Tempest of Bravoure: Kingdom Ascent

by Valena D'Angelis

  Deep down, Ahna was afraid of the judgement some would bear upon learning what she really was. She knew very well what most people thought of the magi today. The deserters, who had abandoned the fight when things got too tricky for them! Not many remembered what Sharr had actually done to the Academy, the cleansing order, the persecution of magic-users...Those who believed the magi had let themselves be vanquished by the Despot could ever be so wrong. They resented the magi for supposedly abandoning Bravoure. Some in the capital even believed the magi had chosen to join Sharr and his wave of warlocks.

  “What you did,” the shrike lieutenant began to break the silence. “It saved us back there.” He then hesitated. “But despite the Council already knowing who you are, the rest of us don’t like secrets so much.” The shrike put on a grimmer tone. “They just delayed the bustle that was eventually going to happen anyway.”

  It was after a warm bath and long-needed rest that Ahna sauntered down the stairway to the foyer. The sun had long disappeared into the night. The elf made her way to the grand dining hall, where the Resistance soldiers gathered for an evening delight. The fires of the hearths along the north wall were lit, and a few rebels rested on the benches. Some played that card game again, others had quiet conversations around a wooden pitcher of dwarven brew. At the center, where the buffet would stand at lunchtime, there were wooden tables with large kegs of ale and other beverages, with cups and goblets for people to pick. A few attendants moved back and forth between the barrels and the soldiers.

  Ahna attempted to remain unseen, but some had already spotted her as she walked in. To her surprise, none of them seemed to be too troubled by her presence. Perhaps the news of her identity had not fallen as heavy on the rebels as she had thought it would. She walked to a free table at the back, against the western wall. There, she sat alone for a moment, until a kind young woman attendant came to pour her a silver chalice of red wine. Ahna, impressed by this pretty piece of silverware, first politely wanted to refuse, but the woman’s smile was too generous.

  “There’s a saying, lassie. It’s bad luck to refuse a drink from another lass!” she said with a suggestive smile. Her head was tilted slightly to the right as to indicate where the goblet had come from.

  Ahna looked in the direction the attendant had motioned.

  A few tables away sat a sly, darker figure. One who had observed Ahna undetected for quite a while. The mysterious woman was dokkalfar, and much older than the one Ahna had first seen in Orgna. She held her own cup and raised it to her. Ahna held back for a second and observed her newfound companion. The unknown dark elf had long, smooth black hair running down her shoulders, swaying by the arch of her lithe back. She wore a long gown finished with embroidered trims. A silver belt rested around her hips. The shades of her dark blue skin glowed in the light of the fireplace near her. Ahna grew more intrigued the more the woman held her gaze. After this soft, teasing staring contest, Ahna signed for the dark elf to join her at her table.

  “Kyær’ natta,” the woman greeted, in Dokkalfari. “So you are the dryaa everybody keeps talking about.”

  As she moved, her long gown swirled around her legs. She slid delicately between the bench and table and took a seat in front of Ahna. Her dulcet voice sang like beguiling music to her ears.

  “The silver hair gave it away. Are you royalty?” the dark elf facetiously asked. She had referred to the rarity of lighter-haired dokkalfar.

  Ahna shushed her joyous laugh with a wave, as others had thrown a few looks at the two women.

  The stranger finally introduced herself. “I’m Lilth, a shrike spy.”

  Ahna looked surprised. A dokkalfar shrike, under Cedric’s command? Her eyes rounded.

  “I know that look,” Lilth teased. “You’ve met my captain. What a charm, that drya’htari!”

  Dokkalfar hater. That was the term she used to refer to the captain of the shrikes, a regular insult used by dark elves to mock humans who feared them.

  The two conversed around cups of pouring red wine.

  “How long have you been with the Resistance?” Ahna asked.

  “I ran away from the Dwellunder, then I landed in Galies. I was rescued by lovely humans who gave me a home. When I heard about what was happening in Bravoure, I felt compelled to help.” She drank from her silver cup, still smiling at Ahna.

  “So, dryaa,” she began again. “Where are you really from? And I don’t mean that whole Magi Academy thing everyone gossips about.”

  Ahna took a deep breath. Something in her mind refused to linger on that wretched place, but Lilth’s eyes inspired a genuine sense of trust, which made her feel more at ease.

  “The province of Mal,” she replied.

  Lilth gasped and responded with a burst of surprised laughter. “My, my, so you must be military?” Her long pointy ears flickered. Lilth was referring to what Mal was known for: its extensive military power.

  Ahna shook her head. Though her assumptions were correct, Ahna did not wish to reveal more. This was ancient history, lifetimes ago. But there was something worse, and it did not take long before Lilth mentioned it.

  “That’s where Sharr and his horde are from.” Ahna’s mouth opened slightly, then she nodded as she forced her lips to close. “Did you know him?” Lilth asked.

  Ahna dismissed that idea and veered back to more recent events. “I ran from Bravoure because of him.”

  “You escaped your kin once, and you had to do it all over again,” Lilth inferred. “It must have been hard!”

  “You have no idea...”

  After a long pause and another glass of red wine, Lilth spoke on a more teasing note. “My province is Talmuur. Terrible, but not as horrid as Mal! It was known to be quite the welcoming place for dryaae like us, if you know what I mean.” She then slithered closer to Ahna. “Were your younger days also filled with...adventures?”

  She said this last part as she bit her lip, suggesting something more sensual than mere military service. She plunged her eyes as red as the wine they drank into Ahna’s. Her seductive but challenging stare carried Ahna to a distant memory, a forgotten image of her days as she trained in Mal, among dryaae as young as she was. How many of these adventures Lilth suggested she had experienced, by the hearths of private houses that embraced a woman’s sensual expertise. Ahna blushed as she remembered some of her escapades with her long lost female peers, some she had even met in Bravoure!

  “Do you miss it?” Lilth inquired with a smile Ahna could not resist. “Do you miss the Dwellunder?”

  Ahna looked at her companion with somber eyes. The few good things she had experienced in the Dwellunder were nothing compared to the evil that gloomed there, beneath the earth.

  “There’s nothing to miss about that place, Lilth.”

  The captivating woman held her gaze. She brought her cup to her mouth, maintaining her stance, her eyes deep into Ahna’s. She drank her wine dry and placed the empty goblet gently in front of her.

  “There are a few things I miss, dryaa,” Lilth revealed. “I think we should go somewhere quieter...”

  As old as the dark elf world itself were the sensual libertine traditions of women and the journey through their most profound pleasure with other dryaae. The female dokkalfar would freely explore their deepest desires with others, and union with a male was solely to sire new generations. Of course, they would carefully pick a male companion to consort with, but other dryaae would always remain close to their hearths. It was common for dryaae of high rank to have many concubines in their dwelling, in a private house for the worship of their femininity.

  Lilth guided Ahna to a darker, more private room: the unlit pantry close to the kitchen. She cast a tantalizing look on Ahna, eager to see what the elf’s rumored luscious lips had to offer.

  “How long has it been?” she asked, innocently.

  Ahna chuckled and looked at the floor. “At least a lifetime. How about you?”

  “Not as long. Swordswomen make the best of compani
ons.” Lilth’s magnetic laugh echoed in the small room.

  She came closer to Ahna and took her hands in hers. Then, she pulled Ahna closer and tasted her lips. As she kissed her vigorously, the two dryaae found their way against the pantry wall.

  Ahna passed her fingers in Lilth’s long silky hair. She held a firm grip above her neck and locked lips again with her evening confidante. Lilth’s ardent touch recalled an old dokkalfar fire Ahna had not felt in a lifetime. Lilth released Ahna’s lips and slowly ventured down her neck to the cleavage of her corset, eagerly kissing the surface of her skin. Ahna moaned softly so that no passing soul could hear the two women hidden in the pantry. She lightly pushed Lilth toward the table behind her. Their lips met again, and their tongues melted to the rhythm of a pleasurable cadence.

  When Lilth’s rear bumped against the table, she knocked over an unidentified object. A sharp clang pierced the air in the dark pantry. The two women stopped abruptly and remained alert. Nothing else moved, and no other sound was heard outside.

  The dryaae resumed their dance. Lilth met Ahna’s mouth again and softly bit her lower lip. But at that moment, an arbitrary someone pounded on the pantry’s door.

  “Who’s in there?” a man shouted, twice.

  Lilth quickly rose to her feet and straightened her dress. Ahna rearranged her corset and swayed her silver curls behind her. The door opened, and a sloppy, unaware man stepped into the room.

  “Get out, d'rith!” Lilth ordered severely. “We’re in the middle of an important conversation here!”

  She waved her hand to shoo him away. The man, confused, had no choice but to execute. He apologized a thousand times and closed the door behind him. The two women giggled together once he was gone. Lilth playfully spoke of the gullibility of humans. After they gathered their thoughts, Lilth went to give Ahna a soft kiss on the cheek.

  “It was nice meeting you, Ahna. But we’d better leave.”

  Lilth stepped outside the room and waved goodbye.

  As the night grew colder, Ahna sat on a stool in the stables lit by a simple oil lantern hanging off a nail in the wood frame. She needed some air. The inebriation of her late-night adventure was getting to her. The world spun faster than it already had been. Lilth, interesting woman. Very dokkalfar, but in a…good way. Ahna figured she would never her again, at least not in that way. Lilth had seemed in need of a gentle, ephemerial reminder of the good parts of the Dwellunder—nothing more. And Ahna did not mind.

  She tended to Bark, softly whispering to him. He appeared relaxed and breathed calmly. His heart beat slowly, and she could feel a semblance of innocence emanate from him. She caressed him slowly along his long neck.

  “I’m not sure what’s going to happen, Bark,” she murmured. “You can blame me for dragging you here.”

  At that moment, Bark snorted.

  Ahna interpreted this as a dismissal of her insecurities. “Alright, alright. You don’t mind it here too much.”

  She then tilted her head toward the sky—to the stars that sparkled above her. They reminded her of the peace she had felt, before the war, after she had joined the Academy. How, one night, she had laid in the grass and had looked up to the same faraway suns. Her hand had been clasped in his...

  The sudden footsteps she heard behind her pulled her back. “Good evening, Ahna,” the man-lynx Jak Ma kindly said. He carried a broom with which he swept the floor to clear the hay. He then grabbed his lantern from the wooden beam.

  “Good evening, I didn’t hear you!”

  Jak Ma chuckled softly. “I’m a sindur—master of stealth!”

  He swept the final bits of hay, placed the broom back against the wall, and looked at her again. “You should sleep, you’ve had a long day.”

  Ahna nodded, Jak Ma was right. Terra was spinning! She bid him goodnight and headed back into the barracks. She made her way to the dorm that had been assigned to her, the same one as where Lynn slept. Most of the women there were already sleeping, and Ahna had to be as stealthy as a sindur in order not to wake them.

  6

  Solstice of Spring

  Dryaae had a particular flare that reddened Ahna’s cheeks when she remembered her little escapade from the night before. She seated herself in the dining hall adjacent to the foyer at breakfast time, where a few young recruits finished their scrambled eggs and brazed cloud bread.

  Ahna had slept longer than usual. The dorm had already been emptied when she had awoken. She sipped on a cup of Gurdal mountain tea, processing the inebriation from the night prior. When the young recruits left their table, she noticed Jules sitting at the table behind them. The shrike lieutenant, who had been a regular training partner a few days ago, went to join her shortly after. Speaking of training.

  “You missed practice this morning,” Jules said, nonchalantly.

  Ahna cast a glance of slight uncertainty on him. “I didn’t think I was expected.”

  Jules chuckled. “The mission is done, it doesn’t mean we are!”

  The last time they had spoken, Ahna felt as though they would never do so again.

  But Jules held this amicable look on his face. “So, you’re a mage and you wield a sword?”

  “And I can shoot a bow!” she added, and Jules chuckled again. “I was trained to fight before I trained my magic. I was an archmage, but not the best one!” As Ahna took another sip of tea, she let the silence settle in.

  “Ahnny, I have a question,” Jules spoke again. “How old are you?”

  The elf laughed amused. “I’m over a hundred Sols.”

  Jules dropped his jaw and she kept on laughing.

  “Well, you look good!” he exclaimed with a lively tone.

  “I should live about six of your lifetimes, so I cannot yet call myself old and wise.” Jules was about to ask another question when a familiar face passed by them.

  “Am I interrupting you two doves?” the Taz woman teased.

  “Lynn!” Ahna exclaimed.

  She waved at them and went to get hold of a tray. “I’m also late for breakfast!” she said when she turned around.

  “You hear what they say?” Lynn asked her companions when she returned. “Sharr is rallying his troops to the capital.” Jules was too preoccupied to respond and the elf had no words she could immediately say. Lynn took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders. “Let’s rejoice! Today’s a special day, Ahna,” she said with her recovered enthusiasm. Her coal eyes sparkled with ardor.

  She had a piece of that lovely brazed bread, along with a small ramekin of yellowberry jam. Yellowberry only grew in Gurdal, some people called it the fruity gold. After all, everything had been about gold in Bravoure.

  Lynn glanced at Jules. “Too bad your captain will miss the fun!” The shrike did not smile. She took on a more serious tone when she noticed the lieutenant’s hidden worry in his gaze. “How is he?”

  He breathed in deeply and pushed out a long sigh. “He’ll be fine. He needs to recover from this...mind melt thing.” He shrugged.

  Ahna raised her eyebrows. “Mind melt? That’s not good.”

  Jules curved his lip in concern. “Mother Divine healed him. She said he’ll probably wake again later today.”

  Lynn nodded to show reassurance. A short moment of silence then passed.

  “You said today was special?” Ahna inquired, interested in what this was about.

  “On the day of the Solstice of Spring, we pay our respects to the fallen souls of the rebellion. It’s a tradition that began shortly after the war. It’s when we tell stories of the great heroes to inspire our cadets and new recruits.” Ahna was deeply moved by Lynn’s words. She observed her as the woman continued her description of this custom. “High Commander Sand will give a speech outside when the sun is highest. He will light a hundred candles, and we will all sing the words of the Resistance. They say our chants echo through Gurdal, all across Bravoure, and that the young souls who hear them will be spurred to join the cause.”

  That is a beautiful
idea.

  Jules then raised his cup of tea in the air. “And then we feast and drink until sundown!” he exclaimed.

  The two rebels laughed triumphantly. Ahna spotted Diego who passed through the hallway. He waved at their table.

  “Peaceful Solstice, bai’hru!” The captain of Squadron Five had just greeted them as sisters and brothers.

  Ahna, who for so long had not had a feeling of home, had just caught a glimpse of what it meant to be part of this family.

  Joshua Sand stood proud in the middle of the square at the entrance of the barracks. The rebels had raised a small platform made of stacks of wooden crates as a humble stage for the high commander. He had just finished his vigorous and endearing speech. He lit the hundred candles in front of him, and as he did so, the crowd remained silent, bearing thoughts for the heroes of the Resistance.

  Ahna observed the people around her. All brave and united soldiers scarred by a battle that had lasted for far too long. They had all gathered for the honoration. There were humans, elves, wood, half, high, even dokkalfar, sindurs, men and women who stood in the crowd. All were people who had been through hell and back and beyond. And these humble souls rested eyes closed as Joshua lit a hundred candles. Some warriors smiled, some let the tears flow freely. Those who had lost so much embraced each other. It was the comfort of love in a time of war that united them on the square of Orgna, each of them more determined than they had ever been.

  “There once was lost

  A band of heroes born

  From lands scorched, burned, and torn.

  The band carried

  The hopes of thousands more

  And their strength is now reborn.”

  Joshua had started the chants alone. As the crowd took a deep breath, they joined in perfect harmony. Each verse was sung with more life and candor than the previous one.

  “Generations arise

  And the land’s lost in cries,