For Tarica, the first days on the orcs’ and goblins’ zephyrler flew by. It was liberating to look at the world below from the skies above. It proved to have more variety from above than tales and her own isolated experiences suggested. If one spent one day in a desert and the next in a jungle, one might envision a patchwork pattern of extremes but there were gradual transitions, mudflats, fields, populated by seemingly ordinary creatures at first but things grew larger as they journeyed further in.
There was a ritual among Dark Elves to journey to central Deasala undetected and hunt one of the larger beasts there. It helped train both one's infiltration skills and combat capabilities. Orcs tended to be less stringent with their borders than dwarves and humans and the beasts were rare game that could be compared against few other creatures in the world.
Among the few kind accounts of Desala was from Vernigen of all people. His time in the Viisian War left him an expert of the landscape. That was another reason he was chosen to fight the orcs during the Great War.
The reports were likely not penned by the champion himself, but it was written as he dictated. One of the quotes could be interpreted as Desala being his second favorite place in the entire world.
The craft did not rely on the winds like Satros’s skyship, so it was more maneuverable and sped over the lands at a faster rate. However, their path was not a straight one. From what she understood, the Drakefangs lived in northern Deassala but the vessel journeyed beyond that as they made their way to a haven of elves to deliver supplies from Florena’s realm. It appeared like an emerald in the dessert from a distance and that was about as much as she observed before going into hiding and sneaking glances. She made sure to disappear from sight. If matters were already strained between the orcs and Oasis Elves, she did not want to risk complicating matters further if they recognized her as a Dark Elf. She may not have needed to be so concerned, the Oasis Elves were not as welcoming as their kin in the north as the craft stopped quite a distance away before unloading their cargo.
One day, she caught Sinker hiding from Lucky. When Tarica asked Sinker earlier why he was so afraid of Lucky, he told her it was a long story. They had plenty of time and nowhere else to go, so her curiosity took over.
It hurt some part of her pride that a goblin elicited more fear and caution from the orc than the revelation of her nature as a Dark Elf. She realized the paradox of it all and a good assassin should not be feared until the final moment and she appreciated the fact that he worked to not treat her any differently than he had before. However, she wanted to understand his reasoning or else she would fear that her friend was either of unsound judgement or willfully ignorant of the danger he was in every day he was near her.
She sat down, patting the place beside her. “Sinker, I think it is time for you to tell me why a rational orc like you is afraid of a little goblin.”
“It’s not Lucky. It’s his position. He is the chief engineer, so he supervises every damned experiment the Tinkerers come up with.”
Tarica was surprised. After Lucky had showed up in the forest, Sinker began to speak timidly, but now the orc was angry and frustrated. Tarica was somewhat relieved that he was willing to share his feelings. “Why is that so terrible?”
“When I was younger I was randomly selected to be a test subject for one week,” he replied. “Lucky made the assignments.” He shivered for a moment. “I remember it all. Nearly getting drowned was the most pleasant experience they put me through.” He hesitated when disturbing scenes flashed through his mind. “I tested something-” He shuddered. “They told me to throw it, so I asked what it was. It started to smoke, and I tossed it at a tree.” He took a deep breath. “There was a bright flash of light, the ground seemed to shake, and a heap of smoldering embers was all that was left. It blew the old tree to bits. Tarica, that could have been me!”
She could see that Sinker was trembling, so she patted his hand and tried to calm him. Eliseo suddenly came running toward them, his drake with him. The drake placed itself between the orc and elf while Eliseo pulled her aside.
“He told you about the explosive, didn’t he?” After Sinker relaxed and took a few deep breaths, Eliseo whispered, “He told me the whole story, and he acted the same way.” He glanced back to make sure Sinker was not listening. “Tarica, you must promise me that you won’t ask him anything else about those experiments.”
“So, that is why he is scared of Lucky?” she probed, somewhat satisfied.
Eliseo gave a dishonest chuckle as if laughter could banish the foul mood. “That’s only half of it. I doubt he had the time to tell you about all the other stuff.”
Tarica did feel a pang of guilt at digging at the subject and no small amount of sympathy. Survivor’s anxiety was something elves were subject to as well. She knew for herself it was not a laughing matter.
Sinker remained in a somber mood for a while until Eliseo drew from his garb’s inner pocket a booklet and a mechanical goblin pen instead of a quill. To Tarica’s surprise, the only changes to Eliseo’s garb as they traveled further south was the unbuttoning of his jacket and his switch from boots to dress shoes. He brought a selection of what he considered traveling clothes which he had the discipline to clean himself but he seemed more concerned with cold weather over conditions they were traveling towards.
Tarica understood that Eliseo’s homeland was warm and dry but nobles were usually accustomed to the comforts of lavish housing.
The pages of the booklet revealed journal entries, each with an exact month and date. He wrote in Puertoian instead of Common.
He brought the pen to his mouth. “What was the date again?” he asked aloud to seemingly no one in particular. “I can not read this vessel’s ephemeris.”
Most of the crew spoke either Elfish or Common as a second language but Sinker and Tarica served as translators to Eliseo for the few that did not. Orcs used a lunar calendar so the dates did not entirely synchronize with Eliseo’s concept of a year. This earned Sinker’s attention and the orc translated the calendar and calculated an approximation of the date in Occidtir, near the beginning of a month whose name meant little to Tarica. Humans used the twelve months: Nisany, Ajary, Simaner, Tamul, Abul, Uly, Tash, Arah, Kisu, Tebu, Shabu, and Addaru and for some indiscernible reason started their years at the peak of winter while dwarves, Elves, and orcs had the sense to start the year at the first day of spring.
“Thank you, I fear my time in the forest with the elves butchered my sense of time,” Eliseo replied with a smile before he began to write something into the journal.
Tarica at least knew spring had begun though her days in the forest made it difficult for her to discern when exactly winter ended. The conditions of the foreign lands she now visited did not alleviate her disconnection as the heat would make her believe summer approached as they journeyed further south.
Not even the year meant much to her, her people did not use the united calendar. Though she admitted humans had a simpler division of the day than the crew. The crew used orc time, thirty steps, essentially hours divided into three segments of ten to represent the sun’s ascent, descent, and rest.
The path back to the Drakefangs had them pass over familiar sights as they retraced their route from the elfland so it did not capture her companions’ attention as much as it did the first time. Tarica would have preferred to simply watch the scenery go by again but the two proved to be in a mood for entertainment and eventually started to play cards, still watching the world move below them though.
“Care to join us,” Sinker invited as he divided up tokens between himself and the human.
“We can have stakes or not have stakes,” Eliseo offered. “When the Marine Elves played with us, they were willing to wager coin.”
“When my people make bets, it is for favors,” Tarica said softly so only those two could hear. “Are there any services I can provide?”
Eliseo’s face went flush and he looked uneasy. “Where I come from, most ladies and gentlemen do not discuss the trading of favors and gambling in polite company.” He followed her example and tried not to be easily overheard and pulled at his collar as if the heat suddenly bothered him. “Is there any currency Dark Elves offer?”
Dark Elves used silver and iron as currency. Originally, it was only iron, ideally a weapon or armour's cost would be its weight in iron coins plus a service fee so the Smith's could simply melt the coins into the desired item. However, weapons even those made by elves were not light, especially in the early days when their craft resembled the dwarves'. It was inconvenient to carry around iron bars so they let a token of silver represent an iron bar.
“We use silver and iron for regular exchanges but we rarely gamble what we earned. We offer something else.”
“What is that?”
She could not resist years of habit and ritual. She reached for her side but found no knife. If she had one with her she would have planted it in the center between them all. “Blood,” she answered instead with all the bolster that would have gone into the gesture. Somewhere she heard some goblins exclaim at catching the word. Before that she at least kept her volume low enough to conceal her words from all but the nearest eavesdroppers.
“I do not know why I expected anything less grim…” Eliseo considered. “So you bleed the loser?”
“No, the victor is the one that makes the offering. If fate can be communicated by luck, then the winner should be the one that has the privilege of sacrificing their own blood.”
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“I think you do not realize how dark half the things you say are.”
Those words pricked at her slightly but she tried to take no offense.
“I have an idea of non-Dark Elven standards. I am actually censoring myself to abide by your principles,” she explained. “I apologize if what I still say is disturbing.”
“Yes, what you say is sometimes disturbing but it is also interesting,” Eliseo replied genuinely. “I would like to learn even more but at a decent pace as long as I don’t become a target for your practices.”
“Former practices,” reassured Tarica.
“There must be at least some good practices among your kind for someone like you to be counted among them till now. My own province is accused of heathen customs by its neighbors. Your kind has a fixation on blood, mine make skulls from clay and sugar.”
“Do you speak of how you honor the dead?” Tarica tried to recall customs she might have witnessed.
“You know of them?”
“Your celebrations for the dead resonate with some of my people’s traditions.”
“Hmmm… How about a game of fate, with no stakes if that is alright,” Eliseo transitioned. “Do you know how to play Tarot?”
“It was a popular game a century ago. As long as it is like Chess and the rules have not changed in a hundred years, then I should be fine.”
“I don’t happen to know what the rules were like a hundred years ago,” Eliseo stated as he pondered.
“How about something simple like Fool’s Journey?” suggested Sinker. “Even if she does not know it, it would be quick to learn.”
Tarica considered the name and remembered a game of trading a Fool card while discarding matching pairs until only the Fool card remained. That would be easy enough for the three to play without having to remove too many misunderstandings.
She joined them and she was the one that started with the Fool after the cards were distributed. They went to each other’s left, Tarica took from Eliseo, Sinker took from Tarica, and Eliseo took from Sinker.
Sinker’s fingers were too large to hold the cards safely. He placed his left arm in front of himself to form a wall between his cards and onlookers.
The Fool’s End was even easier for Tarica than Tarot. She started with the Fool but after it left her hands, she could know exactly where it was. However, she purposefully closed her eyes as her opponent’s hands moved about so there was a chance she might lose track of it.
She watched Sinker fir several turns once he took the Fool from her. Orc expressions were more difficult for her to read but she could still understand the basic emotions conveyed through his eyes. Orcs were not developed for deception but Sinker himself was not invested in the game and regarded the cards with indifference. He did not have the Fool.
That meant Eliseo gained it. Eliseo was nobility, politics were in his blood so he knew how to hide his intentions, at least from his fellow royalty.
Tarica scrutinized Eliseo. His expression was blank but his eyes had a light to them that was easy for her to understand. All she needed to do was test it.
She took the card that elicited a spark in his eye when her fingers hovered over it. She found her hand the Fool.
“That is face you make when you are relieved,” Tarica noted aloud.
Eliseo tried to conceal a blanch. People reacted to being informed of their tell in multiple ways, one way was to try to eliminate it or to use it for deception. However, once the tell was exposed so was the person and their actions turned to compensation rather than victory.
Sinker once again gained the Fool only for Eliseo to reacquire it. By luck, Sinker left, his hand empty.
Eliseo’s facade started to break once he realized he could not hide from Tarica. Nervousness turned to resignation as he quietly acknowledged that he could not defeat his opponent.
Eliseo shifted the cards in his hand. Tarica, of course, could track every movement so she closed her eyes. Even then, she could hear when cards changed positions, she drowned her thoughts out with a song for fairness’s sake.
Eventually the game reached the inevitable, Tarica with only one card and Eliseo with two, the Fool in his hand left completely untouched by the elf since the time it was passed back to the human.
Eliseo frowned then placed both cards face down. Tarica hovered a finger over both cards. His expression was relatively the same regardless of which one she expressed interest in. He did not even know which card was which.
Then it was Eliseo’s turn. He ceased to seek insight in her expression and closed his eyes as he blindly reached out with his hand.
If he was to play that way, Tarica slid the fool the slightest bit forward so it would be the first one he noticed when he brushed his fingers against them.
His fingers ran along the fool and slid down. He plucked his choice and brought it to his face before opening his eyes.
A grin slowly grew along his face before he burst into an uproar unbecoming of his station. In her hand remained the fool.
***
“How about Twenty Squares?” Eliseo suggested after regaining his poise, and acting as though he did not just celebrate victory in a child’s game.
Twenty Squares was a strategy game. One glance at Tarica and she could guess he intended to never play cards against her again.
“The Marine Elves liked to play Backgammon,” Sinker recommended.
“Yes, but that game is uncultured... Even if the great Satros likes to play it,” Eliseo dismissed.
Tarica focused her attention. “You played a game with Satros?”
“Several, though neither of us were harmed. He spent some of his time telling me how he was stabbed during such games,” Eliseo recalled. “His testimony is proof enough that it nurtures violence.”
Backgammon was a game of luck that allowed tempers to flare when the experienced were defeated by lucky newcomers. Tarica wondered if those stories ended on friendly terms in spite of being punctuated with brutality. The number of people to earn Satros's ire was said to be counted with one hand. With Marine Elves spread as they were, that list was well known to all. Among them were Tarica's king and the first High King of humanity. She had not heard tales of him holding a grudge over a game.
Tarica turned when she heard Lucky yell, “Ladies and gents, we will be landin’ in a little while. So if we suddenly lose altitude, be aware that’s supposed to happen.” He waited a while for dramatic effect and instructed the crew and passengers, “If we have any trouble, please remember to hold on for your lives.” After the announcement was over, Lucky skipped away as if there was nothing at all to worry about.
That was not encouraging, thought Tarica.
They reached a valley where a large facility crowned face of a mountain. Tarica watched in amazement as the roof split in two and opened up, allowing entrance to the building. Though the crew members exchanged nervous glances, they landed without difficulty. After tapping the ground momentarily, the vehicle recoiled back up into the air. The whole crew braced themselves for the jolt. A goblin grabbed the railing and appeared to hang on for dear life. That did not fill her with confidence. It was difficult for Tarica to discern the goblin’s identity due to the array of equipment it wore.
Lucky was unshaken by the experience, and his confident grin remained as wide as ever. The goblin dropped a rope and handed it to Tarica. “Welcome to the Vault, the heart of progress.” He placed a fist over his mouth and pretended to cough. “And also where we happen to lock up all of our dangerous stuff. Have fun.”
Tarica climbed down first, and Sinker, whose nerves were rattled, followed her. Eliseo finally caught up with them in the common area where Tarica admired a metal sculpture of a giant orc with a goblin perched on his shoulder.
“That can not be life-sized,” she commented in wonder.
Tarica soon heard a strong but gentle voice say, “I assure you, it is.”
The voice came from a massive orc. Compared to the new orc, Sinker appeared to be an adolescent when they shook hands. “Chieftain, what is it you need me to do? Why did you call me back so suddenly? Did something happen while I was gone?”
The chief looked down, facing Sinker, who was as big as a giant compared to everyone else. The chieftain’s back and shoulders were as broad as a wagon, and his legs looked like tree trunks. He was so big that he could easily intimidate the greatest warriors. The sinews in his arms resembled pumping metal coils that were bigger than life. He could have crushed someone’s skull by trapping their head between his biceps and flexing them like an oversized nutcracker.
Despite his frightening bulk, the chief did not have an aura of trepidation about him. She did not feel uncomfortable as she normally did around strangers. The way the orc carried himself and his warm expression made her feel welcomed.
Orcs grew larger as they aged and this one aged particularly well, she would think he was a elder except he still could move under his own power without difficulty. His dark hair grew along his chin as a short beard with speckles of grey.
“Easy, I called you back because I can feel that something bad is brewing,” explained the chief. “It’s not safe for tribe members to travel outside our borders anymore.” After taking in the size of his substantial build, Tarica was perplexed by the orc’s polite speech and polished manners. The chief smiled at Tarica. “I see you made a new lady friend as well.”
Sinker cleared his throat. “Chief, this is Tarica. I am sure you remember Eliseo.” Sinker lifted his hand and held it beside the chieftain in introduction. “Tarica, this is the chief of my tribe. Meet Rugash, Inheritor of the Golden Scale.”
Tarica tried to curtsy, lifting the hem of her dress in an attempt to mimic Florena. Barely resisting the impulse to kneel, as she had in front of Ordelas, she felt foolish. The twin impulses collided and her knees began to bend. She caught herself and was able to regain her composure within the next heartbeat.
The orc paid no heed to her small mishap. If anything, he looked slightly embarrassed by the formality, and when Eliseo gave Rugash a gentlemanly nod of the head, she felt out of place. She knew she had made a mistake, but it was too late for regret.
The giant offered the human a handshake and told Sinker, “I remember him.” He looked at Tarica again. “That sculpture is of my ancestor. That is Chief Earthshatterer, the Unifier, and his consultant, Tinkerer.”
Lucky commenced to explain, “The Tinkerers are named after him.”
Rugash did not seem to appreciate Lucky’s interruption, yet he went ahead and agreed with the goblin anyway. “Yes, Tinkerer was our first chief engineer. Earthshatterer believed orcs needed to advance in the fields of science and engineering after the war was over. He planned to use the equipment to promote life instead of taking it.” He sighed for a moment but finished by saying, “After he died of old age, the orcs split off into different tribes like they were before. His son, Earthshaker, decided to follow in his father’s footsteps and...”
“That is why the Drakefang tribe is more developed than most,” bragged Lucky.
Rugash was clearly agitated by Lucky’s constant disruptions but remained calm. “I think that Lucky and I have explained enough. Follow me to the mess hall if you would, please. And Lucky, isn’t there something you are supposed to be checking on right now?”
The engineer scratched his head and mentally reviewed the list of things he needed to do. He lifted his head and his eyes lit up in realization. “Oh, yeah, I kind of forgot about that. Thanks, Chief,” answered the goblin before he ran back to the zephyrler.
Tarica agreed to go with the chief, but first she wanted to see the inscription on the base of the statue. She looked at Rugash as he walked away and compared his features to his ancestor’s. The likeness of the past chieftain was primarily cast from iron, but there was a necklace around his neck. It was made from a yellow metal, but it was not gold. It was so glossy that one could hardly tell whether it was genuine. The script was in multiple languages. She read the inscription, “Chief Earthshatterer, a body of steel and hearts of gold.”