by T. G. Neal
Vaelen turned, a shocked look on his face. “Aurelia, run! Go now!” He yelled, terrified, not for his own life, but for hers.
Then it happened. She watched as the abomination that towered above everyone on the battlefield swung at Vaelen with a backhand. The first assault missed and Vaelen had to throw his body to the side to dodge, barely missing the inhuman fist that flew past him. Vaelen swung his blade back at the creature and missed, rolling to its side, hoping to get a better angle. As he rolled, the monster pitted the ground with an overhead strike that shook the earth. Vaelen swung at the back of the beast’s knee, barely sinking in the puckered red flesh, and pulling away in an attempt to put distance between he and the monster. Just as he rose to his feet, the monster caught him off guard with another flailing backhand.
The impact resounded over all the other commotion in the forest, knocked the wind out of Vaelen and breaking the ribs on his right side. He grunted as the wind left his lungs, but didn’t scream. He sailed through the air like a rag doll thrown by a child. This strong, shining protector that had been by her side for weeks was reduced to nothing by this beast. He slammed into the trunk of a three-hundred-year-old Oak tree, his head snapping back against the bark. His sword lodged in the tree and his body fell limp to the ground, there amid the smoke, flames, and debris.
Aurelia cried out, in a mixture of anger and sadness, and she ran at the monster. Something inside of her felt confident, different. She suddenly felt powerful. The tips of her fingers felt very warm, and the arcane powers inside of her channeled outward. As she drew an arrow from her quiver, she saw a sudden white energy cover the arrow and she sailed it at the abomination. The first arrow sank deep in its chest, yet it still came at her, fury screaming to the top of its lungs. Then she loosed the second and last white, magical arrow, this one sinking in its chest also, not even beginning to slow it down. Finally, she threw her bow down, drew her short sword and ran toward the monster at full speed. As she ran, she sliced at the torso of one leather-armored ranger, rending his armor and flesh together. A second soldier stepped before her, only to catch the full length of her blade to the hilt. Rather than withdraw the blade, she shoved the man away and drew her dagger from its sheath. Between the tears and unguided anger, she yelled and leapt at the monster with an animal fury, driving the dagger into the wall of flesh that she collided with. Time halted for her as the wind was knocked out of her chest. A scream erupted that made her head hurt and her ears ring. It took several seconds for her to realize it wasn’t herself screaming. In the moment of her realization, the abomination fell, and she fell with it. She looked up to the flames above her head, and then down to her hands still gripping the hilt of the dagger.
When her eyes finally focused on the monster in which her dagger now rested, she saw the face of Jorvig, her brother, who now lay beneath her. She focused on his face for a moment, barely making out that his lips moved to say, “Thank you.” She couldn’t think about him, only Vaelen. She left the dagger and rolled off her brother’s corpse, clawing desperately at the ground to get to Vaelen who she could see the flames closing in around. “No!” She screamed. She couldn’t find the strength in her legs to stand and her vision lulled, but she crawled toward Vaelen with all her strength and speed. She had gained barely three feet, when arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her backward. She pounded at the forearm of whomever pulled her back.
Rolyat pulled her away just as the flames seemed to explode outward, obscuring her view of Vaelen inside the dense forest ahead. “It’s too late,” he said weakly, tugging her backward.
“No! No, it’s not!” She said, sobbing. “No, it’s not.”
Rolyat kept pulling her back before finally throwing her on his shoulder and running out of the forest, until Keneya got to them, at which time they had both collapsed to the ground, Aurelia still in tears, weakly saying “No, it’s not. No. No.”
Miliria watched the flames before her rage. Inside the flames, she could see the battle as it unfurled. She saw her soldiers being pushed back into the forests, soon to return to her in Stormvale. Many would be punished, but they had no idea they were only a distraction for what was to come. Her plans were vast and far reaching. Jorvig had been her pawn from the beginning, a means to an end; even from the get-go she had poison the fool’s mind and used him to set all these terribly wonderful acts in motion. A shame he had to be sacrificed so early on; Ifris had told her that many sacrifices lie ahead of her, but she had no love for the now-dead son of a Bren.
Miliria looked at her brother, who stood as a testament of her powers. He was motionless, bearing half a soul, and bound by her will. “Make preparations,” she said, gesturing to the unrolled paper on the table.
Denevim bowed his head and turned to leave.
Miliria watched as he left and turned to face the fire again. A wicked smile crossed her face and she laced her fingers together, turning to follow the same path she had just sent her brother on.
Commandant Broadsblade and a large portion of the First Legion pushed forward to the edge of the thick forest. From what he could see from where he stood, he still saw bits and pieces of the enemy’s machinations burning up in the forest. He could also see soldiers, both Legion and their enemy, burning in the flames. The flames that raged on were intense and destroyed all that they came across, and the enemy escaped away behind them.
As Broadsblade turned to survey the battlefield, he saw Keneya, Rolyat and Aurelia lying on the ground, only far enough away from the flames to not be scalded by their heat. “Ho!” He shouted and jogged to their position. “Where’s Vaelen?” He asked to Keneya, the only one standing.
Keneya turned to Broadsblade and shook his head, a pained expression on the face of the blood-spattered elf.
Broadsblade frowned. A Captain rode up beside him, “Sir, we believe we’ve cleared the city. Subterfuge has assured us that most of the enemies are downed or captured.”
Broadsblade nodded, “Have the Third Legion move in and bring all the remaining citizens to Giltshore, the city will have to burn until the flames have nothing left to burn. Save all you can. Set up camps for them.”
The Captain looked at the forest, raging. “Aye, sir.”
Broadsblade looked back at the Captain. “And Captain.”
“Aye?”
“Pray for rain.”
That night was not a night for rest. As the Third Legion entered the city, they did the best they could to collect the citizens that still lived. When Aurelia was finally able to collect herself, she helped the Third Legion relocate the remaining citizens. She did it to keep her mind clear. She did it as a blank slate, devoid of emotion. She stood in the center of the square, dead Legion soldiers and her enemies, lying around her. She motioned citizens through. Adults, and children alike; young boys and girls carrying stuffed bears and their toys – their prized possessions – as they fled the flames.
Tears surrounded her. The pain surrounded her. And for reasons she already knew, she could feel nothing.
When as many of the citizens as they could be sure were rounded up, everyone pulled back from the city to the camp at the base of the hill, there at Giltshore. Even though many other things needed to be addressed, even during the crisis, law had to be upheld. As just one of the acts of their invasion, Commandant Broadsblade had the slaves released. In the dawn hours of the next day, while great plumes of smoke rose from the north, Broadsblade did his best to clothe and relocate slaves to more helpful positions amongst the Legions, for most of them came from far away from Drachenara.
Broadsblade met with Daja and the two made their way to Aurelia’s tent, set up by itself in and amongst the other Silver Sort tents, offset from the Legion Encampment. Daja leaned close and announced his presence, followed shortly by Broadsblade. Rather than enter, they waited for Aurelia to come out.
She had yet to even remove the armor she wore. She came out of the tent, eyes puffy and red, and she was quiet.
“I know how terri
ble of a time this is, but we need to have a conversation, Aurelia.” Daja said, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Broadsblade didn’t say anything but followed when led by the other two inside the tent.
Aurelia turned to look at them but didn’t sit down. “What is it?”
Daja placed his hands on his hips and looked to Broadsblade, who nodded. “Well, milady, you’re the only surviving heir to Drachenara—”
“No.” She answered matter-of-factly.
Daja frowned. “As I said. I know how terrible of a time this is. But listen,” he paused, politely interjecting again, “Drachenara needs a ruler. As a rightful heir, it is yours. You don’t have to answer now, but this brendom needs someone to guide it. Someone who has the birthright. Someone with knowledge.”
Aurelia was pensive. “The people believe I murdered my parents, do they not?” Aurelia asked dryly.
“We will tell them the truth. It will be you who will be rebuilding the city. Those who were here can say that it was the armies of Stormvale who fired upon the city; they can attest to it. We are the saviors here, and we must march forward to destroy Jorvig and Miliria’s army, at least when the fires die down.” Broadsblade said with a sense of strength and duty.
“I don’t know.” Aurelia looked away. “I don’t know that I can do it.”
“Think on it.” Daja said, looking to Broadsblade. “There is plenty to be done. We must all rest some. Perhaps after resting for some time, you will know.”
Aurelia sighed and shook her head. “No.” She sat down in a chair and folded her hands in her lap. “I owe it to my parents and to the people of Drachenara.” She looked up at Broadsblade and Daja. “But…” she trailed. “I need some time.”
Broadsblade began to speak, but Daja interrupted him. “Understandable. You come to us when you’re ready.” He exhaled deeply. “As ready as you can be.” After he finished, he and Broadsblade slipped out of the tent and on to other people.
No sooner did they leave, did Aurelia begin to cry again. She didn’t make a sound, but long, steady streams of tears streaked down her filthy face. She pushed against her thighs, digging her fingers in, fighting back the need to shout and scream. It felt like a stone in her throat, and the agony of resisting her desire to wail was almost as painful as her broken heart. She closed her eyes and thought. Her mind raced over Vaelen, and how she had seen his death before, but did nothing about it. About her brother, who upended everything in one night. About her mother and father, who she could no longer consult about anything. About all the treachery around her, and about the battle that was just waged right inside her own cities walls. And finally, about how she was going to have to rule Drachenera, the Brendom ruled by her father for as long as she had been alive. It wasn’t how she would do it that bothered her, it was how well she would do it. She wouldn’t mar the memory of her parents, she would rule Drachenara just as they had: justly, fairly, and with honor. Brenness Aurelia Drache.
Acknowledgements
First, to God.
Then, to my wife, who supported me finishing this book and provided lots and lots of inspiration. Aurelia’s courage comes from you.
To my son; when I told you that you could do anything you set your mind to, you told me I could too. I did.
To my mother, who said I could be anyone I wanted to be, do anything I wanted to do, and read to me all the time as a kid.
To my friends, you were the inspirations for many of the characters in this novel – you know who you are, and who you inspired.
To my beta readers, your direction was absolutely a necessity. Even the one who held onto the manuscript for six months and didn’t read it… you know who you are too.
To my editor, Sonnet Fitzgerald, who gave me some seriously solid pointers on writing, editing, and the flow of this novel, I greatly appreciate your input. You’ll be my editor for the next novel, Vardos.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
T.G. Neal is a southern born and raised man with his head in the clouds. He’s been a huge fan of high fantasy and science fiction his whole life. His writing started when he was in my early teens by long-form roleplaying on the internet, and then developed it into short stories and fan-fictions as he grew older. He sought a degree in English Lit from the University of Montevallo, but his thick head decided the military would be a better idea (spoiler alert: it wasn't.) He got married at 19 (best idea of his life), had his first child right before he turned 21, and have been chasing the dream of being published since... well, forever.
His inspirations have been far and wide, from Tolkein to Terry Goodkind, and Christie Golden to Troy Denning. There isn’t a day where he’s not wrapped up in some day dream that usually finds its way to paper.
