CHAPTER 19

Truth or death

The party followed Jill-drath with great haste through the winding thickets. They carried their chest and trunk and the other Half-Elves helped with the food and other supplies they could salvage from the wreckage of the wagon. They came upon a lake that glistened a deep purple, surrounding it were branches shaped into various huts and spires, Half-Elves quietly moved between them, some worked at benches and others played games, There seemed to be a small pub, What they drank was anyone's guess.

“Welcome to Kree-Rul”

“What’s tha’ mean?” Asked Flencer.

“Last home or last wood.” Jill-drath smiled quickly but it faded as the name sank in. “The forest has rejected us, we hope it will let us have this bastion, we would have nowhere left to camp otherwise.”

The party walked towards the community of happy folk, even if their troubles were heavy, Half-Elves had little place to go without being treated poorly, so it made sense that Manglewood became their refuge. The chatter about the place was soothing, instead of the chittering and gobbling you might hear in a human settlement, it sounded as if small choirs were each reciting a hymn–never overshadowing another–yet distinct. The language was delicate and lent itself to their melodic vocalisations more potently than it did so with the common tongue. The choirs would rise and if you listened closely, each conversation had verses and choruses which returned again and again.

“I wish I could speak the language of my people,” Morgan sighed as they headed toward the centre. Iridia placed a hand on his shoulder, offering comfort where she could, not speaking as the choirs around them were worth the silence.

The party were brought into the centre of the little village where a well stood, it was rather quaint, a town made of routes and trees, natural and from the earth itself. Many of the songs around them hushed and several important-looking Half-Elves had gathered to receive the guests.

“Mil dra-arath mi aratha-dra dil.” A white-haired Half-Elf sang in that hypnotic language.

Jill-drath held his staff out. “My family, we should speak in the common tongue when addressing our guests, they do not speak Sinleon.”

The white-haired man laughed, “Irith dul-dal Imith al-dal!”

Jill-drath nodded and replied; “But we are to be known as kindly folk with the hearts of guests in mind are we not? Lest we dance in the same trees as those who would not?”

The whole village had silenced now, waiting for him to sing back. “Very well,” the white-haired Half-Elf nodded. “I am Gin-rith, elder here.”

Kaleb nodded, deciding to be on best behaviour for the sake of time, Disagreements consumed the sands within the hourglass more greedily than a cordial exchange he thought. “I am Paladin Kaleb, of the house…” he thought a moment, remembering his ploy to become a memory of a fallen hero, “...of the house Maygleen.”

Iridia leaned over and whispered; “Maygleen?”

“Zale is dead,” Kaleb whispered back.

She nodded, quickly understanding.

“We apologise for the intrusion, but we must be on our–”

“You must eat, you must lighten your load, you must reconsider everything you consider.” Gin-rith stepped toward them, his face had wear and a staunch look smeared across his pale skin, it mirrored Kaleb’s in many ways, two unmovable objects waiting for something unstoppable to test its metal on them.

Kaleb pondered, food, rest, these things were often overlooked when considering himself, but now he had a fat Dwarf to keep fed, a recovering Morgan and a growing Iridia. “We shall eat, you are kind to offer us.”

Flencer sighed with relief, his stomach had been complaining since they put their first foot in the woods. “I eh, see you folks have a brew going too?” he nodded over at a group of High-Elves sipping on wooden mugs.

Gin-rith smirked. “Sap-ale should facilitate the unquenching needs of a halfling like yourself.”

“Not sure if that was an insult, but since yer offerin’ me ale, I’m fine with it eh.”

“Indeed.” Gin-rith turned his attention back to Kaleb. “Your companion,” he opened his hand to Morgan, “I’d like him to step forward.”

Kaleb waved Morgan on and let him proceed.

Morgan nodded and took his hat from his head as a sign of respect, although he wasn’t sure of the customs.

Gin-rith opened his hands and reached out to embrace him, as he approached his hands retreated rapidly and a look of great disgust riddled his face. “Cinth may-ra, rul bick!” This did not sound like a song, it was laced with aggression and there was no rhyme.

The party looked around as the surrounding Elves gasped, some wailed and one fainted.

“What’s happening?” Kaleb’s gaze swept over the village which had all of sudden become a lot more hostile, bows were raised and blades were unsheathed.

Iridia turned on the spot looking around. “I don’t know but I think you offended them, or Flencer did.”

“Wasn’t me, has to be Kaleb.” Flencer held his hands up.

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“What have these grigs done to you, my child?” Gin-rith spoke to him in a deepened voice, his eyes were wide and enraged.

Morgan all of a sudden became conscious, wondering what it could be that made him so unacceptable amongst his people, so disgusting in their eyes that it brought weapons to their hands and tore the song from their throats. “I-I don’t know.”

“Your ears, they have clipped you like a pet, attempted to shape you in their unrefined image!”

“Oh-oh no, no not my master, Kaleb, that was someone else!” Morgan looked back at Kaleb who was relying on him to speak clearly and resolve this issue quickly.

“That’s true;” Iridia called.

“Master? You call this beast your master?” Gin-rith sneered.

“The wound is fresh.” Iridia added, “Look upon it, we were attacked by soldiers on the road.”

Gin-rith held his arm up. “Lies, you have lied to us since you arrived, why would you be set upon by soldiers of your own kin?” He raised his staff and called out in his tongue, this time a rhyme. The ground beneath the party's feet roused and snaking roots took them by the feet and ankles, thorns digging in and holding them in place.

“So close to getting beer and fed as well,” Flencer grumbled to himself as he tried to stay standing, the thorns that pierced his skin would burry ever deeper if he was to topple.

Kaleb raised his hand, “I assure you–”

“Enough!” Gin-rith's voice echoed through the forest and rain pattered down, it was cold, like all the rains this summer had been, perhaps the work of the darkness that curdled beneath. “Morgan, tell our people what these beasts did to you, let the roots take them under and feed the soils, They will be a gift to the woods and perhaps she will spare us the lash of her vines that would exile us.”

Morgan shook his head. “No, they have done nothing to me.”

“Do not hide anymore, dear Morgan, Ah, that name is not befitting a Sinley.” He shook his head solemnly. “They cannot hurt you now, they will be punished.”

“They did not hurt me, the story he speaks is true, we were set upon by soldiers that were turned to evil by a Necromancer.”

Jil-drath stepped beside Gin-rith and folded his arms, “A Necromancer? A tale as tall as the trees, there hasn’t been such a foul creature to scorn these lands for more than a century, yet here you; are a survivor of such an encounter?” He looked at Gil-rith and lowered his head; “Forgive me, I misjudged these people, I have brought liars and cheats into our home and risked us all.”

Gil-rith raised his hand to silence Jil-drath; “You will be punished, but you are still loved, brother, unlike this lying glig who betrays his own kind.”

“I defeated the Necromancer!” Iridia called, “He died at my hands, and I am a Paladin.”

Kaleb glanced at Iridia, She had a habit of opening her mouth before thinking and they didn’t believe Morgan, so her tale of killing it would be like pouring poison in their soup before their very eyes, he couldn’t deny that she had courage, but sometimes a moment of pause to think is the best course.

“Do you hear this nonsense my people? A little girl claims she defeated a Necromancer!” Gin-rith chuckled and shook his head while a peal of tuneful laughter rolled through the onlookers. “Tell me, little girl, what did the Necromancer look like?”

Iridia closed her eyes, bringing back the memory, it wasn’t as easy as she thought and she knew her answer could have dire consequences, she opened her eyes and looked Gin-rith in the face, crystal tears had glazed her orbs. “My father.”

Gin-rith looked around the village, “The Necromancer was your father?”

“No! He looked like my father…at first.”

Morgan hadn’t heard before and he listened on with the same curiosity as Gin-rith and the village.

“A Necromancer, that looked like your father was killed by your hand?” Gin-rith shook his head, “I have heard enough of this pitiful child's story,” He clicked his fingers and a vine crawled up India's body and wrapped around her mouth.

Morgan shoved Gin-rith, “Don’t you hurt her!”

Jil-drath took Morgan by the wrist and threw him back towards his party. Gin-rith raised his hands to bring the thorny roots about Morgan's ankles to hold him in place.

“How it does break my heart to see a traitor amongst our race…” He shook his head and turned to the village; “Ril-jan-rulyarnan...fel mar-min grig lam!” Gin-rith pointed at the party and sneered.

Kaleb took the air in through his nose and spoke; “I will prove to you our tale is true, Half-Elf, if your kind value the truth which I have yet to be convinced of.” he spoke with the pomp and authority expected of a Paladin of Angelspree, better than thou, greater than all.

Gin-rith smirked and spoke something in his own tongue but was swiftly cut off by Kaleb.

“Speak the language of the land, Half-Elf, lest you fear I hear your spiteful accusations that I might defend them before your people.”

Gin-rith walked toward Kaleb, face close to his. “You are in my lands, grig.”

“You speak proud and strong when I am entwined by your feeble magic, Half-Elf, your fear embarrasses you,” Kaleb growled. “I will show you the proof that we tell the truth.” He spoke loud so all could hear now, “Do you at least grant us that? Or would you kill one of your own and a Paladin of the Empire on the whims of your leader here? I assure you, that crime will not go unpunished and you will bring the wrath of the Paladins upon you, where will you run to then, when this forest casts you out?”

Iridia watched Kaleb speak and challenge, she took note of how Kaleb challenged the honour of and strength of the elder, she wanted to be able to speak with that conviction and hold a challenge to those who questioned her, another skill to learn…if they lived through this encounter. She whined as the vine that gagged her tightened.

Gin-rith pursed his lips and returned to his position beside Jill-drath. “I will consider your evidence.” he pondered, “You speak of truth, all your divine heart worshipers revel in it, but I know that this forest holds secrets, right now it is sapping those secrets from your blood.” He smiled. “I will allow you to speak clearly on your business here, if you lie I will know, and you will be taken beneath the ground, your empire and its Paladin order wouldn’t know you were gone, and your bone would be but meal for berry bushes we pick from.”

The party exchanged glances with each other, wincing in pain as the thorny roots coiled tighter around them and dragged their feet deeper into the dirt.

“You better not have lied to me about that seed, Flencer, else I’ll break free of these vines and kill you myself.” Kaleb snarled.

Flencer gulped and looked down at his disappearing boots.