Treasures of Ília - Dragonmage stories

4. Survivor in the stream

During the night she had nightmares, waking up several times. She saw herself running away with her small child in her arms, climbing on a cart, hiding in strange houses. It happened just like that, she remembered in one of her awakenings, and the knowledge hurt her soul that someone was about to be killed not far from him. She thought of somebody taking this poor man back to the place where he had never been treated with gloved hands. But they are elves. What's it got to do with them?

At dawn, after a night full of troubled dreams, they set off. They threw hay in front of the animals and did not let them out. The two horses in front of the wagon dutifully turned to the road. The woman and her daughter sat sleepily on the front of the waggon. Suddenly the cart jolted strongly as a rosehip branch struck in front of Pretty, the horse on the right. The otherwise calm mare snorted nervously, and while Chaerie tried to catch her, the other horse, Worthly, stumbled on a stone. The loss of balance tipped the cart, and a good bale of wool fell onto the road.

"Oh, what a ...!" Chaerie jumped to the ground, and as he turned, he saw the backs of the five horsemen, their white and gold cloaks flapping. She cursed them profusely, and their jolly mood too.

She threw the wool back on the cart, but then it got stuck in the rosehip branch. She hoped that the curse would reach the receding figures, she was sure that elven hands were responsible for all these mishaps. She looked around for any other obstruction and suddenly realized. Yes, this was the spot where she had entered the forest the day before, following the company. But what happened to the captive? She had not seen him leave with the riders. Was he dead? They wouldn't let him go free, she knew that for sure.

"Borka, take care of the cart, I'll have a look around!" Chaerie handed the reins to her daughter and carefully started down the path. She soon found the ashes of the fire and the fibres of the rope in the tree. There was no trace of blood anywhere.

Towards the stream, a few branches lay broken. Following the trail, Chaerie jumped down into the creek. She spotted the elf cloak from far away, the bloody hands gripping the stones, the blond locks of hair rippling in the waves.

That she found an elf in the stream, she could only guess. His face was bloody, swollen with blows and he was unrecognizable. She pulled the airy-looking creature out of the water, but he was still heavy. It took all her strength to drag him up the high bank. 'He is going to freeze!' the realisation flashed through her, for the dawn was chill. She stripped the wounded man his wet outer garments and wrapped the shivering man in her own coat.

"He is too heavy to carry, I must bring a horse," she thought, and soon returned with one of the horses and a thick blanket. The morning chill made Chaerie feel cold too, so she quickly took on her woollen coat, wrapped the elf she had pulled from the stream in the blanket instead, and with great difficulty, put him on the horse. It was easier this way.

The little girl lookedin confusion at her mother, who was wrapping the blanket and the stranger in some warm wool on the cart.

"We're going back to the house" said Chaerie.

"And the fair?" asked her daughter.

"We'll go next week. I'll have new yarn made by then."

As they set out, Borka cast an occasional, puzzled glance at the moonlightpale-skinned creature.

"What is this?"

"Elf," his mother answered simply.

"What's that?"

"A kind of fairy. A creature better not to meet."

Thoughts sat on the cart beside them.

"So why are we taking him home?"

By this time, they were slowly entering their own pastures.

"He deserves another chance. It's no good letting anyone die."

Hotness. Wherever he reached for, coarse fibers gnawed at his skin, stabbing and burning. He could not breathe. If only it were over! He no longer wanted to fight, just to have peace. The last of his strength was gone. But then his son's face appeared before his eyes. Where is he? What had become of him? He wanted to call out his name, but the sound was a burning a fire in his throat.