Twilight of the Elves

by Zack Loran Clark

  Fel immediately burst into tears.

  Hot panic coursed through Brock. Earlier, he’d been ready to take on dozens of armed druids without a prayer of winning. Now, confronted with a crying girl, he froze in place, utterly perplexed and terrified.

  “Brock!” Liza chided.

  “Honestly, Brock,” Jayna chimed in. The girls went immediately to Fel’s side, wrapping her in hugs and whispering soothing words.

  Jett replaced his prosthetic, shaking his head sadly and clucking his tongue at Brock as he trailed after the girls.

  “Oh, don’t you start,” Brock said. He turned to Zed. “What just happened?”

  Zed sidled up close. “I think . . . I think Fel is maybe feeling a little out of place. I think maybe calling her an ‘outsider’ was the wrong thing to say.”

  Brock grimaced. “I only meant that she’s new to our group.”

  “I know what you meant,” Zed said. “I’m sure she did, too. But she’s going to be a little sensitive after all this.” He gestured to indicate their surroundings.

  Brock studied his friend in silence. He considered himself good at reading people. But he could be careless and miss the important things that Zed often seemed to sense. It had always been that way. Brock could tell what people wanted. But Zed was better at seeing what they needed.

  “What about you?” he asked Zed.

  “Hmm?” said Zed.

  “Are you feeling . . . sensitive? You always wanted to know more about the elves, but the more we learn . . . well. Nothing’s really gone the way you must have imagined it would.”

  “It’s strange,” Zed said. “I spent so much time feeling like I didn’t fit and just sort of assuming that meant I was in the wrong place. That it would be different with the elves somehow.” He shrugged. “I guess elves are people, too. And people are imperfect.”

  Micah’s snoring crescendoed, seemingly underscoring Zed’s point.

  “That includes me,” Brock said with a sigh. “I’d better go apologize. With all the practice I’ve had this year, I think I’m getting pretty good at it.”

  “You’re really not! Average at best!” Zed said cheerfully as Brock shuffled toward the phalanx of girls and cat and dwarf. They eyed him as he approached.

  “Fel, I’m sorry,” he said. “I absolutely didn’t mean it. You’re part of the team.”

  “Thank you,” Fel said softly, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

  Liza and Jayna weren’t as forgiving.

  “We banish you,” Jayna said, “to that side of the clearing.”

  She pointed right at Micah.

  Brock turned to Jett for help, and the dwarf only shrugged.

  “Get!” said Liza.

  Brock sighed. He grabbed his pack and slunk sullenly toward Micah’s sleeping form.

  But Brock’s “banishment” only made it easier for him to sneak away in the night.

  Based on everything they’d seen, the guards would expect the adventurers to be loud and conspicuous. It made them careless; Brock slid past them without a problem. Zed even helped without meaning to. He was having some nightmare, and cried out briefly as he tugged at his collar in his sleep, drawing the guards’ attention for just a moment.

  Brock imagined Zed had experienced a lot of nightmares these past six weeks.

  Brock had nightmares, too. A waking nightmare in which the Lady Gray demanded he find items of value in between fighting for his life against an endless parade of horrors. And having to do it all under Lotte’s scrutiny.

  But Lotte wasn’t here now, was she?

  He kept to the shadows, creeping as close to the center of town as he dared. Climbing a tree, he settled in on a sturdy branch, took the satchel from his shoulder, and opened it up toward the night sky.

  That sky was full of Crepuscule spores. Spores that, through some glorious magic, kept this town and its people safe from their enemies. Safe even from the undead horde that thronged the woods just a half day’s march away.

  That was the sort of magic Brock could learn to like.

  As his satchel filled, Brock smiled to himself. The druids had refused to help Llethanyl, but he could make certain they helped him. Whether they wanted to or not.

  The Lady Gray would have her treasure.

  They were escorted to the edge of the overgrown city at first light. Every one of them hesitated, contemplating the strange threshold where high summer gave way to the dead of winter. They layered on their winter gear under the careful watch of the druids, who finally returned their weapons. Zed hugged his scepter close, and Brock felt a palpable sense of relief to have his daggers back. He’d never have guessed he would grow so fond of them. But then, he’d never have guessed he’d be traipsing through a forest that was haunted by reanimated elf corpses.

  “Join the Adventurers Guild,” he muttered. “See the world.”

  Most of the druid escorts were masked sentries with bows, but several townsfolk trailed behind them, apparently interested in seeing the strangers off. Without the parrot’s claws, Brock had no idea what any of them were saying to one another, but they looked solemn. Lanaya, the friendly druid who’d been so eager to discuss anima, was among them. She caught Brock’s eye, gave a grim smile, and nodded. Her expression said, Good luck.

  Brock nodded back, and he tried to use his eyes to communicate how certain he was that they were all going to die and then be raised as evil puppet corpses and sent back to Duskhaven and then wouldn’t the druids be sorry? He wasn’t confident she got the message.

  “That place was super-boring,” Micah said once they were off.

  “Which place?” Liza asked. “Do you mean the hidden civilization that is staving off not just countless Dangers but also all of winter with the help of a massive glowing toadstool from the realm of the fairies? Is that the place you mean?”

  “Got it on your first guess, sis,” he said. “And since no one is asking the obvious question, I’ll do it: Shouldn’t we be heading back to Freestone at this point?”

  “No way,” Liza said. “Frond and the others will be waiting for us at the wayshelter. We need to regroup.”

  “And it’s not any safer going in the other direction,” Jayna said. “Those things were everywhere.”

  “By now, Lotte will have warned them that the Lich knows their plan,” Liza said. “And they’ll have come up with a new plan. Frond will know what to do.”

  Jett grunted. “Assuming we can find her.”

  “Jayna said their next stop was Celadon Falls, and I’ve been there with the rangers,” said Fel. “We’re far from any established trail, but I know what direction to go.”

  “As long as we give the ambush site a wide berth,” Liza said, and Zed nodded in vigorous agreement.

  As they walked, Brock pulled his cloak tight against the biting cold. The lingering warmth of Duskhaven was leeched away in moments.

  He took a small object from his satchel, glancing over his shoulder to be sure no druids remained in view. “Hey, Fel,” he said softly, drifting over to her side. “I got you a present.”

  He opened his hand to reveal a parrot’s claw.

  Fel’s eyes squinted in confusion. “Oh,” she said. “Thanks, but why . . . ?”

  The parrot’s claw translated her words into the dro’shea language.

  “I woke up early this morning,” he said, and he wrinkled up his nose and cast a glare Micah’s way. “I know we didn’t have time to learn much from the druids, and I thought . . . well, I thought maybe you’d have a use for a tool that can teach you literally any word in the almost-forgotten language of the night elves.”

  Fel stared at him, stunned.

  “Uh, I know,” Brock said. “Stealing is bad, but . . . it’s the thought that counts?”

  “Thank you,” Fel said.

  And the claw said, “Savasche.”

  “Savasche,” Fel repeated, her eyes glimmering with tears.

  Brock smiled. “You’re welcome,” he said.

  A
nd the claw said, “Davos.”

  “Friend,” said Zed.

  “Tanay.”

  “Brave,” said Liza.

  “Seebul.”

  “Fierce,” said Jayna.

  “Grishta.”

  “One of us,” said Jett.

  “Al de nos.”

  Micah opened his mouth to speak.

  “Micah, please don’t ruin the moment,” Liza said quickly.

  “Micah, sahv nehro ta.”

  Brock laughed. “That’s one we all need to remember.”

  Fel burst into tears again, but this time the tears were accompanied by a smile—that old familiar smile, returning for the first time in days. She threw her arms around Brock, and he hugged her back.

  “See?” he said to Zed over her shoulder. “I told you I was getting the hang of apologizing.”

  Micah took a deep breath, turned toward the parrot’s claw, and before anyone could stop him, he shouted: “POOP!”

  The day’s journey was difficult. Their brief evening of summer had been a cruel tease, and their bodies reacted poorly to the sudden return to winter, clenching and cramping against the icy wind and the deep drifts. Brock ached all over, and his thoughts had deadened to a low buzz in the back of his skull, when Fel finally pointed ahead and said, “There!”

  Brock squinted against the chill, surprised to see a wash of color standing out among the endless white and gray. A hundred paces ahead, the flat stretch of snowy forest ended at a cliff—a tall, craggy outcrop of pearlescent green stone, with a small stream of water trickling down its face. That stream, he knew, would be a waterfall when spring came and melted all the snow.

  “Celadon Falls,” he said.

  There was a door set right into the faint green rock of the cliff. It was unlocked, and opened easily. Unlike the last wayshelter they had visited, this one had been recently accessed.

  “Eyes open, everyone,” Liza said. “I’ll take lead. Don’t touch any treasure chests.”

  “And don’t let any treasure chests touch you,” Brock added. He trailed behind the others, hanging back a moment to check that his satchel was intact and dry.

  He’d stolen more than a parrot’s claw from the druids, after all, and the contents of his satchel might very well be priceless.

  “There’s no one here,” Liza said. “We didn’t beat them here, did we? We couldn’t have.”

  Brock caught up, descending the stairs and stepping into a large room with roughly hewn walls of stone.

  “It’s empty,” he said.

  “That’s what I just said, Brock.”

  “No, I mean there’s nothing here.” He tapped an empty weapons rack. “We’re supposed to keep the wayshelters stocked at all times. This one’s been cleared out.”

  “Frond left a note,” Jayna said, returning from an adjacent room with a sheet of paper. Her face was stricken, and she hesitated to say more, casting a furtive and sorrowful look at Fel. Finally she handed the note over to Liza. “It’s addressed to you.”

  “ ‘We’ve joined up with Lotte,’ ” Liza read aloud. “ ‘If you see this, you must turn around. Get Zed and the others back to Freestone immediately.’ ” She let the paper fall from her fingers. “It says, ‘The mission is over. Llethanyl is a lost cause.’ ”

  The apprentices puttered glumly around the wayshelter, gathering their gear, adjusting their cloaks, and generally delaying their departure. The journey back to Freestone would be long and cold. It would be filled with Dangers of all sorts, though especially with undead ones, and there wasn’t a single adult to guide or protect them.

  It would also be a journey tinged by defeat. Llethanyl was gone. A new city full of elves had been discovered, and yet it had banished the apprentices within a night. Zed doubted the Sea of Stars would ever find their way there again.

  Despite these losses, Fel seemed to be all out of tears. She stood quietly now by the wayshelter’s door, staring out into bleak whiteness.

  Zed tried not to think about his own disappointment. A knot had clinched inside his chest. His father’s city was truly lost to him. Forever.

  “I can’t believe Frond would just give up,” Liza said. She paced the length of the chamber, opening and closing her fists. The green sword gleamed at her hip. “A lost cause? We haven’t even tried yet!”

  “Something must have happened,” Jett said. “They must have gotten some new information.” The dwarf sat on a cot, adjusting the linen sock he wore as a liner beneath his prosthetic. Jayna had absconded with the mythril leg some time ago—“to perform a small test,” she’d said—retreating into the wayshelter’s side room. Zed could sense waves of magic coming from beyond the closed door, thick with the smell of mint.

  “Oh, I’ll bet they got some new information,” Zed muttered. “Like that the queen is lying.”

  All eyes in the room focused on him, and Zed’s ears flared with heat.

  “What do you mean?” asked Liza.

  Zed sighed. “Callum told me something just before the dead attacked. He said Queen Me’Shala wasn’t being honest with us. He didn’t have time to say about what.”

  Liza blinked at him. “And you’re just telling us this now?”

  “A lot’s happened, okay?”

  “Fel, any ideas?” Liza said, glancing to the doorway.

  The night elf shrugged, her eyes thoughtful. “I’m not what you’d call part of the queen’s inner circle. Callum never mentioned anything, but he can be a secretive elf.”

  Zed snorted, and Fel glanced at him.

  “Sorry,” Zed mumbled. “The cold is getting to my sinuses.”

  “Frond almost turned us around once already,” Micah said. He was lounging in one of the wayshelter’s hammocks, arms crossed behind his head. “After we spotted that mountain monster. This plan was always crazy. We should have waited for King Freestone.”

  “Waited for him to what?” Brock said. “Kick the elves out on their backsides? He was never going to send his precious Stone Sons out beyond the wards. The longer we waited, the worse things got.”

  “Yeah, and this has improved the situation so much,” Micah drawled.

  “Well, it’s nice to have you two back on opposite sides of an issue, at least.” Liza stopped pacing and shook her head. “There’s nothing for it, is there? Fel, I . . . I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too,” the night elf said. She closed her eyes, and a frigid breeze crept in from the open doorway, rustling her braids. Mousebane ambled unhappily away from the chill. “Despite what I said in Duskhaven, Llethanyl has always been my home. To be so close and then retreat. It burns.”

  At the word burns, Zed automatically touched the chain around his neck.

  He’d had the nightmare again, back in Duskhaven, just before they set off. In his dream the chain became scorching hot, smoldering with an unnatural fever. Once again the clasp had disappeared, so Zed couldn’t remove the necklace, no matter how desperately he clawed at it. The fox charm had burned even further than last time. In this dream, it was little more than a smoking lump.

  And at the end of the nightmare, Zed was again visited by the watcher. A fiery green fox attended his struggle, observing the scene with burning eyes.

  Only this time, before Zed awoke, the fox had spoken.

  “Zed . . .” Its voice was an echo, delivered from a parched throat. The words were so faint that Zed could barely understand them, but the fox’s eyes widened, shining with intensity. It had a message for him and it would be heard. “The fire . . . it burns, Zed. It—”

  Which was when Zed had been booted awake by Micah, and not gently.

  Before joining the Sea of Stars, Zed had never been given to eerie or prophetic dreams. In fact, two months before this, his most common dreams had involved eating alarming quantities of candy. But the last time he’d dreamed something this strange, a witch had eventually come to him with an offer to save his city.

  Zed had seen enough strangeness by now to trust that these nightmares mean
t something. And as soon as he and Brock could get a quiet moment, Zed would tell him everything.

  Together, they would figure this out.

  The door to the side room burst open, and Jayna’s alarmed face startled Zed from his worries.

  “Jayna, if you’re done testing my leg,” Jett said, “I sort of need it to get back to Freestone.”

  “We aren’t going to Freestone!” The girl rushed to Jett, absently handing him the mythril pylon. Then she spun around and held out her other hand toward Liza. “Look what I found balled up and half burned in the back room!”

  Liza took a charred slip of paper from Jayna’s hand, scrunching her nose in confusion. “This handwriting is terrible,” she said. “It’s . . . Frond’s.” She began reading. “ ‘Liza, Celadon wayshelter is not safe. We’ve joined with Lotte, but the team was forced to move on. Do not tarry here. Bring Zed and the others and join us at Llethanyl.’ ” Her eyes widened, rising slowly from the page. “ ‘Once you arrive, we’ll retake the city. . . .’ ”

  “But if that note’s from Frond . . . ?” Jett muttered. His dazed expression mirrored Liza’s.

  “She might have written the second one later.” Micah hopped out from the hammock. “After she decided to head back to Freestone.” But even he looked unsure.

  “And then hid her own first note, after trying to burn it?” Jayna said. “I found it stuffed behind a cot.” She grabbed the undamaged paper from the table—the missive telling them to return to Freestone—and rushed it over to Zed. “Smell this,” she said.

  “No thank you,” Zed demurred. “I don’t think Frond’s washed her hands once since we left—”

  “Magic!” Jayna said exasperatedly, pushing the note forward. “There are spells to replicate a person’s handwriting. Magical plagiarism was a big problem in the Mages Guild.”

  Zed’s eyes brightened and he took the sheet, holding it under his nose. Sure enough, a crisp note of mint wafted up from the page. “There is magic!”

  “Wait, hold on,” Brock said. “What was that bit about the wayshelter being unsafe, though?”