Still, Alvena turned the bouquet in her hands, satisfied. She nodded her head once in acknowledgement and turned.
“I am Sellemar,” the male offered her. His eyes shifted to the side, still seeming to feel guilty over his offending laugh. “I doubt you would need anything, but if you do, I will be at The Whistling Glade on the east end of town.”
She paused, glancing back at him. He was a bit arrogant, but… She smiled and nodded her head.
Then she spun round and quickly allowed herself to be enveloped into the crowd before something more could happen to her flowers.
*
The mansion of the El’adorium was grander than she had imagined. She had heard tell that Nilanis was the wealthiest male in the city, with perhaps the exception of the king, and yet the grandeur still surprised her. She stopped before the gates of the sprawling estate and held out the letter, but her eyes were cast away to the great marble walls beyond them.
One of the guards took the parchment and examined the seal briefly. “Enter,” he beckoned, pulling the gate open and snapping his fingers to draw her focus back.
Alvena took the envelope absentmindedly and passed through the silver gate to the base of a gently sloping hill. It was covered in dark green grass dotted with thin wildflowers that were orange, pink, and yellow in hue. Centered on the hill was a narrow pathway of white stone steps which led up to the double doors of the estate. She began the ascent carefully, holding her bouquet protectively that she might not ruin Hairem’s gift a second time—or rather, protectively so that someone else might not ruin Hairem’s gift a second time. Her mind flicked back briefly to the tall foreigner, but as she came to the top of the steps and extended her fist, his regal visage left her.
Her knuckles had hardly scraped the door when it swung open and two spindly elves stood before her. Did Ninalis have a pair of servants ordered to just hover about his estate’s doors? He must be obscenely wealthy indeed!
She held out the letter as she ogled the scrawny males intensely.
“Go straight into the dining hall and then turn right,” one of the males stated after examining the script. He shifted slightly as his gaze remained unbroken. “…Lady Ilsevel is in the Grand Hall.”
Alvena padded between them with a backwards glance and then turned her attention to the further luxury held by the El’adorium. ‘As rich as a king!’ she marveled. The wealth was scattered across the estate as far as she could see in a clutter of gold and marble and jade and some-weird-orange-material…! Alvena’s footsteps slowed and she turned about, shamelessly ogling the garish decorations in every direction.
But if she ever became as wealthy, she would have it better organized.
She passed down the long hallways into the dining hall. Here she could catch the faint whisper of voices from the right, in the direction of the Grand Hall, raised, but still indistinguishable at her distance. She skirted beneath the stone archway leading into a narrow hallway. It was made of grey stone and fixed with many arched glass windows revealing the lush greenery of the estate’s courtyard outside. A beautifully splendid chandelier hung from the middle of the hall and glittered with light from the countless crystals dangling from its holders. The light that leapt from their faceted surfaces scattered in a rainbow of colors across the hall and her fair flesh. She raised her arm in wonder. Why didn’t Hairem invest in such an exquisite object?!
“—et it be!”
Alvena paused, straining her ears, lowering her arm in attention. The voices were becoming more audible now. The Grand Hall was just beyond her.
“…you ask… impossible!”
“TRUST… Necessary!”
Alvena halted before the doors, feeling small beneath their majesty, and raised her small fist seeking a smooth place with which to safely knock.
“This… Lord Valdor… He is going to be under the king’s thumb. We all know it, Ilsevel!”
“Father. He is young. You are far more experienced. What could Lord Valdor possibly say that would surpass your knowledge and experience?”
“And what about sending soldiers to Darival?! Hairem went against the explicit vote of the council!”
“They were from his personal guard, were they not? And is Hairem not allowed to use the personal guard in any way for his defense?”
Alvena’s fist remained frozen in the air and she leaned attentively forward.
“Well, yes, but Darival is not for his—”
“Perhaps, Hairem felt that the dangers in Darival affected his own safety.”
“Ilsevel that is ludicrous.”
“Perhaps, Hairem felt the thakish may take their aggression southward.”
“Ilsevel now you are just pushing for—”
‘You don’t know what Hairem was thinking!’ Alvena thought resentfully toward the male voice.
“Father.”
It was silent for a moment. “Ilsevel…”
“Please, Father.”
There was silence again and Alvena desperately leaned closer. Was she missing something? Finally the male spoke, his voice soft, even at their proximity. “I will do this for you and Hairem, but that is all. You stretch even my limits thin.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Without even realizing it, there she had gone eavesdropping again! Alvena quickly knocked and stepped back. She didn’t know what sort of punishment she would receive outside the palace, but if Lardol had caught her, she would have felt the sting for weeks.
“I will get that,” Ilsevel offered. The door opened a moment later and Alvena found herself faced with an older, and inarguably far more beautiful, female.
‘So this is her…’ Alvena looked down at the flowers regretfully for a moment before she donned a forced smile and held them out with the letter. She bowed her head. ‘Hairem’s lady…’
The lady took them with a wide smile. “Thank you, my dear.” She pulled up the wax of the parchment and unfolded the letter slowly.
Alvena straightened. Should she wait? The lady hadn’t dismissed her… Alvena fidgeted impatiently as the lady paced back and forth as she read. It was an unfortunately long letter. How much did Hairem have to say?!
Ilsevel’s smile grew the farther down the page her eyes trailed. She looked back up after she had finished and a hint of pink rose to her cheeks. “Tell His Majesty that it is perfect and I shall see him then.”
Alvena felt a little hollow as she responded with a stiff curtsy.
And with that, she left. She traced her path back through the elaborate halls and out into the warm relief of the sun.
‘Ah, Alvena…’ She finally heaved a sigh to herself and gave a private shrug. Well, the lady was prettier. And she could talk. Nothing surprising, really, but her childish fantasy wilted a little.
She put a fist in her hand in a smack of self-rebuke. Nothing to do about it! She would go back and tell the king. ‘Lady Ilsevel better treat him well,’ she thought to herself defensively. Back through the streets, winding and weaving she went, until she finally returned to the cool halls of the palace and stood before the door to the king’s chambers.
She gave a light knock. The surface of this door was far more agreeable.
“Lardol, go away.”
She raised a brow. Surely Lardol did not hesitate to give the door a good pounding. She knocked lightly again.
Hairem sighed, as though the weakness of it all had pacified him. “Come in.”
Alvena opened the door a crack and popped her head into the room with, what she hoped, was a reassuring smile. ‘No Lardol here!’
The king was seated on a chair outside the balcony—it was a wonder he had heard her knock at all. “Oh, Alvena, come in! Welcome back.” He smiled and beckoned her in, his exasperated expression quickly switching to one of eager anticipation, but Alvena liked to imagine that it was merely because he was as excited to be free of Lardol as she was.
She closed the door behind her and moved to stand before him, admittedly eager to share her succ
ess in his request.
“So, what did Ilsevel do? Did she like them?”
Alvena sniffed her invisible bouquet and smiled.
“Wonderful!” the king alighted, much like an excited child. “And what did she say?”
Alvena found herself rolling her eyes at his behavior before she could stop herself. The king looked surprised.
“What? No? Or she didn’t like the letter? Do you think she liked the letter?” He leaned forward in the chair, eyes gazing at her face intensely.
Alvena blushed a little and shook her head. Then she nodded. Then nodded a second time, just for good measure.
“She liked it?”
She smiled and nodded again. Gods, were all males so insecure about a female’s affections? She would have found it even more amusing… if it weren’t Hairem who was portraying it.
“And she agreed to meet, I hope?”
Alvena nodded once more.
Hairem beamed with satisfaction. “Let me tell you another little secret.” He leaned forward and Alvena grew giddy at the proximity. “This lady is the one. Now don’t go telling anyone. Nothing is official yet. I have yet to make my proposition to her father, and there is still plenty of time for all that. But I must say, regrettably, that for all Lardol’s insufferable nagging, I will have to thank him. He nudged me into this—insisted I consider her.”
Alvena gave a smile, mimicking his elation.
Another thing she could hate Lardol for.
Chapter Eleven
“SHIELDS UP!” Jikun bellowed as he ducked down, his head low to the sour stench of the muddy ground. The ends of his hair dipped below the surface of the swamp and a persistent buzzing hung near his ears. A rain of arrows cascaded around him, bouncing off the soldiers’ raised shields.
“General. General!”
Jikun jerked his head around, but the male calling for him was indistinguishable in the chaos: fifty-five thousand soldiers and a swamp as far as the eye could see.
Five thousand were gone. They had fallen in the first week. Some of them would fight again. Others…
“GENERAL!”
A male fell to his left, an arrow protruding from his spasming neck.
Jikun stood and, as soon as he had twisted about, found the edge of a shield slammed into the side of his face. His feet flew out from under him and he splashed heavily into the thick muck around him.
“Jikun, gods damn you!” Navon growled, lowering his shield. “You almost had a shaft of wood through your skull!”
The soldiers around them knitted close together in order to protect their general as he lay in a blank daze. He could feel his cheek throbbing and a warm trickle slip down to the edge of his lips. Navon reached out, firmly yanking Jikun back to his feet.
“Thank you,” Jikun muttered, feeling the wet mud slide down his back, unnervingly aware that his concentration in the humidity was fractured by the delusions brought by the heat. He was not built like the creatures of the south.
He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth to clear the blood away and steadied himself on his captain. “How far ahead are they?”
“About a furlong,” Navon replied with a cough, wiping his plastered hair from his face. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple in a slow, meandering trail. Jikun noticed how his eyes focused slowly on the distance ahead of them. Perhaps the heat was getting to him as well. It was so god damn humid!
“We will never catch them in this damn swamp…” Jikun grunted as he trudged forward. The grey sludge filled his boots and weighed his legs like chains. For every foot they advanced, the centaurs pulled ahead several. Catching them off guard had been for naught—with their long legs, they kicked themselves free of the swamp’s pull and escaped through the foreign terrain in a way the elves were simply not built for. They were vastly more familiar with the land. “Madness is what this is,” Jikun growled. “SHIELDS UP!!”
Another wave of arrows fell about them, taking several soldiers with them.
“Our orders are to move them out of the phoenix’s territory… And they are moving,” Navon assured him, stumbling and falling forward. He was slow to put his hands out and landed with a splash.
“Watch yourself,” Jikun barked, his annoyance at his captain’s usual optimism abated by the fall. He pulled him sharply to his feet. “I will lose every one of my soldiers if this continues as it has been! How much farther does the swamp go on?”
“I just spoke with Julum a little while ago—another league in almost all directions,” Navon replied as he coughed hard again. He jerked slightly, recoiling from a shiver.
Jikun tried to focus his responsibility on the events around him: there were soldiers falling all about them—Navon would have to care for himself. “We will stop on the edge of the swamp for the night. Send word for the caravan to rendezvous with us there.”
“Yes, my lord,” the captain replied.
“SHIELDS UP!” Jikun bellowed. He could not hear Navon’s whispered magic over the shouts and screams of the soldiers around him, but he could see the elf’s pale lips moving rapidly. And then, with a little flash of light, a raven shot from his hands in wisps of black smoke that vanished into the sparse canopy overhead—a messenger spell, and the only one Jikun knew his captain possessed that did not have ties to necromancy.
“GENERAL!” came the shout yet again. But this time the fierce cry was aided with a hand on Jikun’s arm, jerking him to a halt before the scout. “General Jikun,” panted the elf, waiting until Jikun had turned his full attention to the male before continuing. “The cavalry has gone a day ahead. They say they can cut the centaurs off from the front. If we can continue to push them forward, they say that the horsemen will be surrounded by the morrow.”
Jikun withheld his own anticipation and calmly replied, “Tell them to—” But he was drowned out by the shouts of his captain:
“SHIELDS UP!”
“Tell them to—”
“Captain!”
Jikun turned sharply at the frantic tone of a soldier behind him, letting his words fall short.
Navon was doubled over, retching violently.
Jikun placed a hand on the Helven’s shoulder, his brow knitting sharply. He tried to maintain his calm mask even as alarm roiled inside him. He caught an archer beside him by the shoulder plate and twisted him about to face them. “Take the captain to the back lines. See that he is kept safe,” he commanded.
“No—” Navon gagged. “No, I will be fine…”
Jikun steadied him as he lurched in a pathetic attempt to move forward. “That is an order, captain,” he growled sternly.
The archer moved forward and took Navon by the arm, tugging at him gently. “Come, my lord,” he beckoned.
“I—”
“NAVON GET YOUR ASS TO THE BACK LINES,” Jikun bellowed. “NOW.”
He heard the captain fall silent instantly, his clammy jaw snapping closed.
“SHIELDS UP!” Jikun roared.
*
By the end of the week, half of the army lay retching in the plains of the centaurian horde. By the end of the following week, half of those soldiers were dead. The disease swept through Jikun’s army like a swift and terrible retribution from the gods.
Gods. Here the elves fought for the honor of one and she allowed her people to retch until their insides poured from their mouths.
Jikun paused, his hand resting on the entrance to the tent flap before him. He could hear the sounds of coughing all around him, weak and constant. A muddy scout drifted from his rest to return to his post in the fields outside the troops’ encampment, his legs dragging as he walked. In the distance, Jikun could see the horse lords moving about in the expanse beyond the army’s hill, just waiting for the elves’ will to break.
He shifted his hand on his blade. He did not want to see Navon go like the others had. Not to die retching in the foreign land of the horse beasts…
“Is that you, General?” came a hoarse voice from inside.
&nbs
p; Jikun started and quickly composed his face to one of unnatural calmness. He pushed the curtain aside and ducked beneath the low top. “Captain,” he greeted stoically as he stepped across the muddy earth and settled onto the stool on the right side of the bed made of furs and thin cotton sheets.
“Good to see you, General,” Navon whispered. The elf could barely talk—a few days ago, not at all. He watched Jikun situate himself with bloodshot, glazed eyes and a small, parted-lip smile.
“And you, Navon,” Jikun replied, leaning forward to squeeze the elf’s shoulder in comfort. In the humidity of the tiny enclosure, the air reeked of urine from the pits at the edge of the hill. “That stench just holds up in here, doesn’t it?” he muttered regrettably. “But you are looking better.”
The sick all had—before they had been seized one night by such violent retching that—
“You think so?” his friend laughed slightly, a frail, pitiful sort of laugh that made Jikun’s stomach twist. “I ate today. Just a little—but that is some improvement.” He rolled his head to the side to look directly at the tent flap. Sometimes, the breeze would catch it and, just for a moment, he could perhaps see the world outside. It was difficult to tell—the focus in his eyes seemed weak at best. “Tell me—what is going on with the battle?”
Battle? Or was it war now? They had met the centaurs now on numerous occasions outside the swamps. Jikun’s army had barricaded itself in on a steep hill just a league from the worst of the swamp lands. The position allowed them a clear view of the plains around them and the centaurs milling below. But the number of battles had decreased as more soldiers took ill. For a week now, there had been nothing but utter silence.
“Things are bleak,” he replied honestly. “I believe it is safe to say that we are on the defensive. With half of the army ill, I cannot move to find better ground and I do not have enough soldiers to fight them. As long as we are up here, however, the centaurs do not seem eager to make the dangerous trek uphill into our arrows.” ‘What few arrows that we have left…’ he added cynically to himself.
Kings or Pawns (Steps of Power 1) Page 19
