by David Green
As the chained elves stumbled forwards, a child second-in-line fell into the elf in front. The entire line crashed to the ground in a mess of mud and limbs. The children’s cries of fear, pain, and misery knifed Calene between the ribs.
“Mazlet,” Tark shouted, with a scowl. “Get them on their feet, will you? Useless filth.”
One fighter leapt down from his horse and dragged the offending child to her feet. Calene watched, fingers itching to Spark, as the guard towered over the girl. Even from her distance, Calene could see the fear in the little one’s wide eyes.
“Thought you droking elves were supposed to be graceful,” Mazlet growled, grabbing the child by the front of her rags. “Could have damaged the whole of the boss’s stock with your clumsiness. I’ll teach you to watch your step.”
His gauntleted hand struck the girl across the face, sending her sprawling into the mud. Mazlet stooped to grab her again, and Calene realised Brina had left the cart.
Her eyes blazed, her hood fell back, her braided red hair spilled in her wake, and before anyone could shout the word ‘elf’, her thin, curved blade removed Mazlet’s head in one clean slice. A wordless cry of rage tore from her throat as the headless body toppled.
It fell on top of the shocked elf-child, pinning her to the ground, and the crossroad held its breath.
“What are you waiting for?” Tark cried, spittle flying from his lips. “Kill ‘em all!”
Steel rang as the mercenaries drew their weapons and sprang into action.
The Banished roared, almost knocking Calene from her seat as he leapt from the cart and threw himself into the fray, broadsword raised. He barged a man to the ground with his shoulder as Brina turned to meet the blade of another.
“Drok it,” Calene snarled, hopping down from the driver’s seat and drawing her longsword.
She charged at a third mercenary closing in on Brina, already engaged, teeth bared and eyes alive with fury.
The Banished had dispatched one of the guardsmen already with a clean thrust through the chest and now stood in front of the line of chained elves. Tark glared at him from atop his horse, a mace clutched in his hand. Doubt flickered on his face as he deliberated on which would prove more valuable: his stock or his life.
Calene intercepted the sword meant for Brina, arm vibrating with the impact. She heard a body drop beside her and prayed it wasn’t Brina’s but knew looking would spell doom. Her opponent attacked with intent, swinging high and low with speed and skill.
Damn you, Raas, she snarled, defending herself as best she could. I’d have to get the only one with any talent.
Calene heard a clatter of hooves and a horse scream, and her attacker’s eyes shifted behind her for just a moment.
“Last mistake you’ll make, friend,” she crowed.
Calene lunged high, and the mercenary twisted his blade to defend a fraction too late. Her sword slid across his and she ducked, letting go of the hilt. She spun and caught the falling sword in a reverse grip, driving it through the mercenary’s stomach. Blood poured from his mouth as Calene pulled her sword free.
I’ve killed a man, Calene thought, staring into his face as it twisted with pain. Over an elf. I didn’t even think about it. But it’s right, damn it! I know it is!
He dropped to his knees, and she swung once more. His head toppled to the floor. A quick death.
“Better than dying from steel to the gut,” Calene muttered, spinning on the spot. “Better than you deserve.”
Brina still lived, as did the Banished. The elf straddled Tark. She had driven her blade through his chest, pinning him to the ground.
“Look at me,” Brina hissed, face inches from the slaver’s nose. “I want you to see me as you die and know an elf killed you. Your ‘wares’ will walk free again and you… You’re going to learn that this is the price of your greed.”
She seized his jaw, holding his agonised screaming in as he gouged furrows in the dirt with his heels. He still struggled when Calene couldn’t watch anymore and pretended to check on Vettigan again. It took him agonising minutes to expire and, by then, the elves had helped pull the fallen girl to her feet and stood, staring at them.
Finally, Brina got to her feet and pulled her sword free, blood spreading across the trail. She didn’t bother to close his eyes.
“Nice little fight, that,” she muttered, refusing to meet Calene’s eyes.
“Nice little fight?” she spat. She pointed at the chained elves. “What the drok are we meant to do with them? It’s going to be hard enough to get a Raas-forsaken ship to take us up to Solitude with one elf in tow, let alone thirteen.”
She heard the clang of metal and shouts of surprise. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the Banished hammering at the chains with his mighty broadsword, freeing each slave in turn.
Brina scowled. “Look, I don’t expect you to understand—”
“Are you insane?” Calene cried, slamming her sword into its sheath and throwing up her hands. “Of course I understand. These are your people. Drok, even I wanted to act when that fool struck the girl. I’ve no love for slavers but, teeth of the gods, we’re outlaws already. What are we going to do? Liberate the entire area of every elf we come across, lead an uprising and sail our merry way north? We need to get to Solitude, Brina. Before it’s too late.”
Brina glanced at the elves. They huddled together, some sobbing, others staring at the Banished with a mixture of gratitude, fear and wonder. The strange warrior grinned back at them.
“Listen, I know some folk in Colton. Smugglers. They’ll help. I’ve…used them before.”
Calene raised her eyebrows and breathed through her nose. Brina gave a small shrug and added an almost embarrassed smile.
“Someday, you’re going to tell me all about your life, Brina,” she muttered. “Alright, smuggle them where?”
“Avastia. Let me go on ahead with them, off the road. I’ll meet up with you in Colton.” She glanced at her kin again, pity and desperation etched in her face. “Please.”
“Fine,” Calene grumbled. Gratitude from Brina, clear as day. “But if I don’t get Vettigan to Solitude quickly… The only person who can help him is there. And the Banished might be our best chance to stop another war. I can’t wait for you. If you’re there, you can come along. If not… Then I guess this is goodbye.”
Brina nodded and gripped Calene’s shoulder. She ignored the urge to take the elf’s hand when she pulled away. Brina marched towards the elves, speaking their language in a commanding voice. Within moments, they had faded into the surrounding trees, leaving Calene alone with the Banished, the unconscious Vettigan and a bunch of dead slavers. The Banished pointed at them, a quizzical look on his face.
“Leave ‘em,” Calene replied with a sigh. “Like Tark said, there’re bandits everywhere. We’ll hide the chains.”
The strange warrior let out a musical laugh as he returned to the cart. Calene stayed, peering into the forest, hoping it wasn’t the last she’d seen of Brina.
###
Calene smiled as she saw the elf waiting for them on the approach to town, but smothered her relief out with a quick cough. Brina hopped into the cart without a word, face like stone. Calene knew better than to ask any questions. She figured they could wait for another time.
Their time in Colton went without further incident. A small port town that thrived on the businesses of the sea, which meant the place had its fair share of smugglers and privateers and no one looked for trouble unless they were trying to avoid it. Calene made her way to the docks alone to secure them passage, spinning a story about taking her grandfather to Solitude for healing.
“Those Sparkers up north work cheaper than the bastards in Spring Haven,” the shipmaster agreed, and asked no further questions.
Brina and the Banished remained cloaked and silent as they brought Vettigan in. Calene ar
ranged the sale of the mule and cart to buy their passage.
She spent all the money she had on the next available boat to Solitude, and even paid extra to make sure there would be no other stops. A four-day sail. If she used her Spark to direct the wind, they might make it in three.
The money only went so far, securing them one small cabin to share. Vettigan slept on the single bed built into the hull, still recovering from his ordeal. Calene used her Second Sight to peer at him; whatever the Banished had done continued to work. The shadow parasite left behind from the failed Evisceration lingered, contained within the Banished’s shield of light. That it sat on Vettigan’s brain concerned Calene, but still she marvelled at what the pale warrior’s song had achieved.
The Banished and Brina sat in silent contemplation, facing each other. The elf seemed deep in thought, but their strange companion smiled away at her, cheerful as ever, but maybe with a hint of relief now.
Calene closed her eyes and reached out with her senses. She manipulated the winds, urging them to lift the waves and push the boat along Haltveldt’s coast, keeping its sails taut. When she’d first learned to do it, she’d needed to be out in the open, to see the sky. These days, she could have done it five miles underground if she’d wanted.
Satisfied, she relaxed, releasing the maelstrom of energy swirling through her body and sighed as she did. Releasing the Spark always made her feel so empty. Diminished. Still, the work she did with the weather impressed even her.
Maybe we’ll make Solitude in two-and-a-half days. I hope mother is okay.
Zanna hadn’t contacted her since… Since just before the Shadow Sparker attack. Since Calene had blocked their Link.
Raas’ rotten droking teeth, I am such an idiot.
She lowered her walls and pushed against the part of her mind where their Link resided.
Gods, I’m sorry, mother. Vettigan and I, we were attack by droking Sparkers on the road. Listen, the Empire has a new weapon. They’ve repealed the Laws of Engagement but it’s worse than that. They have Sparkers who must have been using Evisceration for months, maybe years. They called it a Shadow Sparker. It…
She hesitated before she could tell her mother about Vettigan, about Brina and the slavers. She could sense her, but she didn’t respond. Something had happened in Solitude and whatever it was demanded every ounce of concentration Zanna had.
Drok, she thought. Not good. I really do hope she’s okay. Maybe I should have told her that, come to think of it.
Calene turned her attention to Brina, studying the scars that ran across her cheeks, the hard plains of her face. She understood her reaction at seeing her kind chained, treated like animals, but the way she’d killed the slaver, Tark, the way she’d watched him die…
It felt personal, like she’d relived some trauma in that moment.
“Hey,” she said, nudging Brina with her foot. “About time you answered some questions, I reckon.”
The other woman looked up and blinked at her, as if falling back into herself from the recesses of her mind.
“Fine,” she said. “What do you want to know?”
“We could start with how you’re familiar with Avastian smugglers.” The boat swayed. Calene took a pull from her water skin and tried to push the seasickness away. “Or how about where you came from? Why you were sitting at the roadside in the Forest of Mists? How you got past the elven frontline without being in chains? How you’ve managed to evade capture so long in Imperial lands? Stop me if you hear a question you like the sound of.”
“How much do you know about elves?”
“You mean, from before you were slaves, living in slums and chased by armies? Just what they tell us at the University, and what they told us before that in school. They told us you’re sub-human. Animals. Untrustworthy traitors who turned on humans after we forced the Banished north.” She paused, meeting Brina’s iron glare. “From my knowledge, I know your kind and the Empire descended into open war centuries ago, and you’ve fought alone since Haltveldt absorbed your allies, one-by-one. That your kind are used as slaves, forced to live in slums unless you live in the elven territories, and even then your days are numbered because the Empire’s war machine won’t stop until you’re a memory. And I know you’re fierce in battle because I’ve seen elves fell men from three hundred paces with a single arrow and your Sparkers rip the lives out of soldiers by the dozen.”
“We’re fighting for our lives,” Brina said, heat rising in her voice. “We’re all that stands between an army of butchers and innocent families who can’t protect themselves. What do you expect us to do?”
“Right,” Calene said, spreading her hands. “But that’s not the point. You asked. I serve the gods, for all the good it does. I never wanted any part of genocide and slavery and I still don’t. Remember, I helped you on the road to Colton, but those men weren’t criminals. Not in Imperial lands. And I’ve watched friends torn apart and Eviscerated to nothing by your mages.”
“War makes criminals of us all,” Brina muttered. She looked at the Banished, who smiled back at her, as though they weren’t even having an argument. “The Lodestone. Why do you carry a drawing of it, Calene?”
“It’s just a rock to me—one with a great big tree growing out of it—and that’s all. You said you knew what it was though, so why don’t you tell me about it, Brina?”
“Brina,” the Banished repeated, pointing at the elf.
“There’s a reason so few of us have the Spark,” Brina started, eyeing the Banished and giving him a small, shy smile. “It’s dying, even without the Empire murdering elven children with potential. War doesn’t agree with us, and neither does living as slaves or in slums. Our magic is failing, and it drives those that possess it to fight harder. Our elders speak of another kind of magic, something that doesn’t live on the inside like the Spark. They say, millennia ago, we…communicated with the nature around us. No, wait. Communication isn’t the right word. Why is your language so limited? Look, we’re a part of it, and we wielded it as an extension of ourselves, but it also wielded us.”
“You were wielded by nature?”
“I don’t know if that’s the right word, but… We didn’t worship magic as some separate being, like your Sparker Order do with Raas and Janna. We acted as one. Together.”
“Talk straight, elf,” Calene snapped. “The Spark does involve nature. I feel it when I reach out with my senses, everywhere I go.”
“Listen, you borrow, yes? And if you take too much, you can damage yourselves. A Sparker can only hold so much, like a boat. Fill it with too much water and the hulls will crack, or it becomes too heavy and sinks.”
“Something like that,” Calene muttered, eyeing the wood walls and wishing she’d picked a different analogy.
“The Elders told us of the songs the ancients would use, a way of communicating, harnessing nature itself. As long as we lived in balance, acted in peace and didn’t use it for violence, nature provided for us. We could grow trees with the song, fill fields with grain, build our homes. Until the first wars, with those you call the Banished. When we called upon our magic to aid us, it resisted and faltered. Our mages learned how to harness the Spark within them, but we lost our balance with nature. The old songs, the old magic, disappeared and now the Spark is dying, too. So the Elders say.”
“Singing,” Calene said, tapping a finger against her lip and staring at the Banished. “Huh. Alright, maybe, in these olden days, according to your Elders, if you wanted to heal someone, you’d ask nature to do that too? And if you did it real polite-like, it would agree.”
Brina followed Calene’s gaze to the man from beyond Solitude and frowned. “Yes.”
“Interesting.” Calene took the sheet of paper from her pocket and stared at her etching. “So what’s the Lodestone?”
“The source, Calene,” Brina said. “The spring from which our magic, ev
en nature itself, flowed. Stories spoke of it, though we thought it lost. Not many elves believe in it at all now.”
“Calene,” the Banished said, pointing at her. He looked at the sleeping Sparker on the bed. “Vettigan.”
“Yes, yes, well done.,” Calene grunted. “Look, I have an idea where your Lodestone is. An old Sparker drew this rock and tree. He claimed he found it in the Peaks of Eternity. Watch.”
She held the drawing up for the Banished to see.
“Muir!” he cried, wonder in his face. “Muir! Muir!”
“I think he recognises it,” Brina said.
“Where?” Calene asked, tapping the drawing and holding it closer to the Banished. “Where is Muir?”
The man grabbed his sword and pointed at the emblem on the crossguard, his fingernail tapping at the engraving.
“Solitude,” he whispered.
Calene folded the paper.
“Calene,” she said, pointing to herself, then at the others in the cabin. “Brina. Vettigan.”
Then she thrust a finger at him.
“Tilo,” he replied, a broad grin on his face.
“Brina,” Calene said, not taking her eyes from Tilo’s, “try to talk to him. Find words you both understand. It’s important we figure him out.”
“Yes,” Brina agreed. “Can I have the picture?”
Calene gave it over, and the elf took it, hands trembling.
“I never believed,” she whispered. “Or maybe I did, and lost my faith.”
“God’s teeth, what’s all this racket, and where the drok are we? The Underworld? Are we on a boat? Are we all dead or did you just decide to join me for the ride?”
Calene’s heart leapt into her mouth. She turned to see Vettigan, propped on one elbow, scowling at them.
“Vettigan, thank the gods you’re all right.” She jumped to her feet and banged her head on the ceiling of their cabin. Rubbing her aching crown, she rushed to his side. “We’re heading to Solitude.”
Vettigan leaned over and spat on the floor, right between her boots.
