Red Sky at Dawn (13 page)

When he and the others made it to Kwarck’s, he would gladly toss away his sword and farm for the rest of his days. Vishghu, who was just coming into adulthood, thought he was silly for thinking such things because he could still swing a sword, but what could she possibly know about being old? When she woke in the mornings, her knees and shoulders didn’t ache. She wasn’t haunted by the memories of evil deeds and a lifetime of disregarding others’ lives. She could probably remember what she had eaten for breakfast that morning as easily as a favorite toy from childhood. Sitting on the rock, he didn’t know which was worse, growing old or being aware of it.

Finally, he stood and sheathed his sword. There was no sense mulling over things he couldn’t change, so he strode back towards town. They would be leaving in a couple of days, and there were a lot of chores left to be done. His horse needed to be shod, and Vishghu’s buffalo needed to be groomed. Provisions had not been gathered and packed, and he had not said goodbye to any of the town’s gracious hosts. There was hardly time to feel sorry for himself with so much still to do.

On the Edge of the Forest

After Roskin killed the dog-beast, the dwarves and elves continued to the mountains without further incident. In late spring, the weather in the highlands was mild, and other than an occasional shower, they had excellent conditions for travel. It took three days to reach the first major incline, and as they trudged over ridge after ridge, their good luck held out. After a week of difficult marching, they reached the foothills on the western side of the range and, within a few days, were on the central plains.

Now out of the highlands, they were well within the borders of the Great Empire, but the closest city was a hundred miles south at the tip of Lake Vassa. There were countless towns along the shore of the massive lake, but with the elves leading them, the throng could navigate the rolling grasslands without getting too close to any settlement.

On the plains, the dwarves had trouble keeping pace with the elves, and many times over the first few days, the mass had to stop to let them catch up. Growing weary of the delays, a hundred elves chose to leave the group behind and not let the dwarves delay their homecoming any longer. Molgheon was furious with the disrespect, and even though Leinjar reminded her that the two smaller groups had a better chance of traveling undetected than one large unit, she still held a grudge at what amounted to desertion.

For four weeks, they moved steadily along the plains, walking from before dawn until well after sunset and barely stopping, except to eat. The thick grasses cushioned their feet from the pounding of the sustained walks, and wild game provided plenty of food. Even though they were completely surrounded by enemies and tired from the long days, most in the slower group enjoyed the trip along the lake. Finally, they reached the far end and were not far from the Koorleine Forest.

Throughout the walk, they had stayed far enough from the lake to avoid the towns and villages that sprawled along its shore. However, on the western side, near the ancient forest that was the last stronghold of the elves, very few humans dared build permanent settlements, for they knew the forest was too thick and dangerous even for the Great Empire. With it for refuge, the elves could raid any settlement and then disappear back into the trees before soldiers could react.

Because of the lack of human presence, the party marched near the northwest shore, and for the first time in his life, Roskin saw a body of water bigger than a pond. The lake was so big that it had its own tide, and the waves broke on the gritty, brown slope with gentle, methodic slaps. The rhythm was hypnotic, and Roskin stared at the water, transfixed by the majesty. It stretched as far as he could see, meeting the horizon as if the two merged into one endless blue line.

Fish occasionally broke the surface - the ripples swallowed up by rolling waves - to snatch an insect or smaller fish. Gulls also disturbed the surface, diving for a fish and rising back into the air with a loud splash. Along the shore, tracks of several different kinds of animals punctuated the coarse sand. The smells of fish and gull and wet fur were strange and overpowering.

They marched on beyond the lake, and after a few miles the smells faded. Then, as the group neared the Koorleine Forest, the elves became more and more anxious. Few had ever seen it because most of them had been born as slaves, but all knew of it. The forest was the last place elves – Koorleine and Loorish alike - could call their own, and as such, they clung to its very name as something sacred. Nearly every elf would fight to the last breath to defend it, so as the group moved within a couple days’ march, conversations became more animated and spirits rose.

Roskin understood their feelings. His mother lived among the thick trees, and the elf in him longed to live there, too. The other dwarves, however, showed little interest in hearing tales of it. They were ready to be back in the western mountains, but their journey would take at least another month. It was hard for them to feel joy with so much distance left to cover.

The slower group made camp one day’s walk from the forest, and early the next morning before they had even eaten breakfast, they were approached by sentries from the forest. Like Roskin’s mother, these were wild elves originally from the Loorish Forest, and their bodies were much leaner and more muscled than the Koorleine elves. Their faces and eyes were also more severe, and even though they greeted the travelers without malice, they projected an aura of untamed menace that made the freed slaves uneasy.

The Loorish elves asked to speak with the leaders of this group, and Roskin, Molgheon, Leinjar, and the two elves who had led them across the plains were sent forward. Upon seeing the Tredjard and Ghaldeon, the wild elves became slightly agitated, and the tension between the two sides became palpable.

“These dwarves come no closer to our lands,” the leader of the wild elves said.

“They freed us from bondage,” one of the freed slaves returned. “We owe them gratitude.”

“No matter; dwarves can’t enter the forest.”

“What nonsense is this?” Molgheon asked. “We need supplies and rest before heading north.”

“It’s okay,” Roskin said, placing his hand on her elbow. She jerked her arm away and stared at the wild elves.

“Tell us what you need, and we will bring you supplies.”

“We fought as brothers to win freedom from the orcs,” Leinjar said. “I was friends with elves as a slave. Why am I not welcome?”

“You’re not an elf.”

Roskin had never been torn between being an elf and a dwarf before, and the sensation was sickening. On one side, he understood the elves’ mistrust of outsiders, for they had been betrayed by the Great Empire, their closest allies before Theodore the Daring attacked them. Since then, millions of elves had been killed in battle or from disease and starvation. These few thousand in this forest were all who were left to keep their kind alive, and much as Tredjards had little use for outsiders, the elves had become insular, suspicious, and paranoid.

On the other side, the dwarf in Roskin was insulted that his friends, who had shed their blood to free slaves of all races, were being treated so rudely. Without Molgheon’s leadership and skill on the Slithsythe, none of them would have escaped, and without Leinjar’s bravery and cunning at the Battle for Hard Hope, they might not have won the fight. They deserved better than this insult.

“Am I welcome?” he asked, the dwarf half getting the upper hand.

“Of course, your mother has been expecting you.”

At the mention of her, his anger subsided for a moment. Ever since the post, he had dreamed of seeing her again, and now, she was close at hand and waiting for him.

“Tell my mother this,” he said at last, the dwarf half retaking control. “Unless my friends can join me, I’m not welcome here either. Tell her that just as she had to leave me to help her kind, I have to stay with my friends. Make sure you tell her that.”

The wild elf huffed at the statement and turned his attention to the two freed elves, speaking in elfish for a few moments before gathering his sentries and returning to the forest. The two freed elves spoke to each other before turning to the dwarves.

“You should camp here and wait for us to bring back supplies. They won’t budge on this.”

“We don’t need their supplies,” Molgheon huffed. “You people have strange ways of showing gratitude.”

“We had nothing to do with this. We know how much we owe you. Please, Molgheon, listen.”

She didn’t respond, instead returning to her campsite and packing her equipment. Leinjar followed her lead, barking at the other Tredjards to get ready to march. Roskin, however, stayed there for a few moments longer, staring after the wild elves and thinking about his mother’s touch when he had needed her most. Even though he had to stay with his friends, his heart wanted nothing more than to see her face again. Before the emotions overtook him, he composed himself and looked at the two freed elves, who appeared confused and humiliated by what had just transpired.

“We part here,” Roskin said, extending his hand.

“We didn’t know this would happen,” one said, shaking the Kiredurk’s hand.

“Let it go,” Roskin returned.

“I was on the Slithsythe, as well,” the other said, also shaking Roskin’s hand. “I’ll make sure they know what she did for us.”

With that, Roskin bade them farewell and hurried to his campsite to gather his things. The other dwarves were already walking north, and he didn’t want to fall too far behind.

***

Vishghu, Crushaw, and the Ghaldeons stood on the rolling grasslands to the southern side of Kwarck’s home. Something was amiss, and Crushaw wouldn’t go forward until he knew what it was. Vishghu couldn’t see or hear anything unusual, and the house and surrounding buildings looked the same as when they had left. The fields also looked as they had the previous year, so the ogre wasn’t sure what made Crushaw think something was wrong.

“Vishghu,” he said. “Ride ahead and see what’s there. We’ll wait here until you say it’s safe.”

“Why me?”

“I think I smell ogres.”

“You think?”

“My nose isn’t what it used to be. It might just be the cows.”

“Funny.”

She mounted her buffalo and rode through the gate where she and Crushaw had fought nine months before. As she neared the house, she also smelled her kind and marveled that Crushaw had caught the scent from a half mile farther away. However, none of the ogres were visible, and she wondered where they were. Before she could spot them, Kwarck appeared from a barn with a wheelbarrow full of manure. As soon as he saw her, he set down the load and called out a cheerful greeting.

She rode closer and dismounted near him. After so many months, he appeared somehow smaller and frailer than before, but Vishghu couldn’t be sure if maybe she was just misremembering. Like Roskin, he was only half Loorish elf, but instead of dwarven, his other half was human. Before Theodore the Daring’s conquest, he would have been welcome among either side, but in these days, he was shunned by both.

“Welcome back,” he said, removing a dirty pair of gloves. “You must be hungry.”

“I’m fine,” she said, continuing to scan for the ogres.

“Are the others behind you?” Kwarck asked, moving closer to her.

“That depends. Is it safe here?” she asked, barely more than a whisper.

“My home is welcome to any who come in peace.”

“What about those who don’t?” she asked, looking him in the eyes.

“They stay off my lands,” he returned, holding her gaze. “I’ll clean up while you fetch the others.”

With that, he went inside the house and left her alone between it and the freshly planted fields. Her instincts warned of danger, and even though she trusted Kwarck, she was certain that some ambush awaited them. If Crushaw came near the house, her kin would attack him without question or warning, so instead of riding back to where he waited, she tethered the buffalo to a post and walked north to the orchard. As she entered the thick swatches of trees, she heard rustling to her right and looked in that direction.

The open row was empty, but she knew they were hiding somewhere near. She continued straight ahead around another thick cluster and circled back several yards from the rustling. When she stepped into the next clearing, she was suddenly behind a dozen ogres, all kneeling at the bases of different trees and pulling weeds from around the roots and trunks. None of them had heard her, so she ducked back into the trees and retraced her steps to the house.

Her anger rising from the slap of betrayal, she burst through the door and stomped into the kitchen, where Kwarck was putting on water to boil. For a moment, she stood still, her fists clenched and her eyes riveted on the old hermit. He returned the gaze, surprised at her outburst.

“We trusted you,” she said in a low grumble.

He continued to stare with the same look of shock.

“Did they bribe you? Threaten you?”

“I don’t follow,” he said at last.

“I saw them in the orchard. Were they going to ambush us in the day or night?”

“You’re mistaken. You’ve got it all wrong.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said before turning and storming back out of the house.

Her hammer was strapped to the saddle on her buffalo, and while she wasn’t sure exactly what she was going to do, she wanted to be armed for whatever was about to happen. From behind, Kwarck gave chase, calling for her to listen. By the time she reached her mount, he was beside her, talking rapidly:

“These ogres aren’t here about Crushaw. They’re expatriates seeking refuge.”

“Why would ogres need shelter in the south?”

“They’re opposed to the war.”

“That’s absurd. Why would they not defend against the Great Empire?”

“Not that war.”

Vishghu stared at him blankly, confused and befuddled. Kwarck explained about the war between the ogres and the Kiredurks that had been growing in scale for several months. When he finished, the shock was so great she had to sit down and catch her breath. Kwarck put an arm around her neck and whispered that it would be okay, but she barely heard him. Roskin had fulfilled his punishment by bringing Crushaw here to the hermit’s home, and even though she didn’t particularly like the matriarch’s ruling, everyone had more or less abided by it. Crushaw had left the farm, but she had accompanied him, so in effect he was still serving the sentence. Any way she looked at it, she could see no reason for her people to be at war with the Kiredurks, but one thing was clear – she and Roskin needed to return home and fix this before any more blood was shed.

***

Three days later, the group of dwarves reached Kwarck’s from the Koorleine Forest. Molgheon was still upset with the elves, but other than that, the trip had been an uneventful walk across the expansive prairie. When they reached the hermit’s farm, they were greeted by Vishghu, who gravely ushered them to the house. Inside, the mood was serious, and Roskin was afraid of whatever news awaited them. Before anyone spoke, however, Kwarck made sure each dwarf had food and water. When the hermit was satisfied that his guests were taken care of, Crushaw spoke: