The battle was over, but the Brotherhood’s camp has been left in a state of smouldering disarray. Cullers, Isolde and the others ran from tent to tent, calling Teagan’s name, but there was no sign of the child. With nowhere left to look, Cullers collapsed to ground with his head in his hands and wailed. Isolde knelt beside him with her hand on his shoulder as he rocked and groaned. She searched her mind for any words that might bring comfort, but what could she say? As she stared at her tutor helplessly, she heard footsteps marching up behind them and turned to see Chairman Yarl with a look of grim determination on his face. Behind him, two of the Brotherhood’s guards were dragging a captured elf. The elf’s face was beaten and bruised, and his thin lips were parted to reveal a smashed and bloody grin.
Cullers leapt to his feet and lunged at the prisoner. Yarl stepped between them and held up his hands to calm the tutor.
“Out of my way, Yarl!” raged Cullers, “Damn you, elf! What have you done with my daughter?”
The elf lifted his head. His eyes were puffy and bruised. The left one was closed up entirely.
“A curse upon all men,” he hissed, “Your daughter is the prisoner of my commander. If you ever want to see her again, call off these dogs.”
He nodded at the guards who flanked him. Cullers waved an arm, and his men released their grip on the elf. The prisoner raised his hands and touched his face, feeling the bruises and broken teeth, then he straightened himself as well as he could and raised his chin, striking a proud pose as he addressed his captors.
“Your daughter lives,” he began, and Cullers let out a gasp of relief, “But for how long depends on you.
Isolde’s tutor spat on the ground and strained against the chairman, who struggled to hold him at bay.
“For pity’s sake, man!” said Yarl, “Hear him. He may be Teagan’s only chance.”
Isolde stepped forward and placed a hand on Cullers’ elbow.
“Please.” she said quietly, “Please, Cullers.”
The tutor stared down at his pupil. His breathing slowed and the muscles of his thick arms relaxed against Yarl’s hold as he slowly regained his composure.
“Have you quite finished?” sneered the captive elf, “Good. Now, to business. Your daughter is a guest in our camp,” he continued, “She is unharmed and will remain so, provided you return with me now and deliver the stones you have found on the Burning Moor into my commander’s hands. If you fail to deliver the stones, or show any sign of deceit, the girl will die.”
“If one hair on her head is harmed,” Cullers growled, “You’ll pay with your life. I’ll raze your camp to the ground and send you and your friends to Hell, elf.”
“You’d better learn to hold your tongue, old man,” the elf said, laughing, “Or we’ll cut out your daughter’s and make it into a pie for supper.”
A fist hit the elf hard on the side of his head. He staggered and dropped to his knees.
“Sorry, Sir,” said one of the guards sheepishly to Chairman Yarl, “I should not have-”
“No need to apologise, soldier,” said Yarl, “I hope you did not hurt your knuckles.”
The guard opened and closed his fist. “A little,” he replied.
“Well that won’t do,” said the chairman, “You must have an extra ration of mead tonight, to ease the pain in your hand.”
The prisoner glowered at Yarl and spat a fragment of shattered tooth onto the ground.
“You men are all alike,” he muttered, “You think us cruel, but you never consider your own cruel actions. Why do you think we ally ourselves with the Dark Lord? Out of spite? No! Elves have been hunted and pushed from our homes for centuries by your kind. Is it any wonder that we have chosen to side with your enemy in this greatest of struggles?”
“Enough!” roared Cullers, “We’re wasting time, Yarl, we must do as the elf says. Bring me the stones!”
“They are too important to surrender,” Yarl growled, “Your judgement is clouded.”
Cullers lunged forwards, drawing his dagger and holding the point under Yarl’s chin. A single bead of blood ran slowly down the razor sharp blade.
“Those animals have my daughter, Yarl,” he hissed, twisting the tip of his dagger against the chairman’s flesh, “If I can, I will return with your precious stones.”
The chairman’s shoulders sagged. “Very well,” he sighed, “But take some of my men. Who knows how much we can believe of this rogue’s tale?”
“No,” said Cullers firmly, “Your men won’t be needed. I’ll take Isolde and her team. They’ve proven themselves the finest warriors on the field today. I there is more treachery from the elves, I know who I want by my side.”
Isolde felt a glow of pride at her tutor’s words. His faith in her had not wavered since they met, and his opinion, she realised, was of great importance to her. She turned to her mercenaries and made a gesture to round them up. They closed ranks around her and turned to Cullers, waiting patiently.
“We offer our arms gladly,” said Isolde, “Teagan will be home and safe before tomorrow morn, Cullers, I swear it.”
Cullers, his face set in a mask of grim determination, simply nodded. A guardsman ran up to Yarl with a leather satchel stuffed with shards of the moor’s magical blue stone. Culler’s snatched it from his hands, slung it over his shoulder and turned to grab the captured elf by the scruff of his neck.
“Alright, elf,” he growled, “Lead the way.”
*
The elf led the small party away from the Brotherhood’s camp and up the rocky hills that fringed the Burning Moor. The stone beneath their feet grew cooler the higher they climbed and signs of life started to appear out of the dry ground; little scrubby trees with pale, dried up leaves and thorny branches. Culler’s pushed the elf out front, never taking his eye off their untrustworthy guide. Behind them, Isolde’s team muttered their concerns to each other.
“You know it’s a trap, right?” said Park, as matter-of-factly as if he were pointing out that the sun in the sky meant it was daytime. “It has to be a trap. How could it not be?”
“She knows it’s a trap. She’s not an idiot,” said Roline, “You do know it’s a trap, right? I mean, we’re not alone on this one are we? Lads?”
She turned as she walked and gestured back towards Carason and Scher.
“It’s a trap,” said Carason.
“An obvious trap,” Scher agreed.
“Of course I know it’s a trap,” Isolde protested, “And no, I’m not an idiot - thanks, Roline - but what are we supposed to do? If Teagan is truly unharmed, we’re her best chance of keeping it that way.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” said Park, “I like traps. Traps mean enemies. Enemies mean someone to fight, fun to be had and money in the bank.”
“Do you have to talk about money at a time like this?” said Isolde, offended, “A child’s life is at stake!”
Park blushed and stuttered an apology.
“Forgive my enthusiasm, chosen one,” he said, bowing respectfully, “We’ve been holed up too long in the tavern. We are but eager to wet our blades in your service.”
“Your blood lust troubles me, Park,” said Isolde, “I fight only because I have to. I have a duty. You seem to be driven only by greed. And you take too much delight in killing for my liking.”
“It’s true I like to put my fighting skills to good use,” Park defended himself, “I feel no guilt or remorse when my enemies are servants of the Dark Lord.”
“We cannot afford guilt,” replied Isolde, “But even our enemies’ deaths deserve remorse. Every fallen soldier is a failed word of diplomacy, Park.”
“The Dark Lord does not negotiate,” Carason intoned solemnly, “He cannot be reasoned or bargained with. He seeks only our subjugation, and if not that, our destruction. This war is black and white.”
“Nothing is ever black and white,” said Isolde, remembering Sir Hagen’s clandestine meeting in Luxis, and the comrades marched on in thoughtful silence.
Onwards and upwards they climbed, until they reached the opening to a wide hollow in rocks where a small spring had created an oasis of greenery on the otherwise barren slopes. A thorny tree, bigger than any they had seen on their journey, but still a scrappy little thing compared to the oaks in the woods of Isolde’s home, stood not far from the spring’s mouth, clinging to the rocky ground with tenacious roots carpeted in lush green moss. Sitting up against the trunk of the tree with one knee raised up in front of him and his hands crossed casually behind his head was a man. He was whistling a tune like idle shepherd, and seemed quite unconcerned by their arrival, but he turned to face them as they picked their way towards him. The first thing Isolde noticed was his soft, jet black elven robes, identical to those worn by the black-robed stranger who had led the charge against Lambley and laid waste to her home town. Her heart beat hard in her chest as the man reached back to lower his hood and she saw his face clearly… It was him!
Roline noticed Isolde’s shock and turned placed a hand on her elbow.
“You know this villain?” she whispered.
“He brought the war to my home,” Isolde replied through gritted teeth, “I could split his skull from here with one arrow.”
“And lose the girl forever,” said Roline calmly, “Remember why we are here.”
Isolde took a deep breath and regained her composure. Roline was right. A hasty attack would most likely prompt a sudden and violent response from the elves. It was unlikely that the black-robed man was alone, after all. Isolde looked up at the rocky sides of the hollow in which they stood, scanning for strategically hidden archers. She could see none, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there, if they were any good.
For his part, Cullers was showing immense restraint. Age and experience had taught him the importance of diplomacy, even in the direst situations, and he knew not to prejudice the outcome of this meeting with his fiery temper, though he dearly wanted to hold the sneering elf’s face under the welling spring water until the bastard went limp.
The black-robed man glanced around at the faces before him before pausing on Isolde’s.
“We have met before,” he said, amused, “I’m right, aren’t I? I rarely forget a face. Especially not a human face. They’re so revoltingly memorable.”
“You led the Dark Lord’s charge on Lambley,” Isolde growled, “My home.”
“Lambley… Lambley… Oh yes!” said the stranger, curling his lip in distaste, “Horrid little hole in the ground with hardly a real man among them. I didn’t even have to bring my elven brothers into battle. A squadron of brainless bone soldiers was enough to overcome their defences.”
“We remember things differently,” said Isolde, refusing to rise to the man’s taunts.
“Hmm…” said her tormenter as he peered down his nose at Isolde, “Well… to business, I think.” He turned to Cullers. “You have the stones?”
Cullers patted the leather bag he carried.
“And my daughter?”
The stranger put his fingers to his lips and gave a loud whistle. Behind him, from a gap in the rock wall concealed by its own crags and shadows, stepped a cohort of elven guards, with the small, scared figure of Teagan crouching in their midst like a cornered cat. When she saw her father she straightened up and made to run in his direction, but the nearest guard grabbed her by the collar of her dress and yanked her off her feet as she dashed forward.
“Daddy!” she squealed, as the guard pulled her behind him. Teagan struggled to see past the elf but he swatted at her with his gloved hand and shooed her backwards.
“It’s alright, Teagan, Father’s here,” called Cullers to his young daughter, “We’ll both be home soon.”
“How very touching,” yawned the black-robed man. He held out one hand and inspected the fingernails of his other while he tapped his foot impatiently. “Stones. Now.”
Culler’s lifted the strap of his satchel over his head and dropped it over the stranger’s outstretched arm. He felt the weight of the bag and nodded appreciatively.
“Nice haul,” he said waving lazily at Isolde, “Your woodland waif will have had plenty of practice picking blackberries to feed her Lambley peasants, I suppose.”
Isolde felt her cheeks colour. She clenched her fists and bit her tongue.
“My daughter,” said Cullers, narrowing his eyes.
“Ah, yes,” said the man in black, “About that, you see… This,” he pointed at the troops who surrounded Teagan, “Is what you call a trap. I’m sure you understand.”
“Told you,” said Park.
“You didn’t tell me anything,” said Isolde, “I totally knew!”
“So why did we walk straight into it?” yelled Park, furiously, his hand reaching for his sword. Before he could draw his weapon, Isolde had slid her bow down off her shoulder and into her hand, then drawn an arrow, all in one smooth movement. She stood with the bowstring pulled back tight and the tip of her arrow hovering in front of Park’s left eye. The black-robed man clapped his hands and laughed.
“Oh, this is marvellous! They’re going to kill each other and save me the time!”
“You’d like that, would you?” hissed Isolde.
“More than anything!” trilled the man, dancing on the spot.
“That’s the trouble with your type,” said Isolde, “You’re so used to treachery and betrayal that you expect it of everyone you meet.”
In a flash, she spun round and ducked down. Behind her, hidden from the man in black’s view, Park had drawn a weapon of his own; a throwing star with four jagged steel barbs. As Isolde dropped out of his line of sight, he let the evil blade fly. It tore into the man’s back robes and ripped into the flesh of his arm. He screamed and ped behind the trunk of the tree as he scrambled for his sword. Cullers was bearing down on him, fast. Isolde, meanwhile, dropped to her knees and fired at guard in front of Teagan. The arrow lodged in his throat and he dropped to his knees, clutching uselessly at it as he bled out.
“Run to us, Teagan!” cried Isolde, drawing two more arrows from her quiver as the girl bolted forwards in her direction. She fired both together splitting the shot so that her arrows landed deep in the chests of the elves that flanked Teagan, just as they began to raise their own bows towards the little girl.
Teagan tripped and stumbled, but she stayed on her feet as she scrambled over the stones towards Isolde and her mercenaries. But behind her, through the gap in the wall of rock, more elves were arriving. The black-robed stranger was on his feet again, too, his sword drawn, barking orders at the arriving guards.
“Villain!” Cullers roared at him and the man in black turned to face the raging father.
“If you’re looking for violent revenge, I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you,” he sneered. Then he closed his eyes and muttered some incomprehensible incantation. A cloud of dark energy gather about him and swirled like a tornado. Bolts of black lightning shot out in every direction and Cullers was forced to fall back, covering his face against the crackling heat of the magical energy.
There was a flash of brilliant blue light and the strange tornado vanished. When the smoke cleared, the stranger was nowhere to be seen. That’s when Isolde screamed.
“Teagan!”
Isolde knelt over the child, who was lying on the ground, unconscious. A dark wound, like a powder burn spread across one side of her face.
“What happened?” asked Park, shocked, “We had her!”
“A bolt from the elf’s cloud struck her,” Isolde said, shaking the unresponsive girl. And arrow whistled past her head and she remembered the approaching elven reinforcements. “Scher! Take her to safety with Cullers. We’ll hold back the elves.”
“Aye,” said Scher, scooping up Teagan’s limp body and turning back the way they had come. The way was blocked. More elves were arriving from the lower slopes. They were surrounded.
“You know,” said Park, “I’m starting to think this might be a trap.”
Isolde searched for a way out but saw nothing to do but stand and fight. It wouldn’t be long before they were overcome, but by the Gods she’d take a few of bastards out with her. She spun on the spot, picking targets and loosing arrows as fast as she could. Enemy after charging enemy fell before her, but they were gaining ground. Cullers, Carason, Park and Roline hacked and swung at the attackers who assailed them on all sides. They put up a mighty show or resistance, but soon, Isolde knew, even her battle-crazed mercenaries would begin to tire. And when that happened, they would die.
And then, when all was lost, a trumpet echoed over the craggy hillside and fear and panic suddenly spread through the elves on the lower side of the hollow, who began to scatter and run. They didn’t get far. A blast of magical energy lit up the rock face and a huge boulder was blasted from its perch high above. It came crashing down among the elves, crushing a dozen of them and rolling on down the hill, leaving a trail of smeared elf remains in its path. In explosion of light, Isolde could see a mage, standing with his staff held high, at the front of a small army of men, clothed in the Order of Light’s distinctive livery. Reinforcements had arrived.
*
The elves, now vastly outnumbered, did not have the advantage of their master’s dark magic to spirit them away from trouble. The men of the Order fell upon them furiously, hemming them into the hollow and cutting them down like crops at harvest. Cullers ran behind Scher who carried Teagan swiftly away from the battle in his strong arms. At the Brotherhood’s camp, Yarl was in conference with his opposite number from the Order as Cullers arrived with the still unresponsive Teagan.
“We have been monitoring developments on the Burning Moor through our own agents and informants,” the Order’s commander was explaining to the chairman, “It was, of course, the black-robed elf and his dark magic that was responsible for the strange symptoms shown by your returning men. I am only sorry that we did not act on this information soon enough to avoid today’s unpleasantness.”
“Unpleasantness? Hah!” yelled Cullers, interrupting their conversation, “My child lies in a sleep from which she will not wake. She should never have been here. We should never have left our home. Look what it cost me! To Hell with your bickering and your rivalry. The Dark Lord will take you all if you cannot put your own petty power struggles aside.”
“He’s right,” Yarl said, sadly, “We gather these stones to aid our mutual cause, but we spend our time bickering over the rights to sell them. Cullers, please. Let me call the Brotherhood’s healer to assist you,” said Yarl, sincerely. But Cullers turned his back on the chairman.
“I’m taking my daughter home,” he muttered, “I will care for her myself.”
He strode towards the portal that would carry them home, but now Isolde was arriving, fresh from her unexpected victory on the hillside.
“Cullers!” she shouted, racing to meet her tutor by the glowing portal. She skidded to a halt and stared at the child resting unaware in her father’s arms. “Is she going to be okay?”
“She is alive,” said Cullers, sadly, “And while there is life, there is hope.”
“Let me come with you,” said Isolde, “I can help too.”
“No,” said Cullers firmly, “Your help is needed most where battle rages, Isolde. I have seen the power you wield. Your training is at an end, chosen one. Leave this fight to me and to my beloved Teagan.”
“But Cullers,” Isolde protested, “I still need you.”
Cullers gave a sad smile and answered softly.
“We need you far more than you need anybody, Isolde. I thought perhaps you had come to understand that by now. Here…”
He reached into his pocket and drew out a small rock, which he gave to her.
“More stones?”
“Not a stone,” said Cullers, “An egg. One that has not hatched in a thousand years. Perhaps you will be the one to end its long sleep, chosen one. Then you will know what true power really is. Good luck, Isolde. We will see each other again.”
“Goodbye, Cullers,” said Isolde, “And thank you.”
<<< Chapter 9 : The Burning Moor >>> Chapter 11 : Second Sight
