The Last Satyr: The Company is Formed Part 1

Ronthiel stood outside the dark cave and cautiously called in. “Leradien?”

There was a rustle of many limbs from within, and a low voice answered. “What do you want, elf boy?”

“The satyr did not come home last night.”

“So I heard,” was the reply.

“I was wondering if you knew what happened to him?” Ronthiel asked.

“No. So they haven’t found him?”

“Nothing. Not a sign of him anywhere,” he said.

“So you either suspect me or you suspect the drow,” Leradien's voice came from within the stone cave.

“Either way, it’s drow.”

“Not this drow,” she answered icily. “But you don’t believe that, do you?”

“The displacer beast was my first suspect,” he offered.

“And it would be mine also.”

“I tried to track it but found nothing.”

“What a surprise. Light Elves can track nothing in the dark. You can be glad your poor eyesight worked against you. If you had found it, it would have killed you.”

“Did you try and track it?”

“No,” her voice came, flat and unwilling to discuss it further.

“Why not?” asked the elf. “It wouldn’t kill you.”

“If the displacer beast has found him, then the satyr boy is already dead. My tracking it afterward would be too little, too late, and do no good.”

“You would not avenge his murder? Are you not a drow? I thought drow did such things gladly?”

“We do not avenge ourselves on pets. We go to the source.”

Ronthiel nodded but did not leave. “How do I know he’s not in there with you?”

“Want to come in and see?”

There was a long pause.

“No. I don’t suppose I do,” he decided.

“I didn’t think so.”

“But if you have him-!” Ronthiel warned.

“I don’t,” Leradien answered. “But if he is found, come tell me.”

“If I find him,” he said. “You shall be the first to know.”

“Thank you. By the way, in case you do meet it, do you know how a displacer beast gets its name?”

“No. Why?”

“Because it’s not where it appears to be. It’s always off by a foot or two. So, if you aim for where you see it, you will always miss.”

“To which side is it, really?”

“No one knows.”

“And you tell me this why?” Ronthiel wanted to know.

“If you go to rescue the boy, I should rather you kill it, then it kill you,” she replied.

The elf boy considered that. “You really don’t know where he is, do you?”

“Amazing!” the drider noted. “A Light Elf that can think! Or did you just get lucky?”

Now the elf decided not to reply. He couldn’t see anything in the cave but, when he turned away to leave, his elf ears heard a muffled sound like a sob come from within the cave.

On his way to school, the boy left the common trail through the woods and went on an exploring expedition. He tramped gaily along, over decaying logs, through tangled underbrush, among solemn monarchs of the forest, hanging from their crowns to the ground, drooping with a regalia of flowering vines filled with dipping hummingbirds. Here and there, he came upon snug nooks carpeted with grass and jeweled with flowers.

Though there were plenty of things to be found to be delighted with, there was nothing to be astonished at. For the boy was a satyr and preferred rocky cliffs to wooded trees. But there were none of those to be had along the way to school and so this served to satisfy his craving for adventure.

He reached school, late as usual, and not that he cared. He arrived only to give his farewells to Ronthiel before departing on his newfound career as a robber. The boy remembered then he had forgotten to finish Ronthiel’s flute and vowed not to leave first without completing it. He would have to stay a few days longer now and so he took his place in class.

A great silence fell upon the class when he entered. Mouths hung open and eyes were wide, most noticeably Ronthiel’s. The teacher was visibly rocked to see him and suddenly left the room.

“What’s going on?” whispered the boy to Ronthiel as he took a seat beside him. “Why’s everybody staring at me so?”

“Don’t you know?” whispered back Ronthiel. “You’re supposed to be dead!”

“Dead?!” responded the boy. “Why would I be dead?”

“Because you didn’t come home last night, that’s why! They think you were murdered. Some think the drow did it, some think the drider did it, and I suggested the displacer beast did it. Anyway, everyone’s out looking for you. The teacher was about to dismiss the whole class for us to join the search when you walked in. Where have you been?”

“Exploring,” the boy answered.

“Exploring? At night,” said Ronthiel, “and with a displacer beast about?”

“I figure I wasn’t where he’d be looking.”

“I guess not! Not one elf’s been able to track where you went.”

“So there really were people out looking for me?” the boy asked, amazed that anyone would.

“The whole village!”

The boy felt like a hero in an instant. Here was a rare gorgeous triumph; he was actually missed; they were mourning; hearts were breaking on his account; tears were being shed; accusing memories of unkindness to this poor lost lad were being put aside, and unavailing regrets and remorse were replacing them; and best of all, the departed was the talk of the whole school, noted for his dazzling notoriety. This was great! And he had only been a robber for one whole day! It was already worthwhile to be one. He wondered what other new glories awaited him tomorrow?

“I see the center of all attention has decided to join us?” observed Draugo.

The boy, fresh with jubilance and vanity over his new grandeur and the illustrious trouble he was making, decided to ignore the white-haired Draugo to take stock of his mourners.

“Did any of the elf girls cry at the news?” he asked Ronthiel in a whisper, thinking of the elf girl, Rebecca.

“No. Nobody cried.”

“What? No one?” said the disappointed boy. “Not even my aunt?”

“Well! Of course, she did.”

“What about Sith?” asked the boy.

“He wanted to know when he can have your stuff.”

“What about you?”

“Well! I went out last night to search and sent my crow looking for you this morning.”

That sounded better. He really hadn’t expected much from Sith, anyway.

“You say some think Leradien killed me?”

“Sure! Why not? She tried to kill me yesterday and there’s plenty of those that believe she also gobbled up old Erawin.”

“They wouldn’t go after her, would they?”

“I don’t know. So far they haven’t but they might.”

The boy felt a rush of concern.

“I can’t let anything bad happen to her on my account,” he said. “I’ve got to go check up on her. Do me a favor and let my aunt know I’m still alive, but tell me everything she says first and what everybody else says too. I’ve got a hankering to know what other people really think of me.”

“Okay. But don’t get your hopes up too high. You are a satyr, you know, and they are elves.”

After school, the boy left hurriedly for Leradien’s cave, heading down the school trail to cross Gold Creek and turn up into the rocks. It was his plan earlier to simply abandon her after her treachery in trying to kill Ronthiel, but he couldn’t let her be killed for his murder when she was innocent of that. Presently, he spied her cave entrance and slipped in amongst the cool, damp rock and hanging cobwebs.

Leradien was there as his eyes adjusted to the dark with her back to him, thrashing wildly on all eight of her long spider legs. He thought perhaps she was fighting something for the battle seemed that fierce, but then, no; he saw no opponent. She seemed to be thrashing in agony. Had the elves stabbed her to avenge him? Was he too late?

He heard her voice. Leradien was talking to someone, but he didn’t see who. He saw no one else around at all.

“Oh!" She wailed. "I shouldn’t have listened to Leradien the Light! A hundred times I could have captured him and I didn’t! And now it’s too late! The last satyr! And now he is gone! I should have captured him when I had the chance. Now I must pay for the foolish mistakes of Leradien the Light!”

“Leradien!” he called to her. “Who are you talking to?”

She whirled around on him to stop him in his tracks with the look in her blazing red, ruby eyes. They looked wildly insane—stark raving mad. He’d never seen or imagined such crazed eyes!

The boy stood stock dead still, right where he was. He’d come expecting to find some elf’s arrow or knife sticking out of her. Yet there was no sign of any such weapon or any such wound. She seemed perfectly all right—except for her eyes. They looked incredibly wild, like a caged parrot’s do just before it begins to pluck out its own feathers.

Those maniacal eyes stared at him, widening in recognition of him, stunned to see him alive. No words came from her—but her eyes looked at him as if he were something to attack. The boy took a step backward from her. This was not the Leradien he knew. This was a crazed monster.

The spider thing turned towards him, all eight legs crouching and ready to spring.

“Leradien!” the boy cried in alarm. “What’s the matter with you?”

The eyes didn’t seem to hear. They remained fixed upon him in the dark, brooding. The boy remembered that all driders eventually go insane and the argument could be made that the moment for Leradien had finally come. Leradien’s eyes blazed like rubies caught in the inferno of her emotions, their fiery intensity consuming any semblance of reason. He began to back up even further in fear of her.

“What are you,” Leradien suddenly asked him hoarsely, “dead or alive? Are you a ghost?”

“Why I’m alive, Leradien!”

She came forward then with a sudden rush, capturing him in her long, front forelegs to hold him fast.

“Stop it, Leradien!” he told her, fighting her grip. “What are you doing?”