War Of The Wildlands
Read War Of The Wildlands Online
Authors: Lana Axe
War of the Wildlands
Tales from
Nōl’Deron
Lana Axe
Text copyright © 2013 Lana Axe
All Rights Reserved
Cover art by Michael Gauss
For Eric.
Table of Contents
“T
he Young Ones
will care for the forest,” Elnar said. “In all matters, they will respect the
woodlands and tend to its needs. The forest gods will protect them from harm as
long as they fulfill this task. They shall grow and flourish here in these
woods.”
“They have sworn an
oath, and we must leave them to it,” Tienna replied.
The two elves gazed
upon the lush green forest that was to be home to their children. New life was
appearing all over the land as the forest gods busied themselves preparing a
home for the new arrivals. Birds everywhere lifted their voices in song to
herald the birth of the young elves.
As she took Elnar’s
hand, Tienna’s eyes filled with tears. “Leaving our children to care for
themselves never gets easier.”
“We cannot watch
out for them forever,” he replied. “They will be safe and happy here in the
forests. Our island children have done well, and our woodland children will
too.”
The pair began
walking beneath the massive trees, their feet making no sound against the soft
green carpet of the forest floor. A warm spring breeze swept over them, sending
tiny seedpods flying through the air.
A small yellow
butterfly perched itself on Tienna’s shoulder. She stopped to admire the
friendly creature as it fanned its wings lazily on the breeze. “I would have
you journey with us to our new home,” she said. “You represent hope, and our
people always have need of you.”
The butterfly
danced and circled around her, leaving a faint trail of yellow dust as it flew.
Tienna smiled, knowing that it would accompany them on their journey. She
squeezed Elnar’s hand and closed her eyes, allowing the breeze to wash over her.
“Where shall we go now?”
she asked.
“We will retreat to
the Westerling Vale and give all of this land to the Young Ones.”
“The Vale is a land
of great beauty,” she replied. “I think our people will be happy there.”
“We shall,” he
replied. “The Young Ones will grow, but we shall fade. This is their home now.”
The pair continued
through the forest and did not look back.
The Young Ones
settled in and created villages of their own. In all manners, they respected
the forest and took no more from it than they needed. Their numbers multiplied,
and their clans prospered under the watchful eyes of the forest gods.
The gods had charged
them with a simple task: protect the forest, love it, and respect it. The gods
would protect them from all harm, so long as they completed this task. As time
went on, however, the Young Ones forgot about their gods and the oath they had
made.
A
s he did every
morning, Yori woke before dawn to begin his work at the smithy. He rose from
his small cot and pulled back the curtain that separated his tiny living space
from the rest of the shop. He splashed water over his face and around his neck
and ran his fingers through his sandy blond hair. Carefully, he positioned a
worn red headband at the precise level to cover the pointed tips of his ears.
Life was easier in the city of Enald if its citizens could forget for a moment
that his father had been an elf.
The shop was open-air with a low wall surrounding
it, forcing customers to enter through the area farthest from the furnace. This
design helped to avoid accidents from careless citizens, children, and animals.
For the last few years, the shop had doubled as Yori’s home. His aunt and
uncle’s cottage was too small to fit everyone comfortably, and the shop was
safer having someone present all night. The cool fall weather made for pleasant
nights, despite being out of doors. In the winter, he would move his cot closer
to the furnace to stay warm.
Grabbing a leather apron from a hook near the
anvil, he quickly tied it around himself to cover his tattered gray shirt. He
began adding charcoal to the furnace and squeezed the bellows to fan the flames.
His Uncle Ren always treated him well, but if the furnace was not hot enough to
begin work at dawn, Yori could expect to receive an open-handed smack to the
side of his head. To avoid the embarrassment, he always tended the fire first
and made its maintenance his top priority throughout the day.
As dawn broke, Yori was still laying out tools for
his uncle’s use in the day’s work. Out of nowhere, he heard a young girl screaming.
Startled by the sound, he dropped the pliers in his hand, which fell to the
ground with a thud. Realizing the cry had come from his young cousin, he
immediately rushed toward the sound. As he stepped out of the shop, he saw arrows
whizzing in every direction, and panicked citizens were running away. One lone
little girl stood frozen in fear near the well.
Without a thought for his own safety, Yori rushed
to the child and grabbed her in his arms. Just as he lifted her to run back to
the smithy, his left calf was struck by an arrow. He dropped to his knees,
barely setting the girl back on her feet. She wrapped her arms around his neck
and buried her tear-stained face in his shoulder. Again he lifted her, ignoring
the searing pain in his leg. Turning his back to the oncoming arrows in an
effort to protect the girl, he limped as quickly as possible back to the safety
of the shop.
Placing the girl behind the anvil, he grabbed the
axe near the wood pile and readied himself for a fight. He had never been trained
in fighting, but he had learned to defend himself as a child. As an outcast,
his world had been full of bullies, and he had realized that fighting back felt
much better than just accepting a beating. They may have beaten him worse for
his efforts, but at least he had earned his lumps. He did not know exactly what
he was facing or why his town was being attacked, but he was ready to defend
his young cousin against whoever was approaching.
As quickly as the attack had begun, it ended. Citizens
once again came out of their homes and began filling the streets. Yori set down
the axe and knelt before the sobbing girl.
“Are you hurt, Meladee?” he asked.
The little girl shook her head. She raised an arm
and pointed to the arrow sticking out of Yori’s leg.
“It looks worse than it feels,” he said,
attempting to ease the girl’s fear. In truth, his leg was throbbing and still bleeding
a considerable amount.
Ren rushed out of his small cottage and ran to the
smithy. “Yori!” he called. “Have you seen Meladee?”
“She’s here,” Yori replied.
The girl remained seated until her mother, who had
run out of the cottage in her nightdress, rushed to her side. Meladee threw her
arms around her mother and continued to weep.
“Yori’s hurt,” she managed to say through her
sobs.
Ren knelt down to have a closer look at the arrow
sticking out of Yori’s leg. “This is going to hurt,” he said, his dark eyes
sympathetic. “You might want to bite down on the corner of your apron.”
Yori, confused by the comment, looked down at his
uncle just in time to see him grab hold of the arrow. In an instant, he yanked
the shaft and pulled the arrow free. Yori screamed in pain and fell to his
knees, grabbing at his injured calf.
“I told you to bite down on the leather, didn’t
I?” Ren said with a smile. “You’ll be alright. Let’s clean it and get a bandage
on it.”
As he watched his uncle retrieve an iron rod and
place it in the fire, Yori realized what his uncle had meant by “clean it”. He
was going to cauterize it to stop the bleeding and seal the wound from infection.
Yori’s head swam as his Aunt Trella brought over a bowl of water and some
cloth.
“It will only hurt for a second, and then you will
feel much better,” she said. Gently, she began wiping the wound with a wet
cloth.
Ren approached, a red-hot iron rod in his hand.
“Don’t scream too much or you’ll scare Meladee,” he said. “Oh, and don’t move
around too much or I’ll have to sit on you.” He offered Yori a small stick of
wood to bite down on, which the young man graciously accepted.
As the hot metal touched the wound, Yori moaned
and grunted in agony. After a few seconds, the procedure was over. The pain had
dulled but persisted. All the bleeding had stopped, and Ren offered Yori a hand
getting back to his feet. Placing weight on the leg was agony, but he had very
little choice. There was work to be done, and he could not spend the day
sitting.
“They were Wild Elves,” Meladee said quietly, her
brown eyes still full of tears.
“You shouldn’t be leaving the house alone,” her
mother chided. “You could have been killed.”
“Did you see them, Meladee?” Yori asked, bending
to her level.
The little girl nodded.
From the design of the arrow, Yori was forced to
accept that the little girl must be correct. The speckled feathers and runed
tip of the arrows left no doubt in his mind that Wild Elves had just attacked
their city. This could only bring trouble for him and his family. The townspeople
already disliked him for being a half-breed, but now they might think he was a
traitor.
Yori had never known any Wild Elves except his
father, but he was killed when Yori was very young. His mother always spoke
fondly of him, even though loving him made her an outcast among human society.
According to her, the elves were not happy about it either. They refused to
allow a human to live among their clan. Therefore, the couple chose to live independently
at the edge of the woods. When she died, her brother took Yori in and put him
to work in the smithy. He was not treated as a son but as an apprentice. Still,
he was grateful to have someone looking after him in any way.
“This wasn’t the Sycamore Clan,” Ren said, looking
at Yori. “Your father’s clan is too far from here. I would wager anything it
was the Oak Leaf Clan. They’re nothing but trouble.”
Members of the Oak Leaf Clan had been banned from
trading in Enald’s marketplace. On several occasions they had been accused of
stealing and causing disturbances. They had gotten the reputation as
troublemakers, but none of them were ever given a trial. If a human accused a
Wild Elf of wrongdoing, then the elf was presumed guilty. King Domren had no
use for elves in his kingdom, and he sanctioned all punishments against them.
“We may as well get to work,” Ren suggested. “If
we carry on like everything is normal, maybe we’ll be left in peace.” His voice
contained very little hope. Since most people in town were aware of Yori’s
parentage, trouble was likely to find them.
Meladee squeezed Yori tightly before her mother
led her back to their cottage. The poor child was covered in black soot from
being held tightly against Yori’s dusty apron. She would protest having a bath
and would dislike having to wear clean clothes. She much preferred her tattered
play clothes, which she only wore while she was in the smithy. She loved her
cousin dearly and would rather spend the day in the hot, dirty shop than
anywhere else as long as Yori was there.
Yori retrieved the pliers he had dropped earlier
and continued to prepare his uncle’s workbench for the day ahead. He checked on
the furnace and decided it was hot enough for now. “Where should I begin?” he
asked.
“Fetch that sword we’ve been working on. We need
to finish up the hilt and get the whole thing together.” He scratched at his
beard as he spoke.
Yori did as he was told. For several weeks, they
had worked together on a sword for one of King Domren’s lieutenants at the
palace. His father was originally from Enald and had purchased swords made by
Ren’s father. The quality of those swords was superior to the ones being
crafted by the palace’s smith, and the man had insisted Ren craft one for him
in the tradition of his father. Yori himself had done half the work and was
quite pleased with the outcome so far.
The sword’s hilt was inlaid with ebony stones
which Yori had shaped and polished meticulously. He offered the hilt to his
uncle, who inspected it closely.
“This is well crafted,” he said. “You’re ready to
fit it to the blade.”
Yori carried the sword to his workbench at the
back of the shop. As soon as he turned his back, one of Enald’s wealthier
citizens appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in a fine burgundy tunic and
wore a large feather in his hat.
“What does that one know about the attack this
morning?” the man said, pointing at Yori.
Yori turned to face the man, his eyes darting
nervously to his uncle.
“He knows he got an arrow in the leg for rescuing
my daughter,” Ren replied, his tone suggesting he was well prepared for an
argument.
“If he’s been sneaking around with those savages,
I’m going to inform the mayor,” the man threatened. “His kind are not welcome
here. You should have done away with him when he was a baby.”
Ren grabbed a hammer from his workbench and walked
toward the man. “I suggest you get out of my shop and leave the boy alone.”
“Boy?” the man scoffed. “I know for a fact he’s at
least seventeen. He’s a man and should be fighting his own battles by now. A
war is coming, and he will betray this town if he gets the chance.”
“My family is here,” Yori said. “I don’t even know
any elves other than the ones who trade goods here. They weren’t the ones who
attacked us.”
“So you know which clan it was?” the man asked.
“Apparently you do know a thing or two. Perhaps you should come and speak to
the mayor yourself and save him the trouble of sending the guards.”
“Get out of here before I bury this hammer in your
skull!” Ren’s tone meant business, and his face was serious. He tightened his
grip on the hammer.
Seeing that he had truly angered the smith, the man
decided to back down. He turned and strode briskly from the shop.
“I should have kept my mouth shut,” Yori said, his
pale green eyes focusing on the floor. “I always say the wrong thing.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ren replied. “It wouldn’t
have mattered what you said. That asshole came here looking for a fight, and he
nearly got one.”
Yori turned back to his workbench and tried to
occupy his mind with his work. He was worried that others in the town would
also come to accuse him, and he hated the thought of causing trouble for his
uncle. For now, he would simply focus on his work and avoid visiting other
areas of the city.
“You’ll have to sleep at the house tonight,” Ren
said. “I don’t know how safe you’ll be out here. We’ll just have to make some
room.”
Yori nodded and tried to hide the relief he felt.
The last thing he wanted was to be alone at night with a town full of angry
citizens. If the attacks continued, his life could very well be in danger.
