failed, to breach the door.
“You want us to make a run for it?” Lathaar asked.
“I’ve got my shield,” Jerico said, giving it a pat. “We push through, then bar the door behind us. Once we’re inside…”
“Once we’re inside, we’ll starve with the rest of them. Are you out of your mind? We’ll be no use in there.”
“Well, we’re not doing much good standing here.”
The two looked upon the few hundred and struggled for a plan.
“I wish the mage was here,” Lathaar said at last. “What I’d give for a few of his fireballs on their tents.”
“That’s it!” Jerico said.
Lathaar smacked him to keep his voice down. A quick glance around showed none had heard him, but they backed into the forest just in case. He listened as Jerico outlined his plan, which while truly insane, at least made more sense than joining the starving priests inside the Sanctuary.
“They’ll have only a token guard,” he said when Jerico finished. “It could work if we move fast, and strike a few hours before dawn, when they’ll be their most tired and inattentive.”
“We have little time,” said Jerico. “Hurry. I want them to have one vicious wake up come the morning.”
T hey took turns sleeping to make sure they didn’t miss their chosen time. Lathaar was already awake when he felt Jerico nudge his shoulder with his foot.
“It time?” he mumbled.
“Close enough. Get ready.”
Lathaar reattached his armor, with Jerico helping him with the buckles. Once ready, they said one last prayer and then split. Jerico made for the forest line, while Lathaar wrapped a thick branch with cloth soaked in what little lamp oil they had. He set it ablaze and then counted to two hundred. Beside them was one of many piles of kindling pushed up against the trunks of trees, also wet with oil. At two hundred, he set it ablaze and then ran.
Prior to nightfall, they’d made over twenty such piles, and he dashed from one to the other, lighting them and then continuing. Some burned too weak to set their tree aflame, but he only needed a few to start the fire he wanted. The trees were lush and full, plenty of fuel for their needs. When he reached the last of the piles, he looked up to the sky. Smoke blotted out the stars. Good. At least several had grown strong, and the kindling piles lined all around the camp, forming a nice U-shaped goal for the fire. Now he just needed to wait for the fire to grow and then…
Shouts came from the camp, first a few, then many. From far to the side, he peeked out to see. The men were rushing to the edge, carrying whatever tools they could find. The fire wasn’t evenly spread yet, but growing. Without any source of water, the men did the only thing they could: they began digging a trench so they fire would not spread beyond the forest.
“Go get them, Jerico,” Lathaar whispered, thrilled at how smooth their plan was working. The light of the fire made it difficult for him to see the Sanctuary. Only the torches in the towers shone clearly, the rest a dark haze. If all was well, Jerico had sneaked inside without notice, and at worst, killed a few before dashing in. Well, not the very worst. Very worst, he lay dead on the ground, an arrow in his side. Lathaar had a feeling it’d take a lot more to bring down Jerico than a few inattentive guards.
The smoke billowed higher, and all attention was now on the fire. Time for him to act. He curled around to the side of the camp. No guards. He took a few deep breaths and then burst into a full sprint, heading for the far side of the trench where the people were at their fewest. At the last moment he drew his swords, and one man glanced to the side and shouted just before he crashed through the line. He spun and cut without any finesse and thought, spilling blood across his armor and knocking bodies into the shallow trench. Unarmed and unprepared, they had little chance. The rest scattered, crying out for aid.
“Fear the wrath of the elves!” Lathaar screamed before turning and racing back into the forest, figuring any sort of misdirection could only help. He kept his head low and curled around the outer line of the fire, which was still growing at a pace that worried him. He thanked Ashhur it wasn’t fall, and the leaves dry and brittle. His armor was hot enough as it was. Last thing he wanted was to be baked inside it.
He followed the fire, keeping it to his right until he emerged on the other side of the ditch. Some of the soldiers were armed, and many on the lookout. Not enough, though, not to deter him. Gasping in the clean air, he waited until he felt ready and then charged. This time they saw him just before his arrival, but the bulk only tried to flee, not fight. He cut down the nearest, who wielded an axe, two more who swung their shovels at him, and then gutted a fourth before he could escape. The smoke drifted over them, so that only his glowing blades shone in the confusion.
“Eyes on the forest,” Lathaar muttered as he turned back to flee.
The fire still burned strong, but the wind seemed to be keeping it from pushing deeper into the center. He went to the middle of the line, but once there he felt his bravado fade. The fire licked off every thin trunk. The ground shimmered red, and it seemed more liquid than solid. The heat gathered in a great wall, one he could feel growing stronger with every step. Could he do it? Could he really?
But Jerico was relying on him. Lathaar needed to be the reaper from the flame, to keep all eyes on the forest, all backs to the Sanctuary. When the priests made their escape, any who happened to notice would fall to their spells and Jerico’s mace. Only a concentrated effort by the army could stop them, and if they were scattered, exhausted, and unaware a battle had started…
He ran, his eyes barely able to stay open from the heat. He felt his armor grow warm, then excruciatingly hot. Sweat soaked him beneath his inner layers of padding. His lungs burned from the smoke. Step after step, he forced himself through step after step. When he burst into the fresh air, he laughed, stunned to be alive. The men digging the trench were in no way prepared for his maniacal approach. He cut them down, a swirling death of glowing swords. This time men closer to the inner parts of the camp noticed him and came running, their weapons at the ready. Lathaar barely saw them in his oxygen-starved delirium. He swung in wide arcs, clumsy maneuvers that better opponents might have easily defeated. But they were tired, confused, and poorly armored.
Even with such advantages, and far more years in training, he felt himself slipping. Blades rang off his armor, and one cut through the padding at his elbow, slicing all the way to bone. His breath came with difficulty, and either blood or sweat, he didn’t know which, ran from his forehead to sting his eyes. More soldiers swarmed about him, trapping him against the burning forest. He laughed, knowing he had to look like some horrific demon from the Abyss. He sheathed his short sword, held his long sword in both hands, and screamed out the word to unleash the full power of his faith.
“Elholad!”
The blade remained the same. He felt doubt tug on his heart, and his dire grin spread wide. It had to be Mira, he thought.
Damn her, she’s got me doubting.
He kept swinging wide, taking step after step back toward the forest. Might he burn within? He felt its heat blowing against him from the wind. It was growing, the fire still spreading. He couldn’t fight them off, couldn’t defeat them. His faith was weak, Ashhur’s greatest gift denied to him. They must have seen the weakness in his eyes, for they pressed closer, wielding swords and shields that blocked every counterattack.
In the distance, he saw flashes of white. Someone shouted his name. The priests were coming, or were they fleeing? Would they rescue him, or leave him to die? He didn’t know. He felt weak and lightheaded. Swords cut in, and he parried best he could. Any thoughts to counter vanished. Another step back as a blade missed gutting him by an inch. Another step as he braced to block a powerful overhead chop. More light, closer, brighter. Men turned, a few raised their weapons, but then Keziel burst through. He spoke a word, though strangely Lathaar heard not a single syllable, only felt its power roll across them. The enemy soldiers fell back as if struck by a battering ram.
“Come, my son,” said Keziel, grabbing Lathaar and wrapping an arm around his waist. “Into the fire.”
Lathaar didn’t understand, but he was too exhausted to question him. Together they rushed into the forest, the flames licking behind them. Light glowed from his skin, and he saw it lift off in waves. They were not consumed. He couldn’t even feel its heat. Step after step they walked, Lathaar leaning much of his weight on the older man. At last they came out the other side. The light faded.
“Next time think of a better plan,” Keziel said as they both sucked in air. “I don’t want to ever do that again.”
