Theros Ironfield

Chapter 28

The sun rose strong and warm the next day. Not a cloud was in the sky. Vermala lay huddled near the fire, shaking so much that his teeth rattled. Theros leaned over him, bathed his burning face in cold water, did what he could to make him more comfortable.

Fever was setting in. The elf had lost a lot of blood, and would not survive much longer.

The two prisoners were fast asleep, still tied together. At one point during the night, they had thought that Theros had fallen asleep. They had rolled to one side and began working on the knots that bound them together. A kick to the head informed the prisoners that they’d made a slight miscalculation.

“Wake up,” Theros said to Vermala, afraid that perhaps the elf had fallen into the strange sleep trance from which one never awakens. “Keep awake, if you can.”

Vermala opened his eyes. “I’m thirsty,” he whispered.

He spoke the words in elven, his knowledge of the Common language lost in his pain. Theros didn’t understand the words, but he guessed the intent.

The big man was relieved that Vermala was awake and worried at the same time. The waterskin was empty. He was wondering if he dared risk leaving and going to fill it, when the trees around him seemed to come alive. He sprang up, his axe in the ready position.

Elves burst out from the trees and ran into the glade. Hirinthas was in the lead. More elves were running out of the woods and joining them.

Hirinthas hurried forward and knelt beside Vermala, who was fluttering back and forth from consciousness to unconsciousness. A second elf sat down beside his injured comrade. He started to hum a strange tune. Removing a bag from his belt, he began laying out all manner of herbs, potions and concoctions.

“Will he live?” Theros asked in Common.

The healer elf ignored him for a moment, continuing to apply ointments to the wound. He then forced a potion down Vermala’s throat that must have tasted terrible, judging by the expression on the elf’s face. The healer spoke something in elven.

Hirinthas translated. “The next few minutes will tell all.”

Hirinthas turned to the rest of the elves, now numbering around twenty, who had gathered in the glade. He issued instructions rapidly, in elven, then, glancing at Theros, translated. “I have told them to encircle the area. I want this area secure until we are ready to move out.”

“Good idea,” Theros said.

The elves disappeared into the woods, sliding among the trees more quietly than the wind. The wind rustled a leaf now and then. The elves never did. One elf was detailed to remain with the two prisoners, to ensure that they did not attempt escape. The prisoners were now wide awake and not looking terribly pleased at this turn of events.

Theros kept an anxious watch on the injured elf. The healer continued singing softly. Although Theros couldn’t understand the words, he felt the music soothe him, ease away his troubles. He had not slept at all during the night and was starting to drift off when a voice spoke next to him, startling him to wakefulness.

Hirinthas was saying his name. “Master Ironfeld.”

Theros blinked, turned. “Sorry, I must have dozed off.”

Hirinthas looked ill at ease. The words were obviously not coming easily. “I want to … extend my thanks to you for remaining with my cousin. Not only that, but you saved our lives yesterday. I was … ungracious.” The elf straightened. “I wish to apologize.”

Theros smiled, shrugged. “Sure. I understand. I guess you haven’t had much cause to trust humans lately.”

Hirinthas gave a short nod and then went to sit beside his cousin.

Vermala suddenly gasped and lurched over sideways, the brown potion he’d drunk spewing from the side of his mouth. The wounded elf began to convulse. The healer elf inserted a stick in Vermala’s mouth, so that he wouldn’t bite his tongue, and tried to hold the elf down. The tremors were too violent. Theros knelt in front of Vermala. As gently as he could, he held the elf’s shoulders pinned to the ground.

After half a minute, the elf lay still. At first, Theros thought he was dead, but then Vermala’s eyes opened. He glanced around, looking first at Theros and then over to the healer.

“What happened? Is he going to be all right?” Theros asked, shaken.

“His fever is broken, the toxic spirits have been purged from his body. He will begin to heal.” The healer started to pack up his herbs and potions.

“Looks to me like the cure’s near as bad as the injury,” Theros stated.

The healer was wrapping more bandages around the wound. “In the old days, our people had healers who could ease pain with a song, heal torn flesh by touching it, even restore life to the dead, if you believe the stories. And then came the Cataclysm and the gods left us. Now we must fall back on our wits. And even then, very often, my skill is not enough.”

The healer looked over at Theros. “You did what was necessary for Vermala. You kept him warm, kept him awake.”

“I’ve seen wounds like his before,” said Theros gruffly. “Too many times. Too many.” He shook his head.

The healer helped Vermala to drink some water. “He is out of danger. He can be moved. He should be carried back to Quivernost.”

Vermala motioned for the healer to come closer, so that he could speak. In whispered tones, he conversed with the healer. Then the wounded elf reclined, closing his eyes. He sighed and fell asleep.

The healer sat back on his heels, gazing thoughtfully at Theros, who had the impression the conversation had been about him.

“If he was thanking me,” said Theros, embarrassed and wishing these elves weren’t so damned polite, “just tell him not to give it a second thought.”

The healer tucked a blanket securely around Vermala’s shoulders. “He asked me to thank you. He then thanked me for my services, and passed on to me the burden of your safe passage through the forest. I am now charged, along with Hirinthas, with your safekeeping.”

Rising to his feet, the elf made a formal bow. “My name is Berenthinis. I am the healer for the village of Quivernost.”

Theros bowed clumsily. Something the elf had said disturbed him. “I’m having a little trouble understanding. Did you say that you are the healer for the village? Do you mean that there’s only one and you’re it?”

The elf nodded. “That is true. The task of attending to the sick is considered an onerous one among my people. It reminds them constantly that the gods have left them. They know it must be done, but there are few willing to do it.”

“And you’d abandon your people in order to escort me? What if someone needs you? What if a child falls ill? What if someone’s injured?”

Berenthinis raised an eyebrow. “That is not your concern, Master Ironfeld. I have accepted the charge. I am honor bound.”

Theros scratched his beard. Blasted elves! No common sense. Plus, Theros was getting tired of the fact that these elves apparently considered him a babe in the woods, likely to come to harm without their careful guidance.

“Look, healer.” Theros had completely forgotten the elf’s name. They all sounded alike to him anyway. “I’m responsible for my own well-being. I appreciate that you have given me safe passage, but you’re needed back with your people. I’m here to help you, not be a burden to you. I am going to take Vermala’s responsibility. You are released from your obligation.”

The healer studied Theros a moment, then bowed again. “As you wish,” was all he said.

Well, at least he hadn’t argued. Theros guessed that it wasn’t difficult for the elf to give up the responsibility. It was a rare elf indeed who would relish the job of keeping a human alive, no matter how grateful they were to him.

Theros and Hirinthas constructed a stretcher with two pine branches loosely held together with leather straps. They laid pine boughs over the straps, providing a bed for the wounded elf.

Hirinthas whistled like a bird. Within minutes, the elves guarding the perimeter had returned. They had been so silent, Theros had forgotten they were out there. Two were assigned to carry Vermala. Theros untied the prisoners and allowed them to put their boots back on. The elves bound the prisoners’ hands behind their backs with strips of leather. They formed into a column, with Hirinthas at the head, and Theros taking up the position of rear guard.

They traveled slowly, moving carefully so as not to jar the injured elf. Theros carried his pack, his axe in its holster on his back. He kept a close eye on the prisoners, wondered what he was going to do about them, about Moorgoth. The prisoners’ mouths were gagged, for which Theros was grateful. If the prisoners started talking about Theros having worked once for Moorgoth, they could make Theros’s life very difficult. He’d have a tough time explaining that to the elves.

All these years, Theros had been living with a price on his head and he’d never known it. Ignorance is bliss-or so the kender say.

They reached Quivernost just after nightfall. The healer ordered Vermala to be taken to the healer’s house. Berenthinis followed after the stretcher. Before he left, Theros stopped him, placing his hand on the elf’s shoulder.

He felt the elf flinch beneath his touch, hastily removed his hand.

“Listen, I just want you to know that I appreciate you taking on my safety as your responsibility. It was an honorable thing to do. But you have a greater responsibility to these people. I don’t have to tell you that. Still, you did me a great honor today.” Theros bowed clumsily to the elf.

Berenthinis appeared taken aback. He studied Theros. “You are a strange man, Master Ironfeld. It is rare these days to hear anyone speak of honor, much less a human.”

He returned the bow, then hurried to catch up with the stretcher-bearers.

Theros chuckled, but only to himself. “I’ve probably ruined that poor elf’s whole philosophy concerning us savage humans.”

Hirinthas was hovering at Theros’s elbow. “Come with me, Master Ironfeld. I will introduce you to the other human who will be working with you.”

Theros followed Hirinthas to a meeting hall built into a huge tree trunk. They entered a large room filled with elves, eating and drinking. It was mealtime, and the room was evidently used as the town tavern when not used for official business.

Hirinthas looked around the room. The only other human in the place sat at a table, eating bread and shrimp. Another elf sat with him, also eating. The two were not engaged in conversation and Theros had the feeling that the elf was some sort of guard. The human looked up as they approached, and his face brightened at the sight of Theros.

Rising to his feet, the man wiped bits of shrimp tails off his hands and extended his hand to Theros. “I’m Koromer Vlusaj. They’ve brought me on here as the shipwright. Pleasure to see another human! No offense, there.” He nodded to Hirinthas. “But it’s good to see your own kind.”

Theros sat down next to Koromer. The man was big, almost as big as Theros. Koromer’s face was honest and open. His skin was bronzed from outdoor work and his hair bleached blond by the sun. He had a booming laugh that shook the tree in which they sat; it invariably startled the elves. Koromer’s laugh went off like a crack of thunder.

They all sat down, Hirinthas taking his seat next to Theros and across from the elf sitting with Koromer. A serving maid brought both Hirinthas and Theros a bowl of shrimp and some bread. She returned with two glasses of a sweet elven wine and a jug of water. Theros thanked the woman, who stared at him blankly. Obviously she didn’t understand a word. She was quick to leave.

“I hear you’re an ironsmith.” Koromer said.

Theros nodded. “I can do ironsmithing, but I was trained as a weapons-smith. Still, I’ll be able to produce whatever you need, as long as I’ve got the forge, the tools, and the steel to do the job.”

Koromer described what tools were available. Theros considered them, decided he could use a few more. He turned to Hirinthas. “Look, when you go back to Solace, please see if you can find a-”

Hirinthas said quietly, “I’m not going back to Solace, Master Ironfeld. However, I will be glad to find someone who is, and have him perform the task.”

Koromer jerked a thumb toward the elf sitting with him. Theros understood.

He grunted. “So I’m to have my own personal watchdog, is that it?”

“It is for your own safety,” Hirinthas replied, a faint flush mantling his cheeks. Even he had the grace to feel somewhat ashamed. “My charge was to see you safely through the forests of Qualinesti. You are still here. Until you leave, I will be your guard. The same is true of Taranthas here. We will protect both you and Master Vlusaj until you leave our service.”

Theros could guess what the elf’s statement really meant: And we will protect our people from contact with you humans.

Koromer and Theros exchanged glances. It wasn’t worth arguing with the elf over the matter. He had his orders. And Theros had to admit that the thought of having a guard was somewhat comforting. The elves were at war, and there was no reason that he should become a casualty. He’d just have to view Hirinthas as a bodyguard, not a prison guard.

Theros turned back to Koromer, and together they began to map out a strategy to build the first elven fleet.