by K L Reinhart
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The sound of alarm bells rang through the dawn air as Terak and the others moved.
“This way.” Tanwen pointed across the performance sward, out to where Kol kept his hut. A filigree gate was set in the outer wall of the ruined precinct.
WHAM! Another loud crack of noise sent reverberations through the ground, and it was followed by a rising plume of dark smoke.
“Kol? Kol!” The Emarii called as Terak wasted no time in leaping atop one of the ruined walls, lightly running up its course to its higher point.
The ruins that the Emarii had made their home sat surrounded by cobbled streets with the occasional ancient tree, lined with stone townhouses forming crooked lanes. This must be the older part of the city, the elf thought. He turned around to see how the city of Tor stretched far behind them, with cleaner and whiter buildings and larger plaza areas dotted with higher steeples and towers.
And the thick black plumes of smoke interspersed across the cityscape, as Tor burned.
“The goblins must have snuck into the city at night.” Terak relayed what he had seen. “They must be preparing for the opening of the Blood Gate.”
“Aye, they are,” agreed a voice from below them. It was Kol—without his bird mask and bird cloak this time, and instead garbed in sensible heavy hiking tunics, trews, and cloaks.
“What do we do?” asked one of the older Emarii, a barrel-chested man with a thick, unruly beard.
“Defend the city. Use your skills. You all know how to fight. If you can’t fight, lead the people out to the forests.” Kol nodded beyond the black iron gate. “The forest will take care of them.”
“And you? Aren’t you coming with us?” said Tanwen with a look of confusion on her face.
“No.” Terak saw the storyteller’s bright eye find him. “The elf and I are going to the forest now, aren’t we?”
Terak nodded. “Yes. Yes, we are.”
The northern streets of the Middle Kingdom of Tor were quiet this early in the morning, although Terak heard the bang of shutters and saw the furtive glow of lantern light from under doors.
“They’re scared,” Kol observed. “They need stories.”
“I’m not sure how spinning tales will help anyone fend off goblin back-stabbers,” Terak muttered as he loped forward, his eyes scanning the darkened street corners and alleyways. Anywhere that a goblin might be hiding, waiting to jump out at them.
“Bah! Shows how much they didn’t teach you up at that frozen Keep of yours!” Kol said. He kept pace behind Terak, wearing a small canvas sack high on his back and sturdy gloves on his hands. But for any weapon, all that the elf had noticed was the coil of black cord that he held in a loose loop.
However, for all of his apparent lack of armament, Terak noted that the storyteller did not appear worried at all for any danger that they might be in.
“No wonder you look as though you don’t trust a soul, elf,” Kol explained. “If you’d heard the tale of Maelwyn the Constant when you were an elfling—he who held the Third Family together through the year of darkness following the first opening of the Blood Gate—then maybe you’d think differently! Or maybe if you’d heard the tale of the Three Noble Friends: Petr the human bard, Ostan the human cleric, and Daughter Olwyn of the Second Family, you’d think better!”
Terak’s breathing hitched a little in his chest as he considered Kol’s words. Were these tales that every other elfling child had grown up hearing? He couldn’t help but wonder. Once again, he was forced to consider just what he might have lost by being given over to the Black Keep before he could even string three words in place.
“It’s stories that keep us alive, elf,” Kol said angrily. “It’s the tales of strength and gratitude and courage and shame that remind us of who we are. Of what we are capable of!” The storyteller was adamant as he ranted.
“That’s always been the problem of the Enclave through the generations,” Kol said as they reached a plaza with five narrow exits. In the center stood a tall tree. “That Magister Lorenz, the First—”
“I know of her,” Terak admitted a little grumpily as he lightly stepped onto the dais at the bottom of the tree. He scanned each direction for hurrying, crouching shapes. Magister Lorenz was the human seer who first brought people to the far North and dreamed up the Enclave and the Black Keep, wasn’t she? She was also the first to start using the magical ochullax stones as a way to test the magical aptitudes of her new students.
“She was a right one, from all accounts,” Kol said, nodding in one direction and already starting down it. “She wrote the Book of Corrections herself, or so the tales say. She believed that only those people who had been completely divorced from everything that made them human—or elf—would be tough enough to withstand the frozen North.”
“Strong enough to keep watch on the Blood Gate, you mean,” Terak grumbled.
“Hah! And where did that get you?” Kol countered. “The Blood Gate is opening any day. Anyone can feel it!” The old man scoffed, just as there was a flicker in the dark of one of the near alleyways.
“Watch out!” Terak leapt, as the shape flashed across the open plaza.
The elf kicked out with a foot as he spun through the air, knocking the short black arrow off its course and sending it spinning uselessly to the ground.
“Pointies!” Terak heard a yell as he somersaulted, landing on the cobbled ground with cat-like grace. He spun on one foot. He heard more snarls of goblin-speak, turning to see that there was a small warband of three leaving the opposite alleyway to them, clearing the cobbles and almost to the tree itself.
Kol doesn’t have a weapon. “Run!” Terak shouted, snatching up his smaller dagger as he threw it expertly at the lead goblin. The small blade flashed through the air, spinning end over end to embed itself in the leaping goblin’s throat and felling the goblin scout instantly.
Still two more. Terak started backing away as he held his one remaining blade. The goblins were running around each side of the tree, screeching and hissing as they came for him.
“Blinking goblins!” The elf heard a snarl of disappointment from beside him. Suddenly, the older storyteller Kol stepped forward, snapping out one arm—
“Hyurk!” The black coiled rope in Kol’s hands shot forwards. In the gleam of dawn, Terak saw that it was knotted and weighted with something like an iron ball at one end, no bigger than Terak’s fist.
Thock! With a resounding crack, one of the goblins went down as the iron ball thumped between its eyes.
And Terak was fighting the final goblin.
“Ssss!” The creature hissed as it flashed its two curving blades in the air toward him.
But the assassin who had been trained how to defend against far bigger and better armed opponents didn’t say a word. Decades of training concentrated his attention into a pinprick of awareness as the elf side-stepped one swipe, caught the other with a flick of his longer blade, and twisted his wrist savagely at the last possible moment.
“Skrargh!” The goblin’s wrist locked, and the scimitar-knife spun through the air to one side.
That’s better—
Terak was already lunging forward as the goblin—almost as quick as he was—jumped high into the air, kicking out with one heavy metal-shod boot.
“Ach!” The blow skittered across Terak’s shoulder, enough to hurt a little, but its far more serious consequence was to throw him off balance.
Terak’s leg slid backwards as the goblin landed and thrust its remaining scimitar forward once again.
The blow should have disemboweled the elf, but Terak allowed himself to fall backwards as he slapped his palm against the outer forearm of the stabbing goblin. Terak seized the wiry gray-green flesh and pulled as he fell, dragging the goblin on top of him.
Blades and hammers and spikes are good, but your best weapon is your own body. The advice of the Chief Martial flashed through his mind as Terak’s back slammed into the cobbles. The elf drew up one
knee in front of him—
The goblin’s stomach hit Terak’s knee and the creature was flipped head over heels onto the cobbles behind the elf with a sharp, neck-breaking snap!
“Ugh.” Terak gasped for breath. His fall had winded him, and on top of everything else—fighting orcs and crashing wyverns into hillsides and facing living stone statues—the elf wondered how much more of this his body could take.
“Hmph.” Terak heard a disparaging sound above him as Kol calmly appeared, looping his whip-like weapon back around a fist before reaching out to help the elf up. “And another bit of your education that you’ve clearly missed out on up there at the Black Keep, elf,” Kol said.
“Oh, please do tell me,” Terak grumbled as he got to his feet to brush himself down. He then helped himself to the two goblins’ curved blades to replace the one that he had lost.
“Elves use bows,” Kol said tartly, turning back to the alleyway he had been meaning to take all along. “Bows mean you don’t have to get too close and personal.”
“Thanks.” Terak rolled his eyes, as both he and the older Emarii storyteller set into a jogging run.
The good people of Tor clearly did not expect there to be any attacks coming to their peaceable dominion, and clearly not from the Northeast either. Terak saw that the northeastern gate was open to reveal a wide road snaking up to the Fell-land hills beyond.
This older part of the city ended in stone-built warehouses beside a narrow river, edged with cobbled streets before the outer wall. By the time that the elf and the storyteller had reached it, the dawn had fully broken to reveal the dark pall of smoke that hung over the city’s streets. This was matched by the line of dark to the northern sky, like an inky-black mist bordering the horizon.
“The Plague of Darkness,” Kol muttered darkly as he nodded through the open northeastern gate. “Fourth Baleful Sign. Next one is just the arrival of the Gatekeeper, and then . . .”
Terak nodded. He understood full well what happened after that. The Blood Gate opened, and all hell would literally break loose.
“Halt! Who goes there!” shouted one of the few Tor guards who had been stationed at their stupidly open gate. Terak tensed, wondering how to explain his appearance, blood-soaked and still wearing some of the robes of the distant Enclave.
But Kol, it appeared, was already known to the two guards in their steel breastplates, rondel helmets, and pikes.
“Fergis Hanshum! Robart Mickemas!” Kol strode forward without a care in the world. “I was at both of your Naming Days and your wedding, Robart. Are you two going to stop me and my friend from leaving the city?!”
The slightly shorter of the two guards, Robart, Terak guessed, blushed and shuffled his feet. “Orders are that we protect people inside the city, Kol,” he started to say, just as his companion Fergis gave out a low moan.
“Look!” Fergis the wall watchman was saying, pointing over Terak’s shoulder. The elf turned—
To see that a gigantic impossible sight had appeared out of the black smokes of the fires that the goblin sappers had set before dawn. It was massive, it was unreal, and Terak had seen it before.
“Oh, Ixcht . . .” Terak swore.
“War Burg! An orcish War Burg!” Fergis was shouting, already rushing back to the small stone hut.
“He’s an observant fellow,” Kol muttered cynically. Terak saw the gigantic floating island like a hanging tooth emerge, already eclipsing the far southern walls of Tor. It had to be the same one that Terak had seen pummeling Araxia. Its gray-and-cream stone was riddled with holes and metal walkways. Long streaks of dark rust-ochre stained its side, where Terak had been told the orc warbands onboard poured sacrificial blood in honor of their imminent battle.
And from those holes spill the orcish wyvern-riders. Terak knew the procedure. He had stood atop the palace of Araxia alongside elvish knights of the Fifth Family as the War Burg had approached and attacked.
And from the top battlements of the War Burg . . . Terak was thinking, just as there was a muted snap! One of the long pillars of wood and metal up there was released, swinging outwards and flinging a gigantic flaming ball. Barrels the size of carts flew through the air, filled with metal shot or stone boulders, as well as rags soaked in pitch.
PHABOOOM!
The incendiary hit one of the outer districts of Tor on the far southern side and promptly exploded in great gusts of flame and smoke. Terak saw fragments of dark shapes that must be buildings and street flung high into the air, to become smaller missiles all of themselves. A scattering of purple curse-bolts leapt up from the streets and walls as the defenders of Tor valiantly tried to strike back.
“We need air galleons . . . Lots and lots of air galleons . . .” Robart was saying in terrified awe at what their small city now faced.
You do, Terak thought. And the only air galleon that he knew of, The Lady of the North, had been crash-landed on the southern plains, attacked by Benuin tribes-people.
“We should go,” Terak said grimly. He had seen what sort of destruction that orcish war machine could do—and he had seen just how unstoppable it would be.
Without saying a word, Kol nodded. Both storyteller and elf jogged through the open northeastern gate.
17
The Great Forest of Hon
Both Terak and Kol had ample opportunity to witness the destruction of the city of Tor, should they have wished to, as they made their way up the wide and winding northeastern road.
But, when Kol chose a winding side avenue that dove steeply through a forested cut in the hills to the East, the storyteller also voiced the conclusion that had been on the elf’s mind.
“No sense looking at a rotting corpse,” Kol murmured, his voice thick with emotion. They quick-marched down the narrow lane under trees that thankfully obscured their view.
“Your people . . .” Terak murmured.
“The Emarii are strong,” Kol said.
That’s just what Tanwen said about Tor, the elf thought darkly.
“It’s because of what we do and what we are.” He shot the elf a look, and Terak knew that the older storyteller meant the fact that all Emarii, like himself, were nulls.
“I get it,” the elf said, his eyes scanning the dark route ahead of them, just in case any of the goblin scouts had decided that a city wasn’t enough for their pillage.
“Tor took us in from the start because of Edar,” Kol said in a tired voice as their lane started to climb upwards, toward the morning. “But that doesn’t mean that we haven’t had our share of persecutions. There have been decades that we have had to flee back to the wild spaces or travel the world.” The elf heard the storyteller heave a heavy sigh. “The Emarii know how to live on the road. They’ll lead the citizens of Tor out,” he said with utmost conviction.
“And I am sure that the Emarii’s stories will aid the citizens through the days ahead,” Terak admitted humbly. It seemed a small kindness that he could give to the older man.
Their path climbed, for the land on their right to fall away into a ravine. Their left smoothed upwards into a mossy boulder-strewn moorland.
“The Fell-lands,” Kol said as they climbed up onto the windy heath. “This is where the Choking Battle was fought, as the Four Families of the elves sided with the human early kingdoms against the First Family and the first Ungol hordes.” The storyteller gestured. “So many curses and magical poisons were cast that this land can never grow trees ever again. The Great Forest of Hon became only a fraction of its former self.”
Terak’s heart lurched with a deep sadness. He had only known the Everdell Forest of the Second Family briefly, but its ancient boughs and tree-beings had appeared to have stood forever. He couldn’t imagine what a loss it would have been if the Everdell had been wiped out, as this place was.
It was a timely reminder, of course, Terak knew. Both elf and man pressed onwards, faster.
They met the remnants of the Forest of Hon suddenly. The ripples and heights of the Fell-la
nds dropped away to reveal the tide of deep green, gold, and red-leafed trees sweeping right up the edges of the hills.
And there, standing on the final rise, was a black stone pillar, around which was scattered hundreds of bleached-white bird skulls.
“This is a sacred place,” Kol said carefully as he skirted the edge of the black pillar with its leaf-litter of skulls. “And you have to be respectful at all times and of all things.”
Root magic. Terak could almost hear the words of Vorg the Unwanted. For a wild moment, the elf wondered just where the gigantic orc champion was, and the feral Sister Denaal of the Fourth Family, as well as Mother Viveni and Sister Eosce of the Fifth.
And Grom the First Creature, of course. Terak knew that portal magic was strange, with tales of some arriving at their destination portal a breath after they had stepped through the former. Terak also knew full well just how painful portal travel was. A person might get trapped for days or weeks between the three worlds or could fall into the nightmare terrors of the Ungol realm, instead.
Set it aside. The elf shook his head. You will be taught alone, and friendless, and with no other aid. This is how your greatest teachers will approach you, he remembered the words of the Third Maxim of the Book of Corrections.
“You must be careful what you say and what you touch in here,” Kol mentioned. He led the way along the narrow track that left the black pillar and climbed down to the waiting forest below. “Do not take anything that isn’t freely given. Do not harm any tree.”
Terak, of course, hadn’t been planning to do any such thing, but the warning still left him feeling somewhat nervous as his feet left rocky path and met deep leaf-litter.
The daylight of the previous heartbeat was taken away in this one, as the trees formed a thick canopy overhead. The howling Fell-land wind vanished, to be replaced with distant sighs, creaks, and scratchings of a living forest. The smells changed instantly. Even though the elf had never been to this part of his world before, he felt an echo of that familiar feeling he remembered having upon first stepping foot into the deep Everdell Forest Something in the marrow of his elvish bones reminded him of it.
