by Jaxon Reed
When he finished his first bite, Erik said, “It feels like we’re making good progress.”
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Mnester reluctantly left his place in the Great Tree, taking the spiraling path around the giant trunk down toward the ground. He eschewed magical transport when feasible. Walking from place to place, Mnester felt, helped keep one young. This was an idea shared among many who served Phronēsis, that physical activity was essential, especially for the aged.
And so Mnester resisted the temptation to commandeer one of the magical leaves floating in the sky nearby. Leaves from the giant tree were far larger than ordinary foliage. In fact, they were large enough for two or three people to sit on comfortably. They never fell to the ground until the Great Tree’s life force left them. Instead, they floated.
Long ago, the First Elves learned to harness the leaves as a means of transport within Dryadopolis. They could fly up, down and all around with an elf sitting or standing on them.
As the leaves withered and browned they became less powerful, flying slower and lower to the ground. At last, the life force would seep out completely, and the brown leaves would float on a final breath of wind to find a resting place at the base of the Great Tree.
In the meantime, old and young alike used the magical leaves for ten days or so, sometimes as long as two weeks after they floated away from the tree. New ones fell often, and hovered in the air until called to use. If left alone, they inched to the ground, coming closer every day.
The elves often grabbed new ones and used them as carts or flying carpets, sailing around Dryadopolis near and far from the ground.
Mnester ignored the floating leaves, walking around the narrow spiraling ramp, taking his time and enjoying the view. On the way back to the tiny cubby in the upper branches of the Great Tree, what humans might refer to as his office, the temptation to take a leaf up would be much stronger. But going down was easy, and he enjoyed using his own legs to get there.
At the base of the tree he made his way among the vendor stalls sprawled out everywhere. Here, those serving Sōphrosynē plied their trade.
In truth, most elves were born to serve Sōphrosynē, or Temperance. It was by far the most common virtue. Those born to serve Justice, Courage and Prudence were increasingly rare, in that respective order. Only a few were born to serve Prudence, fewer still Courage, and the fewest for Justice.
The masses, or the commoners to use a human term, served Temperance.
And that was just fine by Mnester. He stood tall and proud among the lesser elves of the marketplace, but he enjoyed their sights and sounds, relishing the act of walking in the area filled with sellers, wares and buyers.
Heading out to the streets, he meandered through the glorious architecture of the most magnificent city in the world. Dazzling towers sprouted up from the ground, as if naturally grown there. The buildings peaked high, some with solid air bridges allowing pedestrians to cross in the sky between buildings. They offered nothing but a slightly clouded view of the ground below.
Mnester kept walking, in no hurry. After a while he came to lesser buildings as he neared the city wall. Here, he could see no other members of the upper echelons, only elves serving Sōphrosynē. These were less fortunate members of their class, allotted to do work deemed unsuitable by others. Here lived dung shovelers, ditch diggers, floor scrubbers, and other undesirables.
The elves he passed stood typically shorter, and did not walk with straight backs. They tended to hunch over and stare at the ground as they made their way through the streets, no doubt commiserating with one another concerning their lot in life.
They were dirty, too. Perhaps it had to do with their jobs, or perhaps the lower classes were not as considerate about their personal hygiene. Mnester did not know.
He pondered the question idly as he approached the gates, huge three-story doublewide doors in the city wall, wide open for now with a small contingent of Andreian guards keeping watch over all going in and out.
The guards nodded at him with respect, as befitted his station in the upper classes. Technically, of course, those serving Andreia were higher in the social strata than those serving Phronēsis. Only the king and other royals serving Dikaiosynē were higher.
But in practical terms, everybody respected elves serving Prudence. Wisdom was prized above all else in elven lore, and the Andreians treated Phronēsians as equals. At least, most of the time. In times of war or other crises, Andreians took charge of the situation, and those serving Wisdom would follow their orders unquestioningly. Since Andreians were second only to the royal class, no one could begrudge them their authority, in either wartime or peace.
Mnester walked out of the city and took the road into the countryside. Here, far from the Great Tree, the leaves quickly withered and died. No one could take a leaf very far or for any length of time outside the walls of Dryadopolis, and so more people here joined him walking. On occasion, draft animals were used, but these typically served the poor. Elves preferred magic, for the most part.
Magical carts were much more common here than in human lands. They looked different, too. Whereas human carts and carriages appeared to be led by invisible horses, elves designed their carts for transport, and transport alone.
Thus, a curly, gold leaf embossed platform carrying two sumptuous chairs floated in toward the city, a solitary elf controlling the craft with his mind. Elsewhere, a long wagon train of six identical carts, with no driver’s seat and no place to hitch horses, followed a farmer out of the city as he walked on ahead.
Mnester took all these sights in, waving and exchanging greetings with whoever thought to notice him. He had plenty of time, and he was happy to walk. He decided to pick up his pace once traffic thinned, and his long legs began to march off the distance.
A few miles outside Dryadopolis, he came to the little town of Fengari. This small outpost served the elven farming communities outside the walls of Dryadopolis. Some traders lived here, earning a living from the rural families in these parts. On occasion, a human tourist might stop in Fengari looking to buy elven goods without going to the big city. On even rarer occasions, one might catch a glimpse of a dwarf or two trying to sell the local smithy metal ingots or other durable goods.
Mnester stopped at the local inn. He found a table in back and asked the attractive young elf, no doubt the innkeeper’s daughter, for a pint of ale. He gave her a thick silver drachma, explaining he would be here a while. She smiled, and said the coin would buy him several rounds.
Moments later she returned with his first. He thanked her and she blushed. Perhaps the little inn did not see many of his class here, he thought.
Before the ale clouded his judgment, Mnester thought over his ideas carefully, poking them to see if he could find a flaw.
Convinced once more of the soundness of his plans, he quaffed the drink and asked her for another.
At long last the sun settled down for the night, and the innkeeper’s daughter inquired if he wished for supper. He agreed, not even bothering to ask what they were serving tonight. She returned with baked coney, glazed sprouts and roasted yams.
Mnester ate with gusto. He had forgotten how good inn food could be. That this was an elven inn made it all the better. Had he ever stayed in an elven inn? The few times he had travelled, of course it was outside of their borders and the inns had all been owned by humans. He realized he was missing out on enjoyments that could be found within his own realm. He resolved to rectify that, and to let others know that culinary delights were but a short walk from the city gates.
At last, darkness truly settled in. The crowd inside grew, but the young elf kept his mug full. He sat in the back, listening to the patrons as they ate and caroused.
Finally, late at night, as the customers either stumbled up to their beds or out the door to their homes, the noise quieted down.
Mnester took the last sip from his final mug of ale. He felt certain his coin would buy no more. In fact, the innkeeper’s daughte
r probably gave him one or two too many for his money, when combined with the meal.
Regretfully, he set it down, enjoying his mild buzz. Any more might cause inebriation, he thought. And getting drunk was one of the most unwise things anyone could ever do.
He blinked and a female sat in the chair opposite him. She had not been there before. She smirked at him, sniffing the air slightly, trying to see if he was drunk or not.
She was without a doubt, Mnester thought, the most beautiful elf he had ever seen.
Her pale face glowed softly, like the moon itself. Dark and thick wavy hair cascaded down her back, her pointy ears poking out from the sides. She had extraordinarily dark blue eyes. They looked almost purple, they were so dark.
She wore a skintight black leather suit, no doubt enchanted against all sorts of weapons and attacks. Her ability to move undetected was legendary, Mnester thought.
He said, “Hello, Dracaena.”
“Mnester.”
Her voice seemed smooth as olive oil, Mnester thought. She did not speak loud, but she did not have to. Her words slid into his brain like a dagger sinking into butter.
She said, “I trust you have asked to meet about some matter concerning the crown. How is our dear old king?”
He gulped nervously, unused to the tone of disdain her voice carried. Dracaena could get away with all sorts of insults, he thought. She could probably get away with anything! She was the most legendary elven assassin . . . ever. There were none greater. None alive, anyway.
He said, “His Majesty King Sthenos sends his regards. He has a request of you.”
“Does he, now? Or is it some crisis he’s gotten into, and you suggested I might be able to take care of it for him?”
She chortled softly at the expression on Mnester’s face. It sounded like a breeze rustling through the forest, he thought. Soft and gentle, with hidden menace.
He said, “Yes, there is no point in duplicity. He has a problem. Others have failed to remedy the problem. Your name came up.”
“So I am to be the last resort, as usual. Is that it?”
Again, her words were soft and smooth, yet razor sharp and deadly.
Mnester raised an eyebrow and said, “The last resort is to send a large, elite force into human lands, possibly killing several people and starting another war. No, Dracaena, you are not the last resort in this case.”
She smiled, and a flicker of intrigue flashed in her beautiful eyes.
She said, “The second to last, then. Tell me what our dear king would have me do.”
Mnester took a deep breath and frowned at his empty mug. He let it out slowly and looked back into Dracaena’s deep blue eyes.
“Have you heard of King Sthenos’s brother, Prince Fulcris, and his forbidden loves?”
Dracaena smiled, her luscious red lips curling upward in a wicked grin.
“Ah, forbidden love. I trust it yielded . . . forbidden fruit? Mayhap a forbidden child?”
Mnester nodded.
She said, “Tell me more.”
Chapter 6
The alpha rat infestation from the open grate was evidently larger than anyone realized. Over the next several days, Dungeon Corps patrols found themselves battling the creatures, along with an inordinate number of regular rats who seemed to coalesce around their larger and more virulent brethren.
Percel cursed all grave robbers, especially the ones who left that grate open. Rats were nasty, and killing them was a bloody, dirty, disgusting chore.
On the other hand, it offered his team more opportunities to work together, practicing with new weapons and spells during their turns patrolling the crypts.
Toby seemed to delight in his new wrist maneuvers. He would charge a fearless alpha rat and flit the point of the blade back and forth.
The rats generally avoided his efforts, but on occasion he would nick one and draw blood. The others in the team then moved in for the kill, or Nessa would nail it with an arrow from her Starhelm Bow if Toby moved out of the way.
Nessa’s Rested State spell seemed noticeably stronger, especially if Toby was involved in the fighting. Everyone complimented her on it while walking back to Headquarters each day. It seemed to help revive their spirits before eating lunch and practicing in the afternoon.
So far, nothing had elicited a new spell from Tawny. When asked, she would demur, indicating that she was still studying.
Percel did not press her on the issue. Likewise, Norra did not inquire, either. Each afternoon after lunch, Pediford would deliver Justen by magic coach to Dungeon Corps Headquarters. He and Tawny would spend time discussing finer points of magic at a table in the common room, which was typically deserted that time of day.
So far she had not practiced anything out in the open or in the courtyard, nor had she used any spell in the crypts other than Fireball against rat nests.
And therein lies the problem, Percel thought as he studied his four charges while they ate lunch after yet another excursion into the upper levels of the crypts.
This team is ready for something more, he thought. And that fact posed a dilemma.
They had survived their initial trial by fire on the first run, with the doppelganger and the journey to close the grate. Now they needed something more to gain additional experience and bonding.
But going deeper into the crypts, where such life-threatening experiences and more powerful creatures were in abundance, was strictly regulated. Ventures like that were prohibited, except under dire circumstances. And, no such needs had arisen lately.
Things deeper in a dungeon were best left undisturbed, and this was a truth with which Percel was all too familiar.
No, they would not be forcing their way through locked doors and grates like those ill-fated grave robbers. But still . . . Percel found himself longing for something to happen that might require it.
He did not have long to wait. Two days later, a corps mage came running out of a back room yelling for Dunken. When Dunken met up with the man, they conferred in private for some time.
Percel came in from the courtyard and noticed the hubbub of activity in the common room marking important news. When he heard about the mage, he let himself into Dunken’s office without knocking.
Dunken looked up and said, “I’m glad you’re here, Percel. We just received a message from Sergeant Missan’s team.”
“Missan?” Percel said, finding a seat in an empty wooden chair. “I’m not familiar . . .”
“She led a veteran team, all highly skilled. They were exploring a newly discovered dungeon about 30 miles from Melody.”
Percel raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Dunken continued.
“Evidently they were wiped out. They did not report in and have been classified as missing. But today, Mikron here received a message spell from their cleric. Let Lord Percel hear it, Mikron.”
The mage nodded and made a motion in the air. They listened to a disembodied voice as it filled the room.
“Dungeon Corps, this is Deena Marceaux with Sergeant Missan’s team. We have found one of the Children, but he’s a monster! He—”
“Boo!”
The screams that followed were abruptly cut off. All three men stared at one another in silence for a few seconds.
Dunken said, “Thoughts?”
Percel said, “‘We have found one of the Children . . .’ Surely she doesn’t mean one of Prince Synthan’s?”
“That was my first thought as well. But it’s been half a century. How many of you made it out alive?”
“Not many. Three others, besides me.”
“And they . . . you don’t think one of them could be down there?”
Percel shook his head. He said, “Two have since died. The other one is old as I am and living a quiet life as a grandmother in Fairmont’s Glade, last I heard.”
Mikron cleared his throat. The two older men looked at him.
He said, “Begging your pardon, Lord Percel, but did you see all the other children die? Is
it possible some escaped down there?”
“No, of course I didn’t see them all die. We were being wiped out and I was lucky to make it out alive. I don’t know. Anything’s possible. More could have lived while the four of us made it back to the surface. I doubt it, but it’s possible.”
Dunken said, “If one or more lived . . . how would Deena have known it was one of Prince Synthan’s Children Soldiers? They would be as old as you are right now. It doesn’t make sense.”
Percel nodded. He said, “Also, you said this new dungeon is some 30 miles from Melody. Monsters do not usually traverse between dungeons.”
“That’s right. I hadn’t thought about that. Is such a thing possible?”
“Perhaps. There’s a huge honeycomb of tunnels below Melody. One team reported finding a massive underground river deeper down. Perhaps something made it from one location to the other. That’s presuming of course they did not use the portal columns, which allow travel from one dungeon to the other if you can find them.”
“But monsters don’t use the columns.”
“True. But if it was still a child when traveling . . .” Percel shrugged. “Anything’s possible, I suppose.”
Dunken leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers on his lip.
He said, “Well, regardless, this is troubling news, and we do not have enough information to go on.”
“We need to send a search and rescue party,” Percel said. “Right away. That’s the only way we’ll get more information.”
Dunken shook his head. He said, “We don’t have any high level teams at the moment, I’m afraid. You know how it is here in Phanos, Percel. We keep an eye on the crypts, but usually nothing untoward happens. It’s a great place for teams to start out and gain experience. The experienced groups are all near the capital. I’m afraid the Crown has them indisposed at the moment.”
“I have the makings of an expert team right here.”
“They are far from ready. Not for a new dungeon.”
“They are as good as we’ve got for a search and rescue. We’ll go down, look around, and beat a hasty retreat. We’ll come back out by a portal stone.”
