Chapter Eight

Grand Advisor Umeris:

Regarding our search for the stone curse, there is new and vital information that has come to our attention. We beseech you to turn the purge clerics from the Verboten wilds and direct them to the base of the Witherhorn Mountains. This is no plague but a dark mage intent on wiping out all forest elves and druids. Your aid would prove invaluable.

Yours in humble subservience, Kenton Amergin, Liaison from Renedith and prince of the Verboten Territory and its People.

“UGH, I HATE HOW YOU HAVE TO SOUND like you’re planting your lips on his pucker at the end of every damn missive,” Tezen snarled as she hung from my braids. “That’s the problem with the high-and-mighty. They get all slippery betwixt thier legs from having people grovel.”

I could not disagree. My fingers rolled the small bit of parchment into a tight roll. Nin sat above us, the sleek black carrier of what I prayed would save the druid camps from certain annihilation. I clucked softly to the raven as my brother rested on his travois. Beirach and I had dosed him well with the last of our medicines and then added a sleeping potion atop the healing draughts and spells. Our aim was to see him slumber throughout the day as we rode. The journey would not be a smooth one, for we had no time now to trot along at a genteel pace.

“You think they’ll call off the clerics?” Tezen asked as Nin left his roost to land in front of me, hopping about to clean up the crumbs left by our hasty breakfast. None of us, other than Eldar, had found much rest last night. After the beetle attack in the library, Beirach and I returned to the clearing, relayed the event to Tezen, and tended to my brother. Our unease was now tripled for who knew if Maverus was watching us through the eyes of another swarm of corrupted insects. Yes, I knew I should not assume that this evil wizard was Beirach’s son without proof, but my instincts were telling me that it was.

“I pray so,” I replied, calling to the raven once more. He walked to me in that funny way that his kind walked, then paused in front of me. I kneeled down and fastened the missive to the raven’s right leg. “Nin, you must fly with great haste.”

He rattled at me, the call possibly meaning he understood or he wished for more bread crusts. I felt he grasped what I asked of him but had no way of actually communicating with him. When this nightmare was over, I must find a way to begin my studies in earnest. Perhaps a wise, kind, and handsome archdruid would take me under his wing.

I stood, daydreams lifting from my mind as the thin fog did as the day warmed. I whispered a prayer over the raven and then lifted my arm. Off he soared, strong wings taking him in a steady spiral until he cleared the treetops. He sailed southwest. At least he was headed in the correct direction for Renedith.

“Would you like to come with me?” I asked the tiny woman wound in my braids.

“If you’re asking if I’m riding to the human camp, shits yeah! I’ve only ever seen humans from a distance,” Tezen called from the knot she had somehow made around her little form. “Also…shit your hair is thick.” She tugged sharply, making me wince as I went to the edge of the glen to pluck some fragrant cedar bells from under a young green elm. The elm was opening its leaves to the new sun, its aura one of pleasure. “Also, I plan on being with you right to the end. I mean, you two need me. I’m the only one with the rock nuggets to drive a pick into the eyeball of Maverus.”

I sighed while pinching off some flowers whose stalks were beginning to look aged, the bells happy to have their white seeds spread as I slowly walked into my village.

I thought to correct her and point out that we did not know if we were facing Beirach’s child, but the odds were high. My next time in prayer I would ask the goddess to make it otherwise, for seeing him have to end his son’s life would be too much to bear.

“No offense,” Tezen tacked on as we slowly made our way along the well-worn path through the village, my grip on the soft yellow stems tight. “I mean, he’s pretty rugged and all, and I’m sure he can do the deed if he needs to, but you seem kind of…well, pretty.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not pretty, and even if I were—”

“Oh yeah, you are, and Big B thinks so too. I’ve seen how you two drool over each other while we’re getting ready for sleep. It’s a damn wonder the fire can stay lit with the rivers of spittle dripping off your chins.”

“Your way of describing things never fails to amaze me,” I commented, dropping a single bell-shaped flower at the stony foot of the clan tailor, hands that usually stitched glorious robes for holy days, weddings, and funerals now locked in front of his gray face.

“My mother used to say all the time, ‘Tezen, you’ll never secure a good mate with that kind of indelicate talk.’ Ow, why is your hair so…oh, never mind, I got it free.” She climbed to the top of my head, then took a thin braid in hand as if I were a plow horse. “I mean, do I strike you as the type of person who wants a good mate? I don’t want any mate, nor will I ever have one, or whelp a litter of suckling babes.”

I walked on, dropped a flower at the toes of a teenager cradling a small dog to his chest, both with looks of fear locked in place.

“Even if we did gaze at each other in that way, what matter does it make? Our only thought can be saving the druids and thereby saving the wilds of Melowynn.”

“Right, sure, but if you do get dead, and I’m not saying that you will due to your meager battle skills, but if you did, then you’ll go to your goddess never knowing the rapture of lying in a lover’s arms. And that, my pale prince, would be a tragedy!”

“I am not a prince,” I reminded her, but the proof of that was on its way back to Renedith.

She flipped over my brow to hang in front of my face, her tiny, booted feet on the bridge of my nose. I had to cross my eyes to see her properly.

“Yeah, you are. You’re eveal , right? Isn’t that the word you elves use to describe someone of prestige?” I nodded. “See, you’re just like I am. We’re nobility. We can deny it all we want, but our bloodlines are far from common. A son of a wilder warden and a high priestess? Please, you’ve got druid prince aura oozing from you, just like I have pixie princess milady dust falling out of my ass. It’s who we are. Do we want to be? Nope, but we are, so we might as well at least accept it and use it for whatever good we can.”

I tried to blow her away as one would a pesky fly, but she merely clung to those two braids more tightly.

“What good have you found from your lineage then?” I asked, stepping around the well at the center of our community to place a flower on the lap of a mother clasping her small baby to her breast. The tears on her cheeks were captured in stone. I sucked in a shaky breath and moved on as we had many miles to go. Crying over things would have to wait for later.

“Well, it gets me lots of free ale and pretty wenches when I stop at pubs,” she stated factually, pushing off my nose to take to the air, her wings a blur. Purple dust billowed behind her, making me sneeze. “I bet you’d get all kinds of cock if you used your title to your advantage.”

“I don’t want all kinds of cock,” I told her as we tenderly stepped into the temple where my family stood, locked in stone, perhaps forever if we could not kill the necromancer who had cast this curse. “I just wish to have one man’s love,” I whispered, kneeling down in front of my father to place a bell at his foot. Then I moved to each sibling, and then, finally, I laid the remaining flowers at my mother’s tiny feet. “I will do my best to see you and all our people freed from this darkness,” I told her.

“She’s so lovely,” Tezen softly said, flitting about, leaving a trail of fine lavender particles on my mother’s head. “I can see where you get your looks from. She would be proud of you.” I smiled weakly at my friend. “I’m proud of you, and the big man, and myself most of all. It was really hard to leave home. I miss my sisters…”

“Perhaps when this is over and the spell is broken, you can return home with all the accolades of the druids upon your shoulders. Surely your father will then see you as the fearsome warrior you are.”

She smiled at me, pointed teeth as white as ivory. “From your mouth to my father’s cranky old, hairy ears.” I lingered for another moment to look upon my mother before I shook free from the urge to hug my family one last time. “You’ll be back, you and Beirach, and we’ll be singing at your wedding.”

My face warmed at the thought. “A wedding is nonsensical. We’ve not even kissed yet. We may not make it out of this—”

“Tut!” She held up a diminutive finger. “No such talk. We will survive. We will kick the ass of that bratty kid of Beirach’s, and we will come back here to see you two properly joined. I’ll make it happen.” She darted down to kiss the tip of my nose, then streaked off. I followed the trail of purple particles as they floated in a sunbeam.

“A wedding. From her mouth to your holy ears,” I whispered to the goddess as we made our way to our horses, waiting patiently and unaware of the brutal miles that lay ahead of them.

We rode as fast and as hard as the horses and Eldar could manage. Even with sleeping potions and spells to quicken his healing, his battered body was slow to mend. We stopped more than Tezen liked, but I refused to drive the steeds, or my brother, into the ground. The small hamlet of Swanshire, a collection of perhaps twenty or so wattle and daub homes, was surrounded by rice fields with the craggy Witherhorn range standing sentry. The Verboten hugged the exterior of the area closely, the bogs caused by the shifting of underwater springs fed by the Vilhall River, according to Beirach. And he should know. These were his people. He had spent time here during his childhood as well as when he had been wandering aimlessly after the loss of his wife.

Tezen rode between Atreil’s pricked ears, her enthusiasm for seeing a human colony subdued for some reason. We rode slowly up on the tiny settlement, the smell of wood smoke and musty water tickling my nose. A heavy morning haze hung in the air as several human children appeared in rickety doorways, round eyes wide, as we rode past. I lifted a hand in greeting. A few waved back. Many dashed off into the darkened interiors of their homes to peek at us through rough-hewn shutters. Humans in Melowynn did not live as the city elves did, or even, sadly enough, as the forest elves did. They were looked down upon as disease-ridden third-class citizens. We green-skinned elves were second class, much like the dwarves, yeti, and elusive Sandrayans from the western isles. None were quite as impressive as those who dwelled in massive vills.

“My cousin lives in the last hut,” Beirach informed us, sitting tall in his saddle, my brother resting in his arms. Eldar had refused to be bound into the travois by summoned vines any longer and had staged a rebellion last night. Seeing his mule-headedness creeping back pleased me, even if his stubborn refusal to rest while we covered so many rough miles did not. “Actually, she is my cousin removed a few times.”

I smiled and nodded. Being half human, Beirach would live about four hundred years if he kept himself in good shape, which he did. His human mother would have passed away many years ago. His father had returned to his people after his wife died and was killed by a mad boar while hunting when Beirach had been a newlywed. The man had lost so many dear to him…

“I look forward to meeting her,” I said and meant it. My time spent with, and my knowledge about humans, could fit into a thimble. I hoped to amend that so when I returned to Aelir I could teach him the good things about humans. If they possessed any good things. Surely they must, for Beirach carried their blood, and he was one of the finest men I’d ever met. “Eldar can use a good rest.”

“Eldar is fine. Eldar wishes you would cease discussing him as if he were not even present,” my brother snarled with vigor, even though his face was ashen.

“Apologies,” I replied with a fast look at Beirach, who gently smiled behind Eldar’s grimy head. We all needed soap and water badly. Beirach claimed there was a small hut that sat over a small hot spring nearby that the townsfolk used to steam themselves and bathe. To lounge in a bath of hot water sounded decadent. It was appalling how spoiled I had become living in Castle Willowspirit. “I will address you henceforth. You can use a good rest.”

“You have become bossier than I could have ever imagined,” Eldar said, his voice hitching in pain, the headstrong fool.

“I spend my days with a young lad, so I have learned to speak to those who are being childish with a certain tone,” I parried.

“You’re claiming that I’m childish? I’m older than you, Kenton!” Eldar snapped and winced when Beirach pulled Methril to a sudden halt.

A slim human woman emerged from the earthen plaster home, her auburn hair and bright blue eyes nearly identical to Beirach’s.

“You return with elves and pixies this time,” she called out as a skinny cat slunk around her ankles. She wore a simple dress, a heavy apron, and her feet were dressed in thick socks.

“Greetings, Agathe Bronmura,” Beirach called out as a beefy dwarven man stepped out of the home, his black beard down to his belly, his bald pate glossy, and his brown eyes sparkling. “And to you, Bissori Bronmura. Cousin, this man is in dire need of rest and some of your beaver stew.”

“Aye, then bring the poor sod inside out of this mist. Husband, fetch a keg of ale from the root cellar and grab a handful of misty clover that’s gone to mold. He’ll need tea. Come inside then, Beirach, and bring your misfits with you.”

The dwarf grinned up at Beirach. “Good to see you, my man. Here, hand the elf to me.” He reached up. Eldar slithered off the horse, the gelding none too pleased with his dismount. Bissori caught my brother with ease and carried him into the small home like a bride. “Come inside before your cousin bitches about the mist seeping into her rugs.”

“We best get inside,” Beirach said as he dismounted. “I’ll take the horses to the barn. Go inside and see to your brother.”

I sat atop the mare, suddenly reluctant to go inside. Tezen clung to Atreil’s left ear. The horse twitched it violently to shake off the pixie, to no avail. “I promise you that my cousin is a kind, gracious woman who holds no quarrel with elves or pixies. Go. I’ll be along shortly.”

I dismounted. Tezen flew into my hair, then wrapped a few grimy braids around her middle.

“Humans smell funny,” she whispered into my ear when I handed the reins to Beirach.

“That’s the rice patty,” I informed her.

“Oh.” Tezen fell silent as I slowly made my way inside. The interior was warm, cramped, but rich with atmosphere. Eldar was lying on a long sort of settee, already covered with a woven blanket of darkest red.

“Come in, shut the door,” Agathe barked from the fireplace while stirring what I assumed was the mentioned stew. My stomach rumbled at the smell of rich gravy. “Your brother is in need of proper food and some herbal tea to knit the bones. Take off your boots! Have you grown up in a pigsty?!”

“Apologies, my lady,” I hurried to say as I toed off my boots and placed them in a low box beside the door.

“Pfft, I’m no lady. That title is reserved for the city elves,” Agathe replied as she dished up some stew. “Sit down.”

I hurried to plant my ass in a chair by the fire. Tezen stayed bound in my braids like a fancy court hair accessory. “Bissori, go get the ale and the herbs. By all the gods, you stare at that elf as if you ain’t never seen a forest child before.”

“I ain’t never seen one that shade,” the stout man in homespun trousers and shirt confessed. “Don’t give me that eye of yours, woman. I’m going.”

Off he went, short legs carrying him out into the foggy day with speed. I sat at the table, my clothes damp from the misty weather, and watched Agathe spoon feed Eldar. The twit had ridden upright for miles and had exhausted himself. There was no lacking ego in my elder siblings. While my brother gratefully ate the stew—refusing the chunks of meat—I glanced about the home. There were boards on the floor and around the windows. No glass, for that was too expensive for those on the fringes. The kitchen and living area were one with two doors that led off the main room.

“Once we get him fed and some moldy misty clover tea into him, we’ll move him to my son’s vacant room until he is able to ride,” she informed me.

“Again, I need remind all that I am lying right here and can hear what is being said about me,” Eldar stated between mouthfuls of vegetables and thick gravy.

“Shut your mouth and eat,” Agathe said as she chased something around in the bowl resting on her lap.

“If I close my mouth, how do I eat?” Eldar asked.

The look he got made Tezen burrow into my braids. “I brook no wise mouths be they dwarf, human, yeti, or elf. Now, do as you’re told or your brother there can haul both of your pretty asses out into the rice patty to sleep for all I care,” Agathe replied.

“Humans are mean,” Tezen whispered into my ear.

“No, she is just firm. Sometimes churlish boys need a firm hand,” I said aloud and got a glower from a now silent Eldar. Bissori returned with a handful of moldy flowers in one hand and a keg on his thick shoulder. Beirach followed him, his clothing now wet.

“Rains come in it has,” Bissori called out. “Take off your boots and cape, cousin, and we’ll get you fed and filled with my best pumpkin ale.”

Eldar fell asleep as we settled down to eat. Agathe worked at the fire, crumbling bits of this herb and that flower into a teapot hanging off one of several metal hooks inside the hearth. The stew was delicious even if there were bits of beaver in it. Bissori chuckled at me, then asked for my meat. I was happy to scrape it into his bowl.

“So, cousin, what brings you back to the patties with such an interesting entourage?” Bissori enquired after the stew was eaten and the pumpkin ale keg tapped. I declined the beer several times but was encouraged to take one tankard as a courtesy. Tezen, who had nibbled on carrots that I had passed her from the stew, emerged from my hair at the mention of ale.

“We are on a mission to reach the two white oaks on the side of the Witherhorn,” Beirach explained as he sipped at the ale.

“Truly? That is a rather steep climb for two such as yourselves,” Bissori commented.

“Ahem, there are three on this quest,” Tezen interjected and got a nod from our new dwarven friend.

“My apologies, my lady. I meant no slight. Surely you are superior to these two gangly elves as you have wings to carry you up the side of the mountain like a snow condor riding the currents.” Tezen preened. Bissori leaned over the table, his beard now pinned between the table’s edge and his belly. “There is an old path, overgrown I am sure, that will lead you to Mother Moth, the waterfall that roars downward from the very edge of Franzen Dun, where I was whelped. I could lead you to the falls but cannot go further by writ of the yeti clan who claims that area of the mountains as a base camp. Perhaps they will allow you passage behind the falls if you take them a shiny bobbin. They love sparkly bits and bobs.”

“Your offer to guide us is well received,” I said and glanced at Beirach for confirmation. He nodded with enthusiasm.

“Then we will strike out at sunrise, for only a tit-headed cock dribble would traverse the sides of the Witherhorn Mountains in the dark. Eat. Drink!” Bissori shouted and shoved two full tankards of ale at us.

Beirach took a large gulp. “Mm, you have outdone yourself! This is even better than the strawberry lager we had the last time I visited.”

Bissori beamed, then stroked his long beard. “The pumpkins were the best we have ever grown last fall. Fat and filled with seeds just like the fishmonger’s wife!”

“You and those fishmonger wife tales. Honestly, I think you lie awake at night with your pecker in your hand and make them up,” Agathe interjected as she ladled the rather pungent smelling tea into a stout cup.

“Now, my love, you know that ain’t so. It’s your hand on my pecker at night,” Bissori teased and got a snorting laugh from the pixie on my shoulder. She flitted down to dip her tiny mug into my untouched stein of beer.

“I like you. Anyone who talks about peckers and horny fishmonger’s wives are top of the midden heap in my book,” Tezen announced with a toast to the smiling dwarf.

Soon the small house was filled with raunchy tales of oversexed fishmonger’s wives. Beirach partook of only that one mug while I had a few sips. Tezen and Bissori were well into their cups by the time night had fully arrived. Agathe had sat by Eldar, dribbling her moldy tea into him despite his sleepy protests over the taste.

“Let us move this man to the spare room,” Agathe said over the hoots of her husband and our drunken pixie warrior. “Then you two may make use of the steam hut across the way. I’ll not have you crawling into my bed with the stink of horse and sweaty man on you.”

“Cousin, we cannot ask you to give up your bed. Kenton and I will be happy to call the barn our resting place for the night,” Beirach argued gently. He was summarily told that he and I would sleep where we were told.

“She wants to cuddle with me on that fancy Kanazem couch that I brung all the way from Ballybar to woo her with.” Bissori winked, then patted Agathe’s skinny rump. She blushed red as an apple before scooting Beirach and me to the door.

“Hey, hey, you two need to get your wankers out and into each other,” Tezen shouted while balancing on the edge of my stew bowl on her tiptoes. “I mean…I mean it.” She hiccupped. “Life is short!”

With that, she passed out and teetered backward into the cold stew. Bissori plucked her from the gravy by her wings.

“We’ll dry her out above the fire,” the dwarf told us as my cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Beirach and I headed out into the night, the mucky road into the village lit by a few torches that sputtered in the thick mist. I had a thought to try to wheedle out of the comments from Lady Tezen, but how could I without making it worse? So, I said nothing as we entered the small lean-to barn that housed our horses and two wooly sheep. Our saddlebags were tucked under a hay mound. After we rummaged about for soap and what had to pass for clean clothes, we silently made our way to the steam hut. It sat at the end of the road, a torch stuck in the ground at the walk to the flat-roofed building. There were two windows that mineral rich steam seeped out of. The door opened with a creak, the interior dark aside from several fat candles that Beirach lit with a small flick of flint to pyrite.

“Amazing it lit at all as damp as everything is,” he said, the first words spoken between us since we’d left his cousin’s home.

“Is it always this wet here in the valley?” I asked, closing the door and staring at the bubbling pool of water in the center of the hut. Stone seats surrounded the smooth rock pool where hot water burbled.

“It can be this time of year,” he answered as he sat down to remove his boots. I did the same, my tongue pressed to the back of my teeth, unsure of what to say as we timidly undressed in front of each other. I’d never shown him much of my body, other than that flash of a buttock. Beirach had no qualms about baring himself. I watched the floor beside my now bare feet fill with his dirty clothes, item by item, until his small clothes hit the pile. I swallowed loudly while fiddling with a wet sock stuck to my foot. “The clouds tend to cling to the forest and the sides of the Witherhorn, locking the moisture in, which is good for the rice patties as they require a great deal of rain to keep them filled.”