by RG Long
It had been a dull few days, threatening elves to continue sailing forward, burning a few to ashes in order to show those who remained what would happen to them if they didn’t continue to sail on as if nothing had changed. His Wrents stayed under the deck and out of sight for the entire voyage here. Now that the battle was on and the elves they had taken over were completely consumed, the Wrents were hungry for battle and blood.
All around him, the Wrents who had accompanied him on their journey barked and howled as they fell upon fresh elves clad in the armor of Enoth. These elves would pay for disrupting his plans to cleanse the forest. And he, Cuno the Unifier, would be the one to purge them in fire.
The ship that they had jumped onto was in bad shape. Their own vessel had knocked a giant hole into it and toppled the main sail. Elves were running in all directions. Some were trying to get higher up on the boat. Others attempted to climb onto a third vessel that they had rammed into. Very few gave heed to the Wrents that were now coming down on them.
The ones that did found themselves overwhelmed quickly.
Cuno knew his forces couldn’t stay on this ship for long. They needed to keep moving.
He saw a group of elves climbing up the rigging and sails that had fallen onto an elaborately decorated ship. Pointing and howling, he directed his troops towards them. If the sails would enable elves to get to the next boat, it would work for them as well.
Chasing the group that climbed up the rigging, his Wrents pawed and clawed their way upwards. The elaborate ship towered over them, but it didn’t keep them down for long. Within moments of beginning their climb, they were jumping onto the deck.
And into a host of armor clad elven warriors.
Cuno breathed in deeply and licked his lips. This was a battle he could fight.
Several came charging at them as more and more Wrents jumped over the railing, teeth bared and weapons in hand. Cuno held out his paw and let a wall of flame envelop the unlucky elves who had approached them, ready for a fight.
He was going to revel in these flames. The deck of the ship burned as the armor and weapons of the elves fell to the ground, their owners having been incinerated. Cuno saw a group who appeared to not be from Enoth fighting their own group of guards with little more than their bare hands and one sword between them.
Lifting his paw, he was determined to burn them all to a crisp, both Enoth and other just for spite. Then he felt the hair on his neck rising up and he rolled away quickly. He knew magic when he felt it.
A bolt of energy flew past his chest, missing him by a hand’s width. He looked in the direction it had come from and saw what he assumed was an elf. An elf dressed in black but with a mask of gold.
He snarled at the figure and shoved his paw forward, shooting a line of fire at what he assumed was an elven magic user. No mask would deter him. Pulling back, he thought he would see a pile of ashes with a golden mask on top of it.
Instead, he dodged another bolt of energy. Rolling onto his side and coming up on all fours, he saw that the masked elf wasn’t even singed by the flames. Snarling, Cuno knew he was in for a duel.
Running forward, he let loose a volley of flames, coming closer to the masked elf, who batted away each one with ease. Cuno was just steps away from the elf when he put all of his power into a blast of flames. He gritted his teeth as he felt every fiber in his body tensing with the effort to roast alive the elf who stood before him.
Panting, he withdrew his paw and saw a spinning blue wave surrounding the elf like a shield. He remained untouched. Cuno was too winded to defend himself totally against the burst of magical energy the elf loosed upon him. He flew back several paces before finding his paws touching the deck of the ship again. It burned away underneath him as he felt his anger rising and his power pulsing through him like an inferno.
This elf was going to die by his fire.
Several Wrents went charging at the masked elf. Each one looked ready to bite, scratch, and claw him to pieces. Cuno saw Lacha among these. He had a sword clutched in his paw, ready to split the elf in two.
Another magical blast surged from the elf. Wrents flew in all directions. Lacha, however, was not blown away. Teeth gritted and eyes mad with fury, the Wrent surged forward and toppled the masked elf, who was caught by surprise. The two wrestled for a moment and then, before Cuno could charge forward himself, there was a blinding flash of blue light. It rose like a column into the sky and disappeared. Before Cuno could see what was left after that, he heard the clang of Lacha’s sword on the deck. He knew his right hand Wrent was dead.
The elf with the golden mask was slowly getting to his feet. Cuno’s rage consumed him. His arm burst into flames just as he saw another elf, with a crown and a stone of blue like his of red, come close to them. Cuno didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate. He jumped onto the masked elf and let his entire body be consumed by the fire.
And for the first time since he had found this gift, he felt the searing, painful flames lick his body. He heard screaming, though it felt like it was both far away and close at hand. Cuno didn’t care. He willed as much fire and pain into the world as he could manage.
In a flash of red and orange, Cuno the Unifier and the elf in the golden mask burst into a thousand balls of flame.
44: His Excellency
Rophilborn was sure his eyes had deceived him. There was no way conceivable that his protégé, his student, his pupil could be dead.
It just could not be so.
A deep, rumbling, guttural scream started down in the pit of his stomach and burst from his mouth without his permission or consult. This, he knew, was rage beyond comprehension. He felt the magic of the Rimstone he kept on his crown grow and pulse through him. A deep, throbbing light of blue came into his vision as the glow of the stone increased with his anger.
This was unacceptable.
He had planned this day for centuries, only to have it be taken away from him by bestial foxes? Impossible.
Rophilborn, emperor of the greatest empire in the world of Gilia, raised his hand and felt the power transfer from the stone to his palm. Blue tendrils of energy swirled into orbs at his fingertips. With a scream of rage, he hurtled them at the approaching Wrents.
A storm of magical energy burst from his hand. The entire side of his once magnificent ship exploded in a spray of gold and splinters. He would destroy anyone who stood in his way, be they man, elf, or beast.
Just at that moment, three elves came crashing into him. One of them was a male with a grim look on his face. Rophilborn knew that look well.
It was the face on an assassin.
The elf had a knife in his hand and was scrambling to deal a fatal blow. One of the other elves who had toppled into him was trying to restrain Rophilborn’s arms. The emperor knocked back the other elf with a wave of energy from his crown.
With his hands free once again, Rophilborn acted before the assassin on top of him had time to deliver the killing strike. Taking all of his rage and channeling it into his hands, he put his palms on the chest of the elf and unleashed his fury.
His attacker’s look went from one of fury to utter bewilderment. Rophilborn looked with pleasure at the hole in the dead elf’s chest.
The emperor knocked the body aside and got up onto his feet. He was greeted by the sight of two female elves staring at him. One with a look of fear. The other with a face full of determination. Both carried swords.
“Sent to kill me, were you?” he balked at them. “Rebellious little traitors! I am the light of our kind! I am the hope of a future you cannot possibly imagine! You ought to bow before me as a sign of penance before I execute you for betrayal to your empire!”
The one in front spat on the deck in front of him.
“I will never bow to a murderer and a thief,” she said as rain began to pour down around them. The sound of steam and sizzling water filled the air as the droplets hit the blazing ships around them. “I will put this blade in you, or die trying.”
&
nbsp; Rophilborn laughed. He actually laughed a deep, unstable cackle as he stared down the little female elf before him. This child wouldn’t live to see the next sunset.
He pointed his palm at the pair of them, ready to unleash another blast of magic and destroy his ship, along with any other who stood in his way. He was the light of the empire. More ships could be built in his name. More troops could be raised from the subjects he ruled. More power could be gained for him.
This was his empire. He was the light of his people.
Just as he was about to unleash a magical barrage upon the elf who had taken a step toward them, an ear splitting, chest vibrating roar rent the air around them. Rophilborn saw coming over the rail of his ship even more people who were not in his empire. Men, women, dwarves, and a cat-like monster.
And, in the sky above him, a small red dragon roared past his ship, sending flames crashing down into the fleet he had assembled. Beyond that, Rophilborn perceived an even larger, silver dragon flying over the cliffs to Lone Peak.
All this he saw in the span of a breath.
It was all the time the female elf had needed. Her sword pierced through his abdomen and through his spine. He felt bones splinter and crack with the force of the blow. All the power and energy he had built up in his hands released all at once.
Directly towards the two elven females who had ended his reign.
45: Hope Remembered
Ealrin saw the sword that pierced the emperor’s stomach. He saw the elf release a magical barrage in the direction of his attackers. Wood and gold splintered in every direction and he shielded his eyes from the blast. At his feet he felt, rather than saw, something land with a thud.
The body of a female elf. Her face grimaced and she moaned in pain. Ealrin bent low and surveyed her for injuries. Before he could check for much, her eyes popped open and she sat up with a jolt, knocking Ealrin aside.
“Eri!” she cried, looking left and right in hysterics. “Eri!”
Holve was standing over another female, the one who had been standing next to this one as she dealt the emperor of Enoth the killing blow.
She didn’t stir.
“Eri!” she yelled again and crawled over the to body of the other elf. She clutched at her and held her face, calling the name over and over again. It was hard to watch, but Ealrin had seen it before. Too often in fact. Known the pain himself of calling to someone who wouldn’t come back.
Nerashi’s cries echoed again and another ball of fire burst upon the fleet assailing Lone Peak. Beyond, Ealrin could hear the much deeper, bellowing call of Nerashi’s mother wreaking havoc on the army attacking from the plains.
“We can’t stay on this ship long!” Ealrin called. “The whole thing is falling apart!”
What with the last blast of the emperor, and the other holes made by cannons, and what appeared to be a wildfire, the ornate ship was indeed losing height as the moments ticked on. Guards of Enoth were rising to their feet, as were the Wrents who had been knocked off their feet by the blast. Some had already begun to attack one another again. Others had noticed the newcomers.
Two elven guards approached them, spears out and pointed right at their chests. Ealrin raised his sword, ready to fight.
Silverwolf swooped down on the pair of them before he could even get in a single blow.
“Now this is what I’m good at!” she yelled in triumph as they fell to the floor. “Who’s next?!”
In answer to her question, five Wrents came charging at them. Silverwolf grunted and stood next to Ealrin.
“Ugh, fine,” she conceded. “Take one of them at least.”
There was no need. Panto and Amrolan came crashing, literally emerging from broken and torn apart decking, to tear into the Wrents from the deck below them. Right at their heels, Teresa was slashing at every fur covered thing that moved.
Panto was covered in burns and scratches, the bear’s armor dented and missing in places. Amrolan and Teresa seemed to have fared no better. But they fought with such a ferocity that Ealrin took several steps back.
“Time to go!” Holve was calling over to them and beckoning them back off the ship. It looked like he had recruited two other elves not from the Enoth guards to carry the body of the fallen elf as well as guiding the other down the ship and onto the vessel Denise was steering.
Silverwolf huffed.
“What was the point of coming aboard this wreck again?” she complained, even as she ran for the railing and leapt over it gracefully.
Ealrin shook his head before making sure Blume was at his side. She had blasted two guards in the last several moments who had appeared to be coming toward them. Ealrin ended the life of two Wrents who sought to get between them and their friends. He saw his other companions doing similar deeds. Jurrin took down a Wrent with his trusty knife. Felicia and Urt were nearly flying around the deck, dispatching Enoth guard and Wrent alike. Gorplin was mixed in with Panto and Amrolan now. Teresa and Wisym stood back to back and were taking on no fewer than five Enoth guards at a time. Silverwolf joined them and soon the deck was cleared of most of the enemies who were left fighting.
Nerashi had landed on one of the last few remaining boats and was tearing at the occupants with feral pleasure. Fire blazed all around them as the suns began to set on the horizon.
The battle was gruesome aboard the ship of the emperor, but still Ealrin was heartened.
Enoth was coming to an end.
46: Poems and Funerals
Smoke rose over the plains of Lone Peak. Small fires still burned in the aftermath of the dragon’s rage. The army of Enoth never saw this destruction coming. The defenders of Lone Peak had never expected such aid.
Still, the destruction was widespread. The dry grasses had burned easily, consuming the legions of troops that had marched up against the city. Resting on the still smoldering piles of elven troops, the dragon’s breathing rumbled the surrounding area. Bits of stone fell from the wall where damage had been done to the ancient defenses of Lone Peak.
Soldiers from the city were busy. Any elven attackers who were still alive surrendered without a fight. They saw that their beautiful army was defeated and that there was no hope of either victory or escape. Many were being lined up and taken into the city through a giant hole in the wall where their magic had penetrated.
Others were busy shoveling remains into piles to be buried, while still more dug holes for a mass grave to bury the dead. The humans worked diligently, as those given hope without expecting any. Most had thought they would die defending their city. Now, they were busy cleaning up so that they could once again live in peace, though the prospect of a difficult winter lay before them.
Lincoln didn’t care for any of it at the moment.
All he could do was shovel another bit of dirt into the grave he had dug himself at the bottom of the wall. No one tried to stop him. Not even Captain Kilgore. Once he had seen what Lincoln was doing, he just nodded his head in his direction and then went off to go and direct other troops in the clean up.
He threw the last shovel of dirt onto the pile and then stood up to his full, considerable height. Using what was left of the sleeve of his uniform, he wiped his face. Sweat and tears ran together on his cheeks.
“I don’t suppose many people will realize how brave you were,” Lincoln said, looking down at the grave. He had set up a single sword as a marker. It was temporary, he knew. Perhaps he may even convince someone in Lone Peak to carve a stone he could affix to the wall.
“Bravery looks different sometimes,” he kept saying. “And I know you sometimes thought you needed to make a bigger deal out of the small things you did. But small acts of bravery are still worth talking about.”
A wailing cry broke out behind him. Lincoln turned around to see Pumpkin standing right behind him and weeping uncontrollably. She was looking at the pile of dirt and sobbing, without trying to wipe away a single tear.
Lincoln cleared his throat.
“I saw him jump in f
ront of that spear for you,” he said. “It was really brave.”
Pumpkin nodded through her tears. She was hugging herself, her hands covered in blood and smearing the shirt she was wearing with deep crimson stains.
Lincoln took a step back from his work and rummaged through his jacket.
“This wasn’t meant to be for you, Bernard,” he said as he pulled out a piece of paper. “But I guess it’ll have to do for now.”
He cleared his throat again, trying to get rid of the giant lump that had seemed to settle there. He held his paper out so he could read it. Pumpkin took a step up next to Lincoln, trying to control her sobs.
“In Darrion men are brave,
Sometimes we sail the waves.
We proudly share the splendor,
Of Bear, Leviathan, and Condor.
To bear our arms in defense,
Of her wonderful magnificence.
In Darrion, dear Darrion,
Where men are brave and loyal.
We raise our swords and hoist our shields,
And defend three houses, royal.”
He coughed and placed the paper back in his jacket.
“Not bad,” said a voice behind him.
Lincoln turned and saw Captain Kilgore standing there, arms crossed and head bowed. The gruff captain was looking down at the grave with a solemn expression. He unfolded his arms and turned to leave.
“Let’s get up to the House of Judges,” he said. “We’ll need to report on our progress.”
He looked over his shoulder as he kept walking towards the city gates.
“Bring your elf friend, too.”
Lincoln propped the shovel up against the wall and held out his hand for Pumpkin. She took his hand in hers. It felt so petite to him. He smiled down at her and she, through her tears, smiled back weakly. Together they walked away from the grave of Bernard, one of the bravest soldiers Lincoln had ever known. And a good friend.
