By Colin Darney

Copyright and Disclaimer

Windyspring

© 2022 Colin Darney. All Rights Reserved

Published by Colin Darney on Amazon

Artwork by Irene Zeleskou

ISBN 979-8-9853166-4-3 (eBook)

ISBN 979-8-9853166-5-0 (Print)

Disclaimer

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Amazon or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright and Disclaimer

Table of Contents

Map of The Endless Plains

Map of the Serensea

Foreword

Prologue

An Ambush in the Night

A Feast on the Wall

Figuring out the Pieces

Sweeping the Floor

Knives in the Dark

Lessons in Honor

Shadows of the Vale

The Daggers Come Out

Setting the Stage

Politicking in a Tent

The Beating of Drums

The Forest Calls

A Desperate Healing

The Coming of the Elves

Friendly Interrogations

Questions and Answers

A Leader’s Lament

Lines of Succession

The Marching of Booted Feet

To Descend Beneath

An Ancient Tol

A Maid’s Help

The Hands of Fate

Facing the Guard

A Master’s Fate

Visions of the Plains

A Trip to Find Peace

Twists of Fate

A Council Begun in Anger

A Monk’s Assistance

Raising the Dead

The Anger of a Mage

Hidden in Plain Sight

Dark Tidings

Travelers on the Road

A Leader’s Fury

The Wilder Road

Altered Voice

The Observatory

Keris

On Another Front

Moving On

A Teacher’s Past

Windyspring

A Way Down in the Valley

An Avalanche of Need

The Battle Through

A Flight from Doom

A Desperate Hope

Last Stand of the Troop

Death on the Plains

Epilogue

Afterword

Character List

Pronunciation Guide

Final Thought

Foreword

Hello!

Thank you for reading Windyspring, the sequel to Resthaven and Silverlake. This book follows the members of the troop as they continue their mission for Lord Maorilan: To check on the western and southern villages around the Serensea, and to fight the ondilaan where they can.

At the end of the last book, the troop was relaxing on the beach of Silverlake enjoying an impromptu celebration, when some unexpected guests arrived. They had worked hard to reach where they were, and experienced some significant events. Leaving Resthaven, defending Varmen’s Shoal, avenging Brookside, the troop has been through a lot. And after saving those unfortunate survivors in Silverlake, they spent their time resting and recuperating before moving on. But that time was rudely interrupted, and the story concluded as the troop came under attack.

I purposely left it at that cliffhanger. Why? To mess with the reader? Annoy some others? Some kind of strange marketing technique? No, and I chuckle whenever I’m asked that. I wish there was some plan or purpose to the way the last book ended, because, simply put, that is just where the story stopped in my head. In short, I write my stories as the adventure occurs, not by any flowchart I have hanging on a wall at home. And when the troop got attacked by the fire after singing and relaxing, that is where that part of the story stopped.

Moving forward from Resthaven and Silverlake, Windyspring takes a new turn in the story’s development. In this novel, the story expands … and expands greatly. You will not only see how events affect the troop, but also this entire part of the world. The expansion encompasses the entire Endless Plains, and lightly touches on realms beyond. Ultimately, I hope you like it.

I found this book exceedingly difficult to write. Not because of a lack of ability on my part, but because of the varying events that all intertwine. It led me to do things I never planned on, such as developing how magic works to ensure consistency, or creating a simulation of a solar system to figure out how two moons would affect a calendar. Or how the politics between the Kingdom, the Vale, and Khagatom, amongst others … yes, ‘others’ is a teaser … all entangle with one another to form a beautiful, messy whole. It was a lot of work.

But, regardless of my challenges, you, the reader, will be the judge of what I’ve done here. I hope you enjoy Windyspring. And as I’ve said in my past books, I can only hope that your judgements are kind.

Thank you again for reading. And, Far’e’na,

Colin

Prologue

Amahn Nagaadek watched from the window of the palace as the newest party of elves traversed the Gate. It was a massive thing, located in the central square of the upper district. Countless beings from all over the world had travelled to and fro through the magical structure if ancient tales were to be believed, but now only a few Gates remained. And the system of Gates was vital to the politics of the world.

Politics, Amahn snorted, politics is the central issue of today.

The Gate rose from the distant courtyard centered on a huge, square dais of stone, easily two or three artocks in length on each side. Dappled white on grey, the stone was rarely seen around the Endless Plains though commonly found in the ancient’s construction. And the dais itself was stepped on all sides so that access to the Gate was unimpeded no matter what direction a person approached it.

Rising from the platform were four inverted half-arches of the dappled stone curving up out of the dais that reached out towards the heavens. Each half-arch was broad at the base, splaying out like the tail of a bird and gradually narrowing as they reached their peak. They were inscribed with runes in a language long lost, the language of the lost gods some said, in beautiful swirling script that looked more like a design or a decoration than text.

Each arch was spaced apart from the others, the vertical sections closest to the center of the dais along its diagonals. And at the inner aspect of each one was a mage, whose duty was to direct and organize the travel through the portal. Currently the mages of the Timeless Throne looked on as their normal duty was usurped, the elves of the Vale directing the Gate to some unknown location within their realm they had protected for over a millennia.

As Amahn watched, the elven mages raised their arms as one, and the Gate began to take form. Perfectly centered on the dais and equidistant from each half-arch, an obsidian globe formed. He knew it was only the size of a child’s ball, having travelled the Gate before, but it was an eerie thing that seemed much larger than it actually was. Then along each half-arch of stone, brilliant colors escaped from the swirling script, twining with each other before slowly and seductively stretching out towards the globe. There they penetrated and combined with the onyx ball, the colors swirling in a chaotic miasma as the elven mages directed the magics they did. Great cables of every color of the rainbow connected the half-arches to the central globe, and the throbbing sphere grew. Then upon reaching the size of a house, the swirling colors of the Gate cleared to show some chamber within the elven realm.

And the innumerable guards on the other side.

The elven mages lowered their arms, turning towards those of the Timeless Throne while nodding their heads. And the human mages returned their acknowledgement, before the elven party began traversing the Gate. A dozen or so stepped into the globe, which rippled as if they were stepping into water, each of them traversing thousands of leagues in a single stride.

The Gate would close of its own accord when the final mage passed through, Amahn knew. The elves going … somewhere. The Timeless Throne only knew their destination was most likely not in Sirikii, the capital city of the Vale. For every time the elves traversed the Gate this way, the mages attempted to discern where the Gate led. And every time they did, their investigation led them nowhere.

Amahn watched the mages studying the magic of the Gate, hoping some discovery was made. But once again, they did not look pleased.

“Lord Seneschal, the Council of Houses is requesting your presence.”

Amahn turned, nodding to the senior functionary that had approached.

“My presence?”

“They had originally requested the king, my Lord. The king has commanded you to attend in his stead.”

Amahn sighed. “The great hall?”

“No, Lord Seneschal.” The man bowed his head. “They meet with the counselor of war inside the redoubt.”

“Why are they meeting there?”

“There has been news from Khagatom. The dwarvish ambassador is discussing strategy there in the hall of maps.”

Amahn grunted, suddenly understanding the venue’s change. The hall of maps was another ancient thing located here in Tatdavarr; a wonder left over from the time of the gods. It resembled a shallow pool surrounded by many bench seats, but it was not filled with water. No, it was filled with a magical map of the Endless Plains that’s scale stretched for thousands of leagues in every direction.

There the counselor of war, or any other, could plan and plot out strategy on a grand scale, as it displayed an area far beyond the borders of the kingdom, almost to Khagatom itself. But the counselors and the dwarvish ambassador were not there to look at the impressive view the map provided. They were there to plot the path of armies, and deliberate on how to stop the invasion by the ondilaan that was underway.

An invasion that came with no warning ... that had so far killed thousands.

“Has there been any new word from the cities of Lagaree or Baasondee?”

“No, Lord Seneschal. Lagaree last made contact three days ago and is feared lost. Baasondee reported ondilaan entering the city yesterday before sunrise.”

“And Akreesha?” Please let the fortress be safe.

“No word, my Lord.”

Amahn nodded his head, refusing to let the fear cross his face, and waved the functionary into motion as the last of the elves passed the Gate.

The two travelled through the palace of the Timeless Throne which was richly appointed in every way. The floors were polished stone, various paintings and hangings dotted the walls, while silk screening and curtains hung in every window and portal they passed. Here and there they passed members of the King’s Guard, posted in pairs or patrolling the grounds with their gleaming arms and armor. And they were stopped by decadently dressed lords and nobles, each bringing some inane concern to be reported to the king. But where normally he would have delayed to politely converse with those fine folk, Amahn instead demurred so he could continue on.

And in the center of the palace’s grounds, many long minutes from when they started their journey, they entered into the redoubt through an armored door, guarded from the outside world by a company of the king’s elite guard. Then descending a plain stone staircase and passing through a multitude of heavy doors, completely divergent from the opulence of the palace outside, they entered into the hall of maps.

The map was already alive, displaying the surrounding lands in its magical glow. And there they found the council assembled, waiting for them.

“Lord Seneschal, good of you to join us.”

“As you say, Lord Damemota,” Amahn inclined his head towards the tremendously corpulent man. “I serve the crown. And when the council calls, the crown answers.”

“Bah! We asked for the king,” a rail-thin noble complained.

“The king’s time is his own, Lord Makenoo, as you well know.” The seneschal eyed him with a raised brow, his warning coming through in his tone.

The noble grumped, but any further interaction was interrupted as another lord spoke. “It is, Lord Seneschal, but there are matters underway which only the king can give guidance to.”

“I understand, Lord Vakuleen, I truly do. However, an invasion of the Endless Plains is underway. The king’s time is limited … some consideration from the Council of Houses, I’m sure, can be made.” There was audible grumbling from the assembled lords until Amahn added, “Especially in this time of war.”

“As you say, Lord Seneschal, as you say,” Lord Damemota eventually said. “Thank you for attending in the king’s stead,” he added before moving on. The obese lord waved a hand towards another figure. “We are gathered to answer strategic questions for our dwarven allies before they arrive.”

A dwarf rose to his feet, beard intricately braided and adorned with a plethora of metallic beads. The dwarf bowed in acknowledgement before returning to his seat amidst a handful of the other dwarves in his party.

“And those questions are?” Amahn asked the dwarf.

“Where to deploy his troops,” another man answered, the dwarf allowing a slight frown to cross his face at being spoken for. “That is why we are here,” a cocky voice sounded from the armored figure who’d interrupted.

“I assume you would know best, General Karmehan.” Amahn did his best to hide his distaste for the man, but was certain it would come through no matter what he did.

“For our own troops, yes. But the dwarves ask where they could best support our own. That is a diplomatic answer, not just a strategic one.”

“Doubtless you have a suggestion,” Amahn prompted.

“Absolutely. But I serve the king, not you.”

“Are you saying you are going to delay help from our allies until you speak to the king?”

“No, brother.” The general smirked. “I am simply saying that the deployment of troops is his affair and not yours.”

“You forget yourself, General.”

“Not in times of war, Seneschal.”

Amahn allowed himself to glare at this man he so hated, and was hated right back in return. His sister had been given to the general in an arranged marriage to secure an alliance between houses, and the man was known to treat his women poorly. The general had conspired to undermine Amahn’s authority as the king’s seneschal since he’d known him, the seneschal’s place higher than his own in times of peace. But the situation reversed in times of war, something Amahn hated as much as seeing the bruises and marks on his sister when she passed him in the hall.

“And I am here in the king’s stead, General,” Amahn said, fighting for calm. “If you have something to say, say it.”

“This pissing match you two so love can continue at a later time,” Lord Vakuleen interjected. “In short, the dwarves ask where best to first deploy, Lord Seneschal. Here via the Gate, or march overland to Lagaree.”

“And the suggestion of the council?”

“Is for the king’s ears,” the general answered.

Lord Damemota glared at the general, clearing his throat before the general could say anything more. “It depends on the elves, Lord Seneschal. The rest of our allies are already here.” He took a drink from a gilded cup, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand.

“And why is that?”

“Because if tha’ pointy-eared bastards be comin’ here, ya’ don’ be needin’ us here as well, crowdin’ up tha’ place,” the dwarven ambassador said in his thickly accented common. “We could be goin’ overland ta’ Lagaree, way over here an’ be protectin’ yer flank.”

“Why only those two places?”

“They be tha’ only two places we can get ta’.”

“Thank you?” Amahn prompted.

“Tosgär Deepcomber, at yer’ service,” the ambassador answered. “Ye’ called upon us accordin’ ta’ treaty, an’ we be here ta’ honor it.”

“The Timeless Throne thanks our dwarven brothers in our time of need.”

“Bah,” Tosgär waved his words away. “We not be here ta’ bandy fancy words, we here ta’ fight.”

“How many can come?”

“At least three legions can be comin’ from tha’ clanhold, but they be comin’ out o’ tha’ deeps. Tha’ damned goblins be attackin’ somethin’ fierce this year, they be. Tha’ orcs on tha’ surface, too.”

“And how long until they can arrive?”

“A month. Two at tha’ latest.”

Amahn ignored the noises of protest from the assembled lords. “A month either way?”

“Aye. They need ta’ either be set marchin’ and resupply on tha’ way, or be assemblin’ ta’ travel by Gate while waitin’ fer’ supplies ta’ come ta’ them. Either way, it be takin’ a month.”

“Is there no way to supply them here?” Amahn turned to the other lords.

There was a smattering of replies from the various lords, but it was thin Lord Makenoo who clearly answered. “No. With the cities cut off from each other while the ondilaan roam the land, each city is on its own. And with the king’s army deployed south of here eating up any extra supplies the capital has, there are none remaining for our dwarven allies.”

“Which is a military matter and the king’s business, Lord Seneschal, and not yours.” General Karmehan sneered.

The dwarven ambassador had his face locked down tight during the silence following the general’s statement. “In any event, it be takin’ a month.”

“Is there any word on when and where the elves will deploy?” one of the lords asked.

“No.” Amahn glanced towards the man.

“We have been waiting on an answer for over two weeks, Lord Seneschal. When will the elves respond?”

“I do not know, my Lord. They received the same missive from the king as our dwarven allies.” Amahn waved towards the dwarven party. “The throne is awaiting their reply.”

“Are they even going to come?” someone mumbled, the fear and resignation in the simple statement loudly coming through.

“Yes, my lords. They will come according to treaty, there can be no doubt. The treaty has been in place for generations, and the elves always honor their word.”

“Bah. Tha’ pointy-eared bastards ain’t got their own army like we do in Khagatom. They hide behind the walls o’ tha’ Vale,” the ambassador grumped.

“All fear the army of the Vale, Ambassador Deepcomber,” Lord Vakuleen cautioned. “The army and their mages.”

“Bah. Tha’ dwarves o’ Khagatom don’ be needin’ no pansy mages.”

“It is because of the mages the gods were lost.”

“Humph.”

“Be that as it may,” Amahn interrupted, “a missive was sent and we await their reply.”

“There have been parties travelling back and forth to the Vale for weeks, Lord Seneschal,” Lord Damemota observed. “Do we know what the issue is?”

“No, my Lord.” Nobody knows what the issue is. And while we wait, cities fall.

“If they can deploy here, the dwarves can march overland to the city of Lagaree freeing up the king’s army to take the fight to the ondilaan,” Lord Vakuleen pressed.

“I will communicate that to the king.”

“You do that. That’s all a glorified housekeeper is good for anyway,” the general boldly said.

“Is there anything else I can report to the king, my lords?” Amahn asked, completely ignoring the general.

“No, Lord Seneschal,” Lord Vakuleen replied for the group, a smattering of denials accompanying his words.

“Then I will take my leave and report to the king.”

“We be needin’ an answer where we be goin’ right quick,” the ambassador cautioned as the seneschal turned. “We can be yappin’ all we want abou’ tactics an’ how ta’ fight them furry bastards once we’re here, but we gotta be getting’ here first. An army don’ be changin’ direction very fast once it gets goin’, yer’ lordship. Tha’ longer tha’ delay, tha’ more time it be takin’ our legions ta’ get into tha’ fight.”

“I will communicate your concerns to the king, ambassador.” Amahn bowed. “It seems everything now depends on the elves,” he said in parting.

Wherever they may be.

An Ambush in the Night

Tommy was struck on the shoulder by a tremendous weight while the flapping wings of the bird thundered in his ear. Something was happening, something was changing as the eagle screamed. But he stood there frozen, struggling to move while chaos and shouting erupted around him.

Fine red filaments of light exploded from S’tol Garesh, the elf’s magic slamming into every member of the troop. Bloody streamers quested through the people present, drifting forth like a mystical spiderweb while touching each and every one. They passed some kind of judgement over the men before moving on, but where they met Ari and Tommy, the crimson filaments stuck fast.

Saress screamed in elvish as she threw herself between Ari and Garesh, her daggers flaring with a reddish light to Tommy’s inner sight. Ari sagged against Donnor’s chest, her eyes gleaming a brilliant greenish gold as a shocked look flew across her face. Tommy’s da’ spun her around, grabbing both of her shoulders, shaking her while demanding what was wrong. But Donnor’s words were drowned out as Garesh shouted a command, and all of the elves except one rushed in ...

… Their callous eyes devoid of a single ounce of pity.

“TO ARMS! PROTECT THE LADY!” Keris screamed. Putting actions to words he valiantly leapt forward, his spear leading the way as the men of the troop shook themselves out of their stunned stupor. Then joining his heroic charge, they rushed to defend their leaders against the surprise attack of the elves.

Men rushed by, Tommy desperately wanting to help, but he found only his eyes could move. Red filaments were penetrating his body, stretching out like millions of writhing fingers to grab ahold of his pathways. The fire accompanying them burned its way in, violating and staining his soul.

S’tol Garesh glanced Keris’s way before returning to Tommy, dismissing Keris’s charge utterly. Seeing sticky web after questing tendril coating Tommy and Ari, Garesh smiled. Then uttering another gloating command, he disregarded the troop entirely while pandemonium reigned.

The elven woman escorting Ari’s maid went down under a pile of ch’ten, the dagger she drew flying off into the dark. The sprites were going absolutely berserk, snarling like a pack of dogs as they pummeled and mauled Falia’s guard. Then Tonat shrieked an order in a high-pitched command, the ch’ten an extension of her will as they piled on another elf after that first was knocked down.

Falia’s other escort had taken a heartbeat to shove the maid behind her before charging towards Donnor, but was stopped as Mikus leapt in her way. Mikus was doing everything he could to defend Donnor and Ari, dueling desperately but getting nowhere fast. The elf was deflecting every one of Mikus’s strikes harmlessly to the side with her bare hands, an incredible feat of martial skill. And while she did so, she was slowly pushing the stalwart dwarf away from Tommy’s mother and da’ while the rest of the elves piled in.

Shocked and afraid, Tommy struggled to help as the rest of the elves pushed the troop back. The burning filaments had attached to his pathways like blood filled leeches, polluting them with a crimson light. A film spread from the developing taint, filling the spaces between as he struggled to do something, anything, even desperately gather his Tol … but despite his best efforts, Tommy couldn’t move.

Part of the troop was running towards the fight while the rest tried to form ranks; the chaos of the night complete. The elves were too close, the action too fast for the leaders to give any direction. Gart was yelling something about piling on as scattered shouts and commands rang through the air, but where the leaders of the troop were clustered, only combat reigned.

Blades flashed in the firelight where Saress struggled to protect Ari and his da’. She was locked in a deadly combat with three other elves, dancing and spinning with her elven partners in desperate feats, and it seemed she might actually hold them back. But as the light of his mother’s Tol, her magic, dimmed in her eyes, another elf joined to push Saress away from her charge. Saress’s cat-like ears were flat against her skull as his da’ shoved Ari behind him to assist her, the elves now only scant steps away.

“DRAW!” sang out into the night, Laren and Immer both shouting the command. Flicking a negligent finger in their direction, S'tol Garesh’s eyes flared a brilliant reddish-orange as a crystalline dome began to form their way. “LOOSE!” followed immediately thereafter, arrows shattering upon a transparent pane now developing between the troop and the elves. Eyes wide, the archers knocked arrows once more as another cry of “DRAW!” sang out, then more arrows flew to fragment upon the magical shield.

S’tol Garesh uttered another condescending command; Tommy’s thoughts becoming sluggish, his Tol growing somewhere within him while being shoved aside by that sanguine haze. The filaments were infecting every place he could see, encrusting his pathways in a scab-like filth while spreading to smother his Tol. It pushed on him, and he saw his mother clumsily trying to stand, struggling as if a great weight was pressing down on her. But there was nothing he could do.

There were now almost two combats, one on either side of the developing shield. The elves were sprinting forward on his side, doing everything they could to reach Arisaylia, his mother, his N’Taii. Mikus, Saress, Keris and his da’ stood defiantly in their way, combining their might and succeeding, but then Keris stumbled, being forced to the other side of the shield by the elves. Keris still managed to hit one across the face as he fell, knocking the elf unconscious when the one in front of him ducked his wild swing.

Karn and Turred were standing side-by-side at another edge of the growing shield, the two dwarves chanting a battle hymn. They valiantly fought, managing to score a shallow slice here, a scratch on an elf there. Yet the elves still pushed the dwarves back no matter what they did, their mastery of arms unable to be denied. Members of the troop rushed to assist, pure numbers allowing them to get hits in despite the elves’ incredible prowess. But the elves were too good, too close, and too much for the troop to deal in that moment. They were like whispers on the wind; a strike seemingly destined to hit being ever so slightly deflected away to accomplish nothing.

The elves relentlessly battered their way through the troop with their fists. People Tommy struggled and fought with every day since he’d left home were falling impotently to the ground, and still, he couldn’t move. The weight of the gory inner blanket was pressing in, doing its best to constrict everything there was inside him. It was shutting his pathways down, increasing its pressure on his ever-growing Tol while it surged impotently behind the ruddy dam. He looked to find somewhere, anywhere, to release the growing tension as he railed against the haze, panic taking him as more and more people were slammed to the ground by the advance of the elves.

But there was nothing he could do.

Some of them were down, the ch’ten using sheer weight of numbers to take the elves off their feet. The sprites fought like animals: biting, scratching, one of them even growling as he held an ear in his teeth while doing his best to gouge out an eye. But the elves were simply bigger than the diminutive sprites; individually more powerful. Fists and elbows flew, over half of the elves moving to engage their tiny opponents, working as one to defeat the family of sprites. And eventually the last of the sprites were knocked out, Tonat screaming as the bloody but victorious elves turned to engage those who remained behind the shield.

The elves formed into almost an arrow pointed directly at Arisaylia; the only thing between her and them being Mikus, Saress and his da’. Donnor had a stick he’d gotten from somewhere he was using like a club; his spear absolutely nowhere to be seen. He was standing defiantly before the elves protecting his lover, his mate. Now a stick in each hand blurring wildly as he struggled to defend her. Fighting desperately and without thought for himself, there was a crazed look in his eye as he accepted a brutal backhanded fist to club one of the elves over the head.

Saress was beside him, daggers blurring, taking and receiving cuts so fast it was dizzying to watch. But no matter what was occurring or how many wounds she took, she stood defiantly in their way. She did not hesitate, she did not falter, as the elven escorts pressed her, doing everything they could to pass her by. Pushing her back step by step, they concentrated their might as she struggled to protect her adoptive family. But still they slowly advanced, the leaders of the troop slowly giving ground before the assault of the elves.

Then the crystalline dome of the shield formed whole with an audible click. A sound that somehow foretold doom, cutting the leaders off from the rest of the troop.

And still, Tommy could not move. He struggled and fought against the sanguine haze, a sea of blood filling him up. It constricted his pathways into the tiniest of tubes, the smallest of spaces. Strangling his Tol with its ever-present gloom, it was crushing him beneath its merciless weight.

Kordin was slamming himself against the transparent dome with his body and shield, screaming something that Tommy could no longer hear. Deya and Feya were further away, stabbing at the crystalline pane, their hapless efforts not making a scratch. Dorn was impotently beating his fist against the shield, not a hint of sound coming through. And there were others, many others, all attacking the magical screen and trying to get through, but not having any effect at all.

His da’ went down, backhanded by a vicious strike that knocked him completely off his feet. But Donnor still managed to twist his body protectively over Arisaylia even as he fell, sheltering her in spite of his collapse.

Mikus took a heavy strike to his shield as he staggered to stand over them, shouting and chanting defiantly in his tongue. His axe swinging over and over, the dwarf as immovable as stone, a mountain taking everything thrown at it while refusing to go down.

The rest of the troop was working as one, battering against the dome, desperate to get through. The S’tol’s eyes flared brighter and brighter as their attacks gained pace, but a smile slowly spread across his face. Garesh turned his back on the troop, ordering something new as he negligently flicked his robes. The liquid grace of his elven words piercing the din, but there was no response beyond the elves redoubling their efforts to separate Mikus and Saress from Donnor and Arisaylia. The elves ignoring anything else that was going on outside the dome.

Falia was screaming something at the robed elf, pelting him with scathing words while grabbing the mage’s sleeve. She raised her fist as if to strike, but with a contemptuous flare of his reddish-orange eyes, Garesh froze her into place. Falia was cut off mid-word, then she furiously looked on. Suspended and impotent, a tear formed in the maid’s eye as she glanced Ari’s way over top of the elves.

Tommy watched Mikus take another hit, and then another, blood flying from Saress like rain. It was happening too fast. Too much, too fast; and all he could move was his eyes. He wanted to help. He needed to help. Gods, he was desperate to help. He was the only one not doing a thing; just standing there, completely unengaged behind the shimmering wall protecting the elves. People were shouting and screaming for him from the other side of the pane, waving to get his attention, but there was nothing he could do.

Ari was struggling to get up, every attempt failing, her arms somehow unable to support her own weight. His da’ was laying on top of her, completely unconscious. Head lolling back and forth on her shoulders, it was all but flopping about as she struggled, the fight around them still going on.

The troop was flailing impotently against the crystalline shield, blood coating their fists as they pounded uselessly on the pane. Tommy saw the utter desperation on Keris’s face, his mouth moving without a sound from the other side of the dome.

Garesh shouted a new command; Saress staggering as her attacker accepted a vicious strike to trap her blade inside his own body. Then another elf surged over his wounded companion while blood sprayed from the hideous wound, the elf latching onto Saress’s arms with both hands. Saress struggled to get away, blood blinding her eyes as she desperately tried to block the elf’s way, but it was to no avail. Then Mikus went down, tripped up by another elf, his axe flying as the attackers sprinted through the hole they’d made.

One of them was reaching for his mother, another his da’, the only family Tommy had that remained. He could see the troop shouting through the pane despite not hearing a word. His friends, his people, everyone he loved was completely out of reach. He was letting them down, every single person he knew.

An elf shoved his da’ off Arisaylia, his da’ flopping over as if he was dead. Another struck out at Mikus, his dwarven uncle still struggling to get to his feet. The force of the blow drove Mikus into the earth, a whimpering groan escaping his lips. Then another fist lashed out, then a vicious kick, moaning and grunting all Tommy could hear.

Tommy struggled against his crimson invader, his heartbeat throbbing in his head. His Tol was desperately growing; he could feel it. Somewhere, maybe over there, but the haze was blocking his way. Any chance he might have had to help his people completely outside his reach.

The elves were rushing around him, his body teetering precariously as they bumped his unmoving form. He stood impotent and immobile as arrows flew, silently shattering against the shield. The troop was still screaming, mouths without sound as they slammed themselves against the dome.

The pressure was rising; he was about to explode. Pain flaring, his heartbeat thudding. His panic was growing. But no matter what he did, he still could not move.

Beyond the elves were the survivors of Silverlake, quietly laid out in neat rows. Those they’d helped, those they’d saved, those that Tommy and the rest had done so much for to provide a glimmer of hope.

Resthaven, Varmen’s Shoal, Brookside, Silverlake ... his mind shying away from memories of Lakeside … of safety, his home. Other villages he’d seen on a map they hadn’t had a chance yet to reach. The pressure was building as he struggled to think.

A spear shattered against the dome. Saress brutally kicked in the jaw, eyes rolling back as her body was slammed into the ground. Blood pouring from her wounds, an attacker ripping his blade out of her chest accompanied by a spray of gore. A desperate look flung his way as her eyes started to glaze over. A look he’d never seen before: a look of defeat. Mikus crying out, a weak dwarven curse before his cries were cut off.

A ruddy light was spreading across his vision like the setting sun, snuffing him out as the gloating S’tol looked on. Tol coloring all he could see, drowning and washing the world away from his vision as he stood there unhurt and unharmed, impotent and unmoving against the assault of the elves.

I’m letting everyone down.

Panic overrode his thoughts as Tommy was roughly jostled. He started to fall, the world tilting wildly around him as an elf passed him by. His vision fading, a ruddy light eclipsing everything he could see. Mikus’s still form slamming into view, a deep cut drenching his face in blood.

I cannot let them down.

He fell upon his mother, Ari, Arisaylia, N’Taii; her green and gold eyes unfocused but desperately searching for something, trying to meet his own. The light within them flaring the instant they touched, her scarlet hair shimmering in the light of the fire, there in the night. Her pupils swelling wildly before constricting down to the tiniest of pinpoints.

I will not let them down.

Then an eagle cried … then an impact … an instant of lucidity … a pause … an explosion of light … power growing … exponentially …

… And then all time ceased.

***

No one would ever quite be able to say exactly what happened in that moment, but everyone remembered one thing. As the crystalline dome cut the troop off from the elven party, and the troop’s leaders were struck down one by one, something happened. Something changed in and around the space where Tommy lay. Something beyond the strange bird that hovered over him before landing upon his shoulder, threatening anyone who came near.

Around Tommy a darkness grew, swirling up from his feet like a tempest of doom. He struggled to rise, falling before eventually coming to his knees as a moaning wind blew. Fury exploded inside the crystalline dome that separated him from the troop, shattering it and sending everyone around him flying with a sound felt but not heard. And then he knelt there in the eye of a storm as it raged around him, the bird hovering defiantly overhead.

Everyone that had been within the globe was unconscious, those farther away only battered and bruised. And as those who had fallen struggled to rise, that fell wind still blew. A strange red light rose from around Tommy and everyone else, dissipating into the night with an uncanny howl that seemed to come from inside of them all. Then sparkles of green and gold mixed with a honey brown light, appearing here and there inside the mist now covering the ground. The shimmering lights swirled where the dome had been, cleansing the space before settling down, then chimed and tinkled as they disappeared into the ground as if they’d never been.

The troop looked on, stunned, as Tommy gazed calmly about. But they recoiled when they met his gaze, for his eyes were ominous and grim. They were two abyssal orbs, glowing there in the night, not focused on any one thing. A maelstrom of black for all to see, lit from within by blinding strikes of a golden light.

The eagle landed and then perched upon his shoulder, looking balefully on one and all. Its under feathers glowed a fiery orange, shimmering and shining in the night. And silence reigned as it gazed majestically about, the troop freezing as it seemed to judge them, its amber eyes reflecting the fire and its dwindling light. Then the bird regally spread its wings and flew away, dwindling off into the distance accompanied by another haunting yet triumphant cry.

Tommy watched the eagle fly away and mumbled “Huh” to himself, his voice echoing strangely across the lake. Then his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he collapsed on top of his mother and father. The soft thud of his body hitting the ground, the only sound breaking the silence of the night.

A Feast on the Wall

The smell of earth was strong amongst the Sunset Peaks. Grey dust was thick in the air, coating and covering everything. Thick enough, it coated the tongue.

Rocks still clattered every now and then as they fell from what remained, but nothing had shifted recently enough to break the unnatural peace. And in the stillness, a soft breeze blew. A shushing sound that gently followed along behind the swirling and shifting soot.

Dust blew from the rocky debris, wafting here and there as sunlight filtered down. Beams as thin as a blade of grass streaked from above, grouped together in shifting clusters that lit the desolate scree. And the rocks that came into view did so in varying waves of definition, coming in and out of the hidden shadows that made their jagged edges ill-defined; both eerie and queer.

A bird called, its high-pitched cry bouncing among the peaks. And as it did so a figure looked up, its weak movements shifting some of the gravel that had buried it there. That barely recognizable figure moaned, letting out a shaky breath as its head slumped weakly back against the stone. And as the dust puffed up from where it had hit the ground, it exposed a greasy black mane traveling back from its furry, spotted head.

That is, if there was anyone who could see.

There wasn’t, and as the wind sighed and the dust softly blew a different bird cried out. This one’s call was low, a guttural croak, and it furiously backstroked its wings to land on a stone nearby. Hopping towards the figure, it croaked once again, the figure barely able to move its hand in the bird’s direction. Time passed as the bird croaked and hopped, patiently watching the figure’s diminishing movements until all that came forth was a periodic moan, or a jerky shift of the head. And when the bird felt safe enough to close, it hopped to the figures side, thrusting its naked head to bury its beak into the figures neck.

The figure barely flinched as the mountain vulture tore off a mouthful of flesh, quickly and hungrily gobbling it down. Then moaned once more as the bird scavenged another piece of flesh, settling in to contentedly feed on the figure’s broken body. More and more of the vulture’s brethren landed swiftly to join in the feast. And their dark wings eventually blotted out the figure from view, its moans dwindling off underneath the happy croaks, until silence once again reigned.

Except, that is, for the feasting of the birds.

***

Far below in the pass the young ondilaani matriarch watched a cluster of vultures feed, idly wondering what it was they ate. She was a tall, hulking brute, with broad shoulders and bulging muscles all over her form. Her dirty tan pelt was spotted with black marks that covered her entirely, even over the twin rows of teats descending her chest. She stood tall and proud on her thickly clawed toes, her elongated feet giving the appearance she was standing on backward canted legs. And a greasy black mane started between the two rounded ears on the top of her head, falling past her incredibly thick neck. A fly buzzed around her muzzle as she absently licked her nose, exposing a maw of sharp and deadly teeth, but it was the two intelligent eyes peering out from underneath her thick brow that someone would notice the most.

Eyes that took in what remained of the pass.

The pass had been sealed by the terrible light of the ancients, destroying a great mountain only the night before. A light the singers had sung about in evil tales from long ago; a light brought forth by their ancient enemy to slaughter the children once more. The young matriarch growled deep and low in her throat thinking of the great host that had been buried by the evil light, and her growl slowly filled the space around her with hatred and malice, setting the other ondilaan swiftly on guard, wary of what she might do.

This female wasn’t even one of the elder matriarchs of the hunt. She had been left far back in the rear of the host, only able to see the battle waged in short glimpses over the past few days. And this matriarch was young, only mating and cubbing in the last two seasons. Her cubs many long runs to the south where the others watched over them, where they watched every cub of the host.

But now this female was only one of a handful of matriarchs who had survived. Left with another young female from a neighboring clan, the two of them now led the remnants of the host with only a few other females not even old enough to mate. Bitches and pups sent along with the host to learn and experience its glory.

Only now, they learned the lesson of its defeat.

She chuffed, disgusted by their fate, and turned towards those that remained. Standing on a broken piece of stone, she looked out over the pass, the shattered remnants of the host spread out across the terrain. Some warriors were whole, some were not, and those that were injured set themselves apart, licking and caring for their wounds while snarling at all who came near. Instinct told them to fear the ones that were whole, knowing custom held for them to be eaten before their weakness could burden the clan.

But the young matriarch had ended that long-held custom, putting on hold the culling of the weak. She ended the feasting to the howling protests of the most aggressive males. One foolish challenge had already been met, and she feared there would be more. But her will would not be undone, as they did not understand.

There simply weren’t many of them left, and this part of the host must remain whole.

The males that remained were filled with pain and instinct, only desiring to fight and mate after their terrible defeat. But the host must return to its glory; it was imperative. The enemy remained. And so all of the children, even the sick and the weak, must live and breathe to survive another day.

A male approached with its head hung low, the back of his neck bared in submission as it should be. She grunted at his approach, not taking the time to scent or identify his clan while she studied the survivors below. The male reported no more of the host had been found; the digging complete. She looked out towards the remains of the mountain that had collapsed across the pass as he continued his tale, returning to watch the vultures feast high above as he tallied those who remained.

Barely a handful of the assaulting clans had survived the mountain’s collapse, and those that did were broken and shattered. The clans were following her orders, removing the wounded and setting them aside from the rest, but there were complaints. The younger warriors were only participating because they thought she was gathering the wounded together prior to a great feast. And before they lost control, something needed to be done.

Her eyes moved to where the wounded were huddled, studying them as the male continued his report. One of the last children to be found had to be put down, the warrior tearing out its throat after the survivor had gone berserk, attacking them once it was freed. She growled as he said this, but the male droned on, telling of more death and injuries amongst those who were found. It was a somber telling, the male crouching lower and lower while he did so

And when he had finished, he sat there in silence, afraid to move as she continued to growl low. The muscles in her thick neck clenched as she fought her rising fury. Her chest heaved, the black spots on her pelt rising and falling like a flock of birds that flew over the plains of home. One side of her snout pulled back into a snarl as she fought against her killing rage, her teeth exposed, dripping drool onto the ground below.

Eventually she could contain herself no more, lifting her head and howling her fury to the skies above. The terrible sound echoed back and forth across the pass, many of the ondilaani warriors freezing wherever they stood. Her bellow contained all the pent-up rage she felt, promising pain and death to anyone who opposed her. But there were no enemies near; no foes to be had. And as her howl dwindled off into the distance, she admitted her impotence in the face of what had occurred. Accepting something so rarely found …

… Defeat …

And the host’s near-total destruction.

She closed her eyes, listening to the haunting wind. A small slide of gravel trickled its way down from the wall of the pass, the startled birds having knocked some of the debris loose. The clattering of the rocks banged their way down the sheer walls, then slowly faded away, allowing the shushing of loose gravel and stones to be heard. Then that sound too dwindled off into silence, until only the wind remained.

The female took a deep breath, then opened her eyes once more. She stared at the wall of stone, the shattered remnants of the mountain whose bones blocked their way. Then she looked up at the walls of the pass; the sheer, steep cliffs that remained, utterly impassable to every single member of the host.

Then she closed her eyes once more.

The matriarch of her clan had taken her to one of the meetings with the great mothers before the host had left the plains. She knew of the plan; she knew what had to be done. But this arm of the host could no longer move forward. They would have to go back to the start of these cursed mountains to find a different way.

And another way must be found. For the last citadel remained, and it must be destroyed. The others had proclaimed it so.

But here, here in this abattoir of death, they could no longer stay. And as the other females approached, she knew what had to be done. The host must return to the greater denning of the soft meats on the eastern side of the mountains. The assault there had been underway for some time, and the feasting had been great. Even with their hard shells and their long claws, the soft meats were no match for the children of the host, and her survivors must be rested and fed.

Then the host still assaulting that denning must be warned of the happenings here. The matriarchs and great mothers told. The ancient enemy had travelled far outside of their hidden range, and there were many soft meats who brought the thunder here.

The young matriarch turned away from the remnants of the mountain and hopped down off her rock. Dust flew as her feet struck the earth, slowly settling as she addressed the other females. They would move from this place, returning the way they had come. The majority would join with the greater host, adding to the forces there, while the wounded remnants of her shattered clans would guard this spot and scout for another way through the mountains to assault the last citadel. A new path must be found soon; the others and the great clan had sung it.

The females left to carry out her orders, moving back through the host and getting the various clans into some semblance of order. There were snarls and growls, not one of the children ready to accept defeat, but this time they must as there was no other way. And as the great fire slowly burned its way over the plains of the sky, the host readied itself to move.

With a tremendous cry by one of the older males, the host began its march. They left behind the wounded still huddled against the fallen, precipice of stone. And the young matriarch stared at that corpse of the mountain for a moment in silence, before simply turning and walking away.

Far above her amongst the debris, the mountain vultures had returned to feast upon the corpse of the ondilaan. They had been startled away from that not-quite-dead warrior when the female had spewed forth her fury to the heavens. But sometime between then and now that warrior half-buried in stone had rattled out its final breath, and the vultures had returned to eat. Their feasting was accompanied by the croaks and complaints of their brethren while a raptor cried overhead, seeming to salute the retreating herd of two legs that marched away beneath.

That lonely call echoed over the thousands of ondilaan that started their journey back east, the direction from whence they came. Their overwhelming assault ending in defeat. The surviving matriarchs already conferring to plot their return.

***

Two peaks over, orangish-yellow eyes in a deep-set brow observed the retreating army. The watcher had been present for days, not daring to creep any closer. For the terrific battle that had been waged in the pass had eclipsed every bit of his knowledge; pushing upon the boundaries of his beliefs.

This was his range, the range of his tribe, and he had been hunting when the thunder and lightnings began. Not knowing what this thing was since the rains were not due for weeks, he and his partner had feared for their lives. But after determining that whatever it was that was making the terrible din was coming no closer, they decided to move forward to investigate. And he and his partner had carefully travelled to where they could see, and see they did, but what they saw was beyond their imagination.

Destruction waged unbridled inside of the pass, continuing for many wakings and sleepings of the great burning eye. There was an enormous battle taking place that did not pause for night. Lights of all colors flared, blotting out the twins who chased each other across the night sky. And they were accompanied by detonations so loud it was as if he was inside of the drums of home, shaking him to his core.

On one side was the brethren of the plains, easily determined by their howls, chants, and thundering calls currently echoing through the mountains. But there were tribes, upon tribes, upon tribes of them, blotting out the floor of the pass. Why had they come? How were there so many? Many questions came to the fore as he and his partner observed the battle in stunned silence. But on seeing their brethren’s enemy, they swiftly realized their other concerns.

For the plains brethren fought the skinny, pointy-eared demons of the north. They were an enemy of the tribe, and all of the tribes they knew. An enemy they knew well, the demons were far from their normal range, and were using their wicked magics to destroy the warriors arrayed before them. They were slaughtering the brethren in droves, him and his partner watching as the warriors of the plains bravely fought on.

And as the battle progressed, their view was obscured. His partner wanted to move closer, but the watcher was frozen on the peak where he now lay. He refused to move, watching the terrible lights flash and flare, detonating with ferocious thunder that was clearly felt, even from so far away. His partner scoffed at his hesitation, belittling his fear, leaving him to move his way closer to the pass. He said he would hide on top of the hollow mountain, seeing what he could see for the good of the tribe. Then he crowed about how the elders would sing of his bravery, the females swooning to mate after he told of what he had seen during the next drumming. His partner spat on his cowardice, skulking away towards the battle and its thundering crashes, sure in his choice as he drew ever closer to the flickering lights.

It was a decision that proved to be his downfall.

In the dark of the third night while the lesser twin chased his brother across the sky, a radiant light grew. Like a dome of brilliance rising up from the floor of the pass, it lit the mountains of home in a light so bright as to rival that of the burning eye. Then the hollow peak where the cursed humans tunneled like rats for the white rock they loved, exploded in a sound that defied explanation.

One moment he could see. The next, he could not. A searing heat travelled all the way to where he had lain over a peak away, flashing across his body as he screamed and railed against it in his blindness. Then he felt his skin crisp, and smelled his hair burn, before the very ground beneath him surged and struck as if it was trying to devour him too.

The violent upheaval of the earth continued, thunderous sounds exploding here and there as the trees snapped and shattered around where he lay. Blind and shaking he shat himself, voiding his bladder and bowels while he screamed. The sounds of the destruction reigned on, making him unable to hear his own voice. Then something struck him on his head, panic and terror taking his thoughts as he lost all reason.

Upon waking the next day, he gave thanks to the Old Father while clearing away the grit from his mouth. He found himself upside down, and so righted himself, wrinkling his nose at the excrement that covered him. He used the tattered scraps of his loin cloth to wipe himself of its crusted remains, then turned to take stock of where he now lay.

Some small miracle had caused a tree to fall, providing him a sheltered place from the desolation surrounding him. His skin was sore, his right leg burnt from the knee down, almost as if he had been standing within the cook fires of home. The pain was exquisite, but it told him he was alive as he looked about at the blackened and charred remains. Stunned at what he found, he rubbed his head, finding his hair burnt and its consistency like pitch; a solid scab-like cap that had melted and drooled its way down to pool on his shoulders.

And as he clambered out to emerge from his shelter, he thought he had been transported to a place far, far away. Nothing looked like he had remembered it. The mountains were strange, the trees were gone, slides and avalanches littered the valleys everywhere he could see. But in the distance he eventually found his home peak, and there was its southern sister. And as he looked around in stunned amazement, he realized he had awoken exactly where he had originally been: only two peaks away from the battle that had raged in the pass.

He absently picked at a scab on his thick brow, orange blood slowly oozing from the wound. A mountain was missing … the hollow mountain was no longer where it should be. But in its place was a pile of stone that stretched from peak to peak on either side of the pass as far as the eye could see. There was a sheer wall where trail had been, the rocky debris separating east from west with not a path to be seen. There would be no raiding the caravans of men from the hollow mountain any longer, the watcher already knowing there was no other way down for leagues in either direction.

And it was quiet where he now stood, deathly quiet, as he continued to look around. He could see the remnants of the plain’s brethren on his side of that sheer, stone wall, but of the demons of the north there was no sign. His eyes followed the other side of the pass as it traveled off into the distance, wending its way through the mountains towards the stone house of the humans, a view that was no longer impeded with the mountain now gone.

The burning eye travelled its way across the sky as he sat there and watched, his mind still coming to grips with what he now saw. There was a faint cry from below filled with anger and pain, carrying itself on the wind despite how far away it was. And shortly thereafter he watched the plains brethren leave, staying in his hide until there was no chance that anyone could pick him out amongst the destruction.

Still, he sat and debated, eventually deciding he would move closer to see what he could see before returning to his tribe. He would run at any risk, not being a total fool, but the shamans would want to know of what happened here. And once they had heard his tale, they would most likely chant and pray, communing with the shamans of the other tribes to spread the news of this destruction.

But no matter what he might see, he must return to the tribe. The people must know that the demons of the north were now here, very far from their home.

He shivered. The oldest of the tales that the shamans still told insisted that the demon’s numbers were few. And despite their danger, the tribes of the north still hunted them whenever they left their range. Their flesh was sweet, both cooked and raw, and maybe those tribes could raid their range with their warriors now obviously here. The watcher didn’t know, but the tribes would see, and he was hungry and could use some food if he stumbled across one.

Yes, he would move forward. The plain’s brethren sometimes had weapons and armor just like the humans did. Maybe he could find some and scavenge the battlefield for the shiny bits the females liked as he did so. He would return to the tribe armed and armored, his belly fat, telling his tale, and the shamans would share the news of what he had found. His name would spread amongst the tribes, his burns and scars displaying his strength and toughness for the females to see.

The watcher rose from his hide, standing tall upon his shattered peak. He limped forward, using a broken branch to help him along his way. Hissing as something brushed up against his savagely burnt leg, he thought of nothing more than looting what he could find before returning to the tribe, hopefully to mate after this incredible tale was told. His member already becoming partially engorged as he concentrated on those thoughts, the thoughts of fame and females distracting him from his pain.

Yes, this will be a good day, he thought, the sun lighting his greenish skin as he made his way down to what remained.

Figuring out the Pieces

“I don’t care, there has to be something we can do.”

The leadership of Redtail Hold was sitting around their customary table in the hall, deep within counsel. Positioned on the left at the foot of the stair, the table was clear of everything excluding a large map of the surrounding area. Red, black, and green markers were scattered all over it, and next to the symbol of Redtail Hold was a pile of small stones that had most likely been taken from the courtyard outside. The stones were piled over where the symbol for the pass was drawn, shockingly plain in comparison to the brightly illuminated map on which they now sat.

Well over a week ago now, the trappings of the feast were gone from the hall. Small fires burned along each wall in their places, not doing overly much to warm the room. But combined with the torches along the walls, and the sunlight streaming in from high above, they did provide enough light to see by, easily cutting their way through the gloom.

“My Lord, Prince Farlesdar and his army left yesterday,” Sir Laigan said. “And, yes, they do not appear to be returning. But the force they left behind is still significant. Are they their wounded? Yes. Do they seem friendlier than they once did? Yes. Are they positioned for an attack? No. But they are still not communicating, and we still don’t know their intentions.”

“I’ll say it again, we have nothing to fear from those elves,” Maorilan rejoined. “They gave their lives for every single one of us here, without asking for a thing in return. We owe them, owe them massively, and it is a debt I will repay. There has to be something more we can do.” Lord Maorilan turned away from Sir Laigan, meeting the eyes of those around the table. “Tintafel, what can you tell me about the elves that Alaris left behind?”

“The entire party is made up of wounded from the battle in the pass. Why they were left behind … it is odd, my Lord. I never entered military service, but I know they should have stayed with Alaris’s forces. Or, at least, been dispatched home. Err, to the Vale.” Lord Maorilan waved his elven advisor’s statement away. “Why they remain, I do not know.”

“Are they still refusing to speak with us?”

Tintafel sat back on the bench and then sighed. “Yes, my Lord. And that is most confusing. They will not even speak to me,” the elf replied, looking distinctly uncomfortable on admitting that.

Lord Maorilan looked down at the table in thought, then back towards Tintafel, capturing him with his piercing grey eyes. “Who are we dealing with there?”

“The wounded, obviously, my Lord,” Tintafel said. “There are healers there, maybe even one of the S’tol. Err, one of the masters from the mage’s college in Sirikii. You met a few while Alaris was here. Some administrative staff, most likely with someone you would describe as an officer, maybe even a strike leader. But no one has stepped forward or even identified themselves as the person in charge.”

“There are definitely mages there, my Lord,” Hesia added as she shifted her weight further down the table. Hesia Durn was the Hold’s only official magical practitioner, a fire mage by specialty stationed there by the Timeless Throne years ago. “All three of us, me and the two other retired mages you relocated here, can sense them. They are working their craft almost continuously,” her deep voice concluded.

Arnet quickly glanced Hesia’s way and then back again as the mage settled her burgundy robe around her against the chill. Lord Maorilan had noticed Arnet had been much less brash since witnessing the battle in the pass, and noticeably more reserved around Hesia and the other mages. Arnet shrugged one of his muscled shoulders, his chain shirt tinkling before looking Maorilan’s way.

“I don’t know what the mages are doing, my Lord, but we can see down into their camp from the mouth of the pass,” Arnet said. “Beyond a collection of tents they are leading the wounded into and out of, their camp is a military camp. The least injured are manning their guard points, and they continue to guard and patrol all around. They are only carrying their bows with them, though. Their heavier weapons and armor are clustered near the camp’s center.

“Are they interfering with our patrols? Speaking to the refugees?” Maorilan asked.

“No. They mark our comings and goings, but that is all. Girdly would know if they say anything to the villagers.” Arnet glanced the merchant’s way.

“They don’t say much,” the portly gnome admitted. “We are still taking food and water to their camp as ordered, my Lord. They accept it, but grudgingly so by their body language. They wait until it is unloaded, we’ve given up trying to talk to them, and just wave to let them know when we’re done. As we depart, they come out of their camp to collect it.”

“Why won’t they talk to us?” Maorilan wondered, absently stroking his chin.

Tintafel considered those around the table, his sparkling blue eyes strangely hesitant. He looked towards Pipit Brightleaf, the only sprite present, and the two of them met each other’s eyes for long moments while the rest descended into their own thoughts.

Then Tintafel covered both hands with his cloak on the tabletop before opening his mouth to speak.

“My Lord, they may respond better if you approached them directly.”

“Out of the question,” Sir Laigan replied, turning his weathered face toward the elf. “The immediate threat appears to be over, but we can’t risk Lord Maorilan near a force whose intentions we don’t know. My Lord, without an heir, you cannot risk it.”

Lord Maorilan nodded his head in acknowledgement, but raised a single hand, silencing further objections from around the table. He silently gazed at his knight in thought. Their friendship was still strained from their argument only days before, but Pawdrig allowed that he did have a point. He looked away from Sir Laigan’s crystal blue eyes, turning back towards the elf. “Why, Tintafel?”

“You are the head of your family, my Lord. That fact alone will be enough. Custom dictates you would be received and treated with honor, as any head of family would be. The pure fact that a head of family would approach them, and not the other way around, would put them even further in your debt.” He waved a hand in the direction of their camp. “Beyond the debt they already have. The supplies, I mean.” He shrugged, returning his hand under his cloak. “It would be beyond rude by the customs of my people for them not to meet with a head of family to talk. Refusing your entreaty would be a deadly insult; the shame of the Vale would be great.”

“We cannot protect you, my Lord. Nothing our forces have can protect you against their magic,” Sir Laigan insisted, unable to remain quiet. “Hesia, tell him.”

Hesia looked like she’d swallowed something foul while glaring Sir Laigan’s way, but eventually she sighed, her piercing black eyes fixated upon the knight. Her shoulders slumped and then rounded in defeat. “He is correct, my Lord. With the other two mages I might be able to provide some limited, momentary protection. But against everything we can sense occurring within their camp, there is nothing to be done. I haven’t felt so much concentrated magic since I left Tatdavarr and my training there as a prentice under the king’s magisters. There is either one mage of incredible power within the elves’ camp, or a dozen or so whose skills easily equal my own. I … we … cannot protect you.”

“Do you seriously think I’d be attacked?”

“I don’t know,” Sir Laigan said at the same time Tintafel answered “No.”

“Hmmm. Have they seemed at all hostile, Altus?” Maorilan asked Master Girdly.

“No, my Lord. Hesitant to speak, stand-offish, only answering direct questions when they absolutely must ... mostly with yes or no answers ... But hostile? No.”

“The elves are this way when they are unsure, Pawdrig Maorilan.” Pipit spoke quietly into the silence, his eyes having never left Tintafel’s own. The sprite seemed unusually intent, his large eyes and elongated ears the only thing separating his short stature from being mistaken for an elf. “My people have experienced this ... from time to time.”

Everyone looked at Pipit, but he ignored them, only having eyes for the elf. And Tintafel was looking back at him, also ignoring the others, and appearing oddly uncomfortable. The two seemed to be communicating something significant with their eyes.

“What would they be unsure of, Tintafel?” Pawdrig prompted after a moment, looking back and forth between them both.

Tintafel looked around the table before answering. “I don’t know,” he answered, studiously not looking at Pipit as the sprite shifted his weight.

“These are your people out there,” Arnet scoffed, sounding exasperated. “Can’t you offer a guess?”

Tintafel looked around the table once more, Pipit now blatantly staring at him. The others at the table picked up on Tintafel’s discomfort, something remarkably out of character for the unflappable elf. He looked back and forth in silence, eventually settling on Lord Maorilan and obviously choosing his reply very carefully. “Yes,” he allowed, “… But not here, my Lord.”

Lord Maorilan raised a single eyebrow, both Laigan and Arnet shifting noticeably in their seats. “But you have some idea?” Pawdrig pressed.

“… A guess only, my Lord.”

“But one that cannot be shared? With the leadership of the Hold? All of my advisors? Of which you are one yourself?”

Tintafel looked at him helplessly, and then slowly around the table at the rest. His mouth opened a few times as if he were about to speak, but each time he shut it without uttering a word. He swallowed a few times, then lowered his eyes. “No, my Lord.”

“Really.”

“I believe it may be a matter of arnhysh, my Lord.” Tintafel offered, keeping his eyes down.

Pawdrig was quiet, taking a moment to digest his statement. “We will speak about this in my chambers, Tintafel.” Tintafel nodded, making a strange gesture, and not looking up from the table.

“How many are the elves?” Pawdrig asked, not looking away from his elven advisor. “The ones Alaris left behind?”

“About one hundred and thirty, my Lord,” Arnet spoke up, dragging his eyes away from the elf. “The camp is roughly two thirds’ soldiers and fighting men, all left over from the last battle from what we can see. I’m only assuming that because they are all still wounded to some degree, and are all in the process of being healed. They have made no effort to hide this; the elves bluntly pay us no mind, like we’re not even there. And the rest of the elves are not soldiers. Definitely not soldiers. They’re dressed in robes and other finery, and mostly stay to their tents.”

“What can we make of their status? Their condition as a combat force?”

“Without knowing how the elves operate, I can only guess,” Arnet leaned back in thought. “And with their magic, who knows how soon they can be combat ready. But if it was one of our troops, say the Redtail Guard, they’d be down for a month, easy. That would just be the men, their equipment is another matter. They don’t have any smiths or other workers we can see, so repairing their equipment will be slow. Add to that not having a supply train, or any supplies to work with beyond what we’ve provided, and I have no idea. Two, maybe three months?”

“A week or two. Three at the most,” Tintafel quietly put in.

Arnet scoffed, but then stopped himself. “The mages?”

“The mages,” Tintafel confirmed.

Arnet paled, but didn’t say anything further. He rolled his shoulders before taking another drink.

Lord Maorilan watched Arnet glance in the direction of the pass, his knuckles clenched white on his goblet. “But they are not combat ready now?” Pawdrig prompted.

“No, my Lord,” Arnet answered. “The soldiers that remain we would consider broken. They are survivors left over from shattered formations. There is a section of their camp we can see into where some of their injured lie. The ones that are there can barely walk, and are tended to day and night. Probably a third of their total numbers are there. The rest guard and patrol as I’ve said. But even some of those out on patrol remain wounded, openly limping along their route. Bandages are evident on almost all of them, again no attempt has been made to hide it, and their duties are kept light.”

“How are they for shelter?”

“Limited. Tents mostly, but they’re packed in tight. They’ve tied the flaps of their larger tents together to form awnings to shelter them beneath.”

“And there’s nothing more we could do there,” Maorilan mumbled to himself, all the Hold’s shelters tied up in housing the refugees. “Tintafel, what do you figure their goal is? Staying where they are?”

“I honestly don’t know, my Lord. They should have remained with Nessa Farlesdar’s forces as I said before. They will either follow the Nessa’s army, or return to the Vale. I would guess they will return to the Vale.”

“How?” Arnet asked.

“By way of Spritehome.” Tintafel nodded in Pipit’s direction.

“The same way they got here? How did they do that anyway?” Arnet pressed, everyone still curious how the army had suddenly appeared in Redtail to begin with. “They would have had to have left months ago ... How did they know when to come? The timing is wrong. And how did they arrive undetected when they did so?”

Tintafel looked very guarded, glancing around the table at everyone’s keen interest.

“That is not important in the here and now.” Lord Maorilan interrupted, waving Arnet’s questions away while noticing Pipit and Tintafel staring at each other again. Pawdrig thought Pipit looked annoyed, almost accusatory, and he watched his elven advisor become almost curiously defiant. “My main concern is having over a hundred wounded allies outside of our walls barely speaking to us, who were part of an army that saved the Hold and everyone in it from destruction. Is there any disagreement with my statement?” Heads shook from around the table. “We need to do more. We’re offering them everything they are willing to take, correct?” Master Girdly nodded in reply. “Then the only thing left is to offer them shelter, but we don’t have any unused space to spare.”

“We’ll have some tomorrow, my Lord,” Arnet offered, nodding Sir Laigan’s way.

Pawdrig looked a question betwen the two.

“I was going to approach you later today, my Lord, after our meeting here.” Sir Laigan trailed off in thought, then gathered himself once more. “I would like to send a detachment into the pass. We need to assess the situation there in more detail than what our scouts have reported.”

“How many do you want to send?”

“That is the question, my Lord.”

“I know our forces are limited. How bad are we for men?”

Sir Laigan sighed. “It is not good.”

“It hasn’t been.” Pawdrig rubbed his forehead. “Out with it ... the whole situation. I have a good idea, but I’ve been distracted with Alaris being here, and everyone else at our table needs to hear it. Start with what we’re supposed to have so the strategic situation is clear.”

“Yes, my Lord,” he replied, turning to the others at the table. “Redtail Hold is mandated by the king to house and support two hundred heavy spear which form the Redtail Guard, along with a local levy. We haven’t had that many guardsmen since your grandfather’s time, my Lord, and the levy hasn’t been anything other than a paper formation since before that. The Timeless Throne is, and has been, aware. But the throne apparently has no issue with the situation as it stands, and has made no move to reinforce us or the guard in generations.” Sir Laigan shrugged. “It became the norm ages ago.

“Roughly a year ago, we lost a troop of the Guard fighting that beast in the northern forests.” Sir Laigan nodded to Pipit. “We requested additional forces to bolster our numbers, and the Timeless Throne sent multiple troops of conscripts after some deliberation.”

Arnet snorted. “… half a bloody year ...”

“This helped for a time,” Sir Laigan continued, eyeing Arnet. “But, about a month and a half ago, we sent guardsmen to the king’s army which further reduced our numbers. This left the Redtail Guard significantly understrength, beyond what they already were. With tasking the caravan guards stationed at the mine to patrol the pass and the surrounding area, we didn’t notice a change in our situation here. The mine guards performed their additional duties adequately, freeing up the Guard to continue its normal mission. But the mine guards are now shattered after the first battle in the pass, completely unable to do what they had done before. And this leaves us even further understrength.

“Arnet can speak better about the conscripts.” Sir Laigan indicated his second. “Arnet?”

“Yes, Sir Laigan. The conscripts are from all over the Endless Plains, and are mostly random city folk rounded up and sent our way. We’ve spent the last few months training them for duty, but we had to start with just feeding most of them. Some of these people’s first good meal was on their march here, being beggars, the poor, debtors, and the like. Others were thieves and criminals, most likely sent to empty out their cities’ dungeons. Wonderful troops!” Arnet threw his hands in the air, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Peace,” Maorilan said. He noticed Sella walking by, wondering what she was about. It felt like days since he’d last seen her, and he was surprised to find out how much he had missed her. But Arnet made another disgusted sound, pulling his eyes back to the table as his commander continued to speak.

“We had a problem with discipline at first, but most of our problems are now dead: dying during the various actions in and around Resthaven. And good riddance! But those commoner scum took some of our trained men down with them before they ended up dying. So, we lost a lot of good men.”

Sir Laigan raised his eyebrows before glancing to Maorilan, then stared pointedly at his second. There had been a talk about proper forms of address between them, and Arnet seemed to be regressing.

Arnet looked around the table, taking in various expressions of disapproval before clearing his throat and continuing, nodding their way in chagrin. “Sorry, the volunteers.” He shrugged. “Anyway, we’ve been training the conscripts steadily, my Lord, and their training is almost complete. They have basic equipment, leather armor, spears, knives, but nothing noteworthy or exceptional. They’ve been deployed into battle twice thus far, both times taking heavy losses. Their training and equipment are made to support the Redtail Guard, not fight pitched battles on their own. But fighting pitched battles is all they’ve done, and they’ve paid for it. They know it, they heard about what happened in Resthaven, they saw what happened in the pass, and they’ve been shaken by it.”

Lord Maorilan nodded, nothing Commander Arnet had said surprising him in the least. The looks around the table, however, were grim. “And our numbers? The totals, now. Let there be no secrets.”

Arnet rolled his shoulders again before replying, taking a drink from his cup. “We received two hundred and twenty-eight conscripts from Tatdavarr over the last few months. Ninety-three are dead, one hundred and twelve remain here, with twenty-three deployed to Resthaven.” He looked around the table and then sighed, taking another drink. “Basically, a little over half remain.”

“Of the one hundred personnel making up the mine guard, sixty-two died defending the mines,” Sir Laigan stated. “The remaining thirty-eight I’ve ordered to man the walls. Their crossbows are the only dedicated ranged force we have with any training. They are recovering, my Lord, with only a few wounded left over from their battle, but their morale remains low.

“The Redtail Guard remain deployed here, in defense of the Hold, as is their duty,” the knight continued. “They have not seen battle, and remain in high spirits. I have them split into squads and spread throughout the other formations to boost morale. This has proven effective, but has them spread thin; especially with their numbers being so low in the first place. They remain a coherent, highly motivated force ...”

Sir Laigan worked his jaw a moment before continuing. “… All seventy-five of them.”

There were a few grunts heard around the table when the knight finished. Lord Maorilan waved the table into silence, meeting everyone’s gaze. “And our total numbers?”

“Our combined force totals two hundred and forty-eight, my Lord. This does not include Guardsman Sergeants Moran and Oldsby, who I’ve removed from the roster and placed in charge of our western flank pending your approval.”

“Approved.”

“It also does not include the forty or so sent off with Commander Donnor of Lakeside. But his force should not be included in our tally, regardless. We cannot support him, and we have no idea where he is, from one day to the next. Our most recent report was him being spotted in Silverlake a few days ago, but that remains unconfirmed.”

“Consider that sighting a given,” Tintafel interjected, the others nodding his way.

“What strength should we have, Sir Laigan?” Maorilan asked. “So, everyone here knows how understrength we are.”

“By paper, Redtail Hold is tasked to maintain and support a force of six to eight hundred under arms at all times, my Lord. Two hundred heavy infantry, supported by four to six hundred men, forming the local levy.”

“Six to eight hundred?” Master Girdly sputtered. “That’s almost a fist of the king’s army,” he exclaimed.

“Aye. As I’ve said, we haven’t kept up that strength in generations,” the knight stated.

“No, we haven’t,” Lord Maorilan said. “But we should have, and the ondilaan are teaching us why. In any event, we do not have the forces that are needed to protect our people.”

“By the lost gods, why would we need a force that size?” Master Girdly blurted. He blinked and then looked around the table, eyes wide. “We’re on the tail end of nowhere!” Then he blushed bright red, looking utterly embarrassed for speaking so plainly.

“It’s a good question, Master Girdly. Look here.” Pawdrig gave him a wry grin, turning to the map. “The area I am charged to oversee, that every lord of Redtail Hold is charged to oversee for that matter, is everything between the Sunset Peaks and the western hills. From Spritesway in the north, to Torensdell in the south.

“The reason for the original number of troops is unclear, and you can consult the archives if you wish to investigate the history of it. The initial orders and dispatches are scattered in amongst fairytales in some of the older tomes.” Pawdrig scrubbed his face before smiling. “I used to love looking at them; they’re beautifully illuminated. My mother used to show them to me as a child. Mythical armies, shining heroes, evil hordes, gleaming castles … then her and my tutors would turn the page to the histories.

“They are picture books mostly, but the orders are there. Honestly, the translations read like a storybook. The original orders were written well before the gods were lost … if you can believe what the archivist told me. And no one can read the originals anymore. But some of the defensive plans are still there, and their drawings are easy enough to make out. Hesia will have to help you if you’re interested; they’ve been spelled to preserve them.” Pawdrig waved a hand her way.

“But no matter what the translations might say, the true reason for those numbers is that this region has always been the western flank of the kingdom. And, therefore, it needs to be defended as such.” Sir Laigan nodded his agreement while Pawdrig continued.

“For generations, there haven’t been any major problems around the Serensea. We don’t see the issues they see on the other side of the Peaks; like say near Akreesha, or north towards Mendinfell. We are raided, true, but minimally at most. There are bandits after our caravans, sure, but we ship mainly food. So, we don’t see that many outlaws in comparison to the rest. Our goods simply aren’t that high enough in value,” Maorilan shrugged, “so we are left mostly alone.”

“Our biggest risk is the wandering beasts that come in from the northern forests, or out by the western hills, and the Redtail Guard trains to fight them. So, we fish and farm, and send our goods through the mountains to the rest of the kingdom. We’re left alone, and the Serensea has been relatively peaceful for all that time. And because of that, funding coming our way to maintain a standing army has dwindled into nothing since there’s been no need.” Girdly nodded at that.

“The situation now has obviously changed.” Lord Maorilan rapped his knuckles upon the tabletop. “The ondilaan attacked through the pass in the east; every person here was witness to that. They also made it in force to Resthaven before they were stopped in the west, most likely coming from somewhere down south. We’ve lost contact with every village south of Varmen’s Shoal, and this tells me there is a large force of ondilaan operating somewhere on the western side of the Serensea. Probably originating from further south, having crossed the Tang’mato. But that is a guess only, though Arnet and Sir Laigan agree.”

Pawdrig continued, “Nessa Farlesdar stated the pass is impassable before he left. We need to make sure of that …”

“No, we don’t,” Arnet mumbled, turning a little pale.

“… but we can take his word for that at this moment. Because of that, our entire eastern flank is momentarily secure with the pass now sealed. But the Nessa was very clear: We are cut off from the rest of the kingdom, and the kingdom is currently fighting for its life.”

“Can we confirm that?” Master Girdly interrupted.

“Nessa Farlesdar would not say it if it were not true,” Tintafel said.

“Are you sure?” the gnome asked.

“Utterly.”

“I agree,” Pawdrig said. “The moment was … tense.” He glanced towards Tintafel, who nodded, both of them remembering the prince’s fury. “Regardless, we will operate on the assumption that we are on our own, and completely cut off from the rest of the kingdom. We have no chance of any reinforcement or resupply from the east, and there’s a large force of ondilaan to our south and our west. We have hundreds of refugees with nowhere to go, we have nowhere to retreat to, and nowhere near the amount of troops we need to protect everything we are responsible for.”

Faces around the table were grim. “What are your orders?” Sir Laigan asked.

“First, we need to assess the condition of the pass and make certain it is secure. Sir Laigan, your expedition is approved, but I’d like to modify and expand upon your proposal. Arnet, take a force as far as you can into the pass and get a good accounting of what’s happened there. Take conscripts, no more than fifty, and make it obvious to the elves where you’re going. And make sure to walk right past that elven camp as you’re leaving.”

Arnet nodded, looking curious.

“Did any of the miners make it out?” Pawdrig asked.

“Before my battle there,” Sir Laigan affirmed.

“They’ve been tasked to help with making the outer timber wall,” Tintafel interjected.

“And they’ve been teaching the other workers their craft, too. Diggin’ field works,” Girdly added.

Lord Maorilan nodded. “Arnet? Take the miners with you, some extra hands, and some wagons. Tintafel, you and Girdly arrange that for him. If we can get the mine open immediately, do it, and put the miners to work. If not, see what you can do and work towards reopening the mine. We’ll need the salt to preserve food for winter, so ship any here as soon as you can.

“If there are any loggers, send them along as well. Put everyone to work building a settlement somewhere near the mine. Basic structures, that is all. Just enough to house everyone who goes along, something that can be built quickly before winter.”

“Structures? Yes, my Lord,” Arnet said. “We can build field barracks fast enough, then reinforce the roofs for the winter snows. Should only take a few days,” he said, both him and Sir Laigan nodding.

“Good. After you assess the mine, I want anyone not working clearing the site of the battle. Anything that can be salvaged, send back to us. Strip the ondilaani bodies of anything of value; and I mean, anything. Scraps of leather, broken arrows, everything not completely destroyed. Anything that belongs to the elves, set aside and return to their camp, including their dead. But burn the rest. Master Girdly? Coordinate with him if you would.”

“Aye, my Lord. We’ll need most of the wagons.”

“That’s fine, use what you need. Make more of them if you need to. I authorize the expense. Tintafel? Sir Laigan? How much room will that free up here with that many people going?”

The two of them looked at each other, Tintafel tapping a finger to his lips. “It will not so much as free up room as it will lessen the overcrowding in the warehouse that is already there,” Tintafel replied. “There has been an effort to construct bunkbeds to house everyone in town because of the overcrowding there, my Lord. This will only remove some of the urgency.”

“Fifty conscripts will empty two of the lower barracks, my Lord,” Sir Laigan said. “We’ve been having the conscripts and the mine guard share beds. When one person is on duty, another one sleeps in their place. Being able to spread out into the empty rooms will improve the conditions there greatly,” the knight concluded.

“That is not what is going to happen,” Maorilan replied. “Master Girdly? Find anyone with knowledge and start building those bunks. Build as many as you can, as quickly as you can; quality is secondary to quantity. Send word to Spritesway that we need more lumber, and have the villagers there start timbering. I know it’s late in the season and the snows are coming, but we need the wood. Open the coffers up, if need be.

“Pipit? Will the sprites in the northern wood object to timbering this late in the season?”

“No, Pawdrig Maorilan. I will explain the need.”

“Good. Move those bunks into the barracks as soon as you can, including the empty ones. Then into the rest of the town.”

“Why the empty ones?” Arnet asked.

“Because that’s where we’re going to put the elves,” Maorilan pronounced.

Both Arnet and Sir Laigan frowned. “Is that wise, my Lord?” Sir Laigan asked, placing a hand to quiet Arnet’s startled objections. The only thing that protected the people around the Serensea were the walls of Redtail Hold and its troops. And after dropping a mountain to seal the pass, there were no illusions either would stop the elves for more than a heartbeat.

“Wise? I don’t know if it is particularly wise, but consider this,” Lord Maorilan said, rubbing his chin. “Those elves just fought a horrific battle. They won, but took tremendous losses in doing so. They are wounded, exhausted, and have been left behind. They have no support or supplies we can see, and are only grudgingly accepting our own in their place. On top of that, they are living in tents within sight of the Hold ... a nice, warm, dry, fortification, only a short walk away.

“With Arnet leaving, walking right by their camp as he does so, it lessens our burden here. We suddenly have the room to house the worst of their wounded, even though it will be tight. And if we offer the space immediately after Arnet leaves, the significance of that offer will be noticed.” Tintafel nodded his agreement.

“That would be the best time to approach their healers and the leaders there,” Pawdrig explained to Sir Laigan. “Who, at a minimum, care for their people as much as we care for our own. And, as you reminded me during their battle, my entire plan was to draw forces here to add to our own. Those forces are right there,” he waved a hand in the elves’ direction, “the only thing left for us is to ask them.

“We have the room, and the ability. Not to mention our debt.” Pawdrig shrugged uncomfortably. “They can still help, no matter their condition. And, it would be better to have a friend to help us, than a neutral camp or a foe.”

“They are not our foes,” Tintafel insisted while his lord and the knight judged each other with their eyes.

Sir Laigan rubbed his chin, thinking, thinking hard, before he reluctantly nodded his lord’s way. “We could certainly use their help,” he finally allowed. “And they have proved their worth without issue. When would you suggest we ask?”

“On the ‘morrow,” Pawdrig answered, visibly relieved. “My honor won’t allow it to wait any longer.”

Sweeping the Floor

“Sella, this is Giri. She’ll be instructing you on your duties.” Tessa motioned to the other woman in servant’s clothes, standing at her side. “Giri, teach Sella what it is that you do. She’ll be following you around and will be assigned to your tower for now.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

“The only thing I can think of that may interfere with her duties is if she is called to sing,” Tessa continued, the head of Lord Maorilan’s household pausing a moment to adjust her severely coiffed hair. “I should know about any request beforehand, and with the prince gone, there won’t be much need. If she is called, though, I’ll need her right away. Any questions?”

“No, Tessa,” both Sella and Giri replied.

“Good. If there are any problems before the noon meal, send someone to our lord’s chambers. I’ve been called there,” Tessa concluded as she left the room, her elegant dress whispering along the stones behind her.

Sella nervously pushed her hair over her shoulders, her wavy brown locks catching the morning sun. The shapeless servants uniform she had on was the most unflattering thing she’d worn in ages, but at least it was clean and in good repair. And, she wouldn’t have to worry about getting any unwanted advances in it since the uniform covered her ample bosom quite nicely. Especially since Tessa had warned her against flirting for favors like she had done down at the Cup.

She’d lose her chance here if she did any of that. And she wouldn’t screw this up for anything.

Giri looked at Sella, sizing her up, and then shrugged. “C’mon girl, let’s get you to work. The Hold won’t clean itself.” Giri turned and ambled away, the older woman’s short brown hair swinging back and forth as she went. Sella shrugged and then followed, walking quietly behind as they made their way through the Hold.

It was the day after the prince had left, the Hold still quiet and tense ever since his departure. Sella had left the top of the tower when Lord Maorilan had gone to greet the prince after the battle, finding her way to the room Tessa had assigned to her on the lower floor. There she had collapsed out of sheer exhaustion, waking only this morning to Tessa’s summons.

She thought she was being roused again to sing, preparing herself to join Tessa at Pawdrig’s side, but that wasn’t what happened. Lord Maorilan was deep in council, the elves were gone, and so it was apparently time to begin her training in the Hold. So, here she was.

Sella was still a little stunned by the lightning-fast changes to her life over the last few days, the most noticeable being her remaining quiet and not trying to engage Giri in conversation. And as she covered her mouth and yawned, she thought old man Hart, the man that had taken her in all those years ago, would have been amused by how she had changed.

“Better be waking up quick, girl. We’ve a lot of work to do.” Giri glanced her way. “Where’re ye from, anyway?”

“Lakeside.”

“Never heard of it. Where’s that?”

“South.” Sella paused. “And it isn’t anymore.”

“Isn’t what?”

“There.”

Giri cringed. “Mercy … I’m sorry, lass. Yer’ one of the villagers then? Escaped from the beasts?”

“Aye.”

Giri closed her eyes before giving Sella’s arm a gentle squeeze, then turned and headed up a narrow stair. “Then I’m doubly sorry. It’s terrible what the beasts are doing to us. Yer’ safe fer’ now, at least. The lord’ll protect us. But we all gotta’ work to earn our keep.”

Giri entered into the great hall, hurrying through before taking the leftmost stair, the one Sella already knew led to the Child’s Tower. Pawdrig was sitting with the rest of his council at the lord’s table, and Sella wondered what they were talking about, looking over her shoulder as Giri and her walked by. He looks tired, she thought, noticing the dark circles under his eyes. She wondered if he’d gotten any sleep, but her thoughts were interrupted when Giri cleared her throat.

“Don’t be snooping, now,” Giri admonished. “I’m knowin’ you were singin’ fer’ the lords almost nonstop, but yer’ not any more. Probably never again, neither, sein’ as how that elf was the first lord to visit fer’ ages.”

“Yes, Giri.” I miss him, crossed her mind as she glanced back towards Pawdrig.

“Anyway, don’t start thinking yer’ above yer’ station an’ able to snoop. Tessa’ll throw you out on yer’ bottom right quick for that. Then where’ll ye be?” Giri eyed her while climbing the stair. “What can ya’ do besides sing, anyway? Did yer’ family even have a trade?”

“No,” Sella squirmed under the older woman’s gaze. “My father was a fisherman, but he died when I was young. I helped our village’s tavern owner after he took me in. I can wait tables, talk to patrons, and know a lot of songs to help entertain. I know a little bit about brewing beer, and can cook some simple meals. Do my own laundry … mend a bit, but that’s pretty much it.”

“You have any extended family? Ever taken care of a household? Children?”

“No.”

“Why ya’ weren’t put in the kitchens, I’ll never know,” Giri mumbled, shaking her head. Then she stopped on the first floor, stepping out into the hall. “Welp, this be the Child’s Tower, the smallest out o’ the three, and where ye’ll be workin’ from now on. Yer’ job? Keepin’ it clean.

“There’re three of us assigned here, yer’ number four. I’ll introduce you to Telee and Pihn in a bit, but fer’ today, you stay by my side and do what I tell ya’, till you know enough on yer’ own. This is my tower since old Whinna was sent down to help out with tha’ children in the warehouse, so you’ll be reportin’ to me.

“The first couple of levels were rooms and storage, though most of that we made inta’ rooms fer’ the refugees. The sixth floor has the observatory and the bridge over ta’ the far tower. Then the last two levels are rooms again where we used to be housin’ important guests for our lord. Fancy apartments and the like are what ye’ll be findin’ there.

“Them old mages are up there now.” Giri shivered. “Evil folk, I say, doin’ evil things. Twisted ever since the gods were lost, bless their dark souls. But our lord says the bastards stay where they are, and Miss Durn says she be needin’ ‘em, so I sent Telee and Pihn to deal with those two. They say they’re sweet.” Giri shivered. “Bloody mages,” she all but spat.

“Anyway, in the mornin’s we be sweeping and scouring the halls and the common rooms. Then after the noon meal we be cleanin’ the private ones. After the evenin’ meal, we douse the torches except fer’ a single one per floor before flushin’ a pail down the jakes. Then ya’ sleep and wake, and do it all over again.

“There’s a broom here in the closets on every level, along with rags, a mop, a brush, and a pail. Linens we get from down below. Ya’ ever sweep a floor, girl?”

“All the time.” Gods, have I ever. “At home, and at the Happy Cup,” she answered, mentioning the tavern in the town below. She smiled at Giri as she said it, hoping Giri didn’t see her shoulders sag. At least the work’ll be mindless.

“Aye?”

“I worked there before coming here.”

Giri nodded and smiled in return. “Then ye’ll do just fine wi’ that. That place be a madhouse. Jus’ think of our floors like the Cup’s, an’ keep ‘em clean the way Daris like’s ta’ keep the floors in her kitchen.”

Sella looked at her oddly. “You worked there?”

“All but grew up there,” Giri grinned.

“You don’t look …” Sella blushed, realizing she’d almost insulted her. “How long has …” She stopped, realizing that could be taken as an insult too. “Ummm …” She looked at Giri helplessly before the older woman chuckled.

“Yer’ wonderin’ how I look so old havin’ grown up there?” Giri snorted, totally amused. “Daris has owned the Cup for almost fifty years, girl. I remember her as a babe. Doesn’t look it, does she? And I bet ya’ didn’t know that, either.”

“No. She doesn’t look that old?”

Giri looked at her funny. “She’s a halfling, girl.”

“So?”

“They age slower. No halflings where you’re from?”

“No.”

“Yer’ gonna’ have to catch up, then. No place fer’ not knowin’ things like tha’ if yer’ gonna’ be workin’ the towers. We get guests of all different peoples. Learn about the other races right quick, girl. But it can wait fer’ now. There’s cleaning to be done.”

Then Giri handed her a broom.

The two of them started sweeping the landing and the central hall, starting on the first floor and working their way up. Then they swept the stairs from the upper floor down before throwing the dirt away. Every floor had a closet like the one on the first, and every closet had a chute for dirt and trash that Giri explained was connected to the privy. Sella believed her; the chute stank when it was opened. Then, once that was done, they carried a pail of water up from the kitchens and scrubbed the floor, before dumping it down the chute and starting all over again on the next floor above. And as the morning wore on, they cleaned floor after floor, running errands for the people they met while they worked.

After a few hours of the mindless work, they’d cleaned their way up to the sixth floor and Sella finally found herself in a place that she recognized: the observatory. She remembered being instructed to wait there by the guardsman that first night. Only a few days ago, now ... What was his name? she wondered, but couldn’t remember, letting the thought go as she stopped to wander the room.

The lighting was different. The noontime sun illuminated the room making it bright and cheerful, not the intimate setting it had been that night before. The same curtain was wafting in the gentle breeze blowing off the ‘Sea. The couch, the bookshelf, the sconces with candles that she noticed needed to be replaced, all exactly as she remembered it. And beyond them was the balcony where she’d begun to sing, wondering where her life was going to lead.

Pawdrig had startled her, she recalled as she moved through the curtain to lean against the balcony’s rail. She remembered how serious he looked standing right there, chin on his fist, talking about things she’d never thought to consider. How he’d looked tired that night, just like he had downstairs ... I wonder how well he slept? Then she frowned, turning away from the beautiful view while remembering how hard it had been to get him to rest.

She started to sweep while shaking off her concerns, not wanting to give Giri a chance to think less of her if she caught her here dawdling. This was her first day, and she didn’t want anything to screw this chance up. But she couldn’t help but think of that first night, and the many days and nights following. Tessa keeping her close, asking her to sing at all hours, especially at night while Pawdrig fretted on top of the tower, listening to the horrible sounds of battle coming from the pass. Her throat was still a little sore from all the singing she’d done, but she didn’t mind, remembering how he seemed to relax and calm down every time she had sung. And Sella remembered Tessa saying how easily she put his mind at ease, her pride at that held dear and close to her soul.

Sella worked her way back into the room, remembering how they’d reentered the room that night. It seems so long ago ... Pawdrig had kept his hand on the small of her back while Alaris confronted them. Right there, she shivered, glancing to where the elf had stood. She could almost feel Pawdrig’s ghost-like fingers making tiny circles on her back, then remembered how calm he’d been, his warm hand lending her comfort when all she wanted to do was run from the fury that flamed forth from the prince’s eyes.

Old man Hart had been that way too, calm and comforting in the face of anger. So had Tommy and Donnor, now that she thought about it. And her thoughts drifted to the last time she’d seen them, loading the food and supplies down by the warehouse. Enough supplies to last them for who knows how long. Food that Daris and Unris had cooked for them, sending her to deliver it, probably knowing they were from Lakeside and giving her the chance to say goodbye.

I owe that woman, Sella realized once more, moving the couch out of the way to sweep underneath. Daris had put her to work early on in exchange for a room and a place to sleep. And Daris had found work for all of the survivors from Lakeside after finding out Sella knew her way around a common room, allowing them to sleep in that tiny room above the tavern, just to stay together.

But that was all over now, Sella finally having enough of Dira Greentree’s catty complaints. Her mind had been a whirlwind that evening, but Daris had come through for her once more. The motherly halfling calling in a favor to get her this job in the Hold. Gods, she owed her big.

She’d felt safer here than she ever had in ages, ever since setting foot in the Hold. And she wondered about that too, blowing a strand of hair out of her face as she thought through the sequence of events. Then she crinkled her brow as a series of half-formed memories wandered their way through her head, while shoving the couch back to where it belonged.

I really do feel safe here, she realized, pausing to look around the comfortable room. When did that happen?

Then she remembered when she had felt the safest, stopping her broom to stand and consider where her thoughts were taking her. Sella blew the lock of hair back out of her face, smiling as her mind drifted back to that day. Then she looked out through the curtain towards the balcony outside, remembering how the light of the twin moons had shone in the night.

It hasn’t even been a week, she mused. The borrowed dress she’d worn ... Even if the pins Tessa had used to pull it in had pinched and stung along her waist, it was one of the prettiest things she’d ever put on.

She’d stood … right there … clutching both of his arms while staring up into his face. He’d shared his fears with her, fears he’d had for all of them. And the utter weight that was bearing down on him, his insistence that he was alone, it reached out and touched something. Something she wasn’t sure she was ready to see.

“Lord Maorilan, you are not alone,” she had told him, making certain he knew that even if no one else was, she would be there for him. Her hand travelled its way to caress her throat as she remembered how his piercing grey eyes had gazed down at her. And how he intently studied her face. How his gaze had dropped to her lips ... time slowing … before it stopped … her heart fluttering wildly inside her chest …

… before he slowly took a step away.

What a fool I am. She blushed, lifting her hair and fixing it up off the back of her neck. She massaged a knot there, the sweat cooling as another gentle breeze blew by. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she made sure she was alone, trailing a lone finger across the back of the couch. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the way the left side of his mouth quirked whenever he smiled, or the way that he stood, the strength of his hands ... How easy it had been to talk to him that night ...

… and all of the nights since.

Stop it! You’re mooning over him like some lovesick girl. Sella snorted, irritated with herself, but evetually sighed. She looked at her broom, working her shoulders before starting to sweep once more. Concentrate on the work. You have a new life here. No one knows you, no one’s heard of you, and not one of those bitches from back home is here to screw it up. The only one here who can screw this up is you ...

… He really does have a nice smile, though. She felt herself blush.

“Sella, girl? You there?”

Sella jumped. “In here, Giri.”

“There you are. Are you almost done here?”

“Just finishing,” Sella said, glancing out towards the balcony before making another pass with the broom.

“Yer’ doing good work, girl,” Giri said, walking around and inspecting what she had done. “I’ll say this, yer’ not flighty like some of the other girls. And you don’t dither on fer’ hours on end, neither. You work. I like that.”

“Thank you, Giri.”

“But you look like you need to take a break, yer’ cheeks are all flushed!”

Sella ducked her head, blushing even more. “I will, Giri. Just finishing up.” She glanced again towards the rail.

“I always did like this room,” Giri said, parting the curtain and looking off into the distance. “It’s always quiet here; peaceful even. But don’t you linger! And whatever you do, be sure to keep it especially clean and nice.”

“How come?”

“This was Lady Maorilan’s room.”

“Lady Maorilan?” Sella asked. Her chest suddenly tight, a strange feeling filling the pit of her stomach.

“Aye, the lord’s mother,” Giri said, and Sella noticeably relaxed. “This was where she always used to come before she passed away. Would sit right there on that couch, reading books about whatever had caught her fancy.” Giri smiled. “She was such a sweet lady ...”

“Did you know her?”

“Me? No. At least, not well. I only just started here before she passed on. Old Whinna knew her well enough, though. Said she used to sit with her and keep her company when our lord was a boy.” Giri looked around the room almost wistfully before continuing on. “No one really comes up here anymore.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because we keep it for the lord.”

Sella stopped and leaned on her broom, cocking her head and prompting Giri to continue.

“He comes here when he’s troubled … and only when he’s troubled, mind you. There’s no direct way here, you know. With his suite in the main tower, he’s got to walk all the way down, then halfway back up again just to get here. But every time he’s got something that troubles him, you’ll find him here, gazing out over the ‘Sea.”

“He was worried the night I met him here,” Sella said without thinking, looking out towards the balcony.

“Yeah? Chased you right out, I bet. Or, found some reason to be someplace else, I’ll wager.” Giri grunted. “That’s what he always does, the dear man. Whenever he’s here, he always wants to be alone. Will sit and brood for hours, he will, but not where anyone can see. A quiet man, our lord is, but a good one. Shame he’s never married, though. Poor man’s been all alone fer’ years.”

Giri sighed. “Don’t you worry your little heart about it, though. We all watch out for him, even that knight of his, he does. And we do our best to cheer him up as best we can. But if you ever find him brooding here, just let Tessa know. She always seems to get whatever’s bothering him out before too long. And she watches out fer’ him somethin’ fierce, too.

“Now come along. We need to put these away and get our share of the midday meal before it’s too late. Telee and Pihn are probably done with the upper floors by now; those apartments take forever. Let’s find the two of them and I’ll introduce you, then we can all eat together.”

Sella cast a last look out towards the balcony as Giri led her away, chatting more about their duties in the Hold. But she remembered her conversation with Pawdrig, how long it had gone on, and everything they had talked about. And she decided to keep to herself that Pawdrig had spoken to her long into the night, just like he’d done on other nights on top of the tower, more than Giri hinted was the norm.

Much more, she realized, listening to Giri prattle on. The realization made her mind wander once more. And she thought about Pawdrig as Giri talked about how he liked things to be kept around the Hold.

Her heart went out to their lonely lord, strangely pleased at how obvious it was that the staff liked him. I wonder if he’s eaten yet? Or has had a chance to rest? remembering how he’d looked in the hall. But one thing was certain, she thought, disagreeing with something Giri had said.

If Pawdrig ever came to the observatory to brood whenever she was around, she wasn’t going to leave him alone. She remembered his smile, and how safe he had made her feel. She wasn’t going to abandon him to run off and get Tessa. No, absolutely not.

She would make certain that Pawdrig Maorilan knew no matter how far apart in rank or station they were …

… He would never be alone.

Knives in the Dark

Keris struggled to his feet, not having a clue about what had just happened. He felt strange, his body battered and aching like he’d been in a fight, but not a soul had touched him. He wondered how long it’d been since the attack, and realized it felt like he’d lost time somewhere as he stared out into the night. Then he shook himself, remembering he’d been stuck outside of the globe, trying desperately to get in.

People were groaning as he staggered towards Donnor and the rest. Maybe he was just noticing they were groaning; he didn’t know. His thoughts felt strange, his head stuffy like he had the worst cold he’d ever experienced, with an aching pain developing behind his eyes. He pinched the base of his nose while he staggered over, noticing a line seared into the ground where the crystalline dome had been.

His head started to throb, pounding in time with his pulse as the ringing in his ears grew less. Tommy was lying face down in the dirt breathing shallowly; drooling. His extreme pallor was easily seen even by the light of the fire, but there wasn’t a wound on him, then Keris remembered the mist. Gods, Tommy, what did you do? Kneeling clumsily by his side, he turned Tommy’s head to get his mouth out of of the dirt.

Donnor was lying on top of Ari, her one arm stretched out towards Tommy. An unconscious elf was lying beside her, still gripping her other arm in his fist. Ari’s eyes were open, but they were rolling back and forth in a queer, chaotic manner as a line of drool dripped and spread from the corner of her mouth.

Keris rolled Donnor off of Arisaylia, his body utterly limp as it flopped uncontrollably before he came to a rest on his back. Donnor had an ugly red mark across his brow, his head bent backwards at an uncomfortable angle, limbs akimbo, completely insensate.

Both of them looked dead …

Please don’t be dead.

But Keris had to know, so he checked, dread taking him before finding both of them still breathing. Thank the lost gods. Keris sighed in relief as he rolled Donnor into a more comfortable position along Arisaylia’s side.

Mikus was laying beyond them, covered by an elf Keris had to struggle to roll off. Gods, I feel weak, he thought, his arms shaking as the elf finally flopped away. Mikus was bleeding from various wounds all over his body, but he was still incredibly clutching his axe. Keris could have sworn he’d seen it go flying, but there it was firmly grasped in his hand. Its blade was smeared with gore, a testament to the hits he’d scored before going down. Keris made sure Mikus was breathing as well, glancing up as a sound caught his attention.

Saress was struggling under another pile of elves, her eyes blank and unfocused. She was bleeding from multiple wounds, falling flat on her face as her arm gave out trying to get up from the ground. Keris staggered towards her, his head throbbing even more as he collapsed to his knees at her side.

Her eyes whipped in his direction, fixing upon his face, but there was no one home. There was no recognition, no acknowledgment. Her gaze was completely wild; lips pulled back to reveal the delicate canines he didn’t even know that she had.

“Saress, it’s Keris,” he said as she tried to get to her feet. She grasped for her blade, her limbs uncoordinated and trembling as she attempted to bring her dagger to bear. “Saress.” He gripped her shoulder, trying to get her attention. A glop of blood squelched from a wound he’d squeezed, Saress not reacting in the least. “Saress!” He shook her, worried she was going to hurt herself if she continued to rise.

She collapsed on her chest, her arms unable to support her weight any longer. She mumbled an oath in a foreign tongue, her words so slurred he wouldn’t have understood them even if he had tried. Then she struggled to rise once more, her arms shaking with effort as she braced herself, blood escaping from her chest in a steady flow while her face blankly looked towards Ari and the rest.

“Saress, they’re safe! They’re alive.” Saress looked at him, her face struggling to understand, no comprehension at all in her eyes. But then the barest hint of reason glimmered through, her brow creasing as some part of her brain caught on. “They’re alive, Saress,” Keris repeated, stroking her shoulder, pushing sincerity into his words. “They’re safe. I got them.” She mumbled something more. “Saress, I got them. They’re safe.” She stammered something again, sounding more and more like she was drunk, her words utterly incomprehensible.

“You need to rest,” Keris continued, pushing her down as gently as he could. “I got them.” She nodded, her whole body shaking with effort as she lowered herself back down to the ground. “Rest.” She sighed, then she promptly passed out, a rattling breath leaving her lips as even more blood oozed from her wounds.

Keris watched her, stunned she was even able to move with the sheer number of injuries scattered all over her body. She gasped a shallow breath in, her entire frame twitching as she did so. Then a rattling breath escaped her, slow and ominous, much slower than it had before.

Tears fell from his eyes as he watched her … his friend, his comrade … realizing as time passed without seeing another breath he was watching her die. There was a long pause without a bit of motion, and then another. He placed his hand upon her chest, not feeling a thing, tears blurring his vision as he hung his head. Then her entire body shook with a final, pitiful, twitch. Air slowly escaping her lips. A tear formed in his eye.

Then she took another breath.

“Healer!” Keris cried, desperate, before realizing that all of their healers were either unconscious or wounded. “Laren? Immer?” he shouted. “Somebody! Get the bandages from the wagon before Saress dies!”

The two he named staggered to their feet, blinking and staring at him blankly. Laren wavered so badly he almost fell down.

“Bandages! Now!” Keris ripped off his armor, stripping the shirt off his back before pressing it into her wounds. “Get the troop on their feet!”

Keris looked around as they both staggered towards the wagon, using each other to stay on their feet. Some of the men were now struggling to rise, a head here, another one there, popping its way up to look. He turned to continue counting Saress’s breaths, willing her to breathe every time a rattling breath escaped her.

He looked up, wondering what was taking so long while her blood soaked his hands. The ringing in his ears had fallen to a dull roar, allowing him to hear the groaning and moans coming from all around. He looked at the camp in the fire’s dim light, fighting his dizziness while trying to see who was up, and who was too wounded to help.

Gart was sitting there blinking, staring blankly his way. “Gart?” The huge man barely moved. “Gart!” Gart shook his head, looking like he was trying to rise from a dream. Keris saw a semblance of thought enter his eyes. “Gart!” Keris shouted. “Get the men up! Get them armed, and get them patrolling in pairs. We have wounded, but no healers. Protect the wounded.”

“Aye …” Gart slurred, wavering as he struggled to rise.

“And get some men up on the rise! We need a lookout, and we need it now!”

“Aye … Keris.” Gart moved to comply, shaking the people around him, getting them onto their feet.

Keris kept one hand on Saress, feeling her torso rising and falling with every breath. Laren was rummaging near the wagon, the survivors they’d rescued from Silverlake still lying beyond having not moved in the least. Immer was holding the bandages Laren was handing him, doing his best to not drop them while he wavered on his feet.

One of the archers struggled to rise, steadying himself on someone else, the two of them wobbling precariously while the first one stood. Movement close by drew his eye, one of the attacking elves looking like she was attempting to rise. Keris staggered over, finding one of the sprites trapped underneath, struggling to get out.

He gave a judicious punch to her chin, almost collapsing on top of the elf as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Then he pushed the elf off of the sprite, who chittered something Keris had no hope of understanding. The sprite turned, grabbing another elf to drag that one off another member of the ch’ten.

Keris helped, the two of them freeing multiple sprites from underneath unconscious elves as the rest of the troop struggled to their feet. There were groans all around, a few vomiting before collapsing back to the earth, but it looked like everyone but the leaders were okay. Everyone was staggering and off-balance, Immer walking like he was drunk, dropping bandages everywhere before kneeling at Saress’s side.

But he was doing it … they all were.

Canner attempted to stand, and promptly fell on his arse as Immer started binding Saress’s wounds. Tried was a better word, smearing blood across his torso as he half-collapsed on top of her, trying to wrap one of the bandages around her back. Keris caught himself watching the blood pooling on the ground underneath Saress and shook himself to alertness, struggling to make sense of it all.

Karn staggered three steps to his right and then two to his left as he moved over towards Mikus. He slurred something to him in dwarvish, shook his head, then tried to say it again. Turred said something while flat on his back, then groaned before rolling over and attempting to stand. He made it to his feet, blatantly steeling himself using both arms to brace his wavering legs. Then he took one trembling step after another, following the sounds of Karn’s voice as he shook Mikus’s shoulder, trying to get a response.

Tonat sat up holding her head. The sprite with Keris chittered something to her, whatever he said bringing her completely awake. She chittered out orders, slurring at first, the sprite moving off to shake the other members of the ch’ten, waking them roughly. Then she barked a command, harshly repeating her call until Ahton sat up with a groan.

Laren returned with more bandages, people separating Ari, Donnor, Tommy, Mikus, and the rest from the elves. All four of them were unconscious, though Ari’s eyes were still rolling chaotically whenever Keris glanced her way. Donnor had blood leaking out of his mouth; Tommy from his ears. Mikus’s shirt was slowly turning red, with multiple wounds decorating his torso whenever Karn shoved up his shirt to see.

Saress was looking closer and closer to death, only the bubbles of blood escaping her lips telling Keris that she was alive. Immer was wrapping his own sleeve up in the bandages as he bound her, stopping when one of his arms would no longer move. Keris shook his head again, realizing he was just sitting in a daze. Then he heard another one of Saress’s rattling breaths, a bubble of blood bursting at her lips, and forced himself awake.

“Tonat, can you heal? Are you a healer?” he asked, panic rising as he noticed the first bandage Immer had put on already saturated with blood. Tonat looked his way. “Is there anything you can do for Saress?”

He thrust out his arm, Tonat following his finger until her eyes rested upon Saress. Then Tonat whipped her head up towards him before barking another order, looking Saress’s way as she struggled not to fall after the quick movements of her head. Immer remained oblivious, swaying back and forth while he knelt in Saress’s blood, still trying to bind her wounds with only one arm.

Someone chittered something in response to Tonat from behind him; Keris crawling to Saress’s side so he didn’t fall. He placed his hands over the largest wound on her chest, her body jerking as he tried to force it closed. Then he shook his head again to clear it as someone stumbled to kneel at his side.

“Keris?” Rast slurred. “Tonat asks what you said.”

“Can she heal? Saress is bleeding out. She’s going to die if she doesn’t get any help.”

Tonat shook herself again after Rast’s translation, smacking herself on her cheeks as she stared Saress’s way. Then she stumbled to her side, pushing Immer out of the way so she could get a good look. Keris did his best to ignore her shocked, ragged breath upon seeing Saress.

“She says she can bind her wounds, and there are some things she can do, but she cannot heal like the Lady can. It will be up to the spirits of the great forest if she will survive.”

“Do it. Anything you can. She fell to protect them. Please.”

Tonat nodded, chittering out a string of orders as the sprites rose to do her bidding. Every single one of them was staggering about.

“She will try.”

An elf groaned. Ahton kicked the elf in the head, hard, cutting off the sound as he paused to draw his blade. He whistled something and then barked, a few of the other sprites pausing and drawing their weapons as well. Then Ahton said something else, each thumping their blades to their chests as they carefully moved towards the unconscious elves.

“Rast, what are they doing?”

“They’re going to kill them. Ahton commanded it. Says the forest is demanding retribution so they cannot attack us once more.”

“No! Rast, tell them no!”

Rast looked at him like he was an idiot. “Why?”

“We can’t kill them!”

“The gods we can’t!” Rast’s voice sharpened as his fury rose. “Look at us, Keris! Look at the troop! They’ve all but killed Saress! How many hits did Mikus take? Look at the Lady! The Commander! Their son! They need to die for what they’ve done, Keris!”

“We need to know why they’ve come!”

“They came here to kill us! What more do you need to know?”

“Rast, the Lady knew one of them! That one over there!” He pointed towards the unconscious woman. “She cried when they met! Who else might she know?”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“Yes, it does!” Keris’s mind cleared as he spoke.

Ahton and Tonat paused to look at them, the rest of the sprites stopping as well. Gart was pushing two men up on their feet while someone else was staggering away towards Silverlake, leaning heavily on their spear.

“Fine!” Rast sneered. “We’ll leave that one alive. The ch’ten can kill the rest!” He turned away and chittered to Tonat.

“Dammit, Rast. No!” Keris grabbed onto his shoulder.

“Keris, they tried to kill us!”

“No, they didn’t!” Keris suddenly realized. “Rast, they didn’t! They only used their weapons against Mikus and Saress. The only two who were using weapons on them.”

Tonat chittered something else, Rast waving dismissively her way.

“Who cares, Keris? Do you seriously want to keep them alive after everything they’ve done? Whose side are you on? They tried to kill us!”

“No, they didn’t! Gods, Rast! That mage could’ve killed every one of us before we even knew they were there!”

A sprite kicked another elf in the head, the unfortunate elf struggling to rise. Not a word was said as the elf’s head slammed into the ground before stilling. Then Tonat barked something Rast’s way, and Rast ignored her utterly.

“That’s my point! They could do something again before we would know it!”

Ahton barked something at Rast, Keris recognizing Rast’s name in whatever Ahton had said. Then Ahton barked the same thing again, and again, until Rast finally waved him off while furiously meeting Keris’s eyes.

“They all need to die!”

“No, Rast! Dammit. No! Everything points to them trying to capture the Lady. Look at that sword over there! That bow! They were using their fists, Rast! Their fists! We need to know why!”

Rast sneered, spitting off to the side before chittering away in Keris’s face. Rast was furious, blatantly cursing at Keris in his tongue by his tone, and Keris had never seen him so mad. Rast looked like he was working himself up into biting him, something wild and feral entering the sprite’s eyes.

Ahton barked a furious command, then Tonat barked it as well, both shouting to get Rast’s attention. Rast said something back while holding Keris’s gaze, his tone defiant and rude. And the rest of the troop had paused to listen, only moving towards their assigned positions whenever Gart started insisting. There was a lot of anger on everyone’s faces, more than one of them glaring Keris’s way. But they did their duty, they all did, not interfering while the argument continued.

Rast fiercely chittered back and forth with Ahton and Tonat. He thrust his hand repeatedly at the elves, the wounded, getting louder and louder as time went on. Then he threw his hands up in the air, his tone blatantly disrespectful when Ahton demanded something from him. Ahton’s jaw clenched in response, half of the ch’ten turning their furious eyes upon Rast.

I need to end this. “Rast, we’re not going to slit their throats where they lay!” Keris interrupted. “We need answers.”

Immer and one of the other sprites rolled Saress onto her side so Tonat could bind the wounds on her back. The dirt underneath her was a muddy paste, stuck to Saress’s shirt like a reddish-brown clay. More bubbles of blood escaped from her lips as Saress continued to breathe, Tonat looking away from Rast and Ahton’s argument while she concentrated on what she was about. Then Tonat grabbed Immer’s hands to keep pressure on one of the wounds she was attempting to wrap.

Ahton barked something else, whatever he said clearly demanding a response. Rast glared at Ahton and started to reply, but Ahton cut him off. They chittered back and forth in a ferocious argument, sounding like two huge dogs that were fighting to the death. The argument progressed long and loud while Tonat finished binding the wound, then she laid Saress down before moving on to the next.

The argument slowly dwindled off, Keris barely paying attention while he watched Saress breathe. He didn’t care what was said as long as no one died in that moment. Then he realized he didn’t care about much of anything as long as all of them still breathed.

“No one dies tonight,” he commanded; the troop watching as Keris counted every single one of Saress’s rattling breaths. The following silence was profound.

Ahton started walking to Keris’s side, the sound making Keris look up into his furious gaze. Ahton stared long and hard into Keris’s eyes, judging him as Keris stared calmly back. Then he chittered softly, searching Keris’s face while Tonat stopped to look at them both.

“He asks if you’re sure,” came Rast’s sullen translation.

“No,” Keris admitted. “But it’s what the Lady would have wanted done.”

Ahton continued to stare at him for many long moments, then looked towards Tonat. They shared something there between them, Tonat nodding before Ahton turned his gaze to Keris once more. Then he clenched his jaw and nodded, before making his way back towards the elves.

“What is he going to do, Rast?”

Ahton chittered to the sprites as Tonat rose and handed Ahton something from her pouch. The sprite leader drew his blade, coating it with a green goo from the bottle Tonat had provided. Then he wordlessly passed it on to the rest of the ch’ten, the others applying it in an almost ritualistic fashion.

“Rast?” Keris asked, worried about what he was witnessing. “Rast, what are they going to do?”

“They’re going to take care of the elves.”

“Rast, they can’t kill them!” Keris ignored the frowns and the glares from the rest of the troop. “You can’t let them kill them!” The sprites finished coating their blades with the ghastly green substance, thumping their blades against their chests once more.

“There’s nothing I can do to stop them, Keris. I don’t even want to try.” Rast glared as grim-faced sprites moved to stand over each of the elves. “But don’t worry, Keris. He’s solving your problem for you.” Rast sneered, turning back to watching the ch’ten. “It’s what you wanted after all ...”

“I didn’t say anything about blades!”

Then Ahton chittered something to the waiting sprites as the poison dripped. Then they each grabbed an elf.

“No, you didn’t, Keris.”

They bent the heads of the elves back ...

“But Ahton’s going to do it their way.”

“NO!” Keris screamed.

… And then their blades fell.

Lessons in Honor

“What do you mean, arnhysh?” Lord Maorilan asked in his study, high inside the central tower. His apartments encompassed one of the upper floors, the tenth to be exact, and was where he went to escape his duties as Lord of Redtail Hold. Normally he kept his business from entering into his private domain, but events had conspired lately to intrude into his personal spaces, so here they were.

“You recall that arnhysh is similar though different from the concept of honor practiced here in the kingdom, my Lord?” Tintafel asked, looking strangely hesitant.

“Yes … but why would the elves’ honor prevent them from talking to the people who are trying to help them?”

“That is why they aren’t speaking to us, Tintafel, correct?” Sir Laigan asked. “Some strange facet of elven honor?”

“In part, though it is impossible to be sure. I am concerned it may be a factor, though. It is a strange situation, and I fear that the reasons causing it involve the great families of the Vale. Probably the Wi’Jitikiin, as well.”

“How so?” Maorilan asked.

“Because of the makeup of Nessa Farlesdar’s forces.” Tintafel looked to the floor, obviously deep in thought. “My Lord, before I continue, may I raise a concern?” He glanced Sir Laigan’s way.

“Yes?”

“My status here, my Lord,” Tintafel began, wetting his lips with his tongue. “What is it?”

Sir Laigan grunted while shifting in his chair, but Pawdrig ignored him as he gathered his thoughts. Maorilan was surprised Tintafel had brought it up this way. That level of directness was unusual for the elf, very unusual. But they had yet to discuss it, and he was sure not knowing it was slowly driving Tintafel mad.

Not knowing something someone else did was a sure way to gain Tintafel’s interest, and Maorilan realized that the only way to find the answer to this particular question was to ask. Asking was probably driving the elf mad, too, and that thought swiftly brought a bit of wry humor to Pawdrig’s mind.

“Your status is unchanged, Tintafel. Was there a concern?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“In what way?” Pawdrig asked, being deliberately obtuse.

Tintafel shifted in his chair, searching Maorilan’s face before answering. “Because of my role for the Vale.”

“Your role?” Pawdrig asked, continuing the farce. “I was not aware of any specific role. Was there some function you provided to the Vale while you were here?”

Tintafel looked like he was ready to sink into his chair, glancing back and forth between Maorilan and his knight. Tintafel nervously wet his lips again before answering, noticing Sir Laigan’s hand resting close to his belt. The knight’s eyes were hard.

“I believe it came up during the feast, my Lord. In conversation with Nessa Farlesdar?”

“Oh, of course. You mean how you share stories of the Hold with your family. A perfectly understandable thing for anyone to do, to speak to your family. Especially with a family as large and as far away as yours, Tintafel. The Timeless Throne tells me your family stretches from one side of the Vale to the other.”

“The Throne … my Lord?” Tintafel paled.

“Yes, the Timeless Throne. You have been living here for almost three hundred years, Tintafel. Even before you were appointed to your role within Redtail, the Timeless Throne took note that you chose to settle here. They communicated to the various lords of Redtail Hold their awareness and knowledge of you and your family, and noted how closely you kept in contact with them in the Vale.”

“They saw no issue with it.” Pawdrig shrugged, artfully unconcerned. “And I see no reason to argue with the wisdom of the Throne. I’ll admit I’m actually strangely pleased, knowing you share tales of the lands I administer with a people not of my own. I’m quite proud of the area around the Serensea, and knowing the happenings here are interesting enough to make it all the way to the Vale … well, that delights me to no end.”

“That is a very … enlightened … position to take, my Lord,” Tintafel said, his mind furiously spinning if one could judge by the glazed look and the sudden crease in his brow. Pawdrig hadn’t planned on discussing the subject here and now, there being too many other matters going on. But the fact that Tintafel had long been known as a spy for the Vale, albeit a friendly one, eventually did need to be discussed.

Pawdrig, and all of the lords before him, had long leaned on the elf’s ability to gain insight from the most insignificant of things. It was a good skill for a spy to have, and the past lords of the Hold had discussed it with the Timeless Throne before deciding to put Tintafel’s particular skillset to use. And once sworn to Maorilan’s family and then made a member of Redtail’s council, Tintafel had faithfully served in his capacity, diligently delivering intelligence to Redtail’s many lords.

Were things hidden from the elf over the years? Most certainly. They would have been fools not to do so. But not a single sign of disloyalty had been seen, not for the almost two hundred and fifty years he’d served in the Hold. It was thought that Tintafel reported to the highest levels in the Vale, maybe even to the Wi’Jitikiin themselves. But regardless of who he reported to, the Throne was able to verify some of what he reported. And what had been discovered was that Tintafel reported only things that a skilled team of observers would have eventually found out, had that much of an effort been made in the outskirts of the kingdom. There had been no signs of information being passed on that conflicted with the oath Tintafel took to Maorilan’s family, and his service to the Hold had been without reproach for years.

It was unfortunate it had come out the way that it had in conversation with Alaris during the feast, the Nessa chastising Tintafel in such a way that Pawdrig felt his loyal councilman needed defending. But Tintafel’s continued trustworthiness, and the solid, dependable service he’d freely given to Maorilan’s family for generations, deserved the defense that he’d made.

“The Timeless Throne has been aware?” Tintafel eventually asked.

Choked, would be a better word for it, Pawdrig thought. “For hundreds of years,” he confirmed.

Tintafel swallowed, nodding repeatedly, his eyes going unfocused while he thought. His silence stretched for many long moments before he continued. “This makes me question my use to you even further, my Lord. Of what you have just admitted, I … my family …” he struggled out “… was completely unaware.”

“Nonsense, Tintafel. There is no reason for you to question yourself. You have served me and mine faithfully for years, just as you’ve served members of my family before me. You certainly weren’t spreading family secrets to your friends in the Vale, after all,” he said, pointedly meeting Tintafel’s eyes. “Such a breach of trust is inconceivable to me.”

Tintafel swallowed. “No, my Lord. My oath to family Maorilan still stands.” Then he made a gesture with one hand, similar though different from the one he’d said was required by the Wi’Jitikiin.

“That gesture?” Sir Laigan asked, picking up on the difference. “What is it?”

“A display of loyalty to family, Antonel Laigan, Knight of Pa’din …” Tintafel formally acknowledged, almost challenging the knight without looking away from Pawdrig’s eyes. “… the only family I serve,” he quietly declared.

“I wasn’t aware you felt that you served only my family, Tintafel,” Maorilan said.

“It is considered rude to discuss it, my Lord. But yes, it is so.” Tintafel took a deep breath, nodding a few more times before continuing. “And that lack of awareness is likely the heart of what is happening here.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the elven camp.

“Explain. But before you do so, take heart, Tintafel. Your position here, and on my council, remains completely unchanged. You have proven your loyalty to House Maorilan many times over, for hundreds of years. House Maorilan thanks you, as do I, and we have made it known to those who matter within the kingdom ... to the very ears of the Timeless Throne itself. Your service is exemplary, Tintafel Alarion. Take heart in that. You have served my family well.”

“Head of Family,” Tintafel quietly replied, swallowing an obvious surge of emotion. Then continuing to struggle with whatever he was feeling, he lowered his head, making another gesture Maorilan’s way. This one was new, flowing and flowery, somehow strangely formal while expressing regret.

Maorilan allowed Tintafel a moment to gather himself, wondering about his strange form of address along with the gestures. Then, when Tintafel eventually looked up, he prompted his advisor to continue. “Explain.”

“Yes, Lord Maorilan,” Tintafel replied, his voice hoarse. “The elves of the Vale camped outside your walls encompass those allied to one family, and one family only. They have not spoken to me as I have stated before, so there is no way to be sure, but the tokens that denote various family affiliations I’ve seen have led me to this conclusion. It should not matter; the oaths sworn to the army supersede family affiliation whenever the army is called forth. But in this matter, where the formation of the army of the Vale is the result of a … disagreement … between the highest of families, family affiliations must be taken into account.”

“So, we are encountering the politics between various families of the Vale?”

“Just so, my Lord. Dangerous and divisive politics if what I fear to be true.”

“How so?” Sir Laigan asked.

“Those outside your walls are almost entirely of, or allied to, Family Saliantrea, my Lord.”

“Arisaylia is a Saliantrea.”

“Just so, my Lord.”

“Which means we are basically seeing a disagreement between houses,” Sir Laigan muttered, scrubbing his face with one hand.

“Yes. Though a large contingent of those who are considered allied to Family Saliantrea left with Nessa Farlesdar’s forces, those who remain here are almost entirely slanted in Saliantrea’s favor. Conspicuously so.”

“And what does that mean for the army of the Vale?”

“Nothing good, my Lord,” Tintafel replied.

Pawdrig sighed, deliberately trying to force his thoughts away from elven politics. “This does not explain why they will not speak to us, however.”

“It does if they’ve been ordered not to, my Lord,” Tintafel said, then took a deep breath. “Let me explain. Initially, the army of the Vale would not speak with us at all when they first arrived. This was obviously by design, as the strike leader and masters accompanying Nessa Farlesdar conversed with us during the feast without issue. Therefore, it would be safe to assume the army itself, albeit with a few exceptions, were deliberately ordered to hold their tongues.

“After the feast welcoming the Nessa that position relaxed, with some small dialogue taking place between the Redtail Guard and the troops of the Vale. It continued that way until Alaris took his forces into the pass, but at that point, all communication between our forces ceased. Noticeably so. And that cessation points to orders their troops most likely remain under.”

Sir Laigan huffed. “Alaris left, Tintafel. I may be a knight, but even I know troops talk whenever their officers are not around. It is utterly ridiculous for someone to expect that that is not so.”

“Such would be generally true, Sir Laigan. However, such a thing is not true when ordered so by the heir of a Wi’Jitikiin. An heir who’s on a mission mandated by the full council of the Vale … the rest of the Wi’Jitikiin. Nessa Farlesdar’s orders while he is here are as if spoken by one of the Wi’Jitikiin themselves, his father if you wish to be particular about it. And as such, even more so than normal, arnhysh is invoked and involved. I fear its burden here may be heavy.”

“I still find it unbelievable that they would refuse to speak to the people that are feeding them,” Sir Laigan pressed.

“Would you disobey a direct order given to you by the lips of your king, Knight of Pa’din? Even if your king left and was not present to see those orders carried out?” Tintafel asked.

Sir Laigan frowned, shifting in his chair. “No. But Prince Farlesdar is not a king.”

“As heir to the Wi’Jitikiin, he might as well be.”

“And his orders carry that much weight with your people?” Pawdrig interrupted. “That he would be obeyed in such a manner?”

“My Lord, in the Vale, the Wi’Jitikiin give orders rarely, but the diktats of the Wi’Jitikiin are invariably carried out without question. Always, my Lord, with no exceptions. Individually, the only thing they may not order is a life taken. But even then, the full council may do so if its entire membership unanimously agrees.”

“I was not aware.”

“Few are, my Lord, and the Vale keeps it that way. But the Nessa’s orders as his father’s heir are as if he were one of the Wi’Jitikiin themselves. Especially while he is on a mission for the council of the Vale. Ordering the army as a whole not to speak with us is the only explanation I have for what is occurring outside our walls.”

Pawdrig propped his chin on his fist, absorbing the alien mindset. “I still do not understand why he would order that in the first place. I understand the secrecy and some of the family politics Alaris revealed, but I agree with Sir Laigan that this behavior is excessive ... almost extreme.”

“It would be, if not for the fact that arnhysh is most likely involved.”

“How so?”

Tintafel looked acutely uncomfortable, shifting in his chair before glancing towards the knight once more. Then he took a deep breath, and then sighed, making the gesture again he’d made only moments before. “My Lord, Nessa Farlesdar seemed fairly well disposed towards you and the Hold after the feast. Relations were thawing between our forces, but then a few days later he left in a veritable fury. I do not know the reason why ... no one does. Are you privy to the reasons he left, my Lord?”

“Yes. I was careless with my words. Alaris discovered something that was kept long hidden which led him to seek battle in the pass.”

“I see.” Tintafel wet his lips. “May I ask what it was he discovered, Head of Family?”

“Is it pertinent?”

“It may very well be.”

Pawdrig paused, glancing over towards his second. Sir Laigan shrugged, their long years together communicating he had no issue with revealing what had been said. Tintafel waited patiently without moving, moments passing in silence.

“As you wish, Tintafel. Alaris learned some things that were specifically kept from you over the years. I was speaking with Sella, the singer who entertained us during our meetings. I was not aware Alaris was present in the observatory, and he overheard a tale regarding Donnor Silverspear, Mikus Gemhands, and their party’s initial coming to Redtail almost twenty years ago now. Back when I was a young man. Then he overheard how I had known Arisaylia Saliantrea had passed through the area roughly a year ago, none of which had been reported to the Vale.

“To say he was angry is an understatement, and he expressed that anger to me quite clearly.” Pawdrig’s mouth quirked, though there was a sadness deep in his eyes. “I believe it was those discoveries that led to his departure and the events that followed.”

Tintafel paled, and then took a long, shaky breath. “Another matter of arnhysh … both of them … three of them, or more,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “This explains much.” He nodded a few more times before opening his eyes.

“My Lord, I have never spoken much about the Vale’s politics as they do not affect my duties here, even in the most abstract way. However, I must ensure that you understand without any possible confusion that you are involved in a very complicated drama that is now playing out. It is a situation that is dangerous for the Vale, most assuredly. But because of your family’s involvement, it is most likely dangerous to Redtail … and possibly the area around the Serensea as well.”

Tintafel massaged his forehead with one hand, obviously thinking furiously. He glanced up at Pawdrig, almost furtively, visibly struggling to make some decision. Then he stood and bowed, somehow somberly, making that strange gesture of his once more.

“Lord Pawdrig Maorilan, Head of Family, I Tintafel, of Family Alarion, sworn to you and your house, have much I need to tell you. My oath to Family Maorilan … to you, is clear,” he made that strange gesture of his again. “But I have other oaths, oaths to my family, and to the Vale as well. And those oaths, and my arnhysh, are in conflict.

Tintafel swallowed. “I will tell you what I can, Pawdrig Maorilan, revealing things that are usually not spoken of outside of the Vale. But there are some things you should know I cannot discuss. Some of these things will put you at risk, both said and unsaid, whether you know them or not. And if you ask, I must refuse, because I will not break the oaths that I’ve sworn. But this refusal will break the oaths I have sworn to you, and that refusal …” Tintafel trailed off, obviously troubled, his voice becoming hoarse.

“Head of Family, I must admit to a conflict of arnhysh, so that you can make the judgements that Family Maorilan’s arnhysh may deem necessary.” Tintafel swallowed, and then bowed his head low. “I stand ready for my judgement before you, Pawdrig Maorilan. Can you accept me, here, knowing there are limitations to my service and oath?”

Pawdrig and Sir Laigan exchanged glances. Then Sir Laigan settled back into his chair, frowning, before speaking into the heavy silence that followed. “Tintafel, I am sworn to protect the lords of Redtail Hold and their heirs. Every knight of Pa’din that serves here swears that same oath. Are you putting our Lord at risk?”

“He is already in danger, knight of my lord. What I reveal to you will only make it seem more so.”

Pawdrig raised his hand, gaining both their attentions. “I have recently been reminded of the requirements of honor in regards to an oath.” He nodded to Sir Laigan. “I do not expect you to foreswear any oath that you took, Tintafel, but I wish to ensure that I understand. You cannot tell me everything that you wish to say because of a prior oath you took? But what you cannot say is important, and it puts me in danger?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Personally?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

To say that Tintafel looked uncomfortable was an understatement. The normally unflappable elf was fidgeting where he stood, but he did not look away from Pawdrig’s gaze. Tintafel seemed to be searching for something in his eyes, and whatever it was he was looking for, he wasn’t finding.

But Pawdrig trusted his gut, and his gut was telling him to trust his faithful advisor. He made his choice.

“I will accept this limitation for now, Tintafel.” He allowed the silence stretch before continuing. “So, speak.”

Shadows of the Vale

Tintafel made another graceful gesture, bowing as he returned to his seat. Then he took a steadying breath, visibly gathering himself before continuing.

“We have already laid the foundation for this when we spoke with Nessa Farlesdar after the feast, but allow me to summarize as best I may. Alaris Farlesdar is here with the army of the Vale to apprehend Arisaylia Saliantrea, the mother of his child, to stand and explain her actions before the full council of the Wi’Jitikiin. Families Saliantrea and Farlesdar are at odds, and close to open feud, which would lead two of the six families of the Wi’Jitikiin into armed conflict. If that happens it will shatter the peace of the Vale, possibly leading to a civil war, something never before seen in recorded history. But regardless of where it might lead, the effect of an open feud on the Vale would be profound, probably more so than it already is.”

“Beyond the obvious, why?” Pawdrig asked.

“Because of arnhysh, my Lord. Multiple tangled issues of arnhysh, I should say, that are so twisted and convoluted I will have to think to unravel their permutations. The matter between families Farlesdar and Saliantrea are only one piece of the puzzle. The others, unfortunately, involve the kingdom, Family Maorilan, and they involve you … directly, my Lord.

Tintafel continued. “I have asked increasingly awkward questions since Nessa Farlesdar arrived. Some of my sources in the Vale are no longer available because of the information I seek. But I feel I have a clearer picture of what is occurring back home, and how it affects us here … and affects you.

“The full story of what is now going on started over twenty years ago, my Lord. But the parts that are impacting you and yours the most started roughly eighteen years ago, when your father hid the coming of Donnor Silverspear and his party from the Vale.”

Tintafel shook his head, staring off into space. “Donnor Silverspear has been wanted by Lord Na’Tor Saliantrea, Wi’Jitikiin, for some internal family matter he has never revealed. It was made clear by the Vale to the heads of the surrounding lands that Silverspear was personally wanted by Family Saliantrea, a family of the Wi’Jitikiin. By choosing to hide your knowledge of him, by the standards of the Vale, your father rejected Family Saliantrea’s claim. That act not only impacted upon Na’Tor’s personal honor, but also the honor of Family Saliantrea as it is seen by the Vale. But because of Family Saliantrea’s position, this act also affected the honor of the Wi’Jitikiin, and ultimately the Vale as well. It became a considerable matter of arnhysh for my people.”

Sir Laigan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The knight understood the rigors of honor, and was already afraid of where Tintafel’s tale would lead. His gut clenched as he remembered the harsh words exchanged with his lord only a few days before, and he hoped there would be no repeating of that day here and now.

“By the same token,” Tintafel continued, “your decision to withhold reporting Arisaylia Saliantrea moving through the area over a year ago has put you at odds with Family Farlesdar, another family of the Wi’Jitikiin. Your explanation to Nessa Farlesdar that you expected that I would report her comings and goings is understandable, and the Nessa accepted it. The matter was made known, acknowledged, and now closed. But in matters of arnhysh, it is still … questionable … my Lord, as viewed by the Vale.” Tintafel shifted in his chair.

“Your decision to ensure the Nessa’s outburst that night remained unobserved repaired any inferred slight to both his and your arnhysh. I cannot express to you how it would have affected the Vale to know that an heir displayed such a lack of control in public. And his naming of Family Maorilan as a friend to Family Farlesdar was the result, something possible, but not required by the diktats of arnhysh.”

“However, for Nessa Farlesdar, an heir to the Wi’Jitikiin, to overhear you, recently named a friend of his family by his own lips, talking to someone who is not of Family Maorilan, nor even a family sworn to Family Maorilan, that you actively withheld knowledge desired by the Vale from not only him, but from multiple families of the Wi’Jitikiin, is a tremendous betrayal that could not possibly be overlooked.” Tintafel’s eyes bored into Maorilan’s own. “To one of the Vale, what has occurred is a deadly insult … To not only Nessa Farlesdar personally, but to his family, Family Saliantrea, the Wi’Jitikiin, and ultimately to the Vale as a whole, as well.”

Tintafel sighed, staring off into space. “There is no way you could have possibly understood this. The concept of arnhysh and the reasons for it are barely known in the kingdom to its sages, let alone by anyone outside of the Vale. And those of us who live and watch for the Vale understand how you and your people make your decisions, completely ignorant of the concepts of arnhysh and the terrible mistakes that you make.

“The Vale is insular, yes, most already know this, and we who dwell without interpret the blows to prevent situations like this from occurring. But to Nessa Farlesdar and the Wi’Jitikiin, there are no other concepts beyond arnhysh. It is for the good of the Vale that it is that way, and there are many reasons for it. But the strictures that bind them remain hidden outside of the Vale, and I apologize, I must refuse to name them.” Tintafel bowed low, making another formal gesture his way. “Regardless, what has occurred are deadly insults to the highest of families, and they will see it and take it as such.”

“Then why did he protect us if he was so insulted?” Sir Laigan asked. “The prince lost over half of his forces assaulting the pass.” He waved his hand over towards the Sunset Peaks.

“Because of arnhysh; another twisted link in this chain.” Tintafel sighed. “You were there, Sir Laigan, as well as I … deathly afraid Nessa Farlesdar was about to lose control of his Tol in a moment of anger. And what he was building …” Tintafel shook his head before he looked up.

“But your appeal trapped him, my Lord. Trapped him by his arnhysh, personally, to you, whether you knew it or not. You named him a guest of your family with the masters, the ….” he paused “… guards … as witness, then offered your home and your resources to use.”

Pawdrig frowned, ignoring Tintafel’s obvious pause leaving certain things unsaid. “So? The offer was sincere. I was not trying to trap him.”

“I understand that, my Lord, and it was obvious to all you were sincere. But you may recall me saying that family is everything in the Vale? To the Wi’Jitikiin, it is more so. And your appeal and the way that you made it, trapped him within the diktats of his honor.”

Tintafel leaned forward to make his point. “Nessa Alaris Farlesdar came onto your family’s lands with an armed force that was completely unannounced. A gross breach of arnhysh, in this instance breaching a protocol between families. You treated him as a friend, ignoring the manner of his arrival and its unstated threat, then welcomed him personally when he knew it was a burden for you to do so. Then you, the head of your family, proceeded to protect his personal honor, in spite of your advisors, before naming him, Alaris Farlesdar, a guest of you and your family. Then you offered your family’s resources for him and his forces to use to fulfill their appointed task. You thereby invoked guest rights without a single limitation on them whether you knew it or not, putting even further burdens upon him and his honor. And you did all of these things before witness, only asking that he pause to protect you, making not a single demand, when he was already required to do so by the long-held oaths between the Vale and the Throne. And while requesting his help you inadvertently mentioned the king, naming the head of the family that Family Maorilan is sworn to, seen in equal stature to the Wi’Jitikiin in the Vale.”

Tintafel shook his head back and forth in surprise. “My Lord, by the standards of the Vale, no matter the insults he later found out, he was honor bound to comply. His arnhysh required of him no less, regardless of what had previously happened. I must tell you that even being removed from the Vale for so long, the situation and the way it progressed that night affected me profoundly. It presented the tenets of elven honor in such a way that I was completely unable to ignore it. And I can only imagine how it affected Nessa Farlesdar, my Lord, who is of a rank and station where such concepts are lived in everyday life, similar to how you or I breathe.”

Tintafel allowed a fleeting smile to cross his face. “I believe your people would say it rang his honor like a bell.” He shrugged, before taking another deep breath.

“But because of the insults that came out, he was required to leave, and leave immediately, completely unable to ignore what he had learned. A conflict of arnhysh came to the fore, one that is taught as a cautionary tale inside the Vale. To know your friends as you would know yourself, so that unknown arnhysh will not require you to act against your will ...

“… A situation that I now find myself in.” He gave Pawdrig an uncomfortable shrug.

“Regardless, Nessa Farlesdar chose to unleash the power of the Vale against the ondilaan. I do not think he did so solely to fulfill the burden of his arnhysh to you or the kingdom. I believe he did so to eliminate one part of a tangled and confusing web of honor, so that he could move on to the next, as he stated to you before he left.”

Tintafel met Maorilan’s eyes, his gaze serious and intent. “Nessa Farlesdar will not forget the perceived insults to his honor, my Lord. And I would be very cautious before approaching him in the future, for a multitude of reasons. Because of who he is, and the position he holds, you have inadvertently set yourself and Family Maorilan at odds with the Wi’Jitikiin. All of them; every single last one. Whatever you do, you and your family’s past actions must be taken into account with this complicated situation in mind, so that you do not inadvertently offer further insult, and progress to becoming an enemy of the Vale.”

A heavy silence followed Tintafel’s words. The implications, the risks, they all spun wildly inside of Pawdrig’s mind. The last thing he wanted to do was offend his kingdom’s allies. Gods, he had no issues with the Vale. He liked the elves. But because of the decisions they’d made in the past, he found himself at odds with a power that far exceeded his own. There had to be something he could do.

“Would an apology, an explanation, some official acknowledgement of what was done help in any way?”

“It is possible, my Lord. And if accepted, it would alter your current situation dramatically. But to do so, as the head of your family, you would be required to offer the Vale a personal debt of honor. The Wi’Jitikiin will remember that debt, and they will consider that debt to pass from you to your heirs until paid. You would be accepting this responsibility on behalf of your heirs for perpetuity, until the Vale chooses to collect. Consider carefully before doing this, my Lord. Na’Tor Saliantrea is almost a thousand years old.”

“Gods,” Pawdrig exclaimed.

“My Lord, this kind of decision can be delayed,” Sir Laigan insisted. “The Vale is thousands of leagues away. Prince Farlesdar is marching away to the west.”

“True. But what happens when he comes back?” Pawdrig pondered this for a while, a question coming to the front of his mind. “Would he come back this way to return home?”

“Most certainly, my Lord,” Tintafel confirmed.

“Why?” Sir Laigan asked.

Tintafel looked acutely uncomfortable, ducking his head before looking away without answering. Sir Laigan stared at him, then puzzled by his silence, glanced Maorilan’s way. And Pawdrig stared at his advisor’s head that was now turned, letting the silence stretch even further.

“Why, Tintafel?” Pawdrig eventually asked, holding up a hand to keep Sir Laigan from saying anything further.

“My Lord Pawdrig Maorilan, Head of Family, I cannot say.” Tintafel bowed his head, making the gesture he said displayed his loyalty to Pawdrig’s family once more. That confusing gesture that obviously meant so much, that he understood so little. The silence stretched tight.

“Is this refusal a matter of arnhysh?”

“Yes, my Lord.” Tintafel nodded without looking up.

“Is there nothing you can say without impacting your honor?”

“No, my Lord.”

“But you are certain that Alaris will return?” Pawdrig stated more than asked.

“Yes, my Lord. He must. Of that, there is no doubt.”

“Then, so be it. I withdraw my question.” Tintafel visibly sagged. “Sir Laigan, can you see any way to defend the Hold if Alaris chooses to attack?” Pawdrig scrubbed his face, thinking furiously. “We must assume that he will.”

His knight looked like he’d swallowed something bitter, but answered readily enough. “No. There is nothing we could accomplish against the elves beyond hurrying our deaths. My opinion is based on the battle we witnessed, and what Arnet reported occurring in the pass. Even taking half of what he said as true, we wouldn’t last a day. Maybe half. Maybe even less. To tell you any different, my Lord, would be to lie.”

“That is what I fear, as well. Tintafel, would Alaris ignore the treaty between the Timeless Throne and the Vale?”

“My Lord, it is possible. To the Vale, Family Maorilan is sworn to the family of the king, and your actions reflect and speak to the king’s honor. Nessa Farlesdar has sealed the pass, fulfilling the treaty as you requested, thereby fulfilling any obligation of arnhysh the Vale may hold to the Timeless Throne. However, he was very clear to bring forth a certain thing before he left. There, in the end, he made a point to say that you and your family were on your own, and naming your family as he did so.”

“So?”

“His statement could be interpreted to mean one of two things. First, that you and Family Maorilan are no longer considered a part of the kingdom ... Or, that the kingdom is no longer considered to be bound by treaty to the Vale.”

“By the gods.” Sir Laigan muttered.

“It could also be neither of these things,” Tintafel admitted. “But either of those options would ring true in the Vale.”

“But you’re afraid it is not.”

“Yes, very afraid. In the Vale, family names would be struck and absorbed for the insults that have occurred, ending their name’s inclusion in the Roles of Life in the Vale. The pure fact that Nessa Farlesdar has left says that he feels his other obligations outweigh any insults that you and your family have made. But even though he is heir, he is still Wi’Jitikiin. He will not let any insult to his or the Vale’s honor go unanswered for long.”

“Is there no other way to resolve this?”

“There is one possibility, if Family Maorilan had an heir.”

“Which, of course, I do not.” Pawdrig thought furiously. “There is no other way?”

Tintafel cringed. “Your life in forfeit, as the head of your family, taken before the council in payment for your debt.”

Both Sir Laigan and Pawdrig gaped. “Would Alaris receive a messenger from us if we sent one?” Pawdrig eventually asked.

“I do not know, my Lord. But a messenger would not be harmed if sent with specific instructions on how to proceed. Whether a messenger would be accepted to actually communicate their information to Nessa Farlesdar, I do not know. The insults are that severe.”

“Would the Vale?”

“My Lord?

“Would the Vale receive a message? An apology, an acknowledgement of debt directly to the Wi’Jitikiin?”

“Yes … yes, they would. Arnhysh requires any issue properly presented be heard before council.”

“Then one must be made. How long would it take to send one?”

Tintafel opened his mouth and then closed it, before pinching his lips tight. He bowed from his seat once more. “My Lord, I cannot say.”

“Cannot or will not?” Sir Laigan demanded, his voice filled with frustration and outrage.

“Peace,” Pawdrig said, not taking his eyes off of Tintafel. “Arnhysh?”

“Arnhysh,” Tintafel agreed, making that curious sign once more.

“So be it. Another question withdrawn. Tintafel, you are going to stay and help me dictate two missives. One, to Prince Farlesdar, and then the other to the Vale.”

“My Lord, I remind you, the Timeless Throne holds the right to communicate with other nations to itself,” Sir Laigan cautioned. “This is beyond your mandate here. You risk offending the Throne if you do this. Lords have been sacked for less.”

“I’m very well aware, but consider this. Alaris was very clear about something else before he left, that the kingdom is fighting for its life. What if the Timeless Throne has lost its alliance with the Vale in its moment of need as a result of mine and my family’s actions? I swore an oath, Sir Laigan, and I am still loyal to the Throne. I must do everything I can to repair any damage that was made.

“Think also on this,” Pawdrig stared directly into his eyes. “What if the elves send another force? Or the ondilaan come once again? The Throne can always disavow an heirless lord, Sir Laigan.”

Sir Laigan studied his lord, his mind spinning as he considered these new horrors. There was no question about standing against the elves; it would be suicide. Every last one of them would be dead. The ondilaan? Who knew? But by the numbers reported, it would end up the same. He could see no other way. Pawdrig raised his eyebrow in question, calmly holding onto his gaze. And hesitantly, and ever so reluctantly, Sir Laigan nodded his agreement to his lord.

“Tintafel, go find us a scribe,” Pawdrig ordered. “Bring Tessa back, as well. We still need to discuss our meeting with the elves on the ‘morrow. Think on the best way to send both messages … One to Alaris, acknowledging a personal debt of honor. The second to the council of the Wi’Jitikiin, also acknowledging that debt. Describing what has transpired here, the reasons for it, my utter ignorance of the ramifications of what has been done, and that we are attempting to contact Prince Farlesdar to make amends.”

“It must come from your own hand, my Lord. Written in full, and sealed by the Life that you hold.”

“The Life I hold?”

“Your blood, my Lord. Signed in your own blood. There can be no other way if this is the path you choose. Arnhysh demands it.”

“Then I hope they are very understanding of my handwriting, Tintafel. I haven’t written a diplomatic message in years. And I guess that I will be needing my knife.”

“Are you sure this is the path you wish to take?” Sir Laigan cautioned.

“It must be done … I am Family Maorilan according to the elves.” Pawdrig waved his hand in Tintafel’s direction, seeing his confirming nod. “It is my responsibility to protect what we have. Alaris is leading an army through my lands, not to protect us, but for his own reasons while the ondilaan invade. We are cut off from the Timeless Throne, and we may have inadvertently broken our treaty with the Vale while the kingdom’s at war. We have refugees we can barely feed,” Pawdrig sighed, “and what would happen to our people, and the villages we have left, if the Hold was suddenly destroyed?

“No, there is no other way. And if I must accept blame and a debt to the Vale so that the kingdom and my lands are safe, then that is something I am going to do. My pride is not so big to sacrifice.”

Sir Laigan nodded thoughtfully, while Tintafel looked strangely intent, almost as if he was relieved. And Pawdrig realized in that moment that he felt completely numb, hollow inside, and wished he had Sella there beside him to sing.

“I’ve changed my mind. Expanded it, I should say. Sir Laigan, call the council to form here in one hour. Everyone needs to know what we have learned, and the ramifications for us and the kingdom. But after that, I have another duty for you.

“My Lord?”

“Send a troop of conscripts by boat to Varmen’s Shoal, with someone in command who has a very level head. They are to station themselves there and protect the Shoal, and send word to Resthaven to let our forces there know that Alaris is coming their way. It is possible Alaris will not let a messenger through his lines, though we are going to try. But under no circumstances are any of our men to oppose the elven forces in any way. They are to surrender if it even comes close to conflict, the villages to surrender themselves as well. I will not lose any of our people in fighting an ally, not for any reason.”

“My Lord–”

“I won’t lose them. Not for any reason.” Pawdrig held his knight’s gaze until he eventually nodded. “Then I have another mission for that boat,” Lord Maorilan continued. “We’ll need someone captaining it who has a level head as well … independent … a strong heart …”

“My Lord?”

“The boat and some specially chosen men will need to head south on a detached duty,” Pawdrig remarked, absently.

“South, my Lord?” His knight looked at him in confusion. “As far as we know there is no one left south of Varmen’s Shoal. The last refugees from further south arrived over a week ago. There’s nothing of importance there now.”

“Yes, south. To patrol the coast near Brookside, Harper’s Creek, Rocky Point, and then all the way down to where Lakeside once was.”

“… Why?”

“Politics, Sir Laigan. With Alaris heading in his direction, we must let our wayward Commander know Alaris is coming his way ... and the reasons for it, if we can. His being out there is my responsibility, after all … and there is absolutely nothing I can do to protect him.”

“My Lord?”

“These insults to the Vale are the result of protecting Donnor Silverspear and his party, Sir Laigan.” Tintafel nodded while Lord Maorilan continued, “To repair the damage, we cannot be seen as aiding him in any way from this moment forward.” Lord Maorilan frowned, staring at his feet in thought. “But a last communication severing our ties cannot be faulted by anyone’s honor,” Pawdrig said, before looking up.

“Donnor Silverspear deserves to know that the Vale is coming for him, Sir Laigan.” The lord’s eyes were intent. “And that he, as it is now with us, is now completely on his own.”

Lord Pawdrig Maorilan stared out over the Serensea through his high window, pondering the situation they were now in.

“May the lost gods be merciful on our souls.”

The Daggers Come Out

“Sella, girl, we’re almost done here. Put that broom away and head on up to the next floor. I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Yes, Giri.” Sella leaned backwards to stretch out her back while Giri walked away. It was only her second day, and she already knew Giri had her own way of doing things. And, she was quickly learning that it was Giri’s way, or no way at all. Sella grinned, but was thankful for the older woman. After all, her situation could have been much worse.

Meeting Telee and Pihn yesterday had been an event. The two younger women had seemed nice enough at first, but Sella couldn’t help but think there was something off about them. The four of them had sat in the back of the kitchen around a cluttered table, eating after the noonday meal had already been served. Telee and Pihn had gossiped about everyone, Sella hearing so many names she didn’t know where to begin. But she did learn that the two women had been working in the Hold since they were young girls, having all but grown up in the halls where they now served.

Telle and Pihn were assigned to the upper most floors of the Child’s Tower, each totally responsible for one of the floors, and the fancy apartments they housed. Giri said she’d eventually send Sella up to learn what it was that they did, but it wouldn’t be until she knew her job better than she did now. The younger women didn’t look thrilled about that, ignoring Sella’s questioning look, and went back to their gossiping, this time about one of the mages who lived there. Apparently, he had been passing gas while he was walking his way to the privy, farting in time with his steps.

Giri rolled her eyes while the two giggled and finished up, returning with Sella to begin cleaning the rooms. All Sella could say for sure was that it was mindless work: dusting every single thing pretty much everywhere, before putting things back where they belonged. The beds were changed in rotation, a different floor for every day of the week. And the laundry was taken down to the basement to a group of young girls who washed it along the banks of the Serensea before hanging it out to dry.

Telee and Pihn took their laundry to the same place, but the upper floors had their laundry done with fancy soaps and scented oils in one of the buildings outside of the walls. Sella remembered the building, the odd odors wafting by her old room at the Happy Cup at all hours of the day and night. She’d always wondered what they were doing, too busy to find out when she’d worked there. But now, at least, she knew.

After eating the evening meal, again after everyone else had been served, the last part of her daily duties commenced. Lugging pail after pail of water up the tower’s steps, she poured them down the jakes and the chutes to keep them clean. It was hard, hard work after cleaning all day, and she’d worked up quite a sweat lugging the stupid pails of water up six flights of stairs. But Giri made certain she knew that the goal was to get the job done, not to do it in a certain amount of time. So, Sella had the opportunity to at least take a break while she toiled. But until it was done, she couldn’t do anything else, and it was grueling and unrewarding work.

Thankfully, the people staying in the tower knew the servants’ schedule, not saying a word as Sella set her pail on the stairs to rest. Then, after all six floors were done, the night was hers, as was a single half-day she got off every week. Telee and Pihn went down to the Cup along with some of the staff, but Sella wasn’t ready for that. Facing everyone else from Lakeside who were all still staying in her old room was just too much. So, she’d wandered around the lower levels of the Hold to stretch her legs, listening to the men in the barracks harass each other before turning in for the night.

Sella sighed as she swept up a little more dirt before putting it down the chute, completely bored out of her mind. She was already weary of the mindless work, but at least she was housed and fed. She’d be an idiot for giving up this position, absently humming a silly song she used to sing to the children back home. And laughing a little at her complaining, she reminded herself that it could definitely be worse. At least the food here was good … even that bitch Dira Greentree would have agreed with that.

She’d went upstairs and finished sweeping roughly half the third floor when someone came up behind her, startling her out of her mind.

“What’s that yer’ hummin’?” Giri asked, joining her in her work.

“Oh. Hi, Giri. It’s just a song from back home.”

“Yeah? Never heard that one before. How’s it go?”

Sella glanced towards a couple walking by. “Well, it’s a children’s song …”

“So? Give voice to it.”

“You don’t mind me singing?” Sella asked, stepping aside for another person to head down the hall.

“Bash. Sing away, girl. Ain’t no one going to complain about you singin’. Especially now.” She waved a hand towards the mountains. “Don’t hear any singing now except down at the Cup. And they can keep their bloody songs.” Giri cackled. “Too far into their cups to be singin’ as it is.”

Sella blinked but then shrugged, sweeping some more before starting her song over in time with the broom.

Cluck, cluck, the chicken goes,

Pecking at your toes.

Squawk, the hen laid an egg,

And in your tummy, it goes.

Moo, moo, the cow goes moo,

Munching grass, it chews.

Mom’ll milk it this afternoon,

So, we’ll eat some cheese that’s new.

Splash, splash, the fish goes splash,

Swimming in a flash.

Dad’ll catch it, that’s for sure,

Then we’ll cook it with some hash ...

The verses went on and on, dozens that Sella recalled. It was meant to be a silly tune; the children smiling and laughing whenever it was sung. And it had an easy beat for the children to keep, while the ridiculousness of it made the time go faster. They used to sing it to distract the children from their chores. So, it was meant to be easy to remember; mindless, even.

She hadn’t sung or thought of the song in ages, not since before they’d escaped from Lakeside at least, and it was no wonder that it came to mind while she cleaned. It helped her keep pace with the broom, but it broke her heart to remember every single one of the children she’d sung it to except for Dira’s boy were now dead. And she struggled to keep her spirits high enough to sing the merry song; thoughts and memories of home invading her head.

Giri laughed. “That’s a cute one. Me nieces and nephews would love it.”

Sella deliberately forced her thoughts away from the final moments of Lakeside. “Are they close?”

“No …” Giri turned, sweeping under a chair. “They’re way over the mountains near Devalket. Got a great big family over there, I do. But me dad was a guardsman, and brought my mum here.”

“Do you see them?”

“No, not for years. Get a letter every now and then when the caravans come by, but that’s all.”

“I’ve never been across the mountains.”

“Ain’t missin’ much from what me sister says. The Houses bickerin’ back and forth, no one carin’ for anyone but themselves, money hard to find, an’ no lord over there like the one we got. She’s always be tellin’ me about the gangs in the city, and how expensive everything is. I try an’ tell her to come out here, the gods know there’s room, but she’s a city girl through and through. Always teasing me about bein’ stuck out here in the country, she be.”

“I hope she’s okay,” Sella paused to glance towards the pass, “What with the battle and all.”

“Bah, the lord’ll fix it,” Giri waved her concern away. “Besides, them elves killed all those bloody ondilaan. Why else would they have marched away? It’s over here, girl. Things’ll be back to normal again right quick. You’ll see.”

Sella froze, gaping at Giri in disbelief, then hurriedly started sweeping again. She couldn’t believe what Giri had just said. It was incredible; stunningly and horribly naive.

Sella’s mind raced back and forth between the terrible moments escaping from Lakeside, the burning and calls of the ondilaan, to Pawdrig on the tower while flashes and booms resounded in the mountains. Weeping hysterically as Lakeside burned, to singing and comforting Lord Maorilan while he stood vigil over the battle in the pass. Swimming desperately for the boat as arrows fell all around, to how Pawdrig had tackled her to the floor, moments before that blinding light with its blistering heat washed its way over the hold, shaking the very stones beneath them.

By the lost gods … What does Giri think that all was? A bad dream?

She kept her thoughts to herself, listening to Giri try and hum the song she’d just finished singing. She was not going to say a word to make any waves here. Sella was determined to fit in, here in her new role. But it took a lot to hold her tongue, and she caught herself glancing at Giri from time to time while she worked.

They moved their way up the tower, Sella pausing in the observatory once more to look out over the Serensea. The ‘Sea was calm today, a boat heeling over in the wind as it left the tiny harbor, trailing foam in its wake. Then she cracked her neck while absently watching a group of people lug something out of the gate. She wondered what Pawdrig was doing there in that moment, gently running her fingers along the rail.

They finished up, Telee and Pihn joining them while they put their things away for lunch. Then all four wandered down to the kitchens, Telee and Pihn already deep in their gossip before they’d even sat down. Sella noticed Dira Greentree chopping vegetables over on the next table as she sat down, it having completely slipped her mind that she’d gotten Dira a position there. And then she did everything she could to ignore Dira completely, noticing her glare, the chopping becoming quite loud as soon as matron Greentree caught sight of her.

Sella couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes.

Giri was still humming the tune while Sella did her best to ignore Dira, serving herself lunch from the communal bowl. She’d just taken her first bite when Telee stopped her gossiping to ask Giri what it was she was singing.

“Ah, got a tune stuck in me head, is all.”

“Where’d ya’ hear it?” Telle asked.

“Oh, Sella here was singin’ it. Reminded me of me nieces and nephews. I’m hopin’ another letter comes soon,” Giri said, wistfully.

Telee glanced over at Sella while arching her brow. “Singing a children’s song?”

“It passes the time while you work.” Sella explained. Telee cocked her head, and Sella felt the need to explain. “We had the children bring in the catch, care for the animals, or whatever we needed help with back home. The song kept them in time with each other while they worked.”

“Aww, isn’t that cute,” Pihn said, Sella unable to tell if she was joking.

“It is.” Telee put her hand on her friend’s arm, simpering Sella’s way. “It’s one of those things villagers do way out in the country, Pihn,” she added, knowingly.

Pihn shoved her hair over her shoulder. “I bet they do all kinds of adorable things out there, Tel’. You must know all sorts of simple things. Like children’s songs. Right, Sella?”

“Of course she does, Pihn,” Telee answered for Sella. “The villagers have hundreds of them. Maybe you should start a nursery, Sella, and play with the children there. I’m sure you could find some other country folk like you.”

“Don’t be silly, Tel’, and leave the poor girl alone.” Pihn giggled. “It’s hard enough for villagers to fit in. Besides, nobody wants to hear any more of her songs.”

“Oh, I’ve heard she knows a lot more than children’s songs.” Telee smiled knowingly, a strange light entering her eye. “Why that boy I let buy me my drinks down at the Cup told me just last night she used to sing for them all the time.”

“Oh, aye,” Giri agreed, pausing in her conversation with the next table. “Unris tells me he’s missin’ your songs, Sella, ever since ya’ come up here. He asked about you. You should go visit.”

“A lot of people miss your songs,” Pihn agreed sweetly, “and they say the most amazing things. Why we met the nicest lady just last night. What was her name, Tel’?”

“Green something, wasn’t it?” Telee waved the question away. “Anyway, she told us all about you Sella, and she had so many things to say. I had no idea you were so popular!”

“I’ll say,” Pihn agreed, a nasty glint entering her eye. “Incredibly popular!” Pihn leaned in, placing a hand over her chest. “All of the men say so. Why even that boy of yours said he liked to hear Sella sing.”

“I didn’t know you were that good, girl,” Giri said, cocking her head.

Sella fought to keep a straight face. Tessa will have my head if I bite back. I can’t start any fights here. Nothing can screw this up.

“Oh, Sella’s good alright,” Telee agreed. “Sang right here at the feast in front of the lords, isn’t that right?” Sella reluctantly nodded. “Giri, surely you remember. Why, my Natcher couldn’t stop telling me about how popular you are with all of his friends, Sella. And they had all kinds of things to say about you down at the Cup.”

“Natcher? Is that your boy’s name? What a silly name, ‘Tel.” Pihn giggled. Giri turned away as someone else called her name. “That boy’s cute and all, buying you drinks, but his friend is even better.” Telee stuck her tongue out at her. “But even he wouldn’t stop talking about you once he heard that we knew who you were, Sella.” Pihn returned to glaring as soon as Giri faced away.

“So popular,” Telee agreed, her voice as sweet as honey while her eyes were hard as stone. “We heard so many things. And that Green-lady shared the most delightful stories about you from home!”

Sella’s mind filled with dread as the two younger women glared. “Green lady?” Sella forced herself to ask, Giri not paying any attention while chatting away with another person nearby.

“Oh, yes. Why she even said she works here!” Telee’s glare intensified.

“Isn’t that her over there, Tel’?” Pihn asked, artfully glancing over Sella’s shoulder.

Sella turned, finding Dira Greentree’s eyes on her from across the room, still loudly chopping away. Oh no ...

“I think that is her, Pihn! We should go and say ‘hi’. I’m sure Sella wouldn’t mind that at all. Seeing someone from her own village would probably be exciting for her!”

“Yes, that’s a wonderful idea, Pihn! I’m sure my Natcher would be pleased. He says ‘hi’ by the way, Sella.” Telee glared. “Him and all his friends ... you are so popular with them. They miss you so much!”

Before Sella could even think of a response there were two loud claps from the back of the kitchen. Everyone stopped what they were doing, Tessa now in the doorway and obviously searching for someone.

“Sella, there you are. Back to work, all of you. Giri, Sella is needed as we discussed before. I don’t know when she’ll be back, probably not before nightfall, so you’ll have to work the rest of the day without her.”

“Aye, Tessa.” Giri turned to the other two. “Well, it’s a long day ahead of us then, girls. Let’s finish up. You gotta finish them upper floors so you can help me out below, just like we done before.” The two younger women frowned.

“Sella, let’s go,” Tessa said while the other three looked on. “We only have a short time to prepare, and we still need to get you dressed.”

“Dressed?” Telee and Pihn frowned.

“Yes. I think we’ll do the green again; it pins up the quickest,” Tessa trailed off in thought. Sella hurriedly ate the last of her meal, standing as soon as she finished. “Maybe the blue dress, though, it’s not as …” Tessa continued, looking her up and down while she thought.

“Where is she going, ma’am?” Telee respectfully asked.

“Lord Maorilan is meeting with the elven forces. He requires Sella to provide entertainment while the meeting takes place.”

“Asked for her specifically?” Telee asked at the same time Pihn exclaimed “She’s meeting the elves?”

“Yes, her specifically,” Tessa replied absently, “and Tintafel Alarion agrees. Now off with you. You have work to do, girls, and so does she,” Tessa finished, already turning away while the rest of the women curtsied. “Sella, go wash your face and then come to my room. I’ll do your makeup myself to save time. We may have to have a dress made if this keeps up,” she trailed off in thought.

Sella followed after her, already planning out the songs she knew. She was excited to see Pawdrig again, and wondered if they would have a chance to speak. He probably won’t have time ...

But her excitement was short lived, interrupted by Telee’s soft voice trailing hauntingly after her.

“Oh, Sella … so popular.”

Setting the Stage

Lord Pawdrig Maorilan, Lord of Redtail Hold, had decided he felt utterly ridiculous over a candle ago.

After meeting with his council yesterday and discussing the implications of what Tintafel had revealed, the meeting had descended into an impromptu war-slash-political council that lasted long into the night. And the event today he’d hoped would be a simple semi-formal affair, had turned into the kind of thing he’d dreaded whenever he’d been forced to travel to Tatdavarr; representing his father before the council of lords and the king.

Completely miserable, he was dressed in every single last bit of finery he owned. And fighting his annoyance, he looked out over the fields, making a point not to notice the scar on the ground from the battle the week before.

At least the day is going to be nice. The sun was warm and high, pleasantly lighting everything around, while soft clouds floated their way across the sky. He watched a flock of red-tailed hatches, the birds the Hold was named for, flitting about with their green and red plumage sparkling in the sun, and imagined the sounds of the breeze that was slowly swaying the limbs of the trees over there in the distance.

But no matter how much he focused on the birds and the leaves, that were just starting to turn with the oncoming of fall, nothing could take away from the confining discomfort of the full-court finery he now wore. Collars and creases pressed and starched to the point they could cut flesh, he put those around him to shame by just sitting there … and it was slowly driving him mad.

I wonder if they’ll let me go sit under that tree?

He’d argued against his outfit. Loudly, if truth was told. But when Tessa, Tintafel, Master Girdly, and even Hesia and Sir Laigan … the traitors … had unified against him, he had to give in. Poorly, he admitted to himself, frowning as he ran his thumb along his neck.

His chain of office weighed heavily there, digging into his shoulders as the jewel in its center shined in the midday sun. And the ancient golden circlet of Redtail, that someone had unfortunately dug out of the archives, wasn’t helping his mood either. Its weight was determined to give him a headache, and its interwoven platinum, silver, and gold, rested heavily on his brow.

But, if he’d wanted to impress someone, he had to admit his finery would do. He was sitting in his father’s field chair under the Hold’s official marquee, two things that had not seen the light of day for over a decade. And the light underneath the tent was calming, being filtered through the blue cloth overhead. He’d forgotten how big the thing was, amazed it was still in as good of condition as it was, and wondered where they’d hidden it all these years ever since he’d caught sight of it this morning.

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist, elbow propped up on one knee. Tessa shifted in protest behind him, coughing quietly, but he ignored her. He was either the lord of this place or he wasn’t; and if he wanted to slouch, then dammit, he’d slouch. But then he realized the absurdity of what he was doing and gave in. Glancing her way, he was honest enough with himself to admit he was being immature, and straightened himself up into a more appropriate pose, ready to receive their guests.

The multiple chairs before him were still empty, though, and were still waiting for the elves to arrive. He glanced towards the wine sitting on a table nearby and then sighed. Can’t have any of that, either ... even if I wanted to. The stakes are too high. Tintafel had been very clear about how certain things would be interpreted by the elves, then he glanced towards the elven camp once more. I wonder what’s being debated in there? If they’re getting impatient, too?

Multiple people had peeked here and there out of their tents this morning ever since Arnet had marched by. And even the tents that had been otherwise kept closed now had half-hidden hands holding them open. The guards patrolling the borders of the elven camp had watched in silence while the marquee was set up only strides from where they were stationed. And interest inside the elven camp had further intensified when a squad of the Redtail Guard had marched their way out of the Hold in their formal best, and headed their way.

Sir Laigan was adorned in his formal finery along with them, something Pawdrig had insisted on and expected his knight to refuse. But he was thoroughly disappointed when Sir Laigan agreed, donning his ceremonial armor without complaint. Armor he hadn’t worn once since Pawdrig had become lord

His knight and the guards simply took up station around the marquee while the elven guards looked on, looking ready for a parade as they formally guarded the tent. Then his servants brought out rugs, tables, chairs, and other various bits of finery, as well as a plethora of things to eat and drink from wherever they stored them in the Hold. They even produced a fountain from somewhere, similar to the one they’d used during the feast, that Hesia had magicked into life.

To say the elves were surprised was an understatement.

And, on top of it all, everything had to be conspicuously arranged just so. Tessa had arrived before him dressed for a ball, along with an army of servants to make certain everything was perfect. Then, when she was utterly satisfied, she dismissed all but the lucky few who were stuck with them for the day, and sent a runner to let him know it was time. It was only then that Pawdrig had come out with the rest of his advisors, along with another squad of the Guard, and even more staff dressed up in the finery of the Hold.

Tessa and Tintafel had at least agreed with Sella being there, both admitting that she helped his mood. Sella was currently singing some soft, elven song, while wearing a pretty green dress. And Tintafel actually stopped to coach her from time to time, helping her in the pronunciation of the foreign words. He had wanted to talk to her, but Tessa had informed him that wasn’t going to happen.

And once the stage had been perfectly set, the song being appropriately sung by their lovely singer, and everything as it should be, Tintafel, Sir Laigan, and he, had rose to confront the elven guards.

The guards had tripled over time, a few of them now in heavy armor just inside the borders of their camp. And even the humans in his party could hear elven voices raised in consternation deep within their camp. It could have ended up a disaster, seeing armed elves and hearing their arguing voices, but everyone in Pawdrig’s entourage had been chosen because they were veterans of one thing or another. He’d admonished everyone to show absolutely no reaction to any signs of hostility, eventually having to turn it into an order when he’d been forced.

And it was a good thing, too. Because tensions among his own people were high.

Hesia had not been pleased, protesting long and loud into the night about his declaration that no magical defenses were to be raised. He’d agreed to having the other mages observe from the walls of the Hold; a marked increase in magical activity this morning was concerning after all. But he dismissed out of hand any arguments that he was going to be attacked to her complete and utter frustration. Still, his nerves were raw, and her constant sighing and shifting of position didn’t help. He swore she was grinding her teeth.

That didn’t even touch Arnet and Sir Laigan’s complaints. Both men being in complete agreement, saying the entire Redtail Guard should deploy as his escorts. He could only imagine how the elves would have reacted to that, and it had taken all of his patience to argue them down. Tintafel actually agreed with them, saying an escort of that magnitude would be considered minimal for a head of family in the Vale. And that had only renewed Arnet and Laigan’s insistence. So, he’d gone to bed with an impressive headache, wishing he had one of Sella’s songs to put him to sleep.

He had to admit, though, the look on the elven guard’s faces when he’d announced himself this morning had been the highlight of his day.

“I am Lord Pawdrig Maorilan, Head of Family Maorilan, and Lord of Redtail Hold. Honored guests of my family, I invite your leaders to join me for some light refreshment I hope they will find pleasing. I have slighted you and yours by not approaching you sooner, and wish to apologize for my error in person. Please, accept my apologies, along with these other things we have brought for you. It is my hope that through this offering, I can repair any unintended offense my family has made against you of the Vale.

“Tell your leaders that I am here, and bring them the assurances that they and theirs have earned much honor in light of your actions. Family Maorilan and the Timeless Throne salute you. The Throne thanks you, I thank you, and I will await your leaders to join me to make their response inside.”

Tintafel had carefully coached him on what to say, and it took every single thing he had not to grin as one of the guard’s mouths dropped open, his jaw hanging dumbly while Pawdrig finished his speech. Apparently, by the standards of the Vale, he was repeatedly bashing them over the head with varying points of elven honor with what he’d said. Plucking away at the assorted strings, he’d hit so many twisted points of arnhysh with his invitation he’d basically forced them to accept. And the stuttering and babbling conversation in elven between Tintafel and the guards, punctuated by a plethora of gestures and formal bows, seemed to confirm the result.

That had been over a candle ago, however, and the elven guardsman, who had bowed deeply then given him a gesture that only Alaris was required to receive, had trotted his way back into camp in a veritable tizzy. Tintafel had told him to ignore any reference to him as Nessa Maorilan, stating it would ruin the momentum if he corrected their utterance. But his discomfort at being referred to as a ‘prince’, even if it was only in elven and totally by mistake, was completely offset by the chaos his speech had created.

He had to admit, Tintafel’s predictions of what would occur had been correct. Understated, if anything, by the loud argument going on inside their camp. An argument he’d caused over an hour ago that was still underway.

Pawdrig caught himself eyeing Sella’s enticing form, wrapped in that alluring green dress. He had just forced himself to look away when a shouted word in elven overcame all of the other noise. A quiet descended upon their camp, before a softer and more civil conversation ensued. Then Tintafel made certain to catch his eye, raising one of his eyebrows and nodding a certain way that was the agreed upon signal that progress was being made.

Pawdrig signaled to Tessa to prepare the refreshments, then turned to his advisors as the servants hurried about. “I believe we are about to have company,” Pawdrig said when Tintafel nodded once more. “Remember, speak only when spoken to. Their custom is to deal with a ‘Head of Family’ to the exclusion of all else. I will try to relax the expected decorum as much as I am able, but we have no idea how formal they’ll insist on being until they actually arrive.” His advisors nodded, Tintafel and Sir Laigan moving to the front of the tent with an honor guard to receive their guests.

Shortly thereafter, a minor commotion proceeded the appearance of three elves, two walking side-by-side with a third trailing along behind. On the left was a man that even Pawdrig had to admit was handsome, with wide muscular shoulders and a trim, narrow waist. Pawdrig would have placed him as a warrior of some kind if not for the lack of any weapons, and the large, formal brooch on his chest. The brooch’s gold and silver filagree gleamed in the sun, offsetting his blue and green tunic while his blond hair blew in the breeze. He had a strong, narrow face, and his piercing blue eyes were hooded, though completely fixed upon the marquee and those residing within.

On his right was a woman slightly shorter than the man beside her, who wore a dress that was simple in design, but not in appearance. No, there is nothing simple about her at all. It was as if she was clothed in the setting sun, with the dress subtly shifting from the deepest of blues to a luxurious red as it travelled its way down her form. Pawdrig noted she stepped almost daintily, her lithe figure holding an effortless grace that would have been the envy of every lady in the kingdom. The elf had her golden-brown hair arranged on her head in the simplest of twists, held in place by something that gleamed there like copper. And her deep brown eyes were fixed upon his own, the intelligence in them obvious to see even over this distance.

Behind them was a pale, smaller woman, that was shockingly plain by comparison. With a slight upturn to her nose, her face was attractive though eclipsed by the ones coming before. Her black hair was pulled severely back from her brow, descending in a single braid that had been delicately draped over one shoulder. And she wore a kirtle of both reds and oranges, its pale colors and simple design unpretentious, and much plainer than the other two. She wore no adornments, no decorations to add or support her appearance beyond a single, decorative pin. She must be a servant. Though Pawdrig did notice that her soft, hazel eyes were busy taking everything in. Cataloging things, he realized, when the sharpness of her eyes quickly passed over him. Maybe not a servant at all.

The three of them met with Sir Laigan and Tintafel. Then Tintafel nodded to the knight who proceeded to form the honor guard around them, before formally escorting the elves the few, short steps to the edge of the marquee.

“Head of Family, may I present the party of the Vale,” Tintafel announced. “Strike Captain Vistarii An’Toyniell, commander of the elven forces that remain on your lands. Laran’telia An’Toyniell, sister and chief healer among the elven forces. And Cor’An a’Saliantrea, Priestess of Life.”

Another Saliantrea? And a priestess? Definitely not a servant then.

“Head of Family.” The three elves made a formal gesture; touching their right shoulder before their left with their right hand, then extended their upward facing palms his way. Their palms passed in front of their lowered faces while the gesture was made, and they would keep their eyes downcast until Pawdrig acknowledged them, from what Tintafel had explained. It was one of the most formal greetings he could have received according to his advisor, and he was surprised the gesture was made. The only higher greeting he could have received was one made to the Wi’Jitikiin, and he wondered why such a formal gesture had been made.

“Welcome, distinguished guests. Your greeting honors me,” Pawdrig said, rising to stand. “Rise and allow me to present my council. Tintafel Alarion and Sir Laigan, Knight of the Order of Pa’din, you have already met. Also with me are Pipit Brightleaf of the northern sprites, Master Altus Girdly of the Girdly Trading House, and Hesia Durn, my resident mage. Sit, please, and be welcome. These places of honor before me have been set aside for your use,” he gestured towards the empty chairs that sat conspicuously close to his own, “and know that I’ve been looking forward to speaking with you for some time.”

An entire world of conversation passed between the three elves, encased in subtle glances as they bowed once more. They repeated their previous gesture before taking their seats, the brother and sister studying everyone and everything with shrewd and judging eyes. The third, the Priestess of Life, sat calmly and completely at ease as if she owned the marquee, but without a single sign of pretense he could see.

It was an interesting scene.

Beyond the various things he’d already said in his speech to the guards, standing to receive them was something almost unheard of for a head of family to do. By doing so, Tintafel said he almost forced them to abide by his wishes to join him, or risk insulting him in a way that would be extremely difficult to explain. And it looked like Tintafel had been right about that as well, watching Vistarii’s clenched jaw as he reluctantly sat, or his sister studying Pawdrig intently, almost interrogating him with her eyes.

“Thank you, friends, for meeting me this day.” He ignored the slight widening of Laran’telia’s eyes. “I believe salutations are in order. But before any overly formal gestures are made, I wish to simply welcome you.” He smiled to include all three.

“You will please excuse my butchering of your tongue; I am not a linguist. But Tintafel has tutored me on what I wish to say, and on this word, at least, I am confident.” He made sure to meet each of their eyes in turn. “Far’e’na, guests of my family. Rest, here, and be welcome. May Family Maorilan shoulder your burdens and any of your concerns. Let your stay here be completely at ease, and consider yourselves the honored guests of my family for as long as you choose to remain.” He ignored their widening eyes. “Far’e’na, guests of my family. While you are here, let us be one.”

There was a brief, though significant, pause, before the strike captain began grinding his teeth once more. The healer shifted uncomfortably, something she did while still retaining an exquisite grace, but the priestess was eyeing him most shrewdly. She glanced towards Tintafel before looking back, most likely surmising the reason behind what he had just done.

For what he had just done was invoke elvish guest rights in the most open and unburdened way possible, a thing almost unheard of between strangers, which demanded a response. By elvish custom, not providing him one would be a slap in the face, and was only compounded by him being a head of family, only adding to their burden.

Now, it only remained to be seen if the elves would break their long silence, a silence that was stretching uncomfortably long. He hoped propriety would win out, something Tintafel surmised would take place, but Pawdrig prayed that they hadn’t been specifically ordered to refuse him in his role as a head of family. He actually feared that, and he allowed them to openly see his concern as it crossed his face.

The priestess nodded, and then the healer did too.

The strike captain ground his teeth some more, his jaw clenching tight, but he eventually answered in a surprisingly pleasant voice. “Far’e’na, Family Maorilan. Life’s blessings be upon your line,” he said, before he ever so slightly bowed his head.

The first opening had been made, only time would tell if there would be any others.

Politicking in a Tent

Pawdrig caught the shrewd, knowing glance Cor’An threw Tintafel’s way. She probably didn’t think Pawdrig would see it, then the priestess slowly turned her attention his way, acknowledging Pawdrig’s gaze with a nod.

Maybe she did.

Deciding to press on while he still had the advantage, Pawdrig moved to the side table while beginning to speak, pouring wine for himself and the strike captain by his own hand. “As I said, welcome, and thank you for meeting with me. I’m certain you are very busy. Hesia here tells me she can sense a tremendous amount of magic being performed in your camp … at all hours of the day and night.”

He picked up his cup, handing the other one to the strike captain and waiting until he took it before moving on. “I’m assuming this is for the healing we’ve noticed is taking place, and I hope your efforts are going well.” He acknowledged Laran’telia, the healer, while the servants served everyone else, the elves first.

This was another tactic Tintafel had provided for him. By serving their leader himself, or whoever had seemed to be the most senior male, then serving the elves as a whole before his own party, he was making a statement that their needs were preeminent. However, since he was an acknowledged head of family, their needs could not possibly be preeminent to his own, no matter how much deference he showed to their faces.

He watched while a hand twitched here, then a posture shifted there, then a set of lips did their best not to frown while he did everything he could not to smile. Apparently, in the Vale, the situation he was creating for them was one that would never, ever, occur. And the inherent debt of honor he was forcing upon them, by publicly putting their status above his own, was awkward for them in the extreme.

There was only one thing he had left to do by what Tintafel had advised. Pawdrig raised his cup. “To the Vale.” He saluted, taking a drink of the wine he’d chosen. It was a toast they also couldn’t refuse. And as everyone repeated his words and drank, the elves sealed themselves to him for this moment by accepting his offering of food and shelter.

The tenants of arnhysh would allow them no less. They had to treat with him now.

Pawdrig caught Tintafel’s eye, nodding his way to acknowledge the advice he’d been given. And he made certain that his acknowledgement to his advisor was open and obvious to see, noticing the elve’s intrigued glances and interest. The strike captain, however, still frowned.

“Honored guests, the first thing I wish to do is thank you and yours for the defense of my lands. What you have achieved is beyond my imagination, and I acknowledge that we simply would not be here today if not for you. Family Maorilan is in your debt, and as Head of Family Maorilan, I acknowledge that debt openly. What is it you said to say to them, Tintafel?”

“May it …” Tintafel prompted.

“Ah, yes. May it be known,” Pawdrig concluded, raising one hand in the curious gesture Tintafel had coached him on till he’d finally gotten it right. “I apologize for not being well versed in elvish custom. However, I wish to be clear: I acknowledge my debt to the army of the Vale, and Family Maorilan acknowledges that debt through me. Would you allow me to thank your wounded men myself, Strike Captain? They deserve to know of mine and my family’s thanks, and I wish to thank them in person if it could be arranged.”

Both women stared at him, and then they turned their four, sharp, intelligent, eyes on Tintafel. The one they called Cor’An looked slightly amused, the healer like she had bitten something sour, while the strike captain swallowed a frown, appearing as if he had to force himself to keep meeting Maorilan’s eyes.

Pawdrig was doing something else in that moment, something he wasn’t completely comfortable with while he shamelessly abused the tenants of arnhysh. The elves could not refuse to speak to him now, not coming to them as he did. But on top of that, Tintafel had told him something strange about the army of the Vale. The army of the Vale was honor bound to respond to any request made by an acknowledged head of family while within that family’s lands.

The elves had acknowledged him as head of a family ‘before witness’, something Tintafel still had to explain the significance of. And according to Tintafel, the army’s entire existence was to protect acknowledged families for the Vale. It was unbelievable to him that the army made no distinction what race a family came from, truly something Pawdrig had problems believing, but Pawdrig had no qualms about abusing that sentiment now. And Tintafel was betting that the captain would fall back on his training and duty, hoping Alaris had not specifically forbidden the method of their approach.

They hoped.

“Head of Family, the Vale hears you,” Vistarii said after a pause, making another gesture his way. “Thank you for your words, Family Maorilan. Your gesture will be made known.”

Another break in the silence. “Excellent. And is it possible for me to thank those who fought in person?”

There was another pause, before Laran’telia replied. “Head of Family, the wounded are weak.” Her musical voice carried easily, despite the gentleness of its tone. “If you would allow it, we would wish them to continue their rest.”

And another. Pawdrig noticed her silky voice harmonizing with Sella’s singing, almost flawlessly complimenting the elven song being sung in some way. Her speech seemed to tingle across his skin as he heard it, making him study her that much more closely. And she watched him with interest in return, her gaze both firm and direct.

“Surely such a simple acknowledgement would not tax your people too harshly,” he said, absently fingering his chain of office that was hanging upon his chest. “Your people fought and died on my behalf. My debt to them is great.”

Laran’telia frowned prettily before responding, glancing Tintafel’s, and then Hesia’s way. “The places of healing are places for rest, Family Maorilan. I would ask you to consider another way.”

So, Tintafel was correct. She can’t just say ‘no’ to a head of family without risking offense. Are all of the elves this way?

Pawdrig leaned back in his chair, frowning, because he really did want to thank the injured elves. But even though he wanted to, he wouldn’t do so against a healer’s advice. Even for this, pushing as hard as he could to thaw their relationship, there were some things he wouldn’t do.

“I defer to your judgement then,” Pawdrig allowed, “though it pains me to delay my thanks. Is there anything else I can do? Some other way to show your people how much their sacrifice means to me, and to mine?”

“Your men have provided many supplies, Head of Family, for which the Vale thanks you,” Vistarii said, his voice both confident and strong. “This is enough, Family Maorilan. Your debt to the Vale is clear.”

“Bah. Surely there is more I can do. And, please, I am unused to your forms of address. Lord Maorilan is correct if you wish to remain formal. Or, Pawdrig, if you would allow that. You are guests here, Strike Captain. All of you are the guests of my family, and I will treat you as such. There should be no verbal walls between us. May I call you Vistarii?”

The strike captain paused before speaking, this time blatantly staring at Tintafel. “It would be improper for me to address you so, Head of Family.”

“Though I believe you may already know this, Lord Maorilan,” the priestess said, breaking into the conversation. Cor’An’s shrewd and intelligent eyes were fully upon him now, judging him with an almost ageless wisdom that rose from somewhere deep within. Though she did continue to look ever so slightly amused, if he had to put a name to the look she was giving him.

Another wall down.

“I was so advised,” Pawdrig admitted, tilting his head Tintafel’s way. “However, it never hurts to ask,” he offered, bestowing on her a wry grin.

He had no idea how to deal with her, Tintafel’s briefing not covering or even mentioning any priestess. But any idiot could have picked up on the elves’ obvious respect for her, and Tintafel’s twitch when he offered her his jest was a significant sign.

Cor’An’s mouth quirked, a thawing of her reserve communicating its way through her eyes. “And how should we respond to such an appeal, Family Maorilan?”

“Honestly, if it was my wish.”

“And what would you do with the honesty your family now seeks?”

“Treasure it.” All of the elves frowned. “Just getting you to speak to me today is a primary goal. Can I say that my theater has achieved its result?” he inquired, waving his hand around the marquee and the finery within. Something about her told him not to hide his desires any longer.

Laran’telia frowned, tightly pursing her lips while the strike captain’s jaw fiercely clenched.

“Was all of this, and all of your words here, a farce?” Cor’An challenged, the priestess impaling him with her eyes.

“No. Not at all,” Pawdrig answered with complete honesty. “I do acknowledge a debt; a debt to you and every member of the Vale. And I do want to thank your people; every single last one of them who participated in the battle here, or in the one in the pass. Every person around the Serensea would be dead if you hadn’t come to us when you did, and done what Nessa Farlesdar has accomplished.

“My debt to you is great.” Pawdrig shrugged, waving one hand in the direction of their camp. “I sent my men to offer everything they could, but they’ve been turned away no matter what they have tried. And there’s been no reason given, no matter who they have asked. So, I was advised to come out here and find out for myself.” He waved his hand towards Tintafel. “I believe that was good advice, too, because, at least, we are now speaking.”

He continued to hold her eyes. “And I still do.”

Vistarii shifted, but Pawdrig made sure to keep ahold of the priestess’s gaze with his own. “You are out here in a field, with minimal supplies, and a large amount of your people are obviously wounded. If there is something I can do, I will do it.”

Cor’An watched him, silently, before she glanced towards the other two. They seemed to discuss something between them with their eyes, then her two hazel orbs began to glow as she turned her attention back onto him. “Will you declare your intentions before Life and the Vale?”

“Ware, my Lord, she is using magic,” Hesia warned.

Pawdrig raised a single hand, freezing the various hands now drifting towards weapons. “Miss?”

Cor’An watched him steadily, her eyes swirling in a gentle mixture of greens and browns. “You stop them from protecting you when you are possibly threatened.” She glanced unconcernedly towards the guards around them. “Why?”

Pawdrig noticed an unusual intensity accompanying her words, Sella’s aria somehow lessening the effect of whatever it was as her voice mingled into and through Cor’An’s own. Cor’An glanced Sella’s way, a mere flickering of her eyes, before she returned to holding Pawdrig again with her gaze. But that glance interested him, and he took note of it. Pawdrig able to tell that the priestess was not entirely happy he had.

“The elves of the Vale are not my enemy, priestess. You are our allies, and you have already paid a terrible price for that alliance by protecting both me and mine. No harm will come to you here if I can prevent it, and I feel that you mean me no harm.”

She remained silent, judging him, something thawing even further as she held onto his eyes. “You owe us nothing,” the priestess eventually said.

“Now who’s words are a farce?”

Cor’An frowned, glancing towards the strike captain before she continued. “You truly believe this?”

“You know I do. And I’m assuming the truth of that was verified by whatever spell you’ve cast here to test it.”

Laran’telia shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Cor’An. “Our apologies, Head of Family, we know not your ways.”

Sir Laigan snorted; Tintafel frowning as well before he could stop himself. But Vistarii saw the wry smile developing on Pawdrig’s face, and slowly unclenched his jaw.

“We don’t usually allow spells to be cast upon us in the kingdom,” Pawdrig offered in an offhand manner, “but we assumed you’d been ordered against speaking to us in some way. Allowances had to be made.”

From Vistarii he received the faintest of nods; from Hesia, the tiniest growl of frustration as she hawkishly focused upon the priestess’s two glowing green eyes. There was a shout from the wall, Sir Laigan ordering one of the men to reassure those in the Hold that things here were remaining okay.

“Arnhysh.” Pawdrig put name to the underlying issue while taking another drink. “I’ve constructed this situation to force a conversation with you in a way we’d hoped would not be refused. Refused by you, or by any orders you had received that might interfere,” he admitted, looking deliberately into Cor’An’s glowing green eyes.

“I know what I have done here, and I have done so deliberately. Regardless, I am a Head of Family as you see it, my desires are genuine, and my offer of help is not contingent upon them. You will receive my help no matter what occurs in this tent. All I want to do is be able to speak with you. Can I say that this goal has been achieved?”

The elves carried on another silent conversation between them, then Laran’telia paused to study him before asking, “You would help with our wounded regardless?”

Pawdrig kept his eyes on Cor’An, staring into the obvious magics she held. It is incredible how much more comfortable around magic I am becoming. “Yes,” he simply answered.

“At what cost?” Vistarii guardedly asked.

“None, besides helping with the defense of the Hold while you are here.”

The strike captain sat slowly back into his chair, glancing the other two’s way. They shared a silent communion, Laran’telia eventually shrugging before looking at Tintafel. Hesia was fidgeting in her chair and started to speak, but Pawdrig waved her back into silence before she could continue.

“Watcher, are you true to your oath?” Cor’An openly asked before the group. Her eyes turned on Tintafel, while never once losing their light.

“Yes, Priestess.”

“Does he know of your oath?”

“He knows it exists.”

“And the details of it?”

“No, Priestess. He only knows that there is one. He has allowed it to stand without questioning it thus far.” Then Tintafel paused before continuing. “Priestess, I acknowledge openly before Life as my witness that I hold a debt of arnhysh to Family Maorilan, and most likely have done so since before he knew what he now knows.”

Cor’An raised a single eyebrow before turning her attention back to Maorilan. “He allows both oaths?”

“He does,” Pawdrig answered her. “He only asks that no harm comes to the people he is sworn to protect.”

The light gradually went out of the priestess’s eyes, dwindling away as if it’d never been. “Did you know of the depth of the insults you and your family have made to the Vale?”

“No. Tintafel explained it to me only last evening. I meant no disrespect or insult to the Vale, and I never have. I sent word to Nessa Farlesdar and the Vale yesterday, explaining what has occurred along with my part in it.”

“By what manner did you send to the Vale?” Vistarii sharply inquired.

“By some manner only Tintafel knows,” Pawdrig answered, waving a hand Tintafel’s way. Though he didn’t say he didn’t have any idea, catching sight of Pipit’s feet ceasing their bored shaking out of the corner of his eye.

The three elves looked back and forth to one another, then Laran’telia glanced towards Tintafel before making a series of complicated gestures towards the other two. The strike captain glared at her, lifting his brow and stopping whatever she was doing with one, sharp gesture.

“My Lord …” Tintafel began, but Pawdrig cut him off.

“I assume she is conveying some information by using those signs?” Cor’An inclined her head. “Do not translate them, Tintafel. Their private conversations are their own. As a matter of fact, for the time they are here, do not translate any of the signs they may make. The only exception is if they plan on doing us harm.”

Tintafel shifted in his chair before making the same gesture he’d made to Pawdrig the other day, the one that declared loyalty to Maorilan’s family. The elves took note of it, sharp note, with open and obvious looks of surprise while Tintafel answered his command, “Head of Family.”

Laran’telia looked back and forth between them after the gesture was made, while Cor’An’s eyes widened, her brow cresting high upon her head. Cor’An noted that neither Pawdrig nor Tintafel had looked away, then she looked towards the other two elves before nodding her acceptance. Then a series of signals began to fly between the elves.

The conversation started hesitantly at first, with many suspicious glances sent Tintafel’s way. The elves obviously were waiting for Tintafel to translate whatever was being said. But as Tintafel sat silently before them obeying Pawdrig’s commands, the conversation progressed, while multiple considering looks crossed the three elven faces. Pawdrig drank from his cup, waiting patiently while their conversation continued, it eventually winding down after some significant point was made.

“What help do you offer?” Vistarii asked, not looking entirely pleased.

“Commander Arnet has left for the pass; he traveled by your camp this morning. He’s been ordered to assess the battlefield, set up a camp where the mine used to be, and salvage what he can from the battlefield. Anything of yours he will return to you. There will be no debate.”

Vistarii inclined his head while Pawdrig continued. “As a result, we now have an empty barracks inside of the Hold. From what we can see, you can barely fit the people you have inside your camp. The barracks is yours to utilize as you see fit, if you wish to, as are any supplies that I can provide to assist.”

“And in return?”

“Nothing beyond what I already said. Help with the defense of the Hold while you are here.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You can have her magic me again if you wish to test the truth of my words.” Hesia grunted in protest, shifting noticeably in her seat. “My answers won’t change.”

Vistarii made a quick gesture, Cor’An answering for him. “I don’t believe that will be necessary, Head of Family.” The strike captain looked at her in surprise, but nodded as she made a complicated series of gestures to whatever he had conveyed with his look.

Laran’telia had never stopped studying him since their silent conversation took place. Pawdrig knew she was judging him, but whatever she was thinking remained hidden behind those soft, compassionate, brown eyes. “And our wounded?” she asked, again in that exquisite voice she had. “If they are kept in your keep, how will we have access to them? They would make excellent bargaining chips if you wished it.”

Pawdrig raised his eyes in response to her caution, then smiled wryly in the direction of his knight. “Sir Laigan, can you convey my orders to the elves, and your objections to them?”

His knight looked like he’d just asked him to eat his own shite, but he cleared his throat and answered readily enough. “I object to revealing this in this manner, my Lord, but you have already overruled me and ordered me to state my objections plainly while we are in council with the elves.” He turned to look the elves’ way. “If we can get the elves to speak with us, we are to offer what help we can, and then do everything in our power to get them to accept. If they are willing, we are to allow them the barracks that is now vacant for their use. They are to have free access to use the postern gate … which goes right past the armory,” Laigan frowned mightily, “to access the barracks set aside for them. We are to raise no issues with their comings and goings unless they interfere with the defense of the Hold. And we are to include any member they may choose to join in your council while they remain … and integrate their troops into the defense of the Hold if they should so wish it.

“I see this as an unacceptable risk,” Sir Laigan continued, “as their intentions are not confidently known. And I have argued stringently with you against this. For hours, my Lord.”

Sir Laigan did not look happy, not happy at all, and he frowned mightily in the elves’ direction. Neither did Hesia, for that matter. But Girdly, Pipit, and Tintafel all nodded their agreement, acknowledging the truth of the knight’s words.

The surprise on the elves’ faces was evident.

Pawdrig cocked his head while meeting Laran’telia’s eyes. “Is that good enough for you, lady healer? I owe you a debt. I am very serious about paying it.”

The three elves looked at one another, then Laran’telia focused her attention his way. Her cautious eyes had thawed quite a bit, and the beginnings of warmth was there for him to see. “Yes. I believe that is good enough for me, Head of Family.”

“And you, Priestess? Strike Captain?”

“If my sister and Cor’An are in agreement, then there is an accord between us …” the captain answered for them both, Cor’An nodding her agreement as she continued gazing into his eyes. “… Head of Family.”

And now the walls come down.

Lord Maorilan allowed himself to finally relax. “Then let us talk about getting you out of this field.”

The Beating of Drums

The slow throbbing was the first thing Tommy became aware of. A steady beat of dum, dum, dum, plodded along in an unwavering cadence that seemed as if it would never end. And it mixed and mingled with his awakening awareness, punishing his growing misery with every agonizing beat.

He pinched the space between his eyes without opening them, moaning in protest to the pain. Somewhere in that agonizing abyss behind his closed eyes, golden lights strobed and flared in his mind. The blinding flashes illuminated something that slowly became clearer, each dazzling burst driving his misery to new heights.

The all-encompassing void slowly faded, varying colors of green, and gold, and then gray emerging like a mirage from the oppressive mist. Then, like a forest coming to light on the onset of day, the separate blobs of green congealed, and he became aware of a storm resting above this forest on the horizon. The flashing of lights transforming into a golden-hued lightning that streaked its way across the sky.

A distant sound began to intersperse itself between the drums. It was garbled and distorted, a wallowing that drifted down from above and stabbed daggers of pain into his ears. He protested the terrible din, becoming further awake and aware as it penetrated his aching existence. Then an urgent questioning arose, the utterances slowly separating themselves into distinct sounds that mixed and muddled with the thudding of the drums.

Something touched his face, the various colors flashing and flaring once more before chaotically racing throughout his mind. The pain flared anew. The sounds becoming more insistent, the urgency more real. The thudding dum, dum, dum, that was quaking throughout his brain dulled to a dim echo as he clenched his head in both hands, moaning out loud once more. Then something grabbed his hands and pulled them away, the distorted sounds slowly forming themselves into some semblance of speech.

“Tmmrpphsslke,” he heard, the pain in his head throbbing in time with the beating drums. “TmmyCnYlk,” the voice pestered him.

Something touched his face once more. He tried to push at the hands that were holding him, but the lightning and the thunder sounded and resounded in response. It was almost as if something was fighting him for his awareness.

“RssGeTntTmyswk,” the voice continued, every single syllable stabbing into his brain. “DnrrytmyWgtyu,” the voice insisted as he moaned again in protest, Tommy trying everything he could to get away from the noise that was hurting him.

Something cold was placed on his head, its bitter chill piercing his mind with an onslaught of incredible pain. Endless colors flared and intensified before beginning to fade. The forest he’d seen lightened like an apparition before the details began to dissolve into the abyss, and a great dark cloud settled itself in the distance.

Then a new sound started, something very close by. Its chaotic, ticking cadence merged with the thudding drums, adding new dimensions to his pain. But as he realized he was moaning once more, the sound stopped. Then something nearby began to gently stroke his brow.

“Tmy?” came a distorted voice he struggled to hear. “Tmmy?” the piercing words inquired once more; more stroking of his brow as he slurred out a complaint. His head echoed in short, solitary, explosions of pain that were in time with the drums, then the voice interrogated him again.

“Tommy?” A pause while that muffled and distorted voice echoed again in his head. “Tonat, is he coming around?” A fast, staccato voice answered, adding new heights to the throbbing pain as whoever it was responded in that foreign tongue.

Tonat … the thought came to him sluggishly. Tonat is a sprite. More pain and lightning flared as the thought formed. Who’s Tommy? came between bouts of thunder, and a hand once again was stroking his brow. He must have made a noise in the midst of the drums, because another cold something was placed on his head, the sounds becoming clearer as his awareness increased.

“Tommy?” A man’s voice inquired. “Tommy, hold still. You did something, we think you are hurt. We got you. We got you, Tommy,” the voice went on. Hands grabbed his wrists as he tried to move about, a shadow eclipsing the faint light coming from somewhere above.

I must be Tommy, he decided in a singular moment of clarity, before it all came tumbling back. He moaned, feeling like he was going to throw up, his stomach twisting itself into knots while whoever it was continued stroking his brow. He clutched at his guts while they churned, his mouth filling with spit as he started to sweat. The drums pounded their steady rhythm as that staccato chittering began once more, every utterance an agonizing insult to his already miserable mind. Then he was rolled onto his side, everything spinning in a confused tangle of sound and sensation which overwhelmed any semblance of control that he had.

He vomited, spewing forth every bit of his being out onto the earth. The eruption was a salute to the state he was in, a monument to his misery. And it felt as if his body was trying to turn itself inside out, spasm after painful spasm rocking his body as the burning eruption exploded from deep inside. Then, when that eternity of torment was utterly complete, an acrid taste clung to the back of his throat like an unwanted memory of despair.

Some unknown amount of time later he was allowed to return to his back, people and hands doing whatever they liked as he panted his fear of the pain. Then he cried, tears flowing from his eyes in a waterfall, and then moaned. The effort crying had on him only adding further depths to his misery.

He was left to recover in peace; the rhythm of the thudding drums never once changing. He floated upon waves of agony, his insides rising and falling with every sickening swell. But eventually that ocean of torment diminished as his thoughts cleared once more, and he heard a quiet argument underway at his side.

A chittering voice was scolding his earlier inquisitor, then a different soft voice spoke after the chittering was done. His mind slowly became more clear … or maybe less fuddled … he wasn’t sure. And he decided just to lay there while his breathing slowed, absently listening to the ongoing debate, and the responses that followed.

“I don’t care if they need days of rest, Rast,” the first voice was saying. “If we’re caught out here by the ondilaan, we’re done.”

“The ch’ten will stay if you choose to leave,” an angry voice answered.

“No one’s talking about leaving,” came a frustrated reply. “Gods, Rast, what’s gotten into you? The troop needs to move out. We’re all but defenseless in the state we are in.”

“The Lady remains,” the voice answered coldly, following a chittered reply, “as does the San’ten’tol’s retinue. The ch’ten will guard the favored’s family.”

“I’m not arguing; guard them all you want. The lost gods know we need the help,” the first voice answered. “But what if the ondilaan come? We’re defenseless down here if they discover us. Hells, we have almost twenty people still down, not counting the survivors from Silverlake. The only person that can heal them is Ari, and she’s out cold. Alantin, tell them!”

The argument continued, the voices edging louder before they became indistinct once more. Tommy realized he was drifting in and out of consciousness, probably hallucinating too as he watched a brilliant orange speck of flame streak its way across the sky. But there was nothing he could do while his body throbbed in misery, his guts clenching and unclenching as the day went on.

Some unknown amount of time later he became aware once more, someone bending over him and stroking his brow. Tommy grunted, more a groan really, and then opened his eyes, shying away from the light above. It was the sprite child, the young girl leaning over him while shyly meeting his gaze. It was her delicate fingers that were gently trailing over his temples, leaving tingling tracks in their wake. Each of her soft touches was almost painful with how glorious and wonderful it felt.

Blinking her in and out of focus a few times, her visage slowly cleared. He attempted to speak, but there was no way with his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth like it was. It was swollen and dry, encased in a thick, tacky, spit that was horribly flavored. And he tried to clear it enough to speak, but all he managed to do was spread the pungent flavor some more.

The girl watched him before chittering off to her side. Drums thudded away in the direction she looked, the rhythmic sounds still throbbing in time with his head. The pounding was punishing him, so he closed his eyes, riding the pain towards something more comfortable. Then a shadow passed overhead and he opened them, Tonat looking down in concern.

She prodded him, pushing here and there while mumbling to herself while she worked. He was sore all over, aching in every bit of his soul, but nothing she did caused him any more harm. And when she was done she seemed satisfied, sending the girl running off after chittering something her way. Tonat continued to poke and prod, Tommy grimacing while she applied pressure to specific parts of his head. Then he did his best to ignore the pain, hearing someone approach and looking up to find Rast.

“How are you feeling?”

Tommy tried to speak, but his spit was so thick he barely uttered a sound. He mimed drinking something, Tonat watching him closely. She communicated extreme reservations through her expression, pinching her lips and judging him for many long moments. But she eventually nodded her assent, barking a quiet order the girl’s way. A few moments later the girl came back with a bowl and a cloth, Tonat wetting and then holding the moistened cloth to his lips to drink.

It took a few tries, but eventually he got enough water in him to speak. “What happened?” Tommy managed. His throat raw; his voice both crackling and hoarse.

Rast waited a moment before responding. “The elves attacked us, and something happened to their magic. You, your parents, Mikus, Saress … a lot of people are unconscious.”

“Are they okay?”

Rast glanced towards Tonat after translating that bit, and even feeling as bad as he did, Tommy noticed Rast’s hesitation. “We don’t know, Tommy. They’re still unconscious. You’re the first one to wake up.”

Tommy closed his eyes again, the beating of the drums continuing his misery. He might have moaned, he wasn’t sure, not with the throbbing echoing around in his head.

Tonat said something before Rast spoke again, “She needs to know what’s wrong with you. She can’t find anything physically wrong with you, but she says that something definitely is.”

“How should I know? I feel like somebody beat me with a stick ...” Tommy grunted, licking his lips and then shifting his weight. “… Then whoever it was decided I didn’t hurt enough, so they beat me again.” A sharp pain stabbed into his neck as he attempted to lift his head. Tommy groaned.

“Don’t try to move,” Rast admonished, Tonat chittering to them both anxiously. “Tonat is going to give you something to ease your pain. She says it will taste foul, but that it works quickly.”

“Everything tastes foul right now,” Tommy complained, shutting his eyes against the pain.

Another moistened cloth was pressed to his lips, and a disgusting solution was expressed into his mouth. It tasted like he had licked a rotten log, then chewed a mixture of grass and spoiled meat. And the flavor quickly encompassed his mouth, overriding the acrid taste that was already there. But the disgusting flavor evaporated almost immediately, Tommy not having to swallow at all.

“She says there’s not much more,” Rast explained after Tommy clamped his mouth shut. Tonat chittered something further. “You must take the rest for it to work, she says.”

Tommy didn’t think he could shake his head no, but there was no way he was opening his mouth again. Oh, gods. I can smell it. He half gagged; afraid he was going to vomit before realizing there was nothing left to come up.

“Tonat says if you finish it, you will feel better.”

Tommy opened a single eye, glaring up at the patiently waiting sprite. She held the cloth to his lips and then nodded, motioning for him to take it into his mouth. He relented, sucking in the foul brew.

“Is he awake?” another voice asked.

“Yes. He just woke up,” Rast answered.

Tommy opened his eyes to see Keris looking down at him, his concern evident.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Terrible.”

“You look it.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Keris quirked his mouth into the thinnest of smiles, before it quickly disappeared. “Seriously, though, I’m glad you’re awake. You’ve been out for almost a day.”

Tommy groaned. “What happened?”

Keris looked at him strangely. “We were kind of hoping you’d tell us.”

“How would I know?”

“We’re pretty sure that you’re the one who did it. Whatever ‘it’ was. And you’re the only one with magic who’s awake.”

Tommy closed his eyes after seeing everyone looking down at him, then squeezed his temples with his hands. “I don’t remember a thing.” His agony was rapidly diminishing, now only a dull ache that was throbbing in time with the drums. He saw another orange flare streak across the sky, then realized he was feeling a little dizzy. “I feel strange.”

“It’s the medicine Tonat gave you,” Rast said after translating her reply. “She says it will ease your pain and your stomach, but it will also make you want to sleep. She says not to sleep if you can, and she will wake you up if you do. Oh, and don’t try to stand. She says you will fall over.”

“Don’t worry.” Tommy grunted. “There’s no way I’m trying to get up.” He rolled over onto his side, trying to get more comfortable while the fuzziness increased. “I’m staying right here.”

A moment later there was a quick breath of wind, followed by the fluttering of wings. A soft thud sounded somewhere over his shoulder, along with the sound of claws scratching on wood. He opened his eyes to see Tonat looking past him, her eyes fixated on whatever it was. Then she glanced down at him before returning to studying it once more, speaking in a soft, reverent tone.

“The forest has come to watch over you once more, she says,” Rast translated. “Tonat is wondering what it means. The bird’s been coming and going from your side ever since the fight,” Rast explained. “It wanted to perch on your shoulder at first, and protected you from anyone who came near. Tonat feared you would die because of the forest guardian’s protection; that’s what the ch’ten calls it. But it let her get close after she offered it a flower of your mother’s family. Now it just watches and studies those who come near.

“Whatever you do, do not anger that bird. It seems to like you and the sal’lian flowers, so we’ve kept the vine close. Tonat is caring for it whenever she can. But that bird is a predator, Tommy. Its claws are both long and sharp, and it has a thick, powerful beak.”

“I’m not doing a thing,” Tommy mumbled, feeling like he was floating. “I don’t even think that I could.”

Groaning, Tommy shifted his weight once again, looking up to see the bird staring down at him. He wasn’t feeling the pain as much, that much was obvious, but his neck still hurt almost the same as before. He could tell that the pain was there, but it was like it was on the other side of a curtain or screen.

“I need to sit up,” he said, the fuzzy feeling making him somehow feel restless. Tommy could have sworn the bird had glowed orange.

“Tonat wants to know if you’re sure.”

“You might not want to do that,” Keris cautioned. “You vomited your guts out a couple hours ago.”

“I need to sit up,” Tommy repeated. “There’s something digging into my back.”

There was a strange, echoing trill from somewhere behind him, tearing Tonat’s attention away from his face.

“Is that the bird?” Tommy asked, rubbing his head.

“Yes,” Rast answered.

“Like he said, it barely leaves your side,” Keris mentioned. “Seems to like you ... The rest of us? Not so much,” he added as a clacking began and repeated itself, somehow threatening with the way it sounded.

Tommy wasn’t too concerned about it; the bird wasn’t going to hurt anyone. Besides, he couldn’t possibly feel any worse than he did now. At least I don’t actually feel it. A wave of dizziness passed through him as he rolled over onto his side, then it smacked against something that stopped it before it completely overwhelmed him. Whatever Tonat gave me is sure making me feel weird, he thought as the universe wobbled a little bit. “Help me up,” he repeated. “Please.”

Tonat and the rest glanced from him to the bird resting just over his shoulder. Then Tonat spoke softly to Rast, not taking her eyes off the bird as she edged closer. She shut her eyes as the bird fluttered its wings.

“Come on, Keris. Tonat says she’ll prop him up if we can lift him. Let’s put his back up against the wagon,” Rast said.

The two sat Tommy up by the waist, the world spinning around as he moved. Tonat pushed something soft behind his back, Tommy closing his eyes to block the nauseating sensations. And then he sat up for a while, everything continuing to spin before he opened his eyes. He realized he was holding onto the wagon with every bit of his strength, then he saw dozens of Tonats staring right into his face. She chittered something from her hundreds of mouths, the sound echoing weirdly as her duplicates slowly combined back into one.

“Good, you didn’t throw up,” Rast translated. “How do you feel?”

“Which one of you is talking?” Tommy complained, seeing multiple Tonats superimposed slightly on top of each other.

“Close your eyes. The dizziness will pass.”

Tommy did as he was told, listening to the soft trilling of the bird underneath the beating of drums. Some interminable time later he opened his eyes once more, Tonat sitting quietly at his side. She nodded in recognition, chittering a question to him.

“She asks how you feel.”

“A little dizzy; floating almost. My head and neck are killing me, but I can barely feel it.” He thought about it some more. “I might be a little thirsty. It’s hard to tell.”

“You can have something more to drink in a while. It’s not good for you to drink if you’ve injured your brain. She’s worried about giving you more medicine. You have all the signs you took a blow to the head even though there’s not a mark on you. She’s worried it has something to do with your magic. Stay here and rest, Tonat’s going to check on the others. She wants me to stay with you,” Rast finished as Tonat got up to leave.

Tommy rested his head back against the wagon, the wood refreshingly cool against his skin. He allowed his eyes to close, listening to the sounds of the troop all around him. But he could have sworn he was floating. The drums were still sounding somewhere to his left, and the random clacking and trilling of the bird came every now and then over his shoulder.

“You still with us, Tommy?” Keris asked.

“Yeah. The light hurts my eyes. Where is everyone?”

“They’re all over.” Keris grunted. “First and second ranks are deployed around us in pairs. The ch’ten, the archers, and you are all that’s down here by the lake.”

Tommy nodded, tensing his way through another wave of dizziness. “The elves left?”

There was a pause, and then an even longer one without a reply. Tommy cracked a single eye open, looking Keris’s way and wondering if he’d blacked out again.

“No ... They’re down here too,” Keris admitted, glancing at Rast.

“The elves are … being guarded,” Rast said.

There was the soft sound of something hitting the earth, followed by a ruffled commotion that started right there beside him. A repetitive clacking ensued, seemingly demanding his attention. Tommy turned his head, the bird standing on the ground only a short distance away. It was looking at him, its golden eyes intently fixed upon his face. Then it cocked its head to the side, almost as if it was asking if he was okay, and then watched him as if it was awaiting a response. So Tommy grunted, the bird shifting its shoulders and puffing its feathers out before settling back on its feet.

He sensed no hostility from the bird as it trilled once more, then snapped its jaws rapidly together to make the clacking noise he’d heard. It made a wobbling hop towards him, getting closer, almost to within arm’s reach. Then it froze, looking off to his left before making another sound. A hauntingly hollow whistle emerged this time, that seemed to convey some meaning. Then it met his gaze before spreading its wings. Beating them strongly, it lifted itself up off the ground to hover above him, before it flew proudly off into the sky.

Tommy watched the bird as it headed off further inland. Its brilliant orange secondaries glimmered in the sun as it passed directly over the drums he now noticed, manned by members of the ch’ten. There were two of them there, beating on the drums in a slow, steady cadence, somehow in time with his heart. And they looked strange, Tommy studying them for a while before figuring out.

Both of the sprites were without shirts, their bare chests exposed to the sky. There was something painted on them, an outlandish design that swirled around their bodies, drawn in a reddish-brown ink. The design all but glowed to Tommy’s vision; that, and the marks upon their faces. And it all seemed somehow a savage portrayal of nature, making them look both deadly and grim.

Looking past between the two drummers were Tonat and the child, kneeling over a line of resting figures. It took Tommy a moment to realize that they were his parents, along with Mikus and Saress, and his heart surged for them in concern. All of them were exceedingly pale, not a single one making a bit of movement in the least. And Saress was absolutely covered in bandages, various feather and leather adornments arranged around her in a deliberate pattern.

“What’s going on? What’s wrong with Da’? With all of them?” Tommy asked, struggling to pierce the fog that was clouding his mind.

Keris frowned, reaching down to lay a steadying hand on his shoulder. “The elves, they hit us good. They separated the leaders from the rest of us with some kind of spell, then took you all down one by one. I think they were after your mother, Tommy, but I’m not really sure.”

“What’s wrong with N’Taii?” Tommy asked, fear fighting against the medicine while he watched Tonat wipe away a puddle of drool.

“If you’re meaning your mom, Tonat doesn’t know,” Rast answered. “But your father took a blow to the head; a couple times, we think. Mikus has been stabbed ... and Saress … We’re doing everything we can for Saress.”

“Is everyone going to be okay?”

Keris and Rast looked at each other before answering. “We don’t know.”

Tommy swallowed, looking back towards his parents, then he noticed something even further away, his vision going in and out of focus once more. It was several somethings, he realized, then he realized those somethings were someones. He closed his eyes, reopening them and fighting to focus, but the medicine was interfering with his vision as well. “Who’s that over there?”

“The elves.” Keris sighed.

“What are they doing over there? They’re not moving.”

Rast shifted his weight, frowning in Keris’s direction. “Don’t worry about the elves, Tommy,” Rast answered him. “The ch’ten has the elves under control.”

Keris snorted. “That’s one way of describing it,” he muttered, eyeing the sprite. He looked like he was going to say something else but decided against it. “Rest up, Tommy. We need you on your feet. I’ll check back in a bit. I need to make my rounds.”

Tommy glanced at him in confusion, seeing him looking at Rast once more. Even in his drugged state Tommy was picking up on Keris’s anger … and maybe frustration … but Keris remained silent and walked away.

“Keris?” Tommy called after, but Keris just sighed and kept on going.

“Rest, Tommy. I’ll be back soon,” Rast said, and shortly thereafter the fog on his mind returned.

Rast wandered over to Tonat and started helping with whatever she was doing, both of them glancing Keris’s way from time to time. And Keris ignored them, going about his duties, noticeably not talking to a single member of the ch’ten.

Tommy followed their work with his eyes, not really thinking much about it before looking past towards the elves. Then he blinked, his vision slowly clearing as he finally began to realize what it was he was seeing. And the scene he now witnessed dragged him out of his drugged haze to one who was watching him.

Off to the side, only a short distance away, was the elf Ari had introduced him to. Falia, she said her name was, her old maid. Falia met his eyes before quickly glancing away, and he could almost feel the fear coming off her. She was relatively unscathed, and he didn’t understand her nervousness. So, he followed her gaze, focusing upon what he next saw.

Except for Falia, the rest of elves’ heads had slumped limply from where they’d been tied. And as he studied them through his quickly diminishing haze, he realized every single last one of the elves was unconscious, sitting on the ground, tied to the poles the blankets had hung from only a few days before. Their hands and mouths were harshly bound, bruises visible on more than one of their faces, with cuts, scabs, injuries, and swelling left completely unattended. And a few of them were obviously still bleeding, their skin and clothes stained and caked with drying blood, not a bit of which had been cleaned.

Tommy had never seen such a thing. The condition of the elves shocked him enough to fight against the medicine to clear it away from his mind. Then Falia glanced his way once more, motioning with her eyes since her head could not. Tommy noticing only then that all of the elves’ heads were strapped to the poles, just as their bodies had been.

And it was then that he saw what Falia was trying to point out to him. Him, and everyone else in the troop who’d been injured, were about a bowshot away from the elves, maybe a bow shot and a half, he wasn’t quite sure. But surrounding the elves were the ch’ten, and as he looked further, the rest of the archers as well. They circled the elves in pairs, just like they did whenever the troop was in motion, one watching in front while the other kept watch out behind. And just like when they were travelling, every single one of them carried an arrow that was knocked to their bow, instantly able to fire if need be.

There was no cover anywhere between the elves and the surrounding archers, not a single place they could hide. And Tommy noticed there was something even stranger about the arrows the archers were carrying, something sticking out that was abnormal to his mind. Every single arrow was coated in some kind of substance, some grayish-green goo, slathered upon each and every one.

Something about the goo caused even further caution. The oddly glowing paste screaming ‘sickly’ to his mind, in the same way the paint on the ch’ten screamed both wild and feral. And Tommy realized what it was that was bothering him about the colors that just barely seemed to glow; a light that nobody else seemed to notice as another headache started to form behind his eyes.

Tonat was caring for his family, Falia desperately meeting his eyes as he struggled even more against his drugged haze. And then he discovered a moment of cold clarity, realizing what it was that he saw.

The sprites looked like death to his vision. And the arrows they held screamed poison to his mind.

The Forest Calls

Tommy spent the remainder of the previous day going in and out of consciousness, despite his concerns. Whatever the medicine was doing to him, it did help. He could tell he would have thrown up over and over again if not for the potion Tonat was making him take. But no matter how much of the foul-tasting concoction he sucked out of that cloth, it only masked the symptoms he actually had.

He’d eventually been able to get up though, staggering a short distance away with Rast’s help to relieve himself. And it was a sign of how bad he was feeling that he hadn’t been embarrassed by that in the least. But he’d sunk gratefully to the ground when he returned, the short distance he’d gone just enough to wear him out.

He remained miserable, but it did help that everyone stopped by to talk and see how he was doing. No one would talk to him about the elves, though.

Sometime well after sunset on the second day, Tonat brought him some of the broth they’d been feeding Silverlake’s survivors, allowing him to sip the thin broth through a cloth. He glanced towards the survivors while he drank, and realized it now seemed like ages ago they’d been rescued. Then he wondered how they were doing.

Most likely better than me, he grumped, dumbly observing the motionless figures. Tommy noticed the old man Tonat had helping care for them turn his head in Tommy’s direction, with his wrap still over his eyes. What was his name?... Alantin, that was it. And then he remembered the conversation where Alantin had said he was a monk, and how the blind man’s eyes cast swiftly around before wrapping the black cloth of his order over his eyes he’d been so worried about. But Tommy wasn’t too concerned about Alantin right there in that moment, or any of the survivors for that matter. Nope. He wasn’t too worried about them in the least.

Not when his entire family was still completely unconscious, and there was nothing anyone was willing to do to get them on their feet.

His da’ was the least injured, just a simple knot on the head that was growing a bruise. Tonat said that beyond the mark, there was nothing physically wrong with him. But when she’d lifted one of his da’s eyelids, his eyes were moving rapidly back and forth as his pupils expanded and contracted, with no apparent reason behind it. Tonat said he was now ‘in a dreaming’, whatever that meant, and his da’ shouldn’t be awakened or disturbed. So, she refused to do anything further beyond making him comfortable, saying he would come out of it whenever he did.

Mikus had been slashed and stabbed here and there all over his body, and Tommy vaguely remembered him taking a blow to his head as well. Karn and Turred hadn’t been too concerned about his wounds though, simply cataloguing all of the places where he’d been hurt and saying he would heal from them in time. They helped Tonat bind his wounds and then said some words over him, something about defending and then something else about ‘the Maker’, then told Tommy he’d most likely wake up in a day or two. They helped Tommy pick out a bead from an assortment they carried, weaving it into Mikus’s thick beard below the rest. The two dwarves relaxed noticeably when Mikus eventually started to snore, the black hairs of his beard gusting away from his mouth whenever he exhaled.

Ari, though, Tonat was worried about, but she was doing her best not to show it or say anything at all. She wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding her concern, though, speaking about his N’Taii in the same dispassionate way Mum used to whenever someone was seriously ill. She was trying to make it seem as if everything was alright … But Tommy wasn’t dumb, and he didn’t think the fact that his mother was still drooling was a very good sign. Or that she still remained unconscious, either.

He’d tried to reach out to Ari with his Tol to see if there was anything he could do, but his pathways were on fire and the pain was insane. Attempting to even touch his Tol that first time had made him pass out, and Tonat had harshly scolded him when he’d woken back up, then explained what it was he’d been trying to do. She’d made him promise not to try to again, not flinching even once when the bird landed nearby as she pelted him with harsh words. So, he grudgingly complied.

But it took everything he could to just sit there while he listened to his mother periodically moan. The desperate, animalistic sounds that spread around her like a mist were haunting him, and they only stopped when she was able to stay in physical contact with his da’.

The worst out of them all was Saress. Tonat spent almost every waking moment beside his adopted sister, always doing or fiddling with some thing. Tonat kept Saress unclothed, only covered by the thinnest of sheets, and her private places were periodically exposed for everyone to see. But not a single member of the troop took note of it, every one of them respecting her privacy while she was treated. For Saress had one slash after another marking her entire body, and every last one of them was weeping blood all over her form. The blood was constantly being cleared off, and he’d noticed there were so many cuts on her chest that some of the bandages covered two or three at a time.

But the injury that Tonat was worried about the most was one of the smallest wounds he saw, right below Saress’s left breast. There were bubbles of blood coming out of it, staining and sticking to the fine fur that Tommy now knew covered her entire body. And Tonat kept putting a particular leaf on it, pressing it down into the wound until it seemed to seal itself, forming a semi-solid scab along with the rest.

Tonat ordered members of the ch’ten to leave camp whenever her supply of the leaves got low, and sometimes the sprites came back with more of the leaf ... and other times they didn’t. Something about not having that leaf denoted some urgency, something the rest of the sprites knew and agreed with. And the lack of the leaf was something that seemed to wither their hope.

All of this he’d gradually picked up on as he slipped in and out of consciousness throughout the day. He’d been worried at first, asking question after question while working himself up, but the medicine Tonat had given him seemed to work a calming haze over his mind. He wanted to worry, and some part of Tommy was doing just that. But between the medicine, how bad he felt, and how attentively Tonat took care of his family, it put his mind slowly to ease.

Keris came by periodically to check on him; the one time Tommy had only woken up enough to notice when he was leaving. It made him feel safe knowing Keris was around, that all of the troop was around for that matter, and he caught nods of acknowledgement whenever somebody walked by. But the members of the troop closest to him had another duty, a duty that they were taking very seriously, and acknowledgements from them were few and far between.

The guards on the elves were so intent they ignored everything else around them, the sprites almost fanatically so. The elves were in the middle of the field with everything around them cleared away, so there was absolutely no cover for them even if the elves somehow managed to get out of their restraints. Someone had even torn up some of the taller grasses, and one of the larger bushes had been completely removed in what Tommy thought was an overabundance of caution.

Feet, knees, waists, necks, mouths, and hands were bound on each of the elves, and they’d been stripped of everything down to their underclothes. The only one that had been allowed to keep any of her clothing was Falia, but even she was bound to a pole like all the rest. And those straps were tightly secured to the poles behind them. There was absolutely nowhere for the elves to go, not even if they were suddenly able to.

And the ch’ten seemed eager for the elves to try, their ears perking up whenever one of them moved.

The prisoners had apparently been sitting on the hard ground ever since they had been captured two nights before. It had to be uncomfortable to be bound like that, but not a single effort had been made to provide any relief beyond what the troop had already done.

Which was not a solitary damned thing.

Anytime one of the elves so much as twitched, an alert would go up from the surrounding sprites. Arrows were drawn back and aimed from the archer’s positions, and then one of the sprites would coat his blade with a greenish-grey substance. Creeping forward while staying out of the archer’s direct line of sight, the sprite would slice the elf with that treated blade. Then shortly thereafter the elf in question would stop moving, the sprite backing away just as cagily as he’d first approached.

The only alteration to the routine was for the older elf, the one who’d originally been in robes. That one would receive a sharp blow to his head along with the cut, and not a single member of the troop said a word about the sprite’s calculated abuse.

Needless to say, Falia didn’t move much, her eyes wide with unquestionable fear. But Tommy awoke sometime later that evening to Tonat and a few of the others leading her a short distance away to relieve herself. Archers stayed within range on either side the whole time, and Keris admonished her not to speak, and Falia hadn’t. The elf visibly shaking as Tommy drifted off to sleep while they secured her back into place when she was done.

The other elves were apparently left to soil themselves on their posts. Tommy vaguely remembered Keris and Rast arguing about that along with some others, a lot of chittering going on while the medicine forced him to sleep.

It was in the early hours of the night when something woke Tommy up, and he opened his eyes to the stars twinkling softly overhead. The smaller of the two moons was full, its bright light making it easy to see, while the larger was following it across the sky, its pale glow only adding to the smaller moon’s shimmer.

He was lying flat on his back, the bird perched on the wagon above him. Its head was tucked beneath one of its wings, the sal’lian vine wrapped around the post that it slept on. It was … peaceful … and he closed his eyes to go back to sleep.

“Tommy, Tonat needs you,” Rast said, shaking his shoulder again.

By the light of the twin moons, he easily noticed the concern on Rast’s face. The sprite seemed edgy, and Tommy’s sluggish thoughts struggled for clarity as he picked up on the sprite’s mood. “What’s going on?” Tommy mumbled, rubbing the roof of his mouth with his tongue while he struggled to sit.

“It is for Tonat to say,” Rast answered with obvious unease, glancing quickly her way. “Come, Tonat needs you.”

The drums were still beating. In fact, they had never stopped. Members of the ch’ten from earlier in the day had traded out with two others to ensure the rhythm never stopped, and the one drumming now wore some kind of woven thing around his arm.

Tommy had never asked about the drumming, assuming it had something to do with the odd intensity the sprites displayed, but there was something about it that now pulled at him. Some new thing that expressed itself inside the constant, never changing sound. A judgement or anticipation maybe, that filled the air around them with its poignancy.

“Where’s Tonat?” Tommy yawned, turning his head to look.

“She is with your family. Can you stand?”

“I don’t know ... I think so.”

Rast motioned to someone behind him, another member of the ch’ten coming into view. They struggled to help him onto his feet with how wobbly he was, then with slow, staggering steps, they made it to where the wounded lay, helping him to sit by Saress’s side.

Tonat was there with an assortment of pouches and plants, working her mortar and pestle at a feverish pace. She was adding various things to it in exacting steps, the sounds of the drums coming stronger, pulsing their way through him with how near he now was. Tommy noticed Saress was completely naked once more, her wounds undressed and exposed to the air. They had been packed with an assortment of things, and the blood and fluid that oozed from them, tracked its way across her all but translucent fur like her body was weeping stylish tattoos. Tommy caught himself staring at them and then noted their odd color, especially around the wounds on her chest.

Saress let out a slow, rattling wheeze, and then paused. A long, pregnant moment passed before she sucked in another breath, and then the whole cycle started again. It was only then that Tommy realized she was barely breathing.

Tonat started barking rapidly to Rast, still kneeling by her side. “Saress is trying to die,” Rast translated. “She has already died once this night, and if I give her any more of this, she will die no matter what I do, even if it keeps her alive for now. You have trained with the Lady to heal. Your protector needs you, favored one. If you do nothing, she will join her ancestors in the forest before the night is through.”

Tonat looked up to meet his eyes. “It is time for you to use what you have learned.”

Tommy blinked, becoming suddenly and shockingly aware. Tonat’s tension was obvious. The sprite matron looked haggard, with deep circles sagging underneath her eyes, but she barely spared him a glance. She was wholly focused on treating Saress, and Tommy’s head began throbbing with the sudden tension.

“Ari said I could kill someone if I tried to heal on my own.”

Tonat frowned, adding her saliva to the mixture she was making. “She will die if you do not.”

Saress let out another breath. The agonizingly slow, rattling wheeze made its way out of her chest, and then her body paused. And paused. And paused again.

And then again.

Tommy was waiting for her to take another breath when Tonat leapt forward, thumping one of her fists into Saress’s chest. Saress’s whole body jerked as she was struck, then her body spasmed before sucking in another breath, the air rattling weakly in. Tonat stayed perched over top of her, completely frozen, watching and waiting while Saress weakly breathed.

“There. Your guardian tried to become one with the forest once more. I will not let death come to your protector if I can prevent it. Will you?”

Tommy was scared to death, millions of things racing away in his head. This was his adopted sister lying there, his Taii. They had only met a month ago, but he knew there was no way he would let her die. Not with everything she’d done for him; for them. But there were limits to what he could do.

“Tonat, I don’t know how to heal,” Tommy implored. “I’ve watched N’Taii do it, sure, tons of times. Helped out a bunch, too. But she’s never taught me a single thing about how to do it on my own ...” A tear formed in his eye. “Tonat, I could kill her.”

There was a sound from behind him followed by a thud, another one of the elves being slugged most likely, but they both ignored it. Tonat slowly moved to sit by Saress’s side, all the while holding him in her gaze. She looked eerily wise to him in that moment, more so than anyone he ever remembered seeing had ever been.

“I have no knowledge of how you and the Lady heal, but you are of the San’ten’tol’s get. You must use your fs’swill, favored one, or death will come to your guardian this night.”

“Fs’swill basically means ‘life force’ to those of the deep forest, Tommy; your soul. She’s talking about your magic,” Rast explained, the new word crossing the sprite’s tongue like the call of a bird. Then Rast chittered something to Tonat, Tonat nodding and piercing Tommy again with her gaze.

“You have been given a gift, young wanderer, and now you are being presented a choice. The gift you have been given is here,” she patted his chest, “and here,” she placed her hand on his head. “The forest has blessed you and your family with powerful fs’swill. I see it through the guide it has sent you, the life it has given, and by the power of your line.” She waved a hand towards the bird, then at the flower, before nodding Ari and his da’s way. “The forest has honored you, young one, but only you can choose to use the gifts it has given. I do not believe the forest would give you such things if it did not have a plan.”

Tonat sat back, glancing over his shoulder towards the elves and the continuing noise there. But she quickly returned her gaze to his own. “However, it is up to you. No one can walk the path the forest provides for another. But no matter what that path has in store for you, favored one, your protector, your guardian, will not live through the night if nothing is done.

“The forest calls out for her to rest, young mage, and the call of the forest is strong.”

A Desperate Healing

Tommy ignored the increasing noise behind him, a sharper smack sounding in the night before the commotion finally ceased. He watched his adopted sister breathe. Every exhalation followed by a longer and longer pause before she weakly sucked in her air once more. She was breathing like a fish out of water, each rattling breath weaker than before. And he was entirely numb, utterly unprepared for what Tonat was asking him to do.

Terrified of the responsibility Tonat was asking of him, risks he barely knew began flying wildly around in his head. But taking a deep cleansing breath, he held onto them, studying the risks he found within. And as he watched the breath escape his sister’s lips, he accepted his fear for what it was before making the only choice he could. He wouldn’t let her down.

“I’ll do what I can,” Tommy said as a breath nervously escaped him. “I’ll never be able to live with myself if I don’t.”

He settled himself, turning his gaze inward, and something rose out of the depths inside him. It brought with it both comfort and pain, something he was glad he could ignore, but attempting to reach past that initial moment was torture.

“Nnnnnnngh,” escaped his lips as he moaned, his pathways afire while he tried to grab ahold of his Tol. “Gods, it hurts. The pain …” he groaned as his Tol slipped lithely through his mental fingers while he attempted to hold on. Every time he managed to touch it, a strobe of brilliance preceded more pain.

His pathways felt savagely burnt, and as he looked around his inner landscape the damage became more clear. He saw a ravaged forest underneath a violent storm, with flashes of golden brilliance lighting his inner landscape in flickering moments of time. Deep, basso thunder rumbled and shook after each and every strike, savagely disrupting the verdant scene. Then shadows residing beneath the forest’s eaves attempted to cool the harsh light, the gloom somehow easing his pain.

“Pain …” escaped his lips without him even being aware of it, Tommy barely holding onto his sanity as it was. He’d reached beyond what he could tolerate, the jagged teeth of this burning torment shredding its way back and forth across his soul. He lost himself further with every blinding light. Only his experience with the pain and exhaustion from assisting Ari’s many healings let him endure the agony he did.

He came to a point where he could no longer think. There was a strobe of light and more pain, such exquisite pain. He was desperate. He had to let go.

“It’s too much,” he gasped, panting with his exertion. “I can barely think, and my pathways are raw. I can touch my Tol, but that’s about it … and even that hurts. I can’t do anything else because of the pain.”

There was some kind of protest followed by a sharper thud, someone chittering sharply behind him. Tonat glanced towards the commotion and then back again, judging him with her eyes. “The medicine I have been giving you has worn off, yes?”

“Pretty much.” Tommy panted, wiping sweat from his brow.

“If you did not have to fight the pain, could you do more?”

“I guess? I mean, I don’t really know.” Tommy massaged his head, the pain from holding onto his Tol settling into a miserable ache.

“Are you willing to try, young mage?”

“Yeah ...” Tommy hedged, rubbing his temples some more.

“Then I will give you more.” Tonat nodded, turning and chittering something to Ahton who bent and began sorting through Tonat’s herbs. She paused before saying something else, Ahton glancing at her in surprise before rooting through a different pouch. Then he stood, reverently holding a few jagged leaves out to her that had white veins.

“I do not have time to mix the drink, so you must chew the leaves whole,” Tonat instructed. “Chew this along with them,” she said, putting something else in his hand. “The flavor will be strong.”

“Thanks,” Tommy complained, remembering the foul taste of the drink before folding the greyish-green leaves around the rest. He was about to say something else, but Saress took that moment to take an especially long pause before breathing. He shoved the leaves into his mouth, ignoring the intense taste, a distinctly sweet flavor mixing with the harsh bitterness of the rest. But he bit into them anyway, chewing through the stems that were seemingly bursting with fluid.

The bitter caused his mouth to almost instantly dry out, his tongue feeling thick and tight in his mouth. Then his entire jaw went numb as a flavor as sweet as honey swept through him, and set his senses alight.

Tommy barely noticed as the sprites lowered him to lay flat on the ground beside Saress. The various sensations spreading through him passed over him from his head to his feet. Like some kind of indomitable wall, the bitter’s slow, steady progression set itself up to combat his pain, leaving Tommy able to tell that the pain remained, but not allowing him to feel it at all. Then a sweet, heavenly feeling swept along in the bitter’s wake, and then a tingling spread, rising like a sun over the land.

There was another commotion and a thud, the thud this time not stopping whatever was causing the noise. But whatever was making it, Tommy didn’t care. Not with what he was feeling. Not in the least. He felt as if his body was floating, lifting him up to meet this rising sun.

No, that’s not right ... The sun is coming to me …

He didn’t know; nor did he care. Whatever that honey-sweet flavor was doing, it was only happening on his side of the wall that the bitter had made. And the way that it felt, felt …

… Good ...

Someone opened his eyes; he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them. Then someone spoke something to him, at least he thought someone did. He didn’t know. Whoever it was, it didn’t matter. He was watching the storm and its lightning crashing over a forest on the other side of the wall, while a brilliant gold sun shone in the distance right through. And the sun’s rays? They felt …

… Glorious ...

Someone was speaking to him again. He could tell what they wanted even though he had no idea what it was that they said. He reached out towards one of those glorious rays, a flashing brilliance flaring on the other side of the pain. She asked him something, demanded it of him really. Another flash, another flare, his mind seeing what it was that they wanted, over there in the distance. And the rays caressed him as he floated her way, observing everything around.

“I need to touch her,” he answered the persistent questioning. He was bathed in the various lights of his soul, while a golden web appeared off in the distance. It was faint, coming closer, and he was enjoying the heat from its rays.

Whoever it was, was demanding something more. He could actually see his pain. Away, over there, on the other side of his pathways. On the other side of the wave; the other side of this light. Lights that were forming everywhere.

She asked something of him once more. Compelled. Demanded, really. She seemed really concerned.

“I don’t know any other way,” he answered her, dreamily watching various things form. He was basking in the decadent heat of the light. Its golden rays, enticing him.

There was even more commotion around him now. Maybe behind him, maybe far away. He didn’t care. He felt hands set upon him, holding him, moving him, linking his hands with Saress. Then he heard the bird’s call, the beating of wings changing tempo, someone exclaiming excitedly nearby ... or far away. Maybe in the distance.

He didn’t know.

He gripped and held on to someone’s arm, then something wet passed underneath his fingers, something broken, someone unwhole. It was Saress. How he knew it was her, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. All he could see was the light.

His mind was blanking, wholly subsumed by the sensations he was now feeling. He heard someone yelling at him not to swallow, to spit it out, followed by another sharp thud. Then there was a yell, a scream, a second and third sharp sound, all of which was then followed by a moaning complaint. The barking and chittering was reaching new heights.

Then someone was opening his mouth, clearing it of the leaves. Another person was yelling, while a third now yelled in return. The drama was nearing its crescendo, but Tommy didn’t care in the least. He was currently floating, floating on the sensations that now filled him with peace.

That sweet flavor was caressing and numbing his body, as if the essence was stroking him with exquisitely fine hands. The bitterness was shielding him, protecting him from his horrible pain. His back arched, the wave crashed, the numbness now rapidly spread. Then the sun began to glow even more, its bright light tantalizing and eclipsing his senses, his inner landscape healing before his eyes.

Someone was shouting at him, demanding if he was okay. The voice penetrated his effervescent haze. Why? People were grabbing at him. Why wouldn’t I be okay? He stretched out with his mind. Oh, hey. I have ahold of my Tol.

The sun was shining through a webwork of gold, gleaming off the shadowy storm hovering over top of the now verdant trees. It was glorious; both beautiful and stupendous. All he wanted was to rest, to bask there, but someone was shaking him. He opened his eyes, even though his inner vista was now all he could see.

There were golden tendrils of light everywhere around him, connecting everyone to every single last thing. He didn’t know if his eyes were open or closed. It didn’t matter, he saw them anyway. A beautifully crafted webwork of Tol that dazzled and glistened its way all over the world around him. He bathed in its light before travelling its paths. And it connected him to ...

… Everything ...

Someone was excitedly speaking to him, someone he knew. But no matter this person’s wants or desires, they barely broached the wonder of what he could see. There was a strand for home, and there was the one for his da’. That one there was for N’Taii, that green one there. And as he looked at her thread, strands branched off of it in endless directions in a pattern so intricate it was almost impossible to behold.

He felt himself lifting, exploring, gazing in wonder at everything around. There were more hands on him, multiple threads of light now connecting his strand to their own. That one there was Tonat, and over there was Ahton. Someone was tying his hands to Saress, twining his fingers into her own, while someone else, a sprite whose name meant the swiftness of a running fox, laid himself bodily over his chest to hold him down.

It was so peaceful. The light lifted him up. The radiance was caressing him with a music all of its own. The beating of wings descended to land on him, a fiery orange distraction in comparison to the symphony he now heard.

Someone was screaming at him, and he lazily turned his attention their way. It was Tonat reminding him of his sister, of his duty, their need. Remembering him to Saress, while insistently desperate for his attention. And he looked to their now bound hands, following her arm to the face of his valiant protector.

Her golden strand thinned as he watched it. It was weakening, separating itself from the veil. It was attempting to flee.

I think I was supposed to heal her … wasn’t I? Why would I do that? Why should I refuse to allow her to go free?

He followed her strand into the distance, seeing a welcoming light, there on the horizon. And then he remembered Di’ii. He remembered her passing, the glorious moment, Di’ii’s onset of peace. And Saress’s strand was similarly fraying, piece by indelible piece. He couldn’t even imagine her pain; she was almost set free.

What am I supposed to do? Stop this? My sister’s soul is about to find her freedom. To finally find peace.

He caressed and joined with her decaying strand, feeling her other connections, the fraying attachments to N’Taii. Then his mother’s forest came sharply into focus as he watched it, and he followed that connection to … N’Taa … Da’? … and its smokey flavor blowing through on the breeze.

It reminded him of his hidden Tol, that part of him that he could never control, the part that was now rising up to protect him. Lightning flared and thundered while he acknowledged it, welcomed it, as it rained its fury down upon a mountain set deep within the forest below. A peak that was hidden, yet his; forever, just out of reach.

He gathered the light of his family around him, another strand stretching strangely into the distance. And he held them, felt them, sheltered them there in his arms. Their approval and love for him radiating its way to where he now was. They were all connected to Saress, and he wouldn’t let them down. Or anyone that he loved.

But he needed more light.

So, he grabbed Mikus; Mikus’s strand strangely heavy to his mind. He turned it and joined it to the others he held, stroking them to release their feelings of love and approval that they held within. Then in his whimsy he grabbed another, and another, and another one after that. Until he held all of the strands that he could with his mind.

It became a shaft of pure light.

Someone, something, was trying to get his attention, attempting to pry him away from what he beheld. They pestered him with their animalistic cants and phrases, the ones thrumming along with the bass-like beat. The words themselves were unimportant, their discordant meanings filtering through with the light. They were saying something about healing. There was another flash of orange.

Oh, right.

He was supposed to be healing Saress. He looked down through the brilliance towards the web he now held, feeling the webwork’s approval to separate Saress’s light from the rest. He merged with her, suddenly completely inside of her, her entire fraying form before him to see. And he bathed what he found in the light of his combined brilliance, opening a new doorway, and stepped forth into what he could now see.

Saress’s savannah was spread out before him, the plains of who she was, blowing on the breeze. He found himself walking under the warm, gentle rays of the sun. Golden grasses waving freely, tickling and caressing him while he passed. And he kissed a blade of grass with his fingers, glorying in all that she was, and everything he could see.

But he stepped out from those magnificent grasslands into a patch that was withered and dried. The peace here completely destroyed, bare patches surrounding him like a great fire had ripped and burnt its way through. And it still raged, Tommy noticing fires and flames in the distance. Then he noticed the pits and the dikes in the earth before him, the remnants of a great churning that had abused the harmony of life he could see.

Tommy had no idea what it all meant, watching a yellowish-orange light bubbling out to fade away into the sky. He followed it, rising from the ground, able to see everything around him once more. Then the amber light disappeared into the web; he didn’t know what it meant.

Maybe N’Taii does. Mother would know. Which strand is hers? Not that one. That’s Mum. Mum wouldn’t know. Wasn’t Ari’s just here? Yes, there she is. Maybe I should ask her? he thought as he gathered her strand to his own.

The verdant greens and golds of his mother surrounded him as he joined with brilliance of her strand. He looked around, a smokey darkness flickering like a shadow beneath her trees. The union there was almost complete, but he didn’t have time to explore their melding now, another fraying strand breaking off from the rest of Saress.

He prodded his mother into awareness. Bathing her in his brilliance, he flicked away a ruddy cobweb of light, and the unnatural red slumber it caused. Ari? N’Taii? How do I help her? What should I do?

Suddenly, he remembered healing the sprites, the memory coming from outside of his own. He saw the brilliant blue light diffusing into the sprites’ bodies like rain. The sprites absorbing the magical flow, growing, healing, and rising above the plain.

But there is no water. Another part of Saress’s golden thread snapped, her savannah still burning. There weren’t many strands left. I must find water. He couldn’t let anyone down.

He gazed about and found there was a strand that was flecked with the deepest of blues. That blue led to another, and then another, until the blues combined and deepened till it reminded him of the Serensea back home. Its cool deep waters were a sea he now held in his hand.

He heard the distant thunder of his storm; the forest now rising to comfort him. The lightning struck, an onyx rain fell, but the ebon storm was doing nothing for Saress. The grassland remained brown.

There was no water there on the plain. The forest embraced and comforted him as he glanced towards the blue in his hand. He had a new thought. I must become rain.

So, he rained.

He had no idea what it was that he did, but he did it. Absorbing every blue fiber he found, he mixed them into the swirling greys and golds of his soul and rained it all down onto Saress. The storm he made rode on a verdant breeze to cast its healing shadow over the plains, while golden strobes of light flared across the sky as it raged over them both. Onyx rivers combined with the blue of the rain to extinguish the flames, and the fires hissed and spat until nothing was left. Then the earth turned a muddy though healthy brown, settling and reforming over time, before a healthy green grass now grew.

And while all of this was happening, he floated on a sea of glorious exaltation, only adding to it whatever he felt was right. Letting the exquisite feelings flow over him, they passed through him, spreading their joy to the plains. And wherever they touched, they healed, and whatever they healed felt right.

And so did he.

One of the strands he saw slowly reddened, joining with a sunset now trying to rise in the distance. He attempted to join with it, enticed by its cardinal glow. But there was a shout, a fear, a panicked scrambling away as the chittering cant continued unabated. A strike, a thump, a sharp pain suddenly hitting that crimson strand. His thunder speaking, a darkness growing, an orange light fluttering down from above that was caressed by his storm. Then the sunset passed, diminishing, fading away until it was totally unaware, utterly eclipsed by his light.

Time went on, the bitter wall shook, the sweet-tasting ecstasy staying strong without abandoning him. An indeterminate amount of time passed, the sweetness diminished, the strands in his hands absorbing the succulent light.

He felt like he was floating, drifting away towards the golden sun on the horizon. He wanted to bathe in its heavenly light, but vermillion wings were holding him back. Someone was laying on top of him, and were holding him down. He could not leave, he could not follow, so he did whatever he felt was right.

He continued to rain, feeding her the colors that surrounded him. The colors that added to everything he saw.

Time passed, and he felt himself fade. Someone was urgently speaking to him, calling him away from the lights that he saw. She whispered and cajoled to him, telling him who he was, what it was that needed to be done. And he rode that gilded web back towards the insistent speaker, heeding her call to meld with her verdant light. He reached out his hands to the forest and it welcomed him, then shortly thereafter he was greeted by the smokey darkness as well.

And then he saw the totality of the damage that had been done to them. How the forest was wrought through with a red that both strangled and smothered it. A red that was powerful, a red that was wrong, tying her to something that was so far away. And so he removed it, pulling it like a weed while still raining the last of what he had gathered to feed the forest he was renewing.

The shadow surged.

He was tired. Running fox was still there beside him, still pressing him down to the earth. His storm was soon over, the lightning having long since gone away. The clouds drifted slowly over the forest on a new, gentle breeze, a golden light being guided by the greens and golds of the wood to shine on the savannah beside them. And the grasslands there were once again strong, amber waves of its grasses blowing in the breeze as the last of the rain was absorbed. His clouds remaining to guard. The damage disappearing as he drifted to lay his head down on the forest’s soft eaves. Its rocking bows urging him to rest.

There was a final toll of thunder, and then not a single sound but the breeze. It sang to him, lulled him, shushed him. Spoke to him with both peace and harmony as it moved through the grasses and the trees. The smokey darkness rose up from below to support him, protecting him while not scaring him. Then the golden webwork faded and drifted slowly away as he watched it, totally comfortable in where he now lay.

The sweetness left him, and then the bitter did too.

He felt calm … calm and now whole. And then he effortlessly stretched, before contentedly opening his eyes.

The golden sun was coloring the sky, high overhead. He heard an eagle cry, seeing his bird flying high amongst the clouds. The drums of the sprites were thrumming their heady rhythm, much faster than they ever had before, and the sprites were chanting, an eerie, haunting cadence that both whistled and chirped like a bird.

One of their more vulpine members was staring incredulously at him, and Tonat was staring at him too, but he didn’t care, fully overcome by the peace he now felt. He closed his eyes, sighing as a wave of pure rapture crested and crashed over him. Then a shadow passed overhead, and so he opened his eyes once more.

Arisaylia Saliantrea, his mother, his teacher, N’Taii, was looking down at him. Her green and gold eyes were glowing with a brilliant inner light that he’d never before seen. She looked at him with both wonder and worry, her astonishment plain as the last of the greyish-gold light around him drifted away on the breeze. Then his father moved to stand behind her, his shadow spreading over them both, his pride clear for Tommy to see.

Ari reached down and gently stroked Tommy’s cheek, laying a soft kiss on his brow.

“Tommy … Tomilanthus … Taa’ni … we must speak.”

The Coming of the Elves

Sergeant Garret Moran of the Redtail Guard was wondering exactly which of the lost gods had blessed him to deserve this. It’d been nine blissfully uneventful days since Commander Arnet had returned to Redtail, and absolutely nothing had happened, not a single bloody thing. Oldsby, him, and the rest of the men had enjoyed their rest, repairing and recovering from the terrible assault on Resthaven, while the men Arnet had left behind had been told by the survivors in exacting detail about the harrowing defense of the village.

The people of Resthaven had been spreading the word too, and they’d confirmed everything the men had disbelieved as truth and not tales. If anything, they’d been holding back on some of the stories they told.

Some of the things that had gone on were just too unbelievable, too wild and raw to talk about except amongst the veterans. More than one of the men had woken up screaming, seeing ondilaani jaws closing around their throats, while others were still shaken, remembering the lights the Lady had made that had killed the ondilaan in droves. But no matter what was now troubling them, the rest was doing them good, and none of the men were complaining.

The villages of Tarwood and Coran’s Hill had sent some of their people to Resthaven after Moran and Oldsby’s patrols had gone through. Between the new men, and the impressive motivation of the villagers who survived, Resthaven was starting to look like the battle had never taken place. A new barn was under construction, and even the beginnings of a timber wall was rising up on the other side of the fields.

The mood of the villagers was improving there too, much more since the crops had come in. Moran and Oldsby were keeping up the daily patrols in the wilderness, accompanied by members of the Valen family, and were ranging for about a day in every direction. Blessedly, not a single ondilaan had been seen.

And, oh, was that news welcome.

They’d even had a family head back east. Not to run to Redtail like some had done before the attack, but to return to their farm roughly a half day outside of town. Their only complaint, finding their gate smashed down.

That was not to say everything was sunshine and roses, not in the least. But beyond a few survivors who made a daily trek to weep by the cairn for their lost loved ones, most everyone else was slowly recovering. Even Smith Rarton had finally admitted he liked the new smithy better than the one that had burnt down, though he still wouldn’t admit it was the dwarves’ input and assistance that had made it that way, insisting it was all his idea.

Sergeant Moran stepped into the inn, seeing Jarrod Tarr leaning up against the bar talking to one of the newcomers. The new man was from Tarwood, if he wasn’t mistaken. So, Garret ambled up, listening to Jarrod idly chat with the man who was respectfully nodding to whatever Jarrod was saying.

Jarrod had really stepped up into the position he now held. Basically, the leader of everything around Resthaven, not just the innkeeper he had been. And everything in the village was now centered around the inn, which had become the administrative center for the entire area. Garret watched as people moved back and forth in the inn, and thought that pretty soon Jarrod was going to need to build more rooms.

Even his Taylin operated out of the inn, the room the Lady had healed him in now their new center for healing. Garret was pretty sure Taylin was up there right now, but there was no way he was going to disturb her. She’d gotten it into her head exactly how and when they were going to be married, ever since she’d cornered him into asking her a couple of days ago. And, if he had to hear one more time about a certain type of flower, or decoration she wanted, he was going to throw up.

“Hello, Garret.” Jarrod smiled, waving him over. “What brings you in? It’s not supper yet.”

“Nothing, truth be told. I got a squad out guarding your people while they’re building the wall. Oldsby and half of the other squad are asleep, and the remaining half is out on patrol. There’s nothing going on, it’s peaceful, so I figured I’d check in.”

“And this is why I like this man,” Jarrod said to the newcomer. “Men like Sergeant Moran and Oldsby do the Redtail Guard proud. He’s marrying my niece, you know.” Jarrod grinned at the man. “I just don’t let anyone marry my Taylin.”

“Like I had a choice,” Garret scoffed.

“Nope. Pretty sure there was no way you were getting out of that one.”

Garret grinned. “I promise not to complain too much.”

Jarrod and the other man chuckled, everyone in the village knowing the sergeant was smitten. “Pretty sure it wouldn’t do you any good if you did,” Jarrod said.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Garret admitted. “She up there?”

“Yep. Her and Pari are doing something with the plants the Lady was teaching them about. It be a bloody greenhouse up there right now. I’ve been tellin’ her that it will take less than a day to make another drying hut to replace the one those bastard ondilaan wrecked, but she still’s sayin’ ‘no’.” Jarrod frowned. “An’ Pari is backin’ her up, spoke right up in front of the common room, she did. I’m not tellin’ that girl ‘no’ if she’s doin’ that, with everything she’s been through.”

“I understand. She speaking more?”

“Slowly, Garret, slowly. There’s hope yet.” Jarrod glanced at the other man. “But only time will tell. Anyway, what can I do for you?”

“Nothing. Heard anything from Tarwood or Coran’s Hill?”

“That’s what we were just talking about.” Jarrod nodded towards the other man. “Basically, they haven’t seen a thing.”

“That still surprises me. I mean, the ondilaan had you surrounded for over a week before we got here. I’m surprised they didn’t go there. Your villages are only two days away,” Moran concluded.

“Well, whatever the reason, we’re happy for it. We probably wouldn’t have been as lucky as you. Zin Onlee, from Tarwood,” the man introduced himself, sticking his hand out to shake.

“Garret Moran.”

“I know,” Zin grinned, “you came through on patrol. Anyway, we’re talking about setting up something more permanent-like than your patrol. We need something more regular than whenever someone feels like showing up.”

“Aye?”

“Yeah. Us and Coran’s Hill are only a day apart, and we are only two days down the western road from you. We figure the three of us can do more together than we can on our own.”

“That sounds fine and all, but does the lord know?”

“We sent a message … maybe three, four days ago now, but haven’t heard back. We figure we might as well start until someone tells us to stop.”

“So, what are you going to do?” Garret asked, becoming more and more uncomfortable. It was all well and good for the villagers to be thinking about their defense, but he wasn’t too sure they should be doing it without Lord Maorilan’s approval. It made him even more uncomfortable realizing it would be his job to put an end to it if their lord disapproved.

“Nothing right now beyond keeping in touch,” Jarrod reassured him. “We know we’re here at our lord’s behest, Sergeant, and we don’t want him upset with us. But if one of us hears something, we’ve agreed to let the other two know. And we’re just talking about setting up a runner system to keep everyone informed, nothing more.”

“Well, that and pooling our boys if anyone needs help.” Zin took a drink from his mug. “It’s all trees and wilderness to the west of here, so we’re pretty much alright since our only problems are wild animals. Heck, Tarwood’s been dragging their feet about building a timber wall for generations, what with their village up on that bloody hill. But what’s gone on here is changing people’s minds. From what Jarrod tells me, the ondilaan’d just go right through us without some kind of defense.”

“They would,” Garret confirmed. “I’m pretty sure the Commander’s boys are going to make things rough for them down south, but we–”

Sergeant Moran’s words were cut off by someone charging into the inn. “Sergeant Moran!” was followed immediately by the Tah-ta-ta-tee-ah! of a high-pitched horn. Jarrod and Sergeant Moran stared at each other, both freezing in shocked silence before the sergeant hastily scrambled out through the door.

“To Arms!” he shouted, sprinting for the bridge. “To Arms!” Moran again shouted as the rest of the villagers picked up his call. The bridge guard was already rolling the wagon across the bridge, while cries of alarm sounded throughout the village. It only took a few moments for Garret to arrive, while men from the bridge shouted “Move! Move!” to farmers hurrying in from the fields.

Tah-ta-ta-tee-ah! sounded again from the east, the high-pitched horn’s cadence not anything Moran had ever heard. “Report!” he demanded as the sound dwindled off, moving aside to let the farmers run by.

“You know as much as we do,” one of the new men responded, too tense to give Garret any proper respect. “Some guy ran by like the gods themselves were after him, then that damn horn started sounding.”

Moran’s men were sprinting towards their positions around the village, and he heard Oldsby yelling for the western guard to send half their men his way. “Are the surprises ready?”

“Aye, Sergeant. Got the firebox lit right here,” another man reported, patting a metal container dangling from his belt. “The pitch was spread along the stream two days ago. Only got a little wood fer’ it, so it won’t burn fer’ too long, but it’s there.”

“Good.”

Oldsby ran up with some of his men as another Tah-ta-ta-tee-ah! echoed through the air. “The wall crew’s back inside,” he reported. “Smith Rarton is arming the volunteers and sending them south along the fence. I brought half the western guard with me, and Jarrod has the northern group manning the fields. The archers are heading up on their rooftops, the well team is filling buckets, and Taylin is preparing for wounded with Pari and the other women in the common room.”

“She have enough bandages?”

“Who knows.” Oldsby looked tense, intensely scanning the far treeline. “They were planning on making more today.”

“Well, hopefully we won’t need them,” Moran muttered. “We’ll find out soon enough.” He forced himself to remain calm, seeing the men tense up at his words. “We’ve been preparing for this for over a week, men,” he addressed his troops, waving a hand to the east. “We don’t even know who’s out there. It could be a friend, or it could be a foe. We beat back the ondilaan before, and we’ll beat back whoever’s coming if they want to make it a fight.”

The men seemed to appreciate his words. Oldsby glanced over at him and thrust his chin back towards the center of the village. Moran followed him a short distance away, dodging a child running by towards the inn.

“You ever heard of the ondilaan using horns?” Oldsby asked.

“Nope. Not a damn bit,” Moran answered. “And that’s not one of Redtail’s, or any other kingdoms’ horn that I’ve heard.”

“I was hoping you were going to tell me I was wrong about that. Who would be coming from Redtail that we don’t already know about?”

“How the hells should I know? But I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”

Oldsby started rubbing his head. “What do you want us to do?”

A child was crying somewhere, suddenly hushed while Moran thought about anything else they could be doing. “Stick to the plan. Keep everyone in the village and behind the defenses. Don’t poke anything bigger than us if we can help it. Light the fire traps if we’re about to be overrun, and then defend the town center.”

“I know the plan, but the only trap ready is yours.”

“Then we’ll play it by ear.” Moran shrugged, watching the archers nocking arrows to bows on the roof of the inn. “It’s all we can do. Maybe we can send a runner to Redtail through the woods. But who knows? Right now, let’s see who we’re dealing with. Head back to the western guard. If anything new happens, I’ll tell you.”

“Aye ... For Redtail.” Oldsby saluted, fist to chest.

“For Redtail,” Moran replied, returning his salute as another Tah-ta-ta-tee-ah! sounded again from the east.

Oldsby trotted off while Moran calmed the men around him with a few, well-spoken words. He had no idea who could possibly be coming this way from Redtail, and he was wracking his brains trying to figure it out. Sir Laigan had given all of the sergeants an overview of the closest cities, their horns and heraldry, and he was trying to remember if any of the houses announced themselves with high-pitched horns. Tense moments passed while he was furiously thinking, and he cursed himself for not paying better attention.

Tah-ta-ta-tee-ah! sounded for the fifth time, much closer than it had done before.

Moran studied the woodline on the other side of the fields, and thanked the lost gods it was midday. At least we have sunlight to fight by, remembering the terror of fighting at night. A man reported that all of the villagers were at their assigned stations, adding the inn was ready to receive wounded. And thank the gods for that, Moran thought as he dismissed the man, never taking his eyes off the woods.

He wiped a hand on his breeches, casually clearing the sweat away. The Commander’d probably be giving some kind of speech right now, Garret thought, thinking about Donnor and the troop. Can’t be thinking about them now. And he isn’t going to be here to save your arse this time, either.

“Steady everyone … we’re set, we’re where we need to be, and we’re ready for anything that is coming our way. Remember your training and you’ll see the day through. For Redtail,” he said to the men around him.

“For Redtail,” they replied, Moran able to see his words making some of the men stand taller. He knew he wasn’t as charismatic as Donnor was, but even he knew the men needed to be reassured. And if all else failed, he’d kick their arses into shape if kind words didn’t get it through their bloody heads.

Tah-ta-ta-tee-ah! sounded for the sixth time, basically from right inside the treeline if he was any judge. The clarion call was loud enough it hurt his ears, then the final note drifted away on the breeze.

A silence fell before the wind picked back up, making a soft shushing sound through the trees. The leaves had just started to turn with the oncoming of fall, and shook in the branches which distracted the eye. But there was something else in there too, and whatever it was, it slowly took form.

“Movement!” one of his men cried out. “There! Men in the treeline!” he pointed a little south from where the road was.

“To the south!” came a distant call.

“West!” he heard Oldsby holler.

“Figures in the fields!” cried multiple archers from the roof of the inn, pointing in three different directions at once.

A door banged open. “North of the mill!” one of the villagers yelled …

… and Moran’s heart sank. They were completely surrounded, and there was no way out. With only twenty-three of them besides the villagers, they were doomed now if it came to a fight.

There were a lot of figures moving in the treeline now, not trying very hard to remain unseen. Then one of his men reported movement along the road near the top of the hill, and Garret saw the most surprising thing he ever thought he would see.

Armored troops, the likes of which he’d never seen before were marching into view, carrying great banners, with designs and script he couldn’t even begin to read. They moved with a meticulous precision that spoke volumes about their training, and every bit of his experience was telling him nothing good would come from challenging the force on the road.

“Runner! Oldsby to the bridge! Go!” he ordered, not even looking away as the villager sprinted off to the west. His eyes were fixated upon those troops, counting rank after rank marching relentlessly into view. The approaching force was strangely silent, but even without them singing hymns or shouting cadence, he was utterly demoralized. There was no way they’d even be more than a bump in the road for a force like that.

“Runner!” Moran ordered, a village boy sprinting up. “To Jarrod Tarr, we are surrounded, defenses are ready, will defend in place, get your people out if you can. Try for Tarwood, it’s the most defensible. You got that?” he asked the shocked boy.

“Y-y-y-yes, Mr. Moran.”

“Off with you. Second runner!” Another villager stepped up, a girl this time. “To the other guard points, we are surrounded, stay in position, defend what you have. The villagers will try to escape to the west if the time comes. Got that?” The girl repeated it, eyes wide while trying not to cry.

He remembered her, some of Donnor’s men saving her after killing the ondilaan that had broken into her house. She still had a scar on her arm where one of the bastards had bitten her, healed by the Lady and Tommy’s magic. What a strange thing to think about right now. “Off with you,” he ordered, turning his attention back to the wood.

“By the gods,” Oldsby proclaimed when he arrived, the first time seeing the force before them. The approaching troops had reached the bottom of the hill, the outer columns splitting left and right, forming ranks abreast almost the entire width of the field. And the soldiers there were wearing gear unlike anything he recognized. Sure, he could identify mail and helmets, swords and bows of various types, but they were unlike any equipment he’d been briefed on by Sir Laigan, or any reports from the Throne. And their equipment was fine, meticulously cared for, and brightly shining in the midday sun.

The banners stayed to the center while the army formed into ranks six deep, then they advanced towards Moran and Oldsby’s position. While the ranks behind repeated what first had done, Moran noticed a strange shimmering developing over and around the forces before them. The light of the sun seemed to catch on every reflective surface he saw, warping the light around them like a glowing mirage. And he continued to watch, stupefied, as a second unit of six ranks finished forming and moved out behind the first.

Then the entire army came to a halt as one.

“There’s no feckin’ way we’re fightin’ that,” one of his men mumbled.

“Runners!” Moran cried, not caring in the least that his voice cracked and sounded frail. “Multiple runners to all posts! Stay at your posts, lower your weapons, stand ready, but by the gods don’t start anything! Go! Hurry! Move!” he ordered into the stunned quiet around them. The village children scampered off as if the gods themselves were after them. And for all he knew, they were.

“Whaddya think … should we offer a challenge? Ask them for their women and beer?” Oldsby asked, sweat beading on his brow.

Moran looked at him like he’d lost his mind, noticing Oldsby’s hands were shaking. “You want to make them mad?”

“No. But shouldn’t we at least give them a chance to get off our property before we kick their arses?”

One of the men started laughing hysterically, Oldsby grinning while the laughter spread.

“Gods, Oldsby. Are you channeling Mikus right now?”

“Could do worse.”

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not the one getting married.”

“Oh, gods, will you shut up about that.”

“Movement!” one of the men cried.

Moran turned and saw a party forming under one of the banners between the two formations. A call went out from the newcomers’ lines, and then the forward formation split, the soldiers there cycling back through their formation and leaving a path for the banner to follow. The banner and its party did so, around twenty or so people moving forward underneath the billowing flag. Then the formation reformed as the party moved past, marching towards the bridge to within strides of where the pitch had been buried. And there they stopped, a lone figure stepping to the fore before calling out to their lines.

“Village of Resthaven, I am Strike Leader To’Ran. The army of the Vale requests you to parley. Send forth your representative, and I will meet with them here. Their safety is guaranteed. Do nothing, and an attack will result. The choice is yours.”

A great cry went out from behind the strike leader after he finished his speech, the army quickly responding. The entire force shouted as one while they slammed their shields into the earth, the sound echoing around the tense village. Then a silence fell, only the shushing of the trees accompanying the leader’s slight smirk.

“Parley?” Oldsby muttered.

“The Vale?” came from another man.

“Who the hells are they?” said a panicked voice.

“What the feck is a ‘strike leader’?” cut through the rest of the murmuring before Garret quickly shouted “Quiet!” as harshly as he dared.

Garret studied the one named To’Ran as a chair and table were set up in the middle of the road. Then To’Ran sat on his army’s side of the table, the bannerman standing behind and off to one side.

The silence was deep.

“Runner! Jarrod Tarr to me. Now!” Moran sent another child off, still studying the opposing force.

“We doing anything while we wait?” Oldsby asked.

“Not a damn thing unless they make us,” Garrett replied. “There’s no way we can fight all that, I lost count at a hundred and fifty.”

“Thank the gods fer’ tha’,” someone else muttered.

“What’s a parley?” another man asked.

“Means they want to talk,” Oldsby answered. “Usually before they fight.”

“Feckin’ hells, sergeant …”

“Don’t worry soldier, I don’t have any intention of fighting that.”

“Thank the feckin’ gods fer’ tha’ …” that previous voice said.

“C’mon, Jarrod, hurry up,” Moran mumbled. “We don’t know how long they’ll wait,” he explained to Oldsby’s questioning glance. Oldsby nodded while they all remained ready, staying silent behind the barricades until Jarrod ran up.

“By the gods, will you look at that …” Jarrod shook himself. “What do you need me for Garret?”

“Army of the Vale, got a Strike Leader who wants to talk,” Moran answered, tension pouring off of him. “We can’t fight them, Jarrod. We wouldn’t even be a pebble in their shoe. You run an inn, you’re basically the mayor, and you talk way better than me. I need you to go out there and see what they want.”

Jarrod looked at him, his eyes getting wider and wider as he looked toward the army again. He took a couple of quick breaths before swallowing, sweat beading up upon his brow. “You want me to do what again?”

“Go out there with me and talk to them, or we’re all gonna’ die.”

Then Jarrod nodded, and then nodded some more, growing paler and paler as time went on. “Okay …”

Garret hoped Mr. Tarr wouldn’t pass out.

Moran quickly formed a short squad of four men, instructing Oldsby to stay behind and take charge. And then Garrett Moran forced himself to do the bravest thing he’d ever done. He stepped out from behind the defenses of Resthaven, the six of them walking towards an army of hundreds.

Alone.

“Don’t nobody say nothing,” he muttered under his breath, barely even opening his mouth. “If I shout, get Jarrod back to the village. Your only job is to get him back to our lines. And, by the gods, don’t any of you say a bloody fecking thing to piss anyone off.” He heard mumbled acknowledgements from the conscripts around him while they finished their approach.

Jarrod was openly sweating when they stopped only a short distance away. “I …” Jarrod’s voice cracked, throwing a glance in Garret’s direction. He paused to swallow, clearing his throat before trying again. “I am Jarrod Tarr, mayor and innkeeper of the village of Resthaven.” He stopped, obviously not knowing what else to say.

The figure observed him in silence, and then slowly removed his helm. Brushing fine wisps of brown hair away from his face, he exposed delicate ears, then the elf placed his helm upon the table and stood. “Far’e’na, Jarrod Tarr. Sit. We have much to talk about.”

“We do?”

“Yes. But first and foremost, there are two items of note we wish to discuss.” The Strike Leader somehow communicated a threat with those seemingly innocent words.

Jarrod froze halfway to his seat; Sergeant Moran suddenly alert at his side. The elf gestured for him to continue and then sat after Jarrod did, the elven bannerman watching them with steely grey eyes.

The tension around the table was palpable. Jarrod placed a shaking hand upon the table, then looked at it before removing it to place on his lap. “And …” he took a deep breath, quickly blowing it out “… those two items are?”

The elf let the silence stretch a moment longer while eyeing them both. “I would like to discuss with you Nisa Arisaylia Saliantrea and the time she spent with you here.” He paused, taking in their shocked glances. “And after that, any information you may have regarding Donnor Silverspear …”

His voice lowered itself to a growl.

“… And their supposed son.”

Friendly Interrogations

Things had become very … polite … in Resthaven.

Jarrod admitted he’d just about shat himself when he’d first looked out over the bridge. It was like that night with the ondilaan all over again, only this time he could see the force opposing them, every bit of it at once.

What were they going to do? Were they going to attack? Were they all going to die? What was going to happen to Resthaven? Those questions and more were now inundating him, whenever anyone had a chance.

By the lost gods, I’m an innkeeper! Who am I to be speaking to an opposing army?

But he’d followed Garret numbly to sit in front of that massively intimidating elf … at a desk … in the middle of the road … and talk about Donnor, Tommy, and the Lady like they were having a beer!

He’d pinched himself to make sure it wasn’t a dream.

But he admitted, sitting there in the road, talking to that elf, quaking wildly in his boots, it changed something in him. He’d put on the face he’d worn during that night of terror not so long ago, and refused to admit how petrified he was. He stuttered through answering the elf’s questions while rank after rank of their army deployed. And once the elven forces were done encircling his village, they stopped and started setting up camp.

And they ignored Resthaven utterly, like they weren’t even there.

No one had so much as even opened a window for the rest of the day. Every single person in Resthaven knew he was out there talking, he was certain of it, but not a single one of them so much as moved an inch.

And thank the lost gods for that.

He couldn’t blame them. What could anyone possibly do? Every single person now knew what an invading force could do to Resthaven. With the ondilaan, they’d been outnumbered maybe two or three to one, counting every single soul in the village. But now? With the elves? They were outnumbered tens, maybe even hundreds to one.

Jarrod kept waiting for their demands, some unreasonable request, but for the rest of the day all To’Ran wanted to know was what had happened during the ondilaan’s attack. He asked the same questions over, and over again. “Tell me about Nisa Saliantrea. Tell me about the Silverspear. Are you sure Tommy was their boy? How do you know? Did you see any magic? What did they do? The Nisa healed? Tell me about that. Was there a spear? You saw flashing lights? Describe them please …”

And on, and on, and endlessly on. Hours and hours of questions for both him and Garret Moran, which they answered readily enough … all while eying the humongous force, and desperate to prevent an attack. Eventually sometime after dinner, To’Ran stood and excused himself, saying he would meet with them again in the morning. Then he thanked them for their information as if they’d just sat down to chat, saying that word again in elven, far-en-nah, or whatever the hells he was saying, mentioning it was time for his evening meal. Then To’Ran walked away without another word, heading towards a particularly fine-looking tent that was much larger than the rest.

Garret and he had glanced at each other, then meekly made their way back into the village. Leaving the table and chairs in the middle of the road, the bannerman remained silent beside it, watching as they left, his steely eyes cataloging every move that they made.

Back at the inn, they decided to feed everyone in shifts like they’d planned to do if there was another ondilaani attack. Then they’d tensely waited out the night, Garret’s men sleeping in shifts at their posts, or at least pretending to, while everyone else pretended to sleep at their stations as well. The archers up on the roof reported hooded figures coming and going from the edge of the woodline all night, but whoever they were, no one knew what they were doing, and they were extremely hard to see.

But beyond that, the night was completely calm, not a single thing amiss for anyone to see. The night birds called. The insects chirped. The larger moon was maybe a day away from being full, the smaller one almost new once more. Even Mrs. Hibold’s cows lowed like they usually did whenever the night was deepest. But even with the normalcy surrounding the village, nothing could take away from the eerie, magical lights the elven army deployed around their camp and the village.

Magic, Jarrod shivered. Gods, not more magic. Those lights pointed towards magic users the elves obviously had. Magic nobody in the village possessed. Not since the Lady left us, anyway. The only good magic any of us’ll ever see. Everybody knew that the magic users had destroyed the world in ancient times, and nobody was going to make it out alive if those magic users came into play … no matter how many soldiers they had.

Everyone was already awake when the cock crowed at sunrise, and while they served the morning meal, once again eating in shifts, a runner came to the inn saying the elves were back at the table. They were requesting Jarrod and Garret to come before breaking their fast, and while nervously eyeing the army, come they both did.

This time there was another elf there, Strike Leader To’Ran introducing a S’tol Da’an ... whatever the title meant not being explained to them at all. And after the introductions were over, the questions began anew while breaking their fast with some foreign bread, and some fruit. It was a quite pleasant repetition of yesterday’s interrogation, all over a meal. “Tell me about Nisa Saliantrea. Tell me about the Silverspear. Are you sure Tommy was their boy? Did you see any magic? What did they do? What did you see? The Nisa healed? Tell me about that. Was there a spear? You saw flashing lights? Describe them to me please …”

It was all so … pleasant … it was almost surreal. The elves patrolled in pairs around their formations, doing whatever it was that they pleased. The questions continued, and an endless stream of them built upon everything previous that was said. “The barn burnt down? Tell me about that. Mikus Gemhands was here? Tell us about him. They took an artock? Tell me about that. Tommy was with the animals? How do you know? You gave them supplies? Who did they go to? What did you give? Arnet was here? Tell us about him. He did not get along with the Nisa? Tell us about that. He came with his own force? Describe them, please …”

And on, and on, and on, and on. Never repeating a question the same way twice, but always returning to Tommy, Donnor, and the Lady whenever they could. They broke late in midmorning, the elves now asking if they could enter the village. No one mistook the politely worded inquiry as an actual request, and after a short break for refreshments that the elves provided again, Jarrod found himself escorting a party of elves to the inn while a plethora of other elves spread around the village to speak with everyone in the most pleasant invasion imaginable.

Garret was bouncing between being pale and clenching his fists, while grinding his teeth almost flat. There had been an oh-so-pleasant conversation about misunderstandings between soldiers from various nations, and how the elves wanted to ensure that none of that happened. But the message cloaked within those pleasant and polite words had been nothing if not clear. Sergeants Moran and Oldsby found themselves being escorted around the village to various posts by elves wearing nothing more than casual clothing to speak to their men. But the steely eyes of those escorts betrayed there was more to them than they appeared, and everyone, including the sergeants, knew it.

So, with absolutely nothing else to be done, the elves spent the rest of the day interviewing everyone. Every single last conscript and villager, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups, they all were stopped and spoken to. But the questions always remained the same. “Tell us about Nisa Saliantrea. Who? Arisaylia Saliantrea, she had red hair … Yes, her. The Lady …” they always said that with a frown. “Tell us about the Silverspear. Who? Donnor … The Commander? … Yes, him.” Even more frowns. “Are you sure Tommy was their boy? Did you see any magic? The flashing lights? What did you see? The Nisa healed? Arisaylia … The Lady? Yes, her.” Frowns growing and then deepening. “She healed you too? Tell us about that.” Then, “Tell us about the fighting please. Was there a spear? No? Are you sure?”

And on, and on, and unchangingly on.

The only thing that stood out amongst the already odd day occurred when they decided to question Taylin and Pari. A gaggle of robed elves surrounded the two women, accompanied by S’tol Da’an as their questioning began. Jarrod could have sworn a wind had blown straight through the inn whenever the questions had started, that stirred the hair of everyone there. But he didn’t pay it much mind since his Taylin was furious, eyes flashing as the elves turned from her to pester Pari to speak.

Pari shrank back from the elves, her eyes flashing and flaring in the midday sun as she struggled to make words. The poor girl shrunk and hid behind Taylin while the man questioned her, and eventually Taylin erupted, asking if they had no shame questioning someone when it was obvious how terrified she was. She put herself bodily between Pari and the elves, shouting for them to leave her alone and daring any of them to object. And all the while, Pari cowered behind her, visibly shaking as she hid at her back.

Jarrod had never been more proud of his niece, though he had been terrified as well. Garret was too, knowing how his promised could be when her back got up. But the elves took Taylin’s objection in stride, one of them standing there silently in the face of her fury before raising a single brow. Then the elves conferred amongst themselves in their own language, casting numerous glances towards Pari and Taylin before stepping aside.

Most of them left, not saying a word. Though Jarrod noticed from that point on two robed figures always seemed to stay within sight.

Taylin could have cared less. And Garret decided in that moment her glares were a thing of beauty.

Around midafternoon, the elves escorted the patrol Moran had sent out the day before into the village. The half-squad came in, two of them bearing dark purple bruises, saying they’d been surprised and taken unawares. The ones with the bruises had tried to put up a fight, but had been taken down without contest. They told of how their escorts had surprised them, stepping from cover as if they appeared out of thin air. Then they’d been immediately disarmed, bound and questioned like the rest of the village, before being released. The elves escorted them back to Resthaven, allowing them to talk amongst themselves without issue, but there had been no illusions about any of them having an opportunity to go free.

It had all been so friendly, so pleasant … almost alarmingly so. And their unarmored escorts seemed so outwardly innocuous, until you saw the steel in their eyes. Eyes that were like the ones who had escorted Moran and Oldsby around here.

Jarrod was beginning to catch on, and so was everyone else. There was something about these unarmed and unarmored elves moving around town asking question after question of them. Something that said ‘do not challenge me’ in a loud and clear voice. And everyone was avoiding them whenever they could, some even visibly.

Near evening, the elves ‘invited’ Jarrod to the table once more. Both Moran and Oldsby went along, long ago telling their men to stand down but remain at their posts. For pure survival the two sergeants were treating the elves like they were just visiting, and it looked like the strategy had paid off. Not a single soul had been harmed, and they received nods of appreciation from the bridge guard as they made their way towards the strike leader waiting patiently at the table to talk.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Strike Leader To’Ran said when they were seated.

“Did we have any choice?” Oldsby muttered under his breath, so softly that Jarrod could barely hear.

“No, you did not,” To’Ran answered in a much more normal tone, “but you could have made this much more difficult for yourselves. And that would have been … unfortunate.”

Oldsby bristled, but Moran put a hand on him, silencing any replies before they were made. “Can I ask what your intentions are now?” Moran asked.

“The villagers are terrified,” Jarrod put in before the elf could respond.

“And we would like to contact our lord. Let Lord Maorilan know that you have come this way,” Moran continued, not looking away from To’Ran’s gaze.

To’Ran returned the look in silence before answering, allowing the silence to stretch. “Head of Family Maorilan is aware of our presence.”

Jarrod looked between both sergeants. “You’ve come this way from Redtail?”

“Yes.”

“… And Lord Maorilan knows you are here?” Jarrod continued.

To’Ran returned his gaze to the sergeants, ignoring Jarrod’s implied question. “The army of the Vale will be leaving you. It would be helpful if you were to stay inside your village until we are gone.”

“Helpful in what way?”

To’Ran nodded to the three of them without answering, and then stood. “Far’e’na,” he said before placing his helmet upon his head. Then he turned and walked away, the bannerman keeping pace at his side.

Jarrod watched the two elves leave, then looked towards the other two men. “Garret, Terrance, what the hells just happened?”

“I don’t bloody know.” Oldsby spat to the side. “This is so far above my rank I can’t even bloody see the arse end of it.”

“That, Jarrod, was an invasion,” Moran answered him. “The nicest invasion I’ve ever heard of … but an invasion, nonetheless. I’m thinking we should be thankful for how it played out.” He paused, watching the elves begin collapsing their tents. “C’mon, both of you. Let’s get back to the inn. There’s a lot more to be said ... and unless you missed it, they can obviously hear every damn word we say no matter how quietly we say it.”

Oldsby nodded, a little pale, standing and waiting for the other two. And nobody commented on the steely-eyed elves that were watching them leave.

They ordered the bridge guard to stay at their posts while they went by, and Moran sent runners to spread the word to the entire village: “The elves are leaving; stay quiet, stay in the village, and stay out of their way.”

Thankfully, everyone did.

Taylin ran to hug Moran when they entered the inn, Jarrod moving to the bar to pour all three of them a stiff drink. “Are you okay?” Taylin asked.

“I’m fine, Taylin. About shat my pants, but I’m fine,” Garret answered, accepting the hug before turning away.

“You actually could? My arse has been clenched so tight it’ll be a week before I can even break wind,” Oldsby muttered.

“Okay. That was the most focused interrogation I think I’ve ever seen. What the bloody hells is going on?” Jarrod asked, his hands shaking as the stress began to leave him.

Moran turned to Oldsby. “Did you find out what I asked?”

“Aye. Wasn’t hard, either.” He took a long pull from his drink. “They didn’t even bother to hide. Every single banner had elven writing on it. Each big formation had one, but there were a couple of others mixed in. Every banner with troops had about a hundred or so elves camped underneath, and they seemed to deploy themselves into squads of six men … elves … soldiers. Whatever. And they were moving off into the woods in regular patrols the entire time they were here.”

Oldsby took another long drink, nobody commenting on how his hand shook. “I had a chance to talk with our people out on patrol when they were brought in. In private, too, before my escorts noticed. The elves that took them were wearing the finest chain any of them had ever seen. They were dressed in greens and browns, long cloaks with hoods, and had some fine bows, too. And they took them all out like we’d never trained a soul.

“The Valen kids were especially upset, said they never even noticed them until they were right under their noses. The Valen’s are making noise like they had to have some kind of magic. Talking nonsense about the wars, ya’ know, but I just can’t see it. They were scouts. Damned good ones from everything I can put together, but scouts all the same.

“Those ones that were here in the village? No clue who they were. But every single person agrees they were something special, and different, too. Like they were trying awful hard to seem like they were normal people, but when they looked at you? Yeah, no. They were elites, some kind of guard; they had to be. Nothing I could point to, nothing I could put my finger on, but you know how Arnet does that weird dance of his practicing with both swords? Gets that blank look on his face while he’s concentrating on it? And then just moves like he’s dancing? Yeah, every one of them in the village was like that. Just, they were like that all the time. And they made Arnet look like a cripple. They weren’t even trying to hide how good they moved.”

“Any idea who they were?” Garret asked.

“No,” Oldsby answered. “One of them almost turned when another one called ‘jell’ or ‘jall’ something, but that’s all I know. Beyond that, the rest of them I’m assuming were just normal soldiers. Hundreds of them, to be sure, but as normal as elves could be. Mail, bows, spears, swords … lots of equipment. Every camp had a couple of tents. No equipment caravan I saw, though. No wagons, no mounts, no piles of supplies, none of that,” Oldsby shook his head before continuing.

“Oh, and every now and then each camp would have someone disappear into the woods, all heading southeast. We would’ve never noticed it normally, but they weren’t trying to hide their movement in the slightest. Each camp had someone go that way at exactly the same time, so it stood out. If I had to guess it was a leader’s meeting, which meant their officers were camped out that way unless it was some kind of ruse.”

“Probably not,” Moran muttered. “They didn’t care if we saw what they did. I picked up on most of what you got. Thank the archers for picking up on that meeting, though. I missed that.” He paused for a drink, motioning for Jarrod to refill everyone’s cups.

“Any idea who the ones in robes were?”

“Not a damn bloody clue. The robes reminded me of Mage Durn’s though.”

“Feckin’ great.”

“This whole situation smells,” Moran spat. “Smells like the jakes, all the way back to Tatdavarr. And the whole thing just pisses me off.” He clenched his jaw before rolling both shoulders. “Jarrod, did any of your people pick anything up?”

“Nothing I think might help. Mr. Jaltol got upset, almost started a fight when they tried to go into his house. They pulled him aside to ask their questions, but kept him in plain view of everyone else. Something similar happened with Smith Rarton whenever they inspected the new forge. The only reason I think it didn’t come to blows was that they didn’t take anyone anywhere we couldn’t see. That and how many of them there were.”

“They didn’t do anything at all that stood out?” Moran pressed.

“Besides wanting to know anything and everything we knew about the Commander and the Lady?” Taylin answered. “No, not a thing. They were clear enough about that. Grilled me and Pari about the Lady until I told them what’s what. Those old men in robes wouldn’t stop watching us, though. Gave Pari a fright.” Taylin glared over her shoulder.

“Aye. They wouldn’t stop watching anyone that’d spent any bit of time with the troop.” Garret hugged her, calming her frustrated sigh. “The more time someone spent with Donnor or the Lady, the more they seemed to watch them.”

“They were bloody obvious about it, too.” Jarrod answered. “Reminded me of when Mrs. Anasdan wanted to know which of the boys was taking her pies.”

“Reminded me of the way the mine guards would question the bandits they captured … just without all the beatings and clubs.” Oldsby frowned. “Or how we go about figuring out who started what, whenever the caravanners start fights in town.”

“Agreed.” Garret rubbed his jaw. “I still don’t like it, though.”

“Nobody does. So, what are we going to do?” Jarrod asked.

Sergeant Moran huffed, shrugging his shoulders in defeat. “Not a damned thing. Not until they leave, that is. I’m certain someone, somewhere, is going to say I should’ve started something as soon as we knew they were here. But whoever’s going to complain about that wasn’t here.”

Garret screwed up his face like he was going to spit. “But there’s no way in all the gods’ hells I’m just going to sit here and do nothing after they leave. Jarrod, how many people have we got from Tarwood and Coran’s Hill?”

“Ten or twelve, why?”

“They’re going on a trip. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to send a couple of ours with those ten or twelve to take a bunch of messages pretty much everywhere. Can you write?” Jarrod nodded. “Good, I was never that good at it. I need you to write my report.”

“No problem. Where are they going?”

“The first will go to Redtail. We’ll let them know what’s gone on and ask them what they want us to do. Then we need to send another to Varmen’s Shoal, letting them know the elves are on their way if whoever we send can get there ahead of them.”

“If not?”

“Just follow the elves, give the letter, and come back if they’ll let them. Then while all that’s going on, we need to send the rest of them to let Tarwood and Coran’s Hill know everything that’s happened. I don’t have the people to patrol there as well as here, so they might want to come here for winter. Strength in numbers and all that, but that’s up to you. Oh, and we need to let Lord Maorilan know what I’m suggesting.”

“You ever talk to him?”

Garret laughed. “Me? To our lord? Please. I’m just a sergeant, Jarrod. This is so far above my level, I’m waiting for someone to shake me and tell me I’m dreaming.”

“You and me both,” Oldsby muttered. “We still need to get that wall up, you know. Sooner, rather than later.”

Jarrod nodded, lost in thought. “I don’t think we’ll have any problems getting people to help after this.”

“No, I don’t think we’ll have any more problems with motivation,” Moran answered, his sarcasm quite evident. “Anyway, wait till the elves leave, send our messages, then build that wall as fast as we can. That’s about all I can think of.”

One of the conscripts ran in, reporting the elves had finished tearing down their camps. Sergeant Moran dismissed him, telling him to send the rest of the runners to the inn. A villager wandered in, then a second one muttering about the elves, then the runners came following behind. Moran sent them to confirm that the elves were packing up, every last one eventually confirming they were.

“I’m glad they’re leaving us alone like they said,” Moran muttered, staring into the fire.

“You and me both,” Jarrod agreed.

“But what about Donnor and the Lady, Garret? What’s going to happen to them?” Taylin asked with concern.

“We don’t even know where they are.” Moran took another pull from his drink.

“We’ll have to ask Halbaad Garr, the Shoal’s Headman,” Jarrod muttered.

Moran grunted. “I just hope the elves don’t find them first.”

They paused as a conscript came in, saying the army of the Vale was now in formation. They exited the inn as an elven horn sounded its defiant, high-pitched call once more. And then they moved to the edge of the village, watching the elves as they began slowly marching away. The sound of the mail and their feet was impressive, and even Pari watched from her window upstairs.

“Do you think they’re gonna’ be okay?” Taylin asked, holding the hand of her beloved.

“Hmmm?”

“Ari and Donnor. Will they be okay?”

“I don’t know, Tay’,” Moran answered. “I honestly don’t know.”

Questions and Answers

Day 229 – I don’t even know where to start. The elves attacked us a couple days ago and we have wounded now on top of the survivors. N’Taii is upset, Da’ is too, about a bunch of things, and all of those things have something to do with the elves. People are not happy.

Da’ sent me off to record everything that happened, I think because he wants to make sure everything gets written down before we forget. Like any of us actually could.

Anyway, we are still in Silverlake. Keris kept us here after the attack, and the troop hasn’t liked that, or keeping the elves alive, in the least. But him, Laren, Immer, and Gart have been keeping things together, and that blind old man has been helping out too.

The ch’ten and the sprites are probably the most upset, and I’ve never seen Rast so mad. Ahton and him are acting kind of scary, they all are, and they haven’t washed the mud off their faces. They won’t explain any of that, or the mud on their chests, either.

No one is yelling yet, but it’s obvious …

“Look, Rast, you can’t just kill them.”

“They attacked us!”

“Trust me, I know,” Donnor said, pointing towards the knot on his head, “but we need answers.”

Ahton was chittering away, interrupting Rast from making a reply. “He wants to know if attacking the San’ten’tol will go unanswered. If you will accept the insult to you and your mate.”

Ari reached, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Ahton, thank you for protecting us. You have probably saved us all. But shouldn’t I be the one to determine if I am insulted?”

Ahton looked defiant, but Tonat chittered and barked something that quieted him down before breaking into the conversation herself. “They attacked you, San’ten’tol. Everyone here saw it. No matter if you are insulted or not, their attack demands a reply. The forest requires it.”

“Does the forest demand our actions so blindly?” Donnor asked.

“You do not ask the rabid wolf why he bites you before you end his life,” Tonat snapped, staring directly into his eyes.

“Tonat, three of those people I’ve known for decades,” Ari said. “Falia, my entire life. I’m not going to stand by while someone kills them before knowing the reason why.”

“Then you will allow their poison to seep into your well,” Ahton angrily proclaimed, spitting off to the side. “San’ten’tol, what you are asking is hard.”

“Hard to ask questions?”

“No. Hard not to kill those who have tried to kill one of our own.”

The bird took that moment to land on the wagon off to the side. Its wings shushed loudly as it flapped, stopping its momentum, the sound ending their conversation. It settled itself onto the rail, puffing out its feathers, the fish clutched in one of its claws dripping water onto the sal’lian vine. Then it looked around, eyeing everyone around the wagon before dropping its head to feast.

They all watched the bird in silence. Every now and then it would pause, cocking its head towards this or that person walking by, but it didn’t seem too concerned by the people moving around it. Remarkably unconcerned even, especially for a wild thing. It almost seemed as if it was daring someone to object to its presence.

And not a single person missed that it was perched right above where Tommy now slept.

Ahton lowered his voice, his tone almost reverent while Rast translated his words. “San’ten’tol.” He waited until Arisaylia met his eyes. “San’ten’tol, the forest watches over us. The forest is guarding your child, and the forest will judge you and your actions. Do not insult the great forest by letting their offenses go unpunished.”

“Rast, what is he talking about?” Donnor interrupted, combing frustrated fingers through his hair.

“It’s children’s stories, Commander. There are various spirits of the wilds, and when you see one of them, the forest is near. The twllriarda’skaa is one of them; a forest spirit.

“Twill-what?” Keris asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Rast waved his question away, “you’ll never be able to pronounce it. The ch’ten is certain the forest sent the twllriarda’skaa to protect your son ever since it landed on him during the fight. And as far as people from the deep forest are concerned, the forest only sends one when it requires a messenger. It stayed, so it’s here to protect him.”

“Rast, I’ve never heard anything about a great forest and the sprites beyond myths about how your people used to turn themselves into trees.” Donnor eyed the bird before turning his back to it, then meeting everyone’s eyes.

“Neither have I,” Ari interrupted. “Rast, I had a sprite tutor for decades, and I learned from one of your elders in college as well. A great forest? A twllriarda’skaa?” she stumbled over the word. “Neither of them ever mentioned anything even remotely like that before.”

Rast translated and started to answer, but Tonat cut him off. There was a long chittering conversation between Ahton, Rast, and Tonat before Rast turned back to explain. He translated Tonat’s words carefully, obviously choosing his reply. “The great forest is not a topic of conversation for outsiders, Tonat says. Their ak’ta’tak to you and yours require only the simplest of explanations, and that is all. Otherwise, she says you would have never known of it. Commander, what she’s talking about is a myth; story tales.”

Donnor and Ari exchanged glances. “Look, it doesn’t matter. But you can’t kill them until we know why they are here,” Donnor finished.

Tonat and Ahton obviously disagreed, their eyes and their faces both unforgiving and hard. They looked like two feral creatures, totally unlike the way they normally carried themselves. Reddish-brown mud was painted on their faces in a design that somehow only added to how ferocious they appeared; how every member of the ch’ten appeared for that matter. And Donnor was very aware of the fact that none of the sprites had let their attention waver from the elves for even an eyeblink, ever since he’d become awake.

And that fact worried him.

Maybe I should start there. “Ahton? Tonat? What does that mud signify?” Donnor asked. “The designs you’ve covered yourselves with?”

Ahton eyed him for a moment before answering, but it was clear he was addressing Arisaylia and not him. Donnor couldn’t tell if Ahton was angry, offended, or what. “The forest calls for vengeance, San’ten’tol. Its spirit looks on. Our ch’ten is prepared to answer the call.”

“But why the mud, Ahton? The designs? The patterns they make?” Ari asked.

He pointed to his face. “It marks us as a vessel of the forest’s anger.” He pointed to his chest. “It hides us from our enemies.” He pointed to a particular swirl. “It binds us to where we root.” Then he pointed to another. “And blesses us with the forest’s strength.”

“But it’s red,” Ari questioned.

“Yes.”

“All the dirt around here is brown, Ahton. The forest is green,” Keris said. “There’s no red clay anywhere around here. Where’d you get the red clay?”

“It is not clay,” Rast translated for him.

“What is it then?” Ari asked.

“The body of the forest has been mixed with the sacrifice of a worthy protector. We honor the offering your guardian has made.”

“Sacrifice? What sacrifice? Whose offering?” Ari looked confused.

“Your guardian, Saress.”

“And the offering?” Donnor asked.

Ahton finally looked his way. “Her blood.”

***

“Tommy, wake up.”

Tommy blinked up at Arisaylia, the morning sun warm on his face. She squeezed his shoulder and then sat back, holding a cup for him in her lap. He sat up and stretched, then took the cup she had offered and drank, feeling strangely … tired? Stretched? Sore? He didn’t know. He felt all of that and more, yet found himself strangely quiet and at peace.

“How do you feel?”

“I don’t know,” Tommy answered. “Strange is the easiest way to describe it. Kind of like I’m floating, but I’m sitting right here.” He looked around, the colors of the world dazzling him. “What day is it?”

“It’s the two hundred and twenty ninth. From what I can piece together, the party from …” She looked over her shoulder, biting her lip and then sighed. “We were attacked four days ago. Well, three days and a night.”

“What happened?”

“We’re trying to figure that out. But before we do, we need to talk about you.”

Tommy rubbed his head, taking another drink. A fish jumped out in the lake, the crystal-clear blue waters dripping off of the fish like glass. “What about me?”

“Tomilanthus, you did things that … You … Tommy … I don’t even know exactly what it was that you did.” Ari didn’t look happy admitting that. She worked her mouth, starting to speak before stopping a couple of times while he looked out over the lake. “Do you remember any of it?” she finally asked.

“No. Well, kind of. I barely remember the details at all.” Donnor walked over, Tommy shading his eyes and watching his da’s shadows while he approached. “Hey, Da’,” he greeted before turning back to Ari and shrugged. “Bits and pieces only.”

“I’m not surprised,” Ari said, leaning into Donnor after he sat on the ground beside her. He pressed his lips to the crown of her head, staying silent while she continued. “Tommy, that’s S’tol Garesh over there. He’s one of the heads of the mage college back home ... in Sirikii, where my family is from. I have no idea what he is doing here, but he was one of the three masters who originally bound me. That’s what he was doing during the attack, trying to force another binding.”

“I’m glad it didn’t work.”

“It should have,” Ari admitted, “and it partially did.” She shuddered. “He was binding you at the same time as well.”

“Huh? I remember not being able to move, but then things got a little fuzzy.”

“That was the binding; that’s how it begins. It broke, thank Life, but everyone here thinks you did it.”

“Me?”

“You. And then there was what happened yesterday. Tonat says she woke you up to heal Saress. You didn’t heal her by the way, at least not completely. I did …” She glanced at Donnor, seemingly uncomfortable before continuing. “I directed our Tol when you woke me up. But that’s not what has me concerned ...”

His da’ was looking at him, a strange light entering into his eyes. “You’ve got the ch’ten all stirred up by what it was they saw,” his da’ said. Ari placed her hand on his knee, Donnor lifting it to kiss before twining his fingers into her own. “I love you, boy, but some of what they’ve said is kind of hard to hear. I haven’t … it’s strange to hear.”

“Da’?” Tommy asked, suddenly unsure.

His da’ put his hand on his shoulder, then leaned over to give him a hug. “I love you, boy. Don’t ever doubt that. I’m so proud of you, it hurts. What you’ve done is amazing, but we also have a lot of questions.” His mouth quirked into an uncomfortable grin.

Ari looked his da’s way, nodding in agreement. “Your N’Taa is right, we do have a lot of questions. Probably more than I can possibly think of right now. What do you remember? Exactly, now. Tell me everything.”

So Tommy described what he could, haltingly at first, a lot of his memories all jumbled and confused. They let him speak, not interrupting as he struggled to put words to his experiences. They didn’t even interrupt when he tried to make sense of the wild vistas he’d dreamed about, talking almost to himself about the things he had seen. It was both a long and a very short tale, full of imagery without any details or facts to go along with it. And he felt embarrassed for some reason by telling it, like he was breaking some trust.

Ari was at least able to interpret some of it, when he was through. “S’tol Garesh is a strong fire mage, or at least I’ve heard that’s his primary, so those are the reds you described. You see yourself as the storm, you always have, and it probably has something to do with that strange smokey-grey coloration of your Tol. Why you see yourself that way, I have no idea, but the greys are definitely you. Both of us have natural affinities for the Tol of Life, those are the golds, but why you see them as lightning I haven’t got a clue. I have always felt close to nature, which is why my Tol comes easily whenever worked that way, so I am most likely the forests and the greens. But I have no idea what the black shadows are, or the flavor to it you describe. Tol does not have flavor, Tommy. It just doesn’t. So, it’s probably some other aspect of your Tol.

“The grasslands? The fires and the churned earth? That has to do with how you saw Saress and her injuries, but she herself doesn’t have Tol. She’s close to it, yes, but she can’t manipulate what she actually has. Maybe the ambers are her, I don’t know. I can only guess that is how your mind interprets what she holds. But reaching out in the way that you did? That bundle of light?” She shivered. “I know what that is, and I know you’ve seen it before.

“The golden web you described can only be the tor’biata bar’lin. How you reached out to it on your own, I have absolutely no idea.” She glanced at his da’. “But, Tommy, it’s extremely dangerous what it was that you did. Deadly dangerous. You shouldn’t even be able to see the webwork of life without a guide when you are untrained. Tonat said that she had you chew on some plants that I’ve never even heard of to put you into the dreaming … something she hoped would ease your way into healing. So, maybe that had something to do with it.

“A dreaming.” Ari shook her head. “Her words, not mine.

“And she had you chew a sal’lian flower along with some of its leaves, with whatever else she gave you. She’s convinced it opened you up to whatever it was that you did.” Ari smoothing her hair. “She keeps calling them a life flower ...” She sighed. “I don’t even know what that means.”

Ari frowned, stroking her fiery braid. “But to chew one of the flowers of Saliantrea? And have it do something special?” Ari kept shaking her head. “I’ve been around those flowers my whole life. It would be like chewing grass. They’re harmless; just flowers. Rare? Certainly. But my family has cultivated them since before the gods were lost. There’s nothing special about those flowers beyond how rare they are and how hard they are to grow.” She stared at the vine on the wagon. “They’re everywhere on our estate back home.

Ari shrugged. “Whatever happened yesterday had to have been brought on by whatever else she gave you, or some unknown combination between the two.”

“Then what happened?”

“Tomilanthus, I can only guess. Somehow you broke a binding S’tol Garesh put into place. Was putting. The fact that his working was broken, there’s not a single doubt in my mind. I didn’t do it; he took me completely by surprise. I was naive not to protect myself, something I will never let happen again. And since nobody else has a single bit of Tol except for you, it had to be you.

“The entire troop saw what they described as a stormy grey mist coating the ground before something shattered his shield, and your eyes and your Tol shine with a similar light. Everyone who is able to access their Tol has their eyes turn the color of it whenever they draw on it deeply. And from what the troop described, you had definitely drawn deep.

“But you shouldn’t have been able to break a thing, Tommy. You’ve never been trained ...” Ari hugged herself, her care and concern radiating off of her. “But apparently you did.” Donnor gave her a hug.

“Yesterday, with Saress, I at least have some idea,” Ari continued. “But, Tommy, my ideas are only guesses. That’s all that they are. The plants Tonat gave you put you into some kind of trance. It had to be much deeper than what she intended, but it was still only a trance. A trance,” she repeated, sounding like she was trying to convince herself, “but then ...”

She paused, hesitating, while looking at him intently. And even his da’ had an odd look in his eye. They were both staring at him, studying him, the power of both of their gazes pinning him in place, radiating their wonder.

“Tommy, Tonat said you were floating,” Ari eventually stated. “One of the sprites was lying on top of you trying to hold you down. They said you were saying you had to touch her, over and over again, or Saress would die. And they eventually had to tie you to Saress to keep you in contact, afraid you were going to float away.”

“Okay …”

“Tommy, they woke you up to heal Saress well before the sun came up. It was the middle of the night ...”

“I remember.”

“I didn’t wake up until almost sunset, Tomilanthus.”

“Okay?”

“You were in that trance for almost the entire day. Floating for most of it, from what the sprites have said.” Ari shook her head. “Tommy, I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“It scares her. Scares us both,” his da’ admitted, seeing Tommy looking back and forth between them. “It scared Garesh, too. They said he woke up screaming, and started shouting while you were in your trance ... before they could knock him back out, that was. And they said he shouldn’t have been able to do that at all because they’ve been giving him so much poison he can barely breathe as it is.”

“Tommy, I have no idea what it is that you did,” his mother admitted. “You are describing riding the tor’biata bar’lin like in the stories of the ancients. But if you truly rode the webwork of life like you have, you should be dead. Lost to it, just like everyone else who has gone that deep.

“Tomilanthus, no one has ridden the web as completely as you’ve described. Not in any tome or history that I’ve studied. And only a miniscule fraction of those who have Tol can even sense it, let alone ride it. Masters dream of doing what you have described …” Ari trailed off, looking with concern at his da’.

“But I didn’t do anything,” Tommy protested.

“You most certainly did,” Ari quickly disagreed. “Oh my, Tomilanthus, you most certainly did. Maybe unconsciously or inadvertently, maybe even through blind luck, but you were controlling every single thing that you did, completely on your own. You were feeding me from the tor’biata bar’lin when I came to, feeding every person in the troop who was injured for that matter, holding so much of the web in your mind it was blinding to see. It took me hours to talk you into letting go of it. Hours.” Ari shook her head while she shuddered. “Tommy, masters have died trying to even do a sixth of what you have done.

“But I didn’t try anything.”

“And that’s what scares me,” Ari admitted, wrapping her shawl tightly around her. “It scares me to death. If you were in college, we’d have you inside a circle of masters, bound and blocked in a heartbeat, before you could even blink. With them desperately trying to figure out what it is you have done. It would be done so fast you wouldn’t have time to think about it.”

She shuddered once more. “Ilari,” she looked at Donnor, “he desperately needs to be trained. I am completely out of my depth. This is beyond anything I know or have heard of.”

“What do you want me to do, Arisaylia? We’re in the middle of an invasion. The ondilaan could come over that hill at any moment,” he gently reminded her. “We could be dead tomorrow for all I know.” Donnor waved a hand towards the road.

“I know,” Ari answered, grabbing his hands in both of her own. “Life, Ilari, I know. But this is beyond anything I have ever heard of. Anything anyone has ever seen. He shouldn’t be able to do this, not with as little training as he’s had. And it scares me.”

“But I’ve seen you two,” his da’ insisted. “The progress he’s made; it’s been obvious.”

“It’s beyond obvious, Donnor. He’s progressing so fast it’s as if he’s already one of the masters, and I’m only reminding him of what he should know. The exercises we’re doing took me decades to achieve. Some never reach his level at all.”

“Seriously? With everything you know?” Donnor raised one eyebrow.

“Completely. And, Ilari? Yes, I am powerful. And yes, I’ve studied and was granted access to more than most who’ve ever entered the college. I’ll even admit I’m good at what I do, and it’s well-known I can do more with my Tol than my peers. But I am not a master, beloved. Not a S’tol. Not even close.

“They get training and access to secrets beyond what anyone else in the college knows. And they spend decades, centuries even, learning what it is they know. Things that I don’t know, and probably never will. And our barely trained son defeated one of those masters doing things with his Tol I have no idea where to even start figuring out what was done.”

Donnor frowned, then glanced over towards the other elves. He turned back, his frown progressing its way into a deep scowl. “Wait a minute. Are you suggesting …”

“Yes, Ilari.” Ari shrugged, glancing away. “I’m not suggesting that he trains Tommy, or even takes part in it. But right over there, paralyzed by whatever poison the sprites are using, is someone from the college who’s been a master for longer than I’ve been alive.”

“You can’t seriously be asking me to let him do anything with either of you after what he has done.”

“No. Not now. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But he is a resource for us to use. For Tommy, at least. If we need it.”

Donnor snarled and glared at the elves, but eventually he nodded, looking like he’d bit into something foul. “I’ll think about it,” he uttered, “but you’re asking a lot. Pretty much everyone here wants all of them dead.”

“I know, Ilari. Life preserve me, I know. But Falia is over there, too. She’s sworn to me and my family, and all but raised me. Why would she join in an attack? It doesn’t make any sense. Salia and Erella are both J’al’osil. They’ve been assigned to my detail since I was a child. I trust all of them with my life. The whole situation here doesn’t make any sense.

“And the rest of them, except for Garesh, are probably J’al’osil just like they are. Donnor, that’s an entire toulan of Pathfinders tied up over there. Toulan’s aren’t deployed as a single unit. And I’ve never heard of one being caught. Ever.” Ari gazed their way in denial.

“We need to know why they are here, Ilari, and why the council is demanding my presence. Garesh would know. And while we’re asking, we could ask about Tommy as well.”

“Ask an enemy?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But to attack and try to abduct me? When not a single hand was raised against them beforehand? Donnor, you know who my father is. It boggles the mind anyone would attack a child of the Wi’Jitikiin ... and the people over there have knowingly done so.”

“This reeks of politics.” His da’ turned to spit. “And I don’t like politics, Arisaylia. I don’t like them one bit. They’ve bit me in the ass before, and this looks like another bite coming.”

“It does,” Ari admitted. “But the politics of the Vale are something that, at the very least, I know.”

“The Vale’s politics almost got me and Tommy killed, Arisaylia. They don’t belong here.”

“I know, beloved.” She placed a hand to his cheek. “I know.”

“It’s going to take me everything I have to keep them from ending up dead in their sleep,” Donnor reminded her.

“We can’t kill them.”

“The hells we can’t.”

Ari recoiled. “That’s not what you said before.”

“I said we needed answers, and answers we’ll get.”

“They need to remain alive for that.”

“Ari, your people tried to have me and our son killed.”

“My people?” Ari frowned.

“You know what I mean. This stinks the same way it did before.”

“And that is why keeping them alive is so important,” Ari insisted.

“And if they attack us again?”

“They won’t, Donnor. Life, Falia’s over there. She’s tied to a stake like an animal ready for slaughter.”

“And I was your lover, and Tommy’s your son. That didn’t stop them from hunting us down before.”

“Ilari …”

“Ari, do you really think I can stop a single one of those sprites from executing every last one of them if they decided to?” He waved towards the sprites surrounding the elves. “I’m a leader, Arisaylia. I’m not one of the gods. I can’t lead people where they don’t want to go.”

Ari huffed. “Discussing this is getting us nowhere. I need to make sure Tommy is okay, Donnor. Can we at least agree on that?”

“Okay? I feel fine,” Tommy protested, worried as his da’ tilted his head to stare off into the sky, then eventually sighed.

“I don’t doubt you are okay in the least,” Ari answered, frustration leaking from her voice. “But I have to make sure. I love you, Tommy.”

“We both love you,” his da’ added.

Ari glanced towards her ilari lover, her frustration melting as she bit into her lip.

“Why are you so … nervous?” Donnor asked, giving her a strange look.

“I am nervous,” Ari admitted while continuing to frown. “You’re getting better at using the bond.”

“Thanks. But that still doesn’t tell me why.” Donnor thrust his chin towards Tommy. “How come?”

“Because I don’t know what is going to happen.” Then she tucked her chin, before looking away and then returning to meet his eyes. “Or what Tommy’s Tol is going to do next.”

A Leader’s Lament

Donnor watched as Ari and Tommy entered into the Tol’An, the mystical exercise that supposedly allowed her to teach him more easily. At least that’s what she says it’s supposed to do, pausing to frown her way. She was worried, that much was evident, but it was odd for her to be so hesitant as well. And it was shocking to feel a touch of fear from her through the bond.

He wanted to scream out in frustration, watching her emerald green eyes close as his mate and their son did whatever it was that they did. The morning sun was shimmering off of her brilliant red hair, that color of red that only the elves seemed to have. Gods, she’s so beautiful. His feelings for her hadn’t changed. They’d only gotten deeper ever since that night in the lake, but he still wanted to scream with everything that had occurred.

There was nothing he could have done; magic had always been his nemesis, and there was no way to fight magic with a spear. Watching Arisaylia taken down so quickly had brought a fear upon him unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Well, ever since he’d arrived in this strange place, that is. And, he admittedly panicked. Then he went a little mad. And all he’d had was a stick.

Donnor scowled. He needed that spear.

He watched his son’s hair shimmer from brown to scarlet and then back again as the individual strands of it blew in the breeze. Tommy’s eyes were closed, and he looked about as peaceful as he ever did while they practiced whatever it was that they did. He watched their eyes moving underneath their lids, wondering what it was that they saw.

At least Tommy didn’t look drugged like he had ever since Donnor had awoken. Tonat said the effects of the leaves should have worn off yesterday, but they obviously hadn’t. She had no idea why he still seemed to be affected by them, but she also admitted she had no idea what the sal’lian flower and its leaves might have done either. She’d given them to him innocently as an offering to her great forest, not for any other reason, and he couldn’t be angry about that.

But no one had anticipated what they might or might not have done.

Ari had been scared to death about what had gone on over the last couple of days. And he hadn’t heard about someone floating in a trance for … well, it’d been a long time. Donnor rubbed the back of his head, thinking back. Long enough he hadn’t thought about that for a while; ever since the elves had started calling him Silverspear not long after he’d arrived here. He’d never heard of anyone being harmed whenever that happened, but what had gone on with Tommy still scared her to death. No matter how good of a face she put on it.

And he had to admit, it scared him a bit too.

He sighed, looking over towards the elves. Falia was there watching him, them, tied to her pole. And he had to do something about that soon. Every memory he had reminded him that he liked her, but it had been almost twenty years. How do you still like someone who’s come with a group to kill you?

He didn’t know. Gods, he just didn’t know.

His ilari lover had argued loud and angrily when she’d seen the state of the elves, but almost every single one of her complaints had fallen on deaf ears. The ch’ten refused to let her anywhere near them, probably the only time he’d ever seen them refuse her anything, and that in itself was strange. They’d even refused to allow Keris to speak to Falia, some bubbling tension there between them that he had yet to figure out.

She’d at least gotten the ch’ten to agree to cleaning them up, since the elves had soiled themselves from being tied up for so long. But they’d only done it after cutting every single one of them again with their poisoned blades, and Ari had not been happy about that.

Not a single bit.

Ahton and Tonat both agreed to allow them to at least question Falia, and it had been a major undertaking to get them to agree to that in the first place, but only after checking on Tommy. Tonat was especially insistent about that, and she brutally appealed to Ari not only as a healer, but as a mother, as well. It was strange, something in her he’d never before encountered in any of the sprites that he’d known.

The ch’ten was almost … fanatical, that was the only way he could describe it. And their drumming had never stopped, two of them constantly on the drum, trading the drummers out throughout the day. It reminded him of something he barely remembered, back from a time when … No, he wasn’t going to think about that now. But he’d seen fanaticism like that before, and he’d never thought he’d see it again. Prayed, even.

At least Mikus was up. His friend had gotten up shortly after Ari and he had awoken, after Tommy had given her the energy to shake off Garesh’s binding, a partial binding that had been keeping her down of its own accord. She’d tried to explain what had happened but he’d barely understood. Something about a seed in the past that was planted that Tommy had destroyed, having to do with whatever they’d done before.

Donnor sighed, running frustrated fingers through his hair once again. Gods, he hated magic. He stared off into the crystalline waters of the Silverlake, thinking about old arguments and even older decisions. At least everyone here was alright. He remembered the feeling that had awoken him, similar to the way he felt about Ari through the bond. But Ari had insisted she was the one who’d healed them, Tommy just opening the way.

Strangely insistent, if he was being completely honest about it.

He looked back towards her, feeling something like surprise mixing itself with frustration through the bond. It peaked into an angry annoyance before her emotions slowly calmed once more. Gods, I love her. I love them both so much, he thought as he looked to his son.

And his son was looking older, the harsh realities of the last few days and weeks weighing heavily on his boy. On all of us, he admitted, wondering how the rest of the survivors from Lakeside were doing.

Or if any of them were still alive ...

He shook off that line of thinking, closing the door on any more depressing thoughts before they could rise.

Mikus had said something about feeling the hand of the Maker on him when he’d awoken, the Maker being what the dwarves called their god. Donnor didn’t understand a lot of dwarvish, but he could tell Mikus was shaken by what had occurred. Mikus had knelt beside his boy with Karn and Turred, with his head bowed and a new bead in his beard. For long moments he hadn’t said a thing, then the three of them chanted something softly in dwarvish before they’d gone off, the lot of them heading back up into Silverlake to explore the tunnels there.

Probably needs something to do to distract himself, Donnor realized. Just like I do.

He sighed, turning back to watching his silent son and his mate. Because unlike normal, he didn’t want to go over the fight that had just happened. Didn’t want to analyze how he could have made things better. Talk tactics with his best friend.

It was a rude reality check for a warrior of their caliber to be taken down so easily ... he glanced at the elves ... only to find out you’d been saved by a fluke from your son.

Donnor looked back towards his ilari and their boy, seeing their eyes rapidly moving under their lids. They’ll be under for a while yet, he figured, but he didn’t move from where he sat by their side. He looked over to where Saress and the other survivors were lying, their supine figures completely motionless except for the rise and fall of their chests. They looked like death except for that, and he thought about what had happened to them as another shiver took ahold of him.

Saress was stable from what Ari had said, and in no danger of dying anymore. But it had been a close thing. Ari admitted it’d only been the life Tommy had been feeding her that had kept her alive. He still didn’t quite understand where that life she was talking about came from, the explanation too tied up in elven mysticism to make much sense of it, but the end result was that she was alive. Tommy had prevented her from dying, and Ari had healed her when she had come to.

That much he understood.

She’d healed him too, she’d said, saying he’d taken a nasty blow to his head. Must have, he admitted, I was out for days. But all he truly remembered was his overwhelming panic when he realized he was fighting to protect his ilari; his mate.

J’al’osil. The elite of the elite of the elven forces. The secret assassins operating out of the college of mages. The Vale called them ‘Pathfinders’, their existence only known to the mages themselves, or to those within the higher levels of government in the Vale. No one else knew a thing about them, not even he until Ari had told him about them weeks ago. He still didn’t completely understand their role, neither Ari or Saress ever fully willing to explain it, but one thing he knew for sure: They were deadly.

Absolutely deadly. He spat. Nothing had ever been made more clear.

He didn’t see a way out of this without bloodshed. Donnor knew Ari wasn’t going to agree to putting her countrymen down, but he didn’t see a way through. The troop had no way to keep prisoners, not a single way at all, and there was not one iota of interest.

And the sprites were absolutely right: You didn’t invite a rabid dog into your home; you put the damned thing down. And that, as they say, was that.

Falia was staring at him from across the way, and he could feel her gaze weighing heavily on his soul. He turned to stare back at her, his mind blanking with the weight of the decisions yet to be made. She seemed to understand what it was he was thinking, some sad acceptance communicating its way through her eyes. And he couldn’t take that, that blank understanding, and looked away from her to the elves. All of them just lying there without moving, the poison removing any chance of escape.

He knew Salia and Erella from his time in the Vale, two women he’d always thought of as maids. They’d gone everywhere with Arisaylia and him. Present when they’d made that final step into intimacy on the banks of the Awyrllyn all those years ago. They’d been friends. Hells, he’d flirted outrageously with Salia, poking fun at Ari by flirting with her in front of Ari in jest.

He’d liked them; remembering all of the times they’d been present. They’d been there for him and Ari, preserving their privacy, what little of it they ever got, present even the day they’d exchanged their vows. The laughter and jokes … they were good memories.

What happened to that? he wondered, studying their unconscious faces. How do I reconcile those memories with knowing they’d come for Ari? Almost killed Saress? How do I forget their empty eyes and cold faces?

The things he’d seen while fighting them … wielding that stick he’d grabbed out of the fire for pity’s sake. How do I forget what you’ve done?

He didn’t know ... he just didn’t know.

He looked back towards Falia, meeting her sad, knowing eyes, then he realized something. Something that should have scared him, but surprisingly didn’t. He would kill anyone who would harm his family.

Including her.

Anyone.

And admitting that weighed heavily on his soul.

***

“There’s nothing there, Ilari. Nothing beyond what we already know,” Ari said after coming out of the Tol’An. She seemed tired, but at least she wasn’t as irritated as when she’d gone in.

The two of them had been at it for hours while Donnor wallowed in his uneasy thoughts. He hadn’t come up with a solution, not even a single plan, and he was dreading the conversation to come. He didn’t want to kill any of the elves, not in this manner, but they just couldn’t hold any prisoners. Something had to be done.

He’d had everyone check in with him while his lover and their son were inside their trance. The troop was fine, no one besides Saress remaining significantly wounded. There were a few cuts and bruises, some scrapes, but that was it. So, their combat strength was at least unaffected. He’d spread word that he agreed with Keris’s decisions, acknowledging the undercurrent that most of the people hadn’t been happy about keeping the elves alive.

Keris had appreciated that. He’d never say anything, Keris was a good man that way, but Donnor could tell. And he decided to keep Keris in charge for the time being, not only trusting his judgement, but also as a public nod to his approval of the decisions Keris had made.

He did make two adjustments, though. First, he pulled the ch’ten out of any duty. They were so hyper-focused on the elves that there was no point in asking them to do anything else. And second, he’d sent a patrol to set up a guard post half a day to the east, back where they could watch over the intersection of the old road and this one from a distance.

He hoped it was the right call, setting up sentries on the hilltops that could see each other in sequence, all the way back here. They were to raise an alarm if need be, if something passed by on the road. He was worried about the time the troop had already spent around Silverlake, and was trying to make it as safe as he could. But with the elves in their midst, there wasn’t much he could do.

Oh, and he’d asked the ch’ten to dose Garesh with a little more of their poison .... then dose him again when they thought they were through. This took place well outside of Ari’s hearing, while she was inside the Tol’An in fact. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t approve, but Rast looked positively giddy when he’d translated that request. The sprites did, too.

Ari sighed, Tommy’s eyes opening only a few moments later. He still had that slightly glazed look about him that was from the leaves Tonat had given, but there was less of it than there had been before. Tommy nodded, then picked up his cup and took a long drink. Then he looked up, searching the sky as that bird of his called out another of its weird, haunting cries while it circled there, high overhead. Donnor could barely see it, but both Tommy and Ari seemed to be able to pick the bird right out. Then his son closed his eyes, leaning back against the wagon like he was totally at peace. Donnor looked a question Ari’s way.

“The effects of the plants are still in his system,” she answered. “Plus, his pathways are … stretched … from using his Tol for so long. There’s not an ounce of damage in him, not a single sign of strain, and that in itself is amazing after everything he’s done. And that storm of his? That part of him he says he can see? That helps him every now and then? There’s not a sign of it anywhere. I can feel it in the distance, I think, watching me. But it’s only a feeling. Like how the hairs can stand up on the back of your neck. It’s something like that.” She shivered.

“Is he at risk?”

“Donnor, we’re all at risk. But from whatever that is? No, not a bit. It’s his Tol, Ilari, that’s all it can be. It can’t possibly be anything else, and thinking any different is ludicrous. Why it seems to be both a part of him and yet separate, all at the same time … I have no idea. And I’m not going to mention a single bit of what he’s experiencing to a soul beyond yourself. Donnor, if the masters at the college ever found someone experiencing something like this, they’d never be able to leave the grounds. And to train someone like Tommy? Possibly without full control of his Tol?” She shook her head. “Never.”

“But he’s not at risk?”

“No, beloved. Not from anything I can see.”

“Good. Then, Ari … we have to find out why we were attacked.” Donnor nodded his head towards the elves. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but it’s time.”

Ari sighed. “I know, Donnor. I just don’t want anyone to die.”

“You’ve made that clear.”

She looked at him for a while before responding. “But you’re not saying they won’t.”

“I won’t lie to you, Arisaylia.”

“They’re my countrymen.”

“And the only reason they’re alive right now is out of respect for you.” He nodded towards the ch’ten.

“Ilari,” she began, but he held up one hand.

“Ari, I will not be separated from you. They did it before, and they’re trying to do it again.” He shrugged. “We can go round and round about it, but it comes down to the bond we share. I have to admit that it’s there, whatever it is, and I treasure it … almost as much as I treasure you.

“I thought about our situation while you were in there with Tommy.” He chucked his chin towards their son. “And one thing stood out. It’s not what you want to hear, but nevertheless, it’s true. I’ll kill anyone who tries to come between us again.” He lifted her chin with his fingers.

“Ilari, nos tairi yandun,” he said gently in elven.

“… Yandun, Ilari,” Ari softly replied.

Arisaylia sighed, glancing her countrymen’s way. She took a deep breath before meeting Falia’s eyes, and then held it. Then she let it out slowly, working both of her shoulders back and forth while she did so.

Donnor rubbed them, obviously feeling the tension that had been forming there. She leaned back into his hands, closing her eyes and luxuriating in the sensation. And she admitted to herself, she didn’t want to be separated from him or Tommy again either. Heartache and tension combined and tried to surface again despite the love Donnor was drowning her in. His love for her freed them, keeping them safe, and it devastated her that it was her countrymen who had come and tried to take her away.

He rubbed her shoulders for a while, knowing she was avoiding what needed to be done. He could almost feel what was going on in her head, the thoughts too quick to be communicated over the bond. She was dreading what could possibly come, and he wished he could save her from it. But there was nothing he could do, and eventually her thoughts came to an end.

He gave her a hug.

“Come on, let’s go talk to Falia.”

Lines of Succession

Ari stood, remaining silent as Donnor called out for Rast to translate. Then he explained to the ch’ten what they were doing, the ch’ten untying Falia and bringing her to sit apart from the other elves. Ari frowned when three of the sprites drew on their bows while another one untied Falia’s gag, but Falia sat motionless, obviously knowing how precarious her situation was.

Ari knelt on the grass, sitting on her heels with her hands in her lap. Donnor felt her gather the emotional armor she’d only ever used in the Vale, and only a handful of times at that. Inwardly, she seemed sad. Disappointment swelled with sorrow and rage in a strange mixture that bulged and flexed its way through the bond. And while all of that was going on, conflicting thoughts swirled around inside her head almost too fast to pick out.

Outwardly, her face took on a cold hauteur he’d seen more than once on the faces of elves in the Vale. It was a look of unfeeling judgement, a look commonly seen on noble elves, but only a handful of times ever seen on his ilari.

Ari studied Falia without speaking for a time, letting the uncomfortable silence stretch. And Falia met her eyes steadily, though the older woman seemed to shrink under Arisaylia’s gaze. It was a long time before Ari said a single word, eventually addressing her maid in elvish, the tongue of their homeland.

“Falia a’Saliantrea, have you betrayed your oath?”

“No, Nisa Saliantrea.” Falia made a gesture with one hand, sweeping it out in front of her face as she bowed.

“A Saliantrea was attacked.”

“Yes, Nisa Saliantrea.”

“Attacked in your presence.”

“Yes, Nisa Saliantrea.”

“Have you forgotten your family?”

Falia winced, lowering her eyes. “No, Nisa Saliantrea.”

“A’Saliantrea, your statements do not match the actions you made.”

Falia remained silent, and Ari allowed it. Donnor could feel a whirlwind of emotions passing through his ilari. Anger, pain, hurt, fury, sorrow, worry … all of them sharing an equal space, seemingly ready to explode. But not a glimmer of that showed on her face. She stared coldly at the woman who’d basically raised her. It was a scene that was hard for him to watch.

“Falia a’Saliantrea, though my protector now lives,” Ari waved her hand towards Saress, “I have been informed that she died at least twice before I was able to stabilize her with my Tol. Explain why Saress a’Saliantrea was killed while you stood and did nothing.”

Falia paled and then abased herself, the sprites taking up tension on their bows the instant she moved. Donnor waved them back while Falia pressed her face into the dirt. She finally spoke, never once raising her head.

“Nisa Saliantrea, I was not aware the Nu’Surledyn was a sister of the family. If I had known … I beg forgiveness, Saliantrea. The events that took place were not of my wish.”

“Explain.”

“Yes, Nisa,” Falia answered, still frozen in place. “Your father is angry, Nisa. He named you his heir. A secret he kept, long before you left, many years ago now.” Ari flinched while Falia continued. “No one knew. Not a single soul beyond the Wi’Jitikiin,” Ari’s eyes widened, “and he searched the Vale for you. Then our head of family searched beyond our borders. Your bondmate searches as well, though he does so for a different reason. Nisa, Saliantrea and Farlesdar are at odds.”

Ari glanced at Donnor, shaken by something Falia had said. Her shock exploded its way through the bond, though barely a sign of it crossed her face. She paused before speaking. “Explain.”

“Your father refuses to end your betrothal, Nisa, saying you are with child. A fertile pair, he claims, and recognizes your union. Farlesdar refuses to accept this, or your father’s reasoning. You’ve left the Vale, and they blame you for stealing their progeny. Nisa, there is talk of a feud.”

“This does not explain Saress a’Saliantrea’s death.”

Falia nodded. “The Council of the Wi’Jitikiin has overruled both Saliantrea and Farlesdar. Nisa ... they publicly overruled them both. To prevent a war between the Wi’Jitikiin, they have called for you to return to the Vale to explain your actions. Nisa, the army of the Vale has been formed to ensure your capture.”

Ari swallowed. “This still does not explain Saress’s death.”

“Wi’Jitikiin Farlesdar was granted charge of the Vale’s army, Nisa, an honor he passed to his son. Saliantrea was granted a large presence within the expedition, a nod to your father’s right. And your father sent me among others to form an escort for you when you return.”

“Falia a’Saliantrea, this still does not explain Saress a’Saliantrea’s death. Five times I’ve asked, and there will be no fortuitous sixth to my questioning. Speak, or by Life I will be done with you. I will not ask you again.”

“Nisa,” Falia somehow seemed to abase herself even further. “We did battle at the last citadel the humans call Redtail. Your betrothed learned of you leaving with Donnor of Lakeside and his son, as well as a dwarf named Mikus. Later, the Nessa heard rumors about your affections for this Donnor, and that you referred to his son by another name. Possibly an elven one, though the speaker was unsure. Suspicions were raised as similar names from the past were heard, and a story from that time began to spread. Old rumors resurfaced, rumors from home. And we were immediately dispatched to apprehend you by the order of your betrothed.”

Falia paused before continuing, obviously not finished with what she had to say. Ari was all but vibrating right there beside him, reaching out to clench his hand in her fist. And her white knuckled grip conveyed her dread quite clearly, beyond what the bond could already do.

“On our way here, S’tol Garesh received new orders from the army of your betrothed. It was discovered that Family Maorilan had betrayed the Vale, and that Donnor of Lakeside is in fact Donnor Silverspear, long wanted by your father and the Vale. Arnhysh had to be satisfied before coming here. But, Nisa, the army ordered … Nisa, the army of the Vale commanded …”

“Speak Falia a’Saliantrea. Let no truths go unspoken.”

Falia noticeably swallowed. “Under the auspices of the Wi’Jitikiin, it has been commanded by the army of the Vale for the immediate capture of Alaris Farlesdar’s wife, Arisaylia Farlesdar, heir to the Wi’Jitikiin, by any means necessary ...”

There was a long pause, Falia paling and drawing in a deep breath before continuing. Shaking, she was obviously not done.

“… And the death of Donnor Silverspear, his son, and any who may have assisted them. For crimes against the Vale, and insults to both families Farlesdar and Saliantrea, the army of the Vale commands it.”

Arisaylia froze, her thoughts freezing inside, as well. A numb resignation filled Donnor, realizing the Vale had caught up to them once more. There was no way out of it, no way he could fight an army. They needed to run, and on thinking that, his mind spun.

Eighteen years ... Eighteen years he’d been hiding from the Vale, and they’d finally caught up to him. Just when they’d found one another again, the Vale was threatening to rip them apart once more. He wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t allow the Vale to separate them any longer. He opened his mouth to speak, his anger and fury coming to the fore …

… And Ari placed her hand on his knee. She was staring straight at him, the bond between them open and wide. She agreed with him utterly, with every part of her being. They would not be separated all over again. It sang through their connection, the bond, their soul. Never to be separate.

Never again.

“Tomilanthus?” Ari called out, over towards where he lay, her beautiful voice adding that elvish lilt to his name. Falia jerked her head when she spoke.

“Yeah, N’Taii?” Falia noticeably flinched.

“Come over here for a moment, please.” She patted the ground beside her.

Tommy rose from where he sat and wandered over, sitting on the other side of Arisaylia from Donnor. Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but Ari shook her head before motioning for him to remain silent. Then she turned her gaze back to Falia, addressing her in elven once more.

“Falia a’Saliantrea, rise.” Falia did so, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground before her. “Falia a’Saliantrea, what did you do while my defenders were protecting me? A member of the family has fallen, the family to which you are sworn.”

“I yelled for them to stop before I was frozen, Nisa Saliantrea.”

“Even though you didn’t know that one of them was of your family, was that all that you did?”

“What else could I do, Nisa? I am only a maid, appointed by your father since your mother’s death. I have no power to stop the J’al’osil. Nor Tol, like you. It is not my place to challenge the order of the Wi’Jitikiin.”

“So, you yelled. And you are right, it is not your place to stop one of the J’al’osil.”

“Thank you, Nisa.”

“But a command? An order? Commanding the death of family in your presence? The full council of the Wi’Jitikiin is not here, Falia a’Saliantrea. Any member can voice a challenge to the ending of Life within family.”

“Nisa, your betrothed is in command of the army; heir to the Wi’Jitikiin. It speaks with their voice.”

“Hmmmm.”

“And, Nisa Saliantrea? … Nisa, there is no order of death upon a Saliantrea.”

“And I say that there is.” Arisaylia let the silence stretch. “Falia a’Saliantrea, raise your eyes to me.” Falia did so hesitantly, her expression curiously wary. “Who do you see before you?”

“I see you, Nisa. Arisaylia Saliantrea. Now Arisaylia Farlesdar”

“I object to that naming, but who else do you see?”

“Donnor of Lakeside, who I once knew as Donnor Silverspear, many years ago.”

“And who else?”

“A young human, who you have called Tommy. As well as Tomilanthus.” She seemed reluctant to admit that. “I assume the Silverspear’s son”

“Is that the entirety of what you know?”

“Yes, Nisa. I say so before Life.” She bowed her head once more.

“And what do you suspect?”

Falia remained noticeably silent, opening her mouth and then closing it.

“Hmmmm. Allow me to educate you, Falia a’Saliantrea,” Ari said, her fury singing its way through the bond. “On my left, indeed, is Donnor Silverspear, who you knew well many years ago, before his banishment from the Vale. He was banished for loving an elf, loving me, and for fathering a child on my body. Were you aware that this was the reason?”

“No, Nisa. Though there were many who did suspect.”

“I thought not. My father quashed the rumors most thoroughly. Ari took a moment to calm herself. One of her eyelids was twitching, the only outward sign of her fury. “On my right is Tommy, Tomilanthus, unknown to his mother for eighteen years as a result of their enforced separation. I believe you were in the birthing chamber when I gave birth to my firstborn. Isn’t that true?”

“Yes, Nisa Saliantrea.”

“And the sex of my firstborn?”

“A male child, Nisa.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It was as you said, Nisa, I was there. You delivered your son into my arms.”

Ari nodded. “And what happened to him? To my son?” If Ari could be any more angry, she would have exploded.

“He was immediately delivered to the J’al’osil on your father’s order, Nisa, when it was shown that he would survive. … It was ordered in the name of the Wi’Jitikiin, as was the silence your father commanded.”

“In the name of the Wi’Jitikiin …” Ari repeated, so furious that fire should be shooting forth from her eyes. Ari let the silence continue, only Donnor knowing it was to allow her to remain calm when all she wanted to do was scream. She was staring at Falia not seeing her, but Falia didn’t know that at all. Falia lowered her eyes, making a gesture Donnor knew was reserved for the Wi’Jitikiin, and on seeing that gesture, Ari’s emerald green eyes went hard.

“Falia a’Saliantrea, I find no fault in your actions. You have been a victim of circumstance, and are to resume your duties to family. Your oaths are intact, and your place in Family Saliantrea remains secure.”

“Thank you, Nisa.” Falia bowed low.

“However, your knowledge of current events is lacking, and must immediately be rectified.”

“Nisa?”

“Allow me to introduce to you Donnor Silverspear, my ilari, my betrothed, and father of my firstborn child.” Falia gasped and bowed again, making a separate gesture his way. “Lying there is our adopted daughter, Saress a’Saliantrea, valued companion and acknowledged protector of my sept within family.” Falia bowed once more. “And, finally, may I present to you mine and my ilari’s child, Tomilanthus Saliantrea, my firstborn son ...

“… Acknowledged and witnessed before the J’al’osil, as heir to my sept within Family Saliantrea’s line.”

Falia’s head whipped up to her in shock. “A Nu’Surledyn heir?”

“My heir, Falia a’Saliantrea. I announced it upon adopting Saress a’Saliantrea, a J’al’osil, into my sept. May it all be known.”

Falia’s eyes rounded when Ari finished her pronouncement, Donnor not understanding the amount of shock hitting her maid in the least. Ari glanced his way, a shrewd look entering into her eyes, along with a look of … resignation? Sorrow? Regret? He wasn’t quite sure.

Falia bowed to her, somehow abasing herself even more than she’d already done. Then slowly and formally she rose and bowed from her knees to each of them, making a unique and separate gesture each time. She even bowed towards Saress’s silent form before pausing, and then shuddered, her mind obviously spinning by what Ari had revealed. Then she gathered herself, putting her hands upon her knees while lowering her head, waiting for Ari to speak.

Ari watched her for a time in silence, chewing on her lower lip. Then she glanced Donnor’s way once more before continuing, somehow strangely intent. “Falia a’Saliantrea, I call upon you for counsel.”

“Yes, Saliantrea. I am here to serve.”

“What is required of an heir to fulfill their oath?”

Falia shook herself, obviously distracted from her inner thoughts by what Ari had asked. She replied almost by rote. “Nisa, the heir must be recognized and survive to their third sixth. Then they must prove they can continue the family line. They do so by producing a child from an acknowledged bond which survives to its majority. On completion of these requirements, the heir is confirmed.”

“How old am I?”

“One hundred and thirty, Nisa.”

“And have I born a child who has survived to its third sixth, Falia?”

“Yes, Nisa.”

“And have I been recognized as heir?”

“Yes, Nisa. I was present before the Council of the Wi’Jitikiin when it was revealed. The council charged your bondmate to apprehend you and return you to them for questioning. It was there that I was given my role by your father, and there that the council named you as heir. Your father made no denial, therefore your status was sworn and witnessed.”

“I see.” Ari paused, taking a deep breath, seemingly resigning herself to something. “Then what does that make me, Falia a’Saliantrea?”

Falia hesitated, and then lowered her head. “May I ask you a question, Saliantrea?”

“You may.”

“You are truly sworn ilari?” Her disbelief was palpable.

“We have,” Donnor answered for her, “since before Tommy was conceived on the banks of the Awyrllyn. Upon mine own honor before Life, I so swear it.”

Falia locked her eyes on him in shock upon hearing his wording, that ancient and formal pledge. She lowered her eyes, hurriedly making a sign of respect to family, for breaking the oath he’d made meant death. But Ari could have kissed him, for the pledge he’d made was rarely heard even before the full council, let alone in the wilds where they now were.

“And upon mine own honor before Life, I so swear it, as well. Falia a’Saliantrea, does this answer your question?”

“It does, Saliantrea.”

“And as a result?”

“… Nisa? … Is the bond true?”

Ari looked to Donnor before responding. “It is, Falia. It really is. Before Life, I swear it.”

“… we so swear,” Donnor said at almost the same time.

“May Life shine upon the ilari and flourish.” Falia bowed low, repeating the pledge to the ancients. “Life’s blessing upon those who grace–”

“But beyond that,” Ari interrupted, “accepting now that there is an acknowledged bond to our union,” she prompted.

Falia gaped at her interruption, but gamely moved on, visibly gathering herself before speaking. “The acknowledged bond makes you the heir in waiting of Family Saliantrea, Nisa.”

“Yes, yes it does,” Ari replied, but Donnor could tell she was not through. “It also makes me something else, does it not, Falia a’Saliantrea? Thanks to what my father has done.”

“Yes, Nisa Saliantrea.” She bowed once more.

“And that is?”

“It makes you the heir apparent to the second pillar of the Wi’Jitikiin, Nisa Saliantrea. The pillar held by Na’Tor Saliantrea, your father, Head of Family to Saliantrea. The pillar of Tol.”

“Indeed it does, Falia. Indeed it does.”

“Nisa Saliantrea?”

“Yes?”

Falia made the gesture of respect required to the Wi’Jitikiin, gracefully lowering her eyes as she bowed. “The blessings of Life to the Wi’Jitikiin and the Vale, Nisa.”

Ari met Donnor’s eyes before repeating, a worried glance passing from him to their son.

“… Life to the Wi’Jitikiin and the Vale ...”

***

The conversation with Falia had been going on for over an hour, but Donnor had stopped listening a long time ago. Ari was the acknowledged heir of one of the Wi’Jitikiin? His Ari? The same person sitting right here with dirt on her nose? He was at the same time both shocked, stunned, and amused.

But his brain had come to stop thinking about it. It was too much information. Too many ideas spinning around in his head. He scooted himself back from her side, translating a lot of the conversation for Tommy without thinking about it. But even that dwindled off into silence as he was consumed by his thoughts.

Ari’s conversation with Falia had descended into naming people and politics that Donnor had zero understanding of. Beyond the name Farlesdar, he didn’t know any of the people that Falia mentioned, but it was obvious that Ari did. She’d lived with these people after all. Had a child with the man who was after her … after them both. And thinking about that sent his thoughts into a spiral all of its own.

It was a while before he realized everyone had stopped talking.

Ari had risen to hug Falia, tears coming from both of their eyes. He’d always thought it was strange how the elves could go from haughtily unemotional to displays of raw passion from one moment to the next, but he was glad that they could. He’d never survive being so formal all of the time.

“And neither could I,” Ari said, smiling and then wiping her eyes.

“You said you couldn’t read my mind through the bond.”

“And I can’t, but it doesn’t take a mind reader to figure out what you’re thinking, Ilari.” Ari smiled at him, cupping his cheek with her hand. “I love you.”

“And I love you, Arisaylia Saliantrea.”

She kissed him full on the lips before pulling back, letting her forehead rest against his. Falia was looking back and forth between them, a thoughtful look on her face. And Tommy was just sitting there; bless him for just being quiet and taking it all in.

“There is a way out of this, beloved. I’ve found us a way,” Ari announced.

“How’s that?”

“By declaring ourselves.”

“Declaring ourselves what?”

“Alaris’s main authority is by being an heir to one of the Wi’Jitikiin. That and this nonsense about our being wed.”

“So?”

“I am my father’s heir.”

“So? So, what?”

“Donnor, my union with Alaris was never final, but yours and mine is. It undermines the entire reason for the army’s existence, the entire reason for the council’s complaint. His and my authority becomes equal.”

“The council put a warrant out on you, Arisaylia. They most likely know. I don’t think the council will care one bit about our ‘union’.”

“No, but my claim with you is stronger than the one they already know, Ilari.”

“Who gives a damn?” Donnor waved his hand towards Falia. “Don’t you remember when I said I didn’t want to run into an angry elf wondering where his betrothed was? Yeah. Falia’s said he’s in charge of an army now. It’s coming this way.”

“Because of a proposal that’s moot.”

“You can’t seriously think he cares about that.”

“No,” Ari admitted. “But by the laws of the Wi’Jitikiin, my situation is quite clear.”

“How so?”

“Donnor, in the eyes of the Vale, you and I proposed to each other a long time ago. We hid that from my father while we were in the Vale, true, but we’ve never broken our bond. Life, it’s stronger now than it ever was before. And my father made me his heir despite already knowing that I gave birth to your son. Whether he acknowledges our child or not, it doesn’t matter. Tomilanthus survived. The fact that he did so, completes it.”

Ari continued. “Tommy is our child, Donnor. He’s survived to his third sixth, and I’ve carried on my family name, as is my duty, just like we’ve talked about it before. Ilari, in the eyes of the Vale, we are one.”

“And your other proposal? To Alaris? Your other child? Di’ii? Did you forget about her?”

Ari looked like he’d slapped her, but then she understood, reading his fears through the bond. “Di’ii will always be my child, Donnor Silverspear. Half-sister to Tomilanthus, loved and missed by all who knew her … even you. I will not refuse to acknowledge a child of my body. Her birth, her father, and her loss will always haunt me.” She screwed up her face before speaking once more, almost daring him to refute her. “May it be known.”

Falia bowed and then lowered her eyes, the gesture of respect to the Wi’Jitikiin making its appearance once more while Ari steadily met Donnor’s gaze.

“And where does that leave me?”

“Where you already are, Ilari. Together, with me.”

“Doesn’t having a child with him also make you both ‘one’?”

“There was no bond there beyond a declaration of interest, and there was no rite performed to further that bond before the Wi’Jitikiin. If you coldly viewed it, our child ultimately did not survive its majority.” Ari sniffed. “Donnor, you are the only one.”

“Ari, you were betrothed and had a child with a man after you were already promised and had a child with me. The politics of that are murky at best, and humiliating at worst, even out here on the edges of a human kingdom, let alone in the Vale. And I’m a human, of all things! Our son will be known as a Nu’Surledyn in the Vale! I find it hard to believe the Wi’Jitikiin will be amused.”

He held tightly onto his feelings, clamping down on them with all of his might. Ari looked at him quizzically, Tommy and Falia too.

“Ilari, this is not like you. What troubles you?”

“Ari, I’ve already lived with a price on my head.”

“What?”

“You’re making me out to be a king.”

Ari relaxed, smiling. “No, Ilari. No, I am not. There is only one head of each family in the Vale, and only that head is Wi’Jitikiin. The title does not transfer between partners. It begins and ends with me.”

“That doesn’t matter, Ari. Do you seriously think I will be acknowledged and accepted into your family? Or Tommy will, for that matter? By your father? Or by any of the Wi’Jitikiin?”

“No. I don’t think they will accept you at all. But for right now, it doesn’t matter.”

“Ari, that doesn’t make a single bit of sense. There’s an army on its way here. The bloody strike force they sent is tied up over there.”

“It does when you know who the masters swear their loyalty to, Ilari.”

Donnor looked at her intently, forcing himself to remain calm. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who’s that?”

“To become a master mage, you must swear your loyalty to the Vale before all others. Your vows to your family become secondary.”

“So that means …”

“S’tol Garesh will be forced by his oath to let us remain free. To do otherwise would force him to become foresworn.”

“You can’t seriously expect me to believe that. That man attacked you.”

“However, by his oath he is required to protect the Wi’Jitikiin. Of which, I am now one,” Ari insisted. “By our own laws, I am considered part of the Wi’Jitikiin by becoming an heir. Having fulfilled my role, with my mate, progeny, and witnesses present, there is nothing he can do but accept it … acknowledging us, and acknowledging me.”

Donnor pursed his lips, not buying it at all. “Ari, that’s awfully naive. This is not like you …”

“Nessa Silverspear …” Falia interrupted.

Donnor laughed. “Falia, I’m no more one of your princes than I’ve suddenly become an elf. Why in all the gods’ names would you call me that?”

“Because it is true,” Falia insisted, her temper flaring before she oddly lowered her eyes. “Nisa Saliantrea is not wrong, Nessa. Nor is she being naive. The masters are sworn to the Vale itself, their families come second. Every family loses something just as great as they gain when one of their own becomes a S’tol.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. That man attacked us! There’s no way in every single lost god’s hell that he’ll suddenly forget that. Or, the way we’ve kept him tied up and poisoned, for that matter!”

“No, he will not forget that, Ilari. Nor will any of the J’al’osil who helped the assault, either. But the Wi’Jitikiin and the Vale are the masters’ family, first and foremost, and the J’al’osil are sworn to and a part of that family. For attacking me? Their shame will be great.”

“You can’t seriously expect me to believe that.”

“Ilari, remember when you said you never really lived our culture?” He nodded. “Trust me when I tell you, this is one of those times.”

Tommy had been watching them silently while they were discussing it. There were multiple questions running around in his head, and he spoke to the one that came first and foremost to his mind. “How will you prove it?”

“Hmmm?”

“How will you prove it, Ari? That I’m your son, I mean. That Da’ was promised to you? That you’re the heir?”

“That’s a good question,” Donnor agreed. “I can’t believe they’ll just take your word for it.”

“No, you’re absolutely correct. But there’s a way that a S’tol can identify a member of the Wi’Jitikiin, and a bond between partners as well.”

“How?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

Donnor threw his hands up in the air. “Well, then what good is it?”

“Because there is a way.”

“And you just expect him to do it for you when you ask?”

“Yes.”

“And then everything is going to be magically all better?” Donnor’s voice dripped with sarcasm, plain for them all to hear.

“Yes.”

“Ilari, did you get hit on the head harder than we thought? Are you still a touch rattled? Brains scrambled just a little bit?” His sarcasm had turned to derision, suddenly and blatantly on display. “That’s an elite strike force over there!” He was close to shouting his exasperation, and people were starting to look. The sprites started knocking their bows once more, looking grimly at Falia, but Donnor angrily waved them away. “I love you, but gods! Just assuming and taking their word for it is going to get you killed! What’s the matter with you?”

Falia winced, and Tommy did too, rarely ever hearing his Da’ raise his voice. And even then, rarer in anger. But Ari, she swelled.

“Do not take that tone of voice with me, Ilari. You may speak our language like one of the ancients, but there are things about us that you will never know. I know my people, Donnor Silverspear, and I know them well. And to them, it is you who are the outsider. Trust me when I say I know what my people will do.”

Donnor rocked back, not so much by her words, but by the iron will that communicated itself through the bond. She frowned mightily his way, her face taking on that angry arrogance he’d only ever seen used by noble elves. And it made him pause before snapping back a quick reply, taking time to consider everything he was getting from her through the bond before he opened his mouth once more.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said emphatically.

But Donnor picked up on a sliver of doubt, just the barest hint of a whisper, and he held onto its slippery form in his mental grasp. He frowned her way once more. “Really.”

She smiled ruefully, quickly glancing away. “Almost certainly.”

He raised a single eyebrow. “I may not know your people, Lady Arisaylia Saliantrea, but I know ‘almost certainly’ is a whole lot different than ‘yes’.”

She pursed her lips at him, looking down and away before looking back once more. “You can be very irritating sometimes, Ilari.”

“And so can you, princess.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “So, while we’re irritating each other by being ourselves, why don’t we take the time to figure out how to turn your almost certainly into a yes.”

“Fine,” she answered, waving Falia closer to speak.

And then Tommy got to listen to his parents and Falia dicker in common and elven, while watching his bird circle high overhead.

The Marching of Booted Feet

If there was one thing Arnet didn’t want to be doing, it was standing where he was right now.

It had taken most of a day and a half to get all the way into the pass, and he’d struggled against demanding they go faster since the blasted wagons slowed everything down. But his desire to get to the site of the battle quickly, despite the bloody peasants, was totally offset by the feelings slowly encroaching on soul. Things he wasn’t used to experiencing … dread, revulsion, and fear.

Sergeant Tardook was currently organizing the conscripts into patrols while a quiet wind blew, giving Arnet a moment to survey what was left. And while he was doing that, Arnet’s mind blanked as he remembered the thunderous explosions, and the mind-numbing screams, all heard amongst the calls of the ondilaan.

A shiver took him while he remembered, a shiver he’d deny to anyone as he relived the battle he’d seen.

The smell in the pass was atrocious, and bloated corpses littered the pass. Countless vultures, vermin, and other scavengers were feasting on the bodies everywhere he could see. And the ground was saturated with blood where it hadn’t been blackened, blasted clean by the elven magics. Craters speckled the terrain, sometimes several of them overlapping at once, making passage for the wagons all but impossible.

Which is why they’d had to go around ... which took more time. Time to reinforce in his mind that the churned remains of the battlefield were one of the most disgusting things he’d seen.

But topping it all off was what they had found only a stone’s throw away. Tearing his gaze away from the battlefield, he looked towards the feature they’d been approaching ever since coming this way. Something he’d never imagined he’d bear witness to.

It was a wall. The remains of the mountain … the biggest corpse anyone would ever see.

Tremendous blocks of stone stretched across the pass as if the lost gods themselves had just cast them into place, marking where the mountain once stood. He’d travelled this way many times in the recent past, the last only a year ago now, when he’d gone with the caravans to Devalket for Lord Maorilan. And he remembered how the mountain had towered over the pass, its craggy peak marking the halfway point there.

Now, he stood on the ground, stupefied, staring up to where the mountain had once been. And the air around him seemed to be holding its breath as he remembered the apocalyptic flash that had marked its destruction. Then he remembered the mountain’s fall … how it had marked the ondilaan’s defeat ...

“Commander Arnet? The patrols are out, sir, and the rest of the men are making camp. Orders?”

“You know as well as I do what needs to take place, Tardook. Speak with that man Girdly put in charge of those bloody peasants, have the laborers start digging foundations, and then have the loggers start gathering whatever wood they can find.”

Arnet looked around at the pass, seeing the remains of splintered trees littering the walls of the pass. He shuddered remembering the explosions.

“Assign the miners and a section of conscripts to start clearing the immediate area. We don’t want to be dealing with scavengers during the night. Then drag the bodies towards the middle of the pass before you burn them.”

Arnet’s voice trailed off, noticing random limbs sticking out of the corpses. He stood there, silently, hearing more explosions in his mind.

“Sir.” Tardook saluted fist to chest when his commander didn’t say anything further, leaving to follow his orders.

He’s a good man, for a commoner, Arnet thought after he started, returning to looking around.

He’d carried out Lord Maorilan’s orders that night, evacuating as many elven wounded from the pass as he could. But nothing had prepared him for what he’d witnessed here, not a single damn thing. All of the duels, all of the stadium fights, all of the tourneys he’d ever fought in for sport, nothing had prepared him for what he’d experienced. And nothing, absolutely nothing at all, could have conspired to shake him more than seeing what those elven mages could do.

They’d laid waste to an army … thousands of ondilaan … many times their size.

It was terrifying. He swallowed, forcing himself to stand still while every part of his body wanted to shake. The nonstop howling of the ondilaan mixed with the screams and cries of the elves, all eerily sounding like a morbid cacophony of doom.

Thunderclaps followed what he’d sworn had been lightning, blazing forth from the fingertips of robed figures, working in concert with the men of the line. They were like a machine. He shook his head.

He’d seen one once, a machine that is, a fancy clock given as a gift to the palace in Tatdavarr. It had been at some party he’d attended. A marvel from a far-off place that wanted to ply its trade through the Gate. They’d opened it, watching the perfectly round wheels speckled with teeth bite against one another. The gears had turned in a never-ending dance to perform their intricate task. The over-complicated artistry designed to simply move two wands around in a circle. The whole thing a piece to denote time.

It seemed ridiculous to him in that moment; a thing so incredibly complex to perform a simple task that anyone with a window could do. But the hundreds of infinitesimally teethed wheels working together in harmony, reminded him of what he’d witnessed of the elven army while it fought its way through the pass.

The cogs that made up the Vale’s army had worked together, doing what needed to be done. And they defeated an enemy many times their size. But that memory did absolutely nothing to bring pleasure to him now.

He’d never seen or heard anything like it. The elves rotated their forces out of the front line in a never-ending cycle, every rank having a momentary break. And the precision with which the elves fought? Arnet had only ever seen something like it once before. During a duel with one of the king’s guards, over a year ago now. For some perceived insult he couldn’t even recall.

That elite guard had nothing on the elves, not a solitary damn thing. Their precision of arms didn’t even come close to the elves, and he’d told Sir Laigan as much. And the fact that they didn’t? Arnet shook his head once more. The king’s guard … the pillar of martial strength for the kingdom … most likely completely outclassed?

That thought kept him up at night.

And the elves had fought on, never pausing even once, even in the face of the tremendous losses they’d taken. No matter the endless fire from their deadly bows, nor the scary elegance of their frontline fighters, none of that was enough to prevent the sheer devastation the ondilaan inflicted upon their ranks. No matter how well they fought, the battle waged on.

The elven mages merged with the machine the army had become, seamlessly supporting the ever-turning gears while rank after rank rotated their way out. But even the mages reached a point where their precision broke down, the wheels of the machine struggling to turn while their teeth were stripped bare. And as the magical barriers started to fall during the endless assault, with elves littering the field, something changed within their ranks.

Then ondilaani arrows started to fall amongst their troops.

The fiery streamers of doom the ondilaan shot began gorging themselves upon the elven defenders. The demonic arrows balefully burned their targets with the slightest of touch, the elves screaming while they were consumed. And the fires spread like wildfire from elf to struggling elf, a plague amidst their formation, while ever more arrows flew.

The ondilaan howled with glee as the lightning stopped flying their way. Then the beasts charged into the elven lines, redoubling their efforts no matter how many losses they took. They battered their way past the first of the elven lines, while a light began building in the center of the Vale’s army.

A radiance grew underneath the largest of the banners, slowly rising like the sun to light up the night. An echoing hum followed, painfully rattling his teeth while the light eclipsed all he could see. He shielded his eyes, they all did, every single last person in the pass. Then a brilliance flared, and then there was heat, then whatever happened next, occurred.

He could barely remember that moment, beyond the blinding light that is. He’d realized he’d been screaming, lying flat on his back some unknown amount of time later. And he’d been clawing at his eyes, his body feeling like he’d taken every beating he’d ever taken at once.

He had no idea how long it took for his sight to return, laying there, rolling around amongst the bodies of those who had fought. But when his sight returned, the wall had been there. That imposing monument, that indomitable edifice, that terrifying precipice of stone … It was all that remained of the mountain. The peak that had once stood over the pass.

Arnet shook himself, realizing he had no idea how long he’d been staring at the stone. It blotted out the sky; the sheer cliff forcing you to look at it unless you were looking straight up. And he admitted he didn’t understand why the destruction had shaped its way into a wall, not a single piece of it falling in the direction of the Hold. But the elven army had stood where he now was that terrible night, the night when a wall had appeared where a mountain once stood.

He forced himself to turn his back to it, watching his men drag the corpses, following the orders he’d made. One of them picked up a hand, tossing it into a pile they’d formed, a little bit of the arm still attached. The splat travelled its way to his ears, hearing it quite clearly over the oppressive quiet. Then another man turned to vomit, a third one turning as well.

We’ll need water. A lot of it, he realized, watching the clothes of those dragging the bodies turn red with gore. He remembered the tiny waterfall they’d passed earlier that morning, almost an hour away. He shook his head.

This entire place is a slaughterhouse. He spat, clearing the smell of the dead from his mouth. The odor was strong: a sickly-sweet stench that permeated everything around them. He covered his nose with a cloth, hoping it would help, and it did for a bit. The breeze helped some, too. But it wasn’t enough.

Nowhere near enough, Arnet thought, eyeing the growing pile of dead.

He walked away, heading back to the wagons and the useless commoners there. He needed more troops. The dedication and duty he’d instilled in the Redtail Guard was at least something he could depend on and work with. These people? Not so much.

Two of the useless peasants were leaning up against one of the wagons as he approached, doing absolutely nothing while he considered the water they needed … at least enough to wash. They saw him, then hurried to find something to do while he weighed the pros and cons of moving to where the fall was. The lazy peasants must have spread word, all of them starting to do this or that thing while he finished debating his choices.

He needed to decide before the diggers got too far, and he wondered if he should seek the Hold’s guidance. No. No one would care if this yet-to-be-formed place was moved. And there was no reason to bother Lord Maorilan with a decision he’d already authorized him to make. The man had enough on his plate as it is, and Arnet would carry out his lord’s orders to the best of his ability.

No other thought even entered his mind.

This was the dream post for a fifth son of any house, let alone the House of Arnet. The minor noble house that had raised him had given up on him ever achieving anything beyond dueling for sport. And so, he’d dueled and fought for many years.

But when the call had gone out for a new swordmaster for Redtail, all those years ago, he had fought tirelessly to achieve his position. Defeating one contender after the next, he’d struggled to be considered by the lord’s knight. And when Sir Laigan had chosen to accept him, absolutely nothing could have held Arnet back.

To be named swordmaster, third in command of one of the Timeless Throne’s holdings, in charge of the readiness of its troops … no matter how far that territory was from the center of the kingdom? It was an absolute dream. It was a position that all of his time and hard work had achieved. But he was paying for that dream now, paying for these years of ease since assuming this post.

Keeping the Redtail Guard in fighting trim, their only combat over the years being against the odd raider, or the beasts passing their way through, that had been easy. And as he walked his way through the devastation, stepping over carrion and random body parts just to make it past the wagons, he wondered what that eventual price may be.

Was this an abattoir of death demanded by the gods? A debt for the years of peace they had known? Some bill to be paid to some ancient chapel somewhere?

Or was this a levy in blood and corpses? Something the Hold had only begun to see ...

***

“What do you mean a boat is coming in?”

“What I bloody said, you stupid lout,” Jan all but spat. “An’ if yer’ wantin’ to see who it bloody well be, get yer’ arse movin’.”

Halbaad Garr glared at his cousin, grumbling while he got out of bed. He’d been working late like everyone else, trying to reinforce the defenses they’d put in place ever since Donnor and his troop had gone south. And they’d almost finished that wooden stockade too, similar to the one Donnor said Resthaven was putting up.

That was almost two weeks ago, now … Really? Damn. I guess it was. Hal scrubbed his face, trying to force wakefulness while he blindly reached out for his shirt.

“Yer’ sure an ugly one in tha’ mornin’, Hal,” Jan remarked, taking another nip from her flask. “No wonder ya’ never found yerself a woman.”

Hal stopped and glared at her, Jan backing up while raising her hands. He’d never wanted to put a woman through the way he lived, wondering where he was or how he was doing every single damned day. Joining the Redtail Guard as a boy, he’d spent his entire life in it. He had no room in his life for a woman or a wife, nothing beyond a periodic roll in the hay.

Halbaad grabbed up his breeches, pulling them on while he glared. “Anything else ya’ want to say while you’re at it?” he asked in a dangerous tone. The same tone his squad said let everyone know his patience was thin.

Jan shook her head at him. “Don’t be takin’ tha’ tone wi’ me. I ain’t never been one of yer’ soldier boys. Never gonna’ be, neither,” she stated, taking another sip from her flask. “Get yer’ arse up, Sergeant.” She threw his rank in his face as she left through the door.

Halbaad sighed, glaring at her back while finishing getting dressed. Gods, she’s an irritating woman, he thought, puttering around the house. Damnit, I’m sore, too, crossed his mind, working his shoulders to loosen the tension there.

He left his house, turning in the direction of the Serensea. Thunder rumbled in the distance out of the clear blue sky somewhere off to the north and the west. Strange place for an autumn storm to be … He stopped to look for it, but it didn’t rumble again, so he paid it no mind.

People greeted him as he passed, a few stopping to ask about this or that thing. He was the headman after all, but it still stunned him how people had to endlessly talk and debate every single last thing. The guard didn’t do that; after all, it wasn’t that hard to make a decision. And most of these people already knew what needed to be done. But there were a lot of people from other settlements and villages, and most of them probably just needed to be reassured.

Confirming to one of the boat captains the state of his net’s repair, something he damn well knew the captain knew all about, he finally made his way to the ‘Sea. And even though a lot of the new people had gone on to Redtail, a lot of them still remained. Maybe I can get Jan to take a couple more, he thought, looking at the surrounding crowd. Their tension seemed higher than normal, and more nervous people joined in, waiting for the boats arrival and whatever news it might bring.

He waited along shore as the boat heaved to, Nope, not one of ours, catching sight of the pennant on top of the mast. It was one of Redtail’s boats, and Hal wondered why it had come to the Shoal. He’d sent Jan with his letters for Tintafel the other day, and he wasn’t expecting a reply for another week.

He studied the boat. Redtail had ordered all of the boats to the Hold over a month ago now, to help feed the refugees there, and had only allowed the surrounding villages to keep the minimum they would need. That boat there was one of the newer ones, able to catch and haul a lot of fish. And it was fast, too, easily able to range all over the ‘Sea. It was decidedly odd to send one of the newer boats here, especially with everyone Tintafel said Redtail needed to feed.

“Hello, the shore!” a man on the boat called out.

“Hello, the boat!” Hal caught a line tossed to him while the boat beached itself on shore, then he expertly tied it off on one of the stakes. Men started to disembark, and then he received another surprise. The men were both armed and armored, and the guardsman in charge was walking his way.

“Sergeant Garr?” the newcomer called.

“Just Halbaad now. I retired years ago.”

“Corporal Swellen, sir, Redtail Guard.” He held out his hand. “I joined just before you left.”

Halbaad nodded, shaking his hand while eying the rest of the men. “What can I do for you, son?”

“Right,” the corporal said, handing him a sealed packet. “We’re being stationed here to reinforce Varmen’s Shoal. I’ve got my orders here, sir, but there’s a lot more in this packet Sir Laigan sent.”

“Sum it up for me,” Halbaad said, watching the men climb down from the boat. A boatsmen started tossing various supplies to the men, the soldiers forming a line and then passing the equipment further up from shore.

“Yes, sir. The boat’s dropping us here before it heads back out. There was a battle near the mines a week ago. The elves fought the ondilaan, thousands of them, and then sealed the pass. Dropped a whole bloody mountain on them if you can believe it.”

Halbaad’s eyebrows climbed high onto his forehead while the guardsman continued. “That army’s heading this way, sir, probably going through Resthaven first. We need to send runners to tell them to let the elves through, and surrender if need be. It’s the same for us here. You’re to surrender to the elves if they come here. We all are. Them elves are furious about somethin’, dunno’ what it is, but we’re not to challenge them for nothin’,” the corporal’s accent thickened along with his stress. “Lord Maorilan done told me that, hisself.”

Halbaad blinked at the corporal, then tried to process what he’d been told. He looked down at the papers, an awfully thick packet of papers now that he thought about it, and then looked back to the corporal in surprise.

“Surrender the Shoal?” Hal asked.

“Aye, sir.” Then the corporal looked a little shaken, as if he was remembering something he’d rather he didn’t. “Sir … Sergeant … you’re not going to be wantin’ to stand in them elves’ way. Not one bit, sir.”

Halbaad started nodding, a habit he’d formed whenever he’d gotten orders that surprised him. He watched the last of the equipment unloaded from the boat, his mind spinning as he realized they were already readying to leave.

“I don’t have a lot of room for your people, but we’ll think of something.” He paused, the boat’s master yelling to hurry up. “What’s he in such a hurry for?”

“The lord’s orders, sir. That boat there’s headin’ south.” Halbaad looked the corporal a question. “Towards Brookside, and then on to Harper’s Creek, before hittin’ Lakeside down south.”

“Lakeside? Ain’t nothing there. Why’s he doin’ that?”

“That army of elves, sir? They’re lookin’ for Commander Donnor. And everyone knows he was comin’ from down there. The elves are knowin’ he came through here not too long ago, too, and Lord Maorilan is pretty sure they’re on their way here because of that.”

“Coming here? Again? We already had elves come through asking questions about a week ago now.”

“Don’t know nothin’ about that, sir. All I know is the lord wants Commander Donnor to know there’s nothing he can do about them elves. Rumor has it they’re writing the Commander and his men off.” Corporal Swellen spit. “And there’s not a bloody damn thing good about that, sir. Not one good thing at all.”

The boat’s master was yelling for someone to untie the line, the rest of the corporal’s men pushing the boat back into the ‘Sea. They were grunting against its weight, Halbaad getting a sinking feeling while he watched the boat being pushed from shore. The rest of the village had come out to watch, curious about a boat coming and then immediately going, and a few of them were throwing their questions his way. But he remained quiet, considering the ramifications of what he’d just learned.

That was something else he’d learned in the guard. Better to shut up and think, rather than run your mouth like a fool.

He turned away as the boat raised its sail, the wind quickly catching and hauling the boat over on its way south. Then he sent someone to find Torin, his second in command, also retired, ironically his old corporal when they both served in the guard. A lot of his old unit had followed him here as they got too old to remain in the lord’s service, and he’d always been secretly pleased by that.

But now he wasn’t too certain it had been such a good idea.

He had begun to relive memories of his past musterings. And pretty much ever since Donnor had left heading south, he’d been waking to the sounds of marching feet. Now it seemed those dreams were getting louder, especially with the troops now suddenly here. Torin had always been good at keeping things organized whenever things got bad, and he had a feeling he might need his old corporal’s skills once more.

“Corporal Swellen? Have your men set up here for now. I need you to come with me. You …” He paused to study the boat, already at full sail and heading south as fast as it could along shore. The spray along the bow literally flew.

“You and me? I’m thinking we need to have a nice long chat.”

***

“Sergeant Moran! Sergeant Moran!” The Jaltol’s youngest boy skidded into Resthaven’s inn.

It was time for the evening meal, and it had been a very long day. The fire was burning merrily in the hearth, chasing away the chill blowing in on the breeze. And most of the village was eating, and talking about their day.

The flames also helped get rid of the unnerving feeling ever since the elves’ had left the previous day, feelings that everyone was still having. They all were on edge, every single last one of them, and the boy’s frantic calls caused conversation to cease.

“What is it?” Garret asked, standing up so the boy could find him.

“Sergeant Moran! The bridge guard wants ya’! They stopped a horse!”

“Gods, what now,” Garret muttered, buckling on his sword. Taylin poked her head out of the kitchen while frowning his way, so he answered her question before she could ask. “I don’t know. I’ll let you know as soon as I find out. Better tell your dad.” She frowned some more, not saying a word, but nodded while watching him leave.

Garret trotted out of the inn, Oldsby already there at the bridge. A man was holding the reins of a horse stopped in the middle of the bridge … and that man looked tired. Real tired. And his horse did too; breathing heavily while sweat was staining its hide. Wherever that man had come from, he had ridden hard to get here.

“Report.”

“Sergeant Garret Moran?” the rider asked.

“Aye, that’s me.”

The man saluted fist to chest. “Guardsman Greenspire, Sergeant. Missives from Redtail, from Lord Maorilan’s own hand.”

Moran and Oldsby were suddenly on guard. “Now what?” Oldsby asked while Garret wondered the same thing.

The rider rooted around in his saddle bags, pulling out a packet of papers thick enough to be bound like a book. He handed them to Sergeant Moran, who passed them off to Oldsby without even glancing their way.

“A summary for now. You received one, right?”

“Yes, Sergeant. From Lord Maorilan: Do not interfere with the elven army. Surrender yourselves and Resthaven if need be. More detailed instructions are in his papers. From Sir Laigan: Garret, don’t get yourself killed. You are now in command of the western flank. Do what you can for Tarwood and Coran’s Hill. A half rank was sent to Varmen’s Shoal by boat. He included orders in his packet as well.”

“Gods,” was all Moran could say.

“Sergeant Oldsby,” Terrance introduced himself to the man. “Did you pass our runners? We sent some to Redtail yesterday.”

“Aye, Sergeant, early this morning. We exchanged news, and they’ll report passing me when they arrive at the Hold. They told me about the Vale’s army, too.”

Garret nodded while his mind spun. “Alright. The barn’s almost finished on the other side of the village. That building over there. We’ll get your horse fed and taken care of. Did you eat?”

“Not yet.”

“Then follow me. We’ll get you fed and a bed to sleep in.”

“Aye, Sergeant. But I have to leave right quick in the morning. Before the sun is up, if possible.”

“Why’s that?”

“I need to catch up to that army. I carry a message for Lord Maorilan addressed to the army’s commander.”

Garret stopped and looked at him, taking note of his obvious unease, mind spinning even more. “Oldsby, put someone else in charge out here and then join us in the inn.”

“Aye, Garret.”

“Then you,” Sergeant Garret Moran pointed at the rider, “You and I are going to sit down and go over these orders. I think we need to have a discussion about everything going on.”

Moran looked off into the distance before continuing. “Nothing about this situation makes sense.”

To Descend Beneath

Day 230 – A lot has happened since yesterday. Da’ talked to pretty much everyone late into the evening. Ari and him have decided to let some of the elves wake up, and the poison the ch’ten has been giving them will wear off sometime this afternoon.

N’Taii isn’t happy, Ahton and Tonat aren’t happy, and most of the troop isn’t happy either.

People are watching Falia like they want to kill her; especially the ch’ten now that she’s allowed to wander around. There’s always one of them in sight of her, even though I’m pretty sure she didn’t do a thing. It’s like nobody cares.

Falia is trying real hard to be nice to people, but at the same time she treats Ari really strange. Always bowing and making weird gestures and things, she says Nisa to her all the time, too. Saress used to call Ari that a lot, and she never really explained what it meant. I’ll have to ask her about it when she wakes up.

Anyway, Falia was really surprised when Ari had me help her heal last night; I didn’t know an elf’s eyes could get that big. They took up half her face. Then we helped the survivors before we worked on Saress. Ari says Saress will probably wake up today too, but she isn’t going to wake her with her Tol.

Saress seems okay, but I’m worried about her. She barely moves.

The bird is still hanging around, and it always seems to be staying in sight anymore. Rast says the ch’ten thinks it’s a sign from their great forest, but I think the stupid thing is just hungry. Keris had everyone fishing from shore while we were out, and there are a whole bunch more lines in the water thanks to Arbet. The troop has been cleaning the catch along shore, and the bird seems to like being able to hop over and steal the scraps of meat people let fall.

The darned thing is always eating something. It’s gonna’ get fat. Heck, it’s stealing something right now.

Da’ said he’s taking the boat out this morning to fish, but he’s leaving me behind. Mikus came down from the village last night after exploring with Karn and Turred. He said the heat from burning all those ondilaan cracked parts of the foundation under the surface. They got further into the tunnels, and want Ari to try and move some stone they found on a lower level. So, we’re heading down there.

Ari says she’s needing my help, but I think she really just wants me around for some reason. Falia’s been looking at me funny all day, and between her and Ari, they’ve been ...

Tommy followed Ari up the path towards Silverlake, glad it was only just them. He still felt a little weird about what everyone was saying he did, mainly because he didn’t remember a lot about it. But his da’ had pulled him aside when he started to get uncomfortable with the stories people were telling, especially about him floating, and talked him down.

The conversation had boiled down to this: ‘Are you alright? Yes. Is everyone else alright? Yes. So, get over it. There’s nothing you can do. It is what it is. Let it go.’

He wasn’t too sure he could just ‘let it go’, but his da’ did have a point. There really wasn’t much he could do about it, so getting upset about something that had already happened wasn’t going to help him at all. But he still didn’t like knowing he had been floating, not one bit. It was creepy, and he shuddered again just thinking about it.

One of the correts trilled in the paddock, and then he heard Alarat and Camm saying something to calm the birds down. Over the last four days they said the new correts had adopted the troop’s birds. So, they had basically sixteen of the giant, moody things now.

And the one in front was staring at him. That one. With both of its bigger eyes, and even the tiny red ones, fixed on them as they walked up the hill. He hated when they did that, and Tommy shuddered, quickly looking away hoping no one would notice.

The new birds had even gotten used to the artock, Camm said. And Tommy watched as one of them snaked its long neck underneath the artock’s belly, right between its middle legs, and snapped up a morsel there. The humongous hairy-grey artock ignored the corret completely, its long tail slowly flicking its way back and forth, but the stupid corret in front still stared.

Stupid birds. He heard his eagle cry. And you’re a stupid bird, too, he mentally grumbled, knowing the cry was for him. The damned thing was always following him around now.

Larn was looking out near the edge of the ruins and nodded towards them as they walked on by. A slight breeze off the lake added a bit of chill to the air, but at least up here, the ruins of Silverlake blocked some of the wind. Down along shore the breeze never stopped, and it had been a bitter cold night last night with the wind coming off the lake.

Tommy reached out a hand to steady Falia, who stumbled on the shifting debris. She nodded her thanks with a quick smile, but still didn’t say a word. She’d been very quiet around him since the talk the other day, and he wondered about that, and what had been said. His da’ never did translate all of it, and he was pretty sure it had more to do with Ari than it did with him.

Probably, he mentally shrugged. She’d get over whatever it was eventually.

Ari hadn’t explained much yesterday, either. But with her and da’ being promised to one another, him reaching his eighteenth birthday was apparently a big deal. She never talked a lot about the Vale, and he’d always been curious about it. People always said how beautiful and magical it was in stories. But apparently her da’ was pretty important there, and now so were they, though just dropping by to visit wasn’t going to be a thing.

Her, Da’, and Falia had a long conversation in elven before Falia had been allowed to wander the camp, but he hadn’t really paid attention to the translation. Not with the way his da’ trailed off as the conversation continued, and not with how tired he was. He was still a little lightheaded from whatever Tonat had given him, and in all honesty, listening to elven speech put him to sleep.

Anyway, Ari had tried to explain a little bit about her home, but got caught up in a conversation with Falia that descended into elven. So, his da’ finished up by saying Ari’s da’ was some kind of lord, and Tommy was pretty important there too because he’d turned eighteen. He didn’t understand why that would matter. I mean, was I any different at sixteen or seventeen? But he chalked it up to the elves being weird, especially with the strange explanation about sixes Ari had given him, and decided to leave it at that.

Falia seemed pretty impressed, though. Then again, she was a little weird.

Tommy saw Turred poke his head up over the lip of the pit, waving after he caught sight of their group. Falia obviously wasn’t used to being around dwarves, looking subtly Turred’s way. They seemed to be a surprise for her, and she’d had a couple of other eye-openers last night after the day had finished. And one of them was when everyone had turned in.

Tommy didn’t understand elvish, but even he could recognize a few words. Ilari had come up a lot, especially after Ari and his da’ had tried to share their blankets. Falia brought it up over and over again, asking a lot of questions by the tone of her voice. Ari looked at his da’ kind of like Mum used to do during the spring festival whenever her and da’ would dance. And Tommy could have sworn Ari blushed a little bit, but it was hard to tell by the fire’s dim light.

Anyway, Falia asked something that got da’ mad, who knows what it was since they were all speaking in elven. But after a bit of back and forth in their musical speech, da’ got up in a huff … and then Falia laid down, right where da’ had been. She’d glared at him when he tried to come back, and another round of elven bickering commenced. Falia didn’t even look at his da’ while they spoke, only looking at Ari, seemingly offended by something he’d said. Then his da’ went off to sleep by the fire, muttering the entire way.

Ari looked both amused and chagrined, but stared after his da’ long after he left. Falia kept talking but eventually stopped, so Tommy tried to ask Ari about what had just happened. But she had shushed him, and then shushed Falia too. So, he’d laid there, wondering why Ari wasn’t sleeping with his da’ like they’d been.

Ari was still acting a little strange when he’d woken up this morning. So, he’d asked her about it again ... and she had replied with a clipped ‘we’re fine’. Falia had ducked her head at that, and not a single person around the fire had missed the look Ari had given her, too.

The wind blew a whirlwind of ash off the lip of the pit, distracting him from what had gone on. It smelled like the inside of a fire pit up here in Silverlake, and the wind kept swirling around carrying its scent through the wreckage. Turred climbed the rest of the way out of the pit, pausing to brush some of the char off his knees.

At least it doesn’t smell like dead bodies up here anymore, Tommy thought, shivering a little as he remembered the corpses; there’d been a lot. Ari had killed the last of the ondilaan down in the pit using her Tol, and he’d helped her. Not a bit of him disagreeing with her decision to kill them for slaughtering the people who’d lived here. After all, he’d seen the doll too.

And Ari had used their connection to do every single thing that they’d done that day. She said it wasn’t common for mages to do it like that in the Vale, sharing power the way they did. But they were able to because of the Tol’An, which helped teach people to touch and control their Tol faster than if they tried on their own.

She was like his own personal mentor, following along and showing him the way things were done from the inside. And she could correct him in real time too, nudging him away from making mistakes. After all, it wasn’t like they could go all the way to the college in Sirikii like she had. Sure, it was the best place she knew of to teach mages, but the Vale was thousands of leagues away.

Anyway, they’d practiced in it again last night, before that thing with his da’ took place. It was weird not having Saress around as their guard, and Tommy missed her company. But his da’ had offered to take her place, and he’d stood over them the entire time they were in it, even though Ari had said it was completely unnecessary. But Tommy had seen the look on his da’s face. There was no way he was going to leave.

Watching him and Ari descend into the Tol’An was the other surprise for Falia. Her eyes had been huge when they mentioned it in the first place, but when they actually began? Wow. She didn’t like something about what they were doing, and wasn’t afraid of saying it. Ari ended up having to say something sharp to Falia in elven, eliciting another bow and one of those weird hand gestures she made. But it was plain to see that Falia was not happy about what they were doing, not happy about it in the least.

Tommy kept catching her frowning last night, especially when she thought they weren’t looking. He decided to try and ignore it, eventually able to enjoy the peace and tranquility of the Tol’An like he normally did. But Tommy could hear her and his da’ talking quietly in elven long after they started their practice, and he wondered what it was they had said.

“Oi, Lady. Mikus and Karn be down there.” Turred hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Mikus said ta’ walk ya’ down.”

“Thank you, Turred,” Ari replied.

The four of them picked their way down into the pit, descending what remained of a winding stair. Where the bodies had been piled up before, the pit revealed itself to be the remains of a circular room. Charcoal and ash coated everything, and it was obvious the fire there had burned long and hot. The stair spiraled its way down along the external wall, pieces of it closest to center now chipped and broken. And that made the remainder quite narrow, and it was a tricky descent.

Once they’d made it all the way to the floor, they found it to be pitted and scored. The stones themselves had cracked from the intense heat, and there might have been a tunnel or path off to the one side. But whatever had been there had long since caved in. The only exit beside the stair was the hall they’d already been in, the one they evacuated the survivors from, and there was a torch dimly burning on the floor there that Turred bent to pick up.

“Sorry abou’ tha’ light. Only got this wee little torch,” the dwarf commented.

“Light? We can always make more light,” Ari replied. “Tommy, make a globe please. I’ll make some as well to light our way.”

Tommy reached into himself and brought his Tol to his skin. He formed a bubble with it, pushing it away from himself while maintaining the tiniest strand of his Tol to connect himself to the globe. A smokey-grey orb popped into existence a little bit over his shoulder, giving off enough light to see by. You wouldn’t have thought so by its color, and it wasn’t quite as bright as Turred’s torch, but it was certainly enough to help illuminate the gloom.

Falia hesitated when Tommy’s globe appeared, watching the stormy sphere flash and flare with its internal flickerings of gold. She resumed her pace almost immediately, Tommy only noticing because he was looking right at her when his sphere had formed. But Falia didn’t blink an eye when the dozen or so green and gold globes of Ari’s formed, and he wondered about that, still not entirely comfortable around his mother’s quiet and elegant maid.

Falia bobbed her head at him before moving on, the expression on her face almost still. Tommy shrugged, deciding to let it go. He was just glad that Ari and his combined globes provided enough light to see by, and that Turred didn’t need his torch. After all, it stunk.

“Thank ya’, Lady. Tommy.” Turred nodded to each of them before turning and leading away.

Ari sent her lights towards the ceiling while they followed after him, Turred paying the globes no mind. Ari and Falia started talking quietly in elven as they followed, and after a few strides, they came to an intersection in the tunnel. Turred kept going straight, but there was another collapsed tunnel on the left, while an open one remained on the right. Tommy had heard the ondilaan had made their den in a big room on the right, and by the smell of it, that was certainly true.

Gods, they stink. “You’re sure this place is stable?” Tommy asked, eyeing the collapsed tunnel.

Turred chuckled. “Don’ worry, lad. The ceilin’ ain’t comin’ down.”

Tommy decided to worry about it anyway, eyeing the cracked wall. “Did you finish exploring the den?”

“Aye. ‘Tis a big enough room, but we emptied it out yesterday. Didn’t find much, neither. After we been gettin’ enough light, we could tell by tha’ tracks, tha’ ondilaan been comin’ and goin’ out tha’ passage on tha’ far side. Tha’ bloody thing be all collapsed now, but we dunno’ if tha’ collapse be old or new.

Turred shrugged. “Keris still be up in arms about tha’, worried sick we be missin’ some o’ tha’ bastards when we took tha’ village. It didna’ help when we found tha’ passage, what wi’ him an’ his numbers, an’ all. He still be worryin’ some were escapin’ tha’ way, but who knows.”

Tommy looked down the hall, the creepy, all-encompassing abyss staring back at him as he walked by. Then they reached the bend in the passage and followed it to the left. The hall narrowing significantly, almost touching his shoulders on each side. Then they passed through that narrow part before reaching the remains of the wall the survivors had built, and entered into the room where they first met.

There were two other ways out of the room. One was at the far end, where Mikus had said they’d found the mushrooms. The other was off to their right, and it smelled like a cesspit. And it just made complete sense to Tommy in that moment that Turred turned and proceeded the smell’s way.

Nothing is ever easy.

“Sorry abou’ tha’ smell,” Turred said. “There be a pit down here they were using as their jakes. We gotta go by it before we can descend some more.”

It smelled like they had decided to swim in the cesspit, the odor so strong it could almost be tasted. The passage from there looked like it had been recently cleared, cracked and broken stone shoved haphazardly off to the side. And Tommy figured that tunnel must have been collapsed when the survivors were there, otherwise they’d have definitely gone further ... Just to get away from the smell.

They passed the room quickly, picking their way carefully over the fallen stones before hurrying on down a long hall. The smell diminished over time the farther they went, and Tommy sighed in relief.

It looked like the walls had been painted at one point in time the further they went, a whitish tan coloring sticking to the stones they could see. The stones were in good condition, thank the gods for that, not cracked like they’d seen before. And the stones were cut and fitted too, their edges both sharp and clean.

Eventually they approached a stair and descended, the stair this time in conspicuously good repair. They passed a landing with a collapsed doorway and continued, the light of a fire coming up from below. Then Mikus and Karn came into view after descending even further, both kneeling before a doorway blocked by a stone.

Ari and Falia’s conversation petered off as everyone came to a halt, and Mikus looked to them all and spoke.

“Good. Yer’ finally here.”

An Ancient Tol

“What can we do for you, Mikus?” Ari asked.

“Well, girl, we got this big bloody stone in tha’ way,” he said, slapping the offending blockage and not noticing Falia’s raised brow. “We’re pretty sure it be rollin’ one way or tha’ other, but we canna’ figure fer’ tha’ life of us how ta’ get it ta’ move. Can ya’ be doin’ anythin’ with yer’ magic?”

“I can try. What do you think is in there?”

“Dunno’. But look here,” Mikus answered, pointing down at the base of the stone. “Tha’ part there’s cracked an’ fallen away, an’ ya’ can see past it a wee bit. Can’t see nothin’ wi’ our dwarven sight, so we chucked one o’ tha’ torches in.” Mikus shrugged. “Tha’ bloody room is huge, I can tell ya’ tha’. Canna’ be seein’ tha’ end o’ it, but it looks like there’s some kind o’ carvings or decoration on tha’ wall. Beyond tha’, an’ tha’ blasted sand on tha’ floor, who knows what it can be.”

“Dwarven sight?” Tommy asked.

“Aye, lad, we dwarves be seein’ in tha’ dark way better than a human can. Better than ya’ pansy elves, too. Jus’ no’ as far.” Mikus grinned unrepentantly.

Falia huffed and looked offended, but Ari placed a hand on her arm before she could say anything. “I’ll wait on Saress before commenting on how far anything of yours is,” Ari said, eyes twinkling. “Mind if we take a look for ourselves?”

“Help yerself,” Mikus chuckled, moving out of the way.

Ari bent down to look through the hole in the door while Tommy turned to look around. There was no going down any further, a huge slab of stone broken off over where the stairs used to be. But there was another passage heading off the other way, with a cold dampness coming out of the darkness.

“What’s that way?” Tommy asked.

“Dunno’. It goes on a ways before ya’ come ta’ another collapse.” Mikus ambled over, pausing to stare down the dark passage. “Whatever this place used ta’ be, it already be old whenever this happened. An’ whatever did happen, be ancient.”

“This place would make one o’ tha’ ancients feel old, Tommy,” Karn cut in. “Me uncle used ta’ mine fer’ our clan, an’ we still have some o’ tha’ work our forefathers done down there. It’s only a tiny temple ta’ tha’ Maker, not even tha’ size o’ a house, but it be tha’ ancient’s work. Used ta’ have other clans make pilgrimages to it. Anyway, tha’ stones here be remindin’ me o’ tha’. See how perfect tha’ edges be? How they be fittin’ ta’gether wi’out a gap ta’ be seen? We canna’ do tha’ anymore, but tha’ ancients could.”

“Mikus,” Ari called. “I think Tommy and I can move this. Do you think this door is round? There’s another gap up there,” she said, pointing toward the top of the doorway.

“Didna’ notice tha’ …” Mikus said, peering up towards the top of the lintel, well over his head. “… An’ keep yer’ trap shut abou’ me height.” He grinned. “Could be. Maybe it jus’ didna’ roll all tha’ way.” Mikus shrugged.

“This no be dwarven construction,” Mikus admitted. “Dunno’ whose it could be, but by how thick the door be, its purpose be clear. If it were dwarven work, tha’ door would be sealin’ off tha’ inner parts o’ a clanhold from bein’ overrun. An’ it would be trapped ta’ tha’ end o’ tha’ Maker’s arse an’ back again, ta’ keep anyone from messin’ wi’ it once it were closed. I’m no expert, but we been checkin’ everywhere fer’ traps an’ defenses an’ such, an’ we ain’t been findin’ none.” He spat.

Ari raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the door. “Should we be worried?”

“Dunno’. Tha’s why I be callin’ you.”

Ari frowned but then shrugged. “I don’t know a thing about traps, but I only need to be able to see the door to move it. Tommy? Falia? Come over here with me on the stair. Mikus? You, Karn, and Turred stand over there on the other side of the doorway. Tommy and I will move the stone if we can, and that way nobody will be in front it when we do.”

Everyone moved to where she directed while Ari sat and patted the steps beside her. “Tommy, put a hand on my shoulder like you usually do. This will feel different, and shouldn’t be too hard, but I still need your strength. I don’t want to tire myself out too much. We still have more healing to do when we’re through.”

“Aye, ma’am,” he replied, sitting down by her side. Falia settled herself behind them almost silently, arranging her skirts in a particular way. Then she offered him a slight smile when he glanced in her direction, but deliberately averted her eyes when Ari said to begin.

Ari’s Tol was a warm, welcoming heat that drew him effortlessly into it like he’d lowered himself into a bath. They met amongst his pathways, just like they did in the Tol’An, and he allowed himself to float there beside her, watching and waiting while she gathered their strength into a unified whole. And she gathered a lot of it, a lot more than she usually did, steadily pushing it out towards the stone.

“Follow along with what I do, Tomilanthus. See how I formed this tendril of Tol thicker than the ones you’ve seen? Our practice and healing requires precision; too much of our Tol can cause more harm than good. And as such, the threads we form need to be delicate and fine so we can accomplish what we wish.

“For this, though, we need a large amount of Tol pulsed into the stone very quickly. The thicker thread allows our Tol to flow where we need it to with the minimum of resistance. It is somewhat more difficult to form a thicker strand, but it is something you should be able to accomplish with practice. The problem is, doing this is extremely tiring, which is why moving things with your mind is so hard.”

He watched her project their combined tendril of Tol towards the stone, almost directing it with an invisible hand. She touched the stone here and there, sinking smaller tendrils into it, then around and through the stone as she explored. He felt his inner sight sharpening while he watched her, fascinated by the swirling greys, greens, and golds of their Tol. And as she sent out another delicate tendril to the stone, he noticed a new and separate light shine forth.

“N’Taii? What’s that?” Tommy asked, motioning towards the light he now saw.

“Hmmmm?”

“That light over there.”

“What light?”

“That light. Can’t you see it?” Tommy looked at her funny. “It looks like a rainbow, but it’s coming from somewhere behind the stone. It’s been getting brighter ever since you started sending out all those little tendrils of Tol.”

Ari frowned at him, then looked back towards the stone. Tommy felt her descending even further into her inner space, her eyes beginning to glow with a greenish-gold light. Then she concentrated her focus upon the door, her eyebrows raising straight up as she noticed the light continuing to form.

“Interesting …” she trailed off, pushing a veritable horde of tiny tendrils that quested away from her into the room. He could feel them softly touching something, caressing it delicately, something that felt both blistering hot and icy cold. And whatever it was slowly intensified, though it wasn’t directly responding to what she was doing. Ari kept delicately directing their Tol, being extremely careful not to get too close to whatever it was they’d discovered.

“What’re ya’ findin’, lass?” Mikus asked.

“There’s a significant amount of Tol in that room. Active magic,” she further explained. “It woke up when I started inspecting the door.”

“Aye? What’s it do?”

“Nothing, as far as I can tell. At least nothing connected to the door. It’s not reacting to me as I inspect it, not exactly, and it doesn’t seem to be directed in any way. It’s just slowly growing, and it’s very faint at that. It is certainly not any combat or defensive magic I am familiar with.”

Ari examined it some more with their combined Tol, the rainbow increasing in brightness the more tendrils she sent. Eventually, Ari shrugged. “It should have reacted by now if it was some kind of defense. I’m going to roll the stone out of the way and see what we can see.”

Karn muttered something about not bringing the roof down on their heads before Turred said something in dwarven that sounded sarcastic. The two of them started talking back and forth in dwarven, Mikus eventually telling them both to shut up so the lady could work. Then Falia asked a question of Ari in elvish.

“Common tongue please, Falia.”

“Yes, Nisa. Is it safe to be doing this?”

Ari pursed her lips and then shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out,” she answered, wryly smiling her way. “Ready, Tomilanthus?” And without another word, Ari moved the stone.

To Tommy, it was different than anything they’d done before. Ari pulsed their combined Tol into that fat thread, causing the part of their Tol nearest the stone to flatten out. The edge against the stone became quite firm to his mind, the only part of the working that did. Then she used that part of their Tol to both lift and push at the door, doing both actions at the same time. The drain was tremendous, a wave of exhaustion pouring over Tommy, but the door started to move.

The stone shuddered, rolling back with a grinding rumble that loudly protested its motion. Then it disappeared out of view to the side of the doorway into a cleverly hidden pocket that seemed to be made for it. Some of the sand picked up and fell from the stone while it rolled, miniscule flecks of dust and debris hanging suspended and floating in the calm, still air. But the portal was open, and even Tommy could tell the room beyond the doorway was huge.

“Wait a moment please, Mikus,” Ari asked. “Come with me, Tomilanthus, and keep a hand on my shoulder. That Tol you felt pulsed when we moved the stone, and I would like to raise a shield before we continue.”

Ari stood and waited for Tommy to stand beside her, then she took their combined Tol and flattened it out into a disk. That disk took on a pearlescent shimmer while remaining completely transparent, the edges now holding the greys, greens, and golds of their Tol. Then she pushed the disk out before them and into the room, holding it just beyond the doorway while apparently waiting for something to happen. Nothing did, so she formed even more globes and sent them off into the room, exploring and lighting their way.

“It should be okay for us to follow. The shield will protect us from most magics, Mikus, along with most projectiles as well. Just stay behind it. The magic I felt has increased ever since the door was opened, but it’s not doing anything at the moment. At least nothing I can tell.”

Ari shrugged. “Tomilanthus, you were the first to notice it. Tell me what it is you can see.”

Tommy agreed about the magics getting stronger, turning away from watching the dizzying array of Ari’s workings. It amazed him how she was able to control the dozens of independent workings without any apparent effort at all, and he wondered if he’d ever be that good. He could see the rainbow of colors off in the distance as one of Ari’s globes passed by. It was just sitting there, whatever it was, doing nothing at all beyond getting brighter as globe after globe travelled around the room.

“There’s a rainbow of colors there, Ari, every single color I can think of. It’s right over there.” He pointed to it with his Tol, noticing the rainbow brightening as he did so. “It’s almost like the more Tol we use, the brighter it gets. And, beyond it brightening, it’s not doing a single thing I can see.”

“That’s what I can see too.” Ari looked around them, sending her globes into an ever-expanding ring around the room. The chamber took on shape, and as it did so, Ari led them further inside. And the room …

… The room was huge.

The chamber was round, and there were a plethora of strange carvings spaced evenly around the walls. Starting on both sides of the doorway there were huge round shields carved into the wall, each one having a rune centered upon it. And the combination of shields and runes formed themselves into unique emblems, every one of which was different, that disappeared off into the gloom.

Ari’s globes journeyed as far as they were able, then she placed them at evenly spaced points around the room. She raised them up, slowly increasing the brightness the higher they went, until they brilliantly glowed from high overhead. And with the now radiant light, everyone could see the decidedly strange room they’d entered.

It reminded Tommy of the stories his da’ used to tell him about fighting rings in the city. The room was easily big enough to fit their entire boat in, with plenty of room left to spare. Maybe three or four boats end-to-end now that he thought about it, carefully peering around the edge of Ari’s shield. The floor was covered in a soft, light-colored sand, almost white, while the ceiling arched high overhead.

Along the walls were the emblems, emblem after emblem carved into the marbled periphery of the room. There were twenty of them in total, evenly spaced along its circumference. And each of them bore a different design. Something about the whole scene seemed awfully profound, while at the same time decidedly queer.

Five emblems progressed in a row before coming to a break. And each space in their progression held an arch leading away from the room. Four exits in total from what Tommy could see.

But the focus of the room was its center. There, on a platform in the center of the room, was a figure. Its hood looking straight at them. And it was not moving in the least.

Tommy shivered.

“Now tha’s a bloody strange sight ta’ see,” Mikus muttered, looking slowly around at the dappled stone of the room. Karn and Turred were looking past him, speaking in dwarvish while pointing out this or that thing.

“Nisa, this is a tomb,” Falia admonished, her voice hushed as she pointed towards the distant figure.

“A tomb? No.”

“You’re sure about that?” Tommy asked, trying to see if there were any eyes underneath that hood.

Ari looked on with interest. “Yes. And I am almost certain that I know what this room is. Though I never would have expected to find one here,” she added, “especially here in the wilds.”

Tommy could care less; that thing was still looking at them.

“Aye, lass? Ya’ know what this be?” Mikus asked.

Ari let her shield fall, Tommy feeling their Tol washing away like a breeze further into the room. It didn’t seem to him like a good decision. “Yes. This is a testing circle, Mikus,” Ari replied. “There’s one almost exactly like this in college back home.”

“A testing circle?” Tommy asked, shuddering again while watching the figure. Maybe if I don’t look at it …

“Yes. Entrants to the college are taken into the circle, and there the masters have you call forth your Tol. They can determine what aspects you have an affinity for based on how the room reacts. And each of those emblems on the walls represents a different aspect of Tol.”

Ari looked around the room, studying the various designs. She moved a few of her lights to hang over two emblems on different sides of the room.

“There. Those two? They are the mystical symbols for life and nature, the two aspects of Tol I have the greatest affinities for. You can think of them as the two types of magic I can work with the easiest. That’s fire over there. Water, earth … the mental aspects … energy … the neutrals … they’re all there.

“But the way this room is set up is odd. That one should be over there, and that one there should be by itself between those other two. Even the symbols for life and nature are a little strange. They’re more … stylized?” She frowned at the carvings. “Anyway, they’re different than the symbols I am familiar with back home, even if they are easy to recognize.

“There are more symbols here than back home, too. There should only be fifteen symbols, for each of the fifteen aspects of Tol.” She frowned. “Every book I’ve ever read or heard of only mentions fifteen … but there are twenty symbols here,” Ari trailed off, moving her lights around the symbols, inspecting each and every one in the room.

“Tha’s all well an’ good, lass. But are we safe here? I’d like ta’ have a look around.” The other dwarves nodded in agreement.

“Yes. Sorry, Mikus. Let me shield our friend in the center there, just in case. But now that I know what this place is, there shouldn’t be any danger.” A pearlescent shield formed and drifted towards the distant figure, morphing into a dome.

“The symbols may light up when you touch them, that’s what the symbols did in Sirikii. But if anything else happens, please call out for me. Right now, I’m not concerned, but you never know.” All of the dwarves nodded.

“Come, Tommy. Falia. Let’s go see our host.” Ari finished, striding after her shield.

Tommy didn’t think that was a good idea, either.

The dwarves waited until the shield had settled over the figure before spreading around the room. They spoke quietly to one another, moving from emblem to emblem with cautious excitement. None of the symbols ever did light up, though Mikus and Turred methodically touched each one. Then Karn paused in front of one of the four exits peering into the dark, but after a while moved on saying it had collapsed further in.

The sand whispered quietly while Tommy walked on it, adding a soft sound to the deafening quiet of the room. And as they approached the distant figure, Tommy could easily tell that whoever it was, was long dead.

That was a relief. He still didn’t like it though.

The body was seated on a plinth of dappled-grey stone, directly underneath a stone column that came down from the ceiling, not quite halfway to the floor. It formed itself into a blunted point well over the figure’s head, and it looked like something might have hung from it at some point in the distant past. But whatever had once hung there was long gone, disintegrated into nothing ages ago with as ancient as this place seemed to be.

The figure wore a robe that had once been a rich and deep burgundy. It was faded now, draping itself limply over what was left of whoever it was. And the figure was skeletal, sitting completely upright, seemingly only having paused there to meditate. With legs crossed, and palms on its knees, it sat in repose. But the empty sockets within its bare skull stared endlessly out from beneath its deep hood, its gaze forever fixed upon the door they’d just opened.

Gazing out from the room’s center, watching and guarding … for an endless eternity.

It was a subtly sad scene. Whoever had died there had met their fate all alone. There were no supplies, no marks on the sand that Tommy could see, just the figure and its robes resting on a barren platform of stone.

But around the skeleton’s neck hung a thin chain which supported a dusty pendant that rested heavily upon its chest. And centered on that pendant was a jewel or a stone of some kind, half as big as an egg. It was a beautiful piece, decorated and filigreed, the metals surprisingly only slightly tarnished with as ancient as this place should be.

However, there was one thing about that pendant that stood out from the rest. Something so surprising, it defied understanding. And on seeing it, Tommy’s eyebrows rose into the peaks of his head.

“Will you look at that …” he murmured.

Because the stone, it glowed.

A Maid’s Help

They ended up spending a few hours down in the testing room, exploring it and the nearby rooms they found. Two of the four entrances led to collapsed tunnels, Karn saying there was nothing left to explore in those sections. The third was the way they had come in. But the last led east through a room before entering another, that second room partially collapsed and becoming impassable once more.

That first room was nothing more than a big closet, with multiple pegs along one wall. There were more robes there, but one of them disintegrated when Tommy touched it so he left the rest alone. It almost looked like a changing room of some kind, with a few chairs and a table off to one side, but nothing worthwhile was present so he decided to move on.

He avoided touching anything once the robe fell to dust, worried he’d break something else. But Mikus said not to worry about it, joking it wasn’t like they were going to find a dragon’s hoard down here in any event. This started a conversation between the dwarves, the three of them plotting out ever more ridiculous ways they were going to retire with the money they’d find.

The next room was where he caught up with Ari and Falia who were inspecting some books. They were talking quietly, careful not to touch an open tome they were hovering over. Next to it was a pile of dust resting inside a partially intact binding, obviously the remains of a book that had once been whole.

All of it was sitting on a table made of a dark wood of some kind, carved here and there in symbols like the ones outside. A few chairs were scattered about, but the most notable thing was the shattered and collapsed back half of the room. It looked like the remains of a bookshelf was lying in amongst the rubble, but it was too crushed to be sure.

“What did you find?”

“Some books, Tommy.” Ari frowned. “The first one I tried to pick up turned to dust when I touched it.”

“Yeah, the robes in that first room did the same thing. What’s it say?”

“I don’t know. I don’t recognize the writing at all. I was just asking Falia if she’d ever seen writing like it before.”

“And I was telling Nisa Saliantrea that I had not, Nessa’ni.” Falia nodded in his direction.

“Nessa’ni?” Tommy asked.

“It roughly means ‘male heir’, Tomilanthus,” Ari answered, but Falia frowned, quickly opening then slowly closing her mouth. “Nisa’ii if you were a girl,” Ari continued absently. “Anyway, we don’t need any honorifics, Falia. Ari, Donnor, and Tommy, are fine.”

“Yes, Nisa Saliantrea.”

Ari sighed, sending a resigned smile her way. “In any event, we have no idea what the tome says, Tomilanthus. Do you have the troop’s chronicle with you?”

“No, it’s back at camp.”

“Well, we should probably copy down everything we see if we have time. It’s not elven, dwarven, or any form of common I’ve ever seen. That much, I’m sure.”

“What no’ be dwarven?” Mikus asked, ambling in.

“This writing here. Do you recognize this? Be careful, Mikus, the last book turned to dust when I touched it.”

Mikus leaned over the book, eventually shaking his head. “No, lass. Never seen nothin’ like tha’ before.”

“We’ll definitely need to copy it down then. Do you still need us down here? Tommy and I should probably finish up our healing we can before the elves wake up.”

“No, lass. There’s nowhere left ta’ go. We’re gonna’ poke around down here fer’ a while yet, but tha’s it.” Then Mikus’s voice turned gruff. “Be careful wi’ ‘em, Arisaylia. Ya’ hear me, girl?”

“I hear you, friend.” Ari sighed. “I need to get back into the light,” she mumbled to herself. “I never did like being underground.”

“Doesna’ surprise me, no’ one wee little bit … Ya’ pointy-eared trouble maker.” Mikus grinned. “Go, ‘afore ya’ stink up tha’ place.”

“You have filth on your nose,” Ari loftily replied, and Mikus laughed. “Come along, Tommy, Falia. Let’s let our short friends here play in the dirt.”

“Ah, go kiss a tree, princess,” Mikus drawled.

Ari chuckled and then winked, leading the way back to the figure in the main room. Tommy felt her doing something with her Tol, the shield shrinking down to encircle the pendant. Then she leaned forward, and gently tapped its chain. When nothing happened, she lifted the chain carefully over the figures head, making sure not to disturb it. But the skeleton seemed to settle anyway, becoming smaller, pulling in on itself and somehow seeming more dead than it had before.

Ari paused to study the ancient remains, obviously feeling the same thing Tommy did. But when nothing else happened, she stepped back, gently blowing on the pendant and wiping it to remove the dust that was there.

“Do you recognize that, Nisa?” Falia asked.

“No. But whatever it is, it holds a noticeable amount of Tol in that jewel. I’m not even sure what this particular metal is, or that one there, to be honest.” She rubbed the pendant with her thumb, cleaning it a bit further. “I’ve never seen anything like this, but these markings are similar to what we found in those books.” She tapped a finger to her lips, gazing far away. “I always thought it was the room itself that told the masters a person’s affinity. I wonder if, in reality, they had something like this”

“Is it dangerous?” Tommy asked as she slipped it over her head.

“No. No more dangerous than anything else with Tol. You already know some of the dangers, Tommy, more so than anyone else with your level of experience. We’ll study it together in the Tol’An, it should be a good exercise, and I’ve shielded it for the time being until we do. In any event, our ancient guardian here doesn’t need it, and I would hate to see such a treasure go to waste.”

Ari paused, turning towards the figure before bowing towards it respectfully. “May Life be kind on you, and your soul find rest,” she intoned, making an extremely formal series of gestures.

“Life be kind,” Falia repeated, covering her eyes with one hand.

Tommy could have sworn the figure settled even more.

“Let’s return to the surface, Tomilanthus. The party of the Vale will be recovering from the sprite’s poison soon, and we need to be there when they do.”

Ari said her goodbyes to the dwarves before leading their way out of the room. They climbed the stair, passing by the cesspit’s horrible smell. Then they returned to the surface around midday, with the sun high overhead.

Tommy let his globe go, Ari releasing hers as well while all three of them shielded their eyes from the glare. The light was blinding after being underground for so long, and it was bitter cold. The breeze took the heat right out of them, much different than the constant temperatures underground. Then they made their way down to the wagon, one of the ch’ten appearing out of nowhere to escort them on their way.

The sprite didn’t say a word, but Tommy could tell he was there to watch Falia by his constant looks. Definitely no trust there. Tommy had gotten at least a little used to the presence of Ari’s maid down in that room, and Falia wasn’t oblivious to the sprite’s intentions; opening her hands to show nothing in them when they had appeared.

I wonder when they’re going to give her back her jewelry? And now that I’m thinking about it, I wonder where they even put it? He glanced towards the wagon, his thoughts keeping him company as they made their way back down the hill. Seeing his da’ with some of the troop along shore, they moved that way to join them.

“Hello, you three. Find anything interesting?”

“A testing room, Donnor. It’s ancient, and there are some runes and writings down there I’ve never seen before, but that’s it. I found a pendant I want to talk to you about later, and there’s a book we can’t read I want Tommy to copy into the chronicle, but other than that? Nothing else.”

“Good.”

“Mikus, Karn, and Turred decided to stay down there. What have you been doing up here?”

“Fishing. We came here for food, and nothing’s changed that. We had about three or four days of dried fish before the attack ... if we rationed it, that is. But a big dent’s been put in it while we were unconscious. I’m not upset about that, it is what it is, but it’s another thing we have to deal with before moving on.

“Keris had them fishing and added some more lines, but nobody knew how to sail the boat. So, they couldn’t get as much food as we needed ... and supplies are getting low. So, we do what we came here for: We fish.”

“Then we will fish, beloved. It’ll give us time to explore, and even more time to rest. The survivors still need it.”

“Sure, but that’s what worries me.”

“How’s that, Ilari?”

“The troop’s already been here for six days. Well, seven if you count the day we first fought the ondilaan.”

“You’re worried about more ondilaan?”

“Yep. I’m worried about more ondilaan.” Donnor looked out over the lake. “So is Keris.”

“So is Keris what?” Keris asked as he walked up.

“Worried about more ondilaan,” Ari replied.

“Yes, Lady, I sure am. I know every ondilaan we saw up in Silverlake is dead, I’m not debating that. But we saw two, maybe three females before we attacked. There should have been more warriors, a lot more, and at least one more female … I think. Anyway, they’re not here, and we have no idea where they went.”

Donnor frowned. “The ch’ten and the scouts have been all over the area within a half a day of here, and they haven’t seen a thing. But unfortunately, Keris is right. That is, if his math plays out. We’re missing around fifty ondilaan ... So, where did they go? I want to be gone, and gone soon, before we find out.”

“How soon, Da’?” Tommy asked.

“Hopefully, when everyone’s back on their feet. That includes the elves, too. But we’ve got sixty-seven mouths to feed right now, and that takes a lot of food. When everyone’s healthy and eating, it leaves us with roughly a day and a half, maybe two days of food, but I’m only guessing. We can add a day, maybe a day and a half, on top of what we eat for every day I can fish on the boat. As long as the fish hold out, that is. But every day we sit here increases the chance of some ondilaani war party or scout finding us here. So, I’d like to leave in two days if possible.”

“Which leaves you with four or five days of smoked food, Nessa Silverspear, based upon your calculations.” Falia entered into the conversation, almost hesitantly. “If you can supplement that with one or two deer, or creatures of similar size while you travel, you should remain even with your daily needs. A creature of that size can feed fifty people a day if rations are kept to a subsistence level.”

She tapped a finger to her lips, obviously considering. “As long as it is supplemented with something else, that is. The meals will be extremely small, and no one will be happy about it, but it can be done for some time.”

Falia went on, “I would suggest foraging for what you need while on the road. The woodland sprites would know the best natural foods to look for, and they can help you find whatever you need.” Falia nodded towards her escort, standing quietly at her side, becoming more and more confident as she spoke.

“A simple head of greens will feed four people, Nessa. If you forage, and are able to fill maybe half of your wagon with food, you should have roughly two weeks of rations on hand at all times.

“Preservation would be an issue, of course. At a minimum, the autumn’s cooler temperatures will slow the food’s rot. And at best, you could continue to smoke any meat on the road. Your issues are manageable, Nessa, with knowledge and oversight to intervene.”

Donnor blinked, then looked at Keris who was similarly impressed, then blinked again. “You just rattled that off like it was nothing, Falia. How did you come up with that?” Donnor asked.

“In the Nisa’s service, Nessa.”

Donnor waved away the honorifics while Ari deadpanned, “Falia did more than just manage my wardrobe, Donnor.”

“Huh?”

“She was in charge of my holdings, and those within my influence on the estate.” Ari frowned. “For decades, now that I think about it.” She shook herself. “Anyway, Falia’s been performing duties like that ever since I’ve been a child. She’s uniquely suited and qualified to manage our supplies, Donnor.” Falia graciously bowed her head.

“Can she, Da’? Please?” Tommy asked.

Donnor frowned. “We’ll see.”

“I can be of use to you, Nessa Silverspear, if you will permit it,” Falia quietly stated, her deference towards him plain to see. “If you prefer, I can teach the Nessa’ni.”

Donnor pursed his lips. “We’ll see about that, too. My gut is telling me to accept your offer, but we need to talk to the other guests you arrived here with. Keris, go get everyone except for the sentries and bring them down here. The elves’ll wake up soon, and we might as well make a show out of it.”

“Aye, Commander.”

Donnor turned back to Falia once Keris had left. “Falia, I personally have no grudges against you, and I have nothing but good memories of you in the Vale ... but you came here with a strike force that not only attacked Ari, but had orders to kill me and our son. That’s hard … something very hard for me to forgive and forget.”

He worked his shoulders while clenching his jaw. “Extremely hard,” he growled, his voice going cold while a strange light entered his eye.

Donnor watched her for a time, before an odd kind of humor entered his voice. “So, we’re going to talk to them in a bit. And depending on how that talk goes, depends on whether or not there’s going to be any bloodshed today,” his da’ finished.

Tommy was close to backing away from his da’, who was radiating extreme danger while he spoke. And Ari was frowning, not saying a word while he continued.

“I don’t like being forced into situations, Falia a’Saliantrea. Especially ones like this.” Donnor’s eyes bored into Ari’s maid. “I don’t like being attacked, I don’t like my family being attacked, and I don’t like people who depend on me being attacked in the least. I especially don’t like it when someone brings their internal elven politics to threaten me and mine here. And when they bring it from a place so far away it might as well be on the other side of the world, it makes me want to scream.”

Falia bowed her head, making one of those curious gestures she’d made the day before. Tommy looked from her to Ari, and then at his da’, only realizing in that moment how mad his da’ really was. Both Ari and Falia flinched as his da’ snorted, scoffing at the gesture that she had made.

“My past is my own, Falia a’Saliantrea, no matter how much you think it entitles you to interrupt my sleep over it. You were not there.” His da’ huffed a disgusted laugh. “Hells, you were barely even there for a tiny bit of it. But I’ve been thinking about things like that while you were down in that hole, and the part you did play deserves at least a little explanation.”

His eye’s continued to hold her own. “I will not let an attack on my family go unchallenged, Falia a’Saliantrea. And my family will no longer be taken from me … Never again. Not ever again. I believe you can understand that. And from what Ari has told me, your people’s instincts probably understand that reasoning better than I do.”

“Yes, Nessa.” Falia made another gesture, obviously, gravely, and almost extremely respectful. “What you say is most true.”

“Then before we have our little chat with our sleeping friends over there, there are some things I need you to do. If that’s okay with you … Nisa?” He turned towards Ari, his tone sarcastic, verging on defiant.

She was watching him. A strange, odd, almost evaluating look on her face. He’d been acting this way ever since they’d awoken. Edgy, almost feral at times, and it scared her. Waving a hand for him to continue, Ari hugged herself with both arms, picking at the pendant hidden between her breasts.

“First and foremost, from this time forward, I am not ‘Nessa’. Nor is Tommy to be called ‘Nessa’ni’. I make no claim to any of those titles, and I’m certain Tommy won’t either once I explain to him what they mean.” Both Ari and Falia frowned, but he kept talking right over them.

“My name is Donnor,” speaking to the objections that were beginning to form. “Commander if you have to be formal about it, but my given name is enough for me … And it’s good enough for my family, too. With all of the elves you came in with, I want there to be no misunderstandings about that, no matter what their expectations may be. Understood?”

Falia looked confused, looking back towards Ari who seemed to reluctantly agree, but nodded her head anyway. Falia began, “Yes, but–”

“No buts. Just do it.” Ari huffed, but Donnor continued right on. “Next, I don’t speak elven, not a single lick of it. No one else needs to know how fluent I am except for the people right here. Even Saress doesn’t know, but I’m sure she’s figured some of it out.

“I didn’t advertise my ability in the Vale, and I don’t want a single one of those elves you came in with to know. Especially not Garesh. And they don’t need to know a thing about Ari or my pasts. Not a single word of it, or anything you may have guessed. Do you understand me, Falia? Can you keep our secrets? From that group over there?” Donnor looked like he wanted to shake her.

“Yes, Nes … Donnor. Commander.” Falia frowned, tasting the word on her tongue. “You are of the family, Donnor Silverspear. The Nisa has confirmed it.” She looked at him oddly, her brow creasing. “The other ones there, are most certainly not.” She looked towards the other elves. “I do not understand your anger … Donnor. You had but to ask.”

“He doesn’t understand, Falia.” Donnor clenched his jaw, but Ari waved away his frustration. “He’s not an elf, and he never will be. But I agree with my Ilari on this. It served him well when no one knew he spoke our tongue in the Vale. I can see this benefiting him here.”

“Exactly,” Donnor continued. “Look, I’m not interested in eavesdropping on private conversations. But, no offense Falia, your people tend to think of themselves as being above other races.” Falia frowned, Ari did too, but he kept right on going. “Hearing what people are thinking about you is an advantage I’m not going to give up.”

Falia’s frown deepened, but she remained silent as she nodded in consent. Glancing again to Arisaylia for confirmation, she saw her Head of Family’s agreement shining in her eyes … even though the Nisa was obviously upset. He really doesn’t understand, Falia realized, humans unable to feel a family’s draw. She nodded again, pondering what a human might feel, and shuddered a little at the lack of it.

Falia eventually opened her mouth to speak, but Tommy beat her to it. “What’s going to happen, Da’?” Tommy asked, nodding over towards the elves. The troop was wandering in, not a single smile upon their faces.

“Your mother’s going to have a little chat with our friends.” Sarcasm dripped from his words while he hawkishly peered in the elves’ direction.

Ari sighed. “I plan on reminding them of their oath, Tomilanthus. Oaths mean something in the Vale.” She pointedly didn’t look at his da’. “But ultimately, it will fall upon Garesh.” She gazed towards his sleeping figure, unlike the rest who were starting to rouse.

“Commander,” Rast trotted up. “Ahton says the elves are beginning to stir, and asks the Lady to come. The warrior the Lady named Salia is awake and already watching. She tried to free herself, but stopped when the ch’ten drew their bows. Tonat asks if you truly wish to speak to them, to come quickly. She says the forest is restless, and it may choose to embrace them if you wait any longer.”

“Well, I guess then it’s time,” Donnor murmured, walking away towards the elves. He made a deliberate point to stop and take up his spear.

Ari was watching him, a worried look quickly wiped from her face. “Come, Tomilanthus. Falia. Most of the conversation will be in elven. I’d be surprised if it wasn’t. I’m not sure if anyone will have time to translate it for you, Tommy, things are sure to be tense.” She looked sidelong at his da’, then over towards the ch’ten. They were positioning themselves around the elves while applying more poison to their arrows.

“I guess I should say more tense.” Ari frowned. “Please sit quietly and just observe. Your presence may be all that is needed ...” She trailed off, looking around. “Life, I hope that is all that is required,” she mumbled, noticeably firming herself and leading the way.

It was only then Tommy realized his mother had been avoiding the elves all day. Ari approached the staked figures, smoothing her skirts as she went. But she did not meet any of the elven eyes that were watching her. She stopped her approach, then raised her eyes towards the stakes.

There were eleven elves tied to the poles, Falia’s pole conspicuously vacant amongst the rest. Keris was forming the men into ranks on each side, with Gart taking Mikus’s place leading first rank. The archers were setting up with clear fields of fire, Laren and Immer ensuring there was nothing in their way. And the ch’ten was passing around a little vial of poison, smearing green goo on their blades.

The elves were mostly awake, the last of them clearing away their fog. And after a sidelong glance towards Ari, Immer assigned individual archers to lone elven targets ... Tommy hearing him saying to shoot the bastards if they so much as thought that magic was being used. Keris and Gart were moving half a rank each back behind the elves where they couldn’t be seen, and were setting them up to charge from outside the elves’ line of sight.

Ari was frowning, but said nothing, seeing and hearing as clearly as Tommy did. Then she slowly walked towards the elves, stopping to kneel on the grass a few strides away. Her slow, stately, stride seemed to capture the attention of all the elves present, almost daring them to look away. And the elves as a whole stopped glancing about, focusing their attention upon Ari to the exclusion of all else.

Ari raised her voice, the various mumblings quieting down as she started. “I know all of you have thoughts on what we should do with my people.” She paused, taking time to acknowledge the troop’s anger. The elves’ eyes were intent. “I’ve never asked you to do anything you didn’t want to do for me, but I’m asking that now. Please, friends, hold onto your tempers.”

The elves’ eyes were riveted upon her, only glancing towards the rest present, before quickly glancing away. The elves were tied, utterly unable to move, with their gags secured to the poles behind them. They were completely immobilized, and they seemed acutely aware of their vulnerability. The only one unaware of what was going on was S’tol Garesh. His body remaining limp within its restraints, still apparently under the effects of the poison.

“I am going to explain everything I’m doing here so there are no surprises, but a lot of the coming conversation will be in my tongue,” Ari continued. “To have that conversation, I need to remove their gags. The only person with Tol … with magic … is S’tol Garesh, and I will be monitoring for his magic while we speak.”

The people of the troop nodded, calming as she spoke, and Tommy noticed only a few remaining frowns and grimaces. His da’ was speaking closely with Keris, Gart, Laren, and Immer, obviously passing on orders which were too quiet to hear. And he wasn’t really sure he wanted to hear what his da was saying, his da’s flat and angry look telling it all.

Tommy shifted uncomfortably when Ari asked Falia to remove the gags from the elves except for the S’tol. And his da almost looked predatory as he heard her request.

Falia did so, one by one, offering water to the elves as their gags were released. Then Tommy’s attention was drawn to a movement on the hill behind her. And there were Mikus, Karn, and Turred, laying on their bellies with crossbows, sighting along their tillers from what he could see.

The troop was ready to slaughter the elves for the tiniest mistake. And the tension building was palpable.

“Tommy, I want you to gather your Tol, as much of it as you can, and just hold it. This will prevent any kind of quick binding, though it seems the S’tol is still under the effects of the poison. He seems to have been given a lot of it,” she murmured, getting something from the tendril of Tol she’d prodded him with. Ahton smirked as Rast translated her words, as did a few of the other sprites. “I’ll need to heal him to get it out of his system before we can speak.”

She turned towards Donnor, who was looking at her with a flat, impenetrable gaze. “Was that your doing?”

“I can’t fight magic with a spear, Arisaylia,” his da’ responded. More than one of the people around them nodding with his words.

Ari stayed silent, and then sighed, signaling her reluctant agreement. She patted the grass gently beside her. “Sit, beloved. I need you here.”

The elves intently watched as he moved to her side. All of the elves were remarkably calm, almost frighteningly so. At least they appeared to be. Their faces were blank of any emotion, one or two so remarkably still they could almost be mistaken for stone. However, every last one of them drank the water Falia offered, saying nothing in response to whatever elven words she spoke to them.

Ari patted the ground on her other side. “Tommy, I need you here. Have you gathered your Tol?”

“Aye, ma’am.”

“Good.” Then she spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “Place your hand on my shoulder like you do when we heal. I’ll draw on you if need be, but I hope it won’t be necessary.” One of the elves shifted, the first reaction any of them had made. “If you see anything I don’t warn you about beforehand, tell me. You are incredibly sensitive, and you constantly surprise me with how sensitive you are. The things you see without even trying, the masters would have to enter a trance to detect.”

That last seemed to be directed at the elves. A few seemed to perk up at her words, but the rest remained completely still. One of them, a woman, was studying Tommy like he was a bug. Another was glaring at Ari as if he would kill her with his eyes if he could. Various emotions were developing behind the rest of their eyes, but to a one, the elves’ faces remained blank and as still as stone.

It was one of the strangest things Tommy had ever witnessed, and the entire mood of the elves was of ever-increasing tension. The pent-up energy now subtly on display spread its wings away from them like a mist. Then it washed up against the mood of the troop, making a turbulence where the two of them joined.

Eventually, Falia finished offering the elves drink. She looked to Ari for direction, Garesh being the only one left, but Ari motioned for her to stay. None of the elves spoke, though all of them took notice.

“Some of you know me,” Ari addressed the elves, “and some of you I have known since childhood. Falia a’Saliantrea has explained to me why you are here, and some of why you have come. And the tale she tells is disappointing.”

She waved a hand towards the ch’ten, and then to the troop around them. “Many of those here want you dead for your attack the other night.” She paused, murmuring agreement and shifting weight coming from everywhere around. “But we are offering this opportunity to see if a different outcome can be achieved. There are things you do not know, J’al’osil, things the S’tol does not know, and it is time for those things to be revealed.”

And with that, Ari gathered her Tol, every single last bit of it from what Tommy could see. Her scarlet hair began floating on an invisible wind, while her eyes glowed with a greenish-gold light. She held herself there before she spoke once more, a plethora of tendrils questing out from her all over the elves, and the elves looked grim.

“Let us begin.”

The Hands of Fate

“Jaylee!”

His friend’s panicked scream clawed at his soul while Jaylee sprinted as fast as he could, trying to get away from the creatures that found them.

Jaylee had been on the run for weeks in the outskirts of Baasondee, one of the greatest cities of the Endless Plains. Him and his friends were just some of the many urchins that survived in the city, and in times past, they stole to fill their stomachs. Now, their needs were much greater.

WhooOOP! came a cry from a hunting monster, its savage call sending shivers down his spine.

Jaylee dashed madly towards one of the many entrances to the sewers, his friends’ gurgling scream cut off by a sickening crunch. But Jaylee didn’t have a second to mourn her, because he was too busy running for his life.

A spear flew by, sparking off the stones while another monster ran after him. There was howl then a growl, then he whipped himself around a corner, desperate to stay away from their claws.

WhooOOP! sounded from in front of him, an answering cry coming from his left. HEHEHE! HEHEHE! started coming from all around, and he knew he was close to ending up dead.

His chest heaved as he skidded into the alley where the sewer grate was, claws scrabbling on the cobblestones behind him. Then one of the monsters jumped out in front of him, the entrance to the sewer on the other side.

It lunged his way, its greasy black mane flying to the side as it moved, Jaylee screaming as he dodged. Claws scraped over his bicep, drawing blood as he dropped to the ground. Then he slid along the coarse stones, hearing the snap of its jaws overhead as he tumbled. Another claw tore at his back and he screamed once more, springing to his feet as he scrambled. Then he kept spinning and juking while the beast tried its best to catch ahold of him, its spotted pelt was flying chaotically around in his vision. Hearing its growls as his pulse throbbed in his head.

It lunged for his face ...

A sudden THWACK! THWACK! interrupted his panicked flight, two crossbow bolts appearing out of nowhere in the monster’s chest. Then there was a pitiful wheeze, the monster collapsing to the street as someone shouted, “C’mon!”

Jaylee dashed the last few steps to the sewer’s entrance, diving under the grate to escape the street. Multiple hands pulled him forward, his head rapping off of a spent crossbow in their haste.

“C’mon, Jaylee. Move!” one of the older boys shouted, Jaylee pulling himself out of the muck so he could run. Clawed, paw-like hands thrust down through the sewer’s mouth as they scrambled, the howls of the ondilaan echoing along in the tunnels.

Lucky for them, the sewers were small, and the urchins could fit through their tight spaces. Unfortunately, they were still sewers, and the foul scent followed them wherever they went. Especially whenever they left the scant protection the sewers afforded for the city, and the monsters could sniff them out. So, they ran.

The urchins remained quiet, all of them having learned long ago how sharply the monsters could hear. They kept a steady pace for many long minutes, and eventually the sewer’s height grew. Expanding into a place where they all could stand up, they moved even faster, instead of the stooped over shuffle like they had been.

There were half dozen or so other children besides him, every last one a survivor of the city’s invasion. All of them looked scared, but at least they were alive. And the last few weeks had been hells on them all.

They passed one of the sentries, a dirty girl who Jaylee knew was a fine shot. She used to be a friend of his, someone he could depend on to share a bite to eat. But ever since the city was taken she’d turned cold, having lost one of her best friends to the monsters, eaten in front of her while her friend still screamed.

They didn’t stop, and she didn’t wave, passing by her cold eyes that never once blinked. They slowed to a ground-eating pace as they entered the older tunnels, someone telling him ages ago they stretched all the way into the ruins underneath the surrounding hills.

Jaylee didn’t care about that, his mission to find anything useful in the city all for naught. Right now, all he wanted to do was rest and eat. And as they passed another sentry, this time one of the younger boys who didn’t even have shoes, he knew he was close to home.

Well, as much of a home as it could be.

The older boy who’d led his rescue knocked a particular rhythm on a certain part of the stone wall, a faint outline where the concealed door was. And a moment later the door slowly opened, a handful of teens with knives and swords looking out and expecting a fight.

He was immediately stopped by one of them. “Jaylee, where’s Krisch?”

“Dead. The monsters got her,” he said, ignoring the ache while remembering her scream.

The older boy spat. “You get anything?”

“No.”

He nodded. “The bosses’ll want to see ya’.”

“I know.”

“Off with you then.”

Jaylee nodded, passing by a hungry-looking boy. The rest of his escort had already left. They had rescue duty, setting up around the city in sewers that provided entry points to where he now was. Only people who could cock a crossbow were allowed on it, and Jaylee wasn’t big enough, so he remained with the ‘scrappers’.

That’s what they called themselves, the ‘scrappy’ kids who went out to find whatever it was they might need. But Jaylee had noticed they only sent the smaller kids out, people the ‘bosses’ could afford to lose. Jaylee knew, a lot of them had been his friends. But everyone needed food, and that’s how they paid for their protection, so out into the city they went.

Times were harsh.

He made his way through the stone tunnels, passing a few rooms while ignoring his aching stomach. The air here was humid and dank, but at least it didn’t reek as bad as the sewers had. And eventually he passed some equipment-filled rooms, and started to hear children’s voices in the distance. He came to the first of a series of wide, open rooms, hearing the voice he’d hoped to call out for him. “Jaylee! You’re back!”

The anxiety inside relaxed as he heard Maahnia’s voice, the girl he’d become friends with rising up to stand. She pushed her blonde hair away from her face, rushing forward to wrap him up in a hug.

“Where’s Krisch?”

“The monsters got her.”

“Oh, no!” she cried.

“I know,” Jaylee said fighting a sniff.

“Did you get any food?”

“No.” Jaylee shook his head. “We didn’t find nothin’.”

“Oh, Jaylee, what are we going to do?” Maahnia glanced around before leaning in to whisper. “The bosses say we’re fine, but one of the girls says everyone here’s almost out of food.”

“What?”

“She said we’re almost out of food.” Maahnia looked quickly about. “Jaylee, they were really hoping you would find something.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I don’t think we’re supposed to know,” she continued. “But I overheard the bosses saying they’re getting ready to leave.”

“Leave? Where would we go?” Jaylee whispered. “There’s nowhere safe out there anymore.”

“Not us, just them” She glanced quickly about. “And how would I know? They never let me out of their ...” she stopped herself, “I’m just glad you’re here.” She hugged him fiercely, but this time he flinched. “Jaylee, you’re hurt! There are claw marks all over you!”

He shrugged, a little uncomfortable with how much she fussed over him. She’d been his truest friend for years, always seeming to stick close by.

“Stop, Maahnia.” He pushed her hands away. “I’m hurt, but I’m okay. It’s not much more than a scratch.”

“I know, but–”

“Jaylee! Where are you, my boy?” an older voice called out, a grown man walking into view.

“Here, boss.” Jaylee raised his hand. “I’m over here.”

“We’ve been waiting for you, young man!” The man smiled. “Tell us what you have found! You are our best scrapper, you know. I know you’ve found something!” His smile turned oily, something about it setting Jaylee’s teeth on edge.

“We didn’t find nothin’, boss. The monsters found us.”

“You didn’t find a thing?”

“No.” He ignored the sudden tightness in his chest with the man’s direct look. “They got Kirsch.”

“That’s a shame,” the man replied, almost absently. “Kirsch was never as good as you.” He drifted off for a moment in thought. “… But you haven’t provided your share. We need supplies, my boy. Payment for the safety we provide you ...” He looked towards Maahnia. “… provide you both.”

Maahnia gasped, ducking behind Jaylee’s slight form. The boss was looking at her strangely, like how the men used to look at all the perfumed women where the markets used to be. Jaylee bristled even though he was afraid of the man.

The man rubbed his chin. “We’ll have to send you back out, unfortunately. This time alone.”

“Alone!”

The man nodded. “Yes, alone. We don’t have anyone else to send with you. You understand. And you have to earn your keep for you and your … friend.” He smiled evilly.

“But Jaylee just got back! He’s got to–”

Maahnia was cut off as a haunting howl echoed its way down the dark tunnels. It was the howl of the monsters, a howl that was close. A howl that sent shivers up and down everyone’s spines.

WHOOOOP!

***

“Sella?”

Sella put her mop back in the bucket and leaned on it wearily. “I’m here,” she called, brushing the hair back from her head. It was the second day since she’d sung in the tent, and a miserable two days it’d been.

The elves had taken up residence in her tower, displacing the mages from the top-floor apartments onto the floor below. The two mages weren’t pleased about that, now sharing an apartment with a few of the other folk, but they relocated there readily enough. But moving them and their things was part of her job, and it had led to some back-breaking work.

And, of course, Telee and Pihn had given her the heaviest of loads.

Giri rounded the corner, eyeing the work she had done. “Good! You’re almost finished. You do good work, girl! What for coming from one of them far villages, and all.”

“Thank you, Giri.”

Giri nodded, gifting her a slight smile. “Anyway, Tessa wants you. She’s up with them elves, she is. Telee and Pihn, too. She wants you to head on up.”

Sella fought against rolling her eyes, hoping to never have to deal with the two bitches again. “Now? Do you know what she wants?”

“No, but hopefully it won’t take too long. We still got the rest of the floors to do, ya’ know.” Giri looked around. “When I finish up with this one ...”

“Do you want me to finish it before I go? This is only the first room.”

“No. Head on up, girl. Tessa said for you to go to the top floor right quick.”

Sella nodded while handing her the mop, straightening her hair as she made her way towards the stairs. She didn’t look her best right now and she knew it, but she was coming from mopping the floors. Besides, why would anyone care? But even thinking that, she brushed out her borrowed servant’s dress with her hands, arranging herself to look as nice as she could.

Tessa had looked out for her, giving her this new life, and she expected the servants to look presentable. Sella wasn’t going to screw up that gift for anything, and the only reason Tessa would summon her to the elves was to sing, and singing was something she enjoyed. So, she could at least look good for it. Well, as good I’m able, she laughed to herself, looking down at the stain on her dress.

She climbed up stair after stair, passing the residents as she went. There weren’t a lot of people in the Child’s Tower compared to the town below, but there were enough. And over the last few days, she’d become known to its residents. A few of them nodded her way while the others ignored her, but she paid them no mind as she continued to climb the stair.

Finally reaching the top, she stepped out onto a richly carpeted landing. Making her way through a formal sitting area, she heard voices off to her right, and decided to head that way. If she ended up inadvertently interrupting the elves’ privacy, she could always say it had been a mistake. But it ended up being Tessa, her back to her as Sella approached. And there, in the beautifully decorated salon beyond her, were the elves, along with Telee and Pihn.

“–not require such servants, Mistress of the House,” one of the elves was saying, frowning prettily Tessa’s way. “We will provide for ourselves, and formally thank Family Maorilan for the offer.”

“As you wish,” Tessa answered, artfully raising her brow. “Please know that Telee and Pihn are both skilled and completely at your disposal, both day and night.” Sella noticed the young women frown before their looks disappeared. “If you have need of them, please call.”

“No need will be forthcoming, House Mistress. They do not have the skills we require,” the man said somewhat dismissively. “Your singer is the last we wish to test.”

“As you wish it then, my Lord,” Tessa answered. “And though I know you mean nothing by it, I have no formal title, sir. Nor does anyone in the Hold besides Lord Maorilan and his knight. Please refer to me by my given name, which is Tessa, Lord An’Toyniell.” Tessa bobbed a quick curtsy. “It will suffice quite nicely.”

“As Life wills it, House Mistress … Tessa,” a female voice replied, a voice that was filled with respect as it corrected itself. “We are not familiar with your customs. Please excuse any awkwardness or complaints.”

Tessa bowed her head, finally noticing Sella standing behind her. “Sella, there you are! Thank you for coming so quickly. The elves require your services today, and ask if you might sing for them and their wounded. If you can meet their needs, that is.”

“Aye?” Sella answered, ignoring Telee and Pihn’s sharp looks. “Do you want me to head down to the barracks, ma’am?”

“No, singer,” one of the elves answered, her musical voice easily carrying across the room. “We wish to test you to see if you are able to sing certain songs before you do. We wish no disturbance to the family seat if you cannot. Are you willing to try?”

“Aye, ma’am,” Sella replied, dipping her head and dropping into a crude but passable curtsy. Tessa nodded her approval at the attempt, having done her best to coach her, but Pihn all but sneered.

The elf continued. “These others are lacking in what we require.” There was no way anyone could miss the glares this time. “We wish to ensure that the songs that are sung are most peaceful. Tell me, what is your range?”

“Range?” Sella asked.

“She means how high and low you can sing,” Telee explained, the sweetness in her voice belying a glare. “Something besides your children’s songs, that is.” She was lucky no one else was looking at her, to see her face and the enmity there. What is driving that?

She looked a question to Telee before responding to the elf. “I have no idea, ma’am,” Sella answered. “I have no formal training. I just sing the songs that I sing.”

“Cor’An. You may call me Cor’An, singer,” the elf answered her, eyebrows rising a little bit as she made her reply. “Laran’telia, will a standard scale suffice?”

“It will, Priestess. Anything to ease our workings.”

“Then Sella, let us hear you start low and work your way high. If you can hit the range we need, we can start training you in the songs that we require, but only if you can meet what we need. Begin now, please.” The dark-haired elf waved in her direction, while remaining gracefully perched upon a lounge.

Tessa glanced to Telee and Pihn. “You are both dismissed for now. Please continue your duties on the floors below.”

“A moment if you would, Mistre– … Tessa,” the male elf replied. “They can travel together if she cannot sing.”

“As you wish it,” Tessa nodded. “Sella?”

Sella was acutely uncomfortable with everyone waiting on her; it was so unlike the common room. Tessa, she owed. Telee and Pihn were coming to hate her, for some reason she was afraid to think too much about, and the elves, she barely knew. But with everyone now looking at her, she wasn’t going to let her nervousness get to her.

She couldn’t screw this up.

Besides, she’d listened to what was said during the meeting in the tent. Pawdrig wanted these elves, and she wasn’t going to let him down by not trying. She’d already sung at the feast, and that wasn’t that hard, so she might as well make the attempt here.

Clearing her throat and starting as low as she could, she began an exercise old man Hart had taught her to limber up her voice. Slowly increasing her pitch, she sang her way higher and higher until her voice resembled the sweet call of a bird, tickling its way around the air in the room. She added a little trill to the end, just for the fun of it, then finished up how she’d been taught. Returning her voice to a neutral tone, she stopped there, somewhere in the middle of the highs and low of her range. Then allowing her voice to trail off, the memory of the sounds she made somehow remained, still ringing in the room ...

… Just like they always did. Sometimes, at least. From time to time.

The two elven ladies glanced at each other, their faces expressionless as far as she could tell. But the looks they exchanged were somehow profound. Guardedly impressed, even.

The man, however, looked openly interested. He was giving her the look she was used to seeing from men in the Cup, but only when she’d tried to make it happen. It was something she’d hoped she wouldn’t see here in the Hold, and something she’d been warned against trying for the very first night she was here. She glanced nervously at Tessa, wondering what she might think of the man’s open appraisal.

“Singer? Can you hold this note?” the second lady elf asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She sang a high note, her exquisite voice ringing out to fill up the room. Sella copied it, easily matching the note she’d sung. Then their two voices twined and combined with each other, a strangely full harmony encompassing the room. But Sella stopped after a moment to cough, a strange tickling taking her throat.

“Please try again, singer. Hold it for as long as you can,” the woman asked her again.

So, Sella did, taking a deep breath while ignoring the man’s eyes on her chest. She sang the note she’d been asked to, pitching her voice so that she could hold it for as long as she required.

The note sounded clear throughout the room, then a new sound entered, and then another, as both of the elven women raised their voices towards hers in harmony. The three voices twined with each other in an intricate dance, the two elves twirling around her voice in an elegant display. Then, as she was nearing the end of her breath, the elven man added his own, his rich baritone providing a floor to their stage.

The harmony they made had a queer and strange quality to it, in comparison to the sounds from home. But it was at the same time both pleasant and rich, something about the music bringing everyone in the room to ease. And then her skin started to tingle, the tingling spreading before their voices slowly dwindled away.

“I am Laran’telia, singer, and you will do nicely.” The woman exchanged a glance with the other two, the man still not looking away from taking Sella in. “Vistarii, don’t you agree?”

The man shook himself, an almost internal thing Sella only saw because he had captured her eyes. “Yes … most definitely, sister. I will appreciate any gift this singer might share with my men.”

His look was terribly direct, Sella seeing something there she’d only seen from men after a couple of drinks. She hoped Tessa wouldn’t think anything of it, and Tessa seemed not to notice. But she was glad she could be of use, already planning on how to defuse what she worried was going on here.

At least Pawdrig would be proud of her helping out. Gods … You’re such a lovesick fool, Sella. She inwardly smiled. He wouldn’t care in the least.

“Mistress? Excuse me … Tessa,” Cor’An corrected herself. “If we can have the use of your singer for the rest of the day, she will be able to learn the songs we need.”

“Certainly, lady.”

“The other two, however, cannot. Can they bring us the noontime meal? For the singer, as well? Her teaching may require many long hours.”

“This can be done, my lady. Telee, Pihn, a platter for our visiting elves with their lunch in the suite. Please ensure it feeds four.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they both answered, Sella not missing the renewed glares.

“Then you are dismissed.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Telee brightly answered. “We’ll say hello to Matron Greentree for you down in the kitchens, Sella.” Telee glared when no one was looking, flicking her eyes over towards the elven man. “She’ll be glad to hear about how well you’re doing up here.”

“She most certainly will, Tel’,” Pihn agreed. “It’s amazing really, Sella. You’re so popular ...”

Facing the Guard

Tommy’s hand was tingling, reacting to the immense weight of Ari’s Tol. He felt her reach out to Garesh, her Tol finding something foreign there that was smothering and slowing his pathways. Then she used her Tol to separate out the poison and held it there, while turning to address the troop.

No one missed her two, glowing green eyes.

“I am about to remove the poison from S’tol Garesh’s body. To treat a master this way … the shame … he will likely be very upset.” One of the elves snorted. “I do not know this S’tol personally, and I have no idea what he might do, but I am sure that things are about to become … tense … rather quickly.”

She looked around at everyone some more. “The conversation that follows will most likely be in elven. Please try to not overreact.”

“However, you will remember your orders,” Donnor interrupted her, his tone brooking no refusal. Everyone, even the ch’ten, nodded at his words.

“Beloved, what have you done?”

“I will not allow the elves to be killed outright, Arisaylia, not without explanation or reason. I agree with you on that. But I will also not sit here defenseless while my family’s at risk.” He waved a hand towards the troop. “They will eliminate any threat to you before it might come.” There was an unusual wildness to his eyes.

Ari frowned, not seeing the cautious respect in the elves’ eyes, but Tommy did. He wondered about that as one of the elves turned to meet his gaze. There was some judgement there, some new evaluation, but whatever it was had disappeared behind the return of the elf’s stony silence.

Ari huffed, turning away from her ilari, while wondering what it was that he’d done. She hoped she’d have a chance to save her countrymen, but she knew without even having to feel it through the bond that he was primed to defend her at all costs. His protectiveness was absolutely screaming at her, and she could tell he wouldn’t think twice before ordering every elf dead if he thought she would come to harm.

A foreboding deadliness radiated off of Donnor that she’d never felt from him before. It scared her, feeling him descending into an altered state where his body was primed for explosive action, while not a thought dared to cross his mind. He sat ready inside an almost eerie state of calm, a harbinger of doom, the calm before the storm. And she studied him, taking in the looseness of how he was sitting, realizing only then that there was poison dripping from his spear.

And it wasn’t green.

She forced the image out of her mind, hoping by Life this conversation didn’t precede any bloodshed. Then she turned to look out over the J’al’osil, every single one of them calmly returning her gaze.

With faces grim.

They were preparing to die. To die for the Vale, without giving a single thing away; it was how they were trained. And she watched the eye of one woman twitch when she realized that. Only the fact that they had been unconscious had prevented them from taking their own lives once they’d been captured.

She looked and held Salia’s gaze, and then Erella’s, the only two present she knew. Salia was a strike leader, a dependable and capable commander, and had been for over a hundred years. She’d been in charge of the contingent of J’al’osil assigned to Family Saliantrea for decades, and had done so with honor for as long as Arisaylia had known. Salia was always with her whenever she left the family estate, accompanied by Erella on her father’s orders.

Erella was Ari’s shadow, a silent guardian almost since the time of her birth. She knew very little about Erella’s personal life, the woman always being incredibly private. But one thing she did know was that she was held in high regard, very high regard indeed, within the ranks of the J’al’osil.

To see the two of them here, as part of a greater toulan, convinced her more than anything about the seriousness of what she’d been told. Having one or two of the J’al’osil accompanying a daughter of the Wi’Jitikiin whenever she left college was one thing. And she more than likely would have never known who they were if she wasn’t also a mage. Part of their mission was always to remain unseen, after all, even if no one knew who they actually were. The J’al’osil dressing up as servants or maids so they could always be present was something every mage eventually became aware of, especially when they left the college or Sirikii. And Ari had left to be with Donnor quite a bit. So, J’al’osil were assigned to keep them safe.

But the Pathfinders, as their elven name was translated, were unheard of outside the Vale. They only ever left the Vale under extreme circumstances, some of which she had only begun to learn before she had escaped. And from what Ari had learned, the strike team before her was unlike anything that had left the Vale in over an age.

The Pathfinder’s name described their role. They were part of the Vale’s army, positioning themselves as scouts whenever the army saw combat. However, their true role was much darker, and it was a closely held secret, shrouded in mystery, that Saress had only begun to reveal. Only the Wi’Jitikiin and the masters were aware of everything that the J’al’osil truly did, but Ari had her suspicions, and her suspicions had begun years ago.

Over a decade ago, Erella had left the family estate during the time of Ari’s captivity, stating she had a family emergency to attend. Salia had told Ari not to worry after Erella had left, but many weeks had gone by before she returned. Erella’s family lived only a few days from the estate, so it was odd she hadn’t sent back any news. When Erella did return, however, she was oddly reticent about what had gone on, seemingly unaffected by whatever emergency had occurred. But Ari had heard that when she came back, Erella had been kitted out as if she had taken a long journey. And she had been injured, staying two days with the healers before resuming her duties.

Over the next few weeks, Erella seemed fine, ignoring all of her inquiries until a conversation had come up one night, at another one of her father’s endless dinners, talking about the surrounding lands. They were discussing foreign cities, and specifically the port city of Jebid. Erella was describing the city in vivid detail, engaging the most recent suitor Ari was desperately trying to ignore. Telling funny stories about the people there, as well as reproducing their accents, she painted a vivid picture with her words. And the city came alive with her telling, especially when she imitated the ridiculous brogue that the sailors would use on the docks.

In a break during the story, one of her father’s visitors mentioned he’d heard that a local lord’s family had recently died there, the lord himself the only survivor of a freakishly bad accident. He asked if Erella knew anything about it, which she said she did not, going on to paint another picture of the surrounding lands and terrain with her words. Then her storytelling eventually turned towards other things, and the conversation veered closer to home as the night wore on.

But Ari had known Erella since she was a young girl, her shadow being a constant presence in her life since her mother had died. She knew Erella’s expression whenever she saw them, and she knew that Erella had lied about something that night. And when Ari pressed her about it after dinner, about what it was that she knew, Erella had done something that she never expected her guardian to do.

Making the imperious gesture Ari had only ever seen before from her father, Erella raised a single hand to invoke the Vale’s silence, abruptly ending any further conversation before it could begin.

Salia had pulled her aside later that evening and told her to never bring up the subject again, that she’d have to speak to her father about it if she did. And Ari had never said a word, obeying Salia’s orders out of an abundance of love and respect ... but she’d never forgotten. And she’d wondered ever since what the J’al’osil did whenever they travelled outside the Vale … watching them come and go from the estate with newly opened eyes.

She laid her eyes on her old guardian, wondering what it might be, before she finally spoke. “Far’e’na, Salia. You are far from the Vale.”

“As are you, Arisaylia.”

“Erella.” Ari nodded a greeting. “It has been long time since we last spoke.”

“Since the day you escaped from Sirikii, Nisa.” Erella nodded to Falia without looking. “Your maid was very put out.”

“I am sure. I hope you did not judge her too harshly. There were reasons for my flight, only some of which you might know.”

“It is not our place to pass judgement, Arisaylia Saliantrea,” Salia answered, her voice quiet though tense. “The J’al’osil serve the Vale, and the Vale has called you to answer. You must return to the Vale, Nisa Saliantrea. The Wi’Jitikiin have called you to council, and the J’al’osil will make it so.”

“And if I choose not to go?”

“The J’al’osil will see it done.”

“Have I no other choice?”

Erella blinked. “You would defy the Wi’Jitikiin?”

“The Wi’Jitikiin? Who do you serve, Erella? The Wi’Jitikiin or the Vale?”

“They are one and the same, Arisaylia. We both know this.” Salia frowned.

Ari nodded, pausing to meet the eyes of every J’al’osil present. “To whom do you swear your oaths, J’al’osil?”

She was met with silence, a few present expressing their complete and utter contempt for her question through their eyes. The offense she’d offered them by publicly challenging their oath was palpable. She could feel their anger.

“Falia has told me it is known by everyone here that I am my father’s heir, and heir to the Wi’Jitikiin, yet you still remain silent. I will allow that you may think I hadn’t known, but I will tolerate your silence no longer. I ask my question again as that heir. A verbal answer is required, J’al’osil,” Ari commanded, making an imperious gesture she’d only ever used before in jest.

There was a long, and pregnant silence before an answer was made. Ari was met by a wall of stony faces; the offense she had given was that great. Eventually it was Salia again who answered, and a grudging response it was, too.

“The J’al’osil swear their oaths to the Vale, as you well know, heir to Saliantrea. Foreswearing our family oaths so that we become one with the Vale, we hold no oaths to another so that the honor of the Vale is our own. All comes second to the Vale.”

“The Vale,” a few of the others responded. The rest stared angrily into Ari’s green eyes as Salia started a formal chant, the others responding in cadence to her words.

“The Wi’Jitikiin are the bloodlines ...”

“The bloodlines remain true.”

“They embody the Life that they hold ...”

“Combatting the deaths yet to come.”

“To guard against all comers ...”

“Accepting none to the fold.”

“To preserve what we once held …”

“Against that we did lose.”

“For the honor of the Vale …”

“Life yet remains true.”

“This, you shall know ...” Salia trailed off, her final statement eerily quiet.

“We still remain true,” the elves finished.

Salia ended her chant, her face dissolving into a frown. Then she glanced towards Ari, her voice becoming hot and angry. “Who are you to question the oaths of the J’al’osil, Saliantrea? It is you who defy the Vale.”

“No, Strike Leader. I made no question to the oaths you hold. I only reminded you of what you have sworn. Thank you for confirming what I already suspected,” Ari replied evenly, nodding Salia’s way.

Ari said nothing further after seeing the confusion quickly wiped from her face. Ari knew Salia would wonder what she was trying to accomplish with her offensive question. Forcing someone to answer came within a hair of declaring someone was foresworn, an incredible slight to arnhysh. Salia knew full well that Ari would never do such a thing without reason, so she had to be wondering what she was about. After all, it was Salia who had taught her the ins and outs of elven honor. And questioning an oath was a touchy business at best, especially for the J’al’osil.

Part of the J’al’osil’s order were the ultimate arbiters of any dispute of honor, after all.

“Have you ever known the Vale to be in error, Strike Leader?” Salia stared back, face blank while her eyes searched Ari’s in silent question. “No? No answer? How about the Wi’Jitikiin, Salia of the J’al’osil? Has there never been an order there you’ve questioned? That you did not see the necessity of? Something that may have upset you? No? Something you were ordered to do, to which you disagreed?”

“No one answers to you, girl,” one of the other elves replied.

“No, I don’t expect you do,” Ari agreed calmly enough. “I am the target of your mission, after all. The mission you have failed to do.”

Anger rose with that statement, and both Salia and Erella pierced her subtle goading with questioning eyes.

“I don’t expect you to answer me at all,” Ari continued. But we are only talking here … something that civilized people do. Can we not talk to one another? All of us, as elves of the Vale?”

She was met with an assortment of rigid faces.

“Are you so stoic, J’al’osil, that you will not answer? Will you only answer the formal commands of an heir?”

“Why should we talk to you, Saliantrea?” another one asked, finally breaking the harsh reserve to sneer in her direction.

“Is it so hard to speak?”

“You are a criminal!”

“Really? What crime did I commit?”

The silence was brittle, Ari knowing full well she’d been accused of no crime. Falia had been quite clear about that.

“What? No answer? If I am a criminal, I must have committed a crime. Surely you can tell me what it was that I’ve done.”

“You are wanted before the council,” another man grudgingly replied.

“Ah.” Ari nodded. “But being wanted before the council is not in itself a crime. Certainly not something the J’al’osil would normally concern themselves with.”

“Stealing a family’s progeny is,” a woman haughtily accused.

“Stealing a family’s progeny?” Ari answered. “Whose child am I accused of stealing?”

“Family Farlesdar’s,” the woman answered, glaring fiercely her way.

“And who’s child have I stolen? I was unaware of any Farlesdar babe before I left.”

“Alaris Farlesdar’s!”

“You mean I am accused of stealing my own child? The one he and I conceived? There doesn’t seem to be much sense in that.”

“It is not your place!”

“My place? What is not my place?”

“To leave with his child.”

“His child? That child is of my own body with no oaths of binding between us. Alaris and I were only betrothed, and we are both of the Wi’Jitikiin. Would that not make our child Saliantrea?”

The woman growled, all but grinding her teeth. “It is his! Not yours!”

“I see, though I disagree. So, is this my crime? Stealing my own child?”

Salia and Erella were watching her, both silent but shrewd.

“YES!” the woman shouted.

The sprites drew back on their bows. Donnor waved them back amidst the angry mumbling from the troop. None of the troop knowing what was being said.

“And is this a matter that involves the honor of the Vale, this stolen child of mine? A matter that involves the Wi’Jitikiin to intercede between two potential mates?” Ari asked.

It was a seemingly innocent question, but everyone knew it was not. The woman actually growled at her in frustration, her eyes, and some of the others, all but burning Ari alive where she sat. Everyone knew what the woman accused her of was an offense between families, and not the Vale’s business at all.

It looked like maybe half of the J’al’osil were firmly against her, the woman almost vehemently so. And Ari’s initial suspicion was firming about the reason why, seeing the token and swirl of Family Farlesdar’s crest woven into the woman’s shirt.

“I did not know this,” Ari continued, fighting for calm. “Even growing up as close to the Wi’Jitikiin as I did, that the Wi’Jitikiin would involve themselves with internal family affairs? I never knew …”

“YOU–” The woman furiously cut herself off.

“What? Why are you so upset with me? We are only talking, like civilized people do. Have we met before? Do you know my family?”

“Arisaylia Saliantrea, what is it you are trying to accomplish here?” Salia interrupted, glaring the woman’s way. A vein was throbbing on the woman’s forehead while everyone struggled to ignore the tightly drawn bows of the ch’ten.

The woman growled, the elves radiated threat, and Tommy, though he didn’t understand a single word, had forgotten how to breathe.

“Simply having a conversation, Strike Leader. From one civilized person to the next. Tell me, did you form this toulan? I don’t recognize some of these people from the estate.”

“You wouldn’t.” One of the men sneered.

“Silence,” Salia snapped, the elf bowing his head her way. “The makeup of this toulan is not your concern, Saliantrea.”

“I see. Do you command this toulan, Strike Leader?”

“No. S’tol Garesh commands.”

“Then we should probably wake him up.” Arisaylia nodded, seeing surprise on some of their faces. “You seem surprised. More questions than these need answering, J’al’osil. Many more than have been so far.” Ari turned her head towards the S’tol.

She didn’t know Garesh well, never having learned from him at the college. His family ties were murky at best, Garesh having no close allies amongst the Wi’Jitikiin as far as she knew. Family ties were supposedly not as important when becoming S’tol, since the masters swore the same oaths the Pathfinders did. But she had a growing suspicion that those supposedly immutable oaths had blurred when it came to her in this instance. Just as they seemed to be bent away from true amongst the J’al’osil.

All she knew of Garesh was that he sometimes taught magical combat in the advanced classes, classes that she’d never taken. That, and he’d been present more than once over the years whenever they’d released her binding. There’d always been at least three S’tol present whenever they’d released her, and Garesh always seemed to be there. He seemed to take great pleasure whenever she fought against it in the beginning, but as she accepted how useless it was to fight them, she saw less and less of him until she never saw him again.

She’d kept ahold of the poison infecting Garesh the entire time she spoke with the J’al’osil, an easy undertaking with Tommy’s immense strength for her to use. Staring down one of the masters who’d bound her, that had kept her bound for years … never to escape … year after year … here, in the wilds … it boggled her mind. She forcibly buried the pain and heartache her memories were trying to resurface. There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore, she told herself, glancing towards her family. Then she hid her anxiety at facing Garesh, taking comfort in Donnor’s close strength.

She glanced around, seeing the tension in the troop. She knew she had to say something after the heated words that none of them understood. She needed to comfort her friends, her family, these people who meant so much more to her than home.

So, she took a deep breath.

A Master’s Fate

“I am going to wake up Master Garesh now. Things are going as well as expected. Again, please remain calm,” Ari admonished the troop in common, warning them all. “I will wake him … now.” Then she pulled the poison out of him, a greenish liquid forming on his skin before rolling off to pool on the ground beside him.

Almost instantly she felt him gather his Tol, while not a single motion or sign of wakefulness arose on his face. She felt him quest out with his Tol, a handful of infinitesimally fine strands of ruddy light quickly moving away from his body. They spread in all directions; a delicate, intricate web of carmine light he sent forth.

“Ari?” Tommy prompted.

“I know, Tommy, I can see it too,” she answered deliberately in common, the troop tensing and shifting about. She patted Tommy’s thigh, watching those threads of crimson brilliance pause in their travels as soon as she spoke.

“S’tol Garesh, you are awake and restrained before us. There are armed men surrounding you, that I will not allow you to harm.” She paused, the ruddy tendrils pulling back towards his form.

“Many of these people wish you dead,” she added offhandedly. “I would be very careful about what you do with your Tol, S’tol Garesh. I personally do not wish you harm, but you are using your magic right now, and the people around you are watching for it.”

She saw his body tense, then he pulled his Tol back into himself, forming a bloody barrier over his body. He gradually raised his head, straightening up and settling himself into a more comfortable pose.

Falia tensed at his side, having never moved away from him since she’d first knelt there. When he glanced in her direction, she offered him water to drink and he drank his fill, Falia returning to Ari when he was finished. Then she silently took her place behind Arisaylia, off to one side.

“Far’e’na, S’tol Garesh,” Ari said, formally nodding his way.

“Far’e’na, Arisaylia Saliantrea. I see you are causing problems once more.”

“It was not my intention. I hope this current problem can be resolved, or at least somehow avoided.”

“That is easily remedied. Return at once with us to the Vale.”

“That is something we have yet to discuss.”

“There will be no discussion. You have been commanded to return to the Vale before council, Arisaylia Saliantrea. Return to the Vale you shall.”

“There will be no debate?”

Garesh looked at her oddly. “It has been ordered by the Wi’Jitikiin. There can be no debate.”

“I see. Tell me Master Garesh, do you know why I am called?”

He glanced towards those around him, obviously choosing his words with care. “Yes.”

“The entirety of it?”

“The entirety of what?”

“The entirety of why I was called.”

“It matters not. Only the fact that you have been called is relevant.”

“Interesting.” Ari paused. “S’tol Garesh, to whom do you serve?”

Fury instantly crossed his face, Ari knowing full well how offensive her question would be to a master. Even compared to the J’al’osil, every elf in existence knew the masters served the Vale first and foremost.

“I do not answer to you, Arisaylia Saliantrea,” he growled, finishing with an arrogant sneer.

The ch’ten objected to his tone, objected greatly, gathering up the strings of their bows once more. One of them even drew down on Garesh, the J’al’osil tensing as a green, evil-looking substance slowly dripped from that sprites arrow to land on the ground before him.

Ari allowed the tension to build before brokenly chittering for the ch’ten to hold off, to give her a moment to respond. Ahton didn’t look happy, the other sprites didn’t either, but they held their peace which was all she could ask.

Ari felt Garesh gather his strength, the glow of his Tol strengthening as he did so. And Tommy sensed what he was doing, tightening his fingers where they were on her shoulder. She formed a shield around Garesh, using both of their strengths to do so, and then Garesh sneered. Then a ready strike formed and glowed red in his hand, while the troop as a whole drew back.

“I will not allow you to harm these innocents,” her voice echoed its way across the grass, a plethora of emerald tendrils of Tol spreading out throughout the space between them. “Do you wish to try my strength, S’tol Garesh? Alone? Before witness?” She waved towards the troop around them. “You always had three of you to challenge me before. Why is that, I wonder? Do you know? Or care?”

Ari gathered herself, purposely taking on the haughtiness of noble elves, something she hated. But her father had taught her well, and she glared imperiously at him with the full weight of her family behind her.

“I am my father’s heir, S’tol Garesh, and I make my choices with that firmly held in mind. I have only asked questions, and have offered you no threat. I have even healed you, by my own hand, yet you would form an attack? Against me? Here? Before witness? An heir to one of the great families? Are you without arnhysh?”

“You dare to ask me if I am without arnhysh?” Garesh demanded.

“Yes. You have already attacked me once without warning, nor offered quarter given to me and mine. Me, the heir to Family Saliantrea. My father, the second pillar of the Wi’Jitikiin. Have you forsaken your oath?”

If Garesh could have been any angrier, Ari didn’t know how. She had thought long and hard about how to have this particular conversation, and her questions were aimed specifically towards one thing. She was targeting his oath, the one that he, and every other master or J’al’osil in existence, had sworn.

“You dare!”

“Dare what, S’tol? Seek answers to questions that remain unanswered? It was not I who attacked.”

“It was our duty to return you to the Vale!”

“Which could have been done differently, if you had but thought for one moment to ask. Why is it you attacked?”

“I will make no answer to you!”

“Then I will answer for you, since you have chosen to remain silent. Falia a’Saliantrea has long been my maid and adopted member of my family. Strike Leader Salia, and Erella, both J’al’osil, can verify that fact. They have protected me since childhood, and their word is beyond reproach.

“Falia has given voice to the orders as they were given to you, S’tol. Orders that you repeated for your party to hear. That I was to be apprehended and returned to the Vale for questioning. Is that not so?”

Garesh glared at her, refusing to answer, while his Tol surged beneath his skin.

“That is so. We told you this only moments ago, Saliantrea. This is no surprise or great thing,” Salia answered for him, receiving a glare in reply.

“Thank you, Strike Leader. I appreciate that you chose to speak to me, before offering harm. Falia also explained that your orders were modified on your way here.”

“By the army your husband commands!” Garesh shouted.

“I have no husband,” Ari declared flatly, a deafening echo that brooked no dispute. “Farlesdar and I were once betrothed, and a child from that union was conceived, born, and lost. But the rite of our joining was never completed.”

“You admit to a child!”

“Yes. But that does not affect my relationship with Farlesdar, S’tol, not as it would if I was anyone else. No heir to the Wi’Jitikiin is considered wed until the Ceremony of Life is performed before the full council in Sirikii.” Her eyes bored into his own. “The masters lead that rite, S’tol, as you well know.” Ari glared.

“Di’ii was both beautiful and precious to me, but she was killed shortly after her birth. Killed by the ondilaan who attacked our home because I was unable to defend her. Bound as I was by three members of the S’tol, to keep me locked away into a marriage that I did not want or desire. My only choice to leave so that I may escape my prison.”

Ari glanced away, gathering herself, looking both terrible and grave before continuing. “That child is dead, S’tol. Her soul released to the tor’biata bar’lin upon the banks of the Serensea a few weeks ago. Those at my side, and one other, bore witness.”

Ari paused, chest heaving, taking another moment to collect herself. Then formally covering her eyes with one hand in the acknowledgement of the dead, she lowered her gaze.

“Let it be known.”

Every elf twitched while attempting to copy the salute to Life she made. Only Falia able to do so, unbound as she was.

Ari paused to look about, boldly meeting her countrymen’s gaze. “You would honor my family’s dead? Even those of you that attacked me here?”

Garesh’s eyes became hooded and shrewd, but he refused to answer.

Salia glanced his way before turning towards the rest, hesitating slightly before answering. “I speak only for myself, Saliantrea, but I would honor your dead. Long have I served your family.”

“Are there any others?”

Erella nodded, as did a few more. Overall, less than half of the J’al’osil present offered.

“I require your bond before releasing you, that you will not attack or attempt to flee. Will you make that oath before Life as your witness to an heir of the Wi’Jitikiin?”

Garesh looked at her intently, studiously remaining silent as those who had answered nodded their acceptance.

“I require your verbal oath,” Ari added, and those who had agreed barely hesitated before making one.

“I am going to release the hands of a few of my countrymen,” Ari said, addressing the troop in common. “They have sworn a formal oath not to attack, nor will they attempt to flee. Please do not react to any motions they may make with their hands,” she instructed.

Then she gathered Tommy’s Tol, reaching out with multiple strands to untie their hands … all of their hands at once. It was something the J’al’osil couldn’t see, not having Tol of their own, but Garesh was utterly aware of what she’d just done. He narrowed his eyes while she effortlessly worked dozens of strands of Tol at the same time. Untying the ties slowly and with exquisite precision and care. Moving them with her mind, something even the masters would find challenging to do.

He shifted his weight while Ari watched him, never once looking away.

She waited until the restraints fell, her countrymen massaging their wrists as one. Then she spoke in the archaic cadence of the formal council of home, something her father had taught her well. Every elf present all but snapped to attention, responding instinctively as she started the rite.

“Attend all as we honor a gift fallen before Life. My child is dead. Di’ii, daughter of my body and Alaris Farlesdar, killed in her home by the ondilaan. My child is dead. Her soul released into the tor’biata bar’lin a month ago now gone by, on the night following the twin moons being absent from the sky. My child is dead. Expected to combine the bloodlines of two pillars of the Wi’Jitikiin, The Vale, our homeland. The place that I hoped her soul would roam. My child is dead. Mourned by everyone who knew her. My child is dead. My beautiful baby girl, who to this day I love so much. My child is dead. Six times I say it, and six times Life answered. Until she returns, Di’ii is no more.”

By the fourth heartbreaking refrain, her tears fell from her cheeks. And by the sixth and final verse, she choked back her sobs. The formality demanded of her during the rite forced Ari to swallow her memories, the horrors of Di’ii’s death, and the events that threatened to resurface.

She paused, a frozen moment in time, enough to gather herself so she could raise her shaking hand to cover her eyes ... The sign that the rite was complete. She took a shaky breath.

“May it be known.”

“It shall be known,” they answered her, covering their eyes in union.

She stayed that way, frozen, sharing with the people who finally understood the depth of her grief for Di’ii’s passing, and the desperation she held for her return. People who knew that even the loss of a single child was a disaster for the Vale, almost an insult to Life itself. The heady cadence of the rite and its spoken words designed to teach all who were present, so that a loss like this one might be prevented in the future.

It stabbed at her soul.

Even S’tol Garesh was moved enough to acknowledge her child’s passing, formally joining the rite as much as he could by simply closing his eyes. The elves remained quiet for a time, communing with Life in silence.

The minimum amount of time passed that the rite required before Garesh broke the silence once more.

“Enough, Saliantrea, our duty remains. You have been commanded to return to the Vale, and return you shall.”

Ari nodded, wiping away her tears. “You are rude, Garesh.”

“I am S’tol.”

“I will call you master when you have earned my respect.”

“How dare you!”

“I will dare much in my moment of grief.” She wiped her eyes once more. “Especially to one who sought to end Life without sanction by the council.”

“I have done no such thing!”

“You most certainly have.” Ari sniffed, deliberately gathering her will. “Falia a’Saliantrea has declared so before witness, and your actions have proven it. That the council requests my presence I do not debate.”

“Ha!”

“But to kill? That, Garesh, I challenge.” She turned her head away. “Strike Leader Salia of the J’al’osil, on your honor before Life and the Vale, did the full council of the Wi’Jitikiin order you to deliberately end the Life of Donnor Silverspear and any male child of his?”

“She does not answer to you, Saliantrea. You have no right to demand an answer from her.” Garesh sneered.

“I disagree, Garesh. And I find it odd you would say so. Especially with what has already transpired. Strike Leader Salia, let there be no secrets between us. Who am I? What position do I now hold?” Ari asked, never looking away from Garesh.

“Do not answer one who defies the Wi’Jitikiin!” Garesh bellowed.

“She is of the Wi’Jitikiin herself, S’tol,” Salia respectfully answered, before turning her head away. “You are Arisaylia Saliantrea, Nisa, the acknowledged heir of your father, who is the second pillar of the Wi’Jitikiin.”

“Thank you, Salia, for your answer ... And, for your words. This is what civilized people do, Garesh. Talk, and seek answers. You both have sworn your oaths, Garesh, to the Vale, and the Wi’Jitikiin who guide our people. I offer her no hostility, and being heir to the Wi’Jitikiin, she was honor bound to comply.

“Would you really refuse a simple request for information from a child of the Wi’Jitikiin? Or, by doing so, offer an affront to one’s acknowledged heir?”

Garesh glared, his eyes again taking on a reddish hue. The light in his hand once again grew, and the other elves took notice.

“Are you challenging me again? To duel over what? The threat of a mere question?” She asked, forcing her voice to remain calm, and getting a growl in response. “Strike Leader, did you receive an order to kill?”

“Yes, Nisa Saliantrea.”

“When?”

“After leaving the human village of Varmen’s Shoal, along our journey tracking you here.”

“And what were those orders? Specifically?”

Salia looked towards the S’tol, feeling the power shifting away from him in this meeting.

“Do not answer her!” Garesh demanded.

“Strike Leader Salia, I ask you again as heir to the Wi’Jitikiin. Your verbal answer is required. What were your specific orders?”

Salia studied Garesh, her face blank, though somehow hard. “I swore an oath, S’tol, and I will not break it. To refuse a direct request of the Wi’Jitikiin, or through them their heir, is to be without arnhysh.” Salia bowed, regret somehow communicated through her motion. “I must answer.”

She turned away. “Nisa Arisaylia Saliantrea, the orders conveyed were to kill Donnor Silverspear and his son, the one they call Tommy.”

“I see. Thank you, Strike Leader. Did any other in your party hear those orders.”

“No, Nisa. They came directly to S’tol Garesh.”

“And who gave those orders?”

“They were communicated by the S’tol.”

“Ordered by the army!” shouted Garesh.

“The army is not the full council,” Ari reminded him.

“He speaks with their voice!” Garesh insisted.

Ari ignored the mistake. “Really? The entire council?”

Garesh remained silent, bullishly glaring her way, but Salia looked acutely uncomfortable. A few of them did, eventually Salia answering that question as well. “No, it does not.”

“So, you have no idea if those orders were sanctioned by the council, Strike Leader.”

“No, Nisa Saliantrea.”

“Is that unusual, Salia?”

Salia frowned, then moved to make the gesture invoking the Vale’s silence, but Arisaylia interrupted, taking a leap of faith.

“Erella, you have killed in the name of the Vale. Have you received death’s sanction from any beside the full council of the Wi’Jitikiin?”

There was a long silence, a very long pause, so long that Ari thought she would refuse to answer. But eventually, Ari’s heartbeat pounding the entire time in her head, she did.

“No, Nisa Saliantrea. For one of our order to act, a death mark must come from the mouths of the entire council, without a single dissent present … As it has been before Life, since the gods were lost,” Erella answered her in a voice so quiet it could barely be heard.

“Since the gods were lost,” the rest of the elves echoed her. Every J’al’osil whose hands were free made a gesture that Ari had never seen. Donnor grunted, his shock flaring wildly through the bond. But she didn’t have the time to ask him about it.

“No,” Ari said into the silence, noticing that lines were being drawn within the toulan by the furious looks being shot Garesh’s way. “I call question to this mark for death, and I also challenge its validity. Who gave you that order, Garesh?”

He turned his head away from her, but Ari didn’t fail to notice the molten glow in his eyes. He probed her shield, his strength not even coming close to penetrating what her and Tommy brought together. She waited, it becoming obvious he was refusing to answer.

“S’tol Garesh, as heir to the Wi’Jitikiin I ask you, who gave you the order to kill?”

She waited once more in silence, even the J’al’osil who seemed to be siding against her were obviously torn by witnessing his refusal. That he would refuse to answer a direct request by an heir, an heir to the Wi’Jitikiin, it was almost unthinkable.

He signed the Vale’s silence, sneering in her direction. “You have no right to question me.”

Some of them looked surprised, others were smug, but not one person on the banks of the Silverlake missed the shocked and stunned looks on the other elves’ faces.

“Erella, do the S’tol know of the requirement for someone to be marked for death?”

“They do, Saliantrea.”

There was no other choice, she channeled her father at his formal best.

“S’tol Garesh, I ask you before Life, I ask you before the Vale, and I ask you by your oath and arnhysh. Six times I have asked you and shall ask you no more. Who gave you the order to kill in the name of the Vale?”

She had given him no choice. The language she used sang between all of the elves present, and though it came to her instinctively, it rocked the J’al’osil. Ari felt, but had no understanding of the significance of her words, but all of the J’al’osil did. They observed him, judging him coldly, in silence.

Garesh glared his hate into her eyes, knowing he must answer or forever be foresworn. “The order came from S’tol Da’an,” he grudgingly replied, the words almost dragged from him.

“Come now, Garesh. The order did not originate with a S’tol. From whom did the order come?” Ari demanded, her countenance both steady and firm.

Garesh’s upper lip twitched, then another sneer bloomed upon his lips. He was stuck, and he knew it, but he would make her pay for this arrogant affront. He finally decided to speak, but when he did so, his voice was filled with disdain.

“It came from your husband, Arisaylia. Alaris Farlesdar.”

She was stunned to have her suspicions confirmed, strangely empty inside knowing that she’d come close to thinking fondly of him. That she’d agreed to marry him, lain with him, had a child by him … had thought about spending the rest of her days with him. The totality of his betrayal left her barren. But deep inside, a kernel of fury grew.

Donnor put a hand on her shoulder, staring deep into her eyes.

“So said before witness,” she pronounced with a cold finality, some of the elves openly gaping at Garesh. “And I have no husband. Even if I did, this action would end it.”

“You would defy the council?” someone asked.

“Defy them in what way? I have never been wed before the council.”

“You are his wife,” Garesh insisted.

Ari laughed, a sick and twisted sound, while that kernel blossomed and grew. “We have never wed, Garesh. We may have had a child, but we have never formalized our betrothal. And I will certainly never wed Alaris Farlesdar after this.”

“It is the will of the council.”

“Then the council is as twisted as Alaris is.”

There was a smattering of shocked gasps, but she ignored them, making a sudden decision while that kernel continued to grow. She raised her right hand, concentrating on making the bond between her and Alaris appear. It did not, and she made it obvious to Garesh what she was doing, illuminating her hand with her Tol.

“The bond we once held is no more. I have tried to make it appear, but the bond once there is broken. Even if it was still present, no one would deny me my right to sever that tie after hearing what we have here. Before Life and the Vale, I defy you, Garesh, to lie and say it is not so.”

She glared her outrage in his direction, while a sprout slowly emerged from the kernel. Garesh returned her glare, his only response that infuriating sneer. Her fury rose, but she gentled it … with both hands.

“S’tol Garesh, as heir to the Wi’Jitikiin, I name you oath breaker and kinslayer before Life. Whatever logic you used, whatever reasoning you had, no matter who you received the order from, nor that person’s rank, nothing can protect you from the fact that you accepted and sought to consummate an order for death in the name of the Vale. Then you passed on your illegitimate orders, besmirching the honor of the Pathfinders present. This, is what you have done.

“Your actions are an affront to the Vale, Garesh, and an affront to Life itself. I, Arisaylia Saliantrea, as heir, so name it.”

“I have killed no one, and do not accept your authority over me.” He sneered, looking to the J’al’osil for assistance, finding none there.

“I thought not, Garesh, but don’t worry. There is a solution.”

The J’al’osil became suddenly wary, hearing her strangely reasonable tone. They noticed how her eyes had increased their glow, another sprout now growing from the kernel.

“See, beyond ordering the deaths of the Silverspear and his son, over there lies Saress a’Saliantrea, my adopted daughter. Three times her thread has tried to journey its way on the webwork of Life, before I convinced her soul to stay in this world with us. That woman there has done more for me and mine in the last few months than anyone I have ever known, and she died for her family to protect us.

“It is for her that I name you kinslayer, Garesh. I name Saress a’Saliantrea kin, for she is kin, and was so before you came here. And your illegal orders, and the path you chose, led to her untimely death. Even though she now lives, she most certainly died, and that death’s fault ultimately lies at your doorstep. Many of us here bore witness to that,” she waved angrily towards those around, “and their testimony is above reproach ...

“… Unlike an oath breaker like you,” Ari snarled. The kernel’s sprouts grew and took hold, their leaves spreading their shade over her soul.

“But fear not Garesh, I know you feel I have no place over you. And I agree, I am just one person. A lone heir currently living outside the Vale. I am in no place to pursue justice.”

“At least you realize you are out of your depth, girl,” Garesh taunted. “So, what are you going to do? Run home to daddy, and your pampered palace on his estate? Maybe talk us to death some more? Bore us even longer? Leave us tied to these ridiculous stakes?”

She tilted her head, looking at him like the bug that he was. The leaves unfurled even further, and she embraced the shadow. She decided to let go. “No, Garesh. I remember my time with you. And I learned your lessons well.”

“Huh?”

“I believe I will do what it is you taught me.” Then switching into common, she said, “Tomilanthus, prepare for my draw. It will be long and hard.”

She felt resigned, defeated even, though very hot inside. She couldn’t believe the order of death had come from him. She couldn’t even think it. The rest of the elves looked at her quizzically, while Salia and Erella became very intent.

“I never had any teaching of you,” the S’tol objected.

“No, Garesh, you did not. At least not directly. I am going to do what is allowable under the laws of the Vale. I cannot try you as your actions demand, but some things are allowed until a trial can take place. And one of those things was something you taught, and taught well.”

“There is nothing you can do to me, Saliantrea. Anything you do, Farlesdar will see undone.”

Her anger flared and blossomed anew, a forest of leaves now growing. They cast deep shadows over her, a darkness she embraced that now flourished.

“And your loyalties become clear. Thank you, Garesh. You are now foresworn before your peers.” She waved a negligent hand towards the J’al’osil. “But there is one thing that I can do, that Family Farlesdar cannot save you from.”

Ari began her draw, and it felt as if the entire world was about to be sucked through him. Tommy’s Tol roared through his pathways in a demand so great it defied all reason. And upon feeling it, Garesh frantically gathered his own, his paltry power utterly eclipsed by Ari and Tommy’s might.

“Until your trial before the Wi’Jitikiin, S’tol Garesh …”

A blossom of anger opened, and then Ari blanketed every one of his pathways in a greenish gold light. The eclipse of her anger’s petals casting its shadow over the mage, slamming into him while he frantically shouted for help.

“… I pronounce you bound.”

Visions of the Plains

“COVER!”

Sergeant Corvash slammed into the wall, ducking away as fiery arrows whistled through the space where he’d just been. There was a scream from further down the line, some poor bastard catching fire almost immediately from the arrow’s hungry flames. He watched helplessly as the man burned, all of them having learned that any attempt to put out the flames would only spread them to the one who was helping.

“Sergeant Corvash?” someone yelled, a voice he didn’t recognize.

“Here!”

“Trooper Dinalt, second company!” The man offered a hasty salute. “There’s another band besides this one heading towards the merchant district. We need your men there.”

He ducked as more arrows whistled by, their flames spreading to everything they hit. There was a clatter on metal as a squad of heavy knights raised their shields, protecting the king’s magister who was trying to put out the flames. The defenders had learned almost a month ago that the only thing that put out the fires was magic, and the few brave magisters that remained were the only reason Devalket still stood.

Another infernal arrow bounced off of one of the knight’s shields, continuing to burn as it skittered along the cobblestones behind them. Corvash took a quick glance over the wall, seeing an ondilaan duck around a corner in the distance. “Can’t they handle it?” he yelled back to the man.

“They’re already engaged!” Dinalt ducked as another arrow flew by, ricocheting off another one of the knights. Those bastards really seem to want us today, he thought, tracking the arrow out of the corner of his eye. The magister swore, then an eerie blue light flew from his hands, extinguishing the flames on every arrow around him.

Corvash shuddered. Who’d have ever thought anyone would happy about one of them bloody mages being around?

“Corvash? We need you! Otherwise, they’ll circle around!”

“Damn it to the lost gods .... THIRD PLATOON!” Corvash shouted, waiting on his men’s scattered replies. “We’re heading down Jeweler’s Street! Second Company needs us to save their arses again. Corporal Garrons? Lead us out. Dinalt? Let them know we’re coming. And gods damnit, don’t let those arrows hit you! Move it, people!”

Garrons gathered his squad and started off, crouched to stay under cover. It’d been a hard lesson they’d learned, Corvash thought, watching his men stay low. Constantly staying in cover and always mindful of where your body was, it kept you alive. Corporal Garrons had learned it, all of the survivors had ... the only ones who were left.

Garrons had only been with the Devalket Guard for about a month before the invasion began. He’d been a cobbler of all things, the younger cousin or something of the grizzled sergeant who used to be in charge of this district. Hells, Corvash had been that sergeant’s old corporal ... but now he was the sergeant. The old veteran having died during the first days of the attack, his throat torn out by the jaws of an ondilaan.

Was it that one or the other attack when the lieutenant burned alive picking up that damned arrow?

Hells, he didn’t know. He didn’t think there were any officers left. He hadn’t seen one since fifth company’s commander had given him his new orders a week ago. Everyone in charge was a survivor, and some of his best men had only been peasants a few weeks before.

HEHEHE! echoed hauntingly from his left, somewhere on the other side of this wall ... What? Shite! “GARRONS! WATCH–”

WHOOOOP! sounded from everywhere all around him at once. Ondilaan after ondilaan began leaping over the wall. Men screamed, the unlucky ones stabbed through before being given a chance to respond. Sergeant Corvash rolled away from an overhand strike, surviving the initial clash of another ambush … just as he’d done since the fighting began.

Moments passed in a blur of flashing blades as the ambush continued. Corvash ducked as something clanged off his shield, then something whistled by his head while he desperately dodged trying to defend himself. He stabbed out at an ondilaan, letting go of his sword when it got trapped in the ondilaan’s body. Then he grabbed its crude, cleaver-like sword, screaming incoherently as he joined his men in beating off the assault. Teeth and jaws blurred into chaotic visions beyond his helm, while blood flew everywhere to accompany the screams.

A brilliant green bolt of light sizzled by, the magister joining in while his heavily armed knights closed ranks around him. Growls accompanied more screams, howls joining in after Corvash’s men’s angry defiance. Time skewed its way into a wicked blur, a chaotic symphony of death as he panted and sweat, slashing away at the enemy before him. Individual moments of terror flashed their way by, every one of them punctuated by a shock vibrating up his cramped, tired arm. And then, after endless moments of fright, the combat was over. No more ondilaan appearing before him.

The moans and cries of his men pierced his brain, some crude weapon sticking out of a poor man’s gut. “Third Platoon! Get me a count!” Corvash shouted. “Runner!” he screamed, a trooper from further up the line looking his way. “To Captain Falts: third platoon moving to assist second company. Ambushed …”

He turned his head, looking over his men while he heard yips and yells from the retreating ondilaan. The magister was busy sending more of his eerie green bolts over the wall at them. “The count! How many did we lose?” he yelled in frustration, getting grim news he really didn’t want to hear.

“… Losing twelve. Twenty-seven men remaining. Need reinforcements.” He met the runner’s eyes. “You got that?” The teenager’s wide-eyed nod was his only reply. “Good. Now go! And stay low, gods damnit!” he yelled after the young man, hoping to keep him from getting hit by an arrow when he stood up to sprint away towards the rear.

The man with the spear in his gut had stopped screaming. Dead. Another one looked close, too.

“Sergeant Corvash?”

“Yeah, Garrons?”

“We’re ready to move,” Garrons answered. “The magister’s staying here. His people say fourth platoon is taking our place.” The magister sent more green bolts over the wall, Corvash happy to hear pained yips in the distance. “They’re on the way.”

Corvash nodded, bending down to forever close the eyes of another one of his men. That man had been a baker’s apprentice only three weeks before, joining the city’s defenders when the outer ward had been overrun. “Lead us out! And keep it slow, Corporal,” he added, closing his eyes and allowing himself a moment of silent prayer to the lost gods in remembrance of this man. Everyone had started praying again.

He clambered to his feet, carefully peering out from behind cover. He could see all the way down the street, then through a break in the outer wall to the mountains beyond. He paused a moment to take in the serene beauty of the Sunset Peaks, his gaze drawn again towards the pass through the mountains there.

The lightning everyone in the city had marveled at had ended after that blinding explosion a week ago. Whatever had been going on there had scared the people of Devalket to death, beyond the fear the ondilaan had already put in them. And thoughts of those invaders drew his eyes from the Peaks to the army that was waiting at its foot.

Thousands of ondilaan milled about in the distance, no order or reason to the movements they made. They were all concentrated on the city, every single damned one of them, except for that huge force that’d passed through weeks ago before part of it had returned. Nothing was that way except for Redtail Hold and the outskirts of the kingdom, then on to the wilds beyond.

Did they take Redtail? He shivered. Were they turned back? Was the Hold sending reinforcements? Hells, he didn’t know ... nobody knew. But the returning ondilaan didn’t seem any worse for wear according to his last hurried briefing, just that there were a heck of a lot less of them than there had been before.

He thought about the last formal command meeting he’d gone to, listening to the magister’s bolts dwindle off as the mage stopped sending them over the wall. The calls of the ondilaan were dwindling off as well. When was that meeting? A week ago now? Two?

It was all blurring together since they’d lost the outer wards, cutting off their only chance of escape. The ondilaan had swarmed their way in during night, killing every person they’d found. How so many of them had gotten so close, nobody knew. But the outer guards had sold their lives dearly to close the city gates, even though the bastards had breached them the very next day. And they’d been fighting in the remains of the middle city ever since, the high walls of the inner city providing their only respite.

“Sergeant?” One of his men clapped him on his shoulder. “You coming?”

Corvash shook himself out of his thoughts. “Aye. Lead on,” he replied, nodding to the half-squad waiting patiently for him.

He cast a last glance over the destruction he saw. Burnt husks of once-prosperous neighborhoods were all that remained of the bustling city he’d sworn to protect. He sighed, focusing his thoughts upon the next battle to come. Then he chastened a man to keep his head down and not draw another damnable flaming arrow those shorter ondilaan liked to shoot so much.

Corvash focused on his men to the exclusion of all else, ignoring the blackened mounds he’d caught sight of before he’d turned away. The ones with all the ondilaan around them. He’d desperately been ignoring those mounds ever since he’d seen that first one, but it was hard to keep a vision like that out of his head.

The building-sized piles were the broken and charred remains of the city’s populace. Their gnarled and blackened bones cast aside after the ondilaan had eaten.

***

Lord Commander Zelenquist sat at his desk studying the report his aid had delivered to him almost a candle ago. He scribbled his directives after studying what the document said, adding it to the growing pile on the other side of his desk. A single candle in the sconce before him provided the only light for his austere room, as he continued to scribble away.

Two and a half months had passed since the invasion had begun, and his forces had been trapped here since the disastrous battle during the opening days. His knights of Pa’din had led the charge, their gleaming armor shining in the midday sun as they confidently followed the order’s glorious banner. The horde of ondilaani tribesman had quailed before them, seemingly already primed to flee in the face of Akreesha’s might. But the fortress city had been duped, and they had been lucky to save the knights that remained.

He sighed, berating himself for descending into his self-flagellation once again. There was no way they could have known that the ondilaan would use magic. They never had before. And after they’d closed the city gates, the ondilaan had dashed themselves to pieces against the defenses that Akreesha offered, dying in droves against them … despite their magic.

But by forcing them into the city, the ondilaan had accomplished something that had never been accomplished before: The complete and utter neutralization of Akreesha’s forces, impotent while stuck behind the city’s walls. And if they couldn’t leave the city, the massive armies of Akreesha were completely irrelevant to the defense of the kingdom ... no matter if the city would stand or not.

It was quite the coup.

“Dallon?” he called, his aide coming through the door a few moments later. “The reports. See that they are delivered within the hour.”

“Yes, Lord Commander.”

Zelenquist nodded, waiting on Dallon to leave before allowing his troubles to surface once more. He scrubbed his face with one hand, hearing the screams of his men before berating himself again for his weakness. He needed to clear his mind, and decided to tour the walls.

His office was deep within the city, the whole city carved into an enormous butte that rose like a mountain out of the plains. Akreesha was the southernmost bastion of the kingdom, situated to stop anyone who would approach the Timeless Throne from the south. It had been a military stronghold for so many generations that no one was quite sure how long the city had existed. But it had never been taken, not once, the huge mountain of stone completely unassailable once its impenetrable gates were closed.

He strode through the quiet corridors, passing men and women who lived there. The bare stone walls were a strange tan color he’d long ago gotten used to, decorated here and there by carvings set into the walls. No one knew what they were supposed to depict, even the archivists unclear about the symbols they saw. So, beyond the carved scenes depicting nature, or unusually abstract art, most of the runes had been covered by brightly covered tapestries to bring some color into the city’s sandy monotony.

He passed through one of the many large intersections, each of them a high-ceilinged room in its own right. Each crossroad had its own design or purpose, this one having a tinkling fountain at its center. Deciding to make a detour along his way, he paused to glance at a tiled design depicting a sunset over the rolling plains. It was a beautiful piece, colors still vibrant a millennia after whoever had placed it there, and the whole city was like that. Drab sandy tunnels winding through the rock, interspersed with colorful, tiled art that depicted scenes of peace, wonder, and beauty.

He turned away to ascended a stair, taking his time as he did so. The Lord Commander wasn’t as young as he once was, and he had eight levels to climb to get to where he was going.

There were twenty levels to Akreesha in total, each level the size of a small town. It took almost a day to walk completely around the butte, half a day to ride, and he’d done it many times over the years. Always leaving and entering his post through one of the five main gates, the first level being almost two levels tall.

The gates themselves stretched the entire way from floor to ceiling on that first level, each massive door as thick as a horse was long. It still amazed him that a single man could open or close one of those massive doors if they were strong enough, and they still had competitions to see who could do it the quickest every year. The winner at the harvest festival being able to crow his accolades for the entire next year to come.

It was a sought-after accomplishment. But there would be no festival this year, as there was no longer a harvest to bring in.

He nodded to this person or that, stopping at every level to rest his weary legs. With two levels remaining, he sat in an alcove located along one wall and stared towards the strange writing carved into the opposite one. No one could read what the writing said, the kingdom having determined thousands of years ago that it was some language not a single race could identify. But this carving he’d always thought had been set up like some kind of quote or a saying, with many lines of strange symbols arranged in neat rows, one on top of each other, before a single word or a cluster of symbols was located at its bottom. The entire carving was bordered by an intricate design, encapsulating the symbols so there was no doubt to the writing’s importance.

Someone had wanted it to stand out.

A shame no one knows what it says. It could be anything ... from a recipe, to a quote from a lost god.

The Lord Commander stood after reflecting on that. Thoughts of lost knowledge kept him company as he climbed the last two levels before turning away from the stair. He made his way through ornate corridors, the comparable opulence easily seen. And eventually he made his way to a new intersection, decorated in rich violets, with purple robed figures standing sentinel before a unique, and intricate door.

“Lord Commander,” one of the figures acknowledged as he opened the door and passed by.

The room beyond was a simple one, but was guarded by the priests of the temple as if the king himself was there. There was no one present, of course, worship of the lost gods having long since fallen out of favor. Only a devout few, and of course the Knights of Pa’din, kept up worship to the deities no one else had cared about for thousands of years.

Even the lost gods’ visages had been destroyed during the ancient conflict all those millennia ago. Only vacant spaces remained where it was assumed statues once stood. Well, empty since the ancient war, at least. But even without that, the Knights of Pa’din’s devotion remained.

Zelenquist knelt on an ornate stool that was outfitted in the finest wine-colored upholstery, sat before a raised dais where it was assumed an altar once stood. It was now unadorned, a raised platform of simple stone, having been stripped of every decoration long ago. But on it stood a single candlestick of shimmering gold that rose from the floor to the height of a man. And it held a lonely white candle, always kept lit by the acolytes there. The lonely pillar a solitary bastion against the dark, centered on a rich lavender rug. The rug decorated and adorned with intricate embroidery in a complex and dizzying design.

He lowered his head before calming his mind, paying tribute to the absent deities there. A person entered behind him after some time had passed, but he refused to turn. He concentrated his thoughts on that single point of his beliefs that he’d focused on ever since he’d been an entrant to the order. An entrant just like Dallon was, or like his friend Laigan had been. And while he focused, he felt the calm only a true knight could achieve spread across his entire form. Refreshing him as it always did, and always would … for all time.

He stayed in that moment, enjoying the peace and tranquility that his meditation afforded. But he heard soft sounds of impatience from behind him, and knew whoever it was, was waiting to speak. He sighed, silently listing his thanks to the many gods. Then allowing himself to emerge from his meditations, he stood to see Dallon patiently waiting for him there.

“My apologies, Lord Commander. The council awaits you in their chambers on the wall.”

“Thank you, Dallon,” Zelenquist nodded, turning to bow his head to that lonely candle before he left the room. He ignored the priests as they in turn ignored him, standing their eternal guard outside the ancient chapel. Then he made his way back to the stair with his squire in tow. Returning to his climb, and rejuvenated by prayer, he eventually made his way to the top of the city and his duty there.

“This way, master,” Dallon prompted, leading him towards the council’s chambers as if he didn’t already know where they were. It humored him that Dallon treated him like this, as if he needed to be led through the city he was charged to defend. But he withheld his grin till Dallon turned, not wanting to embarrass the young man who’d worked so hard to reach the position he’d achieved.

“Zelenquist, good of you to join us,” one of the lords said as he entered the richly appointed room. There was a din coming from the open door to the balcony behind the lord, some commotion coming from outside. It was a discordant annoyance compared to the quiet calm of the inner city, wearing at the peace the Lord Commander had struggled to achieve. But he refused to acknowledge its disturbance, tuning out the noise before taking his place at the head of the table.

“Report,” he ordered, some of the lords shifting and taking exception to his tone. However, not one of them said a word as the various aides were called forward, each making their reports in turn. Their dronings went on for what seemed like an age, competing with the bedlam outside to see what could annoy him further. And he laughed at the thought, making certain to cover his reaction with a cough before it was noticed.

In short, and after much useless pontification, nothing in essence had changed. The ondilaan were outside the city walls, unable to get in. The city itself was closed, no one able to get past the ondilaan even if they wanted to. Water and food were in good supply, with water coming from the many wells under the city, and unable to be spoilt by the enemy outside. Rations were stockpiled and ready, with the magisters using their craft to supply fresh food from the rooftop gardens. Then others used the sublevels to quicken the mushrooms and lichens seeded there through their partnership with Khagatom.

In essence, the situation in Akreesha was stable; the city safe from outside invasion. They could stay here without issue for as long as they wished, months or years if need be. And though all of that was true, the fact that they could infuriated him.

The Lord Commander listened to the reports, asking questions and making comments as need be during the various presentations, but his mind wasn’t on it. He eventually called the meeting to a close, thanking everyone for their efforts and asking the various staffs to leave. Then, with only the lords remaining, he led the nobles through that one, singular doorway, and onto the balcony so they could look out over the din. There they stood along the rail, looking in silence down upon the Endless Plains.

“The king commands our forces to come to his aid, Lord Commander,” one of the magisters began.

“How are we to accomplish that?”

“Sally forth,” a lord said. “The forces of the entire city stand ready.”

“Yes.” Zelenquist nodded, looking off into the distance. “Yes, they do.”

There was a pause, the lords looking among themselves before another got up enough courage to speak. “We are secure here, Lord Commander, and the defenses here are impregnable. But, you have almost five thousand men under arms waiting below. We must move quickly to support the king,” he insisted.

“Yes, we must.” Zelenquist nodded again, but made no move to give the command.

“Why do you not go?” a magister asked. “Why do you refuse to march towards the king’s summons? Tatdavarr is under assault, Lord Commander. The king’s army is under siege.”

“Yes, they most certainly are.”

“Lord Commander,” the eldest of the lords spoke. “You suffered an early defeat, yes. It was a terrible one; a costly education. But the king calls, Lord Commander. I have to ask … Are you afraid?”

Zelenquist turned his eye on the man, the elder lord quailing under the Lord Commander’s stern gaze. He held the lord’s eyes for a long moment before looking back out over the plains, allowing the lord to escape his countenance.

He understood the lords were restless, wanting to seek glory and honor on the field. He felt the same, chafing under the weight of his duty. But he held himself quiet, choosing his words carefully while listening to the never-ending din below.

“My lords, I know my duty. The king calls to rally our forces, Tatdavarr is under siege, as are the southern and western cities. The ondilaan are rampaging throughout our land, moving about with utter impunity. There is an army safely camped within our walls, easily equal to any other army of note. And we have only to make the decision to muster our forces before we march forth, to save our country, in honor and glory for the king …” He allowed his voice to drift off.

“Have I summed up your thinking sufficiently?”

“Yes, Lord Commander.”

“Ah.” He paused, allowing that word to rest amongst them. “If it were only that simple,” he added, quietly, almost to himself.

A surge in the noise below caught his attention after that quiet comment, large figures moving in the distance beneath him. He studied them for a while, wondering where they were from, before turning to address the nobles by his side.

“My lords, while we are under siege, I am in command of this city. I do not want this duty, nor do I care for it, but my duty remains. It has been this way for every Lord Commander of the Knights of Pa’din since times of antiquity, and I will not relinquish my charge. It is my sacred duty to defend Akreesha against all comers, and defend it I shall.

“Yes, my lords, we could muster what remains of our army. That first battle has already been recovered from, and we have analyzed the clinging fire that their archers use.” He nodded towards the magisters. “We have developed a counter to it, and communicated that counter throughout the kingdom so that all now know of its efficacy. But even the magisters admit they cannot stop the threat of the enemy’s fire entirely. And outside of these walls, where their fire cannot reach, we are, and remain, vulnerable.”

“But the king commands you to–”

“I am well aware of my duties to the king,” the Lord Commander cut him off sternly. “I am not derelict in my duty.”

He paused, seeing their offense, and their raised backs at his tone. He was a knight, not some politician, and this was not a battlefield he had been trained for. But he waved them closer to the rail regardless, hoping the sight below would convince them to think.

“Look, my lords. Look there, down below us. Look! Look upon the enemy you wish me to meet in the field.”

They moved forward reluctantly, looking from high above down onto the plains. Thousands upon thousands of miniscule figures were moving far below, many more than the forces they had. They were like an endless sea of ants, waiting to pull down their colony’s prey. And thinking on that, he wondered if they might have a queen.

“I could lead us into glorious battle, straight into the jaws of the ondilaan you see. We would slay thousands, surely. Sallying forth ... a tremendous feat with many stories to be told ... sagas enough to fill multiple books. Leaving grizzled veterans to speak of their time in whatever occurred, when they became old and long in their tooth.”

He remembered what he had seen of the ondilaani numbers in those first few days. How he had been stunned by the endless hordes that appeared out of nowhere upon the field. Or the innumerable parade of warriors that had marched by Akreesha since then, once his forces had been bottled up.

“Yes, we could leave the safety of the walls, my lords. We could do battle. Yes, there would be much glory and honor on the field as there are many ondilaan to kill.” He waved a hand towards the enemy. “But once we left these walls, we would soon be slain. Dead as those poor men the ondilaan have already slaughtered ...

“… And eaten.”

He paused once more, studying a caravan of land turtles with those strange structures the ondilaan raised on their backs. They were slowly making their way north. And he watched the thousands of ondilaan that escorted them, a small force compared to the endless horde below.

“No. I am willing to die for the king, my lords, make no mistake about that. I have sworn my oath and hold my oath true. But that oath does nothing for the king if I blindly throw away our lives to ultimately accomplish nothing. No, my lords, I will not die needlessly for glory ...

“I will not do that.”

Zelenquist turned towards a richly robed gentleman. “Chief Magister, let us return to your chambers. Gather your brothers and sisters, and prepare your might to contact far-off Tatdavarr.”

Peering at the surrounding nobles, he continued. “My Lords, it would please me if you would accompany us. Let us communicate with our king together, and see what the throne requires when it knows everything that we do.

“Are we to leave the safety of our walls and die trying to break through? Or are we to stay, waiting for a better chance to do some good for our king in the future? Regardless of what the king may commands us, the Knights of Pa’din will see it through.

“On this, I do swear.”

None of the lords questioned a single word the Lord Commander said, all of them moving along with the magisters to their suite of rooms. But Zelenquist paused for a final look over the horde below before following, Dallon moving to his customary place by his side. The young man glanced his way, obviously wanting to speak, but chose to hold back his words. And Zelenquist remained silent with him, not wanting to answer any questions his squire might raise.

No, not now. And not at this time. For his duty was clear.

It had been obvious during the early days of the invasion that the ondilaan wished to bait him into moving away from Akreesha. But after he had refused to be lured into leaving the city’s defenses, thousands of ondilaan had appeared from every imaginable direction to join in the siege below. Who knew the true size of the horde that passed them by during those early days? The magisters said they were only now laying siege to the cities behind them, and controlled the countryside for as far as anyone could see. And the lords wanted him to leave here?

No.

Any attempt made to leave the city would lead to the deaths of every last one who went. He’d already lost over two thousand men during that first fateful day, and they could no longer afford to lose any more. The ondilaan seemed willing to stay here, tying up an immense number of their forces to keep him bottled up inside the city. There was only one reason he could see they would put so much time and effort into doing so, and it was not a reason that the lords and magisters were aware of.

However, the king and the Knights of Pa’din were. The reason this bastion was kept so well defended was because of a long-held secret. So long and closely held that only the king and the Lord Commander were aware, as far as he knew. And it had been kept that way for thousands of years, and he personally hoped the reason had been lost to time.

Lord Commander Zelenquist’s troubled thoughts moved to consider that secret he had sworn on his sacred honor to protect. The same secret that every Lord Commander had kept through time immemorial before him.

No, they would not be sallying forth from Akreesha and risk the loss of so many. No matter that the lords and magisters still did not understand, it would not be done. The king, in his wisdom, would understand his reasoning.

The relic Akreesha defended required it.

A Trip to Find Peace

The last day had been infuriating, and it was a troubled and distraught Sella that stormed around the sub-basement of the Hold. It was all she could do not to burst into tears, and she’d begged to be released from her duties this evening. A confused Giri had finally granted her her wish after dinner, catching sight of the pent-up emotions Sella refused to let escape from her eyes.

By the lost gods I want to punch someone! And gods help anyone stupid enough to try to talk to me now!

Not only had that bitch Dira decided she was going to spread rumor after rumor about her around the Hold to ruin her life, but now the elves were in on it too!

Gods!

No, she huffed, glaring fiercely enough to melt stone. The elves weren’t spreading any rumors … that was totally unfair.

Laran’telia and Cor’An were actually starting to open up, and seemed kind of nice. All of the elves did. But that damned strike leader, Vistarii, followed her around with his eyes wherever she went. He was constantly asking her to sing … and he had to be so nice about it, too!

Would it please you to sing for me and my men, singer? … with that damned deep voice of his. What was she supposed to do? Refuse?

And those poor injured elves constantly thanking her while she stumbled through that wordless tune, a tune they obviously expected and the healers already knew! It was driving her mad! The songs didn’t even have words! And the healers were thanking her for it, too!

That one man cried while I sang! Cried! While holding my hand! Gods … What am I going to do?

And now Pawdrig and Tessa had heard about it, and were talking openly about her in the hall. In the main hall! They’d had her sing part of one of the damned songs during the evening meal last night, summoning her to the high table so the elves could demonstrate the counterpoint they made. And Sella had noticed how Pawdrig had watched Laran’telia with open admiration as she’d lifted her voice to sing.

And then they’d sung the next tune … then another … all while the rest of her tower had worked. Dira made sure to tell the rest of the servants throughout the Hold what had occurred while they were working. And the staff was starting to look at her askance ... even people she didn’t know!

Gah! Sella stomped her foot, doing her best not to scream. Who would have thought my singing would end up being a problem!

She kicked a random stone, sending it clattering down the curved hall. She was here to start over! To be part of the staff! But, noooo. Every time she joined Giri to clean up that stupid tower, Tessa would send someone to tell her she was being summoned again to sing!

Telee and Pihn were having an absolute field day with it. Everywhere she went now she heard ‘so popular’ or ‘so special’ whispered along in her wake. Even Giri had looked at her sideways when she was summoned today. And she’d barely cleaned a speck of the tower since being summoned for that test, and Telee and Pihn were helping Dira make sure everyone knew how late they all were working to cover her load.

And Sella couldn’t wait until the other servants heard about what she’d learned of today. What Vistarii had asked for in front of the staff during the evening meal. She rubbed her face with both hands ... that Pawdrig and Tessa had agreed to …

They were commissioning her a dress!

Tears seeped from her eyes as the sheer and utter frustration of her impossible situation set in. What are those bitches going to start calling me now? Princess? Leech? Whore? The rumors between her and the elven commander had already started to fly, and she could already image what would come next.

She ducked through a doorway she was barely able to see as she fought back her tears. Then the door shut itself behind her while she aimlessly wandered around, slumping against a random shelf to lean.

Sella choked back a sob and a scream … All I wanted to do was start over!

She sniffed, an ugly sound as tears poured and continued to flow. With Dira working in the kitchens, a job Sella had gotten the ungrateful bitch in the first place, there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop her. Dira served the entire staff of the hold every meal, making friends with them as they ate. And there was no hope she wasn’t using her position, or meeting with Telle and Pihn at the Cup, to plan.

Sella wiped her eyes furiously with the back of her hand while trying to control her tears. With the rumors being helped by Dira’s stories, there was no way she could fight back against what was now happening. Sella knew what the women of Lakeside had thought of her, and if she made a stink about the talk spreading about her past, she put her whole new life here at risk.

There was no way she could become a ‘problem’ and remain one of the staff, not with what Tessa already knew. And if she did, she’d be out on her arse! She didn’t want to go back to where she had been, which was the reason she was here in the first place!

Damn you, Dira! What did I ever do to you? she internally screamed.

Sella had never interacted with Dira’s family, not her entire time growing up. But for some odd reason Dira was doing her damndest to ruin her life, just like she’d done back home. Telling the other villagers she was trying to steal their men, that she slept with their husbands, used her body to get her way. Even though there was not an ounce of truth to it, Dira made sure to comment about her at every turn. And Sella had absolutely no idea what to do to stop her.

Sella found a stool and then sat, doing everything to choke back her sobs. Leaning her elbows on the table before her, she held her head in both hands while she desperately tried to think about what she should do. Thinking about the lonely misery of always being the outsider in Lakeside reared its ugly head once more. And the way everyone looked down on her, the other women always angry and suspicious whenever she’d talked to their men.

Hells, she didn’t even like most of their men! She blurted a humorless laugh while she cried. Not like any of them were that great of a catch, anyway!

She wasn’t going to talk to any of the men here, even if it was totally innocent. And, it was too soon. She wasn’t going to risk her life here by being seen with a man, any man, and have someone think she was flirting or using her body to get her way.

Tessa would have her head.

What am I going to do? she wailed, wilting against the tabletop, no longer even trying to hold back her tears.

There was a soft sound behind her … and then another …a sound she didn’t make.

She gasped, spinning around frantically, furiously scrubbing away her tears.

Strike Captain Vistarii An’Toyniell stood there in his finest best, the same immaculate uniform he always seemed to be wearing whenever they met. She blushed furiously, breaking away from taking in his handsome form while she scrambled to stand. Then she hurriedly lowered her eyes, sinking into a deep curtsy, and held it while her scattered mind spun.

Gods, if anyone hears about me being alone with him down here, I’ll be through.

Sella panicked. No one was supposed to be anywhere alone with the elves, and certainly not when they were any less than their best. Tessa had been exceedingly firm about that. And here she was an absolute wreck, tears streaming down her face, surprised, in a wrinkled servant’s dress, all in their commander’s presence.

Damn it! She couldn’t even fix her face!

“I apologize for startling you, singer,” the strike captain said in his calm, deep voice. “It was not my intention to intrude upon your grief.” He paused, then he switched to elven as he sometimes did in her presence. “Far’e nista lodiel, amar ni A’daer.”

She held herself still, not daring to look up.

What do I say? She’d be damned if she was going to screw this up any further. Gods, what would Tessa think if she saw this? Tears fought to escape as she desperately wondered what it was that he said. Formal, stick to formal.

“It is I who must apologize, Lord,” she said, wincing at how stilted she must sound. Keeping her eyes fixed upon the floor, she chose her next words carefully. “I was unaware anyone would be here at this hour, Lord. Please, excuse my interruption. If you will allow it, I will take my leave.”

Gods, I sound like an ass!

“No, singer. Chasing you from your solitude would be a poor repayment for the peace you bring to me and my men.” He fell silent, moving to stand in front of her while her mind continued to spin.

What is he doing? She could tell he was doing something, making some motion, but she refused to look up to see. By the lost gods, how am I going to get out of this one without another rumor starting?

He seemed to study her for a moment in silence, his polished and gleaming boots right there before her. She could see her reflection in them, and oh, it was ghastly. I need to wipe my face!

“I am no head of family, singer. Why is it you refuse to rise?” he asked.

“I do not wish to offer offense, Lord.”

“I say none is given.” She closed her eyes, her heart beating frantically, then she heard him move. “Please rise,” he said after a moment, what seemed like hours to her.

Sella blushed for no reason she could think of, rising as gracefully as she could. The strike captain was watching her from a short distance away, his broad shoulders and muscular chest made blatantly obvious by the way he folded his arms. She followed his arms down to strong hands, folded over a trim, narrow waist, as she took in his figure.

His eyes travelled their way over her figure as well, an intimate journey he made certain she saw. Then he returned to her eyes in silence. His large, blue, crystal-clear elven eyes capturing and holding her own.

She clutched her hands nervously in front of her, then skittishly wiped at her face. Taking a deep breath, she decided to simply look at him in silence, while desperately ignoring the heat rising in her cheeks.

“I have never seen you outside of your duties, singer.”

“I apologize, Lord.”

He waved her apology away, studying her for a moment longer. “I am not one of your lords, singer. I am Strike Captain to my men, but simply Vistarii, or Vistarii An’Toyniell to others. It would please me if you would use my name.”

Sella had no idea what she was supposed to do in that moment, completely out of her depth talking to this striking, elven man. Call a visiting lord by his name? This wasn’t some guardsman down at the Cup. There was no way she was going to do that, or even be seen with him in private if she could. Gods, how can I politely refuse? Leave?

“Lord, I could n–”

“Vistarii, singer.”

She nervously wet her lips. “My Lord–”

“Please.”

She shuddered, her stomach tying itself in knots with just the thought of what Tessa would say. She decided to simply curtsy once more, then blushed hoping she hadn’t inadvertently caused any offense by her silence.

He studied her for a moment longer, then the damned man had the temerity to grin!

“Vistarii? Se en a telenia’a tan askelae nor Maorilan. Tu ton sorel’a nochi …” Laran’telia said as she walked gracefully in through the door, petering off when she caught sight of Sella standing there before him. She looked back and forth between the two, eyes widening in surprise. “Singer? Ah … Far’e’na ...” She glanced at Vistarii before returning to her. “I wasn’t expecting you?”

Sella dove into another deep curtsy, damning all her luck. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone down here! Sella shivered. It took everything she had to remember how nice Laran’telia had been while the memory of her glowing eyes flew in her face.

“I don’t believe she expected us either, sister,” Vistarii replied with a bit of humor. “We only discovered each other moments ago.”

Laran’telia studied Sella. “Why have you not risen?” she asked.

“I asked her that same thing.” Vistarii chuckled.

“And you probably scared her half to death, too, you fool.” Laran’telia frowned. “Stand, singer, there are no heads of family here. You’ll hurt your back holding that ridiculous pose.”

“Thank you, lady.”

Vistarii laughed as Laran’telia frowned even deeper. “I am no lady, singer. Healer or Laran’telia is what I am called.” Vistarii kept laughing. “What?” his sister demanded.

“I was discussing the very same thing before you came in, almost word for word. We were about to determine what she would call me before you so rudely interrupted.” He grinned, turning away from his sister and trying to catch Sella’s eye.

Laran’telia pursed her lips at him before glancing at Sella. “Do not let my brother intimidate you, singer. He is rude and, an oaf? I think that is how you say it. Anyway, no matter how pretty he is to look at, he is still a fool.”

Vistarii bowed flamboyantly before indolently leaning against the wall. “Your sweet words are music to my ears, dear sister. As is any notice by the famed healer of Family An’Toyniell.”

Laran’telia rolled her eyes before turning her back on him, not seeing the wide, toothy grin he gave her. “Ignore him, singer. As I said, he is a fool. But now that we are ignoring him, which is all the oaf deserves,” Vistarii guffawed, “I want to offer you my thanks. Your songs, singer, they put the wounded at ease. It helps … speed their healing. And I want to thank you and your family for offering the gift you have.”

Sella bobbed a curtsy once more, feeling like she was one of the fisherman’s floats on the ‘Sea. “You’re welcome …” she stumbled over what to call the graceful elf “… healer.”

Vistarii chuckled. “See, even the singer is cowed by your presence, great healer.”

“Oh, shut up, you ass. You are a disgrace to our family.” Laran’telia glared at him, but Sella saw the humor in the depths of her eyes. “Ignore him, singer. We are here to meet with your lord. Did you come in preparation for this meeting? I was not aware you would be sharing your gift during our search this evening.”

Pawdrig is coming here? Now? shot through her like a lightning bolt. This day can’t possibly get any worse!

She froze, realizing one hand was in the process of scrubbing her face while the other had worked its way to the collar of her blouse. She looked into Laran’telia’s eyes, completely taken off guard.

“No?” Sella meekly stumbled out.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” Laran’telia looked at her in question. “Be at ease, singer ... Have you been in his service long? He seems affable enough for a head of family. You should have nothing to fear.”

“I … I’m not dressed … Lord Maorilan …” escaped her almost as quickly as her scattered thoughts could form.

Laran’telia waved her words away. “I am not certain he cares. It is strange for a head of family, singer. True. But there it is. Besides, who would dress to come down here?” she finished, waving her hand towards the rest of the room.

Sella turned to look, ignoring Laran’telia’s immaculate dress while finally having a moment to study the room. The room they were in was huge, much bigger than she’d first realized, and it looked like the walls were as round as the towers above. She rested a hand on the table, craning her neck around while she struggled to see.

There were shelves and bookcases filling every last space, full of innumerable items beyond counting, it boggled the mind the stuff she could see. And she let her eyes wander around the oddly shaped room in wonder, eventually giving up being surprised by all the odds and ends on display.

The doorway she’d come in through didn’t quite fit the rest of the room. And there were awkward protuberances along the room’s periphery, keeping the shelves from being pushed completely back against the walls. It was a strangely shaped place full of strange and odd things, but it was still a dusty storage area nonetheless.

“Ah, Vistarii. Thank you for meeting with me here. I’m glad you came,” Maorilan said as he walked into the room.

A whisp of his blond hair had roguishly escaped his ear, and he brushed it aside while offering his hand to the elf. Sella caught herself wanting to tuck it back in, then froze when she realized what she was doing.

“Thank you as well, Head of Family.” Vistarii inclined his head. “My sister and one other have joined us it seems,” he waved a hand their way. “But I think we may have surprised your singer.”

“Sella?” Pawdrig blurted, his startled grey eyes taking her in. “I didn’t call you here.”

Sella bobbed into a curtsy once more, certain her knees were about to give out before the night was through. “I am most sorry, Lord Maorilan. I was wandering the halls and didn’t realize anyone would be here. I do not wish to disturb you. Please, allow me to leave.”

“Nonsense, Sella, stay. And I thought I had asked you to call me Pawdrig moons ago?” Vistarii glanced his way with interest.

“I couldn’t possibly, my Lord.”

“I insist. If anyone here has earned the right to call me by name, it’s you,” he finished absently, not seeing Vistarii’s intense regard. “But we did come here for a purpose, Sella. Feel free to look around, there’s a lot to see. And since I’ve found you, I’d like to speak with you when we’re through. But, excuse us, duty awaits.

“Vistarii? Laran’telia?” Pawdrig bowed slightly towards both of the elves. “Let’s see if we can find that book I mentioned. I’m certain it’s around here somewhere.”

Pawdrig wandered off with the two in tow, slowly winding their way through the confusing aisles. They stopped at almost every shelf with books, Pawdrig speaking quietly to them, totally at ease. And Sella watched him, them, until he disappeared out of sight amidst the aisles.

She blushed when she noticed Vistarii glancing her way. He’d caught her staring off after Pawdrig … Staring at them, dammit … and Vistarii boldly faced her when he noticed her watching. Then Laran’telia glanced her way on seeing his smile.

Sella froze, hand moving to her throat on seeing Vistarii’s now very direct look. He studied her, assessing her, weighing her right there in that moment. Then Pawdrig called out, and the elf finally turned away.

But the eyes that held her never left, till that elvish lord was completely out of sight.

Twists of Fate

What am I doing? Sella wondered, wandering aimlessly throughout the humongous room. She caught herself listening to Pawdrig’s voice, remembering how he had said he wanted to talk to her.

She wanted to talk to him, too.

Just a moment ago she’d been a wreck, tears cascading down her face, and now here she was, with the highest people in the Hold, totally in a better place ever since Pawdrig arrived. She twisted her hair, pulling it over her shoulder before smoothing it while she thought. Then holding her hair in both hands, she bent to look at a tiny, odd sculpture she’d passed.

She was exactly what Dira accused her of, she feared. Here she was, a maid, wandering where she didn’t belong, with people she barely knew, every one of them completely above her station. Sella heard Laran’telia chuckle at something someone said, feeling strangely jealous with how beautiful her voice was.

She at least knew Pawdrig, didn’t she? Sella had been singing for him for days, and he wanted to talk to her … She wasn’t using him for anything … Was she? She noticed a pillar reaching all the way to the ceiling and decided to walk there.

Maybe she should just leave. She sighed, trying to decide if it would be easier not seeing Pawdrig all the time. But knowing he was there while she was singing or working in the Hold made her feel safe. And she smiled, remembering how she’d caught him noticing her the other day.

Gods, she was doing it again, she realized, glancing off towards the distant voices. Maybe that guardsman was right, the one she’d overheard telling his friend the best way to get over a breakup was to take a quick tumble in the hay. Then Sella froze, realizing what she’d just thought.

You were never ‘with him’ you idiot girl! He’s the Lord of Redtail Hold! Oh, you stupid, stupid girl ... She yanked on her hair, angry at herself for having feelings for a man that would never be returned. You sang for him, that’s it. Get over it. It’s not like he feels the same way. You’re a bloody maid!

She arrived at the room’s center, and it looked like that pillar was just a support for the roof. It was a remarkably thin pillar though, intricately inscribed with strange runes … all over every surface she could see. The pillar rested on a large marbled-stone square, and what she’d thought was originally just one pillar, was actually halves split into two. Both of the pieces met well over her head, and each section tapered into a fine, delicate point where they met.

There was something hidden that immediately surrounded where they both met. And whatever it was, was delicately wrapped around that juncture. But whatever it was that was hanging there, it was eclipsed by that huge candelabra surrounding it. And off to the side, a long douter leaned up against the pillar’s base, obviously used to light and extinguish the many candles that were suspended there, high overhead.

Sella leaned up against an engraved, wooden desk that encircled the base of pillar. And she caught herself staring at a dark mark on the pillar’s surface, mind wandering while she studied the stain. She remembered the many times she’d sung for Pawdrig up on the tower’s roof. Then tracing the carved desktop with one finger, her thoughts took her back to the night that they’d met.

You have a beautiful voice, he’d said to her that evening. Then she smiled as she remembered the touch of his hand ...

“There you are, singer,” Laran’telia said, moving into view with an enviable grace. “You seem to have recovered your mood?”

Laran’telia’s effortless poise made Sella feel incredibly clumsy, and she covered the start Laran’telia had given her by adjusting her skirts. “Why do you call me that?” Sella asked, not knowing what else to say.

“Is that not how you say it, Sii’en A’daer?” Laran’telia replied, something formal about the way she asked. The elf looked at her oddly, placing a small book upon the desk. Then she studied Sella more closely when she saw the confusion crossing her face.

“Sii’en A’daer? … Singer?” Laran’telia watched her, emphasizing the names. “No? Hmmm. Sella, then,” she said after a moment. “I brought something for you, Sella. It was a surprise to find something like this here, but you may appreciate it.”

Sella decided not to say a thing about the elf’s obvious change of subject, letting Laran’telia’s previous words go. “What is it?”

“An elven song book,” Laran’telia replied. “An older one, too.”

“I don’t … I mean, thank you, lady, but I can’t read it.”

“Oh, I didn’t expect you could read elven.”

“No … I mean, I can’t read at all.” Sella shifted her weight, completely embarrassed admitting that to the other woman. She wondered even why she did.

Laran’telia raised both eyebrows before frowning. “Then how do you learn the songs you sing?”

“I memorize them … I have somebody sing them to me a few times. I usually remember them just fine.”

“That is all it takes?”

“Yes?”

“Sii’en A’daer in truth …” Laran’telia muttered, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. She looked as if she was about to say something, but then changed her mind. “I noticed your regard for my brother earlier … Family An’Toyniell would be open to pursuing a match with … a singer of your caliber. If you should so choose.”

“Huh?”

“Cor’An or I could teach you if that is a concern–”

“Teach her what?” Vistarii asked before Sella could think of a reply, basically appearing out of the thin air while carrying a large tome.

Sella’s eyes widened, noticing Vistarii letting his eyes roam all over her form once more. She blushed at his blatant regard, uncomfortable being looked at that way by the handsome, elven lord. Then Laran’telia’s gaze softened as she met her eyes, seeing Sella’s blush. And Sella couldn’t keep her eyes from widening when she realized what was going through Laran’telia’s head. She thinks–

“Nothing, brother dear,” Laran’telia interrupted her thoughts, giving Sella a knowing look while her back remained to Vistarii. “Lord Maorilan? Is it possible to borrow your talented singer this evening?”

“I don’t see why not,” Pawdrig said, wandering into view. “I wanted to talk to you, Sella, but it can wait. I’ll need to inform Tessa, Laran’telia, but there shouldn’t be a problem with it. It would ultimately be up to Sella, though. This is her time off from her duties.”

How does he know that?

“That is very gracious of you, Head of Family, to take her needs into account.”

Pawdrig waved her statement away. “I’ve told you to dispense with the formalities you insist on, Laran’telia.” Pawdrig smiled her way. “I don’t stand on ceremony here. What do want to borrow Sella for?”

“I wish to teach her a few elven songs, Lord Maorilan,” Laran’telia said, returning his smile. “That is, if I can borrow your book.” She indicated the tiny book she’d found. “There are some elvish songs here that I haven’t heard in a very long time.”

“No one else is going to use it,” Pawdrig admitted, absently waving his hand towards the embossed book. “Consider it yours while you are here. Sella, it is an amazing opportunity to learn those songs directly from an elf of the Vale. Ultimately, it’s up to you, but I wouldn’t refuse her offer.” Pawdrig smiled. “I’ll admit I’m a little jealous ... I won’t be around this evening to hear you sing.”

“I, as well, Lord Maorilan,” Vistarii said, continuing to meet her gaze. “I admit I’m very interested to hear how your singer shares the songs of home.”

Laran’telia smiled and turned her back on the two men, making eyes at Sella and almost begging her to accept. Any protest she made here to Laran’telia’s mistaken thoughts, or her offer to teach, would obviously be falling on deaf ears. Besides, she was coming to like the healer, even if she was a mage. Once again, she felt trapped.

“What do you think?” Pawdrig prompted.

“If it wouldn’t be a bother, I accept … Lord Maorilan,” Sella replied. She desperately wondered if there was any way she could correct Laran’telia’s thinking in private, and her heart sank when she caught sight of the healer’s smile.

Pawdrig chuckled. “None at all, Sella. Laran’telia, she is yours.”

“Thank you, Lord Maorilan. We will take good care of your singer. Again, you are very generous.” Laran’telia paused, obviously stopping herself from saying something else as she smiled his way.

“Nonsense,” Pawdrig replied, matching her smile. “And don’t even think about trying to descend into formality again. You are guests of my family, as you say, and I am finding that I enjoy your company immensely,” he told her. “All of your company, for that matter. The openness you offer after our initial misunderstanding is refreshing.” Pawdrig shrugged. “I find it endearing.”

Laran’telia looked very pleased with herself when he finished his statement, Sella finding herself strangely on guard.

“What is this place, Lord Maorilan?” Laran’telia asked, running her delicate fingers through her hair while she asked. “It doesn’t resemble anything else in your seat.”

Pawdrig placed his hand on her back, moving closer to guide her into looking around. “This entire room is the foundation of the Hold,” he said, waving an arm off into the distance. “Well … we call it the foundation,” he corrected himself, obviously proud of his home. “This room itself is ancient, and when it’s empty, it resembles an immense half-dome. But the hold was built on top of it, probably hundreds of lifetimes ago, before the room was altered into what you now see.”

“And this structure?” Vistarii asked, pointing towards the central pillar.

“The stone of Redtail. It’s where the lords of Redtail have sworn their oaths to the Hold throughout history.” He touched the darkened patch of stone. “By blood and stone …” he mumbled, then showed a scar on his right hand before holding it over the mark. The darkened area was centered under his palm, Sella noticing a raised area in the center once Pawdrig removed his hand.

“I won’t bore you with the details, but needless to say this is where my journey as Lord of Redtail Hold began.” He trailed off, looking around the room. “The ceremony was relatively straightforward; very direct and short, thank the gods. There’s a text that holds the words to it. You may be interested since the words are not only in common, but repeated in elven, dwarven, and a few other languages as well. I keep it along with my broach of office in my suite.”

“No, Lord Maorilan.” Vistarii chuckled. “Old words and even older ceremonies are not my interest.”

“I didn’t think so,” Pawdrig agreed. “But it’s there if your people are curious.”

“Cor’An might be interested, Lord Maorilan,” Laran’telia commented, “and I thank you for offering. I’ll mention it to our priestess. They study our histories and other curiosities, and are quite drawn to them. But if we could depart, I’d like to take Sella and introduce her to the songs we’ve discovered before it gets too late,” she concluded, lifting up the book.

“By all means,” Pawdrig answered. “And I’m glad we found that tome you were looking for, Vistarii. I’m not sure how much it might help, it’s ancient after all, but you’re welcome to study it.”

“As my sister said, Lord Maorilan, the priestesses study the histories.” He hefted the tome. “Even an ancient storybook such as this one is of interest to her, especially the parts written in my tongue.”

“Then I’m glad I could help. I used to play down here for hours as a boy,” Pawdrig petered off, looking wistfully around the room. “Anyway, would you allow me to escort you to your suite, lady elf? It should be ready for your return.”

“A courtly gesture, Lord Maorilan.” Laran’telia smiled, taking his arm.

“And may I escort you as well, singer?” Vistarii asked, holding an arm out to her. “I do not wish you to think of me as harshly as my sister does, by not offering an escort.”

“I couldn’t possibly–”

“Please, singer.” He grinned, offering her a ridiculously flamboyant bow. “My sister is a horrible person, both mean and heartless. She will pick on me mercilessly if a lady of your caliber should refuse.”

Pawdrig chuckled, and then Laran’telia grinned, sticking her tongue out at Vistarii while regarding them both. “You are still a fool, brother, but perhaps not a hopeless fool. Put him out of his misery, singer. He’ll stand there all night like someone’s lost pet if you let him.” Vistarii mockingly glared in her direction.

Sella grinned and took his arm, hearing Vistarii’s loudly affected sigh. Laran’telia muttered “oaf” and then “there’s hope for you yet” loud enough to cause Pawdrig to laugh. And the approving nod Pawdrig’s sent her way defused any reservations Sella had.

Sella listened as Pawdrig, Laran’telia, and Vistarii chatted while they climbed the stairs back into the Hold proper. And she started to feel more at ease around all of these noble people. They easily included her in the conversation, and she couldn’t help but laugh as Vistarii continued to pester her with silly words. She finally relaxed enough to allow him to draw her out of her shell as they entered the main hall, and she found she was enjoying herself immensely.

Pawdrig remained arm in arm with the elven healer as they approached the grand stair, turning left at the central landing before continuing to climb. And it was then that it hit Sella where they were, and what she was doing, laughing at Vistarii’s silly jokes as she looked down into the hall. She became shockingly aware, and hearing someone address Pawdrig, she turned her head to see Tessa along with three others at the top of the stair.

“Tessa?” Pawdrig said. “If you would, please escort my guests to their suite.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Oh, and I would like Sella here excused from her duties for the time being.” He nodded in Sella’s direction. “We’ve spoken this evening, and she is going to be helping the elves directly. They may call on her at any time, and whenever they might choose.”

“Yes, Lord Maorilan,” Tessa replied, nodding affably to Sella. “Her transfer will not be a burden.”

“Good.” Pawdrig smiled at her.

But Sella was only peripherally aware, her eyes fixed upon the three figures behind him. She noticed Giri’s frowning face, and the indifferent shrug she gave her meeting Sella’s gaze. But the hate and loathing coming off of the other two radiated from their eyes … even as they plastered patently fake smiles on both of their faces.

She tensed on Vistarii’s arm, the elf glancing curiously down at her as she realized how it must look. And she became acutely aware of how this scene might play out, feeding the rumors that were spreading throughout the Hold.

“Vistarii? Ladies? Have a good evening. Oh, and I look forward to hearing your songs in the future, Sella.” Pawdrig smiled to her as he took his leave.

Damn.

Everyone bowed or curtsied as he departed, Tessa turning to address the elves. “Lord and Lady, Sella was scheduled to be fitted for a gown this evening,” Fiercer glares than before flared from Telee and Pihn. “It shouldn’t take long, but it would be best done now, after hours. If you would excuse her, I can have her returned to your suite within the hour.”

“That would be more than adequate, Keeper.” Laran’telia nodded her reply. “I look forward to seeing you later this evening, singer. We have much to discuss.” She smiled, a friendly twinkling to her eye.

Telee and Pihn’s mouths twitched into and out of a scowl.

“Goodbye to you, as well, singer.” Vistarii offered a teasing grin. “I enjoyed the time we spent together this evening, and I look forward to seeing you again, very much.”

The two’s mouths twitched even further.

“Thank you both, Lord and Lady.” Tessa curtsied before turning back to address the three behind her. Telee and Pihn’s expressions completely disappeared the instant she turned. “Giri, go get the seamstress and meet me in Sella’s quarters. I’ll need your eye, as always.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Telee? Pihn? Please escort our lord’s guests to their suite and ensure they are comfortable.”

“Yes, Tessa.”

“And Lord and Lady, if there is anything else you require, please send for me.”

“We will, Keeper. And, thank you.” Laran’telia smiled as she climbed after the two. “Your house is beautifully kept.”

“Thank you, Lady. You’re very kind.” Tessa curtsied. “Sella, come with me,” Tessa called, making her way back down to the hall.

Beyond her, Sella caught sight of Dira watching and frowning from the door of the kitchens. And no one but Sella saw Telee and Pihn staring daggers at her while everyone’s backs were turned.

Not a single soul caught Telee silently mouthing the hateful phrase she’d heard so much over the past few days. The words coming clearly to her ears even though nothing was said. It was as if Telee had shouted them to the heavens ...

“… Sella, so special, so popular ...” she mouthed, her face taking on that grimace of hate.

Then she added “Bloody whore” while she sneered.

A Council Begun in Anger

Day 231 – So, some of the elves are free now. It’s been … fun. Ari has been …

Tommy glanced towards Falia, both of them staying very quiet around N’Taii as they followed her over to the survivors. His mother had been … moody … ever since her conversation with S’tol Garesh yesterday, and everyone was giving her space. Even his da’.

After the elven mage cried out, the rest of the elves tried to help him, but every one of them froze when the troop leveled their weapons to strike. Tommy saw sheer and utter frustration in Salia’s eyes as she stared into the face of the sprite’s poisoned arrows. But she waved the rest into immobility, and then repeatedly, and almost anxiously, called out to Ari in elven.

Ari eventually responded, whatever they argued about filled with harsh and heated words, but nothing came of it. Ari was solely concentrating on the bizarre magical combat underway inside the S’tol, and she had no time for the strike leader or her words. Because her and Garesh’s eyes were blazing like twin suns with their respective aspects of Tol, both holding onto as much of it as they could.

It was like watching two tentacled droplets of water trying to eat each other, each gripping and grabbing their foe while endlessly changing their shapes. The battle continued that way for what seemed like forever, greens and golds mixing with crimson, while Ari drew upon Tommy’s Tol with a separate part of her mind.

And after gathering his strength enough to strike, she bludgeoned the S’tol with their combined aspects of Tol in an overwhelming blanket that covered him whole. And when she had forced everything that he was back into him, she squeezed each and every one of Garesh’s pathways, packing his Tol tightly into his core. Then the S’tol let out a pitiful whimper as Ari slammed the door on his power, locking it away while she removed any ability he had to access it.

“He is bound,” Ari proclaimed in common, so loud that everyone around her could hear. And no one questioned her. Then Garesh slumped, drooling in his restraints while she gazed resolutely about with her two, glowing green eyes.

That had pretty much ended yesterday, everyone shying away from her while she stared daggers at the drooling mage. But Salia was a brave one, Tommy would give her that. Beginning in a quiet, though massively respectful tone, she started a conversation with Ari in elven that Ari eventually responded to, and as that conversation continued, his da’ stood the troop and the ch’ten down, the elves already free being granted their parole based on the previous oath they’d made.

The ch’ten wasn’t entirely happy about that, and neither was the troop, but his da’ didn’t seem to care. With less than half of the elves free and without any of their weapons, there wasn’t much the elves could do even if they attacked again. And those who were free didn’t once attempt to touch their weapons, or the things they had arrived with. They didn’t even look at them. They only asked for the opportunity to bathe, and said not a word about the wary sprite escort that followed them.

Afterwards, taking her place by the other elves, Falia took on the role of intermediary while Ari continued to stare silent daggers at the mage. The elves came and went from her side, speaking quietly and deferentially to Ari, all of it in their tongue. And as the day progressed into evening, Ari’s responses became more and more stilted, until the Ari Tommy had known was no longer there.

Falia remained at her side faithfully until night fell, and no one commented on Ari’s declining mood, nor the fiery anger as everyone tucked in. And after a restless night where nobody really slept at all, Ari decided that the survivors from Silverlake needed healed. Right now. Immediately. First thing after breakfast. No matter what anyone said, or what anyone needed done. So, here everyone was. And off they went.

“Tommy, where is Tonat?” Ari asked.

“Sleeping, N’Taii.”

Her frustrated sigh spoke volumes. “Is there any broth that remains?” she asked, never glancing away from where she was going.

“Some, Nisa,” Falia answered.

“Enough for the injured?”

“No, Nisa.”

Ari stopped dead. “Then we will need more,” she flatly pronounced. “Falia, a thin broth, enough for twenty ...” she glanced at the sky “… by noon. Tonat’s things are over there.” She waved an imperious hand in the direction of Tonat’s supplies without looking.

What’s gotten into her? She reminds me of how Mrs. Greentree used to get ...

“Yes, Nisa.” Falia bowed her head, backing up a few steps before walking away.

“Ari?” Tommy began before being cut off by a single finger.

“Strike Leader Salia,” Ari snapped out. “Attend. If the J’al’osil are secure enough to attack an heir, they are strong enough to heal. Send one of yours to Falia to help cook, then accompany the rest to me.” Ari began walking immediately after she said that, not even glancing their way.

Salia followed her with her gaze, noticing the green brilliance flaring deep within Ari’s eyes. She signaled her acceptance, something Ari didn’t see. Then sending a single one of the elves off towards Falia, she and the rest joined her on their way towards the wounded.

To say the ch’ten noticed the elves moving off as one towards Ari was an understatement. The lot of them suddenly rose, wary, rapidly becoming on guard as they reached for their weapons.

“Lady?” Rast began, but was instantly cut off by another sharp gesture.

“The J’al’osil are mine, Rast. Not that I much want them,” Ari angrily tossed in the elves’ direction. “They will not harm me, not one of their great heirs,” she continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Then she stopped to glare at the sprites, both eyes glowing a brilliant green. “Do you challenge the truth of my words? The ch’ten, challenge the oath they’ve made?”

Rast stepped back, putting both hands up in surrender while rapidly translating her words. Ahton lowered his head, uttering a quiet “San’ten’tol” in her direction, then motioned to the ch’ten. Three sprites quickly moved up to shadow Salia and the rest, both groups eyeing each other warily.

Ari sighed, watching the byplay before finishing her trip to the survivors. And Falia walked quietly behind her, looking on in concern, her mistress’s faithful shadow.

Tommy could almost feel Ari’s tension, like a pot waiting to boil over. “N’Taii?”

“Yes, Tomilanthus?”

“Are you … okay?” he hesitantly asked, wary of her reply.

“Okay?” She laughed without humor. “No, I am most certainly not ‘okay’.”

The silence stretched. “Ummm … can I … I mean, do you … uh … should we …”

“Out with it, Tomilanthus.”

Salia was watching them. She seemed to be trying to say something with her eyes, then glanced over towards shore. Tommy saw his da’ sitting there, suddenly understanding. “Maybe I should get da’.”

“Why, Tomilanthus?” Ari asked while frowning down at the unconscious survivors. Alantin opened his rheumy eyes near the end of the line, turning his head their way.

Tommy realized Ari was pretty much responding to him by rote. He watched her developing frown, getting more and more nervous as the frown deepened its way into a glare. Boy, she’s really mad. “I think I will, Ari. I’ll be right back.”

Ari’s face was devoid of any expression when she glanced his way. So, he retreated, hoping she didn’t say anything else. She didn’t, turning back towards the survivors and organizing the elves with a continually sharp tongue.

He caught up with his da’ loading the net onto the boat. “Da’? I think something’s wrong with Ari.”

“You could say that,” Donnor agreed, grunting while shifting a box. “Arbet?” he called out. “I’ll be back around noon. Have the men ready by then.” Arbet raised a hand in acknowledgement, prepping the area along shore for his catch.

“Why’s she so angry?”

“Why don’t you ask her? Or Falia for that matter?”

“I’m not asking her. She’s acting like Mum did when you came home from old man Hart’s tavern with Mikus that night. Besides, Falia’s weird.”

Donnor sighed but then grinned. “That bad, huh?”

“She’s ordering people around like Arnet. She even said something to Rast about the ch’ten questioning their oath ... What oath?”

Donnor scrubbed his face, looking resigned. “Gods. Alright, let’s go see what’s going on.” And when they arrived, Ari was still standing where she’d been, staring down at the survivors with the elves and the ch’ten silent around her. “Ari?”

“What?” she asked flatly, not even glancing their way.

“Ari, sit down.” Donnor placed his hand on her arm, guiding her to sit.

She shrugged him off. “I have work to do, Silverspear.”

“Well, you’re not doing any of it right now, so why don’t you sit?”

“Are you going to try and control me now, too?”

Donnor just looked at her, opening their bond wide. “Really?”

She glared at him before ducking her head. Then closed both of her eyes, face forming into a terrible scowl before letting out a tremendous, shuddering sigh. She stood there in silence, just breathing, letting the silence stretch around her.

Donnor moved towards the wagon and sat down, waving Tommy to sit as he patted the ground beside him. “Ari?” She just stood there, so he shrugged and glanced over at Salia, receiving a raised brow in reply. “Salia, why don’t the rest of you sit? And, Itak?” he called out to one of the three sprites. “Why don’t you take a seat as well.”

Rast was translating his request when Salia spoke. “We guard the heir, Silverspear.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you do. Probably do a good job of it, too. But tell me, what exactly are you guarding ‘the heir’ from?” He waved a hand around them, taking note of Salia’s frown. “Besides, ‘the heir’ is going to sit down in a bit, either voluntarily or when her legs give out, so you might as well have a seat until then.”

Donnor raised his eyebrows at Salia, then nodded towards Ari … who still had her eyes closed just standing there breathing.

Salia looked at her consideringly, before turning back. “The J’al’osil have sat long enough, Silverspear.”

“Sure you have, but at least this time you won’t be tied to a pole.”

“Donnor Silverspear, that is enough!” Ari glared.

“Hmmmm? Oh, hey. Nice to see you there, princess. Got your attention, did I? You going to sit down to yell at me, or stay standing up?”

Ari came close to screaming, fire raging its way through the bond. “Why would you say something like that to me?” she demanded, eyes flaring wide.

“Mainly to piss you off.”

Tommy decided in that moment his da’ was either the bravest person he’d ever known, or he was about to die.

“Well, you’ve succeeded … Silverspear,” Ari snarled.

“Awesome. You going to sit down?”

“Why should I?”

“Because I know damn well you’re not really angry at me, you just needed a target. And besides, if you stay standing up, I have to keep looking up at you, and it really hurts my neck.”

Yep, his da’ was about to die.

Ari was an absolute pillar of fury, literally shaking where she stood, with two, blazing green eyes. His da’ just calmly sat there staring back at her, seemingly oblivious to his fate, but Tommy noticed Salia casually backing away. Ari and his da’ stayed like that for many long moments before the fire started to leave her. Then her shoulders slumped and tears started to form, but they utterly refused to fall.

“Damn you, Donnor Silverspear.”

“Yep. Been damned for a while.”

She glanced at Tommy before staring off into camp, at what, specifically, Tommy didn’t know. But whatever it was, Ari found it. Sighing as she relaxed, the light in her eyes dimmed even further.

His da’ patted the ground beside him. “You going to sit down now? Everyone’s legs are getting tired.”

“I really hate you sometimes.”

“I know, dear, I know. But if you didn’t hate me then you’d find somebody else to yell at, and I’d probably just end up lonely.” She whipped her head around, working her jaw as she sputtered. “Now why don’t you sit down with me and Tommy here and tear a piece out of us both, before we don’t think you hate us as much as you do.”

Ari snorted and then glanced away. Pursing her lips, she looked at him sideways before bestowing on him an evil look.

“That was possibly one of the bravest things I’ve seen in a long, long time, Donnor Silverspear,” Salia said as she settled herself onto the ground, keeping her voice decidedly neutral.

“She blew out the entire wall of the east garden the last time she was that angry,” Erella muttered while she sat at Salia’s side.

“I did not!” Ari protested.

“As the heir says,” a third elf pronounced, sitting down while nodding respectfully to Donnor.

“Erella? Imaan? Apologize to the heir for reminding her that she most definitely did not blow out the wall of the east garden room,” Salia stated. The sprites sat down as well, Rast translating the elves’ words as they looked on with interest.

“I apologize, Nisa Saliantrea,” Imaan, the male elf, said. “You most definitely did not blow out the wall while you were angry. A wall that took almost three months to repair.” Erella nodded in silent agreement, all three of the J’al’osil keeping remarkably blank faces.

“I hate you all.”

“The sprites, too?” Donnor asked, smirking while he said it.

Ari glared some more but her heart wasn’t in it. “Damn you, Donnor. What do you want? I have healing to do.”

“Besides the obvious?” He leered, ignoring her snort. “But seriously, when our son comes to me because he’s scared of you, it’s time to figure you out.” All of the elves whipped their heads around towards Donnor as he named Tommy their son, but he ignored the intent glances. “What’s wrong?”

“You don’t know?” Ari snapped, her anger returning to the fore. “You seem to already know everything there is about me. Why not this time, Silverspear?”

“Really? We’re going to do that again?”

Ari huffed, but shied away from Donnor’s gaze.

“Fine. Salia, who’s that over there?” his da’ asked, nodding towards the elf with Falia.

“Gim’alan.”

“Hey, Falia? Gim’alan? Come over here for a moment,” his da’ asked. “Rast, the rest of you, get in here, too. We’re all about to have a nice, happy chat,” he finished sarcastically, waiting until everyone sat down.

Falia very deliberately sat behind Ari on her right, while the rest sat wherever they wanted. There was a noticeable separation between the elves and the sprites, however.

“Huh. Ari and I spoke about this last night, but obviously things here are still a little bit … tense. Especially between you people,” he waved back and forth between the elves and the sprites. “Is that fair?” Everyone nodded. Ari turned back, but only halfway. “Right. I can’t do anything about that, so I’m not going to try.”

He nodded in the sprite’s direction while he addressed the elves. “The ch’ten are loyal to a fault to Ari. As far as I’m concerned, they’re a gift from the lost gods. So, they’re staying. End of story.

“Ari convinced me that your training and oaths means you’ll protect her life before your own.” He calmly held Salia’s gaze, not looking away even once while something cold and deadly entered into his eyes. “Otherwise, I’d probably kill you myself … just to make sure she was safe. That means, you’re staying too.”

He held Salia’s gaze while Mikus and Keris walked up, continuing on as if he hadn’t just threatened her life. “So, as far as I’m concerned, everything here is hunky-dory. And the only problems I have right now are a drooling master mage and five other elves who are tied to their stakes.” He chucked his chin in their direction, waiting until Salia nodded her agreement.

“But what I don’t know is what’s going on in Ari’s head.” Ari huffed, looking away while radiating a renewed anger. “Sure, I can figure out some of it. I’m not an idiot, after all. But a lot of what’s going on is tied up in the customs and culture of the Vale ... and you people never let me in far enough to experience it. So, I have no idea what’s really going on.”

His da’ stopped talking, looking at all the elves while allowing the silence to stretch. “You people are treating her a whole lot differently than you did yesterday, and she’s a whole lot more angry today. So, what’s going on?”

There was an uncomfortable silence mixed with looks from all of the elves. Keris looked like he wanted to say something, but Mikus grabbed his arm to stop him. Everyone remained quiet until Ari eventually spoke up. “We talked about this last night, Donnor.”

“Obviously not enough since you’re stomping around camp like a dragon with a busted paw.” Someone snorted, Donnor didn’t care who.

“Donnor, I’m an heir.”

“So? So what? Does becoming an heir require you to be a moody bitch that’s making our son nervous?”

“You are on dangerous ground, Silverspear.”

“No, I don’t really think I am.” She glared his way. “Ari, I’m not going to live my life with someone who’s acting like this.” He waved a hand her way. “And I don’t really think Tommy wants to live this way either.”

“Are you threatening to take Tomilanthus away from me?”

“Really?” Donnor just looked at her, staring at her until she turned away. “Ari, what’s gotten into you? With all of you elves for that matter?”

“You elves?” Ari demanded.

“Seriously?” He changed the subject, waving a hand to indicate the tied elves. “Is this some kind of secret elven thing I’m never going to understand?”

“Apparently not,” Ari snapped.

“Nice. Then someone explain it to me.” No one said a thing, Ari not even glancing his way. Donnor opened the bond as wide as he could. “Ilari … please?”

All three elves whipped their heads towards him in shock on hearing the elven word, but he refused to look away from his lover, his mate. He tried to do what she’d done in the past, pushing how much he loved and cared for her through the bond, but trying to do that was annoying. And he had no idea if he was succeeding or not.

Ari snorted. “I hope that annoyance isn’t for me.” The elves looked at her in question, unable to feel what she felt.

“So, you felt that, huh? Well, at least the bond is good for something.”

Ari looked like she was fighting her frown. “Dolt.”

“That’s me ... Now are you going to explain it, princess, or are we going to go round again?”

Ari rolled her eyes and then sighed once more. “Fine.” She hugged her arms to herself, staring off into space. “He tried to kill me, Donnor.”

“Huh? Who? Garesh? He said he was trying to take you back.”

“No, not him. Alaris.” The elves whipped their heads back towards her.

“No, he didn’t. I heard what Falia said, same as you. They were trying to capture you and take you back to the Vale, not kill you.”

“But he ordered Tommy and you killed ... I can’t believe he did that!”

“Right. So, he’s scum. I get it.”

She smiled the slightest grins. “Ilari, if he’d managed to kill either of you, it would have killed me.” The elves were now looking back and forth between them like a cat tracking a ball.

“Nah he wouldna’, girl. We wouldna’ allowed tha’,” Mikus softly pressed. “This be sweet an’ all, but yer’ startin’ ta’ sound like a wailin’ maid. Put yer’ big-girl britches on, lass.” Then he clutched his hand to his chest, pretending to swoon. “Oh, Donnor! I be dyin’ wi’ out ya’!”

Falia frowned at his levity, but even Tommy chuckled at that. Ari tried to cover her smirk, a few of the other elves did too, but their humorless expressions eventually returned.

“But seriously, Ilari, we are one. You have no idea what you or him dying would do to me. What was Alaris thinking?” she asked as she stared off into space. And the elves were looking at Ari, more than one of them frowning as they did so.

“Come here.” Donnor patted the ground in front of him. She scooted over, tucking her back into him as he folded her into his arms. “Tommy and I aren’t going anywhere, Arisaylia. I won’t let anyone get us.”

“I know, but I feel so betrayed.”

“Trust me, we can tell.” He kissed the crown of her head. “Talk to me ...”

Ari sighed. “Donnor, I was betrothed to that man; thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. I laid with him … I was drunk, but I still did it.” She shuddered. “Had a daughter with him ...”

“True.”

“We were planning our wedding …”

“Uh-huh.”

“He made fun of you …”

“Shouldn’t have done that.”

Falia frowned.

“Then he tried to have you killed!”

“Yep. He sure did.” Donnor kissed the top of her head.

“And Tommy has just come of age!” The elves whipped their heads towards her once more. Tommy was beginning to wonder if they were going to end up dizzy.

“Yep, his coming of age seems like it’s a big deal.” Falia looked up at the sky, like she was seeking help from above. Donnor continued after glancing her way, “People have tried to kill me and Tommy before ... So? So what?”

“The boy is of age, Nisa Saliantrea?” Salia asked, her eyes very intent.

“Oh, Life.” Ari sighed, rubbing her head. “See, Donnor! This is exactly what I’m talking about. Yes, Strike Leader, Tomilanthus reached his third six a few months ago.”

“And this boy is your son?” Salia seemed very intent, pointing directly at Tommy. She was all but quivering in place.

“This is the male child I delivered into your arms, Strike Leader Salia of the J’al’osil,” Falia quietly confirmed. “Many, many moons ago, immediately after his birth, by order of the Wi’Jitikiin.”

“This is the babe you delivered?” Salia demanded, eyes going wide.

Donnor kissed the top of Ari’s head. “Yep.”

“Yes, Salia,” Ari said. Sighed, really.

“To this man?” She seemed all but incredulous.

“Yep.” His da’ bestowed on her a wry grin.

Ari gave Donnor a look. “Yes, Salia. We swore ilari to each other before Tomilanthus was conceived. That bond has never been broken … the bond between me and this man.”

One of the elves tied to a pole grunted and started banging his head against the pole behind him. Most of the elves were looking intently their way, and Tommy swore to the lost gods that all of their ears were twitching. Another one began mumbling something to himself through his gag.

“Nisa Saliantrea, we did not know. We thought that child … Nisa …” She cut herself off. “We did not know.” Salia bowed at her waist, her posture both stiff and formal. The rest of the J’al’osil bowed as well.

“I know.”

“Oaths have been broken.”

Ari waved her words away, but Donnor quickly responded. “See, there you elves go again doing things none of the rest of us understand.” Mikus grunted in agreement, Keris nodding as well. Even the ch’ten looked confused though highly intent, Rast babbling away like a dying squirrel trying to explain what was going on.

Ari sighed. “Donnor, it’s like we had talked.” She indicated Falia with her hand.

“How’s that?”

“The S’tol and the J’al’osil swear their oaths to the Vale before family. They’re sworn to protect the Wi’Jitikiin.”

“So what? Not a single one of them is here. We’ve been over that, as well.”

“I’ve basically fulfilled my role as heir. So, what about this don’t you understand?”

One of the tied elves said something loudly in anger, his voice raised through his gag. Ari nodded the elf’s way, obviously understanding his muffled complaint. “No, our union hasn’t been formally recognized–”

“Which does not matter in the here and now,” Salia firmly stated, glaring the elf’s way. “A bond and a child through union have been declared before witness.”

That gagged elf was positively furious.

“Excuse me, Strike Leader,” Falia interjected. “Declared before witness weeks ago, according to the Nisa. When she adopted Saress a’Saliantrea into her sept.” Falia bowed her head, seemingly apologizing for her interruption.

“Is this true as well? You accepted one of the J’al’osil into your sept?” Salia seemed very intent.

“Yes.”

“Knowing who and what she might be?”

“Yes.”

“Knowing her oaths to the Vale came first?”

“Yes. She is my guardian, Salia. The guardian of my sept. Even the ch’ten acknowledge it so.”

Every J’al’osil who could do so lowered their heads to abase themselves on the ground before her. The elf banging its head on the stake banged harder.

“Nisa Arisaylia Saliantrea, I … we … In’jon ton es a giv’al J’al’osil a’test on tutiel a, Saliantrea. We have broken our oaths to you, Wi’Jitikiin, and are without arnhysh. Our lives are forfeit. Do with us what you will.”

Ari sighed loudly, but Donnor beat her to it before she could respond. “There you go again,” he complained. Ari glared at him, completely ignoring the prostrate elves. “Do any of you mind explaining to me what in the hells is going on?”

“Donnor, you can be exceedingly dense sometimes. You know that?”

“Why yes, princess. Yella used to tell me that all the time.”

“At least your wife knew you well,” Ari grumped, Salia snapping her head up in shock. “She was right, by the way. Dumb as a rock when you want to be …” Ari huffed, then folded her arms over her chest while glaring the elves’ way. “No one is dying here today, Salia. Rise. You did not know.”

Salia and the rest of the elves followed her command, though it was like they couldn’t quite believe it. They made a plethora of gestures to Ari and Donnor, as well. “You are very generous in your forgiveness, Saliantrea. Exceedingly so,” Salia stated, bowing low once more.

“You’re that ready to die for a mistake?” Keris asked.

“She is Wi’Jitikiin.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are,” Salia insisted.

“Of the Wi’Jitikiin, then,” Erella said, basically at the same time.

“You too?” Ari asked, looking a little betrayed. “I never wanted to be treated this way. A great Wi’Jitikiin … Life, I’m going to end up like my father …”

Donnor hugged her even more.

One of the staked elves was all but yelling through his gag. “No, there is no way I can prove it,” Ari admitted, glancing in the elf’s direction, and the elf fell silent as soon as she spoke. “I’m certainly not going to let him test it.” She said, glaring at the drooling Garesh, then down towards her right hand. “You’ll have to take my word for it. And I give it to you, along with whatever oaths the J’al’osil may insist on and require.”

“That will not be necessary, Nisa Saliantrea.” Salia glanced in the elf’s direction. The elf in question obviously disagreed with her by the volume of his response.

“So, where does that leave us?” Donnor asked.

Ari sighed, but it was Erella who answered. “It brings our entire mission here into question, Nessa Silverspear.” Salia nodded her agreement. “This must be reported to the Vale.”

“We’re not going anywhere near the Vale,” Donnor replied, ignoring the honorific, absolutely no question of his refusal allowed by his tone.

“No, Ilari. We will not be going to the Vale,” Ari affirmed.

“But Nisa, you must,” Salia insisted. “The council demands it.”

“And I say I will not go,” Ari answered her, then gave her a humorless smile. “I am of the Wi’Jitikiin by your own words, Salia of the J’al’osil. Where does that leave you and your oath?”

That one elf started banging his head against the stake once more, a few of the others mumbling while another one glared. Salia frowned in Ari’s direction, ignoring the other elves even though a few of them tried to get her attention.

“You are on one hand the confirmed heir of a Wi’Jitikiin; bonded, mated, bred, with a child of age. You have fulfilled your duty to family and the Vale by ancient custom, Saliantrea, making you the head of family of your sept,” she trailed off, obviously deep in thought.

“We cannot force you since your duty is fulfilled ... Your father must be made aware of this, Nisa.” Salia frowned. “The council of the Wi’Jitikiin as well.”

“Somebody else can tell him. Them, for that matter. I am not going,” Ari insisted.

Salia nodded, still thinking, though she obviously disagreed. “On the other hand, your position remains unconfirmed by the full council, and none of the rites have been performed as required by our laws. Your place is both proven and groundless, depending on the ancient laws or the new.

“The entire mission here into the wilds was as a direct result of your betrothal and child to Farlesdar. Alaris claims you are wed, and he leads an army of both Farlesdar and Saliantrea to bring his wife before council on their command.”

“I have no husband.” Ari’s words resonated through the air.

Salia lowered her eyes. “No, Nisa. But his claim because of your child remains.”

“There is no child combining Farlesdar and Saliantrea, and there is no claim ... There never will be, Salia of the J’al’osil.” Ari’s voice carried a terrible anger, the very air trembling as lightning flashed back and forth in her eyes.

Everyone paused and remained frozen, then Donnor irreverently placed a kiss on her head. “Temper, temper, Dear.”

Ari whipped her head around while screwing up her mouth to shout, but then stopped, feeling his amusement. She sighed her anger away. “You are lucky I love you.”

“I know.” He hugged her tighter, grinning while she turned away from him to sulk.

Salia nodded her thanks before continuing, meeting Donnor’s eyes over her head. “And the J’al’osil have unknowingly participated in false orders that led to kin slaying, and against a Wi’Jitikiin’s kin. Though you say J’al’osil Saress still lives, you claim that she died before witness?”

Ari nodded.

“Multiple times?” Salia directed her question to the ch’ten, one of the sprites nodding while Rast translated.

“Saliantrea,” Salia began formally, “the J’al’osil can do nothing but acknowledge the death of your guardian as it occurred before witness. A guardian’s death by one of the J’al’osil is both an offense against Life and our oaths, as you well know,” she admitted, making a solemn gesture to Ari while shaking her head.

The other elves glanced towards Saress. A series of hand gestures were made, some with respect, some that caused a few to turn away, but none of them broke their silence.

“Erella and I attacked and injured family of Saliantrea,” Salia continued after a pause. “Adopted or not, knowingly or not, she is part of the family we lived with and were sworn to for …” Salia looked troubled as she trailed off, gazing into her lap while rubbing her head.

“Nisa Saliantrea, our entire reason for being here … with false orders? … a guardian? … a son who is of age? … ilari?” Salia looked stunned. “Nisa, every J’al’osil here is foresworn.” She raised her troubled head. “You can no longer rely upon our arnhysh. You should command us to go.”

“And I say you are forgiven,” Ari answered. “You did not know.”

Salia shook her head in denial, but eventually gave up. “You are exceedingly gracious, Nisa Arisaylia Saliantrea of the Wi’Jitikiin, and we here are indebted to you. The ramifications alone … the council … the Vale … someone must …” She looked back towards the tied elves, eyeing one of them in particular ... and that one didn’t look happy.

“Nisa, until it is made clear, with trouble between families you must be treated as one of the Wi’Jitikiin.” Ari grunted in protest. “Whether you desire it or not, Nisa, you are heir,” Salia pressed. “The bloodlines alone … the required rites … your duty to the Vale? Nisa, the full council of the Vale must be informed, there is no other way. You must return to the Vale.”

“An’ wha’ do ya’ think yer’ gonna’ be doin’ abou’ tha’, lassie?” Mikus asked after a moment, leaning heavily on his axe. “She said she ain’t goin’.”

“If she will not leave, then the J’al’osil must stay. The protection of an heir is paramount,” Salia answered. One of the elves protested, his mumbled complaints easily heard through his gag.

“All of ye’?” Mikus asked.

“No, obviously not.” Salia frowned, looking in the elf’s direction. She let her eyes linger upon S’tol Garesh, still hanging limply and drooling on his stake.

“… A matter of arnhysh, Nisa.” Erella nodded towards the drooling mage. “A complicated matter what you have done to the S’tol.”

“I did nothing to him beyond what they had already done to me,” Ari snarled, glaring in his direction.

“You were not as he is now.”

“No. But it felt like it every day,” Ari admitted. “Like my soul had been stolen from me, banished to a dark place, never to return. I was without Life in the Vale.” Every elf suddenly looked uncomfortable.

“Who decides who stays and who goes?” Donnor asked, changing the subject while hugging her into his arms.

“She does.” Salia nodded towards Ari. Then she looked back towards the tied elves. That one, almost solemnly nodding her way.

“You are of the Wi’Jitikiin now, Arisaylia Saliantrea, and the J’al’osil acknowledge you as one of their bloodline. Despite being so far outside the Vale, our duty is clear. We, here, acknowledge this as true, before Life as our witness. And because of our mistakes, our arnhysh is yours to hold. It belongs to you, Arisaylia, and to you alone.”

Salia gazed steadily into Arisaylia’s eyes, not once looking away. “Wi’Jitikiin, I make my pledge to you before Life: We still remain true.” Then she formally bowed, making an intensely formal gesture her way.

“We still remain true,” the other elves solemnly replied.

“Our lives are yours,” Salia concluded, abasing herself once more. And all of the elves who were free, did also.

And in response to their poignant display, Ari decidedly sighed.

A Monk’s Assistance

“Alantin? Help me here with this next one.”

“Yes, lady elf,” the old man said, assisted to her side by one of the sprites.

Alantin had been indispensable explaining to the survivors what was going on. The people from Silverlake had basically been asleep for seven days now, and Ari’s magically induced slumber had worked to keep them like that until she had decided to release it.

Alantin had never been included in her slumber, Ari agreeing to allow him to meditate instead like he’d asked. So, he’d been awake during the fight and aftermath that followed it, as well as Ari’s earlier anger. Apparently, he’d worked through the whole thing, and Tommy was just now finding out how much the man had done in the interim, quietly taking care of all of the survivors while not asking a thing.

The ch’ten still seemed strangely deferent around the old man, one of them always around to offer a hand if needed, even while they guarded the elves. But it wasn’t the same way they treated Ari, taking her suggestions as if they were some kind of command. They obviously respected the blindfolded old man, so much so that it was blatantly obvious to everyone to see. It probably helped that he spoke the sprite’s language, Tommy realized. And he wondered what they said, pausing to listen to Alantin respond in sprite speak to something one of the sprites said.

“Lady elf? Who will you be reviving next? Can you describe them to me?” Alantin asked, his black veil turning her way. Everyone else was still a little leery of Ari’s mood, but he just remained pleasant around everyone like nothing was wrong.

“A younger human, maybe twenty or thirty years old,” Ari replied clinically. “He has rough hands, and a scar across his cheek ... a broken nose as well. Though that injury looks old.” She lifted one of his eyelids to inspect underneath.

“Abadair,” Alantin identified. “One of Shandii’s outriders.”

“Shandii’s outriders?”

“Yes, lady elf. I can hear her flock of correts in that direction.” Alantin pointed off towards the paddocks, where the big flightless birds were wandering. “The creatures are cared for by Shandii, and belong to her and her riders.”

“Well, that solves that mystery,” Tommy mumbled, looking off towards the four-eyed birds.

“Mystery, young lad?” Alantin asked.

Tommy glanced up, seeing the monk’s face turned in his direction. It was really weird talking to someone who’s eyes were always covered, but it is what it is, he decided, channeling a little bit of his da’. “We’ve been wondering where they came from and who owned them, ever since the flock found us.”

“They were out wandering?”

“Aye. We met them the day before we came here,” Tommy replied. “Scared us, too, coming out of nowhere like they did.”

“Salia, could you help feed these people please,” Ari asked, nodding towards the people they had roused. It seemed like Ari had gotten over a lot of her anger, and she’d been a lot more pleasant to be around since they had their big talk. He noticed her angst disappeared whenever she healed, too. “Tommy, let’s begin on Abadair. Can you lead us in exploring his wounds?”

“Sure, Ari,” Tommy replied, beginning his draw. He felt Ari combine her Tol with his, not doing anything with it, just watching what he was about to do. He concentrated, bringing his Tol forth from his pathways before forming it into an infinitesimally fine thread. Then he pushed that out from his body, sending it into Abadair’s to have a look.

“Very good, Tomilanthus. That is a very well-crafted probe.”

“Thank you, N’Taii. I had a good teacher.” Tommy grinned before turning back towards the unconscious man. “It looks like there’s something wrong here,” Tommy said, flaring his Tol at an area that was slightly more wrong than the rest.

“Excellent,” Ari said. “You are absolutely correct. What do you think that is?”

“I have no idea.” Tommy looked at her oddly. Sure, he followed along whenever she healed, but Ari just wanted him to concentrate on keeping the flow through his pathways even in preparation for her draw. She’d never actually taught him an ounce of healing. She was still looking at him so he added, “How would I know?”

“Just wondering,” she replied, distracted while she advanced a delicate thread of her own towards Abadair’s internal wounds. “These are from a lack of food and water, and we can rouse him safely without harming him any further. Alantin? We are going to wake him up now,” she said, gathering her and Tommy’s Tol into a cohesive thread.

Then, when that thread was pulsing with the colors of both of their Tol, she sent it deep inside Abadair’s core. Piercing a tiny pulsing green bubble Tommy noticed there, Abadair’s eyes began to flutter as the remnants of that bubble floated harmlessly away.

“Wake, Abadair.” Ari smiled down at the confused, blinking man. “My name is Arisaylia, and I am a healer. I’ve been healing you of your injuries. You’ll be weak while your body recovers, and I’m sure you have questions, but I’ll leave Alantin to answer those. Please, rest and recover. I have many more to heal.”

“Thank you, Lady,” Abadair mumbled, obviously out of sorts and just waking up.

Ari smiled, patting him on the shoulder while Alantin began speaking and offering him water to drink. Then Ari moved a short distance away, groaning in complaint while arching her back to stretch.

“You okay there, Ari?” his da’ asked.

“Yes. I’m just tired, Ilari.” Ari smiled as he walked to her side. “Only a few more to go.”

“Good.”

“When did you get back?” She nodded towards the boat currently bobbing away along shore.

“Just a short while ago. There’s a huge school of fish out there in the middle near the island. I filled the boat quicker than I thought.” He shrugged.

“I still never imagined I’d become a fisherman’s wife,” Ari teased.

“Fisherman’s wife? You’re married? What fisherman?” Donnor looked around. “I’ll kill him. You’re mine, princess. I saw you first.”

“Idiot.”

“That’d be me.” Donnor grinned. “So, who’s left?”

“Shandii, Saress, and two others. They’re the most injured, so I saved them for last.”

“Well, you better get back to it then, princess. No loafing around. We’re not back in Sirikii, you know.”

“I know. Isn’t that wonderful?” She blinked coquettishly. “If we were there, I wouldn’t be allowed to do this.” A tiny spark of golden light shot from her finger, audibly crackling before smacking him in the butt.

“Hey!”

Tommy grinned, glad to see his mother and da’ getting back into good spirits. The elves were watching them too, some of them observing the byplay with wide, and shocked eyes. Falia was shaking her head; Salia and Erella were, too.

“Come, Tomilanthus. The local dictator has spoken. We best be getting back to work before he gives us any more of his despicable commands.”

“I’ll dictator you,” his da’ complained.

“Anything else, Ilari dear?”

“No, oh great and glorious Wi’Jitikiin. This unworthy one must leave you, graced by your august presence, and return to my fish.”

Ari frowned and then ducked her head, looking off into the distance.

“Sorry,” his da’ said after a moment. “Guess that wasn’t as funny as I thought.”

Ari shrugged, still not looking his way. He reached out and held onto her shoulder, waiting until she pressed her cheek into the back of his hand.

“Sorry,” Ari said softly.

“No, I’m sorry,” Donnor said. “I didn’t mean to bring the mood down.” Ari shrugged. “Anyway, I do have to get back to the boat, and there’s still that load of fish I brought in to clean,” he said, patting her on her shoulder. Then he walked away, mumbling to himself as he went.

Ari sighed. “Come, Tomilanthus. Let’s wake Shandii next.”

Shandii was looking much better since Tommy had seen her last. Her blonde hair had been combed, and gleamed in the sun. She didn’t look anything like the firebrand Mikus, Karn, and Turred had described. She was nothing more than a young gnomish woman, peacefully taking a nap on the ground in the sun.

If Tommy had to guess, she was older than him since she was a gnome. But how much older, only she knew. It couldn’t be a lot, because she still looked roughly his age.

“Tomilanthus, inspect her injuries with your Tol before we begin,” Ari directed as she settled to the ground at her side.

He did, finding more of that diffuse wrongness he had seen in all the rest. But there was something else he noticed about Shandii while he inspected her. There was an absolute plethora of faint, not-as-bright areas that spread all around her. And he flared his Tol near one of them, directing Ari’s attention towards one of the spots. “Ari, what’s that?”

“Hmmm? Well done, Tomilanthus. Those are shadows left by old injuries. That one there was from a break in the bone. Hmmmm. Shandii has been injured many times ...” Ari frowned. “Such a shame for someone so young. Alantin? Do you want to greet Shandii when she awakes?”

Alantin paused in what he was doing, turning his head in their direction. Tommy swore he was looking right at him, but there was no way since he was blind. He shuddered a bit, remembering the man’s rheumy, blind eyes.

Alantin handed off the cup he was offering to one of the other survivors to his sprite escort, nodding his agreement before rising to his feet. The sprite passed the cup to another, then looking at Alantin oddly, escorted him their way.

“Is she badly injured, lady elf?”

“No, just dehydrated and malnourished like all of the rest.” Ari shook her head. “She is safe to awaken.”

“Thank the pantheon,” Alantin mumbled under his breath.

“Thank Life, indeed,” Ari agreed, her and Tommy easily hearing his words. Ari glanced at Tommy while she began her draw, questing her Tol into the sleeping gnome. Then a green bubble popped in Shandii like all the rest, the shards whisping away into nothing as the gnome gradually woke.

“Oi, me head,” Shandii mumbled, putting a hand over her face. “Timalin?”

“Not Timalin, no,” Ari answered her, Shandii’s eyes flying wide open. “I am Arisaylia, a healer.” She placed her hand on the gnome’s shoulder as she struggled to rise. “Be at peace, Shandii. You are safe, now.”

“Lemme’ up, ya’ blasted elf!” Shandii slurred, pushing weakly against Ari’s hand.

“Peace, Shandii,” Alantin said as he placed his own hand over Ari’s.

“Alantin?” Shandii locked her eyes on him, glancing warily Tommy and Ari’s way.

“Aye, Shandii. We are safe, now. The ondilaan are dead.”

Shandii’s breath exploded out of her as she collapsed back onto the earth, the fight going right out of her. She suddenly looked weak and very tired, and Tommy worried something else was going wrong. Ari obviously did too since she wove a quick tendril of Tol into the exhausted gnome, questing for anything they missed.

“Timalin?” Shandii asked.

“Dead,” Alantin answered, squeezing her shoulder while the gnome closed her eyes.

A tear escaped that she hurriedly wiped away, then she glared at everyone around. “Who’s left?” she asked, shakily looking Alantin’s way.

“There will be time for that later,” Ari interrupted, still questing about with their Tol. “How do you feel?”

“Like a blasted troll wiped his arse wi’ me,” Shandii admitted. “What day is it?”

“It’s been a week since we arrived,” Ari answered, still poking around at the areas of wrongness. “You’ve been asleep almost the entire time.”

Shandii frowned. “I dreamed someone woke me up ta’ drink?”

“That was roughly half a week ago,” Ari confirmed, withdrawing their Tol. “You are weak from not having enough food and water for however long you were trapped under Silverlake, but there’s nothing else wrong with you I can find. You’ll recover in time without issue.”

“Oi, Tommy!” Mikus called, walking down from the village. “Where’s yer’ da’?”

“Over by the lake!” Tommy pointed towards shore. Mikus waved his hand, then turned to wander that way. Tommy looked back to see Shandii’s cheeks flushed as she tracked Mikus walking away towards shore. “That’s Mikus. He’s the one who got you out,” Tommy told her.

Shandii’s eyes widened, flashing towards Tommy before frowning mightily his way. Her mouth opened and closed. “… ‘e left me! Tha’ bastard dwarf left me!”

“No, he didn’t. He basically carried you out,” Tommy protested, utterly confused, and wondering why she flushed more.

“It was a confusing time, Shandii,” Alantin added. “But the dwarf didn’t leave us, neither did anyone else here.” Alantin looked towards Tommy and Ari before bending closer. “You defended and kept us safe, Shandii, even from those who tried to save us in the end. We are thankful.” He smiled gently, almost fatherly, her way. “You were very brave.”

Shandii flushed with his praise, eyes flickering back towards Mikus along shore. Tommy could have sworn Shandii was squirming under his mother’s knowing gaze, but she quickly huffed and then turned away, glaring at Tommy while she did so.

Women are weird.

“It’s good to know the correts are yours,” Ari said, changing the subject.

“Ye’ saved me girls?” Shandii asked, obviously delighted.

“The flock found us on the road,” Tommy replied.

“Sixteen of them from what these good people say,” Alantin confirmed.

“They all made it …” Shandii sighed.

“And they’ve adopted our two correts since they arrived,” Ari said, fussing with her blanket. “Are they trained?”

“Oh, aye.” Shandii smiled. “Broke them me’self,” she said with obvious pride.

“Good. I’ll have to send Donnor and Mikus over to you, then.” Ari smiled. “Donnor leads the troop, and Mikus is his second in command,” she added, the part about Mikus quite deliberately. “They’ll both want to talk to you about the correts in depth.”

Shandii’s eyes widened, flickering towards shore as Mikus’s voice drifted over again.

“Maybe just Mikus if you’re not ready to talk to them both.” Ari added innocently. Shandii turned a little pale, then flushed some more.

“Are you okay? Mikus isn’t going to hurt you, you know,” Tommy added, concerned by her obvious discomfort whenever Mikus was mentioned. Maybe she remembers the yelling? Tommy gathered his Tol to see if they’d missed something as Shandii paled and flushed even further, warily glancing his way.

Ari placed a hand on his arm, continuing to smile down at the squirming gnome with a wicked grin. “No need for that, Tomilanthus. Our valiant lady gnome just needs to come to grips with her feelings with everything that’s happened ... especially with her sudden rescue. I’m sure it’s a shock for her to deal with. We’ll have to send Mikus over when she’s feeling better so she can thank him.”

Shandii huffed, turning her head away but eventually glanced back, almost against her will. Her and Ari seemed to be communing with their eyes while Ari pointlessly fussed with her blanket. Tommy looked back and forth between the two women, realizing Ari’s Tol seemed … humored? Amused? Pleased?

Alantin seemed to be considering something as well, his head turning from Shandii to Ari and then over towards shore. But when Tommy followed his gaze, all he caught sight of was Falia grinning before she saw Tommy notice, then quickly found something to do. Now that he thought about it, Salia and Erella were grinning also.

All women are weird, he decided

“Anyway, Mikus can wait for now,” Ari mentioned, patting Shandii on the shoulder. The gnome let out an explosive breath but then glared, especially when she saw Tommy noticing.

What did I do?

“Alantin? Can I leave our valiant defender in your care?” The humor in Ari’s voice was evident.

“Yes, lady elf.”

“Excellent. Come along, Tomilanthus. Let’s go wake up your sister and leave poor Shandii alone.”

Tommy got up from the ground while Ari bent over to whisper something in Shandii’s ear. The gnome looked acutely uncomfortable with whatever Ari was saying. Then she noticed Tommy’s eyes on her, produced another great frown, and then Ari rose and led Tommy away. The elves decided to follow.

Alantin was bending to talk to Shandii as Tommy turned his eyes on Saress. The fine hairs that covered her body glowed and shimmered in the light of the sun whenever the breeze caught them. And her hair had been brushed clean, then kept in a simple braid over one shoulder that allowed her cat-like ears to be seen. Someone had obviously changed her clothing, the dress she wore one of Ari’s. And Tommy wondered what had happened to the bloody, torn clothing he’d seen during the battle where she’d been injured.

“How come she hasn’t woken up, N’Taii?”

“To be honest, Tommy, I don’t know. I’ve paid a great deal of attention to Saress, almost without stopping since you helped us awaken.” Ari glanced her way. “Her injuries have long since healed, and there’s no physical reason that would prevent her from waking.”

“Then what are you going to do, Nisa Saliantrea?” Salia asked.

“Me? I don’t plan on doing a thing.”

“Huh?” Tommy asked.

Ari nodded his way. “I think everything that needs doing is something Tomilanthus can do.”

“Huh? Ari, I can’t heal!”

“I don’t think she needs healing.”

“Huh?”

“You must put some effort into expanding your vocabulary, Tomilanthus,” Ari said. “All of these ‘huhs’ are becoming repetitive.” Falia snickered, hiding her mouth with one hand.

“She is still J’al’osil, Nisa, even if she is now a’Saliantrea as well,” Salia said, her voice sounding both guarded and … disapproving? Tommy turned to look at her.

“Calm yourself, Salia. There is no further risk to your fellow J’al’osil.”

Erella looked back and forth between them, before glancing off towards the lookouts on the hill.

“I found something deep inside my adopted daughter when I inspected her last,” Ari continued. “And I believe Tommy will be central in releasing what I have found.”

“What?” Tommy sputtered. Then everyone turned to look at him.

Raising the Dead

“Me?” Tommy protested.

“Yes, you,” Ari confirmed. “You are the only one here that displays the two aspects of Tol that I’ve found. So, it follows that she remains asleep because of something you did.”

Salia and Erella both turned their eyes on him. They’re really intimidating when they do that. “I’m keeping her asleep?” He flicked his eyes again towards the elves … The two of them were really making him nervous.

“Not knowingly, no.” Ari chuckled. “You’re not doing anything active to her. That much, I’m sure. But you described travelling the tor’biata bar’lin for your sister, so I can only assume what I’ve discovered was unknowingly done there.

“Garesh would know.” Ari shrugged, glaring in the elf’s direction. “But I don’t trust him with our family’s care, Tomilanthus.” She seemed to gather herself, then turned deliberately away. “So, we will enter the Tol’An together, and see what we can see.”

Salia frowned, Erella even more so. “You practice the Tol’An?” Erella inquired softly, her words seeming to carry a heavy weight. All of the elves were waiting, paying very close attention to Ari’s answer.

“Yes, Erella, we do.”

“Nisa Saliantrea, the strictures–”

“The strictures mention nothing about members of the same family practicing the Tol’An.” Ari turned her eyes upon Erella. “Do they, J’al’osil?”

Erella raised both eyebrows but did not reply, becoming almost statuesque under Ari’s piercing gaze. Many of the elves shifted or froze, obviously uncomfortable with whatever was going on.

“The strictures also do not say–” Salia began.

“No, they do not,” Ari interrupted, holding both of them with her eyes. “You will find that there are many situations that the strictures don’t cover.” She waved a hand towards Garesh. “Are you so ossified in their teachings that you have no thought of your own? You are Pathfinders, are you not? Find a way.”

Falia straightened Saress’s dress, seemingly acutely uncomfortable while trying to find something to do with her hands. But Falia frowned mightily at Ari’s final words, freezing in place in the process of smoothing a wrinkle. “Nisa … the annals teach us that the Tol’An is the first step on the way to–”

“Yes, it is the first step,” Ari acknowledged, raising her hand. “No one ever denied that. But it is also the easiest way to teach a powerful practitioner coming into his Tol in the wilds. Would you deny me my right to provide for my family because of a fear?”

Erella remained frozen, her unwavering gaze fixed upon Ari’s face. The other elves were unmoving as well, all obviously disturbed by whatever was going on. The mood felt like the calm preceding a storm, and it was making Tommy nervous.

“Ari? What’s wrong with the Tol’An? We’ve been doing it almost every day for weeks now.” Tommy glanced back and forth between the elves.

Falia opened her mouth to answer, freezing as Ari made a curious gesture with one hand. “Absolutely nothing is wrong with the Tol’An, Tomilanthus,” she said, never looking away from Erella’s eyes. “It does exactly what it was intended to, and it does it very well. It has only recently fallen out of favor in the Vale, and it makes people unusually uncomfortable anymore.”

“Something only recently fallen out of favor …” Salia snorted. “Ha! As you say, Nisa.” She looked towards the rest of the elves. “Our arnhysh becomes once again hard,” she muttered. Tommy didn’t think she knew he could hear.

Ari raised one delicate eyebrow in Salia’s direction, pulling her scarlet hair over one shoulder. “Come Tomilanthus, let us ignore certain people’s hidebound complaints and wake your sister,” she said, boldly changing the subject. Erella frowned.

“This will be something much different than we normally do in the Tol’An. Kneel on this side, then touch your sister with your knees while I do the same on the other.” There were now multiple raised eyebrows from all the elves. “We will be joining hands over top of her before we enter the rite, then we will see what we can see.”

Tommy moved as she directed, glancing nervously at the rest of the elves. They seemed silently disapproving, though not a single expression hinted towards what they were thinking. He was getting progressively more uncomfortable until Salia motioned for Erella and one other to turn, the three giving Tommy their backs, guarding them like Saress had done. But Falia remained watching, her eyes glancing back and forth between Tommy and Ari, and she was obviously considering something very, very hard.

“Come, Tomilanthus.” Ari pulled his attention away. “Allow your mind to drift, your sister is waiting,” she said as she reached with her Tol. “We are doing nothing new. Join me when you are ready.” Then the warm waves of her Tol washed gently against his own.

He closed his eyes, blocking Falia’s gaze while he relaxed his way into the Tol’An. He allowed himself to enter and combine with Ari in the rite they’d practiced almost every day since she started teaching him. And he rested there, laying back to recline in his inner space as he stretched out his mind to look at the pathways twisting around them. Ari formed her Tol into a green terrace which supported his weight, the swirling greys of his own spreading out across her platform while the golds they both shared flashed and flickered back and forth between them.

It was an incredibly peaceful scene. The waking watchfulness that protected him raising its head before immediately retreating to wherever it came from. He could tell Ari was aware of it, but she paid it no mind. Turning to reach out with every bit of their Tol, they moved towards a savannah of varying ambers and tans that stretched out to the horizon before them. Then she took him down from her terrace, swooping playfully forth to explore the plains that they’d found.

“Search for the storm, Tomilanthus,” Ari instructed, her voice gently echoing over the grass. “This plain is Saress. She appears differently to me, but this is how your mind sees her. Explore the web you’ve created and bind with it, before you attempt to change what you see.”

Tommy ignored the grasses shifting around him, peacefully flying over the tawny plains that were lit by a warm, golden sun. The forest was somewhere behind him, the rays of that sun illuminating this part of the land, and pushing back the reds that another was trying to raise somewhere in the distance. The competing colors flashed and flared against one another, the blazing lights showing a shadowy form far off on the horizon. And the forest somehow joined with him as he followed the friendly golden rays towards that tempest in the distance, the woodlands somehow helping him keep the rising red dawn at bay.

“Excellent, Tomilanthus,” Ari’s mesmerizing voice continued. “Follow the path to the storm. I am here, and I will help you.” Her voice drifted and spread its way over the land, calming him as he explored the plains even further.

He sped over a savannah of copper and bronze, the individual strands of the grass lifting up to swirl in his wake. The forest followed and spread out behind him, and an eagle cried somewhere in the distance as he approached the roiling storm. The competing ruddy sunrise grew bolder the closer they got, the reds of its glow becoming almost aware enough to push against him in protest. But it was strangely strangled, striking an invisible wall that somehow, and in some way, he could not find a way past.

He paid the crimson shimmer no further mind, unaffected by its consternation as he was welcomed closer to the storm. A roll of thunder greeted him as he passed the storm’s edge, the blowing wind caressing his soul with an invitingly cool breeze. And he welcomed it, along with the thunder, feeling not a single bit of unease.

The thunder rolled again even louder, a verdant glow arriving beside his grey warmth. “Welcome and greet the storm, Tomilanthus. The storm is you, and you are the storm. Rise up and become one with it.” Then a peace settled over him, the winds blowing widdershins while they lifted him up. And he rose into the heart of the tempest, buoyed by the winds and nothing at all.

“Excellent, Tomilanthus,” Ari’s voice continued. “Accept the storm for what it is and be welcomed by it. Allow yourself to combine with it, be a part of it, and accept the storm into your soul.”

Tommy’s head fell back with her words, the glorious wind supporting him as he relaxed with his arms akimbo. The wind seemed to be telling him something, gently speaking soft words in a manner there was no way to express. The feelings that accompanied them were blessing this communion with sentiments of peace and companionship, while the eagle’s cry came closer as his tranquility spread.

A message formed, communicated to his mind after some interminable time of peace had passed. The storm was waiting for him, staying on guard to protect ever since he had left. It rubbed itself against him, stroking its head against his soul before it chose to lay down, while the harmony of the moment spread forth. And here and there were great volumes of peace to be found, all underneath the roiling grey storm.

“Good, Tomilanthus. Very good. Now release your storm. There’s no need for it to protect her any longer. The plains have been healed. They are safe, ready to be returned to their rightful owner. Allow the storm you have formed to fade,” her voice echoed strangely, bouncing around inside him. “Let your storm pass on its duty and rest.”

He did as the forest requested, silently communicating his need to the storm. The storm rubbed and caressed against him, happily content as it basked in his presence. And it seemed at first, it did not want to go. Tommy not understanding the problem until a new thought entered his mind. Then he opened himself to it, allowing this new idea to swirl smokily there inside him.

The wind, the thunder, and the onyx rain settled themselves into the empty spaces in his mind. The waking watchfulness rose to observe the transfer before settling down with them once more, some door shutting as it returned to its hidden, protective place. Then a silence fell, the storm now gone, and the plains once again calm and at peace.

“Good, Tomilanthus. You are almost done. Now let us leave these plains to Saress. Follow the rays of the sun, Tomilanthus. Return to where we once started. Come back to me, my son. Return to me. Once again to be together, relaxing in the Tol’An.”

Tommy did so, a fiery orange light accompanying his journey with a triumphant cry. He cavorted along with his fiery companion, the grasses swirling as he twisted and spun with joy while they flew. Then he rose swiftly upward and away from the plain, a verdant butte rising like a sentinel above him.

He swirled around the towering protrusion, frolicking playfully with his vermillion escort. Then he climbed and rose beside its steep cliffs, catching sight of a wild forest that topped the immense pillar. The trees there welcomed him with open arms as he approached, their boughs moving of their own accord to gently shelter him when he eventually came to rest. And then his fiery companion flew off into the distance to circle high above, its focus still solely on him.

“Well done, Tomilanthus. Very well done,” her entrancing voice echoed. He felt something soft beside him, a welcoming presence that was happy to see him home. And it settled its weight onto and into him while he allowed it to support part of him, while he drowsily rested there in the boughs.

“Wake when you are ready, Tomilanthus. You have returned to us and done well. I am proud of you, my son.”

Tommy rested within the arms of the trees for some unknown amount of time. The forest gradually faded away in the distance, and the light of his inner spaces returned. Then all he could see were their pathways, stretching off into the distance before him, shining in the gloom.

Ari’s were both sharp and defined, glowing and glistening with the incredible power pulsing its way through. Its crystalline reflections were lighting his own pathways, tubular and twisting by comparison, but still possessing a power obvious to behold. He was pleased that his pathways were becoming more defined, and brought forth a globe, just for the joy of it. And upon opening his eyes, he saw the floating sphere hovering right there before him.

Then he looked to the side to see Ari’s eyes glowing a soft emerald green, that calmly gazed into his own. There was a verdant mist spreading out beneath her, combining with a deep smokey-grey darkness that he now knew was his own. The whirling colors were drifting away on a hidden breeze, disappearing into the spaces he saw in a diaphanous golden webwork of light. It spread out before him; a subtle light, that connected everyone, everywhere, to everything.

And beside him moved his bird, its fiery orange under feathers catching the light of the sun in some mysterious way. It cocked its head at him, twisting it from one side to another as it shifted the weight of its wings. Then it hopped a short distance away, taking wing before flying off into the sky with a clear and triumphant call.

He ignored the wide eyes of the elves as Saress made a soft, gentle noise. Then he reached out his hand, placing it upon her shoulder, something about his presence making her open her eyes. She smiled, her amber eyes focusing on him and then glowing from within as they caught the light from the midday sun. And they sparkled and gleamed, brightly, in the colors of her hidden plain, the coppers, ambers, and bronzes of her soul.

She stretched, sighing contentedly before smiling in their direction. “Arisaylia, Tomilanthus,” she acknowledged with joy. “I have failed you. But it is good you have come, now, that our souls are here. I love you both, more than I ever said ... more than you could possibly know. I fought for you, as hard as I could, but I fell. Can you ever forgive me before we join with Life for our rest?” She smiled beautifully up at them, the last vestiges of their mist disappearing away on the breeze.

“Our souls are not at rest, Saress a’Saliantrea,” Ari gently told her, tears beginning to well. “You have not failed. The family lives ... Tomilanthus has brought you back,” she said as her tears began to fall. “He travelled the tor’biata bar’lin alone and untrained to reach you. Your Taa has unknowingly risked much to keep you safe.” Ari drew in a shaky breath, smiling as she cried. “You have both risked a great deal for family, Taii’ni. Saliantrea’s debt to you is great.”

Saress frowned, looking around, settling her gaze upon Falia before finding Erella, and then Salia with gradually widening eyes. “The attack? … my fall? … the destruction? … the fire upon the plains? … was it a dream?” Her voice filled with wonder.

“No, Saress a’Saliantrea. It was not a dream. You have made the ultimate sacrifice to family. You died, three times to hear Tonat tell it, and each time allowed someone to return your soul to us. You are secure in your arnhysh, Saress. No one will challenge your place in my family, Saress. Never again. No one.”

“I am honored, N’Taii,” Saress replied, clutching Ari’s hand as Ari gripped her shoulder.

“Let it be known,” Ari announced to the elves around her, emotion overwhelming her while Saress stared up into her sparkling green eyes. Wiping tears away from her face with one hand, Ari’s heart swelled with the memory of all Saress had done. And overcome by her feelings, she threw caution to the winds, making a strangely ritualistic design in the air that caused all of the elves’ eyes to widen even further.

“I say this before Life as my witness: I name you Saress Saliantrea, now Saliantrea in truth. May your flesh be one with our flesh. Your life, with our Life. Your soul, with our soul. Never to be separate, in joy by our side. I reject any barriers that come between us. Our bloodlines are now one. We shall walk the webwork of Life together, Saress Saliantrea, as one family, until the ends of time. I, Arisaylia Saliantrea, as head of my line, command it. You, and Saliantrea, are now one.”

Then Ari made another intricate gesture that seemed to hang in the air before them. “May it be known.”

Garesh was making a furious noise in protest, desperately squirming against his restraints amongst the other tied elves. However, not a single one of them was paying any attention, not a single soul even looking away from the poignant scene. The gazes of the elves were fixated upon the members of Saliantrea, the moment somehow being experienced by them all.

“It will be done, Nisa Saliantrea,” Salia acknowledged, bowing formally and low along with the rest. They made a series of gestures, somehow both ceremonial and grand, steps to a dance only the elves knew.

“All will know of what you have done here, Head of Family,” Salia intoned, looking strangely up at them. Then with her eyes settling upon Tommy, she seemed to judge him, ignoring Garesh and his protesting complaints that were coming louder and louder from behind her.

“All will know of this moment, Family Saliantrea. And all shall know of the combining of Saliantrea into a new bloodline.”

Then she lowered her head once more.

“And everyone shall know that you should both be S’tol.”

The Anger of a Mage

“ABOMINATION!”

S’tol Garesh was in the process of having an apoplexy, the elves eventually forced to loosen his bonds and his gag because of how violently he was fighting against them.

Tommy looked over his way, the screeching protests diminishing in volume before returning full on once more. His furious howling was hurting his ears all the way over here, and he could only imagine how Salia felt sitting right there next to him.

“Oi, Tommy. What’d ya’ do ta’ tha’ bastard now?” Mikus asked, leaning against the wagon while watching the elves.

“I didn’t do anything.” Tommy fought against another frown, not appreciating the dwarf’s teasing. Why does everyone think I’m doing something?

“Then what’s tha’ old harpy be screechin’ abou’?” Mikus nodded towards the furious elf, Tommy noticing Garesh was back to glaring his way.

“He doesn’t like something Ari and I did.” Then Tommy glared back at him. I’m getting real tired of everyone looking at me funny. Especially you.

Mikus looked down at him, eventually raising one of his eyebrows. “Ya’ turnin’ inta’ a woman? Yer’ seriously gonna’ make me ask?”

Tommy turned his glare on Mikus before realizing what he had done. His uncle just raised another eyebrow, grinning in the face of Tommy’s anger. Tommy worked both of his shoulders before replying, the dwarf snorting and then looking away. “Sorry. You know that thing Ari and I do each night to teach me my magic?”

“Where ya’ stare at each other fer’ hours on end?”

“Yeah. The Tol’An.” Mikus waved the elven word away. “Apparently the elves don’t like it much. None of them do. Especially him.”

Mikus grunted. “He say why no’?”

“Not yet. Not in common, at least. But he’s been yelling about it in elven for hours.”

Garesh took that moment to screech again in his tongue, his voice gaining volume as he shouted at Salia and the rest even more. The J’al’osil were watching and listening to him in silence, their apparent calm making his yelling stand out even further.

Gods, he really is an ass.

Tommy looked over towards Ari, still sharing quiet words with Saress. Well, at least as many quiet words as they could. Will you shut up? Tommy glared at Garesh. And Saress seemed to sense his eyes on her, turning to smile his way.

“It’s good she be up,” Mikus said.

“Yeah.” Garesh was building himself back up into a tizzy, his words gaining volume in this newest tirade. “Apparently, she’s full family now.”

“Aye?”

“Ari said as much. The elves seemed real serious about it.”

Mikus looked her way before glancing down at him. “Ya’ could definitely do worse than her. Fer’ clan, tha’ be.”

His bird cried out, Tommy glancing its way as it struck the top of the water, pulling a struggling fish out of the Silverlake. It flew off towards the island in the lake’s center, passing his da’ who was sailing his way back to shore. He swore the bird was looking right at him when it landed.

“HERESY!” Garesh concluded, all but spitting out his rage. The outburst pulled Tommy’s attention back to the furious mage. Will you please just shut up?

“Think he’ll peter out soon?” Mikus asked, spitting off to the side.

“I don’t think so,” Tommy admitted, ignoring Garesh’s eyes he could tell were back on him. “He’s been at it for a while.” Yep, back to glaring at me. Tommy smiled and then waved in his direction.

Garesh sputtered and Mikus laughed. “Tha’ other ones, they at it too?” Mikus nodded towards the rest of the elves, ignoring the sputtering tirade from Garesh. It sounded like Garesh was attempting to shout something in dwarvish, but Mikus just evilly grinned.

Salia glanced their way and then back towards Garesh, before looking intently at his mother. Then he heard Ari sigh.

“No, the other ones quieted down ever since Ari said whatever she did when we woke up Saress. Apparently, it’s all a big deal.”

Tommy shrugged, looking over towards Ari and Saress. They were both looking his way, both smiling and ignoring Garesh’s incessant yelling. Saress looked way better, though her ears were currently cocked towards the irate mage.

Will you stop bloody shouting?

Tommy glared as Saress’s eyes flickered back towards the mage at something he was yelling. Then Salia made another one of those stupid gestures the elves always seemed to be making around Ari, and seeing it just incensed Garesh further. He started pointing his hand at Tommy while all but screaming in Salia’s face, his face turning purple before Salia gestured to him once more.

Maybe Garesh will actually choke on his screaming … He’s turning colors enough, Tommy grumped, sending the furious mage another blatantly fake smile.

Mikus put a hand on his shoulder, chuckling while the elf worked himself up into a sputtering fury once more. “Oi, Tommy. It no’ be nice ta’ be teasin’ ‘em when they’re all tied up like tha’,” Mikus drawled. “I’m guessin’ we could be lettin’ him out, though.” He rubbed his chin. “An’ be givin’ him a spear ... Feel like givin’ tha’ mage a beatin’?”

A passing member of the troop laughed. “Nice one, Mikus. I’d like to see that. Mind if the rest of us watch?”

“Oh, aye. I’ll put me odds on Tommy beatin’ him, Haleran. He’s a puny one; old, too. Wonder if he’ll shaddup after tha’?” Mikus grinned. “I wanna’ be fightin’ one a tha’ other ones though,” he said while another elf glared.

“Can we take on the rest?” Haleran asked. Him, Werin and Dorn stopping to watch.

“Oh, aye. Think tha’ blasted sprites be wantin’ in on it, too?”

Werin chuckled. “You seriously have to ask?”

How would you like that? Tommy glared at the mage. Not so tough without your magic, are you?

Garesh just glared.

Ari called Falia over, asking her something in elven before Falia nodded and walked over his way. “Nisa Saliantrea asks that you meet with your father, Tomilanthus. She would like it if you could escort him to her side.” Falia ever so slightly bowed when she finished speaking.

“Sure.” Tommy looked at her oddly, her deference standing out from how everyone else in the troop behaved. It was like she thought he was someone important or something. Gods, she’s probably just as crazy as he is, too.

“She also asks if you would stop inciting the S’tol.”

“I’m not doing a bloody thing!” Tommy threw his hands in the air, glaring in the mage’s direction. “It’s not me that’s screeching like a fishwife calling someone else an abomination! The moody bottom feeder … What did I ever do to him?”

Falia flinched before bobbing her head, and Tommy felt a little bad about losing his temper, but Mikus boomed out a great laugh. “I’ll come wi’ ya’, lad. Screech over there be hurtin’ me ears.” He kept chuckling. “Get back ta’ work tha’ rest of ye, let’s leave tha’ sorry bastard alone.” Mikus hooked a thumb over his shoulder towards the mage, a huge grin plastered on his face seeing Garesh’s fury.

“Maybe som’un will stab him while we’re gone,” Mikus mumbled. “You comin’ lass? Or you stayin’ wi’ screech here?” he asked Falia, putting his hand on Tommy’s shoulder and pushing him towards shore.

“No, Master Gemhands,” she answered, looking gratefully in the dwarf’s direction. “I will remain by the Nisa’s side.”

“Master Gemhands? Ha! Ain’t no ‘Master Gemhands’ around here. Unless yer’ knowin’ me da’s dead fer’ sure.” Mikus guffawed.

Mikus’s laugh drew another round of glares from Garesh, along with even more harsh words. His eyes were like a storied demon, spearing Tommy while filled with their hate.

Go suck on a rotten fish, you arse, Tommy frowned, sending the mage a mock salute. Then Garesh flew off into another tirade, spittle flying from his lips as he spewed forth whatever vile words escaped him.

Falia and the rest of the elves flinched.

“You should go, Tomilanthus.” Falia bowed her head.

“Yeah, I’m starting to think someone really doesn’t like me.”

Mikus guffawed, a deep belly laugh from low in his center. “Well said, lad. Well said. We’ll be makin’ a dwarf outta’ ya’ yet.” He laughed, slapping Tommy heartily on the back. “C’mon lad, let’s go before happy o’er there works himself up inta’ a stroke.”

They wandered down towards shore, leaving Falia with the other elves amidst Garesh’s sputterings. His da’ was about halfway there too, spray coming up from the bow of the boat as he sailed in from the lake. He only had a partial load this time from what Tommy could see, and his da’ waved when he caught sight of them

“What’s all the racket?” his da’ yelled as he got closer to shore. He heeled the boat over, Tommy and a few of the others catching his tossed line before pulling him in. They tied the boat off, his da’ lowering and then stowing the sail.

“Garesh,” Tommy grumbled, hooking his thumb his way. “He woke up while Ari and me were healing Saress. Ari said something, and apparently screech doesn’t like it. Most of what he’s upset about has to do with the Tol’An … and something about me, too.”

“ABOMINATION!” floated its way towards them, easily heard despite how far away Garesh was. They all paused to look in his direction, the mage still glaring daggers their way. His da’ placed his hand on Tommy’s shoulder, standing side by side while they looked back at Garesh.

“Screech, huh? Sounds like as good a name as any,” His da’ smirked. “Let’s get the catch unloaded,” he called out to the men. “Maybe he’ll calm down while we work.”

“Not likely …” Tommy muttered. He grabbed a piece of the net, working with the others to lift it out of the boat. “What’s going to happen to him, da’?” Tommy asked after another round of furious shouting. The members of the troop perked up with his question.

“I don’t know, Tommy. Salia, Erella, and the others that swore their oaths to Ari aren’t going anywhere. Your mother says we can give them back their weapons …” His da’ stopped to study the elves, ignoring the ones tied up while inspecting the rest. “… and I trust her. But between you and me, it seems premature.”

Mikus grunted his agreement, and a few of the others did as well. “Yer’ no’ gonna’ be givin’ ‘em back their weapons?” Mikus stated more than he asked.

“Not until I have to,” Donnor admitted.

Mikus thought about that for a moment and then spat. “Good.”

“What’s good?” Keris asked, walking up.

“Not givin’ tha’ blasted elves back their weapons,” Mikus answered.

“I thought that was a given.”

“Well, it is for now, at least,” Donnor replied as Garesh got even louder.

“How long is he gonna’ keep that up?” Keris asked.

“Dunno’,” Donnor said, tossing a fish further up towards shore. “He seems like he’s really mad.” His da’ subtly grinned.

“What about?”

“Well, right now with all the ‘abominations’ and ‘heresies’, I’m thinking it has something to do with what Tommy and Ari did to get Saress back on her feet. Tommy kinda confirmed that ...” Donnor hooked his thumb at Tommy. “... But who knows? I don’t really care what his problem is.

“Hey, Arbet? What’d you do with the smoke rack?” His da’ sounded annoyed, waving towards where it should be.

“It’s over there, Commander,” Arbet nodded towards the bathing area. “They’re washing it off. We didn’t get all the fish off of it with the last batch and it started to stink.”

Donnor grunted, shading his eyes from the sun. “Well, at least we can start cleaning this batch while we wait.”

“Hey, Da’? Ari wanted to see you when you came in. Falia said she was asking for you. She’s over on the other side of the wagon with Saress and the rest of the wounded.”

His da’ eyed him for a moment before looking over towards the wagon where the wounded and the rest of the elves were. “Do you seriously think I’m going over there? You must think I’m nuts. By all the gods, no.”

He stopped to listen to Garesh’s ongoing complaints, then huffed before mumbling something under his breath. “No. Call me a coward, but I think I’m just going to stay right here. Knowing Garesh … screech you called him? … Knowing screech, he’d start in on me next.”

Mikus grinned. “Never let a woman or a priest yell at ya’ in public, lad. Ya’ always look like an arse when ya’ be yellin’ back.” Donnor grunted, grabbing a fish.

Tommy settled in with the rest of the troop and began cleaning the catch, a chore so ingrained into his consciousness he didn’t even need to think about it. He watched as Nalin and Kordin carried the smoking rack over, positioning it over the fire while Garesh continued his endless complaints. He could hear some of the elves responding every now and then while the two built the fire back up under the rack. Then Tommy placed a cleaned filet on the table, adding to the pile of meat already there while the heat of the flames dried the rack.

Garesh sounded like he was yelling at the elves once again and Tommy thought, better them than me.

“Thanks,” Arbet said as Kordin and Nalin came over, joining them in cleaning the fish. After Arbet finished a few more filets, he hung the prepared fish on the rack, arranging them just so. Then he put out a bit of the fire, getting the temperature down to where it was needed. Then adding some wet wood, it started to smoke.

Donnor hung his most recent filet while Haleran put the blanket over the rack that they used to concentrate the smoke. But Garesh started yelling again, catching sight of his da’, and kept at it. It was a shame, really; He’d almost calmed down.

“Tha’ bastard’s really goin’ at it, this time.” Mikus was shaking his head. “Ya’ sure we canna’ jus’ kill him?”

“Seriously?”

“I be makin’ it quick.” A couple of the others made noises of agreement.

“We’re not gonna’ kill him.”

“Yer’ no fun,” Mikus grumped. “Know wha’ he’s sayin’?” he asked after a moment.

Donnor looked at the rest of the men before meeting Mikus’s eyes. “No. More of the same, I guess.”

“Ah, right,” Mikus said quickly. “Be nice ta’ know what he’s up in arms abou’, though.”

“Donnor, were you ever going to come over?” Ari called, sounding thoroughly annoyed.

Tommy looked up to see her helping Saress their way, Falia underneath Saress’s other arm. Saress was walking mostly under her own power, but shakily from what Tommy could see. She had her belt of knives fastened around her waist, and that cut an interesting image along with her borrowed dress.

“Well, at least yer’ honest,” Mikus drawled, going back to cleaning his fish.

The three women looked at each other before Ari finally asked. “What are you talking about, Mikus?”

“Not you, her.” He waved his knife towards Saress.

“What do you want now, master dirt?” Saress frowned, the slightest bit of twinkle in her eye. “I just got up. Are you so rude you cannot allow me a moment to rest?”

“Don’ be gettin’ yer’ knickers up in a twist. I jus’ be complementin’ ya’ on yer’ outfit. A woman in a dress wearin’ her knives out in tha’ open ... it be refreshin’ ta’ see. A man no’ havin’ ta’ wonder abou’ when he’s gonna’ be stabbed is a gift,” he said with a toothy grin.

Keris sputtered and then laughed, then Saress began shaking her head. She straightened herself up, walking steadily over, her grin getting wider the closer she got. “You never quit, do you?”

“Aww, ya’d miss me.”

“Hold still. I’m tired and need to rest my arm on something. You’re about the right height.”

“Ah, quit yer’ bellyachin’, yer’ fine. It’d take more than a couple o’ stabbin’s ta’ keep ya’ down.”

Saress chuckled. “I think you’re the one who needs a couple of stabbings. Miss me?”

“Nah. But I always did wanna’ see a kitty cat in a dress. Heard things abou’ tha’, too. Nice arse by tha’ way. Think ya’ could be showin’ me some leg?”

Falia looked like she was about ready to choke or explode, Tommy wasn’t quite sure. But Ari put a hand on her, placing a finger to her lips while Falia looked to her in surprise.

Shaking her head at him, Saress pulled out one of her daggers, studying the blade before smiling down at the dwarf. Nobody commented that she grunted while lowering herself to sit, but it was obvious it took her some effort. “Show you some leg? I don’t think so.”

“Aww, c’mon. Jus’ a wee little bit? Yer’ in a dress an’ all already.” He made a big show of wiggling his eyes at her while he reached for her skirt.

Saress laughed. “Try it,” she said sweetly. “It’s been a couple of days since I trimmed my claws.”

Mikus guffawed, watching her pick the tip of one with one of her blades. “It’s good ta’ see ya’ up, lass. Here, have a fish.” He tossed one her way. “It been kinda’ borin’ around here wi’out ya’.”

“Thanks,” Saress deadpanned then looked at the fish, but started cleaning it anyway. “It won’t be boring much longer.”

“How’s tha’?”

“Well, your admirer woke up before me. She’s right over there.” Saress pointed, then smiled prettily. She gutted the fish with one of her knives, then tossed the filet up on the table. “You can discuss her dying affection for you now, any time you want.” She chuckled, everyone seeing Mikus’s grimace.

“Ya’ had ta’ go an’ remind me,” Mikus complained while everyone around them laughed.

“Aren’t you sweet?”

“Ah, shaddup, you.”

“So, what can I do for you, Ari?” Donnor asked as the laughter died down, making Garesh’s complaints easy to hear once more. “And what’s he so upset about?” Donnor hooked a thumb towards the mage.

Falia looked at him in confusion before she suddenly blanked her face. Glancing casually around towards the rest of the troop, she looked almost shocked when Saress grabbed another fish. Then even more so when she took out one of her special knives and began to clean it.

“Me, mainly. Well, Tommy and me, that is,” Ari answered. “The Tol’An, the meditation Tommy and I do whenever we can? Well, it’s fallen out of favor over the years in the Vale. The masters don’t like it much when it’s used.”

Falia’s jaw fell open as Ari said that. “Out of favor?” she sputtered.

Then Saress snorted, while blatantly rolling her eyes.

Hidden in Plain Sight

Mikus let out a huge belly laugh. “Fallen outta’ favor? Ha! Seems ta’ me like yer’ sayin’ jumpin’ in tha’ lake will only be makin’ me a wee little bit damp. Fallen outta’ favor ...” Mikus was shaking his head, and then spat. “Wha’ kinda shite do ya’ think yer’ sellin’?”

Ari frowned, Falia even more so, but Ari eventually sighed and responded. “Fine. It fell out of favor over a thousand years ago. Certain … abuses … can be made if it’s improperly used. But it’s still the easiest method to train a new practitioner outside of the college. Tommy would only be attempting to touch his Tol right now if we were in Sirikii, and Garesh doesn’t like it, or that.”

“Which makes it a good thing you’re using it,” his da’ confirmed. “Things would’ve happened a lot differently if Tommy hadn’t been able to do what he’s done.”

Tommy ducked his head, embarrassed as everyone expressed their agreement. He glanced up, seeing Ari and his da’ looking at him in obvious pride. Everyone in the troop was looking at him in a new way ever since whatever happened did ...

… And he still wasn’t sure he liked it. He’d been floating after all.

At least I know someone who definitely doesn’t like it, he thought after hearing more of his shouting. Then he turned to glare at Garesh when he didn’t stop. Will you please shut up?

“As far as I’m concerned, do what needs to be done,” Donnor said, pulling attention away from his son. “But we need to tone down that noise,” he said, acknowledging Garesh’s renewed screeching. “We’re safe for the moment, but who knows for how long.”

“He should wind down in a few moments, Ilari. He’s been listing the pertinent edicts of the council … and he’s almost made his way through.” Ari eyed the bound mage in distaste. “We can’t kill him,” she suddenly said out of nowhere.

“Nobody said anything about killing him,” Donnor replied, watching as Salia untied one of the elves beside Garesh. He tapped Saress to get her attention, placing another knife by his side, but she shook her head. The mage sputtered something more, then a flurry of gestures flitted the S’tol’s way before Salia escorted the new elf in their direction.

Ari turned, giving Donnor a knowing look. “He also can’t end up dead while everyone says ‘it wasn’t me’,” she deadpanned. Most of the people along shore suddenly started concentrating on cleaning their fish, not a single one of them meeting her eyes. “He’s still a master of the Vale, Ilari. Even if he is ... like this.” She waved a frustrated hand in the mage’s direction.

“Yup, he sure is. Would be a damn shame, though.” Donnor’s lack of inflection spoke louder than words.

“You’re never going to understand, Ilari.” Ari sighed, waving to acknowledge his frown. “You’re just not an elf. Please, Donnor, just trust me on this. The loss of a master, even him, would be a tragedy for the Vale.”

“A tragedy, huh?” Donnor muttered, cocking his head to listen to another round of complaints from Garesh. What only he and the other elves knew was that Garesh was currently commanding Salia and the rest to subdue Ari, kill him and then Tommy, before taking her back to the Vale. “Yeah … Pretty sure it’d be a great big damn shame.”

“Donnor, you can’t kill him,” Ari insisted, only getting a grunt in reply.

Salia and the unnamed elf frowned at her insistent words, sitting down off to one side. The new elf was watching Saress cleaning her fish with one of her special knives, something about the way he watched radiating his disapproval. Then after a moment, he asked Saress something quietly in elven. Saress responded pleasantly enough, then the conversation along shore awkwardly died out as the elves spoke back and forth with Saress in their tongue.

“Oh, fer’ Maker’s sake, yer’ like a bunch o’ women. They jus’ be sittin’ there, talkin’.” Mikus jerked his thumb towards the elves, chastising the members of the troop. “Ya’ tied ‘em ta’ trees fer’ Maker’s sake, then fed ‘em poison fer’ days. Sure, they been attackin’ us, but I say yer’ even. They ain’t gonna’ bite.”

Saress snorted. “Delicately put as always, Master Gemhands. Were you a politician in a past life?”

“Ah, shaddup, you.” The people around them grinned.

“Nisa Saliantrea. Will you release the S’tol?” Salia quietly asked after a moment, making a formal gesture her way.

“When he is calm, and promises no harm, I will consider it.”

The new elf glanced towards Salia, then Salia gestured for him to proceed. Tommy recognized him as one of the quiet ones, one who’d said little but seemed to observe more. He bowed his head slightly in Ari’s direction, much less than the other elves before opening his mouth to speak.

“I am called Jahad, Nisa. Before I took my oath to the J’al’osil, I was of Family Oan’talin.” He bowed his head again, making a different gesture. “As is the S’tol you have bound.”

He seemed to take a deep breath, carefully considering his words before speaking. “I am first and foremost J’al’osil, Nisa, as are all before me. But Oan’talin has been second family to Farlesdar for generations. Our ties between families are strong, and the accusations you make, the binding of a S’tol … These things, Nisa,” he trailed off, glancing towards the listening group. “These things would be hard to stomach in the Vale, let alone for one of our family, or as a member of the J’al’osil.”

He bowed his head and then waited, Ari motioning for Jahad to continue, understanding how unprecedented the situation was. Saress tossed a filet towards the table and then grabbed another fish, watching the elf intently.

“Nisa Arisaylia Saliantrea, I must ask before Life and the Vale, do you understand the accusations you make?” There seemed to be some kind of heavy weight accompanying his words, more so than there should be.

It was very quiet around the cleaning table, everyone continuing to work while they listened in silence. Even Garesh was quiet, Tommy realized, hearing Rast quietly translating for Tonat and Ahton who had appeared off to the side. Garesh’s eyes were fixated upon them, veering off to glance rapidly around at those present before returning to rest on Jahad. Everyone not on lookout had come to within earshot too, the banks along shore suspiciously more crowded than they had been before.

Ari looked around at the troop before meeting the elf’s eyes. “No, Jahad, I do not understand every aspect of the accusations I make. I only found out I am an heir; I never received an heir’s teachings. I was locked in my room for a decade, after all.”

She looked out over the lake, her eyes both sad and seeing very far away. “But I can make an educated guess as to what they might be,” she admitted.

Ari bent and grabbed a fish, borrowing one of Saress’s knives before starting to clean it. “Regardless of what the ramifications are, Jahad, I say this to the J’al’osil: I name S’tol Garesh oath breaker and kinslayer before Life and the Vale. And I name Alaris Farlesdar as the author of the false order to slay. Though I have not received an heir’s teachings, even I know this is a grave afront.”

She looked uncomfortable. “My father is Wi’Jitikiin, after all.” Then she trailed off, staring off into space.

Jahad nodded. “Yes, he is, Nisa. He has also called you to council.”

“I know.”

“As have the other Wi’Jitikiin.”

“I know this as well.”

“We are J’al’osil, Nisa.”

She glanced towards Donnor, biting her lower lip. Then she seemed to make a decision. “Donnor, it is time. With Garesh bound and accused, anything more we say is suspect.”

“So?”

“We have to declare ourselves to end this.”

“We already have.”

“Not officially.”

“Who cares?”

“It’s one of those things, Donnor. It’s important to the Vale.”

“I don’t like playing politics, Arisaylia. You’re forcing them on me.”

“Not intentionally.”

“Why should we declare it to him?” He chucked his chin at Jahad.

“The J’al’osil keep our traditions when a S’tol is not present.”

“I thought Salia was in charge.” He waved towards her with his knife. “Let her tell it. She already knows.”

“Declarations must be done in person.” Ari looked towards Jahad. “And I have a feeling that things are not what they seem.”

“Now there’s a surprise,” Donnor grumbled. “This reeks of more politics, Arisaylia.”

“I don’t think we have much of a choice.”

“You’re only telling me this now?”

“I only began to question it now.”

“This isn’t what we discussed, Ari.”

“I know.”

Donnor grunted and threw a filet on the table as Ari did the same. They both paused while reaching for another fish, seemingly in deep communion through both of their eyes. Then Donnor lowered his gaze and started to clean a fish, while Ari turned her face towards Jahad.

“Saliantrea calls upon the J’al’osil to bear witness.”

“The J’al’osil stand ready,” Jahad intoned.

Ari nodded and reached out towards Donnor, taking ahold of his hand before she did the same to Tommy. “I declare Donnor Silverspear as my bond and my mate, and father to our child. I name Tomilanthus Saliantrea as our son, recently achieving his third six, and sole heir to my line. And I proclaim Saress Saliantrea my daughter, as well as ‘Jantoen, protector of both my sept and my line. These things I say to the J’al’osil to guard and hold within the annals of the Vale. May Life be my witness, I swear all to be true.”

Ari formally bowed her head before making a curious gesture, Saress and the elves nodding her way in return. Then she ended, “May it be known.”

Jahad looked towards everyone around, turning in place to study the elves that remained bound. His eyes seemed to linger on Garesh for a time, who surprisingly remained silent, intently studying Jahad in turn. Then Jahad returned his gaze to studying Salia, and then Saress, who nodded to whatever he said with his eyes.

“Nisa Arisaylia Saliantrea, the J’al’osil hear you.” He bowed, making a series of complicated gestures that followed his quiet words. “But the J’al’osil have questions, and those questions must be answered before our judgement is made.” A queer formality overtook the elves present. “Do you stand ready before Life to answer?”

“I do,” Ari replied, and then Jahad nodded.

“I was there when it was revealed, announcing your place before all as heir to the Wi’Jitikiin,” Jahad intoned. Garesh made a sound in protest but then quieted when Jahad glared his way. “Despite many words said otherwise,” his voice deepened, becoming strong though rough, “I was there. I know what I know, and I saw what I saw before council.

“A bond was declared in full council, Arisaylia Saliantrea, before all of the Wi’Jitikiin by another heir. Now you declare a mate and a child to the J’al’osil … acknowledging this … Nu’Surledyn … as the heir to your family.” He waved a dismissive gesture towards Tommy.

“You petition the J’al’osil to give credence to your claim, to acknowledge its veracity while guarding the blood of your sept. This cannot be so, Nisa, another bond already exists ... acknowledged before Life and the Vale.” He wet his tongue to his lips, a nervous tick he seemed completely unaware of. “Can you explain how this is so?”

Ari nodded, Saress tossing another filet on the table. “Donnor Silverspear and I swore a binding oath to each other many years ago, before he was cast out on my father’s word, Jahad. Our child was given to him before he was banished, then he was hunted, I now suspect by my father’s orders as well. I was kept cloistered on my family’s estate to hide the secret of this child and our union, only allowed off once I had agreed to the arrangement between Farlesdar and Saliantrea. These are things I both know or suspect.”

Jahad bowed his head, making a deferential gesture. “And to Farlesdar’s accusation? Did you leave the Vale carrying a child of that union, Nisa?”

“Yes, I did.” Jahad frowned. “The progeny of our union was born less than a year ago now, in a village called Lakeside, along the southern shores of the Serensea. I named our daughter Di’ii, and she was born healthy, beautiful, and whole.” Ari paused to look out over the lake.

“But the child of that union was killed by the ondilaan, Jahad, as I’m certain you already know. Her soul was sent to its rest through ceremony before witness. These things I also know and declare.”

“And the bond between you and Farlesdar?” Jahad asked.

“Broken, since after our child’s death.” Ari raised her right hand, showing her palm to the elves while flexing her Tol. It was something Jahad couldn’t tell, but both Tommy and Garesh could feel strongly. “There is no bond. This I declare before all.”

“Do you so swear it?” Jahad looked strangely intent. “Knowing that you give testimony before a Hand of the Vale? That your words cannot be taken back or altered in any way once your oath has been given? Think carefully, Saliantrea. You and your family’s arnhysh are in your hands.”

“Before Life and mine own honor, I do so swear it,” Arisaylia fiercely answered him, using that ancient oath, her eyes ablaze with power as she made it.

Jahad met her eyes calmly, looking from her to Garesh and then back again before bowing his head low. “I hear and see you, Arisaylia Saliantrea ...” He made a new series of gestures, somehow formal while almost stately in how they flowed. “… and bear witness before Life to your words. The J’al’osil have heard the accusations against you and your sept, and the words you have given in response. There is credence to your claims. Acknowledging that there are questions that need answering, we accept you as head of your line.” Garesh grunted. “As a Hand of the Vale, Saliantrea, I hear you. The J’al’osil will now investigate your claims ...

“However, I caution you, Nisa. You have made claims against a pillar of the Wi’Jitikiin, then against the heir of another. Grave claims, Nisa, that cannot be retracted or left unanswered now that they have been made. It has become a matter of arnhysh for our people, Arisaylia Saliantrea, and the Vale cannot leave it to stand.

“If your words are proven to be falsehoods, it will be assumed you have used your position to gain favor this day. You will be one of the foresworn, and everything associated with you and yours will become forfeit. Every mention of you will be hunted until struck, your nameless tale held as a warning for all time, to caution those who might think to repeat your actions.”

He paused, never looking away from her eyes. “You will become anathema to Life, Nisa. An enemy of both arnhysh and the Vale.” His pronouncement was met with stony silence, and he seemed impressed that Ari never once looked away. “Do you understand what I say to you this day?”

Ari gripped Donnor and Tommy’s hands with white knuckles, but her words were steady and sure. “I do, Jahad … before Life and mine own honor, I so swear it.”

Garesh let out a surprised grunt, as did a few of the others. Jahad looked towards the other J’al’osil in silence, before once again looking away. “Then the J’al’osil will see it done.” He bowed his head. “We must be released to go.”

“Will you take Garesh?”

“We must. His power must be returned to the Vale, as you well know. You must release him for his journey, Nisa.”

Donnor grunted, the ch’ten chittering rapidly along with the suddenly protesting troop.

“Who are you to demand such a thing?” Donnor asked.

“I am who I am, Nessa, an elf of no consequence. Simply one of the J’al’osil.” Then Jahad slowly signed the silence of the Vale, as he looked straight into Donnor’s eyes. Saress grunted, as did a few of the other elves.

“I will not release him, Jahad,” Ari said, pulling attention away. She had felt Donnor fight not to react through the bond. “I have named Garesh both oath breaker and kinslayer, and I will not retract my claim. The oath you know of, and my kin in question is here.” She indicated Saress.

“He is not yours to try.” Jahad frowned.

“I make no claim that he is. But I say he is rabid. He will not harm another soul until he is questioned, and there is no council to question him here.”

“There is no council that can question a S’tol beyond the full council of the Wi’Jitikiin, Nisa. In Sirikii, as you are also well aware. It is where both you and he must go to lay rest to your claim. And is also where you are summoned to go … even if that summons may now be suspect.”

A few of the elves grunted at this final statement as well, Garesh sputtering in protest.

“You must return to Sirikii, Nisa Arisaylia Saliantrea,” Jahad insisted. “Whether you wish it or not.”

“I will not go.”

“Then this will not end,” Jahad acknowledged. “Know this, Arisaylia Saliantrea. I can and will investigate your claim, the J’al’osil can do no less. But until you stand before the full council of the Wi’Jitikiin in their chambers in Sirikii, and give voice to your claim before Life as your witness, there will be no change.”

Arisaylia inclined her head but remained silent, Jahad holding her gaze for many long moments before speaking once more. “J’al’osil Saress? If I ordered you to bring the heir of Saliantrea to Sirikii?” he asked, not looking away from Ari’s face.

“I would question that order … Jahad,” Saress answered him in her striking sibilant voice, strangely deferent to the man.

“Then you have made your choice,” he declared, still not looking away. “I strip you of your oath to us, Saress Saliantrea, though oath breaker I name you not. I acknowledge here and now that you died fulfilling your oath, because I did witness the final strike. You gave yourself freely, choosing your path to make a final sacrifice before admitting defeat, a sacrifice all J’al’osil might one day be called upon to make.”

He turned to look at her. “And through it all, you fought well. For it was my blade that pierced you, there in the end. And it was through my actions that you were brought low. I was the reason you started your soul’s journey upon the webwork of Life, Saress, and the path that led to your journey is something you have earned the right to know. This, I declare, before Life and all of my brethren now present. May it be known.

“Saress Saliantrea.” He made a formal gesture her way. “You are free of your oath and your burden to us. The J’al’osil wish you well. You may go.”

“Warden,” Saress bowed her head, seemingly moved though strangely at peace, despite his heavy words.

“Nisa Saliantrea, the J’al’osil must leave here to investigate your claim.” He nodded towards those tied to the stakes. “The rest must come to protect the S’tol if you will not release him. We will need our weapons. It is a long journey to the Vale.”

Ari looked towards Donnor who wasn’t happy, working both of his shoulders in protest. “I will not release his Tol, Jahad”

“I no longer ask.”

“You really just expect us to let you go?” Donnor asked.

“Salia and her toulan will remain.”

“For what purpose?”

“To protect the heir.” Donnor just blinked at him. “Is that so hard for you to believe?”

“I’m never going to understand you elves,” Donnor complained.

Jahad inclined his head. “Understanding is not required.”

“So, I’m just supposed to let you walk away with all of your weapons?” Donnor looked around at the troop, and then at the ch’ten. There were a lot of frowns and unhappy faces there. “After what you did?”

“If it is the will of your mate, then yes.”

Ari squeezed his hand. “Just forget what has happened?” Donnor eyed Jahad.

“If that is your path to follow, Nessa. But we must leave here for the will of your mate to be done.”

“Who are you?”

“That is unimportant.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

The bird took that moment to land on the beach, and the ch’ten took notice. They began talking, and Donnor listened to their chittering while staring out over the lake. He could feel Ari wanting him to accept through the bond as he looked over at her. Then Tommy nodded, and then Saress as well. And then Donnor sighed.

“So be it.”

It was then, that the lookouts cried.

Dark Tidings

Everyone whipped their heads up towards the lookouts and saw Ladig sprinting their way.

“Report!” Donnor called out.

“We don’t know,” Ladig said. “The lookouts up by the old road are signaling ‘run’ and ‘alarm’. Whatever they’re seeing, it’s big. They haven’t stopped.”

“Damn. Keris? Take three; figure out what’s going on.”

“Commander.” Keris saluted fist to chest, trotting quickly away.

“Mikus, get the men up and armed ... And ready to go, just in case.”

“Aye, lad.”

“And have Alarat and Camm get the animals ready!” Donnor shouted after him, getting a wave in return.

Sitting here had bugged him for days, but they’d needed answers. He looked off towards the lookouts, getting a sinking feeling in his chest. Why did this have to happen now?

“You.” Donnor fixed his eyes on Jahad. “Are you going to do something stupid while this is going on?”

“Define stupid?” Jahad asked. Donnor just looked at him, and Jahad inclined his head.

“I protected the toulan while you were vulnerable, as I protected my line, as well. You are not to make trouble for these men, Jahad of the J’al’osil. You will go in peace, or you will not go at all. Am I clear?” Ari demanded in elven.

Jahad nodded, but didn’t look happy.

Donnor glanced towards Ari, seeing the fierceness there, then looked back to Jahad. “Well?” he forced himself to ask, maintaining the illusion he didn’t understand what had been said.

“We will leave without issue, Silverspear.”

“Fine. Your weapons are over there.” He nodded towards the wagon. “Free your people and go.”

Jahad inclined his head, glancing at Salia before walking away.

Donnor turned towards her. “How about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you going to do anything stupid?”

“The heir must have an escort.” Something about her stance voiced a challenge to him.

“Really?”

Ari placed her hand on his back. “Let it go, Ilari. They will be coming with us whether you want them or not.”

“You trust them that much?” he asked, not caring at all that Salia was standing right there. Then Donnor frowned, feeling her acceptance of them through the bond. He didn’t like the elves staying one bit, especially with the thought of them being armed. Then Ari’s eyes twinkled, obviously hearing his opinions loud and clear through the bond. “Fine. Under what circumstances?” Salia looked oddly his way.

“As my guard and escort,” Ari answered.

“This isn’t the Vale, Arisaylia. They’ll follow my commands?”

“The J’al’osil do not take orders from you,” Salia declared.

“Salia!” Ari protested, a series of furious gestures going back and forth between them.

Donnor scrubbed his face while Feya or Deya, he couldn’t tell which, trotted down the hill in their direction. Now what? Salia was looking less and less happy, her and Ari’s silent conversation still going on.

“I will not split my command, Salia,” Donnor interrupted. “I don’t care who you think you are, but this isn’t the Vale. I don’t have time to–”

“Commander!” Deya shouted. “The lookouts are running back. They keep signing ‘danger’ over and over again. Keris says something’s wrong and thinks we should start pulling out. He’s kinda worried.”

“MIKUS?” Donnor hollered, his voice easily cutting through the din. Mikus’s head came up, then Donnor twirled one of his fingers in a circle over his head signaling the troop to muster. Tommy heard Mikus’s ‘blasted hells’ floating their way on the wind.

“Deya, get back to Keris. Arbet? Tear that table down. Save what food you can and load it onto the wagon. Ari? The wounded, get them on the wagon too. We might need to leave in a hurry. If Tonat or Ahton is over there, get the ch’ten up to reinforce Keris and then figure out what else he needs.”

“Yes, Ilari. Come, Tomilanthus.”

Dammit. What’s on its way here? Donnor glanced up towards the rise.

“Not you, Salia,” Donnor said as she started to follow. “You and I still have things to talk about.”

“The J’al’osil will protect the heir.”

“Protect her all you want. There’s more than one of you. Find someone else.”

Salia studied him before turning away, then whistled like one of the tiny birds found all over the Serensea. Erella glanced up, trotting off towards Ari after the two of them exchanged gestures. “You wished to speak?” Salia asked guardedly, watching Erella gather four other elves around Ari.

Donnor nodded, moving closer to the wagon, glancing every now and then towards the rise. The troop was tearing down various things, Mikus encouraging anyone not moving fast enough with a few well-chosen, sarcastic words. Donnor stopped in the center of the chaos, making sure he stood where everyone could see.

“Ari tells me you’re basically a captain of the guard.”

“This is true.”

Alarat was leading the artock over towards the wagon; the huge six-legged creature stretching out to placidly munch on the grass when it stopped. Donnor considered everything they had to bring with them and decided they had too much for just the wagon.

“Alarat? Get that platform back up on the artock,” Donnor ordered, seeing Keris make a series of signals towards the lookouts over the hill. It frustrated him he couldn’t see the replies, but Keris kept signing ‘repeat’ and ‘confirm’ which was worrying.

Alarat waved a hand in acknowledgement, collecting other people to help.

Donnor turned back to the elf at his side. “What do you see as your role here?” he asked Salia.

“Protecting Saliantrea.”

“How many of you?”

“My toulan.”

“So, six?”

“Yes.”

“You realize we’re heading south?”

“We know your mission.”

Donnor grunted. Someone let out a piercing whistle that at first, he didn’t recognize. Camm had one arm under Shandii supporting her weight, while every single one of the correts trotted her way. The immense birds stopped as a group in front of her, one of them stretching out its serpentine neck to look her in the eye. Looks like she’s going to ride it, Donnor realized, surprised she was willing to try; She could barely stand.

“I expect your support, or you and I are going to have problems,” he continued with Salia.

Shandii was explaining something to Camm, obviously getting frustrated since her arms started waving wildly about. Donnor heard Camm say ‘it’s your funeral’ before helping her to climb up onto the back of the lead corret. Amazingly, the bird held still.

“What support?”

“If the troop fights, you fight. If the troop need scouts, you scout. If you know something that might help us, you help. It’s not that hard.”

“We don’t take orders from you.”

Donnor just looked at her. “This isn’t the Vale, Pathfinder. You’ve shown you’ll take orders from Ari, and she’s coming along. She’ll give you to me, Strike Leader, don’t doubt that for a second. Do you really need me to ask?”

Salia scowled. “We won’t spend our lives for your troop. The heir must come first.”

“We live and die as a group, Salia.” Donnor held onto her with his eyes. “I’m not going to ask anyone to do anything I won’t do.” Donnor turned away to watch Keris trotting down from the rise. “Are we going to have a problem?”

Salia made a noncommittal sound, but Donnor kept his eyes on Keris. One of the twins was shouting something to him as he continued trotting closer. And Keris didn’t look happy, not happy one bit.

Damn it.

“LEADERS, TO ME!” Donnor shouted, remaining still until everyone had arrived. Salia was looking thoughtful, but he ignored her along with the rest of the elves escorting Ari. Ari had Tommy, Shandii, and Alantin in tow as she arrived. Shandii was up on her corret, the bird eyeing them evilly while standing sideways to the group. Amazingly, the damned thing held still.

“Nice chicken,” Mikus drawled.

“Knock it off, you two,” Donnor interrupted, seeing Shandii opening her mouth to shout. “Keris, what’s going on?”

“No idea. The lookouts are sprinting back, staying low and beneath the hilltops. They keep signing ‘danger’, ‘muster’, and ‘fall back’, so you tell me.”

“Who’s furthest out?”

“Haleran and Hartok.”

“Who’ve been with us since the beginning … Damn. Those two wouldn’t overreact.” Donnor scrubbed his face. “Okay, how fast are they coming in?”

“Sneaking across the hilltops, sprinting like the gods are after them whenever they’re in cover. The rest are coming in, too.”

“So, a couple of hours, at least … They’re worried about being seen .... We have to assume it’s the ondilaan until we know better … Probably a large force … Close ....” Donnor looked around while processing out loud. He noticed the elves freeing Garesh while ignoring the glares they sent his way.

“There’s no way we’ll hide all of this,” he considered, waving a hand around at the camp. “And with the ondilaan’s noses, it’ll lead them right to us,” he finished eying the fish.

“Yer’ sure it be tha’ ondilaan?” Mikus asked.

“Who else could it be?”

The lot of them frowned without answering. Donnor had wanted to leave, just not like this. Not with them scrambling. He needed to break contact so he could go get his spear. And he watched Ari and Tommy while considering it.

“We need to go south or west. North will just lead us back into trouble, and we’re gonna’ have problems if we’re forced overland. The wagon won’t make it. Where to go? … Dammit, we need a road …”

“Tha’ western road leads ta’ Windyspring. Tha’ road be headin’ south, an’ a wee bit west,” Shandii offered.

“Tha’ blasted goat path?” Mikus objected.

“It used to be a road, master dwarf,” Alantin mentioned. “It opens wider in places than it does here.”

“Will it take the wagon?” Donnor asked.

Shandii and Alantin looked at each other. “No idea,” Shandii admitted.

“Guess we’ll find out. It’s probably our best option right now, anyway. What do you know about the route?”

“The road runs south along the edge of the western hills before turning west towards the Spire,” Alantin answered. “It is an old trade route, now mostly abandoned. It is how I came here.”

“Right, monk of the Spire.” Donnor nodded in understanding. “Who brought you? Guides?”

“Yes. A friend.”

Donnor picked up by his tone that this friend was most likely dead. “Sorry. Tommy, get Falia, Alarat, and Camm, and start tallying our available food while you load it on the wagon. Worry about loading it first, tallying it second. Time is of the essence. Go.”

“Aye, Da’.”

“Ari, get the survivors ready to leave. I don’t know how we’re going to fit all of them on the wagon, but we’re going to try. If they don’t fit back there, put them on the platform. If not, they walk. We can’t leave anyone behind.”

“Me men can ride,” Shandii put in.

“Ride?”

“Aye.” She nodded down at her corret. “They be knowin’ how,” she said, patting the corret’s neck.

“Any chance you can find out what’s coming?”

Shandii spit. “Me an’ me boys can barely sit, an’ yer’ wantin’ us ta’ ride closer to tha’ ondilaan?”

“So? Jus’ stay outta’ their way,” Mikus said.

“Jus’ stay outta’ their way, he says. Ya’ ever seen an ondilaan hide?” Shandii hollered.

“Tha’ blasted bird’s got legs. Jus’ run ‘em over there, an’ then back again. They’ll never catch ya’.”

“They’ll never catch ya’ … Ya’ think ridin’ a corret be easy?”

“Easier than walkin’!”

“We no’ be sittin’ up here on our duff!” Shandii glared. “It be exhaustin’! Ya’ get up here an’ try!”

“I jus’ might!” Mikus glared.

Donnor had to admit he was impressed that the ill-tempered bird was just standing there for her, but she did have a point about the riders weakness. “Forget it. Can your people at least handle scouting ahead?”

“Aye. Tha’ we can do,” Shandii replied, then Mikus snorted, Shandii glaring his way.

“Get what you need and mount up. Mikus, get the ranks in the ruins. We’ll stay out of sight in Silverlake for now. Keris, tell Laren and Immer what’s going on and get the archers up there, too. Then head back to the lookouts, and keep the ch’ten with you.”

“Aye, lad,” and, “Yes, Commander,” came as they both replied.

“Shandii? Does that road run anywhere near the other side of the lake?” Donnor asked.

“Aye. Goes right by it, it does. Through tha’ trees o’er there.”

“Good. We need to hide the boat. No sense in making it obvious for the ondilaan we were here. Get one of your people to meet me over there as soon as you can.”

“Aye.”

“Everyone, this is Salia. She leads the elves who are joining us.” He frowned Salia’s way, challenging her to disagree with his statement, then sent his frown around towards everyone else.

“They’re here because Ari’s here. And since Ari’s not leaving, they’re not leaving. You don’t have to like it, you just have to deal with it,” he said into the slew of unhappy faces.

“Salia, I’m expecting problems with the ch’ten, and I don’t have time for any crap out of either of you. I’ll be telling Tonat and Ahton the same thing I’m telling you, and I already know they’re not going to be happy. Work it out amongst yourselves, but I won’t tolerate any fighting.” Salia nodded.

“Saress helped us cover our backtrail, and said you people learned what she knows from the sprites. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll need your people to hide our trail for now. The ch’ten isn’t going to have time. Get what you need and be ready.” Salia nodded, looking at him curiously.

“Ari, once the wagon is loaded get moving. You’re in charge back there. Mikus, lead us down the road a little as soon as the wagon gets there. Keris, the ch’ten stays with you, along with the rest of the scouts. Immer’s archers will stay in Silverlake until you pull out. Mikus, Laren’s group is with you. Any questions?”

“No, Commander.”

“Good. Shandii, I’ll meet your people on the other side of the lake.” He looked around at them all. “Anything else?”

Everyone answered ‘no’ except for Salia. “Problem, Salia?” he asked when she didn’t reply.

“… No.”

“Good.”

Then Donnor trotted off towards the boat, ignoring Salia’s intrigued look.

***

Six riders plus herself was what Shandii had with her, out of the fifteen survivors from Silverlake. Shandii and the other two gnomes, a human, as well as three halflings ended up meeting Donnor along shore, all wobbling in their saddles to a greater or lesser degree. And it looked like most of the correts had decided to follow along, each rider having a bird or two wandering behind them.

They’ll need leads, Donnor thought while watching them. Then he took one look at the rider’s wobbling in their seat, and waved for them to remain in their saddles. Taking down the mast as quickly as he could, followed by a short exercise in frustration getting the shims out, he dragged the boat out of the water and rolled it over on top of the mast.

Hope someone can use this someday, he thought while camouflaging the boat as best as he could. Shandii had her riders cut low-hanging branches while he grabbed whatever he could from the ground. Then Donnor loaded the net and the remaining tackle onto one of the extra correts, sending all but two of them on their way back to the village.

“Ya’ can hop on up seein’ as  how we don’ have far ta’ go,” Shandii offered. “They don’ bite … well, no’ much. As long as I’m here, they don’.”

Donnor looked at her and then at the correts. One bird in particular was eyeing him in return, almost hungrily. He decided against it; he didn’t have his spear. “I’ll pass.”

“Scared?” she challenged.

“Just not stupid.” One of the birds turned its head almost as if it understood. “What did you do with the others?”

“Tied ‘em ta’ yer’ wagon. Them two gnomes of yer’s are seein’ ta’ ‘em.”

Donnor nodded, happy he understood her thick accent. “Where’re you from anyway?”

Shandii glanced out of the corner of her eye. “Why do ya’ care?”

“You sound like Mikus.”

“I’m no’ one o’ them blasted dwarves,” Shandii grumped, face flushing in the light of the sun. “But I’ll admit ta’ ya’ I be comin’ from near Khagatom.”

“That’s a long way.”

“Aye?” She challenged.

“Nothing. Just saying Khagatom’s a long way.”

She arched her brow at him, then admitted, “Yeah, it be.”

Donnor let it go, the surly gnome obviously not wanting to talk about the dwarven kingdom. “We found a bunch of crossbows down in that hole. Can you shoot?”

“Aye, we can shoot, soldier boy.” She grinned, nodding her head to another rider.

“Good, grab a few when we get back. There aren’t many bolts,” he warned.

“We can be makin’ more,” a halfling said. He threw Shandii a sly look.

“Aye, Rilli,” Shandii agreed. “Don’ be worryin’ about them bolts.”

“There something going on?” Donnor asked.

The riders all looked at each other, then Shandii answered, “Doncha’ be worryin’ yer’ little heart abou’ it.”

“Good,” Donnor said, not saying a word about the looks passing between them. Something was going on, Shandii’s riders reminding him of the people he guarded caravans against. Beggars can’t be choosers, he thought, hoping they weren’t thieves. Then he looked back towards the village, seeing men moving there on the rise. “Let’s get back to Silverlake.”

Donnor trotted along the road, not liking how narrow it got in places. Gods, I hope we don’t have to hurry the wagon. The correts paced him, their riders amused he wouldn’t get up on one of the birds, and they arrived back in the village with nothing new happening. Donnor waved his thanks to his escort then moved off to talk with Mikus while the riders headed for the wagon.

“What’s going on, old man?”

“No’ a damn thing. Haleran still be signin’ ‘alarm’ an’ ‘run’. It makin’ me nervous. Ya’ sure ya’ wanna’ wait?”

“Still?”

“Aye.”

“Running, too?”

“Aye. They’re abou’ halfway here.”

Donnor grunted. “Bloody hells. No, we need the food. Are they finished loading?

“No’ quite.”

“Damn. If they’re still running, we need to leave as soon as they get here. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Lead off, I’ll join the troop in a bit.”

Mikus spit. “Yer’ woman went back down tha’ hole ta’ close tha’ blasted door fer’ some reason. We be waitin’ on her.”

Donnor frowned, looking at the pit and then shaking his head. “What do you think?”

“Abou’ what?”

“Am I overreacting?”

“I dunno’.”

“Then I’ll go with my gut. Should we wait on Keris’s people, or go now?”

“I dunno’.” Mikus stroked his beard. “Ya’ stay ta’gether fer’ fightin’, yer’ already knowin’ tha’. But we don’ even know we’re even gettin’ inta’ one yet.”

“With our luck?”

Mikus sucked his teeth and then shrugged.

“Exactly.” Donnor rubbed his head. “The wagon’s slow. A fast enemy will catch us.”

“Worried?”

“The ondilaan are a fast enemy.”

Mikus stroked his beard, nodding in thought. Eventually, he shrugged. “I say we stay. Stronger ta’gether an’ all tha’.”

Donnor sighed. “I was hoping you’d say go. That’s what I’m leaning towards.” He kicked a piece of debris, watching it bounce away through the village. “If Ari was here, I’d already have you on your way. Dammit.”

Mikus nodded, and they settled in to wait.

Donnor walked the ranks, checking in on everyone and making sure the people were well. He had the troop reposition to the back side of Silverlake, putting as much distance between them and the road they’d come in on. The survivors were up on the platform on the back of the artock, some obviously still weak with their eyes already closed, while others were on the wagon taking everything in.

Shandii’s riders were off to the side inspecting their crossbows, but Salia and the elves were nowhere to be seen. Probably down in that hole. But then he noticed two of her people a few strides away from Tommy, Falia and him still working on tallying up their supplies.

He wondered where Jahad, Garesh, and the rest of them were right now. Hopefully, long gone. And he moved through the ruins to look for them, keeping a close eye on Tommy and the elves with him.

“They will not harm your son, N’Taa,” Saress said from behind.

Donnor jumped, not even noticing she was there. “Where the gods did you come from?”

Saress still looked a little pale, but nodded towards a hidden blind along one of the ruined walls. Her bow and other belongings were nowhere to be seen.

“Your bow?”

“On the wagon. I am too weak to shoot unless I must,” she admitted.

He grunted, turning his eyes back towards the elves. “No harm, you say?”

“No, Donnor, their oaths forbid it.”

“I hear you, you and Ari both, but I find it hard to believe. The Vale’s tried to kill us before.”

Saress moved to stand by his side, her eyes catching the light of the sun. “Do you trust me, N’Taa?”

“With my life,” Donnor admitted.

“And Arisaylia?”

He paused to look at her. “You know I do.” She waited without responding. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Then you know why it needs to be done.”

“It doesn’t mean you’re not wrong.”

“No. Most definitely not. But in this, me and your ilari are right. Trust us when we say there is no risk.”

One of the J’al’osil near Tommy twitched when Saress used that elven word. Then the other one frowned in the first’s direction, both of their faces going immediately blank. Donnor watched the byplay, wondering what it meant. “How long until they’re back?”

“I don’t know. It should be soon.”

“Jahad? Garesh?”

“Gathered their supplies and headed east, well north of the road. They plan to shadow the old road, then return to Varmen’s Shoal.”

Donnor nodded, the two of them standing there in companionable silence. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Weak and strange. Like I’ve just awoken, when your body feels both heavy and light.” She looked up at the sun, before turning her face into the wind coming off the lake. “At peace, too.”

Donnor looked at her, really looked at her, seeing her descend into thought. It was strange seeing her without her usual hood, even if she rarely raised it anymore around the troop. The fact that it wasn’t there bothered him for some reason, though he noticed her ears were calm and relaxed, and not flicking about from sound to sound like they usually did. She looked at peace, something he rarely saw, and then only when she slept.

“Are you going to be alright?”

She turned to him and smiled, a relaxed smile, another thing that surprised him to see. “Yes, N’Taa. I will definitely be alright.”

“Any issues with being released from the J’al’osil?”

“No.” She smiled. “No issues at all.”

“Good.” He put a companionable arm around her. “I was worried about you.”

She leaned into him, content to stay there until Ari climbed back out of that hole. The rest of the toulan followed shortly after, Salia looking frustrated.

“Ari, are you ready? Can we go now? We’re kind of in a hurry, you know,” Donnor teased, even though he was honestly annoyed.

“You have no idea what’s coming, Donnor Silverspear,” Ari testily replied. “I needed to seal that room and the way down to it. I won’t leave that sacred place, or that poor ancient soul down there, for anyone else to bother, especially the ondilaan.” She sent a stern look towards Salia, the subject obviously having been brought up. “It would be almost an offense against Life if someone did so,” Ari concluded.

She hugged Donnor and Saress, pausing to give him a peck on the cheek. Then Donnor kissed the crown of her head before releasing her. “Are you two joining the wagon?”

“Yes, Donnor,” Saress answered.

“Then get up there, we need to go. I’m hoping to make up some distance before Keris catches us. Mikus? Shandii?” he called out. “Let’s go.”

Shandii moved off with her riders while Mikus got the troop underway. Donnor grabbed his gear from the wagon, shrugging into his leather jerkin before strapping on his shield. Then he beat his helmet on his head while he walked backwards, waving to Immer who was remaining behind.

He wondered how long it would take Keris and the ch’ten to catch up as he took his last glance over towards the ruins of Silverlake. He was thankful for the uninterrupted time they’d had there. Then he caught sight of that spot in the lake where Ari and he had renewed their relationship, and wondered if they’d ever have a chance to do something like that again.

The troop walked for most of the afternoon following the western road, constantly interrupted, trying to keep their pace. They made it just past the lake before stopping to move a tree off of the path, but as they moved further and further from Silverlake, the road became more and more cluttered. Their course was absolutely littered with obstacles, which made it hard for the wagon and the artock to move.

Take now for instance, Donnor grumped, sitting on his frustration. Who would have thought a tree that size would grow here in the first place?

Donnor stayed silent while the men worked the ropes Shandii had tied to her mounts, attempting to move the enormous tree off the road. It was mostly out of the way, but if they hadn’t had Shandii, it would’ve taken most of the day.

“Salia?” Donnor called, waving her over.

“Yes, Silverspear,” her expressionless face answered.

“Saress or the ch’ten usually finds us a place to camp. Saress can’t do it, and the ch’ten is back with Keris. Can your people find us a place to sleep for the night?” He waved his hand towards the downed tree.

She remained silent before nodding her assent. “You said ‘live and die together’ did you not?” Donnor nodded while she studied him. “Two will remain.”

“They’re your people,” Donnor replied, and she studied him some more before turning away. “Laren? The elves are going to find us a place to sleep. Fall back and start covering our trail like Saress taught you.”

“Aye, Commander.”

It took another hour to clear the immense tree enough for the wagon to pass. He warned Shandii that the elves were out in front of them, and to watch for them since they were finding their camp. Shandii waved and kept going, their pace continually interrupted until the sun was almost down.

The last rays of the setting sun were staining the sky a dusty red before Salia directed them off the road. She waved for the artock to stay on the trail, Donnor joining her as the people started to climb down. The troop was an old hand at setting up camp for the night, quickly arranging their areas before helping the survivors out. Shandii and her riders, along with Alarat and Camm, roped off part of the road as a temporary paddock while the fires were lit. And they left the wagon nearby, only removing the platform so the artock could roam.

Then Donnor had everyone bed down, mixing the survivors into the other groups for safety. Salia kept studying him, especially since he’d asked her to bed down where Ari and Tommy were sleeping without any prompting. And she’d nodded to him before walking away, Donnor hoping it was a sign of her acceptance.

Mikus worked with Gart and the others to set watches while the two moons came up, and the camp quieted down for the night. Most of Silverlake’s survivors were already asleep, exhausted from the march, and snoring ever since eating their evening meal. Everyone laid down, and it was very peaceful …

… But Donnor was still wide awake.

Keris should have returned hours ago, and the fact that he hadn’t weighed heavily on Donnor’s mind. It was wearing on all of their minds, it seemed, as he watched Mikus absently toss scraps of wood into the fire while watching the sparks flare up, and fly. Ari pretended to sleep too, eyes lit by the fire’s glow as she stared at the sky. And even a few of the men were restless, though Tak was just worrying about Tommy’s bird. The damn thing scared half the camp to death when it landed on a tree in the dark.

It was almost midnight when an owl hooted the exact same way, three times in a row. One of the elves nearby cocked her head, and then hooted out a quick reply. Then the rest of the elves rose silently from where they were laying, arranging themselves around Tommy and Arisaylia while the two of them slept.

Then Keris, the ch’ten, and the rest of the troop quietly made their way into camp, the ch’ten eyeing the elves warily. Donnor motioned them towards a fire and the empty bedrolls he’d set aside for them, and watched as they gratefully sank into the bedding, some not even pausing to eat. But Keris and Ahton came straight away towards Donnor, with Rast trotting along wearily behind. All three of their faces were grim.

“We expected you hours ago. What happened?”

“Commander, we’ve got problems,” Keris answered, sitting heavily down by his side.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, Donnor Silverspear,” Rast translated for Ahton. “We must move, and move quickly, silently and without pause from this place.”

“Why’s that?” Donnor asked, looking towards a couple moving figures he had trouble recognizing in the dark.

“Donnor, the ondilaan have got themselves an army,” Keris answered him as Garesh and Jahad walked out of the night.

Jahad sat down at his side and then frowned. “According to your men, Silverspear, your enemy darkens the plains.”

Travelers on the Road

It’s amazing what you can accomplish in two days when people are motivated, Sergeant Terrance Oldsby thought, looking at the newly completed walls around Resthaven.

Sure, it was a timber palisade. Sure, it was rough. Sure, not a single one of those posts had been shaped in any way. But the damned thing was easily over a spear high in most places, and it completely surrounded the village. ‘Protection at its finest’ everyone was telling themselves.

It was ugly as hell, too.

But, with an army that came out of nowhere only a few days before, everyone figured they could deal with a little ugliness to gain some peace of mind. You could see pretty far from the top of it, too, especially now with all the trees cut down. And the only break in the line of posts was where the stream and the road passed through.

Terrance looked to where Smith Rarton was talking with the Walps and the Valens. They were trying to figure out how to hang posts over the stream to finish the line of fortifications while still letting the water run through. It looked like they were going to make some kind of iron grate by the look of it, with all the arm waving and measurements Rarton was making, and he couldn’t wait to see what he came up with when they were through.

Gods, it’s nice to have even these rough defenses in place, Terrance thought, nodding towards the men guarding the break.

He walked along the southern wall past the tannery to where the foundation of the old smithy used to be. A few of the villagers were using a log somebody had attached handles to, to tamp down the earth where the bases of the posts were buried. He’d have to tell Garret they needed more dirt; it looked like it was settling more than they’d thought. And he nodded to a few of transplants from Tarwood and Coran’s Hill that were helping out as he passed by.

Almost half of each of the two villages had shown up to assist, close to a hundred, a hundred and fifty people in all. Absolutely boggles the mind. Terrance shook his head while stepping out of the way of one of the people to pass. And they’d shown up just yesterday, the people of Resthaven without a doubt the luckiest bastards alive that he knew.

The runners they’d sent to the two villages had been met with a surprise. Tarwood and Coran’s Hill had already set up a system of runners, and they’d only been feeling out Jarrod, Moran, and him the other day at the inn. Moran hadn’t been too happy learning about their unapproved ingenuity, but it had saved their arses. Because the boys they had posted along the western road on ‘camping trips’ every league or so, were able to send messages to both of their villages in less than a day.

So, Moran’s messenger had told his tale about the elves to the runners that were already there, then returned to Resthaven the same evening not understanding the reason for Moran’s cursing at all. And instead of hunkering down like they’d expected them to, after hearing about the elves, Tarwood and Coran’s Hill had done something completely different. Here, both of them had been talking, and they’d decided Resthaven’s existence was the only salvation they had.

So, just the day before yesterday, after making the journey almost the entire way without a single break, volunteers showed up in the middle of the night to help put up the wall. Oldsby had never seen such a thing without orders, and these new people were very, very motivated. The whole lot of them were either loggers or farmers who were finished for the season, or hunters who were determined to scout. And with them was one very old man who’d been a boy when the wall at Coran’s Hill had begun, determined to help out even though he could barely stand.

After getting Jislus out of the cart they’d brought him in, the old man sat down with Jarrod Tarr and had thrown out every plan that they had. Here, he’d been apprenticed to an engineer all the way out in Shardal during his youth, and he remembered how to build with a wicked and crafty mind. A sharp tongue, too. And between him and Mr. Tarr, they’d worked through the night, absolutely drenching themselves in that tea to figure out something that would be both helpful, durable, and quick.

And find something to put up, they did. Close to three hundred people from three different villages worked together to make a plethora of things happen. Trenches were dug like an army of gophers. Trees were cut down like they’d been reaped with a scythe, then planted into the ground almost as fast as they could. Things were happening here and there almost too fast to watch, it was amazing, and all the while that old man Jislus looked on with glee.

Along with the wall, other things were getting done, as well. The barn was complete, replacing the one that had burnt down. It was a whole lot bigger now too, and its first official resident was one of Mrs. Hibold’s cows. The stupid thing thought the whole building belonged to it, but beyond annoying one of the artocks when it tried to snuggle up, nothing else happened of note inside. And it was a good thing, since the majority of the people visiting were staying in there, too.

Still, we have to find somewhere better to put them, Terrance thought as he walked past. Right now, they were packed in between the stalls and the loft like firewood. Jislus was talking about replacing one or two of the cottages, making two-story houses out of them, but their owners weren’t too sure. Terrance dodged a ball kicked by a group of boys. Might have to just do it to house all of these people. He looked around at the ongoing bustle. Sure is a whole lot different around here. Then he just stopped to take it all in. Hells, it’s different than it was a few days ago!

One of the villagers Taylin was hinting he should spend a little more time with smiled at him from the well. Lelisa could definitely make things more interesting, he thought, seeing her smile even more as he grinned. He watched her sway her way back towards the inn, admiring every bit of her backside when she did so. She’s going to throw her back out walking like that, he thought, grinning while shaking his head. Then he chuckled, seeing her check to make sure he was watching before disappearing into the inn. Seems like I might be taking Taylin’s advice after all. And damn it all if she wasn’t right about how cute she was, too.

He was still grinning like a fool when he noticed one of the older matrons frowning and shaking her head. He ducked his head politely to her, turning to walk past to where the western gate was going to be raised. Then whistling off key, he did his damndest to ignore the old crone, feeling her eyes on him the entire time, radiating her complete and utter disapproval. Hope that wasn’t her mom.

The western side of the wall was much like the south except for a break in the fence for the road. It looked like the lookout platform at the northwest corner was almost complete, a couple of men lashing the last of the poles there. And he stopped for a moment to watch them work.

Then he turned along the northern wall, past the drying hut and around the pig pen, the intense smell almost burning his eyes now that it was stuck behind the wall. Then he passed into the courtyard of the mill and the cleaner air there, the waterwheel spinning noisily in the creek below. Jarrod and Jislus had debated about whether to have the wall on this side of the creek or the other, but ended up deciding to extend it over the water. Figuring having both the creek and the bridge inside the wall was a good thing, and another obstacle in case of attack.

Who knows. Maybe it’s a good idea. Maybe it isn’t. Gods know I don’t have a clue. He shrugged and then turned, making his way back towards the bridge.

The bridge guard nodded to him, the rest of the conscripts out in the southern field training if they weren’t already off duty or asleep. And he finished his circuit of Resthaven, walking back along the eastern wall, past Mrs. Hibold’s other cow in its paddock, then to the tannery where he’d begun his patrol.

Deciding he had enough wandering for the day, he walked to the village’s center. Then entering the inn, he glanced around for the decidedly good-looking Lelisa.

“Terrance? Get over here,” Sergeant Moran called as he walked through the door.

“Sergeant, yes,” Oldsby replied, sighing since he’d already seen Lelisa’s smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Not a damn thing.” Garret slid over so Terrance could sit down, then he shoved an ale his way. “Me and Jarrod here are thinking we’re going to tear down one of those houses after all.”

Terrance took a sip, the light tasting brew quickly quenching his thirst. “The Lorden family’s not going to be happy about that.”

“I already broke the news to Elder Lorden,” Jarrod admitted, nodding the frowning man’s way. “Jislus says he can raise a new house in roughly a day, and bluntly, we’re needing the room.” Jarrod frowned, looking around the crowded inn. “Gods know we don’t be having any more room here.”

“They’re still content staying out under the trees?” Oldsby asked, nodding to a table from Coran’s Hill.

“Aye.” Jarrod shrugged. “There’s nowhere else to put them. We ran out of room in the barn.”

“And they’re not complaining one bit, either,” Moran said. “I can’t believe everything they’ve helped us accomplish in a day. It’s like an entirely new town.”

“Resthaven’s never even been a town,” Jarrod mumbled, not seeming to realize he’d spoken out loud.

“It’s going to be,” Terrance told him, nodding towards the rest of villagers. “I’ve been asking around. The people from Tarwood and Coran’s Hill are scared, and they see our victory as a huge relief. They’ve already made plans to come here if they get into trouble.”

“Why here?” Jarrod asked. “I get they’re out on the edge of the wilds, but Resthaven’s no’ much bigger than they be.”

“They didn’t have a victory.”

“And you’re right, they’re out on the edge,” Moran said. “There’s nothing west of them for weeks until you get to the western dwarves, and they’re two or three weeks away as it is. That entire trip is through raw wilderness, along with everything a journey like that entails.”

“Listen to you … ‘entails’ ... Ha!” Terrance snorted. “You sound like Sir Laigan. Either that, or Taylin’s finally wearing off on you.”

“Oh, shut up. You went to his briefings the same as I did. And leave Taylin out of this. Anyway, no safety, no place to truly rest, a long way from everything, and prey for every beast that takes a shining to them, it’s no wonder the villagers are scared.”

“I’m understanding all that, I just never imagined I’d be seeing Resthaven so busy.” Jarrod took another drink.

“Didn’t this used to be a bigger town?” Moran asked. “Taylin was telling me something about that last night.”

“Oh, aye. In me grandfather’s, grandfather’s time.” Jarrod chuckled. “Garret, that was so long ago, dragons, giants, and faeries walked the woods if you believe the tales that were told.” Jarrod chuckled. “Next you’ll be telling me about unicorns.”

“Or journeys and all they ‘entail’,” Terrance drawled. The three of them shared a laugh, taking their ease while teasing each other about one fantastical beast after another as they shared their cups.

Villagers came and went while they chatted, reporting off on the various things that were accomplished. The northwest platform was completed, so work began on the southwestern one next.

The upper story of the mill had finished being emptied out, turning it into the lookout tower they needed there. Master Gamlin, the millwright, understood the need no matter how much he complained about it, and apparently was keeping his objections to a dull roar. The villager still wanted someone to talk to him about it, though. Apparently, he’d been complaining.

The Valen family was clearing out part of the tannery to make a hole in its roof to build the southeastern watch tower there. The troops reported they should be done by midday, and said Jislus was already organizing supplies for the tower. If everything went right, the tower should be up by the next day. It was amazing the speed they were working at there.

It was about noon when the conscripts started coming in, having finished their training in the southern fields. And as they sat down to relax, a call of “Travelers on the road!” went up from beyond the door.

“Welp, best go see who’s there,” Terrance said, Moran rising to join him.

“Probably another rider from Redtail,” Moran mentioned as he stood and then sighed. “You know I’m going to have to tell Lord Maorilan about what Tarwood and Coran’s Hill are up to, Jarrod.”

“You both be having your duty, Garret, and I won’t be interfering in it at all,” Mr. Tarr replied. “I’m just hoping he won’t be sending Arnet back here if he don’ like what we’re doin’.”

Both Oldsby and Moran grinned as they said their goodbyes, walking out of the inn and turning east to head towards the bridge. They arrived to find the bridge guard standing watch … and not another soul there.

“Where’s the traveler?” Oldsby asked.

“Not here, Sergeant,” the conscripts said. “The call went up on the other side,” he finished, hooking his thumb to the west.

Terrance and Moran looked at each other before glancing back towards the inn. “The western road?” Terrance trailed off curiously as Moran turned and started heading that way. “Who’d be coming from there?”

Another call went up “Sergeants to the Western Road!” then they trotted back past the inn, seeing a curious sight as the villagers parted to let them pass. There were no villagers or riders there like they’d expected to see; It was a party of dwarves.

There were four of them there, standing at ease in the gap in the wall where the road entered, seemingly content to wait for them to arrive. All four were dressed for hard travelling, having obviously been long on the road. High boots were splashed with mud, and packs and cloaks hung loosely from their shoulders. They stood tall and proud like every dwarf Terrance had ever seen, but one of them stood out from the rest, the one in front who was chatting amicably with the guards there. That one just seemed somehow ‘more’ to him, and Terrance admitted he had no idea why.

“Sergeants,” the guard greeted them in relief. “Travelers from the west. They’re asking to stay at the inn.”

“Aye,” the dwarf replied firmly, eying them as they finished their approach. “Kaltus Deepdweller,” he introduced himself, sticking out his meaty paw.

“Sergeant Garret Moran,” Garret answered, shaking the offered hand. “And this is Sergeant Terrance Oldsby, my second.”

“Yer’ lookin’ a wee bit crowded in here,” Kaltus offered.

“We are. What’s your business?”

“Ach. We been on tha’ road a wee bit, hopin’ ta’ stay at tha’ inn.”

“Where’re you headed?”

“Ta’ tha’ Hold. Heard me cousin was there a few months ago.”

“Huh. Are you staying long?”

One of the dwarves bristled, but held his tongue while Kaltus answered. “Jus’ fer’ tha’ night. If yer’ havin’ room, tha’ be.”

“Don’t know where we’ll put you, but I’m certain Jarrod can find a place. He’s the innkeeper here. Come on, I’ll take you to him.”

“Me thanks, Sergeant.” Kaltus nodded amicably, the many beads in his beard tinkling against each other with an audible ring. Now that Terrance thought about it, all of the dwarves had a lot of beads in their beards, strung into twisted, intricate braids that fell neatly past their waists.

“Icht döm brún aschkël frömmin neík, tahl,” one of the other dwarves said, sounding like he was gargling rocks.

“Semmelin gön,” Kaltus answered pleasantly enough. “Ye’ll have ta’ be excusin’ me cousin, he don’ be speakin’ yer’ tongue. He wants ta’ know if he can get off his feet.”

Terrance noticed that the dwarf looked upset, Guess I’d be upset too if I couldn’t talk to anyone, and had mud up to his knees.

“That’s no problem. Where’re you from?” Garret asked, leading the way to the inn.

They were attracting a lot of curious glances from the villagers, most of whom had never seen a dwarf before. At least nobody’s pointing. Then Terrance caught himself thinking about Mikus, and wondered how he’d been.

“Tha’ western clans, as you be callin’ ‘em. Nächtaltom in me tongue.”

“Yeah?” Garret glanced towards him in surprise. “You’ve come a long way.”

“Aye. Like I been sayin’, we spent a wee bit on tha’ road. Never been hearin’ there be this many in Resthaven, though.”

“No, this is new.” Garret admitted, leading them into the inn. “Jarrod? A party from the western dwarves.” Jarrod’s eyebrows rose up in surprise. “You think we can make room?” Jarrod glanced around at the people in the inn.

“We can be payin’ ye a fair price, innkeeper,” Kaltus added, overriding the mumbling of the other dwarves on seeing his worried face.

Mr. Tarr waved his words away. “We can be finding you a place, master dwarf. You just caught me by surprise. Martol?” Jarrod called for his son. “Head upstairs and have Taylin prepare a room.” He turned back to the dwarves. “There’s only the four of you?”

“Aye, innkeeper.”

“The north room, Martol!” Jarrod shouted after him. “Tell Pari she can room with Taylin for now.” Martol raised his hand, continuing to climb the stairs.

“Now, master dwarf, four of you then?” The dwarves nodded. “The inn be a mess right now, so I’ll not be charging you a normal fee, and I only have the one room. I can move more beds in for you, but ye’ll have to bunk together. Ten pennies for the room for a night, and say two a person per meal.” The dwarves perked up at that. “That fair?”

“Fair? Aye,” Kaltus raised his brow. “Tha’ be more than fair. We been expectin’ a silver a piece,” he added, then lowered his brow in suspicion. “Why ya’ be chargin’ us a tenth o’ tha’ goin’ rate? Yer’ no’ thinkin’ o’ cheatin’ us, are ye?”

“No, master dwarf,” Jarrod replied, totally unfazed by his accusation. “You’ve come when Resthaven be recovering from an attack. Bluntly, you’re not safe here. You might want to be heading on instead.”

“An attack? Who been attackin’ yer’ village?”

“The ondilaan,” Garret answered.

“Ondilaan, ya’ say?” Kaltus asked, the other dwarves mumbling their surprise. “It soundin’ like yer’ people be havin’ a tale ta’ tell, innkeeper. We’ll be stayin’ tha’ night, at least, fer’ tha’.” He nodded Jarrod’s way.

“Kort glächten naschen taé, Helden. Yelle mäk dupu twëllen köm,” Kaltus said to one of the dwarves. “Helden here’ll be payin’ ye. One night, and meals for us all. Ya’ mind us wanderin’ abou’ while we be waitin’ on tha’ room?”

“Feel free,” Jarrod answered as the dwarf counted out the coins. “Just be wary of the construction underway. People won’t be watching for dwarves until word gets out.”

“Helden here’ll be careful.” The dwarf in question nodded, taking another one along with him as he exited the inn. “Now, if ye can be persuaded ta’ part wi’ an ale, I’d be mighty interested in hearin’ yer’ tale.”

Jarrod waved the dwarves towards a table, clearing away the clutter and serving the ale himself. He declared the first round on the house, apologizing that a room wasn’t ready which seemed kind of odd, but Terrance realized he’d never seen Jarrod actually behave like an innkeeper before. Not with everything else that had gone on, and his hospitality started to make sense.

The whole thing was taken in stride by the dwarves. All they seemed to want to do was get off their feet and have a nice ale. And after a dwarf placed a silver on the table in front of him, Jarrod kept the ale flowing while the tale of Resthaven’s events wound their way around the room.

The dwarves were good listeners, asking questions of everyone while the villagers told their tales of fear during the attack. Kaltus nursed his ale as he listened, a silvery bracelet falling out of his sleeve whenever he raised an arm to drink. Then, while the villagers were wandering back and forth, carrying herbs and supplies to the new shed, he engaged the people from Tarwood and Coran’s Hill.

Hearing the tale from their point of view was enlightening with the lack of defenses they had, and everyone was glad the ondilaan had never gone west. Kaltus traded talk with them about the fortifications underway, about how the ground was dug, and how the posts were cut. And the dwarf demonstrated deep knowledge about forestry, and how the earth could be used.

During it all the dwarves came and went, saying how good it was to be able to stretch their legs in such a protected place. Moran had his men watch what they did and where they went, but beyond stripping off their boots to dangle their feet in the stream, they didn’t do a solitary thing to be concerned of. So, by the time the evening meal was served, Oldsby and Moran had agreed that the dwarves were exactly what they seemed to be.

Travelers on the road.

Even the villagers agreed; totally relaxed around the dwarves as everyone returned to the inn for the evening meal.

“… An’ yer’ sayin’ those blasted elves were jus’ leavin’ a few days ago?” Kaltus asked, taking another heaping spoonful of his supper.

“Aye, Kaltus,” Jarrod replied. “Scared the hells out of us, they did. Never seen anything like it.”

“Tha’ pointy-eared bastards say where they goin’?”

“South.”

“Huh. Wonder wha’ they be lookin’ fer’ down there?”

Moran subtly shook his head, frowning Jarrod’s way too keep him from saying anything more.

“I dunno’,” Jarrod answered him, looking a question Garret’s way but holding his piece. “They didn’t say.”

“Bet yer’ lord no’ be happy abou’ tha’,” another one of the other dwarves muttered. Dimult, he called himself. “Army comin’ through, scarin’ one an’ all in yer’ home. Shoulda’ been havin’ a fight, ya’ be,” he declared.

“Lord Maorilan’s decisions are his own,” Garret said, drawing raised eyebrows from the dwarves.

“Aye, ya’ be right an’ all abou’ tha’. We no’ sayin’ nothin’ by it,” Cehloórt said, the last dwarf in their party.

“Why don’ ya’ be headin’ up ta’ tha’ room an’ bring down tha’ maísheaun,” Kaltus said, nodding Dimult’s way. Dimult hesitated a moment but then stood, taking a long drink.

“What’s a ‘may-eye-shoon’?” Terrance asked, watching the looks passing between the dwarves.

“Maísheaun; it be a dwarven horn. Ain’tcha never been hearin’ one?”

“No.”

“Ach. Yer’ in fer’ a treat, then. Mind a tune fer’ yer’ hall, innkeeper?”

“No. Feel free.” Jarrod waved his hand the dwarves’ way.

Dimult came back with his pack, taking out multiple metal tubes that he connected to form a long, single-tubed horn. The whole thing was easily as long as a man, and he placed the horn’s bell on the ground to support its weight. Then after taking another long drink of his ale, he pursed his lips and took a great, deep breath.

With cheeks bulging out, he blew into the horn’s decorated mouthpiece, an incredibly low, basso tone sounding forth into the room. He altered the tone, fingers moving rapidly along cleverly placed holes in the horn’s neck as it trilled up and down a deep scale. Then seemingly satisfied by the horn’s sound, he began to play a slow, haunting dirge that filled the room. The basso sound of the horn rattled the bones of all who were listening.

“A tribute to me clan,” Kaltus explained, eyes fixated upon the maísheaun. The horn seemed to quietly glisten in the light of the fire, the black lacquer and fine, silvered filagree seemingly out of place in the inn. Then Kaltus said something to Helden in dwarvish as Dimult continued to play, the dwarf standing up and exiting the room.

Dimult began another song, and Cehloórt began chanting along in a slow, steady cadence. Kaltus watched them perform, tapping his cup on the table and keeping time with the tune. And the two dwarves were ranging into and out of each other, maintaining a haunting harmony in a minor key. The horn and the chant seeming to fill the air around them, its rhythm and tempo pressing in on everyone there.

Then, when the chant was over, Dimult changed to a livelier tune, accompanied by tapping and pounding on the table by both Kaltus and Cehloórt. Time passed as first one, then another villager tried to dance to the festive tune. Then Cehloórt stood to teach a dwarvish jig to a village lass to the amusement of one and all.

“He seems to be having problems keeping it quiet enough for the room,” Jarrod remarked after the most recent song, smiling at the flushed lass. It was good to see the villagers relaxing.

“Aye. Tha’ maísheaun be meant for tha’ outdoors, or tha’ halls of me clan,” Kaltus replied almost absently, then turned as Helden reentered the room. “We should be takin’ it outside. You’ll be hearin’ how powerful it be then.”

Jarrod nodded as the rest of the villagers agreed, glad for the songs and entertainment the dwarves provided. The dwarves picked up the maísheaun carrying it between them past the well and almost to the western road, before setting it down to play. Then, as Dimult began his songs once more, he increased the horn’s volume. The hauntingly basso sound bouncing between the buildings, echoing boldly in the night.

Terrance was leaning up against a wall, grinning to Lelisa’s seductive smile as she danced away to the dwarvish tune. It’s going to be a good night. Then Dimult finished, BAH-BAH-BAH sounding powerfully from the horn before he turned to the next tune. A BAH-BEE-BAH sounded out after the next had finished, the basso growl of the horn thrumming and grating along with the jig. Then the next tune continued, finishing up with a BEE-BEE-BAAAAH before the villagers’ applauded the happy mood.

“A break fer’ me please,” Dimult requested, joining the other dwarves off to the side.

The villagers thanked him, breaking into a song of their own Terrance had heard before. Lelisa was striding his way with an inviting smile on her face, but Terrance couldn’t shake that something was wrong. Something was bothering him about the sound of that horn. Something he’d heard about before, distracted as he was as Lelisa touched his arm. Then watching the dwarves cluster more closely, he whipped his head over towards Moran in alarm.

“ALARM!” cried the southern sentries, Terrance’s head turning their way. “Alarm!” came a cry from the east. “Movement in the wood!” came from atop the inn, an archer pointing that way.

“STATIONS!” Moran bellowed, villagers and conscripts scattering every which way.

A tightly controlled stampede of terror took place, everyone rushing to where they belonged. Conscripts fell out of bed, grabbing for weapons they blearily found. Villagers rushed towards the barn, salvaged ondilaani weapons hurriedly being handed out. Buckets were tossed towards the well, picked up by even more villagers being filled with water in case of a fire.

Terrance saw Pari and Taylin through the windows of the inn, passing out bandages and poultices to the women who were stationed there. And he shoved one of the mustering men towards the inn to get both Garret’s and his weapons and armor, while Moran shouted for the positions to report in.

“Movement! A lot of movement!” came a cry from atop the inn.

“Where?” Moran bellowed.

“Pick a direction!” came a frustrated reply, followed by a chaotic clatter as someone dropped a quiver of arrows off the roof. “Damn it!”

“Bridge guard ready!”, “Western road ready!”, “North tower ready”, “… ready”, “… ready”, “… ready” came a flurry of reports shouted hurriedly in the night.

“Garret!” Terrance hollered, tossing his armor his way. Oldsby hurriedly buckled everything on, Moran joining him as the last of the villagers scurried into position. Then a pregnant silence fell, an eerie thing that was filled with the stress and anxiety in the night.

Moran clasped Terrance on the shoulder. “You got this?”

“Just like old times,” Terrance replied, finishing buckling on his armor.

Moran snorted. “I’ll be at the bridge.”

“How many do you think there are this time?”

“Does it matter?”

“Nope.” Terrance took in a deep breath before letting it out. “Luck, Garret. For Redtail.”

“For Redtail,” Moran quietly replied. “See you on the other side.” He nodded, squeezing his shoulder before letting go. “Don’t die on me, Terrance.”

And then as he turned to go, they both took note of the dwarves standing there watching. Not a single one of them had moved during the chaos. Not a single step had been made.

Kaltus and the rest of the dwarves had changed from their easygoing manner into something more wary and hard. And when Kaltus was sure he had both of their attention, he deliberately tapped Dimult on the shoulder, the dwarf taking a tremendous breath and then blew.

BAH-BAH-BEEEEE-BEE-BAAAAAAAH! sounded forth from the maísheaun, an explosion of sound that shook Oldsby and Moran as it sounded through the night. Then, when the last of that guttural sound had dwindled off into nothing, a reply was heard. And then another, and another, and then again after that, as more and more maísheaun’s sounded out from the night.

“Troops in the woodline!” came a frightened call. Then another, and another, and a third, fourth, and fifth, with reports coming in from all around. Terrance lost count of how many terrified calls sounded from around the village, and as he whipped his head towards a conscript’s loud gasp, he looked over towards the west, to the road beyond.

There, forming smartly in the fields outside of Resthaven, was rank after rank of armored dwarves. Slamming their shields into the ground before them, they positioned themselves for a fight. Dozens upon dozens were organizing themselves into precise formations, their spears and axes aggressively on display. And beyond them he caught sight of what looked like great bows, whipping his head back around as Kaltus’s maísheaun sounded once again by his side.

BAH-BAAAAAAAAAH drifted out on the wind, and then the sounds from the fields ceased. Then a great roar rose from many throats, before a silence suddenly descended upon the night.

Kaltus cleared his throat, quickly gaining their attention in the deafening silence. “I must be apologizin’ ta’ tha’ both of ye. Ye been fair an’ kind, an’ good hosts. But this needs ta’ be happenin’.”

“Who are you?” Garret demanded, fingers white around the hilt of his undrawn sword.

“I be Kaltus Deepdweller, Marshal of the Grey Rocks, first cousin to tha’ master of me clan.” He bowed formally.

“And out there?”

“Me army,” he deadpanned, then paused before continuing. “I be mighty curious abou’ wha’s been goin’ on around here, Sergeants. Tha’, an’ all tha’ things ye havna’ been sayin’ abou’ certain people who’ve passed through.”

Terrance looked out over the ranks of dwarves and blurted out, “Oh, fecking hells … not again.”

A Leader’s Fury

Day 232 – Da’ woke everyone up last night, and we’re tired and back on the road. It took forever to get Silverlake’s survivors up on the wagon in the dark, but we eventually got it finished. That old man Alantin was a big help. Guess the dark doesn’t bother him much seeing as how he’s blind.

Anyway, we’ve been on the road ever since, and this one’s worse than anything I’ve ever seen. Washed out here, trees fallen there, it’d be easier to just get out and walk if it wasn’t for the survivors. And, I guess, Saress too. I’m not going to tell her she’s sleeping all the time no matter how much she says she’s keeping watch. We’re not leaving her behind, period.

There’s been a lot of arguing going on, especially between us and the rest of the elves. Garesh is constantly making problems, saying things about everything that just grates on everybody’s nerves. But Ari keeps stopping da’ from doing anything, her and Falia saying something about the Vale that one time before they descended back into elven.

Da’ looks like he’s come close to yelling at her and Ari a few times, looking like he’s about ready to wrestle a bear whenever Garesh starts up. And that’s usually when Mikus starts in on Garesh, yelling at him that one time in dwarvish, which everyone thought was fun. If Shandii will ever let him say anything that is, always getting snippy whenever he speaks up. What’s her problem with Mikus anyway?

It reminds me of how Mrs. Brownhart used to yell at us kids all the time back home, and how Mum and the rest of the women used to talk back to her and glare. Then nobody would talk to each other for days, dinner would be burnt, and da’ and Mikus would go over and drink Mr. Hart’s beer. Which led to more arguing, now that I think about it.

Anyway, the ch’ten has had about enough of Garesh. They’ve put that stuff back on their daggers, and da’ has been back and forth with Ahton about it all day. The elves are watching them, and the ch’ten are watching the elves, while the survivors from Silverlake just try to stay out of it and rest up on the artock in between all of the glares.

Add to that everyone being tired, and today’s just been stupid. Nobody wants to do anything, mainly just worried about finding a place to sleep, and da’s been back and forth all over just trying to keep us all moving. Heck, he’s had to switch people out just to clear the stupid trees. And if I have to move another one of those things again, it’ll be too soon. They’re huge!

A couple of times, people have almost come to blows, which da’s had to stop and get them back working. And the entire time we’re doing that, we have to listen to Garesh’s constant snide comments while he sits up on the wagon like he doesn’t have a care in the world. And the elves, even Ari and Falia, always seem to find a reason as to why he should just be left to sit whenever da’ insists he should be doing something to help out.

Da’s looked like he’s been about to scream. He’s been too busy dealing with everything, herding everyone around like chickens. But when we stop at the next break, he said he was going to sit everyone down and take ...

“I don’ give a blasted damn wha’ ya’ want, ya’ pointy-eared bastard!” Mikus shouted at Garesh. “It ain’t gonna’ happen!”

“You will take us back, dwarf! Nessa Farlesdar awaits!” Garesh pompously replied.

“Who cares what he awaits? There’s an army of ondilaan back there!” Keris tossed an exasperated hand back the way they’d came.

“I’m no’ goin’ nowhere near no army,” Shandii muttered, her riders agreeing loud enough to hear.

“We will travel no farther from the Nessa!” Garesh spat. “The army of the Vale awaits!”

“Lady elf? Saress says one of the villagers is looking pale. She asks if you would return to the wagon.” Alantin respectfully inquired, escorted by a few of the sprites.

“Thank you, Alantin.” Ari sighed, looking upon them all. It was a resigned sound that stated her opinion about what was going on better than any of her words could convey.

“Get that thing away from me!” Garesh demanded, catching site of Ahton who was glaring his way.

“Thing? You arse, I’ll feckin’ shoot you myself!” Immer sputtered while fumbling for his bow. “He’s done more for us than a bitter old piece of shite like you!”

“No one cares what you think, human.” Garesh sneered.

Laren stopped, then handed Immer one of his arrows.

“Il don’ton’wii, J’al’osil!” Garesh ordered, ducking behind one of the elves.

“Sii alast’a don!” Ari’s voice cut through the intervening space like a knife, freezing the elves in place. “Garesh, you will cease this behavior this instant! And don’t you start either, Ahton!” Ari glared, seeing his hand drifting towards his knife.

Ahton looked disappointed, Mikus offering his sympathy about Ari stopping him.

“We could always do it for him, Mikus,” Gart muttered, probably forgetting the elves could hear. “I’ve got a knife. Ain’t afraid of using it, neither.” He glared at the mage, his accent thickening. “Lots of accidents happen out here in the wilds.”

“Don’t you start either, Gart!” Ari turned her blazing eyes on him. “I will not have it! No matter how hateful they are, they’re just words!”

“We jus’ be sayin’ it’d be a shame if he suddenly couldna’ speak,” Mikus replied innocently.

The members of the troop nearby mumbled their assent, heartily sick of Garesh’s shouted complaints. He should be dead already by the glares Tommy had been seeing all day.

Jahad defiantly stood. “There will be no talk of any assaults on the S’tol.”

“Assault? Nobody be sayin’ nothin’ abou’ no ‘assault’, sweet pea … Jus’ a wee bit o’ constructive stabbin’,” Mikus drawled. “Ya’ can think o’ it as an attitude adjustment.” The men of the troop laughed from behind.

“Mikus Gemhands, you will stop threatening Garesh this instant! The Vale will not have it!” Ari’s voice pierced the air. “And you will stand down, Jahad!”

Mikus spat.

“Nisa, is this the way that you’ve been treated here?” Falia asked, radiating her offense.

“Ya’ got a problem wi’ us now too, lass?” Mikus eyed Ari’s maid, beard bristling as Dap moved to his side.

“See? This is exactly the behavior you can expect from the lesser races.” Garesh sneered, saying it as an aside towards the other elves. “They are completely uncivilized and crude.”

Mikus was about to turn purple.

“Ahton asks if we can just tie and drag the noisy elf behind one of the correts,” Rast translated while the ch’ten fingered their blades.

“Rast …” Ari complained.

“Ain’t nobody doin’ nothin’ wi’ me girls, especially fer’ tha’ sorry bastard,” Shandii growled. “The correts be mine!”

“It won’t take long for the birds to eat him,” Rast translated. The sprites looked towards the mage hungrily.

“Il don’ton’wii!” Garesh cried again as the elves moved to intervene.

“Nisa, it is not safe for you here,” Salia murmured to Ari.

“Ya’ ain’t touchin’ me babies!”

“Yer’ eatin’ our food an’ usin’ our gear, princess.” Mikus glared at Shandii. “Deal wi’ it!”

“Ya’ can suck me left teat, worm boy,” Shandii replied, her voice dripping with derision. “Try an’ take me girls from me!”

Mikus sputtered, red in the face and grabbing for his axe. “Worm boy? Ya’ probably need som’un ta’ suck yer’ teat, ya’ bloody shrew!”

Her riders turned, hands going for weapons while Shandii blushed bright red.

“Take Saliantrea, Jahad. Let the fool’s fight amongst themselves.” Garesh’s haughty scorn grated again on everyone’s nerves.

Ari said something to Falia in elven before turning towards the mage. “Your authority is ended, Garesh. Jahad, move him away from the group if you cannot keep him quiet.”

“Remove me? Ha! Silence yourself, welp,” Garesh scoffed. “When you return home, maybe daddy will allow you to play with your dolls. I’ll see you neutered and bound for breeding Nu’Surledyn scum when you do.”

Salia stood, the rest of her toulan suddenly deploying around Ari with quick precision. A few of them bumped into the ch’ten, who’d appeared around Ari as well with bared blades, as soon as Rast had translated what Garesh had said. Then Jahad and the elves around Garesh stood as well, glares being traded every which way while the mage sneered from their midst.

“Feck this, we’re outta’ here. Ya’ all have fun.” Shandii turned to her riders.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Gart said, his immense bulk blocking her way.

“Nisa, we need to remove you to safety,” Salia insisted.

“I be goin’ wherever I want, orc boy!” Shandii declared.

“I will not leave the wounded,” Ari stated.

“Seems you’re outnumbered … gnome.” Gart glared, the rest of the troop at his back.

Garesh started cackling.

“Will you shut up?” Keris yelled, no one quite sure who he was yelling at. “And where in the hells do you think you’re taking the Lady?” Keris hollered while Salia’s toulan started backing her away.

“You will not interfere!” Salia cried as Keris grabbed for her arm.

Garesh only laughed louder.

“ENOUGH!” Donnor stormed onto the scene.

“Raka’ji, Silverspear.” Garesh sneered.

Ari gasped after his deadly insult, stepping forward while her eyes started to glow.

“I SAID ENOUGH!” A few people tried to speak, but Donnor kept right on like a force of nature. “I don’t care who you are, you will shut your damned mouths!”

Garesh started laughing even more. “Pathetic human. What order do you possibly think you can give me? You and your brood should have been hunted down and killed years ago.”

Donnor whipped his head around towards the sneering elf, turning red in the face. With deadly eyes his da’ screamed his fury into the air before throwing his spear. Slamming into the wagon, the spear vibrated a handspan away from Garesh’s face with an audible thrum. The elves grasped for their blades, but Donnor wasn’t finished.

“You will shut your poisonous mouth, or I will tear out your tongue and stick it so far up your arse it will end up back where it started!” Donnor glared his fire into the startled mage.

Tommy had never seen his da’ so upset. Veins were sticking out on the sides of his neck, while spittle flew as he shouted. He stalked his way towards Garesh, the elves’ eyes widening even further on seeing the murder in Donnor’s eyes.

Donnor pulled his spear out of the wagon and cast it to the side. “Silversp–” Jahad tried to step in his way, but Donnor bodily shoved past him to get into Garesh’s face, not caring in the least that the rest of the elves closed in.

“I have no idea who you think you are threatening my family, but right now you’re meat! Meat! You get me?” Donnor spat the words in his face.

Garesh looked startled, the elves pushing him back away from Donnor as sounds of approval came from the troop.

“And you!” Donnor turned his eyes on the watching men. “You’ve got things to do! Why aren’t the watches set? Why aren’t the rest eating? Why isn’t that fecking tree out of the fecking way right now? Do I have to do everything myself?

“Why aren’t the bloody leaders doing their jobs?” He stalked around, eying both Mikus and Keris. “Well?” Donnor demanded into the silence.

A few people looked slightly abashed, while others blankly stared his way, but everyone was stunned by his anger. “You people have shite to do! MOVE!” The troop scrambled away.

Shandii snorted. “And you! Did I hear you right? You want to leave? Feel free!” He cast his arms wildly back the way they came. “See how long you last!”

Garesh started to speak, but Donnor whipped his head around and then glared. “Don’t fecking open your mouth. Don’t even start! Or maybe you should, so you can find out what comes next!” his da’ shouted, baring his teeth in the face of Garesh’s sneer.

Jahad reached out. “The Pathfinders will not see a S’tol treated in such a manner. Mate you may be, but the Vale will not–” But his da’ thrust a finger into his chest and pushed the elf away.

“Don’t you start either, J’al’osil! Your precious mage is safe for now, Ari has seen to that. Bluntly, I think he’s better off dead … But if I actually wanted him dead, he would be! YOU’D NEVER EVEN FECKING KNOW!” Donnor’s chest heaved while he glared.

“Donnor … beloved … you can’t kill him. You can’t,” Ari insisted. “They need to get Garesh to Sirikii so he can be questioned, and without that, we’ll never be free. It is our way. And until they go, they must remain here for his safety. For us to treat a master this way–”

“Don’t, Ari, just don’t.” Donnor held up a hand her way. “I’m not happy with you right now either ...” He seemed to be building up towards something, all but vibrating where he stood.

Ari wet her lips before continuing, “The council of the Vale will insist you–”

It was then he exploded.

“THIS ISN’T THE ELVEN COURT IN SIRIKII!” he screamed in an eruption of fury. “I don’t give a single bloody damned hells about your elven ways right now!”

The silence that followed was deafening.

His da’ never got angry like this, especially never with Ari. And Tommy watched while his chest heaved, his da glaring at her and everyone else around.

“Gah! We don’t have time for this!” Donnor hollered before he punched the side of the wagon.

Everyone froze.

“MIKUS!”

“Aye!”

“You are my second in command ... act like it!” Donnor glared while Mikus remained silent. “I depend on you to keep order, not let crap like this happen!” Mikus looked a little abashed.

“From this point forward, bust heads, break arms, beat people down, whatever it takes. I don’t care! That means Ari and the rest of the elves as well.

“Caravan rules, you get me?” Donnor waited until he was acknowledged. “Everyone works, nobody quits, or they’ll get tossed out on their arses!”

“Aye!”

“And if I have to make a lash, I will!” Donnor glared around at the troop. “We’re in the middle of the fecking wilds! What’s wrong with you people?” Donnor paced back and forth, everyone eyeing him warily.

“I’m going to explain this once … and once only. To all of you. You!” He thrust a finger towards Garesh. “Mikus is my second, Keris my third, and you are nowhere in there! Nowhere! YOU GET ME? If they tell you to do something, you will by all the gods do it or I will make it my personal mission in life to find the reason why! Do you understand?” He demanded, not bothering to wait for an answer.

“And you!” He thrust a finger at Shandii. “The same goes for you! You have an opinion, something useful to say, then say it! Speak up! But if you keep needling my second every chance you get, I’ll turn you over my knee!” Shandii sputtered as Donnor turned away.

“And don’t you even start!” He cast his eye on the ch’ten, hearing their pleased chittering from all around. “Put your gods damned blades and your poisons away! You hear me? If anyone winds up dead because of them, I’ll kill you myself!” Ahton looked abashed though stubbornly defiant.

“There are no enemies here!” he shouted in exasperation. “DO YOU GET ME?” He locked eyes on everyone around.

Donnor’s unconquerable will filled the surrounding spaces. Chest heaving, he picked up his spear, outlining a rough circle in the dirt before moving to its center. Then stripping off his armor and shirt until his chest was bare, he slammed his spear into the ground.

“I lead this troop, and everyone here will follow. You will get along, and you will stop this senseless bickering, or I will know the reason why,” he said in a deadly voice that sent tingles up and down everyone’s spines. Then Donnor drew his knife, making a shallow slice on each of his breasts before tossing the knife to the side. “I accept all challenges to my authority. Duels will begin, now.”

The silence was deafening, broken only by the artock shifting its weight. His da’ looked feral, like some wild thing from beyond that filled the very air with its presence. And his two terrifying eyes travelled over them all, Tommy shying away from what he now saw there. Not a single ounce of recognition was in them. His da’ looked like darkness itself … or maybe death, personified.

The silence stretched on, everyone shifting uncomfortably while completely unable to look away. Wind whispered through the trees, an autumn leaf gently settled to the ground by his da’s feet, but not a single person uttered a sound. Not even when Tommy’s bird landed on a tree behind him, stopping to peer all around, did anyone say a word.

“Beloved–”

“Do you offer challenge?” His da’ interrupted Ari in a terribly flat voice, turning his dead eyes on her. The elves, as a whole, recoiled.

“… No.”

“Then stand and be silent,” his da’ growled.

Saress placed a hand on Ari’s shoulder, shaking her head and stopping whatever Ari was about to say. Jahad looked at her in question, and even Garesh looked a little surprised, but Saress bowed her head slowly and respectfully towards Donnor, before looking up into his flat, cold eyes. “N’Taa,” was all she said, but he nodded to her in reply.

“Anyone else?” his da’ growled. “Anyone at all?” He stood there patiently, daring a single challenge to come forth. And as he gazed around, Alantin turned his face in his direction, cocking his head curiously about.

“I submit, Silverspear,” Jahad said from behind him, making an intricate gesture his way. Garesh choked and then moved to speak but Jahad silenced him, looking sternly at the mage.

Salia’s eyes widened but quickly copied Jahad’s gesture. “Silverspear,” was all she said, her simple acknowledgement prompting the rest of the elves who began mumbling and gesturing his way.

“Yer’ a right bastard, ain’tcha,” Shandii spat. Donnor just looked at her, his expressionless face terrifying to behold. Shandii shivered. “Fine, yer’ in charge, ya’ bloody bastard. We do wha’ ya’ say.”

Then Ahton chittered, bowing his head and making a big production out of sheathing his knife. He and the rest of the ch’ten barking loudly in their tongue to his da’. “Leader,” was all that Rast translated.

Donnor’s fire and fury rose like the sun from the emotionless abyss of his gaze, working its way through them all. “There will be no more episodes like this one.” His words echoed strangely through the air around them, while some kind of darkness seemed to pulse from deep within his gaze.

“Mikus, first rank will deploy to clear the road ahead,” Donnor ordered in that strange, quiet voice. “Shandii will send two of her riders to scout our backtrail and then assist you. She will follow your orders without complaint. Do you have any questions?”

He had none.

“Keris, second rank will deploy to follow the wagon. The elves will choose a single leader before providing security to our flanks. Their leader will not be Garesh. And if Garesh cannot find some way to be useful, he will remain on the wagon, alone and silent, until he has something useful to say.”

His da’ glared at Garesh, daring him to protest or complain. And Garesh didn’t say a word, seeing his death in Donnor’s eyes. “The elves will follow your orders,” Donnor continued to Keris. “Any questions?”

“No, Commander,” Keris answered into the silence. Jahad put a firm hand on Garesh’s shoulder, nodding Donnor’s way.

“Ari, you will return to the wagon and care for the survivors. You will remain with the wagon until needed elsewhere. The ch’ten will follow you and provide security for you while also covering our trail.” He raised an eyebrow her way, a single vein throbbing on his head. “There will be no more talk of elven ways. Do you understand?”

She pinched her lips until they were white, but remained silent. Though Falia somehow radiated her fury in her stead. Ahton didn’t say a word, but Saress nodded her understanding.

“Good.”

Donnor closed his eyes, obviously fighting for calm. “Listen, all of you. What Haleron described coming from behind us was a force in the thousands of ondilaan.” He opened his eyes, most of his fury at bay. “We can’t fight that; I’m not going to even try. We have to leave, and leave quickly. But I can’t keep you safe if you’re fighting among yourselves.”

A few people had the good graces to look ashamed.

“The only way we can go now is to follow the road to Windyspring, unless you want to go overland. But if we do that, we’ll have to leave the wagon behind with all of our food. And Silverlake’s people just can’t keep up.”

Donnor rubbed his face. “We’re not doing that, so we’re going to stay together and stay on the road. And by the grace of the lost gods, I will do everything I can to keep you safe. But I’m tired of your crap, and I don’t need any more of your problems.

“So, if you want to leave, you can go. Right now.” He paused, waiting to see if he had any takers. “But if you’re going to stay, you will follow my orders or there’ll be hells to pay.

“I don’t have time for this idiocy … and I’m completely through trying to make friends.” A tear of blood made its way down his bare chest. “You will get along with each other, starting now. Are there any questions?”

There were none. The bird trilled in the tree above him before deciding to take wing, and it almost sounded like it approved.

“Then get to it.” Donnor bent down to pick up his shirt. “I’m done with this shite.”

The Wilder Road

“How many are there?” Donnor’s dejected voice asked as he tiredly scrubbed his face.

“I’m not having a clue, Commander,” one of Shandii’s riders replied while knuckling his brow. Everyone was being very polite to Donnor ever since the incident this morning, and he was trying real hard not to let it anger him even more.

“A lot? A little? Make a guess, man.”

“Easily a herd.” The man shrugged, ducking his head away. “I never learned me numbers, Commander.”

Donnor sighed. “Can you at least tell me if there’s more of them than us?”

“Oh, aye. Easily, Commander, sir. They’re up and being all around everywhere.” He knuckled his head again.

“Fine. Head back as far as you dare, and let us know if they start heading this way.” The rider acknowledged his orders, trotting off on his corret. “Leaders to me!” Donnor ordered, watching first rank, along with Shandii’s riders, clear away another fallen tree.

Donnor waited patiently, fighting down another resurgence of the bloody rage that’d overtaken him this morning. He was honest enough to admit it rose every time he set eyes on Garesh. Then he realized he was glaring at the mage once more, which ignited his rage even further.

Will it never end?

“Aye, Laddie?” Mikus asked.

“Wait until the rest are here.” Mikus nodded, standing quietly while studying him out of the corner of his eye. That irritated Donnor even more, and Mikus snorted before raising an eyebrow his way. Donnor ignored him, eventually everyone else arriving, Lari showing up this time to translate for Ahton.

“Okay. Shandii? One of your people just came back. The ondilaan are in Silverlake. Your rider stopped short of the lake before he turned back, but your man said there’s more of them than us. He can’t count, though. You got anyone who can get me a count?”

“They ride, Donnor. I don’ be carin’ abou’ countin’.” She frowned in his direction.

Donnor fought against a resurgence of anger. It must have shown on his face, because everyone shifted while Shandii looked off to the side.

“Ahton? Salia? Be alert for ondilaani scouts. Push your people out,” he said as calmly as he could, while slowly counting to ten in his mind. “All I know about the ondilaan are they’re completely silent in the wilderness, so keep a close watch.

“Salia, are you in charge of your people?” Donnor asked, turning her way.

“Yes, Silverspear.”

“Have fun with that,” he muttered before he could stop himself, irritation rising at the slip. Then he made a conscious decision to let the frustration go, unable to help glaring at Garesh once more.

“We need to pick up the pace. Shandii, push your riders out. I need to know what’s up the road before we arrive. Keris, your people are taking Shandii’s place clearing the road. Both ranks work together. Got it?”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Shandii, do you know anything more about what’s ahead?”

“No.” She turned to spit, then glanced his way before staring off to the side. “Tha’ road be branchin’ off west when ya’ come ta’ Windyspring, but tha’ be tha’ end ‘o it.”

“Where’s it go?”

“Ta’ tha’ Spire.”

“Where nobody and nothing else is … leagues from everywhere.” Donnor sighed while rubbing his chin. “Anybody have anything else to add?”

“No … Commander,” a particularly furious elf said.

Donnor nodded, turning to meet his ilari’s eyes. “Get to it then,” he said after a moment, gazing at her in silence. She stood there, arms peevishly crossed before huffing and stalking away.

The group dispersed, Donnor ignoring a molten burst of fury shooting his way through the bond. He wasn’t going to deal with that right now, he decided, while following her with his eyes.

“N’Taa?” Saress asked.

“Yes?” He couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice. Her and Tommy were standing a few paces away.

“You were not wrong,” she simply stated.

“I know.”

“Good. I’ve tried to explain this to N’Taii. She does not understand.”

“She either will or she won’t.”

Tommy looked back and forth between them; it was obvious he didn’t understand either. “Da’?”

“An army can’t have more than one leader, or it tears itself apart.”

“An army?”

Donnor waved his hand to include everyone around. “It’s what we’re becoming,” his voice trailed off as he rejected a memory from long ago. “How many captains did we have on a boat back home, Tommy?”

“Uhhh, one?” Tommy looked at him in confusion.

“Right. Now imagine me and Mr. Celben on the same boat.”

“You two’d be in a fight before you left shore. He can’t stop trying to be in charge of anything, no matter what’s going on or why.”

“Precisely your N’Taa’s point, young mage. There are too many strong personalities here, all of them used to being in charge. There can only be one leader in a situation like this. Your father ended any debate, though he did choose an interesting way of doing it.” Saress had a slight twinkle in her eye. “I will do what I can with your mate, N’Taa.”

“She’ll calm down eventually.” Donnor said, feeling a burst of anger and indignation through the bond. “I think she heard us.”

“I am sure of it, N’Taa. I arranged it that way.” Saress’s eyes twinkled its way into a grin, both of them glancing towards the wagon only a few strides away.

Donnor snorted, ignoring another burst of annoyance through the bond. He also ignored the slamming sounds that accompanied them. “How do you feel?”

“The young mage and I are taking a walk. He is not needed.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Did I not?”

Donnor smirked. “Be that way. Don’t wander too far, daughter.”

“We will be safe, father,” she acknowledged. “Too much sitting leads to becoming fat.” She poked Tommy in the gut. “And while the young mage is resting his Tol, he can do other things.”

“Hey!”

“You ever gonna’ get your clothes back?” Donnor nodded towards her borrowed dress.

“Not until they are cleaned and repaired. I may split the skirts of this one.” Saress frowned at the dress. “It binds my legs.”

“That’ll make a statement.”

“Why thank you, father,” Saress gushed, a teasing twinkle in her eye.

“By tha’ Maker, don’ be doin’ tha’,” Mikus drawled while shaking his head. “Me heart’ll stop. You start talkin’ like tha’, an’ it’ll be like snow fallin’ in tha’ summer.” Saress laughed. “Ya’ feelin’ better?” Mikus asked, eyeing Donnor sideways.

“Getting over myself.”

“Good. We need ta’–”

A tremendous explosion of sound split the air as a huge black blur flew out of the woodline knocking people over. Blood sprayed as the troop cried out, men and equipment flying everywhere before whatever it was froze. Then they all saw it, crouched over the still forms of Canner and Sollip, before the creature roared and lashed out again.

“TO ARMS!” Donnor cried while charging the ebony beast that was snarling his way. It was a giant cat of some kind. Maybe, maybe not. He wasn’t sure. But it was so black it seemed to absorb the light like an evil hole had appeared there before him.

“A char’toth!” Garesh cried out, the elves sprinting in out of the trees.

Following his cry, the cat paused, showing its profile to the troop. The creature was huge, easily shoulder-high on a man. Its inky black pelt was sleek and glistened, an onyx so deep it sucked the light right out of the air. Tufted at the feet and tail, its coat billowed out like an eerie mist. And decorated along its flanks, a swirling design in its fur flickered in and out of sight, an inky blackness that was only slightly less shiny than the rest.

Mikus and Keris both cried to their ranks “… ON ME!” as they charged towards the snarling cat, men lowering their spears as they came.

Gart bellowed something, thrusting his spear into the beast’s side, then a brilliant purple light flared along the creature’s flank. It coursed along and through the inky design, flaring from tip to tail while the spear’s tip deflected off to the side.

“Saliantrea! Suppress its pathways or it cannot be harmed!” Garesh cried, panic filling his voice.

The char’toth batted at Gart’s spear, its huge paw catching him in the arm and spinning him like a top. Then it growled evilly the troop’s way.

“Tomilanthus!” Ari cried as Donnor sprinted towards it.

It’s just a beast, Donnor told himself. All it is, is a big, dangerous beast. Then he began the dance of death, spinning away from one of its claws while he thrust forward. “Get it away from the wagon! Give it a place to go!” He ordered, ducking away from one of its claws. “Don’t get between it and the forest!”

The thing growled, its oversized legs gathering while it crouched over a fallen man. Then it roared out defiance once more, its demonic eyes spearing those who were trying to keep it from its feast.

“Push it!” Mikus yelled. “Push it off him!”

The troop worked together, lowering their spears while they formed a wall before it. The beast both snarled and growled, obviously not wanting to leave its downed prey. A paw whipped out, slamming into Karn and sending him flying while another spear glanced off its flank accompanied by a bright, purple light.

“Watch out! It’s gonna’ jump!” Donnor warned, seeing it gather its legs. And then jump it did, flying over them all while Canner hung limply in its jaws, the tip of its tufted tail trailing along behind it like a whip.

“Don’t let it get away!” Donnor cried. Then Ahton chittered a sharp command, a series of arrows bouncing off the char’toth’s hide accompanied by another bright, purple flare.

“Suppress its pathways!” Garesh demanded.

“What do you think I am doing?” Ari screamed, her frustration evident over the din.

Larn threw himself on the ground to avoid another deadly swipe, a volley of arrows flying over his head. Ricocheting off the creature’s hide, they flew everywhere, accompanied by another flare. The char’toth seeming more annoyed than anything by the arrows while glaring the archer’s way.

“Pen it in! Don’t let it get away!” Donnor cried.

“I thought ya’ didna’ wanna’ pen tha’ bloody thing in!” Mikus protested, swinging his axe. “Make up yer’ damned mind!”

“It’s got Canner!” Donnor spun, finally striking the thing’s tail … which didn’t accomplish a thing. The creature growled, turning its attention on him and flicking out one paw. Donnor ducked the evil-looking claws, but it bowled over Feya, knocking her off her feet when she got in the way. Blood flew from her surprised face as she went down.

Another impotent flight of arrows volleyed in as Ari cried out “Mar’kan ittae!” Then a bright yellow flare came from behind as the ebon-hued cat caught Caynen in its jaws. It all but tore off Caynen’s arm as it flung him away. Then Caynen screamed, limply thudding to the ground before laying very still, blood pulsing from the wound.

Another brilliant purple flare shot forth, the creature screaming as it did so. Then it fixed on Tommy and Ari with two murderous, violet eyes, both filled with its hatred.

“Look out!” Donnor yelled, watching it gather its legs once more.

“Die already!” Mikus demanded, slamming his axe into the creature’s flank. “I cut it!” he yelled, excited to see the strike go deep. Arrows flew in, narrowly missing a few of the elves who’d danced close enough to stab it with their knives. Then arrows landed, sticking out of the char’toth’s hide like wild hairs on the beast.

The giant cat roared, flinching away as it swatted to strike Turred. It scored on the dwarf’s head, Turred screaming while he was flung away, Donnor noticing three deep, diagonal cuts, narrowly missing his eyes.

“Kill it! It’s vulnerable!” Garesh shouted, a few of the people from Silverlake screaming their encouragement as well. Then the char’toth whipped its head towards the mage, eyes narrowing in anger as it gathered its legs once more. Garesh screamed as the cat leapt straight at him.

“De’lenden Tae!” Ari cried. Golden darts striking the demonic cat in its flank, knocking it off target. But its obsidian hide absorbed the strikes as it turned its evil eyes on her.

“Your Tol won’t hurt it, you fool!” Garesh yelled before letting out an immense “OOF!” as one of the elves tackled him to the ground. And then a paw flashed by where his head had just been, the elf cursing as Ari dove off to the side.

Another series of arrows flew in, sticking out of the creature’s hide. Then it leapt towards Immer’s group, all of them scattering and throwing themselves away bodily.

“Get it!” Mikus shouted, the cat savaging Avad before leaping away as one of the elves got close. But even though it was hurt, it was obvious the char’toth was toying with them. The malevolent cat preying upon them like mice.

Donnor threw his arms wide, knowing they had to end this, letting the anger he’d fought against all day fill him as he faced the beast head on. “YAAAAH!” he screamed, hoping to get its attention. “FIGHT ME!” he challenged while Kordin rushed to his side.

Then an explosive roar thundered out of its gruesome maw as the monstrous animal turned its attention on him. It leapt without pausing, scattering men like toys as it flew through the air towards Donnor. The silence that sometimes came to him during battles started to fall as he heard an eagle cry.

“Donnor!” Ari screamed, another series of golden darts hitting the cat in its flank without any effect.

He threw himself to the side, death brushing close by as he landed painfully on the ground. Then scrambling to his feet, he turned wildly, but the sable cat on the ground wasn’t moving. It let out a whimpering complaint, awkwardly crouched overtop a struggling form, then collapsed while whatever it was screamed.

Men ran in to spear the creature, the cat not responding at all as they pierced its inky flank. Then Donnor heard Kordin’s muffled shouts from beneath the cat’s quiet, still form.

“Get it off him!” Donnor yelled to those around him, shoving people in to help. Then stepping away, he took in the troop, and those who were injured and down. “REPORT!”

“Three down!” Mikus called.

“I’ve got four!” Keris yelled.

“Get your wounded to Tommy and Ari!” Donnor ordered while Immer yelled that he had a man down as well.

“Heave!” Larn shouted, almost everyone left in second rank helping to push the cat clear. And eventually it flopped to the side, its jaws still locked around Kordin’s leg. His spear was sticking out of its neck, only half of its handle left to be seen.

“Owww!” Kordin protested as the cat was moved, blood leaking from around the fangs in his thigh.

“Make tha’ four!” Mikus shouted over his shoulder, trying to get the creatures jaws out of Kordin’s leg.

Donnor took it all in. “Salia! Encircle the wagon. Close defense, healers only. Ahton, the treeline! Make sure there’s no more. Ranks form in pairs. Defend the wagon.” Donnor ordered, all but vibrating in place while that dark part of him begged for release.

People rushed around following his commands as order slowly descended upon the road. He paced, unable to stop, eventually standing by the creature’s corpse as he listened to Ari triage the wounded. Their bond was quivering in a hyper-focused state, his nerves on edge with how focused they both were.

Mikus joined him, turning back-to-back without thinking about it as the sounds around them settled into a quiet murmur. Spears, knives, bows, axes, and shields, all pointed outward, nervously ready for the next attack. But Donnor and his friend gazed calmly over the battlefield, watching and waiting for another combat to begin.

“Didna’ see tha’ happenin’ …”

“No.” Saress was standing over his lover and son, both blades bare and ready in her hands.

“Think we done here?” Mikus asked, not taking his eyes off the trees.

“Hope so,” Donnor replied. “That thing almost took out an entire rank.”

Mikus grunted. “We stayin’ here fer’ tha’ night?”

“Might have to … Ari?” he called.

“Yes, Donnor?” She sounded totally distracted, hands covered in blood from the body beneath.

“Can the troop move?”

She looked up, eyes filled with the emerald and gold light from her magic. A swirling gray mist was forming around Tommy’s feet, and a shimmering was in the air where he held onto her shoulder. “I’d rather not. Caynen might lose an arm.”

Donnor nodded, returning to scanning around. “We stay.” Mikus grunted, time stretching as everyone around them waited for something to happen ...

… That never did.

“Stand down,” Donnor eventually said after hearing Ari say the rest of the wounded were stable. The normal sounds of the forest returning helped too.

“Whaddya’ wanna’ do wi’ tha’?” Mikus nudged the corpse of the cat with his boot. Tonat was already beside the creature’s head, eyes closed with one of her hands on its brow.

“Slaughter it,” Garesh answered, cautiously walking closer.

“Why?”

Garesh stopped, deliberately out of reach. “They were thought to be extinct. There’s a gland in their flanks that supposedly allows them to make their shield. It’s incredibly useful, if true. To find one–”

“We didna’ find a thing. Tha’ damned thing found us.” Mikus spat off to the side. “Wonder if we can eat tha’ blasted thing …”

Garesh bristled. “Fine. Let’s drag–”

“Commander!” Shandii cried.

“Here!”

Shandii trotted up with two riders, their correts coming to a halt just out of reach. All three of the giant birds looked at the dead creature with obvious interest, the smaller of their eyes seeming to evilly glow as they fixed their gaze on the beast.

Shandii tapped her mount in a distracted manner as it scraped one of its claw across the ground. “We havin’ problems.”

“Oh, joy. More?” Mikus drawled.

“Shut it,” Donnor snapped. “What now?”

“Mekklin here been watchin’ Silverlake.” She indicated the gnome. “Them ondilaan? They be comin’ this way.”

Mikus started cursing in dwarven.

“Ari? Get the wounded on the wagon,” Donnor called out, turning away from the corpse. Ari’s face rose in disbelief.

“The ondilaan are coming, people. We gotta get moving again.”

Altered Voice

“… de seylii’a tana es, Sella.” Laran’telia giggled, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Isn’t that what I said?” Sella asked.

“Noooo,” Laran’telia answered, fighting her laughter. “You said ‘dii sa’ lii a’tanaes’ …” The elf’s cheeks flushed a pretty rose, her eyes dancing. “Let’s just say I am glad my brother’s not here.”

Sella looked at her oddly, turning to Cor’An as the priestess entered the room.

“A’tanaes, Laran’telia?” Cor’An asked. “What exactly are you teaching our singer, hmmm?”

Laran’telia laughed, placing her hand over Sella’s own. “Ignore our priestess, singer. She’s an insufferable prude.” Then Cor’An laughed before sticking out her tongue.

Sella looked back and forth between the two, knowing full well she was somehow the butt of a joke but not understanding it at all. Then deciding to ignore them both, she returned to trying to sound out the finely written elven words, distractedly rubbing her head as she studied the book.

This was the second day she’d been mostly cloistered in the elves’ apartments, all the way at the top of the Child’s Tower. Laran’telia had held true to her word, deciding to teach Sella how to read and write whether she wanted to or not. And since Pawdrig had agreed, she was now at the elves’ beck and call, enjoying the onset of her newest headache while trying to read that damnable book.

“Do not frown so, Sella,” Cor’An admonished, lounging on the settee opposite her. “Despite our healer’s inability to maintain proper decorum around guests, we’re impressed you’re doing as well as you are.” Laran’telia grinned while taking a sip of wine. “You’re sure you have never been taught to read or write?” Cor’An asked.

Sella yawned, then scratched her back, having gotten over her uncertainty at being around the two the day before. It still surprised her how relaxed they’d become. The elves had started out being very formal and stand-offish around her, just like they were around everyone else. But ever since she’d been up here, it was like she’d been adopted into their fold, a complete transformation in how they treated her.

“No … Well, I watched Donnor teaching Tommy how to read and write a few times at their house, but they never taught me. And it certainly wasn’t elven.” She stopped to sound out a word from the book, mouthing the sounds that the symbols made while following along with one finger. “… yandun Tol … yandun bar’lin … yandun san-ten-tol?”

“San’ten’tol,” Cor’An corrected.

“Yandun aislynel nasio-chendee.”

“Nas’iochendii” Cor’An corrected again, both of her eyebrows raised. “Well done, singer. You’ve read that passage before? Earlier today perhaps?” She glanced towards the other elf.

Sella rubbed the back of her neck, stretching before she returned to studying the book. “No. First time I’ve seen it …” Then she busied herself reading the next verse, the timing and rhythm of the words quickly taking their proper place in her head. “… I’m just sounding out the words, Cor’An,” she mumbled absently. “It’s not like I’m actually understanding anything.”

“Ni Sii’en A’daer a masa’er dino dameda’el, Laran’telia,” Cor’An mumbled, almost too quiet for Sella to hear.

“Hmmm?” Sella asked, looking up towards the black-haired priestess.

“Nothing, Sella.” Cor’An smiled. “Why don’t you take a break?”

“I will in a bit.” Sella turned back to the book. “The words are pretty. I can almost see them … feel their rhythm when I say them out loud. What did you say they mean?”

Laran’telia and Cor’An exchanged glances over the top of her head, Cor’An shaking her head ever so slightly.

“It’s just a simple song, Sella,” Laran’telia answered. “The healers sing it to help them concentrate … It talks about Life, and how it connects to everyone, and everything.”

Sella nodded, not really paying attention, already back to sounding out the words. “I still don’t understand why you’re teaching me to read elven.” She trailed off, sounding out the next part as the elves watched her in silence. “It’s not like I’m ever going to use it again.”

“How were the rites today, Laran’telia?” Cor’An asked, blatantly changing the subject. She glanced quickly Sella’s way and then back again, making eyes at the elven healer.

Laran’telia rolled her eyes, Sella’s head still bent over the book and not noticing in the least. “Well, Priestess. We have days of healing yet, but our workings progress without issue. The toulans enjoy her singing.”

“Your brother will be pleased.”

“My idiot brother would have them healed tomorrow if we were able.”

Cor’An smirked, opening the thick tome they’d recovered from the basement on her lap. “Well, what is holding you back?”

Laran’telia snorted. “We are not all as gifted as the scion of your illustrious family, Cor’An a’Saliantrea. Healing actually does take time for the rest of us, you know.” Cor’An chuckled as Laran’telia’s rolled her eyes. “I’ve explained this to my very impatient brother ... multiple times.”

“And has he been receptive to forgiving your obvious deficiency?” Cor’An teased.

Laran’telia pinched her lips, sticking out her tongue at Cor’An. “About as receptive as a woken bear, priestess,” she complained with some sass, glancing towards the door as a servant entered carrying the tray of food she’d requested.

Pin … no, Pihn, Laran’telia thought her name was. Who would name their child after something you sew with, anyway? Human names are so strange. “Thank you, Pihn,” Laran’telia said, getting the girl’s attention. “Please, set it over here.” She moved some things from the table, giving the girl some room.

“How do you say this one?” Sella asked Laran’telia, pointing towards a particular word.

“Arnhysh. Like your words ‘are’ and ‘he’ with an ‘n’ in the middle … the whole thing ends like you’re shushing someone. Shhhhh,” Laran’telia explained.

“Are-n-heesh?” Sella sounded out.

“More like Arn-heesh,” Cor’An put in.

“Arn-heesh, arn-hysh, arnhysh,” Sella repeated, nodding to herself before turning the page.

“Will there be anything else, ma’am?” Pihn asked, glancing at Sella, not quite hiding her frown.

“No. Thank you, Pihn.”

Laran’telia wondered what the girl’s problem was while watching her curtsy, having picked up on her dislike for the singer the day before. She mentally shrugged. Humans. Who knows what goes through their heads. Then the girl removed a feather duster from her apron, moving into the other room to continue her duties. Maybe she just doesn’t like songs …

“How are the beauties of the Vale?” Vistarii inquired a few moments later as he came in through the door.

“Not all of us here are from the Vale, dear brother,” Laran’telia deadpanned.

“Are you calling Sella ugly, Strike Captain?” Cor’An asked sweetly, enjoying how Laran’telia teased.

“No …” Vistarii sputtered, glancing Sella’s way.

Sella ignored the byplay, having gotten used to the three teasing each other almost constantly. She turned back to the book after glancing distractedly his way, already sounding out another word in her head.

“What’s wrong dear brother? That’s the smallest number of words I’ve heard you utter in the singer’s presence in days.”

He gave his sister a telling look, pointedly turning away from her teasing. “Are they treating you well, singer? These two can be very rude and hateful. Trust me, I know.”

Sella didn’t answer, blinking at him owlishly as she mentally sounded out another word. What did he say?

“Your new attire is very becoming. It’s a beautiful dress,” Vistarii sallied, then glanced towards the other room as something fell.

“Hmmm? What?” Sella covered her mouth, yawning into her hand. “Oh, thank you, Lord An’Toyniell. The ladies have been most kind.”

“Ladies … Ha! And which of you told her I was a lord? Lies, all of it.”

“She could teach you a thing or two about being polite, you fool. Do all of those muscles interfere with the way your brain works?” his sister asked.

He offered her a flamboyant bow, making a series of gestures Sella had no hope of understanding.

Cor’An cackled. “He has you there, healer.” Her eyes danced with mischief. “Whatever else Life gifted him, a courtier he might have been.”

Laran’telia snorted, enjoying her brothers teasing. “Stand for us, singer. Show our ‘lord’ your new dress. He’s seen all of ours, but can’t seem to bring himself to complement us,” she finished, giving him a wicked grin that Sella didn’t see.

Cor’An choked a laugh into her fist, turning her amusement at the healer’s words into a cough. Laran’telia had been needling him mercilessly about flirting with the singer, and being interested in a human at all, of all things. He took the ribbing well, saying he was going to enjoy himself while he was here, regardless of whether a match between families was made. So, she’d politely called him a whore, asking if he’d seen anything else he might be interested in down in the stables. He’d innocently said his sister’s face did resemble one of the mares he’d seen, asking if she was possibly related, and if there were any distant cousins down there that she knew. Laran’telia replied she didn’t know of any horses in the family, but he certainly did resemble a horse’s ass she’d seen. And then Cor’An had to send him away after a bit, as it had gone downhill from there.

Sella stood, smoothing the skirts of the first of a series of dresses that were being made for her, and hoped that the elves approved. After returning from her fitting the other day, the elves had discovered that she had nothing to wear beyond what she’d escaped from Lakeside in. Laran’telia had been beyond upset, with there being absolutely nothing for it but to submit and be adorned in whatever manner the healer desired. And so, the dressmaker had been summoned once again, and the elves had insisted on designs for her to wear.

Sella wasn’t used to that level of attention, but even she could admit it felt good. The floor length dress, gown really, no matter what the elves said about it, was a gorgeous deep blue that both matched and was a foil for the blues of Redtail’s colors. It snugged her upper torso, held in place by two delicate straps that were the width of a single finger. Then it descended her waist in a flowing bounty of the softest of cloths to rest like a cloud around her feet. It moved and flowed around her freely, not constricting her movements at all, a strict requirement of the elves. And with it came a long-sleeved jacket that barely came down to her waist, embroidered in a delicate brocade of crimson thread for everyone’s eyes to see.

In it, she felt beautiful and important, and drew the attention of everyone that passed by. People smiled, and single men grinned, and she enjoyed every moment of seeing Vistarii’s jaw slacken as she stood and presented herself to him. She innocently cocked her hip, running her hands down the dress’s length while supposedly smoothing her skirts. And she giggled as he couldn’t help himself but follow her hands down with his eyes.

His sister laughed aloud. “Well done, singer. Well done.”

But Sella also felt like an imposter in the dress as well. She’d drawn flat glances from the staff after the priestess and healer had insisted she dine with them earlier in the day. And she glanced up to see Pihn standing in the other room, eyeing her while openly radiating her hate. It took everything she had not to react to her look, or say a word about it.

It’s my problem … not theirs.

“By the Vale you are beautiful …” Vistarii whispered, more to himself than anyone else in the room. Then Sella saw Pihn turn her hateful eyes on him, before spinning away to furiously dust the adjoining room.

Laran’telia laughed beautifully. “Oh, brother. Whatever shall we do with you? You are a pig in almost every circumstance and then you say something wonderful like that? Watch what you say; you’ll make me believe there’s hope for you yet.”

The strike captain shook his head ruefully. “I’m sorry, did you say something? I swear I heard snark ... I did take a blow to the head in practice today …”

Cor’An snorted, turning her attention away from observing the servant who’d glared. She’d better be careful before she breaks that vase. “Now that I do believe, Strike Captain. How exactly did you survive?”

“I’ll have you know it was a swordmaster or two who struck me,” Vistarii indignantly answered. “Maybe it was three,” he added, glancing towards Sella. “Yes, three.” He grinned. “All outweighing me by a wyvern’s weight. Muscled like a giant, seasoned by a lifetime of combat–”

“Shooting lightning out of their arse,” Laran’telia deadpanned.

Sella giggled, Vistarii yet another man being an idiot in a girl’s presence because of her clothes. She smiled wickedly, deciding to join ranks with his sister in putting him down. “More muscle than brains … isn’t that what you said, Laran’telia?”

Vistarii laughed, enjoying the baiting. “A mortal hit.” He mimed clutching his chest. “Seriously though, your knight is most skilled, singer.”

“Lord Maorilan’s knight, Strike Captain. I have no knight.”

“A deficiency I should apply for to rectify.”

Sella rolled her eyes and then grinned.

“Oh, by Life, brother. Just stop.” Laran’telia rolled her eyes as well. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Vistarii made another flamboyant bow, the lot of them laughing as he wiggled his brow.

“I haven’t laughed like that in ages.” Sella smiled. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“It is our pleasure, singer,” Cor’An said. “You ease the suffering of our people with your songs, at all hours of the day and night. And you ask nothing in return for sharing your gift.”

“It’s not a gift. It’s just songs,” Sella protested.

“So, you say,” Cor’An replied, gracing her with a gentle smile. “But we consider what you have a gift, nonetheless. If a few pieces of cloth, some easy instruction, and moments of banter are all that you require, we will see that they are provided for you.”

Sella ducked her head, embarrassed by the priestess’s direct gaze. She’d never had anyone be so thankful for her singing, and the wounded elves down in the Hold absolutely adored her. She spent hours down in the barracks every day, sitting on bunks, sometimes just sounding out a wordless melody wherever they lay. And the one who’d held her hand and cried yesterday … she’d fled that one. To this day not knowing what it was he’d said through his tears.

“Here, Strike Captain. Sit and listen to Sella’s most recent accomplishment.” Cor’An patted the settee beside her, putting the book she’d been studying in her lap. Vistarii sat, looking at the priestess and the rest curiously.

“Our singer has been attempting a few elven verses today,” Laran’telia explained, indicating the songbook in her hands.

“I couldn’t …” Sella protested, Laran’telia silencing her with a look.

“Nonsense, singer. Let our foolish captain hear what you have accomplished in only a short amount of time,” the effortlessly graceful elf insisted. “You don’t even have to sing. Just say the words aloud as they come to you. You did say you could almost feel them, didn’t you?” Laran’telia prompted.

“I … Yes … but you …” Sella faltered, admitting defeat in the face of Laran’telia’s encouraging smile. She sighed, glancing towards Vistarii and bestowing on him a rueful grin. “Please excuse how horribly I’m about to butcher your tongue.”

“Nonsense, singer. Even if the repulsive sounds of dying frogs come from your lips, it would be music to my ears. You sing as if you are blessed by Life itself.”

The two elven ladies rolled their eyes and laughed as Sella stuck out her tongue. “Thank you for your kind words, sir,” she artfully said, affecting airs in the face of his grin. Everyone ignored the thump coming from the other room. “Seriously though, thank you. I’m very thankful for everything you’ve done.”

Laran’telia squeezed her arm, smiling her silent reply before opening the book and turning to a particular passage. “Here, this verse, Sella. Just read the words aloud; simply sound them out.”

Sella bit her lip, fighting against a reluctant refusal that was trying to rise. Laran’telia nodded her encouragement, so Sella hesitantly turned her attention back to the book. Then she slowly, and haltingly, started to sound out the elven words, the elves remaining silent as she spoke in their tongue.

She was glad this section was something she’d already read. Her speech was rough, crude even, with her starting and stopping without regard to how it was spoken. But she did her best, not knowing the language, not even the meaning of the words written there in the tome. All she did was repeat the sounds that Laran’telia and Cor’An had taught her, a rhythm she now heard that coincided with the intricate marks on the page.

Over time her voice strengthened, the sounds coming swifter as she traced her finger across the book’s text. The symbols blurred as the cadence increased, and the elven speech seemed to leap from the page while she read. Her voice was rising and falling with inflections that no mark had told her to make, and her words became both intimate and bold as they carried their way across the room. The sounds seemed reluctant to drift as she continued, some echo remaining taking on a heady weight, but she continued to recite the words ever onwards, not even noticing when she stopped to turn the page.

Vistarii was outright staring at Sella’s lowered head, his shocked eyes tumbling through a plethora of silent questions as he furiously shot looks towards the other two. And both Cor’An and Laran’telia nodded their understanding, Cor’An making a series of rapid gestures he seemed to almost strangle on as he followed along with what Cor’An had just said.

Laran’telia began to sing a single note. Then Cor’An shortly thereafter. Then a hesitant Vistarii added his voice to theirs in a powerful harmony which only added to the moment Sella was barely conscious she was making.

And while Sella read, completely unaware of what was going on around the room, her voice mingled and twined with the elves. The music took them, wandering through their souls in a glorious experience that they all shared between them. And it was a powerful moment, alighting on them in mystical notes that pelted forth throughout the room.

…

Yandun Tol,

Yandun bar’lin,

Yandun san’ten’tol,

Yandun aislynel nas’iochendii.

Ish’ta tazi al’lon a nass, no’tarii

Neskell ton, a Tol yandun.

Yandun, Ilari.

A Tol, Ilari.

Ilari es …

Ilari,

Tol.

Sella’s voice continued through the final haunting words, rising and falling of its own accord, accompanied by the wordless harmony of the elves. She felt as if she was floating, drifting on an invisible river of song. It flowed peacefully through her body while it pulled at her mind, and she rested on it, just breathing. Then she breached the surface of wherever she’d been, softly landing upon the banks of the world. Contentedly sighing, she realized she’d just experienced an amazingly beautiful thing.

Opening her eyes, she saw the elves looking back at her. Vistarii regarded her openly with wonder, and she wrinkled her brow at him in question. Looking at him, and then the others, the three holding a silence for her that was full of questions.

“You are full of surprises, singer …” Vistarii said, letting his voice drift into the quiet of the room. Then he stood, moving to slowly kneel on the carpet before her. He hesitantly reached up as if he was about to caress her face, but settled for placing his hand on her knee. “… and you are very beautiful … as beautiful as the songs that you sing. Who would have thought we would find such a thing in the citadel …”

He shook himself. “I would consider it a great personal honor if you would continue to share your gifts, Sii’en A’daer. Your blessing is a gift. The families of everyone here are unknowingly in your debt.”

Sella ducked her head, shying away from the intensity of his gaze. The look he was giving her … the heat ... the raw, naked need and passion she saw there … all of it focused on her for just saying some simple words. It was too much. She didn’t know what to say.

He reached up, gently turning her jaw to look at him. “Think upon my request fondly, singer ... If it pleases you ...” He trailed off, searching her eyes before standing and bowing to everyone there. To her, lowest of all. Then he slowly left, disappearing through the outer door with a final, lingering look.

Sella was still sitting there, frozen in shock with a single hand pressed over her chest as the door closed. She looked to both of the other elves, the two beautiful women smiling at her in return. Then she returned to looking at the now closed door, not even seeing it, while wondering what had occurred.

“Well done, Sella. Very well done, indeed.” Laran’telia’s soft voice broke the silence, then she turned her head. “Sii’en A’daer a An’Toyniell, a’Saliantrea?” she asked Cor’An, raising a delicate eyebrow her way.

Cor’An studied Sella, who still hadn’t looked away from the door. Sella’s eyes seemed to catch the noonday sun as she fussed with her dress. The brown in them seemed to sparkle with amber flecks as the light reflected off her jacket’s crimson brocade. Then Cor’An carefully reached out with her Tol, delicately taking Sella’s measure along with the rest of the room.

“Ku, An’Toyniell,” the priestess eventually replied, surprised by what she had found. Then basking in the peace that had settled over them all, she turned towards the healer, refusing to even acknowledge the hatred she saw flaming in that strange servant’s eye.

“… Ku.”

The Observatory

Sella was no fool. Something happened in that room, something that totally floored Strike Captain Vistarii An’Toyniell. And it was something she couldn’t get an answer to from Cor’An or Laran’telia no matter what it was that she asked.

She stomped her way down from the top floor of the Child’s Tower, mind furiously whirring away. She found herself getting off on the sixth floor, then walked deliberately towards the observatory, seeking the peace of the balcony outside.

What just happened? she asked herself. Me? Beautiful? Sella scoffed; no one called her beautiful. And the way he looked at me ... there, at the end … Gods, what am I going to do? Tessa is going to have a fit if she ever finds out about this! And what, by all of the lost gods, is a … whatever the hells he keeps calling me. She huffed, stomping her way down the hall. What all of them are calling me for that matter … Gods! A see-en-a-day-er? What in hells is that?

She blew through the room, jostling one of the high-backed chairs with her hip as she stomped her way through to the balcony. She sounded out the word that she’d heard them use, something about it resonating with her mind ...

What kind of twisted elven thing are they doing to me? The way I felt after reading those pages … They had to be using magic on me. And Vistarii … He was going to kiss me! And the way Pihn looked at me before she left? Gods! Everyone is going to hear about this now. I just know it!

Sella paced back and forth along the rail, the skirts of her beautiful gown gusting away in the breeze. Her mind was spinning ever outward in a steadily growing circle, not even knowing where to begin. I don’t even know what any of those elven words mean! She glared up at the elven apartments, then ducked away before any of them could see.

Gods, what is Daris going to think about this? streaked across her mind as she guiltily glanced back through the door. Daris had called in a favor to get her this job in the Hold, and she was barely doing any of it at all … all she was doing was sing! It was easier when the ondilaan were here!

But only a blind man would have missed the way Pihn had glared at her. And after Pihn spread the tale of how Vistarii had looked at her, and what he’d said to her, she’d end up right back at the Cup. She just knew it. And I don’t want to leave!

Sella pounded her fist on the rail, the bare stone of it hurting her hand. She hissed, clutching her fist to her stomach while her mind spun imagining the tales Pihn was certain to tell. Then she remembered the worst …

He bowed to me!

She could hear Telee and Pihn in her head. Sella, singing to the elvish lord. Sella, in a dress made for a queen … Sella, now with a closet full of dresses … commissioned by the elves … approved by their lord … dining with them at meals … joking with them … learning how to read … flirting with the commander himself … getting him to like her … twisting another man around her finger to get her way … just like Dira had said … she’ll be warming the commander’s sheets soon ... just you wait and see! Sella, once again sleeping her way to the top ... like the minx she is! Sella, the harlot ...

... Sella, the whore.

A single tear threatened to escape her eyes. Then her stomach clenched hard enough to break her in half as she fought giving in to her emotions.

I will not cry. Not cry! I won’t! Not here, not now, not for this, not for any reason, she repeated to herself. I have to be strong! … Figure out what I am going to do! And on thinking that, she pressed her fist hard into her gut, the pain helping her fight off her growing tears.

Why won’t they just leave me be? wailed through her head before she slammed the door on her inner anguish. She sniffed, impressively forcing down the tears that threatened to form. Then delicately dabbing at her eyes, she stared out over the glorious vista … at both everything … and nothing at all.

Damn Dira and her rumors. Damn Telee and Pihn for listening. And damn every last one of them for spreading their talk all over the Hold, she cursed as she took a deep, shuddering breath.

She straightened her back, putting her hands delicately on the rail like she’d seen Laran’telia do before. The effortless elegance of the elven healer made any woman who caught sight of her completely envious of her grace, and Sella was one of those women, determined to copy what she had seen … Sella hated the way Pawdrig smiled at her. Though she had no right. No right! Sella fought the sound that tried to escape her thinking that. She had no right!

A fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time, Sella. She heard the gruff words of old man Hart echoing in her mind. Yer’ never gonna’ be left alone, girl, he’d told her. Ya’ either make yer’ way, or it gets made fer’ ya’. You’ll see.

Gods, how she missed him. That sweet old man … her memory shying away from how he had died. I miss you, old man. She wiped at her eyes again, refusing to sniff. But, he was right.

Sella took a slow, deep breath, her hair softly blowing on the breeze. She glanced down onto the town below, finding the roof of the Happy Cup and the people going into and out of its door. Maybe I should go see her, she thought. Daris Sintletin, the halfling matron who owned it, completely incapable of giving bad advice.

Then she looked back towards the elven apartments … her new duty ... her cage. I wonder if they’d even let me leave? she grumped. Then she worried about how she would get their permission, and how she could get them to stay.

Sella paced back and forth along the rail, smoothing her dress across her hips over and over again, furiously thinking about what she was going to do. There’s no way to stop those bitches’ rumors now, she acknowledged, absolutely nothing there I can do at all ... They were already making their rounds; she was sure of it. And for all she knew, they were spreading around town, too.

Tessa had said she’d be dismissed if she acted like she had in the past. She’d done her best to be true to her new duties, to be the proper little maid. But the past had come out, no matter what she had done. Following her around like a weight … dragging her down. And now this thing with Vistarii?

Is it all over? Should she just go talk to Tessa? Tell her about the rumors? How untrue they all were? Let her deal with it? Or should she speak to Daris down at the cup? Handle it like she would in the common room? Say something herself? Confront Telee and Pihn? Gods, they’d just love that …

Should I just leave?

She glanced down at the Cup and then back to herself, then up towards the elven apartments once more. She started pacing back and forth, biting her lip while she thought. The banner of Redtail was fluttering away in the breeze, drawing her eyes to the bridge between the towers where it was hung. And she watched the birds wheeling there in the wind, playing, the lot of them happy and free.

She sighed, thinking of Daris, Tessa, and Pawdrig, and all they had done for her. The good times she’d had with them, and then acknowledged the good times she’d had with the elves. Then she stared off towards the Cup and the warehouse there behind it, and thought about all the people being housed there, packed into it like fish in a net.

No, I don’t want to leave, she admitted, her furious pacing slowing as she caught sight of a boat leaving the harbor. A boat that reminded her of home, then of old man Hart. And how she’d always found comfort in his stories about the inn he’d used to own.

There’s always gonna’ be a fight, girl, he used to tell her. Ya’ gotta pick yerself up off tha’ floor when it comes, or tha’ bastards will kick ya’ while yer’ down. He had looked like he was remembering something that one time, something he never did end up having the time to share. But it’s a whole lot easier ta’ pick yerself up, if it never comes ta’ blows in tha’ first place.

How do I pick myself up out of this fight, old man? She ran a single hand across her chest, smoothing the wondrously soft cloth that fit her like a glove. Because it’s already come to blows, Mr. Hart. I mean, I think it has. I’m pretty sure … hasn’t it?

She thought about Dira, Telee, and Pihn, and then all of the looks she’d been getting. The guarded glances. The whispers in the halls. Yeah, I guess it has. She frowned, thinking even more about what she should do.

I need help, she admitted, the ache in her stomach returning fourfold on admitting her need. Sella bit her lower lip, desperately wracking her brain for anyone who could possibly help her. She didn’t know anyone else in the Hold, and here was the site of her need. The looks Giri was giving her now, she probably wouldn’t help. She couldn’t go to the kitchens, Dira Greentree was there. And she didn’t know any of the other maids.

Sella would never forget the way Tessa had treated her that first night, either; accusing her of sleeping around. Tessa said later on that she understood, confiding in her her similar past, but did she really mean it? Did she trust her? I don’t know … And she was so busy all the time. No, she was too scared to go see Tessa for this.

There was nothing for it. Daris was the only one who’d ever accepted her just as she is. She’d have to ask Daris, and hope she could help think of a solution. But to do that, she’d have to go down to the Cup. She glanced up towards the elven apartments once more and then sighed, every part of her being not wanting to ask.

Nothing for it, she heard old man Hart say, chuckling ruefully as she mentally repeated his words. Then she squared her shoulders and took another deep breath, accepting the decision she’d made. She would go and pour her heart out to Daris, down in town at the Happy Cup, and hope she knew what to do.

Maybe I should ask Heller if he wants to go? She chuckled ruefully to herself. If the bitches see me with him instead of Vistarii, maybe they’ll stop and let me go.

She turned her back to the rail, glad to have made a decision. Her steps were lighter as she brushed aside the curtain to reenter the observatory, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the deep shade of the room. And there she crashed to a halt, frozen into shocked silence as she looked at the figure sitting there in that room.

He looked completely at ease reclining there. In that chair. The one she’d knocked into when she’d stormed through the room. She hadn’t a clue what to do.

“You look … very beautiful today, Sella,” Lord Pawdrig Maorilan said as his eyes roamed all over her form.

Sella could feel the weight of his gaze as if his hands were gliding their way over her body. He held a tiny book in his lap, both hands clasped over it as his grey eyes sought and captured her own. And she shivered a little as their eyes met, seeing something stir deep within that both stunned and shocked her on finding it. She ducked away from the heat in his gaze, his blond hair glimmering in the light of the sun, while her frantic pulse began pounding in her head.

“My pardon.” He looked down at his lap, fiddling with the book almost … nervously?

Sella caught herself glancing from his eyes to his lips as he spoke, fighting her tingling middle on seeing him. “My Lord.” Sella dropped into a deep curtsy; her face entirely aflame. “I am sorry for disturbing you.”

“Nonsense. It’s obvious you came here seeking solace … like I do sometimes ...” He studied her, his eyes still taking her in but with their heat now momentarily banked. “… I’ll admit it was rude of me to stay, but I was worried. Tell me, Sella, what troubles you?”

“Nothing of note, my Lord.” She lowered her eyes.

Pawdrig snorted. “Should I call you a liar?”

Sella curtsied once more, keeping her eyes firmly on the floor. “It’s nothing, my Lord,” she said. “A servant’s issue.”

“I think I should decide for myself what might be ‘nothing’,” he said, humor entering his voice.

She heard the scuff of a shoe, and then another, but refused to look up or respond.

“Come. Sit with me. Share whatever troubles you, Sella. I’m lonely, and could use some distraction this evening … Some pleasant company, at least. And you are certainly the most pleasant of company.”

“I couldn’t possibly, my Lord.”

“Nonsense. Sit.” He patted the chair beside him. “And I thought we had already agreed you would call me by name. My name is Pawdrig, Sella, in case you forget. We talked about it that night we shared by the rail.” She saw him wave towards the curtain outside. “A night that was special to me.”

She couldn’t help it and glanced up, seeing his teasing smile before glancing quickly away. You have no idea how much I want to sit with you, Pawdrig Maorilan. But gods, I can’t screw this up anymore. If anyone saw me with you right now … She stayed silent, not knowing what else to say.

“Sella, raise your eyes to me.”

“My Lord?”

“Please? Will you not even look at me?” She heard something beyond teasing in his voice, some unknown need he gave voice to. “Leave me here to sit all alone?”

“You will never be alone,” Sella declared fiercely. You won’t!

“Not if you join me,” he teased. “Pretty please? I’ll beg you if I must.”

She grinned, speaking before she could stop herself. “I’m sure you say things like that to all of your maids.”

Pawdrig snorted. “Not likely.” The utter rejection communicated by his voice unable to be ignored.

“You don’t?” She couldn’t help herself; she liked this man. “I’m sure you have hundreds of them pining after you, my Lord,” she teased.

“No. At least no women I find interesting.”

“Oh? And which ones does a lord like you find interesting?” I can’t believe I just said that. We’re not at the Cup!

“Beautiful women who sing … the ones like you.”

The intensity of his statement utterly blew her away. Thank gods we’re alone.

“My Lord, I …”

She heard him pat the chair next to him once more. “Rise, Sella.”

“My Lord …”

“Sit with me.”

“I couldn’t possibly.”

“And I say you should.”

“… I am a mess ...”

Pawdrig chuckled. “In no way that I can see.”

She glanced up to see if he was joking.

“Please? I miss your company ...”

“My Lord ...” The entire staff knows he comes up here to escape!

“… And your laugh.”

“My Lord …” Her will was dissolving. This is his mother’s place!

“And my name is Pawdrig ... I’d like to hear you say it if I could.”

She could almost hear his smile, and she couldn’t help herself. She wanted this man. And she shivered a little on admitting that.

“You can say it, can’t you? It’s really not that hard … Pawdrig,” he teased, slowly pronouncing his name.

She glanced up and caught sight of his smile. She couldn’t help a little teasing of her own. “You think I will just call any lord by their given name?”

Pawdrig chuckled. “I can only hope that it will be me.” Her hope swelled while his smile grew.

“Pawdrig then ...” She smiled hesitantly in return, her heart absolutely glowing as she said it.

His eyes lit up as she met them “See, I knew you could do it ...”

Biting her lip, she responded, “I did it for you.”

He studied her, the heat not quite hidden coming fully out into view. “You have very beautiful eyes, Sella ...”

Flushing though pleased, she glanced over his chair to where something had drawn her attention. And on seeing it, she completely froze.

Tessa and Pihn were standing there in the doorway. Neither one said so much as a thing as Pawdrig patted the chair once more beside him, never once looking away from her form. But Pihn’s evil, gloating smile spoke volumes. And Sella could almost hear her say, ‘I have you now, you whore’.

She could have ignored that, there in that moment, her moment with Pawdrig. But there was no way she could ignore what else she was seeing ... from the one who had taken her in, given her a job, clothed her, fed her, altered her duties … Pawdrig’s private protector ... The keeper of his home.

No, there was no way she was ignoring the look she was getting from Tessa ...

… A mighty, and disapproving, frown.

Keris

Day 233 – Everyone is exhausted. The last thing I want to do is write in this stupid book right now, but Ari won’t stop talking about it, so here we go.

After that monster attacked us, we quick skinned it because the sprites wanted to drag the hide behind the wagon. They’re hoping it’ll throw off our … ignore that, Ari just told me it’s not spelled s-e-n-t … it’s spelled s-c-e-n-t.

Yes, I wrote it right. No, I don’t need Falia to check it. All I want to do is sit down and get something to eat. Great, now they’re both glaring at me.

Anyway, the thing’s stupid pelt stinks enough it’d cover Gart’s sweat, that and Garesh’s stupid hunk of flesh he wanted. Hopefully, it’ll shut him up. And if they can get the smell out of it, the pelt would probably make a good rug. Maybe Ari and Falia can go clean it and leave me alone.

With the ondilaan coming we didn’t stop all day. The moons were up enough for the elves and the ch’ten to see by, so we marched all night again too. We’re all tired, there’s been no training for two days now, and now we’re napping in shifts in the wagon.

We just keep on going to get away from the ondilaan. Moving, and moving, and moving, and ... now I’m being told to stop complaining. Can you sigh in writing?

I fell completely asleep on the wagon after healing yesterday. Apparently, we both did. And Ari said there’s no reason ...

Keris slowly eased himself to the ground, grunting in pure bliss as his weight finally came off his aching feet. Leaning back against the tree was a descent into ecstasy, and he didn’t give a damn if anyone heard him moan. He let his head rest against the rough bark, finally able to close his eyes.

Gods, he was tired. Maybe he could even sleep.

They’d been on the road for two days now, the entire time without any significant rest. Ever since Shandii’s people figured out the ondilaan were following them, they’d basically been on the run. And Keris knew by the looks on Mikus’s and the Commander’s faces that they were worried about it as much as he was, all three of them doing their best to hide it from the men ...

… Because the ondilaan could be in Windyspring too.

“You okay, Keris?” Hartok asked.

“Yeah, just glad to get off my feet.”

“You and me both. The Lady sent me around. She’s lookin’ after everyone again, wants us to take off our boots.”

Keris grunted, leaning forward to untie the hurtful things. And he refused to react the tiniest bit to Hartok’s chuckle when he heard him groan. “Oh, shut up,” he grumbled as Hartok snickered again.

Shandii’s people had discovered the hide they were staying in this evening, and Keris wondered how much of a ‘find’ it really was. Her glances had been awfully shifty when they asked her about it, but right now he didn’t really care. The sheltered glade provided enough safety and security for everyone to take a break in, thank the gods. And, hells, there was even a little stream over that way to water the animals in.

Wonder if I should head over there and soak my feet.

“You look exhausted, Keris,” Ari said, her concern written clearly on her face.

“Just tired, Lady.”

She frowned like she always did when they called her that, but her momentary flicker of emotion quickly dwindled away.

That older elf was beside her. Falia, she called herself, apparently Ari’s maid from before she had left the Vale. And Falia didn’t look too happy about Ari picking up one of his aching feet as the light of her magics quickly entered her eyes. It would just figure the Lady of all people would have a maid.

Keris hissed as Ari started turning his foot this way and that. “Blisters,” she pronounced while a tingling spread through his foot, then she put it down to pick up the other. She looked up after a moment of inspection, frustration meeting his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d twisted your ankle?”

“We needed to keep moving,” he explained. The tingling spread over the other foot as well, before continuing to encompass his entire body.

Ari frowned, her delicate fingers probing his swollen ankle. She started mumbling to herself, but he really didn’t care, the aches and pains finally beginning to go away. Then Falia said something in reply, the two of them conversing back and forth in elven while she healed the injuries he had.

Falia sighed, her frustration bringing him back enough to open his eyes.

“This needs to stop,” Ari said. “No one is going to be able to do a bit of good if everyone is like this.” Falia started to say something more before Ari cut her off. “Common, please, Falia,” she insisted. “We speak the common tongue in the troop,” she finished, still poking away at his foot.

Falia looked back-and-forth between Keris and her, her face completely unreadable. Then she bobbed an apology his way, looking uncomfortable before speaking. “Nisa Saliantrea … this is not your place.” Falia lowered her gaze.

“My place is where I say it is.” Ari frowned, not even glancing her way. “You have no idea what I … what we’ve all been through on the road together.” Ari fussed with his foot some more, her eyes slowly losing some of their emerald glow. “Are we staying here for the night, Keris?”

“You know as much as I do, Lady. He didn’t say, but I think so. Pretty sure we wouldn’t have unhitched the artock if we were going to leave.”

Ari grunted, wiping both hands on her skirt. “We’re going to stay if I have anything to say about it. Consider it decided, he just doesn’t know about it yet.” She frowned, glancing towards the two humongous boulders marking the entrance to the hidden glade. “I’ll be healing the artock soon if we keep this up … Is he still out on the road?”

“Yes, Lady.” He noticed her frown deepen, speaking up before he even thought about stopping himself. “He was right you know.” She turned her beautiful eyes on him, frowning even more. “There can’t be more than a single person in charge. It needed to be done.”

She huffed, looking back towards the road. “I know.” She glanced towards where Tommy and Saress were sitting amongst the survivors from Silverlake. “It’s been made very clear to me,” she murmured, watching Tommy’s head bend over his book, writing. She descended into silence, startling a bit when he shifted his weight.

“Rest here, Keris. When you feel you’re up to it, go soak your feet in the stream. The cold water will help with some of the swelling. I don’t have enough Tol to heal everyone completely on my own right now. Maybe Tommy and I can do more tomorrow ...” she looked off around the glade.

“Aye, Lady. I’ll spread the word. I’m just going to sit here first for a bit.”

Ari nodded, squeezing his shoulder before moving on to the next. Healing everyone, one after the other, of their various aches and pains. He was listening to her scold Gart about his bleeding feet when one of the elves walked up.

“May I sit?”

Keris waved towards the ground. “Grass’s free.”

“Thank you,” the elf said, lowering himself to sit off to the side where he could join Keris in watching the camp. He sat there silently, watching the Lady move from person to person, greeting and healing them all. Keris decided the elf wasn’t going to say anything, so he reached down, starting to put on his boots.

Bet that water will feel good.

“Does she do this often?” the elf asked, interrupting his lacing his boots.

“Do what?”

“Share her gift of Tol.”

Keris looked up, following the elf’s gaze to where Ari was. She had Falia holding Karn’s leg in the air, the dwarf protesting while she healed him of whatever was wrong with his knee. Karn was yelling “ow” every time she poked at it, and it didn’t look like she cared in the least, scolding him thoroughly about something while she continued to heal.

“All the time … She’s healed everyone here. Saved everyone a bunch of times.” The elf looked over at him. “We’d all be dead a hundred times over if not for her.” The elf studied him before turning back to observing the camp, not a single reaction to Keris’s statements he could see.

“And the Nu’Surledyn?”

“The what?”

“Apologies. The half-breed, Tomilanthus.”

Keris frowned, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. “You mean her son?”

The elf looked back at him, studying him once more. “I must apologize again. Her son. He shares the gift of his Tol with you freely, as well?”

“They both do.” Keris shifted his weight, his back screaming where he’d pulled it after moving that bloody tree earlier. At least his boots were on. “Do you have a point?” he grumped.

The elf raised both hands, palms placatingly out towards him. “Please, peace. I do not intend any offense.”

“You have a hell of a way of going about it then.”

“Peace.” The elf nodded, his voice quiet and strange. He turned back to watching the camp, his eyes going unfocused and seemingly staring off into space. “We didn’t know …”

Keris glanced at him, deciding to let his anger drift away. He leaned back against the tree, watching the camp and wondering what the elf wanted. That, and who the elf really was. This one was certainly more than just a name. It took a lot to forget his part in the fight that first night.

Mikus and Donnor walked in past the boulders, stopping to take in the camp. Donnor said something to Mikus, the dwarf moving off towards the rest of his rank. Then he sat down with them, Mikus taking his time to speak with every single last one while he broke out his rations to eat.

Donnor walked slowly around the glade, checking in on everyone as he went. Inspecting gear, putting a hand on a shoulder there, helping to untie a pack for someone sitting on the ground, he moved to answer questions from some of the survivors, moving, here, there, and everywhere around the camp. And he didn’t avoid a single soul, pointedly moving to check on the elves … even Garesh, too.

“We didn’t know ...”

Keris didn’t think the elf even knew that he spoke. “Know what?”

“Hmmm?” The elf glanced at him and then back towards the camp, following Donnor with his eyes. “The Silverspear … He is a good captain?”

Keris watched Donnor; Ari moving with Falia to quietly talk with him at his side. Nothing could keep the two of them apart, not even the irritation with each other that had been going on all day. Keris blinked, and then Donnor was holding her hand. Ari’s other hand crept to the Commander’s shoulder as they continued to speak; Garesh looking like he was about to vomit.

“Why do you care?”

The elf sighed, moving out of his frozen immobility to pick up a stick. He absently picked at it with his nail, still observing the camp. “I have never been to your kingdom.”

“Yeah?”

“How odd would it be if your king washed your feet?”

Keris glanced at him, the elf still watching everyone else, not even turning his way.

Alarat was arguing with Shandii about watering the correts, Shandii saying something about how she just needed to rest. They were getting louder and louder as time went on, but Donnor looked over at them and cleared his throat. The arguing ceased, noticeably so, and Keris could hear Shandii stomping all the way from over here, the gnome grabbing a bunch of leads and getting her men back on their feet. The lot of them joined Alarat and Camm in taking the animals off towards the stream, Shandii complaining all the way.

“I’ve never met the king,” Keris admitted.

“Neither have most of us.”

Keris glanced at him, feeling like there was a lot going on being left unsaid. “Why did you sit down with me?”

“Silverspear and Gemhands have a history with the Vale.”

“So?”

“You do not.”

“If you think I’m going to betray either of them you’ve lost your pointy-eared mind.”

“No, that is not what I think.” The elf sighed. “But information from someone without a history with the Vale means more to us than you know.”

“Who are you anyway?”

He paused before answering. “You would probably liken us to the defenders of your king.”

“I meant you, not your job.”

“Hmmmm.”

“And if you’re that, what in the hells are you doing out here in the first place?”

The elf fell silent, staring absently off into space. “That is a good question,” he eventually replied. And apparently, that was all he was going to say.

The two of them fell silent, continuing to watch the camp. Keris’s rank was looking at them, a lot of furtive glances being thrown their way. They looked like they weren’t real happy about the elf being so close, but he waved them off, noticing the elves were watching them almost the same way.

Donnor said something to Tonat, the sprite matron nodding and walking over towards the elves. She chittered something, Rast translating whatever she said causing Garesh to balk. A back-and-forth began between them, the elf at Keris’s side getting more and more tense the longer it went on. Then Ari said something loudly in elven, cutting Garesh off mid-word from halfway across the glade.

The elf beside him was all but vibrating in place as Tonat reached up and grabbed Garesh by the ear, pulling him down to her height. Then she proceeded to harangue him in sprite speak, slapping a knife in his hand before deliberately turning her back and walking away. The mage sputtered wildly, the entire camp watching him sideways while pretending to do whatever they did. Then Garesh swallowed the words he was about to say on seeing Donnor watching him, following Tonat to cut up vegetables for the pot to avoid the Commander’s cold gaze.

The elf beside him, all of the elves for that matter, looked ready to bolt or fight, Keris didn’t know which. But the tension slowly seeped away from them over time, Garesh clumsily chopping away, and eventually the elf beside him sighed.

Donnor walked over, raising a single eyebrow towards the elf before looking to Keris. “You doing okay over here?”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Good. Ari’s almost finished making her rounds, then we’re done for the night. She’s going to magic the entrance, and between her and the ch’ten covering our tracks, I think we’re about as safe as we can be.”

Keris grunted. “Do you think they’re still following us?”

“I hope not. Ahton thinks dragging that thing’s pelt behind us will throw off our scent, but who knows.” Donnor shrugged. “We need a break.”

“The survivors doing okay?”

“No. Not really. Ari says it’d be better if she could heal them while we weren’t moving, but we’re not stopping. Can’t afford to.” Donnor shrugged. “That monk’s helping out a lot.”

“Alantin?”

“Yeah. He speaks sprite, so it’s letting us keep Rast and Dap with the archers.”

“That’s helpful.”

Donnor nodded. “And he knows some herbs and simple healing, too. Nothing magical, but it kept them alive down in that hole after the ondilaan attacked.”

Keris nodded. “The ondilaan … think they’re in Windyspring?”

Donnor spat. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“No.” Keris settled himself even more, back against the tree. “What’re you thinking of doing?”

“Depends on what we find when we get there.” Donnor shrugged. “Hide, fight, flee … I don’t have a clue. How’re your people holding up?”

“Gart’s watching them. I haven’t checked in with him yet.”

“Don’t bother, Gart said they’re fine. We’re lucky the path in here can only take four or five abreast. Mikus has his people out there now, you’ve got mid-watch, the ch’ten will take the last.”

“Do you have orders for us?” the elf asked.

“No, Jahad. You’ve been covering our flanks and moving through the forest all day. I need you rested for tomorrow.”

“We can do more.”

“I know you can.” Donnor tossed his chin towards Saress, who was sitting with Tommy and watching the three of them talk. “But for tomorrow, I need you to rest.”

“As you wish.”

“Get cleaned up,” Donnor said to Keris. “Once the animals are done, we need to have everyone else wash up. Tonat’s going to see if she can cook up that creature. Maybe it’ll taste good.”

Keris snorted, Donnor nodding to Jahad before moving off Ari’s way. Someone called for his attention, Donnor changing his direction to head over and help the twins unload something down off the wagon. Jahad watched him, then studied Salia who had gathered a few of the elves and moved to help with the work.

“So, Jahad, you were the one who was going to head back with Garesh?” Keris asked.

“Yes.”

“Then decided to stay?”

“Yes.”

“You important?”

Jahad remained silent without answering, watching the unloading while picking at his stick once more. Feya slipped trying to pick something up and fell off the wagon, hitting the ground with a sharp thud. Feya hissed, then picked herself up while rubbing her leg.

“Ilari? Could you come over and look after our clumsy one here?” Donnor called, Feya sticking her tongue out at the laughter all around. The elves, as a whole, just flinched.

“Do you have something against them?” Keris asked, Jahad’s eyes fixed on Ari and Donnor. The elves went back to what they were doing, but Garesh looked like he was about to choke on something, almost cutting his hand while turning purple in the face.

“Are you sworn to your king?”

Keris glanced his way, rubbing at another pain he’d found in his back. “Technically, yes ... I mean, we all are. But I bent the knee to Lord Maorilan.”

“Are you of a high family?”

“Huh?”

Jahad looked frustrated, flicking a piece of the branch away. “A … noble? A house? I believe that is how you say it in your kingdom.”

“Me? From a noble house?” Keris chuckled. “No, I’m common as dirt.”

Jahad nodded, still staring away. “Would you think it odd for your king to mate with a commoner?”

Keris started to laugh, then turned his head in Jahad’s direction. Jahad looked very serious while watching the camp, not even looking his way when Ari knelt to help Feya. Keris looked back and forth between the quiet, subdued elf and the camp, noticing the rest of the elves were looking Donnor and Ari’s way too.

“What would your people think if that commoner provided your king with a half-bred child?” Jahad continued. “Nu’Surledyn have been an anathema to us since the ancient war …” He sighed. “Teaching that twisted child our most ancient rights … calling this man what it is that she does … proclaiming them both …” His voice was barely audible, Jahad almost talking to himself.

Keris glanced at him, studying Jahad in profile until the elf turned to meet his gaze. “What would your kingdom do?” Jahad asked, “Keris of the Redtail Guard?”

“I don’t know.”

“Neither do we.” Jahad turned to him and then sighed. “Nor do we know what to do with a gelded master mage being forced by a sprite elder to cut vegetables for our soup.”

Saress was watching them, subtly nodding her approval when Keris met her eyes. There’s no way she can possibly hear us from over there, is there? He looked a question at her, then she motioned, pointing over to the side with her chin. He looked over, one of the elves making some kind of reply to Saress before also nodding his way ... from the complete other side of the camp.

“You arranged this conversation,” Keris accused Jahad.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“As I said, you would liken us to the defenders of your king.”

“But you’re not, really. Are you?”

“No.”

Keris thought about that for a minute, noticing the rest of the elves glancing his way. “And you see Ari as one of your kings?”

“Yes.”

“Why her?” Falia frowned, blatantly turning his way before going back to Donnor and Ari’s conversation. Keris saw Ari turn an ear in his direction, her back noticeably stiff before continuing. “And why me?”

“Because she is who she is. And you were fair with us today, when you have no reason to be. As all of you are …”

Keris studied Jahad once more. “Who are you, really?”

Jahad raised his hand, making a curiously formal gesture with one of his fingers while he did so. Then he stared at his hand, seemingly surprised by what he had just done. Jahad sighed and thought for a moment before admitting, “A soldier who is a long way from home.”

Garesh slammed something into the pot, Tonat scolding him again in her tongue. Whatever she said, it must have been something Rast decided not to translate, but he did grin. The elves took notice and winced.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Keris eventually replied. “I may be common as mud, but I’m no fool.”

“I didn’t think you were, Keris of the Redtail Guard.”

“And that right there makes me believe you even less. How do you have any idea of who I am?”

Jahad nodded and then sighed, turning to face him head on before meeting his eyes. “I understand. What you feel is probably as hard to believe as watching your king care for a commoners’ feet.”

And to that, Keris had nothing to say.

The man and the elf both turned to continue watching the camp, Ari and Donnor moving tirelessly around to see to all of their needs.

On Another Front

“Commander!”

“What is it, soldier?” Arnet looked to the conscript who’d just trotted up.

“They’re asking for you, Commander. They found the mine.”

“Excellent, let’s go.” Arnet followed the man out of his tent, walking through the slowly expanding camp.

It’d been three days since they’d arrived, and Arnet had ensured they’d used that time well. He didn’t like being cloistered with all of these commoners, but the sorry bastards could work. He’d seen to that.

The field barracks were in the process of being finished, only two or three of them needing roofs before they were done. That forester, what is his name again? Sell-something. Selltor, that’s it. What kind of name is that, anyway? Arnet snorted, surprised he’d even remembered the man’s name.

But that dirty peasant had come up with a good idea. They didn’t have much timber available out here as it was, so they’d dug the housing half into the ground. Using the soil they’d moved to pack down against a woven mesh of branches, they’d been able to replace the barrack’s normally timbered walls with earth. The damned things were dark as one of the lost god’s souls, but with the tiny fireplaces they built at one end, they at least had some light and a modicum of heat. Besides, it saved the time it would have taken to transport timber all the way here.

And they’d barely found any as it was.

It irritated him to no end they’d had to move the camp away from the mine, but the tiny waterfall they’d passed on the way here ended up being the only source of water. And Tardook had been right; with water right next to the camp, the camp was a much better place to be. If he was honest, he didn’t really care since his men could always manage a little discomfort. But after days of looting and burning corpses, Arnet had to admit the ability for the peasants to bathe had certainly cut down on their stink.

Three other men met up with them, the four conscripts completing his escort as they walked towards the mine. At least we don’t have to walk through the dead bodies anymore. Arnet glanced towards the rest of the pass. And the bloody peasants are actually making some headway.

Half of his men were out with the commoners, faces covered by cloths as they dragged body after body towards the fires. The stench was incredible, the smell of roasting sour meat turning the stomach of one and all. But they kept at it, there was a lot left to burn, and those off duty were having a field day. A competition now underway on how many vultures a man could kill in a day.

“Heave!” one of the peasants shouted, a line of them pushing one of the wagons. The damned thing had gotten stuck, and their first shipment of the day was leaving as soon as it was freed. Arnet had already ordered the animals that had driven it to be replaced as soon as they returned to the Hold, and it had to be done. One of the ridiculous nags shied away from a corpse falling off one of the fires, having dragged the wagon into the mud in the first place. And they could afford no more delays.

But they were doing what Lord Maorilan had ordered, and whatever his lord ordered, Arnet would make sure it was done.

He was still stuck with all of these peasants though, turning his gaze to where Tardook was trying to exercise the men. One of the conscripts thrust the butt of his spear into the sheer rock wall, in the process of training himself for the shock of combat while another looked on. And a few paces further down the escarpment another man was doing the same, other men laughing when the spear slipped from his fingers when it struck the rock wall.

What I’d give for even a half-squad of the Redtail Guard, Arnet thought as he steadily strode by. Ten guardsmen and I could at least have a dependable center. But not with these … peasants. The men quickly reset as they caught sight of him, noticing his judging, dark eyes.

“Arnet!” the head miner called, waving a hand his way. The man’s insolence was sure to drive Arnet mad, but he needed the insultingly casual man to mine. Waving at me like I was a common worker … Arnet snorted. At least, if all was well, he wouldn’t have to deal with the impertinent miner anymore … the peasant would be down his bloody hole.

“What is it, Fagrid?”

“We found the mine, sir. Be a bloody bitch ta’ get to, but it still be right here.”

“What’s the delay then?”

“All this bloody rock!” The man waved another insolent hand towards the sheer wall of stone that was currently blocking the pass. “But we’ll be movin’ it soon enough, doncha’ worry.” There was a crash from behind him, then a boulder the size of his head rolled towards the center of the pass. “Watch it, ya’ bastards!” Fagrid yelled, glaring over his shoulder. “Ya’ wanna’ kill the Commander here?”

Arnet ignored the grudging replies coming from the rest of the men, then followed Fagrid towards the work underway.

“This here be tha’ remains of the road.” Fagrid pointed towards the path they were following. “An’ it were jus’ damnable blind luck it weren’t buried along with tha’ rest.”

“Hmmmm,” Arnet replied, stepping over some rubble.

“Get out tha’ way, Bogn.” Fagrid passed another man, leading Arnet into an alcove where the debris was in the process of being cleared. A gust of cold, wet air blew by, coming from a small hole, noticeably different than the air outside. And that moist, earthy smell did a lot to clear away the stench of the pass.

“Here we be, Arnet. There be the old timbers stickin’ out there, an’ over here we found one o’ the old carts smashed ta’ bits.”

“Excellent. How long do you think until the mine is reopened.”

“Dunno’. Depends if anything shifts while we’re tryin’ ta’ move all that blasted rock.” Fagrid thumped his hand against a boulder nearby. “If we need to cut through it with picks?” He looked around. “Could be weeks,” he admitted.

“We don’t have weeks. The lord needs the salt now.”

Fagrid spat and then shrugged. “The rocks’ll move when the rocks move, Commander. There’s no hurryin’ ‘em no matter what we want.”

Arnet sighed and then led the way out of the shadowy alcove, back towards the light of the day. A trickle of rock slid down from above as they exited the mine. Arnet shaded his eyes, peering up towards where it had started on top of the wall of stone, but it was no use. The glare was intense, and he could see nothing. He was basically staring straight up into the sun.

“Do what you can,” Arnet told the man, turning away from the slide. “The next wagon to Redtail leaves tonight. I’d like to provide a firm answer to Lord Maorilan in my report.”

“Aye, Commander. Whatever you say.” Fagrid turned towards the other men. “Ya’ heard tha’ man! Pucker your arseholes ya’ lazy bastards, we need ta’ let the lord know what we can do by tonight!”

The miners mumbled their assent, the lot of them walking away without another word leaving Arnet where he stood.

That ignorant miner turned away without even bothering with a ‘by your leave’! Arnet rubbed his forehead, desperately trying to hold onto his temper. By all the lost gods above, what have I done to deserve this? He sighed, not saying a word because he still needed the idiot miners ... but the gods knew what he wanted to say. Maybe I should have remained back in Resthaven. “Let’s go, soldiers, back to camp. I need to ready my report.”

“Aye, Commander.”

Arnet turned his back on the indomitable wall of stone that blocked the pass, complaining in silence about the insolence of common men and the peasants he was being forced to deal with. He was stuck here following the orders of his lord no matter what he did, and he stomped away listing in his head the many things preventing him from departing sooner. He marked the loggers, foresters, drovers, conscripts, and especially those damned miners, all of whom were essential to his mission, as targets for his growing ire.

Even those damnable horses were driving him insane.

And he completely ignored the next patter of stone that slid its way down from above, grumbling while already thinking about how he would deal with the next man who forgot to ask his leave. And in his griping, he didn’t deign to notice the watcher from where the trickle originated, or the two yellow eyes watching him leave.

***

Halbaad Garr didn’t know much, but he knew the autumn storms didn’t come from west of Varmen’s Shoal.

He leaned up against a section of the wall they’d completed, listening to the thunder coming from the direction the sun was setting. And the distant white flashes he saw on the horizon were flickering oddly, reminding him of a powerful storm. But there was something about that distant bevy of lights that wasn’t quite right, and that something bothered him.

The thunder pealed once more, the low basso boom he heard not quite as long as it should be for one of the seasonal storms.

“Storm coming in?” Corporal Swellen asked, walking up from behind.

Hal spat. “I guess so.”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

“I ain’t.” Hal listened to the thunder for a time, realizing he didn’t smell any rain. “That boy from Resthaven on his way back yet?”

“Yes, Sergeant ... err, Headman ... Mr. Garr. He left on his way a couple of hours ago. Maybe our runner will pass him again on his way back.”

Halbaad sighed, still watching the flickering lights. “Can only hope so.”

“You really think there’s an elven army out there?”

“Well, Corporal, I’m pretty sure Lord Maorilan and Sir Laigan ain’t telling me lies.”

Corporal Swellen took a moment to look embarrassed. “Sorry, sir. I mean, actually out there somewhere.” He waved his hand to encompass the surrounding terrain.

The thunder took that moment to sound sharply again, a series of bright flashes lighting up the sky. “Like I said, I dunno’. That boy from Resthaven said the damned elves scared them half to death. Ain’t come through this way, though. Not from what we’ve seen.”

“Pretty sure an army that size didn’t sneak by.”

“Not hundreds of them, no.” Halbaad shook his head as the lights dwindled off. “Damn strange place for a storm,” he muttered.

“Hey, Hal? You out there?” his second called.

“Over here, Torin.”

“There you are. Hey, Jan’s got her knickers in a twist again, making noises like she’s going to head out.”

Hal snorted. “She won’t leave. The sun’s almost down and she treats that boat way better than she treated her husband.”

“Dunno’. She’s had a lot to drink. She’s already tryin’ to get people to help her push her boat in.”

“Oh, gods. If she didn’t catch so many bloody fish, I might just let her go.”

“Isn’t she your cousin?” Corporal Swellen asked.

“And that’s the only damned reason I put up with her,” Hal answered.

“She did catch sight of the lord’s boat down near Brookside the other day,” Torin offered.

“Aye. She did.”

“Did she say if they found anything?”

“No. Not beyond Brookside being deserted. Brave bastards beached their boat and spent half a day walking there to find out.”

“At least we know no one else is coming.”

“Aye, but we figured that. And she shouldn’t have been that far south as it is.”

“Did bring in a lot of fish, though,” Torin said.

“Again, that’s the only reason I put up with her.” Hal shook his head.

The three of them looked back towards the village, shouting coming from over the wall. It quieted down for a moment before returning louder than before, someone yelling drunkenly for the ‘sorry bastards to heave’.

“You better go take care of that,” Torin said. “You’re the only one who can talk her down when she gets that drunk.”

Hal just shook his head and then spat, hoping she’d pass out.

The shouting died down, then started back up again, Hal listening as the voices crested and fell while he stared off to the west. There were a slew of lights flickering out there now, easier to see since the sun had gone lower. Then he heard Jan hurling insults at someone, hearing the drunken anger in her voice, and knew he needed to intervene.

“Dammit, Jan …” Hal complained, sighing and turning back towards the village. “Come on you two, I might need help talking her down, and then getting her in bed without punching her myself. That blasted woman is going to be the death of me. If it wasn’t for the promise I made my mother, I swear I’d just let her leave.”

Torin chuckled, clapping his old sergeant on the shoulder. Then all three of them turned from the flashing lights on the horizon, and the deep basso sounds that they made.

Moving On

“Fer’ Maker’s sake, get yer’ arse outta’ bed, Arbet,” Mikus growled.

Tommy groaned as he got up, putting his things back into his pack without even really thinking about it. Falia was fussing with Ari over something, and his da’ was obviously up and long gone by the empty place where his blankets used to be. Wondering where he was, Tommy blearily looked around while rubbing life back into his face.

There he is, Tommy realized, catching sight of his da’ over by Keris. Tommy stared blankly their way while Keris continued to put his boots on, just watching the two of them talk as the troop started to wake.

“Come, young mage, wake,” Saress said at his side. “I do not think we are leaving immediately, but it is still time to greet the day.”

Tommy grunted, rubbing more life into his face before helping everyone else pack their gear. Falia looked at him oddly when he started to roll up Ari’s blankets, but he was too tired to worry about whatever she thought. Her and Ari were currently speaking in elven anyway, and who knows what the two of them were talking about half the time.

Knowing my luck, It's probably about me.

Ari and he had entered the Tol’An last night, and he was sure glad to have Saress back standing guard over them. A couple of elves had joined them too, not entering their magic, just helping Saress stand guard, and it was weird having the other elves around. Tommy noticing his da’ paid close attention, but nothing came of it while he drifted off into the Tol’s inner peace.

Ari had spoken to him during the march, making sure to pull him away from the rest of the elves. Tommy thought it was weird, but he saw no reason to argue against Ari and his da’s private wishes. They mainly didn’t want him talking about his Tol in front of Garesh. And since he didn’t like the mage anyway, it was an easy enough request. But it was still strange having to watch what he said after being so open about everything around the troop for so long.

Anyway, there had been a surprise last night during the Tol’An. Something had interfered with what they were doing, especially when Ari guided Tommy into trying to make a second tendril of Tol. They both felt some kind of resistance, like something was paying attention to what they were doing, but neither of them had been very sure. Then that part of him reared up inside to inspect the resistance, shocking Ari enough that she’d dumped them right out of the Tol’An.

Ari’s eyes were wide with shock, but she quickly shook her head when Tommy opened his mouth to ask her about it. She clutched something under the blouse of her kirtle with one white knuckled hand, then Tommy saw the chain around her neck and remembered the pendent. Then Ari did something wild with her Tol, so many tendrils inspecting the pendant that he could barely see it for many long moments. And then they reentered the Tol’An, Ari almost cautiously so, before practicing long into the night without pausing until they were tired.

Speaking of tired, at least using his Tol used different muscles than his back or his legs. And he groaned a little bit while shifting his position.

“Stretch, Tomilanthus,” Saress prompted him after he got up onto his feet.

“Huh?”

“Stretch. Your muscles are tired. Move them like this.” Saress bent over, demonstrating while the rest of the camp came awake.

Mikus had first rank mostly on their feet, gear piling up while he harangued them about needing to help the survivors. Keris was still poking his people out of their blankets, and it looked like Gart was about ready to thunk Rordin on the head if he didn’t get up. Rordin said something smart back to Gart and … Yep, Rordin is going to get thunked. A couple people chuckled, watching it go on. At least the archers were all up, Ty and Avad both in the process of stringing their bows.

“Ari? Can you come over here for a moment?” His da’ called. Ari nodded and wandered over, Falia competing with Tommy to finish packing his mother’s gear before starting in on her own.

Will you just let me do it? Tommy grumped Falia’s way. You don’t even know how.

“Stretch, Tomilanthus, the gear can wait. I’ll stretch with you. I need to limber my body as well.”

“Fine,” Tommy complained, turning away from Falia while doing his best to follow Saress’s movements.

The elves watched them … The stupid elves were always watching … and one of the two groups of elves seemed to be watching more than the other did. Tommy had noticed that over the last couple of days, he wasn’t blind, and they seemed surprised Tommy and Saress helped each other out as much as they did. It was starting to unnerve him a bit though, but Salia noticed and said something, the elves quickly and efficiently readying their gear in as little time as it took them to get on their feet.

Saress sighed, looking their way.

“You sore, too?” Tommy asked Saress.

“I am fine, young mage.”

“How about that other thing?”

“Other thing?”

“You know …” He waved helplessly her way. “When you were sick.”

She smiled. “I wasn’t sick, Tomilanthus.”

“Well, you know ...”

“Be at peace, Taa, I am recovering. You and your mother did well, Tomilanthus.” Her slit-pupiled eyes darted towards the elves once more, then one of her ears cocked their way. She had been doing that a lot, too.

“Is it weird that one of them was the elf that stabbed you?”

“Hmmmm?”

“He stabbed you.” Tommy looked away as the elf named Jahad glanced up.

“He did.” Nods passed back and forth between them.

“Isn’t that weird?”

“They had their duty ... and I had mine.”

“I don’t get that.”

“No, you probably never will.”

Tommy stopped to study her, seeing her eyes far away. “Is it something else, then?”

“Hmmmm?”

Tommy saw her eyes back on the elves. “They probably won’t mind if you go over and talk to them.”

“No, they would not. That is not the issue.”

“Is it because you’re not one of those J-ello-sill things anymore?”

“J’al’osil.”

“Huh?”

“What we are … what I was called. That is how you say it.”

“That then. Is that why you keep looking over?”

“No, Tomilanthus. Well, partly. I miss my toulan,” she admitted, bending into a deep stretch. Tommy decided not to try that one.

“Mikus? You getting those people on their feet yet?” His da’ called out, nodding towards the survivors. Mikus grumbled something that sounded a lot like ‘yeah, yeah, I’m getting’ ta’ it’ while continuing to harass his men. Keris looked amused.

“That’s the old group you belonged to, right?” Tommy asked. “That too-lawn thing?” Tommy butchered the word.

“Yes. It basically means ‘squad’.” Saress chuckled. “Too-lawn? N’Taii has a long way to go, doesn’t she.” A couple of the elves were obviously listening, not making any attempt to hide their interest.

“Look, I’m trying. People’s tongues aren’t meant to bend that way. How you people can speak elven in the first place, I’ll never know. Besides, do you really think she’d let me quit now?”

Saress shook her head as she chuckled, bestowing on him a knowing grin.

“Oh, shut up. Taii.”

Saress openly laughed.

“The Nisa is teaching you our tongue?” Falia quietly asked.

Tommy glanced her way, having almost forgotten she was there. “Yeah. She’s been teaching me elven along with how to read and write better. That’s why I keep the chronicles. It took me a while to figure that out, though.”

“That does not surprise me,” Saress deadpanned, helping him into another stretch. Tommy stuck his tongue out at her, moving the way she wanted, but then groaned.

One of Shandii’s riders came in, the corret staring around balefully before its rider kicked the surly bird over towards his da’. A couple of sprites came in as well, one of them motioning for Lari to join them.

“I could assist in that,” Falia offered.

“Hmmmm?”

“With learning our tongue, N’ … Tommy.”

It was the first time Falia had addressed him like that, putting herself forward without Ari being there, and Saress must have noticed too. Saress had said Falia would be hesitant around him without explaining why, saying his mother’s maid wasn’t being intentionally rude. It was just her way. Tommy wasn’t too sure about that, Falia always treating him strangely, but took Saress’s words to heart. He still didn’t like how Falia always seemed to shut up whenever he was around, though. She sure wasn’t that way with Ari.

Saress nodded her head towards Falia, obviously encouraging Tommy to accept Falia’s offer. And both of them ignored whatever word Falia had stopped herself from saying. He’d been doing that a lot, too.

“Sure, why not.” Tommy shrugged, continuing his stretch. “Maybe it’ll keep Ari from getting as mad at me as she did last time. I’m not very good at it,” Tommy warned.

“I will help you.”

“Thank you.”

“It is a hard language to learn,” Saress acknowledged, before staring off towards the elves.

The elves were speaking quietly amongst themselves while Salia left to wander towards where his da’ and the others were meeting. They must have decided they needed to stretch as much as Saress had. The entire group got up and began moving with a quiet efficiency, helping each other out without a word.

“You miss that?”

Saress looked back at him and then towards the elves. She nodded her head, a few of them nodding her way in return. “You are full of questions this morning,” she said, bending into another pose.

“Just curious. Got nothing better to do.” He watched her stretch, almost twisting herself into a knot. “There’s no way I’m going to even try that one.”

Saress chuckled.

“Leaders to me,” his da’s voice carried across the camp. “You too, Tommy. Alarat? Get the animals ready and loaded. We’re going to move out in a bit.”

Alarat waved his hand in acknowledgement while Tommy helped Saress to her feet. They both walked over, Falia and the elves watching them go. Keris and Mikus were ambling over as well, and behind them their ranks were helping the survivors get up for the day. It looked like the survivors were getting stronger, Alantin not having to help the people as much as he had.

“We’re about a half a day away from Windyspring, maybe a whole day if there are any more obstacles. We don’t know what’s going on there, so we may have another surprise coming. But, we’re going there nonetheless. Shandii’s out scouting the road now.”

“She find anything?” Keris asked.

Donnor waved towards the still mounted halfling. “Berri?”

“Ain’t nothin’ that way ‘cept fallen trees, so far,” she said. “The Commander here wants us ta’ be careful, so we’re not ridin’ fast-like, ya’ know?”

“They haven’t gotten there yet, Keris,” Donnor explained. “Probably won’t for hours.”

“Lissak asks if we know anything more about the ondilaan following us,” Lari translated for one of the sprites. Tommy recognized Lissak as one of the drummers for the ch’ten. The sprite had a curious armband tied around his left arm, and it’d been there ever since the day he’d first woken up.

“No. And we don’t have a lot of options there either. Berri, did Shandii send two of you back that way like I asked?”

“A’yup. Ain’t come back yet, neither.”

“There you go,” Donnor said to both of the sprites. “You know as much as I do.” Lari and Lissak nodded and began chittering back and forth between themselves. “Ari? How are the survivors?”

“Tired, weak, sore, but better than yesterday.”

“Everybody’s tired an’ sore,” Mikus drawled.

Ari inclined her head. “There’s truth in that. We need a break, Ilari.”

“We’re probably not going to get one. Can you keep our people on their feet?”

“Yes, but not if you expect me to do much else. What I did with the char’toth took everything out of me after all the healing I did yesterday. My Tol is not endless, Donnor.”

“I can help,” Tommy said.

“You already are, Tomilanthus. Immensely. That is why you’ve been sleeping as much as you have.”

“No more fancy stuff since the other day?” His da’ asked her, waving a hand towards Tommy.

“No.”

“So basically, the two of you can take care of the survivors, but that’s about it.”

“Yes, Ilari.”

“So, you’re back to where you were ... It is what it is.” He looked away but then called out. “Alantin? Can you have someone bring you over here?”

The old man waved, a sprite wandering over to help him after Lari chittered a request to the ch’ten. That sprite said something to the monk, helping him adjust the black wrap he kept over his eyes before they started their way.

“So, what’s the plan for the day?” Keris asked.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“Yes, Commander?” Alantin asked.

Alarat was finishing hooking the wagon to the artock behind the monk as Alantin came closer, while other people secured the last of the platform’s straps to the animal’s back. Tommy was still amazed at how much the beast could carry, the artock barely noticing the load it supported and towed all day. He overheard the survivors were going to be helped onto the wagon after the rest of the loading was through.

“Can any of the survivors walk today?”

“It depends on how far you need them to walk, Commander. Do you have need of the space they use?” Alantin indicated the wagon, his head turning a bit in its direction.

“No. But we’re probably arriving in Windyspring sometime later today, and I need Ari ready in case there’s trouble. If any of them are well enough to walk on their own, that’ll be less healing she’ll need to do, so she can be rested up later.”

“In that case, they all can walk, Commander. But none of them can keep the pace you do.”

“None of them?”

“No.”

“Damn. That’s out then. We need to keep moving at the pace we are, and that’s too slow as it is … no matter what kind of condition we’re all in,” he said acknowledging Ari’s frown. “Work with Ari and Tommy to heal the survivors as best you can, Alantin. Ari, that’s your only job for today.”

“Yes, Ilari.”

“Looks like we do this the old-fashioned way then, people.” Donnor looked around at the rest of his leaders. “Mikus, lead us out. Keris, around the wagon. Salia, you’ve got the flanks. Lissak, the ch’ten follows along behind. Be real careful about covering our backtrail. We still don’t know how close they’re following behind us. Berri, your people are split right now, but I want all of the riders scouting ahead when those other two come back.” Berri nodded. “We leave when the survivors are up on the wagon. Any questions?”

“Windyspring?” Salia asked.

“We’ll figure that out when we get there. There’re too many other things going on right now as it is. If all else fails, we’ll head west cross-country, but who knows.”

Salia nodded.

“Anything else?” Donnor waited, and when no one spoke up he started back towards the road. “Then let’s move out.”

A Teacher’s Past

“Thank ya’, Lady.”

“You are welcome, Zinaan. This should be the last healing you need for a while. Have some water, and then hop down and walk until you’re tired. Right now, your body needs to move.” The man knuckled his brow before following Ari’s command, Tommy taking that moment to stretch.

It was a little after midday, the troop continuing its forced march towards Windyspring. It had been slow going all morning, one obstacle after another blocking the road which stopped their advance forward. At least the weather is nice, Tommy thought, enjoying the few warm rays of the sun filtering their way through the trees. But the cool wind gusting in from the west out of the hills took the breath right out of them, no matter what anyone did.

Shandii’s two scouts had returned from their backtrail sometime around midmorning saying they’d gone back as far as they dared. They hadn’t seen any ondilaan, but admitted they hadn’t gone back as far as they could. The correts had been restless about something, so they hadn’t pushed it. His da’ wasn’t too happy about that, muttering a few choice words, but spread word that there’d been no sign of the ondilaan that’d been following.

Everyone relaxed with the news, but his da’ hadn’t lessened their pace. So, they kept slogging along, moving tree after tree out of their way that had fallen across the road. At least there hadn’t been any more wash outs, pushing the wagon out of the mud was a pain.

“Come, Tomilanthus. It is time for our next working.”

“Aye, Ari.” Tommy put his hand back on her shoulder, feeling her draw as she knelt beside a young woman.

“How are you feeling today, Huldi?

“Tired, Lady.” She glanced hesitantly towards Tommy then quickly away, almost as if she was embarrassed.

“Tommy has helped care for you for days, Huldi. What is it?”

Huldi blushed. “Me moon blood’s come in, Lady.”

Tommy froze. What did she say?

“Ah. Well, that tells me you are at least getting better.” Ari smirked, eyeing Tommy’s reaction. “Something wrong?” she asked innocently enough.

“She …”

“Yes?”

“Ummm …”

“It is a part of Life, Tomilanthus.”

“Uhhhh ...”

Even Huldi giggled at that.

“We’ll find cloths for you when we’re done healing, Huldi,” Ari comforted, eyes twinkling while she sent their combined Tol into the woman. “Our brave one here can help, too.”

It was all Tommy could do not to walk away.

“I can fashion some for her, Nisa,” Falia offered.

“Thank you, Falia. There was some spare cloth in the front of the wagon, but they might have moved it out onto the platform. You’ll have to look,” Ari said, thrusting her chin in the platform’s direction. Falia nodded and moved away.

Huldi’s body was like all of the rest to Tommy’s Tol, something inside of her making her inner self less bright. It was the same way with all of the survivors, Ari explaining it was from being without food and drink for so long. So, they’d spent days delicately casting their Tol into them to ever-so-slowly replenish the survivor’s inner selves.

Hours of misting their combined Tol into the variously colored bubbles that made up the people of Silverlake was extremely dull. It was slow and tedious, exceedingly so, to the point that it was hard to tell if they were accomplishing anything at all. And Tommy wondered why they were doing it that way in the first place; why they hadn’t just done what they’d done for the sprites.

So, he’d asked.

The simplest answer, according to Ari, was time. Time, numbers, and unintended results. Ari explained that what they’d done for the sprites had been the exception, not the rule. That forcing health into someone like they’d done with the ch’ten could lead to a worsening injury, just like she’d said before, and the ch’ten’s condition hadn’t been as severe as these people’s had been. So, since they had the time to heal them the right way, and there were a lot of really sick survivors, the best way to care for them was to take it slow like they did.

Even if taking it slow was exhausting.

Tommy yawned while Ari worked their Tol into and through the young woman, the mist of greys, greens and golds they sent into her, slowly filling up her inner spaces. It looked like Ari was about done, too. Huldi’s body taking on an inner glow that seemed healthy enough to Tommy’s sight. All except for that one part, and he curiously sent his Tol its way.

“That part doesn’t need healed, Tommy,” Ari drawled. “That is where her moon flow comes from.”

Tommy quickly blushed a bright red, looking away while both of the women started to laugh.

“How are you doing up there?” his da’ called up from alongside.

Ari looked down from on top of the wagon, still sporting a wide grin. “Fine, Ilari.”

“You okay, Tommy? Your cheeks are all red.”

“I’m fine.”

“He just learned a little more than he intended to, Donnor,” Ari answered. Even Falia giggled at that.

“Yeah?” his da’ asked.

Tommy tried his best not to glare. I think I’m going to die. Huldi grinned looking up at him.

“He’s fine, Ilari.”

“Well, as long as he’s okay. I stopped by to let you know that Shandii’s riders have spotted Windyspring. We’ll be in sight of it in a couple of hours.”

“Good. Is there anyone there?”

“Don’t know. She just sent someone back to let us know she’s found it.”

“Well, I hope there’re no problems.”

“You and me both. How are the survivors?”

“Doing well. Most I won’t have to heal after today, they just need to build back their strength. And there’s only one person left I have yet to see.”

“Well, finish up and get some rest then, Ari. Hopefully, I won’t have any reason to call on you two for the rest of today.”

“We won’t have much left to work with even if you do.”

“Not even enough to protect yourselves?”

“Barely.”

“Then the ch’ten stays with you. I’ll let them know.”

“Salia will probably want one of the J’al’osil to stay with the state we’re in.”

“Nope. I need her where she is.”

“Salia may not like that.”

“She doesn’t have to like it. She’s guarding our flanks. But I’m probably going to leave her here, too,” Donnor admitted. “Stay safe up there. I’ll try and keep you informed.”

“You too, Ilari.” Donnor offered a casual salute before walking away. “Well, Tomilanthus, let’s see to our next patient. Is that you, Rell?”

“Aye, Lady. I’m the last one today.”

“But not the least important. Let’s get to it then,” she said. Tommy yawned, Ari giving him a frustrated look when she started to yawn too. “Stop that.”

“It’s not my fault.” He finished another yawn and then stretched, placing his hand back on her shoulder. “This is taking forever.”

“And everyone appreciates it, too,” Ari admonished.

Tommy ducked his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just it’s so slow.”

Ari shrugged. “Nothing can be done about that.” She placed her hand upon Rell, their combined Tol questing out into his body and piercing the outer barrier that separated him from the world to take stock of his injuries. “And I need you. I couldn’t accomplish half of this on my own.”

Tommy nodded, yawning again.

“We’ll be done soon,” she comforted, misting their Tol into the man.

“Nisa, I finished making the cloths for the girl,” Falia reported.

“Oh, gods.” Tommy rolled his eyes.

“You could always make those instead of helping me, Tomilanthus. If you’re too tired, that is.” He gave her a direct look, Ari smirking before she continued. “Thank you, Falia. Huldi, I’ll make sure you have time to change when we stop next.”

“Thank you, Lady.”

“Rell, it looks like this will be your last healing, too,” Ari said, misting their Tol into the man. “Once we’re done, I’ll need you to walk for a while as well.”

“Aye, Lady.”

Ari nodded, covering another yawn.

“Why am I so tired?” Tommy wondered.

“Because you are using your Tol.”

“I know that. I mean why am I so exhausted? You said I was floating for an entire day,” he struggled out, still not comfortable about that. “I felt weird, but I wasn’t this tired afterwards. Why is this so hard?”

Ari stopped, paused, and then looked at him, her brows slowly creasing. “You know what, Tommy? That’s a good question, but even your Tol isn’t limitless.”

He felt a part of her quest out to examine in and around his pathways, and he was surprised again by how many different things she could do with her Tol at the same time. That separate part of him became aware of her in the background, but then went back to sleep like a cat that had only opened one eye.

“Find anything?”

“No, I never do. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were avoiding me.”

Garesh scoffed, Ari flicking her eyes towards him and then shaking her head. She’d been very clear with Tommy not to talk too openly about his Tol around the mage.

Tommy rolled his eyes, not even glancing towards Garesh. “I just wish there was more I could do. I don’t want to let anyone down.”

“You are not letting a soul down, Tommy.” Ari insisted, glaring at Garesh. The mage had supposedly been ignoring them from the front of the wagon all day, and hadn’t said much, staring into the woods as they slowly passed by. But every now and then he glared.

Tommy shrugged, yawning again while Ari continued feeding their Tol into Rell. Garesh could glare all he wants.

Falia looked between them and Garesh, moving towards the pot where Tonat had planted the sal’lian flower the other day. Falia had been caring for it ever since she’d discovered the vine back in Silverlake, watering it diligently and adding various things to the soil. Tonat watched everything she’d done, studying her actions like she was memorizing them for a test.

“You can only live your life as it comes, Nessa’ni,” Falia quietly declared. “Be secure in your arnhysh. No one can expect you to do more than what you have already done.” Ari nodded her approval at Falia’s words.

“Arn-what?”

Ari waved the question away. “It would take too long to explain.”

Tommy shrugged. “I just want to do more.”

Garesh huffed.

“What more would you do?” Falia asked, watching Tommy shrug again in response.

Ari pointedly looked at Garesh before saying another word. “You broke through a binding, disrupted an attack, woke me and your father, saved Saress until I could heal her, then helped me with everything I’ve done ever since. That is quite an accomplishment, Tomilanthus. You’re allowed to take a break.”

“I know.”

Ari caught him looking up the road the way Donnor had, and suddenly understood. “Tommy, even your father takes breaks.”

Tommy sighed. “It’s just that you two are doing so much all the time.”

“You did see your father drooling last night while he was snoring …” Ari chuckled. “… even though he swears he doesn’t do it.”

Tommy smirked. “Yeah, I did see that. Mikus too. But I feel like all I do is follow you around with my hand on your back.”

“Independence then.” Ari nodded. “There’s not much you can do about that until you are trained, Tommy. It takes time and study to utilize your Tol.”

Tommy sighed.

“Your N’Taii wasn’t much different, Tomilanthus.” Falia glanced her way while running a finger down one of the delicate flowers. She seemed to be looking at Ari for approval before continuing on.

“Yeah?” Tommy prompted.

Ari pursed her lips without saying a word, pulling their combined Tol out and away from Rell. “You’re finished Rell. Hop down to escape before you are forced to listen and suffer through the coming tale. And tell Zinaan to get back up here. If he walks any more without resting, he’ll undo everything I’ve done.”

“Aye, Lady. I’ll tell him.”

Tommy looked back and forth between Falia and Ari while covering another yawn. “N’Taii wasn’t different?” he prompted Falia to continue.

A subtle smile grew upon her face. “No. She chafed under the pace of her teaching.”

“I was in college for over seventy years!” Ari protested.

“And you chafed the entire time, too.” Falia ducked her head as her smile grew. “The youngest entrant in over a millennia ... Her father was beside himself almost every day.”

Ari rolled her eyes, whatever tension that had persisted between them since Falia’s arrival slowly fading away. “My father barely spoke to me.”

“It was no wonder. You threw regular tantrums,” Falia teased.

“I did not. I was a model of decorum.”

“The episode in the aviary?”

Ari snorted. “You would remember that.”

“Remember what?” Tommy asked.

Ari flicked a negligent hand in Falia’s direction while stretching out her back. “It’s your story, Falia a’Saliantrea.”

Falia ducked her head, smiling upon hearing Ari’s capitulation. “Your N’Taii was impatient, Tomilanthus. She … how do you say? She wanted to stretch her wings?” Ari snorted.

“What did she do?”

“Young Nisa Saliantrea was in the aviary in the capital watching the birds, and was most upset she could not fly.”

“I was not!”

“She was, Tomilanthus. And she was most vocal about it too, disrupting the peace of the other visitors.”

“Father would never make me float like the old master did while we were home,” Ari protested.

“He would not,” Falia agreed. “It was not becoming of a lady. So, she decided that something else in the aviary would have to fly with the birds because she could not. They were so lonely, you see.”

“Yeah?” Tommy grinned.

“She decided to make one of the statues fly since it was a bird like they were.” Tommy snorted seeing Ari’s embarrassment. “The problem was, she made them all fly.”

Ari looked like she was trying not to laugh. “It was only a couple, Tommy.”

“There were dozens of statues, Nessa’ni.” Falia deadpanned, “and they were flying about every which way around the aviary. It took Head of Family Saliantrea quite a while to get them all to land in their places. And he did so diligently, even over your mother’s many protests.”

“They were pretty!” Ari grinned.

“Some of those statues were almost as old as the Vale, Nisa.”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

Tommy laughed into the face of Ari’s chagrin. A couple of other people in the wagon were laughing as well, especially after she stuck her tongue out at Falia after taking an embarrassed bow.

“Anyway, I was a child, Tommy. But that is a good example of why you don’t attempt things with your Tol without training.”

“Which was the point your father made that day,” Falia replied.

“Loudly, if I remember correctly, before having the masters train me on the proper way to make things fly later that evening.” Ari waved the thought away. “Which is why I’m training you every day as well.”

“Well, how long is it going to take?” Tommy asked.

Garesh huffed.

“This was also something we heard your mother ask almost every day,” Falia answered for her.

Ari gave her ‘the look’ before providing an answer of her own. “At the rate you’re going, not long at all.”

“I’ve barely learned a thing.”

“Oh, please, Tomilanthus. Gather your Tol. Now make a globe,” Ari directed, waving her hand while he did so. “It would be years before you’d be doing that in college.”

“Seriously? It’s just a light.”

“It is, and incredibly frustrating to do without guidance. It was almost a year before they let me do that, and that was years before they normally allowed anyone else to make an attempt. That is why we practice the Tol’An almost every day, if we can.” Garesh scoffed, Ari turning her eyes on him. “Garesh, do you have something to say?”

“You have no idea what you are doing,” he said, his irritation evident.

“I will do what I wish with my family.”

“While making a mockery of our teachings.”

“How? By teaching my son our ways?” Both of Ari’s eyebrows climbed high in her brow.

“You push every boundary,” Garesh snapped. “You always have.”

“You masters were the ones who were holding me back.”

“With good reason.”

“What possible reason could you have for not teaching me how to use my gift?” Ari scoffed.

Garesh turned away. “You always were a disagreeable one.”

“You would be too if they kept you locked up.”

He spread his arms wide, looking down at himself. “As I am now?”

“You are not locked on an estate,” Ari rejoined.

“A terrible sacrifice to make.”

“Life, Garesh. You have absolutely no idea.”

“No. I’ve only been accused of breaking our oldest laws for following an heir’s orders.”

Ari stopped herself from instantly biting back, but not before a growl escaped her lips. “My son will be trained in whatever manner I wish,” she said after a moment, fighting for calm.

“As it has always been.”

“And we will continue to utilize the Tol’An to do so.”

“As you wish, oh great head of your sept.” Garesh mockingly bowed. “You may continue to abuse our teachings however you desire, master mage.”

“Thank you, I will,” Ari replied loftily, then looked into the sky as if she was seeking guidance. “The Tol’An is a useful tool.”

Garesh scoffed, grumbling, “Next you’ll be telling me the benefits of being Mar’col’i.”

Ari whipped her head his way, and Tommy did too, remembering the word from that long ago night in the inn. But Falia knew nothing about that as she gave voice to her disapproval, “S’tol.”

“I cannot wait to tell the tales about what I’ve seen here, before the council of the Vale,” Garesh continued. “The other S’tol will certainly enjoy what it is I have to tell them, Nisa. They will be very interested. Very interested, indeed.”

“I’m sure they will.” Ari rolled her eyes while turning away.

“As will your father.”

Ari turned back, a scowl forming as she moved to reply. But she held back her words as Falia gently touched her shoulder, subtly shaking her head. Ari frowned, ignoring the glares Garesh was getting from everyone else inside the wagon, realizing she was being baited. Then opened her mouth to speak, but was stopped by Donnor’s sudden arrival.

“Ari, I need you to rest up. Right now,” he called up to her. “We might need your magic.”

“Ilari?”

“The ondilaan are in Windyspring.”

Windyspring

Day 235 – Well, we got to Windyspring today a little bit after dinner, and we have a boatload of problems down there. The ondilaan have …

“Tha’ is no’ good,” Mikus declared.

All of them were on their bellies looking out over the lip of the cliff. They could see far off into the distance, a rolling plain spilling out almost to the horizon. It was pretty, the view that is, like something that should have been painted and hung in a lord’s hall. But none of them were thinking a thing about that right now, not while they lay on the cold, hard ground.

The only reason they were lying out in the open in the first place was that the sun was beginning to set, its reddening rays shining brightly down on the village below. And if it wasn’t for the sun shining right into the ondilaan’s eyes, nobody would have taken the risk. His da’ had declared it a miracle when the elves and the ch’ten had both agreed on that, but nobody was commenting on their surprising agreement, not with what everyone now saw.

“How many do you think there are?” His da’ asked.

“Enough?” Keris complained.

“Dunno’,” Mikus replied after a humorless snort. “A couple ‘o hundred, maybe?”

“Lost gods protect us,” Immer quietly intoned.

“What are they doing over there?” Tommy asked, pointing off towards the stone pillars in the distance.

“Hmmm?”

“By the waterfall. Looks like they’re shooting up at one of the towers.”

“Tommy, I can’t see that far; only you and the elves can,” his da’ stated.

“Oh.”

“Well, ya’ done it now, lad. None of us be seein’ it. Tell us what ya’ can,” Mikus asked while never once looking away from the view below.

“Okay … You see that stream there? Follow it up towards the village past that old bridge and there’s a pond at the base of one of those towers. The one with the holes in it?”

“What pond?” Immer asked.

“There’re holes in it?” Keris shook his head.

“Shaddup, tha’ both o’ ye. I canna’ be seein’ ‘em either. Go on, lad.”

“Right. Anyway, there’re holes in the tower, kinda where the waterfall is coming out. That one on the right. The ondilaan are shooting something up towards the holes.”

“Keris, go pull Salia’s people off of the flanks,” Donnor ordered. “We need their eyes.”

“Aye, Commander.”

“Alright, Tommy. Keep going. None of us can see the details you’re seeing.”

“Sure, Da’. There’s maybe six, seven, towers of stone between those two big hills. They look natural … kinda remind me of Rocky Point, or the cliffs back in Silverlake, but wow are they tall. There might be some more behind them, I’m not sure.”

“Yer’ kid’s got eyes, Donnor.” Mikus shook his head.

“Why do you think I took him fishing?” Donnor muttered.

“And those little dots down there? The black and grey ones? Those are the houses. I think they’re burnt up like Silverlake, but I can’t tell. It’s really far away.”

His da’ snorted. “One of these days, Tommy, we’re going to sit down and compare what we both can see. You’re going to think I’m blind.” He shook his head. “Keep going.”

“Aye, Da’. Anyway, the houses go back in amongst the towers. And there’s something hanging between two of those pillars, those two right there.” Tommy squinted. “But I can’t tell what it is. And all those little dots? The ones moving around everywhere? Those are the ondilaan.”

“Aye. We can at least be tellin’ tha’. Can almost smell ‘em from up here.”

Keris and Salia slid up with a few more of the elves. “Salia, I need your evaluation,” Donnor said. “You people are scouts for your army, right?”

“Yes, Silverspear.”

“Well, take a look down there. I need your expertise.”

Salia crawled up to the edge, and then blew out a slow breath. She pursed her lips. “This is not a fortuitous occurrence.”

“There be tha’ understatement of tha’ day,” Mikus drawled.

“Shut it,” Donnor said.

“Alar a’ten si a gon’a glass. Imaan, Gim’alan, tentan si annal den al’on.”

“What’re ya’ sayin’ now, ya’ skinny bastard?”

“It does not matter. Silverspear, the way is blocked.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I estimate two to three hundred milling about the village by quick estimate. The village is destroyed, much like Silverlake. The towers appear inhabited. I can assume not by the ondilaan as they are shooting arrows into a large door by the fall.”

“Those stone towers are inhabited?”

“Iffan a tel, Salia.”

“Yes, Imaan confirms it.”

“Iffan a teles’ta.”

“Gim’alan does, too.” She nodded the elves’ way.

“Do you see anyone in them?”

“No. That is beyond even our eyes.”

“Just wondering,” his da’ muttered.

“Why aren’t any of them up here?” Tommy asked. “The ondilaan, I mean. Not that I’m complaining, but it’s not like they don’t know about this road. It heads straight here from the bridge.”

“That old slide over there.” His da’ nodded his head over towards the edge of the cliff. “Crawl on over and take a look for yourself.”

Tommy crept to the lip of the escarpment where the road angled sharply down the hillside, taking a sharp right turn from where they now were. The road looked like it had almost been carved into the side of the hill, sloping perilously down from the escarpment towards the plains below. And there in the middle of the road’s decline was an immense pile of stone and debris, obviously falling from where the slide had originated from, high above.

“Wonder why they didn’t just go around,” Tommy said. “The slope’s not so bad over there.” He pointed off towards the other end of the hill. “It’s only about a league or two away.”

“Do not borrow trouble, young mage,” Salia said.

“It doesn’t matter, we’re not going down there with that many ondilaan in Windyspring. Salia? Leave your people here and work out a rotation to keep the ondilaan under observation. Send a runner back if you have anything to report. I want people here all the time. We need to make plans. I’ll keep you up to date.”

Salia made a formal gesture his way before speaking quietly to the other elves. Gim’alan slid back from the edge, then trotted quickly away. The rest of them watched him go before sliding back as well, crawling on their hands and knees until there was absolutely no chance they could be seen from below. Then remaining crouched until they reached the treeline, the troop’s leaders made their way back to the wagon which had been stopped a few bow shots away.

“How bad is it, Ilari,” Ari asked, seeing the look on his face.

“Not good. Shandii?”

“Aye?”

“Head back the other way. All of you. I need to make sure those other ondilaan are no longer following us.”

“Aye? Why’s tha’?”

“… ‘Cause if they are, we’re trapped.”

***

The tension had been steadily growing ever since, and no one was oblivious to the ondilaan’s threat from below. They couldn’t even light fires to combat the cold autumn wind, the ch’ten and the elves both worried it would be seen. After all, the night was clear with both moons high in the sky, so the smoke would be an arrow pointing straight towards them. So, they huddled against whatever cover they could, doing their best to stay warm while they waited on Donnor’s decision.

Tonat had at least started the tiniest of flames at his da’s behest, very carefully lit from the driest of wood. She’d warmed a thin broth, adding herbs and some of the char’toth to the pot before slowly simmering it for the troop. The people were grateful for the warm brew, and she passed it out while they huddled, everyone pretending to sleep.

Because none of them could really do anything else. Fear filled every last one of them since any noise they made might attract the hundreds of ondilaan below.

Salia and the ch’ten scouted around where they’d made their camp and discovered they’d at least had the dumbest of luck. The top of the road, where the elves were keeping watch, was pretty much the only way down. Completely inaccessible unless you wanted to climb, making the camp inaccessible too. It wasn’t that someone couldn’t get up to them if they wanted to, it was just that it would be a pain to achieve. And since it seemed like the ondilaan didn’t want to climb the rocky scree spread out all over the road, they were apparently safe for the night.

His da’, Mikus, Keris, Saress, and all of the rest of the leaders, had been in constant conversation for hours, trying to figure out what they should do. They hadn’t come up with much, every idea having problems of its own. Right now, they were leaning towards travelling overland, heading due west over the hills towards the Spire. The hope, to avoid the ondilaan altogether. But, there was no way they’d get the wagon or the artock down there, not with the few paths that they’d found, so they’d have to move the entire troop to find a place for it to go.

It would take almost a day to get back to the last pass that could accommodate the wagon holding all their supplies, but no one was sure it would be a good idea. Because, from what the ch’ten had found, that pass most likely connected to this one. And the western end of the hill they were now on was an open road that the ondilaan could travel to that last pass with ease.

And if they found them bottled up in that pass with a slow wagon? Well … that wouldn’t be good.

To say his da’ was frustrated was an understatement, and as the night crept on, his da’ became even more restless. The large moon was about halfway through its cycle so it wasn’t giving off much light, but the smaller one would probably be full by tomorrow. And its bright silvery radiance let Tommy see the stress on his da’s face, along with how tired he was.

“He’s worried,” Ari said from her blankets.

Tommy grunted his agreement, rolling to turn her way. Saress was awake as well, her slit-pupiled eyes shining softly in the night.

“You can tell?”

“Beyond that look on his face? Yes.” Ari rolled onto her side, trying to get more comfortable.

“Think the ondilaan are behind us?” Tommy wondered.

Ari sighed. “I don’t know.”

“It would be unusual for them to give up on what they consider their prey,” Saress stated.

“Do you think they are still following?” Falia asked, never even opening her eyes.

“I do not know for certain,” Saress answered.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Tommy mumbled. “Shandii’s people are still out looking for them.”

There was a long moment of silence while everyone listened to the sounds in the night. Then Falia laid her thoughts bare. “I do not wish to die.”

Ari hugged her, saying something softly in elven before the two of them started speaking back and forth. There were a lot of conversations like that one going on, quiet murmurings hesitantly started and stopped throughout the troop. Even the ch’ten was doing it, the little girl snuggled into Tonat’s lap while the members around them spoke. The only ones not talking were the off-duty elves, but more than one was sitting there, watching in tense silence, their eyes staring off into the night.

It was sometime in the early hours of the night when plodding feet quickly sounded on the road. The correts awoke, one of them trilling towards the noise as it got louder. Then a rider rode into camp before quickly dismounting, smacking at the corret’s beak when it looked like it was about to bite.

“Donner, Commander, sir.”

“Just Donnor.”

“A’yup. Shandii done send me back, she did. Abou’ ten, maybe twelve leagues back, we seein’ lights further back in them hills we done crossed.”

Donnor scrubbed his face. “How far back?”

“Like I said: ten, twelve leagues.”

“No. I mean into the hills.”

“Dunno’. Maybe half again as far?”

“So around fifteen leagues … damn. How many lights?”

“Gotta figure a whole bunch from how far away we can spot ‘em.”

“Damn, damn, damn, damn. Were you seen?”

“By what? Tha’ bats?”

“Never mind. Go and get some sleep.”

“No, none o’ tha’. I be headin’ back out. Can nap on me girl.” The halfling patted the corret’s thigh, the bird’s two smaller red eyes glowing as it watched them.

“If you’re sure” Donnor shrugged. “Get some water before you go. Try and get a count of how many are coming, and tell Shandii not to get caught if she can.”

“A’yup,” the halfling answered, leading the corret back towards the road and then the wagon there.

“We’ve got problems,” Keris said, walking up with Mikus after Donnor and the halfling were finished.

“Aye, we do. Yer’ figurin’ fifteen leagues?” Donnor nodded. “So, they’re abou’ a day an’ a half away,” Mikus said.

“Don’t forget Shandii’s people are riding at night. They probably didn’t travel as far as they think.”

“An’ they can be seein’ light at least twice as far as they’re thinkin’.” Mikus scrubbed his beard, looking away in thought. “They already be at tha’ pass we been talkin’ abou’.”

“Yup.”

“Bloody feckin’ hells.”

“Yup.”

“So, what do we do now?” Keris asked.

Donnor sighed. “Tonight, we let people sleep. No matter what happens, they’ll need their rest. Then we’ll have to wait to see about tomorrow.”

“Ya’ thinkin’ o’ leavin’ tha’ artock?”

“Might have to, to escape to the west.”

“Why not go east?” Keris nodded in that direction. “There’s a way off this ridge only a league or so back that way.”

“Because the hills give out that way; there’d be no cover. On top of that, we passed what? A couple hundred or so ondilaan on the old road by Brookside two weeks ago. Then a thousand or so arrived in Silverlake that we’re running from now ... A couple hundred sitting on their butts right here. Their numbers are increasing, Keris. We’d probably only find more if we headed east. The road is that way.”

“It’s better than waiting here. We’re trapped as it is,” Keris pointed out.

“He be havin’ a point there,” Mikus agreed.

“Didn’t say that he didn’t. I just don’t like losing the artock.” Donnor waved towards the beast.

“We can always be eatin’ tha’ damned thing.”

“Can you imagine Shandii bitching about hauling all that meat?” Keris smiled.

Donnor huffed out a quiet laugh. “The correts would probably eat all of it before we got to where we’re going.”

“We could be eatin’ them, too,” Mikus offered.

“You hungry or something?” Donnor teased.

“Bah. Big bloody chickens, probably good wi’ gravy.”

“You remember that roast Jarrod Tarr cooked that night?”

“Oh, gods, Keris. You had to remind me,” Donnor complained.

“You? Sick of fish? I thought you were a fisherman, Commander.”

“World o’ difference between dried fish an’ a good fry, ya’ stupid bastard,” Mikus drawled.

“I wouldn’t know.” Keris grinned.

“Nessa Silverspear,” an elf interrupted.

“Donnor, just Donnor.”

“As you will, Nessa Donnor.” Mikus snorted as the elf continued. “I am Rialdi. There is movement below, in and around Windyspring.”

“What movement?”

“Jahad wishes you to come see before explaining.”

“Fine, let’s go. You two stay here. Try and get some sleep.”

“Ya’ think either o’ us can sleep? Wi’ tha’ ondilaan on tha’ move? ... Idiot human.”

Keris snorted.

“Then you might as well see about roasting that bird. Who knows? Maybe Tonat’ll agree.” Donnor grinned. “I’ll be back. Rialdi? Lead the way.”

Donnor and the elf walked back towards the cliff, both stooping to crawl forward before they reached the ledge. “The ondilaan are on the move,” Jahad said, pointing in their direction.

“What do you see?” Donnor squinted, not able to discern much in the early hours of the night. Even by the light of the moons, he could barely see. And the wind was bitter cold, nothing blocking it from blowing and gusting across the plains. Donnor shivered, a yawn splitting his face in spite of the wind keeping him wide awake.

Jahad frowned his way before his expression cleared. “My apologies, I forgot you were human.” Donnor waved it away. “About a candle or so ago the camp rose. This may or may not be a natural thing, I do not know. The ondilaan are milling about, clustering towards various points on the eastern side of the village. They appear to be leaving.”

“That would be a blessing of the lost gods if it were true.”

“Yes.”

“A rider came in earlier,” Donnor said.

“We heard.”

“There are lights in the hills behind us. The ondilaan following us are probably about fifteen leagues back.”

An elf grunted like he’d been punched in the gut. “About a day behind us then.” Jahad frowned.

“Exactly. The situation is not good.”

“No.”

They lay there, the elves all but immobile as they kept watch over the plains, even then only a gradual shifting of weight. Blending in with the terrain all around them, they were like ghosts in the wilderness waiting to haunt their prey.

By comparison, Donnor shifted back and forth quite often, making a noticeable amount of noise. He knew he wasn’t clumsy or careless by any stretch of the imagination, but as he stifled another yawn, the difference between them was significant. And the elves almost never spoke, only a few hand gestures passing between them as the night wore on.

No wonder Saress is the way she is.

“We were talking about slaughtering the artock and heading back east. I don’t know about that.” Donnor yawned again, nodding towards the ondilaan below. “If they leave, I hope to keep it … If we can escape the ones still following us, that is.”

“You still plan on heading west?” Jahad asked.

“If we can break contact …” Another yawn cracked his face, so he just nodded ‘yes’.

Jahad watched for a moment in silence. “When did you last sleep?”

Donnor looked at him and thought about it for a while, starting when one of the night birds called out. “Dunno’. I think I caught a candle or two a while back.”

“Go. Sleep. We will wake you if you are needed.”

“Not sure if I can.”

“You have a history of holding various groups together, Silverspear, as you have here. We need you rested to continue to do so until we go our separate ways.”

“I have a history?”

“Yes, one that I witnessed.”

“Huh?”

“I rode in your caravans, Silverspear. From time to time.”

“Huh. Didn’t know that.”

“Nor would you have.”

They watched the ondilaan below, the very first hints of dawn turning the black of night to grey. Donnor could just about make out where the village was, the tops of the stone pillars barely discernable in the night, but if there was something moving down there, it was nothing he could see. He yawned again, scrubbing at his face.

“Go. Sleep, Silverspear. We will wake you.”

“I guess I should. I’ll turn in by the wagon.”

“Understood. Now sleep.”

None of the elves mentioned the hundreds of ondilaan they could see milling around below, while the Commander crawled to the rear to rest.

A Way Down in the Valley

Day 235 – Mikus says the Maker is watching out for us. Then again, Mikus always says the strangest stuff sometimes, so who knows. I’m just glad it’s happening.

Sometime before dawn, almost every single one of the ondilaan down in Windyspring left. Ahton says the old road is in the direction they’re going, but I could care less. They left, they didn’t come this way, and good riddance.

In any event, we’re no longer trapped. What Falia said last night has been sticking in my head ... I don’t want to die either.

The problem is they left enough of them behind that they still outnumber us by a lot, and Da’ wants to fight them down there. Nobody is looking forward to that except the chiten … okay, apparently you spell it ‘c-h-’-t-e-n’ ... sorry. Jeesh. Who cares if I write it the right way, it’s my book. You people want me to write, I’ll write. Now Falia’s walking away, I think she got mad looking over my shoulder. Anyway, the ch’ten are crazy, and they’re probably still upset they didn’t use enough poison on the elves.

The rest of us, not so much. We need weapons for the survivors now, so I’ve been on spear making duty with Larn and Werin while Da’ and Ari are ‘talking’. Huh. I like those little things you can put around words Falia told me about. Makes the word ‘talking’ look sarcastic, just the way I meant it. I’ll have to use those things more often.

Anyway, Da’ and Ari’s ‘talking’ has been getting louder and louder … something about how Ari and me use our Tol. They’ve been at it for hours. I hope they don’t start arguing again.

Falia just came back, and yep, she’s mad I put that in there. Who cares if it’s in the troop’s book? Nobody’s ever going to read it. Now she’s talking to herself again. She’s almost as bad as Ari about what is ‘proper’ to write in this stupid book. Write it this way, not that way … I swear I’m hearing the two of them in my sleep.

Did you see how I wrote ‘proper’ there? I like those little things a lot. Gods, there she goes walking away again. Next, they’re going to want me to write the stupid thing in elven.

Ari’s waving me over, and thank the lost gods for that. Ignore that smudge there, I dropped the book standing up. And, there’s another mark. Hmmm. Maybe if I keep my hands dirty enough, I won’t have to write in this book so much.

And now Falia’s back. Fine, I’ll sign my stupid name. See what I mean? Neither of them quit. Yeah, I put that in there, too. Fine. Tomilanthus. There, I signed it.

“Donnor, mages are not gods. Our Tol is not endless.”

“So, there’s no way you can do it?”

Ari sighed. “Sure, there’s a way we can do it ...”

“Well, do it then.”

“… And then we’ll be asleep for a week.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh’.” Ari looked like an irritated cat, flicking her tail back and forth. “Is someone paying attention in there, Donnor Silverspear? I’ve been telling you the same thing for over an hour now.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Don’t even start with that, Ilari. I most certainly have,” Ari insisted.

“But …” He cut himself off on seeing her glare.

“Donnor Silverspear–” she almost growled.

“Ya’ two love birds gonna’ kiss an’ make up?”

“You stay out of this,” Ari snapped. Mikus just raised his hands and walked away. “I’ve been telling you this for over an hour, Donnor Silverspear. We can do one thing or the other, not both.”

“But–”

“Maybe you should clean out those ears since you’re obviously having problems understanding me. I mean, I know humans’ ears do work, no matter how tiny those pitiful little things are. They taught us that much in college, at least.”

“Look, I’m only saying that–”

Ari snapped up one hand, effectively silencing him right there. “Yes, definitely dirty, because there you go again. Go ask the ondilaan if you can use that stream we passed to bathe. You stink, and your ears are probably as dirty as you are.”

Donnor let that one go. “Ari, we need both–”

“The stream’s ice cold if I remember it. Maybe it’ll wake you up enough to listen to what I’m telling you here.”

Yep, her tail was definitely flicking. Tommy decided it might not be the best idea to be around her right now. He started backing up and away.

“Get back here, Tomilanthus. Where do you think you’re going?”

“I was just–”

“Maybe you’ll have better luck with him … Explain this to your father before I end up beating him with a stick.” Ari was shaking her head. “... He could use a good beating!”

Tommy cringed. “Ma’am?”

Donnor tried again. “Look, Ari ... Ilari … We at least need the wagon to–”

“I understand we need the wagon, Donnor,” Ari said in a deceptively sweet voice. “But if you want me to hide the troop all the way down into that village, it’s not going to happen.”

Donnor sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m almost afraid to ask why.”

“Why? Why! Because it’ll be the hundredth time you’ve asked ‘why’ in the last hour, that’s why! Life, you have a thick skull.”

“See?”

“Tomilanthus, explain it to him.” Ari stabbed a hand towards his father.

“Explain … uhhh … what exactly?” Tommy looked back and forth between the two.

“Why we can’t hide the troop, and move that rockslide, and keep it quiet, and move the wagon, and fight the battle he so desperately wants to have after everything else is done.” Ari was openly glaring at Donnor in the end.

“Oof.”

“See?” Ari waved an annoyed hand his way. “Even your barely trained son understands.”

“Fine. Use tiny words then. I just don’t understand what the problem is after everything you two have accomplished.”

“Tiny words …” Ari threw her hands into the air. “He speaks like a courtier and writes like a scribe, but can he understand the most basic thing about my Tol? Noooo.” She complained to the space around them.

“Da’?”

“Yeah?”

“Ummm. Do you know how you and Keris are teaching me about how you should rest the men about a day between battles?”

“Yeah? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Each one of those things you want Ari and me to do is basically its own battle.”

Ari thrust her hand towards Tommy in a manner that clearly said ‘See?’ before opening her mouth. “Thank you, Tomilanthus. Is that plain enough for you, Donnor? Do you understand it now? Lord, Commander, Sir?”

His da’ obviously chose to ignore that one, too.

“You want us to continue to heal, move tons of rocks, hide a small army, and then fight the ondilaan when we’re through ... Would you like some cookies with that dear?” she asked in a disturbingly sweet voice like back when she’d talked to Di’ii.

“Oh.”

“And now we’re back to ‘oh’. Life, help me, Donnor. Pick two. One we can do. The second one might happen. Maybe. If we’re able to. But I’m not making you any promises.”

“Can’t you just suck up more of what you need out of Garesh?”

“Seriously, Donnor? You’re going to go there? Fine. I’d have to free him first just to attempt it. Then we’d basically have to bare our souls to each other to do what you’re suggesting. Do you seriously think he would agree to that?”

“I’d rather die,” Garesh insisted from a short distance away.

“Shut up, Garesh!” They both glared.

“Look. If it isn’t going to happen, it isn’t going to happen,” Donnor groused. “I just figured you could.”

“What am I, a math problem now? You don’t ‘figure’ me, Donnor. You talk to me about your problems, then listen to what I tell you.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

There was a distinct pause as they both looked at each other, frustration evident on both of their faces. The entire troop studiously avoided looking their way, not willing to disturb the tension. Mikus however, not so much.

“Ye two kiss an’ make up, now. We’re all waitin’.” Mikus stroked his beard as he wandered back into view, fighting a grin.

“You can shut up, too,” Donnor muttered.

Ari snorted.

“Naw, be more fun this way. So now tha’ this outta’ tha’ way, ya’ figure out what we doin’?”

“Gods … We’ll have to go over it all again. Where’s Keris?”

“Where’s Keris what?” Keris asked from the other side of the wagon. “They done fighting yet, Mikus?”

“Dunno’. Still tryin’ ta’ figure tha’ out me’self.”

“We were not fighting,” Ari insisted.

“Yes, Lady. Whatever you say, Lady,” everyone heard Keris mutter.

“And why were you over there anyway?” Ari asked as Keris walked into view.

“No reason, Lady. Definitely not keeping the wagon between us. Nope. Not one bit. Ummm, whatcha’ need, Donnor?”

“Help thinking,” he said. Ari snorted while rolling her eyes. Donnor eyed her for a moment before continuing. “With the majority of the ondilaan now gone, we have an opportunity to get down there and take all our stuff with us. But if they see us coming, they’ll just bottle us up at the bottom and wait us out.”

“Aye, an’ we canna’ be havin’ tha’. Tha’ ones comin’ up behind’ll be gettin’ here soon.” Mikus spat.

“Right.”

“Dragging that hide didn’t help?” Keris asked.

“They’re still coming, aren’t they?” Donnor replied.

“Any idea when?” Keris asked.

“No. And I don’t want Shandii’s riders getting any closer to find out.”

“Be a big help if she could.”

“Sure. But I actually had to order that crazy gnome not to do it. All we need is a rider to accidentally tip off the ondilaan we’re here and they’ll come running our way.”

Mikus snorted. “Shandii’s people be as crazy as tha’ rest o’ us. Girl’s got spunk. I be givin’ her tha’.”

“Be careful, you almost sound like you’re starting to like her.” Keris grinned.

“Shaddup, ya’ bastard.”

“Don’t worry, Keris. She still barks at him every chance she gets. It’s love at first sight.”

“Ya’ shaddup too, ya’ idiot human.”

“Anyway,” Donnor grinned, “we need to get all of us down on that plain.”

“An’ there be no’ easy way past tha’ old talus flow fer’ tha’ wagon.”

“Tal- what?” Keris asked.

“Tha’ rockslide in tha’ middle o’ tha’ road, ya’ stupid farmer.”

“So, Ari, can you get the wagon past all that rock?” Donnor asked.

“What exactly do you want me to do, dear?” she asked sweetly. Tommy was a little unnerved by her tone.

Donnor looked a little hesitant as well. “Move the rock?”

“It will most likely start another slide,” Ari warned.

“But can you do it?”

“Yes.” Donnor started to relax, but then Ari continued, “and then Tommy and I will sleep for a week.”

Donnor frowned. “Okay, that’s out then. How about over?”

“Hmmm?”

“Move the wagon over the rock?”

“Maybe half a week.”

“Seriously?”

“You only asked if we could, dear. Not what would happen if we did.” She smiled sweetly. Falia was looking a little askance, and Tommy was certain Ari’s tail was flicking once again.

“Can the artock walk over it?” Tommy asked. “The rock I mean.” His da’ and Ari looked like they were about to start arguing once more.

“I don’t know,” Donnor glanced his way. “Alarat? Camm? Come over here for a moment. Can the artock walk over that rockslide?”

Everyone ignored someone mutter ‘is it safe?’ before they appeared.

“Don’t know, Commander. Haven’t seen it. Want us to go over and see?” Camm asked.

“Salia? Take those two to look down the road.” Salia motioned for another elf to do so while she continued eating her meal.

“I wonder if the correts can, too …” Donnor muttered. “Can you check on that while you’re at it?”

“Sure thing, Commander. But unless it’s completely unstable, there’ll be no problem. Correts can cross almost anything,” Alarat added. “That’s one of the other reasons people bother to tame them in the first place.”

“So at least the correts can get down. If all else fails, people can walk. That just leaves the food and supplies up here.” Donnor sighed.

“They’ll see us the entire time we’re moving … There’s no cover along the decent,” Keris cautioned.

“Yeah, but I was thinking about that. Remember Brookside and Silverlake? How we caught them out sleeping? I’m thinking we’ll use that here too.”

“Yer’ wagerin’ on ‘em no’ seein’ us waltzin’ down tha’ big bloody hill ‘cause ya’ think they’ll be asleep? Ya’ got right big bloody bold ones hangin’ between yer’ legs, doncha’ think.”

“Look, what do you want out of me? Jahad said there’s easily twice our number down there. That means fighting, which means wounded, which means her.” Donnor hooked his thumb at Ari. “If she can’t use her magic, we gotta’ do what we can. Do you want to just head down while they’re awake?”

“Noooo. Jus’ sayin’ it be awful ballsy ta’ think they’ll be sleepin’.”

“Which is why we’re arming the survivors in the first place; in case we’re attacked.” Donnor shrugged. “Ari, could you do that thing again to hide us while we’re making our way down?”

“Yes, but not and effectively heal afterwards. Your route is easily four or five times further than Silverlake.”

“There you go. At least the sun will be half in their eyes while we’re on our way down.”

“Sure, an’ half no’,” Mikus drawled, to which Donnor shrugged. “So, ya’ get us down there, an’ then wha’?”

“Standard battle. Ranks in front, archers to the sides, archers falling back behind the ranks when the ondilaan charge.”

“Nessa Silverspear, a suggestion?”

“I’m not one of your lords, Salia.”

Salia didn’t even blink. “Allow us and the ch’ten to go first.”

“Why’s that?” Donnor realized it hadn’t been a squirrel he’d been hearing, it had been Rast translating for Ahton and Tonat.

“To secure the bridge before you start your decent.”

Donnor looked back and forth between the two groups. “Can you two actually work together? I was going to leave one of you with Ari to prevent any issues.”

The elves and the sprites both frowned, then looked like they were sizing each other up. Ari raised her eyebrow towards Salia, but it was Ahton who eventually replied. “It can be done,” Rast translated.

Salia nodded her assent. “A minimal guard can be left with the S’tol and your mate, Silverspear. We can keep the ondilaan from this side of the plains during your decent.”

“How?” Donnor asked.

“They must cross the bridge to reach you. It is the only way across the water that we can see.”

“There’ll be only around twenty of you. You can accomplish that without support?”

“Yes,” Salia answered.

“And if that stream ends up not being very deep? Or wide, for that matter?” Keris asked. “They’ll just leap across it, you know.”

“Then we fall back to the road.” Salia shrugged. “Either way, it can be done.”

Donnor nodded. “Okay, I accept. Now, for the rest of us ... We’ll have around forty of us under arms including the survivors. Speaking of them, Tommy, are they armed yet?”

“Almost. Larn and Werin are figuring things out. Basically, we’re going to strap some of the ondilaan’s old weapons to poles to make spears. Martok is using up the last of the leather for wraps. The rest are out cutting poles.”

“Commander?” Camm called.

“Yeah, Camm?”

“The artock can make it, but it’ll take a while. If it didn’t have six legs, I’d say no, but Alarat says it can.”

“And the correts can make it down?”

“Aye, Commander. Easily,” Camm affirmed.

“Can we load everything we have on the correts? Leave the wagon behind?”

“No, Da’.”

“Then we’ll only take food. Alarat? Camm? Start transferring our food to the correts Shandii’s people aren’t using, then load everyone’s packs with whatever’s left. We’ll dump our gear at the bottom before the battle.”

“Aye, Commander.”

“Where’s Saress?”

“Behind you, N’Taa.”

Donnor jumped; everyone laughing when he did. “Don’t do that. So, you’re obviously feeling better. Feel up to commanding the archers?”

“I would prefer to stay with N’Taii.”

Donnor shrugged. “Then let Laren and Immer know they’ll be in charge of their groups.” Saress nodded.

“Okay, we have the start of a plan. Salia, you and Ahton head down early to mid afternoon, and hold that bridge. Keris, you and Mikus head down a few candles later. Laren and Immer will shadow you, then the animals will follow along behind.”

“Where do you want us, Donnor?” Ari asked.

“With the animals. I might keep the survivors with you; we’ll need your healing.”

“Tha’ will only leave thirty fer’ us down there,” Mikus said.

“Crap. I forgot about that. Think they’ll be better off with us on the line?”

“I’m thinkin’ three ranks be better than two.”

“Then we’ll need to train the survivors up quickly. We only have a couple of hours left.”

“Aye. Pointy end pokes; that be it.”

“They’ll follow along behind the two of you, then.”

Keris nodded. “Can do.”

“Whaddya’ ya’ thinkin’ ‘o havin’ tha’ crazy gnome do?” Mikus asked.

“Who?”

“Shandii.”

“Your girlfriend?” Donnor grinned. “Dunno’ yet.”

Mikus frowned. “Ask her if she be from Khagatom.”

“She’s already said she was.”

“Then I’m wonderin’ if she been trained as an outrider; been watchin’ her ride. Me clan uses correts as cavalry, an’ tha’ gnomes be their riders. Have her an’ her beasties play Maker’s hells with the ondilaan backsides. Will drive tha’ bastards more nuts than she drives me. They’ll never be catchin’ a corret, an’ they’ll be mighty unhappy if they do.”

“I like it. She’s due back in a while, I’ll ask her then. Anything else?”

“What happens if the ondilaan following us get here first?” Tommy asked.

“They won’t.”

“That’s awfully optimistic, Donnor. How can you be so sure?” Ari asked.

“I have to be.”

“Why’s that?”

Keris turned his head and spat. “Because if they do, we’ll all be dead.”

An Avalanche of Need

“Watch your step, Falia,” Tommy said, helping her recover her balance.

“Shhhhh.”

“Thank you, Tomilanthus.”

“Will you two be silent,” Garesh insisted again in one of his harsh whispers.

“They cannot hear us, Garesh Oan’talin,” Saress said in her sibilant voice. “Peace.”

“This is ridiculous!”

“You can always stay back with the wagon,” Ari said.

“The S’tol must come, Saliantrea,” Jahad admonished. Ari’s only sign of acknowledgement was a subtly raised gesture.

They’d been climbing down over the remains of the rockslide for a while now, the final rays of the afternoon sun shining in all of their faces. It was making their trip down the road a struggle, something his da’ hadn’t taken into account during their planning, but they were doing it. At least no one had fallen yet, but it’d been a close thing. The people from Silverlake were still a little weak from their ordeal, and the uneven footing was a challenge to anyone … even in the best of times.

And these most certainly weren’t the best of times.

Tommy paused to take a break. “Think they’ve seen us yet?”

“I don’t believe so, young mage,” Saress answered. “See there?” She pointed. “The one moving in the village, near where Salia’s toulan deployed by the bridge? Their movements are relaxed. There are no indications they know we are here.”

There was a clatter from further down the scree, one of the correts knocking a rock loose. Shandii was waving her arms at the rider holding its lead, each of her riders having a few of the irascible birds following along behind. It looked like that particular corret just wasn’t used to the weight it was carrying and had stumbled, its back piled high with packs that were stuffed to the gills with food.

Tommy took a moment to glance behind them. Alarat and Camm were both leading the artock, the platform teetering precariously as the immense beast made its way over a rock. Alantin was up there with the sprite child as well as Tonat, along with the rest of their gear. The extra things they’d accumulated during their travels had been left with the wagon in camp, and Tommy hoped they’d be able to retrieve it later on. The fight over what they’d brought with them had been fierce.

He started moving again, clambering over a rock as high as his chest. “Those people from Silverlake will be exhausted after they’re through with this.”

“Fear is a great motivator,” Saress acknowledged.

Tommy snorted and looked towards Garesh. The mage was sweating profusely, constantly looking down at the plain.

“There, too,” she admitted. Jahad made a sharp sign, Garesh not seeing it while climbing over a rock. Saress nodded, but definitely rolled her eyes at whatever Jahad had signed. “We should remain quiet.”

“They can’t hear us up here.”

“It is good practice nonetheless, Tomilanthus. Look there, your father has reached bottom.”

Tommy looked down, missing Jahad’s nod of thanks.

His da’ was forming the men up into ranks, taking charge of the newly coined third rank himself. Both Mikus and Keris had teased Tommy it would end up his rank while the survivors were hurriedly trained, and his da’ and Ari looked like they’d approved, but Tommy didn’t want it. Besides, Ari needed him too much, even though she said she didn’t. He had enough on his plate as it was. But being in charge? Tommy shuddered.

That’s all I need.

But it looked like his da’ was ordering the troop underway, which broke into his train of thought. Mikus was leading them off while his da’ walked behind third rank, keeping them in line. Laren and Immer were moving off to their sides, respectively, the archers trotting along in pairs with arrows knocked … just like Saress had taught them to do. Shandii and her riders were almost all the way down, every last one of them leading a few of the correts, and soon they’d be unloading the equipment they carried. Everything looked like it was going according to plan; the troop marching into a dip in the terrain to stay out of sight for as long as they could.

But something was going on halfway up one of the towers, and whatever it was, it boldly drew Tommy’s attention. He couldn’t quite make it out, but it looked like something was waving in their direction, or maybe someone. “Saress, can you see that?”

“See what?” she asked, hoisting herself over another stone that was blocking the way.

The artock was clambering over a massive boulder behind them, its two front feet up on top while the other four followed along behind. With the motions the artock was making during its ascent, the platform was now verging on becoming straight up and down, and Tommy was glad everything on it had been very tightly secured. He watched the platform sway precariously as the beast continued to climb, and then he could have sworn the little sprite girl said “Weeee.”

“Over there on that tower. The second one past the one with the waterfall. A little ways down from the top. Do you see?” he asked, pointing it out to Saress.

Jahad looked over as well, keeping a steadying hand on Garesh while he climbed. “There are survivors there,” Jahad said quietly.

“How many?” Ari asked.

“Unknown.”

“There sure are a bunch of them.” Tommy noticed more movement on top of another tower. “I hope they’re not making a lot of noise.”

“It is concerning.”

“What is concerning, Jahad,” Garesh snapped, then slid down the other side of the rock.

“Look there. On top of that one.” Tommy pointed, motioning to Saress while completely ignoring Garesh. There was another figure waving something from the top of one of those natural pillars of stone. Then someone appeared on top of another, then another.

“That does not bode well for stealth,” Saress said. “Nisa, can you alert your mate?”

“How?” Ari asked. “Anything I do will be heard or seen for leagues.”

Saress made a series of gestures towards her, keeping them hidden from Jahad and Garesh. Ari stopped to reply, eventually frowning and shaking her head at whatever Saress was saying. Falia was frowning as well.

“No. Frustration at most,” was all Ari said, glancing towards the other two elves. Saress and Falia nodded. “I’m sure he’s too focused to notice.

Tommy heard a quiet “Be careful, beloved” before she continued to descend once more.

“How far do we have to go, Jahad,” Garesh groused from up ahead.

Tommy thought he sounded a little out of breath as he turned to follow Ari, wondering if he should learn the elves’ hand speech. Then he immediately dismissed the idea as it was another thing he’d have to learn.

“We are roughly halfway, S’tol.”

“This is intolerable, Jahad.”

Saress helped Tommy over another boulder, then assisted Ari and Falia as well. It looked like Shandii and her riders had unloaded all the gear from the correts, leaving it piled at the bottom of the road. Tommy hoped there wouldn’t be any problems recovering it, watching them trot away. He slid down the other side of the stone, heartily sick of smoked fish, but decided there was something to be said about eating.

“Tomilanthus, stay there to assist,” Saress directed him as she handed first Ari and then Falia up over the rock.

Tommy helped them clamber down before continuing on down the scree. He got a smile from Falia at least, their direct physical contact forcing some familiarity on her. And he wondered how old she was as they kept going, seeing as how she looked older than Ari. Da’ said Ari was one hundred and thirty, and … he realized what he was doing and stopped, remembering what Mikus had said.

Never ask a woman her age.

Tommy was hoisting Falia over another rock when the inevitable happened, as was the troop’s luck. A tremendous scrape sounded from behind them as the artock’s weight shoved a boulder down off the scree. The boulder slid, and then rolling, struck another rock before bouncing high up into the air. It spun effortlessly through the air as gravel began to slide where it had once been. Then it fell and struck another stone, the collision echoing out over the plain with a deafening BOOM!

Alarat and Camm hurried the artock along as the gravel and stone began to slowly slide down the scree. Each motion its feet made seemed to cause even more of the hill to move, a plethora of tiny slides spreading from where it stood as it tried to maintain its balance. Then, with eyes rolling, the immense beast began to squeal in fear as it struggled to stay on its feet.

“Oh shite!”

“Camm!” Tommy yelled on seeing the gnome fall, thrown by the panicking beast.

“Tomilanthus, to me!” Ari shouted, her scarlet hair whipping around. She grabbed his hand as he came into reach, throwing her other one out towards the shifting scree. Her sudden draw on his Tol was incredible, innumerable tendrils of magic shooting out from her body to blanket the stones around them. Then it spread to harden underneath the gnomes’ and the artock’s feet, the rest of the talus still shifting except for the piece she held.

“Hurry!” Ari commanded. “Quickly now! I cannot stop it for long!” Alarat and Camm scrambled, eyes widening with fear as stone after pebble flowed past the island of peace.

Rocks and boulders crashed into each other further down the scree, but Tommy didn’t bother to look. He felt like a cup that was rapidly being dumped out, his Tol flowing out of him as fast as possible to stabilize the stones under their feet. The artock couldn’t move fast enough, almost falling on its side as it staggered not to fall. And then the platform shifted precariously, Tommy surprised when he heard Tonat scream.

“Move!” Jahad shouted, shoving Garesh bodily down the road.

“Nisa, guide the slide away!” Saress cried.

Tol flowed from Tommy like a wave out to sea, Ari pulsing their combined magics into the slide. The artock hopped … hopped! … as a huge stone clattered past it, all six of its legs moving as fast as his eagle could fly. Then the artock charged towards where they were standing, dragging Alarat, the poor gnome bouncing off a rock while desperately holding onto the lead. And Camm was running as fast as his little legs could carry him, frantically trying to escape the shifting scree.

“Run!” Tommy yelled, exhaustion beating down on him like a hammer. His Tol was rushing out of him while Ari continued to do whatever it was she was doing; he didn’t have a hope of understanding what she did. All he knew was a wall of stone was building up on their side of the slide, surrounding the small island of peace she made before them. A rock bounced by, then another, but Ari just stood there, eyes blazing green fire as her Tol forced the slide to freeze.

“S’tol! Get off this hill!” Jahad ordered, all but throwing the mage off the rock he was on.

“You will–”

They both ducked, a boulder flying by where they’d just been.

“MOVE!” Jahad screamed, shoving Garesh and his complaints down the hill.

“Nisa, we have to move!” Falia shouted, the roar of the falling rock so loud it almost drowned out her voice.

“Ari, I don’t have much more!” Tommy panicked.

The artock, Alarat, and Camm were still a ways from the edge. There was no way they were going to make it.

“Nisa, you have to leave them!” Saress insisted, one hand tightly gripped onto her arm as she watched another stone fly by. “We have to move!”

“We will not abandon them,” Ari’s voice echoed strangely.

“Nisa, you must!”

“I will not leave.” Her eyes blazed even brighter

The roar was tremendous. A huge cloud of dust and debris billowing up from below, the smell of dusty earth invading everyone’s senses. Alantin was holding on for dear life to the platform, yelling something that no one could hear.

“Ari, I’m almost out!” Tommy yelled.

Exhaustion drenched him as they stood on the edge of the slide, the colors of their Tol creating an area of deceptive peace as rock after boulder bounced by. Alarat and Camm slipped and scrambled, desperately trying to reach their side of the scree. And the artock was charging, two sprites and a blind man holding onto the platform for dear life while they screamed.

Then that dark part of him awakened, looking around at his pathways and the dwindling amount of Tol they held.

“Garesh is away!” Saress shouted, eyes wide behind them. “Arisaylia! We must leave!”

“Join with me, Tomilanthus,” Ari’s voice reverberated into and through his mind.

“Huh?”

“Become one with me, once more,” she intoned.

And he suddenly understood what it was she was asking, and that thing inside him agreed. He felt her wash over his pathways, and he gave them to her. Submitting all that he was, and all that he could be, a moment of complete understanding passed back and forth between them. Then he surrendered himself to her utterly, that dark ebon part of him acknowledging their need.

Tommy was aware this time, not like he had been before. He felt her Tol enter and combine with his, her pathways slipping over and into his own. That dark part of him seemed to bow before the joining to become mist, drifting into and between them to combine the light of their Tol. Then Ari’s crystalline pathways faded into the rivers of his own, creating some new thing, some new juncture, they both chose to follow to its source.

But there was also another route before them, another pathway that was made of both blinding black and brilliant white light. It emanated from within Ari, now close to them both, a glorious intertwining that his ebon friend chose not to follow. And this separate pathway flowed into and out of Ari while it diffused away amidst their expanding and multiplying Tol. The black of him reaching out for its twin, but could not catch hold as the power built. Then something slammed into him, something both incensed and concerned. A barely heard screech all but consuming him as the fiery orange weight settled defiantly onto his shoulder.

Their Tol grew, someone shouting something important inside as the power blazed forth from his mother in a cascade of verdant light. The shifting scree become suddenly stable; a road as smooth as glass as the artock thundered on by. Then the brilliant union between them approached new heights as Alarat and Camm sprinted wildly past, those in danger now safe from the slide.

His N’Taii released what it was she held, the entire hillside suddenly sliding away, but Ari seemed to be struggling with something. Countless tendrils of Tol still surrounded her, questing out and about with terrible need. The power the two of them built climbed higher, their joining now all but complete. His ebon friend was still feeding it, the golden lightning now combining with his greys and her greens in a brilliance that was terrible to behold.

Tommy could feel his mother fighting it, against some instinct of need. It called out to them ... the incessant desire, the inexhaustible power, the ascension’s raw greed. It rose among them like a tidal wave, a sound not heard but steadily growing. And Ari screamed out with the last of her sanity, against its frantic and desperate need.

“A tan, nii’esta!”

Then Saress dutifully slammed her fist into the side of Ari’s face, knocking her out completely.

And with her went that watching shadowy tendril, and every bit of Tommy’s need.

The Battle Through

“ARI!”

Donnor’s scream almost broke Mikus’s neck as he whipped his head around. His friend was staring back towards where the road was coming down the hill, an avalanche cascading there from what he could see ...

… Right where the people they left behind should be.

“Bloody hell … Keris! Take command!” Mikus shouted. Donnor was completely turned around, ignoring the troop entirely.

“Aye, Mikus!”

“Donnor, ya’ blasted idiot human, look at me!” Mikus grabbed his arm in an iron grip, stopping his friend from charging back towards the falling scree. “LOOK AT ME!” Donnor whipped his head around, his eyes wild. “Is she dead?”

“How the hells would I know?”

“Tha’ bloody bond yer’ always feckin’ talkin’ abou’!”

“How do you–”

“I ain’t no bloody fool! Is she dead?” Mikus demanded.

Donnor got a strange look on his face, his eyes feral and queer as he stared back towards the thundering debris. It looked like the entire hill was coming down. But no, only the side in the east.

“No. She’s not dead. But–”

“Then get yer’ arse back in tha’ ranks! Ya’ think tha’ ondilaan are no seein’ tha’?” Mikus shouted, waving towards the landslide now underway.

Donnor did not want to do that. He didn’t want to do that in the least. But Mikus knew this wasn’t the time for anyone to stray away from the plan. There was too much at stake.

“Ya’ gonna’ quit?” Mikus berated him. “Caravan rules, ya’ said! Am I ta’ be bustin’ yer’ head too?” Mikus shouted as he shook.

“Damn you, Mikus, she could be hurt!” Donnor seemed to grow larger as his fury swelled.

“Aye, an’ we might be dead before tha’ day be through! Get back in tha’ ranks!”

HEHEHE! HEHEHE! came from behind them, followed by the sound of twanging bows. The ch’ten was firing into a wave of ondilaan, a few warriors dropping as the beasts charged in towards the bridge.

“There’s something wrong with her!”

“TROOP HALT!” Keris cried. “REST! ARCHERS, LOOSE WHEN IN RANGE!”

“Tha’ troop needs ya’, ya’ bloody bastard! Yer’ in command!”

“Aaaaaaahhhh!” Donnor screamed his fury and frustration to the slide, then sprinted away towards the troop.

Mikus followed as best as he could, being quickly left behind. Stupid, bloody, idiot, bastard, human! Doin’ this shite ‘afore a battle! Feckin’ rocks in his head!

The troop was a couple of arrowshots away from the bridge, stopped on a slight rise in the land. Donnor slammed to a halt off to one side, quickly taking stock of their position. The charging ondilaan were racing in from among the destroyed houses, their numbers ever growing and grim.

We need to support the elves and sprites.

“BOTTLE THEM UP ON THE BRIDGE! TROOP AT A WALK, WALK!” Donnor commanded.

Keris led the troop off, Gart following along behind in his place in the line. Donnor stepped into his position in third rank, urging the troop to keep moving.

“You figure yourself out?” Keris snapped; everybody was tense.

“I’m here, aren’t I,” Donnor snarled, resisting the urge to run to the avalanche behind.

“Are you?”

“He’s feckin’ here,” Mikus insisted, shoving Keris out of his place in first rank. “Don’ rattle tha’ man, he don’ need it. First rank, I’m back. Keep tha’ rank dressed on me.” Murmurs of assent passed down the line as Keris took up his regular place behind him.

“Gart, to the far end. Steady the ranks. Move!” Donnor ordered as another series of shots went out from the sprites. “Everyone else, keep moving!”

More of the ondilaan were falling, but they were boiling out of the fallen buildings in a frenzy. Windyspring had been obliterated, a graveyard of destruction before them that had been sacked and razed.

WhooOOP! sounded off to the left, then another whooOOP! to the right. A matriarch stalked into view from between two of the shattered walls, her bellowing HEHEHE’s communicating something to the surrounding warriors. The ones in front closed together into a tight mass on hearing it, a dozen or so now only strides of the far end of the bridge.

The troop’s archers were almost in range, Donnor struggling to ignore the sounds of the falling rock behind him. The ondilaan in front reached the bridge, dashing for the outnumbered sprites. The ch’ten took one last series of shots, felling a slew of warriors as they did so. Then Ahton loudly barked a command and the sprites spun to escape to the rear, the troop steadily marching ever closer.

Ondilaani claws dug into the wood planks of the bridge, nails biting to continue their charge. They leapt over their screaming brethren, their jaws open, snarls and calls chasing the diminutive sprites. The sprites were losing ground, the charging ondilaan easily twice their size as they sprinted ever closer. Then that one ondilaan in front roared out its fury as it caught up, raising its serrated axe to strike.

The archers of the troop finally came into range. “TROOP HALT! ARCHERS! READY!” Donnor ordered.

“NO!” came a cry from ahead that stopped his command.

And as it did so, that first ondilaan set its foot down off the bridge, and then slammed face-first into the ground, suddenly stunned into immobility. Then the next, and the next, and the next one after that all piled up upon the first. The warriors cleverly trapped by a barely seen rope tied across the end of the bridge.

The elves rose, every single one of them appearing from where they’d lain in the grass. And as one they rushed forward, stabbing, slicing, and slitting ondilaan throats before the warriors had a chance to recover. Then before there could even be the possibility of an ondilaan rising from the pile, the elves fell back. Dashing to either side, the sprites of the ch’ten fired past where the elves had once been. And the onslaught of poisoned arrows flying forward ended the lives of the warrior beasts who had the temerity to escape the trap that they’d found.

The elves rushed back towards the flanking archers, taking position behind them while the ch’ten made their retreat. And their cleverly executed ambush had served the troop well, easily a score of enemy lying dead on the ground at the end of the bridge, clogging the rest of the ondilaan’s way forward.

One of the matriarchs roared, venting her fury at her warriors’ defeat.

“STEADY!” Donnor cautioned the troop. “We’re going to let the ondilaan come to us! Salia? Protect the archers! Rast? Tell Ahton to do what he can! Where in the hells is Shandii?”

“I thought she was back with the animals,” Keris hollered.

“She damned well better not be!” Donnor shouted, still ignoring the sounds of the landslide, and all the falling debris.

The ondilaan were milling about on the other side of the bridge, a lot of yips and barking coming from the matriarch he saw there. Donnor was certain there were more females that he couldn’t see, and he studied her as her howling decreased.

“We can’t afford to let them get organized! TROOP AT A WALK, WALK! ARCHERS, LOOSE AS YOU BEAR!”

The troop advanced slowly, gaining ground on the stream and the bridge that passed over it. Laren and Immer periodically called out targets. Their cries of “READY! LOOSE!” coming every now and then amidst the T-T-T-T-THWACK of the arrows striking ondilaan they could see.

At this distance, the arrows didn’t do a lot. But the snarling growls among the ondilaan became rabid with their ever growing need to end their stinging enemy. And while this went on, the yips and whooOOPs of the matriarchs struggled to retain control.

Donnor waited until the ch’ten was in range and then called out once more. “TROOP HALT! ARCHERS PICK YOUR TARGETS! WHITTLE THEM DOWN!”

“READY! LOOSE!” T-T-T-T-THWACK! came again and again from Laren and Immer as more and more ondilaan howled. They surged forward, snarling at the troop, while the matriarchs called for their charges to come back.

“They’re not going to take this for long!” Keris shouted, watching as a matriarch bodily grabbed on to hold one back.

“Take it fer’ what it be!”

“LOOSE!” T-T-T-T-THWACK! came again from the flanks.

“Donnor! We’re not going to have a lot of arrows left at this rate!” Laren shouted.

“Feckin’ hells, Laren!” Mikus looked towards the dozens of ondilaan in the village. “There’s bloody more comin’!”

“Arrows don’t grow on trees!”

We need to get closer for better accuracy. “TROOP! ADVANCE TO THE BRIDGE! WALK! Mikus, we’re going to have to charge if they run out of arrows,” Donnor warned.

“I know!”

“How many do you figure there are?”

“Yer’ bloody taller than me! Ya’ canna’ see?”

“And you’ve been in more battles than me!”

“Feckin’ a hundred? I don’t know!” Mikus sounded exasperated.

“Can we hold that many?”

“YA’ DON’T KNOW?”

“Without support it’ll be dicey!”

“It already be!”

They were half an arrow shot away from the bridge when Donnor ordered, “TROOP HALT!” The arrows had increasingly become more accurate, but the ondilaani matriarchs were keeping an iron hold on the warriors, snarling mightily whenever one of them stepped forward to charge.

Laren and Immer were still calling out targets, their volleys raining down into the snarling throng below. “Donnor! We’re about out of arrows! We’re opening up the spares!” Immer called. A volley later, Laren reported the same. Then the arrows volleying in from their lines dwindled off, only the scant few the ch’ten loosed flying off towards the enemy anymore.

It was then the inevitable happened. WHOOOOP! a tremendous howl from a scarred matriarch spewed forth, then the ondilaan as a whole sprinted in.

Bared claws dug into the earth as the ondilaan charged, snarling and howling as they came. Their haunting HEHEHEs slammed into the men and women of the ranks, striking fear as the horde sped closer. Nails again dug into the wood of the bridge as they reached it, a few diving over the side in their lust to close. But they charged ever onward, fury and passion combining to one as they raced to bring death to the troop.

“READY!” Donnor cried as the first warrior leapt over where the trip wire had been.

A warrior with some kind of sword stumbled over one of the dead, swiftly being trampled by the rushing feet of its brethren.

“READY!”

The one in front had a lick of drool flying from the corner of its mouth.

“BRACE!”

The troop’s spears slammed into place, a veritable wall of blades for the enemy to destroy themselves on. Ahton barked. Then arrows flew.

Another warrior stumbled.

CRASH!

The ondilaan thundered into the waiting spears, throwing themselves forward in their lust to bring death to the troop. “STRIKE! STRIKE! STRIKE!” came the shouted commands as Mikus, Keris, and Donnor tried to bring some semblance of order to the ensuing chaos. “J’al’osil!” came an elven battle cry, a high ululating call coming from every one of the elves’ mouths as they charged wildly in. But Donnor paid their cries no mind, his focus descending onto his targets, stabbing forward in time with his commands.

First one, then another in the ranks went down, whoever they were crying out as they fell. The person behind them stepped forward, closing the hole in the ranks, continuing to fight on. The troop fighting the enemy as a single living unit, first rank doing everything it could to resist the enemy’s flow.

“LOOSE!” came a call from Donnor’s right, a staccato T-T-T-T-THWACK flashing in almost right where he stood. He risked a quick glance, Immer wildly pointing towards something in front of the troop. Then something flashed by and he raised his shield without thinking, completely blocking whatever it was from view.

Time slowed into flashes of sight. Mikus bending under the weight of a toppling ondilaan. A sword slicing across Werin’s cheek. Deya shouting, trying to get an ondilaan off her spear. Nalin screaming his usual defiance into the horde. It was all happening at once, all together yet separate, every instance occurring at the same time.

They were being pushed from the bridge, the concentrated weight of the ondilaan too much for the ranks to bear. Another man fell, Dorn this time taking a hit to his knee. Hartok stepping forward, using his shield to slam an ondilaan in the face. Then one of the men from Silverlake stepped up from behind to take that vacant position and place.

“DON’T LET THEM PUSH US!” Donnor cried. “STRIKE! STRIKE! STRIKE!” he kept shouting in the rhythm of command as more and more ondilaan charged in. The troop blindly followed his orders on instinct, their many battles together giving them faith in the commands of their leader. They fought on, doing their best, ondilaan after ondilaan dying upon their spears.

But it wasn’t enough.

The warrior tribesman they fought had roamed the Endless Plains for an eternity. They were hunters by nature, and they knew how to down a difficult foe. Fixing the troop in place with the ones in front, the ones behind spilled to either side. Threatening the vulnerable flanks that had been perilously left open, they drew new blood from the troop.

The archers scurried back, running to stay away from the encroaching throng. But as they did so, they could no longer volley in with their bows, which allowed even more ondilaan to get through. Elves sprinted into place behind them, knives flashing as they wildly danced and spun, covering the archers’ withdrawal, but there were always more warriors to come.

Donnor blocked a strike with his spear as one of the flanking warriors got close enough to lash out. The warrior died, an elf simply slitting its throat, but the enemy had been too close. And if the ondilaan were flanking like that on his side, they were doing the same on the other.

“WATCH YOUR FLANKS! THEY’RE WRAPPING AROUND! CURVE THE LINE!”

The veterans of the troop remembered, doing what they could to comply, but it was an impossible order. Slavering jaws in their faces, screaming injured and dead below, the combat continued in flashes and blurs of desperate chaos. All of it seen through their restrictive helmets, over the lips of their battered shields.

“ALMOST OUT OF ARROWS!” Laren or Immer cried, Donnor couldn’t tell which. There was too much going on. Too many shouts, too many screams, for him to discern who it was if the person wasn’t right there in front of him. He ducked a thrusting blade, stabbing out with his spear to the cry of his opponent. It sunk in up to its haft, then he savagely twisted, a spray of gore accompanying that ondilaan’s fall.

Someone else cried out, a gargling scream of loss and fury somewhere from down the line. Then another, and another, as person after person fell. The sheer weight of the ondilaani numbers was going to be their downfall, but there was nothing else for it. Nothing to be done but to keep fighting, as another T-T-T-T-THWACK flew in.

Gart was screaming something down at the other end of the line as another thundering rumble rattled from behind. Donnor didn’t have time to look, the damned hill sounding like it was collapsing right on top of them. His heart went out to Ari as another weapon flashed by, Canner falling as his vision drew in.

The rumbling grew louder as sound faded into the background of his mind. The beating of his heart came to the fore, the furious lub-dub, lub-dub, thumping a wild, heady rhythm in his brain. Then the rumbling grew till it was almost upon him, Donnor risking a desperate spin to see what new danger was about to befall his men.

And saw the sea of eyes racing forward to meet them.

“At ‘em, boys!” Shandii cried at the top of her lungs. “Ayie achtäl dóon Corriador!” she sounded out in a heady chant, then charged all of her correts into the throng.

The noise was tremendous; a cacophony of sick and twisted sounds that shattered and cracked through the combat. Ondilaani warriors were knocked over and then trampled, their immense bodies ravaged by the powerful legs of the birds. Beaks and claws flashed out, blood flying everywhere as they rampaged through the warrior’s formation. Then in an instant they were through, broken bodies left falling, discarded in their wake.

“Corriador!” came Shandii’s departing cry.

“Dem o Dúub aie!” Mikus shouted, his voice easily piercing the din. And Shandii saluted, wheeling her riders to do it again as every unmounted bird followed after.

“TAKE THEM DOWN WHILE YOU CAN!” Donnor shouted. “HOLD YOUR POSITIONS HERE! STRIKE! STRIKE! STRIKE!” sounded from his lips once more. The remaining men thrust out with their spears, skewering the shattered ondilaani tribesman that remained.

Another charge ran in, the golden-brown feathers of the correts flying with the wind of their passage. A repeat of the first grisly commotion took place. The revolting, angry sounds again left in their wake as the last bird passed through. The correts wheeled once more, and Donnor slashed, another ondilaani life ending before him. Then he took a chance to see how the rest of them fared, ignoring an ondilaan gurgle and choke at his feet.

The ondilaan were defeated, at least on this side of the bridge. The area between what was left of first rank and the bridge was littered with shattered and broken corpses. The ondilaan left were moaning in pain after the two charges they’d taken. There were a lot of the troop’s people down as well, their pained moaning competing with the ondilaan’s in all the commotion.

He had to end this.

“TROOP ADVANCE AT A WALK, WALK! HALT AT THE BRIDGE! Archers, are you out of arrows?”

“Aye!” came both Laren and Immer’s call.

“Rescue the wounded! SALIA?”

“HERE!”

“Cover our rear!”

The troop advanced, carefully picking its way amidst the downed bodies. Here and there a spear flashed out, ending the life of a writhing ondilaan, but the troop strode implacably on. Donnor calling them to a halt only strides from the bridge.

Across the expanse a matriarch howled. The fury in her voice telling one and all of her desire to take her revenge. But she held to her side of the bridge amongst the ruins, her loathing and hatred flaming forth from her gaze.

“Renew the lines!” Donnor called. “Second rank fill the holes in first! Third rank step forward into second! How many did we lose?”

“Five! Seven! Two! Three! Four!” came various calls from around the lines. The troop was down over half their men; who knows if they were dead or wounded at this point. Donnor looked around towards the wounded trying to make sense of it all, and then a rock flew in.

“They’re throwing stones!” Sollip cried.

“SHIELDS!”

A stone almost as big as his head landed on the ground beside him. A rock like that would break an arm if it didn’t already shatter the shield. Donnor heard someone cry out after a sickening crack, already knowing it had come to pass.

“SHANDII! CAN YOU GET ACROSS THAT BRIDGE!”

There was no answer, but then a rumbling grew.

“THREE STEPS BACKWARDS! MOVE!”

The troop clumsily stepped to the rear, never before hearing that command. Someone in first rank fell, their spear flying back and hitting the person behind them. It glanced off a shield, hitting someone in their helmet, but that man remained uninjured. Then Kordin was helped to his feet, a rock almost braining the gnome as the correts charged in from behind.

The irascible birds thundered onto the bridge, only two at a time able to cross side by side. But cross they did, flying over the intervening space with Shandii and her riders in the lead. They had their crossbows out this time, one or two shooting their bolts as they came, but it was a limited thing, the riders not being able to reload. None the less, the deluge of raining rocks came to a halt. The ondilaan turning their attention to the deadly, mounted birds, as the rest of the correts streaked by.

“MIKUS? TAKE US ACROSS BY RANKS! MOVE!”

“FIRST RANK, ON ME!” Mikus shouted, advancing at a slow but steady pace.

“SECOND RANK, STAND FAST!” Keris called as Donnor shouted the same for third.

Shandii’s riders were running amok amongst the ondilaan on the other side. Never holding still, a rider leading a group of unmounted birds would charge in, only to veer away at the last moment while another one charged in from the side. It was a delicate exposition into the chaos of battle, orchestrated by a diminutive conductor who surprisingly shouted in dwarven while leading the feast.

Individual ondilaan were picked off. The unlucky few separated from the pack were quickly rode down under the shredding claws of the correts. Their terrible talons ran red with ondilaani blood, while strings of gore hung limp from their beaks. Trills and calls came from the flock, Shandii’s mount offering a whistling tribute to the bounty being offered their way. And the confusing tangle of assaults continued, interspersed by a loud though periodic HEHEHE.

“SECOND RANK, ON ME!” Keris cried as he started across the bridge.

Mikus was forming up on the other side, quickly getting his men to where they needed to be. His shouts were hard to hear over the ongoing din, but one panicked cry was clearly heard on top of the rest.

“BRACE!”

A dozen or so ondilaani warriors had broken away, led by a towering matriarch. Somehow escaping the confusing circle of correts, they flew forward, slamming into Mikus’s rank. Karn and Turred were instantly bowled over, one of their axes sent flying as they tumbled off their feet.

“CHARGE!” Keris commanded, an order the troop had never yet performed. But the men of second rank knew what was at stake, sprinting forward behind Keris as fast as they could to save what remained of first.

The opposite end of the bridge became a slaughterhouse, only a few at a time able to pass over the bridge. The paltry number not able to do much to disrupt the ondilaan’s charge, Mikus’s rank was split asunder, enemy warriors interspersing amongst his men. They dropped their spears, knives flashing as it became suddenly too close to wield them. And all the while the giant birds struck and wheeled in their midst, a backdrop to the carnage now underway.

“THIRD RANK, PILE IN FROM BEHIND! PUSH THEM! PUSH!” Donnor screamed, seeing Mikus’s men go down.

Mikus was standing over one of the twins, bellowing out a dwarvish chant. Tak rode one of the ondilaan down from behind, the halfling somehow up on its shoulders, while Nalin flashed around with his twin knives, his entire body absolutely covered in gore.

Keris made it to the other side, screaming for his men to run right over top of the blocking warriors. Then second rank joined in and merged with the first to beat back the ondilaan, but it was a horrible and bloody affair. The cost of this particular combat taking its terrible toll, everyone wounded from what Donnor could see.

The fighting continued while blood constantly flowed, and it looked like they were winning. Shandii was wheeling around for another charge, the ondilaan packed into a tight, dense mass. The ranks reformed, the three ranks now down to two, and those being incomplete at best. Their losses were staggering, but they had come through to the end.

This is what happened when they didn’t have his ilari’s magic crossed Donnor’s mind. Dammit, they needed her magic. And with that his thoughts again flew to her, praying for her safety as a few of Salia’s elves ran by.

“Donnor! We’ve collected some spent arrows,” Laren reported. “We’ve got a few more volleys left in us.”

“Excellent. Mikus? Keris? Stand fast! We’re going to send a volley in first, before ending this. SHANDII? WARE! ARCHERS!” Donnor warned.

Shandii waved her acknowledgement, yelling for her riders as arrows once again flew. T-T-T-T-THWACK shattered into the clustered ondilaan, one matriarch shorter than the rest taking more than a few. And the loss of that female triggered a reaction among the remaining warriors, something that to Donnor was new.

One of the warriors yipped, a sound of loss and fear amidst the otherwise belligerent few that remained. This started a cascade among them, one warrior after another bristling and then repeating the first’s call. Then a rider with a handful of correts charged in, and the ondilaan just broke. In ones and twos they scattered, some lunging for the correts while others fled in fear. But the sheltering mass they’d held onto was suddenly nothing more than a dream, and it was a dream the riders of the troop looked forward to.

“Get ‘em!” Shandii cried as they rode the ondilaan down. And the twenty or so were left dying in short order, trampled underneath the merciless feet of the birds.

Donnor bent down to stab a dying ondilaan, ending its life where it lay. Then he turned in place, taking stock of their situation, while looking out over the field. And on seeing what he now saw, he found news no one else wanted to hear.

They had suffered a staggering, horrible loss. Easily, only half of the troop remained.

“Any more?” Keris asked.

“No. Somebody separate out the wounded!” Donnor cried. “Gart? You got the duty!” The half orc nodded, waving his hand in reply.

“Tha’ girl o’ yer’s gonna’ have her work cut out fer’ her after this bit.” Mikus spat.

And with that Donnor turned to look towards the hill, to the hill they had all come down. The hill that had been collapsing behind them, dust still billowing up in the air as he looked. He squinted, looking for his love and his mate, the bond telling him that she was right there. There, where he could make out that movement hadn’t ceased.

Feeling the last warm rays of the sun on his face, he looked towards those moving specks ... Many more specks than there should be ... And with that his heart froze.

The army of ondilaan they’d been running from had found them.

And they were swarming down from above in droves.

A Flight from Doom

“What did you do to her, Nu’Surledyn?” Garesh demanded as they hurried Ari across the scree.

The rockfall was continuing behind them, the thunderous cacophony making it almost too loud to hear. Once Ari had been knocked out, her hold on the stone instantly dissolved. Tommy’s head spun when it was released from whatever she’d done, but there’d been no time for him to recover. They’d desperately scrambled to escape the slide while his bird flew away, stone seemingly disappearing from right beneath their feet.

The mage had looked positively furious ever since he’d caught sight of Ari being unconscious, all but spitting as he screamed.

“What did I do?” Tommy shouted back, helping Saress carry his mother down from above. He was doing his best not to drop her, the exhaustion from what they’d done all but overwhelming him.

“Yes, you!” Garesh accused. “It is always abominations like you that put the Vale at risk!”

“The Vale? Who gives a damn about the Vale?” Tommy shouted, thinking the mage should be more worried about the look Saress was giving him.

“Are you slow, half-breed? Yes, the Vale!” Garesh ducked a flying stone. “The Vale and our mages!”

“Your mages?” Saress called in return, her sibilant voice easily piercing through the din. “Nisa Saliantrea is most definitely not your mage.”

“A’nat J’al’osil Saress!”

“Do you not recall, Oan’talin? I am no longer J’al’osil.” No one could have missed that snark.

“A’nat!”

“Saliantrea, please,” Jahad called to Saress, grabbing Garesh and hurrying him along.

“You disgusting abomination! You belong in a zoo!”

“We just saved your bloody arse!” Tommy shouted at his retreating back, dodging a falling stone. “Eat fish guts you–”

“Saliantrea!” Jahad admonished.

“I hope you die with your line for the good of the Vale!” Garesh sneered.

Tommy sputtered, never having faced such vitriol before. It was all he could do to keep from drawing his blade.

“Do you declare blood feud before Life, Garesh Oan’talin?” Saress’s voice shattered the hillside.

Jahad all but threw the mage down the other side of a rock, taking him completely from view. “There will be no feud!” He met Saress’s eyes, making a quick signal before hopping down himself. “Get off the hill!”

“What in the ever-living hells is his problem!” Tommy demanded.

“The ugly side of the Vale, young mage.” She struggled to hand Ari up over a stone. “He will not be a problem.”

“He already is a problem!”

“I should say more. Jahad said he will handle it.”

“He didn’t say a word!”

“No, he did not.” She grunted, shifting Ari’s head into a more comfortable position. “It was his signs.”

Tommy stepped carefully over another rock, a pebble glancing off his head. The din was incredible. “You mean that wave he did.”

“Yes. Now focus!” she shouted, recovering her hold as Ari almost slipped from her hands.

Boulders continued to rain down from above, crashing into the scree before bouncing further onto the plain below. How they were going to get the wagon down now, Tommy had no idea. But they sure weren’t going to be using magic. He barely had enough Tol left to light a globe.

He stumbled across a loose stone, slamming his shoulder painfully into a boulder while they continued to descend. At least what Ari and he had done had saved them. There wasn’t a single stone shifting their way, everything sliding to the south or the east. But what Ari had done to actually do it … just thinking about it utterly blew his mind.

Their pathways had merged ... Merged! … into a combined whole that had absolutely blazed with power. And the amount of power they had unlocked was on a whole new level … it was like staring at the sun! There in the end, it had almost begged Ari to use it. Even he had felt the desire radiating his way. And she had Saress knock her out so she wouldn’t!

What in the hells did we do?

He must have said something out loud because Saress quickly grabbed his arm, awkwardly supporting their mother’s weight while fiercely whispering in his ear. “You will say nothing of what was done here, Tomilanthus Saliantrea! Not one word! Not a single utterance! Not a sound! Do you understand me?”

“What?”

She shook him while looking incredibly angry. “Do you understand!”

“Yes!” He flinched, a pebble ricocheting off of his armor.

She placed her hand on the back of his head, pulling him in to touch her forehead to his own. “Do not ask questions, Tomilanthus. Wait for N’Taii to explain! You must promise me!” Her eyes bored into his own.

“Fine! I promise!”

“Good. We must go!” She shouted, looking towards a curiously watching Jahad. She waved him off. “That way. There are less stones.”

“There are blasted stones–”

WHOOOOP!

Both of their heads whipped back the way they had come. An ondilaani matriarch was standing at the top of the road staring balefully down at them. She was huge, her thick neck bulging underneath her snarling face. Both rounded ears on the top of her head were fixed in their direction, and her greasy black mane was fluttering in the breeze as she pointed a single finger their way.

WHOOOOP! she called out again.

She wasn’t alone.

HEHEHE! HEHEHE! came from all around them from above, all of their heads whipping chaotically about to find the source of the sounds. And there they found them, easily a dozen or so ondilaani warriors cresting the top of the hill above.

“MOVE, Tomilanthus!”

“I’m moving! I’m moving!”

The two of them started scurrying down the hill as fast as they could, desperate to escape the descending ondilaan. The warriors were bounding down without fear, hopping from stone to stone as they came. Some succeeded, some failed, with the failures starting more slides as they followed the slipping stones down to their doom. But those that succeeded came ever onward; there was no way to prevent them from getting closer.

An arrow whistled by, its sharp THWACK splitting the various sounds when it struck true. A warrior cried out from behind while they ran, a gurgling sound heard amidst the din. Tommy looked to where the shot had come from, seeing Jahad with one of their spare bows, drawn and ready to loose.

“Ka tori, Saliantrea!”

“What?” Tommy shouted.

“Move faster you half-blooded freak!” Garesh screamed.

“Garesh!” Jahad admonished. “Hurry Saliantrea! We will cover your descent!”

Tommy stomped on his anger, hoisting Ari’s legs to get a better grip. He and Saress were moving as fast as they could, slipping and sliding on the thin gravel that almost seemed to want him to perilously fall. He was working out how to kind of shuffle his legs faster as another arrow flew.

“Duck!” Falia shouted as a rock flew by his head. Then Jahad started yelling angrily in elvish as arrow after arrow flew.

“Tomilanthus! Duck your shoulders and hurry!” Saress cried. “They are throwing stones at us!”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Do it faster!”

A stone shattered next to his head. “Gods! I’m going!”

They continued their scramble, accompanied by the periodic calls of the Ondilaan. A rock the size of his head flew by, crashing into the stones in front of him. Then another glanced off his shoulder, causing an unavoidable flinch. He dropped his mother’s legs as he stumbled, sliding precariously over the edge.

“Saress!”

“I got you!” Her hand lashed out, grabbing onto his collar as his legs went out from under him. It was an amazing display of strength, Saress stopping his movement while holding onto Ari with her other hand. But she did it anyway, and Tommy hissed as he cut his hands on the loose rock scrambling back to his feet.

A chittering cry came from further down the hill as another arrow whistled by his face. Then a thud and a yip sounded, and an ondilaan fell, sliding down the hill behind him into the scree. The little sprite girl let out another “Weeee!”

They’re all crazy!

“Move Saliantrea!” Jahad shouted urgently once more, perched on top of a boulder firing into the throng behind.

WHOOOOP!

“Move!”

Saress bodily pulled Tommy to his feet, shoving him further downhill. Tommy grabbed for Ari, regaining her legs while the two of them shuffled. It sounded like the HEHEHEs of the ondilaan were right behind them, the haunting calls coming fast and strong at their backs. And it was all he could do not to look, stumbling while trying to stay on his feet.

TWANG – THWACK!

A wailing cry went up so close it could have been Saress, followed by another crash of shifting stone. Then another crash, and then another, followed by the sounds of shifting rock at their feet. The sounds grew until they all but vibrated right through him, then another cloud of dust exploded from behind as Saress shouted over the roar of the scree.

“Hurry!”

A hand reached out and grabbed his jerkin, pulling him completely off his feet and up the side of a boulder. Camm grabbed on as someone else leaned over and took Ari’s leg from him. Then Alarat reached out with his other hand to take his mother’s weight entirely.

“I got the Lady! Move!”

Tommy finished clambering up on top of the gigantic stone, turning quickly around with Falia to help Saress as well.

The ondilaan had only been a few yards behind them, but they might as well have been on the other side of the ‘Sea for now. All of the stone was now shifting, rock after boulder sliding further down the hill as one. The ondilaan that had been leaping down the hill from above, risking plummeting to their deaths the entire time, hurriedly grabbed on to whatever they could.

The matriarch at the top of the road glared, as did the scores of warriors now standing beside her.

“The entire hill is collapsing!” Camm panicked.

“No, it is not!” Jahad corrected. “But we must move. Now!”

Garesh was already sprinting down the road ahead of them, maybe halfway to the plains below.

“Where’s the artock?” Tommy shouted.

“Who cares about the bloody artock?” Camm replied. “It’s over there! What happened to the Lady!”

“She overused her Tol. Now come! We must go!” Saress commanded, eyeing Tommy while bodily pushing him further down the hill.

The boulder they were on was humongous, one of the very bones of the hill itself. Above it, to the east, the hillside was collapsing. The ondilaan standing where they had begun glared balefully at them from two or three bowshots away. Below them, the artock was lowing in fear amongst the peaceful grass of the plain, trotting about nervously.

But between them and the ondilaan, the stone fell like rain. It looked like part of the escarpment had completely collapsed, making part of the hill slide to fan out onto the plains below. The problem was that the collapse wasn’t stopping, more and more stone sliding as a ‘V’ cut itself into the hill. It separated them from the enemy above, true, but the apocalyptic separation was heading right for the troop.

An eagle cried. Tommy glanced up as he made his way off the stone, the orange blur of his bird streaking its way out over the plains. And it drew his attention out and away from the hill they were on, Tommy catching sight of the desperate battle taking place far below.

The troop was fighting near the bridge, and it looked like there were a lot less of them than there were before. The correts were sprinting back and forth through the ondilaan, and everywhere they went it looked like the ondilaan quickly fell. But there were more, many more if you counted the ones that were now coming down the hill, and he worried about that as another stone flew down from above.

A huge cry went up from behind, amazing that it was heard over the rumbling stone at all.

WhooOOP!

HEHEHE!

WhooOOP!

HEHEHE! HEHEHE!

AaaaOOOOO!

SLAM!

AaaaOOOOO!

SLAM! SLAM!

OoooOOOO!

SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!

“MOVE!” Jahad shouted. Tonat’s concerned chittering sounded as the ondilaan worked themselves up.

Tommy whipped his head around to look back, dozens of ondilaani warriors now coming over the crest of the hill. It looked like they were going to try and cross the ongoing fall, not even bothering to stop and wait for it to finish. The ondilaan were slavering, howling in bloodlust as they slammed their weapons into their chests and shields. And the sound of that was incredible, echoing as even more ondilaan charged forth over the rise.

Jahad started firing arrows as they once again passed Ari over the lip of a stone. Then, when Saress was down, they started sprinting as best they could towards the artock, still lowing on the plains below. Alarat and Camm were moving faster than Tommy had ever seen them run. And Falia, Tonat and the sprite girl were with them, sprinting, the sprites chittering all the way.

“Can we ride the artock?”

“It’s never been trained!”

“We’ll need to catch it!”

“Are there more arrows?” Jahad shouted as he sprinted on by.

“On the artock!”

“Then we need to reach it before it runs!” he urged.

AaaaOOOOO! then SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! came from above, but Tommy refused to look. The stone was still falling, a tremendous din even though it was now slowing down. But the thundering chorus of their enemy chasing them down the hill was what made them run now.

Jahad reached the artock well before the rest, all but running up its shaggy, fur-covered side. He threw things off the platform as he searched, eventually coming up with a bundle of spare arrows Alantin pointed out. Simply cutting its binding with his knife, he let them fall to his feet while he knocked an arrow and spun.

Garesh scrambled up, shrieking for them to run, then Tommy and Saress reached the animal’s side. Alantin and Tonat both worked to help hoist Ari onto the platform, the artock lowing the entire time. Then Falia, Tommy and Saress clambered up, Alarat and Camm still running to catch up from behind.

Jahad loosed an arching shot towards the enemy, his ondilaani target crossing the spreading scree behind them. “MOVE!” he shouted. “Saress, get Saliantrea up here! You! Gnomes! Can you make this thing go?”

Alarat and Camm didn’t bother answering, they just grabbed up the leads off the ground and heaved. The artock wasn’t complaining about moving, and uncharacteristically started out in a ground-devouring jog. The problem was that the damnable six-legged thing had decided to go in the wrong direction. Panicked, it was heading further to the west at one of the bordering hills, straight towards a cliff blocking their way.

Tonat let out a shrill chitter as the platform perilously swayed, the little sprite girl shrieking along in surprise.

“Camm! What are you doing?” Tommy screamed from above.

“It ain’t me! You think I can stop it?”

“The troop is over there!”

“Tell me something I don’t know!” Camm shouted back as he sprinted carrying the lead.

The artock was picking up speed, building into a charge away from the slide and the ondilaan howling on it. There was no way the gnomes could keep up, their little legs blurring as the leads were pulled through their fingers.

“Here!” Saress dove towards the edge of the platform, reaching desperately over the side with one hand.

Alarat reached for it, but there was no way he could grab hold. Her hand was simply too far away. Tommy looked on helplessly as the artock charged ever faster, leaving the gnomes running behind while the artock wailed out its fear.

“Control this damnable beast, Jahad!” Garesh demanded.

“We can’t!” Tommy shouted, completely sick of the man’s presumption. “It’ll run till it gives out, you arse! And we’re leaving Alarat and Camm behind!”

“The gnomes? Who cares about two gnomes, half-breed?” Garesh sneered.

Saress grabbed Tommy, wrapping him up as he snarled his hate towards the mage. She held onto his fists, the guardian inside rearing up its watching head and then joining him in piercing the disgusting mage with his eyes. And some part of his silent protector must have peeked through, because the S’tol shied away from his gaze as if he was slapped.

“Abomination!” Garesh accused.

Tommy didn’t even realize he was clenching his blade.

“Enough!” Jahad grabbed Garesh by the back of the neck and then shook him, pressing him onto the platform below. “Stay down and stay safe, S’tol!”

“Keep that Nu’Surledyn away from me!”

“As you wish, but you will stay in cover!” Jahad ordered, Garesh not seeing the quick look of apology Jahad sent their way.

“You sit down, too!” Saress ordered Tommy. “Over there!”

She pushed Tommy to the other side of the bouncing platform by Falia, as far away from Garesh as she could. Tommy slammed into one of the bags of dried food, his nose turning bloody as he raised it from the impact, but he stayed there willingly enough. It was either that or kill Garesh, and Tommy wasn’t sure he had that in him yet. Alantin reached out to grab his arm to keep him from falling.

Who am I becoming?

Tonat shoved a cloth his way while they rode the artock’s bouncing stride. He couldn’t believe they still had his spear, stumbling as the shaft of it tangled in his legs. The only reason he had his armor on was because he’d worn it, but how he’d held onto his spear through the panicked descent was something he didn’t think he’d ever know. And he sank gratefully into a nest amongst the baggage next to the little sprite girl on thinking about that.

Alarat and Camm were falling further and further into the distance, sprinting over a rise in the land. And past them was the hill, finally finishing its collapse, and the warriors there that were moving downward to find them. There were dozens of ondilaan, maybe hundreds, watching the artock as it sped across the plain. And they were coming, running, sprinting, and howling after the ones getting away.

There was no way to avoid them.

Saress, Tonat, and Jahad had bows. Alarat and Camm could join him with spears and shields when they caught up, but they would be utterly exhausted when they did so. A little sprite girl, a bound S’tol, a blind old man, and a maid, along with panicked and sprinting artock were the rest of what they had with them. And he looked over towards his mother, her head lolling off to the side ...

And knew they were doomed.

The artock started to slow, almost completely across the plain from the base of the hill. They were on the other side of the little pass that went off to the north, back the way the troop had come. And the artock’s lungs were working like the greatest of bellows, its six legs pounding into the earth to slow its gait.

There wasn’t anywhere else for it to go; they’d come to the base of a cliff. It seemed like the beast had had enough, slowing to just jogging, then walking as the hill behind them completed its collapse. And then the artock stopped and spun, everyone on the platform holding on before it ceased its movement. Then they gazed back the way they came.

Alarat and Camm were dozens of arrow shots away, still sprinting towards them in the distance. Behind them the ondilaan were crawling over and down the face of the finished slide. Like an army of ants, they moved over the shifting terrain, numbers increasing as they advanced closer. And they were swarming everyone’s way, slowly spreading over the once peaceful plain like a plague.

“What do we do?” Tommy asked, moving closer towards the edge.

“Do not get off the artock!” Saress admonished. “If it runs, we’ll never get back up.”

“How many arrows remain?” Jahad demanded.

“I don’t know.”

“S’tol? A count please, if you will.”

“You expect me to count this?” Garesh waved a hand towards the jumble of arrows scattered all over the platform. “Have the maid do it.”

“She cares for the Saliantrea. Can you work a bow? If so, I will count.”

Garesh glared and began sorting the arrows, grumbling in elven the entire time.

Saress bent down, grabbing one of the spares and quickly stringing the bow. “Where’s your bow?” Tommy asked.

“Under the baggage somewhere.”

“Saress, can the sprites shoot?” Jahad asked.

“Probably better than you, Warden. They all can.”

“Better than you?”

“Maybe.”

Jahad looked a little surprised.

The sprite girl was handing Garesh the arrows she found, the mage’s complaints getting louder and louder while he glared the little girl’s way. “If I had access to my Tol, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

No one paid his complaints any mind. Saress grabbed a quiver and started stuffing arrows in it, keeping two arrows gripped in her bow hand at all times. Jahad did the same, taking as many as he could, constantly keeping watch of the approaching enemy.

“Stuck on the back of a beast, with a cursed half-blood, who can’t even light a candle,” Garesh continued.

Tonat was bent over Ari, lifting her eyelids to peer into one eye after another. There was a developing bruise on Ari’s cheek, the entire area around it swelling up. Falia was supporting her head in her lap.

“Gelded by that entitled witch and her spawn.”

Tommy helped Tonat move his mother into a more comfortable position as Garesh slammed a handful of arrows onto the base of the platform. He dwindled off mumbling his elvish complaints as Tommy glanced up, and saw Alarat and Camm noticeably closer.

“Rejecting the rightful orders of the Vale!” Tonat glared as Garesh slammed another handful of arrows down, then grabbed the ones out of the little girl’s hand to finish the count. “Eighty-seven remain!”

“Thank you, S’tol.”

“Our family will be informed of this indignity!”

“As you wish, S’tol.” It didn’t look like Jahad was even paying attention, gazing out over the ondilaan descending the hill. “How many do you have, Saress?”

“The quiver holds fifteen. Two in hand,” she said as the ondilaani howls came louder.

“The same then.” He nodded towards the equipment he held. “We need to move.”

“Agreed.”

“The S’tol?”

“I will not die to protect him.” She nodded towards Tommy. “The heir must survive.”

“You so easily relinquished your vows?”

Saress shrugged. “You were the one who released me.”

Jahad grunted. “So, I did.”

“We each have our charge.” She stood to join him, watching the ondilaan approach over the distance. “… To find our way until the end of times come ... J’al’osil,” Saress chanted.

“You are no longer one of us.”

“I am the only one here.”

Jahad sighed.

“J’al’osil,” Saress insisted.

And Jahad turned to regard her, nodding slowly her way. “Till the end of times come ... J’al’osil.”

Saress clasped his hand.

“What nonsense are the two of you spouting off about?” Garesh demanded.

“Nothing you would understand, master mage,” Saress answered, easily maintaining her calm.

But Tommy, for the first time in his life, just sneered. “No, it’s definitely not something you would understand, Garesh.”

“How dare you speak to me that way, Nu’Surledyn!”

Tommy turned his head and spat. “Even I know what the two of them are talking about, and I don’t know a damned thing about the J’al’osil in the least.”

“What are you babbling about, half-breed?”

“They’re planning to give up their lives for us, you fool.” Tommy stood and took up his spear. “And that should be good enough for you.”

And then Tommy’s eyes became hard.

A Desperate Hope

“By the lost gods …”

Keris’s soft statement crashed through Donnor’s consciousness like a thunderclap. He was just standing there, the remains of the battle all around him, staring off towards the fallen hill in the distance.

Who knew how many ondilaan were coming down the hill.

“Feck me … Karn? Turred?” Mikus called out, spitting off to the side.

“Aye?”

“What did ya’ bastards do ta’ piss off tha’ Maker?”

“Belay that crap.” Donnor’s mind was spinning, one possible path after another being considered and dismissed so fast it barely registered on his consciousness.

“What are we going to do?” someone pleaded.

“Do?” Keris asked, incredulously.

“Belay that shite, too.” Donnor continued watching the ondilaan descend. She wasn’t dead … she wasn’t … he could feel it. I refuse to allow that to happen.

“Ya’ canna’ be leavin, Donnor,” Mikus warned, knowing his friend.

“They’ll never escape on foot.”

“They may.”

“Where’s Shandii?”

“Corriador!” Mikus shouted.

“Whaddya’ want now, ya’ blasted dwarf?” the gnome replied.

“Get your arse over here!”

“What?” Shandii’s corret stopped right at Donnor’s shoulder. “Oh, feck me, will ya’ look a’ tha’! We gotta’ move!”

“Shandii, I want you to send a rider to see who’s in those towers back there …” Donnor began.

“…Okay…”

“… and then go get my mate.”

“Where she at?”

“Out there.” Donnor pointed towards the descending ondilaan.

“Ya’ say wha’!”

“She’s out there,” he continued conversationally, his tone totally at odds with the situation around them. “I need you to get her and bring her back.”

“Yer’ outta’ yer’ blasted mind! Tha’ tower, sure! But go out there? Yer’ fecked!”

Donnor’s hand lashed out, grabbing Shandii by the collar and pulling her down to him. But while his eyes were wild and fey, his voice remained disturbingly calm.

“My mate and my son are out there, Shandii, and they both worked very hard to save you. I don’t care what you think about that, but I’m calling in the debt you owe.” Shandii sputtered, but Donnor continued speaking right over her in that disturbingly casual voice he now used. “I need you to go get her, and bring them both back so we can leave.”

“We bloody damned well can be leavin’ right now!”

“No. We will leave when she gets here, and not a moment before then. Go get her and my boy, Shandii.” His eyes stared into her own as his command was spoken. “We’ll hold for you here until your return.”

“Yer’ mad!”

Donnor let go of her, shoving the corret away. “We’ll wait for you here,” he repeated in that eerie calm. “Mikus, stack the bodies on this side of the bridge and form a wall.”

“Aye, lad.”

“We’ll use the stream and the bridge as defenses.” Donnor looked around nodding. “We will hold here.”

“Donnor, are you sure?” Keris asked.

“Ya’ have yer’ blasted orders, Keris!”

“Mikus, that’s an army out there!”

“Yer’ feckin’ right it is!” Shandii put in while Mikus looked ready to fight.

“No, Mikus. It’s okay.” Donnor put his hand on his friend, gently patting his shoulder. “It is an army,” he agreed, nodding towards both Shandii and Keris. “But Shandii, the troop has no way to escape. They’ll outrun us no matter what we do. You’re the only one who can get away, Shandii, you and your correts. Our only option is to do something with Tommy and Ari’s magic.”

He turned back towards watching the hill. “And for that, we need them to survive ...” Donnor paused, the ondilaan still swarming down the hill. He waited a moment longer before asking, “Will you abandon us to our fate, Shandii?”

The gnome looked torn, while Mikus turned and shouted for the troop to start stacking bodies. Keris looked back and forth between the two before turning to help Mikus and the men. Even the survivors from Silverlake turned to assist, Mikus directing the first of the corpses to be laid against the ends of the bridge while the exhausted, wounded men got to their feet. But while all of that was going on, Shandii still sat there, frozen.

There was a host of emotions crossing her face. She looked to her riders, the birds, and then to the other survivors, before finally back to Donnor again. But she didn’t leave. She didn’t move. Staring at Donnor as he calmly watched the descending ondilaan with his fey brown eyes, she pondered what he was asking.

And she struggled with it, remembering ... What he was asking was something she had given up long ago. Her family, her loved ones, lost in another hopeless action. And she thought about that for a moment, while the enemy’s howling began to be heard. Triggering memories of promises once made, and others now broken ... Her family, and how long she’d been away from the fold.

“Yer’ a right bastard, Silverspear.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Yer’ lady and tha’ boy?”

“Yep.”

“Tha’s it.”

“Yes.”

“An’ ye’ll hold here?”

“We’re not leaving,” Donnor said in that quiet, emphatic voice.

Somehow she knew the sun would stop shining before he would go. “Ya’ feckin’ better no’. I won’ be left behind again.”

Donnor nodded on hearing her acceptance.

“I be feckin’ crazy fer’ even considerin’ it”

“Possibly.”

“Mekklin! Rilli! Round up tha’ birds! We leavin’! Abadair? Get yer’ arse back thataway. Find out who be in tha’ damned towers.”

“Where we going?” one of her riders complained as Abadair trotted off.

“Ta’ get tha’ blasted Lady.”

“Where she be?”

“Out there.” Shandii waved her hand over the plain.

“Are ya’ feckin’ mad!”

“I jus’ might be,” Shandii spat, spinning her corret and grabbing onto the leads of the other birds. “Donnor Silverspear? Mikus Gemhands?” she loudly called, eyeing the oncoming horde.

She captured their eyes in her own, then raised her fist in a deliberate salute, shouting, “Fäschandi Corriador! Dom lächten ayie achtäl doon De’Mal!” in the dwarven tongue. And with that defiant yell, she spun and thundered away towards the enemy, her riders looking back and forth before spurring their mounts as well.

Donnor watched them for a moment before turning away, grabbing a body nearby while ignoring the howling calls. He worked with the others, stacking body after corpse in a revolting, gory mess before he finally asked. “Mikus? What did she say?”

Mikus spat, unknowingly smearing blood on his brow, wiping away his sweat. The elves, and pretty much everyone else, paused to hear his reply. The lot of them had been wondering, too.

“In me tongue, she said: ‘Remember Corriador, we ride for tha’ glory of tha’ Maker’.”

Karn and Turred nodded but kept working, beginning to chant a slow, somber dirge.

“And ‘Corriador’?” Donnor asked.

“A clan o’ gnomes from me homeland. They live near Khagatom. I’m guessin’ she be one o’ ‘em.”

Donnor grunted, returning to working with the others, accompanied by the dwarves’ slow, sad song. Nobody paid any attention to the army in the distance, deliberately ignoring its approach, and the howling calls as well.

“Hey, Mikus? What’s that song Karn and Turred are singing?” Gart asked after a bit, the area around them uneasily quiet.

“It be a dirge fer’ tha’ dead.” Mikus worked his shoulders before bending down to lift another corpse.

“Tha’ way she be sayin’ it, Shandii don’ think she’ll be comin’ back.”

***

“Run!” Tommy yelled to the two gnomes, still sprinting as fast as they were able. Sweat was dripping down their faces, and they’d long since begun dragging their spears behind them, but they ran towards the artock without pause. For there was an army chasing them, and the two gnomes weren’t stopping to look behind.

“Are you sure I can’t get down off the artock?”

“No, young mage. Stay here.”

“But I want to help!”

“You do not know the bow.”

“There has to be something I can do!”

“Sit, Tomilanthus. Care for N’Taii.”

Tonat chittered something, the little sprite girl tugging on his sleeve to pull him back towards his mother. Tonat was sorting through her pouches, one ingredient after another rejected while she repeatedly glanced up toward the gnomes. Falia was whispering over Ari, her head bent as if in prayer.

“There has to be something I can do.”

“Use your mystical powers, half-breed,” Garesh sneered. “Surely you can do that.”

Tommy ignored him. Well, tried to, after sparing the man a glare. It was like Garesh was a wholly different person with Ari knocked out, overwhelmingly and exceedingly rude.

“How is N’Taii, Tomilanthus?” Saress asked.

“Out cold.” He tried again to shake her awake. “Why won’t she wake up?”

“Overuse of her Tol,” Saress answered, giving him a significant look once more.

The artock lowed, a returning of fright as it lifted its head towards the approaching ondilaan. Then it turned a bit, the entire platform swaying wildly as it moved.

“Can’t someone control that beast?” Garesh demanded, arrows scattering while he grabbed uselessly for them.

“The two must hurry,” Jahad said. “This animal is about to flee.”

“We can’t leave them behind!” Tommy insisted.

“Life may make that decision for us, Saliantrea.”

“We will stay until the artock takes us, Tomilanthus,” Saress assured him as well.

“Alarat! Camm!” Tommy yelled loud enough that his throat became sore. “Hurry! The artock is spooking!”

The artock lowed again, its shifting weight seemingly agreeing with his words. And the gnomes must have heard him, for they were pushing themselves even faster as they sprinted across the plain.

AaaaOOOOO! HEHEHE! HEHEHE! WhooOOP! hunted the gnomes across the grass. There were maybe twenty or thirty ondilaan racing after them. The rest had formed into loose bands behind them, all clustered at the base of the hill. And the group that formed only grew larger, even more warriors pouring down off the hill to join them.

A handful of matriarchs were in sight, easily picked out even at this distance. And nothing about that was good, not based on the math Keris had figured out. Tommy remembered Keris explaining that for every matriarch there was something like thirty warriors from what they had seen. And that made well over a hundred right here, just based on the group he could see …

And there were more on their way down, many more, and they were looking right back.

“Run!”

“We are!” came a faint reply, the gnomes’ shouting finally able to be heard.

Saress and Jahad were talking quietly in elven, obviously discussing some strategy by the motions they made. Then Saress turned to Tommy. “You must help them mount the artock when they reach us, Tomilanthus.”

“I can barely reach!”

“You must make do. We will be shooting.” She nodded towards the ondilaan, then the artock lowed again, its tail whipping forward and making a wisp-like sound as it travelled. “If the animal spooks, anyone not on it will be left behind. There is nothing more we can do.”

“I will help you, Tommy,” Alantin said before the monk chittered to the sprites in their tongue.

Tommy ground his teeth, unwilling to leave his friends behind, to fate and the ondilaan, then he spotted some rope. Quickly tying it to one of the poles on the platform, he gathered it in preparation to throw. It’ll be like pulling people out of the ‘Sea.

TWANG! Jahad’s bow sounded almost beside Tommy’s ear. His target was an ondilaan behind Alarat and Camm, his arrow falling just short of its mark. But it proved they were in range, him and Saress speaking again in elven while the ondilaan continued their approach.

Tonat chittered something to the little girl, the girl grabbing wildly for a mortar and pestle as the platform swayed once again. Tonat was chewing some kind of leaf, holding onto Ari’s head as she fought to keep it still. Then she pulled whatever it was from her mouth before shoving it into Ari’s, chittering as she grabbed for her pouch.

The sounds of running feet grew louder. HEHEHE! HEHEHE! racing Alarat and Camm across the plain as Jahad again loosed his bow. This time, an arrow struck one of the ondilaan in the shoulder, the warrior stumbling and falling to the ground. It got back to its feet with a defiant snarl, and then the footrace went on.

The gnome’s little legs blurred as they ran, close enough now for Tommy to see the terror in their eyes. Their lungs were heaving, sweat pouring from their brows, but they ran and ran on. Desperate to escape their deaths steadily approaching from behind, they did everything they could to stay in front.

Saress loosed an arrow, then Jahad as well. The artock lowed. One of them hit, this time piercing an ondilaan in the gut while its fellows ran by. The gnomes didn’t even bother to duck as that warrior fell, arrow after arrow flying by overhead. Their only concern was reaching the artock and the dubious safety of the platform there.

The platform swayed once again, the artock stomping its feet as it bellowed towards the approaching group. Falia was desperately holding the mortar and pestle steady for Tonat.

“Tomilanthus! It will be up to you!” Saress called, never looking away from her charging targets.

“Run Alarat! Run Camm!” Tommy shouted.

“S’tol! More arrows!” Jahad commanded, the older elf snarling yet slapping them into his waiting hand. “Put the rest in my quiver!”

Tonat chittered, the girl grabbing some arrows and dipping them into a vile concoction before handing them to Saress. “Those are poisoned, Saress!” Alantin cautioned, she only nodded in reply.

HEHEHE! came ever louder.

“Run!” Tommy shouted.

There were now only a few moments of delay between the TWANG of the bows, and the THWACK of an arrow hitting. The ondilaan had to be mad, insane even, charging into the incredibly accurate hail that the two J’al’osil produced. The elves never seemed to miss. The closer the ondilaan got, the more precise the elves became. And once again Saress landed shots to the eyes and throats of the enemy, which was almost her norm. Jahad was only slightly less accurate, but still the ondilaan came ever onward.

Tommy could hear the gnomes’ panting, almost hear the individual sounds of their feet. He threw the rope, years of experience casting a net on the ‘Sea allowing him to send it straight between the two. But the artock saw it and flinched, shying away from the new thing from behind that surprised it.

The platform swayed. An arrow went flying. Everyone teetered precariously.

“Grab onto the rope!”

WhooOOP!

TWANG-THWACK-THWACK! Two shots almost sounded as one.

The artock gathered its feet beneath it to run; the platform dropping alarmingly to one side.

Alarat threw himself as he lunged, grabbing the rope while Camm continued to sprint from behind.

“MORE ARROWS S’TOL!”

“Tomilanthus! Look out!” Something flew by his head.

And then, the artock bolted.

Jahad tumbled into Garesh as the platform surged on top of the panicked artock, the sprite girl clinging desperately to one of the poles. Tonat threw herself on top of Ari with a panicked cry, while Saress valiantly fought not to drop her bow. But all of this chaos flashed by in an instant as Tommy used everything he had to hold onto the rope.

“HOLD ON TO THE ROPE!” he cried out to the gnomes.

And somehow, they did. Alarat had wrapped the rope around his bracer, the piece of armor the only thing preventing him from losing his arm as the rope snapped tight. Spears went flying as Camm leapt for the line as well, falling short but ending up catching ahold of Alarat’s one foot. Then the two began bouncing wildly over the ground, the artock repeatedly lowing as it charged away in fear, dragging the gnomes behind.

The ondilaan howled, various weapons flying towards them from the warriors who were in range. And one of them hit Tommy, ducking away at the last second to prevent whatever it was from striking him in the face. The little girl shrieked, but Tommy ignored her, totally focused on holding onto the line.

“I NEED HELP HERE!”

Somebody lunged for the rope, Saress’s hand clutching it just below his. The platform rolled and swayed like a boat in a storm, but somehow Tommy held on. Then Alantin joined him, then Falia, the four of them pulling on the rope while Alarat and Camm continued to scream. And Jahad still incredibly loosed arrows, his accurate shots landing amongst the ondilaan during the chaos now trying to break free.

But the artock suddenly stumbled, almost falling over itself as its head was violently wrenched to the side. The platform swung dangerously over, almost spilling them off the dubious safety it provided. For the great creature had stepped on one of its own leads, dangling from the harness holding the bit there in its mouth. And it spun a quick circle to escape them, wildly shaking its head while trying to break free.

Then there was a new cry, the world spun, then all of his air was now leaving. Tommy smashed to the ground, things clattered, the artock lowing, and he heard Saress screaming in elven. All Tommy could think about was picking himself up, pain coursing from his tumble. Then a spear embedded itself in the earth by his feet, Saress having thrown it, the artock dancing wildly nearby.

“Tomilanthus!” Saress screamed, as Jahad seemingly shot an arrow straight at him. A loud THWACK came from behind as he scrambled after hearing an ondilaan wheeze.

He grabbed the spear and spun, the fastest of the ondilaan almost upon him. HEHEHE! HEHEHE! their haunting calls pounded into his soul, and the dread from every combat he’d ever been in quickly rushed to the fore.

It happened just like at the ambush. Sounds fell away, time slowed to almost not moving, his pulse thundered away in his head. He heard Saress and Jahad screaming from behind him, but it was as if the sounds were somewhere far away. An arrow streaked by his face in slow motion, then another, but their sounds were only whispers as he took sight of his oncoming foes.

The ondilaan on the left had a broken tooth; the right, a deformed ear. Drool flew from another one’s maw as it ran towards him, waving its rusted sword. There was one with a twisted claw, that one there had a ton of spots, while the other was missing part of its mane. But they were all charging towards him, all rushing to slay the one fallen at their feet.

Arrows flew by as two more spears appeared on each side, Alarat and Camm shaken but joining in meeting the charge. They were brave, he decided, leaving the artock to come to his aid. But they were of the troop; together for too long, and through too much, to leave another to stand all alone.

He remembered his father’s teachings in that muffed moment before their charge. “READY!” he yelled out, snapping his spear towards the enemy. “When they get close enough, we’re going to brace!”

Camm was still panting, his spear flicking up and down with every breath. It was Alarat who answered, “Aye, Tommy. We’re with ya’.”

More arrows flew by as a sound intruded on his consciousness. A quaking, a shaking, the ondilaan now only strides away. A terrible thundering that now shuddered, while a tremoring came through the ground at his feet.

“BRACE!” Tommy ordered, settling his weight onto his back leg. Then he bent his knees to take a warrior’s impact, its slavering maw agape.

One of the biggest warriors, the one with the broken tooth, threw itself at them through the air. Camm shifted his spear, the ondilaan impaling itself as it bowled the gnome over. There was a scream, an axe flashed by, another warrior was impaled on a spear. Then Tommy realized he was the one screaming, yelling his defiance into the throng that was doing its best to kill him.

Something impacted on his shield, throwing him bodily to the side, forcing him to let go of his spear. He grabbed desperately for his knife as an ondilaan charged in, by some miracle getting his shield in the path of the warrior’s strike. Then another scream followed, drowned out by a close snarl and another one of the artock’s deep lows.

HEHEHE! HEHEHE! came from all around accompanied by the yips and howls of the enemy. And Jahad and Saress’s arms were a blur as they loosed arrow after deadly arrow, the THWACKs coming quick and hurried through the fight. A screaming chitter announced Tonat as she voiced her defiance as well, shooting arrows of her own into the horde.

It was chaos exemplified.

Tommy heard Camm scream as he rolled desperately away from an ondilaan, managing to slice a furry leg close by. That ondilaan howled, Alarat miraculously still on his feet, able to skewer the warrior threatening Camm. Then an ondilaan raised its axe straight over its head to strike down at Tommy, only to be taken by an arrow appearing completely through its throat, preceded by Saress’s ululating cry.

But another ondilaan took its place, and another, Tommy swinging his knife desperately around. Slicing a warrior here, blocking a strike there, then some kind of blade flashed by his face. A sharp burning pain impacted his chest as he learned a new and terrible lesson in pain, the pounding getting louder. There was another ondilaan, trying to surround him, and he smashed out at that one with his shield.

The thundering he had heard reached its crescendo, accompanied by an odd sound of oncoming feet. He was going to die here, he thought, leaping away from a falling axe. Then some other blade whipped by his face, tearing into his cheek. He flinched away from its sting, pulse pounding in panic as a tremendous blow shook his shield. Then an ondilaan swung a club almost as big as he was, and a tremendous WHOOSH washed by his face.

Alarat went flying, the ondilaan’s eyes settling on Tommy, and he was unfortunately completely in range. There was nothing he could do. His shield was flung out to the side, the club swung in ... I don’t want to die!

“Ayie, Corriador!” came a defiant yell as a deeper TWANG entered the fight.

A bolt flashed by, then a trilling corret bowled over the club-wielding ondilaan. Another bird lashed out, burying its beak into the howling throng as it passed close by. Then another one, and another, the correts claws already dripping with gore. Blood was sent flying as one after another of Shandii’s riders coursed through the furious fight, leading the unmounted birds. And warrior after ondilaan were knocked over before they were trampled by the power of the furious birds, the lot of them leaving to wheel and return for a second time.

“GET YER’ ARSES BACK ON THA’ BLASTED ARTOCK!” Shandii screamed as she accompanied her birds for another charge. Then the incredible fowl flicked out a foot, never once breaking stride as it tore an ondilaan open with its claws.

The yips and howls now coming were a furious protest, but there was nothing the ondilaan could do. The birds were too fast, too powerful, and did not stand still to fight. They came from every direction, Shandii screaming orders to give direction to the chaotic battle. And they were orders Tommy could barely hear over the din, ducking a swing suddenly stopped by an arrow’s accurate flight.

Somebody grabbed his arm, almost yanking him off his feet. “Come on!” Alarat screamed, Camm already being dragged towards the artock by Jahad while Saress and Tonat continued to loose arrows as quickly as they could.

One of the riders was holding the artock’s leads, the halfling shouting “GET YOUR ARSES UP THERE!” while bird after bird streaked by. The riders continuing the fight so they could flee.

A great howl went up from behind as Tommy and Alarat ran, accompanied by even more yips and yells, but Tommy dared not to look. The artock was spinning around the mounted rider who was desperately holding onto its lead, lowing in fear as the corret dug in its legs in an attempt to hold the huge creature still. The bird shrieked, the artock lowed, and someone else was screaming. Then Tommy realized that the screamer was him.

“Here!” Tommy shouted, helping Jahad throw Camm blindly up onto the platform, not seeing Saress until she ducked. The artock spun, Saress falling to the ground with a thump. Then Tommy clambered up after throwing his spear, stopping precariously astride the artock’s neck to hand Alarat up. Alantin and the sprite girl were struggling with Camm, Tonat forced to stop shooting to help Falia bring the unconscious gnome up.

Jahad all but danced his way onto the platform. “Tori, Saress!” he shouted, firing an arrow her way. And Saress sprinted towards them, Tommy climbing bodily over the screaming Garesh to make way for Tonat. Someone threw a bow his way, Tommy bobbling it as the platform rocked and spun before the sprite girl could grab hold. Then the platform rolled and swayed as the artock let out a tremendous bellow to run.

Tommy lunged for Saress’s hands as she dug her claws into the platform while the artock bolted. He managed to capture one of her wrists, Saress swinging wildly away from the beast as it sprinted in panic away from the ondilaan. Someone grabbed his feet as a snarling face flew by, then howling and HEHEHE’s echoed all around as weapons flew by once more.

A knife of some kind appeared in the artock’s flank, the animal emitting another shrieking bellow while dodging off to the side. Then someone else grabbed wildly for Tommy’s feet, Saress grabbing his arm with her other hand and bodily pulling herself overtop of him. And Garesh was still screaming, loose arrows flying all over the platform while the artock started building up speed as it fled over the plain.

TWANG! came from Jahad, firing into the face of an ondilaan gripping onto the side of the platform. Then ondilaan fell, rolling and cavorting wildly when it hit the ground as the rest of the throng charged in.

“FECKIN’ MOVE!” Shandii cried, blood pooling from a wound she held on her side. And the riders put their heels to their correts on hearing her, probably half their number lying on the ground left behind. Then a riderless bird charged by, a large knife of some kind sticking out of its limping leg, the bird worrying at it while it bled as it ran.

Tommy risked a quick glance behind them, bouncing wildly as they charged away. There were dozens of ondilaan sprawled on the ground, dead and unmoving where they had fought, joined by the bodies of the correts and riders who’d saved them. And their saviors’ corpses were being cruelly broken, trampled on by the dozens upon dozens of ondilaan that were charging up from behind.

“Ya’ got yer’ mama up there?” Shandii demanded.

“Yeah!”

Alarat finally managed to pull Tommy back from the edge, quickly turning to Camm and the horrible wound in his side. “The Lady’s here!”

“Where she at?”

“Out cold!”

“Then ya’ better figure somethin’ out!”

“Why’s that?” Tommy asked.

“Yer’ da’ be needin’ yer’ magic.”

“So do we!”

“Yeah, but yer’ supposed ta’ be savin’ our arses!”

Last Stand of the Troop

“Get that last one up there!”

Nalin was helping Hartok shove another body on top of the grisly wall, the fortress of corpses almost complete. Their work was almost over, everyone exhausted but moving as quickly as they could to build some kind of defense. They’d created a half-moon shaped wall with its curved end facing the bridge, and waiting at the foot of it were the last of the corpses that needed put into place … once the missing members of the troop arrived, that is.

Donnor was doing his best not to think about that, them, or her, and he was failing miserably, hoping the red in the setting sun wasn’t a prophecy of things to come.

“Mr. Donnor, sir!” Abadair called, reining his corret close by. The bird snapped its head down to pull a beak-full of meat off of one of the bodies, everyone ignoring what it had just done.

“Here!”

“There’s a whole bunch o’ people in them towers, but they ain’t got no way down.”

“Any way up to them?”

“Nope. Entrances all be collapsed.”

“Damn! How many people are there?”

“Dunno’. A bunch?” Abadair shrugged. “They be wavin’ at us from way up high.”

“They say anything?”

“Somethin’ about them comin’, pointin’ off towards them bastards over there,” Abadair answered, indicating the ondilaan.

“Tell us something we don’t know.”

“Right? Got a crazy bastard too, way up high on tha’ tower over there wavin’ a sheet o’ his like he’s savin’ tha’ feckin’ world. They been in there too long like we was, I say.”

“Could be. Anything else?”

“Nope.”

“Then wait here. Shandii should be back soon.” Gods, I hope so. It took everything Donnor had not to turn to see.

“A’yup.”

“Mikus?”

“Aye.”

“We done yet?”

“Depends on how long yer’ wantin’ ta’ stay here.” He patted a corpse, and it jiggled. “The locals be real quiet like.”

“We’re here till they come.”

“Which ones?”

“Yes.”

Mikus looked at him funny, then pulled Donnor off to the side. “Keris? Get our people some water,” Mikus ordered before walking away, Keris waving a hand in reply.

The ondilaan were still over by the base of the hill, though the horde was now spreading their way. Both of them were ignoring the howling, they all were, but it was weighing on everyone’s minds. Mikus, though, he was worrying about his friend.

“Whaddya’ mean ‘yes’.”

“I don’t know how we’re going to get out of this one.”

“Aye … Tha’ neighbors are getting’ a wee bit feisty.”

“Look, either Ari and Tommy get back, and they magic our way out of this, or we’re through.”

Mikus spat. “Ya’ don’ see any other way?”

Donnor looked around. “If there was a way to get on one of those towers, we might hold out, but there’s no way up. Pile people on the animals and we might get away, but everyone won’t fit. So, who stays? And who goes? If we fight the ondilaan so the survivors can make it, we die; We’re too few.”

Donnor sighed before going on. “That’s an army out there, not a tribe.”

“How many do ya’ figure?”

“Two, three hundred ... maybe more …” Donnor shrugged. “Does it matter? They’re still coming down.”

“Commander!” Haleran cried. “The riders! They’re coming back!”

Donnor ran over to the crest of the bridge to look over the fields. There in the distance was the artock, surrounded by correts like a bear covered in bees. All of them were charging in the troop’s direction, rising and falling with the rolling terrain, and the ondilaan chasing them just howled. Then their army started in as well.

AaaaOOOOO!

SLAM!

WhooOOP!

SLAM! SLAM!

OoooOOOO!

SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!

It was like the ondilaan were shouting specifically at him, their howls and calls thudding against his chest as he watched. One, two, three … seven, eight … Shandii was missing a lot of correts … nine … his heart sunk … a lot of riders, too.

“They lost half, Silverspear,” Salia said from his side.

“How are your people doing?”

“Four down. Only one will die without help.”

“Ari? Tommy?”

Salia squinted. “I can see Tomilanthus. I do not see your mate.”

Anxiety rose, but Donnor forced it down. “She is not dead,” he declared. He could feel it. It was a statement that brooked no denial.

The artock crested another roll in the land, ondilaan popping up from the grasslands around it. Arrows flew towards the ondilaani warriors that charged and leapt for the platform. Someone ... someones … were on top to meet the enemy, beating them off while even more arrows flew. A furious battle ensued. Then the ondilaan who missed or were knocked off were trampled by Shandii’s correts.

And the artock, which never once stopped, flattened the remaining few.

“Those still fighting are not seriously hurt,” Salia reported, still squinting their way.

An ondilaan howled. A series of howls spread out from the failed ambush before reaching the main force where a great call went up. WHOOOOP! sounded from a plethora of throats. Then the army of ondilaan moved forward, not charging, but in a slow and steady pace. It almost seemed as if it was dainty in response, but the noise they chanted forth was deafening. It scared the artock, and the immense beast sprinted away from the throng with a renewed vigor.

“Everyone! Get away from the bridge! The artock’s not stopping!” Donnor warned. The errant group was getting closer, close enough for him to start picking out details, and his eyes locked onto his son when he found him. The first thing he noticed was that every last one of them was bleeding.

“I thought you said no one was hurt!” he accused Salia.

“I said not seriously.”

The rumble of the approaching animals sounded louder and louder as they rushed towards the village. The ondilaan kept coming, raising their weapons in the air as the group thundered away, but Shandii was waving frantically. Then he caught sight of Alarat’s wide, panicking eyes.

“They’re not stopping! Get out of the way!” Donnor put actions to words, sprinting away from the bridge. And the ondilaan started jogging across the field in the distance on some signal, howling their fury the troop’s way.

OoooOOOO!

SLAM! SLAM!

With a tremendous commotion, the artock made it to the bridge. It was never designed to take such a weight, groaning as the boards cracked underfoot, but the beast crossed quickly. Alarat yelling “Woah! Woah!” while pulling on its leads with every bit of his might.

Then the correts flew by, each one dancing across the bridge while snapping at those nearby. They followed the artock, the six-legged beast crashing through the destroyed village like it wasn’t even there. Then it continued through the remains of three houses before Alarat was able to stop it. The animal lowing wildly as it stood there shaking, its immense flank covered in sweat.

“N’Taa! Isoria Arisaylia!” Saress cried, waving for Donnor to come quickly.

He sprinted their way, moving as fast as he could along with Salia and another elf. “Mikus! Close the bridge!”

“Ya’ heard the man! Heave!”

Jahad leapt down, calling out to the other elves while completely ignoring Garesh’s howling complaints from atop the platform. Shandii milled amongst the other riders, looking like she didn’t quite believe she had made it.

“Corriador!” Mikus thundered, raising his fist in salute. Shandii whipped her head his way. “Achtäl ton, Corriador!”

“Achtäl ton!” Karn and Turred shouted in reply. Shandii actually looked embarrassed.

“Tommy! What’s wrong with Ari?” Donnor shouted.

“She’s out cold!”

“The stupid fugitive overused her Tol like a babe!”

Tonat clubbed Garesh over the head. Then she snarled and stood over him, an arrow nocked in her bow dripping with poison. Nobody paid them the least bit of attention.

Mikus’s voice rose over the commotion. “… bloody cares the ondilaan are slowing down? Heave!”

Tommy and Falia handed Ari down from the platform to Jahad. There was a huge bruise on the side of her head, her jaw and ear both swelling. She was also completely insensate, head lolling precariously while Jahad propped her over one shoulder.

AaaaOOOOO!

SLAM! SLAM!

“Tommy, can you do anything for her?” his da’ asked.

“We used up our magic! There’s nothing left!”

“RAST?” Donnor yelled.

“He’s wounded!” Dap hollered in reply, running up with Ahton and another sprite.

“Get Tonat down here! I need Ari awake!”

“N’Taa, that might not be best,” Saress whispered furiously.

“We’re all gonna’ die if she can’t do something.”

Ahton and Tonat were chittering back and forth so fast it was like there was a war between squirrels. The sprite with Ahton leapt up, threatening Garesh with a knife so Tonat could clamber down. Then the little sprite girl swarmed down to Ari, placing Ari’s head in her lap.

“Dap? What’s she saying?”

“She’s tried almost everything she knows that’s not …. something. She’s speaking the forest dialect too fast. She wants your permission to try … something.”

“Will it get her on her feet?”

“Tonat hopes so.”

“… don’ worry abou’ the blasted ondilaan an’ just feckin’ heave!”

“Do it. Saress, you’re with her. Il’don’ton’wii.”

Jahad’s head whipped towards Donnor as Saress drew her blades. “You know our tongue,” Jahad accused.

Donnor ignored him. “Tommy? Stay here. Protect your mother. Shandii?”

WHOOOOP!

SLAM! SLAM!

“We ain’t got nothin’ left! Me girls be used up!”

“I don’t need a thing. Rest while you can, I owe you. Remember that.”

“Yer’ no’ gonna’ owe anyone a feckin’ thing fer’ long,” Shandii replied, waving out towards the ondilaan.

Donnor looked over, the remnants of the troop shoving the last of the bodies on top to finish the wall. The grisly barrier stood roughly shoulder high, the entire troop able to stand behind it. But it was a paltry obstacle, weak and unstable, no matter that it was all that they had.

“Mikus! Are we ready?”

“Aye! … get tha’ blasted one up there!” he shouted, struggling with a falling corpse.

“WHAT IN LIFE ARE YOU DOING!” Garesh demanded, his panicked shout sounding through them all.

Garesh was being held physically back from Ari and Tonat, his eyes literally bulging out of his head. His arms were reaching out past the sprite that blocked him, paying not a single bit of attention to the knife at his throat. Donnor had never seen him so crazed.

“Do not give her that flower!”

Before Jahad could even blink, Ahton punched the mage as hard as he could, knocking Garesh over. Then two sprites jumped on him, holding him down while Ahton chittered furiously in his ear.

“You have no idea what you are doing!” Garesh screamed.

WhooOOP!

SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!

“Get your hands off the S’tol!” Jahad insisted.

“Commander, they’re saying if he doesn’t hold still, they’re gonna’ kill him.”

Tonat took one of the sal’lian flowers, delicately pressing its red and orange petals together in her hand. Wrapping it in one of the vine’s leaves, she gave it a quick twist, breaking the stem to release the juices within. Then she carefully opened Ari’s jaw, and placed the plant inside.

“NO!” Garesh screamed.

“Get off the S’tol!” Jahad shouted.

“Will you shut up!” Tommy cried. The look that crossed his son’s face was full of hatred, something Donnor had never seen.

AaaaOOOOO!

SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!

Ari’s entire body started twitching, her back arching off the ground as every muscle in her body suddenly went rigid.

“You fools!” Garesh was apoplectic.

“Jahad, let them be,” Saress said while she grabbed for his arm.

Ari began seizing, Donnor rushing to her side to help hold her in place. Tommy bent over to help while Tonat chittered furiously at Garesh. Ahton and the other sprite had him face down on the ground, arms harshly locked behind his back, the mage miraculously somehow still struggling.

Then the artock began to low.

“Donnor! They be comin’! They done workin’ themselves up!” Mikus hollered.

“How long?” Donnor shouted back, struggling to hold onto his mate. Ari was foaming at the mouth, her entire body violently thrashing up and down.

Saress and Jahad were arguing back and forth furiously in elven, Jahad waving his hand at the poisoned blade the sprites held.

OoooOOOO!

SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!

A sudden discordant whistle pierced the din, all of the sprites’ heads whipping to look up at once.

“You have no idea what you are doing!” Garesh thrashed.

“Any minute now!” Mikus shouted. “Feckin’ hells … TROOP! READY!”

Ari’s entire body collapsed, slamming itself back into the ground. There was another piercing whistle and her eyes began to flutter, slowly opening until she gazed up into the sky. She met his eyes, the bond flaring wide open as he felt some part of her demanding something of him that he was unable to provide. Then her eyes took on an emerald glow, flaring and blazing forth until they brilliantly lit the spaces around them.

An eagle cried, the wings of Tommy’s bird flaring as it landed on his shoulder, then it screeched out another defiant call. Tommy looked back at his da’ in shock, his eyes descending into an almost luminous darkness, the greys and golds flaring within an absolute inferno of untouched power.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” Garesh cried, still wildly struggling beneath the sprites.

Jahad and Saress’s argument reached a feverish pitch.

“Donnor! We need you!” Mikus shouted. “READY!”

WHOOOOP!

SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!

Donnor looked away from the greenish-grey mist forming over the ground around them. It was like sparks were shooting between Ari and Tommy. They wanted to include him; magical embers that no one else could see but him. He shook his head to clear them, ignoring Garesh’s screaming along with the shouting from both Saress and Jahad.

The other elves were furious at the sprites, still holding down the struggling S’tol. But the sprites were paying them absolutely no mind, looking about around them with dripping, bared blades.

The ondilaan were only a few bowshots away, steadily jogging forward while the mist continued to form. Any moment now they’d be within range to charge. They were already taking arrows from the troop, the discipline they showed utterly amazing, entirely unlike anything he’d ever seen out of them before. And there were hundreds of them, carrying an assortment of weapons; it defied the mind to see.

Ari sucked in an immense breath.

Her chest heaved.

The eagle cried once more.

OoooOOOO!

SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!

The sparks continued to fly and swirl.

There was a pregnant pause, a moment of complete silence.

WHOOOOP!

And then the ondilaan charged.

Hundreds of ondilaan surged forward, their howls and yells deafening every member of the troop. Fear, no, utter and complete terror, shattered even the remotest sense of self-worth that any of them ever had as they faced the onrushing jaws. Death incarnate was coming, and their end was near.

And in that moment, that moment before the end, as the troop grasped their shaking weapons in sweaty, white-knuckled grips, a sprite leapt to the fore. A sprite Donnor had never seen. And the sprite raised a set of pipes to his lips, blowing on them a furious tune. Then that discordant call sounded, harshly piercing the ears of everyone around as another set blew, and another, before even more took up that screeching call.

Then the sprite waved its diminutive hand in the air, and all around them one sprite after another rose from where they had lain, dozens hidden in the grass and debris around them. All covered head to toe in paint and various things they had worked into their clothing to expertly hide them from view.

And, with a defiant shout, these strange new sprites raised up their bows in utter rejection of the ondilaani charge.

Then the pipes sounded once more.

And arrows flew.

Death on the Plains

“DONNOR!” Mikus screamed.

“I have to go!” Donnor shouted to Tommy.

Garesh was still struggling wildly under Ahton and the other sprites. “Get off of me!”

Thousands of sparks were filling the air, sparks that apparently only Donnor could see.

“Saress! Protect her! Our lives before hers if need be!” Then Donnor growled in frustration before tearing off towards the troop, his heart torn asunder as he left her behind.

“Get it out of her mouth!”

WHOOOOP!

AaaaOOOO!

HEHEHE!

Garesh was practically foaming at the mouth, screaming at the surrounding sprites and elves. Absolutely no one was paying him any attention, not a single person in the entire troop. The elves were facing outwards, their backs to Tommy, Falia, Ari, and Saress … and the ch’ten was too. All of them completely focused on the army of sprites that had appeared out of nowhere, materializing out of the clear blue sky. The sprites now firing arrow after arrow into the charging ondilaani horde.

OoooOOOO!

HEHEHE!

“READY!” Donnor commanded as the troop sheltered behind the wall of corpses they’d stacked.

The ondilaan were maybe an arrowshot away, thundering towards them, easily hundreds. Their charge was pounding into the plain, the rumbling felt through the soles of the troop’s feet as their cries battered against the troop. One weapon after another was raised in anger. Axes, knives, clubs, swords, every weapon imaginable was over their heads as the throng charged in. And accompanying that death were the claws and the fangs they were born with, all bared, eager to rip the troop asunder.

“KILL HER!”

Ahton barked to one of the new sprites, that one not even turning his head as he continued the rhythm of his bow. The sprites were solely concentrating on the horde, every arrow they loosed coated in some corrupt solution.

“Let me go!” Garesh shouted, the greyish-green mist underneath all of them now soupy and thick.

Ahton wrenched Garesh’s arm even further, one foot planted firmly in the center of his back. Then Ahton screamed something at another sprite, wrenching the mage’s arm even more, but still he was totally ignored.

Normally Jahad would have objected by now, the casual abuse of the master under his care, but not even he blinked as Garesh let out another scream. Because there was another noise, some new thing that now was approaching from behind, and it had every bit of the warden’s attention.

“J’al’osil! Camma a’ton ii es!” Jahad shouted in panic, even Saress twitching as all of the elves suddenly moved as if slapped.

Salia grabbed Garesh by the hair, dragging him out from under Ahton while another elf helped. Then the two of them threw the screaming mage towards Tommy and Ari as the rest of the elves closed in. And Tommy’s eyes flared completely black, while onyx swirls invaded the mist as the ch’ten closed in.

“Don S’tol e’ Wi’Jitikiin! Bonde’ Maishunzii!”

“Maishunzii!” the rest of the J’al’osil replied in a great cry, forming around the party with all of their blades bared. They surrounded the primaries, backs towards the center as the noise steadily grew from behind.

“READY!” Donnor cried, Mikus and Keris shouting orders to the rest of the men.

“Kill her you fools!” Garesh screamed once more in utter panic, scuttling away from Ari and Tommy as best as he could. They both turned towards him, one set of eyes a luminous green and gold, the other a lightning filled abyss.

“If you touch her you will die,” Saress pronounced in a flat tone piercing the din. And Garesh shrank away from their guardian of the plains, as Saress turned her blades towards him.

Even more arrows flew in, the air wholly filled with the sounds of their coming, a constant shushing that never seemed to finish. Then more sprites ran to the front from behind, their woodland garb blending into the terrain they were in.

Ahton hadn’t even reacted when elves drug Garesh away, still barking orders to the surrounding ch’ten. They too surrounded Ari and her party to form a circle facing outward. But where the elves were guarding against everyone and everything, the sprites were only focused on the charging ondilaan. The ch’ten seemingly taken completely off guard by the appearance of the rest of their kin.

WHOOOOP!

The thundering from both in front and to the rear of the troop was reaching its dueling crescendo. A dull rumbling was accented by the growls and cries of the ondilaan, while the counterpoint to the rear had a rhythm both flat and staccato, many sounds heard blending together as one.

“READY!” Donnor cried out once more. Nalin was screaming as he always did right before combat was joined.

Ari rose onto one knee, slowly and sedately cupping Tommy’s cheek.

Ahton barked a series of commands to the new sprites, all but spitting his fury at being completely ignored. They continued to send arrow after arrow into their foe, the foremost ranks of the ondilaan stumbling to fall before them.

The sounds from the rear were becoming impossible to ignore as Donnor called out, “BRACE!”

Tommy knew that command meant the ondilaan were only steps away from the troop, a pitiful few strides from where he now was. He could imagine the hundreds of warriors bearing down upon their ranks. The thirty or so terrified defenders standing before the enemy, knowing it was their end.

He wanted to help. He needed to help. He didn’t want to let anyone down ... I don’t want to die …

But he couldn’t let go to move.

Utterly consumed by what was happening to his Tol, Tommy’s eyes locked onto his mother’s own. Ari, N’Taii, mother … her eyes blazed like two emerald suns as she gently asked him to give up of himself, to join with and become one. She reached out with her Tol, her pathways dissolving and joining into that sacred union with his own as he watched. Their inner latticework merging and combining into some new whole, something intricate, something complex, that shone like a beacon from inside them both. And that juncture was all but complete, only moments in time before all that they were would become one.

“They cannot complete the meld!” Garesh shouted, sheer terror coming to the fore as he watched them. His eyes were so huge they split his face, while Falia shied away from his crazed raving.

There were now so many sparkles it was as if they could blot out their sight. Countless embers and twinklings combined with something on Ari to fly like a rainbow before them, illuminating everyone close by and around. But no one paid them any attention, dozens of charging legs now thundering by to Tommy’s fixed eyes.

“STRIKE! STRIKE! STRIKE!” came the commands from in front as the troop’s spears lashed out. “HOLD THEM!” came next. “HOLD!” Then one scream sounded before another, arrow after arrow flying to the fore. A series of cries and then panic, a horrible gurgling that came from a desperate throat …

But Tommy couldn’t move.

A great battle cry from behind went up. Thundering leg after tawny limb swarmed around their little circle of peace inside the din. The elves and the ch’ten pressing back against them as whatever it was sped by.

The joining was almost complete.

“MAISHUNZII!” Jahad screamed, somehow communicating shear terror.

Then there was a sudden cessation in time. The greater Ari and he reached out with their Tol towards that shadowy source, some dark pathway, a glimmering black waiting abyss. Whatever it was did not deign to acknowledge their waiting presence, comfortably twined as it was with a brilliant, alabaster thread. They were wholly beneath such a juncture, attempting to join in its vastness was firmly refused. But they did not linger to consider their rejection as they moved to finalize and fuse. The power they had been building was nearing the pinnacle of what it could achieve. The merge suddenly reached its completion …

… and they had all the time in the world to consider what it was they should do, while the people around them screamed.

“NO!”

“MIKUS!”

“Fall back!”

“Canner’s down!”

“FORM A CIRCLE!”

“Keris! Look out!”

“Somebody get Martok!”

“They killed Karn!”

“KHAGATOM!”

“That’s a bloody deer!”

“Watch out for its horns!”

“AAAAIIIIEEEEAAAA!” a new voice screamed, the staccato rhythm of hundreds of hoofed feet charging by their position inciting a terrible din. But not even the chittering and barking responses that answered them, made any impact on what Ari and he now did.

*We must save Da’ and the rest.*

*Yes, we must ...*

*We have to save the troop.*

*We must save Ilari.*

*Huh?*

*Ilari, nos tairi yandun ...*

*Mother, what does that mean?*

*It means, Ilari.*

There was the slightest response from the waiting abyss ...

And then sound exploded from her beyond reason, both felt but not heard. Rippling away from them like a wall of force, their Tol passed through every single person they knew. Racing faster than a diving hawk, it sped out almost too fast to follow in the race to find the troop and his father; Ilari, N’Taa.

The elves and the ch’ten that surrounded them, it left on them not a single mark. But their wall of force cast aside the herds of creatures charging past as if they were as insignificant as ants. The mounted sprites changed course, diverting from their path as the space around them grew. Colored by the greys, greens and golds of their Tol, it was as if a carpet suddenly flourished beneath them, seeking out their fighting few. Then the circle of solace found them, the remnants of the troop. Those still fighting on …

… The last remaining few.

His da’ was barely on his feet as their Tol swept by. A sword had pierced his leg, blood gushing from the wound as Donnor stood over his friend. Mikus lashed out with his axe as a great club slammed into the side of his head, spinning him around like a top. He fell over someone; Keris dully staring up at the sky, coughing up blood while some kind of cleaver was buried in his gut. The leaders of the troop now ripped asunder while the ondilaan raged through, still hundreds of them to be seen as the fight continued ever onward.

Their Tol pushed them back, the ondilaan screaming as they were shoved away from their prey. His father collapsed, crawling to Mikus over top of the bleeding troop. Around them dozens of hooved forms charged into the snarling throng, every single one of them with a sprite on its back. The noise was impressive … immense, insane, and terrible; a cacophony of resounding doom. But expanding from where the troop lay was a growing island of peace, through which, not even arrows flew.

Keris’s eyes glazed over. Mikus softly moaned. Donnor collapsed onto his back. There were so many more that no longer moved.

*They will soon die.*

*Ilari must not end.*

*We must heal them.*

*We agree.*

And then, they gathered their Tol.

“Saress,” they intoned together, their voices harmonizing into one. “We must heal them. Protect us. Our workings will take all.”

“NO!” Garesh was all but gibbering, backing away from the two as far as he could.

A humming entered into the chaos around them. The ch’ten and the elves nervously looking over tense shoulders as their new power grew.

“You! You are at fault for this!” Garesh screamed, his spittle flying at Tonat.

The humming grew, a golden mist now spilling out of them both, overtaking and subsuming the land surrounding them. It infused itself into the carpet of Tol’s, reaching out into everyone they knew. A few gasped here and there as it touched them, but all the while outside of the zone, gore and bloodshed still flew.

“They can never be given the flower!” Garesh pointed a shaking finger, eyes so dilated in fear as to have no pupil at all.

The humming became close to deafening, the walls of their zone now visible to the naked eye. The elves and the ch’ten stared at it dumbly, weapons now slack in their hand, while Tommy moved to assist his other half to her feet. Ari effortlessly rose as the bruise on her face dwindled away into nothing, then they moved as a single unit towards the remains of the troop, walking sedately as death and destruction still reigned.

They passed everyone and everything as they sought where his father lay. Tendrils of Tol spilled out from them so numerous, it was as if everyone was immersed in an ocean of magics. And wherever that ocean washed up against the shore of someone they knew, they diagnosed and treated them instantly. Arrow through the lung, artery severed, intestine ruptured, leg shattered, back broken, hand severed, punctured by a knife through the eye … all of these things and more instantly flew through their minds. Each and every one accompanied by a swift and urgent distribution of Tol while the magic in their zone still grew.

But the humming continued. Their union was now so bright it was almost too hard to see. They continued their walk, unhurried and at peace.

The members of the troop gasped and rose as the golden mist flowed through them, but the two, now joined, had no eyes for the rising of men as they advanced upon the ilari. Ari knelt upon reaching her beloved, Tommy’s half to her whole standing guard over them both. She placed a hand upon Donnor’s face, turning it to meet her own. And then she stared into his deep brown eyes, lit honey-red from within by the sunset, as a new threat grew in the distance.

WHOOOOP! AAAAOOOO!

SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!

Ari kissed his brow while Tommy alerted her to an incoming flight of arrows, but these ones were new. Flaming hot to every one of their senses, they seemed to hunger greedily for the death of those they loved. More tendrils of Tol lashed out to judge their threat to those they cared for in a sudden, single moment of clarity. Then deciding on a plan, they instantly formed a dome, pronouncing aloud what they would do.

“The enemy produces a magical threat,” they intoned together, their tendrils of Tol spilling outward to search for the source. “The barrier must fall. We must counter the threat. The barrier lifts. Il’don’ton’wii, J’al’osil. Fulfill and be true to your oaths.”

“NO!”

Then the barrier to their zone ended as if it had never been, an ondilaan falling flat on its face where it had been pressed up against its boundary. Then more ondilaan fell, and then others, tripping over their brethren while falling past where the barrier had been. The piercing quiet ended as the elves and the ch’ten surged to the fore, stabbing at those that were down. Then screams came again as weapons flew, as more and more mounted sprites charged forward to tear the ondilaan asunder.

But one or two warriors became aware of the opening, then more as they howled their alert. The snarling warriors charged to where the troop was, determined to end the lives of those that they knew. But that desperate combat had only just begun as the first of their questing tendrils found the source of the arrows. The next flaming volley that reached them shattered against the barrier they formed, then another demonic flight took shape while its hellish fires grew.

“The threat has been found,” their voices echoed strangely. “The distance is great. We will use the An’tor.”

“NO! Kill them!”

But still no one paid the mage any attention, everyone nearby already engaged in the fighting. The ch’ten was swarming here and there, two or even three working as one to take a warrior down. The elves were spinning and turning like dervishes, every twist of their dance accompanied by a flash of shimmering blades. Knives whirled and danced as they did all that they could to hold the ondilaan at bay. And while their defenses were happening, the humming around them still grew.

“We love you,” Ari and Tommy intoned together, their pathways growing so bright they could be clearly seen through their bodies.

“And I love you,” Donnor replied, feeling some demand, some pull from his beloved when she rose from beside him. She moved to the fore with an effortless grace, her scarlet hair floating up from her shoulders on an invisible wind. Her eyes glowing so bright, their green and gold light lit the land around them.

“FOOLS! No one can control the melding! Can’t you see!”

Donnor reached out with one hand, not ready to let Arisaylia go, and the bond flared wide as he touched her. The roiling power she held there inside her; it was all but burning him through. He waited until her eyes locked onto his own, her two greenish-gold orbs swirling chaotically with all of her magic. Then he said softly, “Ilari, nos tairi yandun.” Simply reaffirming their vow, offering his heart openly to see.

“Yandun nos tairi, Ilari,” she replied just as softly, that secret smile she saved just for him quietly crossing her face. Then the bond opened even wider, something changing and passing back and forth between them as they grew closer still. A moment of love exemplified, lasting for all eternity.

But the moment was eclipsed by their need and she eventually turned, Tommy’s head turning as one until they stopped to look on their prey. Their power grew. “An’tor,” they both intoned …

… And it was if the gods themselves had returned to save the day.

A tremendous basso boom sounded and resounded from inside them. Innumerable pinpoints of light formed in the space around them, each one taking on a golden hue that blazed like the sun as they flew. It was the night on the bridge all over again; golden arrows flying forth from them both to hunt and slay their attackers. But where they had gone in all directions that fateful night in the past, this evening they flew only in one.

Like a tidal wave of golden force, they bowled over the ondilaan in their way. Everyone touched suddenly died, pierced through by the golden seekers that suddenly struck them. And it was as if a wide boulevard formed through the onrushing enemy, paved by a blinding hail that plowed its way through on its course. The yips and screams were deafening as everyone scrambled to get out of the way, but the gilded bolts were relentless, not caring in the least for the plight of their prey.

Another flight of crimson arrows volleyed in, arching forward from high above. Tommy raised a hand towards it as a shimmering dome strengthened and grew. Ari’s hand was cast out towards the path of light, moving it back and forth, controlling the An’tor’s direction. And as the arrows crashed into the dome overhead, spewing their fiery wrath impotently against their magic, the source of the enemy’s threat was discovered.

Golden dart after deadly arrow impacted upon some invisible pane protecting a cluster of ondilaan, but the path between Tommy, Ari and them was now clear. Every one of the darts of the An’tor changed course, flying as one towards this new target. They impacted on something, sizzling and crackling under the deluge. And as the number of impacts grew, the humming around them came close to deafening as they made new demands upon their building Tol.

Garesh was shouting and screaming, but not a single word could be heard. Blazing golden darts flew forward so fast there now seemed to be a river of light between Ari, Tommy and the ondilaan they’d found. Whatever protected them continued to sizzle and crack, first one ondilaan, then another falling limp to the ground under the strain. But no matter their collapse, or the defiance of that resistant barrier, still the shining darts flew.

Tommy’s bird landed upon his shoulder, the underwing feathers blazing a brilliant orange light of their own. Then another volley of demonic arrows launched for them, followed by an explosion of flames as they struck Tommy’s dome, but still their golden darts flew. Another ondilaan fell, and then another, sweat beading upon the brows of those who remained. Then shortly thereafter all that was left was a lone and withered dowager queen, glaring her venom and hate.

Golden bracelets and chains were draped across her wizened form, her snarl somehow clearly heard over the din. Then she raised a single arthritic claw, beads dangling from her wrist, and then clenched her shaking fist. A fire formed before her, a deep vermillion mist that swirled up after being fed by her hate. And then that barrier fell, coming down all at once, the matriarch totally eclipsed by the might of the An’tor.

There was a tremendous detonation, bodies flying as the ondilaan were thrown from where the matriarch had been. And then the darts left over changed course, flying out to slaughter the rest who remained.

“The threat has passed,” Ari and Tommy both intoned. “The barrier will be renewed. We must now heal the troop. We must heal ilari.”

“KILL THEM!” There was a sudden slam, and his body fell. Nobody commenting on the fact that Garesh lay still.

A shimmering wall reappeared between the troop and the remaining combatants. Arrows continued to fly, the mounted sprites continued to charge through the snarling throng, while the golden mist grew. Then after a last flashing of a knife, the J’al’osil and the ch’ten stood down, finishing the enemies that remained inside the barrier. Here and there, one member of the troop after another now stood. Some of them looked to Ari with wonder, some in utter confusion, but all of them were now moving miraculously so.

But inside the joining there was another battle, a new demand, as their magic continued to flow. Their Tol was asking them again to be used, begging of them, and now it had nowhere to go. Their pathways had dissolved into virtually nothing, pure power eclipsing their inner spaces. There was no form, no reason, no direction to guide their Tol’s indomitable currents. It only was. And what they now were, was Tol.

They stood there in the center of the mist as their power continued to spread through their union. Unable to do anything beyond submit to its need, they became conduits for what was occurring. Power unimaginable flowed into and through, the webwork of life flaring before their eyes now easily seen. They were connected to it, becoming a center to it, the eye of a growing maelstrom before its glorious storm. And they gave themselves to it, basking in the wondrous rapture of it, as the power flowed in from the weave.

But then they felt the shadow of the abyss flow forward. The dark onyx glow that once ignored them now turning its eye back to see. It shadowed them, sheltered them, reached out his hand to comfort them, while offering its assistance as they lost themselves to the weave. It crooned to them, infused as it was to them, something utterly unable to be ignored. Then the gold lost its luster, the glimmer its shine, and they wandered back from their bright paradise to see.

The ecstatic light dimmed, the glorious union trembled, they became knowing things once more. They remembered the names ‘Arisaylia’ and ‘Tomilanthus’ as the shadows gentled them, and their individual thoughts rose to the fore. Those thoughts took on a new form and firm structure, the solitary black pathway calling them both back to themselves once more. The shadow to which they had been sworn to, now holding them both in its arms.

The golden blaze died ever downwards, the glowing mist roiling around their feet able again to be seen. The tor’biata bar’lin flared and then faded, the webwork of life no longer brilliantly glowing and cajoling them both to go free. That cool, comforting shadow spread forth from that lone pathway they had somehow managed to join. And it comforted them, the darkness accepting them, and the brilliant light within they could no longer see.

Their eyes stopped blazing with the colors of their Tol, then new thought entered the fold. First Tommy blinked, and then Arisaylia, and then they noticed Donnor’s hands on them both. His head was bowed as he clutched onto the backs of their necks, pressing his head into their own.

Ari raised both of her hands to his shoulders and sobbed. “Ilari,” she cried as her legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees to catch her. Then an immense exhaustion swept over Tommy as he too fell, the three of them kneeling on the ground beside one another. The family of ilari, as one.

His da’ was saying “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” over and over again as he clutched at them both as if he would never let go, his arms wrapped around them quite firmly. And Ari sobbed as Tommy sagged into his father’s strength, Donnor easily supporting them both.

“I love you, Da’,” Tommy whispered.

“I love you, boy.” His arms tightened.

“And I love you both,” Ari sobbed, her arms clutched fiercely around them.

It was then that Tommy noticed their audience, looking out over her shoulders. Beyond the elves of the J’al’osil, or the sprites of the ch’ten, the entire troop was looking on them. Every single one of them miraculously healed. All of them stunned, and all of them speechless, looking at the three of them there in the dirt.

“N’Taa? N’Taii? Taa?” Saress quietly said from their side, putting away her blades. “You are wanted.” And they looked to where she directed, seeing the troop surrounded by an army of sprites.

These were not the sprites they were used to. No. They looked hard, feral even, with faces painted in various haunting designs. They were mounted on all manner of creatures; from many-horned deer, to giant cats, to hugely muscular bears, and even wickedly tusked boars. Those not holding a bow were on top of some creature’s back, and they all looked ready to fight. And die, if need be, most already covered in gore.

Tommy suddenly realized how quiet it was, the last of the battle ending somewhere far behind. But even with the dwindling yips and cries, he did not look away as the plethora of riders split to make way for one who’s mount was much taller. A great deer strode to the fore, with four spiraled horns curving up and away from its head. They were coated with blood, as was its smooth and tawny fur, even its hoofs dripping slightly. But it ignored the gash that had split its side to peer down at them almost nobly so.

As its rider did, as well.

He was a male sprite, similar in age to Ahton, who rode to stand before them. Then the two sprites spoke back and forth in their chittering tongue for many long moments as those around them listened on in silence. Then the sprite tapped a simple command to his mount, the horned deer slowly kneeling so he could gracefully dismount.

The sprite strode towards them, stopping only a short distance away. One hand on his sheathed blade, he studied them, his wizened eyes seeming to look deep into their souls. Then he turned his gaze on the bird, still perched on Tommy’s shoulder, and he looked on it for a very long time. He unhurriedly unsheathed his blade, looking down upon it as the final rays of the setting sun glistened across its mirrored finish. Then he looked around at the waiting sprites before he knelt and slowly bowed his head, offering the blade held before him to Ari, Tommy, and Donnor as a single group. But more noticeably, to Ari out of the three.

He waited for a moment in silence, a final ondilaani scream heard in the distance, before he finally spoke. And he only said one word, uttered with the deepest and most profound respect that any person could ever hold. He took a deep breath.

“San’ten’tol,” the warrior sprite intoned.

And then every sprite on that horrible field, knelt to Arisaylia as one.

Epilogue

“You dare!”

The king’s seneschal slammed his ceremonial staff into the polished stone floor of the court, countering the arrogant demands of the elves. The full court had been called, nobles from all around the Endless Plains present here before the Timeless Throne. And everyone attending the scene today was doing their very best to pretend that the kingdom wasn’t under siege.

“The Vale will not come due to the insults levelled against us.”

“There has been a treaty in place for over a thousand years!” The seneschal thundered.

“A treaty which Family Rahalakeet has defied.”

“The Timeless Throne!”

“Whose family’s name is Rahalakeet, whether you wish it to be said aloud or not.”

“This is intolerable! Where is your honor!”

“My own is intact. Where, may I ask, is yours?”

The seneschal sputtered, completely disbelieving the elvish stateman’s temerity. But the king raised his hand, silencing the entire room with his gesture.

King Morkaht Rahalakeet was near the end of his life, and his wizened face peered down from his throne at the ever-young seeming elves. He’d rarely had any interaction with them personally, only seeing the ambassador during official functions. However, everything he had heard of the man indicated that this elf did not speak without thinking. Nor did he speak without clear orders from above.

But one thing that King Rahalakeet did know, was that the Gate between Sirikii and Tatdavarr had been very busy recently. Quite busy. And that was decidedly odd, indeed.

Morkaht stroked his thick, grey beard while he let the silence spread, everyone waiting upon his words. He studied the elf as the elf watched him, every elf in his party doing the same. The anger directed at the elven party was intense, but you would never known it by looking into their eyes.

“Why will the Vale not come, Jahanoset?”

“Those sworn to Family Rahalakeet have offered insult. Individually, to multiple Wi’Jitikiin. Then as a whole, to the entirety of the Vale. This is a matter of arnhysh for my people. As we have told those of your family, these insults cannot go unnoticed.”

Morkaht nodded, pausing to peer off into the distance. The elves were proud, everyone knew that, but this matter of ‘arnhysh’ that had suddenly become such an issue was something even his sages had trouble explaining to him. And the elves had remained silent, no matter what he had directed his advisors to ask. The closest he could get out of them was that it was something like a matter of honor, but nothing could explain why the treaty would become suddenly null and void over such a trivial thing.

Honor was a luxury when one was running a kingdom, after all. Especially during times like these.

“And these insults were offered by whom?”

“Family Maorilan, sworn family of Rahalakeet.”

Morkaht nodded his head once more. It was the same in person as it had been reported to him by his advisors before. What possible thing had that imbecile Pawdrig done to cause this? From that pitiful keep of his on the other side of the mountains?

There had to be more to it than not reporting some ridiculous wanderer. Maorilan ... the fool ... totally unwilling to play games of court and influence. The same as his father had been. What the hells have you done?

“We were unaware of any insult offered by one of our lords. Even a lord so far away, on the other side of the mountains from our glorious kingdom.”

The elves remained silent, and he waited for them to answer while they did so. The silence stretched uncomfortably long before he finally gave in. It was so difficult dealing with those who didn’t understand the prompt he had given.

“Can no recompense be made?”

“Do you accept fault before Life and the Vale?”

“Your highness, I would be wary of accepting this,” his seneschal said, bending over to whisper in his ear.

“Why?”

“The elves consider honor and debt seriously. They would hold the kingdom to any promise you made.”

“Any promise I make dies with me.”

“Not to the elves.”

Morkaht scoffed. “Who can possibly run a kingdom in that manner?”

“We can and do,” Jahanoset answered, obviously hearing everything that was said between them in the silence of the room, no matter how far away they were.

The seneschal turned purple, but the king placed his hand on the man before he could explode. There would be no further use by insulting the Vale or its representatives today, for there was one thing he needed from them above all others.

He needed the armies of the Vale to come here.

“As you say. Is there no other way to repair this insult between us?”

“Do you, Morkaht Rahalakeet, as Head of Family Rahalakeet, declare before Life and all as your witness, that you had no prior knowledge of the many insults offered to the Vale by Family Maorilan?”

“That is easy, Jahanoset. No, we had no knowledge.”

“So, it is witnessed.” The ambassador’s eyes seemed to glow along with his intense regard.

Then the elves around him made a strange sign in response to his words, saying, “It is so witnessed.”

“Then the resolution is a simple one to disassociate Family Rahalakeet from Family Maorilan’s guilt,” Jahanoset continued. “If there was no knowledge of the insult offered, and you wish to continue a treaty between us, then Family Maorilan must be removed from our agreement.” He paused for affect. “And any association with your line. This, the Vale requires.”

“My Lord–”

“Be silent!” Morkaht snapped at the man. “Allow us to be clear. The Vale wishes to exclude the entirety of Family Maorilan from our treaty to have its particulars renewed?”

“Yes, Morkaht Rahalakeet.” The surrounding nobles shuffled uncomfortably as the ambassador again addressed the king by name.

“This also seems rather simple. Please declare before my court the particulars you require and ask of us, if I were to agree.”

“Family Rahalakeet annuls and dissolves any association with Family Maorilan, casting them out from under any auspices of your guardianship, making no claim to anything that is theirs, dissolving all ties of blood, forever and for all time, before Life as your witness, may it be known.”

“My Lord–”

“Will you be silent!” He glared at the man, furious that his seneschal thought in this moment he could be interrupted. His southern cities were about to be overrun, people were being eaten, and all they cared about was cutting off some idiot country lord? He returned his attention to the elf. “And this will bring the Vale’s armies to me in defense of my land?”

“It will.”

“My Lord–”

He silenced his seneschal with a gesture. Redtail hold barely provided any troops, luxuries, or income as it was. The only thing of value was its salt, crops, and fish, and none of that required Maorilan. He could find another lord, someone more fitting, who hadn’t offended the elves. He looked out over the nobles of his court, and saw General Karmehan, and made his decision.

“Then so be it. I will agree to this, having no knowledge of what Pawdrig Maorilan has done. No family may interfere with the Throne or its allies, no matter what station they hold. The Throne is timeless,” he called out to his subjects.

“The Throne,” his people repeated.

“Let the crier’s call. Family Maorilan is cast out from the kingdom, its members and people divorced from our fold. We offer them no protection. Their lives and property are forfeit in recompense to the elves in light of the insults they made to the Vale. I declare it to be so on this day. So says the Timeless Throne.”

“The Timeless Throne.”

His seneschal repeated the words somewhat delayed, sounding like he was being slowly strangled.

“So, it is witnessed,” Jahanoset replied, his party once again making that curious sign before repeating his words.

“Then I believe we are done here, are we not?”

“We are, Family Rahalakeet.”

“Excellent, Jahanoset. Then when can the Vale’s armies be deployed?”

“The army of the Vale has already come forth, Morkaht Rahalakeet.”

Murmurs began in and around the court, the sudden onset of consternation not seeming to disturb the elves in the least. His advisors looked to one another in utter confusion, obviously no one aware of any army arriving to defend them upon the plains.

“I was not aware of your army being in the field. Where is it located?”

“West of the Serensea.”

“The Serensea?” He saw his general frown. “And what is it doing there?”

“Before Family Maorilan’s insults were discovered, it was fulfilling our treaty there that has now been renewed. It succeeded in its task, and now pursues a separate duty.”

He looked to his advisors, meeting the eyes of every single one, including his most trusted nobles. None of them understood the elf’s statement in the least. “It succeeded? How, may I ask, did it do that?”

“The ondilaan, after placing Devalket under siege, moved a large force through the Sunset Peaks to assault Redtail Hold. The Vale’s army arrived and defended it, repelling the attack and eventually making the pass safe from further invasion.”

Wonder spread throughout the court. Eventually the seneschal sputtered out what everyone else was thinking, “The forces travelling through the pass numbered in the thousands!”

“Tens of thousands, Seneschal to Rahalakeet.”

“And that ondilaani army has been destroyed?” demanded the king.

“Repelled.”

“Then come east! Devalket is under siege!” his minister of war shouted to the elves.

A great commotion began, the various lords calling and yelling out their various needs. The Endless Plains were overrun with ondilaan, every city or town having some dire condition needing to be seen to immediately. The uproar was intolerable, and Morkaht was having none of it.

“Silence!” the king demanded. “When can the army of the Vale come east?”

“Alas, Family Rahalakeet, it cannot.”

“And why is that?”

“To ensure the safety of the Hold, the pass was sealed.”

The various advisors looked to each other again in consternation before the king spoke. “What do you mean ‘sealed’?”

“Sealed. As in no longer passable.”

“I understand that,” the king snapped. “Exactly how did you accomplish that?”

“A mountain fell during the battle and now seals the pass, Morkaht Rahalakeet. There will be no travel between your kingdom and the Serensea for many long years.”

“Then how will I evict Maorilan from Redtail Hold?” the king asked, ignoring the sounds of wonder around the room.

“That is no longer your concern, Morkaht Rahalakeet, unless you choose to make it so. Do you renew your claim to Redtail Hold, Family Rahalakeet?”

“It is ours!”

“No, Rahalakeet, Redtail Hold is the home and family seat of Maorilan. Its lands belong to them, since the time that our original treaty was formed.”

“Outrageous!”

“It was declared and witnessed before Life at that time.”

“Declared and witnessed,” the other elves echoed, their faces becoming both feral and hard.

“That was thousands of years ago!”

“Nonetheless, it is still true.”

“Those are our lands!” Morkaht shouted as he rose to his feet.

“You stated Family Maorilan’s lives and property were forfeit, having been divorced from your court and your lands. The Vale accepts this separation in tribute, as acknowledgement of any assumed debt. For this, we immediately renew our pledge of mutual defense, and will form a new army to fight for your realm. Do you wish to renege on the agreement you made with me, Morkaht Rahalakeet, here and now, before Life as your witness?”

Morkaht ground his teeth, slowly sinking back into his throne. He counted to ten, then ten again, before adding ten more. Then, his nostrils flaring, he opened his mouth to calmly speak before his court in answer.

“No.”

“Then it will be done, Head of Family Rahalakeet. I will inform the Wi’Jitikiin of what has happened here, so that we may fulfill the agreements we made. The Vale will form a second army, which will take a few weeks to accomplish. Then the Vale will come forth, here, to Tatdavarr, to ensure that all the friends of the Vale survive.”

He nodded his head graciously to the king. “To accomplish this, I must make haste away from here through the Gate. So, by your leave, Head of Family, I must go.”

“Then go.” Morkaht fought not to snarl.

“May Life watch over your family, King Morkaht Rahalakeet.”

“And yours,” Amahn Nagaadek, his seneschal, hurriedly put in, sensing the king would no longer answer.

Jahanoset inclined his head, meeting the seneschal’s eyes somehow knowingly. “Far’e’na,” he said to the entire court.

Then he turned, and slowly walked away.

Afterword

Hello again!

Thank you again for taking the time to read Windyspring. I hope you enjoyed the story of Tommy, Donnor, Ari, Mikus, Saress, and all the other characters. If it kept you entertained, I’ve done my job. But if you liked it, I will be more than pleased.

It’s taken me roughly a year to finish this book from beginning to end, and there are a lot of people I’d like to thank. First, I’d like to thank my wife and children for putting up with me. I disappear into the computer for long hours, sometimes days and weeks at a time, and their understanding is key. Without that, the story would have never come out, and it’s something I’ll never be able to repay. My love to you all.

In no particular order, I’d like to thank the beta readers who helped me this time around. Jodie B puts up with me on almost a daily basis, and I value her opinion massively. Jaron “more boats” K is the best ‘hole-finder’ I know, and his sense of humor, and the way he harasses me, is exactly what I need. Joining the team this time around are Cal and Nadene, both giving great insights into not only the characters, but the story as a whole. And finally, Eric M is my finisher, his ability to look at the story as a whole as it progresses, and really nail down the main issues, is incredible. Thank you all.

A special thanks to Tiffany S, my editor, who is incredibly easy to work with. Thank you for all the help you give.

And finally, Irene Zeleskou, my cover artist. Out of all the compliments I receive, the ones about her art are always the most frequent. Her ability to take my descriptions and turn them into the incredible pictures you see are parallel to none. Thank you for putting up with me; your talent is beyond words.

Please feel free to visit my Facebook page: The Chronicle of the Troop. It’s the discussion group for all of the books in this series, and updates as the story develops. I post twice a month, and check almost every day. So, if you want to contact me, feel free to reach out to me there.

And finally, please leave a review on both Amazon and Goodreads. I’m an independent author, and your reviews are important in telling how I’ve done. I read every single one, and try to reply individually when I can.

Thank you, one and all,

Colin

Character List

I think pretty much everyone who plays a role in a story should have a name, but naming so many people often leads to confusion. I realize this, so I am including this here for your reference.

Characters are arranged geographically by where they appear in the story, or where they are from. Then, roughly in the order they appear. I’ve included all of the characters from Resthaven and Silverlake since almost all are referenced in some way, and you may be interested to know that this is the same list I look at while writing, barring some notes I won’t share.

Don’t read anything into the order, or how some characters have surnames while others do not. Look for any members of the troop in the troop listing first. And I included some unnamed characters in the troop’s listing for the completeness of the ranks.

Main

Mikus Gemhands: Dwarf, from Khagatom. Smith in Sirikii. Prospector for Clan Gemhands. Husband of Bekka, father of Dawd. Logger in Lakeside.

Donnor (Silverspear): Human, from Lakeside. Unknown origin. Smithy worker in Sirikii. Caravan leader in Sirikii. Father of Tommy. Husband of Yella. Fisherman in Lakeside.

Arisaylia (Ari) Saliantrea: Elf, from the Vale. Daughter of Na’Tor Saliantrea, Lord Wi’Jitikiin of Sirikii. Mother of Tommy and Di’ii. Betrothed to Alaris Farlesdar of Sirikii. Seamstress in Lakeside.

Tommy (Tomilanthus): Half-elf, from Lakeside. Son of Donnor and Arisaylia. Fisherman in Lakeside.

Lakeside

Bekka Gemhands: Dwarf, from Khagatom. Wife of Mikus.

Dawd Gemhands: Dwarf. Son of Mikus and Bekka.

Mrs. Sweetflour: Human from Lakeside.

Di’ii: Elf. Daughter of Arisaylia and Alaris Farlesdar.

Mrs. Ratlaf: Human from Lakeside. Baker.

Yella: Human from Lakeside. Wife of Donnor.

Mr. Geller: Human from Lakeside. Farmer.

Mr. Silvertongue: Human from Lakeside. Farmer.

Dira Greentree: Human from Lakeside. Housewife.

Faltor Greentree: Human from Lakeside. Son of Dira.

Sella: Human from Lakeside. Barmaid.

Mr. Hart: Human from Lakeside. Storyteller. Tavern owner and brewer in Lakeside.

Mistle: Human from Lakeside. Seamstress.

Lonny Tarbrook: Human from Lakeside.

Girl Tuulhod: Human from Lakeside. Sister to Nelt.

Nelt Tuulhod: Human from Lakeside.

Mrs. Gelcrest: Human from Lakeside.

Mr. Celben. Human from Lakeside.

Mrs. Brownhart. Human from Lakeside.

Redtail Hold

Arnet: Human from Redtail Hold. Commander of the conscripts. Swordmaster.

Hortan: Human from Tatdavarr. Conscript.

Daris Sintletin: Halfling from Redtail Hold. Innkeeper.

Unris: Halfling from Redtail Hold. Works at the inn.

Jader: Gnome from Redtail Hold. Healer.

Sir Laigan: Human from Redtail Hold. Knight of the order of Pa’din. Captain of the Guard.

Pawdrig Maorilan: Human from Redtail Hold. Lord of Redtail Hold.

Master Girdly: Gnome from Redtail Hold. Head of Girdly Trading House. Merchant.

Hesia Durn: Human from Redtail Hold. Mage.

Pipit Brightleaf: Sprite from Spritehome.

Tintafel Alarion: Elf of Sirikii.

Kored: Dwarf from Redtail Hold. Armorer.

Sergeant Tardook: Human from Redtail Hold. Member of the Redtail Guard.

Heller: Human from Redtail Hold. Member of the Redtail Guard.

Resthaven

Sergeant Garret Moran: Human Guardsman from Redtail Hold.

Sergeant Terrance Oldsby: Human from Redtail Hold.

Taylin Ilden: Human from Resthaven. Midwife.

Jarrod Tarr: Human from Resthaven. Innkeeper.

Martol Tarr: Human from Resthaven. Innkeeper's Son.

Pari: Human from Resthaven.

Hibold: Halfling from Resthaven. Cattle handler.

Rarton: Human from Resthaven. Smith.

Valen family: Human from Resthaven. Tanners.

Walp Calz: Human from Resthaven. Logger.

Jaltol family: Gnome from Resthaven.

Bunlip family: Gnome from Resthaven.

Canlen. Human from Resthaven.

Tarwood

Zin Onlee. Human from Tarwood.

Coran’s Hill

Jislus. Human from Coran’s Hill. Engineer.

Varmen’s Shoal

Halbaad Garr: Human from Varmen’s Shoal. Retired sergeant of the Redtail Guard

Torin: Human from Varmen’s Shoal. Retired corporal from of the Redtail Guard.

Jan: Human from Varmen’s Shoal. Boat captain.

Corporal Swellen: Human from Redtail Hold. Redtail Guard.

Akreesha

Lord Commander Zelenquist. Human from Akreesha. Commander of the Knights of Pa’din.

Dallon. Human from Akreesha. Zelenquist’s aide.

Devalket

Captain Falts: Human from Devalket. 5th company, Devalket Guard.

Sergeant Corvash: Human from Devalket. 5th company, 3rd platoon, Devalket Guard.

Corporal Garrons: Human from Devalket. 5th company, 3rd platoon, Devalket Guard.

Trooper Dinalt: Human from Devalket. 2nd company, 1st platoon, Devalket Guard.

Baasondee

Jaylee: Human from Baasondee.

Kirsch: Human from Baasondee.

Maahnia: Human from Baasondee.

Tatdavarr

Amahn Nagaadek: Human from Tatdavarr. Seneschal.

Lord Damemota: Human from Tatdavarr. Noble.

Lord Makenoo: Human from Tatdavarr. Noble.

Lord Vakuleen: Human from Tatdavarr. Noble.

General Karmehan: Human from Tatdavarr.

Tosgär Deepcomber: Dwarf of Khagatom. Ambassador to the Timeless Throne.

Morkaht Rahalakeet: Human from Tatdavarr. King of the Endless Plains.

Jahanoset: Elf of the Vale. Ambassador to the Timeless Throne.

The Vale

Na’Tor Saliantrea: Elf of Sirikii. Lord Wi’Jitikiin. Father of Arisaylia.

Lord Farlesdar: Elf of Sirikii. Lord Wi’Jitikiin.

Alaris Farlesdar: Elf of Sirikii. Son of Lord Farlesdar. Betrothed to Arisaylia. Father of Di’ii.

Alaris’s Army

S’tol Da’an: Elf of the Vale. Master of the college.

S’tol Batari: Elf of the Vale. Master of the college.

Strike Leader To’Ran: Elf of the Vale.

Elven Healers

Vistarii An’Toyniell: Elf of the Vale. Strike Captain.

Laran’telia An’Toyniell: Elf of the Vale. Chief healer.

Cor’An a’Saliantrea: Elf of the Vale. Priestess of Life.

Dwarven Army

Kaltus Deepdweller: Dwarf of Nächtaltom. Marshall of the Grey Rocks.

Helden: Dwarf of Nächtaltom.

Dimult: Dwarf of Nächtaltom.

Cehloórt: Dwarf of Nächtaltom.

The Troop

Starting Strength: 49: 24 spear, 20 bow + 5 admin

Ending Strength: 72: 30 spear, 9 bow, 11 Sprites, 11 Elves, 4 Cavalry + 7 admin

Admin

Donnor.

Ari.

Tommy.

Falia.

Alantin Ben’gall. Human. Monk of the Spire.

Alarat: Gnome. Animal handler.

Camm: Gnome. Animal trainer.

Artock.

The ch’ten

Ahton: Sprite Patriarch.

Tonat: Sprite Matron.

Child: Sprite.

Chabat: Sprite.

Itak: Sprite.

Sprite.

Sprite.

Sprite.

Sprite.

Sprite.

Sprite.

The Elves

Salia. Strike Leader.

Erella.

Imaan.

Gim’alan.

Elf of the Vale.

S’tol Garesh Oan’talin.

Jahad Oan’talin.

Rialdi.

Elf of the Vale.

Elf of the Vale.

Elf of the Vale.

Archers

Saress Saliantrea: Half-elf, Elf/Askilat hybrid.

Laren: Human.

Fald: Human.

Ty: Halfling.

Petal Valen: Human.

Immer: Human.

Lari: Sprite.

Rast: Sprite.

Dap. Sprite.

Avad: Gnome.

First Rank

Mikus: Dwarf.

Tak: Halfling.

Karn: Dwarf.

Turred: Dwarf.

Nalin: Halfling.

Ladig: Gnome.

Dorn: Human.

Kordin Jaltol: Gnome.

Feya Bunlip: Gnome.

Deya Bunlip: Gnome.

Arbet: Human.

Second Rank

Keris: Human.

Gart: Half Orc.

Haleran: Human.

Martok: Human. Leatherworker.

Hartok: Human.

Canner: Human.

Sollip: Human.

Larn Calz: Human.

Werin: Human.

Caynen: Human.

Rordin: Human.

Third Rank

Zinaan. Human.

Huldi. Human.

Rell. Human.

Human from Silverlake.

Human from Silverlake.

Human from Silverlake.

Human from Silverlake.

Human from Silverlake.

Cavalry

Shandii. Gnome.

Mekklin. Gnome.

Berri. Halfling.

Abadair. Human.

8 Correts

Pronunciation Guide

IPA (International Phonetic Alphabet) pronunciation guide

I’m providing this guide to help readers pronounce the various foreign languages in this book. I hope it helps.

An important note here: Race-specific languages will usually be written in italics. Otherwise, assume the words are in the common tongue.

And a caveat: I’m not an expert in IPA. Please be generous and understanding of any mistakes I make. It’s difficult to convey words I hear clearly in my head into IPA format for you to try and understand.

Common Tongue:

The common tongue will be written as US English, with a few quirks. Most of those quirks revolve around the inclusion of UK spelling in some of the words. However, there are two notable items regarding pronunciation that stood out as I wrote.

Two vowels of the same type together pronounce the short vowel sound of that letter, but extended or drawn out.

For example, “tuulhod” would be shown in IPA as “tŭ:l-hǒd” with the “u” sound drawn out.

An apostrophe when used in the common tongue denotes a distinct pause or breath in the pronunciation of a single word.

For example, Sir Laigan who is a knight of Pa’din. The word “Pa’din” is pronounced with two distinct syllables separated by the apostrophe: “pa” and “din”.

Elven / Elvish

An apostrophe denotes an extremely short pause or break in the pronunciation and sounding out of a single word, separating syllables within that single word.

An apostrophe in elvish does not denote a distinct break in pronunciation, or a breath, between two or more distinct and separate words. So, if you see a long string of characters with apostrophes thrown in, as long as there are no spaces in there, the entire thing is one, singular, elven word.

A vowel preceding an apostrophe is always pronounced with the long vowel sound.

So, “e’a” would be pronounced “EEE-ahh”

A “J” following an apostrophe produces the “ZH” sound, which is an uncommon sound in US English. The ZH sound is the same sound the “s” makes in the words “vision” or “measure”.

Unlike English, two vowels separated by a consonant does not automatically make the first vowel have a long vowel sound. As a rule of thumb, and forewarned that there are exceptions, the first vowel should be pronounced with the short vowel sound in these instances. The vowel following the consonant in this instance is also typically not silent.

Therefore, an elf would pronounce the English word “ate” as ‘ah-teh’; or, “bacon” as ‘bah-kon’.

When there are two vowels together, the first vowel is pronounced with the long vowel sound while the second with the short vowel sound.

Therefore, an elf would pronounce the English word “team” as ‘tee-am’.

An “I” followed by another vowel always causes the “I” to be pronounced with a long “E” sound.

For example, an elf would pronounce the English word “lariat” as ‘lahr-ee-aht’.

Two I’s together (ii) produce a single long “E” sound.

So, hypothetically, you could spell the English word “free” as ‘frii’ in elven to produce the same sounds.

A “Y” immediately following a vowel always signifies that the preceding vowel is pronounced with its long vowel sound. Then, the “Y” itself is silent.

So, you could also hypothetically spell the English word “free” as ‘frey’ in elven to get the same pronunciation.

The English word “blight” could hypothetically be spelled ‘bliyt’ in elven to generate the same pronunciation.

A “Y” between two consonants is typically pronounced with the short “I” sound.

You could spell “bit” or “mit” as ‘byt’ or ‘myt’ in elvish to generate the same pronunciation.

A “W” between two vowels is typically considered silent.

However, elves have keener hearing than you or I, and there is a sound associated with a “W” that we cannot hear. Again, I want to stress that this sound is not able to be heard by most listeners who do not have an elf’s acute hearing.

Elves pronounce and hear a “trill” or a “rolling sound” similar to how the letter “R” is rolled on the roof of the mouth in certain situations with Spanish pronunciation.

A “Y” is considered a vowel when following this rule.

Two “L’s” together make a single “L” sound, and the sound is drawn out longer than with a single letter.

It is produced by the tongue sliding along the roof of the mouth from the soft to hard palates. However, emphasis is not automatically placed on the longer sound.

In IPA shorthand, this is depicted as a colon after the L, i.e., “l:” or “L:”, similar to how elongated vowels are depicted.

Examples of elven and their IPA pronunciation:

Di’ii………………..: Dī-ē

Arisaylia…………...: Ār-ǝ-sā-lēă

Tomilanthus……….: tǒm-ǐ-lăn-θŭs

Sirikii………………: sǝ-rē-kē

Wi’Jitikiin………….: wǝ-ʒĭ-tĭ-kēn

Awyrllyn…………...: Ā❬r❭-l:ĭn

Nisa………………...: Nē-sǝ

Saliantrea…………...: Săl-ē-ăn-trēǝ

Ilari…………………: Ĭ-lăr-ē

Tairi………………...: Tā-ĭrē

Dwarven / Dwarvish

Dwarvish, in my mind, reminds me of German, Austrian, and Eastern European languages in its very glottal and ‘back of the throat’ pronunciation in comparison to my US English. And before anyone gets upset, I have Eastern European roots. I heard languages like these growing up, and this is not a criticism of those countries or languages. The dwarvish words are pronounced as they are as written, just with that extra ‘back of the throat sound’ thrown in for good measure.

For example, Mikus (MY-cuss) comes originally from Khagatom, the kingdom of the dwarves. Khagatom is pronounced basically like it looks as ‘kag-ah-tome’. But there’s an extra guttural sound associated with the “G” in the word.

Kăg-ǝ-toʊm

-cht together makes an “ick” sound in American English. Germanic speakers will readily recognize this sound as exactly the same as the way “acht” is pronounced in modern German.

-eau makes the same sound as two O’s together (oo) in American English.

So, ‘good’ and ‘stood’ could be spelled ‘geaud’ and ‘steaud’ in dwarven

Note: this does not follow through with words like ‘blood’ which make a short ‘U’ sound like ‘uh’, ‘mut’, or ‘tough’ in American English. It only applies to an ‘oo’ or ‘ew’ sound made by two O’s together.

To dots above a vowel indicates the vowel is pronounced in the back of the throat, almost like gargling, or with a deep chest or breathy sound.

A slash above a vowel can mean one of two things.

If the vowel follows an R, then it indicated the R is rolled similar to how R’s are rolled in Spanish pronunciation.

If the vowel follows another vowel, it indicated the two vowels separate pronunciations are ‘rolled’ or ‘slurred’ together to make one continuous sound. Unlike my American English, this does not make one vowel have a long sound while the other is silent. Both vowels are pronounced, just slurred together into one, continuous sound.

Examples of dwarven and their IPA pronunciation:

Ak………………: Ăk

Tom…………….: Tŏm

Gar……………...: Găr

Turak……………: Tu:-răk

Marr…………….: Măr

Ken……………...: Kǝn

Drob…………….: Drŏb

Tonn…………….: Tŏn

Garn……………..: Găr

Dak……………...: Dăk

Tal……………….: Tăl

Nagan……………: Nă-găn

Dee………………: Dē

Mo’jon…………...: Mō-jŏn

On………………..: Ŏn

A note on Mikus’s speech: Mikus speaks in a very idiosyncratic way, often cutting off and/or slurring words together. This is due to the thick brogue of the Khagatom dwarves which he carries over into the common tongue. The many misspelled words and strange apostrophe placements are an attempt to depict his unique dialect.

In most instances, the apostrophe indicates dropped letters or where the word is shortened or slurred into the next one as he speaks. Examples of this are throughout the story, but an extreme example of this type of depiction would be the Redtail Armorer’s slurring of “Aye’me’laird” (Aye, my Lord) and “Ge’over’thar” (Get over there) in book one.

Sprite Tongue

Sprite tongue is a language of nature. Think of the chittering and barking of squirrels, squawks and calls of little birds, chirps and screams of chipmunks, whistling calls of groundhogs, etc. Anything that is found in grasslands and forests you can associate with sounds you might hear from sprites as they speak.

Since there’s no real effective way to depict various animal sounds in text, I’ve fallen on using words like “chittering,” “whistling,” or “sprite speak” to depict them. Feel free to search online to hear what the above animal sounds are like for reference. But there are a few sprite words that I type out because of their importance in the text.

Assume that anything said in sprite follows US English pronunciation guidelines. However, also assume that it is either said very quickly to sound like chittering, or slurred or whistled to sound like some animal call.

Examples of sprite tongue and their IPA pronunciation:

Ch’ten…………….: ʧ-tǝn

Achee…………….: Ă-ʧē

Tee’wa…………...: Tē-wă

Ak’ta’tak………….: Ăk-tă-tăk

Final Thought

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