The Last Prophecy

by Russell Loyola Sullivan

  It was moments before the silence.

  It was time to do some killing.

  *****

  Aleena’s archers, all women, spread out four deep, in a long line facing the approaching enemy.

  The storm that Devyn had called for arrived; the rains began to fall. Thunder cracked.

  Each line of her archers had been given a line of trajectory. The first line let go, then the second, the third, and finally the last line released their arrows; hell itself unfolded. The arrows arced behind the row of shields that Wallace’s troops had assumed would be the target. Soldiers behind the wall of shields screamed and fell.

  The rains pelted down, more thunder along with flashes of lightning.

  Devyn watched from his concealed position.

  Elian and Aleena would have the storm to protect their backs as they retreated.

  Wallace’s archers moved out in front of their protected shields and let loose a barrage of arrows, aimed directly at Elian’s men and Aleena’s archers. No trajectory here; the arrows took a few soldiers, but Elian’s shields held.

  Round one went to Aleena.

  Wallace’s horsemen raced forward toward their enemy, screaming and waving their swords.

  Round two would be a much closer encounter.

  *****

  Devyn’s soldiers had killed four of Wallace’s scouts. No other scouts had been apprehended along the route. Most likely Wallace’s men had not expected any resistance on this open stretch of land, where there were few places to hide and nowhere to run from his horsemen.

  Devyn and Elian had picked the spot for exactly that reason.

  Devyn and his contingent of soldiers stayed hidden while Elian took a position to the south, along with Aleena and her archers. He had watched as Aleena made her initial assault; it had unfolded exactly as she had promised.

  That small victory had now passed.

  Within moments, one hundred or more horsemen from Wallace’s force followed in pursuit to the south. It took what seemed like forever for them to pass. Devyn and his men sat on their horses, quieting them as best they could, though the din of the passing riders would likely mask any sounds of their own. The last sped by, and Devyn waited still longer until they were out of sight.

  It was time… whoever commanded Wallace’s troops had made a poor decision, a costly one.

  Now, could he take advantage of it? Devyn looked to the south one last time and gave the order. His men and women held a similar formation as Elian had initiated and sent a volley of arrows into the closely approaching troops that the horsemen had left behind: the archers, the foot soldiers, the supply wagons.

  This time no riders, and only a small flight of arrows.

  Devyn would finish a volley, take to horseback, and head east as the remaining force of Wallace’s men and women charged after them on foot, with no way to catch them.

  The hundred or so soldiers quickly dropped to less than fifty. Devyn and his troops seized the opportunity; turning their horses, they raced toward the dwindling troops. Their archers sent two last volleys of arrows even as they attacked, and with swords drawn they waded into close quarters. The mistake that Wallace’s horsemen had made was now obvious, men and women dead without as much as a drop of blood on their weapons.

  The few who still stood understood how they had been played.

  The one leader who remained alive tried his best to impress on Devyn that Wallace would storm down on them. He too soon relented.

  A small contingent of Devyn’s men stayed behind to move the wounded and captured to Devyn’s garrison, as Devyn and the rest raced to link up with their main force.

  *****

  Elian, Aleena, and the troops fled south with the enemy on their heels.

  Elian could only hope Devyn had accomplished what he had set out to do. Elian’s job was simple: stay alive for as long as possible and kill who he could; at least the enemy would have to scavenge for food and supplies no matter how successful they were against him and his few troops. Devyn had insisted that he should lead the men and women south. For once Oran and Elian had won a round by explaining that what little progress they had made would assuredly be wiped out should the leader of their meager resistance be reported missing or—worse—dead.

  Aleena had done her work. Her job was now to race ahead of him and have her people regroup with swords. His few men and women would provide the bait for the enemy to follow. The storm Devyn had promised was a welcome piece of luck. At the very least it made the enemy more cautious at every turn in the road.

  Elian pushed south, and the horses tired; he added some distance to the enemy in pursuit. Some ways farther, he pulled off the main road. The enemy was far enough along that the next part of their plan might unfold. The idea was to slow them down any way possible.

  Wallace’s men would now find a series of traps: a strategically felled tree, a rope that suddenly appeared across the road, a fire of dry brush on a bridge. Elian hoped the strategy had worked. There would be no way to know until he met the enemy one more time.

  A short distance off the main road was a stand of birch with ropes all around and a small opening straight ahead. Elian’s men, women, and horses poured inside, dropping their backpacks, waterskins, and anything that would add weight to what would come next.

  Aleena and her archers-turned-swordswomen were at the ready.

  Elian and his soldiers took to the line of horses waiting for them—fresh, saddled, and ready to go. The troops mounted, and with Elian and Aleena at the lead they sped back out toward the main road even as the last few riders made their way in. In minutes they were back on the road but no longer running south. Their swords were drawn, and their horses were at full gallop northward where they met the enemy over the rise.

  Elian, Aleena, and their troops split into four units. The two at the front crashed dead center into the approaching army; the other two went either side with swords slashing as they made their way to the rear of Wallace’s troops.

  As the trap closed around the enemy, Devyn and his crew came charging in.

  Wallace’s horsemen were more than surprised. They had been marching all day, and the afternoon had been nonstop chasing down a foe they could not afford to let get away. They had spent all of their energy thinking their numbers would save the day.

  It was not to be. The fresher horses and the element of surprise soon rendered the road a river of blood even as it mixed with the rain.

  It was over before the evening took the day.

  *****

  Word spread of Lord Gerrick’s victory. The cache of arms and armor they captured from the supply wagons was a welcome addition to their arsenal. The talkative soldier Devyn had captured turned out to be General Utaru’s second-in-command.

  “What now?” Simon asked of the few assembled around the table.

  Devyn considered that Simon was indeed the most unlikely of arrivals to Devyn’s garrison. Brenna had been elated. Making himself a lord and having a garrison to his name had had no effect on her. The arrival of Simon had been a different matter.

  “What now? It appears we had the good luck that the troops he sent against us were no more than temple guards; not one of those troops escaped. So that bought us low casualties and more time.” Devyn looked over at Brenna where she sat across from Simon. “Time is what we need most, and time is what we would appear to have the least of. I agree with Oran: we need to send our illustrious captive back to Utaru and Wallace. He’ll need an escort to ensure he doesn’t get lost. And we need to send a message that we’re free men and women who see a new way of doing things.”

  Aleena banged the table in agreement. “I’ll send as many arrows into his troops as it takes to forgive what he did to my family.”

  A bolt of that familiar guilt shot through Devyn—Selina on the bridge.

  Simon bowed to Aleena before directing his gaze back to Devyn. “You know that this time Lord Wallace will not underestimate you—”

  “I kn
ow. And that’ll give us even more time, as he takes time to prepare,” Devyn answered.

  Oran shook his head. “It matters little what he thinks. What matters is there’ll be a next time, and he’ll bring everything at his disposal.”

  “Yes, the dice are in play.” Devyn rose from his seat. “There’s no going back. But Brenna and I have a journey we must complete before the dice settle. I hope you can keep them tumbling until we return.”

  Simon spoke. “The cup… the prophecies are in ruin. You must attend to those who have come for shelter. You cannot save everything. You cannot save the world.”

  “What if it is the world we are saving?” Brenna asked. “We don’t fully understand the prophecy. But we do know it points to an evil that will destroy. Lord Wallace might be that evil. The prophecy offers a solution of some kind, but not one we understand. We would be remiss to have come this far and have made so many decisions to then overlook what the prophecy has to tell us. Have the prophecies ever been wrong?”

  Simon hung his head. No one among them could begin to answer such a question.

  Brenna waited and then she spoke. “I believe the prophecies have never been proven wrong; even when misunderstood, we’ve later learned of their value and their true message. Yes, maybe this one seems obscure if not impossible to understand. But what if we’re not merely misunderstanding? Rather, we don’t have all the information. We know the cup’s a fake. Where is the real one? I think we can find those answers, and those answers might save us great bloodshed. Devyn and I need to take a journey.”

  “I should come with you. It was not me who was to wear the blood at the next prophecy; I was no longer to be a part of it. Perhaps I can help in some other way.” Simon looked up once again.

  “Wear the blood? What do you mean ‘wear the blood’?” Brenna asked.

  Simon jumped a little at her sharp tone. “Oh yes, of course, most do not know the ritual, and you were… you did not go through it. A drop of blood is taken from the caretaker’s finger and placed on the forehead of each of the clerics present at the prophecy.”

  “Why?” Brenna asked in a quieter fashion this time.

  “I don’t know for certain,” Simon answered, “but we believe it has something to do with the blood of the caretaker protecting the clerics during the ceremony. What danger we are protected from we have never deciphered.”

  Brenna all but jumped from her seat. “The last prophecy! It talks about wearing blood. ‘The three who told us of the urgency must take your blood.’”

  “There are usually only two clerics; maybe it was different at some time,” Simon added.

  “Yes, maybe. All the more reason for Devyn and me to find some answers.”

  “And I’ll come with you.”

  “Thank you, Simon, but no. The initial part of what we must do is research, but the rest I believe will be hard travel. I would ask that you concentrate upon the last prophecy. Is there anything that might help us understand? You were part of the ritual for so long.”

  “Ah, another old man put out to pasture.”

  “You have given us all a belief in what we’re doing,” Devyn said. He looked at Brenna as he spoke, though his words were for Simon. “Belief gives footing to resolve and determination. No, Simon, you’re not being put out to pasture. Who else would feed our minds?”

  “I think we understand the urgency,” Aleena said. “We’re all committed to what must be done. Do what you have to do. We’ll not just wait for your return; we’ll build you the best possible army we can in your absence.”

  The pounding on the table ended the meeting.

  Chapter 17

  Looking for Answers

  A skirmish to buy some time, a battle in which his soldiers protected him—not at all what soldiers should be dedicated to in battle. He was being coddled like a newborn. Nor did the irony miss the mark—he had similarly done all he could to protect Brenna, a cage she’d hated and rebelled against. That cage was now his.

  Her barrage of objections, her intended message to him were now eminently clear. It had taken his own capture in that well-intentioned cage to awaken his awareness. His troops and his commanders hadn’t gotten that message just yet. But what was he doing letting Brenna take him on this excursion? He was leaving the others behind to train and built his army while he played scholar.

  His army? Damn.

  They would need a much bigger regiment to take on Wallace, and in that battle he would not be in the background, hiding behind some shrubbery, watching some storm approach.

  He touched the hilt of his sword where it lay on the table. It hummed to his touch, a faint blue taint where the blade extended outside the sheath; the blue flash was only for an instant before it returned to polished steel.

  Even his sword could read the agitation.

  He looked on and squared up to the demons inside his head while the others gathered around the table. As big as the problem was with Wallace, he had agreed with Brenna concerning the urgency that they find the true chalice, and that they unravel the complexity of the last prophecy. That journey was for scholars, he surmised. Brenna had insisted he would make the journey. He could not refuse her, but she would have to be the scholar for both of them.

  They had dincearned enough to conclude that something unusual was taking place: the chalice had disappeared, Wallace had known about it all along; there was a last prophecy—albeit a dire one—and beyond that there were many unanswered questions.

  Their new home, where they gathered today, was smaller than what they had left behind, and it was as busy as a drawbridge crossing on a market day of free giveaways.

  Across the table Brenna sat talking to Simon; behind them, in the kitchen, her parents busied themselves with food preparation. Devyn’s commanders were making their way to the table. Others were bringing in supplies. Two dogs lay at ease, each to a rug, with nothing better to protect than their right to be there. He had named both dogs Brandy; it saved a lot of time when he needed them to do something. Well, that’s what he told everyone.

  His long-ago tribe life had been much about gathering in group settings for eating, socializing, and instruction; now here he was… would he again be witness as this tribe was slaughtered?

  Enough.

  Focus.

  Simon had been unable to provide any further insight into the last prophecy. He had informed them that the fate of the last two caretakers was as unknown to him as it was to them, though he continued to insist on his own share of shame in their disappearance.

  Brenna was discussing the last prophecy with Simon. Devyn knew she had read the text enough times that she could repeat it word for word. Not that she needed to memorize it; rather, she needed to ponder parts of it. She had explained on a number of occasions that it was easier to examine with the words inside her head than with the written words.

  He watched as she closed her eyes and then opened them.

  She glanced his way before she spoke. “‘A thousand turns around your sun,’ was what they said. That is how far they are away from us, or how much time it would take for them to reach us? How they might get here I leave for another time. And caretaker—‘caretalker,’ in their words—does the difference mean something? Where are the prophecies kept once they have been written down?”

  “We don’t know much of anything before our garrison was built,” Simon answered. “Since then all prophecies, transcribed by the clerics, are kept in the central library.”

  Devyn nodded. “How old is Great Temple Reach? I don’t even know when it was built.”

  “It wasn’t the first temple,” she answered. “During studies they told us that Great Temple Reach wasn’t the original. Before that there was another temple known simply as the temple. The city where it dwelled was, many turns before, conquered by an invading army. At that time it was situated in a place I recall was named… Sunterra.”

  “I’ve never heard the name,” Devyn said.

  Brenna continued. “The lead
er of the invasion was a man referred to as the Cup’s Handle, or some name close to that. He is said to be an ancestor of our Lord Wallace, a man who tended to take what he desired.”

  “Perhaps our Wallace is indeed a true descendant; the attitudes match,” Devyn said.

  Simon tapped the table. “Sunterra. I don’t recall that name, but the old city that held the temple was mostly made up of healers, scholars, teachers, caretakers, and clerics. It was the seat of where the prophecies came from and was therefore filled with people who examined, recorded, and explained what was passed on to them—”