Young Writers Society

Chapter Two

Harnon was a tall Hybrid, for his father had followed the tradition

of his kin and married an Elf-maiden to ensure long life and conti-

nuity of the bloodline. Grey-eyed, he was, and fair-skinned, and

his nose was straight. His hair, like dark and glimmering honey,

was long, and his ears rounded at the elegant tips. Ashen and

long was his spear shaft, with silver steel as its tip. His helm

was wrought of iron and shaped like the head of a dragon. On

his chest, a silver locket lay, and its inscription was written

in the Old Elvish; only a few have dared to read it, for it told

of the future and the fall of their people. Proudly, he stood, for

loyal he was to his kin. Harnon Long-spear was not one to be

trifled with, for he was stronger than many of the Mortal Men,

and it was said that he possessed some kind of Magic. What this

Magic was, only a few knew, for it was mighty and kept quiet for

many years, even in his earliest years.

So wrote Astoria, thinking about the future-- what was, and what was to come. She brushed a blood-red hair out of her face, moving to sit more comfortably on her little wooden stool. "Did the crazy old troll tell you when these messengers were coming?" she asked.

"No," Harnon replied with a sigh.

Astoria nodded before looking back down to the loose leaves she had been writing in. At the top left corner, words had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere:

C. & E. Edwards, Thirteenth October Nineteen Hundred Ninety-Two

She shook her head, though the words remained. Had she written them? No... Besides, it meant nothing to her. Less than a thousand years had passed since the Creation. Maybe she had written them without realizing it, thinking about the distant future that might never come.

Trotting horse hooves broke into her thoughts moved through the high grass between the nearby trees. A pair of riders, dressed in the loose and simple garments of the plains peasants from the south rode toward them, pace slow and steady, but eyes scanning the camp in a guarded manner. A middle-aged, blonde, human man, and a dark elf in his early years at his left. The former pulled ahead as they neared Harnon and Astoria, his sober gaze fixing on them.

The crazy old Elf was right, Harnon thought. Harnon stood, nodding to the man and the Elf.

"Welcome, and well met," he said in their language.

The man and the elf both nodded in return, and the man spoke. "Hail, lord and lady of the North. We've come seeking Harnon, lord of these lands." The man's pale blue eyes shifted to the cloth-covered tent behind them. "This is his tent?"

"Yes, it is," the tall man replied. "I am the one you seek: Harnon Long-spear, Chieftain of the North."

"Oh, enough with the theatrics," Astoria said quietly. "They delay needed words."

"Much needed, ma'am," the man said with a respectful dip of his head in her direction. He dismounted and the younger he-elf with him gracefully did the same. "We bring a message from Arborine, Chief of the Chiefs of our tribes."

Harnon nodded, taking a pen into his hand. "Astoria, would you mind taking notes as well?"

The Hybrid nodded, putting her journal away and pulling another out of a small box. "I'm ready," she said, already writing.

The blue-eyed man watched her, then gave a small nod.

"To Harnon Dragonslayer, Chieftain of the lands north of the pass," he began to recite.

"I, Arborine of the Wood, who is chief of the [name] Clan,

have the respect of the chiefs of the Misericord plains.

Together we have spoken, and so I send my messengers to you with this:"

He paused, hands behind his back, and the young elf at his left began, hardly breaking rhythm.

"Though the homes on our plains are not many

and are spread wide between the rivers

the land we all share in common.

For generations have we shared the land.

But the homes on our plains are not many

and are spread wide between the rivers

so that few are in one place,

and for generations have we been slaughtered."

"Raiders and war men from the east come,

once by years, now by seasons,

and even banded together in one place

the cost would be too high to stop them.

This spring and summer, four hundred have died."

"Your numbers in the north are great

and armies spread between your rivers.

Our land produces well;

for your aid, we could pay you from our harvests.

We will have our land at last as our own

and no more shall kings from beyond the plains

toy with us as pawns in their disputes."

The blue-eyed man finished with a slow bow,

"Take with thought my message Great Chieftain.

Consider our plea with heart and honor.

We pray you not turn away."

As he finished and slowly straightened, the messenger's gaze watched Harnon's closely.

Astoria scribbled away as they spoke, copying the man and the Elf word for word. Harnon, meanwhile, took simplified notes. After a moment or two, Harnon said, "We help those that cannot help themselves. Our aid is free."

The first messenger's expression betrayed his surprise. Beside him, the dark-haired elf's eyebrows raised and his eyes flicked over to his pedagogue. He watched his teacher pause a moment and blink, then reply calmly, as if speaking still for his chief and not from himself, "You would do us a dishonor, Chieftain, to refuse our fair payment."

"Our Chieftain is much too humble to know how to accept anything," Astoria said. "Rather than do this for us, it would be wiser to give it to the cities of the West. I will have my friends load their ships with your goods and trade them in Owl Tree and the other great towns."

The messenger considered his next response. "The trade would be good for us," he agreed quietly with a small dip of his head. "If you won't accept our harvests, then the only thing we have to offer is our allegiance." He met Harnon's eye and added before Harnon could reply, "Though it isn't much to give, we do not give it easily, Chieftain... Our freedom and lives are precious to us."

Astoria stopped writing and poked Harnon with her quill, glaring at the mighty Chieftain. Harnon ignored her. "'Tis a mighty thing you have offered me, small or not. And yet, I still could not accept it. Rather, lend me one or two of your great Dwarf smiths if but for a week, and I will consider the debt paid in full. With what I have in mind, my line will forever owe the folk of Misericord."

A long pause followed. The young elf shifted and looked to his teacher. Finally, the man bowed once more. "I will tell my chief what you have said."

Harnon dipped his head thoughtfully. "In three days time, have your Chiefs gather at Misty Pass. From there, we shall together climb into the mountains, and feast with the good dwarves that dwell there. In addition to my captains, I shall bring the great Elf King, Falembaifar, and Sinestra the warrior and sorceress of Owl Tree. Together, we shall prepare for war."

"In three days, our chiefs will gather at Misty Pass," he repeated, "and climb into the mountains with you to feast with the dwarves, and with Falembaifar the Elven king, and the warrior and sorceress, Sinestra of Owl Tree. In three days time, they shall climb into the mountains with you and prepare for war."

Wow, Astoria thought. They sure do like repeating things...

"We will see you then," Harnon replied.

The messenger touched the front of his shoulder and bowed. "Thank you, Chief Harnon. Be well."

Outside again, the messengers mounted their horses and turned their heads back to the woods. As their hooves plodded over the forest floor, the elf looked back towards the camp falling slowly out of view behind the thicket. His dark-eyed gaze found the side of his tutor's face and lingered a moment without expression.Then once more he looked ahead again and towards home, their message repeating in his head. In three days time they will gather at the mountains...