by Lee Dunning
Foxfire leaned over the map and pointed out a white-walled city set along the transition between the Badlands and the Sea of Glass. “That would add credence to his claims Uhthein hired them. Uhthein’s mines provide all the world’s desert opals.”
“Does knowing who explain the why?” Raven asked.
Foxfire shook his head. “They’ve never liked us, consider us abominations, but they live so far away, they have no reason to have dealings with us. We’re not welcome within their borders but they’ve never gone out of their way to do us harm.”
“Who are they exactly?” Lady Swiftbrook said. “I assume they’re human?”
“They are,” Kiat said, “though the mercenary said Uhthein’s ruler calls herself the Dragon Queen. He said no one knows if she is a true dragon or just another despot who took on a fancy title.
Kela shook her head. “Dragons are too greedy—a real one would never part with so much treasure.”
“That’s a good point,” Raven said. “Since Umbral poisoned the dragons with avarice, they’ve almost entirely withdrawn. They seldom leave their lairs except to feed or gather more treasure, so if one wanted revenge, hiring mercenaries makes sense—except for the fact I can’t imagine one of them parting with a single gem.”
K’hul, who’d mostly remained quiet during the exchange, spoke now. “I have no interest in why they want us dead. Understanding their motivation changes nothing. Would any of you sit back and accept what they did if it turned out they had good reason to hate us?”
“No,” Kela said.
“Absolutely not,” Lady Culna’mo rumbled.
“I’d still like to know why,” Lady Swiftbrook said.
“Of course you do,” K’hul said. “You’re a rational, intelligent being. It’s incomprehensible to you why someone would do such a thing. But I’m telling you, it doesn’t matter. We retaliate based on their actions against us, not the details of their grievance.”
Lady Swiftbrook lips stretched into a thin angry line. Foxfire felt sorry for her—a dove trapped in an aerie of hawks. He knew she carried steel within her but she wasn’t so quick to call upon it as most of the others. “I think Lady Swiftbrook is concerned,” Foxfire said, “the people of Uhthein may have nothing to do with this mess. Their so-called Dragon Queen may have acted entirely on her own.”
“Then they shouldn’t let her be queen,” Kela said.
Foxfire suppressed a groan. This again. Trying to explain to elves, especially ones as unworldly as Kela, the concept of a dictatorship, was akin to teaching a goblin the purpose of a napkin. Still, he had to try. “Most of the people in places like Uhthein grow up poor and uneducated. They have no weapons. They don’t use or understand magic and they’re suspicious of anyone who does. They have no means to rise up and overthrow their leaders if they don’t like them.”
As he expected, the others stared back at him, eyes glassy with incomprehension. Even the First couldn’t have maintained his role as War Leader if the majority of elves had not supported him. Elves would never tolerate a situation where they had no say in how they lived or in the doings of those who represented them.
“Come now,” Lady Culna’mo said at last. “This isn’t entirely foreign to us. We’ve had to deal with Oblund and the remnants of his kingdom. We’ve seen how helpless they are without someone guiding their every action. We lend our power to those who lead us. They hand it over along with their freedom.”
“That’s why they’re starving now,” Kiat said. He flinched when all eyes turned toward him but he pushed on. “The nobles don’t want to sully themselves by helping the peasants bring in the crop.”
“Then you order them to,” K’hul said. “You have nearly a hundred of our soldiers there—force the issue if you must.”
Foxfire tried to imagine Kiat ordering anyone to do anything and it just wouldn’t come. As usual, Lady Swiftbrook offered a compromise. “Maybe if our people helped also, the nobles wouldn’t object so much,” Lady Swiftbrook said.
“If they won’t help themselves, they can bloody well starve,” K’hul said. “Our only concern right now is with Uhthein.” They’d strayed from the main issue, and the Voice of the First obviously had no interest in slogging through the minutiae of running Teresland.
For once Foxfire had to agree. Well, perhaps not with the starving and such but with the need to focus on the Dragon Queen and her bewildering hatred of them. “I have a suggestion,” he said.
“As long as it doesn’t involve the running of Teresland, please,” K’hul said, giving Foxfire a flat, serpent-like stare.
“There are several tribes of humans not associated with Uhthein, nomadic peoples who don’t have strong feelings about us one way or another. I could approach one of these tribes and see if I can learn more about what we’re facing.” He didn’t mention he hadn’t dealt with the nomads in over a hundred years. No point in putting more doubts into people’s heads. In truth, very little ever changed in the Badlands. The nomads led a harsh existence. They survived because they held onto their ancestral way of life with a grip as tenacious as the desert itself.
“You’ve traveled to this treeless wasteland?” As usual, Kela couldn’t comprehend his strange, wandering ways.
“Yes, I’ve even traveled into the Sea of Glass to look at the strange monolith to the east. This world holds all kinds of wonders.” He left unsaid he’d gladly take her with him to experience the world. He didn’t want to start up that argument again. She’d never leave the forest for such an extended trip.
“I don’t like the idea of you going alone,” Lady Swiftbrook said.
Foxfire started to protest, but then considered the situation. Perhaps things didn’t change much in the Badlands but something had changed and he couldn’t be certain the nomads would welcome him. Moreover, he knew from experience gifts went a long way to opening tent flaps among those struggling in the arid, dangerous lands bordering the Sea of Glass. Additional people meant he’d have help to carry goods the nomads desired. “I’ll take two others,” he said. “Too large of a group and the humans might feel threatened.”
K’hul turned to Lady Swiftbrook. “Do you know of a pair of portal mages with combat training?”
“I do,” she said.
“Then call on them,” Foxfire said. “We’ll leave tonight.”
Foxfire stared across the endless expanse of the unforgiving Badlands. He tried to remember the terms his mother would have used to describe the place, but he hadn’t been the best of pupils. Of course, botany, his mother’s specialty, didn’t help much in this place. Over to the east, where the snow-white desert started in earnest and nothing grew, her fancy schooling would have done her little good.
He hadn’t thought about his mother in some time, mostly because of the regrets accompanying those memories. In retrospect, he supposed her love of plants made perfect sense—a Wood Elf going back to her roots. She’d learned about them through study at a university, though, and not from growing up among wild things. Foxfire doubted the average denizen of Alassea would have any use for his mother’s science. Kela wouldn’t care about photosynthesis or the effects of greenhouse gasses. Certainly, as a young elf, Foxfire had stifled many a yawn when his mother went on about the differences between seeds, nuts and spores.
Now, faced with a place more forbidding than even the meanest streets of his old steel and asphalt world, he missed her terribly and wished he hadn’t dismissed her with an adolescent’s indifference to the future. Back then, endless tomorrows stretched ahead of them. A lucky shot to their propulsion system by raiders had ended all that. Their ship had crashed here on Alassea and only he survived to carry on.
“Lord Foxfire, are you all right?” Lady Rimedeath, one of the soldiers sent to aid him, spoke up from his right.
He nodded and hastily wiped away the perspiration brought on by the harsh temperatures of their surroundings. He just happened to dash away the moisture gathering in his eyes as well.
“What
a nightmare of a place,” Lord Silk said from Foxfire’s left. “Humans really live here?”
“Not easily, but yes,” Foxfire said, happy to have someone take his mind off his past. “In fact, many believe the humans originated here. This time of year, the Clan of Thorn and Spine should have their camp set up near the oasis to our north,” Foxfire continued. “It’s better if we approach on foot. I’m unsure how they’d react if we popped through a portal at the edge of their camp.”
Both soldiers glared into the waves of heat distorting the view of the land before them and wilted. Night had settled on First Home when they stepped through the portal to the desert. This far south the sun still held sway. First Born guards would have held up better in the heat but Foxfire suspected none of them could open portals. All of the portal mages he’d ever met were Sky Elves.
Lady Rimedeath murmured the words to a spell and approached each of them. As her pale fingers brushed Foxfire’s leathers, a delicious blanket of coolness enveloped him. “I can’t block out the wretched day star,” she said, “but at least I can protect us from the heat.”
“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Lord Silk said as she placed her charm on his chain armor.
“If you spent less time preening in front of a mirror, you could learn the same spell,” Lady Rimedeath chided.
Lord Silk flipped his gleaming silver ponytail over one shoulder and batted his lashes at his companion. “It can’t be helped,” he said, “I have my family’s reputation to think of.”
“Which Lord Foxfire has no interest in,” was the amused reply. “Great Lady knows everyone in our company has had to listen to you drone on about your family’s illustrious history of warming the beds of every War Leader and Chief Strategist for the past ten thousand years.”
Foxfire started to chuckle but checked himself when he caught the hard gleam of Lord Silk’s amber eyes. “You make it sound so lewd,” Lord Silk said. “We offer much more than a rough shag on the mats. We listen to their troubles, tell amusing stories, sing and play instruments, and yes, provide physical comfort if they wish. Easing the burdens of leadership is a noble service. I find no shame in my family’s contribution to our nation.”
Foxfire broke off from the pair and moved into the heat, booted feet kicking up dust as he crossed the rugged land. He was monstrously curious as to how Lord Silk had ended up in chainmail instead of soft robes, curled among pillows like a yellow-eyed cat. However, he had no desire to open up the wounds he suspected lay along such a line of questioning. Lady Rimedeath, as a fellow soldier, might get away with teasing him but Foxfire doubted the vain lord would welcome such prying from someone outside his circle. Both soldiers fell under Lady Swiftbrook’s command, so with a little patience, Foxfire expected he could learn about Lord Silk and his interesting family from her.
In the meantime, he had another close-knit group to worry about. A couple of human generations had passed since he last met with the Clan of Thorn and Spine. With Lord Icewind’s assistance he’d managed to determine the nomads still existed, but little more. Like most of the desert nomads, they kept to themselves, tolerating outsiders only for the sake of acquiring the goods needed to survive, or to provide a drop of variety in their dusty lives.
As such, the Wood Elf ensured he and his companions didn’t arrive empty-handed. Each of them carried packs filled with leather, oils, preserved foods and herbs. Things the elves considered trifles like colorful beads and combs made their way into the packs too. Foxfire had even managed to acquire several jars of honey, which he planned to hand over to their leader. With luck, this would win him some time to converse with the clan and learn more about the mysterious Dragon Queen and her vendetta against the elves.
The afternoon had passed into dusk when Foxfire’s sharp eyes made out the swaying heads of plume palms and the man-made shapes of the nomad’s yurts. The scent of moisture, plants and goats, tickled his nose, a welcome change after the nothingness of the empty wastes.
Scrawny girls accompanied by scrawnier dogs met them about a quarter mile from the camp. The girls gripped slings more useful against rabbits than armored invaders. Children and dogs alike snarled and backed away, torn between fear and duty.
Never had Foxfire seen such a thing. Where were the proud men and youths who had hailed him last time? Where were the sturdy desert ponies who survived the arid waste much like the larger, nastier camels the clan used as pack animals? These girls and their mangy curs had no business at playing soldier. Foxfire couldn’t imagine what had shattered the people he’d once shared water with.
Foxfire tried the tongue he’d learned during his previous visit. Although rusty, after a few stumbles the girls understood enough of what he said and paused to confer among themselves. The tallest and boniest girl waved them forward and led them toward the yurts. The other two girls and their still snarling dogs dropped behind the elves.
Lord Silk pursed his lips. “I’m dubious about allowing the little creatures a clear shot at our backs,” he said to Lady Rimedeath. “What if they consider elf a delicacy?”
“If they can take you down, pretty boy,” she said, “then you deserve the humiliation of filling their bellies.”
At the edge of the nomad’s camp, a shockingly small number of desiccated individuals gathered to watch the arrival of the strangers. The girl leading the elves hurried forward to speak with a disheveled, bandy-legged figure. It took Foxfire several blinks to determine the bag of bones was an old woman. He scrutinized the rest of the camp’s denizens. Some older girls, not quite women, herded a handful of curious youngsters deeper into the safety of the yurts. A few ancient, knobby men shuffled about, their attempts to appear fierce nullified by their swollen joints and bent backs. After a moment, a couple of the healthier looking women gathered the oldsters, and like the children, urged them away from the view of the strangers. This is just weird. Where are the younger men and boys?
A brief but loud discussion ensued between the old woman and the lead girl, accompanied by wild gesticulations and an odd dust kicking display. When at last the old woman waved the girls away from the elves, she trundled over to the newcomers in a painful waddle that told of a losing battle with malnutrition and arthritis. Foxfire wondered how she managed to walk at all.
To either side of Foxfire, his escort stiffened. Since he couldn’t imagine anyone would consider the wretched creature lurching toward them a threat, he assumed the other two simply balked at the prospect of facing the crone’s horrifying imperfections.
Much to his shame, Foxfire wasn’t immune to the revulsion most elves felt toward a human’s decline into dust. He’d interacted with humans his entire life and yet, there it was, some innate horror at their mortality made a part of him want nothing more than to scurry away and wash himself clean of the old woman’s clinging miasma of decay.
He gritted his teeth and dug his feet into the dirt.
“You speak our language?” the old woman asked with a flabby, toothless mouth. Lord Silk made a mewling noise and turned away.
So much for my bodyguards. Foxfire swallowed a sigh and tried to keep his face neutral. “I spoke your language many years ago,” he said to the crone. He paused, trying to think of how the nomads would phrase things. “My tongue has grown lazy.”
The old woman harrumphed. “You speak like a flea-eater,” she said.
Foxfire’s translated her words to mean he sounded like a hick. An amused eyebrow arched up his forehead. The other elves thought much the same thing about Wood Elves. I can live with that.
The old woman continued to inspect him with her rheumy eyes. “Why are you here?” Her gaze shifted to the heavy packs the three elves carried and her wrinkles remapped themselves with her sudden interest.
“We’ve brought goods in the hopes of trading for information,” Foxfire said. He shifted his weight to relieve the ache building up from the heavy pack he carried. During his last visit, the nomads greeted him by engaging in a long drawn out ritual. By
now, someone should have escorted them to shelter and passed out cups of highly spiced tea. Instead, the old woman kept them standing in the brutal heat, demanding to know their business. Perhaps thousands of years of tradition had disappeared along with the clan’s men and boys. He’d have never thought it possible for such profound change to come over the people of the Badlands.
This suspicious treatment accomplished nothing, of course. If Foxfire and his companions meant the nomads any harm, one bent old woman and a few dozen underfed girls couldn’t hope to fend them off. Foxfire hadn’t come to smirk and strut, though. The elves needed a clearer understanding of what they faced in confronting the Dragon Queen. A friendly gesture to the natives of the area could provide them key information.
A worm-like tongue slithered out to lick the old woman’s withered lips as she weighed Foxfire’s words. Surely, the people of the camp needed what the elves carried, yet the crone remained wary. “Let me see what you bring.”
Foxfire dropped his pack and the soldiers followed his example. They opened the packs and brought forth rolled leather, dried apples and berries, meat, bundles of herbs, salves, trinkets, and of course, the honey. Cries and whispers rose among the gathered women and girls but the old woman barked at them to keep back. Then she squatted down and carefully examined every single item presented. “We’ve had gifts before that carried sickness,” she muttered. “You will carry this to my yurt and you will stay with me until I’m sure you have not brought death to my people.”
“What is she saying?” Lady Rimedeath said.
“We’re to be her guests for a time,” Foxfire replied.
“Oh, by the Traitor, no,” Lord Silk said.
“See, with that kind of attitude it’s no wonder your parents sent you off to join the army instead of taking up the family trade,” Lady Rimedeath said, though the droop to her shoulders suggested she didn’t like the situation either.
