Chapter 12: The End of it all*

Chapter written and edited by: CatMasseuse and HunnyBee

Chapter 12:

The End of it all

It was as if time had completely stopped at that point. Even his heart beat ceased as the young elf, his savior, his one and only, held the sword over his head and stood over him with tears in his eyes. There was a look of fear, trepidation, maybe even resentment, but Clarence knew his savior would have killed him that day. If he was not a child at the time, he would no longer be in this world today.

After the elves had escaped, several knights surrounded the young prince as his mother ran and grabbed the young boy in her arms, sobbing, as the small dagger laid still by his feet, still sprawled out on the ground. A violent chill rolled through Clarence's body as he was hugged tightly by the queen.

Anger burned deep in his bones as the queen gathered the boy's frozen limbs in her arms. Her tears drenched the prince's bright gold suit jacket. They burned the prince's cold, clammy skin. His fingers trembled, and his legs shook so much that he was unable to stand on his own without support.

The ceremony, having been attacked by the elves, ended abruptly. The citizens were quickly dispersed, and the royal knights directed the royal family to safety. Their carriages were loaded and the prince was wrapped in a thick, velvet cloak by the queen. She held his tiny hand in hers as she used her other hand to hold him against her chest. The queen whispered to him, trying to coax the young boy to sleep.

However, Clarence would not sleep. His eyes stayed half-lidded, as if he were in a dream. The color of his eyes darkened a degree as he sat, mulling over the scenes of today in his head as the curtains inside the carriage were pulled shut, cloaking the two in darkness.

Images flashed in the prince's mind: the elf holding the sword in his hands, the wetness at the corners of his eyes, the determined expression on his human-looking disguise. Thinking of it again, Clarence could not help but think Silas looked the same, even with the disguise on. Maybe it was the light in his eyes, or maybe it was the way he trembled when he held his sword. It reminded Clarence of the first night they met.

The dagger Silas had thrown before rested in the back of the prince's pants. He had hidden it when the knights were gathering the citizens, and when his mother was crying on his shoulder. The place where the dagger sat burned his skin with heat, but rather than remove the knife, Clarence enjoyed the pain it brought. The pain would serve as a reminder for trusting a filthy elf. That savior of his, that Silas, was nothing more than a despicable person, a traitor.

Silas was no martyr, no savior, no hero. He was not like anything the young prince had made him up to be. Being held in his mother's arms, Clarence's thoughts simmered on that elf, and his mind was captured, enraptured by a particular thought.

What if I were to find him again? What if I were to harm him as he did to me? The prince's eyes narrowed in his mother's arms as his expression chilled. A strange stillness filled his body, and the light in his eyes darkened. If anyone were to gaze at the prince now, they would only think of one word: horrific. Though his face was in his mother's chest, there was a large smile across his lips, and his eyes narrowed in satisfaction.

The devotion and piety he had once held for Silas began twisting into a sick desire, a sick obsession to kill the elf. These egregious thoughts swarmed in his head, filling his mind with bad intentions. The hands around his mother's waist tightened.

From that day on, there were changes in Clarence.

At the mention of an elf, Clarence would be thrown into a violent rage. The prince would turn into a creature unseen by man, a violent, senseless beast. Any item nearby would be thrown, breakable items shattered, and metal candelabras snapped in half. Candles were tossed, lighting curtains and other fabric items on fire.

Maids that had witnessed the catastrophe were quick to quit their positions or beg for reassignment somewhere else in the palace. With such a high turnover rate, the palace began to offer a higher wage in order to entice workers, however many of them only lasted a few weeks before they left the palace, saying the salary was not worth the stress of caring for the prince.

Even at night, the prince was inconsolable. Even being coaxed by the queen, Clarence would have a difficult time falling asleep. Often, he would wake up screaming, covered in a cold sweat as he shot up in bed. Other times, he would scream in his sleep, unable to wake until morning from the nightmares of that day. Most of all, he would be unable to sleep. Many nights, the prince would stare out the window with a blank face, contemplating something as he sat up in bed, feeling exhaustion circle his body, but his mind stayed wide awake.

One particular night, when the maids had been sent away from Clarence's room, the young prince sat up in bed and retrieved the dagger from under his bed frame, where he had hidden it from the servants. The dagger itself was sharp, pointed at the top with sturdy steel materials. Though the dagger itself was cheaply made, there was something about it that made Clarence grow an attachment to it.

Clarence thought it was because it was the tool used to almost kill him that he felt a connection to it. Each time he held the handle, a warm current brushed past his fingers, and he had the urge to grasp the dagger as tight as he could, until his knuckles were white, to harness all of the heat from the object. No matter how tightly the prince grasped the object, the warmth only lingered on his fingers and palms for a moment before retracting itself.

He liked this warm feeling. It made it easier for him to rest.

The prince's previous favorite book, The Martyr Elf, sat worn and untouched at his bedside, as if it were resting until it was read once again by the young boy. The yellow pages and faint musty scene caught Clarence's eye as he reached out and held the heavy book in his other hand while keeping a tight grip on the dagger in his other.

His small palm placed the old book down on his bed as he stared down at the cover of the worn book with a far away look in his eyes. Thinking of the events of that day, Clarence could not stare at it any longer, let alone keep it close to him as he had before. With a steady hand, the prince lifted the dagger with both of his hands, his knuckles white from the tension. Like his savior, he held his hands high above his head and looked down at the helpless lump of text, a small smile strung across his face.

Without a word, the prince brought the dagger down and pierced the middle of the book with a heavy movement. The sound of the leather tearing was pleasant to the prince's ears. He lifted the knife and continued his violent barrage, ripping at the book as if it were his savior's own flesh and blood. With a deranged look in his eyes, he stabbed and stabbed until he found himself breathless, unable to lift his arms any longer.

The previously worn book laid limp on his bed, no longer recognizable. The sight made Clarence fill with glee as he picked up the remnants of the book and walked over to one of the windows in his room. With a sadistic laugh, he threw the destroyed book out the window and listened, waiting for the thunk signaling the book hit the ground. When it did, he closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

Still holding the dagger in his palms, Clarence carefully walked back to his bed and lifted the mattress, where he carefully placed the dagger where it had been before. After readjusting the blankets, he laid back down on his bed and stared up at the thick velvet drapes surrounding his bed.

Before, he wished he could have kept his savior at his side, inside this own little world. Maybe even right under this canopy of his.

But things are different now. Now, he must kill that savior with his own two hands.

Clarence finally fell asleep, thinking of the martyr elf he used to love so dearly.

...

After walking for many days, barely eating or sleeping, the small group of survivors finally reached Yipsil, a larger elven village situated on the side of and inside a large mountain. The group, upon seeing the elven front gate, cried and cheered. With a happy sigh, Silas, who was carrying an exhausted Emmeline on his back, gently jostled her awake to let her know they finally arrived. He crouched down and she slid off his back, barely holding back her excitement as she woke up and noticed her surroundings.

The highlands were breathtaking. The grass was long and deep green, bright under the warm, midday sun. As the elves climbed higher up the mountainside, a dim fog accumulated in the air as the temperature of the air cooled. The clouds that appeared higher in the sky became larger, fluffier, and almost gentler as they swayed to the side with the light breeze. The light blue sky lightened until it was almost white, making the side of the mountain look as if it were part of the sky itself.

Silas kneeled on the ground as Emmeline carefully lowered herself off of his back. Her eyes sparkled like a child's as she circled around the area, looking up at the sky, and down at the ground at the fertile dirt and gravel underneath their feet. Even the small streams nearby caught her careful attention. Seeing Emmeline so happy, Silas did not want to spoil her fun.

The elves around them took their luggage with them as they approached the large wooden gates of the village carefully. Though they had sent a letter ahead of their return, the group was still careful as they approached on foot, placing their hands up, and their elven paperwork in their hands with cautious expressions. After the group was inspected, they were quickly ushered in by the guards, taking extra care of the children and elderly.

Many of the elves were filthy, covered in dirt, sweat, and blood. After settling into the village, most of them were escorted to the river to wash themselves before they were placed somewhere in the village. Silas had Emmeline examined by the village healer before they settled in. As they traveled, Emmeline's cough grew more persistent, and he could not help but worry about her, even patting her back and giving her extra water as they traveled before.

When Silas's group had completely entered the village, Jacob and two other men were led to the village chief's home, while the rest of the soldiers rested on the ground just inside the village with the other rescued villagers, their faces ragged. The residents handed out roasted buns and cool water to the refugees as they chatted quietly with solemn looks on their faces. Many of them were thinking of their missing family members.

The soldiers, however, were not given the luxury of a long rest. As soon as the group reached the village, Silas, Jacob, and the other soldiers grabbed their gear and turned to leave the village and go to save the other villagers, to find them before they were sent to Durbrame. Seeing the death and destruction from before, they were not optimistic, but they had a slight sliver of hope to guide them.

After trading their tired horses for new ones, and gathering their gear, they were able to ride out quickly under the cover of darkness. Their dark elven armor allowed them to blend in to their surroundings, making their travel quick and undetected by the humans. Using their mana, they were able to trace the rest of the elves' trail faintly, heading north-east towards the central Yursear kingdom. It was not until they approached the makeshift camp that they saw the humans.

The camp, or what was left of it, was surrounded in corpses, corpses of the humans.

Unlike what Silas had seen when he and his group first escaped the village, these bodies were not fresh. They had to be at least a day old. The expressions on their faces were painfully twisted into tight frowns, grimaces, and frozen screams. Silas used his mask to stop himself from inhaling the rank stench of death. Otherwise, he was afraid he would vomit on the spot.

The embers of the campfire were almost burned out, most of them had already turned black and cool, while one of the other campfires was white and hot, just at the edge of the woods, where their food had been sitting uneaten and charred, no longer edible. A burnt stench permeated the area around it, making it difficult to smell anything but the burnt flesh of dead animals. Carefully, the elven soldiers stepped through the campsite and assessed the tents left standing.

Silas approached the half-burned ruins of one of the larger tents with slow, steady steps. His hands trembled as he pushed aside the long cloth with his palm. The torn fabric swung sideways and fell to the ground with a lazy fwip, still charred at the edges where it had been burned. Stepping through the doorway, Silas was greeted by empty chains and a large hole, torn in the back of the tent.

There were numerous chains, many of them a solid steel material, that had been unlocked at some point, while others had been cut by the chain link attached to them, showing an abrupt end to the chainlink where the cuff would have been. Some of the cuffs still had blood on them, now dark red and flakey, as if it could be scraped off like rust.

The two dead humans inside the tent had been dismembered, starting at the hands. By where their hands would have been, a set of keys laid quietly, swimming in a pool of cold blood. A human sword was nearby, flaked with blood. It was obvious the humans stood no chance.

It was cold, empty. Silas could not stand it. He wanted to scream, cry out to his lost family and ask them where they were, what had happened to them. He wanted to call out, "Cirdan! Aurelia! Mom!" at the top of his lungs, as if no one were around to hear him. He wanted to break down here, to hug himself tightly as he racked with sobs, feeling the heavy weight of guilt overtake him.

It was not until he felt a tear roll down his cold, clammy cheek that someone called out to him.

"Silas, did you find anyone in there?" Jacob had suddenly come up behind Silas, standing in the hole in the tent wall with a weighty expression on his face, which looked odd on his usual, jovial expression.

The fabric top of the tent had already burned down, and the wood beams and stray, charred fabric was only supported by the beams placed in the middle to support the weight of the entire tent. Silas could already see through the top to the sky, where the small white lights flickered and flashed with a lonely light. Looking at these stars, Silas wanted to leave his gaze on them, to look to the stars for any guidance they could provide.

Silas already knew that one one here was left alive. His tone was low as he responded to Jacob, "No." Silas turned to him with a lost expression, "Nothing's here." He carefully wiped the side of his eye with his glove, his eyes red from the ash and smoke burning his eyes.

Seeing him so despondent, Jacob felt awkward. He rubbed his arm and looked back out the door. "Come on, Silas. There are still some more places to check." Don't lose hope yet.

Knowing there was still places to check, Silas found some of his vigour once again. "Thank you, Jacob." His words were quiet, but Jacob could hear them over the shouting of the other soldiers, calling out to the other villagers.

The campsite and nearby forest were swept over three times in the dark. Using magic torches, the soldiers called out to the empty ruins, burned to the ground by the flames of war. Heavy slabs of wood were moved and removed to a makeshift trash pile, and other camping materials were moved to find even slight traces of life. Not even a rat, let alone another human villager, was found. It had already been two hours, and many of the men were beginning to tire from their journey.

Many of the other tents and supplies that were still intact had been pillaged and destroyed beyond repair. Seeing this, the group still had some hope, hope that the group of elves had found a way to escape from their human kidnappers.

But there was also a chance that the camp had been attacked and raided by another group. If the elves were caught by slave traders, they would never escape. There was no chance of survival, especially if they were taken farther into the Yursear Kingdom. The humans there would kill an elf solely based on the fact that they were of the elven race, nothing more.

"Men, there's nothing to find here. We'll check the surrounding area and head back to the village. There's nothing more we can do." One of the younger village heads had led the journey with Silas's group and the men from the other village. All of the men thought of Silas's village and then of their own families, and how lucky they were to have not been in the Yursear Kingdom. Otherwise, they could have lost their families, or even their own lives. "There are no traces of anything here. Any tracks were wiped out, and the rest of the supplies were burned. There's no way we can track them."

One of the elven soldiers from Silas's village spoke up, "Do you think they hid those traces?" There was hope in his voice.

"Let's hope to the Gods so." The captain responded, walking towards his horse.

The rest of the group quickly gathered together and jumped onto their horses, checking their baggage one more time before they turned away from the dilapidated campsite with a drained look. As the group began to move forward, Silas looked back one more time before he shook his head and faced forward, the smell of ash and blood clinging to his uniform.

The sky was dark, and the stars were no longer visible. The smell of smoke lingered in the cold air as the soldiers left with empty hope.