The Last Prophecy

by Russell Loyola Sullivan

  Midday came and went. Devyn and his small troop turned and attacked Wallace’s approach three times, each parry proving costly to both sides. Not once was there any sign of Wallace. Devyn could only hope the three sisters had been accurate in their message.

  As the evening weighed in, they made their way deep into the Desperate Lands, and both sides were undoubtedly suffering from the exhaustion of his long, grueling strategy of ride, turn, fight, and retreat. Even Wallace would surmise that Devyn had some greater plan than this frontal encounter, and so he would not risk it all this early.

  And finally it came, no further thunder of troops in the distance. Devyn and his soldiers took their horses to a walk. Lookouts were placed along the path they traveled into the Desperate Lands. There would be no surprise like the first one; the horns of warning would be blown should Wallace’s troops move with the evening.

  *****

  A camp was quickly assembled, even a fire.

  Devyn’s heart pounded as he wandered among his remaining troops in search of Brenna; finally, there she was, administering aid to a wounded soldier, one of Aleena’s bow sisters who had been left behind to give support.

  He waited for Brenna to finish before taking her in his arms. The tears on his face he let fall, even as she broke into a most beautiful smile. “Well, well, my lord, it seems your goats have yet to lose you.”

  “We’ve lost much, my lady. It was not the beginning we’d hoped for.”

  She wiped the tears from his face. “For a tough old farmer, you carry a lot of concern.”

  “The wind makes my eyes water. And sometimes, when there’s no wind, they do it for practice.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s it. We lost today, didn’t we?”

  He looked round. “They all fought bravely, and they gave us the time to fight another day. Let’s hope tomorrow goes better.”

  They moved back to where a small command tent had been set up. She put Starmaid next to Fury in the makeshift corral; the two horses snorted a greeting to each other before Starmaid got to work on her oats and hay.

  Devyn and Brenna turned to leave the temporary enclosure. Two steps, and they stopped in unison. There on the bottom limb of a sprawling oak sat the flame hawk. It’s tail was bright red with the setting sun, but it was the eyes that compelled them both to stare in wonder. The eyes shone with the brightness of a ruby lit by a thousand suns, and it was staring directly at them both. No movement from the majestic bird. It could easily have been an ornament, a carving, as stoic as the tall oak on which it had chosen to perch.

  Devyn turned to look at Brenna and she at him. The flame hawk let out a scream that penetrated the night. Every horse in the vicinity bucked and bellowed at what most certainly must be some vicious predator come to take them. The chatter of the gathered comrades ceased; silence invaded the camp, all listening.

  Devyn and Brenna looked back at the flame hawk. It jumped, dropped a short distance, and then its wings swooped the air downward as it rose toward where the sun would rise tomorrow.

  “It would appear they are becoming more plentiful,” Brenna whispered.

  “My guess is it’s the same hawk as the one in the beginning. It knows something we don’t, and it most surely wants us to learn what that is. How it knows where to find us is no less perplexing than how the three sisters do it. They have some connection they keep to themselves.”

  “Maybe it just likes us,” Brenna said. “Don’t forget that hawk saved us at the temple. It’s no foe. I think we can conclude at least that. What it wants from us is a whole other matter. Maybe it came to tell us that we are on the right path.”

  Devyn nodded. “Maybe you’re right, but that was one thunderous scream. Either our feathered friend was very joyous, or… well, let’s not go down that path. Time to get some rest and allow the same for what’s left of our troops.”

  “I’m as concerned for our comrades and us as you are.”

  “I like to prepare for the worst,” Devyn said. “Not too far to the northwest was where we first met the sisters. Their part in all of this is still a mystery. I hope we’re all correct about the blood.”

  Brenna laughed. “You got a lot said there. My guess is they know well what’s unfolding, and likely they’re watching us, right now. And that cat—”

  “How about that fiddle of yours? I can’t think of a better way to say goodbye to those who have given up their lives today, and perhaps give thanks to those who must battle on. Let’s assemble any pipers or fiddlers who are among us, and maybe we’ll send something back on the evening breeze to tell Wallace we embrace life and freedom, rather than the slavery of his dictates.”

  “Lord Devyn speaks; it shall be done.” She kissed him deeply and went about gathering those players who had not gone forward with the main part of the army.

  While he waited for the music to commence, Devyn met with the other leaders and discussed tomorrow’s expectations.

  He thought of the flame hawk for a moment. Maybe the bird’s expectations were of a different ilk than the simple affairs of two fake lords.

  Had he just thought of himself as Lord Gerrick, even mockingly?

  The music commenced. He looked to where Brenna closed her eyes and made the sparks of music jump from the strings of her fiddle. Her focus was something he had longed to master. She was able to grasp each moment and let herself be embraced by the unfolding, yet he did no such thing; each moment he embraced was a place to look at the past and future. The only time that changed was when he was in combat. What was the opponent thinking? What would they do next? Even the blink of an opponent’s eyes was an opportunity for new strategy—no need for the past or future here, only a few fleeting moments of intense decision and action.

  That was where he found meditation.

  But he loved the music.

  He looked again at Brenna and envied her the place she had gone to, and the tears streamed down his face. He welcomed the tears. They told him he was perhaps something less than pure evil. Yet that summary itself came with a notion: a man who cried for himself might well be his own greatest judge.

  He pushed back to rejoin the music, his eyes never leaving Brenna. She opened her eyes and looked his way on occasion, then back into her reverie. She played tune after tune, and a few other fiddlers and pipers came to take her place.

  She joined him in the shadow away from the fire, sometime after his tears had dried. “Did Lord Gerrick enjoy the music?”

  “Lord Gerrick did indeed enjoy the music. My soul thanks you.”

  Chapter 29

  Flight

  First light would arrive too soon; there would be blood, nothing less, until victory or defeat brought one kind of rest or the other. The moons were visible while midnight came and went, a good omen, and Devyn judged there would be no rain, even as thunder sounded in the distance, no doubt the doing of the sisters.

  It would be a long and arduous trek to Arapendia. The swamps and peculiar vegetation would halt any attempt at a swift journey; the push from Wallace’s army to make the old temple his own would, together with the nasty terrain, make both attack and retreat a perilous journey.

  Devyn went to sleep with that notion in his head and awoke to the predawn setting of Balac; not much movement from before he had closed his eyes. It would seem he was right about the day; the sun would greet them.

  Brenna was already up and approached him with a hot brew of coffee. “Do you know how coffee got its name?”

  Devyn smiled as he accepted the mug. “It’s exactly what I was thinking to myself. My guess is it’s named after the Great Awakener, though I’ll admit I just made that up.”

  “Close, maybe closer than you would think. The word coffee comes from an old prophecy, which stated that the best way to start a morning was to have a drink of coffee. It was never understood why a prophecy would include such words. The folks of Movais decided it would be the name of their morning brew.”

  “A most fitting name, a most effective
brew hiding its ability to wake you up as well as whiskey puts you to sleep, and a name as obscure as its ability to do so. Get any sleep?”

  “A nod or two against the sounds from the swamp. I noticed you made your rounds as midnight came and went. You get any?”

  Devyn took a deep gulp. “This is great, thank you. And yes, I could not help but be at peace lying next to you. I was so afraid when we were—”

  “Separated in battle. Yes, I felt the same.”

  “Sorry. I know I haunt your soul with my relentless need to have you safe. Let’s talk about today.”

  Brenna bowed her head. “Of course, but we’ve discussed what we need to make happen. We have to stay separated; one of us must make it to the temple, or all we’ve done will be for nothing—”

  The horns sounded. They shared their surprise in a momentary frozen pose.

  Brenna hugged him hard, and with the swiftness of the thought of his desire to follow her she was away. He looked a few moments to where she had departed, and then he headed for Fury. The sound of the horns were soon submerged into the sounds of orders being shouted, of horses displaying their annoyance at all the fuss before breakfast, of men and women readying for battle.

  He and Brenna would take separate paths; she would be east and south of the battle, and he had agreed to head east and north, to give one of them the best chance of reaching the temple. Devyn smiled at that notion as he headed west and north. He would fight like ten men to ensure that Brenna made it. He could only hope she would not similarly betray their agreement.

  He stopped to survey what he would do next; as he did so, he gave Fury a few rubs. Elian came up beside him and dismounted. “It would appear my Lord Gerrick is lost. Could I point you in the right direction?”

  “Why, Elian, I came to take you to safety.”

  “Yes, Brenna knew you would do this. We settled that I would cover your flanks, and she at least would go forward with the plan we agreed upon, my lord.”

  Devyn bowed. “Your lord senses he has once again been outflanked. She—”

  In from the west galloped a flurry of Wallace’s men. The battle had commenced; Devyn and Elian were yet to mount their horses. They stepped away from their horses, drew their swords, and sliced at the lead soldiers. Devyn’s sword burst into a stream of blue light, and as he pulled it from the first soldier and pointed it toward the next, the light flew; the rider went down before he could swing his sword.

  Fury and Elian’s horse kicked at the other horses, in a battle of their own. Six riders went past Devyn and Elian; they next reined in their steeds and came roaring back from behind as three other soldiers engaged in a frontal attack. “Poke their horses to the swamp behind them!” Devyn yelled.

  They each gave the approaching steed a tap with their swords. Devyn managed two; not enough to inflict injury but enough to force the horses back. The horses knew what was behind them and knew enough to buck their riders off even as the reins bade them go forward. The three soldiers when down into the swamp; nothing that would dispense with them but enough to keep them busy while Devyn and Elian gave heed to what was behind them.

  Six more soldiers were upon them in the time it took to turn around. Both Elian and Devyn drew daggers, and it would be the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings to judge which hit its mark first.

  Two riders down and four more advanced to meet them in combat.

  Yes, Devyn could read that the unexpected fight scenario had an effect on the remaining four. Certainly not stopped, but they hesitated—a costly mistake, for Devyn and Elian provided yet more of the unexpected. They each let go with their swords as if they were wielding a throwing ax. Two more soldiers went down, four horses now without the control of a rider.

  Devyn sprang for his sword, and Elian found it better to retrieve his dagger.

  The two remaining soldiers hesitated further, their horses unsure whether their orders were to turn from battle or continue. Devyn and Elian gave them no chance to decide; another flash of blue light from Devyn’s sword dispatched one soldier, and the quick arm of Elian took down the last rider. They turned to meet the three from the swamp, and after a few moments of steel against steel their meager battleground lay silent except for the whinnying of the horses.

  “Well, at least our horses got to rest.” Devyn retrieved his dagger, wiped the blood from the blade, and stuffed it back into its sheath.

  Where they stood was a swamp surrounded by swamps, with no path, no clear way to go. He had planned their route to the temple for exactly that reason. There would be constant confusion and surprise for Wallace and his remaining army, both from Devyn’s forces and from the swamps themselves. In this small skirmish the swamps had been their friend, and he could only hope it would continue.

  The sounds of battle resounded elsewhere, men and women screaming, the protests of animals upset from their habitat scurrying about in vociferous frustration, and worse than the sounds, the smell—a stench that mixed with the thick, dreadful odor of the swamp itself: death.

  Elian mounted his horse. “My men and women are to the south and west. Let’s go get invited to the party.”

  Devyn mounted Fury and moved out ahead of Elian. The thunder of battle increased as they made their way south. It appeared that Elian’s men and women had started the party without them. The two rode around a series of swamps, much like a switchback trail on a mountainside, albeit without the steep grade, but having the same effect of permitting them a short distance forward in an inordinate amount of time.

  They finally reached Elian’s small troop and joined the fray; two horses lay mortally wounded, and soldiers lay moaning in their agony, even as others were silent, prone, and bleeding, all around the swamps.

  Elian went to one side and Devyn to the other. Devyn came into the moment, deliberate concentration, and dispatched a soldier in his path. His peripheral vision looked for obstacles, not an easy task in such close quarters. Necessity dictated the rules of the game. He heard the deadly trumpet of a horse behind him; another mount had taken the blade for his rider. Devyn swung his sword at an incoming rider, catching him under the arm and sending the soldier’s sword high as Devyn ducked to escape its slowed flight over his head, the soldier rolling from his horse.

  To his left, one of his own men was about to take a sword to his back; with no time to make his way there, and a shout being useless in the confusion and noise of the close encounter, Devyn’s let fly his dagger and hit the soldier in the right shoulder; the soldier dropped down, as did his sword.

  Elian’s small band was down a third when the skirmish was over. Devyn found his dagger, helped with the killing of any horses that were beyond help, and unsaddled any others to make their way to survival as best they could. There would be lots of food and water, at least.

  The few men and women who were mortally wounded were offered the same fate. There was no in-between in this battle; you were either able to ride, or you were dead or soon to be. There was no time even to bury the dead, a most gruesome open grave that the wild things of the swamps and the Desperate Lands were left to clean up.

  Rounding any swamp could chance a meeting with friend or foe. And the day wore on: fight, run to the east, wait for what might be a Wallace troop, do what damage they could, and then off to the east once more. Even as the sun began to go down there was fighting on all sides, but it was clear Wallace had pulled back to take the night in order to gather his intel.

  Two days turned into three; men and women fell. Brenna was nowhere to be found. The fourth day gave the smell of the salt air; the coast was nearby.

  And there Wallace would know he had the advantage. He would have the numbers on how many had fallen and how many were left. Devyn could not risk gathering such intel, even if the task could be accomplished. What was left of his small army was spread all over and had been given orders to not reassemble until they reached the appointed place outside Arapendia.

  Nor could he find the whereabouts of Brenna.


  *****

  Lord Wallace took off his gloves and stuffed them into his belt. Tonight the two moons came shining in, perhaps a decent enough light to ride on and finally put out of misery Gerrick and his remaining troops.

  But the city was the prize. That’s where the chalice had to be, so said the whispers that the three sisters were reported to have shared with the clerics, and that was where more black stones had to be, and other treasure. He should have taken it eons ago, but then it was always there for his taking, all the more precious that he should bury Gerrick and his wretched whore there or, better still, in some swamp along the way.

  The past few days had been costly, but not as costly as it had been for Gerrick. Even with the advantage of having the lay of the land and the chase, Gerrick had barely held his own, certainly losing more soldiers than he could afford; this would greatly increase the odds for Lord Wallace when he ended this tomorrow.