His Dark Empire (Tears of Blood)

by Forbes, M. R.

  "Did I kill the girl?" she asked.

  "No. When I saw you, I came out to protect you. I killed one of the Mediators, and the soldiers began firing arrows at the prisoners."

  "Prisoners? There were more than one?"

  Silas nodded. "There were seven. I don't know if the girl was Cursed, or if they just thought she was. The rest surely were. They didn't fight back, not like you did. I've never seen a Cursed fight back like you did."

  She looked like she was going to cry again, but she didn't. "I don't remember it," she said.

  "You saved my life. There was another Mediator, he had a red ring that shot fire at me. Somehow you threw me out of the way. You stood up to him."

  "I wish I could remember. Did you kill him too?"

  "Yes."

  "Good."

  Silas couldn't help but smile. "That was when you fell unconscious. I carried you out of the trees and brought you back to the minstrels. You have a fever, Eryn. You need to rest."

  "The soldiers?"

  "They'll be along soon enough, looking for both of us, I'm afraid. But not tonight."

  Eryn laid back down and closed her eyes. Silas reached into the bucket to retrieve the cloth, and wiped her forehead with it again. There was a knock on the carriage door.

  "It's me," Sena said. "I have some soup for the girl."

  Silas leaned over and opened the door. The minstrel handed him a cup of hot soup. "Tell Robar I'll do my best to help him fashion the greatest story ever told. My only request is that he gets the girl and I into the city unseen by his soldiers."

  Sena pursed her lips and nodded. Silas brought the soup over to Eryn. "Drink this," he said. "You'll need your strength."

  She sat up again, and took it from him. "What are we going to do now?"

  "What do you mean we?" Silas had saved her from the soldiers. That was all he had ever intended to do.

  "I need your help," she said. "I'm from a small village called Watertown. The soldiers destroyed it. My parents and brother are dead, because they destroyed them too. I want to find him, and I want to kill him. What is it that you want, Silas?"

  It was the first time she had used his name. He hadn't even known she knew it. She was a strong one, he realized. She had followed him, in order to help him try to save the girl, because she didn't want her to die in her place. She had used her Curse to save his life, and to try to save the prisoners, when most Cursed he had seen were too terrified of it to call on it for anything.

  "Well?" she asked.

  He knew he didn't want to lie. Not to himself, or to her. Not anymore.

  Murderer.

  "I have to tell you something, Eryn. It is... difficult for me to say, and it will be difficult for you to hear. When I'm done, you may not ever want to speak to me again."

  She tilted her head. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she looked sweaty and tired. He knew he shouldn't be telling her this, not now while she was sick, but he couldn't bear the thought of not telling her. She was Cursed, like his son had been. She deserved to know.

  "I don't know everything. My memories are like the lights in the sky, and when I try to reach out and grab at one, I always come away empty handed. Some of them have fallen recently, and I've discovered things about myself that I had spent many years trying very hard to forget. The most important one is that I used to be in his army. I used to be one of his soldiers."

  He raised his hand, because she looked like she was going to speak, maybe to comfort him, or maybe to scream at him. He wanted her to hear him out. She took a drink from the soup instead.

  "It is more than that. I wasn't just a soldier, I was a commander. I was in charge of other soldiers. What happened to your village, and your parents..." It was here he began to break down, to lose himself in the anguish of the memories. He choked on the words, but he fought through it. "I've given those orders. I've sent soldiers to burn down houses, and murder innocent people. I've murdered them myself."

  Murderer.

  Eryn dropped the bowl of soup, spilling it all over the floor. She didn't take her eyes from him. She hung on every word.

  "I was married. I had two sons. Teran and Aren. Teran wanted to be like his father, so he joined his army. Aren was a scholar, and he spent his days with books. Then, when Aren was eighteen, he decided he was done with learning, and he went off to become a farmer. He took a wife, and he moved to a village near Root."

  Silas was crying now as he spoke, the tears dripping from his face onto the floor, mixing with the spilled soup.

  "I received a report that there was a farmer in one of the villages who was Cursed. After some investigation, I found out that it was Aren. I told my wife what I had learned, and I told her what I knew I had to do. You can imagine how much she hated me for even suggesting it, but I went through with it anyway. I dispatched a Mediator and a squad of soldiers to bring him in."

  He looked up at her, and met her eyes. He saw the anger, and the coldness. He saw the hate and the rage. He didn't shy away from it, instead absorbing every thought that he imagined could be going through her head.

  "They never brought him in."

  Murderer.

  "My wife left me the day the soldiers came and told us that he had run, and the Mediator had killed him. She wanted to get away from this place, from his empire. She found a ship that was sailing across the sea to the unknown lands, lands that none have ever returned from. She said she would rather be smashed upon rocks, or drown in the deep ocean, than ever have to look at my face again.

  "Since I've remembered these things, I swore to myself that I would do my best to make up for them. That I would do what I could to protect the Cursed, to save the lives of innocents, and to fight against his rule. It won't bring Aren back, and it won't bring Alyssa back, but maybe there is some good in these old bones. Maybe I can at least die as a man my love would be proud of. You ask me what I want, Eryn. That is it."

  The silence stretched on. He waited for her reaction.

  "I want you to get out," Eryn said. "Just leave me alone."

  Silas nodded, and rose to his feet.

  "I'll have Sena bring you more soup."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Silas & Eryn

  Somehow Eryn managed to hold herself together, until after Silas had left and Sena had brought her a fresh bowl of soup. She drank the soup under the woman's watchful eyes, and then was ordered to lie down and rest. Only once the minstrel had left her alone did she give herself the opportunity to cry.

  Except she surprised herself. She didn't cry in anger about what Silas had told her, even though she had plenty of anger about it. She didn't even cry because he was not what he had seemed. She found that the tears she shed were first for Aren, Silas' son who he had killed, and second for Silas himself. She had seen the guilt and pain in the man's eyes while he had told her his story. She had seen the agony he was in, every time he returned to those memories. What she had seen was a repentant man, a remorseful man.

  She knew how he took people in, and forced them to become something they weren't. Master Lewyn had always been kind, until it was his wife's life at stake. But, Silas had made a choice. He had decided to become a soldier, to be a commander, and to kill his own son. Did it matter that he was sorry for it now? Could she forgive him, and see him as the man who came to her aid to rescue the Cursed? Or would she see only the soldier, every time she looked at his weathered face?

  "Amman," she said softly in prayer. "Help to guide me. Help me to understand the evils that people do, and their capacity to change. Help me to believe in forgiveness, and to forgive one who has wronged so many, and yet wishes to make things right."

  She closed her eyes, sending her thoughts to her God, wherever He may be. The priests said Amman lived among the clouds, and smiled down on those He favored. The priests said that Amman had love for all of his children. The same priests also said that Amman despised the Cursed, and that was why He afflicted them so, but Eryn had never believed it. How could both of tho
se things be true?

  "If Amman can forgive, then I can forgive," she said, making her choice. Silas had proven himself to her, both in his actions at the camp, and for saving her life, and for revealing so much of his past to her even though he knew she might despise him for it. She had lost so much already. She didn't want to lose the only ally she had found who might be able to help her succeed in her goal.

  She took a deep breath, finding peace and comfort in her decision. Now she just had to convince him that they should travel together. She fell asleep with that thought in mind.

  ***

  Silas walked past Robar, when the minstrel approached outside the carriage. He looked straight ahead, his eyes itching from his tears, and kept going until he reached the small fire the bards had made. He could hear echoes in the distance, shouting and yelling, no doubt in warning about the flames that were still raging to the northeast.

  He sat down and stared into the campfire, his mind racing with the memories he had shared with Eryn. He saw the face of his wife in the flames, proud and strong but also tender and loving, her brown hair streaked with grey. She hadn't been anything extraordinary in her looks, but she had the incredible heart it took to love someone in spite of their disagreements and opposing loyalties. She had never been in favor of his policies on the Cursed, or on the mines. She had been willing to accept that he had, to a fault. At least until it had cost her son.

  Next was the face of his son, Teran. He wondered if the boy was still alive. He should be married by now, and maybe have children of his own. If he could ever settle down and have children. He remembered that his firstborn had been as ambitious as they came, running off to join his army on his sixteenth birthday, the very moment he was free to enroll as an adult.

  Aren had been so different. Quiet and thoughtful, every bit his mother's son. He had a strength of his own, one that he bolstered with words and kindness instead of sword and bow. He had always seen a hidden fire in his second son, sitting just below the surface of the calm and wise exterior. He had never imagined what he was seeing was the Curse, laying in wait to claim him.

  That was what he remembered. There was still so much he didn't. How had he come to join his army? Where had he trained? Who did he know? Why had he been allowed to stop serving? Where had the vicious wound across his body come from, and how in the name of Amman did he survive it?

  It was question, after question, and no matter how hard he tried to bring his past to the surface, there was still so little he could recall. He saw Alyssa clearly now, and he could bring to mind most of the fighting they had done over Aren. He could remember bits and pieces of things in flashes of images and voices.

  Murderer.

  Almost all of the memories had to do with his time as a soldier, moments in the time of the one part of his life he most wished he could forget. But did he? Would he be the same today, if all of that pain was taken away, and only the good came back? Would Eryn be alive, if he had no cause to help her? Would he even care to help the Cursed, or would he settle somewhere, and spend his days reminiscing on a past he could never recapture?

  Even so, he found no comfort in the vast holes of his past. He may have spent years in the gutter, scrounging for enough coin to keep himself drunk, but he would have thought he could recall something about himself. His parents? His birthplace? It was as though he had not existed, and then he had, his entire life already arranged.

  Silas reached into his pocket, seeking the paper he had taken from Roque's corpse. It was the message that the rider had been in such a hurry to deliver that he hadn't waited for the Mediator to reach the collection point. He took it out now, and turned so he could hold it up to the fire light.

  Roque,

  If you are sure it is him, you must prevent him from reaching Elling. If he has somehow thrown off the yoke of inebriation, it won't be long until he comes for me. You cannot allow this to happen! I don't need to remind you how dangerous he is, and how much more dangerous he can become if his memories return. Find him. At all cost, find him!

  - Iolis

  Silas stared at the note for a long time. He was certain that it was in reference to him, though he was unfamiliar with the sender's name. Who was Iolis, and why would he seek him out? It was clear the man didn't wish him to.

  "He knew I was drunk, but he didn't know where I was," he said out loud. "How could that be?" And why was he so afraid his memories might return? For that matter, how had this Iolis known he had lost them? All he had were more questions. The only thing he was sure of, was that at least some of the answers were to the north.

  "Silas," Robar said, approaching him again. "May I sit?"

  "If you can answer a question for me."

  "Does it have to be the truth?" The minstrel smiled.

  "Yes, although I don't expect you to know this answer. Who is Iolis?"

  Robar started laughing. "How do you not know who Iolis is?" The look Silas gave him quieted his mirth. "His full name is Iolis Germaine Elling. He is the Overlord. The twelfth of his name."

  "Sit," Silas said. The minstrel complied. Silas handed him the message. "Are you familiar with the Overlord's hand?"

  Robar took the note and read it. "Very, very interesting," he said. He handed it back. "You are a mystery, aren't you, Silas? I was afraid of you before. I'm more afraid of you now. What is it like, to not know who you are?"

  Silas glared at him. "Is that his hand or not, minstrel?"

  Robar leaned back, putting a little more distance between them. "It is," he said. "I'm sure of it. The Overlord has to sign our permit to perform in Elling City each year. Entertainment taxes, you know. He wrote that note."

  Silas looked at the paper again. "So the Overlord doesn't seem to want me to pay him a visit," he said.

  "It certainly looks that way," Robar replied.

  "There's good coin in mystery, isn't there?"

  Robar nodded, his smile returning. "There certainly is, my friend."

  "So you'll get me into Elling?"

  "I wouldn't miss it for anything."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Silas

  He had only been asleep for a couple of hours when Robar shook him awake.

  "Soldiers," he said. "Coming down from the north. I had Jeson out keeping watch."

  Silas sprang to his feet and grabbed the sword he had taken from the Mediator. "How many?"

  "Twenty, or more. Too many for you to fight, too close for you to flee. This way." He brought Silas to the carriage, and knocked on the door. "Sena, can we enter?"

  "Yes," his wife said. "Hurry."

  Robar opened the door to the carriage and shoved Silas inside. Sena was there, but Eryn was gone.

  "Where is she?" Silas asked. "She was too sick to leave."

  "Silas, is that you?" The muffled voice came from beneath the bench seat of the carriage.

  "Eryn?"

  "She's fine," Sena said. "I don't know how, but even her fever has gone." She bent over and lifted the cushion of the opposite bench. She slid her hand along the wood until she found a latch of some kind, and flicked her wrist. Then she lifted the wooden surface, revealing a space just big enough for him to press himself into.

  "It's going to be a tight squeeze," Robar said.

  Silas climbed in. "It beats a grain sack any day." He lowered himself down and curled up.

  Sena dropped the seat over him, and then the two minstrels sat, one on either side. A few minutes later, they heard the clomping of hooves, and Jeson's voice.

  "Right you are, My Lord. Come around and take a look, all the time you need. We've got nothing to hide. We're just a band of minstrels, we play this route every year. You may have heard of us? 'Robar's Rapscallions', we're called."

  As if on queue, Sena started yelling. "If I told you once, I told you a thousand times Robar, 'Your Merry Stones' is not appropriate for the Overlord!"

  "But Sena, darling," Robar pleaded. "Even the Overlord has a sense of humor, I'm sure."

  "Sense
of humor? Is that why we were banned from Lord Malicent's manor? Because he has no sense of humor?"

  "I didn't know she was his wife," Robar shouted.

  "You lifted her skirt right in front of him," she cried.

  "Yes, My Lord." Jeson's voice filtered in between their bickering. "That's Robar's carriage, he's in there with his wife. Yes, My Lord, they do that a lot."

  "I heard that," the both shouted out of the carriage at once, before returning to their fighting.

  "No, My Lord. I'm sure they'd be happy to speak to you." It was followed by a knock on the door.

  "What do you mean?" Robar shouted. "I change every day."

  The knock came again, more persistent.

  "Robar, be quiet. Somebody's knocking."

  The carriage shook as Sena went to the door to open it.

  The voice outside was deep and gruff. "We're looking for two fugitives..."

  "Aye, I've heard about the fugitives," Sena said. "A girl and a man with white hair, right? I ain't seen 'em."

  She must have tried to swing the door closed, because it squeaked on its hinges. Silas heard a bump.

  "Out, right now," the voice ordered. "Or your next show will be short a few instruments."

  There was some shifting and shuffling. Silas could hear the two bards exit the carriage.

  "Where are they?" the soldier asked. The tone of his voice worried Silas. He carefully pushed against the seat, but the latch was locked.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," Robar said. "It's just the six of us. We've seen no others."

  He heard the sound of metal against leather, and then a short gasp. Sena screamed.

  "The five of you, now," the soldier said. His voice dropped. "Find the others, and bring them here."

  Silas pushed against the bench again, but it didn't give.

  "Eryn," Silas whispered, hoping she could hear him, but the soldier couldn't.