Chapter 14 Escape
The next day, Zephyrah prepared a table in the morning again, only this time, she stayed and waited for the others to wake up. She sat quietly at the table as the others ate, her face was creased with worry and her eyes had a far-off look as if she were contemplating something.
Rowena was still exhausted after her nearly sleepless night. Dark circles ringed her eyes and she felt weak and cold. But her mind was buzzing with anticipation. She ate silently at the table.
The tension that radiated from the two was obvious.
Finally, Gareth could take the unspoken tension no longer. He cleared his throat and said,
"So is this our last meal then?"
"What?" Zephyrah asked, pulled abruptly from her thoughts.
"You have said nothing this whole time, yet you look like there is much on your mind. What is it? Are you expecting an army to burst through the doors?" He half laughed at his own sarcasm.
The Dissolver froze, mid-chew. His mouth hung open, and his eyes were full of terror. "An army?"
Zephyrah shifted uncomfortably, stunned by his bluntness.
Rowena quickly cut in, shooting Gareth a warning glare. "What he means to say is, it is clear we've overstayed our welcome. Shouldn't we be thinking about leaving? Soon?" She asked, carefully.
The Dissolver whined, confused, "But Dravik promised to spar with us today, and Quirum said he would show me how to fight with a glaive."
"I think it's safe to say we've been uninvited," Gareth said with his usual crooked smile, his eyes darting playfully to Rowena. "Thanks to Rowena," he teased.
Rowena didn't return his playful gesture; instead, her brow furrowed, and her face grew red. She was far too tired for games.
Quickly realizing his mistake, Gareth redirected his jest toward the boy, hoping to lighten the mood. "Besides, I've told you before—glaives are just fancy, sharp toothpicks. What you really need is a man's weapon. Like an axe or a hammer. Big, sturdy—"
"Enough, please." Rowena groaned, exhausted.
"No," Zephyrah piped up, her voice quiet and grave, "Gareth is right."
"See?" Gareth nudged the boy in the ribs, grinning broadly. "Even she agrees with me. Women like it when a man has a big weapon—"
"No, I—I meant—" Zephyrah stammered, blushing as she ran her fingers through her hair.
Rowena buried her face in her hands.
"I meant you're right to worry. About the army," Zephyrah managed.
Gareth's face became serious. "I was jesting about the army."
Zephyrah sighed heavily. "Our situation has changed. After what happened last night, things have become... grave. We can't wait any longer. We must leave immediately."
She stood from the table and gestured toward the ruined city beyond the window.
"There's somewhere I need to take you before we leave. When you've finished eating, pack anything you'll need for the journey. We will not be coming back. I'm going to gather some supplies. Be ready to leave when I return."
She met each of their eyes with grave intensity, then she abruptly walked out the door.
Rowena's heart hammered in her chest.
It was finally time.
The companions wasted little time gathering their things and changing into clothing more suitable for travel. They were waiting anxiously in the lounge when Zephyrah returned with two packs full of supplies.
Afterwards, she led them outside and down the path, deeper into the ruined elven city.
Gareth looked around for the guards who had followed them the day before, but they were nowhere in sight. He eyed Zephyrah suspiciously, silently watching for signs of a trap.
Nearing the heart of the ruined city, the buildings and shops were clustered together in a maze of crumbling stone and tangled trees.
Ivy and moss draped over every building and swallowed faded street signs and benches.
Weeds burst through cracks in the cobblestones, and new trees broke through the path and old buildings.
More than once, the group had to carefully pick their way around thorns and push aside thick, twisting vines. The air smelled of damp earth and musty ruin.
Zephyrah led them forward, navigating with ease, as if she knew the path by heart.
At last, she led them to a staggeringly colossal tree.
It dwarfed every other tree in the forest, rising high above the surrounding canopy.
Embedded within the living wood was a remarkable structure, seamlessly woven into the trunk itself.
The architecture was unmistakably elven: delicate arches, filigreed balconies, and beautiful stained-glass windows.
The group paused, frozen in awe in the shadow of such beauty.
They approached the massive double doors, which were carved directly from the tree's heartwood. Each door was etched with swirling patterns of leaves and stars. Heavy iron chains bound the handles together and were fastened with a crude, rusted lock.
Zephyrah paused at the entrance, looking up and down at the doors with a look on her face that could only be described as nostalgic.
"This was once the Grand Nytheris Archives." She murmured, "Inside are the remains of a collection dating back thousands of years. After the elves abandoned it, it became property of the royal family. Jhas'tir's father had the archives sealed out of spite."
She procured a key from the pocket of her shirt, and carefully unlocked the lock and removed the chains. She threw the chains aside along with the key, then pulled the great doors open. Despite their large size and heavy appearance, they swung open easily, groaning only slightly.
Zephyrah hurried everyone inside, then quickly closed the door behind them.
Inside, golden sunlight streamed in through the many tall, arched windows that lined the walls. The warm light cast shifting patterns of light and shadow along the polished wooden floor.
The room was lined with mostly empty display cases and shelves. Their glass panes were smudged, and the wood was worn with age. Nearly empty podiums stood beneath faded plaques. Their treasures were long vanished.
Rich tapestries and paintings adorned the walls, but gaps and pale outlines made it clear that many had been stripped away. Along the walls and vaulted ceilings was carved wooden architecture and columns that were entwined with leafy motifs, and delicate filigree.
Above the great doors, a large, round window sprawled across the wall.
Its stained glass was laced with intricate silver-and-gold designs.
Sunlight poured through its colored panes, scattering rainbows across the room, and a single, brilliant beam illuminated a magnificent fountain in the center of the great hall.
The outsiders' jaws dropped when they recognized the fountain's depiction.
"Is that... Osias?" Rowena asked.
Zephyrah nodded, "Yes. He and his seven reapers."
The fountain depicted Osias atop a stone platform, resplendent in plate armor.
His arms were outstretched, and his palms were upturned.
Below him, seven figures rose from the empty pool, each clad in distinctive armor, their torsos and helms emerging from the stone.
Each figure gripped a weapon that was crossed over their heart.
Once, water would have cascaded from King Osias's hands, filling the pool and creating the illusion that the warriors were rising from its depths.
"Look Rowena!" The Dissolver exclaimed, pointing his finger at one of the figures. "It's the sword!"
"It is." Rowena agreed as they approached.
She studied the intricate detailing on the sword's handle and hilt—the resemblance was unmistakable.
Rowena nudged Gareth, who stood in awe beside her. "See, Gareth? Even you have to admit the resemblance is obvious."
Gareth crossed his arms, brows furrowed, and shook his head. "A dusty old statue proves nothing." He shrugged, stubbornly forcing down a wave of apprehension.
Rowena brushed her fingers over the cold stone, tracing the ancient Etherian armor on the figure. She recognized the same craftsmanship as the key that had unlocked the chamber beneath the village.
Circling the fountain, she was surprised to find each weapon unique: besides the sword, there was a hammer, an axe, a spear, a mace, a flail, and a trident.
"Ah-ha!" Gareth exclaimed suddenly after circling the entire fountain. His voice cut sharply through the silence. "You see, Dissolver? No glaive."
The Dissolver waved off his remark with a smile, then wiped a thick layer of dust from the plaque in front of the trident wielder.
"Look," he said, curiosity in his voice, "their names are written on the plaques, but I can't read them. I think it's elvish."
"Would you like me to translate for you?" Zephyrah offered.
"You read elvish?" he asked, surprised.
"Of course." She smiled. "I was taught many languages during my time at court."
She approached the plaque and quickly scanned it over, "It says: Neryndas Mal'dar. Hailed from Ashkara, Mythralis. Pride of the sea, and friend of the King."
"A sea elf?" The Dissolver cocked his head in confusion, "I thought the champions would be human?"
"Why would you think that?" Zephyrah asked.
"Because... Osias was human. I just thought his champions would be his own people."
Rowena spoke up, her voice gentle. "It's understandable to think that, given how the world is today.
But that's not what was written about Etheria at its founding.
The histories say Osias had friends from every nation, and after the kingdom was born, Etheria became the first utopia.
He judged people by their character, not their heritage. All were welcome under his rule."
"And then he died." Gareth interjected, coldly.
Rowena stared at him, wide eyed, from across the fountain.
"What?" Gareth shrugged, "I'm just telling him the truth. Those are just stories. That utopia, you speak of, was not the Ethieria you and I lived in. If that truly was our history, it all changed after Osias died."
Rowena pressed her lips together, and her gaze fell to the floor. She would not admit he was right, even though she knew he was.
The Dissolver tapped on Zephyrah's shoulder, "Will you please read the plaque by the sword?" He asked softly, feeling awkward amidst the tension, "I want to know who it belonged to."
"Of course." She nodded, wiping away the thick layer of dust. "Tarquin Aelthros. Hailed from Thornvale, Etheria. A man of unquestionable integrity and honor."
Gareth's face went pale, and his confident demeanor vanished in an instant.
"What was that name?" He asked, approaching the plaque slowly, as if it were a snake.
"Tarquin Aelthros?" Zephyrah repeated quietly.
"Aelthros?" Rowena gasped, hurrying to read the plaque herself.
"The Supreme Governor of the Greater Empire is Varek Aelthros." Rowena's jaw dropped as a horrifying realization washed over her. "He was... Etherian. The leader of the Greater Empire was a traitor to his own country! And from such an honorable lineage—"
Rowena stared, speechless. Her heart pounded as grief swept over her. The siege had been a coup, orchestrated by their own people.
Her hands balled into shaking fists, her nails digging into her palms.
She couldn't believe it.
Beside her, Gareth stared down at the plaque, but his expression was somewhat different. Beneath the shock, Rowena could see something else—an emotion she couldn't quite name.
He looked ghastly, as if he might be sick or faint.
"Gareth, are you alright?" she asked gently, laying a hand on his shoulder.
Gareth's jaw tightened and he gritted his teeth. "I'm fine." He growled, tearing his eyes away. "Just more proof that these are just senseless fantasies."
He shook his head and turned his back to the fountain. His face was crumpled and his expression was unreadable.
Rowena reached for him again, but Zephyrah spoke first.
"We should move on. There is something I need to show you upstairs," Zephyrah said.
The staircase wound around the massive tree trunk until they reached the upper room. Inside was nothing but rows upon rows of mostly empty shelves and a small collection of leftover scrolls and worn books.
Zephyrah led them to a table and instructed them to sit while she gathered several scrolls and books. When she joined them, she opened a sealed tube and carefully poured out a crumbling scroll. With slow, gentle fingers, she unrolled it, revealing a hand-drawn picture of an ethereal white stag.
"That's it!" the Dissolver exclaimed. "That's the stag we saw in our dreams! Except... he doesn't look as... scary."
Zephyrah nodded. "This picture was drawn by the faun king, Xaros Lormath.
The Guardian appeared to him in the forest and gave him a vision of a seven-year winter.
No one knew then that a frost titan would appear in the eastern kingdoms five years later.
Because of this vision, our people had time to store food and save the forest dwellers from starvation. "
"Titans?" Gareth scoffed. "There haven't been titans in Solmira for nearly a thousand years."
Zephyrah ignored his remark. She opened a book and turned to lists of recorded dates. "This is a record of hundreds of other encounters with the Guardian throughout all the years of our existence. The Guardian has only ever revealed itself to the King, and only to preserve life in the forest."
Realization dawned on Rowena. "That's why the council was so angry when I claimed to see the Guardian—they must have thought I was lying."
"It's more than that," Zephyrah said, sadness in her voice.
"Since the beginning, our kingdom was deeply connected to the Guardian and the Ancient Power.
It's said that the Ancient Power once flowed so freely here that the trees could move and speak, and animals were intelligent, with languages and customs of their own.
But that faded. In recent generations, our kings have chosen comfort and riches, and corruption has led us far from the old ways.
Our first offense was abandoning our centaur kin during their war with the humans for control of their homeland in the plains.
The second was ordering the slaughter of all innocent outsiders who wandered into the forest. The third was extorting the people of Goldhaven for riches.
Our elven kin argued with the kings for generations, always warning there would be consequences.
It should have been obvious—already the forest had grown quiet, our people's lifespans had shortened, and we were losing the ability to wield the Ancient Power.
Finally, the elves gave up and abandoned us.
After the elves departed, Jhas'tir's father fell gravely ill.
He sought the Guardian, who appeared only to give him a vision of his death.
Three days later, he was gone. Jhas'tir became king while he was still a boy, so a council was formed to guide him.
But when he came of age, the council refused to disband.
They believe he is tainted, like his ancestors.
They blame his bloodline for the forest's decline and have become desperate to restore it.
Now that the Guardian has appeared to outsiders instead of the king, they finally have reason to reject Jhas'tir's rule. "
"What will they do to him?" the Dissolver asked.
Zephyrah's face twisted with dread. "I don't know..." she whispered. "Right now, my only concern is getting us as far from this mess as possible. Their desperation knows no bounds. As we speak, they are planning to kill you and seize your relic."
The Dissolver shot out of his seat. "We have to get it back!" he exclaimed.
Zephyrah gently eased him back down. "It's already taken care of," she assured him.
Before anyone could ask any questions, Zephyrah opened another scroll— a map of the elven city. Marked in dotted lines was a labyrinth of water lines that fed numerous fountains throughout the city.
She pointed to an especially large canal that ran from the southern entrance of the city into the forest, disappearing off the map.
"This is an underground canal that once fed water into the city.
It's no longer in use, which means we should be able to travel through it all the way to the river in the far south.
There's an entrance inside the guard tower at the southern gate.
The canal lets out at a dam, where there's also a guard shack—and canoes. "
"What about the weapon?" Rowena asked.
"It's waiting for us in the guard tower. I hid it there this morning while I found the canal entrance," she explained. "It's perfect—the council won't think to check there. We can pass underground, out of sight from the patrols."
Gareth and Rowena exchanged uneasy glances. It was their only chance at escape.
"When are we leaving?" Gareth asked.
Zephyrah stood from the table. "Right now."