A Paladin's Journey Ch. 18

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Barrog sat at a wide, circular table in the bowels of the Laefandell palace, holding polished chips of different-coloured rock in his fist. When he occasionally opened his hand, light from the lanterns hanging on the walls glinted softly off them. At the table with him were Caeledrin, Peldin and Torvin, each man as different from the other as could be, both physically and otherwise. Shenla had ordered them to stay low for tonight, and so they had come down here, to the servants' quarters.

Every so often, a scantily clad Elvish girl would appear to fill up their mugs - or in Caeledrin's case, a wine glass so fine it looked as if a strong breath would shatter it - she was a friendly, slender thing with dark hair and big blue eyes, and liked to lean up against you while she poured. Barrog was considering taking her next time she came around, though he had restrained himself to merely fondling her pert arse up until now.

The word appeared to have gotten around among the Elvish women in the city about what it was like making love with Orc men. Barrog had never imagined he would get so many proposals. In the garrisons, intermingling was rife between the Orcs and Elves. Being in charge of the Orc legion, Barrog had had to enforce strict regulations around mating times. Peldin and Caeledrin - commanding the Mor'elda and Tar'elda forces - had quickly seen the advantage to this.

Barrog was teaching these three fools how to play megi, an Orcish game of cunning and skill that involved outwitting your opponents through trade, barter and exchange. Idly, he wondered what Shenla was doing, out there on her own, but she had not seen fit to tell him. She could handle herself, of course, but he still worried. She had been different, lately; kinder, perhaps a little less... demanding. Not that it had been a problem before, exactly; Shenla was his life, and he would defend and cherish her to his dying breath, even if she never looked at him again.

Shenla had already delivered Barrog what she had promised him on that first day, and more. Strength, power and the ability to fight longer and harder than he could before. He had seen that right away, and given himself to her knowing that he would lose a part of himself to gain what he wanted. It was worth it, in his opinion.

Each man around the table had their own reasons for joining with Shenla. Peldin's was his loss of faith in his king and people. Torvin's was his desire to study magics beyond those which Wardens allowed, and Caeledrin's was his hedonism, his lust for the unending pleasures of life, and lack of enthusiasm for any responsibility. An unusual trait, for a king, but then, Caeledrin had lived a long life, and seen much more than anyone else Barrog knew. Perhaps the former king was right; perhaps there was no point in trying to fix things if they were just going to fall apart later on anyway. Still, that position was a bit fatalistic for Barrog's liking.

"And how," Peldin began in his smooth voice. Barrog always thought the Dark Elf sounded pompous, until he'd met Caeledrin, at least. "Do you expect to gain two stones of each colour when you cannot initiate trade more than twice?" The aim of the game was to be holding two - and no more than two - stones of each colour before five rounds had been played. Before Barrog could answer, Torvin piped up.

"It's simple," he said. "When it's your turn, you trade with the man on your right or left. The trick is to remember who is trading for what, so you can get an idea who is holding which stones." At least Torvin looked to show some small aptitude for the game. The Warden was right, for the most part, though there was more to it.

"That is obvious," Caeledrin chimed in with a put-upon sigh as if he were talking to children. The broad-shouldered Elf checked the stones in his hand again. "What I do not understand is why you cannot..." Barrog stopped listening. He had told these idiots the rules three times already. Was it really so difficult to grasp? Caeledrin had been king of all of Laefandell, yet a simple game that Orcish children could play had him puzzled. With his free hand, he grabbed his mug and took a long pull of ale. This Elvish ale wasn't half bad, once you got used to it; light and a little fruity, with plenty of hops. It needed more of a kick, but the Elves were an airy, flimsy lot at the best of times, so it made sense that their ale was the same.

"Shut up!" Torvin said suddenly, cutting Caeledrin off mid-sentence. The Tar'elda looked sharply at the Mor'tirith, but Torvin's gaze was fixed on the pile of shards in the centre of the table. Barrog wondered what he was staring at, until he realised that Torvin wasn't looking at the chips at all; his eyes were vacant, as if he was suddenly a long way away.

Then Barrog felt it, a change in the bond between himself and Shenla. Something was happening to her! Throwing down his chips, he surged to his feet, almost knocking the table over in the process. Peldin was up, too, snatching up his sword from where it was leaning against the table next to him.

"Wait!" Torvin shouted at them, freezing them where they stood. Caeledrin was half standing, half sitting, his long golden hair brushing the chips he'd just dropped. "Wait," Torvin repeated more softly. He was still staring at that same spot. "I think she is... alright."

Indeed, Barrog felt no pain or anguish from her. If anything, he would say it was a lessening of pain. The sensations he felt from her lately were a mix of hate, sorrow and regret. Now, he felt them draining away like water through cupped hands. He felt... strange. Looking around the room, he saw the others with confused expressions on their faces.

"Is this... normal?" Caeledrin asked tentatively. The newest of their little band, he was the most unused to being ahk'sheth.

Barrog shook his head. "No. We should go to her."

Peldin frowned, holding his sheathed sword in one hand. "I am not so sure, Barrog. Somehow, I think whatever we do may be worse for her than not intervening at all."

Torvin nodded agreement. "I say we wait. She is not in danger. I am certain."

Barrog leaned forward, putting his hands on the table. He fixed Torvin with a level look. "If you are wrong," he said quietly. "We are all dead." A grim silence settled over the room after that, and the four men sat back down to wait, drinks and megi forgotten.

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END OF CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

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