Nightfall (Book 1)

by L. R. Flint

  I told Alaia that I had seen the stones in a vision before. Really? I nodded and then remembered that the dragonlady could not see me. Yes, that desert and those stones were what I saw when you found me in the rain, unaware of my surroundings. Alaia was silent for a few seconds as she quickly thought things over.

  Here, let me see if I can enchant these memories so that you will not forget the path here.

  I consented and once she said that she was done, I asked, Why did you not contact Koldobika, Basajaun, or Izar?

  Just tell Koldobika, please?

  Alright.

  Good luck.

  To you as well, I said, and the dragonlady severed the connection and her intruding thoughts disappeared from my mind. It was late enough that it did not seem prudent for me to wake Koldobika and Basajaun and I had left the conversation with more questions than I had had at its beginning, so I sat and contemplated a few of the things Alaia had said. The moment of reflection did not last long before my eyelids grew heavy and my mind refused to evade sleep.

  ~ ~ ~

  I slept fitfully and woke rather early but I did not think it would be wise to wait any longer to get the news out, so I climbed down from the branches of the tree and woke Izar. She would be upset with me if I withheld any information from her regarding Alaia, so I told her as best I could the conversation I had had with the dragonlady, as we made our way to Koldobika’s home. When we arrived the wizard was already awake, sitting on the floor with a huge book spread in his lap. All I saw was ancient pages covered in a spidery writing, before he carefully closed the old tome. “I have some news I think you will want to hear, but I also need to tell Basajaun.”

  Koldobika grabbed a hooded robe and threw it over his floor-length tunic and briskly marched from beneath the tree. He led us quickly along the winding paths through the forest of weeping willows, occasionally walking straight through what I believed were the lawns of a number of elves, paying them no mind. Not wanting to get left behind I followed, hoping that we would not get into any trouble with the owners. As the wizard headed toward a particular tree I contemplated whether I should say ‘Lord Basajaun’ or just ‘Basajaun’ when I interrupted his slumber, but Koldobika relieved me of the necessity as he walked straight into the embrace of the tree (the decency of giving someone a little privacy obviously lost on him). I remained without the wall of hanging branches and my sister deigned to wait with me. Koldobika noisily woke the elf Lord from his slumber and, after realizing that the two of us had not followed him inside, he commanded us to ‘get in here’.

  “Ah, Izotz, how may I help you?” Basajaun asked, bowing and acting as if the wizard’s intrusion was nothing out of the norm. I inclined my head and told him that Alaia had contacted me. He was anxious to get the information and immediately made me sit and recount every word that had transpired.

  “She was not taken captive, then—as we thought,” Basajaun mused once I had finished my tale. “You can figure out how to get there?”

  “We cannot let him go,” the wizard cried, astounded that the elf Lord would propose such a thing. “Izotz, let me into your mind so I can see the directions she scried to you.” I let him freely sift through my recent memories regarding the conversation and, after a moment, he let out an exasperated breath. “Really, Izotz, this is no time for games.”

  “What?” I said, offended. “I am hiding nothing from you.”

  “I cannot see the directions you spoke of.”

  “I swear I saw them. She mentioned a desert, the…”

  “Eguzki,” Izar supplemented.

  “Yes, the Eguzki desert. Then I saw mountains pass by and we came upon a stone structure.”

  “You came upon a what?” Koldobika asked.

  “A structure made of stone.”

  The wizard looked as if he were going to rant again but the elf Lord raised his hand and asked me a simple question. “Did Alaia perform any spells on the scenes she scried to you?”

  “Yes, she said it would keep me from forgetting any details.”

  Koldobika huffed and stared down into his beard. The question and my answer obviously held a meaning that I did not comprehend.

  “Be prepared for a trip to the desert, Izotz,” Basajaun said.

  “Yes.” The wizard finally looked up. “We should begin preparations immediately.”

  “What about my friends in Caernadvall?” The elf Lord and Koldobika exchanged looks and silence fell before either of them answered me.

  “It is your choice, Izotz,” the elf Lord said quietly, “Whether we go now to rescue Alaia or to bring your friends out of Caernadvall.”

  “What do you choose?” the wizard asked.

  I thought the question over for a moment. It was a hard choice; I was not sure if Alaia was safe, but on the other hand, Arrats did not have much time before he was required by law to enlist in the ranks of the Guards. If he was taken before I could get them out, I did not know if it would be possible to free him by any means other than death. My answer was caught exactly between the two options, that is, until I glanced at my sister. Alaia had been a mentor and mother figure to her in the absence of our parents, and she had been hoping and praying that Alaia would be safe and now that she knew the woman was indeed alive, Izar wanted to know that the dragonlady was safe. Izar was nearly successful in keeping the emotion from her face, but the little that I could see told me just how worried she was.

  “We will get Alaia first,” I said, not looking at anyone.

  “Koldobika, I am leaving you in charge of getting supplies and finding us a ship. I will deal with the Council.” Basajaun glanced at me; it was obvious that this Council, whatever it was, did not enjoy letting me wander around without its permission. That ended our discussion and the wizard was the first to leave the elf’s abode. “Surely Arrats still has time before his age is realized,” Basajaun consoled, placing a hand on my shoulder as I turned to leave.

  “I hope so,” I said.

  ~ ~ ~

  The next morning I awoke to find that Izar was still at home. I was surprised because her duties as a messenger often required that she be gone long before sunrise. I began preparations on a meal of fried fish and the aroma soon had her investigating its source. I inquired about her presence and as she began helping me with the food she told me that the previous evening Basajaun had found a temporary replacement for her and had insisted that she begin preparing herself for the upcoming journey.

  “The Council seems fond of delaying their choices as much as possible—why would this be any different?”

  “Because Basajaun will lie to them and say that Alaia is in dire condition and that it is necessary that we come to her aid immediately.” The idea made her laugh and the sound was a near perfect replication of our mother’s. I sighed; so many things had changed lately, it was incredible—and a little disconcerting. Izar mistook my mood and said that the elf Lord would work me into the whole plot in a way that it would not be necessary for the Council to meet with me in order to give their permission for my departure. I did not feel like correcting her errant assumption and hoped that she was right; the sooner we could leave, the sooner we would return and the sooner I would be able to return to Caernadvall.

  “Pardon me,” a lilting voice called from the opposite side of our home.

  “Expecting company?” I asked. Izar shrugged and left to meet the visitor. It was tempting to leave the cooking fish to go and see what the visitor wanted; I was burning with curiosity, for that was the first time a visitor had come with whom I was not acquainted.

  “Izotz.” I spun around, hiding my curiosity as the visitor followed my sister through the draped wall of leaves. As soon as he had cleared the wall of branches, the young man instantly dropped to his knees, bowing before me.

  “What is this?” I asked, disconcerted by the boy’s action.

  “Forgive me for interrupting you, but my father, a master amongst bowyers, wished that I deliver this to you,” he indicated a long pa
rcel that he held delicately before him, his head still bowed as he spoke, “as a gift. He hopes that it will serve you well—that his works may help defend you for the day when you will defend us, your people.” I did not like the fact that the boy would not make eye contact with me—and the bowing? That was complete nonsense.

  “This will not do,” I muttered. Poor choice of words; the messenger flinched, bowing his head so low that his face was nearly buried in the grass. “Stand, please.”

  “Sir?”

  “Come on, man—stand, I say.” He dipped his head—and that time his face did brush against the ground—but finally he rose to his feet and tentatively glanced at my face before immediately turning his gaze to the ground, where he seemingly found something of great interest to stare at.

  You are scaring him near to death, Izar said, exasperated.

  “Ah, much better; I promise not to kill you for looking me in the face like a man.”

  I barely kept myself from laughing when he said, “Thank you.”

  “Now, you said this was a gift?”

  “Yes, sir, from my father.” It took him a moment to remember that he would not spontaneously combust for looking at me, but eventually he did and the next time I spoke he steadily held my gaze.

  “For me?” I was unaccustomed to receiving gifts, at least gifts whose sole purpose was to be a gift. Usually, they were a precursor to a request that, otherwise, I never would have granted.

  “Yes, sir. He has heard of your plight to save our friend, the Lady Alaia, and wishes that you would receive this humble gift.” The offering of the gift seemed honest enough so I finally accepted the package. The young man did not move, letting his gaze bounce from my face to the long, linen-wrapped parcel I now held. I had not planned to unwrap it before an audience, but he seemed most curious to see my reaction to the gift.

  “Shall I open it now?”

  “Absolutely,” he exclaimed with delight.

  I knelt on the ground and he unconsciously followed suit. Resting the bundle on my lap, I untied the two lengths of rope used to secure the linen and then removed the white fabric. I raised my brows in surprise as the wrappings fell away from the bow; the handle fit perfectly in my hand and the limbs were covered entirely in delicate, and strikingly beautiful, designs. “I have never seen a bow to equal this in beauty,” I announced. “It is amazing.” The boy smiled, obviously pleased at my reaction and very proud of his father’s work. “If this is a humble gift then I would hate to learn the price of a richer item, if such a thing were possible.”

  He actually chuckled and I was pleased that he was finally partially at ease in my presence. “The wood this was formed from is the best to be had and the bow has charms that would keep even an untrained archer from missing his mark. The only additions that could make it more expensive would be precious stones and, honestly, a bow laden with gems would be fit for nothing more than a display.”

  “What is your father’s name?”

  “He is called Endika.”

  “Well, your father is a marvelous master of his craft. Would you let Endika know that I am truly honored to accept such a wondrous gift?”

  “Of course. Your praise is very generous.” He stood and bowed, though when the action was complete he remained standing. I stood and held my hand out to him; he seemed to at least understand the gesture, for he clasped it.

  “Thank you,” I said, releasing his hand. Then he left, walking around my house, which hid his path from my sight. I turned around and found that Izar had taken over cooking the fish; I had completely forgotten about that. I smiled sheepishly. “Thanks.”

  “Now we just need to get you a case for that,” she said, nodding toward the bow I held in my hands. “And I need to teach you how to use one.” She smiled cheekily.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I can tell by the way you hold the bow that you have never learned to use one.”

  “Ah.” She was right. I had never so much as held a bow before that day.

  ~ ~ ~

  The next morning I awoke to Izar wildly shaking my shoulders. She let me know just how displeased she was with the amount of effort it had taken in order for her to wake me and then she shoved a plain bow into my hands and hauled me to my feet. Next, she handed me a quiver of arrows and I did not even get the chance to change into fresh clothes before she was pulling me out of the house. The air outside was crisp and cool; the pre-dawn light lent a silvery sheen to the landscape and everything was peaceful and quiet. Other than the willows’ drooping branches being blown by a soft breeze, Izar and I were the only moving creatures to be seen as we walked along the paths toward the bridge.

  The sun was just creeping above the treetops at the far side of the field as we reached the clearing, warming everything with its soft, red glow. The field dedicated to archery was just to the North of the fencing grounds and only a few people were scattered about it, some of them shooting at obvious targets marked with circles of color while others’ targets I could not clearly discern. Dew sparkled in the sunlight on the grass all across the four fields and I had not taken even a dozen steps before beads of moisture were slipping from my leather shoes.

  Izar led me to one of the large, round targets marked with circles of white, yellow, red, blue, and a black dot dead in the center. She demonstrated how to hold and aim the bow, but did not release her arrow. I mimicked her stance, held the bow with my left hand and pulled the arrow back to my right cheekbone with the same hand. She made minor adjustments to my stance and the form with which I held my weapons and scolded me whenever I let the tension on the string slacken. When she was finally content with my pose, she told me to return the arrow to the quiver and bring my left foot back into line with my right.

  She then had me step back into position, bring an arrow to aim, and then return it to the quiver. Staying in that position she had me aim a few more arrows, and then she had me repeat the entire process a multitude of times, before she was satisfied with my speed and fluidity. “I think my arms might cramp up.”

  “Good,” Izar laughed. “Take a quick break to relieve some of the tension and then I might let you shoot at the target.” I took her advice and when I clenched, and then stretched my hands, I realized just how much my fore and middle fingers on my right hand had cramped. I eagerly sat down a few yards behind my sister and just let my arms and hands hang limp at my sides, while I watched Izar take up her stance and carefully aim at the target. She let loose the arrow and it embedded itself within the blue ring, near the black center. She then let loose a volley of arrows, the first hitting the bull’s-eye and the others ringing it as tightly as possible. She waved for me to follow her when she retrieved her arrows and I realized that she had actually made a pattern. Her ring of arrows was perfectly aligned on the border between the blue and black parts of the target, too perfect to be called chance.

  I whistled. “This is my first time, so do not expect me to paint a vista with my arrows.”

  “You are my brother, how could I expect anything less?” she teased.

  I took up the stance and pulled an arrow from my quiver, painstakingly making sure that each element of my pose was as Izar had instructed. “Please, I would like to get on with my life. Can you at least get one arrow out before the next harvest?” Her comment distracted me and the arrow went flying somewhere into the forest. She bent over laughing, her folded arms curling around her waist.

  “Oh come on,” I exclaimed. “Did you have to?” It took her a moment to somber up, but then she promised not to interrupt me again. The next arrow actually hit the target and it was even in the yellow ring. Izar made a sound of neutral opinion and I brought a third arrow to aim. The next few arrows landed haphazardly within the red and yellow bands.

  “You must not be compensating enough to make up for the wind resistance.”

  I made another slight adjustment to my aim and this time the arrow landed just next to the black mark. “That is what I am looking fo
r,” she exclaimed. “Now let us get you a few more of those and you will be as good as the average human archer.”

  “Hey.”

  “What?”

  “I grew up human, give us some slack; we were not exactly made to be superhuman.” She shrugged, conceding the point.

  16 PLEASANTRIES

  It was only later that day when Koldobika sent word that we would be leaving early the following morning. We quickly packed the few personal belongings which were our only responsibility to take and then decided to spend the remainder of the evening at the dueling arena. We were making jokes and laughing as we exited our home, but the presence of a cloaked figure walking toward us put a damper on our mood. Expecting to regain the merry attitude once the stranger was behind us, we spoke quietly, generally ignoring its presence.

  “Izotz.”

  I stopped in my tracks, surprised to hear my name coming from the mouth of the stranger whom we had just passed. I slowly turned around, wondering who the person was and how they knew my name. “Who are you?”

  I got no reply for a moment, but the front of the person’s robe was disturbed and then a sword, still in its sheath, was brought out before the stranger, who kept his face hidden within the depths of the hood. “I may never regain the small amount of trust that I might have had, but if I can, I would attempt to repair it, or at least repay you for the wrongdoings I made against you.” The voice was definitely male, but I could not think of anyone with whom I had a grudge, at least not anyone without the boundaries of Caernadvall…except…