Previously in The Tale of Jarthen, the Rebels secured a guide through the Dark Lands (upon whose daughter Jarthen developed and immediate and powerful crush), Jellihondor and Glothnafar secured more clarity regarding the mysterious prophecy, and Bertronius secured the interest of Sir Atelon Scrudton.
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In preparation for the journey ahead, the red elves had imparted to Jarthen their terrifying stories of the Dark Lands – how the dreary, unending desolation of it had driven men mad, that the utterly mundayne nature of the region made magickal beings feel deafened and sick with isolation from that which sustains them, and how despite this terrible lack of magick – which, admittedly, may be less of a problem for Jarthen given his mundayne nature – the Dark Lands played host to creatures that were too evil and unsettling to be really called mundayne. Now, however, with the vast expanse of lonely emptiness spreading infinitely before his eyes, Jarthen realized that the stories he had brushed off as just more farfetched elvish nonsense were eerily close to the truth.
The landscape was harsh and unforgiving: so flat and expansive that noise seemed to be sucked up into nothingness instead of echoing on and on as it does in more hospitable climes. There was an odd, unrelenting stillness that pierced Jarthen to his very core – sometimes he felt that his very presence there, the act of breathing perhaps, disturbed the brooding Dark Lands. And if there was ever a place one should not offend, it was this one.
Jarthen also noted that the red elves, by this point the only magickal beings in the party (with the exception, of course, of Moshel, who had apparently developed ways of coping with the strange effects of the Dark Lands through his many travels), grew increasingly more haggard. With each passing day, Jarthen noted that the exuberance and jocularity of the red elves diminished, and he reflected that he had never seen them look so fatigued and sapped of strength, even in the aftermath of a battle with the Imperial Army.
a struggling elf traversing the Dark LandsPerhaps had he not been so distracted by the wit and grace embodied by Leila, the Inalan guide’s daughter, Jarthen would have worried more about his ginger-haired comrades. As it stood, the boy noted the cold unfamiliar landscape and the increasingly wan faces of his companions, but was so taken with the young girl that he did not make much of them.
“McNab, would you be so kind as to fetch me up another cup of this tea? It’s absolutely the only way of staving off the grippe and rheumatics in this dreadfully damp place, you know” Sir Atelon said to his subordinate, as he sat, along with Bertronius, Nelhoepher, and Lem in one of the rearmost booths of what was easily the finest establishment the three young spies had seen since entering the Imperial Army.
“I thought they would have gotten you a bleedin’ attaché to do that sort of thing by this point in your career,” McNab mockingly chided, as he stood up.
“Well, when a man gets to be my old age you get accustomed to your juniors being, shall we say…accommodating,” the still spry Scrudton responded with a wry smile and a twinkle in his eye. Meanwhile McNab, muttering good-natured jabs at Scrudton’s sloth, worked his way across the capacious dining room of the moderately fashionable tea house and dining room. To Bertronius’ eye, whose vassalage had exposed him to some of the most lofty and esteemed establishments in all of Elothnin, the establishment was not what he thought of as refined. Nevertheless, its paneled walls and brass accents were clearly well-made, and they served more than the mush, ale and “meat’o’ta’day” that are one’s only options in most public houses.
a cup a day keeps the rheumys away!Not wanting to let the conversation stagnate or give Lem and Nelhoepher the opportunity to turn it to unsavory topics, Bertronius decided to get Sir Atelon to speak: he knew that old men are fond of speaking, and can be relied upon to carry a conversation for considerably longer than many would desire. “I take it you haven’t always lived in Susselfen, Sir Atelon?” he inquired.
Lem and Nelhoepher, who recognized that Bertronius had opened the door to what could possibly be a long, boring reminiscence, excused themselves to look for something to eat. “Come on, then, Lem, let’s find out what today’s meat is.” Bertronius heard Nelhoepher say as the pair wandered off.
“No…aaaachhooo,” Scrudton sneezed, wiped his nose with a clean white handkerchief, and took a sip of his tea before proceeding, “I have had the great fortune of serving throughout the Empire, including in much more habitable places than here. For instance, your commander and I were stationed on the coast, in a sleepy little town, where all we had to do was infiltrate a ring of Felin smugglers. It wasn’t the most challenging work, but it was good job for a young spy like him to cut his teeth on.”
“I would imagine it must have been quite pleasant for you two,” Bertronius replied mildly.
“Well, I liked it just fine, but ol’ McNab over there,” he said sweeping his hand in the general direction of the counter where McNab was ordering tea, “he always had loftier aims. Even then, he wanted to get up to Neerhemhind, for one reason or another.”
“I didn’t know that! Really?” Bertronius responded, a little surprised that in all the time he had spent with McNab that he had never mentioned this particular aspiration.
“Now with McNab of course,” Sir Atelon continued, “I don’t think it was that he wanted some plumb job at the court just for the fancy robes and what have you, like most young folks that have the capital on the mind do. He was always near the action, never shied away from danger, he didn’t. Don’t ever tell him this, but he was probably the finest spy I ever mentored. I am quite proud of that one.”
This description of McNab made Bertronius swell a little with the pride he felt working with a man he genuinely liked and respected. “Has he ever been stationed in Neerhemhind?” he asked.
“No, not yet, but…” Sir Atelon began to respond, but he was interrupted by McNab who was carrying three cups of tea and some biscuits.
“I thought those two might have gotten distracted by shiny objects or summat. Just brought enough for the three of us. What sort of lies are you underminin’ me with now, ye ol’ codger?” the younger man jested.
“Well, I was just about to tell young Worthis here that I’ve heard there might be a position opening up in Neerhemhind for an officer of about your grade…but you wouldn’t be interested in that, of course,” the senior spy said with a tone of mock disinterest that was belied by the twinkling of his eyes.
McNab shot Bertronius a questioning look, but immediately began to grill his commander about the details of this potential post.
“Ho, now! Which way do we go, then?” asked Rethnaki, more to himself than to those around him. Nevertheless, out of habit or instinct, the other red elves stopped and glanced around, waiting until Rethnaki had determined a course of action to go on.
Jarthen himself was roused from more idle wonderings about Leila and glanced around for the first time that day and noted that the band of travelers was faced with a fork: on one side, the path was nearly impassable – full of bramble, sharp rocks, and most likely (it seemed to Jarthen) poisonous creatures. The other path was as welcoming as that one was threatening – it was wide, well-lit, and cleared of all the nasty-looking thorns strewn across the other path.
Jarthen heard Nagoa’s gruff, terse voice say something in the native language of the Northern Bandits and watched as he, Leila, the felintarks and the tinker elf walked towards the more foreboding of the two paths. Jarthen knew that Nagoa surely had some reason for going down that road, but for the life of him, he just couldn’t bring himself to follow. Looking around at the confused and reluctant faces of his fellows, Jarthen realized that none of the Rebels had moved.
“Rethnaki!” cried Safir in low tones, as if he was trying hard not to be overheard, “You must come this way! Quickly!” All of the warmth and ease in the felintark’s voice had been replaced with a sense of intense urgency.
Rethnaki sighed heavily. “Safir…we’re not tryin’ ta be difficult, y’understand? It’s jus’….can’t we go the easier route this once? The journey’s been harder on us than we expected.” Some of the other elves nodded in agreement, their faces sallow and sullen from lack of magick.
“No! Rethnaki! I can’t tell you why without calling them here. Just trust the guide!” But at this point, Jarthen saw Nagoa place a firm hand on his daughter’s shoulder and started making his way through the thorny path.
“Uh…..Naki? I think we should do what Safir says, because it looks like Nagoa is going to leave us here,” ventured Jarthen under his breath. Jarthen looked at his friend and saw more distress across his handsome features than he ever had before, rivaling even Rethnaki’s fear of the blue elves of Norsa.
“Hey now, are we takin’ a break? Could use one, meself,” said Jellihondor from behind the group. Jellihondor and Glothnafar had spent the journey thus far discussing things between in sight of the rest of the group, but far enough behind as to be out of earshot. Jarthen hadn’t realized that they’d been standing there long enough for Jellihondor and Glothnafar to catch up to them.
Safir looked nervously around and quickly walked over to Rethnaki. “Rethnaki, this is a dark and evil place, and if you do not come with us, we will be forced to leave you and your fellows here. I know the journey’s been hard on you, I know you feel drained and can’t imagine going farther over harder ground when such an easy path is ahead of you, but that is how they get you!” said Safir in low tones while grabbing the elf’s shoulders and shaking him slightly to punctuate the last few words.
Safir’s intervention seemed to shake Rethnaki out of whatever spell the clearer path seemed to hold over him. He looked the felintark in the face and nodded heavily. Safir visibly relaxed and patted Rethnaki on the cheek before turning around to walk back towards his fellows among the brambles. Halfway there, however, Safir froze. Staring at something in the rocky terrain that Jarthen could not see, Safir spoke to Nyabel and Moshel in terrified voice. “It is too late, they have come anyway. Go find Nagoa! Hopefully some of us will survive and reach you…but…don’t wait for us.”
Nyabel and Moshel did not move. Safir waited a moment before turning and shouting for them to go at the top of his lungs. At that same moment, Jarthen saw a creature, easily as big as he was but covered in reddish brown fur, leap out at Safir from a clutch of rocks with fangs bared. Suddenly he saw hundreds of menacing eyes peering at him from every nook and cranny of the clear, inviting path.
the terrifying face of that which attacked Safir
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