Journeyers

Aedric's group heads out on their quest.

30.

Journeyers

 

It was mid day by the time Aedric’s group was assembled.   Mattleos, Amala, Gamel, Aaron, Allea, Mutt, Carn, Sintore and Snoe all sat on their steeds waiting as he spoke briefly to Mathlyn.

“Amilyo, I must confess that I feel as inadequate leading this quest as I feel as King of the Sylvan people.   My first audience with them this morning, I feel, only exposed my ineptness.”

“Not at all, child!   You were clear, focused and politely listened to all the questions and suggestions of your court.   Your Grandfather did not always show such patience.   I am very sure that they were quite pleased with the way you conducted your court. “

“I sincerely hope so.   If I don’t return from this quest, I would prefer to have their memory of me not as one of a terrified youth stumbling through the motions.”

“You will return.   Your quest will be successful.”   Mathlyn replied confidently.

“Is that a prophetic utterance?”

“It is faith in God, child.   It is His will that you complete this quest.”

“I hope so, Amilyo.   I pray that it is also His will that we complete the quest successfully.”

“I can’t imagine His will being anything other than success.   You will go in our prayers and our love.”   Mathlyn leaned in and kissed her grandson’s cheek.

 

***

 

Minutes later they had left and were riding down the snow covered road in bright sunlight.   Aaron’s sister Abigae had not been part of either group when the two quests had been formed, as they had assumed they would leave from Westmark rather than from Tarmard.

 

But she had come with the group for the King’s funeral, so, though she wanted to be part of at least one of the groups, her parents had persuaded her to stay with Queen Mathlyn and Lady Nansea in Tarmard.   As Abigae had a great interest in the healing arts, the Queen wisely promised to show her all that she knew, and that settled it for the Half-Elf girl.

 

They waved after her as she stood and sadly watched them go, but they were comforted that at least she’d face no danger.   Soon Tarmard disappeared from sight as the road left the valley.

 

Though it was cold as they rode, the snow was too early in the season to hinder their progress much and they rode at nearly full speed down the southwest road that ran between the Faesidhe forest and the wooded Sylvan valley kingdom.

 

Aedric couldn’t believe he was leading such a band across the early winter scene to such a serious task.   He glanced over at those who rode with him, all bundled up in heavy woolen cloaks.

Yet they seemed to actually be enjoying the ride in the clear, cool air, though his bride, her siblings and her cousin all had their Drow eyes nearly shut against the brilliant light reflecting off the snow.  All had the hoods of their cloaks pulled down over their eyes.

“Are you alright?”  Aedric asked his new wife and she smiled from within her hood.

“Yes, it is just very bright with the sun shining off the snow.   Don’t worry about me; I’m more worried about Amala.”  She nodded toward the back of their troop, where Amala brought up the rear.   Like the others of Drow ancestry, she had her cloak hood pulled so her eyes were shaded, but she also seemed to nearly slump in the saddle.

“Is she ill?” He asked Snoe, worried that the Drow lady would not be fit enough to keep up with the others.

“No, not exactly…”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“It is something women go through monthly.” She whispered, embarrassed to have to explain.

“Oh… um… does she need… something…. To help her?”

“There is nothing you can do, believe me.   She’ll suffer for two days and then rapidly feel normal again.”

“How do you know?”

“We share the same cycle -sometimes women- especially if they are closely related- do this.   Sirya and Aranthi were like this too.”

“So that means that you…”  He stammered.

“Yes, this morning it began.   But unlike Amala, mine does not bother me much at all.    I think this doesn’t help her poor mood either.”

“You should have let me know and we would have postponed the quest for a few days.”

“That would not have been a good idea - we have to move quickly.    Don’t worry about me; I have no problems during my time.   Amala however has always suffered.   Thankfully, Elven women are not like human women who sometimes go for a week.   But for my sister, the two days are very rough on her.”

“So I don’t want to upset her today or tomorrow?”

“Well, she is more likely to be annoyed at you.    She usually just wants to be left alone during these times, but I’m sure riding a horse in the cold air is making her miserable.”

“Then she shouldn’t have to go along with us on this quest.”

“But remember what Khord told us:  there are specific people who must be there when we try to access the tower.   If Amala is one of them, and she isn’t with us, this could spoil everything.    She knows this, too.   So she’ll refuse if you tell her to stay behind.”

“I just hate to see her suffering.”

“She’ll be alright; just give her space.”

“And you?”

“I actually like company during mine.   It sometimes makes me depressed, but having friends and family… and my husband… near me makes me feel much better.”   Her smile was so sweet that he took her hand and kissed it.

“If you need to stop, let me know, please.”

“Alright, I will, just don’t act any different to Amala or she’ll be self-conscious.”

“I will give her all the space she needs.”

 

***

 

Just out of the range of their voices, Amala was stoically enduring her time of the month, though each step of the horse made her want to cry in misery.   It had been like this since she had become a woman, though none of her sisters, her mother, nor her aunt experienced the same degree of suffering.   Thankfully it was only for two days each month and usually she secluded herself during these two days.

 

But this time she had no choice but to endure it, so she rode with her head bowed, trying to block the bright sunlight from her sensitive Drow eyes, and trusting that her horse would know what to do without her guiding it.

 

She was aware of those who didn’t know of her monthly struggle, watching her with concern, but she just ignored them, focusing on getting through the long day.

 

The temperature was cold, but the sun shining against the dark color of her heavy woolen cloak kept her quite warm after a short time exposed to the sun.   The hours passed maddeningly slow, and after a seemingly endless time, Amala spurred her horse forward, riding up beside her sister at the front of the column.

 

“I’m riding ahead a few miles… for personal reasons.”

Snoe nodded, understanding her older sister's reason, “Do you want me to come with you?”

 

Amala smiled, which was a rare incidence, but a lovely thing to behold when it occurred, “No need, I’m alright, sis.   The same old stuff.   Do me a favor, though; give me a bit of time by slowing down the troop’s pace.   With this unfamiliar road and the snow, it might take me a bit longer.”

 

“Alright.   Please by careful; we’re on the edge of the Faesidhe forest.”

“No worries, we ride with the King… of the Sylvan people.” She commented while looking at Aedric, but she still smiled and he realized to his delight that the tomboy was beginning to accept him.

“There used to be some Faesidhe rebels fairly near here, Lady Amala, and they were known to ambush from the treetops, so if you can, stay away from the thicker foliage.”

 

She nodded, and with a sigh spurred her horse forward in a near gallop.   Behind them, Sintore and Mattleos both watched her go in alarm.

“Lord Matt, is it safe to allow Lady Amala to go off alone?”   The squire asked the Elven Lord.

“I don’t think she would listen to our arguments, Sintore, and I for one don’t want to get her mad at me.”   He thought back to her extraordinary exhibition of swordsmanship from the night before and doubted if he were forced to battle her that he would win.    Like the love-struck squire, he too fretted to see the young woman ride off ahead by herself, but if any woman could take care of herself, it was Amala Dullerm.

 

***

 

Amala didn’t ride that far; just out of sight, so she could quickly find some water to wash herself and refresh.   Oh, how she hated her body; it was only two days, but it was disgusting and so humiliating to have to go through in the company of others.

 

She knew that the well-watered Faesidhe forest would have some sort of spring or pool where she could find a moment’s privacy to clean off.   Amala was pleased to find a non-frozen, spring-fed pool only a bow-shot from the road, at the end of what looked to her to be a deer trail.   They probably followed the path to drink, and she was satisfied with her luck.

 

She had washed her garments in the ice cold water and had just dressed and strapped her sword belts back on when the attack came.   Whether they had waited out of some sort of sporting sense of fairness, or were merely watching her partially nude form cleaning off her menstrual flow, she could not hazard to guess.

 

Suddenly there was rustling far above her in the tallest branches of the trees bordering the pool.   Something fell quickly, sending a flurry of the late autumn leaves with it as it crashed down upon her.

 

Though she moved quicker then even most Elves, the net was large, thick and weighed down with stones, and it fell over her, sending the girl to the ground under the weight.

 

Immediately she began pulling on the rope of the net, relying on the Gauntlets of Ogre Strength that she wore to free her.   But the net cords were as thick as her wrist and before she had time to pull, a swarm of Faesidhe arrows fell all about her.

 

Her Elven chainmail shirt deflected all they encountered, but several found her unprotected neck and head.   She felt one well-aimed arrow find her jugular vein, passing through it and then under her jaw.   The sensation of her life blood spurting from her and life abruptly ceasing was accompanied by a moment of falling forward.    The last thing she felt was her head smashing into a rock, which ripped the arrow that had killed her free from her neck.

 

Then Amala died.    But only for an instant.

 

There was a flash of blue light, which the thick net mostly concealed, and her Autocaster ring activated.    Zeatt had recharged her ring with healing spells; the same type that she had placed into Aedric’s ring, so her body stayed put as the healing spell restored her to life.

 

There was a moment of terrible pain as her vein healed, but even with the healing, her head still was covered with blood and she was too stunned and weak to even try to move.   So she quickly formed her only strategy.   She was pinned in a net, and a Faesidhe arrow had ‘killed’ her, which the archer probably witnessed from above.   If he did not see the blue light of the healing spell, perhaps she could pretend she was dead.

 

So Amala forced herself to breath very shallowly and lay very still.   There came voices from above her, speaking in Faesidhe as they descended gracefully on rope lines.

“See!”   One male voice exclaimed in delight in the Faesidhe tongue, “I got her right in the neck.   Look at the blood; she’s dead!    Demmet will suffer in the grey demon’s eyes after this gets reported!   He’ll probably string Demmet up himself when he finds his daughter died under his governorship.   We should send her head to the dark elves!”

“Cool your passion, Kleie; she was riding with a group and they will certainly look for her.”

“We should take her corpse with us.”

“How do we do this?   On our backs?”

“She has a horse -wrap her in the net and throw it over the horse’s back.   I’ll ride to the Witch Tree - it is only a few hours ride into the forest.   Demmet’s patrols pass there daily.   I’ll put her body on the road before the tree and they’ll know that we are not helpless, but will strike back at the oppressors.    The net around her will tell them it was us who killed her, but by the time they find her, we’ll be long gone.”

“That is all well and good, but we were supposed to track the Sylvan and Drow as they head west.   We can’t wait for you, Kleie.”

“Then ride on.   If we clean up the scene, they will not be able to find her and will think she rode on ahead.    You can pace them along the rope bridges at treetop and they won’t notice a thing below.   I’ll leave her horse to wander the forest - it is a majestic beast- and then climb up to join you.”

“How will you know where we are?”

“They are heading toward Helios' vale - it will not be hard to locate you on top.”

“Alright, then.   Kleie.   But do not strip her armor or weapons, or else they may think she died by bandits.   We are not thieves, but patriots.  Let them know this.”

“Yes, yes, of course.   Now hurry, or her group will be finding us.   Wrap her up in the net, cut free the rocks, and throw it over her horse’s saddle.   I’ll see if I can tame her steed.”

 

Amala held her breath, but the Elves were too hurried and perhaps repulsed at her bloody form, to examine her closely.   They cut free the rocks tied to the net, and then wound her in it like a shroud, one of the Faesidhe retching from the smell of the blood dripping from her hair.

“This is no way to treat a woman.” One of the men carrying her said to the other in a low voice, “I know she is a dark elf, but I still don’t like it.”

 

His companion did not reply and a moment later they tossed her like a rolled rug, over the rump of her horse.

Kleie was pulling on the reins of the Sylvan steed, trying to calm him, for he smelled Amala’s blood and was spooked.

 

Very carefully, she patted the flank of the horse through the wound netting and he felt her soft touch, and then allowed the Faesidhe to mount.

 

“Hopefully I can reach the Witch Tree before she begins to stink up the air.   Do not worry, I will catch you.   I’ll ride fast.”

“Don’t let Demmet intercept you or we’ll all have hell to pay.”   One of the other Elves told Kleie, and he grunted a response before putting the spur to the horse to send him running down the narrow forest path.

 

Reviews

[Elina]

"But she had came with the group..." This should be come, rather than "came."

[Eddie Davis]

Thank you, Elina, for that correction.