But Kiern had been in the Elsgard for six summers. He had known Reisch for longer. Why was he only hearing this now? He felt betrayed. The gravity of what he had just been told, that Magick was real and he possessed some internal power, was not something that anyone could simply forget to mention.
“Why did you decide to enlighten me only now, only after I witnessed it with my own eyes, only after it couldn’t be concealed any longer?”
“You forget your place. I am not obliged to tell you anything.” The commander of the Elsgard looked deep into his eyes. There was no place to hide.
“Forgive me. I should not have asked.”
“It was because I made a promise to your father.”
“You what?” was all Kiern could say. Since walking into this room, his world had been turned upside down. “You knew him?”
Reisch Elestan turned away, walking towards the window. “I did.”
Kiern, with an abrupt spark of curiosity - suddenly impervious to any attempt to be denied the truth - paced towards his commander, to the man that knew his father. “How did you know him?! What promise did you make?! Why didn’t you tell me any of this?!”
A force smashed into his chest and knocked him onto the floor. He looked up to see Reisch’s hand outstretched, his sleeve flapping in a wind that swirled only around Reisch.
“Yelia take mercy on you, Kiern! Do you never listen, never learn your lesson?”
Kiern sensed a slight tremble in his voice. Was it anger, or sadness? He steadied himself and stood up. “Tell me.”
“It is my burden to carry. I will endure it.” Reisch had regained his calm demeanour.
“How can you tell me you knew my father and then keep it from me? I have a right to know!”
“You want to know? How about instead of shouting at your commander, instead of letting your emotions get the better of you and forgetting yourself, you learn something from me and prove yourself worthy of succeeding me. When you are Commander, you will understand. You can demand answers from me when you outrank me.”
If he wasn’t so angry right now, he would have struggled to prevent his emotions radiating from him. Reisch was expecting him to succeed as Commander. However, it was a small comfort right now. “Why do I need to wait until then?”
“Because only then will you learn how a commander must live with the consequences of another’s decision. And only then, can you understand the burden, and judge me accordingly.”
Reisch’s face betrayed a twinge of sadness, and resentment. “Now, last chance. Are you ready to learn how to master the Magick inside you?”
This conversation, it seemed, would have to wait for another day. “Yes, Commander. I am ready.”
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The ability known as Farsum is a physical manifestation of the Taer’lyn people’s united will to further our cause in our struggle against those who have strayed from the one truth path; those who would seek harm against our nation. It is a power bestowed by Yelia herself, given to those who would offer their life in the service of Taer’lyn. It is not given lightly; those who obtain it must first submit their will to our cause. They must be broken.
Unnamed warrior to Reilek, Levi’s first day of training
Levi
The bonding had worked. Even though Ghiris was not Taer’lyn, it had worked. Levi could not deny that the success had surprised her. It had taken a few attempts, and their hands were a bloody mess by the end of it, but they were now able to communicate by farsum. Ghiris was weaker with it, naturally, but she was surprised it had worked at all. He had a new sense that he had never known about before. Her new bond was like an old glove. His thoughts were weak in her mind, and it required him to focus intently without interruption, but it was enough. As soon as he was ready, she would be able to set out and hunt down the Bastmyra.
When Ghiris reached out to see her mind, he was coarse, his presence a blind man fumbling around in the dark. She had told him that you could always feel the other person when they linked, and that was true. For him. However, she was the one with Taer’lyn blood, and it seemed that was the key to the farsum’s power. She sometimes allowed her presence to be felt, to give weight to her explanation. She never knew if she might have to hide her presence from him one day.
After they had finished their morning training, she went downstairs to change into some new clothes. She had been told that her attire made her stand out – after all, she was in Yupir now, and they had laid out an array of Yupiran clothes on her bed. They were nice, if you were of the city. But she was about to embark on a hunt, and these clothes were impractical for her mission. So, as a compromise, she threw them all in the fireplace, except for one coat that she wore over the top of her own clothes. She looked like a fat noble, but now they would not complain, and her hunting furs and leather wouldn’t be agrieved.
She decided to place her hand to her forehead and see what Ghiris was thinking. After all, she was thinking about him. To her dissatisfaction, he was not. Instead he was thinking of a meeting he had after lunch. Hmm, not that she was interested in him or anything, but she would have to try to get him to think about her next time. It was unfair that only she was thinking about him.
As she left the room, a guard came rushing down the stairs and stopped when he saw her. It was still strange to her, that a guard would be wearing nothing but a robe and a sword, but this wasn’t a fort or castle. This was the merchant district in a Yupiran citadel.
“Excuse me, Levi? I have been asked to inform you that you have been summoned by Farrel Reiyar. Please head upstairs as soon as you can. He is waiting for you.”
The guard waited for her to come up the stairs to be her escort. She hadn’t heard from the Nartenis today, so she wasn’t particularly busy. She made her way up the stairs and allowed the guard to direct her to Farrel’s room. He opened the door for her and shut it behind her.
“Ah, Levi. Please, come, I have some news.” He had a map spread out on the table.
“I don’t know how familiar you are with Euparyen, but I’ve heard some of the Khasari talking about a number of attacks on the way to Akkad. A few merchants were found dead off the roads, presumably killed for their horses. The Khasari do not kill merchants. The Sons do not kill merchants. Brigands rarely raid this close to a Khasari garrison. We believe that this is Reilek’s doing. He is heading north.” He pointed to where they were currently on the map. “We do not know why, but you need to hunt him down as soon as possible.”
“Gladly.”
He lied, but she would find him for them. She would kill him, not because of what he had seen, but because he had betrayed his Wolves, and broken his sacred bond. And because her new Nartenis had given her life purpose once again.
“And for that purpose,” he continued, “allow me to offer you a horse for your journey.”
Her nerves started to kick in. She had never ridden a horse before, and she told the man as much. “I have never ridden a horse before. That will take time to learn. Can I learn it in an afternoon?” The friend in the high place looked at her with surprise, just as she anticipated.
“You sure have improved your Eupar-phyrian. Or perhaps it was just convenient for you…” He trailed off, Levi guessing he was thinking of all the ways she could have betrayed them.
“No, having access to Ghiris’ mind constantly is like a book that is always open to the right page. He thinks in Euphyrian, and so it comes much easier to me now. That’s not to say I understand everything he is thinking. There is still much that is strange in this land.”
She had learned that while it was easy for her to learn the language via farsum, she was unable to understand the pragmatics behind strange idioms, or anything that relied on a cultural background different to her own. She had no idea, for example, what Ghiris was thinking when he told some upset merchant that his brother was a bad cabbage but more bark than bite.
“Well, that’s certainly something I’d like to know more a
bout. But with the pressing concern we are dealing with, it is fortunate that I have arranged for two of my best people to accompany you on your journey. They will teach you how to ride and more as you go.”
Accompany? She didn’t need companions. Come to think of it though, she had never travelled by herself. She had always been with her Pack. But she hadn’t planned on travelling with anyone this time. She didn’t want to have to coordinate and listen to how the Euphyrians wanted things to be. This was her new life, a new start. This was a mission between her and the Bastmyra.
“Um, I apprec-”
He cut her off. “I will have none of it. You know not of what you will face out there. They will help you. They know these lands and you do not. So, let them in. You will take the lead. It is your story. Consider yourself the leader of your own Pack. A Nartenis, I believe you call it? Reisch promised you as much.”
Just what had she done to make Yelia smile down upon her? Given a second chance at life, and now leading her own Pack? She’d thought about Reisch’s offer, and though it excited her, the more she thought about it, she wasn’t sure if being part of a Pack again was what she wanted. But it seemed Farrel wouldn’t take no for an answer, so she would have to make it work. Oh well, one less choice, one less thing to think about. At least he had made it clear that she would be in charge.
Farrel bade her good luck on her journey ahead and had the guard from earlier escort her to the stables outside the southern walls of Rulven. The plain uniform of the guard appeared to command more respect among the Khasari garrison than what she thought it should. They weren’t stopped even at the gates and checkpoints they had set up, and there were some Khasari who even seemed to shirk their duty by changing direction. Farrel, she concluded, was a very powerful man, despite her inner Taer’lyn telling her he was none of the things that made a man powerful. He probably couldn’t even kill a man with his teeth.
Once they had passed through the southern gate, they walked a further ten minutes before arriving at what seemed to be Farrel’s personal stable. It seemed to house only a few horses and was much smaller than the stables she had seen on her way here inside the city. A greying stable master came out to greet them. He had been given prior notice it seemed, for he ushered them inside with nothing more than, ‘This way.’
The stable master opened another door, her escort entering first. “This is your horse. Her name is Vaelynna.”
Levi looked at the horse for the first time. She had seen horses many times before. They weren’t common back home, but she did not spend much time home. She had faced adversaries on horses; she had seen merchants and delegates with horses. And she had killed many horses. But this was the first time she really saw a horse this close. Vaelynna was all black save for two white stripes underneath her eyes. Some tribes in the north, particularly the Meskals, often painted their faces before a battle, so she decided that these stripes looked like war paint. She admired the animal for the first time. Such power that those muscles could produce, that wild look in her eye…
“What does Vaelynna mean? Is it a Yupiran word?”
A voice from the other side of the room answered her question. “It means…hope.”
Levi was on guard, ashamed that she hadn’t noticed there were in fact two others in the room.
“You can relax, my…Nartenis,” came a second voice, this one belonging to a man. The two appeared from behind the horse. The man, a few years older than herself, was wearing the most splendid armour she had ever seen. Though she had never seen it, she had heard the tales. This was the armour of the steel legions of Yupir. There were engravings of sigils on both shoulder plates, presumably of his ancestors, and a red eagle on his chest. Though she was all about practicality and had little interest in flair, the handiwork was stunning. She never envisioned the steel legions of legend like this, however.
“Did the legions wear black?” she had to ask.
“My personal touch. The name’s Black Wyke.”
“Ah, your armour must be quite renowned.” A vain one, then.
“Common misconception,” he smiled, “The name precedes the armour. People want to know how I got the nickname. How did Wyke earn his nickname, they ask. It sates their curiosity, this way. No wonder, they’ll think, content with solving the riddle of Black Wyke.”
“So then why do they call you Black Wyke?” She couldn’t think of any positive reasons for having the nickname ‘Black’.
“It’s the armour,” he said, matter-of-factly.
Black Wyke had a nimble mind, she surmised. Or Yupiran humour was lost in translation. She hoped that she could trust Farrel in knowing what he was doing, or; if he couldn’t be trusted, that he didn’t know what he was doing. Having your mind numbed for years as a Black Wolf filled you with doubts when faced with someone who probably had only gotten this far in life because of their wits.
“Ignore him. He enjoys confusing people. Besides, he’s only got the one line. He’s a one trick pony.”
A one trick pony…She would have to ask Ghiris later. He certainly wasn’t a pony.
The woman stepped forward and bowed her head. “My name’s Seline. Honoured to serve you, Levi.” Her face, arms and chest were covered with tattoos and markings, and if were she to remove her clothes, Levi would probably find few places that weren’t tattooed as well.
Levi liked this one. She seemed straightforward and upfront. That was something Levi knew and could deal with. Why fight with words when there are perfectly good axes around? The thought kicked her instincts back into action. She looked Seline up and down and found two short swords tucked into her belt, and some calluses on her fingers.
“Archer.” Though, Levi was certain that she also knew her way around those swords, too.
“A marksman. I do take pride in my work.”
Levi did not know this word. She would ask later, but for now, she didn’t want to lose face in front of her new Pack. “You have many tattoos and markings. I learnt the Sons of the Phoenix tattoo one part of their body to show where they are from. Why do you have so many?”
“I am not a Son. I am Yukonian. We mark those who have fallen and tattoo our victories. My skin is my tale.” Levi nodded in approval. She could relate to this.
The guard interrupted them. “Okay, pleasantries can come after. Here is your horse. Seline and Black Wyke, go get yours. You need to set out now. Every minute here is another minute Reilek is moving.” He signalled for the stable master to prepare the other two horses.
“Um, how do I –”
Seline cut in for her. “You can ride on my horse with me for now. We have a long day ahead of us. Vaelynna will follow,” she said as she found some reins.
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There is a common misconception that wars are won on the battlefield. It is an easy mistake to make, for it is the most compelling point upon which to declare victory. However, it is called a battlefield, not a warfield. A battle begins on the field, and ends on the field, as though it is a separate entity from what came before, and what comes after. How many men were able to be fielded? How are their provisions? What of their morale? How was this battlefield chosen? On whose terms was a battle decided? People will remember the generals of famous battles and recall the strategies they employed to carry the day, but people are quick to forget what won or lost the war.
A battle won or lost is, in short, a culmination of the planning that occurred up until that very morning.
Deshan Redmyre, 623rd Year of the Youngers
Arys
It had taken him some time to get to know the new faces in Vinrael, but now he finally felt confident that he could name most of the soldiers under his command. Upon leaving Lepcis, the plan had been that he would be commanding his own men and working as Chief of Operations. However, now that Legatus Yuran had raced off to Lera, he was now also in charge of the Salencian Sons. The Salencian Sons whose right forearms were marked with the sign of the phoenix of Euphyre. It was h
is duty to know them.
He spent his mornings training with them, encouraging the soldiers from Lepcis to learn from the homelanders. After all, they had to adapt their fighting style to their ways, and not the other way around. Pitched battles were the Lepcian’s speciality (at least theoretically), but they had to get to that point first.
The Sons, it seemed, organised themselves into small bands of soldiers called vantha. Depending on the region and recent events, a vantha could consist of somewhere between fifteen and twenty Sons. They were tasked with shadowing the Khasari patrols, warning the villages and towns of patrols and raids (though killing was supposedly outlawed, it seemed thievery was not above some), and ambushing and harassing when possible. Only when large patrols or invading forces set out for a new village or town to incorporate did the vantha unite to stage larger military action. His first reaction had been to ask why they didn’t unite into larger units and face off against an outnumbered Khasari patrol. He didn’t need to open his mouth and sound like an idiot, for another Lepcian, Gassern, had beat him to the question.
Because, came the reply, if we lose a fight, then we are done. There will be nothing to stop them marching further east. The Son patiently explained to them that they were not professional soldiers and that they were poorly equipped. Fighting the Khasari head on would not be to their advantage. No, they could not stop them attacking a town. But they could make any invading force regret it; make the cost too high. So they tracked as lions are wont to stalk their prey. Only when an advantage appears do they fight. In all other situations they try to minimise the destruction. It was a different, pessimistic way to view the world, but Arys knew it was steeped in grim reality.
He also wasn’t the only one who felt naked without the traditional legionnaire armour. This new leather armour felt like it couldn’t stop a butter knife from causing serious damage, but he was told numerous times the point was to avoid being hit in the first place. Only those mounted kept their steel. Sitting on a horse didn’t make you the nimblest of targets, and so a chosen handful of his soldiers kept to their traditions, no doubt relieved.
Reign of Phyre Page 18
