[The Twining] 23. The Caravan (Patreon)

Isen leapt up and formed a ball of energy in his left hand, holding off from bearing the dagger. He still didn’t see the adversary, but that didn’t mean anything. There were many places a person could hide among the trees. In the tunnels of the depths, Isen was more than familiar with detecting and hunting monsters, but in a forest environment? Not so much.

Why were they attacking him when he’d left? Did they think he was a bandit?

This is ridiculous, Isen thought. Grinding his teeth in frustration, he decided to try a different tactic. He let the energy in his hand dissipate, then raised his arms in a universal sign of surrender. Meanwhile, he scanned the surroundings, looking for any signs of movement.

A voice spoke, melodic and high. He didn’t react. Suddenly, leaves fluttered around a thick bush. A woman in dark leather armor stalked out, pointing a strung bow his way. Her eyes were bright green and almost seemed to glow like a cat’s in the dark. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a tail, and her features were in full view, uncovered. She had pointed ears, but hers were even longer than those of the merchants, as long as the length of his hand from base to tip.

She was easily the most beautiful person Isen had ever seen.

She repeated the same sentence as before. Isen swallowed. He knew, intellectually, that he could probably escape, but it was uncomfortable staring into the cold eyes of a person pointing an arrow his way. The cold, cruel anger and meanness of humanity in the rough areas of Goldbounty was different from the woman’s pointed ferocity.

“I don’t understand,” he finally said, speaking slowly. The woman’s slow advance stopped, and her brow furrowed. She didn’t lower the bow.

“Human,” she said, speaking with a heavy accent. “Why are you here?”

Isen tried to interpret the question. Why was he in this unfamiliar land? Why was he on this road? Why had he spied on the caravan? For now, he assumed she sought the answer to the last question.

“Lost,” he said simply. “Alone.” He gestured to his pack. “No money.”

“You are a thief,” she spat.

He shook his head. “No. Curious.”

She cocked her head. He didn’t think she understood.

“Very lost,” he repeated. And while it irked him to say the next sentence, he thought it would be the easiest way to resolve the current conflict. “I need help.”

She seemed to consider his statement. The bow cocked down slightly. “Age?”

“Thirteen.” He also held up two palms, then three fingers. He might be fourteen, but figured the lesser of the two options would be less threatening.

She hissed what sounded like a curse. “Follow me.”

He didn’t want to follow her where she’d have backup—but once more, the sixth sense reared its head. Opportunity. And also, of course… danger.

Wondering when this kind of insanity would finally catch up with him, he followed.

***

Druinala knew better than to ease her vigilance as the caravan approached Shevenar. An attack could come at any time in the lesser populated parts of the Elven Lands, where a smattering of towns kept the wilderness and monsters at bay.

She was still surprised to notice someone skulking in a tree as the caravan processed. She observed them from across the road, trying to understand their intentions, but they just lay in the tree, obscured by leaves, unmoving.

She decided to scare them off, shooting an arrow into the canopy. The figure moved with uncanny grace, evading around the trunk and jumping from the tree, landing soundlessly on the grass.

This person wasn’t just a simple thief. This was someone dangerous.

The caravan stopped as she ran in pursuit, cutting across the road. The guards appeared startled, but didn’t follow.

They knew she could handle herself if she didn’t ask for help. While they were good in a fight, she didn’t think they’d help against someone who moved like a cat, slippery and agile.

Moves like a cat, but doesn’t walk like one, she mused. The person was easy to track, squashing the grass underfoot with heavy footfalls. To their credit, she noticed that they hadn’t broken a single branch. They’d moved with a primary goal of silence.

She quickly found her quarry and was surprised they’d stopped so close to the road. Her first thought was that they’d grown tired, but that seemed unlikely. Odds were they were waiting for her, hoping that their innocuous position sitting would draw her out.

She sent forth another arrow, this time aiming for the person’s shoulder. Her goal was to maim, not kill.

But the figure dodged again. The motion seemed to be completely reflexive; their eyes were closed. She readied another arrow, but held her fire when the person raised their hands.

For the first time, Druinala really looked at her quarry. She hadn’t been sure of their gender since the figure was dirty and dressed in ill-fitting rags, with unkempt, shoulder-length hair and a height that could be short for a man or average for a woman. But this person was young, his features still soft, lacking the chiseling hand of time. And he was obviously, unmistakably, human.

“Halt and name yourself and your purpose,” she called out in Eldrassin, the local language in the eponymous kingdom. It was also mutually intelligible with many other dialects, so he should be able to understand if he’d grown up almost anywhere in the Elven Lands.

He didn’t respond, so she repeated herself again, slower. Some humans had a bad ear for elven tongues, failing to grasp the language’s tonal aspects, especially if not born into it.

Finally, he opened his mouth to respond—but he spoke the common tongue of humans: “I don’t understand.”

She nearly snorted a laugh. She knew very little of the human tongue, but she knew at least that much—mostly so she could repeat the same phrase if she found herself in lands dominated by humans. Maybe she should have brought one of the other guards along—the half elves all likely knew common.

“Human,” she said, then paused, the right words not coming to her. Annoyed, she finally asked, “Why are you here?”

“Lost, alone…” He gestured sadly at his pack, which was made from an odd white pelt. “No money.”

No wonder she’d caught him lurking in the tree. He’d been looking for an opportunity. “You are a thief.”

He vehemently shook his head, but he didn’t appear frightened by her accusation. In fact, he’d never seemed truly afraid, not once during their exchange, even with an arrow pointed to his chest.

“No,” he protested. “Kurr-ee-uss.”

She frowned.

“Very lost,” he added. “I need help.”

… Help? Then again, he was young, and either didn’t know any elven languages or was an excellent actor. She didn’t see why he’d lie about that, though. The idea that this ragged, dangerous boy was alone and lost in a foreign land seemed a bit ridiculous, but her curiosity was growing by the second.

He was only a boy, after all—how dangerous could he really be?

“Age?”

“Thirteen.” Then, adorably, he signed the number with his hands.

She cursed her own soft nature. “Follow me,” she said, lowering her bow.

She didn’t invite him to follow solely out of kindness—it was a test. If he really was lost, alone, and penniless, he’d come with her. If he wasn’t, he’d flee, and she’d let him go. She didn’t think he’d return to bother her caravan after their standoff, and she wasn’t in the mood to kill a child.

She felt a pang of pleasant surprise when he followed behind her.

She stopped him when they were fifty feet from the road. She pointed. She wanted to tell him not to make any sudden movements and to stick close to her, and to definitely not draw any weapons, but she settled for, “Be good. Walk slow.”

He nodded emphatically. “Good!”

She turned to hide the curling of her lips, then resumed her walk. Before stepping onto the road, she reached behind and grabbed the boy’s arm. He dodged her.

She narrowed her eyes. “Be. Good.”

He coughed lightly, then held out his hand. Snorting, she grasped it, then pulled him forward as she trod on the dusty path. She stood several feet in front of the caravan, in full view of the guards and many of the merchants, who had come out of the wagons when the procession had stopped to wait for her to deal with the threat. “Everyone, I found a human tailing the caravan.”

The guard captain, Talis, blinked, then crossed his arms. The man was a beanpole and barely looked strong enough to wield the sword he kept on his belt, with a crooked nose and eyes too close together. What he lacked in looks, he made up for with his pleasant voice and cunning mind. She swore he was in the wrong profession.

He smirked playfully, fingering the hilt on his belt, though his eyes were sharp as he considered the newcomer. “It’s just a boy, but he sent you on quite the chase.”

“He doesn’t understand elvish,” she said. “At least not Eldrassin. Speak freely.”

“He’s covered in scars—old ones. And what’s wrong with his eye?” Talis still maintained his unworried smile, revealing his suspicions only through his words.

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s the first thing you ask? How about why a human boy is in these lands in the first place, alone and without a group?”

“Are you really sure he’s human, and not something worse?”

She froze. “He’s dangerous, but unless every instinct I’ve ever honed is wrong, he’s truly just a human.”

He nodded and his smile dropped. “Boy,” he said in common, “what’s your name?”