Chapter 3: The Path of Destiny (pt. 1)

At the conclusion of Ch. 2, Jarthen had just become acquainted with the fearsome grumpiness of gnomes. Bertronius, on the other hand, had volunteered for the spy corps thinking that the mobility and freedom such a post would provide would further aid him in his search for a one Larthon Ractor.
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The spy, whose name was Clemhand, led Bertronius, Nelhoepher, Lem and their fellow volunteers into the Imperial Army’s camp. It was larger than Bertronius could ever have expected: battalions upon battalions were packed tightly and haphazardly in a sprawling labyrinth of tents. Bertronius observed larger tents that served as hospitals, mess areas, and armories. As far as the eye could see, there were soldiers milling around aimlessly, tending to campfires, eating their unappetizing rations, or other sundry occupations. Although it was hard to see over the horizon of tents, it quickly became apparent that Clemhand was leading them to the side of camp facing the dark Erkenheld Forest.

“Alright lads, now, ye should be warned that we don’t let just anyone become a member of her majesty’s spy corps: ye have to pass a little test first,” Clemhand told his cohort of followers as they neared the edge of the camp.

Clemhand led them past the tents and into the several acres of open land that separated the army’s camp from the forest, and further still to the very edge of the forest. The Erkenheld was dark, forbidding, and apparently impenetrable, save for a few small paths that must have been created by woodland creatures. Bertronius could not tell how far into the forest these paths led, and hoped he wouldn’t have to find out.

Clemhand paused here, and spoke again in a slightly more somber tone than when he had first called for the volunteers, “Well, here we are. Now, this,” he said making a sweeping gesture towards the forest, “is your entrance exam. You lot have got to go into the forest, alone, and find some sign of the rebel army. I won’t lie to you and say that this will be a nice little walk in the park; on the contrary, I should be surprised if all of you make it out alive, and if those of you that do make it come back with your wits intact. That said, who among you is going to be the coward? If you want to go back to the infantry and a fate just as gruesome, step forward now,” he said in a way that made it clear that anyone who didn’t go was not worthy of the barest regard.

one of many strange beings of the Erkenheld

After a moment’s consideration, one young recruit--Bertronius recognized him as a seventeen year old from West Fethil--stepped forward, his knees trembling. Two more men, both older and a bit more experienced followed him. Bertronius, Nelhoepher and Lem, along with the four other recruits remained in line, though all of them showed definite signs of anxiety over the coming task.

Clemhand dismissed the three who had elected not to proceed with a wave of his hand, “get yourselves to the mess tent: they always need a few lasses to help cook for the men.” They walked off sheepishly, casting fearful glances toward the dark forest as they left.

“Very good, then,” the spy said, returning again to his more chipper tone, “I’m glad to see that we have some stouter souls still with us. Now, I want each of you to spread out two hundred paces apart from one another. Try to find one of those wee paths, if you can. On my signal,” he waved a purple handkerchief, “you’ll head into the woods.”

“You’ve still got a couple of hours of daylight left, and I’d suggest doing your best to make it out with some idea of where the rebels are camped before the sun goes down: the Erkenheld is an even stranger place at night than it is by day,” he said with a slight shudder. “Given that the rebels tend to strike us in the dead of night, we figure that they aren’t terribly far from the forest’s edge, but none of our spies have been able to determine their precise location. This is where you come in. Head into the forest, and look for any sign of the beasties: be aware though, the Erkenheld is full of queer magick that can trick the minds of men easier than the best grifter on the streets of Neerhemhind. Now, spread out!” he ordered. At this, he lifted the purple handkerchief high into the army waved it vigorously. Bertonius took a deep breath, and stepped forward into the Erkenheld.

*****

“We never trained like this in the Imperial Army,” Jarthen said to Rethnaki and a handful of other elves as they walked back towards the elvish area of the camp after a particularly brutal training session. “I’m exhausted.”

“Tha’ doesn' surprise me; humans aren’ known fer their endurance,” a young elf named Helliktan jested. Helliktan was one of the elves who still resisted accepting Jarthen as a full member of the Rebel Army, and was prone to make such cutting remarks whenever Jarthen spoke.

“Oi. Now we know tha’ our Jarthen ain’ yer average hu-man, an' by ta looks o' it, ye didn' fair so well yerself there, Helliktan,” Rethnaki said in Jarthen’s defense.

Rethnaki was right, neither Jarthen nor his elvish companions appeared in top form after their recent drilling. They were uniformly soaked in sweat, bruised and sullied from tumbling, and generally worn out in appearance. Nevertheless, Jarthen felt better than he had at any point since joining the Rebel Forces: most of the elves had come to accept him as a warrior in his own right, and he had not spent nearly so much time performing menial tasks since he had gotten his bow. In addition, Rethnaki’s kindness to him had apparently opened the door to other elves being more willing to befriend the boy.

“Jelli’s certainly had a bee in his bonnet lately,” Elcrona, one of a handful of female elf-soldiers, said. “I can' recall ta last time we had ta drill like this. Do ye t'ink we’ll be seein’ some fightin’ soon?”

“Perhaps,” Rethnaki mused, “but I t'ink it’s more likely tha’ Jelli’s jus’ doin' it ta see us squirm.” With this remark the other elves and Jarthen had a hearty laugh, and sat in a circle on the soft earth near their tents. Helliktan went off to his tent to fetch a pipe and some smoking herb for the group to share, as was the custom of the elves after their drilling was done for the day and dinner had yet to be served. Meanwhile, Elcrona fished a candle and some twigs out of her bag. She lit the candle with a flick of her hand and set about to heating the twig to the necessary bright red.

Helliktan returned and packed the pipe with the green plant matter for which Jarthen was developing a keen appreciation. His pipe was similar to Rethnaki’s, but larger and made of a paler wood. Though it lacked the intricate design of Rethnaki’s pipe, Helliktan’s pipe was beautiful in its simplicity. Helliktan ignited the weed, inhaled deeply and passed it to his compatriots. No one spoke until the pipe had circulated several times, and the effects of the pipe herb were beginning to be felt by all involved, and mostly strongly by Jarthen.

Jarthen and the elves partaking of the herb around a campfire

Jarthen, his defenses now down due to the warm, numbing feelings of the pipe herb, broke the silence. “So…what’s the deal with Jellihondor? Is he like, in charge of just the elves, or the whole Rebel Army?”

He had been meaning to ask his compatriots about their commander for some time now, but he had not had sufficient courage until now. Though he had a vague understanding of the Rebel Army’s hierarchy, the nuances of its structure was not yet entirely clear to him.

“Ah, Jelli,” Rethnaki replied in a bemused, thoughtful way, “he’s a fine’un he is. He’s a bit o' an ‘ardass, ta be sure…but he makes up fer it wit his bloomin’ good figure!”

Helliktan was the first to speak after the gales of laughter elicited by Rethnaki’s jest. “Well, he ain’ jus’ a pretty face, he’s done some ha’ decent soldierin’, as well. I’ve ‘eard, though I was jus’ a wee elflin’ at the time, tha’ he was ta firs’ elf to take up arms against the queen, may she die a wretched death! Back then, Jelli was ta deadest eye archer in ta whole rebel army, and by his own count he’s knocked off nigh on fie’ t’ousand of the the Empire’s finest codswallopers…no offense intended ta present company,” he concluded sarcastically.

“Yeah, yeah, tha’s all well an' good, but wha’s really impressive is his ale drinkin’ ability,” Rethnaki jovially retorted. “Now I’m generally considered ta be a stout-hearted lush…” The remark elicited jeers from the fellow elves, and Rethnaki continued.“Hold yer tongues, hold yer tongues! I ain’ finished. Anyways, I’ve bested me fair share of gnomes in competitions o’ cup, but I’ve ne’er neared ol’ Jelli’s capacity ta knock back wineskins. Legend has it, as a younger elf, he drank a nine foot giant under the table!”

Rethnaki’s audience sat in impressed reverence. Though elves tend to be mischievous and skeptical as a rule, they are universally impressed by tales of triumph in the face of intoxication.

After a brief pause, Rethnaki continued in a more serious tone, “And then there was ta time when he saved me very life.” Rethnaki stopped to let this sink in, and his inherent talents as a storyteller lead him to change the pace and cadence of the tale. With the others’ wide eyes now fixed on him, he continued in a hushed voice. “Now I ain’ superstitious on most counts, but apparently ol’ Jelli is famous fer his odd talents. Some say he be a seer, y’know, and I can tell ya I believe he does ha'e a way a’ seein’ t’ings. 'Twas about five years ago, an’ we were fixin’ to head out on a raid agains’ ta witch’s army ta next night. An' as we is sittin’ roun’ a campfire, he fixes me with this uncanny look, a look tha' damn near froze me blood in me veins, an’ says ta me, ‘’Naki…yer gonna die brotha.’”

At this, Jarthen and the other elves gasped. Rethnaki himself gave a small shudder and returned to the tale. “At ta time, I jus’ though’ he had too much o’ ta pipeweed, which as you lot know can make a bloke a might fearful, but when we went out on tha’ raid the next night I was very nearly struck in ta head wit' an arrow! Aye, ‘tis true! I only came home wit' me head intact 'cause he pushed me out o’ its path at ta last moment.” The circle of comrades remained in silent contemplation over Rethnaki’s odd tale for a few moment, save for a few coughs by Jarthen after taking too ambitious a hit from the pipeweed. To relieve the tension, Rethnaki let a slow, wider smile spread across his face and joked, “Ta this day, Jelli accuses me o’ bein’ blinder than a bat.” At that, Jarthen and the elves chuckled, and proceeded to drag their sore, aching bodies across camp to the mess tents, where dinner was to be served.