And Anruwan’s lands stretched far and wide, and they were in terrible need of care. Thus, like his father before him, he began to create. From the glistening sweat of his sun-bronzed skin, he shaped a people to fill the lands. And these were called Sun Elves.
-The Faerie Beginning, c. BUE 1000
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SYRDIN
Syrdin peered through the trees, chewing a thick, flakey loaf of bread. Zhe met the gaze of a pointy-eared creature that huddled behind a blue fern, glossy eyes unblinking at the top of its head. It was no larger than a fox. Zhe hoped it was as skittish as one.
This place and its strange colors and bright sun felt wrong. Not to mention zheir connection to Ath-togail seemed distant. Perhaps she had trouble reaching this place, or perhaps she was hiding. As long as it did not interfere with Syrdin’s spellcasting, it would not interfere with zheir mission.
“So, what time of day is it here?” Mell yawned from her cushion near the camp’s center. “Because I find it hard to sleep while the sun is out.”
“It’s hard to say. It never gets dark here, so now is as good a time to sleep as any. I was working on a modified sundial to–”
“It doesn’t get dark?” Mell’s voice shimmered with curiosity. “Are we near a pole?”
“Not that I’ve determined. Actually, in my observations, the relative positions of the celestial bodies…” Fenn’s voice grew rapid as he spoke of things that did not interest Syrdin.
Zhe ducked behind the trees to check the perimeter of the camp again. The grass was tall, brushing zheir leggings just beneath zheir knees. The underbrush stretched just above the grass with broad leaves. It would be hard for a creature of especially dangerous size to hide anywhere but in the trees themselves. Not that the little pointy-eared critters couldn’t be dangerous, but… it zipped away in a blur of shadow.
Zhe hopped up into the broad, twisting branches, leaping between bows until zheir head poked above the lower canopy. Above them, some shoth squabbled over a swarm of fluorescent bugs while larger, more feathered varieties clung to the higher canopy. Nothing dangerous in sight. Nothing…remarkably dangerous, anyway.
“It is time we assigned watches” zhe could hear the Captain interrupt Fenn below.
Syrdin moved to leap down, but zheir glove pulled against zhem, stuck to the tree as though glued. Zhe ripped it away, studying a trail of tacky slime that circled the trunk, about the breadth of a closed hand. It reminded zhem of snail trails in the Deepcaves.
“That may not be necessary. It’s quite safe this close to the breach,” Fenn said. “I’ve fallen asleep several times with no incident. The first time was an accident, but nothing happened, so...”
Zhe could not believe he was so relaxed in a place like this, exposed to unfamiliar elements and this near the Door. He was a fool.
“Syrdin is right to be careful,” Krid countered, gesturing in zheir direction, “and Fae creatures aren’t our only concern. “The last thing I want is for the Everandian Guards to arrest me in my sleep. Zhe seems keen to watch, so if zhe agrees, zhe can have first, and I second. Then one of you elves with your short nights can take over.”
Satisfied that they were not in immediate danger, Syrdin hopped down from the tree into the camp. The flower princess visibly flinched, while Mell raised a brow. Fenn didn’t seem to notice at all, absorbed in his own notebook. Not sure if I’d trust a guy like that with Watch duty.
Syrdin gave a curt nod in answer to Mell’s raised brow. We’re safe. “Works for me.”
“Speaking of sleep,” Mell stifled a yawn against her hand, “that’s what we all should be doing,”
“Right,” Fenn finally looked up from his book, “there aren’t enough tents for everyone, so we also must decide where everyone will sleep. If we do have watches, that will alleviate the problem.”
Syrdin sent a smug glance toward Galendria, not that she could see it under zheir hood. “No, it’s not a problem. Those of us who weren’t invited can just sleep under the sun.” Syrdin could find a shady spot and sleep well enough, but Madame Noble Privilege–well, Syrdin doubted she could do the same.
“Speak for yourself,” Galendria huffed, turning away. Then she began to hum. Syrdin stared. What in the depths of Arsdark is she doing?
The hum shifted pitch slowly, then a soft white mist formed around Galendria, collected in front of her, then gathered into a distinct shape. The shape of a tent. “Well, if that’s it then, I’ll be off to bed. Fenn, could I borrow a blanket?”
Syrdin clenched zheir jaw. So she knows some party tricks. How quaint.
“Mmmm very nice skill!” the drakeman rumbled.
Fenn nearly tripped over himself walking over, velvety blanket in hand. As in the Cultural Center, it seemed the Flower Princess’ abilities surprised him.“Galendria, how?” He stopped in front of her tent. “Where? When did you…?”
Truly, the Etnfrandians had abandoned the old ways. But not all of them. That did not bode well. It smelled of conspiracy.
The girl patted Fenn’s hand as she took the blanket from him.“We’re all tired, Fenn. You should sleep. We’ll all have plenty of questions to ask tomorrow. ” With that, the she-elf slipped into her conjured tent and disappeared, leaving Fenn with his mouth agape in another question he hadn’t been able to ask.
Syrdin smirked. She doesn’t have a bedroll in there. The girl won’t last out here. Zhe plopped on the ground where the grass had been worn down near the travel stove and set out to remove the artifacts from zheir bag. First, zhe placed a decorative wooden box on the ground next to zhem. It had a rectangular crystal inside. Boring. Next the pair of armored boots, exquisitely decorated and surprisingly lightweight. The goddess pictured gave zhem a pause. Zhe wrinkled zheir nose in disgust.
“Syridn, I think we can worry about the artifacts tomorrow, don’t you?” Mell stood, her attention now turned toward Syrdin after observing Fenn and his lady.
Syrdin grinned up at Mell, careful to keep zheir face turned away from the others. “They’ve got less of a chance of being stolen here than in my bag, don’t you think?”
Mell shrugged. “Sure, if you’re that curious what they are like. I’m headed to bed.”
She passed Fenn, who was headed toward Syrdin and the artifacts. She stopped him. “No, you have to go to bed, too. If you get started, you won’t sleep.”
Fenn hung his head, hesitating, then for some reason he obeyed her. Syrdin didn’t mind that. Except zhe had one question.
“Hey, why the artifacts, anyway, if you were just trying to get here?”
Fenn paused on his way, arms closed awkwardly in front of him. “Erm,” he raised one hand to push up his glasses. “I suppose I am hoping they hold a hint of what happened. Why the gods cut us off from the Fae. Or maybe where the gods are, if they still are.”
Syrdin snorted at the idea of stealing such potent magic items just to study them for clues. Sure, they might be useful, but for history? Or navigation? Nah, but they could help once we know how to use them. Zhe hoped the scholars could figure that out.
Mell ducked toward a tent with books stacked to the side in a pile, as though recently cleared out.. “Fenn, any reason I can’t have this one?”
“Please do, and Syrdin can share it with you. I’ll share with Krid for tonight. Then he can pitch his tent tomorrow.” Fenn disappeared into the other tent.
Syrdin couldn’t help but wonder if he might have shared with Mell if his betrothed had not been nearby. Size-wise, it made more sense. Fenn was lanky, Mell was moderately tall and soft, the drake was hulking, and Syrdin was… well, no taller than anyone’s shoulder.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Zhe resumed zheir tour of the artifacts, placing a grip for a walking staff next to the boots. Probably not. Fenn seemed like the type to have an overdeveloped sense of guilt. Zhe held up the necklace, an interesting specimen. It drew zhem in with a simple interwoven design, metal threads lacing over one-another in a tangle. It longed to be worn, to be openly displayed on the breast of the wearer. Zhe found zhemself fingering it with a foreign sense of admiration. Strange. Zhe draped it quickly over the wooden box.
The final artifact was the bow. Syrdin peered at the carvings. Anruwan’s hands outstretched over his curly head provided a focal point for the art, as well as a point with which to aim. Bodies of sun and light danced above him. Syrdin plucked the string. It plinked with a finely tuned, reverberating sound. Magical infusion in the string. An ordinary string would have become brittle after a few years, even more so after a couple thousand on display.
Zhe felt a large presence behind them, an intense gaze.
“Do you need help with something, Captain?” Syrdin placed the bow with the other artifacts.
“So,” his graveled voice seemed strange to Syrdin, “what are you?”
Zhe cocked zheir head. The drakeman had to be dense not to have guessed zheir profession. “A mercenary. I thought a military type would realize that.”
Krid bent down and inhaled sharply. He puffed out the air through his snout. It ruffled Syrdin’s hood. “That much was clear. I’ve worked with quite a few Night Elf mercenaries before. I meant what are you, male or female?”
Syrdin flinched. Zhe had not over, but underestimated the drakeman. Zhe’d forgotten for a moment the comparatively frequent dealings the Brikhvarnni military had with the rogue Night Elves. Unlike the rest of Hethbarn, the Brikhvarnni weren’t hostile toward them. Zhe peered at him. His arms were crossed, but his posture wasn’t combative. He already knew zhe was a Night Elf, as did Mell. The Etnfrandians would not take that news well. Zhe needed to shut this meddling lizard up, and quickly. “I thought the Brikhvarnni valued privacy.”
“Usually one’s profession, race, and gender are public knowledge.”
“Why does it matter?”
He blinked his transparent lid and scratched his chin. “Your people’s gender determines certain qualities. I thought, since you are the only other warrior present, I should know what you are capable of.”
Syrdin stood up from the artifacts. The drakeman was tall, about the same height as any highland elf–taller if his naturally curved back were straightened–and was easily three or four times Syrdin’s weight. In a fight, zhe’d have to rely on swiftness and zheir ability to hide. “And if a person exhibits none of those qualities? Or refuses to be associated with them?”
“Our people acknowledge what has been given, even after it has been taken.” He spoke of the elven ex-slaves taking refuge in Brikhvarnn, degendered and discarded by all others. A knot tied itself in Syrdin’s throat. It was a cruel and hateful atrocity, what those dwarves did. Still, Syrdin needed to borrow their identity for a bit longer if zhe was going to save others from that fate.
Zhe huffed. “If you were to tell me your family name and residence, you would expect me to tell no one, correct? That is the Brikhvarnni way?”
The slitted pupils of Krid’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
“And, if I were to stumble on that information, you’d hope I would still keep it secret?”
“Yes.” He answered too quickly, shoulders squaring for a fight.
“Easy, Captain,” Syrdin soothed between twisted lips. “I’m not saying I seek that information. I am saying that you have stumbled upon information about me more private than even your family’s home is to you, and I ask you, by your Brikhvarnni honor, not to disclose it.”
“Ah,” Krid chuckled, a deep-throated sound like a croaking purr. “I see.” A knowing glint formed in his eye. “Fine, I will protect your secret. You are sharp in mind and blade, and have protected my friends thus far. I’ll extend my Brikhvarnni honor to you.”
Syrdin pushed down zheir nerves and pounded zheir first on zheir chest in Brikhvarnni fashion. “Thanks.” He knows.
Krid mirrored zhem. “A pebble in the mountains. Don’t kick it and cause an avalanche.”
Syrdin smiled. Zhe always liked Brikhvarnni sayings. They were honest and to the point. The drakeman walked away, seemingly satisfied. He would be. The Brikhvarni loved nothing more than a strong, respectable ally.
That was something the two of them had in common. It would be nice to have a true ally. Syrdin shook away the thought. No one would support zhem if they knew zheir true mission. The fate of an entire people rested on zheir shoulders, and it happened to be the most hated people in the five realms.
Besides, who would zhe trust? The professor who nearly got himself killed before their mission even started? The haughty Etnfrandian that would sooner call for zheir death than hear zheir reasons? The straight-forward Brikhvarnni with no mind for politics? No. Perhaps Mell if she had not sworn fealty to Cyalmara Lorthen. It wasn’t worth the risk.
Zhe would fight alone, as zhe always had.
Syrdin stood and brushed the dust from zheir knees. Zhe eyed the necklace. By rights, zhe could snatch it and leave now. Zhe could find zheir own way. No, the scholars will find the gods more quickly. If zhe were discovered, zhe could flee then.
Syrdin gazed around again. Krid’s tent stood by the others, and he had disappeared into it. Zhe was alone. That was how zhe preferred to be. Alone.
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GALENDRIA
She ran her fingers over the shimmering canvas of her tent. It hummed her tune back to her, a gentle lullaby against her raucous nerves. Her tent would dissipate in a few hours, and she needed to sleep. The strident calls of the sshho–the birds didn’t help. Hopefully, it would be the Brikhvarnni’s watch when it dispersed. She would hate for the others to notice, especially after the dirt-diver fiasco.
She closed her eyes. The image of Fenn clutching at his arm as it bled invaded her mind. The sound of his scream. She curled up and clutched the blanket to her chin. Why? This place, he had called it dangerous. Enough to invite a warrior. It had turned out that Etnfrandia could be dangerous, too, if someone broke the rules as he had. It was as if his life, his future, their future, didn’t matter to him next to whatever he was seeking.
All this for some lost history? Surely not. At best, he might find crumbling ruins of an ancient civilization.
Yet, he had seemed so sure, standing tall in defiance of his father. Before today, she had only ever seen him cower from him.
What could possibly be so important to him? Tidbits of history hardly seemed like enough. Perhaps some lost magic?
The gods? He had mentioned them to his father, and had brought along the kindly holy woman, Mellark. Even before this venture, his research had helped her understand the divine symbolism interwoven into Pre-War Era songs. Does he seek them? Until now, she had believed he was honest. And he was horrid at telling lies. She would just ask him directly.
The ground was hard against her shoulder and hips, and she turned over. He might not tell me. The way he had behaved, had begged her not to come, made her doubt that he had ever intended to tell her about any of this. Had he intended to return to Etnfrandia?
He had abandoned her once before, when he had departed Etnfrandia for Hethbarn’s human nations. And he had planned to do it again for the Wildlands.
She shoved the idea away. He must have planned to come back. He agreed to our matroniage.
She reached instinctively for a small spyglass she kept in her pocket. It was a token from their childhood. They had come upon it in the forests near the Greenriver Valley in one of their many summer days spent playing there. She had once again dragged him from his books, and once again he had joined her eccentric game of pretend without question. He never questioned her oddities. At first, he’d asked to study the trinket, but in the end he’d let her have it. He had always been kind like that: kind to her not because she was a pretty face with some artistic merit and an important father. He had seen her. Accepted her.
She turned it in her hand, watching the crystal end glitter and refract in the soft light of her tent. If he had secrets, fine. So did she. Secrets that would jeopardize her citizenship if any Etnfrandian knew them. Any except Fenn. Fenn had always understood her. Now it was her turn.
He might ask me to leave again, for my safety. Well, she would not leave. She’d prove that she was useful. Not a burden, like the little goblin person had said. Important. Important to him, as he was to her.
Is leaving actually an option? Wouldn’t I be arrested? She buried the thought under the blanket, nestling into the embroidery. The silver threads depicted the Willowbrith sigil, a sigil she still hoped to one day wear. When they did return, her father would help them avoid trouble. Fenn had clearly intended to return, at some point, just as he had before. He must have a plan. Or, at least an idea.
Spyglass in hand, she closed her eyes tightly. She breathed in and pictured herself succeeding, as she might for a performance. She stood next to Fenn, who gawked in awe at the ruins of a temple she’d discovered. The drake captain applauded, the holy woman bowed reverently, and the small goblin of a person was nowhere to be seen, scared off by Galendria’s watchful eye. She let the image lull her to sleep.