The road grows wider as we move deeper into the elven wood. We begin to see more elaborate homes, both in the trees and atop the dirt, with some structures even occupying both levels. It’s like the houses are built in partnership with the forest. Some timber has clearly been removed, shorn from the ground it loves so much, but many trunks still remain – sometimes even spiraling through the middle of elven houses. It gives the area a fairy tale quality that I didn’t fully appreciate in-game.
“Marvelous,” I tell the king, who continues to stay with me on our journey, our horses trotting side-by-side.
The king’s eyes twinkle. “Yes, a beauty born out of necessity.”
I’m confused. “You mean the elves don’t appreciate their forest?”
“Appreciate it? No, I think they need it. Maybe not as much as they need air to breathe, but it’s as inescapable for them. Look at their skin. Ever seen anything so pale? You think they’d like life in the desert, or even the plains, with our two suns beating down on them day after day. I don’t. And what about defense? Can you imagine trying to march a goblin army through this forest? Would they rather have to defend this place or an open ground?”
The king clearly enjoys rhetorical questions.
“I’d say we know the answer to that last question at least,” the king adds darkly. A shadow passes over his face and the creases around his mouth deepen.
“So the elves didn’t come to your aid?” I ask, and my question is not rhetorical.
The king grips the horse reigns tighter. “They did not.”
“Do you know why?”
“It’s something I intend to ask my old friend when we arrive. In fact it will likely be the very first thing.”
It’s slow going now as there is actual traffic on the roads at this point. The Eleven civilization is like a wheel. Spokes shooting out in many directions accompanied by rings of various widths that circle around the center of it all. So as we progress we move deeper into the busiest and most congested parts of the wheel.
But then the traffic suddenly parts before us. Wagons, horses, carts, everything makes way for an incoming procession heading in our direction. I start to urge our horses to the side as well, but the king lays his hand on my arm. I pause, puzzled, and then I understand.
They’re here for us.
The honor guard is illustrious in its shimmering elven plate. The metal seems to shine of its own accord with radiant silver stones embedded in the thick, ornate armor. The guards helms are feathered and their faces obscured behind fenced visors. The leader dismounts and steps toward us. As the elf approaches he removes his helm.
“Your majesty,” he says with a deferential nod. “It is good to have you with us again.”
“And it is good to see you again, Irian,” the king responds. “I admit I was beginning to wonder if we would ever reach court given all the commotion on your roads.”
The elf smiles. It’s hardly perceptible though. “I believe his Lordship sent us as soon as he heard of your arrival.”
“Oh, did he now? Perhaps you should take me to the Lord himself so I can properly thank him for his courtesy.”
The elf nods again. “Of course, Majesty. That is why we were sent. If you and your party care to disembark we have a more fitting wheelhouse for you.”
It’s strange, leaving our tired wagons. They carry the bruises from our journey, the scars of the tragedies along the way. They’ve served us well and abandoning them feels a little like leaving a friend behind. But they’re also starting to smell worse than a football player without a bath, and riding around in somebody’s armpit does get pretty old after a while.
The new wagon feels like a living room wheels, and smiles like fresh lavender. I don’t know if someone dashed the walls with the oil, or if the pillows are just scented with it, but the smell is glorious after the dankness. And speaking of pillows they are soft and fluffy to lean against while sitting on wooden benches. There is also a generously laden table and beds to sleep on. The whole contraption is pulled my eight great horses.
They shoulda gone with twelve. Like Santa and the reindeer.
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We are inside together now as the wagon heads forward. Escorted by elven guards in such a marvelous space I feel like a nobleman myself. My mood improves considerably though I wish I could say the same for the king. The old man slouches on a bench, his garments hanging so loose about him they could be a blanket.
“Your majesty,” I begin. “I thought you would be happy. Isn’t this more appropriate for a king? They are honoring you as appropriate.”
The king scoffs. “Honor? Honoring me is allowing me to arrive in my own wagon, under my own power, and with my own retinue – however shabby that may look. Because it demonstrates that the king commands his own. Now we are under someone else’s thumb., however friendly that thumb may be.”
I squint a him. “So you don’t trust the elves?”
“I trust the elves more than any other realm on the continent. He pauses. “But no, I don’t trust the elves anymore. At least not like I used to.”
Bitter fellow. But can you blame him?
“Still,” the king continues with a sigh. “They are our best hope.”
“Indeed they are, Majesty.” Mary pipes in from across the room. “May I suggest that it would be good to remember that if you want them to help you retake your Kingdom.”
King Leo scoffs. “Mary, you’ve always offered suggestions whether I permitted them or not.”
The old lady smiles. “True, but I like to ask all the same, Majesty.”
The group falls silent and I gaze out the slim wheelhouse windows as we trundle along through the burgeoning streets of the elven kingdom. Some elves stare at us as we go, trying to catch a glimpse of the secret occupants that command such royal attention. Many simply go about their business though, apparently used to making way for whatever noblemen is assumed to be inside. That’s another commonality across cultures – making way for the nobility. I remember that in Disney World the rich and famous got to use underground tunnels so they didn’t have to mingle with the common folk.
New world. Same story.
A couple more days of luxury trundling and sunlight begins to stream through our windows. All of us wince before it. Our eyes have grown accustomed to the thick tree cover that shields and deflects the most intense rays from above. When I feel comfortable again I take another look out the window. The view blows my mind.
The woods are gone. The trees, the roads, the wooden houses, everything is missing. It’s all stone now. It’s like I’m back in a human city again, or an ancient human city. Like one of those long gone civilizations that hollowed out the jungle to construct their temples or pyramids or whatever. Except it’s even larger, like a town square on steroids, with stone buildings lining the edges and a giant palace soaring into the sky.
“Woah,” I manage.
“They got the stone from the goblins,” says the king. “We didn’t have enough to provide, or so I’m told anyway. The elves built this long ago. And our records from that time are…incomplete.”
“The goblins?” I ask, incredulously. I know nothing of these particular creatures but I don’t recall any great miners in the fantasy books I’m familiar with. Usually goblins are trying to tear everything down rather than build it up.
“Oh, yes,” the king continues. “They have not always been so reclusive as they are now. Stories tell of them coming down from their peaks and visiting elf and human alike.”
“what happened then?” I ask.
The king shrugs. “The records are –“
“Incomplete.”
The king nods.
When the wheelhouse finally stops the elves open the doors slowly. The brightness intensifies even further. After a moment I follow his majesty out the door and look up at the giant stone palace. A building easily taller than the highest of the trees, there is a pyramid of stairs before you can even enter the central structure. The honor guard climbs the first step and we follow suit. After twenty or so steps I hear the king laboring and offer his assistance which he promptly refuses. When he reaches the top of the steps he is downright panting.
Eight more elves stand guard at the main door. I’m curious why so many are needed until I see them open the door. Each grasps an iron handle and pulls outward. The wood groans and scrapes against stone, as if resisting like an old, stubborn mule who refuses to be put out to pasture. The hinges creak and whine so shrilly I’m tempted to cover my ears. But then the noise is over, the elves bow, and they usher us inside.
The main hallway is wide and glorious. Its statues and paintings are illuminated by mighty torches driven into the gray stone. The rug I walk on is soft and thick; the windows are stained with figures and events in intricate detail; the whole place has the vibe of an old gothic cathedral.
Our trek down the hall does come to an end and we pause once more before a giant door. This one can be opened more easily though as only two guards are required to rotate the slabs upon their hinges. Behind the carved wood is a giant elf looking down on us. I’ve never seen an elf that big before and step back. He looks at me and then to the king.
“Only you may enter, Majesty,” he says bruskly, and without the courtly formalities that I thought elves were gifted with upon their birth.
“No, we are both to see his Lordship,” says the king.
The elf grunts, also un elf-like. “Says who.”
“Me.”
“You have no authority here.”
“I’ve more than you do, half-wit.”
The elf grasps King Leo’s shoulder with his hand and I reach for my sword. Things are about to get nasty when a voice belows out. “Enough!”
The elf stops immediately and turns. I can now see past him, into the cavern beyond.
There is a row of pillars, wreathed with torches, and along each wall are even more, but still the room feels somewhat dim. It is so enormous. And at the end of it is a throne.
An elf sits upon it.