Darkin A Journey East - By Joseph A. Turkot Page 0,74

Enoan Route, our greatest road, which runs the entire length of Enoa. Since the invasion several days ago, they have hastily advanced. Twice we tried to waylay them, but were forced to retreat.”

“To try and waylay them without Remtall Olter'Fane, high captain of the gnomen Fleet?—there was your mistake; but no more! Let’s be on to them! To the front!” roared Remtall with a fiery passion, and he drank again from his flask with restored thirst.

“The Feral Brood is heavily armored, heavily armed, magically veined. We have not numbers to counter them: even as free men of our country unite with elves, and dwarves of the eastern ranges, we may not stand up to this great force,” Iirevale foreboded.

“And what then? What are your plans, pitiable elf? Will you flee to the South? To the beaches of the Persh Wale, so that you may fly from worldly sorrow? We march north—for it is the only task left us,” Remtall fired, and suddenly, several nearby elves came to take notice of the hostile gnome.

“It was our intent, Remtall, to do just that. The beaches of the Persh would provide a haven—but as I said, Krem has contacted us and asked a favor. Be it that we owe him more than is repayable, we honor his demand. It is our task to find safe passage for you to the near front, the Wall of Dinbell, past the great Dwarven city of Oreine. It is there where Enoa’s greatest convergence of hope shall form into an army against evil—the last chance to slow the invasion.”

“Iirevale—when do you leave?” Calan suddenly spoke up.

“Morrow morn, dear sister.”

“Who will go?” she asked, looking to Adacon distractedly. Adacon looked back vacantly; though he was enamored of her, the grim news of war had shadowed his heart.

“All who muster the courage to do so,” Iirevale answered.

“Then I will go, and help in the ways I can,” she replied.

“I cannot stop you, nor can I change your mind—but know that the road is perilous, the destination more so.”

“I understand,” she answered.

“Good. See that our guests are given warm food, and rest. I believe this friend would like some elven ale, so that his vile drop of the West can be discarded…” Iirevale said, finally drawing a smile again. Remtall winked in agreeance. “Be comforted friends; you have in Carbal Post found one more night of rest, before marching north, through all veils of safety. . .”

“I would prefer to leave now—but I suppose a rest would do us well—restock the nerves,” Remtall decided reluctantly.

“Iirevale…” Adacon spoke up as Iirevale departed.

“Yes?”

“We lost all our weapons and armor at sea. What will—”

“Your new weapons and armor shall be ready for you in the morning. Now follow Calan and feast. Enjoy the comfort of safety while you may.” At that moment Iirevale left toward a corner of the small village where two houses twined together into a giant trunk. Calan led Remtall and Adacon toward the floor of tubular house that ran high into the trees.

“We will have a delicious meal—have either of you tasted elven food before?” asked Calan.

“I’ve had more than elven food!” Remtall exploded, thoroughly embarrassing Adacon.

“Excuse him, he is drunk—too much at times,” Adacon said, trying to excuse the gnome’s belligerence without offending him.

“He’s right, excuse my tongue fair dryad. It’s been a trying journey, and I long for your elven drop.”

They followed Calan into the leaf-fringed houses; inside Adacon took a moment to look around: It seemed everything in and around the house was built of living plants—some small and round, some ropy and vine-like, and some very strong, flat and broad. Small tables made of yellow wood centered the room, low to the ground, and intricate sculptures and engravings lined the walls: the carvings appeared to be of weapons, armor, elven symbols, and flora. Small birds and small furry beasts inhabited the house; they went about their business unobtrusively. Soon Calan led Remtall and Adacon to the foot of a vertical hall. Looking up through the mist-clumped air, Adacon could see no summit to the ladder that ran interminably canopy-ward. They stood encased in broad leathery leaves, dressed with dew, preparing to embark up the sky tunnel: Calan climbed first, and fast, showing deft familiarity; Adacon followed, smooth in his own right; Remtall climbed last, clumsily. Sweet greenery ensconced them as they beat up past floor after floor, witnesses to a deluge of colors and mist.

Before long they arrived at a small platform that had an