by AJ Ryder
“You are not of the Amber Realm, and you are not full-blooded...yet you know our customs,” the scout on the right mused while tossing his long, golden tresses over his shoulder. “From where do you hail, half-breed?”
“I hail from the Dawelaf Realm,” Liandrya answered truthfully while keeping her temper in check. While this was not the first time she had been looked down upon by a full-blooded elf, the sting of it never lessened. As though she needed any other reminder that Dorlyn and Vylkur would long outlive her.
“Ah, our kin to the east,” the scout on the left mused while raising an eyebrow that was every bit the same, rich mahogany as his long hair.
Liandrya nodded and did not even bat an eyelash when other scouts emerged from among the trees. She was not surprised by their sudden appearance, having sensed their presence from the very beginning. “I was raised among them since birth.”
“And what brings you here?” the first scout asked.
“A matter of life and death,” Liandrya answered truthfully while placing a hand pointedly upon her satchel. “I have in my possession an ancient relic that has been touched by a magic terrible and dark. I seek to cleanse it within the temple of Anfarwol. Will you please grant me access?”
The two scouts exchanged glances before looking to the others.
“Please, you must believe me,” Liandrya entreated. “I speak the truth.”
“Undoubtedly,” the second scout replied. “But the permission is not ours to grant...especially not after last night.”
“Last night?” Liandrya asked with feigned ignorance.
“Orcs and dark elves launched an attack upon our realm,” the first scout answered. “We beat them back, but our Lord has decreed that we increase our patrols in order to ensure the safety of our realm and its people. Any and all outsiders must be brought before the Lord, regardless of kinship.”
Liandrya slowly exhaled. It was not the audience with the Lord that worried her...not completely, in any case; rather, it was the increase in patrols that set her on edge. Anfarwol willing, Vylkur and Dorlyn would remain safe! While she doubted her loves would not dare to venture from the cave until her return, she had no way of knowing if any patrols would happen upon it and discover them! She would simply have to trust in her loves to keep themselves safe and out of sight...but that did not mean she did not offer up a silent prayer to Anfarwol.
“If that is indeed the case, then I humbly and desperately beseech you to take me to your Lord at once,” Liandrya entreated fervently.
The first scout regarded Liandrya silently for a few moments before giving a small nod at last and then looking to the rest of the patrolling party. “Back to your posts. Halmyr will take point,” he said with an indicative nod towards the scout who had been standing beside him. He then turned his gaze back towards Liandrya. “Follow me,” he said simply before turning on his heel and leading the way.
Liandrya quickly fell into step behind the elf and was forced to lengthen her stride in order to keep pace with his longer gait. “May I ask your name?”
The scout glanced over at the half-elf and raised an eyebrow. Though, to his credit, he slowed his pace when he saw that she was practically trotting to keep up with him. “Lymryn,” he answered. “Yourself?”
“Liandrya.”
“Liandrya,” Lymryn repeated softly as he continued leading the way towards the settlement. “A lovely name.”
“For a half-breed, you mean?” Liandrya asked more bitterly than she intended.
Lymryn frowned. “I apologize for my earlier rudeness. I have no excuse.”
“I suppose I should be used to it by now,” Liandrya muttered.
“Met with much ridicule, have you?” Lymryn asked.
“To say the least,” Liandrya replied dismissively. “It isn’t easy...not belonging anywhere, I mean. You might not understand the concept, but I assure you, it isn’t pleasant. In fact, it’s downright lonely.”
And it had been lonely.
As a half-elf being raised among elves, Liandrya had always felt out of place regardless of how much love her adoptive parents had showered upon her. Her growth rate paralleled that of a mortal until her twentieth year, at which point, it then slowed to match that of an elf. This had of course, put Liandrya in the awkward position of maturing at a faster rate than other elves her age while still being viewed as a child by those who were old enough for her to view as viable mates. Too young to be old, and too old to be young, her views and opinions were often dismissed by her elders; and those who were her literal age viewed Liandrya as an oddity for having the appearance and wants of an adult.
There had been one elf she had taken as a lover not long after leaving home. In fact, it had been he who had taken Liandrya’s virginity. For months, they would meet at regular intervals in a quiet corner of the woods for nights of passion and ecstasy, but Liandrya knew that it would never last. In point of fact, it had been Liandrya who had ended things between them; but, even so, she still remembered him fondly. After all, he had been a gentle and thorough lover who had introduced Liandrya to an entirely new world, and Liandrya would not find another of his ilk until meeting Dorlyn and Vylkur.
After all, mortals had proven to be vastly disappointing.
Liandrya had not had many lovers in her years of forging a life on her own after leaving her family and clan. In truth, she was uncomfortable by just how much her mortal lovers had fetishized her elven features. They had cared nothing for forming a genuine connection with her and building a life together. All that had truly mattered to them was the novelty of bedding an elf, and Liandrya had begun wondering if she would ever experience something more than the occasional tumble with a stranger.
Then, Liandrya had met Vylkur and Dorlyn…
And she had not felt alone since.
“You are awfully young to claim loneliness,” Lymryn mused as he led the way past two guards who were posted outside a massive gate.
Liandrya smiled wryly and ignored the curious stares she received. “Spoken like a man who has never once in his entire existence doubted his place in the world.”
Lymryn stopped in his tracks and turned to face Liandrya. “The way you talk, one would think you have had a long and hard life indeed,” he mildly scoffed while crossing his arms over his chest. “May I ask just how old you are?” he asked.
“Twenty-seven,” Liandrya answered.
Lymryn snorted softly. “You’re little more than a child, and yet you speak as though you know of the world. What could one of your limited years possibly know?”
Liandrya narrowed her eyes a little and drew herself up to her full height, regardless of her unintimidating stature. “I know a great deal more than I would care to,” she said while placing her hands on her hips and jutting out her chin. She was toe to toe with Lymryn, but she did not back down. “I have seen more than my fair share of the ugly underbelly of the world during my years as a mercenary. You think my weapons are merely for show? I know how to use them every bit as well as you, so don’t you dare dismiss me so callously,” she said while jabbing a finger into the elf’s chest. “I might be little more than a child by your lofty standards, but I assure you...I’m anything but.”
Lymryn’s jaw dropped, and he blinked in stark surprise. Clearly, he was unused to be spoken to in such a way. Whether the unfamiliarity dealt with women or half-elves, Liandrya was not entirely certain, but she was not about to back down.
Clearing his throat after closing his mouth, Lymryn slowly took a step back. “My apologies,” he said while holding his hands up a little in a sign of peace. “I meant no offense. Clearly, you are not a bumbling, inexperienced child trying to masquerade as an adult.” He slowly swept his evergreen gaze over Liandrya, and his gaze lingered on her round breasts and shapely hips. “Clearly,” he murmured almost under his breath.
Liandrya felt her skin crawl, but she carelessly tossed her ginger braid over her shoulder instead to mask her discomfort. “You were taking me to
your Lord,” she reminded pointedly while crossing her arms and hindering Lymryn’s view of her bosom. “Life and death situation, remember?”
Lymryn cleared his throat and blinked several times while giving a small shake of his head. “Yes, of course. This way,” he said as he began walking once more.
They continued in silence after that, and that suited Liandrya just fine. Any words Lymryn spoke would have distracted her from the beauty of the Amber Realm, and Liandrya wanted to enjoy the beauty while she could. More of a city than a clan settlement, the heart of the Amber Realm positively glittered with the way the sun shone against the white marble of the elegant columns that lined the pathways that were, themselves, made entirely of polished, semi-precious stones placed into intricate mosaic patterns. The fact that this was the realm that housed Anfarwol’s temple no doubt was the reason behind the pomp and circumstance, and Liandrya could not help but look at it all in wide-eyed awe.
Liandrya’s heart began racing as Lymryn led her to what she could only assume was the throne room, and she was forced to wipe her sweating palms on the legs of her trousers. The half-elf’s anxieties rose to a head as two guards opened the double doors to reveal a war room rather than the throne room Liandrya had expected. In the center of the large space was a long, oval table that had clearly been hewn from the trunk of a tree judging by the pattern of rings that were visible under the many maps that were laid out upon the smooth, polished surface.
Around the table, were gathered three men, all of whom were tall, beautiful, and clad in armor. The two on either side had hair as black as crow feathers, and the one standing in the center had locks of rich crimson cascading down his back and over his shoulders. Upon his head, he wore a golden crown made to look like twigs and leaves, and it brought out the golden highlights that naturally occurred within his hair. All three men looked up from the maps, and while the two dark-haired elves regarded the two visitors curiously, the corners of the Lord’s mouth turned up into the smallest of smiles before returning his attention back to the maps.
“Generals, I want double the patrols here and here,” the Lord said while tapping places on the maps. “They are out of the way, and our enemy will no doubt seek to exploit them.”
“As you wish, Lord Raeloun,” the general on the left said with a bow of his head.
“It shall be as you say, My Lord,” the general on the right concurred with a bow of his head before turning and striding from the room with a flutter of his cloak as his fellow general strode behind him.
“Lymryn,” Raeloun greeted even his amber gaze remained ever fixed upon Liandrya. “What brings you here?”
“Forgive the interruption, My Lord,” Lymryn said while raising an eyebrow quizzically. Raeloun’s attention was entirely focused upon the half-elf, and the expression on his ageless face was an odd combination of recognition, confusion, relief, and sadness. “I bring before you—”
“Liandrya Silvermoon of the Dawelaf Realm,” Raeloun interjected with his smile spreading over his lips. “Hello, again,” he added with guarded familiarity.
“Raeloun,” Liandrya answered with a small smile and a respectful bow of her head even as warm waves of nostalgia washed over her.
Lymryn looked back and forth between the two in confusion. “The two of you know each other?”
“We’ve met once or twice before,” Liandrya replied as her cheeks turned a light shade of pink as vivid memories of the two of them intimately entangled with one another floated through her mind.
“Oh, it was much more than once or twice,” Raeloun murmured as he drank in the sight of Liandrya like a man who had been long without water. He remembered only too well their passionate encounters that all stemmed from the very first night they had spent together in which Liandrya had gifted him with her virginity. Liandrya had once meant the world to Raeloun, and the moments he had spent with her had been some of the happiest of his thousand years of existence. Then, one day, Liandrya was simply gone without any trace or explanation. His smile faltered around the edges at that moment, and he cleared his throat. “Though, it has been seven years since we last saw each other,” he added somewhat tersely. “What brings you here to me now after all this time?”
“She wishes to visit the temple,” Lymryn answered before Liandrya could answer.
Annoyance crept into Raeloun’s face. “Thank you for answering for our guest,” he remarked pointedly to Lymryn who had the decency to avert his eyes sheepishly. “Why do you wish to visit the temple?” Raeloun asked with a softened expression as he slowly began moving around the table. “You have come at a most inopportune time, I’m afraid. We are dealing with the aftermath of an attack by orcs and dark elves.”
Liandrya sighed. “I’m afraid that was my fault.”
Raeloun raised a crimson eyebrow. “In what regard?”
Liandrya took a step forward and patted her satchel. “They were after me, because of what I carry.”
Raeloun crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a hip against the table. “And just what is it you carry with you?”
“An ancient relic that has been touch by a power most terrible and dark,” Liandrya answered. “I have been seeking to cleanse it since it came to be in my possession.” She sighed. “I have already been to the Temple of Dynol, and while the priestesses performed a cleansing ritual, they were not able to rid the relic of its dark taint...and I barely escaped with my life.”
“The temple was attacked?” Raeloun asked.
Liandrya nodded. “By gnolls. The warrior monks who guard the temple and I managed to defeat them, but only just,” she said while leaving Dorlyn and Vylkur out of the story. “They were undoubtedly hired by the one who hunts me, since she cannot go out in the daylight.”
Raeloun narrowed his eyes a little. “You have dealings with dark elves?”
Liandrya sighed. “I have dealings with anyone in Lehnos who is willing to pay for my skills and services. Lehnos has many dark elves living there because they wished to start new lives away from the murder and mayhem that plague the Under Realm. I didn’t think anything of a dark elf asking me for help retrieving what she claimed was a family heirloom.”
“Lehnos,” Raeloun mused as old feelings of heartache began rising up from where he had buried them. “Is that where you have been these past seven years?”
“Among other places, but yes...primarily,” Liandrya replied with a small shuffle of her feet before sighing. “I hardly think where I’ve been spending the past seven years matters in this instance, Raeloun. The bottom line is that this relic must be dealt with before the body count increases even more.”
Raeloun sighed and uncrossed his arms. “Let me see the relic.”
Liandrya blinked. “What? Why?”
“Because I wish to see what is so dangerous that you would bring chaos into my realm,” Raeloun replied evenly before tapping the table with his index finger. “Let me see it, now.”
Liandrya sighed and gave a small shale of her head before reluctantly pulling the box out of her satchel. “Alright, I’ll let you see the relic,” she said while closing the distance to the table and placing the box down atop it. “But you must promise me that you won’t touch it.”
Raeloun arched an eyebrow.
“Please, Raeloun,” Liandrya entreated softly. “I know you’re angry with me, and you have every right to be, but I beseech you to please trust me in this instance. Do not touch the relic.”
Raeloun regarded Liandrya silently for several moments before giving her a silent nod. He then carefully opened the box and recoiled immediately as his eyes widened upon seeing the contents within. “Lymryn, hurry to the temple immediately and instruct the Lodestar to ready the purification ritual. Why are you still standing there? Go now!”
Put it on.
Liandrya looked to her former lover bemusedly as Lymryn scrambled from the room. “You know what it is?” Again, she felt the odd stirring within her that called to her to don the mask. It was stronger
than before, but she once again resisted.
Put it on.
“Of course, I know what that atrocity is,” Raeloun replied while hurriedly slamming the box closed. “All Lords and Ladies know of the Mask of Essence. How else are we to ensure it can never harm those under our protection should it ever come to light?” He ran an agitated hand through his crimson locks. “Two eclipses in one month...I knew that couldn’t be a coincidence. We thought it to be a precursor to war, but this...this is much worse.”
“But, the High Priestess of Dynol didn’t know what it was,” Liandrya remarked, even as dread settled in her stomach upon recalling that the moon had been blacked out as if by magic when she had unearthed the mask.
“Unlike your mortal kin, the elves are not so quick to forget history, lest we be in danger of repeating it,” Raeloun retorted before sighing and gingerly rubbing his forehead. “Anfarwol’s mercy, what have you gotten yourself into, my little lark?”
