* * * * *
That very same “someone” may have been the reason why the King had not left his throne room in three days. He sat there no longer paralyzed by what it had done to him, whatever it was, but he waited.
She had come to him, after Gerin and everyone else had left his chambers, and stung him with some kind of magick that he’d never felt before. The instant its touch was placed, he couldn’t even move, could barely speak. He could only sit there as it whispered to him, “We need to speak,” and then was gone. It took almost an hour for him to recover, his body much like the throne he sat upon—stone. Then finally, his fingers and toes returned to life, followed by his limbs and neck, at least enough to where he could glance about the room; not in a hurried manner, both from grogginess as well as certainty that it was no longer there.
It was a woman. Of that he was sure. The touch, the voice, and the powerful thrall she had when she spoke to him revealed that much. How she got in was the question. There was only one tiny window in his throne room, and anyone wanting to go through it would have nearly three hundred feet to climb, straight up, to get to him. There was one door in the room that led to one long hallway and another, much more solid, oak and steel-framed barrier. And one last thing that he’d never told anyone about, aside from the man who built it—but he’d made sure that he would never utter the secret to anyone. As payment for his hard work, Idimus had ended his life the very day that he had finished. Amidst the carvings of bones and skulls on the stone of the King’s throne, there was a tiny button on the armrest that released a trap door right in front of his feet. If anything ever made its way to his chambers, it would be only seconds before the King could drop down in front, towards a waiting staircase in a tiny chamber straight in the middle of his tower. It led to an opening on the other side, one that was pressed against the mountains that lay behind his castle. He had given years to his escape tunnel, even longer building the tower that it was placed in. Spent nearly every waking hour inside it, and he had not seen the outside world in nearly a decade.
All because he was paranoid, possessed. He was so soul-sickeningly obsessed with being king, being in power, that he would spare no expense or energy to maintain it. In the King’s twisted mind that meant not letting anyone near him. That meant locking himself away in a tower so he would never be threatened, let alone ripped from the throne that he held so dear.
And yet, even with all of that, someone had entered as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Snuck past his guards, his Wizard, and every other defense. Wormed her way into the most protected part of a nearly impenetrable fortress and left him immobile and helpless with one touch, gave her message, and then disappeared without a trace.
The entire thing had left him confounded, struggling. She made no attempt to harm him or make herself known—he hadn’t even seen her face. She just came and went, almost as if she were taunting him, or preparing him for something.
That was the question that had kept him awake for those three days straight. What was she after? No matter how powerful and how untouchable he’d become, he didn’t believe that someone who could invade his chambers so easily, someone who seemed to wield so much power herself, would need anything from him.
Yet he knew deep down that she did. But why wait until now? And why make such a dramatic appearance and exit, only to leave him sitting here waiting?
The King groaned, brought a hand up to his shadowed face and tugged it through his hair. These were the questions that were driving him mad, and he nearly had another bout of it when his attention was brought to that tiny window. A small crow, jet-black save for a few red feathers on its chest that formed a tiny diamond, sat on his windowsill. He raised up to shoo it, but in response it did the opposite—hopped into his room and in front of his throne, before he was even fully on his feet. It blinked at him a few times and stared before bowing its head.
He heard the sound of bones cracking and the creature cawed as it stretched its head up, maw gaping towards the ceiling, turning and contorting as its skull expanded and grew before him. The wings pulled from the body and stretched out, slowly growing in length and thinning, tiny feathers shrinking along with it. Its feet began to expand and shift, the claws smoothing over as the skin lost its bumpy texture, shortening quite noticeably. It doubled in size, and then tripled, its wide chest and simple body slimmed in some places, widened in others. The tail seeped back as it arched, again letting out a strange sound—a mix between a bird’s shriek and a gentle scream.
The King could only stare in awe at what transpired before him. Several times he debated grabbing his sword and hacking the thing down, but the more it twisted and grew, the more human it looked.
At once, the feathers pulled into its skin, and the wings grew out, turning into long slender arms, now bracing itself on the ground. Its neck had slimmed, its head grown and the maw sank back into it, long white hair covered most of its head, the bangs a jet black tumbled forth and cascaded towards the ground. The creature was now on human hands and knees, breathing somewhat heavily, before it gathered itself and stood.
Long, bare white legs led up to wide hips, a tiny waist and full chest—one that was covered in a bodice, fabric draping up over her breasts and creeping to her shoulders like black flames, a tiny red diamond set against her cleavage. The long white hair ran halfway down her back, and she shook her head once, allowing the mane to ripple through the air like a cloud tearing across the sky. Her lips were a dismal purple against a face more pale than the rest of its flesh. Bright lavender eyes shot up towards the King, jaw clenching a few times causing her cheeks to hollow and accentuate the sharp line, those eyes narrowed—seeming to smirk as she looked at him.
The King had seen enough and he reached for his sword. The thing let a bored look pass over its face and merely raised its hand in front of the sword, watching as it flew from the King’s reach, clanging loudly against the stonewall across the room. With no other option, he lifted to engage her directly.
“Sit.”
The King felt himself flung back into his throne, eyes panicked for a moment as he tried to get up. Finding he wasn’t able to rise, his mouth opened to speak.
“Silence.”
And the King was without voice, only a gasping mutter escaped his lips and he knew it would never make it down the long hallway outside his door. He should have used that one second he had to escape, rather than attack.
“Didn’t I say you and I should talk Lord Idimus?” She smiled coyly as it moved towards his throne. The King’s eyes grew wide, and again grunting and murmurs were heard, but no words ever formed.
“Speak.”
“You were the strange creature that was in my room that night.”
She feigned a sad look then moved to sit on his armrest, draping her legs over his lap as it reached up to run her fingers through his hair, “I assure you, I’m a woman…in a sense.” She said, playing with his hair and crossing her feet at the ankles.
“And do you have a name?” he said, narrowing his eyes and trying to pull away, but found himself still unable to move.
“I have many names King. Yet, my most favorite recently has been Valaira.”
“…The ancient plague?”
Valaira smiled and turned her head slightly, lavender eyes flashing, “The King has done his homework. I’m impressed.” She slid a hand slowly down his cheek, and again he felt a poison seeping into his skin—leaving him powerless once more.
“So then, what do you want with me?” he asked, desperate to get right to the point.
“I want to help you. There are those that would threaten your reign and I want you to remain King. I need you to remain King.”
Again, Idimus’ paranoia kicked in and he found himself with more questions, “And why should I trust you?”
She smiled again and slid a long, slender finger down the bridge of his nose, “Because I’m going to bring you Elryia and her…friends. I’m going to tell you where she is.”
She tapped his nose with every word that would follow, like a flirtatious woman in a bar trying to get a drink, “Right this very moment.” She smiled and pulled away from him, “Be a good boy and sit there until I return.” She stood and turned from him, her back exposed by what little candle light there was. “It’s too bright in here,” she whispered, raising her hands as a green fire spun around her ankles. Her arms fell and the fire cascaded up several feet above her head, twisting like a poisonous cyclone until it flashed out and vanished into the air. Once again the King had a small crow with a few red feathers sitting before him. It hopped back up to the window, turned slowly and looked at Idimus one last time before letting out a loud caw, causing every candle in the room to flicker out.
The Fragile Bind Of Morality
The group maintained their steady pace towards Sharia as the day wore on. From Tarnel, it was a week perhaps a ten-day ride before they reached the outside border of Sharia. From there, it would be another two into the heart of the Elven lands where the council resided. It was they who would determine whether to lend their strength and incomparable archers to Elryia’s cause.
Normally, this ride would take three days longer, but Elryia had it set that after they left Tarnel they would have to increase their speed more than ever. Idimus was aware of her actions before the incident, but she made it a point never to attack him, to never directly threaten his reign. His army was too large and she could not take it on herself. She had to gather one of her own first. Doing that would no doubt attract the attention of the King, so she had tried her best to stay in the shadows, to hide from the world as she made the massive trek west to Sharia, then north to Mt. Forgas. Her initial campaign had garnered too much, but it was necessary to gather Gort, Lanyan and the others. From there she opted to disappear in Tarnel for a time, until all was quiet. And for a while, she accomplished that. Now, everything had changed. From the moment her feet hit the dirt outside that town, she felt as though she was being watched—hunted.
She had wished to start it much later, when she had hundreds, perhaps thousands of soldiers rather than just five. But she could not let Jeralyle be executed—even if she had no idea who he was—just to spare her safety and her conspiracy. That went against everything they stood and fought for. And she had not known that the King would send his most fearsome warrior to stop her. Prior to this incident, it was obvious she had unnerved him—even as secretive as she’d been, he was aware. She didn’t know to what extent, and she had no idea if he knew of her uprising, but he knew about her and apparently wanted her badly enough that he sent the general of his entire army to capture her, leaving her a bit flattered—albeit—edgy.
Now, more than ever, she feared retaliation. Idimus was not the kind to let his plans be thwarted without a compulsive need for redemption. He was too paranoid that word would leak out, that people would begin to judge his ability to be King, and that uprising—the one that he had tried so hard to stifle—would tumble out of control.
She knew Gerin was just like his King. He would not stop until he had settled the score, but it would not be with her. He would use her to get to Graham, and that scared her even more.
She was glad he had stepped in when he did. Had he not, Gerin would have captured them, tortured them, and most likely killed them in the most vicious way possible—just to make an example. And Grahamas—the man he was—would have spared no expense and risked his own life to save them, had that ever happened. That weighed on her conscience far more than her own well-being.
As it often did, her mind shifted. Though the entire morning and afternoon had been spent thinking on the tyrant King, even the most brief images of Graham was enough to steer her thoughts completely. She got a misty, almost childish smile on her face and a slight blush rose on her cheeks. Graham had made it a point to stay hidden in the shadows, had been so strict on maintaining his secrecy that he had actually trained her not to recognize him in public. He’d taught her to keep her thoughts, her true thoughts, blocked out for one reason. Gerin, as well as one other surrounding Idimus, could pluck them right out of almost anyone’s head. Graham was intent on keeping his identity unknown, even to those she traveled with.
He trusted her enough, and believed in her enough to keep his secret. Even more so that he was willing to throw it away to protect her. Gerin was fast, he had barely revealed himself and Graham was right on top of him. She knew, as usual, that Graham had been tucked away in the forest, hiding and watching, protecting her as he always did. Yet this time, he stepped out, even let Gerin see his face. Elryia tried not to let it go to her head, yet she couldn’t help it. They were the hopeful dreams of a young woman: He had done everything just to protect her.
She felt a crush burning deep within her torso, as it always did when she saw him, or thought about him. Such led her to wonder about the future, to wonder what lay in store for them after the war, after freedom. And the one question that always lingered in her head… Was she in love with him? And did he…
“EL!”
She heard Lanyan scream, and thought for a moment he discovered something she had not. Only when she looked up and saw her horse walking straight off of the road and down a hill did she know what that something was. Embarrassed that her fantasies had taken such control, she stifled a giggle and set her horse straight, slightly flustered.
Jeralyle caught up a bit and whispered over to her, “Are you well?”
She nodded and tried not to look him straight in the eye, “I’m fine, I just thought I saw something and lost my focus.” Jeralyle bowed and fell back a bit, leaving the leader to lead.
“Enough of those thoughts…” she demanded of herself and smirked, showing her young age of twenty-six, letting her mind wander off like that. There was plenty of time to think about such things later. Now, she needed her concentration.
Jer fell further back, glancing over his shoulder at Lanyan and Gort who were bantering, mostly ribbing and playfully boasting why their own race was better. He thought it best to not rudely invite himself into that conversation. Carsis and Merial were riding to his right. As always Merial was tucked against Carsis’ back, humming gently to herself with her arms wrapped around his waist, towing her own horse—both saddle bags seemingly overflowing—behind them. Carsis stared off into the sun, not paying much attention to anything. The young Mage looked around for his little companion only to see a cloud of dust far off in front of them. “Silence it is.” He marked, reaching into his pocket and tracing his fingers over the diary that lay there.
Before he could remove it, a commanding yet melodic voice drew his attention back. “Tell me something Jeralyle…” Merial said, turning her head to one side to look at him, cheek still resting against the strong back of her fiancé.
“Aye, anything.”
“Anyone you need to tell that you may spend a fair amount of time with us?”
Jeralyle nodded, his face growing serious and his tone matching the expression, “Aye, yet I’ve already sent word to my parents so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Merial grinned widely and hugged Carsis a bit tighter. “Not what I meant…” she said with a playfulness in her voice.
“Oh.” Jeralyle looked confused for a moment, then looked between the two as it dawned on him, “Oh… You mean a girl.” The young woman raised her head and giggled, the nod causing her brown curls to bounce about her head.
The Mage blushed and looked forward, stammering a bit as awkwardness poured out over his face. “There is someone at home, yes. I don’t know how serious it is… We were childhood friends and grew up together, though there was never anything romantic between us. Yet when I told her I was leaving to see the world, she hugged me, kissed me lightly and said she would wait for me. It left me completely shocked…” And no magick on earth could stifle the smile now raging across his face; one that left him bashful and wide-eyed. Try as he may it would not fade.
Merial just beamed. “She’s a lucky girl.”
Jeralyl
e blushed, looked down for a moment and back up at the two, “What about you? I know very little about either one of you.” He coughed, trying desperately to twist her away from discussions on him. “How did you happen upon such a journey?”
Merial chewed at her lip, a story and recollection of the past obviously tumbling through her mind. The expression on her face was one of consideration, but the moment she went to speak, a look of longing and pain washed over her face.
Jeralyle read it, but before he could respond, Carsis turned to look at her, a knowing gaze in his eyes.
“It was for Lanyan.” He blurted out, reaching back to pat Merial on the leg. “I was about…six when I got lost in a forest,” he said, turning his head towards Jeralyle and let his eyes roll to the corner when he was trying to recall details of the event. “I don’t remember what forest it was now, may have even been the one we passed by to get here. I was just a kid playing around and went too far. Much too far, and I couldn’t find my way back. I was there for days, maybe even a week. Starving, cold, scared, and on the verge of dehydration, I eventually crawled my way into a clearing and could no longer resist the urge to lay down in the middle of the day. Looking back on it now, I think I may have been dying. Several minutes passed when I heard a noise. I was terrified that it was an animal coming to attack me, and yet I couldn’t move no matter how badly I wanted to. I could only lay there…” Carsis leaned back against Merial slightly and she hugged him tightly, kissing his back gently as he continued. “I finally opened my eyes, and I saw something standing over me staring down. A thing that looked almost human—except for the delicate features and pointed ears. It seemed thirteen, maybe fourteen at the time, and it was carrying a bow in one hand and a large rabbit with an arrow poking out of it in the other. I remember it asking me if I was all right, and I could only mutter and gasp because my throat was so dry. I thought he would just leave me there to die, but surprisingly he let me drink from his canteen. And when I had enough strength to sit up, he started a fire and let me eat the entire rabbit. Stayed with me until the sun came up the next day.
Carsis threw a look back at the Elf and the Dwarf, still arguing.
“He told me his name was Lanyan. We carried on a long conversation through the night and well into the next morning. When the sun rose he led me out of the forest. Didn’t tell me how to get out, mind you, he walked completely out of his way to make sure that no harm came to me. I never really got the chance to thank him that day he was gone so quickly. So I returned the next day and the day after searching for him. Eventually I found him again and told him how appreciative I was. Had it not been for him, I would have died. At first he was quiet and unwilling to accept my gratitude, much like he is now. But I was relentless. I continued to visit every day—until weeks later—he finally opened up. Not long after we became friends. We would spend time in his forest, talking about his race and my own, how things are done and what our lives were like. We’ve been close ever since; he’s like a brother to me. When he joined up with Elryia, I was the first to follow. Why he did… Well, he tells that story better than I do. Maybe one day you’ll get him to talk about it.”
Jeralyle looked back again at the two, Dwarf and Elf, whose conversation seemed to be getting louder and louder by the minute. Gort tugged at the hammers on his belt as Lanyan removed the quiver on his back. Jer could only wonder what they were arguing about.
“Why hammers Gort?” Lanyan asked, still not accepting of the answer he got prior.
The Dwarf just groaned, feeling like they’d had this conversation a hundred times. In all honesty, they probably had. “I still don’t completely understand it,” Lanyan spoke, “A large one, yes. It’s a very unique albeit dangerous melee weapon, but why throw them? Why not axes or knives? Why do you throw anything at all? You know, I think you did it to emulate me. Jealous I had a greater impact in our battle, and sought to kill things from a distance as I am able to.”
The Dwarf laughed loudly, but it was more sarcastic rather than humorous. “Ye’d like that wouldn’t ya? Ya ever been hit with an axe?” The Elf merely shook his head, “A knife?” Again, shake. “Hammer?” This time a roll of his eyes. “A knife makes a tiny wound, not big enough ta stop anything. An axe is a little bigger, but it would have ta be massive to do any kind of real damage, an’ no one is strong enough ta throw something like that, at least not a good distance. But a hammer hits ya and yer whole body goes numb. Yer dumbfounded. It’s light enough ta throw, heavy enough to hurt.”
The Elf reached across his chest and held his hand out, “Let me see one…” He said, not taking the Dwarf’s word for it. Gort grunted, tugged one off his belt and handed it over. Lan held it up, moved his arm around to check the weapon’s weight. “It’s balanced…” he remarked, this being the first time in almost a year that he actually took the time to hold one.
“Aye, I made the bottom of the handle bigger and put a weight in it. Not more than the head, but enough to keep it from dropping straight ta the ground when I throw it.”
The Elf squinted one eye, held the hammer in front of it and tried to imagine throwing it with the kind of speed and accuracy that Gort did. It wasn’t going to happen, mostly because the Dwarf was used to moving rocks, the Elf used to moving tree branches—that led to a very big size difference between the two. “I still think knives would be easier,” he remarked, a slight smirk growing on his face, “less hassle to make and far less expensive. Unless you want to get them back after you’re done.”
The Dwarf snorted, “HA! Do ya get yer arrows back when ye’ve shot someone? That’s the cost of being a hero!” Gort said boldly, almost loud enough for everyone to hear, wearing a huge, pearly grin on his face.
“At least they would be more accurate…” Lanyan prompted.
At that point, Gort almost jumped off Pony and choked the life right from Lanyan, “Accurate eh?! I could hit anything with my hammers that ya could hit with yer bow, and a dozen things ya couldn’t!”
It was the Elf’s turn to get enraged, though he was far better at hiding it. “It’s strictly a matter of science Gort. It’s not an insult to your…stature. A light, thin arrow travels farther, faster and more accurately than an eight inch, weighted hammer.” Far ahead of them, Elryia heard the conversation. She imagined the entire plains could hear it and she rolled her eyes and tussled her hair with her hand, muttering: “here they go again…”
“Alright. I challenge ye then! Defender chooses tha target, first one ta miss loses!”
“Agreed, I’ll even let you pick first.”
The Dwarf raised his hand to scrape it through his beard as he surveyed the land. Sadly, this was probably the worst place to challenge the Elf. There wasn’t much out here except wheat, grass, a few boulders, and even fewer barren trees, all of which were well out of reach. Gort’s eyes narrowed as he continued to search, then looked down at Lanyan’s right. A grin festered as he spied Gnert riding effortlessly alongside them in his GOmobile. “Hey, Gnert… Want ta help us out? Go ride in front of us a good distance.”
The Elf scowled and the Gnome scrunched his face. “I was kidding!” Gort said, still glancing about the area until he saw a tiny rock far off in the distance, “Well! Hit that!”
The Elf smiled, tauntingly, “Not going to make it a challenge? Like: hit the top of it or graze the side of it? That should be easy enough.” Lanyan slowly removed the bow from his back, drawing the string up one side and then the other, pulling a few times to make sure it was set before drawing an arrow from his quiver. Gnert only watched with fascination the entire time. When Lanyan finished the Gnome’s face began to twist and quirk, eventually turning into a grin as pedaled his legs furiously and sped off.
“What got into him?” Gort said, watching him ride.
The Elf put little effort into his shrug, and even less into his shot as he pulled the bow back and let the arrow fly. A slight crack was heard as the arrow hit the rock dead on and splintered apart. Lanyan merely faked a yawn an
d began looking about, the Dwarf tugging a hammer from his belt. Lan nodded once, swiftly, to draw Gort’s attention to the tree on the side of the road—a much easier target than the one Gort had chosen for him.
“Not going ta make it challenging? Like: hit the branch or the bottom?” The Dwarf laughed, mocking the Elf, then raised the hammer and squinted one eye. His arm bent and drew up, tucking the head of the hammer behind his shoulder before his arm sprung forth and straightened out, seconds later a thud, then a much louder crack was heard as the hammer crashed into the tree with incredible force, bark splintering off in every direction.
Lanyan only shrugged again and even though he had seen it many times, he was still impressed by the Dwarf’s skill. Not that he would tell him and certainly never show him.
“Alright, then. Let’s make it a bit more challenging for ye! How about a moving target?” The Dwarf said, looking around. Nearly half an hour passed, before a rabbit came bounding out of the bushes into view and started hopping along the edge of the road. The Dwarf nodded and Lanyan was on it in a second, letting another arrow fly. A screech was heard as the arrow embedded itself in the animal’s ribcage.
“Good shot,” the Dwarf remarked though he lacked all serious tone in his voice.
The Elf bowed, and as Gort readied another hammer, scanning the road ahead for a proper mark. Minutes passed without anything, leaving the Dwarf to grow impatient, so he started looking around as well, eventually to tug on Lanyan’s arm and pointed up to another tree.
“We’ve already done that,” the Elf responded.
“Nah, the bird on it.” Gort yanked another hammer free as if he already knew Lanyan would pick that. Though he would wait for the word, it didn’t stop the Dwarf from preparation.
“That’s strange…” Lanyan noted. The bird was watching them—especially Elryia—quite intently. He reached over to pull Gort’s arm down, “Something’s off about it.”
“Eh?”
“I’ve never seen a crow that looked that way. One with red feathers in the front of its chest like that,” the Elf narrowed his eyes, half tempted to shoot it himself, but it cawed and flew off before he ever got the chance. Lanyan and Gort merely shrugged, and went back to their game, thinking nothing of it.
They spent the entire day immersed in it, tragically never speaking nor thinking on that crow again. Until they would finally lay down to sleep, the argument quieted but far from settled.