Black Dawn - Chapter 10: Cithilnor

The allies land to get supplies and make repair to The Cloudracer in the elven city of Cithilnor.

Armageddon TM and its characters and story are copyright Terry Tibke. All rights reserved.

Music & SFX

 [Echo of Visions] by Conti Music, [Starry Dream] by David Fesliyan, [Home At Last], [Torn], [Skaga] by Alexander Nakarada, [Chase Scene] by David Fesliyan, [Conspiracy Theory] by David Fesliyan, [Agression] by David Fesliyan, [Borgar] by Alexander Nakarada

Soft Wind by florianreichelt, Ambient(light wind).WAV by o_ciz, R15-70-Males hamp rope creaks by 6polnic, BODY FALL - V HVY - DIRT by leonelmail, G48-18-Steam Train Vents Steam.wav by craigsmith, Steam Train Vents Steam.wav by craigsmith

Jake Utter [Voice Actor] - Voices Turim Gliderlance

Andrew Embers [Voice Actor] - Voices Sand Rocketblade

Demetrius Hazel [Voice Actor] - Voices Lasertooth

Kobe Markworth [Voice Actor] - Voices Thunderclap and Gulanis

Sean Valley [Voice Actor] - Voices Strevan Pickaxe and Dithkanir

Hayley Craig [Voice Actress] - Voices Jaffrine Maplebow

Morgana LeFaye [Voice Actress]- Voices Tartara Silverwing

Tallent [Voice Actor] - Voices General Panthis Obsidianfist 

JJtheJetvox [Voice Actor] - Voices Meineken Shadowstar

Brittanie Arwen [Voice Actor] - Voices Sinfa Songbird

The Worlds Okayest DM [Voice Actor] - Voices Pond Grimslug

Ben Habel [Voice Actor] – Voices Lakalith Paledust

Maia Harlap [Voice Actor] – Voices Kithria Wraithchasm

Aaron Anderson [Voice Actor] – Dark Elf

Transcript

Chapter 10 — Cithilnor

As the light broke over the horizon, Turim once again stirred from his straw mattress in the cabin. He looked around. Sinfa had gone to sleep in the rangers’ hold, and Meineken was already awake, cross-legged on his bed. He sat motionless, his eyes closed and his face calm.

When Turim moved, the kithkin slowly stirred and exhaled. “Good morning. Have you rested adequately?” asked Meineken.

“Indeed,” returned Turim. Even as little as he’d slept, he still felt refreshed.

Most didn’t realize it, but with the elven blood from his mother’s side, he’d never needed as much rest as other humans. Full-blooded elves had no need of any true sleep, but they still needed to rest. They usually did this through the dreaming of restful dreams—as long as they were comfortable. Turim unfortunately, had never quite been able to master such a wonderful skill.

Light shone through a small window, making a lovely pattern on the door where the framing created an intricate shadow. It had no particular shape, but it was symmetrical, ordered, and elegant.

Reaching down beside his mattress, Turim grabbed his shoulderplates and breastplate. The morning felt cold, and he guessed it would be even colder on deck.

When he looked at Meineken, his eyes remained fixed, but troubled. “Master Shadowstar?” he asked.

Meinken took another deep breath. “I still feel shame. I keep thinking about how foolish I was to think I could bring peace between the Black Talon and the Greywater clans. We’d come so far these past few years. And now…” he paused, and his eyes betrayed emotion behind his mask.

“It’s not your fault, Master Shadowstar,” comforted Turim. “It’s even clearer now; you were right about the Thalui and the Dragon Army.”

“I have no doubt,” said Meineken. “Yet it does not excuse my loss of all my entourage. They died because I didn’t listen to Master Dragonfright. He warned me. He said it was foolish, but we did not listen. I just wanted to repair the clans so badly.”

Turim slowly tightened his bracer around his forearm, but his eyes didn’t stray. “There’s nothing wrong with a desire for peace. There are few things I want more than to bring an end to this war.” He looked down then, “It’s the responsibility of those who are capable to defend those who can’t defend themselves.” Then with a quick lunge from the bed he stood tall. He paused at the doorway and looked back, tilting his head.

Meineken swung his legs down. “An interesting thought.” He pulled his black poncho over his head and followed Turim out of their cabin.

“Something my father used to say.”

As they stepped into the light of early day, Jaffrine raised an arm in greeting. “Hello Turim, Meineken.” She stood at the edge staring over to the grasslands beyond the airship’s hull.

Turim readied himself for the conversation. Surely the rangers would leave, wouldn’t they? It was the smart thing to do.

“We’ve made our choice, Commander,” she started in immediately. “We’re here to help however we can. Once again, we owe you for saving us from the Dark Knights and the dark elves back there.”

“This won’t be some happy jaunt,” warned Turim with a frown. He’d prepared to give a last argument against it, but didn’t think he’d have to use it. “There will probably be a horrible, bloody battle fought over our country. I can’t fathom how many will die in its violent wake. Are you certain? Like I said, we could set you off here in Ruma ‘Din and you could return to Ys by sea, on a ship.”

He slowly strode toward the edge, past Strevan and Tartara who were huddling together in the cold morning air. He pointed out towards the coast, a league or so away. “There are paths that will lead you straight to one of the little port towns along Ruma ‘Din’s coast. Right there.”

He still didn’t want to bring anyone into the war if he could help it. If only for the guilt that he’d feel if any of them were slain. He’d felt that pain amongst the Knights of the Hawk already. These plain islandfolk were to be protected even moreso.

Strevan stood and reached out to give Turim a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Of course we’re certain,” said Strevan. “Our place is in the forest of Ys, true. But if we don’t make a stand now, there won’t be a forest to defend.”

“Day by day, the Dragon Army extends its grasp toward us,” said Jaffrine, almost sadly. “And even now, we see Dark Knights upon our island. I’m not sure why, or how, or where they came from. Sure, they could’ve come from Pelth or Broadmore’s ports at the north and south of Ys, but—“ her voice trailed off a moment. “No, we can’t stand aside as they come to our very doorstep. Something must be done.”

Tartara flapped her wings and flitted into the air. “I’m ready! Rail will definitely be upset. But what’s one to do when an entire continent hangs in the balance?”

“Who’s Rail?” asked Turim, shifting his gaze back and forth between Strevan and Jaffrine.

“Rail Markrune is the leader of the rangers,” replied Jaffrine.

“He hates when we disappear without giving him word first,” cut in Tartara. “He says the battles beyond the forest aren’t our concern. I say poppycock.”

“Worry not, we’ll send word to him of our location, if at all possible, once we arrive at your keep,” said Jaffrine with a glance over to Tartara.

“Still,” argued Turim, “I really wish you wouldn’t—”

The door to the other cabin suddenly opened. “Alright,” said Sinfa, stepping out, “let’s begin the day’s trek.” Her voice was filled with sleep still, and her hair was a tangled mess like a burnished orange bird’s nest. She pulled on her red cap and nodded to the passengers of her ship, but not before they all had a chuckle at the sight.

Turim let the rangers be. He wasn’t going to win an argument with them—not now—and there were plenty of ways to keep them out of danger.

He walked to the railing and looked toward the city of Cithilnor. “Meineken and I will accompany Sinfa. She needs some supplies for the airship,” He turned to the rangers. “Will you three watch over The Cloudracer in our absence? I’ve no idea what dangers might be lurking out there. But in my youth, I heard tales of great lions and bornoxes, the furred rhinoceros. And if these are the tales told by men who live, I don’t want to hear about the men who didn’t. There could be far worse things about, so stay put.”

The rangers looked to each other and nodded unanimously. “We’ll guard it,” said Tartara.

“Just make sure you get enough food,” said Strevan rubbing his belly.

“And don’t touch anything,” grumbled Sinfa.

That was settled. The ship should be safe amidst the hills and shrubbery that obscured it. Still, Turim found new things to make himself nervous. How was this city going to accept them? Genova had always been accepting of mixing of races—he was an example of that. A fair number of kithkin lived in the south, there sprites and dwarves and halflings in various villages around the plains and even at the keep. Elves like his mother lived in various cities as well, and mankind laid its foundations all throughout the continent.

He had very little experience with countries that didn’t feel the same acceptance, and he didn’t like the thought of it.

To the west, a thin veil of blue shrouded the mountain ridge. Looking out over the grasslands, gently rolling hills obscured his view of the ravine where Cithilnor awaited. Morning mists wafted up from the grass, and tiny chirps of grassland birds drifted to his ears.

As Meineken approached Turim, his hand gripped at the hilt of the blade on his back, as if to ensure he was armed.

Then Sinfa, taking cue it was time to go, dropped the rope ladder down the side, its wooden pegs clacking against the ship’s hull.

After they’d climbed down and stretched their legs a bit, they set off. Turim went ahead with Sinfa while Meineken walked along quietly at the rear. The air was cool, and the morning dew still sat upon the tall grass, damping their legs.

“I’ve heard a lot about Genova,” said Sinfa, beginning to rouse. “But I’ve never been there. I’d like to visit Daltaria’s libraries if I can find time one day.”

“Never could one read all that lies within the libraries of Daltaria,” said Turim, smiling at the girl’s interest. “I studied at Daltaria Academy for years, and I’ve never learned as much as I did then.”

“You attended Daltaria Academy? That’s impressive. Most folk say it’s the finest school in all of Cornerius.”

Turim smiled, not quite sure he deserved the compliment. “Lady Songbird, you’d put the students of Daltaria Academy to shame. Your mind is far keener than most I’ve met there—or anywhere for that matter. I can’t begin to understand the things you’ve built.”

“Flattering, knight,” she replied with a tiny curve of her mouth. “Thank you. That still doesn’t change the fact that I’d like to see the library though.”

The walk toward the city didn’t take long. They kept along a very faint path until they reached the gates of Cithilnor. Two elven guards stood atop the wooden palisade, giving them steely glances. But they allowed the companions to enter.

Turim leaned toward Sinfa. “The guards know it’s good for business to let strangers into the marketplace,” he said quietly, “no matter how little they trust outsiders.”

“This doesn’t look much like any elven city I’ve ever seen,” said Sinfa, who seemed to be taking in the sight of everything. “The elves in Ys usually build in the trees, or at least around them.”

It had been difficult to find many materials that elves took a liking to, so the homes appeared less of elvish design than most other places in the world. The lower foundations of their buildings were of stone, uncut, but fashioned together with a solid mud substance and covered over with white paint.

“The dwarven king gave them this grassland as refuge when their people arrived long ago,” said Turim, keeping his eyes keen for anything. “They’ve used whatever’s available. What wood they do use was likely purchased from timber merchants of the Modukaz Forest in Genova, or Pebak ‘Din.”

It was early still, and not many people were in the streets. Turim could smell freshly baked bread, the aroma roiling from an open bakery door. It made his stomach growl with hunger.

He reached into his pack and pulled out his leather money pouch. “Master Shadowstar,” he said. As the kithkin came up, he dropped several silver numí into his hand from the pouch. “Will you gather enough food for everyone? Fetch bread from this shop here and some fruit from that hawker in the distance if you can. Oh, and gather as much water as possible.” Turim pointed down the street where a lithe woman, dressed in slightly worn clothing of finer elven make, sold her luscious appazas.

“A lifedebt does not go that far,” said Meineken, his brows low. Then he held his hands up. “I don’t mind. You watch over the girl. I will find you both shortly.” He bowed quickly, turning to climb the wooden steps into the bakery.

Sinfa looked back and forth. “I’m looking for a blacksmith,” she said, half to herself, half to Turim. “Maybe I can find some tools there. Or, perhaps the means to fashion some of my own design without too much hassle.”

Turim nodded, following along closely behind her as her feet took off at a quick stroll. He kept his eye on those walking past them. Though he was of elven blood, he was sure that many Cithilnorian elves might think a half-elf worse than a human walking along their streets. After all, it was the permanent union of another race with their own. Under his cloak, he kept his hand close to the hilt of his blade. He’d avoided this city so far in his travels, but he’d heard many tales of it, none of them kind. And he had no intention being surprised.

 “I need to get a few things here,” said Sinfa, stopping outside a smithy with several small windows. Inside, the constant clang of an anvil was already ringing.

Turim handed her a few gold numí from the money pouch—some of the last few he’d brought with him of his regular commission. “This probably won’t cover all of what you need,” he said earnestly. “But consider it thanks for your help.”

Sinfa scoffed at the money in her hand. She rifled through her pocket a moment, and then smiled with a disheartening sigh. “Thank you, Commander. I promise to put your coins to good use.” Then she stepped up the wooden stairs of the smithy and disappeared through its door.

With Sinfa gone, Turim turned to watch for Meineken and look over folk walking past. The street was growing busier now. Elves entered the myriad of shops and stands along the street, which he assumed must be their merchants’ row. It was lined with countless stores and peddlers’ stands of all varieties. Along the dirt street, lithe elven horses pulled carts.

And nearly everyone who walked past him stared.

Sure, some were polite, brief stares. A younger elf maiden and her friend, both in brown cloaks, whispered to one another quite visibly, still with their eyes on him. Even another white haired fellow gave half of a salute, clearly taking notice Turim was a Knight of the Hawk. But they all knew he was an outsider and consciously or not, they made sure he knew it.

Half an hour had probably passed when he spotted Meineken quite a ways in the distance trotting towards him. The kithkin seemed to be a skilled bargainer. His arms were full with several sacks.

Turim began to walk south along the street in order to assist his friend with the great many bags of food he’d acquired, passing a pub that sat along a side alley. Even at this time of the morning, there were a few occupants visible through the window. Apparently, their tolerance for elven liquor was outstanding.

He thought he caught sight of a larger figure through the doorway and slowed to look a bit closer. He recognized the general size of the creature, though it was difficult to distinguish at such a distance. He could only see a thick, fleshy neck under the back of the creature’s head. It was an ogre of some sort, sitting calmly, drinking a pint of ale from a wooden flagon. Turim continued walking past the pub, but he kept his thoughts on this unusual sight.

It wasn’t his place to make presumptions about the occupants of the city, and certainly not the time for it. But there are few who win this battle with their own curiosity, and Turim found he was no exception. Still, when he met Meineken, the ogre in the pub was replaced by wonder at the loaded bags.

“It appears you’ve gotten several bargains, Master Shadowstar,” stated Turim with a smile.

“The prices in this city are quite outrageous!” scoffed Meineken.

“Your city is much smaller than this one,” said Turim with a knowing tone. “It’s well stocked by trade ships that come and go all the time. This place is on the plains. The prices here are bound to be higher than those in Tusokan. And they were likely trying to give you the ‘visitor’s discount’.”

“I’m not fond of paying more for less,” stated Meineken, rearranging the bag on one shoulder.

Turim grabbed a few bags from the kithkin and lifted them over his shoulder. “Other than the onerous cost of goods, what do you think of Cithilnor so far?”

“I’m also not fond of the city,” repeated Meineken. “Exploring this town would take much too long. The streets wind in unpredictable patterns and the buildings are chiefly sharp in their roofs. When I was a young kithkin in Tusokan, I explored our city with every spare moment. I made it my business to know it well. I’d be lost here.”

“Hopefully Sinfa is ready and we can be on our way shortly.” Turim turned, heading back towards the smithy he’d left her. “So have you lived in Tusokan your whole life?”

The kithkin had been brooding all morning, and Turim hoped he could get his mind off the dark elves and their trap for him.

Meineken followed behind, his legs moving quickly. “Yes,” he said. “I was born there. That’s probably the reason that I’m now one of the clan’s leaders. I know Tusokan better than any other kithkin who ever lived within those walls. I know every alleyway, every fence, every secret hiding place, every dock, and every slippery tile upon every rooftop. It’s my home.”

Turim glanced down the side street again where he’d seen the pub, listening to Meineken talk about his city and his love for its surroundings. He heard faint voices coming from the tavern’s direction, but he couldn’t see what was causing the disruption. It grew increasingly loud as they approached though.

“Did you hear that?” He decided to step up his pace a bit so that he could have a look inside.

When he and Meineken were only a few footsteps in front of the doorway, he heard a loud, smacking noise, and what he assumed was a table being smashed to bits. Then he heard a great stomping sound, followed by thunderous trampling down the steps of the tavern. Turim hastily backed away.

The ogre tromped backward down the white, timber planks, and stood in the street. “I told you to leave me be, elf!” he shouted with a deep and grating voice. “I meant none of you any harm.”

Several elves stormed out of the pub’s doors into the street. Some appeared to have drawn their blades, and the commotion was beginning to draw a small crowd in the early hours. “Primitive ape!” cried one of the elves in the common tongue. “Ogryn-kind are not welcome here!”

A circle began to gather around one particularly lithe elf and the ogre. The elf’s blade was drawn, and he clearly looked ready for a duel. It was also obvious that several of his friends gathered behind him, ready to rush in at the ogre when the moment presented itself.

The elf spat at the ground, cursing at the ogre again. “My brother died in the war on Daropel!” he said. “The dwarves of our country sent us to ally with their cursed kin there. He died fighting against creatures like you. You look to be a member of the Dragon Army yourself!”

The ogre held his hands in front of him, suggesting he was not looking for battle. And yet, an enormous steel club hung from his back.

Turim couldn’t be entirely sure yet, but things appeared to be somewhat one sided. He’d never trusted ogres himself—not exactly—but the elves seemed far too aggressive to fully convince him that the ogre was at fault for the commotion. His manners were certainly better.

Another elf from the gathering crowd threw a bottle at the ogre now. It broke against the ogre’s arm and drew blood. The ogre grasped his forearm, but he remained calm and made no move to find the offender. “Go home!”

“Hey!” shot Turim, trying to push his way into the growing crowd.

He knew he should keep moving on. They had to get back to Sinfa and on to The Cloudracer. But this was wrong.

“I didn’t know this pub was only for your race,” said the ogre. “But I warn you, you’d best leave me alone. I’m ready to be on my way. My travels haven’t brought me all this way to be caught up by some pompous elves!”

The ogre’s temper was beginning to get the best of him. Turim couldn’t blame him. The ogre was already visibly wounded, and he seemed to be trying to escape as the elves closed in.

Then the duelist lowered his blade. At the same time, his friends rushed the ogre, striking at him with wooden staves.

“I think the elves’ cruelty has gone too far!” growled Turim to Meineken above the low din of the elves.

“I am in agreement. I think we should try to get away from this place as fast as possible before we’re caught up in this mob.”

Turim looked to Meineken again. “Have you no sense of duty?”

“Duty to my clan, I have,” said Meineken. “Duty to a strange ogre in a foreign city, I do not.”

Turim took another look at the ogre. “I can’t sit by and do nothing!” he shouted. It was much louder now. “I’m a knight. It’s my duty to protect people. Wait behind if you will, but I have to at least make a plea.”

Meineken shrugged his shoulders, following Turim as they made their way through the building crowd. They tried to shout together above the chaos, but the rabble was drowning out any sound that made sense.

Then Turim spotted Sinfa on the other side of the mob. He moved toward her. Sinfa met his eyes, letting him know that she saw him, but she was also pressing toward the, now surrounded, ogre.

“They’re going to kill him!” screamed Sinfa to Turim. “We have to do something!”

Then quite abruptly, Sinfa shoved the elf in front of her with all her might, sending him crashing into the back of the elf standing before him. “Stand aside!”

Turim and Meineken stood shocked for a moment, but they quickly followed Sinfa’s bold lead, lunging forward. Pushing the elves aside, they tried to draw some attention away from the ogre.

Sinfa made it to the edge of the inner circle. “Stop this nonsense at once!” she called out to the blade-wielding elf. Her voice rang strong and clear.

The elf, whose name was apparently Arûthil, judging by the shouts, glared at Sinfa. His arm looked strong and his blade a deadly, long, elven creation. He spitefully spoke his elvish tongue. “Ar man esgalin ersarnwen, bethis!?” he said. “And who shall stand before you to guard you, maiden?”

Turim strode forward, standing to the rear of Sinfa. “We’re her protectors!” he answered. “I am Turim Gliderlance, Wing Commander of the Knights of the Hawk. I order this rabble to break, unless you wish our blades drawn.” It was probably a stupid move, but he hoped to solve this without any bloodshed.

Turim glanced at Sinfa again. Meineken had reached her, his bags of food still in hand. Good, he thought. 'That should keep her safe and out of trouble—I hope.

 “Don’t think your rank holds any meaning in Cithilnor! Our rules are our own. I’m not going to allow this ogre-trash to endure here any longer. Leave now before I call the guard and have you arrested.” Melodious laughter rang through the crowd as the elf retorted.

Turim didn’t make a move. His eyes smoldered with a pale fire. “Not without the ogre,” he replied, his voice dangerously even.

Arûthil sneered. “As you wish. Show them what I speak of!” he shouted to some of his friends.

The elves around them dashed forward and struck out at Turim and his two companions. Staves cracked against Turim’s armor, jarring him, knocking him back several steps. Another struck his knuckles sending hot ice through his hand. He resisted reaching for his sword.

“No weapons unless our lives are at stake!” he shouted to Meineken, fighting back against the elves. “There’s no reason to kill anyone! That will only escalate!”

Without most of the eyes on him, the ogre slowly began to tromp through the weaker part of the crowd. He groaned loudly, smearing blood through his purple hair with his large hand.

“Come on!” shouted Sinfa, pushing past the last elves blocking her way. She grabbed the ogre’s large finger, pulling him hard.

Turim could see his face clearly now. He didn’t seem to be full ogre. In fact, he was clearly part human. His facial features weren’t nearly as unpleasant as a full ogre, and his skin wasn’t as rough. He was no monster.

“This isn’t the place for us right now!” Sinfa continued yanking the ogre.

The citizens of the mob pummeled the half-ogre in the back. Whack after whack made him lurch forward.

“Now you’ve made me angry!” he shouted.

Oh no, thought Turim.

Swinging his arms violently, the half-ogre sent several of the elves flying, sprawling end over end through the street. Turim dodged another elven fist, returning his own punch. They had to get the half-ogre away from the city. He was in danger—and plenty dangerous himself.

“Quickly, we have to retreat!” Turim shouted to the others.

The half-ogre, still bleeding, turned to follow him toward the outer gates. Sinfa still drug him along. He held his arms, blood streaming down his hands like tiny trickling rivers. Meineken came closely behind.

They broke away from the elves, running, their assailants not sure whether to follow.

Turim gave a last glance over his shoulder. He was certain the ogre would’ve used the massive steel club on his back if he’d been given the chance. He wouldn’t have blamed him. The elves had beaten him badly. That kind of provocation is enough to anger most anyone, no matter what the circumstance, he thought.

The street filled with onlookers. Some turned their heads while others merely scowled. However, some joined the gang of elves, ready and willing to tear through Turim and his companions to destroy the ogre. They had to get out of there.

Turim looked back again, counting sixteen elves. All of them wielded some sort of weapon. He kept thoughts of diplomacy in mind as they made their way toward the gates of the city, hoping that word hadn’t gotten to the guards posted there. If they shut the gates, they’d have little choice but to surrender, likely facing trials of a distasteful sort. The dwarves who ruled Ruma’ Din—let alone the Council of Races—would probably never hear about the incident. And if they did, it would bring Genova and Grandmaster Strongthorn a lot of trouble.

As the gates came into view, his legs felt like pickled beets. There was still some distance to traverse before they were free from harm though. They still couldn’t see the airship.

The guards simply scoffed at the visitors racing out of the city gates—until they saw the angry mob not far behind. But by then it was too late. Turim and the others were out.

Behind him, Meineken still carried the bags of food. Turim had lost his a ways back; it was lucky that the little ninja had been able to keep his. Sinfa still carried a sack tied around her shoulder too. He guessed that it held the supplies she needed. For all we’re going through, thought Turim. It had better.

They kept running up the path, leaving the city. Turim glanced at the sun. They’d been in Cithilnor no more than two or three hours. He mock congratulated himself.

In the distance, the airship’s propellers peeked above the edge of the hill they were fast approaching. This early, it didn’t seem as though the city guard patrolled out this way. If they had, they’d have a completely different set of problems.

“What will we do with this creature?” asked Meineken as they ran.

“We’ll take him with us!” shouted Sinfa, already out of breath. “Once we’re… aboard the ship, we should be able to leave without much trouble. As long… as they aren’t able to scale… The Cloudracer’s hull.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” argued Turim. “Elves are skilled climbers.”

The others only responded with more running.

The half-ogre trailed behind, his great size and weight not suited for such exertions. But Turim saw Sinfa continually glancing over her shoulder. Turim guessed it was to make sure the half-ogre was still behind.

When Turim and the others rounded the hill, they saw the rope ladder had already been lowered. The rangers stood at the railing, watching with surprise. Apparently, they’d seen them coming.

“Hopefully, the ropes will hold his weight!” stated Meineken.

“You’re not even breathing hard!” exclaimed Sinfa, watching him. Her tone was a strange blend of annoyance and admiration.

As they slowed down, Sinfa looked back again. “Not more than a minute lead,” she said, gasping.

Soon the mob would be on them. Turim could see their swords and spears glinting in the morning sun.

“I hope they haven’t gathered any bows yet,” said Sinfa, turning towards the ship. “Go below to the engine room and shovel the last of the wood into the burner!” she commanded the rangers.

With that, Strevan’s head disappeared, immediately followed by Tartara and Jaffrine.

Then Sinfa leapt up to the rope ladder. “I’ll get The Cloudracer started!” she said. “You two try to get the big guy on deck!” She pointed to the half-ogre. “Thankfully the engine has had time to cool overnight or we might’ve had some real trouble!”

Turim looked to Meineken, then to the ogre.

“I’ll climb the rope,” stated the half-ogre quite simply. His voice was deep and gruff, but his speech held more intelligence than most ogres Turim had ever encountered. “These ropes should hold me.”

Turim hoped he was right.

Taking a few steps forward, the half-ogre leapt as high as he could. His hands gripped the rope ladder nearly halfway up its length. The rope creaked, straining under the weight, but it held. In a few short moments, he was on deck.

Turim marveled at his strength.

“Alright, your turn, Master Shadowstar!” he shouted, looking over his shoulder. “They’re coming around the hill now. Make haste!”

Meineken quickly climbed the ladder as the propellers began their slow whirring.

When Turim made his way over the side of the airship, he pulled the rope ladder up as fast as he could. His hand was throbbing, but he was better off than the ogre. A tiny trail of crimson droplets led across the deck.

Below, with a clatter and thud, a few of the fastest elves made it to the ship’s hull.

“Your weakness shall be the death of you all!” shouted Arûthil, who’d remained ahead of the others. “You’ll wish you’d never helped that beast when you wake up and one of your companions lay with his innards devoured!”

Turim could sense the elf had felt great pain at the loss of his brother. He could even sympathize with him to some degree. But he stared at them, silently. It was fear and anger like this that made wars happen in the first place.

The propellers spun faster and faster. In time, the crowd’s noise was drowned out. Ready for liftoff at last, the airship rose into the sky.

“Hold on everyone!” shouted Sinfa to the others, gripping the wheel with her blue gloves.

Turim and his companions grabbed the railing. The half-ogre sat himself down against the center cabin, already bandaging his hands with rags he’d taken from his hip sack. He breathed heavily still, his brow furrowed with both wrath and pain.

“Filth!” he growled. “I would’ve torn them to shreds!”

Turim and the others kept back in fear for a short time, allowing the creature to regain its composure. He wasn’t certain what the big fellow might do if given the right opportunity for violence.

But rather than do anything, the ogre folded his arms, leaned back against the wall, and closed his eyes to take a nap.

“Is it sleeping?” Tartara whispered to Jaffrine.

“I am not certain. But I think he’s calmed down now,” she replied. “Can anyone tell us what happened in Cithilnor? One moment we stand here awaiting the return of food, and the next we hear a rabble of elven fury approaching.” She wore a look of confusion, her soft brow twisted.

“Turim will explain,” shouted Sinfa, steering her wheel. “I’m getting us away from this place as quick as I can. Cithilnor. Not the place for me.”

As the airship continued its rise skyward, Turim strode to Jaffrine’s side. He  told her and the other rangers what had happened inside the walls of the city. The tale was brief, but they appeared to understand.

Turim noted that Strevan seemed the most ill-taken by the half-ogre’s arrival. He kept his distance and a constant eye its way. “Though I’d hope to feel kind toward all life,” he said quietly, “a creature the likes of this one is dangerous, no mistaking. Haven’t you heard of the ogres’ part in the Dragon Wars? They destroy anything they can get their hands on. That’s just their way.”

“Make no mistake, Strevan,” replied Jaffrine. “My heart feels fear at the coming of this half-ogre. But we can’t pass judgment on any of the creatures that walk this world—not without proper chance at redemption. Take my counsel: keep your distance, but listen and wait. Whatever we witness in these next few hours might astonish even the most traveled among us.”

Sinfa nodded from the wheel in strong agreement.

Turim tilted his head in understanding, looking on Jaffrine then as the wise woman she was. She seemed young. But as he’d noticed when he first met her, there was something deeper, something ancient, about her.

“Then we agree,” said Turim quietly. “Though perhaps it wasn’t the safest of choices, returning to the ship with the ogre was the best recourse.”

But only time would tell them what their choice would mean.