The beautiful city of Donimor was the Central of the Elven Republic. It was the Founding City. A shining fortress of White Marbelus, gleaming in an angelic light. This was the most protected and strongest place in the Republic, understandably. It was impregnable.
The huge, thirty-meter high gates of the city parted, and in stepped four Choobador and a Multar. Elitaa was riding the Multar, and Vatren was resting in the riding hut. The other three were on Choobador, although Vatren’s Choobador was following Antar. Elitaa strained her neck, admiring the colossal gateway of the city.
“Wow.” She said quietly, although she felt like gasping.
They rode between two rows of ten Arion High Guards. Each wore a white tunic, with a blue garment over it and held a clean halberd, about two metres long. All stood perfectly in line. They smiled to the passing visitors.
“Wow.” Elitaa said again. Even the guards look friendly.
The five animals plodded onward, their riders looking around them in fascination. The city was full of very tall structures of White Marbelus, the citizens walked back and forth, taking pots of water, food and other goods around with them. Some were workers, channelling water through ducts and troughs. Then there were soldiers and prefects, patrolling the city and giving directions and whatnot. Some were simply citizens taking a stroll, admiring the fresh, crisp air. It was strange to see so large a settlement that was so clinically tidy.
As they got near a stable, Antar led the Choobador into one section and then dismounted. The Stable keeper shut the gates to the four Choobador, while his assistant tried to get Elitaa to let them look after Joen.
“I want you to get someone to keep it company, it gets very restless.” She explained.
“That will require more Senari, miss.” The assistant protested.
“Here,” M’talek handed over a handful of Senari to the assistant, “take good care of it.”
“I will see to that.” The assistant nodded to them, then walked away with the Multar.
“Thankfully, it doesn’t mind strangers.” Elitaa said to M’talek.
“Good. If it gets dangerous, I’ll go broke.” M’talek chuckled, checking his Senari pouch.
Vatren waved off the others and headed toward the infirmary centre, as they continued on their way to warn the Senate.
“What is that Founding Stone all about anyway?” Antar asked as they passed the founding stone in the centre of the huge city.
“It’s supposed to have parted to allow the Corce to leave our world and explore, remember?” G’nar reminded him. “You didn’t pay much attention to history at the Academus did you?”
“Yes but, on a column of…light?” Antar asked in a tone of fair disbelief.
“Odd.” Elitaa commented.
M’talek glanced at it. “I reckon some guy made it up to-”
“It doesn’t matter. Anyway,” G’nar said, “We’ve reached the Senate.” She held out her arm, indicating the large, pillar-like structure ahead of them. It shone of white Marbelus.
“It’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen it before.” Elitaa was impressed, and it was only natural. This building towered above all others like some monumental beacon. On top of its complicated cylindrical structure, was a headquarters of colossal proportions, the Crown Palace. The whole building was gleaming a polished white and dotted with lights glowing from within.
The four Elves climbed the steps inside, up one hundred floors to the Crown Palace. Each floor housed a group of arched rooms, where there were many Elves working away, sorting everything from tax systems and city planning to the Elven Guard’s resource management.
As the grand stairs reached the top, they saw the Crown Palace, this time closer, in all its glory. They slowly walked up the desolate steps towards the arched entrance. Then, to their surprise, a young male Elven walked out and greeted them.
“I am Maron. You are here to alert the Elven Guard and Senate, Antar and company?” The man asked with a glint of knowledge in his eye.
“Yes,” Antar replied slowly, “we are. But, how did you know?”
Maron laughed. “Oh, we at the Senate know a lot of things.”
“Hold on,” said M’talek, “You saying we busted our asses getting all the way up here for nothing?”
“Not exactly.” He spoke in bursts of quick sentences. “You see… Princess Dolae-Arion is the youngest princess to Arion’s Royal Land Family. And she has gone missing. She’s very important, and not just because she’s daughter of the Royal Marshall of course. She has a very important ability to us. But we cannot afford to allocate the Elven Guard’s to finding her, particularly from the ever-more concerning situation at Everlorn Castle.
“Still, Dolae hasn’t been seen since she failed to turn up for Archery practise this morning. She might be fine, but it’s not a chance we can take. We need a lone-scouter group like yours to check up on her.”
Antar turned to his friends. “Well, I think we can do that.” He said.
“We still have until tomorrow night, we could look until then.” Elitaa suggested.
“Sounds good by me.” G’nar nodded.
“Yeah, sure,” M’talek said with a mocking smile, “in between saving Everlorn, solving a riddle, finding Mage Eurterna’s Ornithopter, looking after Elitaa’s Multar-”
“We’ll do it.” G’nar interrupted.
* * *
“There must be more than four thousand Kvorn.” General Serian said to her squad ducking and firing over the castle walls at random. The Battle for Everlorn Castle had been raging for over a day, and it was getting dark again. Because of sheer determination on both sides, the battle was dragging on with neither army gaining much. The Kvorn hadn’t even got through the gates yet. Not that they weren’t trying.
Suddenly, a massive thud shook the stone they stood on. At first Serian feared the wall was being hit, but it wasn’t quite beneath them. Realising what it was, she peered over the top of the wall at the gateway. Sure enough a Kvorn battering-ram unit were pounding on the huge katamantine-braced Ova-wood doors of the castle entrance.
“We need an infantry charge, their ram cover is protecting them too well from our arrows.” Her bodyguard archer observed.
“Stay calm.” Serian said, her voice like a quiet rural lake. “Tell the gates to drop the payload.”
“Aye ma’am.” The archer nodded and turned toward the gate, making a hand-chop gesture to another soldier, who conveyed it to another, and a moment later the woman on top of the gateway swung a lever. Barely a few Multar heartbeats after Serian gave the order, the Gate released a healthy dose of hot sulphuric acid down onto the ram and its eight or so operators. With cries of anger and agony, the Kvorn soldiers ran blinded from the ram. Sulphuric acid is an unpleasant substance to any, but acids have a particularly harsh effect on Kvorn.
Yet no sooner had they disappeared into the recesses of the Kvorn battle line, another enemy squad was forced to take up the ram and continue their grim work, with almost total certainty of disfiguring burns on their mind no doubt.
Serian was about to order another attack, when she suddenly heard an uplifting note from a brass instrument echo across the battlefield. Turning to look the other way from the gate, she saw a host of Elven mounted on the backs of Choobador, each holding a long spear about two metres in length. They held a tall blue banner; it was a cavalry unit from Arion!
With a yell and another blast of the horn, the Arion cavalry charged the Kvorn flank. The feet of the Choobador thundered louder as the group of fifty or so mounted soldiers neared the startled Kvorn attackers. The impact was tremendous.
Fur-covered bodies flew out of the way as the unit ploughed on through the ranks. As they passed the gateway, they struck the supports at the vulnerable rear of the ram, causing it to collapse uselessly. The kvorn turned and backed off hastily, grudgingly accepting the counterattack as a delay.
Serian watched them withdraw to the tree line again. ‘Defeat’ wasn’t in the Kvorn dictionary, but at least they’d gotten the hang of ‘consolidation’. She turned quickly to her bodyguard archer.
“Get those riders in here.” She told her. “While they’ve got the chance.”
She was abruptly disturbed by the sound of distant trundling from beyond the trees.
“More siege equipment!” she said, cursing. They were going to bombard the castle. This was going to be one very long night…
* * *
G’nar sat down, exhausted. She’d looked everywhere she could think of in a city like Donimor, so it was probably best to call it a day and head on to meet the others. They’d all split up in the hope of finding Dolae quicker, but it was still something almost impossible with the amount of ground they had to cover in the time they had. She stood again, preparing the Choobador that awaited beside her patiently.
Leaping up onto the saddle, she rode quickly out of the small gateway in the northern city wall. The trail soon came to a small village outside of the capital, a quaint spot known as Penin. She dismounted and walked up to the other three, M’talek, Antar and Elitaa. They exchanged shrugs.
“No good. Couldn’t find any sign of her in Donimor.” G’nar told them.
“We’ve checked the surrounding villages, nothing either.” Elitaa said.
Antar sighed. “We’ll have to just carry on to the waterfall and look for her at the next chance.”
“I’m sure she’ll turn up sooner or later.” M’talek added.
“I still haven’t figured out what we’re gonna do when we find the plans for this thing.” G’nar mused.
Antar tapped his nose knowingly. “Vatren’s on it. I had a brief chat with him, he says he’s putting the Donimor forges onto high status to get ready to produce whatever crazy requirements these plans will throw at them.” He looked toward the shining city thoughtfully. “He’s got it all planned out, that guy.”
* * *