Demonkin

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “And what is the situation?” the king asked impatiently.

  “The elven children are missing,” announced General Harford.

  “Missing?” scowled the king. “How many are missing?”

  “All of them, Your Highness.”

  “All of them?” balked the king. “This is outrageous. Where are they? How did this happen?”

  “Their whereabouts are currently unknown, but we think they were taken by ship. A check of the guards at the city gates report no large movements in or out during the night. It is possible that the children are still in the city, but that seems unlikely. If the rebels went to such great lengths to rescue them, they would not want to leave them in Farmin.”

  “What about the harbormaster?”

  “He reported the disappearance of a large ship during the night, but he also said the seas became rough between dusk and dawn. No one saw the Skate leave the docks. It is possible that the dock lines did not hold.”

  “How did the rebels enter the center?”

  “I am not sure,” the general sighed with frustration. “The door was found locked this morning when the new shift arrived. The bodies of the guards were all piled in one end of the lobby and rugs were thrown over them. The most puzzling thing is that all of their swords were removed from their sheaths, and not one of them was bloody.”

  “Are you telling me that all of the guards were killed without a single blow to the enemy?”

  “That is what appears to have happened,” replied the general. “I cannot envision such a scenario, but that is my report on the reeducation center.”

  “I want the missing ship found,” demanded King Harowin.

  “I have already dispatched ships to search for it. I have also sent a rider to Despair as well as pigeons to Despair and the Needle. The rebels will not escape.”

  “You sent word to Despair?” frowned the king. “On whose authority?”

  General Harford raised an eyebrow. “The attack at the center has grave implications for the Federation. I can’t imagine why we would not notify Despair.”

  “You aren’t paid to imagine,” scowled the king. “Your duty is to find the elven children and get them back into the center. I will not have the people in Despair laughing at Ertak. Recall those messengers and find those children.”

  “There is no way to recall a pigeon,” frowned the general. “Despair will know of the escape before dusk.”

  * * * *

  The sun was high in the sky, casting a shadow that was crisp, but insignificant in size. Prince Rigal felt beads of sweat forming on his brow, and he reached for his waterskin.

  “It is easy to get dehydrated out here in the Badlands,” commented Prince Saratoma. “You are wise to keep up your intake of liquids.”

  “It is hot,” replied Prince Rigal, “but it is the dust that bothers me more. I have never seen a more inhospitable environment. Even the desert is not as bad. The blowing sand is irritating, but this dust clings to your skin until you feel as if you are covered with dried mud. Are the mines in a land like this?”

  “All of the Badlands are like this,” replied the Dielderal prince. “One of the reasons the Federation gives us equal time on and off is it takes a while to work the dust out of your body. Legaulle used to tell stories of the early days when the humans tried to keep the elves working every day. Many elves died during those early days. I think that is why the Dielderal tried to revolt. Eventually the empire realized that we would work more efficiently if we were healthy, and that started the reforms of equal time away from the mines.”

  The two elven princes stood on a long butte running north and south. Another similar butte paralleled it a thousand paces away. In between the two buttes was a valley worn down by the feet of thousands upon thousands of elves. Prince Rigal stared down at the valley and shook his head.

  “Why does the Federation use this valley for the transfers? It seems an unlikely place for it.”

  “It has been used for many generations,” answered Prince Saratoma. “It may not look inviting right now, but in the early morning or late afternoon, the shadows produced by the tall buttes give quite a bit of relief from the sun. There are few places in the Badlands where thousands of people can seek such relief at the same time.”

  “I am having trouble even visualizing what that must look like. How many soldiers will there be?”

  “Around one thousand,” answered Prince Saratoma. “One soldier for every three elves. I understand that it used to be one for one, but the Federation has grown lax over the years. I cannot fault them for that. The Dielderal have been like sheep for generations. As far as I know, the ancient revolt that ended on Suicide Point was the last time that the elves took up weapons against their masters. I am surprised that they even send a thousand soldiers any more. Until today, the Dielderal men would have marched out to the mines without any escort.”

  “I guess it is safe to say that the attack will be unexpected?”

  “Very safe,” snickered Prince Saratoma. “The Federation soldiers will never know what hit them.”

  “Won’t they be alerted when there are no elves waiting for them?”

  “Alerted? No.” Prince Saratoma shook his head. “They will be angry if it means that they have to wait in the sun, but it will not make them suspicious. Besides, there will be elves waiting for them. The two thousand men waiting in the trees back there will come forward when I signal them.” Prince Saratoma waved his hand towards the distant trees of Elfwoods behind them. He then turned and pointed at the other butte. “But there are already elves waiting for the soldiers,” chuckled the prince. “There are five hundred on that butte, and five hundred on this one. I am afraid that the soldiers will not enjoy the joke we intend to play on them.”

  “You make it all sound so easy,” frowned Prince Rigal. “There is always danger in facing a thousand armed men.”

  “I do make light of it,” agreed Prince Saratoma, “but I should not. The three thousand elves returning from the mines will be unarmed, and they will be exhausted after such a long time in the mines. For every arrow that misses its mark today, three of my people may die. Those tired elves will not be able to get out of the way of the swords quickly enough, even if they had foreknowledge that this attack was coming. No, I should not be so flippant, but I think the humor tempers my nervousness. This is an irreversible step for the Dielderal, and much can go wrong before my people are safe on the Isle of Despair.”

  “Mite tells me that the children in Farmin were rescued last night. I think that irreversible step has already been taken.”

  “Why last night?” frowned Prince Saratoma. “That is ahead of schedule.”

  “It had something to do with ships,” shrugged the Glendor elf. “All I know is that everything went well. The ship is on its way to Valdo now.”

  “Look!” Prince Saratoma said excitedly. “They are coming!”

  Prince Rigal gazed at the distant dust cloud and tried to imagine the thousands of feet that were stirring up the dry soil. He turned and saw Prince Saratoma holding a piece of polished metal. The Dielderal prince glanced up at the sun and then down at the distant forest. He moved the piece of shiny metal back and forth to send a signal to his waiting men. Prince Rigal walked to the edge of the butte and gazed down into the valley. He frowned as he tried to imagine shooting an arrow at a target on the floor of the valley. The distance was great, but not too great. The problem that he saw was that the angle to the target was too steep. The elves would be shooting at heads and nothing more.

  “What are you staring at?” asked Prince Saratoma.

  “Look at your shadow,” replied Prince Rigal. “Tell me what you see.”

  “I see a small dark circle,” frowned the Dielderal prince. “Was that the answer you were expecting?”

  “It was.” Prince Rigal nodded. “If you were in the clouds above and intent on shooting me, what kind of target would I present.”

  Prince Saratoma frowned for a mo
ment and then answered, “You would appear much like your shadow. You think my men should attack from the ground below. The men coming from the forest will do that, but they cannot hope to reach far into the crowd of soldiers. It is up to the men up here to take out most of the soldiers.”

  “I hope they are good archers,” frowned the Glendor prince.

  “They have been practicing for months. I share your concerns, but I can see no other way to attack.”

  “What happens when the two parties meet?” asked Prince Rigal. “Is there a ceremony? How do the two groups of elves change places?”

  “There is no ceremony,” scoffed Prince Saratoma. “It is hardly a time for celebration. There is no formality at all. The tired elves march towards the forest and the fresh elves march towards the mines.”

  “And the soldiers do what?”

  “They stand and watch until the switch is made. When the two groups have traded places, they march the new workers towards the mines.”

  “What would happen if the new workers didn’t immediately trade places? What if they just sat on the ground? What would the soldiers do?”

  Prince Saratoma stared into the valley for a while without answering. He tried to envision a scenario like the one Prince Rigal was suggesting. After a few minutes, he turned with a broad smile on his lips. “We will try it and find out. I want you to stay up here and give the signal for the attack. I am going down to lead my people.”

  “I promised to stay near you,” Prince Rigal protested as the Dielderal prince retreated from the edge.

  “I will not be far away,” grinned Prince Saratoma. “I will be right down there.”

  Prince Rigal wanted to shout for his friend to return, but he knew it would be a useless gesture. He also could not abandon the butte and chase after him. That would leave no one to give the signal to attack. He watched helplessly as the Dielderal prince disappeared among the rocks.

  The Glendor prince kept watch on both the approaching miners and the elves from the forest. He would have expected both groups to arrive at the same time, as the distances were equal, but Prince Saratoma had urged the elves into a run. The fresh elves arrived much earlier, and Prince Rigal watched their deployment with interest. Prince Saratoma split his army in two, leaving a wide swath through the center of it. He had the first two rows on each side sit down on the ground. The rows behind the first two knelt, but Prince Rigal could see how it might look as if all of the elves were sitting. The sitting elves passed their bows back so that they would not be visible to the soldiers. The kneeling elves hid their bows behind the elves in front of them. When the Dielderal elf was finished deploying his men, it looked very much as if the elves were relaxing while they waited for their brethren.

  Prince Rigal turned and saw the soldiers approaching the mouth of the valley. He moved behind a rock so that he would not be noticed up on the bluff. Every once in a while, the prince peeked out to gauge the arrival time of the miners. As the miners approached the sitting elves, Prince Rigal moved closer to the edge so he could peer into the valley. He watched in rapt fascination as the tired elves continued walking even as the soldiers stopped. The soldiers seemed oblivious to danger as they broke ranks and sought patches of shade. Most of them immediately reached for their waterskins and began to gulp large quantities of water. Prince Saratoma kept his men in position as if he was waiting for the tired elves to get out of the way so his men could go to the mines. He even rose from his own sitting position and talked to the tired miners as they passed through the two groups of sitting elves.

  As the last hundred miners were funneling through Prince Saratoma’s men, an officer shouted angrily and waved for the other elves to get up. His loud, angry words echoed off the canyon walls, and Prince Rigal grinned in admiration of Prince Saratoma’s ploy. Prince Rigal decided to provide a proper distraction for the officer. He raised his hands high over his head so that the archers on both buttes could see him. As he brought his arms down rapidly, he shouted, “Let your arrows fly.”

  His voice was heard in the valley, and the impatient officer glanced up, trying to find the source of the shouting. What he saw instead were a thousand arrows streaming downward. Prince Saratoma had been waiting for the signal. He shouted to his men, and they instantly rose with their bows in hand. Thousands of arrows spewed forth from the two groups of elves that had appeared to be sitting idly. The Federations soldiers were left with nowhere to turn. Those who tried to retreat were skewered from above. Those who tried to charge Prince Saratoma’s position were riddled with arrows, and those who tried to hide only delayed their deaths a few moments at best. In a surprisingly short period of time, a thousand Federation soldiers ceased to exist.

  Chapter 39

  Gamblers All

  Bitsy and Thimble soared over the Coast Road. When they reached the western extent of the city of Farmin, they banked sharply and headed back towards the sea, always keeping an eye on the city just north of them.

  “How are we supposed to stop such a monster when we do see one?” asked Thimble.

  “It should be easy,” chirped Bitsy. “Button and Pixy downed one in Herinak. It can’t be that hard.”

  “Color me dubious,” retorted Thimble. “They can fly almost as fast as we can, and they weigh a ton.”

  “You worry too much,” countered Bitsy. “Fairies can do anything we set our minds to.”

  “Is that one?” Thimble asked excitedly.

  Bitsy gazed at the approaching bird. It was still far below them, but it was rising rapidly and heading in the right direction. “Could be. We will have to wait until it gets closer.”

  “We should parallel it before we strike,” warned Thimble. “Otherwise it will be like slamming into a stone wall.”

  “As if I didn’t know that,” scowled Bitsy. “I have been flying with unicorns for years. I know how to time my approach.”

  “That’s a big one,” Thimble frowned as the pigeon got closer. “I don’t think we can tackle it.”

  “The message must not get through,” Bitsy said adamantly. “There is too much at stake. We will succeed no matter how long it takes.”

  “If you say so.” Thimble rolled her eyes as the pigeon raced towards the fairies.

  “That is our target!” Bitsy exclaimed excitedly. “See the tube on its leg?”

  “How did Button and Pixy get their beast to land?” Thimble asked anxiously.

  “They held its wings,” answered Bitsy.

  “Held its wings?” gasped Thimble. “Are you serious? The beast will plummet like a rock.”

  “Right,” Bitsy replied cheerily. “It will be easy like I said.”

  “Your mother was an ogre,” scowled Thimble. “If the beast plummets, what do you think happens to the fairies holding its wings?”

  Bitsy frowned for a moment, but the time to attack was upon the fairies. She had no time for puzzles. “I will get the right wing. The left is yours.”

  Bitsy swooped down and landed on the bird’s back. She reached out and grabbed the pigeon’s right wing. Thimble landed next to her and grabbed the left wing. Despite the fairies on its back, the pigeon still flapped its wings. Bitsy was tossed off and had to fly as fast as she could to catch up.

  “Great plan you have here,” shouted Thimble as she bounced up and down to the beat of the bird’s wings.

  “Maybe we need to grab the wings farther from its body?”

  “Perhaps this pigeon is stronger than theirs was,” retorted Thimble. “This is not going to work.”

  “Quit being so pessimistic,” scowled Bitsy. “At least we are slowing it down.”

  “Barely,” snapped Thimble as she tried to move her tiny hands farther out on the wing.

  Thimble lost her grip, and the beating wing tossed her into the air. She tumbled towards the ground before getting oriented and charging back up towards the beast. Her eyes locked on the tube tied to the bird’s leg, and an idea popped into her head. Instead of returning to the bird’s left wing,
she latched onto the leg.

  “Where are you?” shouted Bitsy. “I have the right wing under control.”

  “Forget the wing,” Thimble shouted as she pulled a tiny dagger from her belt and began slicing through the straps holding the tube to the bird’s leg. “I have a better idea.”

  “Quit fooling around,” yelled Bitsy. “Where are you?”

  “I am getting the message,” replied Thimble.

  “If you were getting my message,” scowled Bitsy, “you would be up here on the left wing. What are you doing?”

  Thimble cut through the straps and quickly grabbed the tube as she fell from the pigeon’s leg. Bitsy continued to shout for Thimble to help, but Thimble had a better plan. She soared under the beast and came up alongside Bitsy.

  “Are you enjoying your ride?” called Thimble.

  Bitsy shook her head as she turned and saw her partner on the wrong side of her. “I am so going to tell Prince Midge on you. Get back on the other wing.”

  Thimble laughed as she held up the large tube in her hands. Bitsy frowned as she stared at the object in Thimble’s hands. It took a moment for her to realize what she was looking at. When she finally did realize that it was the message tube, she let go of the pigeon’s wing.

  “Do you think Prince Midge will give me a medal?” chuckled Thimble. “When you tell him about my actions today, I mean.”

  “I knew that was what you were doing,” retorted Bitsy as the pigeon raced away from the fairies. “I was just holding the wing to slow the beast down for you.”

  Thimble laughed loudly. “It’s not your fault. After all, your mother was an ogre.”

  Thimble banked sharply and headed north as fast as she could fly, laughing all the way.

  “You better not tell Button or Pixy about this,” shouted Bitsy as she chased after Thimble. “I’ll have Garth send you to the Endless Swamp.”

  * * * *

  Natia was anxious as she stood in the shade of a tree across the street from the Tap and Mug tavern in Giza. Her plan was carefully choreographed, but she knew that one misstep could spoil everything, and that had her worried. The gypsy princess chewed on her lip as she watched soldiers come and go from the tavern. It was already well past high sun on the day of the new moon, and Captain Beck had not shown up for his midday meal. Just as her thoughts turned to scrambling to find an alternate plan, the captain appeared. Natia sighed gratefully as the captain made his way into the tavern. She remained in the shade of the tree for a few minutes as she composed herself and prepared for a confrontation with the captain. When she was ready, Natia crossed the street and entered the tavern. The dimness of the common room made it difficult to see, but Natia knew where the captain would sit. She smiled as she slowly crossed the room and sat across from Captain Beck. The captain and Natia had not met since she had helped him home from their last gambling foray, and she was not sure how he would react.