Chapter 49: Chapter 42 – Elven Raiders

"Savages! That's what elves are, one and all, utter savages! They even eat their fellow men for Pesca's sake! One does not get more savage than that!" - Emir ibn Khalif Elam El-Ehr, recently enthroned ruler of the Assadun Emirate, circa 47 VA.

Esterath Village, western Vitalica, first day of the third week of the sixth month, year 47 VA.

 

Argosi worked his fields of wheat with a joyful demeanor that fine early summer day. The crops had grown well, and they were bound to have a bountiful harvest at this rate. For a man who could still remember his youth as a slave under Antemeia's rule, life as it was in Vitalica was nothing short of bliss.

 

His eldest son Hank was working at the field next to his, together with his wife, who was lightly pregnant with their third child. He had scolded her to take it easy during her pregnancy, but his daughter in law was a robust woman, who insisted on helping while she could.

 

It was another idyllic day, as the past decades had been, and he wished that such days would last forever. He stopped for a while, and stretched his slightly aching back under the midday sun, when he heard a noise like something stabbing into the ground.

 

He turned and saw his son screaming in pain as he was pinned to the ground by a javelin through his thigh. His daughter in law was trying to help him pull it out, as she shifted around him to avoid making the injury worse.

 

Argosi saw a few more javelins fly their way, and opened his mouth to shout a warning. Instead of a sound, gurgling, frothy blood spilled out of his mouth, and he looked down in shock at the javelin that had penetrated through his back and out from his chest as it went through a lung.

 

With desperation, Argosi slumped to his knees, trying to force out a shout through his blood-clogged throat and failing. He watched with despair even as his sight blurred when other javelins struck his son and daughter in law, and how they lay still, unmoving.

 

It was practically mercy when another javelin struck him in the head and killed him instantly moments later, as it spared him a painful, slow, agonizing death by suffocation.

 

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On a watchtower on the far side of the village, Liam Esterath saw what happened with wide eyes. He looked through his spyglass to the other watchtowers further east, and found their occupants slumped with javelins piercing through their bodies.

 

As for the identities of the assailants, the multitude of tall, gaunt figures that emerged from the tall grass outside the village spoke for itself. The elven raiders hollered and waved their weapons as they ran towards the village, with long, wide steps faster than a man can take, and deep in his gut Liam knew that his village was done for.

 

With trembling hands he scrawled the word "elves" on four small rolls of parchment, hastily rolled them tight, and secured them onto messenger birds with care. He released all four birds at once, knowing that he would have attracted attention as he did so, but he no longer cared for his life by now.

 

He still had one last duty to perform, and he lit a torch before he leaned out of his watchtower, about to pull the waterproof leather that covered a stack of smoky firewood and kindling atop his tower. The smoke signal was Vitalica's fastest means to relay an emergency's occurrence, and everyone assigned to a watchtower was well drilled on its meaning. Liam's village might be gone, far too late for any help to matter, but his actions might save other villages down the line.

 

A javelin pierced through his stomach just as he leaned out, his act of setting the birds free having attracted the attention of some elves, but he persevered, and dragged off the leather covering of the firewood with his right hand.

 

Another javelin pierced through him, right through the heart, as he transferred his torch to his right hand, yet he gritted.his teeth, and refused the cold embrace of death, as with the last of his strength, he threw the torch onto the firewood.

 

The last thing he saw was a bright flash, as the alchemical agent the kindling was treated with met flames, and burned furiously, giving off thick orangish flames at the same time. He felt his grip slip, and his body plummet from his perch towards the ground below, and knew no more.

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Templar Headquarters, La Fiachna, central Vitalica, second day of the third week of the sixth month, year 47 VA.

 

"Has the news been confirmed?" Ciarran asked the room with a grave tone of voice.

 

Gathered within the room were his three children, as well as his lieutenants in the templar order, as well as the militia. His wife Aoife was not present, as she had been visiting the Bone Lord over the past month, because Mimia apparently had a breakthrough that needed her help. The faces of every person gathered was grave, as they were all well aware of the situation.

 

Just last night, the relay of smoke signals reached La Fiachna, and messenger birds bearing news of elven raiders arrived earlier this morning. The news painted by the reports were quite bleak. Three villages were confirmed sacked, the inhabitants slaughtered to the last, with another three likely being sacked as they talked.

 

"We have confirmation of three separate groups of raiders from the direction of Tarsa, Esterath, and Forcen. Reports shared by the Bone Lord this morning also indicated that four more parties had raided Ptolodecca, all of them from the direction of Antemeia," replied Faerghus as he summarized the information gathered so far.

 

"So they cadaver loving bastards let these savages through to our lands instead of fighting them off themselves? How very convenient for them!" Chimed in Tirya, Diarmuid's lieutenant in his newly established death guards and also once his paramour. She always had some bitterness to find that he had a new elven lover on his return from Ptolodecca, but otherwise kept her professionalism at work.

 

"It makes sense from their perspective," replied Qravor, second in command of the second templar legion, and an old veteran who used to serve with the first under Ciarran. "They probably could care less if the elves sacked every village on their way, so they just needed to direct them our way. Have us handle the problem for a small price to themselves."

 

"It's horrible that they see the lives of their people as a small price to pay," said Aideen with evident distaste.

 

"Regardless, it is our problem now," added Diarmuid with some annoyance. "What is the plan, father?"

 

"Reports have indicated each band of raiders to be roughly a thousand strong. We cannot afford to have even one of them go deep inside our territory, and evacuation orders had already been given to every village in their path," said Ciarran as he pondered his options. "I will head for Tarsa in the northwest with the first templars and a thousand militiamen. Faerghus, you take the second templars and another thousand militia, head for Esterath."

 

"Yes, father," said Faerghus as he acknowledged the order. That would give both him and his father only a thousand and five hundred to the thousand elves they have to fight, but they have little choice. They only have enough wagons and draft animals to rapidly move four thousand of the militiamen, while of the elite templars who had their own mounts, they only had a thousand.

 

"Diarmuid, Aideen, I will have to ask you two to take the Death Guards and two thousand militia with you. Forcen to the south-west is your target. I know it is risky to engage a thousand elves with only two hundred elites on top of the militia, but this is all we have."

 

"Understood, father. We will strive to do our utmost," replied Diarmuid and Aideen together. Their detachment superficially had the most numbers, but also the least elites, which placed them at greater risk. On the other hand, their proximity to Ptolodecca increased the chance that reinforcements from there might come to their aid.

 

"If either of you finished with your task ahead of prediction, go to the other's aid. Have trust in these old bones. I ain't dying before I see my wife again."

 

A chorus of "yes, sir!" answered his words as everyone in the room then separated to their respective detachments and readied for departure.

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