Elo’misce nodded. She turned on her heels and walked towards the cave’s exit, refusing eye contact with her people. Ultimately, she knew that they were all expendable in the face of a lofty notion like the eradication of both humans and dwarves in her country.
“We will send someone to contact you in the near future,” grr’Shaalg called after her through the dark. “…my lady.”
As the shadows ebbed at the mouth of the cave, the bloodcurdling shrieks of her captured elves barely reached the tips of her ears. She dusted the subterranean grime from her fine, diplomatic garb and left for Xorst.
With the burgeoning light, her feet found fresh resolve and renewed strength. Under Elo’misce’s guidance and solid elven leadership, Gleend would be purged.
***
As suddenly as ekerithia had come into their presence, he melted away, leaving Rashnir and Zeh-Ahbe’ with the incredible burden of knowledge regarding Kevin’s fate. Their leader would be brutally murdered if they did not somehow intervene.
Rashnir hurried back and began stuffing supplies into his pack. He flung a cloak around his shoulders as if he might depart at any moment. Kicking open his tent flap in such a hurry, he matched Zeh-Ahbe’ pace for pace.
“Don’t try to stop me,” Rashnir told the werewolf. “I’m going to rescue him.”
“Don’t you try to stop me,” Zeh-Ahbe’ retorted. A similar travel pack hung from his shoulders as well. “Somebody must stay here to lead the people.”
“I’m going. I’ve already made arrangements.”
Zeh-Ahbe’ feigned a hurt ego. “Well not with me? I thought I’d be the most qualified. Didn’t that even cross your mind?”
“As if I doubted you could be convinced to stay behind. This is Kevin, after all.”
The duo walked through the camp with an intent purpose. The rest of their company watched them, understanding some great task lay before them, but unaware what it was.
“You don’t think that we’re just being played, do you, Rashnir?”
He stopped mid-stride and gave it a moment's thought. “It’s possible. It’s very possible. But something in my gut tells me that this ekerithia creature is telling the truth… at least in regard to Kevin: he’s on his way to Babel.”
“Then what’s our plan?”
“Plan? Storm the gates of Babel and rip it from the sky if we have to—they have Kevin!” Rashnir bit his lip and grew more reasonable. “I don’t know. There is no plan, but it’s a long way to Briganik—I’m sure something will come to me before then. We’ll see if we can get some horses as soon as possible.”
Rashnir ducked inside a tent and Zeh-Ahbe’ followed him. Jibbin sat on the floor with two other children. They stacked blocks into towers and tipped them over with squeals of delight.
The warrior scooped the child up as he laughed. Rashnir squeezed him in a tight hug. “I’ve got to go away for a few days, Jibbin. I don’t know when I will be back.”
“Why must you go?”
“Some nasty, bad guys have kidnapped Kevin.”
“Kevin?” Jibbin snuggled in against Rashnir’s neck, squeezing against him. “No! You’ve got to save him,” he exclaimed. “You’re Rashnir. Nothing can stop you.”
“I certainly hope so.” He swept back a mop of Jibbin’s tousled hair and gave the boy a kiss on his forehead. “Be good. Mind Haisauce; he’ll watch you until I return.”
The child stood at the tent’s entry and watched as Rashnir and Zeh-Ahbe’ hastened to the edge of the encampment.
Sim-khaw’ stood in their path. “You’re leaving? Something that distant creature said has upset you?”
“A friend needs our help,” Rashnir said.
“Then let me accompany you,” Sim-khaw’ insisted.
Rashnir and Zeh-Ahbe’ traded hesitant looks. “We will only be gone a couple days,” the Ranger promised.
“But you will need assistance. Surely, you will need all that you can get.”
“Yes, but I’m sorry, Sim-khaw’. It is a matter of some secrecy and stealth. We really cannot take you with us. I’d really hoped to spend more time with you so we could answer all of your questions… to show you everything that you need to help you believe, but this is a matter of life and death to our friend.”
“Please, stay until we return,” Zeh-Ahbe’ called as he walked backwards. “Can you do that?”
Sim-khaw’ grimaced reluctantly, but he eventually nodded curtly.
Zeh-Ahbe’ and Rashnir strode west, into the night. They left behind a village of friends and one bewildered werewolf.
***
From his perch on a tree limb, Elo’wiind seethed anger, spitting curses between stating data for his subordinate to record. Watching the Vignan humans and their interloping rescuers through a telescopic lens was almost too much for the elven general.
“Bring me my qâsam!” he barked to the lieutenant that stood behind him. “My sister must hear of this.”
“Right away.” The lieutenant stuffed his list into a deep pocket and leapt thirty feet to the ground where he snatched his superior’s satchel. He returned to his place a few moments later where they spied their enemy from the broad branch.
Elo’wiind rummaged through the bag and pulled out a fistful of plush velvet. Unwrapping the heavy fabric, he exposed the seeing stone to the air and activated the gem. Only recently acquired, it had been his prized possession. Qâsamai were so rare, and he had gotten such a good price on the stones that he had to lie about its price to allay suspicions that he had stolen or killed for it.
After several unanswered attempts, the qâsam crystal finally linked to its mate.
“Elo’misce, what took you?” the general vented his frustrations with a rhetorical question.
“I have been rather preoccupied,” Elo'misce stated blandly. “If you have called me, things either went very well or disastrously so.”
“A route. A complete and total route,” he cursed in the eleven black tongue. “The Vignans were rescued by these antiluciferian heretics. They did not even number many, but they wielded a terrible power. Mostly, it was those headstrong dwarves that brought our downfall.
“The invaders wielded blades of flame and have formed an alliance with the werewolf clans. The beasts were massive, larger than my memory of them—it must be the Kaw-bade’ clan.”
“Calm yourself, brother. There is no army under the open sky that can defeat a properly prepared host of warrior elves. Continue monitoring the enemy; I will send you reinforcements, supplies, and a means to defeat them.
“Now tell me, Elo’wiind. What of the dwarven contingent that accompanied you?”
“Nothing. Completely destroyed. The idiots rushed ahead and ignored all sense of strategy. They broke ranks and found themselves inside the mouth of a dragon. Not one remains alive.”
Elo’misce spat a curse. “I must find a way to spin this somehow to our advantage on the council floor. We will need proof, however. Capture either a Vignan or a krist-chin to validate your report or Bwar will publicly skewer us, politically.”
Elo’wiind nodded his agreement and soothed the qâsam, quieting the signal. He wrapped the cloth back around the device and returned to his duties.
Very far away, a goblin worker grinned. The light waned from his spying qâsam. He let it sleep after a successful eavesdrop. His superiors would be pleased with the information he’d gleaned.
***
“I can feel their eyes on us,” Raz-aphf said to Rondhale.
The blacksmith nodded, squinting against the acrid smoke that bit his eyes. Granik continued to smolder; blackened structures stood as if weary fighters, dreading another wave of battle.
“So much death and loss,” Rondhale whispered under his breath as he surveyed the damaged village. He wrung his hands and thought of his brother.
The breeze held a deathly hallow and the sharp tang of smoke filled the air; Rondhale rubbed the soot taint from his nose
. “How can you see or smell any of them?”
“I don’t see or smell any of the attackers. I can feel them, though. Intuition. They are there.” Raz-aphf pointed to the distant trees. Elves are relentless when their pride is damaged.
The two turned back towards town. They had saved what they could.
“At least all the fires are out,” he told Raz-aphf as they walked to the town’s center where the Christians had planted their group. The only remaining well was there.
“That may be what worries me,” Raz-aphf replied.
Rondhale shot him a quizzical look.
“The people. Look at them.”
All around the streets of Vigna sat weary, soot-smeared residents. Their clothes were tattered and their eyes sank deeply… devoid of hope. They lay scattered like ragdolls dropped by some capricious child.
“We have to do something,” Rondhale agreed, walking adjacent to the lengthy line of Vignans waiting their turn at the central well. Water had become the most necessary supply.
“Well, that’s what we do,” the werewolf quipped. “We bring hope and help.”
With a sudden snap, the heavy, iron dowel in the well-house broke in two. The halves of the rod fell with their chains, clattering against the stone-reinforced walls and splashing into the water below.
The peoples’ resolve snapped as well. Dejected, the residents responded in their own ways. Some wandered away; others merely sat and slumped over, waiting for either a miracle or death to take them. Those who remained in line looked more like a funeral procession than anything else.
“I have something that can repair this,” Rondhale said. “Vignans!” he called out. “I am a blacksmith—I can fix this! Nobody will stay thirsty.” He jogged to where he kept his personal belongings and retrieved a long package.
Unwrapping the parcel near the well, he brandished a long war hammer, the weapon that had killed his brother months earlier. The hammer’s staff was made of a metal alloy, making it lighter and stronger than other, more common metals.
Raz-aphf eyed Rondhale as the blacksmith sized up the pole against the housing unit. It fit perfectly.
Rondhale returned the screwed up look. “I don’t know why I kept it. It may have been morose, but it’s exactly what we needed.”
The lycan nodded. “It’s perfect. Can you let it go, though?”
“Of course,” he replied, affixing a new chain and bucket. “Now let’s get these people some water.” Rondhale paused, “And hope.”
“That’s exactly what’s needed.”
***
Krimko slipped inside the door, not bothering to knock. He never knocked. Announcing himself wasn’t in his nature, he felt it beneath him. Krimko also secretly hoped to catch his contacts in situations that forced their loyalty to him and was always on the lookout for such scenarios.
Zilke placidly looked up from behind a desk. Hidden around a musty corner in the cellar office, the room was perfectly suited to goblins. Zilke’s face didn’t indicate surprise, but perhaps resentment. Krimko could never quite tell, goblins were hard for humans to read.
The sly Luciferian placed a heavy stack of parchments on the desk. “I'm here to instruct you on your new duties. You are being promoted to an advisory capacity.” Krimko did his best to hide any shades of resentment in his voice; thousands of years of religious, xenological discrimination was hard to give up so quickly. “You are essentially taking over my previous role while I advance to a more intriguing office.”
Zilke returned a steely stare. “I will aspire to the example you set,” he said while leafing through the regulatory guidelines that Krimko had drawn up for him.
“The duties of your office will be quite simple,” he started saying, indicating the papers. A faint pulsing light in the corner of the office interrupted the ranking mage.
Krimko arched a curious eyebrow. “You possess a qâsam? Answer it.”
“It is a personal artifact. The call is likely of a private nature.”
“My goblin language skills are rusty, albeit serviceable.” The human kept his beady eyes locked on the goblin.
Zilke met his gaze for an uneasy moment and then retrieved the qâsam. After activating it, another goblin revealed himself through the stone. They all looked the same to Krimko
[Report,] Zilke said in his native tongue.
[Insurrection, my priest. I was told to inform you so that you can have the rogue cultists in Gleend tracked.]
[Krist-chins in Gleend? Where?] Zilke glanced away from the qâsam and to his superior. Krimko’s full attention was on the stone.
[The town of Vigna. Krist-chins have taken it and fortified it against the elven and dwarven forces that are set against it. Human hostages are plentiful. Perhaps you can pass this information up the chain of command. Also, there has been sightings of heretics just south of the Gleendish border southwest of Vigna; Ninda hasn't committed any forces against it and it might be some time before they are even aware.]
[It is done.] Zilke assured him and severed the link. He turned to address Krimko, but the mage was pacing in deep thought.
“Yes, yes. This is perfect,” he muttered to himself. Krimko had forgotten any notions of possible disloyalty. “The team can be made ready on short notice. Not only will Gleendish relations be furthered, but we can wipe out a nest of heretics and test my team under real battle conditions.”
He paced and muttered for a few more moments. Finally, he stopped and turned to Zilke. “You have my instructions,” he confirmed with one hand on the door.
“Yes,” Zilke replied, gesturing to the sheaf of writings. “I am quite capable.”
“Good. May Lucifer guide you,” Krimko said flatly. “I have bigger things to accomplish.”
***
Elo’misce looked up as her doorman rapped the distinct “urgent” pattern on her entrance. The wooden aperture swung open and her informant stepped inside. The elf looked saddle-worn as if he’d ridden long and hard to reach her. Even slicked by sweat and dust of the road he was fair and handsome with hazel, far-seeing eyes; he fit her exact preferences.
Her eyes twinkled as she bid him in. The gateman closed the door behind them and the rider greedily poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher on her table.
“What news,” she demanded.
“Sprazik,” he sputtered between gulps. “It’s destroyed!”
“That news is a week old,” she chided.
“No! It was besieged again! I reported previously how Havara had hidden there after fleeing Xorst. His allies from Grinden protected him when they arrived, but now the city is gone!”
“Disappeared? Like magically invisible?”
“No! Razed, obliterated. Havara’s friends, these Krist-chins, have powerful enemies. An Arch-Mage arrived with his own army, plus a contingent of Jandish and Nindan soldiers.”
Elo’misce turned to hide her surprise and work through her thoughts. “The Luciferians have a genocidal hatred of these Krist-chins,” she muttered. “It must be more severe than even the racial divisions in Gleend.”
“The battle was like none I’ve ever seen. The magics wielded by both sides literally destroyed the landscape. Nothing more remains at Sprazik but a smoking, charred crater. All flesh inside the city was disintegrated when it erupted. The most important part of my news is that Havara is dead—he was in the city.”
She turned to her rugged spy. “Have you heard rumors that Havara had become one of these Krist-chins?”
Elo’misce was already sure of his answer. Perhaps she valued his opinion, but more likely, she subconsciously wanted to extend the conversation with her handsome asset.
He recognized her intent and the tips of his ears flushed when he nodded. “Yes. Everyone has heard that. His brother, Lo-Sonom, made a proclamation that he and his wives had each changed allegiance to this God of the Humans. It is logical that Havara joined them.”
Elo'misce nodded. “It's t
rue then, either in fact or by popular belief. Have the doorman get me my attaché.” She quickly drew up a note and sealed it with her signet ring; she had her servant dispatch a messenger to the Temple of Light.
“This is excellent news,” she told her spy. “You shall be rewarded greatly in my new empire.” Elo’misce snapped her fingers and three elvish guards seized the informant and shackled him.
“What is the meaning of this,” he demanded, shaking violently in his chains.
“It’s just a safety precaution,” she assured him. “I must detain you for a few days to make sure there are no information leaks. She shuddered to think of how the goblin shadow-king used alternative methods.
“Don’t worry,” she assured him, gently tracing his cheekbone with her forefinger. “I promised you a reward in due time and you have proved yourself as a valuable asset.” The elven politician smiled at him and licked her upper lip. “I promise you will enjoy your stay.”
Elo’misce turned to her guards and warned them. “Do not damage him. Detain him in my personal guest quarters. There is much to do immediately with this information, but I will come later to further… interrogate, our valued countryman…” She winked and trailed off, searching for a name.
“Bre,” he inserted for her while relaxed against his captors. “Bre. Scout First-Class of Lars.”
Elo’misce nodded. “I will see you as soon as my schedule clears, Bre of Lars.”
***
Havara awoke with a wheezing cough as if dust lined his esophagus. “Water,” he croaked through his thirst. The word felt like a blade unsheathing from his throat. With fuzzy vision, he scanned his surroundings.
He lay in a pile of rags near a small campfire; a wooden splint had been tied around his broken leg. He’d lived, so he surmised that friends must have found him. Then an elf stepped into view. Havara jumped to his good leg and fell over as his strength gave out.
“Havara! It’s me, Dri’Bu,” The elf called out as he ran to the King’s side. He was no young elf, but the first elves defied all aging. Dri’Bu offered him a jug.
Havara rolled over and gladly accepted the water. He sucked it in, coughing and spluttering, soaking his tattered clothes. He didn’t care.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 78
