Severed Destinies

by David Kimberley

Gorric smiled then and, for a moment, Khir saw the man he remembered growing up with. “You are right, of course. I am glad you decided to join me here, my friend. I need someone alongside me to keep me sane.”

  Khir glanced down at the training sword. “I think I’ve had enough for today after all. Shall we join Arlath for a brief study session before retiring for the night?”

  As Gorric contemplated missing out on another dull hour of study, a shout came from above and both recruits looked up to see one of their training officers – a veteran soldier named Devanor – staring down at them from the battlements.

  “Haven’t you got better things to be doing than standing around talking?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Gorric quickly. “We were just heading to the study rooms.”

  Devanor eyed them suspiciously. “Were you now? Best hurry then.”

  The officer watched the two newest recruits quickly vanish through a nearby door and then noticed the sword still lying on the ground where Khir had dropped it. Shaking his head, he slowly made his way towards the steps descending to the courtyard.

  He had been one of the duty officers when Gorric and Khir had arrived at the barracks. From what he had seen so far, Gorric was already a good swordsman despite being rough around the edges somewhat. Having already killed in combat would also be an advantage to him in the coming months.

  Devanor reached the courtyard and walked to stand over the sword. Not many recruits at the barracks could say that they had already killed a man but the two newcomers both could. During their first hours inside the barracks, Devanor had explained the rules of their training and then had asked them about their combat experience. Gorric’s strength and skill with a sword was not unexpected when considering who his father was. However, Khir gave him more concern.

  Son of a forester from Tamriel who, up until recently, had planned to follow in his father’s footsteps, Khir would never be completely comfortable with a life in the ranks. Devanor knew this but admired the young man’s loyalty to Gorric and the immense courage he had shown to survive two encounters with these foreigners. Perhaps Khir had hidden qualities which would surface eventually with the correct training. He was accurate with the old bow he had on arrival but Devanor had noted how his aim had changed when using the composite bows used for training. Khir had refused to part with the old bow and had even requested for it to be repaired if possible. Unfortunately the blackened wood was not likely to be restored but Khir had kept it anyway.

  Devanor picked the sword up and sliced the air with it twice. He would have to take a personal interest in developing Khir’s swordmanship. Otherwise, he doubted the recruit would ever survive beyond his first true battle.

  Chapter 27

  Rynn leant on the balcony railing, staring out at the sleeping city of Vylandor. Lanterns had been lit throughout the streets and he could see almost as far as the docks on the western side. He could not help but be reminded of Boraila, where he would gaze down on his home from the safety of the temple roof. He had spent many hours there but never again would he hear the ringing of Ranesch’s bell as the old cleric searched high and low for him.

  He looked down into the gardens within Jolas’ estate and could make out the frequently-tended flower beds, the narrow path running across the grass and even the two horse statues that stood watch near the wall. The estate was kept almost immaculate by the number of house staff and gardeners Jolas employed.

  Out in the city, Rynn could hear laughter. The people of Vylandor were not aware of the darkness which now dwelt in the north of their kingdom but soon they would be. He imagined then that the laughter would cease and a feeling of uncertainly would replace it.

  He clenched his fists as unexpected anger rose within him. How dare these people laugh whilst so many others suffered at the hands of the invading army. He hoped that they would know fear like the people of Boraila, Tamriel and Barentin had. Then perhaps they would understand what he and the other survivors had experienced. They would know how it felt to watch friends and loved ones die in such brutal fashion.

  A voice called to him at that moment and he froze. It was a voice he had only heard once before, back in Turambar. Glancing over his shoulder, his eyes found the footlocker at the base of his bed. Taking a deep breath, he tore his gaze away and returned to watching the city. The voice called a second time and Rynn shook his head.

  “I have no interest in reading it,” he whispered. “Leave me be.”

  Rynn, now is the time.

  Despite wanting to remain on the balcony, Rynn entered the warmth of the bedroom and found himself staring down at the footlocker. As he reached out to open it, he cried out through gritted teeth. He wanted to pull his hand back but his body would not listen. He flipped the lid open and began pulling the contents out until the red-ribboned scroll revealed itself.

  Read.

  “No,” yelled Rynn. “I will not.”

  As he picked the scroll up and began loosening the ribbon, there was a knock at the door. “Rynn, we heard you shout,” came Jolas’ voice. “May I come in?”

  Immediately, the acolyte dropped the scroll back into the footlocker and, as he found himself once more in control of his own body, slammed the lid shut.

  “Of course,” he replied shakily.

  The door swung open and Jolas stepped into the bedroom, glancing around warily as he entered. “Why did you cry out?”

  Rynn walked to the balcony doors and closed them. “I fell asleep and was woken suddenly by a nightmare.”

  Jolas looked down at the bed and frowned. “You were not in bed though.”

  “No. I sat down for a moment on the footlocker and must have just drifted off.”

  For a moment, Jolas did not look convinced but then he nodded. “You have been through a lot and it is only expected that your dreams would still be plagued with dark images. Can I get you anything?”

  Rynn smiled. “Thank you but no. Has Varayan returned yet?”

  “No. He has been gone some time now.”

  “He is an explorer at heart. The city is so big that he has probably got lost but I expect he will be back soon.”

  Jolas raised an eyebrow. “As long as he isn’t getting into trouble. I understand that he tried stealing your money when you first met.”

  “Varayan simply hasn’t had the start in life that many of us have. However, we have been through much together and I trust him.” Rynn rubbed at his eyes. “If you don’t mind, councilor, I am very tired.”

  “Of course. I will see you in the morning.”

  As Jolas left, Rynn glanced once at the footlocker and then sat down on the comfortable bed. He expected the voice to return but all was silent, apart from Jolas’ footsteps echoing along the corridor. He wished Varayan was back in the house so that he could spend some time talking to him about the scroll and what had nearly happened. He did not wish to discuss it with anyone else.

  He allowed his thoughts to settle on Kithia. She would most likely be asleep at the house of Karrid by now but he longed to see her again, despite being with her for part of the day. His feelings for her were growing stronger but soon he would have to leave for Kariska and that meant leaving her alone with Arlath.

  The blond recruit was clearly interested in her and the mere thought of them together created a rage in his heart. She did not blush when Rynn spoke to her yet, within minutes of meeting Arlath, her cheeks had reddened and her every movement was for his benefit. He could not help but feel hatred building for Arlath, despite not knowing the man.

  It was then that Rynn made a bold decision. He would leave for Kariska as soon as possible and would ask Kithia to go with him. He would explain to her how he felt and her answer would dictate whether he came back to Vylandor or remained with his parents.

  He looked back at the footlocker. When he left the city, he would leave the scroll behind too. He feared what would happen were he to read it. Despite not knowing what the outcome would be, something told him that it would lead
him along a darker path than he desired.

  Talgan had been expecting another visit from his foreign contact and had prepared himself for the meeting. Armed with the knowledge that so much Rotian blood had been spilt north of the river, the councilor feared for his own life. Now that the invasion was underway and Afaron knew what was happening, how would the foreigner react? Would he aim to silence Talgan or were there more questions to come on the rest of the kingdom?

  Talgan had placed his sword behind the desk in his study and had loaded a light crossbow, placing it next to his chair. His estate guards were patrolling the walls both inside and outside the compound. Despite this protection, he still felt a chill in his spine. The foreigner was dangerous and he wondered whether the man had been involved in the massacre of the Rotian people.

  It was not a surprise to him when the dark figure entered the study. There had been no shout from the guards or house staff but, under cover of darkness, Talgan imagined that the man would only be seen if he wanted to be.

  “So what is the outcome of this meeting to be?” Talgan asked boldly, his right hand touching the cold metal of the crossbow. “Are you here to dispose of me as you did to so many others in the north?”

  The foreigner strode quietly across the study, his boot heels hardly making any sound on the wooden floor. “So news has reached you of our attacks,” he stated.

  Talgan remained in his seat, looking up at him. “Yes. Why kill so many? Why the brutality and suffering? This was not supposed to be a bloody conflict.”

  For a moment, the foreigner stood silently before him, staring down at the councilor with eyes hidden beneath the hood. “We killed those who stood against us. Your Rotian guardsmen from Barentin fought on despite knowing they were beaten. I was somewhat surprised by their valour.”

  “And what of those you murdered in Tamriel, Boraila and Turambar?” Talgan’s voice was strong and defiant.

  The foreigner reached up and pulled his hood back, revealing his face fully to Talgan for the first time. Dark hair fell from the confines of the hood and his skin glowed a ghostly white in the light of the candles. “The soldiers at Turambar were not expected to simply give in. They fought as best they could to defend the fortress but we were inside before they knew what was happening. Some survived though and are now being held in Boraila.”

  “What will you do with the prisoners?”

  “That is up to our high mage.” The foreigner stared into Talgan’s eyes. “Now, I believe that you should remove your hand from that crossbow, unless you plan to use it.”

  Talgan felt the bite of fear and, for a split second, the thought crossed his mind to raise the weapon. However, he brought his hand up and placed it on the desk. “The time has come for you to tell me more about your plans.”

  “Why would I tell you everything, rotian? You could easily tell your king all I explain here tonight.”

  “I have gone against my king in order to help you,” snapped Talgan. “I have told you everything you wanted to know and have given no reason that I would betray you. I know that, were I to tell Afaron everything, I would most likely be dead soon after.”

  The foreigner gave him a cold smile. “True. By aiding us in taking over the kingdom, you are a traitor to your own people. However, your actions are noted by the high mage and he is a man who rewards those most loyal to him.”

  “Where is the high mage? Is he in the kingdom?”

  “Yes. He commands our forces in the north.”

  “How many men do you have on our shores now?”

  “We would outnumber your army so be aware that any direct conflict would only have one outcome.”

  Talgan’s thoughts were of Afaron taking the Vylandor soldiers north. “You continue to be very sure of your success.”

  “Listen to me now, Talgan Akalla,” said the foreigner, leaning forward to tower over him. “My name is Saroth. I am an agent of the Shada-Kavielian empire. Our homeland is far to the west but we are a very different race to the Rotians. I am sixty-three years of age and, when you have perished from the ravages of time, I will still be walking this world.”

  Talgan leant back in his chair. “So finally I know your name. Why tell me this now?”

  “Because you are going to tell me what is being planned by your king,” replied Saroth. “And I expect that the information you give me will lead to the end of the Rotian Kingdom. You should know who you now place your allegiance with.”

  Talgan had feared this moment. There would be no going back once he told Saroth of Afaron’s intentions. “I understand. Do you expect to continue the bloodshed though? Is the intention of your high mage to conquer the kingdom in a swift, brutal offensive?”

  “That depends on your king. I believe that he will try to protect his kingdom as best he can…it would be expected of one so loyal to his people.” Saroth’s sarcasm caused Talgan to flinch. “However, if he surrenders to us then there will be no mindless killing. We are not barbarians.”

  “Were you involved in any of the battles in the north?” Talgan asked him.

  “Yes. I was at Turambar when it fell. It was I who opened the gates and who killed the commanding officer there.”

  “You killed Sarin?” Talgan’s jaw dropped open.

  “Enough,” growled Saroth. “These questions are insignificant. Before you explain your king’s plans to me though, I am interested to know how this news reached you.”

  Talgan considered his response but realized that it would be no use lying. “Survivors from the attacks in the north came to Vylandor.”

  “How many survivors?”

  “Six, plus a man from one of the settlements south of the river.”

  Saroth’s eyes flashed menacingly. “Were there five young Rotians amongst them, one of them a girl?”

  “Yes. You know of them?”

  “They escaped Turambar and I believe that they had been in Barentin when the attack came. They are extremely lucky to have survived. Are they still in the city?”

  Talgan hesitated. Did Saroth have an ulterior motive for coming to Vylandor? Seeing the Shada-Kavielian still glaring down at him, he nodded. “They are.”

  Saroth saw the concern on Talgan’s face. “Do not worry yourself. I have no need to silence them considering they have already delivered the news.” A part of him questioned that statement. “They are just another cog in the workings of our plan.”

  “Must I remain in the city once you leave?” Talgan asked.

  “Of course. Unless you want to be branded a traitor and a coward.”

  “The captain of the guards is a suspicious man. He already looks at me as if he knows something.”

  “Then I suggest you remove him before he becomes a problem.”

  “What?” cried Talgan. “You expect me to kill Toresin?”

  Saroth gave the cruel smile again. “You have every opportunity to get close to him.”

  “I’m not a killer like you.”

  “Then this Toresin may discover it is you who has been feeding us information and I would expect he would not hesitate in executing you. If the chance arises, dispose of him.”

  “People would notice if he vanished.”

  Saroth sighed. “You are a diplomat. You would be able to think of a suitable reason that Toresin had left the city. Now, tell me what your king is planning.”

  Saroth listened intently as Talgan explained Afaron’s plan of action. He asked further questions, pushing the Rotian councilor’s knowledge on the matter as far as possible. Finally, when he was satisfied that Talgan had given all the information he possessed, the assassin turned and headed for the door.

  “Is that it?” Talgan asked, finally finding the courage to stand. “Now I am left here to watch as the kingdom crumbles?”

  Saroth came to a halt but did not turn back. “Your information will be of great use. Until we need you again, continue your work here. Consider what you must do about the captain of the guards. It is in your best interests that our meeti
ngs remain secret.”

  “What if I leave Vylandor and go to visit relatives in another part of the kingdom?”

  “That would be foolish. Your kingdom comes under attack and you suddenly decide to leave? Think how that would look.”

  “Saroth, I need to know what your next move will be.” Talgan walked from behind the desk and approached him. “If Afaron goes north, will he return?”

  Saroth spun to face him, causing the councilor to take a step back. “I do not make the decisions for our people. That is left to the high mage. I will return to Boraila now to speak with him.”

  “I don’t wish for any further Rotian blood to be spilt,” Talgan said, his voice shaking slightly.

  “That is inevitable.” With that, Saroth was gone, leaving Talgan alone in his study to contemplate his actions.

  Kithia found herself unable to sleep. However, this time it was not through concern or fear. Ever since she had met Arlath, the blond-haired soldier had been on her mind. He may have been arrogant and very aware of the reaction women had around him, but there was a certain charm too. She was sure that he had bedded many women from the city but that thought simply fuelled jealous feelings.

  When she had said farewell to Gorric, she had told him that she would visit as often as possible. Her hopes were to see Arlath each time she returned to the barracks though and to have him escort her around Vylandor as he had offered. This would lead to them being alone more and that thought left her feeling something altogether different.

  A soft knock came at her door.

  “Yes?” she called softly.

  Karrid’s daughter, Arelya, slipped into the room. “I thought you might still be awake,” she smiled. “I wanted to ask you something.”

  Kithia sat up in bed and watched as Arelya lit two candles. “I take it that it couldn’t wait until morning.”

  Arelya grinned. “Sorry, but I am just so excited.”

  Kithia had only recently met the councilor’s daughter but it had not taken long to realize that Arelya clearly did not have many friends to talk with. A year younger than Kithia, Arelya already treated her as if they had been friends for life.