The Elf King (26 page)

Chapter 15

T
he battle cry from the massive army rolling out of Cillitran
echoed deep into the Shyl Plains like a thunder that promised a
great flood. The sun lit the blue empty sky directly overhead as
clouds of dust threatened to swallow the city wall behind. Dozens
of rows of marching men moved like a herd off to slaughter, pushing
and pulling their giant catapults while the clanking and clamor of
their shields and armor drown all sound in their wake. The march
for the Lyyn Forest had begun with an order from the Queen only a
short while ago and no time was wasted following her
command.

Though many thought they
would not be returning.

The calvary of horses and
swordsmen headed the assault, followed by the bowmen, then the
legion of fighting men carrying only axes or other weapons of
swinging destruction, and then the mechanics and their catapults
that towered three stories high, sitting on giant
wheeled-platforms. Weapon makers were scattered in the midst, men
who could whittle arrows and string bows along with sword and steel
forgers. It was going to be a bloody battle. The army of Cillitran
expected and prepared for the worst against an Elven nation that
would use magic and talismans. They would fight hard and fearless
against the enemy Race that had slain their Prince and King. They
would battle to certain death.

Ern Dwull was thinking
exactly that as he sat upon his black horse, riding slightly ahead
of his company, beady eyes gleaming into the Shyl Plains, thoughts
focused solely on avenging the King. The Elves would know they were
coming, he suspected. Their use of magic would allow them to see an
attack approaching far before Dwull could see the Lyyn Forest. They
would be walking into a trap, he thought. But he wasn’t letting
paranoia get the best of him. He would find a way to make it work
to his advantage. They were the underdogs after all—easily
overlooked. It was their only advantage.

The Elves would pay. Ern
Dwull would see to it.

A hundred yards behind him
walked Lon Ruell and his bowmen. They were a tight band of friends
and brothers, tough minded and very skilled in what they do. Unlike
Ern, Lon did not distance himself with his company, choosing to
trek with them side by side, for no other reason but because it was
where he belonged. Dressed in his hunting garb of dark greens and
brown camouflage, his bow strapped over his shoulder along with a
full quiver of razor sharp arrows, his face a mask of emotions.
Also unlike Ern, it was hard to tell exactly what he was
thinking.

Since Ern Dwull exited city
walls with the announcement that the Queen had given the order to
march, Lon’s thoughts had been focused on what he saw in the
other’s eyes, what Ern was keeping secret. Lon had tried to dismiss
the look, thinking that maybe Ern had a lot on his mind. Maybe it
was just the fact that going off to war without the King felt odd
and wrong to Ern. He was feeling that himself. Maybe it was the
stress from the role of leadership Ern was undertaking in the
King’s absence. But Lon thought there was more to it. There was
something in Ern’s eyes that he wanted to keep from him, something
troubling. Ern was a veteran solider, and he was more than willing
to lead Cillitran’s army. Whatever it was that he was keeping
secret, Lon knew it was serious.

“
Captain,” a voice spoke to
his side followed by an outstretched arm holding a flask of water.
Lon smiled and took the canister, drinking only what was necessary,
then handing it back to his comrade with a nod of gratitude. He
began wishing that Ern would learn to trust him as his own men
did.

The heat of the afternoon
faded with the blueness of the sky as dusk approached, splashing
reds and yellows across the horizon while cool air swept down from
the Caltar Mountains. Cillitran’s army kept on until there was no
light left to see, and then made camp in the middle of the Shyl
Plains. Watch-posts were set around the perimeter, and small
cooking fires dotted within. Conversations were lite as men huddled
around in small groups and spoke of whatever they could to distract
the present situation. As night grew deeper, the sky blackened
without the moon’s presence, though one end to the other was dotted
a million times over with faded stars.

It was then that Lon Ruell
decided to find Ern Dwull. He walked to the head of the front and
found the commander sitting alone sharpening his daggers, maps
unrolled beside him. He didn’t look up from his work at Lon’s
approach, dark eyes focused, face etched in shadow.

“
Slow trek,” Lon stated,
looking past Ern into the night.

Ern kept working. “No
hurry. We’ll need our strength.”

Lon looked down at the
other’s face. “What is it? What’s troubling you?”

Ern stopped. He looked up
to Lon, whatever expression he had was only known through his
irritated tone. “Why would you ask me this?”

“
I’ve known you for a long
time, Ern. I can tell when something is bothering you. And since
we’ve left the city, something has.”

Ern Dwull stared up for a
few moments, saying nothing, then looked back down to his work,
placing his daggers in sheaths. “I have much to be troubled with,
Ruell. Nothing that this war will not settle.”

“
It is not the war,” Lon
shot back quickly, watching the other’s head look up just as quick.
“You are not alone, commander. You have brothers here to rely
on.”

They stared at each other
for a moment, then once he realized that there would be no
response, Lon turned and walked back to his regiment. Ern Dwull
watched him disappear in the darkness, then prepared for bed
wondering if he ever could let someone in.

Before retiring to bed
himself, Lon Ruell made his way through the giant camp wishing
those still awake to have deep sleep, working this way out to the
spotters and watch guards posted beyond the perimeters wishing them
the same. It was something that he had saw King Andelline do once
before, something that showed respect to those who would give their
life for you. With the King and the Prince gone now, he and Ern had
taken leadership roles in the army. Once they were at the point
where attack was beneficial, they would get their captains and
would all meet to discuss the best strategy. It would also be
discussed what, if any at all, news they would send back to the
Queen. They had decided to inform her of their progress, though Ern
heavily voiced concern on letting her decide any matters of their
doings. She was a Queen, he said, she knew nothing of war tactics.
In the end, they had agreed with Ern. For the time being, they
would send only word to her.

Lon finished his rounds and
was making his way through the camp to his own blanket, nestled in
the midst of his men, who he thought would mostly be asleep. His
mind began drifting back to the Queen. He wondered how well the
talks went with the sorcerer that had arrived just before the march
began. He wondered if she would send him to aid them, like they all
were expecting. She would choose to remain behind, safe in the
castle walls where she belonged. He wondered if she would choose to
marry again, if Cillitran would ever have another king. Sienna
would mourn for a while before she would be able to even consider
moving on. It would be a long time, he guessed. He may not live to
see another king.

He reached his blanket near
the midnight hour and lied down quickly. The air was cool, quiet.
Thin clouds were swirling down from the Caltar Mountains now. Lon
Ruell pulled his jacket together tightly and closed his eyes. Sleep
came in and tore him away from his thoughts of the
Queen.

It was just before dawn
when the clanking of the bell sounded, bringing the thousand-plus
men out of their slumber and to their feet. A brief meal was
served, then the march began again. It would take them an entire
week to reach the end of the Shyl and the start of the Lyyn at the
pace they were going. But none thought it mattered. The more rested
they were, the better.

Around midday dark clouds
began to form on the eastern horizon. The warmth of the afternoon
was replaced suddenly by a coolness and the scent of rain.
Thundering clouds moved in, towering into the sky in a spooling
mess of dark blues. Rain came quickly, hard and relentless, so
strong that the army was forced to stop and wait it out. Two hours
passed and the heavy drench lessened to a steady pour, allowing the
soaked men to carry on once again. The wet grass was slippery, and
passing through the soggy terrain was slow and difficult, pulling
their heavy catapults through patches of mud slowed to nearly a
standstill. Nightfall brought no end to the rain, and the men of
Cillitran’s army made camp with no fires, pitching tents and
turning to bed early.

The black clouds swirling
overhead made it seem later than it was, and the lack of fires only
made the Plains look even more succumbed by shadow, Lon thought as
he walked away from his tent’s draw-flaps, over to his bed, ready
to retire for the night. As he sat down to unlace his boots, a
voice spoke, startling him.

“
Rain has an effect on
everything, you know?”

Lon looked up immediately.
Ern Dwull stood just inside his tent, the rain falling in a steady
pour just beyond. Lon never heard him enter.
“Commander?”

“
In the night, it plays
with your vision, your hearing. It dampens your spirit, too. Makes
your fears seem that much more inevitable.”

Lon said nothing, waiting
to see where the other was going. It was in an odd fashion that Ern
was speaking. It was as if he was lost in thought, thinking out
loud to himself. Lon sat patiently, waiting.

Ern approached within five
feet and stopped. He was soaked. His black beard masked his
expression as his eyes hid in shadow. His voice was icy. “I wish
this business with the Elves to be finished. I wish my King back to
us where he belongs.”

“
As we all do,” replied Lon
softly. “Would you care for a drink?”

Ern Dwull stood silent. The
conversation he planned on having was sitting at his lips, ready,
more than ready, it was necessary, urgent. But as the commander
stood staring at Lon, he couldn’t force the words he had been
practicing to come out.

“
No. I do not wish to stay
long,” he lied. “I just wanted you to know that regardless of the
outcome, I will be happy to have...” he paused, changing his words
mid-stride, “known you. You’re a good man, Lon Ruell. So was your
father. Your sons will be too, I suppose. Sleep long.”

Before Lon could say
anything, Ern turned around and disappeared into the rain. “Good
night yourself, old friend.” Lon sighed, sitting there for a
moment, hoping Ern would return and say what was really on his
mind. But he knew better. Ern was not going to change. He had
hardened his heart long ago, built walls no one could
penetrate.

With the conversation still
replaying in his head, Lon closed his eyes and tried to
sleep.

S
oaking wet, face streaming with rain and tears, heart
pounding with anxiety. He was mad at himself. Angry that he could
not act even in the greatest of importance. He closed his eyes,
raised his face skyward and let the rain do its job.

I went to the Queen to
seek council. I called out to her and began to approach when I saw
something. Something in the way she moved, the way she looked. Her
eyes...they were not right. It was as if I was looking into the
eyes of a maddened animal, like she wanted to do nothing more than
rip me to shreds. I looked away and apologized for startling her,
and she spoke back. I did not recognize the language, or the voice.
When I looked to her again, I swear she was putting on her skin
like a glove! Her whole body was shifting like something was inside
her trying to get out! I barely had time to look away again when
she growled “Attack the Elves. Kill them all.” I left immediately,
like I was running for my life.

Lon, I am scared to death
of the Queen. What I saw was not her.

Standing with his back to
Lon Ruell’s tent, Ern Dwull ended the conversation in his head and
sprinted away.