Post by Arlyan on Sept 2, 2009 13:42:20 GMT -5
((In the spirit of getting more writing on the boards, I dug up an old piece I had been writing. Please comment, it really helps))
Arlyan’s horse slowly rode through the dark forest, mist rising from the ground, obscuring all sights more than a few feet in any direction. The dull beat of hooves pervaded the night, everything else in the old forest was deathly silent.
A grin spread across Arlyan’s face. It was small wonder the humans avoided these woods, he thought to himself. The ageless trees, the near constant fog, the constant twilight, and the unearthly silence was enough to make Arlyan be more guarded than he would be under normal circumstances.
The grin on Arlyan’s face turned sour at that thought. These circumstances were hardly “normal.” Banished from his homeland, Aurelia, the realm of the elves, ordered to live with the human, until the time he “grew weary of his tireless antics.” Arlyan spit to the side, attempting to rid the foul taste in his mouth that seemed to rise whenever he thought of his trial a week ago.
The trial. It had been little more than a gathering to tell him where he was going. It seemed everyone wanted him out, besides the young ones, who he was supposedly corrupting. I still fail to see why it came to this. The council described him as arrogant, short-sighted, quick to anger, quick to decisions without weighing them properly. As the council leader put it, he acted human. So the fitting punishment, they decided, was to banish him to live among his kindred spirits, until the time his ideals fit with those of the elves as a people.
Scoffing, Arlyan thought to himself, Ha! I don’t even care to live with those slow-minded elves, the way they go about their lives. Immortality doesn’t mean anything if you get even less done in your entire existence than a human does in their life. Arlyan smiled for a moment. Perhaps this will be a blessing.
A faint echo touched the edge of his hearing, snapping Arlyan out of his thoughts. To anyone else, the sound just appeared to be the mirror of his own horse’s plodding. Arlyan, however, had been riding through this part of the forest for the past hour, and he knew that sound died in this place, not multiplied. He relaxed in his saddle, to all appearances, completely oblivious to the added rider. In reality, his ears were straining to determine which direction the sound was coming from. After a few moments, he determined that the rider was coming straight from Aurelia, while the course he was on had been winding across the countryside, very scenic and relaxing, allowing Arlyan the chance to pass through areas around his homeland he had yet to have occasion to visit.
Realizing that the rider was probably friendly, and near certainly an elf, Arlyan decided that this close to their borders, safety was more prudent than allowing a rider to explode out of the forest onto him, as he noticed that the rider had suddenly increased pace. Steering his horse to the side of the path, behind some trees, Arlyan dismounted and drew the hood of his cloak over his head, the dark green and brown patterns merging him with the forest.
He moved silently and nearly unseen to several hundred feet from where he left his horse, drawing an arrow and placing it upon the string of his bow, which he carried with him strung any time he traveled. He reached an appropriate spot, and stood still, looking to where the unknown rider was announcing his presence with his amazingly loud, to Arlyan’s trained ears, horse.
Anyone looking directly at Arlyan while he was moving across the forest would have been able, with a trained eye, and some luck, to identify a figure, but once Arlyan came to a halt, only the most experienced trackers would be able to discern his cloaked figure among the forest.
As Arlyan had guessed, the rider indeed exploded out of the underbrush onto the path. Again, Arlyan was correct in guessing that the intruder was elvin, and also friendly. What he had assumed incorrectly, however, was the gender of the elf. It was his childhood friend, Liriel. He smiled, not moving, watching her search the path for him.
It was her who caused him the most distress about being banished from Aurelia. They were close friends, and though she didn’t have the “human” spirit like Arlyan, she wasn’t as close-minded as the elders. She was nearly the same age as he, she being born only fifty years later. It had been centuries ago, and she had grown to an adult, casting off the childish ways of youth and joining the other elders. She did, however, understand Arlyan’s views, as she had spent nearly her entire life with him. He smiled as he remembered. Her patience, and even agreement, on his lifestyle, made some look at her in another light, but she thought little of the quiet garden gossip of those elves.
Liriel’s sharp eyes landed on Arlyan, and he smiled broader, seeming to step out of the tree he was standing by, and lowering his hood, revealing his, now short, auburn hair. Liriel dismounted, and did the same, her beautiful blonde hair falling to her shoulders. She smiled at Arlyan and her green eyes sparkled with happiness.
“Arlyan,” her musical voice seemed to sing out.
“Liriel, it’s so wonderful to see you again. What brings you to our borders on this fine morning?”
Liriel smiled. “They elders wished to deliver a message to you, and I volunteered to bring it.”
“Quite generous of you. Is it important? Shall we break our fast first?”
Liriel paused, as if considering, but Arlyan knew she was just teasing him. After a bit, she said, “I do have duties I need to attend to back in Aurelia, but I am slightly curious to see what words the elders thought important enough to send a runner to bring to you. Perhaps we can read the letter and discuss it over morning’s feast?”
Arlyan nodded his agreement, whistling his horse over. Liriel turned to her horse, pulling food out of the pack she had brought. As they began to eat, she handed Arlyan the letter, motioning for him to open it.
He did so, and read aloud, “Friend Arlyan, we hope this letter finds you well, and wish you a safe journey and pleasant roads. Unfortunate news forces us to send ahead to warn you, however, and we hope this reaches you in time.
“Shortly after your departure, word from our outlying villages reached us concerning humans. It seems elves have fallen out of their graces, and they are now extremely suspicious of us. For you to even travel, much less live, among them, you must not present yourself as an elf.
“We are altogether unsure as to why this is, and we are doing our best to discover the cause, but word is, our recent contact with humans have been at best, openly hostile, at times escalating to violence.
“Take care to disguise your elven features, and hide your accent, as well as anything else that may give you away. If you are suspected as being something other than human, you must relocate immediately. Fair travels, the Elders of Aurelia.”
Arlyan smiled to Liriel. “This is a prank, right?” he said, but instantly realized it wasn’t, from the clouded expression she wore.
After a moment, she said slowly, “I had heard rumors, but assumed them to be only that. This complicates things. Arlyan, it may not be safe for you to continue with your exile.”
Arlyan laughed. “Liriel, all I have to do is fool humans, humans, remember, that I’m one of them. A child could do it. And despite common belief, I am an adult. Besides, this “exile” is beginning to sound more and more fun the more I hear about it. Everything will be fine, and you can come visit me occasionally to assure yourself of that. Despite not following our customs, I do follow our rules. I have been banished until I have become sick of dealing with humans and realize the error of my ways, and banished I will stay. Now will you help me disguise myself, or do I have to do it myself?”
Liriel sighed. Stubborn as a human, she thought to herself, and nodded. “Where shall we start?”
Half an hour later, Arlyan was frowning at Liriel, who was on the ground laughing. “What do you mean you don’t have a mirror,” he was struggling to say, in between here peals of laughter.
Liriel looked up at Arlyan, his ears rounded out, eyebrows un-slanted, and features softened from their sharp angles, and burst out in another fit of laughter.
“And they thought I was the immature one,” he mumbled, waiting for Liriel to get control of herself again.
Normally Liriel would have been able to restrain herself, but the effort required to shape Arlyan’s features had taken a toll on their energy, and the exhaustion made it too difficult for her to resist cracking.
The two of them had worked together, streaming their magic to shape Arlyan’s features to fit that of a human. Their concentration was unmatched, as a slip could sent a facial bone rocketing through Arlyan’s skull, and that was something both parties hoped to avoid. Their vision blurred, the edges of their sight grew dark, their ears rang, and when Arlyan felt as though his grip on the conscious world was about to slip and he would find himself in blackness and dreams, Liriel announced in a weary voice they were done.
They had sat heavily on the ground at that, breathing deeply as the world around them stopped shaking, then, when Liriel could see clearly, a shock of laughter broke across the woods, startling a still slightly dazed Arlyan.
For the elves from millennia ago, a task such as reshaping the bones and flesh of a face would have been simple work of a few words and half a thought. In the very distant past, however, a war involving another such magically inclined race and the elves erupted, and during the course of the war, the laws of magic shattered, crippling both races, who relied on it heavily. Fortunately for the elves, however, magic was less of a crutch than the warring race, and the elves wiped the opposing force from the land. Magic, however, was never the same, and the elves learned to accept that fact. Casting simple spells could spin the world for the caster, and anything more would darken and blur vision, ruin balance, and other effects, even causing the caster to black out, much the same as when a human who stands up too quickly.
Magic was the lifeblood of elves, and though the laws of magic were broken, magic remained, though its art was as unapproachable as an erupting volcano, barring small spells, as anything useful in combat would incapacitate the caster beyond recovery, as a sword is quite difficult to avoid, much less block, when it’s target’s vision is swimming like a fish from a shark.
Eventually Liriel calmed down enough for Arlyan to ask, “So I assume I look human enough?”
Liriel nodded. “It’s so odd seeing you as a human. I know it’s you, but you look completely foreign! Yes, you’ll pass. But if there is any reason you need to return to Aurelia, you have my permission as an elder to return unmolested.”
“And you have mine that you can come to the human lands, as long as you adjust your appearance to make travel safe first,” Arlyan said, then touched his face. “Is it really that different?”
Liriel smiled, then said, “Not so much that if I looked at you I wouldn’t be able to tell, but it is quite a shock. Much like when you cut your hair. But it should be much easier to change your appearance back to elven, your bone structure should remember its shape, and hopefully allow you to revert back to your original appearance with a fraction of the effort we spent.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Arlyan said, then, noticing her cast a glance back towards their homeland, said, “I should be off, and you as well. Until next time?”
“Safe roads and camps Arlyan. I shall visit you when you are settled down.”
“Safe roads to you Liriel. I look forward to your arrival.”
And with that, Liriel leaped onto her horse and was gone. Arlyan sighed, and slowly mounted his own horse, turning it in the direction he had been going. After pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, he rode off again, nearing the human border.
His bow was strung, lying on his lap with an arrow notched, the bow nearly invisible against his cloak. To anyone who happened to be looking, he was a lone traveler, relaxed and uninteresting. In reality, he was alert and ready for anything, his muscles coiled, senses alert, eyes darting.
Even Arlyan took a warning from the Elders seriously.
Several days later, Arlyan found himself looking at what he thought would be a small town, but turned out to be a city. Slight shock hit Arlyan, it was so much bigger than he thought humans were so far along. Although, he thought, it had been several hundred years since the elves had had real contact with humans, beyond small villages bordering their lands.
During his ride, he hadn’t seen any sign of life or civilization at all, besides the road he traveled on. Slightly puzzled as to why there was a road that lead nowhere but the forest he had just passed through. Shrugging it off, he rode to the city, admiring the view.
The city was a sight to behold, especially for an elf whose experience with buildings worked with nature, rather than buildings worked from nature. The sight astounded him, the city’s walls were twenty feet high, made of dark grey stone, in the shadows it seemed that the stone was black, creating an imposing scene against the setting sun. Above the walls, Arlyan could see what he could only assume was a castle, made of the same dark stone as the walls.
A shiver ran down Arlyan’s spine, the scene before him suddenly chilling him, as if evil was radiating from the place. Arlyan hesitated, then turned off the road, giving the city a wide berth, and riding on through the night.
Two days later, Arlyan reached a small village. He smiled at the sight of it, a few farms surrounding it, the village necessities, and they were even fortunate enough to have a mill and a blacksmith. Arlyan smiled, and urged his horse down the hill to the comfortable place, nestled by hills on one side and mountains on the other, and full of energy and happiness, from the sounds coming from the tavern.
Arlyan smiled, reaching the stables and stowing his horse there, not finding any stable-hand near. After he had seen his horse was comfortable after the long journey, he made his way to the tavern. He found it slightly odd that there were no guards, or even watchmen, patrolling the streets, but he saw the reason when he opened the tavern doors.
The dull rumble he had heard coming from within turned into a blasting roar when the doors opened. It looked as though the entire village had attended that night, and then some. As people began to notice the stranger standing in the doorway, wearing outlandish clothes, wielding a beautiful, and deadly, bow, and his belt hinting to other blades being hidden under the unnaturally shifting cloak, making it difficult for their eyes to focus on anything but his face, which was strange. Human, certainly, but with an air about it that seemed exotic, and his eyes seemed to shine with a light that couldn’t be accounted for just the candles or the fireplace. Several of the men cursed, knowing their chances with the women were severely hampered by this new arrival.
The stranger smiled at them, seeing all attention was on him, and said, “Hello, my name is Arlyan. I’m sorry if I interrupted… I’ve been traveling for days now, I don’t suppose there’s any food available?”
The bartender came forward and showed Arlyan to a table, which was mostly full, there wasn’t an empty table in the tavern. “What brings you here, Arlyan?” The bartender asked.
Looking round at the others at the table, Arlyan unstrung his bow, placing it near his seat at the table, and withdrew his mandolin, saying, as he had rehearsed on his journey, “I’ve traveled far and wide, entertaining along the way, and have been looking for a place to settle down. I was told this may be such a place?”
“Indeed it may. Tonight we celebrate midsummer. Unfortunately, we have none musically inclined to entertain, our own musician is bedridden with fever. It would seem your arrival was most timely. Care to play for us, after whetting your tongue, on the house?”
“Of course good sire. Let us delay no further!”
Drinks were served, and music began to flow. The townspeople were astounded by the purity of both the instrument and Arlyan’s voice, and coins began to fall into his mandolin case. The tavern became even more lively, happiness and laughter flowing to match the music.
After several songs, the barkeep brought a steaming plate of ham and vegetables to Arlyan, forcing him to take a break from one form of entertaining, straight into another form. He was swarmed with people asking questions of news, stories of his travels, and above all, introductions. Dodging the uncomfortable subjects that he knew very little, if any, about, he struggled to make small talk in between bites, trying to learn as much of those around him as he could.
The questions came around to his music, where he learned to play and sing like that, where he learned his songs, how lovely and new they were, none in the village had ever heard them before.
“Of course you wouldn’t have, I wrote them,” Arlyan said, slightly confused. It wasn’t common practice for elves to play music other than theirs, besides the most well known, and all elven musicians strove to have their music played by others musicians, as it was a great honor. Mostly, the elven musician would play his or her music, unless a popular song was requested.
Arlyan’s response brought a new swath of admiration on him, and he began to notice most of those asking questions were female, with the men sitting at their respective tables, presumably wondering when Arlyan would become old news.
Picking up on this, and not wishing to alienate himself from half of the entire village before even settling in, he found an appropriate gap in the conversation to insert, “Yes, I do plan on settling in here,” he said, directed to a girl who was far too eager to have just asked out of curiosity, “and once I settle in, I will send for my betrothed.” He winced inwardly at this, wondering how he would be able to explain the distinct lack of a bride later, but decided that a problem later was better than a problem now, especially in light of the relieved faces of the men, and the reversion back to simple friendliness by most of the women.
With a huge sigh of relief, Arlyan stepped back from his newly finished house, marveling at the fact that he had helped build it. In his homeland, the houses had been passed on for generations, with no need to create new houses anywhere near the capital city of Aurelia.
Will, who had become one of his closest friends, slapped him on the back. “It’s finished! Now you can send for that pretty bride of yours, eh?” he said, with a wink that left little ambiguity.
Arlyan turned to him, speaking low, so the other villagers, who were still admiring their hand in helping build the house wouldn’t hear, said, “Will, what am I supposed to do to support myself? You’re a smith, Galor’s family farms, there’re the tanners and millers, the butcher and the tavern keepers. I’ve only had a place to stay because the Keepers give me free room and board when I play and sing, and your hospitality offers me the rest. No, I won’t be sending for her until I can find something to actually support my love.”
Will face became thoughtful, as he digested the information. Arlyan felt a surge of relief. As of now, he hadn’t found a suitable story as to why he didn’t actually have a bride waiting. His attempts to send a message to Liriel by the way of magic were met with silence, and repeated attempts sent him to blackness. As such, further stalling was necessary, even though more than a month had passed since he first arrived at the little village of Yarvenhail.
During his time in Yarvenhail, he had learned much of the life there, particularly from Will. One evening, as they were sitting in Will’s house, the fire burning brightly, Will asked Arlyan why he didn’t cast magic. The query caught Arlyan by surprise, he had been under the impression that humans feared and distrusted magic, and here was Will, asking just as calmly as if he was asking what Arlyan’s favorite wine was.
Arlyan asked why Will had assumed Arlyan could call on magic, and Will had given Arlyan a glimpse of very recent human history that Arlyan assumed, to the best of his knowledge, that no elf knew.
Ignoring the propoganda that had been spewn forth throughout the years, the humans that Arlyan and the elves knew, had been invaded. Humans from across the sea had landed some fifty years ago on the western coast, and quickly and nearly bloodlessly taken the land. These humans were spell casters, and were, from Will’s recount, very powerful. They had obtained victory through fear of their magic, and their massive numbers.
Arlyan’s features, Will explained, were of the exotic appearance of the new humans, who came to the village occasionally and collected taxes, told of news and laws, and helped the village develop.
It was they who had built the city Arlyan had passed by, and it was now the capital city of their new empire. Arlyan wondered at how the elves could have missed such a monumental change in the human’s land. The very traits they desired him to obtain seemed to be the reason they were unaware of the change.
The most dangerous aspect of this new change of events, it seemed, was that these new humans seemed bent on ruling the entire continent. Will told him that there was currently a war with the dwarves to the east, and that Will’s oldest son had been conscripted into the army, along with four others, marking the five required from all villages their size.
Long ago the elves and dwarves had decided to ignore one another, their views and beliefs were decided to be too at odds, the dwarves rash tempers grated needlessly on the long patience of the elves, and the dwarves didn’t enjoy waiting in their thought processes. So ages ago, the two races agreed to avoid contact with one another, in order to prevent any unfortunate consequences. As such, Arlyan knew very little about the dwarves and their lives, and, he mused, probably nothing of how they were today.
Will had said the new empire promised peace, but that they needed to become safe from all quarters, assuring that there was no possibility for harm to their beloved land.
Yarvenhail was one of the few villages left that was solely inhabited, barring Arlyan of course, by the humans native to the land.
The following weeks after their conversation, Arlyan’s mind turned the facts over, and eventually he came to the conclusion that the elves knew altogether too little about their neighbors to the south.
Two nights after his new house had been completed, and after much studying of the scarce maps the village had, Arlyan decided to set off under the pretense that he was fetching his wife, so he could learn more of this new presence to the land, and if it held a threat to the elves.
Arlyan had no idea if the dwarves started the conflict with the new spell casting humans, but either way, the elves were in danger. If the humans had started the war, they would, more than likely, turn their attention to the elves as soon as the dwarves were subdued, and if it was the dwarves who began the attack, it could very well be that the humans would attempt to strike the elves first, in order to protect themselves.
The third night, Arlyan set about to make preparations to leave, informing Will, and several others at the tavern that night, of his intention to depart for his betrothed. As he was walking out the door to his house, one of the men asked what the name of his betrothed was, and, pausing at the doorway, overtaken by a whim, replied, “Liriel.” And he slipped into the night air.
Knowing he would be on the road most of tomorrow, and that travel would leave him too weary for much else come the end of the day besides sleeping, Arlyan decided to do his daily practice for the second time that day. Grabbing his bow from his house, he slipped into the forest near the town, his cloak breaking his outline, he hugged the natural cover of the land, as close to invisible as was possible without magic.
Reaching his destination, he strung his bow, glancing across the clearing he had arrived at. In the distance were several trees, ranging from fifty to several hundred yards.
Without another thought, Arlyan took an arrow, nocked it to his string, and let it fly, watching it sail through the air, slamming into a tree over two hundred yards away. Five seconds later, five more arrows were humming through the air, cutting into their targets, precisely where Arlyan had intended them to land. Over and over Arlyan fired, alternating targets, his position, firing while running, hiding from a tree, and all sorts of combinations, until he had fired and retrieved his three dozen arrows more than ten times.
Breathing a sigh, he set his bow and arrow aside, drawing his knives, with which he performed similar thrown exercises, then practiced hand-to-hand combat against a tree.
Finished, he gathered his bow and quiver, and headed back through the forest, taking a different path from the way he came, always varying his daily exercises slightly, to avoid becoming bored, certainly, but also to keep the edge to his skill, for he knew it was far better to be ready and never fight than to fight and not be ready.
Slipping from one patch of shadow the full moon cast to another, even a deer grazing late nearby didn’t notice as he drifted not three feet from the creature’s face. His feet made no sound as he carefully tread across the forest floor, avoiding sticks and loose rocks, following the natural rhythm of the night as the shadows bent with their trees.
Arriving back at his house, Arlyan readied for bed, preparing his travel pack with food and supplies, then laid to bed, slipping into sleep.
His world spun as he fell into darkness, then became crystal clear. Arlyan knew he was sleeping, but the scene in front of him was no dream. Liriel was looking at him, true terror in her eyes. Worry flooded Arlyan. Living in Aurelia, he had never seen more than slight anxiety, let alone fear, in the face of an elf. Living in his new human village, he had seen his share of fear on the faces of the villagers, especially when discussing the Dwarven war, or the possibility of another draft.
The terror in Liriel’s eyes sent ice to his heart, and he reached out to her. Liriel spoke, quickly and quietly, as though she was fearful of someone overhearing her.
“Arlyan, the elves are retreating. Massive forces are at our borders, far larger than we can hope to defend against. We are fleeing northward, to the icebound lands. I will speak to the elders on your behalf, but it is no longer safe for you to live among the humans. They are openly hostile against all elves, now, and if they found out who you really are it could prove disastrous. Follow us north as soon as you can. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Arlyan tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come, and the connection with Liriel was lost.
He sat up, dripping with sweat, feeling the after-effects of magic wash over him, his world going dim. Breathing deeply, he slowly regained normal consciousness. With a start, he realized it was nearing mid-morning. Cursing himself for oversleeping, though realizing the magic had partly to do with it, he rushed out of his house, fully intent of riding north, straight to save Liriel and help the elves.
Upon bursting from his front door, however, he saw fate had other plans. His heart sank to the ground from the sight in front of him. Troops from the Caster humans were gathering all the men from the village into the town square.
Their leader, seeing Arlyan burst from the house holding his travel pack and bow, exclaimed, “Ah! An eager citezen to help his nation. Who else now? We need four others or this village will become full property of the government.”
A shudder went through the villagers at that, and Arlyan stood on his doorstep, his mouth hanging open. The sergeant, noticing his reluctance, barked, “Come now, form up, we don’t have all day. Speak to Galor,” he said, waving towards a man who looked little older than Will, “and he’ll brief you on what’s to be expected and the like.”
In a daze, Arlyan moved forward. He knew he couldn’t flee, the village would be ransacked by these spell casters. He assumed he would half to travel with them for a time, before leaving to go help the elves. And Liriel. Then he shrugged. In all likelihood, they were traveling the direction he needed to go, and he could possibly learn more of these strange new humans along the way.
Smiling, he greeted Galor, who, he noticed, had the same outlandish look that the villagers described him as having, somewhat between an elf and a human, but far more human than elf.
Galor looked at him curiously for a moment, and Arlyan began to worry, wondering if Galor suspected he was an elf, and he would be executed on the spot. Then Galor seemed to shrug, and said, “Welcome aboard. What’s your name?”
“Arlyan. Sir, I was actually on my way to pick up my betrothed. Would it be too much to ask if you were to let me travel to her instead?”
Galor’s eyes seemed to grow whistful for a moment, then said, straining to have no emotion in his voice, “Well Arlyan, I’m glad to have you with us. However, if we don’t take you, we’d have to take another from your village. I had to leave my wife just four days after our marriage. Now that’s enough on that subject. I see you have a bow. You hunt? We could always use another archer in our ranks. Swordsmen aren’t as suited as before to the encounter we’re heading for.”
Arlyan wondered as to what Galor meant, but decided now was not the time for asking. Instead, he simply nodded. “Excellent,” Galor said, “Now, a house as fine as that, I don’t suppose you have a horse as well? While walking seems fun, in the long run, it gets to be a drag.”
Arlyan nodded again, deciding his best bet was to say as little as possible to avoid drawing any more attention to himself. Galor said, “Go, get your horse while we gather up the rest of the recruits.”
Arlyan smiled grimly to himself. As if they had a choice.
Bringing his horse around, he saw, among the new recruits, that Will had also been taken. A small curse escaped his lips. Will was just preparing to ask Brooke, a barmaid at the tavern to marry him!
Arlyan looked at the crowd of women and older men that had gathered, and saw Brooke standing among them. She was shorter than most, her dark hair long, but pretty for a human, and he could see, far as he was, the tears welling up in her eyes as Will joined the ranks of the soldiers.
Arlyan looked away, anger flowing through him. Galor came up to him, saying, “Well we’re all ready, we have horses for everyone, and we’ll leave straight away. I’ll be leading, you lot will follow, with the soldiers bringing up the rear. Not much sense in trying to holler over the noise of the horses, so we’ll start basic instruction tonight when we make camp.”
They began riding, setting off to the east at an easy pace, and Arlyan could almost enjoy the day, heading nearly in the direction he wished to go, accompanied by his newfound friend, Will. By the same token however, it was Will that brought him back to the reality of their situation. They were riding away from their families and homes, to a war, where they were far less than uncertain that they would survive, and the expression on Will’s face made it very clear that those thoughts were foremost among his thoughts, along with that of Brooke, who he barely had a chance to say goodbye to before the sergeant, whose name, they learned, was Varkel, called the to their places and ordered the march.
Trying to distract Will from his brooding thoughts, Arlyan asked, “Where do you suppose we’re going?”
Will answered halfheartedly, “I can only assume we’re heading to the north, to face the wretched elves. Word is, they’re massing an army to catch us off guard while we’re distracted by the dwarves, so we’re preparing a force to march on their land before they get a chance to strike us. My guess is they’re sending us to supplement the northern troops. From what I gather, our forces against the dwarves are sufficient. Besides, I’d like a go at those bloodthirsty elves. We’re told they’ve destroyed nearly all the villages bordering their forest, and they slaughtered every one of them, women, children, elderly. Every last one. Piled high in the center of the village for all to see. Despicable creatures.”
Arlyan nearly fell out of his horse upon hearing that. “When did they say this happened?”
“Over the past few months. Some traveler happened across one of the villages, then the other villages fates were discovered. Just think, if our village was any closer to the north, we could have been with them.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me of this?” Arlyan asked, still not believing what he had heard.
“It’s not something anyone likes to talk about. Terrible monsters are best left unspoken of,” Will said, disgust apparent in his voice.
Arlyan nodded, his mind spinning a million times a second. It’s not possible that the elves did this, not even in the past month. It would have been the talk of the whole land for at least a year before it was acted upon. And there is no chance we could have done it. We would have nothing to gain from it. No, it had to be someone else. Perhaps the dwarves, in order to distract the human’s forces?
As they stopped for a quick break from the saddle and a late lunch, Arlyan noticed Galor and Varkel talking, though try as he might, he couldn’t hear a word they said, even though they were more than close enough for Arlyan’s acute hearing to pick up, he couldn’t even hear a faint murmur. It was as though no sound came from their lips, even though he could see the movement of their throats, signifying that they were doing more than just lip-reading.
Puzzled, Arlyan moved towards the two, straining to hear, but acting nonchalant. When he was several yards from them, he felt as though he were passing through a curtain, and as his head broke through it, their words sprang to his ears. The two suddenly looked over to Arlyan, and he felt as though the invisible curtain collapsed into him, and he felt his energy level shoot up, as though he had just woken from a nap, rather than spending sever hours in the saddle. They had ceased speaking, and Arlyan, rather disoriented from the strange tingle in him, smiled and waved, wandering back to Will and his horse.
The group had camped by a bend in the road, near the forest, and motions were being taken to begin to saddle up again, when there was a throaty cry from the woods, and a band of small men, dwarves, Arlyan realized, burst from the trees. Thrown axes instantly killed two men who had saddled up, and several more sailed through the air, one was where Arlyan had been just a half second before, had he not thrown himself behind a boulder in time. He looked to see Will crouched next to him, completely weaponless. Fortunately, Arlyan had his bow and quiver slung over his back, with his belt full of knives strapped on. Looking over the boulder, he saw the soldiers and dwarves battling, though the dwarves outnumbered the soldiers nearly two to one.
Arlyan saw one of his fellow villagers, Hadyn, crawling away from the battle, with a giant gash in his left leg and a dwarf standing over him, raising a battle axe. Quickly, Arlyan drew his bow, sending an arrow hissing through the air, to bury deep in the dwarf’s throat.
Looking across the battle, he saw Galor fighting two dwarves, with one coming up behind him. Arlyan quickly sent three arrows, one slamming through the sneaking dwarf’s chain mail, into his heart, and the other two burying themselves in the other dwarves’ backs, dropping all three of them in nearly as many seconds. With a cry, Will alerted Arlyan of the dwarf charging around the other side of the rocks they were hiding behind. Arlyan loosed an arrow, but the dwarf, with amazing reflexes, brought his shield up, the arrow thudding through the wood. The dwarf brought the shield down, a trickle of blood where the arrow partially impaled itself in his arm, even through the shield.
Too close to use his bow, Arlyan drew two knives, one nearly as long as a short sword, the other one of his standard throwing daggers. The dwarf, armed with a sword nearly as short as Arlyan, came forward, and Arlyan nearly laughed at the comical sight. The dwarf was lucky to be half his height, and the sword, though short, wasn’t hefty by elven, or even human, standards. The dwarf brought Arlyan back to the heat of the moment however, when his deadly, if comical, blade came slicing towards Arlyan’s stomach.
Even with Arlyan’s elven reflexes, his daggers barely came around quick enough to block the sword, one crossed behind the other for leverage. The dwarf had an evil look in his eye as Arlyan parried blow after blow, giving ground. Occasionally Arlyan had a chance to snake out one of his blades, slicing his opponent in weak spots in his armor, but never enough to slow him. Then, the dwarf’s eyes rolled back in his head, and Arlyan saw Will standing over the stunned dwarf, holding a huge rock in his hands, a look of amazement on his face. Arlyan began to smile, then suddenly whipped his hand up, back and forward, sending a throwing knife deep into the eye socket of a dwarf who had been charging toward Will’s unprotected back. The dwarf skidded to a halt at Will’s heels, and he jumped and spun, realizing that the fight was far from over.
“Thanks Will, but take cover behind those rocks for now, and stay out of sight, for fate’s sake.”
Will nodded, and Arlyan drew his bow again, sending arrow after arrow into the remaining dwarves. Finally, the soldiers were all that stood remaining, and they began to tend to their wounded. Two of the soldiers had been killed, and seven others were wounded heavily, with the remaining eleven suffering minor injuries. Of the five villagers, only Hadyn had been wounded, the others had successfully avoided combat, besides Will’s rock incident.
Galor walked up to Arlyan and said, “Walk with me a bit, Arlyan.”
Arlyan had just pulled his throwing knife from the dwarf, and, after wiping the blood off on the dwarf’s tunic, followed Galor away from the group a ways.
Galor eyed Arlyan for a few moments, then said, “You’re a bit more proficient with that bow than a normal hunter would be.”
It wasn’t a question, so Arlyan stood, looking at Galor, not knowing what he should say.
“You saved my life, so says Varkel. I was hard pressed as it was with two of those brutes, the one from behind? Varkel tried to warn me, but before the words left his mouth, he said, an arrow seemed to grow from the little devil’s throat. The two facing me dropped nearly at the same time. Where did you learn to shoot like that Arlyan?”
Arlyan shrugged, trying to act as if it were an everyday occurrence. “Practice makes perfect I guess. Not much else to do in a little village like mine anyway.”
“I suppose,” Galor said, “But then there’s that business with your magic. You look like a spellcaster, but neither Varkel nor I could sense more than a dredge of power in you. But then you simply absorbed our enchantment for silence. How?”
Again, Arlyan shrugged, this time truthfully not understanding. “I didn’t know I absorbed anything sir. I was just wandering around the camp.”
Galor nodded. “Perhaps. I would like, however, to have some of our more skilled magicians to analyze you when we get back to camp. They may be able to offer some insight.”
Inside, Arlyan felt cold wash over him. They will know I’m not human. Or worse, they’ll know I’m an elf. I have to leave before reaching the main camp.
Outwardly, Arlyan bowed slightly, saying as he did so, “As you say, sir.”
Galor dismissed him with a wave of his hand, staring after him with a thoughtful expression, one that was not lost on his fellow villagers, who had been observing the exchange from afar.
As Arlyan walked back to his companions, he reflected on the dwarves he had killed. Those were the first sentient beings whose lives he had ended. He had occasionally thought about the prospect of ending another’s life, but he always thought it would be difficult, if not impossible for him, and he thought that he would feel overwhelming guilt if he ever managed it.
But here he was, just having killed several dwarves, and he felt no remorse. He had no question their lives meant much to them, from the way they defended themselves, but killing them had saved the lives of his fellow villagers, as well as the soldiers who had taken them from their home. He passed the body of the dwarf he had pulled his knife out of, thinking, If he hadn’t attacked, he would be alive still.
Arlyan felt sorrow that a life had ended, but no more than if it had ended by a hand other than his, indeed, if he hadn’t killed him, Will’s life would have been over, possibly his as well, before the dwarf died.
Satisfied with his conscious, he sat with his villagers, now uncomfortably aware that they were staring at him with more admiration and fear than he had previously encountered. Glancing away nervously, he noticed the soldiers, still cleaning up after the fight, were occasionally casting the same strange looks at him.
Deciding to break the silence, Arlyan said to Will, “If you hadn’t stepped in with that rock, I may well be lying here instead of sitting with you. I owe you one.”
Will shook his head. “You repaid it with that knife throw to the dwarf charging me from behind. How did you do that.” It was more of a demand than a question, and Arlyan could see that the small group of men were in a daze from their ordeal.
Their eyes were glued to Arlyan, waiting for a response, and Arlyan attempted to play it off, saying, “The heat of the moment I suppose, I didn’t know what was happening…” he trailed off. His companions were obviously not buying his story.
He decided to begin again. “I have been practicing with these weapons for longer than I care to remember. To me it’s more natural to fire this bow than for Hayden over there to nurse his injured leg.” As he said it, Hayden had been trying to adjust his bandages, and looked up, blushing slightly.
The villagers seemed to want more explanation, but at a call from Varkel, the group stood and readied themselves for the remainder of their journey, the dwarves piled unceremoniously to the side of the road.
Eventually, as the sun began to sink lower in the sky, Arlyan found his way near Galor. “Do you really think the elves are responsible for the destruction of the northern villages?” Arlyan asked, after a moment.
Galor looked at Arlyan, mind puzzlement on his face. “Of course. Their weapons were found at the sights.”
Arlyan nodded, but said, “Why did they leave their weapons? Were there any elves found dead?”
Galor shrugged. “I didn’t hear of any elves being found, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t any. Perhaps they took their fallen comrades away to bury them, or burn them, or eat them, whatever the elves do.”
Arlyan shuddered at the thought of eating a fellow elf, then said, “But couldn’t it have been the dwarves? Trying to distract your forces? I find it odd that a party of dwarves would be this far into your land as well, perhaps they aided in the diversion?”
Galor looked curiously at Arlyan. “It’s possible I suppose. But the thinking isn’t to be done by a green recruit, or even a sergeant’s assistant. Such things would have been thought through by the war committee.”
Arlyan grunted, unconvinced, but said nothing more. They rode on, Arlyan thinking after his people, fleeing to the harsh northern lands, while Galor pondered what this new recruit had said. Such words of wisdom would have been surprising from one of the soldiers under his command, but coming from a common villager, now that was something new indeed. And the man’s skill with his bow and knives were uncanny, bordering on unnatural. The man had the look of a spellcaster, but no apparent knowledge of power, indeed, no sign of any either, besides the inexplicable absorption of Galor’s carefully cast spell, and Galor was regarded as a fairly experienced, and natural, spellweaver.
Arlyan seemed more than a mere curiosity now, and Galor was inherently inquisitive by nature. He resolved to discover more about this strange man, and he spent the rest of the ride, and even his thoughts before sleep, which usually were occupied by his newly had and lost wife, pondering the matter.
The light had barely outlined the eastern mountains when Galor awoke, the camp still shrouded in silence and dark. After a moment, he heard a noise interrupt the silence, too far to identify, and decided to take a look. Quickly dressing, he made his way to the forest bordering the road, following the sound.
Eventually, he found himself looking into a clearing, with Arlyan firing arrows with blurred speed, his movements so quick Galor gave up trying to follow, and looked to the end of the clearing, where an outline was being drawn in a large tree. It looked to be a human outline, lithe and taller than most, and female, the flowing hair and other features leaving little room for discussion on that. Though how Arlyan had managed to shoot flowing hair into a tree with arrows from over a hundred yards was beyond Galor.
Arrows flew, filling the outline; Galor realized Arlyan had taken several extra quivers from the camp with him. Finally, Arlyan relaxed, and the image was complete. Galor was staring at a woman, and elven woman, complete with color, as the feathers on the arrows were assorted with several hues.
Not only had Arlyan fired with amazing speed and accuracy, he had managed to select the correct arrow’s color and target in a split second. Galor knew he was wrong earlier, Arlyan’s skill with a bow was neither uncanny nor unnatural. It was inhuman, he thought to himself. Stepping out of the trees, he decided to risk it, calling out, “Arlyan.”
Arlyan started, waking suddenly. He had another message from Liriel, she had told him she was leaving the elves to come bring him back. She had discussed with the council, and since they were no longer in their homeland, they agreed the restriction no longer applied, and that times were far more dangerous than they had thought before, and decided to lift Arlyan’s punishment. After finding out where Arlyan was, she broke the connection, and Arlyan found himself startled from sleep, the rush of magic washing over him, sending his skin pulsing and stars dancing in his vision.
Eventually, the feeling subsided, and he decided, with dawn approaching, that he may as well be productive with his time. Leaving his tent, he made his way to the edge of the forest, taking some extra quivers with him as he went. He nodded to the night watchmen, who glanced at him, unsure what to do, then deciding to leave alone.
He wandered in the forest, thoughts running in and out of his head like water, ignoring them all but one, the thought that he would finally be able to speak to an elf again, and not have to hide his identity. He hadn’t realized it before, but pretending to be human, having people look on his face and see someone who wasn’t him, had been growing increasingly frustrating, as though he was acting his way through the past months, not living to who he was, instead being who he knew others needed to see.
He began his practice, his thoughts of Liriel, painting her image on a tree with his arrows, stress melting away as his muscles performed actions they had done countless times. If his skills hadn’t needed to be constantly honed to stay perfected, he may well have begun practicing the art of swords, or any number or other skills. But he knew too many elves who spent all their days practicing, keeping their various crafts mastered, and that was not a lifestyle Arlyan desired, so he was content with his bows, knives, and music.
With a final thud, the image was complete. He looked at it with satisfaction. It wasn’t the first time he had created images for practice, but this was his best work, he had to admit, though much of it was because he knew Liriel so well, he probably could have shot the image with his eyes closed.
It was then he heard his name. He turned, and saw Galor stepping out of the trees. Arlyan stood there, knowing there wasn’t much he could do to explain. He had lived among humans long enough to know that they simply weren’t capable of such feats.
Galor reached him, stopping barely a foot away, seeming to study Arlyan. Finally, he said, “You’re an elf.”
Arlyan glanced at the picture of Liriel, then looked back and nodded. Galor waved his hand in the air for a few seconds, and Arlyan felt his face relax, and realized his appearance had changed back to it’s natural state. He couldn’t help but smile. Galor seemed to study him for a few seconds more, then walked toward the image shot into the tree.
Arlyan followed, not saying anything, wondering what this human would do, knowing the lies that these humans held on to regarding elves. As he drew closer, Galor realized that the image was three-dimensional. The arrows were driven in deeper, in some parts, shallower in others. He shook his head in amazement, finally reaching the tree. Galor studied the image, noting the closeness of the arrows. Finally, he turned to Arlyan.
“Very impressive. She is beautiful. Is she your betrothed?”
Arlyan shook his head, no longer seeing a need for pretense with this man. “No, a dear friend. I have no betrothed, it was a story I told for the villagers, to keep their women off me, and to keep their men from hating me, the night I arrived to their village.”
Galor nodded, then asked, “So why did you visit their village? From the stories I’ve heard, I would believe it to be a sinister reason. From what I know of you, however short a time it was, I am inclined to think differently. A man’s true nature is displayed in battle, or elf’s, as it may be, and you saved my life, though you had no reason to. You also show wisdom, a trait I do not attribute to savage races. So either you are not an elf after your kind, or all the stories I have heard are false.”
Arlyan was unsure as to how to reply. This man was offering to hear Arlyan’s side of the story, despite the prejudice that had been seeded into him. He wanted to hear that Arlyan was an example of all elves, that they may not need to fight after all, but Arlyan’s full story was that he was not in fact, personality-wise, a true elf.
But this man had kept from gutting him from the start, so he assumed that there was no harm in trying to reveal his whole story.
And so reveal it he did, from his childhood to when Galor’s men interrupted his departure, also informing him of his concern for his brethern. Throughout the story, Galor listened impassively, revealing no sign of his thoughts. Finally, Arlyan finished, and Galor nodded.
“You’ve told me all about yourself, I feel it only fair to return the favor somewhat,” Galor said. “I, in truth, am Galor, sergeant of this battalion, but also, I am Prince Galor, heir of King Jadden. It is tradition for our leaders to serve in the positions they are set to lead, as to know the best way to serve their followers in the end, and it is a practice I believe in fully.”
Arlyan nodded, agreeing with the idea, but unsure what more Galor wanted of him. Galor sensed this, and continued, “As Prince, I do carry a bit of weight in the goings-on of the kingdom. I think that we should take you to the king, that you might plead on behalf of your kind. Your nature, that of being more like unto us humans, may well make you the most qualified of your kind to speak to the king. Let us hope we arrive soon enough to spare unnecessary bloodshed.”
Arlyan nodded, amazed at his fortune. Though he hardly considered himself qualified to speak for his kind, Liriel was on her way, and as an elder on the council, she would be able to assist him, granting the authority of the elven council behind their words.
The two of them traveled back to the battalion, after Galor adjusted Arlyan’s appearance back to the human form, and Galor held a whispered conversation with Varkel, while Arlyan readied his horse and supplies. The camp was just beginning to wake, and word had gotten round that Arlyan and Galor had come back from the woods together, and that they were now heading out ahead of the group.
His villagers said nothing to him, their confusion from yesterday seemed to grow to mistrust, and Arlyan left them to it. He had more important matters now than appeasing the thoughts of a few men who would likely not listen.
Galor mounted his horse, motioning for Arlyan to do likewise, then they set off, leaving at a brisk pace. They would stop at the first town, Galor had told Arlyan, just past midday, but would not stop, continuing towards a larger city in two days time, to learn the whereabouts of the king, whether he was camped with the army, or staying in the capital city. Galor also told Arlyan to keep his identity secret, as well as his own, for to have common people knowing the prince was traveling with an elf would be extremely problematic, even a prince traveling with one companion, a new recruit, would be sure to raise questions.
“Besides,” Galor said, “I enjoy the anonymity occasionally. Being regarded as a price draws more problems than it solves sometimes, and I learn fall less truth.”
The town they expected to pass had been reduced to ruin, with the same signs of destruction here as the other towns. Arlyan examined the blades left to imply elves were responsible, but Arlyan quickly saw through the illusion.
“These blades are indeed elven blades. However, this was a style we used long ago, when we used to still speak with the dwarves. Our own weapons are styled more like these,” he said, drawing his own knife for comparison. Galor nodded, tucking a few of the ancient elven blades into his pack, and they continued on.
They reached the city just as dusk was closing its grasp on the land, tired and spent, and went searching for the closest inn. They found it, smiling at the name, “The Dusty Pig.”
They went in, ordered a meal and a room, and places for their horses, and sat in a dark corner, listening and observing the general bustle of the inn.
Arlyan’s ears picked up a conversation between a new entry and the innkeeper. The young man speaking seemed to hold the leaflets in his hand in great esteem, and the innkeeper finally relented to the speaker, who looked to be a city official. Nodding his thanks, the speaker passed out leaflets to each table, effectively silencing them as they scanned the information it obtained. Finally reaching their table, Arlyan read the paper, Galor’s eyes on Arlyan’s face, waiting to hear what happened.
After several moments, Arlyan said, “We won’t be needing to find the king anymore.”
Galor snatched the paper from Arlyan’s hands, reading it furiously.
King Jadden, son of Tyrlan, father of Galor, died last night in his sleep, his medical staff and spellweavers unable to find any cause. Elven treachery is suspected, and efforts are being made to locate Prince Galor, to be crowned King. Ruling in his stead now is late King Jadden’s brother, Kayn. Magistrate Kayn has sent his own guard out to help locate the Prince. If any information is known, inform a member of the Magistrate Guard.
Galor cursed. “The news must have been delivered to each city magically.”
Arlyan sat, puzzled. “You are the human’s king now, no? Now we have no need to bargain with the king, you are already on the elves side.”
Galor looked at Arlyan, worry on his face, his voice so quiet, even Arlyan’s elven ears had to strain to pick it out of the uproar the inn had turned into. “I am not the king, not until I turn twenty five and am crowned by the high spellweavers. That’s three years from now. And Kayn is not going to give up his rule, father and I have been worried for years now that Kayn was planning something, and this disturbance with the elves may have been just what he was looking for. Inexplicable death, it’s blamed on the elves, with no doubt cast on him. And I have no doubt whatsoever that if I am discovered by the Magistrate Guard, they will make short work of me. They’re Kayn’s personal guards, of course, paid handsomely, and extremely skilled with blade and magic, they travel in groups of five on missions, and have sworn loyalty under binding magic to Kayn. How my father allowed their organization to exist is a long explanation of complex law, but the end result is the same.”
Arlyan sat back, processing all this. “Then what can we do?”
Galor laughed out loud, surprising Arlyan, such an action was hardly appropriate in light of the new information.
Galor looked at Arlyan, his eyes seeming tired, no longer certain of the thoughts brewing behind them.
Eventually, Galor looked away, and muttered, “I have no idea.”
The inn wasn’t crowded, and Galor was carrying a substantial sum of money, allowing the two of them the best room in the inn. The night was still young when the two decided to retire, both exhausted from their journey, and too troubled by the news to continue acting pleasant out in the common area.
The next morning the rose early, and head out. Galor’s plan was to reach the capital city, where one of his childhood friends lived, Triven. He was the son of one of the king’s advisors, and they were close friends. When Galor left to learn to lead, Triven stayed to learn diplomacy and wisdom. It had been over a year since they had last spoke, but Galor assured Arlyan he would be able to find a solution to their problem, even before Galor left, Triven’s skills were extraordinary. He was sure that he would be able to find, then put into action, a plan that would smooth this all over, hopefully restoring power to the rightful line.
Arlyan followed Galor out of the village, along for the ride, but with his thoughts on his elven brethren, and on Liriel.
They left quietly, and headed straight for the capital.
Arlyan’s horse slowly rode through the dark forest, mist rising from the ground, obscuring all sights more than a few feet in any direction. The dull beat of hooves pervaded the night, everything else in the old forest was deathly silent.
A grin spread across Arlyan’s face. It was small wonder the humans avoided these woods, he thought to himself. The ageless trees, the near constant fog, the constant twilight, and the unearthly silence was enough to make Arlyan be more guarded than he would be under normal circumstances.
The grin on Arlyan’s face turned sour at that thought. These circumstances were hardly “normal.” Banished from his homeland, Aurelia, the realm of the elves, ordered to live with the human, until the time he “grew weary of his tireless antics.” Arlyan spit to the side, attempting to rid the foul taste in his mouth that seemed to rise whenever he thought of his trial a week ago.
The trial. It had been little more than a gathering to tell him where he was going. It seemed everyone wanted him out, besides the young ones, who he was supposedly corrupting. I still fail to see why it came to this. The council described him as arrogant, short-sighted, quick to anger, quick to decisions without weighing them properly. As the council leader put it, he acted human. So the fitting punishment, they decided, was to banish him to live among his kindred spirits, until the time his ideals fit with those of the elves as a people.
Scoffing, Arlyan thought to himself, Ha! I don’t even care to live with those slow-minded elves, the way they go about their lives. Immortality doesn’t mean anything if you get even less done in your entire existence than a human does in their life. Arlyan smiled for a moment. Perhaps this will be a blessing.
A faint echo touched the edge of his hearing, snapping Arlyan out of his thoughts. To anyone else, the sound just appeared to be the mirror of his own horse’s plodding. Arlyan, however, had been riding through this part of the forest for the past hour, and he knew that sound died in this place, not multiplied. He relaxed in his saddle, to all appearances, completely oblivious to the added rider. In reality, his ears were straining to determine which direction the sound was coming from. After a few moments, he determined that the rider was coming straight from Aurelia, while the course he was on had been winding across the countryside, very scenic and relaxing, allowing Arlyan the chance to pass through areas around his homeland he had yet to have occasion to visit.
Realizing that the rider was probably friendly, and near certainly an elf, Arlyan decided that this close to their borders, safety was more prudent than allowing a rider to explode out of the forest onto him, as he noticed that the rider had suddenly increased pace. Steering his horse to the side of the path, behind some trees, Arlyan dismounted and drew the hood of his cloak over his head, the dark green and brown patterns merging him with the forest.
He moved silently and nearly unseen to several hundred feet from where he left his horse, drawing an arrow and placing it upon the string of his bow, which he carried with him strung any time he traveled. He reached an appropriate spot, and stood still, looking to where the unknown rider was announcing his presence with his amazingly loud, to Arlyan’s trained ears, horse.
Anyone looking directly at Arlyan while he was moving across the forest would have been able, with a trained eye, and some luck, to identify a figure, but once Arlyan came to a halt, only the most experienced trackers would be able to discern his cloaked figure among the forest.
As Arlyan had guessed, the rider indeed exploded out of the underbrush onto the path. Again, Arlyan was correct in guessing that the intruder was elvin, and also friendly. What he had assumed incorrectly, however, was the gender of the elf. It was his childhood friend, Liriel. He smiled, not moving, watching her search the path for him.
It was her who caused him the most distress about being banished from Aurelia. They were close friends, and though she didn’t have the “human” spirit like Arlyan, she wasn’t as close-minded as the elders. She was nearly the same age as he, she being born only fifty years later. It had been centuries ago, and she had grown to an adult, casting off the childish ways of youth and joining the other elders. She did, however, understand Arlyan’s views, as she had spent nearly her entire life with him. He smiled as he remembered. Her patience, and even agreement, on his lifestyle, made some look at her in another light, but she thought little of the quiet garden gossip of those elves.
Liriel’s sharp eyes landed on Arlyan, and he smiled broader, seeming to step out of the tree he was standing by, and lowering his hood, revealing his, now short, auburn hair. Liriel dismounted, and did the same, her beautiful blonde hair falling to her shoulders. She smiled at Arlyan and her green eyes sparkled with happiness.
“Arlyan,” her musical voice seemed to sing out.
“Liriel, it’s so wonderful to see you again. What brings you to our borders on this fine morning?”
Liriel smiled. “They elders wished to deliver a message to you, and I volunteered to bring it.”
“Quite generous of you. Is it important? Shall we break our fast first?”
Liriel paused, as if considering, but Arlyan knew she was just teasing him. After a bit, she said, “I do have duties I need to attend to back in Aurelia, but I am slightly curious to see what words the elders thought important enough to send a runner to bring to you. Perhaps we can read the letter and discuss it over morning’s feast?”
Arlyan nodded his agreement, whistling his horse over. Liriel turned to her horse, pulling food out of the pack she had brought. As they began to eat, she handed Arlyan the letter, motioning for him to open it.
He did so, and read aloud, “Friend Arlyan, we hope this letter finds you well, and wish you a safe journey and pleasant roads. Unfortunate news forces us to send ahead to warn you, however, and we hope this reaches you in time.
“Shortly after your departure, word from our outlying villages reached us concerning humans. It seems elves have fallen out of their graces, and they are now extremely suspicious of us. For you to even travel, much less live, among them, you must not present yourself as an elf.
“We are altogether unsure as to why this is, and we are doing our best to discover the cause, but word is, our recent contact with humans have been at best, openly hostile, at times escalating to violence.
“Take care to disguise your elven features, and hide your accent, as well as anything else that may give you away. If you are suspected as being something other than human, you must relocate immediately. Fair travels, the Elders of Aurelia.”
Arlyan smiled to Liriel. “This is a prank, right?” he said, but instantly realized it wasn’t, from the clouded expression she wore.
After a moment, she said slowly, “I had heard rumors, but assumed them to be only that. This complicates things. Arlyan, it may not be safe for you to continue with your exile.”
Arlyan laughed. “Liriel, all I have to do is fool humans, humans, remember, that I’m one of them. A child could do it. And despite common belief, I am an adult. Besides, this “exile” is beginning to sound more and more fun the more I hear about it. Everything will be fine, and you can come visit me occasionally to assure yourself of that. Despite not following our customs, I do follow our rules. I have been banished until I have become sick of dealing with humans and realize the error of my ways, and banished I will stay. Now will you help me disguise myself, or do I have to do it myself?”
Liriel sighed. Stubborn as a human, she thought to herself, and nodded. “Where shall we start?”
Half an hour later, Arlyan was frowning at Liriel, who was on the ground laughing. “What do you mean you don’t have a mirror,” he was struggling to say, in between here peals of laughter.
Liriel looked up at Arlyan, his ears rounded out, eyebrows un-slanted, and features softened from their sharp angles, and burst out in another fit of laughter.
“And they thought I was the immature one,” he mumbled, waiting for Liriel to get control of herself again.
Normally Liriel would have been able to restrain herself, but the effort required to shape Arlyan’s features had taken a toll on their energy, and the exhaustion made it too difficult for her to resist cracking.
The two of them had worked together, streaming their magic to shape Arlyan’s features to fit that of a human. Their concentration was unmatched, as a slip could sent a facial bone rocketing through Arlyan’s skull, and that was something both parties hoped to avoid. Their vision blurred, the edges of their sight grew dark, their ears rang, and when Arlyan felt as though his grip on the conscious world was about to slip and he would find himself in blackness and dreams, Liriel announced in a weary voice they were done.
They had sat heavily on the ground at that, breathing deeply as the world around them stopped shaking, then, when Liriel could see clearly, a shock of laughter broke across the woods, startling a still slightly dazed Arlyan.
For the elves from millennia ago, a task such as reshaping the bones and flesh of a face would have been simple work of a few words and half a thought. In the very distant past, however, a war involving another such magically inclined race and the elves erupted, and during the course of the war, the laws of magic shattered, crippling both races, who relied on it heavily. Fortunately for the elves, however, magic was less of a crutch than the warring race, and the elves wiped the opposing force from the land. Magic, however, was never the same, and the elves learned to accept that fact. Casting simple spells could spin the world for the caster, and anything more would darken and blur vision, ruin balance, and other effects, even causing the caster to black out, much the same as when a human who stands up too quickly.
Magic was the lifeblood of elves, and though the laws of magic were broken, magic remained, though its art was as unapproachable as an erupting volcano, barring small spells, as anything useful in combat would incapacitate the caster beyond recovery, as a sword is quite difficult to avoid, much less block, when it’s target’s vision is swimming like a fish from a shark.
Eventually Liriel calmed down enough for Arlyan to ask, “So I assume I look human enough?”
Liriel nodded. “It’s so odd seeing you as a human. I know it’s you, but you look completely foreign! Yes, you’ll pass. But if there is any reason you need to return to Aurelia, you have my permission as an elder to return unmolested.”
“And you have mine that you can come to the human lands, as long as you adjust your appearance to make travel safe first,” Arlyan said, then touched his face. “Is it really that different?”
Liriel smiled, then said, “Not so much that if I looked at you I wouldn’t be able to tell, but it is quite a shock. Much like when you cut your hair. But it should be much easier to change your appearance back to elven, your bone structure should remember its shape, and hopefully allow you to revert back to your original appearance with a fraction of the effort we spent.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Arlyan said, then, noticing her cast a glance back towards their homeland, said, “I should be off, and you as well. Until next time?”
“Safe roads and camps Arlyan. I shall visit you when you are settled down.”
“Safe roads to you Liriel. I look forward to your arrival.”
And with that, Liriel leaped onto her horse and was gone. Arlyan sighed, and slowly mounted his own horse, turning it in the direction he had been going. After pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, he rode off again, nearing the human border.
His bow was strung, lying on his lap with an arrow notched, the bow nearly invisible against his cloak. To anyone who happened to be looking, he was a lone traveler, relaxed and uninteresting. In reality, he was alert and ready for anything, his muscles coiled, senses alert, eyes darting.
Even Arlyan took a warning from the Elders seriously.
Several days later, Arlyan found himself looking at what he thought would be a small town, but turned out to be a city. Slight shock hit Arlyan, it was so much bigger than he thought humans were so far along. Although, he thought, it had been several hundred years since the elves had had real contact with humans, beyond small villages bordering their lands.
During his ride, he hadn’t seen any sign of life or civilization at all, besides the road he traveled on. Slightly puzzled as to why there was a road that lead nowhere but the forest he had just passed through. Shrugging it off, he rode to the city, admiring the view.
The city was a sight to behold, especially for an elf whose experience with buildings worked with nature, rather than buildings worked from nature. The sight astounded him, the city’s walls were twenty feet high, made of dark grey stone, in the shadows it seemed that the stone was black, creating an imposing scene against the setting sun. Above the walls, Arlyan could see what he could only assume was a castle, made of the same dark stone as the walls.
A shiver ran down Arlyan’s spine, the scene before him suddenly chilling him, as if evil was radiating from the place. Arlyan hesitated, then turned off the road, giving the city a wide berth, and riding on through the night.
Two days later, Arlyan reached a small village. He smiled at the sight of it, a few farms surrounding it, the village necessities, and they were even fortunate enough to have a mill and a blacksmith. Arlyan smiled, and urged his horse down the hill to the comfortable place, nestled by hills on one side and mountains on the other, and full of energy and happiness, from the sounds coming from the tavern.
Arlyan smiled, reaching the stables and stowing his horse there, not finding any stable-hand near. After he had seen his horse was comfortable after the long journey, he made his way to the tavern. He found it slightly odd that there were no guards, or even watchmen, patrolling the streets, but he saw the reason when he opened the tavern doors.
The dull rumble he had heard coming from within turned into a blasting roar when the doors opened. It looked as though the entire village had attended that night, and then some. As people began to notice the stranger standing in the doorway, wearing outlandish clothes, wielding a beautiful, and deadly, bow, and his belt hinting to other blades being hidden under the unnaturally shifting cloak, making it difficult for their eyes to focus on anything but his face, which was strange. Human, certainly, but with an air about it that seemed exotic, and his eyes seemed to shine with a light that couldn’t be accounted for just the candles or the fireplace. Several of the men cursed, knowing their chances with the women were severely hampered by this new arrival.
The stranger smiled at them, seeing all attention was on him, and said, “Hello, my name is Arlyan. I’m sorry if I interrupted… I’ve been traveling for days now, I don’t suppose there’s any food available?”
The bartender came forward and showed Arlyan to a table, which was mostly full, there wasn’t an empty table in the tavern. “What brings you here, Arlyan?” The bartender asked.
Looking round at the others at the table, Arlyan unstrung his bow, placing it near his seat at the table, and withdrew his mandolin, saying, as he had rehearsed on his journey, “I’ve traveled far and wide, entertaining along the way, and have been looking for a place to settle down. I was told this may be such a place?”
“Indeed it may. Tonight we celebrate midsummer. Unfortunately, we have none musically inclined to entertain, our own musician is bedridden with fever. It would seem your arrival was most timely. Care to play for us, after whetting your tongue, on the house?”
“Of course good sire. Let us delay no further!”
Drinks were served, and music began to flow. The townspeople were astounded by the purity of both the instrument and Arlyan’s voice, and coins began to fall into his mandolin case. The tavern became even more lively, happiness and laughter flowing to match the music.
After several songs, the barkeep brought a steaming plate of ham and vegetables to Arlyan, forcing him to take a break from one form of entertaining, straight into another form. He was swarmed with people asking questions of news, stories of his travels, and above all, introductions. Dodging the uncomfortable subjects that he knew very little, if any, about, he struggled to make small talk in between bites, trying to learn as much of those around him as he could.
The questions came around to his music, where he learned to play and sing like that, where he learned his songs, how lovely and new they were, none in the village had ever heard them before.
“Of course you wouldn’t have, I wrote them,” Arlyan said, slightly confused. It wasn’t common practice for elves to play music other than theirs, besides the most well known, and all elven musicians strove to have their music played by others musicians, as it was a great honor. Mostly, the elven musician would play his or her music, unless a popular song was requested.
Arlyan’s response brought a new swath of admiration on him, and he began to notice most of those asking questions were female, with the men sitting at their respective tables, presumably wondering when Arlyan would become old news.
Picking up on this, and not wishing to alienate himself from half of the entire village before even settling in, he found an appropriate gap in the conversation to insert, “Yes, I do plan on settling in here,” he said, directed to a girl who was far too eager to have just asked out of curiosity, “and once I settle in, I will send for my betrothed.” He winced inwardly at this, wondering how he would be able to explain the distinct lack of a bride later, but decided that a problem later was better than a problem now, especially in light of the relieved faces of the men, and the reversion back to simple friendliness by most of the women.
With a huge sigh of relief, Arlyan stepped back from his newly finished house, marveling at the fact that he had helped build it. In his homeland, the houses had been passed on for generations, with no need to create new houses anywhere near the capital city of Aurelia.
Will, who had become one of his closest friends, slapped him on the back. “It’s finished! Now you can send for that pretty bride of yours, eh?” he said, with a wink that left little ambiguity.
Arlyan turned to him, speaking low, so the other villagers, who were still admiring their hand in helping build the house wouldn’t hear, said, “Will, what am I supposed to do to support myself? You’re a smith, Galor’s family farms, there’re the tanners and millers, the butcher and the tavern keepers. I’ve only had a place to stay because the Keepers give me free room and board when I play and sing, and your hospitality offers me the rest. No, I won’t be sending for her until I can find something to actually support my love.”
Will face became thoughtful, as he digested the information. Arlyan felt a surge of relief. As of now, he hadn’t found a suitable story as to why he didn’t actually have a bride waiting. His attempts to send a message to Liriel by the way of magic were met with silence, and repeated attempts sent him to blackness. As such, further stalling was necessary, even though more than a month had passed since he first arrived at the little village of Yarvenhail.
During his time in Yarvenhail, he had learned much of the life there, particularly from Will. One evening, as they were sitting in Will’s house, the fire burning brightly, Will asked Arlyan why he didn’t cast magic. The query caught Arlyan by surprise, he had been under the impression that humans feared and distrusted magic, and here was Will, asking just as calmly as if he was asking what Arlyan’s favorite wine was.
Arlyan asked why Will had assumed Arlyan could call on magic, and Will had given Arlyan a glimpse of very recent human history that Arlyan assumed, to the best of his knowledge, that no elf knew.
Ignoring the propoganda that had been spewn forth throughout the years, the humans that Arlyan and the elves knew, had been invaded. Humans from across the sea had landed some fifty years ago on the western coast, and quickly and nearly bloodlessly taken the land. These humans were spell casters, and were, from Will’s recount, very powerful. They had obtained victory through fear of their magic, and their massive numbers.
Arlyan’s features, Will explained, were of the exotic appearance of the new humans, who came to the village occasionally and collected taxes, told of news and laws, and helped the village develop.
It was they who had built the city Arlyan had passed by, and it was now the capital city of their new empire. Arlyan wondered at how the elves could have missed such a monumental change in the human’s land. The very traits they desired him to obtain seemed to be the reason they were unaware of the change.
The most dangerous aspect of this new change of events, it seemed, was that these new humans seemed bent on ruling the entire continent. Will told him that there was currently a war with the dwarves to the east, and that Will’s oldest son had been conscripted into the army, along with four others, marking the five required from all villages their size.
Long ago the elves and dwarves had decided to ignore one another, their views and beliefs were decided to be too at odds, the dwarves rash tempers grated needlessly on the long patience of the elves, and the dwarves didn’t enjoy waiting in their thought processes. So ages ago, the two races agreed to avoid contact with one another, in order to prevent any unfortunate consequences. As such, Arlyan knew very little about the dwarves and their lives, and, he mused, probably nothing of how they were today.
Will had said the new empire promised peace, but that they needed to become safe from all quarters, assuring that there was no possibility for harm to their beloved land.
Yarvenhail was one of the few villages left that was solely inhabited, barring Arlyan of course, by the humans native to the land.
The following weeks after their conversation, Arlyan’s mind turned the facts over, and eventually he came to the conclusion that the elves knew altogether too little about their neighbors to the south.
Two nights after his new house had been completed, and after much studying of the scarce maps the village had, Arlyan decided to set off under the pretense that he was fetching his wife, so he could learn more of this new presence to the land, and if it held a threat to the elves.
Arlyan had no idea if the dwarves started the conflict with the new spell casting humans, but either way, the elves were in danger. If the humans had started the war, they would, more than likely, turn their attention to the elves as soon as the dwarves were subdued, and if it was the dwarves who began the attack, it could very well be that the humans would attempt to strike the elves first, in order to protect themselves.
The third night, Arlyan set about to make preparations to leave, informing Will, and several others at the tavern that night, of his intention to depart for his betrothed. As he was walking out the door to his house, one of the men asked what the name of his betrothed was, and, pausing at the doorway, overtaken by a whim, replied, “Liriel.” And he slipped into the night air.
Knowing he would be on the road most of tomorrow, and that travel would leave him too weary for much else come the end of the day besides sleeping, Arlyan decided to do his daily practice for the second time that day. Grabbing his bow from his house, he slipped into the forest near the town, his cloak breaking his outline, he hugged the natural cover of the land, as close to invisible as was possible without magic.
Reaching his destination, he strung his bow, glancing across the clearing he had arrived at. In the distance were several trees, ranging from fifty to several hundred yards.
Without another thought, Arlyan took an arrow, nocked it to his string, and let it fly, watching it sail through the air, slamming into a tree over two hundred yards away. Five seconds later, five more arrows were humming through the air, cutting into their targets, precisely where Arlyan had intended them to land. Over and over Arlyan fired, alternating targets, his position, firing while running, hiding from a tree, and all sorts of combinations, until he had fired and retrieved his three dozen arrows more than ten times.
Breathing a sigh, he set his bow and arrow aside, drawing his knives, with which he performed similar thrown exercises, then practiced hand-to-hand combat against a tree.
Finished, he gathered his bow and quiver, and headed back through the forest, taking a different path from the way he came, always varying his daily exercises slightly, to avoid becoming bored, certainly, but also to keep the edge to his skill, for he knew it was far better to be ready and never fight than to fight and not be ready.
Slipping from one patch of shadow the full moon cast to another, even a deer grazing late nearby didn’t notice as he drifted not three feet from the creature’s face. His feet made no sound as he carefully tread across the forest floor, avoiding sticks and loose rocks, following the natural rhythm of the night as the shadows bent with their trees.
Arriving back at his house, Arlyan readied for bed, preparing his travel pack with food and supplies, then laid to bed, slipping into sleep.
His world spun as he fell into darkness, then became crystal clear. Arlyan knew he was sleeping, but the scene in front of him was no dream. Liriel was looking at him, true terror in her eyes. Worry flooded Arlyan. Living in Aurelia, he had never seen more than slight anxiety, let alone fear, in the face of an elf. Living in his new human village, he had seen his share of fear on the faces of the villagers, especially when discussing the Dwarven war, or the possibility of another draft.
The terror in Liriel’s eyes sent ice to his heart, and he reached out to her. Liriel spoke, quickly and quietly, as though she was fearful of someone overhearing her.
“Arlyan, the elves are retreating. Massive forces are at our borders, far larger than we can hope to defend against. We are fleeing northward, to the icebound lands. I will speak to the elders on your behalf, but it is no longer safe for you to live among the humans. They are openly hostile against all elves, now, and if they found out who you really are it could prove disastrous. Follow us north as soon as you can. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Arlyan tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come, and the connection with Liriel was lost.
He sat up, dripping with sweat, feeling the after-effects of magic wash over him, his world going dim. Breathing deeply, he slowly regained normal consciousness. With a start, he realized it was nearing mid-morning. Cursing himself for oversleeping, though realizing the magic had partly to do with it, he rushed out of his house, fully intent of riding north, straight to save Liriel and help the elves.
Upon bursting from his front door, however, he saw fate had other plans. His heart sank to the ground from the sight in front of him. Troops from the Caster humans were gathering all the men from the village into the town square.
Their leader, seeing Arlyan burst from the house holding his travel pack and bow, exclaimed, “Ah! An eager citezen to help his nation. Who else now? We need four others or this village will become full property of the government.”
A shudder went through the villagers at that, and Arlyan stood on his doorstep, his mouth hanging open. The sergeant, noticing his reluctance, barked, “Come now, form up, we don’t have all day. Speak to Galor,” he said, waving towards a man who looked little older than Will, “and he’ll brief you on what’s to be expected and the like.”
In a daze, Arlyan moved forward. He knew he couldn’t flee, the village would be ransacked by these spell casters. He assumed he would half to travel with them for a time, before leaving to go help the elves. And Liriel. Then he shrugged. In all likelihood, they were traveling the direction he needed to go, and he could possibly learn more of these strange new humans along the way.
Smiling, he greeted Galor, who, he noticed, had the same outlandish look that the villagers described him as having, somewhat between an elf and a human, but far more human than elf.
Galor looked at him curiously for a moment, and Arlyan began to worry, wondering if Galor suspected he was an elf, and he would be executed on the spot. Then Galor seemed to shrug, and said, “Welcome aboard. What’s your name?”
“Arlyan. Sir, I was actually on my way to pick up my betrothed. Would it be too much to ask if you were to let me travel to her instead?”
Galor’s eyes seemed to grow whistful for a moment, then said, straining to have no emotion in his voice, “Well Arlyan, I’m glad to have you with us. However, if we don’t take you, we’d have to take another from your village. I had to leave my wife just four days after our marriage. Now that’s enough on that subject. I see you have a bow. You hunt? We could always use another archer in our ranks. Swordsmen aren’t as suited as before to the encounter we’re heading for.”
Arlyan wondered as to what Galor meant, but decided now was not the time for asking. Instead, he simply nodded. “Excellent,” Galor said, “Now, a house as fine as that, I don’t suppose you have a horse as well? While walking seems fun, in the long run, it gets to be a drag.”
Arlyan nodded again, deciding his best bet was to say as little as possible to avoid drawing any more attention to himself. Galor said, “Go, get your horse while we gather up the rest of the recruits.”
Arlyan smiled grimly to himself. As if they had a choice.
Bringing his horse around, he saw, among the new recruits, that Will had also been taken. A small curse escaped his lips. Will was just preparing to ask Brooke, a barmaid at the tavern to marry him!
Arlyan looked at the crowd of women and older men that had gathered, and saw Brooke standing among them. She was shorter than most, her dark hair long, but pretty for a human, and he could see, far as he was, the tears welling up in her eyes as Will joined the ranks of the soldiers.
Arlyan looked away, anger flowing through him. Galor came up to him, saying, “Well we’re all ready, we have horses for everyone, and we’ll leave straight away. I’ll be leading, you lot will follow, with the soldiers bringing up the rear. Not much sense in trying to holler over the noise of the horses, so we’ll start basic instruction tonight when we make camp.”
They began riding, setting off to the east at an easy pace, and Arlyan could almost enjoy the day, heading nearly in the direction he wished to go, accompanied by his newfound friend, Will. By the same token however, it was Will that brought him back to the reality of their situation. They were riding away from their families and homes, to a war, where they were far less than uncertain that they would survive, and the expression on Will’s face made it very clear that those thoughts were foremost among his thoughts, along with that of Brooke, who he barely had a chance to say goodbye to before the sergeant, whose name, they learned, was Varkel, called the to their places and ordered the march.
Trying to distract Will from his brooding thoughts, Arlyan asked, “Where do you suppose we’re going?”
Will answered halfheartedly, “I can only assume we’re heading to the north, to face the wretched elves. Word is, they’re massing an army to catch us off guard while we’re distracted by the dwarves, so we’re preparing a force to march on their land before they get a chance to strike us. My guess is they’re sending us to supplement the northern troops. From what I gather, our forces against the dwarves are sufficient. Besides, I’d like a go at those bloodthirsty elves. We’re told they’ve destroyed nearly all the villages bordering their forest, and they slaughtered every one of them, women, children, elderly. Every last one. Piled high in the center of the village for all to see. Despicable creatures.”
Arlyan nearly fell out of his horse upon hearing that. “When did they say this happened?”
“Over the past few months. Some traveler happened across one of the villages, then the other villages fates were discovered. Just think, if our village was any closer to the north, we could have been with them.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me of this?” Arlyan asked, still not believing what he had heard.
“It’s not something anyone likes to talk about. Terrible monsters are best left unspoken of,” Will said, disgust apparent in his voice.
Arlyan nodded, his mind spinning a million times a second. It’s not possible that the elves did this, not even in the past month. It would have been the talk of the whole land for at least a year before it was acted upon. And there is no chance we could have done it. We would have nothing to gain from it. No, it had to be someone else. Perhaps the dwarves, in order to distract the human’s forces?
As they stopped for a quick break from the saddle and a late lunch, Arlyan noticed Galor and Varkel talking, though try as he might, he couldn’t hear a word they said, even though they were more than close enough for Arlyan’s acute hearing to pick up, he couldn’t even hear a faint murmur. It was as though no sound came from their lips, even though he could see the movement of their throats, signifying that they were doing more than just lip-reading.
Puzzled, Arlyan moved towards the two, straining to hear, but acting nonchalant. When he was several yards from them, he felt as though he were passing through a curtain, and as his head broke through it, their words sprang to his ears. The two suddenly looked over to Arlyan, and he felt as though the invisible curtain collapsed into him, and he felt his energy level shoot up, as though he had just woken from a nap, rather than spending sever hours in the saddle. They had ceased speaking, and Arlyan, rather disoriented from the strange tingle in him, smiled and waved, wandering back to Will and his horse.
The group had camped by a bend in the road, near the forest, and motions were being taken to begin to saddle up again, when there was a throaty cry from the woods, and a band of small men, dwarves, Arlyan realized, burst from the trees. Thrown axes instantly killed two men who had saddled up, and several more sailed through the air, one was where Arlyan had been just a half second before, had he not thrown himself behind a boulder in time. He looked to see Will crouched next to him, completely weaponless. Fortunately, Arlyan had his bow and quiver slung over his back, with his belt full of knives strapped on. Looking over the boulder, he saw the soldiers and dwarves battling, though the dwarves outnumbered the soldiers nearly two to one.
Arlyan saw one of his fellow villagers, Hadyn, crawling away from the battle, with a giant gash in his left leg and a dwarf standing over him, raising a battle axe. Quickly, Arlyan drew his bow, sending an arrow hissing through the air, to bury deep in the dwarf’s throat.
Looking across the battle, he saw Galor fighting two dwarves, with one coming up behind him. Arlyan quickly sent three arrows, one slamming through the sneaking dwarf’s chain mail, into his heart, and the other two burying themselves in the other dwarves’ backs, dropping all three of them in nearly as many seconds. With a cry, Will alerted Arlyan of the dwarf charging around the other side of the rocks they were hiding behind. Arlyan loosed an arrow, but the dwarf, with amazing reflexes, brought his shield up, the arrow thudding through the wood. The dwarf brought the shield down, a trickle of blood where the arrow partially impaled itself in his arm, even through the shield.
Too close to use his bow, Arlyan drew two knives, one nearly as long as a short sword, the other one of his standard throwing daggers. The dwarf, armed with a sword nearly as short as Arlyan, came forward, and Arlyan nearly laughed at the comical sight. The dwarf was lucky to be half his height, and the sword, though short, wasn’t hefty by elven, or even human, standards. The dwarf brought Arlyan back to the heat of the moment however, when his deadly, if comical, blade came slicing towards Arlyan’s stomach.
Even with Arlyan’s elven reflexes, his daggers barely came around quick enough to block the sword, one crossed behind the other for leverage. The dwarf had an evil look in his eye as Arlyan parried blow after blow, giving ground. Occasionally Arlyan had a chance to snake out one of his blades, slicing his opponent in weak spots in his armor, but never enough to slow him. Then, the dwarf’s eyes rolled back in his head, and Arlyan saw Will standing over the stunned dwarf, holding a huge rock in his hands, a look of amazement on his face. Arlyan began to smile, then suddenly whipped his hand up, back and forward, sending a throwing knife deep into the eye socket of a dwarf who had been charging toward Will’s unprotected back. The dwarf skidded to a halt at Will’s heels, and he jumped and spun, realizing that the fight was far from over.
“Thanks Will, but take cover behind those rocks for now, and stay out of sight, for fate’s sake.”
Will nodded, and Arlyan drew his bow again, sending arrow after arrow into the remaining dwarves. Finally, the soldiers were all that stood remaining, and they began to tend to their wounded. Two of the soldiers had been killed, and seven others were wounded heavily, with the remaining eleven suffering minor injuries. Of the five villagers, only Hadyn had been wounded, the others had successfully avoided combat, besides Will’s rock incident.
Galor walked up to Arlyan and said, “Walk with me a bit, Arlyan.”
Arlyan had just pulled his throwing knife from the dwarf, and, after wiping the blood off on the dwarf’s tunic, followed Galor away from the group a ways.
Galor eyed Arlyan for a few moments, then said, “You’re a bit more proficient with that bow than a normal hunter would be.”
It wasn’t a question, so Arlyan stood, looking at Galor, not knowing what he should say.
“You saved my life, so says Varkel. I was hard pressed as it was with two of those brutes, the one from behind? Varkel tried to warn me, but before the words left his mouth, he said, an arrow seemed to grow from the little devil’s throat. The two facing me dropped nearly at the same time. Where did you learn to shoot like that Arlyan?”
Arlyan shrugged, trying to act as if it were an everyday occurrence. “Practice makes perfect I guess. Not much else to do in a little village like mine anyway.”
“I suppose,” Galor said, “But then there’s that business with your magic. You look like a spellcaster, but neither Varkel nor I could sense more than a dredge of power in you. But then you simply absorbed our enchantment for silence. How?”
Again, Arlyan shrugged, this time truthfully not understanding. “I didn’t know I absorbed anything sir. I was just wandering around the camp.”
Galor nodded. “Perhaps. I would like, however, to have some of our more skilled magicians to analyze you when we get back to camp. They may be able to offer some insight.”
Inside, Arlyan felt cold wash over him. They will know I’m not human. Or worse, they’ll know I’m an elf. I have to leave before reaching the main camp.
Outwardly, Arlyan bowed slightly, saying as he did so, “As you say, sir.”
Galor dismissed him with a wave of his hand, staring after him with a thoughtful expression, one that was not lost on his fellow villagers, who had been observing the exchange from afar.
As Arlyan walked back to his companions, he reflected on the dwarves he had killed. Those were the first sentient beings whose lives he had ended. He had occasionally thought about the prospect of ending another’s life, but he always thought it would be difficult, if not impossible for him, and he thought that he would feel overwhelming guilt if he ever managed it.
But here he was, just having killed several dwarves, and he felt no remorse. He had no question their lives meant much to them, from the way they defended themselves, but killing them had saved the lives of his fellow villagers, as well as the soldiers who had taken them from their home. He passed the body of the dwarf he had pulled his knife out of, thinking, If he hadn’t attacked, he would be alive still.
Arlyan felt sorrow that a life had ended, but no more than if it had ended by a hand other than his, indeed, if he hadn’t killed him, Will’s life would have been over, possibly his as well, before the dwarf died.
Satisfied with his conscious, he sat with his villagers, now uncomfortably aware that they were staring at him with more admiration and fear than he had previously encountered. Glancing away nervously, he noticed the soldiers, still cleaning up after the fight, were occasionally casting the same strange looks at him.
Deciding to break the silence, Arlyan said to Will, “If you hadn’t stepped in with that rock, I may well be lying here instead of sitting with you. I owe you one.”
Will shook his head. “You repaid it with that knife throw to the dwarf charging me from behind. How did you do that.” It was more of a demand than a question, and Arlyan could see that the small group of men were in a daze from their ordeal.
Their eyes were glued to Arlyan, waiting for a response, and Arlyan attempted to play it off, saying, “The heat of the moment I suppose, I didn’t know what was happening…” he trailed off. His companions were obviously not buying his story.
He decided to begin again. “I have been practicing with these weapons for longer than I care to remember. To me it’s more natural to fire this bow than for Hayden over there to nurse his injured leg.” As he said it, Hayden had been trying to adjust his bandages, and looked up, blushing slightly.
The villagers seemed to want more explanation, but at a call from Varkel, the group stood and readied themselves for the remainder of their journey, the dwarves piled unceremoniously to the side of the road.
Eventually, as the sun began to sink lower in the sky, Arlyan found his way near Galor. “Do you really think the elves are responsible for the destruction of the northern villages?” Arlyan asked, after a moment.
Galor looked at Arlyan, mind puzzlement on his face. “Of course. Their weapons were found at the sights.”
Arlyan nodded, but said, “Why did they leave their weapons? Were there any elves found dead?”
Galor shrugged. “I didn’t hear of any elves being found, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t any. Perhaps they took their fallen comrades away to bury them, or burn them, or eat them, whatever the elves do.”
Arlyan shuddered at the thought of eating a fellow elf, then said, “But couldn’t it have been the dwarves? Trying to distract your forces? I find it odd that a party of dwarves would be this far into your land as well, perhaps they aided in the diversion?”
Galor looked curiously at Arlyan. “It’s possible I suppose. But the thinking isn’t to be done by a green recruit, or even a sergeant’s assistant. Such things would have been thought through by the war committee.”
Arlyan grunted, unconvinced, but said nothing more. They rode on, Arlyan thinking after his people, fleeing to the harsh northern lands, while Galor pondered what this new recruit had said. Such words of wisdom would have been surprising from one of the soldiers under his command, but coming from a common villager, now that was something new indeed. And the man’s skill with his bow and knives were uncanny, bordering on unnatural. The man had the look of a spellcaster, but no apparent knowledge of power, indeed, no sign of any either, besides the inexplicable absorption of Galor’s carefully cast spell, and Galor was regarded as a fairly experienced, and natural, spellweaver.
Arlyan seemed more than a mere curiosity now, and Galor was inherently inquisitive by nature. He resolved to discover more about this strange man, and he spent the rest of the ride, and even his thoughts before sleep, which usually were occupied by his newly had and lost wife, pondering the matter.
The light had barely outlined the eastern mountains when Galor awoke, the camp still shrouded in silence and dark. After a moment, he heard a noise interrupt the silence, too far to identify, and decided to take a look. Quickly dressing, he made his way to the forest bordering the road, following the sound.
Eventually, he found himself looking into a clearing, with Arlyan firing arrows with blurred speed, his movements so quick Galor gave up trying to follow, and looked to the end of the clearing, where an outline was being drawn in a large tree. It looked to be a human outline, lithe and taller than most, and female, the flowing hair and other features leaving little room for discussion on that. Though how Arlyan had managed to shoot flowing hair into a tree with arrows from over a hundred yards was beyond Galor.
Arrows flew, filling the outline; Galor realized Arlyan had taken several extra quivers from the camp with him. Finally, Arlyan relaxed, and the image was complete. Galor was staring at a woman, and elven woman, complete with color, as the feathers on the arrows were assorted with several hues.
Not only had Arlyan fired with amazing speed and accuracy, he had managed to select the correct arrow’s color and target in a split second. Galor knew he was wrong earlier, Arlyan’s skill with a bow was neither uncanny nor unnatural. It was inhuman, he thought to himself. Stepping out of the trees, he decided to risk it, calling out, “Arlyan.”
Arlyan started, waking suddenly. He had another message from Liriel, she had told him she was leaving the elves to come bring him back. She had discussed with the council, and since they were no longer in their homeland, they agreed the restriction no longer applied, and that times were far more dangerous than they had thought before, and decided to lift Arlyan’s punishment. After finding out where Arlyan was, she broke the connection, and Arlyan found himself startled from sleep, the rush of magic washing over him, sending his skin pulsing and stars dancing in his vision.
Eventually, the feeling subsided, and he decided, with dawn approaching, that he may as well be productive with his time. Leaving his tent, he made his way to the edge of the forest, taking some extra quivers with him as he went. He nodded to the night watchmen, who glanced at him, unsure what to do, then deciding to leave alone.
He wandered in the forest, thoughts running in and out of his head like water, ignoring them all but one, the thought that he would finally be able to speak to an elf again, and not have to hide his identity. He hadn’t realized it before, but pretending to be human, having people look on his face and see someone who wasn’t him, had been growing increasingly frustrating, as though he was acting his way through the past months, not living to who he was, instead being who he knew others needed to see.
He began his practice, his thoughts of Liriel, painting her image on a tree with his arrows, stress melting away as his muscles performed actions they had done countless times. If his skills hadn’t needed to be constantly honed to stay perfected, he may well have begun practicing the art of swords, or any number or other skills. But he knew too many elves who spent all their days practicing, keeping their various crafts mastered, and that was not a lifestyle Arlyan desired, so he was content with his bows, knives, and music.
With a final thud, the image was complete. He looked at it with satisfaction. It wasn’t the first time he had created images for practice, but this was his best work, he had to admit, though much of it was because he knew Liriel so well, he probably could have shot the image with his eyes closed.
It was then he heard his name. He turned, and saw Galor stepping out of the trees. Arlyan stood there, knowing there wasn’t much he could do to explain. He had lived among humans long enough to know that they simply weren’t capable of such feats.
Galor reached him, stopping barely a foot away, seeming to study Arlyan. Finally, he said, “You’re an elf.”
Arlyan glanced at the picture of Liriel, then looked back and nodded. Galor waved his hand in the air for a few seconds, and Arlyan felt his face relax, and realized his appearance had changed back to it’s natural state. He couldn’t help but smile. Galor seemed to study him for a few seconds more, then walked toward the image shot into the tree.
Arlyan followed, not saying anything, wondering what this human would do, knowing the lies that these humans held on to regarding elves. As he drew closer, Galor realized that the image was three-dimensional. The arrows were driven in deeper, in some parts, shallower in others. He shook his head in amazement, finally reaching the tree. Galor studied the image, noting the closeness of the arrows. Finally, he turned to Arlyan.
“Very impressive. She is beautiful. Is she your betrothed?”
Arlyan shook his head, no longer seeing a need for pretense with this man. “No, a dear friend. I have no betrothed, it was a story I told for the villagers, to keep their women off me, and to keep their men from hating me, the night I arrived to their village.”
Galor nodded, then asked, “So why did you visit their village? From the stories I’ve heard, I would believe it to be a sinister reason. From what I know of you, however short a time it was, I am inclined to think differently. A man’s true nature is displayed in battle, or elf’s, as it may be, and you saved my life, though you had no reason to. You also show wisdom, a trait I do not attribute to savage races. So either you are not an elf after your kind, or all the stories I have heard are false.”
Arlyan was unsure as to how to reply. This man was offering to hear Arlyan’s side of the story, despite the prejudice that had been seeded into him. He wanted to hear that Arlyan was an example of all elves, that they may not need to fight after all, but Arlyan’s full story was that he was not in fact, personality-wise, a true elf.
But this man had kept from gutting him from the start, so he assumed that there was no harm in trying to reveal his whole story.
And so reveal it he did, from his childhood to when Galor’s men interrupted his departure, also informing him of his concern for his brethern. Throughout the story, Galor listened impassively, revealing no sign of his thoughts. Finally, Arlyan finished, and Galor nodded.
“You’ve told me all about yourself, I feel it only fair to return the favor somewhat,” Galor said. “I, in truth, am Galor, sergeant of this battalion, but also, I am Prince Galor, heir of King Jadden. It is tradition for our leaders to serve in the positions they are set to lead, as to know the best way to serve their followers in the end, and it is a practice I believe in fully.”
Arlyan nodded, agreeing with the idea, but unsure what more Galor wanted of him. Galor sensed this, and continued, “As Prince, I do carry a bit of weight in the goings-on of the kingdom. I think that we should take you to the king, that you might plead on behalf of your kind. Your nature, that of being more like unto us humans, may well make you the most qualified of your kind to speak to the king. Let us hope we arrive soon enough to spare unnecessary bloodshed.”
Arlyan nodded, amazed at his fortune. Though he hardly considered himself qualified to speak for his kind, Liriel was on her way, and as an elder on the council, she would be able to assist him, granting the authority of the elven council behind their words.
The two of them traveled back to the battalion, after Galor adjusted Arlyan’s appearance back to the human form, and Galor held a whispered conversation with Varkel, while Arlyan readied his horse and supplies. The camp was just beginning to wake, and word had gotten round that Arlyan and Galor had come back from the woods together, and that they were now heading out ahead of the group.
His villagers said nothing to him, their confusion from yesterday seemed to grow to mistrust, and Arlyan left them to it. He had more important matters now than appeasing the thoughts of a few men who would likely not listen.
Galor mounted his horse, motioning for Arlyan to do likewise, then they set off, leaving at a brisk pace. They would stop at the first town, Galor had told Arlyan, just past midday, but would not stop, continuing towards a larger city in two days time, to learn the whereabouts of the king, whether he was camped with the army, or staying in the capital city. Galor also told Arlyan to keep his identity secret, as well as his own, for to have common people knowing the prince was traveling with an elf would be extremely problematic, even a prince traveling with one companion, a new recruit, would be sure to raise questions.
“Besides,” Galor said, “I enjoy the anonymity occasionally. Being regarded as a price draws more problems than it solves sometimes, and I learn fall less truth.”
The town they expected to pass had been reduced to ruin, with the same signs of destruction here as the other towns. Arlyan examined the blades left to imply elves were responsible, but Arlyan quickly saw through the illusion.
“These blades are indeed elven blades. However, this was a style we used long ago, when we used to still speak with the dwarves. Our own weapons are styled more like these,” he said, drawing his own knife for comparison. Galor nodded, tucking a few of the ancient elven blades into his pack, and they continued on.
They reached the city just as dusk was closing its grasp on the land, tired and spent, and went searching for the closest inn. They found it, smiling at the name, “The Dusty Pig.”
They went in, ordered a meal and a room, and places for their horses, and sat in a dark corner, listening and observing the general bustle of the inn.
Arlyan’s ears picked up a conversation between a new entry and the innkeeper. The young man speaking seemed to hold the leaflets in his hand in great esteem, and the innkeeper finally relented to the speaker, who looked to be a city official. Nodding his thanks, the speaker passed out leaflets to each table, effectively silencing them as they scanned the information it obtained. Finally reaching their table, Arlyan read the paper, Galor’s eyes on Arlyan’s face, waiting to hear what happened.
After several moments, Arlyan said, “We won’t be needing to find the king anymore.”
Galor snatched the paper from Arlyan’s hands, reading it furiously.
King Jadden, son of Tyrlan, father of Galor, died last night in his sleep, his medical staff and spellweavers unable to find any cause. Elven treachery is suspected, and efforts are being made to locate Prince Galor, to be crowned King. Ruling in his stead now is late King Jadden’s brother, Kayn. Magistrate Kayn has sent his own guard out to help locate the Prince. If any information is known, inform a member of the Magistrate Guard.
Galor cursed. “The news must have been delivered to each city magically.”
Arlyan sat, puzzled. “You are the human’s king now, no? Now we have no need to bargain with the king, you are already on the elves side.”
Galor looked at Arlyan, worry on his face, his voice so quiet, even Arlyan’s elven ears had to strain to pick it out of the uproar the inn had turned into. “I am not the king, not until I turn twenty five and am crowned by the high spellweavers. That’s three years from now. And Kayn is not going to give up his rule, father and I have been worried for years now that Kayn was planning something, and this disturbance with the elves may have been just what he was looking for. Inexplicable death, it’s blamed on the elves, with no doubt cast on him. And I have no doubt whatsoever that if I am discovered by the Magistrate Guard, they will make short work of me. They’re Kayn’s personal guards, of course, paid handsomely, and extremely skilled with blade and magic, they travel in groups of five on missions, and have sworn loyalty under binding magic to Kayn. How my father allowed their organization to exist is a long explanation of complex law, but the end result is the same.”
Arlyan sat back, processing all this. “Then what can we do?”
Galor laughed out loud, surprising Arlyan, such an action was hardly appropriate in light of the new information.
Galor looked at Arlyan, his eyes seeming tired, no longer certain of the thoughts brewing behind them.
Eventually, Galor looked away, and muttered, “I have no idea.”
The inn wasn’t crowded, and Galor was carrying a substantial sum of money, allowing the two of them the best room in the inn. The night was still young when the two decided to retire, both exhausted from their journey, and too troubled by the news to continue acting pleasant out in the common area.
The next morning the rose early, and head out. Galor’s plan was to reach the capital city, where one of his childhood friends lived, Triven. He was the son of one of the king’s advisors, and they were close friends. When Galor left to learn to lead, Triven stayed to learn diplomacy and wisdom. It had been over a year since they had last spoke, but Galor assured Arlyan he would be able to find a solution to their problem, even before Galor left, Triven’s skills were extraordinary. He was sure that he would be able to find, then put into action, a plan that would smooth this all over, hopefully restoring power to the rightful line.
Arlyan followed Galor out of the village, along for the ride, but with his thoughts on his elven brethren, and on Liriel.
They left quietly, and headed straight for the capital.
