by David Adams
“I’d say you could wield it at need.” Granos had circled around the tent. He held up his open hands. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t,” Demetrius said with a wan smile. “I miss the feel of a sword sometimes.”
“I know what you mean. And I understand how frustrating it must be to be unable to act, especially at times like these. But you are of more use to us once you are healed, and you heal faster when you rest.”
“The body, perhaps. I’m not sure about the mind.”
“I did try to take that into account.”
Demetrius studied the other man’s dour expression. “You will not let me go on patrol,” he stated flatly.
“Not yet. I’m sorry, Demetrius. A wounded man in the field endangers himself and his fellows. You know that.”
“I do,” Demetrius said with a sigh. “And if I was you, I would make the same decision.”
“Thanks for saying so.”
“I just feel like a stone around everyone’s neck. I rest, I eat the food, I—”
“You have already done more than most of us could ever dream of doing, and everyone here knows it. And they expect more of the same, once you are at full strength. No one begrudges you this time. Stop beating yourself up about it.”
Demetrius allowed himself a smile. “Okay. Thanks, mom.”
Granos laughed at that, then added, “If you really feel the need to do something, clean up around the camp. Some of these boys could do well to have their mothers about.”
Demetrius’ smile vanished in an instant. “Riders,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.
“I hear them, too,” Granos said. “Keep that sword at hand, just in case.”
The hoof beats were slow and irregular, and were certainly no signal of an attack. All in the camp who were visible melted away, waiting hidden and with weapons prepared. The riders came into the camp cautiously, their own blades and arrows drawn, but soon riders and defenders all wore smiles; Midras and Corson had returned along with three other soldiers of Corindor. Greetings were exchanged and the newcomers were introduced. Corson shook hands with an uneasy, forced smile until he saw Demetrius emerge from behind his tent. Then his grin was broad and genuine.
“I’d give you a big hug, but I’m afraid that might kill you,” Corson said with a laugh.
Demetrius extended a hand instead. “Might not kill me, but it might re-break a few ribs. Sometimes I think that might be worse.”
“I was afraid that—”
“I’m too stubborn to die like that,” Demetrius said. “I need something more heroic.”
“Well, we’ll all get a chance at that before we’re done, I suppose. But come, let me introduce you to some people.”
One of the riders brightened when he saw the two approach. “You must be Demetrius,” he said. “Corson has told us much about you. I am Dervy. This is Pash, and this is Sam.”
After they exchanged pleasantries, Dervy went on. “I was just telling Granos here that the south is already beginning to move.”
Demetrius glanced at Corson with eyebrows raised and favored him with an approving nod. “What kind of organization do we have?”
Dervy frowned. “Less than we’d like, for sure. Once the cities fell, everyone was scattered, the king was gone, the prince—as Corson confirmed for us—is gone, and most of the generals fell in the battles. Two remain—Joss and Destan. It was to them that Corson had to tell his tale, and them he had to convince to act.”
“I had to convince them of my sanity first,” Corson said with a laugh. “The rest was easy after that.”
“You have to admit your story is hard to accept at face value,” Sam said.
“I have never denied that.”
“But eventually we were convinced of his sincerity,” said Dervy, “and realized the wisest course was the most foolish—to gather what little strength remained in Corindor and take the war to Solek’s doorstep.”
“You mentioned the south was already moving,” said Granos.
“Preparing certainly,” said Dervy. “If they haven’t started marching, they will do so within a day. They will travel across open country in the heart of our land, until they reach the Snake’s Tongue River, then they will go north until they come to the road from Steeple Rock to High Point, and follow it east. They are hoping you will join them there, along with any other camps in the north that might be mustered.”
“I will do so,” said Granos, “as will almost all I have contacted. Even so, if we add a thousand men to the number from the south, it would be a pleasant surprise.”
“A thousand can do much in battle,” said Pash, “and it will be a great boost to us. All the main camps in the south will amount to only three or four thousand. Some need to remain behind with the children, the old, and the sick. And far too many have fallen already.”
“We will start our preparations immediately,” said Granos. “Will you remain with us, or ride back to the main body?”
“We will stay, if it is not too much trouble,” answered Dervy.
“You are most welcome,” Granos said. “And if your horses might be used to spread the word to the other camps, it would be a great help.”
“They are, as we are, to be considered at your service.”
While they started to make detailed plans, Demetrius pulled Corson aside. “Four thousand men. I should get hurt more often. I had not hoped for half that many. You did a great job.”
“Don’t give me too much credit. There were a lot of people with swords they felt had become useless. Now they have new focus and energy, although they will soon be reacquainted with the Dead Legion. I fear a few may quail then, or even turn back.”
“That is to be expected. But maybe we will do better on the offensive than we were able to do trying to defend our cities.”
“I hope so, or the offensive will be short.”
“Even that would be better than waiting for Solek to attack where and when he pleases.”
“How do you think the others are doing?”
“If they do as well as you did, we have some hope yet.”
Corson looked away, embarrassed to show the smile these words brought to his face. Luckily Granos chose that moment to come over.
“So, Corson, I was just telling Demetrius he could not go with us on patrol, that he needed to continue to mend until he was healthy enough to be of value in a fight. But now we will move in a day or two. Do you think I can leave him behind?”
“Our chances against Solek are far greater than the odds of riding off without him. He is far too mule-headed to allow that, no matter what anyone says.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” was Demetrius’ sarcastic reply.
“Maybe if we left in the middle of the night,” Granos mused.
“Don’t even make jokes like that,” Corson said, “otherwise he’ll refuse to sleep.”
Granos grew more serious, addressing Demetrius directly. “Do get what rest you can, my friend. We will have need of that sword of yours soon. I had hoped we could stand together on the field of battle. Corson as well. It would be an honor.”
“The honor would be mine,” Demetrius said. “And when the time comes, I will be ready.”
The three clasped hands, a silent pact between brother warriors ready to fight—and die—together.
* * *
Rowan and Tala had crossed country that was strangely quiet during the day and subtly active with distant scuffling and strange cries at night. Their trip had been unimpeded, and though they traveled with caution, keeping out of sight as much as possible, they found the ease with which they moved somewhat unsettling, as if they were being watched and allowed to pass for some unknown reason.
Once they crossed the Crystal River, the Eastern Forest came into sight. It seemed an oasis of peace and prosperity, a shimmering green jewel to which spring had come early. The land around the woods was all yellow and brown, with scattered trees and bushes struggling to bud
and blossom. The sickness of the land had clearly gotten worse the further north—and closer to Veldoon—they went, as if Veldoon was a cancerous realm whose disease was now spreading beyond its borders. They spoke little of this to one another, although they both surveyed the land with the same worried expression. But the Eastern Forest was so alive with life and new growth that Rowan could hold his tongue no longer.
“Is your land protected by magic of some sort?” he asked.
“It is, some of it in the trees themselves. But like a rock in a stream it will slowly be worn away. The only question is how long it will take.”
The passage through the forest, for Rowan, was a return to happier times. The green canopy above allowed the sun to peer though in warm golden shafts. The air was cool and fragrant, void of the undercurrent of decay that they had become used to. There was a feeling of safety here, so foreign to the darkness and sense of despair they had felt in the Great Northern Forest that the two places seemed polar opposites. Streams of cool, clear water wound their way leisurely through the woods, and here and there large rock formations added an aura of grandeur to the area. Their pace was slowed often as they had to lead their horses by hand through the glens and around the steep hills and rocky crags, but Rowan enjoyed the leisurely hike. He no longer felt rushed by events in the outside world, and for now that’s what their struggle with Solek seemed, someone else’s bitter fight joined in a dreary, far-away place.
Tala breathed deeply, like someone freed from a poisonous cloud, but she wore worry on her brow, and if she noticed the stubborn beauty of the elf realm, surrounded as it was by a sea of misery, she also feared for its eventual loss.
Tala led here, knowing which paths to take and the shortcuts and hidden ways where there was no path. They traveled for three days under the shelter of the wood, and even dared to sleep without taking turns at watch, such was the feeling of security this place gave them. The fourth morning brought heavy rain, but broken up as it was by the leaves above them, it seemed only a gently shower.
Rowan took one look at Tala’s face as she readied the horses for the day and said, “We arrive today.”
“Is it that obvious?”
Rowan only smiled.
“I suppose I should try to muster a bit of enthusiasm.”
“You are seeing your people and your family again.”
“I know that. Why do you think I have this look of trepidation on my face?” She laughed, but the sound was forced and uneasy, even to her own ears. She wondered how bad it sounded to Rowan.
The sun had just passed its daily zenith when Rowan noticed something out of the corner of his eye, a flash of silver and stone between two trees. He looked again, directly at the spot, and saw nothing. “Did you—” He checked himself upon seeing the determined look on Tala’s face. “We’re there, aren’t we?” he said at last.
She nodded slowly.
“Can you see the city?”
“Yes. Dol Lavaan, the city of the elves. But I know what to look for, and where to look. Did you see it?”
“A glimpse, I suppose, but nothing more. Once it had my attention it was gone.”
“It is still there, just hidden behind strong spells. Did you notice the archers on the walls?”
“Archers? No, just a bit of stone and silver metal.”
“The walls,” she said with a nod. “Your perception must be better than most, to be able to see even that much. The defenders on the walls have spied us, and their bows are taut. We will approach slowly. Make sure you keep your hands away from your sword.”
They rode forward, keeping their hands visible. Rowan squinted, trying to bring into focus something that played at the edges of his vision, but all he could see were the towering trees and the rocks and glens of the wood.
Tala stopped and called out. “I am Tala, daughter of Deron and Lasha. I wish to enter the city.”
There was a moment of silence that stretched long enough to make the riders anxious, the soft singing of the insects all the louder while other voices remained still. Finally, after a brief whispered discussion, one of the archers spoke. “You are recognized Tala, by name and appearance, and you are welcome. Who is it that travels with you?”
“This is Rowan, a servant of the Duchess Onsweys, ruler of Delving.”
“Ill news if the duke no longer lives.”
“He fell in battle.”
“So have many others. Does your companion seek refuge here?”
“Not refuge,” Tala replied. “He rides with me at my request, to bring tidings of the world beyond these walls.”
“One can bring news as well as two. Would you bring one to this secret place, unknown to us, who could bring pain and suffering here by a single slip of the tongue?”
“His tongue is no more dangerous than mine.”
“That is true, I suppose. Any who leave this sanctuary could bring ruin upon us.”
Tala sighed. “If you will not allow me entrance say so now. If the hospitality of our people is this lacking, perhaps we are beyond all hope.”
“Hospitality is a gift beyond expectation in times such as these,” the guard retorted. “But it is given in such measure as it is warranted.”
They waited, unsure how to reply, and then the gates started to grind open. To Rowan, it was as if a shaft of light from another world had entered this one, and as the gates swung inward, the walls of the city became visible to him, and the hustle and bustle of the place became audible. Three stories high the walls stood, great gray stones set in a silver metal framework. The top of the wall bristled with alert, bow-equipped guards, and a silver-and-white elven standard fluttered gently in the breeze. Out of the gate another guard now came, and he escorted them swiftly inside. Once past the gate, the doors were quickly shut and barred once more.
Rowan’s eyes grew large at the sight of the elven city proper. Graceful arches and rocketing spires seemed to adorn every building. Stone, wood, and metal were all utilized with the same level of delicate craftsmanship, and but for the smaller size he deemed any of the dwellings equal to that of the greatest king or queen. Streams wound their way through the city, following their natural courses, the construction planned around them to so they could add to the environment, just as the abundant flowers and trees that bloomed within the walls did. A great fountain had been placed in the center of the city, and the main road from the gate made it plain to see, even from where the travelers stood. Huge it was, an elvish family—husband, wife, and children—of carved figures dancing about the central font, a remembrance of an earlier, carefree time.
Tala’s eyes had become as large as Rowan’s, but she had grown up in this place, and little of the architecture or city layout would have made an impression on her now. What did were the occupants, not just the elves she had spent her life with, but men, women, and children of humankind as well. She had not expected them here, especially after the comments the guard had made. Now she started to ponder his words in a different light, but she was brought out of her ruminations by the guard that had escorted them inside.
“I am sorry if your welcome seemed less than warm,” he said. “As you can see, the darkness that has beset our world has had an impact here as well.”
“Where did they come from?” Tala asked, her eyes moving to and fro, taking everything in.
“Ridonia. They tried to fight Solek for a time, but they could not stand against his power. Eventually the remnant of their people came into the forest for refuge.”
“I am surprised they were allowed inside the city.”
“As were many. I have heard the debate in the Elder Council was fierce. But the decision was made, and they were taken in. And here they remain.”
They had been making their way down the main road as they spoke, drawing little attention. Their clothes were soiled and torn from long, hard use, but that did not mark them among so many refugees. The humans were quiet and spoke to one another in hushed tones. Many were busy with menial tasks, filler
for long, empty days, but some simply sat and stared blankly, feeling they were no more than wave-tossed flotsam and jetsam.
Suddenly there was some activity ahead of them—an excited voice and a parting crowd. A female elf, tall and stately in appearance, dressed in an elegant gown of blue came toward them. Her face betrayed her otherwise composed disposition, and as her eyes met Tala’s she began to weep. She ran forward and embraced Tala warmly. “I heard it was you, but I was almost afraid to believe it,” she whispered.
“It is wonderful to see you again,” Tala said. She was winning the battle to keep her own tears from falling, but just barely.
The guard excused himself as Tala introduced Rowan to her mother, Lasha.
“It is an honor,” Rowan said.
Lasha curtsied. “Welcome to our city. You are from Delving? I recognize the colors on your uniform.”
“That’s correct.”
Lasha smiled and then turned to her daughter. “I assume you have matters of great importance to discuss with your father, both of you.”
Tala nodded and said simply, “Yes.”
“You had best speak with him alone first. He was not in favor of opening the city gates to outsiders.”
Tala sighed. “Then his heart has not softened, and my pleas will again fall on deaf ears.”
“ ‘Deaf’?” Lasha repeated. “No, never that. You father heard you before and he will hear you now. He may or may not agree with you—though you may find him more changed than you expect.”
“I hope so. He can be quite stubborn.”
“As can his only daughter.”
Tala started to rise to the comment, then checked herself. “I guess I cannot deny that, but he—”
Lasha cut her off with an upraised hand. “Go to him. Speak. He will listen, but you need to listen as well. He has led our people and our family well for a long time. And he respects you, Tala, though sometimes he will not show it. I think he deserves your respect as well. And your love.”
“He has both. Always.”
“Good. He is in council now, but he will return home soon. Freshen up, take a bit of food, and when he returns you can speak. Rowan, you are welcome also, of course.”
