Ch. 9: The Compass Turns Again (pt. 1)

Previously in the Tale of Jarthen our intrepid hero, Jarthen, learned more about the objectives of the rebel party's mysterious mission, while his parallel protagonist, Bertronius, questioned his mentor, McNab, about his nocturnal ventures, and subsequently planned a daring spy mission with his inseparable bosom chums, Lem and Nel.
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"I've never seen such a beautiful city!" Jarthen exclaimed in amazement as he walked down a broad avenue lined by fabulously lavish buildings and monuments in the City of Mages. Shortly after having reached the city, the lad had been assigned to help Sellior and Elcrona acquire a supply of comestibles to last the rebel party for the next part of their journey in one of its enormous markets. Having spent the entirety of his short life thus far in rather more rustic locales, Jarthen could not help but issue loud expostulations about the great masses of beings, the height of the buildings, the beauty of the architecture, and the other wonders that this strange metropolis held for him whenever they chanced to cross his highly excited mind.

Though none of them had ever visited the enormous city before, it proved a surprisingly easy task for the three rebels to find the market district. They were greatly aided in this endeavor both by the grid-like layout of the City of Mages and the sheer size of the bazaar itself, whose endless array of stalls, tents, merchants, hawkers and hustlers covered nearly a square mile.

Jarthen was also staggered by the unparalleled diversity found in this great nexus of commerce and travel. Upon seeing a group of dark-skinned beings with a largely human-like appearance save for their pointed ears, strange garb, and an uncanny feline quality about their entire person, Jarthen was compelled to inquire about these beings in a loud whisper to his companions. "Who...what are those people over there?" he asked, trying to be discreet while pointing and oggling them.

After quickly glancing over at the creatures, Elcrona remarked that "they're felintarks, lad. They live up North in ta San-Kesh Desert along wit' ta tinker elves."



Some actual Felintarks

Examining the felintarks with renewed scrutiny, Jarthen replied with some perplexity. "Huh...they don't look anything like Raytol, the felintark I met when I first joined the rebels. Do you guys know her?"

Sellior and Elcrona exchanged a confused look, before the former asked, "Lad, ta the best o' me knowledge, t’weren’t any felintarks in ta Rebel Army when we left tit. Are ye sure ye're t'inkin' o' a felintark? Tha’ firs’ night wit’ us must ha’ been confusin’, ta say ta least."

"I am sure of it. The Old Man introduced me to her along with a bunch of other people the day that I joined the Rebel Army," the lad replied, quite certain that he was in no way mistaken on this count, and a little bit afraid that Elcrona and Sellior thought him a liar or just fanciful.

Upon hearing this, however, a look of realization crossed the faces of the two elves, which quickly became a wide grin, and then finally culminated in a round of ineffectively stifled laughter. After they seemed to have composed themselves, Jarthen pleaded for them to tell him what they found so confoundedly amusing.

Sellior, still repressing the occasional spasm of laughter, was the first to respond to the boy’s question, “Alrigh’, alrigh,’ tell us one thing firs’, tho’, lad, did ta Old Man happen ta introduce ye ta any o’ our lot, red elves?”

Jarthen puzzled for a moment over the question, scratching his as he spoke, “Hmm…you know, I don’t think he did introduce me to any red elves then…why?”

This response prompted another bout of laughter of the two elves, leaving Jarthen even more confused. Fortunately, Sellior eventually regained sufficient control of his unbounded mirth to permit his finally explaining.

"Well lad," Sellior began, wiping a tear of mirth away from his eye, "ye see ta Old Man is well-known fer his hatred o' ta felintarks an’ red elves. Blast me if I ken why he hates felintarks so much, but tit might ha' summat ta do wit' his antipathy ta cats o' all sorts! Anyways, ‘twas probably jus' him ha'in' a good ol' joke on ye at ta expense o' ta felintarks, ye see."

"Aye, tha's righ'" Elcrona joined in, still laughing at the extreme proportions that the elderly mage's hatred of felintarks had grown to during his exceedingly long lifetime, "I remember when I firs' joined up, he ha' this great ugly beast o' a dog or summat tha' he called his 'felintark servant."

“But why does he hate red elves?” Jarthen asked.

“I’m not sure o’ tha’,” Elcrona replied, who seemed more amused than offended by the Old Man’s eccentric bigotry, “he’s an odd one he is. He does seem ta like ol’ Jelli alrigh’, but wit’ e’ery other red elf, he won’t give us ta time o’ day!”

Jarthen, finally comprehending the joke, joined in the hearty round of laughter that ensued as they continued to make their way towards the sprawling market place. Along their way, Elcrona and Sellior provided Jarthen with a taste of the history of the strange city that they now found themselves in. After Sellior had started to spin a tale of how the City of Mages had actually been created by a race of particularly clever and handy forest sprites before they discovered the powers of pipeweed and forsook their new metropolis for a more pleasant, diverting existence in the Erkenheld, Elcrona rebuffed him, explaining, "Selli! Never paid too much mind durin' our schoolin', did ye? I suppose I'll ha' ta tell ye ta history o' this city since he's clearly incapable o' tit."

Before she could, however, Sellior interjected quickly that, in fact, "I ne'er pay too much mind ta anythin' save fer pipeweed and ale, an' tha's why I'm as sensible and respected as I am t'day," he said, inflating his chest in a mockery of pomposity, before giving Jarthen a sly wink.

"Anyway," Elcrona continued, pretending to give Sellior a stern look as she did so (Jarthen noticed that this was the most relaxed that he had seen Elcrona, and that she seemed incapable of maintaining her usually more businesslike, soldierly manner under Sellior’s amiable influence), "as I was tellin' ye afore, ta City o' Mages was built many years ago by ta mages afore they got so tired o' one another tha' they fell all ta fightin' o'er this an' tha' -- mages can't agree on anythin' which why ye almos' ne'er see more'n one at a time. Then, after they had all up and left..." however she was interrupted at this point in her discourse by another loud exclamation from Jarthen who had just spotted something very unexpected for him -- humans.

*******

Night had already fallen by the time that Bertronius, Lem and Nelhoepher had found their way to the clearing the rebel sympathizer’s meeting was scheduled to take place. For about an hour, the boys had been stifling their panic, convinced that they were running quite late and that their tardiness would be a dead giveaway to the actual rebel sympathizers, as these individuals, fueled by their ardor for their ill-intentioned cause, would no doubt maintain the strictest punctuality. They expected them to be large men with sinister scars on their faces and great, bulging muscles on their arms, which they feared would, in conjunction with their brutish, traitorous fists, would be used to pummel them most grievously.

Imagine then their surprise when, after following that odd twists and turns the bartender’s hand-drawn map instructed them to take, they stumbled into a completely empty clearing! The clearing was pervaded with an eerie calm: all three lads stopped suddenly, afraid to move forward any further for reasons they could not quite name.

They stood in awkward silence for a few moments before Nelhoepher spoke in a voice slightly muffled by his highly unconvincing fake beard. “Well, um, I don’t quite know what to say! I could’ve sworn that the bartender said the meetin’ was startin’ ‘round dusk…” Nelhoepher trailed off sheepishly, when the realization that the bartender had most likely played them for fools dawned on him. He kept this to himself, hoping the thought didn’t occur to his two friends.

“Hey now, what’s this?” Lem cried, noticing that a note had been placed on a tree stump in the center of the clearing. Shaking off the odd feelings of tension, and putting on a brave face for his comrades, Lem sauntered over to the note in that exaggerated way one does when one tries overly hard to impart to others that they are in fact not ill at ease in the least.

“Yeah? What’s it say?” asked Nelhoepher.

*******

Not having seen a member of his own race for nearly half of a year, Jarthen was stunned to realize that not only there were humans in the City of Mages, but that they were there in great numbers as well! The lad's attention had been so diverted by the more exotic features of the city that he had been able to walk by multiple members of his own race without taking any more notice of them than as if he had been strolling through the streets of Neerhemhind. By the time it did come to his attention that there were other members of his race to be found in this foreign land, Jarthen and his elvish companions were surrounded on all sides by humans undertaking any number of commonplace tasks and habits.

Suddenly realizing this, Jarthen was fairly dumbstruck, and Elcrona and Sellior had to pause for nearly a minute while Jarthen composed himself enough to frame a question about the situation, "Wait...who...are those humans?" he asked with a hint of perplexed incredulity, as if he did not believe that his eyes were serving him properly.

More than a little confused and worried about the lad's sudden fit, Elcrona and Sellior gave one another a look of concern before the former picked up Jarthen's question in a gentle tone, so as not to further agitate his current state. "Aye lad, those are humans," she said, not entirely sure how to proceed.

"But, why are they here? Are they from Elothnin?" Jarthen asked, having recovered a little bit from his initial surprise. He was now looking about himself as if he had just realized where he was for the first time.

Elcrona cast her eyes about at the diverse crowd that contained a significant number of humans in addition to tinker elves, giants, felintarks, and the odd dwarf, and replied, "Nay, they're probably not from yer country lad, save for maybe a bare few. Mos' o' 'em are probably from ta Dark Lands."

More confused then ever, Jarthen could barely form the words to ask Elcrona to explain in greater depth the meaning of these humans, who he now realized were attired in a way that would have been considered most outlandish in his native country. She obliged him, and explained, "ye see, Jarthen, there are a good many humans what live in ta Dark Lands -- the region east o' here. We usually call 'em ta barbarians so as ta distinguish 'em from ta sort where ye come from. Come ta think o' tit, 'twould make sense tha' ye' ne'er would ha' seen nor heard o' 'em, as they live all on ta other side o' ta mountains an' all."

This new knowledge -- that there was a significant population of humans, physiologically just like him, living so close to his homeland that were never seen nor spoken of -- left Jarthen in a state of near stupefaction. He gawked at the presence of men, women and children going about their daily lives as if it was the most natural thing in the world for them to be in this alien land -- as indeed it was perfectly natural for them -- and was left with a thousand questions in his mind that he could not put into words just yet. If it had been up to him, he would have spent the rest of that day simply staring at these members of his long-unseen species, but there was the pressing matter of supplies to be reckoned with, and the elves insisted that the lad tear himself away from his observations.

It was a good thing, too, because very shortly after there having begun their sally into the market in earnest, Glothnafar emerged from the crowd. The centaur greeted Elcrona and Sellior in a friendly enough manner -- he ignored Jarthen entirely -- before exhorting them, "Make sure to not buy supplies from this kind," he said casting a disgusted look towards the human vendors, "they're wares are always inferior and usually foul smelling." After throwing a derisive leer at Jarthen, he bid the elves farewell, and went about his way, making sure to give the humans he so loathed a wide berth.

*******

Lem picked up the note and flashed a grin at his fellows, which Bertronius, who had been preoccupied with glancing about nervously, failed to notice. He cleared his throat as he sat on the stump, and then began reading the note aloud. “Hello boys. If you’ve got me note then you’ve followed me map, and I can’t say you’ll be gettin’ anythin’ more’n you deserve. Take a lesson from this an’ keep yer nose out of that which it don’t belong in.” Lem paused with a befuddled look on his face. “He’s signed it ‘the bartender what has his eye on you!’ What d’ye think it means?”

“Oh, I think it means we’ve been made, Lem,” said Nelhoepher in a most woeful tone.

Lem and Nelhoepher began a rambling conversation about what ‘being made’ really entailed – because while it was clear that the bartender had somehow managed to discern that the three drunken lads were not rebel sympathizers, had he really figured out that they were Imperial spies? Bertonius was only half paying attention, and after several minutes of his friends banter began to tune them out entirely and pay very close attention to their surroundings. The moonlight, while strong enough to read by, fell in strange shadows that hid whatever was making the rustling sounds coming from the underbrush. He had almost convinced himself that the culprit was most likely a rabbit or gopher of some sort when he caught sight of a pair of staring yellow eyes! All at once, Bertronius realized why the bartender had sent them out to this particular clearing – and realized that the bartender had a vicious sense of humor. Tugging Nelhoepher’s shirt as he stumbled backward, Bertronius said in a strained, quiet voice, “We’ve got to get out of here…we’ve got to get out now! He’s set sprites on us!”

Lem looked up from his spot on the stump, clearly puzzled. “What are ye talkin’ ‘bout, Bert? Never heard o’ sprites -- ”

Suddenly a small creature with a gleeful, malicious glint in its eye popped up out of the bush a few feet behind Lem. Bertronius cut his friend off and place an arm across Nelhoepher’s chest when the handsome lad started to walk towards the creature. “Lem. Listen to me. There’s on behind you right now. They are evil little things that live and the woods and they’re libel to rip us to shred given half a chance.”



A very sinister looking sprite

“Oh my,” said Lem, now quite scared.

“What I want you to do is walk very slowly towards me and Nelhoepher, and hopefully we can run out of her before a whole mass of them show up.” Bertronius slowly extended his hand, noticing that the slight chirping noises he had dismissed earlier were becoming louder and louder.

Lem nodded and began easing himself off the stump, but Bertronius saw at once that it was too late: the sprite behind Lem chirped something as soon as the boy had moved and now three more sprites came bolting out of the woods from the left, knocking him clean off the stump! Bertonius pushed Lem towards the edge of the clearing, urging him to run and assuring him that he’d bested the sprites before and would find a way to get himself and Lem out safely.

“Bert! Bert!” Lem cried, now beset by five or so sprites and quite beside himself. “What do I do?! How do I get ‘em off me?!” Bertonius ran over to Lem, kicking sprites away from him whenever the opportunity presented itself to him. Taking stock of the situation, he noticed that the sprites were concentrated on Lem’s lower half – apparently drawn to his trouser, which were festooned with decorative (and quite shiny) buttons.

“Your pants, Lem! They want your pants!”

“Wha?” replied Lem in a most confused tone.

“Give them your pants and they’ll be distracted enough for use to get away!” said Bertronius. Lem nodded and began to wriggle out of his trousers, and when that proved not especially quick or effective, Bertornius wrapped his arms around Lem’s chest and pulled him forcibly to safety. Although pantless and shoeless (as the sprites had taken a fancy to those as well), Lem was frightened enough to keep pace with the properly clothed and more athletic Bertronius as they ran all the way back to the lodging house.



Lem's forsaken pants