War Of The Wildlands (5 page)

A
thick fog hung
over the forest as Reylin began his watch. Scouts had reported soldiers in the
area, and he had ordered his clansmen to take to the trees. Only a few archers
and the sword maidens remained on the ground. They had no intention of running,
and they would defend their village to the death. The elves who were unable to
fight hid themselves high in the trees. They were the young, the elderly, and
those who had no skill in battle. Their healer Doni was among them. He had
taken a good amount of supplies into the trees with him in case the warriors
were wounded in battle.

Reylin listened closely to the sounds of the
forest. The birds chirped happily overhead, and the wind gently rustled the
golden leaves, escorting them delicately to the ground. In the distance, he
heard the crack of a small branch and knew that the Na’zorans were on the move.
He readied his bow, signaling the others to prepare themselves as well.

Suddenly, horses burst through the tree line and
into the village. Immediately, he loosed an arrow, knocking one soldier from
his horse. His clansmen loosed arrows as well, and several men fell to the
ground, clutching the arrows sticking out of their flesh. As their formation
began to break, the sword maidens charged into battle. They quickly dispatched
the men who had fallen from their mounts and began slicing at the legs of the
men who had yet to be struck by arrows.

As his dark eyes drank in the scene, Mi’tal tightened
his grip on the slender wooden handle of his war hammer and swung it at the
charging women. The first to charge his direction was a tall, dark-haired elf with
a savage look in her eyes. She screamed as she swung her blade to meet his
hammer. Before she could draw her sword back a second time, he struck, hitting
her directly in the head. She crumpled to the ground and did not move again. A
second woman charged him, barely giving him enough time to block her blade. He
struck the auburn-haired elf in the back and continued charging through the
ranks.

Prince Aelryk’s stallion was spooked when a horse
in front of him suddenly changed direction and charged straight at him. The
horse reared, throwing the prince violently to the ground. Mi’tal, who had
witnessed the event, dashed to the prince’s side. As he dismounted his horse to
help Aelryk to his feet, an arrow grazed his left shoulder leaving a deep gash.
Ignoring the pain, he grabbed the prince’s arm and pulled him up. Grabbing the
horse’s reins, he used the animal for cover while he and Aelryk moved away from
the center of the fighting.

“Are you alright, my lord?” Mi’tal asked,
breathing heavily.

“I think I just had the wind knocked out of me,”
the prince replied. “We need to get back on our horses and reform the charge.
Somehow these elves knew we were coming.”

As Mi’tal looked around the battlefield, he
realized that the elves had every advantage. Though his troops were certain
they had the element of surprise, it was clear that the elves had known of
their presence. It was a stupid mistake on their own part. Of course the elves
would have scouts scouring every edge of the forest. A large group of mounted
soldiers would be impossible to miss. Most likely, the elves had been expecting
an attack ever since the massacre at the farming village. They must have been
lying in wait, hoping for the opportunity to turn this war to their advantage.
Today they had succeeded.

Arrows continued to fly from the trees as men and
horses fell to the ground. The vast majority of the wounds were lethal,
piercing the men through the eyes, neck, and heart. The mages at the rear of
the assault stayed away from the fighting. From a distance, they began tossing
fireballs at the huts, setting the village alight. The elves ignored the fire,
and no one came running from the burning homes. With their clansmen safely
evacuated to the trees, the elves would not be distracted by fleeing, unarmed
citizens.

Moving through the treetops, the elves inched
closer to the mages. In one coordinated attack, four arrows were loosed and
simultaneously struck the four mages. Three of them were hit in the neck, while
the third was hit in the ear. He had lowered his head slightly just as the
arrow came whizzing his direction. The elves considered the mages to be the
greatest threat of all the human soldiers, making them a prime target. The
chaos had left them completely unprotected, and now they were dead.

“We need to get out of here,” Mi’tal called to
Aelryk.

Grabbing at the reins of a fleeing horse, the
prince pulled himself onto the saddle. Mi’tal mounted a horse as well, and they
began motioning and yelling for their troops to retreat. More than half already
lay dead, and many others had been wounded. Once a dozen or so had managed to
gather, they retreated back into the forest. More of the remaining soldiers
followed, leaving the dead behind.

The elves did not pursue the fleeing soldiers.
They had accomplished their goal and proven themselves worthy adversaries. No
longer would the Na’zorans attack frightened, unprepared elves. From now on,
they would deal with a mighty elven force that was not afraid to fight back.

“Reylana!” Reylin called as he looked around the
battlefield. His sister’s auburn hair normally made her stand out among a
crowd, but he had not seen her since the battle began.

Hearing her name, she cried, “I’m here!” She
walked slowly toward her brother. After the men had retreated, she began to
feel pain in the back of her left shoulder where she had been struck with a war
hammer. The pain was becoming severe, and a large purple lump was forming. As
she approached Reylin, she looked at the ground and realized most of the fallen
were Na’zorans. Unfortunately, a few of her elven sisters lay dead as well.

“Are you hurt?” Reylin asked as she grew closer.

“The back of my shoulder is bruised and maybe
broken, but I’m not bleeding. Where’s Doni?”

“Dead,” he replied. “The flames from one of the
mage’s fireballs leapt at the tree where he was standing. I saw him fall
directly into the fire. There’s nothing there now but ash.”

Reylana looked over at the tree where Doni had been.
“I’m sorry to lose him. He was a fine healer. Did any of his supplies survive?
We’re going to need those.”

“Some of the archers are looking for them,” he
replied. “We’ll just have to help each other instead of relying on a healer.”

He inspected the lump on his sister’s back. It was
rapidly becoming darker, and she winced when he touched it. “I think something
is broken in there, Sis. We need to get your arm stabilized so it can heal.”

“I can’t use a two-handed sword very well with one
arm wrapped up,” she protested.

“You’ll never use it at all if your arm heals
crooked.” He looked her straight in the eyes, his tone serious.

“Ok,” she said reluctantly. He removed his vest
and began ripping the fabric to create a makeshift sling. Wrapping it around
her arm with a delicacy that she found surprising, he said, “That should do for
now. Maybe another clan still has a living healer that can look at it.”

“You still want me to visit the other clans?”

“Of course I do. We’ll be much stronger if we
stand together. We have no homes now, so we’re all going to be living in the
trees. They can’t keep burning our villages if we have none. With nothing
holding us in place, we can form an army to match the strength of our enemy.
We’re going to win this.”

Reylana looked at her brother’s hopeful expression
and sighed. She knew a village could be rebuilt in time, but this had been her
home since she was born. Everything was changing and not for the better. “You
should have some of your men start scouting the area to locate the other
homeless clans. We need to know the locations of each clan and which still have
villages that could be vulnerable. Those will probably be hit next and will
need protection.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like a war leader,”
Reylin commented with a smile.

A
bright,
cloudless sky settled over the palace district as Yori moved through the
marketplace. The aroma of freshly baked bread filled his nostrils, reminding
his stomach that he had not yet eaten that day. He hoped that one of the
merchants might have a menial task for him to perform which would earn him a
few coins for a good meal. Eventually, he would be starting out on his long
walk home, and he did not intend to go with an empty belly.

As he continued through the marketplace, he
noticed a young woman was following him. From a distance, she repeatedly
glanced at him and looked away quickly when he saw her. She carried a basket of
wildflowers, and her light brown hair cascaded in soft ringlets over her
shoulders. Bright yellow ribbons accentuated her tresses and brought out the
brightness in her eyes. Looking at Yori once more, she gave a shy smile. He
smiled back and stared at her curiously.

Slowly, she made her way from behind a merchant’s
stall and began walking casually toward him. She browsed at each stall along
the way, pretending she wasn’t interested in him at all. Finding an ounce of
hidden courage, he began to move in her direction until he was standing next to
her in front of a stall filled with fancy cloth and lace. As she admired a roll
of embroidered satin, she glanced at him and flashed a smile.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” she echoed, turning to face him.

Yori had very little experience speaking to women,
especially pretty ones. This girl was breathtaking, and he found himself at a
complete loss for words.

“It’s a fine day,” the girl said. “Are you a
traveler?”

“Yes,” Yori replied, thankful that she had
continued the conversation. “I’m from Enald.”

“I’ve never been there,” she said, shaking her
head slightly and causing her ringlets to bounce. Yori’s eyes locked on the
moving tresses as they danced upon her breast. Seeming to notice where his gaze
had ventured, she slipped her arm in his and compelled him to walk alongside
here.

“My name’s Arla,” she said as she walked.

“I’m Yori,” he replied, wondering where they were
going. This was his first time walking arm in arm with a girl, and he was
concentrating on his stride in an attempt to not trip over his own feet. Looking
like a fool was one thing, but the thought of looking foolish in front of such
a pretty girl was mortifying.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Yori,” she said. “I
baked a fresh apple pie this morning. Would you like to have some?”

“Umm, sure,” Yori said, surprised by the question.

She continued to lead the way out of the
marketplace and down the narrow street to a residential area. The neighborhood
was filled with small houses built only a few feet apart from each other. The
street seemed fairly clean, and few people were around.

Arriving at her home, she opened the door and
motioned him inside. “My father is out for the day,” she said. “He’s gone on
business and won’t be back until dark.”

She sat on the edge of a bed near the side wall of
the house. Yori stood awkwardly, staring at the girl.

“Come and sit,” she said, patting the bed next to
her.

Yori obeyed and sat next to the girl. She gave him
a flirty smile and kissed him quickly on the lips. Yori was too surprised by
her actions to respond. No one had ever kissed him before, and he was unsure
how to proceed. She looked away shyly and glanced back up at him.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” she asked in a
mischievous tone.

Yori said nothing. After a moment of silence, he
placed a hand on her cheek and kissed her soft, warm lips. Though he’d never
kissed anyone, he had watched closely as young lovers in Enald had passed by
him in the marketplace. He was fairly certain he was imitating their actions
well.

Arla seemed pleased with the kiss and giggled
happily as he released her. She began unlacing her bodice, allowing her bosom
to show through her thin chemise. Slipping the dress down off of her shoulders,
she revealed her nakedness to Yori, who sat in awed silence, hungrily devouring
the sight before him.

Instinctively, he moved closer to her, placing a
hand on one breast. He caressed it gently and began kissing her neck
passionately. Wrapping her arms around him, she began kissing him along his
neck and nibbling at his earlobe. Forgetting himself in the moment, he allowed
her to continue working up his ear until she slid her fingers through his sandy
hair, removing the headband that hid his secret.

Seeing the pointed tips to his ears, Arla recoiled
with a scream of fright and clutched her chemise to her chest. She backed away
quickly and stumbled to the door. Yori sat stunned, not knowing what to say. He
knew why she was upset, but he had no idea how to calm her.

The girl began to scream as she flung open the
door and proceeded, undressed, into the streets. “Help me!” she cried, her
throat raspy with terror. “Someone, please! He’s tried to rape me! An elf! A
Wild
Elf!”

Yori’s eyes went wide with fear. He stood frozen
in the doorway, holding his breath and staring at the young woman. Another
woman came running over to her and helped her wrap the chemise around her body
to cover her nakedness.

Pointing at Yori, Arla cried, “He’s an elf! He
tried to force himself on me! An elf!”

A small crowd began to gather as they heard the
commotion. Two guards approached and grabbed Yori’s arms. One of them punched
him in the stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. He offered no resistance,
for fear they might kill him on the spot. His messy hair barely covered his ear
tips, and he could not possibly deny the crime of being an elf.

The guards dragged him to the palace dungeons as
half the citizens in the marketplace watched. Tossing him roughly inside a
stone cell, the guard slammed the iron door shut and turned the key. Yori sat
on the damp stone floor and buried his head in his hands. He was certain they
would execute him. An elf could not expect a fair trial in Na’zora.

His mind swam with the possibility of being
tortured before he was killed. Tears began to flow as he wished with all his
heart that he had departed the palace district immediately, rather than wasting
time around town. If only he could change that one moment, he would be free to
return home to his family. He thought of little Meladee and how sad she would
be when he did not return. The best he could hope for was a swift execution,
but he knew that was unlikely. In the cramped stone cell he would find no
comfort, only despair.