by T. G. Neal
Aurelia sighed, “One day things can be rectified.”
As they continued their journey, Vaelen looked to her and said “I’m glad you believe it can. I fear it is too late. For all the good Tivanis has done, he has done nothing to change what has been done, if nothing else, he has made it worse.”
Their ride had been long and arduous. Several hours after the noon hour, as dusk approached, they came upon the Grand Market of Midland. Scattered about an open plain where no grass grew, as it had been trampled down to just dirt, were countless weathered wooden stalls and intricately carved caravans sitting in a large circle.
As they approached they could hear the sounds of laughter and shouting and the smell of cooking food rising high into the evening air. The sounds of their horses’ hooves were already being drowned out as they approached. “Ah,” Vaelen said smiling, “I wasn’t aware that the Grand Market was here now, I assumed it was a day naught for the trade.”
“I thought you said the Plains Elves didn’t like humans?” She said, gesturing with her head toward a group of Elves trading and selling their wares to humans.
“They don’t care for us, more or less, but they do mingle when money is involved. Some of the Ventila even appreciate the company of humans. Though it is rare. Come, let’s see what they have.” Vaelen said, maintaining his smile.
The two rode their horses between a cart and an empty market stall, and pulled their horses to the side, where they dismounted. Once on their feet, they tied their horses to a small bridge that ran across a small creek.
Vaelen and Aurelia walked through the crowds of people. The sound of music now lifted high into the air, seemingly caught up in the smoke of the bonfire that burned in the center of the massive ring of caravans and stalls. To the side of it burned several more single fires, all of which bellowed smoke into the low-light sky.
As they walked, Vaelen stopped and stepped to the side. He motioned Aurelia over. “This is Midland Sausage. The Ventila call it Botissum and is delicious. They import this sausage to Drachenara, but it’s so cheap only the poor folk eat it.” Vaelen turned to the man behind the stall, “May I have two, please?” Then he stopped and looked back at Aurelia “I apologize, would you like one?”
Aurelia nodded with an innocent smile on her face.
Vaelen returned his attention to the man, “Yes, two please. A pour of whatever drink you have, and some of your onions and cornbread, please.”
Aurelia was salivating at the smell of the browned sausage. She wasn’t sure if it was the novelty of being here, at what reminded her of a fair, with Vaelen, or if she was just hungry and happy to see some form of civilized life.
Vaelen handed over a sovereign and got his change, tipped the man, and handed one Midland Sausage and ale to Aurelia. “Less than twenty pence for the whole thing,” he said. “Cheap, delicious, filling, and it will give you energy for tomorrow.” The ale was in a wooden cup that was returned on a good faith system whenever the drink was finished. Refills were half the price of the original.
Aurelia walked beside Vaelen and they took in the sights. As they walked, they ate their Midland Sausage. As Aurelia took her first bite, she stopped and stomped her foot.
Vaelen stopped and looked at her with shock “What is it? What’s the matter?”
“This. Is. Delicious!” She said aloud.
Vaelen laughed and grinned. “I’m so glad you enjoy it. My father, mother and I would go into the commoner’s market and buy them in twenty sausage links and take them back to the house and eat them. They seem to taste even better here.”
Aurelia didn’t say anything else until she finished her sausage and ale, both of which complimented the other perfectly. That, or she was just very hungry. Either option was a good possibility.
Then as they carried on, Aurelia would occasionally stop to look at the Elven wares, which were in many varieties. From swords, daggers, and armor, to food, jewelry and trinkets, Aurelia had to take it all in. To each Elven trader she would compliment the art or technique ask questions of the Elven tradesman.
While Aurelia talked and browsed, Vaelen bought a small sword for Aurelia that would be the perfect complement to her bow and arrows, just in case an enemy got close to her, and they could train with them as they had before.
Before long, they had made their way to almost every booth and caravan in the market, and they doubled back to get some more ale from the Botissum vendor. After paying for their ale, Vaelen handed the short sword he bought over to her. “Ash handle, inlaid silver and a meticulously forged Elven blade. You can see by the curvature of the blade. Called a leaf blade, it is a variant the elves use specifically by their forgers.”
Aurelia smiled and took the blade. She attached the sheath to her belt, where it hung to just above her knee. She then drew the sword and waved it around a bit, then immediately slid it back into its sheath. “It’s perfect, Vaelen. Thank you.”
Vaelen was happy that she liked it, but he suddenly stopped and turned away from her. He stood stoic and silent for a moment, as if listening to a sound on the distant wind. He gestured for her to follow him and he jogged away, off through the small crowd and across the bridge where their horses were tied. He then stopped in front of a group of human bards who had been playing songs. The song they came to next was one that the Drachenara Keep bard played all the time; it was a song that told of the stars and the moon, of tide and sand, and love and lovers. The song itself was a soft but cheerful tune, and it was played in a manner that was grossly reminiscent of the times in the Brendom. He turned back to Aurelia as she came nearer to him. “Would you like to dance?”
Aurelia’s eyes grew large. “What?”
“Would you like to dance?” He took a big gulp of his ale and sat it down at his feet, smiling.
“Vaelen Wraithson, are you drunk?” She asked smiling in return, sitting her ale down as well and taking his hand.
“Not a chance. I’ve just never been able to ask before.” He said, pulling her closer to the music.
As the tune built up for the first verse, he danced with her in a way that ballroom regals danced. He spun her, and brought her back in, going through the motions of a dance he’d been forced to learn ages ago. Aurelia moved with him in perfect unison, taught to dance as a young girl, this was her life during formal events. She had to dance with every highborn boy that dared to entertain her as a potential suitor.
Vaelen twirled her, released, stepped back, and took her in his arms again. He was firm, but gentle, confident and light on his feet.
Aurelia moved her hand around and framed his face. Though dozens of other people danced around them, dancing around the fire and the bards, her eyes never left his face.
The tune of the song grew faster, and their steps became more erratic, but still as elegant as a choreographed routine. His foot weaved in with hers, one step at a time, inside and outside her legs in a truly intricate display. Finally, as the song ending neared and their bodies drew closer together, he twirled her away one last time, closed the gap between them and placed one hand on her lower back, and one hand on the back of her head and dipped her backward.
As she fell backward, suspended only by Vaelen's strength, she breathed, hard and fast, and opened her eyes to look up at him, smiling down at her. Caught up in the moment she reached up and placed a hand on the side of his face. “Vaelen.” She breathed.
“My lady.” He returned, almost a whisper, and pulled her back up to him. Her body was against his, as close as could be. Both of their hearts pounded inside their chests. In her heart she could feel more than just the beat, however, and her hand stayed on the side of his face for a fraction of a moment later until the clapping started.
The two broke their trance on each other, and Vaelen laughed. As far as Aurelia could remember, she had never seen Vaelen look so happy, and she certainly had never seen him dance. As they walked away, they picked up their glasses of ale, still catching their breath. When they found a place to s
it down, Aurelia turned to look at him and asked, “Where did you learn to dance like that?”
Vaelen smiled and leaned forward on his elbows, swirling the ale around in his cup. “Jenissa taught me, a long time ago.”
“Jenissa, the servant girl?” Aurelia asked.
Vaelen nodded, his smile dimming lightly.
A woman in a cloak approached the two of them sitting down. Now past sunset, her face was veiled completely in darkness. Her hands were tucked inside her cloak and she made no sound until Vaelen instinctively made ready to reach for his sword. The woman held out a hand and spoke, “I mean you no harm.” Her accent was different, foreign, and maybe even exotic. Then she pulled back her hood and revealed why; beneath the hood was her defining factor, pointed elven ears.
Vaelen was hesitant to reply, but Aurelia had no problem with it. “Yes, miss, what can I do for you?”
The elven woman crouched down to look at the sitting Aurelia. “Do you believe in fate?”
Vaelen grew more suspicious but sat down his ale and folded his hands. Aurelia nodded to the woman, “Yes.”
“Would you come with me?”
Vaelen angled his head and looked to Aurelia. “I don’t know if that’s…”
Aurelia looked at Vaelen. “No, it’s okay.” She then looked back at the woman. “Yes, I will.”
Vaelen stood as Aurelia and the elven woman stood and followed them to the elven woman’s caravan about thirty paces away. This particular caravan was painted in eccentric colors that varied much from the other elven caravans, this specific one was done in a plum purple and gold, with what appeared to be splatters of orange. As Aurelia went into the caravan, Vaelen sat down outside and waited.
Once inside the caravan, Aurelia sat down opposite the woman who sat down behind a round table. The only things inside the caravan was the table, two chairs, a small bedroll and various herbal incense burning all around. The woman sat and looked at Aurelia a moment and then turned down the flame on her lantern. “Before we begin, my name is Visynthia I’tyril, but your people call me Cynthia. Yes, I am what you refer to as a Plains Elf. And yes, my people have a strange burden toward your people. And, yes, I usually charge a fee for what I do, but I have been told that I need to share this with you.”
“Share what?” Aurelia asked.
Cynthia held her hands out, palms down. “A vision.”
Aurelia put her hands under Cynthia’s and she grabbed onto her wrists.
Cynthia began chanting ancient Elven words. True elven words that Aurelia had never even remotely heard. The flame in the lantern began to flicker, and then went out completely. Suddenly, it was as if lightning bugs had flown into the caravan and were dancing lazily above her head. Aurelia watched the lightning bugs dance and bob in the air.
When Aurelia looked back down to her hands, she was no longer in the caravan. It was night, and distant screams could be heard. She realized she was on a battlefield, and it wasn’t fireflies that floated in the air, it was embers. Though she was looking around, she also didn’t have command of her facilities. Her hands raised on their own and loosed an arrow that bulls eyed the heart of the enemy soldier. She loosed a second that did the same. And a third. Then she rushed across the battlefield, jumping over body after body. In the distance she could see a gigantic monster flailing soldiers in every direction. As she got closer, she saw Vaelen who turned and looked at her and yelled at her, she could hear his voice saying “Run, Aurelia! Go, now!” Then he is struck by the monster and flung through the air and crashing into a tree, collapsing to the ground.
Then in her rage, she ran at the monster, screaming, firing two glowing white arrows at the that impacted the beast in the chest. As it bellowed out a roar, she jumped into the air and plunged a blade into it. She looked up into the sky, then back down, and her hands were around the hilt of her dagger, driven in to a human’s chest. She fell off the man and clawed at the dirt to try to run at Vaelen but is pulled backward. The only words she can hear are “It’s too late.” And they echo over and over until she comes to.
Cynthia is in tears, locking eyes with Aurelia, who too, is streaming tears down her face.
“Why did you show me this?” Aurelia asked with a strained voice.
“Because it is.” Cynthia said cryptically.
“It is what?” Asked Aurelia, tears now dry, anger in the back of her voice. “What is it?”
“I cannot say. Only show you. Trust your heart, Aurelia. It will serve you when nothing else will.” Cynthia stood up and waved her hand in front of the lantern, lighting the flame again and opened the door for Aurelia to step out. “Now you must go.”
Aurelia stood to leave, “But I don’t understand!”
“You will.” And Cynthia closed the door.
Outside, Vaelen sat looking at the ground. When he heard the caravan door open, he looked back up at Aurelia. “Everything okay?” He asked. “You were in there quite a while.” He stood up to look at her.
Aurelia didn’t say anything, only saw glimpses of Vaelen’s limp body now burned into her memory. She began tearing up again, “Yes. No. Can we go?” She asked.
Vaelen looked confused and frustrated and stepped past her and pushed open the caravan door and started to step inside. He saw nothing at all but an empty caravan. He looked at Aurelia who had stepped down and started walking, and then clenched his jaw in confusion. He jogged to catch up to Aurelia and put a hand on her shoulder, “Aurelia, are you okay?”
She turned to look at him, her chin trembling at first, then stopping. “I think I need to sleep, that’s all.”
Vaelen was still vexed by her reaction but led her back to the horses and they rode off into the night. Once they found a reasonable place to camp, they stopped. They found a nice little rock bluff, just a few hundred feet off the side of the road where they rolled out their beds, built a little fire, and camped for the night. While Aurelia silently turned away from the fire to sleep, Vaelen sat awake for a while longer and watched the world around them, the fire, and Aurelia as she slept. He hoped she was okay.
Mreindale, the capital of the Nine Brendoms, is a city and brendom by the same name. The city was once believed to be an Elven stronghold, abandoned long ago, though even the elder elven clans don’t remember to which tribe it belonged, or even what history lay behind it. To add to its mysterious past, the great stone of the keep was carved from one continuous piece of stone, and bore similar markings to standing Dwarven structures. Over the past millennium it has housed the King and his family, through multiple generations.
Mreindale itself is situated in a lush oasis between the two largest desert regions of the continent and borders the ocean to the west and south. The rolling and shifting sands of those deserts never seem to encroach on the capital city, but instead framed the place with ever changing and rolling dunes of sand. The only passable path into the city, save for the ocean, was a direct entrance through the Valley of Mreindasul, where gargantuan sculptures of the previous kings towered amongst the jungle trees of the tropical oasis.
The city itself was massive – the largest in all the Nine Brendoms. It made Drachenara, which took an hour, at a brisk pace, to walk from one side to other, look like a colony. On average, a traveler trying to reach the castle steps alone, would travel for two hours inside the city streets. The towering marvel, which was the Castle, was built against the side of the cliff and up a flight of stairs that stretched over seven-hundred steps to the top. Defensively, the castle was almost impenetrable. Though there had been few skirmishes in the capital land, those that had happened, began and ended quickly.
Down from the castle and along the cliff-lined coast, was the largest open-water trading hub in all the nine brendoms. It was built directly on the Endless Sea, named before explorers discovered that other life did exist across the sea. From this port, ships dispatched to all brendoms in the realm that touched the sea, and each ship paid fealty to King, as did each brendom under a Bren or Brenness.
The King took power at the end of the last bloody civil war. At the end of the life of King Ritur’an, there were no successors to take his place, so many of the Brendoms fought for who would take power.
King Tivanis hailed from Alfendul, a neighboring nation to Mreindale, and had a fair amount of favor. His only real contest was Bren Alexi Pardis. The two started a bloody war that split the Brendom in half over who the best option for King would have been. The victory, after five years of political turmoil, went to Tivanis.
Tivanis had, indeed, been a good king, but he never kept to his pacts with either the Dwarves or the Elves, and because of the pressures of human nobility, kept the elven slave trade as a pertinent and primary source of money for the shadier of ilk. Because of this, human influence in the Nine flourished and the Elves fractured even more and stayed in the wilds of the Nine as much as possible, rumored to still have cities hidden away.
Now, though, King Elmis Tivanis had grown old and his only living son was being groomed to accept the crown. As the commander of the Nine’s Grand Army, he had now taken time away from his position and begun to learn more of what is required of nobility, structure, and ruling. He spent days upon days reading, writing, and dressing in regal attire. “I grow tired of the antics, father.” Kyvan, his son, told him.
“Maker be, my son. You have the patience to carefully formulate an extensive battle, yet you do not have the fortitude to learn the ways to help your people.” The King said as he walked around his son. “When you reach eighty-one years, you will look back upon your time in this life and see that only a short time of it is spent in these days.”