Chapter 2: In Times of War
Garius Rabba motioned with one hand for the soldiers following him to stop, as he surveyed the rainforest-elven village before him. A minor village on the outskirt of Aldaria, its elegant tree-grown domiciles were not as hidden in the understory of the lush rainforest, making it more accessible to humans not so adept in the wilderness. It did not, however, make the village any less perilous where the approaching warriors were concerned.
Gesturing to Tharin, Gar addressed the wizard as he eased nearer soundlessly. “Has your aether held?”
The man nodded, his grim face lined with dark black and premature gray hair. “It has. I have hidden us from those forest demons as best I could, but their powers and trickery are not to be underestimated. I’d be unsurprised if they know we’re here, despite our preparation.”
Gar muffled his grunt, and nodded at the seemingly vacant hamlet. “I see no one, nothing. They may have fled, joined with the rest of their spawn.”
“Perhaps.”
The commander shrugged. If there would be no fighting this day, then so be it. He didn’t like this war; he was tired of fighting. In his younger days, Gar had taken a thrill in fighting off goblin raids, bandits, even simple tavern brawls, but now it seemed petty and wasteful of coin and blood to the aging warrior. Even so, he was a man of the line, and it wasn’t his place to have opinions. If the empire wanted killing, and wanted him to do it, than he would.
“Move in,” he whispered, issuing the command with a flick of his wrist. “Remain quiet.”
The vanguard was comprised of fifteen highly trained warriors, some of the best of the imperial army, and the protection of Tharin, a lead mind of the nation’s war wizards. It was not the first suchlike expedition lead by Garius Rabba, and though he might have wanted otherwise it would probably not be his last. Then again, it might very well be his last anything; despite whatever surprise their prudent planning might afford, striking at an elven village was never a simple or sure venture.
As it was now, since for the life of him, Gar didn’t think there was one elf here. No swords or arrows bristled from the foliage, and the quiet, solemn atmosphere spoke of abandonment rather than some defensive ambush. Still, when dealing with elven kind as enemies, the word ‘prudence’ could not be overstated.
Gar instructed his men through a systematic search through the pristine dwelling. He could not help but marvel at the unity elves had with nature, growing their grand homes from the trees themselves. Junipers, mostly, and strong, tall redwoods, with far more underbrush sprouting between than what would grow deeper within the kingdom of fairyfolk, where Aldaria became a thick rainforest. In places, the knotted wood twisted to form egresses and windows, with decorative flowered vines creeping up the bark.
Their search only seemed to confirm the commander’s thoughts. It seemed that the villagers had made a mass exodus for a larger city, probably Tartession. Ah, well. Gar felt that fifteen men was hardly enough to take an elven village anyway, however small, though even in his advancing years he retained just enough roguishness to attempt such derring-do.
“Hey! Is someone there? Please, help me!”
Sudden and shrill, the feminine, distressed shout snapped the already tense men to higher alert. Garius Rabba frowned. What was this botheration? He looked to Tharin. The Ikinzarian wizard shrugged.
Retaining the urge to punch the closest soldier in the face just for fun, the uncharacteristically short-of-patience commander crept forward to see who had shouted. He found a tree, shaped with elven aethers not into a home, but rather a jail cell with commodity for only one person. Inside the living bars of the young juniper crouched a dirty, desperate looking woman – a human woman, he realized, wearing imperial clothing.
She smiled, her features pleasing despite the toll of obvious distress and a lack of recent grooming, and said in a tone of relief, “Thank the Crown! I thought I would languish here to die.”
Gruffly suspicious, the commander barked, “Who are you?”
“Dayla Batara.”
The surname, Batara, was familiar to him, Karadian in origin. Karada was home to dusky-skinned, giantish men, the subkingdom of the Tamian Empire from which it accrued many valorous warriors. She didn’t look Karadian, too fair-skinned and delicate, but he figured it her married name.
“What are you doing out here?”
“I was captured during the last battle with these filthy forest demons. They’ve kept me here for days – I don’t know how many – questioning me and sneering at me. Then, they just disappeared . . . all of them.”
“Do you know why?”
She pointed to him as if it were common knowledge. “I heard them talking about a covert attack, issued, they said, by Emperor Tamius himself. To finish off the louts that survived the last fight.”
Gar nodded grimly, then strode to her cage, his men filing behind him cautiously. He considered her, and saw that while she was not in her best condition, she was well-toned, and probably as strong as she was beautiful. The commander had met such women before, and while he didn’t know of this one, he wasn’t surprised to find another. Some men felt threatened by female warriors, but his thinking was that a good solider was a good solider, what was lying beneath their belts notwithstanding.
“If you could let me out and give me a sword, commander, I would be happy to join you on any further assignments,” she said briskly, as if hearing his thoughts and seeking to bolster their credence.
Gar smiled, nodded once, and with his glaive shattered the wooden latch holding the cage door shut. In that instant, madness enveloped his company.
Three soldiers dropped, dead, an arrow sprouting from each strong chest, parting armor like paper. Three more arrows followed, injuring another man, though now the company was alert and wise to danger around them.
Dayla rolled at the cage door, and drew from a pile of leaves a gleaming sword. She thrust it at Gar’s chest, who was reeling with shock and rage, though he blocked her thrust with infallible reflexes. They fell into sword-blows instantly, the commander shouting orders over the metallic twangs as elves seemed to grow out of the trees about them. One, the archer who had killed three of Gar’s men and wounded a fourth, was foolish enough to show his face. Tharin, quick-fingered with fireballs, blasted the elven man’s fine features, and though he swerved with all the considerable agility of his race to avoid the attack, he still fell to the earth from his perch, dying. As a last act, the struggling, wounded rainforest-elf put an arrow to his bow, and sent a feathered arrow into a soldier’s unguarded temple. Then, the noble elf died, a proud defender of his realm.
Many times, Garius Rabba had met women, man-haters out to prove they could out-sword anybody of the apposing gender. Indeed, he had humbled such fierce ones himself, teaching them that there were better ways to gauge a foe’s skill than by his gender. Today, Gar found himself the student of that selfsame lesson, because this woman swung her sword with a swift precision that kept him sweating and on his heels. She was fast – almost elvishly fast – and yet had absolute control over every movement, not letting her own speed carry her blade away and become her enemy, as younger soldiers often did. As they fought, he saw the age in her face, the beginning of wrinkles hard won and a determined twinkle in her eye he found he liked. Such an intriguing, tough little piece of work . . . Too bad he would have to kill her.
Garius lanced out his blade twice in sharp succession to put Dayla on her heels, then swept inside her swing and punched her in the mouth. The woman fought silently, a mark of discipline, and he was surprised that she didn’t even grunt in pain. He was even more surprised when her foot came up and kicked him in the head, when their faces were barely a foot apart. As he tumbled to his right, off balance, he cast out his sword to deflect her own, sloppy swing, a diversion to give her time to clear her head.
Garius had his equilibrium in a moment, and snapped up with a vengeance, his wary sword eager to deal punishment to this worthy adversary. The woman, though, had recovered as well, and with amazing agility sidestepped Garius’s sword strike, running her blade along his. As they fought, their eyes burned into each other, each will vying to prove itself the stronger. Twisting like an elegant serpent, Dayla’s blade ripped the soldier’s sword from his hand, and it landed in the grass several feet away.
Growling, Garius tackled her legs, needing to keep her instable as a matter of life or death, lest her blade move against him. She went down, but not graciously. Kicking hard at whatever her feet could find, Dayla fumbled to bring around her sword. Her fingers closed firmly on the hilt, but Garius lunged forward, driving his knee into her stomach and grasping her sword wrist fiercely. His free hand took out a dagger, and he put the blade to her throat with fatal intentions.
Dayla clutched her sword and threw up her other hand, then rocked forward and smashed her forehead into Garius Rabba’s nose. He crumpled backwards, and she got to her feet. She kept her distance, blade held icily before her.
“I will not negotiate with you, Garius Rabba. I am not afraid to kill you or anyone else who strikes at Aldaria. Leave, and tell your child Emperor to quit toying with a sleeping giant he does not want to awaken.”
Garius Rabba shot back a curse word and a dagger afterwards, neither of which phased the season fighter, but it gave him the moment he needed to get back on his feet. The soldier drew his hunter’s knife from his boot as he stood, and glared at Dayla’s beautiful but fierce eyes.
“You’d fight for these pointy-eared tree demons rather than your own kin?” he sneered in an effort at intimidation.
“My own kin?” she replied coolly. “They are my only kin.”
Garius Rabba snorted, then rushed forward. But before he could reach his enemy, a reddish glow tingled over his limbs, making his muscles feel like gelatin. It felt as if his insides were being sucked through his spine.
“What is this?” he protested, then looked to Tharin, whose wizardly aether exuded in crimson sparks. “You! What do you do?!”
“We are defeated,” said the wizard sadly. “We are surrounded. Escape by aether is our only hope.”
Even as the wizard spoke, the forest around them melted away, turning into Tharin’s private chambers. The trees became pillars, the bushes pillowy armchairs, and the threads of sunlight thick, purple tapestries. On the push carpet lay the four men Tharin had brought with him by use of his aether; one had already died, his coagulating blood spilling profusely over the floor, and another had serious but treatable wounds. Another man had caught an arrow in his shoulder, but it was superficial enough that he could move about freely. The only thing seriously wounded on Garius Rabba was his pride.
The soldier rose in fury, drawing near to a pale and exhausted Tharin. “Wizard, meddler. You have us flee like cowards rather than fight like men. Where is your sense of honor, Tharin?”
Looking at him with wise, sad eyes, the relatively youthful wizard heaved a weighty sigh, then smiled. “We were outmatched, outthought, beaten before the battle started. You know it, Gar. That woman bested you, and would have killed you. I couldn’t let all of us die.”
Garius Rabba still shook with rage, until he saw the wizard slump over slightly He looked down, to see the grisly, fatal arrow wounds stealing Tharin’s lifeblood. His anger dissolved immediately, and he dropped at the wizard’s side.
“We must get another wizard to treat it,” he said, trying to think fast but feeling as if his thoughts swam in molasses. Tharin smiled and shook his head.
“No time, Gar. I used too much energy bringing us here. No time . . .” His voice trailed off in a frail whisper. Tears came to Garius Rabba’s eyes, and he held the wizard in his arms as he died.
“Farewell, Gar,” said the wizard.
“Tharin Rabba . . . My brother . . .” mumbled Gar, unable to think of any words of comfort. He thought of nothing, only remembering how frail his brother had been in youth, how he had always felt obliged to protect him. Until Tharin showed himself to be a precocious wizard. Garius had come to think of him as unstoppable, as a valuable comrade instead of a younger, weaker sibling. “I failed you,” he muttered.
“No,” said Tharin softly, who went still, and spoke no more.
Garius Rabba’s shrieks of grief echoed for some time. When the sorrow passed, he dried his eyes, gritted his teeth, and stood. He would bury his brother, and strap on his sword.
And go back to war.
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“You fought well, my love,” whispered Talstran as he tended to Dayla’s wounds.
“And you,” she said, smiling.
“It was you who made it possible to drive them out and not lose a single person,” he reminded her.
The woman laughed and shook her head. “I doubt it. As humans go, I’m one of the best fighters I know of, yet I can scarcely keep up with you elves.”
The handsome, emerald face broke into a wry grin. “We make ourselves look better than we are.”
“How many did your blade take today?” she asked. Dayla was fiercely competitive by nature, and the morbidity of this competition did not lessen that impulse much.
“Three,” replied Talstran. He was not so competitive, in his elvishly patient way, but still enjoyed flustering Dayla. She frowned, and he laughed.
“I took none,” she protested, and folded herself into his strong, lithe arms as he finished tending her wounds and they reclined on the embroidered divan.
“You fought a good one today. Garius Rabba is one of the best commanders in the imperial army, they say.”
She nodded, then sighed. “Whatever sport we make of it, this war is an awful thing. I feel as though the scent of blood will never leave me.”
He kissed her head consolingly. “Fret not, my love. This war, like every before it, will end. We will see it through together, and we will win.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I know it when I see you,” he said, entirely serious. “When I touch you, and think of you, I cannot fail. I fight for two reasons; for Aldaria, and to find my way to your side.”
Dayla smiled and turned to look at the elf she planned to marry when this war was through. Their lips touched, a respectful passion that could not be touched by swords. Then, there was a knock at the portal, and they broke from their embrace.
“Enter, my friend,” beckoned Talstran in his warm voice. In entered Dartellis, an elf with dark skin and a warrior’s build. His face bore old scars, too old for someone so young, yet they detracted nothing from his youthful beauty. He bowed, expression grim.
“What is it, lad?”
“I have been sent to tell you of the latest dilemma, my lord. A group of tuatara has made camp in a dell by our northern borders with the Empire, not too far from us. They made camp covertly, somehow avoiding detection until aether was used on a panther defending its territory. We are unsure just how many of the filthy lizard people there are, but we’re sure they plan to strike at Tartession soon. We are going to meet and decide whether we should wait and prepare for their attack or engage in a preemptive strike. Your presence,” he finished, stiffly avoiding Dayla’s gaze and looking only at the elf, “is requested.”
“What of her presence?”
A flicker of disgust went over the elf’s face, but he made no improper remark. “She does what she will, my lord.”
Talstran nodded, brusquely, and watched the other elf depart, realizing his thoughts were not so kind. An immature hothead, Dartellis had no affection for humans, and while many older elves had polite disdain for them, his inheritance of that apprehension had been fueled by war, having little occasion to mingle with humans on peaceful terms before. It upset Talstran that such prejudices were allowed to foster in Aldaria, but there was little he could do to change it. Dayla’s sigh told him that her thoughts were in a similar vein.
“Will they ever accept me?” she asked.
“They will, and most have,” he said, somewhat more hopefully than he felt. “It is a trying time.”
Dayla nodded, and they sat quietly, eyes on one another and thoughts far off.
“Are you ready to face tuatara again?” he asked gently, after a while.
The spark in her eyes was dangerous. “I can’t wait.”
He smiled and stood, offering his hand. “Come, then. We have a meeting to attend.”
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Caphtanor looked over the faces looking at him, his heart heavy. He was no longer lord of Tartession; he had given that up during this war, when battle had maimed him horribly. Yet, he was the patriarch of the family and, whether he liked it or not, a symbol for his clan. Always, Caphtanor Tartessis would be the strong voice for his folk, the steady hand to guide his kinsmen through the dark days. Once, he had reveled in that role. Now, when he felt so below the task, he despised it.
“Both options have dangers and advantages,” he began carefully, “and each of you has spoken well upon what you think should be done. Yet, I think to wait for an attack, ignorant of the force headed our way, would be foolish. Likewise, to strike upon the tuatara camp without better knowledge of what we face would be reckless. Instead, we must send a small number, one or two, to find out better what awaits us in that dell. Our best, most careful rangers should go, find out as much as they can, avoid being seen and any confrontation whatsoever, and return with what knowledge they have found. Then we will act.”
He paused, looked at the dozens of adept rangers amongst the listeners, and said, “The best of you must do this, for if we are found out, it will ruin our advantage. No more than two or three should go, for that will increase the risk of discovery. This is the course I deem wisest.”
Alcestis, an elderly ranger of unsurpassed skill despite his blindness, said, “I shall go.”
No one questioned his word, for even blind he could learn more of his surroundings in moments than most in that room.
“I will also go,” said Talstran, who sat near to the aged elf. He was the pupil of the old ranger, and was the only rival to the legendary skill of Alcestis Arishan. A few murmured, mostly middle-aged prudes who disapproved of Talstran’s wily, free-spirited past, yet none could deny his competence.
“I’ll join you,” added Dayla.
“No.” The sharp, harsh brevity of the statement was not nearly so shocking as the speaker. Talstran’s face was not an expression of negotiation. “You will slow us down and endanger our quest. You’re good, Dayla, but this is not a task fitting to you. It is fitting . . .”
“For elves,” she finished, hurt and subdued, but complacent. “I understand.”
Many elves were surprised by this; even Caphtanor was beyond telling Dayla what to do after her performance in battles of late. Dartellis, rather than pleased, seemed agitated.
“I will go,” he said. “Three is a good number, should we come across complications.”
“You are young yet,” cautioned Irnhesseik, his father. “This is an important task.”
“Let him come,” said Talstran. “He is up to the endeavor.”
Dartellis was pleased by this, almost as pleased by the esteemed and talented ranger’s voucher as Dayla was infuriated by it. She stood, cast a stormy glare upon the elf she loved, and stalked out of the room.
“Then it is decided,” declared Caphtanor, to distract everyone from the tension. “Tonight, you three will go and learn what you may. We pray that the gods bless the trees beneath which you walk this night.”
Meeting adjourned, Talstran chased after his love, and found her outside. Elven buildings were grown from the trees, and city streets were formed by interlacing branches. Behind a thick bough he found her, sitting, calmly seething as she watched the townsfolk pass by. He sat quietly beside her.
“Don’t take it the wrong way, Dayla. We must act wisely, both in respect to our enemies and our allies.”
After a minute of silence, she said, “I know, but I don’t have to like it.”
Talstran smiled. “Don’t worry. I like it less than you. But once I find this camp of tuatara, just think of all the lizard flesh we’ll punish.”
The woman nodded.
“Will you wait for me then, fair lady?” he asked with only slightly exaggerated charm.
“Always,” she replied sincerely.
They went inside together, and the ranger prepared for the present task.
This time, I did find a few things that I think could use correction.
) you basically restate your idea. Perhaps you could combine the sentence where he chases after her and describing where he finds her. This would help the paragraph flow better.
Writergirl
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