Then, a great magic is said to have descended from the heavens and surrounded the land. Many human warriors were trapped outside as the dome formed, and they found that though the Faefolk could retreat inside, they were left stranded to be slaughtered and crushed. And crushed they were.
-Fennorin’s Guide to Elven History, First Ed. UE 2342
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FENNORIN
Fenn stood in the doorway to the Meetinghouse wheezing. Sweat dripped from his temples. He removed his octagonal spectacles and swiped at the stray droplets that had splashed on them. He was grateful for the sturdiness of the bronze that held them together. He’d run a marathon from the city’s center to ensure he arrived before his father only to meet the Everguard in a bit of a scuffle at the door. A less hardy material might have broken. He felt he nearly had from the stress of it. If my father had arrived first…
“Fennie!” Mell charged him with enthusiastic arms outstretched and wrapped him in a hug. “It’s so good to see you again.”
He laid his arms around her and relaxed. She made it. Over Mell’s shoulder, Belaer raised an eyebrow at him. This kind of familiarity was unusual for Etnfrandians.
Mell pushed him away. “Let me look at you!” She eyed him up and down, as if taking in a lost memory found again. Under her scrutinous gaze, Fenn attempted to smooth his sun-bright hair, still cut short in the style of men. He felt suddenly aware of the fine, blue tunic flowing almost to his knees–a touch short for his gangling form–complete with matching pants that tucked into his boots. They were a stark contrast from the linen shirt, stiff vest, and white scarf of his Assandial professorship.
“You haven’t aged a day in six years! Elvenwear suits you.” Mell winked and elbowed his ribs.
He grinned in a sort-of grimace and hoped Ceann Willowbirth would not mind the very human banter. “I should think so, Curator Mellark, as I am truly an elf.” He may not have aged, but the same could not be said for her. Gray strands now crept down the braids at her temples.
“An elf indeed,” Mell laughed then cleared her throat. “Now, where are my manners? Pleased to introduce my traveling companion, Syrdin. Zheir wits and skills have proved providential during our journey here. Truly an elf of many talents and a good companion to this,” she paused to wink again, “Scholar-Savant.”
Fenn’s face contorted with shock. Not at the increase of her rank to Scholar. No, it was that the diminutive companion was an elf. None of those born outside had the gall to visit even the Meetinghouse. Yet, zheir small form, secrecy, and most of all zheir degendered pronouns indicated the same: a Dark Elf escaped from dwarven slavery. Either this elf was a complete fool, or Fenn was wrong about zheir identity.
If the Ceann understood what it meant, he showed no sign. Fenn shook off his worries. Questioning it right now would only raise suspicion. “Congratulations, Madame Scholar. I should have known your rank would have increased by now.”
Fenn turned to Ceann Silverstem. “And Ceann-Malairt, I again apologize for the confusion. I seem to have missed the proper avenues for scheduling such a meeting, though I could hardly know when Scholar Mellark would arrive. Perhaps a greater number of letters between us would have alleviated the issue, but as you know, my father—”
Fenn cut off when Ceann Silverstem waved his hand. He felt ashamed speaking thus. Proper avenues, he’d said. There was no such thing. Until now, the Ceann of Trade was the only Etnfrandian who ever had an occasion to meet with outsiders. His appeal relied on his “future father-in-law” giving him the benefit of the doubt.
“Myc-Ceann, do not apologize where you need only to explain. Let us speak of the business that brought them here. Do not forget you have more than one Athyr Ceann, my son.”
Guilt blew over him like a hot wind. Surely this kind elflord knew Fenn was speaking soft lies, and yet he was extending generous kindness in return. Perhaps he could have come to Belaer Silverstem sooner, but it was too late now. “Certainly, Ceann.” Fenn bowed his head with respect.
At Silverstem’s gesture, they all sat around the low table. Mell’s brows were creased with confusion, and she glanced between Fenn and Ceann Silverstem, no doubt attempting to understand their connection. Fenn focused on the matter at hand. Like the Five Tribes steeling themselves for battle before the Hehinnians, Fenn braced himself for the flurry of half-truths he would now unleash.
“You see, Scholar Mellark is a dear friend of mine from Assandial Universities’ libraries. As you know, I have continued my studies of the Faerie lore here at home. I found my resources lacking, and I requested Mellark’s help deciphering some of our old texts. As a cleric to the Faerish god of Knowledge, she is well learned about the ancient gods long… forgotten by our people. While my expertise lies in Fae creatures and magic, I know less about the pantheon. That’s why I requested for her to come and aid my studies.”
He forced himself not to hold his breath after he finished. He had heard breathing was important in battle–and in subterfuge. Yet the spacious room now felt suffocating and the dark rafters hung oppressively over his head. Technically, that was all true.
Belair’s face hardened. “The people of Etnfrandia don’t pursue knowledge of the gods.”
Fear crept up Fenn’s shoulders like an itch. His father had expressly forbidden further research into what he was now preparing to pursue in the Faeworld. But Ceann Willowbirth wouldn’t know that. Like the Etnfrandian warriors before him, Fenn prepared his second line of defense, the main body of troops. He would argue the significance of the gods as symbols within their art. Unlike the armies, he had no Barrier to save him. If his defenses crumbled, it would be a slaughter of his mission for truth. There would be no expedition, no exploration, no reco–he was ripped out from his anxieties by the Ceann’s voice.
“She has brought pitiful few books for aiding you in scholarship,” Ceann Silverstem noted, his eyes landing on her small trunk by the West door.
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Fenn blinked behind his spectacles. Breathe. “Yes, Athyr-Ceann. I’m afraid Scholars are not granted generous penchants for traveling, so we usually travel light.” Fenn recalled taking many of his own long journeys with but a trunk and a pack of camping gear.
The Ceann’s brows rose in surprise. Fenn winced as he realized his tactical error. He’d never spoken to any Etnfrandians about his own traveling scholarship, and now had implied it to the Ceann with the simple word, “we.” At least my disappearance for a few months will be less surprising to him now.
“And what was the nature of your relationship to the Scholar while at Assandial?”
A thrill of shock and embarrassment worked its way from Fenn’s head to his fingers. He’d never considered that that might concern the Ceann. It made sense considering his betrothal to the Ceann’s daughter and how Fenn had at first resisted the arrangement. Besides, there was that show of playful comradery, a rare and intimate display to the Etnfrandians.
His support artillery, Mell, wriggled in her seat, eyes bugged and nose crinkled in a silent snort. Yes, she would find that funny.
“A colleague in research and study, and good friends, of course. It is customary amongst the humans in that region to exchange banter and compliments the way spouses and children do in our culture. I apologize for the confusing conduct.”
Something like amusement twitched at the edge of the Ceann’s mouth. “Excellent, I’d hate to hear that your arrangement with my daughter was compromised by an outside commitment.” He paused and glanced out a window where the sun was setting. “I’ll allow her passage into Etnfrandia to your home in Greenvalley for the night. Two guards will ensure she does not enter the main city. Scholar, I trust you find lodging overnight in a tent outside his cabin acceptable? Only for tonight. Something more sturdy could be arranged if your stay is extended.”
Fenn stared at the Ceann, hardly believing what he heard. The elflord’s face betrayed no reason for his generous admittance. Though separate quarters could complicate their escape tonight, Fenn dared not protest. Not after this strange luck. To suggest that he stay in the same quarters as a woman would be highly inappropriate. Besides, the battle was won, and without the main army having ever left the fortress of his mind. The gods must be with me.
“Oh, yes!” Mell’s mouth hung open and her eyes shone with pure joy. She’d go down in history as the first human to cross the Etnfrandian border in a millennia. “Thank you, Ceann!”
Belaer turned back to Fenn. “I will revisit this issue tomorrow morning with the Ceann Court. Should she be allowed to stay, how long might this research of yours last?”
“Months at least, sir.” Fenn breathed, dizzy with relief.
Still, he couldn’t quite share in Mell’s excitement. Instead, his stomach felt heavy with the weight of his next steps. He’d be the elf forever remembered as the first proper crook, the first traitor, in the history of Etnfrandia. Official history.
Belair Silverstem sighed. “And if the matroniage between my daughter and you is performed before the term of your research is complete?”
Fenn felt the heaviness in his stomach twist and form a pit. Poor Galendria. He doubted anyone would want to go through with the arrangement by the end of all this. “Surely a more suitable living space for Fyr-Ceann Gale than my cabin should be constructed first. It is far too humble for the Flower of Etnfrandia,” he deflected.
Ceann Silverstem smiled with a warmth unfamiliar to Fenn. “Very well. Though I do not doubt Galendria would very much romanticize the idea of a cabin in the valley, it shall be as you say.” He turned to Mell. “Pay your travel companion for any expenses incurred and send the elf away. Such travelers have no place here. Then you may proceed with Myc-Ceann Fennorin with your guards. I will go now and dispense their orders.”
“Thank you, Ceann.” Mell bowed with gusto.
The Ceann reached the door with graceful strides, then paused. “And Fenn,” his hand was on the knob, head turned back toward him, “we’re putting a lot of faith in you, Gale and I. Whatever you do, I trust you will protect her honor and position.” There was a sadness to his voice. A vulnerability.
Fenn stared at the ground in a bow. “Yes, Athyr. I do not pretend to understand what the two of you have seen in me, but I hope to live up to her expectations.” Highly unlikely. He’d be a criminal for the sake of the truth he sought. He couldn’t lift his head to face the Ceann before the door clicked shut.
Mell would have gathered the situation by now, so Fenn turned to the matter at hand. He faced Syrdin. “You are an elf?”
The hooded figure nodded. “Yes, Myc-Ceann.”
Fenn’s skin crawled hearing his title. “Then you can get through the barrier?”
“The barrier, sir?”
Anxiety gripped his chest. They needed their mercenary thief to be able to get into Etnfrandia. “The magical barrier that blocks non-elven humanoids and the hell-touched creatures from entering Etnfrandia. From the Great Hethbarn Wars? I’m surprised you haven’t heard of the legend.”
Syrdin acknowledged the information with a silent nod. “My people did not call it a barrier, that is all. It won’t be a problem.”
Zheir people. Fenn wanted to ask, but fear bit back his tongue. Syrdin’s skin was covered head to toe with garb, gloves, and hood. Only now, as zhe lifted zheir defiant chin, did a sharp corner of purple-gray skin appear from beneath zheir hood.
It seemed zhe was a fool indeed. That coloration was historically associated with the Night Elves, known better now as the Hell-touched, or Dark Ones. To come here was suicide. Etnfrandians may have forgotten their gods, but they remembered the Great Wars. They had no love for killing but would not hesitate in the case of a Night Elf. Fenn wanted to believe it was an unfortunate mix of hues from the other races of elves. He himself sported blue and purple undertones in his pale skin.
But, zhe used the pronouns of the Kravtic slaves. Those were invented by the Dwarves in the mountains in reference to their degendered slaves, captives from the Dark Caverns where the Night Elves dwelt. No one chose those pronouns. Fewer still kept them after escaping. Or, so the freed elves who lived amongst the dragonfolk had claimed. Mell would’ve known this much, yet had chosen Syrdin for this job.
Fenn eyed Mell in a silent question. She nodded her affirmation. She trusted the little elf. Fenn would by no means open the gate for this stranger. But if zhe could pass the barrier, then zhe was not hell-touched, and that would be enough proof for him.
“What now?” Mell shifted heavily on her feet.
His nerves bubbled out into a timid smile. It was time to relay the plan, or what he had of one. Tonight, they would steal magical artifacts right from under his father’s nose. By moonset, they’d smuggle in a drakeman. And by dawn, they would be in the Faeworld.