Elf Lords: 02 - Last of the Elf Lords Page 2

  “He is uninjured.” Trian assessed. He swung effortlessly into the saddle and rode over to take the reins of Megan’s horse before addressing the bandits. “Feel free to take the horses and whatever you find back at the carriage. That, and what I have already paid you, will be your reward.”

  “What do we do with the girl?” One of the bandits asked.

  “Whatever you desire,” the half-elf replied, “but make sure that she is alive when you finish with her. I want her to be able to tell the Queen who took her daughter.”

  Megan wrestled to no avail, trying to break free of her bonds as the half-elf began riding, leading her away. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she listened to the wails of her friend as the men did whatever they pleased with her. Linda’s cries did not dissipate until long after the princess had been carried off far enough not to hear them anymore. Yet even then, they continued to echo in Megan’s ears.

  Chapter Two

  Landis sat with his back to the wall of Hobgoblin’s Haven. It had been a long time since he had passed through Chio. There was nothing about this town that attracted him. Had it not been for a message from King Eric of Birhirm sending for him in a matter of extreme urgency, Landis would not be here now. The shortest route back to Birhirm required him to pass through this nefarious town. Due to the late hour of Landis’ arrival he decided to stay for the night. Landis’ last visit to Chio—nearly two decades earlier—had resulted in the deaths of a pair of would-be rapists and murderers within the town limits, and the additional deaths of a well-known, powerful family in the thieves’ guild following their departure. Still, Landis doubted that anyone here would remember him after eighteen years, especially with the despicable reputation for activities that occurred here on a regular basis.

  As dangerous as Chio was, Landis thought it best to hold up here for the night than to continue on and cross the border into Alexonian territory, where he was something of a wanted man. Queen Petra, High Queen of the Westland, had revoked the decree seeking Landis for the supposed theft of the Sword of Alexon, but there might still be people who remembered the legend of his theft, or, more probably, the bounty that had originally been offered for his capture. Landis knew all too well that retractions often did not travel as far as accusations. In addition, he did have other enemies in the west, including some who had placed a price on his head for personal reasons. In a town like Chio one was never safe, but at least Landis knew what he was dealing with in this lawless place.

  Landis was pleased that his long hair and dirty cloak hid not only his identity, but the fact that he was not a full human. If only I could grow a beard, he thought, not for the first time in his life. While Chio offered nearly every vice imaginable, it was also a place where non humans—including half-humans like him—were not welcomed with open arms.

  Landis took another sip from what he was convinced was watered down ale, while remaining ever watchful of the crowd. A marginally talented lute player performed in the corner, entertaining the patrons with songs depicting licentious and wanton desires.

  “Looking for some company?” A buxom, slightly heavyset woman with stringy brown hair, asked him. Landis smiled politely at the scantily clad prostitute, “Tempting offer,” he lied, “but I have other business to attend to first.”

  The woman quickly moved on in search of someone who might be more interested in what she had to offer. As she walked away, Landis observed a man wearing a black cloak entering the tavern. The newcomer’s face was hidden by a heavy hood, but the way that he walked demonstrated agility and confidence. Landis could make out the bulge of at least one weapon hidden beneath his cloak. Instinct told him that this man could be dangerous. Landis remained nonchalant as his eyes followed the hooded man, as he walked over to the bar, never once looking Landis’ way.

  A commotion at the entrance drew Landis’ attention away. Seven men, all wearing swords, bustled into the place. The way that they spread out and began looking throughout the crowd made it obvious that they were looking for someone.

  “Damn.” Landis muttered as he reached across his waist to grasp the hilt of his sword. People scattered as the armed men moved about; all except for the hooded man who remained standing at the bar, now with his back to the counter. Landis mentally prepared to go after this man first when the fighting began. Then he observed something: the cloaked man’s right hand appeared between the folds of his garment. Landis saw fingers flashing a quick message in Thieves Cant: the secret hand signals used by thieves and assassins. Landis read the message and grinned.

  “There he is!” A thick bearded man with a barrel chest declared as he pointed in Landis’ direction. “You’re going to fetch us a nice profit.” He said to Landis.

  Landis stood; his hand on the pommel of his sword, ready to pull it out at a moment’s notice. “I believe that you have me confused with someone else. There is no bounty on my head.” Anymore, he silently added.

  The bearded man—the obvious leader of the group—approached him. “You are Landis, the half-elf.” He accused.

  “Never heard of him.” Landis lied.

  The man chuckled, “Do not try to fool me. I saw you in Alexon, when Petra Sergius became queen. I remember you well.”

  “It is a long way from Alexon to this piss hole. Perhaps your memory has failed you in your travels.”

  “You do not carry the white bow, but your green and brown eyes give you away, half-elf.” The man continued, “Surrender; the price on your head is more if you are alive, but we will still make a profit even if you are dead.” He warned.

  “Maybe one or two of you will earn a reward, but not all of you.” Landis answered.

  The men drew their swords. Landis could see fear in the eyes of three of them, but the other four had the look of hardened killers; probably bounty hunters, as well as cutthroats, as the two often ran together.

  The bearded man stepped closer, “You may be good, half-elf, but there are seven of us and one of you. And we have you cornered.”

  “You know what they say about cornered animals, gentlemen; they are the most dangerous. And it comes as no surprise that scum such as you cannot count. I see two in my favor. Allow me to introduce you to my father; Jaylen, the former Swordmaster of Alexon.”

  The hooded figure at the bar flung his arms apart, allowing the black cloak to fall to the floor. Jaylen—the legendary elf who had fought with King Alex Sergius, more than three centuries earlier—grinned at the men standing between him and his son. His twin short swords hung across his back, and two braces of throwing knives criss-crossed his chest. “Hello boys.” He said, before grabbing a pair of knives and throwing them with blinding speed and deadly accuracy at the two closest swordsmen. Both men gasped as the blades pierced their throats. They were dead before their bodies hit the floor.

  “Get him!” The bearded man ordered as he rushed towards his half-elf prey. The patrons of Hobgoblin’s Haven dove for cover beneath their tables, or hugged the walls to escape the brawl. Landis had his sword drawn and ready to parry the bounty hunter’s blade. He struck the man’s sword twice before gaining a position to go on the offensive. Landis delivered a blow to the man’s midsection, narrowly missing a direct strike as his opponent shifted aside; but he did succeed in cutting into the man’s side. Before the other could react, Landis twisted his arm and swung the sword upwards, slicing through the man’s armpit, amputating his sword-arm in the process. Landis kicked him aside to move on to his next attacker.

  Jaylen had drawn both of his short-swords. With one in each hand, the elder elf used his ambidextrous abilities to confront two bounty hunters at once. Watching Jaylen fight was like watching a master artist at work; except that Jaylen’s brushes were his swords, and his masterpieces were the bodies of the untold dead who had fallen before him on too many occasions to remember. Using the skills taught to him three centuries earlier by his Sabonine Warrior instructors—where Jaylen had long ago mastered the Way of the Sword, which had kept him alive and made him
a legend in the Westland—the elf made dispatching the pair of fighters look easy before advancing on another.

  Landis ducked a swinging sword meant to sever his head. He used the opportunity to pull his boot dagger, a sharp ten-inch black blade. With a sword in his right hand and a dagger in his left, Landis parried the newcomer’s blade, pushing it high enough to provide an opening to thrust his dagger into the man’s side. The blade slid between the ribs, puncturing the bounty hunter’s right lung. As he dropped his arm in an involuntary reaction, Landis stabbed him in the throat, pulling the sword free and spinning about to find his next opponent in one flowing motion.

  Landis found himself face to face with his father. Both men looked about, seeing the seventh—and final—bounty hunter fleeing for the exit. “Oh no, you don’t!” Jaylen yelled, dropping one of his swords to the floor as he reached for a throwing knife. With a movement almost too fast for the eye to follow, Jaylen sent the knife end-over-end through the tavern, striking the running man between the shoulder blades. The man stumbled and fell onto the floor.

  “We should be leaving now.” Jaylen said, almost too calmly.

  “You think?” Landis asked.

  None of the frightened spectators moved from their positions as the pair made their way out of the tavern, stopping only long enough for Jaylen to retrieve his three throwing knives before they ran outside into the darkened street. Both of them could hear the sound of running footsteps and voices, announcing the swift approach of guards, or others, who had been called to arms by the bloody ruckus going on inside of Hobgoblins Haven.

  “Get on that horse.” Jaylen pointed to one of two Delindean mares tied to the post outside of the tavern. Landis swung into the saddle as his father did the same on the other horse. In seconds they were riding towards the forest, leaving the footmen far behind.

  Hearing the sound of hoof beats behind them, Jaylen looked back to see four horsemen riding after them. “We’ve got company!”

  Landis kicked his horse to keep up with his father. “Once we get out of town turn left on the first path and go in about fifty yards.”

  “Why?” Jaylen yelled over the sound of the horses’ hooves.

  “That’s where I hid my bow and quiver. We can take care of our pursuers at the same time.”

  Two sword-wielding men stood on the street waiting for their approach. Whether the men were extremely brave or incredibly stupid, their actions were fruitless as the two riders urged their horses onward, trampling both of the guards in the street without slowing down.

  After crossing the city boundary, Landis took the lead. Turning his horse, he measured the distance through the trees, thankful for his elven night-vision that made seeing in the dark easier than what their pursuers could manage. He leaped from the horse, landing gracefully onto the hard ground and rushing into the brush. A moment later he reappeared, holding an ivory colored bow and a quiver of arrows slung across his back. With an arrow already notched, Landis raised the bow, taking aim into the darkness. He released the arrow and had replaced it with another just in time to hear voices cry out in alarm. Landis could see the men clearly now and fired his second arrow. Two horses were now missing their riders. The two remaining men decided quickly that the odds were no longer in their favor and turned their horses, shouting words of surrender as they raced back towards town.

  Landis mounted his horse. Looking to his father he said, “I do not believe that I have thanked you yet.”

  “Don’t mention it, son,” Jaylen waved him off, “Let’s just get the abyss out of here before they return with more men.”

  “What brings you to Chio?” Landis asked as they kicked their horses into a run.

  “Why else would I be in the armpit of the Westland? You. Word has got out that you might be going to Birhirm, and there are more people looking for you now than ever before. So, using intelligence gathered from Eric’s Network, I came looking for you in case you needed help. It looks like I arrived just in time.”

  “Why would there be more people after me now?” Landis was confused.

  Jaylen looked at his son in the darkness. “You have not heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  “Someone kidnapped Petra and Jordan’s daughter; and the only witness claims that it was your son.”

  “My son?” Landis replied in disbelief.

  “That is apparently who the kidnapper claimed to be. And the description the princess’ maidservant gave made him a dead ringer for you. She even said that he had one green and one brown eye.”

  Landis stared at his father, trying to comprehend what he was hearing. “I have no son.”

  “The facts do not matter, Landis. Once word got out, half of the Westland now believes that you and your son kidnapped Megan.”

  Chapter Three

  Landis and Jaylen sat at the table, dining on bread and fruit as they waited to be joined in the meeting room adjoining the palace throne room in Birhirm. Landis sipped on a mug of water poured from the pitcher sitting on the table. Wine had been offered, but Jaylen had declined, requesting water instead. Both father and son were sweaty, dirty and weary after the continuous ride to reach Birhirm as swiftly as possible. They had arrived long after the city gates had been secured. A few words whispered by Jaylen to the guards secured immediate entry and discreet passage to the palace.

  “Landis, it has been a long time.” The half-elf heard a male voice speak from the doorway behind him. He turned around in time to see the tall, handsome, king of Birhirm entering the room. Landis recognized the man he once knew, noticing the difference eighteen years had made. The prince who had ridden with Landis and Jaylen to return Petra to Alexon was a young, clean shaven, immature man. King Eric wore a neatly trimmed beard, slightly darker than his dirty-blond hair. Eric’s face displayed evidence of age and maturity gained through more than a dozen years on the throne. Eric was the second born son of his father: the late King Jobez, but he had sadly outlived his older brother, which was not unexpected, as his brother had been sickly his entire life.

  “Eric,” Landis greeted the King as he stood up from the table.

  “Please remain seated.” Eric waved him back down. “We’ve been through too much together to let formalities to get in the way now.”

  “What do you know about Petra’s daughter being kidnapped?” Landis asked.

  “Petra and Jordan will be here any minute now.” Eric answered as he picked up a piece of fruit. Landis thought that Eric resembled the former King of Birhirm in both appearance and his manner of revealing nothing more than necessary.

  The door on the opposite end from where Eric had entered opened, causing all three men to look that way as a palace guard walked in, intending to announce the arrival of the Queen of Alexon and her party.

  “There is no need for announcements.” Petra said as she pushed past the guard. Landis looked at the beautiful blonde Queen, remembering at once the brief relationship they had shared so many years ago when the then sixteen-year-old princess was on the verge of becoming the High Queen of the Westland. He felt a pang of guilt at the memories. Petra’s long blonde hair nearly reached her waist, several inches longer than Landis remembered it. The thirty-four-year-old queen was striking in appearance, even though her eyes were weary and it was obvious that she was worried.

  “Oh, Landis!” Petra called, rushing to the half-elf to embrace him. “They took Megan.”

  Landis wrapped his arms around the queen to comfort her; quickly breaking the embrace when he saw Jordan entering the room. The sixteen-year-old squire that Landis remembered had grown into a handsome and muscular man who was now Petra’s husband and Prince Regent of Alexon.

  Following Jordan was Trevor Kahn. Landis observed that former knight-turned-mercenary, who had replaced his father as Sword-Master of Alexon, looked nearly the same as he had two decades ago.

  “Jordan, Trevor.” Landis greeted the two men as he pulled away from Petra.

  “Perhaps we should get started.”
Eric decided, motioning for everyone to take a seat.

  “What exactly is going on?” Landis asked.

  “Allow me to explain,” Eric began, “Princess Megan was kidnapped by someone claiming to be your son. The men captured Megan’s carriage on the road to Shoal, killing her entire escort of Knights of Alexon. Only her maidservant survived.”

  “If you call it surviving; she may never be normal again.” Petra said.

  “She is alive, but only because they left her that way so she could tell the world who it was that kidnapped Megan,” Eric continued, “the bastards raped and brutalized her so badly that she may never fully recover.”

  Petra began crying, both out of sympathy for the young woman and fear that Megan might be in danger of the same fate.

  “I had nothing to do with it.” Landis insisted.

  Petra looked him in the eyes, “You do not think that I believed for a moment you are responsible, do you?”

  Landis felt foolish for saying anything. These people had trusted him before. Petra had gone so far as to give him the Sword of Alexon—using the claim that he had stolen it—when they had last been together so that he could use it to stop the danger they faced. Landis had ruined that sword in the process, making his return to Alexon impossible. No, if these people believed that he had any part in the princess’ kidnapping then he would not be sitting amongst them. Instead he would be in interrogation somewhere.

  “Why would anyone want to pretend to be my son?” He asked. “I am not the most popular person in these parts.”

  “Even worse now that so many suspect you of being involved in Megan’s kidnapping.” Eric agreed, “We are trying to put an end to those rumors, but you know how hard that can be.