Reign of Phyre

by Nicholas Cooper

Captain Tullis arrived at Legatus Nairel’s camp a few minutes later. The Legatus looked up from his table and signalled him to come over. “Morning, Arys.”

  “Morning, Legatus Nairel.”

  “Please, the war hasn’t reached here yet, save the formalities for when the time comes.”

  “Yes sir. Nairel, sir.”

  “Right, so this is what we face today. We’ve had another shipment of stone come in during the night, so we can get to work fortifying the south tower. While we’ve got the stone to spare, I’d like to see some crenellations up before the end of the week. Gard and his men will work on getting the stone up to the new walls, your men will oversee the construction.”

  Good. They’d been short for weeks. Two days late. Considering the last shipment was two weeks late, it wasn’t too bad.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Nairel sighed. “Old habits die hard, ey Captain?”

  “They don’t die. They fight on, just like us, sir.”

  “Heh. You were a good pick, Arys. The princess was right in choosing you.” He stopped and raised a finger. “Ah, speaking of which, she asked for an audience with you. You see to that and I’ll give your men their orders. Head to the tower when you’re done. Go on, dismissed.”

  It was a good thing he was wearing his armour today. Arys thought he looked quite respectable in it. It looked more professional, he thought, and it made him seem a bit broader in the chest. He’d seen some of the women look him over when he was working. He couldn’t deny he enjoyed the attention, but more importantly, you never knew when you’d need armour until it was too late. You had a better chance of surviving if you were prepared.

  But the princess wanting an audience…it had been months since they had last spoke. The only time they had spoken. She was busy, and he was busy, and besides, the last time wasn’t exactly a private conversation or anything important. She had just noticed him working on the walls and decided to make him a captain on a whim. He was grateful, sure, but never really understood the reason behind her decision. Maybe he’d have the chance to ask her today.

  After turning the corner, he saw Pharos Keep at the end of the pebbled road and adjusted his sword belt and armour, making sure it was nice and even before continuing onwards.

  Upon reaching the main gate, he noticed the two guards today were Jerys and Britin. Jerys, who had never lost an arm wrestle (except that one time where he was stupendously drunk and was probably unaware of where he was, let alone what he was doing) and Britin, who was possibly the sole reason that alcohol was always in short supply on Lepcis. His breath alone could get someone drunk. The two weren’t on the best of terms but duty came before personal qualms, and so they did their job well.

  They saw Arys and opened the gate for him. The reinforced door was Euphyrian oak from the mainland. It had been smuggled over by the Sons ten years ago at great length for little strategic gain. The symbolism, however, was invaluable. It had been painted red for the royal house’s colour.

  Arys noticed Britin’s chest plate was a bit lop-sided, so he adjusted it for him. Things like that ate away at him in a way that others mocked him for.

  He continued on into the keep. Come to think of it, he had only been in inside twice before and he realised he had no idea where the princess would be. Not wanting to seem foolish by wandering around aimlessly, he instead tactfully told a maid who had just come down the stairs that he was here to see the princess and hoped that they would either tell him the way or lead him to her. Fortunately, it was the latter, for he was horrible with directions. The maid led him to a room with a large circular table in the middle of it, with the princess sitting down eating her breakfast. She saw him being led to the room by the maid and quickly lifted her feet off the table, brushing any crumbs off onto the floor.

  “Damn it Lyn, I think I’ve told you to knock and wait for an answer before you barge in,” she said with half a mouthful of food.

  “My humblest apologies, Princess Vaelynna. It will not happen again.”

  “You dare lie to your princess? You know as well as I do that it will indeed happen again.”

  “And you know as well as I do that I cleaned that table once already today and now I will have to clean it again.”

  Arys was shocked, and looked towards the princess, waiting for her to administer swift justice.

  “Oh begone. Make yourself useful and get some tea or something.”

  “Yes, Princess Vaelynna.”

  Arys didn’t know what to think. When the Princess visited him working at the construction of the barracks in the summer, she was dressed in her red and white regalia, her sceptre in hand, with all her splendour for the world to see. Her russet hair was tied back in a pony tail with a bit on either side left hanging to tie her beads to. He remembered them swaying gently in the sea breeze.

  But here she was dressed in what must be… her regal breakfast attire. A beige pair of pants, a white top with a stain that looked fresh, and her hair all messy and loose, as if she had just woken up and hunger had led her straight down to the dining room. He could feel his obsessive-compulsiveness kicking in. That stain on her shirt...

  “Princess Vaelynna? You wanted to see me?” He straightened up, trying to get his focus back.

  “Ah, Captain Tullis. Yes, I did. Please excuse me for having witnessed that. Lyn is a nuisance and blight on my sanity.” He heard a snort in the next room, followed by a ha!

  “Ah, yes Your Highness.”

  “Please, be at ease. It’s just us. You don’t need to be so formal. Please, sit.”

  Arys pulled out the chair nearest to him and sat down. That was the other thing about wearing armour. It always kept you busy, kept you working, if for no other reason than being a pain to sit down in. Lyn came back with a cup of tea and placed it in front of him before whisking herself away to find something else to do.

  “Construction efforts are coming along well, I see. The new fort is nearly complete, and I’ve been told I have you to thank for that.”

  “Your Highness, I cannot take sole credit for that. Without the others, I would be but one pair of hands toiling out there.”

  “Yes, yes. I’m aware of that, but you are a natural leader of men. They work as hard as they do because of you. And that’s why I want you to leave Lepcis.”

  He choked on his tea and started to cough. “Your Highness?”

  “Oh, my apologies. That sounded like I was banishing you. No, I simply wish to make use of your leadership ability and assist the Sons on the mainland. They’re fighting well and slowly gaining ground in some ways, but they lack the leadership we need to establish a proper foothold - one that we can hold against what would come. Your men will follow you. Take a ship in three days’ time and meet up with Primus Maron Euryet at Vinrael. You’ll have more details when the Legati meet tomorrow.”

  “Your Highness, I am honoured to serve.”

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

  The people strive for a just society, governed by law made by the people for the people. What then, can we say of such a society who lacks the means to enforce the very laws written by their own hand to live by? Outside our nation people suffer from not only unjust laws made by those who would seek personal gain and hold themselves above the common man, but through the lack of means to enforce even those laws by which the people made to govern themselves. For the plight of the commoner, we will fight.

  General Mezexes to the Karzark Senate, Eve of the New Era

  Rhen

  The pain was almost as unbearable as his will breaking and accepting his fate. There was no escape from these Yaleans, and they seemed to make good on their promise that they did not need him whole - only alive. The only sympathy, the only act of kindness came from Kiern who had seen through his plot of writing with his left hand and decided not to call him out on it. It was a stretch to begin with. He knew writing the letters came with great risk and he knew that punishment would come swiftly; even guessing correctly that he would l
ose a hand. He remembered his father telling him to write right-handed, lest the page smudge. He had attempted to write slowly and as neatly as possible with his left, making sure there was evidence of smudging, so any investigation would conclude he was in fact left-handed, if the worst were to happen. The problem was he could not write neatly enough, and he did not have that much paper to practice on.

  It was a hollow act of sympathy. Reisch made sure that Kiern would notice the ink, but he still could have pointed out the quality of the writing. Either Kiern was dumber than he thought, or he possessed some small amount of humanity or guilt within him. It was a kind act, but a drop in a sea of cruelty. He knew Kiern felt responsible; he had been foraging for anything he could use to make a salve to ease the pain. Not that it worked very well. A few crunched-up leaves were not going to mend a shattered, swollen hand. Still, Rhen noted the effort. More effective than that, however, was the warm cloak that Kiern had procured for him. He was the only one out there who had a scrap of sympathy for all of what Rhen had endured at their hand.

  They packed their breakfast rather than eating at the inn. His screaming cries of pain would make the other guests feel uncomfortable, Reisch had said. So, they left with Rhen in the cart this time, unable to either mount or grip the reins of a horse.

  They arrived at Verni late in the afternoon. A similar fate to Bridgetown, according to merchants, Verni was subject to frequent incursions by the Euphyrian rebels, or Sons as they liked to be called. However, it was close enough to Rulven that the rebels were unable to hold the town. Instead, the rebels circled like vultures, waiting for an opportune moment to strike, to cut down a few guards on patrol, to attack in the cover of night before disappearing into the shadows. Karzark would be forced to respond by sending more Khasari to clear out the town, to let the townsfolk know who really was in charge. The town, unfortunately like Rhasten, was costly to maintain a garrison, and the lakes around it made it easy for supplies to be cut off. Verni was a war of attrition.

  And the downpour of rain welcomed them to the town with the same warm embrace a wife gives a drunk husband coming home at dawn. The rain had thoroughly soaked him. His boots were a puddle of water turning his feet into ice. He almost welcomed it, diverting his attention from his hand.

  Verni seemed to be about double the size of Bridgetown. Despite the rain there seemed to be more people going about their business. One particular difference that caught his attention was armed rebels that were patrolling around the town. Ignoring the rain completely, they were even sharing a joke amongst each other. Their laughing stopped when they saw Rhen bound again and nodded their approval to Reisch. The two of them walked over towards the Elsgard, stopping under an inn’s awning. It looked as though it was midway through renovation; permanent wooden pillars had been placed into the ground as well as a wooden frame extending from the building, but the fabric used as a roof looked temporary. The holes indicated it had been in this condition for sometime, though Rhen wouldn’t have really noticed if he wasn’t standing directly underneath one.

  “Caught a little Khasari, did you?” began the lankier of the two rebels.

  “Escorting him to Anneth. Had some valuable information on him. Claims if we keep him alive he’ll fetch quite the ransom.”

  The other rebel laughed. “They all say that, don’t they? Wouldn’t you if you were at the mercy of those you wronged?” Rhen wasn’t sure if the rebel knew Rhen could speak Euphyrian. The man probably thought he didn’t, if he was supposedly a Khasari. Even if he didn’t understand, the tone was enough to determine how he felt about Karzarkis.

  The other rebel interrupted before Reisch replied. “Oh, wait a minute. You’re those… argh, Gelt, what are they called? The Yaleans. The uh…oh, Elsgard! Our leader Vula told us if there is anything we can do for you…”

  Reisch cut in, “Ah, Vula. She’s a hardy woman. I’m surprised the Khasari don’t have a nickname for her yet. And thank you, but we are good for now.”

  Rhen had to try to hide his interest in following their conversation. How would a Khasari who can’t speak the language act in this situation? He decided to put on a scowling face. It was understandable given the situation.

  “So, did you find him busted up or did you give him a bit of hospitality?” asked Gelt.

  “He forgot the Khasari are useless one on one. He hasn’t made the same mistake twice,” Reisch said, sharing a laugh with the two.

  “You’re kinder than I’d be. I wouldn’t want to risk another spear into my ribs.” He revealed his wound with some pride. You let yourself get impaled and walk around like you won? Rhen thought, desperately wanting to give them all a peace of his mind. “So where are the Elsgard off to after Anneth? You continuing east?”

  “Rulven.”

  “Well I am jealous, learte. First time I’ve been this far west and yet we aren’t going there. I’ve heard that the days are longer in Rulven. A friend who visited there one time said its because Yelia takes her time each day gazing at her most perfect city. I told him I reckon that’s not how things work but he told me a priest told him so.”

  “Well, I’ll let you know if I see you around, but unfortunately we have business to attend to inside so we must be off,” said Reisch with enough kindness to leave without offence.

  “Ah, of course. Good luck with your journey. I hope your Khasari fetches a good price.”

  Reisch smiled and led the Elsgard into the inn. If Rhen wasn’t tied or injured…oh how he’d love to be the one to put another spear in the rebel’s gut. He’d remember his face just in case there came another opportunity. Kiern interrupted his mental plotting by quietly saying, “Come on,” that was accompanied with a push through the door. Reisch went to the innkeep, and he gave the same story as he had before: they had captured him south of here and were to deliver him to Anneth, whoever that was. This time, Rhen had allegedly punched Karrik in an attempt to flee and they had broken his hand in retaliation. Yes, as if Rhen would choose Karrik, a giant of a man who could probably break Rhen’s neck with one hand. Kiern would have been the better option. At least his age implied he was greener than the others and would have made a better target. He didn’t tell them this. Maybe if the lie was so demonstrably false, maybe, just maybe, he could get away. Alas, if that happened, they’d probably kill him if there was no saving them.

  If only they gave him half a chance to really flee, without the risk of his body being mutilated again. He remembered, at that moment, that they had promised to let him live after they acquired the Dawn Shield. Rhen decided from necessity that it was preferable to start believing in this, rather than considering an alternative path of death and or torture. If he pushed his luck too far, they might rescind that part of the deal. Nothing but their goodwill was going to keep that promise honoured. Perhaps it was best not to push it too far. At least for now.

  Reisch asked the innkeeper the same question that he asked to the one in Bridgetown - if he had seen his companions around town.

  “Which way were they headed?” the innkeeper asked.

  “East.”

  “Sorry learte, no one has come to Verni for two days due to the rain. The roads are mud. Perhaps they’re late?”

  “I see. Well, we won’t be requiring a room just yet, but we will stay for a few hours and see if they arrive.”

  “Of course. There’s a private table in the corner for you, though we are all Sons here.”

  “My thanks.”

  They moved to the table, partitioned away from the rest of the afternoon crowd. A suntanned maid came around with five cups of ale. Five. A cup for every learte it seemed. Kiern stopped her. “Get us one more, he’s had a longer day than all of us.”

  Thanks was all Rhen could say in front of the present company. His mind was saying a lot more at a much higher volume.

  The Elsgard hardly ever paid for anything, he noticed. If they were truly from Yalea, and had snuck deep within the Euphyrian Territories, then how was it that they were able to
walk into an inn in any town and receive such hospitality? Their accented Euphyrian should at least raise suspicion.

  Rhen looked back over to the maid who was telling the innkeeper to pour another mug. He followed the innkeeper’s gaze to Reisch, who simply nodded to confirm the order. The innkeeper had the exact same tattoo that he saw on the innkeeper at Bridgetown. An eagle, the splitting image of the one that once rested on the Gate of Mhira. Unlike the innkeeper at Bridgetown though, this innkeeper’s tattoo was just below his neck, the wings spreading out beneath his collarbone. The rebels not only venerated the symbol - the same symbol that cost the lives of many – but they marked themselves with it. And they take full advantage of the Khasari’s Heran in doing so. As long as they aren’t seen in actual combat, the Khasari could not touch them. Cowards.

  And the Elsgard were in league with them, probably. Abused prisoner of the rebels, by proxy. Great.

  An hour passed, and then another. Talk was scarce. It was nearing evening and there was still no sign of Reilek or his men. He hoped their heads were placed comfortably on Khasari spears, but there had been no reports of skirmishes or Khasari patrols, according to the innkeeper. There was a small camp of Euphyrian rebels just outside of town that had set up only a day earlier. They had their presence known as they had enough numbers to deter any Khasari patrols close to the town until they returned to Rulven to gather a larger force. The innkeeper smiled hideously in explaining this, adding that it would be in vain, since the brave and gallant rebels would have melted away before they returned.

  It seemed this news brought down Reisch’s mood as well as Rhen’s. No Khasari meant no whiff of escape, and no Khasari meant no cause for Reilek’s delay. The rain and mud would have slowed them, sure, but they had left before Rhen’s party had, so they should have only experienced the elements as much as they had.

  They should be here by now, it seemed, and it was disturbing the Euphyrians, but Rhen had no strong feelings either way. There was probably good and bad in any outcome, and there was little he could do. It was also too tiresome thinking about what he should hope for.