Bloodless

by Roberto Vecchi

  Esthinor chuckled. “Still, even when you have witnessed, you cannot truly see. My dear King,” he said mockingly, “your inconsequential questions are beginning to bore me. But, to your point, I have done nothing magical here. All I did was utilize the power and desires housed within each of your subjects. Even you felt the effect and would have benefitted from its embrace. This is what I can bring. This is the benefit of following me.”

  “Yes, the power was amazing,” said King Hinthial.

  “Is that not what you search for? Is that not what you desire, deep in the places you have been told should not be? Power, my King, comes in many forms and has many uses. But power itself, at its very nature, is meant to be used. It is a dynamic bidding its own flourish. To possess it and not allow its manifestation is tantamount to sin. I dare say a sin against even your beloved stars,” he said as he began to walk around the King the way a predator stalks its prey, preparing for the moment of its final pounce.

  “What do you mean?” asked King Hinthial.

  “Let us consider your stars. When you look to them, what do you see?”

  “Beauty, timeless in its continuance. Power to remain ever present and unchanged throughout all times. They are the standard of temporal and mortal existence,” he answered confidently.

  “But what are they? You claim to worship them, but yet you do not know what they are. How can you worship something you do not fully understand?” asked Esthinor, still slowly circling the King.

  “Can anyone who is lesser truly understand that which is greater?” countered the King.

  “But are you not tired of being lesser?” asked the Grand Wizard as he stopped in front of the king.

  “Elves are not lesser,” stated King Hinthial. “We are the pinnacle of mortal development.”

  “You say that, but where is your proof,” asked Esthinor again.

  “We need no proof. We simply are,” said the king as he straightened his posture seeking to emphasize physically what he believed mentally.

  “Ah yes. Belief without proof. That is a convenient position to adopt. Safe. Secure. And let us not forget mysteriously irrefutable. Without proof, you have but words, dear King. I am quite sure the other nations’ leaders claim the very same thing and hold elves in their own selfish contempt. No, my little King, without proof, your beliefs are dead, holding no more meaning than the stars you claim to worship.”

  “The stars are everything!” retorted the King. “They hold everything we believe and give us everything we know.”

  “They give? Tell me, dear king, what have they given you? What would they have done for you had I not stepped in and elevated the abilities of your warriors? Would they have given you the power to defeat the Ogres on this day? Or would they have stood by and watched, as they always do, as your kin were killed and made into nothing more than a mockery? Make no mistake, the stars have given you only one thing - limits,” he said as he turned to observe the battlefield one last time. “But consider this: what have I given you on this day? Was it not I who acted when your stars would have simply watched? Was it not I who allowed hundreds if not thousands of your soldiers to survive? Was it not I who protected the integrity of your very walls and perhaps your very way of life?” Turning back to the King, he continued, “You claim elven superiority, yet it required one who is not an elf to give you what you needed to fulfil your beliefs. The stars? They stand in your way of becoming greater than any dream that any of your predecessors could have dreamt. Your belief in them is holding you back from becoming everything you could become, should become.” He spun around to face the battlefield once again, but was clearly focused beyond it, and outstretched his hands, “Imagine! Imagine what could be yours and shared by your people! Imagine limitless borders, limitless riches and limitless influence. Can you see the glory of your people reaching even across the seas to lands which yet stand undiscovered? Why, I daresay you might even be worshiped as gods!” He breathed deeply and turned to face King Hinthial once again. “I can give this all to you.”

  “How?” asked the King as he took a small step closer to Esthinor.

  “Only through me will your true desires and power be brought to completion,” he said.

  “How can you do this?” asked the King again.

  “By harnessing your devotion, amplified through your worship, and using it not to the betterment of myself, but to give you what you desire, what you have always desired,” answered Esthinor as he closed the gap between them.

  “Why?” asked King Hinthial. “Why would you do this for the elves?”

  “Because only you are worthy,” said Esthinor as he reached out and gripped the elf king’s shoulder, compassion lacing his eyes.

  “Tell me what we must do,” asked King Hinthial.

  “Kneel,” said Esthinor. Without hesitation, the elven king kneeled before Satan and pledged his and his people’s fealty to the one power standing before him. In that moment, he renounced all things from the stars and accepted the Lordship of Esthinor.

  “No,” said Eriboth audibly.

  “What was that?” asked Hundolis.

  “Did you not feel that?” asked Eriboth as they stopped their retreat into the forests around them.

  “Feel what?” asked Hundolis.

  “I am not completely sure. Somewhat of a shift in the progression of time, if that makes sense?” answered Eriboth.

  “Progression of time? What does that mean?”

  “I am not sure. But whatever it means, the scope has been increased. I fear the very condition of Avendia has been placed on the scales with fate weighted against it,” said Eriboth as he looked back to the City of Light.

  Hundolis mocked him, “Do you always talk like this, in riddles?”

  “I feel as though we have just been given the answer to a riddle that we did not even know we were supposed to answer. And because we did not, we now have to adjust to a new set of rules,” said the white eyed warrior as he surveyed the surroundings.

  “Regardless of a new set of rules, we should not linger any longer. We are not yet safe,” said Hundolis as he turned to continue their path away from Meckthenial.

  “Yes, you are right,” agreed Eriboth.

  However, before they could begin, they were confronted by a battalion of elves, obviously returning to the city after they had been successful in their pursuit of the fleeing Ogres. “You there!” called out a lone voice.

  Turning, both Eriboth and Hundolis saw no less than fifty elves walking up to them, their weapons and armor covered in the dark blood of the unfortunate Ogres. To Hundolis, they appeared pale, as if the color of their skins and been asked to cover twice the amount of canvass causing both its intensity and clarity to suffer. Not enough for outsiders to notice, but certainly enough for other elves. To Eriboth, they appeared darker, as if dusk was ending thereby allowing the black solitude of night to reign supreme over their once brightly illuminated skins. He could still see shades of light within them, but there was no focal point from which it radiated. It was diffuse, clouded almost, and covered in a growing shadow.

  “Well met, brethren,” said Hundolis, feigning confidence. “Are you returning to celebrate our victory?”

  “Indeed, we are!” answered the lead elf. “Will you be joining us as well?”

  “Enon Prodoc!” erupted the elves.

  “I certainly will. But I have one last order to fulfill before I am able to partake in our victory celebrations,” he lied.

  “Is that so?” questioned another elf. “Is he part of your orders then?”

  “Yes, he is,” answered the young elf doing his best to avoid appearing nervous and out of place.

  “Why are you this far away from the castle?” asked the first elf as he instinctively rested his hand on his sword.

  “I was ordered to return the prisoner to the castle as soon as the battle was over,” He said. When he sensed their hesitation, he quickly added, “to prepare him for his execution, now that this interruption
has been dealt with.”

  “Well, if that be the case, then why did we find you headed away from the castle,” asked the second elf. Everyone paused hanging on the explicit implication of the spoken observation. Why indeed had they been found headed away from the castle when he had just stated their orders should have been taking them in the opposite direction? “And why then is the prisoner not bound by his shackles?” he asked, breaking the silence provoked by his first question.

  Hundolis continued with his hesitated response, his mind racing to think of one that would explain away both their direction, and condition. Eriboth, however, did not hesitate. He saw the increasing anxiety on the young elf’s face and the growing, suspicion driven animosity on those confronting them and knew their opportunity for a peaceful resolution had passed, if it had existed at all. Eriboth uttered a small and simple silent phrase as he closed his eyes. He did not need to open them again to know that the majority of weapons that had been previously sheathed were being readied, once again, in anticipation of a forceful confrontation.

  “Brothers!” stated Hundolis. “Your assistance with the prisoner’s transportation will not be needed. I assure you there is no need to ready your weapons.”

  “It is not his transportation we will be assisting with,” said the lead elf. “Now stand aside or be included in his execution.”

  Hundolis’s protestations were halted before they could be voiced as Eriboth placed a firm and reassuring hand on his shoulder and stepped to address the elves himself. When he and the young elf responsible for his freedom met gazes, Eriboth’s calm reassurance transferred itself to Hundolis.

  “What is this now?” asked the lead elf. “Do you seek to address us as if you your words would be recognized with merit?” The other elves began chuckling.

  “No,” said Eriboth as Hundolis began backing away slowly, deeply aware of what was about to happen.

  “That is good because your words bring only disgust upon our ears,” he said again drawing more laughter from the elves. “Now, kneel and beg us to let you live.”

  “My life is not mine, but belongs to One Who is Greater,” said Eriboth calmly.

  “Perhaps not. But it will be ours to end. Attack him!” shouted the leader.

  “So be it,” answered Eriboth as he readied himself.

  The elves wasted no time and did not hesitate with their response. It was quick, it was brutal, and it was laced with a hatred never before attributed to elven actions and motivations. In battle, elves were, above all, disciplined, being able to adjust their script at a moment’s notice. Even with Esthinor’s spell enhanced desire for destruction, the elves were still not consumed with a chaotic rendition of hate. Rather, they used their imbued powers to further solidify their continuity and precision. Swords flashed and arrows rained all bent upon the hopeful fulfillment of Eriboth’s execution before it had been interrupted. Hundolis, having been raised an elf and trained in the elven aspects of military action marveled, at the utter brutality and efficiency of his brethren. As the elves converged upon the lone and weaponless Eriboth, Hundolis said a silent prayer for his soul; for he hoped that in his death, it would not be lost.

  His prayer, however, was interrupted before it could be completed when he saw Eriboth’s eyes begin to glow seconds before the first sword strike was completed. The attacking elves, if they did see it, did not delay their attacks. Hundolis was sure the first flashing sword, quicker than any strike from an elf he had seen before, was going to sever Eriboth’s head. But somehow, it met only air. The second strike delivered by a different elf should have cut deep into Eriboth’s side; but it too missed its mark. So did the third, fourth, and fifth slashes. There was no mortal explanation for how Eriboth was able to dodge all of the elven attacks, but he did, all the while the golden glow coming from his eyes was growing brighter and brighter. Three arrows followed the initial melee attack. But they too met with the same result as the blades. When it seemed the glow was no longer satisfied with being restrained to just his eyes, there was a single bright pulse of golden light stunning the attacking elves and knocking them backward leaving Eriboth to stand alone in their center. It took the elves only moments to regain their bearings. They regrouped and prepared for a second onslaught; but before they could, he moved.

  Fury met fury, light met dark, and evil met love. Systematically, Eriboth beautifully reflected the triumph of love as he danced between the hate fueled elves rendering their attacks as nothing more than a superfluous creek when compared to the rushing tides of the Great Trindonovorn River. He was a perfect reflection of everything Hundolis desired to be in his spirit and soul. Had the sun been rising, it would have been matched by the power and natural beauty of Eriboth’s mortally reflected, but immortally defined actions. And yet, radiating from the holy warrior was a profound sadness. There was no joy in his expression as his opponents fell one after the other. Through the golden glow, Hundolis thought he even saw a tear as the last of the elves, the leader, fell.

  “Who are you?” the young elf asked in awe as Eriboth walked calmly over to him.

  “No one,” said Eriboth, “but through Him, I am.”

  “Teach me,” said the young elf.

  “Believe,” he said. “Through belief, all things are possible. Now, let us leave. We have a long journey in front of us and no horses to ride to lessen it.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “East,” he answered.

  “How far?” asked the young elf.

  “Pretago Cor,” said Eriboth as he began walking.

  “Pretago Cor? Why do we head there?” Hundolis asked.

  “We will need help defeating the elves,” he answered as he began walking.

  “So, it is true. You do wish to take the throne for yourself,” he accused.

  Eriboth stopped and turned around to look the young elf in his eyes. With the blank white orbs staring him down, Hundolis averted his gaze. “Look at me!” said Eriboth. “Look at all that I am. And then look at your former brethren. Did you not see a difference within them? Did you not notice the malice within their hearts just as you noticed the lack of it in mine? There is naught within me that desires the crown and throne. But make no mistake, the defensive carnage here today was nothing more than an illusion to conceal a greater plan. The elves are no longer a free people to rule themselves and pursue their own lives and liberties. They have been taken and are now under the influence of an evil greater than any other the realm has seen. And unless we act and act now, their power may grow greater than what we can hope to prevent. So, while I do seek the assistance of Pretago Cor and the Silver Empire, it is not for my benefit, but that of Avendia.”

  Sovise

  (Dream)

  He enjoyed the mornings, their peacefulness, their quiet and stillness. He often found himself lost in the dew shining grass in the early hours before the rising sun had been given sufficient time to dry the dampness. It seemed that when all else was chaotically spinning around him, for the life of a thief was often defined by its chaos driven moments, the mornings would allow him to feel a little bit of the peace he remembered when he was within her embrace. Admittedly, the only time he felt at home was when he was with her. It did not matter where they were, or what they were doing, when he was with her, all was right and all was good.

  He remembered the endless hours he spent courting her. The countless letters he wrote to her, poems he wrote about and for her. Although they were not very polished, and none of them he actually dared to give to her, they did carry with them his heart. She was used to the attentions of men. Being born into nobility, minor as it was, she still drew the affections of many calling men who sought either to improve their own status with a marriage bond into her family, or to improve the position of their own families in relation to the High King’s lineage. It was not an easy task, dismantling the barriers of this innocent but wise and beautiful young woman. Nevertheless, it was a task he had set his will upon.

  His devotio
n to win her heart did not come without a price, however. Being a lowly stable boy in her family’s employ, he was forced to watch, repeatedly, many men try to win her affections. Although his belief was resolutely centered on the fact they had been born for each other, it was, nevertheless, difficult for him to witness. Each gentleman called to her offering many gifts of value he could never hope to provide. Some brought more status, some brought the promise of lands and castles, some brought beauty and adventure, and still others brought several combinations of them all. But, regardless of their promises of plenty and worldly riches, she denied them systematically and gracefully to the humiliation of both her mother, the Baroness, and father, the Baron.

  On one particular evening, when he would watch her take her lonely and secluded walk in the gardens of their small but well-kept estate, he had resolved to approach her and confess his growing and changing affections. Prompted by the advances of a rather dashing knight, at least he thought the elder knight was dashing, over the last three days, his sense of urgency had grown to the point where silent admiration would lead only to his loss and her gain at the hands of another. Forced to picture the unpicturable, his heart ached driving him into action. He gathered the largest bouquet of flowers picked right from the wild flowers of the plains surrounding her estate, the ones she favored most, dressed in his finest clothes, admittedly lacking in comparison to all of the other men, and slicked back his normally wild and chaotic hair.

  After her evening meal, when she was allowed free time before her final lessons began, he would wait for her near the rose bushes, brilliantly in bloom and flourishing with plentiful, deep red blossoms. He had rehearsed this moment more times than there were stars in the heavens, and each time he allowed it to play out to its fullest, it always ended in a hopeful kiss. However, between the transition of his hope’s dreams, the racing of his heart, and clamminess of his palms, he would never manifest into action what his desire and will dictated.