Ch. 12: The Road to Hate is Paved With Love (Pt. 1)

Previously, in The Tale of Jarthen, Jarthen and the rebels soldiered on through the Dark Lands and Glothnafar and Jellihondor gained greater insight into the prohpecy. Bertronius, still tracking down the nefarious Larthon Ractor, explored the seedy underside of Susselfen.

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Bertronius was glad to be inside the warmth of the spies’ meeting house after the enduring the long, cold early-morning trudge to their weekly meeting. In the last two months the weather had turned from just dreary and unpleasant to cold, dreary and unpleasant, which led one to never feel fully dry or comfortably warm.

By the time Bertronius, Nelhoepher, Lem and McNab arrived the majority of their colleagues were already present, engaged in a number of small conversations as they waited for the meeting to begin. They were seated in a large room that Bertronius and his comrades were quite familiar with by this point – it was perpetually in twilight, lit only by a few tallow candles with all of the windows carefully covered to prevent eavesdropping.

In short order, Sir Atelon Scrudton bounded to the slightly raised at the front of the room where speakers would address the assembled, and commenced the meeting, “Greetings my fellow spies! Another week has passed, and our great struggle continues apace. We will begin with an update on the war effort from our esteemed colleague, McNab.”

McNab rose wordlessly from his seat next to Bertronius and took his position at the podium. During these meeting, Bertronius was always struck by how businesslike he looked, which contrasted with the more affable, informal man he had come to see as his mentor.

After clearing his throat and shuffling through a stack of notes, McNab addressed the group, “Well, gentlemen, as I’m sure most of yeh have heard, things have been surprisin’ly quiet on the Erkenheld front. There’ve been only a handful of skirmishes, and no major confrontations.”

McNab paused here, and looked around at his comrades before continuing in a meaningful tone, “at the moment, we’re…not entirely certain what this means.”

“Sounds ta me like we’re a-winnin,’ is what it sounds like,” interjected a youngish spy Bertronius recognized from the last few meetings.

“As I said, we’re not sure what it means,” McNab replied with a look of rebuke to the younger man before resuming his explanation, “there have been reports of significant movements of rebel forces towards the coast, and then further East, deeper into the forest. Although the Imperial Army has taken steps to intercept the rebels, so far we havn’ succeeded.”

three more respectful spies listen to McNab's report with rapt attention

Although Bertronius found McNab’s lecture interesting, his mind continued to drift to his ongoing search for Larthon Ractor. He kept running over the countless people he had talked to, the seedy bars that he had frequented, the gambling games that he had sat in on, all of it. So far, he had seen neither hide nor hair of the elusive scoundrel, and he was beginning to feel like simply giving up. At times like these, Bertronius turned his attention back to his lost best friend, Jarthen, which inevitably rekindled his rage, and spurred him onto further action.

Eventually the lad’s attention drifted back to McNab’s speech. He was apparently nearing his conclusion as he reported, “reliable sources have informed me personally that a small part of the rebel forces has broken off and headed North towards our Elvo-Felintark allies. It is most likely that this expedition is of a diplomatic nature, but,” he looked around with a wry smile, “there is no reason for us to think that such a mission would be successful.”

*****

Almost two full months had passed since the small band of rebels had battled the nybbas in the dusty earth of the Dark Lands. Jarthen supposed that they had made a good deal of progress, but to his eye, each step seemed to bring them closer to hell: the rock formations had become more jagged and wickedly shaped, the brambles had become sharper and more savage-looking, and the air had become even more eerily still. Jarthen noted that the seasons had begun to turn now, noting the brittle chill in the air that set the entire group shivering now and again.

It had been a hard two months in other ways, too. The rebels had heard nothing from the rest of the army, and were cutoff from the various forms of communication the army used to inform itself by the impassable mountains and the isolated terrain. Many of the soldiers could not help but worry that the rest of the army had been found and slaughtered – leaving only them, slowly trekking through the Dark Lands to complete a mission for an army that no longer existed.

“Alrigh’, lads. Let’s take ourselves a wee break. Have somet’in’ ta eat an’ be ready ta continue on in an hour,” called out Rethnaki, breaking the oppressive silence. The weary band sat down one by one, shuffling around in their rucksacks for hunks of bread and canteens of water. Seeing that Rethnaki was talking to Vathorem and Helkint and Elcrona had struck up another conversation with Safir, Jarthen sat down next to Sellior.

the delicious vittles of the Rebel Forces

“Oh, hello lad,” mumbled Sellior in between bites of dry bread.

“Hey, Sellior. Have you noticed that it’s always just us two these days? I never seem to be able to get Rethnaki or Elcrona alone anymore,” replied Jarthen somewhat glumly.

“Oh, ‘tis not’in’ ta do wit’ ye, lad, if tha’s wha’ yer worried about. ‘Tis jes’ hard fer the two o’ ‘em ta be near each other, is all.” Sellior said shivering and wrapping a blanket around himself.

Jarthen looked back at the group. He saw Rethnaki patting Helkint’s shoulder gently while the younger elf nodded heavily. He also saw Safir answering a very distracted looking Elcrona who was staring pointedly in Rethnaki’s direction. “Difficult how?” the boy asked.

“Ha’e ye not noticed, lad?” Jarthen shook his head, slightly offended at Sellior’s incredulous tone. “Aye, I dunno why I expect ye would, given yer human an’ not one o’ me kin. Hmmm…” Sellior frowned, chewing on his lip as if he wasn’t sure he should continue. “Now, I shouldna be tellin’ ye this, so don’ go blabbin’ it around, hear?” Jarthen nodded eagerly, thankful for the distraction that Sellior’s gossip was sure to provide. “Alrigh’. Here’s wha’ I know. Now, e’er sine we joined up, Elcrona’s been nursin’ a crush on Naki, an’ Naki, bless his heart, has taken quite a fancy to Ellie as well.”

“Really?” asked Jarthen, a touch scandalized to discover that romance had been burgeoning right beneath his nose without his realizing it.

Sellior regarded Jarthen as if the boy had ceremoniously settled himself down to eat a rock. “Aye, boy. Ye’d ha’e ta be blind ta miss all their flirtin’ and fightin’. Anyway, wha’ ye may not know about our kind is we red elves tend to love quite freely – we dunna get all hung up on lifetime romances and exclusivity the way ye hu-mans do. So, it should come as no surpise ta ye tha’ Naki o’er there has quite ta reputation as a cad ‘round ta army.”

Jarthen nodded, very much aware of his friend’s reputation. Sellior continued, “Righ’. But, Elli there, well she’s more human than red elf in ta ways o’ ta heart, if ye catch me drift. Always has been. An’ when she heard that Naki was messin’ about wit’ Citrene, well it damn near broke her heart.”

“Naki’s, too?” Jarthen asked.

“Nah, Naki jes’ figured she weren’ interested and let her go. Bit sad about it, but he figure ‘tis wha’ she wants. Ta silly goose keeps tryin’ ta make him jealous by flirtin’ like mad wit’ Safir, but he’s too busy fillin’ in fer Jelli ta notice.”

Jarthen nodded, mulling over this newfound knowledge and reexamining the experiences he had to this point in light of these developments. He realized, as if for the first time, how complex and laden with hidden meaning the daily intercourse between sentient creatures often is. The young human felt sympathy for both Rethnaki and Elcrona, and observed that, though both of his dear friends were causing the other pain, neither could really be considered ‘bad.’ It was, he recognized, just another example of how much he had grown and changed since leaving his isolated hamlet of naiveté. The world of stark black and white contrasts of good and evil that he had known in the Fethil had rapidly become one of grays fading into one another in a confused mass of shadows – it was, he resigned himself, most dumbfounding.

His thoughts were sharply broken by Sellior’s voice. “Lad, I’ll talk ta ye later. I’m goin’ ta give Moshel some o’ me bread – looks like he may ha’e run out.”

Jarthen, already yearning for company, sighed and watch the red elf cross to the silver one. Sellior shyly offered the other elf a hunk of bread. Moshel looked up from the schematic he’d been working on and took it gratefully, flashing a warm smile to Sellior and offered the red elf a seat next to him in return. Jarthen watched, lonely and missing the days when he, Sellior, Rethnaki, and Elcrona were joined at the hip, while the typically loquacious Sellior sat blushing in silence while the tinker elf returned to his schematic.

*****

After McNab’s address on the state of the war, Scrudton had called for any updates from the other spies. Several spies provided information on a variety of projects – there were accusations of some individuals being secret supporters of the rebels, new contacts, scraps of information, but nothing of particular interest.

The meeting seemed to be on the verge of ending, Scrudton had just made a final call for new business, when Nelhoepher dramatically to his feet and spoke in his most lofty, magnanimous tone, “Gentlemen,” he began, looking slowly between his colleagues in what he thought was a most suspenseful manner, “we have a spy in our midst!”

The assembled soldiers looked at one another confusedly, and then back at Nelhoepher. Sir Atelon, was the first to speak, “yes, lads, there are many spies here…this is a meeting of spies, in fact,” he said in a gentle slightly bemused tone, which elicited a general round of sniggering from his colleagues.

“Well, yes, I suppose that is true,” Nelhoepher continued, now a bit deflated, but still he pressed on, “but what I mean is that there’s someone here a-spyin’ on us! Ain’t that righ’, Lem?”

“Aye, spot on, friend! There’s most definitely a turncoat somewhere in this room…righ’ now!” the affable lad said, affirming his daft friend.

“Righ’,” Nelhoepher replied, emboldened by his friend’s support, “we’re not quite sure who it is, but we have reasons – yeah, lots of ‘em!– that are beyond dispute!”

“Come now, my young friends,” Sir Atelon interrupted gravely, “these are serious charges that are not to be leveled without good reason, and after the appropriate avenues have been followed. I must insist that unless you can attach these accusations to a specific individual, and are in possession of a preponderance of evidence, you do not continue this line of inquiry.”

Nelhoepher sat down looking disappointed at this rebuke, but Lem rose in his place and spoke in a defiant tone, “Alrigh’, well, we may not know who he is, but we do know that he is…is a spy! And not for our side, though he wants us to think so, that’s fer certain! We’ll be a-findin’ him, MARK ME WORDS, we’ll be a-findin’ him!”

After the widespread chuckling, giggling, and raucous laughter had ceased, Sir Atelon patted Lem on the head, called him a ripping good sport, and summarily dismissed the meeting.

Lem's claims are summarily dismissed - much to his chagrin!