“That doesn't make sense. Why?” Lorifal asked.
Dagna's expression grew sad. “It is said they were so desired that they were horribly exploited, forced into the most awful and degrading sexual slavery. Their numbers quickly dwindled, and when there were but a handful left, wars were fought to possess them.”
A large “thwack” caused Feyden to turn his head. Raine had hurled a stone so skillfully and with such force it removed a branch from a tree. She seemed quite expressionless at the moment. But he was interested in Dagna's tale and returned his attention to the bard.
“Hmm,” Idonea said thoughtfully. “But have you ever heard of them being skilled at warfare?”
Her head shook emphatically. “No,” Dagna said, “that was the problem. They were helpless, totally unable to protect themselves. It really was quite tragic.”
The band settled into silence, a silence that was broken by Raine who seemed to playfully pose a hypothetical question.
“So out of all of history, and all your knowledge of the different races and creatures, who do you think would make the best companion for an Arlanian?”
Dagna liked this question. “Well, another Arlanian, of course. And after that, me.”
This brought chuckles all around and lightened the mood.
“But beyond that,” Raine persisted, “out of all the creatures that you are familiar with, what would be the most extraordinary pairing?”
“Would the Arlanian have to survive?” Dagna asked doubtfully.
“Say it is a particularly indestructible Arlanian who could pair with anyone,” she said, stretching the hypothetical to its limits. “Who would make the best mate?”
Dagna liked this version of the question even more. “Well there are the various demi-gods, the high elves, and the Vanir.” She paused, deep in thought. “No, wait! I have it!”
Idonea did not like the turn of this conversation.
“A dragon!” Dagna exclaimed. “A dragon would be perfect!”
“A dragon?” Raine asked innocently, “and why is that?”
“By the Divine!” Dagna said, “Dragons are insatiable and known for their sexual skill and seduction, not to mention their ability to change form. Such a pairing, if the Arlanian could survive, would be epic.”
“Epic,” Raine said thoughtfully, savoring the word, “epic.”
This fairytale coupling occupied everyone's thoughts with an intensity proportional to their imagination. With the exception of Raine and Idonea, of course, who needed no imagination whatsoever to envision the act.
CHAPTER 9
Lorifal was at last on his horse. His expression was joyful as he sat at ease on the beast's back. When they reached the edge of the forest and the rest dismounted, he allowed his horse to pick its way through the thick undergrowth. Even with his short stature, he had to duck here and there to avoid low-hanging branches, but he didn't care. He wasn't walking any further.
Raine patted the flank of her steed. Where the others led their beasts by the reins through the trees, she allowed hers to trot along at her side. The beast was a fiery stallion and she had gravitated towards him on sight, but he was content to amble along next to her without restraint.
“Elyara,” Feyden asked, “is it your people that inhabit this forest?”
“No,” Elyara replied, “my clan is westward, deeper into the forest. I do not know the wood elves that live here.”
“That is unfortunate,” Feyden said with a sigh.
“Yes,” Raine replied, “that would have made things a lot easier.”
Elyara glanced from one to the other. Feyden was of the Alfar, a people that lived on the ledges of Mount Alfheim. Although the high elves were known to disdain other races, they did engage in barter and trade with humans and dwarves. This was in stark contrast to the wood elves who were a secretive lot that kept to themselves.
“Why would it have made things easier?” Elyara asked, concerned.
“Because we are surrounded,” Raine responded.
Lorifal's horse snorted, then reared, tossing the dwarf skyward. Raine watched his trajectory, trying to maneuver beneath him, and timed it perfectly. She caught him, stifling a groan as she broke his fall and stopped his full weight. A rare smile appeared on Feyden's face; it looked as if Raine were carrying Lorifal across the threshold.
“Really you two? This is so sudden.”
Raine grunted with the exertion. “I'm not sure I can get 'my love' through the door. By the Divine you are heavy.”
Lorifal came to his senses and struggled to free himself, and Raine set him down. The skin across his cheeks and nose was a fiery red. “Thank you,” he said gruffly, brushing himself off. It would have hurt less, at least in terms of pride, to have fallen on his ass.
The clang of steel was loud as Gunnar slipped his sword from its scabbard.
“Hold,” Raine commanded. “Let's not fight unless need be.”
The first wood elf slipped from the forest. He was dressed in forest green clothing that contrasted with his blond hair and light gray eyes. Those eyes sized up the group.
“At least one of you has a degree of wisdom,” the elf said as thirty more slipped from the shadows. “Because you are indeed surrounded.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Bristol demanded.
The elf glanced at him disdainfully. “You have the nerve to ask that? You, who are trespassing on our land?” The elf looked to Feyden, dismissing him, then to Elyara. His eyes narrowed as he assessed her. “I don't know you.”
“I am from the Halvor to the west,” Elyara said. “We wish only to pass peacefully through your land.”
“Under normal circumstances, that would not be allowed.” He gave another arrogant glance that encompassed the group. “Under normal circumstances we probably would have already killed you. But Y'arren has requested to see you, something that is unusual under any circumstance.” His tone did not brook argument. “You will follow us.”
Gunnar looked to Raine, and she simply shrugged. The smaller group, surrounded by the much larger group, fell in behind the elf. All appeared uneasy as their captors kept their weapons at a ready position. Lorifal was a bit of a laggard and an elf poked his sword into Lorifal's side, causing him to yelp in pain and anger. Raine slowed her pace slightly, looking over to the young elf warrior.
“I suggest you not do that,” she said mildly.
Her tone was calm, her expression tranquil, yet somehow it was the most menacing thing the young elf had ever heard. He slowed so that his sword tip no longer wavered near any of them. Feyden smiled to himself.
It was not long before the sounds of a fair-sized camp could be heard and soon the smoke from campfires drifted on the slight breeze. They entered a large clearing at the base of a hilly area, one that was filled with tents and make-shift structures. Although the wood elves traveled lightly and camped with the goal that they could disappear into the forest at a moment's notice, this seemed a fairly permanent settlement. A nearby blacksmith pounded steel on an anvil and several vendors had large displays with fruits and meats available. Artwork was carved into rock pillars and towering wooden totems dotted the clearing. Their entrance drew a great deal of attention as activity slowed, then halted as the community of wood elves stared.
“Your people aren't cannibals, are they?” Lorifal whispered to Elyara.
Feyden snorted. “We will give you up first if they are. Should satisfy the lot of them.”
There was a cave at the base of the mountain and the number of totems increased as they approached. The artwork on the rock was elaborate, intricate, and very, very old.
“Wait,” the blond elf commanded, and the group stopped obediently in front of the cave.
Silence descended on the settlement. Even the clank of the hammer and anvil had ceased. A few birds chirped off in the distance. The tension grew and Lorifal shifted uneasily. A bead of sweat ran down his back, making him itch. An insect buzzed about his head, and in frustration,
he swatted at it.
The flitting of the arrow through the air was so sudden it was barely comprehended before reacted to. A fidgety young elf had accidentally loosed the arrow at the dwarf upon his sudden movement. It was completely unintentional and he gazed in horror before his eyes could grasp the end result.
The arrow had not struck its target but rather was being held in the palm of the blue-eyed woman, her arm extended, her head having not budged a whit in order to stop its flight. Raine had caught the arrow from the corner of her eye and snatched the missile from the sky before it could pass her. Lorifal swallowed hard staring at the point of the arrow which would have pierced him through the eye.
The circle of guardian elves took one large step backward, and all weapons, which before had been trained on the group as a whole, now were trained entirely on Raine.
Feyden chuckled softly. “It won't help,” he told them.
Fortunately, some commotion at the entrance to the cave distracted everyone. Two older female elves, both dressed in elaborate robes, exited from the darkness. They appeared to be seidr, sorceresses, or perhaps priestesses or some combination of both. They were greeted with respect but the assembly still had an air of expectation. The two attendants stopped, awaiting the one that followed them.
A tiny, wizened old elf came from the shadows. She was old, old even for the Elvish who could live for a thousand years. Her skin was wrinkled, her hair was white, but her green eyes shone like emeralds from that craggy, lined face. She supported her weight on a gnarled wooden staff carved with filigree. Her robes were simpler than her attendants yet beautifully mystic, woven with ancient, arcane symbols, the glyphs of the natural world. The vibrant green of her cloak set off her white hair and green eyes in a magnificent and intimidating way.
Y'arren took the measure of each in the band. Her eyes settled on the two knights first. They were typical sons of men, brash, head-strong with little respect for the old ways due to their short life-spans, but remarkably brave despite that fact. Her green eyes moved to the bard. Lusty but soft-hearted, a romantic, but a strong one. Y'arren turned to the high elf. Handsome, taciturn, a little cynical, but deeply noble at his core. She looked upon Lorifal. The dwarf was unpolished, a bit crude, but loyal and fearless. Her eyes lingered on Elyara. One of her kind, talented, but always tempted to play with the dark side of magic.
Y'arren turned to Idonea and her eyes lingered even longer. Mixed blood in this one. Power. Ambition. Dark magic. And an uncertain path ahead of her.
Each member of the band stood quietly under the ancient elf's scrutiny. And finally, the tiny wizened creature turned her attention to the last member of the band.
“Raine,” the high priestess said with obvious pleasure.
Raine stepped forward, all astonished eyes upon her, an expression of quiet joy and respect on her fine features.
“Y'arren'ikad'qeri,” she said, using the revered one's full title. She went to a knee, not so much in obeisance but rather to get down to eye-level with the diminutive creature. “May warmth find you in winter and the cool breeze in summer.”
Raine spoke in flawless Elvish, much to the surprise of everyone present, including her two elven companions. But the next conversation would shock them even more.
“No,” Y'arren said, “We will speak in the ancient tongue.”
“As you wish, so it will be,” Raine replied, switching to the archaic language which no one could understand, not even the two attending the high priestess.
The language was slow, lyrical, elaborate, and exotic. There were parts of it that seemed familiar to those straining to decipher it. But it pre-dated their current language by thousands of years and was all but forgotten, except for, apparently, by the two in front of them. And most would be stunned to know that Raine had learned it from Y'arren.
Y'arren examined the beautiful creature in front of her. Beautiful inside. Beautiful outside. A slow smile stretched the corner of her mouth as she placed her hand on Raine's chest over her heart.
“You carry another here.”
Raine smiled, her calm joy radiating outward as Y'arren absorbed the energy from the contact. She was pleased with the images that filled her mind.
“Ah, that explains why we have had so few reports of slaughter and rapine of late.”
“I've been keeping her busy,” Raine said, laughing.
“A perfect match,” Y'arren said with satisfaction.
Raine stood, and Y'arren turned to address the assembly, now speaking the common language that everyone understood.
“These are our guests. You will treat them with hospitality.” She turned to Raine once more. “I would speak with you this evening, then you may depart on the morrow.”
Raine bowed low. “Of course. Thank you for your kindness.”
Whereas before the band had been looked at with disdain and distrust, now they were looked upon with uncertainty and curiosity. Dagna particularly garnered a good deal of attention because most elven women were small and delicate, not generously endowed as was she. Elyara was happy to blend in with a group of healers and alchemists, and Feyden and Lorifal began discussing the various merits of weaponry with the smith. They were joined by Bristol and Gunnar who, uncomfortable at first, quickly fell into the conversation about swords and shields. Even Idonea was somewhat sociable as she was fascinated by the arcane markings on the surrounding architecture and found a smitten young scribe who was willing to answer her every question.
Raine, however, garnered the majority of attention, and probably would have even without the extraordinary recognition bestowed upon her by the greatly revered high priestess. Many apparently forgot that she spoke both Elvish and the more ancient form of their tongue that they didn't even know. They loudly speculated that she must have some elven blood in her due to her angelic beauty. There was also much talk of the spectacular feat with the arrow, and much speculation on magical abilities.
Ignoring the attention, Raine found a grindstone and sought the opportunity to see to her weapons. She methodically sharpened each sword and dagger one by one, and the elvish warriors gaped as the number of weapons she removed from her person seemed to increase without end. She then removed her bow, snapped it outward, and began to sharpen the melee edge. This caused a great deal of consternation because no one had ever seen a collapsible bow, let alone one that required sharpening.
When finished, Raine set out for a quick hunt, joined by Feyden and a few of the wood elves. The wood elves were highly skilled at hunting and the group brought down several deer, some hares, and even one large boar. When they returned to the settlement, the food was consolidated and several elven chefs set about to prepare the evening meal. The resulting stew was delicious, accompanied by a honeyed brew that brought relaxation to everyone. The camp minstrel began to play his lute and Dagna joined his performance, much to the merriment of everyone.
Raine leaned back on her pack, watching the merry scene, and soon felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. One of Y'arren's attendants was there, silently gesturing for Raine to follow her. Raine rose quietly and slipped away from the assembly unnoticed.
A warm glow emanated from the cave in the side of the mountain, bathing the steps in soft light. When Raine entered the cavern, she was greeted by dozens of candles that burned brightly while giving off a wonderful scent of sandalwood. Y'arren sat in the center of the circle of light on a pile of soft furs, and Raine took a seat near her as the attendant silently bowed out of the room.
A look of pleasure softened the wizened face of Y'arren. “It is good to see you so happy.”
“Well I am not completely happy as I am separated from my love, but it is necessary.”
“Yes,” Y'arren replied, nodding sagely. “I had feared you would never find a suitable match, being the offspring of two such disparate people. But now I begin to understand the ebb and flow of purpose in your life.”
“What do you mean by that?” Raine asked curiously.
“I
think had you been purely Scinterian, you would have become Talan's ally, but not her lover. The fact that you are also Arlanian made the romantic bond inevitable, and that will have profound consequences.”
“What do you mean?” Raine said, still not understanding.
“You are now the Dragon's Lover,” Y'arren said, speaking the last two words in the ancient tongue as if the phrase were a title.
This meant nothing to Raine. “Dragon's Lover? You say that as if it has some significance.”
Y'arren breathed deeply of the sandalwood scent around her. “Many ancient stories are allegories, myths without true manifestations. Some are meant as warnings, some as guidelines for behavior. Some are merely cultural artifacts from the Old Times.”
“And others?” Raine prompted her.
“Others are prophecies.”
“And what particular prophecy would you be referring to?” Raine said, furrowing her brow.
Y'arren shifted on her pile of furs. “There is a very ancient saying that when the end of the world approaches, only the Dragon's Lover stands between life and total destruction. It is very lyric and obscure, but the truest translation is ‘the Dragon’s Lover, felled by the closest of allies, carries into death without dying that which saves all worlds. There is a final line to the poem, but it has proven too difficult to translate.”
“Really?” Raine said, “It specifically used the phrase 'Dragon's Lover'? And you think that refers to me?”
The wizened expression darkened. “I do, my dear. Although dragons are a lusty lot and there are tens of thousands who theoretically could fit such a description, there is only one that is actually bound to a dragon. And only one like you.”
“Does Weynild know this?” Raine asked, troubled.
“It is likely Talan knows of this prophecy. And she may have realized its relevance as your bond has strengthened. But given the great love she has for you, I believe had she known its significance early on, she would have fled from you and spared you that fate.”
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