Yellows. Greens. Browns. If the myriad colors of the grasslands didn't tempt him, its fragrances invited Aldorile to come and walk among the miles of untainted fields. Ah yes – the smells, he said to himself. His mind ignited into reminiscent fervor in memory of his childhood. Always he would come into the fields. The colors and smells were the same. Ever constant in its changing, even the rustles and chirps of the small animals were familiar. Aldorile peered out of the forest, standing there next to his Border Guard brethren. They weren't brothers in biological parental relation, but they were all chosen to keep the evil threats away from the land of the wood. Songs were made and poems written about heroes thrusting back the minions of darkness so that peace once more could reign in the land of the elves. This was his heritage.
"Oh, quit with the bravado," he said, looking at the ground and shaking his head. You're not a hero. You're a diplomat with a sword.
His excitement was not unfounded though. Yesterday his mentor called him to the Council, where the War Wizard had given him the task of getting the orcs out of the grasslands and back into the dead wood. Personally he wanted to get them out of the dark wood as well, but this was not his task, according to her. He suspected the Council was really behind the diplomatic nature of this mission. If the War Wizard had her way, Aldorile was sure, the orcs would be dead by now and their leaders in elven captivity. But the Council had a different approach – they believed all life precious, evil or good. "Even though armed conflict might be a foregone conclusion," the War Wizard had said, "use it as a last resort." He, being on his first mission, didn't dare propose his views on the matter, much less disagree with her. But then again, her views must be different from the Council's. "She is a War Wizard after all," he said aloud.
SsssWAP! Aldorile slammed against a tree as an arrow pinned him there through his tunic.
"Not very good at this game are you?" It was a smart-aleck border guard ten feet away from him. He really should have heard him coming.
"I'll show you a game you'll never forget." Aldorile tore himself free with that comment and focused, casting a Sleep spell. As he turned the other elf wore a huge grin. Not for long, Aldorile said to himself. He pointed and the Guard slumped to the ground. Aldorile walked over slowly and kneeled down next to him, whispering and drawing on the back of the unconscious elf's armor. Then he stood up and smiled.
The Guards who were standing next to Aldorile at first watched from where they stood. One of them leaned to another and said, "He looks happy with himself doesn't he?"
"Yeah. Bladesingers freak me out sometimes. I don't trust their magic. It's not for peace but for war. He should leave his magic at home where it belongs. And it's downright eerie how he smiles like that. You don't think he cursed him do you?"
"Oh please – Aldorile? He's harmless to elves. Well, unless you turn Drow. Then you'd better invest in an invisibility cloak and an army of bodyguards. That is one guy you want on your side in a battle. You won't find a more faithful companion than a Bladesinger, and you won't find a more faithful Bladesinger than Aldorile. You done with your black magic curse casting?"
Aldorile smiled. "Save it Niramo," he said, standing up as he slapped the knocked out Guard in the face. "What's this Archer's name?"
"Ininde," Niramo answered. "Damn good shooter, isn't he?"
"Best I've seen since the tournament ten years ago. You remember that?"
"Vaguely."
Ininde was standing up now since the spell dissipated with the slap in the face. Another grin. "Me neither. As I recall it was pretty boring that year." They both had a good laugh while the rest of them looked on smirking. Niramo had broken a 5,000 year-old record at the end of that tournament.
The sun was glaring down on them as they walked and talked of the last month's events near the border. Niramo had his hands full running double patrols to make sure nobody unwanted entered the forest. The orc armies of the East had crossed the river and inhabited the dark woods up North across the plain. The plain was only a few days' journey across, and the orcs set their base up just inside the dark wood tree line according to the scouts. Then the patrols started, but not around the orc territory. They were patrolling in the grasslands around the elven forest making it obvious they were making sure no elves were going to cross the narrow stretch of land to the dark wood. In reality only the Wilderness Runners, the elf rangers, made homes in those woods. They were the ones trying to re-vitalize the lands and help make that forest teem with life as it once had. Now they kept hidden, monitoring all the movements of the orcs and making updated reports every few days.
"So Aldorile, what brings you back out to the border?"
"The War Wizard sent me out here to negotiate with the orcs."
"Negotiate? Emonwe sent you out here to negotiate?"
I wonder if he is surprised that orcs would negotiate or if Emonwe would waste the resource of a Bladesinger to negotiate with those who don't negotiate. "That's what she said. 'Even though armed conflict might be a foregone conclusion, use it as a last resort,' were her exact words."
"Hmmm. That's not like her."
"I think it's the Council."
"Yeah. That sounds feasible. Was she serious?"
"Yes; everything about her told me she was not kidding nor trying to get two different messages across. She does not want me to go prepared to wipe them out. I wonder if she doesn't know what to make of them yet."
"Probably. Nobody really does. They are just so different from all the other orcs we've ever dealt with."
So he knows more than I do. If Emonwe didn't tell me what she told Niramo I don't need to know. "Well, we'll see tomorrow when I go to negotiate." With that he left for the Guardhouse on the edge of the forest. A room was prepared for him, along with a week's provisions, polishing and sharpening equipment and a long, broad white cloth. Aldorile packed the cloth first; on this occasion that was the last thing he wanted to forget (beside his sword of course). He then polished his baldric, sword and buckles, taking the greatest care to make everything look formal. He looked out the window to the setting sun through the edge of the forest. A fire was setting that would not rise again for hours. There was nothing to do about the enveloping darkness but wait until the sun returned.