by C. M. Carney
“Any of you guys have any Advil?” Gryph asked with a grin. He barely saw the flash of movement as the El’Edryn commander lashed out with the butt of his spear, cracking Gryph in the temple. He fell to the ground and lost consciousness.
6
Gryph floated on his back in a calm ocean. The slow up and down of the swells eased his body and his mind. He felt calm, at peace. Then, the horrid stench of smelling salts assaulted his nose and brought him back to the world, head pounding from within and without.
His eyes opened, and he saw one of the green-clad El’Edryn standing over him. The elf capped the vial of smelling salts and extended a hand to Gryph. He grabbed it and the surprisingly strong elf yanked him to his feet. Gryph nodded in thanks and dug a thumb into his temple. The sun had dipped further towards the horizon and Gryph wondered how long he’d been unconscious.
“You okay?” he heard Tifala ask with a slight quaver in her voice, and he glanced to his left to see the gnome woman looking up at him with concern.
“I’ll be fine. Wick? Ovyrm?” Gryph followed her nod and saw both of his friends bound and on their knees.
“What is the meaning of this?” Gryph said, forcing more bravado into his voice than he felt. He instinctively tried to form another Adventure Party but received an immediate error prompt.
Your ability to form an Adventure Party has been blocked.
What the fuck?
The El’Edryn commander turned and marched up to Gryph, his steely gaze potent and deadly. “You do not ask the questions here. You answer them and answer them well or you’ll join your friends in their doom.”
“Let them go!” Gryph said.
“Are you a fool? Do you not understand simple instructions?”
Gryph took stock of their situation and realized he was in no position to make demands. “I apologize,” Gryph said. “I am tired, and the battle was tough.”
The elf captain’s eyes eased slightly, and he nodded. “Now, tell me who you are and how you got here.”
Gryph eyed his bound friends for a moment and then looked back at the elf commander. The man was even taller than Gryph, and his potent gray eyes were the color of spring storm clouds. They held his gaze with unflinching intensity and Gryph realized they would see through any subterfuge.
“I am Gryph, and these are my friends and compatriots. Thank you for coming to our aid.”
“We did not come to aid you, but to fight the corruption. Now, perhaps, we know the source of that corruption?” He gazed back at Wick and Gryph understood the precarious situation his small friend faced.
“We are not the source of the corruption.”
“The gnome,” the elf commander said in anger, pointing at Wick. “Is a chthonic summoner. We witnessed it ourselves. Such magics are against the oldest of laws. He has doomed himself.”
“And Ovyrm?” Gryph asked.
“He is one of the lost. They are aberrations, cancers. His very nature condemns him. But you, you are the bigger mystery. You are El’Edryn, but you are not of Sylvan Aenor.”
“I do not know what that is,” Gryph admitted, desperate to keep the conversation on him, hoping the time would let his mind discover an escape for him and his friends.
“Sylvan Aenor, the City of Emerald Twilight is the last bastion of the El’Edryn on Korynn. We have guarded this valley since the Exodus and will guard it until the Return.” The elf stared at him, eyes growing slim as he realized that Gryph still did not understand. “So tell me El’Edryn, who are you and where do you come from?”
Gryph considered lying but could not risk further irritating the elf. With a sigh he told the man the truth. “I am Gryph, a player from Earth and these are my friends.”
The elf’s eyes widened in surprise. “A player? I have heard of your kind. Souls from another Realm animating flesh in this one.”
“Accurate if grim,” Gryph said with a nod.
“Why are you here?”
“We didn’t even know where we were until you told us. We escaped from the Barrow through a portal a few miles back.” The elf’s eyes flashed wide again, and Gryph somehow knew the man was rarely surprised.
“We will take you back to Sylvan Aenor. The Regent will know what to do with you.” He snapped his hand up and the dozen elves surrounding Wick and Ovyrm drew their bows.
“Wait,” Gryph said and lunged towards the elf captain, grabbing him around the arm. Several other elves moved to drag Gryph away, but the elf captain held a hand up to stop them. “Please, they are good men. I do not claim to understand your laws, but you cannot just murder them.”
“He is right noble El’Edryn,” Ovyrm said. "I have heard the stories of your kind, my ancestors, since I was a boy. This is not the way of the High Elves. I call on the ancient right of Conclave.”
The elf captain’s eyes snapped to Ovyrm. “You have no right to call Conclave.” The venom in the elf’s voice dug into Gryph’s gut.
“Perhaps not,” Ovyrm said calmly. “But he does.” Ovyrm nodded at Gryph and the elf captain glared, neck twitching in anger. After several thunderous heartbeats, the elf captain waved his hand sideways and his men lowered their bows.
“Take them.” The elves nearest Wick and Ovyrm pulled them roughly to their feet and the elf captain motioned for Gryph and Tifala to join their friends. They were relieved of their weapons and Gryph reluctantly handed over his satchel. The bag was soul bound and could not be opened or pilfered without Gryph’s consent. Its contents were safe, for now.
In the distance ragged howls pierced the air, and all eyes snapped towards them.
“It is time we returned to Sylvan Aenor,” the elf commander said. The elves moved as one, and the leader turned to Gryph. “I am Barrendiel, Captain of the Rangers of Sylvan Aenor. You will obey my commands until you are brought before the Regent. He will hear the truth out of you at Conclave and he will decide your fates. Say you understand. Say you agree.”
“I understand and I agree,” Gryph said with a sigh.
Barrendiel spun on his heels in a maneuver as polished as any military man Gryph had ever seen. “Rangers move out.” Several of the elves dropped into flanking positions around Gryph and Tifala, and a dozen more took positions around Wick and Ovyrm. Both of his friends were still bound. Xeg was nowhere to be found. I’m not sure if that shows intelligence or cowardice.
They moved through the forest as the sun dipped lower towards the horizon casting long shadows though the woods. The elves moved silently and with surprising quickness. Wick was having trouble keeping up, and caught a toe on an exposed root, pitching forward onto his face with a pained grunt. One of the rangers yanked him none too kindly back to his feet and smacked him in the back. Wick shambled forward again.
Gryph moved closer to Barrendiel, aware of the many pairs of eyes watching him for any attack. “I humbly ask that you remove Wick and Ovyrm’s bonds. They will abide by my wish to do as you command and we will make better time with them unbound.”
Barrendiel eyed Gryph for several moments before nodding over Gryph’s shoulder at another elf. That elf cut Wick’s bonds and then moved to Ovyrm and did the same. Gryph saw a small trickle of blood well up on the xydai’s wrist and knew the elf had cut the warrior monk on purpose. Why do they despise him?
Gryph shelved that question and looked back to Barrendiel. The man was waiting for Gryph to complain, but Gryph nodded his thanks. They jogged for an hour as the sun dipped behind the mountains, casting a scarlet hue over the valley. Ahead of them, other mountains soared skyward. They emerged from the woods into a wide grassy area.
As they entered the clearing Barrendiel snapped and held up two fingers on his left hand. The rangers fanned out, nocking arrows and turned to guard their rear. Gryph was impressed, the rangers were as efficient and disciplined a fighting force as he, or Finn, had ever seen. They may be the equal of the US Army Rangers, Gryph thought, a stab of pain digging at his heart at the thought of his former brothers-in-arms.
&nbs
p; Across the open area, clinging to the sides of a sheer cliff were two tall, thin towers. Between the stone edifices was a gate of metal trussed wood. The gate was unlike anything Gryph had ever seen. It was a mere twenty feet wide, but it soared a hundred and fifty feet skyward, taller than all but the grandest trees in the valley. Atop the gate was a battlement, manned by several armor clad El’Edryn. From this distance the men guarding the parapets looked like painted miniatures.
“Wow,” Wick said, his exhaustion forgotten in his wonder.
“Welcome to Beraan Theryll, the Moon Gate,” Barrendiel said with well-deserved pride. “It has guarded the eastern end of the Serpentine for millennia since the Age of Terror when the Dark Ascendency stained most of Korynn with their foulness and evil. It has never been breached.”
“I believe you,” Gryph said.
Barrendiel held a fist up and the company of rangers all stopped on a dime. Barrendiel looked up, drawing Gryph’s gaze upwards. From here he could see that the bottom of the tower, hewn from the living rock itself was at least seventy-five feet above them. At its base was a wide balcony protected by thick stone walls. Arrow slits and murder holes adorned the outcropping. A quick glance at the northern tower showed it too possessed the safe protective bulwark.
A figure stepped onto a balcony at the bottom of the southern tower and then a clear voice called down to them. “Who approaches Beraan Theryll?”
“Barrendiel, Captain of the Rangers of Sylvan Aenor and humble servant of the Light. I come with a warning of a corruption and I have prisoners,” Barrendiel said loudly.
“I greet you Barrendiel, Captain of the Rangers. Welcome back. Before I grant you access, answer me one question,” the voice said, turning icy and cold.
“Of course, Watcher,” Barrendiel said with a slight bow.
“Is that one of the Accursed with you?”
“It is Watcher. I also have a pair of gnomes and an El’Edryn unknown to us. He has claimed the honor of Conclave.”
“Conclave?” the voice said in shock and surprise, but then recovered. “Very well, the ancient laws still hold sway among the Watchers. You may enter. But know this captain, I am holding you personally responsible for the actions of these prisoners.”
Barrendiel breathed deeply, accepting the immense burden. “I am honored by your trust and your faith. I swear on the blood of my ancestors that these four will bring no violence to Sylvan Aenor.”
“See that they don’t captain,” the shadowy Watcher said and disappeared.
The sound of well-oiled winches surged to life as the massive gates eased open. Barrendiel walked up to Gryph. “Abide by your vow or I will personally stain the ground with your blood.”
“I understand,” Gryph said, locking eyes with the captain. After a moment the man grunted and turned away.
“Rangers, embark. It is time that we returned home.”
The rangers who’d been guarding their flank, flowed back into a marching column. Gryph quickly realized that he and his fellows were neatly tucked at the center of that column, surrounded on all sides.
Message received captain, Gryph thought.
The column passed through the gates and entered the thin mountain pass Barrendiel had called the Serpentine. It was not much wider than the gates themselves and as Gryph gazed upwards, several sentries looked down upon him. He knew the elves he saw were the ones that wanted to be seen, and he suspected that many more lay in hiding.
It reminded Gryph of the pass at Thermopylae in Greece where the Spartans had fought to hold the massive Persian army at bay until reinforcements arrived. It was considered one of the most important battles in the history of Western Civilization. That pass has nothing on this one, Gryph thought.
Behind them the gates swung closed and clanged. A half dozen metal sheathed timbers eased from both towers, reinforcing the gate. Gryph could imagine nothing in this Realm capable of breaking down such an impressive defensive position.
Gryph turned his attention back to the path and jogged up to Wick, Ovyrm and Tifala. “Everyone okay?”
“I will live, for now,” Ovyrm said.
Gryph looked to Tifala and Wick. “He is exhausted, but should be fine,” Tifala said.
Ahead of them one ranger stumbled, caught by his fellow who looked at him gravely. Gryph recognized the man who’d been bitten by the corrupted wolf and he looked down at Tifala. She nodded and moved towards the injured man.
“My name is Tifala and I am a Master of Life Magic. Please let me tend to your wound.” The injured man looked to his fellow and then back at Tifala. He nodded and the small gnome woman, who looked like a child among the statuesque elves, laid a hand upon him.
Gryph turned to Ovyrm and in a low whisper asked him why the El’Edryn hated him so much.
“I am a member of the Fallen, the Accursed,” Ovyrm said, but knew that meant nothing to Gryph. With a sigh that suggested he was about to open an ancient wound he’d rather not expose, the warrior monk told his tale.
“Millenia ago, while Korynn was still reeling from the devastation of the Ruin, we were invaded by the most alien beings ever encountered in the Realms. The arboleth came in flying craft from the deepest reaches of the Outer Realms. Nobody knew their true origin, but they claimed to be the first sentients in all the Realms. They called themselves Prime.”
Gryph's mind reeled at the name Prime and the fact that the arboleth and the Prime were the same beings. If what I experienced in my Soul Reverie was true, then I was Prime in a past life.
Ovyrm looked sideways at the El’Edryn surrounding them and knew they were listening.
“They brought with them the illurryth, fierce lieutenants possessed of potent mental abilities corrupted from other sentients using the eggs of the arboleth. Vast swaths of the planet were quickly conquered, and the Prime created an empire of linked minds my ancestors called the Dark Ascendency. The Prime wished to bring order to a chaotic universe, and they believed the only way to achieve this goal was to enslave or eliminate all who were not Prime.”
Gryph hung on every word and noted that Wick was equally enthralled.
“A threat so terrible united the once warring people of Korynn and the El’Edryn, The Nimmerians, or High Men, the Thalmiir, the Elder Dwarves and the Raal Zanaag, the First Orcs, came together to form the Alliance. The war turned in the favor of the Alliance, mostly due to their superior numbers. The Dark Ascendency was losing, slowly and at the cost of many Alliance lives, but they were losing.”
Ovyrm sighed and Gryph could sense the El’Edryn closest to him tense.
“The arboleth hatched a new tactic, and during one particularly bloody battle they captured several thousand El’Edryn who were cut off from the main army after the Thalmiir failed to reinforce their flank.”
One of the El’Edryn spat and muttered something about Thalmiir traitors. Ovyrm looked at the man with a pained expression.
“They took the captured elves and tortured them, corrupting them into the Fallen, the Accursed. These were my ancestors.”
Gryph saw the pain this tale held for the xydai, and he now understood why their initial meeting in the Barrow had gone down the way it had. Gryph had killed an arboleth but was attacked by one of its offspring. The larva was attempting to assimilate Gryph, by consuming his brain, when Ovyrm had killed him. The adjudicator had prevented Gryph from becoming Prime, but it still wasn't the best way to start a friendship.
Gryph glanced towards the ranger who carried his satchel and thanked whatever force had gifted him such a wondrous and rare item. Tucked inside the bag, held in a stasis field, were two arboleth eggs. A reward for his defeat of the ancient evil that had slumbered in the lake chamber of the Barrow. Now, knowing the devastation the arboleth had wrought, he wondered if the potential reward for claiming the eggs would pale to what it could cost him. Best not mention them until I have to, Gryph thought. We’re already on thin ice as it stands.