grimbous
patreon
Desperate Measures Chapter 3: Evenstar
🕑 Added 2020-10-14 19:07:28 +0000 UTCHours pass. Afternoon turns to evening and still we relentlessly march Northward. While the soldiers were used to such a pace the chain gang of prisoners behind the cart were flagging. Knowing that they would be marching these captives many miles the orcs had chosen only the young and healthy yet still the city born elves struggle to keep up. I never could have done it myself. Three times I watch as one of the captives would stumble to be either picked up by their neighbors or simply dragged along the ground until they could rise themselves. The guards around them jab and jeer at them to keep up.
With each passing mile their shoulders sagged more and their heads dropped lower as their bodies tired and their bruised spirits could only focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Where at first they looked to me in some vain hope I could do something about their ordeal by evening their eyes were cast down and stared off into nothingness. All hope was lost.
Another one falls, a young woman, and receives a brutal strike across her back for her weakness. The others help her up as she wails in pain but they hardly had the energy to spare anymore. The next to fall would likely not find such support. Unable to watch this any longer I act, knowing that I risked the ire of the soldiers or possibly even the Scourge herself. But I could not sit in this cage and do nothing. Closing my eyes I take a deep breath and hold it in as I summon magic into my body. Then, as I open my eyes, I let my breath flow out of me in song.
“What is that upon the rise?
Beyond the hills in darkening skies,
shining pure to meet our eyes,
a beacon for the fair and wise.
Eeeeevenstaaar! Eeeeevenstaaar!”
The tune, Evenstar, is a marching song adopted by our people many generations ago from the halflings. It is a common shanty, a work song used to ease the strain of repetitive labor or to be sung to the rhythm of a hard walk. With my subtle magics weaved between the words the effect is far more pronounced. My powers could not fell an enemy or shape matter or summon energies from the aether but in the realm of emotion and spirit I could work minor wonders. It is not difficult to keep my naturally high clear lilting voice as soft as my sister’s so as not to give away my identity. A murmur ripples through the soldiers and there is a look of surprise among the captives at hearing this commoner song come from the throat of their princess. Had I heard it from my sister I would have been as surprised as they.
On the next verse Silima joins me, followed soon by a few others, and eventually the entire group. The volume rises with each word as the song bolsters both body and resolve.
“As darkness grows the more it shines,
a light so true to be divine,
gleaming as an unerring sign,
a promise for the good and kind.
Eeeeevenstaaar! Eeeeevenstaaar!”
The stride of the elves fall into time to provide a shuffling beat beneath our voices, some even shake their chains in time to the tune. Shoulders square up, heads rise, and the once shambling march of feet now move strong and steady. The guards around us begin shouting for us to stop. They mock and spit and fling all manner of crude invective our way but my voice, honed as clear as crystal and as strong as dwarven mithril over decades of training, rises up above the growling din. Following my example the other elven voices lift the song even higher. With the hope rescue or escape fading to nothingness this was an act of pure rebellion. We could not run, we could not fight, but we could sing.
“The night is here but in the West,
standing out as brightest and best,
a jewel of light beyond the rest,
a prize for the beloved and blessed.
Eeeeevenstaaar! Eeeeevenstaaar!”
The soldiers are on the verge of violence at our insolence when the General and Drunda trot back to see what this was all about. In the orange light of evening the Scourge’s amber eye almost glows as she assesses the situation. While I am scared my voice stays true as I lead my people through another verse. Drunda is about to put the song to a stop, loosing the long coiled leather and steel barbed whip on her belt. Some of the voices falter in fear but, just as they had done when one would stumble among them, the others raise their song to help the common cause. I had started the song to help the march but now it had become a symbol, one final gasp of defiance before we our spirits are crushed forever under the iron shod boots of the orcs. I sing louder and stronger than ever, my clarion voice ringing out with elvish pride.
“At last we set our burden down,
our star above a brilliant crown,
the sable sky her velvet gown,
a queen beyond all earthly renown.
Eeeeevenstaaar! Eeeeevenstaaar!”
The wicked whip cracks once in the air like a clap of thunder. A trembling whimper runs through the voices of my people, but still we sing. The second in command pulls her arm back to unleash pain upon the impudent elves. To my surprise and hers the Scourge raises a hand to stop Drunda’s whip . Her eye scans over the two trudging lines of elves who were now easily keeping pace with her strong limbed warriors. Though not as pronounced, even the steps of her own soldiers showed renewed vigor. We were making better time now than we had at the beginning of this trek. She looks to me, the source of this musical disobedience. Though I continue to sing I bow my head toward her in a simple gesture not of defeat but of deference to her authority, telling her without the need for words that I took responsibility for this and that I would stop my song if she asked me to. She stares at me hard, then once more looks down the line of swiftly moving prisoners and then back to me again. She lowers her hand.
“Let them sing.” The General commands.
