A path out of the riverbed led up to the massive Elven fortress, which Trevor now took in fully. Set atop a hillside, two rows of massive trees framed a stone path that wound up the gently-sloping hill. The trees were dense on either side, and looking carefully, Trevor noticed bushes with inch-long thorns in the underbrush. He stopped and stared without thinking.
“They’re called cicutorum bushes. Poisonous thorns that cause unquenchable thirst. You will reach the stream and literally drown yourself trying to drink your fill. An effective defense of our fortress, would you not agree? This stone path is the only way in or out, and it is well guarded in the trees above.” Cherokum gave Trevor a smile that was somewhere between proud and rueful as he patted him ungently on the back and encouraged their march upward.
At the top the stone path ended and the fortress was in full display. Reaching the top of the hillside, Trevor could now see that it was not just a fortress; it was a small city. Many buildings sprawled out for hundreds of acres. He saw now that water flowed freely through the city and down a hillside. Fields had been cleared in the distance for planting.
The main building, larger than all the others, was the one he saw from the creek bed. That must be the “fortress,” as it stood prominently in front of the main entrance. You could not pass into the city proper save through the gate of this impressive structure. Taller than the highest trees, it consisted of three towers that formed a triangle. Two were on each side of the gate; the third was set back and guarded the exit which opened to the city beyond. Unlike most of the other structures, this one was made of golden-colored stone.
Passing between the two towers at the entrance, Cherokum led him inside a door to the left. Though he was technically inside the building, the Elves incorporated much of the outside forest. Plants and trees adorned the hallways, and the fortress also smelled of pine and cedar and juniper. Everything smelled fresh and clean and pure.
A large archway divided the hallway from a large dining area on the right. “Trevor, come into our dining hall. Let us not delay any longer.” He said something in elvish and the others departed. Cherokum led Trevor to some nearby chairs and he took a seat near the head of the table.
Staring around, he was amazed at the height of the ceilings. Tapestries lined the room, as well as several animal skins and a few deer heads. At the other end of the large table, which seated at least forty, if not more, was a mural on the far wall. It depicted a type of hunt, with a beautiful, mythical creature that Trevor didn’t recognize being shot with a golden arrow from an Elf on horseback. Once again, Trevor found himself staring without thinking.
“It is a tragic story, but one worth sharing while we eat. I am Lady Elyn. Would you like to hear it?”
Trevor turned around and saw standing behind him one of the most beautiful women he could recall. She smiled kindly and took a seat next to him, at the end of the table, seated between Trevor and Cherokum. Serving Elves brought out steaming plates of meat, fresh vegetables, and piping hot bread crusted with fragrant cheese baked right into the top. Their goblets were filled with wine, along with water that was accented with mint leaves.
Playing the part of a beggar, Trevor reached for some food before catching himself. “Beggin’ your pardon, m’Lady. I just am so hungry, but please help yourself first, and thank you beyond words for your generosity. The legendary hospitality of the Elves does not do justice to the reality of your kindness you’ve shown this stranger. And yes, I would like to hear the story of this mural.”
He bowed his head but lifted his eyes sheepishly at the beautiful woman seated on his left.
She had thick, nearly-black hair that cascaded off her head to fall just below her shoulders. Her eyes were light brown, the color of doe-fur, and shaped like perfect almonds. Dark-complexioned, her flawless skin was wrinkle-free. She smiled with large, full lips that were naturally red and almost irresistible, revealing pearl-white teeth that were almost shockingly bright against her tan skin. She wore a simple emerald green dress, with a deep neckline that revealed the tops of her ample cleavage.
Trevor’s gaze, however, didn’t linger on her breasts very long. Sparkling from her neck was a violet jewel twice the size of the largest coin. A round, flat amulet with half a dozen short tendrils protruding from the disc: The Purple Sun.
Lady Elyn laughed, obviously accustomed to the way men looked at her when they first saw her. “Please, refresh yourself. Trevor is it?”
He nodded and greedily began eating, the way a beggar would.
“Well, the story of the mural on the far wall is long, but I will keep it short so that you may get some rest. It is the story of our ancient Elvish King, Hem-see Rah, and his Queen, Kenoshee Rah. This was long before our Treaty with Men.
“Kenoshee was a jealous woman, and a powerful Druid. As you may know, we Elves thrive on woodland magic, and have often excelled in the Druidic art. Over time, Kenoshee became obsessed with the notion that Hem-see had taken a secret lover, and that he was no longer faithful to his Queen. Despite his denials, she would not believe him.
“One day the Queen had decided that she could not bear to live in mistrust any longer, so she wove a powerful spell from a dark branch of the Druidic art. The spell was to summon the Kanaima—a spirit that feeds off revenge and shifts your shape to a deadly creature.
“The Kanaima, however, are never to be trusted. They are difficult to control, and care not for the success of your vengeance, for they are fed by your lust for revenge. So when the Kanaima possessed our Queen, she was transformed into the head of a serpent—poisonous venom and deadly fangs. But her body remained that of a woman, and she would wear no armor, just as a serpent wears no clothing.
“The Queen came to Hem-see that very day, while he was in the fields playing with their young son. Naked, she attacked his bodyguards before they could understand what was happening. Unarmed as she was, she still had her spells, and it is said the field grass grew long and sharp while she watched, slicing into their bare ankles and opening a path to her husband.
“Hem-see recognized his wife’s body at once, and ordered no action be taken, for he still loved her, despite her mistrust. So he begged for her to cast the demon aside and return to form. But she was obsessed, and the Kanaima are not easily dispelled once summoned. She came after him with teeth, scratching him with her poisonous fangs before he was able to run away.
“Feeling a fever building, he knew it was only a matter of time before he would die. He did not want the Queen to destroy the kingdom, so he took out his bow and fired one arrow straight for his beloved. With no armor, no scales, not even a piece of linen covering her, the arrow tore through her breast and pierced her heart, for the King was an excellent shot. She died slowly as blood poured from her wound, and the serpent head left her, revealing to all that the King had just killed his Queen.
“Stumbling forward, Hem-see fell to his knees beside his Queen, holding her head while the fever took him. ‘I was always faithful to you, my Queen. We shall depart this world, together.’ Kenoshee cried as her young son, ten years old, came to his parents. The prince watched both his parents die on that field that day.
“Years later, when the Prince was crowned King, he commissioned this mural. He wanted the entire kingdom to remember what happened that day, and he banned the study and practice of the dark Druidic Arts from that time forward. The inscription above the mural reads: ‘We live in a Dark World, and we do not need to make it any Darker.’ Men, Elves, Dwarves and countless other races have been repeating that refrain as word of that fateful encounter spread throughout Tenebrae. These are my ancestors.” She smiled sadly and sipped her water.
Trevor was riveted by the story; he had not heard it before in his studies or travels. Finishing his meal, he looked at the Elven princess. “Lady Elyn, thank you for sharing a piece of your history with me. You’re right, that is a most tragic tale. That’s a lot to take in, after our hike here. Not meaning to impose or be rude, but I would kindly ta
ke you up on your offer of rest now. This wine and your rich food have tired me greatly, and a bed somewhere to rest my body would do me much good. I’ll never be able to repay you for this generosity, m’Lady.”
Indeed, it almost makes me feel bad about taking your necklace. Almost.
Strongiron
“Now you will see that steel is stronger than iron, my friend.” Axel whispered menacingly into Strongiron’s ear. “Iron is a brittle thing.” He laughed at his simple play on words.
Strongiron was unamused. “It seems a pity that three good men should go to waste for what amounts to little more than a title. If I could be knighted without the mark of a True Warrior, I would be sorely tempted to bypass this barbarism. Alas, I cannot. But I take no pleasure in fighting you three. Had it been my call, I would have fought the Chimera.”
“Because you are afraid of us.” Arkin, the ugliest Steele brother, sneered. He was missing several teeth and wore a mask over the left half of his face. It was disfigured from birth, and his frequent fights did nothing to improve his appearance. Axel and Abel weren’t exactly handsome men, with large noses, thin lips, facial tattoos, and greasy hair the color of straw. But Arkin was grotesque. It was no surprise that he was also the cruelest of the three.
At this, even Strongiron smiled. “If that helps you prepare for this contest—”
“And now it is time for our second battle.” Lord Kensington interrupted as the central pit had been quickly cleared. “Fighting for his Mark as a True Warrior, I give you Strongiron, son of Peace-arm, Knight of the Order of Thunder, of the royal House of Tuitio.”
At this, the crowd erupted. Strongiron looked around the pit. He saw the dead Chimera off to one side; he also saw Xaro in a box seated next to Lord Kensington with a determined look on his face. Everywhere he turned, people were standing and cheering his name. Except Tar-tan; he saw him rubbing his arm, seated calmly next to the dead Chimera in a large chair that had been brought out hastily for him. He wanted a field’s-eye view, apparently. While the fellow trainees cheered, the massive half-ogre looked at Strongiron with…contempt? I would think he’d have a smile on his face, having just won his Mark.
His thoughts were interrupted again by Lord Kensington. “Battling Strongiron, we have three fighters that hardly need an introduction. I give you the Steele brothers: Axel, Abel, and Arkin!”
There was a smattering of cheers, but they were drowned by a loud chorus of boos. The Steele brothers were ruthless fighters, competitive gamblers with a cheating hearts, and bullies by demeanor, likely destined to a life of mercenary work. Few men in the pits hadn’t run afoul with them over dice or cards. But they were also highly skilled. All three were six feet tall and built lean but well-muscled, with stamina beyond compare. Nobody could run or fight longer than the Steele brothers. “And now, let this battle to the death, begin!” Lord Kensington shouted. The battle horn was blown once again.
Strongiron stood on one side of the arena; the Steele brothers were positioned at the other three points of the compass around the large, circular pit. Axel wielded a long sword and shield. Abel carried a trident, and a net. Arkin had a ten-foot staff with a spear tip on one end and a double-bladed battle-axe on the other end.
Strongiron was outfitted in good chain-mail, gauntlets and greaves, and a short helm. For this battle, knowing he would face three foes at once, he selected a long sword and a shield. He preferred a two-handed sword, and was strong enough to wield it with one hand and still carry a shield…but not for long. He expected this to be a long fight.
The Steele brothers had a very methodical way of fighting together as a trio; they had been doing it since their youth. Arkin and Abel would move to the flanks of their enemy, always facing one another, with their foe between them. Axel would fight from the front. Sliding slightly to the rear of their opponent, the other two brothers used their long weapons to drive their opponent forward—directly into Axel. Even the strongest foe would eventually tire and get careless with their defenses. Staying out of range of most attacks, they could harass and wound an adversary’s legs while Axel, who was gifted with a blade, fought a straightforward battle of sword on shield. They had never lost as a fighting unit against a single or even two foes. As long as they had an advantage in numbers, they always had prevailed using this tactic.
Strongiron, of course, knew this. His strategy was simple: he must even the odds before they wore him down. It was a bit of a surprise, and a crowd-pleasing delight, when he took off at full speed toward the nearest Steele brother the moment the horn sounded.
Arkin hadn’t expected a charge. He thrust his spear forward to try and keep Strongiron at distance, but he went a little too far, putting his weight a bit forward.
Expecting the move, Strongiron nimbly evaded the spear and slashed at the exposed hands gripping the long shaft. Arkin lost three fingers on his left hand and screamed, dropping the heavy spear to reflexively protect his maimed, bloody hand. Using his solid bronze shield as a bludgeon, Strongiron rammed it into the side of Arkin’s head—where his peripheral vision was obscured by his half-mask. He fell over with a thud, unconscious.
Strongiron whirled to face Abel, who was running to set up his position as soon as he saw the other warrior charge. More cautious now that Arkin was down, the two remaining Steele brothers slowed down to try and set up across from one another where they could still force him to work twice as hard. But Strongiron would have none of it. He did not hesitate. While they were still closing on him, he rushed to face Abel and his trident.
Abel, however, was not going to be caught so easily. He flung his net to force Strongiron to keep his distance. Again and again Strongiron waited for him to overextend himself, but he didn’t, and soon Strongiron was deflecting sword strikes from Axel on his other side.
And so the battle circulated, with Strongiron parrying blows from Axel and blunting blows from Abel. The crowd roared, and they fought on. One minute became five, five became ten, ten became twenty. Thirty minutes later, and still there had been no decisive blows amongst the three. Forty minutes—an eternity for a sword fight. The tension in the crowd was palpable as even the Steele brothers began to display heavy arms and legs.
It was at this point that Axel threw his net, trying to ensnare Strongiron, figuring he would be too tired to evade it.
Except he wasn’t. Strongiron was waiting patiently for the net to finally be thrown vs. flung like a whip. He knew it was impossible to throw the weighted net high enough and far enough without putting both hands on it. This was what he was waiting for.
Ducking and exploding from a crouch, he barreled into Abel before he could bring the trident back around. The net sailed over his head and caught Axel’s sword, tangling him up. Meanwhile Abel was knocked to the ground by Strongiron’s lunge. Again, using his shield, he bludgeoned him twice, knocking him out cold.
He rolled off him and popped back up, already in a fighting stance, ready for Axel. When he saw the third Steele brother still fighting to free his sword, Strongiron pounced. He swung his sword, but he turned it so that he struck Axel with the flat of it on the temple. He lost the top of his ear with the blow, and was stunned by the force of the strike. Strongiron moved in and for the third time knocked a Steele brother unconscious with a mighty slap from his heavy shield.
Looking up at Lord Kensington, Strongiron bowed his head. “The contest is over. Let these men continue their training. The realm needs True Warriors, and I see no need to end their lives to prove my worth to you. Brand or no brand, I will leave here a True Warrior.”
The crowd roared. They may not love the Steele brothers, but they all realize that it could have been one of them chosen to fight me to the death. Strongiron waved to them all. Turning back to Lord Kensington, he saw him smile as Xaro leaned across and said something to him. He is not one that I would ever trust.
Lord Kensington stood. “Indeed you will, Strongiron. You truly have the bearing of your father, who trained here and was branded
by my father. Peace-arm would be proud of your decision, and I have no doubt that you shall soon be knighted yourself. You do House Tuitio proud. Prepare to receive the Mark of a True Warrior, Strongiron.”
CHAPTER 4: MANY RETURNS
Trevor
“All thievery requires a pound of audacity and a pinch of luck—and sometimes the other way around!” the Mist had told Trevor once. “You seem to have been blessed with some of both.”
Staring at the handmaidens of the Lady Elyn, he couldn’t help but think that he certainly was lucky. And he was about to be audacious.
They were all short and heavily cowled. Try as he might, he couldn’t see their faces within the folds of their soft, white robes, plush and thick.
And so Trevor found himself dressed like one of the Elven princess’s handmaidens, having quietly overpowered one earlier. He put her to sleep with a vial of sleep draught right before the Lady was set to take a mid-morning bath. He was one of three handmaidens, who each took turns scrubbing and rubbing the princess in the drawn and heated water. The other two were situated near the foot of the tub. Apparently I scrub her head and back. How convenient.
Then he looked over and saw, folded neatly to the side of the bath, her dress for the day, with the Purple Sun sitting atop the clothes, ready to be looped over her neck when she was finished. Even more convenient.
“Gwen, this water is too hot. Would you add some cool water to temper it a bit?” Lady Elyn asked, looking at Trevor’s bowed head. Nodding silently, he went to fetch more water. Apparently my name is Gwen…
As he filled the vase in the adjoining room, he heard chattering amongst the three women, including the naked princess. Focus. He slipped through the door to the bath chamber and locked it.
As delicately as he could, he poured the water in. He knew he should probably stick his hand in to test it. He did so quickly, directly into some foam so as not to show any part of himself unnecessarily. This will have to be done quickly.
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