Within the parliament of the lavish Elven city a human commander grits her teeth in disgust. 18 months of fighting the black tide, watching her comrades fall, cutting down children and the elderly that had fallen to the corruption, and for what? Slammed doors and a spit on the face from these so called “higher races”.
The commander nearly shatter her communication crystal in her hate filled grip as she spoke: “All units, [Code: Black] negotiation has fallen. Grab every civilian and resources you can and abandon post. I repeat, [Code: Black].” -- Anon Guest
The curse was spreading, and those on high refused to acknowledge it existed. Commander Emilka Dawnshild had been called away from protecting the people to report to the isolated highborn Elves in their damned sacred council. She hadn't bothered to bathe, nor cleanse the battle grime off herself or her armour. She was tired and she smelled bad, and all she wanted to do was sleep, but what she needed to do was get back to saving the civilians.
The council, glittering with gold, gems, and shining with silk and satin, sneered at her as a paige offered a bowl to wash her hands in. She pointedly drank it in one go.
"You may report," sneered the Highest King of Kings.
Why bother? They'll ignore me as always. "We've lost another district to the curse," she began.
"Ah-ah-ah. We do not say the C-word," cautioned the King of Highmount. "It's a primitive word filled with primitive misunderstandings. But what else can we expect from a primitive paid to fight?"
Other kings and queens tittered daintily. One of them lit a pipe of dandelion leaves.
"My best estimates hold that two thousand lives are lost," snapped Emilka. "Today. Three thousand, five hundred were lost yesterday."
"Then go find them," said the laconic one high on dandelion. A Queen of a region that no longer had a population. "There's thousands of them... How can that many people not be found?"
"They're. Dead," said Emilka.
"Ah-ah-ah," cooed the Queen of the Forested Vale. "We don't say the D-word. We say--"
Something snapped. "I don't care what you say," she roared. She pointed out the dandelion smoker, "You don't have subjects any more!" To the Queen who had just spoken, "Your realm is ON FIRE!" To the King more interested in his honey-roasted peacock tongues than the council, "Your realm is overrun with the blight! You paid for me to save the people and that's what I'm going to do. You can stay in this ivory tower and rot for all I care." She made to turn and leave in a righteous fury.
The High King of Kings made a gesture and froze her in place. "Explain this outrageous outburst."
Fine. She could do with the time to rest her sword arm. "When we notified you of the warning signs, you told us we were being hysterical and ignored the harbingers. When we asked for aid in containing it, you told us we were being alarmist without sending anyone to even look at it. When it broke free and devastated a village, you barely paid for more recruits to fight the afflicted. When we begged for magic to cure the afflicted, you said we were too primitive to handle it safely. We begged for you to send mages and healers, and you pleaded budgetary restrictions while raising our taxes and gifting yourself golden ornaments for this... palace," it was an effort to refrain from uttering foul words, Emilka let her rage ride her so she could continue talking without any of these stuck-up bejeweled snobs interrupting her. "When we abandoned the village and the affliction spread, you told us it was no concern of anyone. You said that it would fizzle out. Yet. It. Spread. And you didn't care until some of your own precious Elven subjects began to suffer. Suddenly, you had all the money in the world to throw Human armies at it. We didn't need armies, and we told you we needed something better than swords to defeat it. I have watched enough towns fall. I have seen cities fall to it. I have had more than my fill of slaughtering the afflicted to keep them from infecting anyone untouched by it. I have had to drive my sword through babies to protect those with a hope of life. And I have had enough. We've all. Had. Enough."
He could freeze her feet in place, but he could not stop her taking a gift from her pouch. A small magical stone linked to another in the hands of her second-in-command. She said the word for 'listen' in Elvish, knowing that the other stone would speak. She had twenty-five words. "Litgard, word out. Code black. Negotiation has fallen. Grab every civilian and resource you can and abandon post. I repeat: code black. Dawnshild out." She put the stone back in her pouch, just in case they let her go.
"That was rude," said the King of the Rocky Hills. "Should we teach it a lesson?"
"Kill me if you wish," said Emilka, knowing she could manipulate them this way. "Flay me alive if you want. You could even boil me in oil, but I beg you... by the mercy of the gods, do not send me back to the front! It's worse than any hell down there."
Predictable as always, they sent her back to her army. Where she was completely free to help everyone still alive and uninfected flee from these cursed lands.
The High King of Kings and his precious highborn council would learn the cost of ignorance when the curse finally reached their glittering paradise. But by then, there would be nobody left to help them.
[Photo by Olivier Leysen on Unsplash]
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