by Toni Cox
It was all the confirmation Aaron needed. Taking Rothea by the hand, he turned and ran from the hall. Without explanation to the Commanders outside, they ran from the Sparring Grounds towards the city.
They had travelled for several Moons, had endured Vampyre attacks, blizzards, hunger, and thirst, and now another battle. Yet, Aaron had never run as fast as he did now. They crossed the Gathering Grounds even Rothea struggled to keep pace with him.
The urgency was real. Silas was barely clinging on to life. The only chance of survival he had was to get Luke to him as swiftly as possible. Aaron knew where to find him. His mind raced as he thought about everything Luke might need to save Silas’ life. Luke would have that kind of equipment in his portable medicine bag.
“Rothea,” he huffed as he ran,” go to the other cave and find Jasmin. Take her to Silas’ cave so she can show you the instruments Luke may need to operate on Silas, as well as any kind of medication he might require. Bring it all to the Hall of the Guardians as soon as you can.”
Rothea simply nodded and veered off to the left, never diminishing her speed. Even at that moment, his heart swelled with the love he felt for her.
He encountered no Vampyres as he raced the rest of the way to the cave where he knew Luke to be. When he ducked through the entrance he announced himself, so the guards would not delay him.
At the door, he briefly explained the situation and they quickly admitted him into the dark interior. Packed with Elves as it was, it took him frustratingly long moments to locate Luke.
“Silas has been mortally wounded. He needs you now.”
“Aye, Father.”
Luke picked up his medicine bag and followed Aaron out of the cave. Once on the path, they ran, while Luke asked questions.
“What kind of injuries does he have?”
“He has been stabbed with a sword; twice in the stomach, once through the chest. There may be others, but we were unable to see. He was also beaten and he may have broken bones. He has several lacerations on his face, as well as on his arms.”
“Is he conscious? How bad is the bleeding? How deep are the wounds?”
“Luke, I don’t know. All I know is that the injuries are so bad that Silas is unconscious and in such a state that Jaik thinks him dead. I convinced Filithrin to check for a pulse and he confirmed that the old sage is still alive, so we must hurry, for I don’t think he can hold on much longer.”
“I may need more than my medicine bag to save his life,” Luke said, defeat in his voice.
“Rothea and Jasmin will meet us there with the equipment from Silas’ cave. You will have everything you need.”
Gravely, Luke nodded.
They stepped onto the path that led to the Sparring Grounds and pushed their bodies to more speed. Aaron was impressed that Luke could keep pace with him.
The warriors saw them coming as they neared the hall and, recognising Luke, stepped out of their way respectfully. To mutters of encouragement from the men around them, Aaron led Luke into the king’s chamber. Aaron would never forget the expression of horror on Luke’s face when he saw Silas lying on the carpet in front of the fireplace, with Jaik still in the same position as when Aaron left.
Holding onto his composure, Aaron stepped aside to let his son work; this was his area of expertise and he would just be in the way. Exchanging a nod with Filithrin, he watched as the tall Elf gently pulled Jaik away from his mentor so Luke could work.
Glark assisted Luke in rolling Silas over and removing his clothes. Aaron noticed Luke’s hands shake as he examined the extent of the injuries. To Aaron’s horror, they were much worse than anyone could have imagined.
Then, with some rattling and clanging, Rothea and Jasmin, assisted by two Sentinels, carried in the equipment from Silas’ cave. Wolf sneaked in with them and settled silently close to Silas. The few men still in the room made space for the women to lay the equipment out around Luke, while Jaik went to sit watchfully in his father’s chair.
Now, with Jasmin at his side, Luke’s hands steadied, and his mind focused. Quietly, he gave instructions to Rothea and Jasmin and, between them, the women soon had the men of the Guard boiling water, sterilising equipment, cutting bandages, grinding herbs, and all manner of tasks.
Noticing the prying eyes by the door, Aaron went to close it; feeling out of place, he stood next to the book shelves, out of the way, but with a clear view of what Luke was doing.
Aaron soon regretted his decision to stand so close. As silently as he could, he picked up a fallen chair and sat down. No matter how hard he tried, he could not pry his eyes from the grisly sight in front of him, despite how it sickened him.
Silas lay naked now; stripped completely of his clothes, even his boots. Luke’s priority had been to stabilise Silas so the old Elf would not die while he operated. As far as Aaron could tell, Luke had clamped off veins to still the bleeding, for Silas had already lost so much blood it had soaked the entire carpet. The smell of blood alone turned Aaron’s stomach.
While Jasmin set up equipment for a blood transfusion - one of the Guard had volunteered to donate his blood - Rothea knelt with Luke, handing him instruments as he called for them.
Silas had two stab wounds within his stomach. Aaron would have thought that the stab to the chest more serious, but Luke attended to the stomach wounds first.
After enlarging the incision in the stomach, Luke reached in and lifted out parts of the intestine. He placed them on Silas’ abdomen and bent over them; Aaron could not quite see anymore what he was doing.
The smell from the open stomach cavity was even worse than the blood. Even the battle-hardened Guard paled and reeled, turning away from the sight. Rothea’s face hardened, but she sat steady beside Luke.
Finally finished with preparing the Guard for transfusion, Jasmin came to assist them and Luke asked her to rinse out the stomach cavity. Again, Aaron watched in morbid fascination. He could not help gagging at the smell, or at the sight of the green-brown liquid that washed out from Silas’ body.
Once Jasmin confirmed it was clean, Luke carefully replaced Silas’ intestines, added some kind of medicine, before sewing closed the skin over his stomach. Straining his eyes, Aaron thought he saw what looked like a thin funnel stick out of the line of stitches and wondered what it could be for.
He thought it was going well and Silas might be all right after all, when Luke, Rothea, and Jasmin suddenly sprang into frenzied action. Jaik stood up behind his desk; Filithrin restraining him with a hand. The Guard on the chair, connected to the pipes for the blood transfusion, leaned forward with worry, and the rest of the men all stared in horror. Wolf lifted his head and howled plaintively.
“What is happening?” Jaik asked, but no one answered him.
Gripping the armrest of the chair until his knuckles turned white, Aaron tried to calm his breathing as he watched Luke’s attempts at resuscitating the deathly pale and bloody Silas. Strangely, his eyes had opened, a vacant look in them, and his body twitched grotesquely with Luke’s efforts.
Aaron gagged. He rose from his chair and walked around it, staring at the bookshelf. He could hear the sounds behind him as Wolf’s howls softened and he thought that worse without watching the actions. He turned around again.
Something had changed. Luke gave a brisk instruction and Jasmin hooked the transfusion line up to Silas’ arm. Then she went over to the fireplace and removed a bowl from over the fire. Gingerly, she carried it to Luke, who took a syringe and siphoned a measure of the liquid from the bowl.
Jasmin placed the bowl to the side, took the syringe and held it. To let the liquid cool, Aaron assumed. Luke now worked even quicker than before. Aaron had never seen him like this before. Completely focused, methodical, and in charge. Wolf now also watched silently in fascination.
Aaron did not understand half of what Luke did to Silas, only that he was saving his life. He did not know how Silas had survived the stab to the chest, or how Luke was fixing it. Aaron was only glad
that Luke knew how.
Once Luke was finished with the major wounds, he attended to the other injuries and Aaron was horrified at what the Vampyres did to him. Aaron had learned much over the past few Moons. Becoming a warrior had taught him where and how to hit someone to inflict the most damage with the least effort. It was apparent the Vampyres were aware of this tactic.
By the time Luke had seen to Silas’ broken bones, slit skin, and torn muscles, the Guard donating blood appeared dangerously pale. Jasmin removed the pipe from his vein and handed him a cup of tea. Moving another chair close to the fireplace, she signalled another Guard to take his place. While she set him up, Rothea and Luke prepared a clean place for Silas to lie.
Washed, medicated, and receiving blood from the next Guard, Silas lay on a bear skin close to the fire, his legs and crotch covered by a light tablecloth Jasmin managed to find in the mess hall of the Hall of the Guardians.
“Thank you, Aaron,” Jaik said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I am in your debt.”
“You owe me nothing, My Lord.”
“We shall discuss it another time. For now, take your family to get cleaned up and let them rest. We will talk in the morning.”
“Aye, My Lord.”
Jasmin and Rothea stood on either side of Luke, holding him up. Swallowing the hard lump of pride and pity, Aaron went over to them to walk them out.
“I will go home to clean up and get some other herbs, but then I want to come back here to spend the night with Silas,” Luke said.
“I will stay with Luke, Father; you go rest. Rothea has told me about your travels,” Jasmin assured him.
Together, they walked to their tree house; Wolf refused to leave Silas’ side. The moons already stood high in the sky, shining their light on a city no longer in the hands of the Vampyres, and Aaron, although tired and horrified at what he had seen, felt that, finally, he truly belonged.
The dragons clacked restlessly as they left them behind upon the sheltered rocks of the snow-covered mountain surrounding Nevendal in the country of Bron, and Jagaer and his men made their way towards the city, led by an envoy sent by Lord Darkrider to welcome them.
They had travelled the distance between Yleen Sala and Nevendal without incident and reached the capital of Bron within the two days that Commander Hollowdale had estimated it would take. Yet, Jagaer felt uneasy, and he entered Lord Darkrider’s hall with his guard up.
Plains Dragons were not known for their speed, but their endurance was legendary. It was one of the reasons why they had managed to bring forward their schedule to now arrive in Bron a Moon earlier than anticipated. Given the length of their journey, the many battles, and the recent weather conditions, however, even the tough Plains Dragons showed signed of fatigue, and Jagaer worried that should matters go wrong, they would not have the energy to get away quickly. He quietly shared his concerns with Archer.
“Bron has always been an ally,” the Guard commented, “and one of the few countries that sent supplies and weapons during the last war. What makes you suspicious of them now, My Lord?”
Jagaer silently shook his head as they stepped through the ornate double doors of the Elder Hall where Lord Darkrider awaited them. Maybe he was being foolish. His tiredness was playing tricks with his mind. He looked up towards Lord Darkrider, who waited by the speaker’s platform.
Seras Darkrider looked just as he had the last time he had seen him, which was now almost fifteen years ago. A white leather string with pearls attached to their ends held his thick, black hair; draped neatly over his left shoulder. As always, he wore a plain, black robe, fastened around the waist with a white, leather belt, inlaid with black diamonds. A long sword hung at his hip.
Jagaer had never much cared for Seras’ dress sense, but he knew the man to be of solid character, with ethics and morals much like his own. Out of all the Lords he had met during this trip, Seras had been the most loyal over the past millennium. Jagaer’s sudden distrust of the man was completely irrational.
“My King, it has been too long,” Lord Darkrider greeted him.
“Indeed, my friend. You look well.”
“And you look tired. So do your men. You are brave to be travelling in this weather. Those beasts you ride on must be extraordinary, indeed.”
“That they are.”
“We had planned a feast in your honour for your arrival next Moon, but when word came to me of your early arrival, I instructed the Servers to light the fires in the Elder Hall and prepare a hot meal for you and your men. It will be served shortly. Come, there is tea and mulled wine. Let us sit by the fires so the snow can melt off your clothing.”
Jagaer’s tension eased somewhat as Seras lead him, as well as Archer and Boron, to the main fire, while the rest of the men spread out around the Elder Hall to settle near other fires. Servers wound their way between the men, serving hot drinks and light snacks, and the hall filled with a comfortable hubbub of soft conversation.
They were silent, at first, as they shrugged out of their heavy overcoats and then settled within the armchairs around the fires, drinking their beverages. The snow melted off their boots and the pools of water at their feet reflected the flickering firelight.
Finally, it was Seras who spoke first, “I assume from the lack of forewarning of your arrival that you have had a need for secrecy during your travels. Did not everything go as planned?”
Gravely, Jagaer looked up over his mug. “We have been attacked several times during our journey and it has become necessary to take extreme precaution. When we arrived here, the Commander of your Regiment wanted us to land close to your orchards, but the terrain looked too vulnerable. He was kind enough to show a more suitable roost for our dragons.”
“Attacks? By Elves or Vampyres?”
“Vampyres. But it would not surprise me if there were still traitors in our midst helping them.”
Seras nodded. “When you sent word about the traitors, I could hardly believe it. We did a purge of our own and found a faction that called themselves The New Age. They babbled on about advancements, and technology, and such things. We have dealt with them.”
“It is more widespread than we could ever have imagined. We have always lived according to the old ways and they have never failed us. Our planet and our people are thriving.”
“Jagaer, some people are never satisfied with what they have, even if you spend your entire life working to provide them with everything they need. Besides, these traitors present a minority of our people and are despised by the rest. They will, in the end, get what they deserve.”
“And, in the meantime, they may cause irreparable damage,” Jagaer retorted.
“Your journey must have been hard, Jagaer, for I have never seen you with so little hope. Have the other Lords not pledged their allegiance to you?”
“Aye, they have,” Jagaer said with a sigh, “but some of the Lords are as fickle as children and some more stubborn than a Dwarf.”
The last of his unease left him as he spoke to Seras and the fire and drink warmed him. It felt good to speak to a friend and discuss the difficulties of politics. Maybe, speaking to Seras about the discussions with the other Lords would bring him new perspective.
Seras laughed. “I have not spoken to most of them in some time, but I believe you. I remember Abernath Ringwand of Erganor to be exceptionally obnoxious.”
“Some of the Lords took more convincing to send their armies than others, but Ringwand proved to be the most stubborn of the lot,” Jagaer chuckled.
At the time, the meeting with Lord Abernath Ringwand had been anything but funny. They had been halfway on their journey, already the target of attacks, and by then Jagaer was already tired of dealing with Lords who thought themselves more entitled than they were. Dealing with the obnoxious, egotistical and capricious man took all of Jagaer’s skill and patience, and sucked the life right out of him.
Seras looked at Jagaer with narrowed eyes and set his mug down on the table beside them. “I s
ense there lays much hardship underneath your mirth. I want to assure you that Bron and all her armies are at your disposal. We do not have dragons, but I promise to dispatch my men as soon as the blizzards in the mountains have ceased and it is possible to travel.”
“Thank you, old friend. And, you are right. Most of the Lords did not understand the severity of the situation and it sometimes took talks until late into the night to explain it to them. Sometimes, even then, they struggled to believe that one of the eleven races would attack another.”
“As do I, Jagaer,” Seras admitted. “The peace agreement between the Life Planets has been in effect for over five hundred thousand years. It is beyond law. Forged when the civilisations were still young.”
“Our race as a whole has forgotten about the peace agreement and how it used to be. This is a completely new type of Vampyre we are dealing with, Seras. They have evolved into bloodthirsty, tyrannical and genocidal monsters. We have tried to negotiate with them on many occasions, but no matter what we offer, it is not enough for them. They want the planet; nothing less.”
“They have come through here on numerous occasions and we have had several run-ins with them of our own,” Seras said.
Archer and Boron now leaned forward, suddenly more interested in the conversation.
“Our main concern has been to keep them clear of the Trade Routes, as they have been attacking the caravans. At first, we sent warriors along with the caravans to protect them, but, eventually, we managed to stop the attacks before they happened and almost all of the shipments made it through to Grildor and other countries.”
“That is good news,” Archer said.
“I am afraid that is where the good news ends,” Seras replied, refilling his mug with mulled wine and taking a long sip. “Several Quarters ago, all the docks along the Aldaê Fae River were overrun and burned to the ground. Everyone was killed and the warehouses looted. We lost six of our best barges.”
“I am sorry to hear to that,” Jagaer said.
“From the main dock within Bron, the Vampyres spread out and attacked the surrounding trading towns. Over four hundred lives were lost before our soldiers eventually stopped the killing spree. The only small mercy we were given was that your daughter and her dragon came this way at the time and that black beast of hers incinerated every single Vampyre on the secondary dock of the river.”
