by JW Baccaro
Remaining still for a moment, gazing down at the floor, pondering; Darshun turned and walked out of the lair. He gazed at the stars of heaven, holding his necklace in his hands, letting out a deep sigh while the wind blew, swayed his cloak to and fro.
The others followed after him.
“There is much wisdom in Olchemy's words,” Mirabel offered, stopping by his side. “Perhaps it is the only way.”
“Kelarin promised them, you know, the slaves? She promised them deliverance by my hand. And they died by Asgoth's, never knowing freedom again."
"They walk in freedom now, my son."
"Do they?" he asked, looking his father in the eye.
Mirabel said nothing seeming to understand his pain.
For it is always easier to say such a thing. For even if it is true, the fact alone does not take away the sorrow of tragedy and sin of murder. "Kelarin, Lord Athanasius, King Loreus, Captain Mythaen—the animals of the east, even the trees! They are all going to die father,” Darshun said, looking off toward the eastern dragon.
“There is always hope.”
“I know, that’s something I have learned this far.” He faced Olchemy, casting the sternest look any had ever seen him give. “Forgive me, but I will not do as you suggest, nor abide in what you see as Truth, Caelestias. I am the Guardian of earth and I will do just that, protect our brothers and sisters and all the creatures of the plains and woodlands. I will not let the Dark King and Queen to destroy everything I love again. Their hate for righteousness has gone unchallenged long enough. Please Olchemy, trust me. We will win this battle, just so long as I am with you. And only after our victory will I enter Syngothra to finish this war, I promise.”
Olchemy studied the fire within his eyes, a fire of promise, hope and victory. Clearly, Darshun matured since he last saw him at Zithel. “Very well Darshun. We must leave here at once and gather the armies before it is too late.”
“Yes, of course,” he said clenching both fists, causing a glow of red to circle his presence. “Let us do just that.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ASGOTH APPROACHES
Uriel brought the Nasharins to Loreladia to call for King Loreus’ aid and Caelestias returned to Ashhaven to gather every soldier possible. They decided to meet at the field alongside Arundel Mountain in ten to twelve days. Judging by how fast the Dark army might be moving, that is where and when they’d be approaching, and where the battle should take place also.
When the Loreladians saw Uriel descending a feeling of utter terror filled the air and they quickly moved to battle stations. Darshun expected this, so he, Mirabel and Nayland shouted, “Fellow Loreladians, have no fear, it is us! The Dragon is friend.”
Once realizing it wasn’t a trick, their fear eased and a sense of awe increased.
Especially for Captain Mythaen, remembering his uncle Alaric telling tales of dragons.
The Nasharins climbed off and greeted everyone with joy, but hurried to speak with King Loreus.
He seemed almost too eager to help once told. "May this time around I serve a better hand," Loreus spoke. "Let it not be as Zithel, I won't exit the battlefield but by death or victory."
“While you have no reason to feel guilt over Zithel, this time it shall be victory,” Mirabel replied. “I promise you old friend, it shall be victory. The Guardian assures it.”
The soldiers of Loreladia prepared themselves, gathering together food, water, clothing, weapons and armor. With all the rushing around, it seemed the city prepared for a festival, but a festival is was not. Men said goodbye to their families, kneeling down to give their children tight hugs, kissing their wives as if it would be the last they would ever see them.
Before the journey began, Darshun felt he must face something from the past. He made his way to Captain Mythaen’s house. After knocking twice Mythaen opened, geared up in a coat of chain mail.
At first, he didn’t say anything, it almost seemed like his eyes flashed a tad, making Darshun wonder if he knew about Alaric’s death. “Dar, please come in.”
“Many thanks,” Darshun said, throwing the door shut and slipping past him, then seated himself on a cedar wood chair.
“Three weeks ago, I brewed a batch of Golden Brown Ale; should be ready. While you are here, care for a drink?”
“Um—ah, why not.”
Mythaen left the room and came back shortly with two fresh brewed mugs of foamy ale.
Darshun took a swig…the strong amount of alcohol mixed with soothing honey and other strange spices hit the spot, took the edge off. Ale, always one of Mythaen's favorite drinks, as it was his uncle Alaric. Darshun remembered hanging around a fire at the courtyard of the castle when twelve years old, having just completed his five year training with his father, and asking for a drink of ale. Of course Alaric would not allow it, giving Elwin and he minty herbal iced teas instead. Mythaen, on the other hand, hadn’t a care in the world whether they had some. Ha, that night was a good time, lots of story telling, mostly by Alaric. The only downfall was the dispute with the arrogant Damacoles.
“We have not talked in a while.” Mythaen studied his presence, noticing his changes—physical and perhaps even spiritual. All of it shone in Darshun’s eyes, when looking into them he seemed so much—older, like a master warrior who has encountered infinite battles. “I heard you came back not too long ago and fellowshipped with the King.”
“Indeed. He said you were training new recruits, taken your— uncle’s former position…”
Looking straight at him, Mythaen’s expression seemed unreadable. “Yes, like so many others, Uncle Alaric died at Zithel.”
For a moment Darshun glanced away, unable to make contact, nearly shedding a tear.
“Your uncle died as well.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Many thought you were dead, even the King. Only one was sure of your existence, Mirabel.”
“Father has never given up on me.”
“He is a good father.”
“Father? Yes. Interesting enough, while captive at Castle Volborg I found out who my blood parents were. An Elf by the name of Kelarin informed me. Though it does not matter, they are long dead. I’d always hoped that one day I would fellowship with them, now I know that will never happen, at least not in this life.”
Mythaen seemed hesitant in speaking, acting as if he preferred not to talk about the subject. “I have heard the tale from King Loreus already, you may not repeat yourself.”
Darshun shrugged and wasn’t sure if Mythaen was either upset or feeling just plain monotonous.
Whatever the case, he definitely wasn’t acting like himself—maybe because he lost both his brother and uncle.
Darshun took another swig of ale, enjoying the smooth rich taste. “Wow this is delicious, strong.”
“It is a recipe from Uncle Alaric. One of the last two things I have of his, the other this sword.”
Darshun could not hold it in any longer. “There is something I need to tell you, it weighs heavy on my heart, refuses to lift.”
Mythaen got up in an abrupt fashion, chugged down the rest of the brew and finished putting on the rest of his armor, then sheathed the sword.
“You know we probably won’t be doing battle until a week. Do you really feel the need to put all that on?” Darshun asked.
“I like to feel prepared. Ready for anything. Now, what did you want to tell me?”
Sighing, he began, “When Asgoth invaded Zithel I—did something terrible. Something you probably won’t forgive—”
“I know Dar, I saw.”
Darshun’s breath nearly stopped. “You—saw?”
“During the battle, when my uncle fled, I followed, wondering what was taking place. And—I saw.”
“You witnessed me sta—stab him—?”
Mythaen threw his hand up. “There is no reason to repeat the words. Just—I saw. I knew why you came here today. To tell me.”
Darshun got on his knees, feeling utter shame.
"I understand if you won’t forgive me. I would understand if you never wanted to speak to me again also. Oh Mythaen, I have made so many mistakes, so many!"
“But you have become stronger than ever.” Mythaen placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know you did not mean taking my uncle’s life. It happened not by will, but by accident. You’d not been well. You were confused, deceived and thought him to be the enemy. The look on your face made that evident.”
“Yeah, but—still—”
“Please, no more, no more my friend. It is all right. I do forgive you, as I am sure he does in the other realm. Dar, may this next battle we fight together in provide justice for not just Elwin, Alaric, or Seth Caelen, but all who cherish and respect life. And if we die, then we die together, as a family in unity.”
“United we are, and united we shall be victorious.” Darshun finally smiled.
“With all my heart I do hope so. Now, how ‘bout a second ale?”
* * *
While the numbers for the army of Light were growing due to Loreladia and Ashhaven, Olchemy hoped upon the Elves of Eldeno. Of course he knew they would not have much if any luck, because of Lord Satyrus the Corrupter. But being how outnumbered they were against the approaching army of Asgoth, it sure made the attempt worth a try.
Upon entering the city, many Elves stood amazed at the site of Olchemy—a real living-breathing Wizard entering their home, just like in ancient times. Yes, there was no doubt they knew his nature, the sacred-style white cloak, the expression on his face, the long beard, and especially the staff. They wanted to follow the old customs of offering him and his companions: Caelestias, Kaylis, Minevara and Favonius the best of food, drink and hospitality, but when Lord Satyrus quickly showed up that all changed. They backed away, suddenly wanting nothing more to do with these ‘trespassers.’
Satyrus came forth, hooded and cloaked in gray, having his eyes bent of Olchemy.
“I do not think we should have come here,” Minevara whispered.
“So now, the Elves of Ashhaven not only commune with the accursed,” Satyrus accused, “but with Wizards and Centaurs—two races who abandoned the Light long ago.”
“We have come to ask for help,” Caelestias defended.
“What makes you think I would help you?”
“I was not speaking to you. I am speaking to the Elves!” he shouted. “Brothers and sisters, the armies of Asgoth have been unleashed, set on destroying everything we hold sacred—the entire east! They want you and I, every living thing dead, extinct. They have already killed many. In hopes of stopping this, Ashhaven has united with Loreladia, a city of honorable men. But we need more to win this battle. Please forget our past, our differences and fight alongside us, so we may stand a chance.”
“Lies!” Satyrus accused. “Utter lies! My children, do not listen to them, they know nothing of what they speak. Why should we accept those who communicate with heathens and the accursed?”
“The only thing accursed here is you!” Minevara retorted. “We want to save the east, to end the hatred and separation. Long ago before your corruption, we Elves stood united.”
“Sad it is for you to say ‘we Elves.’ You are not pure blooded but Nasharin. There is no forgiveness for what your kind has done to the world. Nasharins CANNOT be trusted. We Elves of Eldeno are the last pure untainted race and I intend to keep it that way.”
“You won’t be keeping anything in another month when Asgoth storms through.”
“Then tell me, accursed woman, why has not Asgoth attacked before? The country has existed for over a thousand years, never once have we been at war. And it lies miles away. Miles! Why all a sudden would they decide to destroy us, let alone the whole east? Surely, you speak radical madness.”
“Do not listen to this imposter any longer,” Caelestias interrupted, shifting eyes back to the Elves. “Satyrus uses you for his own benefits. Brothers and sisters, you are part of our blood, our heritage of so many ages ago. Please, in all that stands for Truth, help us. In the name of Abidan help yourselves!”
They looked around at one another, debating what to do; then gazed at Satyrus and almost immediately put their heads down.
“Do you see?” Satyrus scoffed, “No one believes your story. But I will tell you what son of Athanasius, kill that accursed woman who calls herself elvish and brings disgrace to all of Ashhaven. Yes, rid that vile Nasharin from the earth and maybe I will consider this warning to be true. That would show you still respect the old laws of ‘no Nasharin must be allowed to live,’ written in our holy books. Only then, will I begin to take you fools seriously.”
“Why don’t you do it yourself?” Minevara countered, stepping toward him.
“How dare you come into my city and challenge me!”
“Enough!” Olchemy spoke like a rolling thunder, his voice startling everyone, friends including. “The fact we are not wanted here is of the obvious. Let us return.”
“Will all of you just blindly follow Satyrus the deceiver forever?” Caelestias shouted, trying one last time to convince the Elves.
They did not answer, would not even look upon him.
“Caelestias, it is time,” the Wizard urged.
Smirking, Satyrus commented, “Yes, go before I decide you cannot—”
Olchemy glared at him, eyes flashing.
The Lord of Eldeno immediately stepped away, falling silent on his arrogant remarks.
Then the five sadly abandoned Eldeno with as many in numbers they consisted of upon entering.
The trip—a complete waste of time.
* * *
After many days of travel, Ashhaven and Loreladia finally came together. Some of the men couldn’t believe they were actually going to do battle alongside the Elves of ancient times, wondrous creatures whom they read about as children.
Ashhaven seemed honored to be united again with Humans. They greeted each other with respect.
Caelestias seemed to feel disappointed for not uniting Eldeno. “Mirabel, I am sorry Eldeno refuses to lend aid,” Caelestias offered. “Lord Satyrus believes this threat to be nothing more than folk lore and foolishness.”
"The danger of the threat he knows," Mirabel responded. "He is possibly aligned to Abaddon, in some shape or form. We all expected he would not lend aid. Pity the others could not break free of his mind control.”
"I feel somewhat shameful, being how members of my race have turned their backs on us and yet, the Humans are whole-heartedly putting their lives on the line."
"Nonsense. The shame falls on Satyrus leave it at that."
“Mirabel!” shouted King Loreus from afar, running hastily over to his side. “The scouts I sent away a few days ago have returned and they say the armies of Asgoth will be here by sunrise—and their numbers range to over fifty thousand!”
“Let us see: three thousand Elves, five hundred Aryeh, and four thousand men,” Mirabel calculated aloud. “So, basically it will be seven thousand against fifty thousand.”
“It perhaps will be as the Wizard originally proclaimed…” Caelestias shook his head. “There is little chance for victory. Death may find us all.”
“Not tomorrow,” Darshun spoke sternly. “And we shall be victorious.” He stood up and began to walk away.
“Son, where are you going?” Mirabel asked.
“To seek solitude for prayer and meditation. I will return at first light.”
"Is it wise for Windtros to venture off alone?" Minevara looked concerned. "What if an enemy lurks? What if he’s attacked? Should someone follow him?"
"Not tonight," Darshun answered over his shoulder. "Leave me be…all of you." He vanished within the denseness of the trees.
For a moment they stood still, gazing at the branches swaying to and fro in a mild wind, perhaps wondering what Darshun planned against such a massive force. For the second time he’d promised they would be triumphant. But—how? Did he possess a secret the others did not know? Had he foreseen victory in a vision? Maybe, maybe not
. One thing was for certain, his level of confidence had increased tenfold within the last few days. He seemed ready and it appeared evident by the look in his eyes.
Finally, Mirabel broke silence. “We should all get some rest. Tomorrow’s dawn is already upon us.”
* * *
The next morning Nayland awoke first. He rose up and stretched, then took a stroll through the camp to see if Darshun returned, he hadn’t. Where could he have gone? What has he been doing all night? Surely not meditating, not this long. He should have returned by now. There seemed to be no sign of the Guardian anywhere, not even asleep next to Mirabel. It could only be an hour or so before sunrise, and who knows when Asgoth shall appear?
Nayland decided to look for him, entering the wet dewy forest…searching high and low, down embankments, over stream and across rough terrain. He carefully stepped around broken splintered trees, maneuvering through rocky ground, wherever his senses led—still no sign. At one point, a flashing of eyes appeared, reflecting from the moon light—just a grey fox, curiously watching Nayland. Finally, one last spot before this particular woodland ended, on the far western side he found Darshun, stationed within a perfect circle of pine trees on a piece of smooth grassy land, as if the spot was specifically made for meditation.
Darshun sat cross-legged with his eyes closed, holding the Golden Crystal in his palms. His body completely still, his breathing perfectly even, relaxed.
Not wishing to disturb, Nayland turned to walk away.
“Please stay Nayland. After all, you’ve come this far,” Darshun spoke. “I am conscious anyhow.”
