by Adam Bishop
No one answered. The prisoners could only look on with fear at the old man bleeding out in front of them. Only whispers could be heard amongst them now; mostly prayers to whatever gods they had. Some of the prisoners still had faith, although most of them had lost it long ago in the depths of the dungeons, where all you had to keep you company were fading memories and screams lost in the darkness.
William was amongst those praying. He had witnessed enough death these past few months. He couldn’t help but think his time was soon to come. Yet, before he could finish his prayer, a low voice interrupted him.
“Hey ... you,” one of the men whispered, giving him a nudge. “No god can help you now. We're all going to die by nightfall ... well, I’m not.” Then he added, “Get a hold of yourself. False hope can only weaken you, my friend.”
“Please don’t talk to me … wanna end up like the hungry fella over there?” William replied, nodding his head at the dying man.
A smile grew on the talkative man's face. He looked to be in his early twenties and was much cleaner than most of the surrounding prisoners. He wasn’t wearing rags—nor did he have dirt or soot blotched over his skin. “No worries. I'll keep to a whisper. The name's Baldric.”
William didn’t answer at first. He was too scared to speak, but something Baldric had said forced him to. “How is it you're so sure you're not going to die?”
The smile on Baldric’s face grew wider. “Well, I might know a little more than I’m supposed to, you see. It’s not only prisoners among us. I was a slave in the southern end of Havelmir, by the docks west of the slums. I've never seen you around though. What might your name be?”
“Reid. William Reid. I’ve been locked in the dungeons for the past few months. It’s been nice to finally wake up to the warmth of the sun on my face. I almost forgot what it felt like down there.” William looked at the sky as he spoke, squinting at the last rays of the setting sun as they shone through his curly brown hair.
“Well it’s nice to meet you, William. Hopefully you’ll never have to go back,” Baldric replied. His tone was so cheery, it was as if he wasn't aware that he had to run through a burning forest come nightfall.
“So, what else do you know?” William asked, controlling his level of interest.
Baldric held William aside for a moment, letting the other prisoners march past them. When they were far enough behind the others and out of ears reach, Baldric leaned in close to William.
“As I said, I’m not a prisoner, but a slave. I worked in one of the taverns by the docks. The Maidens Pearl. You ever heard of it?” he asked.
William nodded “I've overheard a few people speaking of it in the prisons.” This reminded him of Gus. How had he felt, thinking William hadn’t said goodbye? William hated himself for this. He thought of Gus as a true friend and he would have never left Havelmir if he’d had a say in the matter.
“Right, right. Quite a few come and go. They’re not just fishermen and common folk though. Soldiers as well.” Baldric implied, raising a brow to William. “Every night I worked in the back, cleaning steins, stocking ale, and most importantly, listening. I've heard countless stories. Some funny, some sad. I’ve even heard tales of the Elder Elves. I remember hearing one story of a drunken sailor claiming to have seen Sirens off the coast of Orum,” Baldric said with a silent chuckle. “All that aside, there’s one story I heard about ten days ago that's responsible for me being here with you right now.”
William's eyes widened. Baldric had his full attention, which is exactly what Baldric had wanted. He may have been a slave from the age of sixteen, but his father was a wise man and he had taught him many things before his death—one of which was how to use the art of speech.
“Well, what did you hear?” William asked with an antsy tone.
A grin appeared on Baldric's face again. He gave a quick look around to make sure none of the other prisoners were listening in on them before continuing. “Well, my friend. As I said, soldiers would come to The Maidens Pearl to drink just like any other man, and I believe you now know who Darith (The Bastard) is?”
“Oh yes. I know the man you speak of. A proper brute he is,” William replied, remembering the poor old man who was surely dead by now, bled out, with his intestines strewn about the cold ground.
“It was him I overheard ten days ago, along with a few other Braxi soldiers. It was late. Only a few regulars were left in The Pearl: John Barum, a fisherman from the Isles of Gale; the Perry brothers, farmers from the west ends of Havelmir; and Barrel, the town drunk. He was given the name on account of how much he drinks. It’s a fitting name, really. He likes it just as much as he does a stein of ale; he practically lives in the Pearl.
I was working in the back when I heard the Braxi come in. All proud and drunk, they were. The remaining customers got up and left the place—most men wouldn't dare look at Darith, let alone drink in the same room as him. Once I saw him cut a man's tongue out just for laughing too loud.
I was alone that night. The bartender Gaff had passed out about two hours before their arrival. He’s a good man, but he drinks more than he can serve. Darith and his men were sitting on the far-right end of the bar, next to the fire. I could see their shadows cast out on the floor. One of the men got up and filled a round of pints for the others. I kept quiet—the last thing I wanted was to spend my night with a lot of drunken Braxi. So I hid behind a few barrels of ale, close enough to the back door so I could watch their shadows on the floor. To me, they looked like the ghosts of fallen soldiers laughing and drinking amid the night. One of the men lit his pipe. I could smell the sweet scent of tobacco in the air mixed with the musk of spilt ale. They were speaking of past battles they had, sharing stories of death and victory. Darith started talking of the battle soon to come, the one we will soon be a part of. The men became silent once he spoke.
“Let me ask you something, Will. Do you know what’s in that waterskin you hold?”
William considered the question. The thought had never crossed his mind until now. He had always just assumed it was oil, as Dadro said. “Its oil, no?” William replied.
“That’s what I thought you would say,” Baldric said in a confident tone. “I doubt any of the other men know either. The Braxi aren't alone in this battle, Will. Have you ever heard of the pyromancers of Melderwin?”
William shook his head.
“I know little of them myself,” Baldric admitted. “But I know enough to find it a strange alliance. King Dadro is riding alongside one of them as we speak. His name is Aleister.”
This meant nothing to William. He had never heard of pyromancers before. “Go on,” he said, intrigued as to what Baldric would say next.
Baldric nodded and continued his story. “As I was crouching there behind the barrels of ale, I heard their plan of attack, along with the reason the Braxi are even considering an attack on the Elves in their own wood. Everyone knows fighting the Elves in the woods is like fighting a shark in water. It’s suicide. So, my friend, why are they so confident now? ... Malign oil. That's what each and every waterskin is filled with. You see, what Darith told the men next in The Pearl was that he had seen how this Malign oil works—how it burns, how it engulfs any form of wood it touches. The forest you see in front of us is the main Elven line of defense. Now, what would happen if someone—Dadro in this case—was capable of destroying it within minutes? Not to mention if he could do so without harming any of his men?”
William understood how crucial this would be. But still he wondered, How? How could such a substance lay waste to an entire forest within minutes?
Then Baldric finished his story about that night in The Maidens Pearl:
“Darith began telling the soldiers about one night when he and Dadro accompanied the pyromancer Aleister, to see how this so-called Malign oil would supposedly win them wars. He said both he and the King were skeptical. They wanted to understand the power of this substance from the Eastern world. They walked to the Yard of the Guilty b
ehind the castle. This is where they tortured the slaves and prisoners who foolishly attempted to escape. The pyromancer approached one of the stocks—one with a man still grasped inside—and poured a small satchel of Malign oil over the wooden planks. What happened next both shocked and excited King Dadro and Darith alike. With a flick of his fingers, Aleister lit the stock on fire. The entire structure was engulfed in the blink of an eye. Not but five seconds later, the stock was nothing but a pile of ash covering the naked feet of the prisoner, who was now free of its grasp. The ash didn’t even burn his feet—the glowing embers one would expect pulsed for what seemed like a short breath and cooled almost instantly. The strangest thing was that the prisoner didn't even have a mark on him. No burns on his neck or wrists. Although this didn't matter much, as Darith severed the man's head before the thought of running even entered his mind. Laughter from the Braxi soldiers then filled the Pearl.
I had a far different reaction. That's when I saw my chance for freedom; only, I wouldn't end up headless like the poor fellow from the stocks,” Baldric said. “Another thing I may add has to do with the promise Dadro has presented you and every other poor prisoner from Havelmir. I'm assuming you're under the impression that if you make it out of the woods alive, your freedom will be won, correct?”
William stared at Baldric, confused by all of it. He was hesitant to answer. “Yes ... why?”
“Well, the next thing Darith said only added to the laughter of the soldiers. He told them how he couldn't wait to kill all the mindless prisoners that managed to make it out of the woods alive.”
William’s heart dropped in his stomach. His face went pale. He finally understood why this all sounded too good to be true—because it was. Everybody was meant to die. Their freedom had been a lie. Dadro had misled all of them. The prisoners of Havelmir were nothing but pawns in the game of war. William stood still, staring at Baldric, stone-faced and at a loss for words.
“You alright th—”
“Sorry if I missed anything,” William interrupted, his voice steadily growing higher. “But how can you possibly see this as an opportunity to gain your freedom?”
Baldric was grinning again. “The ash, Will! The ash!” he replied with wide eyes. “We use the destruction to our advantage, don't you see? The Braxi expect the forest of Rhan to become a heaping pile of ash by nightfall. So, when the great forest in front of us becomes a vast field of ash, we will hide underneath it. The last thing the Braxi are going to do is rummage through the flaky mass.”
William tried to process this insane plan. He couldn't decide if Baldric was a lunatic or a genius—or both. The thought of being cut down by Darith the moment he made it out of the woods shook him to his core. He didn't really see any other options at this point. He was going to have to follow this new friend of his. Baldric from The Maiden's Pearl.
“You’re sure everything you heard was true, right? Not just some drunken story to pass the night?” William asked.
“I’m here aren't I? The slaves of Havelmir weren't forced to join the Braxi like the prisoners were. It was my choice. As I said, I saw my chance for freedom. Now freedom can be yours as well.”
Before William could answer, Darith came to a stop and began shouting orders.
“Alright, you filthy bastards! This is where we split up. Half of you will go with Aric, the others will follow me. Any who try to run will die! You're going to line up along the sides of the forest ten paces apart from each other. On my word, you’ll run into the woods and make sure you empty those waterskins. Every tree must burn down. You'll all be dead on the ground along with us if we lose this battle! Any prisoner who makes it out will have their freedom, so run fast.”
William could see the laughter and thirst for blood behind Darith’s eyes. He wanted to tell all of the unknowing prisoners around him it was all a lie, just a trick to aid the Braxi. But he was silenced by fear. You're all going to die, he thought. Either burnt alive in the great forest of Rhan or cut down by Darith and the other soldiers. The only freedom you'll have is death. I’m sorry…
Darith rode his horse through the middle of the prisoners, splitting them into two groups. William and Baldric huddled beside one another, making sure they wouldn't be split up.
“You lot go with Aric,” Darith said, tilting his head to the right. “The rest of you, follow me. The battle is soon to come, so make it quick.”
The remaining prisoners followed Darith toward the left side of the forest.
***
The prisoners were in place now, three hundred lining both sides of the Elven wood. They resembled a human horseshoe to King Dadro, who sat watching from a distance, waiting for the signal to fire the catapults and ready the archers.
“This day will be remembered for years to come, Your Grace,” Aleister said as he approached Dadro on his auburn warhorse. Unlike the Braxi, the pyromancer wore no armour. His foreign clothes stood out amongst the soldiers. His leather tunic was covered with unfamiliar pendants and chained jewelry. He wore a thick belt with countless pouches and trinkets attached to it, along with a tattered, hooded cloak, which was embroidered with strange markings and runes from his race.
Dadro slowly turned towards the pyromancer. “That it shall,” he replied. “But it's nothing compared to what will come. This is just the beginning of my reign, the first step along my road to victory. No man has attacked the Elves in nearly two hundred years. When the Kingdom of Rhan has fallen, many others will join me … my army will grow. I will carry out my father’s wishes and lay waste to every Elven Kingdom in Cellagor.”
Dadro gazed down at the forest of Rhan. He envisioned the great flames and screams soon to come.
***
The darkness of the forest stared back at the prisoners, draining them of all their courage. Hundreds of ancient trees towered high above them as they stood frightened and shaking.
They had encircled the forest, and now the men were waiting for the word to begin running. Most of them were terrified; no sane man would ever dare enter an Elven wood, let alone with the intent to burn it down. None of them knew what to expect upon their entrance into the forest of Rhan. They'd heard stories of the Elves—how fast they were, how they moved through the trees like wind, how their arrows would pierce you before you ever had a chance to see where it came from. But that was just one of the factors. The thought of burning alive in the forest, scared and alone, didn't seem much better than death at the hands of an Elf.
William looked over at Baldric. He was smiling, of all things. He looked more excited than scared. This made William feel both weak and relieved at the same time. At least I’ll have a chance with this fella. Unlike the rest of these poor souls.
Baldric gave William a nod, assuring him his plan would save them both.
Darith’s voice struck like the crack of a whip, startling all the men. “Run men, Ruuun!” he shouted.
Everything seemed to fade into slow motion as William took off. His ears were ringing with fear as he entered the dense Elven wood. He felt faint, and he could hear the thundering echo of his heart pounding in his head, imitating the harrowing drums of war. He nearly collapsed in shock, but then something jolted him in the side, snapping him back to reality—Baldric.
“Snap out of it, Will! Our plan's not going to work if you lie down to take a nap. Come on, you fool!”
William slowly felt life return to his legs. He sprinted deeper into the forest. He thought of all the hardships he had been through in life and used this to strengthen him as he followed Baldric through the ancient Elven forest.
Once all of the prisoners had disappeared into the darkness of the woods, Darith lit his torch and raised it overhead, signaling to Dadro that they were ready for attack. Dadro sent the first infantry of Braxi forward. They surrounded the forest just as the prisoners had done. The catapults were drawn and the pyromancer began lighting each of the boulders, heating the metal cradling them in place. The Braxi watched in disbelief as Aleister engulfed each sto
ne with the touch of his hand. It was as if fire coursed through his veins.
Dadro readied the archers, raising his arm overhead in a proud pose of power. “Light your arrows, men! Your target is grand and cannot be missed. On my mark, you will fire, and your arrows will burn this forest to the ground!” Dadro’s words strengthened his men. The Braxi were prepared to die for their King.
Dadro took his war hammer in hand and thrust it toward the forest. “Loose!” he screamed.
His command unleashed a thousand flaming arrows into the black night sky. The soldiers manning the catapults cut the ropes, releasing the kindled boulders. Suddenly a barrage of comets were heading straight for the forest of Rhan.
Back inside the Elven wood, Baldric began to slow down. He turned to William and held out an arm.
“Alright, this is far enough. We don’t want to be in the middle of the woods, we need to—”
Before Baldric could finish, the two prisoners to the right of them were crushed by one of the flaming boulders, splattering a shower of blood across their faces.
“Get down, Will!” Baldric shouted as he dropped to the ground. Six more prisoners in front of them were pelted with arrows, perishing in agony. The forest lit up around them, cooking the fallen prisoners as they flailed around helplessly. “Follow me!” Baldric urged. He leapt up, running back the way they had come. “We have to find a place to hide, we can’t stay in the middle of the woods. It’s too dangerous. We should head for the tree line where the forest starts to bend. That’s our best bet for safety!”
With the forest ablaze the prisoners’ pace quickened. Many men were dead and many more would soon share the same fate. A group of ten prisoners ran for the entrance, trying not to trip over the bodies of the dead around them. But the Elves were now well aware of their presence, and an arrow met the back of each man's head.
The Braxi soldiers watched as the forest of Rhan lit up the night sky. The sun had decided to come out early for them that night.