“What did you do?” whispered Alec, but Oren didn’t listen, didn’t want to.
Only a shout of a familiar voice made him snap back to reality. Rin shouted from behind the guards.
“You simple little brat, I will fucking end you!” he screamed as he saw what happened. The old man rushed towards him. Alec tried to defend Oren, but the two guards attacked him.
The rest of the caravan watched from afar. They had no need for Nika, and no love for him either; all they cared for were their own lives. Oren couldn’t blame them.
For a man of considerate age, Rin was quick on his feet and avoided Oren’s broad attacks far too easily. He ducked under his blade and slashed with his leaving a cut all across Oren’s chest. It hurt more than anything he’s felt before, burned and itched. Soon he felt his blood running down, his heartbeat accelerated.
Their swords clashed. Oren managed to parry! Anticipating Rin’s next move, he moved to the side. The old man fell into his trap and attacked from below. As Rin’s blade flew upward, just beside Oren’s face, he ducked and rushed towards Rin.
Oren’s sword was buried deep in his chest before he could stop his swing. With blood gushing out of his mouth Rin fell onto the soft grass. He said something, but Oren couldn’t make out what.
His attention then turned to the two guards fighting Alec, who was able to defend himself, for the short while, but landed not a single hit on either of them.
As the two brutes saw Rin on the ground, they ceased their attacks and threw their swords to the ground. “They paid us,” one of them said in response to Alec’s look of disbelief. “We’ll take what they owe us and fuck off, sounds good?” Alec shook his head. The two guards picked up their swords and headed for Nika’s cart.
Heavily breathing, Alec walked to one of the carts, the people of the caravan avoided him. He tore a small piece of leather and threw it to Oren. “Here,” he said. “Clean your sword.”
For a moment too long, Oren looked at it. It was dark, rough, and with no value. Was death really this insignificant? Something he could just wipe away? They were bad men, Nika, and Rin; that belief was all he had to keep himself sane.
Often he dreamt of killing a man, winning a fight, and enjoying the glory. Yet he didn’t feel like a victor, there was no glory to be had. It was dirty, it smelled terrible and felt even worst.
Thoroughly he wiped the blade and threw the cloth on the ground. Then he sheat his sword and once again looked at the two bodies soaking the soil with blood.
“Snap out of it!” shouted Alec.
“I’m going back,” Oren replied.
The smirk on Alec’s face was as revolting as the smell of blood. “Is it because of the girl? She’s long gone, the imps would have taken her far.” He touched his shoulder. “Come with me, help us restore Beria to what it once was.”
Defeated, he agreed, under one condition, with which Alec reluctantly agreed, once they are done, he will help him find Efri.
A Seal of Power
Upon leaving the rebels’ hideout, Efri, Vikar, and Morael were met by a small army of men. They all had a crest on their breastplate, but not one Efri was used to. Instead of the white lion of Istra, their armor was decorated with the mighty imperial phoenix.
They were soldiers from the capital. Even in Beria, that city was a legend. Some said over two five million people lived there, under the sky-reaching white towers. While most of Efri’s people hated the Empire, its capital was the one thing they agreed on and even wished to see. She was no exception.
The soldiers welcomed Vikar and Morael with joy, but it was shortlived. With a commanding voice, the prince called for the soldiers’ commander.
A man in shining armor ran to them. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he almost shouted and knelt before them.
“Search through the caves. The network seems to sprawl far. There is a caravan nearby. I want it to be stopped, and the people thoroughly inspected. Keep the area on lockdown. Close the road.”
The commander nodded and walked away while shouting at the men their orders.
The three of them made their way through the crowd of iron and steel and finally were outside. There, separate from the rest of the army, waited a group of six riders. All clothed in vermillion red, their eyes covered with a black blindfold. Efri’s heart skipped a beat seeing them; they were like knights that rode in from a nightmare.
As they saw them approaching, they jumped down from their horses and knelt, but said not a single word.
“Get up, we’re leaving,” commanded Morael, his eyes looking towards one of the horses. All six of them stood up, and only then Efri noticed. Their eyes were covered by a black blindfold.
Right as Morael lifted A'stri on his horse, and then himself, he called for a third one, so Efri can ride alone. A soldier soon came running with a beautiful brown horse. She gently touched its head. Its skin was soft, and the animal looked at her happily. Unlike the horses in Beria, it was calm. With ease, she jumped up, and they were ready to go.
“First we stop in Natind, only for the night. Horses need to rest as much as we do,” said Morael. “From then on, we continue to Istra, where we will rest and tend to A'stri major wounds. Also, of course, I will command the release of Efri’s parents, as I promised. Afterward, we will travel to Sesteria.” He looked to Efri. “What you will do, we shall decide later.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you.”
“When we got to Natind,” Morael looked at his guards, “I want you to behave normally. Do not dare to cause any panic!”
With it, all settled they set out to Natind.
It took a while for them to traverse through the forests and get back to the old road. On it, they could ride with speed, hopefully reaching Natind come sundown.
In the distance, Efri noticed the caravan, now surrounded by the imperial soldiers. She wondered if it were the same ones Morael gave the order before.
Morael rode in the center, surrounded by the guards clothed in red, while she rode beside Vikar.
Looking at the archon, she could not see the monsters others did, she tried to, but she was unable to bring herself to it. “Who are they?” she asked to strike up a conversation with him.
“The crown guard. Seems emperor Alric saw it necessary to send them with Mori.”
Her eyes were glued to him for a moment too long for comfort. It was his voice that kept her so enamored by him. “How did they capture you?”
Vikar’s expression fell, and he looked to her. “Got ambushed, their spells nullified my powers.” He shrugged.
Too well, she knew he was lying. Not once during the trial he even flinched, worried for his life. “I may be Berian, but I’m not stupid.”
Vikar chuckled, hearing her stern attitude. “My apologies,” he said. “Still, it is partially true. Their ambush worked, and my power was nullified, but the chains and runes have a limit, like a closed-door, if you push hard enough eventually it will budge.”
“You let it happen, why?”
With a shrug and a look to the sky, he answered, “I knew they weren’t a threat, not a real one. Most forgot about them, so did I almost; it was time to end their little rebellion. I wanted to watch.”
“So you knew about them?”
“Yes. That’s why we pretty much closed the old road. We knew since the war ended.”
Efri looked at him, shocked, befuddled. “Why?”
“After the war ended, Beria was not in a good place, and what helps more than a good story, one that brings people hope. Sometimes people need to believe in something so improbable to get them through hardship. With our victory, many saw it as a sign that the gods abandoned them.
“Of course, we could have gotten rid of them, but then they would die martyrs and be remembered as the heroes that opposed the mighty evil empire. In time people forgot about them, and now they are gone.”
He looked at her, his smile fell. “Was that truly what you wished to ask me?”
She shook
her head. “What was your punishment?” Ever since she heard the prince say Vikar was punished, she wondered, often even tried to imagine, just what kind of punishment he suffered to still walk as a free man, archon no less.
“To understand that, first let me tell you how the war began. See Beria and the Empire were neighbors for hundreds of years. Our people traded and prospered together. Yet king Anri and emperor Alric wished to see our people truly united. As such, they proposed to have Beria enter the Empire as a region, willingly and without bloodshed.”
Hearing his words, she wished not to believe them, yet in his eyes, she saw sincerity. All her life, she heard nothing but hatred about the man, battled her own wishes to see him die, and when he is riding beside her, she was unable to muster that same hatred.
“Before their dream could come to fruition, king Anri was killed,” Vikar continued, “and his twelve-year-old son was crowned as the new ruler. The border closed, our people were forced out and any chance of our nations coming together was lost.
“The war began when the family of our ambassador was delivered to Istra. Mutilated corpses of a loyal man, his wife, and three children. The Emperor took it as a sign of war, it angered him, and so our legions marched on the city.”
“Not true,” Morael shouted and rode closer to them “It wasn’t corpses that were delivered that day. A cart rode into Istra, on it a crate of their heads and bags of the rest of them. I was there when they were presented to father. He was hurt by it, but not angry.” The prince sighed. Even when sadness ruled his expression, his eyes glistened with gold.
“Something else fueled father’s rage. One of the ambassador’s boys was of my age. Written in his skull was a threat. ‘Little Morael will be next,’ it said.” He shook his head. “That’s what angered father the most. A threat against my life.”
Vikar looked at him with an open mouth. “You never told me!”
“There is a reason we don’t speak of Beria, don’t you remember?” With a roll of his eyes, the prince rejoined the crown guard.
Efri did not want to believe a word of what they said, but she was given little choice. Not once in her life, she has even been close to either of the two Berian kings. “I am sorry.” Her mouth was so dry; she hoped they will arrive soon. “If all of this is true, then the king was an evil man.”
“Not evil,” Vikar scuffed. “He was young, grew up in pleasures that very few even dream of. The previous king never raised him to rule, he raised him to be nothing really. Anri wasn’t a man that wished the best for Beria or his son. Ruling without magic requires so many to be on your side, it’s difficult and tiring. Anri cared for himself, to continue living in luxury, surrounded by wealth, with none of the duties.”
“What happened to his son?” Efri inquired. “Did you kill him?”
He shook his head. “No. I do not know where he is. He was the only one we couldn’t find.”
“Will, you then tell me what was the punishment?”
Before he answered the eyes of prince Morael, gazed upon them both. “Ask him,” he said. “When we get to Natind, he can tell you better than I.”
“Why him?”
“He was the one who thought of it. In a way, it was a punishment in and of itself. Your best friend putting you on trial.”
Flabbergasted, she looked at them both. “What do you mean by ‘put on trial’? Was he the one who, I don’t know how to say it.”
“I was arrested on his command and put in front of an imperial tribunal also on his command. He was my defendant in the proceedings, do not worry, many were confused, but in the end, they devised a punishment appropriate. As I said, he can tell you more.”
Efri had nothing to say; she was concerned it was all a jest, but neither of them seemed to be joking. “You’re lying,” she said bluntly. The eye of them both looked at her. “It’s not that the prince knows more, you were the one punished, you know the most. You’re avoiding talking about it.” In the corner of her eye, she saw the prince smirk and hide his laughter.
“Yes.” Without a word more, Vikar rode up ahead, leaving her and Morael behind.
Soon they saw the northern gate of Natind before them. Vikar, who never rejoined the party, waited beside it. “Had it open for you!” he shouted as they got close.
In silence the continued into the town, it was quiet, one of the smallest in the Empire, Morael said. Surrounded by a tall palisade, flying the Isterian lion and Imperial phoenix, it proudly showed its allegiances.
There was no hiding their identities. Both Vikar and Morael were known all around the world.
Riding through the town was different than Efri expected. No preying eyes, no shouting, and the streets were of stone and kept clean. The smell was a mix of many things, but sewage not one of them. It could not be clearer - she was far from home.
As they rode to the tavern, the smell of food reached Efri’s nose. They gave their horses’ reins to a waiting stablemaster, who would not dare look upon Morael.
With haste, Efri ran to the door. She noticed small bits of paint washed away by rain. “Come on!” she shouted at her two royal companions. Vikar, who carried A'stri in his arms, looked at her unamused.
She opened the door and saw the most exquisite tavern ever. Clean of vomit and other bodily fluids, no food thrown on the ground, drinks spilled, and, most importantly, no terrible music.
The smell of food and beer, of people smoking their precious leaves, talking with each other. A feeling of warmth washed over her, it was like coming home.
Expecting the chatter to stop as her companions enter, she hid away by a wooden pillar, but Morael and Vikar walking through, accompanied by two of the guards, was almost of no concern. They were, however, noticed by the innkeeper. He was an old man with a bushy beard.
He scurried to them. “My most honorable guests, I must apologize the room is not yet ready. We were not told that you shall be coming until it was too late. If I may beg for only a smidgen of patience.”
Morael laughed. “No worries. It is us who should be apologizing for not letting you know of our arrival in a timely manner. If it is all right we’d eat and then depart to our room.” The innkeeper’s eyes lit up, and he gladly agreed.
At first, he suggested a table in the far end of the tavern, but Morael eyed one near the staircase, hiding well in a corner. With pleasure, the innkeeper accommodated them; he even cleaned the table by spilling and wiping off a strange blue liquid.
Efri was more than excited, her stomach was growling for the past half hour, demanding food. “I will bring out the best we have. No need to order,” said the innkeeper, bowed, and ran to the kitchen.
“Make sure he is compensated dozen times as much,” Morael told to one of his guards. “And get out. We don’t need you here, scaring the others.” The blindfolded guard nodded, and all six of them rushed out of the tavern.
Vikar was about to say something, but just then, a silent voice, almost a whisper, reached their ears. “Thank you.” It was A'stri, her voice like a beautiful song. “I am sorry for not speaking. It is difficult, but the rest will help.”
“The food may too,” suggested Morael. “I heard their beer can really give you your strength back.”
“I do not need to eat much,” she said. “If you had a power crystal, it would be better.”
Morael and Vikar looked at each other. “What is a power crystal?” Morael inquired.
“A source of magical power. I need it to live.” Morael looked around and then placed two of his fingers on her forehead. “Is that a greeting?” she asked.
“No.” From below his finger came a shimmer of crimson-gold light. A'stri eyes lit up verdant green.
Once Morael took his fingers away, all three looked at A'stri in anticipation. She laughed. “That was a joke,” she said louder. “I know it’s not a greeting.” Her smile was sweeter than sugar itself. “Thank you.”
While they all had many questions of A’stri’s origin and what happened to her, t
he food the innkeeper and his wife brought looked too tasty to resist. “Let’s talk after we eat!” Efri said excited, looking at the sight before her. There was pork, sausages, bread white and dark, cheese of four types at the very least, four pots of soup, and finally a roasted chicken with potatoes. Efri’s hands were shaking. She grabbed the knife and fork and started filling her plate.
The innkeeper soon brought drinks, a bottle of wine, and four tankards of beer. Efri grabbed one, her mouth full, and continued eating. Bite of a sausage, sip of ale, a piece of a chicken, a bit of cheese to add flavor. It all tasted so good, but it could taste better if only three pairs of eyes were not watching her. “Why are you not eating?” she asked them with a full mouth.
Morael shrugged and looked to Vikar, who seemed to be confused by what was before him.
“I am hungry!” announced A'stri and started filling her plate. First, she bit into a juicy sausage, her eyes exploded with joy as the juices reached her tongue.
“Is there no cutlery?” Vikar whispered to Efri.
“Cutlery?” She laughed with a mouth full of chicken. “Knife, fork, and your hands!”
So with reservations, both the Archon of Istra and Crown Prince of the Empire began eating.
“I’m sorry,” muttered Vikar some while later. “For what I did.”
Efri looked at him, surprised. “That’s good.”
“It was chaos,” he began speaking, “you saw it from the other side, but the stockpiles were empty. The farmland of the peninsula was dead. Beria’s council, the people who ruled, using Anri’s son as a puppet, they ordered it. No food for anyone.”
“There was food, I remember that,” Efri objected.
Vikar grimaced. “True. The reason why there was the food was what I did. I killed the unneeded. Those without a home, beggars, the criminals of birth high and low.”
“Orphans.” Even so, many years later, she vividly remembered finding Oren, bloodied, and hungry on the streets.
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