The tide of unmaking, p.6
The Tide of Unmaking, page 6
part #3 of Berinfell Prophesies Series
And then…he began to laugh.
Huge shadows descended slowly from the ceiling, falling in bulbous clumps all around Tommy. Blinking stupidly, he rose to one knee just as the huge warrior took off his helm.
What? Tommy could scarcely reconcile what he was seeing. Balloons?
“Happy Birthday, Tommy!” Grimwarden bellowed.
All at once, the dremask lanterns stopped flashing and became steady. A thunderous cheer went up from the hundreds of Elves who filled the wide stair to the Great Hall. A huge tongue covered him in hot drool, that of their beloved, giant wolf, Bear. Now drenched in steak-flavored saliva, Tommy shoved the pooch away. “Well, you got me,” Tommy confessed, wiping his face. “You got me good.”
“You really didn’t figure it out?” Kat asked. She rubbed a knuckle on her right hand so intently that the flesh there turned slightly purple rather than the usual blue. “Really?”
Tommy laughed, rubbing his shoulder. “You ought to know, Kat,” Tommy said. “Not like I can hide anything from you.”
“You certainly could,” Kat said. “A promise is a promise. I won’t read your thoughts unless you give me permission.”
Tommy rolled his eyes playfully. “Rest assured, Kat. If I woke up tomorrow with pink and purple Gwar ballerinas pirouetting around my bed, I wouldn’t be as surprised as I am now. You guys just about beat the snot out of me.”
Laughter crackled around the long table on the Lords’ Dais, echoing and filling the far end of the Great Hall with more mirth than it had seen in many years’ time. No laugh was deeper or louder than Grimwarden’s.
“Hwah, whu, ha! Tommy, you should have seen…Hoo, hwah…should have seen the look on your face when you saw me!”
“I thought I was coming to a council meeting!” Tommy grumbled. He took a long sip of splendine punch from his goblet. “Is that how you treat all Elves on their twenty-first birthday?”
“Twenty-one is an important age for all Elves,” Goldarrow replied. “It is the Threshold Day, and we all celebrate it in one fashion…or another.”
“But for practitioners of Vexbane, Nightform, and other martial arts,” Grimwarden explained, “it is customary to run the Gauntlet upon their Threshold Day. It is a chance for a young warrior to prove his mettle—which, Tommy, I’d say you did and then some. It’s not often that a warrior must be outnumbered and face the combined powers of the Lords, all while being blasted by dremask flashes. You did well, Tommy.”
“I bet you all had fun knocking me around,” Tommy said, still wiping some of Bear’s saliva off his face.
They all denied it…at first.
“Okay,” said Jimmy, “so maybe we had a wee bit of fun at yur expense.”
“Sorry about hitting you from behind,” Autumn mumbled with a chuckle.
“I guess my wall of fire gave you a bit of a scare!” Johnny said.
Tommy laughed loudly. “I did NOT see that coming,” he said. “But nothing scared me more than Grimwarden. I thought you were going to behead me!” Tommy huffed out the words and pointed at Grimwarden’s side. “New axe?”
“Yes, yes,” Grimwarden replied, patting the twin-bladed weapon. “The first of its kind from the Nightwish Forge. Strentium edge and wicked sharp.”
“It’s got to be better than this thing!” Tommy tossed his sword to the middle of the table. It slid to a stop between the muffle cakes platter and a bowl of nockels. Only, it wasn’t Tommy’s sword or even a real rychesword at all. It was a practice blade fashioned from the hard wood of a maiden ash tree. “How did you guys manage to switch this with my real sword?”
“That was easy,” Kiri Lee said. “I switched them while we were forest-shooting. You’d gone to collect arrows.”
“Did you hide my bow too?” Tommy asked.
“Yup,” Kiri Lee said. She crouched beneath the table for a moment. When she stood up, she had Tommy’s rychesword and bow. She slid them to Tommy. “You should be more careful with these, you know.”
“With sneaky friends like you anyway,” Tommy replied.
Just then, a beautiful flourish of music trilled.
“Ah, that’s my cue!” Kiri Lee said. She nimbly leaped up from her chair and trotted across the air into the massive gathering of Elves assembled in the hall.
“Where’s she going?” Jimmy asked.
“Do you not know?” Goldarrow said. “The Berinfell Symphony plays tonight. It is time for dance!”
A few heartbeats later, the soft voice of a harp ascended to the Lords. Other stringed instruments followed, reeds and woodwinds too, and the delightful bouncing harpsichord. The cavernous Great Hall came alive with an inviting symphonic melody. Elves left their seats and tables behind and began to whirl and sway to the music.
“Ya don’na have t’ tell me twice!” Jimmy yelled. He was up and at Regis’ side in a flash. “M’lady, would honor me with—”
He needn’t finish the sentence, for Regis took his hand and hauled him down the stairs to the dance floor.
“What? Wait!” Grimwarden thundered. “What are you doing, you cantankerous woman!”
Goldarrow had Grimwarden by the arm. “Cantankerous?” she exclaimed. “Now if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black! Now, get up, you great lummox, and treat me to a dance!”
Grimwarden’s bushy white eyebrows danced, but in a variety of frowns. “You know quite well that I…DO…NOT…DANCE!”
But Goldarrow would have none of it. She mussed the old war-general’s hair and finally pulled him the rest of the way to his feet. “Don’t believe a word he said,” Goldarrow told those who remained at the table. “Olin Grimwarden used to be the most graceful dancer among Elves in Berinfell. And as I recall, once told the Lords that real Elf men dance!”
“What?” Grimwarden groaned. “You make me sound like a butterfly or some such! I blunder and stomp! Graceful?—rubbish!”
“Oh, do stop this whining,” Goldarrow said. “Remember, I’m now your superior officer, and I’m ordering you to dance. And you too, Lords, though you outrank me by far. This is a night to be jovial, to celebrate. Go, join the dance.”
With that, the Guardmaster and former Guardmaster left the Lords’ Dais. Tommy, Kat, Johnny, and Autumn were left at the table, staring at each other.
“Well,” Johnny said, “this is awkward.”
The laughter diffused the situation somewhat. Autumn said, “I wonder what amazingly handsome flet soldiers are still available down there.” Autumn left her seat and whooshed down the stairs.
“They better mind their manners!” Johnny called after her. A lick of flame kindled in his palm as he tromped away down the stairs.
That left Tommy and Kat.
He looked up at her, saw the dremask torches flickering in her huge, expectant eyes, and then stared at his goblet of punch.
“Oh, I’ll make this easy on you!” Kat said, taking Tommy’s arm. “But only because it’s your birthday!”
Before Tommy could say a word, Kat whisked him down the stairs and into the mix of swirling Elves.
Tommy’s right hand was planted on Kat’s narrow waist. He held her other hand straight out to his left. Both hands began sweating instantly. His heart pounded louder than the symphony’s percussion section. It was all he could do to remember the simple steps to the Elven waltz.
They danced, gliding easily across the hall, whirling on the sides and sliding back. But all the while Tommy couldn’t think straight. Breathing didn’t work so well either. He had to inhale through his mouth or he’d smell Kat’s perfume. And every time they turned, he had to jerk his head super quick to avoid eye contact.
“Why are you so nervous?” Kat asked.
Tommy swallowed. Why am I so nervous? he wondered. This is my best friend in the world.
“Well?” Kat demanded. Her hands were on her hips now.
“I uh—”
Shouts from the corridor on the east side of the Great Hall stopped the music.
Tommy whispered a silent prayer of thanksgiving. He’d been granted a reprieve, precious time to think of an answer to Kat’s question. But when the guards on either side of the entrance drew their rycheswords, Tommy reconsidered his good fortune. Bear, who’d been enjoying the party with a roasted cow femur beside the main door, turned his head and raised his hackles in a deep growl.
“Lords!” Tommy cried out. “Arm yourselves and meet me eastside!” Tommy left Kat and darted up the stairs. He was back down in a flash, armed with his blade and bow. The shouting grew louder now.
“…do not care what the occasion is!” someone yelled, a strange accent on each syllable. “Varnest kul sh’i uyudiffex! Let us through!”
“With all due respect, your highness,” said another voice, “this is a matter for council tomorrow. The High Lords will see you then.”
“Tomorrow is too late!” the voice cried out. “Untold thousands are dead! Do you hear? And thousands more may yet perish, skans vir allan zhik!”
The other Lords, Grimwarden, Goldarrow, and a host of flet soldiers fanned out behind Tommy. They all stared at the opening to the eastern corridor.
“Who would intrude on a night like this?” Kiri Lee asked.
“I don’t know,” Tommy said. “The voice…it’s strange, sounds almost Russian or Eastern European, maybe.”
“Someone…someone from Earth?” Johnny asked.
No one answered. No one dared.
More angry shouts came from the corridor. Torchlight lit the curving walls. Flanked by a detachment of flet soldiers, three hooded figures burst into the room. The lead figure called out in a feminine voice, “Lords of Berinfell, we seek audience and are in most dire need!”
“The Lords of Berinfell answer your call!” Tommy called down to her. “Advance to us and make no sudden move. Speak plainly: who are you and what is your need?”
The three hooded figures approached. They bowed in the general direction of the Lords and then lowered their hoods.
“I am Taeva, Princess of the Taladrim,” said the leader, an exotic looking young woman with blazing eyes. “My homeland, Taladair, is in ruins!”
“Ruins?” Grimwarden echoed. “But your people are steadfast…fierce in battle. What befell you?”
Taeva nodded. “I thank you for your words, graybeard,” she said. “The Taladrim are tested and proud, but we were overmatched…slaughtered. An army of untold power converged upon Taladair. They had weapons…shia gin su fallac! Weapons of fire and cunning the likes of which we have not seen before.”
“An army?” Tommy said. “Whose army?”
Taeva glanced over her shoulder at her two attendants. They nodded in return. “It was the Spider King’s army,” Taeva said. “And they burst forth…right out of the sky.”
7: The Coming Storm
“YOU MUST BE MISTAKEN,” GOLDARROW said. “The Spider King is long dead.”
Grimwarden was quick to step between Goldarrow and the furious Taladrim visitor. “With all due respect, Princess,” he said, “this conversation is not meant for all ears.”
Grimwarden signaled for two flet soldiers at a nearby gate. He whispered something to them and then announced to the crowd that had gathered for the party, “Carry on, one and all! The Lords must depart for a…diplomatic matter. They will return before the night’s end. So carry on. Make merry! Enjoy the hospitality of Berinfell!”
The orchestra began again, minus Kiri Lee, and the Elves did indeed return to making merry. Then, Grimwarden discreetly led the Lords and their new guests out of the chamber. They traveled a seldom used corridor, and the former Guardmaster moved with such speed and surety that no one would have guessed he’d been away from Berinfell city for several years. After numerous twists and sudden turns, Grimwarden paused at a narrow cleft in the right hand wall. He turned and his eyes were huge and glassy in the torchlight. “This is Treblewood,” he said. “It is a chamber of council and will offer us every necessity the Hall of Lords might…with one distinct advantage. In this secret place, we will not be disturbed.”
A fire blazed in the hearth, wood popping and spitting as the smoky scent of cherry oak filled the stone chamber. A few candles scattered throughout the space helped cast off the thick darkness that seeped in from the corners and crevices of stone, but it was the fire’s radiant glow that kept the chill of the rain at bay. Flame-orange hues splashed the underside of the stone mantle and illuminated the faces of the Six, all seated in low, leather chairs. Grimwarden and Goldarrow stood on either side of the fireplace. Mr. Charlie and Regis, both Dreadnaught warriors, stood guard by the only exit on the far wall. Fletmarshall Finney, hand on the hilt of her rychesword, paced the back of the room.
The firelight warmed the chamber, but it also made the visitors from Taladrim more mysterious…alluring even. Especially Taeva, Princess of the Taladrim.
The hooded cloak she wore was knit together of shady greens, grays, blues, and browns. It would camouflage her against almost any setting but was of a design that would also render it attractive in any but the most formal environments. The hood hid her hair from view, but a few very dark strands spilled down her forehead and crisscrossed above her arched brow. Her flesh was a peculiar gray color. Not the bleak gray of winter clouds, but more like gray marble, rich with tones of purple, pink, and even blue.
Tommy watched intently as Taeva pulled her feet up into her chair and sat back. Her dark, emerald-green eyes flickered like a stormy sky above the rim of the steaming mug she cupped between her hands. Tommy looked away.
Johnny watched Taeva as she inhaled deeply of the dark, amber cider. She sipped slowly, lowered the mug to the table, and dragged the long nail of her thumb across her lips to wipe a dribble of cider. Though her face was taut with fury, a hint of a smile—one part relief, two parts satisfaction—appeared at the corner of her mouth.
Jimmy watched the Princess arch her back. She pushed off her hood and freed her hair. Long, gently spiraling locks poured down over her broad cheekbones and ended near her pointed chin. But locks of this length were layered in with much longer ribbons of hair. These fell all around her unusual ears. They were somewhat pointed like the Elves’ ears, but shorter and swept back, the shape more like a raptor’s wings. She wore three plain gold rings, spread equally from lobe to tip in each ear. Taeva reached up suddenly and pulled her hair up into a loose braid. Jimmy looked away.
An attendant finished filling their mugs of spiced cider, indicated the large cauldron and ladle hanging from an iron arm beside the hearth, and then bowed, leaving the group alone in the small chamber.
“This is savory and heartening,” Taeva said, taking another sip. “Apples, you say?”
“The best of Berinfell’s orchards,” Tommy confirmed. “I can show you how to make it later…if you, I mean, depending on…well, after.”
The girls looked over at Tommy and then to Taeva. Kat resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She looked at Taeva and groaned inwardly. Exotic, fierce…gorgeous. And that hair? It was the color of dark chocolate and deep raspberry, and fell in luxurious waves. Kat had experimented with every colored dye known in Allyra but had never been able to manage that lustrous hue.
“Tommy could definitely assist us,” Johnny piped up. “But I probably have a little more experience with making cider than him. Apple-farming.” He sat up a little straighter. “Family heritage, you know.”
“I see,” said Taeva, placing her lips on the rim of the mug and taking a long sip. Even as she did so, her chin trembled slightly, and a single tear slid down her cheek. Tommy, Johnny and Jimmy were transfixed.
Grimwarden cleared his throat. “I am sure distractions are welcome, Princess,” he said, casting a momentary glare at each of the Lords. “But I am certain that you did not travel these many leagues to discuss cider recipes.”
“No,” Taeva said. “No, I did not.” And, as if someone suddenly flipped a switch, Taeva choked on her cider and lurched forward, hand to her mouth. She regained her composure for the most part, but her next words were spoken as if half-caught in her throat.
“Slowly,” Goldarrow said. “Let the words come.”
“It was horrible…and maddening,” Taeva said, smoothing out the gravel in her deep voice. “For ages, Taladrim thrives, powerful, protected and—we deemed—impregnable. The city gone…so many dead. And there was nothing I could do.” She coughed.
“Easy,” Tommy said. He leaned forward in his chair so that his hands were inches from Taeva’s. “Whatever we can do to help your people…we’ll do it.”
“But he’ll be coming here, too,” said the Princess. “No one is safe. No one.”
Jimmy leaned forward, trying to catch her eye. “Princess Taeva, yur safe here. With oos.” He extended his hand.
“Thank you for your reassurance,” she said, gently patting Jimmy’s hand, the last pat more of a push away. “But I really don’t think you know who you’re dealing with.”
“Well who is it then?” Kat interjected. Tommy shot her an exasperated look, but Kat ignored it. “Taeva? We conquered the Spider King, so we can’t help but be somewhat skeptical.”
The Princess wiped away tears with the back of her sleeve. “You faced the Spider King, you say?” She sniffed. “Then you know the root of this enemy’s power.”
“The root?” Kiri Lee spoke up. “Whatever do you mean?”
“The Spider King, the ruler you defeated, performed one last freakish act in the mire below Vesper Crag. The myth is that the Spider King bit a Drefid in the leg, transferring all of his power to that host.”
“A Drefid?” Autumn winced.
“His name is Asp, a former general, powerful in the Dark Arts…cunning and utterly ruthless. If the Spider King was a foul demon, Asp is his Overlord.”
