The bells woke me the next morning: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, I started to rise, how had I slept so late?
Then eight, nine … It stopped there. How in the world had I slept to nine bells? I called for a valet and got no response. Peeking my head out into the hallway I did find my guard, though Lieutenant Everyón wasn't with them. The ranking soldier was a sergeant who looked to be roughly middle aged for a human.
“Good morning Sergeant,” I said politely. The Elf snapped to rigid attention and said simply “Sir!” clicking his heels and shouldering his halberd.
“At ease, Sergeant… what's the name, Sir?” He was not at ease.
“Villoiyón, Sir, Sergeant Villoiyón!” he barked.
“Very well, Sergeant Villoiyón, what goes on? Why was I allowed to sleep so late? Where are the valets?”
“Sir,” again barking, “there's been word of troop movements from the North, South, and West. There is much activity around the Queen this morning. Perhaps they forgot to wake you!”
“Well,” I said, “Nothing like waking up and feeling unneeded.”
“Sir, yes Sir!” he snapped.
“Will you, if you please, Sergeant, have one of your men gather a valet for me? I'll be in my rooms, dressing.”
Sir, yes Sir!” he snapped again, indicating a young soldier who went off in search of a younger valet. I’d never felt so old, and just twenty-eight. It was hilarious that most of these valets were older than me!
After last night's lecture from Ördelon, my mind was racing. I had studied much Human history in my college years and I still read much. The stories of the ends of Human civilizations, falling to their enemies, in their last days. It was rarely peaceful. No. It was brutal and savage. Them being subjected to unspeakable horrors and the depravity of invading armies, their leaders giving them license to rape, loot, and pillage. Summary executions and lawlessness. Chaos of that sort is my greatest fear. And it doesn't help to know the extremes of which your fellow man is capable. Dark thoughts.
Telest finally came around. “Good morning, good Telest, Sir!”
“Good morning, My Lord.”
“I know you've much on your mind, Sir. I just require some coffee and scones, if you please. I won't tax you today.”
He looked up at me with a meek smile, “Thank you, My Lord. We've been up most of the night, we valets and everyone else.”
“Do me a favor, Telest,” I implored him, “if there's news of this sort in the future, please come and wake me.”
“Yes, My Lord. It's just that the Queen ordered me to let you get your rest.”
“Ah, well you're certainly absolved then,” I told him, putting my hand on his shoulder. “Always obey Her Majesty. You're a good lad. Now off with you.”
He scampered off down the corridor to secure my breakfast and I made my toilet and dressed.
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It didn't take long to find where everybody was. The “War Room,” had obviously outgrown the confines of Queen May's rooms and was now a large table in the middle of the dining hall. As I entered, not a head turned, not an eye lifted in my direction. The place was abuzz with activity, everyone focused on one map or another. But what really caught my attention was a group of men in dark gray robes gathered about a large crystal ball on the far end of the table.
The ball was full of fog and swirling images, some vague, most of them as clear as if they were physically in the room. These men were Wizards and they were employing a method of reconnaissance known as scrying, looking across distances to see what's going on in faraway places. It was incredible to see. And that's where I found the Queen, Pelisir, Mestil, Fanrist, Mal'friq, and Ördelon with whom I assumed to be Field Marshal Everyón. They were watching a scene from the Northern Mountains, in the foothills, snow-capped peaks on the horizon. It was the army of Spotted Gnolls, 150,000 strong, meaning they had pulled the troops from their forts on the Eastern terminus of the Trade Roa that spanned the Waste.
This was a concerning development. It meant they had left those forts vulnerable to any with the desire to take them. That meant they'd be in the hands of Human bedouins within a week. It meant they were all in on taking the Taliswood, at whatever the cost.
May saw me watching and silently waved me over, putting a finger to her lips as I approached. As I watched the scene unfold, I could see that there were numerous skirmishers attacking the Gnoll ranks. Horse bowmen, Sun Elves, I assumed, in chainmail and gleaming silver helmets, red tabards and flags. The horses were white with black stockings, beautiful creatures.
Wave after wave of horse archers attacked, withdrew, reloaded, attacked and so on. The Gnolls in formation had made a moving shield wall on their left flank, and it was proving to be fairly effective. I'd see one fall here and there, but to no great effect.
After several minutes of this, the Sun Elves withdrew, readying for their next move.
The Field Marshal spoke. “They're five days out Your Majesty, My Lord,” he said addressing May and Pelisir. “Then another two to three days constructing siege machinery. So, a week from today barring some miracle.”
“Neither the mercenaries to the West, nor the Khan's forces have moved overnight though there does seem to be some activity in the Swalesian camp now. There is a staging area to the south of their army for supply wagons and reserves. They appear to be coming up to join the rest of the host. Not rushing at all. They're very certain of this outcome.”
Two rather well-dressed but travel weary Elves came in fascinated by the hubbub, addressing the Queen.
“Your Majesty , we've returned with news.”
I found out later that these two were emissaries sent out to try to find support from other Elves around the continent. Safter and Plogue were their names, career diplomats.
The Queen was obviously eager to hear their news . “Safter,” she said, “how went talks with Queen Extril?”
Safter had his hair slicked back along his receding hairline, his bones angular and visible in his cheeks, long claw-like fingers moving in rhythm with his speech. From his broad smile, the news had to be good. “The Queen sends her warmest regards, Your Majesty, and says you will have her full support. They have cave exits just to the north of Nez Ambríl and west of Nez Clarë. Wherever they are needed, they'll be able to take our enemy from the rear. Be it Gnoll or mercenary. They need a week to prepare, then they can offer 30,000 archers and light infantry. Of course they'd prefer to attack at night if possible.”
I had never met a Deep Elf. They live far beneath the surface of the continent along the shores of a huge underground sea. An amazing culture I'm told. Their skin as white as snow, white hair, eyes that are completely black. Their Queen, Extril, had been in power more than 500 years. On the surface, the Deep Elves are known for jewelry and metalwork of the highest quality. I wasn't aware of any reputation they might have for martial prowess, but I'd also yet to meet an Elven warrior who wasn't a match for any other in the land.
“That's incredibly good work on your part, Safter. They can be terribly isolationist when the mood strikes.”
Bowing deeply, the man replied, “Thank you, Your Majesty, but they're helping because of you, not me. They genuinely love and miss you. They'll likely send dignitaries soon to firm things up. And they'll be wanting amber of course, the Élíks, not the included amber.”
“You just told me it was because they liked me, Mister Safter.” She looked genuinely dejected though I knew she was jesting.
“Mister Plogue?” she asked. Plogue was heavyset for an Elf. On the short side, he was pushing two hundred pounds give or take a lunch or three. His silver hair just a little too long and slicked down so that it curled up a little in the back. He didn't look like he'd ever frowned. But now, his face took on a serious cast.
“Not so well with the Wild Elves, Your Majesty. You know they rarely come out of the jungles down there. Mother Criksta would commit to nothing.”
The Wild Elves led by the ancient Mother Christa, are primitives and the story of how that came to be is lost to time. They keep no written records and don't even have a system of letters. They sing their history every night around the campfire, and it's necessarily abbreviated. Their jungle home is to the south of Swalesian lands on the North Coast of that khanate’s Southern Sea. The Swalesians rape the resources of those jungles mercilessly, and the Wild Elves are too heavily outnumbered to retaliate. But now?
“I didn't give up on my mission, Your Majesty. I got stinking drunk with Mother Criksta and showed her the benefits of the situation. With the vast majority of the Swalesian military in and around Imskíli, her day of retribution had finally come. Her big toothless smile would have warmed your heart, Your Majesty!”
“Well at least there's that. Maybe some troops will have to be pulled off our front to account for it. You did what you could, Mister Plogue, thank you. Thank you both.”
May moved to the front of the room and clapped to get everyone's attention. “We've had a busy night and morning as you all know. I want you all to go now, get some food, bathe, take a nap. It's eleven bells. I'll expect you all back here at one bell. Now, go!”
As I turned, she said “Not you Mister Bascombe. To my rooms.”
Sweet heavens, the way her body moved under those robes!
image [https://i.imgur.com/J33z5sz.jpeg]