by Adam Thomas
“Speaking of,” Sorvek said. “I recently traveled there in a dream. Do you think I could return there again?”
“With that amulet on your chest,” Halla said, pointing to the black karest, “I’d say you could dream your way there any time you like.”
“I spoke with the Archfey. They became my new patron.”
“Did they now? A great gift you have received. And yes, I see the shadow has left you. Congratulations. Nurture that patronage, and you might yet enter Karanathan properly despite being of less than full elven blood.”
“If I do, will I see you there?”
“Perhaps, if I have not already returned to this world in a new form. I have been in this body for 674 years. I think it is high time for a new life.”
“You’re not through just yet, Archmage,” Imral said. Their voice was soft and low and full of compassion and playfulness.
“No, that is true. I cannot go until an old enemy of mine is destroyed. But that’s a story for another time.”
At the word ‘enemy,’ Rhys stepped forward. “Halla, can you tell me anything about this sword?”
But as he began drawing Tyrevane, several things happened at once. Halla tensed in her chair. Imral flew in front of her, bo staff in hand, crouched in a fighter’s stance. And the voice erupted in Rhys’s mind. Spill the elf’s blood. Let me drink in the wizard’s might. The power is so great. I must have that magic. Kill. Spill! Fill me with the blood!
Rhys shook violently as he forced the sword point away from the elves and towards the floor. Alurel and Shonasir joined Imral in shielding the archmage. Alurel said, “Rhys, are you yourself?”
“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “But it’s getting harder to resist.”
“A cursed weapon. Fascinating!” Halla said from behind the screen of bodies. Everyone else was tense, but Halla spoke with the delighted curiosity of a child. “Tell me, young man. Can you please hand your sword to Imral.”
Rhys tried to uncurl his fingers from the hilt. No, no. The only way you give me to others is by running them through with my steel.
“I can’t, Archmage,” Rhys confessed.
“As I thought,” she said. “A powerful curse too, by the looks of it. That blade is not of this world.”
“How does he break the curse?” Alurel asked.
Halla nudged Alurel aside and peered at Rhys. “I do not think he wants to. You could try a spell of restoration, but it won’t work unless the patient desires to be cured.”
“I do,” Rhys said. No, you do not. You are my instrument, and I will return by your hand.
“You are at war in yourself, young man,” Halla said, the child-like playfulness gone. “Do take care to discern which side you are on.”
Rhys nodded automatically and sheathed Tyrevane. Everyone except Imral relaxed. Halla patted their arm and said, “Stand down, Imral. Rhys could hurt me with that sword about as much as he could hurt a mountain by striking it.”
“But it is my job to protect you, Archmage.”
“My magic protects me well enough. You are here to protect me from myself. Say, that reminds me, what have you done with my box of sweets?”
“You know sugar is bad for you,” Imral said, mild exasperation creeping into their voice at the constant refrain.
“If it’s sugar that kills me, then I’ll accept my fate. I’m 674 years old, you know.”
“Yes, but before it kills you, you will lose your feet and go blind.”
“Tut, tut. You’re right as usual, Imral.” Halla looked again at Shonasir. “My caretaker has Festival off, by the way. It’s in, what, a week?”
Shonasir admired the way Imral spoke with Halla. They were patient and kind, but also firm. And their fighting stance – Shonasir admired that too. “I’m sure we’ll be back by then, Archmage.
The B-Team stood on the deck of the Starfish, a sleek and lovely sailing vessel under the command of Lorindel, a Parth elf, who was also quite sleek and lovely. While the rest of the party took in the beautiful vista of the vast inland sea of the Verinon Par, Alurel kept her eyes on the elf. Lorindel flitted around the boat, tightening lines, adjusting sails, and keeping the boat on course.
Alurel enjoyed the show. At one point, she leaned over to Shonasir. “Is every elf that pretty? So far all the ones I’ve met since leaving Starfall – Relinon, Tuvala, Imral, Lorindel – they all look like models for statues.”
“What about me?” Shonasir said in mock indignation.
“Oh, that goes without saying. Your sibling, too, when they’re not trying to eat us.”
“Why don’t you go chat up the captain,” Shonasir prompted. “I’m going to check on Emric. He’s looking a little green.”
Alurel took Shonasir’s advice and spent the rest of the day learning how to sail. When it was full dark, the Starfish nosed alongside a jetty on one of the small islands in the middle of the Verinon Par. The B-Team bedded down on the beach, ready to rise early and continue their journey across the water. Alurel took Lorindel up the shoreline, out of earshot of her companions, and they passed a few pleasant hours in each other’s arms before drifting off to sleep.
Shonasir came out of their trance in the middle of the night. The star-strewn sky above reflected on the dark water, making it glitter like diamonds in the sun. Something was drawing the elf to the water, and they padded into the gently lapping surf.
Further in. The voice spoke in their mind, familiar but hard to place.
Shonasir waded deeper.
Further still, the voice said.
“If I go any deeper, I won’t be able to stand,” Shonasir whispered aloud.
Yes. You must give yourself to me if you want me to give myself to you.
Comprehension dawned on Shonasir. “Riven?”
I am here.
“How?”
I flow through all waters everywhere, in your realm and in mine. This sea is purer than most waters, so you can sense my presence more easily.
“I’m ready,” Shonasir said and surprised themselves with the conviction in their voice. “It feels right to commune here in my homeland, in the water of my people.”
Then do so. I will be with you.
Shonasir sank beneath the waves. A minute passed, then two, then three. When Shonasir could no longer hold their breath, they released it in a thin stream of bubbles.
Your commitment is clear. You are now my disciple.
Shonasir broke the surface and sucked down a breath. “Thank you, Riven, thank you.”
You shall be like I am:
Constant, yet flowing,
Filling any shape,
Flooding any bank,
Cleansing as rain,
Resolute as ice,
And as fathomless as the ocean depths.
Shonasir waded back to shore with the words of Riven filling their mind. They touched the water and froze it with their elemental magic. The Awakened Ice grew from the spot and stood silently by Shonasir as they gazed at the star-strewn sea until morning.
Late the next afternoon, the Starfish dropped off its passengers on the northeast shore of the Verinon Par. Alurel pressed a small wooden carving of a crane into Lorindel’s hand, a token of their time together. When the Starfish had departed, she looked over at Sorvek, whose grin was full of questions.
Alurel laughed and said, “I’ve never done anything like that before!”
“Feel good?” Sorvek asked.
“It felt...special.”
“Will you see them again?”
“I hadn’t thought about it. Will you see Tuvala again?”
“I hope so.”
“Sorvek, are you going monogamous on us?”
He thought for a moment. “Believe me, no one is more surprised than I am.”
Alurel laughed again
, and the rest of the B-Team joined in. But their joy was cut short by a sharp whistle from the edge of the forest. A dozen elves dropped from the trees, bows drawn.
“You will come no closer to the trees of the Dasost Forest.” The lead elf punctuated their threat by sending an arrow into the ground at Rhys’s feet.
“Oh, you really don’t want to do that,” Emric said, and he turned to Rhys. “All right, big guy, let’s talk first, murder second.”
Rhys had already started shaking. “I don’t know if it will let me!”
“Sure it will,” Emric intoned in a little singsong voice. His eyes flashed pink and a moment later so did Rhys’s. The swordsman dropped his arms to his sides and his face went blank. “That’s better,” Emric said.
Alurel held up the glass globe. “We come with noble purpose. We have the last ironwood seed of northern Sularil, which we sprouted in the pure water of the Elemental Realm. Please, allow us to plant it in your forest.”
One of the elves lowered their bow and walked forward, patting the air to signal their comrades to lower their weapons too. “Fyara. Aftuyon af fyostana. Espeyon sta marin relanaon.” (Peace. You come to the forest, bearing a life-giving gift.)
Alurel stepped toward them. “Fyarana. Ashrana sta fyosten anyanim.” (Deeper peace. I fervently desire for this seed to grow.)
“I can perceive that,” the elf said, switching to the common tongue. “I am Tharinel, leaf-minder of this patrol. I would be honored to bring you to Fyoshon the Keeper.”
“That decision is not yours to make,” the lead elf barked. They had not yet lowered their bow.
“Hadasana, please. Do you not see what an extraordinary gift this is? The Decade Burn hasn’t resulted in a seedling for as long as anyone besides the Keeper can remember. And here is a new ironwood for the grove. Perhaps its seeds will not be so hard.”
“Enough, Tharinel. We do not permit –”
Hadasana stopped abruptly, and their narrowed eyes stared daggers at the interlopers. But then they cocked their head to one side. “What are those?”
Shonasir realized what they were looking at. They gathered their karest in both hands and showed it to the elves. “Kaerest from the tomb of Verinurel. They were granted to us by the tomb’s spirit guardians.”
Tharinel put their hand on Hadasana’s bow. “You see? They have been guided by the Archfey themselves. This is a sign.”
Hadasana finally lowered their bow and paced toward Shonasir. They took the karest and held it up to the waning light. “Aren’t there supposed to be five?”
Emric looked up at the sky and squinted. “I, uh, gave mine away.”
“A pity,” Hadasana said. “To whom?”
“A vampire...it wasn’t my idea.”
“I see.” Hadasana considered for a moment. “Tharinel, you make a convincing case. Decontaminate them forthwith. Then you lead the rest of the patrol into the forest to clear the path to the ironwood grove. I will follow with our new friends.”
Tharinel pulled a small pouch from their satchel. “I apologize in advance if the pills cause a bad reaction. They are made for the homecoming of elves who venture beyond the forest.”
They passed an oblong green pill to each of the B-Team. The pills were made of compressed fibers of at least a dozen plants, each one a slightly different shade of green. Rhys popped his in his mouth without issue and promptly vomited onto the beach. Emric kept his stomach’s contents down but only just. Sorvek, Alurel, and Shonasir handled the pills just fine.
“Does the pill decontaminate our clothes, as well?” Shonasir asked.
“No, but this does,” Tharinel said, and they beckoned a comrade forward. The elf spoke a spell under their breath and a stiff breeze passed through the party, ruffling their clothes and hair.
“Now you are clean.” Tharinel bowed to the B-Team and said, “I will await you with the Keeper in the ironwood grove. This is an auspicious day.”
With that, they whistled, and the patrol vanished into the trees. Hadasana gave them a few moments head start. “They will clear the way, but try not to blunder too loudly in the forest. We’ve been tracking a young green dragon recently, and I’d rather not tangle with it.”
As silently as they could, the B-Team followed Hadasana into the Dasost forest. The elf led them northeast towards the foot of the Eastern Mountains. They journeyed until full dark was upon them, and none of them knew the forest’s geography well enough to wonder why they were heading to its edge instead of its middle.
The burning in their leg muscles alerted them to the fact that they were now steadily climbing. The trees of the forest swept up the slope ahead of them disguising the change of elevation. But it was now undeniable. They were in the mountains, and the vast expanse of the forest lay south of them.
“I would have thought the ironwoods would be in the main part of the forest,” Alurel whispered.
Shonasir nodded. “Riven said between bodies of water and below the mountains, not on them.”
Hadasana wheeled on them and hissed, “Perhaps you should not speak of things you do not understand. I know where I’m going. It’s just a little farther.”
A low mist hugged the ground, swirling white in the moonlight. As they proceeded higher up the slope, the mist rose as well. It became a clinging, encompassing fog. The party could not see more than a tree or two before them.
“Just up here,” Hadasana intoned from somewhere ahead of them.
“Is anyone else having trouble breathing,” Emric asked, his voice low and strangled.
“Yes,” came Sorvek’s hoarse reply.
Before anyone could draw a weapon or cast a spell, the five members of the B-Team fell unconscious on the mountainside.
“They are beginning to come around, Sire.”
The voice was Hadasana’s, but it sounded muffled and far away. Another voice responded, closer, menacing.
“Ah, the Frozen Rose has released the eyes and the bones of the ear. Very good. Very good. I trust you can hear and see me. You will not be able to respond for a while yet. The paralytic releases the body in such a convenient and predictable way. While we wait for that to happen, allow me to introduce myself.”
A tall, thin elf with gray-green skin stepped into view, towering over the prone figures. The elf bent down and smiled, revealing the fangs of a vampire. “My name is Apranashar, and I have a task for you.”
two days until festival
Rosamund’s Second Delivery
Syne and Wiggins stood in the shadowed alley between two taverns and kept watch on the wharf across the street. The port of Farhome on the western edge of Thousand Spires was dredged deep enough for oceangoing ships to dock. One such vessel had just done so, and the two scoundrels were waiting for the longshoremen to begin unloading the cargo.
“There they are,” Syne said. “What are you going to be this morning?”
Wiggins looked up at his friend and snapped his fingers. Immediately his thin gnomish form thickened and a long brown beard grew from his chin and cheeks. The illusion of a nondescript dwarf was convincing, and Wiggins added to it by pitching his voice low and gruff. “Just make sure you do most of the lifting. My muscles are illusory. Got that, laddie?”
With the last few words, Wiggins found the accent he was looking for, a fair approximation of the dwarves of Anvilcairn – certainly good enough to fool the early shift longshoremen if push came to shove.
They darted across the street and joined the queue of workers waiting to board the ship. No one paid them any mind. Once on board, they strode purposefully belowdecks to the deepest hold. There they pulled aside an old piece of sail and uncovered a wooden box about the size of a small bale of hay. Syne traced the letters stamped on the box.
“E. E,” he said. “This is the one.”
“What has Aunt Elsany g
otten herself into?” Wiggins wondered aloud. “Smuggling is usually our job, not hers.”
“That’s why she asked us to help.”
“So what are we helping with?”
Syne sighed and rapped the side of the box. “It’s nailed shut. We’ll have to get it out of here like this.”
“Can’t you use your magic?”
“My dimensional pocket is too small for this crate. We’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
They carried the box to the deck and once again joined the queue of longshoremen who were rolling barrels and carrying large sacks of goods of all kinds. At the end of the gangway stood a customs official, who was alternately checking items off a list and draining a mug of something steaming.
“Damn,” Syne said. “It’s not Charon this morning. Thought we might get lucky.”
“At least he’s sleepy by the looks of it,” Wiggins whispered. “How do you want to play this? ‘Acorns from the Tree’?”
“How much is Elsany paying us?”
“Not enough. She always asserts the family discount.”
“Not ‘Acorns’ then.”
“How about ‘The Duchess’s Tea Set?’”
“Will the spell work this time?”
Wiggins snorted. “Always bringing up...that was one time!”
“All right. Let’s do it.” Syne shifted the box and took on its full weight. Wiggins dropped to the back of the line of workers.
They arrived at the customs agent, who inspected the crate and consulted his list. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice high-pitched and officious. “But this crate appears nowhere on the manifest.”
“Are you sure?” Syne said. “I’d hate for the duchess to be deprived of her new tea service. Her birthday is coming up, you know.”
“The duchess?”
“Of Torniel. I need to get this down to the canal posthaste. I’m a special envoy from Secureswift tasked with getting this cargo from this ship to the ferry so it can –”
Syne was prepared to keep talking, but the agent cut him off. “Hold it. I’ll need to see some identification.”
“Certainly,” Syne said. “Here. Take this.”