Grace Lyonwright

 

Chapter 4

 

The ground flashed by below in a dizzying blur of green and brown, and Erislethe felt a rush of exhilaration for the first time in- now that she thought about it, she still had no idea how long it had been. Perhaps it was simply a side effect of whatever had placed her into the slumber from which she had just awakened, but for now it was enough to simply be able to stretch her wings and feel the rush of wind against her body.  

Erislethe felt that she had done well to conceal her shock upon seeing her home in such a state of disrepair and upon looking out to discover the Steinhalt castle town reduced to a mere pile of stones. Were there had once been streets paved with cobblestone was now overgrown with grass and trees.

What was most unusual was that the main gate of Steinhalt had been left wide open, and the drawbridge down. Something would have to be done to rectify this quickly, but for now she knew there was nothing within the walls of Steinhalt worth protecting. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

Erislethe felt a pair of arms tighten around her waist and looked down to see the mix of panic and anger in Grace’s expression, and it only made her want to tease the girl more. “Thou needn’t worry, I shall not drop thee.”

“A bit of advance warning before grabbing onto someone and jumping out of a window would have been nice, you know!” Grace shot back, and Erislethe had to applaud her for being able to come up with such a feisty retort under the circumstances. She still found it irksome how it was sometimes difficult to understand the girl’s words, however. Grace was clearly speaking High Erastian, but at other times it sounded as though she were speaking completely different language altogether.

Erislethe laughed off Grace’s grievances before assuming a more serious tone. “Dost thou not trust me, Grace?”

Grace seemed to frown at that and her eyebrows knitted her into little furrows as she glanced down at the ground speeding by beneath them. “That’s a somewhat difficult question to ask me right now.”

“T’would please me if thou might soon come to put more trust in me.” Eristlethe said, “Though it be only provisional in nature, the compact we hath wrought is proof thou hath placed at least some form of trust in me. Without it I would not have the power to move through the skies carrying thee as I am.”

“Why would you tell me something like that?” Grace asked incredulously.

“It was never my intention to conceal the nature of our compact from thee.” Erislethe smiled at Grace earnestly. “For as long as thou remain close to me, mine power shall be increased. The effect will be most strong when our hands art intertwined as they are now.”

“Could you not use the word ‘intertwined’!?” Grace snapped back, her cheeks flushing noticeably.        

“And what word wouldst thou prefer instead, my princess?” Erislethe grinned.

“Don’t ask me.” Grace said, then added later with a hint of irritation. “And please don’t call me that...”.

“I know thou didst not agree to stand with me for my own sake,” Erislethe continued. “And thou has’t no stake in this matter, thyself. Which leaves the only remaining reason that thou art doing this for the girl.”

“Wha-?”

“What is she to thee, Grace?” Erislethe purposefully refrained from speaking Lacryma’s name out loud, so as to not make her aware that she was the topic of their discussion. “Is she thy paramour?”

“My what!?” Grace’s complexion reddened by another shade. “I, I hardly know her, we only just met in that castle, by coincidence!”

“Ah, coincidence.” Erislethe smiled, remembering how Grace had hovered behind Lacryma and the looks of exasperation she displayed, and decided to prod further. “Then thou wouldst not protest if I taketh her for myself?”

“You-” Grace’s mouth hung open, her expression one of shock as though she could not comprehend what Erislethe had just said.

“In case thou has’t not yet noticed, Grace, I am a dragon.” Erislethe said with a sly undertone, tilting her head so that Grace could get a clear view of the horns growing from the side of her head. “It is simply in my nature to take what my heart desires.”

“I…” Grace glanced to the side, trying to avoid her eye contact. “I wish protect her.”

“Ooh!” Erislethe made a playful noise in response to Grace’s proclamation. “If not a princess, then art thou a knight? Is she thy lady? Let me tell this to thee, Grace, I  know not what we are to expect in the coming confrontation, but if thy wish is to protect, then stay close to me.”  

Reminding herself of their purpose, Erislethe turned her attention then to Lacryma, who had petitioned her for aid in defending her people. Despite the fear evident in those bright green eyes as they had taken flight, Lacryma had so far remained silent throughout the duration and instead tried to hide her face against the side of Erislethe’s breast as she held on. For someone who had earlier been desperately pleading on behalf of her people, Lacryma did not seem particularly anxious to be in their company again.  

“Lacryma?” She asked, now speaking the Alferic language used by many of the elven races. It was a relief to know that it had not changed at all in spite of however much time had passed. “What are we to expect when we rendezvous with the rest of your kin?”

The purpose of her question was two-fold: Erislethe needed to know information such as how many the Dokalfr were in number and how well equipped they would be the mount a defense against the oncoming threat. She also sought to know how they, as outsiders, would be received by people who from the sound of it appeared to be fleeing their war-torn land.

Lacryma was silent for a moment before saying in a quiet voice. “Nacona can tell you everything you want to know.”

“Nacona?”

“He is our... ” Lacryma stopped herself. “He is one of our leaders. Many of my people are suspicious of others, but I don’t think Nacona would ever turn anyone away if he believed they meant no harm.”

“I see…” Erislethe smiled to herself. It seemed the girl had her secrets to keep, but that was fine. On reflection, she knew she must have had a whole tome’s worth of secrets, herself. Not that any of them would likely be worth anything now, anyway.

The meandering shape of the Adger River soon came into view, glittering in the sun below and Erislethe changed her course to follow its path in a southward direction, lowering her altitude enough so that she could see her own reflection in the mirror-like surface of the water and was pleased to see that, at least physically, she looked not a day older than she last remembered.

“Do you know which way you’re going?” Grace finally broke her silence.

“But of course I know,” Erislethe answered, in a mock-offended tone. “These are my demesne, after all. Though they are not quite as I left them… for instance, there was once a small fishing village over yond. The tavern there had the most delectable clam stew I’d ever tasted….” she trailed off, her voice becoming increasingly more wistful as she remembered. Then before she could finish her story, their goal was within sight.   

Before them was a wagon train of close to twenty ox-drawn covered wagons, numerous horses-pulled carts, and more people on foot than she cared to count, as well as enough cattle, goats, and sheep that one could even go as far as to call it a ranch with wheels. All were following the overgrown remains of an old road north upriver. The Dokalrf must have known that the river here was too deep at and the current too strong to risk fording across. They were also likely unaware of the horsemen riding at their heels.

Erislethe remained a safe distance away, in case anyone among them was both paranoid and a good archer, and she lighted in the grass to the right of the road before approaching the wagon train with her palms held open. She sensed that Grace was right beside her to the right, as she had hoped, while Lacryma sunk back and seemed to hide in both of their shadows.

It did not take long before they made out a pair of men riding up the column towards them, astride the only two horses not currently at the head of a cart or a wagon, which must have meant  these two were figures of some importance, and Eristlethe suspected that one of them was called Nacona.

The youngest of the two had silver hair like many of his kin, which had been slicked back out of his copper-hued eyes. For protection he wore a suit of gambeson that had been dyed dark red, perhaps to conceal past bloodstains, and at his hip was a curved blade that Erislethe believed was called a scimitar.

Riding close at his side was an older man, his round, bearded face lined with age. He was noticeably stouter than his younger companion but his short arms were thick with muscle. He wore a light shirt with a diamond pattern and over that a vest of leather armor. Slung across his back was a heavy warbow, and a quiver of arrows mounted on the side of his saddle    

The two riders came to a halt a good ten feet away from the group. The youngest of the two spoke, to Erislethe’s surprise, in High Erastian though it was with a heavy accent. His tone and stance were neutral, but it was clear he would be ready to take up arms at the blink of an eye.  “Who are you? What business have you with us?” he asked, before his sharp eyes caught sight of the figure hiding behind Erislethe’s back, her face peeking out around her shoulder.

“Lacryma!? You’ve returned!” he now spoke in Alferic, and from his tone Erislethe couldn’t tell if the man was more pleased or shocked with his last statement. He jumped down from the saddle and closed the remaining distance toward the trio on foot.

“I found the source of the light, Nacona.” Lacryma said quietly, not leaving the cover of Erislethe’s back. “And I brought help.”

“That was you flying overhead before, wasn’t it?” Nacona turned his attention again to Erislethe. “I remember hearing stories when I was a child about the Drajken nobles who ruled in Acacia in the past. I thought those were just stories. No one has seen Drajken in over five hundred years. Now one of them appears to be standing before me now in the flesh.”    

“Mayhaps introductions are in order,” Erislethe interjected, electing to speak in High Erastian as well. “Mine name is Erislethe Aschendorne, and this is…” she gave Grace a sidelong glance before continuing. “My aide-de-camp, Grace Lyonwright. These art my lands thou art passing through.”

“Nacona Valon.” The youth said, bowing courteously. “You must forgive me, m’lady, as I was unaware that these lands had been claimed. In fact, I must confess it was understanding that this region had been off-limits for settlement for many years now.”

“That may have been true before, but I hath returned to claim sovereignty over these lands.” Erislethe paused, then cocked her head to the side, as though trying to hear a distant sound. “It behooves me to address a more pressing matter now, Sir Nacona.  A host of riders are approaching from the south, and will soon cross paths with thee.”

Nacona’s eyes fell on Lacryma, who could only nod silently.

“How many?” Nacona asked.

“Twenty, perhaps more.” Erislethe answered.

“And what is it you propose?”

“How many able-bodied men doth thou have?”

“Are you suggesting we fight them?” Nacona said, almost angrily. “Even if I could find enough men to match them, there are still many people among us who cannot defend themselves. There is no way to defend all of them.”

“And if thou runneth, how much wilt thou lose?” Erislethe asked, adopting a more diplomatic tone, spreading her arms to indicate the wagon train behind Nacona. “How much longer canst thou subsist without thy supply wagons? Dost thou expect the other realms to welcome thee with open arms?”

“They wouldn’t,” Grace suddenly spoke up. “In Ostenia your people would most likely be seen as a burden and turned away… or worse the Erastian Empire will take you as prisoners and either try to ransom you back to Acacia or use your people as forced labor in the mines.”

“And how would you know this?” Nacona asked, shooting Grace a dubious look. “If we turn back, death is certain. If we stay here and fight, we may suffer many loses.  Any chance we can take to get away from the Losalfr is a chance we must take.”

“Erislethe,” Grace’s voice was lowered, her words intended for Erislethe’s ears only. “If he thinks himself backed into a corner, the only way he sees it forward.”

“Flee not from the fire to fall over the precipice thou canst not see.”

“What was that?”

“Hmm? Oh, ‘tis merely quote I heard from somewhere.” Erislethe shook her head. They were short on time, and in a weak position diplomatically, having little to offer besides the fortifications of a castle that would take this procession at least two or three hours to reach.  

“Young master,” The older man, who had been silently listening to the discussion until that point, finally nudged his horse forwards and took his place at Nacona’s side, and placed a placating hand on his shoulder. He spoke to the youth in Alferic, though he had clearly understood the words that they had spoken in Erastian. “There is no reason to doubt the lady’s words. Our own former allies have turned their backs on us, what are the chances our fortunes will change in a foreign land? Are we in a position to turn away any offers for help?”    

Nacona considered the man’s words before finally closing his eyes and nodding.

The old man turned then to Erislethe, and bowed as best as he could on horseback. “M’lady, please excuse my late introduction, my name is Orlan. Please think of me as one of the young master’s advisors. You are correct in your summation that we would not get far if we were to abandon this supply train, but as a group we  move far too slowly and present an opportune target.”

Erislethe nodded to the man. By advisor she imagined he probably meant advice of a martial nature. The way he spoke and carried himself, not to mention the scars he bore on his face and arms reminded her of the old man her father had chosen to be his strategist. She couldn’t even remember his name, but she could somehow recall the aphorisms he would recite, like the one she had repeated earlier to Grace. But still, such things back then had been of little interest to her.

And now she would have to assume that role of leadership.

“Thy concerns are well-reasoned,” she said. “But to scatter would be to forfeit any means of defense. I have been hearing stories of these Fluchjaeger. Verily, a rout would be most favorable to them for running thee down from behind.”

Hearing the name of their enemy, Nacona’s hands clenched into fists. “You think I don’t know this?” The youth waved his hands empathically as he spoke, his words brimming with anger and frustration. “We’ve stood and faced the hunting dogs of the Losalfr many times, and each time turned to a slaughter.”

“I have fought them myself many times,” Orlan traced a finger along a scar along the right side of his face. His eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment, perhaps recalling one such occasion. “There was a time, long ago, when we would have had the manpower to mount a defense, but now our soldiers are too few in number and we have too many to protect.”  

“Have thy people flee north,” Erislethe said, pointing upriver. “Gather what men thou have left who can fight and we shall hold the line here.”

“We, you say?” Nacona lifted his eyebrows, his voice and expression doing little to hide his incredulity. Although he didn’t say it, his meaning was clear; the way she appeared Erislethe looked more prepared to attend an evening ball than stand on a battlefield. “Are you offering to take up arms with us?”

“Stories of the strength of Drajken are well-known.” Orlan said.

Erislethe flashed them a grin, picked up fist-sized river rock from the ground and crushed it to bits in her hand. “They shan't be stories much longer.”     

Grace, in the meantime, between listening to the discussion, had been looking up and down the river, studying the terrain and making pensive expressions and nodding her head until finally exclaimed. “That could work!” gaining the attention of the others.

“Hear me out,” Grace said, turning to the Dokalfr leaders. “I think there might be a way out of this.”