A New Reign

by Bryan Gifford

  Hesed was little more than an outpost, dwarfed in comparison to the mighty Brunein. A circular wall of sharpened timber poles formed its walls. Wooden buildings filled its rings and smoke billowed from their chimneys. Few soldiers roamed the quiet fort.

  Isroc and Silas turned to the enemy. There were so many! Had they underestimated this rebellion so badly?

  A sea of gray encompassed the tiny fort where the black and gray banners of Iscarius flapped savage in the wind. Thousands of gray leather and cloth tents covered nearly every inch of grass, encircled by layers of trenches and ramparts and enclosed by low palisades of stakes.

  Hundreds of fires filled their camp and black-armored soldiers surrounded them for warmth against the breeze. They filled their faces with meats and ales, conversing amongst themselves in a dull tremor that echoed in the deep valley.

  “How in Brynden’s beard are we going to get them out of there?” Silas asked as he looked out over the expanse of gray.

  It was indeed daunting. It was like looking down at a huge pack of wolves surrounding a cornered hare. How could they be expected to pull this off? It was suicide. Of course, this whole damn situation was.

  Isroc smiled despite the odds. “Don’t worry. I have a plan.”

  Aren climbed from the ship’s hold and suppressed a yawn. He gave a much-needed stretch and peered up at the stars that flittered between wisps of clouds. The seas rolled and rippled, catching the bright white of a full moon.

  There was something cathartic about being on the open ocean. Perhaps it was in the way the deck beneath him bobbed with the motion of the sea or in the way its languid waves slapped against the hull. He felt strangely at ease here in the vastness of the ocean for a man who—until recently—hadn’t even been on more than a fisherman’s dingy.

  Unfortunately, the quiet did little to calm his mind.

  He’d always been a bit of a worrier, if he were being honest with himself. But he had good reason to be now. Being outnumbered and surrounded by enemies in a foreign land should be enough to make anyone second guess what they were doing.

  His thoughts kept turning to the Acedens. Who were they, and what did they want? Why did this Iscarius want Inveira for himself? And his rebellion just happened to erupt the moment Abaddon’s armies disappeared? Aren didn’t believe in coincidences.

  That made this whole situation reek. Someone had to be pulling their strings, gently tugging them this way and that. But to what end?

  A cough interrupted his train of thought. Valerik watched him with a frown. Apparently Aren had crossed the deck. He really needed to start paying more attention to what he was doing.

  “I did as you asked,” Valerik started. “We questioned every man on board.”

  “And?”

  “Well, you were right. We found one.”

  Aren cursed to himself. Sometimes he hated being right. “Take me to him.”

  Valerik saluted and beckoned for him to follow. “Also, you wanted to know if our forward ships found anything. Well, they just picked up a few dozen men along the shore.”

  “Did they have anything to say about any nearby villages?”

  “Yes. Every village they’ve crossed has been empty.”

  “Not even a single Aceden?”

  “Not a one. Most of the houses were empty apparently. Food, valuables, livestock, all gone. Strange, isn’t it?”

  Aren wasn’t sure what that meant. He’d expected the Acedens to continue to act like they had at Val Idris and other cities—razing and killing everything in sight. Were they taking the civilians somewhere?

  “If I may ask,” Valerik continued, “why take these reports separate from Taran? I relay all information directly to him first as my commanding officer.”

  “Cain can be very… focused. His eyes will be set on how to defeat the Acedens first and foremost. I want to ensure that the innocent do not get lost along the way.”

  “Then my sword is yours, Aren Hayden.” Valerik lit a nearby lamp and led Aren down a hatch into the ship’s hold. They weaved through racks of barrels and crates and came to a closet guarded by two men. The soldiers saluted and stepped aside.

  “His name is Kirst,” Valerik said. “Me and the boys questioned every soldier on the ship like you asked. This one said he was in Seventeenth Company, but no one can recall him. We brought him here and asked him a few tougher questions until he broke.”

  “Good work, Valerik. We may uncover more spies still.”

  Valerik opened the door and Aren stepped into the tiny closet. Sacks of grain lined the dusty shelves. Mops and brooms stacked haphazard in the corner.

  A man sat with his hands tied and his back to the opposite wall, eyes closed and legs crossed as if he were meditating. He smiled as Aren approached.

  Something about his calm demeanor sent a chill down Aren’s spine. “I thought you said you broke him,” he whispered to Valerik.

  Valerik shrugged. “Enough to tell us who he is. We haven’t gotten any farther.”

  The Aceden spy opened his eyes. “You are lucky you found me, or you would not be here for much longer, Aren Hayden.”

  Aren frowned down at the man. Despite his bruised and bloodied face, Kirst looked eerily resolved. “So, your master sent you here to kill me?”

  “Not just you. Adriel Ivanne. Silas Valfalas. Isroc Braygon.”

  “And what of Cain?”

  “Lord Iscarius has plans for him.”

  Valerik lunged forward, grabbed the man by the neck, and slammed him against the wall. “What do you want with Taran? Is this about Ceerocai? Damn you, tell me!”

  Kirst blinked away the pain and gave a chuckle. “This is about so much more.”

  Aren gently pulled Valerik away. He knelt before the Aceden and met his gaze. “Tell me about your leader Iscarius. Who is he? What does he want? If you cooperate, then I can convince King Branim to give you a pardon.”

  “You and I both know that is a lie. We knew the risks in coming here.”

  “We. So, there are more of you here?”

  The Aceden grinned up at him. Blood trickled down his chin. “We are everywhere. We’re in your barracks, in your shops, in your homes, in your government seats. Our power has spread farther than you could ever imagine. You cannot hope to defeat us.”

  Aren stood. This was what he’d feared: that the Acedens were not just a simple rebellion. Their leader, Iscarius, had plans for Inveira.

  Worry shadowed Valerik’s face. “What are we going to do?”

  Aren met Kirst’s fierce gaze. “Hang him.”

  Valerik and the two guards jumped over the Aceden and pulled him to his feet. Kirst simply laughed.

  The five moved through the hold and climbed onto the deck, tugging the man by his rope bindings. Soldiers gathered, whispering as they passed.

  “You may kill me,” Kirst started, “but there are more of us on your other ships. We see and hear all. None of you are safe, Aren Hayden.”

  “You sure are confident for a man about to die.”

  “I played my part. I die knowing I served Lord Iscarius well.”

  The man’s fanatic loyalty unnerved Aren. Who was this Iscarius that he could command such devotion? Aren turned to see Cain among the crowd. His friend crossed his arms and nodded his approval.

  Aren waved a hand and Valerik tightened a noose around Kirst’s neck. The other soldiers tied the end of the rope to the prow’s jutting bowsprit.

  The Aceden shouted for all to hear. “Iscarius will cleanse this world with fire. He will tear down your false kings, your false idols. Surrender yourselves to his will or be swept away by his judgement. Tarsha will fall and a new world will rise. May Iscarius reign eternal!”

  Aren signaled to Valerik, and his soldiers grabbed Kirst and hauled him to the prow. The surrounding Inveirans cheered and cursed, drowning out the man’s ramblings. He continued screaming even as they hoisted him into the air and threw him over the edge of the ship.

  The crowd gathered aroun
d the prow to watch the Aceden flail. He dangled from the bowsprit, jerking this way and that. His face turned a deep blue. His thrashing slowed to a twitch.

  A somber air fell over the Inveirans and their rancorous shouts died. Aren worked through the crowd and looked over the prow to the swaying body. The rope creaked in the salty breeze, resounding in the weighty silence.

  A false dark fell over the hills, rippling with jet black wings.

  Ravens burst into the gray dusk as Iscarius stepped through the beating wings. The birds leapt away from the mounds of bodies, cawing with annoyance.

  Iscarius continued through the unkindness that now whipped like a fierce gale around him. He drew his cowl closer and approached the remains of an oak tree that stood forsaken in the middle of the bloodied field, its branches rattling in the wind of ravens’ wings.

  Two men, cloaked and hooded, approached and knelt before him. One towered over the other, his blood red plate armor and equally red cloak almost blending into the bleak, gory scene around them. The other man, almost dwarfed in comparison, wore a cloak of brilliant white wolf furs, stained in spots by mud and blood. He too wore a cowl around his face to keep away the stench.

  Iscarius gestured for them to rise and stepped around the tree where several stakes were planted amid its roots. Men and women were spitted clean through, blood dribbling from their throats as they twitched in anguish.

  “They die so slowly,” he muttered. “What a waste of life. Who are we to take that from them?”

  The lumbering tower of a man stepped forward and removed his hood, revealing a bald head and ugly, scarred face. “They all resisted, my lord.”

  “All of them, General Malleus?”

  “Yes, my lord. Most of the townspeople didn’t have any connections with us so we were going to take them to one of the camps, but they picked up arms. We had no choice. These ones managed to escape Avaris, but we chased them down here just outside the town.”

  Iscarius nodded. “It was a difficult call, I am sure, general. But you made the right one.”

  Malleus bowed his bald head. “Thank you. My lord, there is more. We’ve found the Warriors.”

  “At Brunein, I presume?”

  “Yes. Our spies report they have left, however. We believe two are going to Hesed, the other three to Galenth.”

  “There are six,” Iscarius stated.

  “The fat one is dead,” said the other man. “By my hand.”

  “And Cain Taran?”

  “He escaped, my lord. What would you have us do?”

  Iscarius turned to the impaled body of a woman. She returned his gaze with frightful eyes, unable to move with the ghastly spike still clinging to her entrails.

  “We know where he goes. We know what he will do. Kill the others, but leave Cain Taran for me.”

  Iscarius turned to go, but paused, glancing over his shoulder. “There is more you wish to tell me.”

  The two men looked at each other. “Yes,” the man in furs said, despite a hush from Malleus. “Some of our men didn’t have the heart to… to do what needed to be done here. They turned their weapons against us.”

  Iscarius nodded. “Unfortunate. Take me to them.”

  The two men bowed before leading him through the trees. The stench of death lingered even here. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a light rain began to fall. It whispered in the trees, dripping on Iscarius’ hood.

  Ahead, a group of men in blood red armor waited. They filed into a formation around Iscarius, his personal Blood Guard. They led him to a clearing just beyond the trees, the distant walls of Avaris just visible in the twilight.

  A hundred or so insurgent Acedens knelt defeated in the rain. They were stripped of armor and weapons, left to shiver in the wet, cool air. Hundreds of their former fellows ringed the glade, weapons trained on them and faces dark.

  Iscarius took in the scene and nodded to Malleus.

  A crooked grin pulled across the man’s leathery face. He stepped into the clearing, hands held high. “Men of my command! Make love to your women and drink merrily tonight, for I have won Avaris!”

  The man in wolf furs cursed, mumbling something beneath the chants of Malleus’ name.

  “Why would you leave Iscarius’ good graces?” the bald man continued. “He pays us vast riches to serve him, to serve Tarsha. We are the wealthiest men alive thanks to his benevolence. Yet you would abandon him?” He grabbed a man by his hair.

  “The clothes on your backs, the food and wine in your stomachs, the whores at your every call, the riches of Tarsha at your feet, all these and more our lord provides for us. Yet you betray us.”

  Malleus kicked a man in the face with an armored foot, sending him crumpling to the ground. The soldier clambered back to his knees despite his pain, and returned a glare through a bloodied face.

  Malleus flicked his cloak aside and pulled a massive, double-bladed halberd from the sling on his back. Its viciously curved blade glistened in the man’s determined eyes.

  “Brave.” With one clean stroke, he lopped off the man’s head in a gush of blood. The body collapsed in the rain before another soldier. “But stupid.”

  “This is how you repay us! With mutiny?” He continued to walk among the prisoners, weapon perched ominously on his shoulder.

  “You can tell me why you defy our lord and provider. I am here to listen. I am the leader of the Blood Guard after all; it is my duty to be civil.”

  “We were wrong!” a soldier cried out. Malleus spun to face the kneeling man. “We were wrong to accept his bribery and lies! No amount of gold or false promises can cover his atrocities!”

  “Atrocities! You wallow like pigs in the abundance he has provided you and yet you seek to preach?”

  “Abaddon is dead! We could’ve had our peace, but we gave in to Iscarius’ lies! Abaddon didn’t destroy the world. We did. Wake up and see the truth! We’ve all been played for fools!”

  Malleus raised his halberd over the soldier but the man in furs jolted forward and held back his arms. “Enough blood has been spilt tonight! Their fate is for Iscarius to decide!”

  Malleus grunted and shoved past him, waving his bloody halberd over the crowd. “All of you are the fools! You pounce on the offer of gold like bitches in heat, yet you dare seek to condemn? No matter your false sense of piousness, your fates will be decided soon enough.”

  The Blood Guard parted, and Iscarius stepped forward, his outline a dark silhouette in the gray rain. His former soldiers withered in fear. Every Blood Guard and Aceden knelt as he scanned the crowd.

  “My brothers, what ails you?”

  “Guilt!” a soldier eventually answered. “Guilt for all the years we blindly followed you, drinking in your lies and false hope. Rot, you heartless bastard!” the man spat toward him.

  Iscarius nodded beneath his hood. “It takes a brave man to seek his own truths, no matter how misguided. Your hearts will rest easy tonight.” The rebels looked up at their former master, no doubt puzzled by his words.

  “So many men follow me out of their greed or thirst for power; few stop to consider the cause we fight for, the future we can build together. They are so singularly minded that they cannot fathom the virtues you have found. I applaud your valiance.” The captive men began to relax, smiles daring to split their lips.

  “However.” Their smiles vanished. “You have betrayed my trust. I cannot allow treachery to fester in my army.” He outstretched his left arm from the folds of his cloak, revealing his vicious sword of black cerebreum. “Arm yourselves. I will not slaughter the defenseless.” The surrounding Acedens threw the prisoners weapons as if throwing scraps to starving dogs. They jeered as the prisoners picked the weapons off the ground.

  The prisoners gathered in formation and held their weapons shakily out before them, averse in the face of certain demise.

  “Rest easy, brothers.” Iscarius raised his sword and strode into the glade.

  Liberation

  Silas peered around
a tree. A road cut through the wilderness ahead and trailed off into the dusk. There, he thought he’d heard it. The sounds of wagons echoed in the distance—the crunching of wheels against rock, the creaking of suspensions. It was faint, barely audible in the blowing wind and rustling trees. It was time.

  A wagon train eventually came around the bend, guarded by ranks of Acedens marching on all sides. Their dark armor made them appear almost spectral, floating black forms in the dying light.

  A volley of arrows exploded from the surrounding trees. Bodies dropped, and shouts cut through the forest. The Acedens drew their weapons in surprise and ducked behind their shields. The wagon teams bucked and neighed as their drivers fell in a thicket of arrows. More screams.

  The last man died with an arrow in the chest.

  Alliance soldiers stepped out of the woods, cheering and clapping each other on the backs. Silas wanted to join them. Every Aceden killed meant being that much closer to avenging his brother. He’d find justice for Joshua. He’d kill them all, every Aceden, and this Black Arrow. No matter what, he swore to himself, he would kill the Black Arrow.

  Isroc climbed onto the top of a wagon and ordered silence among his men. “We’ve taken the caravan, but our mission is far from over. Take everything in sight and report back to camp. Strip the bodies and hide them; hide the wagons too. We can’t afford to lose our only advantage now.” He jumped off the wagon as his men began to cart off the bodies of the Acedens and the supplies they once guarded.

  Silas jogged up beside Isroc as they entered their camp. “Nice work with the ambush, but you better have more to your plan than just taking caravans.”

  Sitting down on a mossy log, Isroc pulled a strip of parchment from his cloak. Silas edged closer for a better look.

  “I’ve had men scouting Hesed since we got here. They drew me this map of what they’ve found.” Calling it a map was generous, considering it was little more than a series of hasty scribbles and ink splotches. Almost straight lines made a tunnel-like valley with one end opening to the northwest, the other to the southeast.