Fey'ted Thrones VIII
The Fey in front of him made him uncomfortable, but so did those marching beside and behind him. Alhandro knew his position in their center to was to protect him from unwanted attack, but the feeling of being trapped was making it difficult to breathe.
None of them had been anything but polite to him, but none had gone any further. He wasn't sure what Lomir had said to the other Fey to get them to agree to this plan – he hadn't been permitted to attend the meeting – but it was clear that there was some division on the issue.
Earth Fey were notably absent from the group as it marched, though Water, Fire and Air were all represented. He had never seen Fey in full battle armor before, and he had to admit that the sight was stunning. There was no uniformity as one might find in an army of his people, but instead sweeping shoulder plates, massive helms and cruel-looking weapons that seemed a matter of personal preference and significance rather than derived from a standard form.
The Fey were substantially different than his own people in that regard; as half-King, he had been expected to make many decisions that would affect hundreds or even thousands of people, all without the aid of a council or equal. Pyulon had been poor advice at the best of times, but he had still spoken to his Fey adviser on occasion out of desperation more than anything else.
What he had learned in his short time in the Fey realm was that their structure was much more egalitarian than what he was used to. Lomir was called Mystral, which, by his actions, equated to first among equals. The older Air Fey could not make major decisions for the entire group without convening a meeting first, and even then had mentioned to Alhandro that getting others to agree – especially the Earth Fey- was a difficult task.
He stepped quickly to the side to avoid the barbed spike-tip of a Water Fey to his right. The near miss hadn't been intentional; there were simply so many of them jammed on to the path that accidents were bound to happen.
The path the used – calling it a road did not suit its nature – was thin, smooth and flat. Alhandrao had seen no stones or grass along its length and while there were trees on either side of it which passed by at regular intervals, their gait was leisurely for an army on the move. He had asked Lomir about it the last time he had seen the Fey, but his answer had been cryptic.
“Distance is no bar to us. Desire, however, limits our speed,” Lomir had said, and would not speak of it again when asked.
He sighed. Lomir had become increasingly distant over the last few days of marching, and while Alhnadro could understand why, it did not change the fact that it left him alone once again. That loneliness was something he was used to, but the elder Fey had been intelligent and kind, and he found himself wishing for someone to speak to. Lomir bore the burden of bringing him here without the permission of the others, and it appeared that he now had to make sacrifices to keep the others of his kind happy.
“That's an impressive weapon you have, good Fey,” he said to the swirling liquid mass beside him. It was banal, but he needed something to take his mind off of the war his brother intended to start, something to distract him from the conflict that was coming.
A watery head swiveled on its rippling body. “Thank you.” The voice was shard-like, each word seeming to come from multiple speakers, which together formed a subtle harmony.
“How is you carry no weapons, half-King?” The Fey asked, and Alhandro spread his hands.
“My training lies in the sword, which was taken from me on my capture. Other weapons I have less familiarity with,” he dropped his voice, “and I hardly need something else to set me apart in your realm.”
The was a sound of rippling water that he took a moment to identify as a laughter.
“I am Rusthis. My people were displeased at your appearance here, but I knew such a thing must happen eventually.” He hefted his polearm above his swirling head. “The traitor king will pay, as will the slimy Fey who helped him.”
Alhandro knew Rusthis spoke of Pyulon, and there was an underlying concern there. None of the Earth Fey had accompanied them, and there was real worry that they would choose to join the traitor in the realm above. A war between the Fey had not happened in centuries, but was not unprecedented.
“Halt!” A voice called from the front of the group, and the line came to a ragged stop.
Above them, Lomir and two winged guards flew, each in a set of burnished golden armor. There could be no question of who was in charge when the feathered Mystral was present, but he seemed unwilling to use that power for fear that others would take it away from him. It was a shame; Lomir could accomplish much more if he simply gave in to the position and power he had been assigned.
“We have arrived!” Lomir cried out. “We wait until nightfall, and make the crossing. Each is responsible for their own arrival in the other world, and each must understand the risks in doing so.” He swept low to the crowd. “Many of you have never left our realm, and with good reason – not all we do has logical consequence above. Use discretion, use sensibility, and do not allow yourselves to become provoked. The traitor and his minion will be arriving soon with their armies, and we must be prepared to engage them. Galtara will not fall so easily as was thought.”
- D
No comments:
Post a Comment