Divided Lands

Chapter 5

The shade of all the trees in the forest couldn’t stop the sun from glimmering off of Third Grand Despot Solomon’s helmet as he swung his powerful legs over his horse and stepped onto the dirt path. He turned to face the frightened villagers. They stood so close to one another that, beyond the first row of people, Solomon could only see the tops of heads. With a smirk he nodded to them, reached into the satchel on his horse’s neck, and pulled out a piece of parchment. He cleared his throat, held it out for all to see, and began to read.

“This paper I hold in my hand has been signed by the Warlord himself and signifies that, as of this date in the fourth month of the year, the Forest Temple and its surrounding village is guilty of contempt.” Solomon droned lifelessly. “Yaddah yaddah yaddah, you are hereby sentenced to execution by authority of the Warlord Amoseh and so on and so forth…resistance is futile…consider your death a service to your Warlord and your country.”

He tossed the parchment back into the satchel and, with the sort of smirk a priest himself would want to smack off of a man’s face, drew his sword. “In other words, you valued your God over your King–and your traditions over your very lives. Now we get to burn you.”

Women gasped, children peered through their mother’s skirts with wide, frightened eyes, and men stepped backward, helpless and unarmed. Solomon, his toes curling with excitement inside his boots, lifted his sword-free hand, glanced at the soldiers behind him, and nodded. A torch flew over his head from somewhere in the ranks and landed on a thatched roof. Within seconds the entire structure had gone up in quickly spreading flames. As each of the two hundred villagers turned tail and fled in screaming panic through the street, Solomon pointed his sword and shouted strong, loud, and clear, “FORWARD!”

Black smoke began rising in columns.

Nestled into somewhat safety behind a momentarily intact building, Jon pressed his back against the wall and glanced at Nalza cowering next to him with his knees clutched against his. chest. “This isn’t good.”

“Yeah, well, humanity is cruel.” Nalza said. “I can’t even show my face around your kind without being killed.”

He pulled himself to his feet and stretched until his back muscles popped. “Now, that being said, I would really appreciate it if you would simply let me go on my way south. I’ve seen what you do to other humans, and I’m not about to stick around to see what you’ll do to me.”

“You can’t be serious, can you?” Jon grabbed Nalza by his shoulders and wheeled him around so that they were face to face. “These people need help!”

“They need help defeating an army.” Nalza whispered. “I can’t even catch a fish!”

Jon gritted his teeth. “Listen, kid. You can’t go back home, can you?”

After a moment of hesitation during which neither one of them dared breathe, Nalza shook his head.

“Just as I thought. There isn’t any other reason for a dust elf to be wandering around this far south unless he was exiled.” Jon let go of Nalza’s shoulders. “Now, I don’t know what you did, but I do know that if you’re going to make it this far south you’re gonna have to start earning some respect.”

Jon grabbed Nalza by the sleeve and steered him into an alleyway. Not too far away the -whoosh!- of swords swinging and the crackling of flames filled the air; they both covered their ears with their palms. Jon poked Nalza in the side and pointed to the ground. He dropped to his knees, and the dust elf followed suit.

“And if you wanna stand a chance in this hostile environment, you’re going to need some company.” Jon panted. He motioned to the main path through the village—it was eerily void of people and noises other than the sound of flames. There wasn’t even the sound of a sword slicing the wind as it swung. “Now follow me.”