Chapter Two
She
can hear the sounds of guards, and feel the bodies of other
captives rocking against her. The guards are tired, their commands
short, hostile, and accented with the crack of a whip, or riding
crop. The captives are silent in their cocoons of woven rugs.
They no longer struggle against their bonds. They only move
when a rut in the road shifts their body.
The guards are from Calastia, and they are going to Shelzar.
The names mean nothing to her. The language is strange, she
can't understand the guards. She barely understands the Elvin
a captive uses to translate for her. There are few commands
however. Quiet, lay still, eat, walk, lay down. She understands
the bonds, and the whip.
The wagons traveled through grasslands for two days, and then
she hears the ocean crashing against stones, and sees the tides
and birds in her mind. Now, several days later she hears the
sounds of a city. A large city, with spires and domes. Colors
are everywhere, and the people dress like tropical birds. Suddenly
she feels the sting of a whip on her feet and the vision shatters.
“He’s telling us to stay quiet.” Her companion
says in the Elf language. Her voice is weak, and soft.
“Thank you.” She says back, and notices her own
voice is little more than a whisper.
A great gate through the city walls forms in her mind from
the sounds around the wagon. Somewhere in the throng of voices
she hears a child laughing, as though nothing bad can ever happen
in the world, and remembers when she could laugh like that,
long ago, before the magic came.
The visions form again in her mind rising above the city, looking
down at the walls and streets as a seagull might see the landscape,
riding on the winds coming off the ocean to the south. The city
of Shelzar is truly amazing from this point of view. Surrounding
the city are miles of green orchards and vineyards. She can
see villages in the distance, and roads leading down from the
desert. Her vision runs up one of these roads, to a couple of
travelers.
One, a tall human male. He is young, but there is age in his
gray eyes. His dark hair is long and unkempt. He carries no
sword or weapons, except two daggers on his belt. His horse
is not well bred, but strong, his clothing is simple and plain.
Beside him rides a female, shorter, elf-blooded, with long brown
hair and curious eyes. She too dresses simply, with no signs
of obvious weapons or wealth. Why her vision focuses on these
two travelers she doesn’t know. They are simply a man
and woman, traveling down the road to Shelzar, like hundreds
of other people.
She waits for her vision to reveal something about them, some
reason for their importance. Suddenly the female looks up, as
if she can see her. A look of anger flashes across her face
and the vision fades.
The wagon begins to move again. The heavy wheels roll across
flag stones as they pass inside the great gates. No one comes
near the carts to search them for hidden captives, no one notices
her tears as she sobs silently inside the wrapping of the carpet;
hungry, thirsty, and alone.
The wagons move through the city at an even and steady pace.
The volume of voices around them continues to rise. After about
an hour, the wagons are being pulled into a courtyard of some
type. She can hear large wooden doors closing and the sound
of the city being shut out. It is darker now. The sound of boots
on stone, commands being given, the sides of the wagons are
removed, and she is being picked up by two sets of hands and
carried up stairs. From inside the carpet she can see nothing,
panic grips her mind.
The hands throw her on what sounds like a wooden table when
she hits, and the ropes are being tugged, the folds of carpet
removed. Light from lanterns hits her eyes, the first direct
light she has seen in days. She blinks rapidly trying to get
her eyes to adjust. She can see several men. Two by the door,
two on each side of the table, and one sitting behind a desk
in front of her. The room is stone, with no windows. “What
kind of place is this?” she asks herself, and then remembers
she is naked. She pulls at the carpet to cover herself, and
her hands are smacked away with riding crops.
“Enough of that.” Says the man behind the desk,
and the two men beside her come to a rigid attention, the riding
crops dropping in a direct manner to their sides. The efficiency
of their actions frightens her. She has never seen men who move
like they do, or own such armor. In her mother’s tavern
she has met traveling soldiers, but none like these men. These
men seem solid as the steel, and their eyes as sharp as swords.
“You understand the Elf language, yes?” The man
asks.
“Only a little.” She responds, her voice dry and
broken.
“You are half-elf, you have elf blood from your mother’s
side?” He asks.
The words forms in her mind, “No, from my father’s
side.”
“Your mother is a captive of the elves then?” He
asks.
“No, why would she be a captive of the elves?”
She asks. She reaches for the carpet again and covers herself.
The two men beside her stand rigid as stone. “I’m
sorry, I may not understand your question.” She says weakly.
“Why is it that you know so little about your language?”
He asks, standing. Walking around to the front of his desk,
his eyes boring into her. His voice is even, not unkind, but
there is no kindness in his eyes.
“I only began to learn it a few months ago. In the spring.
Master Penbrook taught me a little and gave me books to learn
more.”
“Penbrook?” He says, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, Master Penbrook, of the Circle of Silver.”
She answers, looking around trying escape his unblinking eyes,
and missing the look of concern as it crossed through them.
“Who is your mother? Is she royalty?” He asks.
“No. She is only a tavern owner, and I’m just a
village girl.”
“How does a village girl know Penbrook of the Circle
of Silver?”
“He found me. I went looking for my father, I got lost.
He found me, took me in for a while. He said he knew my father
and where he was. He gave me language lessons, and taught me
how to read. Then he gave me some money and passage on a boat
that took me to a port. And then your men brought me to you.
I have done nothing to offend, I stole nothing.” She says,
her voice breaking to a plea.
The man walks back behind his desk, and sits down again. “You
offend by being.”
She is sure she didn’t understand that properly. “Excuse
me sir?”
“Your existence is offensive. Half-elf women are not
allowed to walk freely. You will be taken to Vashon. There you
will be put in service of the army.” He says, pulling
out a wax tablet, “How old are you?”
“Sixteen.” The army? What would she do in the army?
“Your name?” He asks.
“Elaine.” She answers, “Sir, I don’t
know anything about fighting.”
Laughter explodes from the men, coming at her from all sides,
but it is not like the laughing of men in her mother’s
tavern, it is some how cruel and demeaning, causing terror to
run down her spine.
“I don’t think that will be a problem, Elaine.”
The man behind the desk says, straightening himself. “Now,
not that it matters, but what is your father’s name?”
She is truly scared now. She is aware of slavery, and she thought
that it was not much different than serving in the tavern; Working
long days, cleaning rooms, making food, mending clothes. She
is comfortable with a life of work and labor. But she is catching
visions from the men's minds which she doesn't understand. They
are not the visions of battle, but they are violent.
“Your father’s name!” The man commands when
she doesn’t answer right away.
“Edrin Northstar.” She blurts out, looking at him
with wide fearful eyes, but then she sees something unexpected
in his face. She sees fear. It is just a moment, a whisper,
but it is there. There is something else as well. At the mention
of her father’s name, the visions stop. There is nothing
in the room except blank minds. Shocked minds.
“What did you say girl?”
“My father is Edrin Northstar.” She answers, feeling
an odd sense of pride inside her as she says the name again.
The silence stretches out for much longer than is comfortable.
The man sits behind the desk, his eyes searching her, looking
for something, but she doesn't know what, or what he expects
from her. She covers herself a bit more with the carpet.
“Wrap her back up and take her to the basement.”
The man says, and with movements that counter her struggles,
they wrapped her up again and tie the ropes in place.
“I was wrong Elaine,” the man says as he walks
past her, out of the room, “you will not be serving the
army. You will be executed.”
