Naked Battle Elves - GOLD COMPENDIUM - Chronicles 1-5 (Naked Battle Elves Compendiums)

by Ryan Erin

  Sitting on a stool at the edge of the long table was a man leaning over a series of lenses.

  He wasn't what Chyra was expecting. He looked young - maybe in his late thirties, his hair only beginning to silver in the corners. And he was lean.

  Chyra cleared her throat from the balcony.

  The man didn't look up from the lenses. "Yes, please come in." He motioned in her direction. "But mind where you step...everything has its place for a reason."

  Chyra smiled at what could only be described as an explosion of clutter, and descended the steps. "I want to thank you for the clothes, and the bed. It was very hospitable of you."

  "Was it?" He looked away from the lenses, picking up a quill to scrawl elegant notes across an already filled sheet of parchment. "Seems like such a trivial thing. You entered our tower naked, and the previous owners left enough clothes for an entire court." He dropped the quill and turned to look at her for the first time.

  She was surprised by how strong and handsome his face was, with his sharp blue eyes and fresh stubble...not at all the man she thought she'd be meeting. He raised an eyebrow as he looked her over.

  "And yet, Gwyra couldn't find you any pants?"

  "No, she did," Chyra replied. "I've just...never liked the feel of them." The shirt was long enough to cover her ass, so long as she didn't have to run, jump, or bend over.

  It was strange, though. Chyra was accustomed to human men ogling her whenever she came across them, and given the fact that there was nothing covering her breasts beneath the thin shirt, her nipples were definitely standing out against the tight fabric. But his eyes didn't linger on her chest. There were no stolen glances at her pelvis where the shirt teased its way down to only her upper thigh. In fact, his gaze was resting on her eyes.

  "Whatever makes you comfortable," he replied. "Are you hungry?"

  "Actually, I'm famished."

  "Then it seems Gwyra is just in time." The man stood to begin clearing off a space at the table as the goblyn girl walked up with a tray. "Set it down here, if you would, Gwyra."

  She did, and then removed the lid to reveal a roasted game hen, violet potatoes and diced carrots in a simmering lemon sauce, a pile of grapes beside a small loaf of bread, and all of it garnished with white mint.

  Chyra was actually a little stunned. "I haven't seen white mint since I left the Sacred Grove."

  "We allow ourselves some delicacies here in the clouds."

  "I think I might stay," she replied, a little embarrassed.

  The handsome man just smiled and pulled his stool over for her.

  "Thank you," she said, folding the bottom of the shirt under her to sit. She then turned to the green skinned girl. "Did you make all of this?"

  Gwyra allowed herself a smile. "No. If I had to do the cooking, too, I'd never sleep. Wine?"

  "Yes, please. Thank you, Gwyra."

  As the goblyn girl walked away, Chyra turned back to the man. He was shaking a bottle of dark liquid, analyzing the sediment.

  "She has charming eyes," Chyra said, switching to High Elven, assuming that the great Sage of Teewinot Spire would have some familiarity with it.

  "That she does," he replied, confirming her suspicion. "And they grow more charming the older she gets." His dialect was perfect, as if he'd been educated in Elven along side Chyra in the Temple of the Stars.

  She picked up the silverware and began cutting meat off the hen. "You were good to give Gwyra a home."

  "Was I?"

  "The world can be cruel down there. Especially to someone of her lineage."

  "To any lineage. In these times."

  The goblyn girl came back, setting a bottle down next to a cup that had to be at least as old as Chyra. "Thank you," Chyra said with a smile, switching back to the language of men.

  Gwyra nodded and walked down the far length of the table as the man continued, still in the flowing Elven speech. "I have seen little to convince me that goodwill is still in the vernacular, much less the actions of the world below." He unstoppered the potion, and raised it to his nose. "It has become the exclusive domain of the individual, and even then..." He shoved the cork back in the bottle. "...Rare is the soul that begs to distinguish itself in the way that this girl, here, endeavors to."

  Chyra brushed a chunk of hen onto her fork with the knife. "I noticed her last name is the dragon word for 'servant.'"

  "It is Draconym for 'apprentice,'" the man corrected, "And her grasp of Elven is getting much better."

  Chyra turned back to see the girl smiling as she sat at the far end of the table, picking up her own quill to begin writing.

  Chyra lowered her fork as she suddenly realized the identity of the man she was speaking to. "You're not the Sage of Teewinot Spire at all. You're the Dragon."

  The man finished scribbling and dropped his quill. "Correct."

  She wasn't sure how she could have made the mistake. It was so plain now that she was staring at him. There was no way that a man so young could sound so ancient unless his body was an illusion, disguising something greater. The magic that gave him his man-sized form must be the reason she hadn't heard his dragon spirit when she entered the room - like she had in the water, or from the scale that adorned the Frost Lizard. The man's eyes, though unchanged, suddenly seemed far more intense. This being was older and more powerful than her by orders of magnitude...and he was watching her eat dinner.

  Chyra carefully wiped her mouth with the napkin and slid off the chair to stand before him. "I humbly extend the light of the stars to your grace. My name is Chyra of Illyndyl, and I ask, by your leave, to speak with the fire."

  "That is a very old greeting, and your manners are appreciated. But I would ask you, child of the forest, rather to explain why you've brought into my castle, that thing at the bottom of the pool."

  Chyra had almost forgotten the pool she had appeared in, what with all the broken bones. It was beautifully carved into one of the lower chambers of the citadel and fed by a natural spring. Chyra assumed that the ancient architects must have altered it in order to rise so high into the pillar-like mountain. It was the only way that a fortress could be sustained in such a remote place, since there was no way to get water up the sides of those massive cliffs. But even after so many centuries, it still gurgled up from deep within the earth, filling the tranquil pool before quietly draining through a channel in the floor and down the outside of the Spire. At some point in the distance, it must have connected to the river that curled through the distant Dwarven WatchWarren that she had so recently escaped.

  And at the bottom of the pool at her feet...

  ...Lay the sword.

  It was still sheathed, wrapped in heavy cloth...and waiting ominously to be rediscovered.

  "What is it?" the dragon asked.

  "I'm...not sure," Chyra replied, honestly.

  The dragon squinted. "It is blank to me. I cannot see its character. Where did you find it?"

  "The tomb of the Black Conqueror."

  The dragon turned to her, perhaps even a little surprised. "You found the tomb?"

  She nodded, hating the memories that came with it. "Myself, and a company of friends. It took three years of searching...following clues that no one was meant to see. And this sword was waiting for us there. It's the reason no tomb robber ever returned from that place. The weapon is possessed by a demon, and anyone who touches the bare metal instantly becomes host to it."

  The dragon's eyes narrowed as he stared at the heavy thing, lying silent beneath the water. "You say you weren't the first to find the Black Tomb...why was the sword still there? Surely the first person possessed by the demon would have walked off into the civilized world to begin the spread of evil."

  "There were seven of us still alive when we breached the inner vault. My friend, Sir Aeris of Mournshire, was the one to touch the hilt. He thought the sword was another spoil of the Conqueror's treasure. The demon took hold of him instantly. A minute later...I was the only one who hadn't been killed
..." Chyra swallowed, trying to hide the shame that she felt.

  The dragon turned to Chyra, as if he suddenly noticed something in her.

  She wiped a tear from her eye, trying to remember what she was saying. "...Sir Aeris' body burned away to nothing before he could reach me." She untied the laces of her shirt. "And judging by the burn marks around that vault, he wasn't the first to lift that sword." She pulled the shirt off over her head, stepping naked into the cold pool. "That's why I brought it here. I want the Sage to tell me what it is..." She submerged herself just long enough to grab the massive weapon and haul it up. Re-surfacing, she wiped the wet hair from her eyes. "...And then I want him to tell me how to destroy it."

  She stepped up, her body half emerging from the pool, as she held the sword toward the dragon.

  He eyed it with cold indifference, but did not reach out to take it.

  It took the look in the dragon's eyes for Chyra to realize what she was doing. Horrified, she pulled the weapon back to her chest. She was shocked that she had even subconsciously tried to get him to touch the thing. "I apologize...I...I did not mean to..."

  "The Sage does not see anyone who I do not decide is worthy," said the dragon, cutting her off. "He doesn't like strangers. That's why he took my offer of sanctuary, here, so that he could continue his studies in peace. He didn't want every treasure hunter with a magical sword coming to him to appraise its value."

  "But this..."

  "The Fire is speaking, elf."

  Chyra closed her mouth.

  "This is no random trinket pillaged from the Seven Dungeons. This is a thing of the Dark world, from before the Wyld world. It was not made by hands as you and I know them. It is a danger from Night Eternal, left by dark architects to guard the secret resting place of the man who single-handedly ended the Thousand Year Empire of Copper...and now you've brought it to my lair."

  Chyra looked up at him, her body starting to shiver from the water and high altitude air.

  Then, the dragon leaned over to take back her shirt from the floor. "Your soul, as beautiful as it is, has been stained by this thing...and I can see that stain growing."

  She trembled, never having felt so naked and alone as she did under his eyes. As an elf, she couldn't shake feeling that she was like a grandchild to him. He was a power from the same world that she was descended from, and for the first time in centuries, she actually felt young. It made his scolding all the more painful, and his rejection of her plea, after all she'd gone through to get there, all the more bitter.

  "But I will let him decide," the dragon finished.

  Chyra's heart suddenly rose in her chest.

  "Come," he said, "and keep that thing away from anyone who draws breath in this keep."

  She bowed. "Thank you, your Grace..."

  The dragon nodded, turning back to the steps.

  Chyra climbed out of the pool, naked and dripping, to follow him.

  Her hair was still wet by the time she entered the ancient throne room. The hall was open to the sky along the far wall. The Emperor had no doubt enjoyed the view from his lofty throne so long ago. That throne, gilded entirely from copper, still sat at the top of a narrow column of stairs - a lonely remnant in a lonely place that had once been the summer home of the mightiest rulers of the world.

  Chyra laid the sword in the center of the floor, careful as always not to touch the bare metal.

  She stared at it long and hard, wondering what the dragon had meant by the stain on her soul. It was true that apart from having eyesight, hearing, smell, and taste superior to any creature in the known world, dragons could literally see the souls of the living, and judge what they were made of.

  What had he seen in her?

  A brisk wind howled through the vaulted room, blowing the shirt up around Chyra's waist, exposing her naked form from the hips down.

  Elves, both men and women, were completely devoid of body hair except on the tops of their heads. Chyra had numerous human lovers who had either enjoyed or were unnerved at the feeling that they were taking advantage of an under aged girl when they saw how smooth and bare she was between her legs. It was a childish comment every time, but compared to her, those men were little more than children themselves...

  ...Men who were completely unlike her dragon host.

  Then, the far door opened, and an entirely different man stormed into the room.

  He was old, with a close-cut white beard, and voluminous robes wafting around him as he walked. A finely carved cane helped him move at an impressive speed for his age, which in turn caused Gwyra to hurry along behind him.

  This had to be the man Chyra had expected to meet. There was no mistaking it...this was the Sage of Teewinot Spire.

  Chyra smoothed the shirt down to cover herself, not so much for the old man's sake, but rather to keep from distracting him on his first sight of the giant weapon.

  The Sage stopped a few feet away from the sword. He regarded it shrewdly. A small pair of spectacles appeared in his hand, and he raised them to his eyes.

  "Hmm," he said.

  Then he began to circle the weapon.

  Chyra stepped back as he shuffled past her, examining the thing from all sides.

  "Hmmmm."

  Chyra sent a questioning glance toward Gwyra. A slight smile appeared on the goblyn girl's face along with an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

  After several minutes of examination from a safe distance, the old man turned to Chyra. "Did you bring it with you?" he asked.

  Chyra nodded. "I did. I carried it across the Crescent and deep into the Dwarven Northwatch so that you could examine..."

  "Not the weapon," he said, cutting her off.

  "I'm afraid I don't follow," she replied.

  "Chyra of Illyndyl," he began, leaning haughtily on his cane. "You are obviously a clever elf to have crossed miles of reptilian territory without being discovered...though if I had to guess, I'd say some minor shape changing magic was at play to disguise you, given the speed in which your bones mended once healing spells were applied to them. But you did not climb the cliffs outside, nor fly in, as my dragon friend would have surely killed you on approach. Likewise, you were found lying in the wellspring beneath the citadel, accompanied by mineral sediment which is not found on the Spire, leading me to believe that you were borne here through the water channels by an elemental spirit. I assume that such a creature has been slaved to your whim, judging by the earring you wear. Since the sea is many leagues from here, the most obvious culprit would be the Nymph of the Forbidden Falls. Again, your cleverness is obviated by the fact that you are the first person I am aware of to have survived an encounter with her, much less bound her to your service, which also speaks highly of your sexual prowess. But the fact that you made your way here by way of the Nymph's waterfall means that not only did you intend to see me specifically, you knew that you might have to offer something as payment for my analysis of your relic, and since the list of treasure rumored to be lying at the bottom of the Nymph's pool includes the one thing that I am known publicly to want, I assume that you have brought with you..." The old Sage held out his hand. "…The Dynasty Scroll..."

  Chyra smiled at him, not surprised to find such a learned man so arrogant, or even able to piece together so much of her journey from a few simple observations, but because he was an example of what she loved most about humans - their hunger for greatness. The man was a fifth of her age, if that, yet his knowledge of the world could most likely put new chapters into books that had sat in the Temple of the Stars for over two thousand years.

  She had come to the right mortal, and she had not come empty handed.

  Chyra whispered to the silver ring on her finger. Then, with a fluid pulling motion, she yanked on the astral thread that tethered the ring to all of her possessions back in Denham's tent, and pulled them through the divide, into the air beside her. She caught the bundle of clothes and weapons in her arms, which were suddenly frosty from being ripped through
the never-space. She untangled the ancient scroll case, and gently placed it in the Sage's hand.

  The old man, seemingly unaffected by the display of magic, opened the case, and slowly slid out the sheet of rolled copper. He handed the container and his cane to Gwyra, and carefully unrolled the document.

  Chyra watched his eyes lighten.

  His eyebrows raised.

  For the briefest of moments, the elderly man looked like a twelve year old boy, having finally unwrapped the one present he'd always wanted.

  "This is...unprecedented..." he managed to say.

  He stood there for almost five minutes, reading the secret names of rulers he had already compiled volumes about. Now, however, he was discovering their hidden relationships to one another, possibly making him the first man to do so since the scribe who created the scroll many centuries ago.

  "Gwyra!" he said at last. "This room will become the dedicated workspace for analysis of Chyra's sword! It is not to leave here unless I say so, and no one is to touch it under any circumstance!"

  "I understand, Lord Sage."

  "We'll need a binding circle around the weapon, and another circle twenty feet further out for safety. We'll also be working with strictly golden tools. No iron or silver should be brought within the circles."

  "I'll see to it."

  The Sage turned to head for the door, taking his cane as he passed the goblyn girl. "We'll also need Saph to bring us a living host...not too old, but not too young either. And fetch the golem!"

  "I will."

  Gwyra turned to Chyra, obviously impressed that the elf had managed to convince the arrogant man to do anything.

  Chyra nodded her thanks, and as the green girl left, Chyra pulled her efanwi from the backpack and slipped it on.