Egrassa warned us, and started to sing.
Arrows of bronze are used by orcs, The elves make theirs of gold. The Golden Forest and the Black— The song of the branches is cold. Led by their King, the elves arrived, The orcs were led by their Hand. Facing each other eye to eye Argad and the King did stand. “This forest is ours,” said the King, “Turn back, my friends, and go. What use to an orc is a bleeding skin Pierced by arrows of gold?” “Your words will not serve you for soldiers,” Came the answer from the Hand. “I have two thousand bold warriors And you but a small fighting band. “We will take back our forest as booty, Fortune favors the hardest blades, Gold is the softest of metals, And our bronze will rule the day.” For long minutes King Eldionessa Replied not a single word. Then he took out an empty quiver And smiled at his enemies’ lord. “No arrows?” asked Argad in wonder. “Then this is surrender, it seems.” The King laughed: “Hand, you are dreaming, Woe unto you and your dreams. “Argad, your time is approaching! Do you hear the war horns sound? Those are men in armor arriving, Their boots are tramping the ground. “Indeed bronze is strong, I know. You were right to say that, Hand.… But I changed our golden arrows For a fighting force of men.” The orcs closed their ranks together And stood with their shields raised high, The Hand he frowned and glowered. The King had a glint in his eye. “Foolish elf!” Argad’s harsh words Struck like a mighty sword blow. “Do you think, when they finish with us, The men will just turn and go?” Then metal on metal sounded As blade struck hard against blade.… Argad fell, twelve times wounded, And could not rise again. “Hand, why are you now so silent?” Asked the elf, leaning down over him. “Gold is the softest of metals, To lie here is good, oh King. “Death will sharpen the meaning Of these few words that I speak. Fight for your home with your own strength, Though your forces may be weak.” Thus saying, he opened his eyes And death stopped the breath of the Hand. “What was it you said?” asked the Elf-King. “How am I to understand?” “A hard battle,” the weary man panted, “And dearly indeed has it cost. Orcs are stubborn and bronze is hard, Many good men have I lost.” Said the King: “We are most thankful. This service will not be forgot.” The man asked: “Are we mere servants? Surely, my friend, we are not! “A hired soldier is a fine thing When he fights on distant ground, But at home greater honor is given To the lowly hunting hound.” “Now what is it you seek? You were paid! And we fought too! You know we are not mean! Yet more pay? Here, will this do?” “No more pay,” proclaimed the man-soldier, Addressing the elf with a grin. “Gold is the softest of metals, And we shall just take everything.” Egrassa sang well, and the song flowed quietly and beautifully. The rousing words were like a furious battle in the distance and the strings wept when the Hand of the orcs died after giving his final words of advice to his kinsman and bitter enemy.
The elf’s g’dal sang its final plaintive chord and an oppressive silence descended on the meadow.
“A beautiful legend,” Deler eventually said with a sigh.
“It’s hardly surprising that the elves are not very fond of that song. Milord Alistan is right: It doesn’t show your race in the best possible light,” Mumr commented.
“And the orcs are so very noble,” Miralissa replied with a contemptuous expression.
“Not the best possible light … so very noble…,” Kli-Kli drawled. “It’s nothing but a stupid song, and nothing like that ever really happened!”
“How do you know it didn’t?” asked Deler, stretching out on his horse blanket and yawning widely.
“Because it’s nothing but a legend. Without a single shred of truth in it. When the elves appeared in the Golden Forest, there weren’t any negotiations. The orcs went straight into battle. And definitely nobody called each other ‘friend.’”
