User blog:Leea/The Tale of Voronwe, Chapter 11

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1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th

4th Era 100, 24th of First Seed, Pyandonea
"I told you, I'm going on a mission for His Majesty. I need a steed to get me to my objective."

The Harbor Guardsman looked doubtfull. "But you just said you're going to Summerset Isle."

Markadil folded his arms. "That's right."

"I wasn't informed of any missions to the Isle."

Markadil scowled. "Then that's due to either your Captain's incompetence, or your own. I have authorization from King Orgnum himself. Now, are you going to comply, or do I have to call--"

The Guardsman didn't budge. "I'm not letting you take anything until I see proper authorization."

In rage and frustration, the assassin threw back his hood, revealing the emblem of his guild clasped at his throat. "I am the leader of the Sea Serpents, fool. I am not a petty thief!"

The Guardsman was still unmoved, staring at the assassin. "So? You can flaunt your badge and title all you want, but for all I know, you could be one of the rebels in disguise."

To get a formal parchment signed would take some time, as the King was always busy with matters that needed his attention. Although he thought quite seriously about it, Markadil decided not to kill this man, as there could be other Guardsmen about, and attacking one without good reason would net him jail time, or, worse, stripped of his title and (future) glory. No, better to just actually present to this Guard a paper signed by the King himself. Gritting his teeth and spitting out the words with some difficulty, he said, "Fine. I'll return with the paper." Nodding his acsent, the Guardsman watched as Markadil stormed off in the direction of the palace, shaking his head and muttering to himself, "Prissy prick."

* * *

Stomping towards the palace, Markadil cursed the Guardsman under his breath. "Fool should know his place. Should know these orders are from the King himself. Should know..."

A little boy ran up, but he paid him no attention. "Sir!"

The assassin flipped his hand at the boy. "Not now. Go beg alms from someone else."

The child was undeterred. "But sir! I have your papers!"

Stopping short, Markadil turned around and faced the lad. "Papers?"

"Yes. The authorization papers for the docks!"

He scowled at the boy. "Where did you get these?" he asked, thumbing through the pages. There, on the last page, was the King's signature.

"I was sent by Imasthil."

He remembered the name of the royal secretary. But why was he sending such important documents via a common boy, and not the official courier? No matter. He was eager to begin his journey, so he accepted the papers. "Thank you, boy."

He bowed at the waist. "You're welcome, sir."

* * *

Back at the docks, Markadil faced the same Harbor Guardsman again and handed him the papers. "Here's what you asked for," he said, though he had a hard time stopping himself from folding his arms and tapping his feet in impatience, as the Guard seemed pleased to keep him waiting as long as possible, slowly flipping the pages. As he got to the last page, the Guard reshuffled the papers and handed them back to the assassin. "Very well, sir. You may proceed to the Royal Stables."

Yanking back the papers, Markadil huffed and said, "When I come back, I expect more reverence on your part!"

The Guardsman stared at him. "I'm just doing my job, sir."

Leaning on his greatsword, the Guard continued to watch the direction in which Markadil headed. He whispered to a Guard that walked up behind him. "Balachil?"

The familiar deep voice replied, "Yeah."

"Good thing little Pelano came with the papers in time, and that Felendur is such a good forger. He didn't need any papers, the word already came through."

"Right. Had he made it to the palace before the forgeries were finished and delivered, we would have been exposed."

"And I don't think I can lie as crafty as that."

Balachil laughed. "No, Nerien, I couldn't either." After his laughter died down, he asked, "You think that pompous little man is a match for our leader?"

"No way. He strikes me as the type that would surender if his armor got a scratch on it. Besides, Balasian is cunning and quick-witted. This fool could never harm him. He's delusional."

Sheathing his greatsword, Nerien glanced back at Balachil. "Have the others gotten word?"

He smiled. "Yes. The little fiasco with him needing papers gave us enough time to spread the information to the rest of us about Balasian's location. Some of us want to send out some members to look out for him, but there is resistance to this idea by many."

Nerien frowned. "Not such a good idea. I can understand why some would want to, but it would just lead more of the King's men to his doorstep, looking for the missing Sea Elves."

The other Elf nodded. "I know." He paused. "Has anyone seen Orthendar?"

Nerien shook his head. "No, and that worries me. The last time anyone saw him, he was headed for the Sea Serpent's headquarters yesterday afternoon."

Balachil frowned, puzzled. "From what I heard, he was supposed to be the replacement for Markadil should he have displeased the King." He blanched. "Wait, you don't think--"

Nerien interupted, "Personally? I don't know. Even if the worst had fallen on Orthendar, at least it hasn't reached the King's ears, or we would have known by now."

He nodded slowly. "True." Looking out over the water, wisps of his blond hair escaped from under his helmet, blowing across his face in the gentle breeze. Taking off his helmet and setting it on the dock, he began to rebraid his hair while he asked Nerien how long he thought Balasian would be gone.

Nerien looked over with a grimace on his delicately featured face. "As long as he needs to. His mission - our mission - will still go on, even if he never returns." He paused, narrowing his eyes. "You have doubts?"

Having finished braiding his hair, Balachil adjusted his helm over his head once more. "No, I am as firm as the day I started, but others may have them."

An angry sound came from the depths of Nerien's throat. "Anyone who has had someone they know and cared for sacrificed to keep Orgnum youthful will never give up the cause."

Balachil sighed before answering. "I know. That's one of the main - if not the main - cause for this push for freedom, but I joined and support Balasian because I want to see the Ban lifted, so that we can see the world once more, not sequestered here by law. See new people, places we've never been since the beginning of our race. I'd always wanted to see the Throat of the World in Skyrim."

Nerien nodded slightly. "I've read a little about that. Supposedly the tallest mountain in the world."

"Yeah. I would have also liked to see the Red Mountain, but that blew up before I was born," Balachil replied, a wistful smile playing across his lips.

Watching out of the corner of his eye, Nerien said, "Let's continue our rounds together. I don't want anyone, much less the Captain, to see us just standing here and talking. Much less about this, even though this port is empty at this time of day."

He grunted. "Good idea."

Walking to the North Harbor, which was by far the slowest port, both Guardsmen stopped and looked out over the ocean. Far away, just barely visible, was a line somewhat higher than the rest of the horizon.

"You know," said Balachil - who didn't bother to whisper, as this part of the harbor was more or less abandoned and barely patrolled, "I used to look at Summerset over there and feel envy for the High Elves, but now looking at it, I feel hope, because Balasian has escaped his execution and is hiding over there," gesturing over to the fine line seeming to hover over the water.

Nerien nodded. "Never has it seemed so close, yet so far away." He paused. "While you would like the Ban lifted, which is a good cause in of itself, too many of us have been sacrificed so Orgnum can keep his youth," his eyes watered, but his voice remained steady. "Three years its been since Anwe was used for his rituals."

Balachil's eyebrows rose up his forehead. "I thought that he only used criminals nowadays."

The other Guardsman glared at him, gritting his teeth, making the muscles in his jaw bunch. "She had done nothing wrong, other than refuse to sleep with him."

His white skin paled further, becoming nearly colorless. "That is extraordinarily petty," Balachil replied, shocked.

The pauldrons of his armor rising and falling as he rolled his shoulders, Nerien replied quietly, "It is. He's so used to getting his way by his brainwashed followers, he decided to punish my sister by getting another form of enjoyment from her: more youth. He looks like he's 16, yet she will never live another day." Taking off his helmet, he held it in the other hand as he ran his fingers through his silver hair. "Its time for Orgnum to die, and his policies with him."

"Cheers to that," Balachil said softly, raising an imaginary flagon.

Sighing deeply, Nerien brushed back his hair and replaced the helm back on his head, and cleared his throat. "We should go back the other way before we are missed," and they both turned and headed back in the other direction.