by CJ Brightley
“If all the preparations are made, let us be off before the high suns,” he said with a smile and tone of adventure in his voice. “We must travel quickly if we are to meet so many of our neighbors. You are all free to attend to any business you may have left before we depart.”
Coriander and his commanders bowed to both the emperor and the queen. They then turned to leave, retracing their steps back to the throne room and then the door beyond. Cedric followed them down the hall.
After turning down a few hallways and finding themselves once again at the twelve guards of the stairs beyond the reflecting pool, Cedric cleared his throat and spoke in his deep voice.
“You disagree with my coming, do you not Coriander?” he asked slyly.
He had expected something like this.
“The emperor’s word is law,” he replied through gritted teeth. “If you are granted leave to come, then you will come.”
Cedric let out a chuckle. It was a mirthless, dry laugh that made Coriander clench his fists. The priest stepped in-between Finore and Coriander and almost spoke directly into his ear.
“But you wish it were different, do you not?”
Coriander turned on the spot and put a finger into Cedric's chest. The priest backed up a pace, seeing the hard look he was receiving from the general.
“I will not defy his Excellency nor be given over to anger on your behalf.”
He dropped his finger and let out a snort of displeasure at having to be in the same voyage as one he detested so much.
“Prepare your own boat, if you're so sure we have so many to spare.”
Coriander beckoned to Evelyn and Finore and made his way down the stairs.
Thirteen pairs of eyes followed him, including one that narrowed in mutual disgust.
8
Sisters
Serinde was shaking as she hunched over the lifeless body of her father. Straight brown hair fell around her shoulders and hid her face from the bitter cold that surrounded their dwelling. Her sister, Erilas, wrapped an arm around her and knelt over the small bed alongside her twin.
For years, the three of them lived in the city of Azol, the southern most city of the elves on Irradan. Their home was a simple stone rectangle, built into the bottom most wall of the tower. The poorest of the poor lived in homes such as these.
No elf was permitted to live outside the protective wall. All were required to live inside the towered city and work for the good of all the elves inside. It was this task that had worked her father to death.
Two threadbare mats lay upon small wooden frames: one for their father and the other for the twins who shared them. A window looked to the inside of the city, but now was covered with leather in an attempt to keep out the cold and seal in the heat.
A meager fire in the stone hearth was their only attempt to bring warmth to the small living space. But without her dad, Serinde felt as if she would never again feel the warmth of the suns. It was like all the heat had left Gilia without ever planning to return.
Her sobs shook her whole body as she softly whispered for dad not to leave them.
“Father,” she said through a quaking mouth and torrent of tears. “Don't leave us. Not like this, father. We aren't ready for you to go.”
Erilas petted her hair, comforting her though she too must be feeling the crushing weight that pressed against Serinde's chest. Her sister's blonde hair fell down alongside her own.
This was the only feature that could identify the twins to those unfamiliar with their family. They were the same height, had the same soft features and face, and both shared their father's cheekbones that made him appear to always be in the highest of spirits. Even though he was being crushed by the weight of their work.
Their family, along with hundreds of other elves of Azol, was tasked with building the great tower that would shine as a beacon for the Empire of Enoth. So far, the only thing their efforts had given them was more burials during the last winter than their city had ever known.
Serinde was so convinced they had survived the harsh conditions. She had believed their family had made it. They were not unused to difficult work as they had tended fields before being forced into the city by the Enoth guards to lay stone and build walls and towers.
Their father had always loved the fields and the plants that they could grow, even in the sparse warm months they had. Taken away from their ancestral lands and taught how to lay stone and mix mortar, they had fared better than some. When the empire invaded their lands a hundred years ago, many thousands of elves gave their lives defending their homes against the invaders.
Their graves would be found on no map. Their bodies were burned in mounds upon the battlefield.
Those who were left, like Serinde's family, were rounded up, told they were now citizen's of the empire and forced to work.
Serinde and Erilas were only five when the invasion occurred. What should have been the sunlit filled years of their youth was spent in a stone quarry alongside their mother. They carried what loads they could when they turned twenty and were deemed fit for labor.
An accident had claimed their mother twenty years ago. And now their father had succumbed to what was known in Azol only as a “Toiler's Wage.” His body had simply given up.
The suns rose on a mockingly beautiful day. Outside, echoing around the streets of the city, the bell of Azol tolled to signal the beginning of the workday.
Report to the quarries or be reprimanded.
Erilas adjusted herself, like she was getting ready to stand. To leave their father's body until the work required of them was done. She had always been the one to follow the rules. It was in her nature to do what she was told. Serinde was a different creature.
Her sobs abated just long enough for her to form a coherent sentence. It was not one said out of sorrow or sadness. Hatred filled her heart.
“They killed him,” she whispered.
It was both meaning and understanding colliding inside of her. Comprehension and determination smashed together in her voice and her head.
The Empire was responsible for the death of her father.
"They killed him, Eri," she said again, this time louder and with more defiance in her voice. "They have to pay!"
Serinde felt her sister's hand tremble and pull away from her back.
Erilas stood up and walked to the lone table in their home. This was the place where they ate and spent many nights talking to one another about happier times. In the mornings it held their tools and lunch buckets for their work.
Three buckets were sitting on top of the table now. Only two were filled for the day's work.
"Come on, Seri," Erilas said to her sister, not facing her. She was gathering her things off the table. "We're going to be late. We'll..."
Serinde heard a small choking sob come out of her sister and turned to see her back shaking.
"We'll bury him tonight," she finished, finally turning around to face Serinde. She was holding out the other bucket of food containing a small loaf of bread and two apples.
It was all they had. Not because her anger had abated, but for the love of her sister Serinde stood up and took her bucket. For a moment, they both stood at the entryway to their home, staring down at the body of their father. His funeral would have to wait.
Work called.
Erilas left through the thin fabric that served as their door first, leaving Serinde looking down at her father alone. A small breeze blew in through the opening, whipping her face with a cold chill. In no way did it diminish the fire growing inside of her belly. It was not a warm, gentle heat.
That was gone now.
In its place was a burning, fiery hatred of those elves who had worked her father to his death.
"I will avenge you," she promised.
She allowed one last tear to fall from her cheek, and then left through the opening after her sister, filing in with the others who were headed to the quarry.
Though she could have never have guess it
, this would be the last time she ever saw her home or her father again.
9
Black Sails, Red Flags
The suns had not yet come up over the horizon and Tory was still on watch duty. His turn would end with the suns' appearance and he would then attempt to sneak away for a quick nap.
If he could do so without being seen by Felicia that was.
The crew had left Brewood not two days before in the middle of a riot about the price of grain. More expensive food was becoming a problem in the kingdom of Darrion. The spring had not brought the expected crops and many cities were beginning to see a rise in the price of basic necessities.
Once Felicia understood the nature of what was happening, she had ordered them all aboard the ship. They were sailing within the hour. Such a quick departure had meant no sleep for most of the crew.
Tory was exhausted.
Sailing from city to city in Darrion was not an especially difficult task. Many ships passed from city to city and they were often met with the cries of greeting from other sailors.
Gorplin was still in a grouchy mood from the fight at the inn and, of course, wasn't being encouraged to give it up due to Tory. He was trying his best to egg on the dwarf.
Not getting a good night's rest on a solid surface had been quite the blow.
“Couldn't keep your big mouth shut, eh shorty?” Tory badgered him.
Gorplin merely grunted. Whether by fortune or Felicia's desire to not have them cause bad moods in the rest of her crew, they had been assigned watch during the same hours for the last few nights.
“Nope,” Tory continued, needing no answer to keep up his banter. “Just like a dwarf to go running his mouth and getting his pride hurt when it would be better for us all to...”
The punch hit Tory so hard in his gut that he nearly retched out into the sea. He fell back, sprawling on the deck of the upper level where they had been standing for hours.
Air rushed back into his lungs as he coughed and spluttered.
Gorplin made no attempt to get on top of him and beat him further. He just stood over him. Watchful.
“Bah,” he said, looking down in disgust. “What do you know about pride?”
"What's gotten into you?" Tory said as he lifted himself off of the deck and onto his feet, still coughing.
"Bah," Gorplin said as he turned back to look at the horizon. "I had adventures in my bones when we sailed away the first time." He said almost wistfully as Tory joined him back at the railing. His stomach was still tied up in knots from the punch and he held tightly onto the rail to steady himself.
"Something in me had said that we'd be finding what we were looking for sooner than this. I left all my kindred back on Ruyn. I wonder if that was the right choice?"
He tapped his hand on the railing several times before speaking again. The two suns were just beginning to be good for the horizon.
"Did I leave it all for nothing?" he asked painfully.
Tory thought for a moment before answering. It was the deepest thought he had ever heard come out of the dwarf's lips.
"Lots of us left a lot behind. Teresa left her throne. Wisym left her people. Jurgon and Jurrin left the only home they've ever known. I guess Ealrin's the only one without much to lose, seeing as he can't remember who the heck he is."
Tory was listening to the words he had been saying. It was true. Many of them had left the only life they had ever known and followed Holve on what so far had turned out to be a wild goose chase. They trusted him for sure, but how long would they go without answers?
"Bah," Gorplin said, without offering any more commentary.
Tory knew that meant that Gorplin didn't have anything else to add to the conversation or that he didn't have anything he wanted to commit to saying at the moment.
For a while they watched the suns come up.
"I think you should talk more, shorty," Tory said as the first rays of sunshine broke over the horizon.
The light cast into view a disturbing scene. Smoke rose over the horizon in exactly the same spot they were sailing for. Bestone was smoldering.
"Better wake up Felicia," Tory said.
It looked like the possibility of him getting a nap anytime soon was gone, just like the darkness around them.
The city was smoldering when the crew finally found a place to make port. Buildings and ships in the harbor were black with smoke and fire damage. A gray haze added to the morning fog. Not a soul was seen standing among the ashes.
"What a mess," Tory said as they began to walk down the streets. Their boots were covered in ash in just a few blocks and smoke filled the air, making it difficult to see too far ahead of them.
"Aye. The whole bloody thing is wrong," Felicia said. "A boat sailed past us two days ago and said they had left the day before that."
"Yesterday morning?" Jurrin offered.
"Bah," Gorplin said, kicking over a cart burnt and charred. "What is to be gained from finding out when? I'd rather know who!"
Arrows and freshly cut branches with sharp points littered the street.
“Looks like them Wood Walker elves were the ones who did all this!” Gorplin offered as he stooped down to observe one of the projectiles. "Branches for spears and stone arrows!"
Jurrin took it from the dwarf and looked at it closely.
“This smells freshly cut, Mister Gorplin” Jurrin observed. “Didn't that gentlemen a week ago say there were elves that didn't cut down a tree to save their own kin?”
“Well if not the wood elves then who?” Gorplin exclaimed, throwing down the arrow in frustration.
They had stopped in front of what must have been a shop of some sort. The entire front was burnt out and the contents of the store were ruined. Several barrels lay strewn into the street.
He kicked at a barrel chard by the flames, spilling its contents out in front of them. The container was full of coins made of silver and brass: the currency of Darrion.
"Now here's a strange thing," Felicia said, observing the mess.
"Who burns a city to the ground and doesn't take any of the loot?" she said as she bent down to grab a coin out of the pile.
"Tell them thanks for from us," Tory said as he bent down and stuffed a handful of the coins into his pocket.
"Best put that down," came a voice from behind the shop. "Wouldn't want someone to think you've been looting and pillaging."
The party turned quickly and drew their weapons. Some of the coins Tory was stuffing into his pockets fell to the ground with a loud ringing.
Ax, sword, and dagger were all pointed at a man who stood lazily with his hands in his pocket. He was leaning against the remains of the store with a calm demeanor. It was as if he were oblivious to the destruction around them. Or as if he didn't care.
"Well aren't you a motley crew," he said, undeterred by their weapons pointing at him. His eyes looked from Gorplin to Jurrin, Urt, Tory, and finally to Felicia.
"What a hodgepodge," he observed, clicking his tongue. He shook his head and kicked out a rock by his foot.
He was black haired and handsome. Tory thought he was a hand width or two taller than he was but less broad.
"You're one to talk," Tory said looking around. "Who spends their time strolling along a ruined city?"
The man shrugged his shoulders.
"I've got no plans and no worries," he said with an air of bravado. "You on the other hand, are about to experience a boat load of trouble. "
Felicia stepped up to him and pointed her sword at his chest.
"I don't take kindly to threats," she said menacingly.
He shrugged his shoulders again.
"It's no threat. Just look behind you," he said motioning with a nod of his head.
Felicia kept her blade pointed at the stranger, but the rest of their party looked over their shoulders.
"That's more than a boat load of trouble," Gorplin said as he looked out to the docks.
"Seems like three boatloads," Tory observ
ed.
Three ships with black sails and red flags were speeding their way towards the remains of the city.
Leaving the stranger and fleeing towards their vessel, the crew and Tory flew down the street.
“I'd rather fight on a ship than on land any day!” Felicia was shouting.
“Begging your pardon, mam,” Jurrin was managing to huff through gulps of air. “But I’d rather avoid a fight if we can!”
Tory knew the halfling wasn't a great fighter, nor exceptionally great at speaking. Jurrin was great company, but what they were going to need soon was great skill at arms.
Or least a good wind in their sails.
Jumping over piles of rubble that had once been shops or houses, they made their way to the docks.
“Looks like we'll beat them to the ship!” Gorplin shouted.
“But will we be able to get out of the harbor?” Tory asked, nearly tripping over an overturned cart.
“Quit yapping and run faster!” Felicia ordered and sped up her pace.
The company had reached the edge of the dock when the first ball of fire shot at them. The cannonball flew over their heads and smashed into the remains of a shop. The building crumbled down in on itself.
“What was that!?” Jurrin screamed through the rumble of another cannon blast.
“The same thing we're gonna send back at them once we're on board!" Felicia answered. "Up the ramp you lot!”
The ramp echoed with the sounds of their footprints as they rushed up to the ship's deck.
Felicia ran to the wheel and began barking orders.
“Unlash the anchors! Let loose the sails! Urt! Get those cannons loaded!”
The crew began working furiously to obey her commands, knowing that she had the best knowledge of the ship and that any order she gave at the moment could very well save their lives.
With the strength and reflexes of his race, Urt began loading the ship's two cannons and pivoting them to face the oncoming ships. It was not a matter of being outgunned. Tory knew full well if they stuck around that their ship would end up at the bottom of the bay. But what they were trying to attempt now was an escape with as minimal damage and injury as possible.