Seven hundred miles beyond the fallen capital of Gemliria, beyond even the furthest raids of the Empire in the Desolyton, the air shimmered above a small, barren hill. As the shimmer grew stronger, the crackling noise it made scared off a trio of vultures that had been feasting on a nearby doe, leaving the hill deserted until two forms stepped through the narrow gateway.
“How far did you bring me?” Aphora surveyed their surroundings with a small frown. When she thought of the lands beyond the River, she thought of endless plains and sluggish rivers, dotted by warlords crouching in the ruins of their fallen empire. But rolling foothills surrounded her here, and mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks white and gleaming. Unlike the fertile plains of Gemliria, the land around her was arid, with large patches of bare rock and open dirt interspersed with thorny shrubs and thick-bladed grasses and a handful of short, scrawny trees with barely any leaves. “I didn’t realize the plains ended.”
“Oh, everything ends someday,” Imhullu replied as he turned around, and began to seal the portal. “But I’d reckon we’re farther west than any other living elf has ever been.”
“What about the ones we’re here to rescue?” She pointed out, and he shrugged.
“You know what I meant.” With a final crack, the shimmering in the air disappeared and Imhullu joined her side.
“Speaking of, where exactly are these elves?” Aphora asked, waving her hand at the landscape in front of her, which was nothing but wilderness as far as the eye could see.
“I didn’t want to risk portaling in too close,” he admitted. “Uzzîl may not be the man I used to know, but he’s still a competent leader. If we popped up just outside his settlement, he’d notice.” He pulled a small, flat device out of his pocket and examined its screen for a moment, before bobbing his head toward the southwest. “Dūr-Adû should be that-away. A two days walk, if we hurry.”
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It was closer to three days before the walls of Dūr-Adû finally came into sight, although Aphora had to admit, albeit begrudgingly, that their slow progress was mostly her fault. She’d never suffered from the usual bouts of morning sickness that afflicted most women, but with this child, it seemed the bill had come due with interest. Their morning progress was sluggish until she recovered enough to make good time, and even when the nausea had passed, she was not up to her usual stamina. Surprisingly, though, the nausea was not the part of the morning she dreaded the most.
Instead, it was the constant, never-ending presence of Imhullu. It wasn’t that he did anything wrong, exactly; if anything, the strange Sidhe had been one of the most attentive and gentle partners she’d ever had. But, until now, their relationship had been more of an extended series of flings than a true partnership. They had had some exciting adventures and a few passionate nights, but they’d spent relatively little time talking. And Imḫullu loved to talk.
So Aphora felt nothing but relief when the walls of Dūr-Adû finally came into view Quickly dropping the conversation she’d been trapped in, she crouched down at the peak of the hill they’d crested and surveyed the surroundings.
While the Empire had utterly destroyed Gemliria at the end of the Desolyton, some semblance of civilization still clung to those fertile plains. Warlords squatted in the ruins of the many once-great cities and fortresses that dominated the land, and hundreds of smaller settlements had sprung up in between. Aphora suspected that, given another hundred years, a nation would once again emerge there.
But here, in the land beyond Gemlir’s domain, there were no villages, no hamlets, not even a lonely trading post. The wilderness was utterly bereft of any signs of habitation beyond fox dens and rabbit warrens, so she was unprepared for the size of Dūr-Adû.
Surrounded by barren, rocky hills, Dūr-Adû sat in a protected hollow that sheltered an emerald lake several miles long. Three-fourths of the lake’s shores were occupied by terraced farms built into the hills, pleasant oases of verdant life in an otherwise arid environment. The city claimed the final fourth of the lake. Backed up against the largest of the rocky hills, Dūr-Adû had a natural wall protecting its back, and an additional two large curtain walls protected its flanks, with only the side facing the lake left open.
By all accounts, Dūr-Adû should have been a stunning city; the natural beauty surrounding it would have made even a hovel look inviting, yet somehow the city’s constructors had succeeded in ruining its natural gifts. Dūr-Adû was a blight on the landscape, a dismal settlement filled with rows upon rows of uniform grey homes so similar in appearance that Aphora could almost have believed them to be crafted from a mold, though she dismissed that as a ridiculous idea.
The only break to the dismal array was a trio of grey towers that rose in the city's heart. They were no more beautiful than the other buildings in Dūr-Adû, but their massive size and harsh lines were admittedly imposing, possessing a certain savage beauty that the rest of the settlement could not match.
Still, Aphora’s eyes did not linger long on the towers. Instead, her eyes were glued to the dozens of tiny homes that dotted the terraced forms, where small, lithe workers bent over irrigated rows of rice.
“Are those the elves you told me of?” She asked dubiously. Granted, at this distance, it was hard to make out their features, but nothing about their tiny frames, darkened skin, and hornless heads reminded her much of elves.
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“I told you they’re from a tribe that was almost extinguished,” Imḫullu reminded her. “They do look a little different than the northern elves you’re used to. But, most of those differences you’re seeing right now are just the result of their circumstances. They’re malnourished and forced to spend long hours baking in the sun. Give them more food and better care, and they’ll flourish.”
“But what about their antlers? Are they really hornless?” She asked curiously.
Imḫullu’s face darkened. “That is Uzzîl’s fault. If the reports are true, he has their antlers cut off and their ears trimmed as ‘punishment.’”
“He cuts them off?” Anger quickened in her bosom as she stared down at the small, pathetic forms in the fields, and her fist clenched. “And you just ignored this?”
A touch of shame filled his eyes, but Imḫullu refused to look away. “I have. I make no excuses, but I am far from almighty. While I like my odds against any one of my compatriots, I cannot fight them all, nor am I capable of spiriting a few thousand elves more than 1600 miles through hostile territory. Until you came along, there was nowhere for me to take them. Now there is.”
It wasn’t exactly an apology, at least not enough to mollify the wrath brewing in her, but Aphora let the matter drop. Who was she to get self-righteous? Her anger dimmed as she remembered the doom she’d unleashed upon Hargish. Not everything can be fixed. “At least we can help them now,” she finally agreed.
Relief washed over his face, and he nodded briskly. “Indeed, but we need to be careful. I’ve done my best to hide our presence, but we’re running against the clock. It’s only a matter of time before Uzzîl calls for help. Fortunately,” he added with a smirk, “I have a plan.”
Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a bundle of cloth and tossed it toward her. Aphora accepted it in confusion, which morphed into outrage, as she unwrapped the package. It contained a skimpy golden bra, accompanied by an unholy fusion of an ankle-length red skirt and a golden bikini bottom. The matching pair of stylish gold arm cuffs and scrappy boots were the only part of the outfit she’d consider wearing.
None of that was the source of Aphora’s outrage though, as she was no stranger to skimpy outfits. Her hands trembled as she held up a pair of silver handcuffs and shook them in front of his face. “This is your plan?!”
His smirk faded, and he raised his hands beseechingly. “It’s just a way to get ourselves an audience, Aphora. Uzzîl and I haven’t been on good terms for a long time. He’s not going to let us just waltz into his court - we’ll have to fight our way in. But if I show up with a peace offering, I think we have a shot to take him by surprise.”
“And your solution is to dress me like a slave-girl whore,” she demanded angrily.”
“Let’s just say there’s a reason this particular outfit will work,” Imhullu added with a smirk. “He will definitely appreciate the outfit. Plus, the irony is simply too rich. The idiot won’t even realize I’m calling him Jabba until I cut off his head,” he chuckled.
“Jabba?” Her brow wrinkled, but she quickly banished the thought and, her anger unappeased, tossed the cuffs on the ground in front of him. “I am not wearing these,” she replied firmly, and as she said those words, the doubts she’d thought she’d set aside resurfaced anew. Was this all a long con? A tingle of fear went down her spine as she suddenly imagined a very different purpose to the Sidhe’s actions over the last few months.
The Sidhe were known for two things, after all - treachery and a hatred of elves. And what better way could there be to humiliate an elf than to seduce her, impregnate her, and, in a final cruel trick, deliver her as a bound slave to his friend? She staggered backward, the fear ramping out of control, and spiral threads from her dress quickly unraveled, bobbing in the air beside her.
“Aphora-“ Every trace of good humor was snuffed out in Imhullu’s face, replaced by a mask of pain. It only lasted a second before he brought it under control, and he took a few, careful steps away from her. “You know I would never do that to you, right?” He finally spoke.
She felt a touch of guilt as she saw the hurt in his face, but she couldn’t entirely banish her fear. Not here, deep in the middle of enemy territory, with no avenue of escape. Her silver threads wavered in the air, but she didn’t let them drop. “I don’t think you would,” she admitted slowly. “But we don’t know each other that well. There is a darkness inside of you, Meḫawwû,” she said, speaking aloud the name he’d borne in the war.
“I’m not that person anymore,” he shot back, a touch of heat in his voice, but, with a sigh, he bent down and, picking up the handcuffs, shoved them into his back. “But I understand. It was stupid of me to suggest it.”
Aphora floundered for something to say, wondering if she had just broken what lay between them. “So is that it,” she finally mustered the courage to say.
“It?” Roused from his silence, he glanced over at her. “No, we’ll just have to find another way. I suppose there’s always good old-fashioned brute force. Between the two of us, we can probably storm the place.”
“No…I mean,” she hesitated, “is that it for us?”
Imhullu sighed. “I’m not going lie and say I’m not hurt. But I think I already knew, deep down, you didn’t fully trust me. Maybe it’s why I’ve been so clingy. But it’s not over for me, not unless you want it to be.”
“I…don’t want it to be over either. We just…need to go more slowly.”
He smiled slightly at that and moving closer, placed a gentle hand on her stomach, which was beginning to swell. “It seems a little for that, but if that’s what you need, I’ll do it.” He planted a soft kiss on her cheek before stepping away and looking back at the ugly city squatting by the emerald lake. “And what about Dūr-Adû? If it would make you feel safer, we can leave and come back with your soldiers.”
She pondered his offer for a moment, sorely tempted to take it, but decided to show a little trust, painful though that was. “I’m willing to fight, just not as a slave.”
A half-hearted grin slipped across his face at his words, and he nodded. “So fists and fury it is.” He hesitated a second before continuing. “Any chance I can talk you into wearing that outfit for me? You know, after we crush Uzzîl?”