by RG Long
Seven towers, actually.
“Behold, Yule. The Elven Stronghold,” Lote said. Tory nearly fell over to hear her speak. No one had said much of a word since that morning.
“Can I talk now, then?” he asked her.
Her stare was his answer, so they continued in silence.
With each step they took, more and more snow covered the ground. Tory thought it seemed unnatural.
The castle seemed to blend in with the ice and snow around it. White stones melted into blue tiled roof. Six towers made a circle around the seventh much larger middle structure. Bridges and walkways connected the towers together in a web that gleamed in the sun.
Lote breathed in deeply.
"It's been a long time since I've laid eyes on the Fortress of Yule," she said.
Tory couldn't tell if she was lamenting her absence or her return.
A deep chasm surrounded the castle, making a narrow bridge the only way in. Tory stole a glance from the side of the bridge down below. A fine layer of snow covered the bottom. In places, however, jagged rock stuck up through the powder.
Large iron doors opened without the elves having to ask for permission to enter. Tory couldn't see who or what had opened them.
As they entered the castle grounds, he looked back and noted that not only was the bridge the only way inside, it was also the only way out.
The courtyard was nearly bare. Only one or two guards walked the stones as the contingent of soldiers and captives entered. A fire burned in a round pit in the middle of the grounds. The walls encircled the area. At even points, one of the six out towers rose up to meet the sky. They were all impressively tall. In the middle, the main tower rose above each of them and spiraled upward. Tory could barely make out the roof from the ground he stood on.
For such a huge castle, it was eerily quiet.
Thoran could never be this silent, Tory thought.
Blue banners hung from the tops of doors and from a balcony that was on the second story of the main tower, overlooking the courtyard.
A guard called out to them from the doorway of it.
"Who have you brought with you into Yule? Outsiders are not welcome here, brother!"
Tory assumed these two elves weren't actually brothers, but he was concerned about how they were going to be treated.
Why did Lote tell him not to fight? He knew they couldn't have taken all of the fighters together, but maybe they could have fled if they had been quicker to react.
It all seemed so odd. Why was Lote allowing all of this to happen without explanation or without putting up any kind of resistance?
The elf that was leading them replied.
"Tell the High Lord Counselor, his daughter has returned to Shiv!"
Oh, thought Tory. That's why.
32: The High Counselor's Daughter
"So, you're royalty?" Tory asked Lote as they were marched up a staircase. Unlike the castle Tory was used to back home, it seemed that this building only went up instead of out. He had meant to count the steps as they ascended, but found his mind burning with questions about Lote.
"If you keep your mouth shut long enough to listen," Lote replied without looking at him. "You might discover the answers to your questions."
Tory shot back, "You know you could've told me a little bit about this on our way up here."
He found himself suddenly quite angry with Lote. This seemed like information that would have been vitally important to him and their mission.
And at least worthy of mention sometime in the last month.
“Why didn't you tell me, you long-legged...”
"That's enough, prisoner," one of the guards said as he poked Tory's back with his spear.
Tory huffed at the guard, but stifled his shouting.
Instead of shouting, Tory took pleasure in thinking of all the complaints he could list off to Lote while they were locked away in a dungeon somewhere.
After climbing what seemed like endless stairs, they were finally guided through a door that opened into a large chamber.
In front of them stood a white throne on a grand stair made of huge flat circular stones.
Around it hung blue banners that bore the same imagery as the elves armor: a gleaming white tower that had a crescent shape hovering over it.
The throne room was empty.
"Wait here," one of the guards said as they retreated back through the door they had entered. The sound of the closing door echoed throughout the chamber.
"Well that's very trusting of them," Tory said as he looked back at the closed door.
"That door is the only exit to this room," Lote said without looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the throne in front of them.
"At what point were you going to tell me about any of this?" Tory asked accusingly.
Lote closed her eyes and sighed.
"I had hoped we could have avoided these elves and made our way east."
Tory was still fuming.
"And couldn't we have done that if we had fought them off? Or at the very least, traveled a different way?"
His words were spilling out of this mouth before he could even think about them.
"You're always so serious! So guarded! Why don't you let somebody into that head of yours?"
His words echoed throughout the chamber.
A new voice responded to his questions.
"Because my daughter knows the value of information kept close to one's chest."
Both Tory and Lote turned, trying to discover the source of the voice.
A man walked out from behind the throne. Two other figures followed him, completely draped in blue. Tory assumed they were elf attendants, but he had no way to know for sure. Even their heads were covered.
He stopped just a few steps in front of the throne.
The male elf wore a pristine white robe with a blue front. The emblem of Yule was prominently displayed on the fabric, etched in beautiful thread.
His hands were clasped behind him.
“So,” he said after staring for a few moments at Lote. “You've returned.”
Tory looked back from daughter to father in amazement. The pair reflected each other near perfectly. They shared the same blue eyes and brown hair color. Even from this distance, he could tell that they were just about the same height as well.
Even the mutual look of hate for one another on them matched.
“Not willingly,” Lote answered him.
The look of disgust on the male elf's face magnified.
“What, I wonder,” he said as he descended the stone steps from the throne. “Could force a daughter who has no love for her country, her history, her people, or her father to return to the home she despises?”
Each of his words was accentuated by the echoing of his footsteps. He came right up to Lote's face and stared hard at her.
She didn't yield an inch.
With a sneer, he looked over at Tory.
“And with you comes a human man,” he nearly spat. “What is this? A pet of yours?”
Tory instinctively reached for his sword hilt, only to remember that he had been relieved of it.
So instead of killing the man, he settled on trying to snarl him to death.
“I sleep at night with a clear conscious, Paterus,” Lote said, not answering her father's question. “I wonder if you can say the same.”
“You will address me as High Counselor, you worthless daughter,” Paterus replied, pointing a finger at Lote and beginning to shout at her.
“And you will not call me your kin, dark mage, for that is what you truly are,” Lote answered in a measured tone.
Tory wasn't sure who was going to deal the first blow. He felt sure that it would come soon, though.
Paterus dropped his finger to his side.
“A dark mage, am I?” he said with a twisted smile.
He climbed back up the steps to the throne on it. His attendants, who never left the sides of the stone chair, stood silent and still.
>
“When you left, few knew of my exploits and my attempts to bring glory to Yule. For too long we have fought against the other, less deserving elves,” Paterus said as he sat upon his throne, not looking down at them, but out and away.
“You know all too well those we have lost,” he said pointedly at Lote.
Tory saw Lote's face change, but only slightly, at the comment. She was ready with her reply.
“And I know those who are still breathing whom I have lost to madness,” she said with pain in her voice.
“Madness!?”
Paterus stood, his hands were trembling as he clenched them into fists.
“This madness has saved our nation,” he shouted. “This madness of mine has restored the former glory to Yule! This madness of mine has given us back what we lost. We now have the upper hand in this conflict and will see that every Shivian elf is laid down.”
With a smile on his face, he turned to one of the attendants and removed the veil.
Tory took a step back in horror.
Where there once might have been the proud face of an elf, there was now a skull with blue orbs for eyes. Some flesh still clung to the bone, but only enough to make the sight more terrible to behold.
Paterus was no dark mage, Tory thought. He was a necromancer.
“And after the Shivian's have been destroyed, they will serve us anew after death,” he said, his face contorting with evil glee.
“Take them to the dungeon,” he told his dark minions. “I've finished discussing this matter for the time being.”
Each attendant raised their hands and marched forward towards Lote and Tory.
***
TORY WALKED THE STAIRS under the unnatural grip of the reanimated corpse on his arm. It gave him chills, but there was no way to shake off the unbelievably strong grasp.
"Sounds like you had a pleasant childhood," he said to Lote, who was being led in front of him.
Her guard, which Tory could only assume was also a walking corpse, led the way, dragging Lote behind it.
"During my earlier years, it wasn't like this," She replied to Tory's amazement. He had almost given up on actually learning anything about her.
"But looking back," she continued. "I can see glimpses of the monster he is today."
“What's going on with these things, then?” Tory asked as he did his best to avoid looking into the glowing blue orbs of his escort. He wished his still had on its veil.
“It's Rimstone, or rather, the misuse of it, that powers their bodies. My father has been obsessed with the dead ever since...”
She trailed off. For a moment, all Tory heard was the sound of their own feet.
“Well,” Lote continued in a slightly different tone. “For a long time. I left when I knew what he was doing. I was ashamed that my own father would be dealing in magic so dark. He claimed it would allow us to end a civil war with the elves to the east. For that reason alone, he was given the blessing of the people of Yule to continue his cursed experiments. I wanted nothing to do with it.”
“I wouldn't either,” Tory agreed.
They continued their descent down the stairs. They turned through a door and began down a hallway. Many doorways led off of the hall. Every few paces, another banner with the emblem of Yule was adorned.
Yet still, Tory noticed, there were very few elves.
“Where is everyone?” he asked as they walked. “I've seen thirty elves since we've arrived. And that includes the ones from the field earlier. It's spooky.”
Lote looked back at him with pain in her eyes.
“We were losing the war with Shiv when I left. It's probably for that reason that my father hates me so much. I abandoned him in his greatest time of need. But instead of seeking a peace agreement, he argued that he could animate our fallen soldiers and have them fight anew.”
“We lost many good fighters to our conflict. Instead of trying to end it, both sides became increasingly desperate to win on their own terms. Shiv elves are masters of avoiding detection and fighting in the shadows. They are assassins. Our elven knights were no match for an enemy we couldn't see. Many good generals and leaders were killed by their attempts to undo us. My father was almost killed three times by an assassin's blade or dart. That was before I left. I can't imagine what's happened since.”
Tory listened intently. It had never occurred to him that Lote would have such a storied past. He had always known her as from Thoran. To think she held such pain in her heart.
He almost felt bad for complaining so much.
Almost.
"I've never heard of someone actually resurrecting the dead," Tory said as they were led across a walkway and away from the main tower.
"You can't really bring back the dead," Lote said with a hint of pain in her voice.
"These things," she said as she shook the arm held by her skeletal captor. "Are magical abominations. Dead bodies giving the illusion of life. There's no true resurrection here. They don't talk, eat, laugh or anything that constitutes life. They're mindless slaves. Nothing more.”
They were now on an open bridge that overlooked the castle courtyard. Over to one side of the bridge, Tory heard shouts in the courtyard below. Looking down, he saw thirty or so silver clad elves and twenty blurs wearing black cloaks.
“Shivians! Shiv elves on the grounds!”
There was chaos.
“It's now or never, Tory!” Lote said as she bashed her escort with her head, attempting to shake its grasp.
“Finally!” Tory responded.
He brought his hands, still tied together, around and did his best to smash his captor's head.
The head fell from the elf’s shoulders, but the body remained upright.
"Ugh!" he said, forgetting that he had at least freed himself from the grasp of the corpse.
"Run!" Lote shouted. "To the courtyard! Follow me!"
She ran down the hallway, in the same direction they were heading, and made a left turn, and then a right.
Within moments, Tory found himself following Lote down a much smaller set of spiral stairs than the ones they had climbed earlier.
"This should let out into the courtyard below!" Lote said as she raced down.
Tory saw her burst through a door at the bottom of the stair and nearly knocked her over following her out into the open air.
There was a battle raging over by the pit of fire in the middle of the courtyard. Black and blue figures swirled and danced around each other.
An elf clad in silver and blue turned to face them. The warrior was just a few paces away and wore a helmet.
Neither Lote nor Tory had a weapon and both their hands were tied.
It didn't stop Lote for long.
She sprinted towards the elf before they could react. With her shoulder, she plowed into him. Tory heard her grunt as she made contact with his armor. They both fell over in a pile. He followed closely behind her and kicked at the soldier's head with his heel.
A sickening crack told him he had done his job well.
He reached down for a blade he saw strapped to the elf's belt and made to untie Lote's hands. Before he could complete the task, however, another blade was pressed against his throat.
"Move and die," a voice said from behind him.
Tory froze midway in slicing Lote's bonds free.
"Drop the knife," the voice ordered.
He obeyed, and the blade clanged to the ground. As he looked up, he saw a black-cloaked figure standing over Lote with a blade pressed to her throat as well.
"Are these the ones?" the masked warrior asked the one behind Tory.
"No doubt," he replied. "Time to go."
There was a blinding green flash that enveloped them all.
When he opened up his eyes, Tory saw the outside of castle Yule.
Then a bag covered his head.
***
LOTE AND TORY STUMBLED as their captors led them along.
Hours passed since they left the castle of Yule, an
d there seem to be little signs of them stopping anytime soon.
Tory was having a difficult time managing his footing. There would be moments when he felt like he could predict the rise and fall of the snow at his feet. The next thing he knew, he was sliding on icy ground.
"If you would take these blasted bags off our heads we could probably walk faster," he said after slipping for the fourth time in the last hour.
"Actually, Tory" Lote said from beside him. "You are the only one wearing one."
Tory let loose a slew of curses before he could manage a coherent sentence.
"Why does my face have to be covered?" he blurted out.
"We have very little trust for humankind," an unfamiliar voice said.
Tory could hear that the voice came from one of the two elves who held him as he walked.
He turned his head in the direction of the voice.
"Why doesn't she get one?" He asked irately. "Weren't you at war with her father?"
Tory felt a sharp pain in his back.
"Of all the blundering, stupid things to say," Lote yelled at him.
He heard scuffling noises behind him, followed by several runs of pain.
After a few moments, Tory was being lead forward again.
"We were unaware of her heritage, human," the same voice from earlier said. "Worry not. Your companion is now also blind as you are."
A small part of Tory felt a grim satisfaction.
That feeling disappeared as soon as he heard Lote's voice again.
"Tory Greenwall," she said, her voice dripping with hate. "I will happily murder you as soon as I am given the opportunity."
Tory prayed Lote had finally found a sense of humor.
***
THEY WALKED FOR A DAY and a half. There was no resting or eating. Only twice did they pour water through the fabric for Tory to drink. He wasn't sure if the fabric made the water taste foul or if all water from the Northern wastes tasted bitter.
It was impossible for him to tell the passage of time by the light of the suns or darkness of the night.
