Complete Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches

by William Robert Stanek

  “I’ll stand if it’s all the same,” said Emel looking about the room. He leaned to the right and closed the inner office door. “I’ve come to speak with you on an urgent matter.”

  Ansh Brodst looked up from his papers again. “Requisitions, hate them,” he said. “But what would we do without provisions and proper weaponry?”

  “I’ve come to speak with you on an urgent matter,” repeated Emel. Ansh Brodst put down the papers and the pen he had been using. “I’ve come to resign.”

  “Steadfast in this decision, are you? If that’s your mind, I’m not the one to change it. You are making a mistake, of course. There’s soldier’s honor and duty, and then there’s pride. If it’s pride that’s bringing this on then it is best that you resign. No room for arrogance, self-importance and conceit in our business.”

  Emel bit his tongue to keep from saying something he knew he’d regret. When pain cleared his thoughts, he replied, “No father, not pride. For me, you’ve made the favor of exception. Any other would have been banished—sent to the Territories or worse.”

  “Sit and lets discuss this—” It was an order not a request. Emel sat as his father spoke. “—Seventeen generations have served and to have the line broken now for such a thing? I think there’s an easier way to accept responsibility—if there’s a need for accountability and that should’ve been for me to decide. If this is about last spring, I think I—”

  “This isn’t about last spring. I didn’t know what I was doing or thinking then, and the summer did clear my thoughts. I need distance or I may…” Emel’s voice trailed off.

  Ansh Brodst nodded solemnly in understanding. “Distance is sometimes a good thing. Take a leave of absence, surely one is deserved after all that has happened—” Again it was an order and not a request. “—it’s settled then, is it not?”

  Emel persisted though he knew better. “Leave of absence? I may not return—I’ve a mind not to return.”

  “You’d have to ask yourself then if it was worth it—if she was worth it. I can tell you from experience that it is—and isn’t. But you shouldn’t forswear your future for a notion that can never be real. Where will you go on your leave?”

  “The Territories,” whispered Emel, his thoughts elsewhere. “I have some business in the Territories. I leave tomorrow at first light.”

  “With the supply caravan? That’s a dangerous business. You’d be better off going alone or with a small company of guardsmen.”

  Emel stood. “Dangerous if one is a fool.”

  “Many men have been a fool then,” said Ansh Brodst, standing as well. He clasped his son about the elbow. “Safe journey, may you find what it is you seek.”

  Vilmos awoke in a warm, soft bed. He peered around the room warily as a knock came to the door, soft and then hard, but he didn’t move to answer it. After a couple more raps, he heard the rattling of something being set onto the floor, then the sound of footsteps as someone walked away. He waited cautiously for the footsteps to fall away and then he opened the door slightly. On the floor he found a tray containing a bowl of murky soup and a large chunk of black bread covered with some sort of jam or honey. Also on the tray was a pair of candles, with one lighted and placed into a wooden candleholder of sorts.

  He eagerly picked up the tray and carried it back into the room. He placed the candlestick on the small table next to the bed and sat down, preparing to eat. To his delight, the soup was a wonderful combination of beef and vegetable, and the jam on the black bread was mouth-watering.

  As he slurped the last bit of soup from the bowl and placed the bowl back onto the tray, he noticed something odd: a small object, a tiny wooden figure painted white with a crown adorning its head. Vilmos thought it odd, but without really thinking about it, he placed it on the table next to the candle.

  A warm, full gut brought the yearning to sleep but the aching of his shoulder and side did not go away. It was then that he saw the bandages over his wounds and recalled the happenings of the previous day.

  Some hours later the last rays of the setting sun filtering in through the window awoke him. He crossed to the window, pressing his face against the cool, cheerless glass, and stared out into the growing darkness. The sun slowly disappeared below the horizon.

  Hours later, the glimmer of a dull, yellow light brought him to the window again. A large figure carrying a lantern completed crossing the narrow street below and disappeared into an adjacent building. A shadow of light could be seen through the opposite windows, meandering back and forth as the figure crossed to a staircase and faded from sight again, ascending into what must have been an attic, since the structure had only one apparent floor.

  He mused momentarily about sneaking out of his room to check the surroundings. Deciding to do just that, he opened the door slowly, quickly realizing he was in an inn. The upstairs had an odd number of rooms: three rooms on either side of the hall marked 1 through 6, and another marked 7 at the far end.He listened at each door along the sides of the hallway. Hearing no sounds of occupancy, he checked the door handles. The rooms were locked. The room at the end of the hall appeared similarly empty, though a faint light shone under the door. Interested, he stooped down to peek through the keyhole; unable to see anyone in the room, he put an ear to the door.

  “May I help you?” said a burly voice from behind him. “You must want of something to be sneaking around in the dark. Is this the way you behave when you think you are alone?”

  Vilmos jumped up, smacked his head on the door handle. He winced while rubbing the top of his head. “Sorry, I dropped something,” he said, quickly adding as he turned around, “How did I get—”

  His words cut short as he stared in horror at the abhorrence before him. The creature was well over six feet tall and so large-boned that it

  scarcely fit into the hall. Its skin was scaly with a yellow-green tinge.

  He tried to run back down the hall, but he couldn’t quite squeeze past the hulking figure fast enough. Caught by the scruff of his shirt, he struggled to break free.

  “What’s the matter, never seen a troant before? I’m not going to hurt you—I don’t eat people. Human meat just doesn’t taste as good as it used to.”

  The creature grinned, its teeth glistening yellow-brown in the torchlight, then shouted, “Boo!” and Vilmos nearly wet himself.

  Vilmos fixed his face in a half smile, half scowl, but didn’t manage a response.

  “So my father was a troll and my mother a giant, big deal. It’s not that unusual—and I’m only distantly related to wood trolls, so don’t get any ideas about that either! I’m a swamp troll. Well, half a swamp troll, the other half of me is—well, giant. I don’t know what clan—there are six clans of giants you know: hill, stone, mountain, ice, fire and storm. Never got a chance to ask mom which clan it was—”

  “How did I get here? Last I remember I was in the grove and there were these strange men and someone—you? That was you in the armor?”

  The troant scratched at his chin. “My name is Edward. I am the innkeeper. You can call me Eddie—or Ed, which is even shorter—if you like. How come you didn’t return my invitation?”

  “What invitation?” Vilmos asked.

  “I gave you white,” said Edward. Vilmos still didn’t know what Edward was talking about. “Haven’t you ever played King’s Mate before?”

  Vilmos thought about it for a moment. “No. Is it fun?”

  Edward put a hefty arm around Vilmos’ shoulder. “Get the king piece I gave you and I’ll teach you… It is more than fun!”

  Chapter Eleven:

  Galan’s World

  “How long have I slept?”

  Adrina replied, “Since the day before yesterday.”

  “And Galan?”

  “She started to recover almost immediately. She is growing stronger with each new day. She hasn’t said very much and she would rarely leave your side. “

  “I would speak with her.”

  “Rest
and you will be up on the morrow. The council wishes to speak with you then.”

  “What is wrong with now?” Seth didn’t see why he couldn’t sit before the council now. The power of speech didn’t tax his weakened condition; he could still think and thus talk.

  Adrina thrust out a restraining hand. “They will wait! Tomorrow is a better day, you’ll see.”

  Adrina soothed Seth until he drifted back to sleep, making him drink some broth along the course. She waited until he had passed into deep slumber before she left his side. As Galan now rested across from Seth, Adrina checked her next, surprised Seth’s outburst hadn’t awoken the lady elf.

  Adrina’s chambers were not far off and her aim was to steal several hours of much needed sleep, but she only made it as far as the hall before running into Keeper Q’yer. “How could you, keeper?” asked Adrina, knowing Keeper Q’yer’s presence could mean only one thing: the council had come to the end of their patience.

  “How could I what?”

  “You know what I am talking about. We must wait.”

  “Princess, I must be frank with you, the council can wait no more. I see no reason to delay.”

  “Would you disturb a man on his deathbed?”

  “He isn’t dying.”

  “Does Father Jacob know you are here?” Adrina tempted the wrath of the man’s office. A short time ago she wouldn’t have had the nerve to put demands on a keeper, but things were different now.

  “Under the circumstances I elected to come. Father Jacob knows I am here.” The keeper attempted to move past Adrina. “I must see for myself. Now if you will allow me to pass.”

  “Another day couldn’t hurt, could it? I’m sure Seth will be fully recovered. His companion should also be able to attend. You can have them both then.”

  Adrina followed Keeper Q’yer into Seth’s room, and after a few minutes, back into the hall. She saw Father Jacob standing at the far end of the hall—a torch in its iron bracket cast an orange glow behind him. He raised a finger to her lips. She was not to say anything about his presence. “I will go to my father if need be. He will of course listen to reason.”

  The keeper eyed Adrina. “I am afraid that will do no good. See that the strangers are ready for council by midday tomorrow.”

  “Their names are Seth and Galan. Brother Seth and Brother Galan… They are not strangers. They are friends.”

  “Don’t be cross with me, I am only performing as told,” said Keeper Q’yer as he walked away and was quickly lost in the shadows of the hall.

  Adrina almost screamed another response, but a restraining hand stopped her short. “You’ve won, dear,” said Father Jacob. “He said tomorrow. Take such victory and be at ease. You’ve done well.”

  Voices in the hall roused Galan to conscious thought. She opened her eyes and looked about the room, slowly taking in Seth’s form in the bed across from her. Images of the world before her, however, paled in comparison to those captured in her mind’s eye.

  In her mind’s eye she saw images from the dream—images of home. Leklorall, Kapital to those that dwelled there, was a city of grand canals and countless spiral towers—towers whose heights were matched only by those of the Silver Mountains looming at the southern edge of Lake Clarwater. Across the lake to the east she could see the outline of Near Glendall, and beyond was Ester Vale, the place of her birth.

  She remembered sailing upon the Gildway as a child, sailing all the way to Riven End and back—it was the trade route of her father—but no journey held to her mind’s eye like the journey to Near Glendall. That fall she had journeyed to Near Glendall and beyond: across the Clarwater and into the folds of the Elven Brotherhood. To be taken into the Brotherhood at such a late age was unusual and everyone she encountered reminded her of this—and they reminded her that to be taken into the Order of the Red was just as significant.

  “Father,” she whispered now as she had then, “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to disappear from life—it is not the journey I want. I would prefer to sail the Gildway to the ends of time. I’ll take ship with Cagan. He is distant kin and will treat me fairly.”

  “The honor of it, my child. You must see, such sacrifice and service will bring status and title to our family—and to you. There is no greater achievement—it is the yearning of every father, every mother, for their children to earn such success.”

  “But I am unlike the others, father—the others were chosen at birth and I was chosen by chance.”

  “Queen Mother doesn’t make mistakes and there was no chance in the matter, only fate. It is your fate and fortune.”

  “She entered my thoughts, father. I felt her in my mind, traveling my soul. I don’t wish this.”

  “Soon their ways will be your ways and you will forget our ways—you will forget everything that you are now. That is the way of it.”

  Tears rolled down Galan’s cheek. “No, father, I will not forget where I came from. My past is who I am.”

  Aelondor took Galan’s hand. “No, my child, your future is who you are. Should we meet again you will not know me. It is the way of the Brotherhood. You must shed your past life and accept the new to become—and to become is everything.”

  “But I am not a child like the others, father. I won’t forget—I won’t let myself forget and I won’t allow them to make me forget.”

  “Hush, my daughter,” said Aelondor, taking Galan’s hand and walking with her to the stairs leading from the docks. Upon reaching the stairs, he told her, “I can go no further. But I will return on the day you have achieved and with title, I and ours will walk the streets of Leklorall and take passage across her canals. It will be a grand day, and it is my fondest hope that I may see your face on that day.”

  Galan tried to speak but Aelondor touched a finger to her lips. “They wait at the top,” he told her. “You will do well.”

  “Elf Galan?” called out Myrial, “I heard your voice from the hall. Who were you talking to? Can I help you?”

  It took Galan a moment to return to the waking world. Daydreams, she whispered into Myrial’s mind. If the dream and desire are patent, you can journey to the past—and the past can often be a wondrous place when you don’t wish to be in the here and the now.

  “My Lady Elf?” asked Myrial.

  Call me, Galan. Brother Galan if it must be so.

  “Princess Adrina is waiting to speak with you. She was here earlier but you had gone back to sleep. Perhaps you would like to walk with me? We could cross through the courtyards. A few moments of sun and fresh air may do you good. It is on the way to Adrina’s quarters.”

  Adrina sat quietly, watching the changing colors of the day and absently moving the yellow orb back and forth in her hand. The balcony off her room was a quiet place where she could easily get away from the world.

  Her thoughts were heavy. Emel left in the morning. She had hoped he would come speak to her one more time, but he hadn’t. She would miss him but didn’t envy him.

  A journey to the wilds of the Territories didn’t have the appeal that it once did, and the path was a long one. A path that would take Emel south to Ispeth, east to Hindell and Reassae before leading through the mountains and into the Territories.

  Her thoughts floated, as if she rode with Emel. She was nearly asleep when the sound of someone clearing their throat roused her. “Yes?” she said absently, without turning.

  “Sorry, Your Highness, I do not mean to disturb you but Galan—”

  “Galan?”

  “Yes, she’s here. She wishes to speak with you.”

  “Here?” Adrina placed her feet on the stones of the balcony, about to stand. “Please show her in.”

  I’m here, directed Galan, I hope I’m not interrupting.

  “Not at all.” Adrina turned to Myrial and grabbed the girl’s hand. “Thank you, this is a wonderful surprise!”

  Myrial smiled as she excused herself saying, “So much to take care of, I must be off. Your leave, Highness?”


  Adrina nodded and turned back to Galan. “Please join me, sit. The air is surprisingly warm—it won’t stay this way long mind you, so we had best enjoy it.”

  Winter is close indeed. I can feel it… You have been asking for me? Adrina regarded the silver-bronze of Galan’s skin and the purple radiance of the eyes. If you would prefer, I can… Galan swept a hand along the contours of her body, leaving a trail of lightly tanned skin that matched Adrina’s own.

  “I don’t prefer,” said Adrina, “Your difference is your beauty.” Are you there in my mind, like Seth? she whispered to herself.

  “Your customs, I am sorry,” said Galan aloud. “I will try to remember to keep to my own thoughts—and from yours.”