by RG Long
In a heap of cloth and rope and tent pegs, Bernard was swearing all sorts of horrible things.
“Oh,” Lincoln said, producing his parchment and small quill again to scribble out a few words. “I had forgotten those two words rhymed. Thanks.”
Kilgore was standing over them in a terrible temper.
“Why has even the potter from the lower districts managed to set up his own tent, and mine, while you two trip over yourselves in trying to be the worst guards this city has?!”
It was a low blow to Bernard, who wished nothing more than to sink into the pile of cloth. He didn't even attempt to get himself out of the mess and salute.
“I'm making my rounds,” Kilgore said, threateningly. “If this tent isn't up by the time I'm finished, you two won't receive your second ration for the day!”
“Yes, sir, Captain Kilgore!” Bernard began to say, though most of it got muffled in the rope that he was trying to break free of.
Lincoln sighed and put away his poetry.
“Rations are why I came on this march,” he said sadly, pulling Bernard free from the tent and picking up a peg and hammer in hand. “Where does this one go again?”
As he began directing Lincoln once more, Bernard tried to think of the great adventures he would have and stories he would be able to tell after they marched on the Wood Walker elves, rather than the supper he and his friend were likely to miss.
46: An Old Elf's Tale
“I'll show you my face if you show me yours!” Serinde challenged the voice that rang out just outside the ruined house's walls.
She had scrambled to her feet and grabbed the knife that had ended the life of another a few hours ago. Perhaps she would have to put it to use again.
Erilas tried to sit up and turn to face the direction the voice had spoken from, but she winced at attempting to move her neck around too quickly. Still, the hurt elf picked up another blade they had procured from the deceased guards and held it tightly.
“Such bravery,” the male voice chided.
Slowly, an older elf stepped into the light of their fire from outside the ruins.
“I suppose you'd think very highly of yourself if you stabbed an elder with your knife when all he wanted was a bit of your fire,” he said. “Not much better than those Enoth thugs, eh?”
His hair was a dark gray color and long. It was tied into a messy ponytail. His clothes were made of simple green cloth and brown leather and spoke of many days of travel. A small pack rested on his back, which was slightly hunched.
“You two look like you've had a pretty awful day,” he said, stopping to observe the both of them.
Without invitation or further pause, the visitor sat down and began to warm his hands with the small fire Serinde had built. She had yet to put her knife down or change her defensive stance.
“Who are you?” she asked, still unsure if they could trust this wanderer. Maybe had had been sent by the empire to find them and kill them? Maybe he was disguised as an old man to try to kill them both? There was something about him that made him seem untrustworthy to her.
“Names, titles, monikers, they're all so useless sometimes!” the elf said as he removed his pack.
Serinde tensed as he plunged his hand into the bag. He looked up at her and laughed, far too loudly for her liking.
“What? Think I'm going to stick you with my dried fruit?” he said as he pulled out a few pieces of long red strips and waved them at her.
“If I had wanted to kill you both, this would not have been the way I would have gone about it,” he said as he took a bite of the strips and looked at them both.
“Sit down, girl,” he said as he looked up at Serinde. “Keep your knife at your side if you must but I am no threat to you.”
Erilas looked up at Serinde, who did not take her eyes off the newcomer, but slowly sat down opposite him and close to her sister. If the old one did attack, she would not let him get Erilas without going through her.
“Comfortable?” the elf asked her, a snide look on his face.
“Who are you?” Serinde asked again, recognizing that he had not answered her question.
"That question isn't nearly as important as what the quarry bosses are going to think when you two don't show up tomorrow," the elf replied through a mouthful of fruit.
Serinde considered him for a moment. She turned to Erilas who shrugged her shoulders.
"How did you know we worked in the quarry?" Serinde asked.
The elf snorted.
"There are two Enoth guards freshly dead out there. There's no elf settlement the empire hasn't emptied in a five day's walk, and you haven't got enough provisions to last more than two. The both of you have the look of long days in the pit and not enough of what the rest of the south needs."
Serinde and Erilas exchanged looks again. This time, it was Erilas who spoke.
"And what does the south need, stranger?" she asked in a weak voice.
The gray-haired elf looked at them both before turning his gaze to the fire and taking another bite from his supply.
"Freedom," he said simply. "And my name is Omior. I'm from Eccott. The only free elf city on Irradan."
47: Bargaining with Strangers
Silverwolf held her knife to the throat of the elf on the bear. She knew she would have to act quickly to determine whether or not this elf was the friendly kind.
She certainly had been dealing with way too many hostile elves as of late.
"What would an elf be doing spying on other elves, huh?" she asked.
It wasn't that she was particularly curious about why this elf riding the bear was spying. She had been looking for him for a good while. Silverwolf had been told this elf had information she wanted.
For a moment, the elf said nothing. He merely kept his breathing steady and glanced over at the woman who held a knife to his throat.
She always felt empowered holding someone at knife point. A new scar on her forearm reminded her how a blade could influence others.
This was one elf she needed on her side.
“I need your service, Amrolan,” she said.
She could tell he had not been expecting her to know his name by the flicker of his eyes at it. The bear let out a snort, but the elf put a hand on its neck, seemingly to comfort it. For a few seconds they stood there, unmoving.
And then something Silverwolf could never have imagined happened.
Blume, the young girl Ealrin had rescued from her ruined city, crashed into their clearing and collided into the bear, landing in a heap at its feet. The hulking beast began to growl at the girl who quickly backed away from its teeth. Keeping her knife against the elf's throat and her eyes locked with his, Silverwolf motioned with her hand for Blume to stay back. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the girl lift a very unusual sword into the air.
She stood to her feet, awkwardly holding the sword and glancing back and forth between the two she had run into. Silverwolf could tell she wasn't glad to see her.
“What are you doing here?” Blume asked with a heated tone.
Silverwolf hadn't been sure what she felt about the little tag along girl. Now she was becoming a bit more concrete on her feelings toward her.
“Adult stuff,” she replied, snarling just a little bit. She wasn't about to be deterred from her payday because of the interference of a little girl.
“And why do you have Ealrin's sword?” she snapped back at her.
“May I see that book?”
If Silverwolf hadn't been keeping her eyes on the elf, it would have taken her longer to register that he had spoken. Amrolan was looking at one of the books that had fallen out of Blume's bag and was lying on some grass nearby.
Slowly, Blume edged her way to the tome, still holding her sword out to the bear. Awkwardly, she bent down and picked it up with one hand, holding it to her chest. The other hand still held the sword, though Silverwolf could tell the girl was straining to keep it up.
“I saw you before,” s
he said. “Outside Lone Peak. I thought you were going to attack me.”
Amrolan turned his head to the side, as if considering Blume's words.
“I do not desire to attack anyone,” the elf said. Silverwolf noticed that he gave her a rather hard glare before giving his attention back to Blume.
“I need help,” Blume said. “My friends have been captured by the elves and I can't help them by myself.”
So, Silverwolf thought, Ealrin went and got himself captured and left Blume to fend for herself.
How wonderful.
“I have no quarrel with the elves of Enoth,” Amrolan said.
Blume looked at the book clutched against her, to Silverwolf, and then back to the elf.
“If you promise to help me,” she said, hand trembling with the weight of the sword. “I'll let you read it. But you can't have it, it belongs to a friend.”
Was this little girl really going to be able to sway her target with a book when she, an expert assassin, had a knife to his throat? It didn't matter. Without the help of her and the new friends she had made, the three of them weren't going to get very far.
Not on foot at least.
“We're together,” she added hastily, motioning to Blume with her free hand. She knew this was her chance to get in on a deal. “In exchange for reading that book, you help the girl free her friends and give me a lesson in ancient runes.”
Amrolan raised an eyebrow at Silverwolf.
In answer, she produced from around her neck, a simple golden pendant. A fist-sized disc hung from the chain, carved with elaborate runes and markings on one side.
On the other side of the pendant was a picture of a tree.
“Recognize this map?” Silverwolf asked with a smirk on her face.
More exciting adventures
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The Story Continues
“Clans of Irradan”, book two in the Legends of Gilia series, will be available April 30th, 2018!
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Thanks for reading.
Enjoy the journey,
RG Long
