The Legend of Vikranti

    A day’s ride away from Citirindunfel, the great elven city, there lies a small village of human travelers, traders and a handful of stubborn farmers; Citirin Falls as the dwellers call it. Its countryside bitterly cold in the winter months from its location on the Elven Mountains, the land still yielded a mild summer and, although the summer being considered cold by most standards, allowed enough food for living.

****

    Stiilineingsten knew the countryside and histories of Citirindunfel and Citirin Falls well, better than any living elf, yet in his vast life span he had never learned of a cold as vicious as this winters, or the frigidity staying so long into summer as this season. The elf didn’t believe any one mage or even group of mages was powerful enough to conspire together this cold either. Nevertheless, his gut told him it was not natural weather doing its work, and when an elf thought against reason their advice should usually be heralded.

    But Stiilineingsten could do nothing about the cold; the old elf lived alone far outside the realms of Citirindunfel. Traveling to the great city took days in fair weather and in the deep snow troughs and icy conditions it would now take weeks.

    No. It would be far wiser to stay put and figure out this puzzle in peace than go to the High Council of Citirindunfel on a hunch; a poor hunch that they had probably already thought of at that. Still, something burned inside Stiilineingsten’s heart that hadn’t been there for many years. He yearned for the adventure and excitement of his past, and if he couldn’t go to Citirindunfel then maybe one last journey, one last adventure would be the next best thing for this elf to find the answer to his puzzle.

    Yes. That’s a much wiser decision. And with that, the oldest living elf packed his traveling gear within the hour and set out for one last adventure.

***
         
    About the year 476 by Giceral’s System, five years after the blight of giants in the south, there lived a rugged farmer and his boy by the names of Theodore Vikranti and Theodore Vikranti Jr., or just Junior as everyone called the boy.  The last descendents of a once grand and powerful family, the two had escaped the army of giants in the south and, in the midst of the war and uncertainty, found themselves settling as far north as humanly possible; Citirin Falls. The two had built a snug cottage by a small, oft frozen pond and set themselves to be farmers. But even with strong hands and good intentions, their plan was cut short by one factor they hadn’t accounted for. Cold. A Bitter, heart wrenching cold that wouldn’t cease as winter turned to summer. Their efforts yielded nothing; harvest was impossible in the unseasonable cold.
         
    Soon the two were close to starving, even with the rations from the elves; there simply wasn’t enough food to spare for a farmer and his boy. They stayed huddled together around the center room’s fire each morning, waiting for the supply man to come with their meager rations. Eleven people had already passed away from starvation, the first deaths from starvation ever in the land’s history.

    Then two months and a day into summer, as the supply man came to the door to give them their rations, Theodore was told of a human-elf coalition forming to find the source of the cold. Not one to be afraid of anything yet alone elves, Theodore had a long talk with Junior as to whether he should join the coalition.

    After much debate, Theodore decided he would join the coalition despite Junior’s wishes. He knew eventually if the cold wasn’t stopped they would all die. So Theodore went in the cramped attic and began gathering what he would need. He grabbed his thick woolen cloak, rough canvas backpack and his great-grandfather’s sword and belt sheath. Theodore didn’t know why he grabbed the old sword except that maybe he would feel safer with the weapon.

    So he began the trek to the outskirts of the village where the forces were meeting.
*****
         
    Junior was heartbroken. His father was leaving HIM in the refugee camp while HE journeyed to find the source of the cold. You Know What? Junior thought, I’ve been in this cold just as long, I want it to end just as badly as he does, so why shouldn’t I go with the coalition? And luckily for Junior’s sake, the old man set to guard the little ones liked to doze off. So after a short wait for the man to fall asleep, Junior was on his way to the coalition with the clothes on his back, a sharp knife in his belt, matches in his pocket and a thick sleeping bag in hand. Not exactly all the necessary supplies for a hard winter trek; but how is a boy supposed to know that?
         
    After a brisk walk to the outskirts of town, Junior crawled up behind a tall pair of dead bushes as he grew near the coalition. Their thin interwoven trunks allowed Junior to see the coalition, but not the reverse. What Junior saw was not what he expected. The elves and humans were creating their camps together, which Junior thought would never happen; elves and humans disliked the other too much he thought. Also the sheer size of the “coalition” offset Junior; it was really more of a small army! There must have been at least four thousand elves and humans who looked like they knew their way around a weapon, not even including all the servants or horses, but what was strangest to Junior’s eye was the fact that the royal family of Citirindunfel was in the coalition. Now this in itself wasn’t too strange, a ruler should be in a force that tries to find what threatens his domain, but the entire royal family was there, Junior recognized the bright orange crest on their tents and clothing, and what’s more they were camping in the middle of the coalition, not off to the side to retain royal dignity.
         
    Weird thought Junior, Very weird, but he was too tired and weak from the meager rations he had been receiving to think more on it. So he went to sleep ready to wake at dawn and move with the coalition.
****
    Stiilineingsten followed the large tracks further North. The sheer amount of tracks told the elf that he was following an army. Not the largest elven army by a long shot, but the largest force ever mounted this far North in a long, long time. And mounted in this weather! Thought Stiilineingsten, There must be some reason why they would mount such a huge army in this cold. They wouldn’t do it on a hunch like mine would they? Well maybe if all the elves had the same hunch, I just wish I knew what it was... That moment something drew Stiilineingsten’s eye, there was a small track away from the main camp. Stiilineingsten walked over to it and gazed upon it. It seemed to be from a boy or small man who was following the army.
         
    Strange, very strange Thought Stiilineingsten.
****
    Junior had been following the coalition for three days and, except for one emaciated rabbit he caught, he had nothing to eat. Following the train of soldiers was growing harder each day and he wondered whether he should go into the camp and admit himself. Junior knew though that if he did that he would be put under guard and would never find out what was causing the cold. And he was a Vikranti, whether he knew it or not, he was made of sterner stuff than most, so he labored on.
         
    On the fifth day, Junior was close to admitting himself. The one rabbit would not sustain him much further. Something caught his ear. Crackle. Junior heard the sound in the dead forestry behind him and, faster than any rabbit could run, turned around, pulled his knife out of his belt, and scanned for the source of the sound. An elf stepped out of the thick canopy of rotted trees, holding his hands high and with a smile on his face.
         
    “Hello I’m Stiilineingsten, who are you?” the elf asked, unfazed by the knife in Junior’s hand.

    “Why should I tell you? So you can put me under guard with the coalition? I don’t think so,” Junior responded, rare childish anger clouding his logic, he had wanted to go to the coalition minutes earlier!

    “Actually I’m not with the coalition; fellow elves aggravate me to no end. But humans I don’t seem to mind as much. Do you mind if I journey with you…..” Stiilineingsten asked motioning the boy to tell him his name.
         
    “Why do elves make you mad?” he asked, evading telling his name.
         
    “Whenever I’m in their company, half of them act complete fools around me, staring in disbelief with their jaws unhinged and drool dropping when I walk by. The other half ask me questions non-stop, thinking of me as the creator with all the answers just because I’m old,” Stiilineingsten responded, telling a rare joke for an elf. “So you still haven’t told me your name,” the elf added.

    “Call me Junior,” the boy said, and just then he noticed the elf’s extreme age. They say elves don’t age like men, but this elf looked like he had seen more of the world than any man in his sagging blue eyes. His face drooped down and had a thin white scar from his left eye to his chin; wrinkles covered his body as did other scars. In fact, he was the only elf Junior had seen that had either scars or wrinkles, and he had seen quite a few elves around Citirindunfel. Elves didn’t age much at all and were a peaceful people; Junior couldn’t remember learning of any war that the elves were involved in.

    Junior wasn’t glad to gain a travel companion, but was more than happy at seeing the dried food and extra supplies in Stiilineingsten’s bag. So the two unlikely traveling companions began following the coalition together.
****

    Theodore was tired. They had been trekking North for eight days. The march remained a constant, tolling, hard pace each day which covered many more miles than they thought possible in the deep snow and harsh cold. They were close upon the lands beyond the map; no one had ever journeyed this far North and lived. This didn’t frighten Theodore though. He just wanted to find the source of the cold, kill it or stop it whatever it was, and go home. Yet something told him it wouldn’t be that simple

    “Stop!” the elven scout leader yelled, “We’re making camp for the night.” Theodore was fine with that; he was more than tired. And after tying up the horses, preparing meals and setting up the tents and bags, it was finally time for sleep. He drooped down into his thick sleeping bag, grateful for its comfort from the cold, and, even though he hadn’t done it the other nights he went to sleep, he took out his grandfathers sword from his large knapsack and placed it next to his sleeping bag. It really was a fine weapon, its steel shone in the firelight from the camps; no one had truly been able to tell him what kind of sword it was, except the elves who had refused to, saying it would bring him great sadness to know its past. It was a curved, slender, single edged blade, with a circular, long grip to accommodate two hands. It was lighter and faster than the few swords he had sparred with, yet its cutting ability was unsurpassed by any sword he had seen or heard of. Many had offered much gold for the weapon, but he always refused knowing it was the only proof of his family’s history. 

    He sheathed the weapon and went peacefully to sleep.

    Theodore awoke by the sound of the morning gong. The elves had weird customs, but he had to hand it to them, it was effective at rousing the force. He got up began preparations and within the hour the coalition was moving. They didn’t move in a hard defined rank and file, but rather as an armed group of men walking briskly together. Occasionally, Theodore would stop and rest his sore left knee, it always gave him trouble, and on one such break he heard a low grumble resonate from within the line of dead trees. He hobbled over there with his bad knee to see what caused the noise and, instead of seeing a rabbit or even a wolf, what he saw surprised him even more. Junior and a rugged looking elf were standing there wide-eyed, mouths agape, watching him.
         
    “Junior, What in the name of the Light are you do—,” and then all hell broke loose.

    A deathly sound filled Theodore’s ears. It was a high pitched, piercing noise that penetrated deep within Theodore’s exposed eardrums. Excruciating pain shot through his body from his ears. Theodore, Junior and the elf fell to the ground with their hands clamping their ears, a good thing they did to, the next second a white hot explosion hit the three. They each were pushed through what was left of the underbrush by the explosion. Getting up, with cuts from the underbrush and burns from the explosion, the three looked at each other for a second before Theodore ran towards the coalition yelling “What in the world?!”.
         
    The entire coalition was… gone. Where earlier there were thousands of men and horses, now there was now just ash floating in the air. WHAT in the world could have done that? Theodore thought. Then he noticed what was on the hill ahead. A woman was standing upon the hill in a dark black dress with long billowing black hair, holding a long sword; her body was white. Not light skinned, not pale, but WHITE. What type of witchery is this? he thought. She just seemed to exude evil, the contrast of her dress to her skin and long dark sword gave her a terrifying look. And Theodore couldn’t really explain it in words but, there was a sort of… resonation coming from the woman and the sword. He would bet his life that she was what caused the explosion that killed the coalition. An arm grabbed him and pulled him back.
         
    “Are you mad!?” the elf asked as he pulled Theodore back, “If that thing saw you it would kill us all.” “We must move deeper into the forest,” the elf said, motioning to follow him, “Nyardraa’l are slow creatures, but if it sees us we will be dead. Once inside we will have time to plan”
         
    “What was it?” Theodore asked as they reached a deeper part of the thicket, still unable to get the creature, for that’s what it truly was, out of his head.
         
    “It was a Nyardraa’l, or as humans call them ‘frost witches’— ,”
         
    “A frost witch?” Theodore interceded, “Why, they’re just tales to frighten children with…” Although he sounded as if he already knew there was more to the tale.
         
    “No, once, many, many years ago, in an age where you humans hadn’t even learned to farm yet, there was another Nyardraa’l, maybe the same one for all I know. The ancient elves of that time found it in early winter, before mid-frost, and because a Nyardraa’l gains its power from the cold, it was weak. Much weaker than this one. An army of 7,500 elves, all battle hardened from the Black Wars, went to do battle with the devilish creature. Twenty returned. They found their elven magic and blades no match for the magic of the Nyardraa’l. Nothing could harm the creature and it easily killed off the army until twenty elves remained. They had lost hope, until Shirokien, the elven prince of the age, entered in one-on-one combat with the creature and took a mortal injury. His blood gushed out of his wound, spilt upon the creature, and killed it” The ancient elf said.

    “How is that going to help us?” Theodore asked.

    “Can’t you see you ignorant farmer? All you need to kill it is—,” A beam of light grazed the elf’s side, blood seeping out of the wound. Junior fell to the snow, temporarily blinded by the light. Everything happened so fast. The Nyardraa’l stood twenty yards away, its sword pointing at the elf, a smile on its hideous lips. Theodore charged the creature, to avenge the kind elf, and protect Junior. He unsheathed his sword and swung. The creature dodged his blow with inhuman deftness and swung its own long sword in a big over head motion. Theodore dove. The blow slammed into the hard packed snow where Theodore was standing just moments earlier. The creature glided towards Theodore who was now in a poor position on the ground. It rose up its sword for another huge overhead swipe. Theodore spun his legs around the Nyardraa’l and brought the creature to the ground. He stood up and the creature, growing tired of this game, stabbed Theodore with inhuman quickness that no blades man could block. Theodore watched the blood drip from his wound onto the creature. He knew he would not survive the wound. The creature screeched in agony as his blood touched its body. Theodore realized what the elf was about to say before his death—Royal Blood. Theodore sliced open his neck with his sword, watching his long-forgotten royal blood cascade upon the creature until death greeted them both.

         ****

    Weeks later, or years perhaps, who knows how time spins, Junior and Stiilineingsten, still healing from the Nyardraa’l’s magic, sat before the High Council of Citirindunfel and told the story that would become The Legend of Vikranti.

(3000 Words)