The White Arrow

by P. H. Solomon

  Makwi bent close to Tordug's face. "If no one else will, then you and I will do it. Alone. With these elves." He motioned to the rangers aboard their barge.

  Tordug clutched his son's arm. He'd retained his honor, his hope, even when he lost his respect for Tordug for several years. Tordug's face trembled. "You're right. We'll fight, maybe gain some honor in the doing of it."

  "More than honor. We'll retain who we are, maybe inspire others to hope."

  Tordug mustered a nod. Hope. A thin glimmer of light to shine in darkness. Their home lay ruined and occupied by foul trolls. He closed his eyes. The bones of his people lay unburied. Their homes despoiled. He ground his teeth at the memory of their trek through Chokkra. He released his hold on Makwi and clenched his fists until they shook. They murdered his people on mountaintops. That memory alone raised his blood.

  He lifted his gaze to Makwi. "Aye, what hope there is in our dying, we'll offer to others who might remember their own courage."

  Makwi nodded, his dark beard shifting in the morning breeze. He strode away to the prow of the barge and signaled Gweld.

  Tordug tugged his gray beard. Without the White Arrow, he and Makwi likely went to their deaths. They'd make them good ones, if it could help their people regain their hope. Tordug suddenly laughed in the chill morning air.

  Makwi paused and grinned over his shoulder.

  Tordug laughed harder. "Come, then, wizard! It's time to harvest trolls!"

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Magdronu-as-Gweld received the news on the morning breeze. Makwi's signals told the tale he already knew. The White Arrow and Eloch's precious prophecy, nurtured so long by overused Withlings, broken in the night. He lowered his head in feigned dismay and turned from the bow of the barge. It was over before it had begun. One thing remained to ensure victory, and he'd gain the Bow of Hart with guile as necessary.

  The rangers around him murmured at the signals. They knew none of the details, just that some attack on the Withling left her without a promised weapon. The elves murmured about the coming trolls, and Magdronu-as-Gweld noted their uncertainty. Their own memory of Chokkra's fall and this vague news of prophecy lost left them wondering about the fate of their own home.

  But Magdronu-as-Gweld involved fate in none of his plans. Magic, brutality, cunning, but never fate. He ducked through the crowd of murmuring rangers. Rumor of the mission was known among them from months back. The sudden invasion of overwhelming forces on their meager garrison reinforced the rumor to fact. The witnessed signals hammered the last nail into their understanding. Doom approached their fair home across the vastness of Auguron's forests.

  Magdronu-as-Gweld found an empty place on the barge and leaned against his raised forearm, feigning defeat and shock. Time for a little meeting. Magdronu inhaled and sent his summons. 'Corgren! Paugren!' He waited as he suppressed a roar of victory. His long years of plotting and waiting neared their end. He had his enemy entrapped within his own prophecy, the weakness of mortals and holy weapons.

  Corgren's presence answered, 'Master, I answer.'

  'It is done. The Bane has broken Eloch's arrow. The prophecy has failed. Is everything ready as planned?' Magdronu-as-Gweld took deep breaths.

  'Master, you shall ascend and your renown will resound across Denaria! The trolls march and have put Marston's Station to the torch. All is ready in Auguron City if the shrine is completed.' Minute uncertainty edged through the spell.

  Paugren's presence entered the spell, and Magdronu linked them in his mind. 'Master, I answer your summons. What is your desire?'

  'I was just reveling in our certain victory, for the arrow was broken in the night by the Bane. What of this other Withling and Athson?'

  'Great one, this is wondrous news. We set the trap, and Corgren killed him without our being discovered.' Paugren paused, but greater uncertainty tinged his communication.

  Magdronu-as-Gweld inhaled. No joy over their victory? Paugren was becoming weak. But he'd complete the shrine, if nothing else, and Magdronu would then determine the nature of his loyalty. 'And what of Athson?'

  'We followed him as you desired, but he guessed our intentions. He set the guardian upon us, and we fled. But he rides east hard.'

  'Then he's separated. Perhaps he'll come to me. If not, I'll find him in the city and complete the plan. Then we shatter the city.' Magdronu purred a low rumble over the spell. 'Now we need the shrine to complete the traps set for the city. Paugren, you take Cass with you to help complete the shrine, slow though it may be.'

  'Master, we depart this hour on the wings of your magic to fulfill your request.' Though Paugren suppressed his doubts, Magdronu felt the vibration along the spell.

  'You harbor doubts, Paugren? Is magic not enough?' Magdronu pitched a velvet tone through the spell. Lay the trap for him if he was weak and draw him out.

  Wariness crawled from Paugren. 'Magdronu, you are greatest, and I serve you. I have wearied of this contest, but I serve your wishes alone.'

  Magdronu allowed another pleased purr along the spell. 'But a while longer, and you shall have rewards and rest. But now, we press our enemy and win the age to come under my rule. Away with you both on your assignments. Nothing stands in our way.'

  In his pleased mood, Magdronu allowed the spell to close slowly. No need to force his servants now. They understood his preeminence.

  He stood and frowned as Magdronu-as-Gweld. One thing remained for him to accomplish. Gain the Bow of Hart and ascend to rule of Denaria—starting with the elves of Auguron, who would soon bend their knees. The age of Eloch drew to a close.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Athson arrived at another landing road east of the hills less than a week from Auguron City. Even the mule's legs wobbled as if it carried Apeth. A mournful thought. Athson grabbed his sword and, though the grief remained the dark side of his mood departed. Good, he needed to take action, not dawdle over what he couldn't change. Perhaps he'd caught the river fleet.

  "Which way? The landing road or continue west on the main road?"

  The horse snorted and stomped one hoof, then stood still, waiting with its head down. Athson gripped his sword but found no guidance from that source. He sighed. It would take hours to ride north and find the river fleet. If he missed them, it was hours back.

  Precious moments slipped away. Athson tucked his chin and stared at his horse’s mane. The animals were exhausted. It was this one or nothing.

  He released a heavy sigh and flicked the reins. "This landing or not at all until I meet them in Auguron City."

  Beside him, Spark wagged his tail.

  He guided the horse north for the landing as the afternoon sun lengthened. Several hours of daylight remained to reach the river in time. "Spark, watch behind." He didn't want those Rokan spies turning up again, even though he hadn't seen them for several days.

  Apprehension grew in Athson's mind with each hoof-fall on the little-used road. He scratched at his chin as the horse dragged its hooves on the road. He wanted to see Limbreth. But he’d have to tell her of his failure, apologize. His heart soared a moment with exhilaration at the thought of seeing her, then dropped into a pit. She might not understand. He still had to tell her. And he longed to hold her. His heart surged again amid the doubt.

  And then there was his mother. Long years of separation weighed on his mind. He had so much to say that he didn't know where to start. He'd tell her of his father's sacrifice upon the Funnel. The fact that she was free of Rok still seemed impossible. But he was a Withling, and nothing was impossible with Eloch—if it was needed.

  Athson swayed in the saddle as the rhythm of the horse worked into his weariness. His head nodded more than once. Too long in the saddle. But Apeth had been right—his instructions got Athson away from the Rokan agents. His throat constricted. He hadn't known Apeth Stellin long, but the old man's death added salt to his old wounds. Everyone died around him.

  He shook himself. Stop thinking that way. He touched the pommel of his sword.
No, everyone didn't die. His friends still lived. His mother was returned from captivity. That thought was incorrect. Don't believe those things. Test them. He rode on with his hand on the sword.

  Long minutes passed, and Athson nodded again, almost sliding from the saddle. He jerked awake and shook his head. He pulled his water loose, unstopped the skin, and poured some over his head. In the chill, he stirred further awake. Best take advantage of it. He nudged the horse into a trot with his heels. The sooner he arrived at the landing, the better.

  Dusk lay across the river when he arrived at the landing. Water coursed by under the gathering darkness. He approached the landing office and called for the attendant.

  A wizened elf stuck his head out the door and spilled lamplight across the small dock. He squinted at Athson in the darkness, his sharp features suspicious. "Who is it?"

  "I'm Athson, a ranger." Athson dismounted and stepped into the light.

  "You're no elf, though you have the cloak of a ranger." He stepped out the door with a short spear. "Be gone if you're brigand, or I'll stick you."

  Athson motioned to the river. "The eastern garrison travels to the city. Have barges been by today? Any rangers?"

  The elf lowered the spear. "The eastern garrison isn't on the move. Can't be. You must be some spy."

  Athson sighed. "Look, have boats been by today from upriver? There are trolls on the march west. I need to meet the garrison if possible."

  The elf shook his head. "No boats." He squinted. "I've heard rumors for days about trolls coming. You say it's true?"

  "Yes, lots of them are coming and—" Athson stared at the river as lights appeared around the bend. "Is that a barge?"

  "Eh?" The elf turned toward the river. "Could be, at that. Might be another one coming too."

  "Do you have a boat? I need to meet them." Athson led the horse and mule onto the dock.

  "Hold on. What I got won't carry your animals."

  Athson grabbed his gear and the Bow of Hart. "Then row me out. You can have the horse and mule as payment. You'll need them. Ride for the city, but don't leave the boat for the trolls."

  "Really? I can't leave the landing unattended." The elf leaned on the haft of his spear. "This is a business, and the council wants these running."

  Athson laughed. "Do as you will, then. Trolls will burn this dock and your office to the ground. They're coming to lay siege to the city. Just row me to that first barge."

  The elf pointed his spear toward the oncoming craft on the river. "We don't even know if that's the garrison."

  Athson started for the little boat tied at the dock. "Look, there are more of them. It's the garrison. I'll row myself if you won't, but I need to reach them." He wheeled toward the attendant. "Ranger business." He hadn't used that line in a while.

  The elf sighed. "I guess you're right. My dinner will get cold, but I'll row you out. The boat belongs here." He stepped back inside the office and returned with his coat and a cap. "Best get it done so I can get back to my food."

  Athson scrambled into the boat and somehow avoided falling into the river. He'd never been in something this small on water, but he found his balance and sat with his gear at his feet.

  "Slide over and help me row. It'll go faster, and we'll miss the first one otherwise." The elf climbed into the boat and sat beside Athson. "Guess ranger business will pay if you are really a ranger. If not, I'll keep the animals."

  "You should flee on them and sink the boat." Athson grabbed an oar.

  The elf cast off from the dock and instructed him when to row so that they turned into the river. "Can't just leave because you say so. You're probably not even a ranger."

  Athson grunted with each stroke. The long rides for days wore on him now. He ground his teeth with effort and set his back to the work. He had to make it, find his friends and escape any chance of being caught by Corgren or the Rokan agents. "I'm a ranger. You'll see when we get to that barge."

  They pulled on the oars and rowed farther into the current, then fought it until they drew close to the barge drifting near them. The old elf hailed the barge and waved his lantern to get their attention.

  "Who calls?" someone from the boat asked.

  Athson looked over his shoulder, and his heart sank. Just a crewman. But then, in other lights, he glimpsed rangers in forest green gazing at them.

  The landing attendant tossed a rope to the barge. "Got a man who says he's a ranger and needs to come aboard."

  Crewmen hauled on the rope and pulled them close until Athson could climb aboard the taller vessel. The crewmen eyed him suspiciously. But rangers crowded close, and an officer stepped into the light. "Report, ranger."

  Athson saluted. "Athson. I've been on assignment with the Withling Hastra. Another ranger was with me, Gweld. Are they aboard?"

  The officer arched an eyebrow, grabbed a torch, and stepped closer. "You're him. Gweld's with us, but the others are on different boats. Come with me, and I'll explain."

  "I'll be a fried fish. He is a ranger." The landing attendant chuckled. "I guess I get to keep those animals."

  The officer called over the rail. "You're to head for the city without delay. Either take that boat and drift down or ride, but don't leave the boat. Take your valuables. Trolls are coming, thousands of them."

  The elf in the boat gaped. "That's true?" He sat down and fumbled with the oars, then set out, rowing like trolls might be waiting on the riverbanks.

  "Come with me." The officer led Athson away. They passed rows of rangers lounging on the deck among crates of supplies and goods. They crossed the barge on heavy planking and turned a corner around the compartments for the bridge and crewman's quarters, where they almost ran headlong into a ranger.

  "Gweld?" Athson pulled his hood from his head.

  The elf startled back in the close quarters and eyed Athson with a passing, blank gaze before his eyes widened. "Athson! How did you get here? You made it!" He grabbed Athson's hand and shook it. "I lost you in the snow storm back in the heaths and couldn't find you." He took Athson by the shoulders and looked him up and down. "You don't look any worse for the wear." He glanced at the Bow of Hart, and his eyes flashed wide for a moment. "So, you do have it?"

  Athson took the elf's greeting in stride and laughed. "I made it! I've been looking for you and the others." He shouldered the Bow of Hart. "Yes, though it did me no good at the Funnel. I thought it was useless until I had to kill some trolls escaping the Troll Heaths." He leaned sideways and peered behind Gweld. "Where are the others?"

  Gweld saluted the officer. "Can you excuse us, sir?"

  The officer returned the ranger salute. "I was just bringing him to you. Clearly you have much to discuss." He walked away.

  Athson leaned close. "Who's that?"

  "That's Kuruth. Good officer. He knows some of our mission already from evacuating the garrison forts." Gweld put his arm around Athson's shoulders. "Come this way, we can talk in quiet up here." He led Athson atop the bridge cabin, and they sat with the frosty night breeze on them. "We've got a bit more privacy here. We'll catch up on the news. Tell me all that happened. We guessed some of the tale before the storm came." He glanced over Athson's gear, his eye lingering on the spear with the furled family banner lashed to it. "You have enough weapons now?"

  "I guess." Athson laid the spear between him and Gweld and the Bow of Hart on the other side.

  "Where'd you get the spear?" Gweld ran his hand over the furled banner.

  "From some of our fellow rangers I was helping days back. I'm going to use it as my standard. That's from my family's house." He patted the spear haft. Tension eased from his shoulders. Speaking openly about it felt right. "Corgren called us traitors. We're not. A lot of people have died over this and I'm not hiding anymore. For the sake of each victim. I'll stand by this. It's for my father most of all." He rummaged in his pack and found his father's ring and the signet on the necklace. Athson put the ring on a finger and the necklace about his neck. "That makes it officia
l, I guess."

  "Inspiring." Gweld looked away, then back after a few moments. "So, tell me all that happened and I'll fill you in about the rest of us."

  Athson launched into the tale upon the heights of the Funnel and related his illness and meeting Apeth Stellin. He then related their discovery of trolls on the march in numbers and their running fight with scouts as they escaped to Marston's Station. He related the tale of Apeth's death and his ride to catch them and avoid further danger from Rokan spies.

  Athson gazed up at the wandering star, its tail now long and thin as it faded each night from the sky. "I think Corgren killed Apeth, but I'm not sure why." He fixed his gaze on Gweld as he ended the tale of his journey.

  Gweld rubbed his chin in one hand. "That's quite a lot of news." He shook his head. "Hastra said she thought Apeth Stellin was behind the unusual help we received. It's good to know it was him, but bad that he's gone. We could have used him in what's to come." The elf frowned as he turned to Athson. "Much has happened since that wandering star appeared in the sky." He shook his head again. "And you decided to become a Withling? I never would have thought that after all your arguments with Hastra."

  Athson shrugged and ran one hand across the bow he'd laid across his lap as he touched the hilt of his blessed sword. "It seemed like the best thing. I had to think about it for days on the way to Marston's. I still hesitated for several more, though I knew Apeth was right all along. I've had dreams that come true—little prophecies. I've been hearing other things too. Spark's part of that." He gazed at Gweld, his eyes narrowed. Let him challenge that with the suggestion of Soul's Ease.

  Gweld scratched the back of his neck. "Guess I was wrong on that point."

  With a nudge of his elbow against Gweld's arm, Athson chuckled. "Well, even you can't know everything." He paused and cast a frowning gaze about them. "So where are the others?"

  "Oh, yes, that." Gweld ran his fingers through his hair. "We also found out about the trolls and warned the garrison. They evacuated, and we made our way to Marston's Station. We were met by Howart and Zelma. You know them, right?" At a nod from Athson, Gweld continued, "While I was away from my room, Hastra borrowed one of my arrows, and the Withlings blessed it. Athson, they made the arrow of the prophecy."