If I start a fire, I can cauterize the wound. But that would mean having to cut the quarrel free. He didn’t relish that thought.
One of the horses snorted, and Taren remembered their pursuers weren’t going to be far behind. Already, the footmen were likely searching the woods, and the inquisitors had probably recovered their steeds.
We’ve got to put more distance behind us. It was still only morning. He wanted to keep going a couple more hours if they could manage. Once deep in the forest—he tried not to think about the tales he’d heard about the Fallowin Forest and the hostile elves who called it home—pursuit would be easier to evade.
Taren took a long drink from his water skin then splashed some in Elyas’s face. He sputtered awake, squinting and blinking slowly as he looked around.
“Elyas! Come on—we need to keep going. Can you ride?”
His cousin regarded him for a moment as if he’d sprouted wings. The look of confusion faded, and he looked around. “Where…? What happened?”
Taren breathed a sigh of relief. “Drink some water.” He held the skin up, and Elyas drank deeply. “You took a quarrel to the ribs and fell off your horse. Do you remember?”
Elyas shook his head but gently fingered the bandage. “Hurts like the bloody Abyss.” His breath had a hitch in it that Taren didn’t like.
“Those inquisitors can’t be far behind. Can you ride?”
“Aye. I’m not some bloody milksop nobleman.” Elyas grunted with pain when Taren helped him get to his feet. He wobbled a moment as Taren supported him.
Elyas’s stolen horse nuzzled him when they approached it.
The big man patted the horse on the neck. “You’re a good boy.” He studied the horse a moment then looked around. “Over there.” He pointed at a thick log beside the path a short distance away.
Taren took the reins, and Elyas leaned heavily on his shoulder as they labored the short distance to the log. By the time they reached it, both of them were breathing heavily. With Taren’s help, Elyas stepped up on the log then clumsily threw himself onto the horse’s back. He wheezed sharply in pain and wobbled for a moment before catching his balance. The animal grunted and took a couple sudden steps sideways but bore his weight placidly.
“You gonna be able to stay there without falling again?”
Elyas shrugged. “I’ll make it work as long as I can. Come on.”
Taren mounted up, and they continued along the path through the woods. It wended around, passing through an occasional clearing, and they followed it for a couple miles before coming to a stream. They let the horses drink, and Taren refilled their water skins.
“We should get off the path… too easy to track here.” Elyas pointed upstream, which lay generally in the direction they meant to go—east. “Let’s follow this a ways and cut through the forest.”
Taren agreed, and they walked the horses along the shallow stream, trying to keep to the water to hide their tracks. Fortunately, the stream had a flat, sandy bottom and didn’t pose any threat of injury to the horses.
Soon, they departed the stream and moved deeper into the sylvan landscape. As the day wore on, the trees grew larger and fuller. Huge oak, maple, and elm trees soared overhead, their thick canopies often blocking out the sun as the men continued onward. Taren kept looking over his shoulder, expecting pursuit, but the way was clear. Despite that, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched.
Elyas called a halt early that afternoon, his face ashen and covered in a sheen of sweat. How he’d made it that long, Taren didn’t know, but that must have taken a heroic effort. They walked their mounts to a small, sheltered dell, and Taren tried to help his cousin dismount, but Elyas was much too heavy and collapsed with a groan. Taren helped prop him up against his pack and get as comfortable as he could. He hobbled the horses and cleared a firepit then set about gathering dried leaves and deadwood. Within a short time, Taren had a small fire burning. At Elyas’s suggestion, he placed his broad-bladed dagger in the flames.
While Taren waited for the dagger to get hot, he stared into the flames, trying not to think about Elyas’s wound, fearing it was more severe than he thought. What will I do if a lung is punctured? He’s not hacking up blood yet, so that’s a good sign, I think. However, the purple bruise from where blood was leaking internally was concerning. Cauterizing the wound would likely stop only the external bleeding.
Twilight neared, and his thoughts strayed further as he delayed the inevitable, afraid he’d botch what he had to do and Elyas wouldn’t survive. I’d be the only one left, then. Everyone I’ve cared about gone… Wyat, Shenai, Gradnik… Sabyl, please let him survive this. I don’t know how I’d go on alone.
“You’d better get on with this,” Elyas said, interrupting Taren from his thoughts. His cousin’s voice was weaker. He hadn’t had any appetite when Taren offered him the last few strips of salted meat, which was unnatural for him. Elyas had drunk some water and passed out for a time while Taren made camp. “Use your dagger to cut out the quarrel. Once it’s out, jab my dagger in the wound and cauterize it good, or else I’ll bleed out fast.”
Taren knelt beside him, grimacing at the soaked-through bandage. He peeked beneath it and saw the swollen, purpled flesh. “How do you know this will work? From the looks of it, you’re bleeding inside somewhere… could be the liver or something.”
Elyas met his eyes steadily. “If so, then I die quick. What other choice have we got? I won’t make it another day like this.”
Taren nodded grimly, fear clenching his gut. “Wish we had some alcohol to douse it with.” He drew his own dagger and got to his feet. He turned to retrieve Elyas’s heated dagger, then stumbled back in shock at the sight of a man who appeared silently out of the gloom.
To be exact, he was not a man but an elf. He had long brown hair and almond-shaped green eyes, slightly tilted. Fanciful tattoos were traced across the angular planes of his face, and his ears tapered to points. He wore green and brown woodland garb and held a bow with an arrow nocked and aimed steadily at Taren’s chest. His stern expression could have been carved from oak, and his motions were quick and graceful, inhuman somehow.
Elyas cursed when he saw the elf. He reached for his sword beside him, but the elf darted forward in a couple quick strides and kicked it aside. His gaze quickly took in Elyas’s wound then went back to Taren, the arrow’s tip never wavering from Taren’s chest.
Taren dropped his dagger and held his empty hands up. “Please, my cousin is wounded—he needs help.”
The elf said something in Elvish. The musical language seemed at odds with the clear threat given.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand Elvish.”
“You are unwelcome here, humans,” he replied, switching to Common. “Your kind trespass upon our lands, hunt our game, and burn our wood. I should kill you and let the forest reclaim you.”
“We are being pursued—Nebaran soldiers and inquisitors. We mean you no harm—we simply wish to pass through without trouble.”
The elf snorted. “Human conflicts are human problems. These affairs are not our concern.”
Taren’s mind raced. If he could convince the elf they meant no harm, perhaps he could ask if they had a priest or healer. “I hate to say it, but they will be your problem very soon. Already, they are likely in your lands. Tens of thousands more will soon follow, spreading all across the lands as Emperor Ignatius invades Ketania and the Free Kingdoms.” He had no idea if tens of thousands of soldiers were in the Nebaran army, but he thought it likely since invading with only a portion of their forces would’ve made little sense.
The elf’s face was an expressionless mask, but Taren thought he saw a glimmer of disgust. “We know of these invaders already, human. A number of their scouts entered our woods and never returned. They’d be fools to attack us.”
“Go look for yourself if you don’t believe me. They’ve got an ogre among them. If they have an ogre, what’s to stop them from bringing othe
r monsters?” Taren was grasping at straws, but he didn’t know how else to convince the elf to aid them unless they shared a common foe.
Now the elf did react, his lips twisting downward in a grimace. He lowered his bow a few inches and considered. After a long moment, he nodded once. “I shall see if these claims are true, human.”
Taren opened his mouth, but the elf slipped back into the trees and was gone without a sound.
“That went well, I thought,” he said.
Elyas grunted. “He didn’t kill us, at least. Always heard these elf bastards slew anyone who intruded on their lands without question. Best hold off with this arrow a bit. If he returns, looking for a fight, I don’t want to be unconscious.”
Better that than dead. Taren retrieved Elyas’s sword then sat down to await the elf’s return.
An hour or two passed, and the night deepened. Taren’s eyelids were growing heavy when he heard the rustle of some dried leaves. He sat up straight to see the elf across the campfire, understanding he’d made the noise for their benefit to not startle them. This time, he didn’t have an arrow aimed at Taren.
“You speak truly,” he said, voice hard with anger. “Nearly three dozen intruders—these Nebarans and their ogre filth—trespass on our lands. This cannot go unanswered.”
Taren nodded. When he glanced over at Elyas, he saw he was sleeping yet again, his face seemingly even more pale. He reached over and touched his forearm. His cousin’s skin was chill to the touch.
“Please, is there a healer or priest among your people you could send for? My cousin isn’t well.”
“The gods favor him if he lasts the night,” the elf replied without emotion. “You’d best sleep and gather your strength and be on your way in the morning. The forest will take him—an offering to Etenia.”
“Please, I can give you what little coin we have.”
“I have no need of your coin.” The elf looked slightly offended at the suggestion.
Taren was growing desperate. “From what I know of elves, they value life very highly. How can you let someone die if it is within your power to aid him?”
“Human lives,” he said curtly as if that explained everything.
Taren rose to his feet, a sudden flash of anger racing through him. He stepped around the fire toward the elf.
Evidently seeing something he didn’t like, the elf took a step backward, surprise registering on his face, and he raised the bow defensively once again. “Come no closer. Who are you? Why do these humans pursue you through our lands?” He regarded Taren with narrowed eyes as if facing a wild animal that might suddenly turn on him.
“My name is Taren. This is my cousin Elyas. We were run off our farm, chased away from home by armed soldiers. My uncle, Elyas’s father, was killed by these bastards. These inquisitors are searching for mages. They caught up to us in a small farming village south of here, Halstead. They were torturing the locals and would’ve killed us had we not managed to escape. Why they pursue us, I don’t know. I doubt they’ll show any mercy to your people, however, if you cross their path.”
The elf was silent for a moment. “Halstead. I know of this place.”
“Yes. Good, simple people there. Please, when you report back to your superiors of these Nebarans, will you ask for a healer?”
He stared at Taren a long while then gave another single, curt nod. “Very well, I shall relay your request.” He approached and knelt beside Elyas, gently probing the wound for a moment. “I wouldn’t recommend trying to remove the arrow—it is lodged against his lung and could tear it when removed. If that happens, he will choke to death on his own blood. As is, he should last a while longer, depending on his strength of will. Await my return.”
The elf turned and jogged off into the night once more. Taren slumped back to the ground beside Elyas. He shook his cousin’s shoulder, but he wouldn’t waken. His pulse was rapid, and he felt feverish, his breathing shallow and ragged sounding.
Gods help us. If the elves won’t, I fear he spoke true. Elyas will be gone by morn. That thought depressed him, and try as he might, he couldn’t find sleep.
***
Around midnight, Taren heard another rustle of leaves. He looked up to find the elf had returned. Taren’s despair turned to hope when the first elf was joined by three others, two of whom were female. The second male elf was a warrior, garbed in clothes similar to the first’s, with a bow in hand and a sword at his hip. One of the females looked to be a warrior also—she wore intricate leather armor and had a sword at her slim waist and a longbow over her shoulder. The second female wore soft green-and-yellow layered robes and a wooden medallion of a tree hanging about her neck.
“I am Zylka Daerodil,” the female warrior said in Common. She was obviously the leader, the others deferring to her. Her features were comely but a bit severe looking, with large green eyes flecked with gold and ears that tapered up to points at their tips, in the manner of all elves. She studied Taren frankly for a long moment, her piercing gaze making him shift a bit nervously, before glancing at Elyas. “Kinnel spoke well of you and requested a healer for your companion. This is Enelwyn. She will tend to him if she is able.”
“I thank you, Lady Zylka, for your aid. And you as well, Kinnel. I am Taren, and this is my cousin Elyas. I would offer what little coin we have for payment.” He fumbled for his coin purse.
Zylka waved him off, but the corner of her mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. “We care not for your coin, Taren. Save it for your journeys ahead. Enelwyn, du dhirr fard du haer dhair nel,” she told the healer in Elvish.
Enelwyn nodded and knelt beside Elyas.
“Sit, and let us speak a moment.” Zylka beckoned her other companions, and the three sat down cross-legged before the dwindling campfire.
Taren sat down before them, nervous in their presence. His gaze kept going to Enelwyn and Elyas. The elf had her eyes closed and was murmuring softly, her hands touching either side of Elyas’s wound.
Zylka unfastened a skin from her belt and offered it to Taren. He thanked her and took a sip from it. The crisp and slightly fruity taste of wine filled his mouth. He took a longer drink and then handed the wineskin back.
“Kinnel doubts that you are human, Taren,” Zylka said bluntly.
“I beg your pardon?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“Or at least fully so. I thought I’d determine this for myself.” Zylka smiled then, and her face softened dramatically, revealing her breathtaking beauty. She had blond hair down to her waist though she wore it braided in the manner of a warrior. Her enchanting green-gold eyes regarded him. “Fear not, we’ve not come all this way simply to examine you. This sector is under my command, and my duty is to evaluate the threat of these intruders, which I shall do shortly. First, I want to make sure you and your cousin are of no threat to us.”
Taren felt color filling his cheeks at her bold stare. “I, uh, don’t know what to say about that… We wouldn’t harm you, especially since you are aiding us. We’ve been on the run from the Nebarans for days now and simply sought shelter in the forest.”
Kinnel said something quietly to Zylka in Elvish, and she nodded. “He says your eyes lit up like embers when he angered you by suggesting your companion should be left to die. That is not normal of a human, from what I know of your kind.”
He recalled what Elyas had told him earlier that afternoon while riding. “Taren, your eyes were glowing when you faced down the inquisitors in the barn. It was the strangest thing.”
Taren shrugged, not knowing how to reply to that. He recalled Wyat mentioning his mother’s eyes ofttimes glowed as well. Instead, he glanced over at his cousin again. Enelwyn was chanting softly, her hands placed upon Elyas’s side. His cousin’s color seemed to have already improved.
“I would be curious to see such a thing for myself, yet I think it would be rude to insult you in an attempt to provoke the desired effect.” Zylka smiled at him once more then turned her gaze to the fire.
“Tell me all you know of these invaders.”
Taren relaxed a bit more and told them of the stranger who they assumed had been a spy at the Midsummer Festival, then of the following attack on the farm and their flight. He drank some more of the wine when offered and found himself pleasantly relaxed yet still fully alert by the time he finished his story.
Zylka and the other two elves were watching him curiously. She nodded thoughtfully when he finished. “I see what Kinnel spoke of. When lost in memory and your emotions are stoked, your eyes do glow slightly, Taren. Most curious, but unfortunately the hour grows late. Perhaps we can speak more at a later time.” She smiled again and smoothly rose to her feet. “Enelwyn?”
The healer looked up from where she was kneeling beside Elyas. Taren was surprised to find his cousin looked much improved. The arrow had been removed and the wound closed up—only a puckered red scar remained. Elyas looked as though he was sleeping deeply.
“Your cousin was near death, but I was able to heal him with Etenia’s blessing,” Enelwyn replied, her voice soft and childlike. “He requires much rest now. I recommend you not travel for a couple days.”
Taren grinned in relief, feeling as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. “Thank you, Enelwyn! Lady Zylka, you all have my gratitude—we owe you our lives, it seems.”
“Indeed. And I insist you remain as our guests until Elyas is well,” Zylka stated in a tone that brooked no argument. “We shall return shortly. Await us here.”
Taren nodded dumbly.
Zylka said something in Elvish to Enelwyn then beckoned to Kinnel and the other warrior, and the three took off at a jog into the woods, back in the direction Taren imagined the Nebarans to be camped.
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