The White Arrow

by P. H. Solomon

Paugren stirred behind his desk. "What would you have us do now, brother?"

  Corgren sat again and checked his fingernails as if in consideration. He'd made his choices of assignments for the others. He lifted his gaze to the Beleesh sisters. "Our third goal is moving trolls to Auguron City and attacking. I'll see to moving their numbers west and watching the rest of you. Our master keeps close watch for the appearance of the prophesied arrow so he can take it with the Bane. He'll also take the Bow of Hart when the time comes. We've bungled those tasks, so he'll see to them himself. That leaves the shrine and this other Withling."

  Ahmelia lifted one side of her mouth in a deeper sneer. "Tell me where this Withling is, and I'll slip my knife into him."

  "Not you." Corgren shook his head. She'd leave a trail of bodies. She and Esthria needed watching and their time taken with activities. He'd decided this several days earlier. Cass moved in disguise among crowds with ease. "You and Esthria are to go to Auguron City." He pointed to each of them. "I'll be watching you regularly, so no games. The shrine is the priority, not your little side-schemes. You each stay at different inns, keep low, and work on the shrine. There's a magical marker left at two graves outside the city. Below that is a flat field with a large, quarried stone the elves have left sitting for many years. We'll just use the space and the stone for making a shrine."

  Esthria rolled her eyes. "It will take forever with just the two of us."

  Corgren chuckled. "You'll do the work yourself if it takes a thousand lifetimes if that's what the master requires." He clenched a fist and toyed with his dagger with the other hand. Just try and disobey, Esthria. Her eyes fell to her lap as if she read his thoughts. Corgren's eyes shifted to Cass. "You'll go with Paugren, track down this Withling with Athson, get him alone, and kill him. Then you can help your sisters with the shrine."

  Cass nodded, and her gaze flitted toward Paugren with a sly smile. "A pleasure to work with you."

  Paugren rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Cass."

  "Regardless, everyone keeps their presence a secret. We've traps to spring on the elves, and playing these tasks wrong will foul our lines." He motioned the Beleesh sisters toward the door. "Go and prepare yourselves."

  They left with varying degrees of defiance in their parade. Cass paused and blew a kiss at Paugren, then laughed.

  Corgren waited, then checked the hall, then stood by the closed door. He wanted to hear if anyone approached while they talked. "You'll keep a sharp eye on Cass?"

  Paugren inhaled and released an irritated sigh. "She'll be a handful with her little games, but we'll get to him. The shrine would be better for her, make things faster."

  Corgren shook his head. "No, it's best to split them up. They're good at what they do, but troublesome together. We have time for Esthria and Ahmelia to begin it. They'll start with the design by the stone they've forgotten near the bodies of those elves the Bane killed."

  "A big task for two to move the stone with magic funneled to them all the way from Rok."

  "You'll join them by the time they get that far." Corgren checked his nails again and grimaced at one. "They'll spend weeks just getting the design set with spells." He shrugged. "Moving the trolls will take weeks as it is." He lifted his gaze to Paugren's. "We deal with this other Withling, then you move to assist with completion of the shrine. That should be right about the time I arrive and get the gates open with what I left behind." His smile widened. "With our localized magic and trolls successfully taking the bridge across the river, we're sure of victory over the elves and Eloch's prophecy."

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  There followed days of wary plodding out of the snowy Troll Heaths. More than once, Makwi reported he'd killed a scout and hidden the carcass. For Ralda, the tension of their escape from such a large force of trolls through barren ravines of crumbling cliffs wove into weary days and cold nights until they arrived in sight of the southernmost ranger-fort.

  Shocked elves scrambled to evacuate the fort at the news of trolls approaching in such a massive force and sent messages to forts further north. But Gweld secured them extra mounts and needed rations for the following leg of the journey. Ralda and his companions continued their trek north for Marston's Station among growing numbers of elves since the total force of rangers garrisoned in the forts lacked numbers to withstand the forthcoming horde.

  Ralda watched distant smoke in the south with his companions one crisp, blue morning which bespoke a destroyed elven fort. At least, they had gotten word to the escaping elves. Hastra pushed their little band harder in the following days, saying, "We've little time. The sign of the arrow pushes west."

  Ralda breathed easier when they left the elven forts behind them. He and his companions traveled ahead of the bulk of the garrisoned forces that manned the various small forts intended for quelling raids on the road and scouting. Even though trolls marched after them now, Ralda relaxed in the company of larger numbers. Their search for the Bow of Hart and their desperate chase for Athson and Limbreth had left Ralda spent, ready for friendlier faces in more numbers.

  They marched for three days into deeper forest of pine, cedar and hardwoods, though they still had days of travel ahead of them before they reached Marston's Station. Ralda hoped the elven messenger pigeons reached the station well ahead of them baring warning. He settled at their campfire that night with his rations and chewed as he hummed a tune of his people as the darkening sky revealed the glowing wonder of the wandering star overhead. He scratched his cheek as he ate. He didn't remember the last time he'd sung anything. Creeping through troll territory, caves, or in the Drelkhaz had kept him busy surviving. He shook his head. It was good to hum a tune.

  Limbreth arrived at the fire from grooming one of their horses and sat next to him with her share of food. She fanned smoke from her face, sighed and cast a glance at him. "Can't wait to reach the station, maybe sleep in a bed." She rubbed her neck and stretched her shoulders.

  "Ground hard, cold." Ralda shivered further agreement and spoke with his hands. 'Wish they had beds to fit me.' She didn't understand, so he shrugged one shoulder and kept eating.

  "Anyway, maybe we'll meet Athson at some point. He has to be heading there." Limbreth tore off a piece of travel bread and chewed it.

  "Troll no catch." He remembered to shake his head for 'no.' "Athson good track. No catch, me think."

  Limbreth stared at her boots while she ate in silence.

  Ralda threw more wood on the fire. Still cold nights. He shivered at the memory of their frozen nights in the dwarven shelters. Limbreth ate in silence. Maybe he'd made her sad? "No worry. Athson come." He added with his inked hands, ‘Athson's coming with the Bow of Hart. He'll be so happy to see us all.' Well, Athson confused Ralda with his moods, but maybe he'd be happy. They'd done it, after all, since he had the bow now.

  Beside Ralda, Limbreth nodded as if she had arrived at some conclusion on her own. "You're right, Ralda. No reason to worry for him. We've made it this far through all the danger. He can make it to Marston's Station. You're always around, looking after us, so you should know. I mean, you pulled me from the river and all." She elbowed him. "Thanks again for that." Limbreth flashed him a grin.

  "Help all Ralda can. Come from home, help." His fingers said, 'I walked weeks before I found Athson. The elders sent me to help so I'd feel better.' But she didn't understand his fingers.

  Limbreth tilted her head. "Why did you come all this way to help?"

  Ralda felt the eyes of his other companions on him. He wasn't sure he liked Gweld's stare anymore since he'd seen that odd reflection in the mirror. Maybe he'd talk to Hastra about it, but he wasn't sure yet. He didn't want to accuse the elf of something uncertain. Maybe elves could do things like that, though he'd never seen it over these last months. What did he know of elves otherwise, though? Best tell his story.

  "Brother, Kralda, die. We climb mountain. He fall, me slide, we tied on rope. Me slide over, uh, cliff, both die." He kicked his feet like he had tried then t
o stop Kralda pulling him over the steep ledge. "No, uh, place for feet stop." Ralda motioned his hand like a knife. "Cut rope, Kralda die, me not." He shrugged one shoulder.

  The others sat paused in their meal, except for Hastra. Ralda had told her why the elders sent him.

  Limbreth put her hand over his. "I didn't know that, Ralda. I mean, I knew he was gone and you missed him, but I didn't know why."

  Makwi wiped his beard. "Tough choice you made. But he was going to die. It's said never cut someone loose, but if you're going over and can't even tell if they’re conscious..." He shrugged. "What can you do?"

  Ralda jerked his head in a rough nod and swallowed the lump in his throat. He slouched some. "Me blame me, sad long time. Elders send me, go find Withling, go help. After, come help. Remember rope sliding away, see it when something wrong." He tapped his chest. "Help then. No let rope go again." He pointed to Limbreth. "Pull you out. Fight troll, help. No see rope go away here." He tapped his head to help explain that he avoided having the memory nag him when he could help someone.

  Everyone around Ralda glanced at each other. They'd never realized what he was doing since he'd never spoken of it.

  Makwi gaped, genuinely surprised. "You pulled me out of the river in the Troll Neath. No wonder." He stood and bowed with several hand motions dwarves made that befuddled Ralda. "You have treated me like your brother. As you wanted to save him, so you saved me. You are always welcome at my table."

  Tordug stood and did the same, saying, "You have blessed my family with your safe care, and you are welcome at my table."

  Ralda sat in stunned silence. He’d just done what was needed.

  Limbreth nudged him. "Just stand and bow and thank them for the honor of their table."

  Ralda stood, bowed awkwardly. "Thanks to you of honor with table. Just help. Uh, thanks." He sat, feeling a flush on his face.

  Limbreth whispered, "Good job. You'll be a dwarf like me any day now."

  Laughter rumbled from Ralda's chest.

  The meal passed, and they stretched out around the fire while Gweld took his customary first watch. Later, Ralda stood his watch as the fire burned low, the embers hissing and snapping. He reached for more wood, but at that moment, Hastra sat up from sleep with a gasp and flung her hand out toward him.

  "Don't bother, we're leaving." She rolled out of her blanket with a grunt and started packing. "Please rouse the others."

  Ralda opened his mouth to ask about their sudden leaving. He remembered the Withling's inexplicable actions and how he had reached blindly into the river and pulled bloodied Limbreth from the water. He roused Tordug. "Hastra say we go." He visited the others and roused them too.

  Makwi rolled over. "We've still another watch before morning. Why now?"

  Hastra lifted her pack with a grunt and a grimace. "I've a meeting very soon. Because Eloch's Arrow approaches closer."

  "With who?"

  "Other Withlings."

  The others asked more questions, but Hastra offered no more explanation, so everyone gathered their packs, saddled their horses, and set out on the elven trail to the road and Marston's Station beneath the sign of the arrow and fading stars.

  Hastra pushed them long into the night and shortened the next night of rest until they reached Marston's Station well after dark on the second day. They were met at the front doors by a red-haired woman who looked like Hastra and a tall, thin man. The Withling hugged them both warmly.

  Hastra dropped her pack. "Howart, Zelma, I've come as fast I could to meet you both."

  Ralda still stood by the steps onto the porch. He took a deep breath and watched the night sky. What Hastra called Eloch's Arrow now stood over Marston's Station, its tail stretching away east.

  The thin man, Howart, said, "It's here, so it's time. Where can we meet?"

  Hastra called for Marston and left Ralda and the others to settle their animals. Limbreth snagged her pack.

  Ralda gazed with his mouth open at the sign in the sky over the station. If the sign was here, where was the promised arrow? He shrugged and entered the station. That was Withling business. He was just along to help.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Limbreth entered Marston's Station with her companions, and the tightness across her body eased. The scent of cooked meat and the noise of nervous conversation in the room replaced the scent and silence of the forest. She had never realized the tension within her until now. How long had it resided in her muscles? She rolled her head and eased stiffness from her neck. Definitely looser. But her stomach still felt knotted. Athson wasn't there. Limbreth glanced outside and remembered a conversation about his lack of candor with her before they had departed for the Troll Heaths. Was he really safe, as Hastra claimed? She moved deeper into the common room, past tables where travelers babbled already about trolls. The messages had certainly arrived.

  The others sat, except for Tordug and Hastra. The dwarf settled them in rooms while the Withling walked down a hall, escorted by Marston. A meeting with other Withlings? Had to be something about the prophecy of the arrow. Or the Bow of Hart. Both, most likely.

  Someone put a mug in front of Limbreth, and she sipped. "Uh, thanks, Makwi."

  "Just buying my favorite ax-maid a drink." He settled with a weary sigh into his seat which whispered a creak.

  Ralda carried his pack and Hastra's upstairs while the others held their table.

  Gweld downed his drink and soon followed Ralda. "Think I'll have a look around, just in case Athson comes in."

  Limbreth watched the elf go. Why hadn't she thought of that? But the Withlings drew her attention. Maybe she should stand guard. No, she might miss Athson's arrival. If he came tonight.

  Danilla stood and grabbed her few belongings. "Shall I take your pack to your room, Limbreth?"

  Limbreth stared at the hallway, engrossed by the Withlings. "Huh? What? Oh, yes, thank you."

  Tordug sat, and Makwi wrangled their packs upstairs and returned. Limbreth barely noticed.

  A familiar shiver ran along Limbreth's spine, and she sat up straight, her eyes wide. Just as suddenly as it appeared, it left. She sat rigid, eyes wide. She hadn't felt that since the Funnel. So it was still out there and not after the Bow of Hart? Withlings met, and the Bane lurked.

  "Something wrong?" Makwi eyed Limbreth over a tankard's edge.

  She sipped and narrowed her eyes at the door, then watched the hallway. "No. Not yet, anyway." She smiled. "Good to be back in the safety of a regular place rather than the wilds. Haven't had a bed since Ezhandun."

  Well, relative safety, with the elven garrison withdrawing not far behind them, trolls invading, and that bothersome Bane lurking near enough to set her teeth on edge. Suddenly she really wished Athson were there with his blessed sword.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Athson killed several scouts from hiding with the Bow of Hart as he and Apeth crept north through the Troll Heaths for days. He avoided lighting fires at night and rarely slept well as a result, nodding toward sleep often as he rode the mule with Apeth each day. Dried rations dwindled as they reached the road and traveled west for Marston's Station.

  Conversation grew uncomfortable over the days of travel. Athson avoided the issue of being a Withling with prolonged silence as they rode the mule in growing weariness each day. Athson's chin dropped close to his head. He wanted more sleep.

  "We're getting close to Marston's aren't we?" Apeth's energy never seemed to flag. He never pushed Athson about being a Withling either.

  "Yes, sometime tomorrow. Haven't seen trolls for a while so we may be out of trouble for now." Apeth's' silence on the subject jabbed at Athson harder than discussing it. "Why?"

  "Why what? Why do I care about Marston's Station?" Apeth slipped off the mule. "Think I'll walk a while."

  "No, why I should be a Withling." He hated asking but the assertion that he was a Withling nagged his mind. Athson needed resolution so maybe he'd argue Apeth out of the notion. Athson nodded to himself. Yes, convince Apeth
he wasn't Withling material, just a ranger with a bow. He ran his tongue across his teeth. At least the bow worked on trolls. He frowned at the Bow of Hart balanced across his lap as he sat astride the mule. Just not when he really needed the bow to work.

  Apeth walked alongside Athson and the mule and glanced at him. "I suppose just saying that I know it to be so isn't enough. Very well, as I said back at the cave, you've got the talent for dreaming. Dreams that come true by your own admission. That's a Withling gift. You see things others don't and I've known Withlings that did the same."

  "But I'm not magical or mystical or whatever." Maybe there was something but if he convinced Apeth otherwise all this would go away. But, somehow the notion fit. Worse than that, part of him desired it. He slipped off the mule to walk and crossed his arm, the reins gathered in the grasp of his closest hand. "Withling work has been trouble for me and my family all my life."

  "That's not an excuse. It's more a reason to accept the truth." Apeth peered at Athson over the mule's dark, brown withers.

  Athson reacted with a derisive laugh. "I should think not. It's killed everyone around me that I care about."

  Apeth offered a patient sigh. "You lay that on the shoulders of Withlings, and Eloch. But the blame lies with Magdronu, and Corgren. They are the ones who have done you and your loved ones harm. Withlings have only tried to help you. Don't you want help?"

  The clop of mule's hooves stood for Athson's answer for several minutes. Help from Withlings only brought trouble. Or did it? He scratched his ear. He grasped his sword's hilt and that belief faded, replaced by the desire to be a Withling. He let go of the sword. That couldn’t be his true desire.

  Spark trotted by, tongue out in his silent pant.

  There was that dog. Athson trusted that. But seeing Spark didn't make him a Withling. He slouched again. Maybe it did. He'd known when the trolls were about to attack the night Limbreth rode to his rescue near Marston's Station. He perceived trolls laying in ambush for them just days ago. Was that mystical or just keenly developed senses as a ranger? "I don't know. The fight with the dragon and the wizard was never mine."