As Alpha and Bravo flew through the catacombs, the temperature outside plummeted. Mala covered Felsted’s face and head with a Nirosk veil he carried with him for his own purposes. The veil, span from Caldomede spiders’ silk, allowed the wearer, assuming their mind was adequately prepared and receptive, to see and even feel, the colour of a soul. A very helpful advantage when living the life of a blind pilgrim. From the outside, the veil made it impossible to see the face of its wearer.
The Nirosk, were held in such high regard for their power of prayer and meditation, that the Association of Eastern Caldomede Merchants had for centuries, awarded their patronage exclusively to the sect. Consequently, Nirosk pilgrims were revered throughout the Elvish kingdoms and left alone when they visited the sacred Citadel of Monikadia.
The punishment for harming them, or forcibly removing their veil, was hanging.
The only thing worse than removing their veil was impersonating them — this was equated to spying for the Lawcundali and would not simply result in hanging but would mean the perpetrator would be handed over to King Theobald’s Master Torturer – a mountain born, cave dwelling elf popularly known as Hagan the Monster, the only elf thought to be older than Felsted.
No living soul had ever seen Hagan’s face. Queen Didriana, King Thobald’s deceased mother, was the only one to have ever looked upon him and to not have been killed by him. She had personally asked him to serve her after her army had been prevented passing through Sessa Gorge by ‘a crazed monster,’ who had killed her ten champions — these occurrences happening long before Felsted’s service.
The Queen, herself not a Elven (female elf), to be told that she would have to make a detour, ordered her scouts take her into the Gorge to confront this ‘monster,’ dismissing their objections with a wave of her hand. Queen Didriana, who among many talents had the gift of voice — she could sing like an angel — walked into the pass singing an ancient warrior ode to the dead.
Quite why she did this remains a mystery and part of the legend around this meeting; but whatever strange enchantment Didriana carried in her voice captivated Hagan. For it was that day he left the caves of Sessa Gorge and, wearing the Nirosk veil gifted to him by the Queen, served her faithfully from that day until the day she died.
Many believed that Hagan would leave the Royal service when the Queen died — it was an open secret that the Master Torturer did not have the same passion for the Queens son as he had for her. However, for reasons he kept hidden from all — even the reflective — he chose to remain in the Kings service.
Snow now filled the entrance to the abandoned watchtower so much so that Mala decided to carry the weakened Felsted up the old spiral staircase, in case the snow buried them in their sleep.
The wind howled like Langtusk ghosts — subterranean boars it is said the Dwarves used to move the mountains of earth as they built the now so called, Dead City.
It was during this blizzard that two Citadel guards, were virtually blown into the abandoned tower whilst attempting to carry out their midnight patrol.
“This is the worst storm I have ever seen Swampo. Those Lawcundali must be waking and pulling their moon closer to Elthenia or something.”
“Rubbish. You island elves are all the same, Glitch. Spend all your youth gazing at the stars and you miss what’s going on around you,” said Swampo, an older grey-haired elf with a particularly miserable face, particularly in contrast to the young muscular, dark complexion of Glitch.
Swampo slammed his boots into the tower steps and slapped his shoulders in an attempt to keep warm.
“You look like a penguin,” said Glitch smiling at his older comrade.
“Oy, less of your cheek young-an.”
“Sorry Swampo; but everything is written in the stars, everyone knows that” said Glitch, who did some squats to warm himself up.
They were covered in so many layers that they could hardly see out from their hooded armour. Mala, who on hearing the guards approaching had thrown his cloak over Felsted, now remained as still as the stone walls. However, when he heard the guards removing their hoods and helmet armour, he knew that he and Felsted were bound to be seen, he braced himself with the story he had prepared.
“Ello, ello, ello, look-e here. We have a couple of trespassers, Glitch.”
“Pray fellow Guardian’s,” said Mala, “we are not trespassers. My friend here is a Nirosk pilgrim, you can see by his veil. I am a veteran of the Lawcundali wars.”
Swampo huffed a sound that translated into a mixture of disbelief and irrelevance. “What’s the matter with the pilgrim?” Swampo snapped at Mala.
“He is suffering from the cold Sir. That’s why I brought him in here to escape the blizzard.”
“Why bring him here? Why did you not take him to your home?” asked Glitch, his younger voice containing the unmistakable tone of natural kindness.
“Because, I have no home kind sir,” replied Mala. “Now I am out of the Kings service, I cannot afford my medicine. Sometimes the pilgrims take pity on me, blind beggar as I am.”
Swampo, who had grunted a ‘sounds familiar,’ snort when Mala described his plight, ventured closer to the pilgrim. “Can he talk?” Swampo asked the veteran, nodding towards Felsted.
“Yes, but not for the last few hours. In all honesty brother’s, I’m not sure he will survive the night.”
“We are not your brothers,” said Swampo briskly taking young Glitch by the arm and dragging him to the side, away from Mala and Felsted.
“How do we know any of this is true?” Swampo asked his young comrade, trying to speak quietly but struggling against the howling choir of phantoms that was the wind. “The blind one doesn’t look like much of a warrior to me, and the other one doesn’t smell like one of those Nirosk pilgrims.”
“How do they smell Swampo?” Glitch asked his older associate, as he looked back at the homeless elves. “The Nirosk smell clean,” said Swampo. “Whereas this one smells dirty. We should leave em here. Homeless elves are not our problem.”
“Surely not Swampo?” protested Glitch, albeit hesitantly.
“Brothers, I say, for are we not taught the day we become elite warriors, that we enter a brotherhood? Brothers, if you wish not to take me, granted. But this Pilgrim here, if he is found frozen to death in the jurisdiction of the Citadel, the Association of Merchants will seek punishment and surely Telasupricia will find out who was on patrol this night?”
The logic and rational of this blind elf both surprised and silenced Swampo and Glitch. Swampo deepened the furrow between his eyebrows, pulling out words and phrases such as ‘reward’, ‘avoiding punishment’ and ‘promotion’ — ideas that had instantly taken root in the cultivation of his thoughts as the blind elf spoke.
“We should take them in Glitch,” said Swampo suddenly. “Like I said, you carry our blind brother here and I’ll carry the Pilgrim. Come on with you lad. We don’t want this Nirosk monk dying on our watch.” Glitch looked confused, as if he had missed a chapter in a book and couldn’t fill in the gaps. But, as a particularly heavy rush of snow poured through the open doorway, he gave up trying to work out whose idea it was to help the homeless elves and simply lifted Mala onto his shoulder. Swampo carrying the pilgrim out of the watchtower ahead of Glitch. Both guardians, made their way back to the garrison barracks.
These particular barracks were built behind the northern inner-city wall that continued around the entire Citadel. On each measure of the compass, a wall from the inner circle extended through the miasma of houses, arcades, and alleyways that had grown like fungus on every inch of the elf city.
As Swampo and Glitch burst through the doorway to the northern wall barracks carrying their passengers, a gust of snow swept after them like a frozen flame leaping from an ice dragon’s mouth.
“Close those damn doors!” Screamed the Chief Guardian of the watch, Claudexter Bain. One of the guards drinking at the regiment bar closed the doors as Swampo and Glitch lowered their passengers on the round table. Several of the Guardians who had been playing cards leapt from the table and instinctively drew their swords. “What in Lord Boden’s name is going on here?” Yelled Claudexter to the two guards as they brushed the snow from themselves — the guardhouse bar staff sweeping up the dispatched snow with such speed that the whole scene looked rehearsed.
Explanations given, Glitch and Swampo stood to attention before the Chief.
Swampo, grinning smugly, half expecting a good conduct medal whilst Glitch was still trying to work out whose idea it had been to bring the two homeless elves into the barracks.
“So, from what you say Swampo, it was your idea to bring these two in here?” Claudaxter said, looking into the elf’s eyes accusingly. Suddenly reading that things may not unravel as he had expected, Swampo paused before he replied. “Well, it was more of an act of… compassion, you might say Chief,” said Swampo trying unsuccessfully to read the mood of Claudaxter and the other guardians who remained with their swords drawn and their impassive eyes fixed on the two soldiers and their prisoners.
“I mean, what with the Nirosk pilgrim looking like he was at deaths door, I… that is we thought it would be, better…”
“If he died in the company barracks?” barked Chief Claudexter, finishing off Swampos rationale.
“Yes sir, I mean no sir,” replied Swampo, suddenly realizing he had made a massive mistake listening to Glitch, or was it the blind elf? “Sir, Glitch said,”
“Glitch?” Screamed the chief, “Are we now blaming Glitch for having the idea of bringing this pilgrim and his blind, homeless guide into the Citadel’s barracks?”
“Well, I think that may be a fair assessment sir, yes,” replied Swampo, looking towards the ceiling rather than into Claudexter’s torch-like gaze that then slowly turned on its accusatory axle towards Glitches puzzled expression.
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