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T
he times were cold beneath a sun shrouded by cloud, the people a stream of lava flowing over storied lands where legends boil as blood. And such was the setting of the monumentally unfair pinning of Elgin Durnese. May this tale be a singular posthumous blessing to a man undeserved of the fate cruel Gods inflict on their creations.
Elgin Durnese owned his pride, his courage, his life. Such was his control that on the cold Brightspawn morning when he ventured into a forest, born from the ashed land to give the Elfslayer burns upon his heart and soul, he did not flinch from his task when he came upon an exquisite elven woman escorted by two armed elven knightsmen.
"Elves, your presence would be more appreciated in your city, not here among trees bearing such animosities to your race," said Elgin.
"The trees bear no animosities to any, as you well know. Simple puppets are they to those who hold them," said the first of the knightsmen.
"I've not the time for this talk. Knightsmen, what has taken your minds to allow a woman into these grounds?" asked the Elfslayer.
"Our sister owns our minds and drags us where she wishes, not the opposite," said the second of the knightsmen. Elgin Durnese gazed for the first time upon the face which would carve from his good life a stake of pain. Long hair spun from the brightest starlight framed a featured face of glittering grandeur. Large eyes of ocean's green appraised Elgin as if his horse was a table of display upon which he sat.
"I seek knowledge of the situation which my own King will not make me privy," the lady spoke at last. "Tell me, do you know who I am?" Elgin made a slight bow in his saddle, weathered and used.
"Courna Fiesse, High Seat of House Fiesse," said Elgin. The Lordess nodded her acknowledgment. "The situation is that these lands are in temporary battle-hold. My superiors would not hesitate to destroy elves passing through, however. Twenty men are not enough to guard you."
"Twenty men draw eyes," said Courna.
"Your two drew mine."
"This is true, good horseman. Tell me, why do you not destroy we who pass through battle-held lands?"
"Partly in that this land is saturated with blood, and partly in your person, Lordess."
"You hesitate at the destruction of women? Or simply me."
"An unarmored elven woman traveling in battle-held lands has a story, likely without malice."
"Such a risk to take to explore this story."
"One I would take ten times out of ten."
"We would escort our sister home with her newfound knowledge, good sir," interrupted the first of the knightsmen.
"Wise words," said Elgin. "Ride south two hundred yards and turn southwest. You are assured of avoiding any patrols which would do injustice to your sister." The two knightsmen nodded after moments of speculation.
"Worn have these times become, sir," said Courna in parting. "Lives are a thread alone, but strengthened as they are woven with those who would do good. My spirit is strengthened now that your thread has joined with mine. An odd feeling for one I know little about. May my eyes behold yours again." And with these extraordinary words, Courna Fiesse, High Seat of House Fiesse, turned south with her knightsmen brothers and rode gracefully away.
Such a speech as this has left many a man at the mercy of the devious gender, and the unfortunate Elgin Durnese was no exception. It seemed hours before Elgin turned from his spot and rejoined the Guard.
T
he heart is always susceptible to victimization by love. The most stony, distant, and cold person needs only the right blend of personage and words to drive weapons beneath his armor. Elgin Durnese was not stony, distant, and cold. No, the Elfslayer was closed, but kind, and so greatly at risk to love's piercings. Courna Fiesse occupied Elgin's thoughts as worms occupy the earth, burrowing and tunneling.
Elgin sat among his comrades at a longtable in a tavern by the Caelyth docks. As was interminably the case, the conversation dwelled on the war and it's circumstances. Elgin could but nibble at the repast before him, words from his fellows' lips sliding past his consciousness more often than not. That is until a hard shove on his shoulder roused him from his dreams.
"Elgin!" yelled Rashaun Dek, a Horseman in Elgin's company. "Your mind's elsewhere. Do tell us where."
Elgin stared stonily at Rashaun for some moments. If he was to endure another night of war-talk, he decided to make use of that talk. "What do you know of the Houses arrayed against us?"
The companions at Elgin's longtable shared bewildered looks and many spoke as one. "You know as much as we, for we've talked of it often," or words to similar effect.
"I know only their names and stations, not their minds," Elgin returned. His desire was heavy to learn of House Fiesse and its Lordess.
"Do any of us know the minds of elves?" asked a still bewildered Rashaun.
"Oh I certainly do!" spouted one of the newer recruits, a soldier named Nurrin. "They have dark feelings and sinister ways. They wish for our blood to feed the trees in their groves, I've been told."
Elgin passed over this babble as he did back when he was a new recruit and endured the fanciful speculations of bunkmates. "For example, I know that more than one House is headed by a woman. Are the elves weaker because of this?"
"Most certainly they are!" shouted the young Nurrin. A fierce veteran by the name of Norton glared at the fool boy.
"I have heard the female hearts of elves are as stony as those of the males," Norton growled in his gravely voice. "Letice Duraniis and Courna Fiesse are known as strong souls who always manage to find their wills achieved."
Elgin smiled inwardly at that. Norton was a longtime friend of his and always one he approached with questions. Answers from Norton weren't always accurate, but there was a focus about his friend that Elgin drew from.
"Of House Duraniis, I've heard much. Letice is an overpowering woman with great presence of self. I know little of Courna, however." Elgin hoped to gain at least as much insight into the woman as he had into Letice.
"Courna Fiesse is to be married to Jenin, Second Seat of House Chituse," Norton announced around the chunks of meat in his mouth. "A stunning woman I've heard, and much like Letice in both her self-confidence and ambition."
Afterward, Elgin hoped that his disappointment had not shown on his face, and that his actions were not as readable as the open book that he felt. Having heard Norton's statements of fact, Elgin had pushed away his plate and excused himself. Later, seated in his apartment in the main guardhouse, Elgin dwelled on his misfortune and the actions he would take to rectify the situation.
Unfortunately for this man, a fog took his mind as is often the case with love, and foolish notions entered his thoughts. He formed a plot to send forth a message to the Lordess Fiesse with a date and place in which they could meet. To send such a message would require a discreet messenger of the type only his longtime friend Norton could supply.
"I know of one trustworthy Sneak that you might try," Norton said with obvious skepticism upon Elgin's completed request.
"Take me to him. The compensation I shall offer will be enough to gain any ounces of trust he's reluctant to give," Elgin said with a confidence he did not feel.
Norton led him to a back alley near the docks and removed meaningless pieces of discarded wooden and metallic objects from their positions against one wall. This uncovered a small hole into which Norton dropped a small red ball. A few moments passed.
"Norton," whispered a voice from the shadows of the opposite wall.
"I have business for you, Crimson Sneak," Norton said, turning toward the voice. "My companion requires your services."
"I wish you to carry a message to a noble elven House," Elgin said quickly.
"Four danus," the voice whispered.
"I will give you eight for absolute secrecy and discreet delivery into the Lordess Courna Fiesse's hand herself."
"Done," hissed the voice. "Put the message and payment on the ground and leave." Elgin quickly did as instructed, leaving with Norton on his boot heels.
Read part 2 here: "The Tragedy of Elfslayer: Part II"
Copyright © 2000, Matt Ackerman