Lands of Daranor: Book 01 - DreamQuest

by Bill T Pottle

  The elves were now in pairs throughout the forest. Hano looked to his right as Maelir set an arrow in his string. General Cilio was with Hano and Maelir in a group of three, because Cilio wasn’t a fighter. They had stationed one archer with one close combat fighter. The archer would flush out the goblins and the other would finish them off.

  The bird call brought Hano out of his reverie and focused him on the next moments. The call was not from any bird that lived in that part of Breshen. It was a signal that the other units were in place. Maelir answered the call, a perfect imitation of the true sound. Hano heard the call answered four more times and he knew that all the elves were ready.

  The elves who were to serve as the decoy noticed it too. They cut short their water break and walked into the ambush.

  Goblin battle cries rent the air as rocks flew at the elves from several places at once. Goblins weren’t proficient at projectile weapons, but they could at least throw things. Hano looked at Maelir as he bent his bow and then traced back the path of the nearest rock with the point of his arrow. He released it, and a goblin fell from a tree where he had been hiding. Hano saw several other previously unseen goblins do the same as the other elven archers attacked.

  The elves who were the decoy this time had brought large shields, and as they had been awaiting the attack, had not suffered any serious injuries. There had been much argument as to who would have the honor of putting themselves in danger for the others, and Hano was relieved to see that they were not hurt. But the fight was far from over.

  Twenty remaining goblins charged the elves in the middle. They had no other option. Several were cut down by the arrows, but once they became too close to the elves, the rest switched from their longbows to weapons that would work better at a shorter distance. While they were doing so, Hano and the others attacked.

  Hano sprinted down the slight slope, hurtling a fallen log and swinging his hammer through the air. He crushed the skull of the nearest goblin as he landed. Another swung a sword for his head, but Hano ducked just in time and brought his hammer smashing down on the creature’s nose, knocking it backwards where it fell and didn’t rise. Hano whirled to face his next opponent but he did not see a single goblin up to face him. All he could see were elves congratulating each other on a job well done. Hano allowed a smile to come to his lips. It hadn’t been easy, but once faced on the open battlefield, the rest of Darhyn’s armies would meet the same fate.

  ANOTHER SWORD OF POWER AND AN OLD FRIEND

  After cleaning their faces and exchanging many warm congratulations all around, the people of the town sat down to have lunch. This might seem like a rather ordinary thing to do after having just defeated an evil wizard, but this was no ordinary lunch. This was a feast. Their last feast, which seemed like centuries ago (although it was only the night before) had been artificial, they were merely doing the work of the wizard. Now, it was their first chance to use free will in a long time. They weren’t about to let the opportunity for a feast escape them. They also weren’t about to let the reason for it leave either. After the evil being who had held the town so long in bondage was destroyed, Tarthur and Derlin had tried to leave, citing that they had pressing business to attend to with the king. Yonathan politely told them that if they tried to leave, they would have a whole town chasing after them, and while they could destroy monsters and such, they might not defeat the determined townsmen. He also had to remind them that they needed a guide and a map if they were to make it much farther, neither of which they possessed, and both of which Yonathan could provide. So the boys had to grudgingly agree to stay.

  Even though they were forced to stay, and Tarthur had a principle of never enjoying anything he was forced to do, soon the boys were reveling with the best of them. The girl that Tarthur had hugged was still missing, and presumed dead. Others had lost loved ones as well. Still, there were no loud cries of mourning. The people kept their grief in silent agony, for now was not the time for such things.

  As the celebration continued on, Uris came forward to make a presentation. The people abruptly quieted, expectant to see what was about to happen. “First and foremost,” he called out in a loud voice. “The results of the vote are in. From now on, this village will be Freeton, since we are at last free to do what we wish.” This remark was greeted with enthusiastic cheers, since most of the people had voted for it. Uris raised his hands again for quiet, which was soon given to him. “And, by a much closer margin, the new mayor of Freeton is Kandan Ironsmith, with Yonathan as his assistant.” More ecstatic cheers came from the public, for Kandan and Yonathan were known by all to be honest and trustworthy men. The people had been allowed free rein of their bodies for a few minutes every night, and it was then that the townspeople had gotten to know each other. The residents seemed confident with Kandan and Yonathan in control of their town.

  The crowd had begun to disperse, sensing the conclusion of the announcements, but Uris called them back. “There is just one thing more.” At this remark, Yonathan came to stand beside him, carrying a large bundle wrapped in purple silk. “Yesterday we were lost, living in hidden terror. But two came from the south, breaking the spell and setting us free. They asked for no reward for their help, only wanting to go on and help others.”

  At this point in the speech, Tarthur looked at Derlin to see which two from the south they were talking about going around and trying to save everyone. Uris was mistaken; Tarthur and Derlin were just trying to stay alive. Derlin was a little confused too, but eventually the boys decided that they were talking about them. Tarthur realized that the speech was now drawing to a close, and decided to pay attention again.

  “And so, we have decided to give them this sword which was found in the lair of the fiend before we destroyed him. Unfortunately, the scabbard was lost in the fire. Nonetheless, let me present to you, Tarthur and Derlin, the Light Sword.”

  Thunderous applause burst from the assembled townsmen, as Derlin went forward to receive the weapon. The hilt was of pure silver, beautifully crafted, with the blade coming out from the mouth of a dragon and his tail making the grip. Two silver wings branched out to form the hand guard. The blade, for lack of a better color, was the color of bright yellow light. Derlin rotated the blade in his hand, truly awed at its beauty.

  As he lifted it, Tarthur noticed that it seemed to weigh too little for its size. “It certainly is a light sword,” Derlin said as he looked questioningly at Uris, who inwardly chuckled.

  “No,” he said, smiling. “While it does weigh little, it is the Light Sword, not just a light sword. The blade is made of pure light. I am sure it has many magical properties, but I am of but humble skill and I cannot find them. You said that you are traveling north to see King Garkin. I am giving this sword to you because I am sure there will be someone there who has sufficient knowledge in the arts of magic to unlock its secrets. And I know you will use this sword for good.”

  His face blushing, Derlin nodded and turned to collect Tarthur so to continue on their journey.

  * * *

  When the three were at last ready to leave Freeton, the people were on hand to see them off. Yonathan had insisted on accompanying Tarthur and Derlin. They had declined at first, and then realized the obvious advantages of having a strong adult along, especially one with a map and money. Having Yonathan accompany them really made Tarthur miss Dalin. He hadn’t thought of his friend much lately, but it made Tarthur wonder where he was. Tarthur hoped he would see him when they got to the king’s castle, but something made him wonder. He also thought about Yan. Exactly where did he go? Again, Tarthur hoped for the best, but deep inside, Tarthur was afraid that the senile old man had gotten lost and was now hopelessly confused, if he was even alive. When he told the people of Freeton they offered to set up search parties and send them around the vicinity to see if they could pick up any traces of Yan. Tarthur thought it was a long shot, but definitely worth trying.

  Outfitted in completely new gear that the people had so ge
nerously provided, Tarthur, Derlin and Yonathan finally made it into the surrounding woods amidst hearty cheers of “Come again soon! You’ll always be welcome in Freeton,” and “Your friends will always be welcome here also,” and a “Heck, anyone that’s even ever heard of you can stay as long as he likes for free!” (Although, Tarthur was sure the last was an overstatement.) Yonathan led them on an old deer trail for what was left of the day, which was not much, but at least they covered a few miles before sunset. It felt good to Derlin and Tarthur to be traveling again. There was something about the forest. The smell of pine needles mingled with sweat made hiking called out to their spirit of adventure, which, though dampened by their many trials, was beginning to burn anew. Having an adult guide and new clothes and food in their stomachs and packs helped considerably, but even had they not had these necessities, nothing could have quenched the spirit of adventure that burned within them that night. They were so excited that Tarthur proposed traveling at night, but he was vetoed by Yonathan as the big man couldn’t find the trail.

  The new morning sunlight brought the boys out to eat breakfast and start, refreshed and reenergized. It was a sharp contrast from the Tarthur who had complained about rising at five in the morning to see a sunrise. How long ago had that been? It seemed to Tarthur like months, even years, but the biting chill of the early morning air reminded him that it was just nearly winter. He had only left Krendon in the middle of fall. Their renewed spirit of adventure coupled with their need to get moving to combat the chill forced them to travel at a strenuous pace for the rest of the day, stopping only once to admire the scenery while they ate lunch. Because of their rapid progress, they soon reached the junction to the king’s highway, where Yonathan advised them to stop for the evening and camp. Although wanting to travel on at least until it became dark, the boys saw the logic in this plan and settled down to cook dinner. Tarthur and Yonathan gathered sticks for the fire, which was mostly Tarthur pointing to good sticks and Yonathan using his bear-like strength to break them off, while Derlin took some rabbit meat, carrots, and vegetables and began to make a stew.

  After the excellent dinner, Tarthur began to put a stick in the fire and carve it with a knife one of the townsmen had given him. As he was chipping off the charred part of the stick, he could not help but gaze up at the setting sun. The sun was completing its day-long journey across the sky from west to east with a background of orange, with streaks of crimson and deep purple striking out from the sides. While nothing like the sunrise on the shoals of the merfolk, it was truly a wonder to behold.

  Suddenly, instead of gradually becoming dark as usual, a shadow fell over the campsite. All three looked into where the brightness of the sun should be, then immediately wished they hadn’t. Coming from the east was something monstrous; they could not see the figure, but only its shadow as it blocked out part of the setting sun. They did not need to, for although it was not very clear, all three could immediately recognize it for what it was. It was a dragon. It was huge. And it was coming straight for them.

  * * *

  “Here it is, sir!” The soldier snapped to attention as his commanding officer stooped to examine his work. He gave a tug on the rope, saw that it was secure and adroitly made, and frowned his displeasure. “That’s horrible, sailor. Way too slow. How is the empress going to take over the world with this slop? I want you to make a hundred more knots like this one and then report back to me.” The sailor’s face was crestfallen, and his eyes showed his disappointment. “What!” The officer said, again displeased. “You should have more pride in your work. I’ll teach you confidence, if it’s the last thing I do. Report to kitchen duty for a month!”

  “Yes, sir!” This soldier knew better than to argue with this officer, even though he was burning inside with shame.

  Captain Nilad, officer in command of twenty five troops of Her Highness, Empress and Ruler of the Lands of Daranor (or soon to be) Queen Marhyn, had a reputation for a slightly bad temperament, along with a quick hand at the sword. A few weeks ago, one of the men called him a traitor. Before he could finish, Captain Nilad’s sword was dripping with blood that used to belong to the deceased man’s neck. No one really cared, they were all a bunch of drifters anyway, social misfits who were along just for the money, and maybe a few women once they started taking over the land. The pay was good, and gold. In fact, it was rumored that the Dark Lady had an endless supply stemming from the tunnels underneath her fortress.

  Captain Nilad looked over at a bunch of soldiers of his command who were drinking freely from a flask of ale that was being passed around while they were supposed to be practicing to ready their ship to leave port in just one week. “Keep up the good work, guys,” he said while patting one of them on the shoulder in a comradish sort of way.

  Retiring into his quarters, Dalin couldn’t help but smile. He knew it was a risk he probably shouldn’t have taken, but as long as he was leaving soon it was so tempting to have a little fun. All along, he had covertly been draining Marhyn’s strength from within by busying the adept and skillful members of the army with bothersome and endless menial tasks, while allowing slobbery to be permitted ever so slightly. In this way he was draining minuscule amounts of Marhyn’s strength, while much more importantly, keeping his eyes and ears wide open for any details about what the Dark Lady was planning. So far, he had discovered that Marhyn was using a fair number of men who were being trained in sailing but not fighting, except the very fundamentals of pillaging, of which most were familiar with anyway. It was easy to see that she was planning a naval foray, and from the orders he had glimpsed of his commanding officer, they were planning to travel west. He wanted to stay and find out more, but a nagging suspicion told him that he might soon be caught. He had come very close once, a man of his group had been coming in to talk to Dalin about some unrelated matter when he had glimpsed Dalin take off his hat and run his fingers through his hair. His pointed ears had thus been revealed, and Dalin’s startled look had betrayed him further. He might have talked his way out of it, for while elves were known for their hatred of killing, and were very uncommon in mercenary armies, they were not absolutely unheard of. Instead, he decided to do the safe thing. When the man opened his mouth to call him a traitor, Dalin was ready with his sword, and that was that.

  Dalin hated killing any man, but he knew that he had no other choice if he wanted to remain and learn more to help the king and his father. Ah, yes, and his friends Tarthur and Derlin. Dalin thought back on all of the events that had transpired since the last time he had seen them. Dalin hoped they had escaped, but he was also worried that they were buried in the many tons of granite that had fallen as they tried to flee. Dalin just hoped Tarthur had enough sense to proceed directly to the king and tell him what happened. Dalin sighed; he hoped he would see the boys when he went to Tealsburg.

  He smiled fondly as he remembered his escape. Shortly after he was put into his cell, he had withdrawn the straw and a needle that he kept in his boot for just such an occasion. The needle was tipped with a virulent mixture of herbs and tree sap from his home in Breshen, and while it was not lethal, it would leave whomever it came into contact with in a stupefying daze for a few minutes, and then relax them into a natural slumber. Only needing one shot, Dalin had infected the guard, and then kindly asked him to unlock the door, which he did. Dalin had respect for all life, and that was why he used the dart instead of killing his jailer, but he harbored no illusions. He knew what would happen to the unfortunate creature when Marhyn learned of his escape. So Dalin told him to flee the castle, and he agreed. Dalin hoped the creature would make it, and also help to draw off any pursuit.

  Dalin decided to make a quick sweep of the area to see if he could find Tarthur or Derlin, because Tarthur and the Water Orb were very valuable to the cause, and they were also his friends. He was cut off, however, by a rather large group of men who were traveling into a larger cavern. Dalin was trapped! Frantically he looked around for exits, but none were to be
found. So he did the only thing he could think of. He joined them. Fortunately for Dalin, they were all dressed in various garb, and all were mangy and scraggly, though not as bad as other mercenaries. Dalin fell right in step and contented himself to rudely joke with the rest while looking for a side tunnel that he could slip into. Unfortunately, there were none to be found, and soon they reached their destination.

  The men filed in slowly, and what Dalin saw on a raised platform made him gasp in shock. Lithar Lifehater stood tall, ready to address his troops. Dalin pulled his hair a little closer over his face. He hated having to hide his elven features, but knew in this, as always, he had no choice. Dalin fitted in behind a bigger man and hoped the darkness would hide him from Lithar’s remembrance.

  “You have all been called here on account of the Dark Lady’s extreme generosity and kindness.” Lithar didn’t seem to see Dalin, who if he would have thought about it, was so bruised and dirty that even his mother might have failed to recognize him. This made Dalin relax ever so slightly, but remain cautious. “There have been many who have flocked to the banner of the empress, Queen Marhyn. They have come from all lands and peoples. In her mercy, she has allowed you to be chosen to hold positions of responsibility and service to her. You have all proven in your tests to be competent enough to become captains in her imperial army. Prove your worth, and you will be rewarded heavily. Flout our orders and, well…” Lithar nodded. Everyone understood.

  The speech was small; Lithar did not feel the need to talk with the lower officers much. After that, they all filed out, leaving their name with a recorder who proceeded to give each a black overtunic with crimson sides that would serve as a crude but sufficient uniform for the captains. They were also issued a long sword, a steel dagger, a pouch of tobacco and a bottle of brandy, both of which Dalin had used to befriend his own commanding officer, before taking a look at his orders from up top. They also received an advance sum of gold. The captains were extremely lucky. Regular soldiers got none of the above, except a sword if they had none. Tobacco and brandy were of high value in the camp, since they were in such short supply.