Please enjoy a free preview of...
Chapter 1
Through each sovereign territory a road shall be designated which connects all others adjacent. No traveler upon these roads, no matter their business, shall be met with hostility, hindrance, or even questioning.
The Tri-leaf Pact: Article II - Section IV
After the fires died away, the bodies were hauled off, and the tribes of the Lands of Order began putting their lives back together—the smells remained. The thick odors of smoke and blood filled the lungs of anyone near Tranquility, and each inhale was a chilling testament of the chaos that had only recently subsided. For Rainstorm, it was a reminder that the forest north of his beloved Temple lay in smoldering ruin. Even now, many miles north of the destruction left in the wake of the battle, the smells in the air would not let him forget, but they weren’t the only reminders.
As a young elf, and an acolyte of the Temple, Rainstorm had been there during the ordeal. He’d watched the Lady’s faithful fall forever as the balisekts and their demon army overpowered them. He’d witnessed the flying demon, nearly as large as the sky itself, ignite Her forest in a blazing inferno. Only by the Lady’s grace had the dryad warrior been able to stop the beast, and the act had nearly taken her life. Rainstorm had fought bravely, wielding his powerful spells to destroy the unholy uprising. His scars were few, but still quite pronounced on his skin--forever a physical reminder of all that had happened.
“Still dwelling?” a female voice said from behind him.
He was dwelling, and in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed her approaching from behind. There were many with him. In fact, over two dozen acolytes from Tranquility were making their way towards the faerie’s territory of the forest, but she was the first person all day to acknowledge him. Dressed in the same acolyte robes, the human girl came up on his right. Her skin was milky-white and her long, straight hair a pale, blond color. “What of it?” he asked.
“You’re just always so mopey these days,” she replied. Her voice was high, carrying with it an almost childlike playfulness. Rainstorm couldn’t tell most of the time if she meant to sound that way or if she couldn’t help it; either way, these days he often found it annoying.
Rainstorm groaned. “Ilderra, what could there possibly be to find happiness in?” he asked.
She quickened her pace, moving in front of him and forcing him to slow his march through the trees. “Well, for starters, we’re alive.”
“Which hardly seems fair,” Rainstorm retorted. He tried to move around her, but she stepped to the side, blocking him again.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s fair,” she said. “It’s still a blessing to draw breath in Her forest.”
Rainstorm shook his head and placed a hand on her shoulder. It was no gesture of comfort or friendship; he simply wished to hold her in place as he stepped around her. “Just leave me be,” he said in almost a whisper.
Ilderra pouted. Her feet were as still as the tree roots for a moment as she contemplated pressing the issue further. She and Rainstorm had been such good friends before the battle. They had trained together, worshipped together, and done the Lady’s work side-by-side. Ever since the demons attacked the Temple, Rainstorm had been increasingly standoffish. She’d been trying so hard to break the shell he’d put around himself, but it seemed harder to crack with each passing day. Still, she was nothing if not persistent, and she knew her dear friend was still in there somewhere.
“This sure seems like a lot of people just to find two fugitives,” she said as she hurried her steps to catch up with him.
“You said that yesterday,” Rainstorm said. His fingers massaged the sides of his head next to his long, slender, pointed elf ears. His skin was pale, though not as greatly as Ilderra’s, and his black hair was braided down his back.
“Yes, and we didn’t talk about it yesterday, so I’m bringing it up again,” she responded. Her determination to make him open up was unfaltering. “There’s so many of us here, and in such exalted company. Surely this is too much just to find two rogue acolytes.”
“The order for this search came from Grand Seryan Silvermist herself,” Rainstorm said. He hated that he was giving in to her pressuring, but if he appeased her appetite for conversation, perhaps she would leave him alone once she had her fill. “Regardless of what we think of it, it’s not our place to question. Besides, you know we’re not the only group out looking.”
“But that just makes it even stranger,” Ilderra continued. “Acolytes abandon the path all the time. No one ever goes out looking for them.” She looked up, letting the bright beams of the high sun shining through the canopy land on her face. It was a beautiful day, the kind of day she would rather spend in training or prayer on the shores of Tranquility. Tracking down a faerie and an elf that had run away during the battle seemed like a terrible waste of such a gorgeous afternoon.
“It’s not our place to question the commands of the Grand Seryan,” Rainstorm reminded her again. “Silvermist receives divine messages from the Lady herself. Their intent or purpose is not…” Rainstorm paused as a shiver went up his spine. From one step to the next, the air felt different, and the thoughts in his mind changed without his consent. The energy in this part of the forest was dissimilar, meaning they had crossed the border.
Ilderra also felt the change in energy. She took a deep breath and shook her fingers at her sides. “Out of the Savage Lands at last,” she said.
“We’re in faerie territory now,” Rainstorm said. With his head turning side to side, he watched the reactions of his fellow travelers as they too crossed the barrier. Everyone in his party was an acolyte, priest, or priestess, and all were infused with the Lady’s magic. It gave them the ability to cast powerful elemental spells, but they were also able to better sense the magical barriers put up around some of the territories.
“We must be cautious now,” a tall, elven woman said from the head of the group. She had dark skin and a wild mess of short, dark hair on her head. Her robes were more ornate than Rainstorm’s or Ilderra’s, proudly displaying her advanced rank within the Lady’s Temple. “The faeries monitor the movements of foreigners in their lands very closely.”
Ilderra shot a glance up into the canopy, her eyes darting from one empty branch to another. “I don’t see any faeries around,” she said. “You really think they’ll come out this far to see if anyone’s nearby?”
The dark-skinned elf chuckled softly at the young human’s foolishness. “My dear acolyte, I assure you, the Rose Thorns were aware of us before we even crossed the border. Everyone be sure to stay upon the path.”
Ilderra’s visual scan of the trees went from curious to worrisome. Everyone in the Lands of Order had heard of the Rose Thorns, though few ever laid eyes on one of their members unless destined to die. They were the faerie queen’s elite army, a collection of silent assassins that could kill an entire convoy without their presence being known. Those that were left alive by a Thorn attack said it was like fighting an army of ghosts. One by one, perfectly healthy soldiers or travelers would simply fall over dead, with no sign of an assailant in sight. Goosebumps formed on her arms as she hurried to walk a little closer to Rainstorm.
“Relax, Ilderra,” Rainstorm said. “Our convoy travels along the Safe Road and on the Grand Seryan’s errand. The Thorns will not harm us as long as we show no hostility in their forest.”
Ilderra nodded. His words offered her some comfort, but not enough to keep her body from trembling at the thought of being watched by a phantom force. They covered the next mile in silence, making sure to keep their feet upon the path and their actions in check. It wasn’t until the path took a sharp left that the dark-skinned elf halted. The rest of the party from Tranquility stopped as well, remaining silent as they waited for their leader’s next move.
“Why does the path turn so abruptly?” Ilderra whispered in Rainstorm’s ear.
Rainstorm groaned as his fists clenched at his side. The human acolyte’s foolishness was going from annoying to dangerous. “The Safe Road has never been a direct path to Windsong,” he responded.
“Then how does anyone visit the Faerie City?” she questioned further.
Though he knew it likely imprudent, Rainstorm turned around to face his inquisitive friend. “No one ever does,” he said.
Up ahead, the dark-skinned elf slowly dropped to one knee. She brought her hands up in front of her face. With her wrists crossed, her thumbs interlocked, and her fingers spread out, making her hands take the shape of a bird in flight. This gesture was the Wings of Grace, a traditional faerie greeting that communicated friendship and trust. “Rose Thorns,” she declared loudly into the seemingly empty canopy. “We know you are here. We know you watch our steps as we approach your city. No farther shall we go without your consent, but the Temple has business in Windsong, and we are sent from the Grand Seryan herself.”
“We know why you are here,” a female faerie said as she descended from the canopy. Her red and white butterfly-like wings were an amazing sight. The sunbeams shined off her creamy-white skin as she passed through them. Her fiery red hair was tied behind her in a tight tail, while her snow-white bangs hung down the sides of her face in long, wide curls. Like all faeries, she stood only a few inches tall, and like the elves, she had long, slender ears that came to a sharp point near the top of her head; rows of small rings were pierced into the cartilage. The faerie landed on a low branch near the dark-skinned elf, bringing them to eye level with each other. “Your message arrived days ago.”
“Then you know we are here to search Windsong for the fugitives,” the elf continued.
The faerie scoffed. “That won’t be happening,” she said confidently.
Obviously taken aback, the dark-skinned elf’s stance stumbled most ungracefully. “We have brought faeries with us to conduct the search, and…”
“They will not be allowed,” the faerie reiterated. “By order of the Rose, none of you are allowed to approach the Faerie City.”
Even Rainstorm was in shock over this little faerie’s brashness. He’d never heard someone defy a Temple order so boldly. What’s worse, he couldn’t even fathom a reason for it. They weren’t asking to occupy the city or declare martial law. This was simply a request to search for a lawbreaker. To be dismissed so rudely felt like blasphemy.
The dark-skinned elf clenched her fists at her sides and lowered her head. “What is your name?” she demanded. Her voice mirrored all the sass and pride of the faerie’s as she attempted to remind her who carried the authority in the Lady’s forest.
“I am Sparrow, captain of the Rose Thorns,” the faerie said. She bowed flamboyantly, an action intending to convey more smug pride than respect. “And who are you?”
“I am Oakleaf,” the elf responded boldly, “and I am a Priestess of Tranquility!”
Sparrow chuckled as she leaned her back against the trunk of the tree. “Your parents must be so proud.”
Oakleaf was so startled by Sparrow’s response that she fumbled with her words. Only a series of choppy, guttural noises escaped her lips before they were finally able to form something coherent. “Never have I been so insulted!”
“You want to talk of insults?!” Sparrow snapped as she lifted off the branch. Her wings held her aloft at eye level with the enraged priestess. “You have already insulted all of Windsong with your triumphant march through our territory. The Grand Seryan’s letter was received weeks ago, and a reply was sent. Your fugitives are not here. Our swiftest messenger sent the note himself, so it must have reached your dear master before she even sent you.”
Oakleaf’s eyes darted about as she searched her mind for a response. “We were…”
Sparrow continued her ranting, not letting the priestess finish her thought. “Your presence here communicates one of two things: you either did not read our letter of response, or you disregarded it and sent your army anyway. In either case, you have insulted our tribe and the Rose will not have you in her city.”
Oakleaf knew she was losing the upper hand in this argument, but she couldn’t bear to show weakness. She knew who was watching. “I request an audience with your queen,” she said. Her tone had become less harsh, but maintained its confidence. “Perhaps she and I can…”
“You will not see the Rose,” Sparrow responded.
Oakleaf stomped her foot like a frustrated child. “Will you not even deliver the message?”
“As leader of the Thorns, I speak for the Rose. My word carries her full authority.”
“Who is the Rose?” Ilderra whispered in Rainstorm’s ear.
“The faeries refer to their queen as the Rose,” he whispered back.
Ilderra nodded.
Beneath her soft lips, Oakleaf’s teeth were gnashing together. “Perhaps an audience with your high priestess then,” she offered. “Surely your spiritual leader will speak with the Lady’s faithful from Tranquility?”
Sparrow landed on her branch again. “You may visit with the high priestess if you’d like. But do not forget, elf, things do not work in Windsong as they do in Moon-hollow. Here the high priestess is merely a consultant to the Rose, not a figure of authority.”
Oakleaf fought the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. At least she was getting somewhere. “Very well then,” she said as regally as she could manage. “Your high priestess and I will have our discussion and see if we can…” As she spoke, Oakleaf’s left foot lifted off the trail and landed in the forest north of the path. As quickly as a lightning strike, Sparrow pulled a tiny bow from her back and loaded an arrow into it. The bolt was little more than a long splinter, but the tip was stained with a dark, sappy substance. All around the canopy, other faerie soldiers emerged from the late summer leaves. Each had an arrow nocked and ready to fire.
The travelers from Tranquility froze in place. Ilderra’s eyes darted from one faerie to the next hovering between the late morning sunbeams. The Thorn’s poisons were legendary. If one were to fire upon her, she could seize up and die before ever feeling the prick, which would be the most welcome of all possibilities.
“I did not say you were welcome into the city, Priestess,” Sparrow said coldly. Her bowstring was pulled back to its limit, but her well-trained hands were as still as the mountains in the east. “Step back on the road.”
Oakleaf was too terrified to worry about her pride anymore. She quickly pulled her foot back, bowing her head in apology. She felt like a coward, and her soul burned with hatred for this humiliation, but all that mattered now was survival. Once she was fully within the confines of the path, Sparrow lowered her weapon. The faeries above returned to their hiding places in the tree tops.
Ilderra and Rainstorm were awestruck. Even after watching their faerie assailants retreat into the leaves, they were still unable to detect even the smallest sight of them. It was as if they vanished like the morning mist.
Sparrow returned her bow and arrow to her back. “We will bring the high priestess to you, servant of Tranquility. Just sit tight and you’ll all live to return home.”
“Tranquility will not stand for this outrageous treatment!” shouted a commanding female voice from the middle of the group. The acolytes parted to the sides, revealing an older elven woman. She had skin tanned to the color of sandalwood, and her blond hair was arranged and pinned atop her head in an intricate braid. She wore robes of deep green that shined like an emerald. A thick, gold chain hung around her neck, displaying a charm shaped like the outline of a rounded leaf. It was the sigil of Moon-hollow, the home of the elves.
Sparrow’s hands landed on her knees and her jaw dropped. “Lady’s grace, they even sent a seryan all the way up here?”
“You have no right to speak the Lady’s blessed name after the treatment you show her devoted followers,” the old elf snapped. With a long, gnarled walking stick in her left hand, she marched her way up the path towards the faerie leader. She all but shoved Oakleaf to the ground as she passed, as though discarding something that had proven itself useless.
“Don’t think you scare me, Seryan to the Elves,” Sparrow said confidently. “The weight of your title doesn’t change my orders.”
“Foolish little faerie,” the seryan said. Her tone was like hearing a mother scold her disobedient child. “You may be a skilled warrior, but against the power of the blessed Lady, you are even less than the insect I see you as.” The acolytes behind her cringed together at the sharpness of their leader’s words.
Sparrow felt her hand reaching for her weapon again, but sense overpowered her instinct to silence the elf’s unthinkable words. Being compared to an insect was a vile and hateful insult when used by one of the large races. It was a detestable barb commonly used against her kind in the days before the New Tri-leaf Pact. The following silence was a testament to the discipline of her soldiers. She had no doubt they heard what the seryan said, and they were likely fighting their own desires to attack without order.
“And yet, it seems a sense of honor only comes in the tiniest of packages in Her forest,” Sparrow rebutted.
“There is honor in threatening Temple representatives?” the seryan questioned.
“There is plenty in respecting an official response from the Rose,” Sparrow answered.
The seryan scoffed. “It is of no matter. We will comply with your brutish tactics while you hold the upper hand, but you shall suffer the consequences of your actions soon enough.”
Sparrow lifted off her branch and hovered in the air. “I will fetch the high priestess for you,” she said. “The Thorns will remain here, to ensure your continued compliance while in our lands.” Without giving the seryan a chance to respond, Sparrow flew off towards the north.
Even though the acolytes knew faerie eyes still watched them, the forest once again felt empty. With nothing to do now but wait, many sat upon the path and rested their legs. Rainstorm and Ilderra sat together at the base of a nearby tree. Their heads leaned back against the trunk almost in unison. “Well, that was unpleasant,” Rainstorm said.
“I feel like we should say a prayer of thanks that we’re still alive,” Ilderra responded. “The Rose Thorns seem even more skilled than their legends say.”
“I certainly didn’t see the journey going like this,” Rainstorm said as he gazed up through the canopy. His eyes searched in vain for any sign of the faeries watching over them. “But perhaps this means we’ll be moving on sooner than we thought.”
Ilderra reached into her robes and retrieved a small, half-loaf of bread. She hadn’t been hungry at dawn when their camp awoke, and she had plenty left over to snack on now while they waited. This was the morning of the second day on their journey. The walk from Tranquility into the faerie territory took no more than a full day for any young, healthy being, but with so many in their party, the journey had proven much slower.
She still didn’t know why one of such regal status was on an errand like this, but the purpose of the trip at all was still suspect. “Do we even know who we’re looking for?” she questioned between mouthfuls of bread. “I know it’s a faerie and an elf, but that’s all anyone has told me.”
“Their names are Firefly and Sunrise,” Oakleaf said as she stood over them. Her eyes were still wide with fear after her unanticipated encounter with the Captain of the Thorns. There was emptiness in her soft, monotone voice. “The Temple has been hunting them since the end of the Balisekt War.”
“But what did they do exactly?” Rainstorm asked. Despite all his silent moping, he too was struggling with the absurdity of the whole ordeal. “I highly doubt they fought at the side of Lord Killika.”
“I am just as ill-informed of their crimes as you two,” the priestess said, “but the Grand Seryan has made their capture a top priority. Nearly all of Tranquility is out in search of them.”
“And none of this strikes you as a bit odd?” Ilderra asked. It felt strange to be speaking so casually with her spiritual superior, but Oakleaf herself had started the conversation. As long as the priestess didn’t seem worried about standing on ceremony, she wouldn’t either. Besides, her mind seemed many miles away. “Going after deserters doesn’t seem normal.”
Oakleaf took a deep breath. “Since the demon horde nearly destroyed the Temple, I fear we’ve been a bit short on normal.”
“On that, we agree,” Rainstorm chimed in.
Oakleaf gave no response, instead standing still and staring blankly through the Wilds.
“So now we just…wait?” Ilderra asked.
“That’s the idea,” Rainstorm replied. His eyes scanned the canopy for a moment. “You could go wandering around if you’d like, but I doubt you’d live very long.” They shared a laugh at the dark joke. It wasn’t until a young, male faerie in acolyte robes came zipping down the trail from the south that their innocent chuckling ceased.
“Is that a messenger?” Rainstorm asked as he rose to his feet.
“I believe it is,” Oakleaf said as her focus returned. The faerie stopped just before the priestess and bowed his head.
“Priestess Oakleaf?” the faerie asked formally.
“I am,” she replied. It was a welcome change to have a faerie address her with the respect she deserved.
The faerie reached behind him and retrieved a rolled piece of paper strapped to his waist below his wings. The parchment was nearly as tall as he was. “My lady, a message from Tranquility for the seryan.”
“I will fetch her,” Oakleaf replied. She hurried off to find her master. Rainstorm and Ilderra looked at each other, exchanging glances of curiosity. In no time at all, Oakleaf returned with the seryan at her side. The messenger bowed his head and delivered the letter.
The seryan opened the letter and began reading silently. Oakleaf, Rainstorm, and Ilderra waited as her old eyes moved back and forth, scanning the words apparently meant only for her. At last, the seryan finished reading and let the paper roll up again.
“My lady, what is it?” Oakleaf questioned.
“Silvermist has summoned all seryans back to Tranquility,” she responded. “I must leave at once.”
“What of the rest of us?” Oakleaf questioned.
“The orders have not changed,” the seryan answered. “You are not to abandon your search for the fugitives.”
“As her ladyship wishes,” Oakleaf said with a respectful bow of her head.
Though shorter than Oakleaf, the seryan managed to look at her in a way that made her feel smaller than a blade of grass. “It is a pity I won’t be leaving this company in more capable hands.”
Oakleaf’s body trembled with rage, but she stopped herself from acting upon it. With a hasty bow of her head, the priestess ran off into the crowd of acolytes.
The seryan stretched her neck as her eyes scanned the many faces around her. “Where is the human called Ilderra?”
Ilderra felt her heartbeat increase. Her eyes grew wide and she nearly failed to take her next breath. Why was Seryan Moonbeam calling her name? “I...am Ilderra...your grace,” she said while raising a trembling hand into the air.
Moonbeam looked at the young girl and nodded. “You are to accompany me back to the Temple.” A series of gasps and murmurs filled the ranks of acolytes.
“Great one, why do you name her to journey back with you?” Rainstorm asked.
Moonbeam turned her gaze towards him. Her eyes held a level of uncertainty not normally seen in one of her standing. “The Grand Seryan summons her as well.”
Chapter 2
“Please...please be still.”
The deer was downwind of him, lazily munching on a small patch of blackberries. For what seemed like an eternity, the elven fugitive Sunrise simply sat there, crouching behind a nearby bush, waiting. The arrow was already strung into his bow, but he had not yet drawn it back. He feared the creaking of the wood would send the animal running off before he could line up the shot. Still, he was hungry, and this was the only real meal opportunity he’d seen in many hours.
Holding his breath, Sunrise lifted the bow into position. His fingers pulled the string back slowly, keeping the sound to a minimum. It groaned a bit, not enough to startle the oblivious animal, but to him the sound was deafening. A gentle breeze blew through his spiky blond hair. His dark skin blended into the shadows cast by the bush that hid him. His shot was lined up and the target was standing still. Everything was perfect.
“Lady be with you,” Sunrise whispered before letting go of the bowstring. The arrow shot through the bush with a loud whack. The deer had only a moment to raise its snout out of the bushes before the arrow struck it in the heart. It bucked and cried before taking off through the forest away from Sunrise.
Pleased with his shot, the young elf rose to his feet. His prey had run off, but it was of no matter. It was mortally injured. Now he had only to follow the blood trickles until he found where it lay dead, and then the feast would begin. He slung the bow across his back and set off after his meal. The sun was in its descent towards the western tree tops. Nightfall would be here soon, and he would want to get the deer meat back to camp before the light was gone.
This is what life had been like since the demon battle ended. Lord Killika’s army was defeated, but Sunrise was denied his chance to rest after a well-earned victory. His actions on the battlefield had branded him a traitor to the Temple, and every day since had been spent in hiding. In the blink of an eye, his life of meditation, study, prayer, and devotion was ripped away from him. Now, he lived like an animal, fending for himself in the Wilds.
The blood trickle was easy follow. The deer was losing quite a bit of it with each step. His stomach growled at the thought of such a fine meal cooking over a small fire. The sky was still clear, and his campsite sat at the base of a tall oak. He’d be able to climb the tree tonight and see the stars. These were the joys in life that kept him going now. They were simple things, but there was something about that simplicity that brought him a sense of peace.
What Sunrise missed most from his life before exile wasn’t the Temple, his status, or even civilized living—it was companionship. He’d always been a difficult soul to befriend. His discipline and commitment to the acolyte path made him a powerful spell caster, but it didn’t make him a great friend. For the last year or so his only real companion had been Firefly, the young faerie who was his ward.
Just thinking of her again made him shake his head, though it wasn’t sadness or anger that filled his heart when she entered his mind. He held no contempt for her. She had done nothing to wrong him. In fact, despite his less-than-preferable circumstances, she had freed him. It all made him wonder, if he’d only seen the truth earlier, how different the outcome could have been.
The scene replayed in his mind whenever he had a quiet moment to himself, and a walk through the Wilds like this yielded such an opportunity. In the quiet of the lonely forest, he could almost hear the demon army pounding on the door of the Temple. There he stood, at the back of the Lady’s house of worship, his Grand Seryan at his side, and certain death but moments away. A twig snapped beneath his foot, but in his mind, it was the barricade on the door smashing to splinters.
His face twitched as he recalled the horrific sight. Into the Temple the demons poured; their hot skin, like burning coal, searing the flesh of anyone who touched them. They were shaped like animals, bounding on all fours as their tails whipped about behind them and smoke poured from their snouts. But these were no creatures of Her forest. Their presence defiled the holy sanctuary, and despite all his training, he wasn’t powerful enough to stop them. All he could do was try to get his master to safety.
He’d called to her, begging her to flee with him, but she would not. She just stood there, staring at the ceiling and questioning the will of She who is unquestionable. It was there, in that moment of hopelessness, watching the abandonment of the Lady by the one who should be Her greatest champion, that he began to see what Firefly was trying to show him. It was also then that she appeared.
At the last moment, when death was but a breath away, she came. Firefly descended between the demons and their prey. Her lovely wings, colored and patterned like a monarch butterfly, made no sound as they guided her down from the ceiling. The curls of her orange and black hair bounced against her shoulders. She seemed so small and insignificant, but like a force of nature, her powerful magic pushed the unholy creatures away. The former acolyte-in-training, who could barely produce a tiny flame or spark days before, wielded the elements with more power and focus than a seryan could achieve. With the demons deterred, Sunrise was able to pull the Grand Seryan to safety.
He could still hear the smashing of the window. He could feel the wind against his face as he and Silvermist fell and the cold splash as they landed in the lake. Everything was still vividly clear to him, including the moment his life completely changed.
Once out of harm’s way and back in the public eye, Silvermist seemed to regain her senses. She had been rescued, but by a faerie wielding power she shouldn’t be able to access. Firefly had abandoned her path, turning away from the Temple and her acolyte training. She shouldn’t be able to cast such spells, yet she did. As Firefly emerged from the overrun Temple, Silvermist called for her detainment. Her guards moved in, preparing to pluck the faerie from the sky, killing her in the process should it be necessary.
That’s when Sunrise made his choice. All he had to do was stand there. A lack of action would ensure everything in his life returned to the way it was. His statues in the Temple would remain. In fact, his bravery and heroic actions would have likely earned him the title of priest. But in that moment, everything about his world had changed. He’d seen the ugly truth behind the Temple, and the Grand Seryan he so deeply believed spoke for the Lady.
As the guards attempted to capture Firefly, Sunrise stepped in to intervene. Holding the guards back, he called out for Firefly to flee. He was helping her escape, and in doing so disobeying the will of his master. It was a moment that changed him, both mentally and physically. As Firefly zipped off and disappeared into the forest, the full fury of Silvermist turned on him.
“Acolyte, what are you doing?!” the Grand Seryan bellowed.
“I should ask the same thing,” Sunrise responded. “She saved your life. You owe her your gratitude, not a prison sentence.”
“The deed was done with unholy magic!” the Grand Seryan retorted. Her hands flew over her head. In her anger, she nearly lost her balance. Silvermist had always appeared so regal, so orderly. He’d never seen this side of her—the untamed animal driven by pure emotion.
“But you’re alive!” Sunrise shouted. The guards were moving in on him, seemingly anticipating their master’s next command. He put his hands out to his sides, ready to cast his spell at a moment’s notice. He hated to idea of using the Lady’s power against Her own faithful, but survival was his only goal at this point.
“The Lady protects me, acolyte,” Silvermist snapped. “I do not require rescuing by some dark magic wielding apostate.”
“Apostate?” Sunrise could barely say the word. Firefly may have cast off her robes, but not her love of the Lady. Her devotion was stronger than most of the acolytes he’d trained beside over the years. The very thought of her being branded an apostate made him weak in the knees.
“Yes, she is an apostate,” Silvermist continued. There was darkness in her tone. The voice she spoke with carried none of the Lady’s power or wisdom. Her hand rose towards him with her index finger extended. The sunbeams reflected off her magnificent rings. “And now, so are you,” she declared.
“No!” Sunrise said with his eyes wide. His hands trembled at his sides. The thought of it was unfathomable. Everything he’d worked for, all his sacrifices, were gone with a single utterance from his deity’s chosen.
“Take him,” Silvermist said. On her order, the elven guards to either side of her opened their hands. Tiny balls of fire roared to life above their palms. Their hands rose as the two moved in unison towards their target.
Preparing to defend himself, Sunrise raised his hands as well. His fingers spread out wide, curling upward like a wildcat extending its claws, but nothing happened. He gasped in shock as he looked down at his empty palms. There was no fire, no spark, nothing. He couldn’t conjure a single spell. “Impossible,” he said in a breathy tone.
Silvermist laughed as she watched. “See,” she said smugly. “The Lady punishes you for your sins. Your powers are gone” The guards moved in. A sinister smile adorned each of their faces as they realized their prey was helpless.
Sunrise took a clumsy step backward. His foot splashed down into the rippling surface of the lake. He was trapped. Useless for anything else, his hand moved towards his head and crossed in front of his face in a defensive position. He knew they had him.
As the first guard lunged forward, a violent crash erupted from the foliage to the north. All eyes turned as a large demon burst through the underbrush. It’s massive, cat-like body landed atop the nearer guard, pinning him to the ground. The poor elf screamed in agony as the demon’s burning hide seared his flesh. The other elf turned the fireball growing in his hand towards the demon, but it bounced harmlessly off its already burning skin. The pinned elf’s body began to convulse as his skin turned black. With his mouth gaped open and his eyes wide, he finally went still and silent.
The remaining guard readied a new spell; sparks of lightning danced between his fingers. As Sunrise watched on, he deduced what the young guard must have certainly realized. Building up the energy to strike down such a creature would take time, and he didn’t have enough. The guard tossed his bolt at the beast, causing it to wince for a moment but nothing more. As the demon pounced onto the guard, its furnace-like mouth consuming the flesh of his neck, Sunrise looked to Silvermist. To his astonishment, the Grand Seryan was gone. His eyes caught the slightest glimpse of the foliage to the west rustling as she escaped.
Seizing his opportunity, Sunrise turned and ran up the lakeshore towards the north. As he ran, a tremendous roar from above shook the trees and nearly knocked him off balance. He looked up. High over the spires of the Temple, the massive, dragon demon was breaking apart. The beast cried out as its body disintegrated like a spent lump of coal. On the shores to the north, the invading army of demons seemed to be sharing in its fate.
“She did it,” Sunrise said to himself. “Azalea did it.” Unfortunately, his new enemies were creatures of flesh and blood, and would only be more formidable now that the demon army was vanquished. Sunrise quickly reached over his head and grasped at the collar of his acolyte robes. With a quick tug, he pulled the garment off, revealing the simple, rugged clothing he wore beneath them. He balled up the robe in his hand. This was it. There was no going back now. With a heavy heart, Sunrise tossed his robe into the water and took off into the trees to the north.
It had all happened weeks ago, but it still felt fresh in his mind. After escaping, his first priority had been to locate Firefly, but his tiny faerie companion was nowhere to be found. He spent days searching for her, calling out to her. He tried to make it towards Windsong in hopes she would be there, but there was no sign. Soon, he started seeing patrols from Tranquility walking the Wilds in search of Firefly and himself. Knowing he would be unable to continue looking, survival took precedence.
He continued north, passing out of the faerie lands and along the border separating the territories of the elves and centaurs. If hiding was the intention, he figured this border to be his best chance of doing so. The centaurian village of Ironhoof was far to the west, and the centaurs were a rather private race. They didn’t care much for the company of their neighbors, so they tended to stay away from their borders. Likewise, the elves did most of their dealings with either the faeries to the south, or the dwarves to the northeast. There was little reason for them to venture this far west of Moon-hollow.
Indeed, this borderland was his best chance. He would have less chance of discovery in the Savage Lands, but the actions of the wild tribes were unpredictable. A stray band of goblins, trolls, or whatever else may happen to stroll by may not have any interest in capturing him, but they wouldn’t have any in keeping him alive either. Sunrise kept his camp simple. He wanted it difficult to spot and quick to pack up should he have to run. Anything of great importance he kept on his person at all times.
Sunrise began to notice large indentations in the dirt along the path. The foliage was broken and smashed, with swabs of blood staining the low leaves. His meal was stumbling. It wouldn’t be long now before he found it lying on the ground. Then, he would take his meat and return to his camp. The buck had fine antlers, too. Perhaps he would fashion himself a new dagger as he gazed at the stars tonight.
As Sunrise rounded a wide tree and descend the small hill beyond, the sound of voices filled his long, pointed ears. Holding his breath, he pressed his back against the tree and peered around the trunk. He could see his deer. The animal lay motionless on its side in a small patch of ivy. But he hadn’t found it first. Standing around his intended meal were two centaurs. The horse-men were glaring down at his deer, with special attention focused on the arrow protruding from its side.
Sunrise placed a hand on the tree and leaned farther around it, trying to get a better view. They were both male centaurs, but this didn’t surprise him. The centaur’s barbaric culture left little freedom to roam for their women. They each had long, full beards, one fully black and the other brown. The black-bearded centaur had a short, spiky cut to his hair, while the other wore his long and straight, draping down over his right shoulder. Their skin was a leathery color, nearly indistinguishable from the garments they wore. Each had a long sword strapped to a belt around their waist.
Still undetected by the centaurs, Sunrise weighed his options. He couldn’t just stay still until they left. The discovery of the deer carcass already told them someone was in the area. Trying to run away from a centaur would be pointless. Their speed was simply unbeatable by any other civilized creature, but they were unable to climb trees, and this was the greatest advantage he had over them.
Sunrise made one more look before formulating his plan. The centaurs had no weapons that could reach him up in the trees unless they decided to throw their swords. The climb would make noise, but he was swift enough to be out of reach before they discovered him. He kept watch on the centaurs until they were both facing away, then quickly leaped up onto the lowest branch of the tree. His actions shook the leaves and the centaurs turned. Moving fast, Sunrise hopped up as high as he could into the foliage.
“Hey!” the black-haired centaur shouted as they both drew their swords. Their hooves struck loudly against the dirt and underbrush below as they marched to the base of the tree. Convinced that he was well out of reach, Sunrise freed his bow from his back and made his way along a wide branch that extended out towards the west. It held his weight easily, and gave him a clear view of both the centaurs and his fallen deer. He didn’t retrieve an arrow from his quiver yet. The idea was to appear ready, but not hostile.
“Who are you?” the other centaur demanded. His sword was raised high into the air, but all the action proved was just how out of range he was.
“Just a lonely traveler trying to have supper,” Sunrise answered.
“You are hunting in centaurian lands,” the centaur continued. “Without permission from the lord of Ironhoof, such an act is…”
“I’m well aware of the law,” Sunrise butted in, resisting the urge to add that he likely knew it better than either of them. “It’s easy to tell that the deer ran her from the east after being shot and the border is quite close. All the evidence suggests I’ve been hunting in elven territory, which I need no permission to do.”
“Your game is not on elven land now, is it?” the black-haired centaur said with a sneer. “Perhaps it didn’t wish to be devoured by such a weak creature.”
“Well, I’d ask it, but I don’t think it would do any good,” Sunrise said sarcastically. “Either way the kill is mine, which earns me the right to the spoils. I understand enough about your culture to believe you know I’m right.”
The two centaurs looked at each other. They made no sounds, but the sinister smiles on their faces showed they were both thinking the same thing. “Very well, elf,” the brown-haired centaur said as he twirled his sword in his hand. “We won’t touch your kill.”
“But you still have to get to it to eat it,” the other added. They stepped apart from each other, as though opening a path between Sunrise and his supper. He knew better. This was a taunt. Sunrise would have two centaurian swords buried in his chest the moment his feet hit the ground. Unfortunately, he was also quite sure the same fate would befall him if he jumped down the other side and ran away without the deer.
It was moments like this he missed his magic the most. A couple of lightning bolts would dispatch these two troublesome centaurs with little effort. Exile had showed him just how much he’d come to rely on the Lady’s magic to get him through his daily struggles. Still, he wasn’t without other skills. Sunrise kept the grip on his bow firm as he turned his back to the centaurs. “I see I won’t be eating tonight,” he said calmly. Sunrise walked back across the branch and moved behind the trunk. “Farewell.”
“You think you can just leave?!” the black-haired centaur bellowed. His front legs kicked up in the air. Up and out of sight, Sunrise freed the satchel tied to his waist. He could hear the centaur’s hooves striking the ground as they moved around the tree. Before the duo rounded the trunk, Sunrise balled up the satchel and threw it down into a nearby bush. It struck the bush loudly, rustling the leaves and disturbing a small bird that flew away in response.
“Over there!” the other centaur shouted. The two held out their weapons and charged at the bush. Their swords hacked at the small leaves and gnarled branches, but found no elven flesh to pierce.
As the centaurs stood in confusion, Sunrise dropped from a low branch and rolled across the forest floor. He rose to a crouching position as he retrieved an arrow from his quiver. Before the centaurs could turn around, Sunrise fired the bolt into the hind leg of the black-haired centaur. Just like an injured horse, the centaur toppled over. The brown-haired centaur shouted angrily as he finished turning, but Sunrise was a fast archer. Before the centaur could make his first step towards him, Sunrise already had another arrow nocked and aimed at his heart. Though still driven by rage, the centaur knew he’d lost the upper hand.
“I’m not here to kill two centaurs,” Sunrise said confidently, though his voice shook from stress and fatigue. He rose to his feet again, keeping his arrow trained on the still healthy assailant. “I just want to take my meal and go back home.” The brown-haired centaur said nothing, though his companion made several low curses as he struggled to stand again. The brown-haired centaur reached down and plucked the arrow from his friend’s flesh with all the gentleness and care of a rockslide. A trail of blood ran down the centaur’s hind leg as he wearily stood up.
“Go,” Sunrise commanded.
Both centaurs scoffed and mumbled, but obeyed. With one badly limping, the two made their way west through the forest towards their home city. Sunrise kept the tension on his bow tight long after he could no longer see or hear them. Once he was satisfied he was alone again, he retrieved his satchel from the bush and went to his deer. There would be no time to dress it here. He’d have to shoulder it back through the forest to his campsite. Tonight would be less peaceful than he thought. Rest would not come easily knowing that Ironhoof would soon know of his general whereabouts. Tomorrow would be an earlier rise than usual. He’d have to go out in search of a new camp.
Through each sovereign territory a road shall be designated which connects all others adjacent. No traveler upon these roads, no matter their business, shall be met with hostility, hindrance, or even questioning.
The Tri-leaf Pact: Article II - Section IV
After the fires died away, the bodies were hauled off, and the tribes of the Lands of Order began putting their lives back together—the smells remained. The thick odors of smoke and blood filled the lungs of anyone near Tranquility, and each inhale was a chilling testament of the chaos that had only recently subsided. For Rainstorm, it was a reminder that the forest north of his beloved Temple lay in smoldering ruin. Even now, many miles north of the destruction left in the wake of the battle, the smells in the air would not let him forget, but they weren’t the only reminders.
As a young elf, and an acolyte of the Temple, Rainstorm had been there during the ordeal. He’d watched the Lady’s faithful fall forever as the balisekts and their demon army overpowered them. He’d witnessed the flying demon, nearly as large as the sky itself, ignite Her forest in a blazing inferno. Only by the Lady’s grace had the dryad warrior been able to stop the beast, and the act had nearly taken her life. Rainstorm had fought bravely, wielding his powerful spells to destroy the unholy uprising. His scars were few, but still quite pronounced on his skin--forever a physical reminder of all that had happened.
“Still dwelling?” a female voice said from behind him.
He was dwelling, and in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed her approaching from behind. There were many with him. In fact, over two dozen acolytes from Tranquility were making their way towards the faerie’s territory of the forest, but she was the first person all day to acknowledge him. Dressed in the same acolyte robes, the human girl came up on his right. Her skin was milky-white and her long, straight hair a pale, blond color. “What of it?” he asked.
“You’re just always so mopey these days,” she replied. Her voice was high, carrying with it an almost childlike playfulness. Rainstorm couldn’t tell most of the time if she meant to sound that way or if she couldn’t help it; either way, these days he often found it annoying.
Rainstorm groaned. “Ilderra, what could there possibly be to find happiness in?” he asked.
She quickened her pace, moving in front of him and forcing him to slow his march through the trees. “Well, for starters, we’re alive.”
“Which hardly seems fair,” Rainstorm retorted. He tried to move around her, but she stepped to the side, blocking him again.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s fair,” she said. “It’s still a blessing to draw breath in Her forest.”
Rainstorm shook his head and placed a hand on her shoulder. It was no gesture of comfort or friendship; he simply wished to hold her in place as he stepped around her. “Just leave me be,” he said in almost a whisper.
Ilderra pouted. Her feet were as still as the tree roots for a moment as she contemplated pressing the issue further. She and Rainstorm had been such good friends before the battle. They had trained together, worshipped together, and done the Lady’s work side-by-side. Ever since the demons attacked the Temple, Rainstorm had been increasingly standoffish. She’d been trying so hard to break the shell he’d put around himself, but it seemed harder to crack with each passing day. Still, she was nothing if not persistent, and she knew her dear friend was still in there somewhere.
“This sure seems like a lot of people just to find two fugitives,” she said as she hurried her steps to catch up with him.
“You said that yesterday,” Rainstorm said. His fingers massaged the sides of his head next to his long, slender, pointed elf ears. His skin was pale, though not as greatly as Ilderra’s, and his black hair was braided down his back.
“Yes, and we didn’t talk about it yesterday, so I’m bringing it up again,” she responded. Her determination to make him open up was unfaltering. “There’s so many of us here, and in such exalted company. Surely this is too much just to find two rogue acolytes.”
“The order for this search came from Grand Seryan Silvermist herself,” Rainstorm said. He hated that he was giving in to her pressuring, but if he appeased her appetite for conversation, perhaps she would leave him alone once she had her fill. “Regardless of what we think of it, it’s not our place to question. Besides, you know we’re not the only group out looking.”
“But that just makes it even stranger,” Ilderra continued. “Acolytes abandon the path all the time. No one ever goes out looking for them.” She looked up, letting the bright beams of the high sun shining through the canopy land on her face. It was a beautiful day, the kind of day she would rather spend in training or prayer on the shores of Tranquility. Tracking down a faerie and an elf that had run away during the battle seemed like a terrible waste of such a gorgeous afternoon.
“It’s not our place to question the commands of the Grand Seryan,” Rainstorm reminded her again. “Silvermist receives divine messages from the Lady herself. Their intent or purpose is not…” Rainstorm paused as a shiver went up his spine. From one step to the next, the air felt different, and the thoughts in his mind changed without his consent. The energy in this part of the forest was dissimilar, meaning they had crossed the border.
Ilderra also felt the change in energy. She took a deep breath and shook her fingers at her sides. “Out of the Savage Lands at last,” she said.
“We’re in faerie territory now,” Rainstorm said. With his head turning side to side, he watched the reactions of his fellow travelers as they too crossed the barrier. Everyone in his party was an acolyte, priest, or priestess, and all were infused with the Lady’s magic. It gave them the ability to cast powerful elemental spells, but they were also able to better sense the magical barriers put up around some of the territories.
“We must be cautious now,” a tall, elven woman said from the head of the group. She had dark skin and a wild mess of short, dark hair on her head. Her robes were more ornate than Rainstorm’s or Ilderra’s, proudly displaying her advanced rank within the Lady’s Temple. “The faeries monitor the movements of foreigners in their lands very closely.”
Ilderra shot a glance up into the canopy, her eyes darting from one empty branch to another. “I don’t see any faeries around,” she said. “You really think they’ll come out this far to see if anyone’s nearby?”
The dark-skinned elf chuckled softly at the young human’s foolishness. “My dear acolyte, I assure you, the Rose Thorns were aware of us before we even crossed the border. Everyone be sure to stay upon the path.”
Ilderra’s visual scan of the trees went from curious to worrisome. Everyone in the Lands of Order had heard of the Rose Thorns, though few ever laid eyes on one of their members unless destined to die. They were the faerie queen’s elite army, a collection of silent assassins that could kill an entire convoy without their presence being known. Those that were left alive by a Thorn attack said it was like fighting an army of ghosts. One by one, perfectly healthy soldiers or travelers would simply fall over dead, with no sign of an assailant in sight. Goosebumps formed on her arms as she hurried to walk a little closer to Rainstorm.
“Relax, Ilderra,” Rainstorm said. “Our convoy travels along the Safe Road and on the Grand Seryan’s errand. The Thorns will not harm us as long as we show no hostility in their forest.”
Ilderra nodded. His words offered her some comfort, but not enough to keep her body from trembling at the thought of being watched by a phantom force. They covered the next mile in silence, making sure to keep their feet upon the path and their actions in check. It wasn’t until the path took a sharp left that the dark-skinned elf halted. The rest of the party from Tranquility stopped as well, remaining silent as they waited for their leader’s next move.
“Why does the path turn so abruptly?” Ilderra whispered in Rainstorm’s ear.
Rainstorm groaned as his fists clenched at his side. The human acolyte’s foolishness was going from annoying to dangerous. “The Safe Road has never been a direct path to Windsong,” he responded.
“Then how does anyone visit the Faerie City?” she questioned further.
Though he knew it likely imprudent, Rainstorm turned around to face his inquisitive friend. “No one ever does,” he said.
Up ahead, the dark-skinned elf slowly dropped to one knee. She brought her hands up in front of her face. With her wrists crossed, her thumbs interlocked, and her fingers spread out, making her hands take the shape of a bird in flight. This gesture was the Wings of Grace, a traditional faerie greeting that communicated friendship and trust. “Rose Thorns,” she declared loudly into the seemingly empty canopy. “We know you are here. We know you watch our steps as we approach your city. No farther shall we go without your consent, but the Temple has business in Windsong, and we are sent from the Grand Seryan herself.”
“We know why you are here,” a female faerie said as she descended from the canopy. Her red and white butterfly-like wings were an amazing sight. The sunbeams shined off her creamy-white skin as she passed through them. Her fiery red hair was tied behind her in a tight tail, while her snow-white bangs hung down the sides of her face in long, wide curls. Like all faeries, she stood only a few inches tall, and like the elves, she had long, slender ears that came to a sharp point near the top of her head; rows of small rings were pierced into the cartilage. The faerie landed on a low branch near the dark-skinned elf, bringing them to eye level with each other. “Your message arrived days ago.”
“Then you know we are here to search Windsong for the fugitives,” the elf continued.
The faerie scoffed. “That won’t be happening,” she said confidently.
Obviously taken aback, the dark-skinned elf’s stance stumbled most ungracefully. “We have brought faeries with us to conduct the search, and…”
“They will not be allowed,” the faerie reiterated. “By order of the Rose, none of you are allowed to approach the Faerie City.”
Even Rainstorm was in shock over this little faerie’s brashness. He’d never heard someone defy a Temple order so boldly. What’s worse, he couldn’t even fathom a reason for it. They weren’t asking to occupy the city or declare martial law. This was simply a request to search for a lawbreaker. To be dismissed so rudely felt like blasphemy.
The dark-skinned elf clenched her fists at her sides and lowered her head. “What is your name?” she demanded. Her voice mirrored all the sass and pride of the faerie’s as she attempted to remind her who carried the authority in the Lady’s forest.
“I am Sparrow, captain of the Rose Thorns,” the faerie said. She bowed flamboyantly, an action intending to convey more smug pride than respect. “And who are you?”
“I am Oakleaf,” the elf responded boldly, “and I am a Priestess of Tranquility!”
Sparrow chuckled as she leaned her back against the trunk of the tree. “Your parents must be so proud.”
Oakleaf was so startled by Sparrow’s response that she fumbled with her words. Only a series of choppy, guttural noises escaped her lips before they were finally able to form something coherent. “Never have I been so insulted!”
“You want to talk of insults?!” Sparrow snapped as she lifted off the branch. Her wings held her aloft at eye level with the enraged priestess. “You have already insulted all of Windsong with your triumphant march through our territory. The Grand Seryan’s letter was received weeks ago, and a reply was sent. Your fugitives are not here. Our swiftest messenger sent the note himself, so it must have reached your dear master before she even sent you.”
Oakleaf’s eyes darted about as she searched her mind for a response. “We were…”
Sparrow continued her ranting, not letting the priestess finish her thought. “Your presence here communicates one of two things: you either did not read our letter of response, or you disregarded it and sent your army anyway. In either case, you have insulted our tribe and the Rose will not have you in her city.”
Oakleaf knew she was losing the upper hand in this argument, but she couldn’t bear to show weakness. She knew who was watching. “I request an audience with your queen,” she said. Her tone had become less harsh, but maintained its confidence. “Perhaps she and I can…”
“You will not see the Rose,” Sparrow responded.
Oakleaf stomped her foot like a frustrated child. “Will you not even deliver the message?”
“As leader of the Thorns, I speak for the Rose. My word carries her full authority.”
“Who is the Rose?” Ilderra whispered in Rainstorm’s ear.
“The faeries refer to their queen as the Rose,” he whispered back.
Ilderra nodded.
Beneath her soft lips, Oakleaf’s teeth were gnashing together. “Perhaps an audience with your high priestess then,” she offered. “Surely your spiritual leader will speak with the Lady’s faithful from Tranquility?”
Sparrow landed on her branch again. “You may visit with the high priestess if you’d like. But do not forget, elf, things do not work in Windsong as they do in Moon-hollow. Here the high priestess is merely a consultant to the Rose, not a figure of authority.”
Oakleaf fought the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. At least she was getting somewhere. “Very well then,” she said as regally as she could manage. “Your high priestess and I will have our discussion and see if we can…” As she spoke, Oakleaf’s left foot lifted off the trail and landed in the forest north of the path. As quickly as a lightning strike, Sparrow pulled a tiny bow from her back and loaded an arrow into it. The bolt was little more than a long splinter, but the tip was stained with a dark, sappy substance. All around the canopy, other faerie soldiers emerged from the late summer leaves. Each had an arrow nocked and ready to fire.
The travelers from Tranquility froze in place. Ilderra’s eyes darted from one faerie to the next hovering between the late morning sunbeams. The Thorn’s poisons were legendary. If one were to fire upon her, she could seize up and die before ever feeling the prick, which would be the most welcome of all possibilities.
“I did not say you were welcome into the city, Priestess,” Sparrow said coldly. Her bowstring was pulled back to its limit, but her well-trained hands were as still as the mountains in the east. “Step back on the road.”
Oakleaf was too terrified to worry about her pride anymore. She quickly pulled her foot back, bowing her head in apology. She felt like a coward, and her soul burned with hatred for this humiliation, but all that mattered now was survival. Once she was fully within the confines of the path, Sparrow lowered her weapon. The faeries above returned to their hiding places in the tree tops.
Ilderra and Rainstorm were awestruck. Even after watching their faerie assailants retreat into the leaves, they were still unable to detect even the smallest sight of them. It was as if they vanished like the morning mist.
Sparrow returned her bow and arrow to her back. “We will bring the high priestess to you, servant of Tranquility. Just sit tight and you’ll all live to return home.”
“Tranquility will not stand for this outrageous treatment!” shouted a commanding female voice from the middle of the group. The acolytes parted to the sides, revealing an older elven woman. She had skin tanned to the color of sandalwood, and her blond hair was arranged and pinned atop her head in an intricate braid. She wore robes of deep green that shined like an emerald. A thick, gold chain hung around her neck, displaying a charm shaped like the outline of a rounded leaf. It was the sigil of Moon-hollow, the home of the elves.
Sparrow’s hands landed on her knees and her jaw dropped. “Lady’s grace, they even sent a seryan all the way up here?”
“You have no right to speak the Lady’s blessed name after the treatment you show her devoted followers,” the old elf snapped. With a long, gnarled walking stick in her left hand, she marched her way up the path towards the faerie leader. She all but shoved Oakleaf to the ground as she passed, as though discarding something that had proven itself useless.
“Don’t think you scare me, Seryan to the Elves,” Sparrow said confidently. “The weight of your title doesn’t change my orders.”
“Foolish little faerie,” the seryan said. Her tone was like hearing a mother scold her disobedient child. “You may be a skilled warrior, but against the power of the blessed Lady, you are even less than the insect I see you as.” The acolytes behind her cringed together at the sharpness of their leader’s words.
Sparrow felt her hand reaching for her weapon again, but sense overpowered her instinct to silence the elf’s unthinkable words. Being compared to an insect was a vile and hateful insult when used by one of the large races. It was a detestable barb commonly used against her kind in the days before the New Tri-leaf Pact. The following silence was a testament to the discipline of her soldiers. She had no doubt they heard what the seryan said, and they were likely fighting their own desires to attack without order.
“And yet, it seems a sense of honor only comes in the tiniest of packages in Her forest,” Sparrow rebutted.
“There is honor in threatening Temple representatives?” the seryan questioned.
“There is plenty in respecting an official response from the Rose,” Sparrow answered.
The seryan scoffed. “It is of no matter. We will comply with your brutish tactics while you hold the upper hand, but you shall suffer the consequences of your actions soon enough.”
Sparrow lifted off her branch and hovered in the air. “I will fetch the high priestess for you,” she said. “The Thorns will remain here, to ensure your continued compliance while in our lands.” Without giving the seryan a chance to respond, Sparrow flew off towards the north.
Even though the acolytes knew faerie eyes still watched them, the forest once again felt empty. With nothing to do now but wait, many sat upon the path and rested their legs. Rainstorm and Ilderra sat together at the base of a nearby tree. Their heads leaned back against the trunk almost in unison. “Well, that was unpleasant,” Rainstorm said.
“I feel like we should say a prayer of thanks that we’re still alive,” Ilderra responded. “The Rose Thorns seem even more skilled than their legends say.”
“I certainly didn’t see the journey going like this,” Rainstorm said as he gazed up through the canopy. His eyes searched in vain for any sign of the faeries watching over them. “But perhaps this means we’ll be moving on sooner than we thought.”
Ilderra reached into her robes and retrieved a small, half-loaf of bread. She hadn’t been hungry at dawn when their camp awoke, and she had plenty left over to snack on now while they waited. This was the morning of the second day on their journey. The walk from Tranquility into the faerie territory took no more than a full day for any young, healthy being, but with so many in their party, the journey had proven much slower.
She still didn’t know why one of such regal status was on an errand like this, but the purpose of the trip at all was still suspect. “Do we even know who we’re looking for?” she questioned between mouthfuls of bread. “I know it’s a faerie and an elf, but that’s all anyone has told me.”
“Their names are Firefly and Sunrise,” Oakleaf said as she stood over them. Her eyes were still wide with fear after her unanticipated encounter with the Captain of the Thorns. There was emptiness in her soft, monotone voice. “The Temple has been hunting them since the end of the Balisekt War.”
“But what did they do exactly?” Rainstorm asked. Despite all his silent moping, he too was struggling with the absurdity of the whole ordeal. “I highly doubt they fought at the side of Lord Killika.”
“I am just as ill-informed of their crimes as you two,” the priestess said, “but the Grand Seryan has made their capture a top priority. Nearly all of Tranquility is out in search of them.”
“And none of this strikes you as a bit odd?” Ilderra asked. It felt strange to be speaking so casually with her spiritual superior, but Oakleaf herself had started the conversation. As long as the priestess didn’t seem worried about standing on ceremony, she wouldn’t either. Besides, her mind seemed many miles away. “Going after deserters doesn’t seem normal.”
Oakleaf took a deep breath. “Since the demon horde nearly destroyed the Temple, I fear we’ve been a bit short on normal.”
“On that, we agree,” Rainstorm chimed in.
Oakleaf gave no response, instead standing still and staring blankly through the Wilds.
“So now we just…wait?” Ilderra asked.
“That’s the idea,” Rainstorm replied. His eyes scanned the canopy for a moment. “You could go wandering around if you’d like, but I doubt you’d live very long.” They shared a laugh at the dark joke. It wasn’t until a young, male faerie in acolyte robes came zipping down the trail from the south that their innocent chuckling ceased.
“Is that a messenger?” Rainstorm asked as he rose to his feet.
“I believe it is,” Oakleaf said as her focus returned. The faerie stopped just before the priestess and bowed his head.
“Priestess Oakleaf?” the faerie asked formally.
“I am,” she replied. It was a welcome change to have a faerie address her with the respect she deserved.
The faerie reached behind him and retrieved a rolled piece of paper strapped to his waist below his wings. The parchment was nearly as tall as he was. “My lady, a message from Tranquility for the seryan.”
“I will fetch her,” Oakleaf replied. She hurried off to find her master. Rainstorm and Ilderra looked at each other, exchanging glances of curiosity. In no time at all, Oakleaf returned with the seryan at her side. The messenger bowed his head and delivered the letter.
The seryan opened the letter and began reading silently. Oakleaf, Rainstorm, and Ilderra waited as her old eyes moved back and forth, scanning the words apparently meant only for her. At last, the seryan finished reading and let the paper roll up again.
“My lady, what is it?” Oakleaf questioned.
“Silvermist has summoned all seryans back to Tranquility,” she responded. “I must leave at once.”
“What of the rest of us?” Oakleaf questioned.
“The orders have not changed,” the seryan answered. “You are not to abandon your search for the fugitives.”
“As her ladyship wishes,” Oakleaf said with a respectful bow of her head.
Though shorter than Oakleaf, the seryan managed to look at her in a way that made her feel smaller than a blade of grass. “It is a pity I won’t be leaving this company in more capable hands.”
Oakleaf’s body trembled with rage, but she stopped herself from acting upon it. With a hasty bow of her head, the priestess ran off into the crowd of acolytes.
The seryan stretched her neck as her eyes scanned the many faces around her. “Where is the human called Ilderra?”
Ilderra felt her heartbeat increase. Her eyes grew wide and she nearly failed to take her next breath. Why was Seryan Moonbeam calling her name? “I...am Ilderra...your grace,” she said while raising a trembling hand into the air.
Moonbeam looked at the young girl and nodded. “You are to accompany me back to the Temple.” A series of gasps and murmurs filled the ranks of acolytes.
“Great one, why do you name her to journey back with you?” Rainstorm asked.
Moonbeam turned her gaze towards him. Her eyes held a level of uncertainty not normally seen in one of her standing. “The Grand Seryan summons her as well.”
Chapter 2
“Please...please be still.”
The deer was downwind of him, lazily munching on a small patch of blackberries. For what seemed like an eternity, the elven fugitive Sunrise simply sat there, crouching behind a nearby bush, waiting. The arrow was already strung into his bow, but he had not yet drawn it back. He feared the creaking of the wood would send the animal running off before he could line up the shot. Still, he was hungry, and this was the only real meal opportunity he’d seen in many hours.
Holding his breath, Sunrise lifted the bow into position. His fingers pulled the string back slowly, keeping the sound to a minimum. It groaned a bit, not enough to startle the oblivious animal, but to him the sound was deafening. A gentle breeze blew through his spiky blond hair. His dark skin blended into the shadows cast by the bush that hid him. His shot was lined up and the target was standing still. Everything was perfect.
“Lady be with you,” Sunrise whispered before letting go of the bowstring. The arrow shot through the bush with a loud whack. The deer had only a moment to raise its snout out of the bushes before the arrow struck it in the heart. It bucked and cried before taking off through the forest away from Sunrise.
Pleased with his shot, the young elf rose to his feet. His prey had run off, but it was of no matter. It was mortally injured. Now he had only to follow the blood trickles until he found where it lay dead, and then the feast would begin. He slung the bow across his back and set off after his meal. The sun was in its descent towards the western tree tops. Nightfall would be here soon, and he would want to get the deer meat back to camp before the light was gone.
This is what life had been like since the demon battle ended. Lord Killika’s army was defeated, but Sunrise was denied his chance to rest after a well-earned victory. His actions on the battlefield had branded him a traitor to the Temple, and every day since had been spent in hiding. In the blink of an eye, his life of meditation, study, prayer, and devotion was ripped away from him. Now, he lived like an animal, fending for himself in the Wilds.
The blood trickle was easy follow. The deer was losing quite a bit of it with each step. His stomach growled at the thought of such a fine meal cooking over a small fire. The sky was still clear, and his campsite sat at the base of a tall oak. He’d be able to climb the tree tonight and see the stars. These were the joys in life that kept him going now. They were simple things, but there was something about that simplicity that brought him a sense of peace.
What Sunrise missed most from his life before exile wasn’t the Temple, his status, or even civilized living—it was companionship. He’d always been a difficult soul to befriend. His discipline and commitment to the acolyte path made him a powerful spell caster, but it didn’t make him a great friend. For the last year or so his only real companion had been Firefly, the young faerie who was his ward.
Just thinking of her again made him shake his head, though it wasn’t sadness or anger that filled his heart when she entered his mind. He held no contempt for her. She had done nothing to wrong him. In fact, despite his less-than-preferable circumstances, she had freed him. It all made him wonder, if he’d only seen the truth earlier, how different the outcome could have been.
The scene replayed in his mind whenever he had a quiet moment to himself, and a walk through the Wilds like this yielded such an opportunity. In the quiet of the lonely forest, he could almost hear the demon army pounding on the door of the Temple. There he stood, at the back of the Lady’s house of worship, his Grand Seryan at his side, and certain death but moments away. A twig snapped beneath his foot, but in his mind, it was the barricade on the door smashing to splinters.
His face twitched as he recalled the horrific sight. Into the Temple the demons poured; their hot skin, like burning coal, searing the flesh of anyone who touched them. They were shaped like animals, bounding on all fours as their tails whipped about behind them and smoke poured from their snouts. But these were no creatures of Her forest. Their presence defiled the holy sanctuary, and despite all his training, he wasn’t powerful enough to stop them. All he could do was try to get his master to safety.
He’d called to her, begging her to flee with him, but she would not. She just stood there, staring at the ceiling and questioning the will of She who is unquestionable. It was there, in that moment of hopelessness, watching the abandonment of the Lady by the one who should be Her greatest champion, that he began to see what Firefly was trying to show him. It was also then that she appeared.
At the last moment, when death was but a breath away, she came. Firefly descended between the demons and their prey. Her lovely wings, colored and patterned like a monarch butterfly, made no sound as they guided her down from the ceiling. The curls of her orange and black hair bounced against her shoulders. She seemed so small and insignificant, but like a force of nature, her powerful magic pushed the unholy creatures away. The former acolyte-in-training, who could barely produce a tiny flame or spark days before, wielded the elements with more power and focus than a seryan could achieve. With the demons deterred, Sunrise was able to pull the Grand Seryan to safety.
He could still hear the smashing of the window. He could feel the wind against his face as he and Silvermist fell and the cold splash as they landed in the lake. Everything was still vividly clear to him, including the moment his life completely changed.
Once out of harm’s way and back in the public eye, Silvermist seemed to regain her senses. She had been rescued, but by a faerie wielding power she shouldn’t be able to access. Firefly had abandoned her path, turning away from the Temple and her acolyte training. She shouldn’t be able to cast such spells, yet she did. As Firefly emerged from the overrun Temple, Silvermist called for her detainment. Her guards moved in, preparing to pluck the faerie from the sky, killing her in the process should it be necessary.
That’s when Sunrise made his choice. All he had to do was stand there. A lack of action would ensure everything in his life returned to the way it was. His statues in the Temple would remain. In fact, his bravery and heroic actions would have likely earned him the title of priest. But in that moment, everything about his world had changed. He’d seen the ugly truth behind the Temple, and the Grand Seryan he so deeply believed spoke for the Lady.
As the guards attempted to capture Firefly, Sunrise stepped in to intervene. Holding the guards back, he called out for Firefly to flee. He was helping her escape, and in doing so disobeying the will of his master. It was a moment that changed him, both mentally and physically. As Firefly zipped off and disappeared into the forest, the full fury of Silvermist turned on him.
“Acolyte, what are you doing?!” the Grand Seryan bellowed.
“I should ask the same thing,” Sunrise responded. “She saved your life. You owe her your gratitude, not a prison sentence.”
“The deed was done with unholy magic!” the Grand Seryan retorted. Her hands flew over her head. In her anger, she nearly lost her balance. Silvermist had always appeared so regal, so orderly. He’d never seen this side of her—the untamed animal driven by pure emotion.
“But you’re alive!” Sunrise shouted. The guards were moving in on him, seemingly anticipating their master’s next command. He put his hands out to his sides, ready to cast his spell at a moment’s notice. He hated to idea of using the Lady’s power against Her own faithful, but survival was his only goal at this point.
“The Lady protects me, acolyte,” Silvermist snapped. “I do not require rescuing by some dark magic wielding apostate.”
“Apostate?” Sunrise could barely say the word. Firefly may have cast off her robes, but not her love of the Lady. Her devotion was stronger than most of the acolytes he’d trained beside over the years. The very thought of her being branded an apostate made him weak in the knees.
“Yes, she is an apostate,” Silvermist continued. There was darkness in her tone. The voice she spoke with carried none of the Lady’s power or wisdom. Her hand rose towards him with her index finger extended. The sunbeams reflected off her magnificent rings. “And now, so are you,” she declared.
“No!” Sunrise said with his eyes wide. His hands trembled at his sides. The thought of it was unfathomable. Everything he’d worked for, all his sacrifices, were gone with a single utterance from his deity’s chosen.
“Take him,” Silvermist said. On her order, the elven guards to either side of her opened their hands. Tiny balls of fire roared to life above their palms. Their hands rose as the two moved in unison towards their target.
Preparing to defend himself, Sunrise raised his hands as well. His fingers spread out wide, curling upward like a wildcat extending its claws, but nothing happened. He gasped in shock as he looked down at his empty palms. There was no fire, no spark, nothing. He couldn’t conjure a single spell. “Impossible,” he said in a breathy tone.
Silvermist laughed as she watched. “See,” she said smugly. “The Lady punishes you for your sins. Your powers are gone” The guards moved in. A sinister smile adorned each of their faces as they realized their prey was helpless.
Sunrise took a clumsy step backward. His foot splashed down into the rippling surface of the lake. He was trapped. Useless for anything else, his hand moved towards his head and crossed in front of his face in a defensive position. He knew they had him.
As the first guard lunged forward, a violent crash erupted from the foliage to the north. All eyes turned as a large demon burst through the underbrush. It’s massive, cat-like body landed atop the nearer guard, pinning him to the ground. The poor elf screamed in agony as the demon’s burning hide seared his flesh. The other elf turned the fireball growing in his hand towards the demon, but it bounced harmlessly off its already burning skin. The pinned elf’s body began to convulse as his skin turned black. With his mouth gaped open and his eyes wide, he finally went still and silent.
The remaining guard readied a new spell; sparks of lightning danced between his fingers. As Sunrise watched on, he deduced what the young guard must have certainly realized. Building up the energy to strike down such a creature would take time, and he didn’t have enough. The guard tossed his bolt at the beast, causing it to wince for a moment but nothing more. As the demon pounced onto the guard, its furnace-like mouth consuming the flesh of his neck, Sunrise looked to Silvermist. To his astonishment, the Grand Seryan was gone. His eyes caught the slightest glimpse of the foliage to the west rustling as she escaped.
Seizing his opportunity, Sunrise turned and ran up the lakeshore towards the north. As he ran, a tremendous roar from above shook the trees and nearly knocked him off balance. He looked up. High over the spires of the Temple, the massive, dragon demon was breaking apart. The beast cried out as its body disintegrated like a spent lump of coal. On the shores to the north, the invading army of demons seemed to be sharing in its fate.
“She did it,” Sunrise said to himself. “Azalea did it.” Unfortunately, his new enemies were creatures of flesh and blood, and would only be more formidable now that the demon army was vanquished. Sunrise quickly reached over his head and grasped at the collar of his acolyte robes. With a quick tug, he pulled the garment off, revealing the simple, rugged clothing he wore beneath them. He balled up the robe in his hand. This was it. There was no going back now. With a heavy heart, Sunrise tossed his robe into the water and took off into the trees to the north.
It had all happened weeks ago, but it still felt fresh in his mind. After escaping, his first priority had been to locate Firefly, but his tiny faerie companion was nowhere to be found. He spent days searching for her, calling out to her. He tried to make it towards Windsong in hopes she would be there, but there was no sign. Soon, he started seeing patrols from Tranquility walking the Wilds in search of Firefly and himself. Knowing he would be unable to continue looking, survival took precedence.
He continued north, passing out of the faerie lands and along the border separating the territories of the elves and centaurs. If hiding was the intention, he figured this border to be his best chance of doing so. The centaurian village of Ironhoof was far to the west, and the centaurs were a rather private race. They didn’t care much for the company of their neighbors, so they tended to stay away from their borders. Likewise, the elves did most of their dealings with either the faeries to the south, or the dwarves to the northeast. There was little reason for them to venture this far west of Moon-hollow.
Indeed, this borderland was his best chance. He would have less chance of discovery in the Savage Lands, but the actions of the wild tribes were unpredictable. A stray band of goblins, trolls, or whatever else may happen to stroll by may not have any interest in capturing him, but they wouldn’t have any in keeping him alive either. Sunrise kept his camp simple. He wanted it difficult to spot and quick to pack up should he have to run. Anything of great importance he kept on his person at all times.
Sunrise began to notice large indentations in the dirt along the path. The foliage was broken and smashed, with swabs of blood staining the low leaves. His meal was stumbling. It wouldn’t be long now before he found it lying on the ground. Then, he would take his meat and return to his camp. The buck had fine antlers, too. Perhaps he would fashion himself a new dagger as he gazed at the stars tonight.
As Sunrise rounded a wide tree and descend the small hill beyond, the sound of voices filled his long, pointed ears. Holding his breath, he pressed his back against the tree and peered around the trunk. He could see his deer. The animal lay motionless on its side in a small patch of ivy. But he hadn’t found it first. Standing around his intended meal were two centaurs. The horse-men were glaring down at his deer, with special attention focused on the arrow protruding from its side.
Sunrise placed a hand on the tree and leaned farther around it, trying to get a better view. They were both male centaurs, but this didn’t surprise him. The centaur’s barbaric culture left little freedom to roam for their women. They each had long, full beards, one fully black and the other brown. The black-bearded centaur had a short, spiky cut to his hair, while the other wore his long and straight, draping down over his right shoulder. Their skin was a leathery color, nearly indistinguishable from the garments they wore. Each had a long sword strapped to a belt around their waist.
Still undetected by the centaurs, Sunrise weighed his options. He couldn’t just stay still until they left. The discovery of the deer carcass already told them someone was in the area. Trying to run away from a centaur would be pointless. Their speed was simply unbeatable by any other civilized creature, but they were unable to climb trees, and this was the greatest advantage he had over them.
Sunrise made one more look before formulating his plan. The centaurs had no weapons that could reach him up in the trees unless they decided to throw their swords. The climb would make noise, but he was swift enough to be out of reach before they discovered him. He kept watch on the centaurs until they were both facing away, then quickly leaped up onto the lowest branch of the tree. His actions shook the leaves and the centaurs turned. Moving fast, Sunrise hopped up as high as he could into the foliage.
“Hey!” the black-haired centaur shouted as they both drew their swords. Their hooves struck loudly against the dirt and underbrush below as they marched to the base of the tree. Convinced that he was well out of reach, Sunrise freed his bow from his back and made his way along a wide branch that extended out towards the west. It held his weight easily, and gave him a clear view of both the centaurs and his fallen deer. He didn’t retrieve an arrow from his quiver yet. The idea was to appear ready, but not hostile.
“Who are you?” the other centaur demanded. His sword was raised high into the air, but all the action proved was just how out of range he was.
“Just a lonely traveler trying to have supper,” Sunrise answered.
“You are hunting in centaurian lands,” the centaur continued. “Without permission from the lord of Ironhoof, such an act is…”
“I’m well aware of the law,” Sunrise butted in, resisting the urge to add that he likely knew it better than either of them. “It’s easy to tell that the deer ran her from the east after being shot and the border is quite close. All the evidence suggests I’ve been hunting in elven territory, which I need no permission to do.”
“Your game is not on elven land now, is it?” the black-haired centaur said with a sneer. “Perhaps it didn’t wish to be devoured by such a weak creature.”
“Well, I’d ask it, but I don’t think it would do any good,” Sunrise said sarcastically. “Either way the kill is mine, which earns me the right to the spoils. I understand enough about your culture to believe you know I’m right.”
The two centaurs looked at each other. They made no sounds, but the sinister smiles on their faces showed they were both thinking the same thing. “Very well, elf,” the brown-haired centaur said as he twirled his sword in his hand. “We won’t touch your kill.”
“But you still have to get to it to eat it,” the other added. They stepped apart from each other, as though opening a path between Sunrise and his supper. He knew better. This was a taunt. Sunrise would have two centaurian swords buried in his chest the moment his feet hit the ground. Unfortunately, he was also quite sure the same fate would befall him if he jumped down the other side and ran away without the deer.
It was moments like this he missed his magic the most. A couple of lightning bolts would dispatch these two troublesome centaurs with little effort. Exile had showed him just how much he’d come to rely on the Lady’s magic to get him through his daily struggles. Still, he wasn’t without other skills. Sunrise kept the grip on his bow firm as he turned his back to the centaurs. “I see I won’t be eating tonight,” he said calmly. Sunrise walked back across the branch and moved behind the trunk. “Farewell.”
“You think you can just leave?!” the black-haired centaur bellowed. His front legs kicked up in the air. Up and out of sight, Sunrise freed the satchel tied to his waist. He could hear the centaur’s hooves striking the ground as they moved around the tree. Before the duo rounded the trunk, Sunrise balled up the satchel and threw it down into a nearby bush. It struck the bush loudly, rustling the leaves and disturbing a small bird that flew away in response.
“Over there!” the other centaur shouted. The two held out their weapons and charged at the bush. Their swords hacked at the small leaves and gnarled branches, but found no elven flesh to pierce.
As the centaurs stood in confusion, Sunrise dropped from a low branch and rolled across the forest floor. He rose to a crouching position as he retrieved an arrow from his quiver. Before the centaurs could turn around, Sunrise fired the bolt into the hind leg of the black-haired centaur. Just like an injured horse, the centaur toppled over. The brown-haired centaur shouted angrily as he finished turning, but Sunrise was a fast archer. Before the centaur could make his first step towards him, Sunrise already had another arrow nocked and aimed at his heart. Though still driven by rage, the centaur knew he’d lost the upper hand.
“I’m not here to kill two centaurs,” Sunrise said confidently, though his voice shook from stress and fatigue. He rose to his feet again, keeping his arrow trained on the still healthy assailant. “I just want to take my meal and go back home.” The brown-haired centaur said nothing, though his companion made several low curses as he struggled to stand again. The brown-haired centaur reached down and plucked the arrow from his friend’s flesh with all the gentleness and care of a rockslide. A trail of blood ran down the centaur’s hind leg as he wearily stood up.
“Go,” Sunrise commanded.
Both centaurs scoffed and mumbled, but obeyed. With one badly limping, the two made their way west through the forest towards their home city. Sunrise kept the tension on his bow tight long after he could no longer see or hear them. Once he was satisfied he was alone again, he retrieved his satchel from the bush and went to his deer. There would be no time to dress it here. He’d have to shoulder it back through the forest to his campsite. Tonight would be less peaceful than he thought. Rest would not come easily knowing that Ironhoof would soon know of his general whereabouts. Tomorrow would be an earlier rise than usual. He’d have to go out in search of a new camp.