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Day of scouting for these boys, Thrandir talks a lot when the situation allows it, but he doesn’t realize that 1.) Yvet is too distracted by how strong he is, and therefore isn’t listening to him in the first place and 2.) The small bird man is trying to focus and Thran shouldn’t be talking until he’s done.
I know I’ve been super bad about posting consistently recently, but I was just able to get my IPad fixed, so be prepared for a swarm of art and silly stuff coming your way soon! This is Thrandir, one of my FFXV ocs and someone who, along with about eight or more other characters, will be talked about later on. I hope you guys enjoy, and any critique, suggestions, or comments would be greatly appreciated, have a nice day!
a lovers tale, part 38.
Thrandir’s hands ran along the steel bars as their forehead soon enough came to rest upon it as well, simultaneous with a world weary sigh that came from those lips. But this was met with a low growl that came from one of the wolves in the cell to the right of them. Thin pressed were the lips as eyebrows arched highly up and eyes darted in the direction that the growl had come from. “Once again? I’m sorry, I can’t quite understand when you growl like that.”
“Stop complaining. You’ve not been in here more than a few days and you feel the need to sigh as though in mourning. You’re wasting your breath,” came the tone of the wolf who had been the first to address some supposedly unspoken animosity that they had formed. But before the one that was a remnant of Lisrael could retort, it was Gideon who interjected himself. Slowly had the power and strength that had drained from him ebbed into him, rest and the meager rations that were given bringing him back. This was the first time Thrandir had seen what was truly a wolfish grin through these reasonably dim lights. And that made their lips pull into something of a grin as those bright eyes did flash visibly.
Then the voice came afterwards. “Don’t waste time growling and barking at each other. Isn’t that what I instruct everyone of at the guild? The same applies even when those from without are involved.”
The joy in her voice was nearly audible as Emirain spoke again for the first time in a while. It was as though she had been awaiting the green light, the confirmation that Gideon was well, that Gideon was able to stand and let his hands dangle lackadaisically out of the bars as he spoke. Such was better than music to her for, though they would growl and bite as any mated wolves would, his wellbeing did bring her happiness. “Yrain would not bring pups here. I am sure all are more than aware of the fact that respect is mandated for all that are involved with us.” Most lingered forward in their cells, but she was seated in the back corner. Gideon’s sleeplessness when chain had reflected in her own, for they were partners. To say that Gideon had not reciprocated would be in err. Even as his own health would wax and wane, he knew that wolf course mourn themselves to death. Werewolves were little different. She could rest, now, and he could feel the relief that such entailed.
“I was not trying to give off the idea that I did not delight in the wonderful company,” came the voice of the one that had played all sides of the field. Oh, perhaps they were only upset given the fact that finally it had come to it that they were no longer placed in a winning position. If anything, capture could spell the beginning of the end. They tried to abate that from their mind, though, recalling their body from where they were lingering by the door of the cell, pacing back. “So I would like to apologize--”
“I hate to interrupt,” as their speech was cut off by the voice of Hagon, the steps not even audible as he had joined them, “but I supposed that it would be best if I spoke of what I had found.”
This drew the attention of Emirain as she walked in a few quick steps towards the front of her cell. She had heard the howls just as Gideon had and within her worry had been roused even if she was not the one who had insisted upon resolution. It was she who made the first inquiry. “And…”
“It is much as we had anticipated.” he began, his eyes cutting down the hall. The mass exodus of the elves to where there was war had made it considerably more accessible insofar as sneaking and exploring and finding the wolves. “They are kept as beasts in cages. They aren’t… they hardly know themselves, now they are what they are. They…”
“I know what you are.” Eyes of the one who was the would-be alpha, the one that was hailed as the up-and-comer by his packmates, were the first to find the eyes of Thrandir who stood on the other side of the cell. There were bars between them and yet the intensity of the glowing eyes caused a step back for a moment.
“Do not think for a moment that I was under the impression that you did not know, Thrandir. You have no scent. You are a strange creature, truthfully something that I can neither recognize nor peg. Nothing from Liev--nothing from the north,” as the words came forth yet the dark face attempted to keep from contorting in response to the statements. “Though I do not know what you are, I know well that you know more than you let on. Call it a hunch.” The silence was then feel with a tension, an awkwardness that almost all could hear. “Your interjection was as usual, unnecessary.”
As Thrandir found himself silenced, so continued the blonde werewolf as he glanced towards Gideon in particular. “They know nothing of their abilities. Of their potential. They had but a singular fate upon being bitten and it was to be locked up like hounds. Like animals that have done wrong. I suppose it could be--worse.” After all, even among those that the Guild set their sights upon, there were some that did not survive the bite, that were unable to regain their sanity. Those were quietly put down and allowed their rest, for their minds could not quite handle what was dictated for. “But what I saw…” and deep was the frown before he continued, “one of the mothers had her child with her. A woman who had been bitten. Her child… her child was innocent of any crime and yet was given to a mother who cannot control her wolf. How many others have died due to this? Children slain at their hands of their parents--” Brows creased over his eyes for a moment as he saw the softness, the concern in the eyes of Gideon. Emirain would put forth a similar expression, but hers was unseen. “You were fight in not flying until we were able to find a way to help them. But until we find that way--”
“I’d a feeling one of you rats was missing. Iowyr didn’t believe me, but he hadn’t seen you.” A hand gripped to the arm of the former Northman and with stunning quickness he found himself within a cell down the way. Any monologue had hopefully been unheard by the elf that held the keys to the cells or else things would be insurmountably more difficult. They were bad enough as it was. “Get in there where you belong, damned beast.”
By and large most of the elves had been more eloquent, as one would expect them to be. But he was sure they had dealt by and large with those in higher rungs of the latter of society; no knight trained in manners could be spared to keep an eye on a bunch of caged beasts and certainly not the king himself. This elf had a more gruff air about him, likely more like the common folk that fought in the battles against humans. Hagon made no protest, but turned his gaze down the way once the guard had dismissed himself. Likely, something more pressing needed to be done. What that was the wolves did not hazard a guess, but when no sense read the presence of the elven one, Hagon spoke again.
“I want to help them. I want to lead them.”
And Gideon’s head leaned back against the wall of his cage, a smile lingering on his lips. “I knew I chose you for a reason.”
Brayden would attend to traveling to the north again. This decision was, of course, already made and committed to before he walked along the hall and glimpsed a familiar blonde with her hair tight braided against her head. This was the longest they had been separated at any point of their marriage and so the mere sight of her did serve to rend his breath from his lungs. Her clothes of simple fabric and furs accented the now visible bump that had developed to show the life within and she wrapped around her the skin of a white bear of the north. She had told him of that tradition when they lay there, once, speaking of children--long before they knew she was with child. He said nothing. Such could not be said of Silvya who, the instant that her eyes were upon him, had bridged the distance between them and landed a firm smack upon the face of the knight who had been away, laboring at war. Wide were his eyes as his fingers came to linger upon his face but just as soon did he feel her embracing him, the familiar warmth as she pressed her face against his shoulder. “You were back?! You were back and didn’ tell me?”
“I was coming to--” but there were lips on his. She clung to him as he held to her to support her and they simply enjoyed their moment in that instance. Even as their lips parted they remained near to one another, close, her standing on tiptoe to let her forehead rest slightly against his. And she could simply not stop smiling. “... Abigail told me you were here, and…”
“I don’t care,” as she pressed her against his once more. Against his neck did she come to rest her face. “Not home to stay--you can’t be. The war, it is not over, or we would all know,” as she did slowly come to part from him, her face lifted up to gaze at him, still holding fast to her husband’s clothes. “When do you leave?”
Not over. In the instances that he was once again with Sivlya, as she was against him, he could at least pretend that he was not going back to battle, back to war. But he was. There was not yet peace to be found amongst them and that was the way of things, so the knight swallowed hard as he gave a shake of his head. “Tomorrow. In the morning. We ride back to the north to seek counsel with the elven king--to hopefully find a resolution. So we can end the war and have peace, and so I can come home…” as his eyes were upon hers, seeing the way her face contorted, watching as her brows knit tight over her eyes. Only one night. All this way he had traveled and held his pregnant wife in his arms, and only for one night. It almost seemed cruel, but he understood the necessity. He understood why. He was a knight and he did have a country to serve.
“Tomorrow…” as she reached a hand up to move along beneath his eye. There was liquid along the bottom of it and she brushed it away with a grin. “Do not cry. We have tonight, Brayden. And I missed you. Very much.” And again they kissed there in the light of the sun from the window that looked out over the city.
Abigail had gazed upon this exchange and for a moment, perhaps for the first moment since she had allowed herself to become jaded, to become content with what would be her lot in life, she felt the truthfulness of envy. She had no desire within her heart for Brayden but perhaps she did feel some desire of love, of something. Her arms wrapped around herself in that moment as she felt a cold that resonated from within before she turned and saw to meeting her husband to speak further of the current predicament, though the light within her seemed more dim.
“I intend to ride with you to council,” she informed him as she sat opposite him at the lunch table, reaching for the cup of water placed before her. Already he had begun eating (a step outside of the social mores, but this was hardly the first unspoken rule that Mercurius had been known to violate) and soe he had to lift his head to gaze at her with eyes narrowed. The fork was placed down and he seemed truly wordless, so she continued, “Surely there is a confidant somewhere in the castle that can hold its ground in my stead. Perhaps one of the wolves. Perhaps Silvya, even. I am sure Zanil will not see this counsel go by without his presence…”
“The ride is long,” spoke the voice of the the king as he placed a hand flat-palmed on the table. The way it had motioned for an instance she had nearly predicted he would raise it in a motion to mandate silence of her, but such was not her case. She could have sighed with relief, but kept it within herself. “And you are undoubtedly with child. I cannot, I will not permit it. Arric is riding with me, and so is Zanil. I do not see why you feel it necessary…”
“I was under the impression that a Baidenese queen has as much say in politics as her husband,” as preserved fruit was spread over the bread that she sliced a piece of in a smooth motion, “and such is partly why I agreed with Zanil when he chose me. Is this not politics? Have I not a place here and at counsel?”
He was nearly frustrated that she could so easily remain calm as she spoke, the bread being lifted to her lightly tinted lips. And for a moment he looked upon her and saw the black curls that fell past the collarbone barely exposed by her dress, laying against her skin. He saw the poise in her hand and the grace that she held and had he not been wordless before, he was now. She was right, at least, partly. Traditionally it was the Baidenese queens that had more say in politics than the queens of other countries, other nations. They were more involved. Georgiana had been involved, in her own ways. Abigail clearly desired to be more direct with her hands in the pie of political power. “One of the rules should remain in Baiden. That is simply the way that it should be,” as his eyes were upon hers, “can you not agree with this?”
“And why will you not stay?”
Mercurius had to acquiesce to her that she had a point: there were two rulers and never had he been exactly vehement of the fact that he should play a key role in counsel. It was merely implied. But this was the point at which he staked a metaphoric vocal claim: “I am the king. I should be involved in all counsel that will decide the fate of this country--”
“And by that logic should I not, as queen, have an integral role to play as well?”
“This cannot be.”
“I would go to counsel. Have Zanil remain, then--”
“I will not,” as his hand allowed him to push up, the force upsetting the plates that were upon the table, “permit you to leave. You are pregnant, and the ride is long. It is dangerous for you and should this be a trap, and assault, Baiden will lose not only two but three leaders.” The hand motioned to her and there was no doubt that he was referencing the child she carried. Her hand upon her knife did still as she turned her gaze towards him, fingers paling as she gripped tight to it.
“Permit me?” Her voice was neither low nor raised. It was firmly neutral and her brow was cocked as though she were listening to the words of a petulant child and not a petulant king. “Was it not you that deviated from the cultural norms of a Baidenese wedding of nobility by insisting I not marry to you? Like our patron god, did you not want to see me only on eye level and not look down upon me?” With notable grace did she rise, poised as she came to stand opposite him. There were a few inches of disparity between them, but her chin was upturned to meet him. “I was not asking your permission. I was stating that I had intents to do it whether or not it was something you approved of.”
His nails scraped against the wood of the table and he turned from her, a hand running through his hair. There was a tint of grey to be found in it, now, that perhaps she had not noticed before. The light filtered through: it was not the warm light of summer, but the chilled light of winter that illuminated her king and she looked at him. Through anger, she saw what he had seen when he looked at her. He was wordless, motionless, a statue in response with age beginning to etch upon his face and she slowly let her hand release the knife to allow it to rest on the table. “Am I not permitted to worry for your wellbeing? Were you not pregnant, I would raise no voice. We would find one to keep the country safe in our stead but pregnancy drains so. I worry for you and for... our child.”
The moments in which Mercurius had truly rendered her wordless in a positive way for few. This was not an articulation of a power complex, or of a need to control her. Albeit, it had been approached in possibly the worst way that she could have thought. But as his hand dropped from his face, her expression softened into a smile and even a shake of the head. He hand was soft upon the table and were it not something that would push both of their comfortable spaces beyond the norm, she would have reached across to lay a hand on his. “I cannot argue that,” she spoke, finally, after the silence had threatened to consume them. “I will remain, as will Silvya…”
As his eyes shifted back to her they did blink rapidly, a dark brow arching. The weight of the world was upon his shoulders and she existed to alleviate that burden and to allow the curtains to be drawn back. He looked as thought years had been drawn from his face when he spoke to her again. “I was not aware that Brayden’s wife was here. I am sure that will be a pleasant surprise for him.”
About her ankles did her skirts move in a lazy way as she encircled the table with precise steps, his gaze not moving from her as she did so. “I saw their reunion,” as she came to hold her arms across herself again. “They were quite happy to be in one another’s arms again. It was as though the sun itself shone from their smiles.”
She seemed small. Rare were the moments that she was anything other than radiant and as she stood there, he knew he felt for her as he felt for Arric. It was love. Different kinds of love, but love indeed--yet he could not merit excessive concern of that at the moment. She lingered still a few feet from him and yet he bridged the space between them and placed a hand upon the black ringlet curls that tumbled from her head past her shoulders and placed his lips to her forehead. Her arms were around him and, for the moment, their food was forgotten, and she simply remained there against him in the cold winter light.
part 39.
read from the beginning.
a lovers tale, part 24.
“Getting to see you outside of the castle was a bit more of a hassle than I would have liked it to be, Tiadel.”
Zanil did not require sleep. Often did he partake in it given that it helped him better veil whatever secret he did keep but other than that--it was not a necessity, nor a requirement. It was no skin off his nose to keep night watch to allow more of the men that needed sleep to have it. A few, long paces from the camp had he taken if only to find some solace in the singularity of being by himself and not flanked by others. That turned out to not be the case, in truth, for soon enough did he find himself in the company of Thrandir. By definition it was not an inopportune time for there was nothing going on that he would be distracted from, but he had not been expecting the rather sudden appearance of the enigma that had played such a vital role in this war. Yet, none knew what side he was on. None even knew where his allegiances lay. Such operated, of course, under the assumption that Thrandir had alliances of any sort to lay anywhere. He may well have been outside of the realm of alliances--playing his cards on every side so no matter who emerged victorious, he would find himself atop all things.
As much as Zanil wished he could find some irritation in that, it was inevitably a brave way to play. Assuming his house of cards did not collapse in on him.
Though his eyes did not move to his new companion, he knew who it was. He knew the voice, the manner of speaking. He knew the cloak was drawn around short, wavy hair and pointed ears. Thrandir was proud to be what he was for some plains elves when in Baiden did cover their ears to pass with less issue, but never Thrandir. That was simply not the way he operated. And deep down, Zanil had to admit that there was something about that which he envied. His hair was kept long and worn so over his shredded ears, and he even had concocted a very false story to validate the reasoning behind his appearance. It changed every few generations, and he never wrote it down. What he had told to the young Mercurius was that he had once been in a fight with someone to protect one of the Rosenlied princes and that is where his ear had been torn. Children were, luckily, fairly gullible. All things had worked out well enough. As he grew, Mercurius had come to learn simply not to ask. His wife was not so inundated as of yet and so she had gotten a glimpse, and only a glimpse. The truth would either garner her trust to him or destroy it, and the risk was not one he was willing to take. He had been a fool to even make an implication of it.
“What is it you intend to say to me here that you could not have said to me within the confines of Castle Rosenlied, Thrandir?” A light brow was quirked visibly and still he did not face the other male in his vicinity. His gaze was fastly fixed ahead, for he was keeping watch. “The notion there is anything that cannot be said within the castle walls unsettles me greatly.”
“You have all the people in that castle fooled and I would hate to ruin a good thing for you, Zanil.” This finally broke the forward focus and turned his head towards the one that lingered near him and for a moment, his brows knit. When he spoke, it was nothing ill related.
“Surely I have not been so ignorant as to this whole time assume you to be a man.”
“I never deterred the thoughts. People see in me what they want to see, and I take no qualms with that. The assumption of male does make it marginally easier to go about my business with lesser fear of judgement.”
“The business of spying?”
“My business is my business, Tiadel. But I know what you are and I know who you are. I only wish I could direct you to who you sought to make it easier on all of us, but I cannot. After all, you must be looking for her. Albeit you have gotten distracted a number of times along the way, I do not think you have forgotten why you came. Simply taken a bit of a dalliance to enjoy the world, and why wouldn’t you? Even if there is war, there is much more to it all.” The one called Thrandir stood now alongside Zanil and gazed in the same direction that the advisor’s eyes had been turned. “The Rosenlieds, though. I would have thought you would go for a more peaceful people, Tiadel; those under Silas are not exactly known for their level-headedness.”
“Who are you?”
There were no words left to be minced. The advisor’s patience had finally come to run to empty and fully did he face Thrandir who stood there, draped in loose clothes that barely even gave way to the form beneath. It was easy at a glance to assume masculine and yet it did not matter. It was only something that his mind clasped onto in the silence that the moment presented between them before he did speak again.
“I’m Thrandir. Some call me Isadel. Among the Ceredi, I am Elindil. But you know that.” For a frustrating moment the advisor was concerned that this was indeed the end of the conversation. But shortly after, Thrandir continued. “I am not a simple elf. I was a simple elf, and the dancer you saw in Vaira was my sister, Anwyn. And we did live as converts on the plains of Oran and Vaira, mostly. Nomadic.
“In all honestly, there was a child that died at a young age, but was blessed by Lisrael and brought back. No one knew about it but, well, me. The child’s soul was already gone to be with the Gods when the blessing came, however, and so to save the family the pain, Lisrael granted part of herself to the child. That’s where I came in.
“I have my own immortality in that way. I am not bound to the lifespan of a body. There are always children that would have died without me and in a way, I give their families solace. I am no normal elf, Tiadel. That is how I know you. Lisrael loved so much that she placed a part of herself into that child and so it continued to live on.”
“You are… a part of Lisrael?”
The air was cold for a moment, and Zanil’s fingertips even did twitch even if only slightly. Almost had he forgotten the ache within his chest, though to assume that he had forgotten her would be incorrect. He had not, could not even if he desired to, forgotten her and the longing within his chest for her shined through. But still there was a moment when that lead to a realization that it was not just a farce when Thrandir claimed to know precisely what Zanil was. They knew.
“So if you are indeed a part of her…” as the words were lost to the wind for the moment and for the first time he realized the weight of this situation and stood still, “then you do know.”
“From the moment I saw you, Tiadel, in that inn in Vaira’s outskirts, I knew exactly who and what you are. Clearly that is not reciprocated. Perhaps you have been amongst humans so long that your senses may well go dull.” There was a smile on those lips and for a moment the heart of the advisor’s skipped a beat and fluttered like a girl with her first crush. “You may love them so much that you would be them.”
“If I was one of them, she would love me still. She loves all that which she had created and given life to. As for me…”
“You are more a fool than I thought if you think she did not think of you. Whever she is, I am quite sure she continued to think of you. It was the two of you that created balance in all things in this world and simply because she departed from you does not mean she stopped loving you. She does still. In my very own heart, as much as I’ve a heart of my own, I know it.”
Heavy was the sigh that came from the lips of the advisor for a moment, his eyes cutting away again. How had he not known was the inquiry that cycled now around his mind. What had blocked him? It may well have been her. She may have been the one to keep him from finding the truth of Thrandir and the very notion ached him. All this time so near to a part of her and yet she would not reveal herself. But was Thrandir truthfully her? The notion made his mind take pause. This was the nearest to a true child that Lisrael would ever have, and could he blame her from protecting it from him, and all he was? All that he brought?
“Tiados. You’ve been away too long.”
Down his back did the chill run at hearing that name directed towards him. Lisrael and Tiados were the lost gods, having disappeared from the pantheon after having quarreled over Life and Death itself. An so here he stood with the mantle off for the moment, revealed for what he was. It ached even for him to be revealed in and of himself to what he was and the notion he would have told Abigail… it was impossible. The name felt strange, dislocated, distant even from him--though it was his own. He had told the stories of Lisrael and Tiados with the same distance that one told any tale of religion and so had found himself no longer a part of the reality that was him.
Zanil was this character he had crafted, perfected over the years. The millenia. It was a role he slid into and to be shucked of it and left bare for what he had come to pretend he was not left him uncomfortable. But beneath the guise of Zanil still lingered Tiados and it was to Tiados he always knew he would return. This was why Zanil did not fight and why he abhorred war, for he knew all things Lisrael crafted with her loving hands and took great care of only to one day know it would be gifted to him. But he would rather those creations be permitted to enjoy themselves, be allowed to live before succumbing to death. To him.
“I do not want to return yet, Thrandir.”
“I haven’t the right to tell you whether or not you should. After all, I am only a fraction of a god. You, the one who crafted Death and the End itself. I simply came to hope you would not bring it down so soon.”
“That is not what I am doing,” came the voice near raised to an exclamation though through clenched teeth. “It is not now the time. This is nothing to do with the End. Still yourself from even thinking it.”
“I should go now,” spoke the darker haired of the two as they moved away from lingering in the presence of the revealed god. “I am needed in the mountains.”
“For what purpose?”
“What fun would it be if I told you? You may know who and what I am now, Tiados. But what I do is still purely my own.”
The unique scent attached to the captain had very nearly led them astray, as the stronger ones were indeed that lead eastward, where she and Brayden had been dispatched. But soon enough they were trading it northwards, ducking beneath trees and branches to hide themselves at every opportunity. It was far preferable to getting caught. By either side. Most of those that served in the Baidenese army would not recognize those of the Wolves’ Guild and attempting to explain they, too, worked for Baiden could have less than ideal results. It was only on the distance that they glimpsed a camp of their countrymen and left it well enough alone.
Snow fell for the first time of the season to the north. That was generally how it transpired: it would begin in the north and ride southward winds until about the middle point of Liev. Oran and Baiden were often the only countries to experience the frigid winters for the rest of the continent was warm enough that snow came to them on occasion, and many cities were situated on or near regions considered coastal. Said regions hardly has much change of seasons. But the mountains to the north? They were blanketed with snow and so was the land at their foothills. It was in this first snow that the wolves grew concerned that they would lose the knight’s scent and so pressed on as accumulation began to pile to their ankles.
“It would be best to make a camp,” Hagon had offered but Yrain would not hear of it; her feet carried her forward still with determination in her eyes. Nearer around her did she draw the heavy wool coat that she was now thankful to have seized as they left. The fact that the knights would be out here still in this freezing cold and likely did not have with them anything warm enough to protect them made her grit her teeth, but there was little she could do. After all, they were all people of Baiden. What reason would she have to not be concerned?
“I suggest we travel at least deeper into the woods,” she spoke back to Hagon and to the other wolves that lingered around her still, as it had not merely been the two that had left. Half the forces of the Wolves’ Guild that were still in the castle had come forth to travel with her, knowing that it was now time to retrieve their alphas and that it was their duty to rise to the occasion. “That will offer more cover from the snow--more of a chance at warmth. We may be nearer to beast than most men, but we cannot be frivolous with this. We can die of cold as readily as any of the knights.”
“And such would truly be a shame! Why, then you’d be pupsicles. … I am quite sorry, you’ve no idea how long I’ve waited to make that joke towards you. Probably about since the snow began to fall. It’s out of my system now.”
Hagon was the one who first drew a blade, for few others bothered to carry any longer than a few inches. Many had been fighters before, some even having been knights that had gone ‘missing’ after disappearances in the woods. But Hagon had come from the north and the long bladed sword served nearly more as a relic than a defense mechanism, since he had been bitten. But Yrain’s hand extended forth to urge him to still his blade, her eyes narrowed slightly. Deep did she breathe of the air before her eyes cut to the other wolves around her.
“He has no scent.”
In all their time, the wolves had stumbled across only two that had no scent. These two were Zanil and the stranger hailed as Thrandir. Zanil seemed to exist within his own plane wherein questioning was abhorrent and simply not something that did transpire and yet they knew him at least in passing. This was Thrandir.
“I would like to think I keep myself clean enough that I don’t go about stinking a place up. But it is news to me that werewolves cannot smell me and thank you for that. I will keep it in mind moving forward.” Their slender hands reached up to draw from about their face the hood and eyes darted among them, a motion of fingers denoting that the wolves were being tallied, one by one. “I haven’t seen one of your kind in the flesh in some time. This is quite exciting. And too see part of a pack.
“Am I correct in assuming you were seeking me out? To know my name.”
“How does he know--”
“Egil,” spoke Yrain as her cutting eyes turned back over her shoulder to look at the other lycanthrope and urge him to silence. “He knows far more than we would assume. That is clear from what he has done.”
A smirk was on those lips, skin a shade darker than those of Baiden, fingers tapping against their lower lip in an idle and yet thoughtful manner. “So you have at least heard of me. Forgive me if I have met you in passing for I do meet many people. You know at least one of my name but allow me--in these parts, I am known as Elindil. It just so happens that I am acquainted with His Graceful Majesty King Iowyr, though I knew him when he was still a prince. Tragedy, really, that his father died. I wasn’t at the funeral though I heard it was a grand one.”
“We don’t care much for the elven king or his funeral or anything like that,” spoke Hagon with his hand still holding the blade, though it had lowered slightly. “We know you are able to get us into the elven prisons, and we have due cause to believe our leaders are there. You have been nothing if not helpful to the Baidenese people insofar and we must ask your help again. You must get us into the elven prison--at least, some of us.”
Those lips cracked into a smile for a moment, a knowing nod being given henceforth. “Absolutely. You two are to follow me,” as fingers split and gestured forth at Yrain and Hagon. “The rest of you, find a place to camp. I will find you later.”
part 25.
read from the beginning.
a warlord’s tale, part 25.
The western border had not merely been attacked.
The western border had been completely eviscerated.
It is easy enough to talk of the realities of war. Of death, of flame, of destruction; many a book, poem, and lyric had been penned of it. But suspiciously left from them was the sensation of one’s gut knotting at the sight of bodies slumped over. At a glance perhaps it could be thought that they merely slept, seeking reprieve from the calamity around them in the land of nod. The lyrics write of heroism and sacrifice. They neglect the sickening stench of bodies charred in flames that flickered still into the night after a ransack. Dead were these flame by now, liberated of their kindling as all was burned to ash beneath them, but still was the buzzing of flies that had moved in to devour the bodies and still was the stink of burning human flesh. No scent in the world can be likened to it, and for that those who do not have to see their brothers’ charred bodies should be thankful. Culver’s eyes were turned away and over his mouth did rest his hand as thought to appease the mighty urge he felt to vomit. Nausea was a shared emotion amongst those who gazed upon the carnage, and yet Thrandir alone seemed to stand as though unphased, saved for his downturned lips.
He had, in all fairness, lain eyes upon the remained before. Whether better or worse before the onset of rigor mortis and flies burrowing into flesh he could not rightly define nor was it really something he let his mind linger on. They were dead. A few lucky ones had managed to flee and were scattered, and yet their locations were unknown. With any luck, they would all safely turn up. If not, may the gods protect them wherever they may be; such was what Thrandir had uttered upon the first sight of those that lay dead around him.
“Brenner?”
How long they would have stood there without him jerking them from their thoughts was truly a mystery. Culver seemed to find some sort of relief in the fact that now he could focus upon the tanned face and short cropped hair of the elf in lieu of the chaos that went on around him. The only ease that anyone in the unit could find was the fact that the dead did not scream and merely lay in their blood and told tales of what they had done.
Iolas’s men must have been a frightful force. Wild and mad, even, to have done this. Even Ionwhyn’s men had felled only two of them before retreating--but it seemed that Iolas did not have a care for his own lost men. Some of the faces that were down in the dirt or slumped again rock and stone were unfamiliar, fair with hair of flaxen silk and garbed all in black. These were elves of the Silatin Mountains and any would know them upon sight.
“We will retreat further back,” came the voice of the captain after there was a slight silence. “We will get away from this part of the border but we will still hold it. Thrandir,” as his gaze looked upon the eyes that gazed at him. Slightly did he have to lift his head for elf were nigh always taller than man. Dark were both pairs and neither gaze did waver as the men spoke: “I ask for your loyalty if only for a moment. I cannot spare one of my men. Travel to Castle Rosenlied and inform Zanil of what had happened. I beg you, and may Silas guide you.”
Behind the back of the captain were gazes that were unabashedly questioning shot, and brows were furrowed as they listened to the words. Still there was the question of the loyalty of this elf, but the point was true. Their unit was small indeed and in such an instance, truthfully, it could be one mand to make the difference.
“I can spare our men only a day’s travel to the nearest cities to beg there of any knights or former knights for assistance. This… had been a major damage to us, but it does not seem as though Iolas’s forces escaped unscathed. Carry that news to Baiden Castle. Please.” In those dark eyes, a sign of asymmetry upon the face of the knight, there was nothing but genuine concern. The corners of his lips had begun to bear wrinkles from laughter but they were only creased now in worry and in sadness. But he could not cry. If Mercurius was able to, as a child, stand before his people and not weep, then the strength had to exist within Brenner to do the same. He would weep over his brothers and sisters and what he has seen when he was alone and could weep, but for now? He would be strong for those that needed him, for Culver and the others seemed to struggle. Nary a dry eye had he seen though none had openly broken to cries or sobbing. It was a muted sadness signified by faces already streaked with dirt from travel being carved out by trickles of water from the corners of eyes.
So Thrandir did speak, raising a hand in his best imitation of the Baidenese salute. “I will carry your message to Zanil also called Tiadel at Castle Rosenlied.”
In spite of all things, in spite of the weight and scent of death in the air the captain did manage a smile as his right hand rose to rest beneath his left collarbone before he spoke. “Thrandir, I am impressed at your effort. And yet you did it backwards.”
Down did the eyes of the elf drop to observe that it was his left hand resting beneath his right collarbone. And his own solemn face did dissolve into a smile that seemed much more suited to his visage than the serious one that had rest there before. “Ah. Well. I do hope I did not just curse upon your grandfather’s name or something equally as bad.”
But the captain only managed to maintain that smile as he saw the elf draw up the hood around his face. Traveling as an elf in Baiden was difficult, so much so that Brenner could only imagine. There truly was no means by which he could empathize--within him so thin was the elf blood that he could pass wholly as human, albeit one who would be long lived.
“I am sure my grandfather and all those before him would forgive any transgressions of those that would serve Baiden despite not having loyalty to it. I thank you wholeheartedly.”
Beneath the shadow of the cloak did the smile still linger before all Brenner saw was the back of the male against the landscape. His gaze could have lingered until he disappeared to the horizon but it did not, for there were more important things to see to.
“I will remain on the front,” he spoke as all attention was commanded to him. Brenner was not Brayden nor was he Mercurius, but when he spoke, his men did listen. “Culver and Orson, you will travel east towards the city of Barksdale. On horseback it would be a half-day’s ride… but I am afraid I must ask you to travel on foot, as our horses were never reclaimed. I cannot rightly send more men. We will seek shelter in Jorgsvale to the south. Reconvene there with us. Silas be with you.”
Zanil did hold great pride in the fact naught could surprise him, but the tray clattering to his feet did prove that this was not the case. Clang! through all the hall did echo as he gazed upon the scout. No more than a teen could the child be and yet he spoke of having been hunting with his father when he came upon the remains of the battle. At least it was far enough that no townspeople were lost in the fray, but for death to come without the advisor being aware? His brows furrowed as he saw the child jump at the loud noise and shattering of the glass that had been there. Dark boots were surrounded now in a small puddle of white wine that he was taking to sit and speak with Emirain, but now that would have to be delayed.
“Repeat yourself.”
“S-s-sir, I… My father and I… we all saw it… The Western Forces were completely wiped out. He had to stay and tend the fields. I, he didn’t… think you’d b’leve me, so he sent this…” And from a pocket of a roughspun tunic was a scrap of that Baidenese insignia pulled and offered to the advisor with small, shaking hands.
This boy had no reason to lie. By looking into those emerald eyes did he know that this boy was not lying about what he saw so with a hand and motion that bordered upon reverence did he reach forth to take the fabric between his own slender digits. Over the embroidery of the wolf’s eye did his thumb run and a crease of a frown was on his face. Deep in his chest did he feel an ache as he stepped away from the child.
“See to it he is fed and rested and escorted home. Ask one of the men of Vitnir Hall to go with him. I trust them with anything.”
So the conundrum was again before Zanil on what he should handle on his own and what he should bend knee and give to the queen. As resilient as she was, the worry of the lost of the child was one both genuine and valid. In times of stress it was both possible and common for children to be lost within their mother’s own womb, bodies deciding that the danger for the child was too great. And that was why he opted to keep this quiet, to deliver no word of it to anyone. He could not decide if he was too kind or if he was narcissistically self serving, but the life of his queen and child had to be placed in priority. Into his pocket was the scrap shoved as he moved across to speak to Gideon after asking of a servant to clean up the mess he had accidentally made.
No sooner had he and Gideon convened in the main hall than he heard the shout for the doors to be open. Brows did crease again as he looked towards the broad visage of the head of Vitnir Hall who merely gave a shrug.
“I sense strangers incoming, but I had assumed you were aware. Or is it that war has knocked you off of your all knowing pedestal, Zanil?”
Pinched was the bridge of the advisor’s nose for a moment for sarcasm did drip from those words like honey from a fresh comb, black eyes shifting with slight irritation. But as soon as it had come, it had gone and he stepped forth with his long gait.
“Who enters our walls? I had requested you let in none unless…”
“Unless they come t’ aid the war effort?”
Down was the hood of the traveling cloak though it had been donned. Baiden to the north was more chilly during this onset of autumn than Vaira was and so the additional layer that had been an irrtant in Oran was now a welcomed shroud from a perceived chill. Red hair tumbled down around his face though by and large was it knotted back in a high ponytail. And to his left did stand Shedal, her cropped brown locks allowing half-pointed ears to stick out.
Furthermore, behind them were a number of men and women garbed in the robes of healers.
“Can’t say we got an army to lend, but we got a good numbera healers. Half of ‘em were trained in Ludan, too.”
The desert to the east was renown for pottery, mostly, but the healers were well known. Deep was the Ludanese connection to the earth, even though their prayers reached forth to Rzael and Meiana more than Sheala and Higorn. It was from the earth that healing herbs did grow and some grew only in the desert. So it was that scholars of healing arts did uproot their lives there long ago and create and long-running legend of healers from Ludan.
“Not a lick of ‘em can use a weapon, though, so I don’t know if they’ll end up doin’ more harm than they would good.”
“Tahvaen,” he heard Shedal scold him from the side and felt her shove upon his arm. Though they were both half-elven, she was more petite in stature than he was and yet never had she let that bother her in all her days. “We are here to offer Vaira’s aid to the war efforts of Baiden and…”
While before her eyes had lingered only on Zanil and yet as they traveled to the man at his side her mouth lingered open for a moment though no word did come out. This prompted the blue eyes of the redhead to roll visibly as he reached over and flicked his finger against her throat, as though prompting her to close her mouth. Promptly she did, with a click of her perfectly aligned, white teeth, “and offer alliance and healing to those that would need it most.”
Gideon’s face upturned into a smirk as he gave a wave of his hand, glancing towards Tahvaen with his head shaking from side to side. “Don’t fault her, now. That tends to be a pretty common reaction… especially from someone who’s never seen a man of the Wolves’ Guild before. Knights are one thing but fighters are completely different.”
Puckered for a moment were those lips as the weight of the half-elf did shift from side to side. “I can’t fault her for staring when there’s somethin’ to look at, but I can fault her for gapin’ like some desert lizard.”
“Oh, be quiet. There’s someone you’d happily be staring at right now.”
“We cannot accept this help.”
Suddenly all the room seemed to turn frigid as the voice of the advisor came, weakly. Still in his pocket was one hand as it ran over the embroidery that made up the wolf’s silver glistening eye. Even Gideo did turn to him with a brow raised as he heard the voice clear. That, in all the time he had known Zanil (and it had not been a brief period!) as the sole instance that he had heard even the slightest bit of a waver in his voice. Wide were the eyes of the male half-elf for a moment before they relaxed.
“Excuse me?”
“We cannot endanger the healers of Vaira. We cannot--” but it seemed Tahvaen was having none of this as he interjected; no effort was made to hold up his hand in the universal signal of a request for silence. Merely did he continue speaking with his gaze hard.
“We rode for three days n’ stopped in Oran n’ been tasked with spending the money on inns n’ food. We have come to give you aid and we won’t be turned like some beggar on the street. All of these healers now the risks they take by going out with us but still they’re offerin’ help! Some have family or friends in Baiden. Some have lovers and children who only wanna live to see peace. So no, Zanil, it doesn’t sound like to me that you cannot accept th’ help but only that you will not and I will not have it.”
Black eyes did blink a series of time in rather rapid succession in response to the words that had come so nonchalantly from the half elf that stood before him. While he was used to hearing backlash occasionally from his king or from others that were in some sort of position of power, one from a foreign dignitary was something completely different. His eyebrows lowered as he looked at the man who had spoke and every attempt to school his expression was made.
“We cannot risk more lives…”
“Zanil.”
Despite lacking a dog in the fight, when push came to shove, it was Gideon who spoke up in a flagrant attempt to bring peace.
“If these people have come to aid you, to aid us, then I don’t really understand why they should be turned away. They know the danger, really. Who doesn’t grasp the idea that war is dangerous? Baiden is filled to the brim with fighters and knights but in healers, their numbers are fairly small. And when you’re engaged in battle, healers are absolutely invaluable. Surely you understand that.”
Irritation continued to be guided by the advisor’s generally soft visage though his eyes did roll upwards slightly. “Of course I know how invaluable healers are. But this is war.”
“You haven’t even suffered more n’ two casualties yet, Zanil. We’re here to try and keep it that way and…”
Perhaps he should have thought. Maybe he should have been more poignant upon the information he had thought to keep to himself. But it was on impulse that the advisor did speak: “I received word today that the entire western front has suffered great casualties. I hope it is merely an overestimate, but if it is the case…”
Suddenly the face of the half elf before him did go pale and he watched as a hand rose to touch the fabric of his tunic. “The western front was completely wiped out?” Though Zanil’s initial statement had been quiet, there was more volume to the one that Tahvaen repeated to him. Forward did the advisor step as he indicated silence with an abruptly raised hand with fingers pressed hard together. “And who was leading the western units?”
Arched was a silver brow at the comment before he spoke. “Brenner. Brenner rode west while his brother rode east.”
part 26.
read from the beginning.
a warlord’s tale, part 21.
The advantage that these particular cells, though Brenner would not be aware of it, had over the cells that Elfreda and her unit had been locked away in was that down the hall there was indeed a window that shone light in through the dusty glass. This allowed the passage of time to be monitored far better than the mountainous container in which the other captain had been in. Though she and her unit had not, by and large, been in there for very long at all--there was a certain comfort to be had in knowing that the mark of passing time was possible. By nightfall some of the men had managed a fitful sleep, but that was not the case for the leader or for the brazen Culver who had taken to speaking to this second-shift guard through the grating. Though elves were praised for their fortitude, it was possible this guard had either taken to the drink or had simply had quite the busy day. Were it not for the insistence of the knight, likely she would have dozed into a fitful sleep. Such was not the case, however, thanks to the pestilence that was the Baidenese man.
“Really? Is this laziness or is this the fact that their numbers are too small to actually spare a guard who is awake to watch the Baidenese prisoners? This is complete disrespect, you know. Brenner serves as assistant head knight and here you are, sleeping as though you haven’t a care in the world.”
Low lingering was a hood over the eyes of the woman who pushed herself to sit up in her seat. With weary eyes she glared at the knight and jut the butt of the spear that she held in her right hand in the direction of the base of Culver’s cell. There was no happiness within her as she glowered with those weary eyes. This was a sign in the favor of the Baidenese, for sure, if even the guards were the ones that were so weary.
“Shut up. Sleep, would you? I was told you little humans would all be asleep by the time I got on to shift.”
“Oh, so that is why you arrived in here bleary-eyed, as though you cannot keep your head up? Shame, really. I’m sure you would be a great guard if only you weren’t, you know, terrible at it. Isn’t it unfortunate?”
Down the row did the brows of the captain crease as he listened to the words that came from the knight under him. What in the world did he have to gain from being ceaselessly belligerent? It was possible that he was just blowing off steam at the whole ordeal, yes, but it was just as likely he had some sort of plan. For their sake, Brenner did hope that he had a plan. He was not looking forward to the consequences if he did not.
“And I’m sure you’re a bang up knight when you’re not getting captured by elves, huh?” And while she was the enemy and he knew it had made Culver flinch, Brenner did have to admit that she had a point. He was mocking her for dozing off on guard duty when the darkness down the hall did illustrate that it was well into night and yet here they were, supposedly well trained and proud knights of Baiden, taken by an ambush. In all fairness, there had been at least twenty of Iolas’s men in opposition to their half dozen. But they were taken down with general ease due to a knife at the neck of their captain and so here they had ended up.
“Bah! Captured by elves with no sense of pride, you mean? Those that would overwhelm a force of six men with their numbers up to the twenties? That is the only reason you were able to bring us down--” but he was interrupted as the female elf did shift to face them, elbows placed upon her knees. Through the dark it was visible that her hair as shorter even than most of the male elves and that her eyes were not quite open in opposition to the fact they had prior been half-mast and dreary. If nothing else, this had surely woken her up.
Though what they stood to gain from that, the captain was not quite aware.
“It was your people that declared war, little knight,” as her voice spoke with a term that informed Brenner of the smirk that was visible without even having to shift his eyes in her direction. That was one thing he had noticed. Most of those he had encountered that were positioned under Iolas were not so skilled in the art of tact, but perhaps he was too used to dealing with those that were in positions of nobility and power. Those were the ones that were more concerned with the words that they said and how in particular they opted to say them. As for those people that were less experienced with court proceedings? They tended to, like those that served the half-elf bastard, be more brash and blunt with their wording. “You should not have made the declaration if you were not well prepared for all things that it would entail. Ambush is only part of it.”
“Oh, you certainly did use every trick at your disposal. It’s just that the pride of true knights keeps us from doing such things, sometimes.” A jab at pride for one that had betrayed the majority of her own people was likely not the best means of operation. Against the wall did his head lean as he continued to listen to the exchange. “It is a shame. I’m sure the actual elf army are far more honorable than you. Given you follow, what is it? The one Father God? I never much kept up with fairy tales.”
“We follow the one God, he who created the Hunt and all else!” Indignation was evident in her tone as the butt of the spear found its way to strike the floor of the hall she was residing in. “Do not insult Him by saying he is a fairy tale. Not like your false gods. There is but One and he rules all.” Conversion had been part of the reason that, supposedly, the northern elves had sailed to Liev long ago. But they had been unsuccessful and by and large conversion had come to operate in the opposite direction--the elves of the Oranian planes and the elves that lived in the Vairan cities followed the pantheon of gods worshiped by humans more than they did their northern almighty force. And so the Ceredi had come to resent them, for Iolas himself had pledged his loyalty to the singular divine.
“Ah? So that is why your elven kin that managed to make into our cities came to worship Ossa, Naliri, Lorelai, and Avarice, themselves? Seems they are drawn to our loving and king gods in lieu of your God of the Hunt. Ha! Our God of War and Tactics would likely laugh in his very face.”
Too adjusted was he to having to play the role of a diplomat. The open insults that were being directed at the elf, be she enemy or not, were weighing heavily upon him. Should it continue, likely he would raise a protest. This was unseemly. Indeed they had been taken captive but this utter disrespect certainly did serve to push him towards the edge of his own limit of what was acceptable. He was not pleased with it, and Culver would hear of it when they got out--if they got out. Because for all his internalized bravery, still there was a chance and lingering worry that they may indeed not make it back from these cells. And should that be the case, it was in Silas’s hall of champions that he would await his brother and the one to whom he had penned the letter before his departure.
How he hoped his brother fared better than he did.
“And who are you,” as she rose. Even the female elves had a good number of inches over Baidenes men. The King of Elves himself, though they had not lain eyes upon him, was described as towering near seven feet, “to speak so of any God? What lies beyond is truly a mystery and yet you have this air of knowing.”
“Ah, doubt! There it is. I was expecting it, at one point or another,” as against the iron bars that kept him within the small room did he lean his weight. Through a gap he even saw fit to gesticulate and Brenner’s position against the wall did allow him to watch the gauntleted hand idly wave. “If you have so much trust in your God of the Hunt and All Things, or whatever you do cry to him as, then why would my little defiance of him bother you. Hm?”
“Be silent,” he heard the voice of the woman command and, frankly, would say he agreed with her. Culver was growing more abrasive by the second and whether or not this elf was friend or foe, it had to be acknowledges that he was being unnecessarily rude. Thin pressed were his lips as he watched the fingers clench and uncurl in response. The face of his fellow Baidenese man was out of sight and he could not quite discern the face upon the man from the tone of his voice. Possibly, Baidenese folk were just less expressive with their words as part of their culture. It wasn’t of great importance to assess that, at the current moment. “I will hear no more of your babble. If you’ve something to say, make it important.”
“Do you think you can win this war, she-elf?”
She-elf was a term that Brenner could only assume was frowned upon based on the audible huff that came from the woman who was seated still. Then was the shift of weight as he saw her rise to her feet and approach the metal door that kept she and Culver separate from one another. Just out of reach of that arm did she linger and suddenly, to the captain came an inkling that he may be aware of what it was that the knight had planned. That was why he had stuck his arm out to gauge the length. But he made no assumptions and, more importantly, said nothing. He merely observed as he had done through the majority of this exchange.
“How like a human,” came the woman’s tone as she lingered by the door to the cell. Culver withdrew his hand from where it was extended and, based on the sound of footsteps, retreated back into the small room that was his. “Demeaning us to what we are as a race.”
“Didn’t you just do the same thing? Have you not been looking down your sharp nose at me and condescendingly referring to me as a human? Some weak little short lived thing that, oh, happens to have primary reign of this continent that your people seemed to desire? If anyone here is in a position to demean the other, it is I to you, oh mighty guard.” Though the wording was perhaps needlessly harsh, there was a valid point within as well and Brenner had to acknowledge that. Slight was the cant of his head as he awaited one of them to continue to speak. “If what the humans had was not great enough that you desired it, why bother?”
“Do not confuse us with the elves who still dwell in their cities and towns in the mountains,” as the floor creaked with her weight shifting forward, exactly as his knight had planned--assuming he had cracked the plan, at least. “Our goal is not your land or your resources. Our goal is for our people, not for you.”
“And what is your goal, then? All we were told was that the Ceredi were our enemies.” Not yet had he walked towards the front again but it seemed to be quite evident he was biding his time and waiting for… something. What he was waiting for was frankly up for debate, but it certainly was something. The captain had an idea and he hoped he was right. Were he right, well, he would have to praise Culver after the fact for his cleverness.
“Our goal is change for our people,” as the brow of the captain arched when the guard spoke so in that irritated tone of hers, “not anything else. We’ve not a chance of taking Baiden. Do not think us idiots. This is only an attempt to prompt change within the elven community. If we are to be sequestered in these mountains for our lifetimes, for our children’s lifetimes, for He only knows how long, then we should not be miserable. We should seek peace.”
It was a snort of laughter that was the first sound that Brenner heard. Again with the needless audacity! But what could he do? Correcting him now would likely ruin… whatever it was that he had planned. So merely did he relax his facial expression if only slightly as he kept listening.
“You seek peace? That is not what we were told in negotiations with your leader! I am thinking what you believe you are working for and what it is that Iolas truly desires may in fact have a disparity thereto. But that’s no business of mine, is it?”
“No, it is--”
But no sooner had she uttered the beginning of a sentence than the front of her clothing had been gripped. One of the weaknesses of these guards posted outside of the cells of the Baidenese prisoners was the fact that they were not armored. While the man prior had been beneath a helmet, such was not the case for the woman. That was why Culver had set his plan into motion and gauged every avenue that was opened to him. The clang that echoed down the hall was loud enough that he heard one of the men start in a cell down the way and shout in response to the noise but the others seemed to continue to slumber. The impact of skull against steel was a hard one and fainter was the sound of her spear falling to the wayside. For the first time, Brenner prayed that all the other units that were stationed at this post were out hunting down those that may be from his country. They had a better chance than the prisoners, at this point.
As soon as the female elf had been rendered unconscious did the same hand that had knocked her with fierce aggression against the metal come to feel the clothing that she was clad in. Pockets were checked to the point of being turned inside out and with his own hopes raised, forward did the captain move to watch with prying eyes. But with each empty pocket, higher and higher did the anxiety build and more and more did the doubt grow. It would make sense, he supposed, for the guard to have the keys. But with dejection he saw the hands that had worked so hard at finding the opportunity to search the elven guard go slack and felt the groan of his weight against the bars. No keys were to be found upon her and what made their situation even worse was the fact that down the hall they heard footsteps. They did not seem to be running in anger, as one would anticipate should they be en route to react to the fact that there was just arguably a cracked skull at the hands of the enemy. If nothing else, Culver had managed to be certain that they would rethink the full metal bars.
“Do not make a sound,” came the voice from down the hall, and yet Brenner found that it seemed oddly familiar as his brows creased low over his eyes. Most likely it had simply been one that had been involved in the scouting group that had captured them. But as his eyes peered down the hallway lit only by faint moonlight and a flickering torch in a scon upon the wall, he saw this man had neither armor nor visible weapon. And he saw that there was a smile upon the face and in one hand a ring of keys. Dark was the skin when compared to the elf who was unconscious and… potentially bleeding. There was a lingering scent of iron but that could very well simply be the construction of the bars. “Though I suppose you have already acted in defiance of that.”
Upon the table was placed the keys for a moment and the figure--shorter than the elves, from what Brenner could notice; at least, shorter than the Ceredi--seized the ankles of the guard and drew her away. By the mark left upon the floor, both the captain and the knight were made aware of the fact that there was indeed bloodflow involved in the injury. In spite of himself, Brenner turned his gaze away and gave a visible frown.
“This is a mess,” spoke the voice of the one who had moved the unconscious elf aside. No statement was made as to her condition, be it living or dead, as she was unceremoniously placed beneath the table that she had prior been sitting at. Nothing was done to the spear for the time being, merely allowing it to linger where it had been placed. “If there is nothing else that Baidenese folk have proved themselves to be useful for, it is making messes and depending upon someone else or sheer dumb luck to get them out of it.”
This was when the captain pushed himself against the bars of metal to peer in the dim light at the figure as he seized the keys from the table. Culver’s cell was the first unlocked as he was the one directly across from where the shorter figure had stood. ‘Short’ herein being relative, for at best he was an inch or two shy of Brenner’s own height. But compared to the woman who had been knocked unconscious, he was on the diminutive spectrum.
To no surprise, the released knight spoke before the captain had an opportunity to. “Who are you? Furthermore, why are you letting us go? This isn’t a trap, is it?”
He hummed idly as one by one the door locks were opened and those that were still asleep were roused by a means of gentle persuasion--usually coming as a kick to whatever part of their anatomy was nearest the door. It seemed their savior was not too wary of leaving a bruise or two upon the knights.
“If it was a trap, would I tell you? Furthermore, I’m letting you go because I had the keys. I’m the guy that rescued you.”
But as Brenner stepped from his captivity, his gaze was on the male and he canted his head. “Thrandir?”
part 22.
read from the beginning.
a warlord’s tale, part 6.
While Baiden lay in the shadow of the mountains, it felt to those that were captive as though the mountains themselves were far darker than anything they had seen while still living in the lands of the humans. It could be in part due to the fact that the dungeons were specifically sequestered away from all light, small, individual cells built within a hall that snaked through a mountain. The only light that had come to them had been the flickering torch of a dungeon guard walking by some hours ago. Was it daylight outside, or was it night? Humans were bizarrely dependant upon the light of the sun and without it none of them had any idea of the passage of time.
“Do you think they will kill us?” No guard. No food. Nothing had come to them in what felt like a vast expanse of time and so it was the courier who spoke up in a shaken voice. While soldiers were trained to be prepared to die in the name of duty, the courier was aware of the possibility but still was a victim of the fear of death. Hard did he swallow when there was silence in response. Then it was the voice of the female knight from a few cells down that rose in speech.
“It is possible at least one of us will be killed if only to make a point.” While they had been escorted to the dungeon still in all the finery of their armor and attire they had departed from Baiden in, she had undone the buckles and allowed the majority of it to fall to the floor in a pile. No need to defend herself in a dungeon and she did not exactly sport armor for the sheer comfort of the aesthetic. “We came bearing a declaration of war. I would be quite floored if we were able to depart without some sort of malaise befalling us.”
Likely it was that if not for the bobbing of a torch down the hallway they would have continued their conversation but they were rent into silence. Even further was their silence when the long shadow cast as the corner was turned as not that of a guard but of a prince devoid of the near excessive fineries his family was known for. Light hair was drawn back into a low ponytail and the boots and pants seemed to be styled for riding. Additionally, he appeared quite anxious as he moved down the hallway.
“And what is a prince doing in the dungeon wing?” It was the brazen voice of the female knight as she rose from where she had seated herself in the small cell. A few strides forward and she was at the bars that made up the front and kept them from escape. It was to her that grey eyes first turned with their visage creased. “I would expect to see our own king here before we saw you.”
“Be thankful for my coming, human, else your friend would die.” A nod was made in the direction of the courier who started at the motion. Eyes grew wide as Iomyr walked past his cell to the woman who had spoken. “My father has begun to err in his age and by His word I will not see innocents die. Know my people do not desire war with Baiden but if it is a war your people call for, it is a war we will have to fight. But we do not desire it.”
Gloved hands curled against the bars of the elven prison before the woman raised her voice to be heard again. “Then why is it that your elves attacked a visiting noble of Vaira? Explain that to me if you so forsake this war.”
“My half-brother works in direct defiance of the king.” Silence fell over the woman for a moment as she did decide to merely listen. “Iolas is no crown prince of ours. He carries with him the title only out of farce and in defiance of our King Ionwhyn. He is a rebel--he fights against that which we believe in. He fights in defiance of peace which is all we seek.”
“Then what must be done is simple.”
When the gaze of the prince fixed upon the woman behind bars, the surprise upon his face was visible in the low glow of torchlight. A few paces forward as he held up the flame as though to investigate her more clearly, the shadows and marks of scars on her face evident. As the elf prince approached, however, she receded slightly. Nothing had yet made the prince a figure that could be trusted and so lingering near to him was not currently on her list of things to do.
“If you forsake the actions of Iolas so, then act against him. Join with humans to work as a united force.”
Not even had time been granted for the prince to respond before a shout came from one of the other cells. The man that spoke had been one of the knights tasked with escorting the courier and he could be heard pressing his weight against the bars of the cell. “His Majesty Rosenlied would never ally himself with the elves. Elfreda, you speak madness. He would sooner see them all slain than join with them against any force the Gods could call upon us.”
“King Rosenlied cares for his people.” Elfreda’s voice was harsh and cold, begging no room for debate or errance. Brows creased above her eyes as she let her gaze linger upon the ethereal visage of the elf prince before her as she spoke to the man down the way. “Alliance with the Silatin Mountain Elves or not, if it would protect the people of Baiden, he would know it was the best choice to make. Though I feel King Ionwhyn may not be so willing. Pride and stubbornness can be the downfall of a king.”
“I know.” Quiet was the voice of the prince as he spoke with his head lowered. A frown was on his face as he drew away and reached into one of the pockets of the tunic he was clad in. “While I would not be opposed to what you suggest, I am afraid my father would not hear it. I have no power until the time at which he relinquishes his or dies and thus no ability to make decisions. But I can still do what I feel is right.”
Eyes widened as she heard the slide of metal on metal and the audible click as a key turned in the lock that held her prisoner. There was no creak as the door opened for the hinges were of a fine metal that never seemed to even show signs of decay. Apprehensive she was as her hands immediately moved for one of the shin guards of her armor--while she was without weapons, a solid hit in the head could still do a number due to the solidity of Baidenese iron. A raised hand stilled her for a moment as the prince moved away from the door. “I will see no blood spilt on Iolas’s cause in the castle which one day will be mine. He has brought enough trouble to us.” And methodically the prince moved down the line of cells where the Baidenese had been divided up one to two in each, the locks being turned and the doors being opened. The sound of armor being gathered and placed back on bodies was far louder than the opening of the doors had been but it was hard to do such things in silence. Once each knight and the courier had found themselves prepared to disappear into the knight, the prince motioned to them.
Not a word was said as they followed the elf through the tunnels that seemed to twist and turn like serpentine beasts through the mountain. How a person was supposed to keep straight the paths was lost upon the humans that followed blindly. It was when a door that seemed to blend in with the wall opened that the elf bolted himself to his full height and cast his glance down the hallway that they had come from. Concern illustrated his face as the door was jerked open and the humans ushered towards the dirt hued door. “It is a chute. Just slide down and you will be released into the woods.”
“And how are we to find our way out from there? Your mountains are a maze to us.”
“An elf called Thrandir will find you. Do not move far from where you land or else he will not be able to find you if you become lost in the wolves. If you value your freedom, hurry.”
Amongst the humans suspicious glances were shared and frowns decorated the faces. But at this point were they captured, likely it would lead to their death. And not merely the death of one to make a point, but an execution of their full number. So by remaining here they banked upon a likely certain death and by escaping through the chute there was at least a chance that they would see Baiden again. Elfreda’s lips turned into a frown as she looked upon Iomyr. Then her voice rose in a hushed tone to him. “If your father is no longer valuable as a king and is no longer doing right for his country, it is time you see to it that he is dispatched.” Then her eyes moved to the darkness of the tunnel. The worst that could transpire was death, if they took the chance. Death was near certain if they remained where they stood. “Your Thrandir had best be a man of honesty.” Her hands gripped firmly to the sides of the door before she slid into it with her feet angled first, the clank of armor against the packed dirt audible. If anyone elves were around, then surely they would hear it. It seemed within a blink of the eye the elf prince had vanished out of the desire to save his own hide and so in turn the people of Baiden tossed their weight down the chute after Elfreda.
Not a single light offered any refuge to the fact that the tunnel seemed to stretch on for some time. Often it was that when Elfreda tumbled into a tree root so suit would follow those behind her with loud noises of pain and protest still not drowned out by armor striking against itself and the walls. Arms and feet would strike those around them and while usually landing in a massive pile with a great potential for broken bones would not be a much anticipated end but in this case even as the weight of the courier atop her caused her to groan before she was able to roll out of the way of the remaining cascade of units, she was glad to be in a place where at least the stars above gave some semblance of light through gnarled and knotted trees.
“Why,” grumbled one of the knights as he pulled himself to his feet, “in the name of Silas himself would they even have an emergency escape chute like that? Ridiculous. Even if the castle was under siege, wouldn’t you just leave the prisoners?”
“That is exactly why the escape route is probably in the dungeon wing. If the castle fell under attack, it would likely be one of the last places that anyone would bother to go. But now…” as she turned to gaze at the chute as the final knight, their party numbering eight in total, landed with a heavy thud on the ground behind her, “we have a key element into their weakness when war comes to a head.”
After a period of prolonged silence, finally the courier who had carried the message spoke up with a frown on his face as he shook his head. “It was very, very risky of you to suggest he see to it that his father the king was ‘dispatched,’ as you so put it.” Frankly, she was surprised this was the first she was hearing of it as she readjusted her armor. “Do you understand the severity of what you said? What if…”
“We are already at war with the Silatin Mountain Elves. Should this mysterious Thrandir not show up to liberate us we are likely damned to wander forever in this infernal mountain pass. There is really nothing that could worsen the situation based on the fact that I was able to read those eyes of his and say aloud what he was thinking.”
Though no word was returned from the courier, his face remained in a frown as the men who had traveled with them saw fit to regroup. Loud was the howl of a wolf somewhere in the wood and abruptly it seemed that all were aware of the lack of weapons upon him. Cursing the name of the elf prince, the knight pulled from the nearest tree a branch of considerable size echoed by an obvious crack. “Our horses and weapons will simply have to stay here to rot, I suppose,” as she watched some of the men around her do the same. While a club of a tree branch was by no means the most sophisticated weapon, it was capable of landing a wallop alongside the cranium of a beast that leapt at them and giving them at least a chance of escape. The courier was handed a thick branch that was rent from one of the nearby trees and given a reassuring pat on the back from one of the knights in their little company as his face seemed to grow pale at another wolfish cry extending skyward. “I will wait no longer than dawn,” as her eyes lifted to peer through the canopy of leaves above them. Only a sliver of the moon was visible in the sky above them, shining only the faintest light upon the displaced people of Baiden in the Ceredi woods below. “It cannot be much past midnight, though I do not know if days or hours passed with us in those dungeons. We have little means by which to judge time without light…”
“You never lift your head to the stars, do you? Too busy looking at the shadows the sun casts on the ground. I’ve noticed that. Humans are always looking down.”
Raised was the club the instant the voice reached her ears as the figure was only an outline against the murky blackness of the trees. Hands were lifted in an act of surrender and to reveal the hands did not hold anything that could be seen as resembling a weapon. Still the club was braced with the same grip one would offer a mace as she peered through the night at the stranger. Then her voice raised audibly to order him to reveal his face.
This Thrandir was no mountain elf. While those that lived upon the peaks were fair of skin and hair, what met her eyes was a constitution far closer to her own. While her eyes narrowed she remained focused upon the stranger before him as he advanced a few steps forward. Nearer to her own height was he when compared to the elves of the mountains who mostly neared seven feet in their own height. She was shy of the six foot mark, herself. And for some reason she found a ripple of comfort at this; not so much that she lowered the wooden club, but enough that she did not feel the need to strike out in reflexive defense.
“I mean you no harm. Prince Iomyr alerted me to wait for those wearing dark skin and armor to fall from the chute and to lead them to the Circle of the Gods. The trek is a long one on foot, I warn you now.”
“So you are Thrandir?”
The mouth of the man across from her formed into a slight smile visible in the moonlight as he drew from beneath his cloak a necklace that contained a small feather carved of turquoise. Those who glimpsed it gave an audible sigh of relief for it was a known totem of one of the goddesses of Liev--this man was likely more a friend to them than any they had laid eyes upon since crossing into the mountains. A follower of Isa, likely with ties to the Oranian plains. The courier could have fainted from relief.
“That is the name Iomyr chooses to call me, yes. I have been through many a name in my time on this world so you may call me Thrandir for the sake of clarity. It is best not to move about the woods at night and so I’ve camp nearby. I apologize I do not exactly carry eight bedrolls with me in my travels…” as those dark eyes moved over the expanse of the party before him as his hands rest idly at his sides. “But you will find the dirts of the Ceredi Mountains to be hopefully enough on your back. If not, well…” as his eyes moved upwards and he lazily pointed, “I suggest a bed of leaves.”
Fabric was drawn about him as he turned his back to them, moving through the wood with little issue though there was no path to be seen. A few paces before he stopped, acutely aware of the fact that there was not the sound behind him of his armored cohorts keeping pace. Up did his brow arch as he cast a glance over his shoulder before jerking his head. “What chance have you to find your way out without a guide? I’d say very little. You took only main roads through on horseback to find the castle. I am afraid there are no such main roads in the wood.”
“Why is a convert of Issa working for the Silatin Mountain Elves?” Though Elfreda and many of the others that populated Baiden knew that those that occupied the mountains to their north prefered to be called by their ancestral name, it was almost a point of pride to be disrespectful to them. Her eyes observed even through the ink of night that the expression visibly seemed to fall when she made the statement regardless of the fact that genuine consequence may indeed lay in alienating this particular man of elf blood.
His head again faced forward and from him came a sigh. “You make an assumption that I work for the Ceredi, and in that you are wrong. I do no work for them under any tab. Iomyr merely happened to know who to reach out for when he needed a job with some semblance of stealth done much to your luck. No coin is changing hands for this and so it is not really work so much as it is a favor. So knowing that, you can come with me or not. It is no real concern of mine. At least you have a chance if you follow me, right?”
Between Elfreda and the others in the company a glance was shared before a nod made her decision for her. Weary was the sigh as she let from her hand drop the club. Elves did not believe in dealing much harm to the creatures and with any luck, she would not need it. Her surprise was surmountable when she found that her blade was tossed to her and she seized the familiar leather sheath with ease.
“Consider it a gift. You might need it. There’s a war going on, after all.”
part 7.
read from the beginning.
