Pursuit: Chapter 5 part II

Sunderfell

I only slept for a few moments before I woke. When I did, I saw that I was not alone in the carriage. Opposite me sat a younger-looking Highcloak.

“Oh, hello,” I said as I sat up. “How long was I out?”

The young Highcloak looked out of the carriage window, then back at me.
“Not long,” she said. “The sun isn’t even touching the trees yet.”

“Good. I was hoping to speak with one of you before we reached town. I believe someone said we’re heading to a place called Sunderfell. What’s it like? Oh, I’m sorry— I didn’t even ask your name.”

She smiled politely, hands folded in her lap. “That’s quite all right. My name is Ophelia. My mother and father thought it best that I stay and keep you company. It’s a long road, and strangers should never travel alone.”

Her voice carried that practiced poise I’d heard from nobles addressing crowds, yet there was a kindness beneath it that didn’t feel rehearsed.

“And what’s your name, traveler?” she asked.

I took a moment. No one had ever asked for my name before. In fact, I had all but forgotten I had one. For as long as I could remember, I had simply been known as the beggar. That wasn’t truly a name, though. Then I remembered the invitation from the King. Yes—that had my name on it! Oh, but what did it say?

“Corin.” The name just fell out of my mouth. “My name is Corin.”

I didn’t know it at the time, but it was precisely in that moment that things began to change within me. I can’t quite put it into words, but there was a shift in my deepest self—like something being called forward that had been asleep for a very long time.

“It’s a lovely name,” Ophelia said, her smile softening. “It suits you.”

She sat up a little straighter, as though ready to begin a lesson she’d memorized. Then she proceeded to tell me about Sunderfell.

Sunderfell, she explained, is a divided city. Citizens identify as either followers of the Order of the Highcloaks or the Assembly of the Unbound. The Highcloaks live on the eastern side of the city near the river, where the morning light touches first. The Unbound live on the western side.

From the way Ophelia spoke, it seemed the Highcloaks’ culture was steeped in rich tradition and reverence for the King. They go into the temple daily to pray and give offerings to the saints who have gone before them. They wear specific and symbolic clothing—each thread prayed over and doused with some sort of holy water or oil before being stitched into the garment. The elder Highcloaks have different sigils sewn in to represent the King and the saints.

When I asked her why they do things with such structure and reverence, she seemed to grow flustered, so I did not press further.

Ophelia was very kind, and I found that she loved to talk. I was glad for it, because I loved to hear her talk. She spoke with a deep and loving sincerity that I had never known—especially when she spoke of the King. Where Emrys had an explosive reverence for the King and His character, Ophelia had a sweet and tender one. I believe if I heard her speak of Him long enough, I couldn’t help but love Him myself.

She continued to tell me more about her family’s traditions as Highcloaks, and the architecture of Sunderfell’s divided sides. She did not speak much of those called the Unbound; I don’t believe it was out of ill will, but simply that she didn’t understand them.

Occasionally, Ophelia’s mother and father would check in and add to the conversation—correcting her or elaborating in ways that did more to confuse us both than to clarify. They too were kind, though in a way that felt cautious. Their names were Frederick and Anise.

They also explained a bit of their lineage. The Highcloaks are a people whose ancestry traces back to a race of giant desert elves. This explains their height and slender build. Where tree-elves are rarely taller than men, the desert elves grew to great stature so they could see farther across the sands without the help of trees as vantage points. Despite their size, they remain as nimble as any elf.

They have all but forgotten the ancient elvish tongue. Only the elders still use it—softly, ceremonially, in prayer. Outside of those rituals, it has become a dead language in Highcloak society.

I found their culture fascinating. I had seen nobles before, heard their speeches echo from balconies and pulpits, but the Highcloaks spoke differently. Their words seemed to flow on rhythm and cadence. Each syllable rang like a note in some song that they alone knew.

Those first conversations with Ophelia and her family are memories I still hold fondly.

The carriage came to a stop too soon. I was learning so much. But we had arrived at Sunderfell at last.

I poked my head out from the carriage window and saw a great wooden gate, with walls extending outward on either side until they disappeared into the treeline.

At the gate stood two guards, though they could not have looked more different from one another. It was as though two kingdoms had each sent one soldier to share the post.

The guard on the left was about my height, perhaps a little shorter. A round silver helm rested upon his head, and a red beard spilled out from beneath it, reaching down to his mid-torso. His armor gleamed—a silver chestplate that faded to deep red as it descended into a skirt-like plating that fell to his shins. His boots were of dark brown leather, heavy and well-worn. His arms were bare, save for gloves of the same material.

He stood upright, eyes on the horizon, his right hand resting on a great axe. The weapon’s butt was pointed, driven into the ground. Its haft was wrapped in strips of black and red leather that ran up to a massive double-edged head. The metal shimmered faintly, patterned with a maze of winding lines that caught the light like rippling water.

From the bevel I could see that the blade was made from layers of metal folded together. Ophelia told me this craft was known as Damascus steel. She explained that the Unbound were master blacksmiths.

On the right side of the gate stood the other soldier. He was already walking toward our caravan. There was no mistaking him for anything else—he was a Highcloak.

His armor was far less bulky than that of the Unbound. He wore a deep purple helm trimmed with gold. The face of the helmet was open, leaving him exposed at all times. The rest of his attire was equal parts metal and cloth—more a tunic than armor, now that I think of it.

I asked Ophelia why that was.

She explained that Highcloaks wear light armor no matter how treacherous the enemy. It allows them to stay swift, able to outmaneuver even the most heavily armoured knight. And should a Highcloak be struck in battle, the lack of protection, she said, would make for a quick and relatively painless death.

To that last bit I asked, “Aren’t they afraid?”

Ophelia reached over, placing a hand gently on mine. Her smile was warm, untroubled.

“Those afraid of death have no business becoming a soldier, dear Corin.”

She had a point.

As for their weapons, each Highcloak soldier carries a longbow slung across one shoulder, a quiver strapped to his back, and a dagger at the hip. Though I soon learned that what a Highcloak calls a dagger, most men would call a short sword.

“Ophelia, Corin! Come,” Frederick called from outside the carriage.

Ophelia and I hopped down and made our way toward the front of the caravan to meet him. It was then I realized just how tall the Highcloaks truly were. Ophelia couldn’t have been much older than me, yet she towered at least a full cubit above my head.

For a moment, I felt small—insufficient. Even knowing my own history, this was the first time I truly felt it. Perhaps it was because I was already growing fond of her. Funny enough, when I thought of Ophelia, the crown I carried seemed lighter. For a fleeting moment, I had nearly forgotten it altogether.

Frederick and Anise stood before the gate as it began to open. By the time we joined them, it was three-quarters raised, revealing a sight unlike any I had ever seen.

Through the gate stretched a single road that ran straight through the heart of the city, dividing it clean in half. And on either side, two worlds stood opposed—mirror images of difference.

To the left, the Unbound: rows of square buildings as far as I could see, each identical to the next. The only variance came in the faintest shifts of muted tone—gray to slate, ash to stone. Every structure was perfectly measured, perfectly forgettable. It all looked gray unless you strained to see otherwise.

To the right, the Highcloaks: a labyrinth of brick, mortar, and stained glass. The variety was so wild I couldn’t tell where one building ended and another began. Arches with bridges connecting one building to the next. Every wall was carved or painted or inlaid with color—patterns without pattern, chaos disguised as beauty.

At first glance, neither side made sense. On both sides of the road, I couldn’t tell whether a building was meant to be a home, a market, a library, or a chapel. The Unbound’s uniformity blurred one into the next; the Highcloaks’ extravagance tangled them all together.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I said.

“Father, may I show Corin the town?” I heard Ophelia ask softly.

Frederick turned, his expression kind but measured. “Yes, that will be fine. But stay on the main road and be home in time for supper. Corin, you may stay with us for the night if you wish. Please—” his mouth twitched into a knowing smile—“do keep Ophelia out of trouble.”

“Th-thank you, sir.”

Gratitude welled up inside me. Everything here felt new—foreign, but full of possibility.

“Come on, Corin! You’re going to love it here!”

Ophelia grabbed my hand before I could answer, and we were off. Her whole demeanor had changed. In the carriage she had spoken with poise, every word graceful and proper, but here in the streets she became a child again—light, eager, alive.

Her joy was contagious.

I slipped my arm out of my sleeve and threaded it through the crown, lifting it up onto my shoulder before pulling the fabric back into place. I must have looked ridiculous, but it freed my hands and kept the crown out of sight.

And so we went—hand in hand—into Sunderfell, the Divided City.