Previously in The Tale of Jarthen, Bertronius confirmed his suspicions about the drunken elf's information and the rebels crossed through the Semadran Gate and found themselves back in Elothnin.
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As he entered the spy headquarters with Nelhoepher and Lem, Bertronius still felt nervous about presenting his findings to his superiors, particularly since he hadn't had a chance to run his information by McNab's expert eyes before the meeting. The spymaster had not returned since Bertronius's encounter with Eralus except to sleep, and he was so clearly exhausted that the lad felt it was much more important for his mentor to rest than hear about his recent discoveries. Nevertheless, Bertronius felt that he had found sufficient information to warrant presentation to the other spies, and he steeled himself for the inevitable grilling that came with any new information from the seasoned, skeptical spies.
McNab had already seated himself at the front of the room with Scrudton by the time that the three young spies entered the main meeting room, and took a group of seats in the back. After Sir Atelon had briefly gone over the minutes from the last meeting, he called McNab to talk about the latest intelligence on the rebels' movements. Even from the back of the room, Bertronius could see the heavy bags under his superior's eyes, and he thought that even his already salt and pepper hair was steadily gaining a higher proportion of salt.
"Greetings lads, I'll try to be brief, as I know yer all itchin' to be done with this meetin' as soon as possible," he began, his usually warm voice was now strained and harsh with weariness. "We can now say with increasin' certainty that the Rebels have evacuated their positions in the Erkenheld in favor of refuge in the T'Lango Archipelago. As yeh all well know, the T'Lango have existed in a state of conflict with her majesty's empire fer many years now, though there hasna been any hostility showed beyond not welcomin' our vessels in their ports."
"Is this a retreat? Have the rebels given up, then?" one of the spies asked hopefully from across the room.
"We can't be sure," McNab responded. As he continued he gave a weak smile, saying, "I see it as a good sign, though. Clearly if things were a-goin' the way that lot wanted, they'd be marching on Neerhemhind right now. Given tha' they've completely given up harassing our forces massed on the western frontier for the last several months, I think that we can safely say that this is a major step forward for the war effort, and the empire as a whole."
As McNab said these words, all the other spies in the room including Lem and Nelhoepher burst into applause. Bertronius wanted to be as optimistic as possible, but he felt that he shouldn't let himself get too comfortable as he still had to deliver his own intelligence – which painted a very different picture of the rebels than what McNab had just stated.
"As to the matter of the small contingent of rebels that split from the main body of the army, our findings are still unclear," McNab continued, glancing at a set of notes he had drawn up. "There's been some speculation that this group was sent further into the Erkenheld in search of some sort of decisive weapon to turn the war in their favor, but no evidence concernin' this hypothesis has been forthcomin'. Another source has claimed that these rebels were on a diplomatic mission to try to win the support of the Ogres and Felintarks. This seems a much more likely scenario, but its aims are equally desperate to searching for a mythical weapon o’ some kind," he said, his stony expression in the face of this positive news evidence of the immense toll that his work took on him. "Neither of these groups have expressed anything but the utmost loyalty to the Queen, and there is no reason to expect this to change," he said as confidently as he could. Though his tone remained grave, and McNab seemed to smile a little as he concluded his report. "The overall picture is favorable for our side. The image we have of the rebels is that of an army quickly and soundly headed towards defeat. They have retreated and avoided fightin' us fer nigh on a year -- gentlemen, though it would be premature to declare victory, I think that we do at last have reason to be optimistic."
Jarthen shivered in the cold, frothy water of the mountain stream. He reflected that winter would be coming soon, and the early morning air already held a bitter chill. The sobering iciness of the creek tempered the excitement he had felt about going to Susselfen the previous night, but Rethnaki had insisted that they bathe before leaving that day.
“Is this really necessary, Naki?” asked Jarthen mournfully. “I rinsed off yesterday when we set up camp – you know, in the afternoon, when it was warm out.”
Rethnaki chuckled. “Aye, ‘tis necessary lad. Yer goin’ undercover! Got ta get whate’er grit an’ grime we can off ye. ‘Sides, there’s not’in’ more invigoratin’ than a brisk mornin’ swim! Starts yer day off righ’!”
Rethnaki looked at the skinny boy standing waist deep in the stream, hunched and shivering, and a sly, mischevious grin spread across his face. Jarthen felt the red elf’s strong hands pin his arms to his sides. “An’ don’ ferget ta wash yer hair, lad!” Rethnaki cried, skillfully dunking Jarthen headfirst into the water several times. When Jarthen resurfaced, his blond hair was plastered to his face and neck, now flecked with bits of water lily and other aquatic detritus, but he couldn’t help laughing in spite of himself.
Nevertheless, Jarthen gave up on his morning bath, finding it not in the least invigorating. Jarthen noticed that his usual outfit, which he had awoken in and spent virtually every moment wearing since his capture by the rebels nearly two years ago, had been taken. In its stead were a pair of gray wool trousers, a slightly oversized white shirt, and a tweedy blue button-down vest.
Perplexed, he called out to Rethnaki, who had been humming and scrubbing himself vigorously. “Naki, what’s with these new clothes? Where’s my stuff?”
“Oh, we couldn’a just waltz inta Susselfen wearin’ our grand Golden Tree1 across our chests, markin’ ourselves out as rebels ta e’eryone but ta blind, could we? Safir woke early this mornin’ an’ scoured ta local clotheslines fer some items we could wear in town. Must ha’e jus’ got back from it,” Rethnaki supplied before returning to his bath with as much relish as before.
Jarthen shrugged, and stepped out of the water, shaking himself to fling off as much of the cold water as possible. He stepped into the warm Elothninian clothing gingerly, missing the weight of his leather jerkin and the richer colors of his old clothes already.
After McNab's report, a few other spies offered reports on their recent findings. Most of these focused on the actions of local rebel sympathizers being actively surveilled by the spy corps, or on the network of drug traders and black marketeers that helped fund their insurrection. Bertronius found it hard to pay attention to the other speakers as he could not stop rehearsing his own thoughts. When Sir Atelon asked if there was any other new business, Bertronius took a deep breath, raised his hand, and mounted the podium.
As he looked down at the first row of seated spies, he noticed that McNab's face was decidedly confused. When he caught Bertronius's eye he gave the lad a weak smile, which heartened him a bit. "Greetings, colleagues. I know that I'm still quite new here, but I believe that I may have stumbled across some information of value. While searching for information on sympathizers at a local tavern, I met a red elf by the name of Eralus who communicated to me that an uncle of his would be arriving in Susselfen with a small contingent of the Rebel Army. Although I was skeptical of the validity and importance of this intelligence, I felt that it was my duty to follow up on the matter."
Bertronius aids the causeBertronius found that his initial nervousness was abating, and that he was increasingly caught up in the momentum of his report. "I eventually traced the elf in question to the Fiddler's Alley section of Susselfen, where I proceeded to collect some background information on him. I was also able to track him down, and meet with him, and another of his relatives – introduced to me as Kellin - whose behavior indicated to me that this was important information, that no untrusted human should have gotten access to. I believe that these rebels will be crossing the northern border of Elothnin in the near future," Bertronius paused and looked at his fellow spies. Most of them seemed at least mildy interested in his report, and Sir Atelon was attentively taking notes on what he said. McNab did not look well at all, his face was pale, and his eye was twitching nervously in a way that Bertronius had never seen before. Bertronius attributed his mentor’s expression to the man's clear lack of sleep.
"Do you have any idea how many of them there are?" Pearson, one of the higher ranking spies, asked. "Are you sure this isn't just a case of some random elvish deserters that may be coming to Susselfen?" though this question was not asked in an overtly hostile tone, Pearson's face looked skeptical.
In spite of the challenge, Bertronius took a deep breath and responded as best he could. "Well, this certainly is a possibility, and that there hasn't been any proof otherwise. However, I contend that we should, nay, need to take this matter seriously. Would it not be better to arrest a few deserters than to allow potentially valuable members of the enemy to enter this city unnoticed?" he responded, surprised at how confident he sounded.
Pearson appeared to be on the verge of saying something characteristically caustic and cutting, but he was preempted by Sir Atelon. "I agree with you entirely, Bertronius, my boy," he said rising to his feet. "I, too, am somewhat risk averse -- a trait that all spies who wish to remain alive should cultivate in themselves. I want you to follow up on this matter as far as you can, and for the rest of you to keep your eyes and ears open to the arrival of rebels in Susselfen. Ask any contacts that you might have -- I want to know who these rebels are, and where they're heading."
Bertronius swelled with pride at the reaction his intelligence had elicited from Scrudton. McNab, for his part, seemed to recover, smiled at Bertronius, casting the lines of exhaustion on the man's face in starker repose. Lem and Nelhoepher, on the other hand, grinned enthusiastically and thumped him sufficiently hard on his back when he returned to his seat, leaving him breathless, but happy.
Jarthen had been watching Leila playing a card game with her father for some time now. He knew he would be leaving to go to Susselfen any moment, and desperately wanted to say goodbye, but he felt paralyzed. He didn’t know how to approach her, and if he did get her alone, he wouldn’t know what to say. All Jarthen knew was that he was extremely grateful to have befriended the Inalan girl on the harrowing trip through the Dark Lands. Understandably, he was finding it rather hard to accept the fact that they may not ever see each other again.
“Jarthen, lad, come on! We’ve got to go!” he heard Rethnaki yell from across the camp. The brutal reality of the situation, that he and Leila were being wrenched apart, sunk in. Jarthen felt a sharp, twisting ache in his chest. He sighed, glanced once more at the Inalans playing their game, and decided that slipping quietly away was for the best.
“Lad, get a move on! We ha’en’ got all day!” yelled Rethnaki, more exasperated this time.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Jarthen muttered dejectedly under his breath while he walked slowly off. He sighed again, wiping away a few small tears from his cheeks.
Jarthen felt a light hand on his shoulder. “Yair can’t go without saying goodbye!” Leila said softly. Jarthen turned and saw her, and though there were tears welling up in her eyes too, she still had the fierceness and self-composure that Jarthen had first noticed about her. He grinned, embarrassed, and unsure what to do.
“I’m not very good at goodbyes, Leila,” he said, sheepishly.
“Well, I am. I’ve had a lot of practice with all this traveling,” she replied. “I’ll miss yair so much, Jarthen! It was so nice to be around someone who really understood me. And yair are so very brave…and handsome…” she trailed off, blushing. “Anyway, I brought yair something. Here,” she continued, handing him a small book with blank pages and a red leather cover. “My vather made it fer yair. If I write letters to my mother, even though I can’t send them to her when we’re traveling, it makes me feel less lonely. So, I thought, whenever yair feel lonely, yair could just…write me a letter.”
journals - gifts of the InalaJarthen was dumbstruck – no one had ever done anything so nice for him! Without a second thought, he scooped Leila up into a tight bear hug, lifting her off the ground and cried hot, silent tears into her sweet-smelling hair.
“JARTHEN! So help me, I’m losin’ wha’ little patience I e’er had, boy! Ye comin’ to Susselfen or not?!” yelled a still more belligerent Rethnaki.
Jarthen placed Leila delicately back on the ground and took the journal. “I…uh…guess that’s my cue. I will never, ever forget you! I promise that I’ll fill this with letters to you and find you again when we’re older and give it back,” Jarthen said, his voice muffled by the emotions overwhelming his very being.
Leila leaned in, standing on her toes, and shyly kissed Jarthen’s cheek. “I know yair will, that’s one ov the reasons I like yair so much.” Just then, Rethnaki loudly let forth a string of elvish curses, and Jarthen was glad that he hadn’t picked up much Athenorkos during his stay with the rebels. “Yair better go!” she said, shoving him away playfully. “See yair when I see yair!”
Jarthen jogged backwards, waving at Leila. “Yeah, see you when I see you!” he replied, as bravely as he could. “Hopefully that’s sooner rather than later,” he thought to himself as he ran to the now very angry Rethnaki.
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1The Golden Tree is the emblem of the Rebel Army. Being a motley and underfinanced crew, the rebels do not have uniforms. Instead, they emblazon a bright yellow tree on the outermost chest garments of their members.
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