by Shawn Keys
The approaches to the inn had been widened into a small clearing, large enough to hitch a half-dozen horses or a few of those carts. There was a well, a small blacksmith shop, and a couple other services close at hand to help out a traveler or support the inn as a business.
The space also happened to be the perfect size for a ring of seven elfish gendarmes to surround the entrance from all angles.
Ajax froze. Carefully, he eased his hands away from the two-handed sword strapped to his back and the half-sword belted to his hip. This wouldn’t be a fight. It would be a slaughter. His. They sent a full septus? I should be honored.
Sun elf gendarmes were staggeringly well-trained warriors that blended magic and steel effortlessly. They trained for a century before they were allowed to don armor outside of the training rings. All of these seven had the golden armor and bright yellow sashes of the King’s Own. That made them elite among the elite, and probably none of them less than a thousand years old. Elves didn’t go to war often; they respected their immortality, and didn’t waste it cheaply. Why die on an orcan spear when you had humans and their knights to do that for you? But they weren’t cowards, and their battle experience still far exceeded his own.
And now, he was surrounded by seven of them. Which, if this sun elf king was anything like his own previous king (and he certainly was, since they were steeped in ancient traditions that sun elves found nearly impossible to change) meant that this was half his personal retinue.
I really should be honored, though I’m not sure why he thought I was this dangerous. Ajax snorted. He wasn’t about to try and prove himself worthy of the reputation. That would only get him killed.
Picking out the leader was easy enough. If the added embroidery on his golden sash wasn’t enough, there was also the familiar shape hovering behind his shoulder. Ajax addressed the shadow that was Krizzilani, who didn’t look keen on being noticed, “Old sayings about the fury of women scorned don’t seem to fit here. Thought I did right by you.”
Krizzilani’s delicate yet razor sharp features deepened into a scowl. Most elves couldn’t scowl well; it didn’t suit the fresh beauty of their fae heritage. Dark elves were exceptions, and Krizzilani fired him a scowl even Ajax’s ogress mother would be proud of.
The gendarme standing partly in front of her spoke, cutting off any reply she might have given him, “Your words are more properly addressed to me, Errant.”
Ajax smirked at the name. It was the first time anyone had openly used it. There was no denying what he’d become. Odd that he didn’t miss being identified as a true knight of his old King’s realm. He had thought it would hurt more. Guess that’s what happens when you discover your King is a sadistic tyrant better off assassinated. Attempting to be civil, he did address the gendarme, “A name would help.”
It was the gendarme’s turn to smile pitifully at him. “I don’t often introduce myself to the canine curs who infest the village streets. Nor to my prisoners. But to be cordial, you may call me Dassereen.”
“Is that what I am? A prisoner?”
“I offer you the choice. Prisoner or corpse? King Lyvarress was insistent that we try to bring you back alive, yet was understanding if such a thing proved impossible.” His smile grew snide, daring Ajax to prove difficult. “I am not inclined to let you endanger so much as a finger of my fellow warriors, so I’m afraid any resistance at all will make your survival ‘impossible’. That would be…” He searched for the right word.
Ajax offered, “Regrettable?”
“Not that strong.”
“Inconvenient?”
The gendarme smiled. “Now you have it.”
Fighting is not a way out of this, Ajax was certain. He extended his arms in front of his body, as if ready for shackles. “I’ve always enjoyed cooperation whenever possible.”
Dassereen tisked, “A pity. To have come all this way and be denied proper exercise.” He gestured one of his men forward, who produced twin bands of heavy iron joined by a single link.
Ajax’s eyebrows rose, not quite believing they would actually restrain him. He had offered his arms in a symbolic gesture. Once they disarmed him, he was hardly a threat. He wasn’t even a flight risk! A band of elves could hunt him down in the forest-scape before he got a mile if he tried to run.
But all too soon, the cuffs were in place. More-so, they bound his hands low, hooking a clip to his belt so he couldn’t raise them above his navel. His two swords were soon confiscated and gone. Ajax doubted he would see them again. Elves had no respect for human weapons of war. It wouldn’t even occur to them that he might find them special or sentimental.
With no other fanfare, they led him out of the town. They made for a comical parade. The seven warriors were tall for elves, but that still left them shy of the five-and-a-half foot mark. He was twice their width, with shoulders and a bulk that dwarfed them each individually. True, any one of them could probably cut him to pieces. But to an onlooker who didn’t know, the sight of Ajax’s half-ogre stature being led from the clearing in chains by the septus would be amusing. Or, strange. Especially with the dark elf rogue slipping in and around them as they walked.
Krizzilani was clearly not comfortable; going with them wasn’t by choice. A few times, she mentioned how the task had been accomplished. She looked ready to fade away into the bushes. Each time, Dassereen flashed her a scathing look, reminding her she would not receive her payment until the prisoner stood in front of the king. He added that if she were to reject the good graces of the king, her forfeited payment might be the least of her concerns, for what mercenary rejects payment? The king would have to suspect her meddling in darker ways. Hunting her down to prevent her mischief would become a priority.
As such, while free to move, Krizzilani was in many ways a prisoner herself. She didn’t act the part, wandering in and out of the woods as if taunting the soldiers with what she might do. After a few hours, she bored of the game and drew close enough to whisper a few words to Ajax as he trudged along. “This was your fault, you know.”
Ajax snorted. “Oh?”
“Planting the fake was sort of clever, but you underestimated how fast we’d figure out the illusion. I can’t believe I didn’t see through the mask you placed over the real one.”
Not wanting to linger on the other fake hanging around his neck, Ajax mocked her, trying to drive her away, “Hope it was worth it. What are they paying you?”
“Ten gold bars and a royal seal for freedom of movement in the realm. There isn’t a magister in the land who would lock me up with that in my pocket.”
Ajax couldn’t help but be impressed. “Do you know what this is?” He couldn’t reach the pendant with his hands bound down low, so he jerked his thumb to point at it. “Have you any idea what a sun elf king might do with it?”
Any regret faded from her face. “I stopped caring about who was right when my own people staked me down to be killed for being different. Now, I look after myself.” She trotted off, deciding not to linger near him after all.
It was the last time she spoke on the trip; not just to him, but to anyone.
Ajax decided to spend the trip in silence as well. The gendarmes were not eager for conversation; the only responses he was likely to taunt out of them would be arrogant or violent. Neither appealed to him, and he wasn’t the type to poke a bear just to see it get enraged. Especially when the bear had permission to kill him if he pissed it off.
Instead, he satisfied himself with watching the terrain and remembering where they went in case he had to retrace their steps. He was capable enough in the woods and wilderness to move in a generally straight line. He could tell they were continuing west, right toward the port-city of Dunsmuir. It was his original destination; the only difference was he was now going there in irons. King Lyvarress’s crystal castle was said to overlook the city from on the cliffs above.
His own king, Tyranthelam, was technically in a state of conflict just shy of war with Lyvarress. The politics of
the sun elf realms was convoluted. Iron-clad alliances could sour rapidly, and bitter rivals might swear allegiance to each other the next day. For a race that was otherwise steeped in tradition and had the patience of ages, it seemed contradictory.
Ajax had discovered the truth not long before. The elves viewed the wars of the realms as games. Entertainment to fill the endless years of their lives. They fought those wars with pawns; moon and forest elves, humans, captured orcs and other humanoid slaves. They were the puppet-masters playing games with the lives of their minions, watching over the world like a massive game board they intended to one day possess. As such, alliances and rivalries inside that game could be discarded easily.
Ajax scowled at the thought. Those highest of the elves gave no thought to the people involved. You could fight with a town across the border, and have killed the sons and daughters of the other realm for a generation, only to have them suddenly be declared friends and be expected to fight alongside them. Or worse, a commoner could just as easily be turned suddenly against longtime friends.
But there was very little choice. The elves were few in number, but their mastery of magic and unassailable fortresses of crystal and silver outbalanced the forces of men or orcs. Maybe if all the rest of the races of the world unified in a massive revolt, they might stand a chance.
Then again, maybe not. Quite the risk, and no non-elf leader in history had ever tried.
As such, being technically at war with this realm for his whole life, Ajax had never been this deep across its borders. He had only seen this road on maps, and had only ever seen Dunsmuir in drawings done by traveling artists. He wondered about the often-quoted majesty of the sea. It had promised a new life. Now, he might see it only to die shortly after.
He did his best not to let the irony of that kill him along the way.
Chapter 3
The sight of the sea did not disappoint.
From the top of the cliff, the glittering blue stretched from one horizon to the next. He supposed that the expansive port-city of Dunsmuir nestled around its round bay was also impressive in its own way. But from this height, even the tallest structure looked squat and fragile compared to the huge, oppressive, yet beautiful ocean waves.
He was not given long to appreciate it. Indeed, Dassereen took petty delight in jabbing his sword hilt into Ajax’s side, prodding him inside and away from the vision of freedom.
The crystal palace of the king didn’t strike him with the same awe.
Oh, it was a glorious sight to anyone who had never seen the soaring towers, delicate archways and incredible blends of shaped crystal, spun silver, living whitewood sculptures and flawlessly cut white marble. But Ajax was numb from long experience. Sun elves had perfected this art centuries ago, and like so much else, they were slaves to their own traditions. They followed architectural plans that had been mastered and deemed flawless a few thousand years ago. What need was there to improve on perfection?
As such, Ajax was fairly certain he could navigate the corridors of this castle even though he had never walked its halls. Exact specifics might change, but he could get the general idea. Tradition demanded that the kitchens be situated about ‘there’, and so they were there. The grand audience hall should be ‘there’, and so it was there.
The only true differences were in the personal touches of artwork along the way. Personal flourishes accented the ends of staircase rails, and the tapestries hanging from the walls were unique. It was enough to tell Ajax that he wasn’t back in his homeland, while still leaving him with a strange feeling of unpleasant nostalgia; like he had run for days, but ended up right back where he started.
They ascended toward the Sun Tower, the central feature in every sun elf keep. Also known as the court of the king, built to capture and magnify the power of sunlight in a display of beauty and harmony. Sun Towers resembled cathedrals to the elder deities more than anything so mundane as a greenhouse or an audience chamber.
Sun elves cherished the sensation of being washed by the sun’s full power at the height of noon. For anyone else, it was nigh unbearable. Fortunately, they had arrived close to sunset. Fiery light still set the chamber ablaze with glorious streaks of red and yellow, but it wouldn’t roast Ajax alive.
Krizzilani flinched in physical pain when they first stepped into the room. The glory of the sun was anathema to her own heritage, and she struggled to walk across the floor in step with the ring of escorting gendarmes.
Gathered in the hall was perhaps a hundred of the sun elf nobility. King Lyvarress was holding court in their midst. Half of them at least pretended to hang on his every word, while the rest shared side conversations or prayed with glowing eyes to the fading sun that gave them their power. They were all dressed in ceremonial raiment, flowing white robes with color accents ranging from red to orange. Only the king wore bright yellow.
As the gendarmes approached, the crowd of nobility parted like the sea before a ship’s prow. Conversations ended, and those who had attended the king gave him space. Only two remained fairly close at his right and left hand: to one side, a sharp-faced elf with the keen attention of an advisor, and to the other a radiant elfish women whose features were similar enough to the king’s to make her family. The yellow of her robes came close to matching his, further proof of their link.
Lyvarress strode forward, forgetting decorum in favor of hunger for what he wanted. “Where is it?”
Dassereen hooked his sword hilt into the back of Ajax’s belt, dragging him to a halt outside of reach of the king. “Around his neck, Sir. You told none of us to touch it. We thought it best to prevent him from being able to lay hands on it.”
Lyvarress looked pleased, and he didn’t hesitate to give praise. “A fine idea, my loyal friend. The spirit that lies within the artifact will sense its new master. The sooner contact with this human is severed, the better. But it must be me who claims it.”
Ajax dared to speak. He heard the same arrogance in this king as in his own. He warned him, “This isn’t about mastery! If you treat the power with such disrespect, it will backlash upon you. Even Tyranthelam –”
Dassereem snarled from behind him, “– King Tyranthelam, you cur!”
“…even he had the caution and sense not to use the item before he had connected with it. But he couldn’t. Because he only thought with his pride!” Before the gendarme could shut him up, Ajax dragged himself to a halt. What are you doing, idiot? If he kills himself trying to use it, all the better! He tried a different tactic. “Why do you think I ran? I knew if he continued, the King would kill himself. You think I am not loyal? I saved him from his own ego.”
Lyvarress hissed a brief laugh. “What charming lies. But despite all your claims of virtue, I do not believe you are still held by the vows of honesty. No, you are a true Errant.” He smirked. “I have heard the whispers of my fellow King hunting his entire realm for a lost magic. I know very well that he would kill you a hundred times over to get it back.” He sighed. “But fear not. I am not here to send you back to face his judgment. You ran because you saw what I saw in him; he is a vicious and practical ruler who doesn’t suffer fools. You warned him, you say? No doubt when he heard your cringing, human sentimentality, he considered you unworthy of being one of his mud-knights. Did you run? Or did he banish you, I wonder?”
Ajax grinded his teeth. He hated that term. Human knights had faced down both orcan hordes. Rogue, rampaging monsters intent on destroying these crystal palaces or uprooting their precious forests and despoiling their pure oceans. Human armies died for them. Armies led by gendarme and moon elf squires below them, true, but only when surrounded by a ring of ‘mud-knights’ who took the brunt of the blows at the vanguard of mostly human forces.
Letting Ajax stew in his anger, the King twisted to face Krizzilani. “Then, there is you.” This time, his hiss didn’t contain an ounce of humor: only the poison of a viper. “I would have rewarded you. Instead, you decided to betray me.”
The dar
k elfish woman’s golden eyes flashes in the fading sunlight, shock etched over her beautiful features. “What? What are you talking about? I brought you the pendant –!”
“– the forgery! What game were you playing, thief? Did you not think I would notice? Even from this distance, I can sense the magic around his neck! It could not have missed your notice.”
Dassereen tossed him the weaker forgery.
That only fueled the King’s anger. Summoning a burst of sun magic, he annihilated the small piece of art in his hands. Dust drifted away from between his fingers. “How could this trinket have fooled you?”
“I swear, good King, that I acted in the best of faith –”
Lyvarress slashed the air, silencing her mid-sentence. “– oh enough lies! I find myself not even angry. More disappointed that you embraced the treachery of your kind so easily. Even a novice in the arts of deception would see that my reward was worth more to you. But greed conquered you, didn’t it?”
Krizzilani glared, rushing to object, “You can’t believe –”
Once again, he crushed her efforts. “– What I believe is that nothing is too dishonorable for a dark elf. A smooth death is too good for you.” He flickered a finger at two of his gendarmes. Instantly, they were at her elbows, latching on to her. “Take her to the dungeons. Torture any worthwhile information from her mind. Hidden treasures. Secret ways into secret places. One never knows what a cunning creature like this might have turned up. Then, execute her.”
She screamed in fury as they began to drag her off. In the outside world, she was capable, fast and intelligent. Here, she was a mouse in the claws of cats. Two more gendarmes closed in around her, and soon the squad had borne her off into the castle depths.
