User blog:Leea/The Tale of Voronwe, Chapter 6

Previous Chapters
1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th

4th Era 100, 22nd of First Seed, Summerset Isle
"Okay, now wrap the wire around this end here," Balasian said, pointing to the other end of the shell. He had hewed many shells by the fire every night for the past two weeks, getting ready to teach Curwe how to create a set of armor out of them. They had to be a perfect diamond shape, with little notches near the ends for the wire to cling to, or the design wouldn't work. Although eager to learn, she had a hard time at first figuring out how to attach the first shell, but picked up the pattern pretty good after that.

Holding the cuirass gently, Curwe wrapped the thin wire around the shell plates, creating an armor that would deflect a sword blow, but not crack the shells or bend the wire. He scrutinized the work. "Okay, you're done with the chest. Now you need an undershirt, greaves, gauntlets, boots and a helmet."

Looking up from the finished piece, the pride in her face dimmed a little. "Why all the other pieces? Are we going to war?"

"I thought you said you wanted to craft the Harbor Guard armor."

"I did."

"Well, just a chest piece isn't going to do you any good if your head, hands, and feet get mangled by swords and arrows."

"What if they just dodged the arrows and ran away?"

"Then you'd be caught by the swordsmen. I hope I don't need to tell you that arrows shot from tempered bows go a lot faster and farther than arrows shot from softwood Imperial training bows. Not to mention razor sharp swords, some of which can be enchanted. They're much deadlier than wooden or dulled iron practice swords, I assure you."

Letting out a grumbling sigh, she said, "Fine. I see your point. Can we take a break, though? The tips of my fingers are numb."

Standing up from the kitchen table, where they had been working, Balasian stretched his muscles. Offering her his hand, he said, "Sure, but the armor's undershirt has to be completed today, because I've already got the shell pieces and material you need by the table."

Taking his hand and pulling herself up, she remarked, "So, that's what that box was...."

Heading outside, Balasian and Curwe took a stroll in the apple orchard. "I've been meaning to ask, what's the land like in Pyandonea? I've heard that it's marshy."

Glancing over, he replied, "You're right. There are places on the island that are marshy, but there are also comparatively dry areas, like the forests."

"So you need wading boots most of the time?"

He chuckled. "Only in certain places. You don't necessarily need wading boots, but your shoes must be waterproof. There are totally dry areas, though, like the harbors, as they are made almost entirely of coral."

"Sounds like it is beautiful," she mused.

He sighed before replying. "It is."

She stopped walking and turned him to face her. "You sound like you really miss your homeland."

He looked into her face. "I do," he replied, "But I can never go back. Orgnum and his council made it quite clear that I'm not welcome there anymore."

Puzzled, she asked, "Because you told the King you had different views?"

He shook his head slightly. "Yes and no. I was also because I had been speaking publicly, and gained a following."

"So you were a rival faction."

"Yes. We seek...well, we sought...to become allies with the other races of Elves, and set up trade agreements with the humans."

Curwe looked suspiciously at him. "You mean like the Aldmeri Dominion?"

Balasian looked both shocked and disgusted. "No! No, no, no. Of course not. They seek do dominate everyone. What we sought was friendship between all races of the world, regardless of man, Elf, or beastfolk. There should have been no quibbling about race, anyway. We all came from the same place, Ehlnofey. Both men and Elves."

Wonder came over her face. "You're very open minded. That sounds sort of like the Empire."

He smiled. "Sort of, but with more freedom, everyone to rule their own country as they see fit, but still a unity among everyone. Orgnum didn't like that idea, as you can see. He wants to be like the Aldmeri Dominion, himself."

After a pause, she hesitatingly asked, "What happened to...what do you think happened to your followers?"

Looking down at his feet, he mulled over the question. She waited patiently.

"I don't know. I hope no one became...vocal. I hope they continued to hide, in plain sight."

"Your followers were from all walks of life, then?"

He looked back up into her face again. "Yes. Even a few in the Royal Guard: the King's personal guards."

Sighing, and not quite knowing what to say, Curwe gently laid her hand on his arm, hoping she'd say something to help put his mind at rest. "If they've got as much will and focus as you, I'm sure they'll make out fine."

Managing a small smile, he nodded a little. She continued. "I'm ready to finish my lesson."

* * *

Working late into the night, Balasian led Curwe through the weaving of the undershirt of the armor set, which was made from fibers harvested from excretions of bearded mussels. Woven into the fabric on the forearms was shell plates of identical size and shape to those that were wired into the cuirass, appearing almost like scales of a sea serpent. "Good, you're done. Now, we'll do the greaves tomorrow."

Glancing up from the supple and soft shirt, Curwe asked, "Why so fast? We're in a race, or something?"

"No. But it is better to do these things while you're 'on a roll,' so to speak. You lay this to the side for too long and the desire to go all the way with the project can drain from you pretty quickly."

"You have all the materials ready, I suppose?"

He smiled. "I'd never leave you hanging. They're all right here in this other box." and patted the box under his chair.

"So, I guess I'll see you tomorrow," Curwe said, yawning, as they walked down the hallway to their respective bedrooms. Pausing at his own door, he called to Curwe, who had continued on, "You too. Good night."

* * *

There was blue all around him. Above, below, left and right. He was sinking in it, the shafts of the lighter blue and white growing dimmer as he sank deeper and deeper. Fighting through the pain in his side, Balasian pushed his way to the surface of the water, gasping for breath when he broke into the air. As his head emerged from the water, instantly numerous arrows were shot at his position, all seeking to gain purchase. Ducking his head and shoulders down under instantly, the arrows slowed down considerably when they touched the ocean and missed their mark. Swimming beneath the waves, he found it difficult to swim with the arrow shaft sticking out a considerable length from his side. Emerging on the other side of the boat, where the archers couldn't see him, he pondered his next move. The arrow would have to be dealt with, but he knew no healing spells; he was never taught any. He didn't want a gaping hole in his chest left by the pulling of the arrow, either. It actually stopped some of the leaking blood, but the shaft was impeding his progress in the water. Leaning against the hull, he steadied himself as best he could in the rolling waves and snapped off the shaft near the puncture site, the action sending a fresh new wave of pain. Gritting his teeth against the agony, he looked off to the left of the boat hull. A passing Harbor Guard was riding his steed in the other direction. A plan began to formulate in his mind.

Ducking under the waves again, he quietly made it to the edge of the other side of the harbor and pulled himself up on an empty gangway. One of the common fog waves rolled in just as he pulled himself up out of the water. Annoying and potentially dangerous when you were on a ship, perfect if you were trying to evade someone, like now. Crouching as the steed and mounted Guard passed by, Balasian quickly cast a paralysis spell on the beast, and leaped astride the Guard before he could respond. Wrapping his hands around the Guard's head, he gave a powerful twist and the man limply slid off the steed as if he suddenly had no bones. Gripping the reins just as the spell wore off, he turned it to the North as the sea serpent sped off in panic with all speed.

* * *

Waking up with a jolt, he realized that he was sitting up in bed, gripping the end bedposts as if they were reins. Sighing, he released his grip and lying back in bed, combing his fingers through his white hair. How long would he keep having these dreams? Two weeks now, and they haunted him almost every night. One time of reliving his escape was bad enough, but every other night? Perhaps his former King had cursed him to be thrall to Vaermina. Maybe it was guilty conscience for killing fellow Maormer. He didn't know if it was either, or something had hadn't even thought of.

Rolling over, he faced the wall and stared at it until is eyes grew heavy with sleep, and the dreams did not bother him for the rest of the night.