Arrows of Ladis

by RG Long

  He bet his life on it.

  Dust in his shoes, sweat on his brow, and fury in his yell, Pul charged around the wall, hoping that death would offer him swift entrance into the beyond.

  What he saw chilled his bones, though the summer suns were hot.

  Speakers, barely breathing, lay there on the rocky ground. Only one had his eyes open. The other two were breathing but appeared unconscious. They really had given their strength to repel the attack of the Ladis troops.

  And now Pul was here, staring down three Speakers who were as defenseless as he could ever want them to be. He raised his sword, knowing that more Speakers and more Isol troops would be on their way. He knew that if he spared them, they would revive eventually and kill more of his comrades. More of his countrymen and friends.

  But his sword stayed still in the air.

  “Do it,” whispered the Speaker in his blue uniform. Dust covered the man’s face, even as sweat ran down him and drenched his brow. “End this for us.”

  Pul hesitated. Was this wizard and heretic actually asking for death? What was it like to be on the Isolian side? Were they driven as hard as Ladis was? Did their generals plan and scheme and send men to die without actually having to face the battle themselves?

  Hating himself, but knowing his duty as a soldier and man of Ladis, Pul brought down his sword.

  He was not an ambitious man.

  But he was a soldier of Ladis.

  Death had not come for him today.

  3: The Crew of the Juliet

  The ship bobbed up once again with the swell of the tide as it sailed west into the suns. Though the waters were normally calm in the Spring, this year the seas had been especially rough for reasons even the seasoned sailors could not answer for.

  Normally the deck would be a hive of activity, but the presence of six people sitting in the middle of it made for a blockage to the normal traffic of the ship’s crew.

  It was a motley crew. A dwarf, a halfling, an elf, and four humans.

  The crew of the Juliet had never seen a halfling before. They continually stared at the poor creature, though he made no effort to return their gazes. He sat next to the dwarf, who in sheer bulk and weight made the halfling look even more like a child than normal. Whenever a sailor came up to the little man to harass him, the dwarf would kick out or shout until either the whip came down on them or the sailor decided they had better leave them alone.

  They were prisoners, after all.

  “I place the blame of this whole thing squarely on your shoulders, Silverwolf.”

  The older of the two female prisoners made a sneering face but didn’t respond or move to kick the older male who made the comment. Probably because she didn’t want to be in the way of anyone’s vomit.

  Ealrin Belouve wished he could stomach being on a ship that rode on the waves of the sea. But he could not. Letting loose the few contents of his stomach onto the deck once again was not a pleasing experience. This was made all the more difficult by the fact that his hands were tied behind his back.

  Another spray of water onto his face was the only solace in the terrible predicament they had found themselves in. The salty blast had the double effect of washing some of the sick away from his chin, but also making him want to throw up again.

  In order to take his mind off of the current state of affairs, Ealrin did his best to remember why they had ended up here in the first place. In a way, he agreed with Holve’s assessment. They wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for the assassin and her plan to scavenge an island.

  After the war for control of the continent of Irradan, a relative peace had followed. Peace, unfortunately, meant that an assassin was out of work. So, she took to exploring with some of the others of their party. Ones who, Ealrin now knew, he would not see again for a very long time.

  They had found an island with a temple on it. One they had found to be of great interest. So Ealrin, Holve, and the others had gone to find out more about their discovery.

  Unfortunately, that island was the newest claim of the Theocracy of Ladis, a vast kingdom that had once controlled most of the known world. It was because of the Theocracy that most of the world spoke a similar tongue, and even counted their years from the same date: the founding of the Empire of Ladis.

  That empire had long since been disbanded and rule given over to others, but the dates and language had stuck.

  This was what Holve had told Ealrin on the first few days of their journey. That was, before they both became so sick that talking only induced more vomiting.

  Holve was an older man, though how old Ealrin had never gotten him to say. He seemed to know just about everything there was to know about the history of Gilia. This was extremely useful, since Ealrin knew almost nothing.

  Two years ago, Ealrin had washed up on the shore of an island far away from Ladis and Irradan. He had no memory of who he was or where he had come from. But that hadn’t stopped him from being sucked up into adventures and wars and trials he would have never thought possible or dared to imagine.

  There were bits he had come to know. Like the fact that he was from the continent of Redact and that he could fly an airship. Neither of those things were of any use to him now, however. Merely bits of the puzzle that was his life.

  Shaking himself slightly, trying to ease his stomach from trying to empty out what bile remained, Ealrin heard a small whimper beside him.

  Blume.

  She was another part of the mystery that had become his life. Blume Deercrest was about sixteen years old and a Speaker, one who could use magic through the use of Rimstone. The properties of the magical mineral varied as much as the size and color of each rock. But those with the right skills and practice could pull from these stones the ability to bend the laws of nature and control the very elements. Of course, this whole process took a great deal of strength from the Speaker. A person might devote their entire life to the art of Speaking and still be unable to produce powerful spells and call forth great acts of elemental magic.

  But most people weren’t Blume.

  She had, on many occasions, produced magic that impressed even the well-traveled, and often grumpy, Holve. And though she tried to hide it, Silverwolf had said herself that Blume was dangerous. And coming from her, that was a compliment.

  After their last major exploit, however, Blume’s magic had become a bit...unwieldy. At times, and often without her permission, it burst up out of her. This happened especially when she was displaying a heightened level of emotion.

  Unfortunately, since she was a girl of sixteen, emotions were not something she held in check quite easily.

  Ealrin rubbed his shoulder up against hers in an attempt to comfort her. He knew it was a small gesture, but the girl meant a lot to him. He had, in a way, adopted her as his own after her parents and brother were killed in a senseless war.

  She looked up at him with her amber eyes. Her dark skin was framed by her wild blonde hair. And on her face, impossibly, was a smile.

  Ealrin did his best to return it.

  “How are you, Blume?” he asked.

  She gave a small snort. A very small wisp of green light floated up from her nose as she breathed out. Ealrin looked around to make sure no one saw. They hadn’t. He knew she was trying to avoid laughing. The act had seen rather odd consequences lately.

  “Splendid on this fine cruise,” she replied in a mock casual voice. “And how are you faring, oh sickly one?”

  Ealrin wished it weren’t true, but she could stomach the sea much better than he could.

  She had thrown up only once and he was envious of that.

  “I have been better.”

  Gorplin gave a chuckle.

  “Bah,” he gruffed. “You’ve been worse, too.”

  There was no arguing with the dwarf. He had certainly been worse off.

  “Refrain from your idle chatter,” came a reedy voice from overhead. Ealrin had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. He had been
on the ship a little less than three days and already he had envisioned at least eight different ways for Prophet Jerius to meet an ill fate.

  “Banter of such nonsense will not profit you,” he said as he stood over them, looking down on them with his exceedingly long nose. Whatever hair he might have had on his head seemed to be attempting to escape from his nostrils. Whether all like him shaved their head in this manner or not, it was not a pleasing look on Jerius. Patches of faded hair broke through his scalp.

  Or maybe there was just no way to make a man who sneered all the time look pleasing to anyone’s eye.

  There was a captain aboard the Juliet. Captain Tallus. He seemed like a decent enough man, but he was not the final say or authority here. Jerius was.

  And the prophet had very little tolerance for much of anything. His body seemed frail and weak, but when it came time to use the whip he kept on his belt, he did so with ferocity. A sailor took a moment from his toil to see what had caused the prophet to chastise the prisoners. Jerius must have sensed this as he turned and let the whip fly, hitting the railing near where the sailor’s hand had just been.

  “And no idleness will be tolerated from the crew!” he bellowed.

  They were rough sailors, without a doubt. Mostly they wore brown and sun-bleached trousers with either a light cloth vest or no shirt at all. Their eyes were green or blue and their hair blonde. Only one had a shade darker hair than the rest.

  Ealrin had liked fewer men far less.

  Jerius turned back to face them and sneered his long-nosed face down at them. He couldn’t be more than forty. There was something in his odd movements and speech that made him seem older than Ealrin thought he was.

  “We will see how you fair in the courts of the Theocracy,” he said, sounding more than pleased with himself. “That island is a sacred land and is not to be explored without the express written permission of the High Priest and King of Ladis.”

  With those words, he produced a piece of parchment from the other side of his belt and held it up for them to see.

  “You’ll note the seal of both on this,” he said, pointing a knobby finger at two black wax seals. One bore the symbol of a skull wearing a crown. The other of a skull with two vertical lines on its brow.

  “I was granted permission to explore the depths of that island,” Jerius said. “But you seemed to have defiled the temple and ransacked it before I arrived. I’ll get where you hid the treasures there out of you yet.”

  “Not likely,” Silverwolf muttered into her stark white hair.

  The comment did not go unnoticed.

  Jerius’ whip flashed again, just over her head. Ealrin found himself ducking his head, even though he was not the target of the weapon. Silverwolf, he noted, didn’t flinch.

  “Insolence!” Jerius snapped. “You’ll pay dearly for looting a sacred temple dedicated to Ladis!”

  Silverwolf looked all the world like she wanted to say something else, but Ealrin caught a glimpse of Holve giving her a stern look. She merely shrugged and looked out to sea.

  Jerius seemed disappointed. He cracked the whip against the railing once again, just as the call came out over the ship’s deck.

  “The Theocracy of Ladis approaches!”

  Ealrin looked up just in time to see a tall mountain poking out over the waters ahead. They had arrived.

  Holve let out a groan.

  “Out of all the lands in all the world,” he said as the sailors began hustling everywhere, attempting to get the vessel ready to make port at wherever it was they were heading.

  “This is the second to last place I wanted to be.”

  4: Port City

  Ealrin could see the looming mountains covered in green ahead of him. It seemed as if the entire coast was covered in thick, overwhelming jungle. This was certainly not the grassy fields or rocky plains of Irradan or Ruyn.

  These lands were new and different.

  Beneath the largest of the mountains he saw a port city, though not as large as Ealrin had originally imagined. Maybe they weren’t heading for some royal capital or high castle after all?

  All around sailors were getting ready to make port. Through the hustle and bustle on the ship, he did his best to talk to his companions.

  “Can we still agree that we need to get out of this as soon as we have dry land to run on?” Ealrin asked under his breath.

  “We would’ve gotten out of this whole thing if it weren’t for shorty over here,” Silverwolf cut.

  “I told you I was sorry, Miss Wolf,” Jurrin said in a sincere tone.

  “Stop blaming Jurrin,” Blume interjected. Ealrin could feel the heat in her voice and looked over at her. As he expected, her eyes had turned a shade of green. “He was just trying to help me not lose my amulet.”

  “Which you still have, right?” Holve asked.

  She made a small nod and Ealrin breathed a sigh of relief. All of their possessions were taken once they were captured in a rather unfortunate series of events. His sword, Holve’s spear, a plethora of weapons from Silverwolf, and a few other odds and ends, not the least of which were Jurrin’s two books.

  It was strange to value them nearly as much as his own sword, but Ealrin knew those books were priceless. He wouldn’t let them go. It wasn’t the fact that he felt his group was incapable of this feat. They had accomplished much together. What he feared was being able to get away from their captors once they escaped.

  “Stand up these heretics so that they may see our great city properly!” Jerius called over the commotion. A few sailors ran to obey. Ealrin was sure they weren’t as terrible of men as Jerius was. What he was sure of, however, was that they feared this man and his whip. And, perhaps, there was something else to be feared about him.

  Ealrin was picked up by a man who looked like he did. Brown hair. Dark eyes. Normal height for a man. How old was he? Where did this man come from? What was his story? Ealrin didn’t know. He wasn’t given time to think or ask either. All he had time for was to look once into the man’s eyes and see pity there. Pity, but not a desire to change anyone else’s fate.

  The man moved along to Blume, standing her up with what Ealrin considered to be a lot more care than a prisoner deserved.

  At least not all men in the Theocracy were cruel.

  “Prepare them to be processed,” Jerius said, a look of smug satisfaction on his face as the boat came close enough to the dock for men to throw out ropes that shore men caught and tied to stone pillars.

  Ealrin took in the sights around him.

  The first thing he noticed about the port city was that it seemed old. Terribly old.

  A gray stone wall rose up all around the perimeter of the the small city. Both ends of the wall dove into the sea on the north and the south. They rose up out of the water several paces past the shore. Ancient looking sea creatures clung to where the water met the walls.

  The ocean was met by an estuary from the mainland that divided the city into two halves. Ealrin could only see that the waters came from the east and that several bridges connected the upper and lower sections. To the north, in the upper section of the city, stood another higher wall. Within this, a tall tower rose. He supposed that was the main castle of the city.

  And where they would eventually be taken to await trial for whatever crime they had apparently committed.

  “Walk!” Jerius shouted, even before the plank connecting the ship to the dock was properly placed.

  “Bah,” Gorplin muttered. “Walk yourself,”

  Ealrin winced at the sound of the whip cracking over his head.

  “Prophet Jerius,” came the call of Captain Tallus, shouted in a loud voice. “Would you like for my crew to deliver the prisoners to the temple for you? I’m sure you’re wanting to report to Lord Farnus about our exploration mission before we deal with their punishment.”

  Ealrin dared to look behind him.

  Captain Tallus was standing with his hands on his hips, looking at the prisoners as if they w
ere scum on the bottom of his boat. His nose was curled up and the expression on his face was like one who had just smelled rotten eggs. Ealrin gave a sigh. And for a moment, he had thought that the captain was trying to spare them the whip.

  Jerius’ nostrils flared as looked between Tallus and Ealrin’s companions. He finally gave a sniff before adjusting his robes on his shoulders.

  “I would like to see Farnus as soon as may be,” he commented, not looking at Tallus as he did so. “Fine. Escort them to the temple and see that they are put into the holding chambers there. I will fetch them later.”

  Jerius gave one final look around the ship before stuffing his whip into his belt and sauntering off the platform onto the stone dock below.

  Most of the crew watched him leave anxiously. Even people down on the docks seemed to give him a wide berth.

  “High in the sky prophet,” Tallus muttered under his breath. He shook himself once before turning to his crew. “Alright, lay-abouts! Let’s get moving!”

  The atmosphere of the ship changed nearly instantaneously. The sailors began chatting with one another like they hadn’t done the whole trip. Ealrin even saw some smiles break on the faces of the men.

  Without the intimidating presence of Jerius, the ship was a different place altogether.

  “Alright,” Captain Tallus said as he came up to Holve and looked him over. “Sorry about the rough treatment, but I’m outranked by that vulture. And I don’t want any trouble with the Shrine.”

  “Understandable,” Holve said, nodding.

  “We’ll get you down to the temple alright and see that you’re taken care of. I doubt there’ll be any length of trial. The island was only recently claimed by the Theocracy. You might even get off without more than a week being held by the Shriners.”

  The Shriners? Temple?

  Ealrin was sure there was more going on than he was picking up on. Holve seemed to be following, however, without much trouble.

  “We’d prefer less, but we’ll take whatever course gets us back to Irradan or Ruyn.”