A Spark in the Wind

Chapter 07: Duty to Resist

The morning sun stretched across the horizon, casting away the shadows of night and bringing the message of morning to the folk of Alledor, The wood-elves in the Shadowcrest Valley looked to the north, waiting for their urban allies to join them.

"I can't believe we're defying the king," a voice echoed from afar.

"When injustice becomes law, resistance becomes duty," another voice answered, and then both fell silent in a sea of conversations. "Truly," Mey said to himself, "these folk have gotten far more intelligent than I had previously known them to be."

"Still dangerous," Niall answered from beside him, "even though I'm a wood-elf myself, I dare to tell ye: I'd be readier to trust a high-elf more than my own kindred. Of the many things one can never trust, the list goes:"

And so the two spoke together, taking turns with verses.

A creaking bow, a burning flame,
tide on the ebb, a coiling snake;
scions of the king, a wailing calf,
a witch's flattery, a deadly laugh.

"Nobody should ever trust these, lest they seek death," said Niall, Mey laughed at her comment; suddenly his hears caught the blast of a high-elven battle-horn. "Ah, they're here."

A horn bellowed at a distance, and drums answered, hundreds of feet marching to their beat. At first they saw a flag, then Vil and his two officers, and behind them eight-score elite legionnaires, dressed in red, carrying large scarlet shields, with swords and spears by their sides.

As the mist cleared, three figures stepped out of the shadows. Alongside Vilyánur came his two companions – Aeresil Brightroar, the king's personal champion; and Vareth Brownbeard, military consul and captain of ulfsarks.

"They're here," Niall called for Meneldir, only to be petrified seeing Vilyánur's companions. Aeresil was the embodiment of sky: with a lion's pelt wrapped around his neck and an iron crown upon his head, he trotted the earth using his battleaxe as a walking stick. Vareth was the embodiment of earth: a rough man-shape with the face of a dwarf, but eight feet tall and with the body of a troll, carrying an axe bigger than many of the wood-elves.

Vil was garbed as a grand-centurion: armoured mundanely, save for the large red plume atop his helm. Mey couldn't decide if he should laugh or tremble, he looked like a rooster but it added a whole foot to his height, as if he wasn't already tall enough.

...

"Sorry we're late," Vil apologized, "crossing the Angkreb in late spring is a difficult task, especially since someone burned the bridges. Regardless, I brought with myself two of my uncle's companions."

"That's a big one," said Arial, looking at Vareth, "good thing he's on our side."

"Should you be of little mischief," said Vareth, "I am the last thing you have to worry about, young ranger. The enemy has daemons thrice my size, if that is what concerns you. Size does not matter though – the greater the pride, the harder the fall."

"Don't worry," said Niall, "we have our monster as well."

They looked back, an old satyr garbed as a king approached them with an annoyed look. "Do I look like a monster to you?"

"No, not you!" the twins panicked, "you are barely more monstrous than a dire wolf."

The satyr shrugged, "whatever!"

"Garamond," Meneldir approached him, "nice of you to drop by after so many years. When the girls said they'll bring them an 'unlikely ally', I didn't expect it to be you."

"Before you ask me, I will make it clear: I am not responsible for all of this, the girls dragged me along. Should my actions anger the king, I will take no responsibility, save in the case of a reasonable circumstance."