Matthew Wuertz

Continued from "First Son"

Part 2 of 3

         For more than five years I lived with the elves, learning their language, becoming part of their ways and forgetting more of my humanity.  No one from Besann had kept any vestige of their lives after the dwarves came, so how could I in good conscience remain the same?  Though I did not interact with those who had been taken into the mines, my heart changed with theirs: hardening to the reality of the evils that Uthov had committed and drawing ever closer to Onarre.  They prayed for deliverance, and I prayed to be their deliverer.

         It was now well into the autumn season in the month of Avicmic, which the elves call Navom.  The final war with Uthov that I had hoped for would soon be upon us.  In my arrogance as an adolescent, I thought I was ready for battle, that I could personally end the war and be a savior to those in captivity.  Experience cures foolishness, but it can be a fiery remedy, as it would be for me.

         "Draw your left blade up faster, Klevtrìth."  Yàrì took a step towards me, swiping a thin blade at my chest.  I raised the long knife as he instructed to block and then twirled it in my fingers to point the blade towards the earth again.  He struck the weapon a second time.  "Yes, good.  Faster, now."

         He was speaking to me in ìloâ, the Elven language, the only language any of the elves used with me anymore.  He kept repeating, "Perth, âmod, ùthtìà," which translates to "Good, again, faster."  I will hear those same words in my head each time I train alone with a weapon until the day I go to be with Onarre.

         Yàrì forced me to defend with only my left hand for the first hour of practice.  I kept my right arm, the stronger of the two, behind my back.  In the closed fist of my unused hand, I could feel the dampness of sweat, and I hoped that the time had nearly elapsed.

         When I thought I could take no more, the elf lowered his weapon and smiled.  "You are well trained.  I never imagined you would adapt when I first put those blades in your hands two years ago."

         "Take credit for your instruction, then," I said.  "I'm only doing as I'm told."

         Yàrì merely nodded as he walked towards one of the trees surrounding us.  We were in one of the smaller glades within the great forest of Sàoìs.  No trees in the world grow as those within Sàoìs; they are often twice the height than they would be normally and produce leaves of mixed colors throughout the year.  Now, in autumn, it was so vibrant that I could easily become distracted if I let my eyes wander.

         My friend offered me one of the two flasks that had been sitting on the ground.  While we rested and drank, I thought about my mother and sisters.  Were they in thirst?  Were they fatigued?  Such thoughts often kept me from enjoying the quiet moments of life.

         I heard the footsteps of someone approaching from the south.  Yàrì looked to me, and I nodded.  We had worked on my observation skills since the day I arrived in Sàoìs, and though I could not hear or see nearly as well as Yàrì, I could now detect other elves, even when they meant to walk in stealth or blend into the landscape.  Years later I would discover that my senses were stretched beyond the limits of any other human.

         "Friend or foe?" I asked casually, knowing very well that there were only friends within this part of the forest.

         "Call me whichever you will, Klevtrìth," came the response.  An elf named Àros, who wore plated armor and a pointed helm, walked past the tree that Yàrì and I sat against.  His lips frowned a bit, and he immediately crossed his arms.

         "Why are you dressed for war?" I asked.

         "This is for defense, not for war," he said gruffly.  "Some of us will be going west, into Onarre only knows what.  The glìssom wants to speak with you both right away."

         "Has something happened?" Yàrì asked.

         "You will find out soon enough.  I was given two orders: to make preparations and to find you both.  The first task took longer than I had hoped, and by now the glìssom will be even more frantic than when I left his presence."

         When the elves adopted me, I was given a room within the glìssom's dwelling, a stark change from the unpretentious home I grew up in.  At first I believed they put me there because it was one of the few structures with ceilings raised high enough for me to walk about without having to stoop. I soon came to understand, however, that I had not simply been brought under the general custody of the elves but of the glìssom himself.

         It's difficult for me to fully describe the glìssom.  His name (though I never heard him addressed by it) was Lùthìlm, having been named after one of the elves' greatest heroes from the war called Graellixum.  Lùthìlm lived like one trying to honor such a great name, sacrificing much for the city he ruled and offering what counsel he could to the adoglìssom, who ruled all elves.  Though there were several glìssoms throughout Sàoìs, Lùthìlm was the most respected.  In human society, he would have been the equivalent of a prince, the next to succeed the overall ruler.

         Lùthìlm was also an elf with great anxiety.  No matter was a simple one, and he seemed to enjoy stirring himself into great emotions.  Of course, humans would see an elf, even in an excited state, as quite calm.  It wasn't until I became accustomed to the elves' manners that I noticed the difference in the glìssom's behavior.

         It was because of this well perceived anxiety that Àros personally escorted Yàrì and me back to the city.  The three of us followed a path that widened into a road of flat, white stones.  We marched past the ivy-covered homes of slender shapes (elves tend to live in homes with at least three levels) and headed straight towards the elven castle that I called home.

         Unlike human castles, this structure was not built to withstand attacks from enemies.  It was quite sturdy in looks, but with its edges covered in thin lines of silver and towers that glittered under even the faintest of lights, it was more of a decorative marvel than a refuge in times of war.  The walls had no battlements and were only as tall as I was.  I often climbed over them even when the brass gate was open just as a simple challenge to myself.

         I led the way up the western staircase and down a short hallway to a door with a rounded top and silver handle.  I flung the door open and jogged in, more for Àros's benefit than because I felt the need to hurry.  The elves came even with me as I rushed on, one to each side, and we all stopped together after a very short run.

         Lùthìlm paced in the center of his room, a place second in size only to the feasting hall.  He wore a floor-length white robe that trailed behind him as he walked so that when he desired to go in the opposite direction, he had to make wide turns so as not to step on the garment.  He made two passes before speaking to us.  "I have troubling news," he said, as he continued to pace.

         I had learned not to ask many questions of my adopted father even when he made statements that seemed to beg the most obvious of inquires, so I simply waited for him to tell us what the news was.  "Fairies have spoken to me this morning.  It seems that dwarves have gone beyond the southern end of the Undain Mountains."

         "That is against the newest revision to the treaty," Yàrì said.  "Why would they do that?"

         "They're going to take more slaves," I said.  There were times when I felt like I was in Uthov's head, knowing what he knew and understanding decisions based on his greedy, self-justifying manner.

         "The fairies did not tell the reason for the dwarves' advance, but my son is in that area with only a few elves to assist him.  He does not have the power to keep the dwarves in check.  I'm sending fifty more to aid him.  This is not to be a military strike but simply a show of force so that these dwarves will turn back."

         Lùthìlm stopped moving and looked at me closely.  "I have to send you with the rest, Klevtrìth."  His hand reached up to my shoulder.  "The fairies said that it is Onarre's will for you to go."  I watched his eyes as they collected the wetness of tears.  His news was both exciting and terrible at the same time.

         "Then you must send me as well, my lord," Yàrì said.  "I cannot remain behind while he goes on."

         The glìssom looked to the younger elf and slowly nodded.  "You shall go then.  Àros will lead you."

         Àros took a step towards Lùthìlm in order to look at all of us.  "Take what war gear you can carry and meet south of the city."  He nodded quickly and then walked away.  Over his shoulder he called out, "And Klevtrìth, take the horse so that you don't hinder us."

         I took the old elf's hand in mine.  "Pàpo," I said (for that is how the elves address their own fathers), "should something grave happen to me, I want you to know that I appreciate all you and the elves have done for me.  I love you."

         Lùthìlm now wept openly.  At the tug of my hand, I knelt before him, and we embraced.  As we shared tears, I felt that this was now the second father I would lose.  He seemed to read my thoughts because he then said, "I will always be your father, but this is your time to rise and become a man.  You are not mine to raise anymore but only to counsel and encourage.  Consider this task a doorway into adulthood, my son, first son of the elves."

         I could only bear to be within Lùthìlm's presence for a short time after he assigned me to the group departing.  It was good to have an immediate task after leaving his room to keep my mind and hands busy rather than dwelling upon all the thoughts of sadness that stirred within.  I harnessed all energy into equipping myself with gifts the elves had given me for warfare.

         After tightening leather garments on my arms, legs and torso, I began to fasten together my plated armor piece by piece.  Their ways of crafting armor allowed for self-dressing, one of many things humans would be wise to learn from the elves.  Though I was becoming heavier with each addition to my body, the armor did not have the same bulky look as the plate mail that the dwarves wore; elven-made armor was made for each individual and fit the body as though adding a layer of scales.  When all but my head was concealed, I donned a helmet and then girded my waist with the warrior's belt I had on earlier in the day, which held my scabbard-clad knives.

         Yàrì bounded into my room.  "Not ready, yet?" he asked.  "What have you been doing?"

         I laughed as I took a quiver packed with arrows down from the wall.  "I've never seen you so excited."

         "This is my first time back out," he said.  "I enjoy Sàoìs, but this elf's heart is one that wanders over all lands, especially anything near mountains."

         "An elf interested in mountains," I remarked.  "I can't believe what I'm hearing."

         While I laughed, he took my bow and hung it over my shoulder (as though I might never get to the job myself).  "Don't make me sound like a dwarf.  Just see that we're out on our way, now, lad."

         Àros and the other departing elves appeared as though all was well, but I knew they had been waiting on account of me.  Elves have a subtle way of showing disapproval by refusing to look you in the eyes even if you speak directly to them.  They watched me, of course, but they would not make eye contact.

         I sat in the saddle of the only horse within Sàoìs, one they had purchased from humans on my behalf.  He was an experienced warhorse, but I was not an experienced rider.  In fact, I considered it a good day if I managed not to be thrown off, which happened at least once on most days that I rode.  I had named the horse Sadìn, which I thought meant ‘strong' (I was still in the process of building my elven vocabulary at the time), but the word actually means ‘morning'.  Even when I realized what I had actually named him, I felt it was wrong to change his name after the fact, so Sadìn he remained.

         At Àros's command, the elves surged southward.  There is nothing that quite prepares the human mind for seeing elves move with haste, no matter how many times it is observed.  It seems an incongruity with nature itself that a race closely resembling children can run at such speeds that rival that of horses.  Perhaps it was equally remarkable to them that I could not move faster than what they considered a march, even if I sprinted flat-out.

         Sadìn rode hard at first to keep the elves' brutal pace, but they slowed some as we turned to the west, giving my horse a chance to breathe easier.  Yàrì ran beside him, extending his legs in long strides and touching the earth with only the front-most part of his shoes with each kick.  He smiled to me and said, "You're missing the enjoyment of this run while you sit up there.  Such a pity."  He was sincere, but I don't think he realized the absurdity of the statement.

         Our only rest that day came near sundown, and it was brief.  We ate and drank and then took off again, this time heading perfectly southwest.  During the evening, we left Sàoìs completely and passed south of a small town just before we crossed the Towamer River on a crude, man-made bridge.

         When we were on the far side of the river, I realized my sleepiness and begged for a halt.  The elves are quite capable of doing away with sleep for any number of days, if they so choose, and though I very much wanted to behave in a like manner, I was unable to do so.  When one of them voiced a complaint, Yàrì reminded them that Onarre himself willed for me to go along, and that since Onarre was well aware of my human limits, it must therefore be right to rest as I had need.  No one else uttered anything against the stop, and with a thankful heart, I prayed briefly and then fell instantly asleep.

         The days that followed took us through more of the lands that humans controlled and fought over.  There were an ample number of roads, even if some were simple dirt paths, but the elves preferred to move across the open country rather than risking encounters with humans who could misunderstand our intent.  Of course, I would hardly blame any of my race for reacting in a panic if they happened to see fifty well-armed elves streaming along.

         Navom passed into the month of Idàs.  Evenings became cool, especially as we drew near the mountains.  I was lost in the journey itself; the monotony of rising, eating, riding and sleeping faded together into a single point of my life.  It wasn't this way when I left the old world to come to the elves, but I had been younger then and without knowledge of anything outside of Besann.  Knowing what lies ahead (or even assuming what might) quells the imagination.

         On one of the mornings after a long night of travel, Yàrì woke me.  While I was still separating myself from nightmares of being trapped in total darkness, he said several things to me.  "Slow down, Yàrì," I said, "and tell me again."

         He took a shallow breath.  "I asked if you recognized this place."

         We were in a forest, I knew.  There wasn't much to see; the two of us appeared to be surrounded by tall bushes.  I stood and walked the enclosed perimeter, touching the rough stems of the plants and snapping some of the smaller ones off between my fingers.  "Was this an old camp?" I asked.

         The elf nodded.  "This is a camp you know."

         I circled around quickly as memories flickered back to me.  "You led me here after you found me in Besann.  I came in through here," I said, throwing my arm into one of the shrubs.  "Then I met Idìlm."

         "You remember well," he said.  "We have returned to your old home."

         "Why didn't you tell me last night?"

         "I tried, Klevtrìth, but you wanted nothing but sleep after those few extra miles."

         Now fully awake, I crashed through some of the foliage to leave the camp.  Sadìn stood twenty feet away, grazing silently.  I heard Yàrì come through behind me as I surveyed the forest.  "Where are the others?" I asked.

         "Searching for Idìlm.  We thought he would be here, and I am surprised he is not.  This morning, Àros split everyone into small parties and sent them in different directions.  They will return by noon, and I pray that one group contains Idìlm."

         Before the noon hour came, I heard the sounds of elves moving towards us.  "You're back early," Yàrì called out, though we could not yet see those coming.

         "I would say we are back rather late."  They entered our sight as he spoke, but had I given it much thought, I would have known the speaker by his voice alone.

         Yàrì laughed.  "Idìlm, where were you hiding?  Most of our company has dispersed to filter you out of the area."

         Idìlm looked nearly the same as the day I had met him five years ago.  The only exception was the expression he wore on his face.  Even the silliness of Yàrì's laughter could not break through the dour bulwark.

         The elf nodded to his four followers, and they left our presence.  Idìlm said to me,  "I hardly recognize you.  You've grown much in stature, and your boyish looks have left your face."  When I smiled, he added, "Do not become arrogant, for you are still young."

         Yàrì started to speak, but Idìlm spoke over him.  "We've tracked all dwarves that left the mountain borders.  Several months ago, there were perhaps one or two that dared to do so.  We confronted those individuals, but they did not speak ìloâ, and I could utter but a few of their words."

         "Perhaps an arrow at their feet would have served as better communication," I said.

         "You do not understand what it means to keep peace with dwarves," Idìlm said.  "An arrow at a dwarf's feet would be the same as an arrow through his shoulder.  No, you must show your strength in numbers without resorting to such pointed rebukes as you suggest.  I have seen two wars with the dwarves in my lifetime, and I have no wish to see another."

         I turned my eyes from his.  There wasn't enough strength in my spirit to hold the gaze.  "If I may continue," he said, "our previous encounters with the dwarves that violated the treaty were simple matters.  Four weeks ago, a host of more than fifty walked south along the western side of the Undains and did not stop at the end of the mountains, but I knew I could not oppose them."

         Many of the search parties returned as Idìlm spoke to us, including Àros.  Idìlm held his hand up to our leader, and he matched the motion, their fingertips pressing together momentarily.  "Your father has released us to your command," Àros said.  "Let us speak privately so that you can share without burdening everyone needlessly."

         "We will need to speak as we move, then," Idìlm said.  "We found the dwarves again three nights ago.  They are moving north, following the humans' road.  If we are quick, we can meet them this very afternoon."

         Had I been in one of the search parties, I would have been quite unnerved to find that not only was Idìlm at the camp by his own accord, but that I had walked all morning only to move on again without any meal at all.  When the passive-faced elves did not complain on this point, I recognized my own lack of discipline.  I was glad to escape from their trial (even if they didn't view it as such), but my nerves would be tested in other ways. 

         The first difficulty for me that day was when we entered the road at the top of a hill.  Sadìn turned in a half-circle when at the apex, and I could see down into Besann.  It was as absent of people as the day I had left, the haunting memory of a past that should not have been.

         "Don't look there, lad," Yàrì said.  "Keep your eyes south, and follow along with us."  His voice was clear, but it took me a moment to break my stare.  I scanned the foreground of buildings and rested my eyes upon the butcher's shop, the last place I had been before all the stitching that held me to innocent boyhood had been ripped free.

         "Klevtrìth, let's go."  His tone had dropped, and at last I escaped Besann's grasp upon me.

         I prepared myself long before we were near my old house.  Sadìn galloped without my guidance for a mile until I was certain that whatever remained of that place was out of view.  Then I brought my hands away from my helmet and again took the reigns.

         When I felt like my senses were beginning to return to normal, we slowed.  The road curved away east, but before this turn, a dozen dwarves stood with battle-axes in hand.  One of them shouted, "No elves!  Go!"

         Idìlm strode within fifty yards of them.  "You have violated our treaty.  This land is not open to you."

         The dwarf growled at the word ‘treaty'.  "Treaty wrong.  Elves wrong," he said.  "Go!"

         Idìlm continued to dialogue with them, but they now started speaking in their own language.  Their representative set the head of his axe on the ground and leaned the handle against his leg.  He gestured towards the group of dwarves and pointed north.  Then he motioned to the elves and spread his arms apart.

         "You may pass this time," Idìlm said, "but the treaty is right.  Do not return here again, or you risk your own lives."

         The dwarf spat.  "Agree," he replied.

         "Stand aside," Idìlm said to us, and we split nearly down the middle to leave the road open for the dwarves.  I was on the same side of the road as Yàrì, but he didn't look up at me.  It made me wonder if he felt the same loss of respect for Idìlm as I did.

         Three more dwarves came around the bend to join the others.  There was a brief discussion and some laughs, and then they started marching forward together.  I heard something else lumbering behind them, and two great animals with spiraled horns thumped their way into the curve.  Behind them came their burden: a large, empty cage. 

         "They were intending to take slaves," I said, but my voice was quieter than I desired.  Yàrì said nothing.

         Another cart lurched forward under a different team of beasts, but this one contained a horrible cargo.  People huddled against the sides, holding the bars and one another for support.  When they saw us standing to the sides, they called out in my native language.  At first I struggled to make sense of the words, but they soon resonated deep in my mind.  "Help!  Help us, please!"

         I looked upon a younger girl who clung to a woman's leg.  Her eyes met mine, and all I could think of was my youngest sister, Nadelle.  The longer I looked, the more I envisioned my sister's face until that was all I saw.

         I can't describe what it felt like to see Nadelle in that wagon, but I was surprised to find anger rising above all my other emotions.  Some people will argue that anger is always wrong, but even Onarre's wrath can be kindled.  In that moment, I had a justified anger, but I knew I would not likely keep it from spilling over into unjust rage.

         There were two dwarves now between the cart and me.  One of them spoke harshly to the people.  When their pleadings continued, the dwarf took hold of one man's arm and jerked him into the bars, head first.

         Suddenly, Sadìn darted forward.  I looked at my hands, and they were whipping down the reigns.  Though I was in control, I was a spectator at the same time, wondering what actions I might take next.

         My steed turned about as it came to the two dwarves and kicked one aside with his hind legs.  I had never trained Sadìn to do such things, and the sudden buck threw me from the saddle.  On the ground, I struggled to get to my feet, sensing the ensuing danger of the situation.

         The second dwarf stomped towards me with axe raised.  My knives flashed out of their sheaths, and I stepped forward with my right leg in one of the many fighting stances I had learned.  The dwarf's first strike went wide as I leapt aside.  I answered almost immediately, but he already had his axe positioned to block both of my attacks.

         To avoid his next swing, I took two steps backwards.  My armor weighed me down, though, and I felt unbalanced.  The dwarf, likely noticing my faltering stance, lowered his shoulder and rammed me.  Again on the ground, all I could do was pray that the coming blow would not be fatal.

         Instead of killing me, he groaned and toppled over.  I crawled to where he lay with my knives at the ready, but I paused as I saw an arrow extending from his throat.  Turning back towards the side of the road, I saw Idìlm holding his bow in front of himself, his fingers still on the string.

         "Hurry, free us!" shouted an older woman.  It was but one outburst among many, not only from those in the cage but also from the elves.

         Up ahead, the leading dwarves barked out, "Vâsdân!  Vâsdân!"  In their language, the word means ‘war'.

         I sheathed my knives and took the fallen dwarf's axe from his dead hands.  After running towards the still-moving cart, I took hold of one of the bars and hoisted myself up onto a small platform that extended past the bars.  There was but one lock hanging from the cage door, and I heaved the axe with my all.  The axe smashed through the lock and wrenched the door ajar in one blow.

         While I helped everyone to the ground, the dwarves from the front of the caravan engaged the elves in battle.  I later learned that three elves died in this exchange, and all the dwarves were felled.  Indeed, though all this took place, it was a relatively short event, for it had ended by the time the cart was emptied.

         The remaining dwarves had not yet revealed themselves along our stretch of the road.  More beast-drawn carts appeared, but only two held people.  It was my job to release the prisoners, but we did not impede the beasts, which seemed not to care that anything significant was happening but continued their course at the same steady pace.

         From the south, I heard voices.  The low tones of the dwarves' chants rose in strength intermittently.  I have seen human armies stir themselves into a frenzy before battle, but the rituals of dwarves, including the chants, are of a more somber kind.  Often they cut one another and smear their own blood onto their axe heads, believing they are whetting the appetites of the weapons.

         I sent the humans on to the north and rejoined the elves.  We stood as one group massed in the center of the road, and it was otherwise still around us.  All bows were set with arrows and trained either towards the bend of the road or towards the trees to the southeast.

         With a mighty yell, the dwarves thundered out of the woods.  I fired without taking aim, so shaken was I by their noise and sudden advance.  The elves were more cautious with their shots, but the dwarves held metal shields before themselves that blocked the more accurate arrows.  Only one dwarf fell from the volley, and there was no time for a second.

         While I was still clutching my bow and considering what to do, the elves had already shouldered their bows and took to their knives.  Had they all been as slow as me, none would have survived, but these elves were not inexperienced.  Many, like Idìlm, had fought against dwarves before.

         There was a tight row of elves in front of me.  An elf to the left took a full hit from an axe in the chest.  Though elven-made armor is the best, the loud crack signaled a breech.  The elf spun around and then went down.

         Before I could step into the gap, two elves crowded in and slew the dwarf who had killed their friend.  More holes opened and were quickly filled, but I remained in the second row.  I could smell the dwarves and hear their hoarse breathing, but I could not get within striking distance.

         Our line was falling back.  It was a small step at a time, but the dwarves pressed us to the point that we were now off the road completely.  "Hold!" Idìlm shouted over the din.

         At once, a dwarf crashed through the line, his arms spread apart and mouth uttering a spirited cry.  I flew upon him, piercing him between two of the plates in his mail with one of my knives.  He in turn hammered me with his shield, and though I was stunned, I kept to my feet this time.

         The injured dwarf pivoted to bring his axe-bearing arm around.  I stepped towards the danger and deflected it away with the knife in my left hand before he had gained much momentum.  Twirling my bloodstained weapon to point down, I jabbed down into the dwarf and felt the blade chip off one of his plates and sink down to the handle.

         Soon after my fatal attack, the dwarf slowed his movements.  Where he fell I didn't see, because the battle was now all around.  My attention was instead split between two combats close by – each involving a single elf and dwarf; if either elf lost, I would be sparring again.

         Our advantage in numbers seemed not to matter, and for a moment I wondered whether we would live through the battle at all.  As I began to worry over my next challenger, there were new voices shouting out.  Men who had been in the dwarf cages joined the battle bearing the axes of fallen dwarves.

         It is a strange sight to see men dressed in the clothing of peasants engaged against mail-clad warriors.  Their valor was more impressive than any other feats of heroism I witnessed throughout the war.  These were untrained men, but many were hearty farmers who had used axes to fell quite a number of trees in the past.

         The dwarves could not defend against the elves and the humans, but they would not readily surrender.  In fact, the only dwarves to live through the battle were those who had been injured or forcefully disarmed.  Some of the men wanted to slay the remaining lot, but I spoke to their senses.  "We shall send them back to where they came from," I said.  "Return one of the carts here, and bind them inside.  The beasts will return them to Deřvinâss."

         I turned to Idìlm for his approval.  "You speak wisely," he said in the men's language.

         Yàrì tied a rope around the door of the cage and secured it firmly in place.  The twists were simple, but each elf's knot is unique, and only the one who makes the knot can undo it.  One of the dwarves growled at his inability to tear the rope free as the cart began to move north.

         We suffered many casualties in this first battle.  Twenty-three elves lay dead, and six others bore noticeable wounds.  Three men had been killed in the fight as well, and these the elves grieved as their own.

         By evening, I was asked to join a gathering between Idìlm, Àros and two of the men.  We sat around a small fire, talking about the day's events.  I shared how I had come to be with the elves, and the story of their town was much like Besann.

         "There are many towns like this throughout the region," one of the men said.  "The neighboring lands to the east are too busy with their own wars to take notice of us, so we have lived in peace for so long."

         "Had the dwarves kept their treaty with us, your peace might have endured for longer still," Idìlm said, "but it has ended for certain now.  We cannot reasonably defend your land, and the dwarves will all but certainly come against you when Uthov learns that it was the strength of both elves and humans that overtook his warriors today."

         "Are there others like him whom you could send?" the man asked, pointing towards me.

         Idìlm smiled.  "I wish it were so.  No, he is the only one, but we will give him leave to serve among the humans."  He turned to look at me.  "That is, if you choose to do so, Klevtrìth."

         Each time my life crossed Idìlm's, an important decision presented itself.  Onarre used Idìlm to guide me towards my full purpose, but it was my choice each time to either pursue Onarre's cause or retreat to another way that may have been easier.  I recalled some of Onarre's recorded words that the elves taught me: "You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart."  I sought Onarre in that moment, and the answer came quite suddenly.  "I will go with the humans," I said, "and do my best to rally them to this cause, as you hoped for me to do when I first met you.  We will be your allies to the south through this war.  Do not forget us, even if our lives are quickly extinguished."

         The great elf shed a tear from each eye.  "Klevtrìth, we will not forget your race.  And we will never forget you, our beloved first son."

Continued next month...

 

Copyright 2006, Matthew Wuertz

Matthew Wuertz is a computer programmer by day and fantasy writer by night.  The Sword Review is the first magazine in which his works have appeared.  Matthew and his wife reside in Indianapolis, Indiana along with three cats and an ever-changing number of fish.  To learn more about Matthew, please visit his website: www.matthewwuertz.com. 

 

 

Cover: "Viking Funeral"

Copyright 2006, Karl Eschenbach

Karl Eschenbach was born in 1950, right in the middle of the last century. He was raised in a military family and traveled throughout the United States. He survived college in the 60's and 70's, and is now a grandfather in Albuquerque, NM. 

He has had 15 illustrations, 15 short stories, two essays and one poem published.