Elves of Irradan

by RG Long

  "I have not made plans where I will next dine," he replied, finally giving one of her many asked questions an answer.

  This may have been his longest answer yet and, knowing that everyone must eat, Blume took this for a sign.

  “Do you remember where we bumped into one another?" she asked. "There's a family there who has lots of food and could probably spare some for you."

  It was true that their host family often had guests other than the crew that had taken over their house. Their business was at least successful enough to keep food on the table, if not to furnish the place well.

  Blume could tell the thought of food had given Dilinor pause.

  He stood up straight and examined the several shelves on the level he had yet to fully search.

  "Lead the way," he said, placing his hands behind his back.

  Blume gave him a winning smile and reached for his hand. He considered it for a moment before looking back up at her face questioningly. She withdrew it, shrugged her shoulders and said, "Follow me then."

  When they exited the library, the twin suns of Gilia had nearly set, and Blume knew that she would be in for a good talking-to when she finally returned home.

  EVEN THOUGH THE HOUR was late, the streets of Lone Peak were still filled with the newcomers and the merchants who fought for their coins. Moving a vast number of elves across the sea and far from their homeland required a large amount of food and other supplies.

  Merchants were more than willing to meet those needs. Storeowners were haggling outside their businesses in hopes to make a sale to the new coming people. Barrels of grain, reams of cloth, crates of fruit and vegetables all seemed to fly from the stores’ fronts. Nearly every elf Blume saw on their trip back to the Brewers' was carrying some type of container of food. They all seemed to be trading and buying as fast as they could carry off their purchase.

  Some of the citizens of Darrion simply looked out their windows and gawked at the strange newcomers. Blume, having come from a more diverse land, was used to the sight of elves and dwarves and halflings and continued on in her normal stride. Some of the people in Darrion, however, had perhaps never seen anyone other than a human.

  If indeed they had come in contact with an elf, there was nothing like the sight that met them now. Richly dressed and adorned in gold and valuable jewels, the look of some of the elves was enough even to give Blume pause.

  "Where are your parents?" she asked as they neared the house where she could smell the leftover food wafting out to the street.

  "Attending to their duties," Dilinor answered in. what Blume considered to be, his normal, concise speech.

  When they approached the front of the coffee shop, Blume could see that business was booming for their hosts as well. Elves trading valuables were carrying out small barrels of what Blume knew to be coffee beans. The crest of the Brewers’ was on each container. She was glad that the family would be seeing their own business expand because of the visitors. They worked hard for their family's business.

  "Have you ever had coffee?" she asked Dilinor, who was observing the shop with mild interest.

  His nose turned up again and Blume saw the same air of superiority she had many times since meeting Dilinor that morning.

  "I am too young for such a drink," he replied, as if it were the end of the matter.

  "But you're thirty-three!" Blume retorted. "I'm sixteen and I drink it all the time."

  Dilinor gave her a look that she wasn't able to discern immediately.

  "Such is your race," he said, shaking his head.

  “My race?” she started, uneasy about the last statement he had made. “We drink coffee, but what's that got to do about anything?”

  Dilinor did not answer; he simply continued to observe what was around him and ignore Blume's questioning look. There was no more to say about the matter in Blume's opinion, so she led him into the house. She had expected to find everyone gathered around various tables in the back kitchen where they ate their meals. The front of the shop was typically reserved for customers.

  Instead, Blume saw unfamiliar faces and Frederick at the counter frantically selling anything within reach.

  "Hey, Blume! I've already sold half our stock!” Frederick called out in a merry but busy tone. The store's owner and patriarch of the family was a tall, lanky, bearded man who smelled of coffee beans no matter where he was. His hair and eyes matched the color of his wares, brown and dark. “Who's your friend?"

  Blume almost answered him, but then saw he was far too busy for a conversation and had even begun another transaction without waiting for her to reply.

  She helped herself behind the counter and into the back room that served as the family's private dining area. Blume offered Dilinor a seat and began to spoon the stew she had smelled being prepared hours before into a bowl and served him.

  She procured a spoon as well as a glass of water and set it all before him before serving herself and sitting opposite him at the table that occupied most of the space in the dining room. Leading up to this, Blume had almost expected him to turn up his nose at such a meager meal and refuse to eat. In stark contrast, she found he had completely emptied his bowl before she had managed her second spoonful.

  "Uh," she began. "Would you like more?"

  In response, he held out his bowl to her in a dignified but very hungry manner. Dilinor ate through three more bowls of stew before slowing down. Blume satisfied her appetite with a single bowl and a small piece of bread.

  "Do you eat where you come from?" she asked out of genuine curiosity. The only people who Blume saw eat as much as Dilinor were either dwarves with bottomless stomachs, or people who have not had a decent meal in several days.

  "Our food was conserved to ensure that we made the trip here with plenty left over."

  Blume understood.

  On their own journey to Irradan, under the careful guidance of Felicia, food had been rationed so that, even if an emergency had occurred and they were blown off course or assailed by a storm that delayed them several days, their food stores would not be depleted.

  "Well," she tried to say encouragingly. "Now that you're here, you can eat a little more freely."

  Dilinor's eyes went wide at this and he stared down at his bowl with an odd expression.

  Fear?

  He abruptly thanked Blume for the food before almost flying out of the store. She tried to follow him but was hindered by the crowd still gathered within the business. By the time she made it out to the streets, Dilinor was gone.

  "I've met several strange people," Blume said out loud. "But this elf might be the strangest."

  As she was turning to go back inside, Jurrin ran up to the shop, nearly out of breath.

  "Miss Blume!" he gasped "Prisoner. Escaped. Looking for him!"

  Blume hardly had time to process this before Ealrin and Holve came running up behind the halfling, out of breath and red in the face.

  28: Bloody Stairs

  "I hate stairs!" Tory huffed as they climbed the last set that led up to the next level of Lone Peak's cliffs.

  He was sure there were over two-hundred in-between the docks and the first level of cliffs. And he was also sure that their escaped prisoner had already made it up to the second by the time their party had made it to the first.

  Ealrin and Holve had run ahead, both of them in better shape than he was. While he had been confined to a ship for the last two months, over-eating at every inn and tavern they stopped at, the two of them had put themselves on an exercise regimen that was obviously paying off.

  "Quit complaining! Keep running!" Gorplin said as he trailed behind Tory.

  Well, he thought, someone needs to keep the dwarf company. Gorplin made it to the top of the steps just as Tory was able to catch his breath.

  "Where is Felicia and the cat?" he asked in between gasps of breath.

  Tory spun around. He saw elves of all description, as well as the people of Lone Peak, gawking at them. No familiar faces, h
owever.

  "Come on, shorty," he said as they continued to make their way to the next set of stairs.

  The stairways that led to and from each level of cliffs were marvelous to look at.

  From a distance.

  Tory found a new hatred for them now that he was attempting to climb them as fast as possible. When he made it to the second level, both he and Gorplin realized how far ahead their escaped prisoner might be.

  "What I want to know," Gorplin said as he held a stitch in his side. "Is why the bleeding elf didn't escape before now?"

  Tory thought he had an answer.

  "Probably not the best swimmer," he said sarcastically.

  Even the most desperate or those who dared to man a rowboat by themselves didn't want to face the ocean without supplies and a crew to help them. Now that they were on the mainland, it was as good a time as any to get out.

  "Think he's scared of those other elves?" Gorplin asked as he stood up right, his face drenched with sweat.

  "Maybe," Tory answered.

  It did seem like the pirate was more than content to stay aboard until Ealrin mentioned there were Enoth elves about.

  Just then, a commotion ahead caused them both to bring their attention to the stairs leading up to the last and highest level.

  The white-haired elf, who until recently was their prisoner, was trying to tear away from another elf dressed in a strange orange robe that Tory had not yet seen among the visitors.

  "Looks like our pirate has previous enemies," Tory said as he began running in the direction of the fight.

  "Enemies?" Gorplin said as he followed behind Tory. "Who is he fighting with?"

  "You'll see in just a moment, squat legs," Tory said, looking down at the dwarf who was unable to see over the heads of the others on the street.

  Tory looked up just in time to crash into the cart that had entered the intersection they were attempting to cross. It was filled to the brim with food barrels and containers.

  He felt like he had just run into a stone wall.

  He was swearing up a storm just as Gorplin scrambled underneath the cart and continued in the direction of the two elves scuffling. By the time Tory had shaken off the blow and squeezed in-between a shop and the cart owner, who was yelling his own obscenities at them, the white-haired elf had broken free and the orange Road elf was nursing a black eye.

  "Excuse us!" Tory shouted as he pushed past the elf and followed Gorplin up the steps in pursuit of the pirate.

  The escapee was weaving in and out of citizens of Darrion and Enoth elves alike. The elves took special note of the odd looking elf, while the Lone Peak residents noticed only that one of their newest visitors was in a particular hurry.

  Behind him, Tory heard a few exclamations and didn't have to wonder for long what the reason was.

  Urt was bounding on the railings of the stairs, leaping over elf and man alike as he pursued the prisoner.

  His spear flashed at his side as he lunged for the white-haired elf. At the last second, the spear was deflected by the presence of another orange-robed elf. He didn't seem to fight Urt, but rather just materialized in-between the two. Using his race's quick reflexes, Urt lifted the spear he had meant to lodge into the runaway elf's arm into the cliff wall and not into the orange robed elf's chest.

  Tory was astonished how quickly it all happened.

  The Skrilx let out a roar that startled anyone nearby off the steps who hadn't already cleared out of the way of his spear. In the confusion, the white-haired elf managed to climb to the next level and out of sight.

  The highest level of Lone Peak was the most crowded, even though the night was setting in. Elves and people scattered this way and that. Tory saw at least four feasts happening in the courtyards of various houses of the nobles, even as he just looked around after having climbed the last stair to the top.

  “No. More. Stairs.” he wheezed, doubling over with his hands on his knees. He leaned against a stone column that held a statue of a bear, one of the noble houses of Lone Peak.

  Felicia and Urt were right behind them.

  Looking flustered herself, their captain wiped sweat from her forehead with her coat sleeve and brushed aside one of her black braids.

  “Ealrin and Holve are going to scan the lower levels, in case the bleeder decides to double back. You two take the left. We'll go right. Meet in the amphitheater.”

  With those parting instructions, the captain and her first mate disappeared into the crowd.

  “How can they keep running?” Tory asked, completely winded.

  “Come on lazy bones,” Gorplin taunted, though he only managed a small jog as he veered down a street to the left and began hustling forward.

  The top level of Lone Peak was the most organized. Every street circled around the giant amphitheater that occupied the middle of the level. People gathered there for plays, if they could afford them, and mandatory city meetings and announcements. It was just large enough to fit a third of the population, with some meetings having to accommodate people waiting in the street to attend or being repeated throughout the day.

  Beautiful stone houses passed by as Tory and Gorplin scanned their surroundings, looking for the runaway.

  No luck.

  The pair came to the gates of the giant amphitheater and found them open, with no Felicia or Urt in sight.

  “Maybe they got him?” Gorplin suggested.

  “Let them have all the fun,” Tory replied, finding that his feet now felt more like bricks than actual parts of his body.

  “Let's check inside, just in case,” Gorplin said as he passed through the portal. “Lots of places to hide in here!”

  Even though it meant more moving, Tory agreed and pushed himself forward.

  The hall was huge. Stairs went up in all directions and what could be miles of benches formed a semi-circle around the stage at the bottom of the structure. Most impressive of all was that the seats did not pile up on top of each other, as other building normally do. The amphitheater had been dug out of the cliff itself.

  So as Tory and Gorplin entered on the ground level, they looked far down to the stage below their feet.

  And saw their pirate.

  “Bah,” Gorplin said as he observed the elf, running as quickly as he dared to the bottom level. “Well I'll be flummoxed.”

  “More steps...” Tory moaned, right before pulling himself up and following the walkway down the stairs.

  Going down might have been easier, but Tory was convinced at the pace they were attempting, it was more dangerous.

  About halfway down the perilous steps, he saw the elf look up at his pursuers and knew he was cursing his bad luck.

  Tory smiled at the fact that he knew, and was betting the elf did not, the stadium only had four entrances and exits, and they were on the ground level.

  Their prey was trapped.

  He saw him run into a door at the base of the stage and disappear into it, but that didn't trouble Tory. They would find him soon enough.

  Within moments they found themselves at the bottom of the stadium and burst through the same door that the elf had, only to find themselves inside a closet with four very solid walls and an assortment of brooms and waste bins.

  “Bah!” Gorplin said, gruffly, pushing his way back. “You chose the wrong door.”

  Tory nearly kicked him out of the closet, knowing full well he had also barged in expecting to see the runaway. The other two doors led to a changing room for actors and a slightly large hall for storing sets, costumes, and other various things necessary in the operation of the amphitheater. The exits were on opposite sides of the stage. The last door was another changing room meant for one.

  None of the rooms, however, contained their prisoner.

  “What the devil?” Gorplin said as they, for the third time, reemerged onto the stage empty handed. “Where's the snow-haired brigand gotten off to now?”

  Just as his sentence left his mouth, Urt and Felicia appeared at th
e top of the steps. Felicia called down to them in a loud voice.

  “Find him?”

  “Yes and no,” Tory shouted back up.

  After their story was told, the searched each room and door again.

  Nothing of significance came across their path.

  “We should set up a guard to watch over the place,” Felicia suggested. “Someone should stay until the third watch.”

  Tory yawned and stretched his arms out wide.

  “Take it in turns, yeah? Good. I'm wiped,” he said through half a yawn.

  “Thanks for volunteering,” she responded and threw him a skin of ale and a bag that had a few strips of dried meat and a half a loaf of bread.

  “Gorplin will be back to relieve you at midnight.”

  As the trio headed up the steps and back to the house for a fresh meal Tory was becoming increasingly more jealous of, he at least felt glad for one thing.

  Taking a seat on the stage and staring up at the stars that were beginning to show, he was glad that at least he wasn't going to be climbing anymore bloody steps for a few hours.

  29: The Visitor

  Coriander found himself at the gates of the inner city, the way that led to the castle of Lone Peak. He was caught off guard by the message from the emperor, having thought his duties for the day were finished.

  The sight that confronted him now only added to his confusion.

  Lining the path to the large wooden gate that would allow him access to the high court were banners flying the colors of the Order of the Comet, interspersed with the emperor’s own banner. The elves of Enoth had not been in Lone Peak for more than a day, and yet here, among the pride of his nation, flew the colors Coriander had come to detest more than any he could remember.

  Surely the emperor was unaware of this. The general marched forward; ready to confront His Excellency, even if it meant confronting the elf who was his ruler. This overreach of the Order was madness.

  Armed human guards stopped him at the gate. Coriander presented his invitation from the emperor, noting that it also bore the symbol of Darrion as well.