by C D Beaudin
And now’s the time he becomes that elf.
Running at full sprint, he digs his feet into the ground with every step to not slip in the slush. Jumping onto the rock, he almost slips, but manages to catapult himself into the air. The wall approaches, but there is no way he’s going to land his mark.
When he feels himself start to lose his flight, he manages to step onto the head of a Sanarx, bounding to another one, and just manages to grasp the wall’s edge.
Ha, I really am an elf. Pulling himself up, his feet slip, and he nearly falls back to the ground. Okay, maybe not.
When he’s safely on the other side of the wall, he runs to the soldiers who continue to lob whatever heavy thing they can in front of the broken gates.
“Baran!”
The young captain looks at him. “My Lord, what on Ardon are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d come help.”
“Well, I’m grateful you did. This barricade won’t hold much longer, and we don’t have enough men here to defend the city if it breaks.”
Haydrid looks around. He’s right. Other than the small group of soldiers, the city is completely deserted.
“Baran, we grew up together. We trained in battle together. Now we defend our home together.” Haydrid looks at all of them. “Every one of us. This is our home. We aren’t going to let a group of degenerate monsters take our city, now are we?”
Baran smiles. “No.” He looks at the others. “No, we aren’t. Grab as many wooden planks and blocks as you can. We will defend this gate with our dying breath!”
The soldiers let out a sound of triumph and scramble off to find more barriers.
“Haydrid, you should go inside the palace. Even if this war is to be won, Rohidia will crumble if it loses both their monarchs.”
“Baran, my friend. I wouldn’t go inside the palace walls if I was down to my last chisel and had one arm left.” He grasps the captain’s shoulder. “We’re going to get through this.”
Baran gives him a weak smile.
A loud crash fills their ears and they are thrown from their spots at the gate. On his stomach, Haydrid groans, struggling to get up. He coughs, blood spurting onto the slush below him. Weakly, he lifts his gaze to the body lying only feet from him.
Baran.
A clamoring of soldiers race past him, rushing to the gate. Haydrid struggles to his feet, grasping his chest as his heart pounds slowly but with so much pressure…
He knows this is his final fight.
The large battering ram of the Kahzacorian army still swings, the rubble around it shattered and smashed, and it takes him a moment before he realizes that Sanarx and Tarken are spilling out of the opening and into the city walls.
The group of soldiers fights them off, but to no avail, as they are only delaying for reinforcements from outside to come and save them.
His steps are weak, and his arm is pasted to his thundering chest. His eyes shift lazily, trying to find his sword.
Where-where is my sword? His head hurts, and his hearing buzzes. Thinking is fuzzy—it hurts to think. Where-where is my-my s-sword?
Swallowing, he spies the handle and pulls it out of a snow bank near a house. Turning, an arrow flies into his stomach. He hunches, a cataract of blood spilling from his mouth onto the ground. His jacket turns an ugly, brownish-crimson, and he shudders as the arrow tears his insides apart.
Haydrid stumbles back as a second arrow pierces him in the shoulder. He can’t see the archer. Looking everywhere, he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to free his vision from the blur.
When the colors finally focus, he sees a colossal Sanarx fifty yards away, not yet in the city, but instead aiming another arrow at him through the giant hole in the wall the battering ram created.
Haydrid staggers toward him. The sword in his hand drags on the ground as he lobs his way over to the Sanarx. From the side he sees a Tarken heading for him. The arrows dig in, almost making him retch and tumble to the ground, but he manages to twist his body to pierce the Tarken with his sword.
Shaking, his eyes land back on the Sanarx, and he narrowly dodges another arrow. Blood pours from his wounds, leaking out the very life from him. He won’t survive this. He won’t see Brega’s smile again or sit on his father’s throne. He’ll never even see his father again.
How can he live with that?
I won’t have to for much longer.
The Sanarx charges for him, and before he knows it he’s on the ground, the hideous beast above him. He grapples, and with all the strength he can muster, he manages to give himself enough time to make that split-second decision.
Brega’s smile.
His father’s arm around his mother’s shoulders.
Aunt Adara spoiling him with presents.
Daron’s adultery.
Tamon’s betrayal.
Baran’s dead body.
It’s only a second’s decision. Just one moment to determine whether one lives or dies.
Haydrid grasps the arrow in his stomach and jabs it into the Sanarx’s neck. The beast chokes, the blood spattering onto Haydrid’s face. He feels for his sword, and slashes into the demon’s side, making the Sanarx fall off him.
The sky above him is gray and cloudy, but even in the dismal atmosphere, Haydrid can find some peace and comfort. His breathing is heavy and slow. Blood leaks from his wounds. Wind whispers into his ears and against his skin. He can feel a chill, but it’s welcoming him. Unlike the winter winds, this chill feels like that of the Rohidian spring. He misses spring. But now, he can see it again, the grass, the leaves.
He sees Brega’s smile.
He can feel his parents’ warm embrace.
And hear Adara’s laughter.
Baran’s hand against his shoulder as he tagged him “it.”
This is peace.
This is what living should feel like, it’s only ironic he’d find it in death.
And his breath escapes him.
Chapter Seventeen
The Sanarx have invaded the city. They cut through what’s left of the Rohidian army, not relenting. The soldiers desperately fight back, putting all their strength into defending their home, but they grow weaker as the battle progresses.
Karak is at the front of the fight, battling the soldiers, killing many of them. The sound of metal on metal is so loud in the front lines, even the thunder above can’t be heard. But the cries are even louder. The cries of men falling, staining the muddy snow with their blood. Their last breaths escaping as their bodies go limp.
Many have tried, but none have succeeded in killing him. He has several wounds, but his adrenaline is so high the pain feels almost non-existent.
His hair and clothes are drenched in rain. His throat is dry, and his lips are no doubt blue from the cold, the black hair clinging to his brow, and his already white skin is even icier. Cold to the touch, he can almost freeze his opponent.
Spinning around he sees a familiar elf staring at him. Karak smirks, glancing at the gleaming knife in the elf’s hand.
“Why not throw the dagger?” Karak yells to him.
Kepp raises his chin. “I will not give you the satisfaction. A dagger is useless against the likes of you and me.”
Karak nods his head in agreement. “Right you are.” He looks him in the eye. “You amuse me, young elf. A two-sided coin. You’re good one moment, then the next, well…you’re killing your own brother. I’m surprised you haven’t exacted your revenge on me. After all, it’s what you do best.”
Kepp, seeming to flame in hot anger, charges at him.
Karak steps out of the way, sending the elf tumbling, then he pins him to the ground.
“You tried to kill your brother, no?” he teases, trying to aggravate the elf. “Why not me then? I help Revera. I’m even more cruel to you than your father was.”
“Don’t speak of him!” Kepp shouts, but Karak puts a knife to his throat.
“Ah, ah, ah. I wasn’t done talking,” he taunts.
&n
bsp; Kepp struggles under the knife, but Karak has a strong hold on him. “Now, why so hesitant? You could have wounded me badly back there, I wasn’t looking. So why didn’t you throw the dagger?”
“Because like I said before, I won’t give you the satisfaction.”
Karak presses the knife into his skin, drawing blood. “I don’t think that’s all.” He holds the knife down, putting enough pressure on it to keep the bleeding going.
Kepp winces at the pain and mumbles, “I feel bad for you.”
Karak stops and stares at him. “What?” He’s genuinely unsure if he heard Kepp correctly.
“I feel bad for you.”
Now he’s sure he heard him right. Karak drops the knife, sitting back on his haunches.
Kepp rubs his throat, struggling to stand. “You were tricked, manipulated. By the time you understood who your master truly was, it was too late. Same with me.” Kepp scrambles to his feet. “I know you weren’t always like this.”
Karak stands, facing the elf. He’s shocked and confused. “You don’t know me, elf. Don’t feel bad for a monster, it will come back to haunt you.” He turns away, readying to fight. “And you’ll wish for death if I’m the monster that haunts you.”
He walks away, blood dripping down his sword.
Brega stands at the window, looking down at the fighting Saine. There is something familiar about him. She didn’t notice it before, but the way he moves…it reminds her of someone.
The Plainsman. The man who captured her and gave her to Karak. But there is no way this man could be him. He’s too brave and chivalrous. He can’t be.
But she never actually saw his face. She didn’t hear his voice. The man who abducted her had been silent and stealthy, overpowering her with no struggle. As she watches him fight, she can see hints of similarities in how he moves his feet so quickly, as if he was never in his previous position.
But there is no way.
“Lost in thought?”
Brega looks back to see Adriel approaching. Her dark brown hair is tossed over her shoulder. She clearly hasn’t gotten much sleep. Her white dress is plain, no lace or jewels as a princess or woman of standing should wear. While Brega understands, she must still look presentable to those left in the court.
“Something like that.” Brega smiles softly as Adriel walks up beside her.
She looks down at Saine fighting, blood covering him, and she has no way of knowing if that blood is his or someone else’s. “How much do you love him?” The question surprises even Brega, who didn’t know it would leave her lips. For a moment, Adriel looks at her, then back at Saine, but her eyes land on her once more.
“So much I can hardly breathe while he’s down there. I feel like my world will end if he is to perish. It ended once already, when I was captured by Revera.”
“Isn’t knowing he’s dead better than wondering if he’s still breathing?” Brega inquires, never having a love of her own.
Adriel tilts her head slightly as if in thought, but something in her eyes tells Brega she doesn't even have to think.
“When lovers are forced apart, they take a piece of each other’s heart. When a lover dies, they are frozen in time, their heart forever each other’s. With death, you know they can’t be in anymore pain. But not being able to see their face ever again, sometimes that can be more painful than wondering where they are,” she says.
Brega nods, though, not quite understanding.
Adriel puts her fair hand on Brega’s shoulder. “One day you’ll find a special man who makes your heart flutter, and makes it ache all the same.” She turns to leave, but Brega stops her.
“But how can my heart stand such torment?” Brega asks.
Adriel looks back at her, her violet eyes glowing in the firelight.
“Because he’ll be worth it.” She goes to leave again but stops. “Awyn knows a thing or two about that. Ask her.”
Brega silently watches as the elf leaves. Awyn was in love? With whom? That young Hadorian king who studied in Kevah?
Everything is so draining, Awyn thinks as she tosses and turns in her late afternoon nap. Her dream isn’t a nightmare, at least not yet. It’s not of the past, like most of them are. It’s new. Something different.
She stands in front of the closed door of the empty throne room. A breeze wafts through the open windows, the night darkened hall illuminated with candlelight. Shadows flicker in corners, behind pillars. But there are no tables for the shadows to hide under. And upon the dais at the front of the large room rests only one shadowed throne.
She herself dons a white dress. Her whole figure seems ghost-like, even the way she breathes feels as if she’s transparent, her skin thinner.
Behind the throne emerges a man. He’s familiar, and it only takes Awyn a second to recognize the strong, chiseled jaw, the tall, sinewy form. His pants are black, and he wears a white tunic. His green eyes pierce hers when he looks into them, though, his face is covered in shadows.
“Why am I here?” Awyn asks. She can hear her voice, but it doesn’t feel like her lips are moving.
“Why not?” The king walks toward her. “Why me? Why the throne room? Why any of this?” He’s not even asking, he’s simply commenting as he stands a few feet away from her.
“I don’t understand.” Something remotely resembling the hint of a smile twitches his lips.
“Neither do I. But I’m also only a figment of your imagination. I can’t tell you why I’m here, why you’re here, or what it is you don’t understand.” A hand on her shoulder, he’s behind her now. “You have the answers to that one.”
Awyn turns, looking at him. “Me? What is going on here?”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Tell me!” Her chest tightens, the fatigue and desperation getting to her.
“I can’t, Awyn.” Neodyn’s eyes fall. “Are you really that angry with me?”
“Of course I’m angry! You abandoned me in my time of need. Because you didn’t help me, Revera had more time to plan, more time to kidnap Sefa and kill her. She probably killed Aradon, along with my brother and that rollicking dwarf. She nearly killed my other brother, his friend, and my own sister too!” Her eyes flood with tears. “It’s because of you I got raped. It’s because of you we lost Kaniel. And it’s because of you that my kingdom is lost.” She walks up close to him, looking into his eyes, their faces only inches away. Her tears retreat back into whatever well resides behind her eyes. “It is your fault.”
Not breaking their stare, Neodyn’s eyes become thinner, icier.
“Why are you blaming me? You know I did the right thing for my country, for my people.”
“But in doing so, you betrayed me. You betrayed my father, my mother, my kingdom.”
He grips her arms now, forcing them even closer.
“But you are the one who left.” His voice is almost desperate. “We could have talked, worked it out. You left before we had the chance to do that.”
“Oh, that reminds me, I almost died because of you too.”
His jaw tightens. “The Dezwek wasn’t my fault. You know that,” he says more calmly now.
Awyn shakes her head. “Maybe not. But aren’t you easy to blame?”
They stare for a moment, almost frozen. But then he huffs, pulling away and turning his back to her.
“Look. You’re doing it again! Turning your back on me,” Awyn yells, but in a second he turns back, closing the space between them in two long strides. Before Awyn gets the chance to protest, his lips are on hers, and no matter how much she used to want to, she doesn’t kiss him back, but instead pulls away.
“Stop, Neodyn. You can’t expect to kiss me. I’m not a little girl anymore desperate for your attention.”
“But you are desperate, Awyn. For so many things.”
“If you know, then why don’t you tell me?”
“Because you need to work it out for yourself.”
“This is a dream, isn’t it?” she asks, eyes narrow. Sh
e already knew, but she wanted it to be real…desperately.
In his own way, there’s a hint of sadness, as if he wishes it could be something more. Awyn, having the answer, looks down, tears falling down her cheek.
He lifts her chin with his hand, wiping the tears away with his thumb.
“Then it is a dream I’ll be dreaming,” he says softly. He brings her lips to his own, and every fiber of Awyn’s being tells her to stop. But she can’t. This was what her future was supposed to be. Her, with Neodyn. Instead, it’s her past, and no longer her future.
That was what her happiness was.
And Neodyn is right…she so desperately needs to feel it again.
She fights back the tears and pulls away.
“No. This can’t be happening. I hate you. I need to hate you.” She turns away, but he grabs her arms, burying his face in her hair. “You betrayed me. I have to be strong and focus on taking back my father’s—my, kingdom.”
“Stop focusing,” his voice wavers but is still strong. “Stop worrying. Just let this happen. Forgive yourself for trusting me. Forgive me for betraying you.”
Awyn lifts her head, and turns to face him, tears stain her cheeks. She looks into his eyes. “So, this is why. This is why I’m dreaming of you. So I can forgive you.” Her body shakes slightly, and she looks away for a moment. If she forgives him, won’t she be betraying herself? But then she looks into his green eyes, and she can’t help but forgive him.
Can’t help but love him.
“It’s wrong to forgive in war. It’s wrong to be lenient.” She closes her eyes, shaking her head. But her voice is breathless as she says, “I forgive you.”
And the last thing she sees before she’s whisked away is his smile.
Awyn wakes up, sitting up as fast as she can open her eyes. Her body still shakes slightly, and her breathing is heavy, but she’s not sweating. Or scared. She’s more surprised.
I forgave him?
“Yes, you did.”