Path of Dragons-Chapter 83Book 8: : Truce

Miguel felt like a prisoner.

He knew he wasn’t one. He and the others from Ironshore had been guaranteed safe passage, and according to Ektara, the rules governing diplomacy among the Illythiri were ironclad. However, he couldn’t be surrounded by so many people still considered enemies without feeling a little hemmed in.

“Relax, kid,” Colt said, striding beside him like he didn’t have a care in the world. He’d even found time to clean his hat, though the rest of his armor looked a little worse for wear. Trekking across the Hollow Depths didn’t leave a lot of room for cleanliness. “We’re diplomats. They ain’t gonna to kill us just for walkin’ through their city.”

Miguel wasn’t so sure about that. Eldrathûn was a majestic place, but its people were clearly distrustful of outsiders. Since entering through the gate, he’d felt more than one suspicious – and sometimes hostile – glance aimed in his direction. It made him want to attack the first dark elf he saw.

Illythiri, he reminded himself. They didn’t like that other term, even if it was fairly accurate in terms of describing their appearance. Despite that, he didn’t want to anger his hosts, so he struggled to eliminate the term from his vocabulary.

Instead, he focused on his surroundings. He’d thought he had a good handle on Illythiri architecture, especially after seeing a couple of their forts. However, those structures were not representative of their true preferences. In retrospect, that shouldn’t have been surprising. After all, the forts were wild outposts that used whatever was at hand in their construction. On the surface, that had meant working with the abundant wood in the area, but in the Hollow Depths, they mostly used stone.

By comparison, Eldrathûn’s architecture was unrecognizable. Characterized by thin spires and crystal trim, the buildings were both magical and delicate in terms of appearance.

The people were the true surprise, though. Not because they were alien. With their dark skin ranging in hue from purple to onyx and sharp features, they were definitely that. But they were also strikingly normal. Some were dressed better than others. There were children with dirty cheeks, old men and women with stooped backs, and stout laborers with heavy shoulders.

Once he saw past the most obvious differences, it looked like any other city Miguel had ever visited. In short, it was nothing like what he’d expected based on his previous experiences with the Illythiri.

That put his guard up.

He also noticed a few buildings that were obviously temples. Hastily built and each one bearing a symbol depicting a woman’s silver silhouette superimposed over a crystal spider, they were wholly unexpected. The same was true of the priests who populated them. They were all women, and they wore white robes and elaborate headdresses with rigid spikes that reminded Miguel of a spider’s legs.

Clearly, they had a thing for arachnids.

The trip through the lands settled by the Illythiri had been eye-opening, and not just because he’d seen many such temples along the way. On top of that, he’d been impressed – and a little uneasy – to find that there were thousands upon thousands of the dark-skinned elves in the Hollow Depths. Most weren’t particularly powerful, but that seemed characteristic of any large population. Without danger or an incredible drive to succeed, most people couldn’t really achieve a large amount of power. And the Illythiri, for all their alienness, were no different in that respect.

However, they also had a significant military presence that told Miguel that the force sent to conquer Ironshore was a mere fraction of the power they could bring to bear. If they’d really wanted the city, they could have sent a much, much larger army to conquer it. Even Elijah couldn’t have saved them from that.

But he’d also discovered – after speaking to Ektara a few times – that most Illythiri had no interest in living on the surface. There were an odd few who craved sunlight, but for the most part, they were accustomed to living subterranean lives. The only reason they’d climbed to the surface in the first place was because of the threat on the frontier. Without that, they would have happily built their empire in the Hollow Depths, with only an odd few even climbing to the surface.

He understood what drove them. He hadn’t fought any of the sapient trolls she’d described, but if they were anything like the wild troll he and the rest of his squad had put down, the danger was more than understandable.

In any case, the reason they had been escorted to Irthûn, then teleported – via their own system that they’d built shortly after arrival on Earth – to just outside of Eldrathûn was twofold. First, it was the only way the illythiri would connect to allow the use of the Teleportation Network to travel to any of the surface Branches of the World Tree. And second, Colt thought establishing diplomatic relations with the elves was a good move.

For his part, Miguel was driven by two goals. Certainly, he wanted to go home, to revisit the grove and reunite with Hope. However, he couldn’t deny the call to investigate the frontier and test himself against the trolls he’d heard so much about. It wasn’t smart. He knew that. But he also knew that playing things smart wasn’t always the best way to progress.

Doubtless, his mother would object. She wanted to keep him safe. However, Miguel had chosen the life of a Warrior, and the only way he’d ever be safe was if he grew powerful enough to protect himself and the people he cared about.

Of all people, she should have understood that drive.

“You’re a thousand miles away, kid. Keep your head up. Pay attention,” Colt ordered.

“Yes, sir,” he responded, pushing those thoughts aside and resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. The Blade of the Green Warden had held up far better than his armor, but given its grade, that wasn’t really that surprising. It was a powerful piece of equipment, while his armor was merely good. Had been. Now, it was little better than scrap wood.

He really needed to find a good Woodworker with whom to ally.

The trip through Eldrathûn took almost fifteen minutes, largely because they were forced to travel only as fast as the slowest member of their procession. However, eventually, they reached the large and forbidding palace at the center of the city. Like all the rest of the buildings in Eldrathûn, it was made of crystal and some sort of shiny black stone that looked like onyx. However, it was much higher quality than anything else in the city, with delicate curves that reminded Miguel of snowflakes.

On the grand steps before the palace stretched a deep, purple carpet, at the head of which stood a welcoming party. There were dozens of elves there, but Miguel’s eyes – and presumably everyone else’s – locked onto the woman at the center. She didn’t look that different from many other elven women he’d seen, but the way she carried herself marked her as something entirely apart. It was almost as if she was a different species.

Her white robe was cut similarly to those worn by the priestess, though it was made of far finer material and trimmed with purple scrollwork. Upon her head was a simple, crystal crown inset with an amethyst.

Miguel flicked his eyes to the man beside her. He was tall, even for an elf, with broad shoulders that were accentuated by the black armor he wore. The worn hilt of a sword jutted from his hip, and he held himself with at least as much dignity as the woman.

A different elf stepped forward, and in a bellowing voice that echoed across the city, “The Crystal Throne welcomes you, surface-dwellers. I present to you Empress Siala and her consort, Blademaster Ivin.”

“Be welcome, strangers. We greet you in peace, and peace you shall have until you depart. Break that pact, and the world shall shake with the goddess’ anger. This, I pledge,” said Empress Siala in a voice as clear as a bell.

Colt stepped forward, saying, “I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout goddesses or that sorta thing. I can promise that my people won’t start nothin’, but we’ll damn sure finish it.”

“Then we have an accord. Please, my seneschal will escort you to your quarters where you can rest from your travels. I ask you to join me this evening for dinner,” she said.

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It was not a request, and they all knew it. What’s more, there was no reason to refuse, so Colt nodded, saying that they would attend. In the interim, they followed the seneschal – an older elf with grey hair stretching to the center of his back – to a wing of the palace apparently dedicated to receiving guests. There, they were shown to separate rooms.

Miguel was shocked to find that his temporary quarters was an entire apartment, complete with bathroom facilities, a sitting room, and a bedroom containing the most elaborate bed he’d ever seen.

What’s more, he was even more shocked when a pair of slender elves stepped inside and asked if he needed help bathing. He looked at the pair – one male and the other female – and, with a blush coloring his cheeks, told them that he could take care of it himself.

“We will present appropriate attire for your meeting with the empress, may she live forever,” said the male.

The female echoed, “May she live forever.”

Then, the pair turned and disappeared while Miguel tried to forget how little their thin robes hid of their bodies. Instead, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he stripped off his armor and headed to the bathroom. Once again, he was shocked – this time, to find that the bathroom was more like a spa.

It took him a few moments to figure everything out, but eventually, he managed to work his way through the shower controls. There, he washed away weeks’ worth of dirt, blood, and muck. It took quite a lot of scrubbing until he felt clean enough to chance the tub.

At a touch to the appropriate crystal, it filled with steaming water, into which Miguel gratefully sank. In seconds, he was asleep.

He awoke an hour later when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. He leaped to his feet, grasping at the sword that wasn’t at his hip. Then, seeing that the female attendant was staring at him, he quickly covered himself.

“What are you doing?!” he hissed.

Her eyes flicked down to his waste before the tiniest hint of a smile turned up her purple lips. “I am here to ensure you are prepared for the meeting with the empress, may her existence be eternal,” she said. “Come. Your clothes are prepared.”

“Um…mind turning around?” he asked, still covering himself.

She let out a barely imperceptible sigh. “Of course. Join me when you are…ready.”

After that, she turned on her heel and left him in the bathroom. Once she was gone, Miguel quickly grabbed a towel – thankfully, the notion of a cloth meant to dry oneself seemed fairly universal – and, after using it for its intended purpose, wrapped it around his waste and headed into the other room.

There, he found the elf waiting. On the bed lay an outfit that was, thankfully, not too ostentation or alien. Black pants and a shirt, coupled with a thick jacket that reminded him of a business suit. After insisting that he be left alone to dress himself, Miguel donned the provided outfit, then checked himself in the mirror.

After combing his hair, he decided that he looked mostly presentable.

A short time later, he found himself being led through the palace, having been joined by Isaak, who seemed to have taken extreme care with his appearance. His hair looked like it was held in place by cement.

Miguel shook his head at that, but he didn’t remark on it.

After a short walk, they entered what appeared to be a more public part of the palace. There were dozens of other illythiri around, each one dressed more elaborately than the last.

“I actually feel underdressed,” he said.

“Yeah,” agreed Isaak.

“You wear the formal attire of Knights of the Crystal Throne,” said the woman. “The others would kill to be afforded such an honor, even without badges of station.”

“Oh.”

With that, they followed their escort through the fancy and luxuriously decorated halls until they finally reached a grand dining room featuring a table that looked fit to accommodate more than a hundred people.

They quickly found their way to Colt, who was standing among most of the other people from Ironshore. Pointedly, Ektara was at his shoulder, looking ill-at-ease in a formal robe that reminded Miguel of ball gown. She definitely didn’t like it, as evidenced by the fact that she kept bunching the silky fabric in her gloved fists.

Only a couple of minutes later, the seneschal announced that the Empress – may she never perish – would arrive in five minutes. The rest of the diners took that as a sign to take their seats, and Miguel and the rest of the Ironshore residents followed suit.

It felt like it was only a few moments later that they were once again on their feet as the Empress and her consort arrived. The man was dressed identically to the people from Ironshore, which meant that he wore a black suit, though his collar bore twin silver badges in some design Miguel didn’t recognize. Of course, he had brought his sword. So had Miguel and Colt, though a few of the others had left their weapons in their rooms.

That was a mistake.

Until made otherwise clear, they were in enemy territory.

Soon enough, the Empress sat at the head of the table, with her consort by her side, and announced the beginning of the meal. After that, one course after another were brought before them. Miguel wasted no time before digging in, though he made a point to follow the etiquette lessons that had been drilled into him as a child. That kind of thing had been important to both of his mothers.

The feast went on for a while, and nothing of import was discussed. Certainly, the Illythiri were interested in life on the surface, but their questions were all shallow enough as to be categorized as polite conversation. Miguel barely paid attention to any of it. Instead, he was wholly focused on the food.

He’d never eaten so well in his life, though he didn’t recognize a single dish, save to distinguish between meat, vegetables, and fungi.

So, when dinner ended, he was more than a little disappointed.

“Sir Colt,” said the Empress, her voice carrying over the din over conversation.

“Just Colt, ma’am. Don’t need no sirs or other names.”

“Ah. I see. Colt. Would you please join me in my study? You may bring two retainers.”

“Figured this was comin’,” the Samurai said. “Miguel. Rasana. You two’re with me. The rest of you – stay outta trouble, y’here.”

With that, they rose and followed the Empress, her consort, and ten guards out of the dining room and deeper into the palace. Along the way, Miguel couldn’t help but feel like he was walking into a dragon’s den.

Eventually, they reached a study, but instead of a desk and a bunch of books, as the name implied, it was populated by hundreds of crystals standing on pedestals. There were chairs there, though they were the uncomfortable sort that looked like they’d been chosen for aesthetics rather than function.

The Empress sat primly, then gestured for them to do the same. They all did, with little Rasana perched upon hers and leaving her legs dangling. She didn’t seem to mind, though. Instead, she just stared around in awe, clearly impressed by all the information crystals on display.

The Empress picked up on that.

“The collected wisdom of my people,” she revealed with a sigh, her voice far less formal than it had been at any other time. She reached up and removed her crown, then handed it to her consort. The big elf took it, placing it on its own pedestal. “It is a pitiful repository for a people who can trace their lineage back hundreds of thousands of years, but it is all we could salvage before coming here. I fear the rest of my people are now dead.”

Then, she went on to explain why so many of the Illythiri had come to Earth. They hadn’t done so to conquer, but as a means of survival.

“The aggressive actions of my general were not sanctioned,” she stated. “I want you to understand that General D’vix acted alone. We would have preferred diplomacy.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, but I’m gonna call bullshit on that one.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Bullshit. It’s a human term meant to convey disbelief. He doesn’t think you’re telling the truth,” provided Rasana. “And frankly, neither do I.”

“I do not lie.”

“Tell that to Norcastle. They unleashed a horde of Voxx on those poor people,” Rasana stated. “The only reason anyone survived is because they sheltered in a castle until the Voxx lost interest.”

“That’s two cities your people have attacked. One, I can call a rogue agent. But two?” Colt asked with a shake of his head. “That don’t smell right to me. So, cut the bullshit. We’re all adults here. You messed up, attacked the wrong town. Let’s say you learned your lesson and move on.”

Miguel saw the Empress’ grip tighten on the arms of her chair. “Very well. But know that I never authorized the use of force. Nor did I know about the use of Voxx. The general in question shall be dealt with.”

“One way or ‘nother,” Colt agreed.

She took a breath. “I asked you here because I would like to ally with your people. You have access to the entire surface, and I assume you have a plan to attack the Primal Realms. We have entire armies ready to fight. We cannot do it alone. Not without exposing our people to the trolls.” freēwēbηovel.c૦m

“So that’s how it is? There’s really a Primal Realm down there?”

“Indeed. If left alone, those forces will spread across the entirety of the Hollow Depths. Even without the threat of excisement, it is a grave threat, even to those on the surface. You must see that.”

“Oh, I do. Tell you what – you get us back to Ironshore, and we’ll take it up with the sorts of folks who need to know about it. Until then, I can’t guarantee anything.”

The Empress started to nod, but the consort – Ivin – spoke, “That one. You are different. I wish for you to stay.”

“What?” Miguel asked. “Me? Why?”

“You are a swordsman, are you not? Learn from me. You will not regret it.”

Miguel glanced at Colt, who just shrugged and said, “Up to you. I ain’t stickin’ around, though. Soon as the Empress here gives me the go-ahead, I’m headin’ back to Ironshore to let ‘em know what’s goin’ on.”

“Why me?” asked Miguel, looking at Ivin.

“I recognize it in you. The soul of a blademaster. You only need proper instruction to free it,” Ivin stated.

Miguel was never one to turn down training, and what’s more, he found the entire Illythiri society intriguing. So, as much as he wanted to go back to Ironshore, he knew he couldn’t pass up the opportunity. Still, he hesitated, wondering what Elijah would do. It only took a second before he knew the answer to that question.

“I agree.”

Ivin smiled. “Good. We begin training in the morning. When you prove yourself ready, we will go to the front and kill some trolls.”

The second he saw that predatory smile, Miguel felt a chill run up his spine, and he wondered if he’d just made a mistake. Only time would tell, though. And besides, he’d seen something similar once before when he’d been trained by Birk and the old woman. Or on his uncle’s face.

No – it was almost as comforting as it was chilling, and Miguel found that he was eager to begin. Hopefully, he wouldn’t come to regret that because once his companions were gone, he’d be all alone in a city populated by people he’d considered enemies not that long ago.