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Well Andiyar, you told me to upload more of it...bet you weren't expecting 14 pages
Part One
Thievery
A shadow slipped down the street, and suddenly the door to the inn opened. A tall, thin man in tight-fitting leather clothes and a black cape stepped in, shutting the door quickly and quietly. None of the patrons seemed to take notice of his entrance. He stepped into the light and moved towards a corner table.
He had a long, thin face with a black goatee and a curled moustache. His well groomed face split easily into a grin of recognition as he nodded to a friend who was sitting at the bar. His clothes were not new, but in good condition, and his soft leather boots made no sound as he strode across the inn. Protruding from under his cloak, a thin rapier blade glistened in the firelight. As he sat down, a barmaid hurried over to him with a drink; he seemed to be a regular customer. Indeed, many of the townsfolk smiled and greeted him.
The man studied the elflord and his companion as they sipped hot wine before retiring to their rooms. His eyes narrowed dangerously, though a hint of a smile played across his lips. After finishing his drink, he rose without paying, and walked slowly past the strangers. Strangely, all eyes in the inn were on him, except those of Tathalin, who haughtily stared ahead at the wall, ignoring the nuisance. As he passed, the man tripped over a barstool, and fell to the dirty wooden floor. There was a flash of steel, and then he slowly righted himself, and walked on. Barinmar stared at him suspiciously, belligerently. The man ignored him and began to walk out.
Snickers permeated the room from a corner table, where a dark-cloaked figure was sputtering with laughter. Suddenly, the tall man likewise laughed uproariously, and tossed a finely made elven pouch, filled with coins, onto TathalinÂ’s table. The strings that once held it from the elflordÂ’s belt were cut neatly.
Waving his dagger in the air before replacing it at his side, the man staggered over to the elflord, bent with laughter. Extending a large hand, he gasped, “Tonnulf Morrtemillo, pleased to,” and here he broke into uncontrollable laughter, “...make your acquaintance.”
By now, the whole inn roared with laughter, and several men who had stared at the elf sullenly before now came over and patted him on the back good-naturedly. Even BarinmarÂ’s stern face was twisted into a smile he tried desperately to suppress.
But the elflord’s face was cold, cold and dangerous like his steel grey eyes. He stood up slowly, and whispered, “You dare to insult my honor?”
Barinmar’s smile vanished as he realized what was imminent. He sprang to his feet, bowed his head, and said to Tathalin, “Milord, should I punish this insolent fool accordingly?”
But he knew that it was to no avail, for the elflord simply ignored him. Drawing his finely made elven longsword, he stepped menacingly towards the thief. Barinmar saw his lips muttering ancient words of elven magic, and prepared for the inevitable, drawing his bastard sword and guarding his lordÂ’s back.
Tonnulf’s expression changed from glee to determination. Drawing his rapier and dagger, he stood his ground and ventured nervously, “It was a jest, your lordship. Of innocent nature, meant without offence.”
Just as Tathalin was poised to strike, there was a crashing knock on the buildingÂ’s door. The innkeeper looked up from the developing fight and cried in horror.
The door smashed inward and a huge orc stood framed in the doorway, his face split in a leering grin. Huge, broken, yellow fangs protruded from his jutting lower jaw. With a roar, he charged into the inn, whirling a huge axe. Behind him stood more hulking shapes, and suddenly the inn was filled with the beasts.
Tonnulf turned and hurled his dagger into the throat of the leading orc. He sprinted and leaped across chairs and tables to retrieve the knife mere seconds after it lef his hand. The elflord finished his magical words and sent a twinkling sphere of pale white energy soaring across the room. It exploded in the face of an oncoming orc, who fell with inhuman roars.
“For the Starborn!” Barinmar’s battle-cry rang above the din as he hurled himself in front of his master, bringing his great bastard sword into play on a third orc. The sword rebounded off its crude armor with a spray of sparks, throwing the monster back with its sheer power.
The din of battle rose above the town, and it became clear that this was no solitary assault. The town of Calanthas was under attack.
Loyalties
Militia men, clad in various stages of dress, some still in undergarments, some in full armor, had been roused from their beds by the tolling of the bells in the town hall. They marched out in companies, clearing the streets of the city and helping beleaguered citizens who were under attack. When this was done, they rushed to the wall tops. Though the orcish vanguard had broken through the surprised battlement defenders, the remainder had been pushed back by the well trained militia. Now they stood on the walls and in towers, raining arrows down on the advancing enemy.
The enemy army numbered near fifty-score, with companies of fourscore each advancing. Though some companies contained humans and one was made up of ogres, the majority were orcs from the rugged northlands. It became quickly clear that they were no ordinary horde out for plunder; they were too well organized. Some in Calanthas recognized their flags; the town was under attack by the Black Legions, highly feared mercenary regiments that wandered the land.
By the time the militia had regained the wall tops and stemmed the flow of invaders, the battle in the Boar HeadÂ’s Inn was over. At least a dozen orcish bodies littered the floor, and dead townsfolk were everywhere. More than two-score were wounded, and being tended to. Tathalin Starborn was wiping his blade calmly on the tunic of a dead orc, while Barinmar panted nearby, trying to stop the blood flow from a wound in his forehead.
Beside them, many townsfolk had stayed and fought, for Calanthas was no town of rich and weak men. They had become hardy, determined soldiers, prepared to fight to the death for their homeland. None of them were unarmed; those that had no weapon at the outset of the fight had acquired one from a corpse.
Tonnulf was nowhere in sight; he had gone down in the mob of charging orcs as he had struggled to retrieve his dagger. It was unusually quiet in the inn, a silence broken only by the quiet sobs of the innkeeper, the groaning of the wounded, and the panting of the fighters.
Suddenly a shout rang out: “Hey! I could use a little help here!”
The pile of orcs under which Tonnulf was lying moved a bit. Several men pulled aside the bodies to reveal the man unharmed, though his clothing was crumpled, torn, and covered with thick orcish blood.
“By the Gods! I’ll never get that smell out of my nose!” the rogue exclaimed as he extracted himself from the mess and straightened out his clothes. He approached the elflord, and again offered a large, if somewhat bloody, hand. “I apologize again, good lord. I mean no quarrel with you.”
Tathalin, taken aback, said nothing, but his steel grey eyes softened ever so slightly. He nodded curtly and turned to his companion.
“Do you think they are here because of me, Barinmar?” “Yes, milord, that is probable. Delanthus Highblood does not forget, and he is ruthless when dealing with his enemies.”
The elflord looked around at the weary but curious expressions of the townsfolk. “I suppose you deserve to know. A rich and powerful enemy of mine, an elven lord like myself, has exiled me from my keep. Now he is hunting me down; that is why the Black Legions are here. I must leave immediately. I regret the death and pain that they have caused.”
And with that, he walked haughtily out into the street, Barinmar at his side.
For a moment, everybody was too stunned to move. Then an angry murmur turned into shouts of rage as a mob formed.
“Hang the Elflord! Hang the Elflord!” cried the enraged townspeople as they looked upon their dead friends and family.
Gathering people quickly, the mob moved down the street in the direction that Tathalin had taken. They ignored the threat from the Legions; for now, they were bent on revenge.
Ahead of them, a single figure sprinted through the shadows, trying desperately to catch up with the elflord and his companion, who had broken into a run. It was Tonnulf.
Alliance
Barinmar turned his head, ignoring the blood trickling down his cheek and nose. He saw the mob was gaining on them. Though Tathalin had been reluctant to flee, even he could swallow his dignity and run for his life.
Then he glimpsed movement in the shadows right behind them. He recognized the rogue from the inn as he dashed out into the open.
“Quick, this way!” cried the thief and led them into a side alley. Coming to a small alcove in a dark building, he pulled a hidden lever and a section of wall slid open. He motioned inside, and before his lord could protest, Barinmar grabbed him and pulled him into safety. A moment later, Tonnulf leaped in, the wall closing behind him.
Everything was silent for a moment, only sound being the three menÂ’s exhausted panting. The sound of the mob grew, and then receded again. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the sound of steel striking flint was followed by the flare of a torch. Tonnulf held the torch into the air and looked at the elflord, a smile creeping onto his face.
“So, where are you going next?” asked the thief.
“Back to my homeland, to confront my enemies and to either die or triumph. My days of hiding are over.” said Tathalin Starborn in a quiet, firm voice. Barinmar knew there could be no argument with his lord when he spoke like that.
“Will your lordship allow me to accompany you on your journey and assist you in regaining power?” asked the thief.
Tathalin’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you so eager to offer me your services, rogue?”
Tonnulf’s face broke into a grin. “Everybody has enemies, and it’s not your fault that they follow you around. I still have a debt to repay to you for insulting your honor, your lordship.”
The elflord pondered this for a while, and then nodded curtly. “Very well. We shall leave this city by the quickest means available and travel to Qualsenti.”
The rogue led them down a long, sloping tunnel, stopping at intersections to inspect cryptic runes on the ceiling before choosing a path. Barinmar realized that the tunnel system was amazingly large and extensive. The walls were supported with stone slabs spaced every two paces, and thick wooden pillars held the ceiling up. The ceiling itself was tiled with smooth stones, and the floor had wooden boards laid over the wet earth.
Finally, after tramping on in the flickering light of the torch for over an hour, the group reached a small staircase. Tonnulf climbed it swiftly and turned a large metal wheel that was embedded in the ceiling. He pushed upwards, revealing a trapdoor through which moonlight poured.
Tathalin and Barinmar climbed out and waited for the rogue to follow them. He led the way to a forest, and the elflord realized that they were outside of the city walls. The glow of fires rose about the fair town of Calanthas.
In the forest, the rogue walked to a small wooden hut and unlocked the door. From inside, there came the whinnying of horses. There were four, all sleek, black, well-groomed and well-fed mounts. Leading three out, he re-locked the door and motioned for the elflord and his companion to mount their steeds.
Only after dawn streaked the horizon and they had been riding for hours did he trot up next to the elflord and ask:
“And this enemy of yours is rich, isn’t he?”
Oddessey
They rode for many hours, and when the sun was high in the deep blue sky, they finally halted and made camp. The elflord, though he struggled not to show it, was exhausted, for he had not slept for over a day and a half; and even the hardy Barinmar felt a pervasive exhaustion creeping through his bones. Tonnulf, though, did not seem to be affected and Barinmar suspected that his main time of activity was night anyway.
After watering the horses at a nearby creek and eating provisions from the horsesÂ’ saddlebags (which had been filled and ready when they had first found the mounts), they mounted again and rode on. The elflord led, riding briskly through the forest, stopping every now and then to breath in the cool, refreshing air. He searched for signs along the tree trunks, and often redirected his horse accordingly. Barinmar could tell where they were going: to the kingdom of the wood elves.
There was much danger involved in this journey aside from its length. Even if they arrived in the wood elven realms safely, there was no assurance that they would be admitted. Indeed, they had good reason to fear for their lives from the stealthy, secretive wood elves. These wild elves harbored a terrible hate for the high elven race, which had long persecuted them and designated them as a lesser race; and although this might lead them to help TathalinÂ’s cause since he was battling a high elf lord, they would be suspicious and hateful of him as well, since he belonged to the high elven race himself.
Two days they rode through the forests, and now the trees had become wider spaced; but the forest was by no means thinning. Each tree was at least four arm-spans around, and these behemoths reached endlessly up into the sky, creating a soft green ceiling through which the sunlight speckled the ground.
On the fifth day, they were still riding through this seemingly unchanging forest, and furthermore, their food had run out. Their attempts at hunting were futile, for the animals seemed to sense the danger from far away and streak off into the bushes.
They decided that they must travel to the great Druid Glade to barter for supplies with the Grovedwellers. The Glade was a huge stand of oaks that dwarfed even the prodigious trees they were passing now, and legend had it that the Glade was well protected against outsiders.
As they neared the Glade, Tathalin saw the sun slip down under the horizon, and suddenly the shadows were alive. The trees cast huge, dark shadows that seemed to dance over the leaf-strewn grass. Slowly, the shadows condensed, until Tathalin could discern solid beings stalking towards them.
Barinmar drew his bastard sword and all three urged their horses into gallops. Tathalin began reciting a spell, while Tonnulf stared at the shadow-phantoms in growing horror.
The first attack came from a phantom that hurled itself from a tree, crashing into Barinmar. He slashed at it wildly with his sword, but already its long claws were digging through his armor and into his flesh. Dark red blood welled from the wounds and the human screamed.
A ray of pure, white light shot through the phantom, destroying it instantly. Tathalin held his hand aloft, and it glowed with a light of its own. He turned his hand, clutched his fist, and a second beam faded out a shadow phantom that had latched onto TonnulfÂ’s horse.
Then a third monster leapt on him, throwing him from his saddle. Unable to draw his sword, he desperately dodged its huge claws and scrambled backwards. A dagger –Tonnulf’s– whizzed through the phantom, and it shrank in apon itself.
Leaping back onto his steed, the elflord galloped on. More and more phantoms streamed form the trees, until finally the companions found themselves encircled. Breathing heavily, they drew their weapons and prepared for their final battle while Tathalin tried desperately to recite another spell.
The shadow phantoms converged slowly, silently, creeping forward over the leaves with deadly stealth. Suddenly Tathalin forgot all semblance of dignity and cried out into the night, “Spare us, Grovedwellers! We are but humble travellers seeking provisions and shelter for the night! Call back your phantoms! We mean you no harm! Call them back! Call them...”
Tathalin stopped in mid-sentence as he realized that the Grovedwellers had already fulfilled his plea. The shadows melted and diffused, and became the unmoving shadows of the great trees.
Swallowing loudly, the elflord took a deep breath and rode on in the sudden silence. His companions followed, stunned.
As they entered the great Druid Glade, they were awed by the huge size of the trees. Then they saw a flicker of movement; a tiny light danced around in the air. More lights appeared, until the whole night sky was filled with the lights, dancing and weaving around the trees.
“Grovedwellers,” Tathalin whispered.
Reunion
The Grovedwellers flew closer, and in the light of their tiny torches, the three travellers saw their fragile bodies, resembling miniscule elves, and their thin, wispy wings. Their wings were like those of a butterfly, and they frolicked like butterflies as well. But soon, order seemed to prevail, and the tiny Grovedwellers formed a corridor of tiny lights. A brighter light flew down this corridor, held by a large Grovedweller, about a foot tall, with wings that were the same size. He wore green clothing of fine silk, cut and tailored by magic to his tiny form. His light was not a torch; instead it was a ball floating above his head. The ball gave off a soft luminescence that could soak through any darkness.
The leader of the Grovedwellers spoke in a musical, perfect voice that was surprisingly loud for his size.
“Welcome, Tathalin Starborn. You may rest here, for this is a place of safety to all. Food and water will be provided. All we ask for in return is that you remember our kindness when you rule the high elven people.
Tathalin was too astonished by this strange prophecy to ask how they knew his name; and he could guess it was magic anyway. All he could do was nod solemnly, his pride and arrogance forgotten. Somehow, he respected these tiny creatures more than he had ever respected another living being in his life. The size of the body is unimportant, yet the size of the mind is crucial was an old elven saying. Only now could the elflord truly begin to understand its meaning.
The horses were led away by unseen guides, and the Grovedweller led them to a patch of moss under a great tree. Food awaited on finely crafted wooden plates, while horns were filled with mead. Three saddlebags filled with provisions rested under the tree.
Gratefully seating themselves, the three companions ate the food and drank the mead and were astonished by its delicious flavor. This was no earthly food. The smallest taste sent shivers of delight through their bodies, and the mead was so sweet it seemed to fill them with energy even as they sipped it.
Stuffed, they lay down to rest on the soft moss, and were in blissful sleep the moment their heads touched it. This sleep was not tormented by any dreams, but was so restful that they awoke from it at dawn invigorated and cheerful.
Later in the morning they set out again on their horses, whistling and singing. Even the steel-eyed Tathalin was in unusual good spirits, and he even forgave TonnulfÂ’s attempt at stealing his money pouch again.
They reached the kingdom of the wood elves two days later. Tathalin knew immediately that they had arrived because of the movement in the corners of his eyes that he could never quite be sure of, but that he glimpsed again and again. Suddenly an arrow hissed by them and landed quivering in a tree half a hand span from BarinmarÂ’s throat. Tonnulf reigned his horse abruptly, and the elflord stopped an looked around.
Green and brown shapes that he had taken for rocks or trees or bushes began moving towards them. They were wood elves, armed to the teeth with bows, javelins, and long wooden spears. Their hair was slightly greenish, and their faces had a wild quality to it that the majestic high elves lacked.
At least two-score of the elves surrounded the group, eyeing them suspiciously. Finally, an elf who seemed to be their leader spoke.
“For what do you search in our lands, high elf? You know you are unwanted here.” “I am Tathalin Starborn, exiled Lord of Wyrmdrake Keep. I seek admittance and passage to the city of Aspendale, to rally my followers and return to the fief that is rightfully mine.”
After a pause, the leader said, “We have heard of you, Starborn. Your family has always been honorable and kind in their dealings with us Wood Elven. You may enter. But do not bring the wrath of your enemies to our fair lands!”
The guards led them through the dense woods, until finally they came to a paved road. “Follow this road for another day, and you will reach Aspendale. Good fortune be with you, Elflord.”
With that, they melted back into the woods.
The three companions rode swiftly down the road, and at sundown they slept in a nearby grove. When morning broke they road on, encountering more and more mounted patrols of heavily armed wood elves. Finally they reached the great walled city of Aspendale.
Passing through the gate, Tathalin felt a familiar awe rise in him as he saw the great trees of the city again. He had been here once before, when he had fled his keep with his few remaining loyal followers a season ago. The wood elves had offered refuge to his soldiers, but he himself travelled on with Barinmar to find more men. The search had been long and fruitless, and everywhere the elflord had travelled the humans met him with fear, suspicion, and hate. The incident at Calanthas had finally convinced him to turn back.
Riding to the familiar inn where his followers were staying when he had left, he wondered if any of them were still loyal. Probably the majority had settled down here or found work as mercenaries in the wood elf army, he brooded.
They dismounted and walked inside the inn. Tathalin did not notice the sign above the doorway until he was standing directly under it.
It read: White Stags of Wyrmdrake.
Tathalin opened the door and quickly stepped inside. Familiar elven faces, along with many others, pierced his clouded senses as his mouth dropped. The elflord felt faint. Seated around tables, slashing at dummies, and firing at targets were more than three-score elves.
A dozen of them wore the Wyrmdrake Keep livery, while the rest had simple leather clothes. With a start Tathalin realized that these leather-clad elves were wood elves.
“Milord! You have returned!”
Shouts filled the room as his old friends and followers crowded around him. The wood elves remained seated uncomfortably.
“We have told them of your benevolence, milord. They wish to join you if you will accept them into high-elven society,” explained the grizzled Sergeant of Arms, Ethezar Firstblade, to Tathalin.
“We have formed the White Stags of Wyrmdrake, milord, an order dedicated to your cause!” cried a younger elf the lord recognized as one who had been a mere servant when he had left.
“You must tell them that they will be accepted, milord. Their loyalty will be decided by it,” urged Ethezar.
When the talking finally subsided, Tathalin said, “Hail, fellow elves. Though you are of the forests, I see you as my brethren.”
(This message has been edited by moderator (edited 04-17-2002).)
(This message has been edited by llegolas (edited 04-22-2002).)
Congratulations on another chronicle release, llegolas! I'm sure you've noticed that I split it in two parts, as I thought it was too long otherwise. I chose to cut if off roughly halfway, just after the end of the 'Reunion' sections, and before the start of the 'Reappearance' sections. I chose this point, firstly because of it's location, and secondly because it felt ok to seperate there. Anyway, on to the comments!
FIrst off..... did I mention that I love your characters? Tathalin is a gem, as is Tonnulf, and the steadfast Barinmar is a great character as well! Your character work is definitely a plus, it's an interesting cast and they all work well together. Well done!
Actually, I'll get the gripes out now..... there were only two problems I had. The first was the use of some words, you used a couple of words that seemed inappropriate for their context. I presumed to change them to make it more readable, I believe there were less then ten, so it didn't make a difference on the actual text at all.
The other problem I had was a recurrence of my 'all of a sudden' syndrome.... just in the 'Oddyssey' section where they are travelling through the woods, I felt that more detail could be included. But then, it's not essential.
I won't go on to list all of the pluses, there were quite a few. If you like, read my comment in the other thread about this story, as I said there, it meshes well and just feels alive. Definitely a good balance achieved here.
Kudos, llegolas, on another great story. Look out for the conclusion next week, and of course, if there's any issues you'd like to discuss, feel free to (url="http://"http://mailto:andiyar@epitheisterra.com")email(/url) me.
-Andiyar
------------------ "Any good that I may do here, let me do now, for I may not pass this way again"
Wow! Thanks a bunch Andiyar, you really boosted my self esteem today
And I bet you will be the only one to read the whole thing. Sorry I got lazy and didn't divide it up better.
Thanks also for your changes, I'm perfectly happy with them all. I'll see if I can flesh out the forest section too. About the characters, I have to agree Tathalin is probably my best character ever, in any of my stories. Do you know why? It's becuase originally, he was from an RPG I was playing, and I popped him into this story.
Gratz on the modship, btw.
------------------ The answer to life, the universe, and everything is...42.
Quote
Originally posted by llegolas: **
And I bet you will be the only one to read the whole thing.**
Come on, the Celchster is always here. I also enjoyed this story, and I have only a minor quibble. It is your use of the name Qualsenti for the home of th eWood Elves. It seems too close to the Dragon Lance name for the same, Qualinesti. But that's very small.
I loved that.
------------------ "... For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil must give us pause..." - Willaim Shakespeare, Hamlet
I have only a minor quibble. It is your use of the name Qualsenti for the home of th e Wood Elves. It seems too close to the Dragon Lance name for the same, Qualinesti. But that's very small.
That is because I had originally used Qualinesti, and then quickly changed it to avoid Copyright stuff.
It took me a little while, but I also read it. Very good, I have but one complaint. I noticed a small gramatical error in the beginning of the second paragraph.
Originally posted by llegolas He had a long, thing face...
Needless to say, this should be thin, I believe. There might have been more, but I didn't catch them. Very good story.
(Edit: I'm so hypocritical, complaining about the spelling when I made an error in this very post. Oops!) ------------------ Nothing is foolproof to a sufficiently talented fool.
(This message has been edited by spitfire (edited 04-20-2002).)
Ok, fixed. Thanks Spitfire.