The Last Satyr: The Company is Formed Part 1

“It is my suggestion,” Graybeard decided. “That we leave in seven days.”

“Why seven?” asked the boy.

On this, the boy’s thinking was much different. His first choice was never do today what can be put off until tomorrow, and then to spend tomorrow putting it off again. Seeing this, Graybeard reminded him.

“I told you before. Seven is our lucky number. Besides! It allows Marroh the dwarf and young Joe the human to prepare their leaving and provide their farewells.”

“And time for Belam and me,” Amien said, “to train young Joe in the art of his sword.”

“And time for me,” said Ronthiel, “to teach the boy in the art of his bow.”

“You see?” said Graybeard to the boy. “We need seven days. That’s why I’m your advisor and why you picked me for the job.”

Never had seven days pass faster for the boy than these. He approached the last day with such dread as to imagine running off with Leradien somewhere to get away from this mad business, for he never knew such fear. Yet his aunt was all smiles and quite proud of him, presenting him with a gift of elfin mail armor that had belonged to her husband.

“May it serve you better than it served him,” she said.

The boy took it warily and Sith’s eyes were full of envy. For, by rights, it should have been his.

“Go ahead!” she said. “Put it on. It is made of mithril and is quite light and of which very little can penetrate. You shall hardly feel it at all.”

He put in on and she was right. It was comfortable. It had sleeves to cover his arms, a mail hood that could be pulled up over his head, and it reached nearly as low as an elf’s shirt, which he put on over it, thereby concealing his armor. No one would know he even had it on.

“No one shall expect a satyr to be wearing chain mail,” she said, “least of all of mithril. It should bring you home again. I’m sure.” Then she added, “And I have something else for you—my husband’s pack.”

His aunt produced a soft, black leather pack of the finest quality. Elf packs are truly a wonder to behold, for they are much bigger on the inside than on the outside, allowing them to carry more. And this one had nine outside pockets and, like the pack itself, each pocket was bigger on the inside than on the outside. The whole thing seemed light as a feather. Even when she packed it full for him, there was no weight to it at all. He found he preferred to have it on his back to have it off, for its polished leather was as soft as any pillow and kept his back warm. A fur hat she also provided him, made from Leradien’s rabbit, one with ear flaps that could be tied up or down. When tied up, the hat was fairly cool even in spring or fall, but tied down it would have kept his head warm on even the coldest snowy day. She finished equipping him with a pair of thin leather fringed gauntlet gloves to protect his hands and forearms against thorns and branches while still allowing the finest, most dexterous use of the fingers.

For weapons, he carried Ronthiel’s bow on his back along with a quiver of twenty arrows, sufficient, as everyone knew, to bring down a troll. On his right hip, he carried the knife of Graybeard. Of the two short satyr spears, he kept one on the side of his pack by a loop and the other he carried as a walking stick.

The boy was possibly the best armed of the bunch for Marroh carried only a broad ax and heavy chain mail and young Joe, even less, just his sword. Ronthiel had a dagger, his bow, and forty arrows as well as his crow. Graybeard carried what appeared to be a strong, wooden walking staff but which offered a triple-headed club on one end. By comparison, the two human men came well prepared for war. Amien carried a fine sword, dagger, and chain mail armor and Belam another long sword, dagger, and a small, round shield of clever, efficient design. Their skill with these weapons was incredible. The two of them, standing side by side, could have cut down an entire army of attackers, be they drow or orcs. They gave young Joe daily lessons in combat as did Ronthiel with the boy on his bow.

The boy had gotten reasonably accurate with it in that he could hit a tree nearly every time, and at a fair distance. Of course, Ronthiel could have shot a pinecone out of the same tree but, if the boy could hit a tree, he could pretty much-hit anything standing out in the open that could hit him back and he could hit it hard. Graybeard was pleased with his success.

They gathered at dusk by the great stump to leave. His aunt and Sith accompanied the boy to see him off where they met the waiting others, standing as gray shapes in the darkness. Ronthiel stood by the boy’s side when he arrived, having vowed to defend him with his life, but the boy could see he’d rather be anywhere else than here.

Ronthiel checked his pack one more time to be sure nothing had been forgotten. He had his cooking gear, flint, cloak, rope, and dried food, especially elf lembas bread. When the task was complete, they filed off into the dusk, heading east.

They traveled up Gold Creek as it offered the only trail. They were headed towards the rocky land of the lost satyrs and then beyond that to the pass of the Mithril Mountains, which led to the men of the east. It was a trek of many days. It was the opposite direction Belam wanted to go, for he was a man of the south and to their east were cold, snow-covered mountains, and so he sent a messenger home to inform his brother of his leaving and Amien sent word to the west of the same.

Graybeard walked in front to lead the way, with Amien second behind him and with Belam bringing up the rear guard. The boys filled the middle in the order of young Joe, as the captain of the guard, then the boy, himself, next Marroh the dwarf, and finally Ronthiel, whose ears were trusted to tell if they were being followed or not from behind.

In the dark, the going was slow, for Graybeard would allow no lighted torch to give them away. At times, they had only the sound of the creek to guide them, but it always led the way east. The boy kept a sharp eye out for Leradien’s cave, knowing they would pass near it, but he either never saw it in the dark or they never came near it.

By dawn, they had finally reached where the satyrs had once lived and played. Here, there were steep cliffs and rocky crags that slowed the others down, all except the boy who managed the rocks with ease. His goat hooves danced across the rocky terrain like nimble notes on a musician’s sheet. He found it a most enjoyable country although the others did not, finding it only exhausting.

Indeed! The others quickly tired and Graybeard bade them make camp, have breakfast, and rest. While the others collapsed for want of breath, Ronthiel made his way to the front, with the boy following him. When he reached Graybeard, he gave his elfish warning.

“We are not alone,” he said.

Amien heard but said and did nothing, casting his eye on Graybeard instead, who simply nodded. The boy watched, waiting to hear if the displacer beast would be named, but nothing more was said. Belam and Marroh got a fire going and pretty soon the smell of frying bacon and cooking eggs filled the air.

After breakfast and a rest, the boy led the way to their next destination, White Snow Pass, as he was best suited to scout the mountainous country as well as get high enough to hunt mountain goats. He had never been this far east before and the ways ahead proved both steep and slow (Not for him with his goat hooves but for the others behind.). The second time Graybeard caught up with him and called a rest for lunch, they ate the melons they brought with them. These would be the last melons they would eat for quite a while. The air was growing cooler here.

The boy provided a good supply of apples for the others he found along the way and these were used to replace the melons in their packs, as they should keep many days. Graybeard suggested the boy keep an eye out for dinner and the boy did so, eventually spying and dropping a mountain goat with his bow.

He received hearty congratulations from all for his fine shot, although the boy himself fell rather silent about it after a while. The boy had felt a terrible reluctance about letting loose the arrow when he first saw the goat. He felt no cousinly regard for it, but satyrs are not natural hunters. They naturally pick fruit and/or steal what they want. Killing was for humans. He felt good about the hit but not about the kill.

Amien, in gutting the goat for him, guessed his thoughts.

“Your first kill?” he asked.

The boy nodded.

“A once noble animal now lost forever in an instant,” the man said. “Is that your thinking?”

Again, the boy nodded.

“Your aim was good,” Amien said, looking over the goat. “Your shot was clean. The animal did not suffer.”

The boy nodded once more but still felt a twinge of reluctance.

“Half of you feels good about yourself for providing us dinner, and half of you feels bad for the goat?” guessed Amien.

Again, the boy nodded.

“It is good that you feel that way,” said Amien. “You feel good because you have fed your company and your aim was true. For by the life of the one you have fed and given life to seven. Our stores will last several days longer now and we shall all eat well tonight, thanks to you. The guilt is to remind you not to ever waste life for pleasure. For that is the difference between a hunter and a killer.”

“He speaks the truth,” Ronthiel said, overhearing.

“You sound like an elf,” the boy noted to Amien, “and not a man.”

“I know the elves not but intend to for I believe there is much elves can teach us,” Amien said before adding with a favorable twinkle in his eye, “perhaps satyrs, too.”

After eating the goat, they all sat around the fire and smoked a pipe load of lowland Shire weed. Then they all turned in to bed in their blankets to sleep soundly.

Suddenly, in the dark, the boy was awakened. Ronthiel had placed his hand over the boy’s mouth and Amien was putting out the fire. The others, too, were all moving.

What was this?