Deepforge by R.J. Washburn, Ron Washburn Page B

their best to keep up. Grognor rode next to his new bride at the very front of this group. Out ahead of them were one hundred elves running on foot easily as fast as the horses galloped.
    “Wow, actual elves,” Teelena said. “We don’t see them for decades, then suddenly they just join us. Something’s up.”
    “Yea, I was thinking the same thing,” Grognor said.
    “Now, I know you were just planning on using the humans for fodder and manual labor for the expedition, we all figured that part out. But, now what? What about the elves? What if they insist on coming with us after we’ve recruited the human shield regiment?” Teelena looked over at Grognor.
    Grognor knew everyone had ‘figured it out’, but he knew she had a point. Certainly they wouldn’t, would they? “I don’t think they’ll come. Exploring isn’t an elven thing. They probably just want to come along in the interest of peace. Once we head off on the expedition, they’ll go home.”
    “I think you’re wrong, my love.”
    He looked over at her, knowing she was probably right. Something bigger was at work here. “Nah, they’ll go home.”
    Teelena shook her head ‘no’. “I’m telling you, the dragons appeared just to announce the elves were coming with us? You know as well as I do they don’t come around for mundane reasons. The elves could have come out without the dragons announcing it first. They did that for a very specific reason- to make a point as to how important it was that the elves join us.”
    “But, why?” Grognor looked at her with concern in his eyes, knowing she was right.
    “I don’t know darling, but something big is about to happen. I just know it.”
    Grognor nodded, grimly.
    They traveled along keeping pace with the elves, who never seemed to tire. The engineers inspected the damage caused by the EM pulse and took good notes. There was no change. No matter how far they travelled, the power and phone lines were fried.
    “Look, the Little Table electrical substation. It’s…gone!” Delvin pointed to the obvious mound of melted metal.
    “We’ll camp here tonight. We need to rest,” Grognor said.
     
    That evening as the dwarves ate and drank, Grognor sat with the elves who seemed disgusted with the dwarves’ ways. Several of the elves seemed to have a problem with their noses, as they continually held their hands up in front of them.
    “Chieftain, are you and your people ok?” Grognor asked.
    “Yes, Emperor. It’s just that, you and your people… you have a very strong odor. We’re not accustomed to it. We’ll adapt, with time.”
    Grognor chuckled, but did not hesitate to ask the question burning in his mind. “Chieftain, why are you coming with us to the games?”
    Bōddy looked into Grognor’s eyes, his crystalline bright purple, unearthly elf eyes making Grognor feel a bit uncomfortable. Then he took out his long-stemmed pipe, his ornate leather pouch, and very slowly, meticulously loaded the pipe. Grognor tried his best to remain patient, but it seemed to take the longest time for the condescending elf to pack his pipe. Without any visible means of ignition, the strange tobacco spontaneously started emitting smoke. The air was filled with a sweet, woody aroma. The smoke slowly drifted up above everyone’s head, seemingly immune to the effects of the light wind blowing.  Everyone in the immediate vicinity was mesmerized and gave the elf their undivided attention.
    “Emperor,” Bōddy began, “do you know how old I am?”
    “I wouldn’t…couldn’t know. You’re young, but I know nothing of the elf ages.”
    Bōddy chuckled and took a long puff of his pipe. “At the time of the cataclysm I was seventeen thousand, one hundred fifty six years old. So, add a billion or so to that number.”
    Grognor was flabbergasted. “That’s impossible!”
    “No, Emperor. I assure you, it’s not. Elves are…used to be… immortal, in the sense that we don’t age. Most of us, anyway. Only in the