by Sean Oswald
Knowing her importance to not only the running of the castle but also to the king specifically, one might have wondered why she was in a rarely used part of the veins with a young man who was not accustomed to being in such places. Yet she was well-liked amongst the servants who answered to her, and even those who might have been jealous would not speak out against her, knowing how well she had the king wrapped around her finger. Closer observation would reveal that this man was not a servant, nor some lover smuggled in from the town. Rather it was the young Baron Vichie, vassal to Duke Holstein, and while the two stood close enough to kiss, it was not sweet nothings that they exchanged but rather information.
“I want to be done with this. I have done as my father asked again and again. I tire of letting that man place his hands all over me. He talks and talks so much as if everything in the world revolves around him.”
“And I have told you time and again that you will serve as the Duke requires. If and when he is satisfied with your performance, he will keep his word and acknowledge you as his daughter. Then you can be done with a life of service and instead will have servants to wait upon you. But only if you keep feeding us information.”
Sighing in frustration, Melani lowered her eyes to the floor before saying, “Very well. What does my father need me to do now?”
A cruel smile touched the baron’s lips without ever reaching his eyes. “This is your liege lord’s instruction. You are to…”
Duke Holstein’s hunt had gone on for over a week, and it was high time that he got back to his home. Certainly, his clerks were good at pushing paper, but it is a true adage that an untrustworthy man will trust no one. So in the case of Edwin Holstein, he didn’t trust anyone to do what they were expected to do without being supervised, not wife, children, vassals or servants. Yet every time he had mentioned turning around and heading back home, Seimion had come up with some vague hint of more to be hunted if only they continued north.
This morning, early before the sun had risen, Edwin was up and sipping freshly brewed kaf from a large mug while reviewing correspondence from his steward. An assortment of things were happening back at home and more than ever he felt the need to be back in the seat of his power. He made the mental determination that he would order the camp packed up and they would begin the trek home. Well, at least as soon as he finished his kaf.
Suddenly though, the flap to his tent opened. The duke had never faced a serious assassination attempt but his private space being invaded unannounced certainly constituted a threat. His right hand slid to the long dagger hanging from his belt but didn’t pull it out. It wouldn’t do to appear rattled if this was just some careless armsman forgetting proper protocol. His surprise and for that matter concern grew though when it wasn’t an armed man either his or a hostile who walked into the tent. Rather it was the gray-robed seer who had been feeding him so much useful information of late, Seimion. A quick thought passed his mind that perhaps Seimion was going to reveal what he was playing at now.
“My lord, please forgive the intrusion so early in the day, but I have information which I believe to be of the utmost importance.” Seimion’s voice seemed to echo out of the cavernous robes he wore. There was always an odd quality to his voice. One which Edwin had never been able to place but which put in his mind the image of chittering insects.
“Where are my arms men and why have they allowed you into my presence unannounced mystic?”
“Again, please forgive me, I allowed myself in because I felt the news was so pressing. Should you wish it, if you are displeased with my decision after hearing what I have to say, I will leave your company and bother you no more.”
Edwin couldn’t help but feel that he was being patronized much as a parent might speak to a willful child. He considered reacting to this presumption on the seer’s part but decided to see where this went before determining the appropriate reaction. If he didn’t believe this new information was significant enough, he could always simply end the man. “Very well. What is so important?” Edwin finally spoke with a tone of begrudging patience.
“It is the Moon Elves. I have reason to believe they are working in concert with goblins and have attacked a series of logging villages along the northern border.” The proclamation was delivered in the same deadpan voice which Seimion always spoke complete with his odd accent. It was as though he had not delivered the most momentous news heard within the kingdom of Albia since the expansion wars had ended. Yet the words accomplished their task. Already Duke Holstein had forgotten the uninvited intrusion as his mind grappled with the various possibilities and challenges presented by a war with the elves.
Jaselm Von Marek, holy paladin of Shanelle, rode his mount at the front of a column of over one hundred church knights, soldiers, and support staff. His mission was simple and honestly a bit of a relief to him. He had been tasked by Bishop Tengur with finding a new son or daughter of Shanelle who had apparently appeared somewhere in the north. The Bishop had not been very forthcoming with specific directions on where to find the new cleric but had been very clear about the urgency. He had been given two very specific if somewhat contradictory tasks. The official mission was to find this individual and then provide whatever support that they needed in a God-given task. Equally stressed had been a secondary mission that reeked more of the personal instruction of the bishop rather than any divine mandate. He was to bring gifts on behalf of the bishop and find a way to convince the newly christened cleric to return to the capital. All to the new cleric’s benefit, of course.
At forty-eight, Jaselm was one of the oldest paladins still in active service. He really didn’t have a family to return to, the church having been everything to him, both soothing mother and cruel taskmaster. He ran his hand through his thinning hair as he chuckled about the contrast one sometimes found within the church. Either way, he was happy to be on a mission that wasn’t inherently about killing some group of infidels. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in the glory of Shanelle. No, he was more than ever convinced of that. It was that he wanted to be more a part of the regrowth than the pruning part of redemption. He could only hope that this new cleric heralded positive things for the church and the people of Albia.
The Ironclaw orcs had been in a slow fighting retreat from the dwarven held lands for the past week. Seimion had not appeared with any new information to guide them around dwarven defenses. Their saving grace was that the initial intrusion had pushed them further and faster into dwarven held lands than any of the short ugly creatures with their ridiculous beards had expected. Now the various war leaders and lesser thanes were struggling to organize a counteroffensive. Naaranbatar had no plans for his clan to still be behind enemy lines once such resistance was organized. Many of the clan wanted to seize and hold some new land, and truth be told that had been the original plan, but now, the First didn’t trust anything about the plan. Not since that plan had been prompted and whispered into his ear by the treacherous mage. No, now was the time to count their victories and reconsolidate their power. The day the orcs would rise up and seize what was rightfully theirs was coming but it was not yet here.
“I tell you that if we do nothing these pests will keep coming. They breed like rabbits and have no regard for the place of any species but their own. They are worse than goblins in some regards for they should know better.” The young moon elf lord, Daiki Itsu, continued to speak passionately.
“We have heard your opinion on this again and again over the past two days. Your desire to protect the people of Agani-Shi is admirable and brings honor to your family, but it is not our way to strike at those who have done us no harm. Nor has any evidence been offered to demonstrate that the death knight observed by your own Shinrin Hogo-Sha is connected to the humans to the south.” Archdruid Hidenori spoke with great patience in almost a patronizing fashion.
“Perhaps it should be our way.” Lord Itsu turned his eyes from the Archdruid first to the empty seats reserved for the king and queen and then poi
ntedly to the seat immediately to the right of empty thrones. His gaze lingered for a moment as contact was made with the young crown prince. “Already the humans have crossed into the fringes of the Chenhou Forest and are daring to cut down trees. Already…”
“And how has that gone for them, young Lord? The accounts I have received suggest that all the logging efforts have been pushed back by the creatures of the forest.” This time another of the senior druids spoke up, cutting short another long-winded argument about the evils of the human race.
Seeing Lord Itsu turn to glare daggers at the druid who had interrupted him, but more importantly seeing the eagerness in the expression of the crown prince, Archdruid Hidenori stepped in again. “I have a proposal which may perhaps work to address the concerns of all those present. It would not seem amiss if a small diplomatic party was sent to check on our neighbors to the south. Nothing too intimidating, but just a show that we are still here.”
The room grew quiet as everyone’s mind raced with the possibilities. For his part, Eisuke Myoji, one of the few non-druid, non-nobles present, allowed his mind to wander. He took in the setting. The room was shaped into the form of an opening flower. The walls expanded up and outward formed by druidic magic from a young ironwood tree. The wood curled and shaped then altered with bright colors of yellow and red all to create the impression that the entire room was a singular flower bud bursting forth. It was the perfect analogy for his people, both overdone and subtle at the same time. Either way, he was happy with the Archdruid’s proposal because it meant that this conclave would soon be at an end and he could return to his beloved forests.
“Eisuke Myoji…” The forest warden was shaken from his thoughts by his name.
“Had he been called before and not heard.” Only his discipline saved him from shame at the thought that he had ignored one of the elders.
“Eisuke Myoji, good I see that I have your attention now. Will you accept this task assigned to you by the circle of druids?”
“What task had he been asked about while daydreaming like a child?”
“Of course, Archdruid. I am yours to command.” He quickly recovered trying to save face.
“I assumed as much, you are ever a faithful steward of the forest and servant of the moon elves. So, then it is agreed. Lord Itsu will go as the representative of the throne and Shinrin Hogo-Sha Myoji will represent the druid’s circle as joint emissaries from the moon elf people to the humans of Albia.”
He would have screamed in frustration if it would not have made him lose so much face as to shame him forever. Apparently, he would not be able to dwell in the forests for long, but instead was being sent to the stinking hovels of humans. Looking over at the almost gleeful look upon the face of Lord Itsu all he could think was, “This is going to go so very wrong.”
Three days of misery spent gagged and bound, carried like a sack of potatoes, wet and cold, in dark places hiding whenever not running all started to blend together for Sara Nelson. Three days which equaled one unending moment of terror. Terror at seeing Jackson stabbed. There had been so much blood. Some of it had even gotten on her, warm and red, sticky even. Now it was dried and crusty upon her dress. Terror at seeing the same little green monster who had just skewered her brother looking at her. Terror at being seized and carried away by the rough hands of another little green monster, even though he had saved her from the first.
All those fears and more merged into her state of panic. It was a testament to the resiliency of her young mind that she had not completely collapsed into a quivering mess. What was an eight-year-old girl to do? Hungry, tired, scared, and taken from her family, she had no aid in the world around her. Only this little green monster who had become both her protector and her captor, the source of her torment and the only one to bring her any respite.
She had cried most of the first day after he had kidnapped her. She wanted her mommy and still did. A part of her still believed that her daddy would be around the next tree to save her. Such is the faith of an eight-year-old. The days went on though. Days spent hiding in dark, damp holes. Then the nights came. Nights of being carried along by the green beast who seemed to have some goal in mind. In rare moments, when there was enough light for her to see and she was positioned in such a manner as to be able to look up, she saw mountains now looming ahead. Over the past three days, the greens of the forest had been slowly giving way to the gray of stone.
The second day she had silently whimpered. She started to see patterns in how the creature treated her. When she stopped crying, it would stroke her face with its rough and weathered fingers. It seemed to want to comfort her, but she couldn’t understand it. Still, it fed her. Not much, but the smoked fish didn’t taste half bad by the second day. It brought her water. She hadn’t wanted to drink water from the creature’s dirty hand but soon thirst won out, and she didn’t mind.
By the third day, she was noticed little things about this creature. The way he seemed almost as afraid as she was or the little things that he did to try to make her comfortable. Finding moss or leaves to use as a pillow or trying to make sure she was in the driest part of whatever hole they would hide in. It wasn’t much, but in her imagination, she came to think of this little creature as a friend. It was only then as she calmed down, either from shock or resignation that she remembered her mother repeatedly telling her that if she was ever scared or had a bad dream she should pray. So with the faith of a child, she did.
In that far distant pocket dimension, two sets of eyes watched as the Nelsons and seven other eternal spirits cloaked in mortal flesh struggled to adapt to Eloria. From a world of cold science and immutable laws, they were flung into a world of chaos and conflict. Predictably many of them initially struggled to understand with their limited minds. Of the twelve mortals who had been plucked from Earth over a span of nearly one hundred years, all but two had survived the initial introduction. Most had risen in power and acquired abilities they could have only dreamed of on Earth.
Now looking down, both Watcher and Condemned watched as Sara Nelson was taken from her family. One watched with concern and compassion and one with glee, but both were interested to see how this twist would affect their experiment.
“I must say that I was doubtful of the value in taking a family, but you have proven to be correct. They are by far the most enlightening of the test subjects.” The Watcher spoke to his fallen brother.
“And I must say that I felt you were coddling them too much, but I believe your offer of aid to them has actually been an important element in the experiment.” The Condemned’s voice dripped with its usual sarcasm.
Choosing to ignore or perhaps missing it entirely, the Watcher responded, “I am surprised you feel that way, especially after considering Emily. She is proving to be truly faithful.”
“Bah, faithful. She is desperate. A better example is her husband. Has he called out for help? Has he been thankful for anything? No. He whines when he is outdone or preens when he excels. These mortals only reach out when they have no other choice. Even now that mewling little child is asking for help, not from any level of understanding but only in blindness.”
“Perhaps it is you who lacks understanding. I have been contemplating what help to send to her. I had intended to provide aid to each of them once, but only Emily called out for such aid. I will have to think of an appropriate aid for little Sara.”
A raucous laugh broke from the lips of the Condemned. “No, I think it is my turn to decide what aid ‘little Sara’ as you call her gets.”
“Be careful, you still need the Aura I alone of us bear to accomplish this thing. I will brook no further torment from you to these mortals. The test is challenging enough.” The Watcher pulled himself up again prepared for an argument from his counterpart.
“Hold your righteous anger,” said the Condemned as he again burst into laughter. “I have the perfect idea. I will aid her. Don’t worry your purity over that. But the aid must be a double-edged sword. Lest yo
u make the challenge moot by spoon-feeding them.”
Hesitantly, the Watcher asked, “So what is it that you have in mind?”
“Simple, I will grant her access to a class that will ease her current situation.”
“She is but a child, you know the rules of Eloria do not allow any mortal who has seen less than ten years to hold a class or gain XP in any way.”
“Ha! That is the beauty of my proposal. She is no child of Eloria. Her very presence there breaks the rules. So another simple little nudge will do it. Now, will you lend me access to your Aura?”
The two ancient beings stared at one another for a moment. Uncertainty passed across the face of the Watcher. A foreign experience which was becoming all too common for him. Then he knew the meaning of another mortal expression: in for a penny, in for a pound.
“Very well, do as you will. Only do not harm her.”
“I will make her more than she is. Let us see what she does with this. Sara Nelson, I dub thee Monster Friend.”