Chapter Eleven: The Autarch's Plans Go Awry

Tranith Argan: Book 5

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Alessa, Aren, and the elves are in Polandolar. A desperate autarch grows more desperate.

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Alessa returned to Polandolar in chains, three weeks after Kara had reclaimed her throne, and two weeks after Felanar set sail for Dragon Island. The irony wasn't lost on her: she was back in the very dungeons she'd escaped, as if Jamoku had succeeded after all. She hated her circumstance, mostly because she knew it was of her own doing. They were all going to die because of her rashness.

Yet within her was a growing feeling whose nature she could not yet ascertain. A determination, perhaps, or just a notion that she needed to do something. She started on this journey with Aren as an adventure, a lark, but now that she saw the stakes that were in play, some emotion was building within her but it had not yet reached the surface. Whatever form it would take, it was going to change her life, short though it may turn out to be. Alessa spent her time in the darkness and filth thinking many thoughts.

The autarch had cleared out his dungeons so that the elves could be kept in separate cells. This was not entirely possible due to the number of elves he had captured, but it did give him an excuse to execute all existing prisoners. Certainly Alessa, Aren and the leaders of the elves were in separate cells. Realizing he could not completely prevent communication between elves—if he gagged them, they could not eat or drink, and if their gags were removed during meal times, they would simply communicate then—Namoníkkar did not bother. Let them talk, he thought. They were not going to escape this time. He had no saark prisoners to inspire a saark rescue attempt on this occasion. And each elf was loosely chained hand and foot. They could move, but only in a limited way. They could walk but not run easily. They could feed themselves but not strike others easily.

While Alessa and the others waited in their cells for whatever fate approached, Namoníkkar awaited in his throne room for word to return from Vélakk. He had sent word from High Point almost a week ago, letting Vélakk know that he had captured Alessa. He hoped that this would be seen as a bargaining chip to use against the elves and that in some small way this would begin to rehabilitate him in the eyes of Vélakk. He was showing his intention to cooperate. With Felanar and the elves now against him, he might as well throw his lot in with the side having the largest army. He would deal with the ramifications later. First they had to overthrow Felanar and Kara and also keep the elves locked up on their island home, preferably by choice.

What to do with the elves was the confusing aspect to this puzzle for the autarch. He had been genuinely surprised to hear of an armed force of elves attacking his ships. This was not anything he could have anticipated. In his entire life he had known the elves to guard only their own lands while avoiding contact with the outside world. They emphasized defense of their own lands, not the overthrow of others’. Yet there they were in his land making the first military move without provocation on his part.

The elves could not possibly have taken so much offense at his capture of Alessa as to order this assault, could they? And what was Alessa doing on this military expedition? It couldn’t be that she simply viewed it as a romantic lark, could it? He was beginning to get tired of the childlike elf maiden. He preferred to work with mature and pragmatic leaders whose behavior he could predict—and mold to his needs. With Alessa and that absurd romantic fool Aren, what would they do next? He had no clear answer to that question and it weighed on his mind. He looked forward to getting word from Vélakk. Perhaps clarity would return then.

A servant approached with a meal for the autarch, and he accepted it absent-mindedly and ate it without noticing what he ate.

The elves did communicate, of course, and did so constantly. The captains of the ships and Aren discussed ways of escape and various tactics that could be used. Alessa said nothing while these talks were held until finally one of the captains called to her and asked for her input on their plans since she had been in these cells before.

“Your plans will not work as I have heard them,” she answered glumly from her cell.

“Why is that the case?” asked one of the captains with irritation.

“Look around you,” Alessa said, “or try to look in the darkness. Feel your way around the cell. Do you feel any weaknesses? Can you find a seam that can be widened or a crack that can be broken? Do you find any walls that are not so thick that an elf can punch through? Do you see the slots by means of which meals are slid though the doors? Do you understand that the doors will not open until it is time for us to be tortured or killed, and that when such times arrive there will be many guards standing ready to repel any escape attempt?”

“Yet we may attempt escape anyway when the time comes,” replied Aren.

“And I will join in the attempt,” said Alessa, “but I do not expect it to work. The autarch learns from his mistake and I do not think he will take lightly our abilities now. He will be prepared.”

“So will I be prepared,” said Aren.

“I wish you luck,” said Alessa.

“Luck?” asked Aren. “This is not an elven concept.”

“No, it is a concept of men,” said Alessa, and said no more after that.

On the second day after their return to Polandolar, word came from Vélakk. A dragon flew over the city and landed on the palace grounds, causing much curiosity among the peasants in the city stalls and streets as the beast flew low overhead, though without any threatening movements. It landed on a grassy field near the palace, whereupon two men climbed off and spoke quietly to the dragon. The dragon then folded its wings and settled on its haunches and closed its eyes. The two men walked up to the palace doors and presented themselves for the autarch while giving orders that the dragon be fed and given water by the guards. The guards looked at each other nervously at this request, but they could ask no questions of the visiting men for they had already stridden into the palace.

Namoníkkar welcomed the emissaries from Vélakk warmly when they reached the throne room. The two men were middle-aged though youthful in appearance. Namoníkkar sized them up immediately as high-ranking advisors to Vélakk, men who got to live in the castle and enjoy luxuries and not just eke out a living off the land of Shanaar. They were pampered and privileged and used to people fearing and respecting them. They showed no deference to the autarch other than a respectful nod of their heads as they approached. This irritated the autarch, who was used to much more respect being shown but he held his tongue.

“Welcome to Shakaart, my guests,” said the autarch without rising from his seat. “I trust your voyage has been comfortable?”

“We greet you too, autarch,” said the blonde emissary, “and bring acknowledgement from our lord.”

“A journey by dragon is never comfortable,” replied the dark-haired emissary, “but there is no travel as efficient in time. Time is of the essence these days.”

“Indeed it is,” said the autarch, wanting to ignore the implied command to hurry on to the business at hand but following it anyway. “Would you like to proceed with our discussions while servants bring refreshments so as to save time?”

“Do so,” said the dark-haired one.

Namoníkkar clapped his hands and two guards approached.

“Bring food and drink to my meeting room, also buckets of warm water and cloth to dry the face and hands. Be quick!”

Namoníkkar stepped down from the throne and gestured for the two emissaries to follow him to a nearby room set up with a table and chairs. They entered and the autarch took the head chair and invited the other two to sit nearby.

“I am Namoníkkar, of course. May I ask your names?”

“Names are not needed here, autarch,” said the blonde one.

“We share information, not pleasantries,” said the dark-haired one.

“As you wish,” sighed the autarch. “But at the very least, can I be assured I am speaking with emissaries who have the ear of Vélakk and can speak for him with authority?”

“You will get no assurances from us,” said the dark-haired one. “You are not in a position to set terms, bargain or plead. Our lord has sent us here with a message and to get some information. Beyond that it is up to you as to whether or not you believe us or think we have the authority to say what we do. It is of no consequence to us if you choose to look down on us or ignore us. It is your life at stake here.”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” said Namoníkkar reassuringly, though whether it was more himself he was reassuring was an open question, but he did not like the direction the conversation was taking nor that he had lost control of it, “we are getting off on the wrong foot here. I do your lord a favor by sending my message. Did you not hear who I have captured? Did you not hear what advantage this can give us?”

Neither emissary said anything, and the autarch continued.

“Please enjoy some food and drink from my palace,” he said as guards brought in platters, “we celebrate today for clearly you have not yet heard who I have captured.”

“We know who you have captured for you sent the message to our lord and he told us,” said the blonde one. “You have captured no one of interest.”

“I have Alessa!” cried the autarch, almost rising out of this seat.

“Kill her,” said the dark-haired one. “She is of no consequence.”

The autarch sat back against his chair in surprise.

“Do you not know she is the daughter of Llarand? Do you not know how she could be used as leverage to stop the elves from advancing against your lord’s land?”

“Kill her,” said the blonde one. “Kill all the elves you captured. They are of no use to anyone. They were captured on a military mission against you. They are military prisoners and the accepted action against captured spies and military units is death. No one will criticize you for doing what a ruler must do when he has been attacked. Kill them all.”

“This is what you came to tell me?” asked Namoníkkar in shock.

“No,” said the dark-haired one, “to find out if you are still carrying out your mission against Brindledown. How badly was your fleet damaged? Do you still have the men and ships to carry this out? Do you still have the will to carry it out? This is all our lord wants to know, will you do it and when? He needs to know so that he can time his plans accordingly”

“If you wish to be viewed with favor by our lord,” said the blonde, “you would do well to carry out your agreed-upon plan. We do not care about military prisoners, just whether or not they succeeded in destroying your ships.”

“Oh no,” said the autarch forthrightly, “I still command enough ships to carry out the plans as before, and we now have two elven ships I have annexed into my fleet. The attack on Brindledown will proceed.”

“When?” asked the blonde one.

“As soon as I give the new orders.”

“What are you waiting for?” asked the dark-haired one.

“I was waiting for this meeting to find out what Vélakk wanted me to do.”

“You already knew what he wanted you to do,” said the dark-haired one with irritation. “Nothing has changed.”

“I disagree,” countered the autarch, “for my prisoners of war could be useful for leverage over the elves.”

“We told you already, they are useless to you and to us,” said the blonde one. “Kill them and get them out of your way. The fleet is the key matter. We need to advance our plans. That is how you will curry honor. Playing games with these prisoners is of no interest to anyone but yourself. Do not waste time with them. Kill them. Now.”

The emissaries began to eat in a way that indicated the meeting was over as far as they were concerned. They ate and drank and washed from their faces and arms the grime of their travels, but when the autarch suggested they spend the night to rest they refused, saying their lord wanted word from them that very night. Much to Namoníkkar’s surprise, they intended to head right back to Shanaar by dragon as soon as the meeting was over. Nothing was going the way he expected that day, but if all it took to gain favor with Vélakk was to proceed with the original plans, well he was planning on doing that anyway. He gave the emissaries assurances that a messenger would be sent right away to High Point so that the fleet could be redeployed for the mission straight away.

“And the prisoners?” asked the dark-haired one.

“Will be executed,” said the autarch. “You are welcome to stay and witness it if you wish. I will make it into a public holiday and give my people this spectacle. I need just a day to prepare a platform for the executions, so please stay and report back to your lord what you see.”

“We leave now,” said the blond one. “The prisoners are of no import to us other than they be of no distraction to you. Do not put the orders to your fleet off till after the executions.”

“No, no,” said Namoníkkar, “I will send word today.”

“Then our mission here is done as soon as you tell us now when the fleet should reach Brindledown.”

“A few days for the messenger to reach High Point, and a day for the fleet to redeploy, and then a week or so of sailing. Less than two weeks and the job will be done.”

“So we will report back to our lord,” they both said in unison.

With that they got up from the table and made their leave. The autarch accompanied them to the door of the palace where he saw them mount their dragon again and without ceremony the beast flew off to the north and east. The autarch never had such a strange meeting. That feeling of puzzlement slowly turned toward hate as he gradually realized he had not found favor by bringing these elves back to his city as prisoners. He had miscalculated. The important matter was up north at High Point. He had let trivialities distract him and made Vélakk distrust his military judgment. He felt determined to rectify the situation by doing exactly as Vélakk wanted. He felt foolish for looking so incompetent at the meeting. He was angry at the elves for distracting him.

The autarch sent his messenger racing toward High Point, then summoned his builders. His orders were precise: construct an execution platform where all could see, where the entire city could watch him prove his worth to Vélakk. Let the elves' deaths wash away his humiliation. Word spread through Polandolar's streets: in two days' time, the elves would meet their end.