A Baptism by Fire

by Wayne O'Brien

  The rope tied to the stones flew up and like a whip, cracked the guard on the other side of Groupon, cutting him beneath his eye. Faeranduil lunged fast across the yard, knocking the guard over. He rolled over the stunned man on the ground as he pulled the guard's sword from its scabbard. As Groupon was turning around, Faeranduil swung the long sword, connecting to the ring mail on the slaver's chest. Sparks flew from the meeting of metal on metal, as Groupon fell onto his back, sending the bolt up through the air. Faeranduil ducked to dodge the projectile and swung the sword down, piercing the ground behind the stunned guard's neck, and separating the head. He then walked over to Groupon, who was crawling backwards on his hands, trying to get away from the elf.

  "You were unwise to refuse my offer," Faeranduil said as he stood over the slaver, the blade to his throat. "I am Lord Sire Faeranduil Brywarin, First Sword to King Ianhorn and Protector of the Kingdom of Okeawodal, Realm of the Elves, and my vow is complete." He slowly slid the tip of the blade across Groupon's neck, drawing a red line, as blood began to spit up. The slaver's eyes grew wide and his hand went to his throat as his life spilled out of him. Faeranduil stood there, watching, until Groupon's eyes went cold and lifeless.

  The guard who was unconscious began to stir, and Faeranduil took the time to run back into the house. He sprinted to the closet in the foyer where he saw Groupon put his bow and quiver, retrieved it and stood there thinking as to where the rest of his gear would be. The sound of the back door closing brought his mind back to fleeing, he ran up the stairs and through the first door he came across.

  The young slave from the eve before sat up in the bed as Faeranduil came through. Her small budding breasts bear to the cool air of the south, were quickly covered when they made eye contact. The ranger, still wearing the white slave clothing of Groupon, locked the door and turned back to the slave girl. He placed a finger over his mouth for her to be quiet as he picked up the faded green dress from the floor and tossed it to her.

  "Groupon is dead," Faeranduil said in his quick and almost choppy use of common, "you are free."

  "No," her whisper was saturated with fear as she sat there on the bed, still undressed.

  "I can help you," he tried to convince her, no longer concerned with masking his accent; "I can get us out."

  "My sis'ser," she began to cry, "'e sol' her."

  "I will find her, I give you my word. Yet we must flee this place at once."

  She turned in the bed, keeping herself covered, and put the dress over her head. Many long red scars on her back could be seen. Faeranduil placed his long ear against the door and closed his eyes. Every sound has a vibration, and those vibrations echoed off the wooden walls and ceiling. Like a bat sees in the dark, Faeranduil heard the door to the basement close and the heavy boots of guards moved towards the stairs and began to ascend them.

  "How 'ill we es'ape," the young girl asked, "es'ape slave don't live long."

  Faeranduil turned to her, as she was tying the top of the dress closed, and moved to the window by the bed. He looked out and saw the top of the wall that enclosed the testing yard ending just below the window, almost in line with the floor on which he stood. Faeranduil opened the window, dropped the sword and quiver on the ground, and stepped out.

  "No," the girl protested, fear in her voice.

  "It is the only way, my lady; the guards will be upon us soon." Faeranduil held his hand out for her to grab. He could sense the guards nearing the top of the staircase. "We have no time," he said urgently and grabbed hold and pulling her to the window.

  She gasped when her stomach hit the windowsill; Faeranduil looked at her then down and began to climb to the ground like the wall was a latter. The girl slowly climbed out and uneasily put her foot on the log. The second step was not as easy, Faeranduil saw her toe slip from the seam between the two logs and she fell onto him and they hit the ground.

  The girl rolled off him and got to her feet as she apologized. Faeranduil stood, examined his entire surroundings, practically memorizing everything, as he picked up the weapons, and took her away from the main road. They turned around the corner of the wall and into a small metal smith's work area, the anvil sunk into the ground from years of hammering and rain. The smith looked up from his work as they ran into view.

  Shocked, the shirtless muscle bound man stared at them for a moment. Faeranduil, without slowing the motion of them turning the corner, pivoted and ran west. The force of his turn caused the young girl to act like a whip and stumble. The runaway slaves made it to behind the building next to the slaver's house when the smith called for the guards.

  "Do not slow," Faeranduil said in a smooth even tone as he ran behind the buildings that lined the street. He squinted and looked far ahead. "There is a small patch of trees ahead, then a river, we shall loose them there."

  Not long after he told her the plan, the howling and barking of hounds was heard behind them. Faeranduil listened closely; they were two buildings lengths down, and slowly gaining. He quickened his stride, feeling the weight of the girl more as he practically dragged her along.

  After awhile they finally reached the last building before the road, which separated them from the trees like a river of compacted dirt. Faeranduil pivoted again, throwing the girl to the ground behind him. He dropped to a knee, opened the quiver and drew an arrow in his bow and fired it. Shortly behind the first arrow was a second. He closed the quiver and was turning to pick up the girl as the arrows hit their marks and the sound of two separate hounds whimpering was heard.

  "We must make it to the river," Faeranduil said as he picked the girl back up.

  "W'ere 'ill we go," she said through her tears.

  "North," Faeranduil tugged on her arm for her to run faster as they crossed the road. The boundary of the lightly populated wooded area was punctured by the two slaves. Shortly within the trees was a large, hollow, rotten tree, they ran to it and hid there for a moment.

  Faeranduil peeked over the log and studied the atmosphere, all his senses working as one. Ten men came the way they did, with two hounds. The larger force, twenty men with another ten hounds, came towards them from the main street of Kreal. The river lay behind them, half the journey there would be covered with the trees, yet the other half was wide open terrain. Faeranduil could not sense much past the river, more open land, and the sun had not reached the apex of his ascent yet.

  "We can't stay 'ere," a small voice said next to him, "ye 'ill be crucified."

  "I am not familiar with this land," he said to her, asking for a suggestion with his eyes.

  "T'ere was a village south o' the ri'er."

  Faeranduil judged this was where she came from, since she is far too young to remember anything other than Kreal and early memories of home. He looked back at Kreal, the twenty were starting to come into view, and then he looked at the hollow tree.

  He forced his shoulder into the side of the tree hard with a thud. He planted his foot against the root of a bush and slammed his shoulder against it again. The old tree cracked and gave way, once more he planted his shoulder into the cracked tree and it broke again.

  He grabbed the open end of the tree and pulled on it hard. The loud crack of the tree breaking free echoed causing the hounds to bark at the sound and charge toward it.

  "Fly," he said in a hoarse whisper handing one of the pieces of wood to the girl. She turned and ran as hard as she could toward the river. Faeranduil was close behind and quickly gaining. He saw her trip and fall, he jumped over the tangled root her foot hit, and picked her up. They left the wooded area and into the open grass, a mere twenty feet to the river.

  An arrow whizzed past Faeranduil's head and stuck in the mud at the bank of the river. They did not hesitate to run into the waters, as Faeranduil grabbed up the arrow in the ground. He put the wood in his mouth, pointing so she could do the same. Then he turned and fired the arrow back to the archer and hit him in the throat, before diving into the river.

  The water was cold and ha
rd to see in due to the loose mud that came up as they slowly traveled deeper into the river. Faeranduil looked at the girl as she started to panic and tried to swim up to the surface. He grabbed hold of her, shook her violently to get her attention, and pointed to his mouth as he breathed in deep through the stick.

  The old wood acted as a filter, allowing them to breathe normally under water for a while. Until the wood became completely saturated that is. The girl calmed down when she realized she could breathe. The current of the river pushed them east toward Lake Shemoth and they followed, both holding the unsheathed sword as to not get separated. The muffled sound of the hounds slowly faded as they ventured the length of Kreal towards the lake.

  After a while of trudging through the river, Faeranduil could barely perceive the river bed opening up into the great black expanse of the lake. He led the girl to shore where they hid, above water, in the reeds that grew between two rivers.

  "Keep that out of the water for now," he told the girl as he lifted her hand that held the wood of the old tree. Faeranduil peeked through the reeds to spy on the search party. They split themselves on either side of the river now, the hounds sniffing the dirt for their trail. "They do not know where we are at the moment," he continued, "where is this village located?"

  The girl pointed to the river that flowed out of the lake. He waded through the water and reeds to survey the other river and its banks. "How far," he asked. The girl shrugged to the question. Faeranduil motioned for her to follow him as he put the wood back into his mouth and dove back into the water. They followed the bank of the lake, stumbling over unseen rocks, until they reached the other river. The girl held the handle of the sword he took from the guard as he held on to the blade.

  Once they were deep enough down the river, Faeranduil led the girl to the southern bank and they emerged from the water like a turtle, with just their heads above the water. Faeranduil scanned both river banks for the hunters. He could hear them in the distance, some of them told others that the runaways found Waterwood and we're using the river to cover their scent.

  "We do not have much time," he told the girl as they left the cold waters. Faeranduil looked at his small stick from the tree and, seeing it was saturated with water, tossed it into the river. He then studied the south bank of the river and beyond. He could make out a small village no more than three leagues south, and headed that way.

  "We have a long walk to the village," he told her as he quickened his pace.

  "'ow 'an ye know," the girl asked.

  "I can see it, and it should take less than three hours to reach if we make haste." Faeranduil saw her squint and look far ahead of them.

  "I can't see it."

  "I am Elven," he told her.

  "Is that why you have funny ears," she asked.

  Faeranduil looked at her, briefly curious behind his emotionless face and eyes. "Yes, also, I naturally have heightened senses."

  "Can I learn," she asked through her shortened breath from weariness.

  "Over time, perhaps. However, you would have to leave everything you know and live in the wilds for many years for a human to hone their senses to match mine." He paused for a moment to assess their situation. "Furthermore, you would also still be a runaway slave. Is that the life you wish?"

  She did not respond to his query, just ran along beside him.

  The next three hours were spent in a silent jog. Occasionally Faeranduil would stop and survey the area, checking on the hunters' progress. The hounds had found their scent; the soldiers had regrouped, and were closing in on the two runaways.

  The sun had just reached the top of the sky by the time the two reached the outskirts of the village. Faeranduil crouched behind a bush and focused in on the village. The street was busy, the mill running. No one was aware of the presence of two runaway slaves on the borders of their quiet lives as they joyously prepared for the second day of new year festivities.

  "Do your parents live here," he asked her.

  "They did."

  "Which one?"

  The girl pointed to a small thatched roof home three buildings into the village. Faeranduil glanced north, and then told her that it was time to go. They jogged through the field, toward the back door of the house she pointed to. The slave girl opened the door and entered followed by Faeranduil.

  "Mama, papa" she yelled and an older woman with long grey hair walked around the corner in shock.

  "Lidya," she said with surprise as she rushed to her and embraced her firmly. "How did ye get away from Groupon?"

  "The elf-man helped me." Lidya's mother looked at Faeranduil with untrusting eyes.

  "We need new clothes, then I shall be on my way," Faeranduil said with a bow. "There are hounds after me."

  The old woman looked at Lidya, her uneasy glare turned to fear.

  "Ye'r a runaway," she asked, her hands trembling, then turned back to Faeranduil. "Ye have caused more trouble than help, long face. Ye have sentenced my daughter to death!"

  "I apologize my lady, yet I could not leave her as I found her."

  Lidya hung her head in shame as her mother looked at her. "What did he do to ye," she asked. Lidya did not respond but the tears in her eyes told the story of her abuse.

  "She was the slaver's bedding mate."

  "And ye took her from 'im? Groupon 'ill not let that go."

  "The slaver is dead," Faeranduil told her, "I slayed him."

  "Long face slave killed Groupon, took my daughter and forced her to run. Ye have no business here. If ye wish to be crucified then ye will, but do not bring m' daughter to the square with ye." The rage grew in her, no longer allowing the elf's presence in her home.

  "My lady," Faeranduil began and was cut off.

  "Don't m' lady me, ye are not welcome here. Leave now and I'll fix the mess ye have caused."

  "Mama," Lidya cried, "please don't let me go back. Master sol' Ashly, an'..." Her tears came faster, marking long red marks down her cheeks. "Ye don't know what 'hey did. What 'hey put where."

  "They," Lidya's mother asked in rageful shock.

  "Master Groupon and 'is men."

  A heavy silence fell on the one room hut, broken occasionally by Lidya sniffling through her tears.

  "Lidya," her mother said at last, "do ye know what's done to runaways?"

  "It'll be be'er than returnin'," Lidya said, weeping even harder. "Please mama," she begged.

  Faeranduil looked over his shoulder, sensing the hounds closing in. "My lady, if you do not wish me here, then I shall take my leave. I have a great distance to cover and the hounds are nearly upon us." He waited half a second for a response before turning to the door.

  "Wait," Lidya's mother said as she looked into her daughter's teary eyes before turning to Faeranduil, her lips pinched tight. She went to a chest at the foot of one of the beds and removed an old pair of clothes and tossed them to Faeranduil.

  "Keep her safe, long face," she said as she handed a dress to Lidya.

  "By the gods of creation, I give you my word," he replied with a bow, hand on his chest.

  Lidya walked out of Faeranduil's sight to change. Her mother's eyes widened and Faeranduil knew she saw the scars on Lidya's back.

  The elf removed his shirt; exposing his own collection of scars, and put on the one he was given. The pants he slid on over the slave pair he wore. The hounds howled, as they closed in on the house.

  "Where 'ould ye go," the old woman asked as the elf changed.

  "Far north, passed the mountains, and into the land of eternal summer. My people will protect Lidya."

  "An' why would they?"

  "If I tell them she is to be unharmed and protected, then she will be," Faeranduil explained.

  "A human girl protected in the long face country," she asked, unconvinced.

  "If I tell them she is under my protection, then King Ianhorn himself will see to it that she is."

  "An' why would he do that?"

  Faeranduil hesitated before explaining his
position in the Okeawodal Kingdom. She was shocked that a high lord elf would risk his life to save a human girl. At that moment an older man with a full beard of white came in.

  "Margarette," he yelled, "there're Kreal soldiers outside." He stopped and looked at Faeranduil.

  "Papa," Lidya yelled and ran up to him.

  "Lidya, what're ye doin' here," he paused and looked back at Faeranduil. "What 'ave ye done long face."

  "He brought our daughter home," Margarette told him.

  "An' ye gave it my clothes as a reward for damning our daughter."

  A voice called from outside the house announcing the intention of entering the home for a peaceful surrender. The man went to the door and opened it. A soldier, clad in the crimson armor of the slaver, entered the home, followed by nine others. The two hounds that accompanied them, growled at the elf, and licked their chops.

  "I have come to negotiate on behalf of Master Groupon," he looked at Faeranduil, who held the sword tight in his fist, "don't do anything rash, princess long face."

  "I had nothin' to do with her becomin' a runaway," the father told the soldier.

  "I understand that, and if you surrender now we shall show mercy to your daughter. The long face will be crucified, but your daughter will be unharmed."

  "Papa, please don't send me back," Lidya said to her father through the tears.

  "I understand you were given a choice years before, about your debt. You have the same options now. Turn him over and your family will live. If not, my men and I shall ravage your wife and daughter, and so shall the hounds, before your eyes. Then the hounds shall be fed by their bodies, and we will flay your manhood before removing it."

  The nervous silence lasted a shorter amount of time than it felt. Faeranduil studied the men who controlled the interior of the home. Everyone was ready to attack at a moment's notice.

  "We will avenge the death of Master Groupon, one way or another," the negotiator said.

  "Papa, they've already ruined me," Lidya pleaded to her father. "An' sol' Ashly!" He turned to look at her in shock then back to the soldier.