Cormyr

Chapter 6: Settlers

Year of the Firestars (6 DR)

Ondeth Obarskyr was being watched, of that he had no doubt. Throughout the morning, he had felt someone’s eyes following his every move-an ever-present gaze that came not from the stockade or the houses, but from the forest itself.

It made him slightly anxious-an unseen watcher could mean no good-but there was nothing to be done about it, so Ondeth continued his tasks. For this day, that meant splitting the last large trees.

When they’d first arrived in this glen, it had been strewn with piles of uprooted trees and overgrown brush. Some of this tangle had rotted where it lay, and the Obarskyrs mixed it with the rich, crumbling earth to feed their crops. The larger chunks of hardwood that withstood the weather were used for building or burning, depending on their size and condition. The evening hearth and the firepit, it seemed, would have ample fuel for as many as four years.

Ondeth had already used the most suitable wood to erect the small stockade and the low houses within it-mean, small huts, unlike those his wife Suzara was used to back east. She bore up to the harsh conditions as best she could, but their evenings together often held hushed, whispered arguments in which Suzara spoke most, and about the same things: the dangers here, and how things would be so much safer on the eastern side of the sea, back in Impiltur.

Ondeth chose his next victim from the woodpile, a good-sized piece that young Rhiiman and Faerlthann had sawn into a thick, drum-shaped slice. The original tree had been scorched and apparently felled by lightning, and as such would be unsuitable for building. Everyone knew that using a lightning-struck tree in your home merely attracted more bolts from the blue. Ondeth grunted and hefted the thick chunk onto the chopping block, a stump of iron oak not worth the work needed to uproot it or carve it apart.

Whoever was spying on him, thought Ondeth, could at least be civil and introduce himself. Ondeth could definitely use some help.

The boys were out tending their snares. Ondeth’s younger brother Villiam was hurrying to finish his own house. Two days from now, the younger Obarskyr would begin the slow hike eastward to the rough-hewn, swampy port of Marsember, where the rest of his family would arrive. Perhaps Suzara would be happier with a few more women about.

Suzara wasn’t the mysterious watcher, of that he was certain. She had enough to do at the moment. Their last argument, hissed in urgent whispers in the depths of the night before, had been the worst so far.

“At least we could go back to Marsember!” she’d implored him, her head resting on his massive, hairy chest. She wouldn’t argue in front of the boys, so Ondeth lost sleep as they fought in whispers so as not to wake the others.

“When you first saw Marsember, you called it a poisoned swamp town,” he’d replied wearily.

“It is,” she said harshly, “but at least there are people there! Real people-not ghosts and goblins waiting beyond the trees.”

“There are no ghosts here,” said Ondeth, recognizing where this argument was going. Their disputes had begun to travel well-worn paths. “We are the first men and women here. It’s a chance for a new beginning.”

“I know there are ghosts. They’re watching from the woods.” Fear pervaded her tone, as it always did when she spoke of eyes in the trees.

“There’s no one out there,” Ondeth reassured her. ‘Well, perhaps some elves out hunting, but nothing else. Give it a full year, then we’ll decide.”

“I have already decided,” said Suzara. “I’m only waiting for you to agree.”

“We are staying,” said Ondeth firmly, in the iron tone of voice that signaled an end to the conversation. He had used that tone overmuch in recent days.

“So you say,” his wife hissed coldly, and he felt her jaw clench against his chest.

He curled one arm up to touch her shoulder and stroke the curving flesh there. She grasped his wrist tenderly, but held to it firmly. She’d not let him work his charms on her this evening, to cozen and calm her and convince her to stay. She would not let him reassure her that there were no strangers lurking in the forest waiting to slay them, that the crops they’d planted would bear rich yields, and that the vast stretches of land were better than the cramped city warrens they’d come from.

And when her ragged, angry breathing had at last grown long and measured, Ondeth Obarskyr looked into the darkness and wondered if he had been right in dragging Suzara and the boys all this way, to a small hold hedged by dark woods in the wild heart of the Realms.

He needed the boys to help him build, and he couldn’t leave Suzara behind alone, as Villiam had done with his Karsha. Yet she might wither and die here. Marsember was no more than a muddy straggle of ramshackle houses clustered around a few piers, but at least there were people for her to talk to there. They might have stayed there-or go back there now. Or perhaps further east, to Sembia. Southerners from Chondath held those towns, but it was said there were some eastern folk as well.

Or north. He’d heard the men up there had made their peace with the elves and agreed to settle the empty lands. A realm full of folk-even a rough, young place with little to buy or share, and no fine clothes or wine or idle company to enjoy-might well soothe Suzara’s concerns. Perhaps they had come too far, outstripping the support of town and farm and fellow human beings.

Perhaps when Karsha and Villiam’s eldest daughter Medaly arrived, things would be better. Perhaps in the morning, he told the darkness silently, things would be better.

But morning came, and Suzara remained distant and nervous, not sparing any of them more than a dozen words.

And now, as the last of the morning fog pulled away from the trees in tatters, Ondeth as well had gained the feeling of being watched. He thought with bitter mirth about how well wives could convince their mates of all manner of things. Perhaps it was a sort of magic women shared.

He examined the block of wood, turning it with his hardened hands. It was solid, free of fungus and rot, and its slow drying had opened a series of cracks radiating from the center. He chose the longest of them and set one of the thin iron wedges along the break.

The iron tools-wedge, hammer, and axe-were the most important things Ondeth had carried with him from Impiltur. He had his skinning knife, of course, and had bought the boys short, heavy-bladed swords of Chondathan design, but if they were going to survive here, he’d have to do more than just hunt. He’d thought of getting a steel blade for the plow, but until the first crop came in, there was nothing to sell, and therefore nothing to buy with.

He tapped a second wedge along the crack, wielding the sledge in one hand. Then he stepped back a few paces, shaking his shoulders to loosen them.

Wheeling the heavy-headed hammer in a great arc over his shoulders, Ondeth brought it down squarely on the wedge. Half its length disappeared into the wood, which jumped and quivered, and there was a satisfying crack.

Ondeth dealt another mighty blow to the first, inner wedge, and a third swing to the outer wedge again, forcing it deep into the wood. One more ought to do it.

He swung one last hammerblow, and the great chunk of hardwood split with a sound like sharp thunder. Two roughly even pieces rocked on the block, the last splinters fell away as he pulled them apart. Each could be comfortably carried. The exposed inner wood was solid, unaffected by decay. It would burn well.

The stranger was there when Ondeth looked up again. Ondeth would have started, but he wasn’t the sort of man to start.

“Morning,” he said instead, as if they both stood on a boggy street in Marsember.

“Good day,” the other man replied. He was certainly a beanpole of a fellow, slender to the point of emaciation. Yet this was no starveling, he was well groomed and wore a jacket and leggings of green linen. Elven make.

Ondeth looked into his eyes, and then back to his work. Framed by a well-clipped red beard, the stranger’s mouth was a thin line, for all the syrupy, mannered nature of his voice.

“Help you?” asked Ondeth in level tones, hauling the larger of the two halves onto the stump.

“Perhaps,” replied the stranger. “Can I ask why you’re here?”

“Have to split the logs,” said Ondeth. “They won’t do it by themselves.”

The stranger gave the burly Obarskyr farmer a brief, amused smile and said, “I mean, it looks like you’re settling here in the wolf woods.”

“Aye,” said Ondeth. “Is there a problem with that?”

“The elves claim this land for their hunting.”

“I’ve heard that. And I intend to leave them to it. I’m a horrible shot with a bow. I lost an older brother to a boar hunt back in Impiltur. Let the elves have their hunting, I’m a farmer.”

“So they’ve noticed. Other men have come into these lands, and when they chased off the deer, the elves had to act. You haven’t taken any of their prey, but you are on their land.”

Ondeth’s brow rose. “You are not an elf,” he said flatly. The lean man shrugged and held out a hand. “I am Baerauble Etharr, a friend to the elves.”

Ondeth returned his own name and shook Baerauble’s hand. The man’s grip was limp and unpracticed, as if it had been some time since he’d last used it. A small silence fell between the two men.

“May I ask why you settled here?” asked the thin man, his voice still pleasant. “I mean, both in the wolf woods and in this particular place?”

Ondeth shrugged. “Some bad times have come down on the land we came from. Plagues. Tyrants. Bad kings. The usual. When it becomes easier for a man to face goblin attacks than pay his taxes, then it’s time to take his chances with the goblins.”

“There are few goblins, and they keep well to the north of here,” said Baerauble.

“I take it your elves keep them at bay,” said Ondeth.

“We guard this land,” said Baerauble simply. “That is one reason I’m here.”

Ondeth thought of his wife’s talk of ghosts and watchers. How long had this rail-thin stranger been watching them?

“As for settling in this particular place,” said Ondeth, “we struck west from Marsember, following the hunting and game trails along the coast, looking for enough open space to farm. We found this spot, open to the sky, with some ancient trees already felled. It’s easier than cutting timber on our own.”

He swung one muscular arm south. “The shoreline is close… nothing but sharp-toothed rocks, but we can build a small dock if need be… eventually. The soil’s rich here, and it should bring in a good crop. Have you claimed this land already?”

The farmer hefted his hammer, as if to indicate he would contest any such claim.

The newcomer surprised Ondeth. He gave a thin, worried smile. “No, I was a… guest of the original inhabitants.”

“Your elves killed those original inhabitants.” It was a statement, not a question.

The lean man started. “You know?”

“I’ve found bits of bone and broken swords when I was plowing. You don’t have to be Sage Alaundo to figure out there were other inhabitants here earlier. Haven’t told Suzara, she’d just worry.”

Another pause between the two. Ondeth broke it finally with a direct look up from his hammer and the gruff question, “So-are you here to kill us as well?”

Baerauble started again. Ondeth wondered if he was being too hard-tongued with the stranger, but this one had called himself a friend of the elves and had probably not been near humans for a decade.

Baerauble blinked and then said slowly, “Perhaps. They sent me to determine your intentions.”

Ondeth nodded. “I intend to farm. My sons do a little snaring. Brother’s going down to Marsember tomorrow to fetch his wife and family. If you want to kill us, I’d appreciate your doing it before the younger folk arrive.”

The stranger did not-quite-smile. “How many folk do you intend to have here in this settlement?”

Ondeth shrugged. “I know of a dozen, maybe two dozen folk who’d trade Marsember for some dry land.” After a moment, he asked, “Your elves aren’t going to destroy Marsember as well?”

The lean man shook his head. “The elves claim the wild forest, this part of the great forest known as Cormanthir-what you call the wolf woods, or Cormyr. Marsember is, as you may have noticed, a swamp. Two dozen, eh? Farmers like yourself?”

“Some are. Some will hunt, likely. There may be more. I can’t very well speak for every human along the western shores.”

“Leave the rothe-the forest buffalo. You can take enough deer for your settlement, but if you drive out the native herds, the elves will take their own measures. Take deadfall branches, not live wood for your fires and buildings… and I think they will let you stay.”

“Extremely generous of them,” said Ondeth sharply. “And where are these elven masters who we’re being so gracious to?”

Baerauble looked at the large man, brows drawing down, as Ondeth continued. “I’ve been here with my family for four months now, and you’re the first thinking creature we’ve seen since we left Marsember. Now you tell me this is elven land, and if I want to remain I have to tailor my life and that of my family to the dictates of these elves. I’ll need a good reason to do that… a very good reason. So my question is-where are these elves?”

The thin man was still for a moment. Looking at him, Ondeth thought a stiff wind would uproot him. Then he said, “I will take you to them.”

With both hands, the lean newcomer traced out a large circle in the air, indicating an area of the trodden ground around them as if he were one of the women back home telling Suzara how big her next gown was going to be. As he did so, he spat out a cascade of harsh words. Neither elvish nor the trade tongue, the words rolled out, rich and sinuous with power, and Ondeth almost shivered. These words were deep, they’d been old when the legendary dragons were young. As the bearded man moved his hands, they trailed scars of light in the air, lines of radiance that continued to glow and spread outward.

Ondeth took a step back and brought up his hammer, more to ward off the magic than attack the newcomer. The glow rose all around him, it was blinding for a moment.

And when it subsided, they were somewhere else.

“You’re a wizard!” exclaimed Ondeth, realizing how stupid that sounded even as he said it. “You could have warned me,” he added, and after another pause, “Suzara is going to be peeved if she finds me gone.”

The mage stood stock-still. “You wanted to see the elves of Cormanthir. Watch.”

They were standing somewhere deep in the forest, in cool, green shade. The woods were relatively free of ground cover. It felt to Ondeth as if he were in a green hail, the huge, moss-girt trees its pillars and the leaves above a roof of jade-colored glass. There was a sharpness to everything around him, as if the rest of the world had been wrapped in fog.

They were scattered around the two men in a rough line that curved like welcoming arms-or waiting claws. At first the elves were indistinguishable from the forest itself. Then Ondeth realized that they were dressed in tunics made of solid shades of green and yellow, and their trappings and accoutrements were gold.

The nearest elf was a female, her features clear and sharp enough to etch glass. She was dressed like the others. Ondeth saw that her tunic was really a chain mail shirt, its links so small that they appeared as no more than loops of fabric. She held a thin ivory spear, its barbed tip of beaten gold.

She shifted her head to regard the two humans. Ondeth suddenly felt as rough and uncouth as a dung-smeared hobgoblin in his worn linen jacket and heavy pants.

Then she smiled, a thin flash of pure white between her lips, and it was as if daylight had broken through the forest canopy. A small smile, but enough to lift Ondeth’s heart above the trees.

The smile was not for him. Baerauble the wizard bowed with stiff formality back at the elf, but his face was wide with a grin. Ondeth felt a flash of jealousy.

“What…” he began, but the mage raised a hand, stilling his question before it could be asked.

“It’s beginning,” Baerauble said. “The Hunt.”

The elves were all facing the same way, and from that direction came the blast of a great horn. A second horn call joined it, and then another, each in perfect thirds to form a single swelling, melodious chord. The elves along the line shifted positions and readied their spears.

Then lights shone out beneath the forest canopy. Soft blue and green glows, like the radiant fungus found on rotting wood. Yellow and orange balls of lightning sang in and out of the trees, joined now by red spheres as bright as an angry dragon’s eye.

To Ondeth, they looked like lanterns held aloft in a procession. But as they bobbed and weaved through the trees, the farmer knew they were magical, controlled by approaching elves, no doubt.

Beaters. These lights and horns were intended to drive prey forward, toward the line of waiting elves. But what beast was so powerful it needed such effort?

The answer was quick in coming. Ondeth heard a crashing in the forest depths, a crunching of brambles and trees in several places, that soon grew so loud and frantic that it overwhelmed the cacophony of blasting horns.

Trees swayed and shed their leaves in clouds as great, shaggy beasts burst past them, bounding through the forest, wild-eyed and snorting. Their hooves shook the earth and made a sound like thunder as they rushed toward the elves. These were the small buffalo of the forest, surging in a flight as wild and fleet as a herd of deer. Ondeth saw red-rimmed eyes shining with fear, and he swallowed in spite of himself as the huge beasts rushed down upon the line of elves, who stood calmly waiting, spears ready… and passed through unimpeded. A few elves stepped deftly aside to let a snorting buffalo pass. Ondeth watched the monstrous creatures race past, as tall as the huts he’d been building. The ground shook under their charge, and the farmer hefted his sledge, his breath quickening, but then the beasts were gone in a cloud of drifting dust and fading thunder, running hard into the distance.

The elves had let them go. The forest buffalo were not the prey they were hunting.

Ondeth started to form a question over the tumult, but he got no further than opening his mouth before there was a greater crashing from the forest. In the dim distance, as the earth beneath his boots trembled, an old, massive shadowtop tree toppled slowly over. Then the cause of its fall burst into view, and Ondeth’s words died in his throat.

It was an owlbear, that dangerous predator of the woods all over Faerun, but this one was larger than any owlbear he’d ever seen, looming as tall as two men or more as it lumbered along. Its fur was scorched in places, and it snapped its birdlike beak as it came nearer, slashing and raking the trees as it passed. Its claws were like rows of daggers, each as long as Ondeth’s forearm, and it shredded the leaves around it in sheer rage as it advanced.

The farmer watched it, fascinated. The creature’s fur became longer and finer toward its head, resembling brown feathers, which framed wide, watery eyes, golden orbs filled with a deep and mighty fury

The great owlbear checked its rush only for a moment when it saw the line of hunters ahead. It reared fully erect, its triangular head grazing the spreading branches of the largest trees, and wheeled around to glare at the lights bobbing behind it.

Then it snarled, made its decision-and charged.

There was a slight gap in the elven line, between the human farmer and the elven maiden who had smiled at Baerauble. The owlbear went for it as fast as it could move.

The wizard took a step nearer Ondeth, raised his hands, and barked a string of twisted, clacking syllables that should not have been possible for a human mouth to form. Radiances burst into being around his hands, flared to a blinding brightness, and left his fingers as a crackling, crawling arc of lightning.

The wizard’s bolt seared its way along the great owlbear’s flank, then died away. Smoke curled up, and the air suddenly smelled of summer storms and burning fur. The owlbear did not slow down.

The elves were running from both ends of the line now, but they’d spaced themselves out too far. The owlbear would be on top of the two men before the hunters could bar its path. Ondeth swallowed.

This forest monster would likely kill them unless the mage had another lightning bolt up his sleeve. Kill them-or slay the elf maiden with the radiant smile.

Ondeth’s imagination offered him a brief, vivid scene of her being torn apart by those great claws, blood spraying in all directions, and he roared out a denial, hefted his sledge, and stepped in front of the elf maiden. The owlbear swerved, not to pass through the gap he’d opened up but to attack, claws glittering, and Ondeth Obarskyr brought the heavy hammer around in a single, solid blow, smashing into the beast just below its shoulder.

The owlbear howled, a keening wail that drowned out the blaring horns, then lowered its head in pain-and slammed into Ondeth, butting him with its fur-covered head. it felt like a pillow wrapped around a building stone.

Ondeth was aware he was flying through the air, flung backward to land hard, dropping his sledge as he bounced bruisingly and fought to find air. Tears of pain stung his eyes, but through their blur, he saw the owlbear break through the elven line.

The elf maiden was there. She’d driven her spear into the monster’s other shoulder and used it to pull herself onto the beast’s back. She shouted something in the elvish tongue and brandished a long bone-colored knife. The owlbear roared as she drove the blade into the back of its neck, but still the creature did not slow down. Coming to his knees, Ondeth saw it charge on into the forest beyond, the elf maiden whooping and shouting as she clung to her spear, riding the owlbear as it disappeared.

Baerauble reached down a hand, helped the farmer to his feet, and handed him his hammer. Ondeth started to say something, but the wizard shushed him with the words, “One more thing to be seen first,” and turned back to face the trees whence the owlbear had come. Ondeth looked in that direction, too.

The beaters were appearing through the trees. Without question, they were the most radiant beings of beauty Ondeth had ever seen. Without saddle or bridle, they rode the sleek backs of deer, graceful beasts that sprang along lightly and effortlessly. Most of their riders wore the same fine chain as the hunters, but some were clad only in diaphanous robes that trailed behind them like smoke. Their battle horns curled about in large, sweeping circles, and were tipped with huge-mouthed bronze bells.

The riders were surrounded by the flying lights, spheres that bobbed and darted playfully around them, casting half a hundred shadows. Ondeth could see these strange, beautiful radiances rippling with energy across their otherwise featureless surfaces.

Then came the elf nobles, Ondeth knew their exalted rank at a glance. Their mounts were huge stags whose gilded antlers were laced with silver filigree and flew more than bounded. Proud riders bestrode them, lords and ladies of the forests in fine, flowing outfits of silklike finery, their silver and corn-colored hair streaming behind them in long braids.

The most ornately robed figure, obviously the leader of the elves, passed close by the two humans. Baerauble bowed low and tapped Ondeth’s shoulder, indicating he should do the same.

Ondeth stayed on his feet, hammer in hand, and regarded the lordly elf with calm admiration.

Elf and man locked eyes for a moment. The elf lord had a long, ragged scar down one cheek and carried an ornate golden scepter topped with a glossy-polished amethyst. He wore a simple crown of some silvery metal. It consisted of a circlet with three spikes along the brow, each spike topped with another purple gem.

The elf lord held the man’s eyes for a measured moment, then smiled, a great, toothy smile that dimmed even that of the elf maiden.

And then he was gone, his stag bounding away through the underbrush, and the elven hunters on foot were sprinting away after the nobles, spears held high, racing off into the forest after the echoing, fading wail of the gigantic owlbear.

Ondeth watched them pass out of sight, staring after them in wonder. He started when the mage touched his shoulder.

“I think Lord Iliphar approves,” Baerauble said gently.

“Approves?” asked Ondeth, not understanding. Then he turned to face the wizard and said slowly, “You brought me here not to show your elves to me… but to show me to your elves.”

A half-smile touched the wizard’s lips. “First meetings are important. If Iliphar’s Hunting Court first saw you as a human intruder disputing some forest kill with an elven hunter, your dealings with elves would probably follow the trail of most humans-a long, descending spiral of testings that would end in the destruction of your homestead. This time, they’ll remember a brave human who helped in the taking down of one of the last giant owlbears in the eastern reaches.”

“That woman…” Ondeth said slowly. “She didn’t need my help, did she?”

“My lady Dahast is a show-off,” said Baerauble with a smile, stressing the word ‘my’ ever so slightly but clearly. “No, she did not. I can tell you she appreciated it, however.”

Ondeth nodded. “It was so-” he searched for the right word-“beautiful.”

The mage arched his eyebrows in surprise.

“Beautiful,” repeated the farmer. “The lights in the trees, the horns, the elves themselves.” He spread his hands out in the direction the elves had gone. “Beautiful.”

Ondeth turned to Baerauble. “This is a wondrous land a land of startling beauty. It is better even than Impiltur, and a palace compared to swampy Marsember or the other rough holds of men on these shores. If the elves seek to keep this as their hunting place, I will respect that and see to it that any who settle with me respect it as well… if they’ll allow us to remain.”

The wizard replied, “I think they will after your actions today. But you surprise me, Ondeth Obarskyr. I did not think you had such resolution and poetry in your heart.”

Ondeth smiled. “I’ve many surprises yet. I come from a family of many poets, heroes… and scoundrels as well. Come, we’ve been gone too long, and Suzara will be worried about me. You must come for dinner.”

The mage nodded and then paused. “I really should return you, then return to the Hunt.”

“Dinner!” said Ondeth, placing a hand on the mage’s shoulder. The wizard jumped slightly at the touch, but only slightly. “You’ve shown your hospitality, and I must show mine. Besides, you have a great task ahead of you this evening.”

Baerauble blinked. “Oh?”

“You have convinced me to live with your elves,” said Ondeth. “Now you must convince my dear Suzara to stay here with me. This shall be our home-forevermore.”