Silence
hung heavy over Seran’vine. The very air
itself tiptoed through the trees, the occasional tremble of a leaf the only
reminder that time had not stopped. It
unsettled Fara’sin deeply. She never
thought she would long for the brutish war calls of the Orcs. The quiet gave her mind too much room to
wander. Of course, it did not have too
long to wander; the Pixie Queen saw to that.
“So
where are they?” Glitterrose asked, flitting up to her ear. “Do you know who it is? I wonder who it is. Are they really from LaSelle Island? I’ve never met anyone from there. Ooh ooh ooh – will they bring presents?”
“I
don’t know, little one,” Fara’sin sighed, suddenly longing for the oppressive
quiet to return.
“Mm,
I love presents,” Glitterrose cooed, settling down on Fara’sin’s shoulder. “I almost like it more when someone else gets presents, because then you get
to watch how happy they are. But
seriously, I like getting presents so much…”
Mercifully,
Syth’aren entered soon after, bounding up the limbs toward the throne with Ko,
the Half-Elf, close behind.
“Signs
of the visitors in the distance, my lady,” Syth’aren said with his customary
bow and flourish.
“Any
indications?”
“No,
my lady,” Ko answered. “They’re
employing stealth – or something like it.”
He
and Fara’sin shared a derisive snort.
Were her Maidenguards any less adept at concealment, they might have
snorted as well. As it was, they
remained in the ideal positions for an ambush. Whoever these mysterious islanders were, they
would not be making any fast moves – at least, not without consequences.
“And
our companions?” Fara’sin asked, fingering the shards of black stone dangling
from her neck.
“Nothing,
my lady,” Ko answered.
“Has
it really been a month since they were last spotted? How time flies when destruction is in the
making. Thank goodness you were able to
gather the others.”
“I
have said it before, my lady – we should act now,” Syth’aren said. “There’s no telling what Tigean is up to –
for all we know, he has the other pieces…and the scepter.”
“The
islanders have the scepter,” Ko interjected.
“Stedwick said so himself. I wouldn’t
have put my ass on the line to reach out to them if I wasn’t sure.”
“You
really should put that ass to better use,” Syth’aren muttered with his
customary smirk.
“Ha
ha ha…ass,” Glitterrose chuckled.
Fara’sin
was just rolling her eyes when a trumpet sounded in the distance. She rose to her feet, her fingers tracing the
hilt of her sword instinctively. A
ripple tension passed through the party as they positioned themselves around
her. They remained there, frozen in a
mixture of dread and expectation.
Whatever the islanders had in store, it would tilt the fate of the Known
Realm inexorably. For a few brief
minutes, all these mighty warriors had left to do was pray.
In
time, an escort arrived: four guards flanking a trio of figures cloaked in
coarse, off-white capes and hoods. The visitors
shifted uncomfortably on their feet.
Fara’sin could tell they were eyeing their surroundings, or trying to
from behind their hoods; it pleased her to know that guests still shook with
fear in Seran’vine.
“Welcome,”
she said, her voice smooth but sharp. “You
may approach.”
The
figures hesitated before trudging forward, Fara’sin’s guards carefully matching
their pace. At a few yards away, the
center figure made a motion, and the three of them sank to their knees. Fara’sin glided forward, her leafy train dragging
gently against the branch. Syth’aren and
Ko made to fall in beside her, but she motioned for them to stand aside; she
knew well enough that these three posed her no real threat. Glitterrose, on the other hand, was all too
keen to get close.
“Their
cloaks seem really plain,” she whispered in Fara’sin’s ear. “I want to add sparkles.”
“Please
don – ” Fara’sin began, but it was too late.
Glitterrose waved a finger and the men’s garments were suddenly awash
with gleaming magical sparkles. To their
credit, they hardly made a move. This
seemed to disappoint Glitterrose, and so she retreated.
“What
brings you before the Queen of Leaves?
And from LaSelle Island, no less.
I had thought the people of LaSelle Island were too good for the likes
of us.”
“We
do not represent the Emperor, your highness,” said the man on the left. “We are…” he trailed off, glancing at the other
two.
“We
represent the people of the Island, your highness,” said the man on the right.
“And
these people are…?” Fara’sin prodded.
“The
common people, your highness. The
working man and woman. All are under
threat if Ganon the Wretched, our sworn and most hated enemy, is allowed to
thrive in the Known Realm.”
“A
well-rehearsed answer,” Fara’sin mused. “You
are not the first to curse the nobles and claim the banner of the common
people, though. Surely you represent
particular interests.”
A
brief silence followed, during which Fara’sin watched in bemusement as the two
flanking figures shifted on their knees, clearly looking for a way out.
“They
have nothing, your highness,” Syth’aren whispered as he appeared at her
shoulder. “These are nothing but petty rebels. We have better work to do.”
“Give
them a chance, your highness” Ko said, appearing at her other shoulder. “They are nervous in your presence and why
shouldn’t they be?”
“Maybe
some flowers would be good,” Glitterrose said, drifting toward them again.
“Enough,”
Fara’sin hissed, waving them all away. “We
are short on time, men, so please, come to the point. If you have what we need, then hand it over
and we will discuss terms.”
“You
are making demands of the rightful ruler of LaSelle Island, my lady,” the man
on the right interjected, barely holding in his indignation.
“Do
I now?” Fara’sin asked with a grin. “Then
have him show me his mark?”
“I
have no mark,” the central figure said in a low, gravelly voice. “They don’t put marks on my kind.”
A
chill went up Fara’sin’s spine. The
timber of that voice: she knew its type.
She stepped forward slowly, her hand clenching the handle of her sword. The central figure remained unmoved, which
only raised her hackles further.
“Is
that the husky growl of an abomination I hear?” she whispered menacingly. “Surely you know I have bathed in the blood
of your kind and yet here you are. My,
my, my, but you are bold.”
“I
have no people, highness,” the figure answered.
“I say again, they do not mark my kind.
But they do leave trinkets.”
He
extended a gloved hand and opened it to reveal a small, ivory pendant engraved
with a golden flower. She gave it a
sidelong look and then snatched it up.
With both eyes on its owner, she dangled the pendant in front of
Ko. He took it from her gingerly and
turned it over in his fingers.
“It’s
legitimate,” Ko said, handing it back to her.
Fara’sin held in her own hands and observed. She knew nothing of jewelry; she could only
hope for some sort of mystical sign.
Nothing came, and so she handed the trinket back.
“You
could have stolen it,” she said simply.
“Not
likely, highness,” the creature retorted.
“What would the likes of me be doing over there without good reason,
anyway?”
“Your
motivations are irrelevant to me, abomination,” she hissed. “As are your politics,” she added to his
followers. “Give me what we need and we
will allow you to leave with your lives.”
“We
will not be intimidated!” the man on the right said as he started to his
feet. He had raised himself barely an
inch when the air was filled with the flurry of shifting leaves and the sinister
creak of bowstrings being drawn. The man
took one look at all seven Maidenguards as they appeared from the foliage,
arrows aimed at him, and slowly lowered himself back down.
While
he and his companion writhed uncomfortably, the creature in the middle was
still unmoved. In fact, he seemed to
only be growing in confidence. Hot with
indignation, Fara’sin reached down, seized him by the neck, and lifted him off
his feet with one hand. His hood fell
back, revealing an angular, green, pointy-eared visage. As her guards restrained his entourage, Fara’sin
glared into his dark eyes, searching deep inside him for the first sign of
weakness.
“Give
me one reason I shouldn’t snap you like a stray twig and take what we need,”
she sneered. “I haven’t tasted foul
blood in a while and I’m happy to settle for a diluted vintage.”
“I
have what you need,” he said, reaching into his cloak. “And I know who you need to give it to. I know who the next great queen is.” With that, he reached into his cloak and
pulled out a long, thin, golden scepter with three crooked, sharp claws at one
end. He proffered it to her willingly,
his eyes still locked on hers. “Take
it. We both know you won’t get to wield
it – but I know we can take it to her together.
We have to take it to her. She
needs us.”
Fara’sin
observed the scepter and nodded to Ko, who took it and conducted his own examination.
“It’s
legitimate,” he said, glancing smugly at Syth’aren for good measure.
“Looks
like you really are Stedwick’s favorite,” Syth’aren retorted, his voice tinged
with disappointment.
Fara’sin
looked back at the creature. Their eyes
met and stayed tight on each other for several long moments. Perhaps it was age, or weariness, or
desperation, but Fara’sin could find nothing in those eyes to hate. There was truth there, much to her surprise
and even dismay. This filthy half-breed
had more to offer than just a lust for blood and a bad attitude. With the heat of her anger ebbing way, she
slowly set him back down on his feet, and was surprised to see him return to
her knees.
“So
you do have manners,” she said, turning back toward her throne and taking a
seat. “You may stand.”
“I
wasn’t raised among the foul, highness,” he chuckled as he got to his feet. “I was raised by a human.”
“They
have manners enough, I suppose. And what
do we call you now, friend of the next great queen? Will you style yourself as Emperor? King?
Chancellor, maybe?”
