The Basin of Broken Dreams
She looked down the blade, aiming it against Alvon who stood ready to parry. A pearl of sweat was running down her nose, falling off its tip. Her entire body focused for the next move, she moved her leg into position, assured the balance was just right. She softened her knees, pulled the sword down, and launched herself at him. With a wide motion, he had deflected her move, and she used it to her advantage, going past him, and sent the edge flying in an upwards spiral towards his armpit. She stopped. One could never have imagined only two seconds had passed.
“Again.” Alvon commanded.
“No, I’ve had enough for today.” Eylinn had increased the intensity of her training, trying to find the solace from combat to escape her chaotic mind. Ever since the last reinforcements had linked up in Hroniden, that being the Deagrin army, less time had been spent arguing over logistics and strategy with the other commanders, and more time had been spent with Freyr.
Her feelings were torn. One part of her appreciated the diligence of his courting where he actively took the time to learn more about her, even though she had too many secrets and reservations to openly share everything with him. She felt cornered, but still flattered, and he was nothing but a good man. The awkwardness had slowly melted away, and the genuine excitement and happiness she felt about meeting him every day for the past two months was scaring the living daylights out of her. She cared for him, but had no idea if she actually had feelings for him. She pulled her bow from her shoulder, sending an arrow towards a tree, severing a twig. “I need to bathe.”
The army of Light distrusted the water in the Wilds. One could never know of what lie tainted therein, so most of their reserves were brought from the scarce sources found in the eastern desert. This refused the Green Chasm armies need for hygiene, and ablution had to be limited for a weekly basis. The smell of themselves, and that of their peers, was tearing on moral.
Scouts had reported the Basin was only a day’s ride away, but also brought more troubling news. Movement was coming from the north, and it was not benign. Eylinn had felt it days before, the impurity sending sinister pulses from afar and destabilizing her Light, but in no way could she imagine the opposing force measuring that of their own. A battle was inevitable, and she would not have her men fight unclean. They deserved much better. That evening, the water barrels were uncorked. Joyous singing escalated from the camp as the filth was washed away.
Eylinn didn’t take hers until after the tactical briefing had finished, finally able to settle a course of action with the other lords where the centre would withhold the initial deluge, and let the skirmishers and what little magic users they had at their disposal thin the Dark One’s forces out before outflanking them. She meditated under the water. “I can’t tell him tonight, not right before the battle. What the hell am I to do?” She let out a range of profanities in a whisper under the surface before ascending, taking another deep breath only to continue her submerged tirade. “Maybe it would just be easier to break it off. Spare us both the pain.” But why did she smile every time she thought of him? It made no sense, and she was not going to brood over it any further. She simply wasn’t ready. Her mind had been right, as much as it pained her to admit it.
The sun had risen and vanished when the army arrived at the temple. The slaves of Darkness had just arrived, and only had time to assemble in position without being able to fortify. After a short deliberation, Eylinn assumed they would try to take the initiative, and that the plan they had already set up was to be maintained.
She stood in the second line by the shield-wall when the forces of Darkness started to move, a gigantic host, but only slightly larger than her own. Wrothiron, the Dwarf, had insisted on standing close to her during the battle. She did not ask why, for she was in no mood to get into another discussion with another commander. She turned to Alvon to wave him off.
“When we charge, you bring the cavalry around the flank. Lead the infantry further to close their rear. We need to split and pocket them fast while we have the momentum.”
“Yes, Therain.” He sneered. “I’ll give them a good sharp greeting for you.” She urged him away with a nod. The thrill was enveloping her, and every cell was set at ease. Complete focus. No distractions, no fear. The hard thumps from the enemy’s march made the ground tremble, and she readied her bow.
“First mark.” She said, looking as they passed the first landmark in the field. She drew her bow and aimed for the sky. With a slight touch with her fingers against the arrowhead, it was set ablaze. She let it go, and only a moment after, it was joined by thousands upon thousands of projectiles in a combined volley. It hailed over the enemy ranks in a violent display of blood and the singing of armours pierced, yet, she didn’t see anyone fall.
Another volley was launched at the forces of Dark, and it seemed to yield the same meagre results. “What is going on...? That kind of firepower should have taken a regiment out.” She drew her sword, signalling to the troops.
“Guard!” Moving as one, the frontline thrust their shields into the ground, aiming their spears at the ready. With her blade still in her hand, Eylinn kept pulling her bow, sending her every arrow at the heads of the enemies in range until the quiver was empty. White, phosphorous light were falling over the armies of Darkness, originating from what few mages she had found during the march to the Basin. The few spells that actually stuck set the soldiers ablaze, and melted them to ashes within seconds. The point of no return was there. They charged.
With a terrible roar of steel, the enemy clashed with spears or shields. The second line was poking through the small gaps their comrades had left for them, and cleared whatever kill they could claim. They had successfully held the centre; now all they needed to do was drive them back.
“Lunge!” With overpowering strength, the first line pushed their shield up, and the second line, including Eylinn, moved under them, chopping and slashing at their stunned foes. Swift as a cobra, she managed to stab through the joints of two men before returning behind the guard, and with that, the armies of Light had gained another three feet. They had startled the enemy with their firm stance, and they were starting to waiver, all the while covering from a rain of arrows from above. Eylinn pulled out her hand, concentrating as hard as she could, and a small fiery dart eloped from her fingers, and spread a singe directly in front of her own group.
With the enemy further demoralized, it was now their turn to charge, only raising their feet to climb over the hundreds of corpses that had started to pile up on the ground. Pikes steady as a forest, and with a powerful thrusting at the end shattered them. She sneaked through the chaotic front, moving ahead, to the side, sending far larger foes down by aiming at their weak spots. Her shirt was soaked in blood, and it started to stick against her skin, yet she did not mind. Alvon and Kamal on the right flank was beginning their manoeuvre, and it felt like the day might be won. The armies of Dark tried to cover a short withdrawal with a hail of arrows of their own to increase the space, and Eylinn’s position was forced to a stand rather than pursuit.
That’s when she saw it. Right before committing to a full charge, a large, ominous mist was forming in front of their eyes. Her Light grew weary, and the panic was spreading amongst her men. It rolled over their ranks, and as Eylinn inhaled whatever magic this was, the world was filled with hissing voices and agonizing wailing. Suddenly, she could hear Freyr’s voice, right behind her.
“You make me sick.” She turned around, but he was not there. “Your face, your hair, that ridiculous smile.”
“Wha... What? Where are you?”
“You look ridiculous. Wielding that sword like a fishwife would gut a salmon. Your constant self-pity and your impudent narrow-minded ideals... It’s almost embarrassing just being around you.” Tears started forming in her eyes as the scornful words of her betrothed hit her, one by one.
“No... Please don’t do this! I thought you...”
“I deserve better. Just look at you. This hardly could come as a surprise. You think you’re so important, it’s enough to make one hurl.”
“Why are you being so mean?!” She cried.
“I’m breaking the betrothal. I never want to see you again.”
“No! Don’t leave me! I’m sorry!” She had dropped her sword, still trying to find the source of his voice, but it was nowhere to be found. She looked around, seeing her soldiers on their knees or on their feet, or running about in tormented spastic motions, all trying to cover their ears. It was the magic they had just seen. That terrible, dark mist. In its wake came the second shock. As heavy cavalry was steaming towards them, Eylinn picked up her blade and only narrowly parried a mace coming her way. The sheer force of the horseman’s swing threw her to the ground, and while lying there, she saw row after row fall lifeless to the ground. Wrothiron had just barely escaped, but some of his sworn shields had not been so lucky. The seventh line of defence came rushing towards the centre to counter the cavalry’s stampede, but it was too late. The line was broken.
She stood up, looking over the horizon as the army encroached. Qylan stood tall in the distance, looking down at the mayhem. Where normal men would only see the shadow of a figure on the hill, Eylinn saw it clear as day. She was looking into his yellow slit eyes, fixed at her own blue. She cracked, pleading as she gazed upon him.
“Please...” She formed the word with her mouth, but did not speak it, for she knew he couldn’t hear. Hoping to catch a glimpse of his former proud and warm stare, she only found cold and pain. He steered his lips into a mocking smile, then raised his sword to the sky. A deep roar spread across the field. Her own dead was standing again, and Eylinn was paralyzed with fear. The disgusting smell ran rank, seething into all her senses. The crack of his shin bone gave him away. She turned around, and one of the Deagrin sworn shields swiped at her with his giant axe.
She bent herself backwards in almost ninety degrees to dodge the swing. She struggled to regain her balance, and when she did, she barely parried his next move, forcing his weapon into another angle. She tried to hit him, but it was too late. He had already regained his posture, and hit her over the head with the flat side of the double edged axe.
She lost all sight in a blur, and her ears started ringing. Eylinn was on her knees, bleeding heavily from her wound, as the world was spinning with no end in sight. The nausea engulfed her, and she threw up. She could no longer measure the distance between her head and the ground, and not all the adrenaline in the world could relieve the pain. The Dwarf readied his axe, aiming to take her head in a final blow. Her body shook. But as she waited for the inevitable, another Dwarf appeared, though she could only see the faint colours of him at this point. All went dark, and she landed with her face into a pool of her own blood and vomit, no longer awake.
Was this death? No sound, no sight, no light. She was all alone, unable to move or even think. It wasn’t cold, and especially not warm. She felt no pain, no hunger, no yearning whatsoever. It was just black. Her dreamless dream of nothing in particular spread across the void. A second glance revealed an ocean of red and blue stars forming in little clusters way into the distance. Her head was pounding, a pulsating pain. The nausea... Her vision was slowly returning.
“Where am I?” She looked around but everything was but a haze. Barely able to distinguish the textures of the world, her eyes fixed at a boy sitting on a chair at her side. He woke up.
“Therain? You’re safe.” The tent was empty but from Freyr. Her head was spinning, but it was slowing down. He struggled to sit up, still holding his sword in his hand. Was he going to put her out of her misery? The words of Qylan’s spell kept echoing through her head. She looked away.
“What happened? Did we win?”
"No, it was too much. The archmage was waiting for us, and the Dark One’s minions kept circling your position." Eylinn braved an attempt to raise her head from the pillow to get a clearer view. She groaned. A flashing pain seared through her brain.
"How long was I gone? And why are you armed?" She was expecting the worst. His doubts, his regrets. It was too much. The Dark One’s magic was too cruel. First in the seeing stone, now in the field. Was she now going to lose Freyr too? She wished he’d just sink his sword into her chest and end it. There was nothing left for her in this world to live for.
"You've been asleep for three days, Therain." He looked down on his sword, and then on the entrance to the tent. His face was still covered in dirt and blood from the battlefield. "I've been making sure you got your rest." Three days. He had spent three days by her side. She looked at him with eyes filled with sorrow. He leaned back on his chair, his body too weak to keep him up. “How are you faring?” He asked with a smile. She couldn’t help it. The tears would not stop flowing. She started to sob heavily, losing all control. With almost impossible strength, she grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him in for a kiss. Her lips were wet, and the salty taste was only countered by the sweet sensation of his mouth against hers. She grabbed the back of his head, pulling herself up towards him, and rested her head on his shoulder.
“I love you!” She cried; no longer brave enough to hide it.
"My Elven emerald... I love you from the bottom of my heart." He moved his head and pressed his lips against hers again, his eyes breaking as well. She pulled him even harder in an embrace, her fingers reaching out to cling to his hair.
"Don't leave me! Please, don't ever leave me!"
"I never will.” He whispered. “I will follow you to the depths of the abyss if I have to."
"
I love you!"
