FANTASY ADVENTURE
Werner And The Fae
When the Good Folk offer you employment, always read the fine print
I do most of my business out of The Crying Man — cheap booze, bad food, and a mostly honest card game in the back. The only problem with the place is that there’s always some bearded homunculus or supercilious prick in a pointy hat trying to round up victims for their quest. When you’re north of six feet, with broad shoulders and a belt full of blades, they figure you for a likely candidate.
They’re wrong; I’m not in the hero business. Dragon problem? Village overrun by a goblin army? I’ll wish you luck and cheer your band of bravos on their way out of town, but I ain’t joining them. I work alone, nice neat little jobs that get done quick and pay in gold and silver — cheating spouses, recovery of lost items, a little bodyguard work if it’s safe.
I should have sensed a problem when Bobby came bounding over to my table. Bobby is the cheerful half-wit who cleans up and serves as informal sommelier at the Crying Man, explaining the difference between the wine that would certainly poison you and that which would only possibly do so.
“Lady wants to meet you, Werner.”
I nodded. Good news. A job or an assignation, either one works.
“What’s it’s about?”
“Says she has some work for you.”
“Ask her to come in and have a drink.”
Bobby shook his head. “She says you have to meet her out front.”
There are a few people around Morts Ford who’d like to see me dead, or at least with a busted head, but I figured if this were a setup, they wouldn’t announce themselves. Be easier just to jump me when I left. I finished my ale, loosened my sword and stood up.
“Thanks, Bobby.”
There was no moon, and the front of the inn was lit only by a sputtering torch. In the shadows a few feet away stood a figure. As I approached, I saw it was a woman wearing a long robe, sky blue but shimmering silver even in the dim light. She had long dark hair, tied back and hanging to her waist.
Fae, for certain.
What the hell was she doing in town? We had a few of the Good Folk in Morts Ford, but they were sad shadows of a proud people, trained dogs who turned up at our pitiful society events to add color and perform the occasional magic trick. The real Fae, the wild Fae, had no love for humans and that feeling was generally mutual. They stayed in the Great Wood, a vast ancient forest that started some thirty leagues north of town, and which the human population in a fit of originality called Elfhome.
In my grandfather’s time, a warlord thinking to expand his holdings had sent two thousand horse and ten thousand spears into the forest. None came out. Since then the Fae were left alone, but generally viewed with suspicion in human settlements.
Reaching the woman, I noted that nearby, in the deeper shadows stood a tall slim figure in a robe, the glint of steel at its waist. I put my hand on the hilt of my sword.
“You wished to speak with me, m’lady?” I said. No harm in being polite, especially with at least one warrior a few feet away.
“You seem surprised.” She said.
“My apologies, m’lady. I did not expect to meet one of the Good Folk.”
She nodded. “Fae? Yes, I suppose I am. They would call me a guest.” Her voice was low and mellifluous, with a trace of an accent.
Looking closer, I could see that while she was dressed in the traditional garb, and had the icy impassive expression of the Fae, she lacked their chiselled cheekbones and slightly pointed ears.
“A changeling?” I tried to avoid looking shocked a second time, fearing she might be sensitive about it. I’d thought that the stories of stolen children were just myth.
Her face tensed. “We would not use that word. As an infant, my human mother and father could not care for me. They left me near the wood, and the People took me and raised me as their own. You may call me Ava.”
”I’m Werner.”
“Obviously I know who you are. You fought in the ducal wars, returned to Morts Ford seven years past, and now work as sword for hire. You are well suited for the job I have.”
I suppressed the urge to tell her that my sword-slinging repute notwithstanding, I’d spent most of my military career avoiding combat, and that if the job involved bloody mayhem and acts of derring-do, I was quite poorly suited.
“And what job is that, m’ lady?”
“Simply transporting an object from one place to another. It will take no more than three days. I will guide you, but need someone to discourage thieves who might think to rob a lady traveling alone.’
I shook my head. “With respect, why would you need me?” I nodded towards the figure behind her. “You must have many in Elfhome who could accompany you.”
Ava nodded. “The object we are moving is sensitive, a thing of great value to the Fae. Not just to my clan, but to others who would wish to have it. These other clans would sense any warriors of the People as soon as they left the Great Wood. Humans, they will not.” “Elves can sense each other, but not humans?” I said.
She shrugged. “They can, but they don’t bother. Our presence on the road will be of no interest to them.”
Flattering indeed. I reflected for a moment on the prospect of being at the center of a Fae civil war, all ancient blood-oaths, enchanted swords, and fireballs.
“With respect, m’lady, I think there are others who would be better equipped for this task…” I said.
For the first time, I saw the hint of a smile on her face.
“I am not Fae by blood, but have learned the ability to take the true measure of a person. You are not a brave man, although you present so. But you have a reputation, and you are clever, which will be more valuable. You need not worry, there is no reason to suppose there will be any real danger. And I will pay six gold sovereigns, one now and five more when the job is complete.”
I considered protesting her assessment of me, but she was right and there seemed little point. Anyway, six sovereigns would keep me in beer and meat pies for a good eight months. Still, the very amount argued risk. On the other hand, she had already identified me as craven and would have been unlikely to hire me if she thought a true hero was needed.
“I accept your offer.”
She nodded. “Good. I’ll meet you in three days at dawn, by the twenty-league marker of the western road. Where it crosses the old trail into the Great Wood.”
“I’ll be there, m’lady.”
I went back into the inn and was accosted by the proprietor, Ceallach, who is tall, magnificent, and immune to my charms. She’d arrived in Morts Ford six years earlier from up north with a sword and bag of silver, amid rumors that she’d stolen the cash from a warlord for whom she’d been working as a household guard. She still carries a large, sharp blade in her apron, and a jar on the bar holds the pickled hand of an adventurer who tried to grab her ass one too many times.
She had evidently been watching because she pulled me into a corner. “A Fae lady? Out of your league, don’t you think, Werner?”
I laughed. “Unhappily, just business, but it pays well. If you’re interested in helping out, I’ll need a horse…”
Three days later, I found myself at the crossroads, waiting for Ava. I’d camped nearby overnight, but slept poorly, with bloodthirsty Elvish warriors plaguing my dreams.
She arrived as promised at dawn, riding a snow-white mare that put to shame the nag I’d hired from Ceallach’s stable. The elves have style.
“So where are we going, m’lady?”
“One day’s ride down the road, then we’ll camp. Tomorrow we’ll travel cross country to the Green Well, to meet some people and give them the object.”
I’d heard of the Green Well; it had a reputation as a mystical place and was usually avoided by humans.
“What is this thing? May I see it?”
She glanced at me. “In my saddlebag. There’s no need for you to see it. It’s an unimpressive thing of stone and wood. But it is of great value to my people.”
The day’s travel passed without event. The western road is dull and uninspiring, a dusty track winding through miles of flatlands inhabited only by flocks of sheep and the occasional shepherd engaged in their primary pursuit of standing stock still and staring witlessly at the horizon. I scowled and looked fierce to ward off potential bandits, a stratagem that proved successful.
Shortly before sunset, we made camp in a copse of trees some yards off the road, not far from a stream. We laid a fire and I made stew from vegetables and dried meat that I’d brought. Ava declined to share it, preferring some sort of unappetizing elf-bread.
I broke the silence. “Can you tell me more about what we’re doing here?”
She looked at me thoughtfully.
“Yes. It’s safe for you to know now.”
“Safe?” I said.
Ava smiled. “Too late for you to quit.”
“Ah.”
“Each clan of Fae has an idol — a totem, a fetish, call it what you will. The word in our language is stronth. These appear mundane, but have great power, and much of the magical ability of the clan relies on them. We have taken the stronth of the Marga. My clan.”
I felt the blood draining out of my face as I grasped the implications of her words.
“Great gods, woman — er, m’ lady. How? Why? Surely they’ll notice it’s missing.”
“A faction has taken control of the clan who believe that humans are a plague upon the earth. They have convinced many to join them, and plan to emerge from the Great Forest with sword and magic and sweep your people away. Without the stronth the plan cannot succeed.”
“We still have friends in the clan who realize that a war between our peoples would destroy both. They are blocking the plotters from seeing that the stronth is gone from the temple. However, they require its magic to maintain the illusion of its presence, and as we move further from the Great Forest, its loss will be discovered. They’ll connect it with my absence, and come looking for me.”
“At the Green Well, we’ll meet representatives from the High Council, who speak for all the clans. Once the Council has the stronth, the rebels will not dare go against both them and the humans.”
I pondered this information, received far too late. While I have a vested interest in human survival and would prefer not to ignite a magical apocalypse, it seemed to me that if I fled now and left Ava to her own mad devices, I would be out of immediate danger and could deal with the future as it came.
Ava was no fool. “Your sword is still needed. If you are thinking of deserting, know that if I am captured they will learn who aided me. And my people have long memories and a far reach.”
“I would never, m’lady!” I said, sputtering for a few moments about sacred quests and the future of all free peoples.
“Good,” she said, walking to her bedroll and lying down.
The night passed peacefully, and at dawn we were on our way. Shortly we turned onto the path leading to the Green Well, and my spirits lifted. Only half a day’s ride and we could hand over the blasted elf magic and I’d be paid.
My hopes were premature. Shortly, we came around a turn in the path to see a group of five Fae riders in the sky-blue robes of the Marga, bows raised. A tall grim-faced villain who seemed to be the leader greeted Ava in Elvish. Even before she could reply, he addressed the rider beside him, gesturing at me.
I speak no Elvish, but had experience enough to deduce that the jolly fellow had asked his comrade to put an arrow in my face. I responded in truest Werner fashion, which is to say by screaming and falling off my steed.
This tactic could only have bought me a few seconds, but out of the woods came shouts, followed by three riders swinging axes and swords. They flew into the Fae, slicing three of them to pieces before they knew what was happening, and surrounding the remaining two, including the leader.
“Ceallach,” I said. “You almost waited too long.”
She laughed. “We lost your track when you turned off the road. You’re lucky we caught up when we did. We’ve earned our gold today.”
Greedy and fearful I may be, but I’m no fool. Always hedge your bets.
As we spoke, Ceallach’s men — former soldiers who worked as occasional tavern bullies — were tying up the surviving Fae.
“What should we do with them, Ceallach?” One shouted as they finished.
She considered the question. I reckoned that killing them in cold blood wasn’t her style, but we couldn’t bring them back to Morts Ford.
The question would be answered for us. We heard the sound of riders coming up the road at a gallop. As they approached, we could see they were a large party of twenty or so Fae, well-armed.
“Well, shit,” said Ceallach.
“They’re friends,” said Ava. “Or at least not enemies. From the High Council.”
They came to a stop a few yards away and we all stared at each other. After a few seconds, a pale slim Fae with flowing white hair and an imperious look spoke in the common language. She looked at Ava.
“You are Ava, the guest?” she said.
Ava spoke up. “Yes.”
The Fae appraised her. “I am Sela. You have the stronth?”
Ava reached into her saddlebag and pulled out a package the size of a child’s ball.
Sela nodded to one of the warriors, who trotted over and took it.
“You have done well, child. We’ll take the prisoners. They will be held accountable.” She looked at Ava. “Will you come with us? It’s best that you not return to the Great Wood.”
Ava looked at Ceallach and me. “No. These are my people too. I would go back with them if they will have me.”
In a moment the two surviving Marga were tossed on the back of horses, and the Fae were riding away. The whole incident, from the time we turned the bend to their departure, had taken perhaps ten minutes.
The ride back was quiet, and followed by a multitude of pints at the Crying Man.
And that is the story of how I saved all of humanity, even if unintentionally, and learned that when the Fae offer you employment, always read the fine print.
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