Arrows of Ladis

by RG Long

  “Grab these out first,” the woman ordered, and Ealrin tensed. Who was going to be first?

  He heard the rattling of the cell door next to theirs and felt both relieved and anxious.

  Gorplin, the prince of a dwarven kingdom on Ruyn, had often acted rashly when confronted. He wouldn’t likely take to this well. He had once taken on a dragon. There wasn’t much these guards could do to threaten him.

  If it was just the two of them.

  Many more guards were coming out of the large, spiraled building. Mostly, they walked right of the large gate and out into the large market area. Not many gave them and their cell a second look. But they weren’t given any reason to yet either.

  “Bah! Get your filthy hands off of me!” Gorplin shouted. The protests weren’t muffled by the stone walls or the door to their jail. The guards must be attempting to take Gorplin out of the cell and into the open.

  That wasn’t going to end well.

  “Quiet, dwarf!” snapped a guard whose hair was as bright as the morning suns. Ealrin noticed that every guard wore her hair up in some fashion: whether woven braids on the sides of her head, a bun tied tightly at the top, or even hair cut so short it was nearly as long as his own.

  This meant Gorplin had nothing to pull on when the guard produced a knife and held it to his throat.

  “Want to see what that chin would look like without a beard? Or perhaps if it were unattached from your neck?”

  “Take my beard and it’ll be the last thing you ever do!” Gorplin grunted against the dagger next to his throat.

  “I quite agree,” said a voice from beyond Ealrin’s vision.

  The female guard stopped glaring at Gorplin and immediately turned her gaze in the direction of the voice.

  “What’s going on out there, Mister Ealrin?” Jurrin asked from behind him.

  “Move over! I want to see,” Blume added as she shoved Ealrin aside and stood on her tiptoes to get a view outside.

  “There’s an old man out there,” Ealrin said as a man with a snowy white head and well-trimmed beard to match walked forward. He wore a breastplate like the female guards, but unlike them he wore all black, as well as a black cloth tied around his head. It stood in stark contrast to his hair. Ealrin thought that even though the man looked old and his hair white as snow, he was still fearsome to behold.

  There was some type of aura about him that Ealrin couldn’t place. This was a man who demanded respect.

  “He’s taking the woman off of Gorplin. Slowly, but he’s doing it,” Ealrin reported.

  “Now, now,” the man said, gently directing the woman off of Gorplin. “We mustn't be so hard on our guests. I understand that they’ve come a long way.”

  Gorplin eyed the man suspiciously. Ealrin never knew him to be distrusting, especially of those who came to his aid. But apparently something about this man struck him as off.

  “Bah. You may not be holding a knife to my throat, but I know you’re not someone I’ll trust.”

  “Oh,” the man said, and he made a face that looked like genuine disappointment. “That’s too bad. Because we will be keeping each other company for a very long time. I hear you were found encroaching on the claim of the Theocracy. These threats to our sovereignty cannot be taken lightly. Certainly not.”

  He looked over his shoulder and made a quick motion. Several guards came over at his beckoning.

  “Ladies.”

  “Yes, Prince Farnus?”

  “Let’s get our friends out of their cells, shall we?”

  7: Unexpected Consequences

  Ealrin was out on the path and on his knees quickly. If anything, these guards were strong and efficient. Blume and Jurrin were set next to him, with Holve and Serinde on the other side.

  Several guards now surrounded them, all carrying a large mace. The suns were beginning to set, casting long shadows in the courtyard and setting off the blonde hair of the women around Ealrin with fire red and orange.

  How long were they supposed to play along until Holve had them escape? What was the point of this? And what had they done that was so wrong they needed to be treated like this?

  “How about we start with you,” the man they called Prince Farnus said, pointing at Holve and letting a smile cross his face. “If I were to pick a leader of this group, surely it would be you as the eldest. What’s your name?”

  Holve stared back at the man, his face hard and his eyes narrowed. There was something there. Recognition?

  The Prince jumped quickly with a knife in Holve’s direction. Ealrin started but didn’t move.

  Jurrin, however, let out a squeak.

  “Mister Holve!”

  Looking down behind him, Prince Farnus let a devious smile cross his face. His knife was still a length from Holve’s body. He hadn’t harmed him. He had only wanted a name.

  “Holve, is it?” he said as he straightened up and licked his lips. “Now that’s a name that’s odd and yet familiar. Of course, it’s not a Ladis name, or one to be proud of anyways. Holve. Holve. I know I’ve heard that name before.”

  He turned and knelt down beside Holve, smiling broadly the whole time. Several guards around him tensed, as if they knew what was coming. Several of them grabbed the handles of their axes a little more tightly. One smirked at the sight of Farnus eyeing Holve with a look of what Ealrin could only describe as hungry.

  “Now, why would I recognize the name of Holve from strangers found on a distant island? Perhaps because you’re a Holve I’ve heard so much about? Mister... Bravestead, perhaps?”

  This time it was Blume who gasped. Serinde rolled her eyes. Ealrin found himself agreeing with her unstated opinion. They were giving away too much information.

  Farnus seemed to find this revelation delightful. The guards around him, however, looked like they were not yet on the same thought path as he was. They turned to give each other quick glances. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by Ealrin.

  Farnus stood and addressed a guard, the one who had met them at the gate.

  “Luca,” he said, a wide grin spreading over his face. “Please go fetch the Keeper and the Writer. They’ll want to be here when Holve Bravestead is officially charged. And Jerius, please. He’ll be rather glad I sent him on the mission after this revelation becomes public knowledge.”

  The guard named Luca bowed her head and began to turn away but paused. The gesture did not go unnoticed by the Prince.

  “Yes, Luca?” he asked, not taking his eyes off of Holve.

  The old man had stayed down on his knees the whole time. He had not fought or tried to break free. His only act of defiance was to stare down Farnus with narrowed eyes. Ealrin tried to catch his attention while their captors talked, but Holve would not be deterred. He stared up without blinking.

  “Prince Farnus,” she said again, bowing her head in deference. “Forgive me, but you wish the Writer and the Keeper to come for these trespassers? It seems like a grand gesture for such low-level offenders.”

  “Ah,” Farnus exclaimed, bringing a thumb to his chin and looking around at the women holding their axes in the ready position. “I am forgetting my age and your youth.”

  “Perhaps, Mister Bravestead,” he said as he turned to face Holve again. “You can inform these guardswomen of the actions leading up to the failed Isolation Rebellion?”

  “I’d rather my little friend here show you how wrong you all were,” Holve retorted. “Now, Blume!”

  There was no need for any more signal or plan. Blume erupted in a ball of green light that shoved back the female guards as well as the Prince who had been questioning them. Some of them were thrown several paces by the force of the blast, while Farnus was knocked to the side of the path and onto his back.

  “Sorry we can’t stay longer,” Holve said to the man on the ground as he stood up and dusted of his pants. “But we really must be going.”

  He then scanned the area. Ealrin did the same and saw several female guards running their direction from
the gate entrance.

  “Think you can give us an exit right there?” Holve said to Blume, pointing as he did so to the eastern wall of the compound.

  Blume, sweating with concentration and breathing heavily from the lack of food and cost of her magic, threw her arms wide and directed the ball of green energy towards the point Holve indicated. The magic missile exploded as it hit the wall, making a massive hole and perfect escape route for them.

  “Let’s go!” Holve said as he ran towards the new path blazed by Blume’s magic. Ealrin and the others followed before the guards could regain their footings and pursue them. The guards at the gate seemed hesitant to chase after them. A fact that Ealrin noted but was so glad to see.

  The group burst onto the rubble strewn street and through an alleyway made slightly larger by the explosion. People were scattering in all directions. All except towards the source of the destruction. Three guards came running around the corner, having heard the explosion they must have come to see what damage was done to the wall.

  “Stop!” one shouted. Ealrin saw her before she had shouted. Blume had not. She whipped around and let out a shriek. With it, came a bolt of magic.

  The guard and her companions only made it two paces before they were blasted off their feet and back in the direction they had come from.

  Blume stood looking stunned. Ealrin could tell from the look on her face that she hadn’t intended to do that.

  “A witch!” someone shouted. Ealrin didn’t take any time to see who it had been. He grabbed Blume by the arm and followed after Holve.

  “This way!” Holve said as he ran through the alley and took a right, then a left. He was dodging through streets and alleys like a man who knew where he was going. Ealrin was completely lost. The whole place was a blur of black banners, back doors, and increasingly loud shouts.

  “You couldn’t give me until sundown, could you?” said a voice beside Ealrin. It was Silverwolf. On her back there were several familiar and wonderful sights. A spear she threw to Holve, a sword she tossed to Ealrin, a slingshot she passed to Jurrin and a pair of daggers she handed to Serinde.

  “And you all told me not to cause trouble,” she said, shaking her head as she adjusted her pack and the sword she kept holstered there.

  “Run!” Holve instructed as they came to a broad street and a crowd of people. It appeared that the explosion at the compound had caused most residents of Arranus to come out of their houses to inspect what was going on.

  The group burst through an alley and into the crowd. Ealrin ran into a man about his age with bright hair and a short beard.

  “Watch it!” he said angrily, shoving Ealrin away from him. They didn’t stop running after Holve, which was fortunate. The man seemed to have looked at the make of the group and knew immediately they were foreigners.

  “Wait! Stop them!” he shouted at the street around him. “Someone stop them! They’re the fugitives!”

  Fugitives? Ealrin thought as he sprinted after Holve. How fast did word spread here? He didn’t have time to contemplate the news.

  “Ealrin,” came a weak voice beside him. “Help me.”

  Blume was struggling. She had run too hard and cast too great of magic without being well fed. Plus she kept casting magic without meaning, too. The cost of Speaking was the need to rest and a nearly insatiable appetite.

  “The gate!” Silverwolf called. “They’re lowering the gate!”

  Ealrin grabbed Blume under the shoulder and ran with her. It was hard because she was shorter than he was, but he knew running with her in his arms would be a disaster.

  He looked ahead and saw that the city’s walls went fully around the river at one point, letting the waters flow in. Metal bars stopped people from going in or out of the city through the river. Two large heavy doors were swinging shut from the outside. Like the doors to the compound, they were reinforced with iron. Unlike those doors, they were twice as tall as Ealrin.

  “Blume?” Holve asked as he turned his head slightly, setting a faster pace than before. Ealrin knew the door would close and they would be stuck in the city. But he also knew Blume was exhausted.

  “I don’t think...” Ealrin started to say, but then a rush of wind came from behind him, spurring him forward. The gust hit the doors and forced them back open. Ealrin could hear some shouts of exclamation from the other side. Apparently, the doors were being closed by guards who were now being forced backwards by Blume’s wind.

  Then Ealrin felt her go limp.

  He dreaded it, but all the same picked her up off her feet and stumbled forward, carrying her as best as he could. She didn’t weigh him down entirely, but she was nearly dead weight in his arms. Her chest heaved up and down and he felt a sense of dread.

  He hated to watch her expend herself this way.

  They burst through the gate, Holve first, then Serinde and Jurrin, then Ealrin and Blume, followed by Silverwolf, who had pulled her sword free and was holding it out, looking ready for a fight.

  Ealrin expected to hear the footsteps of female guards pursuing them. Or the angry shouts of the ones who had been trying to close the gate on them. Instead, he was met with the sound of the door slamming shut behind them. He spun around to see the doors shake slightly as they settled. A metallic thunk followed the stillness and it reverberated around him.

  “Should we be thankful or worried that they just shut us out?” Serinde asked, her daggers in her hands, looking back from Holve to Ealrin.

  “Very worried,” Silverwolf answered, looking around her.

  Ealrin followed her gaze. All around them, the air was still and heavy and there was a feeling of great age. The trees, the vines that hung from them, the dirt packed floor of the forest. It all seemed ancient.

  Forest wasn’t the right word, Ealrin thought. This was wilder. Fiercer. Like an animal ready to pounce at any moment could spring from around the trees.

  “What a sight,” Silverwolf said as she looked around her. “You couldn't have paid me all the gold coins in the world to force me to walk through the jungles of Ladis again.”

  8: The Old Gods

  Olma knelt down as she lit a long stick of incense. With it, she set a small candle ablaze by one of the several stone pillars that surrounded her in the garden. The smoke wafted up in the stillness of the evening. No winds had blown for a week and the air felt heavy and stale. Olma breathed in the fumes deeply, trying to rid her senses of the dank feeling.

  After several deep breaths, she opened her eyes and blinked at the sight of the suns’ setting light. It wouldn’t be long now before it was dark.

  Her favorite time of the day.

  The suns had risen and fallen several times since her world had fallen apart. This ritual was now the only thing that she held onto. The thing that grounded her. She looked around her at the small pillars of stone that rose in a circle. From each one hung a banner of a different color and pattern.

  On one a sun with a blue background, on another a red flower with brown. On still another a sword on green. It was this one Olma focused on. It was the one that matched her wooden pendant on her leather strap necklace. Below the small fabric banner there were several rocks, each with inscriptions of names. Some were intricate and carved into the stone. These were all tenderly made and meticulously shaped into rectangles the perfect size for each name.

  On top of these stones, others were stacked and had a more natural, rushed appearance. The names were only etched in the rocks by scratches and the rocks themselves were not sanded or shaped. They were just rocks with names hurriedly cut into them with a knife.

  The most recent rocks were rough and quickly made. Their number had grown exponentially in the last few days.

  Olma held back tears as she read over the names. These were names she knew. Names she had spoken for the sixteen years she had lived in her town. Friends. Family. Neighbors. All gone now, spirits sent on to the next world to guide and watch over them. Names carved into stones.

  “Gu
ide us as we walk these paths alone,” she said, a tear leaking from her blue eyes. She sniffed them back and rubbed her hand across her nose and wiped it on her vest. She was ashamed of her tears. Sniffing hard to force them to subside, she continued her prayers.

  “Show us the path that leads to life, so that we might be better vessels of the gods while we walk these roads without you.”

  With these last few words, she touched her necklace and bowed her head. Another tear ran down her nose and dripped onto the pile of stones.

  “Come, Olma,” a voice said from outside the garden.

  Olma stood, bowed down to the pillars, and then turned to leave. She hesitated for just a moment as she did so.

  “Olma,” came the voice again.

  She knelt down quickly and stuffed something into the pocket of her short trousers before following the short path out of the garden and into the street.

  Waiting for her there was an older man with bright hair mixed with white. He stood tall and slender but held his weight all on one foot. His bad leg would hurt greatly this day. He wore clothes similar to Olma: pants that came to his shins, a light vest that covered his chest, and no shirt. The only difference was that Olma had a shirt on under her vest. Over his shoulder he had a pack filled with what Olma knew to be the essentials. Skins dangled at the bottom of it. Each was filled with water for their journey.

  The smell of incense left Olma and the taste of the air soured in her mouth. Smoke and ash filled her nostrils, along with the smell of rot and decay. The great trees that rose up all around them kept the smell from blowing away in the wind. It hung heavy in the air.

  This was all her home had become: an ash and decay filled tomb. Everything she had ever known was here in front of her. Her home. Her street. Her backyard and friends’ houses and her family.