by Peter Plasse
“Go ahead!” she snapped. “Tell me again how you intend to winter here with the Gnomes until the weather is warm enough for them to travel. Look, this war, this subjugation of the Gnomes, this entire mess means nothing to me. Do you hear me? Nothing. It has nothing to do with us. It’s their problem, not ours. Our problem is finding Stephanie and somehow getting away from this place. That’s it. End of discussion.”
“I agree,” he said. “I agree that the problems of this world are not ours. And I also agree that the only thing that matters, the absolute bottom line, is locating Stephanie and somehow figuring a way off of this world and back to ours. But the way I see it … ”
“Never mind the way you see it. The way you see it is wrong. We’re leaving, as soon as the sun comes up. Well, I’m leaving anyway. No question. You do what you want.”
Blake cleared his throat. “How many times have I heard you tell the kids that emotions are not problem solving tools?” he asked. “A million maybe? So right now, I think it would serve us best if you stuck to your own rule. Jessica, this is a serious problem we have here. First of all, we have absolutely no idea where she is. None. And this is not a state park. This is an entire planet. And second, the world is at war! War, remember? We are two tiny fleas on the back of an elephant. We leave the company of the Gnomes, and we won’t last more than a few days. The Trolls are hunting down the Humans, Elves, and Dwarves like rabbits and exterminating them on sight. We have no chance of finding her with the split-at-dawn approach. Could you and I alone survive in the wilds if we eliminated the war situation? No question. But the entire point of what we do now has to be in the interests of locating the whereabouts of Stephanie. Now, Captain Pilrick … ”
“Captain Pilrick!” she shouted. “Captain Pilrick and his whole squad can go to Hades for all I care! If you had not operated on his eye and kept him from losing it, which he would have, and most likely died, by the way, we would have been cooked and eaten in a couple of days. Like we were stew meat. Can you believe that? Intelligent creatures torturing and eating other intelligent creatures … ” Her voice trailed off. All of the arguing was wearing her out.
“Captain Pilrick says he will help us to locate Stephanie. We can travel with them under the guise of being their prisoners. This is their world, Jess. Do you really think we can just up and leave and search an entire planet in the middle of a war, where we are public enemy number one, and find her? We would be Troll-food in a matter of days. Come on now. Think about it. It’s not your intelligence that is talking here. It’s your frustration at our not being able to accomplish the goal, and all of your yelling comes down to one simple thought: You love our child, and the yelling is all about the fact that you can’t do anything about finding her right now.”
She didn’t say anything for a minute.
“I’m going to check on the Gnomes,” he said. “We absolutely must keep the fire going.”
He pulled back the flap of the tent, and a bitter winter wind blasted him in the face as soon as he stepped outside. The sleet stung like being bitten by a hundred bees as he lowered his face against the icy assault. He crossed over to the crude cabin he and Jessica had erected for their captors. Knowing there was no way they would survive the winter with only tents protecting them, they had constructed a twelve by twelve cabin, complete with a slant roof and, most importantly, a fireplace. For insulation they had had to use a mud and leaf concoction that needed tending several times a day to prevent the air leaks and the subsequent invasion of the cold.
In spite of their massive efforts on behalf of the ones that would have been perfectly content to turn them over to the Trolls for dinner, the Gnomes were all in a state of near-hibernation. Being cold-blooded, their muscles stopped working when it got as cold as this, and their minds went into a semi-stuporous state. Without the shelter built by the Strongs they would have been dead days ago.
Blake threw open the door and entered the cabin. The Gnomes were exactly as he had left them hours ago. None had moved an inch. His “discussion” with Jessica had taken far longer than he had wanted, and he knew if he didn’t get the fire back up soon, someone was going to die. He added some kindling and fanned the coals to flame. Then he added several larger pieces and continued to fan it until it was roaring. The temperature in the crude structure came up quickly, and the Gnomes began to stir.
“Can Gall help?” he asked Blake.
“Yes, you can,” he said. “You can keep the fire going. Let it burn down for a little while and then add pieces of wood about this size, four or five of them. Then add two or three big ones. Now don’t get too close, or you’ll get burned.”
“Gall knows how to tend a fire,” he said. “Gall grew up in a kitchen. Gall has tended many, many fires.”
“That’s good, Gall,” said Blake. “I’m going out now to gather more wood. Make sure the others eat something, and drink some water. Can you be sure to keep the fire going until I get back?”
“Yes,” he said, “Gall will keep your fire going. Gall is good at fire-tending.”
Crossing the room, he went to step over what he thought was a sleeping Gnome, and Jebwickett reached up, grabbing Blake’s foot and causing him to stumble and twist his ankle.
He sat on the floor, dumbfounded. Rubbing his throbbing ankle, he growled, “Why did you do that?” through gritted teeth. “I was going out to gather some wood to keep your sorry butt alive, and maybe try and get you some food, and this is how you repay me? What’s up with that?”
Jebwickett kept silent, his large, green, unblinking eyes studying Blake’s face.
Blake leaned over him and put his own face inches away. “Listen, and listen well. If you ever do anything like that again, I will kill you immediately. Do you understand me?”
Again he refused to speak.
As Blake limped out of the cabin, he was smiling.
Rolan Fairman, King of the Humans, Elves, and Dwarves, sat with Singular Night, Emperor of the Gnomes, in Elsie’s cabin by Round Lake in the heartland of the nation of Vultura.
Rolan had called for a meeting of the entire leadership, but wanted to meet with the Emperor alone for a short time before the others arrived. Other than the social pleasantries they had exchanged when Rolan first stepped through the front door, neither had spoken a word for several minutes, each merely sipping silently from the mugs of Elsie’s wonderful tea.
“Good tea,” said Rolan.
“Indeed,” said Singular. “I’ll be sure to pass on your compliment to Elsie.”
“Please do,” said Rolan.
The Gnome leader waited for his next utterance. When none was forthcoming, he waited a while longer. Finally, taking his last sip, the Ravenwild King spoke. “What is it you need from me?”
“A weighty question,” said Singular, with a slight smile. “But now that you have asked … ”
He stood and went to the highly polished table at which they had all eaten the night before. Crossing around to the back, he slid open a large drawer. From it he removed a folded map, which he unfolded on the tabletop, placing several burning candles around it to illuminate it properly. The King joined him on the other side.
“This,” said Singular, “is a map of my nation. We are approximately here.” He pointed to Round Lake with a dagger that he had slipped from its sheath. “This,” he continued, “is King’s Port. It’s a fishing village, far enough removed from the border of the Agden Forest so that those pesky Agden Wolves have never been much of a problem, yet close enough, via the Emperor’s Highway, to our capital to provide for the movement of a large amount of troops in a hurry should the need ever arise. And this,” he pointed to another faint line that ran roughly parallel to the Emperor’s Highway, “is what used to be the thoroughfare between King’s Port and the cities of Soledad, here, Kohansk, here, and on up to Vultura. Since the completion of the Emperor’s Highway, we have always referred to it as the Old Road. My scouts tell me that it does not appear the Trolls have discovered it yet, l
et alone patrol it in any significant way. You will notice that here, to the south of Soledad, it forks, the one fork headed north, while this one proceeds directly to the east across the flatlands all the way to the border that separates our two lands.
“The point is, I believe we could move a large assault force from anywhere in your country that could amass here,” he indicated where the Old Road ended at the western border of Ravenwild, “to the outskirts of King’s Port, undetected, for the purpose of attacking the several battalions of Trolls that occupy the region.”
“And what would be the purpose of such an attack?” asked Rolan, with raised eyebrows, “other than to hopelessly trap our soldiers deep within your country. We would be impossibly flanked to the west by the Western Sea, to the north by the majority of the Troll’s occupying army, and to the south by the Agden River.” He folded his arms. “I must tell you that Captain Dodson, my Minister of Planning and Escapes, will be sure to question the wisdom of such a plan.” He looked up to see if perhaps Borok had entered the room without him noticing.
“Well,” said the Gnome Emperor, “that is where it gets genuinely interesting. What would you say if I told you that there has been a plan in place for years now to remove the Western Sea as not only a barrier to escape, but as a barrier at all?”
“Go on.”
Elsie appeared on the far side of the room without a sound, neither of them aware of her presence, causing each to start slightly when she said, “Good morning, Your Highnesses,” in a cheery voice. “I see you are both up early.”
Singular smiled broadly and said, “Good morning, Elsie,” crossing the small room to plant a kiss on her cheek. “King Fairman was just mentioning how delicious he finds your tea.”
Elsie smiled in turn and said, “Why thank you, Your Majesty. Would you like some more?”
“Good morning. If it would not be too much trouble, thank you.”
“Not at all. I shall be right back. I thought we would have the meeting and breakfast at the same time, if that’s all right. I know there is much to prepare for, and that way we could get both done at once.”
“That sounds fine, Elsie. Thank you,” said Singular.
“Yes,” agreed Rolan. “Thank you.”
She smiled and left by the back door, which creaked in both the opening and closing.
Singular recrossed the room to the table where Rolan continued to stare at the map. “Bound by the covenant of trust to which we all swore an oath last night,” he said, “you should know that the remaining leadership of my nation, following the murder of my father, vowed then and there to work for as long as it took to remove the Trolls from our land and restore the sovereignty of the kingdom to what it was before we were conquered by those heathens. Well, those in the south at least. The clans in the north, because of the vast amount of blood spilt in the perpetual border disputes between our two nations, will require some convincing. But before we get to that, let me finish the discussion about the situation in King’s Port.”
He pointed again with his dagger to an area south of the city. “Here,” he said, “lies the whole key.
“Since the death of my father, those loyal to him have been constructing a large boat, something they call a ship, capable of carrying two hundred Gnomes, maybe more, and twice that many if they traveled without provisions, anywhere they might want to go upon the Western Sea. Or on any body of water large or deep enough I should say, to accommodate the displacement of the hull in the water beneath it and prevent the hull from catching on the bottom below it, of course. With it, and more like it, we could venture anywhere we wanted to go and remain ever safe from attack by the Trolls.
“Think of it, King, entire battalions, or towns for that matter, going wherever they wanted with complete immunity to the Troll forces. I imagine strike forces transported up the Slova River and placed in spots where the river is wide enough as to be completely out of reach of their arrows and such, from which we could launch all manner of attacks on them while they were sound asleep, making our way to and from the ships via the small boats we use now to fish in the harbor.”
“And what would be used to power these ships?” asked Rolan.
Singular smiled. “You’re going to love this,” he said. “The wind.”
“The wind,” said Rolan, sounding skeptical.
“Correct,” said Singular. “In the center of each ship would be a solid pole constructed from the trunk of an entire great tree.” He gestured with his hands. “There would be a crossmember of same, and suspended from this crossmember would be a large sheet of material constructed from animal hides, or canvas, or whatever. Anything that would catch the wind and therefore power it forward.”
There was a long silence as Rolan thought it over.
“So what I need from you, to answer the question you asked me at the outset of our discussion, is an attack force, to lure the occupying Troll forces out of the city and on to the north while the vessel is test-launched.
“A Gnome, who was my father’s friend and loyal subject, began the construction of this colossal watercraft around the time of the King’s death. It was proceeding beautifully until the arrival of the Trolls, when the entire project had to be moved to the south of the city and into a huge cave that had already been excavated into the face of one of the foothills. In fact, were it not for the entire Troll army attending the official subjugation ceremony in our capital city, far to the north, the relocation effort would have undoubtedly been discovered. But the time the Trolls spent gloating over their vast superiority, on the day they formally enslaved us, provided us with enough time by a hair’s breadth to move it to its present position.”
As Rolan did not speak, Singular continued. “Think of it,” he repeated. “Not only would a ship like this, and more like it, provide us with a realistic chance of defeating our common enemy, they would provide us with the means for exploring the vast oceans. We have no idea what’s out there. There may be countless lands like our own waiting to be discovered.”
Elsie reentered through the back door, the squeaking of which caused both to glance that way. She carried two fresh mugs of her tea to the table, setting them in front of the two nations’ leaders.
“The rest of the group is up,” she announced, “and look, to me, to be ready to eat. Shall I have them come in and serve the food here, or should I make arrangements to serve them in their sleeping quarters?”
“Which would be your preference?” Singular asked Rolan.
“I suppose we could have them in. Yes, I think it is time.” He looked at Elsie. “Here would be fine. Thank you.” He reached for the steaming mug of tea before him and took a sip. He let out a contented sigh. “The best,” he said. “Wonderful.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” she said. “I’m glad you like it.”
“One more thing,” said Singular as Elsie crossed the small room to let in the rest of the guests. “There is the matter of the northern clans. The Perpsts, the Stihls, and the rest.”
“What of them?”
“Well, because of their longstanding history of clashes with the troops of northern Ravenwild, they will undoubtedly need some … convincing, if they are to throw in with us.”
Sitting alone in a dirty drinking establishment on a dark street in a back alley of Ghasten was not the way Captain Vladimir Dumfe had expected it to have played out.
The night before Erik and Daria had escaped, now a few weeks back, when they were camped on the northern reach of the Vargus Foothills, he had expected to be drinking with the Emperor himself, having been promoted to the rank of one of the four generals in his army. Or at the very least, drinking with his own officers. Now even that would not be possible. He had killed them all. Not an easy feat, but he had done it.
He lifted his glass of spirits and silently toasted himself, and the brilliance of how he had pulled it off. Convincing them that they needed to cross the Slova River several miles to the north of the mouth of the Ongs River, in pursuit
of the escapees, he had ordered his bowmen fire a dozen lines across one of the narrower sections. Then he had commanded the smallest of them to make his way across using the lines as a handhold, taking a stout rope with him so that the rest of them could follow. Once that one was secured, he had ordered the first fellow back, saying that he would be the one to help his captain across. He had gladly complied, reasoning that there might be a promotion in it for bravery in the field. After that it had merely been a question of timing. At the last second, while the first of them was yet shy of the far bank and the last of them was still far enough out, he had quickly killed the one standing with him and cut the rope. Sinking like stones, they had all drowned in seconds.
He looked up to find a Commander standing at attention over him in strict salute.
He put down his glass and offered a sloppy one in return.
“Permission to speak, Sir.”
“Granted.”
“Commander Makk, Sir. The Emperor has sent me to request your presence in the regal dining hall tonight. There is to be a feast in your honor.”
“Is there …”
He filled up with dread. Somehow he had been discovered. It was a trick to get him there. But that didn’t make any sense. The Emperor would have merely sent a squad of the Castle Guard and had him dragged in.
The commander leaned in close and in a hushed voice said, “The word on the street is that you are being promoted to the rank of General, Sir. Congratulations.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, Sir. Begging the Captain’s, er, the General’s pardon, Sir, but we should be going. I am instructed to escort you to your new quarters. You will be living in the house of the former General Pinck. He too is being promoted, to the rank of Minister of the Interior, and you will be replacing him as General of the northern campaign. Sir.”
The captain stood. This was too good to be true. “And what is your name, Commander?” he asked.
