The Taking of Pindarin

The Taking of Pindarin





Chapter 1





An ancient sky hung red with light. The riders emerged from the forest near the elven stronghold of Caer Noreiis. Twelve men, dark with blood and dirt that showed more of their state than a coat of arms or painted banner ever could. Separated from their army, dusty and tired of bloodlust after a day on the battlefield, the squad came upon a lonely hut on the outskirts of the village. They approached cautiously, for there was smoke rising from the rear of the hut. Their battle senses still keen, though their minds numb with exhaustion, they believed the hut to have been raided by orcs. Many tracks lay about the yard, both orc and human. Grimly, they decided to investigate the carnage within and hopefully, reave some orcine heads in the process. The commander, a man by the name of Randen Lins, sent two men around the back while he and several others investigated the structure. Within the hut they found no evidence of danger. In fact, it was quite neat and clean. The smoke came from a pan set upon a wood stove. Someone's dinner was burning. Relieved, the commander sank into a seat by the small table. A short scream was heard from the back.
"Commander, look what we found!" a voice cried from outside, as a young elven girl was thrust through the doorway, directly into a startled Randen Lins' lap.
The girl's face was bruised and swelling with a purple welt near the eye but was otherwise rather attractive. Slim and supple, her simple homespun garb did not hide all of the curve of her breast, nor the gentle swell of her hips. Taken with her immediately, Randen held back the other men with a stare as he got to his feet with the half concious girl in his arms.
"Get back, give her some air!" he barked, "You, Somfil, what happened?"
"Beggin' your pardon Comm, but this 'ere girl struck at me wi' a almighty wicked lookin' rake and the next thin' I know, I had to 'it 'er to stop 'er from killin' me.", said the man who had thrown the girl through the door.
The speaker was a large man who wore barbarian colors over his standard issue armor. A sheepish look came over his face as he mentioned hitting the girl. He cast down his eyes.
"The fire's got orcs for food" said Somfil's companion from the doorway. "Either her, or her man must've killed 'em, but there's no one else about."
"Ask 'er what's the story" put in another of the bloodstreaked soldiers as they all gathered nearer.
"All right, move it!" their leader ordered, "You...", he pointed, "...take Thrane, Firter and Shiner and set up a perimeter. We don't want to be surprised by any nasties. The rest of you fan out and look for any one else hiding nearby, then start setting up camp. I'll take care of the girl."
The band shifted uncomfortably but did not move until Shiner stretched, yawned and said, "Well, lets get on with it. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can get some rest." Grumbling, the rest of the group agreed and began prepartions to exit the hut. A few shot quick glances at Randen and the girl as they left.
"What's your name?" he asked.
She tried to pull her arm away from him. Her good eye bored into his. The green glinted with emerald fire as she stared at him. Her face, despite the bruise, shone with the delicate beauty that is uniquely elven. This however, was a beauty that was terrible to behold as she quietly said, "Let go of my arm."
Startled, he pulled back for half a second. Then as his fingers ground into her wrist even more cruelly he repeated his request in a tone so quiet that she had to strain to hear it. "Not until you tell me your name."
"Human scum, your people fight the fausyr on our ground. You kill them, they kill you, in the process, our farm is destroyed, crops trampled, and animals either killed or driven away. Then you come to my home and demand my name and my identity as if I were a common thief!"
"Thief? No girl. Simply a beggar... a beggar with teeth." He said, as he spun her across the room onto the small cot. "Where's your man?"
"Dead."
Randen looked at her as she said this, her fire snuffed, she grieved.
"Those gods-damned orcs!" he muttered.
Just as quickly as the fire had gone out, it sprang back to life as she whirled on him and spat, "T'wasn't fausyr that killed him, but your people!"
"He was out in the garden working when ten fausyr snuck around the corner of the house and tried to grab him. He fought back and slew three with only his sickle, but he was wounded and bloody by the time I got there."
"I tried to distract them so they would leave him alone and it worked! He was left fighting only two, while the rest chased after me."
"I ran into the woods to lose them. They ran a good race, but I know these woods as only one of the Eilen people can and they had no chance of catching me."
"By the time I returned, Shillen had killed another, but the last was still alive. Shillen was bleeding heavily and was down on his knees, but he was not dead. The fausyr was closing for the kill when a flight of arrows cut him down."
"I almost wept with joy until I saw the arrow that had pierced the throat of my love."
She stopped, and sobbed. Her body shook as she cried. Randen put a hand on her shoulder for comfort, but she shook him off and looked at him with a ferocity that was chilling in its intensity.
"Your people killed my husband!" she shouted, "They cut down fausyr and Eilen alike without regard for either. They kill their own people for power and wealth, why should a simple yeoman make a difference to cruel mercenaries such as you and all Round-ears."
"I fled back into the woods so they wouldn't see me, but I watched as they laughed and joked when they collected their spent arrows. They did not care that they had killed a good man."
"An accident of war." he sneered, "We do not hunt elves, they're good allies and this incident was... unfortunate."
His eyes grew feral for a moment as he once again noticed her scanty attire and slender curves, "No matter though, you'll not be able to break the peace between our peoples." he touched her thigh. "I do believe that you'll be too busy pleasing me!"
He lunged toward her and was brought up short by a resounding smack to the face. "Bitch!" he snarled as he grabbed for her again.
This time, she wasn't fast enough to elude him and was borne down to the floor. Though she fought, he was a strong man and with one pull, her hips to her thighs were bared. Knowing what was about to come, she screamed only to have a gloved hand thrust into her mouth. She bit down and chipped a tooth on the metal of his reinforced gauntlet. Tears rolled down her cheeks mingling with the blood from her mouth and the dust of the floor. Like a beast, the soldier grunted as he entered her. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she lost consciousness. Just before she went, she heard from afar "...elves are as tight as I was told."
She woke a few minutes later to find that the commander was no longer atop her. Instead, he lay beside her on the floor. A deep gash on his head leaked blood everywhere. His member, flaccid now, looked strange hanging out of his trousers. His eyes, so feral just a moment before, were now wide open with the vacant stare of the surpised, or the dead, or both.
Sitting at the table, was the man she had hit, Somfil. A bloody mace leaned casually against his leg. " 'E deserved it 'e did. Beggin' yer pardon ma'am, but I think you should cover up, Dem other's 'll be right back and I plan to be outta' ere real soon like."
She pulled together the ripped remains of her tunic and leggings. "Thank you." she whispered through a bloodied mouth, "... but why did you help me? You are one of them!"
"This 'ere's your farm ma'am, we're supposed to be the good guys." He kicked the body of his ex-commander. "This one's no better than the bloody orcs."



.... Thirteen years later.

"Let the bells ring and the people rejoice for Spar Elysan has an heir! The Lady Trellia is doing well as is the child. The child shall be known throughout the land as Kestrel Elysan-Hynesa the only true son of his father's blood."
The gayly dressed newsbearer rang his bells and danced as he cried this out to the masses of people who gathered to see the spectacle. He danced down from the First House of the town to the meanest streets, all the while proclaiming the birth of the heir to the greatest of all their heroes. The heir who would someday rule them as his father did now and his father before him.
Garathron's eyes narrowed and his hand reflexively curled into a fist as he heard the cry.
"...the only true son of his father's blood." rang in his ears as he cursed the messenger who brought these sad tidings.
Kestrel Elysan-Hynesa, your luck of birth made you Kestrel Heir to Elysan Holdings & Lands, Heir to Lady Trellia's ancestral Vrallia Holdings, Heir to the love of the people, and most of all Heir to the Love of Trellia & Spar Elysan. My parents. Do you hear me brat? My parents!
Despite his rage and his tears, he vowed not to give in to weakness. "...the only true son of his father's blood." echoed in his brain as he mumbled "Yes... his Father's blood".