“You’re too late,” Thromiel said as he turned to look at him.
Dearic noted that there wasn’t a drop of blood on him, and yet he somehow seemed more ragged and worn than all of the dead that surrounded him.
“Why, Thromiel?” Dearic asked.
“Because I wanted to survive and I knew that Gregor would kill us all eventually anyway,” he said, offering a wave of a hand. “I waited, sent you away, and then boded my time a little longer. And now he has what he needs and I get to live. They were all going to die anyway. It was inevitable. But I will survive because you will take me with you when you leave this place.”
Knuckles turned white as Dearic’s hand gripped the hilt of his blade. He longed to draw it and run Thromiel threw, but it would be a wasted effort. The elf would expect it.
“No,” Dearic said. “All you’ve done here is destroyed your species. If you think I’m going to take you with me then you are truly insane.”
A single thought entered his mind, and his Magic warped through the stone before lancing out at Thromiel. Invisible waves of energy clashed, causing a bright spark as the protective barrier that Thromiel employed kept him safe for the moment. Hastily, Dearic enacted a similar protection for himself. He had every intention of fighting this elf. This wasn’t Gregor. He was certain he could beat Thromiel in combat.
“You learn quickly, it seems. I take it you found your mother?” Thromiel asked.
Dearic opened his mouth to respond, but as soon as he did he saw the elf moving his lips. It was just a ploy to get him to talk. Glad I noticed he was doing that or I’d have walked right into his trap. And a trap it was as the wind whipped a cone of flame up from one of the burning buildings, the flame forming into a humanoid beast that came at him and began to slam itself into the shield that he’d raised around him. Having no experience with such things, he was surprised to see tiny cracks begin forming in the shield.
He shifted and looked around briefly. Melted snow. A beast made of fire. Thromiel weaving another spell. He smiled and shifted a hand towards the water. The water lifted into a great beast of its own and lashed out at the fire creature, drowning its heat into nothing. But he couldn’t stay still.
Thromiel sent a ball of fire flying at him, followed by another. It was clear that the elf was going to try and break down his shield with one hit after another. Since it was fire, he created a wall of water in front of him. The flames slammed into it and were consumed. Dearic knew that he had to take advantage of the brief visual reprieve. He had to break down Thromiel’s shield as well.
Throwing his hand forward, he sent a shower of ice spikes flying. They slammed into the opposing shield. Cracks formed. Dearic let the wall of water fall, and sent it careening towards his opponent as a wave. It slammed into Thromiel’s shield even as debris whipped up from the destroyed buildings and slammed into his own shield, thrown by his opponent. It was too much of an even match. At this rate they would both destroy their shields at the same time and end up killing each other.
Debris whipped around him and slammed into his shield continuously. He took a deep breath and focused. The spreading, growing, cracks in his shield became something that he ignored. He cleared his mind, focused only on what he wanted. Focus was the key.
The trees that supported the village swayed a little. A sound of cracking wood permeated the air. The platform beneath them splintered outward, showering Thromiel in debris as branches twisted up from beneath and slammed into his shield. Dearic envisioned them twisting and turning and piercing through gaps in the defensive barrier, the places that had already become weakened by previous attacks. In this way, his Magic was stronger than that of Thromiel’s. The elf could cast great spells, but he could not control them in the same fashion that Dearic could.
The overwhelming result of success quickly wrote surprise across the elf’s face. He tried to strengthen his shield as best he could, but it wasn’t enough. The branches were too pervasive, had broken through in too many places, and quickly left the elf engrossed in wooden vines that wrapped about him. His response was to set them ablaze, but even that was not enough.
“What are you going to do now?” Dearic asked as he walked forward. “Struggle. See what good it does you. Just as giving Gregor what he wanted has done so well for you. You slaughtered your own people! What kind of being would do such a thing? You had to know it would lead to no good for you. If you knew of my destiny, knew of my future, what in that future would show me helping you after you had done this?”
Flames licked up and down the branches enveloping the elf, but still he struggled.
“I told you-” he said patting at flame that encroached upon him. “Your destiny is known, but details are not! Free me and take me with you or my species will die!”
“Your species is already dead, Thromiel. You slaughtered them and fed the rest to the orcs. Their history was proud. A people of peace and Magic. You, one of their own, marred their future, destroyed it. You are no longer one of your people, and you will die as so many of them have.”
As he willed it, the trees lifted the elf from the deck of the raised platform. The elf struggled and kicked, though defiance remained the prominent emotion upon his face. Through the breach in the platform he was lowered. Screams erupted when he saw the fate that awaited him. It was brutal, even for Dearic’s standards, but given the slaughter of the elves above, he could not allow Thromiel the dignity of a good death. That and he felt such anger and hatred for the man that he would not allow him a peaceful death. He deserved to be ripped apart by the orcs below.
Despite his desire for vengeance, the end result did not make him feel better. With Thromiel’s demise, he was free from battle until the orcs climbed higher, if they ever did, but he felt no need to hurry as yet. He set about clearing the flames from the trees, and redirected it to the ground below in hopes it would drive the abominable creatures away from the area, giving him a moment’s respite. That done, he sat down, put his head in his hands, and cried.
The tears were not for what he’d done, but for those that had been lost by the callous actions of a being that they had looked to for guidance. Thromiel had been their leader and he had betrayed them. He couldn’t imagine the horror they had felt when this realization was thrust upon them. Worst of all, Gregor now had everything he needed to end the world around them. It was only a matter of time, and in that time he had to gather as many living beings as he possibly could and get them out of Amarand altogether, a task that seemed immeasurably difficult.
He sucked in a big breath of air and blew it out in a huff. The tears stopped falling. Hands balled into fists as he stood. It would do him, and everyone else, no good for him to sit around and cry tears for the fallen. Not only that, but they wouldn’t want him to, he was certain. The elves had lived long lives prior to his even meeting them. Their time was over, just as the time of the realm itself was drawing to a close. It was time he acted rather than cowered.
With Thromiel dead, there was nothing to hold the magic in place that hid the forest home from sight. As he started walking the platforms, making his way to the southern side of the village, he became aware that orcs were now among the debris. Most were picking through the rubble, dragging dead bodies away to become a meal. That angered him enough that he wanted to act, to strike out at them, but doing so would be an expensive waste of effort and he was already tired from fighting Thromiel. It was more important that he put distance between himself and them than it was that he kill them or preserve the sanctity of the dead. I am sorry, my friends. I wish I had been here sooner. Perhaps then some of you would have lived.
He started running across the platforms and bridges. A few of the orcs had taken notice of him and were giving chase, but they were even worse off in the trees than he was. Many stumbled and fell, some falling all the way back to the forest floor. Others managed to stay on the platforms, but weren’t quick to follow him again. He eluded them and disappeared into the trees at the end of the pla
tform, descending through the hollowed out center of a Great Oak to the forest floor.
Gently, he pushed open a concealed door at the base of the tree and looked about. All seemed clear so he quickly vacated the tree and started making his way through the forest towards the south and east, using the shadows cast by nearby trees as his guide whenever enough light pierced the canopy to allow him to see them.
The noise of the orc forces and the burning forest began to fade behind him. Soon the only thing he could hear was each step he took, and the occasional sound of a bird as it alighted on a branch near him. Life was abundant in the forest. Not as abundant as it could be, however, and not as it ever would be again. He pulled off his pack and set it on the ground in front of him as he stopped near a slender ash tree. From within the pack he pulled a few bits of dried meat and ate it quietly before continuing onward. If he wasn’t so tired he’d have used his Magic to travel. It would have been faster, though he doubted the dwarves would have appreciated it.
He walked for hours, until he could no longer see because of the dwindling light and the canopy overhead. It would do no good to make a fire in the forest. Sure, he could probably use his Magic to hide it, but then he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He’d be warm, but tired. Instead, he curled up beneath the boughs of an old evergreen, pulling his clothes firmly around himself and rubbing his arms.
Sleeping the night away in the forest wasn’t ideal, but he had no choice. He was too tired to go all night. At least in the morning he would be able to see, and he’d be rested. If he survived the night.
Chapter Nineteen
When he woke the next morning, he was shivering almost uncontrollably. Snapping some branches off of the tree, he made a small fire to warm himself up by. It wouldn’t be so obvious in the daylight, and helped him to ease the chill in his bones, which eventually helped him to feel better. Melted snow made a good drink of warm water which helped to warm him up inside as well.
The prospect of further travel wasn’t greatly appealing. He decided he would use his Magic and travel to Pabila. There he could start gathering those that would be the survivors of the horror that was to come. Assuming the dwarves would listen to him, of course. With them it was hard to say since he was an outsider. Dwemorin seemed to have an inkling what was going to happen, however. Dearic was certain the Hallmaster would at least hear him out before making a decision. That was all he could ask for.
As he rose to kick out the fire, he heard the sound of feet approaching. In haste, he kicked snow and debris over the flames and ducked back into the cover of the boughs. They scraped against his face in a very uncomfortable way, with an intense itch ensuing, but he kept quiet. The footsteps drew closer. They weren’t many, only a couple sets of heavy feet.
“Why do we gotta drag ‘em wit us?” a voice said. Female, from what he could tell. And a dwarf?
“They’re children, Fanan. Elves, but children. You saw what was happening back there yourself. I despise elves, but I’m not leaving them to the orcs.”
He knew those voices. But why were they in the Laradain? Shakrin had been at the Hall working with his Uncle, and Fanan had been off somewhere or other on some errand for her father. What would have brought them to the home of the elves? Surely Dwemorin didn’t send them searching for me. I haven’t been gone that long. Either way, he couldn’t let them leave without saying anything, so he stepped out of the trees in their path.
Sure enough, there were two brown haired dwarves now staring at him with weapons drawn. The male had his beard customarily tied back behind his head and the female seemed as wild as ever with bits of twig and other things in her hair and mud on her cheeks. Though she quickly grinned when she saw him. Behind them were two young elves. Very young. They weren’t even as tall as the dwarves yet. Twins, too, if he had to guess.
“What are you two doing here?” he asked. “And where did you find those two?”
“Dearic!” Fanan said as she rushed over and tackled him. When the world stopped spinning he was flat on his back with a dwarf woman straddling him. “We though’ ya were dead when we didn’ nay fin’ ya. Course ‘ese two said ya had left a while back.”
“I did,” he said, gently shoving at her. “I went and found my mother. Could you get off, Fanan?”
Fanan complied, though she looked hurt at being asked to get off of him in such a manner. He sat up and dusted himself off, waiting for someone to answer his questions as he looked between the two dwarves.
“The Hall fell,” Shakrin said eventually.
“What?” Dearic asked, his hands stopping their movements. “Pabila fell? To who? How?”
Fanan turned away from him. Her shoulders had fallen, hands hanging loosely at her sides. She’d gripped her daggers tightly in her hands to the point her knuckles were turning white. He suddenly felt bad for asking.
“Those machine beasts we saw in the valley came back. Somehow they discovered where we were,” Shakrin said, anger riddling his voice. “They broke in and began to kill us with those beams of light. Uncle- the Hallmaster stayed behind. He threw me to safety against my will, and I had to drag Fanan away as he died.”
Dwemorin was dead. Fanan and Shakrin had managed to escape but the elder dwarf was dead? This was worse than he’d thought. They were quite possibly down to these two elves and these two dwarves as the last of their individual species, unless some of the other dwarves had managed to escape. Realizing that he was standing there gaping at Shakrin, he turned his head skyward and sighed. If only he could tell his mother how he’d already failed in his task. What would she say to this? Probably that there were still others out there that needed him. She’d be right, too.
He glanced again at the two elves, who seemed quite out of it, and then walked over to Fanan. She was staring off into the forest. When he settled his hand upon her shoulder, she looked up at him, but she didn’t speak. There weren’t any tears, just an intense anger.
“I’m sorry about your father, Fanan,” he said. “I know that doesn’t help, but I am.”
She nodded and looked back at the forest. “Are ya goin’ to kill ‘em?”
“Kill the machine beings? I don’t know if I can kill them all. Whatever they use to make those beams of light is very powerful.”
“I wan’ ya to kill ‘em. I wan’ to help. He were my father, Dearic. Death be what ‘ey deserve.”
Of course it was what they deserved. In what he’d seen, the ones not armored had shown no signs of emotional investment. The fact that they’d discovered Pabila and subsequently slaughtered its inhabitants for no reason meant that they were no different from the Blood Knights, albeit more powerful and having corporeal form, which meant they could probably be killed, unlike the Blood Knights.
“I understand that. I’ll likely have to face them anyway.”
“We will face them,” Shakrin said. He had his arms crossed over his chest and chin raised as if begging Dearic to challenge his assertion. “They killed our kind. As some of the last of us, we must avenge them.”
So it was going to be like that. Probably shouldn’t be surprised considering their Hall fell and their father and uncle died. This war isn’t mine to fight alone, regardless. I might be the only one with the ability to save everyone, but I’m still going to need people to help me. He nodded and didn’t say anything further about the fight. Instead, he turned his attention to the two elves.
“Where did you find them?” he asked.
“Hiding inside some dumb tree,” Shakrin said as he leaned his axe against his leg, the head of the weapon resting on the ground. “Knocked an orc clean through the door. Found them cowering inside.”
“What are your names?” Dearic asked as he walked over and knelt down in front of them.
The two looked at each other and then back to him. They seemed forlorn to introduce themselves, perhaps out of fear, or simply because they didn’t know what to do anymore. They had, after all, just watched their entire lives fall apart around them. He reache
d out with his hands and gently laid one on the boy’s shoulder and one on the girls. His expression was somber as he spoke next.
“It’s alright. You’re among friends here. I know you’ve lost much and you’re probably hurting gravely inside. I need you to know that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. In return I’d like to know your names so that if I need to give you directions in a hurry I can do so. For your own safety.”
The boy looked down, and spoke while staring at the ground. “My name is Audurel. My sister is Aiethelen.”
“Audurel and Aiethelen. I know you’re both young, but if I had to guess you’d still be close to your twenties by now, right?”
“Yes,” Audurel said. “We’ve both seen twenty-three years pass.”
This wasn’t surprising to Dearic. Elves were a long-lived species. Though these two looked like human children as far as physique and stature went, they weren’t much younger than he was. They probably were quite knowledgeable about the world, and would normally be poised and confidant in their knowledge, but they’d witnessed too much.
“Alright, then I think I can trust you to handle yourselves when the time comes,” Dearic said, looking Audurel in the eyes and nodding. Aiethelen seemed more taken with what was going on than her brother, so he turned his attention to her. “Aiethelen I know it hurts to suffer loss as you both are now, but I need you to understand that nothing you could have done would have prevented this. You’re both going to feel guilt, you might already, at being the last survivors of the Laradain, but don’t. I need you to exemplify who your people were and stay focused on living, so I can focus on keeping you and everyone else alive. Alright?”
She nodded, but didn’t speak. That was good enough for now. If he pressed too hard she might crack. When he rose, he looked between the entire group and took stock of their situation. The Hall had fallen. Going there was not worth the trip any longer. They’d either find it full of the attackers, or empty and full of dead bodies. At this point they could possibly find it full of goblins. The question on his mind was where the machine people might have gone to. And was it possible that some dwarves made it to Xilu and were hiding there? With the Nalgvane there it seemed unlikely, but it was possible.
In The Depths Of Winter Page 19
