A Sea of Cinders

by Adam Bishop

  “This book you spoke of … The Book of No Quarter—what did you mean when you said Lord Ammarth thought he found a pattern in the book?”

  “Well, it’s no ordinary book. The pages were written by the Elven Gods. Tis said that the book was bestowed upon the first race of Elves. Those who roamed the land before there were forests, flowers, lakes, or rivers. The book was their brush and the land their canvas. It was written in the ancient Elven dialect known as Brunenndien, which has been lost over the ages. Few Elves can still read it, but that’s not the problem. Supposedly the words tend to … float around.”

  “Float around ... what do you mean?” William asked. He was puzzled and intrigued by the thought.

  “I’m not entirely sure myself. There was this traveling merchant who passed through Havelmir about three seasons ago. He sold me a book called “The Lost Languages of the Elder Elves.” A passage in it referenced The Book of No Quarter, saying that its words and pages never stopped moving—much like time itself—and that the words would flow between its pages like waves in the sea. I don’t know exactly what is meant by all this, but I’ve always just assumed the book wasn’t intended to be a leisurely read,” Baldric said.

  “A book with moving words ... I’ve never heard of such things.”

  “Nor had I until that day, but the power it holds is immeasurable. There are many stories of the Elder Elves using the book to single-handedly win wars and end conflict against humans.”

  The thought of winning a war with just a book seemed impossible to William. “Do you know any of these stories?” William asked with wide eyes.

  Baldric smiled. He had always loved reading stories of the Elves, but until now he had never been able to share them with anybody. “Have you ever heard the story of the Submerging of Wayward?” He knew William hadn’t, but he asked anyway. Baldric had a love for storytelling, and asking William if he knew the name of the battle acted as a sort of introduction to the tale he was about to tell him. Expectedly, William shook his head.

  “Three thousand years ago, the human Kingdom of Wayward stood in the northern lands of Valnad. Their King, Hadrian the Holy, more famously known as Hadrian the Hated, cast a shadow of fear and demise across the land. The size of his army doubled all others at the time, and it grew steadily each passing day. Within the first two years of his reign, he had taken over forty per cent of the northern realm, killing over fifty thousand people in the process. His army would ride across the land murdering, raping, and pillaging everything in their path. Hadrian didn’t care if it was a small farming community or a well-respected Kingdom—he sought out destruction to all. The Elves, aware of such carnage, knew something had to be done. Hadrian had never shown any hostility toward their kind, but they knew it was only a matter of time before he would come. Regardless of the reasoning, the Elves wouldn’t stand for such abolishment over any race. Man, or Elf—it didn’t matter. They only ever sought peace. They sent a scroll to Hadrian urging him to put an end to his cruelty, but he never stopped. The Elves then took matters into their own hands, deciding to pay a visit to Hadrian’s Kingdom. Lord Ethowinn, the ruler of The Viridian Veil at the time, took twenty of his best soldiers and rode north for Wayward. Once there, he stopped at the sloping hills leading down toward the Kingdom. You see, Castle Wayward was strategically built at the base of a wide sloping area of land, with its backside surrounded by a blanket of mountains. The only way in was from the front, making it impossible to flank. Lord Ethowin sent a single rider to present his terms, which were simple and very reasonable, considering the damage that had already been done. They read— ‘Pull back your army and end this mindless regime of death and destruction. If you surrender, none will die. We will turn around and return to our forest. However, refusal will be met with total eradication of your Kingdom.

  King Hadrian was infuriated by such terms, he saw himself as a God amongst men, and the thought of surrendering to the Elves made his blood boil. He ordered his men to ready the catapults and proceeded to fire at the Elves. King Ethowinn, saddened by this selfish decision, opened the Book of No Quarter and started reading. Just before the advancing boulders came crashing down on the stone-footed Elves, they were brought to a halting stop. Time itself had come to a standstill. The giant rocks floated in mid-air, inches away from the unscathed Elven soldiers. At that moment, King Ethowinn placed his hand on the boulder hovering in front of him. To King Hadrian’s surprise, each and every boulder was sent hurling back toward his castle. Ethowinn continued to read. Even though his voice could not be heard by those watching from the battlements of castle Wayward, a gut-wrenching wave of fear descended upon every man. The ground started to crack, and the Kingdom of Wayward began to tremble. None were ready for what came next. As the tremor worsened, a state of panic broke out in the city. Walls came crashing down and homes collapsed in on themselves. Countless people were crushed under the weight of the falling debris as they fled. Even though no one knew it at the time, Castle Wayward was sinking. Falling into the very ground it was built upon. Within minutes, the earth had swallowed the Kingdom. Its highest towers were soon at ground level, and the remaining structure was lost in darkness below. It was then that the waters of the ocean were seen crashing over the mountains which once protected the Kingdom. It looked like a series of waterfalls rushing down over the high peaks of the northern cliffs, filling the void that was once Wayward. King Ethowinn finished his last sentence, and the Kingdom of Wayward became what is now known as the Lake of Sorrow. It is said to be haunted by all those who died that day.”

  William was shocked into silence for a brief moment. “But … the Elves … they killed all those people. I thought you said they were a peaceful race?”

  Baldric had expected such a response. “You see, William—some things are to be handled with care, while others require more of an omnipotent solution. King Hadrian would have ended the lives of every soul in Cellagor, including the Elves. You must look at it as an act for the greater good. Yes, the Elves killed hundreds of innocent people. But in turn, they saved the realm. If it wasn’t for the Submerging of Wayward, millions more would have faced a horrible future. That is why the Elves did what they did.”

  William pondered the righteousness of this decision for some time. He had always found it best to avoid violence at all costs. However, he understood the severity of the situation and wondered what he would do if placed in the same situation.

  “I see what you’re saying. But if this book, of ‘No Quarter’ holds so much power, shouldn’t there have been another way? I mean, if the Gods wrote it, wouldn’t there be a peaceful solution to it all?”

  Baldric found himself rather surprised by William’s answer. He had always seen what the Elves had done as the right thing, the civil thing. Yet what William presented was hard to argue with. If the Elves possessed such power, why wouldn’t they have acted differently?

  “You make a good point, my friend. There’s no argument there. But I know little of such magic. The Elves may be far more limited than we think. All I know is that the Elves hold the notion of peace in much higher regard than us humans ever have.”

  William nodded. “That, they do. I can’t argue with everything you’ve told me. I just hope you’re right,” he muttered to himself.

  It’s not that he didn’t believe Baldric. He truly did. He just found it hard to put all his trust into the words of another—not Baldric, but the books he read. How could he know if all these stories were true? He had never met the authors. Who’s to say the authors even met the Elves? He shook his head and told himself the Elves were his best bet—not like he had many other options. The Elves are probably … are probably …

  “Well, I think that’s enough storytelling for one night. I’ll tell you more of the Elves tomorrow.” Baldric stood up and dusted off his hands. He looked at William, noticing a strange look on his friend’s face. “Will? Hey, William. Are you alright?” he waved a hand in front of his face, but no reaction came. William sat f
rozen in place—his eyes wide and distant. Then, a small stream of blood began spilling out of his right nostril.

  “William! Ay, lad, you’re bleeding.”

  Still, William remained motionless.

  “Ay, Will!” Baldric shouted.

  “No need to yell,” said William, coming to life. He seemed completely unaware of what had just happened. “I’m sitting right beside you.”

  Baldric looked at William with a bemused expression. “You sort of went somewhere else for a second there. And your nose is bleeding …”

  “What are you talking about? I’m fine,” William said, wiping away the blood with his arm.

  “Are you sure? What were you thinking about?”

  “Thinking? I wasn’t thinking about anything. I’m fine, really.”

  Although Baldric didn’t believe his friend was fine, he decided it best not to pry. “Alright … Try to get some rest, eh? And don’t scare me like that again. From the sounds of it, you’ve been sleeping much better. Another peaceful night’s rest should do you good,” Baldric said as he tossed another log into the fire.

  After this comment, William was convinced his nightmares had finally come to an end. He’d endured three consecutive peaceful nights of sleeps, in which he no longer found himself swimming toward his drowning father. Nor had he awoken terror-stricken and out of breath. It was a long-awaited respite, and it provided him with a new sense of freedom. The last shackle had finally been cut. For the first time in a long time, he was happy.

  He thought back to the advice Gus had lent him in the dungeons: You’ll have to talk about it sooner or later … unless you’d rather be haunted by your past every time you close your eyes. Why had he not told Gus, his dear friend, about the night with the angler fish? He came up with several reasons—the most probable one being stubbornness—but in the end, he decided it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the nightmares were gone. William laid back and stared up at the starlit night. He tried to imagine that he was back on his father’s ship, searching through memories for the sound of the sea. Once he found the sound he was looking for, he closed his eyes and let the soothing churn of the waves rock him to sleep.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Autumn Tournament

  Richard Arinfray stood staring out the window of his solar like a statue. He peered out toward the Stony Forks with a blank expression carved into his face. Six days had passed since he’d sent Durwin, to the northern fort of Stoneburg. It was a two-day ride at most, and so a collection of ill-fated assumptions had built in his mind. Richard’s eagle, Kodi, flew overhead on watch for Durwin as well, but the only movement the eagle saw belonged to wild rabbits and the odd mountain goat.

  Richard feared he had unknowingly sent his friend into the hands of death. Had Durwin been ambushed on the roads? Or had his horse lost its footing along the steep mountain trails? Richard tried convincing himself that such dark possibilities could never have occurred, but the fact that Durwin had never lingered on a task before made it much harder to ignore. War had introduced itself by way of Dadro’s scroll. Now Richard feared those words had become actions.

  “If Durwin has died due to the result of such adversity, there will be much more than war headed Dadro’s way,” he said to himself.

  “Richard, you mustn’t torture yourself like this,” Iris said as she entered the solar. “Durwin will return shortly. Staring mindlessly out the window will only make his return seem longer.”

  Richard remained still, continuing to stare.

  Queen Iris rolled her eyes at his stubbornness and made her way to his side. “Many moons have passed since Durwin and Gregor last met. I’m sure a great feast was held and much wine was poured. Is it really that hard to believe two old friends slept through most of the day after? He will be here, my love. Durwin wouldn’t miss the Autumn Tournament.”

  Richard found some comfort in her words. “I suppose what you say could be true. A long time has passed between them, and a night of drinking would surely set Durwin off course. Especially if Gregor was involved. He always drank as if he had two stomachs,” Richard replied with a grin. He called Kodi back inside and managed to break free of his cemented stance. “I do hope his delay is due to a night of drinking. I must admit—if it were me, I too would likely find myself delayed on account of such festivities.”

  Iris shook her head and peered up at her husband with an amused look on her face. “If it were you, I doubt you’d return within a fortnight.”

  Richard pulled his wife close and planted a kiss upon her forehead. “You think I’d spend that many days away from my Queen?” He said holding her in his arms.

  She blushed and rested her head against his chest. “Not if you ever wanted to see me again,” she prodded.

  The two of them shared a brief laugh, amused by each others ribbing words. Richard appreciated her concern. He knew he could always rely on her remedial words, though he never wanted to admit it. With his mind now at ease, his attention fell back on the importance of the Autumn Tournament.

  “How are things coming along with the games?” he asked. “Have all the stands been set up for the crowd? I don’t want groups of people clustered about the fences, fighting for a good view like last year.”

  “Have there been many visitors?” Richard continued. “More than last year I hope?”

  He had always been fond of the Autumn Tournament. In fact, it was his favourite event every year. His love for the games had started at a young age upon witnessing the renowned melee bout between Sir Barristan Emsly and Sir Arthur Lloyd. Seeing those two knights compete against each other inspired him to learn the art of sword fighting. The impact of that fight, along with the years of ensuing nostalgia, resulted in his efforts to make sure each tournament held under his name was as entertaining as possible. Sadly, times of war and conflict intervened and the number of combatants dwindled over the years. Richard knew his family’s refusal to side with the Braxi was the cause of it all, but he honoured their decision and never held a single ounce of regret.

  Iris knew there would be far fewer guests than last year due to Dadro’s victory over the Elves. But she didn’t have the heart to crush her husband’s hopes. “Yes. All the stands have been erected, my love. Not to worry, everyone will have a seat. It’s still early yet, but I have seen quite a few new faces. I think I saw Joel and Henry setting up for the joust. So, I’m sure everything will be in place soon.”

  “Joel?” Richard said in a concerned tone. “I told Henry I would help him with the tilt. Joel’s a stubborn old bugger. He refuses to believe his true age. If he sets up the barrier it’ll be as crooked as his eyes. I'd best go help Henry before our jousting tilt looks like a winding river. I can’t have people thinking I’ve turned into one of those self-important pompous kings.”

  Iris laughed. “Before you do, remember to go see Krea. She’s practicing in the archery yard. It’s her first year in the games and I’m sure some words of encouragement from her father would ease her nerves … I still can’t believe you're letting her compete. Not even Rowan took part in the games at such a young age.”

  Richard nodded. “Krea’s a natural with the bow. She holds no fear in competing against those older than her. If anything, it’s the elders who should be nervous.”

  “She is quite good, considering her age,” Iris said. “Rowan told me she’s now a better shot than he. Even so, you should still go speak with her.”

  “Ha! That’s a girl, besting her older brother with a bow. Rowan never was one for long-range combat. One of the most talented swordsman I know though. I wouldn’t be surprised if he took first place in the melee this year … that is if I don’t take part, of course,” Richard said with a smirk.

  “Weren’t you bested by Duncan the Dam three years back? I believe Rowan defeated him last year.”

  Iris’s response caught Richard off guard. “I let the poor boy win! There’s no nobility in winning every time. What fun would come from the games if the kin
g took home every prize?”

  “Oh, yes. Of course,” Iris replied sarcastically.

  Richard ignored her mocking remark swayed the conversation elsewhere. “Well, I best find Joel then! Before the tilt has to be redone. I’ll make sure to go see Krea after I finish. I won’t let my little girl enter the games without lifting her spirits.”

  ***

  “Loose!”

  An arrow tore through the air and pierced the yellow-ringed bullseye dead centre.

  “Very good, Krea. But you mustn’t torture your draw arm. The longer you hold it, the weaker it becomes,” Elis the Arrow said as he nocked an arrow.

  “But I hit the target right in the middle?” Krea defended, disappointed with her teacher’s reaction.

  Elis glanced over at her with a look of both pity and understanding. “Yes. But your target stands still. If your target has feet, that means it most likely has friends. They would pierce you before you had a chance to draw another arrow.” He then fired three arrows simultaneously. Each one met its mark within a second of the other.

  The point he was trying to make took a moment to reach her. Krea looked up at him, annoyed by what she viewed as arrogance ... “You told me to aim for the middle and that’s what I did. Just because I can’t shoot three arrows as fast as you, doesn’t mean I’m a bad shot.”

  “I never said you were a bad shot. Your aim is impressive. However, your father asked me to teach you the art of archery, not the art of aiming. A painter uses more than one colour, does he not? You’re good at hitting the target. Now it’s time we moved on to another colour.”

  Krea finally caught on to his lesson. She liked Elis the Arrow—though sometimes she grew frustrated by his antics, especially when he was showing off. Nevertheless, she took what he said into account and studied the targets in the distance. She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes to steady her nerves.

  When she opened them she fired off three rapid-fire shots. Each of them hit their targets, but her second and third arrows landed in the centre’s outer ring.