Severed Destinies

by David Kimberley

  “Do not change. Continue wearing it with pride.”

  Afaron signaled for them to return to the line and, as they began moving northwards once more, Ilkar glanced across at him. “I heard what happened to young Varayan just before we left.”

  “It was very unfortunate,” sighed Afaron. “But he was up on the rooftops during a rainstorm. Not the smartest of decisions.”

  “I believed that he had left that lifestyle behind him. Rynn certainly thought he had changed for the better. I have to say that Varayan was like a protective older brother to him.”

  “That may be but thieves never prosper in Vylandor,” said Afaron angrily. “Varayan made a decision to take advantage of his situation and has been punished. We have greater concerns at this time I’m afraid.”

  With that, the king kicked his horse into a gallop and sped away from Ilkar. The corporal realized that Afaron must have been frustrated with Varayan’s actions after welcoming the young man as a hero, and he was not a man to suffer fools lightly. Despite his own personal feelings on the matter, Ilkar decided to keep his thoughts to himself. Afaron wanted him there as an advisor after all, as well as a soldier.

  He rejoined the marching Rotians, offering greetings as he passed the men. The sound of cheering echoed from the north as Afaron passed the front lines of the infantry and made his way back amongst the cavalry.

  The Vylandor army continued its steady march towards the Ulmerien. As their sixth day out from the capital dawned, rain clouds passed over the soldiers and subjected them to occasionally showers. Undeterred by this change in the weather, the Rotian force marched on and the road north led them through verdant farmlands, where those who resided within the homesteads stopped their daily toil to watch the silver-armoured soldiers pass through.

  Many of the people called out to ask why such a force, led by the king himself, moved north. Ilkar noticed the concerned expressions on the faces of the adults whilst children simply stared in awe and could barely contain their excitement.

  “Should we not warn them, sire,” the corporal had asked Afaron. “They are but a day from the Ulmerien.”

  The king had found himself reluctant to tell them of the danger that could potentially already be on its way to their lands. These had been their homes since most of them could remember and to tear them away from everything they loved would be harsh. However, the survival of his people was the most important factor so eventually he gave the order for several of his men to take word to all the farmers that they were to leave their homes as soon as they could gather their belongings and journey south, heading to Vylandor if need be.

  The army camped that evening knowing to a man that the following night they would have reached their destination. Silence reigned across many of the men as they thought of home and then of what awaited them ahead.

  Ilkar joined Afaron at the edge of the camp, where the king stared north.

  “Any word from the scouts?” Afaron asked him.

  “Not yet, sire.” Ilkar shivered at the darkness before them, imagining that the foreigners laid in wait just ahead, their blackened armour keeping them well hidden.

  “If we don’t hear from them by mid-morning, we can assume the worst.” Afaron glanced across at the corporal. “Tell me your thoughts about tomorrow.”

  “I feel…uneasy,” said Ilkar. “The closer we get, the more my mind conjures up images of enemy soldiers just waiting in ambush for us. They must know that we would eventually send men north and I cannot imagine them simply sitting in Boraila and waiting.”

  “It wouldn’t be a bad plan. Boraila would be a difficult city to take back. However, I tend to agree with you. From what I have heard of these foreigners, they will be anticipating our arrival. That is why I need those scout reports. If the scouts have been captured or killed then we might as well be blind.”

  “Perhaps we should wait here and send word to Ashgar for more soldiers to join us.”

  “By the time they arrived, many more days would have passed,” stated Afaron. “Each day we waited would give the enemy more time to establish a greater defense. We will continue north ourselves.”

  “The forest is not far,” said Ilkar, squinting as he tried to make out the treeline in the gloom. “We must ensure that we have men moving within the trees, sire, just in front and behind our main force.”

  “I agree. However, it will be the smaller contingent heading to the settlement who will be spending more time in the forest. The main road to the bridge is surrounded by lighter foliage.”

  “Two hundred men does not seem enough to accompany the king.” Ilkar turned to face Afaron. “Sire, have more soldiers join us at the settlement.”

  Afaron smiled. “I was actually going to cut the numbers down to one hundred and fifty.” He saw Ilkar’s look of disapproval. “We will stay the course of the plan, corporal. Besides, with yourself and several of my best fighters amongst the two hundred, I feel safe.”

  A shout arose back in the centre of camp heralding the arrival of one of their scouts. Eagerly, Afaron strode back amongst his men, beckoning Ilkar to follow.

  At the centre of a throng of soldiers, they found two scouts waiting. Both men looked exhausted but smiled warmly when they saw the king approaching. Afaron noticed a brightness in their eyes which could only mean good news.

  “We were beginning to fear none of you would return,” he remarked as they both bowed their heads in greeting. “Have the others come back too?”

  “Not as yet, sire,” replied the tallest of the pair, pulling back his hood. “No doubt they will be along shortly.”

  “Well, tell me what you found,” ordered Afaron.

  “We did not find any sign of the foreigners within the forest on this side of the river,” reported the tall scout. “We travelled between the bridge and the settlement along an almost direct route. The Ulmerien was quiet and the forest silent. No tracks were found. However, when we reached the settlement, we saw lights within one of the buildings.”

  Afaron looked over his shoulder quickly at Ilkar, who stepped forward. “You said you found no sign of the enemy though,” the corporal pointed out.

  “There are Rotian soldiers there, sir,” said the scout, a wide grin appearing across his weary face. “We couldn’t believe it but, when we looked through one of the windows, we saw several inside. At first we thought there might be enemy soldiers holding them there but they were alone.”

  “And when you approached them?” Afaron prompted.

  “They are soldiers who managed to survive from Turambar, sire. They said that they got away just before the fortress was lost and made their way across the river as soon as they could.”

  Ilkar reeled at the news. “Why have they stayed at the settlement?” he asked, somewhat bewildered.

  “They have wounded amongst their number, sir. They cannot be moved. Besides, it took them a while to get to the settlement in the first place. Enemy soldiers were moving through the area on the north side of the river so they had to be careful.”

  “Did they give you their names?” Ilkar had been friends with many men within Turambar and he was now desperate to know who they were.

  “They did. I wrote them down for you.” The tall scout reached into a compartment within his belt and pulled clear a piece of rolled up parchment, handing it over to Ilkar.

  As the corporal read the six names, he could not help but smile. He knew all of them well and one in particular stood out. “Daen was…is a good friend of mine.”

  Afaron placed a hand on Ilkar’s shoulder. “This is good news. Your friends are alive and might be able to tell us more about the foreigners. We mustn’t be too quick to think that the invading army has not crossed the river somewhere else but it is important we get to the settlement quickly and help these men.”

  Ilkar pulled his eyes away from the names. “I agree, sire. Caution is still advised of course but I would like to get Daen and the others away from the river as soon as possible.”

&
nbsp; “Was there anything else?” Afaron asked the scouts.

  “Not that we found, sire.”

  “Very well. Get some deserved rest tonight but I want you to return to the settlement ahead of us tomorrow to ensure the path is still clear, understand?”

  “Yes, sire.”

  As the scouts trudged away to find a place to rest and the nearby soldiers dispersed with raised spirits, Afaron saw the distant look on Ilkar’s face.

  “Were you senior to these men from Turambar?” the king asked him.

  “Daen was a corporal too and, if I’m being honest, I had always believed he would be promoted before me. The others were not so experienced.”

  “Well I expect you to take charge of them…including Daen. The wounded will need tending to.”

  “Knowing Daen, he will insist on joining us. That is, unless he is one of the wounded.”

  “Judge their status when we arrive, Ilkar. For now, be grateful that they survived.”

  Ilkar rolled the parchment up and tucked it into his belt. “I am, sire.”

  Afaron patted him on the back and moved away into the heart of the camp. Ilkar sighed deeply. He no longer felt alone knowing that Daen and the five others had survived.

  As he headed back to his makeshift bed, he could not help but wonder how Daen had escaped the foreign soldiers. The courtyard of Turambar had been a frenzy of black armour and any rotian escaping must have had Ardan watching over him.

  Ilkar laid down on the blanket and listened to the conversations surrounding him. Most of the men were discussing the news from the scouts, which had already spread throughout the camp. The warmth of sleep came easily to the corporal as he fell into dreams of a victorious Rotian army cheering whilst the enemy soldiers fled, with himself and Daen standing side by side once more.

  Chapter 29

  Every time Rynn started falling asleep, his body was quick to wake him again. He was exhausted and had become increasingly quick-to-temper but sleep simply was not an option. Whenever he caught himself falling asleep, he would jump up and pace the hallways within Jolas’ home as his mind tried to remain coherent. Exhaustion was beginning to win though and his limbs became heavier each time he jolted awake.

  Rynn found himself standing before one of the great windows in the mansion, watching as the sky beyond grew lighter until the sun began peering over the rooftops of the surrounding homes.

  He did not even hear the floorboards creak behind him as Jolas approached.

  “Have you slept at all?”

  Rynn was too tired to even be startled. “A minute here and there.”

  Jolas appeared next to him and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You need to rest. You are no good to Varayan in this state.”

  “It wouldn’t matter if I were fully refreshed. There is nothing I can do.”

  “Has his condition changed?”

  Rynn bowed his head and rubbed at his sore eyes. “They are saying that he will not last beyond today.”

  “Did they not say that yesterday too?” asked Jolas. “Varayan is stronger than we believe.”

  “His wounds were too serious. He has not regained consciousness since the fall and I doubt he ever will.”

  “Have you tried…” Jolas seemed unable to find the appropriate words.

  “Using magic?” mumbled Rynn. He gave an ironic laugh. “Don’t you think I would use it if I could?”

  “I don’t understand the workings of magic,” said Jolas, shrugging.

  “Neither do I.” Rynn turned away from the window and began staggering back towards the room where his friend lay dying.

  “So you still can’t recall how you healed Ilkar.” Jolas was following the exhausted acolyte.

  “Of course not,” snapped Rynn. “Everyone seems to believe that I am some great healer but you are forgetting that this only happened once.” He vanished into the bedroom.

  By the time Jolas entered, Rynn was sat once more in a chair by the side of the bed, in which lay a motionless Varayan. The councilor could immediately see that his condition had deteriorated since the last time he looked in on him. Occasionally Varayan’s chest would rise but the slow breaths were becoming more drawn out and there was no colour left in the young rotian’s face.

  The dressing around his head had been changed frequently to keep the wound as clean as possible but Varayan’s skull had been shattered on one side. It was a miracle he had lasted this long.

  “When they first brought him here, I believed he would die that night,” said Jolas. Seeing that Rynn appeared not to have heard him, the councilor continued. “We’ll never know what actually happened.”

  “Of course we know,” sighed Rynn. “Varayan couldn’t resist the lure of the city. He had several money pouches that clearly did not belong to him. He got greedy and tried taking the rooftops to avoid the guards. Ardan deigned it to be his time.”

  “There is something not right about his fall though.” Jolas ignored the comments as to Varayan’s light-fingered work and stepped closer to the bed. “It was as if Varayan had tried to leap an impossible distance.”

  Rynn yawned. “It was raining hard that night. Perhaps he couldn’t see what was ahead. Varayan always seemed to trust his instincts. Maybe he trusted them too much.”

  “I am surprised that we have not seen your other friends recently. They will have heard what happened.”

  “Gorric and Khir are too busy training. Ever since the soldiers left the city, I hear that Gorric is pushing harder. He is still angry at being left behind.” Rynn’s expression darkened. “As for Kithia, she has been too busy with Arlath recently.”

  Jolas saw Rynn’s shoulders sag even further. “I must head out into the city again. Please try to get some rest today.”

  “No promises,” smiled the acolyte.

  As Jolas left the bedroom, Rynn leant forward and stared into Varayan’s grey face. There was no flickering movement behind the eyelids and the bruising that had spread from the impact wound had deepened in colour.

  “After everything we have lived through in recent weeks,” Rynn said to his stricken friend. “It seems bizarre that Ardan chose for you to meet your fate in this way.”

  He stood and glanced down at his hands. With a shrug, the acolyte placed them over Varayan’s chest, closed his eyes and waited. After a moment, he moved his hands over the head wound. When he had tried this on numerous occasions during the past week, he had more patience. This time, he simply let out a roar of frustration when he realized nothing would happen and turned away from the bed.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

  With that, he left the bedroom and, as he headed downstairs, he could feel anger burning within him. However, he was angry that nobody else deemed Varayan’s impending death to be of importance when compared against other distractions. He passed a member of Jolas’ staff and asked them to watch over Varayan until he returned.

  After leaving the estate, Rynn made his way to the home of Karrid. One of the guards on the gate told him that Kithia could be found in the gardens at the rear of the house. As he began circling the building, which was approximately the same size as that of Jolas, Rynn realized that he had no idea what he would say to Kithia. He had never been angry at her before like this but she needed to understand that cavorting with Arlath would not be proper conduct whilst Varayan lay on his death bed. He also realized that he was not even wearing his robes and instead was dressed in the loose-fitting rich clothing Jolas had given to him upon their arrival in the city.

  His heart began to pound when he saw her. Arelya was also there and they were deep in hushed conversation.

  “Kithia,” yelled Rynn suddenly, taking himself by surprise.

  She turned upon hearing his voice and smiled. However, that smile faded as he came nearer. “You look terrible.”

  “And why do you think that is?” His tone was sharp.

  “How is Varayan?” she asked.

  “Do you care?”

  Kithi
a looked as though he had struck her across the face. “Arelya, would you excuse us please?”

  Karrid’s young daughter looked nervously at Rynn then nodded. “Don’t forget that Arl…”

  “I know,” snapped Kithia, purposefully interrupting her.

  Rynn watched Arelya swiftly head back to the house. “Don’t let me keep you if you have more important things to do.”

  Kithia stepped close to him and glared deep into his tired eyes. “Sarcasm doesn’t become you. What’s wrong?”

  “What could possibly be wrong?” laughed Rynn. “The kingdom isn’t in danger of invasion and my friend isn’t lying in bed dying as we speak.”

  “Look, you’re clearly exhausted so why don’t you go back and get some rest.” Her tone made it obvious she was not asking.

  “You just want me out of the way because that arrogant blond bastard is arriving soon,” Rynn snarled. “Just admit it, Kithia. Now that you have him, Varayan and I don’t matter.”

  “You are not yourself. Why are you being like this?”

  “I have sat by Varayan’s side since his fall and have watched him dying. Not once have I seen you visit, nor Gorric and Khir. Did you think so little of him?”

  Kithia stepped back and shook her head. “He saved your life so I will always be grateful to him for that. If he hadn’t, I would never have met you and our friendship is one of the things keeping me sane in such a dark time.”

  Rynn studied her face, noticing that she could no longer look him in the eyes. “And he is my friend. Your words mean nothing.” He turned to walk away.

  “I lost my family, Rynn. How can you be so harsh?”

  “You’re not the only one to lose someone close to you. I think you forget that.” He glanced back at her and could see tears glistening on her cheeks. “I thought you cared.”

  “I do,” she said, defiantly wiping the tears away.

  “Then come with me to see Varayan. He needs us.”

  Kithia sighed. “I promise that I will visit later today. You need to get some rest and I have matters to attend to here.”