The Second Generation

The shadows of the trees closed over him; day turned to dusk in the blink of an eye. The temperature dropped noticeably. Here and there, patches of sunlight filtered through the overhanging tree limbs. Compared to the darkness around him, the light was almost blinding in its intensity. But soon even these few glimpses of the sun were lost. The trees closed in.

Tanis slowed his horse. Though he grudged the wasted time, he dared not miss whatever tale the ground had to tell him.

All too soon, he read the story’s end. He couldn’t have missed it, no matter how fast he was riding. The dirt road was churned and cut up to such an extent that Tanis found it impossible to decipher what exactly had occurred. Horse’s hooves were obliterated by draconian claws; here and there he thought he saw the impression of a slender elven foot. Add to this a strange set of claw prints. These looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t immediately identify them.

He dismounted, searched the area, and forced himself to be patient, not to overlook the slightest detail. What he discovered brought him no comfort, only increased dread. From the point beyond the churned up mud, no tracks proceeded onward down the road.

Gil had made it this far, and no farther. But what in the name of all that was holy had happened to him?

Tanis went back over the ground, expanded his search into the trees.

His patience was rewarded.

Horse’s hooves had been led off the main road and into the woods.

The hooves were flanked by the draconian claw marks.

Tanis swore bitterly. Returning to his own horse, he tethered the animal on the roadside, then removed his longbow and quiver of arrows from his saddle. He slid the bow over his shoulder and slung the quiver on his back.

Loosening his sword in its sheath, he entered the woods.

All his old skills in hunting and stalking came back to him. He blessed the foresight—or had it been that vision at Storm’s Keep?—that had prompted him to wear his soft leather boots, bring along the bow and arrow that he rarely carried in these days of peace. His gaze swept the ground. He moved through the trees and brush without a sound, treading lightly, careful not to snap a stick, cause a branch to rustle with his passing.

The woods grew deeper, denser. He was a long way from the road, tracking four draconians, and he was alone. Not a particularly wise move.

He kept going. They had his son.

The sound of guttural voices, speaking a language that made flesh crawl and brought back unpleasant memories, caused Tanis to slow his pace. Holding his breath, he crept forward, moving from tree trunk to tree trunk, nearing his prey.

And there they were, or most of them, at least. Three draconians stood in front of a cave, conversing in their hideous tongue. And there was the horse, Gil’s horse, with its fine leather trappings and silken ribbons tied in its mane. The animal was shivering in fear, bore marks of having been beaten.

It wasn’t a trained war-horse, but it had apparently fought its captors. One of the draconians was cursing the animal and pointing to a bleeding slash on a scaled arm.

But there was no sign of Gil. He was probably in the cave with the fourth draconian. But why? What terrible things were they doing to him?

What had they done?

At least Tanis could take cold comfort from the fact that the only blood visible on the ground was green.

He chose his target, the draconian standing nearest to him. Moving more silently than the wind, Tanis lifted his bow, fitted an arrow to it, raised the bow to his cheek, and pulled. The arrow struck the draconian in the back, between the wings. The creature gave a gurgle of pain and astonishment, then toppled over dead. The body turned to stone, held the arrow fast.

Never attack a Baaz with a sword if you can help it.

Swiftly, Tanis had another arrow nocked and ready. The second draconian, its sword drawn, was turning his direction.

Tanis fired. The arrow hit the draconian in the chest. It dropped the sword, clutched at the arrow with its clawed hands, then it, too, fell to the ground.

“Don’t move!” Tanis ordered harshly, speaking the Common language he knew the creatures understood.

The third draconian froze, its sword halfway drawn, its beady eyes darting this way and that.

“I have an arrow with your foul name on it,” Tanis continued. “It’s pointed straight at what you slime call your heart. Where is the boy you took captive back there? What have you done to him? You have ten seconds to tell me, or you meet the same fate as your comrades.”

The draconian said something in its own language.

“Don’t give me that,” Tanis growled. “You speak Common better than I do, probably. Where is the boy? Ten seconds is almost up. If you—”

“Tanis, my friend! How good to see you again,” came a voice. “It’s been a long time.”

An elf, tall, handsome, with brown hair, brown eyes, wearing black robes, emerged from the cave.