War Of The Wildlands (6 page)

F
or two days
Yori languished in the cramped cell. He was given a few bread crusts and just
enough water to make him feel constantly thirsty. No one had spoken a word to
him since he arrived. The only sounds in the dungeon were the footsteps of the
guards, the dripping of water, and the occasional cries of a fellow prisoner.

A pale torchlight illuminated the darkness in the
hallway. Someone was approaching his cell, but his eyes were blinded by the
sudden light. The footsteps indicated that two men were coming his direction.
Fearing they would take him to his execution, Yori began to breathe heavily and
closed his eyes.

“You’re tall for an elf,” a voice commented. “For
a male, anyway.”

Yori looked up at the man standing outside his
cell. He wore fine boots and a brocade tunic. Behind him was a younger man, who
glanced nervously from side to side.

“I never would have guessed you were an elf. You
hid it well, my friend,” the first man said, moving closer to the bars and
lowering the torch slightly.

The face revealed by the light stunned Yori. His
heart missed a beat as he recognized the face of none other than Prince Aelryk.

“I believe it’s customary to stand when your
prince approaches,” he said.

Yori scrambled to his feet, still in a state of
shock. “Forgive me, Your Highness,” he said, stammering. His balance was poor
from sitting so long in one position, and he leaned a hand against the bars to
steady himself.

“You have been accused of attempted rape,” the
prince began. “Are you guilty?”

“No, my lord,” Yori replied.

“Then the girl is a liar?”

“I think she was frightened when she discovered I
am half elf, my lord.” The last thing Yori wanted to do was accuse a Na’zoran
citizen of lying.

“I believe you,” Aelryk said. “I am young, but I
am a very good judge of character.”

The prince took out the fine sword that Yori had
helped craft. Yori held his breath, expecting the sword to pierce his heart.
Perhaps this was the swift execution he had hoped for.

Instead of running him through, the prince spoke
again. “This is a very fine sword. If you are an elf, you can learn to etch
runes.”

“I am only half, my lord,” Yori began. “My father
was an elf, but my mother was human.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Aelryk replied casually. “I’m
told a drop of elven blood is all that’s required. You have a talent for
crafting metals, and it shows. I will offer you an opportunity for freedom.
Seek out your elven kin and learn the art of rune carving. Once you are
proficient, you will return to Na’zora and work for me.”

“Surely the elves would kill me as I approached,”
Yori replied, shaking his head.

“A quick death at their hands is far better than
what my father has in store for a raping half-breed,” the prince said
matter-of-factly.

Yori considered his words for only a second. He
had no doubt the prince spoke the truth, and he did not wish to find out what
King Domren’s punishment would be. “I will go,” he said. “If I live, I will
return when I’ve mastered the runes.”

“Guards!” Aelryk shouted. One of them came running
at the sound of the prince’s voice. “Release this man. He is going on a mission
for me that will most likely result in his death. I pardon him of all charges.”

The guard bowed slightly to his prince and sorted
through the keys that were tied to his belt. Finding the correct one, he
unlocked the gate to Yori’s cell and opened the door. Bowing again to Aelryk,
he disappeared once again into the darkness of the dungeon.

Aelryk turned to the young page whose face still
showed his uneasiness. Being in a dungeon, even as a free man, was not a
pleasant experience. “Get this man some clean clothing. He’s about your size,
so bring him something of your own. Nothing too fancy, just a simple shirt and
pants. He’ll also need a decent pair of boots.”

The young man bowed and ran out of the dungeon
quickly. Any task was better than standing in the oppressive dungeon. The
prince motioned for Yori to follow him, and together they ascended the stairs
leading out of the dark, cold prison.

“You’ll want to keep your hair covering those ears
as best you can until you’re safely out of the palace district. Your kind trade
at some of the market villages along our border, but few people here will
tolerate an elf.”

Yori nodded, squinting his eyes as they adjusted
to the light.

The page returned carrying a green shirt and a
brown pair of pants which he offered to Yori. Slung over the boy’s shoulder was
a pair of leather boots that had hardly been worn.

“Well done,” the prince said, clapping the boy on
the back.

Yori changed into the new clothes, wishing he had
the opportunity to bathe first. He had no desire to hang around, however, and
decided it would be best to wait until he was safely back on the road that
would lead him home.

Once he had finished dressing, the prince handed
him a small purse. “This will help you if you encounter any more trouble. Most
guards are easily bribed. They may expect double when they find out you’re an
elf.”

“Thank you, my lord,” he said, tucking it safely
away in his pocket.

“You are on your honor,” Aelryk said. “I expect
you to keep your word and return here someday. If you do not, I will assume you
have died.”

“I am grateful for your kindness, my lord,” Yori
said. “I will return one day.”

The prince nodded and looked him in the eye. Yori
felt it strange that a nobleman, especially a prince, would have such trust in
him. Most Na’zorans did not see elves as honorable or trustworthy.

The prince, however, was different. He judged a
man by his character and actions. His instincts told him that Yori was a good
man that had been falsely accused. In sparing this elf’s life, he might earn
two things. First, he might earn the respect of whichever clan the young man
encountered. Surely he would relay his story, and the other elves would judge
the prince’s actions as commendable. Secondly, if the young elf succeeded in
mastering the runes and returned, Aelryk would have earned himself a rune
carver.

Only elves have the ability to etch magical runes,
and no human, whether rich or poor, had ever managed to employ an elf for the
task. They would staunchly refuse, even to the death. This young man, however,
was a child of both worlds. He had grown up in the human world, and Aelryk
hoped that he would return to it.

A
elryk continued
ascending the steps until he reached the main floor of the palace. Making his
way to his father’s council chambers, he paused momentarily outside the door
and took a single deep breath. His father had finally set aside a precious few
minutes of his time to speak with him as he had requested.

“You’re late,” the king remarked as Aelryk opened
the door.

“Forgive me, Father,” he replied, knowing full
well he was actually early.

“What is it you want?” The king sat at the end of
a long, rectangular table in an ornately carved high-back chair. His expression
was one of boredom. Apparently he did not care much for whatever his son was
about to say.

“I’d like to discuss the situation with the
elves,” Aelryk began. “They are attacking our citizens in the outlying villages
and leaving none alive. Those people are unarmed and have no chance to-”

“We cannot station troops at every village,”
Domren broke in. “We barely have enough men as it is. If we start splitting our
forces to protect every single village, the elves will easily destroy our
army.”

“That wasn’t my idea, Father,” the prince said,
trying to hide his frustration.

“Then what?” the king asked impatiently.

“We have already destroyed the majority of elven
villages on this side of the river. There are no reports of any rebuilding, so
they are certainly in a weakened position. Perhaps they will be willing to
negotiate and rebuild their villages farther from our borders.”

Domren gave his son an annoyed look. “Those
savages will live among the trees. They don’t need those measly huts we’ve
destroyed. Why would I want to negotiate with them when I can simply wipe them
out? If we negotiate, they’ll want something in return. I’m not giving them
anything.”

“But Father-” the prince began.

“I’ve heard enough from you,” the king interrupted,
waving his hand dismissively. “I have a bit of news that concerns you. I have
agreed to an engagement between you and the eldest daughter of King Olin of
Ra’jhou. The prophet Orzi has foretold that she will be an excellent match. You
will soon be wed.”

“Father, this is hardly the time to be planning
weddings. There is a war happening, and I have other matters which are more
urgent.”

“Exactly,” the king said. “In exchange for taking
a daughter off of his hands, King Olin will be adding some of his troops to our
own. With our forces combined, we will destroy the elves entirely.”

Aelryk stood in silence. He had no idea what words
might convince his father to negotiate rather than continue the fighting. Both
sides were suffering heavy losses, and it weighed heavily on the prince’s
conscience. There was little choice for him other than to follow his father’s
command. After all, he was only a prince and not yet a king. Soon he would be
ordered to continue the raids, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Defeated, Aelryk bowed before the king. “Your Majesty,”
he said.

Outside the council chamber, Mi’tal patiently
awaited the prince. As the door opened, he smiled at him curiously, examining
the expression on his face. It did not appear that the conversation had gone
well.

“Did you speak with him about the taxes?” Mi’tal
asked, breaking the silence.

“I didn’t have a chance,” the prince began. “I
started out asking about negotiations with the elves.”

“That was bold,” Mi’tal commented. “How did he
take it?”

Aelryk stared at his friend and remained silent.

“That bad, huh?” Mi’tal said, shaking his head.
“Well, at least you tried.”

“He also informed me that I’m to be married to a
princess from Ra’jhou.”

“Congratulations, my lord,” Mi’tal replied. “I’m
sure she’s quite lovely.”

The two began to walk down the long corridor to
the palace entryway. Exiting out into the town, Aelryk said, “This just isn’t
the time for weddings or celebrations. If only the king would listen to someone
other than himself.”

“If I may be so bold, Your Highness,” Mi’tal
began, “you could send emissaries to speak with the elves without your father’s
knowledge.”

Aelryk stopped walking and asked, “How do you
mean?”

“You don’t need to send an army,” he said. “Your father
won’t take any notice of two or three missing people.”

“Secret talks,” the prince remarked. “Do you think
the elves would allow the emissaries to live long enough to talk? They have no
reason to trust us.”

“All you can do is send someone under a banner of
truce and hope for the best.”

“Are you willing to go yourself?” the prince
asked.

“If you command it of me, my lord,” Mi’tal replied
firmly.

“You are indeed brave, my friend.”

The pair continued walking down the dirt path
until they reached the armory. “Is there any chance of knowing which clan might
be most likely to talk?” Mi’tal asked.

“So far the Sycamore Clan is the only one that
still has a village. Either they will hate us slightly less than the others, or
they will have taken in all the displaced elves, which means they will truly
despise us.” The prince thought for a second. “There are probably hundreds of
elves that have taken to the trees. Na’zorans journeying through the Wildlands are
not likely to be spared.” He shook his head and added, “I don’t know what to
do.”

“We could release the elves that are being held,”
Mi’tal suggested. “That would be a sign of good faith. Perhaps one of them
would convey the message.”

“My father has been using them for slave labor at
the docks. He’s going to notice if they disappear.”

“Tell him you’ve enlisted their help in the army.
They could polish armor and sharpen swords, as far as he need know.”

“My father would be happier if they were being
used as practice dummies,” the prince commented.

Mi’tal raised an eyebrow, approving of the idea.
“He’ll think you’re following in his footsteps. Just imagine his pride.” Both
men began to laugh. “No one at the docks will question you for taking the elves
away. It may be some time before your father is made aware of it.”

“You’re right, my friend,” the prince said, laying
a hand on Mi’tal’s shoulder. His mind was made up. Without informing his
father, he would attempt to make peace with the elves on his own. Perhaps the
idea was folly, but he had to try. Otherwise, the fighting would continue until
the elves were wiped out, and there would be no one left to protect the forests
from his father’s desire to expand the kingdom. Villages and farms would
dominate the land, and the ancient forests would be no more.

F
rost filled the
forest air as autumn began to give way to winter. Most of the trees were
stripped bare, their slender branches naked and exposed before the world. Birds
became scarce, most of them preferring the warmer climates to the south. The
brave few who stayed blasted their calls to the sky, defying the winter itself.

Reylin and his archers gathered near a campfire to
discuss their next attack. Reylana had joined them, as she was still unable to
fight alongside the other women. Her shoulder had grown stiff, but the pain was
duller than before. Still unable to wield a sword, she was preparing to leave
and visit other clans in the area.

“Reylana will be heading to the Sycamore Clan
soon,” Reylin began. “They are the only clan we are aware of that still has a
living rune carver. A pretty girl should do a good job of convincing him to
help. Hopefully his clansmen will be willing to join the fight as well. They
haven’t been attacked yet, but their day is coming.”

“What of the Mountain Clan and the Mulberry Clan?”
a young, dark-haired elf asked. “Has there been any word of them?”

“None of us have traveled that far north,” Reylin
replied. “Someone will need to visit each of them and try to convince them to
fight as well. I don’t know whether they’ve been attacked or if any of them are
still alive.”

“Do you think the clans across the river would
join us?” a second archer asked. He was older and had traveled farther than any
elf of the Oak Leaf Clan. “The Na’zorans haven’t made it that far, but once they
wipe us out on this side, I’m sure they won’t let a river stop them.”

“You could certainly cross the river and find
out,” Reylin said. “You’ve been to some of their villages before. Maybe they
haven’t moved.”

“Send my father,” the elf replied. “I can still
fight. He is too old, but he remembers where the clans are located.”

Reylin nodded in agreement.

“So now you’re sending more of us away,” Reylana
commented. “Who will be left to defend our people?”

“I will,” Reylin said. “The majority of our
archers will still be here along with all of the sword maidens. We can create a
distraction while you and the others gather our army.”

Reylana nodded. She hated the idea of her clan
going into battle without her. Her arm, however, was not going to allow her to
fight efficiently. The best she could do for her people was secure the aid of
the Sycamore Clan and its rune carver. With runed weapons, they would possess
superior arms to those of the Na’zorans.

“I feel very strongly that our clan should move
away from this area,” Reylin began. “The humans will be expecting us to stay
around our ruined village, and that will only make us easier targets. I suggest
that the elderly, the children, and the nursemaids move across the river with
the clans who have yet to be attacked. They will welcome them, I’m sure, and
they will be safe there. Those of us who can still fight should move north and
stay near Na’zora’s border. We can attack the villages there, and I don’t think
they will see it coming. I have no doubt that they will increase their presence
to the settlements near here, which gives us another reason to move north.”

“I agree,” Essa said, approaching the campfire.
She was still unhappy with Reylin, but the good of her clan was her first
priority. He was ruthless, but he had a talent for planning battles. “We need
to get going soon. The rains are coming.”

A gentle thunder rolled high in the clouds as if
summoned by Essa’s words. The late fall rains would make life without huts
difficult. The trees had already dropped the majority of their leaves and would
not provide the best cover from the rain.

“Nearly all of our animal skins were destroyed in
the fires. We have nothing to stretch over the limbs for roofing,” Essa said.

“We can’t exactly tan hides while we’re traveling and
fighting,” Reylin replied. “The clansmen we’re sending away will be fine. Those
of us who are fighting won’t be staying in one place long enough to care. We’ll
just have to make do.”

For some time the clansmen talked quietly among
themselves. Finally, they decided who would be traveling to the Mountain and
Mulberry Clans. Two older clansmen had been chosen and would have to be
informed.

Reylana was regretting her injury more and more.
She disliked that her brother was moving the clan farther away, and that she
could not join in the fighting. Their clan Overseer had been killed when their
village was destroyed, and Reylin had stepped up quickly to take over command.
He had no desire to take the title, and he was too young for anyone to consider
giving it to him. However, they did need a leader during the war, and there
were few who could lead a battle better than him. Reylana sighed to herself,
wishing she was fit enough to travel alongside him.

She gathered up the nuts and dried fruit she had
prepared for her journey and placed them inside a small pouch that hung from
her belt. Placing her sword on her back was difficult without the use of her
left arm. The sling still prohibited her movement, and she knew she wouldn’t be
able to swing the sword if she needed it. With only one hand, she couldn’t hope
to do more than clumsily bash someone with it. Still, it was better than no
defense at all. It was unlikely she would encounter a problem in the forests,
but she wouldn’t leave her sword behind. Eventually her arm would heal, and she
would be able to rejoin the fighting.

Once she was ready to set out, she went looking
for Reylin. He was perched on a limb, busily crafting arrows for the fighting
ahead.

“I’m all set to leave,” she called up to him. Her
tree-climbing skills were quite awkward without the use of both arms, so she chose
to remain on the ground.

Reylin hopped down from the branch and wrapped his
arms around his sister. “Be well, Sis,” he said. “Remember how much we need the
Sycamore Clan’s help. You have a very important task ahead of you.”

“I doubt they’ll say no,” she said with certainty.

“I can’t imagine they would,” he replied. “But if
they’ve been attacked, they may not be so easy to find. I have no idea how many
of them may be left. If their rune carver is dead, it’s up to you to find
someone else.”

“I’ll do whatever I can,” she said. “I hope to see
you again soon.”

Glancing back over her shoulder at what had once
been her village, Reylana’s eyes filled with tears. This had always been her
home, and she wondered if it ever would be again. Her life was changing too
quickly, and she yearned for the carefree days of her childhood. She missed her
parents and their wisdom. Things had always seemed simpler when they were
around.

A gentle mist began to fall over the forest, and
streaks of pale lightning illuminated the sky. The thunder drummed lazily
through the clouds as if it had no desire to be noticed. Reylin climbed back
into the trees and watched as his sister moved deeper into the dense forest,
disappearing within its protective cover. In her hands rested the hope of their
clan and all their kinsmen. Their only chance to survive this war depended on
the weapons she would secure for them.