Written in Blood

by Span, Ryan A.

  “And I was wrong to think you had power. You were their emperor, and a sorcerer. You could've done something to stop the decline. I bet you didn't even try. Instead, you cut and ran like a coward. You hid in these pieces, hoping Death wouldn't find you, because you couldn't face up to your own mortality. That's why you left your people to die.”

  Such shock and indignation on his face. “You're judging me? I know your memory, Byren, I know what you've‒”

  “Yes, I'm judging you. You're a weak man, Your Majesty. Even when you fight, you don't take on anyone unless you can overwhelm them with sheer power. Have you ever even been in a fair match?” I worked up a metaphorical mouthful of phlegm and spat at him. “I've stood against armies without faltering. I've dragged myself and others back from the brink of death. I may not be much of a man, but I'm more than you.”

  The words came out in a rush, without thinking, but I knew they were true as I spoke them. He tried to force me down, in vain. I refused to be silenced. If it had been just me, I could've surrendered, but I served others. I was responsible for them. Without the veneer of superiority, without first convincing me I was paralysed, he couldn't win against the stubborn sense of duty I carried at my core.

  “How? How are you doing this?!” He roared as he battered impotently at the walls of my mind.

  “I signed my name,” I said, and it was as if my voice were larger than before, with echoes booming off unseen walls. “What's written in blood cannot be undone.”

  I reached out and seized him by the throat. “I want my body back.”

  We were joined together now, the Armaments and I. Neither of us could exist without the other. But the Emperor wasn't the Armaments; he was just an overlay, imprinted upon something older and far more powerful. Wisps of smoke trickled out of his eyes as he choked and clawed at my arm. Bit by bit, it scattered on the wind, and his struggles faded as the last puffs blew away. I let the lifeless facsimile of myself fall, and took stock. There was no other master here, now. Only me.

  “I don't know what you are,” I said to the Armaments, “but you're mine now. Obey.”

  Their power tingled in my fingertips. I controlled it. I only had to think, and it would be done.

  I returned to the real world to find the others blinking and looking around in complete confusion, freshly woken from a bad dream. Faro wavered where he knelt, but caught himself weakly on one arm. He was present enough, cared enough, not to let himself bite the floor. A trembling Yazizi gathered him up in a fierce hug while Racha sobbed quietly into her hands.

  They were safe, and they were free. My contract, completed.

  Ioanna got up from her knees and dusted off her dress. “What, um, what happened?”

  I didn't know where to begin. Instead I pulled her close and kissed her. Her surprised struggle didn't last long. That faint, pretty blush crept into her cheeks again, though this time she scowled in regal indignation when she managed to push me away. “What are‒ Do you think you can just‒” Her eyes widened again as she really looked at me. “You're different.”

  “I suppose I am.” I smiled, and took off the bronze helmet to hold it under my armpit. It felt like such a natural pose. Just like in my Army days. “I... joined with the Armaments. Don't ask me how.”

  Flash of disappointment in her eyes, quickly buried. “Oh. I'd hoped that maybe... Maybe I could...”

  I didn't need the bronzes to read her mind. “Be a mighty warrior queen, riding at the head of your own armies?” I asked, all too able to empathise. We were alike, Ioanna and me. For years we'd both hungered to be more than our birth would allow. “I think you can do that in steel just as well as bronze, my Lady.”

  Bending down, I scooped up the sword of one of the Duke's fallen soldiers and pressed it into her hand. She held it as though it were live rattlesnake. “But I don't know how. No one would teach me.”

  “I can.”

  “And I suppose you'd claim the whole Kingdom in my name?” Uncertainy turned to suspicion, and she took a step back from me, eyes narrowed to slits. “You'd go against Lauric and Selcourt without any care for yourself‒”

  The words of Rogald of Brunoke popped into my mind. I repeated them. “The fool in the South and the brute in the North. One is as bad as the other.” The thought made me chuckle despite myself. “You were right, Ioanna. It isn't treason to put the needs of the country ahead of the king. I know you only wanted to use me to get the bronzes for yourself, but you were right.”

  The next bit came heavily, haltingly, but I was saying out loud what my heart had already decided. “I'm going to kill the Duke and the King. I'm going to end this war. I need you there because I don't have what it takes to be ruler of anything, but I know someone who does.” I stepped in, took her hands, and kissed them both. “Prince-Consort sounds fine by me, if you'll have me.”

  In the background, Lytziri peeked around the corner. She only dared to meet my eye for the space of a heartbeat. Then she dared it again, drawing several holy runes in the air, abject relief on her face. She knew the Other was gone. She even ventured a nervous smile as she climbed to the pyramid's summit and bent at the knees in an odd Harari bow.

  “Lord, we will be ready to ride within the hour.”

  It was the strangest thing, to have someone bow to me. The real me. All I'd wanted to do since I was little was to captain a regiment. Now, my dreams turned out to be too small.

  “T-Thank you, Lytziri. Before we go, I want you to spare some men to bury Sir Erroll and the Ducal troops. The Grenokes, you can leave for the crows. Or whatever passes for crows in this bloody place.”

  “Understood. What about the Listener?”

  “What do Harari do to the bodies of the worst kind of traitors and murderers?”

  She grinned. “Leave it to me, Lord. I have a nice sharp spike in mind.”

  Suddenly, Ioanna's hands cupped my cheeks and turned me back to her, to our conversation. Her voice was almost a whisper. “God love you, Byren, but you can't be serious.”

  “I'm sorry, Your Majesty,” I replied piously as I sank to one knee, “I don't know what you mean.”

  I smiled up at her, her knight in polished bronze. Then I put joking aside. “It's going to be ugly, though. Ugly, and bloody, and thankless, at least at first. You have to be prepared.”

  A whole war of conflicting feelings played out behind her eyes. She studied me for endless, silent seconds, with those pools of emerald green as shrewd and intelligent as any I'd ever known. Determined, too, and strong. But they were different now, as I was different. They saw me as something more. Maybe there was more to see.

  “You,” she said hesitantly, biting her lip, “are not wearing that to the wedding.”

  7. Epilogue

  Some circumstances in life require a man to get drunk. There are three in particular; when he's bedded, when he's wedded, and when he gets paid. Sadly, I've been barred from drinking anything stronger than watered wine. I'm not even sure if this strange new body of mine can get drunk at all. I haven't gotten to try.

  My name is Karl Byren. I'm general of the Kingdom's First Army. I have a son called Calum, and I get to see him every few weeks or so, watching him grow. His mother and I have started to redevelop a tentative friendship. We hadn't known each other for very long before being torn apart, and although that chapter of our lives is over, our fates remain intertwined. There's still a mutual fondness between us. I wouldn't go so far as to call it love.

  I lead quite a regiment.

  One battalion of light horse under the command of Lytziri, made up of Dargha warriors and trackers as well as volunteers from other tribes seeking the glory of riding with the warrior in bronze. The tribes hate us more than ever for it, but fear keeps them in line.

  One company of mountaineers, the last survivors of Brunoke, who leaped at the chance to join up when our merry little band exterminated Nevill of Grenoke and his supporters. With the whole Brunoke Valley burnt to ashes, they had nowhere else to go.


  One company of Household Rangers. One battalion of heavy cavalry, the knights of the North and South. One battalion of the Queen's Own Angian Guard, my personal command.

  There are three other regiments in the First Army, of course, but this one is mine. They're always one step behind me in the field, chanting my name, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

  Not once do I regret putting Ioanna on the throne after taking Lauric down. I'm a soldier. That's good enough in times of war, but wars don't last forever. Though she's no selfless flower, she was born for politics. Not half bad with the sword, either, now she has a semi-qualified instructor. That seems to make her happy.

  Now the Kingdom of Aran is united again, we're thinking of showing the Feldlanders what happens when they try to nibble away at our borders. I don't think I could win entire wars by myself, but together, there's no force on the continent that could stop us. And I must say I don't mind the way Ioanna looks in a suit of armour. I don't mind it at all.

  We don't really see the others anymore. We gave Faro a little knighthood in the North, and from what I've heard he doesn't leave his holdfast much. At least Yazizi's with him. Her contract of ownership is his now, and I couldn't imagine a more faithful concubine. I hope they're happy.

  After personally slitting Nevill's throat, Racha of Brunoke disappeared that same afternoon. I haven't seen or heard from her since.

  I feel like Ioanna and I got the long end of the stick out of our group. The two people who least deserved it. Life really isn't fair, and I'll probably keep feeling guilty about that until I'm old and grey. If I ever turn old and grey.

  Since the countryside has gotten more peaceful, I'm hoping to track down Jasen and my mother. I'd like to see them again if I can. It's been twenty years, but maybe it's not too late to make amends.

  For now, I've got everything I ever wished for. I'm not sure how to go on from there, except to keep my eyes on the horizon and march, one foot in front of the other. ‒

  THE END

  If you enjoyed Written in Blood, try The Impostor Prince by Ryan A. Span and David Debord, and The Street Trilogy by Ryan A. Span.

  Books by Ryan A. Span

  The Street Trilogy

  Empathy

  Clairvoyance

  Precognition

  Written in Blood

  The Impostor Prince (with David Debord)

  About the Author

  Ryan A. Span is the creative mind behind the popular online cyberpunk serial Street. The first two installments, published by Gryphonwood, are Empathy and Clairvoyance. Aside from reading and writing he writes for the gaming industry and is a dedicated (and deadly!) sport fencer. He and his wife and puppy live in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. Visit him online at www.streetofeyes.com.