On the Shores of Irradan

by Ronald Long

  Then a smile creased his face.

  "Bring your two guests before me so that I might see the newcomers. If you have traveled as far and wide as you claim, perhaps they can also speak to the goings on in Irradan.”

  All around her, Wisym could feel the group shifting uncomfortably. This had been a concern of theirs, but one they had hoped they could avoid. She was just trying to figure out how Holve was going to talk his way out of this particular dilemma, when his next words took her by surprise.

  "Teresa," he said, turning to the princess who stood stiff, arms crossed in front of her. "Go and fetch our guests."

  ***

  Two robed figures strode into the hall, following Teresa.

  Wisym kept turning her head back from Robert up on his chair to the two figures that stood in the center of the semicircle of their company. Their robes were brown and long, going from the hoods that covered their heads and faces almost completely, to the stone floor of the House of Nobles. In the darkness of the current arrangements, it was almost impossible to discern any of their features.

  “You are strangers to these lands,” Robert began, assuming what Wisym was sure he thought he might know about them. “Take off your robes so that we have no shadows between us.”

  The effect was instantaneous.

  Perhaps they had been wanting to discard the robes as soon as Blume had suggested they wear them. It had taken a far bit of convincing to have them actually put them on. Perhaps they felt constricted in all the fabric.

  There was certainly much less covering them when the robes fell to the floor.

  Robert stood, clutching the hand rest of his chair with one hand and pointing with the other. The tall priest began chanting in deep elvish, which the two others began to repeat after him. The other two nobles sat rigid in their chairs, looking back from Robert, to the priest, to the elves on the floor. Robert's voice was the loudest of all.

  “Wood Walkers! They're Wood Walkers!” he shouted, apparently having lost all other words in shock.

  “Thank you, Robert,” Holve said sarcastically. “I wasn't aware these elves were not from the Empire of Enoth or from Darrion.”

  Wisym was sure the Noble hadn't heard him.

  The priest left his chanting behind and shouted over the din.

  “Why have you brought these animals into our midst? To spy? To kill our children? To burn down this city like they did to Bestone?”

  “Two elves, who despise killing more than you despise them, burning down a capital?” Holve replied acidly to the priest. “You may have given way to madness, but I haven't yet.”

  The priest looked at Holve, disgusted. Turning away from the elf, Holve addressed Robert.

  “These elves are no threat to you or your city,” he said in a more tempered voice, though Wisym could tell he was on the brink of anger. What she appreciated most about Holve was his respect for those he had yet to learn everything about.

  “You'll find them to be quite peaceable and they also have a warning to give the people of Darrion.”

  This last statement broke Robert from the state of only being able to shout the new elves' origin.

  “A warning!?” he proclaimed. “That they intend to march to our city and tear the stones down from our walls! They are here to warn us of their approaching invasion!”

  Holve threw his hands up in the air, obviously overwhelmed with Robert's ignorance.

  “You've not even heard them speak, yet you throw words into their mouths. They came here to warn you of the Wrents! The same ones we held back not two weeks ago. They are gathering in strength in the north. While you sit and plot against the elves who live in the woods, a real threat grows that you are doing nothing to prevent!”

  Robert's brow was still furrowed with rage as he sat back in his chair.

  “I see no reason to believe that the Wrents will attack us, yet here are two elves in our midst. They look more like animals than the elves of Enoth.”

  The female elf stepped forward, her fists raised. Wisym reached out and grabbed her arm, not harshly, but without hesitation. The last thing this meeting needed was provocation. But the priest had seen her come forward and was already drawing himself up to his fullest height.

  “The beasts desire to attack!” he shouted.

  Holve grunted in frustration.

  “These elves are no threat to the people of Darrion or Lone Peak!” he shouted back.

  “Enough of this!” shouted the priest. “These animals and their companions are a danger to Lone Peak and the Elves of Enoth!”

  He turned to Robert.

  “Have them arrested!”

  He spoke with such force that even Robert paused a moment.

  It was just enough time.

  “Now, Jurgon,” Holve said, only loud enough for the group around him to hear.

  Wisym closed her eyes and covered her ears.

  When she opened them again after a momentary wave of heat blasted her skin, she was greeted by the sight of every Noble’s chair knocked askew, with the occupants of those chairs lying scattered about the platform. The priest and his two elves were also in various stages of consciousness as they had slumped to the floor. A gentle haze blanketed the room.

  “Time to go,” Holve said.

  Without any further words, he turned and left the House of Nobles. All of their party followed him out with Wisym in the rear. Holve instructed her to grab the robes from the ground, obviously to place over Elen and Eren before they returned to their shop.

  Once outside, however, Holve's intentions were made clear.

  “We can't stay in a city given over to madness,” he said. “Felicia, take Urt and prepare the boat. We need to sail before nightfall.”

  Wisym couldn't say she blamed Holve for this decision.

  Noble House guards had already come to escort them from the foyer and out the door, closing it forcibly behind them. The telltale click of the lock told her all she needed to know. They hadn't known about the blast in the room of judgment yet, but were more than willing to see them go.

  “What else do you need from us, Holve?” she asked.

  “You and Teresa take these two back to the house,” he said, looking at the two Wood Walkers as they dressed in their robes again. “Gather any supplies you can and pay our hosts well. Then come down to the ship as quickly as you can.”

  “Tory, Jurgon, Jurrin, Gorplin,” he said, turning to the four beside him. “Take whatever coins you have and stock up in the market. Come to the boat with the provisions. I trust all we lack is food, Felicia?”

  “Aye,” she nodded. “That and fair skies.”

  Wisym turned her eyes up to see that the clouds foretold a springtime storm.

  “We'll have to make do with whatever weather we can get,” Holve replied.

  “Ealrin,” he said, turning to the only adult without a job. “Come with me to the library. I'm not leaving without my notes.”

  Holve had turned to leave before being interrupted.

  Blume spoke up from behind Jurgon.

  “Hey!” she exclaimed. “What should I do?”

  Holve turned and looked at her for a moment before the faintest smile crossed his mouth.

  “Head with Wisym,” he said. “With any luck, you'll be able to let Dilinor know you're leaving. He's been at the shop more often than not lately.”

  Wisym saw Blume's face go slightly red.

  Holve looked to the sky, and then at those gathered on the steps of the Noble House.

  “Meet at the docks before noon and make haste,” he said. “I fear we've made a terrible judgment of the tolerance of Darrion.”

  Chapter 36:

  No Respite for Rebellion

  The ruins that lay several miles north of Azul were once a beautiful elf village. The town had long enjoyed peace on the plains to the south and the view of the mountains to the north. The inhabitants had built everything around an intricately laid pattern of stones that served as their village commons. A
well was at the center and out from it, beautiful scenes of rivers and animals, plants and trees flowed.

  Time had worn away the edges of the work of art. Two new additions now corrupted the piece further.

  Lying atop the stones now, were the two dead bodies of Enoth guards. Every piece of usable material or supply had been stripped from their bodies and they now lay silent, marring the once admired centerpiece of the town.

  Had they ears to hear it, the two would have heard a constant click ring throughout the village, as well as restrained sobs of one in mourning.

  Scared, cold, and still shaking from the realization of what had occurred, Serinde tried again to make a fire from the small piece of flint she had found in the soldier of Enoth's pack.

  He certainly wouldn't be needing it again.

  Bits of cloth, pieces of wood that had once served as a small ornate dresser, and anything else she could find that would burn had been arranged in a pile in the center of a ruined home.

  She prayed that the fire wouldn't be visible in the dying light of day and the night would mask the smoke. The air around her was getting chilly and she had very little to wrap herself in. With another click, a spark flew from the flint to the dried materials on the floor and caught fire.

  A sigh of relief escaped her lips. She bent down close to the spark and blew gently to encourage the flame. Within moments, the small fire was crackling and the room became warmer. Looking around, Serinde saw by the light of the fire that this room had once been the pride of whoever had called this place home.

  A beautifully carved wooden table was now pushed against a wall. Its chairs had long since been stolen or removed. Two of the walls were painted with intricate scenes of fields and flowers. The fire showed every crack and peel that the artist had not originally planned on.

  The roof to the home was also long gone. Whatever material it had once been was decayed or blown away in a storm. Small and dried up plants clung to the lower walls of the dwelling. These Serinde had gathered and put along with her pile of other burnable material.

  She planned to use the table for fuel last. Mostly because she knew it would cause a great deal of noise to break it apart and she didn't know how long her gathered up material would last. The guard's sword was ready, though, to be used as a makeshift ax if needed.

  Serinde sat by the fire and warmed her hands, then turned to the other, more pressing business of the evening.

  Propped up against an overturned piece of stone furniture with a thin blanket behind her back, Erilas sat staring at the fire, a bloodied cloth wrapped around her neck.

  Serinde thanked the stars that the guard's knife had missed her sister's throat. Mostly the blade had cut around her chin, missing death by a finger width.

  Shock had been what took over when Erilas felt the blood flowing from her body. It had taken Serinde several minutes to calm her down and assure her that she wasn't going to die from that wound.

  But it still needed cleaning and dressing.

  Their supplies were very low, having brought nothing with them. It was fortunate for them that the guards had chased after them. Without the meager rations and various items they had procured from them, they would have been in a much more dire situation.

  Not that they could have been in much worse.

  Erilas was mostly just exhausted from the run to the ruins. Serinde had always been the slightly more athletic one. But, if she was honest with herself, she was running mostly on adrenaline and the pressing need to care for her sister.

  They were both hungry. The guards' packs held small dried meat strips wrapped in thin dressings. Such rations would last them for a few days, but not for long.

  Serinde handed a strip of meat to her sister. Without looking directly at her, Erilas accepted the meat and took a bite. She chewed on the ration and stared into the fire.

  She took a small bite of what was in her hand as well. The taste was bland at best.

  A gentle breeze made the fire flicker.

  “Why'd you do it, Seri?” Erilas asked.

  Her voice was just a whisper. Serinde wasn't even sure she had heard her speak at all.

  “What?”

  “Why'd you do it?” she repeated.

  Serinde thought for a moment. What was her sister talking about?

  Why did she kill the guard? He was going to cut Erilas' throat!

  “He was going to kill you,” she answered.

  Erilas shook her head, grimacing with the movement and reaching up to touch her bandaged side.

  “No,” she said. “Not that. Why'd you go off on Reder?”

  Serinde looked at her sister scornfully.

  “What do you mean 'why'd you do it?'” she blurted. “Didn't he and the rest of the Enoth guards force us to work until they killed our father!? Didn't they ruin the happy life we might have had without them!? Didn't he throw our father into a garbage pit!?”

  She had leaped to her feet and was nearly shouting at Erilas. Her pulse was racing. Heat radiated off of her face as she was becoming more and more angry with every word.

  “Seri, don't shout!” Erilas implored, looking pained from both her injury and the events of the day.

  The look on her sister's face of hurt and dread and sorrow was too much for Serinde.

  “He's gone,” she said, losing control of her legs and her self-control.

  Her lips quivered and her shoulder shook. She sank to the floor, her knees hitting the hard stone and sending a wave of pain up her otherwise numb body.

  “He's gone,” she repeated, steadying herself with one hand and looking into the flames, wishing she could actually feel the heat that came from it.

  An overwhelming coldness was sweeping over her.

  One day.

  Had it only been one day?

  That morning she had wept over her father's lifeless body. Now she was miles from her home, unable to return and afraid of what the morning would bring. They couldn't stay in the safety of the ruined house. They may have stayed too long already.

  Enoth guards would come. She knew they would. When their companions didn't report back to the city with the light of day, more would be sent to search for the elves who had escaped the quarry. They'd be tortured, imprisoned, and hung for their crimes.

  Her crimes.

  It had been Serinde who had killed Reder. Serinde who had killed a guard with his own blade. They would never be safe in the empire of Enoth again. Home was a place they could never return to.

  “You can't bring father back by killing others,” Erilas said quietly.

  It took all of Serinde's restraint not to lash out at her sister. These were not the words she wanted to hear. She wanted her sister to share her desire to see everyone and anyone who may have caused her father's death and their hardship to experience the same pain she felt.

  She wanted revenge.

  “But we can't just sit here and do nothing!” she shouted back, far too loud she knew.

  “So what are you going to do?” Erilas challenged, sitting up and facing her sister.

  It was too much.

  “I don't know!” Serinde managed through hot tears and choked breaths.

  She didn't.

  There was nothing in the world she knew for sure at the moment, other than her father was dead and she wanted others to be dead along with him.

  Maybe even herself.

  “They killed him,” Serinde said, pounding the ground with her fists, bloodying her knuckles.

  “But, Serinde,” Erilas began.

  She couldn't bear to listen.

  “It's all their fault!” she shouted angrily as she scattered anything within reach, sending a metal canister from one of the guard's pack flying against the wall.

  One terrible, grief consuming sob overtook her body before she heard it and became rigid.

  Something was moving just outside the house.

  Both sisters stared into each other’s eyes and saw the same horrifying emotion: debilitating fear.r />
  For all her anger, Serinde couldn't move at the sound of an angry male just a few steps away.

  “Who's there!?” a voice demanded. “Show yourself!”

  Chapter 37:

  To the Docks

  Even though the morning was still young, Wisym could feel the darkness sweeping over the city of Lone Peak. Maybe it was the presence of all the banners displaying the large comet.

  Or, perhaps, it was the chanting of the priests that seemed to occupy every other street corner.

  She, Teresa, and the two Wood Walkers kept a swift pace as they moved from the upper district down to where their home base was.

  For the moment, it seemed like the news of two Wood Walker elves present in the city had not yet spread to the lower districts.

  Wisym hoped their luck would continue to hold on.

  Doing their best to move quickly but not draw attention to themselves, the four of them descended the first major steps that would bring them into the city's residential area. They would have to pass through this main thoroughfare before they could descend once again to the lower businesses and the safety of their coffee shop.

  The main road through the houses of Lone Peak was wide and led straight to the next set of stairs.

  It would only take minutes to walk briskly from one side’s set of stairs to the other.

  Their task would have been much easier were it not for the ten elves in orange robes who blocked their way forward.

  "Let us pass," Teresa said threateningly as they approached the group of priests. Four of them carried menacing looking flails while the others held spears.

  "Certainly," an elf in the middle said. He was the shortest of the group, but gave off an intimidating aura of leadership.

  "Just have these two,” he said, motioning to Elen and Eren, “remove their robes."

  Wisym was thinking fast. The Wood Walkers were not carrying weapons. She only had a small dagger clipped to her waist. Teresa's two swords were fixed firmly to her back. That still left one of the Wood Walkers and Blume weaponless. The odds were not with them in this uneven encounter.