Battle of Mythics

by Damon Glatz

  Damn.

  "Sierra," Ohitekah said quietly. He stopped trying to sound sneaky and approached the door. She was seated on the floor in the corner, she had been crying for a long time.

  She cleared her throat before speaking. "How... How did you find me?"

  Ohitekah glanced away. "I had to find the Kingdom of the Underworld and talk to the God of Death."

  She squinted at him. "No. I mean how did you find me in here, just now."

  His cheeks flushed. "Oh, I guess I got lucky."

  She sniffed. "You're still a bad liar."

  Ohitekah rubbed the back of his neck.

  I didn't want anyone to see me this way.

  Ohitekah could hear her thoughts again. He tried to ignore it and stop listening in.

  Ohitekah sat down on the floor in front of her. She refused to look him in the eyes.

  "Why are you so upset?"

  She snapped up. "Why am I so upset?!" She took a deep offended breath and rolled her eyes. "Because I died maybe? Because everyone had to risk their lives to save me from being too weak to defend myself. Because people actually died to save me from being too weak to defend myself. I used to be respected, and a leader, and feared, and now I'm a liability and because I was killed, Falko now has Mythical Earth powers and is immortal and I never asked to be saved in the first place and I feel horrible!" She buried her face back in her legs. "Just leave me alone."

  Ohitekah was at a loss for words. He did not know what to say to help her. He reached into his pocket.

  "You're still a leader, these men needed you. That’s why we went. Because you're important to all of us." He tapped her elbow. She peeked out of her arms with one eye and saw what Ohitekah was holding out to her. The jack of spades.

  She lifted her head up. "I was promoted? I'm face?" Her face brightened slightly.

  "Galius gave it to me when we decided to leave. He said he was going to give it to you before—" Sierra looked away.

  "Before I died."

  "Yeah."

  She reached out and snatched the card. She admired it for a brief second before sliding it into her pocket. She took her ten of spades and ripped it up. She took a deep breath and leaned against the wall. They sat in silence for a moment.

  "Galius said," she began slowly. "That Falko killed me deliberately... That his oracle predicted that if I was killed, you would lead him to the Earth Mythic." She looked into Ohitekah's eyes for the first time. Ohitekah found himself breathing heavier. "You have family, you have Daisuke, and you have many more friends... But I was the only one you would risk to save. Why me?"

  Ohitekah glanced away. "I… uh." She leaned in.

  "Am I that important to you?"

  "You were important to all of us, Sierra. We all went to save you."

  "No," She stated. "It had to be me. It had to be me because I was the only person you would try to save. You inspired the rest to help you. But you did it for me and would have only done it for me. Why?" She did not smile, she stared into his eyes with pure interest. She was reading everything his face had to say. Ohitekah grew uncomfortable.

  She's messing with me; she knows the answer and just wants to make me say it.

  "I was upset okay... We were friends and it was really sudden and—"

  "Oh, knock it off, you idiot!" She stood up. "If you don't want to say it, that’s fine but it’s written all over your face."

  Ohitekah stood up. "What are you trying to prove? I saved you because I'm the Mythic and knew I could do it. And I did do it!"

  "Well, you screwed everything up because you saved me. You handed Falko the Mythic on a silver platter for... For nothing then!" She turned around.

  "Well," Ohitekah thought of a way to combat. "We're gonna stop Falko soon, we have a plan."

  She faced him again, suddenly interested. "What’s the plan?"

  "Red, err Daisuke, is going to the North to meet with more Spades, I'm going to the Vatnic Isles to meet my friend, King Nicholas, to plan his invasion. Then, I'm forming an army of my own people to fight against Falko's army, and drive them out of the capital. We're gonna take him down together."

  Sierra shook her head. "Oh really? You're gonna make an army?"

  Ohitekah glared. "Yeah, of tribesmen. I'm going to unify the tribes as one Nation and battle together."

  She rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, the holy Thunder Mythic, leading his people off to war. Tell me, what do you know of battle strategy? How many years have you spent studying Orbis fighting tactics? Do you even know how to organize ranks and formations? Or was your plan just to have everyone in one big mass and charge in at once?"

  Ohitekah paused.

  Yeah, that was kinda my idea.

  "Your tribesmen have no formal training, no sense of the chain of command. You would stand no chance against a well-trained force like Falko's. Gods, I see why you had to save me now, you people have no idea what you're doing. I'm going to be the one saving you. Alright, when do we leave?"

  Ohitekah tried to hide his surprise. "What? We?"

  "Of course. I'm going with you!" She glared. "I don't want you men making any more rash decisions that give Falko the upper hand. I'm dead for three days and look at what you've all done to the place." She made a smile. "Either way, Mythic." She flashed her jack of spades. "I outrank you, so you get no say in the matter."

  Ohitekah glanced around the floor.

  Why am I the bottom of the ladder here? Red's always in charge, he never got a two card.

  She stood up to exit the room. "Pack your things and prepare to leave in the morning. I'll see you then." She walked out into the hallway. "And I'll be able to tell if you've been playing with my sword while I was dead!" She shouted from the hall.

  "I didn't!" He yelled back.

  He turned out of the room to follow her.

  "Now that I think of it... You better not have done anything weird to my body while I was dead either."

  Ohitekah rolled his eyes. "That’s disgusting." He picked up his pace. "Wait, I don't know my way back."

  Without stopping she glanced behind her. "Don't worry, you can just read my mind again, you creep." She gave a smirk.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Lost Prince

  "Op—open the drawbridge!" The guard had to confirm his sights before he gave the order.

  "Sir?" a knight asked from the ground below.

  "Open the damn bridge!" The guard shouted back. "It's the prince!"

  Without missing a beat, the men cranked down the bridge. Once it began moving the platform lowered faster with the help of gravity and cranked on its own. The guards stood at attention at the mouth of the gate to look out of it as it lowered. They had heard that the prince had left the kingdom well over a month ago with his personal unit of royal guards. They had returned with burns and scars from battle. Apparently, he had done it. He found the Mythic of Fire. The guards reported that he had left to travel with the Mythic so they could have a proper challenge. And finally, here he was. Alive. So he must have been the victor. Here he was, returning finally to accomplish his dream of restoring power to Ashland.

  The drawbridge cranked down to its lowered position. The only way to cross the moat the Ashland castle was infamous for. No forces could move in or out of Castle Magnus without the use of the bridge. It was the one and only entrance to the capital. And when the bridge was up, there is no hope of seizing the stronghold. Unlike moats used in other Ashland castles, Magnus had a particular advantage. Castle Magnus rests at the base of the Volcano. Brann Mountain. The ancient and once forbidden home of the Fire Dragon Mythic. The tall black volcano constantly bellows out a dark plume of smoke, which creates a constant rain of ash to the lands around the castle. Making the grounds perpetually black. After the large castle was constructed with the stone of the very mountain itself, a cavern was mined at the base of the volcano. The core of the volcano was punctured and magma poured into a carved ravine around the walls of the castle. The moat loops back into the volcano,
providing lava that constantly flows around the castle. Creating an impenetrable moat of fiery red death at the exterior of the capital. No army has ever dared attack these walls.

  When the bridge rested before on the feet of the Prince, the guards found themselves distracted by his appearance.

  "Get out of my way." Lance walked over the moat by himself.

  The Prince was usually the image of royal strength, his armor clean and brilliant. However, he was different now. His hair was unkempt and in his face, his clothes were torn, burned in some places. He had not eaten in days. His usual blue and silver cape was gone. His blue eyes were as sharp as ever. Even his handmade sword was missing.

  "My lord." The guards snapped at attention as he passed by.

  He walked past them without saying a word.

  "He must have lost the duel against the Mythic," One of them whispered after he passed beyond earshot.

  Lance burst through the double-doors leading to the Royal Hall. Here, sat the throne of the King. Carved from black obsidian glass, the throne was just as menacing as it was magnificent. Standing in the hall talking were various Dukes and Earls from around the kingdom. The men inside were startled by the sudden intrusion of the hall.

  "Good heavens!" The Duke of Grismount turned in surprise. He placed a hand over his heart. "Oh, it’s Prince Lance. We were just talking about you."

  Lance did not break his glare. He had no time for these men.

  "Where is my father?"

  "Poor sir, you look horribly famished. Why not freshen up and enjoy a supper?"

  "King Gerald. Is he in his chambers?"

  The Duke looked offended. "Why yes, he has been in bed rest for many days now."

  Lance continued his walk through the hall without addressing anyone else. The Duke acted surprised by his rugged demeanor.

  "Master Lance, may we inquire how your travels have been? Do you require assistance?" Another Duke asked.

  Lance closed a door behind him, ignoring the question, and climbed the stairs. He shortly reached the hall leading to the king's chambers. He burst through the door to his father's room.

  The men attending the king jumped in surprise.

  "Oh! Oh, it’s you, Lance... I see your mission went well." Vashier snickered in obvious sarcasm. Lance shot him a glare. Vashier was the personal aide for the King, his right hand in times of advisement. Vashier was a short scrawny man, his greasy black hair fell straight to his shoulders and his face was angled with a patchy beard.

  Lance turned his attention to examine his father. King Gerald's eyes were closed, he breathed lightly. His hair was long and grey. It had been grey for as long as Lance could remember. His face was sunken and wrinkled. Pale as a ghost. His beard was ragged and white.

  "Father—"

  "Don't wake him." Vashier lifted his hand to Lance. "He is sick enough, he has no time for your troubles." Lance and he locked eyes.

  The attendees took a step back from the two of them.

  "Everyone out of the room. Now," Lance said firmly. Without a moment of hesitation, they filed out of the chamber. Vashier stood up.

  "Whatever it is you want, don't bother," he said with a frown. "You're a young Prince, you have everything you could ever want. Just take a castle, take some brides, and go live in the country."

  Lance continued his stare.

  "I have no time for you. I have urgent plans I need to discuss with my father."

  "Your father is sick. He does not have the health or state of mind to discuss your delusional plans of this... Mythic hunt... That you are so obsessed with. We have put up with your constant attempts of searching for this 'Daisuke' for long enough. I will humor you no more—"

  "I found him, we fought, there is much more that needs to be done."

  "As long as your father is King, and I am his head consult, I have ruling authority in Ashland while he is unable to give commands. Lance, give up this ridiculous quest and leave. You are a threat to this nation and your father."

  Lance squinted at him. "You dare? You think because my father is too sick to speak that gives you any authority over me? I have information that can bring Ashland back to the height of its power. We will be the strongest of all the nations."

  The door opened behind them. A man walked in with a scroll and paused abruptly when he noticed the Prince standing in the room.

  "Oh, I didn't realize..." He glanced back and forth between Vashier and Lance.

  "What?" Lance asked impatiently. "What is it?"

  Without addressing Lance's question, Vashier walked to the man and grabbed the parchment.

  "You are dismissed." Vashier motioned with his hand, the man nodded and turned away.

  "What is that?" Lance asked, taking a step forward.

  "Nothing that concerns you. Please, dismiss yourself, Master Lance."

  "If it regards my father or my kingdom, I need to see it."

  "You?" Vashier turned to him. "Where have you been the past year? I have been doing all the work managing this kingdom while you have been on your infamous wild chase. You have no business in this castle. You waste our Royal Guard's valuable time and resources, you leave your country time and time again to search for this long-lost samurai."

  Lance leaned forward and grabbed the scroll out of Vashier's hands. Vashier shook his head and turned away.

  "You... What is this?"

  "And here I was, hoping you died somewhere out there on your own. How easier this all would have been."

  "This is a treaty with... The Empire of Orbis? Emperor Falko..."

  "Yes. Maybe you would have known all of that if you were home like the Prince you should have been."

  Lance read the scroll.

  "This... This is treason."

  "This is progress."

  "Surrendering ourselves to the ‘Great Empire of Orbis?’ Accepting Falko as our true Emperor and leader?"

  "We have always had an alliance with Orbis. He is launching an assault on the other Nations. We agreed to join with him to stay out of his path."

  Lance's face flushed red. "Treaties of surrender are not alliances. Rule under him is not joining him."

  "Our nation will be strong!" Vashier shouted. "We will be the only ones offered the chance to keep our own rule. If we throw this chance away, we will not be strong enough to defend ourselves from him. Falko will win this war, we need to decide how we will survive as a nation."

  "With the power of the Mythic—"

  "You know nothing of his forces, his men, his strategies. You have no say in this matter at all, Prince."

  Lance squinted at him. "What was your promised reward? What are you gaining out of this?"

  "Don't even try it." Vashier pointed at him. "Your delusions are going to end this nation. I am doing what is best for our kingdom."

  "You think when Falko is done with the other kingdoms, he will just let us be? Now, believe me, I do know General Falko. We have met before. We have discussed strategy together. I know him well enough that he will not stop until Ashland is destroyed. This treaty is just buying him enough time to deal with the other nations first. He is no fool, and neither am I."

  "I don't care." Vashier read the treaty. "Tomorrow the King’s signature will be on this and that will be the end of it. I suggest you do what you can to not be here when it happens... So long, Lance."

  Vashier rolled up the parchment and walked out of the room. The door closed loudly behind him.

  Lance turned to his father who began to blink his eyes open. He stared at Lance for a moment.

  "Where has Vashier gone?" The King spoke softly.

  "He left. Father, I'm home." Lance spoke more gently.

  "Oh... Lance... I hardly recognized you." His voice was raspy, it seemed as if it was hard to speak. "Could you find Vashier? There’s something I wanted to ask him."

  Lance frowned. "You can ask me, Father. I'm here for you."

  The King shook his head. "No... No... It’s much too important. Go out and play with
your older brother."

  Lance shook his head slowly. "Father. Charles has been..." Lance turned away. He clenched his fist. "Gerald..." Lance began again. "Have you seen mother lately?"

  "Why?" The king thought for a moment. "I thought she was just out with you?"

  Lance’s hand trembled. "How long have you been signing things for Vashier?" Lance snapped. "What have you agreed to?"

  "Oh, every now and then he asks me to put my name on scrolls... Usually taxes or other menial paperwork... I can't see well enough to read them all the time... But Vashier is a good man—"

  "Father..." Lance shook his head.

  "You shouldn't worry about these things, my son." The king smiled "Charles will bear these burdens when I'm gone. Why don't you go out and enjoy yourself?"

  "Father…" Lance stared into his glossed over eyes. "Please, I need you to listen. I need your help. Charles... Charles has been dead for fifteen years now. So has Mother. They died in the fire. Remember? The accident in the castle... It’s just me... But you need to focus and listen to me now."

  The king waved his hand. "If you keep making up these awful stories, I am going to have to send you out."

  Lance closed his eyes. "Father... Our Kingdom is in danger. Vashier is taking advantage of you. I need our army for a mission. With the power of the Fire Mythic, we can stop Falko and defend our borders."

  The king looked around the room. Lance stared at his father, he looked lost. A long moment dragged past.

  "Father?"

  The king cleared his throat. He squinted at Lance.

  "Oh, Lance? Is that you? Could you send Vashier in? I would like to have a word with him."

  Lance lowered his head. He rested his hand on the king's cold arm.

  "I'm sorry, Father."

  Lance closed the door silently behind him. The hallway was empty. He walked slowly down the corridor and located the door to his room.

  "Lance." A voice spoke behind him. Without turning around Lance knew who it was. "I just had the most wonderful conversation with a young Duchess from the coastal proveniences. I mentioned you were home and she offered for you to spend the winter there with her. What do you say? She seemed eager to have you there.”