Immortal

by T Nisbet

I cursed myself for not telling him sooner and tried to string my bow. I couldn’t bend it enough to secure the bowstring sitting on top of the horse, so I dismounted. Leaning my weight into it, I bent the five-foot war bow and fit the bowstring in place, then pulled an arrow from my quiver. Holding the blackened shaft of the arrow in my left hand with the bow, I mounted back up. I squeezed my knees together ever so slightly and my horse started forward once more.

  The switchback continued up the granite face. There was little cover that could hide me, or an enemy, but that didn’t stop me from scanning ahead as though my life was at stake. It was.

  I slowed to a stop as I neared the summit of the granite cliff, frightened by what might be over the crest. I would probably be totally exposed when I rode over it, so I dismounted, looking around for somewhere I could tether the horse. Unable to find anything I patted the horse’s head and whispering for it to stay, then hesitantly let go of the leather reins. The horse pawed at the road with a hoof impatiently, but didn’t move, so I turned and ran forward to the summit in a crouch. Pressing myself low against the road, I crawled forward to a boulder near the summit and peered around it.

  A moraine like shelf littered with small granite boulders and devoid of any trees or bushes extended one hundred yards from the summit up into the pass before it met a thick forest of evergreen trees. There was no cover what so ever. It was the perfect place for an ambush. If there were archers hidden in the trees, it would be next to impossible to make it to the cover over the open ground.

  I was wondering how to manage it, scanning the forest for any sign of movement when a family of deer stepped out from cover of the trees near the road, grazing on the grass at the forests edge. Relieved, I ran back down the road to my horse. I said a quick prayer of thanks that it hadn’t moved and mounted the chestnut gelding. Fitting the black-shafted arrow to the bowstring, I pressed my heels into the horse’s sides hard. It took off like a shot over the summit and across the open area towards the tree line. The deer at the forest edge fled when they saw the horse barreling over the road towards them. I crouched low in the saddle trying to make myself the smallest target possible as the horse hurtled over the road.

  No arrows flew toward me as I closed the distance to the trees. After another moment that seemed an eternity, I entered the shadows of their protective branches and sat back in the saddle, pulling the reins hard towards my hips with my free hand. The horse literally slid to a stop. Trusting my intuition, I dismounted quickly and tethered the horse to a pine tree on the side of the road. Gill and the others would find it easily enough. I didn’t have any way to leave a message for them, but I figured Gill would understand what I was doing. Grabbing a canteen from my saddlebag, I set off along the tree line so I could make certain there was no ambush awaiting my friends.

  I ran as lightly as I could through the woods. My soft leather boots made very little sound as I moved from cover to cover, scanning the forest ahead as I went. The evergreen forest was beautiful and filled with life. Birds called out to one another and sang from the cover of the tall pines. Flowers that looked like Larkspur, Indian paintbrush, Lupine and Bluebell grew in irregular patches next to trees or around granite boulders, along side Holly, Laurel and wild Azalea bushes. A wide variety of butterflies and bees glided or buzzed through the air above the flowers searching for pollen.

  Some of the tall pine trees I passed smelled like vanilla, while others had a slight cinnamon fragrance. They were similar to pine trees I’d seen on camping trips, though some were quite a bit different. One type resembled a Sugar Pine, with bark that had purple resin veins running through it.

  The small creeks and brooks I crossed were filled with run-off from the snow-covered peaks on either side of the valley leading into the pass. Pausing in the cover of a bush with tiny red berries that sat on the bank of one of the creeks, I dipped my hand into the ice-cold water and took a sip. It was clean, crisp and refreshing so I filled my canteen.

  While I filled it I wondered if the stream fed the rivers that poured over the falls around the Inn.

  I know this is going to sound weird, but I enjoyed scouting the forest. It was thrilling, gave me a purpose, and helped to take my mind off of Ivy’s betrayal. It reminded me of a trip my family took to Idaho a couple of summers ago. Toby had come along which was usual. I went with his family and he with mine for pretty much every trip we had ever taken since first grade. We had camped near the Clark Fork River, a few miles from a town by the same name. Dad, Toby and I had taken numerous hikes away from our campsite to go fly-fishing. Fly-fishing had been responsible for Toby’s first, and second ear piercings.

  The sun was directly above my head when I came upon a thick, twelve-foot high stonewall. I followed it to an outpost straddling the road. The forest had been narrowing for some time between two enormous, snow-covered granite mountains, funneling me towards the outpost and wall. I heard the twang of bowstrings echoing down into the forest before I actually saw the outpost. From the cover of a pitted granite boulder to the left of the road, I watched as several men practiced with bows on a target dummy. They were enjoying a contest of some sort and their rowdy voices carried out, echoing between the massive mountains of the pass. They were oblivious to the danger they were in.

  I slipped the arrow back in my quiver and passed the bow over my shoulder. Putting my hands out in front of me, I stepped from my hiding place and walked towards them. I had only gone some ten feet or so when one of the men saw me.

  “Hail traveler!” he called out. His friends turned and regarded me for a moment and then went back to their sport.

  I lowered my hands and walked up the grade to where they stood near the wall. They didn’t seem the least bit concerned at my approach. I quickly deduced that trouble didn’t come very often from this side of the wall. Still, they seemed a little lackadaisical for guards. They certainly weren’t city guards.

  “Hunting?” asked the skinny man who had greeted me.

  “No, just scouting the forest for my friends,” I offered.

  He looked at me as if I was crazy. “Scouting? Why in the child’s name would you be scouting at all, much less on this side of the wall?”

  I thought about whether or not I should tell him what was going to be happening. I decided that since their lives were on the line, they had a right to know.

  “An army of dark elves is going to come through this pass in the next two weeks. There could be war parties in the pass soon, if they’re not already here,” I said, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible.

  The guard’s reaction wasn’t what I expected. Not by a long shot. He started laughing and called his friends over to him. He repeated what I’d just told him to the other four. They all hooted and laughed.

  “Who sent yas eh?” asked a bearded man well into his thirties, obviously the senior of the bunch. The others were little older than me. They were all looking at me as though I out of my mind.

  The anger I was repressing started boiling over. Here I was going on what probably equated to a suicidal mission to save their friends, family and country, and they were grinning at me as if I was part of a practical joke.

  “Captain Marchon of Lockewood you idiot!” I snapped.

  “Yer a bit of rude now,” the man said, suddenly serious, handing his bow to one of the other men. “Joke or not, I’ll be takin yer down fer talkin at me like that.”

  He balled his fists and stepped forward. I didn’t have time to do much more than react. All the years I’d spent in my father’s Aikido class as well as a vast stream of other knowledge I’d gained two days ago made the fight ridiculously easy. I stepped inside his looping right hand and casually caught his wrist turning in a circle as I twisted using his momentum to throw him to the sharp, crushed granite.

  He landed hard, crying out in pain. I let go of his locked arm and looked down at him.

  “This isn’t a joke!” I shouted.

  Two of the others started forward to help th
eir leader and in a quick motion I drew Gwensorloth and held its tip at the nearest guard’s throat. He froze and looked down at the shining blade, his eyes growing wide. He swallowed deeply and held his hands up.

  “Back off!” I growled at him. He nodded and stepped back.

  I sheathed my sword in a quick motion and pulled their groaning leader to his feet. “Still think this is a joke?”

  He rubbed his shoulder and shook his head. “Nay, my apologies.”

  “Good!” I growled, “Because your lives are in danger. Is anyone watching the wall?”

  “Finnigan and Groth,” he said stepping away from me towards his friends.

  “Does this have to do with the riders?” asked an overweight, baby-faced man-boy stepping around his leader.

  “What riders?” I asked.

  “Night before last two dark robed men on horseback galloped through the gate followed closely by two others. It happened so fast we didn’t get a good look.”

  “You keep the gate open?” I shook my head in disbelief.

  “Ceneria ain’t been attacked in five-hundred yers,” the leader said still rubbing his shoulder. “We only keep a watch here cause o the treaty fer the inn.”

  I started to feel bad about hurting him as I realized how preposterous it must have sounded that his kingdom was going to be at war soon. Captain Marchon had said that the people of Ceneria relied on the mages too much. He was obviously right. Because of the banishment, anyone could come to Ceneria and had been able to for hundreds of years. If they broke the laws in a city, they were banished. Up until now there was no point in keeping the gate shut. Evidently four other kingdoms used this pass to enter Ceneria.

  “Right, well, things are about to get ugly. Corporal Gillian will be here soon. He’ll tell you more about it. Let’s get the gate closed and make things ready for when he gets here. Until he says differently, don’t allow any blood elves through,” I said hoping that my offer of help would in some way pardon my actions.

  The leader turned to the others. “You heard the man. Get moving!” he shouted.

  They stood frozen for a second, then ran down the wall towards the outpost straddling the road. Their bearded leader and I followed.

  I quickly learned that there were twelve guards altogether. Four stood watch, two on the walls and two in the gatehouse. They were on watch duty for eight hours and were relieved by the next group of four. The entire group of twelve was do to be rotated out from the outpost in only four days.

  I followed Johan their leader around as he doubled the watch on the walls. I suggested the men walking the wall were all easy targets for bowmen with any skill, and they quickly found spots where they could see their sections of the wall and beyond it into the heavily wooded pass from cover. Johan and I looked out over the wall into the forest.

  Over the years the trees had been allowed to grow all the way up to the wall. Unlike the wall in Lockewood, there was no kill zone. I mentioned this to Johan and he nodded in agreement. As soon as we left the wall he ordered four of the guards to gather axes and start clearing the trees to close to the wall. That left five of us to work on the gate.

  The heavy iron gate hadn’t been closed in so long that it had rusted open. After a great deal of oiling, and manpower, we were able to close and open the heavy gates with relative ease.

  After the gates were made ready, Johan grabbed two more axes. He tossed me one and we went out to help the others clearing the trees. I was nervous as hell as I started chopping a fairly large pine tree. I could see the archers covering us from the wall, but I felt overly exposed as I stood there swinging. Also, I had never cut down a tree before, if it fell into the wall, it would allow an enemy an easy ramp up to the top.

  I notched a big groove out of one side, then made a smaller notch on the other side. I returned to the side away from the wall and widened the groove. Once I felt I had started it correctly, I started swinging at the tree with all of my strength and was rewarded each swing by a shower of chipped wood. It wasn’t very long before I heard a popping sound and the tree started to lean away from the wall. I moved quickly out of the way and yelled “Timber!” The tree gathered momentum as it fell stripping branches from the nearby trees, then crashed to the forest floor with a thunderous boom.