Chapter III
The journey had been long, but easy. The weather had stayed fine since he’d left Dulmarsh, the road quiet and peaceful. He travelled alone but for the horse beneath him, and the solitude was welcome, gave him a chance to clear his mind in a way near impossible in the city.
‘I’ll almost be sad when we get there,’ he said aloud. ‘I wouldn’t mind doing this sort of thing more often.’ The horse answered with a dismissive snort, and he gave the reins a flick to let her know he was listening. ‘I don’t care what you say, Angharad. I’m having a nice time. Don’t tell me you don’t like a walk through the country as much as the next horse.’
He was a young man, fair-haired, his tunic emblazoned with the wide white cross of the order of the Knights Hospitaller. A double-edged sword hung from his belt and a shield loosely from his back, his armour light but strong. He looked about himself with eyes of emerald green, taking in the wide expanse of field, lone trees, the scent of grass under the hot sun. So entranced with his surroundings was he that he almost didn’t notice the fallen body on the track ahead, and perhaps he wouldn’t have, if Angharad hadn’t whinnied her own surprise.
‘Whoa, whoa,’ he said, laying a gentle hand on her neck as she slowed to a standstill. ‘What is it, girl? Someone’s hurt?’
He dismounted and approached the figure, wary, recalling how bandits used such tricks to lure the unsuspecting traveller close. ‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Are you alright?’
But the figure didn’t answer, didn’t stir, and as he drew closer he saw the blood pooled about their head, drying now, like they had lain like this for some time. Though he had seen little death in his short life, he recognised the dullness in the eyes, the silence, the stillness of a body not moved by breath. He knelt beside them, put his hand to his heart in a sign of respect, and leant down to inspect them.
It was a man of some years, poorly clothed in little more than tattered rags, his scalp shorn and his skin blemished by strange black marks. His expression, captured as it was in his dying moments, was surprised, shocked perhaps, like whatever it was that killed him had been swift and unexpected. And killed he had been, clear from the long, deep gash across his neck.
‘Founder save you,’ the knight murmured, rising to his feet and looking about himself. This was not the only body on the track. He counted four, five, six more, all of them slight, pale things with close-cropped hair and ragged dress. And judging by their pointed ears, each and every one of them were elves.
This perturbed him. He had little experience of elves but knew they rarely strayed outside their city of origin, held to their homes by trades and livelihoods passed down through generations. Likely this band of innocents had been taken by surprise, ambushed, robbed and killed by the bandits who plied their trade along this route. Though their purpose in travelling this way was beyond him.
Suddenly there came a sound to his right, and he span to face it, hand going to his sword lest the bandits still be close. A shape, wreathed in shadow, darted behind the back of a large oak, its light footsteps making the softest silken stirring as it vanished out of sight.
‘Come forward!’ the knight called, body instinctively poised and ready. ‘Show yourself! Was it you who perpetrated this act? Come forward, I said!’
For a moment all was quiet, all still, and then, with slow and careful steps, the form appeared by the tree. Still bathed in shade, it was impossible to make its features out.
‘Step into the light. If you mean no harm, then no harm shall come to you.’
It approached. Reached the edge of the tree’s shadow and placed one foot into the sunlight, then another, until the light washed over it and its face was revealed.
It was another elf. A very young man, thin-framed and head shaved like the others. His eyes were wide and shining, and he shook like he was frightened. Sensing there was no danger here, the knight released his sword.
‘Who are you?’ he called, and waited for a response that didn’t come. ‘You’ve no need to be afraid. My name is Lorcan – Lorcan Harcourt. I’m a knight, a Hospitaller. I shan’t hurt you.’
The elf came forwards again, a shambling, stumbling step, and collapsed onto his knees, the dust of the dirt road rising up around him as he fell. Lorcan went to go towards him but when the elf shied away in fear he slowed, and lowered himself until their levels met. The creature’s face was streaked in blood, his head thinly gashed, and Lorcan felt a rising pity and an urge to aid.
‘You’re injured,’ he said, moving slow for fear of scaring the other off. ‘I can help. You don’t need to fear me.’
Still kneeling, the elf leant forwards, dropped his head and shook it weakly. ‘No,’ he said, his voice quiet, shaking like leaves in a gale. ‘Not you. Not one of them.’
‘One of who? Whoever did this to you, I assure you, I’m not with them.’
The elf pushed himself upright a little and fixed Lorcan with a wide-eyed stare, less scared now, more… sad. ‘They were knights too. Like you. Don’t take me away.’
The poor thing, he looked heartbroken, drained. Likely he was confused, took any old fool in armour for a knight. ‘I’m not here to take you away. The bandits round this area –’
‘Not bandits. Knights.’ The creature’s voice rose a little, became harder, and his eyes flamed with a sudden anger. ‘Bandits don’t ride under a banner. I know what knights look like, I’m not stupid.’
It was true, a banner implied insignia, officiality, much like Lorcan’s own order carried. But he could see no reason why such men would cut down a harmless group of unarmed elves so brutally.
‘Whoever it was,’ Lorcan assured him, ‘I was no part of it. What’s your name?’
The elf sat back, and his gaze fell to the ground, more out of exhaustion than purpose, it seemed. ‘Arrian.’ He sniffed. ‘My name’s Arrian.’
‘Were these your people?’ Lorcan asked, finally moving close, and settling when the young man didn’t pull away. ‘The dead?’
Arrian nodded, and his eyes moved towards the closest body, before he quickly turned away.
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know,’ he moaned, putting his head in his hands. ‘They came down the road, from back towards Mandeville. They attacked us. Something hit me, I’m not sure what. Maybe a horse, I don’t know. I woke up and they were dead and the others were gone.’
‘Others?’
‘My parents. My friends. I don’t know where they are.’ He raised his head his eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t know where I am.’
‘Did you come from Mandeville?’ A nod in reply. ‘Where were you headed?’
The elf shrugged and shook his head. ‘Some were going to Fennering. We were going to Woodston. We were meant to be moving there.’
His eyes misted over like he was thinking of what might have been, and Lorcan sought to rouse him from such melancholy thoughts. ‘Let me fix your head,’ he said, rising to retrieve his pack from Angharad’s side. ‘I can stop the blood.’
Arrian didn’t say anything as he took a bandage and approached, but when he got too close with his hands outstretched, the elf recoiled and backed away.
‘No. I’m fine.’
‘You’re not fine, you’re bleeding.’
‘I’m fine, I swear.’
But he wasn’t fine, knew he wasn’t, and he didn’t seem to have the strength of will to put up a fight. Lorcan crouched beside him and raised a rag to mop the worst of the blood off.
‘It’s ok,’ he said, gently as he could. ‘I’m trained in this. I’ll make it better.’
He wiped away the dried blood and applied the bandage, making the pressure as light as he could manage. The wound was bruising purple, dark and blotched, but it didn’t go deep, a lucky hit if he had indeed been caught by a horse’s hooves. The elf winced as it was applied, but stayed still, and when it was done he touched it with the tips of his pale fingers.
‘There we go,’ Lorcan said, sitting back. ‘Leave it on for a while; it’ll keep out the infection. You’ll mend.’
Arrian seemed faintly perplexed by the action, kept prodding it as though he wasn’t really sure it was there. His eyes met Lorcan’s and it wasn’t the sadness that was dominating now, nor pain, nor anger, but merely a slight surprise.
‘Is it ok?’ Lorcan asked. ‘Not too tight?’
‘No… it’s fine.’
‘What’s wrong?’
Arrian shuffled back a little, drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms round them. ‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked.
‘Doing what?’
‘I don’t know. Helping.’ He raised a shoulder in a half-shrug of misunderstanding. ‘I don’t have anything. I can’t give you anything back.’
‘Arrian…’ Lorcan went to give him a consoling nudge on the arm but withdrew it when he saw him flinch. ‘I don’t want anything. I’m just helping.’ He gestured to the symbol on his tunic in case the elf recognised it and understood his intention. ‘It’s my job.’
Lorcan wasn’t entirely sure how best to proceed. He couldn’t just leave the poor creature here, alone at the roadside, his honour dictated that. But nor could he really think how he could help when they had such little information to go on.
‘Perhaps it would be wise for you to travel with me to Fennering,’ he said. ‘The tracks head onwards, perhaps your parents could have been taken that way.’
‘What if they’re dead? The others are dead, what if they are too?’
And they may well be, Lorcan thought, turning to see the carnage around him. But whether they were or not, the young man would have to keep moving. He might as well do it with some hope.
‘If they’d been killed with the others then their bodies would be here with them,’ he said, with a tone of false authority. ‘How many were you travelling with?’
‘Seventeen. Me, these seven here, and the others.’
‘So that’s nine people missing? I think it’s unlikely they’re dead. Their bodies would be here, and they’re not. So I think it’s safe to assume they’re alive.’
Arrian looked even less convinced than Lorcan felt, but he played along, and nodded. ‘You think they might be at Fennering?’
‘I think that it would be the best place to look. You’d be safer there too. I could make some enquiries, if you want, find out if anyone knows of a group of elves brought through there.’
The elf looked up but didn’t answer right away. There was something in his eyes that Lorcan couldn’t quite place. A certain mistrust, he thought, guarded and wary, understandable of course, in light of the situation. But something else too, a glimmer of hope, a prayer that maybe, somehow, there was something they could do.
‘I don’t know,’ Arrian said eventually, looking away, his nervous fingers plucking at loose threads of fabric on his tunic.
‘I could take you back to Mandeville, but –’
‘No.’ His voice was suddenly firm, decisive. ‘I’m not going back there. There’s nothing left anyway.’ He pushed himself up and, leaning on his knees for support, began a slow, unsteady ascent to his feet. ‘I’ll go with you to Fennering. If it’s ok.’
‘Of course it’s ok.’ Lorcan smiled at him and it was very faintly, and very weakly, returned.
‘What about them?’ the elf said, gesturing to the fallen bodies about them. ‘I don’t just want to leave them here.’
‘No, nor me. Ordinarily I would want to give them a proper burial, but I’m afraid I don’t have the time or the tools to do that. We can lay them on the grass as least, where they’re less likely to be disturbed.’
Arrian nodded and made to move towards one, but Lorcan reached out to stop him going. ‘Maybe I should do it,’ he said. ‘You sit down for a moment. Gather your strength.’
Another nod, and he lowered himself back to ground as Lorcan took up the sombre task of moving the bodies. They were light and frail-feeling in his arms, malnourished and fragile. He laid them side by side along the verge, beneath the shade of the great ok, and he closed their eyes, murmuring a quiet prayer over each one. Arrian sat with his back turned towards them, but Lorcan saw his shoulders shake, heard a sniff and stifled cry.
‘It’s done,’ Lorcan said, returning to the elf. ‘You can take a little more time, if you wish.’
‘No.’ He shook his head and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. ‘I just want to go.’
‘Alright. Come on over here then, I’ll get you on the horse.’
‘On the horse? I can’t.’ His eyes widened. ‘I’ve never ridden a horse before.’
‘You’ll be fine. Come on. I’ll introduce you.’ Lorcan led him over, trying to keep his voice lighter now, trying to keep the elf’s mind more on the journey ahead than his present sorrow. He took the reins to turn the horse towards them. ‘Arrian, this is Angharad. She’s one of my most trusted companions, and one of the cleverest too. Angharad, meet Arrian. He’s going to be travelling with us to Fennering.’
The horse brayed softly as Arrian raised a tentative hand to stroke her on the neck.
‘Does she understand you?’ he said.
‘I think so. She always gives me this look when I’ve done something stupid, so she must have some idea of what’s going on. Now up you go.’
‘No, wait –’
But before the elf could utter any further protest, Lorcan had seized him under the arms and swung him into the saddle. Instinctively, Arrian clutched at the horse’s mane. ‘I don’t like it. I want to get off.’
‘You’ll get used to it. Come on, Ang.’ Lorcan gave her a pat to jolt her into action. ‘Let’s go.’