Major Alocius Pembleton whistled sharply, signaling his small band of Black Diamonds to a halt. The group of elite soldiers had been riding hard all night to carry out the urgent mission Sir Atelon Scrudton had called them out of their warm beds for. But the Black Diamonds were a notoriously hardened and committed group of soldiers, and were most definitely the kind of men who preferred to be in the thick of battle than sleeping peacefully.
Pembleton himself felt exhilarated and was very much looking forward to the confrontation with the rebels. He was secretly quite pleased that the plans had been changed at the last moment and that he was only commanding twenty soldiers instead of the fifty Scrudton had originally intended to send – Pembleton would rather fight a hard, challenging battle than simply outnumber the rebels and force them to surrender by default.
“Brant!” Pembleton called out in his deep, authoritative voice. A wiry man on a gray horse rode forward. “Take four men of your choosing and ride southwest and position yourselves just beyond the rebel’s camp. Lie in wait and attack them from behind if you see me fire the flare.” Brant nodded and called for four of his comrades to join them. Pembleton and the others watched as the five Black Diamonds rode off swiftly into the murky darkness.
“The rest of you will come with me – we’re heading southeast and we’ll block the entrance to their precious magick gate. We should reach it tomorrow morning and cut them off before they make their cowardly escape. Scrudton told us to capture as many of them alive as possible, and if they surrender peacefully, like the spineless wretches we know them to be, that’s exactly what we’ll do.” Though none of his Black Diamonds could see it in the deep darkness of the night, a cold smile crept across the major’s face. “But if the rebels don’t come willingly, then lads, then we can fight how we please.” Pembleton gave his horse a swift kick and galloped off, full of anticipation.
The band of thirteen Black Diamonds – each one highly trained and deadly, known for their skill and lack of mercy – rode into the night. The war had been too quiet of late for their kind, and though they would dutifully follow their orders not to fight unless absolutely necessary, each one deeply hoped that some short-sighted rebel would make a wrong move. If that happened, each knew that he would once again feel the heavy resistance of an elf’s body as it was pierced by his sword or hear the satisfying crack! of a snapped forearm or neck. The rush of adrenaline that accompanied such thoughts was more than enough to keep them traveling fast and hard across the rocky countryside into the early hours of the morning.
*****
“Faster! We don’t ha’e time ta dawdle!” Rethnaki yelled in an agitated voice. Rethnaki looked haggard and worn, and Glothnafar presumed that the young elf had not heeded Jellihondor’s advice to get a good night’s rest before leading the rebels back out of Elothnin.
Rethnaki gave a strange, strangled-sounding noise. “Gah! Leave ta tents, they’re not importan’! C’mon, we need ta leave!” Rethnaki grabbed Jarthen’s upper arm, lifting the lanky boy to his feet. “Lad, I don’ want ye ta leave me side unless I tell ye to, ye understan’? Stay next ta me unless I tell ye otherwise, ‘tis…importan’,” Glothnafar overheard him tell the young human child. The centaur watched him hover anxiously over Jarthen, his handsome face drawn and tight, and wondered whether telling Rethnaki about Jarthen’s role in the prophecy had been a mistake. He was certain that it would have no effect on the unfolding events destiny had laid out for them, but Glothnafar could see that Rethnaki had found the mantle of leadership heavy enough, and placing Jarthen in his charge with full knowledge of the boy’s importance made it heavier still. He bears such a burden; I only hope Jelli and I have not done him a great disservice forcing him to shoulder it on his own, Glothnafar thought to himself ruefully.
Next to him, Jellihondor gave a soft sigh. “Naki, we’re nearly done. Can’ ye jus wait a -- ”
“No! We can’ wait any longer, we’ve waited all night!” Rethnaki yelled. The anger and impatience that dripped from his voice caused all of the rebels to stop what they were doing and stare at him. “Ye all ha’e yer weapons, an’ we ha’e ta birds tha’ Moshel made, and wha’ little food we brough’ wit’ us, aye?” Several of the rebels nodded in response. “Then let’s get a move-on!”
Sellior took a timid step forward and lightly brushed Rethnaki’s forearm. In a soft voice, he said, “Naki, would it be too much trouble if we waited fer me ta clean Helkint and Vathorem’s wounds an’ give ‘em fresh bandages?”
Rethnaki gave Sellior an exasperated look. “Sellior, lad, jus’ bandage ‘em up after we’re t’rough ta gate an’ safe, would ye?” Jarthen heard Sellior give a quiet sigh and cast a pointed look at Elcrona. Rethnaki rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger for a moment to gather his thoughts. Once he regained his composure, he turned to address the group in a more collected way. “Lads, don’ ye understan’? We’re not safe here! Ta Imperial Army knows we’re here an’ they’re comin’ after us. We’re sittin’ ducks here, but they can’ reach us on ta other side o’ ta gate.”
After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Jellihondor cleared his throat. “’Tis yer decision, Naki. Ye tell us to go an’ we go, jus’ say ta word.”
Rethnaki nodded resolutely. “Then consider this ta word, then. Drop whate’er yer doin’ an’ follow me,” he said. He walked with one hand on Jarthen’s narrow shoulder and never turned to see if the others followed. Glothnafar stood still and watched the other rebels file past as he waited to take his customary place at the end of the line. He noted that many of his fellows bore confused, worried expressions and conversed with each other in whispers without taking their eyes of their panicked leader.
Glothafar followed the others lost in thought. He had made his peace with his impending death almost as soon as he had learned of it: though it saddened him deeply that he would not see the end of the Border Wars and see his side come out triumphant, he knew that his death played some sort of important part in facilitating the fulfillment of the prophecy. He knew, with a fervent and unyielding belief, that his death was necessary. To what end, and how, was not clear, but this in and of itself gave Glothnafar a feeling of purpose, which allowed him to face his mortality with quiet dignity.
Despite this, Glothnafar was deeply troubled by how his death would affect Jellihondor. He had not shared the revelation of his own death with the old elf, and did not plan to, but withholding this was hard for him. He desperately wished to tell his dear friend, to help him prepare for it and make his peace with it as Glothnafar himself had, but the centaur knew that it was not in Jellihondor’s nature to accept the directions of fate without question. Glothnafar knew that Jellihondor would try to protect him at all costs if he knew, and Glothnafar also knew that such behavior would jeopardize the realization of the prophecy. And since the prophecy was bigger than either of them, Glothnafar knew he could not breathe a word to Jellihondor, no matter how much he wished he could. Glothnafar’s thoughts were interrupted by Jellihondor’s sharp gasp. He glanced at his companion, and felt a shiver of apprehension when he saw Jellihondor’s pale, surprised expression. The old elf had come to a sudden halt, and was standing stock-still, as if frozen. “What is it, Jelli?” Glothnafar asked, growing more fearful by the second.
“Naki was righ’ – we should ha’e left last night. I t’ink he’s just spotted ta Imperial troops; he just stopped there a second ago an’ dug his hand inta ta poor lad’s shoulder like his finger were talons,” Jellihondor responded in an even, quiet voice.
As if on cue, Rethnaki turned to face the rest of the rebels and took a deep breath. “Lads, ta Queen’s forces are ‘tween us an’ ta gate – we ha’e no escape. I’ll not lie ta ye – dependin’ on their orders an’ numbers an’ whate’er luck we may ha’e, we may not make it out o’ this alive.” The rebels took this dire news well enough: Glothnafar could see that they drew themselves up with dignity, and the quiet somberness on their faces suggested that they had always known they could meet their end in such a way.
Rethnaki took a few steps forward, and the traces of defeat slipped out of his voice. “But ‘tis still a chance we can take ‘em where we stand! Truly, our lot has faced jus’ as hard a circumstance an’ come out victorious more than once. We ha’e a solid half hour before they get here, so ready yerselves. We’ll make ‘em come ta us. Get yer weapons, grab a bite ta eat if ye can, and Sellior, if ye’d be so kind as ta bandage up Helkint an’ Vathorem like ye wanted to, I’d be fore’er in yer debt.”
*****
“Major Pembleton, sir!” cried a young, ropy soldier who was on lookout. “I think I’ve spotted the rebels! They’re a little to the north of us, right on the horizon, but it doesn’t look like they’re moving forward.”
Pembleton peered into the distance, and was able to just make out the silhouettes of the small band of rebels. He knew that elves tended to have sharper eyesight than humans, and that figures on horseback were easier to spot than those walking on foot. “They saw us first. They want us to come to them,” he replied.
“So, what should we do, sir?” the young soldier asked.
“Give them what they want,” Pembleton said with a half-smile. He called out to the other eleven Black Diamonds in his strong, clear voice. “They’ve seen us - ride north! Remember, lads: give them the chance to surrender, but don’t hold back if they make the mistake of trying to fight or run!”
*****
The rebels stood in a line, bows ready, as they heard the rumble of the Black Diamonds galloping horses grow louder. As the figures drew closer, Glothnafar noted with some surprise that none of the Imperial soldiers brandished their weapons openly – all of their swords were sheathed and their quivers looked untouched. Nevertheless, each one wore a cold, condescending expression full of the callous arrogance the centaur had come to expect from Elothninians.
Rethnaki held up his left arm as they approached, and shouldered his bow over his right one. “Put yer weapons away, let’s meet ta bastards in peace as long as they’ll let us,” he called out. The others wordlessly obeyed him, replacing their arrows in their quivers and slinging their bows over their shoulders. The morning air was tense and still, broken only by the stomping and neighing of the Black Diamonds’ horses as they approached.
A broad-shouldered man on a massive black stallion rode ahead of the Imperial soldiers, stopping just in front of the line of rebels. Glothnafar could tell at a glance that the man was tempered by many battles: he had a face that was well-shaped and might have once been handsome, but was now battered and scarred. Jagged lines left by daggers inched across his cheek, his dark brown hair had been pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck, revealing a chunk of flesh missing from his left ear, and his aquiline nose was slanted and smashed, suggesting it had been broken several times.
The man’s crafty, discerning green eyes glanced over the line of nine rebels quickly before landing squarely on Rethnaki. “Since you’re the one giving the orders, and those orders are being obeyed, I take it you’re the leader,” he said in a deceptively pleasant, polite way. “A bit younger than I expected, to tell the truth – I’m surprised it’s you and not the older fellow next to you,” he said, tilting his head towards Jellihondor.
“Aye, I’m their leader,” Rethnaki confirmed in a careful, measured way.
“Well, let’s not beat around the bush. I am Major Alocius Pembleton of Her Majesty’s Black Diamonds. I’ve been sent her with my crew to capture you and take you back to Susselfen. We have orders to bring you back alive at all costs, and it would make things easier on both of us if you surrendered and came back without a fight,” the man replied. Glothnafar felt his blood rise at the man’s pretense of civility. “Take as much time as you need to decide a course of action, elf – but if you run or if you fight, know that you’ll be brought back to Susselfen as corpses.”
Rethnaki nodded slowly. “I’ll give ye an answer in a moment, after I confer wit’ me lads,” he said. He leaned he over to Jellihondor, and Glothnafar could just make out the whispered conversation between them.
“Naki, there’s not many more o’ ‘em than there are o’ us. I t’ink we may be evenly matched. We could still get ta ta gate before reinforcements show up if we survive,” Jellihondor whispered.
Rethnaki shook his head. “Jelli, ye may be righ’, but I don’ t’ink we should risk losin’ ta boy.”
Jellihondor sighed quietly. “Aye, yer righ’ about tha’. But wha’ o’ ta others? Ta be taken ta Susselfen ta be tortured or worse?”
Rethnaki furrowed his brow. “I need a momen’ ta t’ink.” Jellihonor nodded, saying that it was not a decision to be rushed into. The elf considered his options, mulling over them as a tense silence slowly spread over the rocky field.
Abruptly, Pembleton’s deep voice cracked through the silence like a whip. In a tone of surprise and suspicion, he turned to Rethnaki and asked, “Elf, why do you have a human child traveling with you?”
All of the rebels blanched at this – each had hoped that Jarthen’s narrow build and fair complexion would be enough to let him pass as a red elf – but none went paler than Rethnaki. “’Tis no concern o’ yers, Pembleton. Yer orders ha’e not’in’ ta do wit’ him,” he answered coolly.
“If he is your captive, it is our duty to free him from you traitorous clutches,” Pembleton responded, amused. “Regardless of your decision, elf, we’ll have to take the boy.”
Several things occurred to Glothnafar at once. He was absolutely sure that Pembleton would follow through on his threat: after all, a human traveling with the rebels was likely to have valuable information, and if he turned out to be an Elothninian, the Black Diamonds would likely be regarded as heroes. Glothnafar also knew that while this meant that Jarthen was quite definitely safer than anyone else on the battlefield, that the prophecy demanded that Jarthen stay with the rebels. And then, to the confusion of those around him, Glothnafar smiled, because he alone knew Jarthen was destined to outlive him. The way out of their unexpected, dismal-looking predicament was clear to Glothnafar: the rebels had to fight to keep the boy from being taken, but fate mandated that they would survive this battle against all odds.
Time was running out, and the move had to be made immediately. Glothnafar regretted that he was about to throw his comrades into a battle they did not choose to fight, and that he could give them no explanation for their actions, but he hoped they would understand and forgive him when the dust cleared. Glothnafar turned and fixed Pembleton with a furious glare. “As long as I live, the boy will stay with us!” he growled.
Jellihondor whipped around and put a hand on the centaur’s arm as if to stop him. “Glothnafar, wha’re ye - ” he started in a strained voice. But the centaur paid the old elf no attention. He drew two short, curved swords, and with a great bellow galloped into the group of Black Diamonds in front of them, hacking and slashing at them indiscriminately.
Pembleton turned his horse and started back towards his troops. “Seems like your beast of burden has made your choice for you, elf!” he called over his shoulder with a sadistic grin.
Glothnafar found himself immediately set upon by five of the Black Diamonds. They came at him with swords, but made no more than glancing blows and superficial wounds across the great centaur’s torso and back. Glothnafar felt totally, completely, fully alive: he was aware of his hearts beating in his two chests1 in their strange, accelerating dual rhythm, his senses were heightened enough that he could taste the salty, slightly metallic tang of blood as sprays of it arced through the air around him, and he felt the slight changes of the air around him alerting him to the movements of the cavalry attacking him from all sides. With every missed slash of a Black Diamond’s saber, Glothnafar believed more strongly that he was a protected harbinger of fate – and that no serious harm could befall him.
He began to hear the discomfiting screams of injured and dying horses and wheeled around to find Rethnaki, Jellihondor, Elcrona, and Sellior shooting them down with mechanical precision to the east of him. Glothnafar recognized the clarity and necessity of such a tactic – taking out the Diamonds’ mounts would leave them in a very vulnerable position – but he was nevertheless perturbed by the terrible noises the dying animals made. Perhaps it was because these animals were completely innocent of any designs or object in taking part in this war – the conflict over land meant nothing to these creatures who wished only to have enough grass to eat, space to stretch their legs.
After a moment, Glothnafar resumed his deadly dance with the five Black Diamonds with an even greater passion and force. He threw himself into the battle, letting the sounds and the sensations of the fight obliterate everything else around him. Though they were highly trained, highly rational assassins, Glothnafar’s unbridled fury and eerily prescient awareness of their attacks shook the Black Diamonds’ composure, which Glothnafar exploited to his own advantage. Glothnafar saw one soldier hesitate to strike him, and grabbed his arm, forcing it backward firmly and swiftly until a loud snap rang out, followed quickly by visceral screaming. But, the man’s scream was cut off just as quickly when Glothnafar sliced the man’s neck open. He knocked the soldier off his horse, letting him bleed out in the grass and gently shooed his unhurt steed out of the fray.
The strange mix of callousness and mercy the centaur fought with – attacking and dispatching the soldier with such brutality and then showing such tenderness to the horse – unnerved the nearby Black Diamonds even more. In the horrified pause following their fellow’s death, Glothnafar reached one massive arm out and lifted one of the frightened Black Diamonds off his mount and crushed the man’s windpipe with an easy, effortless-looking motion, and then tossed the soldier carelessly away. By this point, Glothnafar himself bore deep gashes and cuts along his chest, back, and flanks, and was covered in his own blood along with the blood of those he had already killed. The blood glistened a deep red in the sunlight, which along with his frenzied, terrifying expression, made him seem more like an unstoppable demon than mortal creature – both to the Black Diamonds struggling to take him down and to the centaur himself.
Suddenly, a piercing scream – animalistic and frenzied-sounding – rose above the din of the battle. Glothnafar recognized the chilling sound from the fight with the nybbas, and turned to see Helkint, perched on a high, rocky ledge on the other side of the field, toss his bow and now-empty quiver away. Bearing a strange, wild look, he took a flying leap from the ledge and bolted towards the fray. Glothnafar was sure that one of the Black Diamonds would cut the young, waifish elf-boy down, but Helkint proved to be nimble and fast and evaded the attacks easily. He pulled the swords from dead soldiers littering the ground and began attacking a nearby Black Diamond with abandon. Although the man had at least a foot and 100 pounds on the boy, he was taken by surprise and seriously wounded. Helkint, though he had virtually no training with blades, wielded them with an instinctive, intuitive grace and a surprising amount of skill.
Together, Glothnafar and Helkint made short work of the Black Diamonds within reach. A number of them were still too shocked and scared by Glothnafar to attack him directly and diverted their attentions to the obviously young, skinny elf – only to find themselves skewered with one of Glothnafar’s swords or feel their bones snap in his massive hands.
“Take the archers!” Pembleton shouted in his rumbling voice, breaking the insular battle-trance Glothnafar had lost himself in. Glothnafar glanced around to take stock of the situation and noted that only Pembleton and one other soldier remained on horseback. The commander shouted for the soldiers to regroup as he hopped off his steed and slapped it hard on the haunch, sending the proud animal running into the countryside. The other soldier did the same, and the remaining eight Black Diamonds drew themselves into a tight circle, with their backs together.
The soldiers moved swiftly as a group, trying to close the distance between them and the quartet of elvish archers who, they had surmised, had no close-combat weapons to fight them off with. Rethnaki and the others fired into the group so quickly that the Black Diamonds seemed to be caught in a furious, torrential rain of arrows, but it did not stop the soldiers’ progress: some missed their targets, some struck and wedged themselves in the Elothninians’ arms and shoulders, but still the Black Diamonds ran forward.
The other rebels tried different means to stop the soldiers’ progress. Glothnafar and Helkint sprinted from the other side of the battle, but were outpaced by the Black Diamonds’ momentum and speed. As he ran, Glothnafar spotted Vathorem walking towards the group in long, slow strides, with now weapons drawn. His voice, typically warm and friendly, with a sort of deep resonance that reminded Glothnafar of the lower notes played on violins, was now as loud and menacing as thunder. Glothnafar ran on, but watched, transfixed, as Vathorem kept walking forward in that infuriatingly slow, unhurried pace, as he pointed and beckoned to the Black Diamonds, all the while shouting at the soldiers in what Glothnafar realized was an archaic dialect of Athenorkos few spoke and he did not understand.2
Glothnafar listened, compelled to the dark and sinister way Vathorem recited the words. He slowed to a halt, as if there was an invisible force draining the energy from him. Though he had been surrounded by magick and red elves for many years, Glothnafar had only seen a magickal attack from this class of magick once or twice before. They were known to be formidable weapons in the right hands, but they were also known to be a strange, fickle kind of magick that was exceedingly difficult to use.
Rebels and Imperial soldiers alike stood still, weapons hanging limp at their sides, eyes fixed on the still-marching Vathorem, and the sounds of battle had died away. Glothnafar, felt the air chill around him, and the bright sunlight of the morning seemed to darken, as if a bleak shadow had fallen over the field, and felt a growing sense of unease. Vathorem finally reached his destination, and stopped directly in front of the Black Diamonds. Vathorem railed at them, bellowing in his strange tongue in a rhythmic crescendo that rose, and rose, and rose, until he gave one last fearsome yell and struck out at them with a single outstretched hand.
“Run!” he screamed in Common.
The soldiers closest to Vathorem let out a terrible, bloodcurdling scream, and bolted across the countryside absolutely blind with terror. The last three Black Diamonds did not run, but were clearly still dazed and feeling the horrific effects of Vathorem’s strange magickal attack. As the clarity was returning to Pembleton’s shrewd, battered face, Glothnafar broke the neck of one soldier and Helkint sliced the throat of the other.
Pembleton saw Rethnaki pull an arrow from his quiver as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the flare and a match, managing to light it just as the arrow hit his chest. Pembleton fell to the ground, instinctively clutching at his now badly burned hand. “Rest while you can, rebels,” he said in a strained voice as he lay dying on the grass watching the flare sail into the clear blue sky. “You haven’t won yet.”
Rethnaki walked calmly to the dying man and placed one foot on his head, gently forcing the soldier’s cheek to the grass. “Perhaps not,” he said, notching another arrow and drawing his bowstring tight, “but we will soon enough.” Rethnaki let the arrow fly the short distance into Pembleton’s temple, where it pierced the man’s skull with a sickening crack and killed him instantly.
____________________
1The doubled circulatory and respiratory system of the centaurs is thought to be a product of their magickally influenced evolution, and has made them better able to withstand physical injury than most other races. It has also made them more vulnerable to the effects of drugs or poisons in the bloodstream, which is why centaurs rarely smoke pipeweed or drink ale.
2Vathorem was, in fact, reciting the Litany of Intimidation, one of the oldest known methods to invoke a horrific lingering glamour. This particular litany is typically employed by especially gifted social magicians in order to prevent an attack on themselves or their fellows, and the madness and paranoia resulting from a successful use of it can last for days or weeks at a time.
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