Page 82 of A Brat's Tale
“I always welcome your advice, Diekin.” A good Warlord always hears the advice from his trusted counsel.
“You won’t get out of the palace gates without a fight, they’re too heavily guarded. The only way out is the south-east wall. It’s the weakest point in our defense. The trouble is the climb down requires equipment you don’t have.”
I feel like turning back. It’s hopeless.
Diekin’s eyes brighten. “I will help you, Warlord. Come.” He holds out his hand to take one of mine and recites ancient Elvish until there’s a soft glow. “You’ll be able to stick to the wall, but the spellwon’t last forever, and it will still be dangerous. I don’t need to tell you to be careful.”
“Thank you, Diekin.” He nods. “Once I’m out, I was going to hide until morning and walk out with the morning crowd.”
“That is a good plan. I would also cut this,” he says referring to my hair. “They’ll be looking for you by then.”
He’s nearly shaking, I know he’s scared for me. “Diekin, even if I don’t make it, do not feel guilty. Dying doing this is better than never having tried, and always remember, I have one failsafe.”
“Dragon blood?” He leans back to get a good look at me.
I smile.
He nods. “It seems I’m always saying goodbye to you like this, Warlord. Please make it back with Corrik. You need to become an Elf, there are more adventures for us to have together, yet.”
“We will have adventures again, Diekin.”
“Last, I’m sure you know the Unbroken Mountains lie west in the second realm, but when you get to the entrance, proceed with extreme caution and start northeast. Corrik is that way. Somewhere. After that, you’re unfortunately, you’re on your own, there wasn’t anything left of his tracks, all signs of him wiped away.”
That’s his way of telling me I’m on a bit of a fool’s errand. “Thank you, brother. I will find him.” We embrace and I thank him and then I’m gone in the night.
None of it’s easy. Even with Diekin’s help, I almost slip to my death twice and I realize how much of a prisoner I really was. If not for Diekin, I would have been shipped straight back to Alrik. Perhaps the Gods were smiling upon me after all. Being a human among Elves is hard. My bandana helps, but my copper skin does not. Even the humans here are almost as pale as the elves and I stand out. I had to keep covered the whole way through the market.
Once I made it past the marketplace, I had to stay sharp. I knewthere would be a hunt for me by that point. I kept to the trees like my father showed me and I continued moving like Bayaden taught me.
I had to steal a horse. I would replace her when I return.
I stay off the main roads as often as I can, and so far, I’ve had no issue, but now, I have to travel on the main roads. I know warriors will be on the lookout for me, and I don’t know what I’ll do if they find me. They are my kin now. I can’t kill them; if they catch up with me, it’s over. I just need to stay ahead of them.
I ride into a small town on the outskirts of King’s Keep and spy a beautiful set of tall Elven warriors from the palace, questioning people. I ride into an open stable and hop off my horse, thinking I’ll hide here until they pass through, but as usual, things aren’t going to go the easy way for me. A massive Elf jumps down from the loft, staring right at me and I know not to move. I do think about the sword at my hip, maybe I could incapacitate him long enough to get away, but it would alert the palace guard outside. I’m kinda at his mercy if he has any. “Jagarbendir, come and have a look at what’s in here.”
The Elf studies me as I scrutinize him. He’s different than any Elf I’ve seen before. Most of the ones I know are either royalty or have served royalty. Even the staff serving royalty have a particular sort of presence about them. This Elf is the equivalent of a farm boy in Markaytia. It’s a bit odd. I realize even as a servant to Bayaden, I lived a royal lifestyle. “Those are fine weapons you have,human.”
Fuck. He knows I’m human. Does every kind of Elf hate humans?
An older looking Elf enters. His age does nothing to take away from the edge of steel in his eyes or the presence of power in his sinewy body. He’s got that look about him that says he’s ancient and a healthy collection of scars that say he’s had a rough time but has thrived, regardless. For an Elf to look remotely old, he’s got to be ancient, like the king, maybe older than. This must be Jagarbendir. “Aye, a human? There are some guards out there looking for a someone about your description,” he says, with the hint of an accent I’ve never heard before—a bit regal, but also timeless, suggesting that he has come from another time and if he’s old like I suspect, he has.
“Please, don’t let them find me,” I whisper.
“You in some kind of trouble, boy?” I nod, pleading with my eyes. “Come with me.”
He leads me into the house, lifts the carpet to reveal a secret door, which leads underneath the house. The man could be sending me to my next prison, but I quickly devise getting out of this prison will be a heck of a lot easier than breaking out of the palace, and I already did that, so I head down the stairs not too worried. The guards come, I hear voices above me and then sounds that make me think they’re carrying out a search. They are here for a good twenty minutes and then they’re gone.
It’s a long while before the door is opening again and Jagarbendir is inviting me up. I’m relieved I don’t have to fight my way out of this situation, but I know it can’t be so simple; there’s going to be a catch for their assistance. “You must be hungry,” the old Elf says. “Sit.”
He’s the kind of Elf who’s used to giving orders and having people obey them. “That’s very kind, sir. But I must be on my way.”
He shakes his head. “I insist,young Warlord.” Fuck. See? It’s never that easy. “Sit.”
A stare down takes place until I do. I purse my lips and give him my best Warlord face. From the corner, the other large, but younger Elf, watches with a cool countenance. He’s shirtless, I can see all of his muscles contract and stretch, I can see all of his scars too. His mouth almost smirks at me. He knew who I was too. “What do you want?”
The large old Elf begins taking things out of the cupboards—heisgoing to make food—and the other crosses his arms. “We heard about the loss of our prince. Am I to assume you’re on some foolhardy rescue mission?”
“I’d hardly call it foolhardy.” I try to make myself look bigger and more Warlord-like.
