Rinzo steadied himself and straightened his shoulders. “I flee a monster that massacred my clan. It tore them limb from limb. Some were even stripped of their skin. I had just returned from the well when I found them. If I had been there when the monster arrived, I too would have suffered the same fate.”
“What would do such a thing?” asked Theopolou.
“I only caught a glimpse of it,” said Rinzo. “It was wrapped in a black cloak and carried a long, jagged blade. If not for the speed of my horse it would have caught me. It moved so fast that it would have run down a lesser steed.”
“Vrykol,” muttered Theopolou. “Are there any other elves nearby?”
“Not that I’ve seen,” replied Rinzo. “Lately, your kind has kept to their villages.”
Theopolou thought for a moment before backing away. “You are free to leave. But be sure you tell your people that the elves had nothing to do with the death of your kin.”
Rinzo looked at them for several seconds with a perplexed expression. Then, without a word, leapt back on his horse and sped away.
“We should be cautious,” said Mohanisi while watching Rinzo disappear into the distance. “If the Vrykol are slaughtering humans, they may well be doing the same to elves.”
“It would take many foes to truly threaten the tribes here,” said Theopolou. “I fear our enemy is trying to make it seem as if the elves are to blame and so trick the humans into fighting.”
“Do you believe the Reborn King would enlist these humans to his cause?” asked Mohanisi.
Theopolou shook his head. “It is doubtful. The humans of the Steppes would be of little use to him. They are a wild people and would be a liability in an organized army. The most he could hope for is to have them conduct hit and run attacks. Even then, their numbers are few. Any attack on an elf village would be suicide.”
“A possessed mind can be driven to many things,” Mohanisi pointed out. “We must take all into account until we know more.”
Their mood darkened as they continued; the feeling of corruption they had been sensing was becoming ever stronger. At midday they heard the approach of an elf patrol. Seekers of the Steppes were capable and dangerous – a point proven by the fact that Mohanisi sensed their presence only a few minutes before the patrol sensed them and turned to intercept.
Very soon, six elves came into view. They were dressed in tan leather shirts and pants that blended well into the grass of the plain. Each wore a long knife at his side and a short bone bow across his back. Theopolou waved a greeting, but the seekers did not return the gesture.
When they were about thirty yards away, all but one stopped. The elf that continued to approach had short-cropped silver hair and an ivory complexion. His bright green eyes were narrowed by the midday sun and stared unblinkingly at Theopolou.
“I am Shen, seeker and protector of Lan Silsia,” he said. His voice was cool and emotionless. “What business do you have here?”
“What has happened to the hospitality of Lan Silsia that kin are treated as strangers?” said Theopolou firmly.
“Do not feign ignorance,” countered Shen. “That there are just two of you is the only reason you still live.” He stepped forward menacingly. “I will ask you one last time. What is your business here, Lord Theopolou?”
“So you know me,” said Theopolou. “That is good. We are here to discover the reason for the attack on our tribes by our brothers and sisters of the Steppes.”
Shen scrutinized Mohanisi for a moment, apparently ignoring Theopolou’s words. “You have a strange look about you. From what tribe do you hail?”
“I am not from anywhere you would know,” he replied.
Shen sneered. “So you say.” His eyes drifted back to Theopolou. “As for your so-called reason, I think you will find that we are not easily deceived. You come to sue for peace more likely. Or to gage our true strength. The silver tongue of Lord Theopolou is well known to us. But it will not avail you here.”
“I wish to speak to Jillianis,” said Theopolou, pulling out the necklace Strydis had given to him. “You cannot deny me.”
“That trinket will get you nothing, and Jillianis is no more,” said Shen. “Her life ended nearly six months ago. Her sister, Oliana, has replaced her as village elder.”
“This trinket may be worthless,” countered Theopolou. “But I am an elder, and that should be enough for you, seeker.”
Shen scowled and turned to walk toward his companions. “Follow,” he ordered.
The other seekers filed in behind them as they headed northwest. After a few miles, the tall grass gave way to a mixture of yellow sand and multi-colored pebbles. The crashing of the sea against the rocks carried on the wind, and fresh salty air left a pleasing taste on Theopolou’s lips.
As the village came into view, Theopolou was reminded of the first time he had visited the place. It was just after the end of the Great War. The split had begun. He and his father had come to convince the elves of the Steppes to join them in their fight against those who would continue to attack the human cities. They failed to sway them; their northern cousins instead chose to remain neutral. Soon after this, the estrangement of their tribes began.
The village of Lan Silsia was simple and rustic by southern standards. The round houses were made mostly from finely woven grass attached to wooden frames and sealed by oil from the red hanso bush. Though simple in design, the craftsmanship was amazing. The weaving was so fine and intricate that it was easy to mistake it for linen - smooth to the touch, it kept the dwellings warm at night and cool in the day. The outside walls of each house were decorated with breathtakingly beautiful murals, mostly depicting the day-to-day life of the village. They were so life-like that the first time Theopolou saw them as a young elf, he imagined them to be at an actual moment frozen in time.
“Lovely,” remarked Mohanisi. “Your artisans are to be congratulated.”
Shen nodded curtly but said nothing.
The street was tiled with a cream colored slate, each stone etched with ancient elven script. The few elves who were about stared at the newcomers with intense interest, gathering into small groups and whispering, their eyes full of suspicion.
Eventually, the group arrived at an empty market square. In its center was an ebony statue of an elf sat astride a powerful steed and holding aloft a long blade.
“Why is the market empty?” asked Theopolou.
“Save your questions,” snapped Shen.
“This place feels strange,” said Mohanisi, his voice loud enough to carry to all. “Something bad has happened here.”
“I feel it as well,” said Theopolou.
Their words caused the seekers to tense.
Beyond the market the buildings became noticeably larger. Some were still of the woven grass variety, while others were southern style wooden buildings. Though most were similar in size to a typical human dwelling, their outside walls were decorated in the same fashion as the others in the village.
At the end of the street, however, stood a large, single story structure quite different from anything else around it. Built with black stone, its red tile roof sloped sharply before flattening out and extending by around ten feet. Here it was supported by a series of round wooden beams. The front door was stained to a deep crimson and bore a carved relief of four stallions.
Theopolou glanced over his shoulder. Elves were coming out of their houses and following at a distance.
When they were at the door of the black stone house, Shen motioned for them to wait there and went inside. The other seekers stood silently in a group close by. A few minutes later Shen returned and ushered them in.
Glowing orbs on thin brass pedestals provided only dim lighting. A thick, brown rug covered the floor, and several large round pillows were arranged in a circle at the center. To the left, a fire burned in a hearth. Several tiny statuettes of elf maidens placed in a neat row graced the mantle above. In the far right corner of the room, a beaded curtain was drap
ed over a narrow doorway. The walls were decorated with stained wooden carvings of various animals of the Steppes, together with vibrant charcoal drawings of landscapes and villages.
They placed their packs and weapons near to the entrance and followed Shen to the pillows. He grunted harshly before striding across the room and disappearing behind the curtain.
“They lead a simple life,” remarked Mohanisi. “It is very different from your people.”
“They live a life we claim to desire,” said Theopolou. “But I wonder how many really do wish it. I often find myself missing the comforts of my home.”
Mohanisi smiled. “I understand. I too long for home.”
A sensation of darkness and evil washed over them both.
“Something taints the flow in this place,” whispered Theopolou. “And it is drawing near.”
“I feel it as well,” said Mohanisi. “Do not allow it to enter your heart.”
Theopolou nodded sharply.
The clatter of beads echoed throughout the room and a tall slender elf woman appeared from behind the curtain. Her long straight red hair flowed carelessly over her shoulders and down her back. She wore a tan linen shirt and pants, both well fitted to her form, together with a brown leather belt that held a small, black hilted dagger. Her ice blue eyes reflected the dim light, and her ivory complexion gave her the illusion of possessing a faint aura.
Shen followed close behind carrying a round wooden tray with a bottle of wine and four clay cups. Theopolou and Mohanisi rose to their feet and bowed low.
“It is good to see you again after so many years, Oliana,” said Theopolou. “Though I mourn the loss of your sister.”
Oliana frowned and motioned for them to sit, her finger rubbing the hilt of her dagger. Shen gave each a cup and poured the wine.
“I do not think you have come to offer your sympathies,” said Oliana. Her voice was thin and raspy.
Theopolou frowned. “No. But you have them nonetheless.”
“Do not waste time, Theopolou,” she told him. “State your business.”
He sighed. “Very well. I have come to discuss the unprovoked attack on my kin by the elves of the Steppes. I hope that together we can resolve this very serious matter before more lives are lost and more damage is done.”
Oliana continued to finger the dagger. “You dare to say we were not provoked?” Her tone was surprisingly calm, though her mood was betrayed by the fury in her eyes. “You claim kinship, yet plot against us at every turn.”
“We do nothing of the sort,” said Theopolou. He glanced down at the way Oliana was continuously fidgeting with her dagger. It was not of elf make. Nor was it in the fashion used by the humans of the Steppes. A wave of dread washed over him. It was the same feeling of corruption and malice that he and Mohanisi had experienced before, only this time it was almost palpable. “We were gathered within the Chamber of the Maker when attacked by your tribes. We had done nothing to warrant such a vile act.”
She turned to Shen. “You see how he lies? His own kin confesses and yet still he thinks to deceive us.” She met Theopolou’s gaze. “I have spoken to the one called Malstisos. He has told me of your treachery and blasphemy.”
“You have seen Malstisos?” said Theopolou. “Where is he?”
“That is not your concern,” she snapped. Her eyes fell on Mohanisi. “And where is it that you are from?”
Mohanisi looked to Theopolou. The old elf closed his eyes and nodded.
“I am from across what you call the Western Abyss,” he said flatly. “Though from what I have seen thus far, I doubt you will take my word on this.”
Oliana hissed a laugh. “And why should I not take your word? I can feel your power. You are like no other elf I have encountered. Certainly you are gifted even beyond the wise and mighty Theopolou.” Her tone was mocking and vicious. “But your presence is not unexpected. We have been told of a new enemy arriving on our shores.”
“The only enemy I have seen is the one that has blackened your heart,” said Mohanisi. “I can see through you. It is clear to me that you only offer us hospitality as a matter of formality. Your true intention is far more severe.” He put down his cup and turned to Theopolou. “Do not drink. She has poisoned our wine.”
Oliana grinned maliciously. “It is only a sedative to keep you docile. I feared you may do something foolish.”
“Then we are to be killed?” asked Theopolou. He poured the wine onto the floor and tossed the cup to Shen. “Will you not hear us?”
“You will be heard,” she replied. “Then you will face judgment.” She rose to her feet. “The elders shall convene and decide your fate.” She looked down at Mohanisi. “As for you…I think I will enjoy our time together.” She stalked away and passed through the beaded curtain.
Shen stood. “You will come with me. Do not attempt to flee. You will only succeed in getting yourself killed.”
Theopolou frowned as he and Mohanisi rose. “It would seem that fate was intended for us from the moment we arrived.”
Shen led them from the building. Just outside, dozens of armed elves had gathered, their eyes full of suspicion and anger. They were escorted to a small brick building just a short distance away and told to go inside.
The interior was plain and undecorated, furnished only with a small table and three chairs. Their packs and weapons were tossed inside after them and the door slammed shut. Only a single flickering glow orb strapped to the ceiling lit the room.
“They seem unconcerned that we are still armed,” noticed Mohanisi. “Perhaps they wish us to try to fight our way free.”
“I think they simply have no fear of us,” said Theopolou. “And that in itself is troubling.” He took a seat at the table. “I believe I have discovered the source of the Reborn King’s control.”
“Yes, the dagger Oliana wore,” said Mohanisi. “I felt it as well. But I have never heard of such a thing.”
“I have,” said Theopolou. “At least, in legend. It was said that in the early days of creation, the gods fashioned objects of great power and placed them in their temples throughout the world. It was believed that to be near one could trap your mind and spirit, breaking your will and enslaving your soul. The gods, displeased with what they had done, hid them away, thus freeing the people of the world.”
“It sounds like a child’s tale,” remarked Mohanisi.
Theopolou smiled. “It is. But since Gewey has come into my life, I have been forced to re-examine the truth behind legends and myths. I don’t think that the gods created the dagger Oliana wields, but perhaps the Dark Knight has found a way to make such an object into an extension of his own power. We both could feel its foul influence, and see how she obsessed over it.”
“Then we must find a way to destroy it,” said Mohanisi, his voice fiercely determined. “The power of the Creator must be cleansed.”
“To destroy it, we must first possess it,” said Theopolou. “And I can think of only one way to do so.”
Several hours passed without anyone coming to see them. Finally, Shen appeared with a large plate of lamb and a bottle of wine. Without a word, he placed them on the table.
Theopolou stopped him just as he reached the door to leave. “Tell Oliana I challenge her right to lead this clan, as well as her authority to hold me. By my right as an elder and leader of my tribe, I demand her answer.”
Shen stared at Theopolou emotionlessly and nodded. As he departed, Theopolou bowed his head. His body suddenly felt very bent and old.
Mohanisi walked over and gently placed his hand on Theopolou’s shoulder. “What happens now?”
“If she accepts,” he explained, “and tradition dictates that she must, we will face one another in single combat. We are only allowed to carry one weapon each, and I don’t think she will leave the dagger behind. If I am victorious, I will claim what is hers and destroy it.” He sat down at the table and began to eat a small piece of roast lamb. Of course, she has the right to choose a champi
on. In that case he must use a weapon of hers in combat, and unless I am wrong, she will not willingly relinquish the dagger to another.”
“But what happens if you are wrong?” asked Mohanisi, taking the seat across from him.
He gave a sad smile. “Then an old elf will die quickly at the hands of a young seeker.”
A few minutes later the door flew open and Oliana stepped inside. Shen and three other seekers were just behind her. Her face was flushed red with anger and her hand rested dangerously on the dagger.
“You think to use trickery?” she shrieked. “You have no right to challenge my rule. You are not of my tribe. You cannot...”
“I am still an elder.” His voice thundered, silencing her. “And I have not been found guilty of any crime. You cannot deny me. Or do you intend to ignore our traditions and laws?”
“Such a thing has not been done since the first split,” she countered, trying to regain her composure.
“A conflict your father wisely chose to stay out of,” said Theopolou. “But the fact remains, it is my right to challenge your leadership.”
“To challenge me, you must show just cause,” she shot back. “You have none.”
“You have imprisoned your kin without provocation,” he told her. “That is enough.”
Oliana laughed maliciously. “I have cause to imprison you. The elders of the Steppes have deemed your tribes our enemy.” She turned to leave. “You have nothing.”
“Mohanisi is not of my tribe,” said Theopolou. “Or of any other tribe your elders have wrongly accused. By your own words you have admitted this to be true.”
She froze and stood for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was a thin whisper. “Prepare yourself. Tonight, you will join your ancestors.” Pushing by the seekers, she left.
“What just happened?” asked Mohanisi.
“You are not guilty of any crime,” said Theopolou. “Nor do you stand accused under our laws. That she has detained you unjustly is enough for the challenge.”
“What happens now?”
A Trial of Souls Page 9