CHAPTER 2
Xavian waved his dagger around and stabbed at an imaginary dragon. His battle-cry filled the air as he somersaulted off the top of the wagon. Short and slender, Xavian had a mop of brown curly hair that invariably got into his eyes. His non-imposing physique aside, Xavian dreamed of fighting legendary battles and having his fellow elves speak of his exploits in hushed tones of reverence.
“Unhand that damsel, you beast!” Xavian pointed his knife at the large, sleeping wolf.
Jamben opened one eye and his tail thumped the ground in annoyance. Not amused by the young elf's antics, he rolled over and went back to sleep.
“I said unhand her or you shall suffer a most humiliating defeat!” Xavian went through a series of movements, pantomiming blocks with his dagger as he pirouetted away from an imaginary enemy's strikes.
“Careful there, Big Bad Barbarian,” said Zinna.
She had long legs for an elf. Her light brown hair, partially covered with a headband, fell all the way down to her waist. Her eyes were bright green and sparkled with mischief. Only two summers older than Xavian, she joked that they were centuries apart when it came to maturity.
“That dagger might hit your legs,” she laughed. “And then people will think that you cut yourself shaving.”
Xavian jumped back atop the wagon and swung the knife around.
How dare you mock Xavian the Brave! he said, puffing out his chest. I may come back and save you one day. Save the town of Graceonna and the entire tribe of elves. I will then gladly accept your tithings, your praise and your young damsels. One day. Yes, one day, I will save all of you. Just wait!
He somersaulted again from the top of the wagon and landed on his feet, swinging the dagger around. But he misjudged his momentum and fell face first into the dirt.
“Sorry, buddy.” Zinna howled with laughter. “But you have a loooong way to go.”
Xavian got up and dusted himself off. Then he looked to the left to make sure Kelroar didn't see him. He would never want to be embarrassed in front of his mentor. The man and warrior he had so much wanted to be like.
But Kelroar no longer stood in front of the church. Zinna noticed Xavian's concern and followed his eyeline to the empty street.
“Where did he go?”
“I think he went inside,” said Xavian. “You know. It is confidential stuff they're talking about.”
“Maybe he'll leave us,” Zinna said. “Why should he be burdened with two orphaned thieves.”
“He won't leave us. He's a man of his word. What he says, he does.”
“But he never says much.”
“He's probably talking about strategy, getting more information from the church elders. That's what adventurers do. Warriors don't go into the wilderness blind. Kelroar will figure out the best strategy, prepare and then complete the mission.”
“You talk about him as if he can do no wrong. He wants to go to the mountains. The Wilmorn Mountains, no less, and find some crazy ass cleric that has disappeared. Who cares? This tribe can do with one less holy man ranting and raving about Pegasin.”
“This is not just any cleric. It is Zanfire the Brazen.”
“I don’t believe in any of that stuff,” Zinna said.
“He has healed the sick, cured the blind, and made cripples get up and dance! And if Kelroar thinks he is worth finding and saving, so be it.”
“No man or elf has a direct line to the Gods. That includes Zanfire and whoever else.”
“I've heard him speak. His words touched my heart and stoked my warrior spirit. He inspired me to become a hero to the elves that I'm destined to be.”
Zinna stuck her finger in her mouth and pretended to gag.
A group of four teenagers, all dressed in ragged tunics came up to the wagon. They stroked the marble siding and marveled at the posh looking interior with silk cushions.
“You never seen a wagon before?” Zinna asked.
“Are you guys with Kelroar the Champion?” the smallest of the teens asked.
“Why yes. And you can talk to that guy to join his fan club.” Zinna nodded over at Xavian.
“You guys work for him?”
“We fight alongside him,” Xavian said, sticking his chest out. “Call it an apprenticeship.”
“Yeah? What's so special about you?”
“Kelroar is an excellent judge of character. He saw something in me that he saw in himself many years ago.”
One of the teens reached down and tried to pet the wolf. Jamben greeted the gesture with a guttural growl.
“Don't do that. Jamben doesn't like to be petted like a dog. He's a soldier on duty. You show him respect.” Xavian bowed in the direction of the wolf.
Zinna rolled her eyes.
“We heard Kelroar was half-man, half-wolf,” the smallest one asked. “We saw him walk into the church with the elders. Can't really tell from far away.”
“Can't tell what?” Zinna asked.
“If he has, you know, wolf qualities.”
“Your grasp on history is correct,” chimed in Xavian. “A sorcerer named Davroar conjured him up. Used a dead barbarian and a dead wolf and cast a spell to fuse their fighting spirits together. He wanted to create a master race of fighters. A tribe of warriors with the intelligence of man and the ferocity of a wolf. Or maybe it was the other way around. I forgot.”
Finally the biggest of the bunch chimed in: “So what, does his shit get stuck to his ass because of his fur?”
The four boys laughed until they saw Kelroar exit the church.
“Why don't you guys try asking him yourself?”
The teens scattered in different directions as they saw the large warrior trudging straight toward them.
“You shouldn't brag so much,” Zinna whispered. “Kelroar said to lay low, so we lay low. Here you are showing off every time you get an audience.”
“I can't help it. I have plenty to brag about. I was an orphan, a thief, a nobody. Now that I am with Kelroar, I am somebody. If it weren't for him, I'd be dead. And this whole village would be slaves under Dark Queen rule. Or maybe something worse. Maybe killed by dragons. Or captured by humans for use in a carnival. They'd throw us in pit with wild orcs and watch us get ripped apart for their entertainment.”
“I wish I was a part of his entertainment,” Zinna said as Kelroar approached with the cleric Ricmorn. Kelroar's muscular arms popped from under his sleeveless armor.
“He's a warrior and a champion,” Xavian said. “He's above that sort of thing.”
“No man is above this sort of thing,” Zinna offered as she lowered her blouse to show off her cleavage.
Xavian went into a mock stare.
“That's a weakness I'm working on myself,” he said as she punched him in the arm.
Ricmorn carried a large brown satchel and walked with a hitch in his step. A light blue hood covered his bald head and he did not have any eyebrows. His gray eyes peeked like slits from their puffy chambers as he appraised the young duo.
“Watch,” whispered Zinna as she anticipated what the two men would say to them. “We're going to have to go through the mountains of Wilmorn and rescue some half-baked cleric who has probably been eaten by dragons by now.”
“Sounds fun to me,” Xavian said. “I mean where else do you have to go? You can work in a tavern and slave over tables or you can have adventure!”
“Who do we have here?” Ricmorn extended his hand toward Xavian.
“Xavian the Brave”, said the young elf whose facial expression quickly changed from a smile to a frown as he felt the sweaty palm of the cleric.
“And what is this?” Ricmorn stared at Zinna’s breasts without shame.
“I'm Zinna,” she said, looking over at Xavian as if to say 'see what I mean?'
“Do exercise the utmost of caution,” said Ricmorn, snapping out of his lustful train of thought. “The mountains of Wilmorn are filled with all kinds of treachery and danger. Some are
legends and myth. Others are all too real. There are thieves. Orcs. Crazed hermits and sorcerers. But you are in good hands with Kelroar here.”
“Thank you,” Kelroar said.
“Inside you'll find various meats,” Ricmorn heaved the satchel onto the wagon. “Beef and boar. You have quite a trip ahead and you'll need plenty of nourishment. There is wild boar the further up you go and they should suffice nicely if you run out of food.”
Kelroar took his seat atop the wagon. He reached over and grasped the reins on the stallions.
Ricmorn turned his attention from the young people back to the barbarian.
“I pray that you find our brother. I pray that he is okay. The Lord Pegasin will bestow his blessings upon you.”
Kelroar looked to his young charges.
“Let's go,” he said.
The two teens climbed into the wagon. Kelroar snapped on the reins and the horses galloped forward.
“You will do the tribe of Kevfire proud!” Ricmorn waved goodbye.
Jamben jolted up, yawned, and followed the wagon.
The chalk colored castle looked like a tombstone in the sky. Tholan knew what it looked like from his nightmare. That is what unnerved him about this job. For all his warrior code and ethos, supernatural elements gave him pause because he had such limited exposure to it.
How could Ravalynn communicate with him telepathically? She appeared to him in a dream, telling him of the pain she saw in his eyes. A pain she understood.
He heard of the Dark Queen's legend. How she could find you in your thoughts. Expose secrets that you did not know you had.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” she said, wearing nothing but a snake around her neck. “Unless you fear pain.”
He awoke in a cold sweat.
“Magic,” he whispered to himself. “Damn it all to hell.”
Directions to her castle sat on his bedside table. The Dark Queen required his service.
Tholan found the quiet of the forest unsettling. There were no sounds of insects, birds, or other animals which would lessen his sense of foreboding. A haunting silence surrounded him. Even the wind had no noise as it brushed over the grass and leaves.
Tethering his horse to a pole, he approached the castle. The main gates were decorated with carvings of goblins attacking elves. Large torches fired up instantly as he stepped closer. The flames lit up knockers made of onyx stone. They were carved in the shape of a crow's head.
Tholan reached for the knocker but the gates opened on their own. He could feel someone watching him. He looked at the windows and saw only darkness.
An old lady appeared to greet him. Wearing all black with a veil over her face, she shuffled forward in small steps.
Tholan saw that her veil concealed a rotting travesty of warts and boils. At least one hundred summers old, the woman moved feebly but with purpose. Candlelight from the wall reflected in her eyes.
Eyes that had the patience of the dead.
“Tholan the Hunter?” Her voice rasped like sandpaper over stone.
“Of course.”
“The Dark Queen requires that you remove all weaponry before you enter her chambers. It is for her safety.”
“Unfortunately, I cannot comply,” he said. “Tholan does not unarm himself... for his own safety.”
He heard the sound of nails scraping on stone. There were two tiers in the castle foyer. Killtooths emerged on the second level, surrounding him. With yellow eyes full of malice, they looked ready to pounce with jaws filled with sharp teeth. They had lizard like wings attached from their elbows to their waist. Tholan counted twenty of them but he could take them all on if need be.
As long as he had his weapons.
“There's more of them,” the old lady said. “In case you're wondering.”
“I came here in good faith,” said Tholan. “From far away. Too bad we cannot do business.”
Tholan turned back around. Before he could take one step, the old lady appeared in front of him.
“The Dark Queen means you no disrespect,” she said. “But please reconsider. Fifty thousand gold pieces. It is just our rule. That no one be armed in her presence. We have had, shall we say, incidents.”
“Fifty thousand?” asked Tholan.
The old lady lifted up a satchel. She reached inside and dropped some of the coins to the floor.
The gold pieces shined in the darkness.
“You will have no incident here,” he said.
Tholan removed his sword from its sheath and a dagger from his boot, laying them on the ground.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“No,” he replied.
“Hold your arms out please.”
Tholan paused for a few seconds and then complied.
“Sorry, but we have to be sure.”
The old lady frisked his body with agonizing slowness. Her icy fingers moved across his belly, thighs and buttocks. He stiffened as he felt her scarred and calloused hands move across his groin.
“You are one built barbarian,” she hissed. “Ravalynn always had exquisite taste.”
Satisfied, she walked ahead of Tholan. He followed warily, keeping an eye on the Killtooths who were watching his every move. One of them spat in his direction. The others shrieked and hissed.
The old lady inserted a large skeleton key into the lock, turned it six times, then opened the door. She stepped aside as Tholan entered the private chamber. It had a large window in the back with a slab table in the center.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Tholan walked through the chamber listening to the echo of his boots. A large vase sat in the center of the room. Made of marble, it stood about seven feet tall.
“The biggest urn you've ever seen right?”
Ravalynn emerged from the darkness. She had the kind of body men often dream about but never see. Wearing a dark blue dress, her ample cleavage covered only by a necklace of marble pendants. Her jet black hair took on a purple hue when she stepped into the moonlight.
“I collected the ashes of my soldiers that were killed by the elves last summer. The elves of Kevfire. They came into my caves. Torched my creations.”
“You eat them for dinner,” Tholan said. “They are protecting themselves.”
“Whose side are you on?” Ravalynn said.
He felt her eyes penetrate into his thoughts. His soul.
“The side that pays me.”
“And you took your damn sweet time to get here. You were supposed to be here days ago.”
“There was a blizzard. I had to camp and wait it out. And I saw the end result of your last siege. Your creations devoured a group of missionaries. I can only guess they were of the Kevfire tribe.”
“Indeed,” the Dark Queen said. “And you will assist me in exterminating their race.”
When Elves Die : Episode One Page 2
