by Isaac Hooke
“It’s a selective fear,” Gwenfrieda replied. “I’m not afraid when I’m strapped to the back of a dragon, for some reason. Maybe because I trust you fully. But when I’m standing at the top of a building, and staring over the edge, I’m just terrified.”
“So stay away from the railing,” Brita said.
“Oh, I intend to,” Gwenfrieda told her.
They turned into a hallway that led away to the left, passing deeper into the tree. Soon the marble gave way to the wood of the tree once more so that walls, ceiling, and floor were composed of bark.
“I like how they’ve completely intermingled their buildings with the trees, with each becoming a part of the other,” Mauritania said.
“It is an interesting design,” Solan agreed.
Ahead, two more elves awaited next to a sealed set of double doors. These elves carried long swords strapped to their belts, but they also wore the green-specked brown robes. Their hoods, which were raised, seemed made of chain mail, and formed a coif of sorts.
“Battle mages of some kind,” Ziatrice said.
“Every race has them,” Mauritania agreed. “The two of us could be considered battle mages, after all.”
“Speak for yourself,” Ziatrice said. “I’m all mage.”
“Then why do you wield a halberd?” Sylfi asked.
“Just for the sport of it,” Ziatrice said.
That wasn’t true, but Malem wasn’t going to say anything. Let Ziatrice have her fun with the half dragon. Even if now was an odd time for it.
One of the elven battle mages raised a halting hand as the party approached. The elf made a gesture toward the entrance, and the doors opened of their own accord, revealing a grand hall beyond. Then the two elves entered, bowed, and stepped aside.
The escorts led Malem and his party inside. A silver and gold carpet led to the far side of the room, where an elven woman in a white dress sat on a throne of wooden vines. Presumably that was Wendolin Lasalan, queen of the tree elves.
He instinctively reached out, searching for her with his beast sense, but felt nothing.
Mages lined either side of the carpet, roughly twenty per side. One of them, a large male, held a large, bowl-shaped drum; vines, connected to the wooden floor beneath him, beat the taut membrane. It played an eerie, booming rhythm throughout the room.
Qeye shoved Malem forward. He glanced back in confusion, and realized he was to approach alone.
He stepped between the line of elves and slowly approached the queen. None of the elves on either side of him would meet his eye. Wait, that wasn’t true. One elf did, and his eyes were full of hatred. No doubt he had lost a comrade during the fight back there.
Without warning a vine emerged from the bark beneath him and wrapped around his neck. It squeezed so tightly that he could scarcely breath. He heard a worried shout from behind him—he thought it was Gwenfrieda—but none of his party approached to help him, no doubt held back by their escort.
Malem grabbed at those vines, and his nails scrabbled over the surface, trying to find purchase, but he couldn’t. The vines squeezed tighter and his vision began to darken.
The queen did nothing to stop her minion.
Malem fell to his knees, but just before he blacked out, the vines retracted. He doubled over, placing both hands on the carpet in front of him, and panted for several moments until he caught his breath. Meanwhile, the drums beat incessantly.
When he had recovered, he scrambled to his feet. He glanced at the elf who had done this; the male gazed at him defiantly, a slight smile on his face. The anger still shone strong in his eyes, though there was pleasure there now, too.
Malem resisted the urge to punch the asshole in the face.
Instead he looked away and continued forward.
When he reached the woman in white at the far side of the room, vines arose from the very bark of the floor and wrapped around his boots to hold him in place. He understood now why the queen had built her audience chamber here.
The drumbeat ceased.
Her throne of vines resided on a dais, so that she looked down upon Malem even though he stood at his full height. It was a psychological trick employed often by kings and queens to make visitors feel diminutive, and lesser in status, because even while seated they towered over you. But Malem was familiar with that trick, so it had little effect on him.
He studied her. Her face was youthful, and if he had to guess an age, he would have said she was twenty, yet those big blue eyes seemed wise well beyond their years. Those were an old woman’s eyes, yet also full of intelligence, and cunning. Her eyebrows were thin, well-trimmed lines above them. Her features had perfect symmetry, and her complexion was immaculate. Plump red lips rested beneath a nose that could have been chiseled by a master sculptor. The only imperfection he could see was a ragged scar, above her right brow. Her hair was black, unlike those of the elves around her, and hinted at her half human nature. Her locks descended in curls around her face, ending just above her bosom. Whoever had invented the word ‘enchanting’ had had her in mind at the time.
The white dress she wore was very slightly diaphanous, allowing him to see the silver tassels of her bra below. It was otherwise cut high, forming a collar around her neck. The long sleeves ended in silver trim that wrapped around her wrists. Upon her right index finger she wore the silver ring of a dryad, and her waist was belted with a silver band whose metal was worked to resemble intertwined vines.
She otherwise wore no crown or other indicator of royalty of any kind.
Now that Malem was closer, he attempted to reach out yet again, but he still couldn’t find her. His sense was muted, thanks to that infernal collar.
To the left and right of the throne stood two more elven mages. There was also a third man next to them. A white-bearded man, clad in a gray robe. Eralas. The mage had been the advisor to Nefeyus, king of Perasan to the east, during the battle against Vorgon on the front lines. Malem had sat in on many war councils with Eralas.
His presence here could bode only ill. He remembered what Vorgon had told him about the shattered armies of the Alliance trying to court the tree elves…
Eralas regarded him with unhidden malice.
“During your capture,” the woman seated in the throne said in a mellifluous voice. “You claimed to hail from the Metal dragons? You claimed to be their envoy?”
Malem glanced at Eralas, who was smiling indulgently.
What had the fool told the queen?
“I have come from the Metals, yes,” Malem said.
That was the truth, in a way. And the tree elves couldn’t know Khaledonius had fallen, not yet. News wouldn’t have traveled that fast.
“This is no envoy,” Eralas spat.
The queen glanced at him.
“This is the Breaker,” Eralas continued. “He once fought for the forces of good, but Vorgon corrupted him. I saw him turned on the plains of Atembor, in that no man’s land between the armies of the front line. Now he is known as the Defiler. Vorgon’s top lieutenant. A master of deceit and evil. He has burned cities to the ground for his master.”
Malem shrugged. He decided there was no point in contesting this. The gig was up, as far as he was concerned. “I might have burned a few cities in my day. But it was warranted. They were given the choice of surrendering, or resisting. They chose to resist.”
“Really?” Eralas said, stepping forward. “Did you give the Metal dragons such a choice? Or did you not attack them without warning?”
Malem stared at Eralas, momentarily stunned. That he knew about the fall of Khaledonius meant that the Metals had already sent envoys this way. Or perhaps the equivalent of a carrier pigeon.
Too bad.
“They had ample warning,” Malem said. “Their city atop Mount Ademan afforded quite the view of the surrounding landscape. They could see us miles before we arrived.”
Eralas opened his mouth to offer some retort, but the queen raised a hand, and the human mage bit ba
ck a reply. Instead he stepped back, returning to his place next to the others.
Yet another vine rose from the floor in front of Malem, this one wrapping around a chalice that sat on a small table next to him. The vine lifted the chalice and conveyed it toward his face. Malem glanced inside and saw a partially translucent, greenish yellow liquid. He wrinkled his nose when he smelled the cloying scent it emitted, like honey mixed with mildew, and turned his face away.
The queen smiled. “Drink.”
Malem glanced at the drink once more, and fervently shook his head.
The queen’s smile faded; she lifted a hand with the fingers extended upward, and slowly rotated her palm in a circular direction. Three vines curved upward from the floor, intertwining to match her movement, and formed a blade of swords. The tip pressed against his heart.
“Drink,” she repeated. “Unless you’d like to test your dragonscales against elven magic.”
With a sigh, he turned his head toward the chalice, and slid his mouth over the lip. The goblet tilted, forcing liquid into his throat, and he swallowed. There was too much.
The chalice pulled away, and he coughed violently for a few moments. He felt a sudden wave of weakness, and wondered what it was she had just done to him. The collar at his neck suddenly felt far too tight.
“Why are you here?” the queen asked.
He fought it, but was unable to resist the sudden compulsion to answer that he felt.
“I am here to Break you,” Malem said. “For Vorgon.”
Ah. Some kind of truth drink.
The queen smiled. “And how exactly did you intend to do that?”
“I intended to seduce you.”
The smile deepened, those eyes sparkling with amusement.
“You are Wendolin, queen of the tree elves, are you not?” Malem asked.
She nodded slowly, and then suddenly erupted in a shrill chuckle, that seemed out of place coming from that beautiful face.
She glanced at the elves around her, and they too erupted into a forced laugh. Even Eralas forced himself to laugh along with her.
“Be quiet!” the queen said, raising an imperial hand, and instantly all laugher cut off throughout the room.
She looked Malem over. “I can’t decide whether I want to kill you, or make you my toy. You see, I like having powerful creatures serve me.” As if to emphasize that point, she glanced at Eralas, and he bowed his head in shame.
She steepled her fingers, rested her chin on the tip of her index fingers, and regarded him a moment longer. She glanced at Eralas. “You say he fought against Vorgon for the forces of good on the front lines?”
“He did,” Eralas agreed.
“Was he any good?” Wendolin pressed.
“Oh yes,” Eralas said. “He would ride into battle on the backs of hill giants, and command an army of ghrips and basilisks, along with the armies of the Black Swords he had Broken.”
Wendolin nodded. “I had heard there was a man who had Broken two of Vorgon’s Black Swords, but I did not think this was he. Though I admit, I thought it suspicious he should have an Eldritch in his party along with a night elf. Not to mention six dragons.”
“All of them Broken against their wills, no doubt,” Eralas said.
Wendolin pursed her lips, then leaned forward as if studying Malem. “If those are Black Swords with him, that means he is joined by Mauritania, former queen of the Eldritch. And Ziatrice, once the queen of the night elves.”
“You know them?” Eralas asked.
“Know of them, perhaps,” Wendolin said. “But I have met neither. Nor do I have any intention to. They are embodiments of evil.”
Eralas nodded toward Malem. “As this one has become.”
A thoughtful expression came over her face, and she nodded slowly.
“You will be my pet project,” she announced, gaze firmly upon Malem to let him know she addressed him.
“Your pet project?” Malem asked.
“I intend to bring you back to the light,” she replied. “I will Break the Breaker. Tame the Monster Tamer. You will fight for good once more.”
He stared at her incredulously, and then erupted in a raucous laugh. “Woman, nothing can bring me back. Not anymore. I am Darkness now. Vorgon is, and always will be, my master.”
“We shall see,” she told him.
17
Malem quartered in the main tower. Wendolin gave him a set of expansive quarters on the third floor, rooms that were carved into the wood of the tree itself. He had a king sized bed, a large bathroom, a kitchen, a walk-in closet—mostly empty—and a large common room with a light globe in the center. He also had a balcony that gave him a view of the city, which he had learned was called Dothloron. He often tried to reach out with his beast sense into the city, but the collar prevented him from reading anyone or anything that resided in those tree-towers.
The bathroom was equipped with a magic toilet. Whenever he relieved himself within that toilet, the excreted material would teleport elsewhere. He wasn’t entirely sure where. An elf also brought him a bucket of water to use for bathing once a day—he was instructed to dump the used bathwater into the toilet. Another elf brought him meals thrice daily, consisting of oatmeal for breakfast, eggs for lunch, and rabbit for dinner. Definitely not a king’s bounty, but it was enough to get by.
Two the elven earth mages stood guard at the entrance to his quarters at all hours, and denied him exit. He considered climbing the exterior of the tree via the balcony, but he didn’t have the best climbing skills, and decided such a climb wasn’t worth the risk. Especially considering that if any other elves saw him, either from the ground below or the balconies of nearby tree-towers, elven mages would simply make the tree sprout vines to trap him.
While he lounged in comparative luxury, most of his party was confined to another tree-tower nearby. At least that was what he was told. They might have been held in the cells beneath the roots of the original oak where he had awakened, or on the other side of the city, as far as he knew.
Solan was the only one who quartered in the main tower like Malem. His room was apparently adjacent to Malem’s, and the tree elves often allowed them to dine together come mealtime.
Solan told him how the queen often brought him to her bed. Malem wasn’t sure what the queen hoped to achieve by playing such a game, other to engender jealousy in him. Because truthfully, he didn’t know what she saw in the half dragon. Sure, Solan had a muscular build, with a strong chin and heroic mien, and tanned skin that matched the bronze of his scales in dragon form. He looked everything like the kind of man Malem always imagined queens would like, but he lacked Malem’s charm and humor.
“Has she summoned you to her bed yet?” Solan asked him.
“No,” Malem replied. “And to be honest, I’m not sure I’d accept the summons if she did.”
“But you’d have to,” Solan said. “One can’t refuse a queen.”
Malem narrowed his eyes at the man. “You have the hots for her, don’t you?”
Solan looked down. “She is quite attractive.”
“Well, don’t get too attached,” Malem told him. “She’s using you. Anyone can see that. Except maybe you.”
Solan nodded. “Well, even if she is, so what? I’m enjoying myself.”
Malem sighed. “I’m not going to get through to you, I see. You’re blinded by your dick.”
“And you’re blinded by jealousy,” Solan said.
Malem narrowed his eyes. If he had access to his powers, he would have tightened his will around Solan’s mind, and maybe drained him of some stamina. “Careful. You serve me. Remember this. You may have a respite from my direct control at the moment, but as soon as we set foot outside this realm, you’ll be under my complete power again.”
Solan gave him a defiant look, but then lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry.” From his tone, Malem didn’t think he meant it.
“You probably think you’re going to find a way to stay here forever,” Malem
said. “That your newfound lover will protect you, and shelter you while Vorgon razes the land beyond. Well, I got news for you: she’ll cast you aside the moment I Break her.”
“And what if you don’t Break her?” Solan said.
“I will.” Malem paused. “But let’s say for a moment that I don’t. You’re still gone when you’re no longer of any use to her. And even if she keeps you around as her playmate for a while afterward, when her kingdom falls to Vorgon, she won’t be able to protect you. Once more you’ll be cast out, and probably killed this time. She’s not going to value your life over those who have served her since she was a child. She’s using you.”
Solan hesitated. Then he nodded. “I’m not so naive around women. I know she’s using me. But to be honest, from my viewpoint, I’m using her right back. For my own pleasure.”
Once more Malem felt a pang of jealousy, and he found himself wanting her all the more. He ignored it.
Instead, Malem pursed his lips. “Maybe we can use this somehow. Keep doing what you’re doing. I might be able to get to her through you.”
Doubt momentarily flickered across Solan’s face, before the half dragon masked it. Malem knew the man didn’t want to betray the queen.
He’s definitely being used. Already he’s become attached to her.
Malem chuckled, and shook his head. He decided not to press the matter, at least for the time being. “You know, I never really had a chance to learn about you, or the other new dragons under my command. Tell me what you know about Sylfi and Brita.”
He shrugged. “There isn’t much to know. They’re sisters, distant relatives of mine. They lived on the far side of the city. Kept mostly to themselves. I saw them once or twice a year at social occasions. Unlike most of the women present, who wore the most gaudy, outrageous gowns—as could be expected of dragons—they always dressed very low key. Sometimes even wearing tunics and breeches to a gathering where everyone else wore a dress. Brita is the more extroverted one, while Sylfi is the introvert. They lost their parents at a young age, during the war against the Elk King. They’ve always hated men since then.”