The Elves of Loth

Chapter Three

Of course she’d heard the legends, everyone had, but no one had ever suspected they were true. Supposedly, a new generation of dragons hatched every four hundred years, so that even the oldest elves alive at the time a group of dragons hatched, wouldn’t have remembered the previous group. Even so, there were rumours, grandchildren of dragon riders telling fantastical stories. Unfortunately, most elves wrote them off as being crazy, but Aspen-leaf had always enjoyed listening anyways.

She remembered one particular story that had always fascinated her, taking place in a gorge not far from Loth. A young dragon rider and his comrade were making a routine patrol when they spotted a young girl stranded on a boulder in the center of the rapids. One rider had tried to rescue her, but the other, realising he wouldn’t be able to get close enough had gone to get a rope. The first rider, thinking he was skilled enough to reach the child, got too close to the water and was sucked under. When the other elf returned, astride his mighty beast, he found his friend drowning under the water which had risen to the point where the poor girl’s ankles were being splattered with water. The dragon rider had been faced with a terrible decision – to save his friend or an innocent child. The best part, though, was what he did instead. Saving his comrade with the rope, he swung the boy and his dragon to safety, but before the pair landed they swept passed the child, the waterlogged dragon instinctively grabbing her with his claws. That was Aspen-leaf’s favourite story because hero had chosen to break the logic that he’d been fed his whole life – the logic that didn’t apply to his situation.

As much as Aspen-leaf fantasised about colossal wings and fiery breath on their hike, she also wondered about Frost-raven and the others. Why weren't they deemed fit to ride dragons?  Deciding to keep someone with Frost-raven’s strength from entering a battle was one thing, but how could they expect Aspen-leaf to even vaguely comprehend their choice to deprive the young elf of flight? It had nothing to do with muscle or experience with a weapon.

Along the rocky path up to the peak of Katakora, were a series of challenges set up for the young combat hunters - challenges that reminded them that although they’d been selected for a special program, they were still students. Wondering why they’d been allowed in so easily - without any tests or competitions, Aspen-leaf mounted an arrow in her bow, skilfully taking aim, and shooting the first target dead-center. As soon as she’d seen it embed itself the wood, she leaped from the small rise, her bow twanging mid-leap, unleashing another deadly arrow, which pierced the second target just as she hit the ground. That was the beginning of their descent down the slope of Katakora, and soon they would reach Larka, the second peek of Alereth.

“Wait up!” came Hawk-wing’s cry from close behind her. The agile teen also carried a quiver of arrows, though his had shorter, thicker shafts and black feathers, contrary to Aspen-leaf’s long, thin arrows, specialised for piercing deep into her intended target, their moss-green tips made for camouflage. Faintly smiling, she pushed forwards, sending an arrow through the cord by which her next target was hanging, and causing it to crash to the forest floor. Another of the young elf’s arrows sunk into the target as it landed - a perfect shot.

Aspen-leaf was thoroughly amused that Hawk-wing still used fat arrows, or as the others called them “training arrows”. There was nothing particularly wrong with them, and many hunters used them, but most of Aspen-leaf’s peers preferred thin-shafted arrows as they pierced deeper into the target, inflicting a mortal wound. They were also more sensitive to slight changes in aim which made them harder to control but also meant that she could do a much wider variety of things with them. It wasn’t something that she wanted to bring up but maybe Cliff-breeze would notice and do something about it.

“Hey, wait up!” Hawk-wing repeated, sending an arrow frighteningly close to Aspen-leaf’s right ear. Startled, she whipped around, aiming her loaded bow strait at his face. The surprise in his auburn eyes was obvious, and as he slid to a stop in front of her, leather boots skidding on the wet ground. Aspen-leaf’s gaze drifted from his mussed brown hair to his tanned, freckled cheeks – searching for any sign of malice – before allowing some of the hostility to fade from her expression. He was arrogant, but he was her comrade and she understood how important it was for a squad to get along.

“You startled me.” She mumbled, a blank look settling onto her face in her attempt to hide the embarrassment. If he saw it he said nothing, loading his bow for the next target. Too proud to apologise to him, Aspen-leaf decided that was all she’d say, but she did wonder if he thought she should say more.

Catching sight of Hidden-stream behind them, Aspen-leaf turned to the rout ahead, taking several steps out onto a boulder embedded in the muddy slope. From there, she restrung her arrow, pulling the string back past the back of her head, tensing her arms, ready to take out all of her anger and embarrassment on the hanging slice of wood. The second she let go she sprang from the slippery rock, keeping her eyes on the blurred form of her arrow as the raw power of her hunting bow sent it rocketing strait through the five centimetre slice of wood and into the tree behind it.

By the time the others had caught up to her at the base of the mountain, Aspen-leaf had begun to sense a chilled breeze drifting in from the west. Where she stood, close to the stream at the base of Katakora, Aspen-leaf was fully exposed to the wind, with no trees blocking its path. Coincidentally, this was the same stream that wound its way down to east side of Katakora, where it separated the great mountain from an enormous scree slope. It was, in fact, the same stream that she’d crossed earlier the morning, with her friend Frost-raven.

After each teen had made their way out of the forest, Cliff-breeze joined them; drawing a map in the sandy bank, she pointed to the ledges were she suspected the eggs to be. “Now,” Cliff-breeze began in a less solemn tone, “I apologise for the grim warning, but I needed to guarantee that any of you who chose to continue would be ready for what was ahead.”

“Like what?” asked Read-rock, cautiously uttering the words as if he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know the answer. Aspen-leaf listened intently, eager to hear any news of an upcoming mission.

“There have been some issues on the dark elven boarder.” Cliff-breeze started slowly, her usual ominous edge returning to her words, “It could be nothing, but we can’t be sure.” A few elves turned their gaze to the sand at their feet while others continued to stare questioningly at their mentor.

Letting her eyes drift up to Cliff-breeze, Aspen-leaf asked quietly, “When do we start?”