Dayfall

Dayfall

Silas H. Tyler

Copyright 2013 Silas H. Tyler

Smashwords Edition

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Act I: The Violet-Eyed Man

~Chapter 1~

I don't like the way this place smells, complained the boy for the hundredth time that day. When are we going to race the horses? You promised we'd go today! He was fun-loving, to be sure, and his desire to enjoy himself more often than not motivated his actions. The world on which he lived was rife with things to discover, but the boy's interest was ever-difficult to satisfy, to the chagrin of his father.

I hear you, my son, said the boy's father with a sigh, and I pity you, that the histories of this world no longer interest you. His voice had become more than a little sour. He wrinkled his brow as he bowed to peruse the dusty tomes on the table again. You used to enjoy our trips to the Great Library!

Father, I enjoy our time together. But I've read all these stories! I want to learn about more than just the nations of men! Am I not partly of the stock of the elves? At the mention of the elves, the boy's father stood and drew close, the chair making an unpleasant sound against the stone floor. The boy's father whispered urgently to him. No one else in the library reacted, but the boy's father glanced about nervously, as if the boy had attracted observers.

You must not mention your mother's father, my son. A union between races is forbidden by our ways, and there are good reasons for that! The boy wrinkled his brow in the same manner as his father, the distinct sign of annoyance displayed by the males of their family. Your mother was allowed to live among us because it was decreed that she had no part in the circumstances of her birth! It is a secret kept to preserve our livelihood, and I would greatly appreciate it if you would allow it to remain a secret. At least until we die, please?

Peace, father. No one appears to have heard me speak of our dark family secret. We are mostly alone in this library at the moment, and safe by separation from the nearest set of prying eyes. His words reeked of sarcasm, the effect on his father exacerbated by the rolling of the boy's eyes. The wise man chose to ignore his son's deliberate attempt at provocation. He suddenly changed the subject, trying to keep his son's focus on a more well-grounded line of thought.

So – what is significant about the 347th year of the Dark Cry era? said the man, continuing to turn yellowed, dry pages.

You know why. The boy's expression remained static.

Humor me, son. The boy suppressed a grin.

That's Vhesdra Ironblood's first year on the Crying Throne. She replaced the ruthless Emperor Mizrac.

Good, good, remarked the man, nodding appreciatively. What made this different than the usual 'passing of the torch’? The father continued to test his son, a practice that they both secretly enjoyed.

Nothing, really. Mizrac’s successor was his murderer, as the tradition goes. What was unique was the true nature of his successor. Vhesdra Ironblood was and supposedly still is the first female to rule the dark elves, and his only daughter. Her reign is an unusual one for many reasons. The Crying Throne is the head of what is considered the most ruthless and bloodthirsty empire on this world or any other. Vhesdra was a black sheep among the dark elves, and hated their violent ways. Stories say she murdered her father after an exile of wandering around the Twilight Borders. She did the deed in the middle of him sitting on his throne, giving orders to his personal guard.

Very good! You see, son— began the father encouragingly.

What I see, Father, is that I've read all there is to read about us. Why can't I read about the others? The boy continued to press his father's patience.

Did you not just recount some elven history, son?

Yes, but the only reason we recorded anything about the Crying Throne is because Mizrac held our ancestors as slaves! We remember them only because they made us what we are now. The young man pouted, and his father smiled quietly.

Come then, son. It happens that I have made plans for us to ride out to another library; I trust you will enjoy this one a little better. Then, we'll race. Okay?

~~~

The man wakened slowly, the light of the moon doing little to speed along the revival of his senses and motor skills. He buckled his thick black boots, and strapped to his back his most prized possession. It was a long, heavy war-sword given to him by his father, the scholar and war hero. The man rubbed sleep from his violet eyes, and swept back a fold of straight, dark hair. It was carefully maintained, out of an old-but-not-forgotten sense of childish vanity. A loose black cloak, similar to what one of the northmen would wear against the cold, hung open over an earthy tunic.

The man cast an eye toward the exit of his quarters, finding a set of elven eyes peering into the room at him from a slit in the door. Since the door was not locked, the elf on the other side gently pushed it open, and gestured to the man.

I'm sorry, Father. I wanted very much to enjoy that library, the man mumbled wistfully to no one in particular as he blinked his unique, but very much human eyes, and wandered into the hallway after the elf. This one was a male, his appearance a fairly typical one, in some ways: hair long and white. His irises were deeply violet, and his skin a washed indigo, like most dark elves. However, this one was quite a bit burlier than any other the man had seen. The Crying Throne's tradition required that Guardsmen be chosen from the strongest young males to protect the Emperor, or in the case of Vhesdra Ironblood, Empress, from those who would do the sovereign harm, and the man felt he could safely assume this elf was a Guardsman.

The guard gruffly gestured again, this time to a wide, heavily-decorated door in the center of the hallway's north wall, and the man could not help but stop and stare. The carvings on the door evoked thoughts of dichotomy. It bore representations of elves, high and dark, intertwined and intermingled, demonstrating life, death, beginnings, endings, sowing, harvesting. He guessed the images carved therein depicted figures from elven history, shown performing a number of actions, and the work was so lifelike that it disturbed one to gaze for too long upon it. The man would have liked very much to remain studying it, but his admiration was interrupted by the wide hand of the Guardsman, slapping the door and pushing it open.

The Dark Lady will see you, now, he said with a smile that was both friendly and unsettling. He stepped inside, part of the way, and grasped the handle of the great door. The man smiled back at the elf, and stepped inside, hearing the heavy door shut behind him. The man wandered into the room alone, taking careful note of new surroundings. The torch-lit chamber was quite wide, with walls and floors of polished black and gray stone. Thick columns stood as a frame around a hexagonal pool. At one edge, stairs lead into waist-deep water. The man strolled slowly forward to the opposing edge of the pool, his hands clasped behind his back. Vhesdra Ironblood sat across the top stair, unlacing the straps of her sandals, one at a time. Her eyes, distinctively red in the stead of the common violet, turned to focus on the man.

The man regarded her for a moment, seeking to know how the living being might measure up to the legend; he had spent much of a childhood hearing whispered stories of this elf. She was tall, much taller than any human woman, but this was not unusual for a she-elf. Vhesdra Ironblood held herself gracefully, her back straight, and her hands resting lightly upon whatever she touched. A prominent scar was visible at her neck. The man stared for a moment longer, and finally decided that Vhesdra Ironblood at least appeared to satisfy the stories surrounding her name.

So you are the traveler, yes? she said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. It was more of a statement than a question. The man noticed the Empress's voice carried an almost musical quality that he found quite pleasant to his ears, her voice deep and rich, suggesting both age and youth at the same time.

I am. His reply was flat and even. He hated to impose sobriety upon himself, when laughter ever craved an escape from him, but he decided that the best thing to do was conduct himself respectably. I have studied you and your kind as completely as I was able, which is to say – nearly as completely as I have studied my own kind, he said nonchalantly, choosing each word he said with care.

Oh, have you? And do you like what you have discovered of us, the abhorrent dark elves? She raised her shoulders and smiled good-naturedly, narrowing her eyes as she gauged the man.

Of course, the man replied, smiling back. I am a student of all history, in particular that which is unfamiliar to me. I find the bygone days of the elves to be – enlightening – to read on, and—

Because my father held you as slaves? interrupted the Dark Lady, pursing her lips and cutting her eyes at him shrewdly. A light, hollow sound echoed through the cavernous chamber as an empty sandal hit the stones beside the pool's edge.

In part, yes. After all, recent generations of us do owe much of our culture to your influences, My Lady. Another smile to counter the sharp glance of the intelligent she-elf. But what interests me most is the arrival of your kind, generations ago. I would know more about the origins of the elves.

Careful, traveler. Her gaze sharpened further, but her voice remained as light and impish as could be.

Forgive me. I do not mean to insinuate that the elves are in any way aberrant to this world. I am merely interested in what lies beyond. It is known to us that My Lady's ancestors are not of any realm familiar to men – I would very much like to learn more of such places – and of magic. The last word escaped the man's lips with a hint of intrigue, of excitement, and of things found in dreams. The Dark Lady could tell that this man was in earnest, merely by the way he said the word.

Magic! she repeated excitedly, her eyes widening, and her lips parting in an unabashed grin. Bestial canines showed themselves as she smiled. She playfully twirled her other shoe about her finger; each wide arc seemed to draw a leather line in the air. Now, that is an interesting topic! However, an intelligent man such as yourself would surely be aware that that is something foreign to this world, yes?

Of course it is not something that originated of humble Idyll, but that does not mean it doesn't exist here. A fact you know even better than I do, the man replied, now walking slowly around the pool toward the stairs where the Ironblood heir sat.

I regret to tell you, friend traveler, that I was born here on Idyll. I know nothing of our home-world. I fear I cannot help you. She applied all her skills in charm, made her smile vanish, and forcibly closed her eyes to hide the flirtatious glint.

Oh? the man intoned with a smirk, unflappable. The Dark Lady was more transparent than she seemed to think. Perhaps she even wanted for him to catch on.

Ah, you have caught me in my little deceit, friend traveler! she cried in mock defeat, stiffly extending her arms and legs for a moment or so. Oh, I cannot continue to refer to you as 'traveler!' What is your name? She began again twirling her sandal by the strap, and finally tossed it at him.

Derreisende, replied the man, lifting a hand to shoulder-level and catching the shoe by the sole. He laid it gently beside its fellow as he walked closer to the Dark Lady. He moved to lean casually into the nearest column before remembering where he was. He doubted that elves would take too kindly to him making himself at home, so Derreisende remained standing, his knees painfully locked.

Duhr – rise – end. Derrrr – eye – zend. Derreisende, she repeated. "What a pleasingly human name, she remarked, her impish grin returning. Well, then, friend Derreisende, I shall show you all that the dark elves retain of our magic." She let fall the long robe she wore around her shoulders, revealing a modest tunic. She stood and stepped down into the water, her gaze never leaving the man.

You may open it now, Aylward, the Dark Lady called toward the entrance. The heavy door swung open to admit the gigantic Guardsman. He lumbered over to an ornate metal and wood crank, and began to turn it. As the machinery behind the walls worked, a circular plate above the pool moved to open one of several shafts in the masonry of the fortress, built by the dark elves to align with the nimble Idyllic moon at certain times of the day. Welcome blue moonbeams poured into the torch-lit chamber, bathing every surface in the light.

What is in that pool? inquired Derreisende, his eyes widening. The liquid, which was clearly not water, began to glow as if from within. The ripples and tiny currents created by Vhesdra's movements showed themselves as veins of sapphire.

This is Ælfled, painstakingly bottled from an enchanted spring on our home world, and carried to Idyll during our – exodus. I did not deceive you when I said I was born here – this magic water is one of precious few things I know of our world, said Vhesdra softly, her voice still carrying its music.

What does it do? the traveler asked, his brow furrowed sharply. Without thinking, he dipped two fingers in the Ælfled, withdrew them, and watched the drops roll off, sparkling like diamonds as they fell into the cool water.

A great many things. It can somewhat speed along the healing of the most grave of wounds, give peace to a disquiet mind, and it is quite pretty to look at, among a few other purposes. Among my favorite of its properties is that it captures and magnifies light, she said, closing her eyes as the light washed over her. I shall now tell you the secret we dark elves keep. Tell me – have you ever seen one of us on the bright side of the world?

No. We have only seen high elves on our side of Idyll.

Wrong, friend Derreisende! Behold! Her smile reached a mischievousness so great, he feared a prudish elder was sure to generate spontaneously and scold her. As the traveler looked on, the dark elf's blue skin changed and faded into an earthy, pinkish hue not unlike that of a human, and her hair took on a deep, blue-black, the curls and ringlets straightening as though by tiny hands tugging her hair taut. She sloshed over to stand just before the man, so that he could see her crimson irises become violently and piercingly blue. They retained the slit pupils, however.

The secret of the dark elves is thus: Sunlight paints us as the not-so-high elves, and it is only in darkness do we appear dark, ourselves! Her smile widened again, her pointed teeth now quite flat like those of her cousins. She waved to her guard, who closed again the shaft that let in the moon. The guard left the area once more, and a heavy thud signaled his absence.

Now, go with Aylward to my sitting room. I shall meet you there shortly. Then we shall talk of the answers you seek. Her skin and hair changed rapidly back to their true colors as she stepped out of the Ælfled pool, and began to pat her legs dry with a towel.

Derreisende complied with a courteous bow, and passed through the door where the large Guardsman waited. The burly elf grunted in greeting, and led the Dark Lady's guest down regal halls and passages of ebony and shade. After a long and silent walk, they paused at a door, much simpler than the one outside the Ælfled pool. Aylward placed a hand on the heavy iron latch, and loosed it. He cracked the door, paused, and shut it again.

What? asked Derreisende, raising an eyebrow.

Would sir like to admire the construction of this magnificent conglomeration of iron slats and wooden planks? he asked with a toothy grin worthy of his Lady.

Oh, erm – heh. No, that's quite alright, my friend. Aylward shook his head, laughing softly.

Humans! He turned again to the door, cracked it, paused, and shut it again. The man cocked his head, and lowered both eyebrows. Are you quite sure? This is a lovely door. I cannot say that I have seen very many like it. Derreisende fought the urge to roll his eyes, and instead gave an earnest laugh in response. Aylward tossed his head back and cackled uproariously. He clapped the man about the shoulder roughly.

Hah! You're alright, human. He wiped at a tear of mirth, and grasped the latch of the door, and loosed it. He cracked it, paused, and shut it again. Derreisende merely blinked and smiled blankly this time.

"You know, there's something strange about you. I've never seen my Empress flirt with any male before, let alone a human! He wrinkled his nose as he pronounced the word flirt, as if it were a foreign word he was reading aloud for the first time. But I know Lady Ironblood. I helped raise her under ol' Mizrac's rule, you know, before he banished her. It seems she is actually fond of you!" he said incredulously, his eyes and mouth widening absurdly as he voiced the thought.

She is quite old by your time – but to us, she is little more than an innocent young she-elf You be kind to her! the burly elf said accusingly, waggling a finger under Derreisende's nose. Then Aylward held two fingers just below his eyes and opened the door without turning his gaze from the man accompanying him.

Thank you, friend elf. I shall bear all of that in mind, replied the traveler, slipping into the room before the Guardsman could close the door again. This room was round, the circular walls adorned with sectional shelves covered in ancient books. Shadows and orange flickers danced on every surface, yet there was no pervasive smoke, as in the torches hanging elsewhere in the fortress.

Derreisende settled into one of several generously padded chairs by an unlit fireplace. He closed his eyes for a span in quiet reflection, until he was jarred alert by the door opening again, this time to admit Vhesdra. Over her shoulder, Derreisende saw the Guardsman repeat his two-fingered gesture and mouth I'm watching you, before closing the door. Vhesdra sauntered in, taking long strides across the room to seat herself in the chair beside Derreisende. She now wore a different tunic. Dark elf symbols decorated the dark fabric. She brushed a few strands of hair over her ear, and opened one of the nearby dusty volumes, a book of history, by the look Derreisende stole of it.

I believe we can help each other, friend Derreisende, Vhesdra began. How much do you know of elves, generally speaking? He shrugged simply.

Not much. We only ever recorded what pertained to us, as far as history goes.

We dark elves were once just like our cousins, the high-and-mighty elves. We were of separate – shall we say – ‘tribes' than the ones who would call themselves high elves. Our tribes were at war on Elys, our world. The war raged in part over how best to deal with the other worlds our common ancestors had discovered, and in part because the Council of Five stood at the head of what was quickly shaping up to be quite the oppressive regime, you see. The story is old and corrupted by many retellings, so I am afraid we have only the vague ideas behind it. She shook her head in regret, and then continued.

In short, the high-and-mighty elves gained the upper hand and used a powerful magic to curse us with our somewhat frightening appearance to mark us as traitors to the elven ways of Elys—

"Come now! We don't find you frightening!" Derreisende interrupted with a laugh. Vhesdra clasped her hands tightly in front of her heart, just to the left of the center of her chest, opposite where a human's heart would be.

Oh, what a sweet thing to say! Thank you! she gushed in response, before clearing her throat and continuing her tale. It was impossible to tell if she was being sincere or sarcastic. She acted then as if Derreisende had said nothing, however. So, with an even more potent misuse of Elys's magic, the lowlifes cast my ancestors, Mizrac among them, out of Elys and into Idyll; this was and is a mostly magic-less world, from which we could not retaliate against our cousins. Some generations later, they followed us here, some of them, carrying with them what they could of Elys. We do not know why they did this, but they sealed the way behind them, ensuring that no one would enter or leave Idyll ever again. The Dark Lady closed the book as she finished the short story, though it was apparent that she had not been reading from it at all.

An interesting story, to be sure! proclaimed Derreisende. But now we arrive at the meat of the meal – you have rendered service to me in sharing what you know. What is it you would like of me in return, before I ask you to tell me more? He posed the question delicately, trying to give the impression that he didn't mind doing the elves a kindness.

Oh, but there is more I must tell you! Alas, it will have to wait until your triumphant return from the Pristine Citadel, she said, smiling widely and obviously fighting the urge to giggle. Why the look of surprise, human? Only the noses-high-in-the-air elves know what became of our home-world. Only they know why no one can leave Idyll. She paused, and chewed her tongue in thought. Personally, my interest is only based in curiosity. I don't particularly want to leave. I rather like it here on my side of Idyll.

So, to the Pristine Citadel, is it? When shall I go? He asked the question solemnly, loathe to leave the fortress so soon.

Oh, there is no rush! You now know as well as I that the highly-irritating elves are going nowhere. We shall discuss the details tomorrow morning – if you can refer to the time as such, on a world that does not turn. Derreisende raised his brows at those words. Do worlds usually turn? he asked himself. Until then, you are free to wander the city as you like. You will have a room provided to you, as on last night. Of course, if you wish it, you may remain here in the keep and – spend a little more time in my company. She pursed her lips and widened her eyes, reading his responses.

I would enjoy that very much, My Lady, he said and flashed his warmest, most sincere smile. She suddenly leaned toward Derreisende, her hands on her knees. Her face was a very small distance from his own, and he could detect an earthy, pleasant fragrance in the air about her.

I like you, Derreisende! I can tell already we shall become fast friends! A sharp, toothy grin like the one she now displayed would have severely unnerved an ignorant man. This man, partly of elven stock himself, was just wise enough in the ways of Vhesdra's people to find it endearing. She exited the room ahead of him, and froze, her eyes locked onto something Derreisende could not see.

Wha—? mumbled a passing elf in the hallway. She dropped into a squatting position, and kicked the elf's legs out from under him. He fell to the ground just in time to avoid the edge of some bladed implement. It struck the wall and bounced back toward the Empress, only to be caught before Derreisende could so much as cry out. A slender black-clad figured dropped from the wooden rafters. No arms were visible, but two more throwing-axes sailed from within a bulky cloak. Vhesdra dodged both, the first of the tools still in her hand. Derreisende drew his sword, and the Guardsman furiously pawed at his vestments in search of a weapon.

You stand in opposition to the well-being of this entire world.

Is that so? retorted the Empress, her gaze steely. I assume one of the more spineless high elves sent you, then. The assassin shook his head.

This goes beyond the high elves, witch. The voice was muffled by the tightly-wrapped mask.

Oh, I see. You are not here on the high elves' orders? You must mean to take the Throne. The assassin did not say another word. Derreisende stepped forward, attempting to put some space between Vhesdra and the hired blade. She pushed him aside and strode forward, ripping the skirt of her tunic as she kicked high and hard into the diaphragm of her enemy. As he doubled over, she slammed the hilt of the throwing-ax into the base of his skull, and he collapsed.

You do not know what you are risking, witch, gasped the assassin. More will come. Do you hear me? There will be others! We will not risk the delicate balance that you and your – associates – threaten. You cannot protect— The last words were cut short by the massive boot of the Guardsman, coming down hard to snap the slender elf's neck.

Thought he would never stop talking.

~Chapter 2~

Now, I hope you appreciate the serious nature of what it took to get the high elves to let us visit their own Grand Library, said the boy's father. "Grand" Library, eh? Must the fair pointy-ears upstage their neighbors in every way? the boy thought to himself. In truth, he held little ill will toward the pale, statuesque figures that glided about in the shining elven establishment he and his father were visiting. He found them quite fascinating, even if a little pompous. But their treatment toward his kind was nearly always disproportionate and altogether uncalled-for. This fact led the boy form his opinions of the high elves of Idyll early in life.

Of course, father. I know what it means for these fine creatures to deign to allow lowly humans such as ourselves to peruse these fine volumes, with our coarse, filthy fingers. The boy curled his lip and wrinkled his brow in annoyance. His father merely sighed.

I know you don't like the high elves, son. And yes, I know that they don't particularly like us, for that matter. But you are the one who wants to study all things non-human. The wise man spoke softly, to be sure that even elven ears could not hear him.

I do, father. It would be much more pleasant an experience if they didn't hate us so, replied the boy flatly. But what about the da— he began, before falling abruptly silent at a glare from his father.

You know perfectly well that we are not even entertaining that possibility. We shall not even discuss that particular subject until we are among our own— this time, the father was interrupted by a pale, spider-like hand clasping his shoulder. It was a high elf in official regalia, wearing a stern, judging face. He peeled the man away from his son with little visible effort.

The boy – I must see him. It was a statement of following action, and not a request or even a warning. The elf's eyes were cold and emotionless, his grip unwavering as he pushed the boy's father aside. The father began to protest, but was silenced by the elf's silvery, long dagger at his throat. A knife of this particular high elf design appearing unsheathed to humans signified one thing: this elf was a Cleric, intending to do harm in the name of his gods and the Council.

What do you want? The boy's voice trembled with dignified anger.

Look at me, human. Into my eyes. The boy complied, but only because of his father's throat undulating precariously near the elf's blade. The stern, narrow eyes widened in