The lighting of torches outside the town walls illuminate the night sky, followed by the hoots and hollers of the barbarians as they prepare to enter Arkelon, sure that their siege has been a success.
Amelia breaks Alastor’s order, peeking out from her bedroom window, not wanting to watch, yet compelled to. She cannot let Alastor do this alone; in the act of watching, she tries to give the Son of Eoin her support.
The barbarians, like water bursting through a dam, storm into Arkelon, their leader at the head, striding triumphantly. Seeing only Alastor in the center of the square, the horde grows angry, savage in voice and movement. Their leader stops only feet from the Knight’s son. Their leader is a strong looking man, tall and with long, brown, oily hair. His face is etched with the signs of a rough life, an existence devoted to doing wrong. Alastor wonders if this man would have been good in another life.
“What is this? The little boy negotiator! Is the sword on your back made of wood I wonder? Tell me, child, what I want to hear.”
“I am afraid I only have one thing to say to you.”
“And what is that?”
“My name.”
“Your name? Unless your name is ‘we give up,’ I do not think I care. But alas, I shall humor you, child. Tell me your name, then stand aside so that we may speak to a real man, if any live in this pathetic town.”
“I am Alastor, your executioner.”
With these words, Alastor withdraws his sword and cuts down the barbarian leader with a ferocity that shocks the horde. They roar like animals, rushing at Alastor before their leader’s body has even fallen to the ground.
The Slaughter of Arkelon begins.
~-~~-~
Amy stops talking, lost in the reminiscence. Lisa and Mikha’el share a quick glance, wondering if the other believes the story thus far.
“These things are true, I assure you,” Morrigan tells them, seeing their misgiving.
“What happened next?” Lisa asks Amy.
“After seeing that first kill, I fell away from the window, horrified. I sat huddled in the corner of my room, listening to the battle outside. For so long after that day, the things I heard haunted me. It lasted all night; the screams of dying men echoing through every home, the yells and roars of Alastor growing over those of our enemies. But, with each death rattle, we all knew that, somehow, Alastor was winning. Somehow one man was besting the entire barbarian horde. As dawn began to break, the sounds died out to a silence deeper than any we had experienced. Everyone began to leave their homes. What we saw will never be forgotten by Arkelon.”
~-~~-~
Frederic comes to realize that the battle has ceased. The sounds of melee now but a faint reverberation in his mind. Pale light slowly fills his house. He walks to his front door, pressing his ear to it. Amelia comes down the stairs, quiet, eyes red from crying.
“Father?”
“Stay here. I am going to see if it is over.”
He opens the door slowly, peering out from behind it at the world like he has never seen it before this morning. Stepping outside, he finds the full horror of war; bodies of the barbarians lay strewn about as if a whirlwind made of swords came and swept through, tossing them carelessly throughout the town; the blood of the barbarians form a river that flows down to the gates and out of Arkelon.
Amelia disobeys her father, following after with a soft foot, looking on with a sickening sensation in her stomach and disgust in her heart. Other men soon follow Frederic’s example and, upon seeing the carnage, push their families back into their homes for their own protection from the gruesome, atrocious sight. The men converge on Frederic, they all walking carefully over the dead. In the center of the town square, where the battle had began, surrounded by bodies, they find Alastor on his knees, sword laying lifeless beside him, he holding a wound on his side with one hand while with his other arm he supports himself from falling face first into the gore. His clothes are tattered, mere threads away from falling off him. Wounds of all kinds can be seen on his body. Frederic moves ahead of the others, falling beside Alastor. Alastor screams, not in physical pain, but with soul-rending emotional agony.
“Alastor?” Frederic whispers.
Alastor raises his head to Frederic. Frederic can see that Alastor is crying, the tears mingling with the blood splattered on his face.
“These heathens were dishonorable in life, and so shall they be in death!” Alastor growls through grit teeth. “Have your men take the bodies outside of the town, into the forest, then burn them. Do not plunder the bodies or their camps, but burn them with everything that is theirs.”
Unable to control his body any longer, Alastor falls forward, caught by Frederic, and falls unconscious.
~-~~-~
Alastor wakes in an unfamiliar bed. Sitting up, he realizes it to be his room in Frederic’s house. He sighs, wishing he had simply been dreaming. Fresh clothes are piled on a rocking chair, his sword, cleaned, rests across its arms. At the door, Amelia stands watch over him.
“How long has it been?” Alastor asks, his voice hoarse and dry.
“Three days. The people have been worried about you ever since father carried you here, half dead.”
“I am never as close to death as people think,” he says with a small, private laugh. Alastor feels the bandages on his body. He examines them with a puzzled look.
“Something wrong with my handiwork?” Amelia asks playfully.
“You set the bandages?”
“I did. Being the nurse for the children of every family in town gives me plenty of practice. I could not do much, I am afraid, beyond cleaning and covering your wounds. Unlike some people in my family, I cannot mend flesh with a potion and a spell.”
“Do not worry about it. Another fight, another scar,” Alastor muses with a passive tone and a smile for his nurse.
“Shall I go tell the Council that you have come back to the land of the living?” she asks with a returning smile.
“You probably should.”
Alastor and Amelia share a long gaze before she leaves.
~-~~-~
Entering the Council chamber, all gathered there immediately face Amelia.
“He is awake and very much alive,” she tells them.
Frederic is the first to leave, followed by the eldest man, then the rest. Much to their collective surprise, Alastor is already outside to meet them, dressed and looking as he did before the battle.
“Alastor!” Frederic exclaims. “How is this possible?”
“I am my father’s son, Frederic.”
“That he is indeed,” whispers the elder with a smirk.
“Did you do as I told you?” Alastor asks Frederic.
“The deed was done before sundown that day.”
“Good.”
“There was a curiosity, though, young Master Alastor,” the eldest adds.
“Curiosity? What sort of curiosity?”
“A woman came as the men piled the carcasses. A woman not of our blood.”
“A woman? What for?”
“She prayed for the dead.”
“What did she look like?”
“She appeared as an old woman, but there was a youth and beauty in her face. Do you know who she may have been, Alastor?”
“I am afraid not.”
The Council turn to themselves, conferring in hushed tones. Alastor wanders away, surveying the town. The people have thoroughly cleaned the grounds, leaving not a single speck of evidence of the bloody savagery that had taken place.
“What will you do now?” Frederic asks, going back to Alastor.
“I will be leaving for Judeheim, to inform them of what has happened. After that, I do not know.”
“When will you leave?” asks Amelia suddenly.
“Now, actually. It is a long way, and haste would be my ally.”
“Will you not even stay for a feast? We had prepared one in your honor!” a Councilman says.
Alastor looks into the eyes of the Cou
ncil, and then Amelia.
“What I did was not something to celebrate and, as I told you, it was not done for Arkelon so much as it was done for those others before it that fell into oblivion. If you wish to commemorate my actions, do so. Unfortunately, I will not.”
The Council lowers their heads, sobered but understanding of Alastor’s words. A thought comes into Frederic’s head.
“Wait here,” he says as he runs off to a nearby stable, reappearing in less than a moment with a black stallion, already saddled. “Regardless of the nature, Arkelon is in debt to you. Take this horse, that he may speed you on your way.”
Alastor takes the reins gratefully, letting the animal smell him, then rubbing its snout with care.
“This is a very fine animal,” Alastor says, mounting the animal carefully, petting its neck.
“At one time, we were the breeders of the Old Kingdom horses. It might be long gone, but the blood in these animals is still of the royal line, so to speak,” Frederic explains to Alastor.
“Thank you.”
Amelia runs to the stable also, coming back with her own mare.
“What are you doing?” her father demands.
“He is going to Judeheim, father. One of us should go with him to represent Arkelon, and reestablish our kinships.”
“Then we will send a rider with him.”
“Of which I am the fastest and most able, father.”
“No, Amelia.”
“Frederic, she is our best rider,” the eldest speaks up. “And she is the most familiar of the riders when it comes to the lands beyond ours.”
Alastor cannot help but laugh aloud.
“I do not recall saying that I was going to escort anyone anywhere,” he tells them with an annoyed look on his face.
“Please, Alastor,” Amelia pleads. “Someone from Arkelon needs to go with you to let Judeheim know what has happened in the time before you came.”
Alastor again looks into the eyes of all the Council members, ending with Frederic.
“Is it your will to let this woman act on your behalf?” he asks them. They all nod, even Amelia’s father. Alastor then grimaces at her, trying to judge for himself if she is capable. After a silent moment, he sighs. “You will need supplies. I can go without for long stretches of time, provide for myself when necessary, but to care for someone else is something I have not had to do.”
Amelia hands the reins of her animal to her father, running back to her home. From horseback, Alastor can see to the east. Smoke is still rising up from the forest. The people of Arkelon gather before their homes, staring at their hero with awe. Amelia comes back still stuffing a pack with clothes and goods, enough until they reach Judeheim. She has changed into riding clothes, and she wears a small knife on her belt. As the young woman climbs onto the back of her animal, Alastor moves closer to her.
“Make sure you say your goodbyes. There is no telling how long you might be gone,” he whispers to Amelia.
“Why is that?”
“Trouble and I are very close friends.”
“Are you now?”
“Like an undesirable relative, it makes visits at the most inopportune times.”
Amelia smiles, embarrassed and fearful that Alastor may have already deducted her real reason for wanting to join him. The Knight’s son bows his head to the Arkelon Council as he brings about the stallion, which follows its new rider’s commands readily, and heads slowly for the gates. Amelia looks down to her father, both of them almost on the verge of tears.
“Take care while I am away, father.”
“And you as well, daughter,” Frederic says softly to Amelia. He steps closer to her so that the other Councilmen cannot hear his next words. “A darkness and a sadness fester in Alastor’s heart. I would hope that maybe you can help him, free him of that haunting shadow.”
Amelia smiles and blushes, knowing without a doubt that her true reason for following Alastor is as plain as day, the mask transparent through and through. She waves to the gathered people, then wastes no time in catching up with Alastor.
Riding side by side, they trot out of Arkelon and out onto the road ahead.
~-~~-~
Amy stops again, smiling as she recalls that day.
“The woman that come to pray, that was you, correct?” Lisa asks Morrigan.
The Fairy merely nods, saying nothing. Morrigan too is thinking about some distant occurrence.
“Please, continue,” Mikha’el says to Amy. “This story confirms some of the suspicions I have had for some time.”
“Suspicions?” repeats Lisa.
“Yes. Although Alastor and I are friends, there have been a great many portions he would never speak of concerning his travels.”
“I thought he told you everything.”
“No. Quite to the contrary, he has always kept most of his life, the portions spent away from his father or Gawain, secret.”
“Why?”
“I believe the next part of my story may shed some light on that issue,” Amy tells Lisa. “The ride to Judeheim was uneventful. Alastor only spoke when giving me instruction, or pointing out some ruins or place of historical significance. No matter what sort of conversation I tried to start, he would refuse to ever speak of himself. Once I made the mistake of asking about his family, and about his mother. He called me a ‘hypocrite of the highest order’ when I pressed him on the matter of his mother, resulting in his being completely silent for two days. That changed somewhat when we arrived in Judeheim.”
~-~~-~
Alastor and Amelia ride slowly into Judeheim, her staring enthralled at the city which, as fortune would have it, has started its annual festival of winter, when the people celebrate the promise their God made to them of sending his emissary during the final season. This time of year holds many special meanings to the people of Judeheim, so they embrace it, a spirit of goodwill and happiness hanging in the air.
The people, upon seeing the duo, swarm around them and cheer, chanting “Arkelon!” From the crowd, several men push toward the riders with wide smiles.
“Lady Amelia, news of your arrival came just yesterday. Come with us so that you may tell our Council all what has happened to our dear sister, Arkelon.”
Alastor gestures for Amelia to dismount as he himself does so. The people take the reins of the horses with care, guiding the animals to the stable of a nearby inn. The men then guide them to the citadel where, as they stand before its large doors, Alastor stops.
“Alastor? What is it?” Amelia asks.
“I have other business to attend to. Go tell of what transpired. I will meet you at the inn later.”
“But... I thought you were going to inform them.”
“I will, but the Judeheim Council likes a good story. They will probably be more interested in your version of events right now, rather than mine.”
As Amelia is drawn into the citadel, she turns back to see Alastor take one of the men aside.
“I need to see my father,” she hears him say before the doors close.
~-~~-~
Amy strains to speak, lowering her eyes as tears begin to well. After taking a moment to compose herself, she continues.
“I told the Judeheim leaders everything I witnessed regarding the barbarians. When the time came to tell them of how Alastor defeated them, they had many questions, more than they had for the whole series of events that led to the encounter. They wanted to know how long it took him, what he may have said during the battle. They even asked to know in what ways he killed the barbarians. I told them of Alastor’s instructions, and that I only saw the death of the barbarian leader. I then told them of the scene afterwards, in the morning. They seemed...”
“They seemed what?” Lisa urges.
“Sad. Sad hearing about what Alastor had done. Sad over the voraciousness that Alastor seemed to indulge in. But at the same time, I had a feeling that they too thought that the destruction of the barbarians was a dark necessity. I would soon le
arn why.”
“How do you mean?” asks Mikha’el.
Amy laughs mischievously.
“As a child, I loved to be sneaky; to listen in on the grown-ups. I never understood what they spoke of, but I felt special to have heard them speak important words. This, sadly, was a habit of mine that refused to die. Never did I think what seemed so innocent would become so tragic.”
~-~~-~
Amelia is led from the citadel by the young daughter of one of the Council members, a girl not yet on womanhood’s doorstep.
“My name is Dahlia, what is yours?” the girl asks of Amelia.
“My name is Amelia, but my friends call me Amy. Nice to meet you.”
“Can I call you Amy?”
“You sure can.”
“It is nice to meet you too, Amy. Daddy told me to take you to the inn. It is where the pilgrims sleep when they come for the festivals.”
“Pilgrims?”
“Oh, yes! My daddy says that there are lots and lots of people that worship our God, but that they cannot all live here all the time. There are far too many.”
“I come from a town that worships Him also.”
“Really!?” Dahlia squeals. “What is the town’s name?”
“Arkelon. We raise horses and are farmers. You have probably eaten fruit that I myself had grown.”
“Wow. Is it pretty there?”
“Yes, especially when the trees flower.”
“I am going to go there someday, since you came to my home.”
“That would be lovely, Dahlia.”
Before she knows it, Amelia stands in front of the inn.
“Here you are, Amy. Daddy told me to go home after I brought you here, so I guess I will see you later.”
“Thank you very much, Dahlia.”
“You are welcome. Bye!”
Dahlia runs off to her home, smiling ear to ear. Amelia walks into the building, where she is met by a beautiful, smiling woman who works at the inn.
“Amelia?” the woman asks.
“I am.”
“Your room is on the third floor, the last room down the right hand hall.”
“Thank you.”
Tired from the day’s ride and recalling the siege and liberation of her town, Amelia makes getting to her room her only priority. The room is small, but cozy. There is only one bed, which Amelia interprets to mean that Alastor has his own room, or, based on what she remembered of him saying back in the Arkelon Council House, he has a room elsewhere.