ROOTS OF RUIN
Chapter 3
The roots remember.
Aria could not get the damnable message out of her head, and maybe that was for the best. If Elara had told her this, if the sole returning expedition member was repeating it over and over, then it must be of great importance.
Aria intended to find out why.
She retreated to a side hall, one not thronged with gossiping minor nobles and curious onlookers. Two servants passed her by, curtsying and stepping to the other side of the hall as they continued on their way.
“Princess,” they said, smiling.
“Ladies,” said Aria, returning their smile.
Aria waited until they were gone before leaning back against the stone worked corridor wall. Whatever was going on behind those chamber doors must have been serious enough that the council feared it being heard by those gathered. And that included her. The nobles might be so easily swayed, but not her. She intended to discover for herself what was going on and she would not be deterred.
A tiny brown mouse poked its head out from a small crevice in the wall. Its little nose darted left and right, twitching and sniffing. Aria held still, watching as it crept out a bit more, smelling for danger, searching for food.
Aria slowly moved her left hand to the belt pouch she wore. She often kept scraps and morsels for the many animals about the castle: stray cats, horses, birds, and curious mice. She’d once befriended a raucous raven by leaving shiny trinkets atop one of the towers. After a while, it came to know her and would land atop the parapet, visiting her, bringing her strange berries and wondrous rocks in return. He visited several times a week, for almost a year, and then one day he simply stopped coming. Aria held hope that he had moved on, migrated to another part of the realms, and had not met with ill fortune.
She reached in with deft fingers and found the crumbs of a corn muffin she’d ate this morning. Moving ever so slowly and deliberately, she squatted down and placed the crumbs upon the ground.
“Here you are, little one,” she said, standing up and taking a few steps backward.
The mouse ventured fully out of its nook and stood on its hind legs, sniffing and wiping its whiskers with its forelegs. It dropped down and scampered forward, towards the crumbs.
Aria closed her eyes and drew in a centering breath, then released it, quietly. With eyes closed, she let her breathing become rhythmic; it was the ebb and flow of the tide, the rustle of tall grass in the wind, the chirping of the morning songbird.
She opened her eyes and lowered herself towards the floor stones. The mouse watched her, holding one large crumb in its paws. Aria placed one palm on the stones, fingers spread.
Stolen story; please report.
“Thal’syl venorath il’naem,” she murmured in the Olde Tongue of the druids. Through root and breath, let our spirits entwine.
A flicker of green-gold light passed from her fingers, along the stones, and to the mouse. The mouse shoved the rest of the crumb into its mouth and then dropped back down to all fours, watching Aria. The spark was not forced upon the mouse. It was a request. An offering. A mutual bond, if agreed upon. The mouse must trust her and, in return, agree to the temporary bond. For this was the way of the druid folk – communion, not command.
The mouse moved closer, sniffing the air, sniffing her. And then it accepted Aria’s request. Aria’s eyes glazed over and her breathing slowed. And then, just as suddenly, she was seeing the boot and slipper-worn floor stones much closer than before. Every movement in the air was captured by her whiskers. Her own half-human, half-elven heartbeat beat a sluggish rhythm that almost deafened her little mouse ears. The bond was complete, and for a short time, Aria and the mouse were one.
Aria opened her mind to the little creature and shared her intent: find a way into the council chamber and hear what was being said within. With this understanding, the mouse darted down the hallway, keeping close to the wall. Once in the main hall, where the throng of nobles and merchants continued to press shoulder to shoulder, gossiping and wondering, the mouse wove its way along, unnoticed; over slipper and around boot. It moved deftly and lightly, attracting no notice, not even by the every vigilant Thornwardens who watched everything.
The little mouse reached the great doors and then, with no trouble at all, it slipped underneath and into the council chambers where Archmage Merris stood in the center, addressing the council. Merris’s flowing robes, lined with silver runes, moved in fluid balance, in contrast to her sharp features and rigid posture. She was a stern woman, and not one to be trifled with.
“….which is why I say that we must know more about the Verdant Wild. What is it? What does it want? What weaknesses does it have and how might we exploit them? To this end, I believe we must…we must send soldiers in to discover what we’re facing!”
“We know what we’re facing!” shouted a red-faced, and equally red-bearded man with shoulders as wide as an ale cart. “A blight of nature that must be burned to ash and then pissed upon!”
“Lord Draymoor!” said Queen Elaena. “You are out of line, sir.”
“Am I?” said Lord Draymoor, standing up and placing both hands on the table. “You caution for patience. Merris speaks of understanding. Lady Elara wants to talk with the damned woods. Bah! Druid nonsense. What we need is emberforged steel and torches!”
“And that has worked oh so well,” said Lady Elara, leaning back in her chair.
“Enough!” said King Thalon, standing and meeting Lord Draymoor’s fiery eyes. “From what we can surmise, the scouting party is gone. They may not be dead, but…they are lost. And this man who has returned is broken in both mind and body. What sense does it make to send more fodder for the wolves? Surely you, Lord Draymoor, know the futility of hurling ourselves against nature’s shield wall?”
“What then, is your counsel, dear husband?” asked Queen Elaena, sipping from her goblet. “If any of the scouting party may still be alive-“
“Not counsel,” said King Thalon, “but command. Until Merris, Lady Elara, and the Queen can discern anything more about this Verdant Wild, I will not send any more of our men or women into what is most likely their death. Send ravens, post messages, spread the word. By command of the king, all Veyndralians are urged to leave their homes and farms, and find refuge here, in Thornspire. No one is permitted to enter the woods and, should they do so, they do it of their own accord and without the protection, or blessing, of the king. Those who do will be considered in violation of the law and held thusly accountable.”
“But, my king-“
“I have spoken!” said King Thalon, punching the table.
The council erupted into a cacophony of conversational chaos. And Aria, the little mouse in the corner, had heard enough.
