Chương 19: Chapter 18

Erem Outskirts Titania of Whitewood, Dame-Captain of Goldenwood His scent carried over the road in precise and meticulous fashion, honey and oak smoke along the river, then through small mannish towns, along the southern and then north-western roads. The locals of the lumbering town claimed they saw and spoke to him- clad in wood and in the company of a dwarf. She had reappropriated his blade from the merchant, and discussed the lessons of language the old man had given to him.

For that, she prayed Amarami to bless him, and moved swiftly in the wake of his and the dwarf's scent. Dwarves smelled like oil, the kind used in burning lamps and for topical ointments, a rich and musky scent. This dwarf smelled like oil-laden wool. The guards of the bridge town claimed they saw him, passing through in the company of a dwarf, a man, a horse, and then later a dark elf. The man and stallion's scent joined them along the road.

Theirs was the scent of earthy, rooty nature laced with the faintness of ammonia and salt-air in wooden places. All humans smelled of salt. The dark elf joined them at some point along the road, her untrustworthy scent a rich, hot walnut. All elves smelled of woods, but dark elves smelled of heat- the heat that arose from rot and decay carried in their souls. A fermented heat that carried sickness, boiled or stewed or mired, hot and sodden.

Not like Rasil's heat- his was the heat of fire and burning, the smoke of a mighty wood burning from all edges. A heat that warms and scents and strangles if not allowed to vent. This was the heat and flavor to his sweet honey, a nectar that would never spoil nor sicken the taster. It was a good scent. She enjoyed it. His scent carried through an abbey laden with milk and honey. The priests claimed they saw them, and offered hospitality, and that they had claimed their destination was Erem.

He had observed one of their sermons, and by their favors and what compliments they had heaped upon his description, he had been the ideal guest. Nothing of fire or venom they could see, only the honey and oak. It made her quite happy to hear that. He had taken up another name- Mal-Orn. Golden Tower. It was an exceptionally cute name, but it would be utterly improper for her to use it. She would continue with Ra-Sil, Strong Moon, which was also a cute name.

His and their scents continued along the way for a time, eventually meeting with the grease-sulfur-rot of a great many goblins, whose scents obscured their path with their marching. She had come up to them along the road, and demanded their knowledge of her apprentice. They had chosen to respond with gonnefire, an offense that she responded to suitably then moved along the way. Once she was beyond their scents, she could smell her apprentice once more along the road, and her worries were soothed.

After some time, they were joined with another scent, the same musky oil of a dwarvish sort, this time a sort of polish-scent.

"What if he's not here either?" Dordi, the maid-in-training, asked with a faintly despairing tone over the faint tap-tap of her legs carrying her forwards, laden with bags. Her stamina had been improving greatly; another two weeks of steady march and it would triple what she began with. Her complaints about starving were quickly proven incorrect when put on a standard diet of honeybread and pemmic. Rather than starving, she had simply been consuming inefficient and poor quality foodstuffs.

"He'd better be!" The foot-tall form of a slight woman hovered on honeybee wings, twirling with a marvelously darling expression of disdain and fury. She was dressed in woven grass and butterfly wings, bound with gossamer string.

"That cute little brat has caused more than enough trouble, running off like he has! I ought to teach him a lesson when I get my hands on him!" Teg, Lady Greenwood's familiar, had joined her sometime after the logging town, present to summon the Lady Greenwood to their side upon finding him. Titania found herself quietly hoping for a cordial meeting.

"Please restrain your fury, Teg," Titania began calmly, eyes sedately roaming but nose sharp and ears raised.

"He's here, or was here very recently. His smell carries and lingers."

"Hmp!" the fairy grunted, placing her hands on her hips and slowly twirling through the air, towards Dordi.

"You know how ungrateful that boy is? The last thing he said to me, guess what it was!" She spoke directly to the maid-in-training, who shook her head with a little huff of effort.

"I don't know, Miss Teg." Teg raised her hands and scrunched her face in a comical pattern, putting on a gruffer voice as she spoke.

"What does mother want this time?" she growled out, doing a very good impression of Titania's student in the process. She dropped the act and waved her hands around wildly.

"As if I didn't want to spend time with him! As if I haven't been there for as long as he's been alive! I used to nap on his head, you know?!"

"... What was it like?" Dordi asked after a moment, with a glance in her direction. Titania wasn't sure why, she had only ever slept with his head in her lap. She was heavy enough to cause discomfort if she slept on his head.

"Hmp!" Teg huffed, quietly considering the statement before answering.

"It was really warm, all that hot air in his head." She nodded firmly, scowling and eyes closed.

"Then he started wearing a helmet everywhere he went just to stop me from my evening naps."

"Rasil wears his helmet everywhere because he likes it." Titania shook her head.

"It's one of his many cute habits."

"I'd believe that if he didn't laugh every time he saw me after!" Teg cried out and shook her fist.

"He's a damn brat, that's what he is!" Titania's nose carried her from the front of the gates of the mannish-dwarvish township and towards the side-road up along the lake and onwards towards the tower of Erem. She paused for a brief time, two thirds of the way along the road, and took in the scents of her apprentice, blood, sulfur, oil, and the distant recoiling stench of something altogether too foul to tolerate. The sloven scent of a consumptive rot. Here, the scent of her student went two directions.

Both towards the mountain and away from the mountain. She'd ask the guardians at the gates first, then double back and follow the side-path. Erem was just there, ahead of her, and the trail was likely to be much shorter than this second path. The trail continued along for a ways, the smell of him and his companions carried up on the rocks and the ground onwards towards the imposing stone towers of the dwarven mountain-hold.

She had not been to this specific one before, but it bore many of the traditional features of the dwellings of the mountainfolk. Great stones stacked and carved, water carried for many miles on elaborate bridges stretching over the landscape, pouring down in pipes and waterfalls and flowing into massive manufactured lakes. Every structure was terraced to some degree. Their stairs were massive things, framed by slightly smaller stairs, which in turn were framed by even smaller stairs on the outer edges.

Wide and flat and open spaces for many miles around, their trees young and green and rigid. They were meticulous and sturdy, and very blunt with their words. She wondered if Rasil found their company more or less pleasant than that of elves. His tongue was a blunt sword. Cutting and bare-faced. Their approach was heeded as was regular- up to the outer gates of the mountain, where stood two great guardians.

Trollguards, clad in heavy plates and wielding weapons of immense scale, as long in horn as they were in beard. They looked down to greet her as she approached, before making a great huffing exhale beneath long metal veils.

"Little-folk elf, I think I see," the one on the right declared with a rumble in dwarvish, standing as tall as a ten-year sapling.

"And two noisome uzn bugs in her company." Teg buzzed angrily beside her, and Dordi retracted in on herself under the gaze. Trolls were so large that everything about them was heavy, including their gazes. Giants were much the same, glances enough to pin the weak to the floor, crushed under the gravitas of their eyes. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Naturally, Titania found her shoulders light.

"I am Dame-Captain Titania of Goldenwood, here on behalf of the Lady Greenwood, in search of the missing Rasil of Greenwood," she announced, boldly and clearly.

"He has traveled with four others- a man, a lady dwarf, a lady dark elf, and another lady dwarf. Their scents had led me here, is he within your halls?" She knew that they did not know his name, from her question to the previous bunch. A description of the band in question would be a more effective means of determining location. The troll pulled back slightly, oil lamps dangling from his horns and scalemail rattling about. He turned to glance at his partner. A tilt of the helmets then a turn back towards her.

"Only one elf, methinks. The dark elf you spoke of- though there was a great hubbub about some goblin attack on the road yesterday."

"Aye," the other spoke up.

"An attack on the missing daughter of Gravelbrook, or something to that effect. They've taken shelter in the clan halls."

"I would like to speak to them," Titania immediately followed, intensely staring at the warmask of the trolls. They leaned back slightly more, one giving a somewhat awkward shrug of his shoulders.

"We'll send word to their halls, certainly, but the guests of the dwarves are not offered to the hands of any enemies. Are you a friend or foe to them?" She wasn't sure about how to answer that.

"I am a friend to their friend, and nothing in particular to them." She replied with the same blunt honesty she would give to Rasil. The trolls nodded at this, seemingly happy with the answer given. …Ah, that worked well. She made a note of it. The speech of Rasil was good for Mountain-folk. One of the trolls nodded, turning about and bellowing out.

"JURGEN!" The yell was immense enough to shake the bones of those nearby, and Teg swayed in the air as a result. A moment passed.

"WHAT?!" From the distance.

"Send word to Gravelbrook, an elf at the door wants to speak to their guests!" the troll rumble-grumbled out, voice carrying long and loudly.

"AYE!" A somewhat frustrated reply called back, followed by the stomping of feet and rattling of mail. She waited patiently at the gates, taking the time to observe the trolls closer as she did. They shuffled about occasionally, mostly looking out to the roads but occasionally glancing down at her through their eyeholes. She wasn't sure why. A long few minutes passed, time she spent continuing her observations of the trolls.

Several dwarves and trolls came and went through the gates of Erem in that time, occasionally exchanging words with the guards before sending their own glances towards her and quickly moving about their business. The wind blew from her, into the mountain, and thus it was impossible to make out any of their approaching scents. This was not her only means of perception. Soon, another group came from the great central gates of Erem.

The rapid and light steps distinct against the heavy boots of the mountainfolk, and catching a twitching of her ears. It was, as sure as anything, not more dwarves. She turned her observations from the trolls, who slumped as her sight moved away, and towards the gates. There, rapidly running out and head throwing about, were the heavy tans and dark leathers of a dark elf, ears twitching about and gaze searching for someone in a haphazard manner.

Until, eventually, her amber eyes came to settle on Titania's heavy blue gaze. The dark elf's pupils shrank in focus, her ears pulled back, and her stance grew rigid and straight. Behind the dark elf, a handful of others followed, making their own hesitations as they saw the dark elf pause and eyes trailing to meet with whatever she was looking at. A human clad in darks and reds, a little-dwarf clad in puffy whites and tans, and a half-lizard thing clad in quilted cloth and scales.

Titania's ears twitched once, an unspoken command. The dark elf swallowed fearfully, and began to approach. — A cave in Monster Country Malamadr The Half-Horned A great anticipation purred within her breast, the anticipation of progress being made. She shifted lazily about her warm bed, then stretched her wings wide to shake off the torpor of a day. There was a hunger in her, a hunger of the gullet and loins, briefly sated by the breaking-in of her latest reclaimed debt.

A strike upon her person twenty years, two months, and five days prior, a cost finally extracted by the capture of the debtor's son. She pulled up from her bed of gold and jewels, and from the slumbering form of her newest little treasure. Fair featured and clad in lithe sinews, hair spilling like curtains of golden thread and slumbering delicately among her softer treasures. Another debt owed to her. For their usage, she'd extract what she was owed soon enough.

For the moment she pulled up, stretching her other limbs about, letting bones pop and cool air spill across her bare flesh. Her mane kept the worst of the chill at bay as she rose, from the slumbering form of her elf and to a standing position. Another year and he'd be hers in entirety, an investment worth the value she could extract from his happy servitude. The world was full of the ungrateful, who had to be reminded of what they owed her.

For everything they had taken from her, she'd ensure that they paid her back in full. That was simply justice. Her tail waved about as she considered this, stepping towards and off the side of her home interior. She went horizontal at once, continued her steady pacing down into the pantry, and took hold of a fine aged ham. Dry, smoked, and rich with lovely things- the dark elves were willing to pay many things to her for her mercy and occasional patronage. One of the few groups who knew to respect her.

She returned to the second terrace, passing by her treasures. Each and every one a debt reclaimed from some arrogant thief, each one a memory more precious than the item itself. There, the jewels of the kingdom of Allel, five-hundred and three years, two hundred and seven days, thirteen hours ago she claimed it as collateral for their unprovoked attack on her person. She had been attempting to reclaim her horn, passing along expedition-ships through their waters from Giant Country and to this land.

There, the amulet of fire from the sands of Jasmine. Seven hundred and ninety-eight years, two hundred and eight three days, five hours ago. Collateral for their unjust assault on the home of her servants neighboring their lands, who made great investigations into the art of curses and necromancy. There, the baleful axe from the heart of Demon Country. One thousand and fifty four years, eighteen days, sixteen hours ago taken as payment from the temples of Asterbath.

A cursed treasure that whispered to the minds of all and slew those who took it up, an artifact handed to her as an attempt on her life. She smiled sweetly, remembering mile-high corpsefires and the hundred-thousand screamsongs she had made on that day. She settled a great many debts on that day, and the baleful axe made for a delightful addition to her collection.

There was no need to worry about her little treasure being slain by it- she'd simply be owed yet another thing from the underlord for taking him, and God of the Dead's debts to her were long and damning already. The greatest of which was taking Erem from her, who was hers by right. Mind, body, soul. For the crime of taking her horn, there was nothing less that would settle the debt but complete mastery.

But the Underlord was a wretched and powerful thief, perhaps the most powerful thief of all, and she would need so much more majesty to oppose him openly. Her majesty, her horn, which dwelled in Erem's Tomb along with the mulch of what remained after they dismantled him. Another debt they owed her, for stealing his body from her. Her eyes glowed with power and her breast filled with an old, seething heat. Horrid little thieves, all of them.

Ah, but there was one little debt to account for, while waiting for the chaos and confusion to build in Erem's effigy. She cast her gaze back at the slumbering form of her breathing gold, stepping over across her warm memories and over to him, smiling down. His smell was a delightful one, honey and smoke, now sweetened with her tongue and waters. Her tail came up and hooked one of her tapestries, a flattering depiction of herself woven by a now-slaughtered tribe.

Bringing it over to lay upon him and keep his delicate form warm in her bedding. Ah, he was so precious, wrapped up like that! She brought her hands up to cup her cheeks staring down at his form, cuddled up all snuggly as he was. That dark elf had taken his first sweet moments. The thought made her heart burn and her mind drip with poison. She reached over to the wall of her home, claws scraping and mana bending.

A waterfall of golden coins spilled from the wounded rock, stone obeying her commands to bleed coin, and she brought a sack over to fill from the tap. Another bag of coins to the goblins, for the head of the dark elf. Two bags if they blame a dwarf for it. Her wings flexed as the mountain ceased to bleed, and she rose to the lip of her home. A flex of the mind, a wave of her hand, and a pull upon her hair. No longer Malamadr in radiance. Simply a lovely woman in a simple red hooded cloak and simple white garb.

She carried a basket of golden apples, not a bag of gold. The only thing that remained were her wings, and she needed those to fly. She jumped from the lip of the entrance, wings flapping powerfully, carrying her towards the effigy of Erem. That effigy belonged to her. All of it did.