by Sean J Leith
She was the final scout to return to camp. Nothing strange had been reported by Felkar or Pali, who sat by the dwindling fire nearby. He feared her answer would echo Asheron’s words. Ignore what you hear, he said. After a strange moment of silence, Jirah knew he had to probe. “Is something else wrong?”
Alexandra’s eyes widened and she fumbled with her hammer haft. “People missing. Not much. Two, three.”
Like Asheron foretold.
Alex bit her lip and shifted her large feet nervously. She didn’t say much and was not well spoken, but had a good heart and spoke honest words. Jirah looked to the other camp members, unsure of what he should do. All of the members of your little camps will die, Asheron said to him. Each member of his army was as admirable as the next, all good men and women who fought for what they believed in. He didn’t want to let them die because of him. Asheron was a monster, but he was true to his word.
“What do we do?” Alex pushed, looking for advice.
Jirah had to choose. Damn it, this isn’t good. I can’t sacrifice my men and women for a possibly false alarm. “Nothing. It’s probably nothing. We don’t have time for it,” Jirah replied. His words could have possibly executed innocent lives. Either way, people would die.
Alex seemed concerned. “Okay,” she replied uneasily before walking to a large log surrounding the fire and sat beside Gorkith, who gave her a supportive look.
Jirah could feel the doubt emanating from them both. Jirah would usually attack a problem at the source at first notice. This was the first time he did the opposite. The rebellion’s movements made him nervous in recent days: his recruits were imprisoned, he’d lost contact with several scouts in the southern marshes, and the war wrought by the late king’s son, Kieran, neared the wall. Bracchus’s son is a strong warrior and talented leader, but I don’t know what he would do if he took Loughran for himself. Word reached Jirah that the Orinas Militia already took Ildenheim and Lothran, and cut around the jagged claw.
His old friend Richard was a powerful ally, and he trusted his judgment on being wary of Kieran. But when a war rages, there are always innocent casualties. I try my best to minimize them, but wars are indiscriminate.
Part of him knew he should send for Richard’s assistance. He considered an alliance with Orinas, but he knew the game would change when other nations got involved. He dared not ask Rawling, who half the time seemed to think politics all were just a silly game. At the same time, their wars benefitted Jirah greatly; when the armies fought on the front lines, he could save the innocents from behind the curtain. All that stood in his way were the hunters who thwarted him thus far: Asheron and Malakai. Jirah dreaded the choice he’d made. He only wished that he could save them all.
But in the end, someone always dies.
“To arms!” Serafina yelled from the treetop. The rebels drew their weapons, Jirah’s curved blade lit aflame as it left the sheath. The sounds of several sets of footsteps, cracking twigs, and the squishing of wet leaves closed in on the camp.
“Greeted with weapons in my face—feels like home,” a raspy female voice echoed from the path.
The rebels lowered their weapons curiously. Jirah sheathed his blade and ran to the five individuals that entered the camp. The head was a short, plain-faced woman with thick, messy hair and sharp amber eyes. Lira emerged from the path close behind, a hand on her neck.
Then came a massive man with blood-red eyes, horns, and pale skin, a fidgeting, mumbling old man, and a fiery, black-haired woman with bronze skin that he hadn’t seen in many years, and couldn’t believe grew so much. He knew it was Domika. Her fiery eyes told the tales of the past.
“You’re alive! Thank the gods,” Jirah said as he came to a halt.
“It’s been a long time, brother.” Domika said with a sweet smile. She meandered past him to the fire. Jirah was confused but not surprised, as he and Domika shared a complicated past. His mind shot back to that fateful time, forgetting that the others were even there. It was as if he was in the splintered wood home. Knife in-hand. Filled with hate. Fear. He freed his family. But it came with a cost. He had to run.
Jirah subtly wiped a tear from his eye before his gaze turned back to the group, eyeing each one carefully. He paced left and right in front of the remaining four.
“Are you going to talk to us and tell us what the hell happened, or just pace back and forth, forever lost in your own head?” the short, scar-faced woman hissed.
Jirah stopped dead before her. “You must be Miss Ralta.” He leaned in close to her. She was shorter than he was, with narrowed amber eyes, mousey hair thick and knotted, and a definite attitude problem. She had several scars on her face from fights, he was sure.
“You were sent here, were you not?” She got the information from someone, and she came from the north.
It had to be Richard. But why her?
Kayden’s face scrunched. “I wasn’t sent here by anyone,” she said irritably. Her eyes didn’t show any falsehood. Either he was wrong, or she was a very talented liar.
Jirah decided to give up on Kayden for now—he knew why she was there. He walked forward to the tall, slender, dark-skinned woman with broad, tired brown eyes and a joyful smile. “Miss Kaar, I’m happy to see you made it. Are you all right?” He smiled sweetly up at her. She was an innocent woman, wishing to help those who needed it, ever since the disappearance of her brother. And now, I might be responsible for him not being found.
“Yes, we’re all doing quite well. Even Kayden, despite her demeanor.” Kayden shot her a dirty eye, and Lira returned a sly smile.
“Good,” he said calmly, chuckling before moving on. He came to the huge half-Devil with a torso as broad as a tree and a chiseled broad jaw. Small horns emerged from his thick black hair. “I’m not sure I know your name. My name is Jirah, what would yours be?” Jirah asked politely.
“Magnus, sir,” he said bluntly. Jirah sensed something in his tone, unsure of what exactly. Magnus looked down to him with little reaction.
“Is it?” Jirah started. He took a lengthy glance into Magnus’ red eyes—as close as he could for a man of his stature. “Hmm,” he murmured. “All right then, Magnus. Nice to meet you.”
The others looked to both Jirah and Magnus curiously before he moved on to his final recruit. Vesper mumbled to himself awkwardly. His short grey hair was interwoven with bright whites, along with his thin beard.
“Ah, the magician!” Jirah began. “The famous Vesper, of the circus twelve—”
“Desist from mentioning that circus to me. I am no longer a part of it,” Vesper replied harshly.
Jirah drew back, feeling slightly awkward. “My apologies. I was unaware that things changed so much.” Jirah scratched his head. He wanted to pursue the subject further, but Vesper’s eyes told him to avoid pressing at all costs.
“Thank you,” Jirah finished. “That’s all I need for now.”
“That’s it?” Domika asked from behind. She pointed furiously at Kayden, who left the line to a leisurely lean against a tree with a smug smirk. “We aren’t going to talk about this?” She spoke in the Blazik tongue. “Someone could have betrayed us.”
“Someone could have betrayed us,” Kayden cut in with a mocking retort. “You can’t expect us all to not speak your language.”
Vesper pointed a finger in the air and swished it in a circle. “While you may not agree with his methods, we have to trust his instincts at this juncture. Tell me this, Miss Domika, how are we to discover the identity of this traitor? There is no evidence, no forms of witness.” He slowly moved his hands across his vision. “We must wait.”
“Thank you, Vesper,” Jirah said. He walked to the entrance of the camp and relaxed his shoulders. Not only did he have possible traitors in his force, but it already endangered a mission and almost killed his own sister.
He knew Asheron was clever and devious, and probably knew Asheron better than anyone. Worse yet, Asheron knew Jirah better than anyone.
The chance that he knew of one specific mission out of many was unlikely. But each member seemed honest and trustworthy, from his experience. Jirah glanced to the others in the camp. Alexandra and Gorkith sat under their overhang, talking quietly, while many others chatted by their steeds.
Serafina sat up in the jilani tree atop the flat, broad branches. She looked out over the nearby forest and picked at her fingernails. Her pale Rhaegan skin was barely visible in the night, accentuated by the outline of pale white hair. Her bright white eyes flashed back and forth, contrasting the pitch black of the rest of her people. That is, from what he’d heard. Rhaegans haven’t been seen on the surface since the column collapsed. Felkar was passed out cold by his small fire, snoring as loud as a bear’s roar. Pali’ah sat beside him, meditating.
Jirah had to return to the five’s update. He sat down, crossed his arms, and patiently listened to them tell the tale. From the attack, to their time in jail, to the cryptic words of the late King, it was all very peculiar. The information they received from Rogan’s manor was especially unsettling. They weren’t disappearances, but prisoners transported to Duerbin in the south.
Are they connected? Jirah wondered. Asheron told him to ignore the disappearances. He would ignore Solmarsh for now. He had to. Miss Kaar may be displeased, but my hands are tied. The prisoners were moved somewhere else after Deurbin for ‘special treatment.’ The vagueness of it frustrated him.
“I’m sorry to hear you had to go through all of that,” he said to Domika, Magnus, and Vesper. “We can’t take back what they did to you, but we can ensure others don’t have to suffer so.” The three of them had been tortured in their minds, and physically.
Jirah looked to Magnus’s armor, wondering how it could be conjured in such a way. It was battered and rust-covered, ill-fitting, and awkward. It not only didn’t seem special, but appeared to be a downgrade from any armor he’d seen. If he sent Magnus to battle in it, he would essentially be giving him an order to die. He seemed strangely enamored with the shoddy suit of armor.
“We can’t take back what happened, nor can we yet determine who set you up. The appearance of the King is strange, but it is not abnormal for a spirit to roam their old homes. Time will tell.” Jirah attempted to be rational. He hardly believed in the power of deities, not ever giving them much regard.
Deeds and actions proved one’s worth, and all deities who mattered regarded that as enough. What happened was not enough to determine anything definitive, and thus they had to continue on their current path.
“All right. Let’s prepare some food and speak about some new mission options if you’re still willing to stay.” Jirah said, unsure of how they’d take it. “You’ll be going as the same team.”
Kayden frowned. “I’d rather work alone,” she spat. “I don’t need the others dragging me down.”
“Well, around here we work on teams unless we’re scouting. Can you handle that, Miss Ralta?” he responded sternly. “If you fall, it’s your team who picks you up.”
Kayden crossed her arms in a huff and rolled her eyes. “Fine. But I don’t like working with others. They slow me down and mess it up. I don’t need them. If they get me jailed again, I’m not coming back.” She received a few irritated glances from the others before Jirah continued.
He wouldn’t send them to Deurbin, not yet. It felt too involved in Asheron’s plans. He needed to send a scout first before a strike party. If Asheron hadn’t showed up, they would have had a perfect mission. He felt responsible for it going awry, especially Miggen Latrang’s death. He was a good kid and, while young, he was brave, and helpful to any who needed it.
He gave the group a few options, and they picked a couple that caught their eyes. Lira kept quiet, and the others picked one in Wyrwood to gather information after being denied Deurbin.
In time I may have to send them to Deurbin. They would leave after a few days, taking time to rest. Vesper took his sandals off to rub his feet, which were somewhat blistered and calloused. Kayden took one of the logs and leaned it up against a thick tree, closing her eyes. Magnus sat quietly beside the fire with Domika, who leaned in close.
Jirah rubbed his forehead. He hadn’t been this exhausted in years. Ever since they were set up, he attempted to give his soldiers orders personally. Gorkith traveled to some of the other camps, but only to delegate missions that were less critical.
Most of his forces were in the northern and eastern regions of Loughran, liberating towns from state soldiers.
Asheron gave him terms. He didn’t even speak of the towns where Jirah’s forces lay, but of disappearances—Deurbin simply had arrests, but for further transportation. He hoped they weren’t connected, so that his pact may not be broken.
How dare Asheron call me an animal. He was always high and mighty on his orders, but Jirah never put orders before innocent lives. When citizens began resisting the conscriptions and the taxes, they were only met with force. He and Asheron were ordered to take the men, take their families, and imprison those who couldn’t fight. Hundreds of them. Jirah followed orders for a time—but when he was ordered to burn a town, he left Asheron along with their force that day. Fillion never deserved the crown.
I would rather be a traitor than a murderer of innocents. If only he could have a chance at fighting Asheron himself—then he could right the wrongs of the past. Some of them. I still chose my men over Lira’s people—if that’s what Asheron spoke of.
Jirah looked over to the entrance to Wolf camp, where Lira sat alone on a rock, huddled in close. Jirah sauntered over to assess any concerns. “Is anything wrong, Miss Kaar?” He crouched down to her level.
“I’m okay, I suppose,” she said weakly, eyes set on the path.
“I didn’t want this to be your first impression of what we do. It must have been a difficult experience for you.”
“It’s not that—I knew there were dangers when I signed up. I may not be skilled in combat, but I understood the consequences. Just because I’m not adjusted to this doesn’t mean I’m going to roll over and give up.” She rubbed her crossed arms and curled her toes now free from a pair of soft wood sandals.
“What is bothering you then? Are you reconsidering?”
A tear streamed down her left cheek as a ray of sun peeked through the clouds, causing her dark copper-brown skin to glow. “I’m staying. I’m going to help those in need, but—” Lira turned and looked into Jirah’s eyes. “I know we chose to go to Wyrwood. But I don’t want to,” she said. “I need to find my brother.”
Jirah knew what she wanted. Ashweon’s warning loomed. “Wyrwood may yield more information.” That may be true, but he wished to avoid direct interference.
“I want to go to Deurbin. The notes in Lord Rogan’s office said that’s where prisoners were going. I can’t stand by and ignore that. I have to go,” Lira said resolutely.
“Miss Kaar, I’m don’t believe that’s a good idea.”
Turning her head slowly toward him, her soft gaze grew sharp. “Why? We need to figure out what’s happening. That’s why I joined. I must know.”
Jirah crossed his arms and stood up. He tried to divert the topic. Brother or no, my men’s lives could be on the line. “We need more information. I can’t send you there without finding out more.”
Bit by bit, Lira rose to her feet, towering over Jirah by over half a foot. “People could be dying.” After a brief stare between them, she spoke in a quiet, but passionate tone. “Isn’t that what we’re doing? Trying to help people?”
The mouse challenged the cat, it seemed.
But the hound still loomed over him.
“Do not test me, Miss Kaar,” Jirah commanded. “This is a sensitive operation.” He glanced behind him, seeing the rest in the camp silent, staring at them.
She shook her head. “I’m not testing. I’m asking. Let me go.”
He sensed she was not a dominant personality, but her goal was clear.
They’re arrests, not disappearances. Jirah
pondered the risk. It could cause a rift with Asheron. Preparations had to be made. Jirah felt the silence and the stares behind him, waiting for his answer. He felt going to Deurbin was a dangerous task. Not for them, but for him—and the other camps.
“You would go alone?” Jirah asked, knowing she couldn’t.
After a nervous breath, she said, “If I had to, I would. I would take the others, too.” Lira gazed over his shoulder to the others.
Jirah saw something in her eyes. It wasn’t fear or worry—it was resolve.
“She’s right. That’s what the notes said.” Kayden walked up beside them. She slapped a hand on Lira’s bony shoulder, causing the much taller woman to flinch. “I got you, princess.”
Lira responded to Kayden’s support with a smile. Turning back to Jirah, she said, “We’ll be careful. I promise.”
Kayden cut in after. “We’re going. We will make better time going straight there than waiting around looking for information somewhere weeks in another direction.” She headed back to her bags and began to check her belongings.
The crunch of leaves echoed from the clearing. “Incoming!” Sera yelled in a panic, but not fast enough.
A smooth, yet lightly graveled voice called throughout the camp. “I’m simply here to report; not to worry.”
From the path emerged one crimson-armored man with a black cloak that bore the scroll on the field of fiery orange.
With a deep, graceful bow, the Blood Knight, Malakai, entered the clearing. Alone.
The scape of steel echoed throughout the camp, followed by a silence riddled with tension that could break a mountain.
“I’d like to have a chat,” the Blood Knight said.
