Minzkala Page 2

  Sigge and Raffe began to assist Kiera in healing. Kiera was a Cleric and could heal most proficiently. With a concentrated effort, the three of them managed to make their way around the groups of warriors still fighting the frogmen. They had made it through the roughest part of the battle, and now all that remained was to eliminate the straggling enemies trying to hide or escape.

  Though some had managed to flee the city, Aland knew that the major threat caused by the Gremits was now over. He was filled with a sense of victory mixed with disappointment because no other solution could be found. He also knew that the real battle had just begun. The attacks would continue in Evergrove, by the Trolls or perhaps by the Digvi’ja themselves.

  When they returned to Jalathiel, emotions were divided between the grief for those lost and the celebration of their overall victory. Aland prepared a report for Minzkala. A courier for Minzkala would be arriving sometime throughout the afternoon and would take the report to King Naethan. This had become standard procedure for all the leaders throughout Maralune; for they, unlike the Gremits, had a real protective force on their side, one that would not allow this kind of tyranny to continue.

  Kaliesto

  My brothers and I were full of questions that evening. We wondered what it meant to have such a situation arise in the Evergrove. Before all of this happened, the stories about the other cities seemed like just that, stories. Would we really begin to face the same life as the Humans and Dwarves?

  We asked about Minzkala, too. Again, all we had heard were stories, but the reality of it all was beginning to sink in. The day at the stream was our initiation into this whole affair. Now that we were a part of it, we would work hard to make it to the front lines, to do whatever was necessary.

  That night in our hut, we sat around the fire with our father, Tekari, and mother, Alyne. We all listened as father told us a story from his childhood about our grandparents, Phrank and Kaelyn, and about Minzkala.

  Two

  My Father’s Story of Minzkala

  Scout Captain Tekari, Forest Elf

  I was too young to remember my mother’s face before she died, aside from this drawing. I have only one moment with her engraved in my mind. A moment we shared only after she died. This is the story of that account.

  You all know that our people came to this continent after our home in Sapir was destroyed. I was very young and have only flashes of memories from that time. But I remember my father frantically grabbing me into his arms one evening, anguish in his face. I was calling out for my mother, trying to remember where I last saw her, but father rushed me out of the hut and didn’t turn back. We left our home that night. I remember a ship and after many days of following land, I saw only water stretching out to the horizon in every direction. My father was the Scout Captain of our village, as I am now; a very brave and honorable man. He spoke with many of the ship’s leaders. He seemed distant the whole way, preoccupied.

  When we arrived, I saw a city beyond the harbor. It wasn’t like our old home. The city of Rhalas was on the ground, not in the trees. The walls were made of stone, not wood. The people were of all shapes and sizes, most of them taller than me, even if they were the same age as me. After about two years in Rhalas, my father put me on a horse with him and we took off for the countryside. He said we were going to find a new home for the Forest Elves.

  We traveled across plains and through small thickets until nothing, but trees were all around us. It was darker because the canopy above us blocked out most of the light. He said it was called the Mourtaire Forest. We ventured deeper into the forest, where we met a strange man. He looked like the men from Rhalas, but he had a horse’s body. My father told me he was a Centaur. The Centaur took us to his city, built like our own, in the trees, but lower to the ground. The trees were three and four times as big as the trees here in the Evergrove, and they carved out the trunks for their buildings instead of building structures around the trunks like we do. The Centaurs told Father we were welcome to find a home near them.

  The next day, we set out again. As we went further into the forest, Father kept looking up into the trees, checking out the bases and the ground around them. Sometimes he would strap on his harness and his spurs and climb up high so that he could look around in all directions. I remember he was studying a group of trees when I noticed two saplings that bent into one another and crossed at the top. It almost looked as though they had grown together at the top. And they weren’t like the other trees around us. They seemed out of place. It looked like a threshold.

  I couldn’t contain my curiosity and decided to play near it. My father looked over at me and smiled just as I stepped through the two trees. Then he called out my name. I turned to look at him and there was panic in his eyes. It seemed like a fog had come into the forest behind the trees. He wasn’t looking directly at me, but he ran toward me. I wasn’t sure why he was so afraid.

  I looked around and noticed that the land where I was standing had been transformed. Where I once saw trees for miles and miles, there was a rolling countryside. The sounds and the smells were like nothing I had ever experienced before. I felt invigorated and drew in a deep breath. There was no fog here. I could see that the entrance to this land extended beyond the trees and followed the horizon of the countryside landscape.

  I heard my father call my name a second time. When I turned to him, I saw the cloudy forest again. I probably could have walked into the forest anywhere, but being a playful young elf, I chose my new doorway. As he came closer to where I had stood just moments before, I stepped through to the forest side to meet him. His eyes grew large and his mouth opened. ‘What…,’ was all he could get out. I told him to come with me. Even though there was nothing to be seen from the forest, I took his hand and we stepped back into the magical entrance of Minzkala.

  As we looked in awe on the countryside, a Faerie fluttered up one of the paths in front of us. I noticed my father had his hand on his sword about the same time I noticed the smile on her face. He seemed to relax a little as she began to speak.

  “Phrank, Takari. We’ve been expecting you,” she said as she came closer. “I am Nalla.”

  She reminded me of the Halflings from Rhalas, only she was much smaller than even the Forest Elves. Her tiny frame was easily carried by the light wings on her back. Her chin, nose, and ears were pointy and elfish. Her voice was melodic and soft.

  “Will you come with me to meet the King?” she asked us.

  My father nodded and then looked at me in careful thought. He placed his hand around the back of my neck, lightly on my collar, and we began to follow her down the path. It was made of cobblestone but seemed smooth to my bare feet. We could see the city of Minzkala off in the distance.

  It resembled Rhalas, but it was larger. The stones were white, not gray, and there were specks of black and glints of gold throughout. The archways to the city were covered in Wisteria and Trumpet Vine Flowers. The streets were glossed, and the buildings and terraces were pristine, free from the dust and grime that normally gathers in so large a city. I noticed a few people who looked like they were from our world, but the majority were different from us. They were tall and had small, flat noses and wide eyes; and they all had an aura that beamed from their skin, pale blue.

  We walked through a small throne room on the back wall of the city. It was more like a throne for a Knight or a Lord rather than for a King, for it was very small and off to the side. We followed stairs to the Palace Balcony which overlooked the entire city. As we climbed the stairs and entered the Palace, seven Minzkalans stood to attention along the right side of the throne room. They were like the people in the streets. Judging from my father’s inspection of them, they were new to him as well. They wore black chiffon cloaks that were hooded but pulled back. The blue glow was more pronounced now that we were out of the sunlight. They had long white hair, but they looked much younger than people you normally see with whi
te or gray hair. Because of their size, you would have thought the Minzkalans would be heavy and more rigid than men, but they were just the opposite. They were fluid-like, light in their mannerisms, and regal.

  The King was sitting on his throne. As we approached, he stood to his feet to greet us. King Naethan was as tall as a Barbarian and very thick in stature. He wasn’t wearing a cloak like the others. As he stood, he opened his arms as if to welcome my father and me. My father once again placed his hand on my collar, which was also conveniently near his sword hilt. I was never scared, and I didn’t feel that he was either. But he was smart, cautious.

  “Welcome to Minzkala. I am King Naethan,” the King said as he bowed his head toward us. His voice was deep and steady, and it saturated the air around us. But his articulation was softer, revealing a gentle side. He glanced at me with a nod and a smile, not unlike many I had received from my father’s comrades.

  My father, with a light bow, thanked the King for his welcome. I followed his actions and dropped my head low. We walked with the king down a large marbled corridor. The air was cool and crisp, not dank like in many castles. Well, in the only castle I had been before this one. They talked together as adults do, but I was growing tired, and with what little interest I could muster, I examined the artwork and statues that lined the corridor. I heard something about food at one point, and the King said that he was from a place far from Gael, but at the time I didn’t catch the name.

  My father told the king about the attacks on our homes on the continent of Sapir and how we fled to this one, Maralune. He told the King how all the good races in Sapir had been driven out, and about many who were still being held captive in the mines of the Sapiran Highlands.

  And then the King said words that I do remember. The way he stopped in the corridor and the way he looked at my father caught my interest.

  He said, ‘I cannot pretend to know what you have suffered, but we have seen your struggle from afar. That is the reason we have come to Gael. We wish to give you aid.’

  My father asked him how he could trust him after all that he had experienced.

  The King looked saddened and deep in thought. Then he motioned to one of the Council members who had followed us to open the doors to the dining chamber and said, “Trust after so difficult a journey, I would assume, must be earned. All I ask is that you give me the opportunity to earn yours,” he said. Then he paused a moment longer and said, “Do not be afraid.”

  The King led the way into the dining chamber. As we entered, there was a woman standing near the wall as if she had been pacing its length. Like the Council members, she had the blue aura of light. But that was the only similarity. Her hands were folded together and immediately, her eyes met mine. She smiled an aching smile and pursed her lips, drawing a hand up to contain her expression. I don’t know how I knew, but I did. It was my mother. Though I had no picture of her in my mind, her presence, whether it was from the warmth in her eyes or the gladness invoked by her smile, overwhelmed me and I knew it was her. I couldn’t contain myself.

  “Mother!” I cried. Before my father could clasp my collar again, I ran to her. She seemed relieved to find that I recognized her and welcomed me into her embrace.

  “Oh, Takari!” she said with a shaken voice. She held me close and I could tell she was crying. Then she turned her head toward my father. “Phrank.” She loosened me and I came to stand beside her, our hands held. He walked slowly in disbelief. When he stood in front of her, he brushed her cheek with his hand to test his memory against her being. Realizing who she was, he wrapped his arms around her and threw his face into her neck. The King left us to our dinner together. We spent hours there. I didn’t feel sleepy anymore, at least not for some time.

  Because I was almost eight, and since we were with her, my father allowed me to hear the story of what had happened to her. She had been near the vineyards when the Caliginian soldiers came to our town. That is what the Digvi’ja called themselves when I was a boy. The Caliginos began to burn the ground huts around the village and managed to grapple their way to the hanging bridgeways. Their armor was fiercely strong and deflected most of the strikes from our Archers.

  There were many Caliginian Warlords who had mastered the art of magic. And even without this advantage, their numbers were too great for our small village. Red-faced mongrels, my father called them. They set everything on fire, killed any Elf they crossed, and took at least two prisoners each from the young and the women. They tied them to the sides of the Itzcoas, bullish lizards they used for land mounts. My mother was being hunted when my father reached her. One of the Caliginian warriors who had only retrieved one prisoner saw my mother run into the vineyard. He was greedy and had just entered the vineyard when my father came upon his Itzcoa.

  My father freed the teenage boy and told him to run. Then, as he ran toward the vineyard, the Caliginian warrior met him near the edge carrying my mother. My father drew his sword, knowing that the arrows had proven weak against the armor of the Caliginos; however, the weight of the armor slowed the beast. With great skill, my father hewed him down and ran to where he had dropped my mother. But as he was cutting the ropes from her wrists, a second Caliginian warrior circled around.

  My mother saw the warrior coming through the smoke and tried to warn my father. She pushed him back toward the village, trying to tell him they could cut the ropes once they were safe. As she did, the arrow from the warrior’s crossbow struck her and she fell dead instantly. Seeing my father’s face turn in his direction, and with no time to reload, the warrior sped off to catch up with the rest of his group, letting loose a snarly laugh. My father held her, limp in his arms.

  I had been alone. I knew not to go out of our hut, but I could see the fire coming through the roof and began to cry out for my mother. That was when my father came in and took me away. Of all the stories they told me in Minzkala, that’s the one I remember most.

  We spent most of our time there, nearly twenty days, with my mother. I was told early on that I would have to go with my father and that my mother would be going back to the home of the Ancients. That is what the King and his people call themselves, Ancients. I remember almost mourning all over again after they first told me we would be separated again. But the pain lessened over the next few days and I knew I had to be strong, like my father.

  After King Naethan insisted my father allow me, I started to go out in the afternoons to explore the city. I followed corridors that led through the side walls of the city and into the temples and magician’s towers. I looked out over the walls and saw creatures unlike any of the creatures in Gael. A few reminded me of the noble beasts I had heard about in stories or read about in books. One of the Council members arranged for me to fly on a giant bird he called a Roc.

  After dinner each night, my mother and father would sit with me near the hearth in the guest quarters. She told me stories of my early childhood and recalled her love for me. She wanted to make sure that I knew how she felt. I memorized her face during these times.

  Then the day came when my father and I had to leave. The men in Rhalas would be concerned over our delay already. King Naethan gave my father some gifts, among them, a sketch of my mother made by one of the townspeople. He also gave him a special knife, made from a metal that could not be found in all of Gael. We said our sorrowful farewells and left the magical city of Minzkala. We set out for Rhalas with only a slight detour south, here, through Evergrove.

  And once the Elven leaders made the journey back with us, they unanimously decided to make Evergrove our new home and to call our city Jalathiel, after the maiden who became the first queen of the Forest Elves many years ago in Sapir. But that is another story for another time. Now, it is time for all young men to sleep.

  Three

  The Digvi’ja and the Enchantress

  The Ancients

  What’s happening to me? The Digvi’jan Warlord thought to himse
lf. Milayne’s body trembled from within, and he felt as if there was someone watching him. There was definitely another presence in the room, a frightened presence. As soon as he noticed it, it was gone.

  “Whoa!” another Warlord, Greshan, exclaimed as he now felt the presence. It was coming from within him, but how?

  When the one called Kraevit noticed what was going on, he looked intently at Greshan. He focused his attention and raised his arms. From his red-skinned hands, a blue electrical pulse flowed into Greshan’s body.

  At the end of the pulse, a sphere of blue light was formed and surrounded Greshan. Kraevit then pulled the sphere to the side of Greshan, and they could now see, trapped inside, an Enchantress.

  “Remove the jewelry from her head and arms,” Kraevit told them. They did as they were instructed, taking the golden pieces from her head, cutting them from her arms.

  Milayne and Greshan took her by the hands. Kraevit released his magic from the girl. As soon as he did, she freed an arm and grabbed a dagger hidden in her side. She swung the blade into the side of Milayne’s neck, straight into his kill spot. He fell to the floor, his life pouring out.

  Greshan reached around her back and grabbed the wrist holding the dagger. He pulled the other arm behind her to hold her still. Kraevit freed the dagger from her grasp.