"When I open this door, all will be given to peril. There is no going back. Move and act as if your lives depended on it, for every choice now is life and death," he breathed, loud enough to be heard over the outside chaos. "Are you ready, Kaysa?"
Kaysa looked upon Lokus as her friend offered a brave nod. Satisfied, she turned back to the Elder. "I am ready," she said.
"Then it is time," said Talcoros with a nod. He then uttered another incantation and the door above him unlocked itself. "May the spirit of Tharador watch over us all. Now go!"
Talcoros pushed upward with his staff, allowing in the day's light. Yet no comfort was found in its warmth, as the carnage unfolding about them was palpable. Kaysa grimaced at the overwhelming swell of emotions assaulting her senses, yet her focus was restored as the Elder squeezed her hand and pulled her out of the hidden door. Soon, the group was free of their seclusion and covered fully in Quenthell's fight for survival.
Kaysa led Talcoros and the others through the once quiet streets of her besieged home. Quenthell's guards faced swarming enemies gallantly only to be felled by swarming soldiers' swords or some magic spat from what appeared to be long, hollow staffs. The stench of sulfur permeated the air as these magical staffs thundered over and over, killing without discrimination. The pain and stench in the air stung Kaysa's senses, and the young elf coughed uncontrollably as she pushed forward.
As the group fled, Vienda whistled sharply. Several guards came to flank the group, joining them in their retreat. Thus shielded, Kaysa looked up to focus on the enemies engulfing Quenthell. Dark armor and ominous weapons thundered as the attackers closed the circle around the town. Any villager that did not cut get down by their wicked staffs was felled by those protecting the lines with swords. Soon, the enemy would be an impenetrable wall and escape would be impossible. This revelation pushed Kaysa harder as she rushed for the safety of the forest.
Kaysa kept an increasingly difficult pace, for the chaotic assault upon her senses was almost too much to bear. She could feel the pain and death pressing upon her, for Quenthell was surely dying as they fled. Kaysa fought to hold focus, fought to keep up with Talcoros as he pushed her limits of endurance. The words of her group were drowned out by the incessant torment wrought by their attackers.
Through the muddled haze, Kaysa distinctly heard the rapports spitting from their enemies' magical rods. As they barked with huffs of smoke, villagers and guards in their paths cried out, flesh pierced before falling to the ground. Kaysa gasped as one of Vienda's guards was felled in this way. Soon, more assaults whittled away at the gathered defenses until all that remained were Kaysa and those she started out with.
Kaysa almost stumbled then, for an explosion from behind ravaged the Elder's Keep. She could feel more death and sorrow, yet kept her footing due to the firm hand of Talcoros gripping at her wrist. There was no fight to offer from her group, no resistance that would produce favorable results. What encroached them now was not a battle, but rather the trappings of a slaughter. And it was what they had to escape at all costs.
"Be wary, for we are not alone," shouted Vienda as she slowed the group. Obstructing their escape were four soldiers readying and aiming their weapons at them.
Before Vienda could charge at them, Talcoros stepped forward. Drawing energy to himself, the Elder drew back his staff as he uttered an incantation. As the end of his staff glowed, Talcoros pushed the energy across the ground in the direction of their opposition. A wave of rock and soil rose, rushing at the four soldiers ahead. The soldiers' focus shifted to the magic wrought upon them as they fired at the approaching wave to no avail. The wave reached their feet and reacted severely.
Kaysa gasped as roots shot from the ground, entangling and piercing the soldiers. Their enemies screamed in pain, but attack was swift and relentless. The roots continued to rise and lash out mercilessly until no more movement was offered. When stillness was afforded, the roots pulled the battered corpses mostly below before the ground closed once more.
"This way," breathed Talcoros as he took hold of Kaysa once more, rushing ahead toward the awaiting forest and relative safety.
Kaysa allowed herself to be urged forward, unable to take her eyes from the soldiers just slain. They looked at her with vacant eyes, and though free of pain, it did little to ease the young elf. Finally, clear of the dead, Kaysa focused on the forest and the serenity of the trees before her. Behind her the sounds of violence and death grew fainter with distance, but still they resounded heavily upon Kaysa and her friends.
In their wake, Quenthell continued its slow and torturous demise.
5 The victor and spoils
Field Commander Vakk strolled silently through the pacified town of Quenthell. It had taken less than an hour to crush the town’s defenses and another hour before its people were either killed or rounded up completely. Inwardly, Vakk had longed for a more rousing fight for more than one reason. But no one remained in Kel’Thara to offer him or his forces such a challenge anymore.
Vakk continued his internal musings as he began his assessment of Quenthell. The spoils wrought from the town would swell food stocks for some time. The natural resources would offer a splendor for several seasons as they were harvested. King Thorien would be most pleased. While these things were secondary missions, Vakk was still pleased with the great bounty for Thorindale.
One of Vakk’s men rushed to stand before him, saluting as he did. Vakk stopped and eyed the man grimly, waiting for his report. He recognized the soldier, yet never committed his name to memory. “Commander, the town is secured. We await your orders on what to do with the prisoners,” said the soldier.
Vakk regarded the soldier in silence long enough to make the man uncomfortable. Satisfied at the achievement, Vakk spoke. “Draw them all to the center of town. There we shall redistribute them as needed,” he said.
“It will be done, commander,” said the soldier before saluting again and rushing off. Vakk noticed his shiver as he retreated, for redistribution meant one of three things: Slavery, indoctrination, or the processing plants to become sustenance.
Alone again, Vakk continued walking through the streets of Quenthell, making mental notes as he did. Despite his analytical summations and calculations, the battered town stirred within him feelings he long thought dead and abandoned. Vakk found himself unprepared for the internal assault yet kept his features cold and piercing. His weakness would be kept hidden, for only strength could be shown in the midst of his soldiers.
As he walked, Vakk absorbed the conquered town for both what it was and what it must now be. He could still smell fresh baked bread and pastries through the smoldering scent of burning wood and flesh. The sounds of the forest emanated through the cries of anguished villagers and barked orders. A musket shot rang out then, quelling the anguish of one and doubling in those closest to the fallen. It was the circle of life, and one that Vakk had grown to accept despite any objections to the contrary.
Patiently, Vakk took his time, allowing his troops to gather the survivors and herd them to the center of town. His men were swift, and it was an endeavor made easier by the dead examples laid out across Quenthell. By Vakk’s summation, half the town’s folk had perished in the assault. Vakk knew that the number would be halved again before it was over.
With no more excuses for reverie, Vakk made his way to the assembled prisoners. His men surrounded the huddled masses now, muskets and swords drawn against any inclination of resistance. Yet all that remained in the bewildered eyes of these people was a plea for mercy. Vakk scoured the group for those worthy of his ranks. To his disappointment, he found few who had survived his assault. Most of the men and women present would be servants or food stock.
Standing before the masses, Vakk held up a hand for silence, and it was a silence that was offered freely. Satisfied, the elf spoke. “In the name of King Thorien the Ageless, your resistance is at an end. For the greater good of Kel’Thara and Thorindale, it is decreed that Quenthell shall fa
ll, and its remaining possessions shall be claimed for the crown and the glory of our people. Those of you who wish to renounce the follies of your ways, who can see the inevitability of what has befallen you, step forth now and begin your journey to a better tomorrow. Those that wish to remain set upon the old ways, remain as you are to be judged,” he said.
“What is our crime?” cried a woman from the middle of the crowd.
Vakk shook his head softly and the grimness of his face sent shivers through the crowd. “Crime? Quenthell has remained hidden, where it has hoarded a fount of resources for itself. Your selfishness and greed are your crimes, as is your disloyalty to the one true king of Kel’Thara. And for this, there must be consequences.”
A man spoke trembling from his knees. “But we know not what you speak of! Quenthell has been a haven of peace for ages. We know nothing of your king or this disloyalty that you claim we hold!”
Vakk offered a foreboding smile. “You will not be allowed to use ignorance as a shield. Your people have chosen to be blind to the rest of the world and hide away within your extravagance. No, you have made your choices, sir. And now you most live with the consequences,” stated Vakk.
“This is madness,” cried another.
Vakk pressed forward, unflinching. “Madness is perception. You of Quenthell have grown soft and meek in your ignorance, surrounded by the real world, a world of struggle and pain. A world where sacrifices are necessary for the greater good, where no man is above another. No, you have chosen to remain here, warm, safe, and with full stomachs night after night. This is the madness. You have not shared in the hardships and the burdens of your kingdom. And the travesty must end here and now.”
It was then that a harsh, bitter chuckle filled Vakk’s ears. As he focused on the sound and its wielder, he laid eyes upon an ancient looking Elder. “Such words,” she said from her knees before him. “There are not many here who remember all things, who know of the truth, but I do. I know the truths that you speak of, as I know the madness that hovers outside of our borders. Just as I am old enough and wise enough to know you,” she said.
Vakk approached the woman, taking a knee before her as he replied in soft, hushed tones. “So you still live. I must say this is a surprise I didn’t intend to receive on this day, Agotha,” he said.
Agotha, burned and injured, offered him a bloody smile laced with bitterness. “It is your words and your actions that are the crime here. After all these years, you have found your way back home at last. And you reveal our prudence in banishing you all those years ago. All you have done here today is shame your ancestors and doom Kel’Thara to oblivion,” she said.
Vakk’s face wore amusement as he looked upon Agotha with the confidence of one who held all the cards. “Not quite, Elder. The people of Thorindale will press onward, long after Quenthell is but a memory born of ashes,” he said before inching closer to her. “Now tell me at once. Where is it? Where is the seed?”
Agotha barked a harsh laugh. “And so the lapdog has come to sustain his master’s insatiable hunger, has he? Tell me, powerful Vakk, what shall you do, what shall this world do when that seed is no more?”
“That is no longer your concern, old wretch,” said Vakk with narrowing eyes. “Now where is the seed?”
Agotha at last gave him a satisfied smile. “It is exactly where it needs to be. Away from here. And away from you. And as long as it remains that way, this world has an inkling of a chance,” she said.
Vakk stood then, shaking his head in disgust. “Your last chance at reason is upon you, Elder. I suggest you procure your next words carefully and offer the knowledge that I seek.”
“You seek no knowledge,” spat Agotha. “You seek to save your own hide, even if it means the end of us all.”
“The seed, woman,” said Vakk. “For Thorindale’s glory and the sake of Quenthell.”
“No,” said Agotha softly. “For Kel’Thara and Tharador. Long live the great tree of life forever and on!”
Vakk chuckled bitterly, as he turned from the Elder. “Very well, then,” he said as he motioned to one of his soldiers. The soldier tossed Vakk his musket. Vakk turned back around and motioned to the crowd. “Let this Elder be your education. Let her defiance reveal to you the truth and fate of such rebellion,” he said before placing the end of the barrel upon her head. “The day has come for me to cast you out,” he said only for her ears. “Forever.”
Agotha screamed defiantly as she allowed magic to surge into her hands. Vakk, however, wasted no time in administering his judgment, pulling the trigger on the musket. The weapon wretched upon a lick of powder and smoke as it spat its payload at Agotha. Instantly blood spattered those nearest to the Elder as they cried out in surprise. Agotha trembled as her body fell to its side, fading quickly of life as she was forced to embrace the death forced upon her.
Satisfied, Vakk returned the musket to the soldier as he surveyed the swell of panicked prisoners. He held up his hands, demanding silence. The pointing of muskets by his troops aided in his demand. Vakk remained patient, letting his command and his judgment upon the dead Elder sink into the hearts of Quenthell’s people fully. Satisfied, Vakk lowered his hands as he prepared to address the prisoners once more.
“I hope that this act speaks volumes. As of this moment, Quenthell is no more. You can accept that and begin your new journey, or you can resist it and perish,” said Vakk as he turned from the prisoners and addressed his soldiers. “Begin the selection process. Make your judgments. I want the harvesting of this place begun within the hour.” He then paused as he considered his next words. “Should you find any more Elders, make sure they share the same fate as this one.”
The soldiers offered their affirmations as Vakk departed from the prisoners. Within moments he could hear harsh commands and the cries of confusion and pain as Quenthell’s survivors were forced into their fates. Vakk’s steps quickened, for his actions went beyond duty to his king, stretching beyond to his own feelings. He wanted to be free of it all now that the task had been completed.
Quenthell had been his home once after all.
The sudden rediscovery and destruction had offered Vakk much in terms of introspection. Despite his allegiance, the field commander had put this moment off for as long as possible. The bitterness of his exile and the pressure of his duties never quite diminished the knowledge Vakk did indeed hold a beating heart. At night it often gave him brief comfort knowing that out there in Kel’Thara, some semblance of life remained. But time had caught up with him and he was forced to face his past and solidify his future.
And with the judgment came the sacrifice of the last semblance of his soul.
Vakk remained oblivious to the administering of fate as he strolled again the battered streets of his childhood. A curious soul, Vakk had defied the counsel repeatedly, discovering the truth of the world early on. With no choice and no longer able to silence his protests, he had been cast from his home. Unbeknownst to anyone, including his king, Vakk had returned. Such knowledge he kept to himself, for surely its revelation would have committed him to death.
A sudden motion drew the field marshal’s attention. Turning, Vakk drew his revolver, drawing back its hammer. His eyes traced the fleeing footfalls of a frightened survivor. For an instant, Vakk trained his weapon’s sight upon the young man, leading with his aim to cut him down. Suddenly, Vakk lowered his weapon, content to let the man live another day. Without emotion, he replaced his weapon in its holster and continued his walk.
Very soon, like Vakk, everything he knew, everything he understood about the world would be vanquished forever, replaced by a cold and grim reality.
6 No going back
Safe, at least for the moment, Kaysa openly wept until no tears were left to offer. She and Lokus had led the others to their haven known only as Claude. Now hidden away within the ancient tree, Kaysa let emotion wash over her as the dawning of all the carnage struck her heart and also her soul. The sounds of battle had faded full
y, but this gave no relief to the young elf or the others who had reached safety with her.
Presently, Kaysa rested her head on the lap of Lokus as everyone reclaimed their breath and strength. Talcoros had erected a veiling spell and currently tended to it as he utilized one of the hideaway’s chairs. Khey checked on everyone as his mate Vienda clearly fumed and paced about. Kaysa watched them all absently as she rubbed at red, raw eyes. Already she longed for Quenthell and the carefree moments of the day before.
“I cannot believe it, or unsee it from my soul,” whispered Kaysa to Lokus. At her own words, the young elf shivered.
“We are lucky to be alive,” replied Lokus squeezing her shoulder.
“Are we?” asked Kaysa with grief wrecking her voice. “And what of the rest of Quenthell? Our home is gone, Lokus. Everything is gone now.”
“Not all hope is lost,” stated Talcoros distractedly. “What hope we have left now rests around your neck, Kaysa.”
Kaysa wrapped her hands around the seed she possessed, looking at it curiously. She wondered if it was worth the price in blood that was paid for it. The seed rested silently in her hands, offering no amount of comfort for their present state. “I wish I held any faith in your words,” she replied.
At last, Vienda ceased her pacing. “This could have been avoided, Talcoros,” she growled. “Many died needlessly on this day.”
Talcoros shook his head absently. “I am realizing more and more that today was all but inevitable,” he stated.
Vienda stamped her foot soundly. “That is utter drivel! This outcome was horrendous. We are lucky to still be alive!”
Talcoros finally looked at Quenthell’s most loyal defender. “You could not have stopped them, Vienda. Not with all the preparation in the world,” he said.
“Perhaps not,” she spat back at him. “But countermeasures could have been created. We could have slowed them. We could have concocted a means to get our people to safety. Lives could have been spared today, yet are now spent thanks to your secrets.”
The Last of Kel'Thara Page 5
