight. Not everyone who seeks our land
comes looking for a challenge.”

“What are they looking for?”

“Me,” he replied. “I will go to them.”

“I'm coming with you, then,” Rogin said.

“If you must, but they have no weapons
that could harm me.”

“Would you like me to come along?” Lenora
asked.

“I always like it when you come along,” he
replied, smiling at her. “But I know you have other matters requiring your
attention. I won't be gone long.” They embraced and parted ways.

River strolled leisurely down the bank
followed by Rogin, who did not appreciate the easy pace. He felt pressed to
find out what these intruders wanted and would prefer his father not to act so
casually. He sighed quietly, knowing that his father would never change. River
was incredibly patient and always looked for good qualities in others. Rogin,
however, was suspicious of outsiders. These men were trying to reach the Vale,
and he did not know their intentions.

They arrived at the bank just across from
the campsite. “Wait here, son,” River said. Before Rogin could protest, he
added, “I will be quite safe.” Rogin nodded reluctantly. He gave a low whistle
to call some of his troops his direction. He wanted others of his kind nearby
in case of trouble.

River dove out into the water and swam
gracefully in its depths. He emerged on the east bank, surprising the travelers
who had just finished their breakfast. “Greetings,” he said as he stepped onto
the bank. Despite just having gone for a swim, he and his long blue robe
appeared to be completely dry.

Mel stood and gaped at River in amazement.
All of a sudden, he dropped to his knees and bowed his head low to the ground,
one hand on his heart and the other stretched forward on the ground.
“Mistonwey,” he said.

River strode forward and placed a hand
under Mel's chin, raising his head up to look in his eyes. “Rise, my child,” he
said. “There is no need to worship me.” Mel slowly rose back to his feet, still
staring at River.

“Your heart is full of sorrow, Young One.
What troubles you?”

Mel remained silent and looked at the
ground. He swallowed and felt a lump in his throat. Trying to hold back the
tears was useless. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to steady his
breathing.

“I see you have lost someone very dear to
you,” River said. “The wound will not heal quickly, but Thinal's spirit is
free. She is at peace. You will find a new purpose in this life.”

The others, who had been observing in
silence, glanced quickly to each other. This elf did not seem to be a threat,
but they could not be sure of his intentions. King Aelryk strode forward to
meet him.

“You are the leader of this company,”
River said. He extended his right arm to the king who extended his own to grasp
the elf's forearm. Something about River's grasp gave Aelryk a feeling of
well-being. Instinctively, he felt he could trust the elf.

“I am King Aelryk of Na'zora,” he said.
“May I have your name?”

“No, you may not have that,” River
replied. “But nearly everyone calls me River. You may call me that as well.”

“River,” Aelryk repeated. He glanced over
at Magister Utric, whose eyes had grown wide at the mention of the name. “I
believe I've come here to find you.”

“What is it you need of me?” River asked,
curiously.

“My people are being hunted by dark
sorcerers. A prophecy has lead me to the Vale to find a river. I am supposed to
bring him back to Na'zora.”

“Indeed, you have found me.”

“We tried to cross the river, but our raft
sank,” Aelryk said.

“That is because you intended to reach the
Vale. The river would never have let you cross without permission from my
people.”

“You control the river completely?” the
king asked.

“No,” River responded. “The Spirit of the
river controls itself.”

“You are a servant of the river then,”
Aelryk said.

“No, I am a part of the river. I will
allow you to enter the Vale. Will all of you be coming?”

“Yes, but what of our horses?”

“I will have my son fetch them. He is in
need of a task to perform.” River seemed amused as he spoke, and Aelryk nodded
his approval. River approached the bank where the raft had sank and extended a
hand high above the water. Slowly, the raft was drawn up from the depths. “Come
along,” he said. The others moved toward the bank and began to board the raft.
Once everyone was aboard, River waved a hand over the water, and the raft began
to move. In less than a minute, they arrived on the west bank.

The air was breezy and cool as they walked
through the forest. The trees here were very large and dressed in smooth
silvery bark. In front of them lay the elven village. It looked as if the
forest itself had conformed to the needs of the elves. They made their homes
within the tree trunks whose canopies provided a rooftop. A lush green grass
carpeted the entire village. Aelryk had heard tales that they lived among the
trees, but this was much different from anything he could have imagined. These
were not the savage Wild Elves he had learned to fear in his youth. These were
the mysterious Westerling Elves who had not been glimpsed by man for thousands
of years.