The Last Autumn
Chapter 3: Under the Leaves
King Eldred rode slowly through the trees, taking in the many colors. It had been many years since he had last seen the Lantern Waste in fall, and he regretted it. Gold, red, and orange leaves were everywhere; still hopefully clinging to the tree branches, drifting lazily down to the earth, or littering the ground like one enormous, crackling rug. The leaves made an absolutely wonderful sound as King Eldred's horse waded through them, and the King's thoughts turned away from war for a while and to merrier things. For example, what happened to the dead leaves when winter came? Did they just lie under the snow, slowly becoming next year's soil? Or were they blown away on the bitter winter winds, to some unknown destination? King Eldred mourned that, being as old as he was, he still did not know many things and wonders of the world.
A chill wind smote him from the north, and he was shaken back into the reality of war. Evening was still a few hours off, but the King decided to make a good pace and try to get to the camp to post sentries and scouts. Areto was a competent enough general to have done that already, but King Eldred liked to keep Areto on his hooves and to oversee his work.
Finally, just as the sun was beginning to touch the treetops to the east, King Eldred rode into the camp. No sentries had challenged his entrance, but that was to be expected, him being their King.
In the camp, the dwarfs and centaurs hurried hither and thither, preparing to make the camp a bit more permanent. Barricades made of dead branches were being erected around the encampment, and small trenches were being dug by forever-eager Moles, who had volunteered for the task. The most prominent of the whole scene was the Tree of Protection, which towered over the tents like some kind of aged matriarch looking over her grandchildren. Despite being depicted as green on King Eldred's shield, it was really a far more… enchanting hue. Though it had not brought forth fruit for many, many years, since before King Eldred's time, the memory of the silver apples that once dangled from its bows seemed to give the tree a silvery, glistening texture amongst the vivid green of its leaves. Those leaves had never fallen in the autumn, and snow never seemed to lay on it for very long. It was, by far, the most wonderful tree in the entire world.
King Eldred breathed in deeply, taking in the Tree's delicious fragrance. It lightened his heart to smell it, and wafted away his worries about battle and war like a soft breeze.
But this peaceful interlude was not to last. Areto came running up to him, and looked very excited, but worried.
"Your Majesty! Grit the Badger and Altibrikk the Dwarf have arrived, and are waiting for you in your tent! Gundr, take His Majesty's horse, you must come at once!" Areto said anxiously.
King Eldred did not say anything as he handed a dwarf the reins of his horse, but said as he dismounted,
"Do they bring tidings of the werewolves?"
"I don't know, sir, but I expect so!" Areto answered.
The two hustled through the camp to the western end, where King Eldred's tent had been set up. As King Eldred entered the tent, he saw a young badger, just barely reached adulthood it seemed, and a Black Dwarf. They bowed as the King entered, but immediately launched into speech after they straightened up.
"Your Majesty, the werewolves were seen yesterday, running north!" The Badger said, rubbing his claws together.
"They've seen something, they're spies!" Growled the Dwarf.
"You must stop them!"
King Eldred flapped his hands in gesticulation to get Altibrikk and Grit (for those were who the Dwarf and the Badger were) to calm down. He drew a deep breath, and launched into an old recital:
"'They are hunger. They are thirst. They can fast a hundred years, and not die. They can lie a hundred nights on the ice and not freeze. They can drink a river of blood and not burst. They are the third enemy.' These creatures are formidable foes, and I would hesitate to go against them in the dark. When, and where, were they seen?"
"A bit south-east of the Lamp-post, yesterday evening." Altibrikk said, gesturing a bit with his right hand.
"They might have seen our camp yesterday, then, on the banks of the Great River. Our lights were bright, and the campfire smoke tall. Werewolves are not like dwarfs, however, and cannot run for a day and a night," Here in King Eldred's speech, Altibrikk grinned beneath his bushy beard with pride, "Also, the sunlight weakens them. Tomorrow, I'll ride out as swift as I can with centaurs and dispatch them in the bright noon sun. But tonight, I can't ask my company to do anything tonight, for we have journeyed far and fast, and we are weary."
Altibrikk looked disappointed, but Grit nodded understandingly.
"That's what I said to him. 'The King's going to have had a hard journey by the time he gets here, they won't be able to do anything.'"
"No, but I am glad you came. Why do you not stay in the camp for the night? I think the centaurs and dwarfs are preparing their supper." King Eldred invited them.
"No, thank you, Your Majesty. Our homes are not too distant." Said Altibrikk. He bowed again, and exited the tent without a further word. Grit smiled apologetically, bowed, and followed the dwarf out.
After they left, King Eldred turned to Areto and said,
"Areto, this evening before you go to sleep, I need you to go amongst the centaurs and find the… let's see… twenty swiftest. Tell them to go to sleep early, and get a lot of rest. They'll need their strength tomorrow."
"Should I tell them we are going against werewolves tomorrow, sir?" Asked Areto.
"Absolutely. A good King is as frank with all his subjects as he is with his closest friends. Now go; I must rest now."
Areto bowed and exited, and King Eldred sat on his cot. He sat thus for a long time, barely moving except for the drumming of his fingers on the hilt of his sword, still at his side. Suddenly, he drew it and looked at the blade. After holding it in the air for a few minutes, he slowly extracted a whetstone out of a pouch on his belt, and, as if the action was a ritual, started sharpening the blade.
When Areto returned early the next morning, he found King Eldred asleep on his cot, the naked blade of his sword across his chest and the whetstone lying on the ground. The King was still in his armour.
Areto quietly walked over to his sleeping King, and gently pushed his shoulder. King Eldred woke up with a rather undignified snort, looked wildly around, and focused on Areto.
"What time is it?" He asked. He noticed his unsheathed sword, and quickly put it back in its scabbard.
"Early morning; the sun has just peeped between the tree-trunks." Areto answered. "I've prepared the centaurs, they are eating their second course."
"Very good, very good. I will be out presently." The King said, valiantly stifling a yawn. He picked his whetstone from the ground and restored it to its pouch.
Areto bowed and left the tent, and King Eldred stood up. His bones were aching, and he started to regret leaving his staff in Cair Paravel. However, a waft of air blew in through the tent door, bearing the odor of the Tree of Protection on it. It invigorated the old man, and seemed to do away with his aches and pains like a gentle, warm bath.
After he had eaten a very quick breakfast of a bowl of gruel, King Eldred strode from his tent. He saluted the Tree as he passed it, as its leaves caught the first rays of the new day.
The centaurs were assembling outside of the east entrance of the camp. They had apparently just finished eating; King Eldred could see a few of them hurriedly wiping a few stray bits of food away from their mouths.
As usual, Areto was standing nearby, giving orders while he held King Eldred's horse. The ancient King mounted wordlessly, and turned to his small force.
"Today, your courage and your stamina will be tested to its utmost. You shall run harder today than you have probably ever run. And as you run, I want you to remember why you have such haste. We go to meet servants of the White Witch, the werewolves for whom we launched this expedition. Though we go in sunlight, they are still terrible enemies. I must ask each and every one of you to be on your guard, and watch yourself and your companions.
Your general, Areto, handpicked you as the swiftest centaurs under my command. Prove yourselves of Areto's choice, and keep pace! Race the wind!"
The King turned his horse about, and rode off towards the south. With a roar of joy and battle-lust, the centaurs galloped after him, making a thundering noise as their hooves struck the earth. Areto waved them from the camp, it was understood that he was in charge of it until the King's return.
The King led his force south, but after a few minutes of hard galloping swerved to the south-west. Several Talking Beasts peered out of their well-hidden homes in wonder and curiosity as the grim-faced group rushed past, set on their goal.
King Eldred had always enjoyed riding. Even today, with the prospect of death and devastation ahead of him, he couldn't help but give a small smile of exhilaration. The horse had been a gift from the distant Tisroc of Tashbaan, and a rich gift it had been. The horse's swift, easy gait threatened to leave even the swiftest centaurs behind. However, though the King respected the beast immensely, he had vowed never to give it a name, because of the breach of honor the Tisroc committed mere days after the presentation.
Soon the company came upon the werewolves' track. It wasn't easily missed; they had unique footprints, being an elongated claw sort of mark. The centaurs who were more skilled in woodcraft ran along with the King, pointing out tracks to each other and King Eldred so they wouldn't get sidetracked from the path.
They rode along the trail, until, quite suddenly, it stopped in a clearing surrounded by large oak trees. The footprints led right to the center of the glade, and seemed to simply vanish into the earth.
The centaurs trickled into the grove, looking about them warily at the trees. Several of them drew their swords.
King Eldred dismounted and studied the tracks. He had not been an avid hunter in his heyday, but he knew enough about tracks to be suspicious. These had a seemingly artificial and purposeful print, as though the werewolves had taken special pains to make them noticed. Suddenly he knelt and brushed aside some dead leaves. There, formerly hidden, was a werewolf print, facing the east of the grove. He looked up into the trees, and started. Staring back at him was a pair of sinister red eyes!
He drew his sword and shouted,
"Werewolves! The werewolves are surrounding us!" But it was too late.
For those unacquainted with werewolves, they would say their most distinctive sound is their howl. This is not the case. In reality, their most memorable sound is a deep, growling moan, which seems to come from the ravished bowels of the earth. This is called the Wolfchant, and it inspires intense fear in the hearts of those who hear it.
This is what King Eldred and his warriors heard. Steel rang as swords were drawn hastily, and as the Wolfchant sounded from the trees around them. Round and round it seemed to go, once, twice, three times the Chant ran around the clearing. Then, loud and clear, a horrible, grey voice called out,
"Attack! Tear their throats out for the White One!"
Horrible grey shaped leapt from the eaves of the trees, completely surrounding the King's force. Battle had begun!
Author's note: Sorry this took so long to put up; I get easily distracted by all the wonderful things the Internet has to show us. E.g, I was wasting my time giggling (yes, giggling!) at such web-comics as Beaver and Steve, the Order of the Stick, and Two Lumps.
But now I'm liberated, because we had to move and our new dock doesn't provide Internet, so I'm free to write. By the time you read this, of course, the Internet will be back in our household, but it wasn't when I was writing this. You're lucky I have a lot of spare time on my hands, or you would have been left with this chapter and a cliff-hanger.
Also, I don't mean to disparage you werewolf fans about the Wolfchant. It's completely made up by me; of course their howl is almost their trademark.