Defiler

by Isaac Hooke

  The grogginess eventually subsided, but his beast sense didn’t improve, nor was he able to communicate telepathically with Vorgon or the others.

  Finally, he heard light footsteps. He went to the bars and waited for whoever it was to come into view, but then the sound stopped.

  “Which of you leads this merry band?” a slightly baritone voice said.

  Malem considered allowing one of the others to pretend they were the leader, but decided it was best if he admitted to the role. He didn’t see much point in lying about it.

  “That would be me,” Malem said.

  The footfalls began anew, and a moment later an elf stepped into view. The newcomer was clad in a loose tunic and trousers patterned in brown and green. The elf wore a small cap of similar patterning upon its head, and dark grey boots at its feet. A short sword was scabbarded at its hips. There was no war paint covering the face this time, at least.

  Once again he thought the elf was a she at first, given the very feminine face and long grayish-white hair, but the lack of bosom of any kind had him question that notion. Plus, the voice he had heard belonged to a male. Unless there was another elf in the hall. Still…

  Do all tree elves look androgynous?

  “I am Qeye,” the elf said in that baritone voice.

  Yes, it had to be a man. The elf’s grayish-white hair seemed a little out of place to him, given how the face was entirely free of wrinkles. Then again, he had heard that elves never died of old age, and were essentially immortal, unless physically killed. If that was the case, it made some sense that their hair color might change as they aged, while their features remained youthful.

  “I want to speak to your queen,” Malem said. “I’m here on behalf of the Metals.”

  Qeye raised an eyebrow. “Who you are here on behalf of remains to be seen. But you will get your wish to see the queen yet, though you may regret ever wishing for such a thing.”

  The vines that formed the bars in front of Malem transformed. Some of them dropped away to the floor, sinking into the root that lined the wall, while others darted forward, wrapping around his hands before he could react, and forming binds. The latter separated from the main root on the floor so that he was mobile.

  Qeye beckoned him forward. “Come on then.”

  Malem glanced at the root that lined the floor at the entrance to his cell, and stepped warily over it, not wanting to touch the thing after he’d seen all those vines retreat inside it.

  When he was past, Malem’s first instinct was to attack the elf, even if his hands were tied, but he managed to suppress that urge, at least until the elf reached for his upper arm.

  Then Malem struck. He hit the elf underneath the chin with his bound hands, and Qeye stumbled backward before slamming into the wall. Malem raised his arms to deliver a second blow, but then he heard the rapid, deadly whisper of steel on felt, as if several blades were being drawn behind him. Dreading what he would find, he glanced over his shoulder: a half-circle of elven blades pointed at his spine.

  Qeye had brought a small escort with him, no doubt to prevent what Malem had just attempted. The elves had crammed themselves in behind him, bending their arms and contorting themselves to fit within the close quarters.

  “Would you mind?” Qeye said to the others.

  They withdrew their blades, and Qeye promptly punched Malem in the jaw. It was Malem’s turn to stumble back; one of the elves partially caught him, and sidestepped to throw him into the cell.

  Malem fell to the floor.

  “Perhaps you’re not ready to see the queen,” Qeye said.

  The vines grew from the base of the cell once again, knitting up. The plants that bound his wrists fell away, releasing him and shriveling when they hit the floor.

  “Wait!” Malem rushed the entrance, but the plants had already formed barriers harder than steel. He shoved his arm past, reaching for the elf, but Qeye was already walking away. “I apologize! Come back!”

  But Qeye ignored him, and the elves soon vanished from view.

  “Nicely done,” Gwenfrieda called out from another cell.

  “What did he do?” Sylfi asked.

  “Hell if I know,” Gwenfrieda said. “I heard a punch, and then some swords unsheathing, then another punch. And then they all walked away.”

  “That’s sort of how he has sex with me,” Mauritania complained.

  “You and me both,” Ziatrice said.

  Malem sat back on the far edge of the cell and nursed his sore jaw.

  More time passed. Once again he wasn’t sure how much, but if he were to guess, he’d say an hour.

  He heard a scraping sound at one point, and then someone shoved a small bowl through the vine bars.

  Malem rushed the opening. “Wait!”

  “Whatever that was, it’s already gone,” Solan said.

  Malem glanced at the bowl. It contained gruel of some kind. He scooped it up resignedly, and sat down to eat with his fingers. It was cold.

  “I hate you,” Sylfi said from somewhere down the wooden hall.

  “Who, me?” Solan pressed.

  “No, the Defiler,” Sylfi said. “And I hate all of his women.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Gwenfrieda said.

  “You destroyed my home,” Sylfi said. “Drove my people out of their mountain home.”

  As he chewed the tasteless gruel, Malem wondered what had gotten into her. He supposed it was because he no longer had a firm grip upon her will. She no longer felt constrained, and could speak her mind without fear of any punishment. That, and she couldn’t see his face, nor the faces of any of the others, which made it easier.

  Well, if both conditions allowed her to open up, that was good. Maybe he could smooth out the wrinkles in their relationship, right now.

  “Sylfi, the Metals declared their neutrality in the war,” Malem said. “Only to renege on this declaration, and join the war on the side of the Alliance. Vorgon had every right to do what he did. If you Metals had only remained neutral, and stayed inside your little city, none of this would have ever happened. If—”

  “The Demon would have attacked anyway, and you know it!” Sylfi said. “Besides, you’re the one who caused us to join the Alliance in the first place! You brought the traitor Abigail with you. She convinced her own father to join the war, essentially forcing his hand by orchestrating the attack on Fallow Gate. An attack that you were a part of. Just as the two of you were part of the attack against Khaledonius. That the princess would turn upon her own blood, her own father, is a testament to how evil she truly is.”

  “I didn’t want any of this,” Abigail said softly. “Neither did the Breaker… the Defiler. I convinced father to join the war, yes, but not because I wanted to betray him, but because I wanted to help our people. Defeating Vorgon was our only hope. He would have knocked on our doorstep eventually, regardless of whether we remained neutral. I still believe that to this day. We tried our best, we fought Vorgon to the end, but we lost, and now Khaledonius is gone. Just as the rest of the world will fall. We serve Vorgon now, and while it might seem like a curse at first, in truth, we are all lucky to be alive. Things could be so much worse. Be thankful you were one of those spared in the fight for Khaledonius. If the Defiler hadn’t saved you, your corpse would be littering the shoulder of Mount Ademan at this very moment, along with all the others, a feast for oraks and dire wolves, your bones picked clean, ready for human apothecaries to come scavenging them for their potions.”

  “Be thankful?” Sylfi sobbed. “You tell me to be thankful? Oh no, I’m far from thankful. I don’t want to live like this, not at all. I’ve decided. I’m done. I’m free of the Defiler now. I’m not going back. I won’t fight for him or Vorgon ever again. ”

  Through his weak connection to her, Malem felt a sudden physical pain coming from her energy bundle. “I think she’s trying to hurt herself!”

  He tossed the bowl of gruel aside and threw himself at the bars, but couldn’t break them open.

/>   The pain he felt through the bundle intensified.

  “No!” Brita said. “Sister, please! Don’t do this. Come back to me.”

  But Sylfi didn’t answer.

  “Guards, let us out!” Malem hurled himself at the bars again. “She’s trying to harm herself!”

  But the elves didn’t answer.

  “Guards!”

  Malem threw himself frantically into the vines, but couldn’t break free.

  He focused all of his mental prowess on her energy bundle. He sent calming, reassuring vibes. He wasn’t sure if those vibes reached her, but the pain he felt through the bundle did seem to subside.

  “Sylfi?” Brita said. “Answer me.”

  “Can you see her?” Mauritania asked.

  “No I can’t fucking see her!” Brita replied.

  “I think she’s going to be okay,” Malem said. The pain was still receding, but he wasn’t sure if that was because she was losing consciousness. He tensed, waiting for her connection to boomerang and sever entirely, but the moment did not come. She lived.

  For now. If she hadn’t damaged herself too badly, she would heal. Assuming the collar didn’t block even that quality of dragon-kind.

  He sat back down, next to the toppled bowl. The gruel had spread out across the wooden floor. He wasn’t hungry enough to scoop it up. He had no appetite, not after what had just happened.

  He sat there, staring at the hallway outside. Once more the quality of the light changed, becoming dimmer, and he though it was getting close to evening.

  He finally heard footsteps once again. Malem clambered to his feet expectantly, and Qeye appeared. As usual, Malem couldn’t yet see any of the escorting elves, who remained out of view in the hallway beyond.

  “So then, are you—” Qeye began.

  “Check the female dragon!” Malem said.

  Qeye raised an eyebrow. But then the elf backed from view. “Which one?”

  “The woman with the blond short hair,” Malem said.

  “She seems fine,” Qeye said a moment later. “She’s sitting on the floor. Awake.”

  So she had awakened after all. But Malem hadn’t sensed it.

  My powers are growing weaker the longer I wear this damn thing.

  He touched the collar at his neck and it instantly tightened, reminding him not to even dare trying to pry it loose.

  “Sylfi, why didn’t you answer me all this time?” Brita pleaded. But still her sister remained quiet.

  Malem focused on Sylfi’s energy bundle, and realized he did indeed feel her mind, it just took a concentrated effort to detect it. He couldn’t quite sense her mood, however, so he couldn’t say why she wasn’t talking to Brita. He was beginning to really worry about what she’d done to herself.

  The vines fell away once more, while some wrapped around his wrists, binding him.

  “Out,” Qeye said.

  Malem stepped carefully over the long root at the bottom of the entrance, and this time didn’t try to attack Qeye. Instead, he peered down the hallway, and saw the other armed tree elves standing there, about twenty of them waiting to escort the released prisoners. They were lined up against the wall opposite the cells.

  Mauritania, Ziatrice, and Gwenfrieda, all dressed in their former outfits minus any weapons, shot him weak smiles, but he ignored them. Instead, he watched the half dragons as they emerged from their individual cells, and realized they wore their former clothes—Abigail and Weyanna in their dresses, Sylfi and Brita in their leggings and blouses, Solan and Gannet wrapped in their dragonscale armor. Abigail and Weyanna had removed their dresses before they transformed, so it made some sense that the elves were able to retrieve their outfits. But he could have sworn Sylfi and Brita had transformed with their clothes on—it seemed impossible they should be wearing that same clothing, as their outfits would have been torn apart during the change to dragon. It was as if the elves had collected their belongings and sewn them up again. Either that, or used some kind of restorative magic.

  If Sylfi had harmed herself, there was no evidence of it. So the half dragons could still heal then, despite the collars. That was a good sign. Assuming she really had damaged herself, which seemed likely, given the pain he had felt. Though he didn’t want to think long on what she could have done to her person without any weapons.

  Sylfi glanced at Brita guiltily, careful not to meet anyone else’s eye. “I couldn’t finish it. Couldn’t go through with the deed. I regretted what I had done the instant I began. I changed my mind… failed even in this.”

  “I’m glad you failed,” Brita said. “I need you.”

  Sylfi nodded slowly, then glanced at Malem. When she met his eyes, she cowered against her sister and hid her face in Brita’s chest.

  Malem looked away.

  “Well then, come on,” Qeye said, grabbing Malem by the elbow. “It’s time to meet the queen.”

  The other elves seized the bound prisoners, and escorted them down the hallway toward a bright doorway ahead.

  Malem didn’t know how the hell he was going to complete his mission, not now.

  For Vorgon’s sake, somehow he would. He swore it.

  I’m not leaving this place until the tree elf army marches beneath Vorgon’s banner.

  16

  Malem stepped through the doorway and surveyed his surroundings as the elven escort pressed him on. He resided in a forest of oaks bigger than any natural trees he had ever seen. From them, thrusting from the very bark at their cores, were towers made of marble and gold; it was as if the trees had grown around those towers, or the towers had been compelled to grow from the trunks. He wasn’t certain which. The upper boughs of the trees intermingled with those towers, their branches threading around the upper spires, or through permanently-open windows and balconies.

  Glancing back, he saw that he had emerged from the root system of one particularly large oak. It, too, had a gold and marble tower protruding from its middle; a figure wearing a black executioner’s hood peered down from the upper balcony, as if promising Malem what fate awaited when he returned. The figure was rather bulky for an elf, but presumably was simply a stronger specimen. Malem quickly looked away.

  Several fountains existed between those oaks, and they contained white statues of dryads and nymphs—essentially women in miniskirts with short hair, pointy ears, and long, dragonfly-like wings protruding from their backs. They all held bows and arrows, and from their upturned lips sparkling water flowed forth.

  Elves of various ages lounged in front of those fountains, dipping their feet in the waters. They all stared at Malem and his company as they walked past. As usual, Malem had trouble telling apart the males and females, but a quick glance at the chest area usually solved that problem.

  Sometimes, elves watched his party pass from the upper balconies of the different tree-towers, or from perches upon the very branches themselves. A few of them even sat next to strange, winged beasts, which seemed to be pets. They had the heads and wings of eagles, and the bodies of lions, though the forelegs were taloned.

  “Nice pets,” Gwenfrieda said.

  “Pets?” Mauritania said softly. “No, those are Griffins.”

  The sun was low in the sky, just as he had guessed. As the elven escort led him and the others through those tree-towers, he noticed that the outer perimeter of the city seemed to be girded by a white mist that blocked out the remaining forest. It was as if this place existed in some pocket realm that was offset from the ordinary world. That would explain why he hadn’t been able to find the elven city, despite having scouts search the entire forest.

  The group was led to a grand oak at the center of the city. A tower of white marble threaded with sparkling silver emerged from the center of this one. At the base of the trunk, an arched opening had been carved into the wood. Two elves clad in the brown robes of earth mages stood near the entrance. Those robes were dotted with green specks, perhaps to indicate the mages’ particular bent of earth magic relied more upon plants
than dirt.

  The two stepped aside to allow Malem and his party entrance. They gave Malem indifferent looks.

  The elven escort led Malem and the others through the opening in pairs.

  A red carpet lined with silver tassels decorated the floor. The walls had intricate, dryad-shaped brackets jutting from them, but instead of holding torches, they carried small globes of light. Gold-trimmed tapestries hung from the wooden walls, depicting tree elves in various scenes usually involving earth magic. An elf in a green and brown robe would be commanding a tree to rise from the dirt. Another elf in a different scene would be mending a broken tree. In yet another, an elf would be riding a griffin over a forest, waving a hand across the trees as if to command them to bloom.

  The wooden surroundings gave way to marble where the tower structure took over, so that Malem was stepping across a white floor veined with silver. The tapestries continued to hang from the walls, and the dryad brackets gave off magical light.

  The hallway opened into a large chamber. Overhead, when he looked up, he could see all the way to the top of the spire. Long railings on the different floors above overlooked the main hall where he stood. Elven women in different colored dresses resided behind a few of those railings, and stared down at him. Spiral staircases wound along the marble walls, leading to the different levels.

  He took one such staircase. At the top of the first flight, walkways led away to the left and right along the curving inner wall, bound by railings.

  Qeye ignored those walkways as he and the other elves forced the party to continue upward.

  Malem passed two more levels like that, before Qeye finally led him out onto the walkway of the fourth floor. He gazed past the railing on his right, which overlooked the main entrance hall far below.

  “Did I ever tell you I hate heights?” Gwenfrieda said.

  “Then how did you ever manage to ride me into battle?” Abigail asked.