The Spirit of Malquia (In the Absence of Kings Book 2)

by Lee LaCroix

  “Before me lies the price we have all paid to see our freedom regained. Remember that these are not shimmering coins but valiant men and women. Although I can feel the anger and the sadness that lies in you just as it lies in me, I tell you now that the time for these troubles are over as their purpose has been fulfilled. Those strident powers unleashed by the breaking of the heart, unlocked as witness to injustice, corruption, and malice, allowed us to stand as victors today but will only serve to plague us further. Let us cast off our sorrow, bury our rage, and accept our revenge as achieved. I urge you to cast aside those hideous strengths and let us return to a simpler way. Let the fallen and the memories of them that drove us now rest in peace. They are most deserving and so are all of you!” Berault pleaded and then tossed the torch over his shoulder.

  The pyre was almost fully ablaze before Berault had left his place among the dead, and he chuckled as he felt the roaring heat upon him but managed to avoid being scathed. Berault walked into the midst of cheering crowd, no longer fueled by screams of anger and clenched fists but whistling and applause. While few soldiers remained beside the pyre, the majority of them followed their general towards the recently assembled dining tents for a bout of celebration.

  Garreth could hear the motley rising from his position near the southern trenches and wished that he could join them, for his heart surely could of used the rest. There was still much more for him to do, however. He looked out over the southern highway where the Crown Aegis escorted the remainder of the Blackwoods and Queen’s Aegis back to the city. With one guard on horseback at the front of the group, three guards behind, and twenty-five prisoners between them, the convoys walked south and disappeared in the bend of the Rauros. There was very little resistance to this transport, for their enemy seemed tired and unwilling to fight any further. A soldier in light chain mail jogged over to Garreth and placed his hands upon his knees, catching his breath.

  “The ships are ready for you,” the soldier explained.

  Garreth nodded, and the soldier followed him towards the docks where two exotic ships were anchored. Garreth stood upon the southern dock as the boarding planks were removed from the ships and the sails were unfurled.

  “Berault found a Vandarian who knew the tongue?” Garreth inquired.

  “Yes, captain,” the soldier explained.

  “And he knows to deliver the message only to the Order?” Garreth persisted.

  “As far as I am aware,” the soldier continued.

  Garreth nodded as he walked west and down the dock. He withdrew his bow and a clothbound arrow from his quiver and lit the arrow on a passing torch before he leapt from the dock. Garreth followed the two boats as they sailed out of the bay, and he stood upon the ridge before the beach and watched the ships sail out to sea. Garreth nocked the arrow in his bow, withdrew the string to its maximum, and felt his muscles and the coil twitch. Garreth let the arrow fly, and it soared away like a shooting star. Before long, the Vandarian ship was blackened and charred as the oil poured upon it welcomed the arrow’s flame with a hungered passion. All the slain Vandari and Varnwa sunk to the depths of that sea, trapped within its hull. The second boat continued out onto the horizon, and Garreth did not leave the ridge until it had disappeared completely.

  “I was wondering where you went to,” a voice said from behind Garreth.

  Garreth wheeled about and grabbed at the outstretched hand. Garreth put his hands around her waist and drew her in close as they looked upon the sea.

  “Do you think they’ll come back?” Ilsa asked him.

  “In a matter of time,” Garreth spoke as he ensured the Vandarian ship had disappeared.

  “Well, today is not that day. Let us go join the others. Your work is over,” Ilsa tugged at his arm as she led him away from the coast.

  The pyre had almost extinguished by the time that Garreth and Ilsa had returned to their tent, and the remaining mourners filled in the pit of bone and ash with dirt and finally left their solemn duty. Garreth and Ilsa unbound the scale mail from each other’s bodies, but found they were not ready for rest yet. A fierce hunger, one which he had been ignoring, raged within Garreth. Less burdened, the two left the tent and made their way to the new fire that was enclosed chiefly by four long tents on each side. Between the fire and the supping tables under the tents, the cooks had set up smaller blazes and tended to spits of pork and venison and large pots of chicken and rabbit stew. Garreth wished to sleep deeply tonight. If these stews were any like the ones Fesstil had made, he thought he would indeed. Garreth and Ilsa ventured through the division in the table and approached one of the pot watches. They carried their wooden bowls back to a less crowded table in the second row from the fire, and a subtle warmness radiated in their hands. As soon as he was sitting, Garreth dug into his bowl, and Ilsa followed suit in her own collected manner. To his surprise, the stew renewed a warmness within him that he had not realized he had lost, and he ate the rest of his serving with true hunger. As he waited for Ilsa to finish the rest of her dish, Garreth looked around the tents for anyone that he knew. There were many familiar faces, but none that he knew too well. He was relieved in a way; he had no more words left to give, and he almost yearned for the solitude of the forest cabin once again.

  Like the rest of the patrons, Garreth and Ilsa left their bowl and utensils on the table and then left for their tent. It was a short walk from the fire, but Garreth could already feel a sleepiness come over him; the same sedateness he expected from such a meal. They had barely had lay a minute on the swath of cloth and furs before they both realized that they would not be able to sleep here. The army was far too energetic and loud, and on the night of their ultimate victory, who could blame them.

  “Come on, I have an idea. Help me move this,” Ilsa asked as she got up from the ground.

  Garreth agreed with a nod and made his way outside the tent, and they unpegged it, folded it up, and lifted it between the two, carrying their possessions in the middle. They made their way west, past the trenches and the docks, and headed towards the sea. They stopped not too far from the ridge that led to the beach and put the tent on the ground. Even in the darkness lit by a small lining of moonlight, Garreth could sense another set of people not far off. As they pegged the tent and adjusted the carpeting of furs and cloth, Garreth and Ilsa overheard a small amount of chatter from the two sat on the edge of the ridge that peaked where the bay met the sea.

  “And to think, we came out here for some peace and quiet. It looks like some others had the same idea,” Garreth stated, rolling his eyes.

  Ilsa smiled and shrugged, and they made the final adjustments to the tent and were just about to enter. The couple on the ridge arose and made their way towards the tent, and Garreth recognized the shock of red hair first.

  “Good evening,” Novas greeted with a wave.

  “Ah, you. Who else would it be,” Garreth chuckled as he clasped his son’s hand.

  “Well, it was my idea!” Kayten explained from beside Novas.

  “As it was hers,” Garreth continued as he motioned to Ilsa, who appeared from beside him.

  They all shared a short laugh but felt the time of night draw them apart.

  “It is quite beautiful out here tonight. The sea is so calm, and the breeze only a gentle breath,” Novas explained.

  “I agree, the moon casts a silvery light upon those waves. Such a dazzling effect will lull me into a satisfying sleep tonight, I hope,” Garreth continued with a nod.

  “Then we will leave you to it. Rest well, Father,” Novas offered with a short bow.

  “To you as well,” Garreth replied.

  Kayten and Novas turned away and paced back to the tent city, a small chatter rising between them that faded into the nothingness of night under the sound of waves breaking upon the nearby shore. Garreth watched them until he could not make out their figures in the darkness, and Ilsa pulled him by the arm into the tent.

  “Lay, rest,” she asked as she placed him to th
e floor with a gentle hand upon his chest.

  Her head fell upon his shoulder and she nestled in closely, breathing in his deep scent and listening to the beat of his heart.

  “I was not wrong,” Ilsa began.

  “Hmm?” Garreth murmured.

  “I was not wrong when I chose you. I knew that you would lead us to this day, this night of our victory. You have become the man I knew you would be, and I am glad that I was here to live beside you in this time,” Ilsa explained as he looked into his eyes.

  “From the moment I stepped out of the forest, I knew I’d do whatever it takes to see this land renewed. I believed in my friends and allies as much as myself because I knew somewhere deep inside they felt the same way about what was happening. But, it was your belief in me that gave me that absolute strength to do so. That you are something physical, something tangible, someone that needed me, and someone that I truly care for,” Garreth returned as he stared outside the door of the tent towards the open sea and its white tipped waves a shimmer.

  Ilsa took her hand and placed it upon his cheek, turned his face towards hers, and then embraced him with her kiss. Ilsa’s svelte fingers made their way through the tying of Garreth’s tunic and lifted his shirt over his head, and Garreth pulled apart the lacing on the sides of Ilsa’s suit. Bathed in moonlight, a glimpse of Ilsa’s sheer white skin, smooth and flawless as a pearl, was enough to dispel Garreth’s weariness from battle and the sorrow of his grieving heart. Following the steady, churning rhythm of the waves crashing against the shore, the two created a revivifying heat that burned between their two forms, unmatched until the rising of the sun.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Garreth awoke the next morning to the brief flashes of sunrise that reflected off the rippling sea current. Through the wavering tent entrance, tiny shimmers of light played across the inside of the tent, and the light smell of salt wafted in with the morning breeze that was warmer than the day before. Garreth pushed the furs to the side and donned his tunic and began to look around for where Ilsa had placed his leggings. By time he peered at her sleeping countenance, she was staring up at his face.

  “Good morning,” Ilsa spoke as she felt at his arm.

  “Hey there,” Garreth replied as he took her hand.

  Their lips met and they dressed in an unhurried fashion, for there were no armies to fight today, no tyrants to vanquish. Garreth stepped out of the tent and tripped over his loose pants. Exposed to the air of a new day, he tied up his jerkin, secured his cloak, and fastened his leggings. The fallen leaves crackled under his feet as he did some morning stretches to exercise his stiff muscles. Soon, Ilsa joined him outside of the tent, and they armed themselves before packing up the tent and the rest of their belongings inside it. Garreth threw the pack over his shoulder, and they began to walk back to the camp.

  The pyre was no more than a flat of overturned dirt and a makeshift marker. A more elaborate construction of memorial had been promised by Berault the day before. The ash from the cook fire had been swept away, and all the surrounding tents no longer stood. There was a small scattering of the troop tents left, and Garreth could see the soldiers marching their way or taking carriages back to the capital. Looking at the area now, it was hard to believe a bloody battle had even taken place although the overturned divots of field still marked it. Ilsa and Garreth headed into the Deepshine camp to find Berault and found him not far from the refinery, overlooking the building. He turned to the two as if he knew they were coming.

  “Good day to you both,” Berault welcomed as he bowed his head.

  “Greetings,” Garreth responded, and Ilsa offered him a wave.

  “Well, what bring you here today?” Berault questioned.

  “I see that the troops are headed southward for capital and home I presume. Is my service here required any longer?” Garreth asked.

  Berault smirked and chuckled a bit.

  “No, my lad. Your troubles are over for now, I hope. Bravery of your kind won’t be needed for a time, but I imagine not for forever. Go now and live again as a free man,” Berault replied with a swatting of his hands.

  “Alright, alright, I can do that. But what about you? What happens now?” Garreth inquired.

  “I won’t be here for much longer. Just until the new owners arrive, and I can settle them in,” Berault explained as Garreth nodded in understanding.

  “Ah. Here they are now,” Berault said as he lifted his hand, pointing behind the two.

  A cart had pulled up behind them, and a group of people—a man, a woman and a younger man— were walking towards them.

  “Mother! Father!” Ilsa cheered as her family appeared beside her, and she embraced them and was glad to see their smiles.

  She tousled her brother’s hair, and he swatted away her hand, but they were still happy to see each other regardless.

  “I am so glad you are safe, darling. We have heard terrible things about the battle,” Mrs. Vemsdower spoke as she kneaded her fingers through Ilsa’s.

  “So, the Vemsdowers will take over the mine then?” Garreth asked.

  “Yes, they have agreed to take over ownership for the time being,” Berault explained.

  “We have a full staffing of miners and foremen without work and now without homes. The best we could do was provide them a job here and offer them a chance for a new life on these plains,” Mr. Vemsdower explained as he motioned towards the great, barren expanse south of the bay.

  “With a bay and a mine, New Deepshine could be a bustling port town. I can’t wait to see it,” Ilsa spoke up.

  “We can only hope,” Mr. Vemsdower agreed with a nod.

  “Now, if we could get to the finer details. This way, Vemsdower,” Berault offered with a motion of his hand to the man.

  Berault led Mr. Vemsdower away into the refinery to explain the harsh consequences of ever running the sky-blackening, sea-smudging refinery the same way it once was. With the long-deserved meeting adjourned, the younger Vemsdower wandered back to the carriage and began to instruct the crew to begin placing the family’s various possessions inside the Blackwoods manse. Immediately, ornate trunks and decorated boxes began to appear in the mover’s hands, and Garreth had almost forgotten all of the Vemsdower’s possessions had been lost in the flames of destruction. Mrs. Vemsdower turned to Ilsa and Garreth now that she was on her lonesome and began to rummage around inside her dress.

  “This is for you two. I’m sure you can put this to better use than us,” Mrs. Vemsdower offered as she withdrew a decorated key fob with a small ring of three keys attached.

  Ilsa took the keys, jingled them around, and then hugged her mother.

  “Thank you,” she whispered in her mother’s ears. “We’ll be off then.”

  “Alright, dear. Take care. We’ll see you before long,” Mrs. Vemsdower replied.

  Garreth gave Mrs. Vemsdower a curt bow, and he and Ilsa began to walk towards the parking area not far from where the soldiers slept earlier. There was a mixture of transports that day including a few grand carriages that looked like they belonged in the Upper Quarter. With coloured fabrics and richly-stained wood, they looked for a competitive fare from the victorious soldiers while offering a travel home in leisure. But for the most part, there were plain folk with plainer carts that were drawn by aging bay horses and guided by time-wearied drivers who expected little in compensation except for the grand tale of the history straight from the men and women who had been there.

  Neither Garreth nor Ilsa was quite ready yet to regale those thirsty ears with a proper tale of it, and so they hopped on a large carriage headed back to the capital, which they shared with a handful of other soldiers. Garreth paid the carriage master a handful of tri and met Ilsa in the back of the wide wagon. Although it was swept clean, the wagon must have been used for transporting bales of hay because of the seldom straws that were snagged in the cracks of it. They placed their packs against the back corner of the wagon and cushioned themselves upon it, and Ilsa rested h
er head upon Garreth’s shoulder.

  Before long, a few more soldiers had made their way onto the wagon, and the interior border was filled to a comfortable fullness. The cart master whipped his horses into motion, and with a slow trot, began their venture from Deepshine. Garreth was glad to be putting his back to the desolation where the forest once stood even if the foreboding threat that had haunted it was now exorcised. As they left the corral, Garreth looked upon the field to the right of the road where the Crown Army had charged the field only what seemed hours ago. Wide divots filled the field from the bolts of ballista and the shot of catapults, and Garreth swore that the upturned dirt carried a hint of red. He lamented and wished not to see the blood anymore; he truly wanted to see only the grass again.

  The cart reached the Rauros path around noon, and the high peaks and cliff walls cast no shadow. The sun glared directly upon them and warmed them against the crisp breeze. Each time Garreth passed the ruins of the checkpoint, it was like staring back into the past, and he could see the battles that they faced and how they all played out in minute remembrance as well as recalling the intensity that drove his heart. A ways out of the mountains, Garreth turned to see where they had camped nestled in the slopes of the mountain and remembered the watchful eye he had to maintain that now could be put to rest. Soon after, the carriage passed three wagons on their way up to Deepshine with fresh cut lumber and iron plates and bolts; common construction materials for a purpose not impossible for Garreth to fathom. Sitting between the resources appeared to be craftsman, which Garreth deduced by the cut of their cotton shirts and leather harnesses and by their broad shoulders and defined arms.

  Garreth and Ilsa were both surprised when they rolled into Boulderstone to see the center of activity it has become once again. The wreckage was being swept away by former townsfolk who brushed at splinters, charred metal, and ash with their straw brooms. Two great piles of debris lay on the west and east sides of the city and were being hauled away with time. The foundations of new houses were being laid, and the people were hard at work leveling shapely boulders into the ground and filling the gaps with a clay-like mortar found in the recesses of the deepest valleys towards the sea. There was also were piles of wood and metal, stacked along the south end of town, for future walls and roofs of a town reborn. In the middle of the town where the intersection once stood, a group of merchants with their wares were offering food, drink, and remedy to those stalwart workers. Ilsa was delighted to see the town of her childhood rebuilt after the horrific fate that had destroyed it. And while it was true that the buildings would not be the same, she had hoped the people who lived here then would return, and that feeling of home would return with them. She could not wait to see this place restored anew; one day, she thought to herself.