by RG Long
“Up the stairs,” Silverwolf said, pointing at a guard tower ahead of them on the wall that had a set of stairs that led right up to the ramparts.
AFTER A FEW NEAR MISSES and close calls, the group found themselves at the base of the stairs. The city was nearly all awake and the guards patrolling the streets were becoming more and more aggressive. Joined among their ranks were many of the black robed priests Blume had seen earlier.
No one, apparently, was very happy about strangers in their city, or escaped prisoners.
“They'll see us climbing up, without a doubt,” Holve observed as he glanced around. On each level of Horritoft, a protective wall with guard towers rose proudly. On each wall, torches and guards marched back and forth along the fortifications. The elves of Enoth were on full watch.
“Climb fast then,” Silverwolf said mockingly as she adjusted a sheath on her back and changed a blade from one hand to the other.
“Ready?” she asked the group at large.
“Ealrin,” Blume pleaded, not wanting to hear the answer she knew must be coming but hating to wait any longer. “Shouldn't we find Jurgon first?”
Ealrin's lip trembled slightly and he still refused to meet her eyes. She reached up to hold his shoulder, but he backed away.
“Jurgon's dead,” Holve said with finality. “And we would be too if you hadn't come for us. But we'll all die if we don't get out of the city now.”
Just then, a much louder growl came over the wall. Panto must be very close. The clashing of steel on steel rung out somewhere beyond the wall. Soldiers were shouting.
But all of it seemed distant to Blume, who had lost all the warmth in her fingers.
He couldn't be dead.
“We run now or become permanent residents,” Silverwolf said. She handed Holve some small objects from a pouch on her belt. “Throw these hard,” she instructed and pointed with her blade. “That way. On my count.”
One three, Holve threw something hard down one street, while Silverwolf threw something else down another. Whatever they were, they were loud and flashy. Bright blue sparks came from one direction while a crisp white smoke filled another. Blume could hear guards running in all directions, but mostly towards the sparks or the smoke. She, meanwhile, was being pulled up the stairs by Ealrin.
They reached the top right after Holve. Three elves lay dead on the walk, Silverwolf crouched low over them. She handed Amrolan and Ealrin swords and eyed Blume suspiciously. In response, Blume showed her the dagger she had given her.
The assassin nodded in approval, then leapt up. She ran to the wall and tied her rope to a post, then threw the rest of it down.
“There's a good drop at the bottom,” she said, coming back to look at them. “But it's shorter than jumping from here. Over you go, pointy-ears. Call off your furry friend.”
Amrolan gave her a questioning look, but obliged.
“Send the girl down next,” he said. “We won't wait long.”
Blume was being hoisted over the wall before she could comprehend just how far down the expanse was. The feeling had yet to return to her hands and she was starting to panic. Ealrin held her shoulders and, for the first time, looked her in the eyes.
“You can do this,” he said. “I'll follow.”
He put his forehead on hers and, with the warmth that came from him, Blume gained a small bit of confidence. She shimmied down the rope as quickly as her numb extremities could handle. A cry from above told her she needed to go faster. She finally came to the end of the rope.
Silverwolf had said there was a drop at the end. Blume was cursing the woman for not getting a longer rope. It was at least eight feet. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the fall. Letting go, Blume hit the ground hard and crumpled to the earth.
Amrolan and Panto were by her side in a moment.
“We need to go,” he said, hoisting her onto the bear and getting onto the great beast's back himself.
“No,” Blume said, looking up at the wall. “We have to wait for them!”
A brilliant flash of white exploded above them and a shower of debris rained down.
“No time!” Amrolan said. Steering the great bear away, they sped for the plains.
Blume looked back, seeing only smoke and fire.
22: Forest Foes
"How come we always land into trouble?" Tory asked Gorplin as they were escorted down a forested path. Trees wider than houses and taller than Tory's eyes could see surrounded them. If it weren't for the elves that continually poked them in the back with their stone tipped spears, he would have gotten lost in the brush.
"Bah," came Gorplin's reply. "I don't get in trouble when you aren't around."
Having heard many stories about Gorplin's other misadventures, Tory knew this was false. But he wanted to blame someone anyway.
He should have been glad for the change. Not twelve hours ago, he was on a boat, chained to the wall and sailing towards who knows what pirate cove to be sold off as a slave. But it was hard to imagine that fate when his hands were bound with vines and suspicious eyes glared at him.
For three solid hours, they marched along the forest path. Elves flitted in and out of the bramble as lightly as birds taking flight. The guard of elves kept changing, save for the one who walked directly ahead of Gorplin and the one who was prodding Tory in the back. These two were constant.
Finally, the head elf held up his hand and the procession stopped. The party had come to a clearing in the trees. Lush green grass grew just taller than Tory's boots. A small spring fed pond bubbled merrily as a stream came off of it and led back out to the sea. Twelve or so elves gathered around them. Each wore little to no clothing, save for vines and leaves stitched together and all of their heads were topped with very close cut hair.
The elf who had led them thus far handed his spear to a companion and put his hands on his hips, eyeing the pair of them. He had dark gray eyes and jet black hair. Everything about how he looked at them told Tory this elf didn't trust them as far as he could throw them. Though, the elf did seem quite strong and bulging muscles showed themselves proudly across his whole body. So perhaps he trusted them less than he could throw them.
"You came out of the sea," he said in a stern voice. It was not a question.
"Bah," Gorplin said. "And we're still soaking wet. My boots have been sloshing the whole time we've marched. Can't we dry ourselves out?"
The elf looked down at the dwarf with disdained curiosity.
"You are short, but grown," he observed. "Are you a stunted human?"
"Bah!" Gorplin replied, obviously miffed. "I'm a dwarf! Haven't you ever seen one of my race?"
"Dwarf," the elf repeated, as if tasting the word and finding it bitter. "I have no knowledge of your kind."
He then turned his attention to Tory, who did his best to glare back just as hard as he was being watched.
"Human," the elf said simply. The other elves held their spears out at him. One of them even let out a kind of growl. "Your kind I know well. You burn and cut, maim and destroy what ought to be left to grow and flourish."
"Nothing from this forest," Tory said, hoping his words would find some merit. They didn't seem to.
"But the humans of the north have wasted their lands away," the elf replied. "We seek to protect our lands from the greed of men and the elves of the south."
He was pacing around the clearing, looking at them intently. Tory felt like he was being examined at auction like a slave, even if he had escaped the boat.
"Darrion sends boats all over the sea," the elf said at last. "Perhaps you were sent to find new forests to destroy, having cut all of your own to the ground?"
"We're not from Darrion," Gorplin interrupted, taking a step towards the elf. "And we've come to warn you of danger."
The response to him was immediate. Several elves put themselves between Gorplin and the black-haired elf, their spears held at the dwarf's throat. Two held bows with arrows pulled tight against their strings.<
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Furrowing his brow, the elf stood with his hands on his hips.
"You come to warn us of danger?" he asked. "That sounds too much like a threat."
"And," he added with a small smile on his lips. "It would seem that you two are the ones in a position of danger at the moment. You've come on our lands uninvited and unwanted."
Tory couldn't help but agree. Gorplin, however, was much less inclined to be agreeable.
"Just a minute," he said with annoyance creeping into his voice. "You lot march us for hours to this clearing to just to tell us we're unwanted!? We're trying to save your skins!"
The elf sneered.
"It is not for us to decide whose skin will be saved," he said tersely. "Drink. We march again in ten minutes."
"NOT VERY FRIENDLY," Tory said as they sat by the pond. "Wonder where they're taking us?"
"Bloody elves," Gorplin grumbled. "Here we are trying to warn them that an army is going to march into their forest and they want to take us on a hike."
“We didn't exactly bring a good bit of evidence, did we?” Tory mused. “I mean, what if a stranger barged into your house and told you an army was headed your way, but everything looked peaceful all around you?”
Tory looked around. The forest was peaceful. Giant trees shot into the air like towers built thousands of years ago. Branches the size of houses shot out from the might trunks and pieces of bark as large as boats were peeling from them. Birds flew in and out of the leaves as large as tents. Only the elves walked the edge of the clearing, but even they seemed to blend into the forest seamlessly. In pairs, they patrolled the outer, keeping watch over their prisoners.
“Hold on,” Tory said suddenly. “They aren't looking at us.”
He spent a little more time observing the elves. They weren't looking into the clearing to make sure the prisoners didn't escape. In fact, only the dark-haired elf kept an eye on the pair of them. All of the other elves were watching the trees. Or something beyond the trees.
“Hey,” Tory said, calling their ward. “What's your name?”
The elf raised an eyebrow at him.
“Martin,” he replied, not allowing his face to show any emotion
“What are they looking for?” Tory asked, pointing at the elves who were walking around the clearing. “They aren't guarding us.”
Martin looked at them for a moment, and then out to his comrades. He took a deep breath as he observed them. A furrow creased on his brow.
“Wrents,” he replied. “Not that strangers from Darrion would know of our struggle with the foxes.”
“We aren't from Darrion,” Tory repeated. “And we do know what Wrents are!”
Martin eyed him.
“You've heard legends,” he said.
“No!” Tory argued. “We've fought them!”
“You?” Martin asked, a look of doubt on his face.
“Well,” Tory faltered. “Not Gorplin and me, but our friends have. Right outside Lone Peak! The foxes have been making their way south to Darrion! Some of your people came to tell us that much!”
“Our people?” Martin replied, skeptically. “You've spoken to Wood Walkers before?”
“Bah, just two,” Gorplin answered sulkily. “Didn't have much time with them before the Enoth Empire took off with 'em and some of our own comrades. But they told us enough.”
“What were their names?” Martin asked. Tory could see him tense. He swallowed before answering.
“Elen and Eren,” he said, looking Martin in the eye. “We're... We're not sure what happened to Eren, but Elen was...”
Tory didn't get to tell Martin was had happened to Elen. At that moment, several things happened at once. A great clamor was being made just outside the clearing. Many of the elves surrounding them let out long, high calls like those of birds. The wildlife Tory had seen flitting in and out of the clearing was suddenly all headed in one direction. Martin had taken up a position of defense and stared hard into the dense forest.
“Today you prove your words,” he said in a hard, measured tone. “They are here.”
With several quick movements, he cut their bonds with his spear. The vines that had held their hands together fell to the ground at the exact moment that forty Wrents came crashing through the clearing, fangs bared and howls ripping through the forest.
23: The Empire's March
Late summer was coming. The twin suns of Gilia glowed in the morning sky. Their rising was heralding the dawn of a new campaign, the likes of which had not been seen on Irradan in a thousand years. The elves of Enoth were off to war.
Rophilborn looked over his troops gathering below on the fields of Pahyrst. His chest filled with pride as he observed the tens of thousands of elves that assembled under his banner. Captains and companies from the nine cities of the glorious Enoth empire had come. He was pleased.
He had led his troops by ship to the far reaches of Darrion. Now that his plan there was being carried out, it was time for a new order to be mustered. The last group of soldiers had been from his own beloved Pahyrst. Now he mustered his troops from all over his empire. The task at hand was greater than the one he had sent his other soldiers on. It would require more bodies. More halberds. More captains and elves willing to fulfill the orders of the emperor.
He glanced casually into the sky, observing again the great Comet. Its edges were turning more orange by the day. Their purpose was becoming a reality. Now he must reclaim the stars and seek out his immortality. It was his destiny, as the emperor of Enoth, to live in splendor and bless his empire.
“Your Excellency,” came a deep voice from behind him. Rophilborn turned to see Cedric at the door to his chambers. The priest entered without being admitted, something the emperor noted in the back of his mind. In his hands, he carried several rolled-up parchments and a quill.
“I have the plans for the campaign here,” Cedric said as he bowed his head slightly and laid out the papers on a table.
Rophilborn took one last proud look at his gathering might and then strode inside. He glanced down at the maps and lists he had already spent much time pouring over and folded his arms.
“I've seen these,” he said simply.
“I have only made two small additions,” Cedric replied as he noted new lines, drawn in red.
Rophilborn observed them. From Pahyrst, the lines of his soldiers were marked. The invasion of the Wood Walker lands was to be swift and terrible. He himself had drawn up the plans to ensure that everything went as intended. The timing had to be just right. Two lines, one heading east and the other north were marked in red. These two lines went away from the others that Rophilborn had ordered. Both of them ended in a square with a circle drawn inside it. A symbol Rophilborn checked against the map's key.
“Do you not have enough temples?” Rophilborn asked, putting a hand on the symbol which denoted a new temple for the worship of the Comet. “Have you not considered how this endeavor will hinder our main objective?”
Cedric bowed with hands outstretched.
“Your Excellency,” he said silkily. “Your armies will crush the woods and all who live within them. Your purposes will not be hindered from my asking for a few stout elves to help the Priests of the Comet spread their message.”
"Your two small additions will take thousands of my soldiers, hundreds of builders, and nearly all your priests," Rophilborn countered as he stared at the priest.
He had no doubts. Cedric was becoming too ambitious. He had allowed the elf too much power.
"Remove these plans and yourself from my room," he said with a wave of his hand. "Do not return unless I call you."
Cedric did not immediately obey the direct order. For a moment, he stood looking at Rophilborn, his face devoid of emotion. Rophilborn expected the priest to wilt under his gaze. The tall, deep voiced elf stared back for several moments longer than the emperor was used to when he gave others with such a penetrating look.
Cedric cleared his throat.
"
My ambitions have always been to promote the Order of the Comet," he said with a bow.
"I had thought that, in doing so, I would promote the prosperity of all of the elves of Enoth."
Is still a brat again and gather the plans that he had laid out on the table.
"If this is no longer pleasing to you, I will gladly wait for your instructions on how I should proceed."
Rophilborn was feeling his annoyance with the priest ebbed away. This was the subservient attitude he was used to and had missed from Cedric as of late.
"I require no more temples," he said simply. "Lead your priests into battle with me. March under my banner. Do this and I will be pleased."
Cedric bowed low once again, his plans tucked into the folds of his robes, and turned to leave.
Rophilborn watched the hem of his yellow priest robes flutter out the door. When he heard a muffled voice speaking behind him, he did not flinch. He had expected this conversation was being listened to.
"Do you believe him to be sincere in his repentance?" the voice asked.
Rophilborn breathed out slowly.
"Perhaps," he replied.
THE PAIR WALKED DOWN a glittering hall. Suits of armor shone freshly polished, busts of famous elves glared proudly from their pedestals, and art of the glory of Enoth rested upon golden easels.
At the end of the hall, a bright light shone from a balcony.
"How many have been gathered?" Rophilborn asked the elf on his right.
"Six thousand as of last night, and four more thousand are expected within a week to follow the advanced army," came the reply from within the mask.
Hands in his pockets, black robes billowing, and face masked in gold, Rophilborn’s protégé matched his every step.
For decades, he had walked alongside this elf, teaching him the secret ways of the emperors who had come before him. Their Order, known to only the most devoted and loyal subjects of Enoth, Rophilborn had not permitted him to be seen by any, save himself and the masked elf's personal guard.
