The Brotherhood of The Black Rats

Epilogue

The mud craters around his mailed foot with each labored step. It cakes itself around the once gleaming armored boot of King Oberon as he weary trudges up the crimson coated hillside. The splintered banners of The Black Wolf lay torn and frayed among the bodies of his foes, outnumbered only by the corpses of his friends and the sigils of their most noble and ancient houses.

Yet the Druid Gate still stands in the mist, and in the shadow of the old stone arms, the last fae encampment is there to welcome him at the hilltop. It is a sight that offers him little solace, even as his most loyal subjects rush his side. 

“My lord, are you injured?” asks the first to come to his aid. 

“Easy now, easy does it,” says another offering a shoulder to the battle worn King. 

“The others?” asks Oberon of the gathered before him. 

“There are no others my King.” His attendant reports with solemn notes in his voice. “You are the only one, who made it back.” 

“Her majesty has lead what remains of our kind through the gate to whatever salvation awaits us in the mortal realm,” Informs the fae guard supporting him on his right. 

“It is time we did the same,” states the attendant. 

“Burn the dead,” commands the King, as he his brought inside what little shelter is offered from a simple barren yurt tent.

“Aye my lord, aye,” Agrees the oldest of his allies. “We shall, you rest up now. The journey ahead will be a tough one, we’ve not heard word yet from any who have passed through the gates so far.” 

More commands are given. One among the remaining  Fae stays to dress King Oberon’s wounds while the others set to the task at hand. It does not take long for the first fires to begin. Their smoke rises through the grey morning haze to the saffron colored sky carrying with it the scent of burning flesh and aged pine.

Among the fae a chant breaks out; a hymn in a language not known to the ears of man nor sung lightly for their fallen brethren. It is a beautiful song and many are moved to tears.      

Yet it is cut short by a sound that would spell their doom. A low, trembling horn cuts across the smoke filled air. One blast, then another, and then another, each a herald to the forces of The Black Wolf coming for them all.

Oberon looks out across the mist covered battlements he has only just arrived from. He can feel the eyes of his enemy upon him, just out beyond the edge of the forest. There is little to do now but cover the escape of those who have stayed behind with him, and for that he will need a weapon. 

Rising to his feet renewed, he scans the pavilion floor for the tools that remain to him. A blunted mace, a dull sword, elven forged steel that even now cuts deeper than the crudely-fashioned spear tips that are coming for him. A half-filled quiver rests against a sturdy looking shield, with arrow heads still radiating with magic. It is not the armory of Castle Gleaming, but he will do with it what he can. 

As he takes up the weapons a familiar voice calls from behind him. 

“There is little to be done now King,” says Queen Taitina resting a hand on his shoulder. 

“Is that so Queen?” asks Oberon sternly.

“Our salvation lays beyond the Druid Gates,” she answers “If we leave now, we can gather our strength and return when the time is right.” 

“If we leave now, there is no coming back” states The King as again the enemy’s trumpets bellow ever closer “The Mortal realm is not what it once was.” 

  “But there is still magic there,” says the Queen “Come with me and I will show you, let the mist cover our escape.” 

The King hears the truth in her words above the quaking ground at his feet. He takes her arm into his own, and together they turn towards the mist and the loyal subjects that await them.

It is then that they notice the glowing green hue caught in the thick fog that surrounds them. Fading in and out as it grows steady through the mist revealing the outline of more figures moving outward from the Druid gate. 

“Hello?” calls a voice, that even Queen Tatiana seems puzzled by. 

 “You sure this is the right place?” asks another in the low tone of Troll, yet eloquent in it’s address. 

“It better be!” snaps a gruff Dwarven brogue. 

“Quiet!” says the first voice more familiar sounding as it carries the light. 

Oberon hears his wife gasp as the first of the new arrivals is revealed to him. 

“Isabelle,” Queen Tatiana says as if in disbelief. 

Even Oberon does not recognize her at first. As the green glow cuts through the mist she stands before them, attired in a pair of denim shorts, long stripped socks and a two-toned t-shirt with twin holes cut out the back for her gleaming gossamer wings.    

She smiles as she bows her head to them speaking in a more refined manner. “The Thorn stands strong, to cut deep those who would harm the rose!”

At her words a wild cheer breaks out, to rival that of the approaching horns.

“Aye!” calls a stout armor clad dwarf as he comes up beside the Fairy “As does King Undertow and the ten thousand axes at his command,” he spits out with a wide smile. 

“As do the elves of The Hidden Glen, twenty thousand strong in service to King Oberon and Queen Titiana,” states a limber looking elf as he eloquently takes his own place next to their daughter.

“As do The Trolls of The Bloodmaw tribe,” states a lumbering muscle-bound troll as he steps forward towering above the rest “and with them, The Nightroots, and The Greyfangs,” 

“As do the gnomes!” a soft voice cries out as an elder gnome steps forward bowing deeper than the rest. 

“And the Halflings of The Lonely Meadow!”

“And The Goblins of Hawthorne Heights!”

“And The Brotherhood of The Black Rats,” a mortal voice says then. Oberon knows it from the old emerald country though he has not heard it’s like in nearly a century. 

“Representing humans of course,” says another as the other races clear a path for the five young men to take their next to Isabelle and The Troll. “We’re not all bad…despite what you may have heard.” 

“To victory!” the two identical ones shout in unison. 

“It’s in the cards,” says the last with his gaze towards Isabelle. “But first I think we’re going to need a drink.”