by Paul Dale
“Then she is Edwin’s sister,” said Kezef. “Soulbane, as we call it, was forged so that only a hero could wield it. There weren’t heroines back then, but I suppose times change. If she can hold the sword, and not be driven mad, then she is of heroic blood. Edwin here has carried that same sword. We respectfully ask, dear Baron, that we set the past aside for the greater good and do all to aid Edwin in being reunited with his sister. A heroine is good, but how much better a hero to match? Together they will be unbeatable.”
The baron’s consternation was clear. “Very well, I’ll give all I have. This army can take what they need and join our other forces. But when he is done with being a hero, he must answer. Come to my castle to the south and you’ll receive what you need. Now I must bid you good evening.”
“I think that went well,” said Ga’brel, as they watched him leave.
*****
After the episode with Baron Steinberg, it was decided Edwin should keep a low profile as they headed southeast to join Griselda’s army. Remaining unobtrusive was not hard as the elves drew all the attention. Word of their coming spread before them and soon they were entirely mounted and well-provisioned. That creatures of myth had emerged from legend to face the Dark Lord Morden brought hope as news from the east sent many into despair. Morden’s armies had spread quickly, meeting little resistance. Any opposition his armies did meet was crushed by the orc horde, and by the dragons that were everywhere. None could stand before them. None except Griselda, and now the elves. The two combined, it was said, would put a halt to Morden’s conquests.
They still had a way to go to make the juncture with Griselda and Edwin found himself using his meditations to curb his impatience. The last time he had run off to do his own thing, it had ended badly. Not that he thought he could get away easily. Namu and Ga’brel were never far away. He was increasingly convinced they had been assigned to make sure he did not get into the kind of trouble that filled his past.
Edwin’s spirits were generally good though. That Griselda was alive, well, and not an evil Dark Queen hanging on the arm of Morden, had greatly improved his happiness. He dreamt of the day they were reunited and standing together on the field of battle to face Morden. It would be soon now. He’d have to take the sword, of course. She may have a fearsome reputation with it, but he was the real fighter. He was the one with blood on his hands. The only blood she had was that of some unfortunate suitors, which was hardly her fault. He was glad she remained aloof and unattached. He would be taking a close look at any man who sought her hand.
The morning was bright as he rode with his two constant companions. They had gone ahead of the army to scout. On a beautiful day such as this, it was hard to imagine the world was in such turmoil. There were no dark clouds on the horizon. On the contrary, Edwin’s skin was warmed by the sun, unhindered by any cloud. It was good to feel its warmth after all that time in the frozen north. He whistled a tune, paying little heed to the argument between his two companions.
“It’s that way,” said Namu, for probably the hundredth time.
“No it’s not,” replied Ga’brel. “We should go this way.”
“Yes, it is. Look. The sun’s there, which means that’s east, that’s west, the army is behind us that way, and we need to go there.”
“You’re wrong.”
“No. You’re wrong. You’re always wrong. How many times have you got us lost?”
“Never.”
Namu laughed. To Edwin, it was the sound of gentle summer’s rain falling on a polished cuirass. For what it was worth, Edwin thought Namu was right. Ga’brel may be a powerful elf, able to conjure strange magic, but he had no idea which way was which, and was getting them lost all the time. The mystery was why they ever followed him. With the edge of a forest ahead, they would have to make a choice soon. It could hide any manner of peril. Edwin shielded his eyes and looked up at the sun. It was past mid-afternoon by his reckoning. They had maybe an hour before they should turn back. Towns and villages were still sparse and they would have to make camp. This meadow may well be a good spot.
Edwin was about to say as much when something caught his eye. High up and to the southeast there was a dark dot moving swiftly towards them. It could be a flight of birds, but something told him it was not. Sudden fear gripped him, which was odd as he feared nothing.
“Quick. To the trees.”
Without waiting, he spurred his horse into a gallop and headed for the tree line, all the while trying to keep the approaching whatever-it-was in view. It was getting swiftly bigger and far too fast to be a bird. As they had travelled and received more news of the war, it was apparent Morden now commanded many dragons. Edwin had met the news with dismay. One dragon was bad, two was dire, and more than that sounded impossible to beat. His dismay, though, had not been matched by Kezef, Af and the others. ‘Leave them to us,’ Kezef had said. Right now, this was not an option as a dragon was now clearly heading their way. He made the cover of the trees, with Namu and Ga’brel close behind, their bickering having stopped.
The three of them dismounted and held their horses as the dragon swooped overhead, did one loop, and then headed on.
“A scout,” said Ga’brel. “It must be, otherwise it would have made more effort to find us.”
Namu nodded her agreement. “We need to warn the main body.”
“I think they will know soon enough,” answered Ga’brel. “Edwin, follow me.”
“Oh, so now you agree with me.”
“What?”
“The main body is that way, like I’ve been saying.”
“Don’t you mean, like I was saying?”
Edwin watched the dragon grow small as the two elves sought the truth of who knew which way was what.
*****
It was dusk by the time they found the main body, after a much-disputed detour. The army of elves had spread themselves across a wild meadow of short, hardy grass and were sitting around campfires, staring at the sky and sighing, as was their habit.
“Isn’t that a bad idea?” asked Edwin, as they rode towards the camp. “Those fires will be seen.”
“Yes they will,” said Ga’brel. “I imagine a dragon would be able to see them from miles away and come to take a look.”
With that, the elf spurred his horse forward.
“He said that like it was a good thing,” said Edwin, turning to Namu.
“It probably is,” said Namu. “Come, let’s see Kezef. Then all will become clear.”
She spurred her horse after Ga’brel.
“Do you lot do anything other than enigmatic and bloody annoying?” shouted Edwin after her.
The elf made some gesture with her hand, which Edwin was fairly sure was rude. Whatever was going on, he wasn’t going to find out sitting here and shouting at her, so he followed in turn, arriving at the Old Ones’ tent as Ga’brel and Namu were dismounting. Generally the elves were happy to sleep under the stars, but the Old Ones were less keen, citing bad backs and the need to remain dry. Edwin had to agree. He didn’t share the elves’ ‘at one with nature’ ideal unless it meant being at one end of a knife and fork when there was fresh meat at the other end.
Inside, instead of finding the Old Ones in earnest discussion of what should be done, Kezef was stirring a pot over a low fire and Hemah was sprinkling something into it. From the smell, it was mushroom soup. The other Old Ones were lounging around on rugs and cushions they had managed to acquire along the way. Ga’brel and Namu had found themselves a spot and were wetting their throats from cups. It was all convivial.
“Edwin, come and sit down,” beckoned Af. “You’re in time for supper. We found excellent mushrooms on the march today.” The small man beamed as Edwin joined him. “Have you had a good day? It must have been nice to get away from all the hurly-burly of this lot. You know, I understand how important all this is, but I do miss Solitude sometimes. It was so peaceful.”
“And cold,” piped up Hemah, who was sitting back down, his
seasoning done.
“And boring,” added Mashhit. His comment was greeted with a frown from Af. “Well, it was. Nuriel was right. This is far more interesting.”
“Has no one mentioned the dragon we saw today?” asked Edwin. He appreciated his newfound ability to remain calm, but this was too much for him. There were dragons out there and everyone was more concerned with locating a crusty loaf to go with the soup than the fact they could be roasted alive in a canvas parcel, en croute.
“Oh, yes! The dragon. We didn’t expect to see one so soon,” said Kezef. He scooped his spoon in the pot and slurped it. “Now that is good. It’s so nice to have different mushrooms.”
“And the plan is?” asked Edwin. He reminded himself these were very old men and easily distracted. And he could only guess at what they had seen in the past. A dragon may not be the big deal he thought it was.
“We’ll deal with it if it returns,” said Kezef. “I think this is ready. You will try some, won’t you, Edwin?”
He had hardly eaten all day and was hungry enough to eat a deer, but soup would have to do for now. He could always sneak off and find something meatier later. The elves were more than proficient when it came to bringing down small game. Their archers never missed. “Thank you, I will.”
Kezef was right, the soup was excellent. As was the stale loaf, when made wet. He was about to ask if there was any more when a horn sounded from outside.
“That will be the dragon,” said Kezef, setting his bowl aside. “Shall we?”
Edwin felt strangely anxious and his chest grew tight. Battle was upon them. Not long ago he had thought his fighting days were over, and now … now he was about to face evil once more. It wasn’t like him to feel this way. The thought of battle normally sent a thrill through him. Maybe once he had a sword in hand he would feel better. He set his bowl aside and followed the others into the night. A full moon had risen and the sky was clear. The field was full of small campfires and among them stood elves, radiant in their silver armour like a reflection of the stars above. Edwin’s eye was drawn to a shadow that passed across the stars to the south.
“There,” he said, pointing.
“We see,” said Namu. “It’s a small dragon. Probably a juvenile.”
Looking around, the Old Ones and the elves seemed calm. There was no shouting of orders, or grabbing of weapons. No one was stamping out their fire or running to hide. All were watching the approaching shadow as it grew larger.
“I think it’s time,” said Kezef, and he shrugged off the cloak he had wrapped around his shoulders.
“As good a time as any,” said Af.
“What do they mean?” whispered Edwin, nudging Namu.
“The Fae,” she replied. “You are about to witness something no living man has seen. Watch and take heart, Edwin. It may seem like times are dark, but light is about to re-enter the world.”
“The Fae? Like faeries? Pretty, little creatures with wings?”
“Quiet. And don’t let them hear you say that word.”
“Why not?”
“It’s an ancient taunt the enemy made up, and they don’t like it. And, no, not small creatures but yes, pretty, and they do have wings. Watch.”
The five Old Ones, or Fae, were standing close to each other. The elves around them had taken steps back, forming a ring. There was excitement in their faces. Edwin was about to ask what was going on when night turned to day and his hand went up reflexively to shield his eyes. He had to blink several times before he could see again. When he could, the Old Ones were gone, and in their place stood the Fae. Gone were the old men, their pot bellies, and beards. Gone were their burgundy robes and sandals. In their place were tall, lithe creatures, with delicate limbs, willow-like bodies, and gossamer wings that spread from their shoulders. They were naked and without gender, their skin as smooth as the lake at Wellow on a summer’s day when there was no breath of wind. Edwin sank to his knees and felt tears stream down his face. How could such wonder, such indescribable beauty, be possible? No poem, nor picture, could express the painful perfection rising into the night sky, its light pushing back the darkness. Around him, the elves began to sing in a language Edwin did not know and yet he understood. It was a song of hope, a song of joy. The melody rose and fell like a breeze through a wheat field, bringing warmth.
The Fae rose into the sky and the shadow they climbed to meet was revealed. The black dragon lurched to one side and climbed, roaring as it did. Fire spewed from its jaws as it dove towards the Fae. Weapons appeared in their hands, which burned with a blue fire Edwin knew from the sword he had once wielded. The dragon was not deterred and breathed violent flame as he closed. The Fae, with a twitch of their moth-like wings, spread apart, avoiding the fire with ease. The dragon turned in the air with incredible agility, trying to grab one of the Fae, but missing. A spear thrust to its wing was its reward and it roared in pain as it was struck. It shot once more vertically into the sky. A Fae arrow caught it in the chest, bringing its ascent to an abrupt halt. The dragon flipped back and began to tumble, its wings now limp and its neck loose. Elves scattered from beneath as it crashed into the ground, sending a shudder through the earth that Edwin felt through his knees.
Edwin could hardly believe what he was seeing—and given some of the things he had seen, it was even more incredible. He had to fight hard to keep his mind together. The madness he had slipped into atop a ziggurat when had faced a Dark Lord was whispering at the edge of his mind.
“Who are they?” he managed, as Namu and Ga’brel came to him, offering hands to pull him to his feet.
“The Fae,” answered Ga’brel. “The remaining few who withdrew from the eternal conflict.”
“The one with the sword,” said Namu, pointing, “he’s Kezef. In his time, no one could match the destruction he could bring. Af wields the spear. He has a temper you wouldn’t believe. He’s also not fond of mortals. I think you’re one of the few who has ever managed to be close to him and not die. The others all have their peccadilloes. Mashhit, for example, doesn’t like children. Not sure why. Might be because he can’t have any.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not our place,” said Ga’brel. “They lead, we follow. When the time was right for them to reveal themselves, they did. The dragon could not be allowed to warn Morden of what was coming. This dragon was young and ill-prepared. Next time there will be more and it will be hard enough without them being ready. And then there is Morden. His power rivals theirs. Come, let’s take a look at this dragon.”
Chapter 45 Griselda
Delegate only those things you don’t mind being cocked up.
The Dark Lord’s Handbook
Drawing his dark veil across the land was proving to be much easier than Morden had anticipated. It was also far less exciting than he had hoped. Resistance was light and there had been none of the epic battles he had hoped would be more commonplace. He had thought there may have been more heroic last stands by desperate forces trying to hold him back but on the odd occasion when a stand was made, the matter was swiftly decided by the Black Dragon Flight. Nothing could stand against their might. Lady Deathwing was revelling in the destruction she brought with her children, and Morden had to remind her that wanton destruction was inefficient. Calculated destruction to achieve specific goals was far more productive. Burning entire villages for no other reason than she felt like it meant there was no one to gather the harvest, shepherd the sheep, or make the beer, all of which Morden needed if his army was to live off the land.
And there were so many reports flooding in, it was hard to keep up. Stonearm was a help in this respect, but he needed to delegate more. Which was easier said than done. As a Dark Lord, he was the sole decision maker when it came to anything important, and often even less important matters. His minions were so terrified of him they were reluctant to decide anything for themselves. When he said he needed to be told of anything important as soon as possible the result was he was s
wamped in minutia. If an orc broke wind, he knew about it.
This morning he’d ordered he not be disturbed unless it was earth-shatteringly important and was therefore surprised when the tent flap was pulled to one side and Stonearm entered. Morden had hoped to get a good half-hour of brooding in on his field throne. Given the throne had been a hastily-made commission, he was more than pleased with it. At the risk of being accused of sentimentality, he’d gone for a reprise on his first throne, the one he had had made in Bindelburg. Carved from wood and painted black, it was a simple, high-backed throne with scroll-worked armrests whose ends were skulls, though this time the skulls were real rather than carved; they were the bleached remnants of a duke and a count who had not bowed quickly enough when Lady Deathwing had come calling. It had been her idea to use them and he had to admit it was a good one. Whenever he held audience over aristocracy or officials, he could see their eyes drawn to the grinning teeth and wide eye sockets, at which point he would drum out a tune with his bony digits. The result was a sweaty submission and occasional voiding of bowels.
“Sorry to disturb you, boss, but this is important.”
“Take a seat, Stonearm. Would you like a muffin? They’re fresh today. The local baron sent them over with his wife and a note. ‘Everything I have is yours,’ it said. The emphasis was his. So I kept the muffins and sent his wife to see my father for a good ravaging.”
“You are most gracious, my lord.” Stonearm took a muffin from the basket, where it was holding down one corner of a map, and ate it in two bites. “That was good,” he said, spewing crumbs as he spoke.
“Before you tell me what is so important, will you answer me one question?” The orc raised his eyebrows, which Morden took as a ‘yes’. “Will you ever stop calling me ‘boss’, or ‘my lord’? When it’s just us two, I’m happy enough with Morden.”
