The Revenge of the Elves Page 6

  Fallean closed his fist and stilled the magic. Turning, he confronted his captors, a look of resignation upon his face. He hung his shoulders and slumped forward, trudging along with the others. Shaking his head so that only they could see, he signaled to his companions to fall in line behind him. They allowed Madar and Teren to lead them up the path and into the woods ahead.

  The trees reached out their branches to the trespassers, catching their already ragged clothing and shredding it further. Twigs wrapped around their boots like snakes and their heels sunk into hidden holes, forcing them to stare at the earth so they wouldn’t trip and fall. Dust rose from the dry soil with each plodding step, and hung in the dead air, making it difficult to breathe.

  The uneven path was littered with rocks and other debris in various stages of disintegration. It forked a number of times and Madar grizzled his brow and pondered each one before choosing which to follow. He had never been in these woods before and he knew only that to get to Peltaran they had to march through them and over the rise upon which the pathetic trees grew. The alternative was to walk around the perimeter of the forest, and that would take too much time. If they tried that on foot, they would never reach their rendezvous point by the required date as they had no horses or wagons to speed the journey. The deadline was fast approaching and the incline of the hill rose before them still.

  “Damn, I hate this!” Teren said. Perspiration dripped from his forehead. “It’s fucking hot!” he whined from the rear, while tying a dirty rag around his head of thinning hair.

  “You bitch more than an old woman,” Madar replied, his patience worn thin. “You think I like this heat any better than you? I’m just keepin’ my mind on that gold so it don’t seem so bad,” he lied. His mind was on how long this was taking and how little time he had left to deliver the prisoners to Peltaran.

  “You don’t know where you’re going, do you?” Teren asked.

  “What makes you say that? The town’s on the other side, so I’m takin’ us up and over so’s we can reach it. You got a better idea?”

  “Nah. I ain’t never been here neither.”

  “How wrong can we be if we climb up here and then down there?” he asked, pointing to what looked to be the crest of the hill. “Even if we come out a ways from the town, it can’t be far,” Madar reasoned, but his worries grew with each new step.

  “I don’t give a crap just so’s we get there. I just wondered if you was guessing each time or if you knew where you was going. That’s all. Shit. Shit. Shit,” Teren cursed, untangling his foot from a root that seemed to follow him up the path. “I suppose it don’t matter none that you ain’t never been here,” he shrugged, pulling at his ankle.

  As they walked on, the hill continued rising before them. It didn’t appear to be this high from the outside, and it surprised them both that it hadn’t leveled off yet. The prisoners plodded on without complaint, following their captor’s instructions. Their chains dragged along the surface, sliding smoothly over the sticks and rocks littering the trail as they walked. Teren stopped frequently to free his own legs from the twisted twigs and branches upon which they got caught, cursing and spitting his annoyance.

  “Don’t stare at me that way, you!” he snapped at one of the captives. “Keep your fucking eyes away!” he warned. “Hey, Madar! Did you get a look at this fucker’s face?” he shouted to his friend. “It ain’t no normal face, no ways!”

  “How so?” Madar yelled from the front of the line.

  They walked in single file now as the pathway constricted where the trees grew more dense.

  “Well, it ain’t like yours or mine,” he replied. “It ain’t normal at all! His eyes are slanted,” he said, while picking up a long stick from the ground. “I wonder what his ears look like?” He extended the stick toward the hood on Fallean’s cape. Grabbing it with the tip of the branch, he dragged it down behind him. “Shit! I knew it! He’s an elf.” Teren shouted.

  “So. Who cares?” Madar shouted back. “I suppose the women are too. Big shit,” he responded, uninterested. “All’s I care about is that she pays us for ‘em when we get there. They could be fucking dwarves for all it matters. Stop talking and keep moving. We’re running out of time.”

  Teren backed away from his captive, while Fallean crouched, glowering at him despite the warning. His face was expressionless, but his eyes burned with anger. He cocked his head and his nostrils flared as he sniffed the air again , like an animal tracking the scent of another.

  “We’d better watch this fucker well,” Teren said. “I don’t like the looks of ‘em.” Yanking on the chain that bound his legs together, he forced Fallean to hop forward like a toad. Teren laughed. The two women tripped behind him as they were attached to the links as well. “If you get any fucking bright ideas, elf, think twice,” he threatened. “I ain’t got no love for you people. Give me a reason, and I’ll kill you as soon as I’d take a piss on this bush here. No one said we needed to bring you in alive.” He spit on the dry ground and laid his hand on the hilt of the dagger that stuck out of the belt around his waist.

  Fallean said nothing. His expression didn’t change as he turned his head toward Teren and stared at him once again.

  “What are you stupid?” Teren shouted, while elbowing Fallean hard in the shoulder. “I fucking told you to keep those evil eyes off of me! You people should stick to your own kind. Now keep your damn head down,” he ordered and slapped him on the back.

  Fallean looked at the ground. Ire flowed over him like hot water in a tub and he tried hard to calm himself. He thought of the cool waves lapping at his feet on a warm spring day on the island of Merala da, and forced his anger out to sea with the image of the ebbing tide. When Teren turned away once more, he signaled to his friends to remain patient, knowing they too must have reached their limits. A blue fire leapt from finger to finger and he closed his fist around it.

  “Pay them no mind,” Madar said. “All’s we got to do is get them to Peltaran and the witch woman will take care of ‘em. All’s we got to do…” he repeated to himself.

  “And we’ll get our gold,” Teren flashed a greedy smile. “That almost makes being near this scum worth it,” he said, pulling his foot out from under a thick clump of moss.

  The path kept ascending but they marched up it expecting at any moment for it to turn downward. Though the trees had few leaves upon their branches, they grew closer together and more dense, forming a formidable wall on either side of the group. Teren couldn’t turn around without pricking his flesh on some thorny bush or catching himself on a sharp, barren offshoot that protruded from the flanks.

  He glanced upward, to ensure that the prisoner he confronted was still obeying orders. Eyeing the chains and shackles that looped around their legs and bound the three of them together, he snickered with satisfaction, emboldened by the sense of security they afforded him. His courage always waxed when he was in control.

  As Madar tried to maneuver past a tight bend in the path without scratching his face and arms anymore than was necessary, the others came to a halt behind him. It was hard to avoid the thorns and the legs of his pants got tangled in the underbrush. Teren walked over to him, easing himself past the prisoners, and bent down. While trying to free his friend’s leg from the prickles that constrained it, he got his own sleeve caught up in it as well.

  “Damn this place!” Madar exclaimed. “If I didn’t know no better, I’d think these bushes didn’t want us walkin’ through here.”

  “Maybe we should backtrack and take a different fork,” Teren said, frustrated with the entire effort.

  “It’s getting late. Besides, we’re still going up. We gotta get over the top if we wanna get to the other side.” Madar yanked his leg free of the thorns leaving a large piece of his trousers behind. “Damn!” The sun was setting.

  Teren’s arms were scratched and bleeding, and Madar’s cheek was marked by a long red line that beaded up with blood as well. Curiously, none of the prisoners inc
urred the same difficulties.

  “If this fucking path gets any narrower we won’t be able to walk up it. Then what?” Teren asked. “How much time we got left?”

  “I don’t know, but it ain’t much,” Madar admitted. “Why would a path end in the middle of nowheres? It’s got to keep going. Maybe it’s just overgrown.”

  “A fucking lot of good that will do us! Overgrown or not, we gotta walk on it. How long we been up here anyways? Feels like forever to me,” he complained, though his friend was already a good distance ahead of him.

  As he spoke, a particularly ornery thorn on the end of a particularly ornery branch stuck in his shirt behind his right shoulder. He tried to tear it free but it was lodged deep in the fabric. Reaching over his head and attempting to grab the branch, he yelped with pain. Blood oozed from his thumb. Scrambling to break free, another branch caught upon his trouser leg. The more he struggled, the more he got tangled in the shrubbery, stuck between the sticky web of branches.

  Madar continued on ahead until he disappeared from his companion’s sight completely. Teren could no longer see much of the path in front of himself, but he was so caught up in the shrubbery he hardly noticed. The bush that lodged itself in his shirt made it difficult for him to reach the ground with his hands. He dangled stupidly from the branches.

  While fighting to pull himself free, he saw the elf staring at him again, and this time the prisoner’s blue eyes glowed against the backdrop of the gray scrub brush. The severity of the situation didn’t strike him yet, and his anger multiplied along with his frustration.

  “You think it’s fucking funny, don’t you?” he exclaimed. “Well you won’t be laughing when I chain you to one of these damn trees and leave you up here!” he threatened, but as he spoke he realized Fallean was having no difficulty at all walking through the trees and brush, and neither were the other two prisoners. A bad feeling crept over him. He gasped for air. “What’s going on here? What the fuck are you doing?” he yelled. The thorns ripped his clothing and stuck into him, and he yelped in pain while blood oozed through the fabric everywhere. “I knew you was evil! Your fucking eyes told me so,” he said, panicked, thrashing around, and becoming more entangled the harder he tried to free himself.

  Fallean raised his hand and a blue-white light formed around it, pulsing from his fingers. Teren’s face paled. He couldn’t move, he was totally caught up in the underbrush, gasping and puffing. Fear enveloped him, replacing the arrogance he’d exhibited just a scant moment ago, and he struggled to reach the dagger at his belt. A thorny tendril wound its way around his arm, yanking it over his head. Another caught his ankle, pulling it out from under him, but he didn’t fall. He hung there, suspended between the bushes a few feet off of the surface, spread eagled and trapped.

  “Madar?” he shouted, but his friend didn’t reply. “Help me!” he screamed.

  Fallean moved the tip of his index finger and the branches tightened their grip on Teren’s limbs, stretching him further. Fallean said nothing as he bound his captor in the thorny underbrush, twirling away while the branches danced in response. Gazing at the chains that bound his own ankles, he bent over and grasped the thick links with his illuminated hand. The metal turned to dust and disappeared.

  “Come,” he said in a youthful voice to his companions. “The path down is just on the other side of these trees,” he pointed in the direction Madar had vanished.

  Chapter Eight

  “Follow me. Quickly, “ Queen Esta said, hurrying toward the wall at the rear of the chamber.

  She placed her hands flat against the tapestry hanging in front of her and pushed into it with the weight of her body. Pointing her slipper, she forced the slight indentation in the floor board deeper and drew the tapestry to the side. A whooshing sound followed her action and a musty smell permeated the room. A passageway loomed just inside.

  “If Sidra has directed you to do this, then there is no question I will assist you!” she said, sailing through the opening.

  Tomas and Elion followed her out of the library into the darkness beyond.

  “Yes, I have known her for many tiels now,” she answered Elion’s previous question. “When my husband died, she was my source of strength. I didn’t ask her to help me. I didn’t express my need. She came nonetheless and she stayed with me until I was strong enough to do the things that were required of me. We grew quite close,” she recalled. “And I learned more in those weeks than I had in many years prior.”

  “You didn’t mention her to us,” Elion said.

  Esta spun around, her skirts snapping, and looked at him. “Should I have? There are many things we have not yet spoken of.”

  “Of course there are. I didn’t mean that in the way it sounded,” he replied.

  “No offense taken, Prince.” Raising her chin, she turned and continued deeper into the room. “Sidra is a unique woman. I know more about her than many, and I too know very little. But one thing I’m certain of and I have been since the moment we met, is that she is a person I can trust with anything.”

  Reaching upward, she ignited a small torch that hung recessed in the wall. A winding stairway appeared just ahead of them. She reached back, pushed the doorway behind Tomas until it closed with a click and walked past him to the steps.

  “Come,” she beckoned.

  They followed her up the carved stairs to the room above. It had no windows and no doors other than the one through which they climbed. The room was unadorned and the floor too was bare and unfinished. Smooth, black stone paved the walls and lay beneath their feet as well. The flickering light rising from below was diffused by their bodies and cast large shadows across the chamber as they emerged through the opening. They could not see the ceiling in the semi-darkness but the room felt secure.

  “This was built by my husband when the castle was first constructed. He laid many of the stones himself. Few left alive know of this place.” Esta looked from left to right. “I have not been in here in a long, long time.”

  The room was octagonal and about thirty paces from end to end. Walking to the middle of it, Esta lit the round fixture suspended from the ceiling and the room came alive. The stone work was seamless and impressive. Black as black could be, the rock glittered as if lit up from within. Neither Elion nor Tomas had ever seen its type before.

  “Yes, it is unusual!” Esta explained without being asked. “My husband felt that if the sun was never going to shine inside this room, then it would need to have a luminosity all its own. He polished most of these himself. Beautiful, aren’t they?” she said.

  “Why did he construct it in the first place? What purpose did it serve?” Elion asked. A room with no windows, shut away from the world.

  “He used to visit Pembar often. You have heard the tales?” She didn’t wait for them to answer but continued on with her story. “Once, after he returned from a long sojourn into the Winding Woods, he advised me he needed to build a place of safety where he and I could go in the event we were imperiled. It struck me as quite odd at the time because Altair was a haven in those days. I recall wondering why he was suddenly being selfish about only our welfare. He was ordinarily such a socially conscientious man.”

  “Seramour too was safe then, my Lady,” Elion recollected.

  “Our world was a different place indeed,” she agreed. “And Pembar was much more communicative all those tiels ago, still almost human. He was a force then. And although my husband never specifically told me what they discussed, he led me to believe this chamber was his suggestion. He valued his opinion, and took his words to heart. As it turned out, he was rather prescient.” Esta walked toward a group of high backed chairs and gestured for them to join her. “There is no reason for us to stand here and talk. Come. Sit.” After they were seated and facing each other, she continued. “I found it difficult the first time I entered this room. It felt detached and apart from the energy of life, orphaned so to speak. The feeling unsettled me and I was very apprehensive. But as soo
n as we closed the door and lit the lights, the warmth the stone generated dispelled my concerns. The blocks were hewn from a quarry within the Winding Woods themselves.”

  “Ah, so that accounts for why we have never seen any like them before,” Elion said.

  “Yes, there are none like them,” she replied and turned to Tomas. “You are so quiet? Is everything alright?” Esta asked.

  “Yes. Fine. I was just admiring the stone myself,” he replied. “It glitters as if a piece of the Gem was inside it.”

  “When the lights are extinguished, it continues like this for a while. I used to stay here until it faded, though it made me sad when it was gone,” Esta told them. “There are a few such places of safety throughout the land.”

  “I found one in the cave Preston led us to,” Tomas said.

  “Yes, and I know of some in other cities as well,” the Queen replied. “They will be useful in the days and months ahead. I will share the locations with you before you depart.”

  “Did your husband know then that Caeltin’s sight could not penetrate these walls?” Elion asked.

  Esta dipped her head in acknowledgment, impressed at his observation. “The Dark One didn’t figure so prominently into our plans in those years. Though we knew how dangerous he was, his power was less obvious and he manifested it differently than he does today. The threat was less specific, less direct. I didn’t live with it in my awareness as I do today. My husband suspected Pembar had something more important in mind when he suggested the construction of this room,” she remembered. “He so rarely intervened in the world by then. But as I think about it now, he must have known. As with many things, he wished not to unsettle me any more than was necessary at the time.”

  “It’s fortunate he took you into his confidence with regard to its whereabouts at least,” Elion said.

  “There was little he kept from me that was truly important Prince,” she responded as if hurt by the implication of Elion’s comment. She would not tolerate her relationship with her husband being sullied by friend or foe. “He did desire that my mind remain clear and unencumbered by fear. He believed decisions were better made when one could reason without undue worry.”