War Of The Wildlands (13 page)

P
rince Aelryk
slowly made his way to his father’s council chambers. All of the king’s
lieutenants were meeting to discuss the details of their next attack on the
Wild Elves. Aelryk’s stomach felt like he had just swallowed a large stone. He
had no desire to join any more battles, and he knew that was exactly what his
father would have in mind.

As he entered the room, the conversation came to
an abrupt halt. “How nice of you to finally join us,” the king said.

“Your Majesty,” the prince replied, bowing. He
took a seat at the far end of the table, as far from his father as possible.

“As soon as we have finished conversing, you will
be heading south near Al’marr. There is a large elven clan there which has
avoided any contact with our troops. I want them eradicated.”

“If they haven’t attacked us, why are we attacking
them?”

“We will attack them to prevent them from joining
forces with the other elves. We can’t allow them to gather an army of
considerable size.”

“How do we know these elves are even considering
such a thing?” Aelryk could see the blood rising into his father’s face.
Questioning him like this in front of his councilors was unwise, but he had no
other choice. His father had refused to meet with him privately.

“You are the prince of this kingdom. Therefore, it
is your duty to protect its citizens. You will leave now and attack those
elves, or I will throw you in the dungeons for treason.” The king spoke
forcefully, but managed to contain his anger. He locked eyes with his son, his
face serious.

“Orzi, the court prophet, has already predicted
your victory,” General Luca said. “As long as you leave today, you will be
successful.”

“How comforting,” the prince replied
sarcastically. “Father, I do not fear failing in battle. I simply don’t
understand attacking these elves. Surely you don’t mean to extend our borders
all the way to Al’marr.”

“I most certainly do!” the king shouted, unable to
restrain his temper. He pounded a fist against the wooden table. “Do as I
command!”

The prince stood and bowed. Without another word,
he left the room and headed for the stables. He had no choice but to carry out
his father’s orders. There was little doubt that his father would indeed have
him thrown in the dungeons should he refuse to obey. If that were to happen, he
would have no chance at negotiating peace.

Mi’tal was waiting for the prince just outside of
the stables. “Your Highness,” he said as the prince approached. “I was given
word a few hours ago to prepare your troops for battle. All the preparations
have been made, and we await your orders.”

“How is it you knew of this before me?” the prince
asked, obviously annoyed.

“I was told the order came from you,” Mi’tal
replied, looking somewhat surprised. “A messenger from the palace visited me
this morning saying you had commanded it.”

“That must have been from my father, then.” Aelryk
shook his head, attempting to shake away the anger. He did not succeed. “He
wants us to attack another clan of elves. This group is near Al’marr and has
never been involved in an attack against Na’zorans.”

“What do you intend to do, my lord?” Mi’tal would
follow any order his prince gave, but he hoped the prince would choose an
attempt at negotiation. The prince was young and had so far been brave enough
to speak with his father on the subject. Mi’tal hoped that one day the prince
would find the courage to disobey the king and bring peace to the land.

“We don’t have much choice,” the prince replied.
“If we don’t attack them, my father will probably have us both hanged for
treason.”

“Would it be possible to attempt to speak with
these elves first?” Mi’tal suggested.

“Once we enter their territory we can expect them
to throw the first punch. They’re not going to allow an army to simply walk
into their village. Though they have not yet become a part of it, they must be
aware there is a war on their doorstep.”

“What of Al’marr, my lord? Might they see this
attack as a threat to them as well?”

“The people of Al’marr only care for their spices
and gemstones. We won’t be crossing their borders or harming their citizens, so
I doubt they will take much notice. They don’t defend the elves near their
lands.”

“Very well, my lord,” Mi’tal said. “Shall we
prepare to leave?”

“Yes,” the prince replied. “When we are closer,
you will order the men to split their forces. Half of them will remain behind
along with the mages. I don’t want any more carnage than is necessary.”

“My lord, if we ride into their village with only
a handful of troops, we are putting ourselves in very serious danger.”

“Don’t you think I realize that? These elves have
so far avoided the war. My guess is they don’t want any part of it. They will
only fight back if they are forced. We will show our strength and order them to
flee. If they refuse, we will signal the rest of our army to attack.”

“As you command, my lord.” Mi’tal could not decide
whether he liked this new plan or not. It would certainly save many innocent
lives, but he would much rather make an attempt at peace. He pitied Aelryk that
he should have such a father. It was proving a difficult task for the prince to
serve the king and appease his own conscience at the same time.

Mi’tal followed only the prince. If Aelryk
commanded him to disobey the king, he would do it without a second thought.
Such an act would cost him his life, but he would die knowing that he had
served his lord. The prince’s lord was King Domren, and Mi’tal understood why Aelryk
would not fully defy him.

For the first time in his life, Mi’tal found
himself wishing death on his own king. The prince was maturing, and he would soon
be ready to lead his people. A better world was waiting for Na’zora, if only
Domren were gone.

T
en days of
practice had given Yori the confidence to etch runes without his grandfather
hovering over his shoulder. Every evening, he would study the scrolls,
committing the runes to his memory. He had learned nearly a hundred words in
the ancient elven tongue and how to properly etch them into a piece of metal.
Some were used for strength or to affect the weight of weapons and armor, while
others were used to add power such as fire or lightning to the blow of a sword.
Never in his life had he imagined such a thing to be possible, yet here he was
performing the magic himself.

All of the Sycamore Clan’s warriors now had runed
weapons thanks to Yori’s newfound skill. Previously, his grandfather had only
bothered to rune special weapons for the Overseer and the clan’s most skilled
warriors. War had not visited their people for a long time, but rune carvers
continued to pass along their knowledge throughout the generations.

Darin had not forgotten his promise to Reylana.
Yori had etched over a hundred arrow tips which would be used in the war
against the Na’zorans. Though he was not a woodworker, he had managed to etch
strengthening runes into new bows that would now last indefinitely. Every night
Yori went to bed with cramps in his fingers and neck from the tedious work, but
he enjoyed every moment. Finally, he had found a purpose in life, and it felt
wonderful to be needed and welcome among his own people.

* * * * *

“This has healed nicely,” the old woman said. “You should be swinging that
sword again in no time.”

Reylana flexed
the muscles of her left arm which had spent too much time motionless in a
sling. They still felt tight, but she was sure they would be back to normal by
the time she returned to her brother. “Thank you,” she said, stretching her
shoulder. She stepped out of the healer’s hut and into the bitterly cold wind.
She pulled her sword from its sheath and inspected the blade. It looked a bit
dull both in color and sharpness. Since she had been unable to fight, she had
not tended to the sword’s needs. To her, this was almost like ignoring a crying
child. She set off toward the smithy to remedy the situation.

Yori could not
help but notice the lovely auburn-haired elf coming his way. She was curvy
despite the tight leather armor that bound her slender form. She headed
straight for Darin, carrying her sword across both hands.

“Good day,
Darin,” she said. “My blade is in need of some care, I think.” She offered the
sword to the old elf, who accepted it with a smile.

“I’ll soon have
it fixed up for you, young lady,” he said. “My grandson has been busy with
those arrow tips for you. Some will explode on contact, and some will survive to
be used over and over again. Would you like us to add runes to your sword?”

“Of course,”
she replied. “What can you do with it?”

“We can affect
the weight, prevent it from becoming dull, strengthen its blow, and many other
things.”

“Don’t do
anything with the weight. I’m used to it being heavy, and that’s how I like it.
If you can prevent it from dulling and make it stronger, I would be in your
debt.” She looked over at Yori, who she had never noticed before. “Are you new
around here?” she asked.

“Sort of,” he
replied. “I’ve been here a couple of weeks, but I’ve rarely left the forge.”
Yori regretted not spending any time amongst the clansmen. In front of him was
someone he wouldn’t mind knowing better.

“You’re tall,”
she replied, looking him up and down. “You must be the tallest male elf I’ve
ever met. Would you like to mate?”

Yori’s eyebrows
shot up in surprise, and the chisel in his hand dropped to the workbench with a
loud clang. He glanced over at his grandfather, who was grinning from ear to
ear. He flicked his head in the direction of his hut, indicating to Yori to
show the girl inside. Reylana stood patiently, awaiting Yori’s response.
Apparently, her request had been serious.

Without a word,
Yori walked to the other side of his workbench and took Reylana’s hand. She
smiled and followed him to the hut. Once inside, she tugged violently at his
pants until they fell to his ankles. She shoved him roughly onto the bed and
proceeded to remove only her shoes and pants before climbing on top of him. Taking
full control of the encounter, she rode him until her appetite was satiated.
Yori felt a sudden surge of pleasure so intense that he clenched his jaw to
stop himself from crying out. He had no intention of looking like a fool in
front of this woman.

Reylana climbed
off of him and retrieved her clothing from the floor. Yori sat up on the bed
and stared at her, amazed by the entire event. She leaned over and kissed him
on the side of his head.

“After the war
is over, we should mate again. I’d love to have a tall son.” As she reached for
the door, she stopped abruptly and turned to face him. “I’ll be back for the
sword tomorrow.” With those words she exited the hut, leaving Yori behind.

Yori dressed
and returned to the forge, a look of bewilderment still apparent on his face.
His grandfather laughed at the sight of him and clapped him on the back. “Looks
like you’re truly a man now,” he said proudly. “You’re just a piece of meat to
the women around here. Romance is a rare thing among our people.”

Lem stared at
Yori, envying his cousin once again. Yori glanced at him, but looked away
without saying a word. His first time with a woman had not gone quite how he
had imagined it, but he had no complaints. Retrieving his chisel, he tried to
go back to his work. After a few seconds, he looked up and asked, “What was her
name?”

“Reylana,”
Darin replied. The old man laughed and added, “Don’t expect her to be true to
you. That just isn’t our way.”

Yori nodded and
returned to his work.

T
hree white
carriages made their way along the road ahead of Reylin’s troops. Their scouts
had noticed the carriages earlier that morning as they surveyed the path north
to the Mountain Clan’s village. The carriages were nearing the border, and
Reylin’s archers readied their bows to prevent their entry into Na’zora.
Whoever was inside must be very important, and their deaths would send a loud
message to King Domren.

The sword maidens crouched low behind the archers,
readying themselves for the charge. The carriages were accompanied by a small
unit of guards, but the elves had them vastly outnumbered. Still, the
possibility of magefire existed, and they refused to take any chances with
elven lives. They would play it safe and have everyone ready to join the fight
if necessary.

As the carriages rounded a bend in the road, they
finally came within range of the archers. In perfect unison, the elves lifted
their bows, releasing their arrows into the chilled winter air. The drivers
were struck, blood pouring from their necks. The lead driver had just enough
time to halt his carriage before he toppled from his high seat and crashed to
the road beneath him. The guards drew their swords and advanced on the woods.
Hoping to save as many arrows as possible, the archers moved aside for the
sword maidens.

Essa led her troops out of the thicket to engage
the enemy. The guards charged at the maidens, attempting to trample them with
their horses. The maidens, however, were more agile than the guards had
expected. They dodged gracefully to each side until the horses had charged past
them and broken their formation among the trees. Now, the maidens charged the
mounted guards, slicing at their legs and thrusting their long broadswords into
their midsections. Within minutes, the battle was ended with only a handful of
elves having to participate. The rest watched silently, lusting for a battle of
their own.

Reylin strode toward the rearmost carriage.
Drawing his knife, he flung open the door and peered inside. No living thing
occupied the carriage. It was filled with luggage and a few small pieces of
furniture. Moving to the middle carriage, he flung open the doors as a
frightened, dark-haired woman began screaming. He glanced over his shoulder to
his archers and smirked.

“Hello, ladies,” he said. A second woman sat
within, her expression was stern as if with courage. Her breathing, however,
was easily noticeable as her chest rose and fell, revealing her fear. The other
elves gathered closer to the carriage as Reylin reached in to grab the
dark-haired woman by the arm. He pulled her roughly from the carriage, but he
caught her as she nearly fell to the ground. She stared at him, her eyes full
of fear as he reached in to grab the second woman.

Lisalla recoiled from Reylin’s touch, refusing to
be dragged from the carriage. “I can remove myself from the carriage,” she said
defiantly. With all the dignity she could muster, she exited the carriage and
stood proudly before her captors. “I am Lisalla, Princess of Ra’jhou. I demand
to speak with your leader.”

Most of the elves laughed, but Essa remained
silent. She approached Lisalla and said, “You are a brave woman. Not many human
women would have the courage to make demands. Most of you just cower and bawl
like this one here.” She pointed to Danna, who was sobbing and shaking with fear.

“Danna is my maidservant. She isn’t accustomed to
having her life threatened.” Lisalla did her best to maintain a calm, regal
appearance. In reality, she was terrified of these elves and the fate that
might await her. Poor Danna was already terrified out of her wits. Lisalla
hoped that by maintaining her own composure, Danna would feel a small amount of
comfort.

“I say kill them and send their pretty corpses
back to their king,” Reylin suggested. “Na’zorans should know better than to
travel this area without an army.”

“I am not Na’zoran,” Lisalla replied. With as much
pride as she could muster, she said, “I am the daughter of King Olin of
Ra’jhou. I am traveling to Na’zora to marry Prince Aelryk.” As soon as she
spoke them, Lisalla regretted her words. In her pride, she had given her enemy
a good reason to kill her.

“Perfect,” Reylin said with a smile.

Essa held up a hand. “You will not kill this one,”
she declared. “I don’t care about the other girl, but you will not kill this
princess. She is brave. If her prince wants to save her life, he can stop the
attacks on our people.”

“So now you’re the great negotiator?” Reylin
looked at Essa with contempt. Shaking his head, he walked over to the lead
carriage and flung open the door. Inside were two well-dressed men huddled
together as far from the door as they could get. Reylin motioned to a nearby
sword maiden and together they dragged the men from the carriage. Without
saying a word, Reylin slit both of their throats. He would hear no negotiation
for their lives. His hesitation in killing the women had caused enough trouble
already.

“The women are yours, Essa,” he said, wiping the
bloody knife against his pants. “You can keep them quiet while we continue to
the Mountain Clan. Once we’ve reached their village, they can chose whether
these two are allowed to live.”

Essa nodded, satisfied with his decision. The
Mountain Clan could decide whether humans were allowed to enter as prisoners.
If they refused, Essa would kill the women herself. “We will bind their hands and
gag their mouths. They will follow us without a fight, or we will kill them.”

“We won’t be any trouble,” Lisalla promised. She
knew that as long as she and Danna were alive there was at least a small chance
of rescue. All she could do now was obey her captors and hope for a miracle.

Reylin loaded the corpses back into the first
carriage and sent the horses running toward Na’zora. “That should let our
handsome prince know that his fair princess has been accosted. All we have to
do is wait, and he will ride gallantly into battle to save his lady love.”
Laughter erupted from the elves as Reylin made broad sweeping motions with his
arms. Humans had a romantic nature about them that was alien among the Wild
Elves. They had use only for practical matters, not fairytale love stories.

The elves freed the carriage horses from their
reins, allowing them to graze and roam at their pleasure. They left the two remaining
carriages without bothering to rummage through their contents. The trivial
belongings of a pampered princess were of no use to the elves.

Essa bound the two women’s hands with leather
straps and gagged their mouths with cotton strips torn from Lisalla’s own
skirt. The air was bitterly cold, and Lisalla wished she had the warm blankets
from the carriage to comfort her. As it was, she had only a thin yellow dress
to shield her from the cold. Danna seemed untouched by the winter air, as she
was too distraught over her capture to notice the weather.

The party continued north in search of the
Mountain Clan. This would take them to the outskirts of the Kingdom of Ra’jhou,
but they had no intention of going any farther. Ra’jhou had never made war
against the elves, and they had no idea their princess had been taken captive.
If they dared to enter the war to aid Na’zora, Lisalla would be their first
casualty.