The growl stopped Baard’s ax in mid-swing. His gaze darted from the log at his feet up to the shadows among the trees of Deerhide Forest. Another growl came, much closer, and too deep for a wolf or a bear.
“Something’s coming for us, Baard,” his sister Elya said, her fists tightening around the twigs she’d collected for kindling. She tilted her head toward the sound. Her closed eyelids fluttered with agitation in the dappled sunlight. “It feels . . . like a creature of the Wrathlands.”
A blast of putrid breeze wafted from the woods, clawing at Baard’s fair hair. Their old mare, Whitecap, screamed and stomped her hind foot. Elya’s guide wolf Fierran crashed from an undergrowth, his eyes shining wildly; he skipped toward Elya, grabbed the skirt of her roughspun dress between his teeth, and yanked on it as if he wanted to drag her back to their village.
The growling came closer. Whitecap screamed in fright, rolling her eyes so much only the whites showed. She reared, but Baard leaped to her, grabbed the reins, and yanked down on them to keep her still.
“Get on the horse, Elya!” he shouted, glad he hadn’t attached any logs to the harness. “Quick!”
As Elya stumbled toward the horse, a monster emerged from the forest and stood on the path only a few steps away. He was twice the size of a human, over ten feet tall, with enormous horns that veered horizontally from his temples. Small horns stuck from the top of his head, making it look like he had spiked hair. He only wore a fur loincloth, and masses of muscles rippled and twitched on his square, hairless body.
The sight of the giant made Baard’s hands shake. Fierran growled and stepped in front of Elya, his gray hackles rising.
“What is it, Baard?” Elya asked in a thin voice. “A Daemorc?”
Baard had heard legends of Daemorcs, but he’d thought it was just that, legends. Now this legend was about to murder them.
“I . . . I think so.” His knees trembled so much he feared he would fall on his face.
Whitecap reared and bolted away, tearing the rein from his hand. Another Daemorc emerged onto the path. While the first one was unarmed, this giant clenched a double-headed battleax that was twice as big as Baard’s woodsman’s ax. This Daemorc went straight for Elya. Fierran leaped at him with a loud snarl, and the monster swung his ax. The wolf jumped away, and the giant blade sliced through thin air. Fierran lunged again, and the Daemorc gave him a terrible kick in the ribs.
The wolf flew incredibly far and slammed into a tree trunk with a loud crash. His body fell to the ground in a mangled heap. He twitched and whimpered but couldn’t get up. The Daemorc sneered. And turned to Elya.
Terror froze Baard to the spot. For a few moments, he stood fixed. Then, as he finally made his cold, trembling hand raise his ax to help Elya, something grabbed his hair and yanked him up.
He had forgotten about the first Daemorc.
The ogre lifted him off the ground and bent his arm to bring Baard’s face up to his. He looked stupid, for his upper lip was swollen like a toad’s, and wisps of curly hair stuck from his receding chin. His eyes had a cunning luster, though. They shone with malice.
The monster grinned, exposing his sharp, yellow teeth, and then he licked his fat lips. Baard gasped when he remembered stories of Daemorcs devouring human flesh.
Baard glanced over his shoulder. The other Daemorc had lifted Elya, and her feet kicked a yard above the ground. He still held her by the throat. Her face was beet red, and she groaned and tried to pull at his fingers. But her hands were tiny and helpless against the Daemorc’s.
Baard finally remembered the ax in his hand. He swung it at the monster who held him, but it was like trying to chop down a centenary oak. The blade bit into the rough skin on the ogre’s chest, and it stuck there. The Daemorc growled and squeezed Baard’s arm to make him let go of the ax, then he brushed at the handle, and the ax fell to the ground. The giant ran his hand over the wound, smearing his fingertips with blood. He gave Baard a look that brimmed with fury.
The Daemorc looked around and stomped toward the nearest tree. He lifted Baard high above his head. Baard screamed with terror when he realized that the giant was going to slam him against the tree.
A noise from the left made Baard turn his head, in the hope that help was coming. But it was yet another Daemorc. He was unarmed, but perhaps even more massive than the other two. And he stomped toward them. His eyes peered at the ground as if looking for more humans to kill—and suddenly he growled in pain and dropped.
The Daemorc who held Baard lowered his hand and looked around. So did the monster who held Elya by the neck. The third Daemorc lay on the ground, smoke coming from a circle of charred flesh in his back.
A man with long, fair, tangled hair stood behind him.
When Elya’s Daemorc noticed the man, he dropped Elya, who stumbled and rolled on the ground, gasping for air. The Daemorc turned around to run. The man stretched out his hand. A ball of fire blasted from his palm. Brighter than a sunray and faster than an arrow, it flew at the Daemorc. The giant’s upper back seemed to explode in blinding colors amid a puff of smoke. The monster collapsed with a terrible groan.
Baard’s Daemorc dropped Baard and backed away. As Baard hit the ground, the man stretched his hand toward the Daemorc and sent a fireball at his chest. The fireball flew a few feet above Baard and blinded him. Sweat poured from his face as if he had stuck his head into an oven. The Daemorc’s scream rolled through the woods. Baard’s vision returned just as the Daemorc stumbled forward and fell on top of him, flattening him against the ground.
Elya caught her breath and screamed, “Baard? What is happening?”
Baard gasped for air to reply. Crushed by the weight of the Daemorc, he couldn’t get enough air to speak, though.
The man said, “All is good, human girl. The Daemorcs are dead. And I’m a friend.” He rushed to Baard and rolled the dead Daemorc off him with an ease that was surprising given that he was slender and a bit shorter than Baard, and that the Daemorc was twice as big. Then he offered Baard a hand and pulled him up.
Baard gave the stranger a grateful smile and a quizzing look. The man’s hair fell to his waist in tangled strands that looked like thin pieces of rope that shone in the dappled sunlight. He had bright green eyes that were slightly slanted and squinty. He wore a gray woolen tunic, a wide leather belt, gray leggings, and leather turnshoes with drawstrings, and he looked perfectly human. Except for the long, pointed ears that stuck out from the masses of tangled hair.
“How exciting, huh?” the stranger exclaimed with a large grin. His accent was strange yet understandable, and he spoke in a slightly nasal, yet pleasant voice with a melodic drawl. “I haven’t had so much fun in ages!”
Baard opened his mouth to thank him for saving them when Elya scrambled to her feet and exclaimed, “Baard? Are you alright? And Fierran! Where is Fierran?” Her voice was hoarse, her neck bruised from the Daemorc’s hand. She tottered on unsteady feet and turned her head, listening. Tears gushed from under her eyelids; her gentle face crumbled with worry. “Please, don’t tell me . . .” A large sob choked her words.
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Baard looked at the wolf, which still lay under the tree, twitching and panting but unable to stand. “I’m sorry, Elya, but Fierran is hurt.”
“Hurt but not dead,” the stranger said. “I might help him.”
“Please, do!” Elya exclaimed clasping her hands in front of her chest as if she were praying.
As the stranger walked to Fierran, Baard hooked his arm under Elya’s and followed. Elya dropped to her knees in front of the wolf, groped for his head, and pressed her cheek against his.
“This man is a friend, my dearest,” she whispered to the wolf. “He will help you.”
Fierran uttered a slight whimper. He was a magnificent beast with long gray fur and piercing fire-yellow eyes. He was larger in stature than any wolf Baard had ever glimpsed in the woods, and he kept the animals in their village on permanent high alert. But now he looked as helpless as a blind pup.
“His bones look all right,” the stranger muttered as he also kneeled and scrutinized the wolf. “But his internal organs might have been damaged. I’ll fix it.”
He stretched out his hand, just like when he had shot the fireballs at the Daemorcs. A beam of powerful energy poured from his palm to Fierran’s back, a beam of rippling, shivering current of heat that made the air shimmer.
The stranger cringed in concentration as if he feared that he would scorch the wolf’s hide. His skin was smooth and hairless, and his face had soft features that would look effeminate if it wasn’t for his nose, which was large and bulbous. His pointy ears twitched as he carefully moved his hand left and right, inches from Fierran.
After a while, the wolf stirred and stood, lifting Elya’s upper body.
“He’s well!” Baard exclaimed, turning to Elya. “Our new friend has cured your Fierran with his magic.”
“Oh, thank you,” Elya said, happy tears gushing down her cheeks. “Thank you!”
The wolf licked the stranger’s hand and then he nuzzled Elya’s face.
“Thank you so much for everything,” Baard said.
“It was nothing,” the stranger said as he stood. “I’m Al’Anark, by the way.”
“My name is Baard, and my sister is Elya.”
Al’Anark stretched out his hand for Baard to shake. For a second, Baard worried it would scorch him, but it was only warm like a normal human hand. However, he hissed when the slight pressure of Al’Anark’s hand irritated his forearm, which had been crushed by the Daemorc.
“Let me see, my human pal,” Al’Anark said, looking at the bruised forearm. “Those rotters have a firm grip, huh?”
He placed his hand over the bruise. A tingling heat scurried under Baard’s skin, and the pain dwindled to slight discomfort. When Al’Anark lifted his hand, the bruise had nearly vanished.
Elya stood and turned to them, obviously wondering what was happening.
Al’Anark said, “Your neck is all bruised, beautiful human girl. Will you let me heal it?”
She nodded, and he put his hands around her neck. It almost looked as if he wanted to strangle her, and Fierran watched him with suspicion. Al’Anark’s touch was obviously gentle, though, and Baard noticed that he gazed at Elya’s face with admiration, his ears twitching like an excited rabbit’s.
Elya never opened her eyes, saying it was too much useless effort, but people found her beautiful. So did this stranger, apparently, although he didn’t seem to be human. Her face was gentle, with smooth skin, an aquiline nose, and rosy lips. Her wavy hair, a bit darker than Baard’s, was a chestnut brown with golden hues that fell over her shoulders and down the back, just like her brother’s.
After a moment, she sighed in relief. “Thank you,” she said, her voice as bright as usual. It brimmed with wonder.
Al’Anark smiled and lowered his hands. “A pleasure, beautiful Elya.”
Staring at her faded bruises, Baard wondered whether Al’Anark’s magic could cure her blindness.
Al’Anark gave him a sad smile and shook his head. “I can heal certain injuries, my human pal, when they are recent. But not inborn defects.”
Baard nodded. So the stranger could read minds, too, just like Ruah, the soothsayer of their village. But who was he?
Whitecap returned, flicking her tail at flies, her muscles twitching. She began to graze on the grass that sprouted along the path as if nothing had happened. The forest seemed to be as usual. Ferns and blueberry bushes sprouted among spruces, pines, oaks, and beech trees, which lined the road like a towering palisade. It was two days after Harvestend, and the late-summer sun shone cheerfully through the canopy of the trees.
Grasshoppers leaped at their feet, and a small rabbit darted across the path. Squirrels chittered in the treetops to the faint humming of the sea below nearby Broken Cliffs. But the giant corpses emitted a strange smell as if they were already rotting. The stench overpowered the sweet smell of sap and tainted the moist air.
Baard glanced at Al’Anark’s ears, wondering what he could be. He obviously wasn’t a Daemorc, and neither he could be a Wrathlord or a Corpsentinel, who were evil and antlered. What other races were supposed to live in Thorstorm?
“Are you a dwarf?” Baard asked. He wouldn’t be so blunt, normally, but Elya had to be dying to find out who their savior was.
“A dwarf?” The stranger chuckled good-naturedly. “Let me tell you something about dwarfs, human pal. They are pretty numerous in the empire, but there aren’t any left on our island. And they wouldn’t reach your waist, and they have bushy beards, even the females. So, do I look like a dwarf?”
“It was just . . . ,” Baard trailed off, blushing.
With a wink of his eye, Al’Anark said, “I, my dear human boy, am a hargo’oden.”
“It means elf in the Ancient Tongue,” Elya said, excitement ringing in her voice. “You’re of a branch of the ancient Stone-Ax elves which can heal and destroy with fire.”
“That’s right, smart human girl!” Al’Anark gazed at her with admiration. “How did you know that?”
“I have a great teacher,” she replied. “Ruah, the soothsayer of our village.”
Al’Anark raised his eyebrows. “Ruah the soothsayer? I know that name.”
“Ruah is my best friend,” Elya said proudly. “And she has chosen me as her acolyte.”
“I have heard that Ruah is a wise human, and her choice confirms that,” Al’Anark said.
Elya giggled and waved her hand. “She also told me that you are the only elven tribe left in Thorstorm; the other tribes left after the Wrathlords invaded the island, a millennium ago.”
“The only tribe, but a fierce one.” He glanced at the giant corpses. “The putrid Daemorcs were skulking around our forest. I’ve been chasing them from the Harshwind Mountains all the way here to the coast.” A frown spread on his gentle face. “Something strange is happening in the realm, human pals. And the creatures of the Wrathlands are stirring. You two saplings should head home. Is it far?”
“We live in Icecreek.” Baard pointed to the northernmost cape of the island. “A few miles from here. We go logging almost every day, but we hardly ever go so deep into the forest.” Glancing at the dead Daemorcs, he thought they should have stayed closer to the village. But then, they wouldn’t have met an elf! Hilts and blades! It has been scary. But exciting!
“Maybe you can come and visit us one day,” Elya said.
“Maybe!” Al’Anark said, beaming. “If Icecreek is half as charming as the girls who live there, it must be the most wonderful place in the realm.” Elya giggled and blushed.
The mention of girls of Icecreek got Baard thinking of Diara and her black hair… until he caught Al’Anark eyeing him with an amused, knowing look. Baard cleared his throat and nervously scratched his patchy beard, realizing he had been staring into oblivion with an idiotic smile.
Elya tilted her head, her face anxious again. “What is happening now?”
Something plunged the woods into shadows. Baard looked up and gasped. A winged monster with scaly black skin glided over the trees, as large as Diara’s father’s inn. The creature resembled an enormous bat or perhaps an overgrown, winged lizard because it had webbed wings that seemed to embrace the sky. Its long, spiked tail flickered like an enormous snake.
A trail of smoke billowed from giant nostrils, and Baard guessed the creature could fry them with a flame coming from its mouth. Once they were fried, it could devour them in a few minutes, for its scaly lower jaw seemed to be as long as he was tall.
Fierran growled and stepped closer to Elya. Whitecap trotted away from the path and hid among the trees. But Al’Anark watched the creature without fear.
“It might be the only dragon left in the whole realm,” the elf said proudly. “And he’s my friend. Sometimes, I don’t see him for months, but then he always finds me again. I call him Dhra’ack.”
“Male dragon in the Ancient Tongue,” Elya breathed out.
The dragon spotted them and roared, making it sound like a thunderclap. Whitecap screamed and Fierran howled.
“These are my friends, Dhra’ack,” Al’Anark said. “Go look for something else for lunch. Fry yourself a few Daemorcs or Corpsentinels, will you?”
He had spoken so softly the dragon couldn’t have heard him, and yet, the giant beast grunted as if in agreement and glided away.
“Well, I’m off as well,” Al’Anark said. “Head back home and stay away from deep woods. It’s no longer safe. Goodbye, my human pal Baard.” A bit of regret tainted his voice as he said, “Goodbye, beautiful Elya.”
The elf spun around and disappeared among the trees, and Baard stared after him in wonder. During the eighteen summers of his life, he had seen nothing but animals and fellow humans, and today, in the span of minutes, he had seen three races he had thought only existed in legends. He had a feeling that it was a sign that something strange was truly happening in the empire. Big changes were coming.