Chapter 10: Reunion

         The wild elf village fell silent after the assault led by the dark elf and the orc soldiers. Those elves that survived the attack gathered the bodies of their fallen brethren near the towering fire. The corpses were laid along in a line, then stacked on top of one another like firewood. The faces of the elves were solid as stone, bearing the weight of the dead with no real show of emotion. One by one the bodies were thrown into the fire. The ashes of the dead danced like fireflies through the air, and the roaring of the flames raged in the silence of the night.

         Isac turned away from the window before him and returned his attention to the room. His eyes fell upon his brother, who knelt by the wooden frame of a bed. Shenk lay there, his forehead covered by a dampened piece of cloth. His skin glistened with a layer of perspiration, and his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. Prescott lifted the material from the half orc's face and dipped it into a wooden bowl filled with water that rested at his feet. He gave the cloth a hard twist, water dripping and creating ripples in the water, before returning it back across Shenk’s forehead.

         “How is he doing?” Isac asked. He took a few steps toward the bed but remained behind Prescott. He fidgeted with his hands as he stared down at his friend.

         “He over-exerted himself out there. It was as if he could feel no pain when he flew into that rage, but once it wore off, his body felt the toll it had endured,” Prescott said. He stood from the bedside and turned to face Isac. He raised one hand and rubbed the dark bruise on the side of his face, wincing slightly at the rush of pain that ran through his exhausted limbs.

         “What happened to him back there? I’ve never seen anyone act that way before. It was as if some spirit had taken control of his body,” Isac whispered, refusing to take his eyes off of Shenk.

         “Neither have I, which worries me a little,” Prescott replied.

         Isac’s face drooped in disappointment. Prescott watched his brother’s deflated expression and waited for him to snap back with an angry comeback. When Isac returned to the window, casting a silent gaze out into the forest, Prescott raised a surprised eyebrow. Prescott knew deep down what his brother was thinking. To Isac, Prescott had all the answers, and for once Prescott was at a loss for words. He knew as little as Isac did about what had happened, and the worry in his brother’s eyes matched his own.

         “There’s no need to worry,” Prescott said, moving behind his brother and placing a hand on his shoulder, “What matters is that Shenk is alive. I sent one of the wild elves to search out and bring back some herbs to help soothe his body and allow him to recover his strength. He should be back on his feet in no time.”

         “I hope you’re right,” Isac said, lowering his voice below a whisper. He refused to face his brother and continued watching the movement below in a daze.

         Prescott took a seat on the floor of the room crafted high up in one of the forest’s trees and closed his eyes in an attempt to clear his mind of his racing thoughts. He wondered what the dark elf was searching for and what purpose this thing might serve. The ghostly eyes haunted his mind, watching and waiting in his darkest thoughts. Throughout Prescott’s many days, he had never seen a dark elf. He knew that they existed, but he had never heard tales of them inhabiting these lands. The blood of the dark elves was similar to the very blood that ran through his own veins, but the drow were an insidious race that spent their days in the darkness plotting to overcome the light. A shudder rushed through Prescott’s body, and he wished he had never had the displeasure of running across one.

         “Why is it that death follows us wherever we go?” Isac asked, staring at the bodies being thrown into the fire, “It all seemed to change overnight. One day I’m drowning tankard after tankard of ale in solitude, and the next I’m thrown into a quest to find a lost princess. To top it all off, I’m forced to fight and kill just to keep alive. What is it all for? Is it for death? I think I’d rather go back to the Black Dragon Inn.”

         Isac sighed as he stared out the window into the world outside. He watched an elf lift the body of a young child and toss it without a second glance into the flames. Dead body after dead body tumbled into the raging fire, sending the smoky remains of the deceased high into the trees–a final remembrance for their loved ones that they left behind. Isac tightened his hands into fists and ground his teeth together. The echoing sound of footsteps wrenched his attention away from the grim scene below and toward the doorway.

         “Excuse the interruption, but our great Lord Granadal wishes to speak with you. I am to lead you to the Sacred Oak immediately,” came the voice of a wild elf. His hands rested at his side, and his dark hair hung over his face as he bowed his head.

         “What does he want to speak with us about?” Prescott asked, breaking his silence. He opened his eyes and inspected the messenger.

         “I know nothing of the purpose. I was only sent to summon you both,” the wild elf replied, raising his head and brushing the long strands of his hair to either side.

         “That’s fine with me. We’ll speak to the big man and get the heck out of here,” Isac said, stepping toward the doorway.

         Prescott rose from the floor and followed the wild elf and his brother through the doorway and down the spiraled staircase built around the trunk of the tree. When they reached the end of the staircase and found the ground again, they were led across the great open expanse and around the ferocious fire. Isac turned his head away, unable to watch the elves go about disposing of their fallen comrades. The stench of burning flesh infiltrated his nostrils, twisting his stomach into knots and causing him to gag. The wild elf pressed on with quick strides, ushering them to the only other glowing beacon in the village. The Sacred Oak stood taller than all of the surrounding trees, and its steps gleamed with a soft, shifting silver glow. The many-colored leaves shone atop the high branches, each one pulsing with energy. Prescott once again marveled at its pure beauty. It was the first time he had seen this living and breathing part of nature up close, and he enjoyed every moment of it. They walked to the base of the tree, where two wild elves stood guard at the entrance with spears in hand, but they made no effort to stop them from climbing the stairs. With each step they took, a sparkling of silver energy rose and flew about like dust blown from the pages of a forgotten tome.

         “This tree is very old. I can feel that it has very strong energy deep within,” Prescott said to their elven guide.

         “It seems you know much of nature. The Goddess Khallo would be much impressed with your knowledge,” the wild elf commented, his voice raised in appreciation.

         “She has helped maintain everything of beauty that remains here in Feldos. I am merely a servant of her will, charged with the duty of keeping these lands the way she has crafted them,” Prescott answered, eyes darting below his feet and above his head. Each new hue and shifting sparkle of energy excited his senses.

         “Yeah, it’s all really pretty, but if it’s all right with you, I’d like to leave this place as soon as I possibly can,” Isac said, raising his voice.

         “Patience, brother,” Prescott said, turning and giving his brother a stern look.

         Isac grumbled and shook his head, unimpressed by all the colors and floating energy around him. He stopped for a moment and looked over the wooden banister. The tops of the other trees were nearly eye level, yet the path ahead ascended higher and higher. Isac grumbled about how sore his feet were becoming from all the walking, but both his brother and the wild elf ignored his complaining.

         When they reached the top, the wild elf turned to face them and nodded his head before stepping out of the way. Prescott strode toward the doorway and the two wild elf guards standing on either side. Isac took a final look over the edge. The tops of trees stretched on and on below like a vast, endless ocean of green. Feeling a bit uneasy so high above the ground, he turned away and followed his brother into a much more spacious room than any of the others they had been through. A rug made from the skin of a bear sat in the center of the room. The face of the bear was intact, the eyes and mouth both open in a menacing snarl. A chair crafted from a dark-colored wood rested just beyond the bear skin. Golden-colored vines encircled the arms and back, each seeming to pulse and move with life. A wild elf with broad shoulders and long limbs sat upon the throne, his skin as dark as tree bark and eyes as bright as stars. His hair resembled the great fire outside, each orange and red strand sticking wildly about his head. He rose from his chair in a regal manner, his form straight and towering over the Izula brothers. He wore no more than a loin cloth made from an animal hide and a cape made of animal fur draped over his broad shoulders.

         “You are the two prisoners that helped save my people from destruction,” Lord Granadal spoke. His voice was deep like a growling lion, and he eyed the Izula brothers with his two sparkling dots of light set deep within a pair of dark eyes.

         “Yes,” Prescott spoke, his head downcast, “We are sorry for the tremendous losses that you have all endured.”

         “Death is an essential part of the circle of life. Even those like ourselves, who shall live many years beyond the other races, meet our own ends eventually. It matters not if it is by the slow decay of time or the quick blow of the sword; death is the ultimate fate of all beings. However, we do thank you for your help in driving the threat away from this sacred place. The orcs are a hated breed of monster who deserve the death dealt to them,” Lord Granadal remarked, his words as cold as his stare.

         “If I may ask you, do you know why the dark elf brought the orcs here in the first place?” Prescott asked.

         “I have no information concerning that. I was told that you may have some information on this dark elf. How is it that you know of him?” Lord Granadal barked, his tone a command rather than a suggestion.

         “Lord Granadal!” a voice called from the doorway. One of the guards burst his way inside and bowed his head.

         “What is the meaning of this intrusion? Speak now!” Lord Granadal shouted, his nostrils flaring and eyes narrowing.

         “My great and humble Lord, we have apprehended two intruders. One a small halfling girl, the other a dwarf with quite a nasty temperament. What shall we do with them, sire?” the wild elf said in haste.

         “A dwarf and a halfling? That has to be Grom and Cloey!” Isac shouted, grabbing his brother’s arm.

         “You know these two?” Lord Granadal asked.

         “That we do, Lord Granadal,” Prescott chimed in.

         “I want them both brought here immediately,” Lord Granadal spoke to the guard, who bowed his head and retreated back out the door.

         Prescott and Isac both turned at the trampling of footsteps outside the door and what sounded like yelling. Two guards pushed through the doorway, leading a shackled Grom and Cloey before those assembled.

         “I’m sick of being tied up everywhere I go! Just let me go, you damn pointy-eared bastard!” Grom shouted and flailed like a dwarf gone mad. He halted his verbal assault when he realized who was standing before him. His face lit up with a big smile, and he ceased his struggling. “Isac! Prescott! You’re both alive!”

         “Grom! Where the hell did you go?” Isac asked, running over and giving the dwarf a big hug.

         “I’m not explaining anything until my hands are freed!” Grom growled, rattling the chains binding his hands together.

         “Could you please keep it down? You’ve been yelling since these guys found us,” Cloey pleaded, scrunching up her face.

         “Oh joy, it seems the pipsqueak made it back, too,” Isac said. He shook his head and rolled his eyes at her. “I figured a wolf would have mistaken you for a tasty meal. I guess we can’t be that lucky.”

         “Watch it, buddy! You wouldn’t want my boot accidently lodged in your rump, would ya?” Cloey yelled back, sticking out her tongue.

         “Release them,” Lord Granadal said to the guards.

         Prescott stood back and shook his head in embarrassment. The guards released Cloey first, and she celebrated her freedom by kicking Isac in the shins. Isac howled and hopped around on one foot, cursing under his breath. The elves moved over to Grom, who turned his back to them and shook his arms frantically. They released him and took a hurried step back. Grom rubbed his wrists, each red and bruised from being bound.

         “Leave us,” Lord Granadal ordered the guards. Without a word, they both slipped through the door and out of sight.

         “Leave it to elves to show a dwarf such a warm welcome. I’m sure they welcomed you with trumpets and open arms and cooked you both a wonderful meal with wine and cheese and all those other things you elves are known for,” Grom shouted and threw his hands into the air in disgust.

         “Grom, calm yourself. Now is not the time for such anger,” Prescott said in a hushed voice.

         “Easy for you to say! I’m the one who had some damn kobold trick me, and I’m the one who was tied up by the damn orcs!” Grom continued on his tirade, unaffected by Prescott’s words.

         “Silence!” Lord Granadal shouted, stepping back and sliding into his seat again, “If you refuse to calm down, I shall have you taken someplace where you can regain your composure.”

         Grom went to speak again, but he caught the stern look on Prescott’s face and remained quiet. All four adventurers stood and waited for whatever would come next. Lord Granadal looked them over one by one in silence. He then turned back to Prescott.

         “I asked you a question before we were interrupted. How do you know the dark elf that attacked this village?” Lord Granadal asked, leaning back and resting his elbows on the arms of the chair.

         “So the dark elf traveled through here, too,” Cloey said to herself out loud.

         “We met the drow once before at a worn down and abandoned temple. He was searching for something there, as he was here,” Prescott explained.

         “What was he looking for?” Lord Granadal asked.

         Prescott lowered his head in thought, but Cloey took a step past him toward the wild elf ruler.

         “They were looking for this,” Cloey said, reaching into her pouch and pulling out the stolen amulet. She held it up for all to see, the skull shaped gem sparkling in the constant pulsing glow of the room. “I snuck it off one of the orcs at their nearby camp. This piece of tacky jewelry seems to be what they’re looking for.”

         “Let me see that,” Lord Granadal demanded and reached out his hand to take hold of the obsidian trinket.

         Cloey turned back to Prescott, unsure of what action to take. He nodded at her, and she turned and placed the amulet in his hand. Granadal lifted it up in the light, turning it over in his palms and staring intently at the gem. Cloey took a step back, feeling a little ill at ease at handing over something she worked so hard to acquire. Granadal raised the amulet toward his neck to try it on, but he stopped and closed his hand around the skull. He held it back out toward Cloey, who stepped up and tentatively took it away from the wild elf.

         “I do not sense anything wrong with the amulet, but it has an unsettling look about it. I do not know what the dark elf would want with this,” Lord Granadal said, pausing and taking time to answer. His eyes never left the piece of jewelry, even as it was taken from him.

         “Who might have answers for us then?” Prescott spoke up, trying to draw Granadal’s gaze away from the trinket.

         “The town of Anon is ruled by a council of high elves. Unlike my elves of the wood, they spend their time pouring over books and living lives of luxury. This is the only advice that I can offer you,” Lord Granadal spoke, but still did not take his eyes away from the artifact in Cloey’s hands. Cloey noticed this and moved the amulet back to its place in the pouch hanging at her side.

         “So it’s settled. We’ll head for Anon immediately,” Grom said, cracking his knuckles and turning toward the door.

         “It is getting late, Grom,” Prescott said, not turning away from Granadal, “Shenk is still hurt. We should wait until morning to leave.”

         “What’s a Shenk?” Cloey asked, raising her brow.

         “A friend of ours, and he’s a hell of a lot nicer than you are,” Isac added, crossing his arms over his chest.

         “You may stay here for the night. When you leave, have the guards lead you to the guest quarters. I shall send for others to watch over the half orc,” Lord Granadal said.

         “Thank you,” Prescott said, bowing before Granadal. He turned and exited the room. Isac pushed a still confused Cloey toward the door. She turned and kicked his shin again, which was followed by a howl of pain from Isac. Giggling, she ran through the door, chased by a limping Isac. Grom did not look back at the elf; he followed his friends down the stairs, yearning for a good night’s sleep in a real bed. Lord Granadal sat on his throne as if he were made of stone. When the guards came in to see if he wanted to be led to his bed chamber, he would not answer them.

                   *          *          *

         Morning came too soon for Grom, who managed to go through most of the night without drifting off to sleep despite actually spending the night on a real mattress. Light crept into the room and inched toward his face, reminding him of the journey ahead. He pulled himself to his feet and looked at the bed next to him. Isac sprawled out across the bed, arms and legs folded in ways that didn't look very comfortable. If Grom’s thoughts weren’t enough to keep him up through the night, Isac’s snoring did nothing to aid his attempts. He stared down the narrow hall lined with a succession of small beds. Cloey lay curled up in a ball on the next bed, her arms clutching the bag containing the amulet. She looked like a mother cat, curled up to protect her baby kittens. He looked one bed further and found it empty.

         Grom slipped past the two, trying to remain as quiet as he could as not to disturb their slumber. He stepped outside the door and found Prescott sitting and staring off in the direction of the Sacred Oak. He heard Grom’s footsteps, but he did not bother to turn around.

         “It really is a thing of beauty,” Prescott whispered.

         “It’s just a tree,” Grom said.

         “But it’s so much more than that. That tree has existed for many ages. I have seen few trees that have grown to be so tall and full of life. The way it glows and shimmers even in the morning light proves that it has a voice of it’s own,” Prescott said.

         “Can I ask you something, Prescott?” Grom asked, slipping down and taking a seat near him.

         “Of course, Grom,” Prescott said.

         “Is nature the only thing you think about? Is it your only driving passion?” Grom asked.

         Prescott turned his head from the village to look Grom in the eyes. “I’ve spent my entire life observing and studying the world in which we live. There are some who are content with living a normal life in a city filled with people, but I am not one of them. I have never understood how someone could ignore the essential things such as the many blades of grass, the tall, life-giving trees, and the variety of wild, free-living animals. The earth is my one true love, and that is why I must do all that I can to protect all that encompasses it.”

         Grom nodded a few times and turned his head away. He looked out at all the trees and the way the green shone in the light given off by the rising sun. The view was amazing, something that he had never taken a moment to sit back and enjoy. Growing up in the mountains, his usual surroundings consisted of rocky peaks, dark mining tunnels, and white, snowy winters. The vivid colors and the fresh smell of dew made him feel calm, which was a feeling he hadn’t felt since before King Gregory’s death.

         “You understand what I mean. You have someone you wish to protect as well,” Prescott said, a smile crossing his face. Grom turned, startled by his words. Whenever he saw Prescott, he saw a stern and serious face, but Prescott now looked at him in a way very unfamiliar to him.

         Despite the warmth he felt from Prescott’s smile, Grom sighed and turned away once again. He had spent the entire night thinking about her. He still did not know why he thought of her so much. He knew so little about her, but he could remember every inch and detail of her face. Images of her danced in his mind at all times, and her screams of pain echoed in his nightmares. He felt Prescott’s hand rest on his shoulder.

         “You will see her again, Grom. We will help you avenge the death of her father, but you have to trust in us for help. Like it or not, we are all a part of this mission. I believe that it was fate that brought us all together that day we met with King Gregory, and I believe that same fate will bring us success in the end,” Prescott said and removed his hand from Grom’s shoulder.

         Grom smiled, which was his first real smile in a long while. He turned his head back to watch the sun slowly pull itself over the treetops. He felt the warm light cover his face, and he knew that everything Prescott said was true. Together they would see this through to the very end, and when all was said and done he could return to Oneria to look upon Anne’s beautiful face.

ID: 929444   (Rated: 13+) Chapter 11: Anon  The heroes travel to Anon in hopes of finding answers about the amulet. by The Lemon