Malniza looked up at his comrade balanced on an antique ladder and watched as his fellow Dark Elf painted a mural. The commander, Scéadu, was so engrossed in finishing the project that he did not notice his superior was standing below.
Malniza had been let in by a serf and informed of Scéadu’s current project. Malniza did his best not to cause a disturbance as he entered. For a moment, he considered that he could visit later and the thought crossed his mind to inform the second in command of the Shadow’s Legion. It would be an opportunity to speak with Kyndri again and he preferred her company over her brother.
However, the very idea made his skin crawl to undermine his fellow commander. If Malniza was to play messenger, he needed to speak with his comrade directly.
especially after Scéadu’s own regiment earned their lord’s commendation for their success in the tundra.
To his relief, Malniza’s lord provided a sorcerous communication after days of absence, the king's voice echoing in his mind. That the king disappeared, there could have been several explanations but that the lord departed after Ceronus entered and Malniza later received news from the tundra, it was a simple matter of deduction, so simple even Malniza could unravel the mystery.
The king had yet to return but it would be best if all commanders were gathered for his return. Malniza required no instruction in that regard. He was no longer able to serve his duty as bodyguard so he was acting entirely as the commander of the Honorbound.
However, the king would not be returning immediately. It could be days, it could be a month or more but it would not be that day so it was not an emergency, not yet. They had time enough that he could afford to not interrupt while Scéadu was working, at that moment. If Scéadu appeared to be in the middle of a process that would continue days without rest, Malniza would have to reconsider the sentiment,
Despite his attempt at a frightening facade, there was a tranquility to the the artist’s movements, his expression one of absolute focus rather than a sneer so his sharpened teeth and other adjustments went unnoticed. Scéadu deliberately dabbed his paintbrush and attacked the piece with defined strokes, refined from centuries of practice.
Art among Dark Elves was a pastime rather than a vocation. Not even Scéadu was exempt, though his high position in the military gave him ample resources to indulge his creative talents. Scéadu also studied abroad when he was sent to foreign nations on reconnaissance and proved to have an interest in all types of art.
Everyone could produce art, it was the soldiers that defended the nation and farmers that fed it. A society of immortals had time to foster their interests when their work was complete.
Malniza remained silent and watched the commander add final touches to the ragged war banner depicted in the painting. The sheer scale and detail of the mural was breathtaking. There were hundreds of figures fighting in the scenery, and each individual with their own distinctive features was unique. With perfect recollection, Scéadu had captured a moment from the Viisian war.
Malniza felt as if he had been transported to a different time and place, and he was reminded the rumors about Scéadu’s memory were true. Although it had been more than a thousand years since that moment had passed, Scéadu remembered and portrayed the most minuscule of details. Malniza almost felt the heat of battle call out to him when he looked at the moving cities, powered by mechanical gears crawling over the mountains, and angelic beings with metal wings that filled the sky.
Malniza’s eyes surveyed the large chamber that contained countless pieces of art. The works should have been displayed at the Circle of Serenity, the place of expression, rather than be hoarded away, only to be admired by their maker. Having elements of devout faith, the pieces were strongly connected to the Dark Elven religion. Images of winged beings found their way into the stained-glass windows and were the primary subject of most of the marble sculptures. Malniza viewed a crystal image of his king. Rays of light illuminated his form, and a star had the names of the pillars of magic written on each of the eight points.
Malniza even noticed a tiny ice sculpture melting away into a bowl, its original shape lost. Dark Elves were the only elven culture that viewed ice sculpting as a worthwhile endeavor. To elves, it was the same as constructing something that would melt in the blink of an eye. Dark Elves still possessed that outlook but it was part of a lesson, a reminder of the fragility of all things.
Malniza was neither artist or crafts-elf but he still appreciated the rare splendors that surrounded him when he was accustomed to the simple designs of armor and weapons. Dark Elven smiths were not measured by how beautiful their works were but how durable they were while still being functional. The pinnacle of Dark Elven design would be a tool that never broke even without the use of seemingly indestructible materials. Among those that reached that point were Ordelas, Odlig, and a few others. Otherwise, a smith was employed by how many centuries their handiwork would be expected to last.
Malniza grew concerned that he would have a long wait ahead of him, the piece already seemed complete to him but the commander of the Shadow’s Legion turned to capture the starlight reflected upon a drawn blade. While Scéadu was between brushstrokes, Malniza commented on one of the pieces. “Strange, I do not recall this. Yet, there I am.”
Scéadu frowned for a moment as he broke away from his task then saw Malniza motioning toward one of the pictures. The painter’s face lit up with a smile. “Yes, remarkable, is it not? It took years to persuade him to pose like that.”
Malniza remembered that much, but that was not what he was referring to. The king was not one to sacrifice his valuable time for something like a portrait. Fortunately, Scéadu could paint based on a memory and only needed a glance. “As I said, I do not recall him ever being quite like this.”
Scéadu placed a hand on his chest in emphasis and boasted, “You were not as fortunate as I was. On that day in the garden, I was able to study his face and see his reaction. Fret not, for he favors you the most, even more than Odlig. Although you did not see him smile, there is no reason for jealousy.”
Malniza felt dishonest when he nodded in agreement. Since their royal liege rarely showed approval, a genuine smile was highly prized, more valuable than any token. He felt inclined to argue with Scéadu, but he knew better. It was childish to become bitter or jealous, so he stood in silence. After all, Malniza was the last commander to be appointed yet placed above the other four, it should be they that were jealous.
“How much sorrow is hidden behind that smile?” Malniza asked aloud. He glanced at Scéadu, waiting for him to answer.
“Who can say, except for him?” Scéadu climbed down the steps. When he reached the bottom, he placed his paints on a table and joined Malniza, who was looking at the scene.
The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, and Ordelas sat on a white bench with the assassin Tarica by his side. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and she was leaning against him. The Darklord smiled as he had not done in centuries. Though his cheerful expression was highly unusual, it did not seem forced. Malniza was also depicted in the painting. He stood in the corner of the illustration and held a drinking bowl in one hand. Malniza remembered that day and how worried he had felt. In the picture, it was obvious that he made no effort to conceal his discomfort. He was clearly upset that the deadly elf was sitting so close to the king.
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“Still no news of her?” muttered Scéadu with despondency in his voice.
Malniza stared at the painting in thought as he tried to phrase an answer without telling a lie.
There were still secrets they kept from each other. Malniza dared not mention Tarica’s whereabouts to Scéadu. The assassin, Hílainno, had contacted the king before he set sail for the tundra, informing him that Tarica was indeed alive. Ordelas had shared the news with Malniza through his ring in the strictest of confidence, and it would remain so until Ordelas chose to share the information with others. Malniza wanted to mention what he had heard about Tarica, but that would lead to rumors, discord, and confusion.
“It is a shame,” Scéadu commented, mistaking Malniza’s silence for affirmation. For once, Malniza was grateful Scéadu was willing to have a conversation with himself. “Ordelas placed so much faith in her. I thought their meeting was blessed by the gods. If she is dead, it will cripple morale. Surely, our lord will grieve for her.”
Malniza, feeling abnormally comfortable around Scéadu, replied, “If that proves the case, she will be mourned.”
Scéadu’s more negative traits were intensified from his time studying humans. He already had a grasp of deception on the battlefield, but Malniza did not know him to lie before being exposed to humans or perhaps Malniza never noticed before their joint ventures during the Great War. Fortunately, those lies were for the enemy, not that the prospect helped alleviate Malniza’s unease at the purposeful mutilation of the truth. Dishonesty was a rare trait among elves, something they were supposed to grow out of after childhood. Malniza was a simple child so he never particularly developed the skill to discern the truth through guessing games and the like.
Their shared loss finally gave them a reason to regard each other without scorn. Scéadu was just a few years younger than Malniza, but they might as well have been born moments apart. Being immortal gave both of the elves a distinct perception of time. Scéadu had been a commander longer than Malniza, and he had also witnessed more battles than his comrade. Even though Malniza despised Scéadu’s tactics, he admonished himself and silently vowed in that moment to try not to judge his cohort any longer for what he had witnessed centuries before.
Malniza never particularly enjoyed Scéadu’s company but he at least trusted his fellow commander. They saved each other’s lives more than once. If they were keeping count, it would be Malniza that still owed Scéadu, Malniza being the one more prone to rush into danger and Scéadu the more experienced in tunnel warfare. Comrades did not keep count of life debts though except maybe to jest.
Scéadu had played a key role during and after the Great War. While Malniza fought enemies on the fields, Scéadu primarily fought battles against the dwarves in the Tunnel Wars. Because Scéadu was underground at the time of surrender, he was the only commander, other than Kírous, who had avoided capture. During peacetime, Scéadu went into hiding and roused several insurrections. The commander, loyal to the cause, harassed enemy forces that occupied the Dark Kingdom until they were driven out.
In spite of the achievement of being the ones to push out their foes, Scéadu's regiment was the least popular of the five. It was a rare child in those lands that dreamed to be part of the Shadow's Legion. That pinnacle of excellence and idealism went to the Chosen Ones when Vernigen still stood, now the grand achievement that is hailed with little rivalry was Malniza's Honorbound.
The source for the Shadow’s Legion lack of popularity among the other regiments was their role as investigators. Treason was a rare charge but a grave enough offense to demand procedure. Odlig proposed that a commander never investigate their own soldiers if that warrior was accused of treason. Scéadu, with his attention to detail, proved the best choice to investigate all others, meaning the Shadow’s Legion were the ones to watch the other regiments, placing them in a position of antagonism with those accused of treason. The Legion might have at least enjoyed some cohesion with the Purifiers if the Purifiers were not the ones most often investigated.
In Scéadu’s defense, no evidence he presented ever proved to be false even under the scrutiny of the other commanders, only mistakenly interpreted. Malniza, as part of the Honor Guard and Honorbound, was the one that was supposed to investigate Shadow Legionnaires, that was how Malniza came to acquire one of his best agents.
Scéadu took two drinking bowls off a shelf. “Malniza, I doubt you are here to discuss art.” He uncorked a bottle of wine and poured the centuries-old liquor. The contents were so old that a thick layer of film had formed on the bottom of the bottle. He held up a bowl in the palm of his hand and took a short sip, savoring it. “Tell me, why are you here?”
Malniza took the other bowl offered to him, held it to his lips, and sniffed. Scéadu had a taste for powerful wine; Malniza could tell from the smell of it.
He had personally never developed a taste for wine. It was not something a vigilant bodyguard could enjoy while on duty. Elves were particularly vulnerable to alcohol. To recreate the effect alcohol had on orcs, humans, and dwarves, the Dark Elves mixed unique intoxicants into their drinks. Malniza took a sip and let the liquid roll on his tongue. It tasted of cherries and had a pinch of elderflower with a subtle hint of spice that he could not identify. The substance would prove lethal to any non-elf.
Malniza took another sip and enjoyed the rare luxury. Scéadu joined him and they silently stood and drank for a while so the drink could take effect, the substance not being mere wine worked quickly. He was surprised that Scéadu stayed awake and maintained his wits.
Again, Malniza’s eyes began to wander around the room. He noticed a few other paintings of the lost assassin, but one in particular caught his attention. The scenery suggested that she sat for the portrait on the same day she posed with Ordelas. Malniza admired the portrait of her holding a delicate cherry blossom, the symbol for the fragility of life. There was a certain irony to it, and he was convinced that Scéadu meant for the painting to have that effect.
Malniza’s unease towards Tarica was not exclusive to her. Malniza was uncomfortable with each of the assassins, Elda being the exception.
When Vernigen was still among them, the commanders would all test Raven’s Hold’s defenses every few years through a mock raid. With the champion gone, only Odlig and Malniza regularly participated with Scéadu appearing at best half the time while it would be remarkable if Kírous was involved. Now, Malniza was more focused on defending the palace after Ordelas’s capture back in the Great War.
The assassins were the ones that would try to circumvent the palace guard. They most often entered through the balcony from outside rather than pass through Malniza’s floor. Unlike the commanders’ drills, these sessions were unannounced. The assassins were among the few the king would allow to kill him so even that innocent game could cost Ordelas his life if his assassins’ thoughts ever changed.
Malniza took another sip of the wine and shared the news. “When the king returns from the tundra, he would like to speak with you.” Malniza thumbed his scabbard as he waited for the words sink in. Malniza noticed the suspicious look on Scéadu’s face and decided to clarify. “He wants to speak with all the commanders, but especially you. He would like to thank you face to face for the service your soldiers have provided, and he needs to discuss the war plans with you.”
“War will be starting, then?” A sense of uncertainty tainted Scéadu’s voice. Malniza did not blame him. None of the commanders had recovered from the horrors of the last war, and centuries of relative peace had caused their combat skills to diminish.
Fortunately Malniza and Odlig might use the opportunity to hone their combat skills against each other at least one more time before true battle began. “We discussed invading Malendar's realm but we suspended that operation due to the loss of Tarica.”
Malniza nodded. “Now we are to wage war against all as we did before.”
Scéadu cursed and turned away quickly, as if he was ashamed of his self-doubt. “It is just that I did not anticipate our plans to come to fruition so soon. I was hoping to have a few more decades to reap what I have sown.” Scéadu cursed again. “Then I must send instruction to fan the flames now before the king has us march.”
“I assume then that your agents are already involved in someone else’s conflict?” Malniza tried to hide his disgust but it showed.
Fortunately, Scéadu was not entirely sober and took no offense. Hengestured proudly, maybe believing somehow Malniza expressed approval. “There is no harm in instigating someone else’s slaughter. Less bodies to count for when we ourselves engage.”