Linaera takes her pillow and throws it at Deriën.
“What was that for?” he asks.
“For being a flatterer. Now, come; we must move on. How far are we from Dresh?”
“A week, maybe,” Deriën replies.
Thankfully, Deriën was quick to distract her. He got out of bed, and stretched. Not being clothed, the view left Linaera somewhat breathless. He was, put simply, beautiful: his body was perfectly muscled, the culmination of many years of battle training. Faint runes decorated his arms and legs – their swirling patterns were strange to Linaera, alien and yet somehow familiar.
“You did that on purpose!”
Deriën dodged the pillow she threw out him, no doubt with a smirk. He got dressed – too slowly, Linaera thought – and left to forage for more food.
Linaera got out of bed. She felt... strange. Everything seemed a little too bright. She could see the fine grains of the wooden bed, the faint weavings of the blanket, the gentle dust motes floating through the air; to her, the world had become infinitely more detailed, and infinitely more beautiful.
Her body felt different, too – she felt, in a way she could not quite describe, that she lived. Everything before that moment had seemed, somehow, as if from a dream.
As she put on her travelling clothes – a clean change this time – she wondered what direction her life would take now that Deriën was in it. Would she be allowed to join the elves? Would Deriën ever agree to living next to humans? It seemed an impossible situation.
But, whatever happens, I know it won’t be boring. The thought comforted her, somehow.
As if sensing her thoughts, Deriën came back. He was carrying nuts, berries and what looked like roots.
“Food,” he said simply.
“How’s the weather outside, anyway?” Linaera asked.
“Cold, and covered by snow, but bright and beautiful,” he replied.
They sat on the bed, content to eat their food as it was.
“Linaera, I must ask a question that has always troubled me: Why do humans want to eat meat? How does it taste to you?”
“Well, it’s hard to describe. Meat is simply... nice. There’s simply no other way I can put it; it’s like we humans have a desire to eat it, like out diet feels incomplete without it.”
“I had always been taught humans were brutish,” Derien admits, “and I can see why some of my kin believed as much. It would seem you are born omnivores, you humans.”
“Like bears, you mean?” Linaera asked with a smile.
Derien smiled back. “Like bears indeed.”
***
Their boots crunched on the snow. The afternoon sun glowed; the birds chirped happily. It seemed like a very different world from the dark depths of the North. The landscape was laid out across them: a mess of hills, forests and frozen rivers.
They also spotted the fires of a small village in the distance.
“How far do you think we are from that smoke?” Linaera asked.
“Not far. Why?”
Linaera tried to express her sentiments.
“I know this might be difficult for you, but I haven’t had any human interaction in quite a while. I… miss, my kind. You elves are extraordinary – but you are strange, too.”
But Deriën understood immediately.
“Ah,” he says. “Do not worry, Linaera, I can understand the feeling quite well. Come.”
Not long after, the village materialised before them.
***
In the setting sun, it looked strangely melancholy. The tiles of the roofs were coated a glimmering red; the paved stone road meandered through the village, as if seeking a purpose it could not find. Settlements in this part of Arachadia were relatively few – it was mainly populated by shepherds and oat farmers. It was simply too far west to encourage people from elsewhere.
Deriën clasped his hand around hers. Linaera savoured the warmth – it was better than wearing gloves.
No one was around; they were, no doubt, comfortable in their homes. Few dared travel in this weather. Thankfully, they spotted an inn – its lights were warm and welcoming. The door was a work of oak, carved from a species that lived only on the western side of Arachadia. It was coveted elsewhere, for no other wood quite matched its strength, hardness and ease of carpentry.
Deriën pulled his cloak around him, concealing the small insignia on his chest that indicated his position as a Hunter. It was unlikely the villagers would recognise such a thing, but it was better not to draw undue suspicion. He also hooded himself, and attempted to act less graceful – a feat which he only partially accomplished.
Once inside, Linaera found herself surrounded by warmth. A fire burned in its heath; the fireplace that surrounded it was beautifully decorated, with figures of leaping deer. The floor underneath was carpeted, and displayed scenes of hunting. It was, Linaera had to admit, exactly what she expected such an inn to be.
Linaera walked up to the bartender – a woman of tender years, with dark hair and a friendly smile.
“A room for the night?” she asked, expecting the obvious..
“Indeed. And dinner, if you will,” Linaera replied.
The bartender gave Deriën a glance. Linaera realised how Deriën must have looked to her: hooded, wearing strange clothing, and oddly still.
“And the gentleman?” she enquired.
“I would be pleased to eat at your establishment, but please let there be no meat at my dinner table, for I am on pilgrimage,” he told her. Linaera inwardly smiled – it was the perfect excuse. She hadn’t even realised that Deriën knew about human religion.
“No problem sir. The chef has not cooked for a priest in some time; he will be pleased to practise his more uncommon dishes. The payment?”
At that, Deriën handed her a small bag, and Linaera fished out a gold coin.
The woman’s eyes widened at the coin. “Sir, I must say that while gold, this is no normal Arachadian tender.”
“No,” Linaera said, thinking quickly, “but the monastery is terribly remote, you see. The priests there have been forced to use gold – they can never keep with the Treasury and their new designs.
The woman smiled at that. “Aye, you’d be right about that. The Queen and her consorts in the capital care little for we of the West – we are more akin to some far-flung colony, than her rightful subjects. But please do not pay heed to my sedition. I will find you table, and allow you some much needed rest from the cold.”
“Thank you,” said Linaera.
“It is dreadful out there,” the woman continued. Linaera wondered how much gossip the woman managed. She seemed determined to prolong the conversation. “Such a winter we have not had for... well, we’ve never had it. Winter in the hills is usually mild compared to the tempests of the North East.”
“There are currents, in nature, that warm this place,” Deriën offered.
“Of course you would know better, priest. But tell me, how far have you travelled? Is the weather any different beyond the hills?”
“We come from the north, beyond the borders of this land.”
“Oh, so far?” The woman sounded genuinely intrigued, if a little frightened.
Only Linaera could see the subtle smirk on Deriën’s lips. “Oh yes; as my sister says, the monastery is very remote.” Linaera did her best not to snicker.
They stalled further conversation by sitting themselves on the table. The woman belatedly left them to take an order – there were more regular customers in her inn.
“The monastery is far, really?” Linaera began.
Deriën chuckled. “It was your idea.”
“True. Still, you have to give me the benefit of quick thinking.”
“Indeed. I know little of your human land, and I was quite taken aback by her question regarding money. Is it not good enough that it is gold?”
“Arachadian coins are minted with a portrait of the monarch on one side; in fact any coin that lacks it is technically not
legal tender. We would have had to go to a local Treasury branch and have the gold molten down. Thankfully, they don’t seem to care much round here.”
“I suspected as much. These people – they seem different to you. Why is this so?”
“This land is far from the capital, and rarely travelled.” Linaera shrugged. “People do not hold the same respect – or rather, fear – of the monarch.”
Before they could discuss the matter any further, dinner arrived.
***
Their meal was not extravagant, but they ate it with relish. The chef served them mushrooms, in a delicious hazelnut sauce. The bread was thick and filling. Deriën made a face at the garlic, to which Linaera laughed.
In that day, Linaera would realise, she had been happy. It made no sense: there she was, running from a powerful necromancer, Arachadia’s fate in her hands, and yet she was happy. Perhaps it was the food in her belly, and the warmth in her bones. Or perhaps it was in fact Deriën – his laughter, his inquisitive questions regarding human society, and the handsome lines of his face.
That night, they talked. The moon shone on that clear night; the room was gilded in silver. Their bed was tall, and soft, and made of sturdy Arachadian wood.
“It’s a long day tomorrow,” Linaera stated.
“Indeed – scarcely a week until we reach your capital. We have done well; you have done well, Linaera. I never expected a human to maintain the pace that you did. I am sure we will reach it before that necromancer and his army.
“You always think too lowly of us humans, you know Deriën.”
Deriën inclined his head. “It would seem you are right, Linaera. Your kind is endlessly fascinating. I had no idea that humans could be so different from place to place – or that you were capable of such woodwork.”
Linaera guessed he would appreciate that.
“Anyway, let’s try and sleep,” Linaera ordered.
And sleep she did. No dreams taunted her on that night. There was only Deriën – the rise and fall of his chest, his strong arms, and his oddly comforting presence.
THIRTY EIGHT
The journey after that night was exhausting, and seemed to Linaera to be very long, though it was scarcely a week – an impressive feat considering the many leagues that separated the Hills of Tenblum from Dresh. But that was why it was so exhausting, of course. They had few breaks, and the pace was brutal.
Even Deriën showed signs of weariness, and Linaera knew no human could compare to his physical prowess.
Of course Linaera wondered how she managed to keep up. She had read – it seemed so long ago – of how many leagues a man on foot could hope to cover. Ten leagues in a day was considered the best a man could do, were he unburdened and fit. She calculated that she did fifteen in a day. That was not beyond human – but surely it was beyond her?
She did not want to consider the possibility that she might be a little more than human.
Still, she could not deny the benefits: they had surely outrun the necromancer’s army. The more warning the mages could be given, the better they could prepare. Linaera did not know exactly how big Neshvetal’s army was – only that it was big – but she at least had faith that the mages could do it. They had defeated dragons, in past years. They had fought bloodthirsty men of the desert, and beaten them every time.
While Linaera mused on her dark thoughts, Deriën had been more practical. He had collected sufficient food for themselves, despite their seemingly insatiable hunger. His sense of direction was excellent – he navigated by the stars and the sun, needing no help from compass or map. Linaera was sure it was an elven talent, and Deriën confirmed it.
The landscape gradually changed over those days. The hills grew smaller, and rarer, until everything around them was farmland plain. The roads improved as well; where there had been a rutted track, there was now a paved road. They passed numerous travellers – Deriën took care to conceal anything outwardly unusual about him – and this made Linaera feel less alone, though in truth they scarcely spoke to anyone else.
At night they sought inns in nearby villages, for they dared not brave the starry cold. Those were the most difficult periods of their journey: for more than once they had to explain the nature of their money, and convince reluctant innkeepers to accept it. At least, Linaera thought, they’re getting paid more than they ask. That was undoubtedly the motive keeping tongues in their mouths. Linaera reckoned they had overpaid by at least three to one on multiple occasions.
Concealment also proved difficult. Deriën’s sword, and even more so his bow, was difficult to keep hidden – even with the benefit of his Hunter cloak. Linaera had decided to cast a spell; it would create an optical illusion to conceal Deriën’s weapons. It was a quite difficult piece of magic, and Linaera was proud of herself, though Deriën only appreciated the magic in practical terms.
Eventually, their feet sore but their hearts stout, they arrived at their destination.
***
The morning sun shone bright, and Deriën almost wished to return home. But he could not; for in front, there lay the human capital, Dresh.
Deriën had to admit, it was impressive.
In no part of his homeland had he ever seen buildings so tall, like the Gods themselves; nor had he ever seen such walls, seemingly capable of repelling Hell itself; and he had certainly never seen so many people. They wore clothes in a myriad of colours: rose red, sky blue, earthen brown. They moved restlessly, rapidly. Some were trying to get in; others to move out.
What struck Deriën most was the lack of conversation. In the forests of his home, elves spoke among one another – one could scarcely pass another elf without a muttered hello or good morning. But in the city that stood before him, such a concept seemed quaint. People passed one another without greeting; and there were many people, so many.
“This is it,” Linaera said.
“It is… quite remarkable.”
“I imagine you, being used to seeing trees for most of your life, would definitely think as much. But I hear it is a false idol: the people living within are not so grand as the buildings they choose to represent them.”
“No, but it is impressive all the same.”
They soon fell in tow with other travellers. As usual, men and women of all races and backgrounds could be seen, earning some curious looks from Deriën. Despite the simpler dark brown wools he had adopted, he still obviously stood out – not just because of the tailorship of his dressings, but also in the alertness in which he moved, the too-fast motion of his body, or the simple… otherness that defined him.
It did not take long, however, for them to arrive at the gate. Soldiers were looking out, seemingly bored – completely unaware of the threat that was undoubtedly coming their way.
A thundercloud rumbled in the distance. Deriën felt uncomfortable by such unnatural magic. A feeling not ailed by the fact that he was in an alien city with only another strange human for company.
“What’s our first priority?” he asked.
“We need to speak to the Queen, Ashviere. Only she has enough authority to organise a quick defence against the oncoming Neshvetal.”
“What about the mages?”
“The mages are notoriously conservative – and arrogant. We’d have to first convince them that there even is a threat, and by the time they confirmed with all the other mages on what to do, we’ll be overrun by undead.”
“How is it possible for them not to know?”
“Arachadia is big, Deriën; there are many people that are isolated and unaware of each other. What’s more, the mages are our most effective form of communication. Without them, we are reduced to couriers. Slow, easily killed couriers, and in the middle of Winter, no less.”
“What makes you think she’ll believe you?”
“I am a mage, and royalty tend to view us with a fair degree of awe, as do so many. My word will carry some word. And of course, you are an elf. Since one hasn’t been seen in hundreds of years, that�
��s bound to shake them up a little.”
“Very well, I shall meet this Queen of yours.”
And with that, they headed off towards the palace. It could be seen clearly; a building that towered over all the others.
Deriën looked around him, taking in all the strange sights and sounds. The sellers, peddling their goods by the streetside, trading in strange coins and speaking in harsh rhythms. The smell of smoke, the smell of animals, and all other manner of potent things – such at odds with the forest, where the only smells were of nature.
And it was crowded. Deriën had never believed so many beings could be squeezed into a single space, but there they all were: shuffling and pushing past each other recklessly.
Deriën was careful to keep his weapons firmly hidden. Although he could see some armed humans, he doubted his weapons could be mistaken as being human-made.
Despite the traffic, Dresh wasn’t actually that large; it did not take the duo long to arrive.
Deriën had to stop and gaze. The building’s sheer size was remarkable: the way that it seemed larger than life; the way the huge marble pillars emanated grandeur; and the way people were walking around it with a sense of unbreakable normalcy.
Linaera walked into it, Deriën behind her. Some of the other humans gave her odd looks, probably because she did not look like a nobleman or a mage.
Elaborate mosaics made up the floor; marble frescoes decorated the walls; paintings dominated the ceiling. Deriën was distracted when he spotted a man in front of the desk: his eyes were brown, and displayed a vacuousness that would befit the stereotypical human.
“Hello there. Please state your name, your position, and your reason for visiting. If Her Majesty wishes to speak to you, you will be informed as you are waiting in the waiting area.” He motioned towards some unobtrusive-looking sofas.
“I am Linaera, apprentice to the Order. I am here on an extremely important task of Royal Security. If you do not grant me an audition now, you may all die.”
But the man looked unimpressed.
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