Fate Rides Wicked: Volume I of the Lerilon Trilogy (15 page)

“Ride quickly.” The voice came from the forest and
they both almost fell out of their saddles. Flandroke
stepped out and they slid their half-drawn weapons back
into their coverings. “Tych should recover soon, Lendril. I
and my warriors will join you in your ride in a couple of
hours.” He pointed to a spot south of them where the forest
seemed to funnel together into a path. “Ride down that
path. Once we join you, we will guide you to the gathering
point for the army.”

Lendril leaned forward, her mouth open in surprise.
“There is an army forming for us.”

“Somebody has been out gathering together forces to
march under Tych. There are thrandrils, mendar, and a free
army, but most of the forces are neftiran. There is also one
endaril, but we do not know his name.”

Tych just sat there, dumbfounded, only a nagging sense
of recognition pulling at his mind. Lendril smiled at him,
then spurred her horse past Flandroke to the path. Tych
hesitated, then somehow knew to follow her and did,
though he almost had forgotten how to ride a horse. The
pemilon disappeared into the woods and the endarils once
again had only the eagle watching them.

The path proved to be short, reaching the road called
the Lake-Efreiden highway. Here the endarils turned
slightly west as the road dipped south to come closer to
Crentin, the northernmost city of the Kingdom of Polentair.
This highway passed through the Efres, the mountains that
Nandel lived in.

In a little less than an hour they reached a smaller, less
traveled road that headed south. They could, however, see
signs that a large army passed this way. Confused that
Flandroke had not yet appeared, they paused and waited.
Moments later the pemilon burst out of the trees, twenty
others of his kind, armed with spears and swords, behind
him.

Suddenly, Tych recognized him. “Flandroke, shall we
ride?” asked the Prince.

“Good, your memory is returning. There has been a
change in plans. My warriors and I will wait in the trees.
In about an hour, a merchant caravan will pass by here on
its way to Crentin. You must warn it to hold off for a day
so that the edges of Damarin’s army do not sack it. So, sit
down, eat, talk or whatever and wait. They may not want
to believe you, but do your best.”

With this the warriors vanished into the trees. The two
endarils dismounted and tied their horses up. Then they sat
down by the side of the road on a fallen tree, watching the
sun pass among the few clouds dotting the sky, as the day
grew hotter. Lendril tried to find out how much Tych
remembered.

“All I remember is waking up with terrible pains in my
head and seeing you asleep in the chair. I figured to let you
sleep until you woke up.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Of course, you’re Lendril, the love of my life. Seeing
Flandroke helped it recover a bit. Wait, I think I remember
that we live in a hut on a small hill and went on a mission
to kill a man.”

“Let me try some names. Do you recognize Doleof?”
She thought it best to start with recent experience.

“Faintly. He’s just this big, gold creature to me.

“How about Greentree, or Morg, or Corl?”

“All of those names sound familiar and they seem to
nag at my memory, but I don’t remember the significance
of them.”

“Greentree and Morg are your parents, Corl is your
grandfather, and Doleof is the gold dragon that has been
helping us since we almost died in a mud slide.”

Tych leaned forward, resting his face in his hands.
“Oh,” he groaned, “I definitely should have remembered
those names. I hope my mind returns soon. This gets more
frustrating by the minute.”

With a sigh Lendril resigned herself to letting it come
back slowly. She decided the frustration of not being able
to remember even important people might make his
recovery slower. She put her arm around Tych and pulled
him close. He rested his head on her chest and in this
position they waited.

The hour passed slowly, and the sun seemed to get
hotter by the moment. The musty scent of the forest grew
stronger, and the sweat of the warriors ran, even in the
shade. Eventually, the first of the mercenary guards came
into sight and the dust of the caravan clouded the horizon.
The two endarils stepped out into the road and watched two
guards ride out to parley. The caravan leader called for a
halt, though still some distance off.

Both humans wore light leather armor and headbands
designed to absorb sweat. The lead rider reigned in just
short of Tych and Lendril. “Why do you block our path?
We could ride right over you.”

“We are here to warn you. The city of Crentin is under
siege by an army of forangen. It would be wise to hold
here until I have destroyed the invaders.” Tych showed no
sign of emotion while saying this, but the two mercenaries
broke into laughter.

The second rider, a leaner man with a scar less face,
leaned down and mocked them. “Yeah, you and what
army, little freak?”

With the ensuing laughter from the two men, Tych
began chanting. Both soldiers stopped their mirth, looked
at each other and wondered. Then Tych’s hand came up
and like an invisible hand had picked him up and thrown
him, the lead rider flew down the road about twenty yards,
skidding to a stop on his rear end.

With an unseen magical assistance, Tych boomed out,
“My army gathers east of the city. I am Prince Tych di
Corl, son of Morg, an endaril. Do not try to reckon with
me, but heed my advice: Do not take this caravan any
further towards the city. Those who wish to join me may,
but follow me to my forces so we will not alert the enemy
of our presence.”

The laughter had stopped. The other mercenary sat still
on his horse, watching his companion make his way back
to his steed. Tych and Lendril nonchalantly walked to their
own horses, mounted and turned to wait. After a moment,
the two mercenaries turned and rode back to the merchants
where all of the guards had gathered. The two endarils
waited patiently while an argument ensued between the
soldiers and merchants, each party unsure of what to do
next.

Finally, after several minutes of this haggling, a group
of about thirty mercenaries broke off and started towards
them at a slow gallop. Tych had his hand resting on the
handle of his jeweled sword, but kept this cleverly hidden
by his horse’s head. The men pulled up about ten feet
away and the rider that had been tossed during the last
discussion said, “We would join your army if you would let
us.”

Tych said, “Follow me,” and turned towards the forest,
not giving the soldiers time for mischief, if they planned to
commit some. Lendril followed quickly after and the trees
opened up a path before them. As they got deeper into the
forest, the prince looked back at the startled mercenaries,
for now twenty pemilons, creatures that were almost never
seen by humans and assumed to be mythical, galloped
along with them. As if by magic, a wide path had swept
itself open before them and they rode three wide through
the trees.

Still, night approached as they reached the edge of the
scouting boundary for Tych’s army-to-be. The endaril
pulled up the group and stopped. Lendril turned to him.
“Perhaps, until you recover your memory, I better answer
any sentries.”

Tych looked at her and raised one eyebrow in question.
“I have not forgotten anything.”

Lendril frowned. “What is the name of the Queen of
the Thrandrils?”

Tych laughed quietly. “Queen Oakfeld is her name.
You are acting very strangely Lendril.”

“For a while there you had lost your memory. Now it
seems you have only forgotten that you lost it. What is the
last thing you remember in Lord Damarin’s castle?”

“We were in the dungeon, a man attacked me,...” His
voice drifted off. “What happened next?”

“Ah, I see. I’ll fill you in later. Come, night
approaches.”

The riders proceeded forward into the darkness and
some of the soldiers began to stray, only to be helped by a
pemilon’s night vision. Moments later, Tych reined in and
jumped down from his horse. The others stopped and
waited, unsure of what occurred.

Tych spoke. “I sense your presence sentries, so
surprise is no longer on your side. Present yourselves to be
identified.”

The rest of the group almost jumped out of their skins
as three humanoids in black armor appeared as if out of
nowhere. A very short one quickly moved to stand in front
of Tych, blade drawn. The humans knew something was
happening by the discomfort in the pemilons and Lendril,
who could see the heat of the participants. The little sentry
asked, “Who are you that tests our patience and our skill?”

“You must be a neftir.” With this, Tych moved,
everybody watching blinked and there stood Tych with the
neftir’s blade in his hand and the neftir grimacing at having
his arm twisted behind his back. Tych pushed him away.
“I am Prince Tych di Corl of the Endarils. I’m taking over
command.” To the other two sentries he said, “Nekto
gendelen bretop,” which is endarilan for, “Present
yourselves to me.”

Both stepped forward. One identified himself as a
thrandril soldier, the other as a member of the mendar
army, both in the endarilan tongue.

Tych apologized to the neftir for any discomfort,
and leapt back into the saddle. Handing the blade back to
the warrior, he said, “Take us to the camp,” and drew
Gaylin from his right side.

The neftiran warrior fell to one knee and bowed his
head. “You carry the great sword of ego, killer of xadineft.
I am honored to be in your presence.”

Tych smiled in surprise. “This is merely so the humans
with us can see,” he said, and, indeed, the light from the
blade lit the forest all around. Without another word, the
three sentries ran forward, and the riders followed.

They rode into camp with the darkness of night adding
to the darkness of the trees, but Gaylin lit the way. All
enchanted swords had this property, unless specifically
removed by the wizard or sorcerer that created it. Since
this blade’s magic sprung from the neftiran skill at sword
making, plus powerful arcane additions, it shone more than
it glowed.

Tych dismounted and tied his horse to a nearby tree,
then indicated in endarilan that his two cousins should help
the humans and pemilons get settled in. He turned to the
neftir. “Okay, friend, take us to the person currently
responsible for this crew.”

The neftir, like all his people, stood around four feet
tall, but carried a stout powerful carriage on short legs.
Slower than endarils in a foot race, their strength gave them
speed and an incredible amount of battle prowess. He wore
a leather helmet over long black-going-grey hair, and his
short sword hung on his right side. He turned to Tych, and
in the common language of Li said, “Prince Cort will be
happy to see you.”

Lendril and Tych both stopped abruptly. “My brother
is in command here?”

The neftiran warrior laughed. “Tych, you must be in
the dark about this army, which surprises me since it is
supposed to be yours. Yes, your brother or some other di
Corl is in command. He brought the mendar and the
thrandrils to camp.”

“How has he given orders to the humans? He cannot
speak to them.”

“He passed them on through us after explaining the
problems with the oath.”

“And how did the humans and neftir know to come here
for this?” Lendril asked this question.

“Corl convinced us to bring a small force here over a
month ago. He told us when to be here and that Cort would
take command once your two cousin races arrived. The
humans come from a free army that we ran into. They
were locked in combat and we arrived just in time. Many
of their men had died. It was unfortunate that they ran into
trouble.”

Lendril whispered, “Elef fredair thigen.”

The neftir gave her a quizzical look. “What?”

Tych said, “It means ‘fate rides wicked,’ but it seems
this time fate brought you to them and all of you to us.
Take us to Cort now. I have not seen my brother in many
days.”

The little warrior turned and continued to lead them
towards the center of camp. Soon they arrived in front of a
tent different from all the rest in that there hung a white
piece of cloth with the green, brown and silver emblem of
the endarils next to the door. The neftir approached the
endaril at the tent flap, with Lendril and Tych following.

The two endarils almost ran down the neftir when he
stopped and said, loudly, “Announcing Prince Tych di Corl
and...” Lendril whispered her name to him, “Princess
Lendril di Rutif.”

Lendril smiled and Tych laughed. “She’s not quite a
princess yet, but she will be soon, my friend.”

Lendril and Tych stepped past the embarrassed warrior
and answered the bow of the guard as they entered the tent.
Cort stood in his royal white armor, waiting to receive
them. Tych threw his arms around him and lifted him off
the ground in a hug. Lendril then kissed him on the cheek
and hugged him a little less aggressively.

Cort turned to Tych, “How’s my little brother?”

“I’m very angry, frustrated and ignorant. I’m happy to
see you, but what in the seven layers of hell are you doing
here, and how did Corl know where to send you? I
remember him sending you off somewhere a few weeks
before what should have been my entry into adulthood.”

“He sent me with that one guard you see out there to
bring a small group of mendar and a small group of
thrandrils to this spot. He told me they would be on their
way back from a conference with the neftir in the Efres and
to intercept them and bring them here. I thought he was
crazy, that I would be beset upon by forangen before
reaching them. We seemed to be protected, however, and
avoided trouble throughout the journey. Tomorrow will
not be so danger free.”