Chapter 16: The Pieces Fall Into Place (pt. 2)

“Naki, no! ‘Tis yer turn ta stay an’ mind ta room, an’ anyway I promised Jarthen he could go wit’ me,” Elcrona declared, as she fixed Rethnaki with a hard stare and folded her arms defiantly across her chest. For his part, Jarthen sat on the floor contentedly eating mush, thinking to himself that he would be perfectly fine with whatever happened.

“Elcrona, I’m goin’ wit’ ye an’ tha’s ta last o’ it I want ta hear from ye. Now get ready.” Rethnaki said calmly without turning to face the feisty girl. He focused his attentions on the note he was writing.

“Naki, who do ye t’ink ye are, anyway, orderin’ me to an’ fro?”

Rethnaki gave her a cold look over his shoulder and put his pen down, and assumed a much more serious aspect than that which he typically bore. “I t’ink I’m yer commander – or have ye forgotten tha’ I am actually in charge? If ye say one more word about this, I swear I’ll leave ye here alone again an’ take ta boy wit’ me instead.” He watched her hold her tongue and leave the room to get herself ready, then turned and finished his note.

He folded the note and handed it to Jarthen. He leaned in towards the boy and spoke in hurried whispers, saying, “Jarthen, lad, listen close. Take this note ta Graz Mayhew at Dunkler’s Tavern after we leave. Make sure he reads ta note and make sure ye get an answer from him – jus’ a simple yes or no’ll do.”

Confused, and now slightly irritated that he, in fact, wouldn’t have the entire day to himself with nothing pressing to do, Jarthen took the note. “Where’s the tavern?”

“Damn, lad, keep yer voice down! I don’ ha’ time ta give ye directions, ask ta innkeeper. Now who’re ye lookin’ fer?” Rethnaki said quickly looking around to make sure Elcrona hadn’t slipped in unannounced.

“Graz Mayhew,” replied Jarthen softly. “And get a yes or no answer from him.”

Rethnaki nodded and patted him on the shoulder. “Elcrona?” he called out, “Are ye ready?”

“Aye, jus’ about,” she replied in a still surly tone. After a moment or two, she walked back into the front room and bid a warm goodbye to Jarthen. “What were ye writin’ when ye were orderin’ me about, Naki?” she asked coldly with forced nonchalance.

“I was writin’ a bedtime story fer ta lad in case we get back after he’s bedded down,” he replied sarcastically. “’Twas no business o’ yers, Ellie.”

The two walked to the pub where they were meeting the satyr in brooding silence, each stealing glances at the other when they weren’t looking. Both elves felt quite relieved when they realized that the satyr was early, waiting for them to arrive, meaning that they would not have to endure the awkward tedium of sitting in silence. He was stretched out in one of the booths, one of his bare goatish legs, which were covered in thick fur the color of pale gold, running the length of the seat and the other propped up against the table. He was tuning a lute, and humming softly along with his instrument in a deep, resonant voice. The satyr had extraordinarily pale, almost translucent skin, white-blond hair, and a short blond beard. Small, bone-colored horns sprouted from his forehead and delicately curved back over his skull. He wore a well-tailored red wool vest with gleaming mother-of-pearl buttons which was tucked into a yellow sash that had been wound around his narrow waist several times. As the elves approached, they could see that his arms and chest were quite hairy, as well. The satyr was intently focused on his lute, and did not notice the elves approach or sit down across from him until Rethnaki cleared his throat and asked if he was Johannes.

Johannes - as smug and infuriating as a satyr can be

The satyr smiled an odd, amused sort of smile and put his lute down. He regarded them for a long, uncomfortable moment with ice-blue eyes – eyes that pierced straight through the elves, as if he was trying to decide whether to tell them the truth or not. First he fixed his gaze on Rethnaki, who blanched slightly, then gave a slight nod and then he flicked those unnerving eyes on Elcrona. Elcrona, who had never been so close to a satyr, gave a tiny gasp - oh! How beautiful she found this strange creature to be, with his long eyelashes, aquiline nose, and delicate mouth. His torso was narrow and immensely graceful looking, and the muscles of his exposed skin looked as if they were carved from marble. Seeing her reaction, the satyr cocked an eyebrow and reached and placed a long, willowy finger under her chin and lifted it gently upwards. The satyr’s touch caused Elcrona to blush a very deep shade of red.

Rethnaki, annoyed and impatient, swatted the satyr’s finger away and elbowed Elcrona in the ribs. “Well? Are ye?” he asked impatiently.

“Am I who?” the satyr asked in a voice like a deep songbird, settling into the booth.

Rethnaki sighed. It had been some time since he had interacted closely with a satyr and he had forgotten what impossible creatures they could be. “Are ye Johannes ta Bard?”

The satyr smiled warmly and leaned forward, propping his head up with his hand. He flicked his ice-blue eyes at Elcrona again, to see if he could get the elf girl to blush again, and smiled a little wider when it worked. “I most certainly am. I am not just Johannes; I am Johannes the Bard. The last part is important, you know.”

“Alrigh’. I thought as much, but ‘tis jus’ good practice ta confirm,” said Rethnaki in a slightly reproachful tone. “Ye can call me Star -- ”

“No,” Johannes interrupted, “I think I’ll call you by your true names. Rethnaki and Elcrona, is it?”

Rethnaki’s eyes widened and he caught his breath. “Shh! Ye want ta get us killed? I’d rather use no names than true ones.”

Johannes looked as though he was stifling a giggle and nodded. “Fair enough. No names.”

“How’d ye know our names anyway?” Elcrona asked, her curiosity pulling her out of Johannes spell a bit.

The satyr shrugged, saying only, “It’s the job of a bard to know things others don’t. That’s why I’m here isn’t it? To learn more information others don’t know?”

“Aye, ‘tis,” replied Rethnaki. “Can ye spread word tha’ we’ve made it safely inta town, an’ tha’ any an’ all information about ta Imperial Army’s movements should be sent our way?”

“Send your secrets and your suspicions to the Pergrines and Starlings,” Johannes said nodding. “I’ll write something up tonight and pass it along to other bards I know.”

Rethnaki, now clearly irritated that the satyr had known both their true identities and their code names all along and still refused to use them, thanked him and stood to leave, nudging a still-transfixed Elcrona.

Johannes laughed brightly. “Oh, really, that’s all the news you want me to send out? Nothing about the prophecy? You nameless elves and your strange jokes.”

Rethnaki froze, momentarily, before mumbling that they had really better get on without making eye contact with anyone. Elcrona, confused and still slightly dazed from the satyr’s attentions tried to catch Rethnaki’s eye. Making no progress, she sighed and told Rethnaki that she needed to go splash some water on her face and that she’d return in a moment.

Johannes, surveying the scene with a strange air of detachment, laughed again. “So the pretty one doesn’t know, then?”

Rethnaki shook his head. “Most o’ ta rebels don’, so please, please keep tha’ ta yerself.”

The satyr nodded, staring at Rethnaki with renewed interest. “How do you know of it?”

“Oh, fer all tha’s good an’ right’, how do ye know o’ it? Tha’s a far better question,” hissed Rethnaki under his voice.

“Indeed it is. So, no news then?” the satyr asked pleasantly.

Rethnaki looked uncomfortable. He knew that despite being a red elf he was a terrible liar, and he knew that the satyr was reading him like an open book. “Alrigh’, there’s news – but this is jus’ ‘tween ye an’ me, got it? – ta Oracle confirmed tha’ ta great leader, ta one tha’ will emerge ta lead us inta victory, is a human!”

Johannes broke into an exuberant grin and pounded the table triumphantly. “HA! A human, eh? HA!”

Rethnaki furrowed his brow. “What’re ye so happy about?”

“Oh, I had a bet riding on it with a friend. She was absolutely convinced that….” The satyr paused again, clearly considering whether or not to continue. He smiled and shrugged and finished his thought. “Well, that the leader was to be you, elf who is most decidedly not named Rethnaki.” Rethnaki blushed deeply at the thought of it, and at the thought of him being spoken about by name among the bards in such a way. “So, which human is it?”

Rethnaki’s expression darkened. “Jellihondor an’ Glothnafar, they know, I t’ink, but all they’ll tell me is tha’ ta human is in Susselfen. Tha’s all I know Johannes, honest. I bid ye farewell.” Rethnaki stood and saw Elcrona leaning against the bar. He cocked his head towards the door and left the bard to tune his lute in peace once again.

Once outside of the pub, Elcrona stopped and turned to face Rethnaki directly. “What’s this prophecy talk about, Naki?”

Flustered and looking everywhere but directly at her, Rethnaki replied, “Oh, ‘tis not’in’ but ta ramblin’ o’ a mad satyr. Ye know wha’ their lot are like.”

“I know tha’ one knew t’ing’s about us tha’ he shouldn’ ha’e, an’ I know ye are a worse liar than Jarthen. So, I know ye know about a prophecy, which means there really is one. So spill it,” she said in a very matter-of-fact tone.

Rethnaki sighed and squared his shoulders before turning to look Elcrona in the eyes. “Alrigh’. Cards on ta table. Jelli and Glothnafar ha’e been see t’ings fer quite sometime, and we’re on this journey in part ta get them ta sources ta unravel it. Which, it seems, they ha’e done. Aside from tha’, wha’ ta prophecy actually is about or why they’re keepin’ it ta themselves, I don’ know a t’ing.”

Elcrona looked at him closely for a moment, and then, deciding he had told her the truth, nodded and started walking back towards the inn.

“Where’s Jarthen?” Elcrona asked in a worried voice when they returned to their room.

*****

Bertronius had hit another wall in his search for Ractor. None of his contacts had led to anything beyond him having to buy liquor for unsavory characters. But there was always Graz Mayhew. Bertronius knew that the curmudgeonly thug had a vested interest in finding Ractor, and although he would not have trusted the man in almost any other circumstance, Mayhew had nothing to lose and much to gain from the rat being found.

Bertronius was glad that McNab was already gone from the lodging house the next morning. He had not heard the spy master come in that night before - this was normal however for the overworked man – and Lem and Nelhoepher were still sleeping off the preceding evening's revelry by the time he had finished his breakfast and left.

Even though it was still early, Dunkler's Tavern was already open, playing host to the same small cast of sad drunks who broke their stupors only to lift their strong spirits to their dry, chapped lips as always. Bertronius scanned the small, grime-coated establishment until his eyes landed upon Mayhew. The man was sitting at a small corner table, leaning over a cloudy glass of amber liquid. Mayhew's face and body bespoke the weariness that comes from too many long days of heavy drinking with little rest, but his eyes were strangely alert and stood out sharply against the backdrop of his haggard form.

"Hullo, boy," Mayhew greeted him gruffly, a sly smile twisting the corners of his lips.

Bertronius nodded at him, trying to hide his disgust at the rather foul aroma hanging about the aging drunkard.

"I got summat fer yeh," Mayhew said before being interrupted by a spasm of hard, wet coughing. He took a sip of his liquor and shuddered before continuing, "Boy came by here a while back – 'bout yer age, he was. Had a very interestin' note with him, he did."

"Did he?" Bertronius asked, trying his best to be impassive, though his interest was piqued.

"Aye. Yeh see, this note said summat 'bout a red-headed spy causin' some trouble. Seems somebody wants me to keep this spy busy, and they're willin' to pay pretty handsome to see that I do it," he said giving Bertronius a hard, serious look.

Bertronius returned Mayhew's gaze, steeling himself against a rising fear that Mayhew might not take kindly to finding out that he was working in the service of the government. "What's this got to do with me, Mayhew?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"Are yeh a spy?" he asked coldly, fixing him again with those eyes that were clearer and more piercing than they had any right to be.

Bertronius took a deep breath and tried to look bored, purposefully paying more attention to a crack in the table that he was picking at than cold, dangerous man across from him. "Suppose that I am. What would the problem with that be? You know as good as anyone what I'm looking for and it has nothing to do with the war."

Mayhew gave Bertronius a long calculating look that chilled the boy to his very being: he knew that this was the gaze of a man completely comfortable with inflicting pain and taking life from those that stood in the way of his interests. After what seemed like an eternity, Mayhew coughed hard and swallowed the last of his drink in a single go. "Yer right, boy, it dunna matter to me. Yer business is yer own, just so long as it dunna get in me way. I dunna have any scruples 'bout takin' his gold, but, seein' as how yeh an’ me got more mutual interests than I got with this Starling fella, I ain't 'bout to work against yeh."

Starling – the name rang a bell. In a sudden flash of insight, Bertronius realized that was the name of the red elf that Lem and Nelhoepher had told him about the previous day, there was no doubt of it. "Did you happen to meet Starling himself?" Bertronius asked pointedly.

"Nah, like I said, I only got the note from some skinny human boy," Mayhew said distractedly, as he signaled to the sallow bartender that he wanted another drink.

"Was there anything else in the note?"

Mayhew scratched his head before responding. "Aye, it said I only had to distract yeh fer the
next four days or summat."

"I appreciate you telling me this," Bertronius said genuinely. His nimble mind was tying together the disturbing fact that there was a red elf in Susselfen who wanted to distract him with Eralus' drunken disclosure about rebels coming to the city and the fact that now he needed to be distracted for the next four days. In spite of himself, he kept returning to Lem and Nelhoepher's insistence that there was a double agent, and the strange coincidence that he was now being targeted by an elf known to frequent the Blushing Loaf – the only place Lem and Nelhoepher could have gotten their ideas about a traitor in the first place. He had to find McNab, McNab would know where to go from here.

Bertronius stood to leave, but Mayhew’s calloused, sinewy hand snaked out and wrapped itself around his wrist. It was a tight, firm grip and Bertronius knew he wouldn’t be able to break free. He froze and looked at the old gambler with wide, scared eyes. “Yeh dunna really think yeh can get information like that and just hop out the door, do yeh?”

Bertronius swallowed, his mind trying desperately to find a way out. “What do you want?”

Mayhew smiled that cold, cunning smile again. “How much do yeh have on yeh?”

“Not much.” Bertronius said. It was true, after all, he kept only as much as he needed on him at any given time, which was only prudent considering the large number of pick pockets littering the streets.

Mayhew leaned across the table and fixed him with a wide grin. “Word on the street is yer a vassal, an’ I hear yer kind keep rings an’ such on yer person to prove it should the need arise. There’s a pale line here on yer finger, I notice, an’ I canna help but wonder what used to go there. I think that would be fair enough payment.”

Bertronius looked at the crafty old man for a moment, knowing that if he didn’t hand over his ring he would likely leave Dunkler’s Tavern with at least a broken arm. And, truth be told, the information was worth far more than his ring. He could always commission a new one, after all. He nodded, reached into his coat pocket with his free hand, and handed it over.

Mayhew released his wrist and sat back in the booth. “Pleasure doin’ business with yeh, lad, as always,” he said. Bertronius gave him a curt nod and left the tavern with his mind still reeling and his heart beating fast.

*****

“Where’s Jarthen?” Elcrona asked in a worried voice when they returned to their room.

Rethnaki smiled to himself, glad that his carefully orchestrated plan was coming to fruition. While Jarthen was out giving his note to Graz Mayhew – which proposed that the elf would give him 1000 Elothninian crowns if he kept the pesky red-haired spy busy with false information about this gambler he was after long enough for the rebels to safely withdraw from Susselfen – he finally had a few moments alone with Elcrona. He had been wanting to address the concerns that Sellior had raised some time ago, but she had been avoiding him more steadily since they had come into the city and the felintarks had gone their own way so as not to rouse suspicions. “I’m sure ta lad’s jus’ out ta get summat ta eat. He’s tough, he’ll be fine.”

Elcrona looked at him pointedly and then kicked him in the shin. “Ye lyin’ ass! Ye know where ta boy is.”

“Oww! Alrigh’, I sent him off on an errand – an’ no, I’m not tellin’ ye wha’ it is, no matter how much ye brutalize me,” Rehtnaki said, gently rubbing his shin. “But part o’ ta reason he’s gone is because I wanted some time alone wit’ ye, Ellie,” he continued softly, not quite able to bring himself to look her in the eyes.

Elcrona tried to mask her surprise, but failed miserably. Then she tried to stifle the smile slowly spreading on her face and failed at that endeavor as well, overcome by feelings of awkwardness and embarassment. After a few moments, however, she remembered how angry she was with him and crossed her arms defiantly. Before she could speak, before she could stomp out of the room, Rethnaki grabbed her hand and said, “Look, I know ye don’ want ta talk wit’ me. I’m not blind, I can see how yer avoidin’ bein’ alone wit’ me.”

Elcrona sat on the floor and sat silently beside him, not letting go of his hand. He sighed, and glanced her, blushing deeply. “Ellie, ye know I’ve fancied ye since ye firs’ joined up wit’ us. An’ darlin’ ‘tis not yer beauty I took such a likin’ to – although, don’ get me wrong, ye are a fine-lookin’ lass – ‘tis tha’ mind ye got. Yer braver than anyone I’ve e’er met, an’ ye can see right through everyt’in’ I say ta ye. I daresay I’ve met me match wit’ ye.”

Elcrona squeezed his hand. “Naki, I – “

“I’m not finished, Ellie.” Rethnaki sighed and turned to face her, and she saw the tear tracks on his face and heard the pain in his voice. “Wha’ I’m tryin’ ta say, an’ I appreciate yer patience wit’ me, is tha’ I t’ink….I t’ink I could ha’e given ye wha’ ye want had we met sooner. But it’s too late fer tha’ now – I’m not the kind o’ man ye want and I never will be.”

“No, Naki, tha’s not true! I don’ care about Citrene, or – “

“No, darlin’ ye shouldn’. But, ye should care about me wife,” Rethnaki said heavily.
Elcrona felt her heart drop to the floor. All this time she had believed that Rethnaki was just flitting from girl to girl casually, and that if she had just been able to pin him down, he would commit to her and her alone. “Ye ha’e a wife?” she asked softly.

Rethnaki nodded and wiped a tear from his cheek. “Aye, her name’s Isilida. She lives in Elftown, now. We joined together when we were very young – I was 67 and she was 73.” He smiled softly at the memory.

“I’ve…I’ve ne’er heard ye mention her before,” Elcrona said in a quiet voice.

Rethnaki gave her a pointed look. “’Tis a migh’ painful ta discuss yer great love when ye ne’er see her, and ye canna write ta, but who ye still dream o’ e’ery single nigh’….Ellie, ta last time I saw her was o’er 40 years past.” He paused, regaining his composure. “Elcrona, I love ye, girl. In ta deep an’ true ways tha’ I t’ink ye long for – yer ta only person aside from Isilida tha’ I ha’e such strong feelin’s fer. But I still ha’e them fer Isilida, an’ because o’ tha’, I can ne’er be only yours ta way ye want.”

Elcrona wanted to ask if he was really sure he still felt so strongly about his wife in Elftown, but she knew that that would be as fruitless as him asking her if she was sure she couldn’t be happy sharing him with Isilida. She took a deep breath and nodded. She smiled and wiped the tears from his face and kissed him lightly on the forehead. “Thank ye fer tellin’ me – an’ if ye e’er wan’ ta skip out o’ Susslefen and make a mad dash fer yer Isilida, I’ll make up some excuse fer ye.”
Rethnaki scooped her up into his arms and embraced her fiercely. He was overcome by a wide range of emotions: he felt a desperate longing to kiss her in spite of all that had been said, memories his lovely Isilida so far away made him feel desperately lonely, the kind of loneliness that aches and throbs in the pit of one’s stomach, he regretted deeply never having discussed this before and he felt guilty for allowing their affection for each other to flourish unchecked for so long.

“Naki, do me a favor?” Elcrona whispered.

“Hmm?” he replied, still caught in his whirlwind of emotions.

“Ye tell Sellior I’m goin’ ta torture him mercilessly before I kill him. I’d bet good money he put ye up to this,” she said. As she said, Rethnaki felt the tension between them easing. The attraction would never quite wane, and he may have lost the possibility of a deeper relationship with her, but it was clear that he had not lost her as a friend. He breathed a deep sigh of relief.