Waeh-Loh smiled wistfully at him.
“Everything will be all right, Father,” she said. “You’ll see. We’ll drive the barbarians from our home.”
He squeezed her shoulder, but said nothing. Tee-Ri pushed past Waeh-Loh and her father, strutting down the gang as though she were returning from a triumphant military campaign.
“My kingdom!” she said, her arms spread wide.
Before her, there were small knots of activity on the shore: clusters of elven laborers stacking crates, barbarian soldiers patrolling up and down the beach, a few other elves picking up detritus that had swept ashore.
Most of the elves glanced disinterestedly at the return of their royal family: their spirits, too, had been crushed. But one elf, a woman, dropped the crate she had been lugging and ran for the gangplank.
“Your Majesties, you must help us. Please! You must help my family!”
Her cries snapped a nearby pair of soldiers from their conversation. They ran to intercept the woman, shouting after her in their harsh language.
“My daughter is starving and these foreigners will give us none. You must help her.” The woman’s hair dangled loose from her head in knots and clumps, her complexion was blotchy and a faded bruise showed on her cheek. “Please …”
“What is the name of your family?” Tee-Ri asked, her chin raised.
Hope shone briefly in woman’s eyes. “Family Seel. I am Par-Roh, and my husband is Seel-Kus. He was killed defending—”
“Look out!” Waeh-Loh shouted as the soldiers converged on the woman.
The woman shrieked and attempted to flee, but she was quickly cornered with her back to the sea.
“Save my daughter, please!” she begged as the soldiers closed on her. Waeh-Loh started to push past her mother, but Tee-Ri grabbed her shoulders.
“Let go of me,” Waeh-Loh said, and shook off Tee-Ri’s hands. She hopped from the gang plank and splashed through the water towards the woman and the soldiers. Her flimsy garments became quickly saturated by the sea water and became sopping ropes, little more than adornment that covered nothing.
The soldiers brandished their axes at the woman, herding her deeper into the water. They were laughing as if this were the most amusing sport in which they’d ever participated.
“Please save my child,” she called to Waeh-Loh, tears streaming down her face. “Please. Please save my child.”
“Get off her!” Waeh-Loh cried, and she leapt onto one of the barbarians.
“Waeh-Loh, no!” shouted her father, but it was too late.
The barbarian shook his arm, trying in vain to throw her off. He spun like a dog trying to bite its own tail, and then he reached across his chest and grabbed a handful of her hair.
She cried out, but did not relinquish his weapon arm or shoulder. The other soldier abandoned the woman and turned to help his comrade. Waeh-Loh saw her standing there frozen in indecision.
“Don’t be a fool,” Waeh-Loh said. “Run!”
Then Waeh-Loh sunk her teeth into the barbarian’s shoulder. He howled and smashed her face with his fist.
Waeh-Loh dropped into the water, the surf tossing over her. She held her hands to her face, trying to stem the copious flow of blood that streamed from her nose.
“Stupid elf bitch,” one of the barbarians said. He raised his axe to strike, and Waeh-Loh covered her eyes.
Please, let it be quick, she thought.
Then there was shouting in Kardic, too fast for Waeh-Loh to make out what was being said. She peeked from beneath her forearm and saw that two of the guards from the ship were running to her rescue.
How ironic. Being saved by the barbarians. Waeh-Loh felt dizzy. She swayed once, then fell face-first into the water.
Submerged, she spun with eddies of the current, feeling at once panicked and at peace, until rough hands dragged her back into the red and brown world of air and barbarians. Her heels dug parallel tracks through the sand.
“Mark bark bark bark gerk!” one of the barbarians seemed to say.
Waeh-Loh shook her head, trying to make sense of it. The world seemed to spin around her.
“What?” she said in Elvish. Then she repeated it in Kardic.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were his intended!”
Waeh-Loh tried to decide what to say, but couldn’t think of anything. She shook her head again then climbed to her feet with the help of her guards.
“Don’t do it again,” she mumbled and staggered back to her mother and father.
* * *
“Get in,” said the barbarian. “Please.”
It appeared to be a large wooden box, about Waeh-Loh’s height, and perhaps three times that in length and width. Beneath it were multiple pairs of wood and steel wheels.
“What is it?” Waeh-Loh asked. “Some kind of coach?”
“Oh, stop dragging your heels,” Tee-Ri said. She climbed in through the rectangular doorway.
Waeh-Loh glanced at her father.
“I think it’s all right,” he whispered.
She climbed in.
The inside of the box was empty except for one end, where a barbarian was kneeling inside some partially fenced off enclosure. Around him seemed to be a variety of complicated mechanisms. Other than that, the room was devoid of any furnishings aside from thick wooden poles that protruded from the walls at regular intervals; about the length of Waeh-Loh’s forearm.
She looked around, dazed, her skimpy silk attire drenched and clinging to her shivering body.
“Sit down,” grunted the barbarian at the front. “Please.”
Waeh-Loh glanced at her father who shrugged and did as he was told. She squatted on the floor next to him.
“What is this?” she said.
He shook his head.
Outside, someone slid a wooden panel across the doorway, sealing them inside. Waeh-Loh grabbed her father’s hand.
“I’m scared,” she said.
“Don’t be,” he said. “We’ll survive this. You’ll see.”
The barbarian in the front opened a large barrel and from it, he withdrew a hideous and clattering insect of some kind. It had a body consisting of several chitinous segments, and its legs flayed about like whips. At its head was a pair of vicious mandibles tied together with twine.
“Hold on,” the barbarian said. He took the fierce-looking insect and placed it into a small box with a wheel attached to the top. Then he slowly turned the wheel.
Waeh-Loh could hear the crunching of the insect’s body within. Her stomach heaved. She wrapped her wet arms around herself.
Suddenly, the room lurched as if it had slid. Waeh-Loh fought back a whimper.
The room was moving. Under its own power.
Waeh-Loh’s eyes widened, her fear tossed aside. This … this device was incredible.
She studied the barbarian’s actions. He seemed to be steering the device using a complicated array of levers. His face was pressed against the front wall, in which a narrow horizontal slit had been made.
The barbarians could make such devices? No wonder they had conquered Ignis Fatuus so easily!
* * *
Waeh-Loh heard a fanfare above the rumbling and creaking of the carriage. As it grew louder, she also heard cheers and applause.
The carriage lurched to a stop, and someone outside slid the door panel off the wall. A barbarian poked his head inside.
“Get out. Please.”
Waeh-Loh stepped out and saw to her joy that she was home, at her castle!
Surrounding the carriage was an assembly of several dozen elves, who enthusiastically clapped and cheered her arrival. Waeh-Loh started to raise a hand to acknowledge the greeting when she noted the presence of barbarians among the crowd, inciting their cheers with lashes from leather cats-o-nine-tails.
Waeh-Loh’s smile vanished. So much for a heartwarming return to her home.
The castle itself hadn’t changed much, or at least the main hall hadn’t. As her entourage marc
hed her and her family down the hall, Waeh-Loh glanced into the various rooms and chambers off to the side: there was the Forest Room, there was the main ballroom, and there was the woodshop where Waeh-Loh’s birthday present still lay, awaiting her father’s attention.
Her birthday!
She had slipped into the Second Stage of Childhood without even noting its occurrence. No celebrations had been held, no special rites, nothing. And now, here she was, about to formally meet the human to whom she must be wed. She was still just a child, and yet she would be a wife and presumably, someday a mother as well.
The thought brought with it a collection of mixed feelings. She’d always wanted to be a mother; to conceive and nurture a child within, to feel her turn into a living, breathing elven girl like herself. A daughter of her own whom she could teach to sing and to dance. How wonderful it would be to share her life with her own child.
How wonderful, and how horrible it would be to know that that child’s father would be the man who had destroyed her own childhood and mutilated her father.
Up ahead was the throne room, which was lit by many chandeliers and ensconced torches. Her father and mother had sat on the thrones therein; now the Warlord had defiled them.
As they approached the throne room, Waeh-Loh caught sight of a graven stone sign posted on an easel in a prominent position. At first glance, the sign appeared to be written in Kardic. She strained to make sense of their barbaric alphabet …
“Stop,” said one of the barbarians in their entourage. “Read the sign.”
Waeh-Loh ground her teeth. That was what she had been trying to do before the guard had interrupted her. She stared at it again, puzzling out the symbols. It was difficult going, and the words and symbols swam before her eyes. In fact …
In fact, they literally seemed to be swirling around on the page.
Waeh-Loh glanced around at her guards, at her mother and father. None of them seemed to see anything amiss.
She looked back at the page. The symbols were rearranging themselves, forming words in the Szun Universal, the tongue of men. After a few moments, they stopped moving. The text now read:
Willow,
Tonight is going to be very hard on you, and unfortunately, I won’t be able to do anything to make it easier for you. But remember that I love you, and more importantly, remember that you will survive. Whatever happens, you will survive it. I promise you.
After tonight, I may be able to accelerate things, and soon the time will be right to rescue you. I promise to do everything I can to save you. I will help you or die trying.
Love always,
Tamlevar
Tamlevar!
Waeh-Loh looked around to see how the others were reacting, but none of them—not the guards, nor her family members—seemed to see anything unusual.
Tonight is going to be very hard on you.
The words filled her with dread. And what was worse, she knew he was right. Something terrible would happen tonight, something so awful that it was as though she knew what it would be, but would not let herself know it.
She turned to King Kral-Sus.
“Father, I’m sca—”
“Read the sign,” the guard said.
Her father placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Read the sign,” he said, his face looking old and tired.
She turned back to the sign, but Tamlevar’s words had vanished. Instead, the original Kardic symbols had returned. She stared for a few moments, and eventually was able to decipher them:
Rules for Your Audience with the Warlord Rackal
Keep your eyes lowered at all times unless you are instructed to do otherwise.
Do not speak to the Warlord or his kin unless you are instructed to do otherwise.
Do not touch the Warlord or his kin unless you are instructed to do otherwise.
Do not disobey the Warlord or his kin under any circumstances.
The knot of fear that had been growing in her belly spread to her chest, causing her heart to pound, and down her arms, spawning goose bumps.
Oh yes, whatever was about to happen to her would be terrible indeed. But whatever ability she had to see the future seemed to end right here.
You will survive.
Tamlevar’s promise, his reassurance that she was strong enough to endure whatever would happen tonight. Who was he? Where did he come from?
But he had been true to his word so far. That which he had said would happen had happened. That which he said he could do, he had done. She’d have to trust him.
Besides, it wasn’t as if she had any other choice.
“I love you, Father,” she said, and then walked into the throne room.
She heard him answer, “I love you, too, Baera-Ni.”
And then she was in the throne room, her eyes cast towards the marble floor, the torchlight dancing all about her. Along the walls were arrayed rows of barbarian soldiers with a few elven men and women. She could only see as high as their knees, so who they were was a mystery.
Ahead of her were the thrones, raised above her line of sight. Each cast of a single piece of marble, shaped with all the care and cleverness of the elven arts. Originally so heavy that more than a dozen elves had been needed to move them into the hall; now part of the hall itself, and no force in this world could ever move them again without irrevocably damaging them.
“Kneel before the throne of the Exalted and Benevolent Warlord Rackal,” said a familiar female voice from Waeh-Loh’s left.
Waeh-Loh hesitated, trying to determine who it was who had spoken. Her voice was so familiar …
A rapid set of footsteps to her right, and suddenly her knees buckled and she fell to the marble floor, sending a wave of agony up from her knees.
“Bow before the throne of the Exalted and Benevolent Warlord Rackal.”
Waeh-Loh didn’t have to be taught the same lesson twice. She bowed as low as she could, her head touching the cold stone floor.
She remained there, her forehead pressed to the marble for what seemed a small eternity. Then, at last, the voice said: “You may look upon the throne of the Exalted and Benevolent Warlord Rackal.”
Waeh-Loh hesitated, afraid to see the face of the human who would shortly be joining her in the marriage bed. What kind of a husband would he be? Would he treat her fairly, or would he treat her with a severity approaching Mistress Affliction’s?
She raised her eyes.
She took in the dais, upon which the thrones stood. Then the base of the thrones themselves.
Then she saw a pair of tiny feet, heels kicking against the back of the throne.
What the—? Had the Warlord shrunk?
She raised her eyes further, and saw that sitting on the throne was a human child, with blonde hair and a pudgy face, and pale blue eyes that blinked intelligently. Half his hand was wedged into his mouth, and he sucked on it enthusiastically.
Then from behind her, she heard a sound that froze her blood and caused the tiny hairs on her arms and the back of her neck to stand on end: the Warlord Rackal began to laugh.
Chapter 85
Waeh-Loh had only seen the Warlord Rackal once, nearly a year ago. Since then his visage had remained burned in her memory as vivid as if he himself stood before her at all times.
Or so she had thought.
Now, seeing him in the flesh once more, she realized that her memory had been kind to her, had toned down the manic severity of those pale blue eyes, the evil gleam of those teeth, and the intensity of that shoulder-length mane of yellow hair.
The Warlord Rackal laughed and laughed, laughed longer than a normal person would laugh, and then kept on laughing. After a few moments, the roomful of sycophants began to laugh with him: timidly at first, then with full gusto when it became clear that this was meant to be a good fit of laughter.
Waeh-Loh remained on her knees, looking back over her shoulder at the man she was to wed, and terror clutched at her heart. This wasn’t some mere human, s
he realized. This was a demon from the hells sent to punish the kingdom for its pride and complacency.
Her father met her eyes and nodded once: it’s all right. She smiled wanly. Then she glanced at her mother, and Waeh-Loh’s smile vanished.
Tee-Ri was laughing, too.
At last, the cacophony died away, and the Warlord Rackal took a step closer to Waeh-Loh and her family.
“Fazzle,” he said, pointing to Waeh-Loh. “Meet Waeh-Loh, your new mother.”
“Is he your son?” she asked, astonished.
The Warlord Rackal smiled kindly at her, then glanced to the elven woman who had spoken earlier. Waeh-Loh followed his glance and saw that it was Mar-Ra, her old tutor.
Mar-Ra looked as if the vitality and pride had been leeched from her soul. Her empty body stood there among the guards, soldiers, and courtiers, staring blankly ahead. Then she opened her mouth.
“Rule two,” she said. “Do not speak to the Warlord or his kin unless you are instructed to do otherwise.”
The pair of soldiers to Mar-Ra’s immediate left and right turned their attentions on Waeh-Loh and double-time marched to her. Waeh-Loh’s eyes widened, and she risked a look at the Warlord.
“No, please!” she said. “I’m sorry! I won’t do it again.”
“Rule two,” Mar-Ra said. “Do not speak to the Warlord or his kin unless you are instructed to do otherwise.”
The guards were upon her. One grabbed Waeh-Loh by her hair and dragged her shrieking to her feet. The other drew back his mailed fist and, after a quick confirmation glance to his warlord, punched deep into her belly, driving the wind from her.
Waeh-Loh’s knees buckled, and she started to fall until she was suspended only by the wrenching agony of her hair being pulled at the roots. She felt arms under her armpits, and she was hoisted to her feet again.
“No …” she said, feebly trying to get words out.
The guard again glanced to the back of the room, and then gut-punched her a second time.
This time, the guard who was holding her released her and she flopped to the floor, where she writhed in agony.
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