Arwer

[Serafium]

His horse stood rooted to the spot. Something was wrong. His horse was looking to the sky. The Ranger examined the clouds, trying to spot what was unnerving his companion. He saw a flash of black. Something huge was flying overhead. “Dragon,” he whispered to nobody in particular. The horse seemed to shake its head in agreement. “Well, I suppose I should help. I will be back, Cryf.” The Ranger quickly equipped his belt and strung his bow before jogging lightly down the hill toward the city. The guards posted there were now gone and the portcullis was open.
Carefully, he made his way towards the city. He saw the groups of Elves leaving barrels outside of buildings, with no particular targets in mind. He stealthily made his way toward one group of four Elves who had just placed a barrel by some nearby shops. None of them had weapons drawn, and they were just talking casually amongst themselves. Two of them had dropped before they even noticed he was there, and the other two fell just as they turned as the arrows found their mark. Atur quickly sprinted over to the barrel and looked inside. It had a strong smell, and it was thick and black. “Oil” he thought to himself. They were going to burn it down. He noticed the group of eleven Elves slowly opening the door to the barracks. He would not make it in time.

The Elves, unaware they were being watched even with their exceptional vision, took up position next to the beds. Luckily, as Arwer had said, they were all on the right side of the beds. The Captain raised his eyebrows in query to Arwer, who shrugged. Quickly, and suddenly, various cries of surprise and agony called out into the new days light. The Elves outside assumed it was just their allies completing their task, when instead it was their compatriots themselves shouting out as, in unison, ten blades pierced ten elven chests, fatally wounding all the would-be murderers. The sergeant stared in surprise for a few seconds, before quickly pushing open the door, just as Arwer sprang at him, grabbing shirt and dragging him back.
The shirt tore, and the sergeant ran three steps before he too cried out in pain, with an arrow piercing straight through his chest, directly hitting his heart and killing him instantly. Arwer stepped out after him to give chase, then quickly dashed back as an arrow flashed barely half a metre in front of him. He signalled for the captain to go first, at a walking pace. The captain nodded, understanding his logic. The shooter would be on their side if he shot an elf. He would recognise the colours of the Captain. Stepping out, the Captain was hailed by the Ranger.
“Nice shot” he called in reply. Atur quickly jogged over, and apologised to Arwer for nearly shooting his face off.
“In my defence, you are an elf.” Fortunately, Arwer had a sense of humour, and simply laughed.
However, now they had a bigger problem. They were in a city controlled by the enemy, who now knew where they were. “There are around 100. I scouted around a little before I saw the group advancing on the barracks. I assumed when I heard the shouts that you had all been murdered. Hence I nearly shot you,” he said, indicating Arwer.
“Back to the matters at hand,” Arwer said, “take your guards and save as many civilians as you can, we’ll fight them off. We won’t have long.” Arwer walked forward then stopped and turned. “Make sure they don’t have a chance to hit you. You can’t count on them missing; and certainly not twice. We’ll fight through the town and get to the portcullis on the other side. It is open still, and we can bring the civilians with us.” He paused then looked directly at the Captain. “Leave your guards with the people and we will fight them off. Don’t stay in the open.” Wielding a bow given to him by the Captain, Arwer quickly poked his head around the corner. He recoiled quickly as a knife sliced the air inches from his faces.
“Well. Keep watching behind, they are probably flanking while one or two hold us here,” he told the guards. “Don’t stand in the open, but keep eyes on the alleyway.” Now looking to the Captain, he indicated to the roof of the nearby building. “Leg up?” he asked. Nodding, Captain got on one knee with his hands ready. Arwer stood on his hand, and the Captain used the upward momentum of standing along with pushing his arms upwards to push Arwer into the air. In one swift movement, Arwer threw the bow on the roof and got a substantial hold on a rut meant for the water to run down before pulling himself up. Crouching and making his way forwards, he quickly surveyed the surrounding area. He indicated back down to the Captain. “There are 10 of them coming round on the right,” he said, warning the troops. “Push to the end of the alley. As soon as you hear footsteps, charge them. They won’t have weapons drawn.”
He slowly edged forwards, trying to get a vantage point he could shoot the other Elf from. He could just about see the head of one. He took aim, judging where he would aim if standing. He would stand quickly and release the shot. It took years upon years of practice to aim such a shot, but only seconds to perform. The arrow cut across the space before the agonised cry assured him his mark had been met. He was already prepared with another arrow, expecting the Elf’s companion to peek to see where the arrow came from. Somehow, he predicted the shots’ timing perfectly releasing the arrow just in time so as the elf did peek; the arrow went directly into and through his eye. The look on his face was one of surprise, as the last thing he saw was an arrow barely centimetres from his face. The last companion knew better than to peek around that corner. He had no information as to where the archer was, only that they were extremely talented. Probably that Ranger he had seen slinking around the day before. All he needed to do was wait for his men to get around the other side and it would all be over.
Arwer looked back to the right and saw the Elves were walking casually to the building, expecting no resistance there.
“Do it quiet. No screams. Let them pass, then cut their throats. Then shout ‘Clear’” he said to the troops.
“Hide” he said simply to the rest. They did so, crouching in the barracks.
Arwer lay flat on the roof, watching as the Elves rounded the corner. The guards did exactly as they were told. They stood silently as the Elves walked unknowingly by. As the last Elf passed, Arwer nodded slowly as an Elf pointed to Arwer on the roof, seeing the movement, and opened his mouth to call out to his group. His group had already suffered his awaiting fate, and before he could finish his call, he too had his throat cut. He died instantly, expressionless. One of the guards shouted ‘Clear’ as instructed, and Arwer heard the last Elf keeping them locked down shuffled slowly toward them. Arwer quickly regained his grip on the bow, drew and shot exactly where the Elf walked to, getting a shot straight to the neck. He had been aiming for the upper chest, but this Elf was a little shorter than normal. ‘Oh well’ he thought ‘Same result.’

Dropping down from the roof, he indicated it was now safe to move. He acknowledged the guards for their bravery, telling them that they would all be due promotions after this was through. They all smiled.

Suddenly, a building on the far side of the city exploded, sending smoke billowing upwards in not only a burning flame of destruction and death, but also a signal. The Captain went pale white. “That is my family’s house,” he said slowly. “Let’s gut these Cacha’s,” anger flowing through his veins, before he charged around the corner.

“What on Daear is a Cacha?” Arwer asked as they followed the Captain.
“Haven’t a clue,” replied Geirias, jogging lightly alongside him. “Don’t disagree with his plan though.”
“Right. His ‘plan’” Arwer replied sarcastically. Both laughed.
“Is this the time to be making jokes?” Atur quipped, making both men silent.
30 metres ahead of them, the Captain was littering Elves left and right, sprinting full out at them, unphased by the possibility of death. It seemed it was not his day regardless, as he charged straight through their ranks with minimal resistance. Most were unable to react before he was upon them. They were in small groups of four or five and they were easily scattered by the furious Captain.
“Remind me to never piss him off,” Arwer said humourously, as he cut the head from the last elf. “That was some 20 Elves he just killed.” The rest of the Elves had withdrawn out of the city and were no longer a threat. They were escaping before all the buildings were destroyed, along with the city.
He dashed into the burning building 800 metres away.
“I don’t agree with that plan,” Geirias said.
He returned quickly, carrying one body. He entered again, and this time left with two more.
As the rest of the group arrived at the scene, they could easily see the Captain crying. “They were having breakfast. They had just woken up. And they were murdered.” He paused, the emotion obvious. “Curse these ‘Conspirers’! I will tear them all apart!” he shouted. The remainder of the house behind him crashed to the ground, sending ashes and splinters flying in to the air.
They stood in silence, watching as the Captain mourned his family. One of them stirred. His son coughed, ash billowing out as it forced its way out of his lungs. The Captain quickly rushed towards him to help him breathe. He threw up multiple times, black vomit covering the floor. The boy sat docile in his father’s arms while he beckoned toward the well. He set his son down carefully as a guard came over with a bucket of water, which he placed in front of the young boy, and then ran off again to find a beaker. Upon his return, the boy took the cup and refilled it multiple times, drinking several cups of water. The Captain tried to coax life back into his wife and his daughter, to no avail. He poured the remnants of the bucket onto the face of his daughter then sent the guard to refill the bucket. He did the same to his wife, more in desperation than actual expectancy that it would help.
Lania walked slowly up to his daughter and, dipping the beaker into the bucket collecting the little water that remained at the bottom, slowly poured it into his daughter’s mouth, tilting her head as to allow the liquid to flow easily down her throat.
As if by magic and much as her brother had done, she coughed multiple times then threw up, reviving mysteriously.
The Captain was crying for an altogether new reason now, as he had two of his beloved revive before his very eyes. C¬¬¬¬lutching his wife’s form, he watched his eldest vomit profusely. He sent one of his guards to fetch another bucket of water. In spite of the situation, the Captain was happy. He knew that given the chance he or his wife would have given their lives to save just one of their children. The image he created for himself was that she saved them both in trade for her own life, even if it wasn’t the case. It was easier to deal with.
Lania, now holding the Captain’s daughter, was a little overwhelmed. But she was also incredibly happy, not just for her friend, but also that she had just saved the life of one so young. Suddenly, as if not realising before, the girl jumped up and ran over to her father and her mother’s still form. “What’s her name?” Lania asked quietly.
“Vadia. Or she was,” the Captain replied, almost choking on his words “My son is Catalix and my daughter is Crystyl. A years’ difference, with Crystyl being the elder at 9.”
The rest of the guards caught up with them, along with the inhabitants of the city. It was a happy sight. The Captain knew that regardless of his loss, he had saved many thousands. And in his eyes, that was worth it. He knew his wife would agree. Standing suddenly, the Captain wiped all memory and emotion from his face. He commanded five of his men to lead the civilians out of the city, and instructed the rest to move the barrels away from the remaining buildings.
Then, as he turned away to check his men were doing as they were told, something black flashed across the sky, just within his peripheral vision.
It swooped down faster than the wind itself and incinerated the barracks with one vicious fiery breath. Another one, more green than black, did the same, destroying another of the buildings.
The Captain watched angrily as the city he knew blazed up in a destructive wave.
He called for his men to run away from the buildings.
It was too late.
His men were scattered, flaming and dead, as the two vicious airborne beasts ravaged the defenceless city.
As he snapped back into reality, he was glad Arwer had now taken control. This was the most stressful day of his life, and he doubted he had the mental capacity to withstand much more. He picked up both of his children and ran after his group. He saw Atur running to the other side of the city, but he also noticed the dragons were completely uninterested in him. Regrouping with the others, he set his children down with Lania, who both children seemed to like for some reason. Maybe she reminded them of their mother. Whatever the reason, she didn’t seem to mind.
He knew everyone would have to go, as they were standing in the middle of nowhere with two dragons in the sky. “We need to move” he called to Arwer, who was talking to some guards and Geirias at the front of the group of refugees. Arwer nodded agreement, and gestured for everyone to follow him. Following behind him slowly, the people were in low spirits. They all liked the Captain and hated to see him like that, and they had just watched their city get obliterated. They felt helpless and weak, but they saw a new leader in Arwer. The Captain slowly made his way to Arwer, thanking people for their condolences as he went. “Are there any nearby towns?” Arwer asked.
Thinking for a while, the Captain confirmed there was a large market town, Werien, about 18 miles to the South-West. “We can just follow the path. There is a crossroad a few miles from here, and we take the right path straight to it.”
“Good. We can go 12 miles today with a rest after 8, and then the final stretch tomorrow. That should work fine.” Both walked in silence for a while.
“What’s your name, by the way?” Arwer asked, realising they had never actually been introduced.
“Cryftus,” He answered. Then, realising Arwer was about to reply in kind, carried on; “I already know yours, although you aren’t the one who told me. What’s your girlfriend’s name?”
“Hmm? Oh, you mean Lania? She’s not my girlfriend. We’ve known each other for like three days.”
“Well, either way, my kids adore her,” the Captain said, smiling as he watched them walking next to her, holding her hands on either side.
“T’would appear so,” Arwer said nonchalantly. “I never really wanted kids,” he added. “It’s an extra burden and distraction.”
Cryftus shook his head. “I used to be the same; until I met Vadia.”
“She was incredible. In every way,” he said, the adoration clear in his voice.
Arwer raised his eyebrows suggestively, and Cryftus nodded.
“The town won’t take too kindly to 4000 people showing up out of nowhere.”
“We can offer labour. There will be a good skillset within the populace. They can probably build houses too. Expand it into a city.”
“Let’s hope so.”

The trip was fairly uneventful, with the occasional complaint of children or argument as people got bored of each other’s company. Often a mix of both. The whole 12 miles, Cryftus’ two children were clutching Lania’s hands and chatting away with her. She seemed to have infinite patience with them.
As Arwer watched her as she sat with them, he realised how different that was to how she was around him. He also noticed the realisation hurt a little. Not that he’d ever let anybody know that. Geirias and Cryftus were talking by a fire a few metres away from him. He knew nobody in the city. Surrounded by all these people, he felt truly alone. He stood, completely alone and unmoving with not a thought in his head.
He saw movement in the forest nearby.
It was no animal.
It walked upright and he could see the gleaming glint of metal as the mid-afternoon penetrated through the upper-canopy. He could sense the quick eyes scanning the clearing from their concealment. The tree just centimetres from its head was acquainted with an arrow. It stood, quivering, as the person in the forest recoiled in fear. Arwer moved forwards, another arrow ready.
“Stand up. Move out of the forest. Do it now!” he shouted at the figure in the forest. He now had the attention of everyone in the camp. Instead of a person leaving the undergrowth, it was instead a knife.
Arwer rolled to the side, and sent an arrow flying through the bush, hitting the target directly, while avoiding getting hit himself. Nobody else had seen the figure. Nobody else even knew if there was anybody actually in there, until the knife had materialised from seemingly nowhere. Arwer walked to the knife to examine it. “Elven,” he murmured. He thought carefully. He realised that all the ‘Conspirers’ had not been dealt with. They would have fled the same way, but would double back to go south. This one was probably a scout or a sweeper, to check they weren’t being followed. He would never return, which gave the same answer, just perhaps a little slower. They would need to set a watch.
Just as he came to this realisation, he heard sounds from the forest.

A twig snapped.

Some leaves rustled.

Another twig some metres to the right.

Some more leaves to the left.

There was no footsteps. He ran to Cryftus. “Tell your people to move away from the forest. I fear we are about to be attacked.”

Chapter 7:

In Skyholme, people were reporting sightings of giant black dragons. People were reporting a significant lack of sightings of Arwer. The story was that he had been ambushed by two fearsome dragons while he was on guard duty. He had fought bravely but is presumed to have died in battle. For his defence of Skyholme, as it was put, his family was given a Medal of Bravery and a bursary. The remaining son was exempt from compulsory military service and the Dragonslayers were going to be patrolling the city.
The king of Skyholme called the leaders of Cloudholme, Precipiholme and Windholme, the other Avian strongholds. They were discussing whether they would wage war with the other Elven races for their treachery.

In the servants’ quarters of a fancy restaurant that was particularly popular with Arwer’s family, a young blonde haired, blue eyed serving woman lay, exhausted, on her bed. She was not supposed to be resting now, but nobody was here to see. Someone was having a military funeral. She had never heard of them before, and she wasn’t of sufficient title to attend as a guest. She knew the name was an ‘A’, but that is all she knew. However, the funeral guests would be coming here for the traditional Meal of Memory, where they would sit for 12 hours, from mid-sun until mid-moon and remember the person who had passed. She assumed it would be some old retired general or some other high-ranking officer. She laid thinking of the tall brown-eyed soldier who was here a few days ago. She racked her memory for his name, but she could not remember it. She heard someone coming down the stairs. She panicked and quickly hid under the bed. It was the head cook. She was fat, unlike most of her kin and a cruel woman who cared very much about her art, and was very skilled, but she treated all of the kitchen staff poorly. None of them really liked her. She was no doubt looking for her. “Not in here, either, Gardia” the cook said to herself. “Where is that stupid girl?” she asked the silence, walking back up the stairs.

Gardia hated working in the restaurant, but she was condemned to the life until marriage or the age of 100 because she had been caught stealing from a stall belonging to the owner of the restaurant. This was a mere blink of an eye to an elf, but either way, it dragged on for her. She was merely trying to feed herself, having grown up an orphan and never knowing either of her parents. She was only 29, so still had a further 70 years of work until she could leave. But she wanted to so badly. Hiding under her bed, she scrawled plans of how she could escape. None of them were viable. The only way she could really find to get out was marrying someone. But she didn’t want to do that, as there was nobody she had any interest in. Except that soldier. She started to think of him again. His name came back to her. “Arwer” she whispered to herself, and smiled. Then realised that it was his funeral that was going on. Her heart stopped beating for a few seconds. Her eyes filled up with tears, but she blinked them away. She had never actually spoken to him, and he probably didn’t even notice her. Not that it mattered now anyway.

It was mid-sun and hundreds of people were upstairs. Still Gardia hid under her bed, not wanting to be seen. She silently mourned Arwer on her own. A few hours later, her eyes puffy after crying for hours, she snuck up the stairs and peered through a crack in the bottom. She saw hundreds of people gathered around the table where the coffin would be mounted in the middle, with food all around. But there was no coffin. His death must be in exceptional consequences, or he is presumed dead. She hoped with all her heart it would be the latter. But she knew that hope was a thin chance. But she clung to it with her entire being. She went quietly back down the stairs and lay back down under the bed. She knew she would be discovered eventually. And when she was, she would be punished. She had to run away. If the prospect of punishment wasn’t enough motivation, the fact she could find Arwer was. She would wait until one hour before mid-moon, when it would be nearly pitch black, then she would sneak out past the guards at the back entrance. All she needed to do was get outside, and then she could escape and fly off. Her wings had been clipped when first bound to service to the lord, but not since. She should be able to escape now. She thought of freedom, thought of escape. And she thought of Arwer.

Now almost mid-moon, Gardia crawled out from concealment and crept to the door. She stopped at the door, heart beating wildly in her chest. She reached for the handle, and then stopped. She thought of her friend, Cyfaid. She didn’t want to leave her. She knew that the servants would be allowed to bed at mid-moon, but she couldn’t afford to wait that long. The door would be locked after Mid-moon and not opened until the next funeral, which could be years. She crept back to the other side of the room, up the stairs towards the funeral. Most servants would be working, so she should be able to find Cyfaid and get out before anyone recognised her and told the Head Cook. She opened the door. Nobody noticed. That was good, she thought. She casually walked around in her servant rags, knowing trying to hide would make her more obvious. She looked around the room trying to pick out her friend. She saw her, sat in a corner on her own. She walked up and sat down next to her. Cyfaid looked at her for a few seconds. “Where have you been?” she whispered “The Head will kill you if she sees you!” Gardia nodded “That’s why I was hiding. I have been planning to escape, and I think now is the best time.” Cyfaid looked shocked. She had always wanted to escape, too. She had never thought it possible. Thinking about it now, she could still not see that it how it was more logical to try and escape now than any time. “Why now?” she asked. “Because, it’s really dark and there is nobody else in the servants quarters to stop us. And the door is unlocked.”
Her friend nodded agreement. “We should take some food” Gardia said, realising it could be some time until they got a meal.”

Stuffing their pockets with bread and other small bits of food, Gardia decided it was time. “Let’s go,” she whispered, louder than she meant to. She looked around the room to see if anyone heard her. Nobody was paying attention. The two friends got up and walked towards the servants’ quarters. As they reached the door, they heard the head cook behind them shout “Gardia! Where have you been?!” Neither of the women turned. Instead they opened the door and ran. “Get back here, girls! Where do you think you are going!?” They ran to the door at the other side of the room. The cook moved surprisingly quickly for a woman of her size, bustling down the stairs. She hobbled across the room towards the girls as they struggled with the heavy door. There was a mechanism on the other side to help it open, and it would usually be opened from the other side by guards. Fuelled by excitement, fear and adrenaline, they pushed the door repeatedly. The guards heard the effort and moved to help open the door. As soon as the door was open wide enough, the two servants slipped through. The guards could not react fast enough to grab them, and could not give chase as they were knocked flying by the rampaging cook, who smashed through the door, then fell down the stairs and lay unconscious at the bottom. The girls took their chance, bursting through the door at the end of the corridor. There was nobody on the other side of the door, to their luck. They spread their wings for the first time in years and jumped into the coal-black night. As they hadn’t flown for many years, it took a while for them to get used to it again.
Avians were skilled fliers and some even learnt to fly before they could talk and as a result, they regained the skill quickly and soared off into the night.

As they flew away from their confinement, they were silent. Cyfaid was slightly behind Gardia, and tried to catch up. She tapped her friends arm, saying “Why did you decide today? And why didn’t you tell me?” Gardia thought for a second. “I’m going looking for Arwer.” Cyfaid was taken aback. “But he’s dead” she said.
“Did you see a coffin?” Gardia questioned.
“Well, no… What’s your point?” Gardia looked at her short blonde friend and said “Either they don’t have a body or he isn’t dead. I’ll take the chance because even if he’s…” she paused “dead… then we’re not there anymore.” Cyfaid thought that was fair enough. She knew that her friend had been obsessing over Arwer for the last few weeks since his family ate there. They flew in silence for a little longer.
“How are we supposed to find him?” Cyfaid asked.
“I heard them say where they saw him last” she pointed to the guard post then said “He was supposed to be 200 miles from there and then he was attacked by dragons,” Gardia explained. “If he’s still alive, he would have fallen into the forest. The sprites there hate dragons.” Cyfaid nodded. That seemed logical.
“Let’s get going then.”

They flew for a while, using their exceptional vision to scout the ground below them. Flying lower than they would usually, they were just metres above the Glawesan as they soared to mainland Daear. They were now flying over a river that was lined with thick brambles and undergrowth.
Through the thick wall they saw a large wooden building. “Cyf?” Gardia said, flying just behind her friend. “Do you think he could be in there,” she said, pointing toward the house.
“Well, it’s worth a try,” he friend replied, as she turned and flew upwards instead, as to go over the mass of plants that were impenetrable for those limited to walking.
They land just outside the house, and run a few steps to avoid losing balance. They knock on the door.
No answer.
“It is the middle of the night, I suppose.”
“Should we go in anyway?” her friend asked, unsure.
“No, you should not,” answered a deep, booming voice from behind them.
Both turned around, and stared in fear. Neither moved and both doubted they could if they tried. They expected to die. Was this the one who had killed Arwer?
“What are you doing here?” he asked, realising he had never seen them before.
Neither of them could answer.
“Well…?” he said.
“Uhm… Dragons can talk?” Gardia asked, surprised.
“Yes. And I can read minds too. I’m not going to eat you. You’re looking for Arwer? He showed up a few weeks ago. He should be back in a few days. If you want, you can stay here for the night. But you must leave tomorrow. There is a market town maybe 50 miles south. Its name eludes me. But I’m sure you could stay there for a while. They will pass through there on their way back, most likely.”



Cryftus, trusting his friend’s intuition, called for the people to withdraw from the edge of the forest, and hide behind some cover.
In the forest, the Elves were trying to think of a way they could prove they weren’t enemies. They had been exiled from their land to the south, and they were being forced to find other places to live. They had been tailing the Elf Arwer had killed for several miles to see where they lived, and see if they could live amongst them. One of the Elves in the group had called to him, and he ran away from them. They recognised the emblem on his deerskin coat. He was a Conspirer. They were glad he was dead.
They concluded they should wave something white on a stick; a crude representation of the international sign for a truce. They did so, waving the shirt of a young child.
“A truce,” Arwer muttered. “Maybe they aren’t Conspirers,” he said to Cryftus.
“Either way, be on your guard” Cryftus responded. Arwer nodded.
“Come out of the forest. You must unveil and produce any weapons you may carry. If you do not and we find you carrying them…” Arwer tailed off trying to think of a suitable punishment. “They will be destroyed,” Cryftus finished. Arwer looked at him. They both shrugged. The Elves in the forest slowly filtered out through the trees. Few of them had any weapons to declare, and those that did presented mostly hunting weapons or sharp tools.
“Refugees, maybe?” Cryftus said.
“Looks like it,” he said. “Let’s ask”

They hailed one over. He nervously walked over, slowly. Both men put their weapons on the ground, showing their intentions were not hostile.
The Elf was much more confident. He waved in greeting. “I am Chelau. A Mountain Elf exiled from my land by the Conspirers.”
“We are Arwer and Cryftus.”
Chelau nodded. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Can I help you?” he said easily.
“Well, who is your leader, should you have one? Or is it you yourself?” Cryftus asked.
“We have no leader. We were all exiled by the Conspirers, as I said. You killed one just a moment ago,” Chelau said.
“I figured,” Arwer replied. “So you’re looking for somewhere to live?” he carried on.
“Yes, we are. We were following the Elf you killed to see if he had a town or something we could join.”
“How many are you?” Cryftus asked.
“Some 700 I think. A few of us were lost along the way, others made crude lodgings by lakes and similar. Started with maybe 1000.”
Nodding, Arwer said “We too are refugees. Well, they are. I’m not from around here. Anyway, there is a market town nearby here. We plan to move on in the morning and see if we can build nearby and borrow supplies in exchange for labour.”
Chelau, happy there was somewhere nearby, asked “Could we merge with your group?”
“Of course,” Arwer said “Now go and tell your group what is going on. We will help you with tents or whatever.”
Chelau bowed in the traditional Elven way and scurried off to his family.
“What a strange fellow” Arwer said, watching him go.
“Indeed. I’m glad that turned out the way it did. Could have gotten nasty” Cryftus said.
Arwer agreed enthusiastically.

Cryftus returned to his previous engagement, talking to Geirias.
Arwer decided he would try and get any knowledge of the inside operations of the Conspirers from the Elves.
Seeking out Chelau, he walked through the gathered Elves. They looked relatively happy that they had been accepted, and most eyed him friendlily.
There was one, however, who did not.
There was one who watched him with a dangerous glint in their eyes.
A Woodland Elf watched Arwer walk through the Elven camp and felt a surge of anger toward the Avian. As far as they were concerned, it was the Avians fault they were in exile. Needless to say, he wasn’t the most intelligent. He was young, fiery and arrogant. They had a consistent problem of acting before and thinking after, usually in the infirmary after they tried hitting someone much stronger then themselves. This was the case again, as they had subconsciously swung at Arwer while he was talking to someone else.
It was a solid blow to the back of his head.
Arwer’s instincts kicked in before he could think, and stopping himself tumbling forwards, he pushed off the ground and, both feet in the air, spun and kicked his attacker in the side of the head, then landed neatly and carried on with his conversation.
The Elf he was talking to looked shocked and totally awed by what Arwer had just pulled off. He had never seen anything like it.
“Don’t worry about him,” the elf said “He does this to everyone. He’s not too bright.”
Arwer shrugged. “It’s no matter. Doubt he’ll try it again.”
Laughing, the Elf replied “It does seem rather unlikely, doesn’t it.”
“Anyway, any idea where Chelau is?”
“I think he is on the North side, with his kin.”
“Thank you”
“It’s not a problem.”
Arwer turned, stepped over the unconscious form and walked off to the North side of the camp. He walked through the Elven camp, nodding acknowledgement at some who hailed him, before he finally found Chelau with what appeared to be his children.
Arwer lifted his arm, palm inwards, in the simple Elven greeting used amongst friends. Chelau mimicked the greeting.
“How can I help?” he asked as Arwer got within earshot.
“I was wondering if you found anything about the conspirers before you were exiled,” Arwer said hopefully.
“Apologies, friend, but I do not,” he replied, regret obvious in his voice. “Everyone who did not declare allegiance to the Conspirers was arrested for 24 moons, and then released on the outskirts of the forest.”
“Forest? What forest?”
“Ahh, the capital, course. You must know of Cyfalardair, the old Elven city?”
“I’ve heard of it,” Arwer replied, eager for more details.
“Well, it is magnificent. The tallest peak this side of the Glawesan and the most incredible cave system. In Ha’poth, the sun is at just the perfect height for the sunset to be visible from the main cavern.” He paused, tears developing as he remembered his homeland. “Of course, now we are several hundred miles from there, and we can never return.”
Arwer, still wanting more detail, pressed on, “So it is the main headquarters of the Conspirers?”
“Yes. Yes, I suppose you could call it that.”
“The Avians will need to know”
“You can’t beat them, Arwer. Nobody can. They have dragons. Hundreds of them.”
“So?” Arwer said, uncaring. “We have Dragonslayers. Thousands of them,” he said as he walked back towards his own camp.

It was getting fairly late, maybe 3 hours from mid-moon, and many people were bedding. Arwer walked toward the campfire at the head of the camp.
“Ah, there you are Arwer.”
Arwer recognised Geirias’ voice.
“Hail, Geirias. Did you need me?”
“Not at all, we just weren’t sure where you went. You do move very quietly.”
“Apologies, I will tell you where I’m going first next time, mother.”
Both chuckled.
“Anyway, we should probably get some rest,” said Geirias, after a while.
“Aye. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Arwer walked over to where his tent was, by Lania. She was sat with Cryftus’ children. They eyed him curiously. He sat next to her. She weakly acknowledged him, smiling faintly.
She looked terrible.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She moved her leg, wincing as she did so, and he saw the material cut at the bottom and what looked like bite marks.
“What happened?” he asked, suddenly fearing for her. She had seemed fine earlier, he reflected. She pulled up the fabric on the leg, and he saw a deep gash on both sides of the leg.
“There was a trap just on the edge of the forest over there,” she said, pointing. “I stepped in it by accident. And, well, you see what happened,” she said, calmly. Arwer looked incredibly worried.
“Don’t worry. I’ve already accepted what will happen”
“It won’t! It won’t happen” Arwer said, much louder than he meant to, drawing the attention of many people, who instantly saw the wound on her leg and grouped around. Arwer quickly dashed off. He sought Chelau again.
“Is anyone amongst your people a skilled healer? We have wounded”
“Indeed. Over there, I believe. Her name is Byrian.”
Arwer dashed off in the general direction that Chelau pointed, asking for Byrian. On his fourth try, one responded with “That depends on what you would choose to do with her.”
“I would choose to have her save my friends life,” Arwer answered, exasperated, realising that this person was Byrian. She was a Mountain elf too, he could see, like Chalau. She was also incredibly short for any Elf. There was an intelligent light in her eyes, however, and he trusted she would know what to do.
“I’ll follow,” she said, deciding it was apt reason for her services.

Upon arriving on the scene, she could see her services would be needed immediately. She quickly opened her satchel, and reached in much further than physics allowed. She revealed a vial of some clear blue liquid. She then poured some of the liquid into a waterskin. She gave it to Lania to drink.
“Painkiller,” she said, “Also slows your heartbeat, stops you bleeding as much.”

Chapter 8:

In the recently established fief of Waterside, the assigned Ranger sat on his specially trained horse. He was a recently graduated Ranger, and had recently been assigned to his first fief. He was much older than most new Rangers, and had not gone through the usual training process, which involved being selected by a Ranger as a young teenager. He had been noticed after by one of the foremost Rangers in the country as very virtuous and also had some of the skills required. They just needed refining. He had been trained very thoroughly and was very proud to be able to call himself a true Kings’ Ranger. It was a great honour.

Riding on his horse towards the newly-dubbed city of Draymar. It had always been Draymar, but it had only recently become a city. Since he had left 14 years ago, it had thrived, as the Ranger’s appearance scared the criminals, who had all been sent to the capital of Daear for judgement. Riding on his closest companion, his horse, he was looking for his assigned cabin, which was supposed to be in the woods on the outskirts of the city. He had always admired the sheer beauty of nature as a child, and enjoyed being outside. He felt it was the one place that he could truly be free, and he loved it. He stopped his horse, standing up in the stirrups to get a better view of his surroundings, to see if he could spot his cabin... His horse stood still as a rock, as it had been taught to. He saw it on the other side of some trees. Dismounting, he led his faithful horse, Reyfelgyn, meaning ‘The Wind’ in Elvish, through the trees, over the small hill. Much to his surprise, there was smoke coming from the chimney. “Wait,” he told his companion, who did so, standing completely still again. He scanned the cabin. He saw movement inside. The person inside either knew they were allowed to be there, or they thought nobody would notice. Not that there would be anything in the house worth taking.
Moving closer, planning on walking towards the house from the side, he saw a horse in the stable. He whistled twice. The horses ears pricked up and it turned to look at him. It neighed at him in greeting, also telling whoever was inside there was somebody here. The junior Ranger recognised the horse as Cryfdurel, meaning ‘Strong as steel’ or just ‘steel’ in Elvish. It was his mentors’ horse. Meaning the person inside was either his mentor or another Ranger. He still kept his guard up, just in case, but was much more relaxed. As he walked towards his new home, a person emerged. They waved at him.
“You’re late,” the mentor quipped.
“How so?” the junior asked.
“You should have been here 37 seconds ago. I’m disappointed in you.”
Both men held there expressionless gazes as the junior approached his cabin.
“Good to see you, Tarhia.”
“It has been a while, Atur,”
“Indeed it has. How does it feel to finally be a Ranger?” Atur asked.
“It is an honour; one that I never thought would be mine.”
Atur nodded.
Tarhia carried on;
“Why are you here? I thought you were supposed to be heading back to the capital.”
“I am. But I need your help.”
“Why? What with? What happened?”
“Inquisitive, as always, I see,” his mentor said, smiling.
Seeing Tarhia almost hopping from leg to leg, he decided he wouldn’t be cruel and tell him. Just this once.
“Shadowhaven has been burnt down by dragons. The Conspirers have pushed up from the south. And I think I saw your daughter. I only realised after I left that a young woman with a dragon could only really be one person.”
“You saw my daughter? She lives?” Tarhia asked in surprise. He regained his composure, realising there were more pressing things on hand.
“The Conspirers pushed up into Centria? That is almost 400 miles! How did they move so far unseen?”
“Most of the southern Barons have been persuaded by the Conspirers. They have killed the Rangers based within their fiefs and then obviously didn’t mention it to anyone, so no replacements have been sent.”
Tarhia was horrified.
“Your daughter is part of a group of several thousand refugees from Shadowhaven. They are travelling towards a market town, Werien,” he paused, letting Tarhia absorb the news. “I will stay here while you visit her, if you wish.”
The decision tore at him. He wanted with all his heart to see his daughter again. But he had a job to do.
“We have a job to do. You said you needed my help?”
Atur, not for the first time, admired his apprentices’ resolve. He had an overwhelming sense of duty.
“As you wish. And yes, we must ride for the capital and inform the king of all we know about the Conspirers. We must make an alliance with whoever we can. There is a war coming.”
“Very well. I can leave in 15 minutes. I just need to water my horse.”
“We have to ride South-West to get there anyway. There is a chance you will see her anyway.”


The two girls slept in the room that Arwer had been in just days before, sharing the bed. It was significantly more comfortable than anything they had ever been in before. They slept soundly after their exhausting flight, their excitement and adrenaline abated.
Golden rays streaked through the open window, dazzling the girls as they awoke from their peaceful rest. They stretched their sore muscles after the long flight the night before; their bodies weren’t used to the exertion. They sleepily made their way to the stairs, and both nearly fell down the treacherous flight. Carefully, they made their way down the stairs and into the main area of the house. The dragon that had greeted them in the night was lying outside the door.
As they made their way toward the door, the great head stirred. Its eyes opened groggily, and the dragon hailed the two girls.
“Feel free to take any food you need; I fear my mistress may not be back for a while. If you head East, you may reconvene with them at the market town. They will be travelling on the road, so you should be able to see them.”
“Thank you… Uhm… Dragon?” Cyfaid said, uncertainly.
“My name is Giardd. Travel safe,” he said, slowly making his way around the house.
After he had gone, the girls ransacked the cupboards and found very little food that they recognised. Most of what they worked with in the kitchen and ate was fresh elvish ingredients, and rarely consisted of human foods. Even their bread was different.
Regardless, they took some of the food that looked like it might agree with them, and then made their way out the door of the house. Being able to see the outside for the first time, they admired the serene setting of the beautiful house. It was clear the flowers lining the clearing were introduced there, but then they had been left to grow naturally. There was a magnificent array of colours and they could have admired it for hours.
“Come on” Cyfaid said, finally dragging her eyes away, “Let’s go”


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And that's that, for now, I suppose. Waiting for my sister to get back from University before I carry on (this Friday.)

[Ranger of the North]

TARHIA IS ALIVE?? AND A RANGER?! AND ATUR IS HIS MENTOR?!?!
pLOT TWIST MUCH OMGOSH :O

[Serafium]

Well, it's nice to see it wasn't super predictable :3 I thought it was, but I guess I knew the whole time, sooo...

[Ranger of the North]

Well, it's nice to see it wasn't super predictable :3 I thought it was, but I guess I knew the whole time, sooo...

Nope, it caught me completely unawares O.O
Hahaha that can sometimes be a pain, eh XD

[Serafium]

Bump

[Serafium]

Bump

[Serafium]

Bump