by RG Long
Ealrin raised an eyebrow at Blume, who shrugged. Holve, however, crossed his arms and glared at Micah with a reproachful look.
“I suppose it would have something to do with a tree,” he said, his tone flat.
Micah’s smile broadened.
“Indeed.”
He strode from his spot and came around to the front of the table, where he leaned against it casually, his hands behind him.
“The Everring Tree is a legend not lost among Death’s Gate. We know it well. What the illustrious assassin told us was that she possessed something of great value that could lead us to this tree of magic and help us in our woes.”
“And what might those be?” Holve asked.
Micah shook his head.
“We are such a small nation. Smaller even than Darrion, the humans who eke out a living on Irradan through a few settlements with fewer provisions. We steal what we need and trade the goods to foreign lands to provide the rest. But we are vulnerable here. We know it.”
Some of the others who sat behind the table nodded solemnly.
“I, and these other fine members of the Judge’s Council,” Micah continued. “Had hoped to obtain the magic of this tree to fend off any advances of either nation, whether Darrion or Enoth. For years, Darrion has not had a fleet to oppose us and Enoth has been too far away to care. Now that Enoth looks to expand her borders north, however, we wish to remain free of any imperial influence.”
“Imagine our surprise when this human lady tells us she has news of a tree that will enable us to remain as we are and even perhaps become more powerful than we had ever hoped. If only we lent her some ships to help her friends. Being honorable and trustworthy, we allowed this transaction to take place.”
He took a few steps to Silverwolf and put his hands on his hips.
“Little did we know that you do not only kill, but you steal when the opportunity is put in front of you.”
Silverwolf said nothing, she only looked back at Micah with a scowl.
“We know you took the pendant of Everring and we want it back.”
She scoffed at him.
“But do you want your tree?”
Micah stood as if to strike her. Ealrin was between them in an instant. Several guards came out of the shadows, halberds down and pointed at Ealrin.
The elf put a hand in the air, to draw them back.
“Do not test us further than you already have,” he said, looking at Silverwolf over Ealrin’s shoulder. “And do not interfere unless you, too, desire to be bound.”
Ealrin put his hands in front of his chest and took a few steps back.
Micah turned and walked toward the table again.
“Now you add trouble on top of trouble,” he said. “You said no more than a hundred elves, yet you return with over four hundred mouths to feed and beds to find. You say you only need a month to find the tree, yet you have taken several. You said you had everything you needed, yet you stole our greatest treasure.”
He spun to face Silverwolf.
“Where is the pendant?” he asked. “And where is the tree?”
Several long moments passed before Silverwolf spoke, her voice measured and restrained.
“The pendant is safe,” she said. “And the tree is nearly found. I even brought someone who knows it’s location. Right, pointy?”
She said this as she turned to face Amrolan, who glared at her, but still stepped forward and bowed.
“And you are...” said the bald woman, in a bored sort of voice.
“Amrolan of Antrin,” he said in his sincere voice. “I am a Wood Walker.”
Elen scoffed, but Blume put a hand on the elf’s wrist.
“I know I do not appear to be, clad as I am in armor,” Amrolan continued. “But my master deemed it necessary for the task at hand. He foresaw the great battle between the woods and the empire. He has foreseen greater battles still. Yet, he also had visions of the tree of which this woman speaks. I believe her pendant and...”
Silverwolf coughed loudly.
“Sorry,” she said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “It’s dusty in here.”
Amrolan faltered, but continued on.
“And I believe that we can locate this tree with it and my master’s knowledge. I do not know the hardships she has caused you.”
Silverwolf gave him a glaring look, which Ealrin wasn’t quite sure he deserved.
“But I believe we can find the tree together, if she is allowed to leave and be set free.”
Micah looked at them both, a furrow forming on his brow.
“I’m not sure I’m convinced,” he said. “We’ve been lied to once by this woman. How do I know you are not also speaking falsely?”
“Because we can find the tree,” Holve proclaimed. “And must do so quickly if we’re to avoid any trouble with Enoth.”
“Have you brought trouble from the empire to us?” asked the dwarf in a gruff voice. “We’ve spent years trying not to anger them. If you’ve brought their wrath down on us, you will surely face our own anger first.”
Holve straightened up.
“If you had hoped to escape from the empire’s wrath, then you should have fled the continent before winter came. They are building their empire from the ashes of the nations they conquered. You cannot hide forever, no matter what trouble you harbor or call down on yourselves.”
The judges at the table bristled at these words, yet none tried to refute Holve. Ealrin had always known him to be an imposing man when he wanted to be. He was glad for that trait right now.
Micah returned to his chair and let out a deep sigh before addressing Silverwolf again.
“You have two weeks to show us proof that you have found the tree or know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, of its location. Once you find this place, inform us immediately and then we will consider your debts against us paid.”
“As for these elves,” said the bald woman. “What do you want us to do with them?”
Elen stepped forward.
“What do we want you to do?” she repeated. “House us. Feed us. Have pity on us who have just lost home and family and friend to the empire’s hate. They’ve burned our forest to the ground. We’ve hardly anything to go back to.”
“That doesn’t seem like our problem,” said the dwarf gruffly.
Elen shot him a look that should have withered the most seasoned of adversaries.
“Suppose your home was taken from you?” she said. “And you were forced to flee? Would you desire to be told you’re not someone else’s problem?”
“But my home is not taken,” the dwarf replied. “It is solid. Perhaps you should have chosen a better place to call home.”
Elen took a step forward, but Holve got in between her and the dwarf. She seemed livid.
“I propose an addition to your agreement,” Ealrin said, thinking quickly. “If the Everring Tree is in a sacred place, maybe similar to the place the Wood Walkers dwelled before, they could live there as guardians of the tree, with the understanding that Death’s Gate owns the tree, but the elves are tasked with protecting it.”
Elen looked back at Ealrin, unsure and glaring a little. Micah looked from Ealrin to Elen, then to his fellow judges.
“Three weeks,” he said. “To find the tree and a suitable home for these elves. Until that time, we will feed them and house them as best as we can. Are we agreed?”
“Agreed,” echoed the answer from the chamber of judges.
10: Another Round
Gorplin stood with his back to the railing, watching the proceedings take place. The Death’s Gate sailors were busy unloading their cargo from various places onto the docks. From the looks of the crates and the barrels, some of these were purchased goods while the others were more than likely of questionable origin.
Wisym was running back and forth on the docks, trying to keep the peace and trying to find Ferinan. The old elven ruler of the Wood Walkers was thought to be on one of the boats that had rescued them. That was
the rumor at least. Now Wisym was flitting back and forth from boat to boat, trying to keep the elves on board and trying to find out where Ferinan was. If the old elf was uninjured, she wasn’t making an appearance on the docks yet.
The prince of dwarves was having a difficult time moving from the spot he now occupied. Though the elves around him moved in hurried steps from one location to another, he found himself rooted to the spot. Something was missing. In all this hustle, there was no one complaining. No one telling the elves to go find their own place to sleep. No one telling him, Gorplin, that he snored with the force of a hurricane.
He didn’t know how much he had come to befriend Tory until the bloody pest was gone. It was too much for him to handle.
“Wood Walkers!” Wisym was shouting, pointing in various directions and trying to gain the attention of the many elves from the woods. “Please organize yourselves into your gatherings! Urthin, over on that boat. Alton, over there, please!”
She looked over and saw Gorplin, who had taken the first painful step from his spot on the boat, and called out to him.
“Gorplin! Can you find Teresa and help me organize these elves?” she called to him. “Gorplin? Gorplin!”
He continued to walk. Past Wisym. Past the elves. Past the docks and into the city. He was sure he could find what he was looking for soon enough, seeing as how there were sailors on top of sailors here at Death’s Gate.
It wasn’t long before he spotted it: a metal sign imprinted with a mug and skull and crossbones. That would be good enough for him.
He pushed past the door and into the dimly lit bar. Seeing as how it was morning, the place was mostly empty. Save for a few older elves in the corner, singing sailing songs of days long ago, and a single warrior who sat at the bar.
A warrior Gorplin recognized.
Gruffly, he forced himself up to the bar, up onto the unusually tall seat, and sat himself down next to Teresa, who was nursing a drink of her own.
“Holve said we were broke,” he said, looking at the three empty mugs next to Teresa and knowing that they hadn’t been on the house.
“He did.”
“Bah,” Gorplin said, as he put a coin on the bar and saw it replaced with a mug of elven ale.
“Joining the early crowd?” asked the barmaid as she took away Teresa’s mugs and pocketed Gorplin’s coin.
“Bah,” he repeated. “Let’s just hope your weak elven drink does me some good.”
“You won’t wash away your cares in it,” she replied. “But you can try if you like.”
She vanished behind a swinging door and the sound of water and rags soon followed her departure.
The odd pair sat for a while at the bar, drinking in silence. Teresa was still wearing the armor the Enoth empire had given her, though it's insignias had been torn away and other identifying markers were gone. Her swords had been left on the boat, though Gorplin could see a knife in a sheath at her thigh. His own axe was safely in its holster. Not that he was afraid of any of the natives. More so that he could be ready to fight should any of the demons that haunted his nightmares decide to show their ugly faces.
“I’ve lost soldiers before,” Teresa finally said, breaking the long silence. “I’m a general after all.”
She took another long drink of her mug, then put it down on the bar, empty.
“But I’ve never taken the life of one of my own.”
“Bah,” Gorplin said. He couldn’t think of much else.
The barmaid swooped in again, summoned by the sound of the empty mug and took it away.
“Don’t think I could convince you to stop at five?” she asked as Teresa dug in her pocket for a coin. It took her a long time to come back empty handed. The barmaid raised her eyebrow at Teresa, who looked sullen.
Gorplin reached in his own money purse and put two coins down, as well as his own empty mug.
“Another round,” he said, and soon found himself looking at his reflection in a pale golden liquid.
Teresa took a drink, then slowly put her mug down.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Don’t mention it,” Gorplin replied.
It was automatic. Rehearsed. He knew, deep down, that she didn’t mean to kill Tory. He felt shame in knowing he hadn’t been there to help defend his friend. But the drink didn’t make the pain of the experience go away. And he knew it wouldn’t.
But he drank anyways.
“I’m sorry,” Teresa mumbled, her mouth half pressed to her mug. “I failed Tory. I failed you. I failed everyone.”
“Bah,” Gorplin said, wiping his mouth as well as one of his eyes. “Don’t say that. You weren’t the only one who...”
“Was under a spell?” Teresa shot back, whipping her head around quickly and glaring at the dwarf. “But I’m the only one who killed, aren’t I? I’m the only one who didn’t even recognize one of our own company! My own soldier!”
“Wait a minute!” Gorplin said, not wanting to be shouted at. “You don’t know the bloody half of things yet! Ealrin! He...”
“Do we need to take this outside?” came the resounding voice of not the barmaid, but a large and heavy set man who towered over the bar. He looked threateningly at the both of them. He was covered in sweat and grease from the bar and smelled of far too many years of ale.
Both Teresa and Gorplin looked up at the man. Gorplin could have found himself in the mood for a fight with just one more sip of ale. That was when the door burst open, however. And in walked no less than seven dwarves, grunting and chattering away as they walked over to a table.
“Mercy,” said Gorplin. “What in the name of mountains are all these dwarves doing here?”
One of them saw Gorplin and came up to him and bowed low.
“Master!” he said cordially. “I’m not familiar with you or your garments. From where do you hail?”
“Bah,” Gorplin muttered, stunned. “Ruyn. Southern part of Ruyn.”
“A Ruynian dwarf!?” he replied, straightening up quick and pulling Gorplin down off of his bench. “You must have stories to tell!”
And with that, the dwarf practically drug Gorplin over to the table where his companions were and they began to ask a dizzying amount of questions. Gorplin looked up to see Teresa turn to her mug again and the barkeep nod to himself, satisfied.
“Another round!” came the call from the table Gorplin sat at. “And make sure you include our friend, Gorplin!”
11: Separated Again
“So, when were you going to tell us you stole that pendant you’ve been wearing and showing off lately?” Holve asked after they had crossed the bridge and went under what the guards had called the Death Gate.
Silverwolf shrugged and let her arms swing, both her hands happily unbound.
“When it became important for you to know,” she said with an air of bravado.
Ealrin was stuck between being impressed and being thoroughly annoyed.
The judges had let her off and given them time to find the tree and time to find the elves a suitable place to call their home. But where in the world were they going to start looking after having traipsed over half of the continent already without a sign or a clue? And where were they going to find a place to keep hundreds of Wood Walker elves from the empire’s reach and in a place where they felt at home?
He felt they had just escaped out of a pond to be thrown into an ocean.
“Are we any closer to finding the tree, then?” Blume asked as she walked next to Ealrin and behind Holve and Silverwolf.
“I’ve just got to talk to pointy a little bit more and we should be on our way,” Silverwolf replied. “He seems to think his master can figure out this pendant, and our book as well.”
Elen snorted, but Amrolan made no sign of being annoyed at being called “Pointy.”
Once they had crossed the bridge from the one side of the city to the other, the usual hustle and bustle continued to grow as they neared the docks. Ealrin wasn’t sure what they’d find there.
Wisym probably had all of the elves organized and awaiting instruction by this point. She was general of her own kind during their wars on Ruyn. Surely a few hundred elves would be no trouble for her?
He was wrong.
Wisym was in a state when they returned to the boats and near panicking.
“I haven’t laid eyes on Ferinan yet, though several of the Wood Walkers swear she came with us. But I haven’t been able to check the boats either because they keep trying to leave them, saying they're an abomination of trees and axes. But then I can’t keep them on the docks because of the same reasons. These elves are maddening!”
She heaved a great sigh.
“And have you seen Teresa or Gorplin?” she asked. “They disappeared an hour ago, and I haven’t seen them since.”
“Disappeared?” Ealrin asked, looking at the crowd around them. It appeared that the crew of the Dragon’s Wing had finished with their task of clearing the cargo from the boat and were now restocking provisions. Denise, the captain, came out to greet them as they walked up to the boat.
“I see the Court was lenient with your friend,” she said to Holve, nodding at Silverwolf. “My brother is not known to be the kindest of judges.”
Holve gave a sidelong look at Silverwolf and then back at Denise.
“Did you know he was coming for her?” he asked warily.
“My brother?” she laughed. “No one knows what goes through his mind. That’s why I get away as often as I can. We’ll sail in the morning if the weather stays mild enough.”
Ealrin looked up at the sky and saw that it was indeed clear of the clouds he had seen earlier that day. But would the winter weather be fine to sail far from port in?
“Don’t leave us,” Holve said as he grasped her elbow. “We’ll need to sail with you if we’re to keep a promise we made to Micah.”
Denise frowned.
“I hope you haven’t made any big promises to the Court,” she said. “They don’t take kindly to having their expectations not being met.”
“So we heard,” Holve replied, again looking at Silverwolf. With that, he turned to Wisym.
