War Of The Wildlands(39)

“Let’s see how well you can copy a line of runes,” Darin said. “Grab some scrap metal and give it a try. Don’t worry about it blowing up on you. The runes you etch won’t have any magical properties to them just yet.”

Slowly, Yori began to etch the same runes onto the scrap metal that his grandfather had etched onto the arrow tips. Still unfamiliar with the symbols, he would pause halfway through each line to double check the shape of the rune. He did not intend for a single rune to look different from his grandfather’s. If he could not yet imbue them with magic, he would certainly learn to etch the correct shape in the meantime. Once he had finally finished, he pushed the scrap metal toward his grandfather for inspection.

Bending down close to the runes, Darin said, “This is very good for a first try. This would actually be good for tenth try.” He smiled at Yori and nodded approvingly. “You’re going to be good at this,” he said. “I can already tell.”

Relieved, Yori finally remembered to exhale. He smiled back at his grandfather, who was beaming with pride. Yori had proven himself a fast learner. Now all he had to do was memorize the runes, learn what to etch for a desired effect, and unlock the magical secrets that would give the runes their power. The thought made him nervous but excited too. Before him was the opportunity to do something very few elves could do. As a half-breed he had always been treated as an undesirable. Now he had the chance to become something special.





Chapter 23




Moving quietly through the forest, Reylin scouted ahead of his warriors. He stopped suddenly, hearing footsteps nearby. Just ahead, a small caravan was heading south just outside of Na’zora’s border. Reylin wondered who would be stupid enough to travel away from the road in a war zone. He sprinted back to his kinsmen to deliver the news.

“Essa,” he said as he reached the group. “There’s a small caravan ahead. It looked like merchants, and I saw no guards escorting them.”

“Let’s get them, then,” she said with a smile.

Drawing their weapons, the warriors advanced through the forest to meet the caravan. The wagons stopped short as the elves emerged from the woods. Arrows began to fly through the air, catching the wagon drivers before they knew what hit them. The maidens rushed to open the doors of the rear carriage and ordered the men inside to step out.

A finely dressed man in a feathered hat emerged slowly from the carriage, followed by a balding man with a round, protruding belly. “Don’t kill us! Please!” the fat man begged, falling to his knees.

Essa could not abide a cowardly man, and she ran him through without a second thought. The finely dressed man held up his arms in surrender and remained silent.

Reylin approached the man and asked, “What kind of dumbass leads a caravan through a war zone?”

“Apparently a dead one,” the man replied.

Reylin laughed. “What was your purpose here?”

“I collect taxes for King Domren,” the man responded. “We had confiscated some goods from merchants who refused to pay their fair share. I was taking them back to the palace district.”

“You were going the wrong way,” Reylin said. “It seems to me you were taking them someplace other than to your pig king.”

“The king does not need all of these items. I was bringing them to the market myself and would have given him the profits.”

Again Reylin laughed. “I’m sure you would have. You’re an important man I take it?”

“I am,” he replied. “I am also very wealthy and will fetch a good ransom should you return me safely to my family.”

“I don’t bargain with Na’zorans,” Reylin replied, his eyes cold and full of hate. “You bring gold to a king who uses it to murder my people. You don’t deserve to live.”

“Reylin,” Essa said. “Maybe he’s right, and we could trade him for more weapons.”

“You want to trust this one? What’s wrong with you?”

“I want to do whatever will be best for our kind,” she said, shaking her head. “If he’s important, the humans might retaliate.”

“They’re going to retaliate anyway. Have you forgotten what happened to our village?”

The archers were growing impatient with the conversation, and one of them yelled, “Burn him!” Several voices spoke up in agreement.

“No,” Reylin said. “Let’s peel the skin from his bones and send him home.”

The elves cheered at the suggestion and rushed in to perform the grizzly deed. The man screamed and flailed as the elves descended upon him, stabbing him repeatedly with their knives. When they had finished, nothing remained of a man except a red mass of flesh. They loaded the remains into the wagon, and Reylin turned the horses to face east. With a slap of his hand, he sent the horses racing towards Duana. He only wished he could hear their screams when they opened the wagon to discover the grim spectacle within.