Elantion

“Where is it?” asked Zund, having arrived.

“It disappeared on the path to the pass, General,” said the soldier, pointing at the road.

Zund gritted his teeth in anger. “Is it a slave? A refugee?”

“Definitely a refugee,” he replied.

“Send some orcs to search for him.” The General briefly looked at the Peaks again, intensely enough that he might have set them on fire. Then he headed toward his steed, a horse as black and heavy as the shroud of night, mounted its saddle, and trotted away. Eyeing the horizon, he saw a thin silhouette, which was becoming clearer as it approached—it was his father’s vulture. He pulled on the reins, and the bird perched on his arm, its talons clutching his leather armband. There was a message with the King’s wax seal tied to its neck. He took the scroll, bade the bird talk flight by lifting his arm, broke the seal, unrolled the scroll, and discovered that his father had an important task for him. He took some soldiers with him and headed south.

*

Several hours later, in the elven territory of Elelreel, Kaj’s wagon trundled down the road descending from Falcon’s Pass. The tulvaren patrols he’d spotted in the distance while he was at the Whitetrunk had convinced him to head back immediately, so as not to risk being seen. He reached the bottom of the valley. At the crossroads, he decided to take the high road that separated the swamp from the Malivon River. The area’s enveloping mist moistened Kaj’s woolen clothes, much to his annoyance. They were no longer in any condition to protect him from the elements. He wore a linen shirt, a wool tunic, thick wool trousers, socks, and fur-lined leather boots, but the cold was as biting as ever. Kaj held tight to his thick, frayed-edged woolen cloak and ran a hand through his invariably disheveled dark brown hair to fix up the hairs that had fallen to his brow, all while panting and rolling his clear eyes. Kaj was a fairly tall man, well-built and muscular thanks to his many years working iron at his foster father’s forge. His stern features belied his cheerful and friendly personality.

The surrounding atmosphere seemed to muffle most sound, but as soon as he crossed the intersection following the bridge over the Malivon, he heard the whistle of an arrow whishing by his right ear. He froze. Instinctively, he flicked the reins and scanned the area, but instead of sprinting, the mule stopped in its tracks, encircled by five imposing orcs.

Kaj didn’t know what to do. Suddenly, one of their number collapsed to the ground with a grunt. Behind the fallen ogre stood a cloaked figure with a large hood, weapons in hand. The orcs attacked the figure, and Kaj jumped off the wagon brandishing his sword and dealing a few cutting blows. Then, he found himself with two daggers at the sides of his neck.

The elf withdrew her weapons. Kaj had time enough to observe her, and realized she was a nalnir. She was shorter than Kaj (albeit not by much), with an athletic physique; she wasn’t frail at all, for an elf. Her wavy reddish hair was styled in a half-up ponytail that highlighted her pointed ears, as well as a few small tresses ornamented with metal beads. She also had the classic nalnir tattoos on her forehead. Her face was delicate, her large, shiny yellow eyes (typical of forest elves) expressive and alert. Her groomed eyebrows formed part of a well-proportioned visage, though her slightly crooked nose was highlighted by a scar. Her lips were fairly full, though reddened and marred by the cold, and therefore standing in contrast against her pale complexion. Her clothes were of classic elven workmanship—her brown suede tunic was fastened by knotted leather laces, and her sleeves reached the middle of her forearms, from which part of her wool tunic poked out, covered by engraved leather armbands. Her hands were protected by wool gloves, apart from her bare distal phalanges, which were slim and slender. The bottom of the large dark grey woolen cloak (that reached around the midway point of her calves) was worn, and made warmer by a thick wolf-fur collar. Aside from the daggers, the nalnir also had a beautifully etched bow and a quiver full of arrows, in addition to a small satchel and a bag that she carried over her shoulder with various useful items inside.

“Pretty dumb, traveling alone these days,” she began. “And with a slow mule and a dilapidated cart, at that.”

“I didn’t actually encounter many obstacles…”

She arched her eyebrows haughtily as she checked whether the orcs were all fully dead. “Are you fighting with the human resistance?”

Kaj was silent a moment. “Who, me? No, no, I’ve got my hands full with the wounded arriving in Fenan…”

“That’s odd… you fight well,” she said with suspicion. “You’d make a fine recruit, in these times,” she continued, though without all that much conviction in her voice. “What have you got in that wagon?”

“Healing roots,” said Kaj.

The elf looked at him, then headed for the wagon and opened one of the bags. “Anruith!?” she exclaimed in Elvish.

“Yep, healing roots.”

The elf rolled her eyes. “These roots are also found in the environs of Herle. Leaving Elelreel and going past the Peaks for them is madness!”

Kaj looked chagrined. “I knew what I was going towards…”

“Then you’re twice as dumb,” she said tersely. “In any case, the name’s Clarice.”

“Kaj.” He extended a hand. “Wait, are you Clarice, the Vagabond?”

“Yes,” she replied dryly.

Suddenly, he heard a noise of unknown origin. “Did you hear that?”

Clarice was freeing the mule from the yaw. “Yes. Goblins. They must’ve heard us fight against the orcs. There’s nothing they’d want here; they won’t attack…” she said pensively. “Those orcs were definitely sent by tulvars.”

“I’d hoped they wouldn’t see me. Boy am I glad I got away quickly!” he cried, peering around. “We’d better clear out of here…”

He made for the wagon, but Clarice smacked the mule, who promptly ran away.

“But why?” he asked, surprised.

“I’ve got no intention of letting all of Draelia know where we’re headed!” she shouted, throwing him an empty sack. “Take your roots.”

Kaj shook his head and started filling it. “You headed towards Fenan?”

“No, but Fenan happens to be on the way. I’ll accompany you there, and then proceed from there.”

They walked down the road that cut through the plains so as to take cover in the forest. They had been walking at a brisk pace for two hours, but the forest was still a ways away. The sunset came quickly, and by the time they started weaving through the trees, it was almost dark. Soon, they stumbled upon a clearing sufficiently shielded by bushes and rocks.

“We’ll set up camp here. Light the fire; I’ll be right back,” said Clarice.

“Where are you going?” Kaj felt his pockets in search of the fire striker. “Dammit, where’d I put the stupid thing!?”

When he looked up, she had already melted into the darkness.

He stretched out his arms in resignation. “I don’t have my fire striker on me…!” he shouted, hoping she’d overhear.

The moonlight helped Kaj gather some wood and dry moss. He made a hole in the ground and carefully laid them in layers as he waited for Clarice. Suddenly, he heard a noise, and he saw her emerge from the undergrowth with her game in hand.

“A hare?”

“If I’m not mistaken, you had a fire to light,” she said, panting. She didn’t answer his question.

“You didn’t give me the time to…” he started, but the elf threw the hare at him before he could finish.

Clarice bent down, pulled a piece of flint from her pocket, and struck it against her dagger with a decisive motion. The dry moss began to crackle, turning into a nice fire. Kaj roasted the hare on the fire; the scent that emanated was mouth-watering. She was sitting on a small rock nearby, engrossed in cleaning her swords.

“I couldn’t help noticing the green streaks that appeared on your skin,” he said.

“I’m a nalnir,” she said tersely.

“Right, but you don’t see that often in Fenan elves… it’s weird.”

“Living in a village far from the forest, that’s normal. It’s even more evident within the Shadetrail,” she replied, a little annoyed. “Where are you from?”

“I told you, I’m from Fenan…” he said, as he turned the spit.

“I mean, before the Invasion,” she clarified.

“Lochbis.”

“Is your family at the village?”

“No,” he said bluntly, lowering his head. “My family couldn’t make it out of Lochbis, unfortunately. I was out of town when a pack of abominables led by a sorcerer attacked. I returned home, to find nothing left. There was a great big blast, and some people ran outside the walls. The remaining guards let me out; when we reached the mountains, we saw only smoke and flames rising from the city… I came back a few days later to look for my things.”

“I’m sorry that happened to your loved ones, though you story is similar to many others I’ve heard… I know the fangwyns or ‘abominables’ well. People transformed into monsters, and commanded by necromancers. Do you know how the transformation takes place?”

“I’m not sure I want to know…”

“After they’re killed, a ritual snatches their souls, and their bodies twist into husks filled only with hatred and brutality.”

“By Dag! I shudder to think those things were once people.”

Clarice put down her daggers and neared the fire. “Let’s eat the hare now; otherwise you’ll char it.”

Having enjoyed their meal, they retired for the night.

Just before the break of dawn, Kaj felt something brush against his shoulder, and woke with a start, only to realize it was her.

“Get up! We’ve got to leave!”

“Dammit, do you mean to scare me to death?”

“If I wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t have noticed.”

The nalnir’s answer sent a chill down his spine. She didn’t even spare him a glance, as she was intent on putting out the fire and hiding the traces so that any other orcs that might be in the area couldn’t identify them. The cloak he habitually wore around his neck concealed most of his body, but he noticed she’d removed her gloves, and regarded her thin cold-beaten hands.

The fog was quite thick that day, but the deeper they ventured into the forest, the thinner the mists became, hanging high amidst the trees. The atmosphere was magnificent, if surreal. The Shadetrail Forest was still this green and lush (in complete contrast with the rest of the world) thanks to elven magic. By comparison, the Whitetrunk Forest was an expanse of bare and battered trees.

They moved forward at a brisk pace, and the forest seemed a samey blur to Kaj.

“Tell me, how do you elves recognize every tree in the forest? How do you always know where you are?”

Her response was not the one he wished to hear. “You humans don’t observe, and you don’t know how to listen to the forest. You’ll never be able to get a grasp. You’re too distracted,” she pontificated.

“Oh c’mon! Would it kill you to answer without the usual elven arrogance!?”

“If you don’t like my answers, then don’t ask questions.”

“Three centuries since the Reconciliation, and nothing’s changed,” he prodded her, annoyed. “I was just hoping to make the trip there more pleasant.”

“We have to walk, not talk. Fenan’s not far now. You can talk to whomever you like once we’re there.”

“You bet I will!”

They walked for a day and a half, most of the time in silence. During the afternoon of the second day, they arrived at the bridge to Fenan, a small and quiet elven village. It stood between two fierce streams, the White and Silver Creeks. Scads of refugees from beyond the Slumbering Peaks had found a home here. The streets (some cobblestone, others clay) were narrow, and the sticky mud of that time of year sullied boots, clothing and cloaks. The houses built by the refugees were mostly small, wooden, one-floor affairs with thatched rooves, while the older homes around the plaza were two stories tall and built using wood and stone. The tavern stood out from among them, along with the smithy’s furnace and forge and their attached residences. At the center of the square was situated a large well, near which stood a vegetable-laden table; a number of human women and female elves were cleaning the vegetables while chatting and having a laugh or two.

On one side of the square was located the building that housed the wounded and sick. It was a sanctuary dedicated to Luhreil, the god of water, and it was a circular structure built of wood and stone. The jutting roof was supported by slender columns, from whose sturdy iron rings sizeable lanterns were hanging. The sanctuary’s large door was made of solid wood, so old and run-down that it had lost its erstwhile shiny patina. Inside, the single nave housed beds and cots, and the handful of windows let in little light. The clouded panes of glass evoked a sense of isolation. Additionally, there were three small rooms and a nice stone fireplace that warmed the whole interior.

“Now go take care of your wounds,” said the elf hastily. “I have something to do.”

“The tavern’s on the other side of the square, if you need a room.”

But Kaj received no reply. He turned to face her, only to find she was gone.

When Kaj opened the sanctuary door, he found it fuller than ever before. There were many inside—too many. There had to have been some battle, with the wounded militiamen taking refuge here. He feared there might not be enough roots for everyone. He had to get to work. He went to the room that had been designated the kitchen and started making his healing brew.

Moments later, he heard the door slam. “So it’s true! You are back!”

He spun on his heels, to see Cilna run toward him and throw her arms around his neck. She was a young elf of Fenan; her family had lived there for many generations, a fact of which she was proud. She was frail, and not very tall, with long always-braided blonde hair and big brown eyes. Her open, friendly, and curious nature had often gotten her in trouble for some ill-spoken words, not to mention all the times she’d been too curious. Like everyone else in Fenan, she wore simple clothes, a linen tunic yellowed by time plus a blue woolen robe which the young woman protected by wearing a coverall.

“Cilna, be careful! These roots are precious!” The bowl had almost dropped from his grip.

“You found so many!” she exclaimed excitedly.

“Yes, and it wasn’t easy. Now let me continue, if you would. You can help me when the medicine’s ready to be distributed.”

Cilna nodded. “I’ll be there when you need me.”

After entrusting Cilna with the hot infusion he’d just finished concocting, Kaj busied himself preparing compresses for the wounds.

Then the young woman called out for him in desperation. “KAJ!”

He rushed over to her. Five ailing and wounded hunters were beginning, one by one, to tremble and squirm. Before long, they were all dead. Their wounds had been infected by the teeth and claws of lalks, demonic wolves whose packs numbered many across all of Elelreel. Cilna was motionless beside Kaj, staring at the hunters’ bodies.

“You didn’t think to check the wounds?” asked Kaj, in time.

Petrified, she stammered incomprehensibly, and moreover, in the heat of the moment she had dropped what little of the potion had remained.

“By all that’s holy!” he shouted, picking up the cauldron and ladle. “How thoughtless can you be? I risked my life for those roots, and then you go and waste them like this! The brew was supposed to be enough for tomorrow morning, too!” he cried. “Get out of here.”

Cilna ran away crying, and the door closed with a dull thud.

III

Snow-bearing clouds were gathering in the north, over the peaks of the Icemount. The frigid winds accompanied Clarice, who had left the village many hours ago to meet with an old friend. Her quick and confident strides belied her confusion; she was beginning to entertain the notion that perhaps this journey had not been entirely in vain. Perhaps she had found what she was looking for. She had bet it all on that human, flouting strict rules in the process, and as such she felt the weight of responsibility on her shoulders more than ever. Nearing the slopes of the Hallowed Heights, she slowed down to try to and catch sight of her friend. Soon enough, she spotted her approaching wearily.

“I’m sorry I made you travel so far,” said Clarice.

They greeted each other by gripping each other’s wrists, and didn’t waste any time with useless small talk. They repasted, and just before dark, they said their goodbyes before Clarice retraced her steps back.

When the nalnir returned, she visited the sanctuary to find Kaj crouching on the floor, sad and disconsolate.

“So many have died, and so many more will die. Spilling tears over their bodies will do nothing for them,” she told him.

Kaj looked up at her; she was leaning against the doorjamb with her hands clasped. “None of this seems to worry you very much.”

She shook her head. “If you let this get you down, then you’re not fit to fight,” she replied, intending to spur him on.

“Maybe I don’t fight for that very reason,” retorted Kaj. “Well, I don’t fight, but that doesn’t mean I can’t. I do my part, and nobody else takes on the responsibilities I do…”

“The way I see it, you’re hiding from the problem,” opined Clarice. She turned to leave, and Kaj ran after her towards the entryway.

“Look after your wounded while you still can.”

“You’re not getting away this time,” he said, as he sensed she was hiding something from him. “You disappear, only to come back to judge me some more. Didn’t you say Fenan was on just ‘on the way’ for you?”

“It’s up to me how long I stay here.”

“I understand that full well. But over the past few days, you seemed reluctant to stay here.”

“There’s a reason I’m staying here in Fenan. I don’t know what your problem is, but whatever it is, I suggest you resolve it.”

Kaj frowned, speechless.

The nalnir took a bag from her belt and put it in his hand. “Put a pinch of this in a bowl of hot water for each of them. They won’t heal, but it’ll give them some relief.” Then she turned around and closed the door behind her.

Kaj was even more confused than before. He opened the bag and looked at the powder inside. Then, as if gripped by a sudden frenzy, he went to heat up some water.

The streets were deserted, and people were afraid to be milling about in the dark of the night, as it brought with it orcs and demonic beasts. That evening, Kaj left the sanctuary, pleased to be breathing in some fresh hair and smelling the strong aroma of heki wood. Heki trees had a balsamic and resinous extract, similar to larches. They were widespread only in Draelia, and their wood was used for hearths. The days were getting shorter, the temperatures colder. As Kaj headed home, a cold wind made him hold faster to his cloak and increase his pace. He heard the laughter of the children in the nearby houses, and the lights of the lanterns and candles flickered behind their windows’ curtains.

Near his house, he spotted a hooded Clarice wrapped in her cloak, leaning against a tree trunk.

“I thought you’d gone again.”

“As you can see, that’s not the case,” she replied.

“Where will you spend the night? Do you already have a room at the tavern?”

“Don’t worry about me. If all else fails, I have my pelt of fur.”

“It’s very cold out here, and it’ll only get worse as the night deepens.”

“I know. That won’t be a problem.”

Kaj shrugged. “Then I won’t insist. But I’ll leave the door open for you, just in case.”

“Do you have anything strong to offer me?” she asked before Kaj crossed the threshold.

“I might,” he said, bidding her inside with a jerk of the head.

Kaj took off his cloak and hung it on a hook on the wall. Clarice lowered her hood and observed the house closely.

“Want to hand me your cloak?” asked Kaj.

“I’ll put it on the chair.”

The first thing she noticed was how cozy and welcoming the small house was, defying her expectations. There were bunches of many types of herbs hanging here and there, while others were carefully preserved in jars. The bottles placed in the cupboard stood out in particular, and a stone mortar sat next to them, along with a stack of bowls, some glasses, and a few spoons. A big knife was stuck in one corner of the cabinet, with some cheese and apples nearby. The two doors at the bottom of the cabinet surely concealed the rest of the supplies.

A very damaged wooden table lay at the center of the room, with two chairs next to it, and two stools near the wall. A pile of wood and two buckets of water sat adjacent to the hearth. A handful of candles, placed here and there (with pools of hardened wax beneath them), illuminated the room.

Clarice peered at Kaj for a moment. She’d been nursing some doubt about him ever since she’d found herself stealthily tailing the man and his cart on the flatland road up to Falcon’s Pass. Her meeting with her old friend had only intensified that doubt. Nevertheless, he was a human, and she knew it wouldn’t have been easy for him to carry out his plan.

Holding a bottle, Kaj placed two glasses on the table and poured them a liquid with a green sheen. She sat down, and Kaj handed her one of the glasses.

“Have a taste and tell me what you think.”

Clarice grabbed the glass and sniffed. The aroma impressed her a great deal. “This is no common spirit. How did you come by it?”

“I have my connections. I knew you’d like it,” he smiled.

The elf drained the glass, and her expression could hardly be more satisfied. “I haven’t had the stuff in some time. Offer me some more.”

Kaj obliged, pouring more into both glasses. They knocked it down in one fell swoop.

“You’d better go easy,” said Clarice. “You’re not an elf.”

“Wonder what it is!”

Typical human, thought Clarice.

“Can I ask you a question?” asked Kaj.

“Ha, like you haven’t been asking questions of me already!”

“Where are you from?”

The elf rested her arms on the table and poured herself a little more. This time, she savored it slowly, with a little sip to start. “You and your questions.” She paused. “…I haven’t had the opportunity to sit in a warm house and enjoy this tipple in a long while,” she said, smiling wistfully. “I lived in a village on the Red Rises near the Valwald River. My family traded maple juice for a living. I still remember the strong aroma that wafted from the barrels during fermentation. The vibrant color of the leaves, the rushing river waters… it feels like centuries have passed since then.” She finished drinking. “This damned hooch is making me talk too much,” she said, vexed.

She got up from her chair and, with a broad motion, put her cloak back on her shoulders. “Take advantage of the tranquility of your home while you can. I have a feeling that times will worsen sooner rather than later,” she said, distraught. She adjusted her hood and headed for the door.

Kaj was leaning against the back of the chair with his arms folded. “Do you really want to sleep outside?”

“I’d be getting some fresh air. It’s hot in here.”

“Blame the booze for that,” he said, smiling. “If you want to come back in, make yourself home anywhere you like. I’m going to sleep!”

Clarice exited, and closed the door behind her.

The night was deep and silent in Fenan. The thick and clear clouds were gathering apace. The village streets were illuminated by scant lanterns, casting the hush that enveloped Draelia into greater relief. One could hear only the slight patter of footsteps that grew louder and more rhythmic before slowly dissipating. A door creaked slowly open, which was then closed gingerly. So it was that sudden, faint flashes of light gleamed from the sanctuary’s windows, followed by more silence.

Clarice had ambled for a spell amidst the quiet of the night, before the cold forced her to take refuge in Kaj’s abode. The elf settled herself down on the floor near the door, still wrapped in her cloak and furs. The warmth of the embers in the fireplace had her dozing in no time.

The next morning, the sun peeked out from behind the Slumbering Peaks, though its heat was meager, as winter was upon the lands. The nalnir woke up when a tiny ray of sunshine managed to infiltrate a hole in the window’s wooden shutter, striking her straight in the eyes. She got up with a sleepy groan and lit the fireplace anew.