A/N: This is an extended prequel to A Sudden Sunrise. It gives a good background, but I'm not as proud of it as I am its successor. ENJOY!
PROLOGUE
The moon was round and full as Lyna stalked the prey.
She moved across a high ridge, her feet sweeping silently over cool grass and soft soil. The ridge was separated from a similar eastern rise by a low valley that was cloaked in a world of shadow. On that far rise, Lyna knew, was Tamlen, though it was too dark to see him. They hunted together. Fractured moonlight fell between the branches of the trees and played off the tips of the wet grass below. Through the leafy canopy above, the night sky was alight with a thousand-thousand stars.
A cool wind was sighing in the trees as she moved. It lightly brushed her face and stirred her hair, as black as the sky above. The breeze felt good: it had been unbearably hot in the forest that morning. With it, the afternoon's heat had brought a feeling of lethargy to the camp. It had filled the air and forced the elves to scrounge for space in the shade. Lyna was glad to be out and on the move once again. The heat-spell had broken.
The most prominent feature of her western ridge was a broken pine tree that lay athwart her path. It was dead and rotten, its long russet trunk - still attached by ragged strips of bark to the base, like a partially decapitated head - had fallen easterly over the valley. Its branches were crooked, cracked and bare, completely devoid of needles. At first, Lyna assumed the tree had long ago been felled by some axe, but as she neared its shattered base she saw that the wounds were too savage and cruel to have been made by steel. The bark on the base and on the trunk was shredded, as if it had been violently assaulted. Portions of the wood, at the very tip of the base and the very base of the trunk, bore old scorch marks. Ah, Lyna thought, now that explains it. Lightning had visited this poor tree, it seemed, ages ago if the lack of needles was any indication, and in a fraction of a moment killed a tall and proud creature.
I'm sure you were a mighty warrior in your day, Lyna thought. She put a slender hand on the dead wood and murmured the elven prayer for the departed. "Sleep well," she said softly, giving the pine a pat. Then she lifted her pack over her head and placed it on the grass by the tree. It was relatively light, only holding an apple, a skin of water, and a roll of bandages and some herbs and flowers she had picked up as she hunted. She took a sip from the cool water and a bite from the apple, surprised at how hungry she was. She removed her bow from where it rested upon her back, and took her quiver full of arrows off her belt. Then she sat cross-legged on the grass with her back against fallen tree; the harsh bark dug into her back. She placed the quiver on the ground and lay her bow across her legs, closed her eyes, and waited.
The birds in the trees were chirping, heralding the start of a new dawn, and the first pale fingers of light were stretched across the eastern sky when Lyna first detected movement below. A hedge of broom shrubs marked the southernmost entrance to the valley. They shivered, as if touched by wind, and a few moments later the hedges parted, and a small creature forced its way through. The line of shrubs was some twenty meters away, and the light in the valley was still low, but Lyna could make out the figure and smell of a deer. It paused to gnaw at the yellow flowers of the broom; Lyna could hear the loud chomping. Here we go, she thought, and forced herself to her feet.
Silent as a shadow, Lyna drew her bow. Andruil's Three Tenets of archery - taught to Lyna by Master Ilen on the very day she picked up her first bow - flowed through her mind as she assumed the correct stance: nock, draw, loose. Keeping one eye on the deer, she drew a single arrow out of her quiver. Its shaft was ironbark, its point polished steel, the fletching raven feathers. Nock, she thought, placing the shaft of the arrow on the rest. Draw. She pulled the bowstring back towards her chest; there was a slight resistance as the bow stretched taut. Finally, taking a breath to still her movements, she measured her mark, took aim at the deer, and loosed her arrow.
There was a sharp twang as the string snapped. For a moment - a fraction of a moment, really - Lyna saw bemusement in the deer's big brown eyes, but it was too late: the shot was straight and true, there was no wind resistance, the target was immobile. The arrow impacted just above the left eye; the deer was dead before it was able to cry out in pain. It fell to the forest floor with a boneless crash. A number of birds in the trees above took to flight at the sudden disturbance, shrieking their displeasure.
Quick as cat, she slung her bow across her back, fastened her quiver to her belt, and threw her pack over one shoulder. The wolves of the Brecilian Forest were tenacious beasts, and it would not be long before they moved in to steal her kill. Lyna slid down the grassless side of the ridge. It was not steep, and she emerged unharmed on the valley floor, covered in stirred dirt. She drew her dagger, a curved Dar'Misu in the Dalish style, then sprinted for the corpse. She preferred her bow in most cases, but a dagger would suit her better if she had to fend off some wolves in close quarters.
The deer had fallen in a bed of wild white roses; they surrounded the corpse like a funeral wreath. Above, the virgin sun was rising in the eastern sky. The way the sunlight filtered through the branches meant that some portions of the forest floor were illuminated, while others were left in darkness. The deer's hindquarters were shrouded, while its head and torso were alight with the sun. Lyna moved closer to inspect the kill. The arrow had indeed pierced just above the eye, and the trajectory of her shot meant that the arrow had moved diagonally downwards, through the brain. Ah, at least it was quick. There was not much blood, only a thin rivulet that trickled downwards from the wound, like a red tear.
Lyna placed a hand over the deer's heart. "Dareth shiral," she murmured. "In uthenera na revas." She wrung her hands around the shaft of the arrow and snapped it in half. She threw the clean half away, then gently lifted up the deer's head and pulled the other half out by the arrowhead. This half was stained with blood and bits of brain. She threw that half away too.
"Good shot," said a familiar voice.
She looked up and saw Tamlen striding towards her from the east, a lazy smile on his face. With every step he crossed from shadow into sunlight, sunlight into shadow and back again. He walked a deal less soundlessly than she would have; fallen leaves crunched under his scuffed boots, and he moved through the foliage will all the elegance of a drunk bronto. He wore no bow, but a curved sword was at his belt.
She looked back at the deer. "Not so good," Lyna said. "I was aiming for the eye." Her eyes lifted upwards to meet Tamlen. "Where were you? I thought you might be on the other ridge . . ."
"I was. But I crossed into the tree tops an hour ago. I was watching you from above." He moved into the sunlit flowerbed. "Creators! Lyna, you look like shit."
"Oh, you certainly know how to woo the girls."
He laughed. "Girls? One is enough for me. I'm serious, though. You're covered in dirt. See!" He licked his finger and drew it across her forehead. She recoiled a bit from the wet touch, but when Tamlen pulled his hand away she saw that it was indeed covered with dirt.
"You do understand we live in a forest, yes? This . . . just adds to my natural musk."
Tamlen reached into her mess of hair and plucked out a long, crooked twig. A few leaves fell out as well and listed lazily to the earth. Tamlen held the thin twig aloft for a moment, twisted it in his fingers, then gave her a quick poke in the belly.
"Ow!"
"Is this part of your natural musk, as well?"
"The leaves and the stick make me look cultured, thank you very much." She crouched by the corpse once more and said, "Let's just get back to camp. I'm starving. Do you want to hold the fore or hind legs?"
When they returned to camp with their spoils they found Fenarel waiting for them at the outskirts. He had an anxious look upon his face.
"Fenarel!" Lyna exclaimed, wrapping her friend in a great hug. When she pulled away she said, "What are you doing still here? I thought you would have left hours ago. Is Junar here? I know you two were supposed to hunt together."
"He's here too. We were supposed to range this morning, at the crack of dawn, but the Keeper forbade it. There's been some . . . developments . . . since you and Tamlen left last night." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "You weren't followed, were you?" Fenarel took a long look into the forest, as if some malicious enemy was approaching behind.
"Fenarel, what's wrong?"
"The Keeper will explain it. She wants to see you - both of you." He nodded at Tamlen.
"I see. May I wash first?"
"Yes, but hurry."
Tamlen threw the deer carcass over his shoulders. "I'll bring this to Master Ilen. He'll sever the head and skin the body. The clan should eat well tonight. I'll meet you by Marethari's aravel in, say, five minutes?" He leaned forward and kissed her full on the lips. "You taste like dirt, love . . . literally." Then he smiled and was off.
He'll sever the head and skin the body. Mythal'enaste, why does that turn me on? She gave an exasperated sigh, a thankful nod to Fenarel, and walked into the camp proper.
The Dalish had encamped in a wide, circular grove surrounded on all sides by high trees and thick shrubbery. Only a single, thin dirt trail led out of the grove, and even then its pathway was shrouded by high flora on either side. As soon as she moved out of the cover of the trees she felt the sun's warm embrace on her cheeks. She took a deep breath, savoring the clean air. Her nostrils filled with the smells of grass and the faint aroma of something pleasant cooking. Her elf-ears picked up the impatient snorts of the halla and the innocent laughter of the children. Here the grass was green and full, with not a single leaf marking the forest floor. She felt its cool fingers between her toes and on the soles of her feet.
She had not gone more than ten steps before she found herself mobbed by children. They surrounded her suddenly and almost silently, barring any escape. Lyna laughed. "My, my. What have we here? That was so organized. How long have you lot been planning to jump me?"
"We didn't plan it!" insisted Aratan.
"Yes, we did!" Variel declared haughtily. Out of all the children in the clan, she was Lyna's favorite . . . and she knew it, too. She loved to show Lyna those hazel eyes. Lyna loved children, as Variel knew full well. "There. See? I told the truth so I should get the most!"
"Don't lie, Aratan," Lyna said. "It's wrong. Remember: be honest." Variel smiled at that, clearly pleased with herself - until Lyna rounded on her. "And ratting out your friends is even worse, Variel. These are people that love you, how will it look if you betray that trust? Trust is key when you live as we live."
Variel cast her head down and muttered something unintelligible. It sounded like an apology, but Lyna did not press her on it. Instead, she said, "Chin up, da'len. You need not cry: I brought you home a present. All of you." She unfurled her bag and began to pass out items she had picked up in the forest. The children were not allowed to wander far into the forest; they could not yet discover all its splendors.
To Aratan she passed out a makeshift slingshot she had built from the fallen branches of an elm. To the other children she passed out fruits, sticky sweet blood oranges and apricots, as well as certain flowers, elfroots and ambrosia. Each child turned and ran with their prizes, holding them close to their chests. At last Lyna turned to Variel.
"What do I get, Lyna?" she asked, all innocence.
Lyna smiled. Saying nothing, she reached into her sack and pulled out a single, long, dark flower. Its stem was thin, and perpendicularly from it hung several short leaves. It had, remarkably, not been crushed or broken by the rest of the contents in the bag. Lyna held it aloft.
As soon as she saw it, Variel's eyes went wide as saucers, and her lips curled upwards in a huge grin. "Is that . . . a deathroot?" she exclaimed. She took it in her hand. "I've always wanted one! How did you ever . . . ?"
"It's a secret. Best not tell the Keeper about it, she'd skin my hide: deathroots are dangerous in high doses. Don't eat it. So, what do you have now?"
"I have an elfroot, a deep mushroom, and now a deathroot. Lyna, what can you make with those?"
"I have no idea. When I get back from meeting with the Keeper we'll have to see, won't we? Hopefully it's nothing too dangerous. Be safe, little one." She mussed up Variel's hair, kissed her on the cheek, and left her standing there in wonder.
After briefly washing her face and hair Lyna made her way to Marethari's aravel. Tamlen was already present, and Ashalle was there as well, looking nervous.
"Lyna!" Ashalle said when she saw her approach. "Thank the Creators you're alright. I've been worried ever since the Keeper told me the news."
They embraced in a brief hug. Then Lyna said, "I'm well, Ashalle. What do you mean news? What's happened?"
That was when Marethari chose to appear, leaning heavily on her staff. Lyna chose to hide her concern. Gods, she looks so frail. Lately, Lyna had begun to first notice just how old the Keeper was. Marethari had been Keeper since before Lyna was born, yet she had never before seemed old. The lines around her eyes and mouth were more pronounced, and at times she walked with her back almost bent over, as if she was carrying some great burden on her shoulders. Which I suppose she is, Lyna thought. She is responsible for all of us.
Marethari seemed to sense Lyna's worries. She waved an impatient hand. "Do not worry over me, da'len. I am fine. This news is rather troubling, is all."
Tamlen said, "What is going on, Keeper? Fenarel was rather vague."
Ashalle spoke. "There are humans nearby in the forest."
Lyna was stunned. "H- Humans?" she said, shocked. She had never seen a human before, only heard of them in the Hahren's stories. "Are they close? Are they armed? Are they coming to attack us?" The questions flowed out of her like water, so great was her excitement.
"A good few questions," said Marethari. "Sadly, we do not have any answers. I have forbidden the hunters from venturing into the forest, but still, I would like to know the business of these humans. I do not believe there are too many. I would like for you and Tamlen to scout the woods and see if you are able to gleam their intentions."
"I'll do it," Tamlen said. "I for one am curious to see a shem up close." He turned to Lyna, clearly expecting her to agree in the affirmative, but before she could say anything Ashalle placed a mentoring hand upon her shoulder. Lyna looked at her and saw to her surprise that she had a rather anxious look upon her face. "Do not feel obligated to go, love. It may be safer to stay here."
"Safer," said Tamlen, "but not more fun."
"I will go," Lyna said. "You do not need to worry about me so, Ashalle."
"I cannot help it. You are a precious thing. I would hate to lose you like we lost your parents."
"Are you ready to go?" Marethari asked.
"We are," Tamlen answered. His bow and quiver already rested on his back, and a sword and flask of water was at his belt. He smiled that disarming smile of his, adjusted the strap of his bow. A mischievous glint was in his eyes as he said, "We'll be back before sunset. Keep that deer ready for us." He turned and started to jog lightly towards the clearing's edge. "First one to see a human wins!" he called back over his shoulder.
Lyna nodded to Marethari and smiled at Ashalle, but before she started off Ashalle said, in a voice full of despair, "You are more akin to your mother than you know, Lyna. I only hope you do not share her fate. Go with the gods and please, please be careful. For me."
"Don't worry, Ashalle," Lyna Mahariel said, smiling. "I'm always careful."