A fierce wind blew across the grassy plains of the Sensara Lowlands, heralding an oncoming storm. Such sudden gales were frequent here. The weather blasted the open land each spring with the random force that only the goddess of Chaos could give a rainstorm. Though the farmers of this often harsh and yet rich place welcomed the rains, it made journeys across the countryside difficult.
Two travelers marked their way north through the nation of Thelsea, on a road well-beaten across the flat land. Miari Druiden urged her mount forward into the shifting winds as she struggled unsuccessfully to hold her cloak around her. The wind ripped it out of her hands but the clasp held, leaving the cloak to whip behind her like a flag. Dust and sand blew into her exposed face, blinding her. The silver chain that stood between her and a lost cape dug into her neck. Her waist-length golden hair had long since unraveled from its braid, yet now the tendrils of curls beat at her face. The short curse that was lost in the blasts of air told Miari that a second rider still pressed on beside. Her companion was a tall, brown haired man with skin that looked a bit weathered, much like the land they were in.
"Can’t you do something about this?" Folc Denevain shouted over the wind.
"I will try," Miari called back, her hesitation only slight.
Eyes still closed, she put her hand in front of her as if to shield the wind. She spoke in a smooth and careful language few on the continent of Leth’sera heard anymore. A warm blue glow emanated from her fingertips and spread out from them, creating a transparent barrier between her and the gritty wind. The shield grew to envelop Folc as well as the horses and the man leaned back with a sigh. Miari’s hand closed into a fist and the glow faded. The shield remained, like pale blue glass, and now rain could be heard pounding against it.
"As much as I don’t care for it, magic never ceases to amaze me." He looked appreciatively at Miari, who was now studiously rebraiding her hair. He did that often, when he thought she could not see him. When his gaze took in her blue, almond-shaped eyes and the ears that came to a delicate point at the top. "You never cease to amaze me."
The last he said so softly, even Miari’s sensitive hearing almost didn’t pick it up. She didn’t think she was supposed to hear it. Folc realized he was staring and blinked, then pulled out his water flask and offered it to her. She accepted the water skin, keeping her expression even and pretending she hadn’t seen anything. She took a long drink, grateful for the cooling liquid, and handed it back to him. It washed the dust from her throat and voice.
"I think we had better find somewhere to spend the night," Miari said gently. She had to be careful giving any suggestions. If he got it into his head to ride all night to the next village, they could well wear their mounts into the ground. He could be stubborn, but from the weariness she sensed around him she thought that he would listen to her. "I realize that you would spend it riding, but the horses need to rest."
To her surprise Folc nodded in agreement, if reluctantly. "There’s a tavern near here where we can find lodging. Not many know of it." He grimaced around the last bit, and Miari knew what he was thinking.
It was secluded, maybe just a place for farmers, and probably not a place frequented by soldiers of any authority. There were always people looking for them who would stop at nothing to get what they carried. What she carried. That’s what bounties were made for, after all.
Miari’s hand went self-consciously to a pouch that hung on her belt, reminding herself that it was still there. The soft brown leather held seven different colored gemstones, each tumbled smooth. They seemed only baubles, semi-precious stones that weren’t worth especially much. They could have even been a child’s toys, for all that she knew about them. In fact, her father had given them to her when she was a child. He never told her where he got them, only that she should keep them always with her and never to give them to anyone. Miari had never seen her father so serious except in the affairs at Royal Court, so she swore to him in the strongest oath she knew that they would never leave her side. Now, it seemed like everywhere she turned people were hunting her down to get their hands on these simple gemstones. A little rest from running would be good.
Miari peered through the glow of the shield she had woven and could see close ahead the tree line where the path through the plains gave way to a forest. It was an evergreen wood, dark and verdant against the brown of the flat lands around them. The dense growth of the trees themselves provided a canopy which little rain penetrated. She breathed a soft sigh of relief; she wouldn’t have to keep the barrier going. After riding without rest all day, even such a basic thing as this tired her.
Besides, any such strong display would draw their enemies like iron to a lodestone. For one thing, there was no telling who was following them right now. If it was an assassin-mage, then it was possible that he or she could sense elven magic. As it was, simply using the shield could bring them all sorts of troubles. Magic was outlawed on the continent of Leth’sera. Those who were caught breaking this edict simply disappeared. The only safe place to be a mage anymore was on the island nation of Krias, where the elves made their home. If the current atmosphere of the humans’ continent kept on as it was, though, Miari knew that nowhere on the world of Orvia would be safe.
A hundred years ago a single ambitious man gained power over Pordarin, the largest country on Leth’sera. He focused his army on gaining more land and power with each year that passed. The country they were in now, Thelsea, had fallen to him after a grudging war. The atrocities of that war had earned the country’s ruler the title change from High Lord to Darklord. The remaining country, Doeria, had an army strong enough to keep Pordarin out. He had not yet acquired the great island of Krias, for elven mages had held him back through the leadership and power of Miari’s parents.
Three seasons ago, though, spies from the Darklord succeeded in abducting her mother. Her father pursued them throughout the mainland until through an act of betrayal, another elf handed him to the Darklord. For some reason unknown to human and elf alike, Miari’s parents had not been executed. There had in fact been a public decree stating this. The Darklord also made it clear that anyone who could apprehend the rest of the Druiden family would be rewarded. Why the Darklord wanted her father’s kin was widely disputed.
Miari knew. The pouch hanging from her belt had answers, if only she could decipher the secrets of their power. If only she could keep herself and them out of the Darklord’s hands. And yet, by searching for her parents’ whereabouts she was pretty much walking right into them. She didn’t have a choice, though. Krias’ isolation had only increased in the time since her parents had vanished. In their absence, the High Council had completely restricted off-island travel. In Miari’s opinion, her government had turned its back on her parents. This was why she had to do something herself.
They entered the dense forest and Miari immediately let down her shield. It took only the barest force of will, but the magic spent didn’t return to her. Once used, magic returned to its origins in the very reality around them. As long as it was still connected to her, even in the form of the shield, she was empowered by it. Now it was gone, and it was an effort not to slump forward in her saddle. She could feel Folc’s eyes on her and didn’t dare show him her weakness. He was very protective of her and would react almost instantly to any pain she showed.
Five months ago, she had hired him as her bodyguard. She had never been on the continent, and he was an honest young man who had seen too much death. He did his job well, but he had the tendency to be overprotective when it came to her and magic. It was something he didn’t understand, nor did he want to. All he knew was that her safety was in his care. Luckily he didn’t notice the relief that she felt at ending the spell. Or if he did, he took it to mean she was happy to be out of the unprotected open. She could not fault him for his mistrust of magic. Being human, he was not born with the power flowing in his blood. Humans were rarely gifted with the inborn ability.
Rain dripped gently from the conifers, occasionally hitting Miari’s face and though most of the heavy wind was shielded there was a constant whistling moan around them. Folc moved his horse ahead of her, leading them off the main road and onto a narrow path that didn’t appear too used. In fact, she wouldn’t have noticed it if he had not led them.
Watching her companion intently, Miari could see signs of weariness in the way Folc sat. Usually he rode with his back as straight as the trees surrounding them, but every now and then he would lean slightly forward. Thinking back, Miari could not honestly remember the last time they had a decent sleep in a warm bed. Up ahead through the trees, she could see a clearing filled with the glow of lamplight and her delicate senses picked up the scent of woodsmoke. The tavern was not far off.
***
The Open Pines Tavern had only been in operation for five years. It was because of this, and due to its remote location that few patrons frequented the place. Those who found the Pines were either lucky or local farmers. Anyone who actually came looking for the place, the owner reckoned, was trouble. Despite the sparse crowd in the warm well-lit common room, the call for drinks and food was constant. Several tables busied themselves with a game of Soldiers. An occasional cheer went up when one side or the other gained land on the board. Other than the muted outbursts and quiet conversation, the roar of the fire and the clink of a mug were the only sounds in the Pines. No musicians played in the country of Thelsea anymore. Not even in the remote locations such as this. The nation considered itself in mourning, and had been for three years. Ever since the capital -- Sensara -- had been burned to the ground and the rest razed as an example, no tavern or inn hired musicians. The only song or story that was sung was of the battle for Sensara. It was a funeral dirge for a city. It was also a call to arms for resistance.
Thelseans were known, even in elven histories, as tough people. Even when beaten down, or shut up in prisons and subjected to the most hopeless of times, the sons and daughters of the Sensara Lowlands and the Forest Highlands banded together to fight whatever it was that oppressed them. It made them a serious people, yet also a nation that knew the value of life, and of living for the moment. They never knew when they wouldn’t have another. There were two things, so the saying went, that a true Thelsean cannot stand. One was being denied freedom, and the other was being denied the chance to fight for freedom. No matter whose freedom it was. Thelsean men were raised in that ideal, and so made ideal bodyguards for someone who was threatened each day with imprisonment.
Folc motioned from the farthest corner booth of the tavern, and the barkeep set down her things and headed over. The backs of the heavy wooden seats were high, preventing curious stares from the other patrons of the tavern. Miari was grateful for the hideaway, yet she kept the hood of her cloak up. Elves were very common on the mainland nowadays. In fact they were more often than not betrayed to the Darklord’s guards, if they didn’t already work for him. She didn’t think anyone here would turn her in, but she was not about to take that chance. Miari glanced across the table at Folc while his attention was elsewhere. He was tired; she could see it even more now that he was off his horse and in a more relaxing atmosphere. Although, she thought, he is never truly relaxed.
The bar keep, a short, auburn-haired woman with a slight build, strolled up to the table with a swaying walk and leaned her tray against her curving hips.
"What’ll you have?" She said it dismissively, as if she’d had a long day. She didn’t look up from the tray of mugs she carried.
Folc’s weary face turned amused. "Now, Therra, if I’ve turned into a stranger, I must have been gone a lot longer than I thought."
Therra looked up at the familiar voice and her melancholy face split into a grin. "Well, Folc Denevain, as I live and breathe!" Despite her surprise, she kept her voice to a hush. "I never thought I’d see you around here again, not after what happened last time." Miari raised an eyebrow at this and to her amazement, Folc’s tanned cheeks flushed.
"It’s a long story," he explained. Looking up, he returned Therra’s grin. "You look more beautiful each time I see you. Although, I notice you’re wearing more clothes than usual."
Miari caught her breath as a resounding slap echoed through the relatively quiet tavern. Several patrons turned briefly, but dismissed the episode when they saw Therra’s smirk. Then, to Miari’s relief and amazement, Folc laughed and rubbed his cheek. "No, you haven’t changed much at all."
Therra laughed as well, and rubbed her hand. "Your face is like sandpaper, Sar-rahn." She looked at Folc closely, studying him, then said, "You aren’t with your usual crowd."
"I keep better company now." Folc gestured toward Miari, and Therra turned a scrutinizing eye on the elf, peering into her hood. Miari felt very uncomfortable under her gaze, but she met Therra look for look. Miari held out her hand, the palm upward, feeling she could trust this barmaid somehow. There was more to her, as there was more to Folc than just a bodyguard.
"I am Miari of the Druiden House. It is a pleasure to meet you."
Therra, a seemingly satisfied look on her face, laid a hand on Miari’s palm, returning the greeting. Miari tried to mask her surprise; she didn’t think anyone outside of the island of Krias would know an elven greeting.
"There’s a lot about me that people don’t know," Therra stated. Miari supposed she had not hid her expression as well as she thought. "I’m Therra Tivtan, of True Sensara." That was what Thelseans called the old capital since its destruction. "If I may ask, Druiden, what is one of your kind doing this far north? I thought all you elves were keeping to your island." Miari glanced at Folc and he smiled, his nod imperceptible.
"I search for my parents," she explained, her voice lowering carefully. "They’re being held as prisoners by the Darklord and I have vowed to rescue them no matter the cost. We’re also looking for the mage that betrayed my father." Therra’s eyes grew wider at each word. Putting her tray of mugs down, she pulled around a stool and sat alongside the table. Glancing at Folc, she arched a brow.
"She’s new, huh? ’Vowed to rescue them’?" When Folc smiled that soft, slight smile, Therra’s eyes came to meet Miari’s. Suddenly the druid saw something in them that went far beyond a simple barmaid. This woman had seen things that Miari had reckoned only in nightmares. A country shredded by the army of one man, and death, fire and devastation. Miari had to shake off the sudden insight as Therra went on. "And the High Council sent you two to do all this?"
She asked it in an equally quiet voice, leaning forward. Miari’s cheeks turned pink despite her attempt to remain cool and detached. She lowered her gaze to the table.
"Actually," she admitted, "they don’t really know that I’m doing this. I’m sure that right now they’d like to get their hands on me."
"They’re going to have to wait in line," Folc muttered. Therra’s face split into a grin once more, as if Miari had not just admitted to a crime of treason. She took a mug of ale from her tray and put it in front of Folc, and did the same for Miari, except with wine. Again she showed her knowledge of elves. The race tended to avoid strong drink.
"Oh, well. Everything happens for a reason, right Sar-rahn? I suppose I should get back to work before the natives get restless." Therra pointed a thumb at the other patrons, just as someone called for another mug of ale. Sighing, she stood and stretched, then picked up her loaded tray and headed toward the table across the room. Miari took a sip of her wine and regarded Folc over her glass.
"I like her," Miari said. "She reminds me of you when we first met." Folc smiled and some of the light came back into his tired face.
"I’ve known Therra almost all my life. She and I grew up together in Old Sensara before it was burned. We both trained at the same school and we fought together in the battles against the Darklord’s armies. She lost her family at the same time I lost mine."
His voice faded at the end, and he looked away, losing himself to the memories. Miari nodded, knowing that he would speak no more on the subject. In the silence that followed, she studied her reflection in the glass of red liquid before her. It was a wonder her worn and haggard appearance had gone without comment by Therra. Indeed, Miari looked to have gone through several wars, a firestorm, and drug through the mud pits of Labrae. A lock of spirally blond hair fell in front of Miari’s eyes and she brushed the errant strand away.
Taking a sip of her wine, she studied her companion over the rim of her glass. His dusty brown hair fell in tangles around his face. He had his head leaned back with his eyes closed and the gentle rise and fall of his chest told Miari he was asleep. He was even more tired than she had thought. She contemplated waking him to go to their rooms.
Our separate rooms, Miari thought regretfully. Why does he have to be such an honorable fool? She had no objections to sharing living space, but each time she brought it up, Folc would spout some nonsense about "upholding the honor of a noble Elven House." Truly, it was not her House that Miari was thinking of when she looked into his eyes. Sighing, Miari reached across the table to wake her companion.
Before she could tap him on the shoulder the door to the tavern burst open, sending rain and leaves blowing in. There were several shouts to close the door that cut off abruptly as a figure entered the doorway. He was suited completely in black armor that glistened with rain in the lamplight. The man removed his helmet and put it under his arm. He was tall, a few hands higher than Folc, if Miari guessed correctly. He had a hard face and grey eyes looked out from under dark, furrowed brows as he scanned the room. The emblem on his gauntlets and shoulder plates -- a sun with six thin rays -- marked him as a knight of the Kingdom of Doeria. The man was a long way from home.
Miari moved back into the concealment of the booth before the man’s gaze reached her. Folc was fully awake now; he had jumped at the slamming of the door. Miari shook her head when he made as if to look out of the booth. With a few gestures scouts often used, she told him that there was a man in dark armor searching. Folc’s eyes closed and he sighed. He made a gesture, asking if Miari knew him and she shook her head. At that moment the man spoke.
"I am looking for Folc Denevain," he announced, his voice echoing through the tavern. It was the sound of thunder in a cave. Miari edged over in her seat so she could watch him without being noticed.
"That’s nice," Therra said from behind him, her reply accompanied with the slam of the great wooden door of the tavern. She walked around the man’s bulk to stand in front of him, her hands on her hips. Even though she had to crane her neck to see his face, it seemed that she was looking the large man directly in his eyes. "Now, what right have you to disturb my customers with your stomping in here? And what do you want with this Denevain?"
The armor-clad warrior looked down at this threat, apparently amused. "Step aside little bar wench, and let a man do his duty." The dark-haired man pushed Therra aside and returned to sweeping his gaze across the tavern. He took a step forward, metal boots thudding on the wood floor. "My name is Ghoram Sabion luc Doeria." The surname designated him as a royal knight, one of the highest classes of soldier in Doeria. "I have been charged with the duty of bringing Folc Denevain to King Rahlgar ten Doeria for trial."
As he spoke, Therra crept up behind Ghoram, a heavy metal mug in her hand. Quietly, she stepped up onto one of the tables and with both hands raised the mug over the warrior’s exposed head. A vicious look was on her face. Therra was about to get even with him for shoving her when he suddenly turned around. With one swift movement he grasped both her wrists single-handedly, causing her to cry out in both surprise and pain. The mug dropped from her hands to clatter to the floor.