Delver Magic I: Sanctum's Breach by Jeff Inlo (read novels website .TXT) 📕

Lief and Ryson walked deliberately across the forest floor. Lief led, keeping his eyes forward. Back straight, shoulders squared, his gait revealed his defiance to any elf that might consider stopping them. He stepped methodically over downtrodden paths where underbrush had been beaten and crushed away by constant elfin travelers.

Ryson noted the paths with curiosity. He wondered why the elves would take to the ground at this portion of the forest where the trees were yet numerous and intertwining branches made continuous bridges from one to another. While there remained many elves in the trees overhead, others watched below the branches, behind heavy trunks or bushes.

Ryson watched them all with a wary eye. He made particular note of those that carried bows. For now, they made no threatening moves, but they remained as cautious as the delver, and their numbers increased.

Ryson could only assume they were closing upon Lief’s camp, but as of yet, he spotted no cluster of huts. While he saw stocks of food at the bases of trees, and small burning fires in deep holes, he saw no signs of a permanent camp. He wondered what an elfin home might look like, whether it would be a sturdy shack constructed from boards of wood, a hut of tangled branches and a thatched roof, or a tent spun of vines and leaves. There appeared nothing to answer this question for he saw no signs of any large shelters.

He could not imagine how far they would have to walk to finally reach this camp, for he saw nothing in the distance with his sharp eyes. Yet, he knew that the elfin guards staked positions in this area and more and more elves moved about, both on the ground and in the trees. In the end, he could not help but posing the question to Lief.

“Where is this camp of yours?”

“You are in it,” Lief responded with casualness.

“This is your camp?” Ryson exclaimed with obvious surprise.

Lief laughed lightly as he continued walking. “What did you expect? A sprawling town like those of the humans. We do not live like that. We have little need for gaudy buildings. The forest provides us with everything we need. In return, we leave it as undisturbed as possible.”

“So you basically live out in the open?” Ryson questioned.

Lief showed no sign of insult. He spoke with continued good will, almost as if he found the delver’s reaction somewhat amusing. “Is that so surprising? Do the deer construct their own houses, or the wolf, or the bird?”

“The wolves and birds do,” Ryson replied. “The wolf digs a den and the bird makes a nest.”

“That is for the benefit of the young,” the elf insisted. “We do the same. We build shelters out of branches. We place them in the trees and upon the ground. We use them to protect our children and to store our more delicate items. But they are only temporary. They can be dismantled and moved in a moment’s notice. Like that one there.”

The elf pointed to an orderly arrangement of thick branches which formed a small tent-like structure upon the ground. Its top barely reached Ryson’s waist. It stood against a large cherry tree which assisted in support and added an umbrella of leaves overhead.

“That particular shelter holds the wild cherries harvested from that tree. We have found that keeping them under cover preserves them and protects them from birds.”

“What about the dormant season?” Ryson wondered aloud. “Don’t you get cold?”

“After the last harvests, we become more like the bear and the squirrel. We build more shelters but we also become less active. There is no sense wasting energy when food is scarce. We will build small fires at night and feed upon stored nuts. We simply wait for the growing season to begin the cycle anew.”

“That’s a tough life.” the delver remarked. He considered those without a warm fireplace and a thick roof over their heads as less fortunate.

“Is it? Or is that just your point of view? A point of view which does not sound that of a purebred delver. You might have been living with the humans for too long, Ryson Acumen. Perhaps we live as we were all supposed to live. It may very well be that the lives of humans, and the delvers that choose to follow, are the truly tough lives, as you put it. I would think it may be more difficult to try and ignore the seasons, to continue as if nothing changed from the growing season to the dormant season. Yet, isn’t that what humans attempt to do? They build towns and roads so that their lives remain uninterrupted. They work the same amount throughout the cycles of the season. There is no period of hibernation, no time to rejuvenate. Perhaps, this is the difficult life.”

Lief paused as he focused upon the figure of an elf leaning upon a long, thick branch. Lief’s face became etched with shadows as he considered the point of their return. “Enough of that for now. It is time to concentrate on the struggle at hand. Come with me.”

He motioned for Ryson to follow as he approached the other elf.

Ryson stepped cautiously and remained slightly behind his companion. The elf holding the branch appeared much older than Lief. Remembering how long elves lived, Ryson could not imagine how many cycles this one had seen. He concluded that this must be the elf elder, Mappel, which Lief spoke of.

Mappel stared out into the trees even as Lief moved near. He made no sign of acknowledging either of the two. He even showed no stir of agitation at the approach of a delver, an obvious stranger to this camp. His stare was neither vacant nor cold. His eyes held a twinkle of life, even if they seemed ignorant to the advance of a stranger.

Mappel stood erect. While the hands of time etched their work as lines in the elf’s face, it could not yet bend Mappel’s bones. A long flowing forester’s cloak covered Mappel’s figure. His hair, a mixture of charcoal, gray and silver, hung limply from his head. The thin wisps had lost their texture over time and could not hide his pointed ears.

The long branch, straight as a hand-drawn line, served as a staff for the elder elf, and he leaned upon it with great reliance. Ryson judged the branch to be slightly taller than Mappel and of stout thickness. Each end was flat and most of the bark had been smoothed away, either by time or by the caresses of Mappel’s hands. The elf held to the branch with comfortable ease as if the staff was now simply an extension of his arm.

Lief reached out and grasped the branch several lengths below where Mappel’s hand gripped it.

Upon Lief’s touch of the staff, the elder was almost startled into awareness of the two before him. He blinked once, than twice. He looked over the delver with great curiosity. His own expression quickly became shadowed. He offered no greeting. Instead, he spoke as if continuing a previous conversation.

“It was not enough for you to reject the magic as a blessing of the land,” the elder elf rattled. “You insisted with your doubts. Now the land is heavy with danger. What have you brought upon us, Lief Woodson?”

“It is not I that has brought anything upon us,” Lief replied. At first his voice betrayed his annoyance with the elder, but he quickly