Do the Gods Give Us Hope?

by Jeff Henrikson

  Mestel said a silent prayer of thanks to Martel. He gathered his feet under him and stood up. He walked across the room and collected the rest of the gear that had been haphazardly thrown into the alcove, including his sword, quiver, and Austen’s spell book. He walked over to Austen’s fallen form and bent over gingerly. He set the old man upright against the wall and gently patted him on the cheek. Austen was still breathing, but he did not wake to Mestel’s gentle urging.

  As he tried to revive Austen, Mestel heard yelling outside the dungeon in the courtyard beyond. The prison door was wide open, and beyond that was a large courtyard filled with trees and grass, surrounded by buildings. The blackness of night had fallen across the land, but Mestel was still able to see the far side of the courtyard because of the gift of night vision Martel had bestowed on him so many moons ago; what he saw with his enhanced vision was a number of students and Knights of the Order gathering on the far side of the courtyard. No doubt the alarm had been raised by a magical tripwire in the dungeon or by the sounds of combat coming up the spiral staircase. Mestel looked on as the leader raised his arm and pointed toward the prison entrance.

  Mestel cursed as he realized he had run out of time. The humans began marching methodically toward the prison. He ceased trying to respectfully revive Austen and instead slapped him hard across the face. The old wizard stirred, opening his eyes for a moment, but that was all. Mestel cursed again as he slung his bow and hoisted Austen’s limp form onto his shoulders. After he made certain Austen was reasonably secure, he moved toward the open doorway.

  Chapter 109: Over the Hill and Through the Woods

  The prison entryway was lit by oil lamps, so even in the middle of the night, the humans easily saw Mestel’s silhouette as he ran out the doorway to the left. He bolted into the dense trees and bushes of the courtyard, continuing to move at his best pace, with Austen slung over his shoulder. The foliage took on different tones of gray as darkness surrounded him and his night vision took over. He heard the clambering of human footsteps as they ran into the brush behind him. Mestel looked to his right and even chanced a quick look behind him. The bright white forms of living beings were closing on him. What he saw urged him on all the faster, but it was no use. Austen’s additional weight was too much to overcome. The humans were gaining, and they would catch him soon enough. He dodged quickly around trees, roots, and branches that he could see plain as day, but that were hidden to his adversaries under cover of darkness. It did not seem to make any difference. The voices grew steadily louder; he could feel their presence as the net closed in around him.

  He had to change tactics or he was finished. Mestel saw two trees up ahead that had grown together that he thought might serve his purpose. He changed direction and brushed passed the two trees as he made his way down a small hill. Mestel stopped, feeling the increased weight of Austen’s limp form, and turned around. He saw the bright forms of several soldiers less than a hundred feet away. There was not much time.

  He looked at the two trees objectively. They weren’t perfect, but they would do. The roots of the two trees had grown together, and the hilly incline of the ground had created a situation where most of the dirt had washed away, exposing crevices in the root system big enough to hide an elf or a human. Mestel laid Austen’s unconscious form in a crevice and hid in a separate crevice that only partially concealed him. It was less than ideal, but there was no other option.

  Moments later, the humans were all around them. Then they were past them. The humans ran over the little hill he had just occupied and continued pressing forward. Mestel was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he heard more voices fast approaching from behind and off to his left. Four more humans came running up and stopped not more than fifty feet away on the top of the small hill. Each of them had a lantern in hand, which the first wave of humans had lacked. Mestel’s concealment depended on darkness, so he knew full well that with each step the search party took toward the tree roots, the odds of his discovery increased dramatically.

  Mestel was absolutely still as the four humans stopped at the top of the hill. He heard one of them say, “Keep looking. We cannot let these murderers get away.”

  The group of four began to fan out, searching the brush with their lanterns. One of them turned a lantern in Mestel’s direction but must not have looked directly at him, because the light quickly diminished as the human moved away. Mestel hoped beyond reason that the search parties would eventually move on, but there were so many of them, and they lingered in and around the forested area near the prison longer than seemed reasonable. Eventually, Mestel’s night eyes detected the brilliant white forms of people walking back toward him in the darkness. The soldiers that had chased him so urgently at first had now lost track of his whereabouts and were coming back to regroup with the others.

  From up ahead he heard, “Did you find anything?”

  From off to the left. “No, nothing. What about you?”

  From up ahead. “We were chasing the elf up to this point, but then we lost him.”

  From off to the left. “Well, spread out and keep looking. He was carrying another person, so he could not have gone far.” Mestel kept his head down, as the lights from the various lanterns closed in. Indeed, the soldiers from up ahead and the students from behind and off to the left had unwittingly managed to box him in. His only chance was to stay perfectly still and hope no one looked in his specific direction.

  Someone came running up from behind, yelling as he came. “They are dead. They are dead.”

  The student in charge said, “Slow down. Tell us who is dead?”

  The running stopped. “The archwizard who keeps the prison and two of the Administrators are dead.”

  The leader said, “In Purgatory’s shadow, how is that possible?”

  “I do not know, but it is done.”

  The leader yelled out for all to hear. “Do you hear that? Three of our brothers are dead.” The leader’s voice came from the two trees directly over Mestel’s head. “Keep looking. Spread out. We cannot let them get away.”

  Panic began to creep forward from the back of his mind as Mestel realized with a certainty that he didn’t understand, that they were still going to be caught if he didn’t do something to alter their fate. What could he possibly do? The human eye was drawn to movement, particularly in dim light. It was also true that without the ability to see, the other senses would be enhanced. One snap of a twig or rustle of leaves and they would be instantly discovered. So what could he do but sit perfectly still and pray?

  A solution presented itself, but Mestel didn’t know if he could do it. He needed to cover their bodies with enough dirt and leaves to conceal their forms, without moving a muscle. There was a very basic spell that nearly every ranger knew. The spell urged the trees, bushes, and indeed the very ground surrounding the caster to conceal them from their enemies by giving them cover. The problem was that Mestel had never been able to cast even the simplest of spells. The rangers of Armena had tried to teach him again and again, but he had always failed. He knew the word to invoke the spell, as well as the gesture, but he had always been told that his spirit lacked the wisdom to call forth the magic. They said it was not his fault, that some elves were born with the gift and others were not. That had been a long time ago, when he had still been green as grass, unable to shoot an arrow through a target, and before he had touched the hand of his god. Now, as he lay between the roots of two trees, with his enemies closing in all around, he whispered the word to call forth the magic.

  The leader continued barking orders as he left the two trees and descended the hill a few steps. Mestel watched, unmoving, as the leader walked less than five feet away from Mestel’s head.

  “Keep searching. They must be in this courtyard. They were moving too slowly to have escaped. Find them!” The leader looked down in thought and stared right where Mestel was hiding. Then he snapped his head up and pointed his finger at three of his fellow searchers. “You three, g
o to the buildings adjacent to the courtyard and find out if anyone saw anything. The rest of you, keep at it.”

  The soldiers and students continued searching the alcove of trees for a long time. The leader eventually turned around and backtracked in the direction of the dungeon. They regrouped and fanned out two more times, but they never came close enough to see Mestel and Austen again. A long time after Mestel stopped hearing voices of any kind, he rose slowly to his feet and looked around.

  Austen stood up as well and said, “Have you ever cast a spell before?”

  Mestel continued to scan the woods with his ranger senses and his night eyes. “Never. Are you surprised?”

  “Let us just say I am glad it worked. Where are we going now?”

  Mestel took Austen by the arm and started walking through the woods of the courtyard. “Where do we need to go for your magic to work again?”

  “A standard geas lasts for a whole day; however, the geas that I accepted only applies while I am inside the Academy. If we can get to the streets, I should be able to use my magic and teleport us away.”

  “All right then, follow me; I know the way.” Mestel stepped out of the wooded area of the courtyard and felt cool grass under his feet.

  Austen reluctantly followed and playfully said, “You know your way based on what, the one time you walked through the Academy a day ago? I went to this school for five years. Perhaps I should …”

  Mestel quickly covered Austen’s mouth and urged him to the ground. He whispered in the wizard’s ear. “You talk too much. There is one guard two hundred feet to our right and another three hundred feet up and to the right.”

  Austen looked hard at the foliage in both places where Mestel indicated. “How in the name of Chaos do you know that?”

  “Two reasons. One, it is only logical that they should leave a lookout to see if we show up. If I was them, I would place guards at our last known location. Second, I can see both of them from here, so I know I am correct.”

  Austen looked out into the darkness again. “I cannot see a damn thing. How come you can?”

  Mestel couldn’t tell the truth. Gifts given to him by Martel were for his benefit alone, and not to be shared freely with anyone else.

  “I’m a ranger. Tracking and finding people is what I do.” Austen looked skeptical but said no more. Mestel said, “Follow me. If we stay low near the tree line, I think we will be alright.”

  Mestel led them from tree to tree and then from building to building. He was careful to stay in the shadows and tried to move only when the wind was blowing. They eventually approached the ten-foot-tall cast iron fence that separated the Academy from the streets of Jewlian. There were no less than four guards at the gate, and while Mestel was certain he could take them all with his bow, he and Austen both agreed that neither of them wanted to spill any more innocent blood. The pair made their way along the property line until they found an old poplar tree whose branches hung over the fence. Using Mestel’s climbing grappler and rope, the two unlikely companions climbed into the tree, clambered out onto an overhanging limb, and dropped down to the sidewalk below.

  The two walked quickly across the deserted street and sneaked into an alley between two buildings. They had made it! Mestel had risked all by allowing himself to be captured in order to save Austen from a fate he had not deserved. Mestel was overcome with joy at their triumph – at his god’s triumph. The elf ranger and the human wizard hugged fiercely as they realized their good fortune.

  Austen said, “Thank you for coming for me.”

  “It was an honor.”

  “I owe you my life.”

  Mestel nodded his head humbly and reached his hand into his god’s pouch. He pulled out the large platinum coin with his god’s symbol on it, placed it carefully in the palm of his hand, and showed it to Austen.

  “I want to give you this coin as a remembrance of what happened here today. It was only by the grace of my god, Martel, that I was able to save you. It is Martel’s wish that no one be wrongfully imprisoned. When I saw you being taken away I could not let the injustice stand. I allowed myself to be captured in order to ensure that you could escape. The power of my god overcame the forcefield of the cell. The power of my god surged through me as we ascended the stairs to the surface. The eyes of my god led us away from the prison and away from those who wanted to recapture us.”

  Austen reached out and gently took the coin from Mestel. “Do not worry, my friend. I will never forget this day, but perhaps you should keep the coin, because I would hate to take it from its rightful owner?”

  Mestel shook his head. “Don’t worry, my god will give me as many coins as I require to do his work. Take it and never forget.”

  Austen flipped the coin over a few times in his hand, and then he did something Mestel would never forget as long as he lived. The wizard placed the platinum coin on his left forearm, halfway between his wrist and his elbow. With the symbol of the Flying Falcon facing up Austen said two arcane words and energy leapt from the fingers of his right hand and enveloped the coin. The coin sank into the wizard’s arm and the flesh hardened around it. In a few moments, the coin melted into his forearm. The pain on Austen’s face turned into determination.

  Austen looked up at Mestel and said, “I will never forget. With your help, your god has earned another follower this day.”

  Except for himself, Mestel had never seen such devotion to Martel. Austen’s conversion was gratifying beyond words. He believed in Martel with a blind faith that even Mestel lacked. Mestel had touched the hand of his god and was his chosen servant on Tellus, but Austen believed in Martel with a strong faith even though he had never seen evidence of his existence. It seemed that saving someone’s life was a powerful motivator for change.

  Mestel saw the conviction in the wizard’s eyes. In response to this outpouring of emotion, Mestel almost instinctively called forth his god’s words. “Loneliness and despair abound; trust in the flight of the falcon and be saved.”

  Austen seemed to snap out of his trance. “What did you say?”

  “Those are my god’s words. Would you like to learn them?”

  “Yes.”

  “It is a prayer, where I say the first part, and you respond by saying the second part.” Mestel began and Austen listened closely. “Loneliness and despair abound,” then he finished the mantra more slowly and Austen repeated each word in turn. “Trust in the flight of the falcon and be saved.”

  Mestel nodded his head humbly, with a smile on his face. “Yes, well, I’m happy to tell you more, but for now can you please get us out of here?”

  Austen said, “Certainly; stand closer to me so the teleportation spell will be easier to cast.”

  Mestel did as he was asked. Austen concentrated for a moment, almost as though he were trying to remember how magic worked, then he said the words that would lift them to freedom.

  *****

  As the magic echoed off the walls, Mestel’s vision went dark. There was a moment of complete blindness, and then there was the sudden shock of a brilliant white light exploding in his mind. When the shock passed, Mestel found himself floating above a throne room. He quickly realized this was another one of his god’s visions. Keeping that in mind, Mestel tried to remember every detail. It didn’t take long before he recognized what he was seeing as the throne room of the King of Kentar. He recognized many of the features from the mash of images Martel had shown him when he had held his god’s hand. Much of the vision from that time was blurry and disorienting, but Mestel remembered enough to know how this vision would end. The throne room was constructed of beautiful white and gray marble. Thick pillars held up the vaulted ceiling, eighty feet above the floor. The chamber must have been three hundred feet long and one hundred feet wide. Large doors at the far end gave way to a red carpet that continued all the way up the dais to the throne. The throne was three times as large as a man, and on it sat an aging human with a long face and a longer beard.

  Scatte
red throughout the cavernous room were the dead bodies of many royal guards. Mestel watched from above as the last of the royal guards charged down the red carpet to his doom – for at the other end of the throne room stood four men in white robes with only a little amount of purple sown into the cloth. As the guard charged forward with his sword and shield in hand, the second Sorcerer from the left raised his right hand and calmly uttered two arcane words. A screaming banshee emerged from the wizard’s hand and let loose a bloodcurdling cry. The banshee leapt forward and raced toward the guard. The guard put up his shield to stop the apparition, but it was no use. The ghost hit the guard and enveloped him. The guard screamed outloud as the evil spirit consumed him. The guard disintegrated into a pile of ashes that fell slowly to the floor.

  The King of Kentar looked to his left and right for a way to escape, but one Knight of the Order stood against him at either door. Seeing that he was trapped, the King elected to stay seated on his throne.

  The four wizards at the long end of the room advanced in unison across the marble floor. When they were almost to the steps leading up to the throne, the King stood and said, “You will not live through this treachery. Even if I die, the Sorcerers will be destroyed for this vile betrayal.”

  Mestel watched as the four wizards stopped simultaneously. The lead wizard bowed low and said, “Die, Wrath. Go back to the hell from whence you came.” With the words said, the four wizards raised their hands in unison. The energy of the cosmos gathered at their fingertips and then lightning ripped through the King. Every muscle in the King’s body flexed involuntarily against the power of those who were supposed to serve him faithfully. The King fell dead at the foot of his throne.