Wildling (10 page)

“
Finally, once they had rendered the once idyllic land of Deri ti Millen uninhabitable and had transformed it into the wastes it has become known as today, they migrated south, hunting down, killing and enslaving the wood elves, forcing them to provide them with that which they lacked. Food, medicine and shelter. And that is how we find them today.”

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But as you know they now try to reclaim the wastes. The reason as some of you will have heard is that there is a drought in the south. But that is only part of the truth. The rest is that they have brought this drought upon themselves. Even knowing that they need the wood elves they have killed so many of them that there are few left to grow the food they need. They have destroyed many of the ancient structures that once retained water for the dry years. Lakes have been emptied and dams burst as the clans have tried to destroy their enemies by starvation, and they have been destroyed in the same way by their enemy clans in turn.”

It constantly amazed her that any people could be so foolish. That they could do such evil to the world. But that was their way. They had to fight and they had to win. No matter the cost.

“The last race of course is you, the humans. The stone elves. The builders. Stone because that is the blocks with which you build and because it is within the stone that you mine. In form perhaps you are the most similar to the ancient elves, perhaps a bit more solid, but for the most part your people are without their magic. Some though retain it, and have become the wildlings. You.”

“
Humans have lost the knowledge of the ancient elves too, but not the intelligence, and little by little your people have rediscovered how to build. And in doing so they have become the most successful of the elven races. Certainly humans are the most numerous. But like the others humans lack something as well. Perhaps it is the heart of the elf. Certainly you have nothing of the ways of the wood elves among you. Little of the warrior spirit of the dusky elves. And only some of the wisdom of the sun elves.”

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Your people aspire to greatness. You yearn for it. You build great cities and amass great wealth. You pull metal out of the ground as none others could and fashion it into countless things you do not need. You level forests and turn rivers into filth. And though you have not the true warrior nature that the dusky elves have, you still have wars. Terrible wars.”

“
In the end humans too will join the rest of us in the end of days. My people will run out of children. The wood elves will be hunted to the end. The dusky elves will kill one another until none remain and there is no food left. And your people will destroy the world and when it dies they will die with it. Every race contains within it the seeds of its own destruction.” But no race save the sun elves could see it. And none could truly accept it.

Looking around at the almost lifeless faces of her class, she guessed that they would not accept it either. They sat there and they heard. Perhaps some of them even listened, though most she suspected didn't really care. But they would not accept it. Not for a very long time to come. She hurried on.

“For a thousand years or even two my people have known that this was the fate for all of us. But we have been helpless to stop it.”

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We searched for answers across the world. We prayed for them as well. We hoped that one day we would at least know what had happened so that we might see a way to repair it. But all for naught.”

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Then, six weeks ago, a miracle was granted us. We do not know how or why or by whom. But what we do know is that eleven ancients were returned to the world after three thousand years. Eleven who were once the high priests of the ancient gods.”

“We do not know where they have been these past three thousand years. No more do they. It is for them as if the world suddenly changed between one blink of an eye and the next.” That Sena thought had to be hard. To in an instant lose everyone and everything you had ever known. In their place she would have been bereft. But they were all high priests. Made of sterner stuff than others. And they had quickly determined that instead of grieving for what was lost to them, they had work to do to save what they had found.

“But while even they do not know what happened to their world or their people they have found a way to fix it.”

Unfortunately
as she told them the wondrous news Sena had to force herself to show the confidence she didn't have. She herself doubted. The ancients had not said that it would repair what had been done, only that it might. But they had to work with that, because there was no other possibility. Might was all they had.

“
Arrol der Terris must be rebuilt.” That finally drew a response from her class. A round of surprised stares and looks of disbelief. Rebuilding an ancient city was a huge undertaking.

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Not the whole city, though that we pray will happen in time. Just the chamber of souls. But it will be no small task.”

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The chamber is located within the very heart of the ancient citadel, which in turn is at the very centre of the city. And its rebuilding will require more than just the skills of the masons. It is a structure of magic and faith as much as stone. Built with the life blood of the ancient elves and invested with the very essence of the world.”

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To rebuild it will be a monumental task. It will take years and all the skills and magic and knowledge that we possess. But it is necessary. Because the chamber is where the ancient elves first made their pact with the world. Where their souls and the soul of the world became one with the gods. And it is also there that the event that destroyed both their race and devastated the world began. Where the pact was broken and with it the world. Whatever happened, happened there and then spread out like a forest fire that engulfed the entire world.”

Of course that was conjecture and guess work. It was also all that they had. And she kept asking herself that most terrible of questions – what if they were wrong? They had no other answer but this one could still be wrong.

“So to repair both the world and ourselves we must rebuild the chamber and remake the pact.”

Sena breathed a sigh of relief when she said that, glad that the lesson was done. The students now knew what they needed to know, even if there were many things that they were yet to learn. Things she had deliberately left out.

Some were simply things that they would probably work out for themselves in time. The reason that they had brought the wildlings to them wasn't simply that they had magic and needed a new home. It was that they were human, and humans were the race that had kept the ancient elves' impulse to build. If anyone was going to be able to rebuild the chamber it would have to be them. In time perhaps other humans without the gift would join them. But not while the Dicans ruled their lands. Not when there could be spies and agents among them. Wildlings and the priests of the other gods could be trusted. No others.

She also hadn't mentioned to them that this was all guesswork. The eleven had come up with the plan and they hoped it would work. But they weren't sure. There could be no such thing as certainty in this. Only hope. Again the students would probably work that out for themselves in time.

Then there was the fact that there were thirteen ancient gods but only eleven high priests had been returned. Two more were out there, and they suspected, had been in the world for many centuries. They didn't need to know that though. Not yet anyway. It would only scare them.

But by far the most important thing she didn't tell them was that once the chamber was rebuilt and it came time to re-forge the pact, none of them knew how to do that. Not even the eleven.

Everything they did – all the years they spent rebuilding – would be completely worthless if they couldn't do that. And there was a very great chance that they couldn't.

But what choice did they have?

Sena let her class absorb her words and then as she had each time before she answered their questions. And of course they had questions. Practical questions. Things like how did you rebuild an ancient structure? How long would it take? Where would they be housed while it was being done? All the things any practical person would want to know. But they never questioned her on whether she could be wrong. On the evidence they had.

Maybe it didn't matter to them. She had a thought that it didn't. These were not the lords and nobles of the southern realms. These were mostly the serfs and farmers of those places. They were accustomed to taking orders and doing what was asked of them. And they did not question those orders. Maybe that was what they needed. Obedience. For now at least.

Happily she knew as she answered the questions she could, that this would be her last class for a while. Lady Sylfene had asked her and her brother to undertake a journey for her. To travel into the southern wastes and see if things had truly become as terrible as their new charges were telling them. And though it was likely to be a sad and difficult journey, at least it would spare her this duty.

Chapter Fourteen.

It was in the village of Peat Rock that Dorn ran into the elves again, or rather just outside of it. It was just as he was leaving their land to head south back towards Little Rock and his fort when they approached. A small patrol scouting out the land ahead for the rest of their clan who he suspected were not far behind.

Seeing them he took cover, diving into a stand of tall trees to the side of the trail, knowing that they would kill him on sight if he gave them the chance. Not because he was a shifter. They didn't know that. But simply because he was an armed man alone on the road heading the wrong way. If he'd been a farmer they might have ignored him. But they had no interest in letting a wandering armed man live to cause trouble for their clan elsewhere. They had no interest in letting anyone live that might pose a potential problem.

He had already passed many other bodies lying on the sides of the road, and knew that even if these ones hadn't killed them they had been killed by more of their kind. And he knew that there were many more dead elsewhere. The alehouses were full of the tales. Small towns had been attacked. Travellers murdered. Farms and towns burnt. Wagon trains plundered. People were falling like wheat before the farmer's scythe. The patrols of the dusky elves were scouring the land, killing at will, and only the larger, better defended towns were safe. But how much longer even they would remain safe for was in the hands of the gods.

Peat Rock had been preparing their defences when he'd passed through. They had been training men in the use of crossbows. Building defensive towers. And of course recruiting guards urgently. The same was true in hundreds more towns across the wastes. But none of the towns had ever had to face the prospect of an armed assault. The wastes were peaceful. There were far too many other dangers for the people to face to think about war and conquest, and most of those dangers had sharp teeth, not battle bows. Besides, it was no unified realm. There was no king and no army. It was just a scattering of hundreds of individual towns. None of them had any allegiance to any greater power. Or to each other. They couldn't come together to help one another in times of war. That made them weak.

Of course he had also come across several dead patrols of dusky elves as well, and from the wounds he knew that they too had been felled by arrows. The likely culprits were more dusky elves from one of the other clans. They had no love for each other either. Rodan after all had slaughtered an entire patrol of dusky elves in the village of Little Rock simply because they were an enemy tribe, despite Lorian's foolish beliefs that it had been to protect the town. Rodan would have cheerfully slaughtered the villagers as well had they posed any threat to his clan. But they didn't. They might one day have been of use as serfs and slaves or farmers growing the food they wanted, so he'd let them live.

It troubled Dorn that he was seeing so many elves in the wastes. Especially this far north. He was still a week's travel away from his home. It said terrible things about how many were coming north. Maybe it was all of them? The entire realm. But there was nothing he could do about that. There was nothing he could do about anything except hope that it would all come to an end in time and that the elves would return to their homeland. Or that they would all kill one another or be eaten by the many savage creatures that called these lands home.

This patrol he noticed as they trotted toward him showed evidence of having been in battle. There were only a dozen of them still riding and half of them were wounded. They were leading another half dozen riderless horses all wearing the saddle and bridle of the dark elves, and he guessed that their masters had died on the way here. That struck him as a good thing. The more that died the fewer they would kill.

What wasn't so good was that they had a prisoner with them. A young boy with an iron collar around his neck. He couldn't have been more than twelve, not yet old enough to shave, and yet he bore the marks of violence on his face. That was wrong and he knew there could be only one reason for it. They'd captured a wildling. One of his people even though Dorn was supposedly no longer one of theirs. That made Dorn angry and as they passed he suddenly found his bow in his hands.

It was madness. He knew that. To even think of attacking a dozen dusky elves with a single longbow was complete insanity. Still, he found himself pulling back the drawstring and loosing an arrow at the tailing rider after they'd passed, and after that there was no point in wondering about what was mad and what wasn't.

The man cried out as he fell from his horse, an arrow firmly wedged in his side. It was not a lethal shot but it would make it impossible for him to walk or draw a bow for a long while. Especially if he didn't receive some healing soon. It was probably a better shot than Dorn had any right to expect given that the man was riding a horse and he was hiding among the trees. To push his luck Dorn then planted a second arrow in the shoulder of another elf as they came to a halt. That target he'd actually aimed at.

The captain screamed something out in Elfaen, and the entire troop wheeled and came charging for him. They didn't know exactly where he was, but they knew he was in the trees just behind them.

Dorn loosed another arrow into the captain's shoulder - he was becoming remarkably proficient with that shot – and then had to duck as half a dozen arrows came flying his way. They were worryingly close despite the fact that the elves couldn't see him. All they knew was the area of the woods that his arrows had come from.

Then one hit him, slicing straight into the meat of his thigh, and he grunted in pain. But there was no time for pain. Not with the elves charging him, looking to kill. Instead he drew on all the strength he had to snap the end of the arrow off so that it would slide cleanly out of his thigh and pulled it loose. He even managed to do it without screaming. He had to or they would have found him and killed him.

Then he shifted very quickly, taking to four legs and then back to two in a few heartbeats. The shift wasn't enough to heal the wound instantly, but it stopped the bleeding and eased some of the pain. With a patrol of angry elves heading his way, that would have to be enough. Especially when he had to rearrange his clothes after shifting
and all the while more arrows were heading his way.  Dorn took cover behind a tree and desperately started straightening out his clothes so he could fight. Shifting while dressed was always a problem. But at least they hadn't ripped.

Soon he was dressed well enough to draw a bow, though he was still hidden and arrows were flying by in numbers. Even when they couldn't see him the damned elves were deadly. The arrows were less worrying though than the troop charging him. They were very close and getting nearer all the time, and he knew that if he exposed himself to fire again they would kill him.

Desperate, he roared, acting on instincts he'd never known he had, and instantly the horses panicked. It was only a small roar, all he could manage when he was on two legs, but it was enough. No horse no matter how well trained would approach an angry big cat. They bucked and whinnied, tried to veer away and then stalled in their tracks, refusing to go any closer. A couple of the elves were sent flying while the rest stopped to regain control of their terrified mounts. It gave Dorn the chance he needed. While they were distracted he loosed a few more arrows into their midst. They weren’t great shots as the elves were moving about as they fought with their desperate animals. But they were good enough to take those he hit out of the fight.

By the time the elves had their horses under control five were down and that left only seven. The odds he thought were turning in his favour. Especially when the captain was clutching his horse's saddle while desperately trying to rein her in with his only good arm and so was unable to direct the others in their attack. To make sure that that continued Dorn shifted again and roared once more, this time with all the power that a panther could find. That sent the already skittish beasts into another panic.

Two more riders were tossed and fell heavily to the ground while the horses desperately tried to run. Immediately after he'd returned to his human form Dorn hastily straightened his clothes again and put arrows into three more elves. After that it was a rout.

The elves broke and ran leaving their fallen comrades behind, something that surprised him. Dusky elves had no respect for anyone other than those of their own clan but he had always thought that their loyalty to their clan would never let them abandon their own. They claimed their clan as the cornerstone of their existence. Still, it worked to his advantage when they left the boy behind, forgetting him in their panic. Though perhaps that was a generous thought. Perhaps they'd intentionally left him behind thinking that he would slow them down, bound as he was to their pack horse.

Still, why they had done it didn't matter. What mattered was that he was still there, and none of the elves were. None that could fight anyway. Four were lying on the ground, unmoving, and a couple were trying to stand up but not succeeding.

The battle was over, and somehow he'd won.

That shocked him. He'd gone into a battle against a dozen elves and somehow come out the other side as the victor. In all his life he'd never done any such thing. It wasn't what serfs did. It wasn't what wildlings did. They hid. They kept their heads down and followed their orders. The alternative was always death. Yet for some reason he had broken the lessons learned from a lifetime of hiding and won. He had survived. How could that be? And how could he have won?

Regardless Dorn congratulated himself on the victory as the fleeing elves vanished from sight. He even gave a small thank you prayer to Eldas for granting him the luck to survive. But not too loudly and he didn't bow his head or close his eyes. He knew the rest of the patrol had run away but he also knew it wasn't far. They might well be back after they'd regrouped and treated their wounds. How many of them would be able to fight then he didn't know.

He watched the elves flee for a bit, as he concentrated on neatening himself up. The leathers and canvas clothes hadn't torn – they were tough working clothes and he hadn't clawed them when he'd shifted – but they had stretched in places. He would probably need to see a seamstress in due course.

“
You all right boy?”

Dorn asked the obvious question as he emerged from the trees with his bow at the ready and an arrow notched. Just in case one of the fallen elves wasn't quite as helpless as he appeared.

“Yes Sir!”

The boy piped up quickly enough and Dorn gathered he was fit and well even if he seemed somewhat shocked by what had happened. In fact he was busy staring all around him with eyes so wide they looked like they were about to fall out of his head. Especially when he was whipping his head around like lightning to try and catch sight of all the fallen elves just in case some of them got up.

“It's just Dorn.”

“Yes
Dorn Sir!”

Dorn groaned quietly as the boy seemed to misunderstand him. But this was neither the time nor the place to pick him up on it. Instead he reached the nearest of the elves, grabbed his belt knife and quiver and then kicked his battle bow away. The man groaned a little but never moved.

Dorn did the same for the others, disarming them one by one, and none put up any fight. Not even the two that were alert enough to try to stand up. They simply yielded their weapons meekly to him and fairly soon he had a collection.

After that he walked across to the boy, aware that his mount was looking very skittish, cut the bonds tying him to the saddle and helped him to the ground. Then with a little help from one of the belt knives he'd just picked up, he broke the lock that bound the collar tight and freed him from the foul device. No more would the boy be chained up like an animal every time the elves stopped. The boy he noticed spent some time rubbing at the great red welt around his neck.

“What's your name boy?”

“
Tallis Sir. I'm a stonewright.”

Dorn sighed. Tallis it seemed was never going to stop calling him sir, and there was no point in trying to stop him. There probably wasn't a lot of time.

“Well Tallis, I want you to take all the horses here and ride north along that road to the next town. It's called Peat Rock and it's at most half a league away. There I want you to sell all the horses you don't need, get yourself some food and supplies, and ride north as far and as fast as you can. The elves are coming up from the south in numbers and they don't like our kind. They will put you back in that collar if they can.”

“
Yes Sir!” The boy understood him only too clearly and he quickly ran for the nearest horse. There were only three of them including the pack horse he'd been riding.

Meanwhile Dorn had his own work to do, most of which concerned getting rid of the elves' weapons. He was getting tired of the sight of battle bows. But a little tinder and a spark from his flint soon took care of that. They burnt well. The loss of the bows would upset the dusky elves he knew. They prided themselves on their weapons. Not just their skill in using them but also in making them. Each battle bow bore the mark of its owner proudly. Now their owners would have a little less to be proud of. Their owners though didn't seem to object. Those that were awake glared angrily at him, but they said nothing.

That was good he thought, as was the sight of the boy galloping up the road as fast as he could with a couple of horses in tow a few minutes later. Dorn waved farewell to him but the boy didn't look back. And that was probably as it should be. His job was to get away not look back.