by K. A. Lentz
All of a sudden Miach stopped speaking as the world around them began dramatically changing. The fabric of existence seemed to bend and pool oddly in front of the fire Miach stood tending. Like drops of paint streaming along a floor, the mass gathered light and color from everything nearby except its two onlookers. Reflections like shimmers on a pond, shapes and images coalesced and broke apart as the mass began growing in height. Miach tried to turn and say something to Thistle, yet an invisible power wrenched him forward. Facing the pool still amassing at his feet, the storm-slave’s eyes remained clenched as an unseen pull forced him down onto his knees. Miach once again tried turning to give his charge a look of apology, but his head was puppeted to face what the growth had become.
Commanding a fearful focus from her audience, a resplendent woman stood before them dressed like an empress. Gracing her otherwise beautiful face was a monstrous smile promising its recipients a villainess personality to go with her painfully unsettling grin. In keeping with this unspoken promise, the lady’s voice poured out like a poisonous river, “Good work slave, you have my prize. I had expected you sooner though, tisk-tisk!” She paused to glance around the camp before turning her attention back to Miach, renewed malice flowing forth as she continued, “How very kind of you to allow her to eat, but you need not imbecile. There is but one, just one, condition vital to my prize… she survives. Got it? You need not stop to rest either, humans only require water you dumb troglodyte. You are a pathetic slave, crippled by your pure heart! I curse existence for forcing me to create you!”
Pausing in her torrent of hatred, the woman looked over the camp once more, this time her gaze came to rest on Thistle. Turning with the menace of a tiger Miach’s master walked toward her, eyes burning with a deep crimson fire. Preceding each stately step the reaper took, reality appeared to bend and strain in an effort to accommodate her every movement. Overwhelmed by an instinct to run Thistle hastily backed away until a tree root snaked up and tripped her to the ground. Slowly following her escape, the woman smiled a broad, venomous grin in reaction to her prey’s fleeing response. The villain stood directly over her now, eyeing the poor girl as though she were livestock. Feeling much like the prized cow ready for slaughter, Thistle was a bit surprised as a rising tide of anger prepared to verbally lash out. Miach’s master sensed her feelings and sneered, “Relish these final… miserable moments you have human, you are in your last! You may have softened my pitifully humane slave to your side, but he cannot resist my pull forever. When you are finally brought before me I shall relish your overwhelming fear as you learn what plans I have in store for you!”
Her fury flaring in another direction, Lesdaeonna turned her attentions back to the immobile slave kneeling at her feet. Leaning down to his stony face, she said in an almost desperate tone, “And you! You will obey me in this. If you fail to heed me… I promise to make your existence more tortuous than you could ever imagine.”
Miach said nothing; he simply continued fearlessly staring forward. His master circled him twice before losing her patience entirely. The reaper’s eyes were alight with bright red anger as she roared, “DO YOU HEAR ME, SLAVE? I demand an ANSWER!”
Hanging his head in obvious defeat, Miach replied, “Yes, my Lady, I shall do as you bid and bring her straight to your presence.”
Giving off a dutiful air, he looked into her eyes and nodded his acceptance of her malevolent command. Pleased her slave had returned to his proper place, Lesdaeonna turned once more toward Thistle and laughed until it looked as though she might fall over then vanished in the blink of an eye. For a few seconds, the world waved and wobbled in the wake of its release. The moment everything felt normal once more, Miach burst from the spot as though freed from unseen shackles. Still shaken by the events of the day, Thistle whispered, “So that was her… your master, one o-of those… Reapers?”
Without uttering a word Miach remained a flurry of movement. Thistle felt a nasty rush of fear punch her square in the chest. Glancing around for escape routes then back at Miach, she bubbled with anger and worry over her future fate. Reminding her of its presence, Thistle’s stomach compelled her to plan some sustenance into the equation of her flight. With nothing but a damp sweater to serve as food transport, she quickly wrestled it off before neatly spreading the wet garment on the ground. Miach heard the commotion behind him and turned to see what she was doing. Striding over to her fire, he held up another, smaller grass woven bag and said in a leading tone, “Excellent, take this sack and fill it with as much as it will hold. Also, instead of making yourself smell of cooked prey, use one of the logs from the pile and hang it dry beside the fire for now. I’ll blow it dry before we leave.”
Feeling defensive and angry she decided to ignore him. Contemplating how best to approach the task, Thistle came to the simple conclusion she was going to have to take the meat spit and all. Moving around to one end of the contraption she reached for the hissing branch but Miach got there first. Rushing up to help, he grabbed the meaty stick and stuffed one end into the earth like a flagpole. Determined she make use of the bag instead of her clothing, he thrust it into her hand before hanging the sweater up to dry. Thistle responded in a voice dripping with controlled emotion, “Thanks, this is a great help; you’re right, much better than the sweater. Well, I suppose I should thank you as well for not starving me! I’m also a bit thirsty… now that the lady was kind enough to point it out.”
Miach had already returned to his task, hoping to hurry away, when her words fell between them. Halting all action, he dropped his hands to both sides and turned to look at her. Upset streaked like a shooting star across his face before returning to a more stoic expression. Releasing a hefty sigh, Miach said in an unyielding voice, “I am not rushing you to her as was requested. I shall not starve you and I will let you rest, she cannot rush me. My master is only able to force me to her biding if either I am in her actual presence—touching my crown rune—or previously bound by the will of her expressed command as she touched my crown rune. There was no specified time.”
Bending over slightly, he dropped the top of his head into view. Parting his hair he revealed a small swirling blue and purple rune resting on its crown. Straightening, he continued, “That was merely a reflection of her conjured to speak with us. In the presence of her image I am required to kneel, but that is all she can force upon me. Now please we must leave here, she will scout this area in a short while. My master is not a fool, she will check to see if I obeyed.”
Reassured by his words, Thistle regarded him with caution in her heart. At first she felt the need to interrogate his intent, but then thought better of it. Instead, she decided to trust him. Saying through a knot of dying caution, “Well okay then… umm, I… still… will need some water.”
Having finished explaining his intentions, Miach failed to miss a beat and quickly returned to work. He worked fast clearing the last remnants of meat from each spit, doused all the fires with heaps of dirt, and then returned to Thistle with her dry sweater in hand. Glancing down at the bag of bird meat she had clutched against her stomach, the skeptical storm-slave asked matter-of-factly, “Do you have enough to sustain you?”
Not expecting a question she answered through broken speech, “Umm, yes… I think there is, well… plenty here for tonight and tomorrow. I would say…” Returning the topic full-circle, Thistle renewed her request on more pressing matters, “Again I must stress water is an issue here. Any kind of assurance on that front would be of great help to my current psyche.”
Still not responding to her comment, Miach quickly wrestled the bag from her grip and stuffed it into the backpack atop others of its kind. Looking like the cautious teacher he took a deep breath and said in a tone to match, “I will do more later but for now, I can only provide you with meager satisfaction. Hold out your hands, like this… as if a cup.”
Thistle thought his request a little silly, but didn’t argue as she held up her hands. Cupping his own above hers like an umbre
lla, Miach’s rune light illuminated the small clearing once more. In the bright, purple-blue glow he was giving off, she could see the air between them condensing like a strange, magical fog. Gathering around both sets of outstretched arms, the mist snaked down each length into a thick cloud hovering between the pair’s cupped hands. Erupting as if a mighty monsoon, the tiny thunderhead rained water down onto her waiting palms. Miach smiled at her obvious wonder and amazement as she maneuvered to get a better look at the whole event. Caught in the throes of curiosity, Thistle’s makeshift cup started to leak through every available gap before she looked down and hastily tasted a sip. Feeling as though she had gone days without a drink, she ignored the water’s mild undercurrent of chicken flavor and gulped down as much as her hands could hold. Miach obligingly filled her cup two more times before insisting they move off to yet another camp.
Lacking solid food, Thistle’s stomach sloshed like a full water-jug as she donned the backpack and climbed piggyback aboard Miach. Moments later they faded from the gaze of their lone observer glaring from her unseen vantage point. No longer disguising herself as an ordinary patch of dirt, Lesdaeonna reformed her regal appearance to an audience of none. Seething with silent rage her eyes burned a fiery blood-red at the core, her face still and humorless. Hissing in a barely audible whisper she cursed, “Why? Why did he have to be a pure one?! I will torture them both for millennia if this fails!” Turning to an invisible spectator, Lesdaeonna acknowledged the creature’s existence as she barked, “Go after him slave… NOW! Make sure my prize finds its way here. You stand fool when you should be gone!”
Chapter Six:
Unexpected Meetings
Varmount was a sleepy little farming hamlet boasting a large, stone keep towering high above a cluster of small, wooden buildings. Built eons ago, the village’s commanding structure had become a rallying point for every hearth and home within fifty miles, not to mention a vital link in the supply chain feeding their neighboring battlefront. Chosen for its location, the quiet settlement strategically sat along the border of vast prairielands stretching far to the south and dense forests blanketing a lone hill to the north. Along the threshold of the village’s grassy gateway roamed a robust herd of cattle grazing in a golden ocean of late-season grass.
Kaiyssa trailed behind Tahlan as they created a crowd of onlookers whose curious gazes followed them through the city’s marketplace. Overtired from a long journey on foot, the pair looked forward to a few days rest before they were scheduled to meet up with Megoth. Barely a week after his mate’s death the bereaved griffon had decided to temporarily bid the small party farewell, intent on returning home with the tale of Shresha’s demise and his resolute desire to assist the elves. In Megoth’s absence the couple had been forced to push themselves hard through harsh terrain hoping to avoid a plethora of dangers lurking in the wilds. After enduring two weeks of this grueling pace, running through the days and many a night all while eating little, both elves were ready to stop and enjoy the few comforts Varmount had to offer.
Exhausted, Tahlan and Kaiyssa ascended the keep steps trumping their personal needs for the council’s quest. Contrary to normal customs surrounding commanding structures of its kind, no sentinel stood watch over the walnut hued double-doors leading to the keep’s interior. Without an invitation both elves pushed aside each door and passed into the dim light within. Once inside, the building’s regal interior lived up to the expectations of a noble defensive structure. Dark wanes-coating trimmed the bottom half of each stony wall boldly peeking from behind a covering of faded blue tapestries. Lighting the stanch interior were bold rays of sunlight piercing through the keep’s slender windows and illuminating a low lying haze clinging to the air.
Kaiyssa and Tahlan glanced at one another before yelling a polite hello. As they patiently waited an annoying tickle began harassing the back of their throats causing each to erupt in small, errant coughs. Fearing no one home Tahlan robustly called out once more. A few rooms back there was a soft snort and the rustle of someone hastily rising from a rocking chair; a slight groan during the process denoted its owner as an elderly woman. A slow, but steady pace of footsteps maintained down an unseen hall until their maker finally rounded into view. The old woman smiled hospitably as she advanced on the elvish couple. Shorter by half, she stopped at the base of the lanky pair and tipped her head back to smile up at them.
Quickly exchanging another look with Kaiyssa, Tahlan coughed, cleared his throat, and began to address the lady of the house, “Hello, fair Mistress. We have come to seek an audience with your Magistrate by order of our King.”
A broad, toothy smile hoisted the woman’s many laugh lines while setting both eyes behind the horizons of her rounded cheeks. In a voice ladled with genuine hospitality she said, “My, my do you elves speak fancy. I’m sorry it’s been almost twenty years since I’ve seen your kind. Well, I guess you’ll be needing to know where he is. I can help with that.”
Without pausing for a response she continued answering her own questions shortly after asking, “Now last I saw, he was heading out into the fields wanting to talk to our livestock handler, Hasir. Have you two been setup with a place to stay for the night? I suppose not, well, let me see what I can do to get you some beds. I doubt you’ve eaten a proper meal too, so I’ll have that sent over after your meeting with Joel. OH goodness me, I forgot to tell you which field… it’s the northwest field. He’ll likely be in the building hiding in the second clump of trees… along the west side. Now off you go.”
Tahlan and Kaiyssa stood for a moment enjoying the spirit of this quirky woman. It was a rare treat to meet one such as her. Most races dealt with elves quickly and soberly, acting as if the passionate race enjoyed a somber life and should to be treated accordingly. With heartfelt smiles and respectful bows, Kaiyssa and Tahlan thanked the lady for her kindness and headed off to find the Magistrate.
A swift sprint through town and the duo were soon approaching the second clump of trees as directed. Burrowed in the middle of the grove was a small house peeking from behind a large barn. Turf mounding up every visible side, the log home appeared as though the ground had begun eating it. Beside the slowly disappearing cottage, a freestanding barn shined with the air of having been recently built. Deep in conversation, two men stood within the gaping threshold of the giant outbuilding. Neither man heard the elves approach and so both were startled when the newcomers jogged into view. Regaining his manners, one of the men straightened to full height, rubbed flat the front of his waistcoat, and then extended a welcoming hand betrayed by his wavering smile.
Tahlan had not spent much time mingling with humans, and as such was still uncertain when it came to this strange custom. Serving as a healer to many human battlefronts over the years, Kaiyssa was not shy and quickly circled around her mate to shake the outstretched hand with a smile. Mustering his courage, the man asked, “So what can I do for you folks.” Standing ever more proud, he added in an official tone, “I’m the Magistrate of this province; my name is Joel.”
Tahlan looked from one human to the other before resting his eyes on Joel and saying, “We have been sent by our King with the express command to report to the battlefront of Reaper Gorlehteal; in aid against his cooperation with fellow Reaper Lesdaeonna. My king bid me to speak with you first, before we continued on to the front encampment.”
Having never had an elf sent to him for any reason, the bewildered magistrate replied in a voice filled with uncertainty, “Uhh, okay, umm well, it’s not so much me you want to talk to as my captain of the guard. He can inform you on anything you need to know.”
Joel turned to his friend, but was forced to gain the man’s attention as he stood awestruck gaping at the elves, “Hasir… Hasir, fetch me a piece of parchment and some ink?”
Hasir stared at Joel, lost for a few moments, as his mind replayed what had just been said. Comprehension suddenly invaded the man’s features as he ran to the house for Joel’s request. Disappearing for
a minute or two, Hasir soon emerged with parchment and quill gripped like a lifeline in each hand. Hurriedly he handed them over to Joel. Once again recruiting the aid of his friend in the form of a desk, the magistrate sloppily dipped the quill into the open ink bottle and hastily wrote something on the scroll. Rolling it up, he handed it over directing, “Give this to my captain, he’ll do what he can to help you. Oh… uh, he’s in the training fields this time of day… just south into the plains. Also, if you need lodgings for the night, please speak with my wife at the keep, she’ll get you settled.”
Tahlan and Kaiyssa thanked the men for their help, bowed, and turned to start off for the training fields. The pair had nearly reached the far side of Hasir’s pasture when Joel came jogging after them, panting out words as he waved, “Please… wait for… a minute.”
Closing the last few steps between them the elderly man was forced to stop and calm his labored breathing, preventing even broken speech. Following another few moments pause, Joel explained his request in a less taxed voice, “I’m so sorry. My captain is away visiting his parents in the northeastern forest… it’s about half a day’s ride from here. He isn’t expected to return for about a week now. If you don’t wanna wait, I can have Hasir lead you to their cottage this very afternoon.”
Tahlan paused to consider the options, yet it was Kaiyssa who didn’t hesitate to express what she knew her mate wanted, “We are glad of your offer and will gratefully take it, good Sir. Though, I must thank your kind wife before we go.”
Relieved over their acceptance, Joel rushed out, “No problem, I’ll go and speak with Hasir. Meet me here—at the barn—in an hour’s time. One word of caution, I know my wife won’t let you go without feeding you something.”
As Joel started to leave Tahlan stopped him with a warning of his own, “Good Sir, I feel compelled to warn you of our companion due to arrive at the southern border of town within a couple days’ time. He is a lanius griffon, and should only be approached by yourself or another of wise years. Tell him where we have gone and to meet us there.”
