Chapter 31

Madness

Telepe hummed to himself as he knelt on the floor of the wagon and tugged on a rope wrapped around a barrel, checking to make sure that it was tied down securely enough. Akripa had been generous enough to open his granaries to them before they set off on their return to Sancre Tor, vowing to provide whatever they needed. Though Orina had protested, claiming that they could make do with the supplies they had, Akripa had insisted that it was the least he could do to thank them for their aid.

It was over a week since Akripa had been made praefect. Since that time, the rebel warriors had remained in the city to ensure that Ceya-Tar could manage independently when they left. Orina and her warriors had drilled the new militia in the basics of the phalanx formation so that they could withstand an Ayleid attack, while Telepe had worked with Akripa to draft a basic set of laws similar to the ones he had created in Sancre Tor. He had also sent a falcon south to Arpenia, asking if they could spare any scribes to help manage Ceya-Tar, and though the kingdom had yet to reply, he doubted that they would refuse.

Telepe privately wondered if there was more that they could do, but Akripa had asserted that Ceya-Tar would now have to find its own way. The praefect's tone had also implied that he didn't want the rebellion interfering any more than it already had. Taking the hint, Orina had declared that they would leave the next morning.

As Telepe shifted over to inspect an amphora of wine, a familiar voice piped up from behind him, asking, "Is there anything that I might do?"

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Tari standing with her arms folded behind her back, an eager look on her face. A slight smile crossed Telepe's lips as he climbed out of the wagon and walked over to her.

"That depends," he replied as he glanced over his shoulder at the cart. "Can you see well enough to tell me what's in the wagon? Without coming closer," he added in a chiding tone as she leaned forward.

Tari frowned at him, then squinted at the wagon. A few days before, she claimed that the white light blinding her had finally faded and that she could see once more. However, her vision remained hazy, and though she could now discern shapes and colors, she still struggled to see detail. After staring for a few long moments, she sighed and reluctantly shook her head.

"I… cannot be certain," she admitted in a defeated tone.

Telepe nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Then I don't think you should help with securing the supplies in the wagon." Before her expression could darken any further, he added, "However, I would appreciate it if you could bring me the items from that pile over there."

Tari's face brightened as she followed his gaze, and she smiled up at him before hurrying over to one of the crates. At first Telepe watched her closely, but when he saw that she was able to carry it over to him without struggling, he decided not to worry over her. Nodding to her in thanks, he set the crate in the wagon and climbed inside.

"Telepe!" a voice called out, interrupting him once again before he could tie the box down. Letting out a short sigh of irritation, Telepe turned to see Dynar approaching him, escorting a stooped, cloaked figure who was clinging to a staff made of dark wood, capped with a shimmering green Welkynd stone.

"Dynar," Telepe greeted him, dusting off his hands and climbing out of the wagon instead. "I haven't seen you in the last few days. Who's this?"

"Yes, well, given that most of the humans in this city still thirst for Ayleid blood, I felt it prudent to make myself scarce," Dynar replied drily as he motioned to the figure hidden beneath the grey robes. "As did he."

The figure pulled the hood of the robe back to reveal the wizened face of Moralasil, his milky white eyes staring straight ahead he leaned on the staff in his hand. "Forgive me for this, but I must make a request of you all," Moralasil said. "I would like to accompany you back to Sancre Tor."

Telepe tilted his chin up slightly. "Ah. Of course," he said easily. "If you were to remain here, you'd be hanged as soon as one of the citizens caught sight of you."

"Well… no, I have no desire to pass on just yet," Moralasil chuckled. "But I also have a personal interest in accompanying you. I feel as though there is much more that I could teach Tari, if she is willing."

Telepe glanced over at Tari, whose eyes widened slightly at the offer. "What specifically did you wish to teach me?" Tari asked. "Is there another way to read the Elder Scrolls, perhaps? One that's less taxing on my eyes?"

"Unfortunately, no," Moralasil admitted. "If I knew of such a method, I would have used it myself, after all." As Tari's face fell, he continued, "Rather, I understand that you have a talent for magic, yes?"

"I… can cast two spells," Tari replied evasively, glancing away uncertainly. "I would hardly call that a talent for magic."

"That alone shows that you have the ability to learn magic, which is more than most can claim," Moralasil countered calmly, folding both hands on his staff. "Even so, there is far more for you to learn, and I believe that you might find the spells that I wish to teach you better suited to your personality."

"My personality?" Tari echoed, frowning.

Moralasil smiled faintly as he gazed up at the sky. "I've found that those who have a talent for magic often gravitate towards a certain set of spells that they find easier to cast than others. Those that are especially passionate or malicious might find that elemental spells come more readily to them. The clever and mischievous may instead favor spells that influence senses and perceptions." Moralasil chuckled lightly and leaned forward a bit, almost conspiratorially. "You, my dear, seem to be particularly in tune with the natural world. I believe that you would make an excellent student of the Ayleid art of physical alteration."

"Ayleid magic?" Tari repeated, almost seeming repulsed by the suggestion.

"Indeed. You may already know this, but my people were the ones who first devised spells to affect the physical world in ways that went beyond the simple conjuring of elemental forces, such as fire and ice," Moralasil explained. "Our art is more refined. By pouring magic into an object, we can change its very nature. Over the years, I've found that those with the greatest talent for our magic are those that are most in tune with Nirn itself." Another smile crossed his face as he added, "Alchemists, for instance, are constantly attempting to discover the various properties of their ingredients, and then devise new formulae, new combinations based upon their findings. That mindset also lends itself well to the study of magical transmutation."

Tari grimaced, then slowly looked away. "I… I'm grateful for the compliment, and I'm pleased that you think so highly of me," she said evasively. "However, if the art is of Ayleid origin…."

"Should that matter?" Moralasil asked patiently.

"It's the magic of our enemies," Tari stated curtly, her tone dripping with disgust.

"I ask again: why does that matter?" Moralasil countered. "Were you to find yourself in a battle against a hated foe, and that foe was wielding a sword, would you refuse to use one yourself simply because it's your enemy's weapon?" Tari hesitated, and Moralasil pressed, "If anything, that should give you greater reason to study it, so that you might better understand what your enemy might do, should you find yourself facing another practitioner of the craft."

Tari hesitated, then glanced up at Telepe uncertainly. "What do you think?" she asked quietly.

Telepe raised an eyebrow down at her, then shrugged. "You said that you wish to study magic. You now have a teacher who is not only willing to teach you his craft, but approached you, asking you to learn from him. In the end, it is your decision to make, but I believe you should consider the offer."

Tari frowned slightly, then turned back to Moralasil and folded her hands behind her back. "What does this magic entail, exactly?" she asked.

"Physical transmutation holds many possibilities," Moralasil explained with a slight smile as he held out his hand. "I could teach you to make objects lighter or heavier than they naturally are. You could learn to walk on water, or even to breathe beneath its surface. You could learn to paralyze your enemies, rendering them helpless. There are also spells that can alter your very body. For instance," he added, rolling up his sleeve and flexing his hand. A brief flash of violet light erupted in his palm, and a thick layer of bark began creeping up his forearm. Tari watched, fascinated, as he flexed his wooden fingers and allowed the magic to fade, returning his arm to its normal state. "Does this intrigue you?" he asked.

"I… must confess, it would be quite useful to clad myself in armor whenever I wish," Tari murmured. When Telepe glanced down at her and raised an eyebrow, she added, "You know I still wish to fight alongside our men, but I have not yet found an armor that I favor. Leather offers inadequate protection, and bronze too heavy. If I could instead conjure my own armor, I feel I would be of far more use in a battle – especially if I could draw close enough to our enemies to use my poisons without fear of injury."

"Indeed?" Moralasil asked, his grip tightening on his staff as he leaned forward slightly. "Then does that mean you'll agree to learn from me?"

Tari took a deep, slow breath, then replied, "I shall. And… thank you for the offer. You must forgive me," she added, glancing away. "If you'll recall, the last time I was apprenticed to an Ayleid, it… was not a pleasant experience."

"No, I suppose it wasn't," Moralasil agreed with a sad smile. "Rest assured, my dear, I have no ill intentions, no ulterior motives. I simply wish to pass on my knowledge to a promising student."

"Then thank you… master," Tari said with a bow.

Moralasil's face broke out into a wide grin, and he chuckled warmly as he squeezed Dynar's forearm. "In that case, whenever you are ready to depart, I shall be as well."

"Very good. Allow me to find you a space in one of the wagons where you can ride, honored sage," Dynar replied with a smile.

"Here, if you'll allow me to move a few items, there should be plenty of room in this one," Telepe offered. He climbed inside the wagon again and crawled to the middle of the cart, then shoved a few boxes and barrels aside. As he did, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something large and dark shifting in the shadows.

At first, he was worried that he had spotted a rather large rat. When he turned to face the creature, however, he saw that it was a cat, sitting pertly between a sack of flour and a barrel of dried fruit. Telepe tilted his head as he examined the creature, taking note of its bright green eyes and the upturned, crescent-shaped white marking on its chest, the only patch of fur that differed from its otherwise black body. The cat seemed to be examining him as well, its tail swaying slowly back and forth as they stared at each other.

"Hello there! When did you climb aboard?" Telepe asked, holding his fingers out to the animal. The cat regarded him with indifferent disdain, but eventually leaned forward to sniff his fingers. After a few moments, it settled back on its haunches and resumed staring at him, seemingly satisfied with his polite greeting.

"Telepe?" Dynar called from the entrance of the wagon. "Is there room?"

"There should be, yes! My apologies!" Telepe replied. "I just found a cat in here." A smile spread across his lips as he added, "I don't believe it's one of our mousers, but we may as well take it along, mm? No harm in having another pair of eyes watching for rats." He paused for a moment, examining the cat a bit closer, then added, "I'm going to name this one Secunda! We already have Masser back at Sancre Tor, after all, and there's a patch of fur on its chest looks somewhat like the moon." The cat tilted its head slightly at his declaration, its tail flicking, and its expression unreadable.

"Ah. As you say," Dynar said slowly. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the prince shrugging at Tari, who simply smiled and shook her head. Telepe scowled to himself as he crawled back to the entrance of the wagon to help Moralasil on board.

"Thank you, my boy," the Ayleid said with a soft smile.

"It's the least we can do, after all the assistance you've given us," Telepe replied easily. "I should be the one thanking you. Tari has been searching for a way to truly aid the rebellion, and thanks to you, I believe she's finally found it."

"It was always in her to aid the rebellion like this," Moralasil replied simply. "I'm simply offering to show her another path. Sometimes that's all one needs."

"Even so, it's greatly appreciated," Telepe replied.

"And what of you?" Moralasil asked suddenly, leaning back against the edge of the cart. Telepe paused, tilting his head quizzically at the blind mer. "You seem uncertain of which path you wish to follow, yes? If I'm not mistaken, you're attempting to follow two roads at the same time, are you not?"

Telepe frowned deeply as he stared suspiciously at the old elf. "How… did you…?" he asked slowly.

"I spoke with Tari. She mentioned that you're serving as an emissary on behalf of both your own kingdom and this rebellion," Moralasil explained. "Is that true?"

"Well… there's no reason why the goals of both my kingdom and my friends can't align," Telepe replied evasively. "After all, I came here to forge agreements and create alliances."

"Indeed? Two separate roads might travel in the same direction for a while, but eventually they're likely to diverge," Moralasil warned him. "When that time comes, you shall need to make a choice."

"Perhaps," Telepe said quietly, a queasy feeling starting to gnaw at his stomach. "But until then, I shall endeavor to follow both paths for as long as I can."

"Hm. That shall prove an increasingly difficult task," Moralasil remarked, before leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "But I suppose that nothing I say shall dissuade you, shall it? I simply hope when the time comes that it's your choice which road you follow… or you may find that you have no road before you at all."

Telepe swallowed and felt a shiver run down his spine at Moralasil's ominous proclamation. "We should begin our journey back to Sancre Tor shortly," he said, abruptly changing the subject. "If you find the wagon uncomfortable, I can see about providing some extra linens for comfort."

"You're too kind," Moralasil smiled, shaking his head. "I assure you, I've endured far worse than a bit of jostling. Thank you again, Telepe."

"Of course," Telepe nodded, slowly crawling back out of the wagon. As he stepped away, he closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath.

"Are we about ready?" Dynar asked, coming up behind Telepe and putting a hand on his shoulder. Then, a frown slowly spread across his face as he peered into Telepe's face. "What's troubling you?" he asked in a softer tone. "You've gone quite pale."

"I'm always pale," Telepe tried to retort in a dry quip, though his voice trembled slightly. When Dynar continued to stare at him, he shook his head, taking another slow breath. "It's nothing. Merely considering another's advice."

"I see. Well, try not to let it trouble you unduly," Dynar said easily.

"Indeed," Telepe said slowly, before making his way back around to the other side of the wagon to ensure that Emero was properly harnessed while struggling to push the Ayleid's words out of his mind.

Although the rebellion now effectively controlled Ceya-Tar and its surrounding territory, Orina elected to avoid following the highway that ran near Ceya-Tar. A few of the Nords had protested her decision, insisting that the highway would be quicker easier to follow, but Orina and her officers explained that if they traveled along the highway, they would soon pass by hostile cities, such as Fanacasecul. Worse, at certain points along the way, the highway was within sight of the White-Gold City, and they were wary of drawing the attention of Umaril himself, especially if he had access to a Daedric army as Moralasil suspected. Even so, the Nordic warriors still seemed irritated that even after achieving a great victory, they were sneaking away from the city as though they were retreating. Eventually, Orina compromised, conceding that since Hadhuul no longer controlled the surrounding area, the danger of being spotted by a hostile patrol was somewhat lessened. She thus decided to travel due north from Ceya-Tar, setting a path that would still take them straight through the forest until they reached the highway near the city of Narlemae, where they could then once again follow the road while skirting around the edges of Lindai's territory.

Although they were once again traveling through the jungle, Telepe personally found the return journey comparatively pleasant. For one, the foreboding jungle was now somewhat familiar to him, and as they traveled, he occasionally noticed familiar landmarks, such as a lone farm or an unusually shaped tree. The season had also noticeably changed, and they were now undeniably in the early winter months. Though Telepe still thought the temperature was closer to what he might expect to feel in mid-autumn, the air was drier, and they did not suffer any rainfall as they traveled. When he commented on this to Dynar, the Ayleid prince explained that the worst storms always raged during the summer months, while the winter months were relatively placid. Snow was uncommon even in the kingdoms north of Lindai, and almost unheard of south of Lake Rumare, but the air was already noticeably cooler, and Dynar mentioned that even the Ayleids in the southernmost cities would begin to wear wool chitons around the winter solstice.

What's more, Telepe was pleased to learn that just like in most other realms, wars were generally halted when winter began. Though the climate of Cyrod did allow for more abundant harvests than the northern realms like Malabal and Skyrim, there usually wasn't enough food to allow an army to wage war year-round, especially since most wars were fought between individual city-states, often without any allies to provide additional resources. Though there were still patrols protecting the roads, armies typically wintered in their cities, and wars would begin anew after the first crops of the new year were planted. Thus, even the rebels would likely enjoy a brief respite which would allow them to train and prepare themselves for the next stage of the war.

With drier air also came firmer ground, and the wagons were able to make relatively quick time through the jungle, even considering the thick foliage that continued to impede them. They only had two incidents where a wagon became stuck in the mud, and both times it was dislodged after only a few minutes of heaving. There were fewer beasts roaming the jungle as well, so the scouts could focus more on blazing a trail and worry less about warning the caravan of impending danger. Their path once took them near a cave where Telepe could see the gleaming yellow eyes of a goblin tribe watching them warily, but the savage creatures refrained from harassing them, and they were able to pass by without incident.

As they traveled, Moralasil quietly began teaching Tari to cast transmutation magic. With little else to do, Telepe occasionally eavesdropped on their conversations, hoping to glean something from the sage. The first spell Moralasil intended to teach Tari the one he had shown her – enveloping her body in wood. He did mention that at higher levels, she might be able to harden her body with other materials, such as stone or bronze, but wood was the easiest for a novice to learn. He began by handing her a long branch and telling her that she was to spend all her time with it. He encouraged her to play with it when she was idle, to run her hands over it and study it when she had the opportunity. When Tari questioned his methods, he explained that she needed to not only achieve an understanding of the properties of wood, but an instinctive, tactile connection to it. Before the wood could become a second skin to her, she first needed to understand what that second skin was, he explained. Only then could she make it a part of herself.

Tari had since spent most of her time journeying with the branch in her hands, using it as a walking staff. Even when she was at rest in camp, she idly toyed with it, running her hands along its rough surface and turning it over. From time to time, she would hold it up to eye level and murmur to herself. Telepe was pleased that she was taking her lessons so seriously, though he privately admitted to himself that even though he understood the reasons behind her behavior, it was still strange to watch. The other rebels began shying away from her when they camped, openly disturbed by her odd behavior. Tari, however, paid them no mind, wholly absorbed in her training.

Telepe was glad that Tari had something to occupy her time while they traveled, but it also meant that he had one less person to speak with during the journey. As such, time seemed to pass rather slowly, even though they were setting a good pace. Telepe spent most of his time riding with Dynar, the pair making idle small talk with each other when they weren't simply sitting in silence, with Dynar steering the horses slowly between the trees. Although he did enjoy conversing with the prince, time still seemed to pass far too slowly in the seemingly endless jungle, and it was quite a relief when, after several days of travel, they finally emerged from the thickest part of the jungle. roughly a quarter mile from the city of Narlemae.

The party continued due north as swiftly as possible to reach the highway, where they would once again turn west and follow the road. Telepe noticed that Dynar was growing increasingly anxious as they neared Lindai's lands. When they had traveled through the great jungle, they were able to keep an idle conversation going for hours, but the closer they came to Lindai, the more terse and more anxious Dynar became. Even so, Telepe tried to keep the prince distracted as best he could.

"When you ascend to the throne of Nenalata, you shall select a new regal name for yourself, yes?" Telepe asked as he idly rolled a leaf back and forth with his thumb and forefinger, the wagon creaking lightly beneath them.

"Indeed. Every ruler in my kingdom follows that tradition," Dynar replied shortly.

"Do you have any thoughts about the name you would take, then?" Telepe asked, pausing to trace the leaf's veins.

"I have not truly thought about it," Dynar replied curtly. "The name is meant to be a reflection of not only the ruler himself, but what he expects of his reign."

"Humor me, then," Telepe pressed. "What name would you to select, were to ascend to the throne right this moment?"

Dynar paused and glared at Telepe out of the corner of his eye. "Are you suggesting that you wish for my father's death?" he asked coldly.

The color drained out of Telepe's face, and he quickly stammered, "N-no, of course not! I was merely contemplating-!"

Beside him, Dynar began chuckling softly, his grip on the horses' reins loosening slightly. "Peace. I'm not serious."

Telepe opened his mouth in protest, then closed it and grinned ruefully. As it was the first time that Dynar had laughed in a few days, even if it was at his expense, he was more than happy to let it go. "As you say," he chuckled, inclining his head in defeat. "Still, I'm curious. Let's leave my previous question aside. Suppose that the rebellion were to win this war and you were to ascend the throne afterwards. What name would you select for yourself, then?"

Dynar gazed up at the forest canopy thoughtfully, letting out a soft hum as he considered the question. After several long moments, he replied slowly, "I suppose that it depends upon the sort of realm we'd find ourselves in after the war ends. Would it be an empire dominating a collection of city-states? A united coalition of kingdoms, where all are considered equal?"

"A fair point, and I cannot say," Telepe admitted. "Though at the very least, I would expect slavery to be abolished."

"If the rebellion were to triumph, yes, I concur with that," Dynar agreed, letting out a soft sigh. "I suppose in that case, the best name for me to select would be something like 'Dellearan' – The Merciful King. After all, I would be expected to enforce the abolition of slavery, yes? And I would hope that what would follow would be a time of peace. I suppose that 'Seprediaran' – Peaceful King – would also be a fitting name as well."

"Those are good choices," Telepe agreed easily as he leaned back in the cart. "And I do believe that they suit you quite well. Though I also feel that you undersell your nobility. Perhaps you could integrate that into your name."

"Perhaps. Though one must be wary of constructing a name that's too long," Dynar pointed out. "It wouldn't do for my name to be unpronounceable."

"Hm… then what about-?" Telepe began. Dynar, however, suddenly held up a hand and shushed him.

"Do you see that?" Dynar asked in a low voice, frowning deeply as he stared at a spot behind Telepe.

Concern began to grip Telepe's chest as he slowly turned to peer over his shoulder. All he could see was a cluster of ferns and a few brightly colored flowers, and the only sounds were the shrieking calls of birds echoing through the jungle.

"What do you believe you saw?" Telepe whispered, letting his hand fall to his sword.

"I'm uncertain," Dynar murmured back. "I believe that for a moment, I caught sight of a glint of gold… or perhaps bronze."

Telepe felt his heart beginning to pound with worry as he looked over his shoulder again. For a moment, he thought he saw a gleaming shadow flitting through the underbrush, though as panic began to well up inside of him, he quickly reasoned that it may have been a yellow butterfly, or a brightly-colored flower.

"Perhaps we should alert the scouts," Telepe murmured back. "If we-"

Before he could finish his thought, a hail of arrows suddenly erupted from out of the bushes, peppering the side of the wagon. A sudden searing pain shot through Telepe's upper arm, and he let out a yell of pain as he collapsed onto the floor of the caravan, gripping his right arm tightly. His eyes widened when he saw that an arrow had pierced clean through his tricep. His arm was limp, and blood dripped from the bronze arrowhead. Telepe took several deep breaths through gritted teeth as Dynar crouched over him, gripping the reins tightly with one hand and glancing around furtively above him.

"Stay down!" Dynar hissed to him. Above him, Telepe could hear the screams of the other men mixing with the centurions shouting orders. He then heard a magically amplified voice echoing over the din of battle.

"Traitorous slaves of Cyrod! You have committed a grave sin by turning on your masters!" the voice bellowed. "You are no more than wild, rabid beasts, and you must be put down!"

Telepe hissed sharply as he tried to push himself into a sitting position, but Dynar put a hand on his chest and shook his head. "There are still arrows flying about!" he hissed, and as if to emphasize his point, Telepe heard yet more arrowheads embed themselves into the side of the wagon near his head. "Stay down!"

"Who dares?!" Telepe heard Pelinal roar over the sounds of battle.

"Who dares slay a pack of wild dogs? Such is the right of every Ayleid!" the unfamiliar voice taunted in return. "You have drawn the ire of the Ayleid Empire! Narlemae, Lindai, Moranda… every kingdom that would defend our rights, granted to us by Auri-El and by our Daedric patrons! No, who are you who dare rebel against your betters?!"

"Gather together! Raise your shields!" Telepe heard Orina yelling. "Do not-!" Abruptly, her voice cut off, replaced by a raspy, wet gurgling noise.

"Stand together!" another voice called. "Draw the wagons together and keep your shields raised!"

Telepe groaned and began to push himself up again. Dynar's hand pushed down on his chest again, and the elven prince gave him a stern look.

"Stay down!" Dynar repeated.

"Tell me what's happening, then!" Telepe demanded, narrowing his eyes.

Dynar grimaced, then suddenly ducked lower as an arrow flew overhead. "We're… surrounded," Dynar admitted slowly, glancing away uneasily. "We've been ambushed. There-!" Before he could finish, a figure began clambering over the edge of the wagon, bellowing a war cry. In response, Dynar immediately drew his curved sword and slashed the figure twice across the face. The attacker screamed and fell from the cart, and then Dynar glanced down at Telepe again. "There seem to be thousands of them," he continued in a surprisingly calm voice. "In truth, I'm uncertain how we'll escape."

Telepe groaned, then pushed Dynar's hand off his chest. "Enough. Let me up," he growled, wincing at the pain lancing through his right arm.

"You're wounded!" Dynar protested.

"If the situation is as dire as you say, we may soon be dead!" Telepe snarled, pushing himself into a sitting position. "If so, I'd rather die on my feet than lying in a cart! And I can still fight with my left hand!"

Dynar grimaced, then nodded and allowed Telepe to push himself up. Even so, as soon as he could see over the edge of the wagon, his blood ran cold. The drivers had managed to circle the wagons, positioning the horses behind the carts to protect them as much as possible. The Nedic hoplites and Nordic warriors had formed a tight circle within the wagons, but dozens of men lay dead on the jungle floor. Dark, golden figures clad in bronze and leather armor were pouring through the trees, loosing arrows at the defenders, who were trying to keep their shields raised to deflect the missiles. Occasionally, a few Ayleid warriors would attempt to charge through the circle of wagons, only to be cut down by a spear or a sword. Thus, the Ayleids seemed content to continue raining arrows down on the defenders. It was truly a miracle that thus far, Telepe had only suffered a wound to his arm, he realized.

With a sharp hiss, he heaved himself over the edge of the wagon, crying out in pain as he landed hard on his feet, and he quickly crouched low to avoid the arrow fire. He paused by one of the fallen hoplites and unslung his shield, then grit his teeth as he strapped it to his right arm, ignoring the throbbing pain. He then snuck into the circle of warriors and raised his shield as high as he could, though he still had to crouch to protect his head and torso, all the while trying to ignore the pulsing, searing pain that consumed not just his arm, but the entire right side of his torso. On one side of him stood Huna, and on the other was a Nordic warrior carrying a fur-covered wooden shield.

"Where is Whitestrake?!" Telepe shouted to Huna over the twang of bowstrings and the screams of the warriors around him.

Huna grunted, his eyes widening as an arrow managed to pierce both the bronze face of his shield and the wooden backing, the arrowhead stopping only a few inches from his eyes. "He's somewhere in the jungle, attacking the Ayleids by himself!" Huna shouted back. "But there are simply too many of them! He told me – us – to wait here and gird ourselves until he returns!"

"What of Tari? Moralasil?" Telepe asked, before letting out a sharp cry of pain as another wave of arrows jostled his shield, though he managed to grit his teeth and keep it raised, even as he felt blood running down his upper arm.

"I know nothing of Moralasil, but I presume he's hiding in one of the wagons, if he's wise. Tari is beneath the wagons, casting spells whenever she can," Huna replied. He briefly lowered his shield and motioned to something before them. Telepe glanced over the rim of his own shield and noticed a wall of fire flickering in front of the wagons, though since she wasn't actively sustaining the spell, the flames were quickly dying.

"Then… is there nothing more we can do?!" Telepe cried. He suddenly let out a sharp gasp as pain lanced through his side. He glanced down to see a line of blood trickling down the outside of his breeches. An arrow had grazed his hip, though thankfully the wound seemed shallow.

Huna gazed down at the fresh wound with a sympathetic wince before returning his gaze to Telepe's face. "Hold, and trust in Pelinal," he replied firmly, giving him a confident smile. "He shall prevail! I'm certain of it! We must simply weather this assault until then!"

Telepe frowned and glanced down at the ground. The bodies of fallen warriors littered the edge of the circle, with shafts protruding from their limp forms where the arrowheads had found the soft spots in their thick bronze armor. Even if Huna was correct and Pelinal was their only hope of victory – or survival – that hope was quickly dwindling.

His thoughts were momentarily distracted when an Ayleid suddenly vaulted over the cart towards him, swinging his sword in a short arc. Instinctively, Telepe lowered his shield and swayed backwards to avoid injuring his arm more. The short blade cleaved through the air near where Telepe's neck had been, narrowly missing him. Before the Ayleid could strike again, Telepe slashed him in the thigh. The Ayleid screamed in pain as a flash of crimson light coursed across his body, but to Telepe's chagrin, the elf didn't seem to be seized by fear – if anything, he simply seemed enraged by his wound. Before he could recover, however, Telepe quickly drew his sword back and ran it through his throat. The corpse of the elf slumped to the ground in time for Huna to grab him and tug him back, raising his shield to protect them both from another volley of arrows.

"Th-thank you," Telepe gasped, wincing as he saw Huna's arm shaking from the impact of the arrows. Huna nodded silently just as Tari ducked under their legs and raised her hands to unleash a torrent of lightning at the Ayleids in the trees. A few elves fell to the ground, screaming and writhing in pain, but Tari was forced to retreat as the others trained their bows on her to retaliate.

"This is taking far too long. This slaughter no longer amuses me," the distant voice commented. "Summon the spellcasters. And let us use our finest weapons as well. These dogs have earned it as a reward for their stubborn defense. I shall permit the use of the Teeth of Barilel, the arrows of Celethilel the Singer… and I've heard tell that one of our warriors once possessed the Mace of Molag Bal? Do they still?"

Telepe's heart pounded as he saw four figures clad in white robes step out from between the trees. He could almost see the spellcasters sneering as they began chanting, raising their arms as their hands began flickering with flames. His last fleeting thought was a promise that, if he survived this, he must learn a way to prevent mages from casting spells. Not that he would have that chance, he mused bitterly.

Before the mages could unleash their spells, however, a silver figure suddenly bolted out from between the trees with a furious roar. Pelinal's sword cleaved cleanly through one of the mage's arms, and as the elf fell to the ground, clutching his arm and screaming, his fellow mages' spells faltered as they were distracted by the knight's sudden attack. Pelinal turned and slammed his mace into another mage's chest, cracking several ribs and knocking him to the ground, before he whirled around and cleanly decapitated a third.

Telepe's eyes widened, and he let out a short laugh of disbelief. "By the Divines… I've never been so pleased to see him!" he exclaimed breathlessly.

Huna grinned and lowered his shield slightly to gaze at Pelinal over the rim of it. "As I said! Pelinal-!"

Without warning, an arrow shaped like a bird's beak whistled through the air, almost as though it was singing. The arrowhead cleared the rim of Huna's shield and embedded itself in his eye. Before Telepe's grin had fully melted into an expression of shock, the young warrior pitched forward and crumpled to the ground. Bile rose in Telepe's throat as he crouched to inspect Huna, clinging to the wild hope that he had only been wounded, but it immediately became clear that the young man had been slain instantly when the arrow pierced his skull.

Telepe looked up from Huna's body and noticed Pelinal staring at them from a few yards away. He was standing stock-still, and his gaze was fixed on Huna's lifeless form. For a few long moments, Pelinal did nothing, and Telepe held his breath. Then, abruptly, the knight tilted his head back and let out an anguished scream that echoed even above the deafening sounds of battle around them.

Pelinal suddenly turned and bolted with inhuman speed towards the nearest Ayleid archer. His blade and mace arced through the air so quickly that Telepe could barely discern them as little more than silvery crescents that left trails of blood in their wake. The elves hardly had time to scream before they were cut down. Telepe watched, stunned, as in only a few moments, Pelinal had managed to cleave his way through over a dozen Ayleid warriors.

"What is that?!" the magically amplified voice demanded. "Warriors, focus your efforts upon the white warrior!"

As Telepe watched, over a score of elves turned towards Pelinal, converging on him with their bronze weapons flashing in the deep golden sunlight. Then he was forced to turn his attention back to the battle as another wave of arrows arced through the air. Telepe grimaced and raised his shield again, letting out silent screams of pain as his arm absorbed the force of the arrows. He was forced back another couple of steps until his back touched another warrior's side, and he realized that the circle of warriors was growing smaller. However, it also seemed as though the attacks they were enduring were becoming less vigorous.

Telepe lowered his shield, anxiously turning his gaze back to where Pelinal had been on the verge of being overwhelmed by the Ayleid warriors. For a few heart-stopping moments, Telepe was unable to spot Pelinal, and he feared that the warrior had succumbed to the attack. However, he then heard a clashing of metal off to his left, and when he turned, he saw Pelinal dashing through the ranks of elven warriors. His silver and white attire was soaked in elven blood, and his weapons were coated in viscera, feathers, beads, and shards of bronze. He moved through the elves as easily as passing through a rainstorm – he was occasionally buffeted by a particularly powerful attack, but never stopped for long, and always wholly unaffected by their attacks.

"What farce is this?! Narlemae, focus your efforts upon that warrior and at least slow his advance!" the voice cried. "The rest of you, slaughter the rest of these slaves!"

"No!" Pelinal roared. His voice seemed distorted, and it echoed through the trees like a wailing wind.

Despite his cry, the remaining elven warriors drew their weapons and charged towards the few remaining rebels. Telepe momentarily felt mind-numbing fear grip him, and then a strange sense of peace. There was nothing he could do. He would die here, he realized. And with that calm realization, he tightened his grip on his shield and rested the flat of his sword on its rim. If he was to die, he at least intended to fell as may elves as he could, he decided with a grim resolve.

Before the elves could envelop them, however, Pelinal suddenly raced in from Telepe's left and began cleaving through their ranks. Telepe reflexively raised his shield, not to protect himself, but to prevent the blood flying about from getting into his eyes. As such, he couldn't see what Pelinal was doing to the elves, but he could hear their screams, their cries for mercy. When the screams diminished, Telepe briefly lowered his shield to peer over the rim. What he saw terrified him even more than facing his own imminent death moments before.

As Pelinal pulled one of the Ayleids off of Telepe and ran him through with his sword, the knight turned towards him for a brief moment. His helmet had become dislodged and was resting on top of his head, giving Telepe a clear view of his face. Pelinal's normally pale face was a deep bloodred color. One of his eyes was rolled back into his head, while the other stared straight ahead, burning with unbridled fury. His white hair was tangled around his head like a wild halo, stained and matted with elven blood. When his mouth wasn't open while he was furiously screaming, he was gritting his teeth hard enough that the muscles in his jaw turned white.

As their eyes met, Pelinal drew his sword back, and Telepe ducked and raised his shield, cowering as he waited for the blow to fall. At that moment, however, another Ayleid warrior leapt at Pelinal from the side with a cry and jabbed his sword into Pelinal's chest. However, the bronze blade snapped on impact, and Pelinal was left apparently unharmed. A moment later, Pelinal turned and punched the spike of his mace through the elf's torso, puncturing straight through his bronze armor, and as the elf screamed in pain and terror, Pelinal unceremoniously sliced off his head. The knight then let out another roar of mad fury and sprinted towards the Ayleid lines to Telepe's right, his bloody weapons flashing as he resumed carving through the elves.

"Someone hold him back!" Telepe heard one of the Ayleids scream.

"It's no use! Fall back! Flee!" the magically enhanced voice bellowed.

Telepe peeked over the rim of his shield, and to his immense relief, he saw that the Ayleids were obeying that command, streaming into the forest away from the remaining rebels. One or two archers took parting shots at the formation, but the warriors held their circle and were able to successfully deflect the last few arrows. As they retreated, Pelinal planted his feet and raised his left hand at the fleeing elves. His palm began glowing with a brilliant white light, and Telepe gasped and turned away, shutting his eyes. A thunderclap resounded through the trees, and the insides of Telepe's eyelids burned red. When he was able to open his eyes again, he saw that a large swathe of the jungle had been seared into ash. He could just make out Pelinal's shining form in the distance, sprinting through the blackened trees after the fleeing elves, until a moment later he disappeared entirely.

As the adrenaline began to fade, exhaustion swept over Telepe, and he once again became acutely aware of the searing pain in his arm. He let out a strangled gasp as the shield fell from his right arm and clattered to the ground. The sleeve of his tunic was soaked in blood, and he could barely move his fingers without a stabbing pain tearing through his arm. Gritting his teeth, he pressed the remnants of his sleeve to the wound to staunch the bleeding while glancing around and taking stock of his surroundings.

The battle had been an unmitigated disaster. Hundreds of bodies were strewn across the jungle floor, and while most were Ayleid, many were Nedic and Nordic as well. Telepe saw Orina laying face-up on the ground with her throat slashed, and three of the other centurions had been slain as well. Most of the fallen human warriors were riddled with arrows, while some sported deep puncture wounds from spears and heavy slash-marks from axes and swords.

Out of the corner of his eye, Telepe saw a pair of figures approaching him, and he turned to see Tari and Dynar slowly making their way towards him. Neither had escaped unscathed – Dynar was limping from a trio of spear wounds in his thigh, and Tari sported a deep gash across her forehead. She wiped the blood out of her eyes and stepped closer to Telepe to gingerly inspect the wound on his arm. She grimaced as she examined the arrow, then murmured, "We shall need to extract the shaft first-"

"I'm in no danger of perishing right now," Telepe said firmly, trying to ignore how light-headed he felt. "For now, treat those that are on the brink of death. We must save as many as we can."

"I concur," Dynar said shortly, gritting his teeth and hissing as he knelt beside a young woman who was breathing shallowly. He pressed his hands to a seeping wound in her side, adding in a low voice, "Let us gather those who cannot walk and load them on the wagons-"

"By the Divines! What happened?!" a voice came through the trees. Telepe glanced up to see Pasare running towards them at the head of a half-dozen or so other scouts.

"We were attacked by a horde of Ayleids," Telepe replied grimly as he gently pressed his hand against a young man who had his eyes closed to see if he was still breathing. "You all seem unharmed. Where have you been?!"

"We were beset by Ayleid skirmishers!" Pasare exclaimed. "They attacked us while we were moving through the trees. Two of our men were slain before we could hide, and after we escaped the initial ambush, we decided to return here. However, every way we traveled, we risked being spotted by Ayleid scouts, and we were unable to return to you all. It was only a few moments ago that they began fleeing into the jungle and we could make our way back." Pasare slowly lowered her eyes to the ground, regret evident on her face. "You have our deepest apologies…."

"There's nothing to apologize for," Telepe replied quietly. "You could not be expected to fight an Ayleid army alone. It was wise of you to avoid confrontation. That would have been reckless and foolhardy, not brave." He looked up from the young man when he realized the warrior was dead, and he added, "For now, though, would you all help us tend to the wounded? We don't know if or when the Ayleids shall return to finish us. We must save whoever we can and move quickly while we have the chance."

"Of course," Pasare nodded, rushing over to help one of the Nords lift one of the less-wounded men into a wagon. "If you don't mind me asking, what caused the Ayleids to retreat?"

"Whitestrake," Telepe replied shortly, another shudder running through his body as he remembered the frenzied look on the knight's face. "He drove them off."

"Alone?" Pasare asked skeptically. "I know he's a magnificent warrior, but-"

"He… fought like nothing any of us have ever seen before," Telepe explained. Pasare frowned at his dazed tone, to which he shook his head. "It's difficult to explain if you didn't witness it," he admitted. "Compared to how he usually fights… it would be like comparing a stiff breeze to a whirlwind." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw both Dynar and Tari nodding in agreement.

"I see," Pasare said slowly, her skepticism evident in her voice. "Then what do you wish to do about it?"

"For now, there is little we can do," Dynar explained, gritting his teeth in pain as he helped one of the wounded soldiers onto one of the wagons. "We must make haste and depart while we can."

"…As you say," Pasare said slowly. She shook her head, then glanced at the blackened trees behind her. "We shall scout ahead then, to ensure that there isn't another ambush waiting for us."

"Please," Telepe nodded. As he started towards a woman cradling her broken right arm, his eyes fell on Huna's lifeless body. After considering it for a moment, he staggered over to the corpse and began lifting it up. Dynar noticed what he was doing, and he tilted his head in confusion.

"Do you intend to bring Huna's body with us?" Dynar asked slowly. When Telepe nodded, he frowned faintly. "While I concur that we should pay our respects to the dead, we can hold a mass funeral for the fallen and cremate them all at once. Tari is more than skilled enough to-"

"I believe that we need to take Huna with us," Telepe interrupted. "If nothing else, it shall give Whitestrake a chance to say farewell to him. Perhaps that might at least soothe his anger."

Dynar almost protested, but then paused and considered Telepe's suggestion. He closed his mouth and nodded once, then stepped forward to help him load Huna's body onto the bed of the wagon, settling it between a pair of barrels.

"Let us take the centurions as well," Dynar suggested. "Beyond that, however, I don't believe we can take anyone else."

"No. We should scavenge what equipment we can and then cremate the bodies. Perhaps we can hold a proper funeral in absentia later," Telepe agreed reluctantly.

"Mm. Even so, while I understand the necessity, it seems… profane to cremate them like this all at once," Tari remarked uneasily.

"It does," Telepe agreed grimly. "And I'd rather we had more time to properly honor them, but we do not." His eyes slowly trailed along the battlefield, and he added softly, "At the very least, let's take care to remember them… and learn from what happened here, so that we need never suffer another tragedy like this."

The remainder of the journey back to Sancre Tor was one of the most painful experiences of Telepe's life. It was a slow trek across the increasingly cold lands, and it was more imperative than ever that they avoid detection. Of the six hundred warriors that had departed from Sancre Tor, barely more than a hundred remained. Although they had managed to liberate Ceya-Tar and obtained both the Elder Scroll and Moralasil, Telepe couldn't help but think of the journey as a failure.

The only advantage the weakened group now had was that it was easier to remain undetected with fewer men. It also meant they could more easily conserve their few remaining supplies, since three of the wagons had been destroyed by Ayleid spells during the battle, and a few of the horses had also been slain. Telepe's horse, Emero, had taken an arrow in the shoulder, but thankfully, the wound was shallow enough that the beast could still pull one of the remaining wagons. In fact, almost none of the survivors escaped uninjured. Telepe's arm was wrapped in a sling, and though Tari was placing a poultice of fresh herbs on the wound every day, it was healing slowly. That, however, was partially due to the fact that he insisted on walking rather than riding in the wagon. Though his hip had also been injured, it didn't trouble him enough to prevent him from walking, although the constant movement was doing no favors to his arm. However, there were others that were in far worse condition than he was, so he stubbornly demanded that they ride in the wagon while he walked.

The days passed in near-silence, and morale was dangerously low. There had also been no sign of Pelinal since the battle, so the group felt especially unprotected. Telepe was certain that if they were forced to fight once more, most of them would immediately flee. Only the prospect of returning to the safety of Sancre Tor kept them together and spurred them on, rather than deserting altogether and perhaps taking their chances fleeing to another land.

Mercifully, the caravan managed to skirt around Lindai's lands without further incident, and as they passed into Hrotanda Vale, the mood of the survivors lightened somewhat. Dynar, however, remained suspicious, and after several days of constant wariness, Telepe finally asked him what was concerning him now that they were in friendly territory.

"We were ambushed by a coalition of armies, Telepe," Dynar explained as Telepe walked beside him across the hard dirt road. "If we had simply encountered Narlemae, and perhaps Lindai, I would not have been surprised. However, we were clearly fighting the armies of several kingdoms in that battle. That requires significant organization and planning. They also engaged us with far more warriors than were necessary to dispatch a few centuries of men. As such, they seemed particularly wary about Whitestrake's prowess as a warrior. Which suggests…."

"…That they were expecting us," Telepe finished slowly as his heart began to pound. After thinking for a few moments, he suggested, "Could the refugees from Ceya-Tar have informed them?"

"It's possible," Dynar conceded. "However, how could Narlemae have gathered so many kingdoms to their borders so quickly And from as far away as Moranda? No, I suspect that their scouts had been shadowing us since we departed from Ceya-Tar, and once they were certain of where we were traveling, they set that ambush."

Telepe raised an eyebrow, a chill running through his body. "So, you believe that Narlemae had been informed of our expedition long before we liberated Ceya-Tar?"

"Perhaps as soon as we departed," Dynar nodded grimly. "I also suspect that they were informed by one of the other Ayleid kingdoms. In fact, I surmise that it was one of our so-called allies."

Telepe swallowed. While he wanted to refute Dynar's argument, by now he was well aware of how mercurial the alliances between Ayleid city-states were. It wasn't something he could dismiss out of hand. "Do you know who, then?" he asked.

"I only have suspicions," Dynar admitted. "But we cannot discount the possibility that it was Hrotanda Vale. While they do despise Lindai, we were passing through their lands, and they would be fully aware of our location until they left our borders. Perhaps they were hoping to curry favor with Lindai, or even the White-Gold City itself."

"Perhaps…." Telepe agreed reluctantly. He then let out a deep sigh and shook his head. "However, until we're certain, I am not comfortable confronting them."

"Agreed. My suspicions could be wrong," Dynar nodded. "Until then, however, I suggest we remain vigilant so long as we're traveling through these lands."

If Hrotanda Vale was indeed to blame for their discovery, they did not capitalize on the weakened state of the caravan, and the group passed through the kingdom without incident. As they began the final leg of the journey through the foothills of the Jerall Mountains, Telepe saw that the first snows of the year had already fallen. Thankfully, it wasn't deep enough to slow their progress significantly, and the roads had already been partially cleared by either Hrotanda Vale's patrols, or by the rebellion's own.

After another four days of travel, the walls of Sancre Tor were finally in sight. By noon, the group limped up to the gates of the city, where they were met by a perplexed Nordic guard wrapped in a heavy fur cloak.

"You all look terrible," she remarked, earning her a glare from nearly everyone assembled. Wincing under the weight of their gazes, she quickly added, "But welcome back. Your return has been eagerly anticipated by our guest."

"Guest?" Telepe echoed wearily. The guard shouted up to the walls to open the gates and retrieve their visitor. Telepe traded curious looks with Dynar and Tari as the heavy doors swung open to let them inside the city. As they passed through the threshold, they were greeted by a small figure wrapped in thick brown robes rushing to meet them.

"Well now!" a familiar voice exclaimed happily. "It's good to see all of you once again!"

Telepe's eyes widened as the figure stopped a few feet from them and threw back their hood. Perrif beamed at them as she folded her hands in front of her, her dark curls swaying in the wind, her beautiful face slightly red from the biting wind. Her smile faded, however, as her gaze raked over the group, and Telepe felt his heart sink as she pinned him with her bright blue gaze.

"Where is Pelinal?" she asked softly.