The Emerald Blades
"Stand up, human filth," Bea heard the female guard say in Elven as she banged on the bars with her bracers. "Time to give up your friends."
Beatrice stood up, her feet wrapped in strips torn from her shirt to keep them from going numb against the cold ground. She looked the guard over—young, but her face held a pain meant for older folk. Her finger rested too comfortably on the trigger of the hand crossbow trained on her.
Bea stepped forward, noticing two guards on either side waiting to see how she would react. She quietly extended her arms through the horizontal slot in the bars and glanced at the manacles.
"Already so submissive... shame, I like watching the boss have to break them," the male guard to the right said.
"We'll see how she fares against the Boulder," the guard on the left added, running his sword along the bars. "He's only one away from gaining his freedom, so he's got a lot to fight for. Isn't that right, you dumbo?"
Reinhardt sat staring at them, giving a smile—the kind a caged animal gives to remind you that, if freed, its jaws would be around your neck.
The guard let out a nervous laugh, not hiding his unease as well as he thought. The attention turned back to Bea once her wrists were secured in the manacles and the gate unlocked with a loud click.
As Bea stepped out, she saw Reinhardt for the first time. He was about the same age as she was, with fiery red hair. His body was covered in scars that looked more like chips in stone than cuts in flesh. Their eyes met, and a silent agreement passed between them.
They marched her down the hallway and up some stone steps. As they turned a corner, she saw daylight shining on the intricate patterns of the stone floor tiles. Stepping through the threshold outside, she found herself in an ancient amphitheater adorned with images of satyrs carved into the stone walls.
The seats were filled with elves wearing cloaks colored like the forest itself, all of them passing leather sacks of drink between them. In front of her, sitting on a throne of twisted roots, was a wood elf with skin like weathered bark. His light brown eyes reflected the dim light filtering through the Green Sea's canopy. His hair was tied up, but long braided strands cascaded down to his shoulders. He was lean, but she couldn't discern much about his build under the cloak and dark armor.
She felt his eyes scan her body before he motioned to the guards to bring her into the center of the circle. Many in the audience hushed as she was placed on a small circle of stone before the guards stepped back to the edges of the stage.
"Do you speak Elven?" the leader asked, his voice deep and quiet but carrying throughout the area. When Bea nodded, he smiled and continued. "Good. I don't like to speak in other tongues. Not because there's anything wrong with them, mind you, but they are not my first language, and I want to ensure we understand each other completely. My name is Maelor Ironleaf, and these are my Emerald Blades."
He opened his arms, motioning to everyone around him. Bea scanned the crowd quickly before looking back at him.
"Well, waking up in a cold cell, practically naked and numb, is already a message that didn't need a single word," Bea said flatly. "Not to mention putting me in a cell next to a dog I'm made to believe will be my potential executioner. So excuse me if I don't warm to your banter, Maelor."
Immediately, anyone who hadn't already stopped talking did so. The silence echoed between the stones, with only the sounds of animals daring to get close to the base. The leader stared at her until a smile spread across his face from ear to ear. He leaned his head back and laughed loudly, some members of the Blades sighing in relief while others watched in horror.
"When I say it's been a while since someone has talked to me like that, I am not exaggerating," he said. "You are absolutely right, after all. So let us not play games. I can see that you've already picked the lock of your manacles with the object you smuggled on your body, so please let them drop, and let us talk not as prisoner and jailer but as soldier to soldier, yes?"
Bea nodded and loosened her grip as the manacles fell to the ground, the loud clang masking the slap the guard received for failing to search her properly.
"You were part of a caravan heading to Un'Sael. Many like them have been flocking to the ancient city, and if what my people tell me is true, it's because the King is scared of what is to come of these... portals," he waved a hand vaguely. Bea's gaze tightened as she listened. "But these portals open indiscriminately; there's no place safer than another. So there must be something they have that makes them feel secure there, as there's no reason to move from the capital."
"So far, you're just talking at me," Bea said, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "Is there a question?"
Maelor's smile faded, and she could sense the anger rising in him.
"My people recognized you from several jobs you've done in our home—smuggling magical goods, crates, even informants who've made their way to Un'Sael. I need to know what you know. What makes them safe there? What do they have in that city that protects those who've turned their backs on their heritage and leave us to fight for our lives every day?"
Bea raised an eyebrow and let out a little laugh herself this time.
"And you're this desperate that you're asking a mercenary? Not even a mercenary hired by people who pay well. I thought I was up against the Emerald Blades, but it seems you're nothing more than a butter knife," she paused, giving him time to absorb the insult. "If you and your people are so scared, why not just turn yourselves in? Or, you know, hide in some hole somewhere."
"Silence! You know not of what you speak," Maelor said, stepping forward. "You think it's so easy to abandon your home? Your morals and beliefs? We do not turn our backs on our own, but if what the King uses is an artifact of our ancestors, then it belongs to all of us. It's not his to claim and—"
"Sorry, I'm having trouble piecing together why I should care," she said dismissively, switching to Common as she interrupted him. Her eyes darted around his followers as she spotted whispers among some members. "It seems you're under the impression that I'm scared or that I possess knowledge way beyond what someone in my position would have. So how about you give your followers the show that makes them think you still have power and bring out Doran so they can watch how others do your dirty work. Or you come down here and fight me yourself to prove you still deserve to sit on your chair of twigs."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd as people began translating her Common speech into Elven. Maelor's face hardened, his brown eyes becoming like onyx set in black sand. Without a word, he undid the silver and green brooch that held his cloak in place, revealing battle-worn leather armor emblazoned with an emblem of a stag whose antlers twisted into trees. He leaped down from his raised platform and landed on the stone gracefully, motioning to one of the guards who threw her armor and weapons in her direction.
"You leave me no choice, human," Maelor said somberly. "I will pray to my ancestors for your soul's safe passage to the next place."
The elf and the goblin who had spied on Beatrice back in Say'aturn watched the scene unfold from a distance, hidden in the treetops. The goblin let out a stressed sound as his fingers traced his holy symbol of Lathander.
"Yuvenia, this has gone too far," he said, fidgeting. "We don't stand a chance against all of them. We'll find another recruit; it doesn't need to be her."
Yuvenia did not avert her gaze from Beatrice, who slipped her armor over her body, turning her back to Maelor. She saw a small smile creep onto Bea's face as she heard his frustration build at her complete dismissal of him.
"No... Moka, she planned this," Yuvenia said quietly, trying to think through what that plan could possibly be. "If she makes it out of this alive, without our help... she would be exactly what Sawyn is looking for in our crew. She could be the key to us being more than just a band of exiles. And maybe, just maybe, we all can get our lives back."
Moka groaned and turned back to watch the scene.
"I sure hope you're right."