With heaviness burdening his heart, an elderly man sat in the soft embrace of his massive chair, wiping the sweat of his wrinkled forehead into a velvet handkerchief. As the gaze of his weary, pale eyes rose above the bronze desk, the oval mirror returned the grave expression of his kingly face. Besides the candle light that shimmered faintly on a nearby shelf, the rest of the chamber was filled with darkness.
Wrapped in a thick vest that was elegantly decorated with expensive stitches and stones, the man drew heavier breaths as the cold walls of his room gave way to the outside heat. He sighed, washed his face and got up with an effortful grunt, making his way toward thick curtains that poured from the high ceiling. With two swift pulls he swung the cloaks open, uncovering a balcony door. Up this door slithered many tongues of bronze, creating a thin layer of abstract patterns that the golden sun’s rays projected softly upon the carpet.
Golden knob creaked and he reluctantly made his way outside, shielding his eyes. The cloudless sky seemed brighter than usual—or at least more so than he remembered it before.
His sight rested on empty streets of the city, which was now rid of all chatters and kids running merrily about. Once prospering water springs were almost empty or completely dried up and much of the plant life had died, leaving nothing more than golden, shattered carcasses.
Next, he looked over the wall and at the fields. Whatever provisions which could have been saved were already stored in the city granary. A very few people still lingered, hoping to find a bit more on the barren land. Helpless, the lord let his mind drift away until the gate opened and a party of hunters returned from the very edges of the borders where animals still dwelled. It wasn't much for a three day hunt, but enough to make ends meet.
After a short while he retreated back to his chamber, leaving a narrow gap between the curtains when there was a knock at the door. "Enter!" the lord replied.
"Good morning, father." The lord’s son greeted him with a slight bow, in return receiving a faint, yet warm smile.
"Faran, my boy…" His palm rested on young man's strong shoulder. "I did not expect your return from patrol this early. Does that mean you have news worth my attention?"
A blatant sigh was answer enough, but Faran continued in words. "We all assumed the search for any fertile area nearby futile, father. There's no land around that could grow food for all of us, nor to bear all our people."
"You know that is not an option. The time is too short to move out in a blind search for new home. We need to find a way to bring the city back onto its legs. A migration would cost us many lives."
"But if we stay, we're as good as dead."
"I won't risk it!" The elder man took another heavy breath and sat in his chair while Faran waited for him to continue. However, as he had wandered off in his head again, he didn’t.
"What shall we do, then?" Faran pressed, drawing his hands out for answer while his father massaged his temples.
The skin on the lord’s face stretched and wrinkled beneath the modest crown. He cleared his throat and took a sip of alcohol. "Send messengers to the cities with a help inquiry."
There was a short pause as Faran deciphered which cities his father had in mind. "I presume you mean the main cities of Ryrim—the Elves and Arnuks."
The lord nodded. Those creatures belonged to the list of largest empires—aside from their own—that moved their people to Ryrim many years after it had been discovered. From each of the empires, a lord was appointed to rule the city-to-be and to lead it to a cultural bloom in peace with other colonies, as well as with native inhabitants, villages, towns and kingdoms.
He never was a bitter man, but the lord silently cursed the luck that has deserted his lands, thinking it greatly unfair that his city was the only one left hurting. The entire southwest province was a victim to a severe drought that haunted it for five months. People from nearby camps and villages have already moved out, and those who left too late were lost. Unfortunately, those remaining had nowhere to go, nor could he take his people back home beyond the sea. Since his father's rule, the population has doubled in number, which would make the move hard due to poor amount of ships and a huge distance between two continents. Most importantly, none of them had ever been there and none had kept contact with the human empire for decades. Sending a message that would take weeks to be returned would be a bad move.
"Father?" Faran stirred father's thoughts this time.
"Forgive me," the lord said, raising his hand to pale forehead as he replied. He felt lost, especially with the hopeful eyes of all his people resting upon him. "I don't know what else to do." He paused and stood up to meet his son's gaze. "Send messengers to Vasaugh, Edelenti and Banvroug. I know we have no special alliances, but we're still bound in some way with the Oath of Peace. Late as it is, perhaps this is the last chance to make some friends.”
Afterward, the lord wrote the same message on three sheets of parchment and sealed them before handing to Faran. "Tell them to saddle the fastest horses and take the shortest trails."
* * *
That night the noble lord had much trouble sleeping for the grave thoughts disturbed his heart. He tossed and turned under the weight of his worries, slowly losing all hope. In that heat grew also his frustration. Casting the bed sheets almost completely off the broad bed, the man stood up to have a cup of water. Soon, he glanced towards the balcony and saw a faint ray of silver light coming through the notch between dark curtains. He moved them aside to face the bright, somehow comforting faces of two moons that rose onto the starlit sky. His face rested in shaking palms as the lord wished dearly for mercy and help for his kingdom, to have that huge burden off his back. With those whispers on his lips, the elder made his way back to bed, hoping to get some sleep.
He stepped into a shallow pool of a dream, when something unexpected gradually pulled him out. A whisper, soft as an evening wind, came from outside. It called him: “Noble Eckerd! Lord Eckerd Harendin!”
Staggered at first, the lord did not answer the voice, refusing to get up. It called once more. “Lord Harendin, hearken!”
“W-Who are you?” Eckerd finally responded, opening his eyes and slowly leaving the comfort of the royal bed.
“Come forth to meet me, and you shall know.”
Little by little, Eckerd drew closer to the terrace and, hesitating at first, pulled the door open. The bright light that met him there, soon revealed a clear shape of a magnificent, white bird whose beauty and strong aura of a divinity verified that it did not belong to a mortal world. Its neck elongated as the bewildered lord came through the door, and its eyeless gaze looked down upon his quivering self.
“Your fretting is redundant, Lord Eckerd. I am here not to cause distress in your already troubled heart, but to offer a relief you seek so exceedingly.”
Eckerd’s eyes rose upon the swan-shaped bird with a sudden flow of hope. “How do you know what I want?”
The creature raised its broad wings and stepped from one leg to another, gently swinging the waterfall of glowing tail feathers from one end of the balustrade to another. “I have observed you, and have heard your pleas,” she replied in the soft, soothing voice, watching her presence tremble the mortal’s hands. A moment passed before he could gather enough courage to speak.
“Who are you?” he asked, crossing his palms on his chest. His nightgown swayed in the gentle breeze that came from creature’s few leisurely wing flaps.
“Why, I am one of few spirits that dwell in these lands. We are in the wind, the earth…all around you, caring for all that makes this world.”
“But…” Lord Eckerd felt greatly honored. He bowed while his once strong legs quivered under his gown. “Why would you visit me, honorable spirit? I am but a lowly lord. I’m no king.”
To that, bird answered, “Great is the lord that seeks no power in his throne. Great is the lord whose devotion to his people surpasses mountain peaks. And a great lord you are, noble Eckerd. For that reason I have come here to aid you with a counsel that will replenish the strength of your dying city.”
A tear stirred in man’s eye, flattered by that glorious creature’s remark; he rejoiced that there was still salvation for (name of the city) in his grasp. He was all ears.
“I have seen what stirs in the east. The great kingdoms prosper from the bonds of alliance - far from drought, famine and misery. Those bonds tighten, whilst your people hope to grow in power on their own…independent of others.”
“But spirit,” Eckerd said, “Is it wrong I did not stretch out a begging hand? I hoped not to trouble anyone with our problems or to be a cause of any. I’m just a petty lord that minds his own people.”
The creature let out a faint, yet not a disrespectful chuckle that echoed in man’s ears. “And have you not stretched it already?”
“Well,” he stammered, avoiding her gaze in slight embarrassment. “The need is dire.” There he stopped and looked back at her. “C-Can you tell me what answer I will get?”
Towards his trivial surprise the small head turned on slender neck in refusal. “Hear me now, Lord Eckerd. These are the words you must not forget. If your messengers return with words that will ease your concerns, your city with linger to see better days. But,” then she slightly raised her wings and stretched her neck in his direction, “should your plea be refused, your only chance would be to raise your army and storm the Edelentian walls.”
Eckerd’s eye twitched at her suggestion. He countered, with all the respect he had for the creature. “I can do no such thing. I cannot raid another city.”
“I know. I know your heart tells you otherwise. Yet heed my words. This is the only chance for your people. Soon, they will start leaving if they don’t wake to a more fortunate sunrise. You will do as you see fit. And so,” her wings spread again as she lifted her body off of the massive banister, “I shall leave you to your considerations.”
“Wait!” The lord jerked forward but the spirit was already gone, leaving one of her silver feathers behind. He picked it up and retreated to his chamber.
* * *
The day came when the first herald returned. The answer he bore was a rejection. Despite this, despair would not win the lord over. There was still time with two more men on their way. In the end, though, the answers were all the same, and any hope that was left went out like a faint fire he tried to maintain desperately.
For next two days he sat in his room, pondering deeply over the situation, admitting no one other than servants who brought him food. Everyday, the rations would get smaller and smaller, due to constantly shrinking limits on provisions. All was getting really out of control while he sat there, submitting his time to haunting thoughts of future, and of the bird. Then, the lord glanced at its white feather he barely held in slim palm. “Where are you?” he thought helplessly.
* * *
It was later that night of the same day when the spirit came back. He spoke no word of what has happened during her absence, and yet she already knew, and offered her deepest condolences, even a slight bow.
“I don’t need to be a spirit to know what you’re going to say,” Eckerd started and leaned over the balustrade. “I can’t take your advice. Edelentians have their allies. The Grand Council resides there. My armies are not even half of what may come against us.”
To that, creature emanated her familiar faint chuckle and arched her long neck, seeking his gaze. “And why, oh noble lord, would I send you to your doom?”
Eckerd’s brows hung low in puzzlement. “Forgive an old man, but I don’t think I understand what you’re saying.”
In her reply, the bird stood tall, spreading her broad wings in all magnificence, as well as power. Even he took a step back, clenching the feather much tighter. “Take your men east, straight to the fundaments of
The lord still pondered as the decision was an uneasy one. But was there a different path he could take? Nothing that would please him, that was certain. Finally, after spending a long while in silence, Eckerd agreed, under a sudden pressure he felt in his head.
“Very well,” she replied in a more soothing tone.
“When should we be ready?”
There, the creature took a deep breath and continued, getting ready to take her leave. “When four suns and moons pass, you have to ride out. And so, I wish you the noble victory. After tonight, we shall meet again only once.”
“When…?” The elderly man pleaded for an answer, but she did not reveal it.
* * *
The said day finally arrived: hot and unpleasant, and yet offering a bizarre sense of lightness in lord’s heart. Perhaps it was the feather that he decided to hang around his neck. He also had it be carved onto the face of the shield he carried. Beautiful work of art it was; the lines rose and fell, curling gently on a smooth, steel surface.
Leaving Faran in charge of the city, Eckerd took a thousand of his soldiers and, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust, marched on toward the heart of Ryrim, where the borders of all four provinces met.
They marched in the day and slept during the night, and with each mile the weather grew cooler and more pleasant. They hunted any animal that came in sight and drank from every river they passed, taking as much as they were able to carry. But for Lord Eckerd, the growing concern kept the sleep off his eyes most nights, and he never ate or drank unless he really had to. The steed he rode seemed to have a bigger appetite. Watchful as ever before, his sharp gaze was everywhere every minute of his ride, on foot, and in rest, having a lookout for the bird or for anyone that could pose a threat.
A few days with the mountains of
“You, have a look out! Check what it is,” the lord ordered nervously, turning his horse about. His heart pounded in the very moment, but his face showed no fear. Quickly, he rallied his men, readying to strike when the scout returned, panting.
“My Lord…” He paused to take another breath. “There’s an army…coming…from the east.”
“Have they spotted us…?” Eckerd asked, as though addressing only himself.
“Not likely, but it seems they’re aware of our presence.” The soldier paused again. “What are your orders?”
The lord did not reply. Instead, he reined his horse and rode up the hill to have a look himself, along with his right hand commander, who’s been listening to that little conversation as well. Both horses neighed and shook their heads after stopping. Eckerd rose in his saddle, but his sight was not capable of distinguishing such small objects, so he asked, “Deladan, what do you see?”
The younger man took out a small, bronze spyglass and stretched it swiftly. Edelentian elves were slowly approaching from eastern province, right toward them. They were most certainly heavily armored, as Edelentians had access to one of the richest mines right in the city area. They were no delicate elves now that world used to know. Having chosen mountainside over woods as a new home, the old ways of elven life were forsaken in the new terrain.
“We can’t turn back now,” the lord stated to the scout. “We have an advantage in numbers and if we act quickly, the victory is ours.” Then Eckerd reined his horse again and, riding down the hill, spoke to the commander. “Deladan, rally half of the army and take them that way.” He pointed north. “I will ride south and we shall strike from both sides.”
“Yes, sire.”
* * *
With the ground moaning under the heavy steps of thousand people, the two groups rounded up. Horsemen led the first charge on both sides of elven army. Swordsmen followed with the aid of the bows of their comrades. The battle did not last long before the next army arrived from North. The heavy-weighted Bludra creatures came down upon their enemy, clubbing through the lord’s dwindling army without slightest struggle. The numbers were now evened out. The lord, falling into despair upon this realization, threw his emblem shield with shame and disgust and ordered a retreat. Among the rattle and shouts, the cheering voices of the two armies rose into heavens. But then, music came. Faint and insignificant in the beginning, it grew – louder and powerful. The thundering of drums harmonized with the sounds of huge, Agarian flutes and chanting of Arnuk soldiers that blocked the escape route of Eckerd’s men.
Frightened, the lord stopped, grinding his teeth in anger. He then let out an awful and agonizing scream that caused his men to stop as well. “LIAAAAR!!!!” he shouted, cursing the name of the spirit. “WRETCHED SCUM! YOU TRICKED ME!”
No one dared to speak to him. Not even the commander, who stood a little behind watching the lord, unsure what to think. The old man sat in the saddle, pale and hunched as if all strength and will had deserted him. Feeling the stiffness of marching for so long, he moaned heavily. Some thought he had been wounded, but no drop of blood appeared. Instead, a few tears ran down from his wide-open eyes, and he took a deep gasp. Something was forced onto his mind, as though from outside.
“Sire!” Deladan finally came forth as the noble began to arch to the side and gave him support. “Are you alright?”
Eckerd, surprised to feel wetness of tears on his face, wiped them off. He then drew his sword and rallied his men for a final charge.
* * *
Sunset was near when the battle came to its end. Leaving no more than two hundred of the lord’s men alive, the three armies ceased their fight, accepting Eckerd’s shameful surrender. On this very day, not only had he lost his hopes, dignity, good name and lives of his soldiers, but also, as it was settled by the Grand Council shortly before the battle, Eckerd and all of his people were accused of breaking the peace treaty and betrayal. As he spoke before the warriors and carriers of Council’s document that bore his sentence, Eckerd, in his defense explained his county’s situation adding he has sent a request that was never fulfilled. In reply, the people looked at each other in puzzlement, momentarily explaining that no messenger from (name of city) has passed their gates in years. After that, the lord let his head hang down and said no more, engulfed in anger and despair. With a sudden flow of hate he’d never felt, the man reached for the feather necklace, only to find out that the magnificent feather was nothing more but something resembling a piece of thick rotten leather…or skin. Disgust deformed his face into curls and frowns and the lord tore it off with no hesitation.
Lord Eckerd Harendin, Deladan and rest of those who survived were clutched within the circle of the enemy as they passed the verdict in one loud call.
“EXILE!”