by RG Long
Paterus was no dark mage, Tory thought. He was a necromancer.
“And after the Shivian's have been destroyed, they will serve us anew after death,” he said, his face contorting with evil glee.
“Take them to the dungeon,” he told his dark minions. “I've finished discussing this matter for the time being.”
Each attendant raised their hands and marched forward towards Lote and Tory.
TORY WALKED THE STAIRS under the unnatural grip of the reanimated corpse on his arm. It gave him chills, but there was no way to shake off the unbelievably strong grasp.
"Sounds like you had a pleasant childhood," he said to Lote, who was being led in front of him.
Her guard, which Tory could only assume was also a walking corpse, led the way, dragging Lote behind it.
"During my earlier years, it wasn't like this," She replied to Tory's amazement. He had almost given up on actually learning anything about her.
"But looking back," she continued. "I can see glimpses of the monster he is today."
“What's going on with these things, then?” Tory asked as he did his best to avoid looking into the glowing blue orbs of his escort. He wished his still had on its veil.
“It's Rimstone, or rather, the misuse of it, that powers their bodies. My father has been obsessed with the dead ever since...”
She trailed off. For a moment, all Tory heard was the sound of their own feet.
“Well,” Lote continued in a slightly different tone. “For a long time. I left when I knew what he was doing. I was ashamed that my own father would be dealing in magic so dark. He claimed it would allow us to end a civil war with the elves to the east. For that reason alone, he was given the blessing of the people of Yule to continue his cursed experiments. I wanted nothing to do with it.”
“I wouldn't either,” Tory agreed.
They continued their descent down the stairs. They turned through a door and began down a hallway. Many doorways led off of the hall. Every few paces, another banner with the emblem of Yule was adorned.
Yet still, Tory noticed, there were very few elves.
“Where is everyone?” he asked as they walked. “I've seen thirty elves since we've arrived. And that includes the ones from the field earlier. It's spooky.”
Lote looked back at him with pain in her eyes.
“We were losing the war with Shiv when I left. It's probably for that reason that my father hates me so much. I abandoned him in his greatest time of need. But instead of seeking a peace agreement, he argued that he could animate our fallen soldiers and have them fight anew.”
“We lost many good fighters to our conflict. Instead of trying to end it, both sides became increasingly desperate to win on their own terms. Shiv elves are masters of avoiding detection and fighting in the shadows. They are assassins. Our elven knights were no match for an enemy we couldn't see. Many good generals and leaders were killed by their attempts to undo us. My father was almost killed three times by an assassin's blade or dart. That was before I left. I can't imagine what's happened since.”
Tory listened intently. It had never occurred to him that Lote would have such a storied past. He had always known her as from Thoran. To think she held such pain in her heart.
He almost felt bad for complaining so much.
Almost.
"I've never heard of someone actually resurrecting the dead," Tory said as they were led across a walkway and away from the main tower.
"You can't really bring back the dead," Lote said with a hint of pain in her voice.
"These things," she said as she shook the arm held by her skeletal captor. "Are magical abominations. Dead bodies giving the illusion of life. There's no true resurrection here. They don't talk, eat, laugh or anything that constitutes life. They're mindless slaves. Nothing more.”
They were now on an open bridge that overlooked the castle courtyard. Over to one side of the bridge, Tory heard shouts in the courtyard below. Looking down, he saw thirty or so silver clad elves and twenty blurs wearing black cloaks.
“Shivians! Shiv elves on the grounds!”
There was chaos.
“It's now or never, Tory!” Lote said as she bashed her escort with her head, attempting to shake its grasp.
“Finally!” Tory responded.
He brought his hands, still tied together, around and did his best to smash his captor's head.
The head fell from the elf’s shoulders, but the body remained upright.
"Ugh!" he said, forgetting that he had at least freed himself from the grasp of the corpse.
"Run!" Lote shouted. "To the courtyard! Follow me!"
She ran down the hallway, in the same direction they were heading, and made a left turn, and then a right.
Within moments, Tory found himself following Lote down a much smaller set of spiral stairs than the ones they had climbed earlier.
"This should let out into the courtyard below!" Lote said as she raced down.
Tory saw her burst through a door at the bottom of the stair and nearly knocked her over following her out into the open air.
There was a battle raging over by the pit of fire in the middle of the courtyard. Black and blue figures swirled and danced around each other.
An elf clad in silver and blue turned to face them. The warrior was just a few paces away and wore a helmet.
Neither Lote nor Tory had a weapon and both their hands were tied.
It didn't stop Lote for long.
She sprinted towards the elf before they could react. With her shoulder, she plowed into him. Tory heard her grunt as she made contact with his armor. They both fell over in a pile. He followed closely behind her and kicked at the soldier's head with his heel.
A sickening crack told him he had done his job well.
He reached down for a blade he saw strapped to the elf's belt and made to untie Lote's hands. Before he could complete the task, however, another blade was pressed against his throat.
"Move and die," a voice said from behind him.
Tory froze midway in slicing Lote's bonds free.
"Drop the knife," the voice ordered.
He obeyed, and the blade clanged to the ground. As he looked up, he saw a black-cloaked figure standing over Lote with a blade pressed to her throat as well.
"Are these the ones?" the masked warrior asked the one behind Tory.
"No doubt," he replied. "Time to go."
There was a blinding green flash that enveloped them all.
When he opened up his eyes, Tory saw the outside of castle Yule.
Then a bag covered his head.
LOTE AND TORY STUMBLED as their captors led them along.
Hours passed since they left the castle of Yule, and there seem to be little signs of them stopping anytime soon.
Tory was having a difficult time managing his footing. There would be moments when he felt like he could predict the rise and fall of the snow at his feet. The next thing he knew, he was sliding on icy ground.
"If you would take these blasted bags off our heads we could probably walk faster," he said after slipping for the fourth time in the last hour.
"Actually, Tory" Lote said from beside him. "You are the only one wearing one."
Tory let loose a slew of curses before he could manage a coherent sentence.
"Why does my face have to be covered?" he blurted out.
"We have very little trust for humankind," an unfamiliar voice said.
Tory could hear that the voice came from one of the two elves who held him as he walked.
He turned his head in the direction of the voice.
"Why doesn't she get one?" He asked irately. "Weren't you at war with her father?"
Tory felt a sharp pain in his back.
"Of all the blundering, stupid things to say," Lote yelled at him.
He heard scuffling noises behind him, followed by several runs of pain.
After a few moments, Tory was being lead forward again.
"
We were unaware of her heritage, human," the same voice from earlier said. "Worry not. Your companion is now also blind as you are."
A small part of Tory felt a grim satisfaction.
That feeling disappeared as soon as he heard Lote's voice again.
"Tory Greenwall," she said, her voice dripping with hate. "I will happily murder you as soon as I am given the opportunity."
Tory prayed Lote had finally found a sense of humor.
THEY WALKED FOR A DAY and a half. There was no resting or eating. Only twice did they pour water through the fabric for Tory to drink. He wasn't sure if the fabric made the water taste foul or if all water from the Northern wastes tasted bitter.
It was impossible for him to tell the passage of time by the light of the suns or darkness of the night.
The number of steps and soreness in his legs was the only measure he had for the distance they had traveled.
Underneath his feet, Tory could feel the terrain changing. He felt like they were climbing up steeper paths, rather than walking on the plains like they had before.
Stumbling became a regular occurrence.
“Curse these head coverings!” Tory shouted. “If you'd just take them off our heads we'd be able to travel twice as fast!”
Tory felt the arms that held him pull him to a stop.
“Do you ever stop complaining, human?” another elf voice asked.
“Give me a blade,” Lote said. “I'll silence him. Just bring him close.”
That sounded a little too authentic to Tory for it to be sarcasm.
“Your fate will be decided soon enough,” another elf said. “For the moment, stand very still.”
Hands clutched Tory's left and right arm. Words that he recognized as a Speaker's spell echoed around him, as if they were in a very small, enclosed space.
A wind began to wrap around his feet. Faster and fast it wound around him, until he felt the ground sinking away.
“Woah, woah, woah” he said as he felt himself lifting higher and higher off of the ground. He kicked and flailed, but he continued to rise higher still.
Then he fell.
THE SENSATION ONLY lasted a moment. A hard stone floor seemed to materialize underneath him. He hit it hard, stumbling and going down to one knee.
He groaned as pain shot through his leg.
“Make that your last noise and you may yet live,” said a voice as Tory felt a blade press against his neck.
This adventure north had given him far too many close calls in his mind.
“Give us leave, brother,” said a voice Tory thought must have come from a ghost. “You've done what I have requested.”
Lote must have thought so as well.
“What manner of Shivian trickery is this?” she said from Tory's left.
Footsteps came near to them and a new voice spoke.
“Daughter of Paterus,” it said in a mocking tone. Tory thought this voice's owner was female. The first he had heard other than Lote's since leaving. “What an honor.”
Mirthless laughter echoed throughout wherever it was they were.
It sounded as if they were in some large room or amphitheater. He felt the cold stone beneath him with his hands and a shiver overcame him.
He tried his best not to let the cold drive him into the blade still pressed to his throat.
The voice was now dangerously close to his ear.
“You are in the fortress of Shiv. None who enter here unwelcomed leave alive. Pray that you become welcome,” said the female voice threateningly.
“I welcome them and that's enough, Viol. Now back away from them. And unmask them both.”
Tory heard her stand from her crouching position. The knife slid away from his throat and he breathed deeply. He felt the mask removed from his face. The bright light of the sun was harsh on his blindfolded eyes. He blinked several times before he could see properly.
And even then he didn't believe what was right in front of him.
Dressed in black robes, with hands outstretched, was a man Tory had thought dead for months.
“Welcome to Shiv, friends,” said Holve Bravestead.
33: Ealrin's Pursuit
Ealrin led Wisym and Bertrom out of the residential district and back into the marketplace of Beaton.
Though there was a gathering of the Red Guard near the remains of their armory, the rest of the city appeared to have gone back to its normal activity.
Street vendors shouted at them as they passed, trying to convince them to make a purchase.
Both casual shoppers and those who seemed to have urgent business filled the streets.
"Nothing stops this place for long," Bertrom said as they walked past the cleaning efforts continued by the Red Guard.
"It's nothing they haven't seen before," Wisym replied. "The Suns have become braver in their raids recently. I'm curious to know what they're up to."
She looked at Ealrin with a questioning expression.
"But first I'd like to know what it is you are wanting to see?" She asked.
Ealrin looked around at the busy guards, the crowded street, and the businesses. He knew he wasn't going to see what he was looking for in the exact same spot.
He had a feeling that if his guesses were right. He would have to visit a less traveled part of town.
"If someone came to Beaton, but didn't want to draw attention to himself, where would he go?" He asked.
Wisym raised her eyebrows.
"That depends on how dangerous they were feeling."
LATER THAT NIGHT, WEARING clothes that didn't betray their origin or their status, the three of them quietly slipped into the area of town Wisym referred to as "the lower docks."
While the Red Guard did their best to ensure the safety of the majority of the city, there were certain parts of it that they knew they had no authority or control over.
A sign above an ancient looking rock wall said so.
"Caution. Silver Suns activity suspected in this area. Turn back to safety," Bertrom read out loud.
"That's cheerful," he said in a wavering voice. "Think we want to take their advice?"
"Not this time, Bertrom," Ealrin replied as he passed through the gate in the wall.
He heard Wisym and Bertrom following him down the path and out towards the docks.
Wisym had explained that Beaton and the Red Guard did a great job of monitoring who enters the city through the river to the south. Keeping tabs on the sea to the north, however, had always proved to be difficult to the city's authorities.
Unlike the pristine appearance of the business district and the upper crust residential area, the lower docks was a dingy and disheveled looking place.
Ealrin wasn't sure if he was looking at businesses or homes, but buildings of some sort rose up around a cobblestone street. Most of them had wooden fronts. Some had signs that hung atop the doors, but they had long faded and not been restored. Doors were kept closed and some windows were shuttered. Every now and then, streams of light would flow from these. More often than not, however, darkness was all that they could see if they peered into an opening.
A handful of people moved quickly from one building to another. No one was meandering through the streets or perusing the shops.
"Quaint," Bertrom said. "What are we looking for again? I'd like to find it and leave if that's already with you two."
Now that Lote was gone, Bertrom was a little more forthcoming with his fears. Ealrin appreciated his honesty, but was becoming a bit frustrated with his lack of bravery.
"We're looking for a who, not a what," he replied as he walked the street toward the docks. He wasn't sure where he should start, though.
He looked back towards Wisym.
"Are there any bars or inns around here that..." he started to ask, before he walked right into something.
Or rather, someone.
"Excuse me," said the stranger, whose hood was covering his face.
"No, no," Ealrin said, backing away and hoping
to avoid a confrontation. "Excuse me."
The man didn't appear to hear him or care. He had already walked off.
Ealrin, turned to continue walking, but then stopped.
Wisym and Bertrom came beside him.
He turned around and looked back at the stranger.
The man was very tall and quite muscular. Ealrin could tell that just from bumping into him. He wore a cloak around him with its hood up.
But sticking out from the bottom of his cloak was the tip of a spear.
A spear that Ealrin recognized.
“There's our who,” he said as he began to tread behind him, making sure to keep him in his sights.
THEY FOLLOWED HIM FOR several streets and through a few different shops. Ealrin was careful not to be too close to him, lest he suspect he was being followed, but also feared losing him.
The man who carried the spear of Holve Bravestead was someone Ealrin wanted to keep tabs on.
Surely it was his spear. There wasn't its equal that he had seen on Ruyn. It was exquisite.
Why would this man have it unless he was who Ealrin suspected?
Still, he had to make sure.
After coming out of a store that sold various types of pipes and smoke weed, their target took a sharp right and then disappeared from their sight just as soon as they piled out of the shop. The owner looked glad to see them go. Especially since they weren't going to make a purchase.
Ealrin looked both ways down the street. A number of stores lined the road, but only two had lights in their windows. One was the store they had just come out of. It smelled terribly. Ealrin couldn't stand the smell of a pipe, though he saw Bertrom linger in the doorway.
“Come on!” Ealrin said. “You can come back later and buy a bag of leaf if you want.”
A longing expression was on Bertrom's face.
“Wish I had brought some coins,” he muttered.
“I thought you said you were glad to have left your valuables?” Wisym countered with a sly grin.
Ealrin wasn't too interested. He was trying to figure out where to go next.
