Seigfreid Whitelocke

Elderstone, the capital city of Jorden

NIGHT HAD FALLEN upon the city of Elderstone like a thick blanket of fog and darkness, the stones of the kingdom lit only by the light of the moon in the sky and lanterns hanging from the walls. The city echoed with the clanging of the steel worn by the patrolmen as they searched about for the elven fugitives, leaving no stone unturned and no corner unchecked.

They were everywhere, in full force, as the Royal Squadron had ordered them to be. They searched houses, much to the grievance of the owners, whom stood out in the streets, wrapped in blankets of wool, waiting for the invasion of their homes to be over so that they may return to their beds.

They looked under benches and down alleys. They peered through windows of shops and taverns, and were greeted by either unmoving furniture or drunks and whores in the midst of love making, though that was more common amongst the taverns. But they didn't find elves. They barked orders at each other, and searched everything they could see.

They'll find us soon, thought Seigfreid Whitelocke as he observed the commotion from a perch atop a flat roof. He took the elves there after they threatened to kill them. He was to take them north, they said, or they would kill him and leave him in the alleys for rats to feast on. He decided he liked the North little more than rats, and grudgingly agreed. Anywhere was better than Jorden at the moment, even that harsh, snowy wasteland.

He left the perch and went back to the elves, who stayed low to the ground, sitting with their legs crossed. "They're everywhere," he said, "and there's no way in the Abyss we're getting through the gate, they have at least ten guards there alone."

Gabrielen sighed, and scratched his head. "Can we take the sewers?"

Seigfreid puckered his lips, and shrugged. "Maybe...but slipping into a porthole would be difficult, with them patrolling the streets the way they are..."

"What is a sewer?" Asked Valyn with innocent curiosity.

Seigfreid gave him a sideways glance. "You've never heard of a sewer? Did they not have those back in those days?" He spoke to Valyn as if he was a mere child, and as if the time of the elves was only a place of make believe.

Valyn didn't take kindly to the condescension in his tone. He wouldn't let this thin, rank man mock him.

"They're not from those times," said Gabrielen before Valyn could say anything. "They were born inside that castle, after the purge."

Seigfreid shrugged off his reply. "I see...well, in that case, elf, a sewer is what we use to get rid of our shit..."

Valyn sneered at his language. He did not like this man one bit. Neither did Gabrielen from what he told him and Aryanne. The man Seigfreid was the one who left them there in Valadel to die, as Gabrielen told it. The people of his city made him out to be a hero when he returned, though Valyn couldn't see why. His uncle Tyren had told him many stories of great Elven heroes, brave and lovely each of them, elva and elvor alike.

The hero Selvyr, who once challenged Brenvas, the God of the Winds, to a race and won, or the elva they called Bellyn, who guided the Goddess Kaywen through a deep and dark forest in the black of the night. Valyn lived for those tales.

This man Seigfreid certainly didn't look the part of a hero. He was thin and dirty, his hair matted with sweat, and he wore grimy and torn clothing. He smelt awful too, but Valyn couldn't place the smell. It was like fish had been marinating under the man's armpits. But Gabrielen told them his time as a hero didn't last long, and worst of all, he told them the man would be more use to them here than dead in some alley.

Seigfreid turned back to the roads, his eyes looking for anything that could help them. Maybe they could take the sewers, but he didn't know where the sewers would lead them. And there was also the matter of horses. They would need horses. Farenhelm was nearly a whole moons ride. He would let the elf freeze him solid before he'd walk that distance.

"As difficult as this may be, our only option is through the main gate, we need horses, and the stables are just outside there. If we can get our hands on a few, we can be long gone before they notice any are missing."

Gabrielen nodded. "I agree...but getting through the gate is easier said than done."

"Aye...it is," he turned to Gabrielen with realization sparkling in his eyes. "For you, it is."

Gabrielen looked at him odd. "What do you mean?"

"The guards, they're looking for you, not for me."

Gabrielen scoffed. "Do you mean to abandon us again?"

Seigfreid sighed and rolled his eyes, but he supposed he deserved the remark. "No, half elf, I don't. But I can lead them away from the gate. I can cause a distraction and grant the three of you enough time to slip through."

Gabrielen nodded excitedly. "Yes, yes, that, that might actually work!" He turned to the elves. "What do you think?"

Aryanne, who had been silent as she usually was of late, nodded. "It could work. If these guards are anything like cursed ones, they'll be easy to lure away," she looked at Seigfreid and pointed a thin finger at him. "This one's smell would certainly make anyone leave his presence."

Gabrielen chuckled quietly at her jest, but Seigfreid only shook his head and let the comment float away. "So it's decided. I'll head down there and draw them off. Once you see an opening, you go, and you each take a horse, and you ride just far enough away so that they won't see you. I'll follow shortly afterwards."

"You better," Aryanne said with hard eyes.

Seigfreid stared back at her, his own eyes uneasy. She terrified him, more than the other elf. She was quiet, haunted by something, he could tell. It was a feeling he knew all too well, and one he could recognize anywhere. "I will."

Aryanne nodded. "Good."

"Good luck, Whitelocke," said Gabrielen to Seigfreid as he started his way down the side of the building.

Seigfreid landed on another roof just below theirs and looked back up at him. "You as well, whatever your last name is. Do not forget the horses." He vaulted over the side of the building and was swallowed up by the darkness of the alley below.

Gabrielen snickered...but he wish he knew that answer as well. He called himself Blackrain, but that was the name of a mountain range in the north, not his own. But it was where his grandfather said they were from, and it was where they were headed.

"Gabrielen?" Asked Valyn, pulling the half elf away from his thoughts.

"Yes?"

Valyn looked at his sister, then at the floor, and then at Gabrielen with innocent eyes, a question within them ready to ask itself. "What is a horse?"

*****

Seigfreid wasn't far from the gate now. He saw the elves descend the building, and would wait until they were on the ground before he'd approach. He thought of what he should do. Maybe whistle or make a noise? No, that wouldn't work, he needed all of them distracted, not just one or two. He could throw a rock at them, but that would only piss off the one he threw the rock at. He'd need to engage all of them.

There was a bottle next to him, empty and discarded. He picked it up, and sniffed the rim. It was certainly a liquor bottle, it smelt of whiskey. He somewhat wished it were full of the alcoholic beverage.

"Maybe another time," he sighed.

He left the alley, bottle in hand, and stumbled up to the guards in a drunken manner. There was no one that could play a drunkard better than a drunkard. They noticed him, and two guards came towards him. "You there! Stop!"

Seigfreid stumbled around, his eyes squinted and his lips twisted. "Are you, are you, you talking to meh?" He did his best to slur and stutter, and he fooled even himself.

One of the guards rolled his eyes. His skin was like the leaves of autumn, brown but not dark. "Yes, you filthy drunk." The guard knew Seigfreid's face from somewhere, but couldn't place it. "This area is under martial law, and no citizen is to wander around unsupervised. There are enemies of the crown about, and they are dangerous. Please return to your home."

While the guard spoke, Seigfreid had been swallowing air, and when the guard finished speaking, Seigfreid let it out in the form of a burp. "Excuse me gentleman, I seem to be beside myself! Allow me to make intro-" he burped again. "Introductions! What are your names, my good men?"

The other guards by the gate were staring now, wondering why their brothers in arms bothered with the shenanigans of a drunkard, but none of them said a word.

The pale guard answered first. "Sir Nathyn Chambers." He had brown bangs that peeked from under his open faced helm, and he had a strange youth to him, baby of the face but an older man when it came to his mannerisms.

Seigfreid nodded, and smiled at him, drunkenly of course. "Pleasure, Sir Chambers," he turned to the guard with the skin made of the autumn leaves. "And your name, Sir?"

The guard didn't smile or snicker, but simply said his name. "Henry Braxton."

Seigfreid held out his hand for them to take. But before either of them could, though neither rushed to, he whisked it away in a grand fashion.

"But! Do you know, do you even know-" he held up a finger, "who I-" he pointed the finger at himself, "who I am?"

Nathyn scoffed. "Who, drunkard? Who are you supposed to be?" He grinned with amused condescension.

Seigfreid paid him and his words no mind, but maintained his drunken charade. "I am Lord Jonah Duffy, a painter and connoisseur of all things fine! And my, the lot of you guardsmen would make for an exquisite portrait!"

Henry studied him. This man didn't look the part of some lordly painter, wearing tattered and dirty clothing, unkempt and unwashed, but he certainly spoke like one. He had an air about him that seemed as if he had been born with gold and silver in his pockets, even if that same air was tainted by his awful smell. He had heard artists were a peculiar bunch though.

But he knew this man was not who he said he was. He just couldn't place where he knew his face.

Nathyn chuckled, and didn't seem to mind having his time wasted by this drunkard. "A portrait of us? I doubt it would sell well, we're an ugly bunch, I'm afraid."

Seigfreid shook his head and smiled. "Preposterous, Sir Chambers! Where I'm from, men of your sort are considered dashing!"

Nathyn kept his smile. "And where is that, Lord Duffy?"

"The great northern landscape of Farrenhelm, good sir."

That's when Henry realized who this man really was. Everyone knew of the disgraced ranger from the north, the one who left the expeditionaries to die in that castle out in the seas.

This man is Seigfreid Whitelocke. He scarcely could recognize the young lordling. Seigfreid had always been a clean shaven handsome warrior, with hair like platinum and skin like untouched snow. Now he had an untrimmed beard littered with crumbs and his hair was dirty and unwashed.

What sad times this man has fallen on

"Lord Jonah Duffy is it?" Asked Henry.

Seigfreid chuckled nervously. "Why yes, Sir Braxton, that is correct." He sensed his ruse was coming undone. The darker guardsmen was surely smarter than the other.

"I don't know what games your are playing here, Seigfreid Whitelocke, but I reccomend you leave these acts to the thespians. Go back to your alleyways."

Seigfreid swallowed hard and cursed himself. I should have said I was from Arnland...

"Forgive me, gentleman, I've recently taken to the theatre, and thought perhaps you brave good men would enjoy a show!

"But yes, Sir Braxton, I am indeed Seigfreid Whitelocke! Son of Nolan Whitelocke, heir of Silver Rock, and once a ranger of the Ranger Order!" He bowed to the guards. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Nathyn's smile disappeared, and he looked at Seigfreid with sheer disdain, as if he were a rodent or an insect. Seigfreid had never seen eyes so hateful, perhaps second only to his own father. "Seigfreid Whitelocke..."

Seigfreid nodded uneasily, and felt his false drunkenness and the character of Lord Duffy slip away. There was something in the way the guard said his name that sent shivers down his spine.

The guard continued speaking. "I have a few choice words for you, Whitelocke," he started peeling off his gloves. "And so do some of my men back by that gate," he gestured with his neck to the guards behind them, who all had their arms crossed and lips done up in a smirk.

Siegfreid felt his stomach turn. "Words of love and adoration, I hope." He felt his palms creep above his waist, ready to shoot up in surrender.

Nathyn shook his head. "Oh no, my friend, those words they are not." He looked back to his fellow guardsmen. "Men! Come over here, the lot of you!"

"Why?" One of them shouted.

"It seems Lord Seigfreid Whitelocke has finally come out of his hole!"

Seigfreid heard them hoot and holler and whistle, and all ten of them came over, removing their gloves and their helms, cracking their knuckles and stretching their necks. As they did so, Henry grabbed Nathyn's and brought him close. "This isn't right, Nathyn."

Nathyn shook his arm free from his grip. "No, what he did to those rangers wasn't right! This, this is justice."

Henry shook his head. "He's only one man, there are nearly ten of us!"

Nathyn shoved Braxton in the shoulder. "Then go keep watch by the gate, you priss!" He looked towards Seigfreid and gave a cruel smile. "This will only take a minute.

Henry sighed, and gave Seigfreid a look of pity. He saw the pleading in his pale blue eyes, but his eyes wouldn't save him now, and surely Henry couldn't. He'd suffer the same fate if he tried. He simply left, and went to stand by the gate alone.

Seigfreid swallowed nervously as the other guards encircled him. There was nowhere to run now. All he could do was take this beating with grace and dignity. But surely he would try and talk his way out of it at first. "Gentlemen," he started. "I assure you, there is no need-"

A fist swung into his jaw, and blood filled his mouth. It was a heavy fist, strong and bony, and it was not the first time the fist had struck someone. He heard them laugh and shout, but he couldn't hear their words over the ringing in his ears. He felt someone's foot cave in his knee, and he fell, his palms flat against the earth beneath him. Someone then stomped his fingers, and he yelped. That hurt the worst so far. He felt another foot in the side of his ribs, and it sent him to the ground, curled up on his side, knees and elbows pulled in tight. They each kept kicking him, wherever they could, mostly in his back and a few lucky blows to the head. He only hoped the elves were making their move.

*****

Henry Braxton observed the beating from the gate where he resigned himself. It was savage, he thought, but the man had brought it upon himself. Still, even men such as Seigfreid deserved some mercy, despite the horrible things he had done. He found it funny how at one point, he would have gladly traded lives with the spoiled lord of the north, but now, he was sure that same lord would give anything to be anyone else at the moment.

From the corner of his eye, he saw shadows lurking from the opposite side of the gate. He looked further with curious caution, but the shadows were gone as quickly as they appeared. But still, he knew he saw something. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and walked towards where the shadows were.

"Hello?" He called out. There was plenty of light cast by the lanterns, but he couldn't see much of anything. It was quiet, and all he could hear where the thuds of boots against the back of Seigfreid Whitelocke behind him. He was ready to turn back and call it nothing when he saw her.

She emerged from the shadows, the light from the lantern turning her pale face orange, the blackness of her hair one with the darkness behind her. He stopped, cold in his tracks, his hands falling to his sides, limp and without purpose.

He had never seen a creature so beautiful. Her eyes were like golden coins, just as hard and just as cold. Her skin was like the sands of Lion's Bay, gleaming white and without flaw. So magnificent, she was.
He wanted to say something, but he found the words caught in his throat.

He wanted to know her name, what she smelt like, what she tasted like, to wrap himself in her arms and sleep forever. He wanted to look away from her, but found his gaze had become stone. They stood there, eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity, only him and this creature.

Finally, she turned away, releasing him of her gaze, and slipped away into the darkness. He wanted her to come back, to touch her and hold her, but she was gone, like a feather in the wind.
He heard the thuds from behind him stop, but the men still laughed. He heard them spit, and heard the streams of piss, and he smelt it in the air, sour and pungent.

Nathyn came up next to him, tucking his member back into his trousers. "Anything catch your eye while we, uh..." he gestured over to Seigfreid, who lay still on the ground, broken, bloody and drenched in urine. He left the sentence unfinished.

Henry simply shook his head. "No," he said flatly.

Nathyn nodded and rubbed his nose. "Good, good...next patrol comes to relieve us in a matter of minutes, ready to leave and get some sleep?"

Henry nodded, but didn't say anything. He was still staring out the gate, hoping the creature would show herself again. Nathyn followed his gaze, but saw nothing. He said something else to Henry, but Henry didn't hear him. The rest of the guards went back to the other side of the gate, talking and laughing, likely about them beating Whitelocke near to death. A few of the guards picked Seigfreid up and took him outside the gate and threw him into the mud.

"And stay out!" one of them shouted.

Henry turned his gaze to Seigfreid's bruised and beaten body. It occurred to him that while Seigfreid spoke to them in his drunken stupor, he did not smell a single drop of liquor on his breath.

*****

Seigfreid opened his swollen eyes. His body ached something fierce, and he felt his breath was slow and painful. He tasted blood, and he saw blood on his fingers and his hands, running down his arms into the mud below.

He tried to stand, but the pain blinded him, and he slunk back into the mud. He wanted to lay there for all eternity, to sink into the earth below and disappear from this world. There was no place for him anywhere anymore.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he jerked away quickly, startled. It was the half elf Gabrielen.

"Good gods, they showed you no mercy," he said.

Seigfreid sighed with relief at the sight of a sort of friend, and shook his head. "No...they didn't..."

Gabrielen nodded sympathetically. "You did well, we all made it through the gate quietly. Here," he hooked his hands under Segfreids arms and lifted him.

Seigfreid grunted in pain, but did his best to stand.

"Gods, you reek of piss," said Gabrielen.

Seigfreid nodded solemnly, but didn't say anything.

Gabrielen took him over to the stables where he had horses and the elves waiting for them. The elves each covered their noses as Gabrielen lay Seigfreid next to them.

Valyn definitely recognized this smell. "He smells like blood and piss."

Gabrielen nodded. "Those guards are assholes." He looked to Aryanne, who stared at Seigfreid with pity. "Aryanne?"

Aryanne looked up to Gabrielen. "Yes?"

"Can you heal him?"

Aryanne looked at Seigfreid again. He was bruised and bloody, his lips fat and his eyes blackened. She would have to heal him if they wished to go any further. "Yes, I can."

She placed her hands on Seigfreid's chest, and light poured from her palms, golden and wispy. It surged all over his body, through his bones and over his skin. His cuts sealed, his bruises turned from purple to peach, and the cracks in his ribs came together.

Seigfreid's eyes shot open, and he took deep breaths. He looked down at his body, amazed and bewildered. He had never felt so alive before, so healthy. He looked up and met Aryannes eyes. "What did you do to me? I've never felt so..." he couldn't think of a word that did his feelings justice.

Aryanne softly smiled, and it was first time she had in a long time. "I know."

Gabrielen nodded at Seigfreid. "Do you know the way to Greensfield?"

Seigfreid nodded. "Yes, I do."

"Good," said Gabrielen. "Let us ride then."