Oblivion: Part Five of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  And then there was Neth’tek, someone who she had counted as a friend from the first day she had seen his strange face, colorless and seeming to be without life. But oh what life was in his spirit! The Fallen lost everything, just like she had, but more than she could imagine, and had carried on for this long. So there had to be life in him. Perhaps even more than just life, but also light.

  Life and light, she thought, passing between the trees and their shadows as she walked behind Eladrid. Yes, that is what they were made of.

  As the woodlander walked through the glades of his old homeland, every tree and every shrub familiar in its own way, though many more had sprung up since the day he left this country, he fought back the awful memory of his houses destruction. He glanced here and there, expecting to see a silver post rising up from the ground, the glyph of his families’ insignia shining on its end.

  But no matter where the woodlander looked, there was no signpost.

  There was no trace of his family.

  There was still no home for him.

  Almost every day he came back to this part of the forest, during his time of solitude since bidding farewell to Evenstar and the valley of Fourth Hold, he found the grounds empty of all that had been there. Pursuing the wretched horgs who had taken it all from him once consumed his mind, but since ending that pact, even with the possibility that the Mazar chieftain yet lived, Eladrid Woodhaven was lost and without reason for some time.

  He wanted to blame the existence of Mazoroth and the clan of Mazar for that, wanted to hunt them into extinction, but recalled where that had left him.

  Eladrid glanced over his shoulder to check on Helen, but the human ambled along behind him, looking this way and that with a distant expression on her face. She still wore his forest green cloak, though with the lack of wind through this dense forest it was hardly needed anymore. But his body shivered anyway, a biting chill passing through the trees ever so often.

  Strangely enough, the chill that ran the length of his spine was not caused by any passing breeze.

  His nerves suddenly tensed.

  Snapping Starsplitter from his back, Eladrid spun into a crouch and had an arrow knocked to the tight bowstring before Helen could even comprehend what had come across the thin rabbit trail in front of them.

  “Don’t shoot! Please, I beg you not to shoot us!” The man before them stumbled and fell back against a tree, his arms uplifted as if to protect against the arrow Eladrid was about to crack into his skull.

  He wore dirty brown trousers and a tan shirt that was laced up the front, over which was an unbuttoned blue jacket. There were holes in his shoes, as if they trod through fen and field.

  Helen saw three others dodge behind a tree or low grown shrub, though they moved too swiftly for her to tell who they were. But she felt a strange familiarity with the man before them, as if he had played some major role within the past couple weeks that she could no longer remember.

  “We’re lost!” the man continued, slowly lowering his arms from his face to look fearfully at the woodlander crouching in front of him, arrow poised on bowstring and aimed directly for his head. “We lost our way, and somehow found our way here...”

  “No one happens upon the gate of Stonewood,” Eladrid said in a low, threatening tone. “And don’t bother begging. I don’t answer to beggars anymore than spies or thieves. They are all the same to me.”

  “This place is Stonewood?” the man asked in wonder, looking about in awe.

  Eladrid stood up, gesturing with his bow and arrow for the man to stand still. “Who are you?” he demanded gruffly, “And why do your companions hide in the bushes when they should have come to your aid?

  He fell back against the tree again, eyes opening wide with fear. “Please, I am a man of Evenstar! My name is Rollon.” He glanced to the side, where the three others had hid. “Perhaps they flee because they are afraid of you.”

  Helen nudged Eladrid from behind, and the woodlander half turned his head to look at her. “Don’t trust him,” she said in a low whisper. “I know the man. Don’t trust him.”

  Eladrid eyed Rollon for some time, searching his worry filled eyes for the hint of any lie. But there was only fear and bewilderment in his quivering face. So he twitched his arm to the side as he released the tension on his bowstring, launching the arrow into the bark of the tree just beside the mans ear.

  Rollon yelped and ducked to the side, falling down flat on his face.

  “Just an inch or so more to the right and I would have had your eye!” Eladrid called to the man now trembling on the ground. “Is that not trust enough for you, stranger?”

  Something crashed through the bushes to the side, and snapping his attention to the trees and shrubs to his left, Eladrid Woodhaven saw the three others come charging with makeshift clubs waving above their heads. They cried out in a pathetic attempt to frighten him. Helen gasped in alarm, but the expert marksman and ranger of the Woodland Realm was not swayed by their charge, and instead he dropped Starsplitter and flipped both daggers from their sheaths. They wore ragged clothing, weathered and worn by use; their shirts little more than sweaty cloths clinging to them.

  He dropped low as the first took a wide swing at his head, and with a sweep of his leg he knocked the feet out from beneath the man. Jumping up, Eladrid spun clear of the next, but slammed the butt of his dagger into the side of his head as he stumbled forward, his own swing falling too short of where the agile woodlander had leaped, and was then struck in the face by the branch gripped between Helen’s white knuckles.

  Helen breathed through clenched teeth. She snapped her branch up to hit the man in the jaw, and he fell over onto his side, sprawling unconscious on the ground. She turned her now fierce eyes on the last of the charging men, standing waist deep in the bushes between the trees, sunlight pouring over him. However, the man stopped in his tracks after watching his companions taken down. He spun round as if to make for an escape, but stopped short when he saw what stood all around them.

  Eladrid stopped as well, his eyes a fiery blaze of energy and excitement. His excitement faded, however, at the sight of his kinsmen standing round the perimeter of the glade. There were at least one hundred of the woodland warriors standing firm and resolute, spears with long slender tips to their shoulders, and small round shields glistening with bronze and silver in the morning sunlight. They were cloaked in the same garb that Eladrid wore, with their forest green cloaks and tunics of brown and gold. Their faces, however, were masked with hoods and a tight wrapping around their mouth and nose. But thin strands of gold hair could still be seen in the shadows of their cowls, and their green eyes sparkled nonetheless.

  Eladrid Woodhaven turned round slowly, counting each of them to get a reasonable estimation of how many spears might suddenly be turned upon him, though he did not believe that his people wished for his life to be taken – at least not in their own land.

  A cold, steel blade touched Helen’s throat as she stood dumbfounded, marveling at the majestic host of warriors that encompassed them. But she flinched and almost cried out, a firm hand falling over her mouth and muffling any sound forthcoming.

  Eladrid jumped in surprise, moving as if to charge the man holding her.

  “Don’t come any closer, Woodland scum, or I slice this elegant throat!” Rollon cried out, a dagger pressed against Helen’s neck.

  Eladrid stopped midway to them, his lips curling into a snarl.

  Rollon eyed him for a brief moment, and then began chuckling. “How noble you creatures claim to be we will soon discover! Whether the legends be true, or the myths false; for I and my crew will depart this land with no further argument, as long as none of you follow or attempt to halt my progress. If I see, or hear, or even smell anything other than shrub and tree, I will cut the throat from this young girl!” He looked about at each of the Woodlander’s surrounding him, neither of the warriors of the wood making any movement whatsoever. That seemed to unnerve the man, but he took a step back
anyway. “It would be a real shame to waste such a pretty thing as this! Now, if you will be so kind, I shall...”

  Something whistled, startling the man from his continuing monologue, but he was too slow to dodge the arrow or cut Helen’s throat before it struck. It cracked into the center of his back, and he tensed as the nerves in his body suddenly died all at once, the knife dropping from his hand. Helen was able to push free of his hold and spin around to look at him.

  Rollon slumped down onto his knees, his eyes rolling back in his head, and then fell onto his face, the arrow shaft protruding from his spine.

  A woodlander stepped between the line of warriors surrounding them, holding a longbow in one hand. He was perhaps a head taller then the rest of the woodland warriors, but was garbed in the same raiment as them, save for a crown of silver and gold set on his bright head. He wore no hood or mask of any kind, but rather exposed his proud features to those who had the courage and willpower to gaze upon such a mighty face as the king of Stonewood, Deindor himself.

  King Deindor examined the area his soldiers were set about, his gaze lightly passing over Eladrid and Helen, hardly giving any heed to them, and the three men either unconscious or cowering back into the bushes. Lastly, his gaze fell upon Rollon with his arrow in his back.

  He prodded the body with the end of his bow. “What a shame to waste such a good arrow on such a wretched fool,” he said in a strong, deep voice; thick with regal and nobility. “What shame it is that any roving creature would have to waste their dear time in ridding the world from such filth as these creatures of immortality. Their world is ever fleeting, ever passing on into history and legend, though their mistakes happen to repeat themselves throughout the great expanse of time. Hardly worth the trouble, or the effort, to keep them in their right place.”

  Deindor stepped lightly over the corpse, his forest green and gold cloak dragging over him as he moved to stand before those he had surrounded. His expression was unreadable, though his green eyes sparkled with intrigue as he looked upon Helen and Eladrid. Reaching up he touched his chin with his thumb and index finger, frowning in troubled thought.

  Eladrid stepped toward Deindor. “You killed him,” Eladrid said, a hint of anger in his voice. He looked from the body and to the king, scowling. “You didn’t need to kill him. He needn’t have died.”

  “I believe the wretch was about to harm your friend,” Diendor replied smoothly, almost carelessly.

  “But he needn’t have died!” growled the woodland rogue, clenching his fists and his jaw.

  Deindor raised an eyebrow skeptically. “You cannot believe that he would have just simply walked from these woods without doing any harm to the human child, can you? I cannot afford to allow such bandits as these to pass unhindered through my land. If I were to, then I might as well let the rampaging horgs go about as they wish, burning homes and murdering my people.”

  Eladrid narrowed his eyes. “There’s a difference between horgs and men,” he said.

  “Such is what I would like to believe, Eladrid Woodhaven.” Slipping his bow over one shoulder, Deindor bent down and picked Starplitter up from where Eladrid had dropped it, and carefully felt along its slender edge as he examined it. “When survival becomes desperate, even hopeless, men will kill, steal, and cheat in whatever way they think necessary. Without honor, respect, and enough care to think of any other way to live but survive.” He flipped the bow up in his hand, feeling its weight, and plucked the string to hear its soft thrum.

  Glancing sidelong at Helen, the king of Stonewood said, “Rollon was no more than another horg, roving the land in search of prey.”

  He then looked toward Eladrid, his expression calm if not expressionless. “Wouldn’t you say so, Eladrid Woodhaven? Perhaps you know more about their kind than even myself, since you have pursued them across the country for the passed few decades. Would you risk the pledge that you made with The Fallen you esteem so dearly?”

  Eladrid looked back into the kings eyes, their green orbs holding one another’s stares for what felt like several long minutes. Helen didn’t see anger in either of their faces, or hate of the other. But neither did she see kindness or love. She shifted uncomfortably where she stood, and still clutched the tree branch in one dirty hand.

  Diendor tossed Starsplitter into the air, and Eladrid snatched it where it came down in front of him. “Come now, all of you!” the king of the woodland said aloud, turning round with a flip of his cloak to depart. “A feast shall be prepared in the halls of wood and stone, in honor of your arrival at the kingdom of the beloved lady herself! Come, and behold the hidden beauty of Stonewood.”

  Six from the line of the woodland warriors stepped forward, moving in pairs to collect the three men who were in Rollon’s company. The conscious man hid in the shrubs stood and made as if to get away, but both guards simultaneously snapped the butt-ends of their spears forward and knocked him to the ground. He fell over, dazed, and they grabbed him by the arms and pulled him to his feet before leading him away into the wood. The other two unconscious men were taken away like the first, though they were not in a well enough state of mind to resist in any way.

  Rollon’s body, however, was left alone where it lay. They didn’t even attempt to remove the arrow from the corpse. But a woodlander stepped up to Eladrid and Helen as they stood still, and bowed before them in greeting.

  “Their majesties bid you come into their home, as my lord and king Deindor has spoken. You are welcome to travel with us to the halls of their majesties.” The warrior turned round, falling in line with the rest of the woodlanders departing the region, their steps hardly making a sound or living a print as they went.

  Helen stood without blinking as she watched them go. Her features seemed far more pale than they had ever been before, the blood draining from her face after the shock of the scuffle began to take effect on her.

  “Come, we must not turn down the graciousness of the king and queen of Stonewood,” Eladrid said to her, and he touched her arm to get her attention off of the passing warriors.

  Helen flinched. She looked into Eladrid’s face, blinking. “Right,” she said.

  Taking a step forward, Helen nearly tripped over Rollon’s body. She looked down at the lifeless man with a troubled expression. “Is the king right?” she asked softly, almost remorsefully, “Would you have risked my life for the life of these bandits?”

  A shadow passed over the valley, a dark cloud moving before the golden light of the sun, and Eladrid’s expression darkened as he looked from Helen and to the corpse. But only for the moment that it took him to recall his failure to save a little girl long ago, when a black night had come over the land. “I cannot kill,” he said. “But neither would I break my promise with The Fallen, and allow you into harms way. I cannot kill, though, even to save another’s life.”

  He sighed, stepping over the body to follow where the woodland warriors had trod, but stopped and stood still, looking in the direction they had gone. For a moment Helen did not move to follow him. She stood still, looking down at the body, and thought she understood the woodlander’s pain. Although she may have been young when it had happened, the memory of that time of terror still lingered in her mind.

  Helen looked up at Eladrid and walked to where he stood. “What are their names?” she asked.

  “Lord Deindor and lady Eldawn,” Eladrid answered. He took her by the arm and led her on the way, to the center of the magnificent forest.

  *****

  Eladrid and Helen were warmly welcomed into the house of the lord and the lady of the forest, and given a place to rest for the night. But before night fell over the woodland of Stonewood, lord Deindor and lady Eldawn had a feast prepared for them, and in the great hall were all of the inhabitants of the forest met. The meal was unlike anything Helen had ever shared in the tavern back in Evenstar, here being the most exotic of foods set before her, though none were alarming in any way. The room was filled with a feeling of solemnity. Woodland
ers stood in one corner of the room singing in their native tongue, but the melody was heavy and full of sad memory.

  Eladrid had once been sitting in the seat beside her, but now sat across the room, speaking softly with a member of the woodland guard. Helen couldn’t get a good glimpse of the woodlanders face; but his calm manor, the way he sat with his hands folded on his lap while listening to what Eladrid had to say, revealed how experienced the guard of the hall must’ve been.

  She watched them for some time, the many intermixing voices and singing drowning out the conversation of the two of them. Someone sat down in the empty seat beside her, and smiled at Helen’s expression when she looked upon the grey woman.

  “Welcome to the Woodland Hall, child of men,” the woman said in a pleasant voice. “I am Neltha, daughter of Cundard, and have lived most of my life within the blessed halls of the lord and the lady.”

  Helen blinked in surprise. “I didn’t expect to find men living in Stonewood,” she said. “I always thought it was the home of the woodland people.”

  “They will share their world with whoever they choose,” said Neltha. “Me and my family were lucky in our misfortunes; for after the death of my father, the lady Eldawn took us into her world. But even in the wonderful woods of this forest we were haunted by the grief and the monsters who took our father.” Neltha looked down as she folded her hands on her lap, slowly shaking her head. “To this day have I awaited the return of my brothers.”

  Helen frowned, thinking about what she said. “Your brothers, where did they go?” she asked carefully, curiously.

  Neltha sighed. She looked up and into Helen’s face, her expression solemn. Although her hair was grey and her face full of wisdom and experience, there was a small glimmer of light in her blue eyes. “One went to battle,” she answered, “the other to save his brother from the battle inside himself.”

  Helen nodded slowly. “I understand,” she said.

  To Helen’s surprise, Neltha smiled like she had before, her teeth a pure white. “So you are from Evenstar, then?” she asked. “What is your name? Perhaps I might have known your father during the days that I lived there with my family.”