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Chapter Eight
It was the best that Aya had slept in what felt like a long time. When she slowly drifted into consciousness in the warm bedroll, the blankets wrapped round her, she felt for a moment like she was home in the village, safe in her hammock. As she opened her eyes and saw the gravel pathway and the dead ashes from last night’s fire, however, dull pain seemed to punch her hard in the gut, and she rose from the sheets feeling tearful.
Villid finished packing bags of food and scrolls, and several tunics onto the stallion’s back. The horse had already risen, and was sniffing around some nearby berries. Villid was tightening one of the leather straps on the saddle when he heard a sniffle behind him. Aya sat on the bedroll, holding her sore feet, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Villid’s heart felt heavy as he knelt beside the crying Elf girl. She turned from him and fiddled with her sandal, which was lying on the path beside them.
“Aya,” said Villid gently.
It was then that the stallion gave a terrified whinny, and backed towards the carriage. Villid whipped round. Several black shapes were racing towards them on the path, their paws pounding the gravel, and long, wet tongues hanging from their jaws. They were the same creatures they had seen before in the forest – night prowlers, with bloodshot eyes and sharp, jagged teeth. They hurtled
towards them at top speed; Villid pulled his sword and axe from his back and stood instinctively in position, ready to strike.
The creatures gave shrill, piercing cries and leapt at Villid; he swung his axe and beheaded one neatly. Its ugly, hairy head rolled away onto the grass and the same shimmering gold blood spurted from its neck. The other night prowlers howled menacingly and jumped to attack him; Villid sliced his axe through the air, hitting one but missing the other two, which jumped onto him, scratching and biting every bit of flesh they could find.
Villid yelled in pain and swiped at them. Then a carved wooden arrow shot inches past his face and pierced one of the night prowlers in the eye; it gave a weak howl and slid off him onto the path. Villid grabbed the second creature by its head, slammed it hard onto the ground and crushed its skull against the earth.
Aya had jumped to her feet and was clutching her bow and arrows. The gold blood spilled onto the ground around them and they edged away cautiously.
“Are you all right?” asked Aya, glancing at Villid’s arm, which was scratched and bloody. Accompanying cuts from the night prowlers’ long claws raked his neck and shoulder. Villid nodded in response.
“We should leave,” said Villid, checking around them for any more signs of the creatures. He felt tense, as if the trees were watching their every move, or monsters would
swoop down at them at any moment.
They quickly dressed into tunics and long cloaks from the carriage. Aya felt relieved when she was covered in the thick material; a hood that would hide her
Elvish ears, and a long cloak that covered her arms and legs. She had peeled off her blood-stained, mud-covered dancer’s dress and hidden it in the grass, which had made her feel desperately sad.
“Humans seem to tread in this land often,” said Villid thoughtfully. If he was right, they had travelled to the western borders of the forest, which was much farther south than he and his Tyran brethren had entered. How long ago that seemed now.
“Perhaps we could pose as human merchants,” he added. He had pulled on the biggest tunic he could find, which had fit him nicely, although his cloak hung several inches above the ground.
Aya half-smiled at him, and then her eyes suddenly widened.
“There’s more of them!”
She pointed; along the path raced more of the beasts, snarling and barking, saliva dripping from their yellowed teeth.
“Let’s go!” Villid roared, and hoisted Aya onto the stallion. He pulled himself onto it in front of her and dug his heels into the horse’s sides; it gave a loud whinny and raced forward, the bags full of food and gold and paper bumping
against its back.
Aya turned; the night prowlers were so fast, the stallion could barely outrun them. She shifted herself round, swinging her leg over the horse, and turned round on it so she was facing backwards. She stretched her bow out, slid an arrow in and aimed carefully. The arrow whistled through the air and shot into the prowler’s outstretched mouth; it crumpled to the ground with a choked howl. Another prowler was catching up to them, panting hoarsely, its open mouth full of sharp, hungry fangs. Aya aimed with a second arrow, and shot. It hit the prowler in the back and it gave a cry and slowed down; the horse galloped away and they lost sight of the creature.
The pathway dipped suddenly and Aya nearly fell off the horse’s back; Villid threw out a hand and caught the back of her cloak. Aya shifted herself round again and held tightly to Villid as the horse galloped along the forest path. It was such a bumpy road that Aya had to hold tighter to Villid’s cloak, and the wind whipped off her hood. As they sped along, the trees thinned, the path ended, and they finally came to the edge of the forest.
They had emerged from the trees on top of a hill, and the land stretched below them for miles. Wild lands, fields, several long, man-made paths stretched across the land and sometimes crossed, and greyish mountains sat on the horizon, half-hidden in mist. The sun lay behind Villid and Aya, beating warmth on the backs of their necks, and
reflecting from a huge lake several miles down the hill. Dotted here and there were tiny towns, smoke rising from the houses which, from there, looked small enough to reach out and pluck from the earth. This was the first time Aya had ever left the forest. The view of miles and miles of such bare land took her breath away.
Villid checked behind them, but there was no sign of any more of the prowlers. Around them, birds sang merrily in the trees and the sun brightened everything around them. It seemed safer than the darker forest. They sat for a moment, gazing out at the scenery below them, miles of outstretched land waiting to be explored.
Eventually, they slid off the stallion and took out some food from one of the bags on its back. Aya found a few odd berries that the horse sniffed eagerly. She fed them to him and he swallowed them in an instant, and clopped away to graze on some nearby grass.
As they ate, Aya felt an aching nostalgia as she glanced back at the trees, which swayed innocently in the light wind. Her entire life was in that wood – a life which was there no longer.
She swallowed the lump that came to her throat when she thought of her E
lven brethren; she wasn’t to be a burden by always sobbing and being useless. She found herself glancing at Villid every now and again as they ate. Her heart found no hatred for him any more – after all, he had saved her life several times, and he wasn’t the mindless
beast she had grown up to believe in. She sensed something in him under his mask of brutality – she just wasn’t sure what it was. He tore off a
piece of bread with his teeth he frowned at the mountains on the horizon, his dark eyes scanning the land for any signs of danger.
The sun had risen properly into the sky now. The wind was stronger without the shelter of the trees, and Aya and Villid wrapped their cloaks around them. On the horizon, the mountains were huge, snow-tipped and speckled with black and gold, something Aya had only ever seen in paintings. They looked breathtakingly beautiful against the forget-me-not blue sky.
The horse snorted a few times, munching on the grass. Villid wondered what they were going to do next – so far it had just been escape the Tyrans, escape the forest. He recalled what
Aya had said – that her Seer, Llyliana, was heading towards a temple. He had no idea where any
Elven temple was in these parts.
He was about to voice his opinion when Aya got to her feet and went to the grazing horse, the cloak billowing behind her in the breeze. She scrambled round in one of the bags and pulled out several scrolls.
“There was a map in here when we packed these,” she explained, as she knelt on the ground, rolling out the scrolls and placing stones on the corners.
She ran her finger over the parchment, with another finger pressed against her bottom lip as she frowned slightly in
thought. Villid watched her, musing to himself how lovely she was to look at. A few strands of her long, midnight-black hair fell onto the parchment as she examined the large map that she had rolled out onto the ground. There was something about her that he knew he liked. It no longer mattered to him that she was an
Elf, and completely different to anybody he had ever known.
Aya suddenly tapped her finger on a spot on the map. “Here, I think,” she said. There were a number of lakes strewn across the detailed map, and the one Aya pointed to was the second nearest. It surprised Villid how many roads there were – hundreds of lines intertwined around the map, most of them with names. The forest they had just came out of was on the eastern side, but the
Elven village hadn’t been marked. The road they seemed to be on now was named Shy Acres Path.
Aya was pointing to a large lake with a small picture of what looked like a tower. “The
Elves are taught that this is a place of security,” Aya explained. “We were always told that this temple is where our ancestors first worshipped the Dragons, before the wars began and we migrated into the forest.
This is where Llyliana went.”
Villid nodded. “It’s far,” he commented. “It’ll take a while to get there.”
“It will,” Aya agreed. “We should find a human town and find somewhere to stay. Llyliana and the servants will be waiting for us – if they’re safe,” she said the last part anxiously, all sorts of horrible thoughts running through her mind. She pushed them back impatiently. There was no point worrying – Llyliana wasn’t alone, she had her other servant ladies, who were fairly skilled with swords and bows, although they had never left the forest, either.
As they left the trees behind, Aya felt an immense feeling of sadness. She knew that she would probably never see this forest again. Villid helped her onto the horse and as they trotted along the path she looked back, staring at the tall, strong, proud oaks that she would miss terribly, and wondering what new dangers lay ahead.

Surprisingly, the gravel path road stayed clear. Despite the heat of the summer sun, Aya pulled the hood of her cloak back onto her head and rested against Villid’s back, somehow feeling protected by the thin cloth. Villid kept his eyes on the path, the map spread in front of him. They kept heading west, where several towns were dotted on the old map. Villid wondered just how old it was, and whether half the towns would still be there. A lot was changing during the war between Tyrans and Darkma; however, of what eastern lands Villid had seen so far, it was peaceful enough to assume that the war in the west was much further away than in reality.
As the day wore on, they came across a signpost, made bluntly out of wood and knocked together with nails. Neither Aya or Villid could read the scrawled human symbols.
“It doesn’t matter that we don’t know the name of the place,” Aya pointed out.
“As long as they lead somewhere.”
“According to the map, the place to the left is nearer,” said Villid thoughtfully, frowning down at the map in front of him. Each twist and turn the path had made, Villid had kept closely to the map, following the painted pathway as they went. It now showed that there was a village six miles ahead, where the sign pointed to the left.
In the sweltering heat, the sound of clopping hooves became less frequent, and the stallion began to pant, slowing to almost a standstill. “He’s tired,” sighed Aya sympathetically. They dismounted, and the horse gave a tired whinny.
“We’re all tired,” said Villid, as Aya stifled a yawn. “Let’s rest.”
He was much more comfortable in the knowledge that the nearest human settlement was only a bit away. All around them stretched fields, sloping up to meet the hills. Aya lay on the grass beside the path, where daisies danced in the light breeze. Villid unpacked some food for them and some more berries for the horse, and they ate in silence. Aya whipped off her hood and sighed in relief as the warm breeze tickled her hair.
She unpacked some of the scrolls they had found and examined them again as they ate. Although she couldn’t understand the small, scribbled writing, she enjoyed looking at the paintings, some of which had intricate detail, others
that looked like they’d been drawn in haste.
On one ragged piece of parchment was a painting of five human men, all well-dressed in colourful tunics and capes. They looked to be nobles or
royalty of some sort. On
the parchment attached to it were
lines and lines of scrawled writing. Aya wished she could read it.
“We should get to the town before nightfall,” Villid commented, watching the horse as it fed hungrily on the lush grass. “We’ll find somewhere to sleep with the human gold, and... wait,” he froze as they suddenly heard something over the hill. “What’s that?”
The sound of clopping hooves and muttering voices grew steadily louder. Villid looked alarmed, and jumped to his feet, but Aya stopped him.
“We look like humans,” she reminded him, pulling her hood back over her head and tugging it so that it almost covered her eyes. “We don’t need to hide,”
It was several minutes before two men on horseback trotted past them. They certainly looked like humans, peasants or millworkers, perhaps, with plain tunics, and riding on small ponies.
They looked strangely at Aya and Villid, and their ponies slowed to a halt.
“Afternoon,” said the merrier-looking man, giving a broad smile as he glanced at the grey stallion, which was still munching grass further down the path. “What a beautiful horse you have.”
Villid gave a stiff nod. The humans glanced at each other.
“It’s rare to see young travellers like yourselves on these roads,” the man commented. He cocked his head sideways, looking down at Aya from his pony. “Good afternoon, miss,”
“Good afternoon,” Aya mumbled, keeping her head down as if she were concentrating on the scrolls in front of her.
“Move along, men, if you don’t mind,” said Villid, unable to resist tightening his grip on a long dagger that hung on his belt.
The quieter human nodded and dug his heels into his pony, but the larger human continued to watch Aya.
“Hey,” he said softly. Aya held her breath, her heart thumping. She could feel his eyes on the top of her head, as if he was reading her mind. Could he possibly know?
“They’re ancient scrolls,” said the human, and Aya exhaled, relieved. The human slid off his pony and approached Aya and Villid, his small eyes scanning the few piles of parchment they had laid in front of them. The human was short, his large stomach bulging over a loose-fitting belt. His sand-coloured hair was scruffy and his beard had traces of juice in it, as if he had just finished a clumsy meal of tomatoes. His small eyes were fixed on the piece of parchment in Aya’s hand.
“Ah, yes, the water Elves,” he commented. “Never seen one, myself. I’ve heard they’re very beautiful creatures. Do you enjoy the tales of Atharron, miss?”
Aya didn’t understand him. “I...” she said nervously.
The humans went to sit with them. Villid’s hand tightened on his battle axe.
“We need no company,” he said through gritted teeth. “Least of all from nosy men.”
The humans looked at each other, and then laughed loudly. “Nonsense, good fellow,” said the bearded man, slapping Villid on his elbow, which was the highest part of Villid he could reach. “We are friendly travellers. Now, my name is Mical, and this is my brother, Hamm,” he gestured to the other human, who was shorter, bald and fat, who smiled, still sitting on his pony. They waited for Aya and Villid to respond.
“Villid,” he grunted eventually.
“Aya,” said Aya. She bent low over the scrolls, pretending to read them carefully. She felt she didn’t even want to look at the humans in case she was somehow recognised.
“‘Atharron’s tale of the Mysterious East,’” Hamm read. “He is a wonderful writer, don’t you think?”
Aya nodded, hoping she was giving the right response. She wished she could understand the runes on the scrolls.
Mical looked round at the parchment scattered around them. “You don’t need these documents,” he said, picking up a few and scanning them as though looking for something. “We can take these off your hands.” He paused as his tiny eyes scanned a page. His facial expression didn’t change. “We can pay you,” he jingled a
pocket in his jacket and there was a sound of coins.
Aya put her arm protectively over those nearest to her. “We have no interest in your gold,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “If you don’t mind, gentlemen, could you tell us the way to -” she glanced at her and Villid’s map “- this village?” she asked, and showed the humans where she meant.
The humans took the message. “Millnock? That’s north of here,” said Mical, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder. “Along this path about five or six miles, you’ll see a bridge and a windmill. You need a toll to get through,” he added, jingling his pocket again.
“Why are these scrolls so important to you?” said Villid suspiciously.
“We are collectors,” said Mical, smiling curiously. “We simply enjoy collecting the tales of Atharron, and, from what I can see, neither of you can read.”
Aya jumped and sat up straight, her cheeks burning. Mical smirked.
“There is no shame in that,” said Hamm, taking pity on Aya. “Many peasants can’t read. We only know how to because our father’s brother owns a mill and could afford schooling for Mical and I.”
“Which is why,” Mical leaned forward, “there is no point in you keeping them. What would you want with old tales?”
“Obviously there’s no getting rid of you,” Villid growled, snatching the scrolls up and thrusting them into Mical’s outstretched hands. “Take them all. Except the map,” he added, glancing at the largest piece of parchment still clutched in Aya’s fingers.
Mical looked shocked for a moment, and then grinned widely. “Much obliged, sir,” he said pleasantly, and pulled out a brown bag full of jangling coins. “May our roads meet again. Goodbye.”
The humans packed the scrolls, hoisted themselves onto the ponies, and galloped along the path. Aya watched them go, uneasiness rising inside her, although she wasn’t sure why.
“Come on,” said Villid, and they got up. He sighed loudly. “If all humans are as obnoxious as that, we won’t be staying in Millnock for long.”
He packed their food and gold, and climbed back onto the grey stallion. It seemed much fresher after their rest, and gave a soft whinny. Aya smiled and patted the horse’s silk-soft nose, before climbing behind Villid onto the large saddle.
“By the way, Villid,” Aya said quietly, as Villid spread the map in front of him again. “I’ve decided to call him Acotas,”
“What?”
“The horse,” she said fondly. “He’s our companion now, isn’t he? Without him we may not have escaped the black wolves in the forest, and he brought us here. Acotas is a good name, don’t you think?”
“It’s just a beast,” Villid mused, feeling a mixture of exasperation and fondness for the Elf girl that clung to him as the horse set off at a brisk trot.