Samual Read Free Page B

great a chance of a horse putting a foot down a pot hole to risk it unless the need was very great. But it was the number of torches he could see that truly worried him.
     
    “Alder's hairy tits!” He swore quietly as he took in the sight. He didn't know what he was seeing but he was sure it had to be the doing of the god of mischief. It certainly wouldn't be the doing of the elves' precious Goddess. She might not be the All Father who he followed, but she was still a good goddess. And nothing of this looked good.
     
    In the darkness he could see a trail of torches almost a league long, winding back like a glowing serpent into the blackness. A league of torches! Sam tried to estimate the number of horses and elves that had to equate to and failed. At the very least it had to be in the thousands, maybe in the tens of thousands.
     
    That sent a shiver running down his spine. Thousands of elves, wandering along a darkened trail at night, a mere twenty leagues or so from the capital of the province. That had to be bad. Worse, the direction they were travelling suggested they were coming from the city itself. Then again, where else would you find thousands or even tens of thousands of elves in one place to form a caravan to begin with? Shavarra was a realm of small towns and villages and there was only one city.
     
    Grabbing his cloak from the wall and dropping the knife back on the bed, he hurried down the stairs and out onto the balcony to greet the first of the riders and find out what was going on. The “balcony” was actually a widened platform at the top of the stairs which he'd extended around all sides of the cottage. He'd added it to his home a couple of years before, mainly so that he could drink a hot mug of tea in the evenings while listening to the bird song all around. This elven land was truly a marvel to a boy raised in the human cities of Fair Fields, and he loved to simply spend time enjoying it.
     
    He might no longer have wealth and titles, the comfort and warmth of a soft bed at night, the luxury of plush woven floor coverings underfoot, servants to do his bidding, or even the company of his good wife and the promise of family to come, but the beauty of the land could give him back a lot. It was exactly as Ryshal had promised him so long ago when they had first planned on coming here. He only wished that she were here with him instead of in a dungeon. He prayed each night, even as he despaired, that one day he might somehow rescue her, and bring her out here to her enjoy this beautiful land with him. Having her here would be his definition of paradise.
     
    On the nights when he mourned the most for all that he'd lost, the beauty of the land still brought him a measure of peace. A peace that it seemed was now under threat.
     
    Sam rushed back inside, grabbed a lantern from the shelf and lit its paraffin soaked wick with a spark from his fingers, so that he could both see and be seen by those approaching. He then hurried back onto the balcony, prepared to meet them. Years of looking over his shoulder made him grab his trusty greatsword as well – just in case. These were safe lands normally – the elves were a very law abiding people and they didn't tolerate any sort of crime – but this caravan from the city was anything but normal.
     
    As the first of the riders approached – city guards by the look of their uniforms – he wondered if his worst fears hadn't been terrible enough. Because the grim determination, pain and sorrow that showed in the faces of the guards, together with the ripped and torn uniforms, and the bandages covering so many of their arms and legs told a terrible story. By the light of their torches he could see perhaps twenty guards clearly, and all of them wore at least one bandage. Too many wore more blood soaked bandages than clothes. Seeing them like that Sam put his greatsword down. These people needed his help, not his suspicion.
     
    There was of course only one