Cory Herndon: The Fifth Dawn

Glissa turned around very slowly. The gleaming silver tip of the arrow rested an inch from her right eye.

“I said, ‘Halt,’” Yulyn, whose sword had not left his belt, remarked calmly. With lightning speed, one strong arm flashed down and picked up Slobad by the scruff of the neck, heaving Glissa’s friend in the air with surprising strength. Slobad flailed in the air pitifully. “Both of you. You’ve been accused of crimes against Viridia. You will answer these charges, or attempt to flee again. I promise if you choose the latter, things will go very badly for you. Choose the former, and face those who accuse you of murder.”

“Murder?” Glissa spat incredulously. “What are you talking about? Look up! You see that thing in the sky? Did you see the giant wasps? The rat as big as a ferroclaw? You do know that the world almost ended this morning?”

“Don’t know anything about that,” Yulyn replied. “That’s something for mages to worry about. My job is enforcing the laws. What I know is, your parents are dead, and the elders think you had something to do with it.”

“Big elf crazier than Glissa!” Slobad bellowed, still wriggling a foot and a half in the air. “Barely escaped with her life, huh? Want murderers, head back down the big hole, huh?”

Slobad looked to Glissa, eyes pleading. Glissa didn’t see him. She hadn’t moved since she’d caught sight of the lithe figure standing on the terrace before her. The losses of the recent past suddenly didn’t seem to matter. Every bizarre accusation fell by the wayside.

Glissa leaned slightly on Yulyn, her knees weak. Finally, something had gone right for her. She opened her mouth to speak, but the figure above beat her to it.

“Hello, Glissa,” her sister said. “I’m going to enjoy watching you hang.”

“I was there, Yulyn,” Lyese called, her voice strong and cold. “She did it. She called the levelers, and killed our … my … mother, and my father.” Her little sister, not so little anymore, trained her one remaining eye on her older sibling, and Glissa saw hatred reflecting back. “She’s a danger to us all.”

Glissa was dumbfounded. She could see the pain of death etched on Lyese’s youthful face, marred by a silver eyepatch, the choppy golden hair now cut short and lying flat on her head, the graven Tel-Jilad armor on her breast and the wicked-looking spear she clutched in one hand telling the elf how the joyful girl she’d known and loved had changed in just a few short, painful weeks. Weeks Lyese had spent hating her.

Glissa fainted.

Glissa dreamed she was walking through the strange, soft, brown forests she had seen in her flares. A world without metal, even the people. A tree tapped her on the shoulder. Twice.

No, not a tree. A small, clawed, goblin hand, tapping her on the shoulder. “Hey. Hey, elf. Craaazy elf. Wake up, huh? Making Slobad nervous.” Another shove, and the goblin’s voice grew more anxious. “Glissa? Glissa, come on, huh?”

She opened her eyes and the flare, or dream-it felt like a little of both-vanished in a flash of reality. Glissa blinked and called her surroundings into focus. The flare had made everything blurry, and she could make out only colors and shapes. One large round shape directly in front of her face was unmistakable and had breath that smelled slightly of sulphur and glimmer rat.

“Slobad? Is that you?”

“Who else, huh?” The goblin’s face split into a wide smile. “What, those eyes, they getting worse?”

She blinked, clearing her vision, and with it her real problems returned to sharp focus. She looked around the interior of the Prison Tree. “I can’t remember the last time someone was locked in here. If we are where I think we are.”

“Slobad know where we are. Goblins don’t faint,” Slobad said. “Big, wide tree. No spikes, no terraces. Prison, huh?”

“Nothing gets past you, Slobad.” Glissa patted herself down and found her scabbard and travel pouches empty. Only her mother’s ring remained. “Did you see where they took our things?”

“Nope, stuff’s gone,” Slobad said. “Had that firetube since Slobad was a goblet, too.”

“This isn’t good. You only end up in the Tree if you’re accused of a capital crime,” Glissa said.

“Oh, good,” Slobad said. “What! ” He leaped to his feet. “That mean execution, huh? Huh?” The goblin started to pace, growing agitated.

“Slobad,” she said, but didn’t seem to catch the goblin’s attention. He was now hopping up and down in front of the cell’s sole window, trying to get a look outside and muttering something about building a pair of wings.

“Slobad!” Glissa shouted.

“What?” the goblin cried, unable to hide the panic in his voice. “Stupid elves gonna kill Slobad’s only friend!”

“No, they’re not. And thanks, I think.”

“Yeah, how come, huh?” Slobad said.

“For one thing, I’m innocent. I didn’t kill my fam-my parents,” Glissa replied haltingly. “No matter what Lyese says.”

“But this always happen to Slobad!” the goblin exploded, stamping his foot on the tanglewood floor. The sound rang through the floor and reverberated off of the walls in every direction. “Always Slobad get a friend, or someone nice to Slobad, or Slobad find a pet, and they always die! The curse, huh? Remember?” The goblin fell to the floor on his knees, pounding at the wall with one rusty, iron-plated fist.

Glissa crawled over to her friend and put one arm around his shoulder. Slobad leaned close and whispered, “Hey, look what I just found, huh?”

In his palm, Slobad held three thin pieces of jagged metal, no thicker than a leonin hair. The inside of the tree had splintered under the goblin’s persistent wall pounding, and now he had a set of crude lock picks. Glissa saw Slobad’s hand fuss near the belt around his waist as he tucked the tools out of sight.

“Course, door’s got no lock Slobad can see,” he said.

“It’s enchanted with heavy countermagic,” Glissa said. “This is the Prison Tree.”

Slobad patted his belt. “But they take us out in shackles, huh?”

“Good thinking,” she grinned.

“So, Prison Tree, huh? Nice name,” Slobad said.

“Elves can be pretty literal sometimes,” Glissa said. “The Tree of Tales? It’s a tree with tales inscribed on it. Anyway, there are other safeguards to prevent someone from using magic in the tribunal court, so you might be our only chance if things go bad.”

“Elves too complicated,” Slobad said. “Goblins never do trials. Someone does wrong, toss ’em in the furnace and move on.”

“Doesn’t sound very pleasant,” Glissa said.

“That why Slobad left,” the goblin said.

The next few days passed in with alternating periods of dullness and boredom broken by conversation; on the third day the conversations quickly became arguments. In an effort to reign in the irritation, they taught each other simple games to pass the time. No one had given them a clue when to expect a trial.

The elf girl did her best to keep her uncertainty and the darkness from driving her into depression, but it wasn’t easy. She’d thought her homecoming would be a cause for celebration, or at least a few friendly greetings. Yet Glissa hadn’t seen any others of her kind since she and Slobad had been locked up. A loaf of nanyan bread and a pitcher of water materialized twice a day, providing enough nourishment to keep them alive. The other amenities were simple and changed regularly via remote spells, though there was no way for either of them to bathe. Glissa didn’t envy the noses of the Chosen when the time did come for her to stand trial.