CHAPTER V
FELIN
For Felin, it began as a day like any other. She was
working in the smithy with her cousins, assisting the elder
dwarves in their craft. She paused a moment, and watched
them work, dreaming of the day when she, too, would be a
Master Smith. Under those tiny, expert hands, ore became
iron, iron became steel, and steel danced with fire and
hammer to be shaped into tools. Ironmongery was not the
limit of their skill, however, and elsewhere in the room,
copper and brass, bronze and gold vied for the eye's favor,
melting, flowing, woven and hammered, seeming to take shape as
if by a force of will. As they worked, they chanted a song as
old as the mountains, their song keeping time with the ringing
of their hammers.
"Coal and Fire, bellows Blow
Copper Steel and Iron Glow
Hammer Fall and Hammer Ring
We will Teach the forge to Sing!
Listen To the fire Roar
This is How we teach our Lore
Take bright Steel, make it Hiss
Treat it To the oil's Kiss!
Mighty Tur, we ask of You,
Guide our Hammers, make them True,
Iron White and iron Black
Teach the Iron not to Crack!
Gold and Silver, Sun and Moon,
Cup and Plate, Fork and Spoon,
Jeweled Hilt, Iron Shaft,
All are Worthy of our Craft!"
"Felin!" Her mother's voice pierced the ringing of the
forge and dragged her back to reality, "Stop gawking and go
fetch the coal!" Under the threat of her mother's fearsome
visage, Felin hurried outside. She heaped coal into the
barrow quickly, knowing that her mother would be watching
for her return. As she stood from placing the last few
scoops of coal in the cart, however, she saw something that
overshadowed her fear of her mother's tounge. She dashed
back inside as fast as her legs would carry her.
"Greycoats!" She yelled as she came through the door.
Every dwarf in the room stopped and turned to face her, as
she stood in the sudden, deafening silence.
"How many?" One of the Masters asked.
"I saw five. They were coming from the East."
"From the Capitol." A fearfull muttering ran through the
dwarves.
"You don't know that!" Felin's mother protested, "They
might not have anything to do with us!"
"We're the only thing this far down the road."
"They... they might be here for business!" The smith
snorted.
"Since when does the Republic do business with dwarves?"
"They..."
"Enough." A stooped, white-bearded dwarf announced,
"Arguing gets us nowhere. Let us pray that Turlin is correct,
for all our sakes." The dwarves watched the door nervously.
They didn't have long to wait. Without so much as a knock,
the door swung forcefully open, and a grey-clad man stepped
inside, ducking through the opening.
"Who is head of this household?" He demanded. The Elder
Smith stepped forward.
"I speak for my clan."
"You are a man of letters, I presume?" When the Elder
nodded, the guardsman handed him a rolled parchment and
stood stiffly while he read. The dwarf let the parchment
roll back into his hand, and returned it to the guardsman.
"There must be some mistake, sir. We have paid the Forge
Tax, the Labor Tax, the Coal Tax, and the Land Tax. Our taxes,
sir, are paid."
"This does not concern those taxes." The guardsman assured
him, "This charge is in reference to the Head Tax."
"The what?" The Elder asked flatly.
"As per Proclamation 137-23, upon every dwarven household a
tax has been levied, to help defray the cost to the Republic of
maintaining the expanding dwarven population."
"That's rediculous," The Elder scoffed, "I have seen no such
proclamation, and I check the Post every day!"
"Ah, I see your difficulty." The guardsman allowed, "As per
Proclamation 137-22, the notice was posted at the local garrison,
instead of to the village news Post."
"I never saw that notice, either." The Elder growled.
"Naturally. It was posted at the garrison."
"And how was I supposed to know of this?"
"It was posted in the garrison, where anyone could see it."
"But I didn't know that!"
"Ignorance of the Law is no defense." The Elder sighed.
"Very well. How much?" The guardsman's eyes widened, and his
back stiffened in his shock.
"Are you, sir," He asked angrily, "Attempting to offer me a
bribe?" The Elder shook his head.
"No, no, I mean how much are we being charged for late
payment?" The guardsman cracked a relieved smile.
"Ah, again we misunderstand each other. You did not finish
reading the warrant." He handed the parchment back to the dwarf, who
read it with shaking hands.
"'For failure to pay all taxes as justfully levied by the great
Thenic Republic, as per Proclamations 135-56, 135-78, 136-12 to
136-16..." He skipped down to the bottom of the scroll, "...The
dwarves of the Understone clan are hereby'..." He let the scroll drop.
"Placed under arrest."
The trial, if such it could be called, was brief, as such justice
tends to be. The dwarves were sentenced, en mass, to terms of labor
no less than twenty five years in the Mines. The dwarves were loaded
onto the prison wagons, knowing that they were being carried, in all
likelyhood, to die deep beneath the mountains of the South. Though
they could easily have fit in two of the large wagons, they were
devided into four groups, so that each wagon was only half filled.
Each group was chained, of course, and the ends of the chains locked
to iron rings at the head of the wagon. Felin was the last dwarf
loaded into her wagon, and she could barely repress a shudder as the
gate swung shut behind her, locking with an all-too-final sounding
clatter.
The wagons were soon slowly rolling along, moving south and
east at a pace that suggested the drivers were in no real hurry.
They were given meager rations of food at odd intervals and left in
the exposure of the wagons through both chill of night and glaring sun,
so that when the wagons rolled to a halt a few days later, more than a
few of the dwarves had taken ill, and all were in a sad state. They
were carted along all the next day, and to Felin's surprise they did
not stop that night, but continued in the darkness, finally being
joined by a large band of mounted men, whose grey-and-black uniforms
marked them as Guardsmen. Even with her dwarven dark-sight, the
moonlight reflecting from their swords was the only thing that
distinguished them from the other night shadows. The head of the
wagoneers spoke for a moment with one of the newcomers, who was
identified as he stepped into the torch-light by an insignia on his
left shirt breast, an image of a bird of prey.
When they had finished their council, the Guardsmen formed ranks
and rode ahead, leading them into a tiny village sometime long before
dawn. Felin watched in helpless horror as the Guardsmen charged
through the village, tossing hastily lit torches into several homes,
driving the inhabitants into the street, where they were rounded up
and loaded into the wagons. The Guardsmen broke into groups of three
and began searching from house to house, looking for stragglers or
those who might yet be hiding. The last group was loaded into Felin's
wagon, and they filed in in dazed silence. All except the last two,
a man and a girl, who looked similar enough to be related. They climbed
aboard with little prompting from the Guardsmen who had escorted them
from their home, and they had an air about them that was totally at odds
with their situation.
The man seemed strangely calm, as though he knew some reassuring
secret. The girl... there was something about her that caught Felin's
interest. She seemed full of a barely contained fury, and she looked
at their captors almost eagerly, as though she was just waiting for an
excuse to lash out at them, an attitude that Felin thought was either
exceedingly brave or exceptionally suicidal. There was something else
strange about her, as well, though Felin couldn't immediately figure
out what. She seemed to radiate a sense of power, despite her delicate
features and defeated situation. Her companion, whom Felin decided must
either be her brother or her father, from the similarity of their
features, leaned closer to whisper something to the girl, and she angrily
hissed something back. Felin couldn't tell what they were saying, but she
could certainly hear the tone of the girl's voice, and she sounded
much like an annoyed cat. The sense of power surrounding her faded,
and was immediately repladed with an air of vulnerability. She
looked to her father--it had to be her father, Felin decided--she
looked to her father with wide and fearful eyes, and he leaned again
to whisper to her, his soothing tone evident in the way the girl soon
became less tense. She slowly turned to look around, and that was when
Felin realized what was so striking about her. Her eyes were an
unbelievable shade of violet, a purple that matched the twilight sky.
There was something simultaneously confident and innocent in them,
strong yet somehow fragile, and their effect, when combined with her
otherwise light features, was slightly disconcerting. Felin decided
to break the silence.
"Hi," She greeted them, "I'm Felin." The pair of elves looked to
each other before answering.
"I'm Palas, and this is my brother, Mojere." Felin raised her
eyebrows.
"Your brother? I could have sworn he was..." Felin gulped back
the last part of her sentence as she realized that it might be rude to
point out the way the girl was clinging to him. "I mean, I'm pleased
to meet you." That drew some amused glances from those listening, and
even a dry, weary chuckle or two. "I mean, I would be pleased to
meet you under other circumstances," she corrected herself, then
hurriedly added, "Wait! I don't mean to say that I'm not pleased to
meet you now, it's just..."
"We understand." Palas interupted, seeing her distress. "I am
pleased to meet you, as well, though I wish it had been under more
pleasant circumstances." Felin nodded.
"That was what I was trying to say. I just get a little
tounge-tied occasionally. People are always saying that dwarves are
rude and tactless, and I try my best to prove them wrong, but sometimes
I can't seem to make my words fit what I'm really trying to say." They
looked at her for a moment, and then the man--Mojere--leaned over
again and whispered. 'Speaking of rude', Felin thought, 'It would be
nice if they'd stop whispering like that.' Whatever it was, it must
have been funny, because Palas actually laughed, which earned some
questioning looks from the other prisoners, and drew harsh words from
their captors. Under threats from the driver, they lapsed into silence,
and as soon as the Guardsmen were certain that no elves remained
hidden, the wagons set off once more.
Since the driver seemed to dislike the prisoners talking, Felin
occupied herself with examining the wagon in detail. She'd been educated
in the family trade of metalworking--which perhaps played into the very
dwarven stereotype she so despised, but Felin couldn't help that--and she
could tell shoddy workmanship when she saw it. Whoever forged this chain,
she decided, should not be allowed near a smithy again. The chain was
servicable, of course, and the metal itself was all right--not quality
work, but all right--but there was just no craftsmanship in it. The
links were twisted and crudely joined, and Felin could tell that the
blacksmith didn't bother taking pride in what he probably considered
stock work, menial labor. Sure, it was just a chain, but Felin didn't
consider that an excuse to let standards slip. Why, there were even a
few places where the links had gaps in them! She pitied the person who
tried to use this chain for any sort of heavy work. Too much strain on
one of those weak links and they'd bend open, breaking the...
Felin had to bite her tounge nearly in two to keep from shouting
her discovery out loud. 'Control yourself!' She scolded herself, 'It
won't do anyone any good if you yell it for the driver to hear! Sit
down, and think this through.' After a moment's thought, she decided
that even if they could break the chain, it would do them little good.
They would still be locked in the wagon, and there were no faults in
the iron bars surrounding them--no exploitable ones, at least. Having
the chain broken, though, would be a good start.
"Pssst!" She tried to get the elf girl's attention. "Hey!
Straw-hair!" Every elf in the wagon turned to look at her. Felin
sighed, realizing that she'd spoken without thinking--again. "Sorry.
I was just noticing this chain. There are gaps in some of the links,
where they weren't forged together right. If we can pull it hard enough
between us, we can break it."
"But what good will that do us?" One of the elves asked, repeating
Felin's own thoughts, "We will still be in this cage, will we not?"
Felin nodded.
"Yes, but if we don't break the chain, we won't be escaping, even
if we could. I know it isn't much, but it's a start, right?" The elf
who'd spoken shrugged.
"I suppose it is. However, elves are not generally possessed of
the same prodigous strength that is usually attributed to your kind. I
do not think we could break this chain."
"There are ten of us on either side of the wagon! Surely it can't
hurt to try?" She saw several heads nod in agreement, and after a few
minutes, the rest also voiced their support. "All right, then, let me
see." She looked for somewhere they could brace against, and spotted an
iron shaft driven into the floor, previously overlooked because of its
placement beneath the corner of the bench she sat on. They looped the
chain over the shaft, and prayed that the shaft was stronger than the
weak links. "Ready?" Everyone nodded. "All right, pull!" There were
several grunts and various other sounds of exertion, which fortunately
sounded close enough to miserable moaning to pass by the driver's
attention. Unfortunately, after a moment of pulling, the elves began
to drift slowly toward the shaft, as the dwarves' stronger arms drew
them on. After a moment of rest, the labor was redistributed, with
Felin sliding along the chain to the elves' side of the wagon, and the
pulling began again. This time, there was a dull groan of stressed
metal, and they felt the chain give almost imperceptably before they
slumped back down, hoping that their efforts still went unnoticed.
Their second attempt appeared to be a failure, until Felin tried to
return to her seat and found the chain at her wrist caught. When she
examined it, she found that one of the links had indeed bent, and was
stretched open, wide enough that she was able to slip the next link out
through the gap. There were very muted sounds of excitement as she raised
the free end of the chain for everyone to see, and then some puzzlement
when she returned to her seat and replaced the link where it had been.
"Why in Tur's name did you do that, Felin?" Palas asked.
"So that if anyone looks, we'll still be chained. If they see
that the chain is broken, they'll just come and replace it. This way,
we can simply slip the bent link off if we need to." There were several
satisfied nods.
"Clever." Mojere commended her, "I never would have thought of
that." Felin shrugged. It wasn't that big of an accomplishment, after
all, just common sense.
Once the chain was broken, Felin had no more idea than anyone else
about how to escape. Mojere did note aloud that their escort seemed to
be dwindling, as more and more Guardsmen left for more important duties.
With nothing better to do, Felin talked in conspiratorial whispers with
Palas, describing her life before her capture. She told Palas about her
favorite place, a small cave hidden by bushes where she could go when she
wanted to be alone... or when she got herself into trouble, and about her
studies in metalworking. Palas, on the other hand, seemed rather
secretive about herself, answering Felin's questions as perfunctorily as
she could. When Felin asked one question too many, Palas flashed her
eyes at her angrily, and she once again felt the strong impression of
power emanating from the elf, so much so that she fell silent. Felin
wondered aloud, quietly, if prison was going to be quite so boring as
the wagon ride.
A few minutes later, however, the wagon ride became anything but
boring. A pack of wolves, their fur dove-white, ran out from the nearby
trees, frightening the horses so much that they reared and ran, heedless
of the driver's whip. The wolves ran alongside, nipping at the horses'
heels, seeming unconcerned when the driver turned his whip on them
instead of the horses. The driver finally lept from his seat, and the
wolves ignored him, still intent on harrying the horses. Under this
rough treatment, the wagon finally tipped over, crashing to its side
and throwing everyone about. The wolves seemed to vanish immediately
after, as suddenly and mysteriously as they had appeared. The prisoners
got their bearings, and upon casual inspection, nobody appeared to have
more than a few bruises, so they accounted themselves lucky. They found
themselves to be luckier still, when Felin leaned up against the gate,
now horizontal, and discovered that it was unlocked when she nearly fell
through it. Whether it had been popped open during the tumble, or their
captors had simply neglected to lock it, none was sure, but they all
stood amazed by their good fortune, and were quick to take advantage of
it. Felin unlinked the chain and they all scrambled out. The elves
looked to each other, as did the dwarves, trying to decide what to do.
"The Guardsmen will come for us in a few minutes." Mojere said,
slowly, as though thinking it out as he spoke, "Not all of us can escape.
I, for one, do not wish to be recaptured. I will fight, that the others
can escape." Palas was about to protest, but the Eldest of the dwarves
shook his head and spoke.
"I doubt if you could do much by yourself against the Guardsmen.
I am old, but I will do what I can. I will stay and fight. Who is with
me?" All of the dwarves shouted their support. "No. If we all stay,
there is no point in fighting. Felin, you are the youngest of us. If
they find us, they will not notice that you are missing."
"But.." Felin began, but she was silenced by the old dwarf's
piercing gaze.
"Young lady, would you rather we all die here for nothing? Would
you have that written by our names in the Ancestral Caves? Who would
sing our glory for that? No, you must go. We will fight!" Felin
nodded, her pride placated. After all, she wasn't all that eager to
die in the first place.
"Your words have merit," Mojere said, and turned to his fellow
elves, "Well, what of it? Do we send one of us away, and the rest stay
to fight?" There were grim nods all around. "Then I ask that we send
Palas. She is a magess, and if that was ever discovered, there would be
no end to her torment." Again, there were nods all around, except, of
course, from the elf in question.
"Mojere, no! I don't want to have to live without you! Let me stay
here! With my magic, maybe you can win!" Her brother shook his head.
"No, Palas. This is as it must be. If you use your magic, they
would hunt us down wherever we might go."
"But... come with me, Mojere! I don't want to be alone again.
Please!"
"I am truly sorry, sister dear, but I can not do that. Three might
be noticed, but two will almost certainly escape."
"But why? Why should I live, if you die? Why should you die to
save me?" Mojere smiled, sadly, and softly answered.
"Because I love you, child of my heart. I beg you, let me make
things right for you... one last time." Palas turned away, trying to
hide her tears. From down the road there came the sound of pursuit, and
her brother pushed her towards the trees. "Run, Palas! If you have ever
loved your brother, run! Run, my child, run!"
"But... Mojo, please!" Mojere shook his head, and pointed toward
the woods nearby. Sobbing, Palas obeyed, following Felin into the cover
of the trees just minutes before the Guardsmen arrived. Mojere saw that
the others were looking to him, as if for guidance. He favored them
with a strange smile.
"We have to buy them some time, and I doubt that it will be cheap."
They nodded, and they turned to face the on-coming soldiers. Mojere
looked over his shoulder at the people he was choosing to die with and
grinned, his eyes flashing with a strange, otherworldly light. "What,
do you want to live forever? Have at them!" The elves dashed
forward, heedless of the swords leveled at them, the dwarves hot on
their heels, and through dint of sheer ferocity, they dragged down
several Guardsmen. The elves armed themselves as best they could from
the fallen Guardsmen, bending in the midst of the fray to grab blades
off the ground and out of still-warm hands. The elves fought with an
unbelievable strength, and several of the Guardsmen drew back from the
viciousness they saw. The elves had death in their eyes, and not a
trace of fear in their hearts. Mojere, a sword in each hand, became a
whirlwind of destruction, lashing out indescriminantly, allowing the
madness of the fight to wash through him, lending him inhuman strength.
Even so, the battle was certain to end with the Guardsmen victorious.
Even dwarves and fey elves couldn't expect to stand forever against
such superior numbers.
Palas ran blindly away from the battle. Fortunately for her,
Felin ran beside her, guiding her steps as much as she could.
Fortunately for Felin--who was having a hard time keeping up, being
inhibited by her much shorter legs--Palas collapsed in a sobbing heap,
giving Felin a moment to catch her breath. Soon, however, Felin began
to look worriedly around, straining to catch any sound of pursuit. To
her anxious eyes, the trees seemed dense enough to hide an army, and
every wind-stirred leaf seemed to herald their discovery. At her
increasingly insistant urgings, Palas finally got up and allowed herself
to be led further away from the fighting, her steps now plodding and her
shoulders slumped. After their previous mad dash, Felin didn't try to
increase her pace, despite her unease.
A few hours later, it began to seem that they had escaped completely
unnoticed. There was no sign that they were being followed, and Felin
began to relax. As she stopped worrying about being caught, she began
worrying instead about her companion. The elf girl hadn't said a
word since their escape, and when Felin finally stopped, she continued
walking until Felin pulled her to a stop. Palas seemed to give herself
a shake, and moved to sit against a tree, her knees drawn against her
chest and her face buried in her folded arms. So far as Felin ever
discovered, she spent the entire night like that, for when Felin woke
from her bed of moss and leaves, Palas was still curled against the tree.
Felin was even more amazed to see that the elf had acquired a sleeping
companion. Curled up on her shoulder was the biggest squirrel Felin had
ever seen, and with a snow-white pelt that reminded her strongly of the
wolves that had attacked the prison-wagon. Hearing her stir, the
squirrel raised its tiny head and peered at her with eyes like flecks of
opal, shiny black and strangely intelligent. Apparently, it didn't
consider her a threat to its safety, as it chattered at her for a moment,
then put its head back down and closed its eyes.
"You're a nervy fellow, aren't you?" Felin asked it. It lifted its
head again, and cocked it to one side, as though questioning why she was
bothering it again. Before it could try to return to sleep again,
however, Palas woke and began to rise. She seemed in somewhat better
spirits than she'd been in the night before, and looked completely
unsurprised to find the squirrel clinging to her shoulder. For a moment,
in fact, she seemed almost happy, as she reached up to let the squirrel
brush against her hand. She still remained silent, despite Felin's
repeated attempts to strike up a conversation.
Not seeing anything else to do, Felin started hiking again, motioning
for Palas to follow. The sound of crackling leaves behind her reassured
her that the elf was following, until she realized that the sounds seemed
to be diminishing, as though they were getting farther away. She turned
around and saw that Palas was, indeed, walking in a path almost
perpendicular to her own. She had to run to catch up with the faster-
moving elf, who ignored her and seemed intent on something ahead of her.
Felin studied the direction Palas was staring in, but couldn't see
anything of interest. Just as she was about to try to pull Palas back
toward the eastern border, where she hoped they could pass over into
Cosan, she saw a momentary flash of white dashing between the trees
ahead of them.
"You're following the squirrel?" Felin asked her companion, who
seemed not to hear, "Have you lost your mind?" Palas remained silent,
and Felin realized that getting her to change directions would be
difficult, if not outright impossible. And since Felin had no intention
of wandering the forrest alone... "Fine, we'll follow the squirrel.
Makes as much sense as anything else, I guess." They followed the albino
rodent all that day. When it began to get dark, Felin lost sight of the
squirrel, and she decided that it was time to stop, even if she had to
wrestle Palas to the ground to do it. To her surprise, however, she
found that the elf had already stopped, and stood looking up at the sky
above her. When Felin returned to where she was standing, she found the
squirrel watching them from the branches overhead. Palas finally took her
eyes off the squirrel and laid down next to a tree in a fairly large
drift of leaves. The squirrel scampered down to climb onto her stomach
and fall asleep, its bushy tail curled around it. Felin shrugged as she
gathered leaves into a mound of her own. 'At least the squirrel seems to
keep her happy,' she thought, 'And I suppose a squirrel for a guide is
better than nothing.' She pulled as many leaves over herself as
possible, but she still felt the chill in the autumn air, and even
more keenly the lack of food. Almost as much, though, she wanted
someone to talk to. Traveling with a seemingly mute elf and an albino
squirrel didn't seem to provide much in the way of conversation. She
fell asleep wishing for the sound of another's voice.
She woke with her wish fulfilled. The squirrel watched from above
as Palas flailed around, scattering leaves every where and calling out for
someone named Mojo. Felin vaugely recalled hearing her call her brother
that, moments before they parted. She got up and tried to calm Palas
down, but her efforts seemed futile. The elf cried until she was
exhausted, and only then did she seem to see Felin.
"You.. not... Mojo." She complained, her breath still heaving, as
her eyes slid slowly shut and she fell into an uneasy sleep. After
assuring herself that Palas wasn't going to wake back up immediately,
Felin returned to her own pile of leaves, reminding herself to be more
specific the next time she made a wish.
The next morning, Palas was uncomunicative again, and as she stood
the squirrel lept off her shoulder and began leading them again. Sometime
before midday, it ran into a wide clearing, and they cautiously followed.
Actually, Felin was cautious; Palas just walked out, completely
unconcerned. The squirrel waited for them in the middle of the clearing,
sitting up on its hind legs and watching them with interest. When they
reached the squirrel and it became apparent that it had no intention of
moving, Palas sat down again, and refused to budge.
"What is it with you and that squirrel, anyway?" Felin finally
asked, exasperated, "I mean, we've followed it for two days, and where
did it lead us? The near side of nowhere, that's where! What could
possibly be here that could help us?"
"I am." spoke a soft voice behind her. She whirled around to find a
young human in a soft white robe standing behind her. The squirrel gave
an excited chirp and ran up the man's robe, settling on his shoulder,
drawing a distressed sound from Palas. "I am sorry if I startled you."
He saw Palas sitting behind Felin, a distinctly unhappy look on her face.
"Palas, do not pout so. Come to me and I will help you." Palas smiled
and started to stand, but Felin pushed her back down.
"Now wait just a minute. Before anybody does anything, I want to
know who you are, and what you're planning on doing with us!" She though
a moment, then added, "And I want to know what the squirrel has to do
with all this, too."
"You mean Miko? He's my friend. Isn't that right, Miko?" The
squirrel chattered at him in obvious agreement. The man put the squirrel
on the ground and passed his hand over it, momentarily obscuring it from
view. When the creature came back into sight, it was smaller, and a much
more appropriate shade of brown. It looked around, as though confused,
then ran back to Palas, climbed up to her shoulder, brushed itself across
her neck, and dashed off into the surrounding trees.
"Are you a mage?" Felin asked, her tone somewhere between wonder and
worry.
"I should think not." the young man said, and drew forth a medallion
from his robe. "I am a cleric, in the service of Shani. Now, with your
permission, I would like to be allowed to help your friend." He gestured
and Palas stood, walking forward to meet him. "I have seen people act
much like this after a severely traumatic event, and sometimes in cases
where the head is injured. A simple Calming and a minor Prayer of Healing
will have her right again in no time." As he spoke he took Palas's hands
in his own, and brought them up to clasp the medallion. A soft warmth
seemed to pass between them, something almost but not quite visible, and
when the cleric took his hands away Palas blinked several times, as though
uncertain of what she was seeing.
"What in Seven Hells happened?" She finally asked, which drew a
mildly disapproving frown from the cleric.
"You were a little dazed after your escape. I have healed you."
"Who are you?" Was her next question.
"I am a cleric of the goddess Shani. I bring directions for the
both of you."
"You sent those wolves, didn't you?" Felin asked, and the cleric
nodded. "I thought so. If you could send them to upset the cart, why
couldn't you have had them stay to fight?"
"Send wolves, even such as those, against men with swords and armor?"
"Better than sending my brother!" Palas snapped.
"The wolves would not have made a difference, of that you can be
sure."
"And how do you know?" Palas demanded. The cleric shrugged.
"How did I know where to find you? How did I know your name is
Palas, and your friend is Felin? I know many things, and I'm afraid
you'll have to trust me that what I say is true. As for your brother...
wait a moment." The man closed his eyes and his lips twitched, as though
he were trying to speak without actually saying anything. He opened
his eyes and sighed. "So be it, then. I can tell you that you're brother
fought well and bravely to save you." Something seemed to sieze him for a
moment, and then he shook it off. "Alright, I'll say it! I am directed
to tell you that you're brother is happy, and resting, and that you will
meet again... before the End of All."
"The last thing I need is hollow comfort from a mortal! Yes, maybe
I will rejoin him in the Light, after I die. Have you any conception of
how long that could be?"
"I'm truly sorry that I said that. I can only ask that you may
someday forgive me." The man said, and indeed, he did seem to regret it.
"You mentioned directions?" Felin prompted, trying to turn the
conversation to more productive paths.
"Yes, I did. The border you were heading for is to the East."
"I know that." Felin said.
"The prison that your families and friends have been taken to is to
the South, however. I was hoping that you might be interested in freeing
them."
"Certainly," Palas said, "We'll just walk up to the front gate and
ask them real nice to let them go. I'm sure the nice fanatics will be
happy to..."
"Your sarcasm is noted." The cleric interupted, "I'm not suggesting
that you do this alone. You will find two others with the same goal in
mind, and together you can indeed free your loved ones."
"How do you know... never mind. How will we know where to find these
two? How will we recognize them?"
"They have a rather... unique appearance. As to how you will find
them, that will not be a problem. All you need do is travel South, and
you will meet them."
"But how..?" Palas began, but was interupted by the cleric.
"Have faith. That's all I can tell you. You must choose; South,
or East?" Palas and Felin looked to the East, toward the border and
safety, and then to the South, deeper into the heart of the Republic.
"I don't know about Felin, but I choose South," Palas began, turning
back to face the cleric. The cleric, however, was gone. Palas sighed.
"Fine, then. Felin, are you going East, or not?" Felin chuckled.
"And let you have all the fun? No way! Face it, straw-hair, you're
stuck with me."
"Stop calling me that!"
"After everything you've put me through? I think I've earned the
right to call you whatever I like." Palas looked her traveling companion
over, and changed the subject.
"Whatever possesed you to wear such gaudy clothing?"
"What's wrong with my clothes?" Felin asked, looking down at her
powder blue skirt, her bright white blouse, and her orange sash. She
knew the skirt had become a little tattered from the trek through the
forest, but gaudy?
"Anyone within a mile will be able to see you! We want to blend
in, avoid discovery."
"Well I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting to be arrested!"
"Do you think I was?"
"That's different! Your people usually wear earth tones! I can't
help it if I prefer a little more color in my wardrobe." They walked off
to the South, still arguing about it.
Felin found that Palas would argue about anything and everything she
said. After a while, the anger seemed to pass out of their arguments, and
they became merely something to pass the time. Felin found herself
constantly mystified by the elf's behavior. Half the time, she seemed
furious at Felin for some unknown reason, and the rest of the time she
seemed on the verge of tears--though of course, she would never actually
admit that--and she was always sharp-tounged and snappish. She would
wake in the night, almost every night, and call for her brother, or just
cry, but in the morning acted as though nothing happened, and Felin
couldn't decide if she didn't remember the incidents or simply didn't
wish to speak of them. Either way, Felin thought it prudent not to mention
them, even during their hottest arguments, despite the sleep it cost her.
Her people did have some tact, after all.
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