Emerald of the Elves

by Richard S. Tuttle

  The heat of the fire rose and began to melt the ice encasing the Black Devil. Rivers of water cascaded down the man as the fire crept upward. The fire started eating into the man’s flesh, but the only sound in the room was the fire consuming the servant. As the ice surrounding the man’s head began to melt, a blood-curdling scream emitted from his lips. His body tilted and fell to the floor as the fire burned up the man’s legs.

  Lattimer raced into Sarac’s office and halted in the doorway. His eyes grew wide as he viewed the burning spectacle before him. He shouted orders into the corridor and stepped aside as several men came running.

  “Get that out of here,” Lattimer commanded.

  The men hesitated as they stared at the Dark One. Sarac’s face was twisted in rage. Lattimer stepped between the men and Sarac.

  “Get it out of here now,” repeated Lattimer.

  The men swiftly grabbed the body by the hair and dragged it out of the room.

  “How dare you interrupt my chastising of a fool?” snarled Sarac as his hands rose menacingly.

  “Stop it,” demanded Lattimer. “Are you so eager to kill your own men that you will strike down your most trusted servant? Get a hold of yourself.”

  Sarac’s face dissolved into a frown as he stared at Lattimer.

  “What has come over you?” Latimer asked soothingly. “Did this man try to assassinate you?”

  “No,” Sarac answered softly as he blinked his eyes several times. “He brought me stale bread.”

  “Sarac,” sighed Lattimer, “these men may be bound to serve you, but if you keep terrorizing them, they will find ways around that. You must learn to control your anger.”

  “How can they find ways around the binding?” Sarac asked nervously.

  “They could throw their bodies off the tower,” frowned Lattimer. “What is happening to you?”

  “I do not know, Lattimer,” Sarac shook his head. “I could not control myself. The piece of stale bread became an affront to me. It was worse than if he had tried to attack me. Suddenly, I knew that he must be taught a lesson. He could not be allowed to defy me like that.”

  “A lesson can never be learned by the dead,” Lattimer shook his head. “I fear that something magical is affecting you. Not just you actually, but everyone. I have spent a great deal of time today on behavior issues with the men. Something is making them more irritable. I am not surprised that whatever it is would affect you more severely.”

  “But who could be doing this?” questioned Sarac. “Nobody has the power to affect me in this castle.”

  “Except the people already here,” posed Lattimer, “and I can not think of anyone here that could wield that type power. I do not have an answer for you, Sarac. I will seek the answer, but you must try to restrain yourself in the meantime.”

  “Find the answer quickly, Lattimer,” sighed the Dark One.

  Chapter 8

  Lure of Tagaret

  Alex halted at the edge of the Great Sordoan Desert. He peered out over the vast open wasteland as the Rangers gathered around him.

  “I was wondering why you left the main trail early this morning,” commented Tanya. “Are you thinking of crossing the desert again?”

  “It would save days off our trip,” nodded Alex.

  “What about the ability of Sarac’s people to affect the unicorns’ flying spells?” asked Arik.

  Alex looked questioningly at Jenneva.

  “I think if we flew close to the ground,” mused Jenneva, “it might work. The spell could still be detected by any Black Devils in the desert, but I do not imagine that many of them would think to camp out in such an inhospitable environment.”

  “And by flying low,” smiled Alex, “there is little risk of death by falling. I think it is worth the gamble.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” questioned Prince Darok.

  “You can double up with me,” offered Arik. “We will get you another horse at Southland. Wylan and Bin-lu left their horses there. You can use one of them.”

  The dwarf prince looked dubiously at Arik’s mount.

  “Chaco is more than strong enough to handle both of us,” chuckled Arik. “Have you never wanted to fly?”

  “Never,” retorted Prince Darok. “Just being on a horse is foreign to me. Now you expect me to fly up in the sky on one?”

  “It will hardly be up in the sky,” laughed Alex. “The ride will be smooth.”

  “Bah,” scowled the dwarf prince in an attempt to cover up his fear. “Perhaps I should just continue on and meet you there.”

  “Time is important to us,” Tanya stated seriously. “I have little doubt that Sarac’s Ravens are tracking us. We cannot sit here and debate this decision. What are we going to do, Prince Arik?”

  “I would like to put this traveling behind us and spend some time with my family in Tagaret,” stated Arik.

  “You miss your parents?” Jenneva smiled compassionately.

  “Very much so,” nodded Arik, “but my grandmother most of all. My time with her has been precious. She acts like she is being stern and only interested in teaching me the ways of royalty, but the smile on her face belies that. The stories she tells me of the past contain great wisdom.”

  “Then it is off to the desert we go,” decided Tanya. “Mount up Prince Darok. I will take your packs. Garala awaits you.”

  The crusty dwarf prince grumbled under his breath, but he dismounted and transferred his packs to Frea. With great hesitation, Prince Darok finally climbed up behind Arik. Alex nodded with amusement and told Kaz to fly low.

  The unicorns lifted off the ground and skimmed over the sandy desert. They hugged the terrain as they soared up over the large dunes, and dived into the valleys between them. Leaving a trail of little dust devils, the Rangers flew northward towards Southland.

  * * *

  The palanquin halted at the peak of the hill. Emperor Hanchi stepped out and gazed at the valley below. His eight personal bodyguards, who he called the Emperor’s Protectors, immediately formed a ring around him. Hanchi smiled broadly as he gazed at the thousands of campfires in the valley. His personal advisor stepped through the ranks of the Protectors and stood next to the emperor. He was the only person allowed such a privilege, even though the man appeared to be out of place in the imperial entourage.

  Rather than being dressed in fine silk garments, the advisor appeared more like a country ruffian. His black robe was fashioned from a thick material, not well suited to the heat of Lanoir, and his features spoke of a northern race. The advisor, however, did not appear to be affected by the heat.

  “What do you think, Zorn?” asked the Emperor.

  “Impressive,” the advisor replied. “Very impressive. I would wager that you have assembled close to a hundred thousand men.”

  “You are not far off,” grinned the emperor. “It is the army we spoke of that day in Kantor.”

  “That and more,” nodded Zorn. “A most formidable force. Nothing will stand in its way. You are not planning to ride all the way to Tagaret in that palanquin, I hope?”

  “No,” Hanchi shook his head as he pointed to a large square formation in the center of the valley. “That is the emperor’s tent. See the carriage beside it? It is the finest carriage in all of Lanoir. You are welcome to ride in it with me. It will give us time to develop our plans more fully.”

  “You have heard about the clearing of the sky over southern Sordoa?” asked Zorn.

  “Yes,” nodded the emperor. “The Children of the Ancient Prophecy are making good progress on their quest. There are only three gems left.”

  “Will you be able to conquer all of Sordoa within the necessary time?” questioned the advisor.

  “That will hardly be a problem,” laughed the emperor. “Look at the might before you. Never in the history of man has such a force been assembled. There is nothing that can stand in my way.”

  “Is there another army to handle western Sordoa?” inquired Zorn.

  “That is
not necessary,” declared Hanchi. “Western Sordoa is mostly a wasteland. By conquering the east, we will rule all of Sordoa. Any city of importance lies along the Sordoan Sea. What is the news from Tagaret?”

  “Queen Marta was assassinated,” reported Zorn. “They almost killed Prince Oscar as well, but he still lives.”

  “And Arik?” prompted the emperor.

  “He has not been found,” replied Zorn.

  “Prince Arik must survive,” frowned Hanchi. “Perhaps it is time to give him a present.”

  “A present?” echoed the advisor. “What do you have in mind?”

  “A list of Black Devil agents in Tagaret,” snickered Hanchi. “We would not want one of them succeeding by accident.”

  “That is dangerous,” frowned Zorn. “If you alert Sarac to your plans, he may decide to focus on you instead of Prince Arik.”

  “He cannot afford to,” Hanchi grinned evilly. “If the Children of the Ancient Prophecy succeed, Sarac dies. Besides, Sarac does not have to know who is betraying him. I am sure that you can find a way to release the information without it being tied to me.”

  “I will work on it,” agreed Zorn, “but my list of agents in Tagaret is not complete. Is this something you wish me to do personally?”

  “No,” responded Hanchi. “You are my link to the outside world. Find someone else who is dependable and loyal to me.”

  “Tashlan?” questioned Zorn.

  “Tashlan would be good for the job,” nodded Hanchi. “Will the Contest of Power resume to fill the void left by Queen Marta?”

  “That is hard to say,” responded the advisor. “There is now a council that is sympathetic to the crown, so it would be harder for the players to turn that around, but in Tagaret anything is possible. Are you thinking of promoting Niki again?”

  “No,” snickered Hanchi. “Niki is nobody.”

  “I thought she was Sarac’s descendent?” questioned Zorn. “She wore the cloak of Aurora.”

  “The cloak was real enough,” nodded Hanchi, “but Niki is not Aurora’s daughter. Aurora was a master magician. Niki cannot even begin to comprehend what that means. Wherever she got the cloak, she is not worth worrying about.”

  “Surely we could find the descendent of Sarac by interrogating her, though,” suggested Zorn.

  “Perhaps,” shrugged the emperor, “but we do not care who Sarac’s offspring is. It really doesn’t matter to our plans. All that matters now is the conquest of Sordoa and getting this army positioned to attack Tagaret when the time is right.”

  “You will have no problems with an army this size,” declared Zorn. “When does the conquest start?”

  “The attack of Landoa begins in the morning,” replied Hanchi. “All of Sordoa shall bow before me soon.”

  * * *

  Azmet sat in the dining hall of the castle in Klandon. His closest advisors shared his table.

  “Now, Klandon is a real city,” smiled Azmet. “Cleb always gave me the feeling that I was staying in someone else’s house, but this is grand. One could be quite happy with such a city to rule.”

  “Tagaret is a much finer city,” interjected Lotfi. “The Royal Palace would put this castle to shame.”

  “Ah, yes,” sighed Azmet, “but Tagaret is a long ways off. Klandon is here and it is mine.”

  “Tagaret will also be yours,” assured Lotfi. “Abuud will grant you whatever you desire.”

  “Why are you in such a hurry to leave, Lotfi?” questioned Nassar. “All the time you push on about Tagaret. Why can’t you enjoy what we have before rushing off to somewhere new?”

  “I just said that Tagaret was a finer city,” defended Lotfi. “I have been there and seen it. Have you?”

  “I have seen it,” retorted Nassar. “I have seen its walls, and I have seen its army. We will lose a lot of men when we sack Tagaret. Do not be in such a hurry to die.”

  “There is truth to what Nassar says, Lotfi,” shrugged Azmet. “I had planned to use the captured men of Klandon to swell the ranks of my army. The cowards chose to sneak out of the city like thieves. Now it will take time to recruit more men from the surrounding areas.”

  “They took rafts down the river,” countered Lotfi. “We do not have to guess which way the men of Klandon went. I am willing to bet that they wait for us at Mya. By dallying here, we are just allowing them time to regroup. Maybe they are already seeking outside assistance. We should strike while they are on the run.”

  “You have become an aggressive one,” chuckled Azmet. “Tagaret will fall when I am ready for it to fall. Mya will not be an event even worthy of a ballad. Rest and feed your face. This castle is much more likeable than camping out in a field outside some city’s walls.”

  “I am getting the feeling that you have other purposes for your advice on Tagaret,” Nassar accused Lotfi suspiciously. “What is the real reason for your hurry to get to Tagaret?”

  Lotfi bit his lower lip as his hands clenched under the table. His mind whirled as he looked around the room. A trickle of fear coursed up his spine as he worried about being discovered. Everyone waited for his response.

  “Alright,” Lotfi finally said, “I admit that there is another reason for my desire to move on to Tagaret, but that does not mean that my advice is suspect. I still think that we have momentum here. We should not waste it idly.”

  “And what is this other reason?” questioned Azmet suspiciously.

  “Tagaret is where Arik is,” Lotfi declared.

  Achmed gulped his ale and slammed his mug down hard on the table. “I shall kill him,” bellowed Achmed. “I will tear his limbs off and feed them to him. I will drive large spikes under his skin.”

  “Enough,” warned Azmet as he cringed in disgust. “I am eating here. Whatever you do to Arik, you do with my blessing, but that does not mean that I wish to hear about it over dinner.”

  “I see that I am not the only one who has strong feelings towards this Arik,” smiled Lotfi. “Remember that he defiled the statue of Abuud. He defied you personally, Azmet. He defied the Prophet of Abuud. He thinks you are nothing.”

  Hatred creased Azmet’s brow as his eyes narrowed menacingly.

  “The loss of the statue of Abuud almost ended our campaign to bring peace and harmony to the world,” pushed Lotfi. “It was only by the grace of Abuud that I was in time to stop Arik from stealing the second statue.”

  The prophet nodded knowingly as he thought back to the near collapse of his following.

  “We shall continue on to Tagaret,” decided Azmet. “I am sure the splendor of the Royal Palace there will be much greater than this castle. Arrange it, Nassar. We leave in the morning.”

  * * *

  King Altaro gazed out over the Boulder River as he sat at an outdoor table of one of the inns in Mya. He tuned out the conversation of the two men sitting with him as he watched the ferries gliding across the water. It was a peaceful setting, yet King Altaro knew that the peace was fleeting. Of all the places he could think of to defend, Mya was not one of them. The wall surrounding the city was woefully inadequate and in desperate need of repair. The Boulder River split the town in two, with neither half having the slightest bit of defensive works. He sighed as he watched the children across the river singing and playing on the docks.

  “I fear that we have failed to maintain your interest,” intruded the voice of Baron Tratter, the recognized leader of Mya.

  “Sorry,” sighed King Altaro. “I let my mind wander, I suppose.”

  “You have been doing that more of late,” noted Lord Parsiki. “Is something the matter?”

  “Something the matter?” echoed King Altaro. “Blessed sword, Lord Parsiki, of course something is the matter. Look around you. Eight out of every ten people you see will be dead before Azmet is through with Mya. We have no effective plan to defend this city. I am not even sure if Mya is defendable against such an opponent as Azmet.”

  “That is little reason to be upset,” retorted Baron Tratter. “We will
do the best we can. What more can be asked of man?”

  “Ten thousand troops from Tagaret would help,” countered King Altaro. “Then we could meet Azmet on the plains surrounding the city instead of waiting here to die.”

  “Ten thousand men is all that Tagaret has,” declared Baron Tratter. “While I am sure that they will send some men, you cannot expect them to empty the city garrison. How many men they can afford to send will depend on how firm a grip Queen Marta has managed to get on the affairs of Tagaret.”

  “We will know soon enough,” commented King Altaro as he saw Sergeant Tember stepping on to one of the ferries. “Our emissary to Tagaret has arrived.”

  The conversation halted as a girl came to refill their mugs of ale. The three men watched the ferry cross the river. Sergeant Tember leaped off and hurried to the table.

  “I thought I recognized you from the ferry,” the sergeant stated as he sat down.

  “When will the army arrive?” King Altaro asked without preamble.

  “There will be no army from Tagaret,” the sergeant report.

  “No army?” bellowed King Altaro. “Whatever is going through Queen Marta’s mind? How does she expect us to hold this city against Azmet and his horde?”

  “Queen Marta was assassinated,” interrupted Sergeant Tember. “Prince Oscar fears that they may have trouble maintaining control of Tagaret.”

  “Treacherous,” scowled Baron Tratter.

  “Treacherous indeed,” spat King Altaro. “Surely, they don’t need ten thousand men to secure Tagaret. They could spare some.”

  “If there were men available,” retorted Baron Tratter, “Prince Oscar would send them. Be reasonable, King Altaro. If Mya falls it is not the end of the world. The same cannot be said for Tagaret. I am sure that Prince Oscar has thought this out carefully.”