Previously in the Tale of Jarthen, the intrepid lad Bertronius wooed barmaids at a pub in Perejin while celebrating his birthday. Bert's comrades in adventure, Nel and Lem, busied themselves by taking the first steps on what will undoubtedly be a most informative enterprise in espionage. Jarthen, on the other hand, witnessed a negotiation with a grumpy giant on the other side of the magical gate, ending with that character being placated with some pipeherb.
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The sound of the door closing woke Bertronius up. The room the four spies slept in was pitch black, and Bertronius could hardly make out any shapes at all in the murky darkness until he saw a small flame flare up and light a pipe in the next room. Bertronius felt very alert now, in that way one only does when one wakes suddenly well into the night. “Besides,” the boy thought, “there’s really no way to fall back asleep with Lem snoring like that.”
Bertonius stood, pulled his pants and shirt to keep off the chilly night air, and walked into the other room of their rented living quarters. Just as he suspected, he found McNab pouring himself a drink and smoking his pipe with a weary, preoccupied expression on his face. Bertronius leaned against the doorway for a moment, wondering how long it would take the older spy to notice his presence. After some time, Bertronius spoke up. “Do you want something to eat? We still have some mushcake left.”
McNab glanced up and smiled. If he was at all annoyed at Bertronius’ intrusion, it was well hidden. “Aye? I thought I saw ye three demolish it back at the bar!”
Bertroinus grinned. “We did…but I convinced the barmaids to bring us another one after you left for your meeting.” Bertronius’ curiosity then got the better of him. “Are you just getting back from that meeting now?”
McNab nodded as he relit his pipe. “Hm. What an odd time for a meeting,” said Bert as he brought over the muchcake remnants.
“My contact is a wee bit…peculiar. I’ve used him before, and he’s a good source o’ information, but he’s a gnome and their ways are odd to say the least,” said McNab with an exhausted sigh while he unlaced his boots.
“Oh.” Bertronius could see that his mentor was tired, and most likely would prefer not to answer the questions of a very green 14-year-old spy. Despite his better judgment, Bertronius could not help but pester McNab a little longer. “Did you get anything useful from him?”
A weary McNab bathed in the moonlight of PerejinIn between bites of mushcake, McNab replied, “No. I think he knows something, but he wants to trade for it, and I don’t have anything he’d want yet.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Try another contact. I’ll have to leave afore dawn breaks, though, as this one’s a ways into the forest.” There was a pause while McNab pondered his next course of action, the dim light from the pipe casting long shadows across the lines worn into his face from long hours of thought. Then, as if he suddenly remembered he wasn’t alone, McNab glanced at Bertronius with his characteristic sly grin and continued. “I’ll be back before nightfall, most likely, and ye can ask me all the questions ye want. Go back to sleep...come mornin’, you’ll have a whopper of a hangover from all yer shenanigans last night and you’ll be grateful for every scrap o’ rest ye can get!”
At present, several pipes were being circulated among the group, spreading with them warm feelings of conviviality. His inhibitions – which were fairly slack by nature – lowered by the effects of the pipeherb, Sellior hazarded a question to Jellihondor that had been on the mind of every member of the party since the beginning of their journey, “Oi, Jelli,” he said addressing his commander in a loud voice as the elf was on the far side of the hut conversing with Glothnafar. Sellior pulled absentmindedly on his own pipe and continued, asking, “why are we on this jaunt then?”
The hut, which had been enlivened with the wandering discussions of multiple smoking circles, fell suddenly silent with this inquiry. All eyes turned to the aged elf commander. Though he was by this time well acquainted with Sellior’s penchant for frankness, Jarthen was nevertheless taken aback by the question and fully expected Jellihondor to evade the question or dismiss it altogether.
The old elf, however, did not appear to be surprised at all. He simply took another drag on his elaborately carved long-stemmed pipe and glanced about the room with the air of a teacher who is pleasantly bemused that his pupils have been so long in getting to the crux of the matter. “Well lads…ta be honest I’m surprised ‘tis taken ye this long ta ask t’at o’ me. Not tha’ tha’s a bad t’ing!” he said reassuringly. “Ta be sure, I’m most flattered tha’ ye have such faith in me as ta not ha’ questioned me path, tho’ tit mus’ ha’ seemed quite strange indeed.”
“I suppose,” he continued, tapping out the now ashen remains of his pipe herb into the firepit in the center of the hut, “’tis as good a time as any ta tell ye o’ our object in this venture.” The old elf paused dramatically, cleaning and refilling his pipe bowl with infuriating slowness as the rest of the party leaned in closer with anticipation of his next words. “We’re a-makin our way to ta city o’ Susselfen! I ha’ a contact there tha’ has vital information abou’ ta plans o’ ta Imperial Army, an’ I need ta rendevous wit’ him ta get it.”
Jarthen was naturally shocked to learn that all along they had been headed to a major city in his native land of Elothnin: Susselfen was even in the Fethil, where he had grown up! Evidently, he was not alone in this feeling since Tlin, who had been skeptical of Jellihondor’s planning since his suprising duel with Svava, quickly raised another query. “Wit’ all due respect, Jelli, if tha’s ta case, why didn’ we jes’ dress as a band o’ wanderin’ minstrels and cut across ta Fethil? ‘Tis been done afore, as I’ve heard.”
“I can speak to that,” Glothnafar said, joining the conversation for the first time. His voice, unlike the elves around him, remained crisp and lucid since he was the only one in the hut who had abstained from the pipe weed. “There is a second purpose to our mission. There is to be a meeting between important members of the Elvo-Felintark Empire and the Giants in the City of Mages in a few days. We are going to seek audience before these individuals in the hope of convincing them to provide support to our side in the war against the humans,” the centaur looked pointedly at Jarthen as he said these words, making the lad feel quite discomfited.
“Tha’s quite righ’ o’course,” Jelli rejoined, patting Glothnafar amiably on the haunch, “we needed ta take ta mos’ direct route to ta City o’ Mages, so as ta be sure tha’ we could give ‘em our case.”
“So tha’s why ye had ta duel wit’ Svava then!” interjected Helkint, clearly quite certain that he had been the first to reach this rather obvious conclusion.
“Aye, tha’s righ’, lad,” Jellihondor replied to Helkint gently, though it was clear that he was somewhat exasperated with the daft young elf. “I didn’ wan’ ta worry ta lot o’ ye abou’ havin’ ta pass near Norsa, knownin’ as I did tha’ we were as likely as not ta be captured by ta blue elves an’ all. ‘Twas deceptive, I ken, but I thought tit best ta not trouble ta lot o’ ye abou’ it unnecessarily.”
Sensing that this explanation was not wholly satisfying to some of the rebels, Glothnafar spoke again in support of the elf commander. “Indeed, that was a possibility that Jellihondor and I discussed at great length before we even departed. It was one of the determining factors in my coming on this journey. For, though I will be a hindrance in the land of men,” an expression of distaste crossed his face as he uttered these words, “we knew that I could be of use as a judge in a duel between Svava and Jellihondor because of my reputation among them.”
“Well, ‘tis good ta know tha’ ye at least put a wee bit o’ thought into ta matter!” Rethnaki remarked exasperatedly, “but honestly, ye could ha’ given us a bit o’ an idea tha’ ye knew what ye we’re doin’. Puttin’ a body through summat like tha’ is jes’ downright cruel, I say!” Though there was no doubt about the veracity of Rethnaki’s statements, he softened them by adding a hint of melodrama and satire to his tone.
“Do not vorry Rethnaki, I vould hev not let any harm come ta ya,” replied Sveren in a somewhat unexpectedly joking manner which elicited a good-natured laugh from the party.
After the laughter had subsided, Jarthen mustered the courage to ask one of the questions now burning on his mind. “What’s the City of Mages?” he felt a bit sheepish because it was apparent that remainder of the party was well aware of this unheard of destination.
“’Tis a great city built by ta mages as their capital,” Elcrona replied informatively – she had been sure to answer quickly to ensure that members of the party less sympathetic to the lad’s ignorance would not have the chance to mock him. “They abandoned it tho’ because they had a great row abou’ somethin’ or other a long time ago. Mages ain’ ne’er been good at livin’ wit’ one another fer too long, an’ none o’ ‘em will go near ta place now. Seein’ as how ta city was still in good workin’ order, great messes o’ other folk – mos’ly Felintarks, Tinker-Elves, an’ Giants – live an’ trade there.”1
Jarthen was duly impressed with the completeness of Elcrona’s answer. He concluded that she must have attended a school run by a more worldly person than his schoolmistress, Madame Slomp.2 Though this answer sparked further questions, he decided it would be best to ask these at another time, so as not to display further his ignorance before the entire group.
“Well, I think tha’s enough talk fer tonight - I’m knackered!” Jellihondor said stretching his arms above his head, “I’m goin’ ta take a quick stroll afore beddin’ down fer ta night. As ye all know, I need me nightly constitutional.” This being said, the old elf walked casually out of the hut, accompanied by Glothnafar, leaving the rest of the party to discuss what they had just learned.
They walked in silence until they were well outside of their subordinates’ earshot, at which point Glothnafar turned to Jellihondor with a smile and said, “They still have no idea of the prophecy.”
Jarthen marvels at a Brovnajian goatIt was early afternoon before Bertronius woke up again. As McNab had prophesied, he found himself with a vicious headache and a hangover that rivaled the one he had barely lived through after he, Nelhoepher, and Lem had officially become spies. Groaning, and slightly nauseous, he set about clumsily making himself some mush. Nelhoepher and Lem woke up and stumbled out of the sleeping quarters while he was in the midst of blearily cooking his meal.
“Mornin’, Bert” said Lem sleepily. He plopped himself down wearily in a chair, looking for all the world as if he hadn’t slept for days. “Where’s McNab got to?”
“Lem, it’s already three o’clock in the afternoon. McNab had some sort of meeting to go to, he said he’ll be back by nightfall,” replied Bertronius in an uncharacteristically snappish tone.
“Hey! You makin’ mush, Bert?” asked Nelhoepher hopefully. “I didn’t know you could cook!”
“I can’t. This mush is going to be awful.” Bertronius said this in a very matter-of-fact tone partly to prevent his friends from trying to get him to make them some, and partly because he was trying to resign himself to the fact that it would, in fact, be horrifically bad mush and quite unpleasant to eat.
“Oh. Well. Think I’ll pass then. Say, where’s McNab? I want to show him that map I got off that daft bartender!” Bertronius, surprised by his chipper tone of voice, turned to look at Nelhoepher. Bitterly, he noted that Nelhoepher seemed to be virtually unaffected by the previous night’s drunken carousing. Perhaps he could hold his ale better than his two companions after all.
“Bert said he’s gone ‘til nightfall or summat,” grumbled Lem, who was now half-sprawled on the table and seemed to be conscious only through sheer force of will.
“Damn. We’ll just have to tell him all about our mission after we’ve completed it. We only have a few hours of daylight left, boys! We better come up with a plan,” Nelhoepher said with the air of an experienced adult addressing a pair of slow children. He then proceeded to scrounge about the room for possible supplies for a few moments, muttering to himself under his breath.
Bertronius sat at the table, alternately watching Nelhoepher dash about in his genial, excited way and staring at his unappetizing bowl of mush. He slowly began to eat it, and with each near-inedible bite he grew more resentful that he needed sustenance to live.
Nelhoepher returned to the table carrying scraps of paper, a pair of old spectacles whose lenses had gone missing, and a very odd hat. “Whatcha got there, Nel?” asked Lem drowsily.
“Glad ye asked, Lemmy. Here’s the plan: just before sundown, we’ll head to the clearing. From what the bartender told me, this’ll put us at the clearing just after dusk. Since they seem to like me, and I have the map and al, I figure I’ll pop in unnoticed in disguise--”
“You don’t have a disguise, Nel,” sighed Bertronius as he pushed away his half-eaten bowl of mush.
“Well, spies are quick-thinkin’, right? I figure I’ll use this bit o’ stuff I found around here. It’ll be dark anyway,” responded Nel hopefully. “I’ll say my name is Erbert Scrinkel, and that I’ve just moved out here from Klev or something, looking for work in the logging camps. But that’s besides the point. Where was I?” Nelhoepher consulted some of the scraps of paper which he had scrawled on. After a few seconds, he seemed to regain his train of thought. “Right! I’ll go into the meeting undercover and talk to the sympathizers to wring some information out of them. While I’m doing that, and the blasted traitors are all busy listenin’ to a speech or whatever’ll be happening, you two rifle through their pockets and coats and the like. That way, we’ll have proof to bring back to McNab! Well, what do you fellas think?”
Bertronius felt fairly certain that Nelhoepher’s plan was flawed in some way, but was himself too weary from the previous evening’s carousing to try and figure it out. He told himself to trust Nelhoepher this one time, and to just go with the flow. “Sounds fine to me.”
“Yeah, great plan Nel…I think I just need to take a quick nap before we head over, alright?” replied Lem, who was already having trouble keeping his eyes open. Nelhoepher basked in his own confidence and pride in his newly hatched plan for a few moments longer before jumping up to make various checklists for the supplies they would need.
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1A more thorough history of the City of Mages can be found here, for the discerning reader.
2Though Jarthen is unaware of it, his schoolmistress has actually had quite and interesting life indeed. See here for more details.
1 comment:
more please!!!
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