Windsoul Family/Thaliithilion/Betrayal

The Betrayal

The sky was an angry grey, clouds swirling in a boiling, writhing battle of lightning and deafening thunder. Despite the weather, the Elvish warriors, Thaliithilion and Dimsiriel were outside, huddled together on the west wall of the city of Isadril. The rain was slanting fiercely into the city, and they could not see more than a few metres.
“We make for Ibladesh today, my wife,” Thaliithilion said, his voice barely audible in the storm. Dimsiriel looked up at him, her midnight hair flying in the wind, grasping her bow in one hand.
“In this storm?” she asked, looked pensively into the rain.
“Lady Rianna’s reply came this morning, by way of ‘merchant,’ and the storm will at least hinder any pursuit.”
They turned and carefully went down the steps into the city, walking the almost deserted main street.
“How are we going to get away with it?” Dimsiriel asked, keeping her voice as low as she could.
“With the recent King’s assassination, the new King, Celeborn, has made me High Marshal. No soldier will demand to know where we are going, and in this storm, most of the other troop leaders are inside.”
Silence pervaded for a while, before Dimsiriel spoke again.
“What would Lady Rianna have us do?” she asked.
Thaliithilion dug in his cloak and brought out a bedraggled letter. He was careful to keep it hidden, since it was written on Ibladeshian parchment, which was easy to distinguish from that of Fallangard. He handed it discreetly to his wife, and she read it quickly, and then gave it back. He hurriedly hid it again.
“She wants you to disband the militia to prove our allegiance to Ibladesh?” She said incredulously, “surely that will be noticed?”
“Perhaps,” Thaliithilion sighed, “but I have a contact in the stable who will have our horses ready to ride.”
“You are sure you want to do this?” Dimsiriel inquired, looking about them in the empty street.
“Yes,” her husband said grimly, “no more can we stand by and watch the corruption of Fallangard. Just look at the people.”
“They are unhappy,” Dimsiriel whispered, as a forlorn looking man clad in many furs walked past.
“Yes, they are. When I first joined this realm, I fought to protect them. Now, if I continue to fight for Fallangard, I will be fighting to oppress them further.”
“Panther is a tyrant,” Dimsiriel said angrily, “and Celeborn is not much better. He is Elvish, yet…”
“Yet he treats the people no better than Panther,” Thaliithilion finished for her.
Ahead the Command Offices emerged from the thick mist of rain, and Thaliithilion put his hand on the sturdy and wet oak door. He looked back at Dimsiriel.
“I am going to give the order to disband them from here. Head for the stable now, my wife.”
She nodded, and then took a road on the right as Thaliithilion entered the building. Inside, he blew on his numb hands to warm them, and nodded to two soldiers on guard. They saluted smartly. The room was warm and welcoming, torches bright upon the walls, and a great tapestry depicting a great battle. Thaliithilion strode up the stairs to the offices, pushing open another door.
“High Marshal, sir.” A man saluted as he walked in, and Thaliithilion recognised him to be a Major. Some other soldiers were milling around, consulting maps, or talking.
“Major,” Thaliithilion nodded to the man, “I have an order for you to send out.”
“Yes sir,” the man said.
“Disband all the militia in the city,” Thaliithilion said briskly.
“Disband the…? But sir, they are protecting Isadril!”
“I know that, Major, but we have the troop leaders with all their soldiers. That is plenty. Send the militia home.”
“But sir…”
“Do it!” Thaliithilion glared at the man, “or are you disobeying orders from the High Marshal?”
“No sir,” the man said hurriedly, “I’ll do it right away, sir.”
The Major saluted and left the room. Thaliithilion cleared his throat, and headed for the door. He walked quickly down the stairs, and outside. The storm was still raging, and Thaliithilion turned left, heading along an alleyway as the rain dripped morosely from the rooftops. There was no-one around, except a few off duty soldiers standing talking outside the tavern.
Presently, he reached the stables, a large building that stretched along the side of the street. One side of it was open, and the rain was driving in, seemingly determined to soak every part of the city it could. As he entered, he found Dimsiriel already mounted on her white horse. The man who tended the horses gave Thaliithilion a grim nod, and gestured to the other white horse in the stable. “That be yours, good sir, that-”
The man didn’t finish his sentence, because he was cut short by a small throwing knife embedding itself in his throat. He gurgled horribly, coughed blood, and then topped into the sodden hay. Blood mingled with the water as Thaliithilion spun around to see a black-cloaked figure with a hidden face standing nonchalantly by the stable entrance. The sharp wind billowed the man’s cloak around him, and somehow, it looked as if shadows followed him to obscure his features. Of the man’s face, Thaliithilion could see the corner of a sardonic smile and little else. The man twirled a small knife in his right hand, and it gleamed dangerously.
“Who are you?” Thaliithilion demanded, drawing his sword. It rang out into the storm, and lighting split the sky, illuminating the dark figure.
“Do you think Celeborn is a fool?” the man said, in a voice that sounded much like a blade being dragged across stone, “did you think he would not expect this?”
“So, an assassin,” Thaliithilion spat, “I should have thought Celeborn would send one.”
“Nothing personal, Elf. Just business, you understand,” the man said as he advanced on them.
“How did he know?” Dimsiriel asked coolly, still sitting on her horse.
“Mysterious letters often reach the hands of those other than their recipient,” the man hissed, "It is just a pity you acted sooner than Celeborn expected." He smiled and threw the knife at Thaliithilion. The Elvish warrior brought the sword up, deflecting it away.
“Interesting,” the assassin said, “That is not a shot that usually misses.”
“Utinu en lokirim,” Thaliithilion said, and stepped forward as the assassin attacked. The black cloaked man hit with a flurry of fast punches and high kicks. He went for the parts unprotected by Thaliithilion’s armor, and the Elf found himself out of breath. The man drew another knife, and jabbed inwards, missing by inches as Thaliithilion barely got out of the way.
“Stand still!” the assassin hissed.
Unexpectedly, a golden feathered arrow sprouted from the assassin’s chest, throwing him backwards into the hay. He raised his head and arm as if to throw the knife, but then blood bubbled from his mouth, and his arm fell to his side.
“My thanks!” Thaliithilion gasped to Dimsiriel, and climbed onto his horse, “Quickly, my wife, we must ride fast now!”
They galloped from the stable into the downpour, and were greeted by the sight of Lord Rainor sitting imposingly on his own horse in the middle of the street.
“Do not do this,” he said, his voice loud over the rain. He sounded more pleading than angry.
“You know we must, my friend,” Thaliithilion replied, “the leadership of this realm has become corrupt. You know that.”
“I still do not turn my back on the people of Fallangard,” Rainor said angrily.
“We leave Fallangard to help those people!”
“You are a traitor, and no friend of mine,” Rainor snarled, “and I have good mind to stop your escape!”
“Do not make us fight you.”
But for the persistent rain, everything was frozen for a few moments. Then, Lord Rainor moved his horse to the side of the road. “Ride, Thaliithilion, and ride fast. If you or your wife set foot in these lands again, I will be forced to do battle with you.”
Without a word, Thaliithilion and Dimsiriel rode past him, heading for the city gates. Seeing them heading towards the gate, the soldiers opened it, and the Elvish warriors galloped out into the meadows surrounding the city. Mud splashed up around them as they rode away, just as the beginnings of shouts of alarm went up in the city of Isadril.

(From “Tales of Fallangard” by Ashema Huskel, Storyteller)