by L. R. Flint
“Mattin?”
A weary sigh escaped his chest and he finally pulled back the hood of his cloak. It was indeed Mattin. “I was a fool to let the others persecute you and to laugh at you, and say the things I did. I sincerely regret having broken your trust when you had given it without cause.”
“What brought on this change?”
Probably a good-looking female, Izar sneered, only letting the words sound in my mind.
“It is not hard for the Lord of a haven to hear of things, and Basajaun—do not think ill of him because of this—is my uncle. He gave me a hearty reprimanding.” He chuckled darkly at the memory.
“So this change is not sincere? It is merely a ploy to convince your uncle that you have changed?” Izar demanded, stepping forward to confront him.
“No.” Mattin actually looked offended that she had thought such a thing. “Izotz, when you arrived, my uncle immediately began spending longer hours with—and more frequent visits to—the Council. He would not tell me what was happening in those meetings and I began to assume that you were trying to wrest control of the haven from him.” Before I could interject, he quickly added, “Many others have wondered if you would not require control, or even kingship, over the nations in exchange for fulfilling the old prophecy.”
I glanced at my sister to confirm the suggestion and she nodded. “Reason leads me to believe that I should not trust you,” I finally said, “but I will grant you forgiveness, though my trust has yet to be earned back.” I then turned to leave and Izar gladly followed at my side, but Mattin called for me to wait a moment.
“What about this?” he held up the sword that previously had been offered.
“I have no need of it,” I said and continued walking. He trotted to catch up with me and then stopped directly in front of me.
“This I would ask that you take for my sake. It is the only way to prove to Basajaun that I at least attempted recompense. He would never believe me if you had not accepted this.”
“Then I will let him know that you asked for my forgiveness.”
“No. Please, take this. You do not know what it means to me.” I raised an inquiring brow. “And I do not care to explain at this time.”
He is rather demanding for being the one in need of acquiescence, Izar commented. And I do not trust him. He may have had the blade cursed.
“Alright then, come duel with me and I shall consider accepting your gift.” Mattin nodded and stepped aside so that my sister and I could take the lead; he quietly followed behind, and the cheery mood never quite returned as we made our way to the field.
~ ~ ~
That night the accumulated anticipation for the following day’s events left me restless and a few hours before sunrise I finally gave up on sleep and made my way to the river to wash up—also hoping that the cool water would help to calm my nerves. I managed to find a tranquil pool next to the river and removed only my shirt before fully immersing myself in the water; I kept my head beneath the surface, until it was necessary to come up for air and then I sat in the waterbed near the bank until my hands and feet began to go numb from the cold. The air was warm compared to the water and I left my shirt off as I walked home, letting the breeze warm and dry me.
Izar was awake and dressed for the trip when I returned and she was in the process of burrowing through the contents of her rucksack. “Good morning,” I said cheerily and she mumbled a hurried reply. I left her and exchanged my clothes for clean ones, then cinched a thick leather belt around my hips and tied various scabbards and loops to it. In one of the scabbards I placed the dagger from Ganix; there was another loosely holding three throwing knives made of white metal, and on my left hip I carried the broadsword that I had eventually accepted from Mattin. The sword was a fine creation, its entire form made to perfection; along either side of the blade it had pale runes from an old elven tongue that was near dead—only a basic knowledge of the meanings of the runes remained. In my right boot I carried the dagger from Eskarne; only the hilt could be seen peeking from the top, just below my knee.
I also had a quiver full of arrows slung over my right shoulder, and attached to it was the case Izar had loaned me to carry the bow that had been a gift from Baso Argi’s master bowyer. Certain that I was ready, I grabbed my pack, and joined Izar in the main portion of the house. Her rummaging finally complete, Izar had a dagger at her side and carried a bow and arrows over her shoulder.
When she turned to face me she laughed and said, “Expecting trouble?”
“Not particularly. Why?”
She merely chuckled and refused to answer. “What is so funny?” I asked. “Why?” I repeated, but she would only shake her head in amusement. I scowled at her and then we left for Ganix’ home and smithy where we were to meet Koldobika and Basajaun.
~ ~ ~
“Here they come,” Ganix announced as we approached the shop, his words bounded through the empty street toward us. Ganix greeted the two of us like old friends and was about to slap me on the back, but thought twice about it and decided not to; apparently he did not feel like having to replace the things I carried on my back.
“Ah, I see that my old dagger has collected some wealthy company,” he nearly shouted in delight. Apparently the sword Mattin had insisted that I keep was an old heirloom amongst the native elves. The ogre rambled on about the history of the blade, the metals used in it, and the techniques used to create it. The first topic I found interesting but the latter two he might as well have been reciting in another language for the little I understood.
The sharp sound of horseshoes beating against the flagstones interrupted Ganix’ sermon and through the early morning mist rode four mighty elves astride magnificent chargers. Behind each elf plodded another beautiful steed, their lead-ropes tied to the saddle of the preceding one.
“I would like to introduce your guards,” the elf Lord said as the four elves dismounted. “This is the leader, Alesander, and his men: Balendin, Erlantz, and Sendoa.” They all wore full-body, hard leather armor, overlaid with metal plates which boasted exquisite details in the form of silver vines, complete with small leaves all along their lengths. The only difference in armor between them all was the winged helm that Alesander wore. Each of the guards carried two daggers, one small and the other nearly the length of a forearm. Each carried a broadsword and shield on his back, a longbow and full quiver of arrows attached to his saddle, and in their right hands each carried a spear.
The four guards inclined their heads in greeting and then Basajaun introduced me, Izar, and Koldobika to them. “I assume everything is in order,” he said. There were quick nods all around and then I followed everyone to where the horses waited patiently for their riders. The horse I was directed to was pitch black with a wave in his flowing mane and tail; he even had a lush feathering of hair falling over his hooves. His withers, though, were high as my chin and I was not lacking in pessimistic thoughts regarding mounting him.
The beast was truly magnificent, but I was terrified and bordered on panic. I had never before ridden a horse, so I waited for Izar to mount hers before I attempted the ordeal. Following her unassuming example, I hoisted myself into the saddle and sat there, having no clue what I would do next. Izar. I had to call her name a few times more before she diverted her attention from her own steed and turned it to me. She maneuvered her horse around the others’ and managed to line it up exactly alongside mine. “What?”
“I do not know how to ride,” I said.
“Oh great, you had to tell me now?”
“It never occurred to me that we would be riding,” I defended. “What do I do?”
“Well, hold on and hope the horse does not decide to bolt,” she said, with an evil glint in her eyes.
“I am not riding,” I said and started to dismount, terrified that the horse had heard her and might do exactly as she had suggested. The horse had other plans for me and, though it did not bolt, it started trotting away; the lead-rope had been discarded so
it was basically free to go wherever it wished. My next thought was to leap from its back and save myself from whatever untimely demise it had planned for me.
Get in the saddle, Izar commanded. It took me a moment, but I finally complied and eased back into the saddle. The horse immediately stopped.
Now what? Izar walked her horse over to mine, grabbed his bridle next to the bit and led him back to the group, with me uselessly perched on his back.
“He has never ridden before,” Izar explained with embarrassment, to the crowd of curious faces.
“Then you will stay beside him and instruct him until satisfied. Now it is time for you all to leave,” Basajaun said. Izar nodded her head, glad to accept the assignment if it meant a change in topic.
“Let us be gone,” Alesander said. He pulled the reins lightly to his right, clicked his tongue, and the horse turned and trotted back down the street, followed shortly by the wizard and the three remaining guards. Izar grabbed the reins on my horse—I realized then that they had been sitting in front of me the entire time—and she guided both our horses in the direction the others had taken.
I lifted my hand in farewell to the elf Lord and Ganix, who both watched our departure. As we passed through the Northwestern border of Baso Argi, Sendoa stopped his horse and waited until Izar and I had caught up with him. The elf had tanned skin; his hair was long, black, and tied into a multitude of thin braids, and he had a thin white scar tracing down the left side of his face.
“Do you not trust that we will be able to protect you?” he asked good-naturedly. I then realized the meaning behind my sister’s earlier comment on my choice of weapons; I hoped it was not a choice that had offended the guards too badly.
“No. How will I ever be able to defeat Zigor, though, if you are always there to fight my battles for me?” I asked.
“Ah. Well said.” The elf smiled and I knew that I had not offended them.
“Does my horse have a name?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“That fine stallion which you have been given is called Aitor, which means ‘good fathers’—and it is no lie, for he comes from one of the finest lines of sires in the land.”
After the small talk had run its course, Sendoa left Izar and me to return to his companion guards. Shortly thereafter both he and the one named Balendin moved behind us, to the very back of the party; Alesander and Erlantz rode in the front and Koldobika followed just behind them. All four guards stayed alert for any signs of enemies or an ambush; they listened and watched with eyes sharper than a hawk’s, but they also relied on the senses of their horses, which were bred and raised specifically for the purpose of keeping their riders and others in their company safe and out of harm’s way.
~ ~ ~
By the time we had stopped for our evening meal, I had learned the essentials of riding a horse and Izar no longer had to oversee my every action, though she would give me a tip every now and then. As the very last light of the sun disappeared from the small patches of sky far above our heads, we made camp. Each of the guards took a two-hour watch and then it was morning and we continued on our way. We kept a Northwest heading through the Oihana forest until we came to an oval-shaped clearing with three trees growing in the very center. After the clearing we traveled North for another day, at the end of which we arrived at the edge of the forest. Lush grasslands stretched as far as I could see—in the dim light of evening—in every direction but South.
~ ~ ~
During the morning of our first day crossing the grasslands we were overtaken by a blustering storm, with the heavens emptying themselves of torrents of angry rain right on our heads. In contrast, the second day dawned bright and clear without a single cloud in sight from the previous day’s storm. The sky was a deep blue and the sun shone down with fierce heat, for the first few hours of daylight.
The puddles collected above the grass roots were quickly evaporated in the early heat, forming thin clouds above our heads. Luckily we were spared of any rain until the evening, when it came as a fine mist, though the sun set at the perfect angle to reflect off the droplets, causing a bright haze around us and making it difficult to see.
At noon on the fifth day of our journey we came to the first edge of the second, and last, stretch of forest before reaching the edge of our continent. The bright sunlight shone behind us across the golden fields, while the tall, slender trees ahead of us sparkled with dew, a telltale sign that the noonday heat had not penetrated into the shade of the forest. That evening we encountered our first group of passing travelers.
17 IN PASSING
The forest path was narrow and wound sharply between the tightly-packed pines; the trunks and branches of the new trees were incredibly thinner and required much less space to grow than the great oaks of the Oihana. From a distance the clusters of pine needles appeared to be soft, but after riding through a few branches that hung into the path I found them to be otherwise. The greenery of the Northern Woods was brighter than the Oihana, but my native forest had a wider range of colors and the undergrowth was more bounteous; in the Northern Woods the forest floor was blanketed with the browned and fallen needles of the pine trees, which crunched at every step of the horses’ steady strides.
I rode next to Sendoa at the head of the party; the elf had his helm off and sat in a regal pose which he seemed to take on subconsciously; his gaze swept constantly across the forest before us. Sendoa’s horse perked its ears forward and Aitor immediately followed suit; I paid it no heed for they often turned their ears in the direction of even the smallest of sounds, but then my hearing picked up the far-distant drumroll of thundering hooves.
“Company,” I stated quietly. Wordlessly, the elf handed me a cloak and donned one identical to it. I draped mine over my shoulders and before I lifted the hood to cover my head, I looked back to see that everyone else in the group was doing the same. Alesander joined Sendoa in the lead and I fell back just behind them. I rested my hand on the hilt of my sword, letting its chill, steel presence calm me; my other hand rested lightly above the reigns, waiting for the newcomers to appear along the constantly winding path. The view through the opening of my hood was rather limited—the only direction I could clearly see being directly in front of me—and I was glad that the party was approaching from the direction we were headed, rather than from our rear. The group consisted of six men on dark horses; the middle two each led a pack horse and all of them were dressed completely in deep-purple attire.
We spread into single file as the group, who had done the same, passed us. I noticed that the man in the rear of their company kept staring at me from under his own drawn hood, and felt his gaze bore into my back until the trees had blocked me from his sight. As soon as they were out of hearing range I returned to the front with Sendoa and was able to ask a few questions; Alesander had already returned to his previous position in the troupe.
“Why were they wearing that color? And how are there so many humans without the borders of Caernadvall?”
Sendoa did not hesitate before giving his answers. “Those men are some of Zigor’s allies, though they do not report everything to him because they have their own ruler. The color of their robes is that of their overlord, or King.” Before I could ask the question, he said, “They personally have done no treachery to the free peoples, so we are not exactly at war with them, but rather we have a type of truce—for now.”
“Oh.” I saved for later contemplation the existence of groups of humans free of Zigor’s reign, before I said, “The man in their rear was staring at me until the trees blocked his view. Who all knows about the prophecy?”
“Did he now.” It was neither a question nor an answer, and I could not tell whether he found the news interesting, troubling, or worthy of no thought at all. Sendoa continued on in contemplative silence until Alesander called a halt for our evening meal, during which the two of them had a few words together. They spoke quietly enough that no one else could hear and eventually Koldobika joined in on their co
nversation.
Normally we would make camp right after dinner but that night Alesander announced that we would be traveling as far as we could before the sun set. Once back on the road Alesander and Sendoa took the lead and my sister and I followed directly behind them. The occasional word was shared amongst us, though as twilight approached and then deepened, we all grew silent, keeping an eye out for other travelers. Hours after sunset Alesander finally called for a halt and we camped in a small clearing just on the far side of a thin line of trees bordering the road.
~ ~ ~
The next morning, we heard the distant, and unwanted—though not unexpected—drumroll of galloping hooves. The guards went to the back of our group and turned around, forming a line across the road with the other three of us in a line just behind them. The four elves in front pulled out their bows and prepared to shoot down the oncoming riders if the need arose.
The riders then came galloping around the bend and slid to a surprised and disorderly halt in front of us. “What is the meaning of this?” their leader asked, not bothering to conceal his fury. Koldobika silently scanned the group, then he and Alesander exchanged glances.
“Where is the sixth man of your company?” the elf asked.
“He left us when we dropped our cargo off at its destination,” the man answered hesitantly. Understanding dawned in his eyes as he noticed me in the back of the group. “Ah, your prophesied deliverer has come.” After a moment longer of scrutinizing me, he added mockingly, “I thought he was claimed to be a being of Lordly presence.”
“Your King was not so different,” Koldobika pointed out, and an annoyed look crossed the other man’s face.
“If you have no quarrel with us then will you let us pass? We are still on duty,” the man said. He looked at me again. “And it seems our liege has a prominent choice to make. Can you tell us what amount of time we have to make a decision?” Alesander shook his head but had our group clear to the side in acknowledgment of the man’s request to let him and his company pass. Everyone moved—except for Koldobika, that is. The wizard remained in the middle of the road, an intimidating roadblock. “What was the destination of the other man in your company?” he asked.
