D&D - Birthright 01

by The Iron Throne # Simon Hawke

  Wooden thatch-roofed homes were constructed among the trees, shielded from the elements beneath their canopy. The streets of the city-little more than dirt paths, really-wound in serpentine fashion among the trees and natural clearings had been utilized as small, shaded plazas where the people drew water from wells and market stalls were erected.

  In many cases, homes had actually been built around the trees so that the trees themselves became part of the construction, with the upper stories of the homes situated in the thick lower branches.

  From overhead, the forest masked to some degree the density of the construction, which increased as they approached the center of the city.

  Many of the structures had open platforms built in the branches above them, often on several levels, with wooden catwalks running from tree to tree, connecting them.

  Tuarhievel had streets upon the ground and in the air, as well. But one structure towered above all others, its graceful, intricately carved and fluted wooden spires rising high above the treetops. They were approaching the forest palace known as Tuaranreigh, where Prince Fhileraene ruled from the legendary Throne of Thorn.

  As they circled the palace, Aedan marveled at the sculpted spires, carved from hand-rubbed and -oiled wood, a figured ebony with swirling, golden-yellow highlights running through it. The spires were of unequal height and clustered close together as they rose from the central structure of the palace, which was built of wood and mortared stone that must have been quarried generations earlier in the mountains to the north, beyond the Giantdowns. The steep-pitched, gabled roof below the spires was tiled in rosy slate. Stone gutters for the run-off of melted snow or rainwater led to spouts carved in the shapes of screaming gargoyles.

  Tuaranreigh was not a proper castle, at least not by human standards, since it had no outer walls or battlements. However, Prince Fhileraene had little reason to fear a siege. The Aelvinnwode itself was a far more effective outer defense than any walls or moats or barbicans could be. An attacking army would have to penetrate through miles of dense forest and thick underbrush, which made the march of massed formations virtually impossible. And long before such an army could even reach Tuarhievel, it would be destroyed piecemeal by elven archers and warriors who could attack from cover and then quickly disappear into the trackless forest.

  Aedan remembered from his lessons that back in the days of the Great War between the humans and

  the elves, no human warlord had ever been foolish enough to pursue the elves once they had retreated to the forests. No invaders would ever reach the palace of Tuaranreigh, except as captives.

  The wind on which they sailed circled round and round the spires of the palace, gathering speed and forming a swirling vortex that descended slowly to the ground. Aedan once more felt that strange, unsettling sensation, as if he were floating away, and the lightheadedness returned as he became aware of his physical senses. He felt himself spinning rapidly inside the swirling wind funnel, his hair whipping around his face. He gasped, struggling for breath within the vortex, then felt the ground beneath his feet as the wind slackened to a breeze and dissipated, leaving them standing on the pathway to the palace.

  Aedan brushed his hair out of his face and looked around, but everything still seemed to be spinning.

  He had difficulty remaining on his feet. He felt dizzy, and when he tried to take a step, he almost fell. He saw that Michael was no better off. The prince staggered and went down to one knee, swearing softly.

  Aedan closed his eyes and waited for the world to stop spinning. His body felt extremely heavy and clumsy. Small wonder, he thought. A moment earlier, he had been lighter than air.

  “The effects will pass within a few moments,” Gylvain said. “You may find it helps to close your eyes, stand still, and breathe deeply until the dizziness subsides.”

  Aedan opened his eyes after a few moments and tried to focus them. As the dizziness ebbed, he looked around. They were on a pathway that wound

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  through a long and narrow clearing flanked by rows of ancient poplars, a sort of natural, tree-lined road leading up to the palace. The sound of water running over rocks drew his attention to a stream that ran down the center of this natural corridor. On either side of the stream were winding pathways leading to a gracefully arched stone bridge that gave entrance to the palace gates.

  Unlike the castles of the empire, which had dirt roads wide enough for several horsemen riding abreast, the pathways leading to the gates of Tuaranreigh were clearly meant for foot traffic only, for they wound through lush rock gardens planted with lacy green ferns, flowering shrubs, and wildflowers.

  Benches made of split sections of tree trunks were placed at irregular intervals along the pathways, on both banks of the stream.

  At first glance, it seemed to Aedan that the stream flowed around the palace, making a sort of natural moat. Then he realized it was actually coming out through an archway in the wall beneath the bridge, apparently flowing out of the palace itself!

  Through the trees, Aedan could make out some of the buildings he had spotted earlier from above.

  They resembled peasant cottages with their thatched roofs and wooden shutters, but they were larger, and had the open platforms constructed in the trees above them, with interconnecting catwalks suspended at different levels high above the ground.

  Everywhere he looked, Aedan saw the perfect union of nature and architecture. The city was part of the forest, and the forest an integral part of the city.

  As they walked toward the stone bridge leading to the gates of Tuaranreigh, a number of elves stopped

  to stare at them. Aedan knew human traders sometimes visited Tuarhievel, but judging by the looks they got, humans were still not a common sight. He noticed that everyone they passed bowed his head respectfully.

  “They seem to know me,” said Michael.

  Aedan frowned, momentarily puzzled by his remark, and then sudden comprehension dawned.

  “They bow to Gylvain, not to you,” he said.

  “Oh,” said Michael. “I see.” He sounded a bit annoyed, or perhaps disappointed.

  “Remember, you are not a prince here, save by rules of courtesy alone,”

  Aedan told him softly.

  “Fhileraene rules in Tuarhievel, not Emperor Hadrian.”

  Michael frowned. He was accustomed to being treated as befitted the royal scion, and the fact that he would enjoy no such status here was a bit difficult for him to grasp. However, the goblins had already done much to advance his education, and Michael was learning not to take such things for granted. He nodded to show he understood.

  Aedan felt relieved, though he was still apprehensive about their situation. It would certainly not do to have Michael putting on airs in front of Fhileraene. From all that he had heard about the elven prince, Aedan did not think he would be amused.

  They followed Gylvain up the path as it curved away slightly from the riverbank, around a mosscovered rock formation, and then back toward the stone bridge. Elven warriors armed with swords and spears stood guard upon the bridge and by the two massive, arched and studded wooden doors.

  They did not challenge Gylvain as he approached, but made no effort to hide their curiosity about his two young human companions.

  As they passed through the doors and entered the great hall of Tuaranreigh, both Aedan and Michael stopped dead in their tracks, staring wide-eyed at the tableau spreading out before them. They had crossed an entry hall and suddenly stood at the entrance to a forest clearing. But that did not seem possible. They were indoors … or were they?

  For a moment, Aedan felt totally disoriented.

  They should have entered into the great hall of the palace, but this was a hall unlike any he had ever seen. It was open to the sky, with flagstones forming pathways between well-tended plots of giant ferns and colorful bromeliads, mosscovered rocks with trickling fountains, small trees and flowering shrubs.

  There was an arched opening in the wall throug
h which the stream flowed, with a small wooden bridge spanning the spring from which it bubbled.

  It was, in fact, an atrium that served as a great hall.

  The palace had been constructed around a forest clearing with a pool fed by an underground spring.

  Archways in the walls led to the east and west wings of the palace, as well as to the keep at the far end. But the main feature of the atrium was just in front of the vaulted entrance to the keep, surrounded by a stand of oaks.

  Aedan had heard stories about the legendary Thorn Throne of Tuarhievel, but he had never known if they were truth or fancy. Now, he saw it for himself. It was a rose tree, the largest he had ever seen. Its multiple trunks curved sharply outward, forming a natural throne before they branched off into a spreading canopy of blue-green leaves and spectacular blooms of ivory white and bloodred. And seated on that throne, flanked by his ministers and surrounded by his court, was prince Fhileraene, ruler of the last elven kingdom in the Aelvinnwode.

  As they were announced, Gylvain escorted them toward the throne, his hands resting tightly on their shoulders. Their arrival caused a considerable stir among the elves present at the court. All eyes were upon them as Gylvain stepped forward, went down to one knee, and bowed deeply to his prince. Aedan followed suit, but Michael remained standing, perfectly calm and composed as-he gazed curiously at the elven prince.

  Fhileraene appeared to be in his midthirties, but then physical appearances were very deceptive with immortals: Fhileraene had ruled Tuarhievel since before Michael’s grandfather was born. He was tall and slender, with harsh, angular features and straight black hair that hung down well below his shoulders.

  His mouth was wide and thin-lipped, with a touch of cruelty about it.

  His eyes were dark brown and hooded, giving him a brooding aspect, and his nose was prominent and hooked. It was said he was the very image of his renegade great grandfather, the awnshegh, Rhuobhe Manslayer.

  Aedan wondered if any of the elves present at the court were Rhuobhe’s warriors. It was a decidedly unpleasant possibility. Killing the Prince of Anuire would be a mark of tremendous status among those elves who had sworn eternal emnity to humans. Of course, not all the elves were like that, but here, there would be no way of telling which was which …

  until it was too late.

  “Rise, Gylvain,” Fhileraene said. “And you, as well, Lord Aedan.” He glanced at Michael with a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “And of course, princes do not kneel, and that is as it should be. You honor us with your presence, Prince Michael. I am pleased to see you are alive and well.”

  “Thanks to Gylvain,” Michael said. “We are in debt to him for rescuing us from the goblins.”

  “Then you are in debt to me, for it was I who sent him,” Fhileraene replied with a smile. Seeing their confused expressions, he went on to explain. “Little goes on within my realm of which I am unaware,” he said. “Intelligence had reached me that goblin raiders out of Thurazor had been spotted traveling through the Aelvinnwode, heading south.

  They were taking a great risk going through my lands. I wondered what could justify such a risk. Now I know. They had captured quite a prize.”

  “Well, we are very grateful to you, Your Highness,” Aedan said.

  “Thanks to you, that prize has been denied them. And as soon as we return to Seaharrow, we shall make certain-“

  “You shall not be going back to Seaharrow,” Fhileraene said, cutting him off. “At the moment, I do not think that would be prudent.”

  Aedan simply stared at him. Had they been rescued from the goblins only to be held for ransom by the elves? “Forgive me, Your Highness,” Aedan said, “I … I fear I do not understand.”

  Michael was more direct. “Are we your prisoners?”

  “Why, not at all,” the elven prince replied with genuine surprise.

  “You are honored guests, free to move about Tuarhievel as you please.

  However, I

  feel myself responsible for your safety, as you are now in my domain.

  And if you were to return to Seaharrow right now, chances are that you would almost certainly be killed.”

  “Killed!” Michael said in a tone of outrage. “By whom?”

  “By the man who even now is in the process of seizing the Iron Throne,”

  Fhileraene replied calmly.

  “Lord Arwyn, the Archduke of Boeruine.”

  **chapter five**

  “You lie!” Michael shouted angrily before Aedan could stop him. “Lord Arwyn would never dare attempt such treason, not while my father lives!”

  Aedan grabbed him by the arm and squeezed hard, causing Michael to gasp with surprise and pain. Fhileraene’s face clouded over, but he kept his calm.

  “You would do well, Your Highness, to remember that you are not in your own empire here. In fact, at this point, it does not even appear as if you may even have an empire. However, thus far, you have been treated with the respect due to your rank and station. If you wish that to continue, I expect you to return the courtesy.”

  Aedan held on to Michael’s arm and gave him a warning look, then turned to Fhileraene and said, “Please forgive the outburst, Your Highness.

  It is just that you have given us some shocking news, if indeed your information is accurate.”

  Fhileraene nodded. “You may rest assured it is,” he said. “Emperor Hadrian has died, and the Archduke of Boeruine has not wasted any time putting his plans in motion.”

  Michael looked stricken at the news. He shook his head and softly murmured, “No … It cannot be!”

  “I am sorry for your loss, Your Highness,” said Fhileraene, “but surely, you must have been prepared for this eventuality. After all, your father was very old, by human standards, and has long been in poor health. You see, I make it my business to know which way the wind blows in the Aelvinnwode and the surrounding territories. This move by Arwyn of Boeruine does not really come as a surprise. There have long been rumors of his intriguing with Thurazor, and there are other forces at work in these events, powerful forces of which you are not yet aware.

  You are at the heart of a situation not of your own making, but it shall be up to you to make the best of it.”

  “Meaning no disrespect, Your Highness, but why should you care what happens to the throne of Anuire?” asked Aedan. ‘Or to us, for that matter?”

  “A fair question,” Prince Fhileraene replied, nodding. “It is true I have little reason to love your human empire, but of necessity, I have had to learn to live with it. With Hadrian on the Iron Throne, elf and human were able to regard one another with some tolerance. The peace between us has not

  always been an easy one, but with the exception of isolated incidents, it has been kept. I labor under no misapprehensions that this would continue with Arwyn of Boeruine in power.”

  Those “incidents” to which he was referring so disingenuously, Aedan thought, involved none other than his own great-grandfather, Rhuobhe Manslayer, whose bitter hatred of humans ensured he would never tolerate them, much less keep peace with the empire.

  “The Archduke of Boeruine’s ambition is boundless,” Fhileraene continued, “and that makes him dangerous to us. He treats with our enemies and conspires against us. We have no desire to see his bid for power succeed.”

  “So then you help us merely to bring down Lord Arwyn?” Aedan said.

  “That alone would be no mere thing,” Fhileraene replied. “However, there are still other factors that would serve my interests in this situation.”

  It all suddenly became clear to Aedan. If what he said were true, and Aedan could think of no reason Fhileraene would lie, Arwyn of Boeruine had committed himself, and now there could be no turning back. He probably would never have dared go so far if he had not already mustered up support for his claim to the throne. Apparently, Lord Arwyn had been intriguing with more than just the goblins of T’hurazor.

  How many secret alliances had he already forged among the
nobles of the empire? How long had this been going on? He must have been planning it for years, waiting only for the right opportunity.

  Now, with the emperor dead and Michael out of the way, his path was clear, and he had wasted no time.

  The emperor must have died around the same time as their abduction, Aedan thought. For Fhileraene to have learned the news so quickly, he must have spies in Seasedge capable of communicating with him through magic or perhaps carrier pigeon.

  But that was not at all unlikely. There were halflings in Boeruine, and it was quite conceivable some of them could be in the pay of Fhileraene.

  For that matter, the spies could also be humans. Arwyn of Boerume was not universally loved. He had made his share of enemies.

  Either way, when Aedan and Michael did not return from hawking, Lord Arwyn must have realized the goblins had succeeded in capturing them, especially after Windreiver had returned. And Michael’s horse must have made its way back to the stables without its rider, as well. Lord Arwyn must have quickly and immediately moved to take advantage of the opportunity. This was exactly what his father had feared, thought Aedan. Lord Arwyn must have seized the court the moment Emperor Hadrian had died and Michael’s disappearance was discovered.

  Aedan felt a tightness in his stomach as he thought about his parents.

  What had become of them? His father would never have stood idly by while Arwyn tried to take the throne, and Arwyn had to know that Lord Tieran would oppose him to his last breath. With a feeling of despair, Aedan realized his father would undoubtedly have been among the first to be eliminated.

  However, Lord Arwyn had no way of knowing he and Michael had been rescued. He had acted on the belief that they were safely on their way to Thurazor to be enslaved. He must have claimed Michael was dead, otherwise he could not have justified assuming the regency of the empire, and eventually, the throne itself. If Michael suddenly appeared now, his life would certainly be in danger unless he were able to rally support among the other nobles of the empire. And if Arwyn refused to yield at that point, it could mean only one thing.