Black Cross

by J. P. Ashman

  In their right hands they held tall spears with shining, slightly curved blades at both ends. They rested tall, leaf shaped shields on the floor, holding the tops with their left hands as the shields leant against their sides.

  As the group approached, the tall elves crouched, looped their left arms through the straps of their shields and hefted them to cover half of their bodies. They stood to attention then and held their spears lightly, clearly ready to use them if necessary. The movement of both guards had taken but a moment and Fal was impressed by their swift reaction to the group’s sudden presence.

  Both elf guards had long, chestnut brown hair that fell across their shoulders, the ends gently moving in the morning breeze, and as the group drew closer to the bridge, the closest guard called out to them.

  ‘Hail Lord Nelem. What brings you away from the meadow and your retinue?’

  ‘Our allies here.’ The elf lord swept his hand to indicate Fal and the others who stood behind him. ‘They seek an audience with the council. My retinue will be along today with more of their followers that were injured in an attack on the far side of the Woodmoat. They need swift passage to the council hall upon their arrival.’

  ‘Very well, Lord Nelem, you may pass.’ The two guards brought their spears close into their sides and took two steps each away from the bridge.

  ‘Thank you my friends, oh… and beware. There are strangers to our lands besides our allies here. We encountered two succubae by the Birch Spring and the Great Stag told us he has heard rumours of yet more unsavoury creatures in our realm.’

  The guard who'd spoken nodded and thanked Nelem for the warning. The group passed then and each of the humans nodded to the guards as they passed, stepping onto the ancient bridge, which only then revealed the spectacular spiral carvings and artwork covering every inch of it. The humans gazed in awe at the beautiful artwork as they walked across the ancient tree-bridge, the soothing sound of flowing water beneath them.

  ‘Charms,’ Errolas explained, as he noticed the humans’ interest in the carvings. ‘We don’t mark without reason. This tree gave itself for our use and defence. It was old and had contracted a disease thousands of years ago. Our ancestors used it then to bridge this river, carving magical charms into it to keep it from rotting, and also to hinder its use by hostile creatures. Each carving means something different and they have been added bit by bit since the bridge was laid. As you can see, there is not much room for more, but the longer the tree lies and is used as a crossing, the stronger its defence to attack or unwanted crossing becomes.’

  ‘Such beauty and such practicality all in one, it truly is amazing,’ Fal said, and the others nodded, brushing their fingers across the finely carved wood as they crossed the bridge.

  As soon as they reached the other side and stepped once more onto the lush green grass, without explanation, their hearts felt lighter, their minds clearer and the air so much sweeter. The sun kissed their skin and a warmer, yet still refreshing breeze flowed around them. Nelem’s silvery hair danced in the pleasant wind, as did Errolas’ as they set off across the beautiful glade, a glade that only now revealed groups of elven children playing by the water. They chased what looked like fireflies around and laughed playfully, a sound sweeter than anything the humans had ever heard before.

  Errolas stopped then and turned to face them, realising they hadn’t followed. He laughed and Nelem stopped just past him, turning to look upon the amazed faces of their human allies.

  ‘I’m sorry, my friends.’ Errolas smiled. ‘I didn’t think of the bridge crossing, it is something we are so used to.

  ‘This,’ Errolas held out both his arms and swept them across the glade, across the playing groups of elven children and to the trees they were heading towards, ‘is our home, the heart of our realm.’

  ‘Oh Fal,’ Sav said, his voice almost a whisper, ‘we’re here, we’re actually here.’

  Fal nodded slowly, his face a canvas to the joy and amazement he clearly felt as he took in the sights, the feelings and the sounds of the children’s laughter.

  A small group of young elves ran over to them, stopping just before the group and whispering to each other. They stared at the humans; the first they'd ever seen. Fal seemed to draw more stares than the rest, his tattooed face clearly of interest to the youngsters.

  Errolas and Nelem chuckled as the group of humans and elven children stared and smiled at each other. Correia waved and the children giggled. The closest child held out her delicate, small fist before turning and opening it to reveal a beautiful pink and purple stone shining in the sunlight. She said something in a quiet, singsong voice none of the humans could understand. None, that was, except for Correia, which surprised everyone in the group, including Errolas and Nelem, who looked to one another, both wondering if the other knew she could speak their tongue.

  ‘A star stone, for me?’ Correia said in broken elvish, and the little girl smiled as she stepped forward with it. The other children giggled as Correia took the stone and thanked the little girl. She took a leather necklace from around her neck with a fan shaped sea shell attached to it that had previously been hidden down her top, and handed it to the small girl, saying something else in the child’s beautiful language. The girl giggled and nodded, taking the necklace before running off past Errolas and Nelem, the rest of the children – including others from a nearby group – chasing after her, laughing and shouting.

  Correia blushed slightly as all eyes focussed on her, something Fal or the others hadn’t imagined possible from the stoic woman.

  ‘Alright,’ she said suddenly, her voice hard once more, ‘on we go. We’ve a mission to be seeing through, so come on.’ She waved them along as they grinned to one another. The two elves led the way and the group entered the forest once again, but this time, it didn’t feel oppressive like before. Not that it had really felt bad before they'd crossed the river into the extraordinarily peaceful place, but there were no densely lined paths restricting their vision of the surrounding area here, and that made the humans feel much more at ease… more at ease than ever before. They even felt strangely at home.

  They passed groups of elves who bowed to them as they passed, very polite yet clearly concerned as to why they were there. One elf, who looked young, most likely around fifty years old, Sav reckoned, but young in terms of elfkind, snarled as they passed, before turning on his heels and striding away from them as Lord Nelem hissed something to him in elvish.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Errolas said, as Nelem glared off in the boy’s direction. ‘Some elves, very few in fact, but mainly those who lost relatives or close friends in the few skirmishes our people have had in the past, still maintain that we made a mistake when we signed the treaty with Altoln and its neighbours.’

  ‘That was centuries ago,’ Sav protested.

  ‘That may be,’ Nelem said, ‘but the aftermath is still remembered by some and they still tell the stories, although it is frowned upon to tell them in any other way than in a historical, factual context.’

  ‘What a shame.’ Fal sighed and Errolas nodded his agreement.

  Starks waved his hand around his head then, hissing ‘psst’ as he did so.

  ‘Careful, Starks,’ Errolas said, a smile visible in his eyes, ‘that’s no fly you swat at.’

  Fal, Sav and Correia looked to Starks then, their eyes lighting up as they realised what Starks was trying to wave away.

  ‘Fairies,’ Sav said.

  Errolas laughed. ‘No, these are sylph; smaller than fairies and unable to use illusional magic like fairies, but very similar and very skilled in the art of healing wounds… should they choose to. They are cousins of fairies if you like. Sylphs are sometimes mistaken for flies or pollen even, when flying in large groups on hot summer days. Some even say they are invisible, as they can hear their whispers, but often cannot see them.’

  The group listened.

  There was indeed a sound akin to ever so faint whispering as more sylphs arrived, al
l of them floating around Starks’ bandaged head, much to his annoyance. One stopped right in front of his good eye then and he could finally see that, although with tiny wings much like a bees, there was a very thin humanoid body, and a face only just visible. It winked at him, or so he thought, and said something in its whispering language before floating again noiselessly around his head.

  ‘Starks, take off your bandage.’ Nelem pointed to the dressing around the crossbowman’s burnt face. The elf lord was clearly quite surprised as he gave the instruction, his eyes not leaving the multiple sylphs floating about Starks’ head.

  Starks looked to Fal, unsure, but Fal re-assured him with a nod, and the young crossbowman began to unwind the cloth, wincing with pain as he did so.

  No sooner had the bandage been removed, the sylphs descended on Starks’ damaged, red face, and he began to hop gently from foot to foot, wincing as if expecting something terrible to happen.

  ‘Relax,’ Errolas said, laughing along with Fal and the others when it was clear Starks could do nothing of the sort.

  ‘It hurts,’ Starks complained, ‘like midges biting me all over. I don’t like it.’

  ‘Trust us Starks,’ Errolas said again, ‘you’re an extremely lucky soul for them to want to help you like this.’

  ‘Help me—

  ‘Ouch!

  ‘Help me?’ he said through clenched teeth.

  Nelem nodded. ‘Yes, they’re healing your face as we speak, now stop hopping around like a child.’

  Starks stopped then, the realisation calming him as he looked to Fal and Sav, a grin – broken by the odd wince – spreading across his sylph covered face.

  ‘Say Sav, maybe they can do something for your face too?’ Fal mocked, to everyone’s amusement, including the tall scout’s, who’d began to point out there was nothing wrong with his face before catching on to the jest.

  ‘Wouldn’t have anything to do would they Fal? I’m near perfect as I am,’ Sav said, grinning all the while.

  Correia blurted out a short, sharp laugh, much to Sav’s annoyance.

  ‘It feels better,’ Starks claimed, and the two elves pointed out that it looked fully healed as the small cloud of sylph finally moved away from his face, whispering to themselves all the while.

  ‘They’re so cute,’ Correia said, and Sav looked at her amused and looking like he would say something, before she set her stern face again and turned away from him. ‘No time to lose, come on,’ she ordered, and both Fal and Sav laughed.

  ‘Thank you,’ Starks called out, as they left the cloud of sylph behind, their whispering increasing briefly in what Starks took to be a farewell.

  The group passed more elves as they continued, some weaving, some turning wood on pedalled lathes, and a group playing strange looking instruments that made Correia and her companions want to sit and listen before Errolas and Nelem pulled them along.

  A group of about two dozen elven archers released arrow after arrow into targets set over four hundred feet away down another long, narrow glade off to one side. Sav ached to take a closer look, but reluctantly followed the others, knowing they didn’t have the time. The elven re-curve bows – much longer than Sav and Errolas’ and more akin in length to an Altoln war bow – released long, perfectly straight shafts not just in a straight line, but in great arcing flight paths towards their targets, hitting buttresses of straw set at angles facing away from the archers loosing the arrows, but hitting dead centre almost every time.

  After a long while of awe-inspiring activities alongside the path the group travelled, houses became visible both on the ground and high up in the great and ancient trees. The branches seemed to hold the wooden, luxurious looking homesteads with no nails or mortar-like bonding visible.

  ‘The wood used to build our homes is given to us by the forest,’ Nelem explained as he walked. ‘The trees themselves understand we protect them and that we live by Broadleaf Forest’s laws, and so here, in the Middle Wood, our home, they sacrifice limbs they know will grow back, whether it be for building materials, weapons or anything else we need. We do not take what we are not offered and the forest knows we make sacrifices to defend our home and so they do too. It is a symbiotic lifestyle that has worked well for millennia and I see no end to it as long as the balance outside Broadleaf Forest remains relatively the same.’

  Elves young and old looked down from balconies and walked on rope bridges from building to building, tree to tree. Others climbed rope ladders or walked up spiralling ramps that climbed up the thick trunks of trees, held to the wood by giant, flowering climbing plants and vines whose lilacs, whites and blues twisted up the trees and around the elven homes, spreading their colours far and wide.

  As the large trees on either side of the group thinned, they looked forward and up to the grandest, oldest and largest oak any of them had ever seen, or imagined even being possible.

  ‘The Council Hall and Grand Palace,’ Nelem announced, as he stepped to one side for them all to see and admire.

  And admire they did, for the enormous tree held dozens of walkways, balconies, pulleys and what could only be described as natural, fungi-like fortifications, which grew out from the giant trunk of the tree here and there like elegant white drum-towers, all of which were manned by elven archers and spear men alike.

  ‘We’re going to that?’ Fal asked, truly amazed.

  Errolas smiled. ‘Yes Fal, to it and up it, to the very top.’

  Chapter 43: The Elven Council

  The sun rose high in the sky as the warm spring breeze carried a mixed scent of freshly blooming flowers to the six humans who stood in the great council hall. The giant and ancient oak that stood in the centre of Middle Wood reached higher than the highest spire of Wesson’s palace or cathedral. It was said to be the first tree, the mother to Broadleaf Forest and all other trees. Within its trunk – a girth that would take an hour to travel around on foot – lay the great council hall of both the elves and Broadleaf Forest itself. There were many chambers of varying sizes dotted around the natural passageways up through the trunk of the ancient oak, like a rabbit warren stretching high into the sky rather than down into the ground. In the very centre and close to the top of the sprawling branches sat the greatest of the chambers, the council hall.

  The grand hall could hold a thousand elves, with intertwined branches forming banks of seating around a raised dais where the trunk of the ancient tree reached its uppermost point. The ceiling was awash with green as the tree’s foliage created a gently moving, rustling canopy that allowed the sun’s rays to pass through in parts to the hall below.

  Upon the raised dais sat six regal looking elves in flowing robes that shimmered in the cascading sunlight, the colours of which none of the humans could quite describe. There were recognisable colours, those of the rainbow, and then other metallic greens, blues, gold and silver, and pearlescent colours that blended and swirled until no one true colour could be discerned. They were simply stunning, and it took Lord Nelem’s introduction of the six humans to snap them out of their enthralled trances.

  ‘My lords and ladies,’ Nelem announced in a humble, yet commanding tone. The six council members shifted their gazes from the humans, to the speaking elf. ‘I am proud to announce the arrival of King Barrison of Altoln’s Spymaster, Lady Burr.’ Correia curtseyed politely and the elf council smiled in return and nodded their acknowledgement.

  ‘Lord Severun,’ Nelem continued, ‘formerly Grand Master of the Wizards and Sorcery Guild in Wesson.’ Severun bowed deeply, but didn’t miss the strained smiles that greeted him from more than one of the council members.

  ‘Sergeant Eppe Scoppus of Tyndurris, personal protector and guard of the aforementioned Lord Severun.’

  How in all the realms do they know my name?

  Fal bowed, his face flushed as he noticed every other human except Correia glance his way in surprise. Fal had never told anyone his Orismaran name and had been known, even by his parents once they arrived in Wesson,
as Falchion or Fal. Sav looked upset despite being announced to the council by Lord Nelem. He was clearly affronted that he didn’t know his best friend’s true name, and Fal didn’t look forward to the inquisition he would certainly receive once they were alone.

  ‘May I also announce,’ Nelem continued, ‘Sergeant Gleave Picton of King Barrison’s own Pathfinders. And last, but by no means least, Godsiff Starks, crossbowman of Tyndurris.’ Both men bowed low, although Gleave struggled slightly with the wooden crutch he'd been given on arrival to the Middle Wood no more than an hour before.

  Errolas stood at Severun’s side, his hand hovering as if ready to catch the wizard should he sway. The elves outside the Woodmoat had treated Severun and Gleave as best they could, and when an escort had arrived some hours later, they'd been brought on horse drawn stretchers to the Middle Wood, where they'd received further treatment from skilled elven clerics. Severun had suffered extensive magical exhaustion and had been given a potion to take slowly over the next few hours to revive him and his magical reserves. He'd been advised to rest, but had insisted, along with Correia, that their meeting with the elf council could wait no longer.

  Gleave’s leg had been splinted and a light healing spell cast over it to speed his recovery. He too had insisted on being present at the council meeting. Both men had been lifted to the highest level of the tree via a system of pulleys, whilst the rest of the group, led by Errolas, Nelem and a troop of eight impressive council guards, had climbed up through the centre, a feat which took them quite some time indeed, especially with all the questions it brought from Fal, Sav and Starks along the way.

  ‘Your people don’t do things by half do they?’ Starks had said, much to the amusement of the elves escorting the group.