Elves of Irradan

by RG Long

  A young man with a short beard and heavy temper was attempting to drive his donkey driven cart through the middle of what would soon be a fight.

  It was all the distraction Wisym needed.

  "Now!" she bellowed.

  And before any of the priests could recover from nearly being bowled over by the cart full of barrels, their party ran past and began to fly towards the steps.

  Wisym risked a glance backwards and saw that the foreign elves were not going to give up so easily.

  Every one of them was pursuing them down the streets, shouting and brandishing their weapons over their heads.

  As they reached the stairs, Wisym saw that a group of merchants was blocking their way. She thought for a moment that they would be caught, when Blume grabbed hold of the stone rail, jumped on top of it, and began to slide down.

  “Brave and dangerous,” Wisym said as she reached the railing herself. She first encouraged Teresa over, who only hesitated for a moment before attempting the same maneuver. The other side of the stairs was at least a hundred feet below. Next Eren and Elen, their robes flapping in the wind and revealing far too much of their origins to the crowd at large.

  The group of priests were feet away when Wisym cast herself onto the rail and slid down the stone structure.

  Wind whipped at her hair and the friction between her legs was causing her to become uncomfortably hot. But the feeling of near flying was exhilarating. Faster and faster she slid, until the bottom of the stairs came into view. She realized the ground was coming at her far too fast. Hugging her legs against the rail and grasping the smooth stone hard with her hands, she managed to slow herself just enough to not crash painfully at the bottom.

  She still landed less gracefully than she would have liked, but seeing that the rest of the group hadn't fared any worse, she pushed them on.

  Teresa was indicating up above them that the priests seemed unwilling or unable to come down the railing and had been slowed by the bottleneck on the stairs. Wisym thanked the suns that they had a head start on their pursuers. With a grunt, she urged the group on towards the coffee shop.

  They ran through streets and alleys, avoiding the elves in orange robes whenever they saw them. Wisym knew the shop was only a few stores ahead, so she shouted for them to run even faster. Within moments, the four of them were inside the store. Blume was the only one Wisym had stepped in front of.

  As soon as she crossed the threshold of the store, she knew everything was wrong. The stone tables were smashed. The counter was upended. Bags of coffee beans littered the floor. And twelve elves with flails pounced on them. With a final motion, Wisym shoved Blume out of the doorway of the shop.

  “Run!” she commanded, and slammed the door behind her, praying the girl would have enough sense to flee.

  She turned to face their attackers and drew her knife. Teresa stood in front of her, blades drawn as well. Elen and Eren were both holding various pieces of stone or chairs that had been smashed.

  “Put down your weapons,” a black-haired elf robed in orange commanded.

  “Not likely,” Teresa replied.

  The elf grinned.

  “Not even to save them?” he kicked open a curtain, revealing the Brewers and their young daughter.

  Frederick was holding onto his wife and child stoically. His face was shining with sweat and a determined look that swore to Wisym that he would rather die than watch harm come to his family. Sara held little Lily tightly, both had tear streaks running down their cheeks. All their brown hair was roughed, as if they had struggled greatly against the bonds that now held their wrists and the cloth that gagged their mouths.

  Wisym wanted to think about how to counter these elves. She wanted to try to consider how they had known to wait here for them. She wished her mind could think of anything beyond the faces of those she now looked into.

  But she couldn't.

  She couldn't bear it. Wisym remembered the tears of her own people as they had been attacked by goblins and men alike. She had seen far too many young children die in front of their parent's eyes.

  “We go quietly,” she said. “If you leave first out the door. Lead us wherever you'd like. But spare the family.”

  One of the elves stepped forward and brandished his whip at her.

  “You'll barricade the place after we've left,” he accused. “We're no fools.”

  “Burn the place down if we do,” Teresa said. “Their blood will be on our own hands.”

  The elf looked back at the one who had spoken first. He seemed to be considering her words.

  “Lay your weapons on the ground,” he ordered after a moment. “Then all but I will leave. You will step out of the door, but I will close it.”

  He grinned at the company before adding, “And the family will be spared.”

  Wisym hoped they would keep their word. But she wouldn't have the coffee shop owners dead because of her stubbornness.

  Slowly, she placed her knife on the ground. Teresa followed suit with her own blades. Last of all, Elen and Eren begrudgingly laid down their own weapons. One by one, the elves filed out of the door.

  The black-haired elf grabbed Wisym roughly by the arm. She allowed herself to be ushered out without a struggle. She nodded back at the family, hoping to convey much more than a farewell with her action, before the elf behind her closed the door. Frederick nodded back, a knowing look in his eyes.

  Back on the streets, Wisym scanned the area for Blume. She thought she saw a wisp of blonde hair poking out from behind a barrel across the street. She prayed the other elves hadn't noticed the girl and wouldn't go searching for her. With any luck, Blume could even get a message to Holve and the others.

  In what appeared to be a fortunate twist, they were not being led back up to the House of Nobles, but rather in the direction of the docks. Everyone was supposed to be meeting down at the ship. If fate continued to be on their side, their own party might even see this procession and be able to intervene. Wisym wasn't going to trust that hope, however.

  Her only concern now was plotting how to escape the mess they had gotten into.

  The docks were a flurry of activity. It seemed like the elves were planning on leaving Lone Peak soon. Barrels of supplies were being loaded onto the ships and tall, muscular elves were organizing them on the decks of each of the large, beautiful vessels.

  Behind one of them, Wisym could just make out the topmast of the ship of Felicia's vessel, the black-sailed pirate ship they had procured in Bestone. The larger vessels seem to dwarf it.

  There was no way to tell if any of their party had already made it to the ship and, before she could scan the docks thoroughly, they were being marched up a ramp onto the only ship the elves had brought with them that was decorated not deep purple, but in yellow and orange.

  They were on the deck of the strange ship for only a moment before they were being forced down below.

  Something told her this would be their last chance to escape. That being put below deck would secure their doom. She thought of the family they had left at the shop. Maybe they could flee. Maybe they already had. Would they be able to escape now and be able to still spare the lives of their gracious hosts?

  She looked at Teresa, who seemed to be thinking the same thought.

  As one, they turned on their captors and attacked. Wisym thrust her full body weight into the elf behind her, winding him. In the same motion, she grabbed his flail from his hands and swung it in high circles over her head. She sent it crashing into the first elf who came close enough and heard the bone in his ribs shatter.

  Teresa had sent two elves to the ground with her fists and had just produced a dagger from one of their fallen bodies when a yell caused her to look away from her attackers.

  The tall, deep-voiced elf from the House of Nobles stood with a knife at Eren's throat.

  "Drop your weapons, quickly,” he commanded, drawing a red streak of blood from the elf's throat. "This beast doesn't have much reason to liv
e anyways."

  Wisym and Teresa exchanged looks. Elen, who had managed to take down one elf herself, was now being held by both arms as she struggled to get to her brother.

  "Drop them!" the tall elf ordered again.

  Wisym could see the blood run down Eren's neck and knew the elf was moments from a life-ending cut.

  Slowly, resentfully, she allowed the flail to fall to the ground. A clatter told her Teresa had dropped her dagger.

  "Bind them," the elf named Cedric said. “As you should have done in the first place.”

  Ropes were produced and three of them had their hands roughly tied behind their backs.

  "Get them onto the ship," he said, not taking the knife away from Eren's throat. "Quickly."

  Elen was still struggling against her captors.

  "And him?" she asked Cedric.

  In the melee, her robe had blown aside, revealing her Wood Walker attire. Her hood was completely off, exposing her matted and braided hair. She stood revealed to all around her, an obvious elf of the woods.

  Cedric considered her a moment.

  "You're all beasts to me," he said as his eyes narrowed into slits.

  With a flash of steel, he drove the knife into Eren's back and shoved him to the ground where he began to cough blood and writhe in pain.

  Elen's screams of rage and anguish were silenced by the handle of one of the priests’ flails crashing into her head.

  "What of it?" one of the priests asked, indicating Eren spluttering on the dock.

  In answer, Cedric kicked the scrawny elf's body into the water.

  "So begins the great cleansing," he said before walking up the ramp onto the orange ship.

  It took three priests a piece to drag Wisym and Teresa onto the vessel. Another to drag Elen's limp body behind them.

  They forced them onto the deck and then, just as quickly, directed them down below.

  Wisym's eyes had difficulty adjusting from the bright sunshine to the dimly lit area they stumbled through. Her captors were taking no care to be gentle with her or the other two. Her eyes adjusted just as soon as the distinct jingling of keys and opening of a metal door registered in her ears.

  She barely had time to focus on the bars of the cell before she was thrown into it. With her hands tied behind her back, she had no way of bracing her fall. Her shoulder slammed into the wooden floor, sending a shooting pain all through her side. Teresa tripped over her sprawled body and hit the back wall. Elen was unceremoniously thrown into the cell behind them.

  With a tone of finality, the door slammed shut and a lock clicked into place. The reality of the last hour's events began to sink into Wisym's mind.

  Everything had gone terribly wrong.

  38: Sacrifice

  Coriander couldn't understand the Emperor's haste. He had been so adamant about coming to Darrion that surely he wouldn't wish to leave after just a few short weeks? He had expected to stay at least a full moon, if not two.

  Granted, if leaving the city meant fewer attempts on his life, he would take it.

  According to Finore, the assassin had swallowed some type of poison that took her life quickly. Having failed to kill the target, her bounty would be lost. Failure would have meant that if she hadn't ended herself, the one who had paid her surely would have.

  Were it not for the healers of Darrion, Coriander may have died alongside her. As if fate desired him to live, they had been helping another elf just outside the boat Coriander had been attacked on. They could offer no such service for the would-be assassin.

  The dark-skinned, black-haired woman didn't look familiar to Coriander. Nor did she have anything on her that would identify her to any of the other commanders or elves of Enoth. She had been unceremoniously buried at sea.

  He couldn't think about such things now that he had a job to do.

  A letter had arrived that morning to give the command and Coriander was always true to his orders: prepare to leave first thing in the morning. Every elf must report before nightfall to their boat. Just like at their arrival, the docks of Lone Peak were a flurry of activity. Barrels and crates of various sizes and stocked with all sorts of goods and other items were being loaded down onto the boats.

  In fact, Coriander noted, much more was being taken back to Enoth than what they had brought. The shipments all were quite similar as well. They had brought a variety of cloth, stonework, and other decorative items from the empire. Some of the best Coriander had ever seen.

  What they were bringing back was dry goods, grain, wood, and other foodstuffs. He knew the state of the resources in some of the cities was beginning to be a concern, but this felt like overkill. Surely the Empire didn't need to feed their expedition four times over?

  No matter.

  There was little time to worry about what supplies were being packed onto the ships. The general's main concern now was how the ships were actually going to float with so much cargo being loaded on. Space was sparse on their voyage in. Now many of the elves would be sleeping on top of crates of supplies instead of bunks.

  He had just directed three large carts of grain towards the ship, Victory's Song, when Evelyn came walking quickly towards him, a letter in her hand.

  “From the emperor,” she said, saluting as she handed him the parchment.

  Coriander furrowed his brow as he took the message. Another command? He read the writing twice, just to be sure he understood, before looking up at Evelyn, perplexed.

  “Not everyone is returning to Enoth,” he said slowly.

  She blinked at him before asking, “Sir?”

  To be sure he understood, Coriander again glanced at the note. In His Excellency's hand and emblazoned with his own signature, the order was right in front of him. The soldiers were to stay. All others were headed back. Three more ships of Coriander's best were on their way to Lone Peak. They would be arriving before nightfall.

  “But,” Evelyn said as he read the note to her once more. “That doesn't sound like diplomacy. That sounds like...”

  “War,” Coriander finished.

  He couldn't take it in. Would the emperor truly be so rash as to prepare for war? And without the council of his general, or even the knowledge? What was the reason for it?

  None came to his mind.

  “This is not sane,” Coriander said softly. “The emperor cannot truly mean war.”

  He folded the message back neatly and stuffed it into his coat pocket.

  “Come with me,” he told Evelyn. “We're going to His Excellency right away. We have to stop this.”

  "Stop..." Evelyn repeated slowly, fear in her eyes. "The emperor?"

  Coriander looked at her gravely.

  "This is wrong," he said in reply. "If there are lives to be saved, we must. Darrion has done no wrong to us. I'm sure Cedric has convinced His Excellency of some mad plot. We must talk reason to him."

  He strode off, but not before passing on the plans to pack to Finore, who was near enough to give the order to after taking several long strides.

  His other commander saluted, looking just as worn down as Coriander felt.

  The docks were still a bustle of activity, so walking through the elves who were busy packing was not as quick as Coriander felt like walking. Many cleared their path in order to allow the general to pass, but others who drove large carts or carried heavy loads were unable to step aside.

  Their temporarily slow pace caused Coriander to look to his right and see something odd. Ten or twelve priests were gathered around a small group of people over by the orange ship. Then a flail swung high and crashed onto a priest.

  Coriander began to move in the direction of the commotion. In their two week stay at Lone Peak, Coriander had not witnessed so much as an argument between the residents of the city and any elves of the empire. Whatever was happening across the dock had gone far beyond a disagreement.

  Evelyn was at his heels.

  "What's going on?" she shouted behind him.

  "Something with t
he priests of the Comet," Coriander answered.

  He wasn't sure what propelled him forward. He did not know why he was running in the direction of the priests when all he had attempted to do since arriving at Lone Peak was avoid their presence. He had just stepped onto the same dock as the priest's ship when he saw the blade flash and be driven into the back of a robed figure. An exceptionally tall, orange clad priest was the one who had delivered the blow.

  Coriander broke into a run.

  The body of the figure was falling into the water as he came upon the priest.

  "Cedric!" he yelled as he came up to the elf. Two women and an unconscious elf were being dragged into the priests’ ship. "What is the meaning of this?"

  The tall elf turned and glared at Coriander with disgust.

  "None of your concern," he replied.

  Coriander brought himself to his full height.

  "You have no authority over me, you crazed zealot," he shouted. "I just watched you murder someone! You'll be held accountable for your actions!"

  The priest's face burst into a wicked smile.

  "Oh, didn't you hear, Coriander?" he said menacingly. "I am acting on the orders of His Excellency.

  "I've been tasked with leading the armies that will arrive by nightfall," Cedric said. "A time of cleansing has come to Irradan."

  Coriander shook his head. It could not be possible.

  "His Excellency would never condone such actions," he said, pointing a finger at the tall priest.

  "For the good of our people, I'm afraid I must," said a voice from behind him.

  In his rage at Cedric, Coriander had not heard the approaching of the emperor's party.

  "Step aboard the ship, General Coriander," Rophilborn said with a calm voice. "I will answer your questions. I hope you will continue to do as your employer commands."

  Stunned, Coriander looked from Cedric to the emperor in disbelief.

  "Evelyn," Rophilborn said to the commander. "Thank you for delivering my message."

  Coriander turned to his commander. He had a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach and this was his moment to act.