For the Love of Elves (World Walker Book 1)

by Shawn Keys

  The heart was gone from the raiding party. A third of their number had already died, and not one of them had gore on their axe to satisfy their need for revenge and death. When Ajax roared into their faces again, their spirits waned. When the ogrelav knight hacked another orc in two, kicked another over a small cliff into a nearby stream and then charged… they broke. Numbers meant nothing. They had stumbled into a nightmare and they turned and ran from it.

  But it was too late.

  More wispy ghosts were darting through the trees. These ones were not shadows, but rather blurs of steel, moonlight and a single golden icon at their heart.

  The hunters from the village had come at last.

  Most were mud-knights, human warriors trained and armored to fight alongside their elfish masters. After sparring with competition like that, killing these fleeing orcs was like reaping corn. With them came the half-dozen moon elf squires who were the living shields for the lone gendarme that floated in their midst.

  If Ajax was a hammer, the gendarme was a glimmering scythe that carved death through the orcan ranks. His curved long sword snaked out again and again in a deadly dance, pausing now and again to flash gouts of fire and gusts of wind from his other hand as a mystical counter-point to his steel. Whatever else Ajax thought of sun elves, their skills in the art of death never ceased to amaze him. This was combat taken to the level of poetry, and nothing so beautiful had ever been so terrifying to behold.

  The area was quickly swamped with steel more intent on killing orcs than Ajax and his lovers. But that doesn’t make them friendly. Not yet, Ajax grunted. He yelled out into the trees, “Krizzilani, to me!” Her first. Yes, her first. Then, he shouted, “Jyliansa! Helleanna! Callistia! Follow my voice! Keep out of their path while they deal with these vermin!” He chose the words in a rush of inspiration, wanting the foreign warriors to hear him confirm beyond a doubt that the orcs were their enemies.

  He nearly cried in relief when Krizzilani appeared at his side. He swept her into a passionate kiss prompted by his battle-roused blood, then insisted, “You stay near me! They won’t be your friends when the fighting fades. Not until we’ve told them.”

  The others also slipped out of the night, falling into a protective ring around him.

  Helleanna’s sharp eyes picked out the blood on him. “You’re hurt!”

  Ajax attempted to brush her concern away. “Only a few scratches.” Weakness chose that irritating moment to sweep through him, making his knees buckle a little.

  Jyliansa and Helleanna together barely held him up. The sea elf smirked. “Sure. You’ll be right as rain in a few minutes.”

  Callistia, far more blind in the night than they were, couldn’t see how bad it was. “Helleanna, do what you can, and quickly. When these warriors come back, we’ll need his words alongside ours. It was him who led the charge, and him they’ll honor most.” She didn’t need to say what they were all thinking; they couldn’t count on her rank. Being treated as an oddity was the best she could hope for. The worst… recognizing her for the outcast she was. It wouldn’t help that she traveled in the company of ‘lesser’ elves, especially one from the Dark Wyld.

  The maid worked fast, smearing pain-killing unguent wherever she could reach and stemming the flow of whatever blood she could with rags and pressure. She only had a few minutes before the warriors of this new realm began to re-emerge from the forest. Another ring was forming around them; this one perhaps not made of orcs, but perhaps no less deadly for them in the end.

  Ajax noticed that none of them were putting their weapons away just yet.

  The gendarme strode to the forefront. He pulled off his tapered helm with its flowing horse-hair mane, revealing a sun elf of striking features crafted of bold angles and little compromise. His sharp gaze scoured them, absorbing every detail and judging them in the span of a few heartbeats. When he spoke, his voice cut the air effortlessly, so smooth that Ajax swore it was enhanced by magic. Perhaps a vanity, but that didn’t lessen the impact. “You are the strangers who washed ashore on the evening tide, aren’t you?”

  Well, so much for the element of secrecy, Ajax laughed at himself. Why’d we even bother? Aloud, he decided there wasn’t much point to deception at this point. Save the lies for when they really needed them. For now, he could bury those lies in a smattering of truth. Grimacing in pain as Helleanna continued to tend his wounds, Ajax answered, “You’ve got the right of it. Didn’t think we’d caused that much of a stir.”

  The gendarme smirked back. “When a half-broken ship staggers into our waters, questions are raised. We have learned to watch our coasts carefully. Word reached me of your landing not long ago. We wondered if you were smugglers or thieves that needed to be hunted down. I see now that you are anything but.”

  Actually, closer than you might think. Only I have no intention to sell what I am smuggling. Ajax had no idea how to answer, so he guarded his silence.

  The gendarme’s eyes drifted to his companions. Ajax knew they must look bizarre. None of them had come through the last few weeks with clothing that befit their stations. Krizzilani drew a scowl from the gendarme, but her ragged attire gave no hint at how deadly the rogue could be. Helleanna could be a simple maid in her cotton dress, but she was spattered with the black blood of orcs, ruining the illusion. None of Jyliansa’s noble heritage showed, though any sea elf walking this far inland was enough to raise eyebrows.

  Nothing struck so hard as to see Callisia’s golden hair and sun-kissed skin cloaked in the same sort of miserable sailing clothes. The image struck the gendarme as almost physically painful. He flinched, and a gasp of sympathy came from deep in his gut. “What has happened to you, Cousin, that you come to us in such a state?” Having realized what she was, all the others ceased to matter to the mystic warrior.

  Ajax read the relief on her face that she had not been immediately recognized. Callistia picked her reply carefully. “My path has been a winding one, and not easily explained.”

  Nodding carefully, measuring his answers with equal care, the gendarme said, “We owe you a debt. It has been too long since the orcs dared venture this deep into our territory. A great many lives might have been lost had you not intervened.” A chill yet respectful nod was aimed at the others beside her. “Though I am not sure our intervention was necessary in the end. You may have carried the battle without us.” Deciding to prod her a little, the gendarme said, “My name is Nahallanal, but one hand of my King’s will. You walk the realm of King Cymarramathis. I greet you in his name.”

  Ajax cursed under his breath. It was only a matter of time before that happened. A formal sun elf introduction was not something Callistia could ignore.

  Which she didn’t. The answer came almost by reflex. “And I am Callistia, Sister to King Lyvarress. I am parted from my lands, but never from my People. I greet you in turn, and ask leave to walk upon your King’s lands.”

  Nahallanal fought down his inevitable surprise. “Forgive me, My Lady, for my manners do not befit your station. If we had known of your arrival, there would have been a golden, sunlit parade to welcome you in the city, rather than this humble and bloody encounter in the dead of night.”

  Callistia did her best to smile away the oddity of it all. “As I said, my road here has been twisted, bordering on the bizarre.”

  Another pause as the gendarme measured her again, re-evaluating what he had seen before. “My King will wish to make proper audience with you.”

  Callistia didn’t betray much, though her voice strained. “Our cause is beyond urgent, honorable lord. We could not in good conscience have let these beasts prey on you in the peace of night. We did what we could and what was needed. But though it may strain the virtues of ceremony, we would be grateful to be let on our way.”

  Suspicion rose in the warrior. “My Lady, this makes no sense. Your brave mud-knight is beset with injuries which your faithful maid is ill-equipped to handle here in the forest. And while I cannot imagine what strange circum
stances would make you partner with one of the Dark Ones and one of our cousins from the sea, I can see the fatigue and misfortune that follows you. Let us help. We could treat you as strangers, trespassing on our lands wielding powerful magic with unknown intentions. My desire would be to invite you as guests. Let us treat you well, My Lady, so that your brother will not be horrified when he discovers how you were treated on our lands.”

  Ajax wanted to laugh, but instead felt a flash of hope. Kings kept secrets even from their gendarme. That much was true. But however much this King might have heard of Callistia’s defection, word of it had not tainted this gendarme’s opinions.

  Ajax looked left and right. Surrounded. A few of the human knights were nodding at him in respect. They didn’t know his fallen stature either. Could it be safe to hope for a small measure of hospitality here?

  Do we really have a choice?

  Ajax knew the gendarme wouldn’t care what he had to say. He would have ears only for Callistia. Indeed, the sun elf would find only insult if Ajax dared speak for them all. But that didn’t change the fact that this was his quest. Callistia would care. So, he pushed up from the tree root he was sitting on, and very deliberately wiped his two swords on the edges of his shirt and sheathed them. Fighting for the night was done.

  It was a clear signal, and Callistia did not miss it. She inclined her head in a graceful nod, the perfect increment from a princess to a valuable near-peer. “If your King so demands, I can do no less than accept. My purpose is grave, but perhaps equally important is the good relations between our realms.”

  Tension drained from every warrior in the ring.

  Including the gendarme. He wasn’t worried about death, but the slaying of a fellow sun elf was normally reserved for duels and battles purposefully planned for the high sun at midday to make the scene all the more glorious and reverent. A dank glade drenched in orc blood was hardly the place for killing a princess. “I am delighted to hear it, My Lady. Please, come this way. I’ll have my medics tend to your mud-knight and do what we can for any other injuries you might have. Then, if it please you, perhaps baths and a choice of clothes before standing in front of the King? Will your great purpose allow for such a delay?”

  Ajax wanted to snarl and shout ‘no’, but they were trapped. They would have to play this out.

  Callistia thought the same. She couldn’t disguise her relief at the idea of such luxury after so long at sea. “If you feel his pleasure can wait on us, then we would gladly accept. I would gladly appear before him washed and feeling myself again. Then we won’t risk offending him.” She used a charming smile to mock herself and win the gendarme over a little more. Gently, she folded a little iron into what she said next. “But if honor is to be maintained, I must insist that all my companions be treated with such grace.”

  She didn’t gesture or glance or make any motion at all toward Krizzilani. There was no need. No-one in the ring doubted who she was talking about.

  Nahallanal returned a chill smile. “I have offered the hospitality of my King, Sister of Lyvarress. Even if this low creature cannot understand what that means, none of our people shall beak the word I have given.” His already cold eyes turned frozen as he turned them on the dark elf. “So as long as she… behaves.”

  Krizzilani’s golden eyes sparked with mischief. “You have my word on it, My Lord.” She knew all too well that the gendarme would take the promise of a dark elf on the same level as horse droppings.

  Nahallanal’s smile could have cut skin. “How… charming.” He snapped his fingers and raised his voice, orders now meant for his Fist of realm warriors. “One last sweep. Ensure not one of the orcan scum remain alive. Take our guests to the menders and give them food and drink. In two hours, we make for Vallesmuir!”

  Chapter 13

  The sight of ‘old’ elves was not common, but this was not Ajax’s first time. The difference was hard to see if one wasn’t accustomed to picking them out. Elves didn’t age as humans and orcs and most races did, where physical stooping, shrinking spines, white hair, wrinkles, age spots and other traits began to dominate. There was, however, a sensation of fatigue that began to cling to an elf nearing the time of his transition to the Wyld. When an elf was young, they had energy and life. Their concentration was poor, often unable to really focus on a task for longer than ten minutes at a time. There was a reason why it took a century to whip an elfish apprentice into a semblance of worthiness. Then they had hundreds of years to perfect their craft once they learned that important skill.

  More and more, over time, that endless energy faded. Perhaps it was a lesser version of what was happening to Quala. She could burn out her entire life energy. Elves bought their immortality by slowly burning away the energy of the Wyld they had carried with them into this mortal world. When it was used up, nothing so tragic became of them. They simply became weary and a great need filled them to return to their fae origins.

  What would happen if one stayed? Would they fade away into nothingness? I’ve never heard of one attempting it, Ajax wondered.

  In the end, none of that mattered except to explain much about the master of this realm. King Cymarramathis was truly old. His skin, though perfectly smooth, had lost some of its golden pallor and didn’t radiate quite as brightly. He moved in a sluggish fashion, as if conserving every gesture and marshalling every word to maximum effect. His hair was long enough to drape down his back, carelessly gathered through a golden ringlet near his shoulders, then left to spill in a loose fan. Unwilling to let it be messy, but this was the minimum effort to keep it contained. Servants kept it brushed when he had the patience to let them.

  The emotional impact of his aura extended over the entire court. That wasn’t entirely bad. There was a sense of calm about the place. The Sun Tower resonated with a subconscious weight. People within it tended to speak cautiously, think deliberately, and avoid leaps of the random and the irrational. But with that came a haze of listlessness as well.

  Unlike the other courts Ajax had seen, this one was poorly attended. He figured that the other elves probably attended their King for shorter periods, summoning strength to survive this deluge of fatigue for as long as they could before retreating away to find a burst of life elsewhere.

  Unfortunately, Ajax and his lovers didn’t have the choice to withdraw.

  Nahallanal was being an excellent host, but he also left no doubt that he would march them into the Sun Tower before they were allowed to sleep that night.

  He had given them until just after the dawn ceremony to be ready. They were escorted into a suite of apartments, baths had been drawn, and clothes had been brought in to be considered, fitted, and selected. Not wishing to offend their hosts, the group didn’t object to the mild separation. The apartments were all connected, and they left the doors open so they could easily communicate without having to raise their voices much at all. It wasn’t like they could discuss private matters. Neither would they dare to wander into intimate play. Moon elf servants were everywhere, tending to their every need while also making sure they were clean enough so as not to offend Cymarramathis’s sensibilities.

  The luxury was welcome, even if it was also mandatory. Callistia was so enraptured with her bath and the feeling of a silk dress on her skin that she actually missed the formal dawn ceremony. She had invented her own way to honor the rising of the sun while on the ship. It came naturally to her, simply standing by the windows and meditating as the first rays of the sun warmed her face. The idea of requesting to attend the local, more formal gathering simply didn’t occur to her. Ajax found that telling, thinking, Maybe, she isn’t such a slave to sun elf tradition as she sometimes thinks she is.

  Once in a fitting state, the servants gathered them together in front of Nahallanal, whose keen eyes inspected them critically while making a decent effort to not make it obvious that this was what he was doing.

  For his part, Ajax had never seen his elfish lovers looking so radiantly perfect. Oh, there was som
ething to be said for how beautiful they looked lying naked, sweating, and panting in his bed. But this was how they looked when given the chance to present themselves to the world as they wanted to be.

  Callistia was the only one who resembled her former self. She had selected a white silk dress nearly identical to the one she had worn in her former home. It flowed around her slender body, turning her smooth walk into floating instead of walking. Her golden hair was newly brushed and combed, left to flow freely around her shoulders and waft her roses and spice scent over anyone who drifted too close.

  Helleanna had risen above her humble servant attire. When dressing up, moon elves enjoyed cool colors that glowed under moonlight. Helleanna was in an ocean blue dress that picked up the undertones in her eyes and made her dark hair even more lustrous. Though it hugged her curvaceous form in a most appealing way, it was also absent of any audacious accents, stating subtly that she was not there to upstage any of her sun elf superiors, even though she had the beauty to do exactly that if given half a chance.

  Jyliansa had reclaimed something of her birthright. Her gown was a blend of white and seafoam green. The top was little more than a support for her perky, full breasts; the cups were shaped like sea shells, and bands of white wrapped behind her back to keep them in place while her shoulders were left totally bear. The bands swept down to her waist in an overlapping pattern, leaving much of her lithe midriff bare. There began her skirt, a billowing affair that started white like wispy clouds, then became more and more a turbulent mix of greens as if created from the cold, northern waters. Ajax thought she looked like a siren or a goddess of old emerging from a whirlpool to grace onlookers with her regal presence. He thought, this is her embracing her inner princess for the first time.

  Then there was Krizzilani.