With each day harder than the one before, Bhrán and his companions crossed the breadth of Yedinerth as they endeavored to reach the entrance to the Dwarf Kingdom.
When their journey began, they knew it would not be an easy one, but no one, not even Suds, expected to encounter such devastation along the way.
Their course took them through lands governed by one Dark Lord or another, and the Evil Ones’ touch was evident at every turn.
The sparse population that inhabited the area were starving downtrodden wretches, too weak to fight back against those who kept them at heel. From time to time, the group would stumble across patrols from the Evil Ones’ legions, and when they did, they made them pay for the pain they inflicted on the innocent.
The races of these detachments varied widely, from Orcs and Trolls to Men accompanied by Gnolls. In every case, Bhrán and his companions made short work of those they encountered, all while lending as much aid as they could to the innocent they came across.
Seeing such utter helplessness in those they assisted spurred the group on. If the Dark Lords and their masters were not stopped soon, what remained of the race of Men would be beyond salvation.
“Here, drink this,” Bhrán said as he held his waterskin to the parched lips of an old woman they found lying on the side of the road.
The woman took a grateful mouthful but coughed it straight up as her eyes rolled back in her head.
Bhrán looked to Suds, who examined the old woman’s injuries and poor physical state. Then, with sadness, the Elf shook his head.
The Wolf Blood silently cursed those responsible for the old grandmother’s condition, and vowed yet again to make the individuals who’d dealt her this hand accountable for the evil they’d wrought.
Even as the curse still rattled through his mind, the poor wretch took her last breath and died in his arms.
Bhrán sat there cradling her for a minute or so, then he and Elyon set about the task of digging her grave. While they did this, Meibhín, Avaegrett, and Brigit prepared her body for burial.
As the five of them worked, Suds and Stomarim took up watch, and if necessary, they would erect protection shields, to conceal them as they gave the old woman the dignity she deserved.
As Bhrán hacked at the hard ground with a shovel, his anger grew. So many innocents had died needlessly, and he’d done nothing to stop it.
“You mustn’t think like that,” Elyon said as he worked at Bhrán’s side.
“Are you in my head again?”
Since leaving the Elven realm, Elyon’s abilities had blossomed.
Though the simple-minded Elf could not perform spells, his other gifts had increased sizably. He could now hear the thoughts of those around him as if they were spoken aloud. His visions of the future were also becoming far more accurate, especially regarding events mere hours ahead of them. This proved invaluable when it came to the encounters with the enemy, as they could plan out their attacks with extreme accuracy.
Elyon blinked. “Sorry, I thought you cursed aloud. I don’t mean to pry.”
Bhrán smiled. “It’s alright. I just wish I could get my hands on the man responsible for all this.”
Elyon bent to heave a large rock from the soil at his feet. As he threw the stone aside, he said, “He waits for us a day’s ride from here with three-hundred of his men. He’s the same Dark Lord who killed your Da.”
Bhrán froze. “What?”
Elyon pointed to the distance as he said, “Sir Duncan Lane and his men await us at Stonemore Rise. He plans an ambush so he can see you dead at his own hands. He fears you like no other, Bhrán. Above all things, he sees you as his greatest threat.”
Bhrán looked in the direction the Elf pointed. “Are you sure?”
Elyon nodded. “He’s assembled the majority of his forces there, leaving his hometown all but unguarded.”
As much as Bhrán wanted to kill the man who’d murdered his father, this was an opportunity to do some good, and he should try to help those who needed it.
“How far is that town from here?”
“What town?” Elyon asked.
“The one the Dark Lord just left.”
“What Dark Lord?”
This often happened to Elyon. In mere seconds, he would completely forget his previous words.
Bhrán dropped his shovel and gently took the Elf by the shoulders. He’d found that he could use his own mind to reinforce the Elf’s in situations like this.
Using only his thoughts, he said, “Elyon, you need to concentrate. Where is the town the Dark Lord left?”
The Elf’s eyes focused, and he said, “It’s called Kelna, a days ride East of here.”
The moment Bhrán released him, Elyon’s eyes became unfocused again, and a simple-minded smile lit his face.
Bhrán knew of the town, as it was once known for the textiles it produced.
As he stared in the settlement’s direction, he tried to come up with the best way to help its inhabitants, but came up with nothing.
The trouble was, they were still a long way from the closest resistance cell and even farther from the entrance to the Dwarves’ kingdom. Even if they killed the remaining guards, his party’s number was too few to render medical aid or assistance to a town the size of Kelna.
Before the plague, Kelna was the largest settlement in the region. Even after the devastation wrought by the Evil Ones’ dark illness, he felt sure it would still be home to many hundreds, if not thousands of people. As powerful and talented as all in his party were, there was little they could do to help that many people at the moment.
His eyes then turned in the direction the Dark Lord waited in ambush.
If they could remove him, that would help Kelna and every town under his iron fist. But again, they numbered only seven, while the Dark Lord’s force numbered in the hundreds.
Yet, if you cut off a snake’s head, its body died. If they could reach the Dark Lord without alerting his forces, then it might be possible to kill Sir Duncan and still get out alive.
“Are you alright?” Elyon asked.
Bhrán turned to the Elf and saw him staring in his direction with concern. He then looked toward the others, all of whom busied themselves in their tasks.
“Do you remember what we were just talking about?” Bhrán asked as he bent and picked up his shovel.
Elyon pondered his question for a moment, then shook his head. “Sorry, Bhrán. My head is like a sieve, so it is. As quick as things enter it, they flow away again.”
This was a good thing, as Bhrán did not want his party knowing about the Dark Lord and the ambush. If he was going to take out Sir Duncan, then he would do it alone.
“We were talking about Dilly’s birthday,” Bhrán lied. “It’s coming up in a week or so.”
Elyon nodded enthusiastically. “Aye, the seventh day of the Moon month.” The Elf looked toward the donkey who munched on grass thirty yards from where they stood, but his following words were still a whisper so she couldn’t hear him. “I’m thinking of asking Stomarim to magic her up a straw hat as a present. What do you think?”
Bhrán smiled at not only how easily he’d distracted Elyon, but also at the kindness of the Elf. “I think that’s an excellent idea, my friend.”
That night, Bhrán lay awake trying to plan out how best to infiltrate the Dark Lord’s camp.
Fortunately, the last thing Sir Duncan would be expecting was an attack by the very person he wanted dead. That didn’t mean it would be easy to reach the man, but when had anything been easy?
He could, of course, shroud himself in the protection spell taught to him by the Elves. This would render him invisible to all but those with the keenest of vision, and even keener minds. This would get him past the guards, but would it get him close enough to the Dark Lord to kill him?
Then, if he did manage to kill the vile man, how would he escape without being caught? These and many other questions plagued his mind until well into the early morning.
Finally, Bhrán’s eyes drifted shut from exhaustion.
***
“Did you hear what I said?”
Bhrán blinked and turned to see Meibhín staring at him as they rode toward Stonemore Rise.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night. What did you say?”
“I said we should reach the Rise by nightfall.”
Bhrán looked around, then replied, “Actually, I think we should skirt the Rise and head due west.”
“That would add two days to our journey,” Suds said as he pulled his horse alongside Bhrán’s. “Why do you want to do that?”
Thinking fast, Bhrán answered, “I know there used to be a small settlement somewhere just west of here. I want to see if we can offer them aid.”
Suds nodded. “Thistledown. To be honest, I doubt anyone lives there now.”
“You said that about Hilltop,” Meibhín said, “and we found fifty starving villagers there.”
“True,” the Elf said as he cast his gaze to the west. “If we head for Thistledown, then we should think about setting up camp soon. That way, we can set out early and will reach it by mid-morning tomorrow.” Suds then looked up at the darkening sky. “I think we’ll have rain soon, so the best place to camp would be the caves a mile from here.”
Suds’ knowledge of the lands they traveled always amazed Bhrán, and he was happy to go along with the Elf’s suggestion.
After a long day on horseback, all the travelers felt weary as they ate their evening meal. No one spoke, but instead, they enjoyed the comfortable silence that settled between them. Then, thanks to the warmth of the fire and their full stomachs, it did not take long for them all to start drifting off to sleep.
Bhrán waited a full hour before he moved, and with a practiced silence that came from his training and heritage, he exited the cave and mounted Nesrialian. A few moments later, he disappeared into the darkness to end the life of the man who’d killed his father.
***
Elyon tossed and turned as the dream of Bhrán’s death intensified.
He stood in a bank of trees as his friend entered the tent that housed the Dark Lord. As soon as Bhrán passed the tent’s entrance, Elyon found himself beside the bed of the sleeping nobleman. His friend could not see him, but the Elf saw everything.
As Bhrán pulled a knife from his belt, a portly woman entered the sleeping area and stepped from the shadows. On seeing a knife-wielding intruder, she screamed.
Bhrán raced to the woman to cover her mouth, but the damage was already done.
The Dark Lord woke from his slumber and jumped to his feet. He then snatched up an evil-looking dagger that rested on a silken pillow beside his bed and pointed it toward Bhrán.
As the Dark Lord armed himself, soldiers from outside rushed in and surrounded Elyon’s one true friend.
The Elf tried to help Bhrán as he battled a dozen men single-handed, but he was there in spirit alone. All he could do was watch on as the young Wolf Blood held his own against the soldiers throwing themselves at him.
Then, like a snake slithering from its nest, the Dark Lord approached Bhrán from the rear with stealth that belied his ungainly proportions.
Elyon knew not whether his friend’s battle with the soldiers kept his keens senses fixed in the wrong direction, or if dark magic aided Sir Duncan’s approach. But what he did know was the Dark Lord would be within striking distance in seconds.
Again, the Elf tried to intervene and yell out, but he remained riveted in place, like a statue. Then his eyes went wide as the Dark Lord drove a dagger into Bhrán’s back.
The brave young Wolf Blood fell, but Sir Duncan caught him by his thick hair and yanked his head back. Then, with a sneer on his face, he sliced open Bhrán’s throat.
Elyon woke with a gasp and sat up. The fire had gone out, and the cave lay in utter darkness. However, his keen Elven eyes saw much, and he could see Bhrán’s sleeping blankets were empty.
“No-no-no,” Elyon muttered under his breath as he slipped on his boots.
His eyes then settled on Meibhín, who slept beside Avaegrett and Brigit. If he was to save Bhrán he would need help, and who better to help him than a Nymph.
Moving on all fours, Elyon crawled over to where the beautiful woman slept, and gently shook her by the shoulder.
Meibhín came instantly awake, and her hand went in search of her weapon as she tried to see who had just touched her.
His friend’s sudden arousal from slumber momentarily panicked Elyon, for he worried she might wake the others sleeping there. As he glanced about the cave, he covered her mouth with his hand, then brought his lips to her ear.
“Bhrán needs our help, or mayhap he will die this night,” he whispered as Meibhín froze.
She turned her dark eyes to his, and he nodded.
Moments later, both of them snuck from the cave and rode off to stop Bhrán’s needless death.
***
Bhrán dismounted Nesrialian a full three-hundred yards from Sir Duncan’s camp and bid the horse remain out of sight.
Nesrialian was no ordinary steed, and he understood every word Bhrán whispered in his ear. Nevertheless, the horse was reluctant to leave his rider’s side, but finally did as commanded.
With the stealth of a predator, Bhrán worked his way through the trees and closer to the camp. Though he had the ability to perform the shielding spell, he could not sustain it for long. Therefore, he would not invoke the magical protection until he penetrated the camp’s inner confines.
As he moved, his senses intensified. He now saw, heard, and smelled all that was around him. Above him, an owl studied his movements as he steadily edged closer to his prey, and the Wolf Blood could feel the night-bird’s interest in him.
He then became astutely aware of two foxes hiding in their burrow, not more than thirty feet from where he stood. A few yards to his left, he could feel the heartbeats of a deer and her fawn curled up beneath a bush. He could even hear the muted conversations of the soldiers, still hundreds of feet away. He also became aware of something else. Two individuals were approaching him from the rear.
Bhrán crouched and drew his knife as he awaited the arrival of those who stalked him.
***
Elyon’s heart raced as Dilly galloped alongside Meibhín and her horse.
If Bhrán died this night, then all Yedinerth was doomed to an eternity of evil. He was not sure how he knew this, but he did.
Though he knew he lacked his brother’s bravery or brains, Elyon, deep down, knew he was meant to serve a role in ushering in the New Age.
When he was young, all his dreams and strange episodes left him feeling disorientated and sometimes sick. His visions also made him the subject of ridicule among those of his people with unkind natures. All in all, Elyon saw his abilities, not as a gift but a curse.
But since leaving the Elven lands, his feelings had changed. No longer did his visions leave him feeling sick or disorientated, nor was he mocked by those around him.
Now, he realized his abilities were bestowed on him for a reason. He now saw himself as the rudder on a ship sailed by Bhrán through a stormy sea. Without him, his brave friend might sail into rocks or other far worse hazards. That meant his job was to steer the young Wolf Blood away from such dangers.
“How far behind him are we?” Meibhín called to Elyon as wind and rain whipped at their faces.
“No more than a minute or two, I think,” the Elf responded as he steered Dilly away from a pothole he spotted with his keen Elven vision.
Almost as soon as the words left the Elf’s lips, he spotted a dark shadowy figure in the distance. A moment later, he recognized the figure as Nesrialian, Bhrán’s mighty steed.
This struck the Elf as odd, as the horse stood in clear view, which a beast born to war would typically avoid at all costs. He then realized the magnificent creature was waiting for them, and wanted to help.
“There!” Elyon yelled as he pointed toward the large animal.
The pair dismounted their own beasts, and Elyon rushed to Nesrialian. The mighty steed snorted but allowed the Elf to place his hand on the side of his maned head.
Elyon let his mind slip into the horse’s, and he saw exactly where Bhrán had left the steed and the direction he then went.
The Elf smiled as he removed his hand. “Thank you, my friend,” he whispered as he pulled a sugar cube from his pocket and fed it to the powerful stallion.
He then turned back to Meibhín and pointed into the darkness. “Bhrán went that way.”