<html> <body> Part Five and all that jive. --------- 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. ---------- 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. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>