Magic of Ruyn

by RG Long

  But most of all, he hated being along with Lote.

  He had never been a fan of the elf, but he always had his brother, Cory, or his friend Gray, to talk to and joke with.

  Now one was dead and the other a traitor.

  The last week had been the longest of his life.

  They had trekked from before the suns rose until Lote could be convinced that Tory couldn't continue walking through the dark and that bodily harm might come to him from tripping over rocks or snow.

  While Lote could see just fine in fading light, Tory was stuck with average human eyes that mostly just saw an elf he began to despise more as the trip wore on.

  Why does she have to be so serious all of the time? He wondered as they left the little inn, just a few days after they had set out. Would it kill her to crack a smile or make a joke?

  The inn was called "Fern's Rest" and was just about as comfortable as an actual pile of sticks.

  To Tory, however, a bed had been a welcome sight. It had taken half a day to convince Lote to spend the night. But if they were about to venture up into what Lote kept referring as "The Northern Wastes," he was keen to rest as much as he could before they continued.

  Tory pulled his traveling cloak tight around him as they set off that morning. Light snow was beginning to fall from the sky.

  "I've just discovered how much I really hate the cold," Tory said. Having spent most of his years in the more temperate Thoran, he had taken a warm spring's day for granted. He had never really been in such extreme temperatures. He wasn't enjoying the experience.

  "It's cold up here most of the year and snows frequently," Lote replied. She hadn't so much as fastened the string around her cloak. It hung off her shoulders.

  "Did Wisym tell you that it's a frozen wasteland up here?" He asked, wondering why the chill didn't affect her like it did him. She was much slimmer than he was.

  "No," she said with an air of annoyance. "I speak from experience."

  That caught Tory off guard.

  "What?" he replied. "You've been here before? When?"

  The pair had just crested a hill that allowed them to see much of the landscape out in front of them.

  If 'waste' was not an accurate description then desolate or barren would have done just fine, Tory thought.

  There was hardly any grass. A forest grew underneath the mountains to the east of them, but that appeared to be the only vegetation this land had to offer.

  Lote paused on top of the hill for just a moment before continuing down it.

  "It's been seventy years since I lived here," she said without looking back.

  "Wait," Tory sputtered as he followed her down the hill. He tripped over an unseen rock and his cloak flew open, sending chills all around him. He struggled to pull the cloth back around him quickly.

  "You lived here?" he asked, curious about Lote and her origins for the first time.

  He had always assumed she had lived in Thoran her whole life. That or she had come from down south where the other elves of Ruyn gathered.

  In all of their training together, she had never mentioned anything about her history.

  Then again, Tory thought, Lote hardly talked about anything other than the task at hand.

  "To be accurate," she continued, keeping her eyes on the horizon. "I was born here."

  "Born here?" Tory repeated. "But, why did you leave?"

  Lote stopped and put a hand out to Tory's chest. He paused and looked around.

  The air was tense. He could feel it. Something was stirring on the wind. He put his hand on his sword. Lote drew an arrow and notched it to her bowstring.

  "You'll soon see," she said in a whisper Tory could barely discern over the wind.

  Bursting over a hill came a group of twenty or thirty elves clad in blue. With their spears held at their hips, they charged towards Lote and Tory.

  He could see their armor gleam in the sun. Each elf was armored alike from neck to foot. On their left arm was strapped a silver shield. Only the blue cloth that they wore over their chests broke up their metal plates of protection. On it, a white tower was emblazoned.

  Tory stood his ground alongside Lote. He knew they were no match for thirty elves. It seemed like diplomacy wasn't an option, either.

  Yet he glanced sideways to see that Lote hadn't fired a single arrow, though the elves were now less than twenty paces away.

  That's when ten other elves burst from underneath the hill they had been standing on.

  These elves wore black cloaks and wielded fierce looking short bows and arrows. Barbed arrows soared through the air and rocketed towards the elves in blue. Some found their targets and felled them. Others landed, but did nothing to stop the forward advance.

  Lote stood, stone faced, as the elves approached each other.

  “What do we do!?” Tory asked over the yells of the fighting below.

  Lote shook her head and closed her eyes.

  The blue elves had reached the black. Instead of spears, the elves from the under the hill drew out blades that were shaped like sickles and razor sharp. Some of them chopped off the ends of the spears of their attackers. Others went straight for the elves themselves.

  Sword and spear clanged against one another. An elf in black fell. Then another. One who wore silver armor fell to their knees, too.

  “Should we help?” Tory asked, though he didn't fully know what was happening below.

  In the previous months, he had seen elves fight against man and goblins. He had never seen elves at war with one another.

  Did Lote know about this when they sought to ask the northern elves for aid?

  The black elves were outnumbered and unable to repel their attackers. Some stood their ground until they were cut down. Two or three managed to break free and flee to the east.

  A lone soldier shouted something and pointed up to the top of the hill, where Lote and Tory stood.

  “Don't resist them,” Lote said, putting her bow on the ground.

  Reluctantly, Tory followed suit and dropped his sword.

  Three elves climbed the hill, spears pointed out. The leader, a male elf who wore no helmet, called out to them.

  “Be ye friend or foe?” he asked, without taking his eyes off the pair.

  He surveyed them intently, looking at their cloaks and their travel packs.

  “Are ye Shivian?” he asked again.

  “Shivian?” Tory said low under his breath.

  Lote ignored him, instead addressing the elf in front of them.

  “I am Lote of Thoran,” she said in a voice that betrayed a hint of trepidation, Tory thought. Or could it be fear?

  Then she added, “You once knew me as Lilf of House Camuur.”

  Tory looked sideways.

  Who, in the name of the twin suns, is Lilf? he thought.

  Was that a name Lote used to have? And House Camuur? He had heard of elves claiming houses in order to denote their lineage. Lote had never claimed any such thing in his presence.

  “Lilf?” the armored elf repeated, a sense of recognition sweeping over his face. He looked down at the elves that were below him, and then back up to Lote and Tory.

  “Come with us,” he said.

  It was a command without threat. Tory looked sideways at Lote, who nodded her head.

  He bent down to get his sword, but found a spear at his throat.

  “Leave it,” the elf said with a snarl.

  Slowly, Tory rose to his feet.

  So much for friendly fare, he thought.

  They marched down the hill, past the bodies of the fallen elves in black cloaks as well as the few who had been defeated in blue.

  We've come to ask for aid during a bad time, Tory thought as they began their walk north, a spear pointed at his back.

  THEY WALKED NORTH FOR a full day, hands bound and weapons confiscated. The company of elves surrounding them spoke in low tones and whispers.

  Tory was certain Lote could hear them, but he struggled to make out a
ny words that mattered. Once or twice he had attempted to say something to Lote. All he got in return was a harsh stare from her that let him know now was not the time for talking.

  He busied himself with things he could do without drawing attention to himself or going crazy with boredom. He counted.

  There were twenty-three elves who wore armor of silver and blue. Fifteen of them wore helmets that they apparently never saw a golden opportunity to take off. Four had fallen in the battle and were being carried along on stretchers in full armor. A pair of elves carried the dead comrade between them, though it still must have been quite the feat.

  Tory knew armor was no light business.

  When he ran out of things to count, he tried to familiarize himself with the terrain, but it was all the same.

  To the west was a mountain range covered in snow. The flurries were still falling around them as they marched. Eastwards, the land was barren and devoid of vegetation. As they walked north, Tory could begin to see the outline of a great castle with many towers.

  Seven towers, actually.

  “Behold, Yule. The Elven Stronghold,” Lote said. Tory nearly fell over to hear her speak. No one had said much of a word since that morning.

  “Can I talk now, then?” he asked her.

  Her stare was his answer, so they continued in silence.

  With each step they took, more and more snow covered the ground. Tory thought it seemed unnatural.

  The castle seemed to blend in with the ice and snow around it. White stones melted into blue tiled roof. Six towers made a circle around the seventh much larger middle structure. Bridges and walkways connected the towers together in a web that gleamed in the sun.

  Lote breathed in deeply.

  "It's been a long time since I've laid eyes on the Fortress of Yule," she said.

  Tory couldn't tell if she was lamenting her absence or her return.

  A deep chasm surrounded the castle, making a narrow bridge the only way in. Tory stole a glance from the side of the bridge down below. A fine layer of snow covered the bottom. In places, however, jagged rock stuck up through the powder.

  Large iron doors opened without the elves having to ask for permission to enter. Tory couldn't see who or what had opened them.

  As they entered the castle grounds, he looked back and noted that not only was the bridge the only way inside, it was also the only way out.

  The courtyard was nearly bare. Only one or two guards walked the stones as the contingent of soldiers and captives entered. A fire burned in a round pit in the middle of the grounds. The walls encircled the area. At even points, one of the six out towers rose up to meet the sky. They were all impressively tall. In the middle, the main tower rose above each of them and spiraled upward. Tory could barely make out the roof from the ground he stood on.

  For such a huge castle, it was eerily quiet.

  Thoran could never be this silent, Tory thought.

  Blue banners hung from the tops of doors and from a balcony that was on the second story of the main tower, overlooking the courtyard.

  A guard called out to them from the doorway of it.

  "Who have you brought with you into Yule? Outsiders are not welcome here, brother!"

  Tory assumed these two elves weren't actually brothers, but he was concerned about how they were going to be treated.

  Why did Lote tell him not to fight? He knew they couldn't have taken all of the fighters together, but maybe they could have fled if they had been quicker to react.

  It all seemed so odd. Why was Lote allowing all of this to happen without explanation or without putting up any kind of resistance?

  The elf that was leading them replied.

  "Tell the High Lord Counselor, his daughter has returned to Shiv!"

  Oh, thought Tory. That's why.

  32: The High Counselor's Daughter

  "So, you're royalty?" Tory asked Lote as they were marched up a staircase. Unlike the castle Tory was used to back home, it seemed that this building only went up instead of out. He had meant to count the steps as they ascended, but found his mind burning with questions about Lote.

  "If you keep your mouth shut long enough to listen," Lote replied without looking at him. "You might discover the answers to your questions."

  Tory shot back, "You know you could've told me a little bit about this on our way up here."

  He found himself suddenly quite angry with Lote. This seemed like information that would have been vitally important to him and their mission.

  And at least worthy of mention sometime in the last month.

  “Why didn't you tell me, you long-legged...”

  "That's enough, prisoner," one of the guards said as he poked Tory's back with his spear.

  Tory huffed at the guard, but stifled his shouting.

  Instead of shouting, Tory took pleasure in thinking of all the complaints he could list off to Lote while they were locked away in a dungeon somewhere.

  After climbing what seemed like endless stairs, they were finally guided through a door that opened into a large chamber.

  In front of them stood a white throne on a grand stair made of huge flat circular stones.

  Around it hung blue banners that bore the same imagery as the elves armor: a gleaming white tower that had a crescent shape hovering over it.

  The throne room was empty.

  "Wait here," one of the guards said as they retreated back through the door they had entered. The sound of the closing door echoed throughout the chamber.

  "Well that's very trusting of them," Tory said as he looked back at the closed door.

  "That door is the only exit to this room," Lote said without looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the throne in front of them.

  "At what point were you going to tell me about any of this?" Tory asked accusingly.

  Lote closed her eyes and sighed.

  "I had hoped we could have avoided these elves and made our way east."

  Tory was still fuming.

  "And couldn't we have done that if we had fought them off? Or at the very least, traveled a different way?"

  His words were spilling out of this mouth before he could even think about them.

  "You're always so serious! So guarded! Why don't you let somebody into that head of yours?"

  His words echoed throughout the chamber.

  A new voice responded to his questions.

  "Because my daughter knows the value of information kept close to one's chest."

  Both Tory and Lote turned, trying to discover the source of the voice.

  A man walked out from behind the throne. Two other figures followed him, completely draped in blue. Tory assumed they were elf attendants, but he had no way to know for sure. Even their heads were covered.

  He stopped just a few steps in front of the throne.

  The male elf wore a pristine white robe with a blue front. The emblem of Yule was prominently displayed on the fabric, etched in beautiful thread.

  His hands were clasped behind him.

  “So,” he said after staring for a few moments at Lote. “You've returned.”

  Tory looked back from daughter to father in amazement. The pair reflected each other near perfectly. They shared the same blue eyes and brown hair color. Even from this distance, he could tell that they were just about the same height as well.

  Even the mutual look of hate for one another on them matched.

  “Not willingly,” Lote answered him.

  The look of disgust on the male elf's face magnified.

  “What, I wonder,” he said as he descended the stone steps from the throne. “Could force a daughter who has no love for her country, her history, her people, or her father to return to the home she despises?”

  Each of his words was accentuated by the echoing of his footsteps. He came right up to Lote's face and stared hard at her.

  She didn't yield an inch.

  With a sneer, he looked over at Tory.

  “And with you c
omes a human man,” he nearly spat. “What is this? A pet of yours?”

  Tory instinctively reached for his sword hilt, only to remember that he had been relieved of it.

  So instead of killing the man, he settled on trying to snarl him to death.

  “I sleep at night with a clear conscious, Paterus,” Lote said, not answering her father's question. “I wonder if you can say the same.”

  “You will address me as High Counselor, you worthless daughter,” Paterus replied, pointing a finger at Lote and beginning to shout at her.

  “And you will not call me your kin, dark mage, for that is what you truly are,” Lote answered in a measured tone.

  Tory wasn't sure who was going to deal the first blow. He felt sure that it would come soon, though.

  Paterus dropped his finger to his side.

  “A dark mage, am I?” he said with a twisted smile.

  He climbed back up the steps to the throne on it. His attendants, who never left the sides of the stone chair, stood silent and still.

  “When you left, few knew of my exploits and my attempts to bring glory to Yule. For too long we have fought against the other, less deserving elves,” Paterus said as he sat upon his throne, not looking down at them, but out and away.

  “You know all too well those we have lost,” he said pointedly at Lote.

  Tory saw Lote's face change, but only slightly, at the comment. She was ready with her reply.

  “And I know those who are still breathing whom I have lost to madness,” she said with pain in her voice.

  “Madness!?”

  Paterus stood, his hands were trembling as he clenched them into fists.

  “This madness has saved our nation,” he shouted. “This madness of mine has restored the former glory to Yule! This madness of mine has given us back what we lost. We now have the upper hand in this conflict and will see that every Shivian elf is laid down.”

  With a smile on his face, he turned to one of the attendants and removed the veil.

  Tory took a step back in horror.

  Where there once might have been the proud face of an elf, there was now a skull with blue orbs for eyes. Some flesh still clung to the bone, but only enough to make the sight more terrible to behold.