Clans of Irradan

by RG Long

  “I think it would have helped if you had opened your fat mouth,” Tory shot back. He was in no mood to argue. He was thinking of a strategy. It’s what he was trained to do. Outthink his enemy. Or, in this case, his enemy and the one he may as well call an ally because she had yet to kill them.

  Their guide deposited them into what must have, at one time, been the ruined city’s center. Other streets, if that’s what they could truly be called, ran out from a circle of stone and vine. A large tree grew in the middle of it all, surrounded by stonework that may have been a fountain or statue of ancient design.

  Ferinan was to be found barking orders at every living soul that passed underneath her gaze. She was surrounded by other elves, each looking simultaneously vicious and anxious at the same time. When her gaze passed over Tory, her brow furrowed and she addressed the elf guide in a harsh tone in a language Tory did not recognize.

  He imagined that she was finding many different names to call him at that moment.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked him coldly.

  “Trying to stop you from sacrificing your elders and children!” Tory shouted back at her.

  Many elves around them halted what they were doing to look at Tory as he confronted their leader. He didn’t return their glares, but instead held his eyes on Ferinan. They quickly resumed their various jobs, however, as they looked from her back to Tory.

  She furrowed her brow at him and began gracefully descending from her position on high. Several of the elves around them began shouting orders in her absence. Ferinan looked livid, ready to pounce on Tory. Gorplin seemed to guess her intent and stepped between the two. It may have looked comical to the elves passing by, having someone so short attempt to block these two much taller foes, but Tory knew different.

  He had seen Gorplin fight.

  “Bah,” the dwarf grunted. “Hold on there and hear him out, if he can keep from biting his own tongue that is.”

  Tory ignored the insult and went on with what he had in mind to say.

  “You can’t throw old elves at the army coming at you! That’s throwing their lives away! What gives you the right to...”

  “The right?” she interrupted. “Who are you to come into our sacred forest and demand rights? And what of the rights of the forest? Who will protect the trees if not all of us?”

  Tory threw his arms up in frustration and stomped his foot.

  “So you’re going to send your elders to their deaths? In order to save a few plants!?”

  Everyone within the sound of his voice stopped.

  By the look on her face, he knew he had said either the worst thing he could have uttered, or the very best. Her eye twitched as she gazed back into his. In them, he could see years of wisdom and life, but also something more present. Something like pain.

  “What would you have us do?” she asked through gritted teeth. “The Empire is expansive. Their army is brutal. We have no weapons to speak of, nor means to repel them. How would you have us die before them?”

  Tory took a deep breath. He knew he had to be both careful and brave.

  “Let us help you defend yourselves,” he said. “Be willing to learn something from two who have seen their own homes overridden by enemies and have learned from the experience.”

  She looked at him, as if calculating her options.

  “Do you swear to protect the forest as well as its inhabitants?” she asked after a long pause.

  Tory, with all the determination he could muster, replied.

  “With my dying breath.”

  33: First Blood

  Cuno surveyed the sight before him with mixed pleasure and anticipation. The forest laid out in front of them was covered with the fog of the morning. Behind him, his warriors were doing their best to remain silent. He had commanded no barking or howls of war. It was the fear of him and his immense fire that kept thousands of Wrents in line, especially those who were nearest the settlement they planned to devour within moments

  The elves they were stalking would hear them before long. He wanted to give his united tribe the best chance he could to attack with surprise. Each and every one slunk close to the ground, allowing the fog to conceal their location for as long as they could.

  A small pack of Wrents came silently through the mist from the direction of the forest and made their way directly to Cuno. Lacha was at the head of this group and bowed low to Cuno before speaking.

  “Elves all asleep,” he said. “None suspect attack.”

  That was enough for Cuno. Lacha had proved himself over and over again as an excellent judge of a battlefield and their opponents. The time had come. He nodded, sending Lacha and the others to fall into their positions behind him.

  Kika crawled by his side on all fours.

  “We will remember this day for generations to come,” she said to him, her voice trembling with anticipation. She was licking her chops and sniffing the wind. The smell of the elf settlement was playing across the field.

  Cuno could feel the fire burning within him as he lifted his right paw into the air to signal the beginning of the attack. This would be the first of many. He would be the one who led the Wrents to righteous revenge against the elves who stole their homes from them.

  His paw ignited in a single burst of red. Without a single bark or yip, his tribe began to run towards the forest. He clenched his paw around the Rimstone embedded there and allowed the fire to consume his arm. The heat from it seared his face, but he was long since caring about how the fire affected his body. He wanted the world to burn.

  But first, he would start with this forest.

  A line of red fire burst from his arm. It shot in front of his Wrent pack who was headed for the tree trunks. Flame burst from the canopy as the dry leaves caught fire with a vengeance. A sound of trumpets filled the night. The elves were waking to the wrath of the Red Paw Tribe.

  “We won’t leave all the fresh meat to others, will we?” Kika asked.

  Cuno liked his lips as the smell of smoke filled his nostrils.

  He certainly would not.

  With fire in his paw and teeth bared, Cuno charged forward with the thousands of other Wrents, hungry for flesh.

  THE EVENING SUNS BURNED through the sparse canopy just as easily as Cuno’s fire had. Everywhere he looked, Cuno saw his tribe gnawing on the rewards of their victory. The forest floor was a charred mix of blood and mud. Wrents barked and yipped over the spoils, which were mostly fresh meat. Those who had claimed a portion for their own enjoyed every bite with relish. It was a grisly sight.

  Cuno licked his chops, having satisfied his own cravings, and surveyed the forest.

  His fire had long since moved to another part of the forest. He heard thunder in the distance, signaling a rain that may well put out the raging inferno he had caused. No matter. He would burn more of this wretched forest to the ground. He and he alone would lead his tribe to the victory they had sought for so long.

  Behind him, Wrents had put up the tent he had ordered brought along. The other Wrents could sleep outside on the mud and the charred forest floor. He would sleep on the pelts of his enemies.

  If sleep would come, that is. More and more, his dreams had been harried and his waking at night was more than his sleeping. Thoughts of vengeance and of blood had filled his every thought, whether in night or in day.

  It was only after he had tossed the leftover bone into a pack of Wrents so they could fight over it and stretching his paws out behind him that he entered his tent and perceived someone following him. He looked over his shoulder expecting to see Lacha coming to claim a bit of his master’s tent.

  But it was Kika.

  Ignoring her, he turned his attention back to his pile of pelts and thought of the well-earned rest he hoped he would get.

  “You fought like a demon,” she said. It was not a question, but a statement of fact. Cuno didn’t try to deny her.

  When the fire burned within him, he felt unlike himself and more like a rave
nous wolf, hungry for blood but unable to satisfy any craving. The elves of their first battle had only increased his desire to watch more burn and add more heads to the trophies outside his tent. Every swipe of his paw and bite of his teeth felt like raw power coursing through him.

  If proper rest would be denied to him, he would at least feel alive when awake.

  “And I will fight again,” he said, hoping the tone in his voice was threatening enough that she would leave him alone with his thoughts of vengeance. “Tomorrow, if the pack moves quick enough.”

  “They can feed off their spoils for a day,” she countered. “Their chieftain deserves the rest he’ll get after a long day's battle and a long night.”

  Cuno growled.

  “Long night?” he asked. “I plan to sleep.”

  Kika rounded on him and got on all fours on the pelts he had planned to lay himself down on.

  He growled at her.

  “You’ll sleep,” she said. “After you’ve remembered that I promised you powerful offspring to continue your line.”

  This made him pause for a moment. He considered the strong Kika whom he saw take down three elves at once today. She was powerful in her own right. And with his magic and her natural strength, perhaps their breed would indeed be a lineage worth having.

  Cuno licked his chops once more and found that he was not as tired as he had earlier thought.

  34: Repairs

  Felecia was in a bad mood. Ever since they had got into that battle with the pirates and had the ship they were being held prisoner on blown to bits, she had been feeling rather discouraged. She took heart in knowing that at least Gorplin and Tory had made it out. Hopefully they were able to swim to shore and could work on rescuing them.

  But Irradan’s great sea was massive. And the pirates had a seemingly endless supply of ships to either steal or commission. That part struck Felecia as odd. The Kingdom of Darrion had been relying on older ships that were falling apart because they lacked the resources to restore them. These pirates didn’t seem to have any problem acquiring lumber.

  What they did need, as Felecia knew full well, was a main mast and a quarter of their starboard side. The ship had sustained a heavy beating at the hands of the rival gang that had attacked at that most opportune time. Even though Jurrin and Urt had been unable to escape, Felecia had felt like their attempted flight hadn’t been all in vein.

  Now if they could just get off this boat that they’d been stuck on for another week under heavier guard while they were so close to land. Their cells hadn’t been left alone ever since that day. At the moment, a rather fat elf named Bung was watching their prison. Not that any elf got overly large, but Bung was certainly pushing the limits of elven fitness in Felicia's opinion.

  Nor were his manners something to be imitated: he was currently picking his nose with the point of a very slender blade.

  “Hey! Bung!” came a call from above. “The Boss wants you!”

  “I’m on watch!” he called back, knife still in nose.

  “He says now!” was the reply.

  Bung grunted and looked over at the prisoners.

  “Don’t go nowhere,” he chuckled as he left them and ascended the steps. Felecia heard him still giggling at his own joke as he put his knife back into its sheath around his belt. His steps passed over their cell as he continued his climb up to the top of the ship. All that morning, the sound of hammers and saws had been floating down to them. It was the constant hum of noise that had accompanied them ever since they made port here two days ago.

  And it was also the first time they had been left totally alone since the attack.

  “How’re you feeling?” Felecia asked Jurrin.

  The poor halfling was resilient for sure. Much more than she had originally given him credit for. But a few weeks in a prison cell was bad for anyone. Especially one who loved the open sky and green pastures as much as he did.

  Jurrin stood up and stretched his arms. Of this, Felecia was very jealous. She could hardly stand bent over down here. Being so small, however, meant that Jurrin was quite able to stand to his full, yet very small, height.

  “I’m not sure, ma'am” he replied, courteous as ever. “Been down here far too long. I’d love to see the sky again. And I miss everybody else. ‘Specially Jurgon.”

  He yawned.

  “I haven’t been away from him this long in I can’t remember when.”

  Jurrin walked a small circle in his cell, waving his arms around as if they had fallen asleep and needed waking. Felecia certainly thought stretching would do her own arms some good. She looked over at Urt. He was just as smashed into his cell as she was into hers. Perhaps more so, since he was a good two heads taller than she.

  “Holdin’ together there?” she asked him.

  He grunted but didn’t look at her. She knew being so contained was torture to him. He preferred the freedom of the riggings and feel of the sea to being locked in a cell. She did, too.

  If only they could escape somehow.

  Then she heard it. A faint rumble. A noise that she was sure if she had been close to, it would have frozen even her brave bones. Both Jurrin and Urt inclined their ears to listen.

  “I’ve heard that before,” Jurrin said in a low voice. “Where have I heard that?”

  Felecia looked at the halfling with her brow raised.

  “I’ve never heard the like,” she said truthfully.

  Urt sniffed the air, but added no comment.

  In the attack, a small crack had been made in the side of Jurrin’s cell. It was just high enough for the water not to come pouring through and small enough for the elves not to worry about fixing at the moment.

  Using the barrel the elf had been sitting on right next to his cell, Jurrin stepped up on it and looked out of the crack.

  “What do you see?” Felecia asked.

  Jurrin’s face was smashed against the side of his cell and his voice came back to her muffled.

  “A really big island, ma'am,” he said. “Looks like a big green mountain on it. Covered in trees and the like, I mean.”

  He jumped down from his barrel.

  “A couple of them elves have small boats out on the shore of the island. We’re a good swim away though, ma’am.”

  Felecia hadn’t worried about whether or not the halfling could swim. She or Urt could take care of that.

  Felecia scooted towards the other two and spoke in a low voice.

  “Look, you two,” she said bracingly. “We got lucky once. I don’t think it’s gonna happen again. If we’re gonna get out of here, it’s gonna be on our own wits.”

  Jurrin was nodding. Urt had his ears up.

  “It’s high time we got out of here. Who knows where the Boss will take us next, and this may be the last time we’re close enough to do something about getting on land. Let’s get to it.”

  “I would like very much to escape, ma’am,” Jurrin admitted. “But how are we going to get past these bars?”

  He gave his own a feeble shove with his hand. They stayed as still as ever. Felecia gave a determined look at Urt.

  “You’d be surprised how much a lass can convince any male to do for her, given the right mind.”

  Jurrin raised an eyebrow as the low rumbling noise came over the ship again. This time, they heard some shouting above them in response to it.

  “I know I’ve heard that before!” Jurrin said.

  They heard two elves coming down from the upper deck and shouting at one another.

  “...don’t think we’ll live to see the next few weeks!”

  “That’s how long the Boss thinks it’ll take to fix the ship. Two at least.”

  “If we sail away from here alive, I’ll kiss that cat down in the cell!”

  Urt grunted as the voices trailed off back up to the deck.

  “Tonight?” he asked. Felecia could see the scowl in his features. He knew what she was suggesting and he didn’t like it. But he must have grown to hate these bars mor
e than he disliked any scheme she had come up with to escape. She couldn’t blame him for either emotion.

  “Tonight,” Felecia replied.

  35: Resources

  It was time.

  The army of Enoth had come to the edge of the forest. Now was the time to reap the centuries they had waited for the forest to grow to their fullest potential. Whether or not the wood walkers knew it, they had protected the forest and laid down their very lives for it in preparation for this moment.

  Rophilborn surveyed his army with pride. Thousands of elves had followed him to the forest. Now they would help him take it down. It was one more step in the direction towards immortality. This was the hour he had prepared so many years for.

  And now it was time to be thankful.

  The suns were beginning to drop behind the horizon, creating a red glow that filtered over the trees of the forest and highlighted the stunning purple and gold uniforms and banners that filled the landscape.

  The emperor of the elves called for a halt of his personal carriage. He knew that there would be much work to be done and that he would be a wealth of knowledge to his generals about how to go about it. But first, there was a matter of great importance to attend to.

  “What prevents us from going forward, Your Excellency?” asked a figure to his right. His apprentice was by his side, as was good for just such a moment.

  “Have they constructed my tent yet?” Rophilborn asked.

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  “Then let us both go for a time before the work begins.”

  With that, he started making his way to the back of his army, towards the tent they had made for him. Elves stood at attention in rows and saluted their emperor as he passed. Rophilborn inclined his head to his mighty warriors. It would be because of their great might that he would finally reclaim the forest. It would be because of their strength that he would ascend the final steps toward immortality.

  He and his apprentice entered the splendid tent that had been erected by magic, Rophilborn knew, for how else could his beautiful dwelling be put right in so short a time?