BW XXVII - Dafydd

“What? And you let him go?!” Malor is incandescent.

Almost prostrate before the oriental, a young elf wearing mithril armour and cloaked in weather stained riding clothes replies, “Sama, there was no alternative, the Lady’s emissary failed and was struck down. We had to flee.”

“Who did this?” comes the retort, which is followed by a series of questions delivered with increasing menace and without a pause for response: “And what of your folk? What of the promises of their assistance in the North and the gift of your home in return for protection? Has everything fallen apart because you are unable to persuade an old man of the right path to follow? How many did you bring with you?”

“My Lord, none but my personal guard would follow my flag,” comes the weak reply.

Stepping down from a raised dais, in the middle of an otherwise empty room, the oriental man stood in front of the bowed elf and asks, “Why should I spare you?” Hands resting on both sword hilts that protrude from beautiful purple obi, which pulls together his black and white kimono, his demeanour is clearly threatening.

Almost pleading the elf clutches at straws, “I am certain that once Enrahire’s folly is understood more will rally to my flag… I also saw those responsible for the death of the emissary.”

“Mmmm, let me guess: a sea elf bitch, an upstart wu jen, a monk that has yet to see the true path and a deluded priest of a long forgotten God?”

Malor’s gaze never leaves his victim as he continues, “You are crazed by the thought of power and have lost your reason; no-one will follow you.”

“Spare me and I will destroy my errant family and lead the elves of Efforendil back to you; I beg you for a chance to redeem myself,” the elf cries.

“You have one chance: bring me your father’s head and your still breathing sister so that I may offer them to my Lady for her pleasure. Go now, before I send your soul on an errand from which there is no return!”

Breathing a sigh of relief the elf runs from the dais towards a half-open shoji at the corner of the room, almost colliding with a samurai as he enters. With supernatural speed, instinctively, the samurai draws his katana and is about to strike when Malor’s voice arrests his action, “No!”

For his part, the elf flinches slightly but prioritises his escape over any defensive action to counter this latest threat. Pausing for a moment, Katana held high, the samurai watches the elf’s hasty departure before turning to face Malor, grinning wildly.

“Come in Haru-san.” Malor orders and the samurai strides forward, effortlessly sheathing his sword, before adopting a more sullen expression and kneeling in front of his liege.

“Iki-sama,” he begins slowly, “we have news that your Gith vessels did not perform well under the Drow’s command.”

“Oh? How so?” Malor’s irritation at receiving yet more bad news is obvious.

“Well Sama, it would appear that superior dweomer was used against them and the Drow fleet offered little resistance to the assault, preferring instead to land their infantry,” replied the samurai, showing no fear.

“The landing was a success? Unopposed as we had been promised, Haru-san?” Malor asks brushing aside the insinuation and returning to his elevated chair.

“Yes it was a successful landing, the majority of the infantry were placed on the beach, but it was not unopposed Sama,” replied the kneeling man, and when no supplementary question came he continued, “There was a small reception party of dwarves, bearing the markings of Keffendir and led by the raven-haired barbarian dwarf.”

Again Malor is on his feet, “Where are the rest of them? Do they threaten my march south?”

Looking up, the samurai’s demeanour does not change and he replies matter-of-factly, “Sama, we know now of two forces: one at the landing and one threatening the Dragorald. We also suspect that Enrodire has taken more dwarfs south to help the sea elf with the defence of Fontainver.”

“Ah then…What would your counsel be General?”

Again the man is unflinching, despite knowing full well his counsel will not be met with an approving ear, “I would abandon the folly of this battle on which the Drow Queen would have us embark and shore up the defence of your Kingdom. I believe: the Drow will fail; the Demon will focus his attention on his most hated enemy, abandoning the cause; the Efforendil elves will turn on you, supported by the Men of Farass and the Dwarves of Keffendir; and you will risk losing all on the plane of the Levolyan.”

Pacing across the small dais as he speaks, Malor says, “You have never minced your words Haru-san; I thank you for that. What convinces you of such a depressing outlook?”

“I too have spies, Sama, and the ability to interpret such intelligence that comes my way. The elves are lost to us, the Men of Farass not only turn their backs to us but have now joined the enemy. Furthermore, whilst a small force, the dwarves will prove difficult to dislodge from our gates and the Demon was always an unpredictable ally. Regardless of all these issues, many of which we have known or predicted from the start, I have become increasingly concerned about how many of our forces we have committed to the support of the Drow, without help in return. Why aren’t the Drow beating back their most hated enemy - the dwarves – from our gates? Why aren’t Drow arrows tearing into the third born on the Levolyan? Why aren’t Drow ships ploughing their way up the Cloof to destroy their cousins? Moreover, when we lost the assistance of the Lich and the alliance with Tuar Chan-sama, we spread ourselves too thinly and the Drow have not provided us sufficient numbers to hold Sutur let alone rebuild it. We have underestimated this New White Council for too long – they have reach that belies their numbers. Lastly, whilst the Serpent keeps to himself for now, I do not trust his ambitions.”

“All points well made, Haru-san; and the Drow’s requests for assistance keep coming, albeit with promises of help to our cause once Fontainver falls and the sea-elf witch is dead. We need to prioritise the defence of the Dragorald and win back the Ratorain; I too have intelligence that this upstart band – the New White Council – intend to attack me and take the Ring. Unbelievable, I know…”

Malor pauses for reflection, occasionally rubbing his wispy, black goatee before continuing, “I would draw out Enrodire, however. Keep the Samurai Army moving south but avoid the forest – let the elves have that small victory for now. I doubt that the Men of Farass will risk open warfare this soon. We will not be drawn into the siege, however. I care little that the sea elf might retain a small foothold in the West; other than the Ring, there is nothing for her here and her fleet is miniscule – I doubt that this Council has the strength to challenge us in open warfare with or without the Farass turncoats. Crush the dwarves, consolidate our position before we destroy what’s left of the elves and surround Fontainver. If the Demon leaves then we will increase our presence in the South – let him know that we can command what forces he chooses to leave here if he so wishes.”

“Yes Iki-sama,” the man replies, standing and bowing before turning to leave - his unquestioning obedience is obvious now that his master has given his orders.

“Oh and Haru-san,” the samurai halts and turns to face his liege again, “I have never trusted the Drow; we will not support their efforts directly for now, other than providing safe passage if asked. Withdraw the Gith ships – we may need them if the Drow take Fontainver - and divert the remaining Gith to hunt down and destroy the dwarves.”

“Yes Sama.”