Arrows of Ladis

by RG Long

  For a moment, her uncle looked hesitant. He turned his head from the cart to Olma several times before relenting. He nodded at Olma who climbed up onto the cart quickly, grateful to be off of her feet. The wooden cart had wheels taller than Olma that were rimmed with metal. A three-rung ladder went up to a small step that the double door to the cart rested on. Olma leaned back against the cart, glad to finally have some rest.

  “My name is Anders,” he said. “I am a master craftsman of weapons and armor. I have only recently returned to Ladis from a several year absence. I’m sorry to say I don’t find it in better states than when I left.”

  “I am Octus,” Olma’s uncle said. Then, indicating her as she sat comfortably on the cart, “This is my niece, Olma.”

  “Your niece?” Anders said, scratching his chin and shaking his head slightly. “I take it her parents...”

  Octus nodded.

  “We are the only survivors from our town,” he said solemnly.

  Olma wondered why he spoke so openly with this stranger but was quiet with her. It was maddening. Still, she was glad to hear talking that wasn’t her own muttered questions.

  “Two more survivors than any other town we’ve been through,” Anders said soberly. “The Veiled Ones were a threat when I was in my youth. I find it hard to believe that they have returned in great numbers.”

  “They’ve never truly disappeared,” Octus said. “Our town had them attacking us at different times throughout the years. But never in this number or with this intensity.”

  “Hmm,” Anders said as he nodded his head. “I had heard rumors that the Temple’s report of eradicating the lizards was wrong, but, then again...”

  He trailed off as he searched the woods.

  “Have you seen any on your journeys?” Olma asked him. “Have your guards?”

  Octus looked at her sternly, but Anders laughed.

  “You remind me of someone I met once, a few years back. Very spirited she was.”

  Anders looked Olma in the eye. He seemed kind. In an odd sort of way. She smiled at him.

  “Yes, I have seen my fair share of the lizards,” he said with a look that told Olma he was thinking of past run-ins with the creatures. “And I have seen the destruction they cause. I’m very concerned that they are back. And not the least of my worries are the supplies we’re carrying here to the capital.”

  With this he indicated the carts around them.

  “Many, many months of work and toil are represented here,” he said. “And I expect to be paid handsomely for these.”

  He leaned forward and whispered softly.

  “You wouldn’t believe how much these guards expect to be paid to escort me through the jungle!”

  Olma smirked.

  She liked Anders. At least he seemed more fun than her uncle did.

  “And where were you planning to travel to, hmm?”

  “Arranus,” Octus said. “We need to let Prince Farnus know about what’s happened to our town and, apparently, what has happened to the towns around us as well.”

  Anders shook his head dramatically.

  “Tut, tut,” he said. “Unfortunately, you will not find the good Prince there. He’s off on a witch hunt, or so the story goes.”

  “A witch hunt?” Octus said. Olma could see the look of confusion on her uncle’s face.

  “Word is,” Anders said quietly. “Prince Farnus had a real witch in his temple. A Speaker of great power. Not only that, but a general from the Rebellious Wars as well. Both got out. Now he’s off to find them before word gets to the King and High Priest.”

  Olma turned her head at this. Witch? Rebellious War general? What in the world was happening in far off Arranus? They were heading in the same direction as Olma understood Arranus to be. Was he and his caravan going somewhere else?

  “And where are you headed?” Olma asked, looking at Anders with an eyebrow raised.

  He smiled at her and looked back.

  “To get word of Prince Farnus’ actions to the King and High Priest,” he said with a smile.

  Octus coughed but recovered quickly.

  “You mean you’re going to...”

  “Providence!” the man said joyously. “Capital of our beloved Ladis.”

  19: Those Who Suffer

  Blume was up and walking again. It wasn’t as bad as she thought.

  Even though she had slept on a hard cave floor for two days, she was feeling invigorated and alive. The sleep had done wonders, but so had Serinde’s ability to hunt down just about anything Holve asked her to.

  Because of this, their little band had eaten rather well for being based out of a cave. It was no spacious inn with a large comfy bed, but Blume felt like she was getting back to her old use of her powers. It was for this reason she floated a little rock out beside her as they walked.

  The purpose it served was to help her practice her control of her magic. She remembered long hours of floating pebbles and moving stones with Jurgon, her old halfling friend who had been a gifted Speaker in his own right.

  The rock dropped a little as she remembered his face.

  She refocused her magic and the rock came back to its obedient place over her shoulder. Steadying her breathing, she continued on along the path behind Ealrin. Shaking her head, she realized she was lucky to have made it this far. Their group had been through trials along the way that she was sure very few would ever have to face.

  Surviving was becoming second nature to her. There was a part of her that longed for her simple life before everything was turned upside down and she was thrust on this long adventure. She’d have her parents and her brother back.

  Her brother.

  She hadn’t thought of him in...

  A whole year?

  More than a small bit of shame grew within her. Had her life really been so wild that she had actually forgotten to honor her brother with a thought?

  The rock faltered again, but she held it steady.

  She must stay strong.

  All around her the jungle was alive but thinning. Vines grew less densely, and the flowers were becoming smaller. She felt it strange to see the vegetation lesson. Stranger still was the amount of blue over her head. For a week she had seen nothing but green. She longed to see the clouds and the suns again.

  This brightened her mood slightly, even as the day grew hotter and the air around them thicker. Walking through a world surrounded by so many plants and foreign flowers was not something she thought she was going to get out of this trip.

  Nor, she realized, were the lizards dropping down on them from above.

  The beasts began to fall like rain from above them. Blume lifted more stones from around her as tendrils of magic shot out from her outstretched hands.

  This was control.

  As the lizards fell, she threw stone after stone at them, dropping any that dared come too close. The others had taken up ax and spear and sword to fend them off. They came from nowhere and everywhere it seemed.

  Jurrin was right next to Blume, hurling stones right along with her, though his were much smaller. The halfling was skilled with his sling, and if Blume missed with one of her shots or a lizard ducked out of the way, Jurrin made sure to drop them with a second blow.

  Silverwolf was running through the lizards as if they were grass. Nothing stopped the assassin from slicing each foe as it fell. Her riotous laughter was an eerie contrast to the sound of battle and death that rang around them.

  Serinde, Holve, and Ealrin fought in tandem. They made a triangle formation, and from it they dealt deadly blows whenever a lizard came near to them.

  Blume felt a claw on her shoulder and she screamed. Looking behind her, she saw the gaping maw of a giant lizard, bearing down on her. Before the lizard could take a bite of her flesh with its jagged teeth, however, she heard a grunt and saw the lizard’s eye’s contract as it went rigid. Gorplin stood behind it, his hands still on the ax handle as the beast fell to the ground, a gaping wound in the back of its
scaly neck.

  “Bah! Pick on someone your own size,” Gorplin mocked as he kicked the much larger lizard aside with his boot and went to stand back to back with Blume and Jurrin, making their own triangle of death.

  Yet still the lizards dropped.

  These were different than the others that they had fought on the other side of the cave. Instead of throwing spears, they wielded them like swords. And they were a dark brown color, not purple.

  Blume just had time to think through how strange this seemed when she heard a cry echoing in the jungle.

  It wasn’t a gurgling screech. Those sounds filled the air as lizards rained down on them. They echoed off trees as the beasts were cut down by Ealrin’s sword and Holve’s spear.

  No, this sound was human. And it was close.

  Suddenly the jungle burst into the song of arrows flying through the air and the twang of bowstrings. Lizards began recoiling and blending back into the lush jungle foliage. Silverwolf took another down with her sword just as it was about to change its colors.

  “You’re not getting away, Shifty!” she yelled at it as it fell.

  It was an odd thing to witness. Half of its body was still camouflaged to match the surrounded jungle, but it was misplaced. Like a painting that had its corners swapped.

  More arrows sang through the trees as the last of the lizards scrambled up the branches. At last, the beasts were gone, leaving behind only the bodies of their fallen comrades and the scratched tree trunks they used to escape.

  As the friends recovered, Blume looked around them at the trees that were now covered in arrows. There were not a few, but many that had lodged themselves in the trunks around them. Much more than two or three could shoot.

  Just as she was trying to think of whether or not they should flee or stay to see who had aided their fight, a voice called out to them.

  “Hands high the air,” it said. “Drop your weapons and you’ll live to see another day. Possibly.”

  A wry smile crossed Blume’s face. What did she care if they dropped their weapons? Her greatest weapon lay around her neck, enclosed in a crude metal claw. She looked over at Ealrin with a mischievous smirk.

  But it was Holve’s eyes she caught.

  He was slowly and very calmly shaking his head no, looking directly at her.

  She furrowed her brows. Holve was really beginning to act strangely. He had effectively told her to blow up a wall to escape a city. Hundreds of people saw them escape. Maybe a thousand. Now he didn’t want her to use magic in order to escape a few bandits?

  She shook her head.

  Out from behind the trees came figures, dressed in robes that were covered in jungle foliage. It was like watching small hills and trees suddenly sprout legs and begin to walk. Blume started counting the shapes.

  Two. Five. Ten.

  Around twelve of them all told encircled the company, bows out, and arrows pointed at each of them. Blume noticed that they were different. Their skin was of a darker complexion, like hers, but their hair was dark, too. She couldn’t make out their faces, as they kept their hoods on, but some of them were obviously female. Their hair came flowing from their camouflaged cloaks.

  Silverwolf put her hand of her hip. Her other was still defiantly holding onto her sword.

  “Oh no,” she said in mock terror. “We’re surrounded. What should we do?”

  “Nothing,” Holve barked. “Do nothing.”

  Silverwolf rolled her eyes at him. Blume shook her head again. There were times when she was afraid of the assassin, like when she was slicing through enemies without pause or remorse. She also knew that Silverwolf stubbornly refused to see her as an equal in their party, being so young. But then again, there were times when she liked her.

  “It can’t be,” said a deep voice from the front of the group. “Certainly not.”

  Blume turned to look at the source of the voice, as did most of their group. Only Serinde kept her eyes up at the rest of the figures as they crept closer, bows still raised.

  “This can’t be Holve Bravestead,” the man said as he lowered his hood, revealing an older figure, about the same age as Holve.

  “How does everyone here know Mister Holve?” Jurrin whispered to Blume out of the side of his mouth.

  Blume had no idea. Nor did she have time to consider how odd that was. The older man approached Holve, cocked his head at him, and then punched him in the gut.

  Silverwolf looked over at the others with an odd smile on her face.

  “Well you lot look like fun.”

  20: The Forward Scouts

  Ealrin sat on the ground with his back to a tree. His hands were tied with ropes behind him and a woman with a bow stood four paces away, arrow notched and ready. The rest of their group had their back to the same tree, all of them in a circle. Silverwolf had only given up her sword reluctantly after four of the guards had arrows pointed at her heart.

  She probably just gave it up for the sheer pleasure of stealing it back again later.

  Ealrin was cautiously looking at Holve as he lay on the ground out in front of them. Only two guards were there, looking at the man who had led them through so much and brought them here. Perhaps here wasn’t the greatest accomplishment Holve had ever done for them, but he had gotten them further than they would have.

  Looking over at Blume, however, Ealrin was reminded then at what cost. She seemed fine now, but she cast wary looks at Ealrin and Holve every few moments, as if waiting for the signal.

  To unleash her magic.

  Ealrin certainly wasn’t going to give her the nod. They had risked so much already. He didn’t want to be the one who encouraged her to be labeled a witch in front of another group of enemies.

  Though what they did to deserve being tied to a tree was beyond Ealrin. The only thing he could figure out that they had done was having been in Holve’s company. This had at least earned them cautious treatment instead of callous. They weren’t roughly forced to their knees, rather tied politely, if that were actually a thing.

  Holve began to stir and the dark man who had punched him twirled the spear cautiously in his hands. He sat on a fallen tree, just over Holve and close enough to Ealrin to do some real damage with the weapon.

  Ealrin had seen that spear in action.

  It was not something to be toyed with.

  Holve winced as he put a hand on the ground and rolled to his knees. The two guards tightened their bowstrings and looked at the man sitting on the log.

  “Let him get up,” he said glaring at Holve as he rose to his feet. “He’s not going anywhere.”

  The older man let out a low chuckle.

  “You know I’m not a coward, Barton.”

  The man named Barton, or who Ealrin guessed was Barton, sneered as he came over and shoved Holve to his knees.

  “I said you weren’t going anywhere.”

  Ealrin could see a flash of anger in Holve’s eyes, but the older man didn’t act on it. That told Ealrin there was something different at play here.

  Diplomacy.

  “I didn’t run away, Barton,” Holve said through gritted teeth. “You must know that. I was carried off and left for dead.”

  “Seems rather convenient that only you, of all our generals, survived the war. Only you, Holve Bravestead. The rest of our leaders were beheaded and not left for dead, but fed to crows at the bottom of Providence.”

  Barton chuckled darkly as he began pacing in front of the log. The smile that had lingered there disappeared as the next words spilled from his mouth.

  “All of them, except you.”

  This last statement was said with such hate that, if Barton could breathe fire, Ealrin felt like flames would have erupted from his mouth. He nearly spat the last word at Holve. Ealrin squinted his eyes. He had to have seen something wrong. It looked like Barton really did spit fire at Holve. It was gone in a flash, but the light still burned his eyes.

  “What the...” he said, trying to understand what he had just se
en.

  Barton looked up at him.

  “What possessed you to follow this man here?” he said, looking at Ealrin first, and then the group tied to the tree. “I’m surprised you let him lead you on such a wild chase. He’s a manipulator and a traitor. A visionary who will take you down the path of destruction without a second thought.”

  Barton was pacing in front of them as he spoke. His words were harsh and again, the impression of fire coming from his mouth struck Ealrin. Was he just tired from the day? Exhausted from the fight with the lizards just now?

  He had to be.

  The older man stooped down by Blume.

  “Ah,” he said. “And what have we here?”

  Ealrin strained against his bindings. He had heard men talk to Blume like she was a piece of meat before. He hated hearing it. There was a large part of him that meant to protect Blume no matter the cost to himself. He hated hearing Barton speak to her like that.

  “Leave her alone,” he breathed. Ealrin almost wished Barton would try to touch Blume. The man would be torched to cinders. Or thrown a hundred paces before being slammed into a tree. Men who messed with Blume were in for a big surprise when they learned of her magical ability.

  “Don’t touch it!” Blume said.

  In Ealrin’s anger, he hadn’t seen what Barton was referencing. Now he knew. It wasn’t as much Blume as it was her necklace. The man wanted to see the Rimstone around Blume’s neck.

  Ealrin wasn’t sure which was the more dangerous target of Barton’s curiosity.

  “Feisty,” Barton said, standing up and turning back to Holve. “So, you’re still in the company of magic, eh? Still desire to see Speakers go to battle for you, hmm?”

  Holve was on one knee now, not raising up past this position. Ealrin recognized it as a sign of deference.

  “Barton,” he said. “There is much to explain.”

  “Aye,” Barton said, nodding his head. “But you won’t be doing any explaining to me. Instead, I want you to talk to her.”

  There was a moment of silence that followed this. It stretched just for a moment longer than Ealrin could bear, then Holve sighed deeply.