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Join Date: Sep 2005
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Felwar- Part two
And here is the conclusion:
Felwar- Part two
Felwar was given his document of freedom, signed by the king himself. A horse and two other soldiers were outside the arena. Spectators howled as Felwar mounted and rode off with the grim soldiers. The soldiers led him to a camp not too far away. He was ordered to dismount and enter the main tent. Felwar passed through the flaps and stood before a highly decorated man.
The man pointed to a seat. Felwar sat obediently, he was used to taking orders. The man introduced himself, “I am Saon, Captain of the western legion.”
Felwar swallowed hard. The man he was to be still lived.
Saon continued, “You are only a slave. But you are a good fighter…. The king thinks I will die soon in the war. I will prove him wrong. He sent me the best warrior of Mald, Felwar! You will be my bodyguard. If I die, surely you will go with me.”
Felwar was stripped of his shining armor and lightly plated with second-grade armor. A slave again, but Saon will never forget Felwar of Novial!
He trained among the soldiers during the winter. The desert was cold and lightly coated with frost within a few weeks. He sat next to a fire when Saon dismissed him. A man of small stature sat across from him with his hand clutched tight. Felwar asked his name.
“Everyone calls me Fist, sir.”
“What’s in your hand?” He saw that Fist’s hand held something.
Fist tightened his grip. “Nothing, when do you think we will go back to war?”
Felwar shook his head. He did not really care. Saon was too high-minded to share his plans with him. “Don’t know.” Fist seemed like a tolerable man, even had a joke once in a while.
The war drew close. They practiced their march and as winter ended, they broke camp and headed west. Closer to home. They camped near the western border of Mald, next to Hal-Nexis. Saon had big ambitions, but Felwar had bigger ones. Slowly, Saon began to trust Felwar. Felwar proved himself a worthy soldier.
The first day of conquest began on a mild morning. Felwar arose and armed himself. The day will come when this will end. He exited the war tent and the horn sounded. One thousand men lined up like they had done everyday, but this day was different.
Saon rode up to Felwar and said, “Lead the men, half-march.” He rode away with a few other scouts. Felwar marched the men until noon. They stopped just before the crown of a hill. Saon yelled to the men, “Rest for a while, we invade at dusk.”
Felwar rested upon a rock and Fist found him. Fist held his closed hand and rocked back and forth, “Felwar…I’ve never killed a man.”
Felwar stared at the ground. What was he supposed to say? He had killed more men than he had years. “I can’t tell you what to do. Sorry, Fist.”
“Yeah.” Fist sighed and walked away. Felwar sharpened his blade, What was I supposed to tell him? The sun sat red behind him, foretelling the blood to come.
Saon called the men to lines and said, “Sound the horn of war when we reach the bottom. Full-march, no holding back.” The men grunted as they fell in. Felwar stood in the head, solemn and ready. “March!” yelled Saon.
They flew down the hill like wild horses and the horn sounded. The city braced itself as Mald tore it open. The chaos was instant and a white flag was hoisted from the city hall. Victory was quick and swift. Felwar found Fist huddled over a body. Felwar thought the person was injured and pushed Fist out of the way. It was just a dead beggar with a knife.
Fist dropped his stained sword and held his head his hands. Felwar lifted Fist to his feet and said, “Now you know. Sorry.”
The city was cleared and used as a post. Saon accredited the win to himself and the war grew with his pride. Felwar’s pride grew parallel. Before the years end, all of Hal-Nexis was captured. Another year passed and its sister state Rovara was also taken. Only one nation was left on the western coast, Novial.
Felwar had kept quite a few secrets in his life. Everyone wondered why a farmer was the best arena fighter known. Felwar was just a farmer, but within that little shack in Novial was a chest. It held within it a uniform- the uniform of the special guard of Novial. Only the best and youngest soldiers were allowed to be in the special guard. Felwar served directly under the king of Novial until he was too old and given leave. Then, he bought a piece of land and found love. Life was perfect until sunny day eleven years ago, when slave traders discovered his past and stole him away.
Now, Felwar was ripened in age with peppered hair and a gray beard. Yet, his mind was sharper than the axe he wielded. Saon’s knowledge of Novial was minimal. Saon approached Felwar and said, “I know this is your home country but we will take them, too.”
“I know sir…I know of a weakness,” said Felwar.
Saon’s interest peaked and Felwar explained, “Novial is a weak. Their capital Landal is vulnerable. They will give up quickly. They think that peace is the answer. It’s a wonder they have not been conquered.” The bait is set.
Saon had gained enough confidence in Felwar that they arrived at the city in a week. Landal had settled on a flat area just before the land sloped down into the sea. Felwar told Saon that the city would surrender as soon as they see their Mald’s army of three thousand. This boosted Saon and he ordered an immediate siege after a long march. Your haughtiness will be your demise.
Felwar led the men across the plains and arrived at the open gates. The city was silent and a white flag was flying from a church. They marched into the silent city until all three thousand were within its walls. Saon demanded loudly to see the city’s mayor. All was silent.
Saon glared at Felwar and said, “You sai-” An arrow pierced his chest that thrusted him from his horse. A rain of arrows followed and hissed down upon the army. Felwar ducked under an empty market stand. He watched as the soldiers of Novial flushed into the streets and slew the flanks of the army. Novial the Brave! Felwar watched from the bench and smiled at his doings.
Fist saw Felwar and ran towards him. An arrow pierced his back and he fell down in front of his friend. Felwar jumped over the bench and held Fist as he died. Fist opened his clenched hand and said, “Tell her I’m sorry I can’t come home.” He held a small woven doll and spewed out his life.
Felwar dropped the body in disgust. He was a traitor. He led thousands of men into Novial’s capital city. Hundreds of Novians will die. But these men of Mald, they were people, too. They had families. Fist had a family. He was a traitor- to friend and foe. He stared down at Fist as the battle ensued. He backed into a wall and stared at the carnage he caused. I am a traitor.
The city was silent. All were dead. Only a horse whined and Felwar stood in a daze. He mounted the horse and left Landal. He rode south for two days, dosing in and out of sanity.
On the third morning, he saw the little shack. All his shame washed away as he dismounted. He ran up to the door and knocked. His aged love answered in fright and slammed the door. He heard from behind the door, “Is that you, Felwar?” The door opened and they embraced. It all seemed worth it. She sat Felwar down on the steps and gingerly held his hand.
“Where are the children?”
“The children are grown up. You would be proud,” she said and smiled.
“Well, where did they go?”
“They decided to make something of themselves. They moved to Landal,” she answered.
Felwar stood up in horror. He was a traitor- to friend, to foe, to his own son and daughters. He spent his whole life seeking revenge upon Mald, only to kill his love to do so. Revenge had spent him dry, to the bone.
Felwar dropped to his knees. Not a man could kill Felwar, not even himself. He died upon the cool grass beneath his cottage, his heart burst in agony and guilt. So ended the life of Felwar, traitor to all.
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