Reign of Phyre

by Nicholas Cooper

  “Stay with me, I will get help. Stay with me,” Arys said, gently, but firmly grasping the Son’s shoulders. But the man’s eyes screamed no as his head slowly shook as a response. The man saw a dagger at Arys’ side, and with a wheezing, laboured breath went to grab the dagger. He fumbled the dagger in his hands caked with blood, but he picked it up and placed it in Arys’ own hand. Please, his eyes begged.

  Arys’ throat bobbed. A small mercy is what the man begged for. So, with silent acknowledgement between the two, he firmly inserted his dagger down into his neck. His father had told him it was the quickest, least painful way, and he hoped that it was true.

  His own body demanded his attention, his side was unhappy that he had lent over. Wincing from the pain, he inspected the damage with his hand, and felt it was covered with blood. He laid down against the wall, beside the fallen man as he too closed his eyes. Well, they will sing songs of me, at least. He smiled.

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

  Kiern

  In times of peace, take the path less trodden. In times of war, do not tread. – Yalean Proverb

  “Okay, fine, you were right,” said the Commander, “I guess Euparyen did attack Karzark. However! However, though you were right, don’t you dare say it was justification for a full-scale war spanning generations that has claimed countless innocent lives.”

  Rhen twirled the Karzarki blade in his hand, smiling. “I won’t. Basking in the glory that is you admitting you were wrong about this and who knows what else is enough for one day,” said the Karzarki.

  “Yeah, well, make it one day, not ten. I swear if you mention it on the eleventh, I’m going to make a new rule regarding Elsgard captives.”

  Kiern could see steam coming from Rhen’s horse when it snorted. Winter had truly set in. It was always colder and came with more snow in the east than it ever did in the west, but it was made worse by a lack of Karkarki roads. Though the old paths were still better than nothing, the lack of travellers allowed for the snow to pile up, and their horses’ pace suffered as a result. He turned around and saw a straight line of hoofprints that would soon disappear under fresh snow. Not soon enough, his inner Elsgard cautioned. Reilek’s ambush had left its mark on him.

  “I’ll tell you what I am not wrong about, Karzarki. Those tracks leading into the trees, do you know what animal that is?” Kiern pointed to the tracks knowing exactly what animal it was and under what circumstances it ran to the forest. “Since I know you don’t know, allow me to answer for you. That is a mountain hare. Its prints are well apart, indicating it was running as fast as it could. That means one thing. Something beat us to a meal."

  "On the other hand,” Rhen smiled as his stomach rumbled, as though it understood the situation, “that something might be a more filling meal itself. Lead the way, noble Commander.”

  Kiern nudged the reins and took his horse off the path hiding behind a thin layer of snow. Rhen followed him. Soon after, the hunter’s tracks appeared on the scene. The culprit was a fox.

  The tracks took them into the woods, forcing them to only slightly change course. The hare was also travelling northeast, and in a great deal of hurry. Although unnecessary, Kiern felt he could concentrate better when he was on foot, and so he dismounted, softly leading his horse by the reins. It also allowed for him to grab his bow that he had packed specifically for this reason.

  The tracks became more frantic as the fox must have gained ground on the hare. “Be quiet, the hare’s tracks end. The fox caught it. It won’t be far, though.” They followed the tracks for a few minutes more, before Kiern’s heart suddenly plummeted in his chest. He signalled Rhen to stop and not say a word.

  The fox tracks ended abruptly, with red snow confirming that the fox was also prey. However, its footsteps were calm. And so were the four sets of human footprints.

  Kiern notched an arrow to his bow, and he heard Rhen draw his sword slowly and quietly. He didn’t dare take his eyes off where the footprints led, but he slowly started walking backwards. He pulled his horse’s reins, but the horse seemed to disagree with turning around in such a tight circle. She whinnied, and two birds who had been resting in a tree flew away, knocking the snow off a branch as they did. Kiern listened intently to the next few seconds, for it would tell him what would happen next.

  He didn’t hear voices. He didn’t hear panic. But he did hear a sword being carefully unsheathed and an arrow clumsily being notched by a set of cold fingers. He could have mounted and fled, but if they managed to ambush a fox, he was willing to bet his life that an arrow would find its mark in his back. He ran behind a tree that was between him and where the footsteps led. He turned towards his own footsteps and focussed. He extended his hand and just as though a gust of wind suddenly swept through the forest, the snow covered his tracks.

  He saw two heads appear from over the ridge. The swordsmen carried a large shield, but he did not show himself to where he thought his victims would be. Rhen would not have been able to see him. He intended to wait for the archer to strike.

  Unfortunately, he had only taken his bow from his horse. If he shot the archer first, the swordsmen would have a chance to react and put up his shield before closing in on him. He would have to hit the swordsmen first and then shoot the archer with a second arrow.

  He drew back his bow, holding his breath, looking down straight to the swordsmen. His fingers were numb, but he endured. He released the arrow and watched its path until the moment it hit the swordsmen in the neck. Instantly the archer turned towards where the arrow came from and fired his own. Its own trajectory was flawless, aimed perfectly at Kiern’s heart. He was a skilled hunter. But while the archer stood in disbelief as his arrow instead hit the trunk of the tree, Kiern released his second arrow and hit him in the chest, just to the right of his heart.

  He remembered, just as his ears heard the clashing of swords, that there were four sets of footsteps in the snow. He turned towards Rhen to see that he was fighting a swordsman and a spearman. He was holding his own, having regained use of both hands. He was more capable than Kiern had imagined, but he couldn’t hold for long. He was defending; being outnumbered restricted his ability to go on the offensive. He was lacking a shield, which, to his detriment, was his opponent’s greatest advantage. The swordsman swung right to left, to which Rhen parried the blow, swinging his own sword in one continued motion. It was the swordsman’s shield side, however, and he managed to block it. The blow didn’t seem powerful to Kiern, but it knocked the swordsman off balance, and he fell onto his arse. As soon as Rhen raised his sword for a finishing blow, the spearman saw his opportunity. Right behind Rhen, he was about to thrust his spear straight through him. Kiern didn’t have time to notch another arrow, and so he extended his hand and knocked the spearman’s right leg from underneath him, sending him falling to his arse as well. Rhen swung a blow straight down, which Kiern knew was a mistake. The swordsman lifted his shield to block the blow from above and Kiern knew he was ready with his right hand to counterstrike. What Kiern didn’t predict was how the blow shattered his shield and slashed the man straight down his body. Rhen didn’t share the shock that Kiern was experiencing, probably because Rhen was an inexperienced fighter who did not fully understand the physics of battle. Rhen did not have the experience to argue that what just happened should not have happened. Instead, he turned around and easily dodged the thrust from the spearman still on the ground which had no purpose but to bat Rhen away. A swing of his sword broke the spear in half.

  “I yield! Please, have mercy!” was the expected plea from the defeated. Instead, the man laughed. Rhen began to reply, but Kiern saw movement from where the archer lay. He forgot that he had missed the heart. Though an enemy, Kiern had no intention of prolonging the suffering of the man. Realising how drained he was as he attempted a jog, he soon reverted to a slow trudge through the snow to the archer who still lay on his back, coughing up blood. He found a dagger on the man’s belt.

  “Normally
I do not miss. Sorry.” Kiern made amends by finishing off the wounded man as quickly and painlessly as he could. A very quick prayer and he turned back to Rhen who was still talking. He was too far away to hear their conversation, but he remembered he had used Magick, and the spearman was still conscious. No one should know. He knew he couldn’t let the man live. Kiern drew the last of his arrows. It was the heaviest arrow in his quiver. It was not right, but it had to be done. He aimed for the heart, this time taking his time. He did not miss a second time.

  Rhen jumped back, startled. “What was that for?! You didn’t need to kill him! You heard him! He thought we-”

  Kiern fell down in the snow, putting his bow down beside him, trying to make it look like he had done so intentionally. He recalled Reisch’s words too late, that Magick was not to be taken lightly and that, even when faced with death, there were times that the secret should be taken to the grave. He felt his dagger that had been at his side the whole time. He didn’t even consider it at the time, but that would have sufficed. That is the power of Magick, he thought. It is an alluring force; it comes to the forefront of your mind at the expensive of rational thought. This man died because Kiern had succumbed to the power of Magick.

  He snapped back into reality when Rhen pushed him over. “Why?!”

  “I had to use Magick to save you. He was about to thrust a spear into your back. If he lived, he would tell the world there is still Magick.” Oh, shit. I said it.

  “You what?”

  “Uh...” he sighed, “yep.” It was too late for excuses.

  Rhen sat down opposite him in the snow and stared out into the forest. Kiern had been in his shoes only recently, and he remembered well how his brain ran through the plethora of possibilities, implications and the redefining of how you thought the world worked.

  Finally, after a long pause he said, “Well, I guess it makes sense. Reisch could do it. But then...if you also can do it, doesn’t that mean Magick can be taught?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not something the world should know. I think it is inherently evil. We all know what happened when Magick ruled the world. Already, that man died because of it, even though it was just a small push.”

  He was tired, drained. He understood the Elders thirst for greater energy to consume. It drained him, but he still felt a hunger in his stomach. An insatiable hunger that had just awakened inside him.

  “And I’m tired, Rhen. Please, not now. Let’s just get the horses and move on.”

  “Thank you, Kiern,” said Rhen, offering a hand up.

  “Hmm?”

  “For saving me. I know how it goes. If I say anything, I’m a dead man. Believe me, I don’t want a world that returns to Magick. Your secret is safe. I don’t need to know any more other than you saved me.” That was a surprise. Pleasant, but a surprise.

  “Well, as long as you know you owe me one,” he said, before remembering, “Oh, how could I forget, how in Yelia’s name did you break through that man’s shield?”

  “What do you mean? I used all my force.”

  Kiern shook his head. “No, it doesn’t work like that. That sword, what is it?”

  Rhen lifted the sword up and tilted it towards the sunlight. “This old thing? It’s just a sword from home.”

  “Yeah, I know that,” Kiern said, rolling his eyes, “but what power does it have? You shattered his shield with a single blow, and no offence, but you aren’t built with rocks for arms.”

  “Hey, I swung pretty hard.”

  “No. It doesn’t… look, swing at that tree there. Are you telling me that you could fell that tree with just your strength?”

  “Of course not. It’s a foot thick.”

  “So, swing.”

  Rhen looked at him as though he had lost his mind but shrugged his shoulders and swung. He then not so gracefully jumped out of the way as the great tree, ageless in its size, came crashing down with a deafening crack.

  “Huh, well that’s new.”

  “By the good graces of Yelia, Rhen. You’re the one asking me questions about Magick. Somehow I don’t think you have the right.” Kiern stared at the tree, his brain refusing to believe his eyes.

  “Please, not now Kiern, I’m tired,” Rhen said, with that obnoxious grin on his face, “Let’s keep moving.”

  “Let me try. Give it here.”

  Rhen’s face had some doubt, as though he didn’t trust Kiern with the sword. “I’m not going to steal your bloody sword. I just want to test it.” He took the sword from Rhen’s hand. He found a similarly thick tree and swung as hard as he could. The sword made good headway into the trunk, but it did not fall. So, there was some power with Karzarki blood too. He would have to tell Reisch next time he saw him. He returned the sword to Rhen.

  “Well, maybe you do have rocks for arms.”

  “You didn’t feel anything, holding the sword?” Rhen asked.

  “I felt some cheap Karzark metal, that’s about it.”

  After agreeing to burn the bodies at Rhen’s request, they offered a small prayer in their respective native languages. The Yalean prayer was longer, but Kiern didn’t indulge his curiosity by asking Rhen about The Wrath’s version. They then made a detour, picking up the hare and the fox from the Euphyrian hunter’s campsite along the way, finding in addition a lean but satisfactory collection of nuts and dried meat. They also took the tarp that the hunters had used for a tent. Kiern knew that if the weather didn’t improve, it would be the difference between life and death. He led the way, having walked this path once before when he entered Euparyen the first time. It was summer then, and a much easier ride. Reisch had told him never to forget the paths they rode, and he hadn’t.

  Their horses trotted along at a slow but steady pace, with the riders covering their faces from the icy wind that accompanied them throughout the day. They were definitely heading north. Even Kiern, who could shield himself from the weather a little, found it unsettling. He had made the decision to walk far enough out of the treeline, just in case of another ambush, despite taking the full brunt of the wind. Those ancient trees were older than the Elders themselves and would have seen much, and no doubt had secrets that he was less than apathetic towards finding out.

  However, they could not continue riding on through the night in this weather. Not taking shelter in the forest was certain death, and so he instructed Rhen to follow him once he found a suitable enough location to camp the night. The sun was setting too quickly, and time was pressing.

  “We need to get out of the wind. Go on, Rhen, you’re on woodcutting duty. Put that sword to good use. It’s going to be a long night. Make sure this fire is bloody roaring.”

  Kiern fed the horses and dusted off the snow from their coats. The horses they were given were from the northern reaches and were used to the cold, but he could tell they were still in discomfort. He made a pit for the fire, carefully arranged some kindling, and, finding that with a little manipulation of air, it was much easier to start the fire this way than fighting against the cold wind and cold hands. He grabbed the fox from the horse’s satchel and began skinning it. There was a first time for everything. Its fur was too mangy to make use of. Shame, he thought.

  By the time Rhen returned, there was a small forest worth of wood stocked next to the fire. “Well, we won’t need to worry about freezing to death,” said Kiern, “but we aren’t going to be able to sleep out in the wind like this,” before adding, “well, you anyway.”

  “You’re right. Guess I need to get to work,” Rhen said, as he walked away towards a tree.

  “Not that one! We need some protection from the wind. Get one from further away.”

  Before too long, Rhen had hacked up a tree into several stumps and started building a temporary three-sided wall to put between the wind and him and the fire. It reminded him of a childhood memory, making a castle with sticks and leaves. There were gaps where the wind came through, but it was better than being out in the open. Kiern threw the tarp over the top and put o
ne more layer of logs on each of the corners to pin it down.

  “So, I learnt something about this sword,” Rhen started as he dragged a stump to sit on, “it seems that it has a limit.”

  “That’s only natural...I think.” Kiern threw some more wood onto the fire. He watched some embers land on the snow and surrender to the cold.

  “I tried cutting the thickest tree I could find, but I could only cut a third of the way into it.”

  Kiern’s primal disdain for Karzark claimed his first thought in that this was a good thing, and that this information should be circulated amongst Yalean and Euparyen officers.

  “So, if Euparyen stole this sword, this Caranaum of Karzark, then Karzark could have sent their legions in order to get it back. Invading seems a high price, but it’s entirely possible. But they have taken their time. They never found it, yet they left the east unpacified for years, and instead they consolidate the west. And only now, if we are correct, they have begun a campaign into Yukone territory. Something doesn’t add up.”

  Rhen grabbed the fox that Kiern had skinned earlier and skewered it over the fire. It definitely wasn’t the biggest fox he had seen. “That would be because it’s not the only one, if this is actually a Caranaum.”

  Kiern had never thought about it before. He didn’t believe the tale of the Eupayrens sailing into Karzark and stealing the Caranaum because if they had actually done that, Karzark would have, as he had just told Rhen, waged total war on Euparyen until it was recovered. But since the tale was indeed true, having multiple Caranaum was possible, even likely.

  “If that’s true, how many do you think there are?”

  Rhen turned the fox slowly.

  “Fate woven

  Or by fate weaved,

  To be celebrated

  Or to be grieved

  Twelve loyal generals, by their blade,

  A brother slain, a future made”

  “I see. Twelve. You have a general’s blade.”

  “Legio VII’s blade, Impatientia.”