THE
MASTER ELF
Waking up in this
beautiful, wooden, four-poster bed, the down-filled mattress covered with silk
sheets; rising in a room filled with the opulent surroundings I have managed to
bring here – the Oak-backed sofa with its plush pillows, the redwood chess table
and matching chairs, artwork from the masters Serrefalin and Fraunken, and a
rug from the Isle of Justice (perhaps the most valuable of my belongings); it’s
all almost enough to make me ignore the stone walls and, just for a brief
moment, believe I have not consigned myself to living like a dwarf, hundreds of
feet below sea-level, in a series of caves and tunnels carved out of a
semi-inactive volcano.
I
throw my legs over the side of the bed, putting my feet into my silver-colored
slippers, lined with mink.
“Senil.”
The light I had built into the ceiling comes on, illuminating most of
the large room I call my bedroom. I
rise, go over to my water table and pour from the decanter, filling the wash
basin with water, to a level beyond the decanter’s apparent ability to produce. I set the simple-looking decanter down, stick
my index finger into the basin water and speak the word “vesa”, removing my finger when the water reaches the correct
temperature.
After
my ablutions, I dress – blue, today.
Robe over tunic and pants.
Wearing my usual soft, black boots.
I strap the deceptively small component bag to my waist, add my dagger,
and head into my ‘living area’. The room
is slightly larger than the bedroom, so quite large (for a cave). I check my message jar, opening the lid – but
it doesn’t speak. I set it back down,
return the lid, and walk up three steps to the dining area.
A
curtain separates the bedroom and living area, but only the elevation demarks
the dining room from the living area. My
breakfast usually consists of a single, poached egg and toast with jam, but
today I’m not all that hungry. I forgo
the egg.
Back
down to the living area, I collect the keys, and exit through the wide door
into the extra-wide hall outside my home – or what now houses my personal belongings.
The passage
is wide here because it has to be – some of the denizens of this palace are quite
large. I’m heading upward, so I have to
start out going west. Right, upon
exiting my rooms, to me, since I’m no dwarf, and can’t sense directions
underground!
What
a life for an elf!
At
the first crossway, one of the young dragons arrives at the same time I do.
“Hershael! You on duty this morning? I thought you had the evening shift?”
Hershael
growls deep in his throat. “Morning, Chastyra.
Gorganno caught me sneaking an extra portion of meat out of the stores,” he
confessed. “My punishment is a twenty-four-hour
shift.”
“Horrible,”
I commiserate. I know how dragons like their sleep – even though they actually
need little more than I! “Keep a strong
mind, Hershael. Steady on.” He grumbles again, then crosses through the
intersection. I cross through and head
to the three-way tee.
At the three-way, I look
up. From this point of view, I see a
five-by-five-meter hole in the ceiling.
I could use a simple Detect
spell here, but I’m not one to waste even a smidgen of magic. One never knows when some foolish hero might
step into the palace.
“Vara-lon!” I rise off the cave’s floor, up and through
the hole. With a simple movement of my
slender fingers, I move horizontally about six meters, then lower myself to the
new level’s floor. And no, I didn’t just
‘waste magic’; I had to come to this level, and there’s no other access point.
I
turn and look at the floor. From this
angle, there does not seem to be a hole in the floor of the cave. An Illusion
spell hides the hole, making it look like the tunnel simply goes on. An unwary fool will fall through! I get low, checking the illusion
carefully. This volcano is called ‘semi-active’. It hasn’t erupted in generations, and most
believe it never will. But there is lava below, constantly working on the
stone under the upper portion of the mountain.
Small shifts are not uncommon.
Today,
however, the spell requires no adjustment.
Nodding my approval to no one, I move on – now toward palace entrance.
It’s
quite a walk to the northern face. I
usually spend the time mentally composing my next sonnet or poem. Today, I just clear my mind. It makes the time pass before I realize it
has, and I’m soon at the massively tall entrance.
The
height and width of the palace entrance is grand. It also makes one believe the Master of the
palace uses this entrance. Then, the
passage – though quite wide – can give them a sense of relief, that the Master
might not be as grand of size as hyperbole makes him out to be.
But
the truth is that the Master doesn’t use this entrance – he wouldn’t fit through the halls.
Here,
I check a secret of my own. At one
corner of the stone archway, I have set a spell which tells me when someone
enters the complex. My Master may have
senses powerful enough to know when this occurs, but mine need a little help. After all, my safety and security is directly
related to the Master’s survival. I want
to know when fools come a’calling.
The
spell is active, and no debris hinders its ‘line of sight’.
I
step away, and out onto the shelf (my person won’t set off the spell). I step to the edge of the landing to take in
the view.
For
as far as the eye can see, there is a vast, green valley. My elven eyes can make out the distant river,
called Dunnedin. A forest, so distant
that even my elven eyes can see only a darkening on the horizon, borders the
northern edge of the valley. It is
neither a thick nor wide forest, and can be rounded and avoided if the
tranquility of the woods somehow displeases you. Beyond that, I have seen, is a wasteland of
rock and rough vegetation, lasting only a few miles. Then comes the real barrier separating us from the rest of the world – but I won’t
get into that in this missive.
I take many deep,
cleansing breaths. Sorrowed to do so, I
turn away from the beauty before me and return to the underworld where my life
choices have guided me.
Instead
of turning back west (left), I keep going forward, down an only slightly
thinner tunnel. This passage turns and
twists a few times, but the distance to its end is not great. There, around a final stone bend, is a large
cave, about the size of the living area in my quarters. Besides a sort of stone beach before it, the
room is filled with a pool of water.
Another dragon currently drinks from the pool’s edge.
“Clara,”
I acknowledge, letting her know I’m behind her, just in case she was (again)
lax at using her senses.
“Morning, Chastyra,” she
greets me, her head bobbing up in a manner that tells me I have startled
her. Gorganno has not been pleased with
this one’s inattentiveness. I will have
to report this incident to him. These
younger dragons must learn – the Master’s safety may be at stake!
I squeeze in next to the
large female, kneel, and take water into my cupped hand. I’ve learned to appreciate this warm water. It is rich in calcium and other minerals, and
tastes strong enough to convince my palate that it is but a weak tea!
After quaffing my thirst,
I say my farewell to Clara – who is taking far too long – and return to the
main tunnel. My next stop is two levels
down. It takes a while to traverse the
distance, but I reach the needed level and note I’m making good time.
I turn to the left, down
one of the side tunnels. Near the end of
this passage, some ninety meters long, the tallest dwarf I have ever met stood
just before the spot where the passage doglegged right.
“Phareus,” I greet him, “what
are you up to now, you rogue?”
Phareus guffaws and spits. “Somethin’ sprang my ‘one-armed bandit’
again.” Arriving, I take a look around
the corner. The arm of the insidious trap
is swinging loose, stretching out into the middle of the tunnel. The sharpened spike had been crushed. I instinctively check, and find the
corresponding chip in the wall this side of the L turn.
“What was it this time?”
Phareus grunts, shrugging
his thick shoulders. “I’m thinking it
were a bat. Prolly landed right on the
clip what holds the spike end to the wall.
Ain’t exactly a hair trigger, but the fool thing might’ve tried to take
the clip to add to its nest. The clip
was bent.”
“Anything you can do
about that?”
Another shrug. “S’pose I can brighten it – paint it white.
Not like the clip gonna be seen by any guests, ‘n the bats don’t like brighter
objects for their nests.”
I’m not sure about this ‘nest’
thing, but I don’t know enough about bats to argue. Besides, Phareus is not
what one would consider stable, and it was best not to argue with him. His skill at trapmaking was unmatched, and,
despite his bulk, he was quite adept at sneaking up on the unsuspecting!
“You checkin’ magic
today?” the dwarf asks me.
“Yes. I’m checking the ceiling trap next.”
He nodded. “Good trap.
Magic’s down,” he confirmed. “Only
thing surprising ‘bout that is that the magic isn’t down more often!”
It was unusual for him to
compliment my magical traps. But I
agreed with his assessment. It surprises
even me that the hiding magic holds more often than not.
I smile and salute, then
leave him working on the deadly arm swing trap. Not only is the hiding magic gone, but I also have to push those slimy tentacles back up into the recess. I replace both spells on the trap, ensure everything is otherwise correct and hidden, then continued on.
A stop at the bath house to wash up, then I descended to the final level of the palace. I take the secret passage to my study, make sure nothing had been bothered (I’m not worried just about Phareus, but also those who worked part-time in the place. I know we are supposed to trust that those sent would be trustworthy, but… well, I’ve never been the trusting type.
Seeing everything is
fine, I collected my scribe kit and head through the secret door into the
Master’s chamber.
“Good morning, my elven
friend.” The Master’s voice is deep, and
even at his best, menacing.
“Good morning, Lord
Darganau. I tryst you’ve completed your
exercises?”
The great dragon harrumphs
dramatically. “Yes! You can be such a mother-hen, Chastyra!”
“It is part of my job, My
Lord. Your continued health is as
important to my survival as your own.”
The Master is no spring-chicken.
With the heavy armour he wears, I intend to see he stays in top physical
condition, lest he can’t ascend to escape any foes!
“I trust your rounds were
not too difficult, seeing you are right on time?”
That made me glad I’d
made good time early on, lest the revamping the magic on the ceiling trap would
have made me late. Darganau does not
abide lateness. “Yes, My Lord. All is well.”
From his position in his
cup – a stone structure resembling a thirty-meter-high wine glass, carved from
a massive stalagmite by a dwarven artisan, Lord Darganau maneuvers himself to
the edge of the lip and peers down at me.
“What’s on tap today, Master Elf?”
His colloquialisms used
to confuse me. “You only have a meeting
with Lord Voran, an hour after dusk.”
“Hmm. He is an odd one.”
“And a dangerous one, My
Lord.”
“Yes. You’ve made our feelings known to me. But he is also the Lord of a powerful
principality. I would know what he has
in mind.”
“I would warn you caution
again, Lord. Especially if he asks your
aid against his King, Kambia.”
“That would be unwise of
him. It is more likely his King has sent
him to me.”
Since I would rather this
latter to be true, I say no more on the subject. “Shall we get back to your memoirs, Lord
Darganau?”
“Ah, yes. Yes, we shall. We did I leave off, Master Chastyra?”
I sit on the stone I
often used as a seat. I’d shaped it to
conform to the curve of my cheeks, to make it as comfortable as a stone chair
can be. I open my kit and unfold it into
the small desk it becomes. I take out
the parchment we were last working on, set out my pens, ink well and blotter
paper. “You had crossed the sea, spotted
the wizard’s signal, and landed in the tall spires at the most-northern edge of
the southern continent, My Lord.”
“Ah. Well then.”
He contemplated a bit, while I readied the pen for writing. His booming voice began speaking in his
narrating voice once more. I could tell
he was reliving it all again – and knew I was getting an accurate,
word-for-word recalling of events. Darganau’s
memory is long.
I alighted on the landing. The
light, I discovered, had no source! It simply hung in the air before the
fissure leading into the mountain, totally unseeable from the reverse side, but
bright on the front side.
“Come on in!” Kalen’s voice called from within.
I felt relief wash over me. Kalen had stayed true to his
word. He had not absconded with my possessions. I entered through the fissure,
noting I’d not be able to grow much more, before I’d have to squeeze myself in!
“You
had me worried,” Kalen told me. “I had expected you three or four hours ago.”
I wrote fast and accurately, while
also enjoying the tale.
YOU
CAN GET A COPY OF DARGANAU’S MEMOIR:
Darganau: Autobiography of a Dragon
