by RG Long
They found the stone steps and began their ascent. From above, Serinde could hear shouts and the clang of metal on metal. Rising to the third level, they found five guards engaging with one remaining rebel. Many covered the ground, already dead. The warrior shoved her blade into a soldier, but another shoved his blade through her stomach.
Two elves fell to the floor.
Serinde looked up to see that three of the guards were plain troops: purple pants and silver breastplates. One, however, was wearing a cloak and a helmet that denoted him as the captain of the guard. Their target.
Without hesitating a moment more, the four of them rushed forward. Or so Serinde thought. She fought off the attacks of one of the guards on the left as Omioor and Ritton fought the others, struggling to reach the captain. Both Omioor and Ritton’s opponents fell to their blades, while Serinde struggled to dispatch the guard facing her.
“Stop!” came a voice Serinde knew well.
The guard she was facing was distracted and looked over at the sound. Serinde took her chance and slew the guard with a quick thrust, then turned to see a surprising sight.
Erilas was holding the captain in a headlock, his knees on the ground and what little of his face Serinde could see through the helmet turning purple. Omioor and Ritton turned as well, a look of shock on both of their faces.
“Well done, Eri,” Serinde said, impressed with her sister's ability to take down someone without a weapon.
“I said I'd spill no blood and I meant it.”
She struggled with the captain, who held Erilas' hands, trying to tear them from his throat. His struggles were lessening as her grip tightened on his throat. He was likely to pass out soon, Serinde thought.
“I want to spare the lives of those who can be spared,” she said. “It makes us no better than Enoth if we kill relentlessly.”
Ritton approached them both.
“Let me help,” she offered. The elf walked over and knelt on the ground next to the captain, her blade still drawn. With three swift stabbing movements, she put her blade into the stomach of the elf.
Erilas looked horrified and let the elf fall to the ground. He hit the floor with a thud, clutching his bleeding middle. She rolled him onto his side and saw that large red patches were growing on his cloak. A terrible cough was escaping his ragged lips.
“What was the point of that!?” she yelled at Ritton, her face covered in an expression of pain. “We had him. He didn't have to die!”
Ritton spat on the ground and sent a kick at the dying elf's side. He howled in agony.
“He's Enoth scum,” she replied. 'They all have to die.”
She eyed Erilas suspiciously.
“And you'd better watch who you talk about not killing Enoth elves in front of.”
Saying no more, she left the room.
Omioor looked from sister to sister before grabbing Serinde by the arm and pulling Erilas to her feet.
“Come on,” he said. “This isn't a place we want to stay for long.”
Still holding them both, they descended the stairs. Serinde could hear Erilas stifling what sounded like sobs. She wondered how long an elf who refused to kill the enemies of the rebellion could last if the rebels won.
There wasn't much time to ponder. As they exited the building, more fighting was taking place in the courtyard. Serinde held her blade high and rushed into the fray as Erilas sank against a wall, heaving as a fit of sick overtook her.
THE CITY OF ECCOTT fell from the hands of Enoth before the suns rose the next morning. The empire had really believed the city was within its grasp and had withdrawn too many troops to hold it. Daybreak brought a row of Enoth officials and guards who had surrendered on their knees on top of the city walls.
Their crimes against the rebellion were read out loud and their sentences carried out immediately. Each had their head removed from their body, and then were tossed over the side of the wall into a burning pile that had been smoldering since before dawn.
“They deserve it," Serinde said as she watched the last to be killed, the magistrate of the city, by Madam's own hand. The new ruler of the city held up the head of the deceased elf for all to see. Cheers rose up from the rebels as they now had complete control of Eccott.
Erilas didn't answer. She refused to look up at the proceedings and, instead, covered her mouth with her hand. Serinde looked over and saw a single tear on her sister's cheek. She turned back and crossed her arms.
How could she feel sorry for them? Serinde thought. They killed our father!
She didn't hear much of Madam's speech after that, but one thought kept coming back to her mind. How were they going to make it in a rebellion when her own sister cried at the death of the elves of Enoth?
26: Covert Operations
Birds sang their morning song as the suns began their ascent over the plains of Darrion. Grass that had for months been green and lush was beginning to show hues of yellow.
Fall was approaching.
Three men were marching doggedly across the fields.
Kilgore was behind, prodding Bernard and Lincoln every time they began to slow or show signs of weariness.
"Keep moving!" he ordered. "We should have been there by now!"
Bernard didn't think his captain was being all that fair.
“We've been marching like dogs!” Bernard exclaimed after another swift kick from Kilgore caught him in the behind. “Can't we take a break?”
“No!” came the resounding answer. “You've been marching like rocks. At the rate you two were planning to go, we'd have gotten to North's Beach by mid-winter. Move!”
North's Beach. One of the many cities that Darrion called its own. And, according to the map they had mistakenly seen in the combined army camp, one of the cities the elves of Enoth planned to conquer. The three of them had left the camp as soon as they could and made a straight line for the city of men. Kilgore said they had to alert the city guard and send word back to Darrion's capital.
All of this would have been easy, save for the fact that Captain Kilgore wanted to march day in and out without stopping to rest, eat, or sleep. Brag all he wanted, Bernard knew his adventures had always included copious amounts of relaxation and recuperation. This was not the glory he had marched out to get. This was hard.
“What rhymes with 'justifiable'?” Lincoln was asking, his brow dripping with sweat and his hand wrapped around a charcoal pen. “I've just thought of a new line for my poem.”
“If you so much as write a letter instead of march, I'll see you in the stocks when we get back,” Kilgore threatened the large poet.
Lincoln stuck out his lower lip and put away the pen. The three of them continued through the high grass. Bernard shook with cold as he trudged on. The morning dew that should only be settling on the outside of warm houses with lit fires was instead settling on him. He brushed some of the mist off his arms and grumbled under his breath.
"Should have been a sailor," he said.
"You'd have been tossed overboard within a week," Kilgore replied. "And I'm not sure I'd have been sorry."
Their captain had forbidden them to take the road, for fear of being seen and questioned by traveling Enoth guards. So, they had taken to the hilly plains that separated the human settlements. At the moment, they were working up a particularly tall hill.
"Won't they miss us?" Lincoln asked as he hefted his considerable bulk up the last few steps of the grassy incline.
"Not you two," Kilgore replied. "They'll be glad you got lost. I'm under orders from a superior So, unless we actually wait until after the winter frost is over to get there, no. we won't be missed."
“Who'll be glad?” Lincoln asked as he went down on all fours to get to the top of the hill.
“Most of the rest of the company,” Kilgore replied, barely breaking a sweat as he followed the struggling Bernard and Lincoln.
Bernard took three steps for every one of Lincoln's strides. If nothing else, it was the fact that he had to put
out no less than twice as much effort as Lincoln, that made Bernard's muscles ache and sweat pour from him. The three of them crested the hill at the same time, however, and therefore all took in the sight of North's Beach as one.
“Those aren't Darrion banners,” Lincoln observed, unnecessarily.
The city of North's Beach was a walled port city. Twenty-foot stone walls surrounded towers and buildings that protruded over the top of the defenses. White sails billowed from cargo ships as they journeyed to and from the settlement. And nearly half of the ships were flying not the three colors of Darrion, but the purple of the Elves of Enoth.
And beside the banner of Darrion that flew over the gate of the city on both sides, the purple and gold banners of Enoth flew proudly.
Kilgore shoved his way between Bernard and Lincoln and swore.
“I wonder why the elves have those banners up?” Lincoln asked, scratching his stubbly chin.
“We ought to tear them down!” Bernard said, swelling up his chest and putting a hand on his sword.
“Neither of you are very bright,” Kilgore said, setting his shoulders and putting his hands on his hips. “And I need a minute to think about how we're going to do this.”
WITHIN THE HOUR, KILGORE had Bernard's hands tied behind his back and Lincoln holding a sword out to his side.
He led the two right up to the gate and knocked loudly. There was no need. A small door on the gate opened up before he had finished his third knock.
Three figures stepped out from the portal. Two elves dressed in purple with shining breastplates looked down at the group imperiously, while a third person, a man with an iron helm and Darrion colors, came in their wake. The man was clearly agitated by the presence of the elves. It looked to Kilgore as if he were attempting to swallow a particularly foul drink as he spoke in their presence.
“What is your business in North's Beach?” he asked. “Who is this man in ropes?”
Kilgore did not look to the elves, but kept his gaze firmly on the man.
“A deserter and a coward,” the captain replied. “He's to be punished for his crimes of attempting to flee the army of Darrion and shown what we do to runaways. I'm Kilgore Brave, his captain.”
The man looked from Bernard to Kilgore and then to Lincoln. He wrote down a note on a board he was holding with a charcoal pen and ruffled his brow.
“The army's garrison and prison are both straight ahead, down the main road and then on your third right. Take him and report to Major Hollis. He's currently overseeing the training of new recruits.”
Kilgore nodded and began to move forward, when one of the elves held out his hand.
“Just a moment,” he said, looking down at Kilgore.
It was something the captain couldn't really stand about the elves. He was a tall man and hardly any of his men dwarfed him in size. Except maybe for Lincoln, but he was an idiot. This elf was intimidatingly tall and muscular. Kilgore tried to not let his displeasure show on his face.
The elf eyed the three of them suspiciously.
“Where have you traveled from? You have very few provisions. Were you a part of the army that left Lone Peak?”
Kilgore glared back at the elf, his face stern. He wasn't sure how much he wanted to share, other than his own name. His trust for the elves had waned ever since they left the capital.
“Yes,” he answered, keeping his face straight and expression stern.
“This worm,” Kilgore said as he gave Bernard a hard shake, “tried to run off instead of serving his kingdom. I'm working under orders of my superior to bring him here to be thrown in the dungeon until the campaign is ended.”
The elf looked down his nose at Bernard and then at Kilgore. The captain held his gaze and his breath.
“Take him as you have said. Once you've deposited the prisoner, report to Elphias in the barracks. He's the commander of the elven forces here and will be interested to hear about the progress of the campaign.
Yes, Kilgore thought. He was interested in hearing about things on the elves’ side, too.
THE WALK TO THE BARRACKS and the prison cells inside took less than a half hour. In that short time, Kilgore learned a great deal about the state of the city of men. The elves were not staying in tents on the outskirts of the city, nor were there any temporary dwellings inside to house them. It seemed that the empty barracks that had once housed Darrion's troops had emptied with the summons to the war in the south and then been filled with elves almost at the same time.
He now entered the barracks he had visited twice on previous missions with a vague familiarity. The courtyard was filled with elves. Barely any men were visible to Kilgore as he scanned the place quickly. He needed to talk to someone in charge. Believing he spotted one, he pulled Bernard in the direction he was looking.
“Captain Kilgore from the Lone Peak 12th division, reporting with a deserter,” he said as he approached a wooden desk in the middle of the barrack's courtyard. A thin man with a sallow face sat and riffled through a stack of parchments. He barely looked up from his work at the three of them.
“Your orders?” he asked, holding out a hand.
Kilgore cleared his throat. He had no papers to give.
“The general gave no paper orders as we were in a quick march,” he said, thinking quickly. “I'm here on the command of his word alone.”
The man sighed and looked up at Kilgore, Bernard, and Lincoln with a moment's confusion. He held Kilgore's eyes for a breath before looking at the elves that milled around the barracks courtyard. Shaking his head, he returned to his stack of parchment.
“Through the main building and ask for Prisoner Master Farrin. He'll show you where the cells are. Then come back and fill out the paperwork,” he said dismissively.
“Yes, sir,” Kilgore replied. “I'm reporting from the campaign and plan to return as soon as possible. Is there a status report you can give for me to return to my superiors?”
The man's hand froze over his papers.
“Not at the moment,” he said without meeting Kilgore's gaze. Kilgore needed more from this man than he seemed to be willing to give. At least at the moment.
“Yes sir,” Kilgore replied. He grabbed Bernard again and headed into the building where the prison was.
After a few steps, Bernard muttered under his breath.
“I thought the plan wasn't to actually go behind bars?” he said with some trepidation.
Lincoln lowered the sword he had been pointing in the direction of their captive.
“We actually have to put him in jail?” he asked.
“Plan changed,” Kilgore replied, giving them both a look that he hoped told them to stop asking questions.
If he was completely honest, he would rather have both of them out of his way so he could figure this out on his own. But that wasn't the plan either. He needed information, not two incompetent sidekicks.
“Prison Master Farrin?” Kilgore asked a man wearing all black with a ring of keys in his hand.
“At your service,” the man said with a sneer.
“Captain Kilgore,” he replied, pushing Bernard in the man's direction.
“Lock this one up,” he said. “I'll come see that it's done right later.”
The man gave a satisfied smile and called two brutish looking guards to his side with a nod of his head.
“With pleasure.”
27: The Sister Struggle
The city of Eccott was in a state of jubilation. Ever since the overthrow of the Empire, a full day's worth of celebration had been in full swing. Night had given way to day and then night again. Even the rain had let up, though Serinde didn't think even that would have stopped the festivities. Every elf in the city was out in the streets giving thanks to their new leaders and showing gratitude to the rebels.
There were many more rebels here than Serinde had first imagined. That, or the elves who lived in the walled city were genuinely glad to be rid of their oppressive imperial masters. More and more of them ca
me out of houses bearing the official insignia of the rebellion: a white rose with two crossed swords behind it on a field of green.
The beauty of that flower and the freedom it symbolized filled every fiber of Serinde as she paraded through the winding streets with the other rebels. It had been hastily painted on every wall and public space. Elves cheered when the artist stepped back to admire his or her work. Serinde cheered with them. Though most were still strangers to her, she was one of them. She had helped in the overthrow of the elves who had killed her father. She was a rebel. This fact had emboldened her.
Just a few weeks ago, she had felt weak. Powerless. Like at any moment she might be crushed under the weight of losing her father, her home, and her friends. But now, as the suns fell over the city and the streets swelled to overflowing, Serinde had found something to replace all that she had lost: purpose.
Though this new-found sense of importance had filled her being, there was one thing that was still missing. Her sister.
In all the celebration and festivities, she had not once seen her sister. At the time, she was too overcome with emotion to worry. The throngs of the joyous crowd had distracted her fully. Even though the party was still in full swing and Rimstone lights drove away the darkness, Serinde was now thinking only of finding her sister. Of sharing the celebration together.
That particular task was made all the more difficult by the fact that no one had seen the other elf from Azol in the last few days either. Having run out of other options, Serinde wound her way down to the base of the city. Most of the celebration was taking place near the upper levels, where the imperial buildings had been overthrown.
After taking a few wrong turns, she finally managed to find her way back to the house they had originally snuck into with Omioor. It felt odd to barge into the house, knowing that the inhabitants were out merry making. Still, she was a welcome guest in the place.
