Marke ran his hands along the fabric again. The tailor had gone out of his way to use comfortable, breathable fabric for the whole outfit, even when a different fabric would be simpler to style. Underwear, shirt, jacket, pants, even a soft leather belt custom sized and delivered from the fort belt maker. Marke loved it all. Boots would take a bit longer, but it was acceptable to be barefoot while in the residence, according to Sana.
“Jacques-” Marke said.
“His name is not Jacques.” Kente interrupted. “It’s Beluar.”
“Beluar, this makes me so happy.” Marke said. He reached for his bag and began fishing around for something. “Do you like jewels?”
“Jewels?” The tailor said, confused.
“No, these are all too bulky and impractical. Hmmm. Ah ha!” Marke pulled out a small flat stone. “Beluar, do your scissors ever… what is the word… do they need fixing to cut?” Marke asked.
“Fixing to cut? Oh, yes they need ‘sharpening’ from time to time.” The tailor answered.
Marke held out the stone for Beluar to take. “This is a sharpening stone that will improve the quality of your scissors from Common to almost Rare. I want you to have it as my thanks.”
The tailor took the stone. “Rare scissors?” He said reverently.
“Almost rare.” Marke confirmed. “It could push uncommon scissors well into Rare. I nearly forgot I had it but I’m glad I kept it.”
The tailor looked a bit uncertain. “I could return this to you after sharpening my scissors.” He said.
Marke could tell Beluar really wanted the stone, so he shook his head. “Keep it.” Marke bowed to the tailor.
Beluar bowed back. “I am so pleased I was able to dress you to your satisfaction, Hero deen-go!” Beluar practically gushed with happiness. Sana arrived just then to bring Marke to dinner.
----------------------------------------
Dinner was both a private and a social affair. The general had a revolving door of subordinates who cycled through, delivering a report or making an inquiry while taking a few bites of something. Each had the opportunity to ask Marke a question. He dodged most of the questions by regaling them with a humorous or bizarre story about fighting some monster or finding some treasure in the tunnels. In between visitors, Zily and the general discussed gossip or explained parts of elven society to Marke.
“Do you like the food?” Kente asked.
This was safe, Marke knew–Kente had asked. It’s nice, but I just didn’t miss food as much as I missed clothes. This drink actually tastes pretty bad. Marke sipped his drink which seemed to be flavored with spicy old socks.
“General, Zily, are you knowledgeable about magic?” Marke asked during a lull. The two elven women had dropped the ‘hero’ title during dinner but not ‘general’, so he followed suit.
The general gave half a nod. “Somewhat.”
“Can you tell me, is there a magic that can create a body? Or something like a body?” Marke asked.
“A body?” Zily asked. Her tone indicated that Marke might be approaching something taboo.
If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
Marke shrugged. “I do not wish to ask anything… bad. I want to find a good magic that can make a body for a person who doesn’t have a body.” Marke pretended not to hear Kente’s stressed response to the question.
The general and Zily looked at each other for a moment. “I do not know of such a spell outside of
“I will ask the head mage to discuss it with you tomorrow. Perhaps she will know something more helpful.” The general said. Marke thanked both women and resumed eating.
During the meal, Marke made it a point to observe the interactions between Zily and her mother. Zily had not explained why she had been distressed to visit her mother’s fort, but Marke assumed it was due to stereotypical overbearance or something like that. As the two women smiled and discussed recent events or family gossip, Marke didn’t see any evidence that his assumption was correct. Any ideas about Zily’s reticence about coming to this fort? Marke asked Kente. No. Kente replied. I thought the same as you, that it was a mother-daughter dynamic. I suppose it must be some cultural thing we haven’t been exposed to yet.
At some point, late in the meal, the stream of subordinates slowed to a trickle. The general took advantage of the longer breaks to gently interrogate Marke about his past. “Where do you come from, Dingo?” She asked.
Marke felt suddenly awkward and all the half-baked non-answers he had worked on with Kente seemed to evaporate. Marke recognized the effect of whatever truth-telling skill the general was using, but decided not to directly counter it. “I would say that I’m from ‘very far away’, but I actually don’t know where I am in relation to where I am from. I have some idea where I am in relation to where I first appeared in the tunnels, but some of my early teleports were too advanced for me to track at the time.” Marke paused to slurp down his final dessert-oyster-thing. Kente had made a gagging sound with each one and proceeded to mimic vomit noises with this last one. Marke carefully didn’t laugh at Kente’s antics. “I’m also not sure what measurements are common for you elves, but I believe I started in a tunnel around one hundred times further away than the distance between this fort and Zily’s fort.” Marke stopped there to see what the reaction would be.
Zily’s eyes grew so large that Marke felt a bit worried for her health. The general’s mouth opened slightly and she looked at Marke in disbelief. Zily responded first. “That distance is impossible!” She said.
We might have overdone it. Kente said. Shoot, how could we have known that the total distance would be so remarkable?
Marke felt bad that he had disrupted Zily and her mother’s equilibrium so badly. “Why is the distance impossible?” He asked.
“They don’t-” The general stumbled over her response for a moment. “The tunnels do not extend half as far as that. Our heroes reached the furthest extent of the tunnels long ago. It’s only recently that the goblin hordes took control of the tunnels from us, and they could not have tunneled so far as you said. Could you have made a mistake?” She asked.
Marke shrugged. “I don’t know anything about the tunnels beyond my personal experience. I do not think I made any big mistake in my measurements, but perhaps there is something I don’t know that would explain it.” Marke flexed his will, breaking through the skill the general had used. To her credit, she hardly twitched when she felt the skill fail. Marke was sure she would understand that he had allowed the skill for a short time as a sort of proof of his honesty.
In the following awkward silence, Marke asked a question of his own. “How deep do the tunnels go?” He actually had no good idea how deep he and Kente had gone, it was difficult to judge relative depth and Marke hadn’t found many informative plaques down in the tunnels.
Zily shook her head. “We have no idea. Elves used to believe that this planet was the corpse of a dragon, so I suppose the tunnels go down to a depth of half a dragon before they start going back up.” She looked at her plate, clearly overwhelmed. Marke chuckled at the idea of measuring things in “half-dragon” amounts.
The general placed both her hands on the table and spoke more formally than she had during the meal so far. “Hero Dingo, will you
Marke shook his head, no uncertainty in his mind or on his face. “I will not. I will never go in the tunnels again.”