“Would you sacrifice your life?”
Tarthur was silent.
“How about your son’s life?”
Knowledge suddenly seemed a lot less important. But this couldn’t be the end of it.
“No knowledge is worth harming even one hair on Alahim’s head.” Tarthur pondered a moment. “But how will we ever understand these mysteries?”
“We learn what we may from abnormal cases,” Zelin replied. “People who have lost one or more parts of their being can tell us a great deal. Tivu, for instance, has lost his body, yet his soul and mind are presumably intact. We may learn much from him. Yet, remember, these mysteries may have been unlocked by others. Anyone who would destroy the lives of many to further his own power certainly won’t hesitate to use that power for his own ends. Darhyn had this power, and any other would surely make a formidable enemy.”
“How can we defeat an enemy who has this advantage over us? Surely some will volunteer to let us experiment on them.”
“Surely they will,” Zelin said in a tone of voice that said rather than conceding Tarthur’s point, he was about to explain why it was irrelevant. “Surely some brave parents will come forward and volunteer their children when the children become just one more mouth to feed. Surely some noble man will convince his elderly father to let us destroy him and learn what we may before he becomes a burden on his son.”
“The Creator was wise to set good and evil to be things outside of man,” Zelin continued. “He gave us each a conscience so that we may orient ourselves. If morality is defined only by the individual, then the word loses all meaning.”
Tarthur agreed. He had copious amounts of experience in rationalizing his own behavior.
“Do you think Darhyn sees himself as evil?” Zelin didn’t wait for Tarthur’s reply. “No, he sees himself as doing what is necessary. One of the human mind’s most amazing traits is the ability to see whatever it chooses to do as right.”
“It doesn’t mean good is an abstract thing that doesn’t exist. It just means that sometimes…it can be very tiring defending it.”
Zelin seemed finished, and Tarthur didn’t reply further. Rather, he just nodded to show Zelin that he had heard, and stared again out of the back of the wagon, watching the dust kicked up by the wheels swirl until it settled back into the road when they had faded into the distance.
Chapter 2: An Old Friend and a New Enemy
She scrubbed hard, forcing the torgyu-wool brush back and forth, trying to dislodge the last remnants of potatoes and dried carrots that stubbornly clung to the pot. She usually let the pot soak right after removing the stew, but today they had eaten directly from the cast-iron vessel and then she had read to Alahim before putting him to bed. The massive glass tanks that held their household water had just run out, and Yvonne wanted to wait until Alahim was asleep before hauling up more water from the well. Several years ago, the mechanically inclined Derlin had fashioned a contraption that drew water from a nearby river and pooled it with rainwater caught on their roof. Their house had been quite the envy of Krendon until one of the gears opening the main distribution pipe had become stuck while they were away on their most recent trip. Yvonne looked wistfully at the empty water container. It amazed her how one could get so used to little conveniences that they were soon taken for granted. Yvonne thought about trying to repair the broken gear herself, but was afraid of making matters worse and flooding their whole house. The only mechanical object she was able to fix with anything approaching reliability was her crossbow, and that was only because she had taken it apart and reassembled it so many times.
She made less stew now that Tarthur had been gone for eight days. Yes, she counted the days until his return. She always had. It wasn’t although she couldn’t survive on her own; she had managed just fine before Tarthur had shown up. Still, she did miss him, and counting the days helped Yvonne imagine where he was at any particular moment. He should have just passed Tealsburg.
Yvonne was actually somewhat relieved, and she hoped that this quest would end successfully and give Tarthur back to her. Although she felt guilty for being jealous of Yan, sometimes she felt like her own husband wasn’t even hers anymore. She was excited for the possibilities that this new information represented, but why couldn’t she be happier for Tarthur?
Yvonne turned away from where she had been scrubbing and then gasped in shock and dropped the pot at her feet.
There was a figure standing there, looking at her.
How had this figure entered the room so silently? Yvonne, the former co-head of the Guild of Thieves, was not one who was accustomed to having people sneak up on her. In fact, she couldn’t remember it ever happening before.
This was no ordinary intruder.
The new figure was an elf maiden dressed in a blue tunic and pants, who had a short black cloak billowing down from her shoulders. An eerie sword traced the curve of her back and was fastened to her body by a leather thong that attached to both the hilt and point of the sword. Her sleeves were rolled up to the middle of her forearms to reveal a strange tattoo that looked like it had been hurriedly scratched by an insane artist. She had black hair with blue highlights combed over to one side of her face, which was both stunning and menacing. Her eyes were jet black, and her bright red, sensual lips broke into an eerie grin when she saw Yvonne’s reaction. Yvonne had no idea how long she had been there.
The figure slowly spoke. “Where is he?”
“Who?” Yvonne shot back her reply, almost before she had thought about it. Was she talking about Tarthur? Yvonne had enough wife-sense to know that this was exactly the kind of girl she did not want talking to her husband.
The dark elf just stood there, waiting for something. Suddenly, her grin broadened as she bolted for the stairs.
Yvonne stood puzzled, unsure who this stranger was and what she could want. Suddenly, the image of Alahim lying in his bed broke through her thoughts and she ran after the elf, calling ahead for Alahim to flee. She hoped he was still awake.
Yvonne lunged and caught the figure by the ankle as she was heading up the stairs. Yvonne pulled hard with both hands and caused the elf to fall on her face, but she caught herself and swung her other leg around to smack Yvonne in the chin. Yvonne cried out in pain, but didn’t let go. Instead, she pulled the assailant towards her and punched her hard in the thigh. The dark elf stopped scrambling up the stairs and turned back to face Yvonne. She pushed off the stairs and with one swift motion grabbed Yvonne’s arm and pulled it towards her while wrapping her legs around Yvonne’s neck to trap it in a triangle. She locked her left leg under her right knee and Yvonne could feel her carotid arteries constricting like she was caught in a vise that the dark elf was slowly cranking tighter. Her assailant’s strength was astounding. Yvonne launched a flurry of blows into the elf’s right leg, trying to cause the muscles to cramp and release their hold. However, she stopped when she realized that it was not working and that she was losing more and more precious energy.
She could feel her life draining away, choking on her own arm. She was so confused. Why was this happening? Her vision was beginning to grey around the edges. Detached, she barely saw the elf go to her belt and pull out a dagger….
“No!” The sound came from above them. Wakened by his mother’s frantic cries, Alahim had been watching the confrontation, not sure what was happening. It was obvious that his mom was in trouble. He threw a chair down the stairs and it hit the figure on the head, causing her to lose her grip on the dagger and on Yvonne. Yvonne tumbled backwards and gasped for air.
The dark elf was bounding up the stairs, but Alahim had already taken off for the window leading to the roof at the end of the hallway. Yvonne was dizzy and barely conscious. She grabbed the dagger and hurled it at the elf’s back. Her throw was weaker than usual and a bit off target, but it did strike the attacker’s leg and slice through part of the thigh before hitting the wall. The creature yelped in pain, but didn’t slow down.
Ra
ther than pursuing, Yvonne turned and ran out the door.
She knew where Alahim was going.
Although she had been against it at the time, Tarthur let Alahim and his friends play on their roof, because it wasn’t very high and there was a bush that they could jump onto when they wanted to get down. Now, she was glad he knew of the alternate escape route.
While running to meet him where she hoped he would jump, Yvonne began screaming for help. Everyone in Krendon knew each other, and the townspeople were close. It wasn’t like Tealsburg, where she had grown up. There, people were just as likely to ignore a cry for help because they were afraid that it was a trick or they were too busy. Soon she saw a few lights in the vicinity come on and some men stepped outside. “Raise the baron! There’s been an attack!” she called out franticly, hoping someone would hear her.
Rounding the side of the house, she saw Alahim out on the roof with the attacker close behind him. He jumped just as the dark elf reached her hands out, barely slipping through her fingers. Yvonne reached into the leafy bush, cracking the branches as she pulled Alahim out by the arm. The attacker jumped to the ground and landed in a crouch, then rushed for Yvonne again, this time drawing the sword that hung over her shoulder.
Yvonne paced backwards cautiously, keeping Alahim behind her. Her mother’s instinct had taken over now, making sure Alahim was unhurt was her only priority. The elf advanced and swung the blade down diagonally and then lunged straight ahead, but Yvonne leaned back and then stepped to the side as the cool steal passed within inches of her body. The elf’s sword moved strangely, starting out slow and then speeding up as it moved nearer to the target.
The aged blacksmith Darac, whom Tarthur had been apprenticed to long ago, was one of the first to hear Yvonne’s call for help. He raced towards the elf as she turned to face him. He was carrying his blacksmith’s hammer and a sword that he had hastily grabbed. Upon seeing Yvonne defenseless, he tossed the sword to her and faced the elf with his hammer.
She charged forward, swinging the sword horizontally for Darac’s left shoulder. He blocked the blow but she spun around and sliced across his right thigh. He brought his hammer back towards her but she parried the blow with her sword and then jabbed her blade into his chest right next to his shoulder. She turned to go at Yvonne again as Darac staggered backwards, but now two of the baron’s guards were closing in fast from the sides.
One swung his sword high and the other came in low from the opposite side. Just as Yvonne felt that there was no way the dark elf could escape, she threw her head down and jumped so that her horizontal body spun in the air between the two blades. Landing safely on her feet and hearing the clanging of more soldiers, she seemed to think better of continuing her attack. She sprinted for the edge of the forest, with the baron’s soldiers hot in pursuit.
Yvonne rushed to Darac, who was lying on the ground, badly injured but still alive. She ripped a piece of her dress and held it tightly against the wound in his chest, even as she felt his blood seeping out and oozing through her fingers. Alahim stood behind her silently.
Ylila, Darac’s wife, ran forward to her husband and cradled him in her arms. He was trying to speak to her, but she put her finger to his lips and kissed him softly. The old blacksmith was in pain, but he was trying not to show it. Had he been younger, he might have had a better chance, but he was now far past his prime. They were both crying now, and Yvonne had to turn away. She couldn’t watch anymore.
Baron Morty came up, out of breath. “I was just awoken. Are you alright? What transpired here?”
Still in shock, Yvonne pointed to Darac. “He needs a doctor.”
Morty nodded. “He’s already been summoned.” Krendon had no real doctors, but the barber had passable medical skills, and after being the town’s only medical authority for a good four decades, he was now very experienced.
Yvonne told Morty about the attacker, mentioning that she was looking for Tarthur. Yvonne doubted that she was working alone. Even if she were caught, Tarthur could still be in great danger. “We’ve got to get word to them,” Yvonne insisted. “And we’ve got to join them. I don’t feel safe keeping Alahim here.”
Morty thought for a second. “We have one Deguz pigeon, and several for Tealsburg and Breshen. That’s certainly the most expeditious method of communication.”
Yvonne agreed. Although pigeons were usually good, sometimes they were unreliable, and useless or dangerous if an enemy controlled the skies. The adult pigeons would return to where they were raised, and had been just one of the amazing discoveries that Captain Girn had made on his first voyage north. “I will write the messages myself, then. Can I borrow some of your guard to escort Alahim and me to Deguz?”
Yvonne knew it was a rather bold request. For all the baron knew, it could have been the town that was under attack and not simply Tarthur and his family. There had certainly been no love lost between Tarthur and Morty when they were younger. The two had been fierce rivals, although all that had changed shortly after the War of the Orb. Morty had developed a recurring case of massive vomiting that would last for a few hours. After living with this mysterious illness for several months, Tarthur had come in and offered to heal Morty with a powerful magic that he had recently mastered. It required Morty to stand outside for eight hours on the winter solstice wearing nothing but his undergarments, while the girls all walked by and laughed. Although he objected to the spell’s demands, eventually Morty gave in and was cured from that point onward. Tarthur and Morty had not become friends, but they had respected each other. When Baron Ercrilla had passed away four years ago, Tarthur had given Morty his blessing to assume control of Krendon.
It was somewhat of an odd situation. Tarthur had been promoted to Earl of the North, a title that was created for him so that he could be the direct supervisor of the Baron of Krendon. However, he had never really exercised his power and as long as Baron Ercrilla and Morty didn’t interfere in his affairs, he allowed them to run Krendon as they best saw fit. Technically, Yvonne could order Morty to loan her an escort, but asking was always preferable to ordering, as long as the request was granted.
“Certainly,” Morty said without hesitation. “What are you planning to do?”
“We must leave at first light to reach Tarthur in Deguz. I will send the pigeons out tonight.”
Morty pondered her request for a minute. “Are you sure that is wise? You will be vulnerable on the open road, and it will take you three weeks to get there, even if you hurry.”
Yvonne shrugged. “We seem to have no other options. Besides, the road is well-traveled and should be safe in the day time. I hope that your men will find this attacker and then we will be safer.” She tried to hide the hint of doubt in her voice from Baron Morty and Alahim. That elf woman had moved so quickly, so confidently.
Morty nodded, as if the matter was settled. “Well then, we would be wise to commence preparations. I will send a detachment of guards to your house for tonight, and I will supply a half-dozen more for your journey. I’ve promised some of them a trip to Tealsburg within the next year anyway.”
Yvonne thanked the baron and collected Alahim for the short trip back inside. Neither spoke until they were within the house and away from potential eavesdroppers.
“Who was that person?” Alahim talked softly, his voice quivering. Yvonne couldn’t tell if she detected a faint accusatory tone in his voice.
“I don’t know, dear. She was looking for your father. I don’t know who she was or what she was doing, but I promise you we will find out. But I do know that you saved your mom’s life tonight. Thank you.”
Alahim seemed unaffected by her praise. “Why did she have to come to us? It’s because of father, isn’t it?”
Yvonne reached out and brought him close. It was hard for children to understand the unfairness of life. Alahim was so different from his father. Whereas Tarthur would have loved to be born into a powerful family, Alahim dreaded it. He just wanted to grow up as an ordinary boy
and become an ordinary man. Some people were just born to greatness, and others were not. Yvonne was glad that everyone was different, however. It made life interesting.
She had tried to explain about their family to Alahim many times before, and although he understood on some level, Yvonne thought that Alahim really didn’t understand underneath. Everything had layers for the boy, and his favorite word was ‘why?’ Whenever she supplied an answer to his question, he always immediately wanted to know the why of the answer as well. Answers kept turning into questions over and over, until Yvonne would give up and tell Alahim to go ask his father. She was too tired for drawn out explanations that she knew wouldn’t satisfy him.
“I don’t know,” she said, pulling him even closer. It was going to be a long night.
***********************
The morning breeze gently stirred the forest, rustling through the leaves and slowly bending the branches as they swayed back and forth. Spring had arrived early. Multicolored flowers were bursting out of their buds, ready to seduce carriers of their pollen. The morning air was cool, but mild. Winter never really came to the heart of Breshen—it was always muted from the harshness of the world outside.
King Dalin stood outside his office, looking out on the elven city and contemplating the passage of time. The branches that offered him shelter moved outwards automatically as he walked out onto the balcony. He saw children playing with sticks and balls, and strained to remember the carefree times when he had played with Valena and Hano. Although he knew that they had happened, he could not remember them in the sense that he could not return to them in his mind. He could not feel as he had felt then. His life was too different now, too full of worries and projects. That his many projects were his own and not imposed on him from any outside source was no consolation.
Yet, as he surveyed the city, he knew that it was worth it. Upon assuming the elven throne, Dalin had worked tirelessly to modernize his city, and to open Breshen to the outside world. Many humans had glimpsed at least a part of the fabled tree city during their encampment in the War of the Orb, although, many had been fearful of entering. Dalin observed their fear of the unknown with great sadness. Some soldiers had died in battles later on, having been too afraid of the layers of lies and misconceptions surrounding a beautiful thing to peel them back and experience it first hand.
Lands of Daranor: Book 02 - ProphecyQuest Page 4
