Clutch Of The Cleric (Book 4) by Craig Halloran Page A

things―assuming of course they could find them.
    One thing was for sure: there wasn’t much to do with evil. At least not that they knew of.
    The Elven Lands weren’t so different, just more lush and colorful. The water sparkled in the streams and ponds. There were roads, farms and villages―and so long as you traveled with Elves or weren’t suspicious, they didn’t seem to notice you.
    Slighter in build than Men, the Elves didn’t care to answer questions and would just wave and offer smiles. Elves were pleasant, laid back, easy going, at least in the country. It was the serious ones that kept things in order. And they were in the main city, Elome, which was right where we were going.
    “What’s that ?” Ben said, pointing ahead.
    “That’s Elome, Ben,” I said.
    He squinted. Held his hand over his eyes.
    “ Are those trees? Or buildings? They’re touching the clouds, whatever they are”
    “You’ll see,” I said . “You’ll see.”
    We were miles away, but the object in Ben’s eyes, all our eyes, was miles long. Everyone was solemn. Bayzog’s face was tight. Sasha’s eyes were saucers. Shum and Brenwar didn’t look any different than they normally would, but I was sure Brenwar would have something contrary to say about it.
    We took our time too. The horses clopping over the road at a normal pace. Things seemed to go much slower in the Elven Woods. There wasn’t a great deal of business about them. It was different. Calm. Serene.
    “I don’t think we ’re getting any closer, Dragon,” Ben said.
    “We’ll get there when we get there, Ben,” I said, raking my hair out of my face. “Enjoy it. It’s not the same going as it is coming.”
    Onward we went, one mile, then two, three and four. As we got closer, the city widened, impossibly so. The trees that reached for the clouds weren’t all trees but a network of stonework, cut blocks and polished stones that looked as natural as nature itself. There were no city walls, not like Quintuklen, nor steep mountain ridges like Morgdon. It was the imagination and cultivation of Elven kind and nature working as one. Fantastic. Almost magical.
    “By the Sultans,” Sasha said, “it’s absolutely beautiful.”
    “To you, maybe,” I heard Brenwar mutter under is beard.
    We made our way through one of the massive arches that led into the city. Elven soldiers were spaced throughout the structures but hardly noticeable. The Elves went about their business―trading, selling, buying―the same as other people, just talking in Elvish. The men were slender and purposed. The women elegant, pretty, even exotic in some cases. But not a one batted an eyelash at me, which was disappointing. But on the other side of things, they didn’t gawk at my arms either.
    “Dragon,” Ben said , trying to look everywhere at once, “this place is fantastic. Not anything I ever imagined.”
    It was true. The buildings were of all sorts and sizes. Some carved from stone, others wood. Soft mosses ―blue, green, even yellow―coated many places like paint, and the roads were laid out in pale red stone. Children ran through the streets, darting in and out of wicker hoops. Others chased after one another, filling the air with laughter and giggles here and there.
    “Smells good,” Ben said, rubbing his stomach. “I’ve never had Elven food before.”
    “Pah,” Brenwar said, “you won’t like the taste.”
    “I won’t? Why not?” Ben said.
    “Well, do you like meat?”
    “Sure, everyone does,” Ben said, “Don’t they?”
    “Well, their meat tastes like fruit and gardens, Farmboy. And the ir ale tastes like honey. Do you like honey, Boy?”
    “Uh,” Ben said, scratching his head.
    “Well?”
    Ben rode up to me and said, “Brenwar scares me.”
    “Ho! Ho! Ho!” Brenwar said from behind.
    “Take it easy, Ben. Brenwar’s set in his ways , you know.”
    “Does the ir meat really taste like vegetables?”
    “Don’t worry, you’ll like it,” I said. “I