Previously on the Tale of Jarthen, Jellihondor dueled with and managed to defeat Svava, the Queen of the blue elves. His narrow victory in this dramatic contest secured Jarthen and his compatriots safe passage through the Vinkenti lands, up to the magical gate.
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The blue elves reacted impassively to the announcement of Jellihondor’s victory. After hearing the verdict, Norsa’s population silently filed out of the arena as if nothing had happened, while a few guards retrieved the rebels’ confiscated weapons and gear from an unknown storeroom. Jarthen and his comrades greeted their long-absent arms like old friends recently returned from an extended journey. By the time they had repacked, the residents of Norsa had by and large retired to the privacy of their treetop homes, to snatch a few hours rest in the early hours of the morning.
Sveren – the blue elf picked to guide the rebels to the Vinkenti gate – solemnly led the now tired assembly of rebels through the city and onto one of the forest’s magical paths heading north, towards the gate and the Klevarcht Mountains. Though the favorable outcome of the duel had imbued the entirety of the rebel party with an unnaturally high level of energy and enthusiasm, by midday they had began to feel the effects of the previous sleepless night. Thoroughly exhausted himself, Jellihondor – who had been so understandably overcome with fatigue that at times he periodically rode astride Glothnafar’s powerful back during the morning’s march – ordered the party to halt and make a camp in the early afternoon.
After helping to assemble the tents, and prepare a camp fire, Jarthen joined his comrades Zartheim, Elcrona, Helkint, Tlin and Sellior for a much-needed round of pipeherb. Rethnaki, typically a fixture of any smoking circle in his vicinity, had excused himself to talk to Jellihondor privately. Jarthen listened as the remaining elves (along with their ogrish companion) set themselves to discussing Jellihondor’s victory in the duel – something they had clearly been yearning to do since having left Norsa.
A rebel campfire in the forest...Once the pipe had made three full trips around the circle Tlin burst forward with an unexpected intensity, “I canna believe tha’ Jelli’d do tha’ t’us! T’was completely irresponsible, ‘twas!” He shook his head with disbelief as he thought back on Jellihondor’s cavalier plan, asserting, “Our very lives were in his hands! How could he knowin’ly put us inta the way o’ our enemies wit no better plan than ta duel wit their most powerful fighter?!”
Helkint who was busy fiddling with the pipe gazed up hazily at his best friend, and disagreed, “aww come off it Tlin! Ol’ Jelli knew what he was doin’ tha whole time! I never ha’ a doubt in me mind,” he concluded proudly, conveniently forgetting the fact that he had been among the elves who had, in fact, accused Jellihondor of lunacy after his having challenged Svava.
Elcrona, who had found Helkint to be a rather tiresome individual even before his culturally inappropriate slap on the buttocks, looked at the young elf with disdain. Prodded by a far more accurate recollection of the events, Elcrona responded, “Ta way I remember it, you were too busy cryin’ aboot how ta blue elves were goin’ ta kill us all ta say anythin’ in support o’ Jelli’s challenge!” Having issued this reprimand, Elcrona adopted a more reflective manner, “In any case, ‘twas an amazin’ feat by both o’ em. I’ve seen a few duels in me time, but nothin’ like tha! I wonder how long ye’ve got ta train ta get tha’ good?” she asked wistfully.
“It don’a matter how good they fought! Don’ ye see? Ta point is tha’ it was far closer than it should ha’ been,” Tlin responded, maintaining his critical posture. “He couldn’ha known tha ta blue elves wouldn’ ha jus’ kilt us on sight! Now I got tremendous respect fer ol’Jelli, but I am beginin’ ta suspect tha’ he may be jus leadin’ us blind, and…I don’ like it.” The circle of elves nodded solemnly in response to this well-reasoned point.
“Personally, I’m just glad that we’re out of Norsa and that blasted cage,” Zartheim replied in a relieved voice. “I’d wager we’d all have gone mad cooped up in there for much longer,” which elicited murmured agreements from his counterparts.
“Zartheim, friend, ye be on tha righ’ track. As far as I be concerned, though, the rest o’ ye lot are o’erthinkin’ this whole thing!” Sellior – a young red elf that was close friends with Elcrona – responded in mild annoyance. “Wha’s the point o’ debatin’ this subject? We’re out now, and, if ye ask me, it don’ matter one whit how we got through. I say we jus’ ha’ another bowl o’ pipeherb and get some rest!” The assembled rebels enjoyed a hearty laugh in response to this – even the analytical Tlin chuckled at the blunt wisdom of Sellior – and reignited the pipe, turning the conversation to more congenial topics.
Nelhoepher, in keeping with his habitual obliviousness to his surroundings, hadn’t been particularly worried about Bertronius at all, and was surprised by his friend’s question. He was also a bit irritated that Lem was demanding answers and opinions from him before he’d even had a spot of mush. “Oh, Lem, I don’t know! Yer such a worrier!” he snapped. Lem muttered a rather dejected-sounding apology under his breath, which immediately made Nelhoepher feel guilty for snapping at him. “I’m sorry, Lem” he said, clapping the shorter youth affectionately on the shoulder. “Y’know I get grumpy in the mornin’ prior to breakfast. Now, what were ye sayin’ ‘bout Bert?”
Lem paused a moment, and then started in a voice full of grandmotherly concern. “Well, it’s just that…well, hasn’t Bert seemed…I dunno… a touch preoccupied ‘bout summat of late? I don’t think he’s sleeping much, and he’s hardly come to breakfast since he had that nightmare a couple o’ weeks ago…”
The truth was that despite Nelhoepher’s persistent optimism, Bertronius had not been doing well. Lem’s hunch about his friend’s well-being was right: he had been consumed to the point of distraction with his self-appointed duty to avenge Jarthen since the nightmare. Since finding out that Larthon Ractor had recently been stationed in Susselfen, Bertronius’ obsession had only grown, and he now spent much of his time trying to think of ways to sneak off or be assigned to the foggy city. Bertronius felt the oppressive weight of his guilt increase exponentially with each passing moment, and wanted nothing more than to unceremoniously dispatch the villainous Ractor. Sometimes the boy wondered if he was now driven as much by the promise of relief that Ractor’s death would bring him as he was by his original motivations, and whether the motivations behind the act truly mattered if the end was the same.
Nelhoepher, however, was right to tell Lem not to worry so in this instance: the three young spies were set to attend their very first official strategy meeting that afternoon, something which Bertronius seemed especially excited about. Unlike his two friends who were not particularly interested in the ins and outs of war, Bertronius had always found military strategy a fascinating subject. Indeed, he excelled at the game Carrot Takes Radish 1 during his education in Opleneer, suggesting a certain flair for the subject.
Just after noon, all the active spies ventured across the great army camp to the commander’s tent where they would discuss the most recent developments in the Border Wars and what tactics to undertake in the next period with all the most impressive military leaders from each division of the Queen’s army. The commander’s tent was wide and spacious – roughly three times the size of the typical infantrymen’s lodgings which surrounded it. The tent held numerous tables, some of which were covered in maps and scale models of battlefields, and many chairs and benches. The dozen or so spies, all clad in their distinctive purple uniforms, slipped inside and took seats together on the benches lining the back wall of the tent. Once they were all settled, Caspio McNab stood, nodded warmly to his fellows, and took is place at the long, narrow table in the center of the tent. Bertronius watched as soldiers from all over the camp filed in, some sitting together in the back, some joining McNab at the central table, where they shuffled through important-looking documents.
“Oi! Look at that, boys! It’s Lord Topelthorpe, the general!” whispered Nelhoepher to Lem and Bertronius excitedly. He was pointing at an elegant older gentleman clad in finer regalia than Bertronius had ever seen! He strode confidently to an ornate, expensive looking chair at the head of the central table and dexterously detached his bear hide cloak, which he handed to a strapping young porter before sitting down.
The inimitable Lord TopelthorpeLord Topelthorpe cleared his throat once or twice to let the noise die down, and then began the meeting. “Hello again, commanders. No need for long introductions, by now we all know each other, so let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Who is giving a report on recent action at the front? Hm?” There was an uncomfortable pause while the commanders sitting around the table glanced nervously at one another and avoided making eye contact with the flamboyant general.
Eventually, the infantry’s commander spoke up in a nervous voice. “Well, sir…honestly, there is not much ta be reportin’ on. We haven’t seen hide nor hair o’ the Rebels since the last battle, nigh on six months ago…” he trailed off. Bertronius wondered whether this battle was the very one in which Jarthen had been captured – it fit the time frame.
“It is still all quiet on the Fethilian front?!” screeched Lord Topelthorpe in disbelief. The old general seemed to grow perceptibly more tired and exasperated, placing his face in his hands as he sighed before continuing. “I know that those beasties have magickal power, but they can’t have just disappeared! Do any of you have any idea where the damn Rebels went?”
After another uncomfortable silence, the cavalry commander spoke up. “Lord Topelthorpe, a rider from one of the cavalry units stationed further south road in early this morning. He claims that the troops down there have been spotting signs the Rebels are moving south through the Erkenheld. The cowards are still staying out of sight and out of reach, but there have been sightings of them, and locals in Perejin have stumbled on freshly abandoned campsites - ”
“WHY WASN’T I BROUGHT THIS INFORMATION IMMEDIATELY?!” yelled Lord Topelthorpe, cutting the commander off mid-sentence. He was clearly livid: his face had turned bright red, he was pounding his fists on the table to punctuate every other word, and his usually meticulously waxed moustache had become loose and messy.
Tension permeated the room, and it was clear that none of the commanders knew what to do next. After a moment or two, McNab spoke in a controlled, quietly confident voice – the kind of voice one uses to talk to a rabid dog. “Lord Topelthorpe, sir, I cannot speak for me fellow commander ‘bout why ye were not informed o’ this latest development, but perhaps I can suggest a way to use it. Since the discovery o’ the magickal paths,” at this, Bertronius felt himself blush deeply as Lem and Nelhoepher proudly patted him on the back, “we spies have hit a bit o’ a dry spell. Seems to me that we should send a contingent o’ spies down to see what we can find out ‘bout the Rebels movements.”
Lord Topelthorpe looked at McNab for a second through the fingers covering his face and then sat up straight, taking in a deep, calming breath as he slicked back his steely gray hair. He regarded McNab warmly, as if he had not just been berating everyone sitting around him and said, “Now that sounds like a plan! The rest of you should follow the senior spymaster’s example, and learn to think critically! Do you have any spies in particular in mind for this mission, officer….?”
“McNab, your lordship, me name’s McNab.”
“Of course! McNab! Yes, right, please continue,” Lord Topelthorpe replied a little sheepishly.
“I have three spies in mind, sir. They are quite young, but enthusiastic. Perfect for the job.”
Lord Topelthorpe commended McNab once again, and then made it official: the three newest spies were to be stationed in Perejin (with McNab as their supervising officer, of course) until further notice. Bertronius felt his heart drop into his stomach – it had been hard enough to deal with the lingering duty he had to avenge Jarthen here at the front, how was he suppose to keep from dwelling on Ractor’s whereabouts if he was being sent even farther from his last known location? At that moment, Lem leaned over to Bertronius and whispered excitedly, “Ye hear that Bert? We’re ta be transferred! To Perejin! I ain’t ne’er been there, not once, how excitin’! And y’know, Bert…I do think that a change o’ scenery may do ye good!”
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Rethnaki had been anxiously waiting for a chance to speak with Jellihondor since his commander had issued the duel’s initial challenge to Svava. Though the aged elf was clearly fatigued from the duel and long march, Rethnaki suppressed the sympathy he felt for Jellihondor and demanded a private audience as soon as the elder commander stopped the small battalion in the afternoon. Seeing the urgency in Rethnaki’s expression, Jellihondor knew that he needed to speak with his protégé immediately, and reluctantly acquiesced to his request.Rethnaki, walking several feet in front of his commander, silently led them into the forest until they were out of earshot of the remaining rebels. After glancing around to verify that the location was sufficiently private, Rethnaki’s forced façade of calmness was replaced by a deep anger as he turned to speak to his commander. Jellihondor noted that he’d never seen Rethnaki this upset: the younger elf’s face was flushed a bright red, he was visibly shaking with barely bridled aggression, and the way his jaw was firmly set gave his words an odd, clipped sound as he spoke. “Why, Jelli? Why didn’ ye tell me wha’ ye were thinkin’?!” Rethnaki was so overwhelmed by emotion that he was barely able to control the volume and tenor of his voice.
Jellihondor sighed quietly, shook his head, and gave a somewhat apologetic and slightly abashed look to Rethnaki. The junior elf, however, become even more incensed when it was clear that no explnation was forthcoming, and laid into Jellihondor once again. “Ye put all o’ our lives at risk with tha’ stunt, not jus’ yer own! Ye said nothin’ o’ goin’ through Norsa, nothin’ o havin’ a duel wit Svava - the legendary duelist herself, no less! - nothin’ o ta Vinkenti gate, nothin’ at all!” At this point, Rethnaki was so upset that he let out a frustrated, inarticulate yell. He paced back and forth in quick, tight strides, shaking his head, as if he could not quite figure out what to say next. “Did ye not trust me, Jelli? Or did ye jus’ run off inta this whole mess wit’out a thought o’ the consequences?”
Even though he felt completely overpowered by exhaustion, Jellihondor could see the mental toll all this had taken on Rethnaki: he could see that the young elf was scared and confused along with angry. Jellihondor, attempted to soothe and disarm the hot-tempered young elf, responded warmly, “O’course I thought o’ the consequences - ”
“Well tha’s all the worse, then!” interrupted Rethnaki sharply. “Not only did ye gamble ta lives o’ twenty young folks on a duel wit ta most powerful elvish queen in ta land, but ye were plannin’ ta all along!” Rethnaki had once again worked himself up and was pacing back and forth now, and as he angrily launched even more questions at Jellihondor. “Ye’re tellin’ me tha there was no other way? Ye couldn’ ha thought o’ summat better? Ye didn’ even tell us o’ ta risks! None o’ us signed up fer this madness!”
Jellihondor paused and gazed at his young protégé with a pained, compassionate expression. Rethnaki’s resentment of his commander was undercut by the glimmers of sadness and regret which momentarily rippled across Jellihondor’s lined visage. Rethnaki, calmed somewhat, took a step toward his and spoke in a softer, more restrained voice. “What is tha’ we’re doin, Jelli? Ye’ve got ta tell me – ye owe it ta me!” Rethnaki pleaded.
Despite these entreaties, Jellihondor shook his head and looked at the ground, unable to meet Rethnaki’s gaze. In a quiet voice, he said, “Oh, Naki…ye know I trust ye more’n any o’these other lot, save Glothnafar…”
Rethnaki, his anger rising, cut off the aged-elf mid-sentence. “Nevermind! Ye wouldn’ a give me more’n half-truths anyway! I’m goin’ ta make sure tha ta rest o yer troops are alrigh…which is more than they can expect o’ their commander, righ’ now,” he spat venomously. With these words, Rethnaki strode off in a huff, scrupulously avoiding Jellihondor’s eyes as he left.
Jellihondor gazed after Rethnaki sympathetically, though he made neither sound nor gesture to impede the angry elf’s departure. He deeply wished that he could explain everything to Rethnaki – he knew the younger elf’s mind would be eased and comforted if he understood all that was happening. But, Jellihondor also knew that, for many complex and strange reasons, Rethnaki could not be told yet. He knew that all he could do now was rely on the course of events to come to allow him to regain Rethnaki’s confidence, but it saddened him that Rethnaki was to feel so anguished and tortured in the interim.
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1 Carrot Takes Radish is a popular game of military strategy among members of Elothninian high society.
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