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Untitled Fantasy Story

So, who knows what a chaplain is? Yeah, thought so . . . a chaplain is a priest. More specifically a priest during wartime. Even more specifically a priest during wartime that goes to the battles to give spiritual enlightenment in the darkest hours of the men - that, or the last rites. Either way, I thought such a name would best define my 6th and final prologue:



"The Chaplain"

"Eejohth cohnel analla gorach;
Anante vasuda locarn Lucanna . . ."

Those words always had a way of calming me. I never did quite understand just how it worked; on the other hand, perhaps I wasn't supposed to understand. Perhaps I was to simply accept that the reaches of Lucan's power touch even that. That is the funny thing about the life of a priestess - it is an unending march through mysterious lands, and no one can tell you what you may find at the other end. True, the life is demanding and the trials fierce, but the rewards of service under the great protector are impossible to place worldly value upon.

I concluded my prayer and kissed my amulet - the silver star bound by sparkling cords. I rose to my feet and vocalized a series of clicks . . . nothing. My signals weren't working . . . Gypsy should have come to me by now. Where is that horse?

I left the quiet glade I had stopped in and began searching for my missing companion, calling her name as I walked about. I finally chanced upon my white and brown friend drinking from the river, and I ran over to lecture her about answering my calls. The scolding did not get far, however; my train of thought was broken as my sensitive ears perked up to a not-too-distant conflict. With that said, it is easy to predict how a member of the Lucan clergy would react. I mounted and spurred Gypsy on and we went off to investigate the disturbance.

What lay before me was perhaps the most appalling display my young eyes have had to see for a long time. Tied neatly by his wrists, his arms wrapped around a tree, the man let out another howl as the whip cracked across his back; his skin lying still, blistered and shredded under a tattered and blood-soaked tunic. I accepted cover from a line of trees as the barbarity continued. As metal spectators looked on, the whip came down again.

"Once again," the large, armoured man repeated, "where can we find her?"
"How should I know?" the beaten man pleaded back, his blood mixing with his words as they both left his mouth.
"Come now, obviously you must know something. You were last to speak with her, and yet you return to us alive and well. Considering what happened to the others . . ."
"I barely survived that meeting!" he cried out - his inquisitor did not seem to care.

The armoured man lifted the weakened commoner by the chin lightly.
"So, you just happened to be let go by this . . . terrorist, no gimmicks attached?"
"Yes! I mean, not exactly, I mean I had to . . ." with his glazed-over eyes, there was no way he could have seen the boot as the interrogator wound up and kicked him in the kidney. He fell, his hands still bound around the aged tree.
"You realize that by withholding this information, you're aiding a criminal of the nation?"
"Funny, I didn't think the nation stretched out this far," the man said, slowly regaining his footing.

Taken by his prior comment, the armoured man drew his sword.
"If you're not going to help us then I guess we'll just have to . . ."
"Leave him alone." I commanded as I trotted into view. The other men in the group drew their swords and dropped into ready positions; I took a deep breath.
"Get lost elf-girl," the whip-carrier (whom I assumed was the leader) said, "this doesn't concern you."
"No," I continued with a slight shake in my voice, "all beings in need are my concern."

It did not appear to be having any effect, but I had grown up learning that I had to at least try. "Lucan demands you end this . . . this perversion!"
"I'll do no such thing. Now, if you'll excuse us . . ."
"N…no. I can not allow this to continue."
"Or else what?" I had to force myself not to back away as the armoured man with the whip advanced on me.
"I . . I will . . ." I never got to finish my sentence before I was knocked off my horse.

The ground was surprisingly inflexible far springtime, and my back-pain from whomever had hit me only intensified with the vulgar laughter radiating from the militant troupe. The fact that my brown cape had flipped over my head likewise helped very little as I got up - and was stuck down by another rigid blow to my back. In my reattempt to get my face out of the grass, I could hear a hazy dialog commence between the men.
"So what are we supposed to do with the skinny?" asked one. The man with the whip answered,
"Ah, tie her up. Perhaps she'll know something about our quarry." I could feel hands on my forearms when one of my would-be captors said,
"Hey, you suppose this girl has anything to do with that outpost we razed the other day?"
"I don't know. All elves look the same to me . . . . ."

All elves are the same? Reference to me as a "skinny"? Of my time working as a priestess of Lucan I have never heard of such bigotry from people! True, I have heard stories from times long ago when all peoples were fearful and angry with one another. I had truly thought such days were gone forever . . . perhaps my work in the valley has done little but to blind me from the outside world - the real world . . . . . no, that cannot be. My work had brought the watchful eye of Lucan proudly upon our lands. Without his devout acolytes, evil and chaos would roar deafeningly across the world. No, my work has done much for our cause; it has done much for my cause . . . . .

The two men slammed me against a heave tree and proceeded to knot the cords around my wrists - I clicked my palate. Before a single slip could be tied, my good friend galloped forth. The surprised men dropped the ropes and drew serrated swords as Gypsy rushed forth, swinging her body around and kicking one of the men brutally far. While she recoiled from her attack, the second man was already in mid-swing.

"No! I shouted, as I forced out a kick of my own. True, it lacked the stopping power of Gypsy's legs, but it was effective nonetheless. The man's swing deviated and struck air. Directly afterwards his elbow met my cheek - Gypsy's hindquarters then met him. I took the moment's chaos to leap onto my friend's back. Saddled and alert, I awaited the unfolding of the next sequence of events. Five men advanced towards me, swords flashing like rows of sharp metal teeth. Lucan protect me . . . . .

Play the music!

I began a short and precise prayer as the aggressors sprang forth. It was a plea for protection from above; it was definitely heard. My silver amulet brightened and my hand stretched out as a powerful righteous energy flowed from my body to my awaiting fist. A spark of flame snapped out from my grip. Another spark shot out; the sparks began multiplying in their consistency. A flaming hilt formed at the top of my hand. The sparks turned into red-orange streams as they rigidly stood from the hilt; the streams fused . . .

All of the men froze when they saw the sight before them: a mounted elven chaplain of Lucan in full glory - a flaming sword dancing in her hand. One of the five gathered his wits and re-established his charge; I took to a gallop. Our distances closed quickly as we both charged full speed at each other. Nearing ever closer, I spurred Gypsy even harder, pushing her to an impossible speed. That final push gave me the gasp-worth of extra time to attack before my adversary. I swung. The magical burning edge glanced across the man's temple, and he fell to the ground with the gracefulness of a tumbling rock. In retaliation, the other four charged.

The melee was short-lived, as they fought me back to a stretch of the river. I had yet to strike another worthwhile hit before eight hands reached out and pulled me off my horse and under the running water. I fought to no avail as they pinned my sword-arm to the cool gravel. Instantly my fiery weapon shrieked under protest of the river - it then murmured, coughed, and then it was gone. The loss of my magical blade caused a hasty celebration; I heard little of it. As one of the men forced my head under.

I forced myself not to struggle under the water as to not lose any more now extremely precious air. I simply closed my eyes and let the power of Lucan flow through me once again. I thought back to my training in the temples, where we learned that the great protector also imbued us with the ability to move objects with conscious thought. I concentrated intently, blocking out the grinding heels of the men and my ever-ebbing breath . . .

I sprang out of the water frantically, gasping raggedly at the wonderful air. In the river the four men were either down or dazed. As fate would have it, all four of the smooth river-polished stones had found their marks against heavy helms. Of the ones still in their feet, I ignored them - there was a much more crucial situation at hand . . .

I was reciting the words before I was out of the river. I could only pray the words would reach their desired effect before their leader finished bringing his sword across the bound man's throat. Hopefully Lucan was ready to respond to my plea to force the simple word into the man's mind: sleep. I repeated the word over and over, but was still gripped by sheer panic as the jagged sword came down. None could believe my relief as I watched the rest of the leader come down, past the prisoner and into a catatonic coma. I picked up the weapon and quickly ran to the other side of the large tree to cut the cords around the wrists of the beaten man.

Though in his weakened state, the man was still able to stand on his own power, which was excellent to know. After I clicked my palate once again, a bitter race drew forth as to who would reach us first - thank Lucan Gypsy was much fleeter of foot than the floundered soldiers. The three of us took to the roads and left that forsaken for safer, dryer ground.

I had just barely begun to comprehend the amazing tale I had been told when we reached the temple. By now the man's wounds were all but forgotten through a lying of hands and a quick channelling of my deity's energy. The two of us dismounted and entered the compound. After greeting the clergy, they sent the man to a quick meal and cleansing and myself to the courtyard. There I found the distinguished Knights of Lucan, training their apprentices in the arts. On the far side of the courtyard, overlooking all of the exercises stood Malcor - the High Priest of our temple.

"Hello, my young sister of Lucan," he greeted me warmly, "how was your morning?"
"Eventful, my elder," I answered bluntly. His face began to grow serious. "I have important things to tell you about the land . . ."