The four Choobador came to a halt at the edge of Pyre Swamp, a sludgy stretch of bog land bigger than Lake Ruton. It was a desolate landscape, only one or two dead trees stuck out of the reddish-purple mud. Antar and M’talek dismounted and walked up to the swamp.
“I thought Arell said that we were to follow this road!” M’talek indicated the track that they had come along that led directly into the swamp. He didn’t look very happy, understandably. “Well, so much for Miss Wise Man.” He said watching Antar, expecting to get a glare. Instead, Antar was looking around him for something.
“Did you hear that?” Antar’s attention flickered from one part of their surroundings to another. M’talek looked about but saw nothing.
“What? What is it?” He asked impatiently.
“Quiet a minute will you?” Antar ushered, while G’nar and Vatren stepped up next to him.
“Antar, why do you have to get me worked up and nervous?!” M’talek hissed, stepping backwards slowly. Suddenly, the shadows shifted, and in a blur of movement a cloaked and hooded Elven figure had M’talek’s throat to a knife.
“A little far from Everlorn, aren’t we?” the female voice came. “What is you’re business here?”
“Please, calm yourself!” Antar called to the mysterious attacker, who he recognised to be wearing a Pyrelight-styled very dark purple cloak. “We mean no harm, Pyrelight Elven.” He added.
The Pyrelighten paused, apparently to think. “I asked you a question.”
“We’re here on an important task, please release our friend.” G’nar said as sincerely as she could.
“Hmmn.” The figure stood frozen. “You appear to be of no threat.” She said mechanically, her Kurga dagger still at M’talek’s neck.
“Could you please let me go now?” M’talek’s voice was a strangled whisper.
“Very well.” She released her hold on M’talek, who fell to the floor with a thud. “It would be a first to have met a bad Everlorn Elven in any case.” She added. She sounded at least un-tense now.
“Thanks.” M’talek muttered.
“I apologise for my violent impulse.” Her voice was stern and shadowy. “I am Elitaa, serving the Mark of Techtolito. I come from Dracos.”
M’talek felt a lump in his throat on hearing the name again.
“I get a little jumpy sometimes, especially with recent strange occurrences around here.” Elitaa pulled her hood back and shook her head to free her pitch black, shining long hair. It flowed with unreal grace, as though it had neither weight nor friction.
“Well,” M’talek said, stopping what was about to be a sarcastic rant when he turned to see her. He abruptly stopped. “Um… good.”
She gave the briefest smile, and then asked them, “So what’s this important task of yours?”
“We are looking for the Weather Stone.” Vatren said.
“And you were going to cross this swamp to get there right?” Elitaa turned to Vatren and tilted her head to one side in an inquisitive way.
“Well, a friend gave us directions, to follow this road.” Antar said, pointing to the dead end road. “But it ends here.”
Elitaa looked at the road for a few moments and then looked directly at Antar, her dark eyebrows in a frown. “No doubt that’s because the last time they were here, this road would have continued as a bridge. But, as I said, weird things are happening as of late. Yesterday someone or other destroyed this bridge. We suspected some irresponsible troublemakers.”
“We? You work for someone?” Antar enquired.
Elitaa gave a single nod. “In a way, yes. I am a mercenary for the Mark of Techtolitos, currently on task to check the Weatherman’s house on the other side of the swamp. Make sure there’s no trouble.”
G’nar suddenly went pale. “What if Kvorn are here? What if they are one step ahead of us in finding the Ornithopter?”
“You have a point. It does seem like some dark force is one step ahead of us.” Antar pondered. “But how could they know?”
“There may have been Kvorn spies in Dawi Forest at the time, scouting for the attack. If they saw the stone, there’s no reason they might not work on solving it themselves.” Vatren suggested. “They would have gone straight to the Weatherman to get the charts predicting when the conditions would be right and which waterfall.”
“Those thieving fur-ball sons of-!” M’talek stopped himself. “We will alert the rest of the Elven Guard immediately. Damn, we should’ve done that to begin with-”
“You’re from the Elven Guard?” Elitaa asked curiously, but G’nar started before the Pyrelighten could continue.
“The Elven Guard have enough problems, at the moment.” She reminded him. “We shouldn’t raise an alarm until we have solid evidence. We may have to find the Weatherman and stop the Kvorn ourselves!”
Elitaa looked at the swamp for a few moments. “Well, to get across this swamp without a bridge is actually a simple affair, which the Kvorn may overlook. A Multar has huge webbed feet that spread our weight out enough so that we do not get stuck in the swamp. That’s one reason why they’re popular among Pyrelightens.” She told them. “And you know what?”
“You just happen to have a Multar?” M’talek smiled.
“Spot on.” Elitaa smiled, and then whistled loudly.
There was a slow, loud thumping noise as the Multar emerged from behind a pile of huge boulders. It was a magnificent beast, probably a dozen metres long and more than three metres tall. The Multar was a giant, four legged lizard, with rows of tiny sharp teeth and two small black eyes. It had goldish-brown scales like a Choobador, but thick, frilly webs over its feet, for swimming. On its back was a small hut-like saddle, which was decorated with Pyrelight cloths; the wooden riding hut was easily large enough for six people. The creature seemed friendly, particularly in comparison to Elitaa’s entrance.
Antar and the others gathered their Choobador together in a group and tied their reigns to nearby bare trees.
“Hop on,” Elitaa said, climbing up a series of holds and pulling herself into the basket-like riding hut. She was followed closely by M’talek, then by Vatren, G’nar and Antar. The riding hut contained a number of complex wooden levers, attached to ropes around the creature’s body. Pulling one slowly towards her, the crude cogs and gears pulled the ropes into position and the Multar plodded carefully forwards onto the swamp. Although the feet sank in nearly half a meter, they were not in any danger of getting stuck.
“I named it Joen.” Elitaa patted the large reptile. “My parents bought it for me, before they died protecting Fort Numos in the Land of Ruton. I’ve had him since he was only this big,” she indicated roughly her own height, “and it’s the only thing I have, now that I’m an orphan. I have spent everything I get on feeding, entertaining, and decorating it and the riding hut. It’s probably the one thing that’s reliable in my life.” She said with a hint of bitterness. Or was it sorrow? As she looked away, she suddenly wasn’t the dangerous killer she’d seemed to be just earlier.
“Sound’s like a lonely life.” M’talek said soberly.
“It can be.” Elitaa said. “Listen, I want to ask you all something. Once I’ve checked up on the Weatherman, I’d like to help you. Help save Everlorn. I would like to do some good in the shameful name of Pyrelight.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” G’nar stated. “Pyrelight has been through a lot.”
It was true. They were, in fact, the only one of the Seven Lands that was descended not from a Clan, but the remnants of one. The Kychan Clan were one of many victims of the malicious, flying dragon-like race known as the Brigand Dragons. The survivors of the clan became the rugged troublemakers of legend that were Pyrelightens.
“It doesn’t mean they have never helped other lands of the Elven Republic.” M’talek said. “Take the hero Rascan, for instance. He defended the land of Nyrell, and took on a whole regiment of fifty Kvorn single handed!”
“It’s just a fairy tale. An ancient legend.” Elitaa replied.
“That’s not important. You should judge yourself only by your own actions, not those of your people.” Vatren said sagely.
Elitaa thought about what G’nar had said. “Then I will do it for me, as well as Pyrelight.”
M’talek smiled, “Your help is welcome, either way.”
“Thankyou.” Elitaa had a glazed look. “Y’know, I have always wanted to work for the Elven Guard…”
“And I’m sure you’ve always wanted to save the Everlorn too.” M’talek grinned cockily.
* * *
M’talek climbed down the holds on the side of the Multar. It had taken them a few days to cross Pyre swamp, and you can’t get much sleep on the back of a huge reptile. Still, he felt sorry for Antar. He hadn’t slept well for over a week and must be exhausted. But if it saves their home, they were all willing to do what it takes.
“I’ll wait for you here.” Elitaa said. “The Weatherman lives up there.” She indicated a large tent-like house up the mountain road. “I need to look after my Multar, but I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Thanks.” G’nar said. “Okay, let’s go.”
They began to ascend, before they noticed smoke coming from a large house near the top, thick black smoke.
“Uh oh, that isn’t good.” M’talek frowned.
“Well, if you’re going to state the obvious, I might as well point out that Elitaa said the Weatherman went missing the night before last.” Vatren said. “Perhaps the Kvorn burnt his house so we couldn’t use his instruments or charts.”
“Or maybe,” Antar said looking up at a dark blotch getting bigger in the sky, “They’re still here.”
The other three looked up as the dark spot turned into a familiar, terrifying creature. A Lootan looks something like a five metre long bumblebee; with huge beating wings making a loud, deep buzzing like no other natural thing. It was being ridden by two Kvorn, grinning darkly. The Lootan dived toward them, its stubby pincer jaws wide open.
“Dive!” Antar yelled. With that, the four elves dived and rolled in four separate directions. The Lootan swooped past, its huge wings causing the leaves and dust on the track fly up in the air.
Coming out of her roll, G’nar attempted a shot at the creature but the cloud of debris made her aim hopeless.
The Lootan came about to attack again, this time going for Vatren. Vatren drew his sword and shield. Just as it was barely a metre from him, he leapt sideways quickly, deflecting the creature’s jaw with his shield.
Disappointed, one of the Kvorn pilots swung his sword into Vatren’s shield too, sending him flying backward down the rocky track.
“Cursed suns! Don’t worry Vatren, I’ll help.” M’talek rushed over to the young swordsman tumbling down the rocks.
Meanwhile, Antar hid behind a boulder forming a plan with G’nar.
“You cover the other two; try to hit a pilot with your Rakbow. I need your larger bow.” He said, accepting the longbow as she handed it to him. It was a fair way bigger than the one he carried, used for longer and more powerful shots. “I think I know how to destroy that thing.” He said, and almost as soon as she’d given him the bow, he scurried off towards the Weatherman’s house. G’nar realised what he was about to do, and smiled.
Rolling from her cover, she darted for M’talek and Vatren. The Lootan was coming back again, and was going for her. Diving behind the rock M’talek and Vatren were behind, she turned to face the Lootan. There was no escape. She aimed the Rakbow and fired, shutting her eyes. She waited for what seemed like forever before hearing a ‘Thunk’ as the bolt hit its target. Slowly, she opened her eyes. The Lootan was making frantic circles, barely in control after losing one of its pilots. Okay Antar, she thought to herself, I’ve given you time. Don’t let me down.
Tearing a piece off a nearby rag, Antar looked about the Weatherman’s burning house. Tying the small rag around the top of one of G’nar’s arrows, he looked around the abundant sources of fire in the house’s entrance. Picking a flame next to the doorway, Antar lit the end of the arrow. A Fire Arrow!
Stepping outside, he took careful aim. If he missed this shot, he might not get another chance. The flames were almost burning his hands, but he kept the arrow steady.
He released the string.
The fiery comet flew straight into the hide of the Lootan where it kept its poisonous, and flammable, venom. The Lootan exploded like a firework, sending bits of gloop and carapace in all directions. Antar stared at the spectacle for a moment, as the fireball vanished into the crisp air as soon as it had appeared.
“Filthy creatures.” He mumbled absently.
* * *
General Serian looked over the stone walls of Everlorn Castle and sighed at the blue and purple colours in the sunrise. The rolling green hills and mighty Ova tree forests shrouded attackers, but Everlorn Castle was placed in the most advantageous position in the area. Unlike Kvorn castles, Elven ones were placed carefully in such a way that they were very costly to attack. Kvorn didn’t really need strategy though, they were so numerous and fierce.
Serian thought to herself. What if the Kvorn beat Everlorn Castle? Then surely the Elven Guard would come and try to wipe them out? Or would they stay in the safety of the Land of Arion and give up Everlorn? It wasn’t entirely an unfounded fear. Umar, a Land from long ago, once fell to the invaders and the Republic was powerless to stop it. Was the attack on Everlorn a diversion? She wished that she could know. But she was confident that if the Everlorn people were under great threat, all the lands would collaborate to help and keep the Republic safe. As the Charter stated, “We are all but parts of the whole, and bound by honour we serve our kin.” She stuck to those words; surely someone else out there did too.
She looked from side to side. Around the walks, along the walls, were posted Elven Archers. Archers. The Everlorn archer deserved its fame. They were fast, versatile, trained for close combat with a short sword, and had a long range. Lightly equipped and vigorously quick, archers were slick, and those of Everlorn were famed as the sharpest of them all. But no number of Elven could stem the flow of Kvorn the Far Scout Rangers had seen massing near Ehzelia Hills. When they finally reached Everlorn Castle on the northern border of Everlorn, there would be a mighty clash.
Karnola, the town sitting snugly just beside the castle like a child cuddling up to its mother, had been evacuated. Only a few prowling Far Scout Rangers walked its empty streets, finding positions to harass any enemy foolish enough to attack through the town itself. Many of those Far Scouts were from Karnola themselves, and knew just about every ally and walkway in the whole settlement.
She drew her breath, looking behind her now to see the inside of the walls, where many highly trained Elven warriors were preparing for combat. They carried more armour and had long spears and shields. Brave and intelligent soldiers, but lacking the Kvorn number still. Serian knew this was more than just a war: it was a struggle for the Planet’s future. A clash between opinions, red versus blue, fast and frail versus slow but powerful. Nothing was good or evil. They were just ideologies. Try as she might to mask the conflict in poetic righteousness, she knew that good and evil are nothing more than polar opinions. They just did things their way, and her kind did things differently. Of course, with the kvorn it meant slavery which was hardly a compromise.
The Elven, well, they fought for the Planet. ‘She’ was their mother, and a temple they must protect. The kvorn… quite simply liked fighting. Serian hated them. She tried not to, but she did.
In any case, it wasn’t something she wanted to think about. She wanted to think of Antar. Her soul mate, her Tukari. She felt his rush, his haste. He hadn’t reported in to the castle, nor had his training companions. She only hoped something hadn’t gone wrong, though her assurances that he was not in danger and was very preoccupied had kept everyone else happy enough.
Psychic emotion-sensing was a useful thing indeed.
* * *