“What a childishly fitting name.”
“It is,” laughed Rhen, “and I imagine the eleven others are named along the same line.”
“It’s amazing, don’t you think, that in such a short time we have learnt more about the world than anyone has in centuries,” Kiern said as he followed Rhen’s lead and grabbed a stump to sit on.
“I don’t think it’s surprising.”
“Why?”
“The Desari Desert, Mishval’s Schism, the Bay of Storms, the wastelands, and whatever mountain range separates Yalea Aranth from Tyrellia, all these did not exist once upon a time. Whether it’s repentance or proving oneself, people disagree on, but it lies firmly within our collective memory that these once did not exist. Yelia triggered an upheaval on Cerenea to separate us all. With time, or with the waning of Magick, or through repentance or through conquest, I do not know, but the once uncrossable Desari is now crossable. The Bay of Storms has seasonally calmer waters. When people cross these boundaries, it will not be a trickle, but a flood. I was not the only Karzarki to have been born on the east side of the Desari.”
“I guess you’re right. I just hope that once we all remember about each other, and what secrets that were once forgotten and soon to be uncovered, well, I hope that all the pieces don’t reveal the horrors of the past and send us back down a path of darkness.”
“As do I. Though, the march of progress is unstoppable. It can be halted for a time, but the world will find out one way or another. But speaking of Caranaum, supposing that Yelia each granted a Younger a gift of equal strength, what do you think the Dawn Shield is? If there is only one, it should roughly be the same strength as twelve of these swords.”
The fox was done, and Kiern took it off the fire, cutting it into pieces.
“That is if Yelia didn’t have a favourite. I don’t think there’s any law Yelia was bound to in making them. In any case, you’d have to think that as a shield, it would be able to block any blow – a counterforce to the Karzarki Caranaum.”
Kiern bit into the fox. It was a little overcooked. Better than undercooked, he supposed. Not bad for his first fox. “And, put some more wood onto the fire,” he continued, “This wind is howling just like at home.”
Rhen obliged, throwing some chopped-up logs into the flames. Embers danced skywards, until the icy wind extinguished them. “How long has it been since you’ve been home?”
“Hmm…six years or so. Thereabouts.”
“You miss it?” Rhen said, through bites.
“I had a life, I suppose. But the world is so much bigger than some small insignificant town. Even if I miss it, I don’t think I could return and settle down.”
“I know what you mean. You’re never the same once you realise the world is bigger than your own. Though, adventuring or whatever you’d call it, has its downsides, too. I lost my friend Yaren only days after setting out from Mhir.”
“I’m sorry about that. Reilek…”
“It’s alright. What’s done is done.”
An awkward silence crept in with the wind. The shelter Rhen had made was invaluable. Still, he hoped the wind would stop, otherwise it would be a very uncomfortable night. Rhen was bundled up in his layers between the fire and the wall. Kiern could feel the cold too, and it was only then he realised he was enhancing his natural cold resistance with Magick. This wasn’t the first winter he had seen, nor was it the worst. He was using Magick where he had gotten by without it just fine before. It frightened him a little, with what little sense of awareness it crept into his mind. He decided to think about something else.
“Did you have a partner? Back home, I mean.”
“You mean, am I married?” Rhen replied, warming his hands near the fire.
“Married, engaged, a lover.”
“Nearly was married. Another two months and I would have been a husband to one beautiful Hera Taezi.”
“Seems like you chose a bad time to set off on your adventure.”
“It’s precisely why,” Rhen lifted his gaze from the fire to Kiern’s eyes, “I didn’t want to get married. Nobility don’t marry for love. They marry to consolidate alliances and other political gains. Unfortunately, that custom isn’t lost on those beneath. Lower houses such as merchants want to see themselves as above the common man, and so they all engage in arranged marriages too. They dance to the same tune.”
“Did you hate her?”
“What?” The wind was drowing out their conversation.
“I said did you hate her?”
“Of course not. I had never had a conversation, let alone knew her well enough to hate her. You seem surprised,” he said as he stood up and threw another log into the fire, “Are you going to tell me this is only a Karzarki custom?”
“Well, it’s not a Yalean custom. We come from the civilised side of Cerenea, remember? But no, I guess one boon of being ruled by a religious council is that lineage is not important when there is no lineage to speak of. I guess we mirror that in our culture. People marry for love, some for money, some for responsibility but, not for alliances and political machinations. At least, that is from what I know. Maybe the capital is different.”
Kiern looked up to the stars to try and find the constellations that pointed the way back home, but the firelight had blinded his vision and all he could see was dark.
“So, all this started because you tried to escape your pending marriage?” He realised perhaps it was a little blunt, but he couldn’t think of another way to say it.
“It was a reason. Perhaps the timing would have been different, but I would have set out the same,” Rhen said through his furs which was covering his face, “And what about you? Are you a married man?”
The question brought Kiern an influx of memories that he had long kept tucked away.
“I was promised to another. That we’d marry when I returned to Rin Kas.”
“And, did you return? Did you marry like you promised?”
“One of us did.”
“Oh…I’m sorry.”
Kiern stared into the fire for some time. The fire was mesmerising when you wanted it to block all other thoughts. To empty your mind and ignore the world, just focussing on the flames that rose and fell, licking the logs, oblivious it was consuming its only source of life.
“She didn’t know when or if I’d return. Besides, that’s in the past. What I would give for a world where love is the biggest concern to worry over.”
Rhen laughed. “Wars would be fought for love, if no better reason presented itself.”
The wind began to relent, and they found themselves able to talk to each other at a much more civil volume.
“What do you like the most about Karzark?”
Rhen seemed to ponder for a moment, thoughtfully rubbing his bristly chin. “The roads are nicer to travel on,” he said with a smile, “and there are some amazing views. The Coastal Road from Eshem to Karrow is probably my favourite place. The cliffs that separate the mainland from the island after the Calamity are tall and steep, but they make for a great view. To the north there is Hiezen Mountain which has a snow-capped peak all year round. But what I like about Karzark the most is the determination of its people, the pursuit of progress.”
“How so?”
“Well, the roads for example. After Yelia separated the city of Karzark from the mainland, the cities suddenly became more isolated now that the capital was cut off. It would have been easier to abandom the island and find a new capital, but through sheer guts and determination we made it work. Since then, Karzark has constantly been improving the roads between cities and towns. Now each city can trade goods from east to west. The population has soared as has the standard of living, even in my lifetime. And I’m sure that if Karzark wins the war, Euphyria would benefit much the same…Well, I was sure. Perhaps Euphyria, not Euphyrians…”
“The two are inseparable. There isn’t one without the other.” He let out a sigh. He couldn’t explain why, not even to himself, bu
t his heart felt heavy and he wondered why he did anything at all. It was all too hard.
“Kiern, what’s your dream?”
“Dreaming is a luxury that I never had after I joined the Elsgard. There’s always been a task at hand, and that’s as far as I dream. An end to the war, I suppose?”
“And if the war ends, let’s say Karzark is defeated, Euphyria restored, the Elsgard disbanded, what about then?”
Kiern thought about this, for the first time. The what if question. What was there in this world that was just for him?
“I guess, I’d like to travel the world, and see what I fought to save, to see if it was all worth it, take a trip along the Coastal Road and see what decrepit soulless pit my enemies came from.”
“Damn,” Rhen said through a yawn, “You’ve got something in common with me.”
“Your only good quality, Karzarki.” Kiern changed his tone, “Now, tomorrow we will reach the Myrian Mountains. There is a river that we will follow through to the other side of the forest, and from there I leave it to you to get us there.”
“Sure thing. Let me sleep then, I’m exhausted. You can take first watch.”
“Bugger that. I’m sleeping too. Goodnight.”
-------------------------------------
Arys
Arys saw everything. Everything was before his eyes. Time had coagulated together, and he bore witness to a great display. Boats arrived on a distant island shore; mountains visible from the beach. He was there, on one of the boats. “Masten,”, one of the crew said, “We’ll call it Masten.”
All of a sudden buildings rose around him, and before he knew it, he was standing in a tavern. It was quiet, with few patrons. He saw a man who had drunken himself into a stupor, his head on the table. His companion stood up and walked away, dressed all in black. Arys looked back at the man at the table and noticed that there was blood dripping onto the floor. He quickly turned his gaze back to the man in black who was already staring at Arys as though he though he should not be here. It felt almost as though he was peering into his very soul, those eyes burning his own.
As quickly as it appeared, the tavern disappeared. He found himself wearing armour that was decidedly not Euphyrian. It was boiled leather augmented with furs. He noticed the axe in his hand. He looked around and found himself in the middle of a battle. Snow was falling, and worse still, he was standing in a foot of it. An enemy soldier brandishing a spear lunged at him, and only his battle instinct allowed him to pivot enough to dodge the blow. He had never used an axe before, but now wasn’t the time for theory. He swung low at the charging soldier, taking out his legs with the shaft of the axe. The soldier fell face-first into the snow. Arys quickly finished him with a blow to the back of the neck. Blood spurted into his eyes. As he wiped it, he found that the battlefield was now littered with dead soldiers, with what must have been the enemy general, claiming victory, while another, the general of the defeated, on his knees. He heard too late a soldier sneak up behind him and stab him through the back, the sword tip piercing his stomach and armour at the front. He fell forward as the man retracted his sword and he rolled over, his blood pooling into the snow. His world (he thought the term was a rather loose definition at this point) was disappearing into the light. The source of the light revealed a female figure, which he surmised could only be Yelia herself. She reached towards him, hand outstretched. He was hallucinating, but he knew he had died anyway. He reached for her, but as he grabbed her hand, she turned to dust, as she was replaced with a chained man screaming as his captors began a blood ritual of old.
He had never seen what occurred during such a ritual, yet somehow, he was made to understand. He was part of it, and yet he was willing. He watched as the man’s soul was being abstracted from his tortured, battered, broken body. He saw the alter drenched in blood, a body discarded to the side. As the man’s screaming reached fever-pitch, his sight began to turn black, as he felt the man’s very essence become one with him.
When he opened his eyes, he had hoped to be back in Rulven. Instead, he found himself at a battle that he recognised from the tales. He knew the banners. He was not part of the battle this time. He was perched upon a small cliff parallel with the battle. To his left, were the banners of Yalea Aranth and Euphyria, the royal eagle fluttering in the wind. To his right stood Tarryn Rhasphyre, the last of the Phyresians who also had the royal eagle as his banner. It was emblazoned on purple, whereas the Euphyrian eagle was on yellow. He knew the outcome of this battle. The last of the Phyresians would die here to the charge of the Euphyrian cavalry and the volley of the famous Yalean archers. One hundred and sixty brave Phyresians whose blood was the same as his own would perish here on this field.
He turned his attention to Tarryn. His armour was splendid, even compared to Arys’ own time. His plating was bronze, which was no match for the Euphyrian equivalent, but the metalwork was superb. The sun bounced off his breastplate where there was no mud or blood. He certainly looked as much a leader as the historians painted him to be. His helmet – the eagle wings spread to the sides with the plumage as its tail – made him stand out in battle, as did his shield. It was a large, circular shield with an engraving of the royal eagle of Rhasphyre that even from his perch, he could see had survived many battles. The man stood at the front of his army, just like in the tales.
As he was inspecting the sight that was Tarryn Rhasphyre, the last of Phyresia, Tarryn caught sight of him. Just as before, he felt the gaze pierce through him, reaching for his soul. The Phyresian Emperor pointed towards him and shouted, “Arys Tullis!”
“Arys Tullis!”
“Arys!”
His eyes opened as he heard Vaelynna Rhasphyre IV shout his name. He stared blankly at the ceiling, struggling with the feeling of having forgotten a great deal. He slowly blinked, trying to recall what had happened.
“Arys!”
“I’m awake, please not so loud.”
The princess helped him sit upright. Sitting up helped him regain his memory as he winced in pain.
“You’re in one piece. It’ll heal. It’s just a bit tender, that’s all.”
“I mustn’t tell anyone of this, right?”
He had heard that the Karzarki had believed her, and he had remained silent until his departure, unaware that everyone else knew.
“Of course not. Welcome to Rulven, the capital of free Euphyria.”
He of course could not see anything, for he was sitting in a bed in a small room. Yet it felt different all the same. Euphyrian territory, wrested from Karzark.
“You unfortunately missed the festivities. The celebrations were yesterday, today is all about hard work.”
He smiled at his princess. She was beautiful, in all her dirt, sweat and blood. It suited her.
“Just my kind of day.”
“I’d help you walk, but, you’re heavy and I’d rather not. I’ll meet you at the governor’s villa. Ask around if you need help finding it.”
And she left the room with grace, perhaps with even more than when she ruled Lepcis.
“You’ll forgive her, Legatus Tullis, she hasn’t slept or eaten in over a day and a half, on account of tending to your wounds,” said the house guard who had remained behind.
“She’s the princess of Euphyria. There is nothing that needs forgiveness. Now, can you help me up and point me in the direction of this villa?”
The man who kept vigil over Vaelynna and himself looked as though he had been in the thick of the fighting too. He slung Arys’ arm around his shoulder and helped him stand.
“Actually, Legatus Tullis, though it might pain you, I suggest you walk by yourself. There might be a few who are expecting to see you. Once you leave the building, turn right and head towards the great temple. Turn left and you will see the villa on the hill. Follow the road until you see the large staircase. Now, if you excuse me,” he said, unfurling Arys’ arm from himself, “I need to rest, my Legatus.”
Arys took a deep breath as h
e willed his leg forward. He winced again, though the pain was less than what he was expecting. He could do this, as long as he walked slowly. He had been redressed in a simple tunic, his armour placed carefully in the corner of the room. Just for today, he would leave it there.
As he closed the door behind him and turned the corner as he made his way to the exit, he saw the line of people who stopped what they were doing and went quiet. They all saluted him with their fists over their hearts.
“Arys!” they cheered in unison as he passed them. There were commoners, Sons, and some of his own men who looked as though they too had waited without rest for his reappearance. There were many wounded who had been bandaged.
At the door appeared a small band of men and women who wore the same uniform that he had seen the night of the battle.
“Legatus Arys Tullis, we are here to escort you to Farrel Reiyar at the governor’s villa.”
Ah, they are Reiyar’s soldiers. “Very well, lead the way.”
They allowed him to walk as slowly as he needed. They were friendly enough to fill him in on some of the details of the battle. The front of the Khasari block had been successfully herded out the main gate and were allowed to flee, some fought on for hours in the streets not knowing the battle was lost, and a total of two hundred and seventy-six surrendered and were taken prisoner. They were now being held in a market square under the watch of the Sons.
When they arrived at the base of the stairs, he unreservedly accepted their offer of assistance and let them help him up the stairs. It was a long climb, and the steps were quite steep. He admired them for their defensive properties but cursed them for his current state.
Upon reaching the top, another four soldiers took over escort duty and led him inside to a hall where a small host had been seated. Vaelynna was sitting at the top of the table besides a man who must have been Farrel. He was larger than Arys had expected. A cleanly shaven man who was dressed in an expensive yet simple jerkin and trousers, as if making sure that the regality of the princess reigned supreme. He bowed to the man before offering his thanks for warning he had given to Mayswood.
Reign of Phyre Page 33
