Previously in The Tale of Jarthen, Bertronius gained some interesting information from a friendly, drunken elf. Meanwhile, the rebels reached the clockwork gate of the tinker elves.
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Over the next several days Bertronius continued to abstain from his search for Ractor. He found that his spirits were lifted when he did not dwell on the man who had put Jarthen in an early grave, leaving him unburdened by the weight of his self-imposed guilt and obligation to avenge his best friend’s demise. Furthermore, his encounter with Eralus had conveniently given him something new to occupy his mind. He wasn't sure how best to investigate if there was anything to the drunken elf's claim that there was a group of rebels coming to Susselfen for some as yet unknown purpose, so he decided to see if he could find anything more about Eralus himself.
It turned out that the red elf wasn't difficult track down. Bertronius simply inquired with several of the barmaids at the Blushing Loaf if they knew anything about his 'new friend,' and found out that while Eralus was not one of the tavern's regulars, he had stopped by enough (and was loud wnough when he did) to be known around town. According to the employees that he spoke to, Eralus was something of an idler who sometimes traveled with some of the groups of elvish minstrels from Fethilian town to Fethilian town. Eralus regularly left Susselfen for a few months at a time, only to return flush with cash and an unquenchable thirst for liquor that would keep him crawling from bar to bar until his money was spent. Although none of the solicitous servers of the Blushing Loaf knew where he lived exactly -- the elf seemed to lead a fairly transient existence -- Arna suggested that Bertronius might try looking for him in Fiddler's Alley, a district in Susselfen known to be frequented by musicians.1
Bertronius had not had the opportunity to explore this particular area of Susselfen, as none of his research had ever suggested Ractor had even a passing interest in music, so he was excited to visit a new place for the first time in months. Fiddler's Alley ended up resembling much of the rest of the misty and corruptly decadent city in its architecture and copious amounts of alcohol and pipeherb, but the young lad noted that it also had a considerably brighter and more uplifting ambience. Here the people seemed to be cheerful and vibrant in spite of the dreariness of their surroundings. This was partly because a larger proportion of the area's residents were young, and thus much more prone to cling to vanities like optimism and dreams that are so frequently abandoned later in life. Bertronius couldn't help feeling a little taken with this place in spite of himself. “Perhaps,” he thought to himself, “I could have lived a carefree life in some place like this…” He sihed and stopped himself from continuing such thoughts - his obligation now was to avenge Jarthen, he had no right to drift into the elvish music scene out of simple curiosity.
After walking through the neighborhood once, Bertronius picked a cheerful looking coffee house, from which one could hear the dulcet tones of a stringed instrument and an elf singing a wistful ballad. He went in and saw that the shop was full of freshfaced elves and humans -- some clearly not much older than him -- sipping mugs of coffee and ale, while others smoked pipeherb. Bertronius scanned the patrons' faces on the off chance that Eralus would happen to be in this particular establishment at this precise moment. Not seeing the familiar face, he made his way over to the shop's counter where he ordered a cup of coffee from a red elvish girl who looked to be a few years older than him (though he knew that she was most likely considerably older than himself). She was strikingly beautiful, with scarlet red hair, large green eyes, and a delicate figure that sent a shiver of attraction through Bertronius's body.
"Ha’en’ seen ye 'round here before," the girl said as she cast a skeptical look at Bertronius. Hers was the sort of face that, though always seeming to laugh at you secretly, can be utterly compelling in its inaccessibility.
the skeptical, highly attractive, girl-elf"That so?" the elf asked still coolly, but Bertronius thought that he might have seen a spark of interest cross her face when he mentioned his fabricated friends' arrest.
Bertronius nodded sadly. "It was a real nasty business. The thing is, they didn't do a thing wrong! They didn't even have pipeherb on them...I guess that's what I should expect though, living here," he continued.
This remark elicited a sympathetic laugh from the girl, so Bertronius continued on this tack. "I'm hoping to find a friend of mine around here, he's a bit of a musician himself...goes by the name of Eralus. You wouldn't happen to know him, would you?"
The counter minder did not look up from the cup that she was polishing, and seemed to be debating something with herself. "Aye, I migh' know him. Wha' would ye want wit' him, then?" she asked finally.
"Well, I actually met him pretty recently, and we just hit it off, so I thought maybe he could help me find some work in this town is all," he replied, while trying to look as pitiful as possible. “Since I seem to be stuck here for awhile, anyway.”
She didn't respond, so, in a last attempt to gain the elf's sympathy, he made as if to leave. "Look, if you don't want to help me it's ok. I can understand, I guess." Bertronius sighed and began to step slowly away from the counter, making sure not to look directly at the pretty elvish lass.
"Look, alrigh'," the elf-girl said suddenly as she reached out to stop him, "it's jus' tha' I've known Eralus fer a long time, and he's a powerful nice fella, it's jus'...it's jus' he can be a wee bit ta trustin', and I don' wan' him taken advantage o' again." She gave Bertronius a pleading look and slowly returned to polishing her cup.
Bertronius nodded sympathetically, and again made a pretense of getting ready to leave again, saying, "That's definitely understandable, miss. I wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable, and I can see why you might worry about Eralus, bless him. Good thing he’s got such protective, good-hearted friends like you, I suppose," he said glumly.
Just as he was throwing on his coat again, the elf-girl, who had been looking quite conflicted for a few moments now, motioned towards Bertronius. "Alrigh', alrigh', I'll tell ye where ye can find him. When he has enough money -- which isn' often -- he likes ta stay at ta Dragon's Wing Inn, jus' down ta way. When he ain' there, he's usually buskin' fer ale and change down at Gnarlton Opera House. If ye know Eralus, though, ye'll know tha' he don' tend ta stay in one place fer too long, so ‘tis anyone's guess to where he migh' be at a given momen'."
Bertronius smiled broadly, grabbed the elvish girl’s dainty hand and kissed it happily. "Thank you!" Bertronius said as genuinely as he could as she laughed and shook her hand free of his grip. Though he felt guilty about manipulating strangers, he also couldn't help observing that he found the act strangely exhilarating as well.
“The thing to remember is that the person behind you has to step on your plank before you step off of it, otherwise it will cause the bridge to collapse. I suggest going single file, and placing your hand on the shoulder of whoever’s in front of you to keep from getting too far apart. I’ll go last and deal with the bridge collapse mechanism so the rest of you don’t worry too much about it,” explained Moshel.
Jarthen reached out and placed his hand lightly on Elcrona’s narrow shoulder, and looked at the bridge ahead. It was absolutely breathtaking: the metal, immeasurably old at this point, still gleamed a bright, shining silver, completely untarnished by the ravages of time. The bridge itself was very thin, and hardly seemed substantial enough to support the small band of wayfarers. Beneath their feet and hemming them in on either side were intricately detailed panels of filigree. Jarthen had not expected that such a mechanically-minded people like the Semadra would have such a fine sense of aesthetics as well.
As they walked through the tunnel with a slow and steady pace, each traveler taking care to add pressure to the bridge before their fellow took pressure off of it, Jarthen could hear the ringing sound of the bridge withdrawing from the other side of the crevasse. The sound echoed and reverberated, bouncing off the stone walls of the tunnel and the chasm beneath, until it seemed to come from every direction simultaneously. To Jarthen’s ear, it sound like metallic rain falling all around them, which only added to the incredible tension that he felt crossing the disappearing bridge. The young lad could not help but reflect on how far his journey had taken him – the people that he had met, and those that he had lost. The collapse of the bridge behind him, Jarthen thought to himself, was a surprisingly apt metaphor for the way his life had been of late: he couldn’t turn back.
the Semadran gate“Lad, ye can let go whene’er ye like, ye know,” Elcrona said, smiling. Jarthen had been so distracted by the bridge that he had not realized that they’d arrived safely on the other side. He watched, captivated, as Moshel took the last step from the bridge, causing the remaining pieces to disassemble and disappear. Now, there was no trace of the beautiful metalwork at all, just a wide, dark, stone tunnel.
Jellihondor sighed and looked at Moshel with admiration. “Ye know, sometimes I t’ink yer lot dunna get ta credit ye deserve, Moshel. Ye ha’e ta ha’e some immense, powerful magicks ta turn somet’in’ as mundayne as clockwork inta such a magnificent guardian fer yer people. Magicks the like o’ which I canna e’en begin ta unnerstan’.”
The young spy made his way to the Gnarlton Opera House, which he had learned was about a five minute walk through a series of Susselfen's narrow alleys. As he neared the vicinity of the opera house, he heard a strange, almost unearthly, voice singing a song that he had never heard before, but which still sounded oddly familiar. As he drew closer, the voice became deeply compelling, and the desire to find its source became more urgent. "Well," he thought to himself, "if Eralus isn't there, I'll at least be able to sit in on a show for a little while."
Bertronius took a seat in the rear of the crowd that had assembled in the Gnarlton Opera House, which appeared to have been a stock house at one time, and had only recently become a music venue. He peered through the crowd to see the singer of the haunting, eerily beautiful melody – a satyr! He had been fortunate enough to hear a few of them sing as a boy in the Fethil, and he had always enjoyed their unusual songs and melodic voices. He was moved by a sense of nostalgia as he heard the performance: it brought to mind the simpler life that he had known in the Fethil, and, though he was not one for dwelling in the past, Bertronius couldn't avoid reminiscing about the things that he had lost in the last year -- his best friend, his family, his home. Fortunately, however, the satyr's otherworldy voice quickly caught Bertronius's attention, compelling him to listen to his strange melody.
At first, Bertronius did not really listen to the singer’s words too closely, preferring to enjoy the beautiful tones and harmony. The satyr was apparently highly talented with languages as well as music, effortlessly shifting between what Bertronius vaguely recognized as Athenorkos and what he supposed could be the language of the satyrs before singing a few versus in the Common Tongue. Bertronius listened to what the satyr sang with growing interest:
"The new moon comes again,
With it, new birds fly in,
To take back what others stole,
So they can roost again in the Fethil."
"The winds blow their news,
Of both birds of dark and light hues,
One Finch, to his own, is lying,
His false songs protect our Starling"
Then the satyr shifted back to Athenorkos. Having grown up in the presence of large numbers of elves, Bertronius had picked up a smattering of their language. He tried to figure out what the satyr was singing, hearing the words "visitors," "city," "near" or "soon," and "party" or "festival." As he sat going over the words in his mind, something about the song’s lyrics began to strike Bertronius as very strange. As he looked around the opera house, he couldn't help noticing that some of the clientele were a bit unsavory in their appearance, and not in the way that the patrons of Dunkler's Tavern were. These people were tough looking, but it was the sort of hardness that came not from a life hard drinking and gambling, rather that resolute stoicism which comes from the passionate pursuit of an elusive quarry for a long time. Bertronius was snapped from his analysis when his eyes happened upon the familiar face of Eralus the elf.
He worked his way across the room to where the elf was quaffing deeply from a large mug of ale, while he sang lustily along with the satyr. Bertronius had to yell to make himself heard over the din in the concert hall, but Eralus was exceedingly happy to see him once the lad explained to him how they knew one another.
"Fantastic ta see ye, Bart...erm, Bert! Would ye care fer an ale?" the friendly, if perpetually tipsy elf, inquired solicitously.
Bertronius accepted, but said, "It's quite crowded in here, and I was wondering if we could talk...I'm looking for work as a musician, you see. Would you maybe care to go to a more peaceful location?" he asked, hoping that the elf's generosity extended beyond alcohol to professional advice, and, with luck and a bit of charm, the elaboration of his rebel relative's travel plans.
"Aye, aye...tha'd be fine! Seein' as how I'm runnin' a bit low on gold, why don' we go pay me uncle Kellin, an' perhaps impose on his hospitality fer a bit o' ale and pipeherb," Eralus said thoughtfully, as he scratched his head over the matter.
Thinking that this could well be the very individual whom he sought to discover, Bertronius practically leaped at the offer, and hustled the red elf out of the opera house as quickly as he could.
The rebels had found a relatively inconspicuous spot to set their camp up a couple hours’ walk to the south of the strange clockwork gate. Having already set up the tents and unloaded their rucksacks, the travelers sat in a circle eating hunks of bread and salted pork. Rethnaki looked over the group, taking note of their weary, dusty faces.
He cleared his throat lightly to get their attention. “Alrigh’, lads, I just got a couple o’ bits o’ army business ta attend ta, an’ then I’ll let ye get back to yer own doin’s. Now, as ye know, our reason fer crossin’ ta Dark Lands was ta be touchin’ base here wit’ some o’ our contacts in Susselfen. Turns out tha’ Glothnafar an’ Jellihondor ha’e a few t’ings o’ their own ta attend ta firs’, so they’ll not be comin’ along wit’ us.” Glancing in their direction, Jarthen noticed that Jellihondor and Glothnafar had not pitched their tent and still held their bags fully packed. Glothnafar looked restless and impatient, and whispered something to Jellihondor, who shot the centaur a dark look in return.
“Vathorem, Helkint, ye lads’ll be stayin’ here at ta camp, given tha’ yer injuries are a migh’ conspicuous. Sellior’ll be stayin’ here too ta keep an eye on yer wounds, an’ Moshel says he’s willin’ ta use his prodigious talents ta whip us up some mechanical birds wha’ we can use ta be sendin’ some updates ta each other an’ ta rest o’ ta army,” Rethnaki continued. Vathorem looked slightly disappointed, but nodded good-naturedly.
“An’ ta rest o’ us – meself, Elcrona, an’ young Jarthen – we’ll be headin’ in ta town wit’ Safir an’ Nyabel ta see wha’ we can find out.” Jarthen’s heart leapt in his chest, suddenly excited at the prospect of seeing a new city and helping Rethnaki find out valuable information about the Imperial Army’s plans.
“Tha’s all I had ta say. Seems like Jelli an’ Glothnafar are headin’ out after ta meetin’, but Elcrona, Jarthen an’ meself’ll head out tomorra mornin’. Speakin’ of, ta Inalans’ll be leavin’ us tomorra mornin’ too, so mind ye thank ‘em kindly fer their help before they head out. Do wha’e’er ye like wit’ ta rest o’ today, lads – ye’ve certainly earned at least one day off o’er ta course o’ ta last few weeks,” Rethnaki concluded. His small company grinned appreciatively, eager to rinse off the dust in the nearby freshwater stream and bed down early in the comfortable, windswept grass.
Eralus took Bertronius to a second floor apartment in Fiddler's Alley, where another elf, who was introduced as Kellin, one of Eralus' uncles. He seemed to be a good bit older than Eralus, his hair was graying and the skin on his long, thin face gathered slightly under his chin and at the corners of his eyes. "Pleasure ta meet ye," Kellin said to Bertronius wearily when Eralus jovially announced him. The older elf cast an appraising look over Bertronius that made him feel a bit uncomfortable, but Eralus seemed blissfully unaware of his relation's suspicions of the young human.
"Well, why don' we pass a pipe? What do ye say, Kellin? Bert?" Eralus asked with a wide, slightly unfocused grin on his face. Without waiting for a response from his companions, the elf, apparently quite familiar with his uncle's intoxicants, removed a pipe and pouch of pipeherb from a box sitting on a nearby table, packed it and lit it.
While Bertronius and Kellin smoked in silence, Eralus continued to chatter on idly. Bertronius did his best to be calm and offhand, though he found this somewhat difficult as Kellin continued to keep his eyes focused on the lad and his expression dubious. He couldn't be sure if the elf was bitter that he had to share his pipeherb with his freeloading nephew and unknown friend, or if this feeling stemmed from some deeper conflict.
Hoping that the pipeherb's effects would mitigate any hostility that the older elf might have been feeling towards him, Bertronius decided that he must attempt to bring up the conversation of the rebels' movements. "So," he began, exhaling an impressively large plume of smoke, "is this your uncle that's visiting town, that you told me about the other day?"
Eralus smiled blankly at Bertronius for a moment before shaking his head and responding, "Nah, nah, Kellin lives here permanen' like. Me other uncle...he hasn' been in town yet, or at leas' I ha’en’ seen him yet...why do ye ask?" the now more intoxicated elf asked curiously.
Bertronius was about to respond when Kellin exploded with rage. "Wha' do ye t’ink yer doin', ye daft fool? Do ye even know this kid!?" he asked, so incensed that he was barely able to force the words through his clenched teeth.
Eralus winced at Kellin's harsh words, and took on a very hurt look as he replied, "I didn' t’ink I was doin' anyt’in' wrong! I jus'...I was jus' happy tha' he was comin' ta town is all. Yer not goin' ta do anyt’in' ta get him in trouble, are ye, Bert?" he asked, frightened and shamed.
"No, of course not!" Bert said as honestly as he could. He was frightened by the vehemence with which Kellin had attacked his relative, but, at the same time, he also knew that he wouldn't react so passionately without Eralus having disclosed some piece of potentially valuable information.
"O' course ye didn'! Ye never t'ink yer doin' no harm until ye've gone an' ruined e'eryt'in'! ’Tis always ta way wit' ye!" Kellin spat at Eralus, preventing Bert from answering his question. As the enraged elf rose from his seat, he paused, still hunched over, and took a deep breath, before turning to address Bertronius. "I t’ink t'would be best if ye left, now. I apologize fer not bein' more...hospitable." His tone was calmer, but it was clear from both his voice and his eyes that he wanted Bertronius to leave, and fast.
The information from Eralus seemingly confirmed, and an explosive elf facing him down, Bertronius quickly said farewell, cast a sympathetic look at his cowering informant, and left the apartment, his head reeling slightly from the implications of his discovery. As he stepped out of the building into the dim Susselfen night, he observed that it was a particularly dark that night -- there was only the slightest sliver of moon in the sky. Bertronius stopped abruptly and looked up at the clear, dark night, and it hit him -- it meant that quite soon there would be a new moon, just like the satyr had sung. As he turned his attention back to the alley he was walking down, Bertronius noted the improbability of the song of a satyr could be linked to the arrival of rebels in the city. It was, he thought to himself, possible that the song could have some significance, but highly unlikely that it could be directly related to the very thing he was trying to uncover.
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1 Fiddler's Alley is a series of rundown apartments and boarding houses known for attracting elvish musicians and performers. Like much of the rest of the city, Fiddler's Alley is rife with drugs and prostitution, although it has the added benefit of many talented entertainers. It is a notoriously colorful neighborhood, frequently holding impromptu concerts and parties that last well into the wee hours of the morning.
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