by Jordan Cramm
Trees. Everywhere there were trees. The scenery was acceptable to Ravenshade, but she knew that among the Gleaming Jungle, there were other races besides Elves. Races for instance, like fairies, or pixies. Such races were so small in physical size, that they could easily hide almost anywhere. And since the Elves had good relations with several other races, those tiny allies of the Elven race presented a credible threat to Ravenshade’s intentions of secrecy. She knew that sooner or later, word of a drifting shadow would reach enough Elven guards, and that she would have to react.
She thought it was silly. She regretted that any more Elves would have to die, but she cursed the Elves for their foolishness. She believed that it was their inability to adapt and evolve that made them the weaker race, and that at the moment, that made her better, and even made her safe to some degree. At the same time though, she knew about the patience of Elves, and how Elves had no need to beat an enemy suddenly so long as it was done over time. She vowed not to suffer that fate though.
She raced quickly over fell branches and a muddy clearing beneath the canopy of trees overhead. She could just barely see walkway bridges above, but even in the absence of sighting them, she knew they were there. Other eyes would not have noticed, but hers were the keen eyes of a Night Elf; one who knew that Elves often had whole cities in treetops, and one who had good enough eyesight in the dark to notice the one above.
She darted through the territory as though her life depended on it, because in fact she knew it did. Night Elves were not appreciated by Elves, and normally would be given a death sentence if captured. But that she knew was rare as well, because Elves considered the Night Elves to be abominations. So in normal encounters where capture was even possible, normally the Elves simply killed the Night Elf or Elves in question during a battle. She dared not think of such things now though. She couldn’t. If she let such thoughts enter her mind now, she knew she might hesitate at a moment of importance, and that could lead to her downfall she knew. She had to keep moving. She had many options yet to try besides. Still, she didn’t want to alert anyone she was there, until it was far too late for them to do anything about it.
She chuckled silently. Ravenshade was only one of the mercenaries sent out to find the new War Mage of Fengysha. Nambrin, another Izenian was sent out as well. But Ravenshade knew well that Nambrin was far behind, not even within the Gleaming Jungle now as she was. She had decided from the start, that if she were going to agree to this bounty hunt, that she and no other would claim the reward. So leading Nambrin down another path was nothing she regretted. After all, if Nambrin secured the prize, then there would be no special thanks for him anyway—he was a slave under mind control. But Ravenshade on the other hand, had much to gain and increase when (she vowed to herself it was only a matter of when) she returned to Mortican and claimed the reward for a job well done.
She began to think about it more and more. She had taken several jobs over the many years. She belonged to an underground secret society even. She was a skilled assassin, and that Mortican thought enough of her skills to employ her spoke volumes in its own dark twisted way. She snickered to herself about that point. She had full confidence in her own abilities, and rightly so, but she wondered whether she should have taken another job from Mortican. She had done so successfully in the past, and to her delight once she made good on the jobs. But she knew all too well that as skilled of a hunter as she was, Mortican was better. Besides that, Ravenshade wasn’t entirely devoted to all things evil. She was merely a Night Elf with great skills as a Shadow Knight—a skill most commonly taught among Night Elves, and she was someone who developed dark arts in order to advance herself and even her people.
She stopped her run among the trees for a moment to stop and breathe as she leaned her back against a large tree. She began to think about her people—the Night Elves, and their plight throughout the many centuries. Always veiled in darkness they were. Long ago cast out, and now labeled as the evil and rebellious lost children. They were hated among most of the other races of Fengysha. Even some of the other evil races hated them, even though Night Elves played a large role in previous wars, often turning the tide of battles for the side of evil. But no matter how evil a Night Elf was, some evil races still despised them because the fact remained; they were Elven still—even if they were Night Elves. Some races just couldn’t make the distinction between the two.
For years Ravenshade had fought for her people however, always trying to get in good graces with certain people or groups. In fact that was the driving reason for her taking jobs from Mortican from time to time. She thought that by doing so, he would look upon her and upon Night Elves more warmly, and that if he did so, his minions would do so, and Mortican had minions in several different evil races. So through a trickle-down effect, Ravenshade always hoped her service would reflect well for her people, so that perhaps one day they would be less shunned by all.
She pulled back the hood of her cloak back, revealing more of her hair, which was a blend of silver and blue, but looking dark in the shreds of surrounding light. Here in the jungle, light was scarce during the night time. But Ravenshade navigated with ease. As she pulled back her hood, she also lowered the face mask she wore, which covered her face like a scarf. The mask itself had dark blue markings upon it, as well as dark gray etchings over the black mask. But when she pulled the mask away, her face was revealed, and upon each of her cheeks were small tattoo dots. Blue dots to be precise. There were three rows on each cheek—the top row having three dots, the middle row having two, and the bottom row having only one dot. The dots were as small as freckles, but were perfectly aligned on either side of her face, and creating the outline of an upside down triangle on both sides of her face.
With her right hand, she pulled her left, black, mithril glove free of her other hand. She whisked her robe backwards, revealing well-fitted black shimmering mithril armor, with blue and silver etchings throughout, designed to match her face mask, and even her hair. Though they were well concealed, she had twin blades tucked into her back under her robe, but when she whisked the cloaking robe backwards, she didn’t reach for a weapon, but instead for a small canteen that hung on her belt in the back. She quietly removed it from her belt and brought it to her lips, which were a feint crimson color. Against the soft lavender skin her lips looked stunning.
She took a drink from her flask, letting water quench her thirst and wet her throat. She had been running for a great while, relying on spells to increase her foot speed and keep her senses sharp. She had several gemstones with her, and most were still charged with magical energy, but she knew better than to push herself too hard and regret it later by being caught. She had to camp, no matter how much she hated the idea of doing so in the territory and company of the Elves.
She knew better than to take shelter in the trees. That was Elven territory. Neither though did she wish every crawling thing to attack her as she remained still for a period of time on the ground. She looked around, scanning for options. She didn’t want to use magic unless she had to. She put her canteen away after a nice drink, and then pulled her cloak robe over her once more as well as putting her mask back on. She began using her sharp night vision to look around to the surrounding trees. They were all quite large, each covered with various plants, and some crawling with insects. She kept looking. She spotted a large tree in the distance that looked to have been formerly home to some kind of underground dwelling creature, because at the base of the tree, mud, dirt and grass were cleared away, and the tree’s large roots were exposed to open air.
Ravenshade nodded as she looked at the tree’s exposed roots. She wasn’t thrilled with the situation, but she had been in worse. She was slender, and the tree quite large. With a slight of magic, she could rearrange part of the root system of the tree and camp underneath it. That left only the bugs and snakes to contend with, something she was sure to be protected from with just a little bit more of magic. And so, she approached the large tree, ducki
ng and kneeling when she got close, scanning the surroundings to make sure no other Elves were present, and especially that none were alerted to her plan.
The crawl was messy, but only for her outer robe, which she tightened around her body as she crawled into her camping spot. The space was tight, and cramped really, but Ravenshade welcomed it as opposed to being captured. At least where she was, she would not likely be noticed by anything in the night, especially predators. The large root system that now encased her was protection from any large predators of the wild. Besides, in Elven lands, there were not many such predators.
She tucked herself into an uncomfortable ball, lying on her back with her knees pressed to her chest. She could stretch her feet and legs upwards but only slightly. She felt the pain of her armor and weapons pressing against her back, and she thought about relocating. But then she thought about the hunt, and what it could mean. She thought about Mortican’s promises, about how he would offer the Night Elves a more permanent home on the Eloxin Isles were she to kill or capture the War Mage. Her people would be ever grateful. For too long they had been a race without a country, but Mortican also promised them more. He promised them a mainstream future. He promised to help use his own power to cleanse Fengysha of the prejudices toward Night Elves. From others the promise would mean little or nothing. But Ravenshade knew Mortican was powerful and influential.
But it wasn’t just land that Mortican promised to share. It wasn’t just the shared treasuries of future conquered enemies, but also something more. He promised Ravenshade that he would show her the way to become a regular Elf again. And while many Night Elves would reject the notion entirely, and even see it as insulting, there were also many who would welcome the chance to walk freely in the Elven territories again, in the sunlight, out in the open, and with their ancient brothers. She vowed to give her people the freedom of choice though; at any cost.
She had been a lowly servant of her people for a long time in her youth. She was a slave to a band of Humans when she was young, and so learned many various fighting techniques, as well as other useful skills. When she was skilled enough to escape, she did so, but only after killing 24 Humans first. She escaped into the night, where her eyes aided her most, and she fled, believing that she was the last of her kind until she later met another Night Elf, who in turn led her to a settlement of Night Elves. Among her own people once more, she had lived even among many of them as an outcast, but over the many years she had proven herself, being revered among her people now, but still hated and treated like an outcast.
And as time went on, she took less and less jobs among her own people, learning quickly that even they would treat her unfairly, and knowing that there was more fortune to be found by working as a mercenary for anyone willing to pay. But always, she loved her people, and hoped to clear them of the awful reputation they had, and clean the stain of their name forever. If she couldn’t do that, at least she hoped to be able to give them the power to become normal Elves again. Either way they could walk in the open. She had made a living out of hiding in the shadows, and sometimes, she wondered why.
A thought crossed her mind suddenly as she began to shut her eyes. She thought about the Izenian male that managed to get a sword blade across her throat. He had done so rather stealthily she thought. She smiled slightly and recalled the way he seemed to react when she squirmed in his grip. She knew she still had sex appeal, but it was nice to know that the Izenian had been so affected, despite the fact that she was there as an enemy.
Her eyes opened slightly and then shut again. They began to flutter and the sounds of the night had faded to nothing upon her ears. She fell into a dream, and at first, she found herself reliving her encounter with the new War Mage and his party. Who were they? She relived the feeling of brushing against the large Izenian male. She felt his desire for her. Suddenly a fog blurred the vision of the dream, and the dreamscape changed at once. The fog swirled around her and everything changed. She was a prisoner once more.
Her right ankle was held by chain, and she was cuffed in place, forced to do mining for the Humans that whipped at her when she refused or even slowed down. She swung her pick-axe once more though her muscles ached. Her captors continued yelling at her, and then a sudden scream. Someone rushed the captors. A fight. Someone was revolting.
The Izenian that wielded the sword blade set Ravenshade free with a single stroke. The Izenian had been a slave as well, but had overpowered one of the slave-traders, taken a sword, and was now setting others free. As the revolt began, everything happened quickly. As he cut Ravenshade’s bonds however, time stood still. He looked at her. She looked at him. She had precise features, and he smiled at her, apparently admiring them. In the dream, she heard herself ask the Izenian why he would free her—a Night Elf. He told her that no one deserved to be a slave—that there was some good in all races, even Night Elves. And according to him, no one deserved the evil fate they had been chained to in the mines.
She smiled at his kindness. It was the first she had known from another race since becoming a Night Elf.
She had always since hoped that a day would come when Night Elves could be an accepted race, even considered among the good races of Fengysha. She knew that her people had it within them to be useful, and use the skills they had learned over the many long years, could be used for good somehow. But she knew that no race could forgive her now; not when they once fought against the Elves—once stood proudly against War Mages, even killing several of them in their time. For the Night Elves were skilled swordsmen, and as Shadow Knights, their skills were deadly, even rivaling the skills of their Elven counterparts the Paladins.
Some people said that the Night Elves were the first of the Shadow Knights. The truth of their claim is kept hidden in historical record—record that few know the ultimate truth of. That very truth though is something that the Night Elves possessed, and as Ravenshade snapped her eyes open after the dream, she thought about the truth deeply. She thought it was ironic, that her people had long been hated because they were willing to fight against War Mages in a previous world war. And now, the way to bringing her people back into the mainstream of society was to kill another. She questioned her mission temporarily.
Chapter 12: Striking Peludeen
Shamus Darkmoon stood in the kitchen of the Darkmoon family home as he read the letter that was brought to him by way of a mounted messenger, who subsequently was sitting at the kitchen table and drinking some ale. Shamus however hardly noticed the messenger now. He was more concerned about the letter that he held in his hands; the letter from his son. He broke the seal on the letter, and then carefully scanned the parchment. He first identified that in fact, the writing belonged to Wolflen; so there was no lie in the messenger’s story. And Shamus began to read.
Father and mother,
You will have to forgive me for causing so much damage to the house when I left. I know that you both were probably worried about me, and to that end I owe you an explanation now. I have come into possession of the War Magic spellbooks and manifest. I have been to see Free Mages about this, who each tell me that never before has there been an Izenian War Mage, only Elven War Mages. So I have gone to the Elves to discover what this means exactly, and how it will affect those around me. Please understand that when I left, I did so at a time when a simple outburst from me activated some of my simplistic spells merely on instinct. I have learned to control a few of those spells since my time away, and I have fallen in with Elven company. Ayvock is also with me, so if his father has not been informed of our whereabouts and purpose, I would ask you to inform him.
The nights here are chilly at times, but nothing compared to our weather back home. I travel with Ayvock as I said, but also with an Elven Ranger—a woman. But she is not just any woman father, she is Katrina Trueshot, the Princess of the Elven people from Orenty. It is a long story as to how we met, and how we fell into company, but that story matters not for now. We are trekking toward Elven lands, where
I hope to find answers about what it means to be a War Mage.
I am sorry that I had to leave in the manner that I did. Truly I tell you I was looking forward to trade school and becoming a Ranger. I fear however that the whole of Fengysha is now in peril, and perhaps I am called to a greater purpose than trade school. I hope that you both understand why I left, and also why I had to. As a War Mage I have natural enemies, and so where I go, trouble may follow. Since that is true I might warn you both that some might come looking for me in Akartha. I do not yet know who all of my enemies are, or even how mighty they might be. But if War Mages are called up only when Fengysha’s need is dire, then I pray that everyone back home be vigilant—tough times may lie ahead.
I hope to see you both soon in the days ahead. However I believe more realistically that I may be gone for some time. If so, try not to miss me as I will try not to miss home too much. I will write when I can,
Wolflen Darkmoon
Shamus folded the parchment as a tear rolled down his face. He stumbled slightly, feeling weak and drained as he read the letter from his son. He caught himself from falling though by reeling backwards and finding the counter top with his hands to stabilize himself. He could hardly believe what he read. As he stumbled slightly, he handed the note to his wife, Wolflen’s mother. She too read it, and then they set the letter atop of the first letter Wolflen had written. It had been more simple and less detailed, reading as follows:
Dear mom and dad…
