by Ember Lane
He jumped up, hovering his hand over his sack and pulling his staff out.
“Oh,” a voice called, “you want to play. All right.”
A figure appeared at the edge of the reed floor. Lincoln instantly knew it was Forgarth’s brother. He looked like a cross between an elf and a gnome. An elf, in as much as he had all the traits: he was around five and a half feet tall, and his face had that pointed look that they all had. It lent him that air of mysticism. Yet he looked devious too, and had the air of mischief a gnome held so well. Even his clothes would have been similar to an elf's had his not been a gray-brown-scarlet look instead of the fresh, green, vitality-filled look of those worn by the elves of Forgarth’s village. He drew his own staff.
“We’ll battle it out,” he said, jumping in front of Lincoln, and squaring up to him. Lincoln raised his own staff. They began circling.
“Who are you?” Lincoln asked.
“You know who I am,” the elf said, and his staff blurred.
Lincoln squealed as a sharp smack made the back of his knees fold, and he dropped to the floor. Another crash across his back saw him eating reeds.
Damage! You have sustained 9 damage.
Lincoln waited for the next blow, but just felt a foot stamp down on his back.
“That the best you’ve got? Glenwyth’s lover, felled in two moves. Them elves...” And then he took his boot off Lincoln’s back. “Them elves have got low standards.”
Lincoln felt the elf grab his shirt, and then felt himself being pulled off the ground and stood up. “Shall we try again? Thremjin, by the way. That’s what they call me—Thremjin. But most just call me Jin.” He spun Lincoln around and bent to retrieve Lincoln’s staff for him.
As Jin bent, Lincoln brought his knee up into the elf’s face and smashed his hands down onto the elf’s bent back. Jin’s head snapped up. The elf grunted and sagged, but quickly recovered and flipped backward, somersaulted, and landed on his feet a few yards away.
“Nice work…for a builder,” Thremjin said, and bowed low.
Lincoln kicked out again, but the elf was faster, sidestepping out of the way and catching Lincoln’s outstretched foot, pushing it up into the air and sweeping Lincoln off his feet. For a moment, Lincoln’s body seemed to hover in midair, until it fell, crashing to the floor. Lincoln felt his back arch in pain as it snapped around Thremjin’s outstretched staff. The elf slid it out from under him.
Damage! You have sustained 12 damage points.
“Lesson one. The difference between a light elf and a dark elf is that a dark elf goes that extra yard just to cause a bit more pain.” Thremjin leaned over a very winded Lincoln. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” He grinned from pointy ear to pointy ear.
Lincoln gasped for air. Thremjin offered his hand. Lincoln took it and Thremjin pulled him up, only to punch him square in the face. Lincoln fell back to the floor, his nose exploding in a burst of blood and pain.
“Lesson two. Light elves play fair… Do I need to finish the sentence?”
Damage! You have sustained 11 damage points.
Thremjin walked up to Lincoln and gave him a playful kick. “You getting all this? Is it all sinking in?” And then he spun and walked away.
Glancing to his side, Lincoln saw his staff lying close. He rolled and grabbed it and swung it low at the elf's ankles. Crack! The staff connected, and Thremjin buckled in a heap. Lincoln pushed himself to his knees and raised his staff, bringing it down on the elf. Thremjin jerked and fell backward. Lincoln collapsed next to him.
Danger! Your energy is getting low. You have 50/100 left. Rest and food will restore it.
“Nice move,” Thremjin said through gritted teeth, still on his back.
“Thanks,” said Lincoln, lying beside him. He breathed hard until his heart calmed a bit. Blood flooded from his nose. “I think you broke my nose.”
Thremjin scoffed. “I think you cracked my head.”
“So what do I need to do?”
“Do?”
“To help Glenwyth.”
“You mean you care?” Thremjin’s voice was incredulous. “I thought you were just using her for…you know.”
“Nope and nope. I do care, and we aren’t lovers.”
“Ohhhh, well, in that case, I’d best stop beating on you.”
“I’d have said it was a draw.”
Thremjin pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Well, you’d have been wrong. I gave you that last one.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Meh!” Thremjin said, and he jumped up. “We can call it a draw if you want.”
“Why? Are we done?”
“Well, if you actually care for her, then I have no quarrel with you. She’ll need all the help she can get.”
“I kinda guessed. So, what am I supposed to do?”
Thremjin offered Lincoln his hand. When Lincoln hesitated, Thremjin smiled. “You’ll have to trust me…eventually,” he said, as Lincoln took his hand and the elf pulled him up. “Come on, I’m guessing you haven’t had breakfast yet. You do have something other than ale for breakfast now and again, don’t you?” He turned and walked out the back of the academy and into the forest behind. “You know, you’ve visited the other valley. You’ve visited the mountains, but you haven’t bothered walking through these little beauties. Is it because you’re ashamed?”
Lincoln stopped in his tracks, and Thremjin laughed. “Ha!” he cried, “it is that, isn’t it. Well, don’t be. The elves’ll make sure that the balance isn’t disturbed. It’s what elves do, until they turn dark, then…not so much.”
“I just don’t like destroying.”
“Ha!” Thremjin laughed again. “Of course you do. You just don’t admit that to yourself. No, the dark side of life is definitely the more honest.”
The forest’s brilliant green was quite dazzling. It was full of big, oak-like trees with vast canopies of fat leaves, and trunks laden with hefty bark, almost like armor. But the forest wasn’t stifling—quite the opposite. The ground was teeming with shooting bluebells, lush-leafed ferns, patches of hollow-filled grass, and tangles of brambles. Lincoln followed Thremjin through it as he picked his way deeper in.
They came to a series rocky shelves, patchy with emerald moss and climbed up them one at a time reaching a stone plateau. The morning sun shone through the forest’s canopy, edging the open space. “See this? This is where you should have built your academy. Deep in the forest, if a little patch of forest like this can have a deep. Look, see that rocky ledge over there?”
Lincoln followed his pointing finger. From the plateau, another pile of rocky shelves stacked up, like a bunch of higgledy-piggledy plates. In its center was a dark, oval entrance. “Ever wonder why this vale is so deserted? I mean, it is. A place this idyllic should be teeming with all kinds of life. Hell, it should be packed with so much that humans should have come along years ago and destroyed it. You have to ask yourself why, and when you do, that there is the answer.” He pointed at the hole.
“What lives in it?”
“Nope, wrong question.” Thremjin sat on the flat rock and pulled out a small, white pipe from a sack strapped to his side. “I hear you have leaf.”
“Yup,” said Lincoln, wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve and then searching out his own pipe. He sat, primed his pot and then tossed a pack of leaf to the elf. “So, what’s the right question?”
“What lived there?” Thremjin said, lighting his pipe. “And the answer to that is a bastard. Have you ever come across a troll?”
“I had the pleasure of having my height reduced significantly by a troll hammer once.”
Thremjin winced and then scoffed. “Ain’t that the beauty of not being able to die properly? What happened?”
“Let’s just say that I reappeared quite fortuitously just behind her, while she was still eating my own entrails.”
Thremjin raised his eyebrows in surprise and let out a short burst of laughter. “Neat trick,” he said. “Anyway, yo
ur troll…”
“Esmeralda.”
“Esmeralda. I’ll bet she was a fair-sized lump with foul breath, an equally rotten temper and a pin for a head.”
Lincoln grunted a laugh. “And you’d be about right.”
“Well, take your Esmeralda, add another foot or two, both in height and width, pop a good-sized head on it and treble the temper. Then you have your common ogre, and ogres are plain mean, and one lived in there.” Thremjin pointed at the hole. “You want to know what changes a light elf into a dark elf? For Glenwyth, it was wanting to taste your death. For me, it was him.” He stabbed a finger at the hole again. “In the end, it doesn’t matter what triggers it, because the pain’s the same.”
“That’s what I don’t understand. What causes the pain?”
“For that, you’ve got to understand the elf. While it’s not all fluffy clouds and skipping unicorns, it ain’t far away. Take the tree blight, for instance. What did my revered brother do? Did he set about working out why? Or did he just while away the day being mystical and watching his tree die and him with it.”
Thremjin laughed, but it was bittersweet mirth. Lincoln watched as the elf squirmed a little at his thoughts. He didn’t appear particularly older or younger than his brother. But while Forgarth had appeared fragile, Thremjin was clearly more robust, but had regret etched in lines that radiated from the corner of his eyes and on the edge of his smile.
“Let me tell you,” Thremjin continued. “The elves—their days are numbered on this land. Glenwyth might survive. I will survive. The elves here? No. Not like they are. Either you will drive them out or someone will come along after.”
“What makes you say that?”
Thremjin shook his head. “Not you too? Don’t tell me you’re thinking you can live here unhindered.” He jumped up. “Only once you’ve truly felt this land for what it is, only then can you understand.” Arms aloft, Thremjin spun around and around. “It’s all going to burn!” he shouted, and then slowed until he was face-to-face with Lincoln again. “It’s all going to burn, Lincoln the Builder, and those who don’t fight will die. I can feel it, and unless the elves light the fire of anger in their hearts, then elves will be no more.”
“And that’s what pains Glenwyth?”
“Don’t you see it? She’s watched the night drawn in. Truth, Lincoln, she’s seen the truth. Glenwyth has witnessed the slaughter of her kin, and she can’t do anything about it.”
“She can’t, but I can,” Lincoln said grimly, but he felt anything but grim. He suddenly felt alive. Thremjin had just given him his course. He would galvanize the elves, and make them fight. “Will they listen to you?”
Thremjin pulled Lincoln up and led him to the ogre’s cave. As they crossed its threshold, Lincoln’s night vision kicked in, but a line of evenly spaced torches soon burst into light. Before him, a short tunnel widened and there sat a bed, a table, and a stool. “My simple home,” he said. “It was here I tasted the gore of true battle, and here I now live to remind me of it every day. That misted rage where you just keep stabbing, and stabbing, and stabbing until you’re head to toe in crimson—I welcome it. When I came out having fought the beast, they looked at me, Lincoln; they looked at me like I was a demon—like I was Balazar, or Quazede, or Alastor. I disgusted them, Lincoln, the same damn elves that I’d just saved.” He jumped onto the bed, “Tell me, how can you save those who look down on their saviors?”
“It looks pretty bleak,” Lincoln admitted, sitting on the small stool. “If not you, then can I?”
Thremjin shook his head. “That’s just it. Gotta be Glenwyth, and it’s gotta be quick. Once that damn tree’s thriving again, they’ll go all passive, and peaceful, and mystical. Do you want to meet them? The elves that just let you walk into their vale? Tree elves? They’re the worst.”
“Please.”
Thremjin popped his thumb and forefinger between his lips and let out a shrill whistle. “There, they should gather outside. Say, can I use that inn you’ve got? Gotta say, my heart nearly leapt to the light side when I saw it getting built, and haven’t you made a good job of the fields out back?” He scratched his chin, and crossed and then uncrossed his legs a few times. “We could always keep getting them drunk. A few fights and the dark side should be easy to coax out.” He jumped up. “They should be outside by now. Meek lot—do exactly what they’re told.”
Lincoln followed him back out. Sure enough, a group of around fifty elves had gathered. They were all standing on the stone plateau, looking down at their boots. Not one made eye contact with Lincoln. Thremjin marched straight up to them.
“This, this is the man called Lincoln the Builder. It is he who has seized your lands without asking. It is he who tears down your trees and steals your stone.” Thremjin drew a knife and held it out on the flat of his palm. “Who’s going to kill him?” he asked.
Lincoln watched them all, watched their clear discomfort. A few of the braver ones threw quick glances at him, but none took the knife.
“No one? Will no one fight for their land, their home?” Thremjin demanded.
“You shame us, dark one.” A voice curled around the rock, so soft and delicate when set against Thremjin’s harsh tones.
Lincoln stepped forward. “No,” he said. “You shame yourselves, as I have shamed myself. I should have come to you, introduced myself and asked your permission to share your land, but I didn’t. Thremjin’s right, you should have fought.”
“But you did us no harm,” the words curled out again.
“I could have torn down every tree. Things have to change. I was in Brokenford, and I heard whispers there. War is coming to this land. The aggressor will think the gods favor him, the defender the same, but I’ll tell you this: The gods favor no one. They never have. The time of the elf is done.”
Lincoln’s heart skipped a beat, his mind wondering at the words he had just spoken. He wondered why the knife was still on Thremjin’s palm. He took a deep breath.
“I intend to defend this vale and the valley. I will build one barrack and one training ground here. Its sole purpose will be to defend the fissure. In the valley, they will fill the floor. The calls of the commanders will echo down it.” Lincoln walked to the edge of the plateau. “If you want to help me, then join me. If not, then your fate is in my hands, and I’ll deal with it as I wish.” He hopped off the rock and walked away.
“They won’t come,” Thremjin said, walking in alongside him.
“Too strong?” Lincoln asked.
“You could have slapped them around with a wet crawfish and nothing would have happened. What next?”
Lincoln hesitated, then grabbed Thremjin by the shoulders and turned him. Staring into his narrow eyes, Lincoln wondered why he trusted this elf so. Was it because, in his heart of hearts, he knew this was why he was in this land? Was he here to learn the craft of warfare? “I followed you to find out how I could help Glenwyth, now I seem to have upset every elf in this vale, and I still have no idea how to help her.”
Thremjin laughed and punched Lincoln on the shoulder. “Say, I never got you breakfast. In fairness, you didn’t miss much, bar a platter of fruit. Shall we go sup some ale?”
“And you dodge my question again.”
Thremjin sighed. “I showed you the minute I met you.” Thremjin punched Lincoln straight in the face. Lincoln stumbled back, then his anger took over and he tensed, jumping around and grabbing Thremjin by the throat.
“See,” he said. “I showed you again. You’ve just got to encourage her anger.”
21
Dire News
Glenwyth squared up to Aezal again, holding her staff out hesitantly as if she was unsure whether she would truly use it. Lincoln could see her knees shaking and knew it was not the fear of the fight, rather the fear of the beast lurking within her. Her eyes were wide, and her breaths shallow. Jin was draped lazily over the bow of a nearby tree, already appearing bored with the ongoing exchanges. Aezal swung his staff nonc
halantly and took her legs easily away. Glenwyth ate dust again. She pushed herself up and crouched, her manner much the same despite another humiliation.
“No, no, no,” Jin eventually shouted, hopping off his perch. “You’ve got to coax her dark side out. You've got to encourage her anger.”
Thremjin had insisted they use his nickname, and Lincoln had seen why, as the dwarves had struggled to pronounce the full name, and after only a few mugs of ale too. The dark elf had fit in with the dwarves straight away, and even Aezal, who was normally wary of strangers. The few settlers that now frequented the bar had accepted him as one of their own too. It was almost like he’d been part of the group from day one. He’d borne no elf-malice toward Crags either, something that the gnome was not used to. In many ways, Lincoln thought, they were both outcasts. He was pleased the elf had fit in. He had an edge, one that Lincoln knew they would probably need, and soon.
“She’s got to feel rage. Something like this should bring it out.” He walked straight up to Lincoln and kicked him right in the balls. Lincoln doubled over, and his face was then greeted by Jin’s boot. Glenwyth howled in anger, and immediately attacked the dark elf. Jin glanced over his shoulder as she rushed at him and sent her flying with a back kick. Aezal growled, ever protective of Lincoln, and swung his staff at the dark elf. But Jin was wise to that too and rolled straight to his left, kicking out at Lincoln for good measure and toppling the already unsteady man.
Jin sprang back on to his feet, twirled his staff above his head, ready to confront the three of them. A large smirk grew across his face, as if he’d decided he was superior to them all, and was now reveling in it. He received the tip of Aezal’s staff in his gut for his boasting, the warrior having none of his gloating. Jin doubled over, gasping for air. Glenwyth was on him in a flash, her staff cracking down on his back, and her legs then swiping his own from under him. She pounced, pinning him to the ground with her knees, raining down blow after blow until her fists were soon smeared in his blood.