“Come on, that’s enough with you. Out!” came the familiar female voice. “The city is in no mood for visitors today.”
Alvena huffed once as the female reappeared around the column, gesturing to the open archway behind her.
“Go on, off with you! It’s far too late for this.”
‘But it’s just past dawn! Go to sleep already!’ Alvena stuck out her lower lip as she whirled and stalked from the great tree. She just wanted to know what happened! ‘Hmph. This is one of those times… What I wouldn’t give to speak!’ She struck vengeance upon a little white mushroom and leapt with surprise as its cap popped off in a tiny puff of white smoke and light. She simply wished to see the inside of Galadorium before she left the elven lands!—This was her last day!
She flopped down beside the dead mushroom and crossed her arms. And she would see it.
When they were asleep.
Unfortunately, waiting for the Noc’olari to sleep was like waiting for Hairem to clean up a mess. By the time the tree grew silent, the sun was halfway toward its apex and she was near bursting with impatience.
She looked about cautiously, peering around the archway for that pesky female—or any one of her grouchy friends.
Indeed the tree was finally empty.
‘Aha!’ She took several long and triumphant strides across the floor, spinning once with her arms extended into the great emptiness around her.
Where to go first?!
She stifled her giggle as it echoed through the great chamber, and with a slight hop to her step, took the nearest flight of stairs up into the dimness. With the morning, much of the magical light of the tree had faded.
She climbed the winding staircase and stopped beside the rose-colored door where the two gossipers had entered at dawn. Her small hand ran across the leaves carved into the wood. Each glinted with flecks of silver that highlighted their depths. ‘How beautiful!’
She scuttled across the ground to the window, crouching down low and peering up over the sill. Inside, the tavern was empty, a single blue light circling the room like a sentient watch guard, pausing by the glass as it rounded the bend.
Alvena quickly ducked. ‘Oh, don’t be silly. It’s just a light.’
She poked her head back up, watching the light stroll on around the room. She had never seen the inside of a tavern in Elvorium, but human drunk houses were often elaborated upon in books: dirty floors, cobwebs, risqué barmaids, a surplus of weary farmers, and, most importantly, burly mercenaries who gathered around large wooden tables to beat their chests and boast of their victories in battle and bed.
This tavern, to Alvena’s disappointment, was none of that.
She marched away, regarding the building up the next flight of stairs. ‘Stitch in Time…’ she read as her gaze trailed the plaque above a doorway.
Her eyes lit up. That must be a tailor shop!
She bounded up the next staircase and pressed her small, round nose against the glass, her breath creating a little shield of white. She turned and pushed once on the door in disappointment. ‘Oh, darn it.’ This was far less exciting than she had thought! Everything was closed and quiet in the daytime. So unlike the Sel’vi!
She folded her arms, glared at the door, and gave it a grudging kick.
With a little creak, it swung open.
Alvena started, dropping her arms to her side in surprise. ‘Unlocked!’ she grinned. She glanced around cautiously and then scuttled inside.
The building was empty of people, but orbs of light flickered to life and rose from the floor about her to spread like starlight across the ceiling. She put a finger to her lips in awe and closed the door to relish in her find.
The fabric was smooth and vibrant, gleaming in bold and fearless colors, bright as the summertime flowers in the palace gardens. She ran a hand down a bolt of fabric similar to the dress she wore, then spun to the rack beside it. The Noc’olari wore such daring colors!
‘Oh!’ She giggled and grabbed the end of a patch of jade, swirling around it once and tossing her long blond hair behind her shoulders as though donning an elegant dress. A dress worthy of a lady. ‘Don’t be so childish—’ she chastised, but ceased as a shimmering template of blue caught her eye. It lay loose over the lean figure of a mannequin just about her height. She had never seen fabric breathe such life! Even Ilsevel’s dresses had been nothing in comparison.
Her fingers itched along the hem, sliding to the lace sleeves as delicate as the cobwebs she had once battled in the palace corners.
A sudden and distant trumpet blast startled her from her wistful thoughts. She jerked upright, ears straining. The sound seemed to resonate from somewhere above her.
She put a hand on the door and abruptly froze. A tumult of noise was growing around her: the clank of armor, the pounding of running feet, the cries of fear and panic…
Alvena staggered away, glancing about the empty shop. Had she drawn such attention?! She dropped below the vision of the window and scrambled behind the counter at the back of the room.
But the noise outside only grew louder.
No, this couldn’t be for her.
‘What is going on…?’ She crawled out and surveyed about the room for another egress. Her eyes landed on a second door, opposite the side of the room of the front door. She crawled to it, hoping she remained below the attention of the window.
Then she reached up and cautiously pushed the new door wide.
The front of the shop was forgotten in an instant. She had revealed a considerably sized storage room, and there, along the back wall, was a great window to the world outside.
Alvena scuttled across the smooth wood and pulled herself up by the sill, craning to peer over the edge. Just enough to catch a glimpse of the outside…!
Her heart caught in her throat.
Down below her the white tents lay flattened, thrown to the side, trampled under thousands of feet. Bodies were scattered in their wake, mangled and twisted in the moss. Corpses of countless, defenseless humans.
But it was just a taste of the battle that lay ahead, for before the immense tree stood a swarming mass of troops. The Noc’olarian defenders were pouring from the tree’s great arches, racing to meet the enemy with ferocious battle cries and polished steel.
Alvena’s legs quaked beneath her and her eyes stung. ‘Oh my gods… they’ve come for me,’ she whispered, pressing her chest against the wall in terror. ‘Ilsevel’s army… has come for me!’
She could not tear her gaze away from the carnage below her. The enemies sliced through Galadorium’s defenders as though through water. The Noc’olari held little chance for success in the surprise attack from their Sel’varian brethren.
A nearby roar in Noc’olarian jolted Alvena from her paralysis. Her head whipped to the doorway and into the storefront, landing on the looming door.
She had to defend herself!
She hurtled across the two rooms and threw her body into the front door, her fingers fumbling madly to draw the lock. Then she made for the nearest bolts of fabric and flung them as a haphazard barricade against the door.
She spun away, running once more for the window to the outside.
Below her, the yellow banners of Ilsevel’s army gleamed with Zephereus’ rays, the ship and crown flapping in the winter breeze. Alvena watched as a wave of soldiers washed over the remnants of Galadorium’s external defenders before disappearing one by one into the great archways beneath her.
The pounding of feet became the crashing of thunder.
Alvena sank down and drew her legs up to her chest, feeling the parchment crackle beneath.
Was this the end? She pressed her forehead into her knees, rocking forward. This was it? This was as far as she had managed to run from Ilsevel?! One city—and she hadn’t even managed to do that without blunder!
“SURRENDER!” bellowed a clear voice from below, echoing above the roar of battle. “UPON THE ORDERS OF KING SAEBELLUS, THOSE WHO DO NOT RESIST SHALL BE SPARED!�
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Alvena heard an ear-splitting scream sharply die as a thud and clank of armor signaled someone had toppled from the stairs.
Yes. This was the climax of her ill fortune.
She heard the clatter of footsteps rising up the countless staircases, bearing shouts of “surrender!” She imagined doors kicked in. Elves dragged mercilessly from their homes.
It was only a matter of time before she joined them.
‘Hide!’ her wit managed to interject.
She scrabbled for another rack of fabrics, grabbing the nearest bolt and unraveling it about herself. Then she hunkered down into the corner and clasped a hand over her mouth. The whole city would hear her panicked breaths!
Yet time fled past and the sounds gradually died into the distance above.
It was a tailor shop… Perhaps they would pass it over?! She dared to hope! ‘Sel’ari protect me, Sel’ari protect me, Sel’ari protect me!’ she chanted.
She curled up tighter, daring to make the smallest of holes to see out through the storage room doorway to the mound of fabrics still barricading the front door.
There was a sudden thud against its outside surface and an almost inaudible grunt from beyond.
Alvena stifled a cry. They were coming for her!
“Lord Adonis, let me,” came an immediate request.
There was another thud and the door knocked against the frame.
“It is quite solid, my lord,” the voice heaved. “You’ll need a mage to—”
“I can take care of it,” came a soft, yet commanding, reply.
Alvena’s hand tightened on her mouth. ‘Don’t breathe! Don’t breathe!’
Suddenly, half of the blade of a sword swept through the air before the front door. It had not come through the door and there was no wielder behind it; instead, it seemed like half of a disembodied blade simply swiped through mid-air.
Then it withdrew and vanished as it had come.
Alvena’s breath slowed slightly in confusion. What was that…?
And then a male stepped promptly through the air and into the shop, materializing as though he had passed through one portal and out another—yet she saw no flicker of magic. No gaping hole. He dropped lightly to his feet from the air just beyond the mound of material, his tight, black leather boots silent as he took a single, terrifying step forward.
Alvena could only assume that this was the soldier Adonis. She found it strange that he wore no helmet—all elven soldiers she had seen wore them, even the mages. He was pretty… beautiful, even by Sel’varian standards. As he looked about the room, his blue eyes were unnaturally calm, his lean, unbloodied figure perfectly composed.
He did not look like a killer.
But Alvena’s eyes fell to his weapon. Its hilt was donned with precious stones and appeared as though it was made of ice. He held it loosely at his side as he glanced back toward the mound at the door.
Alvena quickly regretted her act. ‘Now he knows someone is in here!’ She swallowed her breaths and her trembling. ‘Maybe he will give up…’ During her thoughts, his body had vanished from her line of sight, but she could hear the faintest footsteps from the other room and the occasional shuffle of fabrics against one another.
He reappeared, standing directly in the storage room doorway to give the room a single, intense scan.
‘…He’s not going to cease searching!’ Alvena breathed, biting her lip. But could she run? Her eyes fell once more to the sword as he switched the blade to his delicate left hand. It freed his right so that he was able to comfortably prod the line of nearby hanging clothes.
Conflict tore at her. Yes, she had to run!
…No, he’d slice her before she made it to the door…
She had to try…!
No… he was probably faster than her…
She watched him slowly drop his long fingers from the last dress and his eyes landed on the pile in which she lay.
‘No, no, no, no, no…!’ she prayed as his boots stopped directly before her.
“Where is Adonis?!” a call rang outside the tailor shop. It was the same clear voice Alvena had heard demanding surrender.
Adonis strode steadily toward the front door.
‘Maybe he will leave…!’
And then he halted. “Come out,” he commanded in a voice as smooth as his complexion—coaxing, almost.
‘He won’t leave.’ Alvena’s teeth tightened on her lip. ‘He is bent on killing… These people are murderers… butchers…’
“ADONIS?!” the voice rang again. The tone had grown almost panic-stricken, as though it had lost something invaluable.
The Sel’ven heaved a sigh. “Vale, Vale, Vale,” he muttered below his breath.
‘Just leave…!’
But he pivoted unexpectedly, pointing his sword directly at her mound. “Come out.”
Alvena froze. He did know!
For a moment, she lay there in fear. If she remained, he would be angry and certainly kill her… If she obeyed… then maybe… maybe he would spare her…
With a painful swallow, Alvena slowly uncurled and sat up through a tumble of fabric. She pressed her back up against the wall and waved her hands in desperation to demonstrate that she was unarmed.
The Sel’ven’s passive expression immediately flickered with confusion. “What is a Sel’ven doing here?” he asked. But his tone seemed less inquisitive than accusatory. He jabbed a long, narrow finger at her. “What are you doing here?”
Alvena shook her frizzy hair, drawing her legs up against her chest in the most pitiful posture her terrified mind could devise.
“ADONIS?! Gods damn it all! Search the city!” the voice outside bellowed. “Find him! Find him now!!”
“I’m alright, Vale!” Adonis shouted curtly. “I will be right there!” He progressed onward, drawing to a stop several feet away. He bent, extending a slender, un-calloused hand. “Can you speak?”
Alvena winced. That question… Damn that question!
But her silence only set his eyes. “Come,” he ordered, flexing his hand. “I’m taking you back to Elvorium.”
Elvorium.
Elvorium.
Alvena’s fear climaxed and her movement became instinctive. She tore from her passive ball, vaulted to the side, pushed off the wall, and ran like a fox on fire. No! NO! She screamed internally as she barreled for the door. She couldn’t go back there! HE COULD NOT MAKE HER!
The elf allowed her to pass into the next room, but stepped briskly in pursuit to seal them within the shop. “This is a rather strange way to go about coming. What shall you do?—run your way back to Elvorium? You cannot possibly believe you have any other choice. I am here and you can perceive the soldiers outside this very door.” He was calm, his eyes softening as he advanced.
Alvena attempted a further retreat, but found her back pressing into the corner of the room. She was trapped!
He reached out rapidly and caught her wrist.
NO! She felt resistance well up inside her chest and she swung at his pretty face. Kicked at his armored knees. She would NOT go!
She saw his jaw instantly tense and he tossed his sword aside; it clanged and tumbled across the floor, knocking a rack of fabrics down across it. He caught her right hand and, with a swift twist, pinned her arms behind her back. She could feel his muscles harden and flex about her as he stabilized his hold, his breath warm on the back of her neck. Then silently and swiftly, in several strong jerks, he dragged her to the front door and stepped toward its unopened state.
Alvena found herself suddenly in a grassy field, the intoxicating smell of wildflowers surrounding her, the sky vividly blue above. Before her, the Noc’olarian hallways and stairways lay as though through the curvature of a glass. But she had no time to make sense of her confusion before he had stepped down onto the white wooden floor outside of the tailor shop.
The field vanished instantly and the door behind her lay closed.
“Adonis! Where is your sword?” a breath
less Sel’ven charged as he rounded on them. He was slightly taller than Adonis, but just as lean and fair-skinned. “Gods, Adonis. What were you doing?! Emal’drathar knows you would be dead if I didn’t keep my eyes pinned on you. What are you doing with that Sel’ven? What is she doing here?”
Adonis turned her to the nearest soldier as the other male rambled his demands. “Tie her with the other prisoners.”
The lean Sel’ven behind them continued, sliding his sword into a sable sheath resting against his thick, black-plated armor. Alvena swallowed. There was blood glistening on those matte plates. “The Noc’olari are defeated. While you were…” he looked up at the sign above them. “…Shopping, or whatever you do while the rest of us are fighting.” His eyes then widened like those of an owl, round and focused. “Your sword. Where is your sword? That was a gift! You can’t lose that sword! Is it—”
“Vale, please,” Adonis sighed, pushing Alvena ahead.
With the exception of the several soldiers who had converged upon Vale’s panicked cries, the enemy troops marched in grim silence along the floor below, leading a train of prisoners in their wake.
The soldier clamped down upon Alvena’s wrists. “I will add her to the prisoners. Is that all, my lords?”
Vale elevated his evil, pointed chin. “Yes, that’s all.”
“My lord, my lord!” came a cry as another of Ilsevel’s dogs barreled up the staircase, shoving Alvena and the soldier holding her aside. He put a hand on the wall as he lurched, looking as though he was quite close to vomiting. “A message from His Majesty Saebellus.”
Vale’s smug brow shot up and he snatched the parchment. His tension faded as his eyes moved further down the page. “By all the gods, does he think me a slave?!” He threw a calloused hand dramatically into the air.
Adonis had vanished and reappeared through the tailor door by this time, his ice-like sword once more in its sheath. Alvena felt the hands tighten on her wrists and a strong push nearly sent her down the flight of stairs. Back toward Elvorium… toward Ilsevel…
“Walk,” the soldier barked.
Alvena sniffed and took a broad step over a body tangled over the remains of another. One let out a weak groan and Alvena saw a hand twitch slightly in an appeal for help.
Heroes or Thieves (Steps of Power 2) Page 20
