Richard Baker: Forsaken House

"Go on ahead. I'll follow shortly."

Fflar watched the sun elf lord and his entourage descend back to the crusade's camp. The sun was setting, and the lanterns of the elven army surrounded the foot of the hill like a garland of candles amid the trees. The evening was fine and clear, with little of the cold wind that often raked the Delimbiyr Vale in the early spring, but Fflar could tell that it would be quite cold later on. It suited his mood.

The open square before the ruined palace was not unlike the broad plaza that had stood before Castle Cor-manthyr. He remembered a hot, humid day with a brassy sky and the smoke of burning homes thick in the air, and he shuddered.

What is this place? he wondered. What am I doing here? A lifetime ago I fought for the People, and now I live and fight again.

"Did I know peace in Arvandor?" he asked the emptiness, but he found no answer.

He sighed and sank down on the low, jumbled stones of an old stone wall, listening to the silence of the ruins.