George woke to a skittering sound from outside the chamber. Lestra stood at the crack they had entered from, her bow pointed down with an arrow loaded. She holstered a torch capped with a low ember holstered in her shoulder. A much stronger glow peered into the chamber, painting the parallel wall. Shadows of slim, hunched figures darted across the orange canvas.

“Graldor,” Lestra whispered as George approached. “These ones are just scavengers from what I can tell. They may know fire, but they’ve degenerated far past the point of what we could call civilization. Sometimes though, they can still point to the activity an actual tribe being nearby.”

“Good to know,” George whispered back. Nice that he didn’t even have to ask.

Another group shadows shifted past, but one of them stopped. It began to creep slowly toward the opening and bent to a crawl as it drew closer.

A pale grey head poked out. Whichever one had been the torch bearer had already passed by, and the glow retreated away, leaving the lone scavenger in only the dim ember’s shroud. But through the glum, large yellow eyes flicked between George and the chamber, then settled onto Lestra. They widened as she raised her bow and pointed the readied arrow between them.

It backed away, keeping its eyes fixed on the point of the arrow. Lestra kept the arrow back. The string flicked as her hand trembled. The figure retreated fully into the darkness, and Lestra lowered her bow once more.

George looked back to their bags, laid out around the dead campfire, still plump with food and supplies. Must have been quite an appetizing site for a scavenger. “Should we be worried? Won’t they come after us.”

“Doubtful,” Lestra said, her breath slowed. “Like all graldor, they’re aggressive but these scavengers are too frail to fight us. They wouldn’t dare attack while we keep watch. No- they’ll continue down that trail, and the giant corpse we left behind earlier will make a nice treat for them. That, or they end up ripping each other apart for scraps.” She sighed. “Maybe it would have been best just to put the wretch out of its misery.”

Each of their breaths, and the beat of his heart resounded in George’s head. He felt more alert than ever. “I can take watch from here.”

Lestra hesitated. Of course, she would. How could she know whether or not could resist resting his eyes at any moment? But her own eyes wavered, half-shaded. She nodded. “If the ember dies, wake me. I can rekindle it.”

Alone, the scratch on George’s arm began to sting again as he stood in watch. He recounted the face to the shadows, the inky veins pressed against its skull by a thin, bald scalp, and the yellow eyes. The stare, lined with moisture, seemed half somber, half curious. Like a lost child. Was it really aggressive as Lestra had said? How might it have approached had there been no one watching? Then there was its reaction to the arrow. Unafraid, its small black pupils had been fixed on the point in its slow and staggered retreat. George shivered.

Eventually, his fatigue started to win out against his fear. It had to have been about time for his watch to end. He used his last bits of energy to turn his head back a few times for the sake of caution as he approached Donald. With a tired mind, he ended up shaking Donald harder than was really needed to wake him up, then collapsed on his own mat.

“Get up,” Donald said. He gave George a light kick as he turned.

“It’s your turn to keep watch,” George slurred.

Donald gave him another kick.

George sat up. The chamber was much brighter than when he had fallen back asleep.

Relit, a full flame capped the torch in Donald’s hand. Lestra was awake as well, standing near the entrance. The time for sleep and watches was over. It was morning. After a quick breakfast meal, they embarked into the narrow passages again.

If they pushed, they would make it by the end of the day. And they sure did push. There weren’t any obstacles, or giant moths to stop them, so Lestra kept them moving for the entire day. George’s sense of time was still warped by not being exposed to the day-night cycle above ground. It hadn’t occurred to him that the prior day’s travel was at most half a day, and even that had likely cut into the amount of sleep they should have gotten. He was woefully unprepared for the toll a full day’s journey put on his legs.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

In a small opening, a ladder of tough vines basked in a faint gleam- the way out at last. George’s blistered feet stung with glee as he climbed up the springy rungs after Donald. Lestra, who had hurried first up the ladder, readily greeted him as he lifted himself up onto a wooden platform. “Welcome to Vaaliya.” She smiled and sniffed in the air around them- a woody smell with a bit of fragrance, like the fence of an herb garden. “It’s nice to be back in a place that’s in tune with nature.” It was a remark clearly intended not only to rebuke the closed caverns, but the stone-dominated city of man as well.

George couldn’t deny that he was surrounded by more plants than he had been for a while. Paths winded through tall overgrowth, branching and elevating like a canopy. Speckled throughout, yellow, watchful orbs capped curved stalks. From what he could tell, the light came from plants, like the glowing buds in the silk-covered caverns. But it all lacked the authentic outdoorsy feel that the caverns had made him long for.

It was missing the sky. They were surrounded by domes of dark leaves, but between them, there were no blues, no whites, only what looked to be a background of bark. George understood why Thomas had ranted to him about the kids who had never seen a real sky. The jumbled stems and small, sparse leaves of the wild brush also didn’t do much to give the feeling a vibrant place. Nor did the nut-like clusters of huts.

Lestra led them to a great hall, where two guards stood at the entrance. They were adorned with lavish garb and capes. Banners hung from their halberds with the same upside-down tree pattern as on Lestra’s skirt.

“I don’t have to schedule an appointment, do I?” Lestra asked flippantly.

“No,” one of the guards said. “Orell, nief of Vaaliya, will see you.” The two guards bowed for Lestra but George and Donald didn’t get the same courtesy. Instead, they received icy glares as they passed.

In contrast to the gloomy exterior, the inside of the great hall was bright, akin to the sun itself. There was a shrine of sorts in the center, surrounded by lemon-tinted glassy columns. Marigolds dotted a patch of grass and above it, a great light burned spectacularly- strong enough to obscure its own image unlike the clearly defined crystal lights he had seen in back Meriford. An audience sat along the sides of the halls. George took note that many of the elves had wrinkled faces, shattering his idea of them as eternally youthful.

A tall elf, with auburn flowing locks sat on a throne at the end of the hall, elevated a bit by a stepped stage. Gold embroidered his gold tunic, and a silver circlet twinkled on his head. He stood up as Lestra approached.

“I’m back, father,” Lestra said.

George never would have guessed that the two of them were related. They looked nothing alike- at least not the color of their hair. And his face. Even taking aside from the aged and masculine chiseling, compared to her puffed cheeks, his cheeks were much flatter. As far as he could tell, the similarities in facial structure ended at their chins, both a bit pointed.

Then he looked at the eyes and it was clear- the same silvery shade of blue. But it wasn’t just the biology that led to George’s shock. He had gathered that the elf with auburn hair must have been who the guards were referring to: Orell, the nief- their equivalent of a king. That would then make Lestra a princess. He had been travelling with royalty. So as not to make a scene in the formal space, he tried to keep his composure.

“And You’ve brought the stone?” Orell asked.

Lestra took out an ornate box from the pouch at her side and presented it.

“This will bring a great deal of pride to our people.” With a beaming smile, Orell took the box and held it up above his head. A chorus of applause sounded from the stands. “No other niefdom, not even Alfreya, can boast to have an something of its splendor.” His voice boomed. Once the applause had settled down, he put the box behind him, on the pad of his throne. “Now I’d love to hear how your journey went,” he said softly.

“I suppose it wasn’t the worst thing I’ve experienced.”

Orell glanced momentarily to George and Donald. “I see you had to work with two humans. How was it? Did they make things difficult?”

George braced for whatever disparaging remark she was about to share with her elven kin.

“They’re…. they’re alright.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that’s the case. I believe that you should spend some more time at the guild.”

“More time at the guild? What do you mean?” Her eyes darted frantically.

“I would like for you to continue as a member of the guild.”

“What!? You mean you want me to leave my home behind?”

“You are prideful of your heritage. I raised you that way, as I too was raised, and no doubt almost every elf in this hall. But your mother…” He held Lestra’s cheek. “She was different. An Alfreyan who crossed niefdoms and eloped with a Vaaliyan prince. So few approved of it. The echoes of my father’s shouts still linger in this great hall. But nothing could stop us.”

“I’ve heard this all before.”

“Yet I forgot it. Since her death, I’ve remembered- thought long on things. I brought you up that same sheltered way, and I can’t even dare to imagine what she must have thought of me as I did. I want to amend that.”

“T-this is my home. Please. I can’t just pick everything up and- where would I stay?” Her face was distraught.

“I’ve coordinated this all with the guild. They have a lodge set for you when you return. Go back with your new companions”

George noticed many scowls in the audience. It seemed many among them were as uncomfortable as Lestra with her father’ idea.