Reign of Phyre

by Nicholas Cooper

  “Yes.”

  Ugh. Even words themselves bowed down to Reisch’s authority, coming forward when beckoned, and unwilling to leave their nest when unwanted.

  “Can I ask another question, then?” Rhen said, changing tactic, “Why are there only three of us? What happens if we get attacked like before?” Last time was not something that he wished to see in his dreams anymore, let alone in the flesh.

  “Last time was due to Reilek. Your friend’s death was due to Reilek. Yes, there are other Black Wolves out there, but I do not have reason to believe that Reilek was acting on behalf of Taeryen. Nor can I imagine that other Black Wolves have infiltrated the Elsgard, lest you doubt me or Kiern.”

  “What about others? There are Euphyrian rebels out there; surely some of them would attack if they were ill-disciplined or desperate.”

  “They would attack us for all the gold that we do not currently possess? No, you needn’t fear the Sons, not while we are here. Leave us, however, and I would not expect you to last long.”

  Rhen snapped. “Enough of this constant reminding of me being your prisoner. What have I done recently? What have I done that would make you doubt me? Am I walking besides you or am I being dragged kicking and screaming the whole way? Yelia strike me down if I’m wrong. I’m leading you there knowing full well that you’re going to kill me as soon as I take you there. Sure, I could have come around to believe you at some point after you broke my bloody hand, but I saw what I saw. You wield Magick, and I am not dumb enough to not see that such knowledge is a death sentence.”

  Come to think of it, it was the Elders that were accused of using Magick, but in The Wrath it was the Youngers. Reisch was Yalean…if he ever had the time and freedom to read some books, he would like to get to the bottom of this. Reisch did not entertain him with an answer, however. The silence was uncomfortable, and Rhen regretted mentioning Magick, afraid of the consequences to come. So, he continued for anything was better than nothing at this point, “Levi is hunting Reilek, not for the threat he possesses to us personally, but because if your secret was exposed, it would change everything. Yet, I am expected to believe that unlike Reilek, I will not be hunted down, that I will simply be allowed to walk home, a free man from all the way up in the Myrian Mountains. You think me a fool, and you insult me.”

  Kiern had turned around to them, looking unsure as to what his commander would ask of him to do. A simple wave of his hand told him his answer, it’s okay.

  “The only fool here is me.” There was a tinge of sincere sadness in his voice. “I was a fool to think that we could win your trust. If, by the end of our journey, we trusted one another, then there would be no need to kill you.” Honeyed words.

  “Don’t hold my life ransom like that. Trust cannot be forced.”

  “I didn’t need you to relinquish the Karzarki inside you. I didn’t need you to understand our fight. I didn’t even need you to agree with it. But I needed your trust. A bond between two individuals.”

  They always did this. They always made him out to be the bad guy.

  “I trust you. I swear it upon the Goddess. As proof, I will tell you our Caranaum. It is a bow. The Bow of the North.” Kiern looked at Reisch, as if to ask why he was giving away such a secret.

  “You think telling me that will somehow make me trust you won’t kill me? That’s just more knowledge that I could tell people if you let me live.”

  Reisch sighed, the most emotion he had leaked in this entire conversation. “Fine. You have paper and ink. Write it down. Write it in Karzarki for all I care. Write that if you are not back in Mhir within two months, then Karzark can consider it a formal declaration of war on behalf of Yalea as Commander Reisch Elestan of the Elsgard has rescinded his promise of safe return of his Karzarki captive. Give it to the next Khasari you see and tell them to deliver it to someone of importance in Rulven. Your life is now as important as all of Yalea; in order to prevent my country from burning, I must protect your life at all costs.”

  A guarantee of safety…he wrote the letter. He considered that they might simply just break his other hand and this was all a cruel lesson to show him that he was taking them to the Dawn Shield whether he wanted to or not, but surely they knew that when faced with certain death either way, he could kill himself beforehand, or take a risk and alert the next Khasari patrol they crossed paths with.

  “Am I still a fool?” Reisch asked.

  “Yes,” Rhen replied, “for believing in The Wrath, for being born in Yalea, for supporting the rebels, for breaking my hand, for many things. But not for trusting me.”

  Rhen raised the parchment that he had written the guarantee of his life on and put it in his pocket. “But you will forgive me for holding onto this. You will need to trust me, too. It goes two ways, you know.”

  “I do not make empty promises.” Well, whatever Reisch was, he felt the sincerity in his words.

  “Well then, shall we continue?”

  “Lead the way, our Karzarki captive.”

  Ulane was where they could ride a boat up the Salence Streams towards Tannis. Of course, as Rhen had found out only recently in Rulven, that Tannis was not, in fact, where the Dawn Shield was. It had taken him ten minutes to calm himself after reading the inscription from the Great Temple of Yelia. It wasn’t that he had initially made a mistake, no.

  The ruins in the Desari Desert were correct. What no one could have known was that Tarrae and subsequently the Dawn Shield were not buried in the Rhasphyre tomb in Tannis. The Euphyrian loyalists must have feared an impending looting of Tannis at the hands of Karzark, for they instead took Tarrae Rhasphyre to a small enclave down the side of Mishval’s Schism, north of the city. The inscription had, fortunately, and inadvertently saved his life. Had he led them to Tannis and found nothing but ruins, he was sure they’d consider him a Karzarki agent who had wasted their time while the Khasari marched on to find it. It would have been at that point that his life would be forfeit. Thank Yelia for that nightmare that woke him up and took him to the temple.

  In fact, the more he thought about it as they set off, the more he wondered what conclusion he hoped for. Last night he had some time to himself. Kiern had uncharacteristically requested his own room and had given Rhen a big enough leash to remain unattended. He had taken the opportunity that peace and quiet offered and squandered it, electing to shave his dishevelled, resurgent beard and have an early night. His body had refused to sleep however, and so he lay there with the time to think about all that had happened between Mhir and Rulven.

  He contemplated whether he wanted to lose himself in Rulven and flee from the Elsgard but decided that it could have been a trap. He decided he’d rather stay anyway, before the details of an escape plan emerged in his mind that confirmed he had made the right decision. The Elsgard had friends in Rulven. There were many marked Euphyrians. He had no horse. It would have been a stupid decision.

  No, in the end, he decided that despite not being able to claim the Dawn Shield for his father (or whoever was behind asking him – he needed to have a talk with his father when he returned), he figured that having an armed escort to some far off land that he would unlikely be able to see again in his lifetime was an adventure within itself. He wasn’t entirely sold on the Elsgard though. Deep down, he still perhaps hoped that the Dawn Shield would find its way to Karzark rather than the Yaleans. He had hoped to beat the Khasari to it for personal gain, but if it was a race between the Yaleans and Karzark…the only problem in hoping for that would be the Yaleans believing he had led them on a wild goose chase. If it wasn’t for that…

  Now their destination was not Tannis, but a small enclave in Mishval’s Schism, beyond the Myrian Mountains. The statues at the temple were not pointing to Tannis after all, but towards the mountains. After all, he knew the Myrian Mountains had some significance to the Euphyrians. All that was left for him to do was somehow find out where exactly in the massive mountain range they needed to cross to find the way down to the hidden en
clave. Rhen was excited to think the path went under the mountains, as part of a huge tomb complex. He would only give what details were absolutely necessary, however, just in case.

  The next day they expected to arrive in Mayswood around dusk. As Rhen had come to learn, the towns could either be controlled by Khasari or by the Sons, depending on the day of the week. Playing the role of captive was the safest way if it was controlled by the Sons.

  “I’d recommend picking up some food in Mayswood,” said Kiern, “If Karzark controls Ulane, we might have trouble with the Khasari if we take a boat further north. They would be extremely suspicious of anyone heading further north. If that’s the case, we would be smart not showing our faces.”

  “And along those lines, I recommend you wear your robe properly. I don’t know what they’d suspect you of, but I’m sure they’d suspect you of something, like insanity.”

  “I’m not insane. I’ll put it on when we’re closer.”

  They still had quite a bit of road to travel on before they reached town. At least it was pleasant, aside from the biting cold. Sure, it was more a beaten path than a road, and certainly more than a Karzarki highway, but the scenery was nice. To the left was a small mountain range that had begun accumulating snow on its peaks. He saw an eagle soar above one such peak, looking for a meal in the river that ran alongside the range. The Galadea Range, if his memory served him well. To the right was a small lake that looked enjoyable in the summertime, with a few fishing boats moored on a crudely constructed pier. He could see the woods that gave Mayswood its name in the distance; heavy oaks and even still larger trees that had a tinge of red to them. He wondered if it would be as impressive as the forest Yaren’s spirit now resided in.

  “Stop,” said Reisch, throwing out his arm. He stopped moving, as did Kiern. Rhen looked ahead, up the road. He counted seven. Two horses, five Khasari, and two who were lying on the ground trying to defend themselves from the kicks. He knew the soldiers before he saw their faces. The plumed bronze helmet, the plain bronze shield, the brown studded leather cuirass, the nine-foot spear and the two short swords at the waist – he knew from a mile away. They were Khasari, and they had caught two rebels.

  One of the Khasari noticed them standing still on the road. He shouted towards them and signalled for them to stop. The others hurriedly picked up the two rebels from the ground and pushed them along towards them.

  “We can run, but they have horses,” Kiern said as he slid a dagger up his sleeve.

  “Khasari patrols should number six. They lost someone on patrol. Now they have two at their mercy. We cannot leave them to their fate either,” Reisch added.

  “I’ve told you before, Khasari are forbidden from attacking civilians. You know they are Sons. They must have ambushed their patrol and come off second best,” Rhen said defensively, “I’m not…taking sides. I’m simply stating the oath that Karzark holds sacred.”

  Kiern looked as though he was going to say something, but chose to keep it unsaid, and looked forward instead.

  The Khasari reached them and the one who had shouted at them took off his helmet. “We meet again Rhen Tallesen. You’re a long way from Rulven. In the wrong direction too, if I remember correctly.” The guard from Rulven’s gate. Just their luck.

  “Oh, a blessing of Yelia to meet you again, friend.” This time Reisch hadn’t given him a plan. He wasn’t sure what he should say. Ah, the guarantee. He could give the guarantee. He took it out of his satchel.

  “I see you no longer possess a cart,” the Khasari said, narrowing his eyes, his grip on his spear ever slightly tighter.

  “I er…”

  He cast his gaze to the two Sons. One was bleeding from the face…somewhere; it was hard to tell with it being so swollen and bruised. The other seemed to have trouble standing on her right leg. The guard saw him look at them.

  “Do you recognise these rebel scum?” His eyes said what he really meant: They stole your cart, didn’t they? Just say it. It’ll make both our jobs easier.

  Kiern spoke up. “No sir, we left our cart in Mayswood while we waited for the last of our goods to arrive. We are returning from sending the others back to Braest with another merchant who was heading that way.”

  The guard looked even more suspiciously at Kiern. Kiern was not Karzarki.

  “Besides,” Kiern added, dangerously, “these two don’t appear to be armed with any weapons.”

  Rhen took a moment to look them over again. It was true. They were unarmoured, and unarmed. Not so much as a dagger, as far as he could tell. He had been wrong before, however.

  “My friends, don’t be so quick to judge. Khasari do not harm civilians,” Rhen said, trying to diffuse the tension that was building.

  “He’s right. We do not harm civilians.”

  Rhen turned to Kiern to say I told you so, but the Khasari continued. “But these are no civilians. These are Sons of the Phoenix. Cursed rebels with their bloody blue tattoos. The mark of the rebel, their crimes etched into their very skin. No, these two are no civilians.” He gave a kick to the one leaning on her left leg, knocking it out from under her. She fell back down onto the road face first.

  “They don’t have weapons, they are unarmed!” This was wrong. There was a misunderstanding here.

  “They are unarmed now, but who knows, tonight, tomorrow, they’ll howl and howl and gather more from their dens, and they will be armed, and they will attack if not us then another patrol. All we are doing is preventing a future crime from happening. Must we wait until another one of us is face down in the mud before we act? Now, I believe our conversation has ended. Out of respect for your father, I will ask you just once to step aside and be on your way.”

  Rhen looked to Reisch and Kiern. Reisch could hide his emotions as well as a stone, but Kiern’s face was an open book on a page of rage. He turned back to the guard. He stood his ground, his moral indignation preventing his legs from capitulating. “You cannot attack civilians. That is your Heran.” It was the foundation upon which the right of conquest was justified.

  The Khasari extended his spear, pointing it at Rhen. “I asked you to step aside. I did not want to spill Karzarki blood, and so I consider our meeting today most unfortunate.”

  It happened very quickly, and Rhen wasn’t sure which side struck first. He believed that it was the two Khasari at the rear who fell, clutching their throats. Even for Kiern, Rhen was surprised at the accuracy. This was mainly because the daggers curved, and as far as he could tell, daggers didn’t normally do that. The Khasari from Rulven turned and lunged towards Reisch, which Rhen was sure he would regret. Instead, however, Reisch simply dodged and weaved each thrust, enraging the man.

  The other two moved towards Kiern and Rhen, as they were both lacking partners in this dance. That probably suited Kiern, given that he would surely back himself in a fight against a single Khasari, but Rhen didn’t feel the same way about his partner. The man’s scarred face seemed to lack any empathy towards his fellow citizen. On top of this, Rhen had no weapon. He started to back away, but this did nothing but encourage his opponent. A grin emerged on the Khasari’s face. He spun his sword in his hand, pointing it at Rhen’s head. There wasn’t any cover, there was no way to block but with his hands. If he swung from overhead, he could block with his arm. He’d lose it, but it might save his head. But if his opponent went for a thrust, he’d have no choice but to try and dodge it. Maybe he could tackle him to the ground and then…he had to hope. The man was much larger than him though, and…

  Just as the Khasari lunged for Rhen, he saw the woman with the injured leg pull a hidden dagger from her boot and jump on his back, plunging it between cuirass and neck. He clutched at the curved dagger with his left hand, spluttering blood as he did so, and grabbed the woman with his right, throwing her over his shoulder and collapsed on top of her. Here was a dead man who was adamant his journey to the afterlife would not be a lonely one. He fell on his side on top of the woman, causing her to scream out in
pain as her leg twisted underneath his weight. The look in his eyes was of such pure hatred, and Rhen knew what he’d do. He snapped out of his daze and threw himself into the man who was pulling the dagger out of himself and was about to take this woman down with him. Rhen crashed into his body, knocking him off the woman. He blocked the Khasari’s arm from pulling out the dagger, and instead pushed it back in, much deeper than the original blow. He wailed in pain right beside Rhen’s ear. While that was painful enough, the pain from his broken hand being stuck underneath was worse. He fell back into that familiar world where he knew nothing but pain, scrambling for an exit where there was none. However, there was. The Khasari was still alive, his hand grasping Rhen’s throat, crushing it slowly. His world started going black, the sounds becoming ever distant, and the importance of everything in his life culminating into a ball of nothingness. Death, the final release.

  Then, as quickly as his world had turned black, the light returned, his trachea free from death’s grasp. Except the light was red and liquid and being splattered over his face. He shoved the Khasari off him with his one good arm with great difficulty. He took in a huge gasp of air before looking up. The man’s throat was slit, with the killer lying on the ground next to him, breathing heavily. He turned to Kiern just in time to see him hamstring his opponent, forcing him down on the ground. Reisch still hadn’t laid a blow on his opponent, but after seeing the condition of the other Khasari, he yelled, “Yield!” and with a powerful shove into the chest, sent his opponent skidding along the ground, next to his sole surviving comrade. The Rulven Khasari scurried backwards, knowing that he was no match for Reisch, and probably if he was remotely good at guessing, none of them. Well, excluding Rhen himself. Upon consideration of that fact, he decided that perhaps it was best that he take one of the swords of the dead Khasari. The owner wouldn’t be using that any time soon.

  The Khasari who had had his hamstring sliced was clearly in agony, yet the only emotion that was stronger and keeping him in check was fear for his life. “Please, help me,” he whimpered.