by B N Miles
It was his spear. The head and haft were still slick with gore and blood, drenched down toward the grip. She shook it once, frowning at the weapon, and only a small amount of the sticky red and black fluid splattered on the ground. She handed it to Cam and he took it without speaking, though touching it again made his stomach do flips.
The scent of cooked and burned meat assaulted him from all over. He could almost taste it on his tongue and it made him want to retch. He could hear moans and he saw his people moving through the downed bodies. He spotted Indri helping a man covered in blood, his shield clutched to his side. She whispered soft words to him, her hands moving at a wound on his side. More people wandered, looking aimless, confused, and all through the horror, the group of Elves watched from a distance at the other side of the field.
“I need to go,” Cam said.
“Get your people together. When you’re ready, send someone for us, and we’ll speak.” She smiled at him and stepped closer. He tore his gaze from the field and looked into Miuri’s wide green eyes. She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek.
She left without another word, gliding off to join her people.
Cam lingered there, watching her go. His pulse raced in his chest and he knew his world had just changed, far beyond the losses they’d sustained in the battle, far beyond just the fighting they’d gone through. There were too many Human bodies on the ground, and Cam knew that once the final tally was complete, the village would be down most of its strength.
But for him personally, now that he had touched his magic and slept with a beautiful Elven girl that said she owed him her life, he knew the days of easy and carefree living were behind him. Maybe they’d been gone ever since he saw his father die in that clearing. But some part of him had been hoping things could return to normal, if only they could reach the safety of the mountain Mansion. He saw how naive that was now, saw how stupid he’d been for thinking anything could go back to the way things had been. His childhood was wiped clean, and now Cam knew he would have to step up and be the man his village needed if they had a chance of surviving the final part of this journey.
He walked onto the field and back toward the lines. His boots squished down into the blood-drenched mud. Men were sitting in clusters, drinking from water skins carried by harried and exhausted looking women and children. He nodded to a few of the warriors, and most nodded back, though some sat and stared into space like they couldn’t understand what they were looking at. He scanned the survivors, looking for a familiar face, until he spotted Theus leaning on his spear near the carts with his mother. He hurried to them, a smile spreading across his lips, stepping over piles of wolf bodies and skirting around fallen men.
Theus saw him approach and his eyes went wide. He stepped away from his mother, who frowned at the two of them and only shook her head. Theus came to Cam and wrapped him in a big, rough embrace. “You little shit!” he said and laughed, though his eyes were still distant and haunted.
“Good to see you too,” Cam answered.
“I thought you were dead. You just went out there to those Elves and I thought…” He trailed off.
“I’m okay,” Cam said. “The magic did something to me, but I think I’m okay now.”
Theus pulled back and stared at his friend for a long moment before bursting out with laughter. “Gods, Cam. I can’t believe you made it work. I mean, I won’t pretend like I thought you ever had a chance.”
Cam gave him a look and laughed, shaking his head in wonder. “It was pure desperation and luck,” he admitted. “I just… figured it out. It just came to me in the fighting. I really didn’t think I’d ever do it, either.”
“You had to, though,” Theus said, clapping Cam’s shoulder. “And so you did.”
Cam grinned. A surge of pride spiked through him but quickly faded as his eyes moved back over the scattering of survivors and the piles of corpses. “How are the losses?” Cam asked softly.
Theus shook his head. “I don’t know. Dagan’s out making a count now.”
“Dagan survived?”
“Kraed too.”
“And Key?” The name stuck in Cam’s throat, fear and self-hatred making it almost hard to speak of her. His mind flipped back to that moment in the forest, in that secluded copse of trees, as his body pressed against Miuri’s, the beautiful Elven girl’s moans in his ears.
Theus grinned. “Ask her yourself,” he said, nodding at something over Cam’s shoulder.
Cam turned and saw her. She stood a few feet away, leaning on her spear. There was blood dripping down her left arm and her hair was a tangled mess. She was drenched in sweat, splattered with gore like all the others, but she was alive. Her tunic was torn down one side, and Cam could see her smooth skin and muscles. He felt a pang of desire rush through him, mingled with a deep, intense relief. Cam took a step toward her, another step, and then she was moving to meet him. She dropped her spear and threw her body at him, wrapping her arms around him and letting out a harsh sob.
For a moment, the horror around them disappeared.
He pulled her tight against his body and held her. “Gods, I was so afraid,” she whispered. “I was so afraid I wouldn’t see you again.”
“I knew you’d make it,” he said, trying to calm her. “You always were the best one with a spear.”
She looked up into his eyes for a moment then kissed him. It surprised him that she’d do something so bold in front of all the others, but as soon as her lips were against his, he couldn’t deny her. He kissed her back with a hunger, despite having just satisfied himself with Miuri.
The thought of the Elf girl made him break the kiss off. “Key,” he whispered. “We need to talk.”
“Later,” she said. “Later, we can talk. Right now… right now, we need to help.”
He shook his head and touched her arm. “Right now, you need to get Indri to look at your wound.”
“It’s fine.” She lifted her arm and winced then lowered it back down. “Wolf got me with its claws. Bastard got my spear in its guts.”
Cam snorted. “Of course it did.”
“And you… Cam, how?” She stared into his eyes, a hint of confusion on her face.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I fell into the trance my father taught me and it just… it came during the fighting.”
“I’m happy for you.” She didn’t smile, but touched his face gently with her fingers. Cam knew people were watching them in some distant part of his mind, but it didn’t matter.
Key was alive, he had his magic, and his village was going to survive. A surge of energy rushed over him, and he knew he couldn’t let these people down.
“I have to find Dagan,” Cam said gently, disentangling himself from Key. “We have to talk about the Elves.”
Her eyes flicked over toward the group of them. The Elves sat still at the far end of the field, speaking softly amongst themselves, tending to their wounded, drinking from large water skins, but not moving otherwise. Their weapons were sheathed and he could tell they were trying to seem harmless.
“What do they want?” she asked.
“I think they want to help, but I’m not sure. I need to talk to Dagan about it though, before they make up their minds about what to do.”
She nodded. “He’s down at the far end of the line with Kraed.”
He took her hand and squeezed it then kissed her fingers. She smiled at him and he thought a blush came to her cheeks, though it was hard to tell through the blood and sweat that stained her skin.
“I’ll find you again soon,” he said.
“Good.”
He stepped away, gripped his spear harder, and walked off to find Dagan.
25
Cam found the Elders speaking to each other quietly at the far end of the line. They were surrounded by a group of warriors, each man looking haggard, beaten, bloody, and exhausted, but they still stood with their spears and shields in hand. Cam frowned as he approached the group. He could feel the tens
ion rolling off them in waves.
Someone barked his name, he thought it was Godug, but he couldn’t be sure. Dagan stepped away from the group and faced Cam, his face serious and his eyes hard. He had a bloody bandage over a wound along his right cheek, and the side of his shirt was soaked through with blood.
“Camrus,” Dagan said.
“Dagan.” He gestured at the men. “What’s going on?”
“We were talking about our new visitors.” Dagan nodded toward the Elves then stepped closer to Cam. He could see how exhausted the Elder was, how his movements were sluggish and forced. Dagan barely held on to his spear, and his shield had been discarded on the ground already. “And we were talking about you.”
Cam shifted from foot to foot and let his eyes move across the assembled warriors again. He recognized them all, knew them all his whole life, but he also knew things had changed. As soon as he called that fire down to kill the wolves, everything had changed.
“Dagan, I can explain,” he started, but the Elder stopped him.
“You saved us, Camrus,” he said. “If you hadn’t found your magic, we would all be dead or dying right now, and the wolves would be feasting on our bodies.” He stepped closer and held out his hand. “Thank you.”
Cam blinked in surprise. The faces of the warriors hadn’t changed, but he realized they weren’t staring at him with contempt. He realized they were watching him with wary respect, maybe a hint of fear, which shouldn’t have surprised him.
It was the same look most men had given his father.
He took Dagan’s offered hand, gripping his forearm. They clasped for a moment then released, and Dagan nodded toward Kraed. The old drunk came teetering over. He looked no worse for the wear, just a bit of dirt on his face, but otherwise spotless. His tunic was untucked, and his cloak was wrapped around his shoulders. Cam wondered if the man had even fought, but decided that he didn’t want to know.
“Well, well, looks like the village has a shaman again,” Kraed said and gave Cam a wicked grin. “And perfect timing, too.”
Cam looked away, over toward the field. Guilt weighed heavy on his shoulders. If he’d found the magic sooner, things might’ve gone differently.
“That’s not how I wanted it to happen,” he said. “I wish I had found it sooner.”
“Of course,” Dagan replied. “But we’re here and we’re standing.”
“How many do we have left?” Cam asked, changing the subject before he could spiral further into self-reproach and recrimination.
Dagan grunted and glanced at Kraed. “I’m not sure yet,” he said. “We’re still counting. But I think we’ve lost at least thirty.”
Cam sucked in a breath. That was almost a third of the entire village, and if that number was concentrated chiefly among the warriors, they’d have very few men to protect them moving forward. A chill ran down Cam’s spine, and he knew that their hardships were far from over, even if they had won an unlikely victory. His eyes scanned the field again, slipping over burned chunks of land and stacks of dead and still bleeding wolf corpses. For every man, there were at least ten wolves, maybe more.
They’d taken a chunk out of their enemy and shown the wolves they weren’t easy prey, but the price they’d paid was a steep one.
“But that’s not what we need to discuss right now,” Dagan said, gesturing toward the Elves. “What do you know about them?”
“They’re here to help,” he said.
“How can you be sure?” Kraed asked. “Damned Elves are tricky. Never go into business with an Elf, my father always said. They’d steal from you sooner than they’d profit with you.”
Cam shook his head. “I don’t know what they want for sure, but I spoke with one of them. She said they’ve been tracking the wolves for some time and came to our aid when they saw us backed against the river.”
Dagan grunted. “So they could’ve helped sooner, but chose not to.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Cam said. “Or we could choose to give them the benefit of the doubt. They attacked a superior force from the rear in order to help save us.”
“Only after you found magic,” Dagan pointed out, then raised a hand to the wound on his face. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be negative. But I don’t think we can trust them, even if their warriors helped save our lives.”
“I understand,” Cam said. “We should be cautious. But I just think—”
“Cautious is an understatement,” Kraed said. “I move we gather our dead, thank the Elves, and get the hells out of here.”
Dagan grunted and squinted at the scene around them. “I’m tempted to do just that. The wolves could return at any moment.”
“We’re in no shape to go anywhere,” Cam said. “Look at all this. Look at those men. You think they can march ten feet, let alone a mile?”
Dagan frowned at the assembled warriors. They were standing at attention but Cam could see the slump in their shoulders, the exhaustion in their eyes. Sweat dripped down their bodies, from their beards, and they were splattered and stained with mud and blood. The Elder let out another grunt and gestured at Cam.
“What do you propose?”
“We need to speak with the Elves.”
“No,” Kraed said. “Absolutely not.”
“We have to,” Cam pressed. “We need their help if we’re going to reach the Mansion. As things stand, I think we’ve lost over half our warriors. If the wolves come back, even in small numbers, we’re finished.”
Dagan’s face tightened. His eyes scanned the field again, and Cam knew what he was seeing. Bodies piled up like firewood, survivors limping around in confusion, Indri treating the worst of them. Blood stained the earth and there were cries of anguish, of pain, of fear and horror as men and women combed through the masses of the dead to find their fallen friends and family members.
“He’s right,” Dagan said. “Even if we don’t like it, he’s right. The Elves helped us when they didn’t have to, and we need to treat them with some respect at the very least.”
Cam nodded in relief, though Kraed scowled. “Fine,” he snapped. “But it’s your decision. I won’t be a part of it.”
“Kraed,” Cam said. “You’re an Elder. You have to go.”
“You go.” Kraed waved him off and staggered away. “You’re the shaman now. Might as well make you Elder, too.”
Cam reared back in surprise. Dagan frowned at Cam, tilted his head, and seemed to be seriously considering Kraed’s words. Cam looked back at Dagan and took another step back.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.
“The old drunk’s got a point.”
“Dagan.”
“I know you’re not technically an Elder. But you’ve been leading this village from the start.”
“Dagan, stop.” Cam held up a hand. “I’ll accept shaman. But not Elder.”
Dagan laughed and touched his hand to his chest. “Relax. I can’t force you into anything. Hells, I can’t even make that decision on my own, it’ll have to be the village that chooses you. But I’ll make the case to them myself.”
Cam groaned and clenched his jaw. He didn’t want a formal leadership role like that, didn’t want the responsibility it entailed.
But Cam was the shaman now. He touched the power, and that meant he could use magic at will. He could still sense it, lingering just out of touch, like a distant smell that triggered a deep and intense memory inside his chest.
“Come,” Dagan said, turning away from Cam. “We should go thank our gracious saviors.”
Cam hesitated as Dagan began to walk out toward the Elves. The group of warriors Dagan had assembled followed at a distance, and Cam hurried to catch up to the Elder.
Together, they crossed the field.
26
As they approached, the Elves stood and turned toward their group. Cam walked in the front with Dagan, and five warriors followed behind, spears and shields in their hands. Cam wondered if those five warriors repres
ented a third of their total fighting force.
He forced the thought from his mind as Miuri stepped to the front of the Elves, a huge smile on her lips. A tall, broad man flanked her, his golden hair flowing down one shoulder. He wore a long, thick, dark green cape that appeared almost black as it fluttered between shadow and light, and leather armor with intricate leaf and vine motifs etched all along its length. The pommel of his sword was gold and jeweled in green and silver, and he wore more green jewels on his fingers and at his throat. His eyes were the same light green as Miuri’s, and he had the same jawline, the same nose. But he was Cam’s height and closer to Cam’s muscular build.
The rest of the Elves ranged in height and size, though they all were slender and graceful. They all wore similar variations of leather armor, chest plate, shoulder guard, shin guard, and short skirt made of overlapping hardened leather strips. They each had a sword and a knife at their belt, and their eyes bore a passing resemblance to Miuri, though the colors varied somewhat from her light green to a darker color, almost deep brown-black. Their hair varied greatly, from a shock of short, pure white on the top of one man lingering toward the back, to a fiery red pulled into braids on a woman standing just behind Miuri. Each of them was beautiful, slender, and calm, despite the smoke that still curled from the burned earth and the blood that stained their clothes and skin.
Dagan stopped about ten feet from the group. Cam stood next to Dagan, his eyes on Miuri as she smiled at him and stared right back. The village warriors formed up behind them, and Cam could feel their shields press up against each other in a defensive formation.
Dagan spoke first. “My name is Dagan,” he called out. “I’m one of the Elders of this village.”
The tall, broad Elf inclined his head ever so slightly and took a single step forward from the group. “My name is Haesar, Lord of the Swapine Clan.”
Dagan gave a very slight bow and glanced at Cam. He quickly did the same, though his eyes stayed on Miuri. She looked amused at their small sign of respect, and Cam had no clue how to appropriately address the Lord of an Elven clan. Cam stood up straight again as Haesar’s eyes fell on him.
