David Dalglish - The Shadows of Grace

Soft hands grabbed his own, halting his harsh tugging at the leather straps. He felt Aurelia lean her head against his shoulder.

“I was still young, for an elf,” she said. “Everywhere we went, the fires followed. Forests, grasslands, even the deep caves filled with smoke and ash. King Baedan knew we would win a war of soldiers, but our homes…”

She wrapped her arms tight about him.

“I killed so many. They didn’t send soldiers, but farmers, hungry vagabonds, even criminals. They gave them torches and oil and let them burn. It had been a dry summer, Harruq. I’m not sure you’ve ever seen how fast a forest can burn, but I have. Breathtaking, and horrifying.”

Harruq turned around, his hands encircling her waist. She refused to meet his gaze, but that was fine with him. He could see the tears in her eyes, her haunted face a thousand memories away.

“At last we fled, thousands of us. Dezerea, our beloved home, was ash. And that was when King Baedan finally ordered in his troops. He didn’t want us gone, he wanted us dead, never to return. Hundreds of horseman crashed through our ranks. We’d kill them, but they’d be replaced by hundreds more. At last we made it to the Corinth River, the border between Mordan and Ker.”

Harruq gently guided his wife to the bed, where the two sat side by side, his arm over her shoulder. She tilted her head against him. He could hardly believe the sadness he felt pouring out of her. How long had he been completely unaware?

“What about your parents?” he asked when her silence stretched so long he thought she might not continue.

“Magic in elves is heavily based on bloodline, not trained like with humans,” Aurelia said with a sigh. “If either parent could cast spells, so could the child. We were never numerous, just enough to watch over nature and guide her growth. My parents were both casters, the strongest of our race. When we reached the Corinth Bridge, they demanded to stay behind along with eight others. We knew Baedan would have his troops follow us, no matter how far we fled. His entire army marched after us, ten thousand strong. Against those ten thousand, my parents made their stand.”

“Ten against ten thousand?” Harruq said. “No matter how strong they were, they had to know…”

“They did.” Aurelia said. “They knew. And they crushed more than two thousand soldiers before they fell, and slowed down their movements for days. It was enough for us to get away, to find our new home.” She sniffed. “They renamed it the Bloodbrick Bridge afterward. I wanted to stay, nearly demanded it, but they refused. I was one of the few remaining with the touch of magic. They thought it my duty to preserve it.”

Harruq hugged her as she fell silent once more. Her breathing turned slow and heavy, and he knew she was struggling to hold back tears.

“Their names?” he asked. “What were your parents’ names?”

“Kindren Thyne was my father’s name,” she said. “And Aullienna was my mother’s.”

At the sound of that name she broke, clutching at Harruq with a desperate strength as she sobbed. Harruq held her, tears in his own eyes.

“It’s been a long year,” he said. “But we’ll make it, Aurry, we’ll make it.”

“I miss our baby so much,” Aurelia said. “How she laughed, how she walked, how she, how she…”

She couldn’t finish. Too many memories, so many of them good. The way little Aullienna cried, the way she crawled, the way she giggled every morning inside her crib, as if her entire world lit up at the sight of her mother. All lost. All stolen by a cold stream and Qurrah’s madness.

“I miss her too,” Harruq said. “But we’ll be all right.”

Deep inside, he hoped that was true.

T arlak muttered as he heard someone calling his name. Too early, he thought. Way too early.

“Wake up. Six hours is more than enough sleep,” Dieredon said, nudging the mage with his bow.

“For you maybe,” Tarlak grumbled, burying his face in a pillow. “What do you want?” he asked.

“My scouts have returned from all corners of Neldar,” Dieredon said, jabbing Tarlak harder. The wizard looked up and glared with bloodshot eyes.

“Fascinating,” he said. “Tell me later.”

“Orcs march from Veldaren carrying the banner of Karak, but they do not chase after your refugees. There are several castles that might stand against them, if spurred into action. Both Kinamn and the Green Castle might prove powerful enough if warned in time. At worst, they must flee west with the rest of the Neldaren people.”

Tarlak sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes with his forefingers.

“What does this have to do with me?” he asked.

“I am Scoutmaster of the Quellan elves,” Dieredon said. “It is my duty to contain the orcs at all cost. But I cannot be in two places at once. Lend me your Eschaton. We can sound the alarm, and perhaps strike down many of the orcs before they can reinforce from the Vile Wedge.”

“What of my people?” Antonil asked, having been awake the entire time. Dieredon shrugged.

“Neyvar Sinistel will give them food, blankets and means for shelter. It will take a day or two to prepare, but you are weeks of travel ahead of the war demons. They will be fine without the Eschaton.”

“Much as I’d like to rest,” Tarlak said, “I find it hard to turn down a chance to get back at those who destroyed my home. When do we leave?”

“Now,” Dieredon said. “Wake the others. I will escort you back to your camp, and then we will be off.”

“Yes sir, boss elf, sir,” Tarlak said, offering a sleepy, off-balanced bow.

Dieredon left with a sigh.

As Tarlak prepared, Antonil stood and stretched, showing a bit of life that hadn’t been there the night before.

“They will help us,” he said. “Praise Ashhur, they’ll help us.”

“Try not to get too excited,” Tarlak said. “It’s just some food and blankets. They’re not going to war to protect us. They’re not offering escorts or troops.”

“They’re offering aid,” Antonil said, strapping on his belt and sword. “For now, that is enough.”

“I’ll go wake the others,” Tarlak said. “Let’s get the fun started!”

D ieredon didn’t bother with the twisting, looping pathways out of the forest. Instead, he led them in a straight path that took them directly to their camp.

“Ready your Eschaton,” he told them. “We leave in one hour.”

At the sight of their return, people swarmed toward them. With a bit of help from Tarlak, Antonil levitated into the air and spoke with a magically-enhanced voice.

“People of Neldar!” he shouted. “The elves will aid us! They will give us food and blankets as we travel west. We will not give up, and we will not surrender to the demons that give chase. Hold fast! Hope still lives!”

All around, hope kindled, weak but growing.

“Good speech, nice and short,” Tarlak said as he levitated Antonil back to the ground.

“Never been one for long speeches,” the king said.

The Eschaton and the Ash Guild met together shortly after, with Tarlak discussing Dieredon’s plan.

“Let me make sure everyone understands this,” Deathmask said after Tarlak was done. “This elf wants to send us to where we just came from, to the Green Castle tucked between the Kingstrip and the Vile Wedge, hopelessly surrounded by enemies?”

“Well, I’d prefer a bit cheerier spin on it than that, but yeah, that’s the idea,” Tarlak said.

“We’re all exhausted,” Harruq said. “This really a good idea?”

“If we can save more lives, we must,” Lathaar said. “I don’t see much of a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Deathmask said. “Whether you wish there is or not. We put everyone here at risk if we leave. We are followed by winged armies. How fast might they reach us?”