Chapter Eleven
By the time the carriage reached the port, the storm outside was blowing full force. Rain pelted against the boards of the dock, wind making the sea restless. Celena hardly noticed the sting of the sharp rain and wind as she was led to the triple mast ship, heaving in the water and pulling obstinately on the restraints tied to the dock. Denevive immediately helped Celena to settle into her cabin below deck before he went up to argue with the captain. No sailor in his right mind would set sail in a storm so furious, but Denevive couldn't risk being pursued by those black cloaked men.
She sat on a bed, unaware of its filth, staring out into the nothingness of despair. Was this the same nothingness that Allen had been so enraptured with after he awakened into his horrible reality? Allen - her brother. The last sight she saw of him was through blazing flames, blocking him from escape. The last words she heard him say were to save her.
"Run, Denevive! Take Celena and run! Get out of here!"
There was no malice in those words, no anger, no sadness. Just the pure desperation of saving his only family from a terrible fate. It made Celena cringe, her heart guilt-stricken and nearly cramped with sadness. She had treated him – badly. Not like a sister should have. She abandoned him. The image of her brother's eyes plagued her. How she had hurt him when he discovered her plan to leave him and everything just to follow a silly dream. She didn't know what was important anymore. She'd lost sight of the future, of everything except her brother's face, hurt and desperate.
The flames must have consumed him, now, she thought. Her lip trembled. She chewed on it to keep it from shaking. Horrific images could not be kept from her mind, as she saw in her imagination the different ways he might have died. Skewered by the cloaked one's sword and left crumpled on the floor, helpless and bleeding. Holding his wound as he spoke her name. A cremation of the living, unless he had died first of the wound. Burned alive from the fire . . .
"No!" Celena hissed to herself mournfully, gripping the wooden edge of the bed frame, welcoming the pain of splinters digging into her soft flesh. Her eyes were lucid, even in the darkness of the cabin, for she did not take the time to light a candle. Lightening outside shone through her porthole and lit her surroundings occasionally, but she cared not for light. She would dwell in this darkness for the rest of her life, if her fears rang true. If Allen really was dead, even Denevive would not be able to save her from herself.
"Gods, no! I should have stayed!" she said to the moist air in her cabin.
The ship rocked violently, but to Celena's numbed consciousness, it was as soothing as a mother rocking her babe. As it was, she lay down on the greasy mattress and there lay with wide tearless eyes, staring.
"Set sail!" roared the captain above the howl of the wind, having been convinced of Denevive's plight. The roguish captain then went about the ship, continuously shouting orders to his crew who was already busy pulling ropes against the wind's will. The half-elf wasn't as used to keeping his balancing against the ships ever changing gravity with the waves and worked hard to keep himself on his feet. He ran to some struggling sailors, pulling on a rope that refused to give with even three men. A fourth would make a difference, Denevive reasoned, and put his hands upon the taut rope.
The storm had gravely grown in intensity since just two hours ago, lightening threatening any mortal vessels that dare sail towards the horizon, where the very existence of the world seemed to be swallowed up by the darkness of storm clouds.
Through his wind streaked and rain filled vision, Denevive saw a black cloaked figure swiftly approaching. Without time enough to think, Denevive released his grip on the rope and pulled out his sword. But to his surprise, the figure did not attack, but instead grabbed the place of the rope where Denevive had held it.
"Fool, keep your hands on this rope if you're going to be of any use against this storm." said the figure from beneath the shadows of his hood. Denevive only stared dumbly, unsure of how to react. "Put away your sword. You look like an idiot."
Slowly, Denevive did as he was told, but still stared as this man pulled the rope with the other sailors and hoisted the rear sail. As they began to leave port, the ropes were secured, and Denevive found his voice.
"Who are you?" he had to shout over the howling wind. The man, though clothed in black, was not an enemy. For this, Denevive was thankful, but he had yet to determine if this strange person was friend, or else indeed foe.
"I am Elden." said the man, tossing back his hood to reveal his fine chiseled face, soaked with rain. His hair was long and dark, pulled back into a half-ponytail and revealing long, prominent elvish ears.
"You're elven!" said Denevive, astonished.
"As are you, if only half so. Now is not the time to talk, nor the place. I will explain all below deck. Come along." And Elden led the way down the stairs to the private guest cabins.
"So, tell me now," began Denevive, standing rigidly across from his mysterious companion Elden, "Who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want of me?"
The storm raged the sea and tossed the ship about among the waves, though the fury of such a storm was greatly dulled in Elden's small cabin. The rocking of the ship, ever constant, churned Denevive's stomach. Though raised in a fishing village and used to the sea, he had never boarded such a large moving thing as the vessel he had commandeered. A lantern, hung upon the hook near the door, swung and caused shadows to dance upon the planks of the walls. It was the only illumination against the dark storm, seemingly swallowing up what little light the lantern's flame provided.
Elden's eyes gleamed in the lantern light. He had taken off his cloak and hood, which had been tossed haphazardly upon his bunk.
"Impatient, aren't we?" Elden said, lazily falling onto his bed.
"I've had a very bad day and I would appreciate swift answers to my questions." Scowled the half-elf, roughly taking a spare crate from the corner and sitting down with a huff.
Elden laughed with good humor at the face Denevive made, as though the entire time had been light-hearted joking. "All these years of tracking you down and you end up being nothing like I had expected you to be. How very droll."
"Answer me, damn it! Who in the nine hells are you."
"I told you." Elden replied, the mirth dissipated, "I am Elden. But – what I didn't tell you was that I'm a ranger from Ki'Santh."
"A ranger? A blasted ranger!?" roared Denevive, "I get flaming arrows, a cloaked assassin, and now a ranger sent after me. What in the hells is going on around here?!"
"If you'll let me finish, I would be only too happy to answer that for you."
Denevive's eyes narrowed and he barely managed to say, "By all means, continue."
"Eighty revolutions ago – years to you, I believe – was when you were born. Your birthplace, at the time, was a small prosperous kingdom of Glynor. One of many in the Elvish Empire of Ki'Santh. This particular province was relatively far from the capital, on the very outskirts of the country. But for some reason, it drew an interest to the supreme chancellor. He had ordered the province destroyed, along with it's inhabitance. Your father, Sephril, had anticipated a violent approach from the chancellor before hand, having rejected several letters that had indicated the suggested surrender of Glynor."
All this was quite a spoonful to swallow. Sitting uncomfortably on his crate, Denevive could only stare, dumbfounded. Elden seemed amused by this, taking a brief pause so that the half-elf could calmly digest the information before taking in more.
"I was given orders," continued the elf, "to take a message, containing the Key to the Barrier, to the land of the humans, along with Sephril's newborn son. Unfortunately, that was the last I saw of Sephril. I barely managed to escape to the small sailing vessel before everything was engulfed in flames. From the river, I and the two guards who accompanied me watched our home burn. It wasn't long after we crossed the Barrier that we noticed we were being followed."
"Followed by whom?" asked Denevive softly. Elden's eyes became very serious and grave, staring straight through his companion with dark eyes.
"The same men who attacked you and your lady today." Elden's words were punctuated by a flash of lightening, followed by the drum of thunder. The storm raged on, while safe inside the cabin, Denevive's mind whirled. He felt dizzy and sick, both from the unforgiving motions of the ship and this new history. What to make of it, he couldn't decide? How could he trust this dark man? In fact . . .
"How did you know we were attacked, Elden?" Denevive asked, to which Elden gave an immediate reply.
"I have been searching for you for nearly 80 years. I was following quite close behind you as your coach hurried off to the docks of Asturia's capital."
"Why . . . wait a minute. What happened, when you were carrying the message all those years ago?"
To this, Elden heaved a great sigh, finally deciding to loosen the leather ties of his vest. "The men who attacked you tonight were the same men following us – they are lackeys to the high chancellor of Ki'Santh. They also attacked our vessel. I was able to use magic to protect you and cast you out into the sea. Vencilos is rather unyielding in battle. There were three of us and four of them – but only I could use magic against them." Elden stopped there, seemingly unable to continue. He turned away from Denevive, proceeded to undress himself without another word uttered.
"But what about . . .?"
"Enough," Elden said quickly, "The hour grows late. It would be best if you settled yourself in your own cabin for the night. Tomorrow there will be work to be done."
Denevive, standing slowly, nodded despite the fact that Elden did not see it. He left and did as he was told.
The fires of the manor were quickly doused, though not by any conventional means. At least not conventional according to Asturian citizenry. As quickly as the flames erupted, they disappeared, leaving the blackened, charred remains of the foyer. Allen had stood, dumbfounded before a blow to the head rendered him unconscious.
"Where is the half breed?" called a voice from outside. The owner of the voice, also clothed in black, entered through the broken door, looking at his winded comrade. Drenching winds blew inside the house, soaking the floor with heavy rain and flapping the black cloaks against the men who wore them.
"He - he escaped." said the other, the one who had fought Denevive. He tucked away his purple-gemmed amulet into his collar, looking somewhat nervously to his leader. "And forgive me for speaking outwardly, Master Vencilos, but were the flaming arrows really necessary? They nearly got me killed..."
"You are expendable in this quest, Sir Mage. Your powers are fading in this magic-less world and your amulet won't serve much more use. A sentence of death would have been punishment enough, of course, for letting our prey get away." He looked down to the one-armed man, crumpled on the floor and unconscious. "Leave the armless one. He is of no use to us."
"But, Master, he might know of Denevive's whereabouts . . ."
"I can assure you," said Vencilos as he started back outside into the rainstorm, "This wretch will not know. Elden found Denevive first. Our only chance now would be to find them on the continent of Aelyria."
"The ranger-mage of the Girrulis family? I thought we . . ." said the mage, following closely at his leader's heels. They went outside to meet the rest of their party. two other men, cloaked and hooded in black.
"Now is not the time to question such things." yawned Vencilos. "And next time you shoot an arrow, aim."
Rutolas growled. "I'm a mage, not an archer."
"Well, your magecraft is of no use in these blasted human lands. So make use of what you have or I will have you turned into a tree and used for firewood." Vencilos walked away from the inane mage, not caring to continue their conversation. Rutolas made a sour face.
"Yes, sir." he said softly, under his breath, watching his leader take the reigns of a pack horse brought out by another in their group. "Oh, allow me to help you, sir. No please, let me kiss your arse, sir, it would truly make my day."
"You shouldn't talk about Vencilos that way." said Bregan, coming up from behind Rutolas. "He is the high chancellor's heir. Without him our lives our forfeit, whether or not we get the key to return to our homelands."
"And I suppose I should be grateful for the way he treats me and my family. It wasn't my choice to go on this bloody expedition . . . no, assassination."
"I prefer the word expedition myself. Assassinating the human woman's family was just a small part of it. 80 years after her death and she still managed to elude us. The blasted half-breed!" Bregan tightened his cloak about him to keep out the chill rain, pulling his hood over his face. "So long as he lives, his family's province is up to him to claim."
"If you ask me, the high chancellor's arrogant. All of this for a mere province," said Rutolas, "There must be something more. Something deeper. He sent four of us out of the Barrier, knowing we will not be able to return without the key. It's a lot of ruckus for nothing."
"I didn't ask you, fool. I don't care what the chancellor wants, so long as I get my share of what he promised."
"It's been 80 years since we last saw our home and all you care about is your share. Honestly, man. How can you be so shallow? Do you care nothing for your wife? A pretty thing you left behind, I'd say."
At this, Bregan's face grew cold. "She is dead." he said simply, turning away. Rutolas watched him join the rest of their group, silent and resolute, all the while clutching a yellow stone amulet to his breast - the stone of the amulet dull and lifeless, though Rutolas recalled quite clearly when it was once bright and shining.
"I'm beginning to lose faith in this high chancellor." said Rutolas to himself, walking at the rear of his party.