Harlen smiled out his front bedroom window, watching the sunset. The fiery reds and oranges reflected from the high clouds reminding him of Hyandai’s hair. He glanced over his shoulder at her.
Hyandai lay sleeping soundly, still tired from her ordeal the night before. What does this night hold for them? Harlen wondered. Will it be a simple night of peace and quiet, a chance to rest after a harrowing journey through the mountains and evening of sheer terror and heartbreak? Or would it hold equally dark happenings?
A small group of half a dozen town watchmen patrolled past his home, casting wary eyes toward the little house back among the trees. Word spreads fast in Morrovale, and everyone, by now, knew of the incident the night previous.
Several of Harlen’s friends, fellow huntsmen, had stopped by to offer their assistance in protecting his home. He thanked them heartily, but declared that it was his problem to deal with, and that he would take care of his issues. They hesitantly accepted his declaration and moved on, leaving word to summon them if need be.
For the first time ever, he had a lock on his doors, and the windows were now bolted shut on the ground floor. Harlen sighed at the ironic necessity of these precautions. He was fortifying his own home, and against elven folk.
He glanced over his shoulder again, this time not at the beautiful woman who graced his life and his bed, but at the elegantly deadly weapon beneath that bed, peering out where Hyandai could reach it if needed.
That weapon, the
Ehladrel
of her clan, was the cause of his woes, or so it came into his own mind. The sooner they were rid of it, the sooner Harlen could go about his simple, but pleasant life. As much as Harlen loved Hyandai, and longed for the sublime pleasures offered by her exotic, inhuman beauty and appetites, he wished for a sense of normalcy, as well.
The sun was now gone, and the last glimmerings of the clouds were lying upon the edge of the horizon, themselves. Night belonged to the elves, he knew, and to orcs. These recent events were beginning to make him not care for any of the night-eyed kin of man. He studied the shadows beneath the trees across the lane, and tried to plumb their inky depths.
Turning from the window, he moved to the stairs and down. Trevir was curled upon the couch, a thin blanket over him as he read in the book Harlen had borrowed from his friend. It was a book about elves, a study of sorts, penned long ago. The lad was not a fast reader, as the huntsman had taught him the art of reading and writing, and Harlen, himself, was not terribly adept at those arts.
“Master Harlen?” Trevir asked as the huntsman padded past.
Harlen paused, looking at the youth. “Yes, Trevir?” He responded.
“What does ‘aloof and enigmatic’ mean?” Trevir asked, paging back in the book a few pages and pointing to part of a passage there.
A weak smile crossed Harlen’s face. “It means they appear to hold themselves above baser things in the world and their intentions are not easy to understand.” He replied.
Trevir nodded. “Lady Hyandai doesn’t seem either of those things.” He said, looking at the book with a dubious eye.
A low chuckle came from Harlen’s chest. “No, she does not.” He said. “She seems neither aloof, nor enigmatic. Well, maybe a tiny bit enigmatic. But certainly not aloof.”
Trevir closed the book and sat up. He was still wearing his clothes, and Harlen also noted his bow and long knife were near to hand. He did not approve of weapons being kept about the home, but he could not say much, with the broadsword and large knives he was now wearing, belted to his waist.
“The book says that elves are mostly good.” Trevir said, looking at Harlen. “But those two, last night, would have killed us and Miss Hyandai just to get a magic weapon from her?”
Harlen nodded. “Most elves are very likely very good.” He said. “But, just like humans, they have bad people among them.”
Trevir said. “I would not be able to live with myself if I had slain a good person last night.”
“Nor I, and that’s why you are a good man.” Harlen responded. “Now, let us good men drink a beer and think on things.” He said, heading for the kitchen.
Trevir grinned and walked behind him. Harlen hauled on the rope that suspended the beer keg down the cold-pit. He drew them each a tall beer, then sat at the little kitchen table.
“Trevir, Hyandai and I will be leaving for her lands tomorrow or the next day.” Harlen said. “I wish for you to remain here. But, as before, if we do not return in a month, go to Tammer. He has instructions on how to tend to your needs in my name.”
Trevir nodded. “Of course, sir.” He said, though his eyes did not like this talk of not returning. “Is it really that dangerous?”
Harlen shrugged. “It could be, the people of Hyandai’s folk that are against her returning the weapon to her clan will be there, as well, I’m sure.” He said. “I don’t expect them to take its coming home lightly, nor without resistance. I only hope that we come across elves loyal to her clan before coming across the traitors.
“You should let me come.” Trevir said, smiling. “One more set of eyes, and another bow can’t hurt.”
“I wish I could.” Harlen responded. “But Hyandai insists that her people will only accept me accompanying her, since I am her betrothed.”
“Why do they dislike us so?” Trevir asked, his expression somewhat hurt.
Harlen thought a long moment. “I don’t think they dislike us, as a whole, at all. They are feel both superior and afraid at the same time.” Harlen explained. “Elves are terrified humanity will extinguish them. At the same time, they think that humanity has much maturing to do before being regarded as equals to the firstborn.”
“But, we don’t wish to kill them.” The lad said, a touch defensively.
Harlen laughed at that. “We don’t have to try, Trevir.” He said. “We can do great harm without any effort at all. We are simply too numerous and too acquisitive for them to resist us if they give us even a small opportunity.”
Harlen took a long pull on his beer. “But enough of such depressing thoughts.” He finally said. “Hyandai suspects that you might have been going out earlier to see a young lady friend. Is this so?”
Trevir’s face turned bright pink. “I suppose so, yes.” He said, smiling broadly. “It wasn’t anything, really. Master Hemdan, the baker, has given me leave to court his daughter, in their home, of course.”
Harlen, with a supreme effort, kept his face deadly serious. “And this daughter’s name?”
Trevir’s eyes changed subtly, and Harlen could see the change, and knew it’s meaning well. “Naomi.” Trevir finally said.
“A lovely name.” Harlen said. “A lovely girl?”
Trevir nodded enthusiastically. “One of the prettiest in Morrovale. Maybe almost as pretty as Miss Hyandai.”
Harlen’s eyes widened. “That pretty?” He said. “Then you are a keen-eyed huntsman, indeed.”
The girl was known to Harlen, despite his probing questions. Most people in Morrovale knew one another. She was a pretty young lass, and quite a good baker, herself, if her father was to be believed. However, she had struck Harlen as a bit pushy, and spoiled. If Trevir liked her, though, then it was a blessed thing.
As word of the attack had spread around town, also word of Trevir’s part in thwarting it and in saving Hyandai’s very soul from leaving her fallen body. His status in town had leaped that day, and he was, for a time, a young hero. The huntsman minded not in the least the accolades and praise heaped upon the youth. He knew it would be short-lived, but it was well deserved, as well. So long as his transgressions were minor, the lad would be hard-pressed to do wrong for a couple of weeks.
As Harlen sat the mug in the sink and Trevir, too finished off his beer. Harlen felt its effect taking hold of him, and he was becoming drowsy.
“I must to bed, Trevir.” Harlen said. “You should, as well. Sleep in the guest room for tonight.”
Trevir nodded, and collected his bow and knife, and the thin blanket, and followed Harlen up the stairs. Harlen closed the door, and bolted it, again, a new feature in his home. After he stripped, Harlen slid into the bed beside the still sleeping form of Hyandai, quietly breathing and still lovely, even in her repose. As he reached out to touch her, she opened one eye partially.
“Lover.” She said, simply and curled up against his side, with her head on his shoulder, a tiny smile forming on her soft lips.
---
As was common in these fall months, the next day dawned dark and dreary. Low clouds dragged their bellies, it seemed, along the tops of the trees. These split open and dumped rain upon Morrovale.
Another long and painfully idle day, Harlen thought, watching the rain fall. Hyandai had left the bed early and was, as Harlen watched her out the window, praying at the elven altar, wearing an oilskin cloak. She had been there for the largest part of an hour, so far as Harlen knew, perhaps longer.
