Duendewood Resistance: Amaranth's Escape

Amaranth Antithian shoved the smaller of her two anvils onto the back of the cart, which creaked with the added weight. It was already loaded down with her tools and the more valuable of the weapons she had forged, along with a careful selection of crafting materials and other supplies. Her mother had given up trying to help and was now sitting on the board at the front of the cart, waiting for her to finish so that they could depart. 

The True King was gone. The armies were defeated. The human Duke Lamont was on his way to Annun with a force of Solari, and word had it he was intent on crowning himself king. Amaranth might have opposed him, but she knew she couldn't stop him. And her shop would be far too obvious a target for Lamont to overlook: the chance to capture a proper Elvish Bladecrafter to make weapons for his troops, possibly even for himself, would be irresistible. She could still offer sabotage, but it would be far better to craft weapons for the resistance that was said to be spinning itself out under the guidance of Ruin's mother. 

Ruin... For a moment, Amaranth allowed herself to be distracted. Where in Hell had he gone? He and the other Twiceborn were supposed to be here, protecting the city, defeating their enemies. She'd seen the way he moved; she thought he could actually manage it. Maybe her mother had been right, and she should have locked him down when she had the chance. They could have been legends, the two of them, with him to handle the worst of the fighting and her to provide the best of equipment. Had she wanted that? She wasn't sure.

And that was why she hadn't tried to take it, and she didn't have any regret to spare for her decision. Ruin had always been his own strange self, even before the death of his sister. If he ever chose to stay with her, it would be -- simply and only -- because that was what he wanted. What they wanted, because he wouldn't force his company on her either. If anything, too much the opposite. 

Amaranth touched the blade at her hip and thought, Be like him. She stepped back into her shop, pulled the last of the frost shards from a shelf, and carried them outside. 

"Are we almost ready, dear?" asked her mother, Milathyra Antithian, sounding strangely uncertain. She'd been trained with blade and bow -- no proper elf came to adulthood without -- and knew her way with gossip and innuendo and politics, but perhaps she'd never truly considered that she might one day be in physical danger. 

"Yes," answered Amaranth flatly. She was leaving behind more than just her shop; the things she couldn't afford to carry with her, tools and ingredients and even a small number of crafted weapons, would cost at least a thousand golds to replace. The reputation as a bladesmith in the local community was, perhaps, even more valuable, but it must be left behind as well. 

"Are you going?" asked a child's voice, and Amaranth set the box of frost shards in the last open corner of the wagon before she turned. 

"I have to," she said, looking down at Tovarin. The child was old enough for an apprenticeship, if only barely; his father ran the tea emporium down the street, but Tovarin had spent probably one afternoon out of three watching her work. 

"I know," he said. "I had hoped that one day you would teach me."

"I would have," Amaranth said slowly, "but you'll be safer here, for now."

"Do you think so?" he asked, his voice rich with the suspicion of a near-adult for adult platitudes. 

Did she? 

No. No, she did not. "Go and ask your father. If he is not leaving, ask if you can leave with us. Tell him not to ask where we are going. But if he'll allow it, I will take you."

As the boy raced off, Amaranth strode forward and set a hand on the shoulder of the Ox that was hitched to the cart. She spoke to it, in the ancient language of trees and natural beasts, and it swung the cart around and plodded slowly into the street. Amaranth looked back at her shop, sighed, and then stepped out into the street herself. 

"Hey! Pretty lady! You want wine? Our best stock! You carry it out of town before the humans come!"

The woman looking up at her was a halfling, already holding two bottles. Her Elvish lacked the full nuance of an elvish upbringing, but she had obviously grown up here in Annun; her words might not be entirely proper, but her accent was perfect. 

And Amaranth laughed. "To keep it away from the humans? You bless me with your trust, and I will keep faith on that."

The ox plodded steadily along, and Amaranth and the halfling woman raced back and forth, adding bottles to the cart wherever they thought they might fit. Somewhere in the midst of this, Tovarin returned. "My father said I could come," he told her, and Amaranth motioned for him to step onto the seat even though she knew he was lying. 

At the last she turned back to the halfling and said, "There are still things in my shop. Take them. If you can't use them, hide them or sell them. Keep them from the humans."

The woman had grinned back at her. "You bless me with your trust," she answered steadily. "See how I repay it."

Duke Lamont was leading his army into Duendewood, intent on taking control of Annun. Amaranth would save whatever she could. And it seemed she was not alone in this.