[Mkguild] Heading to All Tomorrows (5/6)

[C. Matthias]

Part Five and all that jive.

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Metamor Keep:  Heading to All Tomorrows
by Charles Matthias



The morning, or at least it seemed to be morning, 
that came to him was cloaked in mists and a sweet 
but unpleasant smelling fog. Shapes that he could 
not describe lurked in that haze as dark shadows 
that almost shifted as he walked past. His pace 
was measured, slow, almost lugubrious like thick 
molasses being threaded through a sluice. 
Everything was quiet and still, his boots not 
even disturbing the long grasses with their heavy 
stalks as he made his passage through the abandoned land.

The road only came to the dead city because it 
had been built by his people many centuries past, 
and their work did not diminish easily. But there 
it stopped and what had once been close fitting 
stones now stood ruin. The shadows that did 
approach and reveal themselves to him were often 
parts of some wall, crumbling and covered in ivy 
and moss. There were fountains cracked through 
and dry, now suffused with greenery instead of 
the once crystal blue waters that had shimmered 
with light. The wind circling through the still 
standing structures echoed like a song first 
evoked hundreds of years ago that had been 
trapped within the walls; it could only repeat 
itself, and endlessly swirling melody of such 
delicacy and such sorrow that Andares felt his 
heart ache and his eyes begin to weep.

“So it is with all the works of the ancient 
ones...” a voice whispered in his ears as he 
pressed on through the ruins. He turned as he 
wiped the tears from his face, but saw nothing 
but ruin, shadow, mist, and the ever suffocating 
fog. Not even a glimmer of light from the sun brightened that choked landscape.

Andares kept one hand on his sword as he moved 
past the caverns of song, the remnants of old 
buildings passing by on either side with greater 
frequency. He saw what had once been old homes 
fashioned from the stone with taught wires 
connecting the various pieces together, each 
thrumming with a single note like a constant buzz 
that pierced the crisp air. There were 
amphitheaters where the songs had once been sung, 
and even remnants from old metallic instruments, 
the magic binding them having failed finally, 
leading them all to give in to rust and decay.

“All your homes will be this way...”

In the midst of the ancient city he saw a small 
grove of trees. And though it was Spring and 
there was an abundance of moisture in the air, no 
leaves sprouted from any of the branches, nor did 
any blossoms bloom. In the midst of the copse he 
caught sight of an old stone plinth rising up 
from the heath. Andares turned toward this 
plinth, eyes arrested by its granite, riddled 
with faint vertical lines as if it had been 
weeping, but what Andares recognized only a 
moment later were grooves to suggest bark. There 
were scattered remnants of debris at the base of 
the plinth, but if that stone sculpture had once 
been fashioned into the likeness of a tree to 
stand at the center of the barren copse, then it 
had long since been cast to ruin.

“Cast to ruin... by men.”

Andares felt himself turn to look for the source 
of the voice, but the mist was too thick and the 
timbre unrecognizable. His hand ready and waiting 
upon the blade, he steeled himself against the 
fresh horrors that would await him in this 
strange dream realm of lost Yerebey. He continued 
walking past the copse and past more tumbled 
buildings and empty homes that had once been 
bright with color, perfume, and music. But now 
all was leaden gray and miserable grass. He 
walked faster, boots striking little stones that 
had been chipped off walls, ceilings, or other 
plinths one erected to proclaim a season or a hope.

“Retreat and you bring this with you... but that is all the ancient ones do.”

Andares felt a sullen heat broiling in his chest 
as he began to weep bitter tears.

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April 22, 708 CR


They rode hard for two days before reaching 
Delavia. There they were able to trade for fresh 
horses and continue for another three long days 
of riding to reach Vineta. And while Anefistar 
was sure to mention to everyone they saw in those 
cities of the danger coming from the Elderwood, 
the most anyone would offer them was fresh horses 
and the location of way stations along the main 
road to Salinon where they could refresh or trade their mounts.

This lack of concern for their neighbors to the 
northwest alarmed Anefistar visibly, and his 
normally placid southern face began purpling with 
indignation every time his stories elicited no 
more than a shrug. Andares found the lack of 
unity among the people of Dûn Fennas unsettling, 
and also a reason for sadness. His cousins had 
ruled this land for many generations of humans, 
and had deliberately set about training their 
leaders to carry on their traditions before they 
retreated into the woods at long last. The 
Fennasi spoke many words of Quenardya, but was 
that all that remained of their influence, words?

They reached the capital city of Salinon shortly 
after noon on the eleventh day out from Nenuin. 
Three roads from the west all converged into two 
broad lanes that circled a brilliant blue lake to 
the white bluffs on the eastern side. One road 
came in from the south, another from the north, 
and a sixth ventured from the east, the very road 
the elvish people had taken when they left 
Salinon three centuries before. Atop the bluffs 
stood the many alabaster towers of the castle of 
the Duke, that fabled eyrie floating as if in a 
dream above the land, while the rest of the city 
flanked the eastern slope of the bluffs as they 
spread out into the heath and scattered farms and 
forests beyond. The northern slope of the bluffs 
were shallower and allowed easier passage to the 
castle – the southern face was almost as much a 
cliff as the lakeward view and required a series 
of locks and ladders to ascend – and so Andares 
and Anefistar followed the northern branch of the 
elvish road with as much haste as they dared with their exhausted horses.

The lake was surrounded by clusters of homes and 
businesses for fishermen as well as tradesmen too 
poor to live in the city itself and numerous 
farmers. None of them paid the two travelers any 
attention as they rushed past. The road moved 
away from the lake as they neared the bluffs that 
glimmered as a white as a tombstone in moonlight, 
before leading to a large gate complex. The gate 
stood atop a small rise of at least six cubits, 
offering defenders ample opportunity to slay any 
besieging armies. The gatehouse was open, 
although they were bid to slow down by the 
sentries dressed in the black livery of the falcon.

Beyond the gate the road branches through several 
districts, but the one that would lead them up to 
the castle was almost always the steepest. 
Despite the grade, they never needed to fear 
slipping as the elvish roads kept a firm grip 
when needed. The pair were allowed to pass 
through two higher gates that brought them to 
where they could gaze out in wonder across the 
broad plain of farms, irrigation, pastureland, 
and cultivated forests that stretched for miles 
in every direction like a vista from a heavenly 
dream before they were finally prevented from 
going any closer to the castle. A pentecount of 
soldiers dressed in breastplate with swords and 
maces waited for them at the next of the gates 
into the castle grounds, and they barred the way.

“I must see Duke Otakar Salinon on the matter of 
gravest urgency,” Andares announced as he stepped 
off of his horse. He kept his cloak firmly around 
his shoulders and the cowl over his face as he 
walked toward them. Anefistar, dwelling on the 
Åelf's strength, dismounted and followed after him.

The head of the pentecount, a tall man with a 
black cape bearing the falcon heraldry in the 
middle, declared, “The Duke is not in audience 
today. If you are a messenger, then produce the 
seal of your sovereign and your message will be delivered.”

“I must speak to him myself,” Andares insisted as 
he drew within a few feet of the soldiers. The 
leader hefted his mace, while the others each 
drew their swords and took a step forward. “I do 
not bear any messenger's seal. For I myself am 
the seal of my kind, and it is my kind that makes 
this request; nay demand for an immediate 
audience.” And with that, he reached up and drew 
back the cowl from his face, revealing his 
pointed ears, high cheek bones, and all the rest 
of his visage that marked him as one of the ancient race.

All five soldiers gasped in surprise, falling 
back a pace or two as they lowered their weapons. 
The leader stared in awe as his lips. “Yára Cáno! 
You have come back to lead us at last! I am 
Captain Raff. I will take you and your Ishtyar to 
him myself. Please follow me. Men, see to their horses.”

Captain Raff led them through the inner gate and 
into the bailey just outside the castle itself. 
The wall running the length of the castle 
prevented them from seeing anything beyond the 
mighty towers and the bulking edifice at their 
base. To this Raff led them with a noted 
swiftness in his step. The falcon heraldry was 
everywhere visible both outside and inside the 
castle. They climbed two sets of narrow stairs 
before reaching a wide dining hall. Most of the 
tables toward the rear of the room were empty, 
but those nearest them were lavishly decorated 
with flowers and bouquets of feather. Seated at 
the table were several men feasting on mutton and wine.

“Captain Raff,” a man of swarthy complexion, 
bearing a crown of gold laurel framing a bald 
spot in a head of otherwise straight black hair 
that rested atop his shoulders and reached down 
his back, “what is the meaning of this 
interruption? Who are our guests?” And then his 
eyes alighted on Andares and he gasped. “An elf! 
By all the gods, we have not seen your kind here 
in several generations! Captain, seat him here 
with me. Take his grace back to his place in the tower.”

The man at his left side, strong and with bright 
red hair, rose, tipping the chair back so that it 
fell over as he stood. “Oh, my apologies for my clumsiness.”

“None needed, Jaime. None needed,” Otakar said 
with a laugh as he beckoned Andares closer. While 
Jaime stepped out of the way, Raff picked up the 
chair and gestured for Andares to sit within it. 
Raff then gestured for Jaime to follow him, and 
the red-haired man left the room with the 
soldier, his plate only half empty. Anefistar sat 
down at the end of the table and folded his hands 
in his lap as he waited with an anxious expression.

“I am, as you have undoubtedly guessed, Duke 
Kristov Otakar XII of Salinon. These are my 
sons.” He gestured to the four others at the 
table with him ranging in age from an older boy 
on the cusp of his first manly growth to a fully 
grown man that looked the same age as Jaime. They 
all had the same dark hair and complexion as 
their father. “Whom am I welcoming at my table?”

“I am Andares-es-sebashou, and I come not on 
behalf of my own people, but of your own.”

“What do you mean?”

“Monsters have been seen emerging from Elderwood. 
I and my companion Anefistar have killed several 
of them in our long journey. But we have been 
fortunate. The villages along the roads near the 
Elderwood have not been so fortunate as the 
monsters grow bolder and more numerous with each 
passing day. I saw their need and came here 
myself to beg you to send your armies north at 
once to counter this threat. Your very land 
depends on swift action, for there is no knowing 
how great this threat will build if you do nothing.”

Otakar nodded sagely as his thick lips pressed 
tightly together. A ring-studded hand grasped a 
goblet of wine and he took a long swallow before 
speaking. “You bring grave news, 
Andares-es-sebashou. I will send my armies north 
to Nenuin and the Elderwood to crush these monsters.”

Anefistar almost gasped in relief, but Otakar 
lifted that ring-studded hand to quell him to 
silence. “In return for my actions I do require 
your aid as well, Andares-es-sebashou. I bid you 
join me at the head of my armies. Once this 
threat from the Elderwood has been crushed, we 
will turn to the west and bring that dog in 
Kelewair to heel. And with him, all of the 
Midlands. Help me, Andares-es-sebashou, to bring 
all of that land beneath the Fennasi.”

He said it so simply and with such ease that 
Andares felt himself repelled in horror. He 
shifted in his chair as far from the Duke as he 
could, and hissed through his teeth his reply. “I 
could never aid you in conquering other lands. I 
did not come here to bargain with you, Duke 
Otakar. I came here to compel you to action to 
save your own lands. Not to conquer others.”

“I am Duke,” Otakar replied to the amusement of 
his children. They smiled with knowing confidence 
in their father. “You are not. Elf you may be, 
but I am not going to order my army on your word.”

“Your people are dying!”

“Then agree to my terms. I will not order my army 
to leave until you have done so.”

“You would let your people die? You would let the 
evil of Elderwood run amock in your lands?”

“Indefinitely no. But if letting them run amock 
for a little time convinces you to aid me in 
conquering the west, then I consider it Fennasi lives well spent.”

Andares stood from the table and took a step 
backward. “I will not help you. It was a mistake 
to come here and to hope in you.”

“And you make a mistake if you think that you 
will leave here so easily. Guards!” A full dozen 
soldiers poured into the room, even as Otakar's 
sons all took weapons from beneath the table and 
trained them on Andares and Anefistar. Otakar 
grinned winsomely. “Please see our guests to the 
donjon. They may share quarters with Jaime 
Verdane for now. They need time to think and 
discuss where they won't be disturbed.”

“You would take me prisoner?” Andares asked in a 
surprise that was more sorrowful than angry.

“Anyone who threatens my plans is an enemy of Dûn 
Fennas. You have accomplished this yourself.” 
Otakar then sat back down at his table and 
resumed eating his mutton. The guards grabbed 
Andares and Anefistar by the arms and pushed them 
toward the far door. Anefistar struggled for a 
moment and was rewarded with a mailed fist 
tapping him on the head; not so hard as to render 
him unconscious, but hard enough that he could do 
nothing but hold his head and walk. Andares 
didn't bother to struggle; he walked where the guards pointed him.

They were led to a walled courtyard of pine and 
oak on either side of a small garden, and in a 
soft voice, the man next to Andares whispered, 
“Forgive us, Yára Cáno, but we cannot disobey his 
grace. You should never be held prisoner in this or any other tower.”

“Do your duty,” Andares replied in an equally soft whisper.

The man sucked on his lips, and then he and the 
other guards led them both through the garden and 
into a tall tower and up a long set of curving 
stairs. The stairs continued for at least a 
minute before they reached a landing with another 
door and a room beyond. Into this they were 
escorted. The door was locked behind them.

The room had a single bed, a writing desk, a set 
of chests for clothes and other belongings, a 
hearth and chimney, and a pair of barred windows 
that could be closed from the inside. The 
red-haired man known as Jaime Verdane was sitting 
at the writing table reading over a letter and 
turned to them with a look of genuine surprise.

“Our host's hospitality is growing less and less 
pleasant by the day it seems. Are you here to entertain me or to spy on me?”

Anefistar crawled over to the bed and sat down, 
cradling his head in his hands but made no 
answer. Andares stood, brushed himself off, and 
then stepped over to one of the windows and 
peered out across the countryside. “Neither. We 
have been detained because we would not do as the 
Duke wished. You are the heir to the Duchy of Kelewair are you not?”

“I am. I have been a prisoner here some months. I 
expect to be a prisoner for many years yet.” 
Jaime set the letter aside and then rested his 
hands in his lap. “I suppose I should be grateful 
for the company, although I do not think we can all share the same bed.”

“I will sleep on the floor; I have no need of the bed.”

Jaime studied him, his eyes transfixed by the 
Åelf's strange features. “My wife told me of your 
kind; she'd never seen any of the ancient folk, 
but she knew the history of her land and the 
stewardship of your people over her own. You 
realize that every duke and every noble in the 
land of Dûn Fennas harkens back to those days and 
yearns for their renewal? Each duke, this one 
especially, thinks themselves the equal of your 
kind in wisdom and grace. I think you have seen 
how foolish that is.” Jaime lowered his eyes and 
hit his knee with one fist. “My kind can never be the same.”

Andares turned from the window and stepped toward 
the human. “No, we are not the same. We do not 
hold each other prisoner for land or wealth, or even power.”

“Do you not have powers that will break the walls 
of this prison? I see they left you your sword.”

But the Åelf could only frown. Something was 
wrong here, more than just the rapacious greed of 
the Duke. It nagged at him like an inch in the 
small of his back where he couldn't reach. “The 
walls are shielded in this tower against magical 
interference. And you know that the drop from 
these windows will kill any man who attempts it, 
including me. No, the only way out is through the 
door we came in, and the only way we shall leave 
it is if Duke Otakar decides to let us free.”

“But your sword!” Jaime insisted.

“Is not for human blood; not in offense.” Andares 
turned from the Midlander and sat next to Anefistar. “How is your head?”

“Bruised bad, but I'll be fine after a night's 
rest.” Anefistar lowered his hands and then 
allowed the Åelf to lay him down on the bed. The 
only pillow was soft and draped in a very smooth 
wool, and this he positioned beneath the 
scholar's head. “Thank you, Yára Cáno.”

In surprise, Andares narrowed his eyes, lips 
pulling taut to hide any emotion from his face. “Even you would call me that?”

“You have earned it more than that Duke. From 
henceforth I will follow no one but you, Yára Cáno.”

Andares felt his hands tighten momentarily into 
fists, and then he stood up and walked back to 
the window. He tried to stare to the east, but 
there was nothing more to see except farms and 
fields. While Jaime returned to his letter and 
Anefistar took his rest, he stared, lost in the vista surrounding Salinon.


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May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias
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