Bane of a Nation

by A J Burns

  “Ritek,” Mauro said.

  The Elynaurian nectors rode so swiftly through the gates and towards the tower that the Tekotaurians were still to react. Those at the tower’s base had been taken unaware; they scattered at the sight of the horsemen, and Ritek rode past them, his men dismounting at the entrance of the tower.

  Theos ran inside, as fast as he could, and hurled himself over a bannister and onto the floor below, stumbling when he landed, but carrying on unscathed.

  The wounded men screamed out in agony as Ritek’s men delivered them to their fates. Ritek could feel the men behind him.

  He reached the balcony that overlooked the second floor and greeted an Elynaurian nector with a mace to the chest.

  Theos jumped from the balcony and fell onto a fraught soldier, bringing down his mace with him. He could feel his allies at his back; knowing he wasn’t alone, he pushed farther than he probably should’ve, making his way to the entrance of the reception chamber.

  A blow knocked him to the ground. He rolled onto his back and held his mace out in front of him. Devos ran up behind the assailant and jolted his sword into his heart.

  “You crazy bastard,” Devos said, reaching out a hand.

  Theos grabbed it and pulled himself up. “The others’re downstairs.”

  “Then they’re already dead. You won’t do us any good by going down there to get yourself killed as well.”

  “Won’t do us any harm neither.” Theos ran to the entryway, bludgeoning an Elynaurian soldier that had stood in his way.

  “Matheral, damn it.” Devos ran over to him and tugged him backwards. “What do you do?”

  “We’ve men down there!”

  “They’re dead.” Devos stepped forward and dropped to his knees.

  Theos saw the steel being pulled from Devos’ leg. Theos swung around and bludgeoned the man who had stabbed Devos.

  “I’ve got ya,” said Theos.

  More allies were coming down from the balcony and making a presence in the reception chamber. Theos yearned to run downstairs, but he stayed beside Devos.

  “You better have me. Fuck, man. I just tried to protect your stupid ass.” Devos rested on one side and held his hands around his wound. “First time being stabbed…. It fucking hurts—no fucking joke, this shit hurts.”

  Theos found it within himself to laugh.

  When the Elynaurians were pushed out from the reception chamber, Theos followed his allies to the first floor.

  Tekotaurian infantrymen had flanked the enemy at the entrance, and Theos couldn’t help but shake his head at the Elynaurian suicide mission.

  Marsi’s bloody corpse was sprawled atop Enk. Theos approached them hesitantly. With a kick of his boot, he knocked Marsi off Enk.

  Enk was panting. “Gods, have mercy….”

  “It’s a miracle,” Theos said. “I imagined to find ya here dead.”

  Enk was still trying to catch his breath. “No…, no miracle.” He placed a fingertip on Marsi’s neck.

  Mauro was jogging down the stairs, Desoru beside him. A couple of hundred Elynaurian nectors were dead around them. Ritek strode out into the main hall.

  “Let me.” Desoru shoved men aside so that he could move forward.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Ritek was holding a jar in one hand and a candle in the other. “This entire floor is set to explode.”

  “Just another guarantee that you’ll be dead.” Desoru ran at him.

  “No, wait!” Mauro yelled down at him.

  Ritek lit a fuse hanging from the jar and tossed it into the storage compartment. Black, acrid smoke rose from the room and enveloped Desoru. There was a moment of complete silence, and then the wall exploded, sending pieces of stone in every direction. The entire floor became an erupting circle as the demolitions ignited from one column to the next.

  The tower began to shake and crumble. Blocks fell from upstairs, and the balcony swooned in the wake of the blast. Men rushed for the entrance of the tower, pushing over their friends to reach the outside. Those on the second floor jumped from the balcony in an attempt to escape. Theos heard bones breaking from the drop.

  Theos lifted Enk in his arms and made his way to the exit. Someone pushed him down and trampled over him. Theos used all his might to stand back up. He ran until he was outside and then ran even farther. The tower started to lean, casting a shadow over him and Enk.

  Stone by stone, it started to crumble until it came crashing down and sent a tremor through the courtyard.

  Theos laid Enk in the shade of a rampart. “I’ll be back.”

  He searched through the ruins, seeing if he could find anybody trapped within. Mauro and Bivek had escaped without injury, as well as Len, Kraos, and Enos.

  Theos found Devos, his leg pinned down by a slab of stone. Theos called Kraos over to help him remove it.

  “Come take a look at this!” Bivek was yelling to everybody who would listen. He was standing above the remnants of the tower’s eastern wall.

  Theos walked over to him, watching his feet for any pitfalls. A pair of legs was kicking at air from one end of the wall. Theos turned his head to the side; it took him a moment to register the face, but despite the cuts and blood, he was able to recognize Ritek: mostly unharmed, but ensnared by the rubble atop his back.

  Bivek knelt down and guffawed; as if the laughter was contagious, others started to snicker and jeer, first Mauro then Devos, and soon a dozen of men were laughing. Ritek tried to speak, but debris was in his way. He coughed and sent soot swirling in puffs away from him.

  29

  Otysoru Hytaur

  Hytaurian Chief

  The Hytaurian castle was surrounded by beautiful orchards of apples and peaches, but these orchards were now infested by the southern hordes.

  Otysoru’s stomach growled as his eyes feasted on the landscape, its fruit and life being consumed by the enemy.

  “They’ll pay for this,” Otysoru muttered. “Have they returned with Tefvon yet?”

  “No.” Mysoru was a pudgy teenager with a cluster of freckles in the center of his face that, to Otysoru, suggested a target that should be hit every time he spoke.

  “Have they returned at all?”

  “No.” Mysoru tied his hair in a ponytail. He was Otysoru’s nephew, his mother Noconyx, and there was no doubting that he had gotten the worst genes of both ethnicities.

  “They’re late.” Otysoru turned to address Kevon. “Why are they late?”

  “Perhaps they failed,” Kevon had never learned exactly what the tongue was supposed to do when speaking, and, as a result, his speech was nigh unrecognizable. “Nothing’s guaranteed.”

  “‘Nothing’s guaranteed’?” Why am I surrounded by idiots? “Of course nothing is fucking guaranteed. Our orchards may grow fruit, but it looks like our women grow vegetables.”

  “I don’t understand,” Kevon said.

  Otysoru sighed. “Of course, you don’t…. Call for me when they return.”

  “What if we can’t find you?” Mysoru asked.

  “My gods…. Literally, just call for me. Stand on the staircase and yell ‘Otysoru, Otysoru!’ until somebody acknowledges you. Alright?” That shouldn’t be too hard for you now, should it?

  Otysoru retreated inside and wobbled up the stairs on his way to speak with his father. His mother was seventy-years old and “healthy as an orchard,” but his father was two years younger and one bacterium away from death. His sickroom was at the top of the tallest turret; for his remaining days, he wished to look out at the beauty of the world, but Otysoru figured his last days would be spent looking at a siege.

  “Nice of you to come and see me,” his father said, slobber running down his cheek. “Why do you never come to see me anymore?”

  “I visited you last night.” He grabbed an orange towel and wiped away the slobber. “Are you feeling any better?”

  “Peachy…. Your sister came to visit me—the skinny one, what’s her name? Well her, she came to
visit me, and she told me what you’re doing. I don’t approve of it one bit.”

  “Myrne,” said Otysoru, “and she came to visit you a week ago. We’ve already been over this.”

  “A chief deserves to die on the battlefield.” He pointed at the blinds. “Be a good son and open those for your father.”

  Otysoru peeled open the blinds and then sat at the edge of the bed. “Tefvon is too much of a drunkard. If he wants to leave himself vulnerable, then why should we not take advantage of that?”

  “Tefvon’s a good man,” his father said. “He and I were friends. What I did…. It was terrible what I did.” The more his health deteriorated, the more he cried at the simplest of triggers. “I was at the mercy of the chancellor, but you … why are you doing this?”

  “Do my brothers not sleep with Noconyx women? Is my sister not wed to the chancellor? I am at the same mercy as you had once been.”

  “A chief deserves to die on the battlefield.”

  Otysoru groaned. “If he commands his army to surrender, then I shall release him when the time is right.”

  “What if he doesn’t surrender?” his father asked. “Tefvon will never tell his army to surrender.”

  “Then I shall drain him to within an inch of his life and fling his dying body onto the battlefield.” He reached for the towel and prodded at a bit of spittle on his father’s lips.

  “That’s barbaric.” He pushed away the towel with what little might he had. “Why do you belittle me so?”

  “I do not belittle you.” Otysoru threw the towel on a nightstand. “I am trying to protect your legacy by ensuring that our name lives on.”

  “But … a chief deserves to die on the battlefield.”

  “Where is your battlefield?”

  His father used his sleeve to wipe the teardrops from his eyes. “It is heaven that calls me from my sickbed, not our enemies. We cannot control the gods.”

  “Which gods are those?” Otysoru said condescendingly. “The Mesallian gods? The goddesses of the congregation?”

  “Our gods.”

  “What are their names again? If our gods have ever truly existed, they never would’ve allowed the Noconyx to wipe them from memory.”

  “Names.” His father dismissed the notion with a flick of his wrist. “Words are nothing but our way of identifying concepts. If I were to forget your name, would you cease to exist?”

  “I am no god.”

  “Then do not try to play one…. A chief deserves to die on the battlefield.”

  Otysoru kissed his father on the forehead. “I must be leaving now. Get some rest.” Seeing his father like this, broken and confused, always left a sour taste in his mouth; and it had been getting steadily worse the more his father’s mind and body deteriorated. People had once praised Otys for his supposed ability to turn leaves into coins, yet now Otysoru doubted whether his father could even recall what those things were.

  He found Kevon and Mysoru playing a card game on the inner wall.

  “They returned,” Kevon said, still focusing on his cards.

  “Why didn’t you call for me?”

  “We did,” said Mysoru, “but you didn’t answer.”

  Otysoru shook his head in disgust. I guess that was too difficult for you. “Did they return with the chief?”

  “They had some old guy,” Kevon said. “It looked to be the chief, but I’ve never seen him myself, so I couldn’t say.”

  “They must’ve given some indication of who they had brought back.” Otysoru wanted to scream at them, but he remained calm. “Well?”

  Mysoru shrugged. “Well they said he was their captive.”

  Otysoru put his palm to his face and laughed. “My gods. What have you ‘blest’ me with?” He exhaled. “Where did they take him?”

  “I did ask them that,” Kevon said excitedly. “They took him where they always take prisoners.”

  “You’ve been a great help,” Otysoru said as he left them behind.

  “Just happy to serve!” shouted Mysoru at him.

  Otysoru’s feet ached as he descended the first staircase, walked across the great hall, and then continued down the second staircase.

  An oil painting hung over him as he turned down the last pivot on his way to the “reception chamber”; in the painting, a man was seated on a rock as a woman crouched behind him, an apple in her hand, and a snake at her back. Otysoru was still undecided on whether he liked the painting, but it had hung there since before he had been born.

  He pushed open the studded door to see three men awaiting his arrival and a fourth man seemingly indifferent to it. “Greetings, Tefvon,” he said as he entered.

  Ropes bound Tefvon’s wrists and ankles to a chair. “Otysoru….”

  “Thank the gods you’re such a lush for that hard cider, but did you forget whose territory you’re in?”

  “What do you want from me?” Tefvon asked solemnly.

  “Patience—it’s a virtue.” He gestured at the other men. “Come back in about five minutes.” After the men had left, he pulled over a stool and sat across from Tefvon. “You’re too predictable.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Your filth will never take this castle. I don’t care how many men you throw at it.”

  “We don’t need to take the castle,” Tefvon said. “We just need to starve you out. What do you want from me?”

  “Is it true that Ketewyn has passed away?”

  “She hanged herself eight nights ago.”

  “Gods be good,” Otysoru muttered. “I hope it wasn’t from one of our apple trees. Though … shit does make for a good fertilizer, does it not?”

  “What do you want from me?”

  He slid his fingers between the gnarly hairs of Tefvon’s beard. “Who commands the Sworfaurians, then?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Well that’s a new one. Way to be creative there, Tefvon. I believe jokes won’t save you now, however. If you don’t have your army vacate my lands, you’ll be pushing up daisies in no time.”

  “Such a shame,” Tefvon said without emotion. “I’ve always preferred orchids.”

  “You seem to think the whole world is nothing but a private joke that only you’re in on.” He twisted the beard in his hand. “The time for jokes is over.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  He yanked at the beard. “Order your men to surrender.”

  Tefvon struggled to pull his neck away from Otysoru. “Pull it out. I don’t care.” He cringed as Otysoru yanked more forcefully.

  “The beard you might not care about.” Otysoru grinned. “But I can promise you we’ll do a lot worse should you continue to rebuff me.” He let go of the beard. “The Bostaurs are coming to reinforce us. Your stubbornness will save nobody. Tell your men to surrender and you can still save those two worthless sons of yours. How many have died because of you now? Let’s see…. Your daughter’s dead, your youngest son, your nephews, your brothers, your father, your mother, your friends. What is there left to fight for, Tefvon?”

  Tefvon stared at him but said nothing.

  “From what I’ve heard, the plague has spread even to your capital—that your treacherous son brought it back with him, that it leaked out from his ass…. Notice how I never said your wife was dead. Did you notice that? Or are there too many deaths to keep track of? I really can’t blame you, I guess, when you have more dead kin than living. Well, anyway, we never killed her, Tefvon. That flayed woman you found was nothing but a serving girl. Her tits were a perfect match, though, so I can’t blame you for mistaking them. Your wife, however, she’s been spitting out bastard children for the past thirteen years or so. The chancellor seems to have a fetish for chiefly women.”

  Tefvon’s irises dilated, but he remained silent.

  “What’s wrong? Why don’t you want to speak with me? I’m sure the chancellor would have no problem returning a used toy to you—in exchange for your surrender…. What is it? Do you thin
k I’m lying? Do I have a reason to lie? I’m as honest as they come, Tefvon, and I too know what it’s like to have lost a loved one. Hell, I had a passionate moment with your wife as well. It only lasted a minute or so as I grew tired of her weeping and clawing at me—but I do believe she took my virginity.

  “Please, Tefvon. Talk to me. We have so much in common, and I’m going to feel bad about what will happen to you if you refuse to help. You may be bold now, but when those men return, all pride and honor will be ripped from your body, and we can stop it—right now. Just utter one simple word to your soldiers. Surrender. That’s it. That’s all you have to do, and we’ll allow you to live out the rest of your days with your wife by your side. Sure, she’s broken and won’t be very much fun, but a broken wife’s better than no wife. Am I wrong? Maybe you never loved her. I know marriage can be a difficult thing.

  “I don’t always care about my wife, either. Some days I wish the chancellor would come calling for her too. Maybe then I could remarry a pretty little thing. Emowyn wasn’t so bad. She had a tight little ass on her. Such a shame what happened to her. I don’t know if I ever would’ve grown bored of that—but alas, you killed her just like you killed everybody you’ve ever loved.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Otysoru said, and the three men returned. “Has it been that long already? I’m not nearly done, but I guess I can wait.”

  “Does he still refuse you?” Podrek asked.

  “Yes, sadly, he does. It would appear my generosity is not enough for him.” Otysoru pushed the stool away. “I’m sure you fine gentlemen can help coerce him, though.”

  “He’ll be singing surrender when we’re done with him.” Vosynek leaned over Tefvon. “I don’t like the way he’s looking at me.”

  “Mind if we cut out his eyes?” Baston asked.

  Otysoru contemplated it. “Well feel free to cut out one, but I think it best that he hold onto his senses.”

  Vosynek pulled out a razor. “Are you sure you don’t wanna make this easy on yourself?” he said to Tefvon. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”