27 Tavorhel. The sixth day of the ninth month.
Esiel rode forward with a squad of cavalry towards the Forester camp. He forced his new mount to a gallop, quickly distancing himself from the rest of his small guard. The rest of the troops had been sent back to their camps, likely disappointed or confused with his orders. There was no need to have them in action now, anyway.
It was frustrating. There was no way around explaining those feelings he had. He was supposed to lead his army towards the Forester camp, forcing them to hand over the crown prince. All of this was supposed to be concluded before the next day. This was a mere distraction to his eventual return towards the south battlefields.
And now he had to lower his bargaining position to a trade deal. This was a humiliation, particularly when it was against the Foresters. He had already allowed a couple hundred of them to escape in the previous battle, something he had never done before in his career. The survivors and noncombatants should’ve all been wiped out had he brought his army without any restraints. He’d now also have to recall the elite squad of cavalry hiding in the forests, bringing them back to the camp almost like a sign of defeat.
All of this was near unacceptable. Alas, the king had given support to this deal in his worry over the safety of his son. Because of a single blunder General Arael made only a few weeks prior, Esiel now had a gap for his opponents to exploit.
Amovishel, you bastard.
‘Commander-General, slow down! You’re going to overwork your mount!’ the soldiers behind him shouted.
He could care less. It was a fine horse. It’d be a waste to not use it to its full potential.
Riding at full gallop, they soon arrived at the camp. There was only a basic palisade that surrounded the camp, lacking even an observation tower. The wood was crudely collected and built, the foundations were weak, and the entrance stood open without any doors. In fact, Esiel could see there were still piles of logs and branches waiting to be used. Even if the Foresters had built this camp in haste, their engineering skills were completely poor and lacklustre.
Well, it was expected for their intelligence, anyway.
The four guards that stood at the entrance fired a flurry of energy blasts towards him without warning. He dodged them with ease, letting the energy fade away in the air.
‘Rude,’ he commented.
‘We’re here to request an audience with your leader!’ one of his soldiers announced.
These were words Esiel could never bring himself to say.
One of the guards ran into the camp. For a while, the two sides stood in silence, the Foresters nervously looking at him, gripping their weapons tightly.
Their fear of him was understandable, but laughable.
A tall man soon strolled out of the entrance, an axe strapped on his back. He looked very young, perhaps two decades younger than Esiel, his face bravely concealing the unconscious sense of fear towards Esiel. If anything, the young man acted quite well.
But he wasn’t that woman.
‘Where’s your leader?’ Esiel asked.
‘My queen is resting,’ the man replied.
‘The queen, huh…’ So they considered themselves a kingdom already. Then again, he somewhat remembered a call similar to that in the battle before. Or maybe he was just confusing himself.
‘Who are you?’
‘Commander-General Esiel of Trelven,’ he introduced. ‘Show us to your leader.’
He had no interest in knowing the man’s name.
‘I’m taking over leadership duties for now,’ the man replied. ‘What do you want?’
‘Show us to your true leader,’ Esiel repeated.
‘We request an audience over the matters of your hostage,’ his soldier added.
‘And if I say no?’
Esiel aimed his palm towards the ground in front of the man. A fireball shot out, igniting the grass for a moment before the man instinctively stomped on it, leaving a patch of charred soil.
‘This,’ Esiel said. ‘In addition to the Trelvenese army of twenty thousand in Maerila.’
‘... Wait a moment.’
----------------------------------------
The camp was shabby, if that was even the most suitable word to describe it. The tents were all patched up to some degree, the Foresters wearing clothing that were little better than tattered rags. Items and objects lay across the ground in disarray, some of them placed dangerously near large bonfires. There seemed to be little organisation in the camp, if any at all.
Yet the Foresters themselves acted like one single unit. They went about their daily tasks like ants, occasionally looking at him in curiosity. Some, likely those survivors from the battle, ran away at the sight of him, but many just continued on their work. A small crowd followed him and his troops, but only at a distance as they ventured deeper into the camp.
Soon, they finally entered a tent. Sitting before them was the white-haired woman herself, her sword placed casually next to her seat. Unlike Esiel, she had no bodyguards by her side, the only other Forester present being the young man from earlier. There was a crowd outside, but they only gathered around the entrance of the tent. The interior felt empty and devoid of anything else, the only occupants being the people and the two Foresters within.
‘Commander-General Esiel of Trelven,’ Esiel introduced himself. ‘Tell me your name, mixed-blood.’
‘Elethien, Queen of the Foresters.’
‘A surprisingly sophisticated name.’
‘What do you want?’
She was the same as that young man in her attitude, though Esiel sensed a sort of unease within her, even more so than the man beside her.
‘We are here to demand the release of your hostage, Crown Prince Amovishel of Trelven, in exchange for one of our own prisoners,’ the same soldier said.
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
‘You never captured any Forester.’
‘We found one of your… people to be in collusion with you.’
‘And who is that?’
‘Aren’t you the so-called “queen”?’ Esiel questioned. ‘A ruler should protect their subjects, should they not?’
‘How do I know if you’re telling the truth?’
‘Do you think I’d waste my time here when I could’ve easily crushed you with my troops today? I’m offering you more generous terms, Elethien the Forester. Take it before I decide to annihilate every one of you.’
‘You only have a few bodyguards with you right now. Who are you annihilating?’
‘I forgot I was talking to someone who doesn’t know the conduct of diplomacy,’ Esiel sighed, shaking his head. ‘If you do somehow kill me now, you and your Foresters will receive a fate much worse than death. Do you remember how you are a mixed-blood, Forester?’
The young man immediately drew his axe and swung at him. He dodged easily, retreating behind his soldiers. There wasn’t much strength to that swing anyway. It was just an impulsive attack without any preparation.
Yet the person who Esiel intended to provoke remained in her seat.
‘I won’t accept your terms,’ she said. ‘I have your prince in my hands, you have just one of my people, a person who I don’t even know if they exist or not.’
She was arrogant as well.
‘And I have an army in my hands, yet I still come here in negotiation and not in war,’ Esiel responded. ‘Show me the prince. Depending on his condition, I may change my terms… or take him from your hands at this moment.’
‘You speak of him as if he’s an object.’
‘And if I see you’ve treated him as one, then do not expect for your “kingdom” to continue existing tomorrow,’ Esiel said. ‘Show me the prince, or do you intend to protect a hostage over your own?’
‘Elethien, I can bring him here,’ Teion said blankly.
‘...Alright,’ she relented.
That was surprisingly quick.
Her facial expressions were forcefully frozen. Her entire body language felt unnatural, her hands now tucked in closer to her torso as she brought her legs together, her stature immediately shrinking significantly before Esiel’s eyes. Even that young man called Teion seemed uneasy as he left the tent, his footsteps far more cautious than when they entered.
Esiel wouldn’t call himself particularly concerned with the captured prince, at least not compared to the king or the advisors in the royal court. Still, everything just felt off.
Surely they wouldn’t dare harm Amovishel to the point where he’d be useless even when exchanged?
----------------------------------------
After a while, Amovishel was carried into the tent on Teion’s back. The prince was dressed in somewhat identical clothing to the Foresters, his eyes blindfolded with a piece of cloth. His hair was dishevelled, the formerly well-groomed long white hair now a mess of grey and white.
As he was placed down on the ground, Esiel saw that his entire body was covered in bruises. His gait was lacking in confidence, more similar to that of a disabled man than a soldier. There was no strength or dignity in his appearance, only a husk of a man who dwelled in a half-dead corpse.
‘This is no prince,’ Esiel said. ‘What have you done?’
He held no feelings for Amovishel. Even still, the young man was to be the future king of Trelven. In no circumstance should he look like this.
‘Commander-General…?’ Amovishel uttered. His mouth was parched, the words barely able to be articulated.
Esiel glared at Elethien. The woman refused to look back, her eyes wandering into empty space.
What savages. As if the Foresters weren’t barbaric enough already. Amovishel had always been sympathetic to them no matter how much Esiel opposed this view. As a mixed-blood, the prince felt he had some special tie with the Foresters. Unlike Esiel, Amovishel utilised his Forester troops as cautiously as possible, nearly to the same regard to the Trelvenese soldiers. Many Foresters likely knew of his benevolent deeds. Amovishel even had a Forester to study under him, something previously unheard of in Trelven. With that same Forester now offered to the rebellion, Esiel had only the stupidity of the royal court to blame.
Esiel wondered if Amovishel was still holding this inane image of the Foresters. The prince had showered beasts with blessings far more than he would to a human… and he was repaid like this. Upon further thought, however, wasn’t this supposed to be expected? He probably held the Foresters in too high of a regard, thinking they’d treat Amovishel as how the Trelvenese would treat their own prisoners.
He should’ve rescued Amovishel earlier. Now he’d have to shoulder some of the blame as well when the prince returned to his father.
How foolish, my prince.
‘Commander-General, is that you?’ Amovishel rasped. He nearly leapt towards Esiel, grabbing the corner of his cloak. Such humiliation.
If not for his soldiers beside him, their faces wrought with horror, Esiel might’ve just burst into laughter. Alas, he had an image to uphold.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ Esiel raised his voice in feigned anger as he moved away from Amovishel. His soldiers drew their weapons, pointing them at Elethien.
Elethien didn’t respond. Her fingers were trembling, her legs shaking. From the looks of it, she was probably involved in one way or another. Even still, as a leader, to show her emotions like that was quite unwise of her.
A shame, really. She displayed such immense power, but at heart, she was just a weak-minded individual. A little bit like King Tavorhel.
‘My army is waiting for me,’ he continued. ‘Tell me, what is the meaning of this?’
‘... We didn’t know about his identity until later,’ Elethien finally explained.
‘And that justifies this treatment? Do you know there are laws that govern the treatment of prisoners of war?’
‘As we are independent from the ruling of Trelven, those laws do not apply. We are the Kingdom of Foresters, not mercenaries under contract.’
‘So you’re using this excuse, huh…’ Esiel held up his hands, aiming his palms at her. ‘Are you not afraid that your kingdom will be destroyed at this very moment?’
‘Isn’t that your goal from the very beginning?’
‘Are you not afraid of the tens of thousands of soldiers that lay just a short distance from your camp?’
‘Are you not afraid of your own life here?’ Teion finally spoke, stepping between Esiel and Elethien..
‘Commander-General, please calm down…’ A soldier worriedly pushed against his arms. ‘We’re not here for a battle.’
Esiel lowered his hands. A battle wasn’t what he was looking for at this moment, after all. At least not now. ‘I do admit it wouldn’t be rational to endanger myself in this situation. This same situation will be reversed upon your heads tomorrow, after all.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I will lead my army for the exchange tomorrow at noon,’ Esiel announced. ‘If the exchange is not processed by that time, expect the rebellion to be wiped off the annals of history. As this isn’t my personal decision, no good will come if you decide to kill me now.’
‘So you’re leaving us with no choice.’
Esiel ignored her, turning towards the exit as his soldiers followed him. ‘Now that the crown prince’s condition has been confirmed, we will return to the city. I do not wish to stay here for much longer.’
His act was complete. This was as far as he could go to assert a position of dominance over the Foresters. He would’ve destroyed the entire rebellion by now if he wasn’t forced into a hand of exchange. For what was essentially a farce, he did quite well.
‘The Trelvenese army will come tomorrow,’ he repeated.
----------------------------------------
Elethien looked at the small entourage of Trelvenese troops exit the camp. Reluctantly, she had been able to keep somewhat of a stable face in front of that certain Esiel, the man she assumed was the commander who killed so many of her people.
She was exhausted.
‘Carry him out of here,’ she commanded. At Teion’s orders, a few Foresters entered the tent and escorted Amovishel back to Teion’s tent. She didn’t need another reminder.
She looked at Teion. ‘Why did you defend me?’
‘I’m just trying to protect the kingdom,’ he responded. ‘You deserve to be punished, but not with the entire kingdom suffering with you.’
He turned to walk out of the tent.
‘Do you still hate me for what I did?’
There was a moment of hesitation. ‘I don’t hate you. I never said that.’
‘Alright then.’
‘Oh, also, I’ll prepare us to retreat towards the southeast tomorrow,’ Teion added. ‘We’ve exhausted ourselves here and gathered all the Foresters in the region. It’s time to move.’
‘Do what you want. I need a rest.’
After he left, she sat alone in the tent, her mind still wandering back to that shameful night.