Under Alune

Barteriyud's Decree

Darlaune awoke and found her quarters barred by thick, thorny vines. Spots of afternoon sunlight dripped past the dense foliage roof, and sprinkled across the short grass of the floor. She went and bathed in her pool, sleep still weighing on her mind, and sat for hours in the cool water. There, she drank in nourishing minerals and sun-light for breakfast.

When evening came and the sun had moved too far for her to taste much of its bounty, she awoke again and dressed herself in her gossamer gown. She found that there was a repast set just inside of the barricade beyond a small split in the overbearing bramble. She ate fruit and sipped fresh dew in silence, letting her mind wander over the freedom she wished would return.

"Like a child again," she sighed, sipping the last of the dew. "Trapped endlessly in my room."

Her quarters consisted of a wide hammock, her clear-watered pond, and a small field of flowers far opposite of the exit. Darlaune went to the garden and sat herself on a bank of moss.

"Purple violet, tell to me a story"

She ran a finger tip along the depths of the bowl, then transferred the moisture to a purple flower. It let out a heavy scent at her touch that began to cloud her mind...

...She blinked blurred eyes and sort of floated. She closed them tight...

...And suddenly saw the forest as if alight a tree branch. The trees were primordial; Waxy bark and over-wide leaves and fronds. Flowers and blossoms displayed a myriad of bright, nearly neon colors. Large rodents scampered after insects and smaller creatures between the trunks and among the boughs.

Darlaune smiled- somewhere far away- and tensed for what she knew would come next. Suddenly the trees began to sway violently and crashing sounded from the ground below. A shifter came into view, running at full pace on all fours. A gryphon dove from the sky and barely missed a direct impact on the fleeting creature. The gryphon landed at a run then pushed airborne, flapping hard its wide pinions.

There were other things, too, chasing the Loper through the forest. Elves, clad in furs and woven vines came into view. They leaped from branches and, with silver-tipped spears- herded the Loper toward an ambush. Anger seemed at once foreign and hideous on their fair faces.

Their fellows ensnared their prey in a net of braided bark and reed, but the Loper cut through it and pounced murderous upon them. An elf thrust with its spear, piercing wholly through the Loper's midsection. It howled and thrashed about for a few moments, then fell to its knees.

The remaining elves were circling around the Loper, deciding by ancient right who would have the honor of finishing off the enemy, when a blue-jay landed upon the shifter's head. The elves backed away and regarded the blue-jay with reverence. The bird jumped off of the wounded creature and became a young woman clad in a swath of intertwined leaves. The flowers in her hair were as lush and vibrant as daubs of oil-paint on a black canvas.

Darlaune grinned at her name sake, Darlaune-the-Fair, reported the most beautiful among all druids. Darlaune-the-Fair wept for the shifter and gripped her lunar pendant tightly in her hand. She was kneeling beside the Loper when Darlaune suddenly broke from the violet's story...

...She blinked. Fantasy intertwined with reality. The real word swam and shifted... then fell firm.

Darlaune clenched her eyes shut and shook her head.

"Darlaune," called her father's voice from the other side of the thorny barricade. "Are you awake?"

"Father?"

"Are you displeased?"

"Of what, father, besides my captivity of course."

"I am sorry, daughter. But my word is to be heard and obeyed. In a few days it will be safe for you to re-emerge from the Brambelhein." Barteriyud seemed to sigh, and following were the sounds of her food bowls being replenished. "The forest will still be there when this is over."

"But the Shifter will not."

"I caught the scent of violet out side of your room. Need I come inside and tear up its roots?"

"No father, please-"

"If you can not discern reality from fantasy, I will tear up the whole flower bed, and you will go without their companionship."

"Please forgive me, father. I was immature and foolish to question your wisdom."

"Forgiven. Now, no more word of abberants or of Darlaune-the-fair, or Dettuenu of many forms."

"Of course, father."

"There is more supper for you here. I will return in a few days, perhaps with something delicious."

"Oh thank you father!" Darlaune put on an act of innocent joy and skipped to the barricade. She reached through the opening for her father's hand. He smiled at her through the tangled growth, his face somehow different in the mixed shadows, and took her hand in his. Darlaune smiled in return, but wondered at the size of his hand, for it was much smaller than it should have been.

"There's a good girl. Enjoy your solitude." He released her and slipped further down the hall and out of sight.

Darlaune brought the food and dew back to her flowerbed and ate slowly, timing each bite. When she was sure ten minutes had passed, she went to her pool and dove in.

Beneath the still waters was a c***k that she once used as a secret exit when she was younger. She found she could still fit through it, and made her way to the lay of marshland beyond the eastern wall of the brambelhein.

Darlaune surfaced above the muck amidst a swarm of marsh pixies. The finger-sized, winged creatures rushed to hiding places in the leaves of a drooping, sloppy bush. They whispered to each other in high-pitched voices until Darlaune approached their byerty and peeked through.

"Our little secret, little ones," she said to them, one finger to her lips. They giggled behind their green-brown hands then went back to tending the pupae hanging from the wilting bush.

Darlaune surveyed the marsh and found only gobold-kin tramping the sodden dirt. She suddenly grew afraid for Keysean and his people. He would still be expecting her to meet him this present eve. Despite what her father had commanded, she would meet him and warn him of her father's fell intentions. Perhaps then the honor of her truolua would be restored.

Darlaune sloshed out of the marsh and transformed into a thrush on a patch of dry grass. She took to the air, heading west over the Split-way toward the High-hill and Keysean.

---

Barteriyud watched Darlaune from behind a twist of wood for a moment then turned away. He tread a jagged trail, moving slowly and whistling cricket-song as he went. The dobul makeup was heavy on his face, but he was well accustomed to it and its oily scent.

When he entered his throne room, he took a moment to gaze at himself in the long pool there and admire his new face. In the place of pale venerable skin was one bronzed and smooth. There was no longer his gray beard or any at all, only touch of stubble about the chin and jaw. His hair was cut short and neatly combed.

"Privolret," said Barteriyud aloud. "Is my wyvern ready?"

"Yes, my lord," answered the troll.

"Good. Then let us go. I to my task and you to yours."

"What of Darlaune?"

"The girl is of no concern to you, troll." Barteriyud double-checked his brown suit and the cream colored dress shirt beneath. "She will remain in her room until the shifters have been dealt with."

"Yes, my lord."

Barteriyud caught the eyes of the troll and sneered at it with his new face. "I return in several days. Make sure that your kin are properly arrayed and ready to attack when I return."

"We are almost-"

"No, Privolret, I said make sure. That means no mistakes. Not a single inch of the Abberants' homestead will left open for retreat. The Terraruli are already there. The main forces must be in position when they emerge."

"I understand," replied the troll flashing dark-green gums and yellow teeth in reverence.

"Now-" Barteriyud approached a clump of branches and waved them out of his way- "do it."

---

Aeisha accompanied Keysean to the gates of Wolfhelm. They took the last half mile slowly, holding hands and staring off through the gates at the sprawling country beyond. The moon was high above them, its bulk only a single day from becoming Ala'une, its fullest aspect.

"This druid..." Aeisha left off and stopped perhaps a yard away from the road that would eventually wind it's way to the North's plateau. "I don't have the right words."

"Yea, I don't understand it much myself. But he's here and he's got his greenskins tramping all over our mountains and the Split-way." Keysean brought his wife's hand to his lips. "If we don't try for peace now, all that lies around us could become rot-swamp."

Aeisha turned south toward the shadow of Theyeark rising above the walls. "Cant say that would be so bad a thing."

"That's no lie," Keysean followed her gaze and allowed himself a smile. "But who can say if man or nature should abound the most?"

"I would have to side with Gaia."

"Blasphemy," chuckled Keysean. "Survival of the fittest. Seems man is pretty damn fit; Or at least that's the way things seem."

Aeisha squeezed his hand in hers then released it. At first she felt she should step away and give her husband his space, but he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her deeply before her foot could find purchase.

"You come right back home, Key."

"Betcha I get back there before you do," he replied, unwilling to release her.

"Go on now. No more lovin' 'till you finish your duties," she giggled.

"Aww..." Keysean released her slowly. He tried not to let his brow droop or his lip quiver.

"I love you Key."

"Right back at 'cha." He started away.

"KEY!"

"I love you too, Aeisha." His eyes seemed to pierce hers to her very core. She felt a bolt of fire trace down her spine.

"That's what I thought."

Keysean looked once over his shoulder and thought he saw a bird flying over Aeisha's head. He grinned once to her then shifted into tiger-form. He slowly passed through Wolfhelm's gates, and looked over his shoulder until Aeisha was no more than a blot of shadow behind him.

In animal-guise, his senses warped immediately to scent and sound. Though his sight was well adapted to the darkness, the other senses were so much stronger than normal that they were over-powering. Aiesha's scent followed him, that of charcoal and grass and cub-down. Sounds of life and the ever-so-sleight sounds of his foot-pads on the earth were all around him as he made his way to the Splitway.

When Keysean reached the plateau where-on he was to meet the dryu-maiden Darlaune, he stopped altogether. Among the foliage were birds and squirrels and several types of reptiles, each with its own smell and pattern of sounds. But there were two things awry. The first he noticed was a bird that seemed out of place so far down the mountains- It had to be Hunter. Keysean smirked the way only cats can.

Secondly, there was an over-bearing scent of gobold sap. This Keysean decided was residue from his fight the previous night. He continued around the trees and came to a clearing and a small well-spring. He went to drink from it, but found it befouled with gobold carrion.

Keysean dragged out the broken skull of a troll. He shifted into man-guise and brought the skull to the center of the clearing, then called out, "Darlaune?"

There came an answer of crashing in the trees. Keysean stood patiently until he saw a small hand beckoning to him from behind the trunk of an elm. He went to it with earnest.

Suddenly a group of gobolds sprang out of the wood, brandishing crude spears. They chittered with their sharp-toned voices and charged at him.

Keysean stepped back and lifted his hands in peace. " I am Key..."

Orks poured from either side; more than two score of them, some with crude cleavers, some with silver daggers. They yelled battle cries aloud and swept at his flanks.

"Darlaune? If this is a test..." Keysean yelled, back-pedaling with all of his speed. He calmed the beating of his heart and blinked away the blur of wrath. He could not afford to dishonor himself or his holt with unnecessary aggression. The sting of his humbling pained him, reminding him of the elders and exile and even the young children he'd murdered less than a century ago.

The orks and gobolds had no such restrictions. They came at him together, herding him with spear thrusts and wide swings of their cleavers.

Keysean chanced a glance over his shoulder and found himself surrounded, his rear covered by a large number of trolls. They slavered over distended jaws and stared unblinking down at him.

"Darlaune!" cried Keysean once more. A troll battle cry rang out over the clearing and the gobolds pressed in closer, this time serious. Keysean ducked and weaved around them. A cleaver struck him across the shoulder. The shock of pain and the flow of his blood brought anger blaring to mind. His cry of pain became a roar, and before he could stop himself, he shifted into war-form.

Blinded by rage and pain, the latter of which sprang anew as gobold spears pierced his flesh, he launched himself into the green horde. His eyesight was no more than blurry-red swathes of movement. His claws lanced and arched and dug, and gobold-kin fell dead in piles around him. But still they came.

The smell of silver came close, accompanied by the sound of laughter. He heard the weapon being readied for a thrust, so launched himself toward the orc that held it. The orc and half a dozen of its kin were torn into ribbons as Keysean advanced.

The trolls cried out again and swept through the horde toward the shifter. Their fists came at him with alarming speed, but each time he was too quick and they struck only goblin flesh. Keysean struggled to find an exit from the melee so he could gather his wits, but the tide of gobold-kin seemed endless.

The harsh scream of an eagle pierced the night, joined by a series of feral barks. Hunter, Vosque, and Latyurik charged into the fray. Hunter landed beak-first onto the shoulder of a troll. He raked his talons through its lower back then pushed airborne. His keen eyes spied Vosque making his way to Keysean in his stealth-form of a weasel. Latyurik held the other side of the crowd, but fought slowly so as to draw attention in his direction.

The orks swarmed around Latyurik but the trolls stayed intent on Keysean. A gobod's spear sloughed into the ground perilously close to Vosque who was weaving through the grass around ork legs. He broke through to Keysean and leaped upon his back. Vosque's thin claws gripped Keysean's fur and held tight lest he be thrown from his friend. Keysean, heedless of the meager weight upon him, continued searching for an end, but found only enemies and the painful sting of silver in his flesh. Vosque scrambled out of the way of a cleaver swipe and up to Keysean's neck.

Suddenly they were airborne. Keysean cast himself into a group of the foe and laid his claws clean upon them, then gathered them again in blood. Vosque clambered onto Keysean's head and fastened himself there with footclaws. He inched a bit further forward and prepared to lay his small forepaws onto Keysean's eyes.

A troll kicked through the gobold-kin and slammed a wide hand down onto Keysean's shoulder. The shifter's balance bent to the side and he tumbled down into the trampled grass. The orks were immediately upon him, slashing with crude edge and silvered weapon. Keysean struggled mightily, but the troll held him with all of its stiff might.

An eagle cry rang loud again as Hunter dove toward the troll. He shrieked and opened his talons wide to rake the troll, but another swiped him in midair, sending him plummeting into the gobold-kin. They swarmed over him, then pinned his wings to the ground with spears.

Latyurik, seeing these things, pressed harder his attack, but could hardly break through the throng. It seemed as though he hadn't done anything at all to stem their tides, though the ground was now marshed with ork flesh and his long canine jaws stank of their sap. Weapons of crudely tempered design flashed over his head and missed striking his flesh by centimeters. He pressed and tried but could see nothing but enemies in all directions.

Then, while he watched and fought and blinked away falling sweat, he saw a bird come and land upon a troll's shoulder. The bird began to glow green.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!!" cried a voice with all its volume.

The troll holding Keysean fast to the ground gave a shudder then righted with a painful snap of its spine. The knots upon its dry flesh sprouted leaves and vines. Its skin split into panes of bark. Finally it stood completely still and rooted to the ground. It tried to move its mouth, but only spat out a tuft of leaves that hid its face.

The gobold kin scattered away from the unfortunate troll, but keep their guard over Hunter. Vosque took the opportunity to shift into a much larger ferret, becoming something of a rodent-like dachshund, and began whispering a calming melody into Keysean's ear. Keysean gave a soft groan in response but was otherwise still and silent.

The boughs of the troll-tree shook then from them dropped Darlaune. Her face was pale and tear-streaked, her hands coated heavily with troll-sap. She pushed Vosque away and came weeping to Keysean.

"You leave him alone!" she cried, searing the goboldkin with her fiercest gaze. "Come on, Keysean, get up."

Darlaune crouched beside the shifter and rubbed the fur of his back. Some gashes there were healing slowly, as was the blessing of a shifter, but some were nacreous and weeping blood. Darlaune gripped her lunar pendant, as had her namesake in tales, and wept over Keysean.

"You, what's your name, troll?" asked Darlaune to a troll that had been inching closer while she wept.

"Skurul," it answered.

"You bear him up. Take him back to the brambelhein," she said, wiping tears from her cheeks.

"But your father-"

"I said DO IT!" she howled.

Vosque, no longer unsure of what to do, scrambled up onto Keysean's back. He forced his face to transform just enough to speak. "Hey, Dryu-girl! We're his friends! We can-"

But Darlaune was not listening. She stood glaring at Skurul the troll, pointing to Keysean's mangled body.

"Don't you hear me, girl?" asked Vosque, beginning to transform into man-guise. "We can take him ourselves!"

"I will take him, aberrant," said Darlaune forcefully, her manner unchanged. "You take your life and be gone with it!"

Vosque slowly approached the druid princess. "You can not do this. It is an act of war." He spoke calmly, suddenly realizing exacly how young Darlaune was. "He'll be safe with us."

His eyes caught and locked onto her lunar pendant. Alune, the moon's light, was weak upon it this eve, but still Vosque could see the lunar eye through it. He could feel the vestige of Alune's strength; Could feel the refreshing release of abandon and hear the voices of animal spirits calling.

Vosque clamped his eyes shut and opened them to see Keysean being carried off by a troll. Darlaune forced the gobolds away from Hunter's broken and bleeding body.

"Let them go. They fought only because of Keysean. Their fate will wait for other days." Darlaune stood perfectly straight, her face a regal mask. "Can the two of you bear up the third?"

"Yes," said Latyurik slowly.

"Then retreat. You can not win this day." Darlaune looked toward Wolfhelm. "Tell your people that Barteriyud of the broken woods comes with great malice. Remind them too of their trespass against him some eighty years ago."

"What about Keysean?" asked Latyurik, more to Vosque than to the maiden.

Darlaune turned away from them. "He will not be harmed."

Vosque went to Hunter and began to lift his arm, but the Hunter simply became a fledgling chick. Vosque scooped the chick into his hand and started to leave. "Come on, Rik. We gotta go."

"Not without Key, man, come on!" replied Latyurik furiously. Vosque shoved him hard against the shoulder.

"Just.. man.. come on. We can't do no more for him. And we gotta get Hunt to the apothecaries!"

Latyurik stared hard at Darlaune, ignoring the thin reach of her pendant. "s**t man.. shit."

Vosque lead the way, cradling Hunter gently in cupped hands. Latyurik, casting one final look of disbelief on the ruined scene, followed. The gobold-kin, besides Skurul the troll who carried Keysean, stared after the shifters then turned their eyes to Darlaune.

She frowned, then looking at Skurul, said, "come. We return to the Brambelhein."

"You father will not be pleased. I will be punis-"

"Then I suggest that you enjoy the journey home, for I will surely root you here if you disobey." Darlaune went ahead of Skurul through the trees, and the troll followed obediently.