Well looking at the some of the previous blog posts I must begin with an apology. I have on occasion been writing a blog of many writers - pesky apostrophes!
Well I've been writing quite frequently and hope you're enjoying Rolling Shadows, which may not be its final name, believe it or not I actually have a plan of where it's going - it's just a little hazy.
University will be starting up again pretty soon, 22nd of September is enrollment day. Then it will be back to the grindstone. Okay it isn't all that bad but is ironic that I do less of the writing I want when I'm in uni as I have to do the assigned work. I just have to remember Sci-fi is as valid a genre as any other.
Speaking of which I am also working on a science fiction novel. This has less of a clear direction - partly because I keep changing my mind about stuff - but it is still going fairly well.
This coming Friday is my cousin's wedding, so I'd like to take this opportunity to wish her and her new husband a very happy day and a long and prosperous life together.
"The Oxford English dictionary defines a wedding as, the process of removing weeds from ones garden." Homer Simpson.
Monday 31 August 2009
Sunday 30 August 2009
Rolling Shadows - Chapter 7
Nayrath returned to the riverside where his brother and Thalif waited. He had barely touched down before his brother inquired how it went.
“I am to seek out the spirits,” Nayrath said, his trepidation showing in his voice, “my orders are to assemble a small team and head to the spirits.”
“With your squadron?”
“No,” Nayrath said, he explained how he had been ordered to take a small group. He hoped to hint that he required Thalif's assistance, not feeling he could ask her directly. He was therefore relieved when she said, "since you no doubt want to keep this secret. I suggest I come with you, I know about the legends, may be of help.”
“Thank you,” Nayrath said, “that will be most helpful.”
“I'm going too,” La'ingif said.
“No.”
“Why?”
Nayrath placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, “Tha'lif has skills that I require, I don't want to risk more than I have too.”
“If the manticores do invade,” La'ingif said, “I'd rather be with you. Please.”
“All right,” his brother conceded, “Cassy, Shaydon,” he called beckoning the two over.
As soon as they were ready the five of them took to the sky. They flew across the river, that represented the boundary of their country. Heading towards the Dwarf Dominions and the Centaur Kingdom. Laingif and Tha'lif flew along side Shaydon and Cassy respectively, Nayrath wanted the less inexperienced members of his team to be well protected. The Wardens of course carried swords but the civilian couple had been loaned swards by two members of Nayrath's squadron. La'ingif pulled the sword from his scabbard checking the reflection in the decreasing light.
“Concentrate on flying,” his brother told him.
“The staff does that itself.”
“True,” Nayrath said, without looking back, “but better to have your eyes ahead.”
Before the sun had completely set they landed. They were now some distance from home and needed a place to sleep for the night.
“Can we really just drop in?” Cassy asked.
“No choice,” said Nayrath, “besides, we have money to pay – if they have rooms I can't see why they would refuse us.”
“We are armed sir.”
“True. But so will the dwarfs be, they carry hammers or axes as a matter of course. Nevertheless the uniforms will be recognized.”
“Our group will indeed attract attention,” Shaydon said.
“Anything you can do about that?” Nayrath asked his brother.
“Of course,” he smiled, “seems it was advantageous to have me with you,” he spoke as though he was glad of it himself, not in an 'I told you so' kind of way. Tailoring had been his area of study. While elf tailoring worked with cloth like that of the Dwarfs, it could also use magic. This was usually done to test a new design, but in this instance it could be used for a disguise.
“We'll still stand out.”
“No,” Nayrath said, “we'll be hidden in plain sight. Come on me first.”
“All right, I suppose that only you three need to change, Tha'lif and I are inconspicuous.” La'ingif pointed his staff at his brother and called the spell to the forefront of his mind. Nayrath's dark blue robes slowly changed colour. The colour washed down him like an ocean wave, his uniform was now dark green and the insignia became a patten on the left breast. Nayrath thanked his brother and moved on to Cassy.
“Light green,” Cassy said with a smile.
La'ingif performed the spell again, the wave of colour washed over Cassy and her robes changed to a light mossy green. Shaydon's robes were changed to black.
“Sure you don't want a more interesting colour?” La'ingif asked.
“Yes,” she said simply.
“We're ready,” Nayrath said, “we'll leave the staffs here as sentries, besides they might alarm the dwarfs.”
“Yes sir,” Shaydon said, though she was somewhat unsure by that order. Their staffs were placed in the ground, away from their masters the staffs became trees. As they morphed to this form the elves headed away.
The Dwarfs were primarily a cave dwelling species, but they had some living space above ground to rear their animals and to enjoy noisy parties. Just ahead of the elf quintet was a rock face with the entrance to the dwarf caves. Just before that was a tavern, smoke bellowed from the chimneys, indicating a roaring fire within. Outside the tavern their hung a sign, written in the photographic language of the Dwarfs.
“Can anyone read that?” Nayrath asked.
“Miner's Bounty,” Shaydon said.
“Thank you.”
Even before they reached the tavern door they could hear the internal goings on, the sound of drunken singing. Elves were never as jolly as this and normally Dwarfs were considered to be lacking in decorum. Nayrath pushed the door open. The ceiling of the tavern was higher than the dwarfs required, it meant that the elves didn't have to stoop to far. At the back of the tavern, just to the right of the counter a fire roared, above it was a bricked chimney breast. The dwarfs held large tankards of frothy mead. They smashed them together creating small sticky patches on the floor. Shaydon looked down with some disdain, unable to shake the feeling that someone should clean up in here. As they entered the conversations seemed to stop, as if everyone had reached a natural pause at the same moment. The elves quickly realized that all eyes were on them. Quietly Nayrath and his party approached the bar.
“We did not meant to interrupt,” Nayrath said, “we'd like to eat here and have a bed for the night.”
“Of course!” The bar tender beamed, looking up at the elf, “we're happy to welcome our huge friends,” he clicked his fingers, “Denon!” He called to one of his staff, “remove the chairs from table fifteen!” He spoke as if the young Denon should have done it five minutes before the elves entered.
“Thank you,” Nayrath said, a little taken aback at the tone of the bar owner to his staff.
They moved through the bar and sat at the table that had been prepared for them. Shaydon's slight claustrophobia ebbed once she was sat on one of the cushions round the table, though she was rather unsure of what to do with her legs.
“What can I get you?” asked Denon, he nervously played with his thin wispy beard. Yet to reach his full fight he had to look up to look the elves in the eyes, even though the latter were seated.
“Your people's mead is the stuff of legends,” Nayrath said, “mead all round.”
“Of course sir,” he took a quick head count and went to get the order. As he walked to the bar talking among the dwarfs started again. They now saw the elves simply as customers like they were, drinking like they were. Any racial uncertainty seemed to be gone. Songs soon began to be sung, and soon the sound rose so as to show no evidence of their having been an interruption.
“We should drop formalities,” Nayrath said quietly, eying his fellow Wardens, “it could attract attention.”
“Do we just call you Nayrath?” Cassy asked.
“Yes.”
“That might take some getting used to.”
“Yes sir, I mean Nayrath.”
Nayrath smiled at Shaydon's response, though he was sure she hadn't intended her remark to be humerus. Rather it was a knee-jerk reaction to orders having been given. Denon returned at that moment with their drinks, placing a tankard in front of each of them.
“Enjoy,” he said with some nervousness, “please tell me when and if you wish to order food.”
“We will, thank you.”
The young dwarf headed away as the elves took a moment to examine their drinks, “this looks interesting,” Tha'lif said picking up the tankard. The mead smelt of honey and was very frothy. They raised their tankards and tapped them against each others lightly. In stark contrast to the table just across from them. They roared with approval as another batch of drinks arrived, smashing them together, spilling more mead on the floor.
“They'd do better not to fill them so full,” Shaydon said under her breath.
Cassy laughed, “maybe. It's all good fun,” she took a sip of her drink, and screwed up her face.
“Though I think I see why they do.”
Tavern's back home were quite different to what the elves now experienced in The Miner's Bounty. Elves were never quite so jovial and for them meals were usually a sombre affair. However when they declared to their hosts that they wished to eat food came in great quantities. Denon didn't even ask what they wished to have, he simply left at would soon return with food. When the food was served they were not given an individual meal, it was placed on the table and shared between all. The elf diet was mainly fish, grains and vegetables. It seemed to the elves had never had the concept of portions.
Of course the food that was brought to the table you would not know. So imagine if you will being used to simplistic food and now being served: salted pork, two legs of lamb, four small chickens and a large bowl of vegetables. Obviously these were not the beasts they were served but it would have been had the dwarfs lived on earth.
“This is incredible,” La'ingif said as he surveyed the table, “we'd never eat like this at home!”
“Oh course not,” his brother said quietly, “we eat only what we need, nothing is wasted.”
“Nothing is wasted here I assure you,” a dwarf passing by said, he didn't seem to mind the comments of the elves, perhaps he was too drunk to notice what had been said. The dwarf lent across their table picking up a drum stick, “everything will be eaten.” The dwarf headed back to his own table and the bar owner came over.
“We don't always eat like this,” he said, “its a celebration.”
Feeling that they would not need to eat for a couple of weeks, for the dwarfs this was factually true, the elves were shown up the stairs to the room they had asked for.
“Are you sure you don't want separate rooms?” the bar owner asked, “I don't ask that because of the money – just thought you'd be more comfortable.”
“This room will be fine, thank you.”
“Your welcome.”
“Goodnight.”
The hours of the night passed and most of the group fell asleep with ease. Nayrath was surprised with the ease at which his brother and Tha'lif fell asleep. He expected the civilian members of his team to have more trouble, what with the unfamiliar situation. Unable to sleep he cast a glance over at Shaydon, her feat hung over the edge of the bed. As he closed his eyes his mind raced with possibilities.
Suddenly he heard a clatter. He turned his head towards the windows, it might have been nothing, just the wind. - Its never just the wind. As he looked closer he noticed his party's staffs hanging just outside, barely visible in the darkness. He flung his hand in the direction of his sleeping companions, they awoke and sat up. With outstretched hands they called their staffs to them and stood as if as one.
“What is it?” La'ingif asked.
Nayrath signaled for quiet. There was a creaking sound just outside the door now, the windows rattled in duet. The staffs must have seen something and known that they would be needed. The cacophonous sounds were added to by a thud outside.
“Stand ready,” Nayrath said.
Shaydon and Cassy stood ready – swards drawn, hands steady.
La'ingif stood quivering – ready though nervous.
Tha'liff bit her lit.
Suddenly the door was blown of it's hinges. It flew straight to the back of the room, La'ingif dived out of the way as it hit the back wall slamming into and smashing the windows. In the doorway their stood a manticore, blood dripped from its lips – it had feasted on dwarf. The manitcore surveyed the room. Since taking on the mantel of the Dark Elves these beasts could show emotion like a sapient species, in fact they had become sapient because of the Dark Elves. His expression seemed to be one of disappointment, like it wanted more of a fight. The creature lifted its paw, the jewel that gave it its magic glowed briefly. Shaydon withdrew her dagger and hurled it at the beast. The manticore wailed and looked at the knife embedded in its paw. Then simultaneously the three wardens lifted their staffs, spoke their magic and the manticore was thrown in the air and landed hard – stunned.
Another manticore came to the threshold. It paid no heed to its fallen comrade. It instead made a dive for Nayrath. A large, sharp claw slashed at his face, the white blood seeping down his cheek. Nayrath brought his sword to attack once more when suddenly the manticore was slammed aside by the door, flung at it hard by a spell from Cassy. The dazed creature shook of its injury and tried to rise again, before it could do so Nayrath speared it through the heart.
At that moment more manticores entered the room. Nayrath was rather better prepared this time, he swung his sword high. In doing so he slashed the wings of the creature, it fell to the ground and fired off a spell. Nayrath dogged the spell and deflected it back to the beast that has cast it, the manticore stopped it with a wave of its paw. It bounded once more to Nayrath who speared it thought the neck. It chocked briefly and collapsed.
With staff in one hand and sword in the other Shaydon fought her attacker, as Nayrath fought his, however neither of them, nor Cassy, who was pinned to the ground shielding herself from a slashing manticore, could help Tha'lif or La'inif.
The fifth beast to enter the room had dived immediately for La'ingif and Tha'lif, perhaps seeing them as easy prey. La'ingif swung his sword, but missed. The manticore knocked him down on the bed. Tha'lif tried to help and the creature slashed at her face. The manticore grinned a toothy grin and lent forward to devour its prey. Tha'lif reached up behind the manticore, the cuts stung on her face, she jabbed her sword in to its back. She drew blood but the beast thrust itself back and the sword clattered and Tha'lif fell to the ground.
Still under her shield Cassy's hands were shaped like claws. The manticore still tried to get at her, Cassy whispered something, the shield expanded and the manticore was thrown out of the window. He hit the ground hard.
La'ingif felt the warm breath of the manticore on his face.
Tha'lif was back on her feat, she tried to use the sword again – but was no more successful.
Then before the manticore was fully aware of what was happening he shot up in the sky, a spell of Cassy's the sword hilt hit the ceiling and drove the weapon into its back.
“Lets go,” Nayrath said, “we'll be swimming in these Beasts before long!
“La'ingif,” Cassy said looking over at Nayrath's brother. Nayrath turned to look upon the two inexperienced members of his team. Tha'liff's face bled from her cuts and La'ingif lay still. His clothing was shredded, there were cuts on his shoulders, and every so often his body twitched.
“A thorn,” Cassy declared. Nayrath could just see it sticking out of La'ingif's arm with a white halo around it.
“How long does he have?”
Cassy declared that she did not know. Right now it wasn't their main concern, more manticores would no doubt arrive soon and the elves knew they could not be their when they did. Shaydon left the room first directing the limp body of La'ingif with a spell, Cassy followed behind her.
“What about him?” Tha'liff asked with some difficulty. Her finger pointed towards the manticore they had stunned.
“Follow the others,” Nayrath said, he cast her a look that told her not to argue.
Tha'lif bowed her head and left the room without another word. Nayrath walked up to the body, looking at it he said, “I know what you would do in my place.” He put his sword to the neck of the creature. A body was so fragile he thought. With one stroke this manticore could be dead. He couldn't do it. He switched to place his staff to the manticore and performed the reviving spell.
“Move and you die,” he said switching back to his sword.
“You could have killed me when I was stunned,” the creature said in a croaky monotone.
“I will not kill in cold blood.”
“Your integrity will lose you this war.”
“Defend yourself,” Nayrath ordered the manticore. The beast yanked the knife from its paw. Nayrath backed away from his enemy. His enemy stood, raised its paw and fired a spell. Nayrath dodged and returned fire, the creature lept out of the way and dived for Nayrath – only to meet the sharp end of the elf's sword. Nayrath left the room to see the headless body of the bar owner. With a swift prayer, he followed his companions.
“I am to seek out the spirits,” Nayrath said, his trepidation showing in his voice, “my orders are to assemble a small team and head to the spirits.”
“With your squadron?”
“No,” Nayrath said, he explained how he had been ordered to take a small group. He hoped to hint that he required Thalif's assistance, not feeling he could ask her directly. He was therefore relieved when she said, "since you no doubt want to keep this secret. I suggest I come with you, I know about the legends, may be of help.”
“Thank you,” Nayrath said, “that will be most helpful.”
“I'm going too,” La'ingif said.
“No.”
“Why?”
Nayrath placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, “Tha'lif has skills that I require, I don't want to risk more than I have too.”
“If the manticores do invade,” La'ingif said, “I'd rather be with you. Please.”
“All right,” his brother conceded, “Cassy, Shaydon,” he called beckoning the two over.
As soon as they were ready the five of them took to the sky. They flew across the river, that represented the boundary of their country. Heading towards the Dwarf Dominions and the Centaur Kingdom. Laingif and Tha'lif flew along side Shaydon and Cassy respectively, Nayrath wanted the less inexperienced members of his team to be well protected. The Wardens of course carried swords but the civilian couple had been loaned swards by two members of Nayrath's squadron. La'ingif pulled the sword from his scabbard checking the reflection in the decreasing light.
“Concentrate on flying,” his brother told him.
“The staff does that itself.”
“True,” Nayrath said, without looking back, “but better to have your eyes ahead.”
Before the sun had completely set they landed. They were now some distance from home and needed a place to sleep for the night.
“Can we really just drop in?” Cassy asked.
“No choice,” said Nayrath, “besides, we have money to pay – if they have rooms I can't see why they would refuse us.”
“We are armed sir.”
“True. But so will the dwarfs be, they carry hammers or axes as a matter of course. Nevertheless the uniforms will be recognized.”
“Our group will indeed attract attention,” Shaydon said.
“Anything you can do about that?” Nayrath asked his brother.
“Of course,” he smiled, “seems it was advantageous to have me with you,” he spoke as though he was glad of it himself, not in an 'I told you so' kind of way. Tailoring had been his area of study. While elf tailoring worked with cloth like that of the Dwarfs, it could also use magic. This was usually done to test a new design, but in this instance it could be used for a disguise.
“We'll still stand out.”
“No,” Nayrath said, “we'll be hidden in plain sight. Come on me first.”
“All right, I suppose that only you three need to change, Tha'lif and I are inconspicuous.” La'ingif pointed his staff at his brother and called the spell to the forefront of his mind. Nayrath's dark blue robes slowly changed colour. The colour washed down him like an ocean wave, his uniform was now dark green and the insignia became a patten on the left breast. Nayrath thanked his brother and moved on to Cassy.
“Light green,” Cassy said with a smile.
La'ingif performed the spell again, the wave of colour washed over Cassy and her robes changed to a light mossy green. Shaydon's robes were changed to black.
“Sure you don't want a more interesting colour?” La'ingif asked.
“Yes,” she said simply.
“We're ready,” Nayrath said, “we'll leave the staffs here as sentries, besides they might alarm the dwarfs.”
“Yes sir,” Shaydon said, though she was somewhat unsure by that order. Their staffs were placed in the ground, away from their masters the staffs became trees. As they morphed to this form the elves headed away.
The Dwarfs were primarily a cave dwelling species, but they had some living space above ground to rear their animals and to enjoy noisy parties. Just ahead of the elf quintet was a rock face with the entrance to the dwarf caves. Just before that was a tavern, smoke bellowed from the chimneys, indicating a roaring fire within. Outside the tavern their hung a sign, written in the photographic language of the Dwarfs.
“Can anyone read that?” Nayrath asked.
“Miner's Bounty,” Shaydon said.
“Thank you.”
Even before they reached the tavern door they could hear the internal goings on, the sound of drunken singing. Elves were never as jolly as this and normally Dwarfs were considered to be lacking in decorum. Nayrath pushed the door open. The ceiling of the tavern was higher than the dwarfs required, it meant that the elves didn't have to stoop to far. At the back of the tavern, just to the right of the counter a fire roared, above it was a bricked chimney breast. The dwarfs held large tankards of frothy mead. They smashed them together creating small sticky patches on the floor. Shaydon looked down with some disdain, unable to shake the feeling that someone should clean up in here. As they entered the conversations seemed to stop, as if everyone had reached a natural pause at the same moment. The elves quickly realized that all eyes were on them. Quietly Nayrath and his party approached the bar.
“We did not meant to interrupt,” Nayrath said, “we'd like to eat here and have a bed for the night.”
“Of course!” The bar tender beamed, looking up at the elf, “we're happy to welcome our huge friends,” he clicked his fingers, “Denon!” He called to one of his staff, “remove the chairs from table fifteen!” He spoke as if the young Denon should have done it five minutes before the elves entered.
“Thank you,” Nayrath said, a little taken aback at the tone of the bar owner to his staff.
They moved through the bar and sat at the table that had been prepared for them. Shaydon's slight claustrophobia ebbed once she was sat on one of the cushions round the table, though she was rather unsure of what to do with her legs.
“What can I get you?” asked Denon, he nervously played with his thin wispy beard. Yet to reach his full fight he had to look up to look the elves in the eyes, even though the latter were seated.
“Your people's mead is the stuff of legends,” Nayrath said, “mead all round.”
“Of course sir,” he took a quick head count and went to get the order. As he walked to the bar talking among the dwarfs started again. They now saw the elves simply as customers like they were, drinking like they were. Any racial uncertainty seemed to be gone. Songs soon began to be sung, and soon the sound rose so as to show no evidence of their having been an interruption.
“We should drop formalities,” Nayrath said quietly, eying his fellow Wardens, “it could attract attention.”
“Do we just call you Nayrath?” Cassy asked.
“Yes.”
“That might take some getting used to.”
“Yes sir, I mean Nayrath.”
Nayrath smiled at Shaydon's response, though he was sure she hadn't intended her remark to be humerus. Rather it was a knee-jerk reaction to orders having been given. Denon returned at that moment with their drinks, placing a tankard in front of each of them.
“Enjoy,” he said with some nervousness, “please tell me when and if you wish to order food.”
“We will, thank you.”
The young dwarf headed away as the elves took a moment to examine their drinks, “this looks interesting,” Tha'lif said picking up the tankard. The mead smelt of honey and was very frothy. They raised their tankards and tapped them against each others lightly. In stark contrast to the table just across from them. They roared with approval as another batch of drinks arrived, smashing them together, spilling more mead on the floor.
“They'd do better not to fill them so full,” Shaydon said under her breath.
Cassy laughed, “maybe. It's all good fun,” she took a sip of her drink, and screwed up her face.
“Though I think I see why they do.”
Tavern's back home were quite different to what the elves now experienced in The Miner's Bounty. Elves were never quite so jovial and for them meals were usually a sombre affair. However when they declared to their hosts that they wished to eat food came in great quantities. Denon didn't even ask what they wished to have, he simply left at would soon return with food. When the food was served they were not given an individual meal, it was placed on the table and shared between all. The elf diet was mainly fish, grains and vegetables. It seemed to the elves had never had the concept of portions.
Of course the food that was brought to the table you would not know. So imagine if you will being used to simplistic food and now being served: salted pork, two legs of lamb, four small chickens and a large bowl of vegetables. Obviously these were not the beasts they were served but it would have been had the dwarfs lived on earth.
“This is incredible,” La'ingif said as he surveyed the table, “we'd never eat like this at home!”
“Oh course not,” his brother said quietly, “we eat only what we need, nothing is wasted.”
“Nothing is wasted here I assure you,” a dwarf passing by said, he didn't seem to mind the comments of the elves, perhaps he was too drunk to notice what had been said. The dwarf lent across their table picking up a drum stick, “everything will be eaten.” The dwarf headed back to his own table and the bar owner came over.
“We don't always eat like this,” he said, “its a celebration.”
Feeling that they would not need to eat for a couple of weeks, for the dwarfs this was factually true, the elves were shown up the stairs to the room they had asked for.
“Are you sure you don't want separate rooms?” the bar owner asked, “I don't ask that because of the money – just thought you'd be more comfortable.”
“This room will be fine, thank you.”
“Your welcome.”
“Goodnight.”
The hours of the night passed and most of the group fell asleep with ease. Nayrath was surprised with the ease at which his brother and Tha'lif fell asleep. He expected the civilian members of his team to have more trouble, what with the unfamiliar situation. Unable to sleep he cast a glance over at Shaydon, her feat hung over the edge of the bed. As he closed his eyes his mind raced with possibilities.
Suddenly he heard a clatter. He turned his head towards the windows, it might have been nothing, just the wind. - Its never just the wind. As he looked closer he noticed his party's staffs hanging just outside, barely visible in the darkness. He flung his hand in the direction of his sleeping companions, they awoke and sat up. With outstretched hands they called their staffs to them and stood as if as one.
“What is it?” La'ingif asked.
Nayrath signaled for quiet. There was a creaking sound just outside the door now, the windows rattled in duet. The staffs must have seen something and known that they would be needed. The cacophonous sounds were added to by a thud outside.
“Stand ready,” Nayrath said.
Shaydon and Cassy stood ready – swards drawn, hands steady.
La'ingif stood quivering – ready though nervous.
Tha'liff bit her lit.
Suddenly the door was blown of it's hinges. It flew straight to the back of the room, La'ingif dived out of the way as it hit the back wall slamming into and smashing the windows. In the doorway their stood a manticore, blood dripped from its lips – it had feasted on dwarf. The manitcore surveyed the room. Since taking on the mantel of the Dark Elves these beasts could show emotion like a sapient species, in fact they had become sapient because of the Dark Elves. His expression seemed to be one of disappointment, like it wanted more of a fight. The creature lifted its paw, the jewel that gave it its magic glowed briefly. Shaydon withdrew her dagger and hurled it at the beast. The manticore wailed and looked at the knife embedded in its paw. Then simultaneously the three wardens lifted their staffs, spoke their magic and the manticore was thrown in the air and landed hard – stunned.
Another manticore came to the threshold. It paid no heed to its fallen comrade. It instead made a dive for Nayrath. A large, sharp claw slashed at his face, the white blood seeping down his cheek. Nayrath brought his sword to attack once more when suddenly the manticore was slammed aside by the door, flung at it hard by a spell from Cassy. The dazed creature shook of its injury and tried to rise again, before it could do so Nayrath speared it through the heart.
At that moment more manticores entered the room. Nayrath was rather better prepared this time, he swung his sword high. In doing so he slashed the wings of the creature, it fell to the ground and fired off a spell. Nayrath dogged the spell and deflected it back to the beast that has cast it, the manticore stopped it with a wave of its paw. It bounded once more to Nayrath who speared it thought the neck. It chocked briefly and collapsed.
With staff in one hand and sword in the other Shaydon fought her attacker, as Nayrath fought his, however neither of them, nor Cassy, who was pinned to the ground shielding herself from a slashing manticore, could help Tha'lif or La'inif.
The fifth beast to enter the room had dived immediately for La'ingif and Tha'lif, perhaps seeing them as easy prey. La'ingif swung his sword, but missed. The manticore knocked him down on the bed. Tha'lif tried to help and the creature slashed at her face. The manticore grinned a toothy grin and lent forward to devour its prey. Tha'lif reached up behind the manticore, the cuts stung on her face, she jabbed her sword in to its back. She drew blood but the beast thrust itself back and the sword clattered and Tha'lif fell to the ground.
Still under her shield Cassy's hands were shaped like claws. The manticore still tried to get at her, Cassy whispered something, the shield expanded and the manticore was thrown out of the window. He hit the ground hard.
La'ingif felt the warm breath of the manticore on his face.
Tha'lif was back on her feat, she tried to use the sword again – but was no more successful.
Then before the manticore was fully aware of what was happening he shot up in the sky, a spell of Cassy's the sword hilt hit the ceiling and drove the weapon into its back.
“Lets go,” Nayrath said, “we'll be swimming in these Beasts before long!
“La'ingif,” Cassy said looking over at Nayrath's brother. Nayrath turned to look upon the two inexperienced members of his team. Tha'liff's face bled from her cuts and La'ingif lay still. His clothing was shredded, there were cuts on his shoulders, and every so often his body twitched.
“A thorn,” Cassy declared. Nayrath could just see it sticking out of La'ingif's arm with a white halo around it.
“How long does he have?”
Cassy declared that she did not know. Right now it wasn't their main concern, more manticores would no doubt arrive soon and the elves knew they could not be their when they did. Shaydon left the room first directing the limp body of La'ingif with a spell, Cassy followed behind her.
“What about him?” Tha'liff asked with some difficulty. Her finger pointed towards the manticore they had stunned.
“Follow the others,” Nayrath said, he cast her a look that told her not to argue.
Tha'lif bowed her head and left the room without another word. Nayrath walked up to the body, looking at it he said, “I know what you would do in my place.” He put his sword to the neck of the creature. A body was so fragile he thought. With one stroke this manticore could be dead. He couldn't do it. He switched to place his staff to the manticore and performed the reviving spell.
“Move and you die,” he said switching back to his sword.
“You could have killed me when I was stunned,” the creature said in a croaky monotone.
“I will not kill in cold blood.”
“Your integrity will lose you this war.”
“Defend yourself,” Nayrath ordered the manticore. The beast yanked the knife from its paw. Nayrath backed away from his enemy. His enemy stood, raised its paw and fired a spell. Nayrath dodged and returned fire, the creature lept out of the way and dived for Nayrath – only to meet the sharp end of the elf's sword. Nayrath left the room to see the headless body of the bar owner. With a swift prayer, he followed his companions.
Sunday 23 August 2009
Rolling Shadows - Chapter 6
The sun shone brightly over Elselthinor. It had been a beautiful summer which was now nearing its end. The day had been hot but now as the sun moved passed its zenith a cool breeze blew. Away from the wood of their home two young elves sat. A river flowed just a short way from them, they watched the water as it gushed over a small rise and rushed away. The young couple looked into each others eyes and kissed. The male was nearing his fifty-ninth birthday and the female with him had just had her sixty-second birthday. By elven standards they were only on the cusp of adulthood.
The culture of the elves was specifically geared to training in a chosen profession. They would be schooled for nearly twenty-five years and then become an apprentice for at-least thirty years. At the conclusion of that time they were in a position to work independently before they took on apprentices of their own, beginning the cycle all over again.
The lips of the elves parted and they stroked each other's long hair. The man's name was La'ingif, his girlfriend was Tha'lif. They looked into each other's eyes and La'ingif spoke, “there are times when I wish I was a faun.”
“Fauns are very short lived,” Tha'lif said.
It was a strange statement to be sure: faun males lacked intelligence, they spent most of their time drinking, mating and hunting. Yet it was to none of these traits that La'ingif referred. Tha'lif, knew what he meant.
“I know your frustration. But your life would be almost half over where you a faun!” Tha'lif smiled at him, “my great-grandfather used to say that every race has envy in common. Age usually being a factor, fauns wish to be like us because of our longevity, we wish to be like them for respect at a younger age.”
They listened to the sounds around them. The flow of the water, the quiet twitter of the birds and the occasional splash of an animal as it moved in the water. Elves were never far from water, it served the practical purpose of providing food, but also it was relaxing to them. They rose from their mat and headed down to the waterline. They each carried a staff, elves were rarely seen without a staff, it was a companion. The staffs were round, the wood looked as though it had been plaited, each was topped with a white gem stone.
At the water's edge was a small boat, that they had brought with them. Tha'lif raised her hand with a whispered spell and the boat lifted into the air. It then floated over the water and touched down, skimming it lightly. They mounted their respective staffs, tapped the ground tree times and rose into the air, landing in the boat.
La'ingif took up the oars and rowed the boat to the middle of the river. With a flick of her fingers and wrist Tha'lif brought their bag of equipment over to them. She opened the bag and pulled out the fishing rod, which was longer than the bag, out. She cast the line into the water. They waited, making small talk in the hopes of soon getting a bite. After being unsuccessful La'ingif suggested that they try another spot. Tha'lif handed him the rod. He shifted position and flung the line into the water. He cursed mildly, even this sounded poetic.
“It's snagged!” he said, “I'll deal with it.” He held his staff over the edge of the boat, whispered a spell and dropped it into the water. Taking off his white shirt he dived into the water. The staff began to grow branches, deep blue berries budding at the ends. He swam down following the line. As he swam the berries dropped from the staff, he caught them in his mouth and his lungs filled with oxygen.
The line descended into a pile of rocks. As he cleared them away the cascading berries
began to fall faster. He could now see that the hook had cough onto an old and battered box. He unhooked the line, pulled on it, so Tha'lif could bring it up, and swam up to the surface with the box under his arm. He soon reached the surface and swam the couple of strides to the boat. He passed Tha'lif the box and climbed in, rocking the boat.
“Careful,” Tha'lif said.
“Sorry,” he said. He grabbed his staff and whispered to it. The water from his body evaporated and flew away, he was dry soon enough. Their curiosity about the box was abated only by their hunger. They continued to fish glancing every so often at the box.
With a successful catch they brought the fish back to their tent and set them cooking on a small fire. As the smell of the cooking fish began to tickle their nostrils their attention quickly turned to the box.
“What is it?” La'ingif asked.
“I don't know,” Tha'lif said, “its got no markings nothing to give me any sort of clue. I believe however that its an old and battered box!”
He returned her smile, “care to elaborate?”
She placed the box on the ground, placed her staff on top and whispered, “unlock.” A single thin vine came from the staff, went into the key hole and a couple of seconds later the box clicked open. Inside was a scroll. It was like no scroll ether of them had seen before. First and foremost it was a good deal thicker than the paper they were used to; secondly, as they unrolled it, the script was not only unintelligible it was also unknown.
“I do not believe this was made by magic,” Tha'lif said.
“What makes you say that?”
“The thickness of the paper,” she said, “any elf making a scroll would have been able to make it thin. Look at that, it is at least twice the thickness of normal.”
“So was if made by fauns, centaurs, dwarfs?”
“I don't know.”
“So you don't know what language that is?”
“No,” she said. The language was strange to their eyes. Many right-angles, the odd curved letter and some were just simple lines, as if a mark had accidentally been made on the page, “what language it is doesn't matter anyway.”
“I'm surprised to hear you say that.”
“I'm curious,” she explained, “but this may be important.” She tapped her staff against the parchment with a whispered spell. The ink fell to the bottom of the page, then it spiraled upwards redrawing itself in their familiar swirled script. Tha'lif held the scroll as they read.
The world as you know it is about to change. Soon the elves and their kin must give up their position as the only races with magical ability. The Dwarfs, Fauns and Centaurs will develop these skills. As the fist magical species they must help guide them in their new power. We see great risk. With power comes the temptation of misuse, as is known with the Dark Elves.
You must go to the spirits. The Dark ones and their manticore servants will overrun the world if you do not heed this warning. You must seek out the spirits – make them see time as you do.
There is more you need to know. For the magic you use will come to others. A race so far unknown to you – humans. They too will gain magic ability. Your people will meet with them in due course.
The couple turned the word 'human' over in their heads a few times. It seemed strange, another world was equally strange. La'ingif was the first to speak, he had heard that the spirits were only beings of legend.
“No,” Tha'lif said, “they're quite real, its just that their concept of time is quite different form ours.”
“I'm not sure I understand.”
“The average elf life span is about four hundred years,” she said, “I have heard stories that the spirits can live for hundreds of thousands of years, even more than that. Those numbers are a little difficult to follow, allow me to explain,” Tha'liff paused as she thought of how to explain, “some insects live for a very short amount of time. Imagine a creature that lives for one hour. So a day is the equivalent of, well lets say a millennium. Now suppose those insects believe you to be their god. They come to you and pray, 'please lord bring us water,'” La'ingif laughed as she put on a silly voice, “but at that time you have reached a particularly thrilling part of your book. You decide to go when you've finished. Two hours later you arrive.”
“So,” Laingif said, “to come out of the metaphor, the spirits, if asked to do something, might only come to our aid after, what, eight centuries.”
“Possibly longer.”
“I believe I understand.”
“Their are legends of the spirits being called upon to assist and not arriving. The battle, or whatever it was is fought then the help arrives decades later.”
“So that's what the scroll meant,” Laingif said, “about making them see our time.”
“I suppose so.”
Laingif checked the fish, “diner's ready.”
“Good, I'm definitely ready for it.”
Laingif took the cooked fish and handed Tha'lif a plate, “here you go.”
“Thanks,” she said taking a bite, “very good.”
“Tell me more about the spirits.”
“Well,” she said, “it is hard to say. Some of the things I have read may only have a morsel of truth in them, others may have none. It is said they live millions of years, that they were around when the planet formed.”
“They created it?”
“The fauns believe they did, personally I think they are just beings that have been around a lot longer than we have.”
“If this scroll is important we should tell my brother about it.”
“You think the Wardens will want to know?”
“If what it says is true is,” La'ingif said, “they definitely shall.”
“Look,” Tha'lif said, she pointed to the sky, having looked up in thought, La'ingif looked where she pointed had suddenly turned her gaze to the sky and noticed blue figures. They were unmistakably Wardens. They began to lose their altitude and softly came into land. As they landed one of them turned to the others giving orders. This was La'ingif's brother, Nayrath. Nayrath was a hundred and five years old and had achieved the rank of Calsalf in the Wardens. This meant that he commanded a group of twelve persons in a squadron. Once Nayrath had given instructions to his people he approached his brother.
“Come to check up on me?” La'ingif asked.
“No,” his brother said, “just wanted to see you is all.”
“That's nice,” Tha'lif said, “this is a good place to train,” she continued looking at Nayrath's people who were preparing for> combat practice”
“Yes it is,” Nayrath said.
La'ingif raised an eyebrow, not sure whether or not to believe his brother. The others in his brother's team stood a short distance away. They had had placed their staffs in the ground and rested their slender swords on their forearms. In unison they whispered a spell. The staff produced orange berries which spattered onto the swords, making flower-like patterns. The spell enabled them to train without the risk of injury. As they practiced three of their number walked around advising the others. These were Nayrath's deputies – Nayrath watched only for a moment before his brother told him, “we've found something.”
They showed him the scroll and told him of the translation spell they had performed. Nayrath was unsure what to make of it, yet he did allow the slight concern he felt to show on his face. Prophecy was not common in elven culture, they tended to shy away from such mysticism. However their friends among the centaurs often made prophesies and some had come to pass. It had been argued that many were so vague that they could be interpret in such a fluid way that any could be considered to have come to pass. Nevertheless Nayrath thought that this scroll was worthy of further attention.
“I should take this to Unthrin Baslshall, she'll know what to do with it,” he turned around to his people, “Shaydon,” he called.
A woman of about two meters come over at his call. She had black hair, long and tied in a bun on the back of her head. She was more butch than the normally slender elf. She saluted Nayrath and stood awaiting his instruction.
“I have to head back,” he told her, “I want you to continue the training here.”
“As you say sir,” she inclined her head and headed back to the group. She conversed with another of the number, a woman who had a far more common elven appearance, she was slight with blond hair, her pointed ears stuck out through the hair.
“What's her name,” Laingif asked, smilingly.
“My name is Tha'lif,” Tha'lif said, “your girlfriend.”
Nayrath smiled, “Cassy,” he said, “I'll be back soon.” He walked away from them staff in hand, mounted it, tapped the ground three times and took to the sky. They watched him rise until he was just above the tallest trees, the usual hight for a staff rider.
The country stretched out before Nayrath. He flew over a forest where the elves dwelt. Changing direction the forest became less dense as he headed toward the ocean. Passing over a lake he neared his destination, the staff knew the way and so Nayrath had little to do in the way of navigation.
They arrived.
Ahead of them was a plain that stretched to the mountains. Nayrath's altitude decreased and he touched down. Just ahead a few teams of trainees practiced, flying and sword play. They moved their blades in large motions from the shoulder and light twists from the wrist. He heard them speak quietly to themselves as they concentrated. The trainees also moved their sword-less hands pushing in another direction as if knocking an enemy to the ground. Their movement was slow as if the battle they practiced for was to be conducted at a quarter speed. Nayrath remembered his training. The slow movements the people he watched made he could now perform far faster. Along the line of the trainees walked Unthrin Baslshall. Her relaxed expression was a stern one, however Nayrath was able to notice a slight curl of pride on her lips. Baslshall was the commanding officer of the company to which Nayrath's squadron belonged. She had long grey hair plaited and frizzed stylishly at the end. Her robes were white, as befitted her station. She happened at that moment to look towards Nayrath.
“Excellent,” she told the trainees, “you're dismissed.”
The trainees bowed their heads in unison and the Unthrin came over, “Nayrath,” she welcomed him, “please come into my office.”
“Yes ma'am.”
Her office was a wooden balcony around one of the large trees at the edge of the forest. They stood in front of the tree and snapped their fingers. With a pop they appeared on the balcony. Entering the office Baslshall took her seat, she indicated in front of the desk. Nayrath placed his fingers together and inclined his head, she returned the salute with a bow of hers. A vine tapped Nayrath on the shoulder. Looking behind him he saw that the tree had grown his chair for him, he sat in the specially grown chair and looked to his commanding officer.
“What can I do for you?”
From inside his robe Nayrath pulled the scroll, he handed it to Baslshall. She read the words then using her own staff told the scroll to revert. The ink reformed into the angled script once more and recognition slipped through the Unthrin's otherwise unreadable face.
“Begging your pardon ma'am,” Nayrath said, “but you know what that is?”
“Not precisely,” she said, “what I'm about to tell you is classified.”
“I understand.”
“Are you familiar with the Thell'frane?”
“I assume you mean the ship? Not the legendary figure.”
“Yes.”
“It was sent back to El'eleciln,” Nayrath said, “to determine if we could return their. It was sent off course. The account I read stated that the storm, the one that sent them off course was conjured by those left behind, not wanting us to come back.”
“Yes,” Baslshall said, “what you do not know is what happened to them then. They found land after a time and a group were sent ashore to gather food. However that was not all they found,” she placed her hand for a moment on her staff, it rushed from the office at her command.
“Ma'am?”
“My staff will show you. In the meantime I have instructions for you. This prophecy may be important. It should of course be investigated. You will take a team into the Centaur Kingdom and attempt to find the spirits.”
“My squadron?”
“No. It would attract too much attention. You'll have to go incognito.”
“My brother's girlfriend is well versed in the legends of the spirits, I suggest I take her.”
“Is that wise?”
“Security is important here ma'am, she already knows about the scroll. These things have a way of spreading despite everyone's best intentions.”
“Secrets do seem to have a life all their own. I give you leave to assemble your own team.”
“Thank you,” Nayrath paused, “ma'am. Have you heard of these 'humans' before?
“No. However I have seen this writing before, its what I sent my staff to bring back.”
The staff arrived at that moment. It rushed into the room and stood once again next to its mistress. In a hand-like vine it held a frame, which it passed to Nayrath. He recognised the spell on the frame, it was designed to keep a perishable item, sometimes food or a ancient document in good condition. In side was a piece of material, it was not cloth or parchment or wood, nothing he recognised. It was transparent and with in were crumbs.
“What are you thinking?”
“Well,” Nayrath said, rather unsure, “it looks like it is a covering for some sort of food.”
“That was our conclusion. Look closely.”
With Nayrath's intention the image magnified. “Its the same language,” he said.
“Yes. We've attempted translation but they were unsuccessful. The spell simply didn't work on that material.”
“How is that possible?”
“We don't know. We did get a scribe to write out the symbols to attempt a translation, but that too was unsuccessful. Even if it did work I doubt it would help.”
“Why?”
“Because, if we are correct in our assertion that its a food, then it would simply have unknown ingredients.”
“Basically they would be proper nouns?”
“Yes,” Baslshall said, “so even if it did work we would only get an idea of pronunciation.”
Nayrath looked closely at the package, he wondered what 'Flapjack' could mean. He placed the frame on the table and looked at the Unthrin. “So we've known about these humans for a while. What about the organic residue? Did we get anything information of when they were here?”
“That was the strange thing,” she said, smiling slightly at the irony of that statement, “according to that spell it comes from about five hundred and fifty years into the future.”
“This is a magic far beyond any I know of. Why would the translation work with the scroll?”
“The scroll is normal, apart from its contents, so as the person who wrote it knew what they were saying it could translate. That of course implies that the food rapper was not written by someone who knew what they were doing.”
“A necromancer,” Nayrath suggested, “getting his slaves to make them.”
“That could produce that effect,” she said, “however as distracting as this mystery is you have the mission to the spirits, I suggest you depart at once.”
“Yes ma'am,” Nayrath stood, the chair remained in place for the time being as Nayrath headed to the exit. Just as he was about to head off Unthrin Baslshall called him back. He acknowledged her and stood before the desk.
“We know that the manticores will one day turn their attention to us. You may even encounter them on this expedition.”
“Manticores here!”
“Remember they have flight,” Baslshall said, “they don't have to land and work they way forward. They cannot reach the spirits first.”
“They won't.”
Baslshall smiled at his dogged determination, “as for these humans I find them – intriguing.”
“Not to mention reassuring.”
“Oh?”
“That the Shal'lol has somewhere else to go,” he explained, “If all else fails we can at least live on in a new form.”
“Go now. Make them see, as the scroll says, our time.”
“Yes ma'am.”
The culture of the elves was specifically geared to training in a chosen profession. They would be schooled for nearly twenty-five years and then become an apprentice for at-least thirty years. At the conclusion of that time they were in a position to work independently before they took on apprentices of their own, beginning the cycle all over again.
The lips of the elves parted and they stroked each other's long hair. The man's name was La'ingif, his girlfriend was Tha'lif. They looked into each other's eyes and La'ingif spoke, “there are times when I wish I was a faun.”
“Fauns are very short lived,” Tha'lif said.
It was a strange statement to be sure: faun males lacked intelligence, they spent most of their time drinking, mating and hunting. Yet it was to none of these traits that La'ingif referred. Tha'lif, knew what he meant.
“I know your frustration. But your life would be almost half over where you a faun!” Tha'lif smiled at him, “my great-grandfather used to say that every race has envy in common. Age usually being a factor, fauns wish to be like us because of our longevity, we wish to be like them for respect at a younger age.”
They listened to the sounds around them. The flow of the water, the quiet twitter of the birds and the occasional splash of an animal as it moved in the water. Elves were never far from water, it served the practical purpose of providing food, but also it was relaxing to them. They rose from their mat and headed down to the waterline. They each carried a staff, elves were rarely seen without a staff, it was a companion. The staffs were round, the wood looked as though it had been plaited, each was topped with a white gem stone.
At the water's edge was a small boat, that they had brought with them. Tha'lif raised her hand with a whispered spell and the boat lifted into the air. It then floated over the water and touched down, skimming it lightly. They mounted their respective staffs, tapped the ground tree times and rose into the air, landing in the boat.
La'ingif took up the oars and rowed the boat to the middle of the river. With a flick of her fingers and wrist Tha'lif brought their bag of equipment over to them. She opened the bag and pulled out the fishing rod, which was longer than the bag, out. She cast the line into the water. They waited, making small talk in the hopes of soon getting a bite. After being unsuccessful La'ingif suggested that they try another spot. Tha'lif handed him the rod. He shifted position and flung the line into the water. He cursed mildly, even this sounded poetic.
“It's snagged!” he said, “I'll deal with it.” He held his staff over the edge of the boat, whispered a spell and dropped it into the water. Taking off his white shirt he dived into the water. The staff began to grow branches, deep blue berries budding at the ends. He swam down following the line. As he swam the berries dropped from the staff, he caught them in his mouth and his lungs filled with oxygen.
The line descended into a pile of rocks. As he cleared them away the cascading berries
began to fall faster. He could now see that the hook had cough onto an old and battered box. He unhooked the line, pulled on it, so Tha'lif could bring it up, and swam up to the surface with the box under his arm. He soon reached the surface and swam the couple of strides to the boat. He passed Tha'lif the box and climbed in, rocking the boat.
“Careful,” Tha'lif said.
“Sorry,” he said. He grabbed his staff and whispered to it. The water from his body evaporated and flew away, he was dry soon enough. Their curiosity about the box was abated only by their hunger. They continued to fish glancing every so often at the box.
With a successful catch they brought the fish back to their tent and set them cooking on a small fire. As the smell of the cooking fish began to tickle their nostrils their attention quickly turned to the box.
“What is it?” La'ingif asked.
“I don't know,” Tha'lif said, “its got no markings nothing to give me any sort of clue. I believe however that its an old and battered box!”
He returned her smile, “care to elaborate?”
She placed the box on the ground, placed her staff on top and whispered, “unlock.” A single thin vine came from the staff, went into the key hole and a couple of seconds later the box clicked open. Inside was a scroll. It was like no scroll ether of them had seen before. First and foremost it was a good deal thicker than the paper they were used to; secondly, as they unrolled it, the script was not only unintelligible it was also unknown.
“I do not believe this was made by magic,” Tha'lif said.
“What makes you say that?”
“The thickness of the paper,” she said, “any elf making a scroll would have been able to make it thin. Look at that, it is at least twice the thickness of normal.”
“So was if made by fauns, centaurs, dwarfs?”
“I don't know.”
“So you don't know what language that is?”
“No,” she said. The language was strange to their eyes. Many right-angles, the odd curved letter and some were just simple lines, as if a mark had accidentally been made on the page, “what language it is doesn't matter anyway.”
“I'm surprised to hear you say that.”
“I'm curious,” she explained, “but this may be important.” She tapped her staff against the parchment with a whispered spell. The ink fell to the bottom of the page, then it spiraled upwards redrawing itself in their familiar swirled script. Tha'lif held the scroll as they read.
The world as you know it is about to change. Soon the elves and their kin must give up their position as the only races with magical ability. The Dwarfs, Fauns and Centaurs will develop these skills. As the fist magical species they must help guide them in their new power. We see great risk. With power comes the temptation of misuse, as is known with the Dark Elves.
You must go to the spirits. The Dark ones and their manticore servants will overrun the world if you do not heed this warning. You must seek out the spirits – make them see time as you do.
There is more you need to know. For the magic you use will come to others. A race so far unknown to you – humans. They too will gain magic ability. Your people will meet with them in due course.
The couple turned the word 'human' over in their heads a few times. It seemed strange, another world was equally strange. La'ingif was the first to speak, he had heard that the spirits were only beings of legend.
“No,” Tha'lif said, “they're quite real, its just that their concept of time is quite different form ours.”
“I'm not sure I understand.”
“The average elf life span is about four hundred years,” she said, “I have heard stories that the spirits can live for hundreds of thousands of years, even more than that. Those numbers are a little difficult to follow, allow me to explain,” Tha'liff paused as she thought of how to explain, “some insects live for a very short amount of time. Imagine a creature that lives for one hour. So a day is the equivalent of, well lets say a millennium. Now suppose those insects believe you to be their god. They come to you and pray, 'please lord bring us water,'” La'ingif laughed as she put on a silly voice, “but at that time you have reached a particularly thrilling part of your book. You decide to go when you've finished. Two hours later you arrive.”
“So,” Laingif said, “to come out of the metaphor, the spirits, if asked to do something, might only come to our aid after, what, eight centuries.”
“Possibly longer.”
“I believe I understand.”
“Their are legends of the spirits being called upon to assist and not arriving. The battle, or whatever it was is fought then the help arrives decades later.”
“So that's what the scroll meant,” Laingif said, “about making them see our time.”
“I suppose so.”
Laingif checked the fish, “diner's ready.”
“Good, I'm definitely ready for it.”
Laingif took the cooked fish and handed Tha'lif a plate, “here you go.”
“Thanks,” she said taking a bite, “very good.”
“Tell me more about the spirits.”
“Well,” she said, “it is hard to say. Some of the things I have read may only have a morsel of truth in them, others may have none. It is said they live millions of years, that they were around when the planet formed.”
“They created it?”
“The fauns believe they did, personally I think they are just beings that have been around a lot longer than we have.”
“If this scroll is important we should tell my brother about it.”
“You think the Wardens will want to know?”
“If what it says is true is,” La'ingif said, “they definitely shall.”
“Look,” Tha'lif said, she pointed to the sky, having looked up in thought, La'ingif looked where she pointed had suddenly turned her gaze to the sky and noticed blue figures. They were unmistakably Wardens. They began to lose their altitude and softly came into land. As they landed one of them turned to the others giving orders. This was La'ingif's brother, Nayrath. Nayrath was a hundred and five years old and had achieved the rank of Calsalf in the Wardens. This meant that he commanded a group of twelve persons in a squadron. Once Nayrath had given instructions to his people he approached his brother.
“Come to check up on me?” La'ingif asked.
“No,” his brother said, “just wanted to see you is all.”
“That's nice,” Tha'lif said, “this is a good place to train,” she continued looking at Nayrath's people who were preparing for> combat practice”
“Yes it is,” Nayrath said.
La'ingif raised an eyebrow, not sure whether or not to believe his brother. The others in his brother's team stood a short distance away. They had had placed their staffs in the ground and rested their slender swords on their forearms. In unison they whispered a spell. The staff produced orange berries which spattered onto the swords, making flower-like patterns. The spell enabled them to train without the risk of injury. As they practiced three of their number walked around advising the others. These were Nayrath's deputies – Nayrath watched only for a moment before his brother told him, “we've found something.”
They showed him the scroll and told him of the translation spell they had performed. Nayrath was unsure what to make of it, yet he did allow the slight concern he felt to show on his face. Prophecy was not common in elven culture, they tended to shy away from such mysticism. However their friends among the centaurs often made prophesies and some had come to pass. It had been argued that many were so vague that they could be interpret in such a fluid way that any could be considered to have come to pass. Nevertheless Nayrath thought that this scroll was worthy of further attention.
“I should take this to Unthrin Baslshall, she'll know what to do with it,” he turned around to his people, “Shaydon,” he called.
A woman of about two meters come over at his call. She had black hair, long and tied in a bun on the back of her head. She was more butch than the normally slender elf. She saluted Nayrath and stood awaiting his instruction.
“I have to head back,” he told her, “I want you to continue the training here.”
“As you say sir,” she inclined her head and headed back to the group. She conversed with another of the number, a woman who had a far more common elven appearance, she was slight with blond hair, her pointed ears stuck out through the hair.
“What's her name,” Laingif asked, smilingly.
“My name is Tha'lif,” Tha'lif said, “your girlfriend.”
Nayrath smiled, “Cassy,” he said, “I'll be back soon.” He walked away from them staff in hand, mounted it, tapped the ground three times and took to the sky. They watched him rise until he was just above the tallest trees, the usual hight for a staff rider.
The country stretched out before Nayrath. He flew over a forest where the elves dwelt. Changing direction the forest became less dense as he headed toward the ocean. Passing over a lake he neared his destination, the staff knew the way and so Nayrath had little to do in the way of navigation.
They arrived.
Ahead of them was a plain that stretched to the mountains. Nayrath's altitude decreased and he touched down. Just ahead a few teams of trainees practiced, flying and sword play. They moved their blades in large motions from the shoulder and light twists from the wrist. He heard them speak quietly to themselves as they concentrated. The trainees also moved their sword-less hands pushing in another direction as if knocking an enemy to the ground. Their movement was slow as if the battle they practiced for was to be conducted at a quarter speed. Nayrath remembered his training. The slow movements the people he watched made he could now perform far faster. Along the line of the trainees walked Unthrin Baslshall. Her relaxed expression was a stern one, however Nayrath was able to notice a slight curl of pride on her lips. Baslshall was the commanding officer of the company to which Nayrath's squadron belonged. She had long grey hair plaited and frizzed stylishly at the end. Her robes were white, as befitted her station. She happened at that moment to look towards Nayrath.
“Excellent,” she told the trainees, “you're dismissed.”
The trainees bowed their heads in unison and the Unthrin came over, “Nayrath,” she welcomed him, “please come into my office.”
“Yes ma'am.”
Her office was a wooden balcony around one of the large trees at the edge of the forest. They stood in front of the tree and snapped their fingers. With a pop they appeared on the balcony. Entering the office Baslshall took her seat, she indicated in front of the desk. Nayrath placed his fingers together and inclined his head, she returned the salute with a bow of hers. A vine tapped Nayrath on the shoulder. Looking behind him he saw that the tree had grown his chair for him, he sat in the specially grown chair and looked to his commanding officer.
“What can I do for you?”
From inside his robe Nayrath pulled the scroll, he handed it to Baslshall. She read the words then using her own staff told the scroll to revert. The ink reformed into the angled script once more and recognition slipped through the Unthrin's otherwise unreadable face.
“Begging your pardon ma'am,” Nayrath said, “but you know what that is?”
“Not precisely,” she said, “what I'm about to tell you is classified.”
“I understand.”
“Are you familiar with the Thell'frane?”
“I assume you mean the ship? Not the legendary figure.”
“Yes.”
“It was sent back to El'eleciln,” Nayrath said, “to determine if we could return their. It was sent off course. The account I read stated that the storm, the one that sent them off course was conjured by those left behind, not wanting us to come back.”
“Yes,” Baslshall said, “what you do not know is what happened to them then. They found land after a time and a group were sent ashore to gather food. However that was not all they found,” she placed her hand for a moment on her staff, it rushed from the office at her command.
“Ma'am?”
“My staff will show you. In the meantime I have instructions for you. This prophecy may be important. It should of course be investigated. You will take a team into the Centaur Kingdom and attempt to find the spirits.”
“My squadron?”
“No. It would attract too much attention. You'll have to go incognito.”
“My brother's girlfriend is well versed in the legends of the spirits, I suggest I take her.”
“Is that wise?”
“Security is important here ma'am, she already knows about the scroll. These things have a way of spreading despite everyone's best intentions.”
“Secrets do seem to have a life all their own. I give you leave to assemble your own team.”
“Thank you,” Nayrath paused, “ma'am. Have you heard of these 'humans' before?
“No. However I have seen this writing before, its what I sent my staff to bring back.”
The staff arrived at that moment. It rushed into the room and stood once again next to its mistress. In a hand-like vine it held a frame, which it passed to Nayrath. He recognised the spell on the frame, it was designed to keep a perishable item, sometimes food or a ancient document in good condition. In side was a piece of material, it was not cloth or parchment or wood, nothing he recognised. It was transparent and with in were crumbs.
“What are you thinking?”
“Well,” Nayrath said, rather unsure, “it looks like it is a covering for some sort of food.”
“That was our conclusion. Look closely.”
With Nayrath's intention the image magnified. “Its the same language,” he said.
“Yes. We've attempted translation but they were unsuccessful. The spell simply didn't work on that material.”
“How is that possible?”
“We don't know. We did get a scribe to write out the symbols to attempt a translation, but that too was unsuccessful. Even if it did work I doubt it would help.”
“Why?”
“Because, if we are correct in our assertion that its a food, then it would simply have unknown ingredients.”
“Basically they would be proper nouns?”
“Yes,” Baslshall said, “so even if it did work we would only get an idea of pronunciation.”
Nayrath looked closely at the package, he wondered what 'Flapjack' could mean. He placed the frame on the table and looked at the Unthrin. “So we've known about these humans for a while. What about the organic residue? Did we get anything information of when they were here?”
“That was the strange thing,” she said, smiling slightly at the irony of that statement, “according to that spell it comes from about five hundred and fifty years into the future.”
“This is a magic far beyond any I know of. Why would the translation work with the scroll?”
“The scroll is normal, apart from its contents, so as the person who wrote it knew what they were saying it could translate. That of course implies that the food rapper was not written by someone who knew what they were doing.”
“A necromancer,” Nayrath suggested, “getting his slaves to make them.”
“That could produce that effect,” she said, “however as distracting as this mystery is you have the mission to the spirits, I suggest you depart at once.”
“Yes ma'am,” Nayrath stood, the chair remained in place for the time being as Nayrath headed to the exit. Just as he was about to head off Unthrin Baslshall called him back. He acknowledged her and stood before the desk.
“We know that the manticores will one day turn their attention to us. You may even encounter them on this expedition.”
“Manticores here!”
“Remember they have flight,” Baslshall said, “they don't have to land and work they way forward. They cannot reach the spirits first.”
“They won't.”
Baslshall smiled at his dogged determination, “as for these humans I find them – intriguing.”
“Not to mention reassuring.”
“Oh?”
“That the Shal'lol has somewhere else to go,” he explained, “If all else fails we can at least live on in a new form.”
“Go now. Make them see, as the scroll says, our time.”
“Yes ma'am.”
Tuesday 18 August 2009
Rolling Shadows - Chapter 5
The nations of the fauns became free that day. That is how the historians tell it. The truth is slightly more complexed. It of course took years before the manticores were driven from those lands. It is true to say that in those moments it began. The fauns that were first freed, went round and freed the others.
Ku'tay was called hero by the queen of Anier. Yet as she lay convalescing, her arms strapped to the side of the bed so her blistered hands could recover, hero was the last thing she felt like. Many of her army had been killed and the victory had not been her doing. Having been the leader of such a failed battle and living she felt dishonored.
I should perhaps attempt an explanation at this juncture. So let me explain. The Shan'fon, when she cast her spell, intended only to break the control of the Dark Elves that were attaching at that moment. However she was far more powerful than she realized – instead she broke all of the Dark Elves control. The manticores, still aware of what had been done to them, rebelled which gave the fauns their chance.
The age that followed became know as 'The Interregnum'. The empire that the Dark Elves established fell. Peace came the the faun countries. However the peace was short lived. The manticores learned to use the magic power they had been given. They set about building their own empire. However their advance was far less mythological, they left pockets of fauns untouched. They again did their best to fight back, but once more they could not stand for long as the manticores still had the advantage of magic.
I suppose at this point your asking yourself why the Light Elves did nothing to stop this, it was after all their problem. It is a sad truth that evil can have a power good cannot. As an evil being is prepared to do anything to achieve its aims. The Light Elves did make attempts to quash the Dark Elves but many were killed. Then when the manticores became the army of the Dark ones the Light Elves were massively outnumbered.
We now flash forward one thousand eight-hundred and twelve years, the year is 1455, on the Gregorian calendar.
Ku'tay was called hero by the queen of Anier. Yet as she lay convalescing, her arms strapped to the side of the bed so her blistered hands could recover, hero was the last thing she felt like. Many of her army had been killed and the victory had not been her doing. Having been the leader of such a failed battle and living she felt dishonored.
I should perhaps attempt an explanation at this juncture. So let me explain. The Shan'fon, when she cast her spell, intended only to break the control of the Dark Elves that were attaching at that moment. However she was far more powerful than she realized – instead she broke all of the Dark Elves control. The manticores, still aware of what had been done to them, rebelled which gave the fauns their chance.
The age that followed became know as 'The Interregnum'. The empire that the Dark Elves established fell. Peace came the the faun countries. However the peace was short lived. The manticores learned to use the magic power they had been given. They set about building their own empire. However their advance was far less mythological, they left pockets of fauns untouched. They again did their best to fight back, but once more they could not stand for long as the manticores still had the advantage of magic.
I suppose at this point your asking yourself why the Light Elves did nothing to stop this, it was after all their problem. It is a sad truth that evil can have a power good cannot. As an evil being is prepared to do anything to achieve its aims. The Light Elves did make attempts to quash the Dark Elves but many were killed. Then when the manticores became the army of the Dark ones the Light Elves were massively outnumbered.
We now flash forward one thousand eight-hundred and twelve years, the year is 1455, on the Gregorian calendar.
Thursday 13 August 2009
Writers Blog 2009-08-13
I have been told that their have been some mistakes creeping through the chapters I've posted. Truth be told I haven't checked through them as well as I should. Editing is a pretty tedious thing and so things get missed. My apologies for these mistakes but although rough and ready I hope you can still glean enjoyment from these readings.
I'm in the process of writing another novel and trying to work on both each day. I should have another chapter to upload on the weekend, it might be Sunday this week though.
So I look forward to hearing comments and suggestions.
"And. But. So. Therefore." Jack O'Niell
I'm in the process of writing another novel and trying to work on both each day. I should have another chapter to upload on the weekend, it might be Sunday this week though.
So I look forward to hearing comments and suggestions.
"And. But. So. Therefore." Jack O'Niell
Sunday 9 August 2009
Rolling Shadows - Chapter 4
Anier was a beautiful country. It had dense forests, tall and majestic trees, stretching down valleys and up mountains. Rivers abounded with fish and birds sang in the trees. However Anier had lived in the shadow of the Dark Elf empire for generations, the shadow now threatened to consume them. It headed towards them as sure as a wave heads up a beach. In a large forest clearing soldiers gathered, joined by warriors from Sunmut – a small neighboring country that was legendary for its people's fighting capability.
Ahead of the troops was a large rock, a platform from which they would be addressed. Behind this was a tent. It was small, white, round, with a cone shaped top. Within in was Legate Ku'tay. She ran a hand across a curved horn as she strapped amour pads around her legs and thighs. The fur once brown had begun to whiten. Behind her an attendant brushed her long tail. Ku'tay strapped on a leather skirt, then a breastplate. It was heavy but the weight was second nature to her now. The armour was intricately patterned with eternal knots on the circular parts that covered the breast themselves. She was passed a helmet, placing it on her head her horns stuck through the holes.
“My weapons.”
One by one the attendant passed Ku'tay her weapons. First a dagger. The dagger's handle was perpendicular to the slightly curved blade. Ku'tay slid the blade into its scabbard. She was next passed two throwing blades, they had leather bound handles, a central blade with irregular shapes coming of it, the idea being that no matter which part hit the enemy it would be effective. Though designed as throwing blades they could also be used in each hand, working in concert to devastating effect. These Ku'tay strapped to her thighs. Finally she was handed her last two weapons. These had long curved blades and short handles, they were usually used in pairs. She gave the swords a flurry of swings and pushed them into the two scabbards on her back.
“I am ready.”
“Your people are with you lady.”
Ku'tay pushed aside the curtains of the small tent. She stepped up on to the rock to overlook her people. The force before her consisted of over five thousand troops. Proud and hairy fauns – women all of them.
“Today,” she yelled, their was hushed silence, “we fight against a far superior enemy. This day will be long remembered. It shall either see the defeat of the dark ones or secure us our place in
remembered dead. Neither of these is more desirable than the other, either way we will have done our duty. We march!”
Mass applauses erupted.
They marched through the forest keeping their lines as best the could as they headed through. The forest tapered away into grasslands and ahead of the army was a wide empty field. Some of their number were unnerved at walking across this plain with little cover. It was a strategically weak place. Nevertheless they continued their advance.
The army had been brought together for a preemptive strike, it would at least mean they had a chance of choosing the battleground. The Dark Elves had been methodical in their war. They evaded, quashed rebellion and insured their new territory was secure before they moved on. Terror was their main weapon, they would most-probably not expect an attack, thus the army had to march to where the Dark Elves were. The sky was blue as they marched with only a wisps of cloud.
As night began to fall they entered another forest, got out what supplies they had with them and sat eating and drinking, quietly around small fires. The moons came out and their reflected light was all there was the army laid down to sleep.
Of course it was not the entire army that slept. Some of their number were assigned to sentry duty. The sentries patrolled around their encampment, others took up stationary positions and some removed their amour to more easily climb the trees and keep watch from above. As dawn neared Corporal Gel'kotan was on duty. She caught site of a bird flying below the trees, she followed it with her gaze. Her stomachs rumbled and she lifted her spear.
“Stop,” she suddenly heard an order. It came from Sergeant Rer'kane who came towards her. The Sergeant had red fur with brown streaks across it in cloud like shapes on her hindquarters. She placed a hairy finger over her lips. When the bird was gone she spoke.
“A spy.”
Ku'tay stood at the edge of the forest. She looked out at the plain in the twilight, the mountains in the distance. It began to get lighter until the sun rose over the distant mountains. The others awoke with the rise of the sun. They ate quickly knowing that they still had several hours of marching before they reached the enemy. They were about to move out when a private came rushing through the trees. She had been one of the soldiers sent out as a scout that morning.
“Legate,” she said with a bow of her head, “the manticores have out flanked us. They now occupy the plain,” the young solider didn't hide the fear in her voice well. However Ku'tay would have thought her foolish had she not been scared.
“They would not be lured into here,” Ku'tay said, “they would not give us that advantage.”
“Do we continue them ma'am?” her deputy asked, “through this forest to the other side.”
“If we do that they may follow behind us and we'd have a battle on two fronts. We turn and fight.”
“Yes ma'am.”
The fauns emerged from the forest. All once again dressed in full amour. They neatened into ranks as they walked. Their enemy was assembled ahead of them. Most of the manticores where standing ready, few were in the sky above. Their was a strange calm. In the battles of old the leader of each side would have approached and talked, trying, usually in vain, to come to a peaceful resolution. There was no hope of such a resolution here. The Dark Elves demanded obedience. Ku'tay would not lead her people to a life of living on their knees. She did not know what the delay was for, perhaps the dark ones wanted slaves.
“Steady,” she told her people.
Their was a hush, for just a few moments. The manticoes grunted. The faun army drew their weapons, they loaded crossbows. Ku'tay took her two throwing blades from their scabbards.
“Charge!”
The storm broke, some manticores leapt to the sky. Dashing forward fauns jumped, blades in each hand. They jumped through the air, over manticores twisting their blades into the backs of their enemies. Their foes spread their wings and picked up fauns and killed them by dropping them from a great height or smashing their heads together. The jewels in the paws of the manticores glowed disemboweling fauns that got in the way.
Ku'tay whispered a quick prayer, “if Sie'wel has to bring us foes could she not bring ones with honour.” She cut down two manticores that came towards, a dived out the way of deadly magical shot. Suddenly two beasts dived towards her, she threw the blades as hard as she could. They span and each embedded in the chest of a manticore. She pulled the large curved blades from their scabbards on her back. Swinging with ferocity she sliced one manticore and hit another with the butt of the hilt.
“Roc!” someone shouted, a barrage of bolts went hurtling to the sky.
The gigantic birds overhead had a wingspan of eighteen meters, and they carried the masters of the manticorse. They held withered staffs which fired down lightning. Fauns burst into flames as they were hit. They flames licked at manticores standing near them, Ku'tay took some small comfort in this being their final act.
“We cannot win,” a Sunmut warrior next to Ku'tay said. Her face bled from deep cuts on either side where a manticore had slashed her. However her voice had lost no conviction, she knew her trade well and death meant the release of duty,“may you die well.” Ku'tay could just see, amid the slashing, the warrior swing her weapon, the manticore dogged, and the warrior was hit by a magical blast, her blood splattered on those nearby.
“Stop!” a Dark Elf screamed.
The armies paused. It was as if some god had intervened. The manticores let go the limp bodies of fauns they had killed, and chewed on what remained in their mouths. A couple of the younger ones suspiciously floated faun meat to their lips. The fauns waited, blooded blades at the ready, or with loaded crossbows.
The Dark Elf who had spoken made her way thought the ranks of manticores, a black cloud surrounded her. Her face was a dirty yellow, she had boils and dark features, the changes made by her use of dark magic. She faced Ku'tay and looked over the remainder of the army that stood with the faun.
“Your army's gone!”
Amide the pain of the cuts, Ku'tay tried to maintain a sense of composure, she looked at her army with a gaze of confusion, “these that stand around me must be an illusion. We still have our strength and honor,” though her words had power their remained a hint of fear, fear that she couldn't possibly win.”
The remaining soldiers cheered at her words; Ku'tay moved closer to her nemesis. She pulled her weapons back to bring them forward with the full force of her might. As she did so they suddenly erupted into flames, she dropped them and bit back a scream that could have shattered glass – she would not give them that satisfaction. Her hands were horribly burned, the hair twisted and matted to blistered skin.
“You will not be in pain for long.” the Dark Elf's words were poison.
“May you find honor,” Ku'tay said to her people, “with what little chance they give you.”
The pain in Ku'tay's hands lessened, if only slightly. However now she had the agony of the claws of a Roc, cupped around her just drawing blood. She was just about able to turn her head to the side to see the landscape over which they flew. They were heading in the wrong direction, that much was clear. They landed in what had once been Sinjavia. The country was situated not far from the mountains where the manticores had dwelt all those years ago. As such it had been one of the first countries to fall. As she was walked through the city she saw fauns bereft of passion and hope. They were chained together and to a Dark Elf slaver. Others served their masters in death, for the Dark Elves also practiced necromancy. Ku'tay was brought into a small room where a Dark Elf sat enthroned.
“Kneel,” commanded the dark elf.
Ku'tay did not comply. She looked with contempt at the Dark Elf ahead of her, flanked to each side by a manticore. She was struck by a spell to force obedience.
“You have defied the empire! For this you will die.”
“I prefer to think that I...”
“Last words are not permitted.”
One of the manticores lifted his paw to reveal the orange jewel that gave him magic. It glowed, Ku'tay was hit hard in the chest.
“You will not prevail!” she said with some effort.
The dark elf raised her staff for the killing blow.
Ku'tay closed her eyes.
Nothing happened.
Ku'tay opened her eyes slowly, wounding if the death hit might still come. She allowed her lips to curl, in to quite a smile, as she heard a scream. Ahead of her the manticores were feasting on their master. Quickly realising that a slightly burnt faun might make a nice desert she decided it was time to move. With what strength she had she pushed herself up onto her feat. As she did so pain rippled through her blistered hands like fire streaking the heavens.
Her jaw dropped as she looked at the scene before her. A Dark Elf rarely traveled without a manticore. Now, as she looked around the city manticores made meals of their, apparently, former masters. For once the treatment of fauns had been almost a blessing, they were so bony that the manticores ignored them. She stood unmoved for a few moments before the plight of the fauns fully registered in her mind. They were still chained together, though now the chains had only a bone through them.
“My name is Lagate Ku'tay of Anier,” she said to the chained slaves.
“Netek,” one of them said, “the key is in his robe.”
The robe of the elf was blooded where flesh had been torn from the bones. Ku'tay's hands were covered in the blood as she looked for the key. Finding it she undid the bindings of the emancipated slaves.
“Thank you,” Netek said.
“I know your in great pain,” Ku'tay said, “but the manticores will see us as food soon enough, we need to arm ourselves.”
Netek nodded, “indeed. I believe I speak for everyone in this city when I say, 'we are all with you.”
Ahead of the troops was a large rock, a platform from which they would be addressed. Behind this was a tent. It was small, white, round, with a cone shaped top. Within in was Legate Ku'tay. She ran a hand across a curved horn as she strapped amour pads around her legs and thighs. The fur once brown had begun to whiten. Behind her an attendant brushed her long tail. Ku'tay strapped on a leather skirt, then a breastplate. It was heavy but the weight was second nature to her now. The armour was intricately patterned with eternal knots on the circular parts that covered the breast themselves. She was passed a helmet, placing it on her head her horns stuck through the holes.
“My weapons.”
One by one the attendant passed Ku'tay her weapons. First a dagger. The dagger's handle was perpendicular to the slightly curved blade. Ku'tay slid the blade into its scabbard. She was next passed two throwing blades, they had leather bound handles, a central blade with irregular shapes coming of it, the idea being that no matter which part hit the enemy it would be effective. Though designed as throwing blades they could also be used in each hand, working in concert to devastating effect. These Ku'tay strapped to her thighs. Finally she was handed her last two weapons. These had long curved blades and short handles, they were usually used in pairs. She gave the swords a flurry of swings and pushed them into the two scabbards on her back.
“I am ready.”
“Your people are with you lady.”
Ku'tay pushed aside the curtains of the small tent. She stepped up on to the rock to overlook her people. The force before her consisted of over five thousand troops. Proud and hairy fauns – women all of them.
“Today,” she yelled, their was hushed silence, “we fight against a far superior enemy. This day will be long remembered. It shall either see the defeat of the dark ones or secure us our place in
remembered dead. Neither of these is more desirable than the other, either way we will have done our duty. We march!”
Mass applauses erupted.
They marched through the forest keeping their lines as best the could as they headed through. The forest tapered away into grasslands and ahead of the army was a wide empty field. Some of their number were unnerved at walking across this plain with little cover. It was a strategically weak place. Nevertheless they continued their advance.
The army had been brought together for a preemptive strike, it would at least mean they had a chance of choosing the battleground. The Dark Elves had been methodical in their war. They evaded, quashed rebellion and insured their new territory was secure before they moved on. Terror was their main weapon, they would most-probably not expect an attack, thus the army had to march to where the Dark Elves were. The sky was blue as they marched with only a wisps of cloud.
As night began to fall they entered another forest, got out what supplies they had with them and sat eating and drinking, quietly around small fires. The moons came out and their reflected light was all there was the army laid down to sleep.
Of course it was not the entire army that slept. Some of their number were assigned to sentry duty. The sentries patrolled around their encampment, others took up stationary positions and some removed their amour to more easily climb the trees and keep watch from above. As dawn neared Corporal Gel'kotan was on duty. She caught site of a bird flying below the trees, she followed it with her gaze. Her stomachs rumbled and she lifted her spear.
“Stop,” she suddenly heard an order. It came from Sergeant Rer'kane who came towards her. The Sergeant had red fur with brown streaks across it in cloud like shapes on her hindquarters. She placed a hairy finger over her lips. When the bird was gone she spoke.
“A spy.”
Ku'tay stood at the edge of the forest. She looked out at the plain in the twilight, the mountains in the distance. It began to get lighter until the sun rose over the distant mountains. The others awoke with the rise of the sun. They ate quickly knowing that they still had several hours of marching before they reached the enemy. They were about to move out when a private came rushing through the trees. She had been one of the soldiers sent out as a scout that morning.
“Legate,” she said with a bow of her head, “the manticores have out flanked us. They now occupy the plain,” the young solider didn't hide the fear in her voice well. However Ku'tay would have thought her foolish had she not been scared.
“They would not be lured into here,” Ku'tay said, “they would not give us that advantage.”
“Do we continue them ma'am?” her deputy asked, “through this forest to the other side.”
“If we do that they may follow behind us and we'd have a battle on two fronts. We turn and fight.”
“Yes ma'am.”
The fauns emerged from the forest. All once again dressed in full amour. They neatened into ranks as they walked. Their enemy was assembled ahead of them. Most of the manticores where standing ready, few were in the sky above. Their was a strange calm. In the battles of old the leader of each side would have approached and talked, trying, usually in vain, to come to a peaceful resolution. There was no hope of such a resolution here. The Dark Elves demanded obedience. Ku'tay would not lead her people to a life of living on their knees. She did not know what the delay was for, perhaps the dark ones wanted slaves.
“Steady,” she told her people.
Their was a hush, for just a few moments. The manticoes grunted. The faun army drew their weapons, they loaded crossbows. Ku'tay took her two throwing blades from their scabbards.
“Charge!”
The storm broke, some manticores leapt to the sky. Dashing forward fauns jumped, blades in each hand. They jumped through the air, over manticores twisting their blades into the backs of their enemies. Their foes spread their wings and picked up fauns and killed them by dropping them from a great height or smashing their heads together. The jewels in the paws of the manticores glowed disemboweling fauns that got in the way.
Ku'tay whispered a quick prayer, “if Sie'wel has to bring us foes could she not bring ones with honour.” She cut down two manticores that came towards, a dived out the way of deadly magical shot. Suddenly two beasts dived towards her, she threw the blades as hard as she could. They span and each embedded in the chest of a manticore. She pulled the large curved blades from their scabbards on her back. Swinging with ferocity she sliced one manticore and hit another with the butt of the hilt.
“Roc!” someone shouted, a barrage of bolts went hurtling to the sky.
The gigantic birds overhead had a wingspan of eighteen meters, and they carried the masters of the manticorse. They held withered staffs which fired down lightning. Fauns burst into flames as they were hit. They flames licked at manticores standing near them, Ku'tay took some small comfort in this being their final act.
“We cannot win,” a Sunmut warrior next to Ku'tay said. Her face bled from deep cuts on either side where a manticore had slashed her. However her voice had lost no conviction, she knew her trade well and death meant the release of duty,“may you die well.” Ku'tay could just see, amid the slashing, the warrior swing her weapon, the manticore dogged, and the warrior was hit by a magical blast, her blood splattered on those nearby.
“Stop!” a Dark Elf screamed.
The armies paused. It was as if some god had intervened. The manticores let go the limp bodies of fauns they had killed, and chewed on what remained in their mouths. A couple of the younger ones suspiciously floated faun meat to their lips. The fauns waited, blooded blades at the ready, or with loaded crossbows.
The Dark Elf who had spoken made her way thought the ranks of manticores, a black cloud surrounded her. Her face was a dirty yellow, she had boils and dark features, the changes made by her use of dark magic. She faced Ku'tay and looked over the remainder of the army that stood with the faun.
“Your army's gone!”
Amide the pain of the cuts, Ku'tay tried to maintain a sense of composure, she looked at her army with a gaze of confusion, “these that stand around me must be an illusion. We still have our strength and honor,” though her words had power their remained a hint of fear, fear that she couldn't possibly win.”
The remaining soldiers cheered at her words; Ku'tay moved closer to her nemesis. She pulled her weapons back to bring them forward with the full force of her might. As she did so they suddenly erupted into flames, she dropped them and bit back a scream that could have shattered glass – she would not give them that satisfaction. Her hands were horribly burned, the hair twisted and matted to blistered skin.
“You will not be in pain for long.” the Dark Elf's words were poison.
“May you find honor,” Ku'tay said to her people, “with what little chance they give you.”
The pain in Ku'tay's hands lessened, if only slightly. However now she had the agony of the claws of a Roc, cupped around her just drawing blood. She was just about able to turn her head to the side to see the landscape over which they flew. They were heading in the wrong direction, that much was clear. They landed in what had once been Sinjavia. The country was situated not far from the mountains where the manticores had dwelt all those years ago. As such it had been one of the first countries to fall. As she was walked through the city she saw fauns bereft of passion and hope. They were chained together and to a Dark Elf slaver. Others served their masters in death, for the Dark Elves also practiced necromancy. Ku'tay was brought into a small room where a Dark Elf sat enthroned.
“Kneel,” commanded the dark elf.
Ku'tay did not comply. She looked with contempt at the Dark Elf ahead of her, flanked to each side by a manticore. She was struck by a spell to force obedience.
“You have defied the empire! For this you will die.”
“I prefer to think that I...”
“Last words are not permitted.”
One of the manticores lifted his paw to reveal the orange jewel that gave him magic. It glowed, Ku'tay was hit hard in the chest.
“You will not prevail!” she said with some effort.
The dark elf raised her staff for the killing blow.
Ku'tay closed her eyes.
Nothing happened.
Ku'tay opened her eyes slowly, wounding if the death hit might still come. She allowed her lips to curl, in to quite a smile, as she heard a scream. Ahead of her the manticores were feasting on their master. Quickly realising that a slightly burnt faun might make a nice desert she decided it was time to move. With what strength she had she pushed herself up onto her feat. As she did so pain rippled through her blistered hands like fire streaking the heavens.
Her jaw dropped as she looked at the scene before her. A Dark Elf rarely traveled without a manticore. Now, as she looked around the city manticores made meals of their, apparently, former masters. For once the treatment of fauns had been almost a blessing, they were so bony that the manticores ignored them. She stood unmoved for a few moments before the plight of the fauns fully registered in her mind. They were still chained together, though now the chains had only a bone through them.
“My name is Lagate Ku'tay of Anier,” she said to the chained slaves.
“Netek,” one of them said, “the key is in his robe.”
The robe of the elf was blooded where flesh had been torn from the bones. Ku'tay's hands were covered in the blood as she looked for the key. Finding it she undid the bindings of the emancipated slaves.
“Thank you,” Netek said.
“I know your in great pain,” Ku'tay said, “but the manticores will see us as food soon enough, we need to arm ourselves.”
Netek nodded, “indeed. I believe I speak for everyone in this city when I say, 'we are all with you.”
Saturday 1 August 2009
Rolling Shadows - Chapter 3
Like every race the elves went through a primordial phase, where a being changes from the animal state to become a sapient species.
Along the way species learn to make tools. These start simply, a stick to fish for ants or termites. Later shelters are built until a species learns that they can adapt the environment to their needs. While technology continues the demands of existence continue, to search for food, water and a mate. Rivalries develop and suddenly the heave log used for a structure wall begins to look like a weapon. With swift blows the log is stained in blood. It is a sad fact that weapons develop as a species does, until we get to the day where we can kill millions with the press of a single button.
The elves were not immune to these types of changes but instead of developing technology they learned to use magic. They could pick a fruit from the highest branches with telekinesis. They learned that this power could be used as a weapon.
As generations passed elf society began to become more structured. Slowly the challenging of a rival, that once strengthened a pride, tribe or group, became crimes – punishments were doled out accordingly. Some resisted and began to explore the darker aspects of their being. These became know as The Dark Elves.
The dark ones were banished from Eleselthinor to the continuant off which shore Eleselthinor lay. There they traveled passing through the faun countries. Without magic the fauns fell to their will. However there were few Dark Elves and many fauns. While some began to follow their commands many more fought against them. The rule of the Dark Elves over the fauns was short lived. With their common enemy the faun countries began to work together as never before. The Dark Elves continued to travel east, away from the faun countries into colder regions.
They came upon a mountain range. Here dwelt the manticores, flying down to the grasslands to hunt. The Dark Elves observed them for some time and began to see them as their way to domination. They endowed the beasts with magic, such a thing had never been attempted. Magic was before this a harnessed power. The Dark Elves harnessed the power in gemstones which were placed in the paws of the beasts.
With an army they spread forth to the faun countries. The fauns were ill-equipped to battle them, they had no magic. As the Dark Elves were nearing control over the entire faun domain, the fauns prepared for their last stand.
Along the way species learn to make tools. These start simply, a stick to fish for ants or termites. Later shelters are built until a species learns that they can adapt the environment to their needs. While technology continues the demands of existence continue, to search for food, water and a mate. Rivalries develop and suddenly the heave log used for a structure wall begins to look like a weapon. With swift blows the log is stained in blood. It is a sad fact that weapons develop as a species does, until we get to the day where we can kill millions with the press of a single button.
The elves were not immune to these types of changes but instead of developing technology they learned to use magic. They could pick a fruit from the highest branches with telekinesis. They learned that this power could be used as a weapon.
As generations passed elf society began to become more structured. Slowly the challenging of a rival, that once strengthened a pride, tribe or group, became crimes – punishments were doled out accordingly. Some resisted and began to explore the darker aspects of their being. These became know as The Dark Elves.
The dark ones were banished from Eleselthinor to the continuant off which shore Eleselthinor lay. There they traveled passing through the faun countries. Without magic the fauns fell to their will. However there were few Dark Elves and many fauns. While some began to follow their commands many more fought against them. The rule of the Dark Elves over the fauns was short lived. With their common enemy the faun countries began to work together as never before. The Dark Elves continued to travel east, away from the faun countries into colder regions.
They came upon a mountain range. Here dwelt the manticores, flying down to the grasslands to hunt. The Dark Elves observed them for some time and began to see them as their way to domination. They endowed the beasts with magic, such a thing had never been attempted. Magic was before this a harnessed power. The Dark Elves harnessed the power in gemstones which were placed in the paws of the beasts.
With an army they spread forth to the faun countries. The fauns were ill-equipped to battle them, they had no magic. As the Dark Elves were nearing control over the entire faun domain, the fauns prepared for their last stand.
Rolling Shadows - Chapter 2
The manticores did not stop with the temple. Once they had ravaged the place and destroyed the tapestries they headed towards the mainland. The Wardens of the elf people were ready for them, archers on the ground and staff-riders in the sky. The black cloud died with the Dark Elves, the manticores were airborne.
The wardens wore dark blue robes. They had long plaited hair down their backs and each carried a slender sword. They were gathered around Tha'cloyth forest, on the river bank. Most of the trees in the forest were very old, some were former staffs. There were also brambles entangled together making the area impassable. At that moment the ship from the island arrived, it left the water and flew with newly spawned wings over Tha'cloyth. As it landed the ship began to twist slowly as it became a tree once more. The elves aboard it stood up as their ship metamorphosed. The leader of the temple elders approached the commanding officer of the Wardens. They exchanged a couple of meaningful looks before the elder bowed his head and led the temple community away from the forest. They walked only a little way from the field of battle but still in sight of it.
The leader of the Wardens was Thicol Thrin'elgen. He commanded the nine-hundred or so personal in the field of battle. The lead archer approached him. He touched the tips of his fingers together and inclined his head. Thrin'elgen returned the salute with the same finger formation, he however bowed his head.
“Place archers around,” he ordered, indicating the perimeter of the forest, “we don't know if they have control over their magic. Wait for my command.”
“Sir,” the archer said in acknowledgement.
The archers deployed and Thrin'elgen mounted his staff. He and his team deployed above the forest in a tight formation awaiting the arrival of their enemies. Not all of the manticores came to them. They were disorganised with their sudden freedom and only a fraction of them headed towards the mainland. They snarled and slashed as they flew as if the air was their nemesis. The elves maintained their quiet expression then suddenly shot through the sky with slender swords drawn. They only whispered commands to propel their staff. The manticores they faced had faces in stark contrast to their otherwise animal appearance. They had an almost elf like quality about them. Fortuitously they were unable to use their magic ability. Nevertheless they remained able to use their sharp claws and poisoned tipped spines in clubs on the ends of their tails.
Thrin'elgen led from the front, his skills on the staff were legendary. He twisted dodging the poisoned spines. Once to the left, then to the right and spiralled upwards as they began to come in from all directions. He used his sword to deflect the remaining spines. Suddenly there was a loud snarl, as his face was slashed by a large claw. He grimaced and jabbed his sword into the neck of the beast, blood poured out as it fell to the ground. Smack!
The body hit just short of an archer. He stepped back, nocked an arrow and fired. The arrow met its mark and another foe fell from the sky. The battle was not all one-sided and some elves too fell. Those elves that did were caught by vines from the trees, pulling them down to decelerate an otherwise fatal decent. The same was done for the manticores, except they were entangled in vines and brambles. Arrows shot to the sky, swords were swung atop staffs, claws slashed , wings flapped and tails flung darts – the battle continued.
Though the manticores were vicious the elves ultimately prevailed. Thrin'elgen was not complacent in victory however. This time the elves had posessed the advantage in numbers and arms. If the manticores ever learned the skills of magic, that their former masters had taught them, they would become a formidable enemy. With these thoughts in his head Thrin'elgen touched down. The moons were now shining in the sky. The trees that had caught those elves that had fallen cradled them onto stretchers, which were then carried away. The elves operated silently as they carried the injured away. Others, he knew had died this day and would be taken for cremation. It felt like the area should have been silent, however silent it was not. The manticores who remained entangled made a hellish chorus of growls and wails. Whether it was simply the distress of being confined or a call for help Thrin'elgen couldn't say.
“What of the manticores sir?” an archer asked.
“Those of the temple will cast a spell and lead them back.”
“Is that wise sir?”
Thrin'elgen was silent for a few moments as he considered the question. It was not wise, that much was certain. He could think of no other course of action. Though he didn't really believe it he told himself that those few freed manticores might make a difference in the Dark Elf Dominion. The fauns who lived there needed all the help they could get. The archer was still standing by him, awaiting an answer.
“I don't know if it's wise,” he said, “but I can see no other course of action.”
The archer inclined his head walking away, leaving Thrin'elgen to his thoughts.
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