The Last Satyr: The Company is Formed Part 1

Someone was speaking to him.

“Wake up, boy,” said a voice. “You slipped and fell.”

The boy’s eyes opened. People were leaning over him. They were all looking him in the eye. The one who had just spoken looked down at him with a long beard and puffing on a pipe—Graybeard!

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Slipped and fell? No—he hadn’t slipped and fallen. And, no, he wasn't all right, either. He had heard Graybeard’s announcement that they were going to rob the drow with him as their leader. That thought was about as welcome to him as an outhouse breeze. He had never planned any such thing, but no captain of a gang of thieves could admit to not robbing drow. They'd be first on the list. Also the first to happily and cruelly kill you for it.

“Yes,” he said reluctantly, getting up. “I’m okay. There is a bit of a slick spot back there.”

“There is at least one other drow about,” Ronthiel volunteered to all. “It’s a drider.”

That revelation sent ripples of tension through the group. He might as well have said it was a 10,000-pound troll.

Belam’s alarmed eyes turned instantly to the elf at that, ready to draw his sword. “A drider? Here?! Where?”

“And no ordinary drider,” added Ronthiel, “but a black widow—the same as Lolth herself!”

Whispers and murmurs spread faster around the fire than the very fire sparks themselves could fly.

“A drider and a displacer beast,” Marroh said. “It all makes sense. The drow have come.”

“The drider is not our enemy!” the boy exclaimed. “I know her too well. She is an enemy of the displacer beast and rescued Ronthiel from death more than once!”

“Is this true?” asked Amien of the elf.

All eyes turned towards Ronthiel, seeking validation. Amien’s gaze fixed on him, the question of a drider rescuing anyone was doubted by them all.

“So I have been told,” Ronthiel admitted. “But can I swear to it? No.”

“The boy has told me of his drider before,” Graybeard shared. “She might even be willing to join us. Or am I wrong?”

He was wrong, of course, but the boy gave a different reply. If he were to admit Leradien had refused to join, he’d never get his share as captain of the cavalry, there being no cavalry to captain without her.

“We don’t allow girls in the gang,” the boy answered, adding “for now.”

By adding, “For now”, he retained his chances for his fourth share for now.

“I see,” said Graybeard with the slightest of smiles, “a wise decision on your part." Then he turned to the others. "The role the drider is to play in events to come cannot be foreseen either by us or by Lolth, be it for better or worse or nothing at all. And there is little any of us can do about a drider, anyway. We shall move on to the next subject."

No one disagreed and listened as Graybeard went on. “According to the boy, Ronthiel here was to be sacrificed at midnight by the drow, the appointed hour of Lolth. Yet the drow priest who carried it out was a male. All priests of Lolth are women. Only a male follower of Vhaeraun could have performed such a sacrifice.”

“You mean we are not dealing with just one drow keeper, but two?” Belam asked.

Vhaeraun was Lolth’s son who had his own plans to succeed her as keeper of the drow.

“That is how it appears,” said Graybeard. “Yet a male priest of Vhaeraun should not be making sacrifices to Lolth as such priests do not follow Lolth. It means something else is going on, something we know nothing about. Further, our keeper enemies may number possibly more than two.”

“Three?” asked Amien. “Who is the third?”

“You should both know,” replied Graybeard. “That Azazel has been unhappy with the elves and told me the time of the elves is ending and that the time of human men is on the rise. He may also have made the same decision on the satyrs, though no vote was taken at the Council.”

"Are you saying he might oppose us?" questioned Amien.

"I'm saying I don't know."

“There is not one amongst us who dares oppose Azazel, keeper of all!” declared Belam. “And why should I oppose Azazel’s decision that now is the time for men? Is that not to my benefit?”

Graybeard disagreed. “It is not to your benefit to be killed by Dark Elves. Rather, it is to your benefit for you to kill them. That requires an army." He paused and then added. "We are that army."

"We?" Belam eyed him in amazement. “The few of us here are to destroy the entire drow empire?”

"Not destroy," Graybeard countered. "Delay. Whatever their plans for the satyrs, we shall undo it. Otherwise, they shall do to you humans what they have done to the satyrs and now the dwarves. Shall earth be ruled by men or by Lloth's drow which include orcs and mad goblins?”

“It would seem a good plan,” Belam agreed, “if we could do it. What allies do we have?”

“Amongst the elves, none,” replied Graybeard. “Nature has bent them too much to its will. They already accept their own destruction. We must depend upon the races of men just as Azazel has foreseen.”

“Our very race that Azazel promises to inherit the earth!” noted Belam.

“And which is why Lolth empowers the drow against you to deny you that inheritance. Is it not logical for her to destroy you first when the Light Elves will not? If she destroys you first, you shall never inherit the earth.”

Belam frowned. “It is not for me to argue with one as old and wise as you. No doubt you can make me believe anything you desire. So how can we trust you,” he asked, “when Duravane, one of your own elves, does not?”

“Enough!” cried Amien. “This keeper has not lied to us! What untruths has he told? We are all here because of the drow and not because of Azazel! The drow have turned against satyr, man, and dwarf! What further evidence do we need of their treachery? I say we fight what fights us! What can be clearer than that?”

“Much can be clearer, but little can be said towards that end,” admitted Belam. “I agree with you. But why do we follow a boy who faints at the mere mention of drow?”

Graybeard answered. “We are greatly outnumbered and will be outfought in open battle. If we engage the enemy head-on, we shall only know defeat. We must use stealth and deception as our weapons, something the boy here has in abundance. It is how the satyrs defeated the Drow before. If it worked then, I see no reason why it should not work again now.”

“But how does a keeper put his faith in a mere boy?” Belam wanted to know.

“Only in our children can we find innocence,” answered Graybeard. “Amongst the rest of us, it does not exist. And we must put our faith in our leader's innocence that he has no ulterior motive. You have already questioned mine.”

There was silence. The group fell into silence, as if time itself had stopped to listen, hanging in suspense like a sword suspended by a thread. No one could argue with that.

“All we need now on this mission is confidence in our ignorance,” said Marroh in reluctant observation of all. “Success is then assured!”

“You forget cold, hard steel,” Belam reminded him, patting his sword. “The wizard is right. Together we may be a small force but we are also an unexpected one. Surprise is on our side.”

Amien now confronted the boy to have his own answers. “If we are to find the satyrs to free them, how should we do so?” he wanted to know.

The boy would have shrunk and crawled under a rock if he could. It was one thing to talk brave and of leadership amongst other boys, but it was quite another before grown men.

“Speak up, lad!” demanded Belam.

The boy looked towards Graybeard for advice but found none. They all stood waiting for his reply. He felt the turmoil of impending failure.

What did the boy know of finding satyrs? Nothing! He was at a complete loss. If he had any idea of how to find his other satyrs, he would have done so long ago. The only thing he knew about satyrs was what he had learned in class about the Second War.

Wait! The Second War, he thought. Could it be there was an answer?

“It would seem,” he offered uncertainly, “to find the satyrs, we must find their horses.”

The boy looked at the stern, serious faces of Graybeard, Amien, and Belam, expecting to be laughed at for his suggestion. Yet there was no laughter.

“The men of the east have horses,” said Belam.

“And it was to the east the satyrs disappeared,” added Graybeard.

“I know the men of the east,” Amien stated. “They are the Riders of the Rim.”

“The Riders of the Rim!” whispered Ronthiel, recognizing the name.

“Of course!” said Graybeard. “They have only ridden horses since–”

“Since the disappearance of the satyrs?” guessed Amien.

Graybeard nodded. "The Riders of the Rim have only possessed horses for the last thirteen years. It was thirteen years ago the satyrs disappeared."

“Then we go to the Land of the Rim Riders?” Belam said with grim certainty.

“Unless you have another idea,” answered Graybeard.

“But do the Riders of the Rim stand with the drow or against them?” asked Belam. “Why would they have the satyrs’ horses if they were not a gift from Lolth?”

Belam’s concern lingered in the air as the group pondered the allegiances of the Riders of the Rim.

“I know not,” Graybeard admitted, “for I am not their keeper.”

“But was not the First War fought between the drow and the Rim Riders?” asked Amien.

“It was,” Graybeard admitted.

“Who won?” Amien asked. “For it reasons, if the Riders of the Rim were victorious, that they should be our friends. But, if they lost and were enslaved, then they should be our enemies.”

“I do not know the answer,” said Graybeard, “that war was fought without me. But I know how to find out.”

The group’s attention turned to Graybeard. “How?” asked Belam.

“Go there,” Graybeard replied.

All eyes went to the boy as the inevitable question by Amien was asked. “When do we leave?”