Bloodless

by Roberto Vecchi

  Calmly, Eriboth turned to see the elf guard slide his sword through the first ogre’s ribs into his heart. But the guard was not without injury. Before the melee ended, the ogre had been successful at drawing blood from two shallow wounds, one on the right shoulder of the elf, and one on his right forearm. As the guard pulled his blade from the dying ogre, he started to walk over to Eriboth but was halted by an impact of energy that threw him backwards in excess of ten feet where he squarely landed against a large tree. He slumped to the ground, unconscious. Eriboth rushed to his side, but before he could check to see if the guard was still alive, a low, guttural voice called out to him.

  “Docinto alun!” (We have you) “Lun a gose hocko!” (Lay down your weapon), it said.

  In response, Eriboth turned slowly and stood, “There is but one who has me,” he answered.

  “Nush! Ecktock myin ton! (Enough, speak no more), responded the voice. “Ogressin thees awoos!” (Ogressin thinks otherwise).

  “I do not answer to Ogressin. There is but One Whom I serve,” challenged Eriboth.

  “Komonto, equo mortin!” (Come, or die). The awful speech of the guttural language was further accentuated by a very explicit warning with this last statement. But its effect was dissolved by Eriboth’s resolute will.

  “I have died once. And was reborn. You have no hold over me,” he said as he assumed a clearly defensive position. There was no direct verbal response to Eriboth’s last statement. Instead, three arrows were shot directly at him. With blinding speed impossible to understand, he caught all three of them. After snagging them from their flesh streaked destiny, he dropped them to the ground, “So be it.”

  “Konish grathick desthinosh! Bindow entart Ogressin hockto!” (You dare disobey! Bow before Ogressin’s power!) growled the voice. The blinded warrior knew he faced one of the Ogre shamans, and knew he was imbued with the power of their god, Ogressin. But he was calm. As an invisible blast of energy sped toward him, though it was undetectable to all of his mortal senses, Eriboth was yet able to see it. And what he saw contained illusion. It was as if there was an insubstantial, ethereal projection speeding toward him that seemed as though it would tear him apart. However terrible the illusion seemed, it was just that, illusion, disguise, deception. Yes, it was the same power that had recently thrown his guard against a tree knocking him senseless, so it had physically manifested and carried with it destructive physical consequences; but it’s nature, its very substance, was rooted in something that was not true. Therefore, he knew it had no power over him. He knew it would not, could not, harm him. As the energy blast from the Shaman harmlessly passed Eriboth, the shaman raged and unleashed another one. However, this one was propelled by the same deception as the first. Therefore, it caused no more effect to the human warrior than that of a faint and cooling breeze.

  The Ogre Shaman erupted in anger born from disbelief. A third time he casted one of his divinely inspired spells toward the warrior, and for a third time it met with the same effect as the first two. All the while, Eriboth stood stoically motionless. There were more yells and screams from the direction of the Ogre horde, but none of them phased the white eyed warrior. Even when they charged at him, ten in strength, he did not show the slightest amount of fear or doubt. When they were ten feet from him, all charging to obliterate him with their frenzy driven rage, he closed his eyes, and moved.

  Two ogres dropped from the blade he took from his guard before they saw him spin. Another two were toppled to the ground before the first two understood what had happened. Time and again, the Shaman, enraged at the insolence of their quarry, unleashed his Ogressin driven magic and every time its mass effect was nothing. Having seen the skill and speed with which Eriboth dispatched the first four ogre warriors, the remaining six stopped their charge and look back to the Shaman for direction.

  “Donon Grock! Emanisto! (Do not stop! Take him!)”

  The ogre warriors surrounded him warily, but Eriboth remained still. In the silence of internal prayer, he spoke. In the moment of his prayer’s completion, he saw everything that would happen, that could happen, as clearly as if it had all happened. All of the possibilities surrounding his actions in this battle, all of the possible choices the Ogre warriors could make, and off the potential reactions from the Ogre Shaman, everything; it was all displayed for him as if presented on the most exquisite platter for his approval before dining on the promised feast. However, in the midst of all of the potentials, there it was. Appearing as vividly as the morning sun just rising over the top of an unhindered horizon, there was the Will of the man called Jesus. The more he focused on it, the more the other possibilities dissolved into mere distractions from a greater aspect of his existence. The path was shown, all he needed to do was to follow it.

  And follow it he did. Aligning his mortal will with that of The Immortal Jesus, he found a depth of love that extended well beyond the simple potentials of static worship and ran right into the absolute, kinetically dynamic nature of a true spiritual relationship. In this state, every direction he followed, every move his body made, was a complete act of worship from he to Jesus. But more than that, it was also illustrative of the fluid love that flowed from Jesus to him. Lost in this enveloping love, Eriboth reached a simultaneous detachment and connection from everything he still thought he was to everything Jesus said he was. Void of authentic decisions of his own intent, he was free to move as his personal Savior directed him. Free to move, free to love, and free to be the fulfilment of all he was designed to be in this moment without regard to the illusions of mortal deception. It was not long before the battle was over leaving Eriboth standing alone while his Elf guard began slowly gaining consciousness. Eriboth slowly let his blade down, kneeled on the hard and chilled ground, interlaced his fingers behind his head, and waited for the guard to regain the faculties stolen by the energy blast from the Ogre Shaman.

  By Eriboth’s estimation, it was only a couple short minutes before the guard recovered enough to stand and look around in bewilderment. Although the guard was relieved with how the traitor was able to handle a whole horde of Ogres, his dominating emotion was that of confusion when he realized Eriboth had not escaped when given the opportunity. Wary because of his fear of a more insidious plot, the guard approached his prisoner cautiously.

  “You,” he said bordering on accusation, “Why are you still here?”

  Eriboth looked up to the guard who had picked up and was now holding his sword pointing it toward the kneeling warrior, “I am here because I have not yet been given charge to leave.”

  “Why did you not flee when you had the chance?” asked the guard directly.

  “Who is your king?” he asked in return.

  “Lord Hinthial, of course,” answered the guard.

  “And by who’s authority have you been placed here with the charge of guarding me?” asked Eriboth again, his fingers still interlocked behind his head.

  “By the King’s,” answered the guard again.

  “Under what conditions would you abandon your charge if instructed by your king?”

  “None. I would never abandon my position. That is an act of treason,” said the guard as his demeanor seemed to swell with pride.

  “Then it appears you and I are more similar than they would have you believe,” he said as he stared directly into the guard’s eyes.

  “How dare you say that!” shot back the guard. “You not only abandoned your position as prince to your King, you bedded the queen, and killed him when he confronted you!”

  “Yes, that has been said of me.”

  “Do you deny it?” challenged the guard, taking a step closer to his kneeling captive.

  “There are multiple charges, to which are you referring?”

  “All of them. Do you deny your treachery?”

  After a moment of consideration, Eriboth asked the guard, “If your king absolved you from all wrong doing and cleaned the charges levied against you, would they then hold no influence over your futu
re and status?”

  Surprised at Eriboth’s assumption of an authoritative demeanor while still kneeling in submission, he did not readily respond. Eriboth repeated his question calmly.

  “To what purpose have you asked me this question? Its consideration has no bearing on your current captivity and subsequent debt to be paid,” stated the guard, obviously irritated with his prisoner.

  “Then let me ask you another question. Do you deny the utter authority of the King?”

  “No. Of course not, his rule is law, as is his voice. All that he speaks is a reflection of the truth in the stars?”

  “So then, if he did pardon any and all trespasses on your behalf, then your debts would be considered paid in full even so far as the pardoning of your very life, should the King so choose, regardless of the previous judgement and sentence. Is that not correct?” asked Eriboth.

  “Yes, but there is no King in the lands who would pardon the treachery and severity of your actions, traitor,” said the guard.

  “Perhaps not, but my King is not of these lands,” said Eriboth.

  “Then your king is a foolish king, for the wages of betrayal is death, and you will see yours,” said the guard as he stepped toward Eriboth, beginning to shackle him again.

  “You asked me why I did not flee. Would you still like to hear my answer?” asked Eriboth as his hands were again fastened to the locks on the shackles connected to the ones around his ankles.

  “Yes, I would like to hear your reasons. No doubt they are part of a large plan of an even greater betrayal,” stated the guard as he locked the shackles in position, preventing Eriboth from raising his hands.

  “Because my King’s truth and authority surpasses these lands as does His power to absolve. There are no shackles, nor prisons, nor judgements, nor sentence that can take from me what He has already given. Because of Him, I am free,” answered Eriboth.

  “Well, we will see if your king can save you from the noose that is waiting for you upon your delivery to Meckthenial,” said the guard as he began leading Eriboth to the rest of the encampment.

  All prisoners were kept on the very outskirts of the encampment for a few different reasons. Firstly, if the camp did come under attack, as it had, then the prisoners would serve as an early warning device alerting the rest of the soldiers to make ready for battle. Secondly, there was no fear of escape because it was well known that Elves were the best trackers. Therefore, escape would only be momentary ending in recapture with the wasting of time as its ultimate result. And lastly, and most importantly, there was simply no way of escaping the magically enhanced shackles of the elves. They had all been imbued with enough elven magic to render them impossible to escape either by physical or magical means.

  Upon reaching one of the roving elf patrols, one of the soldiers asked, “What is the traitor doing here? And why did you abandon your position? We are not yet ready to march.”

  “Was the camp not attacked by a horde of Ogres?” asked Eriboth’s guard.

  “Attacked?” said the soldier as he looked around and half chuckled under his breath. “What sickness gave you the idea that even our most staunch rival would dare attack a force as large as ours?”

  “The camp was not attacked?” asked the guard again out of disbelief.

  “Did you not hear me, guard? Of course, we were not attacked,” said the soldier mocking him.

  “Go easy on him Tuthindael,” interjected another voice. “He is still young in the service of the King.”

  “Indeed, he is, Gindlin,” said Tuthindael as he turned his attention back to the young guard. “What is your name, guard?”

  “Hundolis. From house Dathdinos,” he answered.

  “Well then, young Hundolis, how did you incur those wounds?” asked the soldier named Gindlin.

  At first, the young guard hesitated because, though he and Eriboth had been attacked by Ogres, he was not sure the two soldiers would believe him.

  “Well, how is it you came by those wounds?” asked Tuthindael with increased assertiveness.

  “The traitor attempted to escape while I was securing his bonds to a tree. He used deception and tried to render me unconscious thereby allowing him the opportunity to escape,” he said trying to feign confidence.

  Through squinted eyes, Gindlin responded, “Perhaps, but it is more likely you tripped over a rock and landed hard against the ground!” When he finished, both he and Tuthindael erupted in a bout of hilarity. Their combined, continued laughter was enough to completely dissuade Hundolis from retelling the truth behind his injuries. When they were done laughing, it was Gindlin who spoke again, “Perhaps it is best you maintain your story, unbelievable as it is. It would do you better to be seen as an embellisher than a dwarf-footed bithusis.”

  Hundolis, in an effort to escape his embarrassment at the insult, jovial as it may have been, saluted each of his superior officers with the most official form of the traditional elfish salute, turned, and lead Eriboth back to their designated location.

  “You should not have lied,” said Eriboth.

  “What right do you have to comment upon anything I choose to do? You, who are the greatest traitor in Elven history, have no basis to make accusations,” said the guard as he pulled Eriboth’s chains enough to cause him to stumble forward.

  “Nevertheless, you should not have lied,” repeated Eriboth to which the guard’s only response was silence, obviously suffering a wound to his pride from his exchange with two of his superiors that bit deeper than his wounds from his exchange with the Ogre.

  The rest of their evening and night passed without any further interactions or incidents. For all practical purposes, it was peaceful. Well, as peaceful as it could be when warring with the knowledge that one was instructed to relinquish his ability and desire to escape when the chance presented itself in favor of remaining in captivity. To what end his King had led him to be so confined, he did not know; but there was no mistaking the internal indication that he was yet meant to be captured by the elves. Is that why his plans with Nadalize and her husband had failed? Was he meant to face the sum consequences of his elvish kin and find absolution in their judgement and sentence? Or had he been led here for another purpose altogether? There was no doubt that his honor, the objective honor he found after his encounter with Jesus, told him that his debts had been fully paid by the love of Jesus and he no longer possessed anything rendering ownership to anyone but Him. However, that did not mean his mortality would easily release the debt he felt to his kin, and more importantly, Soliana. These were some of the considerations and thoughts that flooded his mind and soul in the late hours of night. Slept came late, but when he did fall asleep, he slept peacefully knowing that regardless of the concerns of his mind, he was firmly fixed in the Will of One greater than he, the Greatest. And because of that, he would find rest.

  The chill of the late autumnal weather continued for the remainder of their journey. There were no more signs of Ogres or anything else seeking to impede their progress. That coupled with Hundolis’s overall silence allowed Eriboth much time for consideration and prayer. Mortally, he was longing for another experience similar to his first encounter with Jesus so much that he prayed for it, asking to be shown the benevolent love he had seen before. However, regardless of his prayers, Jesus, the Man responsible for so much more than his mortal continuance and immortal rebirth, remained silent and hidden to his experiences. But just because his King remained still, did not mean Eriboth’s life was still as well. Indeed, there was much motion, and there would be much more soon. Meckthenial, the grand City of Light was on the horizon. As such, so too was his Elven sentenced judgement.

  The evening before their arrival, King Hinthial did two things. Firstly, he sent an announcement party to ride with news of the successful wedding binding the two great races of Avendia, and secondly, he visited Eriboth just as the sun was setting and the first stars were visible. “Thank you, young Hundolis, but your services will not be required this eveni
ng. You are permitted to return to the ranks of your fellow soldiers,” said the King as he approached alone.

  “Thank you, My King, but I would like to complete the charge you first gave me and see the traitor into the City of Light,” answered Hundolis.

  “I understand, young Hundolis,” responded the King as he placed a warm hand on the young guard’s shoulder. “But I absolve you from the finality of your charge. From this moment forward, your charge as been fulfilled. Now go and join your fellow soldiers so they can celebrate the finality of your task.”

  The guard looked at the king for a moment and then to Eriboth as he remembered their conversation following the Ogre attack. “Why do you look to him?” asked King Hinthial. “Is my word fulfilled only by his agreement?”

  “No, My King. I am sorry, My King,” answered Hundolis.

  “Very well then. But I would encourage you to depart without delay lest your loyalties come under more scrutiny,” threatened King Hinthial.

  “Yes, King Hinthial. Thank you, King Hinthial,” said Hundolis, saluting the High King as formally as he could. After King Hinthial dismissed him from his salute, he gathered his supplies and began walking back to the encampment.

  When the two of them were alone and Hundolis was far enough away not to hear, King Hinthial turned to address Eriboth, “I wonder if you would walk with me?”

  “Of course,” said Eriboth.

  King Hinthial led Eriboth through the woods, remaining silent until they came to stand on a raised plateau in the Great Green Forest allowing the splendid view of Meckthenial to present unimpeded. There it was, sitting on the horizon, as the rays of the setting sun, seemingly crafted for this moment, fell upon the beautiful city as if the heavens had directed it themselves. Both of them, Elf and Man, king and traitor, stood motionless, united in their appreciation for the beautiful creation of the Elves. Nowhere was there any city, or even a single structure produced by the hands of mortals, that could rival the visual perfection of the Elven City. It truly was a sight without parallel. Just as the last of the brilliant rays of the sun were being dissolved away by the consequence of time, the King turned to Eriboth and spoke, “I remember a day when you and I fought side by side as equals. Those were days I will always look upon with favor. Do you remember them?”