Thunder boomed in the distance and lightning crackled as the column marched along the river path and into the woods that laid beyond. They marched ahead of the storm, but they knew their time of relative dryness and comfort were limited. Morale had already faltered during the long and arduous trip after being mired in mud and autumn rain for days, but the coming storm left a palpable air of despair that lingered on Chaldera Winterhill's tongue as she trot along atop her horse at the head of the column.
Weeks prior, when her cause was new and her hopes high, she had looked like one expected a woman of noble birth to look. She had been resplendent in her ithlimar mail and sigil-embossed tunic, brandishing a gleaming spear and round shield atop a horse as white as the hair atop her scalp that, if for show and not practicality, cascaded out in a long flat like a bundle of razor thin icicles. Now she was as downtrodden and beleaguered as the column she led. Her mail was muddied, her tunic frayed at its edges, her hair matted and knotted without its luster.
If only the rain would wash away the mud, she thought bitterly. Instead it only leaves more.
If it had not been for the storm, she might have ordered the column to halt and partake in a much-earned rest and chance to wash in the river that raged beside them. The water looked fresh and cold, if struck through with angry white foam that burst along the rocks. The persistent rains had swelled it to nearly twice its size, such that the trail Chaldera had been told would take her straight to Kilfwood was nearly invisible. If not for stakes in the side of the road, one would be forgiven for missing it altogether.
Chaldera spared a glance back east the way they had come and saw, in stark contrast to the pleasant autumn sunlight of the road ahead, a dark and brooding scene playing out along the horizon. Roiling, dark grey clouds surged forth and she could catch lightning flash. A curtain of rain could be seen, advancing alongside their own column, giving chase to Chaldera and her soldiers. Only, clouds moved faster than any army. The storm would be on them, it was only a matter if it was before they had made it into the safety of Kilfwood.
Her officers knew their objective as well, and conducted it without needing orders. The column, despite its exhaustion, carried on with renewed vigor and purpose. They looked as exhausted as Chaldera felt, and though she was hesitant to admit it, she had found herself more than once almost drifting to sleep in her saddle only to be jolted to wakefulness at the reminder that, as their commanding officer, she was to remain ever-present. Though she supposed they would have gotten a laugh out of her tumbling into the mud from her saddle, a shame she would have never learned to relinquish of that she was certain.
Once they had entered the trees, where less of the rain had fallen to the earth below, the mud became more solid underfoot and the wet plosh plosh plosh in the rhythmic cantor of the march became heartier, more akin to the sounds of soldiers on the move Chaldera was familiar with. Though it made the storm no less a reality, Chaldera was grateful for the cover of the woods if only so that the storm clouds no longer seemed to bear down on her with all the persistence of a malignant pursuer.
No sooner than the last of her soldiers had entered the woods did the air begin to pick up pace to their rear, bringing with it drops of icy-cold water. The branches overhead swayed and crackled. Chaldera wagered they had a little over half an hour before it came, maybe less.
"What news of the scouts?" She asked Karina, who rode her own chestnut mare beside her own white stallion.
"None," the telepath responded calmly. "I checked in with them the moment we saw the storm clouds. No foes along the route, hidden or otherwise."
"I suppose that would be the point of staying hidden, would it not?" Chaldera asked with a grim humor about her words.
"I suppose," Karine agreed. "Though I trust in Seelie senses more than this lot."
The woman gestured to their company - mostly orcs and humans, a fierce and warlike lot armed in the standard regalia of a militia or mercenary company more than a proper army. All mismatched armor and tunics, flying sigils of minor noble houses on scatters of cloth or tunics held aloft. They carried the axes of woodsmen, the hammers of smiths, the spears of fishermen. Perhaps one in five had a spear or a sword and knew how to use it, the rest were left with what they had foraged from their homes.
"I'll have none of that," Chaldera protested, tone sharpening as she chastised her lieutenant. "This lot has sacrificed a great deal to march with us, more than you or I have in recent memory."
"Such as it is, I find them only mildly more trustworthy than the Unseelie," Karina remarked, but said no further on the matter.
"Pass the order along," Chaldera said after a pause to check her map and doing her best to place her company's location with the river and Klifwood up ahead. "I want the column moving at the double. Might be we'll beat this storm before it chews us up too much."
Karina relayed the orders telepathically to the officers, and within seconds the shouts of officers broke the rhythmic fall of boots upon damp earth. The soldiers began to move apace quicker, and Chaldera ushered her horse to a trot at their head. Moving at such a pace as they were, with the wind to their back, it felt much like they were perhaps about a ship with the wind carrying them.
If we were ships, with hearts of oak and iron, Chaldera mused. Never have I seen oak and iron tire like flesh and bone.
Ships would never complain, never disobey orders, or tire at days of marching in the wind and rain and mud. But it was a poor commander who blamed her soldiers, as her mother had been want to tell Chaldera when she was but a girl, and so she kept her admonishments to herself. The wind picked up pace once more, and with it came the first wave of proper rain. It caught Chaldera by surprise, sending her flinching as its icy spines struck her back and droplets began to bombard her from the trees above. The misery was more apparent than ever as Chaldera spared her soldiers a passing glance, a reluctance to move forward she had not seen in all her years commanding men and women to fight.
There'd better be beds aplenty for all of us.
What felt like days passed in the rain and thunder as they marched on. The rain and the chill drilled to their core, driving out what little warmth the chill autumn air had not taken already. If not for the length of their march, or the toll of the rain thus far, the rain might have been a pleasant reprieve. It unveiled the pleasant scents of the trees and the earth below, and Chaldera relished in them if only for a moment even as the rain sapped her will to move on.
At long last the column arrived at the gates of Klifwood after conferring with their scouts, secluded within the trees and lined with thick ironwood walls roughly twenty feet high. They were crowned with stakes and patrolled by archers who notched arrows at the approach of the warlike host.
"Halt!" Came a voice from atop the walls.
"Halt," Chaldera repeated, lifting a hand and forcing her company to a stop.
"State your purpose," the unidentified sentry barked. "What brings such a host to Klifwood unannounced?"
"Doubtless you've heard tell of the Seelie rebellion and its cause," Chaldera countered, gesturing to her banner which Karina held aloft beside her. "You know of Chaldera of the House Winterhill, and of her goal to reclaim the heart of the Seelie kingdom?"
"Aye, but what part do we want with it? The Unseelie are not want to leave us alone if we let so large an army within our walls - tell me, why should we let you in and risk losing what we have fought so hard to secure?"
"Wish you not to fight for your country and your people? I have with me human and orc and dwarf, all who have no cause to love us or our cause but for the righteousness of our mission. Tell me, who leads you here? I was told Klifwood housed a great and noble house," Chaldera called up, adopting her tone reserved for the court as she had when she still had a court to attend.
The sentry jerked a thumb to the banner flying by the gate, and Chaldera turned her attention to it flapping and crackling fiercely in the wind. She squinted, attempting to identify its mark through the rain. She knew that sigil. It was not one she had seen in ages, but it was unmistakable. This village housed no mere noble, but a member of the last bloodline of the Seelie royal family.
"You can meet with her alright," the sentry boomed over the rain. "But don't expect some hero's welcome! Guard, open the gates! Let Lady Winterhill through."
Kilfwood was a small settlement hidden deep within the woods. It was a place that someone showed you the way to - not a place that you stumbled upon. The walls were high and protected by great stakes and all of the important structures were toward the center of the settlement to protect them from whatever creatures managed to slip by the defenses. The biggest structure within Kilfwood was the main hall. The main hall was just back of the epicenter and housed the Fae Queen that the Seelie had adopted. Within its wall's there were a couple of rooms for guards, a room where everyone gathered to eat, another where meetings were held, and in the center of it all… what looked to be a throne room. But the throne was empty.
Hollow eyes stared up at the cloud soaked sky as it cried upon the small woman standing in the rain. Sandied blonde hair was drenched and stuck to the skin of the woman's cheek. Her clothes were already soaked through but she continued to stare at the nothingness raining on her. The twang in her head caused the woman to drop her chin and look over her shoulder at the approaching soldier - he came with news of the travelers at the gate.
"My Quee---"
"You can stop there." She interrupted sharply, "I am no one's Queen here."
"...my apologies lady Imogen. There are some people here looking to speak with you." The soldier's voice had lost whatever dutiful tone it had before - struck down by the harsh sting of the Fae's words. "... the guards at the gate have already let them in."
"And there are Fae with them," Imogen added though it wasn't a question. The Fae turned to look at the soldier who was staring at her white-faced and wide-eyed. She watched as he swallowed whatever he was about to say next and she sighed heavily. The Seelie that lived there thought themselves to be blessed when they stumbled across Imogen collapsed in the wood and discovered the royal jewel around her neck. It was a sign that their people would prosper once again. But that notion was further from the truth than anyone had expected and the people of Kilfwood had come to concede to Imogen's cold and harsh disposition despite their belief in her.
"I guess there's nothing more that can be done about it. Tell our guests I'll see them in the main hall." Imogen walked past the soldier and shot him a look as their shoulders passed each other. The soldier didn't dare move, for fear that the Gorgon's eye would turn him to stone. But when the Fae disappeared behind him and in the hall, he scampered toward the main gate to meet with the guests.
Stepping in from the rain, the Fae shook her head from side to side and pushed the hair from her face. She approached the center of the room where a throne sat erect in the middle of it and stared at the responsibility she so eagerly denied. Her hand came around the jewel on her neck, the whites of her knuckles appeared as her hand tightened around it. '.... I didn't ask for this.'
The soldier ran toward the miss-matched group of Orc, Human, and Fae. Their horses had been tied down at the entrance and walking alongside them were a few guards that were stationed at the main gate. The rain was still falling heavily and the ground beneath them was muddied. As the soldier approached, he stopped with two arms laid promptly at his side. "Good evening. The lady Imogen will see you… she is in the main hall." The soldier removed an arm from his side and pointed toward the biggest building just set back from the center of the settlement. "Follow me please."
The people scattered about as the outsiders walked through Kilfwood - some of them gathered to the side to stare at the visitors with a watchful eye. Whispering rumors could barely be heard over the sound of the heavy rainfall. The soldier leading them pushed open the double wooden doors of the main hall and passed through. The warmth found inside was welcomed upon cold and wet bodies.
The main doors opened to the Great Room, where the throne-like chair was sitting nestled at the back against a wall with a royal sigil hanging behind it. There was a runner leading from the doors all the way to the back but it wasn't made from a fancy thread like you would find in a castle. Along the walls were several sigils hanging and only but a few guards were stationed there. There was a door on either side of the Great Room that led to sleeping chambers and the mess hall. On the back wall, on either side of the throne, were two staircases that ascended vertically to a landing and again horizontally to a shared landing. There was a single door at the top.
As the group approached the throne, the guards who had accompanied them headed to the sides of the Great Room and transformed into statues. The soldier who had led them there raised a hand for them to stop and he stepped forward to approach the Fae. His mouth moved to announce them and to announce her to their guests, but he stopped and looked back at the group with unease. As the soldier moved to the side, he extended his arm in a swooping fashion with a palm facing upwards toward the Fae sitting on the throne as a small way to introduce her.
One leg crossed in front of the other, her body leaned to one side as she rested her elbow on the arm of the throne and she propped up her head lazily in her hand. Her hair was still wet and tangled and although her clothes were still soaked, they had stopped dripping on the rug below. The royal jewel was tucked hidden away and all that remained visible was the chain that housed it on the nape of her neck. Her unamused look fell on the group of would-be travelers but whatever introductions were to be had would land on deft ears. Instead, the Fae's mystical eyes fell on Karina.
"You won't like what you find." Imogen's voice came flat. The light throbbing in her head eased until it was gone. Wide eyed, Karina looked over at Chaldera with concern. Telepaths were not common - it was rare to meet another. Imogen smirked "...a word of advice, young Fae. The next time you want to snoop around inside someone's head. Do it more quietly."
Karina stepped back from the throne, swallowing back her indignant remark at a steady hand placed upon her shoulder. Chaldera gripped tightly and pushed back her lieutenant gently, filling her place before the throne. Imogen looked nothing like what Chaldera had imagined the heiress to a forgotten kingdom to look like, though she glanced at her own muddied clothes, tattered and worn from weeks upon the road and reflected perhaps such details were inevitably lost in the songs and tales.
But song-worthy or not, the woman who sat upon the throne before Chaldera not only did not look to be some heroine from a child's story. She looked bored, disinterested, annoyed. She cast Karina a sideways glance that said in the span of a second what words might have failed to do: they would speak of her decorum later, for whatever qualities this throne-bound woman might have lacked as a leader were made no better by intrusive telepaths.
"You must forgive my companion, Your Grace," Chaldera said in all the pomp and tone of affairs of state she had practiced for many long, dull years as a girl at court: the men and women in the drill yard had suited her better. "She pries against her better judgment, for the road has been difficult and our allies scarce. I am Chaldera of the Matronly House of Winterhill, doubtless a name left to a history of a time since-departed. My fellows and I have searched far and wide throughout these lands for swords and spears to lend to our cause so that we might reclaim a fraction of what was lost."
Imogen tittered at the use of a title to address her and rolled her eyes as Chaldera continued to speak with such niceties that were well practiced in the room of royals. It was a miracle that she let the young Fae finish what she was saying at all - the people of Kilfwood would have surely been told otherwise by now and some of their stunned faces confirmed it. But as Chaldera's speech came to a close, Imogen scoffed lightly and allowed but a small comical grin upon her lips.
"My, my… it appears as though we have a well trained noble in our house." There was mockery in her tone. Imogen's head rose slightly from her hand where she allowed the tips of her fingers to tickle the bottom of her chin before continuing. "You must have had it tough, Chaldera of Winterhill. The appearance of an Unseelie Fae, but the bloodline of a Seelie. And yet, you still have the tongue of the court. Maybe not so tough after all…"
Imogen's head fell lazily back into the protection of her hand as she stared down at Chaldera. Her eyes flitted over to Karina once more - if she was practiced or talented at all in her art, there was no way that Imogen could peek in Chaldera's head without the lieutenant knowing. Imogen grinned before giving her attention back to Chaldera. "And you're here because….?"
"Your question brushes against the true reason of our arrival, and you strike me as a woman of action, so I shall hasten my words," Chaldera replied, shifting to balance upon her feet shoulder-width apart to steady her breathing. "Doubtless there are any number of towns from here to the Obsidian Coasts still loyal to the old, true Seelie Crown but that leaves the matter of who they shall swear their fealty to. Though as you yourself have observed, I am polished in my speech, I am no politician or queen. My house was of little note, my education in proper statecraft neglected for days spent fighting children bigger than me. What better to offer the people than a symbol of their old world? Who better to lead them than the heiress to their abandoned and illegitimately seized throne?"
Imogen stared at the woman with a lifeless gaze as she spoke. The old, true Seelie Crown. A symbol of the old world. An heiress to an abandoned throne. Her thoughts wandered back to the old man in the wood and of his stories. She remembered his astonished and adoring face when he discovered the jewel around her neck. And again when the people of Kilfwood found her… and the Queen's Tear in the wood. No matter where she went she always faced those who called her what she was not and expected her to be something she didn't desire.
The Fae slowly removed her tired head from her hand, uncrossed her legs, and stood in front of the makeshift throne to face her visitors. "You would suit the court, Chaldera. Polished, yes. But also stupid. First, you come here, to Kilfwood, a place that someone has to show you the way… you demand to be let in and you bring an inexperienced telepath. You request an audience with a woman you don't even know to plead a cause that you haven't even explained even when asked… and now you speak of a world that you are too young to have even known."
"From what I can gather… you want to overthrow the Unseelie." As the words left Imogen's mouth, the room fell under a low rumble of whispers and pained and frightful faces. "... this is the response you will receive from those who are still licking their wounds from a moment in history that scarred this land. It would do you well to remember the response you received here today on your travels less you enjoy opening old wounds and sprinkling salt on them."
The once bored and disinterested face that looked upon them was now displeased and her voice was painted with disdain. "I do not know who you think I am… or how you came to even know of me. But you're wrong and now you must explain to your followers that you pushed them through a tireless journey for nothing. And now, Chaldera of Winterhill… it is time for you to leave."
"Do not presume you know my history - if what you say is true, and you wish to have nothing to do with your past titles and life, then perhaps I shall let the salt linger a while yet in this particular sore and speak candidly." The pleasant note in Chaldera's voice was gone now, replaced with the biting edge of cold steel. "A dozen families of noble descent have pledged themselves to my cause, and I command an army of over two hundred strong. It is small, yes, and inexperienced."
Her eyes strayed to the telepath at her side before continuing.
"But what would you rather let transpire? Forget your lineage, forget the expectations of the past we carry upon our shoulders - you either shall fade into obscurity over the coming centuries lost and forgotten, or you may stand and fight for a chance of…"
Chaldera paused, mind grasping for the proper words.
"...A chance that your memory will not be forgotten, that your people - no, our - people will not fade into nothingness after centuries of cruelty and mockery and brutal violence. Every man and woman behind me has wrestled with the very thought of the past, and what the coming months, years, decades even will mean for us and our people, but to sit back and simply let the inert forces of history cast you into nothingness is, in a word, pitiful."
Imogen couldn't help the grin that tugged at her lips as she listened to Chaldera's fortitude for a cause that was nothing but hopeless. The Fae descended the few steps that led to the throne and walked toward Chaldera. Imogen stopped shoulder to shoulder with Chaldera and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder without looking at her.
"Hmmm…" she hummed as she soaked in Chaldera's feelings. "For someone who is so nervous, you sure have quite the bite in your tongue. But I guess that's a result of how annoyed you are right now." Imogen's eyes peered over at the young Fae in a cold harshness that was akin to Chaldera's family name. 'Now young one… feel what I feel.'
Anguish poured into the young Fae accompanied by a thousand whispering voices. Voices spewing things about Imogen - telling her who she was, what she had to do, and what she meant. It was the voices of people telling her about her royal lineage. Voices of people telling her she was only good as a circus clown. Voices of people telling her she was nobody, nothing, just an orphan abandoned in the woods. Imogen removed her hand from Chaldera's shoulder and as she did, all of the voices and the anguish disappeared.
"I do not need to presume to know your history, young Fae. It is easy for me to know. But in the same sense, you should not presume that I am who you think I am. I never once said I was of royal lineage. And as for my memory, well… that was lost some odd 500 years ago. I'm not who you think I am. And now… you must go. Safe travels, Chaldera of Winterhill."
Imogen walked to the end of the room, pushing open the great wooden doors to the hall, and exited the building.
Chaldera nodded, fighting back tears. It was a habit she had picked up as a youngling in her father's court whenever she had been talked down to by the lords and ladies of her father's holdings, or whenever she had been disciplined. It was a flaw she despised, for it made her look weak, like the foolish little girl Imogen believed her to be. Composure holding, she looked to Karina whose own look of defeat mirrored her own: no telepathy was needed to express what they both felt.
"Let's go," Chaldera said in a hushed tone, one that still carried in the wide antechamber.
As she and her lieutenant made to leave, they were halted by a robed woman, one who had until she had hurried towards the pair seemed to have blended into the room itself with her neutrally toned robes. She paused before them, bowing her head respectfully, a gesture both Chaldera and Karina returned in kind.
"Greetings - I advise the Lady on matters of state and importance," the woman said, tone flat.
"Do not worry yourself, we shall take to the road and be out of your settlement by nightfall," Chaldera assured her, turning to leave before she was interrupted.
"Ah, actually - that is why I stopped you," the adviser remarked, lifting a hand to halt the pair. "Give me a moment with our Lady. I will see to it you and your men have at least one night to shelter from the storm you marched through as a matter of courtesy."
"You have my thanks. My lieutenant and I will await confirmation by where we have posted up near the southeastern edge of the wall," Chaldera nodded, gesturing for Karina to follow her as they moved out into the bitter, stinging cold of the rain outside.
The advisor disappeared beyond the great doors and out into the wet cold to find Imogen.
