by J. P. Ashman
Nelem sat down then, in-between Fal and Gleave. ‘The scout’s no terpsichorean is he?’ Both men agreed with the elf lord, neither wanting to admit they didn’t know what he meant. Smiling politely, they clapped their hands along with the elves around them and laughed at Sav’s continued attempts to match the elf-maiden’s steps.
Correia scoffed at the sight, downed her goblet of wine, which seemed to have no effect on her whatsoever, and left the clearing, heading back to the ground house the group had been given to sleep in.
Gleave rolled his eyes and managed to push himself to his feet, much to Fal’s surprise considering the man’s recently broken leg.
Taking two elf dancers by the hands, Gleave linked arms with them and shouted for more to join in. ‘Mearson would’ve loved this,’ he shouted, and before he'd finished, almost all within the clearing were on their feet and linking their arms to form a huge circle around the colourful flames of the camp fire. They danced around and around, supporting Gleave and kicking their legs out awkwardly in imitation of the pathfinder. All present laughed loud and long, and on it went, dancing, laughing, eating and drinking, long into the night.
The next morning seemed to come too fast for Starks, who awoke with a start. He opened his eyes and then closed them again as he saw both Sav and Gleave’s grinning faces just inches above his own.
‘Morning, sleepy head. You feel rough?’ Sav said, and Gleave chuckled to himself as he wandered out of the room shaking his head.
‘What happened?’ Starks’ eyelids slowly closed again.
Sav laughed all the more. ‘You passed out after crying and declaring your undying love to Leiina.’
Starks’ eyes flicked open again. ‘Who?’
‘Don’t listen, Starks, you did no such thing,’ Correia said as she entered the room, glowering at Sav.
‘Spoil my fun why don’t you? Just because you’re moody doesn’t mean—’
‘Sorry, Sav? You seemed to be speaking a little too quietly for me to hear then?’
‘Nothing, my lady.’ Sav flashed what he thought was a winning smile. ‘Just missed you during the dancing last night is all. I thought you would’ve been eager to share a few steps with me?’ He winked at the unamused woman who feigned a look of disappointment.
‘Oh, but you already had a partner didn’t you, Sav? How could I compete with a vixen like that young, or should I say old, elf you were swooning over.’
Starks shook his head in total confusion, realising it must have been early in the night indeed when he apparently passed out.
‘Jealousy doesn’t become you, my dear.’ Sav shook his head in a pitying manner.
‘Oh please,’ the Spymaster said as she repaired swiftly to the other room.
‘You’ll never win her over like that you know,’ Starks said, ‘even I can see that.’
Sav screwed his face up in what Starks knew to be feigned disgust as he too strode out of the room, but not before telling Starks to get his lazy behind out of bed.
The morning brought the smell of fresh flowers, grass and all the green smells of the forest, accompanied by the sound of animals, birds and elves at play.
Fal stood under a low branch in nothing but his linen braes as an elf slowly poured cold, fresh water over him. He gasped and rubbed his face as the water cascaded over his head and olive skinned body.
Correia made an appreciative noise, clearly enjoying the scene as Sav stormed past her and off towards a group of female elves who'd been present the night before. They all turned as Sav walked over, cheering and mimicking a few of his dance steps from the previous night. He gleefully re-enacted his steps to the apparent appreciation of the group, who flocked around him to the disbelief of Fal, who was watching and shaking his head.
The rest of the group left the quaint little house then, and Gleave pointed out a red haired elf maiden to Starks, whose face flushed with recognition. She looked across and giggled as she waved to the young crossbowman, who gingerly waved back whilst receiving a playful prod in the ribs from Gleave.
‘She’s so, so perfect,’ Starks said, with an appreciative sigh, and Gleave laughed as he walked across to the group, dragging Starks all the way.
Fal wandered over to Correia then. He pulled his linen shirt over his head, sat on the ground and pulled his hose and boots on before looking up at the woman to ask her how she was.
‘I’m fine,’ she said before Fal could say a word, and he merely nodded, knowing full well it wasn’t the time to press her.
‘Where’s Lord Severun? He wasn’t with us last night, nor have I seen him this morning,’ Fal asked. The Spymaster pointed to the great oak sat like a fortress of wood and leaves in the distance.
‘He’s been with their clerics and mages doing, well, magical things. I’ll leave that stuff to him.’
‘What’re we to do then, if they’re not ready to leave yet?’
‘They’ll leave when I say so,’ Correia said, eyes on Sav and the elf maidens before realising Fal meant the elf mages. She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. ‘I’m sorry Fal.’
‘No need, Correia, no need.’
The woman pulled him to his feet and he patted her on the back, before pulling her off towards the mixed group of human men and elven women.
The she-elves took the humans on a tour of the Middle Wood, showing them artisans of all types. Some wove the same blankets that had been used to cover the ground the night before, whilst others carved ornate and elegant ornaments using wood they explained was donated by the trees to be used in the construction of necessities. Others beat metal with hammers in a style none of the humans had seen used before, creating weapons, armour and various other tools and implements.
By the time the group had reached a large orchard where elves picked a wide variety of ripe fruit, a whole host of children had gathered to follow the humans. They pulled on their arms to ask questions and laughed at Sav’s dancing.
‘What The Three is that?’ Starks blurted, and the whole group, children included, followed his gaze along his outstretched arm to the tree line at the edge of the orchard.
‘Aw, don’t worry, it’s harmless,’ Leiina said. She took Starks’ hand and skipped across to the creature emerging from the undergrowth, her red hair dancing behind her in the breeze as Starks – almost skipping himself – ran by her side.
The rest of the group followed, several of the elf children hanging off their shoulders or pulling on their hands as they walked.
As they got to the edge of the orchard, the undergrowth parted fully to reveal a huge, fleshy bodied creature on stump-like legs that shuffled its bulbous, orange form out into the sunlight of the orchard.
‘Gods above,’ Starks said, his jaw remaining low as he took in the creature before him. His red haired companion giggled and pulled him in close for a hug. Gleave pictured the young man as a fluffy bunny in the arms of an intrigued child. It was the only way he could make sense of it. He shook his head and grunted a laugh to himself, before thinking again of Mearson. Damn, brother, you’d have loved it here.
Sav looked mortified, mouthing ‘why him?’ much to the amusement of Fal who saw his friend’s reaction, as did more than one of the remaining elf maidens, some of whom deciding to wrap the scout in a hug of their own.
All human eyes, apart from Sav’s and Starks’, were fixed completely on what was now fully appearing from the undergrowth. Fal thought it was one of the strangest things he'd ever seen, apart from the sight of the not so pretty Sav wrapped up in the arms of several stunning elf maidens.
‘What is it?’ Fal asked. The reply came from Errolas behind him, which made him jump.
‘It’s a pandorus sphinx.’
‘A what?’ Gleave asked, and only then did Sav look out from the cluster of girls to take in the slowly moving form of the creature. Starks was also clearly interested, despite the dreamy look plastered across his face as Leiina placed her head on his shoulder, her red hair cascading down his chest and back.<
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Sav laughed in amazement and everyone turned to him. ‘It’s a moth larvae… like a caterpillar, but huge.’
The giant larvae slowly shuffled towards the group, all of which moved out of its way as it lumbered past. Great circular eye-like patterns ran down its side as its small – compared to the rest of it – head bobbed up and down, consuming the grass and plants it passed over. A large horn-like tail sprouted from the back end of the creature and waved from side to side as it moved past the group, slowly shuffling off towards the centre of the orchard.
‘That’s truly amazing.’ Fal locked his hands behind the back of his slowly shaking head. The rest of the humans nodded their agreement.
Leiina looked from the larvae to Fal. ‘Not everything in the Middle Wood is as you would normally see it elsewhere,’ she said to him, before turning back to Starks.
‘Well, you’re bloody right there,’ Gleave said, staring and nodding towards the attractive elf playing with Starks’ hair. The whole group laughed, apart from Starks who positively beamed back at the burly pathfinder.
The high spirits and happy mood of the group lowered suddenly as new arrivals appeared in the orchard. From the far side of the fruit trees came seven riders on proud, black steeds. Some of the slim yet powerful looking mounts pawed at the ground as their riders stopped by the small crowd. Several of the children seemed to lose interest in the group at that point and ran off back the way they'd come, whilst the others quietened down and looked to the elf maidens for direction. One of the she-elves put her finger to her lips and the kids nodded, whilst the pale skinned, black haired riders looked on with dour expressions.
‘Can we help you, Lord Salkeld?’ An elf maiden asked. Her golden hair hung in a long plait across her left shoulder, revealing what looked like a feint tattoo of an elven rune on her right. Fal had to pull his eyes away from that tattoo, to look back at the lead rider.
The elven knight – for surely that’s what they were – to the elf lord’s right snorted at the question. ‘It seems you are already helping the humans.’
A couple, but not all, of the girls let go of Sav and looked to their feet.
‘We’re being hospitable, nothing more, my lord,’ one of the girls who'd let go of Sav said. Several of the others nodded their agreement, eyes still lowered.
Starks glanced sideways to Leiina, who remained defiantly by his side much to his relief, and so he puffed his chest out just a little more.
‘I hope there isn’t a problem with us being shown around, Lord Salkeld?’ Correia asked confidently. The dark green armoured lord seemed to almost snarl at Correia’s words.
‘Of course not, Spymaster Burr. You are our guests and our home is your home. I wouldn’t dream of upsetting you or your little party… while you are here.’
The elf knights fingered the hilts and pommels of the long-swords that lay in their saddle scabbards, and Fal didn’t miss the intended threat for what it was, and neither did Errolas it seemed.
‘Whilst those kind words are welcome in my home, Lord Salkeld, I would apologise for cutting this pleasant conversation short. I have come to retrieve our friends and allies and so must bid you farewell. I wish you a pleasant journey back to your home in the Black Forest.’
Fal tried to hide the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth. He cringed as he noticed Sav had failed completely to hide his.
The elf lord’s knights bristled then, their mounts growing restless. Arrlo had to raise his hand as two of the armour clad elves half drew their elegant swords.
‘Of course, ranger, and I bid you all a pleasant journey back to your city.’ His eyes shifted back from Errolas to Correia. ‘I do hope you find it as you left it.’ Arrlo Salkeld nudged his horse with his knees then and trotted regally passed the group, his sneering knights close behind.
Several of the elf maidens made their excuses and swiftly left the group along with the remainder of the children, whilst the handful left tried to apologise for the elf lord’s behaviour.
Correia and the others wouldn’t hear of it. They assured the elf girls they'd sincerely enjoyed their time with them and considered each and every one of them a new friend. The elves assured the group they felt the same, especially Leiina, who turned Starks by the shoulders and embraced him in a passionate, lasting kiss that stunned everyone in the group, human and elf alike.
***
The iron-studded oak door crashed open as two panting men burst through and into the sparring chamber of the palace.
From a circular arena filled with a thin layer of sand came a strained groan and then a dull thud as Will Morton, bare from the chest up and sporting several silvery scars across his shoulders and chest, slammed a much younger but equally stocky knight down onto his back. Sand lifted into the air and a squire off to the side called a point to the Lord High Constable, who finally looked over to the two men attempting to stand to attention in the open doorway.
Offering a hand to the prone knight without looking, Morton heaved the man to his feet and shoved him off to the side before walking across to the edge of the arena, his bare feet making no sound on the sand beneath him.
It wasn’t until he reached and sat on the wooden barrier, twisting to look at the intruders, did he notice an equally out of breath and panting bloodhound at their feet.
‘What?’ Morton said simply, as he brushed sand from the palms of his hands.
Sears glanced sideways to Gitsham, who merely shrugged, and so clenching his teeth before taking a deep breath, Sears explained the information they’d discovered in Dockside.
After a moment’s pause whilst Lord Yewdale climbed over the barrier and proceeded to brush his braes and hose down, the man finally straightened, looked back at the two men and asked again, this time with incredulity. ‘What?’
Sears looked again to Gitsham, but the man was too busy staring at his feet.
‘Sire, it is our belief—’
‘I heard you damn it, it was rhetorical.’
Sears swallowed hard and maintained a straight back, eyes front.
Pacing now, the Duke turned to the knight and squire. ‘Leave.’ They both nodded and left the room swiftly through a second door on the far side of the chamber.
‘You claim the Black Guild has placed a mark on King Barrison’s head?’
‘Yes, sire,’ Sears said.
‘Aye,’ Gitsham said.
‘And the dog?’
‘The dog, sire?’ Sears asked, confused.
‘The dog told you this?’
‘Not me, sire, him.’ Sears jerked the thumb of his good hand to Gitsham.
‘Ah… that’s alright then.’ Morton rolled his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. He moved across to a bench and picked up a blood-red linen shirt, before pulling it on over his head. He then dunked his head in a cold bucket of water and thrashed it about, spreading droplets all about him.
Buddle whined.
‘Thirsty boy?’ Morton said.
Buddle barked.
‘Go on then,’ the Duke said, motioning for the dog to drink from the bucket which he placed on the floor. Buddle raced across the room and lapped at the water as Morton crossed back towards the two men, but not before picking up and strapping on his belt, which held his ornately sheathed bastard-sword.
With the sound of Buddle lapping up water in the background, Morton rubbed at his face and stared into the eyes of Sears, before asking who else knew of this.
‘Lord Stowold, sire, and some of his men.’
‘And?’
Sears paused, but under the scrutiny of the Lord High Constable, easily caved. ‘A former whore called Coppin and a former assassin called Longoss.’ Sears didn’t miss the flash of recognition when he mentioned Longoss’ name, despite the Duke hiding it swiftly. He turned to look upon Gitsham, whose head was still pointing to the ground, suspiciously like he was sleeping.
‘And you, Gitsham?’ Morton asked, surprising Sears that he knew the man’s name.
&nbs
p; Nothing.
‘Is he asleep?’
‘Erm… it appears so. It’s been quite an experience, sire.’
‘I suppose it has, travelling through Dockside with assassins and gangers on your heels, whilst a dog talks to you in your head.’
Buddle wined over by the bucket.
‘I already know much of what you say.’ Morton looked back at a surprised Sears. ‘Somehow, Stowold received a message that you needed assistance in Dockside and that you had important information, of what I had no idea and nor did he. He did inform me, however, that Gitsham here could speak to that magical hound of his, or visa versa.’ Morton pointed back towards Buddle, who was now lying down next to the bucket, his eyes slowly closing. ‘Although I must confess, I’m struggling with that part. Anyway, I digress. If I am to take your word for it about this mark, and it seems that by your word, we in fact mean the word of a former assassin of the very guild you are saying has placed a mark on our King’s head. Then I must conclude the Black Guild, for some reason, has let you escape to bring this information to me. Why?’
Sears almost rocked back on his heals. ‘Why must ye assume that, sire?’
‘Why?’ Morton laughed. ‘I know of you and your partner’s success within Park District, Sears, but please. There’s no way you survived Dockside alone, with not only riots, gangers and a plague ripping through the damned district, but with a bloody assassins guild on your arse as well man? No, it’s my thought that Longoss is still working for the Black Guild and for some reason, they wanted you to get this message to me.’
Sears was shaking his head as the Lord High Constable spoke.
‘You don’t agree? You thought it was your skill as a soldier that got you through it, do you?’
‘No, milord, I don’t think that, but nor do I believe Longoss was still part of that guild—’
‘Friends now are we,’ Morton said, voice rising dangerously, ‘you, the assassin and his whore?’
Sears had to check himself from swinging for the man as Coppin’s battered and bruised image popped into his head. She’s more than ye’ll ever be, ye bastard. Breathing deep, Sears thought of Biviano and managed to calm himself, although from the sudden yet brief look in Lord Yewdale’s eyes, Sears thought his own eyes may have just betrayed his anger.