Wildling by Greg Curtis Page A

ago built huge lake reservoirs and dams. Even if the drought lasted another two years they would be able to feed themselves. The elves hadn't.
    It was simply the difference between the two peoples. The dusky elves were short sighted and incapable of cooperating, even on projects that could have helped all their people. But then they took what they wanted; they didn't grow it. The farms in their lands were all run by wood elves, a smaller less warlike race that they had subjugated long ago. Dorn knew nothing of the wood elves - they had never been seen in the human realms or the wastes as far as he knew - but he felt sorrow for them. Life could not be easy with the dusky elves ruling them. And now with drought claiming the lands and food in short supply he was certain that they would be starving. The dusky elves would take everything. It was their nature.
    Sometimes he wondered if his own people were truly that much smarter. They chopped down forests everywhere to build their houses and heat them, while their farms and graze-lands extended ever further into the wastes. And the smoke and ash in the large cities was sometimes so thick it was hard to breathe. But at least they knew enough not to starve.
    As he drank his tea and the conversation carried on around him, Dorn's thoughts turned inevitably to the journey ahead. Not so much to what they'd find when they arrived at the ancient temple – that he'd have to wait to learn – but rather to the actual trip.
    If Davith's map was accurate, and the artistry suggested it was probably fairly good, they had another week’s travel ahead of them through the desert of rock and shale. Maybe less if following the river bank worked as he hoped. Then they'd have to cut across a great forest of tall trees for another day or so, before they finally reached the valley. That was a long hard trip, but he was confident they would make it.
    What concerned him was how many others they would meet along the way. And what really worried him was that there might be others like Rodan out there. Preying on the wildlings. Thus far they'd been lucky, save for Rodan of course. They'd met no brigands. And now with two of them capable in battle and a wildcast as well they could probably defend themselves well enough. But how many others he wondered, hadn't been so fortunate?
    These glowing people, whoever they were – and no one had so much as a name for them – had stirred up a lot of trouble. Probably many had been harmed by their hex. Many forced to ride would have ridden straight into the arms of brigands or elves. Many might have been killed and eaten by the savage creatures that called the wastes home. Would they care? Or worse yet had they still gone ahead even knowing that that was going to happen?
    It wasn't a pleasant thought, and he knew he should never share it with the others. But it did make him wonder just what they'd find when they arrived. People who were willing to endanger the lives of others weren't often the best of hosts as far as he knew. And they didn't always have the best of intentions either.
    The journey he suddenly realised, might not be the worst thing that awaited them.
    The glowing people might be.
     

Chapter Ten.
     
     
    A week later as the afternoon sun was sinking Dorn collapsed onto the hard rock of the terrace and peered over the edge. He was exhausted.
    Crossing the plain of shale hillocks and depressions by wandering the path of the river had been a clever path. But it had come with one unexpected drawback. One thing that the map hadn't shown them. They'd had to leave the river channel at some point, and unfortunately the river had cut its way lower and lower through the plain as it travelled. As a result they'd had to climb their way out of a river valley, crawling up slopes of loose rock to reach the plateau that led down to the forest plain.
    It was only a climb of a league and a half or so, but it was steep and with their feet sinking into the loose stone