Unknown (4 page)

Swift threw back his head and roared with laughter. “The Seer? Him?” he spluttered, as Villid glared back at him. “You really believe what the old fool has to say? My brother, did you not hear Shade’s orders just a few short hours ago? You haven’t been drinking enough ale, Tyran. You need a woman to release your tension.”
“Why are you laughing, Swift?” Villid retorted angrily. It was nearing midnight now, and most of the Tyrans were awake, muttering to each other and sharpening their weapons, a thirst for blood ripe in the air. A few Tyrans turned to stare as Swift smirked at Villid.
“Because it is ridiculous, brother,” Swift smiled. “Were you not listening before? Our Seer is crazy, ranting about Dragons and scriptures that don’t exist. What was it – he wanted you to protect the
Elves? Don’t let Shade hear you say that.”
“Don’t let me hear who say what?” said a deep voice. Shade had appeared beside them, his thick wolverine skin had been draped over his bed and his scarred chest was bare, the branded numbers glaring brightly in the moonlight.
“Shade, we mustn’t attack,” said Villid immediately.
“Yet,” Swift interjected with a loud laugh. “We mustn’t attack
yet
. My brother still needs to sharpen his axe. Shut up,” he hissed in Villid’s ear.
Shade grunted, frowning at the trees ahead of them.
“The Seer is right, Shade,” Villid pressed, and Shade’s gazed snapped to Villid’s. “We mustn’t attack the
Elves tonight, or we’ll be doomed.”
The muscles in Shade’s face tightened, his dark eyes boring right into Villid’s. When he spoke, however, his voice was calm. “Oh?” he frowned. “Not attack the
E
lves, you say? Are you suggesting the ramblings of that insane old fool
were true?”
Swift made an odd clicking noise with his tongue. “It’s nearing midnight,” he said nervously. “Villid, I think you were going to sharpen your sword, weren’t -”
“We mustn’t attack the E
lves,” said Villid. “We can’t kill them – not the
Elf Seer, anyway. If we do, we might as well hand ourselves to the Darkma right now.”
“You know something?” Shade said through gritted teeth, his face an inch from Villid’s.
“You are starting to sound very much like the Seer. I might just strik
e you down where you stand, six-one-twenty-seven, unless you remain silent!”
Villid said nothing. He wasn’t afraid of Shade, but he knew that if he rebelled against his tribe’s leader now, he wouldn’t be any better off than the
Elves. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly, his fists clenching.
“Your beloved Seer will remain here in the forest clearing tonight,” he hissed, bits of spit landing on Villid’s face. “If he will not fight, then he can stay here until we return.”
He glared at Villid, who stood straight and silent, fixing his eyes on the tops of the trees past Shade’s head. He could see Shade’s burning gaze fix on him for several long seconds before he turned to the rest of the tribe and bellowed, “Don’t you all have work to do?” and strolled off.
Swift stared at Villid for a moment, then punched him on the arm.
“Fool!” he whispered, half-angry, half-amused. “I’d stop
reporting my bad feelings to the tribe leader, if I were you, brother.”
Not far away was the Seer, who had seen the incident with Shade, and he nodded slowly to Villid. Villid nodded back, frowning, wishing he could convince Shade and the others that they couldn’t attack the
Elves. There didn’t seem to be any way to make Shade believe them – he disbelieved entirely in the Dragons now, and was so stubborn that it would be impossible to change his mind by conversation alone.
“Villid?” Swift rolled his eyes. “You need a woman,” he smirked. “Now go sharpen your weapons.”
Villid pushed impatiently past him and came to his bedroll. A Tyran woman had approached where they had been sleeping. Villid recognised her as Rouge, who he had trained with several times in past weeks. She gazed intently at him as he came to the bedroll.
“Hello, Villid,” she said pleasantly. “Did I hear you need a woman?”
Her eyes shined at him in the firelight as she half-smiled, looking up at Villid expectantly with her head on one side. Her tunic was low cut, and the white scars in the shape of the number six thousand, two hundred and nine stood out on her skin, just above her left breast. Villid gazed at her for a moment, and felt his interest peak.
“For a while,” he grunted. Smiling, she brushed past him,
and they made their way to the trees.
 

The moon had risen in the now cloudless sky, beaming down at the assembled Tyrans who stood in rows, weapons newly sharpened, each still and silent in the moonlight like beasts in a pack. Shade’s steel armour was brightly polished, his long, curved swords in their sheaths at his hips, anticipating the nearing battle. He marched swiftly round the group, glaring at them all with his piercing eyes, checking positions, barking an order every so often, glaring at those he didn’t like, and grunting to every other Tyran to stand up straighter. He reached Villid, who stood to attention, his axe and sword sitting at his back. Shade looked him up and down, and when he couldn’t find anything to criticise, snorted loudly and moved on. Villid let a slow sigh escape his lips. After all of the Seer’s warnings, they were still going to attack the
Elves.
A few moments ago the Seer had disappeared to the back of the ranks, where the impatient Shade had ordered him to stay behind and wait for their return.
Villid had no idea how he could reach the E
lf girl before Shade, or convince her that he was there to protect her. But he trusted the Seer much more than he trusted his tribe leader, and would rather hide the
Elf girl away from Shade than risk the Tyrans being doomed by the Dragons, as the Seer had shown him.
His nerves squirmed inside him as he felt the familiar
shivering thirst for blood rippling throughout the crowd of Tyran warriors. They stood with their fine armour and sharpened weapons, as if attending a glorious, equally matched battle. Villid felt like they
were
being led to murder children. He knew about the
E
lves. In past battles they had lost hundreds with little victory – and that was when they were actually expecting to fight. Now they were unknowing, oblivious to the army outside their walls. This was not a battle, but an extermination. Each second that slipped by gave Villid more determination to reach the
Elf Seer, and protect her from harm.
Every Tyran eye was fixed on Shade, who had reached the front of the group. He gave a small nod signalling for the soldiers to follow his lead, turned round, and slowly entered the thicket of trees just ahead. The assembly of warriors followed suit, pushing through the trees in single file. Despite their heavy boots, the Tyrans moved swiftly and quietly, their weapons and hair occasionally getting caught in the loose branches.
They moved silently through the forest, each Tyran with his ears pricked for the sound of something other than their own boots quietly crunching on the ground, and the steady breathing of the warrior in front of them. The moon sat high in the clear sky, beaming through the leaves, casting pale light on the Tyrans. Every so often a twig would snap loudly or a stray animal would make some unexpected sound, causing the silent soldiers to clutch their
weapons tightly, before composing themselves and moving on.
To Villid, it felt as if a lifetime had passed before they reached the end of the wood, but it couldn’t have been more than several minutes. The trees suddenly thinned and the Tyran soldiers emerged from the forest one by one, untangling themselves from the thin branches that clung to their hair and armour. Silently the warriors assembled in a line, waiting for their next orders. They had come out to rows and rows of freshly harvested wheat fields, empty and silent, the moonlight betraying anywhere where an enemy might lie in wait - but all was quiet, no
Elves suspected their arrival. The stretches of wheat fields looked peaceful in the night and swayed gently in the breeze. The trees led on around the fields; opposite the Tyrans was a path lit brightly by lanterns, and above the trees behind the path were the tips of stone towers. They looked ghostly-pale in the moonlight.
“Six-one-twenty-seven,” Shade barked. Reluctantly, Villid approached the tribe leader.
“Look. A trail,” Shade smirked, pointing at the ground. A long, thin trail of wheat and seeds ran ahead of them, past the trees, around the field and towards the pathway to the city.
“They are making this easy for us,” Shade snorted. He gave a harsh, humourless laugh which Villid did not imitate. Without a word, but clenching his fists, he turned to walk
back to his position in the rank.
“No, no, six-one-twenty-seven,” Shade called. “You will accompany me to the front of this assault.”
Villid glanced at Shade, who stared stonily back at him. He must have guessed that he and the Seer had planned something. He tried to swallow his discomfort. He would easily lose Shade once the battle had begun, he thought to himself. He gave a stiff nod. “Yes, sir.”
The soldiers marched past the wheat fields, which were swaying in the moonlight. Shade suddenly halted and Villid nearly walked into him.
“Tyrans!” he boomed, unsheathing his two long, curved and newly sharpened swords. “Why don’t we light our way?”
He clashed his swords together with a terrific force and a huge orange spark erupted from the blades. It landed on the nearby wheat field and flames spread along it almost instantly, crackling mercilessly. It was barely several seconds before the fire was bigger than the Tyrans. Shade laughed along with the fire and bellowed over the crackle of the flames for the rest of the Tyrans to join in. Ugly black smoke filled the air as Tyrans laughed maniacally and roared in approval as the E
lves’ farms burned to the ground. Villid gazed at it, feeling oddly detached from the soldiers who thrived so much on the destruction of the wheat. The stench of smoke burned on his nostrils and the heat from the flames felt hot on his skin as he realised he
felt no pleasure or excitement in what they were doing. He thought of the task ahead, and his mind felt clear. Around him, the excited Tyrans didn’t notice the calmness that was filling him, the sheer determination to do everything the Seer had told him to do.

Aya looked at herself up and down in the large glass mirror, sighing quietly under her breath. She had changed into her flowing, emerald robes, ready for the dance performance which would commence later that night. The clothing she wore was indeed beautiful; the sleeves and skirt were long and rippled behind her when she walked. A white belt sat round her waist, and she wore sandals that she had made herself. Bracelets made from hollow, polished pebbles glistened around her wrists and her long hair
. On her head sat a white crown, for she was to be playing the princess in the dramatic dance routine. Dorran had smiled widely when he had seen her. “You are the most beautiful
Elf I have ever seen, my daughter!” he had exclaimed. “I am proud of you. Tonight’s dance will be full of joy and tears, and you will be the most talented dancer of all.”
Aya had smiled and thanked her father, but she didn’t enjoy such fancies. Privately she still wished she could have participated in more exciting activities, such as the sword juggling, but Dorran wouldn’t hear of it.
Aya paced the room, and glanced at the square down below, where long tables had been set with jugs of wine and plates ready for the feast. There were several people down there
already, chattering and laughing.
She was standing in the youngest Seer’s bedroom; a hammock hung in the far corner above a brightly-coloured rug, and in the middle wall was a fireplace. In the humid summer, the grate had been cold for many nights now. The stone floor was pleasantly cool and the white-framed mirror was nearly as big as the entire wall. Aya and five other
Elves worked as servants for the youngest Seer, Llyliana, who had already gone down to the feast with four of her servants.
“Aya,” said a small Elf girl at the door, dressed in identical robes to Aya, but of bright orange. “It’s time to go.”
They left the bed chamber and ventured down the spiral staircase. Aya felt more and more uneasy with each step she took. She had practised the dance routine over and over again for weeks, but it all seemed to be fading fast from her mind.
“Aya?” said the Elf, who was dainty and pretty, her pale blonde hair tied in plaits that curled behind her ears. She gently touched Aya’s arm, smiling encouragingly. “Don’t be nervous. This is a great honour.”
Aya smiled back. “Indeed it is.”
The village was
barely recognisable. A large round platform had been built in the middle of the square, lit by hundreds of lanterns of different colours, a small orchestra sitting in front of it, ready to play. They held horns and violins, small drums and pan flutes, held by a mixture of
old and young Elves that looked just as nervous as Aya felt.
Several long wooden tables stood side by side along the street, decorated with hundreds of strips of ribbon and lanterns, matching those that had been hung on the surrounding houses and the platform. Elves of all ages had gathered round the tables, sipping wine and laughing loudly. At the top table sat the three Seers; the youngest, a pretty woman named Llyliana with chestnut hair and wearing white, flowing robes, and two older women, smiling at the joyful
Elves around them. It warmed Aya’s heart to see such happiness in the village, and for a moment, her nerves were forgotten.
“Every Elf in the city must be here!” said the small Elf beside Aya, clapping her hands in excitement as they walked between the tables, nodding at Elves they knew, and smiling gracefully as older women commented on how lovely they looked.
“My child,” said Dorran as they reached him, stretching his arms wide and gesturing to an empty space next to him. “You look beautiful! Come, sit with me.”
Aya joined her father. “Alviér, father,” she said, sitting down and taking a glass of pink berry wine.
“You will be the highlight of the evening! If only your mother were here to see you,” Dorran smiled sadly. “Did you know that she danced in the midnight dance too?”
“Is that so?” Aya said anxiously. She always felt uncomfortable when her father spoke of her mother. Aya
hadn’t seen her mother since she was a small child – she hadn’t died, she had just disappeared. It wasn’t often Dorran spoke about her. Aya glanced at her father’s goblet. It was nearly empty, and he was already shouting for a refill.
In the next few moments the food was served, greeted by hungry cheers.
As the
E
lves ate, jugglers and dancers performed around the tables, music playing merrily in the background. It was a lovely place to be that night, and Aya soon relaxed and laughed along with her fellow
Elves. The food was delicious, everyone talked and laughed merrily, clashing goblets together in a toast and singing old village songs.
“Aya!” called a voice to her right. It was Neecrid, who was sitting with her own family, and dressed in dancers’ robes of bright blue. She smiled mischievously, pointed at her plate, and mouthed the word “berries”. Aya snorted loudly, and quickly disguised it as a loud sneeze.
Flint, Aya’s older brother, sat beside Aya, licking his lips and talking loudly to his friend opposite him.
“My sister is dancing in the midnight performance,” he boasted, his face pink as he slurred. “My little sister! I’m so proud!”
“Enough wine for you, brother,” Aya laughed.
“Aya,” said Dorran suddenly, placing his hand on Aya’s shoulder. “There is something I must tell
you.”
“Yes, father?”
“You see that fine young gentleman over there?” Dorran gestured across the table three seats to Neecrid’s left; there was a tall Elf man wearing a smart grey tunic. His hair was short and blond, and he held a small, dignified smile as he talked quietly with the Elf beside him. Aya recognised him as Rimm – they had studied together several years ago.
“His name is Rimm,” she nodded.
“Well,” Dorran looked excited – Aya wondered if it was the influence of the wine. “Rimm has asked for something very important from us – from you.”
“Me?” said Aya in surprise. She knew where Rimm lived – in the eastern part of the village, where the wealthier
Elves lived in finer, larger houses – some were even made of stone, like the Seer’s tower. Aya and her family weren’t nearly as wealthy as Rimm’s family. “What could he possibly need from me?” Aya said blankly.
Dorran glanced over at the Elf and caught his eye. Rimm raised his glass and nodded to Aya, a smile forming on his lips. Dorran turned back to Aya.
“He has asked for my permission to take your hand in marriage,” Dorran beamed.
Aya stared at her father, then glanced over at Rimm, who was smiling expectantly. Aya didn’t know whether to laugh or to shout. “I don’t know him,” she said finally.
“Of course you do,” said Dorran, looking slightly disappointed at Aya’s lack of enthusiasm. “You trained together, did you not? Don’t you see, Aya? If you marry him, you will be safe for the rest of your life! His family is
wealthy enough to look after you; you can finally pursue some real things in life, instead of picking wheat and plundering about at the south tower -”
“I like my jobs,” said Aya stiffly.
“But, my dear, isn’t a family more important? If you marry Rimm, you won’t have to work anymore. You can give me some grandchildren, and they will have a wonderful life, with you as a mother and Rimm as a father!”
“I’m not about to marry someone for their riches,” said Aya angrily. A few of the surrounding
Elves glanced nervously at them. Dorran’s face fell.
“Not for the riches, my child,” he said. “For the security – for freedom from poverty, for happiness, and for your own family! You are barely scraping by as it is. Most
Elves your age are married by now.”
The platform’s lanterns suddenly dimmed to almost complete darkness, and the orchestra assembled at the front. An old woman, the second Seer, stood in the centre, smiling down at the
E
lves. Slowly she raised both hands, and the
Elves went quiet. She was a small, bent old woman with steel-grey hair and kind eyes that swept the quiet crowd in front of her.
“The time has come, my children,” she said clearly, smiling at everyone. “For the midnight dance performance.”
“I must go, Vatra,” Aya whispered, and got to her feet. Avoiding Dorran and Rimm’s gazes, she caught Neecrid’s eye, who stood up, looking excited. Aya’s annoyance was
evaporating fast as nerves squirmed inside her. She could see the other dancers making their way to the stage, dressed in different brightly coloured robes, and she felt uneasy as they approached the platform.