Whill of Agora: Book 03 - A Song of Swords
Page 14
A rustling broke her out of her trance and she became alert and still. The fires crackled around her, and she was covered in a misty sheen due to the heat. She listened; it came again from behind her, and again from her side. Whatever they were they had her surrounded.
Aurora stood and unsheathed her sword sending liquid fire dancing up the face of the silver blade. She pulled it at a hard angle to cause it to ring loud and true in the night.
"I am warrior of the north, Aurora Snowfell of frozen Volnoss. Come forth and bleed with me!" She bellowed into the darkness beyond the dancing firelight that cast shadows thrice.
The rustling stopped dead and the howl of a large cat sliced through the thick air behind her, she did not flinch. All around her the cries rang out and she began to see sleek black feline forms in the shadows beyond the densely packed spears. Aurora growled back at them and grabbed a spear from the ground and threw it up into the air to catch it at the center of the shaft. She cocked back and led one of the moving shadows. As her muscles tensed for the throw a great growl stopped her dead. She scanned the canopy above her and soon found two fire lit eyes staring down on her from on high. If this pack had a leader, it seemed he was it. The great cat howled again unnaturally loud and Aurora could hear the other cats leaving. Aurora had not left the cats eyes, the feline orbs stared back unwavering. She blinked and the eyes were gone and a shadow was falling through the branches. A large black panther the size of her native timberwolf landed with a shower of sparks upon one of the fires. It did not react to the flames, but gracefully stalked off the wood and around the fire to stare at Aurora. She held fast her spear, ready at a moment's notice to impale the attacking beast, but it did not attack, nor did its demeanor hint to violence. It looked curious. There was intelligence behind those elliptical orbs.
"You are no cat," said Aurora as she circled the beast. "Show yourself as you were born."
The wolf leapt onto its hind legs and transformed into a tall elf that she knew instantly. "Azzeal," said Aurora, lowering her spear with a half cocked smile of disappointment. She had hoped for a fight.
"Aurora Snowfell, warrior of the north." The leaf-clad elf replied with a look to the hanging smoked boar. "Did you get...hungry?"
"Hungry for the hunt, I assume you understand," she said with a look to the panther tracks that led to his feet.
She took a seat upon the ground and poked at the fire as he regarded her. "Have you decided?" The elf asked.
Aurora froze as her eyes shot to his. He regarded her without expression, waiting. She knew that her answer would determine her fate.
He read my thoughts, he knows everything.
"Have I decided what?" She asked trying to mask her sudden shock.
"Do not play games with one so old child," he said as he took a seat opposite her.
Can I defeat him? She wondered. Surely not, he is a magic user and more versed in combat than I.
"When you move against my enemies, you will become the instrument of my wrath." Eadon had whispered to her as they sealed the vow with flesh.
"You have read my thought? Invaded my mind? I thought the elves of the sun shunned such practices," said Aurora.
Azzeal frowned and shook his head. "No, you were projecting in a language foreign to me. I know only that a great burden haunts your mind."
"These are dark times elf. Who has not a troubled mind?"
Azzeal nodded conceding the point. From the fire Aurora took the cooked boar that she had set aside to eat and offered it to Azzeal.
"Hungry?"
"I could eat." He replied and tore a piece off nodding his thanks.
They ate in silence for a time in which Aurora tried to mask her guilt and think only in her native tongue. She did not trust Azzeal, or any of them for that matter. It was hard to get comfortable around people whose personal power was impossible to tell by their appearance. Every second in silence seemed to stretch out impossibly long, becoming that much more awkward to Aurora.
"The great cats, they respect you, are you their leader?" she asked having to say something.
Azzeal groaned tearing meat from bone. "No, I run and hunt with them. They know I am elf. They wanted to kill and eat you; they were five in all, Shemba and her four cubs. They are nearly full grown and the two males will soon be banished from their mother's territory. Killing you was to be a right of passage."
"I did not need to be saved," Aurora replied.
"Perhaps I was saving the panthers," said Azzeal.
"You cost me five panther hides then it seems, what coin they would have gotten in Volnoss," Aurora added as she chewed the greasy shank.
"There is no way to know if you would have lived to sell such hides." Azzeal argued.
"Cut the dragon shyte elf. You seen me take on draggard bare handed," she proclaimed with a greasy clawed hand. "You interfered in my hunt."
"On my land," he said with a raised voice. "Consider the conquered hog a gift and speak of it no more."
Aurora was angry, nearly furious. She did well to keep her breathing slow and deep, and ignored her pounding heart. Little use it likely was. For all she knew the elf could see through to her insides. She felt as an open book to him, and her secret teased like a child echoing her wicked deeds.
Coward at your back
"What?" Azzeal asked as if she had said it aloud.
"Coward," Aurora heard herself say to her horror.
He cocked his head to the side searching her. Before he could utter question she said quickly. "My tribesmen have a saying, 'always there is a coward at your back.' It is a warning and reminder that the mightiest warrior a coward's dagger will take."
"You think that I conspire against you?" he asked.
"I...” she began softly, and then raised her chin, "I do not trust your people."
"That is understandable; it is best earned is it not? Have I not earned your trust?" Azzeal asked gazing deeply into her eyes, the light of the fire dancing upon his.
"We have drawn sword together, that counts for something," she replied.
"Indeed," he nodded heavily. "It is not I who you distrust then."
She averted his gaze pretending to hear something in the night. Acting satisfied that nothing was amiss she tossed the leg bone into the fire and drank deeply of her water skin. Wiping her greasy mouth she looked to Azzeal as if she had forgotten he was there sitting across from her, waiting.
"I had intended to preform a ritual of my people... it is private, sacred," she informed him as she offered her water skin which he nodded away.
"Then I shall keep you no further," he said to her utter relief. Her mind was chanting to her again and she had all she could do to not scream for it to shut up.
"Thank you for the meal," he said with a small bow. She nodded with a smile.
Azzeal looked up as if to leap into the night but then regarded her again quickly. "If you need help carrying your kill out in the morning I offer mine. I will be out until then."
Aurora held her composure against the perceived meaning behind the gesture. "Thank you, but I would dishonor my opponent if I did not myself carry it out of the wood."
"Very well," he nodded and turned again to look at the night. He leapt and spread his arms which became wings that lifted him through the lingering smoke to disappear into the night.
Aurora gave a sigh of relief as she watched him go. She opened her palm and found that she had drawn blood as she clenched her fist to distract from her thoughts. Relieved, she stripped out of her furs and laid them upon a large stone. She stood naked between the raging fires glistening in the cool night air and began the cleansing chant that would begin her long ritual.
From the branch of a tree not far from her camp Azzeal watched Aurora with feline eyes as she shuddered and stomped around caught in the throws of her native ritual. He had indeed heard her every thought and he had not needed invade her mind. She spoke within her mind so freely that one had only to listen to hear it. And though she spoke in h
er native barbarian tongue, he knew her words. He had been an ambassador to Volnoss three hundred years before. Aside from meeting the human "giants" as they were sometimes referred, Azzeal had wanted to see the fabled Icetooth bear that was said to be all white. Such a creature would add well to his shape shifting repertoire. He had studied the bears for two decades, and in that time he learned well the native languages.
As he watched her strong naked form dancing golden around the fires he pondered the situation. She had sworn fealty to Eadon, she could not be saved but by death.
Chapter 14
The Elven Guide
“Bah! Eadon be the biggest bullshyter o’ them all.” Roakore proclaimed, silencing the dwarves who had been debating the dark elf’s power.
“He ain’t all powerful, he ain’t no god. He be drawin’ breath, and therefore he can be dyin’.”
They had been on the road for a week and all had been quiet. They passed many villages as they crossed the Thendor Plains, some in ruins, others not. Those that remained were scrambling to prepare for winter. What soldiers the company encountered did nothing to hinder their passage across the lands. This was a road used for centuries by the dwarves going to and fro between the Ro’Sar Mountains and Helgar. Blocking the way of Roakore’s company would mean certain death to the Uthen-Arden soldiers, and so they passed the dwarves every time without so much as a word. Roakore knew that they were being followed nonetheless, but it mattered not to the king. His boys were more than ready for a good fight.
They traveled on long through the day and into the night and made camp in a field along the road. Earlier in the day a few of the dwarves had killed a buck, and they did not waste any time skinning the deer and getting a strong fire going. The watch was set and Roakore barked orders to his men. Soon the sun was down and a dinner was underway.
Roakore joined Helzendar, Tarren, Lunara, Holdagozz, and the other dwarves by the fire. The always-animated Philo was in the midst of a tale of the reclamation of the Ro’Sar Mountains. They had all heard the story many times since the reclamation months ago, but none tired of it. Philo could not keep a seat while in the midst of his telling, and his animated face and constantly moving arms kept his audience enthralled.
“An’ then Roakore blasted that hell-born dark elf clear out the mountainside. We charged out after the devil, an’ to our delight we found an ocean o’ draggard to use our blades on.”
Tarren listened intently to the tale as he always did. He could almost see it in his mind’s eye, and he yearned for such adventure and glory. One day, he thought, one day I will rid the oceans of every last pirate scum there is, and such tales will be told of Tarren the great pirate-slayer.
Helzendar waved a hand in front of Tarren’s face. “What ye thinkin’ on, eh?”
“Huh?” said Tarren as he was brought back from his daydream. “Ah, nothing,” he replied dismissively.
“Nothin’? Judging by the big shyte-eatin’ grin you was wearin’, I figured it be somethin’ more than nothin’.”
Tarren only shrugged. “A girl, then?” Helzendar teased, shaking his head. “You humans get an eye for the girls early on, don’t ye?” He chuckled.
“Naw, it ain’t about no stinkin’ girl,” Tarren protested.
“All right, then, what, if not a girl?” Helzendar pressed.
“Jeesh, you never give up, do you?”
Helzendar gave Tarren a look of mock confusion. “Give up? What’s that?”
They both chuckled. “If you have to know, I was daydreaming about…killin’ pirates. When I grow up I intend on hunting down every last piece o’ pirate scum on the seas.” Tarren searched Helzendar’s eyes for a hint of amusement at the idea. But Helzendar’s face became serious as he pondered the idea.
“Hmm, Tarren the Pirate-Slayer, eh?”
Tarren grimaced and awaited ridicule, but none came.
“Ha! I can see that. Who better than you for the job, eh?”
Tarren lit up as he realized Helzendar was serious. “Yeah, I been thinkin’ ’bout it a lot.” His eyes widened as an idea occurred to him. “You could come with me, Helz!”
The dwarf scowled. “Me…on the open sea?” He shivered. “I don’t want nothin’ to do with the ocean. What with no land in sight, no rock, no stone—bah, ain’t no place for a dwarf, it ain’t.”
Tarren sagged back down, crestfallen, and said no more of it. Philo had finished his tale to cheers for his king. Roakore might have told the dwarves to be quiet had he not been busy basking in his own glory.
The night went by quietly and the company was off once again before the sun. The next few days of travel took them on eastward and finally south to the borders of Elladrindellia. Roakore knew the moment he stepped onto elven land—one would be hard pressed not to notice the difference. The wind seemed to whisper as it blew gently through his hair. The trees became thicker, the grass greener, and while the rest of Agora’s flowers wilted with the onset of winter, here they did not. It seemed to Roakore like stepping into perpetual summer. He saw the same thoughts in the faces of his weary dwarves. They had no trust for the elves and less love. The dwarves showed no animosity toward Lunara out of respect for Roakore, but he knew their hearts. There was still much deep-rooted anger toward the elves, be they sun or dark. Their kin had been responsible for the creation of the draggard, and the dwarves cursed the day those creatures had ever landed upon Agora’s shores.
Roakore took to the skies upon Silverwind and then down upon the strange and vibrant land. It showed not a sign of draggard mischief. Here within Elladrindellia, one could forget that the draggard even existed. Roakore grumbled to himself. He did not like the fact that while dwarves and men died daily against the draggard and dark-elf hordes, the elven lands were untainted.
Roakore soon spotted an elf on horseback a few miles off, heading in the company’s direction. The dwarf king steered the silver hawk around and headed back. The elf was likely an escort come to greet them. Upon landing among his dwarves, Roakore was quickly greeted by an excited Tarren.
“Helzendar said I could have the first ride over elven lands! Are ye headin’ out soon again, Roakore?” He could hardly hide his jubilation at a chance to see Elladrindellia as few if any humans ever had, from the back of a silver hawk.
“Not now, lad,” Roakore said with a passing pat to Tarren’s head as he walked businesslike toward the company. “All right, lads, listen up! We got an elven ambassador headin’ this way. I ain’t givin’ no more warnin’ than this: don’t be startin’ no trouble while ye be here, ye got it? Else I will personally use your head to wipe a dragon’s arse.”
Lunara giggled at that and Roakore shot her a look but a wink quickly followed. Soon the rider reached them upon the road. He was dressed in what appeared to Roakore to be leaves, and rode a white-and-brown horse. A bow was strapped over one shoulder, and a banner of brilliant feathers blew in the breeze. The banner, made of many multicolored feathers, depicted rolling hills and a sun that set the sky aflame. The elf had hair of gold pulled back in a long tail; many a dwarf looked on at the golden hair with secret admiration.
The ambassador stopped his horse before the company and easily spotted Roakore beside the magnificent Silverwind. He greeted the dwarf king by slamming his fist to his chest and bowing in his saddle.
“On behalf of my people and Queen Araveal, I welcome you, good king Roakore of the Mountains Ro’Sar, to Elladrindellia. I am your guide, Nafiel.”
Roakore nodded and addressed the elf. “Well met, Nafiel. We been at it since dawn, so now be as good a time as any to be eatin’. Would ye dine with us?”
“It would be my pleasure.” Nafiel bowed and dismounted.
The dwarves were quick to set up Roakore’s tent, which had not been used as of yet, and set to stoking a good fire. A mug was filled and a seat set for Nafiel before he had said hello to three dwarves. The elf laughed merrily as he watched the dwarves work together as one. Tarren was on him in a heartbeat with introductio
ns of himself and Helzendar and questions that came faster than could be answered. Nafiel greeted the lad and gave a bow to Lunara. She greeted him in kind and introduced Holdagozz.
Shortly the food was set and the warm sun shone down upon the most unlikely of afternoon lunches. Now that the threat of the Thendor Plains was behind them, the dwarves allowed themselves more merrymaking and more ale. Roakore turned back a dwarf who entered his tent with another small barrel of beer.
“This ain’t no party, it be but a lunch. Tell the company we move out quicker than quick got ready!” Roakore yelled after him.
Nafiel laughed as he always did. “They will be happy to reach Gallien. There a feast awaits your company, and drink from the southern vineyards of Estondar.”
“Estondar, eh?” Roakore searched his memory. “I recall an Estondar white wine. A bit weak, but good elven wine all the same.”
“I shall find your dwarves something strong enough, good king.”
The company renewed their journey long into the afternoon with Nafiel as their guide. They had traveled nearly to the Thallien River and soon veered north to the elven village of Gallien. The small city of crystal-capped pyramids was nestled at the Thallien River’s northern inlet. The delta and coast were speckled with elven fishing boats with their telltale fin-like sails.
Gallien’s pyramids glowed and pulsed softly in the waning daylight. The pyramids, like those in Cerushia and every other elven city and village, were built to reflect the stars above. Here there were seven, and together they mirrored the constellation Gallien, which, like the village, was named after the ancient elf king.
Roakore landed and dismounted Silverwind as they reached the village. Elves had gathered in droves to see the dwarven company. They smiled and waved as the group slowly made their way to the heart of the village.
Tarren marveled, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at the elven people and structures. Beside him Helzendar looked around with a curious expression.
“Amazin’, ain’t it?” Tarren asked. But Helzendar only shrugged.