Reign of Phyre

by Nicholas Cooper

  “How is that even po-”

  “Look. They scattered in panic. They aren’t soldiers. They are the baggage train dressed up at soldiers. This is a ruse!” They both turned and looked down towards the city-side of the wall. Concealed by the sea-fog, hundreds of small boats brimming with Khasari were landing along the coast between the Stesian Walls and Lera.

  “Pharon, we have to get inside the city now. They will destroy your army if they stay on these walls! The entire army is behind us!”

  “We can hold!” he shouted, “there are only three staircases up to these walls, we can bottleneck them there. Their numbers won’t mean so much against our soldiers.”

  Leadfoot wasn’t listening, however. “You are drunk on pride! Even if you think you could win, they do not need to attack the Stesian Walls. They are already behind them. Their goal is Lera, not the damned Stesian Walls. The Yukonian army is not inside Lera, defending its inner walls. They will take the city and then you will be the army stuck outside the walls!”

  The realisation dawned on him once Leadfoot had finished shouting at him. The Yukonian Fleet had been sent on a wild chase out to sea, allowing the Khasari transports to disembark unopposed. The realisation that they had underestimated Redmyre had dawned on him too late.

  “Send messengers to your Phylax and the others. The army needs to retreat to Lera now,” he said, as he grabbed onto the wall as another volley landed nearby. Pharon sighed to himself, trying to clear his head. Leadfoot was right. He grabbed the nearest messenger and gave the order.

  “Then let us make for the city.” Reisch too gave the order to his Elsgard which, seemed to take much longer to express than it did in Euphyrian.

  “Everyone, down from the walls! We must get to Lera!”

  The soldiers began their orderly descent from the walls, where they saw the Khasari landing party begin to beach.

  “Engage only if you must,” said Pharon, “Getting to the city is your priority.” Pharon was the last of his men to leave the walls. Leadfoot was next to him.

  “We must hurry,” said Leadfoot.

  “The Phylax and his men are still up there, they won’t make it before the Khasari cut them off.”

  “Have your men pin them down then, buy them time if you need, but you and as many men as you can need to get in those walls. The Elsgard will help you.”

  Leadfoot turned to the remaining Elsgard on the wall. A third of the Elsgard had not descended.

  “You can’t have them remain here. You said yourself, the Walls are lost.”

  “They will help as many of your men to get to the city as possible.”

  “They will die!” Pharon said, looking at the archers. One of them smiled and spoke up in Yalean.

  “What did he say?”

  “To live and die today is to have lived,” Reisch said, “It is their choice, now come on; we are running out of time.”

  The Commander turned to his men, said some quick words to which they saluted, and began climbing down the stairs with Pharon. As he turned away, he saw them placed a hand on their hearts as they bent down on one knee, chanting in their foreign tongue, with but one comprehensible word: Yelia.

  The chanting stopped as he descended, and an order was given, answered with a battle cry. They began firing down upon the Khasari, and they would continue to do so until their dying breathes, these foreigners who had decreed they would die so far from home.

  If sacrifices were being made, he too, as a Legatus, had to make some untasteful decisions himself. He needed as many men inside Lera as possible, yet if the Khasari continued to land unopposed, they would cut off the retreat entirely. He didn’t need to hold them at the beach forever, nor did he have the manpower to do so even if it was necessary. Thousands upon thousands were landing. Two hundred of his soldiers would have to suffice. Hopefully it was enough to give the Phylax and Legatus Gerose enough time.

  The Khasari were lining up in formation, waiting for enough numbers to before beginning their assault on the defenders. He needed to engage them now before it was too late. In what seemed like a whirring dream, he gave the order to send two hundred of his soldiers to their deaths. The captain, Rhys, whom he had known since he was a boy, formed the unit. She removed her helmet and wiped the sweat from her face. The blood from a cut on her arm smudged on her face.

  “It’s been an honour to serve Yukone, to serve you, Legatus Pharon. Do not look back on us. Get to the gate.” Rhys put her helmet back on and looked at Pharon one last time. “Live well.” She nodded before she turned to her small force.

  “For Yukone!” she roared, as she led the charge to the beach, their cry catching the attention of the Khasari. They did not falter, they did not protest, they did not think twice. It was their homeland; it was that to which they would give their lives.

  And so, they charged towards the invaders where they would buy time for the Yukonian army to reach Lera’s walls. Later and only later when he had the time, would he have the clarity of mind to contemplate their sacrifice. For now, he had to make sure that they would not die in vain.

  “To Lera!”

  It was too far to run all the way, but these were all drilled soldiers. They briskly jogged, maintaining their formation. About two hundred Elsgard covered their flanks. Pharon looked over his shoulder when he heard the familiar sounds of melee and saw that the Khasari had engaged the Yukonian defenders. They were not at the beach. The Khasari were also a disciplined force and knew what the Yukonians were doing, so they had charged forward to allow their soldiers room to run around the defenders to block the others from reaching the city.

  “We’re not going to make it,” Pharon said to no one in particular.

  “Shut up, and keep moving,” snapped Leadfoot. Ahead of them, he could see more Khasari that had landed further up, closer to Lera. They truly had used the morning fog to their advantage. The Yukonian Fleet must have been so close to them without even having known. How did they even have a fleet? There were no reports.

  “Don’t stop running,” said Reisch, as he gave an order to his Elsgard in Yalean, “Hyle Yun, nier maenz yekryn Yukonen fiel.” Mid-stride, they notched an arrow to their bows and spread out, moving to the right of Pharon’s retreating phalanx. They began to fire, thinning out the Khasari numbers, forcing them to band together and raise their shields to defend themselves. Few fell, but it slowed down their advance.

  “Head east and keep running. If they give chase to meet you, we’ll turn them into a porcupine.” Half the remaining Elsgard ran directly towards the Khasari block, keeping them pinned down, forcing distance between them and Pharon’s company.

  There were still some Khasari in their way, though they were scattered. “Engage, but keep the pace, don’t fall behind!” he shouted to his phalanx. He changed his grip on his spear and threw it at a Khasari, hitting him straight through the chest. His soldiers followed suit, throwing their spears. Any more combat would be seen through with swords.

  He could see the city gates now. They were closed, but the guards would see the retreating Yukonians and have it opened in time. He looked behind and saw that the Phylax and his men had descended from the walls and had begun their retreat but were only just in front of the main Khasari force who were about to overwhelm Rhys’ two hundred. The Khasari were pouring in, racing to cut off the bulk of the Yukonian retreat. It was a risky move, but Pharon had to take it.

  “Praxes, take all but fifty and attack the Khasari in the rear who are about to cut off the Phylax. If the Phylax’s retreat is forced to engage they will be surrounded. Make sure they can punch through.”

  His captain relayed the order and led the bulk of his remaining force back into the fray. “I would have also gone, but you would not have allowed me, I imagine,” he said to Reisch.

  “Part of being a leader is knowing when to sacrifice yourself for your men, and when you need to sacrifice men for yourself. It’s never easy, but that order was necessary. Three hundred men would not hold Lera by
themselves,” Reisch said between heavy breathes.

  The city gates were close now. They were opening for him. He was nearly there. The Khasari could see that too, and there was one boat’s worth of them that stood between him and the gate. They were desperately running towards them, knowing by Pharon’s armour that he was a high-ranking officer. There had to be at least a hundred of them.

  “Run, run, run!” shouted Reisch, “Get to the gate and do not look back! Elsgard, vier il redaem aes au baus!” Suddenly the Elsgard veered towards the beach to engage in the last of the Khasari attackers. They were outnumbered heavily, but Pharon knew Reisch would not entertain an argument. They lined up and began firing. They would have no more than four volleys before the Khasari were upon them. He looked back one last time before rushing headlong to the city.

  In what seemed like an eternity, he finally reached the gates. The small garrison had placed some archers on the walls, too few to hold off the Khasari alone. No time to rest, he ordered his men up the walls to reinforce the garrison and prepare to fire upon any Khasari that came close enough.

  “Legatus, watch out!” shouted a soldier, with widened eyes. He turned around too late to see the Khasari spear hurtling through the air, straight at his chest. He closed his eyes, his final moment slower than most. He dared to open his eyes when the moment did not pass and saw the spear had wedged itself firmly in the wooden door that had remained half closed next to him. His vision was blurry from exhaustion, but the spear was aimed right at his heart. He looked to the man who had thrown it, a Khasari who looked as shocked as Pharon was himself. A face that quickly contorted as his body was hit by several arrows from the wall. As he fell, his focus turned to the Elsgard fighting outside the walls. Reisch was bleeding from the nose and chanced a look at Pharon whilst close combat swirled all around him, collapsing to his knees, looking exhausted. A Khasari came from behind and was about to finish him when one of the Elsgard tackled the man and rolled onto the ground, producing a dagger and killing the man after a struggle. Reisch regained his footing and slashed another Khasari across the chest. He moved like water, his sword truly dancing through the air, an extension of his body. The Khasari seemed captivated, stumbling, losing their footing even when they blocked and parried. Even so, he and the Elsgard would not last much longer.

  He’ll hate me for stealing his moment of redemption, thought Pharon, but forgiveness is just as good. “We’re no use up here. Get down from the walls, we have to save the Yaleans!”

  He sallied forth, his men having to catch up with him. He would not let Leadfoot die here. Not now. Dying was the lightest of feathers against the weight of redemption.

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

  Levi

  It was Seline who dug the hole this time. She spoke in Yukonian, words that Levi had never heard before as Black Wyke’s body was lowered, covered in white cloth, after they washed his body. He too had carried many tattoos, memories of those who had perished along the way. And now, he too had found the end of his path. It seemed undignified, despite the fate of Wolves being much worse. Dying alone had once never been a concern to Levi, but Black Wyke’s death had awoken something in her. It was definitely a weakness, but the weakness radiated warmth. I will not die alone.

  “Seline, before we go, can I ask you for something?”

  “Yes, Levi?”

  You are wasting my time. Hurry, Taer’lyni.

  The voice was deafening, as though her head would erupt, yet she knew it was only her who could hear it. Reilek had managed to reconnect with her somehow. No, she would do this thing. Pissing him off was just a bonus.

  It was afternoon before they were ready. The sole surviving villager had provided them a few days worth of rations, as many furs as he could find, and the promise that he would one day return to Tolvik with other settlers. Levi stood up and stretched her legs. Her leg was still stiff and sore, but it had healed enough to not reopen each time she walked. The impoverished stock of herbs the boy had found was enough to keep an infection from occurring. As she rubbed her leg, Seline brought Wyke’s armour to her.

  “I told you before, you killed the owner of this armour, it is now rightfully yours,” Seline said, her eyes still red. Levi’s reaction was too slow for Seline to not explain. “Wyke’s killer was the owner of it before you killed him.”

  “Ah,” said Levi, the situation now understood.

  “It would honour me if you would wore it. Wyke too.”

  Levi wanted to explain that she wore the armour she wore because it suited her fighting style, but it wasn’t the time to turn Seline down. “I’d be happy to.”

  The steel armour was foreign to her body, just as it was foreign to a Tyrellian. It was heavier than what she was used to, but it wasn’t as heavy as she was expecting. Her movement, similarly, was slightly restricted, yet not as bad as she thought.

  “The sword is yours, Seline. I am still a Tyrellian, and I will fight with the axe.”

  “The sword is a family heirloom too, passed down by the more traditional way. It is now mine, by right.” She smiled for the first time that Levi had seen since Wyke’s death.

  “What are we waiting for? Let’s meet this bastard, Black Levi.” Black Levi, she thought, I like it. Who I was, and who I will become.

  They set out from Tolvik on foot, for there was only one horse in Tolvik, and it was the only means for the lonesome villager to reach a new home. It had never bothered her before, but the growing weakness inside of her, empathy, she had named it, was taking root. Besides, her logic reasoned with her, comforting her decision, there are two of you, and that horse would be lucky to carry one.

  There were no roads heading further west. Seline explained why, but Levi already knew. It was the same as what she had heard from the Black Wolves. No country ventured to the Vieran Pass. Some told stories of curses and plague, others of hallowed ground, of wandering spirits. Though they were all different, they all meant the same thing. Do not go there. It must have been a strong belief for all the four of the Youngers, because not one of them had ever used the Vieran Pass as an easy to reach another in centuries.

  And so they trekked westward, on foot, on no road. It helped that it was a barren wasteland of sorts. There were no trees, no mud, no cliffs. If there was grass, it was hidden under a foot of snow. She tried to look at the positives, that if there was no snow, there would be ice, and if there were ice, there would be slipping.

  What she couldn’t find a positive in was the wind. They were walking into it, and the cold air brought snow and ice that chilled her to her core. She wrapped her furs around herself as tight as she could, looking down just in front of her feet to avoid the snow getting into her eyes. They walked side by side, so that they could keep check on each other without having to stop and turn around.

  After what seemed an age, the wind stopped, and provided a short respite. They took advantage of it and ate heartily. They did not talk much, other than confirm that on the horizon they could see a change in landscape. It was not white, and the sky appeared to have a greenish tint to it. Perhaps it was not just the stories that convinced those who dared to cross, but the site of the Vieran Pass itself that turned them towards home. It was an ominous sight indeed.

  As they began walking again, the wind noticed and started to pick up. It sent shivers through Levi’s body. Wyke’s armour no doubt was chilling her, despite having wrapped herself up in layers underneath it. It probably insulated herself against the wind somewhat, but she could feel the cold metal through her layers and was beginning to contemplate removing it if the wind let up again.

  It did not, however. The sun was fading. Perhaps she had been overconfident in herself, that she could make it before nightfall. Perhaps she should have forgone the needle and ink on her back. That too, had begun to itch. She wondered it if it was normal.

  They had to reach the Vieran Pass before nightfall though. Otherwise, she had quickly surmised, they would not see the sun rise again.r />
  As they pressed onwards, the cliffs became larger and higher in the distance, and the snow lessened. The wind seemed to turn into a breeze, as if scared of upsetting what resided between the cliffs. Suddenly, Levi and Seline found themselves walking on dry land.

  “This is not natural,” Seline said, with obvious worry in her voice.

  “Just keep close. Reilek is just one man. I know him. I know his tricks. Stay with me and you will be fine.” She untied the shield from her back and drew her axe. Her eyes scoured the clifftops, expecting to see a lone figure. There was none.

  They crept forward, into the Pass, one step at a time, looking all around them, expecting an ambush at any second. The Vieran Pass must have been purposefully crafted by Yelia herself, thought Levi. All of Cerenea had, she reminded herself, but she could see the purpose in its design clearly. Cliffs towered above them, unsurpassable by grand design. It was wide enough to fit an army, but the paths that branched off were hidden by the cliffs and were perfect for an ambush. She knew from both Karzuki and Yeluni maps that it stood roughly at the middle of Cerenea, the only place where the borders of all four Youngers met. It was the only safe way to cross to another Younger’s territory. Though, she thought as she looked around, safe may be an exaggeration.

  “See over there?” Seline pointed to a wide path that branched out to the north, “I bet that leads to Yalea Aranth.” As they slowly walked on, they saw that indeed the path led to Yelune, for it was now cut off by the Schism of…Levi couldn’t remember the name.

  “And in her anger, thus was the land torn asunder,” Seline whispered, “The Calamity.” Sorrow, Levi thought, not anger.

  The air felt thick, as though it had been trapped in the Vieran Pass for eternity. There was something otherworldly about this place, and she felt she wanted to go home, wherever that was.

  As she took a step, her foot kicked something. She looked down, her heart pounding, and saw that it was a spear. A spear that for six hundred years lay next to its master, now a mixture of dust and bones. She wanted to scream, but she could not find a voice.