The Legend Of The Seven Crystals The One Crystal - Chapter 3 Chapter Iv The Banque

Roasted fowl, venison, and fish; fresh vegetables cooked with herbs and fragrant oil; breads still warm from the palace ovens; cool, delicious water, spiced cider and fine wines – King Spartas found his mouth was watering as he surveyed the vast array of delicacies being set before the guests by a parade of servants. He almost forgot about the tikbalang sitting beside him, but was sharply reminded of Akiros’ presence when the warlike being bellowed out his approval of the meal choices.

King Spartas turned and smiled at his dinner companion. “I agree. It looks like our host has spared no expense.”

“As is only right,” Akiros replied, nodding his equine head.

“You strike me as a wise individual who knows a great deal about the world and some of the lesser-known races. My servant has been bursting with questions that I’ve had neither the time nor the knowledge to answer. Might we appeal to your greater experience and understanding of such matters?”

King Akiros snorted, but the sound was gentle. “Ah, and you are correct, King of elves. I do know a great deal. But how is it that you do not?”

“The elves are a people who rarely concern themselves with the goings on outside our forests.” He offered a shrug. “We have enough to deal with, what with keeping the animals safe and the woodlands free of incursion by those who would cut down its magnificent trees to use for building in their home lands.”

“What else do you do?” Akiros had asked this with his head tilted to one side, his growing curiosity obvious.

“We spend most of our time perfecting our skill as archers, healers, poets, and musicians, as well as the never-ending patrols that take our finest warriors on long journeys through the forests.” Spartas took a sip of the deep red wine sparkling in his goblet and smiled. This expression was as much a reflection of his appreciation of the smooth tones of the liquid sliding over his tongue as it was of his growing warmth toward the tikbalang.

“Yes, it does sound like you would have little time to deal with the races elsewhere on Meridia. How is the wine?”

“Magnificent!”

Akiros raised his own goblet, took a sip, stared at the wine for a second, and downed the rest. “Ha! You’re right, elf! This is wonderful! But I think we should eat something before drinking any more – the wine is strong and we still have important things to do, yes?”

“Indeed.”

“So what would you like me to tell you?” Picking up his knife and fork, Akiros began to dig into the piece of fish on his plate – as a being that had kinship to horses, eating venison (he explained to Spartas through a mouthful) was revolting.

The elf looked around – everyone knew a little about ogres, but personally, he had no understanding of their actual culture. “Have you dealt with ogres at all? What kind of people are they, other than huge?”

Akiros gulped down some water. “Ah, ogres. I have a lot of admiration for that lot. They don’t have a king, you know.”

“Then who rules them?”

“They have a Master Chieftain to whom the lesser chieftains of their communities answer.”

“And am I correct in guessing that the gigantic fellow over there with the beard is the Master Chieftain?” Spartas nodded to his right.

“You are – that is Bulgar. The fellow is ten feet in height if he’s an inch.” Akiros whinnied a low laugh. “A worthy opponent in a friendly fight, and a great ally in war.”

“You know him personally, then?” Spartas had been enjoying the pheasant and some choice herbed potatoes during this discussion, and was starting to feel full.

“I do. As a guardian of the ogre crystal, he came to me looking for advice as to the best way to keep it safe. Seems his predecessor had misplaced it at some point, and the one before him had foolishly let it be stolen; he got it back, of course, because the thief, unworthy to hold it, was, well, it didn’t end well for him and they found his remains with the crystal the next day.”

Ogres mustn’t be all that smart, Spartas mused, but didn’t voice that opinion. If Akiros had friendly relations with… Bulgar, was it?… the last thing the elf wanted to do was risk being offensive.

“Another reason I like the fellow,” Akiros added after taking a long sip of his water, “is that he’s somehow managed to survive his marriage to eight wives.”

“What?”

Akiros whinnied again, but louder, and bobbed his massive head up and down in what Spartas interpreted as a hearty laugh. “That’s right – eight. He’s got, let me see, uh, fifty children, I believe, give or take a few.”

Spartas was speechless and stared with open awe at the ogre.

Beside him, Masori cleared his throat. “Ogres live in El’Gazon, yes?” he asked, referring to the more mountainous region of the north highlands.

“They do,” Akiros confirmed, and then gave Spartas a frown. “You allow your servant to speak to kings?”

“He speaks to me, and I’m a king.”

“Hmm. I see. Well, yes, and I imagine that’s why he needs eight wives.”

Masori frowned this time. “What does one have to do with the other?”

“Simple, elf. It’s deadly cold up there, and I would think a man of any race would be glad for the warmth of eight hefty women around him at night. Ha!”

“There must be a lot of ogres, then.” Masori finished the last of his bread and sat back. “I mean, with all those wives and all that… yes, well. Do all of the ogres have so many children?”

“I will blame your silliness on your extreme youth, elf.” Akiros’ tone was almost fatherly now. “Their communities I spoke of consist of at least a thousand families, so yes, they all have many children.” He tossed back the rest of his wine. “And as you may have guessed, with that kind of government, there is no magnificent palace like this in their realm.”

During this discussion, Bulgar must have at some point heard them, because no sooner did Akiros finish speaking than Spartas feel a gigantic hand land on his shoulder. He gasped and looked up.

“You find our history of interest, do you?” asked Bulgar, his huge mouth curving into an open smile that displayed gigantic, square teeth that reminded Spartas of the toy blocks of marble he played with as a child.

“Y-yes. I hope you don’t mind. Akiros’ he was kind enough to explain your culture – I didn’t wish to disrupt your meal.”

“Not at all!” Bulgar’s laugh rattled the utensils on the table. “You know, we’re great hunters, something you should appreciate as a race of fine archers, King…Spartas, is it?”

The elf king nodded.

“We have some wonderful wild beasts in our snowy mountains. Why, one of them would likely serve your whole family for a week!” He laughed again, causing several of the guests to grasp the edge of the table.

“They’re great fighters, too,” Akiros added. “You should see the iron mauls they use! I believe each one weighs more than you and your servant together!”

“Lifting boulders to clear land for our homes makes us strong, you see.”

“Ah.” Spartas nodded. “Well, it certainly is an honor to meet you, Bulgar. Do you use a title? I don’t wish to be disrespectful.”

“Only among my people. To outsiders, my name is sufficient. And now, speaking of my people, I need to speak to those who accompanied me here. As you know, they won’t be coming with us to the Joining, and so I must give them instructions on what I need them to do in my absence. Excuse me, sirs!” He grinned and lumbered away, his steps nowhere near as thudding and loud as Spartas had expected.

“The fellow is a lot more civilized than I would have guessed,” said someone across the table and to Spartas’ left.

“Indeed,” said the elf. “You must be Prince Lotra.”

“I am,” the dwarf replied. “And those pointy ears would make you King Spartas.”

“You are correct, sir Prince. A pleasure to meet you!”

“Don’t know much about you dwarves,” said Akiros, nibbling on an apple. “I’ve heard some of your songs, though – they’re rather amusing.”

“Tell us about yourself,” Spartas urged. “I’ve heard only good things about the dwarf kingdom, but my general knowledge of your people is somewhat sparse.”

Prince Lotra, who was, Spartas guessed, sitting on a raised chair – the dwarf was at most four feet in height – resettled himself, took a sip of wine, and smiled. “Very well. After all, what self-respecting dwarf wouldn’t want to talk about himself and his people, eh?” A short chuckle, and he began. “I, sirs, am the eldest of the three sons of King Dunapos and Queen Yatra, and heir to the throne. Now as for my people, we do love to sing, and as you discovered… oh, dear! I’m not sure, but may I assume you are King Akiros of the tikbalang?”

“You may. Go on, dwarf.”

“Ah, good. Yes. As I was saying, our songs are often in a humorous vein. We’re an optimistic lot, too, even though life sometimes seems to conspire against such a disposition. Let me see… we love inventing things, as many know.”

“Like what?” asked Masori, one elbow on the table, chin on upraised hand.

“Oh, like cannons and gunpowder, equipment for planting our crops, and devices to make fishing more efficient. We dwell Adronia, in the southern lowlands, you see. That’s where the four great rivers of Meridia intersect, making the land fertile for planting, and providing us with abundant varieties of fish. And in the middle of all this is where I live – the Palace of Atrium.” His eyes went distant and he gave them a dreamy, happy smile.

“You look homesick, dwarf.”

“I am, my dear tikbalang. But it’s for a good cause – the best cause, actually.”

“And were it not that we all sit here united under the same cause,” said the beautiful woman sitting across from Masori, “I might take offense at you mentioning how you eat those we cherish and guard.” She raised a delicate eyebrow.

Spartas saw Masori react to her voice by lowering his hand and turning his head to see her more directly. The look in his eyes confirmed a suspicion that had begun to grow in the king’s mind when they first sat down and observed an exchange of glances between his servant and the nymph.

Oh, dear. Poor Masori – that nymph is a respected guardian appointed by the eight members of the Council of Emetra. The lad stands no chance with her…

The dwarf’s words interrupted Spartas’ thoughts. “Ah, my dear nymph, forgive me! That was unfeeling of me to discuss. Please – accept my sincere apology for such distasteful discourse in your presence!”

She regarded the dwarf in silence for several seconds, and then nodded. “Very well – your gracious apology is both welcome and accepted.” She turned to Spartas, but her eyes were on Masori. “I am Tundras, the guardian of the nymph crystal.”

Her beauty was breathtaking, and Spartas couldn’t blame his knight for being smitten, but he also knew any relationship between them other than friendship and the common bond of the skilled fighter was out of the question. He’d have to speak with Masori later to be sure he understood this. In the meantime, however, there were social niceties to be observed. “I am honored to meet you, Tundras. I am King Spartas of the elven kingdom. We, too, have a great deal of concern for the creatures living within our realm.” He gave her a pleasant smile.

Masori cleared his throat again, but Spartas ignored it. If the younger elf was trying to get an introduction, he was going to be sadly disappointed. The last thing Masori needed was encouragement of that sort.

Akiros leaned forward. “I understand that as the appointed guardian, you have been endowed by your elders with the magic skill needed to defend and protect you and your crystal. Am I right?”

Tundras tilted her head to one side, both eyebrows raised, but said nothing.

An uncomfortable moment later, the tikbalang harrumphed. “Sorry, nymph. I am King Akiros. I thought you’d heard me say that to the dwarf.”

“I did, but good manners would dictate a proper introduction directly to me as well.” Her deep blue eyes glittered with something that spoke more of her ability as a warrior than that of delicate marine-dweller.

Akiros nodded, giving a gentle snort. “You’re right, of course. Apologies.”

It seems we’re all apologizing to this creature, Spartas thought, amused.

“What is this magic skill?” Masori blurted, then blushed and looked down.

To everyone’s surprise, Tundras didn’t chastise him but raised both hands, cupping them before her. “Watch, elf.”

Between her palms, a blue-green light began to grow from a tiny speck of brilliance. As it got larger, she raised her hands and brought them to the rim of her water goblet. A second later, a small cascade of sparkling clear water flowed from the hollow between her cupped fingers and into the glass.

Masori gasped, eyes wide, and looked up from the goblet and into her eyes. “Amazing!” he whispered.

Picking up her napkin, Tundras dried her hands and favored him with a sweet smile. “It’s a simple thing, really, for those born from the bosom of the ocean. Of course, that small splash of water can be made into a torrent that will wash away an entire army should I ever be so threatened.”

Now Masori gulped and sat back. “You – you’re incredible!”

“And you, dear knight, are most kind. Perhaps, once things are settled and done here, we could talk about fighting tactics before we all leave for our own countries once more, eh?”

Oh, no. No, no, no. “Perhaps,” said Spartas before his servant could respond. “But we must now think about our responsibility here.” He gave her a mild glare, hoping she’d see his disapproval yet not be offended by it.

“I’ve heard your skin changes to blue when you’re near the oceans. Is this so?” The dwarf gave her a bright smile, his words diffusing the sudden tension.

Spartas suspected Prince Lotra had purposely used his sunny disposition to tactfully sidetrack a possible argument between the nymph and the elves.

“You heard right, Prince. As the color of the sky reflected in Meridia’s waters, it is our favorite hue, and one that holds great power and magic for us. In fact, our palace, Aquanon, is made of stones in all the varieties of blue there are.”

“Where is this palace?” asked Akiros.

“I can only tell you it exists within the depths of a waterfall. We don’t tell people where this is to avoid invasions by those who would take our magic for themselves.”

“But who would do such a thing?” asked Masori.

“Only those who defy the laws that prohibit the use of black magic.” Tundras shook her head, thrusting out her jaw.

“Does anyone still exist who practices that terrible art?” Prince Lotra put down his goblet, brows drawn together.

“Some of us suspect so,” said a new voice.

Everyone turned toward its source, an impressive individual sitting to Prince Lotra’s left.

“I am Shakur,” he said, nodding at each of the others.

“An enkanto, I believe?” Akiros nodded back.

Impressed with the tikbalang’s vast knowledge of the races, Spartas said nothing, but chose instead to listen.

“So you know of us, King Akiros? You are correct, of course. Like the nymphs, we are elementals, but our place of birth is the bosom of a volcano, and fire is our element.”

“Naturally,” said Tundras, her tone dry, her mouth twisting into a grin.

“As you say.” He waved a hand displaying one of the thick leather gauntlets that circled both wrists. “And as you sure have surmised, I’m the guardian of the enkanto crystal.”
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And I can see why, Spartas observed. The elemental’s physique, fully on display with his shirtless attire, was powerful indeed. The two-handed broadsword at his side made it clear he was not a fighter to take lightly.

“I would suppose you have magical ability as well,” Akiros was saying.

“Of course. You can, I’m sure, imagine what it is, having seen what Tundras can do.” He gave the nymph a wink.

Her response was a smirk, but Spartas saw no annoyance register on Shakur’s handsome face.

“Do you also have elders that appointed you?” Masori’s voice was flat, almost sour.

“That is the way of the elementals,” Shakur told him with a smile. “The nymphs answer to the Council of Emetra, we bow to the wisdom of the Sumanum Council. And before anyone troubles to ask, we have a palace in Ador, the volcanic region to the west, and our palace is called Vulcan.”

A trumpet sounded, cutting off any further discussion, and King Vangard stood. “I see the meal has more or less concluded. Please, everyone sit back now and enjoy the performances I have arranged for you – you’ll find something that suits everyone’s idea of amusement as I have hired an array of artists and musicians familiar with the forms of entertainment practiced by all races represented here.” He clapped his hands twice, and servants rushed out from behind the curtain at his back.

Not only was the long table cleared off, the table itself was removed, and everyone’s chairs rearranged into a semicircle facing the curtain. The royal family stood as their table was removed also, revealing the platform on which it had stood to be a stage. The King and Queen went to the right side of this stage with their children, where their thrones had been placed at an angle so they could see the performances as well.

“Looks like our history lessons are over for the evening,” Spartas whispered in Masori’s ear. “Relax and stop thinking about the nymph, please.”

The knight turned to his King and started to reply, but Spartas raised an eyebrow, lips pursed, and Masori, clearing his throat, turned back around and sat still without speaking. Spartas contained a smile and sat back, satisfied.

At that moment, both sides of the curtains swung open.