What Was Forgotten

by Tim Mathias

  “There,” Cohvass whispered as he pointed to a carriage bearing a number of crates and barrels and wooden boxes overflowing with shiny trinkets and treasures undoubtedly stolen from Yasri. Among them was a familiar iron chest with bands of gold inlaid in ornate patterns. A disk of pure silver, a beautiful yet meager representation of the Guiding Star, had been affixed to the lid of the chest which held the Raan Dura.

  “Where are they taking it?” asked Nyall Augoss, one of the scouts.

  Cohvass grimaced. “Do you not know? They are taking it to their capital. Every last piece of us that they have will be sacrificed to their man-god. Burned. Melted. And once the last piece of us is gone, their clerics will cast a spell over their entire people, and they will forget we ever were.”

  Nyall’s mouth was agape. He looked to Sera. “Is this true?”

  Sera nodded. “My grandfather once told me of a great kingdom across the Ortulian Ocean that dared to wage war against Ryferia. The war lasted eleven generations, and when it was over, every last aggressor had been put to the sword, every city burned to ash, and then their priests came and banished every one of their ancestors from the evernight.”

  “What was this kingdom called?”

  “No one knows,” Sera whispered. “No one knows what was there, who they were… there is only a great ashen desert where castles once stood. Do you understand now? It’s not enough that they defeat their enemies. They make it so that they never were. Not even the spirits in the evernight are spared.”

  No one said anything as they watched the rest of the column march off. Sera noticed another carriage, heavily laden and covered by sheets of canvas, and noticed the giant that walked beside it, his greatsword unsheathed and gleaming in the morning sun. Was the giant there by chance, or was there something underneath those coverings that he was guarding?

  Cohvass had seen it as well. “What do you think was in the other carriage?” he asked as the Ryferian rearguard finally moved out of earshot.

  “Something valuable,” Nyall muttered.

  “Nothing of concern to us,” Sera said. “They have the Raan Dura.” She paused as she thought again of that nameless kingdom turned to ash and dust. “We need to get it back.”

  Cohvass nodded. “They’re twice our number. There are perhaps one hundred of us able to fight. Even then, we’re ill equipped, we’re hungry –”

  “Stop,” Sera said quietly. “Do you want to see Aulvennic’s gift to our people destroyed?”

  The tall warrior shook his head.

  “Would you fight to get it back?”

  “Of course I would,” he grumbled.

  She put her hand on his forearm. “Good… because there is a way we can get it back.”

  The group separated that night. Many among them were aged and tired, or young and frightened; unable to fight. Lian Sepro, a well-known seer from the city, agreed to act as their leader while the rest of them – just over a hundred – tracked the column. Some objected, not wanting to leave any of their countrymen defenseless, but their need to see the Raan Dura freed would not be denied.

  Sera spoke privately with Lian before they left. “It may be several days before we return. It may be longer than that. We’ll need to wait for just the right time.”

  Lian smiled. “I believe that Aulvennic is guiding you, Sera. You saved us once. Perhaps by his grace, you’ll save us again.”

  Lian looked sad as Sera walked away; he was not too old that he couldn’t fight, and she knew that he would have preferred to follow her. But the rest of their kinsmen needed a holy man to assure them that their god had not forgotten them. She felt hopeful for the first time in weeks, hopeful that they would have a victory of their own as they set off into the forest after the enemy.

  Chapter 7

  He was back at the tree. Their tree. The sound of the waterfall drifted in and out of his awareness, its noise as natural as the beating of his heart. It felt as though it became part of him, a sound as much his own as his breathing. Sometimes the wind would carry cool droplets of water to where Zayd and Symm sat against the tree. They smiled unknowingly each time it occurred. His mind would drift back to before, when he had come there alone. But that was someone else. He was no longer that Zayd. He had come here to this place for years by himself, but it had always been theirs. It made sense now. He understood.

  They raced each other every time they went there, and every time she won. He pushed himself, faster and faster each time, only to find Symm already lying on the branch that reached closest to the precipice of the falls. She was never even out of breath. He tried different routes, but the conclusion was always the same.

  The summer heat bore down on them even in the shade, and they sat unmoving, silently awaiting the next breath of wind to usher mist off the cascades to where they rested.

  “Why haven’t you followed me?” Symm asked. Zayd was unsure if they had spoken since they had arrived.

  “I think for the same reason you haven’t asked me to.”

  She traced her finger along lines in the tree bark. “Maybe I don’t know why I haven’t.”

  “Because it’s yours.”

  She lifted her head off of his shoulders, the most she had moved in minutes… or hours.

  “The land isn’t mine,” she said.

  “The run is yours. Running whatever way you go, whatever path you’ve found. That belongs to you.”

  “And that’s why you haven’t followed me? Or asked me to show you?”

  Zayd nodded.

  “Aren’t you tired of getting here last?” she asked. Zayd’s eyes were closed, but he heard the smile in her words.

  “No,” he said. “That’s my favourite part.”

  Her finger followed a line in the bark that led to Zayd’s leg, and she ran her finger slowly on his thigh where the line in the bark would be. She laughed as she felt him tense. “Why is that?” She stopped her hand after he did not answer for several moments.

  “I leave the village,” he said slowly, “and I see you there when I go. And I see you here when I arrive. And I begin to think I may see you wherever I go.”

  “In your home?”

  “Yes.”

  “And… in your bed?” she whispered deliberately.

  The question took him off guard. He opened his eyes and saw her smiling, laughing silently. He felt his face go red. Symm laughed harder, and pushed Zayd suddenly, sending him off the branch. He landed unsteadily on his feet before he lost his balance and ended up on his back, and as he propped himself up on his elbows, he saw her running away, looking over her shoulder at him as she went. Zayd followed her, but she was not running fast. She wanted him to catch up. They did not go far.

  The attack came on the morning of the seventh day since they left Yasri. Zayd and the other scouts had finished their sentry duties at first light and returned to their carriages for rest. Gavras, still chained at the hands and feet, seemed to be perpetually awake. The rain never quit fully since it had started two days prior; there were reprieves, but the clouds remained, promising more.

  The road hugged the eastern bank of a lake, and the far side of the water’s edge was against a high, sheer cliff, from the top of which ran a narrow waterfall. Other mountains had started to dominate the horizon. On their right the ground sloped upward to a ridge, the hard-packed earth of the Yasur forest now replaced by waist-high shrubs and moss-covered stone, and instead of tall pines, the land was dominated by proud oak trees.

  Some soldiers could hear Commander Areagus angrily trying to discern the maps they had taken from Yasri. He had even grudgingly asked the opinion of Willar Praene, commander of the Ninth Regiment, in the hope to determine where exactly they were according to the indistinct maps. Or, he had meant to; instead Areagus had mistakenly asked Evret Lansdon, Praene’s cousin who looked almost like a twin. But, only being a corporal, Evret had no insight to offer Areagus. “Well then get from my sight!” Areagus had yelled. “And go find your damned cousin this instant!” Ev
ret, along with every soldier in Areagus’ presence, hastened to obey.

  As the column halted at the lake while Areagus and Praene conferred, Barrett and some of the knights of the Eighth rode ahead to scout the terrain. Zayd watched the knights ride off, the canter of the horses shaking the ground as they went, and the clamour transported him back to Tauth. He had known fear at those tremors, a fear he thought he had conquered.

  And the noise had hidden the sounds that Zayd and his men may have otherwise detected. It was as if the forest came to life. There were suddenly slain soldiers amongst them, and the second volley of arrows coming from the trees hit them before those wounded in the first volley had even cried out. Some soldiers were getting into what battle lines they could manage in the confined space of the road, while others linked shields together and stood over the wounded.

  In the carriage, Zayd’s eyes shot open seemingly in unison with his men. Without uttering a word they all rapidly disembarked and armed themselves as quickly as they could. Other soldiers were rushing to the front. From the corner of his eye, Zayd saw Areagus and Praene coming out of the command tent. A soldier with two arrows in his shield ran up to Areagus to brief him.

  Zayd was about to issue orders when a familiar sound rang out: a Dramandi war cry. It echoed across the lake and off of the cliff face and back, making it impossible to tell the location of their attackers. The cry went up a second and third time, followed by more arrows. Zayd looked ahead in time to see the Dramandi emerging from the forest, running at them, weapons held high.

  “Circle around,” Zayd said, pointing to their right flank, towards the ridge. “Only engage once you’re sure you’re behind them.”

  “Are you not leading us?” Daruthin asked.

  Zayd looked into the empty carriage. Gavras had disappeared.

  “I’ll join up with you soon.”

  The Dramandi had come into sight but did not charge. Instead they remained a short distance from the road, screaming their war cries from amongst the trees, taunting the Ryferians. Zayd saw dozens of Trueborn soldiers break formation and run into the woods after the Dramandi while their commanders screamed at them uselessly to hold the line.

  It took Zayd a moment to find Gavras amid the chaos. He had found a sword and charged into the forest beyond the safety of the shield wall the soldiers had hastily formed, and even with chains around his wrists and ankles, he moved as fluidly as ever. Zayd cursed to himself as he saw several Dramandi encircle him, their weapons poised. Zayd drew his own weapon and ran forward to the right flank of the shield wall. Stepping in front, he motioned to the three closest soldiers to follow him.

  “Hold here!” a sergeant shouted from behind them.

  Zayd stopped in his tracks and stared at the sergeant, then at the soldiers while touching the tip of his sword to the captain’s crest on his shoulders. “I have rank here, sergeant.” He spat out the last word.

  “Piss on your rank,” the sergeant growled. “You don’t command me, Tauthri.”

  Zayd grimaced and told himself he would not forget this man and his insubordination. Without uttering another word, Zayd reached for the shield of the nearest soldier, tore it from his grip, and ran towards Gavras and his attackers.

  The other Ryferian soldiers that had charged recklessly into the woods were being cut down. Many were running the opposite direction, back toward the safety of the shield wall, as Zayd approached Gavras, who was only making quick jabs at his three opponents to keep them at bay. They had already landed several blows on him; he was bleeding from his arms and chest.

  It was clear they were fixated on him. They must have come from Yasri, Zayd thought as he threw all of his weight behind his shield and knocked one of the attackers off his feet. Before anyone could react to his sudden appearance, Zayd spun quickly and drove his blade into the pelvis of the next closest Dramandi. Gavras lunged at the third, burying inches of his blade between his ribs, but the man stepped back just as quickly before retreating into the woods, clutching his side. Zayd dispatched the Dramandi at his feet with a merciful thrust to the heart. Gavras looked at him with a smirk. Completely forgetting the danger they were in, Zayd grabbed him by the collar.

  “What in the black Beyond are you doing?”

  Gavras was breathing heavily, a look of pained confusion on his face. “I thought… I thought you were one of us.”

  “I am,” Zayd blurted, not knowing what Gavras was talking about.

  “No, no. You’re not,” he stammered. “You’ve become so much like them that you’re ashamed of us. Of yourself. I don’t know what you are.”

  A new clamour arose from far behind the shield wall. Zayd could see another group of Dramandi pouring down from the ridge into the midsection of the column, and, releasing Gavras from his grip, he sprinted towards the new threat.

  The chaos intensified. Soldiers were running in every direction, hacking and slashing as they went, but many were being cut down. The attackers were overturning supply carts. Areagus’ command tent had collapsed. There was something strange about it. It took him a moment, but he soon realized it: their numbers were too few. This was not an assault meant to break them. The attack at the front had been a feint.

  They were after something.

  Zayd entered the fray shield first again, bowling a grey-haired Dramandi into another, more fierce looking fighter. They both cried out in surprise. He moved to finish them while they were both defenseless, but a powerful strike landed on his shield, putting him off balance.

  The newcomer was tall, muscular, and covered in scars, and as Zayd reeled back, the brute must have just noticed who he was attacking. He wore a look of hate borne out of fear. He tightened his two-handed grip on a threatening iron hammer already dripping blood.

  “Gattra!” the brute screamed.

  With surprising speed, the scarred brute brought the hammer down in a vicious overhead swing, and Zayd only just managed to avoid the blow by inches. The hammer struck stone and broke it as if it were glass. Zayd lunged at his larger opponent, but the Dramandi swung the hammer up from the ground and caught him again in the shield, but this time, the shield broke to pieces and Zayd was knocked clear off his feet. There was a deafening roar, and the full weight of the brute was on top of him. Zayd felt a sudden heat.

  Blood. He could feel it spreading on his stomach and legs. He always thought dying in battle would be more painful, but he felt nothing but the warmth. There was another roar. The Dramandi lifted himself up, and Zayd saw only then that the brute had been cleaved in half at the waist.

  Talazz tossed the torso aside like a piece of rancid meat. The giant’s laugh sounded like thunder. “Good thing I came along when I did,” Talazz said before charging after another enemy.

  The flow of battle seemed to shift when Talazz moved. The ground was shaking. Looking back to the front of the column, Zayd could see the shield wall had broken. The Dramandi were fleeing in earnest, and the swordsmen of the Ninth were giving pursuit.

  It was the return of the cavalry led by Barrett Stern that shook the ground as they charged towards the remaining Dramandi attacking the column’s centre. Gavras was making his way towards Zayd, fighting as he went, when the Silver Sun knights wheeled and charged again. Their swords flashed out and down as they went, each blow an exercise in precision. Stern spurred ahead, faster and faster, felling foe after foe. It happened so quickly that Zayd did not have a chance to warn him. Gavras was only turning around when Stern’s warhorse knocked him down and trampled over him.

  Zayd dropped his sword and ran to his fallen friend. Barrett galloped past him, and neither one paid the other any mind.

  Gavras was soaked in blood from the numerous wounds he had sustained. Zayd quickly searched him for a sign of any wound more grievous that he could mend, but he stopped when he noticed that Gavras was staring into the sky, completely still. His short black hair was matted in blood. Zayd gently touched his head and sat there as the sound of the battle waned until it finally disa
ppeared.

  He only looked up when he heard a familiar voice, though for a moment he did not comprehend. The rush of the battle had sapped him of his senses. He looked up to see Tascell approaching, looking back and forth, calling for his brother until he saw Zayd on the ground, and he stopped. He and Zayd held stares for the longest breath Zayd could remember, not looking away as he desperately searched for words that would comfort Tascell, but he could think of nothing. Tascell dropped his sword and shield and walked towards Zayd, becoming more and more unsteady as he neared until he sank to his knees next to the body of his slain brother.

  Always stoic and stern, Tascell was cut through in a way Zayd thought impossible. He held his hands over his mouth as he began to weep, then gently wiped the dirt from Gavras’ face and slowly shut his eyes.

  “My brother,” Tascell whispered. “Little brother…” Zayd wanted to say something, but saying anything would only fill the silence with useless noise. Should he tell Tascell that Gavras fought bravely? Should he lie and tell him he died bravely? He wanted to say these things but he knew it would help nothing. Platitudes are not good company of grief. The image of Barrett, reckless and dangerous, flashed back into his mind. Zayd picked his blade up from the dirt and walked off. Tascell did not follow.

  They had lost nearly fifty men and were only able to find fewer than twenty bodies of their attackers. Soldiers were walking to and fro, reorganizing the toppled supply wagons and moving the wounded where they could rest comfortably. Zayd pushed his way through them all. Ahead was a crowd and through the press of bodies he could see Barrett: he could hear him speaking with someone else. As he neared he saw people on the ground.

  It was Willar Praene, leader of the Ninth, speaking to Barrett as well as to the rest of the assembled soldiers. Zayd noticed at once they were all officers over the rank of corporal. On the ground lay Commander Areagus.