War Of The Wildlands (8 page)

R
ecent storms in
the area had created choppy waters near the docks in the Kingdom of Na’zora.
The elven slaves wore thick chains, and their backs bore the scars of the
fierce beatings they received when they refused to work for the humans. Only
ten of them remained out of the twenty-three who had been taken captive.
Thirteen had been beaten to death because they refused to work or could not
perform the duties required of them. The slaves spent their days carrying heavy
loads to and from the merchant ships docked at Na’zora’s coast. They were given
one small meal at the end of their long work day and lived in a tiny warehouse
that was infested with rats.

Today the slaves worked without complaining. After
weeks of servitude, they had learned the best way to stay alive was to keep
their mouths shut and do as they were told. Constantly looking for a method of
escape, their hearts were always hopeful. They had yet to give up and resign
themselves to the situation. For now they would bide their time and work,
hoping that one day they would escape and take revenge on their captors.

Aelryk and Mi’tal approached the docks casually,
trying not to give anyone cause for suspicion. Aelryk’s plan was to free the
elves from their bondage and send a message with them back to their clans. He
did not intend for his father to find out exactly what he was up to. His
command would not be questioned by the dockmaster, but he did not intend to
reveal his true reason for freeing the slaves. Should his father find out the
truth, the prince feared his reaction. King Domren was not above punishing his
own son, especially if he felt betrayed.

“Good day, dockmaster,” the prince said as the man
came into view. He was short and deeply tanned from many years of labor under
the sun.

Bowing slightly before his prince, the man
replied, “Good day, Your Highness. How may I be of service to you?”

“I have need of your elven slaves for a project of
my own. I trust it won’t cause you too much inconvenience.”

“Of course not, my lord,” the dockmaster replied,
not hiding the displeased look in his eyes.

“For your trouble,” the prince said, handing the
man a purse full of coins.

Opening the purse, the man’s eyes widened. Inside
were dozens of gold coins, more than three times the worth of ten elven slaves.
“You are a generous and kind lord, Your Highness,” the man said, bowing again.

“I would appreciate it if you would keep this
matter silent. If anyone inquires where the slaves have gone, simply tell them
they were sold to a wealthy noble who does not wish his name to be revealed.”

“As you request, my lord,” the man replied. Right
away he began chaining the elves together. One elf, a tall blonde woman, tried
to resist by spitting in his face. He immediately swung the chain, striking her
on her cheek. A large red gash appeared on the surface of her skin.

Aelryk took a step forward, but Mi’tal placed a
hand on his chest to hold him back. “Not now, my lord,” he said quietly. “We
don’t want him to grow suspicious.”

Aelryk stared at the dockmaster, his eyes filled
with hatred. Witnessing such cruel treatment without being able to intervene
was almost too much to bear. He vowed to himself to find a suitable punishment
for the dockmaster at a later time.

After the elves were chained, the dockmaster led
them to their new master. Handing off the lead chain to Mi’tal, he said,
“They’ll probably resist for a while, but a good beating will soon set them
right.”

Mi’tal nodded and accepted the chain. Aelryk bit
his tongue to prevent himself from screaming. It was appalling to meet someone
with so little regard for another living being. They were at war with these
people, but prisoners deserve to be treated with some respect. If one of
Aelryk’s men were taken captive, he hoped the elves would treat him well. Even
in war, honor can be found.

“Gather around, all of you,” Aelryk said, as
Mi’tal ushered them together. “I am Prince Aelryk, heir to this kingdom. I’m
going to free you, but first we must get you safely to our borders. You will
have to remain chained for the next two days to avoid suspicion. If I unchain
you, most of you will probably run and be captured. I won’t be able to offer
much help in that situation. You will be at the mercy of whoever has managed to
catch you.”

The elf men and women looked suspiciously at the
prince and glanced at each other in silent communication. No one spoke a word,
and Mi’tal wondered if they were planning something despite the chains. “I will
be escorting you,” he said. “You have my sincere vow that none of you will be
harmed. We are going against the king’s wishes by doing this. The prince wishes
to negotiate a peace agreement with your clans and would like you to convey
that message to your kinsmen.”

The elves stared at him, still refusing to speak.
They had no idea if this was a trick. Their previous treatment at the hands of the
Na’zorans would suggest this man was dishonest. However, being chained together
did not leave them much choice. Whether they wished to or not, they would be
forced to follow this man to their fate.

“I apologize for the way you have been treated
during your stay in my kingdom,” the prince said. “I have had no part in it,
but I can assure you that any other prisoners taken during this war will be
treated better. You have my word on it. Please inform your clan leaders of my
desire to make peace. The attacks will continue and many lives will be lost on
both sides until we have reached an agreement. Convincing my father will be
difficult but not impossible. I am willing to do whatever is necessary to
secure peace.”

Turning to face Mi’tal, he said, “The carriages
should be waiting for you at the stables. Make sure the drivers remember to
stay silent about all of this.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” he replied, bowing. “Follow
me, please,” he said to the elves. To his relief, the elves followed willingly
while he held the chain loosely in his hand. As they approached the stable,
Mi’tal spotted the two plain wooden carriages that would carry the elves to
their freedom. Once they were placed inside, no one would know who was being
transported. The windows would remain covered, and the elves would remain
chained to avoid any chance of escaping.

Both carriage drivers appeared nervous, but they helped
Mi’tal split the elves into two groups of five. Each group was loaded into a
carriage, and Mi’tal took a seat next to the lead driver. With a nod, Mi’tal ordered
the drivers to head for the western border.

The wooden carriages rolled noisily over the stone
streets of the palace district. Few citizens took any notice as they passed,
and Mi’tal felt free to relax in his seat. For now the elves were remaining quiet,
and no one was aware that he and the prince had just committed treason. If the
king happened to find out about this, they could both expect to be thrown in
the dungeons. Aelryk would be forgiven in time, but Mi’tal’s only hope would be
for a single stroke of the headsman’s axe. His loyalty to the prince, however,
was much stronger than his loyalty to the king. Though Aelryk was still young,
Mi’tal could plainly see that he was a much more respectable ruler than his
father.

* * * * *

As evening darkened into night, the carriages stopped to make camp at the
edge of a small farming community. Mi’tal opened the doors himself to allow the
elves to sleep outside in the fresh air. Blankets had been stored in a trunk on
the back of the second carriage, and the drivers distributed them among the
elves.

“Are we going to have to sleep while chained?” a
young elf asked. This was the first time any of them had spoken since the
journey began.

“I’m afraid so,” Mi’tal replied. “If you were to
escape now, you might still be in danger. You have no reason to trust me, I
know. If I unchain you, I can’t be certain you won’t run.”

“What you mean is, you can’t be certain I won’t
cut your throat while you sleep,” the elf said, glaring at his captor.

“There’s that as well,” Mi’tal stated calmly.
“Neither of us is much capable of trust it seems. We are at war after all.”

“Are you really going to free us when we reach the
Wildlands?” an older elf with graying hair asked. “You don’t plan to use us for
slave labor anymore?”

“I have no intention of doing so,” Mi’tal
answered. “As soon as we reach the border I will release the chains, and you
can go where you will. I hope you will consider carrying the prince’s message
to your clansmen.”

“I might consider it,” the older elf said. “If you
keep your word, perhaps your prince will keep his as well. It’s a shame that
the king has no interest in peace. He’s the one we are fighting against.”

“That is true, but Prince Aelryk hopes to
negotiate a treaty and bring it before his father. He is certain that once
everything is agreed between our two peoples his father will acquiesce.”

“Domren is a tyrant and a murderer,” an elf woman
said.

Taking a closer look at her, Mi’tal realized it
was the same woman who had been struck by the dockmaster earlier in the day. “I
regret the poor treatment you have received at the hands of my people,” he
began. “You must believe that the prince will do everything in his power to
negotiate this peace. Not all Na’zorans are like the dockmaster who mistreated
you.”

“You’re all sheep,” she said. “You follow a tyrant
king no matter how cruelly he treats his subjects. He’s beaten you all into
submission, and now he has come for us. He will destroy the forest and claim
the land for himself. If this prince truly wants peace, he should cut his
father’s heart out and claim the throne himself. If he does that, I will carry
his message to my people.”

The woman’s harsh words landed heavily on Mi’tal’s
ears. She was correct that Domren was a tyrant. He judged his own people mercilessly,
and a fair trial was no longer a common occurrence. The king did not like to be
questioned, and any advisor that did so risked being put to death. Luckily,
Aelryk was able to see the error of his father’s ways. He had grown up to be
the opposite of his father, and Mi’tal was certain he would make a far better
king.

“A man who murders his own father would be a poor
king,” he replied. “Even with all his shortcomings, King Domren is still our
sovereign. We must obey him.”

“You’re not exactly obeying him now,” the older
elf commented. “What would he do if he knew you were freeing us?”

“Most likely he would have us all killed,” he
replied. “Let’s hope he remains ignorant of our situation.”

As darkness overtook the land, the elves began to
settle in near the base of a large oak tree. Mi’tal and the drivers stayed
close to the carriages and took turns sleeping while one stood watch. The
nights were growing colder, and the sun would not be up before they would have
to depart again. The farmers would awake before dawn, and the carriages would
need to be loaded to prevent the elves from being seen.

When the stars began to fade, Mi’tal gently shook
one elf from each group. He requested that they remain silent and board the
carriages for the last leg of their journey. Bread and honey were waiting for
them in the carriages. The older elf was surprised to see that he was being
fed, and he thanked Mi’tal for his hospitality.

Near mid-afternoon the Wildlands came into sight.
Na’zora’s borders had extended up to a section of dense forest, which Mi’tal
hoped was not guarded by any Wild Elves. “Stop here,” he told the driver as
they neared the tree line. “We don’t want to be in range of their archers if
they are hiding in those trees.” The driver obeyed without hesitation.

Mi’tal hopped down off of his seat and opened the
doors of the first carriage. As promised, he removed the chains from the elves
and handed the key to the driver of the second carriage. The man accepted the
key nervously and proceeded to release the second group of elves from their
chains.

“You are free now,” he said. “Please take our
message to your people. If it leads to an end to this war, you will have done a
great service to your own people and mine as well.”

“I will take this message for you,” the gray haired
elf said. “My name is Tod, and I am a member of the Mulberry Clan. I hope this
prince of yours is telling the truth. If so, my clan’s Overseer will listen.”

“Thank you, Tod,” Mi’tal replied respectfully.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“It is Mi’tal, First Guard of His Royal Highness
Prince Aelryk of Na’zora.”

“You are a rare thing, Mi’tal,” the elf said. “You
are a human who keeps his word. If you say this prince is honest, I will trust
you. You have treated us well and freed us as you promised. I will not forget
it.”

Mi’tal nodded and watched as the elves disappeared
into the thick forest. He hoped his message had reached more than just the one
elf, but he had no way to be sure. At least he had put forth the effort and
extended the olive branch. It was up to the elves to accept or reject it.

A
chilly dawn
descended over Enald as Yori prepared to leave his family behind and begin his
journey into the Wildlands. The mood was somber, and silence lingered heavily
throughout the small house.

Trella had prepared a large quantity of nuts and
dried fruit for his journey. She had baked two extra loaves of bread which she
wrapped carefully and placed in his worn knapsack. Having never spent any time
in the forests, Yori had no idea which plants might be edible. He vaguely
remembered picking berries with his mother when he was very young, but he had
no idea which kind they were. With his luck, he would find something poisonous
and make himself sick. The provisions his aunt had provided for him would seem
like a feast in the dense forest.

Though he would be late opening his shop, Ren had
decided to see Yori off that morning. “I have some traveling advice for you,”
he said as Yori finished packing his knapsack. “There is a good possibility
you’ll run into this war between the king and the elves. The best way to avoid
it is to travel south near the borders of Al’marr. They are not at war, and
there are no rumors suggesting they have the intention of joining one. Your
mother once told me the Sycamores live near the bank of the Blue River just
north of Al’marr. If they’re still there, that will be your safest road.”

Yori nodded, digesting the information. His
uncle’s advice seemed sound. If he traveled near Al’marr’s border, he would
spend less time lost in the woods. He had no idea how to navigate through a
dense forest and feared he would end up walking in circles. The road to Al’marr
is clearly marked as one heads south. From there, he could only hope that the
route to the river was marked as well. Even if it wasn’t, he still felt safer
being near civilization.

“I would also advise you to hide your ears near
human settlements and uncover them when you’re in the woods. Hopefully that
will save you some trouble along the way.” Ren shook his head, his expression
troubled. “Do you know anything about surviving in the woods?”

“Not really,” Yori admitted.

Ren swallowed and looked at the floor. “Maybe your
elven instincts will kick in,” he said.

Trella approached them and spoke quietly. “Meladee
is refusing to see him off on his trip. She’s lying in bed crying, and she
won’t listen to me.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Ren said, laying a hand on his
wife’s shoulder. He hurried to the little girl’s bed to see if he could calm
her.

“We’re all going to miss you,” Trella said.
“Meladee is upset, but she’ll be alright. Ren is going to be lost without you. He
thinks of you as his own son, you know.”

Yori was surprised to hear those words. He had
never felt any special bond between himself and his uncle. Ren had never been
one to show affection, and Yori had considered himself the man’s apprentice and
nothing more. “He does?” Yori asked.

“Of course,” she replied, smiling warmly. “I know
he’s not the warmest person, and he does like to yell at you when you mess up
at the forge. That’s just how he is. Even if I bore him a dozen sons, he would
still think of you as his eldest. He loves you, Yori. I do as well.”

Since his mother had passed away, Yori could not
recall anyone telling him that he was loved. Until this moment, he had not
missed hearing the words. His eyes began to fill with tears, and he reached an
arm around his aunt, squeezing her tightly. She laughed softly and hugged him
as well.

Releasing from their embrace, Yori looked up to
see Ren holding Meladee. She buried her face in her father’s chest and refused
to look at Yori.

He stroked the back of her dark hair and said,
“I’m leaving, Meladee. Won’t you at least say goodbye?”

The girl squirmed a little, pressing her face
harder against her father. She did not utter a sound.

Trella placed a hand softly on Yori’s shoulder.
“She’s just too little to understand. She loves you, and I know she will miss
you dearly.” She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a dark
blue knit cap. “I managed to finish this for you last night. It will help keep
you warm as the weather gets colder, and it will also help hide your ears when
you need to.”

Taking the cap, he said, “Thank you, Trella.” He
brushed through his sandy hair with his fingers and placed the cap on his head.
Since losing his headband, he had felt exposed. Everywhere he looked, he
worried that people were staring at him and judging him because of his ears.
Covering them once again, he felt a little more at ease. At his height, no one
would guess he wasn’t fully human.

As he opened the front door, the sunlight rushed
inside to greet him. The cool air brushed against his face and filled his
lungs. Winter would be here too soon, and he would be homeless. Luckily, he had
thought to pack an extra blanket. It was old and torn, but it was still capable
of providing warmth. Reaching the door, he turned back to look at his family.
“I hope I see you all again someday.”

“You will,” Trella said reassuringly.

Handing Meladee to her mother, Ren grabbed Yori
and hugged him tightly. Yori was surprised by the gesture but accepted it wholeheartedly.
“Safe journeys, Son,” Ren said. “You take care of yourself out there and come
back to us.”

Yori nodded and smiled nervously. He patted Meladee
on her back and said, “Goodbye, Meladee. I’ll miss you.” Again, she did not
reply. Her sobbing was barely audible as she continued to press her face into
her mother’s shoulder.

Not wanting to prolong the goodbye, Yori turned and
walked quickly to the edge of town. He intended to travel along the road and
follow the merchants that were leaving to peddle their wares in Al’marr.
Perhaps one of them had work he could do in exchange for a little companionship
on the road. Though he had so far only traveled once, Yori knew just how lonely
the road could be.

As he reached the road, he sighed with relief.
Several merchant wagons were heading south this morning. One elderly merchant
had paused on the road to tighten the ropes holding his load in place. Two
reddish-brown mules brayed impatiently as their master fiddled with the ropes.
Yori gave the man a friendly wave as he approached. The bald old man glanced up
and nodded.

“Could you use some help?” Yori asked.

“Sure could,” the man replied. “These old fingers
just don’t work the way they used to. Damn ropes won’t cooperate either.”

Yori chuckled and pulled at the ropes. Giving one
sharp tug, he secured the blanket over the load and tied off the ropes.

“You’ve got some strong arms there, young man. You
heading down south?”

“I am,” he replied.

“I’d be glad to have you along to the markets.”
The old man extended a hand for Yori to shake. “Name’s Atti,” he said. “You’ve
got a real strong grip there,” he commented, pulling his hand away from Yori.

“I’m Yori,” he replied.

“What’s got you heading south?” Atti asked.

“I was apprenticed to the blacksmith here, but he
can’t afford to keep me. I thought I’d look for work someplace else.” Yori felt
bad lying to the kind old man, but he certainly had no intention of telling him
the true story.

“Looking for a little adventure as well, I’d
guess,” Atti said, his dark eyes twinkling. “When you’re young there’s nothing
better than going far from home and seeing the world. I’ve been all over
Nōl’Deron myself. Nowadays I just travel from Na’zora to Al’marr and back.
I just can’t move like I used to.”

The mules brayed again, wondering what was keeping
the men so long. The two of them climbed onto the wagon seat and started down
the road.

“So what kind of goods are you carrying?” Yori
asked.

“Bits and pieces,” Atti replied. “There’s some
pottery and cloth and other household goods. Time was I’d carry jewels and high
value items. I just can’t defend them like I used to, though.”

“I’d want an armed escort for that,” Yori said,
laughing.

“Back then you could borrow a few guards to travel
with you. Now they’re all off fighting in a war.”

“What do you think of the war?” he asked
curiously.

“It’s a damn shame. The elves make good trade.
They give you a good deal, and they make high quality stuff. Now I have to pick
that stuff up in Al’marr. They don’t allow the elves to trade in Na’zora anymore.”

“Do you know any elves in Al’marr?”

“I do, as a matter of fact,” Atti replied. “The
Sycamore Clan is just outside the border near the Blue River, and they trade
freely in Al’marr’s market cities. I’ve traded with them for more years than I
can remember. Good people, those elves.”

Yori was astonished by this stroke of luck. Not
only could this man tell him how to find the Sycamore Clan, he was taking him
straight to a town where he might find some of the clan’s members. That sounded
far better than wandering through the forest while trying to avoid being shot.
He smiled to himself and relaxed in his seat.