by Nesa Miller
The smirk on his face made the color rise in her cheeks. Her gaze darted to the queen, who appeared to be just as amused. How dare they insult Dar! She turned, prepared to give the impudent man a piece of her mind.
Alatariel did not give her the opportunity. “Etain, this is Rana, our Megiltura of the Black Blades. Rana, I assure you, she is definitely our Lady Etain, High Lady of Kaos.” Etain studied him more closely. Either the man knew Dar quite well, or he was an… He doesn’t look like an idiot. The queen tilted her head and winked. “Not everyone in the family shares Dar’s indisposition to taking blame, Rana.”
The swordmaster respectfully bowed his head. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Etain. Please, forgive my humor. It was not said with malicious intent. I have the greatest respect for our High Lord. He has taught us many valuable lessons.” His deep voice reminded her of warm honey on freshly baked bread, but his gaze was as sharp as the blades he carried.
Etain blinked, giving the man a doubtful look. “Rana is Megiltura?”
“Yes, of course,” Alatariel said, as though it were common knowledge.
“But Commander Crom is leading the Black Blades to Laugharne. I thought he was Megiltura.”
The queen was obviously impressed with the High Lady’s knowledge of their history. “We have had to make certain adjustments through the years. These days, the Megiltura of the Black Blades has the esteemed responsibility of instructing our novice Blades. Since you have had the good fortune to train with the High Lord, one-on-one, I think it would be a wonderful opportunity for our novices to train with you, teach them a few of the techniques you’ve learned from Dar. In return, I believe you will learn a thing or two from our Megiltura.” She turned to Rana. “Thank you for your time, Rana. I look forward to your progress reports.”
“Your Grace.” He bowed and turned, pausing at the door with a hard look at Etain.
Caught off guard by the whole affair, she returned the glare, then turned to Alatariel. “Dar needs me.”
Spirit stepped in at this point and pulled the stubborn warrior to the side for a quiet chat. “Lass, I know how you feel about taking care of your own business,” she said softly, “but this isn’t just about you anymore.” She squeezed her hand. “Dar needs a clear head, which he won’t have if you’re in the mix. Give him, Inferno, and the others the time they need. Stay here, and use your time to share what you know with the elves. Learn from them.”
Etain hesitated, torn between her desire to protect those she loved and the opportunity to experience more of this fantastical place. “I’ll try,” she whispered. “I’ll see you later.” After a quick hug, she followed the stiff-backed elf out the door.
Alatariel returned to her seat. “Ladies, I have plans for each of you, as well.”
“Pardon me, milady.” Spirit exchanged a look with Swee. “We weren’t expecting any special treatment.”
A slight lift of a finger set several elves into motion. “It’s not a matter of special treatment, Spirit. Consider it an opportunity to expand your knowledge, as well as ours. I hope you will forgive our lack of ceremony, but Dar didn’t give me much time to prepare.”
An older, dark-skinned elf with matted hair of light brown and black eyes joined the women. Dressed in animal skins, he had the appearance of a barbarian, but his speech was mild-mannered, his voice deep and melodic. “Your Highness.”
“Chelri, thank you for coming.” Alatariel made the introductions. “Swee, I understand you are a healer. This is Chelri, our Frábær Heilari. He's highly skilled in the healing arts. I thought perhaps the two of you may have a lot in common and could learn from each other.”
“You are so thoughtful, milady.” Swee practically glowed with excitement. “I've always heard wonderful things about the elven healers, but to actually work with one is a dream come true. It's my pleasure to meet you, Chelri.”
“Milady.” Chelri bowed slightly. “If you will please come with me, I believe I have much to show you.” They walked side by side, already deep in conversation before stepping out the door.
The queen turned to the last of the Laugharne threesome. “Spirit, I've saved you for last. I wanted to escort you to meet our Nai Turamin. Sylvan is a talented mage who has a most creative touch with her potions and spells. She will offer you valuable pointers on strengthening your magic.”
“Milady, you’re too kind,” Spirit said, smiling. “Here I was, thinking I'd be cooling me heels while Inferno and the others were hard at work. Do you think this Sylvan can help with the evil casting?” They passed into a long hallway.
“I'm sure she has something. I've seen her work miracles.”
After many twists and turns throughout the castle, they arrived at a set of doors, a carving of the Tree of Life on their faces. Looking at the door, Spirit blinked several times. The leaves seemed to move in an invisible breeze. With an astonished laugh, she followed Alatariel into the cavernous room.
With Spirit in the capable hands of the Nai Turamin, Alatariel returned to her private rooms, anxious to contact Dar. Door locked, she kicked off her shoes and curled up into one of the overstuffed chairs. Within moments, she and Dar were deep in conversation. He questioned her further on Etain, asking if she had mentioned her encounter with the Bok.
She did but didn’t go into much detail. She feels responsible for this attack.
It was only a matter of time. I should have known better than to… He trailed off. Alatariel, I know I-
Dar, she interrupted, aware of his concerns, not even a High Lord can predict the future. Don’t worry. Rana knows how to proceed with Etain… He'll see to it she's too exhausted at night to do anything more than eat and fall asleep.
Thank you, milady. Knowing she's safe will allow me to concentrate on this infernal battle.
Do you think it will come to that?
Battle is all they understand. My Black Blades have already proven their worth. The War Wizards will be a great asset, and the Dragon clan is ready to offer a hand. We’ve sent a general plea out to the rest of the Alamir community. None have responded yet, but it’s still early.
Stay safe, Dar. Keep me informed.
I will. Let me know should my wife get into any trouble.
She laughed. Your lady will be much too busy to be any trouble.
Dar met the approaching Black Blades at the crest of the hill. Commander Crom bent a knee, the company following suit. “On your feet. There is no time for this.”
Crom ordered his men to form two tight rings around the High Lord. Dar made eye contact with every man as he spoke. “This will not be an honorable fight. I promise it will be a confrontation of outrageous odds. The Bok filth marches on a homestead, not an army prepared for war. Our first objective is to ensure they do not breach the castle walls.”
“What do you wish us to do, High Lord?” Crom asked.
“I will take nine men with me to the north. Send scouting parties to the east and west, and dispatch one to the estuary in the south. Have the rest move on to Laugharne. Unexpected surprises are not an option.” Dar recognized many of the faces in the circle. He chose nine men he had fought with before, being well-acquainted with their capacity for ruthlessness, stealth, and discretion. “Let’s move.”
“High Lord,” one of the Blades said. “Surely we can do more than hide in the dark.”
His posture matched the severity in his eyes. “These are no longer ordinary men we fight. This is the Bok’Na’Ra, as evil as evil can get. They have come for my wife, your High Lady. They wish to obtain her powers for their own twisted agenda. The scum will take her for their own wants, to use and to torture, to turn against us.” Heads bobbed as the men listened. “I want better odds for the coming battle. Scouting the area is as important as the battle itself. We must know what we are up against.”
An oath of ‘death to the Bok’ resounded through the group. Dar continued to speak above the murmurs. “Let’s take the fight to them for the honor of keeping our High Lady safe
, for the glory of freeing this world from evil. Any man not prepared to do whatever it takes should come forward now. It will be settled with our blades.” With no response, he faced Crom. “Send the wizards to the castle. Our work tonight is not for them.”
Crom saluted with fisted hand over his heart. “Yes, milord. All shall be as you wish.”
Dar addressed the men one last time. “If you come across anything out of the ordinary, I want it reported to Commander Crom immediately.” He turned to the commander. “When the scouts return, go to the castle to share your information with Inferno and Linq. We will do the same. Let’s get to work.”
“It shall be done, High Lord.”
Those Blades not part of Dar’s group split and faded into the landscape. The Krymerian gathered his elite Blades into a tight circle. “What I am about to ask may go against everything you have been taught as Black Blades, but we face a foe who has no honor. We will at least be outnumbered five to one. Listen closely.” He made sure he had their full attention before saying more. “The enemy is on the move, but even the Bok sleep. Tonight, we slip into their camp and dispense with as many as we can before dawn.”
One known as Sion spoke in a low voice. “Mayhem and confusion?”
“Aye. Hopefully, we can throw them off-kilter, make them question the viability of their endeavor.”
Another by the name of Riko said, “If keeping our High Lady and the realm safe means killing a man when he sleeps, then I will, milord. I have one question, though.”
“What is it, Blade?”
“May we claim trophies?”
“Aye, you may, but you must move quickly. Tipping the odds in our favor is more important than the taking of trophies. For now, we will scout like the others.”
Dar looked over the heads of his men as they prepared to leave. A familiar blond-haired elf approached, a smirk on his face. “Mind if I join in? If we include you in the count, we’ll remain well within your incessant Krymerian quirk for odd numbers.”
“It won’t be pretty, Linq, and it won’t be like before.” A part of him was glad for his offer. Linq could be every bit as brutal as any Krymerian and could help tip the scales in their favor. Dar had seen it before and it saddened him to know he would see it again.
“If it were pretty I wanted, I would have gone to Nunnehi with Etain.” Linq gripped Dar by the shoulder, his expression serious. “This isn’t like anything we’ve encountered in the past. I doubt they will show mercy, and neither should we.”
“Your blade is a welcome asset. Let’s go.”
Dar and his patrol stole away into the afternoon without a sound. Coming to a small forest, they tread through the trees, careful with every step, lest they give fair warning to those they sought. In time, they came upon a large Bok encampment. Crouched low, the men fanned out amongst the trees and observed the camp. Slow and steady appeared to be the mantra of the day. The camp displayed no sense of urgency.
The Blades took note of the varied uniforms, easily determining who was who by the jobs they performed. Those new to the ranks gathered wood, toted water, and performed the general duties of the camp. Above them were those who raised the tents and controlled the supply lines. Cooks built their fires in preparation for the evening mess. Soldiers busied themselves with sharpening blades, while others engaged in swordplay. A small unit practiced with bow and arrow, as some took turns throwing the axe. Officers, distinguishable by the gold brocades set on each shoulder, wandered through the camp.
Dar pointed to different sectors. “I count three sentry posts in the camp each with three men.”
“Aye, milord. The officers’ tents are to the north, closest to the trees.” Riko nodded in the general direction.
“That works to our advantage,” Linq said, his voice low.
A sudden scattering of small, brown birds from the treetops had Dar lifting a finger to his lips, more in reflex than in command, knowing these men were professionals who needed no reminders of their precarious circumstance. Each man melded into the forest, watching a group of Bok pass by within a few feet, carrying two large deer carcasses between them, complimenting each other on their prowess with the bow.
“The bastards are bold,” Sion whispered.
“To have so many men and so few sentries, they must believe Laugharne will be an easy conquest,” another commented.
“A miscalculation on their part,” Dar grunted. “We’ll split into three groups. Each will take out the sentries, then one man from each group will stand in their place. Should an officer question the whereabouts of the other posted men, make sure you kill him quietly. That will leave six to move through the camp with me. Linq, you’ll be our rogue.” Linq acknowledged the order with a tip of his head. “As each quarter falls, the sentry in that area is to close in, making sure all is clear. We must move with extreme caution. Start with the officers, since they sit closest to cover. I will take the eastern sector. You men take the western and fan out from there. Take out as many as possible. With their leaders eliminated, perhaps we can even the odds to a degree. Take your trophies, but make it quick.”
25
Etain’s Nunnehi
Etain’s long legs easily kept up with Rana’s quick pace down corridors, around corners, and past room after room toward what she hoped was the Black Blade training hall. She tried to make conversation as they went. “Uh…Rana, sir?” Keeping his pace, he shot her a caustic glare. “Megiltura…” She rolled her eyes. “What did Alatariel mean by ‘progress reports’? Does Dar know about this? Was it his idea? Is she reporting back to him?”
He appeared oblivious to her questions, no matter how many she asked. After a few more turns, he stopped before a set of grand double doors. Their surfaces were black, smooth, and warm to the touch.
She had to lean back to take in their full fifteen feet. “Is this obsidian?” she asked, not expecting an answer.
“It is not. They were a gift, carved by visiting masonry dwarves many turns ago,” Rana said. Etain gawked, surprised that he spoke.
On the face of the doors was a tall, muscular warrior in full armor, twin scimitars poised for battle. One foot rested squarely on rock, while the other was poised on the skull of an unknown adversary. Arced above the warrior's head, and highlighted in silver, were the elven words Bein óvinum okkar munu glampi undir sólinni (The bones of our foes will gleam under the sun). Her fingers lightly traced the unknown warrior, thinking how much he reminded her of Dar. She instinctively sent out a mental search for her husband. A touch of his essence, an emotion, anything to assure her that he was well.
Rana casually entered the training hall. “Come, Lady Etain,” he commanded, leaving her in the hallway. Irked by the intrusion, she ran a hand through her hair and followed him through the large doorway. Coming to the center of the room, Rana stopped and turned. “Lady Etain, I am not personally familiar with Alamir etiquette; however, in Nunnehi, it is our custom to close a door after you have entered the room, especially one such as this.” He waved his hands to indicate the majestic proportions of the hall. “We do not wish to disturb other citizens within the palace with our lessons.”
Etain frowned, looking more like a pouty child than a High Lady, but crossed the room to the massive doors. Aware that an edifice of such size must weigh at least a ton, she pushed one door with heavy hands. It would not budge. She planted both feet and took a deep breath, prepared to call on her Krymerian strength to get the immovable objects closed. Rana came up from behind and lightly tapped one door, then the other. They closed with a quiet poof. A look of disdain on his face, he left her staring at the doors.
“How’d you do that?”
Amidst expectations of an answer to her question, she felt the gooseflesh rise over her skin like tiny warning bells. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement to her right. She ducked just as a blade flashed over her head and hit the dark doors, ringing through the hall. Etain moved to her left and made a full turn, drawing her sword in time to bloc
k another hit. With a jump to the left, her blade arced, catching the opposing black blade and pushing Rana backward. He moved in, swinging from his right as she blocked from the left. She pivoted around, kicked back, and knocked the swordmaster to the floor. No sooner did her foot touch the floor than Rana swept a leg under her feet, landing her flat on her back. He scrambled to his knees and loomed over her, her sword arm pinned to the floor and the tip of his blade at her throat.
“Looks like I have you, milady.”
Victory faded into perplexity when he saw the confident smirk on her face. “Pardon me if I disagree, Megiltura.”
A pinprick on the inside of his thigh drew his gaze down to the gap between their bodies. What he found was a menacing dagger poised between his legs, aimed at his most precious jewels. A concerted intake of breath passed through the students who clamored around the combatants. Etain’s feeling of victory diminished considerably, realizing she had not noticed them sooner.
“It would appear you have the upper hand, milady,” Rana conceded graciously. “I yield.” When she removed the threat to his future family, he sat back on his heels. “Nice work, Lady Etain. I must admit, I am impressed.” The Megiltura stood and offered his hand.
“Is this what I'm to expect?” Etain accepted, coming to her feet.
“You are Lady Etain?” a green-eyed moon elf maiden asked in wonder.
“The Lady Etain?” Another set of eyes, brown with gold flecks belonging to a dark-haired wood elf, clarified.
Crowding around were several young elves. One stood out from the rest. His blond hair framed a bronze face, and his gold eyes roamed over her with a bit too much familiarity. “So you are Etain.” Although dressed like the other students, he spoke with a confident authority. “I am Taurnil. Welcome to the Black Blades.”
“Thank you,” she said, somewhat unnerved by the young elf. “I'm honored to be here.”
“Hallo.” A stocky, browned-skinned boy popped up in front of her, smiling from tapered ear to tapered ear. “I'm Dalos, best friend of Taurnil. You're very pretty.”