Ashyn screamed in surprise as Ginger latched on to the back of his neck, biting deeply. He dropped the skinning knife in reflex and swung to get the cat off him. He could feel his blood welling beneath the wound and running hot down his back.
“What is wrong with you!” he yelled at it. “You’ve just killed us!”
The ice trapping his left leg suddenly exploded. Ashyn’s leg broke free. Swiftly he moved it away from the creeping ice.
Another javelin rained down from up in the canopy and destroyed the ice directly below his other foot. Ashyn looked up in alarm.
“Climb, fool!” Ashyn heard in the chittering language of Ferhym. Then a javelin soared down near the shadowy form. It bellowed in shock. Another, and then another javelin came down around it driving it back.
The wizard didn’t need any encouragement. Swiftly, he reached up to the ledge and heaved himself over. It was difficult because his cold-deadened leg did little to support any of his weight. As he rolled onto the ridge, he felt Ginger leap from his back. The cat then hopped the exposed rocks to the shore.
The pressure of the water threatened to push Ashyn back over the side. He rolled away, his numb leg barely functioning, until he pushed himself solidly against one of the rocks.
He risked a glance down over the ridgeline. He could see more javelins soaring upon the shadow. Ashyn watched in amazement as the long object ripped from the water and aimed to the trees.
Balls of white energy flew forth from the umbral form, while the icy falls simultaneously thawed. After several moments no more javelins fell. He wondered if the creature below had landed a blow upon his savior.
“You need to move,” the Ferhym voice came from above again. “I have no more javelins.”
Ashyn knew what that meant. His pursuer was coming. Groaning, and fighting an almost nonfunctional limb, Ashyn forced himself to stand. He drug his leg heavily against the force of the water and made his way to the bank where a mud-laden cat awaited him.
“We’ll talk about this later,” Ashyn said angrily as he pointed to the wound on his neck.
Ginger glared at him with one ugly yellow eye, before it turned away from him, following the river.
Ashyn shook his head and followed the creature dumbly, lost in thought. The cat had known about the Wild Elf in the trees. Had it known what the elf was going to do?
And what was that exactly? What the Ferhym had just done was inconceivable. He had saved Ashyn’s life. He had saved a wizard.
~ ~ ~
The shadowy figure slapped the javelins away from him angrily. He almost had it! The tall elf in red. The killer with the bow! It had been his!
He stormed back into the cold basin and reached down into the misty waters. His auburn, three-fingered hand wrapped around the glinting metal object.
Carefully he lifted it out of the water and to his snout. In one good sniff, he got everything he needed. He placed the skinning knife on his goat-hide belt and then looked up the falls. This hunt was far from over.
~ ~ ~
Night fell quickly in the Shalis-Fey, and Ashyn was overly careful in his camp this time. He didn’t remove his leather tunic, though he desperately wanted to. Already, the odor emanating from the grimy, algae infused mud was drowning out all the pleasant smells of the forest.
Instead, he focused on his weapons. The scurry up the falls had cost him a number of arrows, and of course he lost his skinning knife. Amongst other needs for it, he wasn’t sure how he was going to shave now. All he had now was his bow and his rapier.
Much to his dismay, and pleasure, his bone bow survived remarkably unscathed. Ashyn was continuously amazed at the durability of such a weapon. And so, fearful of sleeping, he attentively doted upon it, removing the grime built up from rolling in the mud. It was an arduous task, but he welcomed it compared to the alternative, sleeping when the shadow beast returned.
The rapier, secured in its scabbard, only needed a thorough drying so the thing wouldn’t be pitted with rust. Ashyn wasn’t actually sure how to dry the inside of a scabbard; he had never needed to know such weapon maintenance. He opted to lay its open end in front of the fire. He figured it probably was doing more harm than good, but his options were limited.
Ginger sat across the small campfire, vainly trying to lick away the clumped patches of fur. Ashyn felt it was a lost cause, but his feline ally persistently worked at it none-the-less.
Ashyn stared at the cat. The young wizard couldn’t deny any longer that it was different from a standard cat, but what was it? It showed intelligence, problem solving skills, an intuitive sense of direction, but what did that mean exactly? His knowledge of the Shalis-Fey was very limited. He wasn’t sure what variations of feline species called the woods their home.
He knew of the Bristle Wolves and their intelligence, but they were canines. He had also seen firsthand the Wild Elves and the orcs, but never any other predators, though he knew there were bears about from some of the droppings he had encountered. Only game, like hare and deer, had been prevalent up to the falls, and he spied the occasional tracks of an elk. So what other hunters truly existed in the Fey?
His mind drifted to the shadow creature. It was clearly new to him. Worse, it knew magic. That made it sentient. Ashyn saw magic like that before, with the elves. Druids. The wraithlike form didn’t resemble either of them. Ashyn wasn’t sure if that counted for much. Wild Elves wanted wizards dead. If they had learned what he was, it made sense to send a druid to finish the job. But if that were the case, then why the aid from the elf in the trees?
Had it gone rogue? Were the Wild Elves different than he believed they were? There were always two sides to a story; he didn’t have all the answers. Not yet anyway.
He thought about the wizards themselves. Enough time passed now that the wizards could have formulated some type of response. Were they going to let him roam the woods a recreant, or would they send one the Maba-Heth?
Most of what Ashyn knew about them was either conjecture or fable. He understood they trained exclusively for the destruction of recreants and that they always worked in pairs. They were the assassins of the Seven, when not hunting rogue wizards at least.
Still he was groping blindly in the woods now. He wanted to know more. He needed to know more. More about the creatures within the forest. More about the elves. More about the wraith hunting him. More about the Maba-Heth.
He thought of the encounter, twice now, with the bull-like creatures. What he once thought were minotaurs, he now wasn’t so certain. There was something to them as well.
Were they native to the Shalis-Fey? He didn’t think so, and yet he just didn’t know. Wouldn’t the Wild Elves be at constant war with the bull-men if that were the case? With all these sentient creatures, why hadn’t he seen signs of life yet? No camp fires, no settlements, no villages of any kind. Perhaps Feydras’ Anula was nothing more than a myth. Was he chasing just another fairy tale?
Ashyn sighed and looked to the small fire before him. He was ignorant and he hated it. Ashyn was too far gone from his element. From books and tomes of knowledge, and even magic.
How long since he felt a connection? A lifetime it seemed. It was such a deeply empty feeling. A hollow in the core of him. Buried in his chest right next to his heart, as if a piece of his soul was missing.
Instinctively Ashyn held out his hand to the fire. In his mind he called to the flames. Beckoned them to join with his outstretched hand. Invited them to be part of him.
Nothing.
He whispered incantations to the burning pitch within the flames. He tried to feed it more air. Get it to burn stronger. He excelled as a wizard at these things. The few that he truly was a master of.
Again, nothing.
Ashyn felt the heat of eyes on him then, and quickly dropped his hand. Had he revealed too much to his elven watcher?
He looked up from the fire and saw Ginger studying him, its lemon yellow orb watching him intently, the other beginning to peek its way out of the healing mass of flesh. “How smart are you?”
Ginger studied him a moment longer, and then turned away ignoring him. Ginger resumed its futile effort to clean itself.
Ashyn ran his fingers through his red hair and blew out a large gust of air. He would get no answers tonight, only questions. The more his mind wandered, the more questions were likely. He turned his thoughts inward.
Absently he stroked at the platinum braid tied to his bracer. He wondered about the Exemplar child once more. Now she was full grown, as he was. Could she control her powers? Could he look her in the eyes? Those mysterious, quicksilver eyes.
Ashyn reached down and removed the platinum braid of hair. He rolled it between his fingers, feeling its lush softness under his growing calluses. He snickered to himself. Already he was asking more questions. Always the questions.
Xexial warned him that gathering knowledge was amongst one to the top things wizards did. It looks like asking questions was just ingrained. He chuckled slightly louder at the thought of Xexial.
He would go to the Seven once he saved Julietta. He wouldn’t run from them, he decided. He would fulfill Xexial’s last request to him and warn them of the war in detail, not just what was written in a letter. Perhaps he might even find something of use in Feydras’ Anula. A bargaining chip for his life. After all, Xexial was dead, and yes, even though he chose his sister over his master’s last request, could it not be argued that his situation was a unique one? Was he not technically without a master? That should merit something.
That was, if he was not hunted by them already. Thoughts drifted back to the specter at the falls. Maba-Heth wizards? Were the Seven really willing to risk sending a wizard into the Shalis-Fey just to quell the recreant?
It was an unpleasant, but strangely logical thought. Outside of the Ferhym, and the one encounter with the bull creature, there was no hostility by anyone else. He was not truly certain how the Seven would respond to his letter. He had never met them. Aggression was definitely an option.
A voice broke from the darkness, “A clouded mind means a mired judgment.”
Ginger jumped to its feet, hissing and spitting. Ashyn, in a blink nocked an arrow and raised his bow, enduring the pain in his hands. He leapt to his feet, and spun, looking for the source of the voice.
“At least, your reflexes are still stout.”
Ashyn looked up. There he saw a Wild Elf on an overhanging branch looking down at him. For once, the stealthy creature was not hiding.
“Are you the one I owe my escape to?” Ashyn asked in Ferhym.
The Wild Elf nodded.
Ashyn lowered his bow. “Then I thank you.”
The Wild Elf rolled off the branch and dropped fifteen feet into a crouch. He stood up unnervingly close to the wizard. Like the rest of his Ferhym kin, he bore only a loincloth and the ritual body paintings across his hard muscled frame. His eyes were a lighter brown then Ashyn had seen in the past, and his face was harder, more chiseled. One who spent long periods away from the comforts of a settlement.
Both sides of his head were shaven, leaving the bulk of his hair along the center. A single long, dark brown braid sat on the back of his neck.
Ashyn realized after a moment, that this curious style was to keep the hair out of his face when he moved through the trees or when he fought. Though unusual looking, it made tactical sense. He wondered why the elf didn’t just keep it short, or shave it altogether.
On his back was a deer-hide quiver, now devoid of any javelins. All he had was his spear that was nestled across the quiver with some sort of break-away tether.
Across his torso, attached to his loincloth, were pouches and water skins. Unlike Ashyn, this elf traveled extremely light.
“Why have you revealed yourself now?” Ashyn asked.
The Wild Elf shrugged and said matter-of-factly, “I cannot continue to follow you, and hunt the skewer that is rampant in the Fey. I have determined that for now, you are no skewer, and you would be easier to watch if we made an alliance, tree-brother.”
“Like the other night,” Ashyn replied.
The Wild Elf nodded. “You are proficient enough.”
Ashyn wasn’t quite sure if the elf before him had just complimented him or insulted him.
“Then you know what it was that hunted me?” the wizard asked.
The elf shook his head no. “Not certain, but I have an idea.”
Ashyn waited for more. Nothing. The wizard looked into the woods. “Is it still out there?”
The Elven hunter nodded. “It is, but it has become difficult to track. It leaves no traces of its passing, which is troublesome.”
“Indeed.”
The elf looked around at Ashyn’s dismal camp. “I will adjourn to the trees, and watch from there. On the morrow we will hunt the last of the skewers.”
Ashyn bit back his reply that he wouldn’t kill what the Wild Elf thought were skewers and instead nodded. He would deal with that particular problem when it arose. The elf turned to walk away.
“Do you have a name?” Ashyn asked the departing Wild Elf.
He turned around and looked into Ashyn’s grey eyes for many moments, as if deciding if he should divulge such information to the stranger. At last, he muttered, “Jenhiro.” He disappeared into the thick underbrush.
After the Wild Elf was gone, Ashyn sat back down and smiled at Ginger. “Finally,” he said aloud. The cat looked at him curiously. “A lead.”