A Sea of Cinders

by Adam Bishop

  Despite fall’s changing colours throughout most lands, the leaves of the Veil kept their bluish-green pigment year-round. Arnion had heard the stories, but witnessing it with his own eyes was very different. He was taken by the beauty of the Elven forest, mesmerized by the never-ending ocean of trees passing him by. He had never been in a forest of such size before. His father had first told him many years ago how the forest’s roots stretched over four hundred miles north to south and nearly two hundred east to west. It had always intrigued him, but he kept his doubts. He set out at dawn and rode till midday, expecting to disprove the claims—instead, he found his father’s words to be true.

  “This place makes Rhan look like a garden, doesn’t it, boy?” Arnion said to Thalian. “Come on, let’s head back before we get lost.”

  Eventually, they came across the pathway they had started on. Instead of following it back to the Elven Kingdom, Arnion decided to take the path’s other course, which led to the entrance of the Veil.

  ***

  Day had turned to night by the time Arnion reached the entrance. He dismounted Thalian and removed a small satchel of food from his saddlebags. “Here you go, boy. You must be hungry,” he said as he fed Thalian an apple. “You saved my life, you know? I never thanked you for that. I promise I’ll never leave your side again. You’re the only family I have left. It’s just you and I now, boy. Everyone else is gone.”

  “You’re not thinking of leaving already, are you?” A voice asked from the darkness of the woods behind them. Arnion searched the treeline, but saw no one. Was the forest speaking to him?

  “Show yourself!” he shouted.

  A cloaked figure gracefully dropped down from a tree a few yards away and approached them. “Who are you, and why are you following me?” Arnion protested. He didn’t like the idea of being spied on.

  “My name is Faron, and I wasn’t following you. I was but keeping watch until you arrived.”

  “Keeping watch?” Arnion inquired. “For whom? Those who burned down my home?”

  Faron gave a slight nod. “Yes, them. Or any spies they might send this way.”

  Arnion’s brows slanted. “Spies of the enemy? I’ll ride out there right now and cut down any I find. Thalian is swift, and my sword never misses its mark.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” Faron said. “I heard what happened in the Valley of Larin. As impressive as it was for your first battle, your skills won’t matter here.” Faron drew an arrow and shot it into a patch of tall grass in the distance. “I spotted a man lying in the grass where my arrow lies now. He lit up like a torch and burnt to ash before I could reach him. Our enemy does not fear death. They will take their own lives if they have to. And as skilled as Galdrinor may be, he cannot interrogate a pile of ash.”

  Arnion peered out to where Faron’s arrow had landed. He felt his adrenalin slowly fading. “Why keep watch then, if you know you’re unable to capture the enemy?”

  “I never said I couldn’t catch an enemy spy. What I’m saying is that your riding out there with a sword drawn won’t be of any use. Stealth is the answer here. If I happen to spot another spy, I mean to keep my presence unknown.”

  “Have you seen anything so far?” Arnion asked.

  “Nothing since the first spy, but I’m sure another has already been sent to replace him.” Faron glanced back out across the moonlit grasslands surrounding the Elven wood.

  “How did you know it was my first battle?” Arnion asked.

  Faron stood still for a moment fixing his gaze. Finally, he turned to face Arnion. “I knew your father … he was a good man. It’s terrible what happened to him … to you and your home. I’m sorry. I was there the last time Rhan fell under attack. I fought alongside your father while you still slept in your mother’s womb. I wish I could have been there when the fires came.”

  “You fought alongside my father?” Arnion asked with great surprise. “He told Rhan hadn’t been attacked in over two hundred years.”

  “A father tells his children what they need to hear,” Faron said. “It was no army like the one you saw— just a small raid of fifty men or so. An overconfident band of rebels. The Age of Tranquility was a peaceful time, yes. But don’t assume that no blood was shed during such a time.”

  “I know The Age of Tranquility has come to an end. I also know that war is upon us. I mean to spill my fair share of blood.”

  “You have a lot of anger inside you,” Faron said regrettably. “Don’t let it get you killed.”

  Arnion clenched his teeth. He saw the truth in Faron’s advice, but he refused to accept it. He couldn’t let go of the hatred burning within him. He wished to instead embrace it, harness it. He felt in some way it would help him—comfort him even. The men who’d burnt down his old life were meant to die. “Everyone I knew is dead. Until I kill those responsible, I won’t be able to think of anything else.”

  Faron saw the pain behind Arnion’s eyes. He felt bad for the young Elf, but he also saw a blind ignorance he couldn’t ignore. He knew Arnion would stop at nothing until he had his revenge, and he feared this drive for vengeance would ultimately lead to his demise. “You may fight well, but you underestimate your enemy,” Faron said. “You must practice patience if you wish to avenge your family. We still don’t know who attacked Rhan. Until we do, you should be training. I saw what they did to your father’s Kingdom. This is no ordinary human army we are dealing with. An army capable of such destruction cannot and should not be underestimated. No human army has ever been able to defeat our kind in battle before. Be sure not to forget that.”

  “I won’t,” Arnion answered, nodding. “Faron. I thought the name sounded familiar,” he continued, “Thinduill mentioned you. You’re the scout he sent to Rhan. What is left of my home then?”

  Faron looked to the ground. “Rhan lies in ruin. It is but a graveyard for those who fell. It’s not something you want to see. Our enemies are butchers and your eyes have seen enough death.” Faron watched as rage overcame Arnion. He reached behind his head and removed the shapely twin daggers he kept hidden behind his cloak. “Show me what you can do with that blade of yours.”

  Arnion removed his sword and quickly pressed the attack with an overhead swing. Faron swiftly sidestepped out of the way and answered with two swiping attacks from the left and right. Arnion parried both, which sent the echoing clang of steel into the dead of night.

  “You’re faster than I thought,” Faron said. “But you’re also predictable.” He lunged forward, spinning with a wave of attacks. Arnion parried, backtracking without the intention of a counterattack. He heard the daggers whistle past him, oblivious to where they would come from next. As soon as he attempted to answer back with a thrust, his sword was caught between the two daggers and pulled from his hand. “You move well, but the confidences of your attacks leave you vulnerable,” Faron pointed out. “You must focus on your opponents’ attacks just as much as your own.”

  “I was focused!” Arnion argued.

  “If you were, then why do you stand in front of me unarmed?”

  Arnion fell silent.

  “You were taught well, but you still have much to learn. There’s a glade northwest of the Kingdom. Meet me there at dawn and I’ll make sure Thalian doesn’t have to save your life a second time.”

  Faron smiled as he turned around and disappeared into the Viridian Veil.

  Arnion picked up his sword and slid it back into its scabbard. He was flushed with defeat, but for a brief moment, he had forgotten all about Rhan and its countless dead. He then realized the reason for Faron’s spontaneous urge to spar. “Clever,” he whispered under his breath.

  Before heading back into the Elven wood, Arnion pulled himself up onto Thalian’s back and peered out over the land from the height of his saddle. “See any spies, boy?” Arnion jested.

  Then something caught his eye. A long shadow appeared to be sliding across the ground. He looked in the sky, assuming it was an owl or a small patch of clouds strea
king across the moon, but he only saw stars overhead. He squinted in disbelief, but then the shadow fell out of the moonlight and disappeared into darkness. Tricks in the shadow, he thought, shaking his head. “Come on, Thalian. Let’s go back, I’m starting to see things.”

  ***

  The next day, Arnion made his way to the glade Faron had spoken of. The forest sang in the brisk autumn wind, its branches teetering back and forth above him as he rode through the Elven wood. After a short while, he leaned back in his saddle and brought Thalian to a steady canter. He assumed the glade had to be close now, and he didn’t want to miss the clearing. After guiding Thalian down a small slope where the trees had started to thin out, he soon found himself in a peaceful opening within the forest. “This must be the place Faron spoke of,” Arnion spoke to himself. “So where is he?”

  A rustle came from the bushes directly across from him. But instead of Faron, the absent Elf’s horse Lithuii came trotting out. She was an ash-coloured mare with a silver main. A beauty of a horse.

  Must be Faron’s horse. Just as Arnion took his first step toward Lithuii, an arrow zipped past his face and struck one of the trees encircling the glade. He jumped back with a gasp.

  “Remember what I told you,” Faron’s voice rang out from within the forest. “You must focus on your opponent’s attacks.” His voice now came from the opposite side of the treeline, like an echo.

  Arnion held his sword out just above his waist and slowly circled in place. “And how am I supposed to do that if I can’t see you?”

  “Listen,” Faron whispered from behind him as he ran past ghost-footed.

  Arnion quickly spun around with an overhead swing, but his sword merely glided through the air. He tried to listen for Faron’s movements, but it was hard to hear anything over all the stiff branches rattling in the wind. A hollow thud echoed out behind him, but when he spun around to defend himself, he saw it was just another of Faron’s decoy arrows wedged into a tree.

  Suddenly a painful clap of steel met the back of his legs.

  “Ahhh!” his cry was equal parts pain and frustration. “Fight me!” Arnion beckoned.

  A slight laugh mocked him from the forest on his right side. “If this was a real fight, you’d be short two legs,” Faron’s voice echoed out, from his left side now.

  Arnion closed his eyes and focused on the surrounding forest. He knew Faron was trying to disorient him, but he refused to let it overwhelm him. He slowed his breathing and honed in on the sound of the Elven wood, listening for any noise outside of nature’s own voice. At first, all he could make out were the branches dancing in the wind and the stir of a thousand fallen leaves. But then he heard something that didn’t fit—it was nearly undetectable, but it was there.

  I hear you.

  He carefully followed the weightless patter of Faron’s footsteps with his eyes still closed. Without hesitation, Arnion brought his sword up and the glade echoed with the sound of steel. He opened his eyes and found Faron smiling, his two daggers pressed up against the flat of his blade.

  “Well done,” Faron said. “Hearing and seeing go hand in hand on the battlefield, something many happen to forget. You learn quickly. If you’re lucky, I’ll show you how to use a bow next.”

  “I know how to shoot an arrow!” Arnion answered in dispute.

  “Oh do you?” Faron snickered. “You fed Thalian an apple last night, do you have any left?”

  “Yes … why?”

  “Go and get me one. We’ll see how skilled you are with a bow.”

  Arnion retrieved an apple from Thalian’s saddlebag and tossed it back to Faron. He placed it on the ground about three feet in front of him. Before Arnion could ask what he was doing, Faron fired two arrows in the blink of an eye. The first arrow struck a distant tree and the second disappeared into the sky above them. “Hit the same tree my arrow struck before my second kills you,” Faron said.

  Although Arnion found himself perplexed by the whole situation, he readied an arrow and aimed for the same tree Faron had just hit. Right before he was about to fire, he heard a gentle thunk.

  “Ah! You’re dead,” Faron said. He pointed at the apple, which had an arrow stuck through its core.

  Arnion looked on in disbelief. “That’s your second arrow? The one you shot into the sky?”

  “I thought you were a master archer. Can you not do the same?” Faron teased. “Just think. Your head is a much easier target than an apple. Don’t let it bother you, though. Rhan was never known for their archers. Masters of the blade they were—which is why your sword skills don’t surprise me.”

  Arnion took his shots anyway. His first arrow landed within a hair’s width of Faron’s. His second pierced the apple. “I can still shoot. I just don’t know any tricks.”

  “Tricks, skill—call it whatever you like. Stuff like this will save your life at the end of the day,” Faron said. “An enemy’s shield can always block an arrow. But if he doesn’t know where it’s coming from, then there’s nothing to block.”

  “You fight like a ghost. I prefer to fight on horseback, myself,” Arnion said stroking Thalian’s mane.

  “That’s good. An army needs options. Every fighting style has its advantages. It’s much harder to aim at a man riding a horse than it is a foot soldier. Then again, it’s even harder to aim at a ghost.”

  “Are there many who fight like you in the Viridian Veil?” Arnion asked.

  “There are some. I’ve taught the art of stealth to many, but few have been able to test their skills in battle. You are one of the few in the Veil who has had the privilege of experiencing a true fight.”

  Arnion sheathed his blade. “I hold no honour for what happened that day,” he said in a cold tone. “I lost many close friends in the Valley. If loss and death are privileges, I guess I’m missing the part where I gain something.”

  “It is and it isn’t,” Faron answered. “A privilege, I mean. You may have lost those who were close to you, but from that, you grew stronger. Your next battle will come with no fear. And if you no longer desire vengeance, you won’t have the privilege of killing those you loathe.”

  “I want nothing more than to avenge my family and friends! But I guess it’s hard to see things that way when you’re the one who’s lost everything.”

  “I felt the same way after the War of the Fallen. Fortunately, time heals all wounds.”

  “You fought in the great war? Arnion replied. “My father refused to speak of it. All I know came from books.”

  “I did. And your father is not alone. The few who survived rarely speak of that day.” Images of blood and stone flashed through his mind. He could still hear the grinding roar of Mount Abyss as it grew from the depths of the earth, and the fading screams of those who fell into darkness. “Your father became the Lord of Rhan that day. As I said, privilege can be a double-edged sword.”

  Arnion now understood what Faron meant earlier. He felt foolish for taking it with disrespect. “The books say King Orrinelmborn slayed over two thousand men that day and that he rode a griffin. Is that true?”

  “I’ve never seen a better warrior,” Faron replied. “His skill was truly unmatched. I watched as he cut through the human armies as if chopping wheat. His Glaive, Alcanath, sprayed its enemies with the blood of his foes as it danced around him. No other weapon is feared more in all the Kingdoms of Cellagor. As for the griffin, I’m sure you’ll find out for yourself soon enough. Thinduill sent a boat to Leof Ealdwin shortly after your arrival. They’ve since returned and, if I’m not mistaken, Orrinelmborn wishes to meet you.”

  Arnion’s face held a puzzled look. “Meet me? Why?”

  “You may no longer have a Kingdom, but you’re still the Lord of Rhan,” Faron said. He could tell by Arnion’s reaction that he didn’t feel worthy of such a title. Like his father, he felt he had gained his right to the crown undeservedly—through death rather than honour.

  “You fought bravely in the Valley of Larin. As did your father in
the War of the Fallen. Being rewarded for such valour is nothing to frown upon. If it weren’t for you, the Viridian Veil may have shared the same fate as Rhan. There is great honour in saving lives, and you saved thousands.”

  Faron’s words lifted Arnion’s spirits. Until now he hadn’t considered the impact his victory had on everyone else. “Thank you. Thank you for everything. Not just the training, but for your words of reason as well. I’m sure my father held you in high regard, much as I do now.”

  Faron bowed. “I thank you … Your Grace,” He added with a jab of humour.

  Arnion laughed under his breath. “Don’t do that.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A New Guide

  William and Baldric stood frozen in place, waiting to see if the arrow staring back at them would remain nocked. William’s eyes were fixed on its steel head—the point gleamed in the single ray of sunlight managing to make its way through the web of branches above. Naturally, Baldric appeared far too relaxed, considering their current predicament. He seemed more preoccupied with the man aiming at them than with the actual possibility of death.

  “So, if you’re not an Elf … you’re human, like us? What are you doing out here then?” Baldric asked, paying no mind to the arrow. The idea of stumbling into another human in the uncharted lands of the Elves excited him.

  “I’d ask you the same,” the bowman said with a harsh country lilt. He appeared to be in his early fifties, though the grey in his beard was the only real indication. He wore a faded blue tunic underneath a brown sleeveless gambeson, dark brown leather boots, grey woolen pants, and a greyish-green cloak fastened with a silver hermit broach. “How did you come to be in possession of Elven weapons and armour?” he asked. “We both know you didn’t steal ‘em.”