"Jarren, can we talk?" he asked.
"Of course, Marek." Jarren looked down at the priest. "What is it?" But Marek looked around at the crowds surrounding him, not wanting other ears to hear the conversation about to begin.
"In private." he said. So Jarren led them away from the crowds and when he was pleased with their location, far enough away from the people as they filed through the pass, he stopped.
"I know what it is you carry, Jarren." The Hunter said nothing. "I fell when I was running and the sword came unwrapped. It bled though it had shed no blood. There is no mistaking what it is."
"And?" The Hunter raised a brow expecting more.
"Well," Marek took a deep breath, to steady himself under the man's stare. "Shouldn't we be taking the sword east?"
"East?"
"Well yes, Jarren. Jandrous must have the sword at the Valley of Dragons."
"No." Jarren said in a matter of fact tone as though the conversation was already decided.
"But—"
"I've been entrusted the sword, to protect it and keep it safe until we can find him. East is an army of Skraeg we just barely escaped from."
"And how are we to find him if we run all the way back to Rosenguarde?" Marek had begun to raise his voice, as did Jarren.
"East right now is suicide, Marek! How can Jandrous get the sword if we die, and the sword is taken by skraeg?"
"I don't know Jarren, but shouldn't we try to locate him?"
"How can we locate him if he knows not himself whom he is? The conversation is over Marek! Do not question me again on the subject. The sword stays with me, and I return to Rosenguarde."
"Jarren please, do you not understand the importance of finding—"
"Enough Marek!" The Hunter shouted, and turned on his heels to walk away. Marek watched him go, a feeling of defeat and hopelessness in his stomach. He decided he would let Jarren be for the remainder of the day, and perhaps bring the conversation up again after dusk, after the man had time to think on the matter himself and calm down. He turned to watch the line of refugees filing past and his eyes met those of Kendrick's, the younger priest he had recently met upon entering Ravenhold. The young man stood a moment watching and then turned and walked with the others. Marek wondered if the young priest had heard the conversation. It seemed unlikely, but they had raised their voices. "Wonderful," he thought. "I best find out before he starts talking to someone else." He hurried to catch up with the young man.
"Is it true?" Kendrick asked the very moment Marek came beside him. The younger priest had overheard after all.
"No one must know," Marek sighed.
"It's going the wrong way."
"I know that." Marek shook his head. "I will talk to him again tonight. Perhaps after he's thought on it for a while he will listen."
"And what if he does not?"
"I—" Marek had no answer. "I don't know. Tell no one else what you know. Please." The younger priest hesitated, but then nodded his head. When Marek walked ahead, Kendrick thought of the drayan, who had visited him the night before. The sword was very close, Gaulin had said.
"It was practically right under my nose the whole time we were in Ravenhold!" he exclaimed to himself. He looked upward toward the sky as though he could see the One God's face. "Really?" he asked. "Alright, now what am I supposed to do?" But he already knew the answer to his own question. He would have to take it. Jarren, it seemed, was unlikely going to turn around and Kendrick had been given the mission by a drayan acting on the One God's orders. But how was he going to take it? He hoped what he was to do was not stealing. The sword had been entrusted to Jarren, but then it did not really belong to anyone, except perhaps Jandrous himself. So was he simply recovering it to return to its rightful owner? "Well, it seems my travels just keep getting more and more interesting. What else are you going to throw at me?" He felt the last question was answered as the temperatures warmed during the day and dark clouds brought the promise of rain. It was cold still, but a welcome relief from the frigid temperatures they had endured recently. Kendrick knew the Long Winter continued however, as did the other priests, who assured the crowds that this was simply a lull in the weather. With a flash of lightning and a crash of thunder, the skies opened up, and Kendrick once again found himself, along with the thousands of others, slogging through mud instead of snow, and drenched from the cold rains. The relief turned to more misery, as Kendrick had just about had it with getting rained on, and caught in blizzards, and attacked by bandits, and all that had happened leading up to his current flight from Ravenhold after the Skraeg attack.
When night fell, a halt was called and the people made camp in small groups, finding what little shelter they could from the rain under wagons or simply trying to cover thier heads with cloaks or blankets. Kendrick was walked among them trying to locate Jarren and the sword when he heard Donnagan call to him.
"Kendrick come here," he said. "You must see this." The young priest turned at the familiar voice and found the old man along with High Priest Greandor. Jarren, Tia, Kieran, and all the others he had recently met were all there, huddled together as Callum, the High Priest of Ravenhold knelt before a small stack of wood.
"Call upon your faith in my name for fire, and you will be given fire, the Teachings tell us," Callum said as Kendrick drew near. "It says just before this that our faith will become a great weapon. I take this to be literal, and aside from being a weapon, fire can be a great tool as well." The middle aged priest bowed his head for a moment and placed his hands together palm up as though he were holding something within them, and suddenly a glow began, small at first, but growing until it was about the size of a chicken's egg. It was fire! But it appeared almost solid, and looked almost like a glass globe with flames dancing within. Slowly he put his hands down and dropped the egg shaped flame onto the wood where it burst into a very pleasing fire.
"What sorcery is this?" Broan exclaimed, the big man taking several steps back, eyes wide.
"For such a big man, you certainly frighten easily." Callum chuckled. "It's not sorcery at all," he said as he looked at those around him. Some of them stepped back as wide eyed as Broan. The others looked on suspiciously or in amazement. "I simply asked the One God to grant me fire and he did. Any one with enough faith can do the same."
"Quickly," Greandor said. "Gather all the priests together. They must all see this for themselves and attempt it as well."
"Might I try?" Kendrick asked.
"By all means do!" Callum answered him with a smile. He stomped the fire out and stood back so Kendrick could kneel in front of the wood. Kendrick dropped to his knees and bowed his head.
"Ask for fire in my name, and you shall be given fire," the young priest quoted the Teachings. "One God," he asked silently. "Grant me fire to warm my friends." He held out his hands and felt a warmth above them. And there, the glowing egg shape appeared, flames dancing within, and he placed it before him into the wood. And he laughed with joy as the flames engulfed the wood, lighting the darkness and warming away the chill. "This is wonderful!" He shouted. "Of course it would have helped if I'd tried it sooner, when I nearly died in a blizzard, or the countless times it seems I've been caught in bad weather!"
"Well now you have the weapon you need to battle away the darkness and the cold next time you find yourself in a bad situation," Donnagan laughed and placed a hand upon his shoulder.
"Yes, I suppose you're right Donnagan." Kendrick smiled at his old high priest. All then turned at a grunt from Jarren and he pointed. All eyes found Marek, standing far enough away so as not to harm anyone, he practiced sword techniques he had learned from The Hunter. He spun his sword through the air in front, to his side, and behind him. And as it spun it burned, flames engulfing the whole of the blade, tongues of fire jumping away to dance in the air for a moment before fading away. Many in the crowds watched as he spun the blade, thrust, and blocked against an imaginary foe. People began to whisper amongst each other of this man with the flaming sword.
"I hear his name is Marek," said one.
"A warrior priest," said another.
"Trained by Jarren The Hunter himself!" Exclaimed another.
"Marek. Marek Flame Wielder." Yet another said. And this was repeated by others as more and more watched and heard.
"Marek Flame Wielder," was repeated again and again.
"And so is born another legend," Tia said softly.
"Another who will prefer not to be known as one," said Jarren. "Like me, I'm certain he will see the status to be thrust upon him as more of a curse than a blessing."
"Is it so badly a curse?" Kieran looked up at the tall man.
"Even more so than mine," Jarren answered. "He is a priest, and will explain that the power comes from the One God, not himself. He will explain that it was Jarren that taught him to fight, that it was no skill came about on his own. Many will still tell tales, many that are simply from their own imaginations. Enemies will begin to hear these tales, and will want to challenge him personally. And he still has much to learn about combat. He has the curse of becoming a legend while he is still green. I do not envy him."
"Nor do I," Drogan agreed, and Faldrek nearby nodded his head as well. And Marek spun and moved, and fought against his imaginary foe with a sword of fire, tracers of light following the path of the burning blade as shadow enemies jumped and dodged and fled the sharp edge of light.
The rain had ceased and a heavy fog filled the pass as most camped within slept. Other than soldiers standing guard, very few stirred, most of the refugees of Ravenhold exhausted from their ordeal. The rain had ceased, and campfires, many the work of priests, kept most people warm. Kendrick watched the rise and fall of Jarren's chest as he slept. He and the others were sound asleep, even the big Forever Lands wolf slept. Slowly, the young priest moved aside his blanket and crept silently until he knelt before Jarren. Next to the tall warrior was the wrapped sword. Taking a deep breath to steady his shaking hand, he reached to touch it, only to stop frozen at the low growl that rose in Runner's throat.
"Shhhhh friend," he whispered pleadingly to the great wolf. "Please understand what I do is for the best. Please understand." He slowly reached again, watching Runner warily who whined but otherwise remained silent. A moment later he had the sword in his hand and slowly stood. He turned toward the wolf once more as he walked away.
"Thank you," he whispered once more before silently sneaking away. Runner watched as the young priest melted into the heavy fog and disappeared. But not only the wolf watched him go. Marek also watched as Kendrick walked away, and after a moment he followed, as again the wolf whined but otherwise remained silent while looking at Jarren and back again in the direction of the two priests as they left.
Kendrick found sneaking past the posted guard surprisingly easy in the heavy fog, and was soon climbing up a shallow embankment out of the pass and into the Griffinwood. In the darkness of the overcast night, footing was treacherous so he slowly made his way deeper into the trees, careful of every step, until he decided he was far enough away from possible detection to risk light. As he had done earlier, he asked for fire, and held the flame in one hand above his head like a torch.
"I hope you know what you're doing." The sudden voice behind him caused Kendrick's heart to jump in his throat and he nearly cried out. Turning around quickly in his fright, he came face to face with Marek.
"I haven't the slightest idea what I'm doing to be honest." Kendrick was afraid he was caught, and his mission over before it even began. "I suppose you're here to take the sword and myself back?" His heart sank.
"Actually," Marek smiled. "I'm here to tell you you're a fool for not taking any supplies with you." He showed Kendrick a pack he carried. "And I'm coming with you." He walked into the shadows behind him and emerged a moment later leading two horses. One was the familiar grey that Donnagan had lent Kendrick at the beginning of his journey. "You wouldn't have gotten far on foot. Jarren will be after us as soon as he discovers what what we've done. And if we're leaving we need to get as far away from here as possible before he wakes."
"How did you get the horses past the guards?" Kendrick asked.
"Well, it was a bit tricky, but this fog helped. I thought I was caught a few times to be honest. Now, let's go." Marek mounted and waited for Kendrick to do the same. "Well, you're the one with the light right now," he said. "Lead on."
"Thank you, brother." Kendrick mounted his horse and began riding east, with Marek following close behind.
"We should ride south, I think, for the night Kendrick, before heading east," Marek cautioned. "We don't want to risk finding any skraeg. I'm sure they'll be about as we get closer to Ravenhold." Kendrick agreed and began leading in a more southerly direction.
"Do you think Jarren will be angry?" Kendrick asked.
"Do you really need to ask that question?" Marek answered.
"Good point."
"Forgive me Jarren," Marek said quietly. "I feel I have no choice."
Jarren wondered if he was dreaming. Something just seemed 'unreal' to him. He walked alone through the thick undergrowth of a forest, a full moon above caused the thick fog to glow a ghostly silver, the shadows of the trees around him seemed to dance a strange hypnotic waltz, beckoning him to join them in the darkness. He was looking for— something. What was it? What was he missing? He ran his hands over his body, patting himself down. He had his armor, his cloak. There was his knife at his waist, and his bow across his back. His quiver of arrows was there, as well as his sword and sword belt. He had his boots, his gloves— nothing seemed to be missing. He shook his head trying to clear it, trying to remember what else he might have had before but was no longer in his possession. He continued walking, searching the shadows for the missing something, sure that if he rested eyes on it he'd then remember what it was. He stopped suddenly.
"Thought I heard something," he said to himself. He listened but there was no sound. "Just my imagination— wait a moment. What am I thinking? I always trust my instincts. Why am I not now? I must have heard something." But after stopping and listening for some time, he heard nothing more. He shrugged his shoulders and continued walking. He looked above for a moment, to the stars, to find the Eye of the Sailor so he'd know his direction but the fog was just too thick. Not even a sparkle of one solitary star caught his eye. But there were other ways to to travel a forest in the dark with no starlight and know his direction and he used them all. There was no direction— it seemed, strangely enough. And the moon was directly above his head. "Where am I? I must be dreaming. Yet everything seems so real." He shook his head. "Alright now where did it go?" Where did what go? "What in blazes was I looking for?" A shadow, silent and large, caught his eye as he glanced over his right shoulder. "Runner?" he asked the darkness. Where was Runner? "That's strange— I must have sent him off. That is probably him over there. Runner, come here," he said. But the shadow came no closer. It was as though it simply kept pace with Jarren as he walked. A torch appeared near the shadow— two torches— but an eerie green were the flames. He stopped, slowly drawing his bow as he knelt in the shadows of the trees. Something was wrong. He could feel it. "Runner!"he whispered urgently. The shadow stopped, the torches stopped. Jarren's breathing stopped as he drew his bow full, the arrow fletchings near his right ear. The shadow and flames burst out of the trees right at him, and he instinctively let the arrow fly. The beast did not slow and bore down on him. Before he could move he was knocked hard to ground and rolled over to his stomach. He felt a massive paw on his back holding him down and could not move. The beast was too heavy. He felt flames on his back as the creature sniffed at him, and just as he was certain he would be torn to shreds the beast raised its canine muzzle as another scent caught in its smoking nostrils. It let out a great howl and burst away into the trees once more. Jarren rose unsteadily to his feet, and slowly turned around. There, another beast stood before him and pounced—
Jarren woke with a shout, sitting straight up and jumping to his feet, franticly reaching for his sword, and felt a soft touch on his shoulder.
"Steady, Jarren." He recognized the voice and calmed. "What was it this time?"
"It was different from the other dreams, Tia." He said as he slowly sat down. "The others were memories. This was something new."
"What did you see?"
"Walven," he whispered. He then told her about the dream, and how he had first mistaken the first walven for Runner. "I called out to him, but was greeted by a beast instead." He glanced to where the big wolf had been sleeping. "Where is Runner?"
"I don't know, Jarren. He never leaves your side." She eyed their surroundings, and then back at those sleeping. "Marek is gone as well— as is the young priest Kendrick."
"Runner!" Jarren stood and called. He felt his heart in his throat. "Runner!" he called again but the wolf did not come running. Quickly he moved to his bedroll, throwing it aside, and flinging the other's belongings aside as well as they were waking up from his shouts.
"Jarren, what is it?" Tia asked. "Jarren," she said again when he walked away for a moment not answering.
"They took it." He looked east. "They took it and Runner followed."
"Took what?" Tia asked, concerned.
"The sword." He shook his head.
"Your sword is right by where you slept, Jarren." Tia looked puzzled.
"The other sword, Tia. The one I couldn't talk about. That's what they took."
"They must be around here somewhere," Tia said looking around once more. "Come, Jarren. Let's go and find them."
"No, they're gone. They've gone east." Jarren rose again and gritted his teeth as he paced back and forth, clearly agitated. "I have to go after them. And Runner! I can't believe he went with them!"
"Runner has never left your side Jarren," Tia said as she put a hand on The Hunter's shoulder. "If he left with them, where ever they may have gone, he must have felt he had reason. What was it they took, Jarren. What is this burden you have been carrying but not willing to talk about?" He looked at her fiercely, as though ready to rage. The anger was clearly evident in his eyes and his jaw as he clenched his teeth. His body was so taught as though it could explode in an instant. And then he calmed, took a deep breath as he forced himself to relax, and bowed his head as though defeated, sinking then to his knees.
"I'm sorry, Erehk." Jarren whispered. "The sword," he continued louder. "The very sword that slew him."
"The sword that slew whom?" Tia asked, suddenly suspicious.
"Jandrous." Jarren whispered. All those within their camp let out a gasp. Drogan was there with Faldrek. There was Broan and his men along with Durinald, and Kieran. Drogan, Faldrek, and Annyaa sat close together. Donnagan stood shaking his head, as the e'eld prince Arden stood nearby as well. All of them were in a state of shock. Not one uttered a sound. It was Donnagan who finally broke the silence.
"Kendrick is out there somewhere with the Sword of Jandrous?" He sat down, and put his face in his hands in disbelief. "Are you certain?"
"I'm certain, priest," Jarren answered. "And I intend to go after them. Now."
"But how did this happen?" Faldrek asked. "How did you come into possession of such a thing?"
"How I came by it, is of no matter right now," Jarren answered. "What matters is that two foolish priests— and the wolf, have taken it upon themselves, despite my being charged to protect it, to sneak out like thieves in the middle of the night to take it east toward the Valley of Dragons! Marek and I argued about it after he discovered it. He believed we should be heading east and trying to find Jandrous, while I intended to keep it safe for the time being while taking it back to Rosenguarde. It appears he found an ally in the young priest Kendrick."
"What do you intend to do?" Drogan then asked.
"I intend to intercept them before the two fools get themselves killed and the sword into enemy hands."
"They're heading right back toward the enemy we fled," Drogan said. "You'll need a few more swords with you." Annyaa gripped his arm tightly.
"I would welcome the help, Drogan."
"They would have had to go into the Griffinwood," Arden explained. "That is my homeland, and I know it well. Also, in the event we may find Drogan's quarry, I have already made it my mission to help him. Where he goes, I go as well."
"I'm going as well," Kieran stated.
"You're no soldier, Kieran." Broan protested.
"They may need a good healer, and I'm a good healer, Broan." She put her hands on her hips as she stared up at the big bearded man. "Besides, you know full well, I've seen my fair share of danger in all the time I've spent traveling the rivers with you on your merchant boat. And someone's going to have to patch up that fool head of Kendrick's when he gets it cracked again! If they'll have me, I'm going." Jarren looked at Tia who nodded her head.
"You may come, healer," Jarren said. "I'd like to have you along as well, Broan, along with your men. But I'm afraid we'd be better off with the few than with more."
"Just keep her safe." Broan said.
"I cannot promise that, but I will do my best."
"I believe you'll do all you can," Broan nodded before placing a comforting hand on Kieran's shoulder. "Be careful. I'm going to need you on my boat when I get a new one."
"I will, Broan," she promised.
"Will you keep Annyaa safe for me, Broan?" Drogan then asked. "I know we've only recently met, and though I don't know you well, I feel I should trust you. I intend to get her home safely to her father— but I'm afraid Misting Hill is now gone. Never the less, I still mean to return her to him. I'd like you to keep her safe and help her if I don't make it back." There was something else in Drogan's eyes other than a sense of duty. And Broan, knew it when he saw it. The big man nodded.
"You have my word on it," he said.
"No, Drogan." Annya gripped his arm as though if she were to let go, he'd fall away from her forever. Her beautiful green eyes were pleading, and longing and he had to look away for a moment. He felt as though his heart would sink. He did not want to leave her any more than she wanted him to go. "I'm afraid I won't see you again, and I was afraid I'd never see anyone again while I was being held captive!"
"I'm sorry," he said as he turned to look at her again. "I feel I should help them. And Andorin's still out there, as well— somewhere." I intend to bring him to justice as well. And if there is the slightest chance I can find him, I will bring him to stand for his crimes."
"He is probably long gone, Drogan!" She raised her voice. "What are the odds that you will find him? And does it even matter anymore?"
"Of course is matters, Annyaa." He gripped her shoulders. "He killed for no other reason than to kill. That alone, and what he did in Misting Hill, and to you, must be paid for."
"You're not a soldier anymore, Drogan! You need not do this anymore! You wanted to leave that life behind you!" The tears began to fall freely from her eyes, and Drogan touched her face to wipe them away. He touched her chin, to raise her eyes to his. Those eyes made his heart jump whenever he beheld them now, and he himself had to fight back the tears. His voice choked as he spoke to her.
"I'm afraid we all must be something we would rather not right now, Annyaa. I have been a soldier, and I am a soldier now. We are in a time when swords are needed. I must be a sword now."
"But that doesn't mean you have to go charging right into the heart of the enemy!"
"I am certain we will do all we can to avoid the enemy," Drogan assured her.
"You may be all I'll ever have left from home— " she buried her face in his chest. He looked down at her brown hair, and wanted so desperately to tell her he had fallen in love with her. But what his heart felt, he could not make his heart speak.
"I'll come back to you," he made her look at him again. "No matter what happens, stay alive. I'll come back for you, I— I promise." But was it wise to promise such a thing, he wondered. He would have to do everything in his power to keep his word. He wrapped his arms around her and embraced her tightly. He wished he could hold onto her like that forever as she melted into him. He finally forced himself to step back, and along with the others, began gathering all he would take with him.
As the newly formed company walked away to gather their mounts before leaving, Drogan stopped and turned for one more glance toward Annyaa and waved. She wiped the tears from her face, wanting to appear strong for him, and smiled and waved back. When Drogan turned awary once more, she felt a big hand on her shoulder. When she turned she saw Broan. The big man smiled down at her, and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.
"I saw Drogan fighting during the skraeg attack," he said. "He can take care of himself quite well. And he has others with him who are more than capable of protecting each other."
"Why must he go?" she asked. "Oh what does it matter? He likely thinks of me as a foolish girl, crying all the time." This brought a chuckle from the big man. "Why is that funny?"
"He loves you."
"Oh he couldn't possibly. I think I'm a fool for falling in love with him!"
"I've seen it enough times in my life to recognize it," he countered. "He loves you, deeply."
"He speaks the truth," Donnagan said. "I'm an old man, and I know it when I see it as well. He feels as deeply for you as you do of him."
"I must tell him to come back then!" She almost shouted. "Oh what can I do? His mind is made up!"
"You can pray for him," the old priest said. "And you should. In fact we should pray for all of them, and for Kendrick and Marek as well." Annyaa watched as they walked away, and then suddenly turned.
"Someone give me a knife!" she said. "Quickly now!"
"What is it you intend?" Broan asked.
"Something for him to remember me by!" she exclaimed. "Please— quickly now!" The big man took a knife from his belt and handed it to her. She grabbed a handful of hair, and took the knife to it. After cutting it, she asked Donnagan to hold one end, and she quickly braided it, then tore two thin strips off her dress to bind both ends. And then she ran. She ran as hard as she had ever run in her life, hoping to catch Drogan before they rode away. She shouted his name just as he mounted his horse, and when he saw her running he asked the others to wait just a moment more. When Annyaa reached him she grabbed his hand and placed the braid into it, closing his fingers into a fist.
"Don't you dare lose that now," she said. "I don't go cutting my hair like that for just anyone."
"I won't lose it," Drogan said. "And, thank you." He reached down and placed his hand on her head and lifted her hair, easily noticing where she had cut it with seemingly no regard of what it would do to her appearance. "I will cherish this, Annyaa." He knew not what else to say, and mercifully, Annyaa turned and walked away. When the others rode off, he waited a moment, looking at the soft braid of brown hair, and then tore a strip of leather from a pack on his saddle and tied it to one end of the braid to make a cord to wear around his neck. After placing it over his head, he turned the big black charger and spurred it to catch the others.
********************************************************
Of the three hundred that made up the E'eldradin Border Guard, not many over two hundred were left. When they attacked the advancing taurians, they came out of the trees like ghosts, riding silently out of the shadows and along the enemy flanks. After dealing death with arrow and spear, they would disappear back into the trees as silently as they appeared, causing confusion and anger amongst the Taurian ranks. But as quick as the attacks were dealt, the Border Guard were not without their own losses. This kind of fighting and fleeing went on for days, and Lian'asuran was desperate for reinforcements while slowing down their foe. He knew they were coming, but within a day the fighting would take them through the first villages. He knew the villages would be evacuated long before they arrived, but the enemy would still destroy everything within them, torching and looting homes, and destroying anything they could get their hands on. His job, not only as commander of the Border Guard, but as their prince, was to keep his people safe. And he would fight to the last if it were required of him. He knelt at a stream and cupped water in his hands to drink before splashing it on his face. He was exhausted, and the cold water helped revive him.
"What do they do?" Lian asked when one of his captains came to stand behind him.
"They've halted for the night, I believe, my prince."
"I've told you a thousand times, you need only call me commander when we are away from home"
"I do so out of respect. my prince."
"And how does their morale fare?" Lian splashed his face once more.
"There have been a few fights breaking out amongst themselves. But these are mostly dealt with quite quickly."
"We have them on edge though," the prince said as he stood to face his captain. "Let them rest a few hours. Then we'll attack them again, just when they think it's safe to relax."
"You're exhausted, Prince Lian," the captain stated. "Perhaps you should sit this one out?"
"We all are, captain. I will not rest, when the whole of my men are as tired as I. We are the E'eldradin Border Guard. Where one fights, we all fight." The captain nodded and Lian continued. "Let me know when the time comes to ride again."
"Yes, my prince." The captain turned and walked away.
After the captain was gone, Lian knelt by the stream once more and dunked his head under the water before standing and slowly walking back to where his men camped. He forced himself to stand straight when he came within site of them. He had to appear strong and unwavering for them, even if they knew he was tired. He must not show it. If he appeared strong, they would be strong.
"Hail Prince," and "Hail commander," he was greeted by many as he walked up to them. He would eat his meal with them, as he always did. And when they were able to rest, he would rest with them. He always did, and his soldiers loved him for it. He smiled and nodded as he sat down to a meal of dried meats and bread. No fire was allowed as they wanted to keep their location secret from the enemy.
"Are we resting the night, Prince?" One of his soldiers asked.
"No, I'm afraid not," Lian answered. "The captains will be calling you all to be ready after a while. We'll attack them again while they rest."
"Do you think we're slowing them down at all?"
"It's hard to say, really," the elven prince answered. "But to our north is the E'ldfellen. If we can hold them there until the regular army arrives, I believe we may be able to turn them around. There are also dwarven strongholds in the mountains to our east. I've sent riders there to seek help as well. The dwarves are our closest friends and allies. If they knew what was happening they would have been here already."
"How long before they might show?" Another soldier asked, while chewing a hunk of bread.
"If the riders make haste, and the dwarves assemble quickly, we may very well meet them at the E'ldfellen." He looked around at those around him. "You have all fought valiantly. Our people will be proud."
"How many have we lost?" Yet another asked.
"Far too many— I will not lie to you. Nearly a hundred of us are riding roa'an in the heavens now. I think we've all lost friends, but we must continue to hit them. This will be the last time we ride out of the trees at them. After this night we will only randomly attack from the shadows with our arrows to further keep them off balance. Now finish your meals and rest while you can. I intend to see every one of you when we make camp again."
Not long after, they rode once more out of the darkness of the Forever Lands and against the Taurian outer ranks. Some rode into the enemy letting their arrows fly, while others drew steel; blood and flames from the campfires glittering off the reflective blades as they found their targets. Others came at the taurians with spears. Shouts of surprise and anger were mixed with screams of the wounded and dying as once again the Border Guard caused havoc in the enemy camp. When they withdrew, the taurians foolish enough to chase after the disappearing e'eld were cut down in the darkness. The taurian commanders were screaming angrily at their warriors, ordering those that chased the elves into the trees to return and those who remained to stay put. While listening to the cries of alarm, the desperate orders of the enemy commanders, the bellows of anger, and the cries of the dying and wounded enemy, Lian'asuran could not help but allow a small smile to come to his mouth. He gave the order to fall back once more, and as quickly as they appeared the Border Guard melted away like a dissipating fog, as did his smile. He knew some of those he had conversed with earlier would not be there when camp was made once more.
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Slowly, and carefully in the darkness, he made his way down the wet and muddy incline into the pass below him and looked at the devastation the avalanche had caused earlier. "This must be what I heard earlier," he thought to himself. To the east of the debris, he could see the tall wooden posts that made the wall of a large stronghold. He was appalled when he drew near the debris from the avalanche and noticed among the rubble people who had been half buried when it fell. Looking around he also found items that had been dropped along the ground, as it appeared a great amount of people had recently traveled west through the pass. He found a thick grey cloak, and quickly threw it around himself to ward off the chill, thankful that he had finally found warmer clothing. And from a half buried body he was able to recover a good pair of boots. He felt like breaking down into tears as he saw the dead, the sadness of such a thing. He was searching the trampled grounds for other items that may be of use when he heard a shout behind him. Startled, he turned quickly and saw three hulking, grey skinned, manlike creatures bearing down on him. They each carried a large spear and their powerful legs carried them quickly near. When one of them threw a spear, he narrowly avoided it and ran, scrambling back up the embankment of the pass to the woods above. He could hear their heavy footfalls and even their breathing as they ran. He did not have to turn to know they were very close. Reaching the top of the pass he thought he felt large fingers brush his leg as one of the creatures tried to grab him. Once in the tree line he ran as hard and fast as he could, the growth of the forest slapping against his face and body, tangling at his legs and feet and arms as though the trees were trying to seize him. He imagined his pursuers were having more difficulty than himself, as large as they were, and used that to his advantage. He moved in and out of trees and cut to his left and his right, leaping and twisting as he ran. He tried anything that may slow them down. His efforts were proven effective, as the sounds of the three chasing him, their running and cursing, grew more distant. But even when he could hear them no longer, he still ran. He knew in his heart he had to put as much distance between himself and them as he could. He found himself running east through the trees and imagined the stronghold was somewhere to his left in the pass below. He wanted to get as far away from there as he could, and continued to run. When he was too fatigued to run any longer, he walked. "Those were skraeg," he thought to himself, unsure how he knew. But although it was a comfort to know he remembered something, that they tried to kill him was the opposite. "Where do I go from here? Should I continue the direction I'm walking? Or should I try and turn around, perhaps find the people who fled that place?" He lifted his eyes skyward. "Where would you have me go, father?" He decided to keep heading east. Where he was going, he had not the slightest idea, but he felt it was the right direction.
©Anthony David Rosenthal/To The Valley Of Dragons 2010
