by Jordan Cramm
“That’s King Gorak now, and it can foggin run almost as fast as that horse you ride. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve never seen a cave ram is all.”
“Well now you have seen one. Foggin satisfied?”
“I guess.”
Ayvock shrugged back at Wolflen who was laughing. King Gorak and Fenka both rode ahead of their column by ten paces, and ahead of them, the remainder of the Dwarven force. This was done because the Dwarves knew the underground tunnels better than anyone, and they were the best choice to be in the lead. Gorak rode at their rear driving them, but also so that he could remain in contact with Wolflen and his party as well. Besides that, he had volunteered for the mission, because Gorak believed that Wolflen was his meal ticket. After all, it was Wolflen that could bring Gorak to Polithica and help the Dwarves get established there. So Gorak decided the best place to be was near the one who would help make it happen. Plus, as Wolflen was a War Mage, it made Gorak feel a little bit safer; rubbing shoulders with an Izenian that could be a brutal killer himself, but who also could command an entire army. Gorak thought maybe that was a safe place to be.
As they rode on, they all made small talk, including the soldiers in the ranks of Wolflen’s column. There were Knights, a few Shamans, a handful of Rangers, and even Free Mage Carra had come along, and now she spurred her own horse toward the front of the column with the rest of the other people that were in charge of it.
“Mage Carra,” Jakarta said as she took a place riding beside him, “you shortened your hair.”
Mage Carra set her palm underneath the bottom of her now chin-length hair and pressed upward with her hand, causing her hair to bounce slightly at her touch.
“I did,” she remarked, “thought it would be a bit more cool going forward. Does it look okay do you think?”
“It looks beautiful Mage Carra. I like the look of it.”
When Wolflen and Katrina overheard what was being said, he turned and met her gaze, which said that they both were wondering if Jakarta was flirting with Mage Carra now. As Izenians went, she was considered smaller; petite even. Of course, her petite Izenian frame only served to make her appear like a slightly tall human. As Jakarta himself was of similar height, the idea of the two together did not seem awkward. That, and Jakarta as First Knight of Orenty was muscular and had a larger frame that many among the Elven race anyway. So the thought of the two of them together could be pictured.
A First Knight and a Free Mage. What a combination. Ah but then, I’m a War Mage, a Steward, and Prince now. Who am I to begrudge any strange or unlikely thing? 'To be a War Mage is to pursue freedom. To be free is to be. To be any other way is contrary to how you should be' Freedom…freedom to do what exactly? I wish we had more time. Just a few nights in Peludeen again…time to love and be freely intimate with her. Damn this war business. Damn it indeed.
Wolflen turned back around and felt Katrina tighten her hold around his waist. She didn’t have to hang on to him to ride with him anymore. She had learned to match the movements of Sespa’s body with her own from where she sat, and there was plenty of room for her to even scoot away from him slightly and grab fur locks herself as Wolflen often did when he rode. Now though she was close to him, pressing her chest against his back and putting her chin on the back of his shoulder to whisper to him.
“Is it selfish to miss Peludeen?” she asked quietly, “Or to miss the path we took through Polithica on our way there?”
Wolflen smiled and nodded no. He turned his head and spoke softly in response.
“I was just wishing we were there together…in Peludeen. I was letting my thoughts drift I guess, thinking about us, and my desire for us to be together intimately.”
“I want that very much too,” Katrina said quietly, “though present circumstances offer complications to that idea.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you say something Lord Darkmoon?” Jakarta asked suddenly.
“We were just…” Wolflen said before pausing with a grin and continuing, “wondering if you fancied Mage Carra there.”
Jakarta began to turn red as he blushed and looked ahead. He knew he couldn’t avoid the topic, nor even ride ahead to dodge it, as there were several Dwarves in his way, filling the cavern corridor.
“Silence…?” Mage Carra interjected, “should I take that as a ‘no’ to the question then?”
“I…” Jakarta stuttered, “I mean I…well we don’t know each other all that well, but as I said, I think you are beautiful.”
“Oh no,” Ravenshade answered back, riding behind him and next to Ayvock, “you said before that her hair was beautiful. This is the first you have said in regard to calling her beautiful.”
Ayvock, Trevel, Wolflen, and Katrina were chuckling now, while Ravenshade was grinning as much as Mage Carra was now. Jakarta still blushing turned his head to the right, looking at Wolflen as if to ask for some kind of intervention from the War Mage that might lessen the awkwardness of the situation.
“Relax Jakarta,” Wolflen said, “besides, why can’t our two races get together sometimes? Mage Carra has spent time in Elven lands before if I recall her telling of it.”
It was clear to Jakarta that he was going to have to admit to whatever feelings he might have; whatever interest he carried for Mage Carra, no matter how small.
“It’s true Mage Carra,” Jakarta said, “I find you attractive. You are beautiful, a skilled healer, and I find that you are also very refined and have a certain grace about you.”
“Well thank you Jakarta, those are high compliments.”
“You’re welcome. Now, would you care to let me in on your opinion of me—as a reciprocal courtesy?”
“No,” she remarked with a playful grin, “I don’t think now is a good time for me. Maybe ask me later.”
She was playing with him, and everyone in earshot knew it and was quietly laughing. All except Jakarta himself of course.
Chapter 13: The Darkened Isles
The Darkened Isles were a place of mist, intrigue, danger, and for some, entertainment. And while the Darkened Isles were mysterious to some as the name suggested, and dangerous for others, they were hospitable to anyone with the right connections, or with a sizable pocketbook. The Darkened Isles were also home to only one species; Elves. These Elves were not the Elves of Orenty however, nor did their allegiance go toward King Janureen Trueshot of Orenty. The allegiance among the Darkened Isles was to a different royal all together; an Elven King named Eklar Felken.
Though he was the King of the Darkened Isles, he was like so many other Elves there, a Rogue by trade. Like many others of his kind, he was well skilled with daggers, throwing knives, traps, poisons, and other methods of the craft. On the Darkened Isles, he was as God, being the supreme authority, and the role model that other Elves there aspired to be. For while the Elves of the Darkened Isles were mostly all Rogues by trade, they were by no means ruffians or simple thugs. They were elegant…graceful even, which was due in part to their racial lineage, and part by way of choice.
Lord Eklar Felken sat in a chair made of ivory covered in cushions and furs, eating sliced apples, a pear, and a fillet of fish at his dinner meal. As he ate in the open pavilion with only pillars that held up the roof over his head, a nice breeze blew through, bringing with it the smell of the ocean surf beyond, and carrying a rhythmic sound of the waves crashing on the shore below where he sat. The call of the surf echoed well, even so high above, against the white marble floor and ceiling. As he ate, guards stood at each ivory column that supported the pavilion. There were over 100 standing on guard presently, but he paid them no notice as he ate.
He had long, black hair, combed finely and tied into a brown, leather-string pony-tail at the base of his neck, leaving the rest to hang down over his long, fluid robe he currently wore. Apart from this, he wore nothing else but thin mithril pants, and sandals while he took his meal. His robe was all black, much like his hair. He had piercing emerald-colored eyes,
and his face was smooth yet his jawline pronounced with a slight under bite. Most believed it was just a symbol of his strength.
As he took another bite of pear, he heard the bootfalls of guards as they ascended the stairs to the pavilion deck where he ate (at the top level). He knew they likely had a message for him, and soon they would interrupt his meal. He sighed, knowing that if they were about to interrupt his meal, they thought whatever it was warranted such action. He hoped for their sakes that he would agree upon the hearing of the matter. He took a drink of some blackberry wine and then watched as guards crested the stairs ahead of him and began to stand in his sight just beyond the table.
“What is it?” Lord Eklar asked as he wiped his chin and placed the white, cloth napkin next to his plate.
“Your highness, there is a visitor of some import who wishes to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”
“I see. And did this visitor perhaps introduce himself, or state their purpose here?”
“Sire, the man’s name is Mortican. He says he is the Lord of the Eloxin Isles. He surrendered his weapons, but is still wearing armor. He said his purpose here was for your ears alone.”
“I take it,” Lord Eklar said without any fear in his voice, “that you know then who this man is—by reputation of name?” he asked.
“Y—yes sire. We have heard the name. We have guards on him now ready to strike at your word or by his offensive.”
“No need,” Lord Eklar said as he stood, “tell Mortican I will receive him, but take him to the East point lookout. Inform him I will meet him there shortly.”
“Yes sire.”
Lord Eklar watched his guards descend the same stairs they had come from, and so he returned to his meal, finishing it at a normal pace. He saw no reason why news of his guest needed to rush things, and besides, while he respected his visitor’s power, he did not fear the visitor on such a call. After all, had he come for war, he wouldn’t have waltzed right in as a guest asking for an audience. He wouldn’t have come close at all most likely, and so Lord Eklar surmised that his visitor was there for other purposes; perhaps business. And while Lord Eklar was no great lover of the man, he respected his power and abilities, as well as the wealth that Mortican had.
As Lord Eklar finished his meal, he took the last drinks of Blackberry wine and wiped his lips and chin once more. Then he stood, and with an absolute silent footing, he walked toward the stairs where his guards had earlier emerged from. As he descended, the stairwell continued, but he stepped off to a level just below the one he had eaten his meal at. Within the interior of the mountaintop, rooms were built nicely, along with the walkways and all other architecture. He was Elven after all. As he turned off the stairs onto the next level down, he stepped to the walkway that ran a ways along the interior of the mountain. Having a balcony now on his right, and the open mountain within, he paused, looking down over the railing a moment to see Elves below, deeper in the heart of the mountain. He knew that most all of them dwelling in this particular mountain were his guards and soldiers.
He looked downward a moment, pausing to see the 30 levels below. They had carved out the mountain centuries prior, and now it was their home. Unlike their Elven counterparts living on the continent of Orenty, they preferred the safety of the stone rather than the cover of woodlands or jungles. The stone was cold and could be unforgiving yes, but it was also calm and still; quiet. There was a serenity to it that Lord Eklar embraced whenever he was home. His hallway floors here were slabs of blackened marble, and the walls were painted white in color. Above his head, the mountain stone was carved in the shape of a half arch (on his left) that was certainly tall enough for horse and riders to ride through, and the inlets housing lanterns made the view inviting as he walked.
He walked on only a short way before reaching the double doors to his quarters. There, two guards stood watch, ensuring that no one but him would enter. They were fully armed, and were imposing figures each, but they relaxed as their master approached. He had no key in hand, but he didn’t need one. The door was locked sure enough, in addition to being guarded, but he had no physical key. Instead, he raised a hand toward the door handle on the right, and his hand began to glow with a green colored magic momentarily. The sound of the door unlocking echoed for a few feet beyond as he entered his quarters.
When he entered his quarters, he was first within a living room area which he passed through quickly to reach a large bedroom. There he approached a large armoire and opened it, seeing a peg dummy on the left interior, and on the right side were shelves and pull-out drawers. Upon the peg dummy though was a thin mithril-mesh jacket that was black in color. He discarded his robe, throwing it over a chair that was near him, then he opened one of the drawers in the armoire and pulled out a sleeved undershirt that was so dark red in color it was a toccata brown. As he put it on, the length of it flapped neatly over his black mithril pants. He opened another drawer next, pulling out two leg bands that fastened over his thighs and had sheathed in them vials of various substances such as poison, and a few things that were instant smoke bombs once broken.
Next, he grabbed his belt, which matched his shirt perfectly in color, and he fastened it over his waist. It too had many pouches with various things inside, and it held two sheaths of different sizes with daggers inside. One was nearly a foot long, and the other nearly two feet in length. After these were in place to his liking, he reached for his hardened mithril greaves with fastened together on the inner side of his forearm. He turned and grabbed some boots next; they had been deposited carefully next to the armoire between it and his chair. So he sat, removing his sandals and pushing them beneath the chair as he put on his boots. The boots like his shirt and belt, were toccata brown with black fur lining. Within the inner lining of each boot, he had a small dagger sewn into the lining
Finally, he stood and grabbed his mithril jacket from the peg dummy in the armoire. It had a thin mithril hood that was also fur-lined, and the hood was large so it could easily shroud his whole face if he wanted it too. For now though, he kept his hood draped over his back as he tugged the jacket edges around his midriff. Then he opened the jacket flaps, checking the interior on both the left and right side. On the left, he had what is called a kunai; a spearhead with a small ring at the back end that attached to thin mithril wire that Lord Eklar kept rolled up inside the jacket. When thrown at an enemy like a throwing knife, he could then yank back on the cord, either allowing a second strike upon return of the spearhead, or even dragging an opponent toward him quickly. Not only that, but the kunai spear tip was razor sharp on both sides of the arrowhead-design, and Lord Eklar could swing it around causing multiple lacerations to an enemy in a short time. Of course, he had needed to make a special sheath for the spearhead inside his jacket, but he could reach it and effectively use it in short time. And in desperate situations he could also anchor it and use it to grapple up a wall, or repel downward.
On the right side of the jacket interior he had two rows of throwing knives, which were very similar in shape and size, but without any cordage attached. They too had sheaths that they rested in so that the edges would not harm him, even if his movements were intense through combat, or missions of stealth.
Having readied himself to his satisfaction, he turned and left the room, passing his guards once more, and locking his door again with the same magic he had used to unlock it getting in. Then quietly he nodded at the guards who in turn mimicked the gesture. He decided to leave his jacket open, though had he wanted to, he could fasten it shut with the toccata brown buttons down the breast and covering the belly. He decided for now though, that absent cold temperature, he would leave it open.
As he approached the stairs once more, he began a further descent to a level just a few below where he was at. Then after some more walking through stone corridors, passing guards, and finally rounding a second corner, he arrived at the East Point lookout room where his guest was waiting. Guards stood outside the door, and as Lo
rd Eklar passed them, he could tell they were uneasy. Clearly, they understood the import and danger of their visitor.
The room was large and circular in shape. Inside was a table, a few chairs, a fire brazier and open-air windows carved out of the stone. The view was actually impressive from there looking out; one had a good vantage of the eastern beach, covered in its black sands stretching beyond the base of the mountain below. The window also allowed natural sunlight to brighten the room. This room however was not like the rooms on the upper level that were adorned with ivory and marble. This room was colder, but not so rough that meeting there would be considered rude. The floor looked to be smooth stone, painted white to help brighten the area. The walls too were painted white, and for the same reason.
As Lord Eklar entered the room, Mortican stared out the window a moment before turning.
“Mortican of the Eloxin Isles,” Lord Eklar began, “welcome to the Darkened Isles.”
“Ah,” Mortican said as he turned and offered a slight but noticeable head nod, “Lord Eklar Felken…thank you. What? No tea service today, or is it because of who I am that you forgo such pleasantries?” he asked.
“Actually,” Lord Eklar said, motioning for Mortican to sit at the table, “myself and my people broke with that tradition centuries ago, as we did with many others. Though if you have no objections, I would have wine brought.”
Mortican smiled and nodded silently, and so Lord Eklar called out to one of his guards who entered the room quickly, with sword and shield at the ready while Mortican and Lord Eklar had begun to sit down.
“It’s alright,” Lord Eklar assured his guard, “I simply wish a bottle of Blackberry wine and two goblets brought down please.”
“They seem a bit jumpy,” Mortican snickered as the guard left the room once more, “am I so feared?”
“Come now Mortican, you didn’t come here to bandy words and stroke egos I think. So tell me, why have you come?”