"The Pride of the Elves (revised)" by Larry N. Morris

The Pride of Elves

by Larry N. Morris

     A small village in the edge of the forest was at rest at this late hour. The heavy snow had been falling since early afternoon and had blanketed everything in muffled stillness.  Windows glowed soft yellow, the light from within casting small puddles of pale orange on the fresh fall. The limited light from a few windows did little to provide relief from the darkness of the heavy overcast that sealed off moon and stars.

     A figure moved into the edge of the village, leading a horse. Moving lightly over the fresh, deep fall the new arrival left scarcely a footprint, though the trailing horse scared the yielding surface with deep gouges. Dressed all in white, save for the soft, black, leather boots that came to mid-calf, the figure moved, barely visible, through the heavy fall of snow. The breeks and jerkin were white, as was the cloak that was pulled tightly around, against the chill of a Winter night. The ghostly figure arrived at the center of the village and soon identified the local inn, then moved stealthily toward it.

     The hour was late, the weather was foul and few were the patrons in the common room of the Red Unicorn Inn. Berk, a regular patron, was leaning forward, both elbows on the bar that he might be close enough to the proprietor to speak in a low voice.  Neither man took his eyes from the two patrons at a corner table, just outside the ring of light cast by a single overhead lantern. “Gus, wha’d’ya think them two women be doin’ in here on a night like this? An’ all alone too; with no men-folk about.”

     Berk, a life-long resident of the village, was known for being somewhat slow of wit but he was a good man and a hard worker. The people of the village liked him and were patient with him. Gus explained as if he were talking to a child, “Them don’t be women Berk, them be Elves. I’ve not seen ‘em afore but I’ve heard the tales. I think I know who they be, but I never dreamed I’d be settin’ eyes on ‘em.”

     Berk turned to squint at Gus, as if trying to see the answer in his face. “Meanin’ what?  Who’d’ya think they be?”

     Morgan was the only other regular patron in the Red Unicorn. He had just stepped close that he might listen to the conversation. Looking pensively at Gus, Morgan said, “If ya mean to say they be The Pride of the Elves, I’m thinkin’ ya may be right.”

     Berk sounded in awe and his voice was but a whisper, “The Pride of the Elves?”  Looking back toward the table he kept his voice low, “Why think ya so? The Pride is four female warriors, all of ‘em Elves.  Here sits only two.”

     Gus shook his head, explaining, “There be three of ‘em Berk, not two. Ya see them two sittin’ at table there? They been here since early this mornin’. Just waitin’ around they are, like they was waitin’ fer others to come. The third one got here this afternoon ‘fore the snow got heavy.” Before Berk could contend whether there were three female Elves sitting at the corner table or only two, Gus went on with his explanation. “See the one in green? That be her spear again’ the wall. She would be the archer, and her name would be Jade. It’s said a better archer never lived.”

     The three men stared silently for a time; studying the two Elves they saw sitting in the corner. Both wore boots of soft, black leather, coming to mid-calf but there, the similarity ended. One was dressed all in red . . . breeks, jerkin and cloak. She had red hair that reached half-way down her back and when she turned to survey the room, her dark blue eyes sparkled in the lantern light. The other one had short, silver-blonde hair that only reached her jaw and green eyes . . . and this one was dressed all in green.

     Berk turned to Gus with a frown. “Archer? Ya just said she carries that spear, there.”

     Morgan answered before Gus could.  “Don’t ya remember any of the tales, Berk? The one in green is the archer right enough. She carries a spear for close-in fightin’ . . . when the foe is too close fer shootin’ arrows at.”

     Gus nodded in agreement, adding, “And the one in red: she would be called Scarlett.  Just like in the tales, this one has two short-swords; one on each hip.”

     Berk peered into the dim light and saw the two swords. The one on her right hip was the longer and was curved, the other looked little larger than a long-knife. He studied the one in red, the one Gus had named Scarlett and Morgan offered more details. “That pouch on her belt must be where she carries them little stars o’ steel. Fer throwin’, they are, an’ I've heard tell they be dipped in poison.”

     Gus looked ready to disagree when Berk turned back to them. “That’s still just two.  Ya said there was three of ‘em.”

       Just then, the door burst open and a whirl of blowing snow ushered another female Elf into the room. This one was dressed all in white, save for her black boots. She turned to close the door and the men saw a great-sword across her back, the hilt to extend above her right shoulder. Her long, golden-blonde hair hung almost to her waist and she looked to stand about a hand over five feet; half a head taller than the other two. Turning from the door to take in the room, her gaze swept across the men and Berk’s breath caught in his throat. Her eyes were light gray. Haunting they were, and he felt as if she was looking right inside him; reading his feelings and thoughts, searching his very soul. An uncontrollable shiver spasmed through him.

     Gus murmured to the others, “This one would be Ivory, said to be their leader.”

     “Aye,” agreed Morgan. “A Sorceress, this one . . . said to have magic.”

     “Naaaw,” whispered Gus. “The magic’s not in her, it’s said to be in her sword.  Spell-forged they say, with magic sealed in durin’ the makin’.”

     Morgan defended his own version of the tale, “The sword may have magic in it, but the Elf is a sorceress. She has a magic of her own. That’s what I always heard.”

     The one in red and the one in green went to greet the new arrival . . . and the third one went with them.  Berk jumped with a start and a gasp escaped him. Stepping from the shadows was one he had never seen.  She was smaller than the others, less than five feet in height and slight of build.  She had shoulder length, jet-black hair that glistened in the limited light, as would dragon glass, and unusual violet eyes . . . and she was dressed all in black. Standing motionless in shadow and dressed in black she had been invisible to him. Two bandoleers of throwing knives crisscrossed her chest, five knives in each.  Depending from her right hip was a morning star with nasty looking steel spikes agleam in the lantern light.

     Berk turned to Gus, startlement on his face. “There were three. That one, I never even saw.”

     Gus wore a grim expression and his voice was ominous, “That one, ya never want to see. She would be the one named Cricket and she be the most dangerous of all. Said to be an assassin, that one is.”

     Morgan helped Gus make his point.  “Aye.  See how she’s armed, Berk?”

     “Throwin’ knives and a morning star.”

     “Look closer. What’s that on her belt?”

     “Looks like a length of wire, an’ all coiled up, it is.”

     “Aye, an’ with a little wooden handle on each end.”

     Berk turned back, agape. Forgetting to keep his voice low, he gasped, “A garrote?”

     All four Elves had seated themselves at the table while the men were talking. At the sound of Berk’s exclamation they turned to stare at the men. Before the men could turn away, the one in white, the one Gus had named Ivory, raised a hand and motioned to him.  Berk and Morgan turned to hunch over the bar, as if trying to go unseen. Gus came from behind the bar and hurried to the table. He arrived to find her smiling pleasantly. The one in red and the one in green were smiling too, but the violet eyes of the little one in black—the one he had named Cricket—held him in a cold stare and she remained expressionless.

     The newest arrival asked. “Are you the Innkeeper?”

     “Aye, I be Gus. How may I serve you?”

     “We have need of two rooms for the night. Two of us will share each room.” Gus nodded and she added, “My horse is just outside. Can someone see to it?”

     Gus nodded again, then turning toward a door in the rear, he called out, “Almon!” In a matter of seconds a young boy hurried to them and Gus instructed, “The lady's horse is outside. Take it to the stable and see after it.” The lad stood gaping at the Elves until Gus refocused his attention with a slap on the back of the head that sent him scurrying away.

     Gus turned back to the table when she asked him, “May we have another flagon of ale?”

     Gus nodded once more and turned toward the bar. When he was half way to the bar, she called to him, “Gus!”  Her voice was firmer and when he turned toward her, her smile was gone. Her eyes had narrowed and her gaze seemed to nearly pierce him. She held up two fingers. “Make that two flagons.”

     Gus returned shortly with two flagons of ale, and another tankard for the one in white.  Her tone was still stern, “We would have you join us; you and your two friends at the bar.” Her words were loud enough for Berk and Morgan to hear and they turned toward the table in surprise. Morgan’s expression became one of curiosity. Berk looked scared to the point that his knees might buckle beneath him.

     Gus shifted nervously and motioned vigorously for the men to come forward. Morgan reached over the bar to snag Gus’ tankard before they joined him. The little one in black stood when the three men approached the table. Grabbing up her tankard she moved to stand in the shadows near the wall. Though her action seemed to be an objection to the presence of the men, Gus noticed that by leaving the table she has left room for all of them to sit. The men pulled chairs to the table and settled into them. The one in red poured for everyone while the one in white said, “You know who we are. You were discussing us when I arrived.” It was not a question but a simple statement of fact.

     The smug look Morgan gave Gus seemed to say, Told ya so. She’s a sorceress.

     Gus stared into his ale without reply, uncertain what was about to happen. Berk looked like a deer surrounded by a pack of wolves and seemed about to leap up and bolt for the door. Only Morgan looked comfortable when he met her gaze. “We think we know. Be you the ones called The Pride of the Elves?”

     “We are called that, though you speak it wrong. I am Ivory and that is Cricket in the shadows there.” Indicating the one next to her, she said, “This is Scarlett and next to her is Jade. It would seem that you have heard some of the tales that have spread throughout the realm.”

     Morgan answered confidently, “Aye, Lady Ivory, tales we have heard. Everyone has heard tales of The Pride.”

     “That is why we had you joins us. Tales grow in the telling. Each teller seems to have need to improve on the tale. Soon the tales have grown beyond belief. Some of what you have heard is likely far from true. We asked you to sit with us that we might set straight some of the things you may have heard. We would answer any questions you may have.”

     The men sat in silence for a time, shifting about and not looking up. At length, Morgan appeared about to speak, then turned away again. “Go on,” Ivory encouraged him, “what would you ask?”

     “Not so much ask, Lady Ivory, as to confirm.”

     She nodded in understanding and he explained, “It be told that you are the leader and a sorceress, some say with a magic sword.”

     She looked amused, about to laugh, but waited for him to continue.       

     “Lady Scarlett is said to fight with a sword in each hand and throws little poison stars o’ steel.”

     Scarlett sat up stiffly and frowned, but remains silent.

     Morgan plowed ahead. “Lady Jade is the archer among you and it’s said no better archer ever lived. It’s told that with an arrow, she can kill a fly on the wall at a hundred paces.”

     Scarlett turned to Jade with a grin and Jade couldn’t contain a snigger. Morgan looked over Scarlett’s head, into the shadows then quickly looked away, hesitant to say more.

     Ivory prodded, “And what have you heard of Cricket?”

     Morgan was still hesitant, unsure how to proceed.

     “You have heard she’s an assassin, yes?”

     Morgan nodded his confirmation and they heard a low growl of disapproval seep from the shadows.

     There was silence around the table for a time, everyone sipping their ale, then Ivory addressed the men. “It’s true that the others chose me to be the leader.” She glanced over her shoulder at the hilt of her sword then turned back to the men. “My sword is indeed spell-forged and is very powerful but I am no sorceress, I have no such power.” The men didn’t miss the skeptical glances exchanged between Scarlett and Jade. Ivory saw them too and said, “I do have powers that others do not. At times I can do things . . . or see things, which cannot be explained, but those things are few and of small power.” She glanced toward Scarlett and Jade and her voice grew firmer. “I am no sorceress.” She waved a hand toward Scarlett, indicating it was her turn to speak.

     The redhead straightened and tossed her head; causing her hair to flip about behind her. “I grew up in a land far east of here. I didn’t come to this region until I was an adult.  In that far-east land I learned the art of fighting with two short-swords. Too, that is where I acquired my shirukens and learned to use them.” She turned a frown on Morgan. “My shirukens do not bear poison . . . nor have they ever.”  With that, she went back to her ale, suggesting she had said all she cared to.

     Jade leaned forward, unable to contain her amusement. “I am an archer, just as you have said. Though I am skilled at such, I cannot kill a fly at a hundred paces. Think about what you say. No one could do such a thing . . . well, save by pure luck.”

     The Elves sat quietly and sipped their ale. The men expected Cricket to speak next, yet there was neither sound nor movement from the shadows.

     At length, Ivory told them, “Cricket speaks very little but I will tell you she is no assassin—she is our scout and our spy. Being the smallest, she can go places we cannot.  At times she may slip into a place to open a door or window so we might enter. In doing so, she may have need to slay a sentry along the way.” After a pause, she shrugged. “It is no more than any of us would do.” Ivory finished her tankard and refilled it from the nearest flagon. “The tales spread far and grow wild. For the most part, we do not attempt to set them straight—even if we could. The tales that are told cause people to fear us. In our line of work that is good. Fear is good.”

     Cricket spoke for the first time. Her voice was soft and emotionless as it drifted gently from the darkness.  “Respect is good.  Fear is better.”

     Ivory looked toward the darkness and chided, “Well, well, you’re talkative tonight.”     A low growl emanated from the shadows and Scarlett and Jade laughed softly. Ivory turned back to the men. “Cricket says little. What you just heard amounts to a speech for her.”

     Morgan asked, “You spoke of a line of work. What would your work be, Lady Ivory?”

     “We were once warriors but now we could be called mercenaries. We work for nobles or wealthy merchants who think they need help protecting themselves or their property.”  Though her answer rang of honesty, it hinted at things not mentioned; a suggestion of details not revealed.

     Gus finally found his voice. “Lady Ivory, whence came the name The Pride of the Elves?  What is the meaning of such?”

     “You speak it wrong, Gus. It is not The Pride of the Elves, but simply The Pride of Elves. The tales of the name are many, yet it would be spoken more correctly as A Pride of Elves. The name was given us by your king.”

     Gus sounded in awe, “The king named you such?”

     “Just so. Do you know of the Battle at Gray Fang?”

     “The Gray Fang,” Morgan replied, “is a tall, steep hill of gray stone standing alone in the center of a large green valley. You four fought in that battle and saved the king’s life.  It was near to five years gone.” Ivory nodded her confirmation and leaned forward to tell the tale.

     “We were vastly outnumbered. The soldiers and knights of your king, the Dwarves, the Elves; all the allies fought valiantly but we gave ground steadily, the press of the foe being great. Finally, the king fell back to the Gray Fang and there we would make our final stand. Our losses had been great but we formed two rings of defense on the high ground, the king in the center—on the very pinnacle—with sword in hand. Humans, Dwarves, and Elves all stood mingled together, their units broken and scattered. Each of us knew we would die that day, but each was determined to slay all the foe we could, before falling.”

     Ivory stopped to take a long pull of ale and the men sat breathless, waiting for her to continue. “Your king knew there were female warriors in the Elven regiment and he called us to him. There were but six of us left to answer his call. He thought to keep us protected, there in the center with him, but he didn’t realize we were among the best warriors he had left. We six formed a third ring right around the king. We stopped any of the foe that broke through the first two rings, the king never having cause to swing his sword. Jade had cast all her arrows long before and fought with spear. Cricket had thrown all her knives and ten of the foe paid with their lives. Her morning star was slathered with blood and gore. Scarlett’s swords were a blur, whispering a song of death. The price the foe was paying for that hill was too high and they withdrew.”

     She stopped for another drink of ale and the men were leaning forward, eyes wide, spellbound by her story. “The foe was regrouping for another assault and we knew we could not withstand it. There was little time and all who were left scurried about on the battlefield, gathering horses. Few survived that battle and we rode away in haste, glad to escape with our lives. Your king was impressed with the way we had fought. Riding swiftly away, he said as much to one of his generals. The general agreed, saying, ‘Elves they may be, but each one fought like a lion.’  The king answered him, ‘I’d sooner face a pride of lions that this pride of Elves.’ In the following days the king’s words were repeated often in his court and in time the saying spread throughout the realm. Now we are know far and wide as The Pride of Elves, though most don’t remember the meaning and few know who we are, even when they see us.”

     Everyone sat quietly for a time, but at length, Morgan pointed out, “You said there were six of you at Grey Fang. All the tales tell that The Pride is but the four of you.”

     There was no answer for a time, each Elf looking away with somber expression.  Cricket stepped from shadow and extended her tankard between Ivory and Scarlett. All she said was, “Blue and Yellow!”

     Her three companions raised their tankards and clanked them against Cricket’s. They repeated the toast in unison, “Blue and Yellow!” With that, each of the Elves tossed down a mouthful of ale and Cricket backed away, returning to the shadows.

     The men could read grief on Ivory’s face and her voice wavered, “Aye, there were six of us left to answer the king’s call. Two more were slain in that final assault atop Gray Fang. Did you note the belts we wear?”

     The belts had been obvious to the men, contrasting with the clothing of the Elves.  They wore identical belts woven from cords of two colors . . . blue and yellow.

     Ivory explained, “It was a tradition in our regiment that each female warrior dressed in a color that was somehow related to her name. I wear white and Cricket wears black, Scarlett wears red and Jade wears green. Of the six who were left that day, the first to fall was Hyacinth and she dressed in blue. She died with a spear in her chest, her broken sword still in her hand. The other to fall was Saffron, who wore yellow. Her throat was laid open by a great-sword and she fell still clutching a battle-axe awash with blood. We made these belts to honor them. Being the only survivors of that tradition we asked that it be discontinued. Our request was granted. Now we are the last four to carry on the tradition though we no longer serve in the Elven army.”

     Ivory paused and gathered herself, then took a deep breath and continued, “Each of us carries in her pack, cords of three more colors. We understand that in the work we do, a time will come when the belts will need to be taken apart and remade with additional colors.”

     Such grim words, spoken in such a matter-of-fact manner, sent a chill up Gus’ spine.  With furrowed brow, the slow-witted Berk finally reasoned out Ivory’s meaning. Clearly proud of himself, he asked, “But there be four o’ ya, Lady Ivory. Don’t ya need cords o’ four more colors?”

     “Nay Berk, think on it. I carry the colors of the other three. If white needed to be woven into the belts, I would not be here to do so.”

     Berk’s face grew ashen when he understood what Ivory meant.

     Everyone fell silent again then Gus looked across the table at Jade. “Why have ya come to our little village? There can be no one here who needs yer services, nor any who could afford such.”

     “We are on a quest,” she explained. “We were sent here by your king.”

     Berk’s eyes flew wide and his mouth formed a silent O. Gus asked just above a whisper, “Here? The king sent the Pride here? Whatever for?”

     Scarlett answered the question. “We are sent to fetch the wizard, Lattimer. The king has heard that Lattimer wields great Power and has sore need of him.”

     All three men began talking at once. Ivory held up a hand to forestall the outburst and said, “One at a time,” then she pointed to Berk.

     “Well, Lady Ivory, Lattimer don’t be no wizard. He be one o’ them monks what lives all alone. Up north in the forest, he lives.”

     “Naaaw Berk,” Gus blurted out, “where’d ya get such nonsense? He be no monk but a lord instead. Fell from grace, he did, an’ his family sent him away . . . banished him.  He lives alone in the forest for the shame o’ it all.”

     Morgan had not spoken and just shook his head. Ivory cast him a questioning glance and he told her, “Both be wrong, Lady Ivory. Lattimer be a knight who grew weary of the slaughter an’ just rode away one day to separate his self from others. They be right about one thing though, he lives north o’ here somewhere, in the forest an’ all alone.”

     An uproar broke out anew, all the men talking at once and arguing with each other.  Startled silence was established when Jade slammed her empty tankard down on the table. She and Scarlett turned to watch Ivory as she contemplated these puzzling and conflicting reports. After sitting for a time, deep in though and slowly turning her tankard about on the table before her, she looked all around with a slight smile.

     Scarlett asked her, “What think you?”

     “I think that on the morrow we will fare north into the forest, seeking a very skilled wizard who can make men see him any way he chooses.”

     The men exchanged startled glances while Jade and Scarlett smiled and nodded in agreement. Gus asked pensively, “So, ya think he really be a wizard?”

     Ivory turned up her palms. “All of you live here and all of you have met him. What else could explain the differences in your stories? What else can he be but a very skilled wizard?”

     The answer came softly from the shadows.  “A liar!”