by David Pauly
Findalas approached and said, 'It was best that he died quickly, even the Elven healer could not stop the infection. There was nothing we could do.'
Pulling himself together, Alfrahil said, 'Very well, I must change now.'
'This way, lord,' said Findalas, pulling him down a service corridor.
#
Twenty minutes later, finally free from the cumbersome armor, Alfrahil, dressed in the dark blue robes of a leper, slipped down the rear stairs in the company of Findalas. Pausing in a darkened foyer that led into the small rear courtyard, he turned and gave Findalas' hands a gentle squeeze. 'I hope to see you on my return, Findalas.'
'You will, my prince. Send word when you return and I will come when you are available.'
Alfrahil then bade her return upstairs and emerged into the roughly cobbled courtyard, where he was joined by his Shadows, who had already removed their traditional garb and wore the ordinary tunics of common laborers. A long covered wagon, bearing the black skull of the dead on its tattered cloth roof, clattered into the courtyard with two of Alfrahil's guardsmen disguised in the somber black cloaks of funeral drivers. Alfrahil climbed into the back of the wagon and lay down on his back, pretending to be a dead leper. The Five Shadows climbed with him into the back of the wagon and joined the “bodies” made of straw-stuffed clothes, with painted cloth faces, laid out in tidy rows. Alfrahil remembered that Mergin thought his best chance of leaving the city undetected was in a corpse wagon, with all of his guardsmen driving other wagons in a long funeral procession. With all of the hundreds of dead from the ambush in the city, another long train of dead being taken to gravesites outside the city wall should draw little attention. Still, Alfrahil was disguised as a leper so that in the unlikely event anyone looked into the back of the wagon, they would be put off seeing the diseased body.
Taking the rest of the day to reach the city gates, the wagon train exited Titania and two hours later entered a small valley, where they could secretly remove the black skull banners through rents in the cloth of each wagon, and the drivers changed places with guardsmen who were now wearing ordinary clothes. Within minutes what had been a long funeral procession now appeared to be a common merchant caravan. The wagons pulled into a warehouse district outside the city walls and parked in a common lot filled with sand and debris.
Feeble torchlight allowed Alfrahil to see. He climbed stiffly out of the wagon and walked into the closest warehouse, which was empty of people but for his guardsmen, who were slowly emerging from their wagons as well. All of the horses ridden by Alfrahil and his escort were there, having been ridden down during the day by other guardsmen in ordinary clothes, and spare horses were assembled, along with pack horses carrying dried food, medicines, camping equipment, and spare clothes.
Finishing their preparations by torchlight was not easy, but soon Alfrahil's escort was ready. Alfrahil personally knew each member of the company, and he considered it impossible that any of these men should be assassins or traitors. Traveling fast and light would permit Alfrahil to remain ahead of any rumor of his departure from the city, allowing him to reach the Vale quietly and safely . . . he hoped.
The next two days of hard riding left Alfrahil stiff and sore and reeking of horse sweat. Each night they pitched camp and ate like soldiers on campaign, rising early the next morning to press on. The stone road from Eldora ended at the Kozak border, transitioning to a sandy track thirty feet wide. This was maintained by the riders of Kozak and had a pliable surface that was gentle on horses' hooves. Just past the border, the track split in two. The straighter path penetrated a small old-growth forest of oaks and maples. It was a narrow way, so only three horses could ride abreast. The other track kept its original width but ran south and then back north nearly twenty miles, crossing a small river that was low and swampy. Caelus chose the southern track, knowing that the half day of additional travel was much safer, as the flat grasslands would offer few places for assassins to lie in wait. A full Faris of Kozaki riders greeted them after a short delay at the border, escorting them through their realm.
Leaving the grasses behind, Alfrahil and his men rode through shallow watery sands and mire before encountering the first of several low bridges designed to float upon the marshes and water. Despite the low height of the first bridge, Alfrahil repressed a sudden bitter memory of the Great Bridge collapsing in Titania. Though he knew objectively that if this bridge collapsed, he would be uncomfortable rather than dead, he breathed a sigh of relief when they crossed the third and last bridge and gently rode up a grassy slope out of the river valley.
Alfrahil's company and escort rode over eighty leagues first west-northwest and then north, curving around the Encircling Mountains through the realm of Eldora, before arriving at Mostyn, the Kozaki capital, eleven days after leaving Titania.
Upon his arrival, Alfrahil received the formal salute of the guards of Bernadus and was greeted warmly by Bernadus, King of Kozak. Tall and blond, like many Kozaki, Bernadus showed the youthful exuberance of a man recently come of age, though he would not see forty years again. Bernardus was thirty years younger than Alfrahil, but, lacking Elven blood, he appeared to be at least ten years older, with strands of gray visible in his long blond hair. His face was tanned from decades spent in the sun, and he had the blue-gray eyes that were so common amongst the Kozaki. Bernardus walked with the rolling gait common to men who spent more of their lives in a saddle than out of one, but his cheerful countenance and air of command suited him well. Alfrahil reflected that Kozak had a good man for a king. The country had prospered since Bernardus' ascension to the throne three years ago.
Bernardus escorted Alfrahil to a private tent, prepared for the Eldoran prince, with a fresh steaming bath. Bernardus said in the casual custom of Kozak, 'Alfrahil, you arrive unannounced and unexpected, but you are always welcome; come and join me at my table when you are finished washing from your long journey.'
'Thank you, Bernardus,' Alfrahil replied. 'A bath would be most welcome.'
Feeling safe in the great Kozaki tent city of Mostyn, Alfrahil gratefully relaxed in a portable hip bath made of animal hides coated with wax. It leaked slowly, and the strong scent of leather rose around him, but Alfrahil was clean for the first time in over a week and felt the soreness in his hips begin to fade away. The cut on his face, from the arrow wound during the first ambush, was nearly healed, as well as the other wounds suffered in both ambushes. He gratefully sipped a glass of tepid ale as he soaked; glad the first leg of his journey was over.
A breeze flapped against the side of the tent, and despite many layers, a soft draft blew the clean air of the grasses of Kozak through the tent, bearing the ever-present odors of horses and wood smoke and wafting the fragrant smells of roasting meats gently to his nose. The constant murmur of thousands of men coming and going from the caravan city blended into a blurred cacophony with the sharper sounds of a metal pan dropped onto a grate over a fire close by. Once again Alfrahil wondered at the Kozaki, their vast tent caravan spreading for over a mile, often struck down and packed onto horses and wagons each day and then erected each night again. History had taught the Kozaki that permanent structures were dangerous traps, allowing your enemies to approach and fire wooden buildings, slaying you and your kin within. A mobile city, however, was safe; there were tents that could burn, but the scouts moving around the great city each day and night kept their enemies at bay. Not having the experience of stone working, nor comfortable with its restrictions upon horses, the Kozaki had opted for tents and mobility over woodwork and solidity. It was only in the last hundred years or so, after the defeat of Magnar, that the Kozaki had constructed their first permanent stone buildings, and these were occupied by men of Kozak who were merchants rather than horsemen, trusting in granite and limestone rather than cloth to keep their goods and money safe.
#
That night at the high table in Mostyn, Bernadus and Alfrahil exchanged many toasts to their kingdoms, their people, and their hope
for peace. The hall was an amazing sight to a man like Alfrahil, used to the solid buildings of Titania: thick beams rose from central pillars of dark wood, supported by chains and stakes driven into the ground. In turn, wooden beams formed a support for a thick yet light thatched roof, covering the hall and its occupants. Even the great tables that filled the hall came apart easily and quickly, along with the padded benches, but once the room was occupied, you would only know that you were in a tent by the lack of stone. Pausing before he left for his tent, Alfrahil briefly explained his mission to Bernardus, who agreed to meet Alfrahil just after first light.
Retiring to his tent after the festivities, Alfrahil found sleep elusive. He tossed and turned as his mind churned the terrible events of the past weeks. But at last he fell into a fitful sleep.
#
The sounds of a cock crowing the dawn wrenched Alfrahil from his slumber, drawing him from the worlds of dreams once more into the world of Men.
Hearing a polite cough from one of his guardsmen, Alfrahil said, 'Enter.'
Bernadus strode into the tent. He stared at Alfrahil’s haggard countenance quizzically, but politely said nothing. 'Good morning, Alfrahil. Come and break your fast with me. I know I cannot persuade you to tarry here on your journey to the Emerald Vale, nor tempt you to go hunting with me over the plains, but at least you and I shall drink a parting cup before you go about your errands. I may not be here upon your return; there have been rumors of a small band of Dark Elves lurking along the hills of the Shale Mountains, and I shall lead a great company to investigate and hunt the trespassers down if they are there.'
Startled, Alfrahil said, 'Dark Elves? You mean to tell me that there are Dark Elves in your lands again? Why did you not speak of this last night?'
'The report arrived only this morning,' said Bernadus, 'brought by a rider with a terrified shepherd at his back, wide-eyed with fear. It will be several days before I and my men will arrive at the remote encampment where the shepherd claims to have seen the Dark Elves. Most likely he got drunk and saw shadows moving in the dark by his fire; an overactive imagination and fear of the unknown did the rest. However, tracking a potential party of Dark Elves is certainly more sporting than chasing deer across the land.'
'It has been over two hundred years since the last of their kind was seen in Eldora, though it is said that numbers of them may still be found in the wastes of the east,' said Alfrahil. 'I wonder what could have drawn them back after so many years?'
'Perhaps a death wish,' answered Bernardus with a smile. 'For if they have come indeed, then death is all they will find here.'
'Well,' said Alfrahil. 'I must tarry no longer. Come, let us break our fast as you suggested, and then I am off to the Emerald Vale.'
#
After leaving Mostyn, Alfrahil and his men rode two days and nights, crossing the plains of Kozak and fording the river Wyryn. Now, as the third day wore on, the troop followed the Wyryn north and east up toward the mountains that surrounded Eldora for several leagues.
The road wound up from the river valley below, clinging precariously to the mountainside of the northwest face of the valley. Already they were a thousand feet above the river, and their road, if it could be called a road, was a small grass track that continued without interruption between the lush cliff to their left and the sheer drop to their right. The vale was wide at the bottom but steadily narrowed as it rose over many miles, until it reached the boundary of the Thunder Falls.
The falls fell from a height of over five hundred fathoms, and while there were falls above them that plunged even farther, no other cataract was as powerful. The roar of the river Wyryn coursing over its precipice could be heard for dozens of miles, and the ground itself trembled ceaselessly under the onslaught. The mist that rose from the falls produced spectacular vistas, especially when played upon by the rising or setting sun. The vale faced southwest at such an angle, that the prevailing upper winds steered moisture and storms up this valley. As the warm moist air from the humid southern plains was forced up through the valley, the air cooled as it rose, losing its ability to hold moisture and depositing it as rain at lower elevations and snow on the peaks themselves. The Emerald Vale itself lay within a spectacular oval amidst the highest peaks of the Encircling Mountains—the tallest in Nostraterra, towering nearly two leagues above the plains. Framing the narrow, incredibly deep upper vale within their icy confines, they provided the snows and rains that swelled the river Wyryn into the great torrent that it was. The snows of the lower slopes of the crystal peaks melted and fed rings of terraced stones that grew larger down the mountain sides. The lowest terrace was still nearly five hundred feet from the floor of the upper vale, and the waterfalls that cascaded from above combined with the deep moisture rising from the lower valley to produce the only known cloud forest in Nostraterra.
Too warm for snow, the upper vale was a riot of color and verdant shrubs and trees. Flowers grew there that grew nowhere else in Nostraterra, and fragrances found nowhere else ensnared the senses and beguiled the mind, distracting those that proceeded so far. As Alfrahil climbed, saplings of green trees he could not name appeared; the silver and gray-gold of their leaves shimmering like coins in the bright light.
The air became sweet and warm, as if Alfrahil had somehow wandered back in time, to when the world was young. So much did he feel these sensations that Alfrahil expected Elves to drift gracefully downstream, lilting with their beautiful voices about forgotten beauties of the ancient world. For Alfrahil this was a waking dream, the first he had received in Nostraterra. His mind was enraptured by the senses of life and the dreams of forgotten creatures that drank deeply of the earth and for whom the seasons were as but the brief passing of clouds before the moon upon a night of swift wind.
Alfrahil and his companions soon found themselves riding in a dream of green and gold, where all motion continued and all movement ceased. Briefly, Alfrahil realized through a small rent in the clouds and mist that a glorious sunset had fallen, a scarlet conflagration that overshadowed all the colors of the day that had gone before with hues of salmon and vermillion, mauve and cerulean. As dusk fell upon the vale, he noticed that his horse and those of his comrades had stopped walking. He dimly understood that he and his men were under an unknown irresistible spell; and he and his men dismounted and lay upon the soft grass. Never had he felt so deeply at peace with the world. Was he asleep or awake? The distinction now seemed meaningless.
#
Alfrahil woke with a start as a brief rain shower passed overhead. The sun had set and all was dark gray, with the moon trying to come through gaps in the clouds aloft. Wondering how much time had passed, he drowsily pulled himself up from the fragrant turf as, around him, the rest of the party did likewise. All was mist, swirling like impudent wraiths upon the breath of the breeze.
A deep voice rose from Alfrahil's left, answered by an even deeper voice to his right. A dark shadow appeared, coursing through the mist like some leviathan of the ocean cutting through the waves. Alfrahil understood that he and his company were surrounded by the Magi, mystical creatures older than the very hills.
Alfrahil's fear of attack, pushed aside by the wonders of the Vale, now returned full force, and it was with great difficulty that he did not order a retreat. 'Wait, and unsheathe no weapon,' he cried to his men. 'The Magi mean us no harm. Stand firm; endure what fate brings with grace and fortitude.'
Yet though the men exchanged nervous glances and whispers, keeping their hands close to their weapons, the horses of the company showed no alarm whatsoever, but peacefully cropped the verdant grass as if this vale were their accustomed pasture.
The melodic voices sounded again, much closer, but as if from deep within the earth. Alfrahil stood enraptured by wonder that such entities still existed out of song. While he had been told the tale of the Magi as a child and had dutifully repeated the lines to his teacher, he had not quite believed in their existence. Alfrahil recalled hearing of how Earth Spirits had
blended their powers with Water Spirits to create the Forest Spirits when the world was young. These spirits moved to a remote mountain valley, transforming it into the Emerald Vale. There they created a garden of unequaled beauty in Nostraterra, vowing to protect the lives of trees and animals, and barring all from entering their valley uninvited.
The Magi were known as great Oracles, as they had the vast memory of immortals coupled with tremendous magical foresight. Many of their predictions were delivered in riddles. Some were spoken in sentences that ran in obscure order, while others were sung as songs. But the Magi could not be compelled to answer the questions put to them; indeed, there was little discernible rhyme or reason to why they would ignore some questions of great importance but answer seemingly minor questions instead. Sometimes they said nothing at all. At other times they would answer questions that had not yet been spoken.
Over time, the Magi had taken to ignoring almost all questions, instead issuing proclamations concerning the future at irregular intervals. It might take years or decades for their prophecies to come true, or for circumstances to, as it were, translate their more cryptic utterances into sense, but sooner or later they did come to pass. Now, for reasons unknown to Alfrahil, the greatest of all the Magi, Priscus, had summoned him to the Emerald Vale. Alfrahil was curious to learn those reasons, but he had every intention of posing questions of his own.
Alfrahil and his men were consumed in a thick, cloyingly fragrant mist that obscured their sight. All they heard was the soft drip of moisture and the distant roar of fast-moving water. Then the mist began to wane, and Alfrahil glimpsed ancient boughs clothed in lichens and moss that seemed to go hurtling by like starlings at twilight. The great melodic voices broke forth again, and a soft glow came from the dissolving mist, of many different colors. Alfrahil found himself gazing into whirling clouds of chartreuse smoke that seethed and roiled as if boiling with immense heat. Yet he felt no heat.