A New World

by Brendan O'Neill

  “Not so much.” The dwarf gave a deep belly laugh. “Minerals considered precious are not an absolute dietary necessity. They’d be more like treats. Even then we try to only eat the low grade gems.”

  Most of the dwarves had that ‘blue-collar’ way of speaking, with tons of slang and little enunciation. But the two diplomats spoke as clearly and concisely as the elves. They called it ‘diplomatic patter’. Apparently they felt it made them more approachable and relatable to the other races. I honestly didn’t care since they all, patter or not, reminded me of home.

  Apparently, someone had told them I was a human from another realm. Garrim and most of the dwarves were unimpressed, but to Yssia Shieldwall, I was a curiosity. She was particularly fascinated with my pistol and asked if she might examine it. I reached behind me and pulled it from my back waistband, removing the clip.

  “Marvelous!” Shieldwall breathed in admiration and she turned it in her hands. She was completely awestruck as she studied my weapon as though it were the cure for cancer. “My wife is a weaponsmith who specializes in crossbows and their variations. She would love to study this weapon in more depth. It seems vaguely reminiscent of a crossbow except without the actual bow limbs.”

  “At its most basic level, I suppose it is,” I said. “A hand held platform used to launch a projectile. Beyond that, it’s completely different.”

  “Fascinating! May I see it work?”

  “If you’re coming out for the raid, I’m sure you will. Like a crossbow, it only works as long as you have the projectiles. Unlike a crossbow, I can’t get the projectiles here. Once its ammunition is gone, it’s useless.”

  Shieldwall looked crestfallen. “Unfortunate. I’d really hoped to be able to see it work.”

  “You’re not joining us?” I asked, genuinely surprised and disappointed. It’d taken months to find someone other than the Prince I could really relate to. And they had some damned good alcohol.

  “I agreed to send one of my Invincibles as a gesture of cooperation and good will,” Shieldwall said waiving a hand at her knot of guards around the casks, “but was not authorized to attend myself. Anvilston has had a few skirmishes with the Dragon Empire, but is not currently at war with it or the other two major empires. It’s believed sending one dwarf against a small outpost of one of their allies would not be seen as an act of aggression.”

  “But if the dwarf ambassador were to take part…” I left the obvious conclusion hang and Shieldwall nodded. As she returned my pistol, a familiar voice caught our attention.

  “I hope there’s still some ale left.”

  Tallus melted out of a crowd behind us with a smile. He looked around as a child would while trying to steal a cookie. “Melina’s not anywhere around here is she?”

  “The last time I saw the young lady, she was with your father at the far end of the festivities,” Shieldwall said with a grin. “Melina’s been gone for almost a quarter of a century. I’m surprised you haven’t come to accept your future in that time.”

  “You mean my fate,” Tallus said with an easy smile. “My father’s a great man, but I don’t like the idea of him selling me into marriage like a piece of meat.”

  “And how does Melina feel about it?” I asked.

  “She loves it! She’s the one who talked him into it.”

  My eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Shieldwall grinned at me. “You don’t know much about elves, do you?”

  “I’m not from around here, remember?”

  “Well, elves are considered half-faerie,” Shieldwall said. “In actuality they’re closer to quarter faerie or even less, but they do bridge a gap between the faerie races and the rest.”

  “Hey, hey!” Tallus said in mock offense. “We take pride in our half-faerieness.”

  Shieldwall and I shot him smiles before I turned back to the dwarf. “Why is the bridge important?”

  “Since elves are so close to the faerie races, who are immortal, they have an unusually long life span.” She looked at me and recognized the growing, but still deficient, look of comprehension. “We dwarves have the longest known lifespans of the mortal races, up to three hundred years. Longer on rare occasions. But elves live more than twelve hundred years.”

  “With such a long lifespan, elvin children are a rarity,” Shieldwall continued. “Sometimes years will pass before an elf is born. Therefore marriages are carefully selected to bring the strongest, smartest, and most capable offspring possible. Part of that selection process includes being married within a certain age range. Elves mature relatively quickly, and the ages between 45 and 65 are considered optimal for producing the strongest and healthiest offspring. It’s quite an ancient tradition and should his highness fail to marry the young lady before his 66th birthday, it would bring great insult on both houses involved.”

  The dwarf turned a gaze on Tallus. “It’s especially noteworthy since one house is that of royal blood and the other is the most prestigious of the elvin Wizard’s Consortium. I’m sure the king was quite happy when such an important house took an interest in his family.”

  Tallus just stared into his ale and shrugged. “We’re capable of having children much, much later in life,” he said. “But tradition has made our marriage process an annoying and inevitable prison sentence. We might be a little more open minded than the other races, but even we have our little fascisms.”

  We went silent for several moments, each of us struggling to finish our ales. We’d lost our taste for the food and festivities. Tallus was the first to break the discomfort by bowing to the dwarf, and turning to me with a smile.

  “I think I’ll turn in,” Tallus said. “The longer I stay, the better chance I’ll run into Melina.” He disappeared into the forest.

  We watched after the vanished elf prince for a moment, before Shieldwall turned toward me. “Tomorrow begins an important journey,” she said wiping the last of the ale from her lips. “But you should think on this, Master Martin. Because young elves are born so rarely, each death has a grievous impact on their culture. Each elf that dies is the equivalent to hundreds of humans. Perhaps a thousand. If one hundred elves die at that outpost…”

  “It would be like one hundred thousand of my people dying,” I finish quietly.

  “And should just one of the human empires turn their full attention toward the elves, the ensuing war could cost thousands of elvin lives.”

  I felt like I’d been kicked by a horse. The king’s bad temperament toward me made perfect sense now. He had more weight on his shoulders than anyone should ever have to bear. I had no interest in winning the king’s respect, but I swore I’d do what I could to help the elven people. The humans of this world may not have anything to do with me, but I couldn’t help feeling a little responsible for the miseries they created.

  “If the elvin population is so delicate,” I said, “they could use all the help they could get.”

  Shieldwall gave me a sad smile of understanding. “I already explained that my presence might cause something of a problem for my peoples.”

  “Tell me,” I said. “Will the people in that outpost recognize you if they see you?”

  The dwarf’s eyes looked to the night sky as she scratched at her chin and contemplated the question.

  “Likely not,” she said. “Warriors face warriors and diplomats face diplomats. The two don’t often cross. The mages very well might, though.”

  “I’ll be taking care of the mages,” I said then pointed to a nearby dwarf suit of armor. “You could wear the armor of one of your warriors. The closed face on that helmet will make you look like just another warrior. If we lose, you’re a random dwarf. If we win, you were never there.”

  Shieldwall had a growing smile on her beaming face.

  “And if you do come along, then you’ll probably get to see my pistol at work,” I said to add just a little more flavor to the pot. “If I don’t end up using it there, then I promise a personal demonstration after everything’s over.”

/>   “Well, Master Martin,” she said with a grin, “it appears I’m going to have a busy night. It’ll take my Invincibles quite a while to repurpose a spare set of armor to fit me. I’ve not donned the armor of an Invincible in more than a century. I hope I haven’t lost my warrior’s edge.”

  “I’m sure you haven’t” I said. My train of thought abruptly ended as I saw a familiar young blonde face with a heart-stopping smile peaking at me from behind a tree. “If you will all excuse me, I think I see something that I missed earlier.” Fireforge and Sheildwall gave polite goodbyes, but I only barely heard them. My eyes were on the blonde’s perky frame as she backed toward the sensual cover of darkness, her smile coaxing me into following her. I streaked after her as she turned and bolted into the dark, my shirt already half off.

  The Insertion

  What would have been a week-long journey to the human compound was made in just hours thanks to elvin magic. Their mages would cast a spell on a massive tree, and its bark would suddenly become wavy and distorted like heatwaves rising off a desert sand. The elves then walked straight into the tree, vanishing from sight. I’ll admit, I was nervous. I’m not even a big fan of flying, much less whatever it was we were about to do. But I sucked it up and stepped forward. The instant I entered the tree, I exited another massive tree miles away. By late afternoon we were in sight of the compound’s palisades.

  During the march I received a detailed rundown of what I needed to know about Academy Mages. The Order of the Aureate wore yellow or gold robes and specialize in distorting reality and altering matter. The Azure Fellowship wear blue robes and their magical focus was on healing and nature. The Brotherhood of Flame’s Devotion wear red and wield the raw, destructive power of magic. Nicknamed war mages, they specialize in death and annihilation. I wasn’t looking forward to the risk of poisoning the single Aureate mage, much less two war mages as well.

  The king stopped the army several hundred yards from the edge of the forest. Apparently, the human mages had woven protective spells around the compound to sense approaching elves. A handful of scouts were sent ahead with me, scattering just outside the limits of the compound’s magic to signal the elvin army should I fail. One elvin mage was sent forward as well, using his own magic to sense the subtle disturbances made in the weave when a caster died.

  The sun was just kissing the horizon when I approached the gate at the west side of the palisade. Brittle dying weeds crunched between my feet and the hard packed ground as I marched toward the gate. I wore pants of interlaced brown leather strips somewhat reminiscent of what Kevin Sorbo wore in his old show and a faded blue cotton shirt under a bland gray wool coat. A massive woodsman’s axe rested on my left shoulder completing my masquerade. My pistol was tucked safely in the back of my waistband under the ugly gray coat.

  I approached a gate in the palisade, about ten feet tall with great double doors of thick perfectly cut planks. There was a barricade outside the palisade of smaller sharpened stakes set into the ground at an outward angle to repel cavalry. The palisade itself was a wall of thick logs set deep into the ground. All the wood was coated in a thick black resin that I suspected would act as both weather sealant and fire retardant. Towers topped the corners of each wall and either side of the gate. As I approached a guard in dull chain armor covered by a scarlet surcoat emblazoned with a deep purple iris hailed me from the wall.

  “”Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?” he bellowed down as he leaned over the wall to look at me.

  “Got lost and separated from everyone,” I shouted back. “How ‘bout opening that gate?”

  “I don’t know,” he shouted down from his lofty position. “I can’t open the gate after dusk. If I break curfew I’ll be in it up to my shoulders in it.”

  “It’s not dusk yet,” I said, and pointed over my shoulder at the glowing orb. “There’s still some sun left.”

  The man stared at me for a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah, alright. I guess its ok.” He turned around and signaled someone on the other side of the wall. “You’re lucky you made it back. If those savages would have caught you…” he said then grinned at me. “You know the stories of what those pointy-eared bastards do to their victims.”

  “You bet,” I call as one of the heavy gate doors squeaked open. The two guards who opened the right side door grinned idiotically at me as I passed. I only nod at them as I turn my focus on the compound. I’d expected a few hastily built structures for housing and preparation of raw materials. But what I found was a sprawling industry of epic ambition.

  First, I walked the perimeter of the walls, estimating the encampment to be roughly three quarters of a mile east to west by a full mile north to south. The frame of each building was perfectly set with stone, and the paneling between the stone supports was milled wood covered with the same black resin from the palisade. Long buildings labeled as barracks for both troops and workers comprised most of the structures. Five stables were half full of horses, with eight empty wagons waiting nearby to be loaded for morning transport. After the sun went down the two meat, three ore, and seven wood processing buildings continued to work at full capacity. Men and supplies constantly flooded between them and the surrounding storage buildings. Even the main roads of the compound were set with milled cobblestone.

  I’d expected the three story stone tower at the center of the compound to be the home of the governor. It was ostentatious enough, with lit sconces on each wall every ten feet up and burning braziers at each corner of the roof. But the figure I saw standing on the roof couldn’t be the governor. He wore yellow robes.

  Now that I’d established where the mages lived, I had to figure out how I was going to poison them. Looking up at the rather fat mage on the roof, I figured I had one decent avenue of approach. His appetite. As I watched he disappeared inside and, only a handful of minutes later, he waddled out of the building in the direction of one of the two chow-halls in the compound. Just as I’d expected. As I watched him lumber off, I considered the quandary of the other two mages. They were far more dangerous than that pudgy bastard.

  “Creepy, aren’t they?”

  I tried not to turn too fast or look too surprised at the voice, but the look on the man’s face told me I failed. A guard stood before me, the shaft of his spear resting against his shoulder as he smiled at me like a high schooler who was looking forward to a mid-class gossip session.

  The man leaned forward and looked around conspiratorially. “Honestly, brother, they scare the life out of me,” he said so quietly it was almost a whisper. His breath was almost rancid enough to make me gag. “I heard they can turn you inside out with just a thought.” The man gave a visible shudder. “That fat bastard is the best of the bunch. The red ones really make my skin crawl.”

  “They always made me a little nervous,” I said. I had my hands in my pockets, left hand on the vial of poison the elves gave me.

  “Only nervous?” said the man with an almost choking cackle. “Then you’re a braver man than me and my boys. We won’t go anywhere near mages unless we’re ordered to. They’re bad luck!”

  “Don’t blame you,” I said leaning in myself. “I heard they can blow up a mountain!” The man nodded his agreement, eyes wide in fear. “Do you know where the other two are?” I continue at a whisper. “I don’t want to get something to eat at the other chow-hall and run across them.”

  The guard’s grin grew even larger. “You don’t have to worry about that! We got a fresh batch of meat at the Lounge this morning. “I’m sure they’re there. That one red mage has a real taste for elves.”

  I nodded and thanked the guy. When I searched the compound earlier, I found two buildings that I assumed were taverns from the laughing and shouting inside. One was obviously the pub. The sign out front named it the Drunken Goat. After listening to that idiot, I figured the other must be the Lounge.

  I decided to take out the yellow mage first. I knew where he’d be. Given the time of evening I was surprised there wer
en’t more people in the tavern. The bartender was a surly and disturbingly ugly woman. I only spoke to her enough to pick up a single bottle of the best wine and liquor they had available. Of course, their best wine and liquor were in fact their only wine and liquor, which did save time. Outside, I found the thickest patch of shadows by the pub and took out the poison.

  The elvin king told me the poison was effective in two ways: injected or ingested. They also said a drop would be enough for an entire bottle, then proceeded to give me an entire ounce of the stuff. Colorless, odorless, tasteless and works in thirty minutes. I poured almost a quarter of my little vial in each bottle. That left me with half a vial of poison. The question was how to get the remainder into a pair of mage fanatics.

  First, though, it was straight to the chow-hall. No surprise, the mage in yellow robes was there with a table full of food. Mutton, chicken, venison, potatoes, and more cheeses than I ever knew existed were packed onto his table.

  I passed his table by on my way in, grabbing the first quick things I could find: some cheese and a hunk of hard bread. Food in one hand and alcohol in the other, I start for the door but pause at the mage’s table.

  “Hey, uh, I forgot I have to take my buddie’s shift in the wood shop in a few minutes,” I said to the man while I tried to look like I was in a hurry. “I’ll save one of these for after work. You want the other?”

  The fat mage smiled a friendly smile and nodded, audibly swallowing his mouthful of mutton. “Love to, thanks!” he said jovially. “You’re not afraid of us? Everybody else is.”

  “I haven’t done anything to upset you as far as I know,” I said with a grin. “I hope the stories of you guys going around and turning people inside out at random is a rumor.”

  “Mostly,” the fellow said as he motioned for me to put down the bottle of wine. He grinned at me again and made me promise to share a drink with him the next time I was off duty. I stayed at the doorway just long enough to see the fat man drink some of the wine I was kind enough to share.