Survivor

Looking across Celetira from my position on her walls, I can see in my mind’s eye colorful parades, the bustling market, and children racing up and down the streets. I can hear their shrieks of laughter echoing back through time…

But such things will forever be only memories. Whatever happens this day, Celetira will never be the same, just as the Elven Race will change. Has changed. Is changing. I stifle a sigh and turn back to the army slowly approaching us. Goblins and Ogres mingle with the Elves – an appalling and disgusting alliance. My eyes narrow as I survey their ranks. They think to conquer us in mere hours, but we will show them that the Elves of Celetira will not be brought down so easily!

Even with such thoughts at the forefront of my mind, my stomach churns as the battle draws ever nearer. I do not fear death; nor am I an untried youth. I reached adulthood three hundred years ago, and have fought against Ogres, Goblins, and even wyverns many times since, and had thought I would be fighting them for many centuries to come. But now, I will, for the first time, fight against Elves – kin. It does not grieve me so much as anger me, as I know it angers many of my peers.

I can only imagine how my father feels about this. He has always been more sensitive to battle and fighting than I. I glance down the wall to where he stands, hands hanging limply at his sides, staring vacantly at the oncoming sea of warriors without truly seeing them. Suddenly, I realize that we may never see each other again once the battle starts. So, quickly, I make my way down the wall to his side.

As I approach he glances at me, and murmurs quietly, as though speaking his thoughts aloud, “How did it come to this?” The breeze picks up; I can feel it lifting my hair from my shoulders, and watch as my father’s own hair, dark as mine is light, lifts up like a pair of raven’s wings.

“I do not know,” I reply softly. He looks at me, and I feel as though he is engraving my face into his memory – just in case. Then he looks back at the army, ever closer. We stand together in silence, though I want to say something, anything, my throat will not work.

Finally, Father says, “Ready the catapults, Eldecor,” as he slowly draws his sword. The battle is about to begin. I nod and charge away, drawing my own sword swiftly and holding it high in the air, the steel gleaming in the midday sun – beautiful and deadly.

“Ready the catapults!” I shout to the warriors on the ground just behind the wall. They scramble to obey, and I hear the creak of wood and rope as they prepare to launch the huge Rocks and spiked balls. I watch them for a moment, and then turn to the enemy. Only a few more steps, and they will be in range…yes! “Fire!” With a whoosh, the boulders and spikes fly over the walls and land among the enemy ranks. They are designed and shaped to roll, and crush as many soldiers as possible. “Reload!” I cry, hearing more creaking and shouting as my orders are obeyed. Distantly, I hear my father preparing the archers, for the enemy is almost within bow range. “Fire!” Again and again, we reload and launch, and the archers begin to pick off the enemy as well. But there are simply too many; it is not enough! I look around desperately, wondering how we will be able to keep this army from breaching our walls.

Mardelcor, my friend and brother in arms, suddenly grabs my arm. “Eldecor, they have a battering ram!” I lean over the wall to see the huge ram of carved stone being carried forward by Goblins. My father has seen it too, and I can hear him bellowing orders to the archers under his command. Few of them are able to obey, however, for the army is coming ever closer, and they have other targets to aim for. I hasten along the section of wall under my command, encouraging my men as best as I can. I can see the determination in their eyes, and know that Celetira will not fall while they draw breath.

Then a ladder is raised just before me, hitting the wall with a clang. “Ladders!” I yell, leaping forward to try to push it back. Three more Elves join me, and with our combined strength we succeed, and I can hear the screams of whoever had been climbing it as they hurl to the ground. “Draw swords!” I order as more ladders are raised – far more than we could ever hope to push back. “Prepare yourselves!” They will send up Elves first – they must know how we feel here in Celetira about killing our own kind. The anger that has smoldered in my heart since we first heard rumors of this monstrosity grows until a red haze descends over my sight, and I tighten my grip on my sword, preparing to slay whatever creature ascends the ladder before me.

Then, for a moment, time stops, and I find my mind echoing my father’s question. How did it come to this? How have we fallen so far that we are forced to battle our own kin for dominance?

I have no answers, and this only adds to my rage and growing despair. I do not understand, and I am powerless to change whatever has happened to my people. Celetira cannot weather this storm, no matter how mighty her warriors. She will fall, and we, her people, will fall with her.

The first Elf appears at the top of the ladder, and I instantly bring my sword down in a shining arc, finding a weak spot in his armor and taking full advantage. Blood splatters, but I barely notice. The Elf is followed by a Goblin, whose head I am more than willing to slice off with another powerful stroke.

And so the battle begins in earnest. All coherent thoughts flee, and I act purely on instinct. I barely note the passing of time, and as night falls I only distantly realize that if we survive the night, there may be a glimmer of hope. The fight turns into a macabre dance, illuminated by the silver moon, which turns blood black and swords into shimmering torches.

As the moon reaches her zenith in the sky, my mind is suddenly brought back to the present when I hear a familiar voice cry my name. “Mardelcor!” I exclaim as I spin around, searching desperately along the wall for my friend, and I find him on his knees with an Ogre lifting its axe over him for the final blow. Terror seizes me, and I leap forward, but am too late. The axe comes down, biting deep into my dearest friend’s shoulder, almost cleaving his head from the rest of his body. With a wordless cry of grief and fury, I engage the Ogre, and soon manage to knock him from the wall. Then I fall to my knees beside Mardelcor’s body, and for a few moments the battle is forgotten as I lose myself in grief.

A hand lands on my shoulder then, and I look up to find one of the older officers. “Come, Eldecor,” he orders. “He has not died in vain! Let us avenge him a hundredfold!” I nod, and take a deep breath as I get to my feet, taking Mardelcor’s sword as well as my own in my hands. The red haze descends upon my sight again, and within minutes my mind flees far from Celetira once again as instinct takes over my body.

When I next am thrust back into the present, the sun has risen, and the entire wall shakes with the force of the battering ram as it finally splinters the gates. “No!” I whisper, leaping down to the streets as Goblins and Ogres begin to stream into the city.

“The city is breached!” I hear my father shout. “Pull back! Pull back!” Relief floods me. He lives! Father lives! Calling orders to my own soldiers, I race towards the gates, and find him standing still as our warriors rush past him, pulling back into the city to find a new line of defense. His face is covered in blood, dirt, and sweat, and his sword drips with blood, as does mine. I rush to his side and grab his arm. “Father, come!” I say, shaking him out of whatever reverie he had fallen into. “The last of the women and children are fleeing through the mountain tunnels,” I remind him. “We must cover their retreat!”

He turns to me, his eyes suddenly lighting up with an idea. “Go with them. Flee with them,” he says suddenly. I blink in shock even as I pull him after our soldiers. Flee? Run when my home is being overrun by Goblins and Ogres? Never!

“Father, I am a soldier!” Surely he cannot be serious! I was not trained to run from a fight! He glances behind us, and then yanks me into an abandoned building. Miraculously, we are not seen, and the Goblins continue past. He drags me down to the basement, where a door leads to the secret tunnels built so long ago.

“You are a leader, Eldecor,” Father tells me, gripping my shoulders tightly and shaking me slightly. His eyes bore into mine. “This city has fallen, and with it our entire Race!” I am prepared to protest – surely there must be hope! – but he continues before I can say a word, “You must lead our people who manage to escape this, my son. Lead them wisely and well, and never let them forget what we Elves once were! There is no shame in that!”

“But Father, what of you?” I can not bear the thought of leaving my father behind to die at the hands of our enemies! My mother is with the refugees who fled last. What will I tell her?

“As a captain sinks with his ship, so a lord falls with his city,” Father replies in a low voice. “Do not let today’s sacrifice be in vain, Eldecor!” I hesitate, still unwilling to leave him, but Father’s gaze does not waver, and eventually I nod. He immediately pulls me into a tight embrace, and I return it. This is the last time I shall ever see my father, and I hate to think of what will happen to him when I am gone. The soldier in me flees, and I am reduced to a little boy, weeping for what the world has become. “Go,” he says. “Use the tunnels.”

“I love you Father,” I whisper, taking a hesitant step towards the tunnel opening.

“I love you, my son.” Father steps back, his hand going to his sword. “Go.” Unable to say more, I turn and stride to the door, and manage not to look back as it shuts behind me. Dim torches light the tunnel just enough to see where I am going, and so I break into a run, following them north, towards the mountains. Above me I can hear the sounds of battle as the Elves of Celetira make one last stand, led by my father. How I wish I was there with them! But I promised Father I would lead the remainder of our people, and no matter what, I will keep that promise.

Finally, after what seems like hours of running, I emerge from the tunnels about two miles from the city, already part of the way up the slopes of the nearest mountain. I continue running, following the path I know the last group must have taken. My breath comes in gasps, and my legs burn, but I press on. I need to catch up before nightfall.

Suddenly, I hear a roar go up from the city. I halt and spin around, realizing that the roar is a cheer. As it turns to a chant, I drop to my knees and bow my head. Celetira has fallen, and my father is dead.

The world will never be the same. Slowly, I rise to my feet and turn away from Celetira, towards the mountains, and what remains of my people.