‘Move.’

Amovishel felt his wrists ache as he was dragged about by a Forester woman through the forests. Considering he was a prisoner without his captor’s protection, this was already an extremely kind move. Following closely behind was the girl Elethien recruited, her steps light and delicate despite the hurry.

The Foresters had traversed the terrain for some time now, their bodies already used to leaping over fallen logs and brushing away annoying bushes. This was the backyard for many of them, after all. Despite nearly half the group being noncombatants and carrying all of their supplies, they moved around with ease, quite close to the speed of the regular Trelvenese troops. Those who were physically disabled were carried on others’ backs so as not to hinder the group’s progress. The Forester warriors who were left behind formed a loose ring around the group, protecting them from all sides.

If it weren’t for the situation at hand, Amovishel would’ve thought this was a normal march.

In fact, the group had no idea where they were heading. Being separated from the vanguard at the very beginning of the battle, they had only one order from Elethien: to retreat into the forests. But where? How far should they retreat? Where would they regroup with the vanguard? Without Elethien and Teion, no one really had the authority to make such decisions.

And yet there seemed to be no fracture at all. Other than a few complaints here and there, the unity was strong, each quietly walking to the sound of their footsteps, following the person before them. Those at the very front continued to lead them further in yet still within sight of the plains where the camp once was.

In a way, they were like sheep, obediently following a nonexistent shepherd towards an unknown destination.

Amovishel tripped over a well-camouflaged rock, falling nearly face-first on the soft soil. Without a word, the woman pulled him back up, ignoring the bruises on his legs as they continued onwards. For how weak she looked, she had quite a strong grip.

‘Don’t slow us down,’ she hissed.

He hobbled on, trying his best to keep up. As the only prisoner in the entire group, he was the only target the Foresters could vent their frustrations towards. He couldn’t risk their patience being lowered with every mistake he made. If he was armed and in his usual physical state, it was possible to fight a way out of the massive crowd. However, with his mind barely even functioning from food and sleep deprivation, there was little he could do.

‘Ah, I miss my bed…’ he mumbled.

‘U-Um, Amovishel…’ the girl, Adva, said worriedly while walking by his side. ‘Do you need a break? You look tired.’

‘N… No, I’m fine,’ he forced a smile. It would be very bad to attract attention towards himself, especially when it already seemed like he was going the slowest of the entire group.

Adva shook her head. ‘I think you need a break,’ she said firmly.

‘It’s really fine—’

‘Auntie,’ she called out. ‘I’m getting tired.’

‘Me too!’ More Forester children began to complain, following Adva’s lead. Many of them stopped in their tracks, looking pleadingly into the adults’ eyes. They may have seemed to have boundless energy, but the reality was that they also didn’t really know how to pace themselves. While most of the Foresters were marching at a steady pace earlier, the children were running back and forth as if it was an adventure. It was no surprise that they were already begging for a rest.

‘Adva, we need to keep moving,’ the woman reminded her, her tone a sharp contrast to when she talked to Amovishel. ‘Elethien and the others are still out there fighting for our time.’

‘But… I’m tired,’ Adva argued. ‘And what if we go too far that Elethien can’t see us anymore?’

The other children were complaining as well. By this time, the group had indeed stopped, unsure what to do with the loud children. The rational move would be to simply shut them up and continue the march, but with so many of them, it would seem too cruel for most people.

‘Why don’t we just rest up a bit further?’ a Forester suggested. ‘It’s almost midday. There’s a clearing up ahead which should be still visible from the city. We can just make signs when the vanguard comes back from battle.’

‘You’re taking the children’s side?’ another Forester responded. ‘We’re fighting a war here!’

‘Come on, a bit of rest is fine. We don’t even know where we’re going!’

More voices began overlapping with each other, the calm march suddenly devolving into a ruckus. For something as small as just deciding whether to rest or not, the Foresters were becoming a bit too angry with each other. They began hurling insults, both sides calling each other vulgar names and titles. Whether it was just banter or legitimate arguments, Amovishel couldn’t really tell.

‘Fine!’ the second Forester finally shouted. ‘Rest at the clearing if you want! We’re not making any progress bickering here anyway.’

‘Hurrah!’ The children celebrated.

From his point of view, this entire argument was amusing even in the stressful situation they were in. Entertaining, even. Compared to the calm but malicious conflicts inside the royal palace, this was far more relaxing to watch. And he got what he wanted in the end as well.

‘Thanks,’ he whispered to Adva.

The girl grinned.

----------------------------------------

It wasn’t long before they reached the clearing, setting up their camp to face the plains. The city of Maerila lay further into the distance, but it was still decently visible from their location. Smoke was rising out from the city itself, graying out the area slightly compared to the bright landscapes around.

‘Is the city… burning?’ he wondered. It didn’t seem possible. There were so many troops stationed there when he had arrived. Assuming no soldier was transferred away, the Foresters could’ve never made it in the city… unless the Trelvenese allowed them to.

During the initial clash between the soldiers and the Foresters, he remembered seeing a wall of fire separating the vanguard and the rest of them, caused by a multitude of fireballs and sparks. Magic. There was no other explanation. Yet unlike the Foresters’ magic, it seemed so much more violent… and trained.

‘Esiel.’

The Commander-General, still not yet back to his full condition, had been sent to Maerila. The worst-case scenario had happened. Whether it was to destroy the rebellion, to rescue him, both or some other reason, he had no idea. There was just one near-certainty.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The Forester vanguard would be destroyed.

He shuddered under the blazing sunlight.

‘Are you feeling better?’ Adva approached his side, taking a seat beside him. In her hand were some crackers distributed to everyone earlier, though naturally Amovishel wasn’t included.

‘I guess.’ He looked at his legs, the feet coated with a layer of damp soil. ‘Thanks for asking for a rest on my behalf.’

‘You looked really tired,’ she stated as she handed a cracker to his mouth.

‘Yeah, I guess I am.’ He munched on the bland food, grateful for the girl’s kindness. Although the physical treatment was certainly not as good as the servants in the palace, Amovishel had never felt such comfort in the presence of another person. The other Foresters’ coldness against him was understandable, even very hospitable considering when Trelven had done to them. After all, all their able-bodied men and women were sent to war, leaving the physically weak and the children behind.

It was strange that none of them had inflicted direct violence upon him until this point.

But there was one person who he felt was a little out of place. She seemed physically healthy, but was considered a noncombatant. Although she lost an ear and had a deep scar, it shouldn’t have stopped the Guild from recruiting her to be a warrior. So long a Forester had complete limbs, eyes and an ability to use magic, they’d usually be taken.

‘By the way, Adva,’ he asked. ‘Has your aunt ever fought in battle before?’

‘No,’ she answered.

‘Do you know why she hasn’t?’

‘... Auntie told me not to say,’ she replied, looking away from him.

‘Ah. Then, uh, well, it’s fine.’ She probably didn’t want him to pry any further. Respecting the child’s wishes, Amovishel stopped the conversation, looking at the smoke billowing in the distance.

For some reason, he wished that Elethien would come back to the camp alive.

----------------------------------------

It was late into the night. Lighting up only a few torches, many of them were already asleep before they were rudely awakened by several loud noises running around the camp.

‘They’re back! They’re back!’ the messengers shouted. ‘Make way! The vanguard’s back!’

After so long, the two groups had finally reunited. The vanguard had found the camp.

Amovishel sat up. Earlier, Adva’s aunt had untied his wrists only to retie them once again when he was relocated to an empty tent. He walked out discreetly, curious to see the state of the survivors.

He saw the ragged Forester warriors, their clothes stained with blood, some of them smelling of charred hair and burnt cloth. At the front was Teion, wearily carrying his battle axe on his shoulder as he trudged forward, his legs filled with dirt. Behind him, some of the Foresters were still holding their weapons, but many were unarmed, barely able to even keep themselves up. All of them were out of breath, some even collapsing as soon as they entered the camp.

When the Trelvenese first attacked, there were nearly a thousand Foresterswho fought valiantly against the soldiers. There were probably less than two hundred that returned.

This was probably the first time Esiel had let so many escape, Amovishel realised.

Finally, Elethien entered. Her ashen hair was drooped over, the ends stained with blood. Her right eye was bleeding, just like that night when she killed General Arael and captured him. The entire right side of her body was in a darker shade to her left, her arm still holding the sword being nearly blackened. Beneath that exhausted face, Amovishel noticed her repressed anger, waiting to explode at any moment.

‘Elethien—’

‘We’re resting for the night,’ she spoke to the Forester that greeted her with a hoarse voice. ‘Lead us to our tents.’

‘Y-Yes.’

Their steps were slow and encumbered, walking more like a group of prisoners than an army that just returned ‘home’. Some of them kicked away pebbles in frustration while keeping their heads down, unable to face the sympathetic yet fearful expressions of their fellow people. Amovishel himself retreated back into the tent, a growing sense of unease taking over his mind.

This was the first time he saw the Foresters, particularly Elethien, in this state. There was no more confidence, no pride in their body expression. The ferocity they had before was all sapped away, leaving husks who had the barest amount of dignity still remaining in them. They shied away from the other Foresters, unwilling to be touched or cleaned.

This was the first major defeat of the rebellion.

The tent’s entrance was slowly opened. Elethien entered, her mouth mumbling words Amovishel could barely hear.

‘My God… Give me that power once more… Power… We lost… I want… victory… Why… Why…’

Just then, she finally noticed him, their eyes locked together for a moment.

Elethien’s expression warped into shock, then rapidly anger.

‘You…’ She marched towards him, grabbing him by the neck before throwing him onto the straw mat.

‘Ack!’ Amovishel’s head was spinning from the impact. What was happening? It didn’t make sense. Wasn’t she exhausted just a moment ago?

Before he could utter another word, Elethien picked him up and kicked his abdomen, launching him back to the central pole of the tent. An acute pain shot up his back, electrocuting his brain. Nausea overtook him. He spat out a mixture of blood and saliva. His eyes were blurry, but it was just enough to see her foot swinging towards his face.

Crack! Blood spurted out, splattering all over the ground. Something broke. Probably his nose.

Another kick, sending him flying once more. And another. And another. He rolled up to a foetal position, but he could barely protect himself as the kicks kept coming.

Elethien screamed at him, but he couldn’t really hear what she was saying. His ears were buzzing and so was his mind. He vomited up more blood, saliva and other substances, a strong acidic smell overwhelming his senses.

He didn’t understand anything at all. Just before the battle, she had handed him to the custody of Adva and her aunt. There was a clear concern for him. He had been worried about her as well. There was nothing that could’ve hinted at a sense of hatred.

He was confused, bewildered, shocked and scared. He curled up further, hiding himself into his body as much as he could, even when the kicks turned to punches that were directed at his head and torso. For the first time, Elethien felt absolutely terrifying, far more than when used her magic. She was like an injured beast lashing out at her prey, refusing to even let him breathe properly for a single moment.

A Forester entered the tent, concerned about the commotion. Elethien shouted at him, scaring him away. The next moment, Amovishel felt the collar of his dirty tunic being roughly pulled by her hand, dragging his half-conscious body across the ground.

They exited the tent, then the campgrounds itself. Elethien took him to an isolated area somewhere in the forest. By this time, Amovishel’s body was scratched with twigs and pebbles, his back covered in soil and dirt. His hands were still tied together, unable to do anything but wriggle in pain.

He had no strength to resist.

Elethien threw him down on the dirt. A slap rang loudly in his ears as a sharp pain, then heat spread across his face. She sat down on top of him, pinning him down as she continued to slap him. Her far larger frame felt extremely heavy as her weight bore down on his pelvis, numbing his entire lower body.

Under that giant of a Forester, Amovishel was a half-dead dwarf, unable to do anything but to endure.

She was deranged. Insane. Crazy. She had completely lost her temper and composure. Before him was not the leader of the Foresters, but a mad woman.

And he was reduced to an outlet for her anger.

She reached for his clothes, effortlessly tearing them to shreds. The bruises all over his body, formed in a short period of time, were all exposed for her to witness. She howled in laughter at the sight, her eyes widened as she dragged her fingers across her face.

And suddenly five of those fingers grabbed Amovishel’s throat.

He choked and gagged. Blood wasn’t going to his brain. He was rapidly blanking out. He struggled to move, but he was thoroughly pinned down. He tried to scream, but nothing came out. More and more of his skin became exposed as Elethien stripped him bare. Only his white hair covered his humiliated face as she spat at him, her voice now an ugly roar of wrath and fury.

For the first time in years, tears flooded from Amovishel’s reddened eyes, saliva trickling out of his gaping mouth as he uttered silent screams of agony.

He should’ve attempted to escape while he had the chance.