He would not mention his pact with the Orcs, nor his involvement in Agnar. That was best kept his secret alone, lest another may seek to use his plan for one of their own.
“And what HoloFae do you think is going to aid an exile?” Esmerelda asked, trying to dig out more details of his plan.
“None of those in Luna’Dwell would dare to help an exile, for fear of losing what meager standings they have managed to build.” She asked, studying her son, trying to figure out his ploy.
“That is why I garnered the help of one not from Luna’Dwell,” Zannith answered with a sly smile creasing his lips. They also did not need to know this help was not rendered willingly.
The council all began to lean towards one another and whisper among themselves. Finally, Esmerelda stood and looked down at her son.
“You may stay until deliberations are over, upon which time we will give you our answer. Until then, you are refined to the chamber halls quest quarters, under guard.
If you try to leave the chamber before we send for you, it will be a mistake you won’t recover from.” The look she gave him said all he needed to know. He bowed respectfully, then followed the guard that was ordered to escort him to his quarters.
The deliberations took less than an hour, before the guard outside his door called for him to return to the council chamber. Upon entry, the cross-armed angry look of Duran Melroth told him what the answer would be.
Still, court etiquette must be observed. He bowed low before the council and awaited their response. Esmerelda rose to her feet and stood with her hands on the railing, looking down at him.
“The council has made its decision. If you manage to bring us the Dragon’s Heart. We will reinstate your titles and privileges as the prince of the DokalFae. All assets seized at the time of your exile shall be returned, with a ten percent withholding to be awarded to Duran Melroth for the loss of his son.
However, if you fail to bring us the heart, it would be in your best interest to not return at all. Your exile will also be amended to include an order to kill on sight. Do I make myself very clear, Zannith Daltorea? There will be no more chances.
The fact that we are allowing this much should be noted as a historic moment in the generosity of this council. You will carry out this quest as an exile; there is to be no aid from the people of LunaFae. Nor any DokalFae who would consider themselves a member of our nation, under penalty of exile themselves.”
Before she could say any more, Zannith bowed low and rose to meet her gaze with one of determination.
“Agreed,” was all he said as he turned to exit the city. With the acceptance of his terms from the council, the time had come to initialize the next phase to his plan. One, he was sure the Black Boar tribe of Orcs would revel in.
6
Thankfully, Rone and Fang had no trouble crossing the Crystal River. As they made their way across, he cursed the fact he had to leave his mount behind.
It would have made the travel faster, but he knew the pools of quicksand and nearly invisible sinkholes of Black Marsh was no place for a horse. He had no choice but to set his mare free, knowing she would eventually return to Briarthorn.
Once they had arrived on the shore of the south bank, he took one last look back at Agnar forest. He stared at it, allowing its image to burn into his memory. He had no idea how long he would be gone, and he wanted to make sure if it went poorly, he could remember how it was.
Shaking such thoughts from his mind, he turned to head into the swamp that marked the borders of Black Marsh. Fang did not follow, instead, moving off through the thick brush on his own.
Rone knew he would be close by though, the great wolf just preferred to stay out of sight when they traveled. That, and he was great at warning Rone of threats he may spot first.
He whistled a crisp chirping sound, and the thick brush that surrounded the marsh curled back to reveal the path he should take. Max would have scolded him for this, always saying to let nature lie where it will. That they should find their own way, not disturb what nature has spent years building.
But that could have taken hours he did not want to waste. He needed to be through the marsh before nightfall, and plowing through the underbrush would have only slowed him down.
Shanty’s tale of the Drakelings being on the move in the marsh, was reason enough alone not to spend the night there. They are bad enough, but they weren’t the only dangers in Black Marsh either. There were a dozen others a man traveling alone wouldn’t want to face. Even one with a blink wolf at his side.
Thankfully the Marsh wasn’t too big on this side of it, though its entirety covered vast miles of land between the city-kingdoms and the elven ones.
It’s one reason they don’t trouble each other more than they do. No king relishes a forced march with thousands of soldiers and siege weapons, through a thick bog full of poisonous reptiles, sinkholes, and the other indigenous life. Of which none were known to be friendly.
Even the Orc tribes don’t bother with Black Marsh, preferring their Rocky Mountains and empty plains. Which is what makes the Black Boar tribe such a mystery, it’s no secret Orcs are a warring bunch.
If they can’t find enemies to unite against, they will even turn on each other. But the Black Boars moving from the Desolate plains of the Dread Wastes to the eastern edge of Agnar makes no sense. But, if the Thorn Callers hadn’t stopped them last year, by now, they would have conquered every village in the forest.
Rone was still lost in his thoughts when he heard a low growl from Fang off to his right. It was the big wolf’s way of letting him know something was wrong.
He immediately stepped off the path and took up a hiding spot among the thick lower branches of a swamp cedar. These trees did not grow very tall, only twenty to thirty feet, but their thick branches and limbs were ideal for concealing yourself. And, their strong scent was good to hide yours from sharp noses. Such as those of Drakelings’.
He could hear footsteps moving up the trail towards him, as well as the rustle of the brush where Fang had moved to get a better trace of the smell that had alerted him. The scent of what was coming towards them reached even Rone’s nostrils before they ever came into sight.
Hobspawn! He thought to himself. Goblins would be the common name for them. Nasty creatures, with a real mean streak. Not real bright, but dangerous. They did not like other races, be them Fae or Spawn. They were efficient with crude swords and bows, but downright deadly with their teeth and claws.
A Hobspawn would just as assume bite your throat out as stab you with a blade if they got the chance. And if they did manage to bring down their victim, well let’s just say it’s a full belly day for them after that.
Rone heard another low growl as the first of the goblins came into view, followed by a small patrol closely behind. Rone counted six in total but had no way of knowing if a more significant force was close by or not.
The leader wore a helmet made from the skull of an alligator, with its thick leather hide draping down his back in a crudely made cape. His greenish-brown skin nearly matched that of the gator cape, and his bulging black eyes darted quickly from side to side on the path.
“Drugnuk, no think ugly humans came this way.” He said with a swing of his mace towards a large dragonfly.
“They did so,” came a reply from the goblin to his left. This one was not as tall as the leader, maybe half a head shorter and much skinnier. But the way he walked next to the leader told Rone he held a higher position in the pack than the rest of them.