Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  After several minutes waiting in silence, the dark forms of Cynmeren marching with spiked oars began to appear through the morning fog. Wyand quickly realized something different was happening this time, though—instead of immediately resuming the push west when the unmounted Cynmeren caught up to the scrid, the entire force seemed to be waiting for something. From several strides in front of him, Wyand heard Eyrie issue the command to lower the transport cages to the ground. He echoed the command for his scrid, but was very confused. It was only mid-morning, and even after almost an entire day of travel counting the hours from the day before, the Cynmeren were still deep in the forests of the Eastern Hills. We just got started for the day; they can’t be making camp yet! Wyand thought incredulously.

  As soon as the cage touched down, Halwen hurriedly began shuffling out of its confines. Wyand climbed off of the scrid, patting its back reassuringly before offering his hand to Halwen. “Thank you,” she whispered, then she glanced around at the motionless crowd. “Why did we stop?”

  “I’m not sure,” Wyand replied just as Eyrie and Ryna walked over to them. “Why did we stop, Eyrie?”

  “There is water at the base of this hill, though it was swarming with haugaeldr the last time a Watch came through here. We’ve avoided it ever since,” Eyrie explained quietly.

  “So, why stop here at all?” Ryna wondered.

  “If this was just a lake run, we wouldn’t. As we push closer to the Plateau Desert, though, resources will become more and more scarce. We need to cleanse any water source we find that has a minimal number of haugaeldr and then leave a small group of fighters behind to protect it. That way, if the main force needs more water once they move into the desert, they will know this is a safe resupply location that’s much closer to them than Cynmere. The cleansing process could take a while, so for now we wait.”

  “I thought the idea was to push across the desert as fast as possible,” Wyand said. “This feels slow and awkward.”

  “I agree completely, and I find myself struggling to be patient too, at times,” Eyrie nodded. “It is still our plan to push into the desert quickly, but we need to remember that this is not just a simple raid. This is the largest force Cynmere has ever mobilized, and we need to move carefully. If the Smokedwellers are waiting for us when we reach the Plateau Desert, the fight could prove to be…lengthy…so we need plans in place to support an extended time away from Cynmere.”

  Wyand understood the logic of what Eyrie said, but he knew that also unfortunately meant the group’s painfully slow progress would continue without improvement. Looking back to the unmounted force of Cynmeren, Wyand suddenly noticed a string of people proceeding towards the base of the hill and, presumably, the unseen water source. They all carried large bags and appeared to be armed with small knives instead of the typical spiked oars. “Who are they?” he asked.

  Eyrie’s expression grew pained for an instant before she spoke. “They are the survivors of the attack on Cynmere who fell victim to the haugaeldr’s sting. Since the creatures pose no threat to them now, these people will inspect the pool ahead and harvest any haugaeldr they encounter. They’ll perform this task for as long as they can.” Wyand was stunned as he attempted to count how many Cynmeren were part of this doomed group; even without including those who had already passed out of sight, there were at least fifty men and women marching towards the water source.

  “Then what will happen to them?” Halwen asked. She had a look of both admiration and horror as she watched the last of the infested Cynmeren disappear into the trees and fog.

  “When the pain is too great, it will be time for them to light the death fires. They will sacrifice themselves and end the threat of the haugaeldr they carry inside them.” Eyrie’s words were simple, but the concept they conveyed bore an incredible weight. Wyand’s vision blurred with tears when he remembered the look of pain on Celina’s face as her eyes pleaded silently for death; all the infested Cynmeren would face the same end within the span of the next day. Ryna scowled at the ground—even though she hadn’t caused the attack on Cynmere, Wyand could tell the hatred she had for the haugaeldr was only exceeded by the guilty anger she felt towards herself. Halwen’s face paled as she bent forward to avoid being sick.

  No one spoke for several minutes, then a stirring of motion among the scrid caught Wyand’s attention. The riders closest to the water source were returning to their mounts and retrieving the transport cages. “Come on,” Eyrie said. “This is either a very good sign or a very bad one. Whichever it is, we need to be ready to move.” There was no argument from Wyand, Ryna, or Halwen as the three of them returned to the waiting scrid. By the time Wyand had the tusk ropes in his hands, the group of infested Cynmeren was walking past with more than a dozen bags bulging with haugaeldr carcasses. Wyand shivered when he thought about being that close to so many of the creatures without fearing their touch.

  In little more than a hundred strides, the ground dipped sharply and led to a small pool at the foot of one of the hills. As Wyand rode past, he was surprised by the relief that came from knowing there were no haugaeldr hidden beneath the water or in the surrounding mud; after witnessing the horrors of the Lake of Skulls, it was easy to be nervous around unknown bodies of water. Eyrie’s explanation of the importance of securing these locations suddenly made much more sense.

  The morning hours slipped slowly into midday as the Cynmeren force wove its way through the Eastern Hills. Each time water was discovered, the process of waiting for it to be cleansed was repeated; Wyand soon fell into the rhythm well enough that he was able to issue the commands to stop the scrid and lower the cage without any conscious thought. He was staring blankly into the grey sky overhead during one such pause when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he turned to find Eyrie looking at him expectantly.

  “Well?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Well….what?” Wyand asked hesitantly, then he winced as Eyrie rolled her eyes in exasperation. That was clearly not the way to admit that I didn’t hear what she said, he scolded himself.

  Eyrie’s demeanor instantly became more rigid than usual. “Stay focused, Wyand—your distraction could be the enemy’s next handhold. This isn’t a training environment, so that means every action will have real consequences. Now, since you didn’t hear me the first time, I said the Sentinels just made contact with one of the nearby Distant Watch camps. The Voice of War is asking for you to go with her to meet the Watch Leader of this camp. I suggest you hurry.”

  Wyand nodded and leapt back onto the scrid, then a thought struck him. “What about Halwen?” he whispered loudly.

  “We’re all going to the same place, so she’s fine where she is,” Eyrie replied as she walked to Wyand’s side; then, to his surprise, she took his hand and smiled at him with what looked like pride. “I forget sometimes that this is all new to you; forgive me for that. Just understand that these people all see you as a hero, whether you want to believe that or not. You brought them something that no one, in all of Cynmere’s generations, has ever had: real, tangible proof that what we believe is the truth. More important than that, though, is that you’ve given them hope, and that is a powerful weapon in a fight of this magnitude. It’s time for you to do something significant, Wyand. Now, go earn the respect they already have for you. Become the hero they need.”

  Wyand watched Eyrie in speechless fascination as she returned to her scrid. She glanced back once and laughed to herself silently—she had caught him looking at her again, but Wyand didn’t care anymore. Her words stirred his emotions, ranging from excitement to apprehension and doubt, but more than anything else, Wyand felt a reinforced sense of purpose. I’m no hero, he reasoned, but I’ll do whatever it takes to share the truth.

  “She said to hurry, if I remember correctly, hero,” Halwen said quietly from the cage beneath the scrid. Even though it was difficult for Wyand to hear her soft voice, the sarcasm was easy to distinguish.

  “Yes, she did,” Wyand
admitted with a smile, then he sent the scrid bounding up the nearest tree without warning. A muffled scream from the cage below brought an even larger smile to his face, but he decided Halwen had endured enough when she started coughing from struggling to breathe through her robe. The animal slowed at his command, and Wyand spotted Tilia atop her own scrid a few dozen strides away. For the first time, Wyand didn’t try to ignore the Cynmeren’s stares or feel embarrassed by them as he passed; instead, he studied each person and was amazed to find admiration on almost every face. Even the oldest, scarred Bloodbrothers greeted him with reassuring nods. Change is upon us, Fadian’s voice thundered in Wyand’s thoughts.

  Bloodsister Tilia turned away from the two riders she was speaking with when she heard Wyand’s scrid descend from the trees. Even seated atop the scrid, Tilia was still much shorter than Wyand, but her air of calm focus marked her clearly as the leader of this enormous group despite her stature. “The Watch Leader is waiting for us,” she said without a trace of irritation, but Wyand noted a dangerous glint in Tilia’s eyes as she spoke. Though she was outwardly calm, Wyand hoped he would never learn the consequences of truly angering the Voice of War.

  At Tilia’s command, the Cynmeren force began its march towards the Distant Watch camp. Wyand rode by her side and tried to emulate the Voice of War’s mannerisms without seeming to mock her—if he was supposed to be viewed as a leader, he knew there was no better person to imitate than Tilia. They moved silently through the trees and brush until a steep drop appeared directly in front of them. Beyond the cliff, a wide valley extended between hills to the north and south. Without hesitation, Tilia directed her scrid over the edge of the precipice and disappeared. Wyand took a deep breath and followed her lead.

  Leaning forward awkwardly and held in place only by a few thin binding cords, Wyand felt a moment of panic as he looked at the rocks and trees approaching from far below. Then the scrid picked up speed, and the exhilaration that came with the feeling of being weightless instantly overpowered his fear. He stifled a laugh as the creature deftly scrambled down into the valley below, its dozens of legs nothing more than a blur as it moved. When he at last reached the ground again, Wyand was both relieved and disappointed that the descent was over so quickly.

  “If you smile like that every time we go over a cliff, people will know you haven’t been a Bloodbrother for long,” Tilia advised him with a look of mild annoyance. Embarrassed by his own inexperience, Wyand’s face instantly became somber, although the red in his cheeks betrayed his concealed shame. After passing through another hundred strides of dense forest, the trees ended at a narrow field in the base of the valley. A trickle of water barely large enough to call a stream wove through the grass from the northern edge of the field to the southern. As Wyand studied the area, he realized there were several people standing in the far tree line, all wearing Sreathan plate with Watch helmets, and all monitoring the movements of the force from Cynmere with keen interest.

  Tilia issued the command to halt just before the scrid stepped past the confines of the forest. She dismounted and motioned for the rest of the group to do the same, all while keeping her eyes fixed on the Distant Watch. Wyand was confused—if these people were Cynmeren too, what was the reason for approaching them with such wariness? He rotated Halwen’s cage to the ground and stepped off of the scrid to stand with the Voice of War. “Do not present the Thoughtcaster or the Stormheart until I tell you to do so,” Tilia instructed. “Being so close to Cynmere, this should be a reasonable group,” she added softly; the note of uncertainty in her words made Wyand even more uneasy, though.

  As he brushed through the waist-high grass with Tilia, Wyand was surprised to find that the rest of the force from Cynmere remained behind him, safely concealed within the forest. Fear gripped him as soon as he realized what was happening, but he quickly controlled his panic—something about Tilia’s posture and focus warned him that now was not a time for showing weakness. Forcing his eyes to remain forward, Wyand watched as one of the men from the Distant Watch stepped out of the tree line and moved silently through the grass towards him. This must be the Watch Leader, he thought.

  “What brings the Voice of War to our camp?” the man asked, his voice distorted by the Watch helmet.

  Tilia paused, her head tilted to the side. “Gasric?” she said incredulously. The Watch Leader slipped the haugaeldr carcass off of his head and shook free his long, greying black hair. He stared at Tilia with tired eyes, but Wyand could see that there was familiarity in them as well. “It is you,” Tilia breathed, then she visibly relaxed. “I haven’t seen you in…ten turnings at least.”

  “Thirteen,” the old man said quietly. “I made my choice to leave Cynmere long ago. Why have you chosen now to do the same, Bloodsister?”

  Tilia sighed. “We were foolish to think we could hide forever; that time has passed. War approaches, Gasric, and I intend to face it as far from Cynmere as possible.”

  Gasric nodded in thought. “We’ve encountered the Smokedwellers in the Eastern Hills several times over the past few days. They strike at us without reason; many of our brothers and sisters are dead. At first, I didn’t understand what had inspired such violence, but when the column of smoke appeared over Cynmere, I feared the worst. How bad is it?”

  “They know Cynmere’s location,” the Voice of War admitted and Gasric winced. “The attack that caused the fires was minimal, though, compared to what’s coming. That’s why we’re here, Bloodbrother.”

  “If you’re looking for more people to throw senselessly at Dism Slyde, look elsewhere,” Gasric grumbled. “The Distant Watch has lost enough in recent days. We need time to recover, especially if there is a threat of a mass attack by the Smokedwellers.” He stared blankly at the remnants of the smoke cloud over Cynmere before shaking his head sadly.

  “I agree,” Tilia replied, then she stepped closer to the old Bloodbrother. “Would you say your people lack hope, Gasric?”

  “Hope?” Gasric scoffed. “Hope is a comfort reserved for those who believe tomorrow is a certainty. My people lack food, water, shelter: these are the things we seek each day. Hope is unknown to us.”

  “Allow me to change that,” Tilia said with a mysterious smile, then she nodded for Wyand to step forward and present the relics. “This is Bloodbrother Wyand. He has a gift for you, Gasric.” Gasric’s brow lifted when he saw the Thoughtcaster, but furrowed with confusion a moment later when he noticed the stone in Wyand’s other hand.

  “It will all make sense,” Wyand reassured him. “Take these and then brace yourself—the first linkage can be painful for some.” Still uncertain what was happening, Gasric watched Tilia carefully as he took hold of the Thoughtcaster. He examined the device, then reached for the Stormheart. Wyand closed his eyes just before the blinding flash was released from the stone; since most people fell to the ground after the first usage of the Thoughtcaster, Wyand moved instinctively behind Gasric to catch the old man as necessary. He had just enough time to extend his arms before Gasric toppled backwards as expected. The Watch Leader shook violently, his long, dark hair brushing the dirt at Wyand’s feet. Amid the commotion, Wyand heard Tilia breathe in sharply.

  “Old Ones preserve us. They think we’ve killed him,” Tilia muttered under her breath, and Wyand followed her gaze as she surveyed the far wood line. At least twenty members of the Distant Watch swept into the tall grass, their spiked oars lowered threateningly as they charged forward. The Voice of War raised her hands in a gesture of apology, but the Distant Watch ignored her completely. To Wyand’s relief, Gasric gasped and leapt to his feet. The Distant Watch slowed, but they still congregated around Tilia and Wyand with the points of their oars at a dangerously low angle.

  “Be at peace, all of you,” Watch Leader Gasric commanded between breaths, and the Distant Watch reluctantly lifted their weapons upright. Although their faces were concealed by the yellow helmets, the tilt of their heads conveyed profound confusion. Gasric caught his breath an
d stared at the ground in shock. “All this time, we’ve fought based on faith alone,” he whispered. “Now we have proof.” He remained dazed for a short time, then he suddenly took notice of the other members of the Distant Watch who stood around him. “You must witness this!” Gasric said emphatically as he pulled Wyand’s hands towards one of the Watch members. The man reached hesitantly for the Thoughtcaster and then took hold of the Stormheart. In an instant, a flash of blue covered every blade of grass for twenty strides.

  One by one, the members of the Gasric’s Watch accessed the Thoughtcaster. Within minutes, they all had removed their helmets and regarded Wyand and Tilia with looks of gratitude and wonder. Men and women, young and old, all were revitalized by the truth they now shared. “Our fight has been one of quiet desperation, until now,” Gasric explained. “The Distant Watch faces two enemies: the spoken, which we find in the Smokedwellers, and the unspoken, which we find in the gradual fracturing of our people into smaller and smaller groups. With what you’ve shared with us today, I am confident we can now defeat both enemies through unification.” Gasric gripped the Voice of War’s shoulder gratefully. “Your forces are welcome here, Tilia; forgive me for not receiving you in a kinder fashion.”

  “Your caution is understood and expected, Brother,” Tilia replied with a nod. “I appreciate your generosity; it was never my intent to occupy this camp, though. Our destination lies much farther to the west. I will leave some of my people here to help you fortify this location, but we must continue to press towards the Plateau Desert while we still can.”

  “What about the other Distant Watch camps? They must know this truth!” Gasric exclaimed.

  “There’s no time,” Tilia said sadly. “We will share the Thoughtcaster with any camps we encounter on our way to the desert, but we must get there quickly to hold the Smokedwellers back.”