by RG Long
It did not.
“It's nearly time,” said a voice from behind her.
Wisym turned to see her only companion in this desolate place: Teresa Thoran, woman, warrior, and princess. The pair of them had endured much in the last few months. They had trekked through deep forests to find the Wood Walkers. After finding them, they fought their way north through an ever-increasing number of Wrents. Then they took it upon themselves to convince the human nation of Darrion that there was no threat from the woods of elves to be concerned about.
That last trial had been their undoing.
The Elves of Enoth had taken them prisoner and sailed away on a beautiful ship that carried the emperor of Enoth himself. But the beauty outside, like the city of Pahyrst, only hid the evil within.
Wisym and Teresa were not the only ones brought to the capital of the Enoth empire. Another elf, a Wood Walker named Eren, had been brought here with them. While they had been pampered and cared for along their journey, she had been tortured daily and nearly starved.
She turned to look back into the room Teresa stood in. The opulence repulsed her. Eren had been taken from them for the week they had been kept here. Where she was and what unspeakable tortures she was enduring, Wisym didn't know. No matter what beautiful sight they were taken to see or what rich food was placed in front of her, she was sick with worry for the elf they had doomed. Food was ash in her mouth and all the beauty of Pahyrst seemed like ruin. It wasn't like Wisym to forget the trials of a fellow elf, though they had only known her a short time.
Wisym felt responsible for her fate. But there wasn't anything they could do about it now. It was time to endure another lecture.
Twice a day, Teresa and Wisym were taken to see some sight that the palace of Enoth held. The emperor himself was their guide in the morning, while a priest of the Comet took them in the afternoon. Flanked by palace guards each time, there was no chance for them to escape or rebel. Their weapons were locked away in some forgotten storeroom and, as they were often reminded, Eren would be killed before they made it past the city gates.
This fact alone was what kept Wisym's desire to flee at bay. She wondered how long Teresa might hold out. The princess looked weary in the door frame of their room. Her hands were behind her back and her dark hair was growing longer than the elf had ever seen it. Normally Teresa kept it short, no longer than her chin. It threatened now to reach past her shoulders.
But her eyes were the most affected. Teresa had always been a fiery warrior, one Wisym was glad to fight beside. Her eyes were slowly losing their spark. Their captivity, pampered though they were, was wearing on them both.
“What do you think we'll see today?” Wisym asked as she stepped away from the balcony and joined Teresa in the door. “Another statue?”
“Of Hootanin the Horrible and how he destroyed the lands of Enoth to build another city,” Teresa supplied, malice in her voice.
Wisym couldn't blame her for being cynical. Every day they endured the same punishment. Some historical figure was brought to their attention and they were forced to listen how this elf or that helped the empire of Enoth succeed in the face of adversity. Generals, city builders, great lords and teachers were all brought before them. Each elf was immortalized in stone or precious metal.
The more she listened to the stories, the more she found herself pitying the elves of Enoth. They trusted so much in accomplishment and achievement that they forgot to look at the world around them and see the destruction they wrought on the land. But their questions and rebuttals were dismissed without pause. The pair were not here to become wise. They were to adore the empire and see how they were blessed by it.
It was not having the intended effect.
“How long do you think they'll give us?” Wisym asked. “They have to know this won't work. We won't be swayed.”
Teresa shrugged her shoulders.
“Another week, if that,” she answered. “I wonder how many others they've convinced they aren't demons in this manner?”
“A doubtful few,” Wisym guessed. “Any who think little of the empire would only see their views justified after hearing all this.”
A knock came at their door and many elves entered the room. First the palace guards, in all their armor and regalia. Next the servants. These elves busied themselves about the large guest room. Two beds faced each other on opposite walls, with large canopies hung over them. The linens were pure white, but the canopies were purple, the color of the empire. A table lay between the two beds, with four wooden chairs and a fine table cloth. Their breakfast dishes lay mostly untouched on the surface. Fire burned to ash in a small hearth that faced the inner door and lay between the two outer doors that led to the balcony. Large comfortable chairs were placed in a semicircle around the fire.
After weeks of sleeping in the woods on the ground and then sharing the small home of the Brewers, Wisym should have enjoyed the comforts of such a prison. But it was still a cell and the beauty only reminded her of the damage Enoth was doing to the land around their fair cities and the unknown fate of their third companion, Eren.
Last to enter the room was a priest in yellow robes. The same short and gray-haired elf had been their guide on several afternoons and evenings. Creath was his name. He spoke softly and in monotone. It was as if he had given the same lesson for ages and knew them by heart, but had not grown in oratory skill over his long years of service. But the timing of his entry was different than expected. Normally the emperor was their first tutor of the day.
“Where's Rophilborn?” Teresa asked, looking behind the solemn looking elf. Wisym glanced at the door as well, thinking the leader of the elves would soon walk in.
The priest tutted under his breath and shook his head.
“His Excellency will join you after supper this evening,” he answered with a look of disappointment. “And you must address him with more dignity, Lady Teresa.”
Teresa mockingly bowed her head.
“My apologies, Creath,” she said.
Motioning with his hand, the old elf beckoned them to follow him.
“This way, please.”
Creath led the way out of the chamber while the servants busied themselves with the dishes and the beds. Teresa and Wisym followed the priest out and were, as expected, flanked by palace guards as they walked the now familiar halls of the palace.
“Who are we going to visit today?” Wisym asked, out of sheer politeness rather than interest. Though she was a captive, she still felt the desire to be civil. Especially towards Creath. He was an elder and had, at the very least, not been unkind to them.
“Not 'who,' Lady Wisym,” he replied as he turned a corner and began to climb a flight of stairs. He was agile for his age, apparently from his wanderings in the halls of the emperor. “Today we will observe an object of great significance to our empire.”
Wisym looked at Teresa, who only shrugged, but followed along.
Stair after stair they climbed until it seemed they might burst from the ceiling of the palace and stand on the roof itself. Finally, after walking a long while, Creath stopped at a closed door and turned to address the pair of them.
“Now, ladies,” he said as if addressing school children. “We are about to enter a much revered and holy place. Please show the proper respect.”
He nodded a bit. It seemed to Wisym like he was steeling himself for his request to be ignored, but resolving to make an effort. The old priest turned back to the great doors that stood in front of him. They were made of gold and depicted many things: battles between elves and Wrents, cities of Enoth, ships on the sea, and several other things Wisym was not able to rightly observe before Creath set both of his hands on the doors and shoved them open with an effort.
The sight she beheld took Wisym's breath away.
Before her was a glittering pool, fed by the light and water that flowed down from a glistening stone. The stone was only one piece in an intricate mural affixed to the ceiling, though it was th
e only one that shone with a light. At the end of the pool was a golden throne sat upon many steps.
This was the seat of Rophilborn the Eternal, Emperor of Enoth. From that chair, Wisym guessed, he had ruled for centuries, turning the tides of Enoth and all of Irradan along with it. She steadied herself and tried to remember all the damage he and his empire had caused. The destruction wrought from that chair was hard to fathom.
“If you will turn your attention to the ceiling,” Creath said after the palace guards had joined them inside the throne room and stood on either side of their company.
“There's water coming from that rock,” Teresa said, keeping her voice steady. Wisym guessed that this throne room was not like the halls of her castle. From her description, if the two were sat side by side, it would be like comparing an anthill to a temple of gold.
“Allow me to explain,” Creath said, obviously annoyed with Teresa's blunt description.
“The water that flows here comes from the spring that once flowed from the top of the mountain Pahyrst now sits on.”
“There was a mountain here?” Wisym interrupted.
“A millennium ago!” Creath replied with a wave of his hand. “The water you see now is cool and refreshing spring water, straight from the earth itself! Our blessed Emperor drinks of the cool water each morning and each night. The 'rock,' as Lady Teresa pointed out, is the treasure of all of Enoth: the first Rimstone of our great nation's founder. It is said he caught it from the sky after he had ascended the mountain. It is a sign of his power. That is why our capital is here and why our emperor rules from that very chair, the place where the first Rimstone was collected on Irradan.”
Wisym considered the piece for a time. Surely it was a great work of art. But the empire it represented was detestable at best to her. She looked at Teresa, who appeared to only stare up at the ceiling begrudgingly.
“What does the Rimstone do to the water?” Wisym asked after a moment. She had never heard of Rimstone, apart from the influence of a Speaking, changing an element on its own.
“That is a secret of my birthright,” came a voice from behind them.
They all turned and every elf present, save for Wisym, bowed low at the sight. Framed in the door of his throne room, Rophilborn stood in simple clothes: a white shirt, black trousers, and a long, flowing, purple coat.
He smiled at the company.
“You have two lessons this morning,” he said. “Follow me.”
He turned and began descending the stairs before an answer could be given by any gathered there. Creath looked just as surprised as Wisym felt at the sudden appearance of the emperor. They were soon being encouraged to walk down the stairs by the palace guards and their halberds.
“Alright, alright,” Teresa protested as she walked out the door and down the steps. Wisym caught up quickly and matched her pace.
She walked close to Teresa, who whispered in her ear.
“You ought to have seen the halls of Thoran,” she said with a sound of longing.
At that moment, Wisym silently wished she were anywhere else except for the capital of the Empire of Enoth.
11: The Races that Swim
Tory was wallowing in water and wreckage. The cannonball that had come crashing through the ship had smashed into his cell door and thrown the thing on top of him. Another had crashed through a different part of the ship and sent barrels full of supplies splintering in all directions. He sputtered and coughed water as Gorplin attempted to lift the large metal bars off of him with bound hands.
Felecia and Urt were trying to extricate themselves from the wreck of their own cell. The cannonball had bent some of their bars enough to allow for little Jurrin to be lifted through. He was wading through knee high water, due to his short height, looking for something to help bend the bars further.
He came lugging what looked to be a large metal spear back with him towards the back of the ship.
“Find something sharp, too!” Felecia ordered. “If we can't get out of these ropes we won't be able to swim far!”
“Bah! Swim!?” Gorplin said, dropping the cell door on Tory, who spluttered and cursed as the full weight came back down on him. “I can't swim!”
“Then you better learn to float!” Felecia countered as Jurrin ran back to the wreck of the supplies.
Tory was livid.
“Get this door off me!” he shouted at Gorplin, who had finally resumed trying to lift the heavy bars.
After a few moments of struggle, Tory was able to get out from under the door and stood to his feet. Jurrin was near swimming back to them, a broken piece of glass in his grasp.
“It's all I could find, ma’am,” he said apologetically as he tried to cut through Gorplin's rope first.
Felicia's expression was not one of disappointment.
“Storm and thunder! It'll do!” she exclaimed as Gorplin's ropes snapped free.
The rest of their ropes came off just as quickly. Water was now filling up the bottom of the ship quicker than any of them liked and the pressing fact that Felecia and Urt were still trapped in their cell was becoming more of an issue. Plus, Jurrin was now up to his chest in water.
“I can hold onto a barrel, ma’am!” he said as he swam over to one. “Mister Tory can get you out!”
Tory and Gorplin, who was only a head taller than Jurrin, were struggling with the spear to bend the bars down enough to make room for the captives to squeeze through. Urt, his muscles bulging with the exertion, was pushing on them from the inside. Above them, the sound of steel on steel and more loud booms told them that whatever ship had attacked their captors was now boarding. If they were to escape, their chances were slimming by the moment.
“Who do you think it is?” Tory asked, grunting as he heaved on the spear again.
“Bah!” Gorplin exclaimed. “Doubt it'll matter if we can't get them out. But don't expect them to friendly to prisoners.”
With a final and mighty push, the last bar blocking their way was shoved down. Felecia was helped through by Urt, who followed his captain as quickly as he could. It was a considerably tighter squeeze for him. Free of their bars and now wading in water well past Jurrin's height, the company made their way to the stairs.
“Pick up anything you can use to beat a pirate's head in,” Felecia commanded.
Fortunately, there was quite a few options for just that. Gorplin even had the great luck of finding his Rimstone axe.
“Beauty!” he exclaimed as he kissed the blade. “I'll put you to good use!”
“Are we going to try to break through and jump overboard?” Tory asked sarcastically. “Or have you thought of a better plan?”
Urt hit him on the head with a massive paw, much to the obvious pleasure of Felecia.
“We’ll use your corpse as a raft if it comes to it,” she said. “Try to see what's going on before diving into the middle of a battle.”
Tory was volunteered as the one who should go first up the ladder. He wielded a short, curved blade but wasn't complaining. Jurrin's only weapon was the broken piece of glass.
He peered up through the stairs and saw many hammocks and cannons and supplies on the lower level, but not a single pirate. The sound of the battle above, however, was growing much louder in his ears.
“It's safe,” he said down to the rest below. “As far as safe goes on this ship.”
They quickly climbed the level of stairs, looked for anything of value or use to them, before they ascended once more. Again, Tory was made to go first. He looked up through the opening and saw some elves fighting each other. None had the colors of the empire.
“Must be another pirate band,” he said back down to his companions.
Before he could get direction from Felecia or hear what Gorplin's remark was about getting into the thick of things, he heard an exclamation from one of the pirates.
They had been seen. Two pirates broke off from their fights and were scrambling for them from the opposite end where more stairs to the upper
level came down.
“Make for the deck!” Felecia shouted, pushing Tory onward and urging the rest of them up.
With that, they ran up the stairs and burst through the last lower level before coming out to the light of day. Tory burst onto the deck of the ship and found himself in the middle of a battle between rival pirate gangs. It was almost impossible to tell who was on what side, though the rivals seemed to be able to know who to kill.
A few new foes arriving on the scene did little to cause much a difference in the fighting.
“Don't let them escape!” came a call from the wheel of the ship.
Tory looked up to see the dark-haired elf steering the vessel away from the ship that was sailing next to it. A green flag with a black serpent looking figure flew from the other boat. In those few moments, Tory could also see that they weren't far from the coast. A great forest loomed off to his left. There wasn't any more time to see what else the other boat had or survey the landscape more. There was fighting to do.
A large and intimidating elf came lumbering up to engage Tory, who quickly remembered that he was a general and soldier used to battle. With a cry, he began dueling the pirate as his companions came up the stairs behind him. In the melee that followed, Tory found himself fighting back to back with Urt. The Skrilx was deadly with the metal spear they had procured from the boat's bottom and no less than three pirates lay at his feet, dead by his skilled hand.
Felecia and Gorplin were faring just as well, fighting their way to the edge of the boat. Once they were there, they called to Tory and Urt.
“Get over here, you lot!” Gorplin shouted. “Quick!”
Tory didn't need telling twice. The large elf who had been assailing him looked over at the dwarf just long enough for Tory to send a kick flying at his chest. He staggered off balance and fell backwards, over the body of a comrade or an enemy. Tory didn't know which.
