The Last Elf of Lanis (14 page)

“You may try to kill me if you wish,” Frea simply said.

“Do you still have your hat pin,” he snarled.

Frea lifted up the hem of her dress to draw the dagger from its sheath strapped to her leg.

Ravensdred froze. Then, he bounded forward, roughly slapped the dagger out of Frea’s hand, and pulled up her dress.

“What is this!” Ravensdred bellowed pointing to a patterned scar on Frea’s leg.

“It is the mark of my birth.”

“I know what it is!” He shouted. Ravensdred dropped Frea, strode a step away, then he turned to study her with keen eyes. “You are the daughter of the king of the Northern Kingdom of Man, you are heir to the throne.” Ravensdred tipped his head back to fill the tent with loud, raucous, evil laughter. “Here I thought I would be punished for failing to deliver the Three Bridges of Rogar Li, but I have a greater prize than that.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Frea defiantly said.

“Oh please, my lady,” Ravensdred dipped a muscular, mocking bow. “I know that the royal line of the Northern Kingdom of Man are all branded with the blade of the Mattear Gram to mark their birth.” Ravensdred triumphantly plopped down onto a pile of cushions. “You should tell me about the sword,” Ravensdred slyly said. “Because you won’t like my master’s methods much. No, not at all.” He chuckled to himself.

Frea was silent.

“Very well,” Ravensdred said with a sure, leering grin. “As you wish. I need to inspect the troops. You can dine without me. But you will share my tent tonight.” Ravensdred pierced her with a knowing stare, then rose, bowed with an elaborate flourish, and left the tent laughing to himself with a newfound, evil delight.

Once upon a time there was a young girl who was trapped in the midst of the garond army. Exhausted, she fell into a light, fitful sleep in the general garond’s tent. The young girl woke with a start to find a skinny, large toothed young man leaning over her with a disturbing expression on his face.

“I am Ratskenner,” the unshaven young man said. His breath smelled of corpse flesh and rotting vegetables.

The young girl leapt to her feet. The young man, with the skittering movement of a rodent, circled her, his hands splayed out to calm her.

“Please be quiet. The guards have orders to kill you instantly if you so much as even speak,” he lied. His small glassy eyes ran up and down her body with lustful hunger.

“You are to be my queen. I am to be the king of all remaining humans. I will save you, and you will be grateful to me all the rest of your life.” He said, lightly stepping closer with short mincing steps.

“What is your name?” He asked.

“You told me if I was to speak, I would be instantly killed,” the young girl said with a smile of defiance.

“Yes,” the gangly young man said. “But you can speak with my permission.” He frowned with disdain. “Tell me your name. Where do you come from? Who are your kin?”

The young girl said, “Surely these trifling details are not important to the great king of all humans.”

The young man shot out skinny arms with an animal like quickness and roughly grabbed the young girl, pulling her close to his pointy nose.

“Don’t amuse yourself at my expense,” Ratskenner said, gripping Frea’s arms tight. “I can beat you to death here and now with no consequence to my safety. I am too, too valuable to these conquerors. They need me. Not you. I can do what I please with you. Howsoever I please.” He said the last with a dry kiss of scabby lips on her trembling, pale cheek.

The sound of guards snapping to attention caused Ratskenner to release Frea and scurry out, under a side wall of the tent.

Ravensdred entered, tired and annoyed. He grunted at Frea, flopped himself onto a pile of pillows and was immediately heavily snoring in a deep sleep.

Once upon a time there was a young girl who sat shivering, wide awake staring into the hopeless night, in the tent of the garond general, in the middle of the garond army.

The young girl awoke in the morning to find Ravensdred violently chewing and devouring his breakfast.

“I have no time for you today,” he said pointing a bloody, half chewed leg of lamb. “My master will be here soon. I must make sure all preparations are in order for his arrival.”

With that the general of the garonds rose from his breakfast and swept from the tent.

Some fruits were brought to the young girl, but she ate nothing. Outside she heard the garond guard’s gossip about a wolf that was circling the camp. It was white and had already killed two garond sentries. There was a good reward for its pelt.

About midday, the disgusting, young man slipped under a wall into the tent. He danced around the young girl who stood when she saw him.

“You have been promised to me when they are done with you,” he snickered.

The young girl was silent.

The unpleasant young man ran his dirty, busy, long fingers over the bowls of fruit and cured meats set out on gold trimmed tables.

“You desire me, don’t you?” The young man drew near to the young girl.

The young girl felt for the dagger hidden under her dress.

The young man leapt for the young girl. She twisted away and knelt to pull the dagger from its sheath. Ratskenner grabbed Frea roughly and spun her to find Frea’s dagger at his throat.

They both were still for moment. Then Ratskenner began to laugh a dry, wheezing laugh. “Why do you not kill me?” He snickered. With a rapid strike, he slapped the dagger from Frea’s hand. “Better you should hold that blade to your own throat, considering what is coming for you. Shall I tell you? All humans will be killed. There will be none left. Ravensdred may force himself on you. I care not. Then, you will be given to me for my pleasure and to rebirth the human race.”

Ratskenner held Frea close. His long bony fingers dug into her arms. She wanted to scream, to sing, like at the river. She opened her mouth and started.

But, Ratskenner was too quick, he grasped her throat in both hands, and Frea’s scream died on her lips.

Frea felt the whole world fading to black. Ratskenner’s face was twisted with rage and lust. Just as Frea was about to lose consciousness, a garond guard entered the tent. He barked an order at Ratskenner, who quickly released Frea and scurried out under a wall of the tent.

Frea fell to the carpets laid out in the tent, gasping for breath. The garond guard threw a dress of expensive red gossamer and brocaded purple cotton at her, and ordered her to put it on.

Once upon a time there was a young girl who passed the day with great fear and worry. The
sounds of soldiers preparing for the arrival of their leader were
loud and incessant. Horns loudly announced leaders arriving in the camp, but not yet the Lord of Lightning.

In the early evening, the evil young man once again scrambled under the wall into the tent. He cautiously circled the young girl who held the dagger out at him in a defensive stance.

Anger and viciousness played across his toothy mouth.

“All your family is dead,” Ratskenner said. “They were soon captured after the fight at Rion Ta. The man with the red hair, the man with the yellow hair, the old man and woman, the woman with the black hair, the woman with the red hair, and the boy with yellow hair. They were all caught and killed. The archer and the elf were caught later in the Madrun Hills and killed there.”

“You lie!” The young girl cried.

“You have no one left,” the young man said. “You can willingly give yourself to me, and I will provide for and protect you, or you can take your own life. It is why the general has left you the dagger.”

“Get out!” The young girl cried.

The garond guard heard the young girl’s cries and checked the tent. He barked at the young man, and Ratskenner scuttled under a wall of the tent. Night began to fall. A loud commotion could be heard in the camp. The Lord of Lightning was arriving.

Once upon a time there was a young girl who was desperate.

Frea contemplated the dagger in her hand. It would have to be quick.

Once upon a time there was a young girl with no hope.

Frea thought of her father and mother. She thought of Bittel and Arnwylf. She thought of her grandmother. And Frea knew she had no choice.

Once upon a time there was...

Frea barely noticed the brilliant flash of light in the camp. She barely registered the screams and cries of the blinded garonds. She didn’t even flinch with the resounding boom of the lightning. All she saw was the blade with which she was going to take her own life.

Once upon a time there was...

And then Arnwylf burst into the tent. The dagger slipped from Frea’s hand. She felt numb. She seemed to not even move her feet. She was in his arms holding him as though she would never let him go. She kissed his beautiful, dirty cheek.

“We must go quicker than the wind,” Arnwylf said.

They ran from the tent. Garond soldiers writhed on the ground, grasping their eyes in pain, staggering and screaming.

They ran through the camp, to a group of filthy, starved humans who cast the chains from their wrists the moment they saw Arnwylf.

“Now! Now!” Arnwylf shouted. Arnwylf put Frea on a horse, got on as well, and then the whole band of horses, with human riders, escaped into the night.

Frea saw the white wolf running beside the herd of horses and a great joy leapt into her heart. Ratskenner had been lying about everything. Her loved ones were safe.

After riding for what seemed a long time, Arnwylf pulled his horse to a halt and all of horses stopped.

“Len!” Arnwylf called to confer with his friend, but a garond with an ugly scar across his fore head dragged Arnwylf from the horse. Arnwylf drew his sword and the garond slapped it from his hands.

Frea could not believe what she was seeing. Where had this garond come from? He beat Arnwylf savagely. She got down from the horse.

“Do something!” She cried. The humans were stunned and broken. She picked up a large stone and hit the garond as hard as she could. The garond roared in pain and quickly turned to knock Frea unconscious.

She was only out for a moment. She came to looking up at the stars. She could hear the struggle between the garond and Arnwylf. She saw a young boy reach out, pick up the sword and put it in Arnwylf’s hand. Arnwylf drew the sword down, and quickly slashed the garond’s throat. The garond let go of Arnwylf, who quickly thrust the sword back up into the garond’s body.

The garond stood and tried to pull the sword from his body, but Arnwylf gripped the sword’s hilt, and twisted and thrust it deeper into the garond, who died with dark blood bubbling on its sneering lips.

Frea saw Ratskenner behind Arnwylf and called, “Lookout behind you!”

Ratskenner pulled the sword from the garond and advanced on Arnwylf. Frea didn’t know what to do. Then she felt an animal’s mane under her hand.

Ratskenner was saying something to Arnwylf, boasting.

Frea looked down at the white wolf. “Save him,” she urgently whispered to the beast. The white wolf seemed to instantly understand. Growling, the wolf bounded forward and caught Ratskenner by his back bone. Ratskenner shrieked high and shrill. The wolf shook and shook until Ratskenner was dead.

The humans worriedly mumbled until they saw the white wolf affectionately lick Arnwylf’s face, who assured the animal with words of praise.

Frea helped Arnwylf who could barely stand because he was so badly beaten by the garond.

It was agreed that an older human would take the lead horse and they would make for Scatterstone, a shallow part of the Burnie River.

Frea clutched the mane of her horse and felt Arnwylf weakly holding her waist from behind.

The horns and shouts of a tracking party of garonds could be heard gaining on them all that dark night.

Once upon a time-

No, Frea thought, I must stay here and now, for him. Frea was frightened and cold, but her only thought was to get Arnwylf to safety. The night was dark, heavy clouds obscured the light of the moons and stars. Frea could feel the horse under her, its coarse hair, smooth rippling muscles, moving to her commands. She could smell the trees as they rode past, pine, oak, and elm. Frea could hear the thundering of all the horse’s hooves. Every shadow was only what it was. No demons lurked in the dark. The real monsters were the hunting party behind them. Frea felt a new, strange strength in her arms and legs, as though she could do anything as they rode all that shrouded night.

Near dawn, they rode down into shallows of Scatterstone. Silver water laughed over smooth stones. Tall, dark pine trees enclosed the open, shallow river. The horses drank heavily the sweet water of the Burnie. The older human cautioned the riders that they still had a day’s ride to cross the Madronwy river into the safety of the Madrun Hills.

They continued riding. Frea could feel Arnwylf weakly clinging to her. She looked down at his hands. They were stained with blood. From himself or the garond he fought, she could not tell, but she hoped he could just hold on until they reached the Madronwy.