Tarthur was a little startled. Why would anyone want to do chores when he did not have to? Tarthur could not figure it out. In his later years, his mind would stray back to the merwizard and others. Sometimes things needed to be done—regardless of how unpleasant they were. Besides, there were many more unpleasant things than everyday chores. Recognizing this was a step toward growing up that Tarthur was not yet ready to take.
“But you know what happened?” Derlin continued his narrative. “They would not let me help them in the least bit. They just told me to go to sleep, and even brought some breakfast up. These people do not look like hearty and over-prosperous people. I think that they are giving to us out of their sustenance. That is why I told them we would leave soon today.”
Tarthur nodded. While he would not have objected very loudly if someone had asked him to stay, at the same time he knew their mission was of vital importance, and to tarry further could prove disastrous. Tarthur finished dressing himself, and reverently fastened the Rune Sword at his side. The boys had made no formal decision about who was to carry the sword—back in Krendon they would have argued over it and maybe even gotten into a small scuffle—what would be termed among the more refined members of society a “vicious brawl”—but afterward they would have come to a decision. Now, however, the sword just happened to be with Tarthur. And even these boys weren’t about to fight over something so sacred.
The boys painstakingly made the beds and cleaned up their little room, something that was not a habit for them. Being treated so courteously by the people of the town had changed them into people who wanted to help others. Tarthur thought, “We have news which is incredibly important to the king, and here we are making beds!”
Walking down the stairs and into the small antechamber that was also the kitchen and main room of the house, Tarthur caught sight of the heavily muscled man that had offered him his drumstick the day before. “Hello,” he called out heartily. “I trust you slept well?”
“Yes, thank you. Better than I have slept in quite some time,” Tarthur replied good-naturedly.
The man nodded in approval and smiled. “My name is Yonathan. Your friend told me you were leaving, but perhaps I could trouble you to stay just a few more days. If I may say so, you two do look like you could use a little rest and food. Besides, the king has declared a feast for his birthday and the three days following it. That includes today and tomorrow, and tonight we are having roast antelope. And it is bad luck to be traveling on the King’s Birthday.”
Derlin raised a restraining hand before Tarthur could weigh the good points of the argument, which were numerous. “Thank you, Yonathan, for all of your hospitality. But I am afraid that we really must be going. I assure you that if we are ever in this part of the world again we will visit.”
Tarthur proceeded to inquire about a map of the roads leading to the king’s palace, which turned out to be to the northeast, through a large tract of grassland. Before setting out, Tarthur saw a pretty girl, and since he was not one to let a good opportunity go by to offer his thanks, he embraced her, to thank her for their hospitality. Derlin likewise hugged Yonathan.
A shriek that brought back memories of their imprisonment in Marhyn’s fortress tore through the early morning light. The townspeople seemed frozen by the terror, unable to move. Derlin whirled to see the source of the sound, and found that it was coming from the girl. Wondering what Tarthur had done to her, he looked angrily at his friend, who was as puzzled as Derlin.
“No…NO…Anything but that! Please…” She was starting ahead, blankly. Then she seemed to realize what was going on and turned to look at Tarthur and Derlin. Her voice had lost its wildness, but was pleading and afraid. She spoke in a whisper, as if to prevent anyone else from hearing. “Help us. He’s got us all. Underground. Terrible things. You must help. Quickly.”
“Who?” Tarthur asked immediately
“Shh,” she said putting a finger to her lips. “He’ll hear you, he’ll…” With that, she let out a scream like a caged animal that knows it will be killed and can do nothing to fight back, yet a hundred times worse, and collapsed to the ground. Tarthur rushed forward and felt for a pulse, which was beating faintly. He turned to look at the townspeople, who were still frozen in a state of suspended animation. The girl was breathing, but still motionless. Soon, however, her fingers and toes began to disintegrate, leaving nothing where they were formerly. This process continued up her arms and legs until there was nothing left of her body. The boys stared in a mixture of disbelief and horror at the vanishing girl.
“What was that?” Derlin spoke the question that was on both of their minds. The two stared at each other, neither knowing the answer.
“A few girls have rejected me before, but nothing like that.” Tarthur was puzzled. Derlin waved the absurdity away. Then, it hit him.
“The sword, Tarthur. It brushed against her when you hugged her.”
“But why would this sword cause something like this? Why would it do this to an innocent girl? And who is this ‘he?’ What is he doing to her?” Derlin could not respond to Tarthur’s barrage of questions, but fortunately he didn’t have to; the townspeople were slowly coming out of their shock.
Yonathan was the first to speak. “Well I certainly hope we have a chance to take you up on your offer,” he continued as if nothing had happened.
“What was that shriek?” Tarthur addressed his question in the general direction of the crowd.
“Oh,” a young man, whom Tarthur had seen before, came forward to answer. “I didn’t hear anything, but you must have heard a walerer. That’s a bird that lives ’round these parts. His mating cry could raise the dead.”
It soon became apparent to Tarthur that the people had neither heard the sound, nor witnessed the girl’s disappearance. Tarthur looked at Derlin and motioned with his head toward the trees. It was a signal that Tarthur and Derlin had used many times before in Krendon. We will talk, it implied, in the forest. Having made this plan, they thanked their hosts once again and started to take their leave.
All of a sudden, Tarthur felt a burning pain at his side, coming from the Rune Sword. Thinking only of relieving himself of the pain, Tarthur flung the sword from his body. It flew through the air, and landed blade down in a pile of brown earth and pine needles in front of the townspeople. Light began radiating from the blade, encompassing a few of the townsfolk. Those affected began to scream in pain, falling to their knees in agony.
At that moment, Tarthur wanted nothing more than to run away. To run away and leave the dangerous sword that at one moment seemed good and at the next evil, and to leave these matters for people like Zelin who knew what they were doing. At the same time, he knew he could not. So, he did the only thing he could think of, he ran towards the Rune Sword, intending to hurl the cursed weapon into the forest where it could not hurt anyone. He rushed forward into the light, but as his hand closed around the handle, a searing pain shot through his arm, knocking him down. Not being what one would consider bright, he came forward to try again, but this time a voice interrupted his progress.
“Stop!” Yonathan called out to Tarthur. At this moment, the sword became lifeless and clattered harmlessly to the ground.
Tarthur whirled to face him, and then began to apologize profusely. Yonathan, however, held up a restraining hand. “We…we have been under a spell for a long time now. There is a terrible wizard who lives in a small cavern underneath this town. During the day he works on his magic and during the night he makes us…well, it is better not to say what he makes us do. It is not fit to be told in the world of daylight.”
“Why didn’t someone in your town ask for help?” Derlin asked, puzzled.
“The spell was such that even our bodies were not under our own control. His magic has ‘programmed’ us to act certain ways, but always our souls have cried out. There has never been anyone to hear us.”
“Why would anyone want to do something like this?” Tarthur wondered out loud
.
An older man named Uris answered. “He wants to become like the great ones. Like Frehu and the Dark One and his sister. Thirty tears ago, he came into this town and enslaved the people by his magic. He made us lead false lives outside. He gave us something to do for every situation. In this our minds and our bodies have said and done whatever was normal. But our souls cried out in hidden anguish!”
A woman stepped forward. “Let me explain. It is as if I have no control over my body. Every morning I wake up at the same time. I walk down the stairs, left foot first, and then into the kitchen. I reach down with my right hand and pick up a pot. I go to the yard, grab a piece of firewood, and then go back and start the fire. I make the same oatmeal every day, with two cups of oats and one cup of milk. I always put it in with the same hand. I always stir the oatmeal thirteen times counterclockwise, and then let it cook for thirty seven minutes. I don’t will any of this to happen. Every day, over and over it happens. The wizard wants our town to appear normal on the outside. His magic makes us respond in a certain way to every possible situation. That way anyone who doesn’t stay here for more than a week or so will think our village is perfectly normal, but in the night he tortures us and steals our life.”
“Why would it end now?” Another townsperson stepped forward and asked his question. “I felt something in that sword, but I…I don’t know what it was.”
At this the people of the town turned expectantly at the boys, as if asking them for the answer. Tarthur didn’t have the heart to tell them he didn’t know.
“Tarthur,” Derlin said slowly, as if getting an idea. “Didn’t Yan say something about truth? It may be that this sword made them tell the truth.”
Uris nodded gravely. “I have heard of such a thing. Truly, we were leading false lives. The light of truth has revealed what was hidden inside.”
“A sword that compels truth?” Tarthur wasn’t sure he liked the idea. In fact, he could not think of anything that might be worse, so he decided to try an experiment. “Derlin,” he called out. “Take the Rune Sword and touch it to me.” When his friend had done so, he decided to try the biggest lie of his life. “I wish Morty came here and kicked me in the nose.” Nothing happened.
“I guess the sword does not compel truth, or at least all truth,” Tarthur said with a shrug of his shoulders.
“Whatever the case may be,” Uris interrupted, “we must deliberate it later, for there is work to be done. The magician will be sleeping now, but I fear that the unraveling of his spell will wake him. We must proceed immediately to his cavern and destroy him now while he is weak!” This last cry was met with rounds of enthusiastic cheers on the part of the townspeople, now freed of the spell that had so long tortured them. They were hungry for vengeance.
Tarthur and Derlin naturally began to follow the commotion, but Yonathan turned sternly to face them. “We thank you for all you have done to help us, but this is not your fight. If you are determined to help us, however, we certainly could use you.” The choice thus made clear for them, the boys followed Yonathan, who seemed to be something of a leader in the town, and soon they arrived at a large boulder embedded in the side of a cliff. The people found a nearly imperceptible crack, and rolled the boulder away to reveal an opening. It was easy to see that the townspeople had done this many times before. As they were descending into the gaping maw, Derlin glanced over at Tarthur. He didn’t need to speak, the message was crystal clear. Not again!
Yonathan promptly lit a lantern, more for Tarthur and Derlin than for anyone else. Everyone else knew the passage. They knew every stone, every turn, every crevasse, for they had tread that way many times before, with the stark terror and repetition that makes for a clear knowledge.
The passage was not long, and soon they came to a chamber, inside of which was a floating bed containing a slumbering figure. The figure lay peacefully on his back, an aura of green mist hovering about his body. Tarthur and Derlin didn’t have time to take in any further observations; as soon as they entered the chamber, some of the stronger townspeople led by Yonathan rushed forward and began to viciously hack apart the still figure. At the same time another group of the rest of the people, this time led by Uris, fell to in the laboratory, smashing wooden racks of glass vials and ripping books of ancient knowledge to shreds. In this manner, they quickly destroyed everything of value in the chamber. The people ruined with a vengeance and hatred that the boys had never before witnessed. They attacked everything in sight, as if, in this one moment of extreme violence, they could atone for years of suffering. There were even a few times when the usually courageous and unconcerned Tarthur was scared of their fury, and had to remind himself that they were on his side.
When the men had almost finished hacking the wizard’s body to minuscule pieces, a small fire started, which was nearly inevitable in a place with no ventilation and many chemicals that are meant to be separate mixed into one mess along the floor. At first Tarthur fancied that the fire had been kindled from the pure anger of the townsfolk. Soon the flames began to spread and the people were forced to evacuate. They hurried out of the small tunnel. Once they were a safe distance away all turned to see the spectacle.
A thick cloud of black smoke rose from the small chimney. Intertwined with the rising black Tarthur thought he caught a glimpse of a small pillar of green, but it could’ve just been a trick of the light. The small cavern exploded with a crack that was to be heard as far away as the palace of Queen Marhyn. Soot blackening their faces, and many leg hairs and eyebrows singed by the searing heat, the townspeople erupted into a victorious shout.
* * *
The images still burned in his mind just as the pair of dwellings that had been reduced to cinders. It had been three days since Hano, General Cilio, and the rest of Maelir’s band had come across the ruins. The elves that dwelt in Breshen weren’t organized into cities the way humans were. True, the main group of them were concentrated near the center of the forest, but Breshen technically extended throughout the entire wooded area. Humans in the grasslands banded together into cities for comfort, safety and community, but the elves had no such need. The whole of the forest was alive and they could feel at home anywhere within it.
Consequently there were many small settlements where a family or two would live together. Sometimes they were permanent and sometimes they were temporary, the families just staying there for days or weeks until they were ready to move on. When they had seen the smoke rising, Hano had hoped against hope it had been vacant. Due to the volume of the smoke he knew it hadn’t been a simple cooking fire. Cooking fires were extremely rare in Breshen, as most of the elves were vegetarian. They would eat meat if they needed to to survive or if the meat would be wasted, but their respect for life dictated that they would take life only when necessary. They respected plant life as well, and rarely ate plants if it meant that the plant would die. So most of the time they would eat fruits, nuts, and berries that could be harvested without killing the organism. Such items rarely required cooking.
Hano shook his head as if he could wipe away the memories of what they had found there. The broken and charred bodies of an elven family had greeted them once they had arrived at what remained of the dwelling. The father’s remains were outside, lying in a circle of red crispy grass. The crunch of dried blood under his leather boot would never leave him. The mother had been found inside, a small child in her arms. At least there had only been three, he thought in a vain attempt to console himself. His words rang hollow.
They had stopped only briefly to extinguish the fires and give the dead back to the forest. Hano wasn’t sure just who or what they were tracking, but he assumed the attackers to be a party of a couple dozen goblins. He wondered what their purpose was. If Darhyn was awake, it didn’t make sense to send out small bands of marauding goblins. All that would do would enrage the elves and other races and give them motivation to mobilize. A large attack that had a reasonable shot of capturing Breshen was another matter, but Hano had a
lready ruled that out. Perhaps Darhyn wasn’t awake, in which case the goblins were just engaging in violence for violence’s sake. It wouldn’t be the first time. Then again, perhaps it didn’t have anything to do with Darhyn, and it was simply a matter of a particularly pugnacious goblin leader.
Hano looked over at General Cilio as they crouched together behind a mossy fallen stump. He had been forced to gain a grudging respect for the man. He did not really like humans in the first place, and being in Tealsburg where the humans were partying when they should have been preparing irked him. However, Cilio had proven his worth. When the elves had found the ruined settlement, Maelir had discovered the trail and ordered the band to set off after the marauders. General Cilio had argued with him, urging caution, since the trail was so easy to follow. Maelir would have none of it, and all but called the man a coward. In the end Maelir was in command so the elves took off into the forest. Within an hour they had passed through a narrow opening between two rocks. Cilio had ordered an immediate halt and as Maelir turned to overrule him, the goblins had launched their ambush from all sides. The goblin troupe outnumbered the elves two to one, but the elves were better fighters. Cilio’s warning had saved the elves from near certain defeat, but they had still lost two fighters and two more were injured. They had fled together then, the goblins not daring to chase them.
After the ambush the elves had again tracked the goblins, this time being more careful and spreading out to see the details of the goblins movements, not just what the goblins wanted them to see. The goblins had left the area around the two rocks, and had turned northward. The elves found that the main trail was merely a decoy, and that the goblins were planning another surprise attack. So Hano and the others had split up, sending a couple of fighters along the main path to spring the trap, while the others had spread out wide in order to surround the goblins. Cilio had explained that goblins were not a subtle race and were not able to focus on multiple things at once. The goblins were so intent on watching the elves who were about to fall into their trap, they completely missed the ones who had encircled them.
Lands of Daranor: Book 01 - DreamQuest Page 12
