War Of The Wildlands (10 page)

“W
e’ll be at
Al’marr by midday,” Atti said as he and Yori continued along the road. “One
time I took a ship out of Al’marr and went all the way to the Sunswept Isles.
Beautiful place, that is. Those elves aren’t friendly though. They hate
everybody who isn’t them, and I bet they hate each other too.”

“What did you do
there?” Yori asked curiously. He had heard very little of the Sunswept Isles,
and he had never met anyone who had been there.

“Well, they have
this big college there where they teach magic. They need all kinds of supplies,
and I thought I’d make a fortune by selling gems over there. They use them in
their magic, and supposedly they’re highly prized.”

“Let me guess,”
Yori said. “You didn’t make a fortune.” He grinned at the old man.

Atti laughed and
said, “No, I didn’t. Those elves act like nothing a human merchant brings is
ever good enough. They nitpick and try to cheat you on the prices. I didn’t
bother trying to sell them any other goods since they buy most everything else
from Ral’nassa. That place is full of more uppity elves, but I guess they like
them better than us humans.”

“Do you know what
they do with the gems?”

“Not really. I’ve
heard they have lots of different uses in magic. I’ve seen swords that have
special gems set in them that supposedly contain magical powers. I’ve never met
a smith in Na’zora or Al’marr that could do such a thing. I suppose you have to
go to the Sunswept Isles or Ral’nassa for that. Assuming you can stand those
uppity bastards long enough to learn anything. I got out of there after only
two days, and I don’t plan to ever visit Ral’nassa. I can’t imagine those elves
being any more welcoming.”

Yori wondered how
the Enlightened Elves of the islands could be so different from the Wild Elves.
If the old legends were correct, they all came from the same place originally.
The First Ones, or Westerling Elves as they were now referred to, had given
rise to both the Woodland Elves and the Island Elves. The two groups had
followed different paths: one worshiping nature, and the other lusting for
magical power.

The two continued
along the road as the early winter sun tried its best to warm the sky. The
chill in the air showed no signs of bending to the sun’s will and continued to steal
the heat from every warm body it encountered. The wind joined in the game, multiplying
the chill as it danced across the road.

Finally, a border
town came into sight. Yori could hear voices shouting in the distance, and the
smell of freshly roasted meat wafted on the breeze.

“That’s the biggest
market town on the northern border of Al’marr,” Atti said. “They call it Marrel.
Don’t confuse that with the port city in the south called Marron. I wonder
whose silly idea it was to name them so close to the same thing.”

“Is Marron where
you took the ship to the islands?”

“Yes it was,” he
replied. “You thinking about going there?”

“Maybe someday,”
Yori said, shrugging.

“I hope they treat
you better than they did me, but that was at least thirty years ago. Maybe
things have changed.”

They arrived in
Marrel, and Atti drove his wagon to a large warehouse. Yori gladly helped the
old man unload his wares, most of which were already sold to the local
merchants. Atti had done business in Marrel for so many years that he had
standing orders to fill. He spent very little time having to find new business
or convince others to buy from him. His reputation as honest and fair had
provided him with a loyal customer base.

Once they had
finished unloading, Atti said, “You sure you want to keep traveling? I could
use a strong young man to help move these goods back and forth. I can pay a
decent wage.”

Yori considered the
idea briefly. “Thank you, Atti, but I’ll have to pass for now. I appreciate the
offer.”

“Alright,” Atti
said. “You take care out there, and if you pass by my way again, feel free to
say hello.”

“I will,” Yori
replied. He shook the old man’s hand before leaving to explore the town. It was
easily three times the size of Enald, with merchant stalls spread as far as he
could see. It was so similar to the palace district’s market that he couldn’t
help but remember the events that had occurred there to change his life
forever. He scanned the nearby stalls for any signs of elves or elven goods.
Seeing nothing, he decided to grab something to eat and perhaps inquire of some
of the local merchants.

He found a tavern
that was nearly bursting at the seams with customers. Squeezing his way through
the crowd, he managed to find the bar and a serving girl. She was young and
buxom with dark eyes and a broad smile.

“What can I get for
you, handsome?” she asked.

Yori felt himself
blush, and his mouth went dry. “An ale, please,” he managed to say. “And can I
get some meat and bread as well?”

“Sure thing,” she
said. “Five coppers, please.” She held out a hand for the money.

Reaching into the
small purse given to him by the prince, he pulled out a silver coin and handed
it to the girl.

“This is Na’zoran
money,” she said with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to have you in Al’marr.”

Yori had expected
some change in return, but the girl simply put the coin into her apron pocket
and batted her eyelashes at him. Too stunned to speak, he did not say a word.
She was certainly pretty enough to earn a large tip, and Yori had never been
very good with money. His experience with it was only slightly more than his
experience with women.

The girl trotted
off into the kitchen to retrieve Yori’s food. When she returned, she brought
the items he had requested as well as a large slice of berry pie. After she
placed the items on the bar, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. Yori stared
at her, dumbstruck, until he was startled back to his senses by the sound of coins
jingling onto the bar. She had given him change for his silver after all. Flashing
him a final smile, the girl headed off into the crowd to see to her other
customers.

Once he finished
eating, he slipped back through the crowd and walked along a row of merchant
stalls. Just ahead, he caught sight of wooden longbows hanging on pegs inside
of a shop. Surely a fletcher would know where to find Wild Elves. He made his
way to the stall and stepped inside. To his surprise, an elf sat within
affixing feathers to an arrow shaft.

The elf looked up
and said, “Good day, sir. How may I serve you?”

“Actually,” Yori
began, “I’m looking for an elf.”

“Which one?” the
elf asked.

“Someone from the
Sycamore Clan,” Yori said.

The elf smiled and
stood. “I’m from the Sycamore Clan,” he said. He approached Yori and reached
out a hand. “My name’s Hydon.”

“I’m Yori,” he
replied, shaking the elf’s hand. Yori suddenly found himself feeling a bit
nervous. He wasn’t sure exactly what to say, so he remained silent.
Removing
his cap, he brushed back his sandy hair to reveal his pointed ears. Startled,
the elf jerked his head back as if he had just been swatted on the nose.

“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.

S
lowly, 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. If 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.