Samual (3 page)

Eventually his soldier's training finally returned to him, and made him ask the questions he needed answers to. And she had spoken one word that he didn't understand.

“Golems?”

They were all but mythical creatures created by dark wizards to do their heavy work. But if they were the enemy, he had to think it was significant. At the least it suggested that they had been attacked by a wizard. He'd heard tales of such creatures and their incredible strength, but only ever seen one. And while it had been a powerful creature – a lump of steel shaped roughly like a man – it hadn't been that tough to kill. His brother had sent it after him in the first few days of his exile from Fair Fields, and even though Sam's magic then had been weak, he had destroyed it easily enough. It had been slow and it had melted. Whatever wizard Heri had used to create it and send it after him had been paid too much gold for his services. Still, Sam had never heard of golems being used as soldiers or hunters. They were simply too stupid and too slow for that.

“Giant steel rats. Thousands of them. They hunt in packs like wolves and kill like assassins, dropping from above, creeping around the sides or crawling under things to pounce. They tried to kill everyone. Men, women and even children. Especially the children. They didn't attempt to take prisoners, they didn't obey any rules of war. Instead they just attacked and killed, attacked and killed. And they didn't stop until they were destroyed. Most weapons won't do more than scratch them and unless you punch a dozen arrows in them. Light swords are not much better. They're true steel. Shavarra was attacked by an army of steel rats with glowing red eyes. And they're still chasing us.”

“Gather your family. You must leave before the sun rises. That is all the time you have before they will be upon us here.”

Without another word the soldier pivoted on her heels and took the stairs back down to her horse. Apparently she had said all she wanted and wasn't prepared to waste any more time.

Limping still, probably from an injury he decided, she made good time back to her horse, mounted up and quickly hurried back to her group. The warning given, her duty was done and she appeared anxious to return to her post.

“I thank you for the warning good soldier,” Sam called out after her. “And please tell any who want it that they can harvest all the fruit and vegetables they need from the gardens.”

The elf gave no sign that she had heard. Perhaps she hadn't. More likely though given the events of the previous couple of days she had no interest in the thanks or aid of a common citizen. Especially the thanks of a half elf.

That was the trouble with living in an elven homeland. While he was officially welcome here as were all people of good heart and civil manner, as a half elf he was considered as something less than either human or elf. All other races and those of mixed race for some reason seemed more at home, more accepted in the towns than him. So there were gnomish and pixi traders everywhere, even a few dwarves, and many of them had taken elven partners, something too that seemed to be accepted. But for a human to do so seemed to be something else entirely, and their offspring, more so. He didn't know why. He hadn't worked up the courage to ask anyone lest he make things worse. But he knew it was so.

Coming to these lands five years ago hadn't been an easy decision. He'd known before he even set foot in them that he would be looked down upon. Those few traders he knew who plied this land had told him that at length the moment they'd seen his ears sticking out of a human looking face. But he also wanted to see the land of his mother, maybe even meet some of her kin, and he knew from his father before he'd passed away that his mother had been well connected in elven circles. At least before she'd run off with a human, and then died in childbirth not too many years after his own birth, without ever being officially wed.

It had surely been a disgrace for her, and a lifelong regret for his father, especially after her death, but as the king he could never have married an elf. His loyalty to his people would have been placed in question, and that could never have been allowed. It would have placed his rule in jeopardy and his people's well being at risk. It would have set the kingdom up for a coup and given his enemies the very cause they dreamed of to overthrow him.

Thus far he'd had little luck in finding his mother's family, mainly because the few times he'd made it into Shavarra itself he'd felt as though he was carrying some sort of disfiguring disease, and had limited himself to the trading he had come to do, before fleeing back to his cottage. How could he even approach his mother's family if that was how the normal elf treated him?

Still, there hadn't been a lot of choice at the time. He'd had to leave Fall Keep in a hurry. It was that or be responsible for the death of his wife at his own half-brother's hands. And none of the other lands had seemed particularly appealing either. Nor safe. He still hoped that one day he might meet his mother's family, and that they might even welcome him. But that wasn't why he stayed here. What kept him here was that while he remained in Shavarra he was at least certain that fewer assassins would find him here than anywhere else he might live. The border patrols would pick up such people very quickly, and their fate would not be a pleasant one. Only the smarter, more cunning ones were getting through, and those few he could deal with.

Now though it appeared he had to leave regardless, something he was loath to do. He might not be the most welcome person in the realm, but over the years it had become his home. If he wasn't close with any of them, he was at least accepted by the local elves. They didn't bother him much, they traded fairly with him, and sometimes, just sometimes, he could share a conversation or a drink with them; pass a joke and forget his troubles as they forgot his parentage. He had learned not just Elvish but High Elvish, even if his accent was coarse. And he had learned many of the stories and much of the history of the land. It had taken five long, hard years to reach that stage. But now that life was in jeopardy.

But where should he go? If he went home to the human province of Fair Fields to the west his face would still be known by too many, including all of the royal guards. He could never live there unknown or unnoticed, and the cost to Ryshal of his being seen would be beyond his ability to stand. Heri would have her executed. He dreamed of going home, but that was something forever denied to him. 

Further west again – much further, and across several other realms – lay the elven forest province of Golden River Flats. It was the largest elven province on the continent, with three major cities and dozens of large towns. It was also the nearest elven province to Shavarra and no doubt the destination of the elves.

The Golden River Flats were very similar to Shavarra in their people and lands, except for their size. The Flats had three major cities, each of fifty or a hundred thousand elves, and scores of large towns. It was also far more welcoming of travellers, and while there he had met with not just humans, elves and dwarves from afar, but also dryads, gnomes, pixies and even halflings. Their market places were simply teeming with strangers. Yet, though it might have been partly his youth at the time, he had never felt welcome there either. Elves everywhere had looked at him twice every time he'd taken his helmet off to reveal his pointed ears sticking out the sides of a human face, and after that they'd tended to give him a wide berth.

He could live there much as he had lived in Shavarra; as an outsider. But at least he could live there in relative peace. It would however, mean starting over. Here at least, the people had become used to him. They might not be overly friendly, but no more were they openly intolerant. Actually he was probably being too harsh; some of them were his friends, and the children liked him as well.

South and east of Fair Fields, and across a treacherous mountain pass lay the dwarven land of Ore Bender's Mountains. It was a bustling, vibrant land filled with traders and travellers. He had been there once in his youth, and found it fascinating. Especially the ports. Fair Fields being a land locked region, he had never previously seen a port. Ore Bender's Mountains though had three, and he had spent many long hours watching the ships coming and going, the wind filling their great white sails as they sailed sedately out across the endless blue ocean.

But on the other hand, to live among dwarves for any length of time was to ask for trouble. They were such a naturally garrulous people who took offence over the slightest of things. The chances were that if he lived there and that even if he tried to avoid trouble, that combat would become a way of life. Besides, the city was wide open, the people unfailingly good at giving directions, and any assassins would find him in a heartbeat. It was why he hadn't gone there when he'd first had to flee Fair Fields.

North and west of Fair Fields lay the gnomish lands of Fedowir Kingdom, a vast expanse of hard scrabble farms, stunted forests and deserts and swamps, where only the toughest survived. Conditions were harsh, and although the people were friendly, they would have little use for a wandering soldier. Raising food was more important than waging war, and if he couldn't plough a field or find another useful trade, he would quickly find himself redundant.

South and west of Fair Fields lay the Dead Belly Wastes, so named because the few explorers who'd crossed them and survived kept remarking on how many dead creatures they'd found, all with their bellies facing up to the sun. The Wastes were home to many ruined cities and lost temples, but no one had ever bothered to explore more than a few of the closest. The land was simply too tough. There was no water, a vast variety of deadly lizards, snakes and insects, and being so featureless and full of sand dunes, it was far too easy to get lost and die.

Between the two lay only a narrow strip of no man's land; the Dead Creek Pass. It was a rough trail that led to Golden River Flats. According to legend the pass had once been a vast river which had flowed through the wastes themselves, allowing great cities to flourish. But over many thousands of years it had become little more than a dried up strip of land, with a few wells dotting it while the Wastes had turned into sand.

Once in his youth he'd travelled through them as part of a troop of trainee knights, learning their craft and riding to Golden River Flats. It had been a most distressing time as they had constantly had to ration their water, always giving more to the horses than themselves, and living with the aura of death all around them. But after three long hard weeks of riding they'd reached the elven homeland, and perhaps enjoyed it even more for its gloriously abundant life after having passed through such death.

Further afield still lay the lands he'd only heard of, but of which there were many. In fact there were more human kingdoms, elven provinces, gnomish, dwarven and pixie lands than could be visited by any one man in a lifetime. As a student he'd been taught the names of all twenty seven provinces and realms on the Great Continent of the Dragon's Spine. He knew the dozens of island nations that surrounded it by heart. He even knew their rulers and the main details of their peoples, lands and trade. But he'd never been to them and had met very few representatives from them, other than those closest to Fair Fields. In all truth he had never planned on visiting them.

Nor did he intend to now.  Human, elven, or other; kingdom, province, collection of villages, rich or poor, they simply weren't home. Fair Fields had once been his home. Shavarra was slowly becoming a home. They weren't.

Which brought him back to only Golden River Flats as being a safe and moderately acceptable alternative place for him to live. His best bet he thought, was to stay with the elves as they made their way slowly there. He had no doubt though that the road ahead would be hard, with unknown threats ahead, and an all too deadly one nipping at their heels.

It would be a lengthy journey to get to the Flats. One fraught with difficulties for the elves. For a start they were four hundred leagues from their destination at a minimum, and they had to first cross the hundred leagues or so of Shavarra just to reach the border with Fair Fields. For the moment it was safe territory, but the roads and trails through the forests had never been designed for speedy travel, and with thousands of wagons on them, the elves would have their work cut out just trying not to tear them apart even if they weren't being chased by these golems.

After that it would be a hundred and fifty more leagues to cross Fair Fields. They were good roads to travel, cobbled in parts as the local farmers pooled their efforts together to make their trips to the markets as quick and easy as possible. But the nobles of the various baronies and fiefdoms would no doubt demand a fee for crossing their lands, and the prices for food and goods would undoubtedly be high as the merchants saw an opportunity they could exploit. Worse still, they would have to deal with one noble after another. Fair Fields wasn't a true kingdom, his half-brother the reigning king notwithstanding. It was more properly a collection of misfit lords who came together mainly for defence and trade. But each noble, each house had its own agenda, most of which came down to increasing their wealth and power at the expense of their neighbours.