Eternal Forest: Savage Rising (22 page)

             
“You said your friends were being held captive,” the wife said. “Are they with the Sorceress?”

“No,” she responded with a shake of her head. “They’re being held by four more fire demons south of the market.”

              “More demons?!” the little girl squealed as she buried her face in her mother’s chest, her tears returning.

             
The husband slammed his hand down on the table, rocking it under Firefly’s tiny feet like an earthquake. Her flapping wings caught her before she fell over and she hovered just above the surface until the tremor stopped. “Can’t they see we’re terrified enough?!” he bellowed. “Soldiers patrol the base of the mountain; wander our corridors within the city. No one is allowed to leave. We are prisoners in our own homes.”

             
“Held only by a few hundred soldiers,” Firefly responded. “There are still thousands of dwarves in the city. There are elves, faeries, and centaurs as well. We can take the guards that patrol the city and swarm the force on ground. Rise together and you can overpower them.”

             
“But not the demon,” the husband reminded her. “The creature will crush anything in its path. I saw what it did in the marketplace.”

             
“The demon is a spirit of death,” Firefly said. “It is the enemy of the Lady, and the Lady will help us defeat it.”

             
“How do you know that?” the wife asked. “How can you possibly know that?”

             
Firefly searched her mind, searched her faith, trying to answer that question. She needed an answer, not just for these frightened dwarves, but also for herself. Fortunately, the Lady finally came through, and Firefly found her faith once again, in the distant rumbling of thunder echoing in from the south.

Chapter 22

“They were a sight unlike any other, as though the trees and shrubs themselves stepped out of the ground, taking up weapons to fight the Lady’s battle. Shimmer had described the dryads to us, but seeing them for myself was beyond anything my imagination had crafted.”

Valdin’s notes from the Battle of Tranquility

              The army stopped when the rains came. The downpour had begun in the evening, and didn’t let up for the rest of the night. Azalea wasn’t sure if Killika had intended to rest his army for the night, or if the rain altered his plans to march on the elves under cover of darkness. Either way, it meant a long, sleepless night under a driving rain with no shelter.

             
She’d sat there all night, resting her back against the trunk of a maple tree. She had no more tears left to cry, so it seemed the Lady Herself wept for her through the sky, and weep She did. It had been months since the Lands of Order saw such a downpour. The droplets were large and numerous, and the sound of them beating against the leaves above were louder than her own thoughts.

             
It was just before dawn when the storm finally moved on to the north. The morning shed its light on a revitalized forest, but Azalea found no joy in the rejuvenation. She knew what horrors the day would bring.

             
Killika had the army up and in formation before the sun was fully up. A quick meal was passed out and eaten. Azalea herself was presented with a small cluster of berries and a loaf of bread the size of her fist. She didn’t want to take the meal, but her hunger was more important than her pride. As she savored the berries, Azalea looked at the tiny loaf curiously. “Where did this bread come from?” she asked.

             
“We make it,” answered the soldier distributing the rations. His reply was far kinder than she was expecting, especially after her brutal treatment by Killika. The soldier seemed just as friendly as Heeska. She watched the soldier closely. His scaly hands were trembling slightly as he handed out each ration. After handing out the last loaf in his bundle, he returned to his supply resting at the base of a tree to retrieve more.

             
Too curious to resist, Azalea stood and made her way over to the tree. The tiny loaves were kept in a large sack made of rope and crudely woven cotton cloth. As the soldier transferred some of the loaves to his small basket, she put a hand on his shoulder.

             
The soldier looked up at her. There was no disdain in his face, no malice. She saw nothing savage in his eyes.

             
“Where do you make this bread?” Azalea asked the soldier.

             
The balisekt loaded a couple more loaves into his basket. “Back at home,” he replied. His demeanor greatly perplexed her. Where was the hatred, the anger? After several years of living in the wilds with Heeska, she and Zehlyr had come accustomed to the balisekt’s capacity for civilized living. However, she’d always assumed that those who fought for Lord Killika shared in his hatred for the Tribes of Order. Now, talking with this one soldier, she was beginning to see that such was not the case.

             
The soldier's eyes confused her the most. They seemed scared, like a child lost in the Wilds all alone. It was a look that reminded her of something, but she couldn't clearly recall it. Still, the feeling gave her hope. It was a familiarity for something before the balisekt’s ritual north of Meadowgold. Perhaps her memory would return someday after all. Hesitantly, Azalea put a hand on the balisekt's shoulder. “Are you afraid?" she asked.

             
With eyes turned away sheepishly, the soldier nodded.

             
“What has you frightened?" she asked.

             
“War," the balisekt replied. “War and death."

             
Azalea was astonished. This soldier clearly did not want to be fighting this battle. Heeska told stories many times of how ruthless and tyrannical Lord Killika was, but this was her first experience seeing the effect his cruelty had on his subjects. “You don’t want to fight?” she questioned.

             
The soldier shook his head, but did it very subtly, as though afraid of who might see his answer.

             
Azalea couldn’t help but push harder. “Are there others that feel this way, too?”

             
The soldier opened his mouth to answer, but quickly fell silent as his eyes flew open in alarm. Before Azalea could question, Killika’s hand slammed down hard on her shoulder and jerked her backward.

             
Azalea landed on her back. She felt the cool mud below pressing against her skin only for a moment before the Balisekt Lord hoisted her back up to her feet with a violent tug on her arm.

             
“Breakfast is over!" Lord Killika bellowed. “Move out!"

~~\*/~~
 

             
The soldiers marched in formation, moving as one in long rows through the trees towards Moon-hollow. Standing at the center of the hoard with Lord Killika, Azalea couldn't see the end of the line in either direction. It was truly a massive force, and it would hit the elven village within the hour.

             
The storm was behind them, but there was still a cold, damp chill hanging in the morning air. Mist nearly as thick as fog clung to the low foliage. Drops of rainwater fell from the tips of the leaves above her. It was a beautiful morning, too beautiful for bloodshed and death, but that was not her decision to make.

             
The scouts ahead let out a cry, causing everyone to look up as Killika halted the army's advance. Killika had mentioned the element of surprise would no longer be in his favor, and that fact was clear now. A large gathering of elven soldiers lay ahead of them. Numbering in the thousands, they stood proudly and fearlessly. The sun's early rays reflected brilliantly off their polished armor and fine blades. It was clear Moon-hollow had been given enough warning to prepare for the coming battle, and for a moment, Azalea felt a glimmer of hope that Killika's army might be defeated.

             
Then, she remembered; she was there to ensure that wasn't the case.

             
There was a haunting silence in the chilly air as the two forces stood in their rows, staring at each other through the morning mist. Azalea could hear the soldiers around her hissing in eager anticipation. Her conversation with the soldier earlier showed her that some in Killika's army wanted no part of this war, but hearing the almost primal anticipation of the warriors around her, it was clear he hadn't spoken for all.

             
Up ahead, a lone elven soldier stepped out from the ranks. He had skin the color of sand and hair as black as the night sky under a new moon. He was larger than most elves, and the decorations on his armor suggested he held some significant rank. The sword clutched in his hands was far too ornate for a common soldier.

             
“Balisekts of the Savage Lands," the elven warrior bellowed loudly. “Your war upon the Lands of Order ends here. The dwarves you took by surprise, but now you face the full might and glory of the elven race. Our armies are matched in size, but you cannot hope to best elven skill and craftsmanship. Turn away and leave now, while your lives are still your own."

             
There was a hush over the forest as everyone, elves and balisekts alike, awaited Lord Killika's response. The heartless tyrant only turned his back on the opposing general. With a scaly hand raised into the air, he shouted a single word in his native language. In unison, the entire second line of his army raised their bows into the air.

             
Azalea stole a quick glance back across the forest. Her eyes beheld the look of bewilderment in the elf general's face. Thrusting his arm down again, Killika shouted another command. The sounds of hundreds of bows releasing their tension at once echoed through the trees. Their combined force was like a gentle wind on Azalea's back. The arrows flew low and fast, not raising high enough to become tangled in the canopy.

             
With nearly no arch to slow them down, the arrows struck the first line of elven soldiers with tremendous force. Azalea watched in horror as the entire front line fell backwards onto the wet ground.

             
The elven commander's face was a horrific mixture of shock and rage. Lifting his sword into the air, he loudly sounded the order to charge. Stepping over the bodies of their fallen comrades, the elven army raced towards the balisekts with weapons held high and eyes full of anger. Azalea could see worry in the eyes of the balisekt soldiers, but only for a moment before Lord Killika stole her attention away.

             
“Dryad, stop them," he commanded calmly yet authoritatively. From her experience, Azalea knew this would be the only time he would give the order nicely.

             
"What would you have me do?" she asked, her soul full of defeat.

             
Killika put his hand on her back and shoved her towards the charging elves. "Whatever you have to," he replied coldly. "Just ensure my victory."

             
Azalea fell to her hands and knees in the cold mud. She lifted her head, allowing her pink hair to fall away from her eyes and give her a clear view off the charging elven force. Her heart was heavy with guilt before she ever carried out the deed. She knew what the right thing to do was. She was sacrificing the lives of hundreds, maybe even thousands, to save six, but those six meant the world to her, especially Zehlyr, and she knew she would watch the world burn to keep him from harm.

             
If necessary, she would burn it down herself.

             
With tears streaming from her eyes, she extended her hands out to either side of her body and thrust her fingers into the mud. "Lady, forgive me," she barely managed to say through her heavy breaths. The ground began to rumble beneath them. The furious charge of the elves slowed to a stop as the soldiers looked around in utter astonishment. Puddles of rainwater on the forest floor trembled with tiny ripples.

             
A series of loud cracks sounded as thin vines sprung from the wet soil. The leafy, sinew-like plants shot out at the opposing elves. In a flash, they bound their wrists and ankles, holding them all helplessly in place. Swords were dropped as the elves fought fruitlessly to free themselves.

             
Azalea felt the now familiar grasp of Killika's hand on her shoulder before he yanked her to her feet once again. "What are you doing?!" the Balisekt Lord demanded. "You were to kill then, not trap them!"

             
"What does it matter?" Azalea asked softly with her eyes turned away. "The battle is yours either way."

             
With an angry snarl, Killika pushed her side. "Never mind," he said with a low groan. "I will leave the glory of the kill to my soldiers." With a sinister smile, Killika drew his blade and lifted it into the air, sounding the call to charge in his own tongue. Rallied by the assurance of inevitable victory, the balisekt army descended on the trapped elves like a spider on the fly caught in its web.

             
Azalea felt her whole body tremble as the army of elves was slaughtered like cattle before her eyes. Held in place by her restraints, the elves held up their hands in a desperate plea to be spared, but none were met with an ounce of mercy.

"No!" She screamed, though the cries of the elves were loud enough to drown her out entirely. In an instant, she regretted what she’d done, what she’d helped this monster to accomplish. She’d always known how this would turn out, but she’d
managed to hide the truth from herself to justify saving her friends. It was only now, with the horrifying event unfolding in front of her, that she felt the full weight of her actions. Her magic dissolved and the vines loosened, but the battle was already over.

             
Free from the vine that had wrapped around his neck, the elven commander threw down his sword and raised his hands high into the air. "We surrender!" he shouted over the chaos. "The battle is yours! We are finished."

             
The smile on Killika's face made Azalea's heart feel as heavy. With prideful strides, the Balisekt Lord marched through the mud towards the defeated commander. All around him, his soldiers continued to silence the pleading tongues of the helpless elves with swift attacks. This was no battle. There never was a battle. This was a series of executions for men and women guilty of nothing more than trying to defend their homes, and Azalea had made it all possible.

             
Azalea felt crushed under her guilt. Before, all she could think of was Zehlyr and the others being slowly tortured, crying out as the fire demons tore them apart. Her head was spinning, making her too dizzy to stand. The sounds of steel against flesh and agonizing screams filled her ears and pounded against her skull. Off to her left, she watched as a balisekt eagerly thrust its blade into the back of a tearful young elf as he struggled find his dropped weapon in the wet undergrowth. His head shot up as the blade broke his spine, and Azalea's mournful face was the last thing he saw.