by RG Long
Throdiore moved to the table and sat, gesturing with his hands that the others should follow suit. The elves who came in with him sat in various positions around the large ornate table, leaving space for the four to resume their own seats.
“These are the ones?” Throdiore asked Omioor as he looked at both Serinde and Erilas.
“They are indeed,” the old elf replied with a smile and a nod.
“Well then,” he said as rested his elbows on the table and folded his hands in front of him. “I'd like to discuss the assassination of the emperor of Enoth.”
29: Fire and Wood
Tory was tired of trees. And elves who dressed in vines and hair and little else. And dwarves whose short legs meant he had to constantly stop to help get him untangled from the forest's undergrowth. This was especially irksome when they were being pursued by Wrents through the enormous trunks of ancient trees. Their elf captors had long ago decided that if the pair fell to the fox beasts, they would be free of their charges and no less worse for the effort.
“Your left leg! Left!” Tory shouted at Gorplin as he tried to unwrap a particularly thorn filled vine from the dwarf's leg. Gorplin appeared to be more concerned about drawing out his ax as the sounds of the Wrents came ever closer.
“Get me out of this so I can bash their ugly faces in!” he yelled as he finally yanked the leg Tory was grappling with. Instead of freeing himself, he managed to kick Tory right in the nose.
Howling, he grabbed his now bleeding nose and got to his feet as searing pain filled his sinuses. Several choice curses came to mind as he grabbed for his own blade. The howling was now so close, Tory was sure he would soon see the dog-like faces of their pursuers at any moment. With his left hand on his nose and his right hand grasping his sword, he brought the blade down right beside Gorplin, freeing his loud companion for the moment from his thorny prison.
A few curses Tory recognized as the dwarf's own inventions came pouring out of his mouth as he scrambled free of the rest of the vine, but not the one still embedded in his shin. Painful vegetation was the least of their worries. Spilling out from between every tree were Wrents with fangs bared and crude swords held high.
“Persistent mutts, aren't they?” he said as he hefted his sword into an attack position. He had just sighted one headed for him when the beast dropped dead ten paces away, an arrow protruding from its neck. Projectiles peppered the air as the Wrents fell back, howling at the onslaught. The war whoops of elves from behind them emboldened Tory to turn behind him to get a better view of the ones who had come to their aid.
Instead, he was looking right at an arrow pointed at his face.
“Drop your weapon,” said a dark-haired elf in a deep voice.
Wrents still howled behind him and several elves were now pointing their bows in his direction. This was exactly the moment when letting go of his weapon felt like a terrible idea. But it was hard to argue with ten arrows held by the same amount of angry looking elves.
“The elves who captured us gave them back so we could fight the Wrents that were tailing us,” he said as he lowered his blade to the forest floor. A cautious look over his shoulder showed him the Wrents had all retreated and Gorplin was flat out refusing to put down his ax. Five elves with bows and arrows pointed at him didn't seem to deter him in the slightest.
“What about the foxes?” Tory asked.
“This is sacred ground,” the dark-haired elf replied. “They will not be allowed to step one dirty paw further into it. Nor will that dwarf.”
With these words, he cast a scowl at Gorplin who defiantly hefted his ax onto his shoulder.
“Bah,” he said. “Don't make me change my mind about saving your elvish backsides.”
The sound of tightening arrows made Tory wince.
“I'd really love it if you didn't kill my friend,” he said. “We actually came to warn your people when we were dragged deep into your forest.”
“A message we would love to hear in full detail,” said a female voice from behind the wall of archers.
Most of the elves made way for an ancient but light footed elf with gray hair flecked with red streaks. She stood directly beside the elf who still had his arrow pulled back and pointed at Tory.
“No innocent blood will be spilled here,” she said as she put a hand on the elf's shoulder. At first, he didn't move except to cast a sideways glance at her. Then, with evident reluctance and loathing, he moved aside.
“Thank you,” Tory began to say. The old female held up a wrinkled hand to stop him.
“I didn't say your blood would be spared,” she said, motioning for some of the elves to step forward. Most carried vines and rope that looked oddly familiar to him. “Just that you would be unharmed as long as we are unsure of your guilt.”
Tory sighed and cursed inwardly. Gorplin began cursing loudly.
Naturally, he thought to himself, allowing his hands to be bound for the second time since coming into the care of the Wood Walkers.
TORY FOUND HIMSELF standing in the middle of the oddest and most ancient group of trees he had ever encountered. The trunks were as round as most houses and seemed to rise as high as the sky itself. Even the trees of the old elf settlements on Ruyn could not match these. Elves perched atop branches more wide than he was tall and looked down at Gorplin and him. Some with curious expressions. Others had much more threatening looks on their faces.
“My name is Ferinan,” said the gray and red haired elf who sat on the highest root as if it were a throne. “We have brought you here in order to question you,”
“Good,” Tory said, feeling frustrated at being tied up and interrogated by the very group they had intended to save. “And, when you’re done, and the combined armies of Darrion and Enoth have completely wiped you out, I hope you'll feel like you spent your time well.”
Murmuring filled the forest as elves whispered to one another. Tory felt their accusing glances, but didn't mind. He was determined to have his say.
“You are not in the position to threaten us,” Ferinan replied with a wild expression forming on her face. “Your lives are in our care now.”
“It's not a threat!” Tory shot back. “It's a warning! It's why we came to find you!”
More murmuring followed this statement.
“Bah,” Gorplin said at his side. “They'll be their own undoing.”
“Several weeks ago, we sent elves to investigate the doings of Darrion. Perhaps to even form an alliance in our struggle against the Wrents of the north.”
Tory did not respond, but only looked up at her with hard eyes.
“They have not returned,” she said, gazing at him in examination. “And those who brought you to me say you said you saw them.”
The two held eyes for a moment before Tory let out a deep sigh. He looked around at the circle of elves who stared at Gorplin and him. Instead of addressing his questioner, he spoke to the crowd at large.
“Yes, I saw them,” he said. “I met Eren and Elen and heard their story. My friends and I tried to help them. But we weren't fast enough.”
Tory turned his eyes back to Ferinan.
“Eren is dead. Elen was kidnapped, along with two of my own companions, and taken by the elves of Enoth. Darrion has fallen under their influence and an army is marching south as we speak to consume the forest tree by tree. They feel you have all the resources the continent has to offer while they have nothing.”
The elves all around them began to murmur and talk rapidly.
“We came here to warn you!” Tory shouted above the growing noise. “To help you!”
Ferinan raised a hand for silence, which came slowly. Once the talking had died away, she considered him with a piercing gaze.
“We do not need your help,” she replied, looking down at him as if he were an inconvenient muddy puddle. “The forest is what we, the elves of the woods, strive to protect.”
“But the elves...” Tory began, thinking he had misheard her.
“We value the life of the tree more than the life of our fathers. We protect the bird more vigilantly than we do our daughters. The pulse of the bear is just as precious to us as that of our own. We elves are but keepers of the forest. These trees are superior to us. They have lived here long before us and will live long after we are gone. It is our duty to guard them with our lives.”
Tory's mouth was hanging open without his permission. This talk of trees being more worthwhile than living, breathing beings sounded insane to him. Surely there was something important he was not comprehending. He couldn't understand how these elves could think a plant was more precious than a person.
Gorplin was apparently coming to that same conclusion.
“Bunch of nutters,” Gorplin whispered to him.
“I did not give you permission to speak, short one,” Ferinan said with a sneer.
Tory stepped forward and put a hand on Gorplin's shoulder as the dwarf clenched his fists.
“Then let us help you protect the forest!” he said. His mind was racing. If these elves valued the forest more than themselves, he would just have to help them save the bloody trees.
Ferinan considered him.
“You would help us defend the forest? What might a man and a dwarf gain from offering help to elves?” she asked skeptically.
Tory resisted the urge to roll his eyes. What was there to gain? In his few years, he had seen too many friends die and too many evil tyrants rise to know there was personal glory to be gained here.
“Can't you just be satisfied that you've met two companions who aren't elves who genuinely don't want to see your whole race wiped out!?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“The forest, I mean,” Tory added, rather lamely.
Ferinan cocked her head and furrowed her brow. Her mouth had just begun to form words when a new sound called from the south. A horn.
The elves who surrounded them stirred and looked in the direction of the noise.
“It's a warning,” Ferinan said aloud.
In answer to her statement, a call came from the same direction as the horn.
“The army of Enoth! The army of Enoth! They march on the forest!”
30: Bad Dreams
Blume was completely and utterly out of breath. Her sides ached. Her face was scratched and what parts of her clothes that had been in good condition were nearly in shreds. One of her toes was poking through a new hole in her left shoe.
But they were alive.
Praise the suns, they were alive.
As she looked around at their crew, she was at least relieved to see she wasn't the only one breathing heavily. Amrolan and Silverwolf seemed to be doing alright. They both were upright and scanning the forest around them, ensuring that the last of the elves who had pursued them had really been thrown off their trail.
Holve and Ealrin were doubled over and trying to recover from the night of running. As soon as the explosion had happened at the wall of Horritoft, they had fled from the city under the cover of the confusion. The forest to the north promised shelter, but the wide expanse between city and trees meant that they were in plain view of any who wanted to pursue them.
Of the elves that had followed them out of the city, Panto took care of most of them. Blume was sure the terrifying images of the bear fighting off four elves at once would stay in her mind forever. She also found herself having a newfound respect for Amrolan, who seemed to be able to control the bear with a thought or glance.
“Well, pointy ears,” Silverwolf said after scanning the area around them. They were just inside the protection of the forest, looking back on the city and the smoke that rose from it in the early dawn. “I think they know there was a prison break.”
Amrolan snorted. Apparently, he didn't think the jest was in good taste.
Blume couldn't take her eyes of Ealrin. She couldn't believe it. He was alive. And she had helped rescue him. For all the times he had stuck his neck out for her, she had finally done something for him.
“What happened?” she asked after Ealrin took a seat on a boulder, massaging his shoulder. “After the elves took you.”
Ealrin looked up at her before exchanging a look with Holve, who had joined him on the seat.
“We shouldn't stay still for long,” Holve said. “We need to get moving. Away from the city.”
“Then we'll walk and talk,” Ealrin said as he grimaced and stood back up. The bear came back into their midst after making a patrol of the area. Amrolan rubbed its ears.
“Take food first,” he said as he rummaged through one of the compartments hidden in Panto's armor.
No one complained about the meager provisions, but each took what the elf offered gratefully.
“The elves took us prisoner and put us in a cart,” Ealrin began after he swallowed his first bite. “A number of them were going south. Cedric, the elf priest from Darrion was in charge. Jurgon's Rimstone was gone and our weapons were taken, so we just waited.”
He took another bite before going on.
“Then they took us to this black tent in the middle of the plains. We went in and this elf in a mask confronted us. I...”
He broke off.
“I remember terrible dreams. In some of them, I was fighting horrible monsters. They just kept coming and I kept trying to fend them off. Then I remember Jurgon's face. He was right there. Then I saw his face in my hands and I...”
His voice broke and he trailed off. There was silence for a moment, save for the heavy breathing of Panto and the crunch of leaves under his paws as his prowled the area.
“I think... I think I killed him,” Ealrin managed. “In some of the dreams, I saw myself doing it over and over again. But in others...”
He didn't continue.
Blume was reeling. Jurgon? Dead? Killed by Ealrin?
“It didn't really happen,” she said with a surprising tone of finality. “You said you were dreaming. Maybe it was just that. A dream. Maybe those Enoth elves were the ones who...”
She couldn't bring herself to say it.
Jurgon dead? They had spent so much time together. They had learned magic together. The little halfling was her friend. He was growing in his skill of Speaking. He had traveled so far from his home on Ruyn to go on an adventure with them.
Now he was... gone.
Blume shook her head. She didn't want to believe Ealrin. She didn't want her little friend to be gone.
“So... she said. You said some dreams were about... about him. What were the others? What did you see?”
She was surprised to see Ealrin stand and walk to her quickly. He wrapped her in a warm embrace and for a moment she was caught by surprise. She wrapped her arms around him and was surprised to feel how thin he had become.
“I wasn't very kind to you in Lone Peak,” Ealrin said into her hair. He smelled of sweat and blood and desperately needed to bathe. But she refused to let him go for the time being.
“And I was kind of a jerk,” she replied, realizing it was true.
Ealrin chuckled and pulled back.
“Thank you for rescuing us,” he said, looking at her with his deep green eyes. She saw both gratitude and pain reflected in them. But more than anything she was just glad that they were looking at her. Not closed forever in death or angered beyond reconciliation. Ealrin was looking at her and she felt content.
Silverwolf cleared her throat loudly.
“Your welcome,” she said, hands on her hips and giving them both a hard look before brushing between them breaking up their embrace.
“Hey, old man,” she said, sitting next to Holve on the stone. “Think you can make something out of this?”
In response to Holve's quizzical look, she held up the pendant she and Amrolan had been studying. He came over and looked at it thoughtfully before letting out a sigh.
“Perhaps,” he said. “If I had that book of Jurgon's I could work out some of these symbols.”
“You mean this?” Blume asked, producing the tome
she had recovered from the halfling's pack before he was carried off by the elves of Enoth.
Holve's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“Blume Dearcrest, you have outdone yourself,” he said with a rare impressed look, taking the book and the pendant in his hand.
This reminded Blume of something else she needed to return.
“Here,” she said, handing Ealrin back his sword. It felt warm in her grasp, despite the chilliness of the air around them. Perhaps it was just because of how they had run for their lives for the last few hours. Still, it felt odd to be so warm when she hadn't been handling much.
Ealrin took it back gratefully and gave Blume another quick embrace.
“You're becoming quite the adventurer,” he said.
“Yes, “Silverwolf interjected, looking up from the book. “A really spirited sixteen-year-old who would get herself lost in a barrel.”
Blume rounded on her.
“I had the book!” she said in protest.
“That I stole first,” Silverwolf argued back, folding her hands in front of her chest.
“What about Wisym and Teresa?” Ealrin asked, breaking up the argument and looking from Holve to Silverwolf. “Do we know where they were taken?”
Holve took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“The emperor himself boarded that vessel with Teresa. Of course, we can't be sure, but that suggests that he took them to the capital of the empire.”
“Pahyrst,” Amrolan provided.
“Correct,” Holve replied, gripping his spear tightly in his hands. “Which means we're headed east.”
“No!” Amrolan responded so quickly and loudly that even Holve gave a start. “We can't head further into the empire. Not now! We need to return to the forest.”
“Why?” Ealrin asked, puzzled by the sudden conviction this elf had.
In answer to his question, a long and loud horn blast came from the east. Blume turned towards it and scanned the horizon.
“Is that fog out there?” she asked as a haze filled the east.
“Not fog,” Holve said, his eyes squinted in concentration. “Dust.”