The Shadows of Grace (13 page)

“Lathaar,” Tarlak said, bringing everyone’s attention to the paladin. “You’ve already told the elves once you can speak for men. As one of the few here who has traveled outside of Veldaren, will you agree to go?”

Lathaar nodded. “I will.”

“That is the five,” Antonil said. “Any complaints?”

“I would prefer to go with you, my king,” Sergan said. With Antonil’s crowning he was the new leader of the human soldiers. “Who knows what treachery these elves are planning?”

“If elves are planning treachery,” Haern said, polishing his sabers as he huddled underneath his gray cloaks, “then I would prefer it be my sabers, not your axe, guarding the king.”

“Actually,” Aurelia said. “I ask that Harruq may be at my side.”

Many, especially those of the Ash Guild, gave her the strangest of looks.

“March a halforc into an elven forest?” Deathmask asked. “You must be insane.”

Harruq, who had remained silent through much of the deliberation, had to agree.

“They’ve not exactly taken a liking to me before,” Harruq said. “I don’t want to ruin anyone’s chances for aid.”

“Ashhur knows we need it,” Lathaar muttered.

“Aurelia, care to explain yourself?” Antonil asked.

The elf only shook her head. “I will not enter without Harruq at my side. If you wish me to go, he goes as well.”

“Is it that important to you?” Tarlak asked. She turned to him, and her look made it clear it was. “So be it. I’ll toss my vote in for the big lug. We need a brute to ruin delicate diplomatic matters, otherwise it just isn’t a party.”

“Achieving delicacy through brute idiocy,” Deathmask said, standing from his seat beside the fire. “I wonder if the unpredictable reputation your Eschaton carry with them fails to describe your nature.”

“I always dreamed of having the people of Veldaren think us insane,” Tarlak said. “Alas, we saved too many lives and captured too many of your ilk to earn the title.”

“Enough,” Antonil said. “If Harruq is to go, one of us must not.”

“I’m going,” Deathmask said. “As long as you desire the aid of my guild, that is.”

“I’m certainly not leaving you unattended, Deathmask,” Tarlak said. “I’d hate for you to melt the face off some elven diplomat.”

“I will stay behind,” Lathaar said. “My heart is not in such matters. It will do me better to remain among the people.”

“So be it,” Antonil said. “Meet here again as the sun sets, and hold your tongues far better than you do now. Is that clear?”

“Of course,” Deathmask said, bowing. He and his guild turned and left, Antonil and his guards following suit. The Eschaton remained by the fire, Tarlak crossing his arms and shaking his head.

“For how crazy-headed he is, you’d think he’d learn to roll with the situation,” Tarlak muttered.

“What is with that guy?” Harruq asked. “I’ve never heard of him and his odd little buddies.”

“The Ash Guild,” Haern said, running his fingers through his hair. “Possibly the most dangerous combination of intelligence and power I’ve ever seen, no offense Tar.”

“Some taken,” Tarlak said.

“Little over a year ago Deathmask entered the Ash Guild, one of the weaker guilds,” Haern continued. “The protection money offered from the nobles was filtered throughout the entire guild, so naturally, the fewer the members, the more coin for all. Deathmask sought out a few ambitious rogues to side with him, then made it clear to the rest that it would be best to move on.”

“I take it he killed them all?” Harruq asked..

“Some,” Haern said. “Many voluntarily left, preferring poverty to death. Those higher up did their best to assassinate him, but failed. In less than six months he had gutted the entire guild and taken command.”

“This sort of thing happens every now and then,” Tarlak said, taking off his hat and scratching self-inflicted bald spot on his head from when he dropped a fireball at his feet during battle. “But those five… wow. Normally other guilds would assault such a weakened guild, but any that tried lost member after member. They had to stop lest they appear vulnerable. The Ash Guild became far richer than the others, and just as dangerous. I’m sure we have members of other guilds amid our merry band, but they were just street rats, ruffians.”

“You said five,” Aurelia asked. “I’ve only seen four.”

“They must have lost someone in the fight at Veldaren,” Harruq said. “Might explain why they’re helping us. They’re getting even with whoever killed their friend.”

“Perhaps,” Tarlak said. “I’m sure Deathmask hopes to set up shop in Mordan if we reach it. They’ve been kind enough to aid us, but make no mistake, they can be downright evil if it suits their needs. But enough chat. I need to be presentable for our lovely hosts. And you too, Harruq. Try not to look like a slob. The entire race of orcs is relying on you.”

“I’ll make sure to let them down,” Harruq said.

Aurelia swatted him on the head, then kissed where she had hit him.

“You know I love you,” she said. “But for once in your life, please, try to behave.”

B
ehave,
Harruq thought as he stood in his freshly cleaned armor, his swords missing from his belt, their absence an uncomfortable distraction.
Just behave.

“Keep your mouth shut so you won’t do anything foolish,” Tarlak offered as they waited by the forest’s edge. “And if they ask you a question, think,
what would Tarlak say
?”

“If it’s a pretty elven lass, he’d ask where her room was and if he was invited,” Harruq said, ignoring Aurelia’s hard elbow to his side.

“How about,
would Aurelia hurt me if I say this
?” Aurelia said.

“A significantly wiser suggestion,” said Deathmask.

“Aurelia, I know you are of Dezren blood, but will any within know you by name?” Antonil asked. He was dressed in his crown and armor, fidgeting nervously.

“Pray they do not,” Aurelia said. “But yes, I believe some will.”

Before any could ask what she meant, a horn blew from within the forest. It seemed the trees themselves bent out of way as a hundred elves marched in perfect formation from within. They carried giant bows on their backs and gleaming long swords in their hands. Leading the way was an elf in flowing green and blue robes.

“Greetings, humans of the north,” he said, his melodic voice effortlessly carrying across the hills. “Bring your kings and champions forth that I might escort them to Quellassar.”

The five stepped forward, Antonil leading. The messenger bowed before them, and the one hundred raised their swords and saluted.

“Come,” the messenger said. “Follow me, and do not worry about your step. The trees will ensure no root or rock will bother you.”

They did as they were told while all around them the elven troops formed a perfect rectangle.

“Fancy shmancy stuff,” Harruq whispered to Aurelia.

He grunted, his comment clearly failing the
will Aurelia hit me
test.

Their path was far from straight. Harruq counted at least three full circles. The elves wanted their city hidden, though Harruq failed to see a need for such secrecy. If anyone tried sneaking through the wood unnoticed they’d have arrows covering every inch of their body. Judging by the looks the elven soldiers gave him as they marched, he thought he was close to that already.

The messenger gave quick commands to his visitors as he led them on.

“You will not leave the group.” They passed an enormous tree whose trunk looked wide enough for three horses abreast to ride through. “You will not speak to commoner or soldier, or advisors to the Neyvar.”

“Neyvar?” Harruq whispered.

“King,” Aurelia whispered back.

“Who’s their king?” he asked.

“Neyvar Ceredon Sinistel,” their messenger and guide answered, his sharp ears hearing the whisper with ease. “Warmaster of the Ekreissar, a true warrior if there ever was one. He has made truces with kings, both man and elf, and he is due your utmost respect, if not your silence.”

“Sorry I asked,” Harruq muttered.

The trail through the woods widened into a well-traveled road. The soldiers about them tensed. Only Aurelia knew why. It was a rare event for outsiders to enter the elven city, and no matter the terms, there was always the chance that Ceredon decided them a threat. Arrows, accurate and deadly, might await their entrance.

The trees suddenly parted, and stretching up and out in brilliant majesty were the three towers of Quellassar.

“Spank me silly,” Harruq said, his mouth hanging open.

Grown from seeds supposedly blessed by Celestia’s own hand, three enormous trees stretched far beyond the surrounding canopy, twisting higher and higher, as if reaching for the very heavens. Along their branches the elves had built homes, ladders, walkways and stairs. Harruq recognized the style from the elven homes of Woodhaven, where the walls and roofs curved and slanted as if a straight line went against nature’s desire. He craned his neck, his stomach twisting at the idea of climbing anywhere near the top.

“Where are we headed?” he dared ask. “It’s low to the ground, right?”

“You will not climb any of the three sisters,” their guide said. “Ceredon has agreed to come to ground to speak with you. I hope you appreciate such an amazing honor.”

The soldiers herded them to a large building beside the westernmost tree. It looked like a single room, perhaps a great meeting hall. Antonil slid in between Harruq and Aurelia as they walked, whispering as quietly as he could.

“Ceredon Sinistel,” he said, pronouncing the name as if in awe. “He arranged the truce at Woodhaven. He’s fought in every Horde War. Some even say…”

“He was there,” Aurelia said, interrupting him. “At the arrival of the gods, and the creation of man. He was there. Pay him respect. If any being in our world deserves it, it’s him.”

The five entered the giant room, and indeed it was a meeting hall. Flanked by guards in shining armor stood an elf, his skin pale and aged. He wore a crown of silver on his head. His polished armor shimmered with magic. At his hip hung a long, curved blade covered with magical runes. His eyes were a deep blue, and though everything about him was old, those eyes were young, vibrant and penetrating. His hair had grayed, though a bit of brown still gave it hue. The entire room was empty, lacking benches or a podium. Their footsteps echoed within, their voices carrying a sudden weight that unnerved them. The messenger bowed low, then gestured to the five.

“I bring you the leaders of the humans that camp at our borders,” he said.

“What are your names?” Ceredon asked. His voice was deep, earthy and tired.

At first they hesitated, glancing at each other with uncertainty. Finally Antonil stepped forward and knelt.

“I am Antonil Copernus, King of Neldar,” he said.

“King?” Ceredon asked. “The only king I know of is Edwin Vaelor, a foul insult to the dead kings of old. Have you claimed his throne, human?”

“He would not accept the fate, nor the responsibility, of his people and his land,” Antonil said. “He was murdered during the assault upon Veldaren, and with a heavy heart I have taken his crown.”

Ceredon nodded. He seemed puzzled by Antonil but let the matter drop. Up next stepped Tarlak, who removed his hat and bowed low, hoping no one would notice the bald spot atop his head.

“Tarlak Eschaton, leader of the Eschaton mercenaries,” he said. “With me are Harruq and Aurelia Tun, fellow members. We are honored to be in your presence.”

“And him,” Ceredon asked, gesturing to Deathmask.

“I am Deathmask,” he said. “I lead the Ash Guild.”

“I have heard of your guilds and mercenaries,” Ceredon said, crossing his arms. Harruq noticed how his hands casually rested on the hilt of his sword. “An interesting group, the lot of you. But to the task at hand. You have come to my land and camped outside my forest. Your great city is in shambles. What is it you desire from us?”

“We seek aid,” Antonil said. “Food and clothing so we may survive the cold winter. We trek to Omn, and we humbly ask for any help you may offer.”

Ceredon shook his head in a sad, sorrowful gesture.

“The Dezren elves fled their burned, ruined lands. Humans did not give them time nor aid in crossing the rivers. Did your king offer aid when they settled here? No. Humans ignored elves, yet now humans come asking aid from elves?”

Antonil frowned. He thought of what to say, but knew it would sound trite.

“Yes,” he said at last. “I offer no justification. No excuses. Just a desperate plea to save my people.”

“Your people,” Ceredon said, chuckling. He approached the king, staring eye to eye with him. “Are they your people? What of my people? Food and water do not come free, not even to us. Do I forget their losses? Their wounds? Their honor?”

“A simple yes or no would suffice,” Deathmask said. Harruq stared at him in shock, almost expecting Aurelia to elbow him.

Ceredon stepped back, not appearing insulted or upset, only tired. Elves grabbed Deathmask by the arms, who shook his head and chuckled.