The One Rider (Ashandor Chronicles) Page 10

  “Klan’d’ron sends his warmest greetings,” the elf continued. “I am Fler’d’roh. This is Gler’d’roh, Sler’d’roh and Vler’d’roh. I think you know our sister,” he said.

  “Yes,” laughed Skarson. “I believe I do.”

  Fler’d’roh frowned, unsure of the joke. “I hope she was of service.”

  “Yes,” answered Skarson. “Thank you. Cler’d’roh was the perfect choice. Her service was invaluable.”

  Fler’d’roh bowed and continued, “Father will be pleased. I bring news from the council. Your plan has been approved. We are to lend whatever assistance you may need.” He pointed to the other elves. “My brothers and I are prepared to accompany you on your journey.”

  “I am truly honored by your gracious offer,” replied Skarson, bowing deeply, “but I am sure you understand that I must go alone. With all due respect, the presence of fair folk

  might complicate matters.”

  “I fully understand,” replied Fler’d’roh. “However, if you would allow, we will accompany you as far as the Raen Mountains. That should cause no upset to your plan. Morts run thick over the flatlands, and I would be remiss if I failed to offer you safe passage.”

  Skarson did not relish encountering a Mort raiding party by himself. He quickly agreed. The elves pulled the deep hoods over their heads and followed him to the stables where they bought horses for their journey and gathered provisions. Skarson and the four elven brothers raced westward across the flatlands.

  CHAPTER 20

  "Forest dwellers

  tall and strong;

  Warriors one and all.

  Artisans and singers with

  an other-worldly call.

  Archers all and long

  in sight with never

  failing aim.

  Wild of eye

  and woodsmen sure,

  no hint

  of being tame.

  A tongue of beauty,

  to the point;

  No extra words

  to spare.

  An elf defines

  the beauty

  of the word

  we know as fair.”

  -Epic Poem

  “Fair Folk of Grad’d’har"

  “Come quick,” called Galdor. “You have to see this.”

  Valaron followed as they made their way to the edge of the encampment where a growing number of men stood pointing into the distance and talking loudly. Valaron shaded his eyes, looked out over the field, and saw a column of elves marching toward the rebel camp.

  The warriors, set in ranks of twenty, stretched into the distance and he guessed their numbers to be about fifteen-hundred strong. Each elf carried a shield covered in hammered gold, a longbow over his shoulder, and a quiver full of arrows. Long thin swords hung by their sides. Golden helms reflected the sunlight in blinding flashes.

  “This just gets better and better,” said Galdor, grinning broadly. “A regiment of elves on our side might actually give us a chance at victory.”

  Valaron nodded in agreement. The elf warriors were an impressive lot. Their tall, straight ranks moved in long strides across the open field. While still some distance from the camp, the column of elves halted. A lone runner sprinted across the field to where Valaron and Galdor were standing.

  “The Second to the Captain of the King’s Guard asks permission to join your forces,” he said.

  “Of course,” replied Valaron. “But wait,” he said, looking confused. “I thought that Cler’d’roh was the Second to Glan’d’roh.”

  “It is as you say,” replied the elf. “She requests your company for dinner.”

  “Yes. Of course.” Before Valaron could say another word, the runner was gone, sprinting back to the column of archers. Valaron marveled at the elf’s speed as he effortlessly raced across the field.

  “So,” Galdor said, a sly grin on his lips. “You know the Captain of the elven army. You are just full of surprises.”

  Valaron returned the grin and looked at the smithy. “Well here is one more little surprise,” he said, laying his finger on Galdor’s chest. “You will be joining us for dinner.” He turned and quickly walked away leaving Galdor staring after him, mouth hanging open.

  Just after dark, Valaron and Galdor walked the short distance to where the elves made their camp. The two men approached a large, ornate tent outlined in red braid trim. The shield of Klan’d’ron was woven into the fabric of the door with vibrant greens, yellows, and reds. Two elven guards flanking the opening remained at attention as the two men pushed through the tent flap and entered Cler’d’roh’s quarters. Furnishings consisted mostly of multi-colored pillows of varying sizes for seating and one low table. Candles illuminated dishes of steaming food. An oil lamp hung from a support near the back corner of the tent where Cler’d’roh waited.

  “Valaron!” She walked over and embraced him.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “As well as you look,” she answered. Her green eyes danced behind a fall of red hair.

  Valaron pointed to his friend and made introductions. “This is Galdor, Captain of the rebel army. Galdor, this is Cler’d’roh, Second in command of the King’s Guard.”

  “Slaktol,” Galdor said, greeting Cler’d’roh in the elven tongue.

  “Shanroh,” she replied, bowing her head and motioning for them to be seated.

  They took their places on the soft cushions and Valaron leaned over to Galdor. “What was that about being full of surprises?” he whispered. “When did you learn to speak elven?”

  “You will find that I have my own little secrets,” whispered Galdor. His eyes danced in the candlelight.

  “My father sent as many warriors as he could spare,” said Cler’d’roh as they ate their evening meal. “He also sends his hopes for victory. There is a small matter of Morts in the forest that should be cleared up quickly, after which he hopes to send more archers to join us when we reach Kalador.”

  “We are grateful for the King’s support as well as that of your father,” replied Valaron.

  Cler’d’roh’s face darkened. “There are forces at work around us, Valaron,” she said in hushed voice. “The King’s time is at hand. There is a new hope in Ashandor as once again elves and humans walk as friends. Not since the war against Maladron has such an allegiance been forged. Also know this, there are unseen currents and eddies swirling through our time. I cannot tell you all that I know, but rest assured we are not alone in our struggle.”

  “I trust you,” replied Valaron. “I just hope that your unspoken help arrives in time. We have more forces to gather, but I am waiting for word from Skarson before we leave Aelor.”

  “Very well,” she said. “We will await your orders. I was instructed to place myself at your disposal.” She turned to Galdor and continued, “It would seem that I have the honor of being under your command.”

  “It is I who am honored,” Galdor replied as he bowed his head.

  After the meal was finished, they talked long into the night. Just as Valaron and Galdor prepared to leave, an elf entered the tent and took Cler’d’roh aside. He stood a full head taller than Cler’d’roh, golden hair braided at both temples. His chiseled features reminded Valaron of a statue. The elf watched the two men as he spoke to Cler’d’roh in whispers. Turning, she said to Valaron, “It seems a messenger has arrived looking for you. Pen’d’roh will take you to him.”

  They said their good-byes and Galdor left to return to the rebel camp. Valaron followed Pen’d’roh to another tent where the messenger was waiting. Two elven warriors stood guard in front of the door and stepped aside as Valaron approached.

  A tall man with long black hair was sitting at the back of the tent. He stood as Valaron entered. Bright, hazel eyes and a tanned face made him look younger than he was. A straight back added to his youthful appearance.

  “A Lone Rider,” Valaron thought to himself, eyeing the familiar scimitar with matching dagger. “I am Valaron,” he offered. �
��You have a message for me?”

  “Yes,” he replied bowing. “I am Dolsanor, friend of Carloe, the one you know as Skarson. He asks that you take your forces to Klastor as soon as possible. They have five hundred of their own men and two thousand volunteers from the outlying areas waiting to join you. Raenor sends a force of unknown size that will also join you in Klastor. When they arrive, you are to march on Kalador and engage the King’s army. Carloe regrets that other matters will prevent him from joining you. May victory be swift and sure.” Dolsanor bowed and left the tent.

  Valaron stood alone, his thoughts racing. He was stunned that Skarson would not be there for the battle. He had thought all along that his friend would lead the forces against Kalador. Now that task fell on his shoulders, and for the first time, Valaron felt the weight of duty pressing in on him.

  Frustrated, he left the tent and returned across the field to find Galdor waiting at the edge of the camp. “Our scouts report that a large Mort garrison is racing across the flatlands just northwest of us,” he reported. “They are less than two days away.”

  The young dragon rider raked his hair back out of his eyes. “A single garrison is no match for us now that the elves have arrived. Send word through both camps,” he said. “We march for Klastor at first light.”

  CHAPTER 21

  "A man of power

  rises to such

  as other's never know.

  With time, grace

  and mercy fall away.

  A man of power

  seizes much

  makes his kingdom grow.

  With time, blackness

  fills his day.

  A man of power learns

  to covet

  the evil he meant

  to overthrow

  With time,

  his countenance

  turns to gray."

  -Poem "Fall From Grace"

  Valaron sipped his tea. The effects of Cler’d’roh’s herbs were fast and potent. His mind began to quickly shake off the fog of sleep. Valaron offered his cup to Galdor who sniffed the pungent tea and handed it back, shaking his head.

  “No thank you,” he said, grimacing at the smell.

  “It will be light soon,” Valaron said. “Are we ready to move?”

  “Within the hour,” replied Galdor.

  The rebels and elves struck camp. They moved out due east to open the distance between themselves and the nearby Mort garrison. They altered their course in the late afternoon to head toward Klastor. The elves established runners to stay in touch with the rear scouts and keep Galdor apprised of any change in their situation.

  Valaron and Draegon flew low to keep from being seen. They sped ahead of the massed armies, reporting back at regular intervals. The young dragon rider thought how good it was to be flying again. They spent most of their time racing back and forth over the trail that led to Klastor, skimming the ground at incredible speeds. Valaron would lean out to the side, swing his scimitar, and take the tops off of small trees. He quickly became more proficient, and the training gave him a renewed sense of purpose.

  The elves formed into two columns that marched on either side of the volunteers, providing a line of defense that protected the rebels from having their ranks penetrated. Galdor appointed Carlton, the butcher from Frensville, as commander of the rear guard. His job was to keep the forces together and lead any battle that might arise from an attack at the rear of the column.

  Cler’d’roh, accompanied by twenty-five elven warriors, walked beside Galdor as he rode at the head of the rebel column. They spoke together in the elven tongue. Cler’d’roh corrected Galdor’s pronunciation and clarified points of grammar.

  Each night when they made camp, the elves encircled the rebels in a ring of protection. The days were hot and humid, but the evenings cooled down quickly from the chilly winds blowing across the flatlands. Small fires were scattered throughout the camp and groups of men sat around them, talking and playing cards as well as any other diversions they could find to keep their minds off their weariness. The elves stayed to themselves. They spent most of their time checking weapons and practicing skills. The sharp ringing of swords could be heard late into the night throughout their camp.

  Valaron spent his evenings with Cler’d’roh and Galdor, eating and talking, but retiring early. The young rider slept a fair distance from the camps, curled up under Draegon’s wing. The two had become nearly inseparable. They spent much of their time together singing the Dragon Songs. Valaron found that he preferred to spend his time with Draegon. Cler’d’roh was the only one who gave him any joy. He loved her company and looked forward to their evening meals together.

  On the twenty-first day since leaving Aelor, the massed armies forded the Greater Bael river and made camp in the fields outside of Klastor, a hub of commerce that bartered textiles and clothing between the other villages. Klastor was a sprawling city, and the mills that turned out bolts of fabric were located in the center of town. Large open rooms housed row upon row of looms where threads were woven into fabric that supplied the local tradesmen. They, in turn, provided materials for the many tailor shops and dress makers that lined the streets. A brimming garment industry made this the richest city in the kingdom. It also served as the gateway to Kalador. Travelers to and from the palace city made their way through Klastor on their journeys. Several public houses kept up a brisk business, all well known for their generous hospitality.

  When they made camp, Valaron sang the Feeding Song and Draegon ate his fill of meat bought in the city. The dragon was soon snoring loudly, Valaron fast asleep by his side.

  More volunteers streamed from the city the following day, and by evening, twenty-two hundred men joined the rebellion. Most carried only short swords and daggers. Some of the men wore chain-mail coats while a few were afforded the luxury of a shield. The resistance now numbered more than four thousand men and elves.

  Kalador was only fourteen days march from Klastor, and the men were beginning to show signs of the pressure. Small fights broke out among some of the villagers, and two Elves were set upon by a small band of loud-mouthed fishermen who tried to provoke them into a fight. One of the men grabbed an elf by the shoulder. The unlucky trouble maker suffered a dislocated shoulder and broken nose.

  “We will have to move soon before they all turn on each other,” grumbled Galdor. “This waiting is making everyone irritable.”

  “It will not be long now,” replied Valaron. “As soon as the force arrives from Raenor, we will be ready to march. Where is Carlton?” he asked.

  “I have not seen him since we arrived.” answered Galdor.

  “Find him,” said Valaron, “and the two of you distribute the spare arms. We must get everyone outfitted as quickly as possible.”

  Cler’d’roh and Pen’d’roh walked up as Galdor left to find Carlton. “Your men are causing some problems,” she said.

  “I know,” answered Valaron. “I am sorry. We are doing what we can to keep things calm.”

  “It might be best if I ordered my men to stay away from your camp,” offered Cler’d’roh. “I cannot be responsible for what they will do if they feel truly threatened.”

  “That’s probably best,” Valaron agreed. “The forces from Raenor should be here soon. I am certain things will settle down once we are back on the move.”

  Cler’d’roh nodded to Pen’d’roh and he turned and walked back toward the elven camp.

  Valaron made tea and sat by the fire with Cler’d’roh.

  “I hope you have some idea of what will be waiting for us at Kalador,” she said.

  “Rumors say that Praelix has nearly ten thousand Morts under his command,” replied Valaron. “I expect that most of his force is gathering at the palace.” He slowly shook his head.

  “Something is bothering you.”

  “I am not sure that I can do this, Cler’d’roh.” The young dragon rider looked around at the encampment. “I thought Skarson would be here to lead the men int
o battle. I never wanted to be in charge.” He kicked the fire and sparks whirled into the air, rising quickly, burning out as the wind carried them away. “What if I let everyone down?”

  “When the time comes, you will find the right path.” Cler’d’roh rested her hand on his shoulder. “Very few are ever called to be a leader of men, Valaron. It is a great honor, and you have to follow that calling. Look around. The King’s oppression grows worse every day. People are losing their homes. Families are living in the streets. They beg for food. Decent men are forced off of their property to work in the mines just so they can buy bread to feed their families. You have no choice. You must do what is needed, and that is to lead. If Praelix is successful in his attempt to establish himself as Emperor, all will be lost. He will be unstoppable.”

  Valaron sipped his tea and watched the smoke dance above the flames. A light breeze carried Cler’d’roh’s scent. Her unmistakable aroma assailed his senses with a mixture of spring flowers, spices, and musk. He resisted the urge to pull her closer, to bury his face in her shining hair and inhale her beauty.

  Cler’d’roh seemed unaware of the effect she was having on the young dragon rider. The elf remained quiet for a long time while they drank their tea. “You were one of my best students,” she offered, breaking the silence. “I enjoyed the time we spent training on the mountain.”

  “It was much too short,” he replied. Valaron was thankful that Cler’d’roh had changed the subject. He sat in the firelight nursing his cup, eyes closed, enjoying their closeness. “I hope that we might be able to spend more time together after all of this is over.”

  The elf’s eyes sparkled in the firelight. Shadows danced across her face, and her red hair glistened. “I would like that,” she said.

  CHAPTER 22

  Knock three times;