by Umut Ersezer
They arrived at a distinct and sizeable double timber door. Lewin pushed it open to reveal a massive cavern inside. More black hooded figures were walking around, assessing humans that were tied to the walls with chains. Some were tied down on timber beds and other contraptions. Tens of them lined up through the entire space of the cavern.
There were hooded figures actively operating on some of the people. Screams of anguish washed over the cavern, falling on deaf ears.
“The experiments proceed with success, my lord,” reported Lewin. “The city provides us with ample stock for us to continue our work. The war’s recruitment needs serve as an excellent cover for the disappearances, although there are whispers of suspicion within the city watch. We are keeping an eye on the matter.”
“My, my, Lewin, you have come quite a way since that time I found you all chained up, bloodied and beaten to an inch from death. Not even I could have predicted how loyal you would be to your new duties. I have done well, pulling you out of your demise, giving you a second chance, a chance to serve your new God,” said Simus with a smirk.
“Yes, my lord. Thank you for your kindness. I won’t fail you, or…my God. I have learned the essence transfer was a success?” Lewin probed.
“Indeed, it was. Thanks to the gems your people acquired from the ruins, we can transfer the essence of this planet’s lifelings into the Shadow Lord’s darkspawn creations. It is truly remarkable and has never been seen before. We suspect the gem’s powers are the work of Discite, from before the desolations of this planet. There are stories of old that she hid on this world, cowering from the Shadow Lord, looking for ways to fight back against his creations, the darkspawn. Your discovery suggests these are more than mere stories. Keep searching, there are likely more secrets to be uncovered,” instructed Simus.
“Of course, my Lord.”
“I’d like to see the process, my child,” said Simus while gesturing with his hand towards a man writhing on a wooden bed.
“Please allow me the honour my Lord,” replied Lewin.
He led Simus to a man tied onto a bed, wriggling, fighting in futility against his restraints trying to escape.
“Pathetic,” spat Simus.
“No! Please! I beg you! Don’t do this!”
“Your days of fighting for your king are over,” said Lewin coldly as he drove a knife into the man’s chest.
The man gulped for air, only for it to escape through his punctured lung. His heart, also pierced, bled vibrant red blood, flowing out from his chest.
In the centre of the room sat a metal contraption, housing a giant Lapis Lazuli. The gem started glowing, sucking in a translucent mist barely visible, from the man’s body, absorbing his very life essence.
“Beautiful,” said Simus as the flowing mist illuminated his transfixed face. “The Shadow Lord, with the help of these gems, can now harness the essence collected, creating new darkspawn to wage war on unexplored fronts.”
“I live to serve my lord,” said Lewin with a bowed head.
“You will rise quickly Lewin, heed my words, stay on this path, research, experiment on these worms and perhaps with the help of the Shadow Lord, you will be able to bring back your Biwen from the very clutches of death itself.”
Lewin, stood taller and puffed his chest at the thought. For the first time, he felt he was in control of his future, for the first time, it was he that was wielding knowledge and power.
He would stop at nothing to see his beloved once more. To bring her back. Even if it meant helping the Shadow Lord conquer this world. It didn’t matter, he would earn his place, carving out immunity for himself, as long as he continued to serve loyally.
Simus, without warning, evaporated into black smoke, leaving Lewin to stare upon the man that was bleeding out. “Your life serves a greater purpose now, rest, until the end of time.”
Lewin thought back to the time Simus had rescued him from his imminent execution. He remembered being caught in that field, beaten mercilessly for his attempted escape. He endured the pain for days, hoping Calidum would return for him. He never did.
Lewin endured beatings and whippings day after day as he was made to be an example to the other men. Traitors had no chance of forgiveness. No escape beyond a torturous death. One which Lewin welcomed.
His only thread of hope was tied to Cal coming back to set him free. Only Cal could allow him to return to his beloved Biwen. Even that was squashed. The commander informed him that she had been executed, as punishment for his attempted escape and warning to others.
It was cruelty Lewin couldn’t imagine. He stewed on the thought of Biwen being murdered because of him. It twisted him. It warped his sense of self. His pain was his own fault. The death of his love was his fault. He cursed Calidum for escaping, leaving him to die. He wished death upon him. He wished death upon everyone. He remembered the feelings of guilt and pain, weighing down on his chest, he remembered the saltiness of his tears and blood.
On the morning of his execution, however, Simus appeared before him in his cage. He remembered it so vividly, the pain sharpening his memories.
“You have suffered a great deal, my child, I can feel your pain. It burns from within you.”
“W…who are you?” spluttered Lewin.
“I am a hand of the Shadow Lord. I have come to make you an offer.”
“What offer?” asked Lewin.
“You have a decision to make today, child. You can choose death, or you can choose life. You can choose weakness, or you can choose power. You can choose hopelessness, or you can choose control. Which do you choose?” asked Simus.
“I…I choose life.”
“Your choice is accepted. Do you choose to serve the Shadow Lord for his greater purpose?”
Lewin stared blankly at Simus, barely able to open his swollen eyes. He didn’t know anything about a Shadow Lord, but in that moment, his mind blanketed with a painful haze, he didn’t much care. He just wanted freedom. He wanted to be away from here.
“Yes, I will serve.”
** Chapter 24 **
The Infection
Trajan lay on his side, half-conscious in his private quarters within the medical barracks of Honour Haven garrison. It had a sterile smell to it he always disliked. Candles were alight throughout the room, giving it a gentle orange glow. He had been rushed back to the garrison after the routing at the Pointed Forest battle.
Initially, it seemed he would recover from his burns, but infection had now set in. The strapecot paste the doctors kept applying held the infection at bay at first, but its effects were becoming less effective with time. Trajan was in the grips of a fever, causing him to shiver and sweat into the stark white sheets of his bed.
The generals had ordered a full-scale retreat back into the border garrisons. The army would now focus on defending their boundaries through the winter while new battle plans were forged. Plans that would need to hold off a dragon no less.
Shala sat beside Trajan’s bed, rarely leaving his side. She wiped the sweat off his brow with a cold damp cloth.
“Drink this, you need to keep your fluids up,” she instructed.
With Shala’s help, Trajan sipped the water with a hint of honey.
“Shala, this fever, this infection, it has me. I can feel it getting worse. I don’t know how much longer…
“Shhh, quiet now. Just rest. That’s all you need to worry about. I can take care of the rest with Mitchim’s help.”
Trajan closed his eyes to Shala’s soothing words. He would already be dead if it wasn’t for her, left to die on the field with the wretched darkspawn.
“How did we lose like that Shala? How? Never in my life have I seen…how…how many men?” Trajan coughed.
“Mitchim tells me about half were lost. Either in the battle…or to the dragon.
“That dragon, it was different Shala, to the one that flew over the garrison. It looked different. It didn’t look like what the stories describe.”
“Wha
t could it mean?” Shala wondered out loud.
“Mitchim, I need to see Mitchim.”
“No. You need to rest Trajan. Mitchim is able to run the garrison in your absence. Here drink some more,” Shala said as she pushed more water to Trajan’s mouth.
“When did you get so stubborn, woman?” Trajan asked half chuckling and coughing at the same time. “Please Shala, don’t make me beg. As long as I draw breath, I will command.”
Shala gave a deep sigh and stood from her stool. “Very well. I have duties to attend for a while so it will be good for Mitchim to remain by your side.”
“You treat me as a child,” Trajan said.
“No. I treat you as someone important to me. Someone dear to me. Try to get some sleep before your dinner,” said Shala as she held his hand.
“Any word from Nelk? Trajan asked.
Shala shook her head side to side. “Our messenger confirmed the letter reached her property in Erystin, but we’re not sure if she received it, or if she’s on her way.”
It had been weeks since his letter to Nelk requesting her assistance was sent, if she left straight away, she should be here at the garrison any day now. She had worked a small miracle for him during the Warrior Games in Erystin, he desperately needed another one now.
“Erystin city has been reporting…strange activity of late. Disappearances. We’ve checked our recruitment records and can’t match any to the missing Erystin citizens.”
Trajan groaned. “Shadows dance all around us, and we have no light to extinguish them.”
Shala knelt to kiss Trajan on the forehead, rubbing his fever sensitive hair. Trajan closed his eyes, enjoying her touch. He had thought about kissing her many times before, but never committing, he found it hard to trust. He promised himself at this moment if he is to live, he wouldn’t waste any more time with her. He loved her. He had loved her for a long time. Shala wheeled around to walk out of Trajan’s private quarters, leaving the timber door ajar.
Trajan’s entire body ached, pins and needles torturing his skin, his muscles spasming him to move while his blistered and peeling back begged him to remain still. He tried to relax, pushing the memories of the battle and the dragon out of his mind. He tried to focus on healing, getting better, training, fighting…Shala.
**
Mitchim walked through the corridors of the medical barracks with slumped shoulders, weighed down by taking over Trajan’s duties for the time being. He too kept reliving the dragon’s fire.
He had been lucky to escape, but his eyes were still witness to thousands of deaths, lives brought to a fiery end by a savage beast. He shook his head, trying to clear the vision. He noticed Trajan’s servant Seritum walking a tray of food to his door. It was about dinner time Mitchim realised. The days and nights were beginning to blur into each other.
“Seritum,” called out Mitchim.
“Yes, sir?”
“I will serve the commander’s dinner tonight,” Mitchim stated.
Seritum gave Mitchim a look of consideration, daring to look him up and down.
“It is always I who serves the commander his food. Those are his orders,” Seritum also stated, matching Mitchim’s tone.”
“Know your place, Seritum. I am grateful for your care and attention for our commander, but I will serve him tonight. I will be sure to let the commander know it was I who dismissed you,” said Mitchim as he held out his palm.
“Very well sir, I meant no disrespect,” replied Seritum, deciding to back down.
He took one final look at Mitchim, then silently turned and walked away. “Oh, one more thing, the vial on the tray beside his bowl, that is his medicine. The doctor says to mix it in with his food just before he eats. I will return later to apply strapecot to his back.”
Mitchim gave a grunt of satisfaction as he opened the doors. Trajan was lying, fast asleep. Mitchim approached his bed, sitting on the stool. He peered at his commander, taking in just how pale and frail he appeared. Trajan had always commanded such dominance and power to the very air around him. But here he was, vulnerable, an infection bringing an end to his life.
Mitchim looked down at the food he had brought in with him. A simple bowl of chicken soup and spices with bread. A soothing dinner with the right nutrients to fight off sickness. He eyed the vial of medicine in the corner of the tray, popping its small cork and pouring it into the soup.
Trajan stirred from his sleep, his face giving expressions of discomfort and pain.
“Sir? It’s Mitchim, I’ve brought your dinner.”
Trajan continued to stir until finally lifting his heavy and swollen eyelids. His eyes stung and were red from the lack of restful sleep.
“Mitchim? Is that you?”
“Yes, sir. I’m here. I have your dinner.”
Trajan gave a chesty cough, splattering blood onto Mitchim’s trousers.
“Sorry,” Trajan said.
“Please don’t be, sir. Here, have something to eat,” said Mitchim as he spooned soup into Trajan’s mouth.
“Where’s Seritum?” asked Trajan.
“I sent him away. You wanted to see me, sir, I thought we could have some privacy.”
Trajan chuckled, nearly choking on his soup.
“I’m surprised he listened to you. He has been very diligent with his treatment. Making sure I never miss a dose of medicine or getting my fill of soup. By the gods, I’m so sick of soup,” exclaimed Trajan.
“Mitchim chuckled. “I was firm with him, sir. And I’ll bring you something sweet next time,” he said while smiling.
“How go the preparations Mitchim? The snows must be close now. Report,” Trajan croaked.
“Sir! Preparations go well. We intend to reinforce our fighting numbers from the mainland. There are rumours the king is reluctant about this idea. It seems he wants to hold the bulk of his forces on Terram. I will keep you informed of developments.”
Trajan nodded as he listened carefully to Mitchim. He could understand the king’s hesitation for sending more fighters into a losing war. Trajan winced at the thought of having lost so badly.
“Fortunately, all our tradesman remain with us. I’ve received a report of a couple of blacksmiths escaping during the commotion of the retreat, but we have more than enough remaining, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Mitchim said as Trajan grunted.
“I have them working double shifts to strengthen our fortifications. I have increased our ballistae towers by threefold, due for completion in the coming days and weeks. They are now built onto metal bearings, allowing for greater manoeuvrability. The fletchers have also been crafting steel-tipped arrows. If that dragon shows up here, we’ll bring it down, sir. We are dug in. Our supplies will now last twice as long, there is more than enough to go around, even if it’s a long winter,” concluded Mitchim with a proud tone in his voice.
“You have done well in my absence Mitchim. You will make a great commander one day.”
“One day?”
Trajan locked eyes with Mitchim. “When the time is right, I will promote you. For now, continue your duties. My death may see you promoted anyway,” said Trajan as he sunk his head back into his pillow.
Mitchim gave a frown Trajan didn’t see. He had been the commander of this garrison for weeks. It wasn’t easy, his rank of captain still held him back from making certain decisions and requests of the generals. A promotion to commander now was the opportune moment. Mitchim decided to bite his tongue.
The bowl now empty, Mitchim stood from his place. Trajan was drifting into sleep once more, so he decided to leave his commander to his peace.
**
Days flowed into each other, with no improvement to Trajan’s condition. His sheets were changed continuously, his body bathed with soft towels, but no amount of medicine or attention brought him relief.
Shala loyally remained by his side, praying to whichever god would listen. She had nearly given up hope when Seritum stepped quietly through the doors to Trajan’s quarters.
> “Shala, there is a woman by the name of Nelk here. She claims she has arrived at High Commander Trajan’s…and your request?”
“Let her in!” Shala exclaimed as she looked to the unconscious Trajan. My love, wake up, Nelk is here! Wake up!”
Trajan stirred from his sleep, half opening a single eye to spot Nelk walk through the timber doors.
“Am I dreaming,” he murmured.
“I’m sorry, I tried to get away as fast as I could,” said Nelk as she hurried to Trajan’s side.
“What held you?” asked Shala.
“It’s complicated. The medicine I needed for his kind of infection…was not easy to come by,” said Nelk looking into Shala’s eyes, telling her not to ask more questions.
Shala simply nodded and made room for the large woman. Nelk sat on the stool and lifted Trajan’s eyelids, holding a candle close to his face.
“He is barely conscious. He doesn’t have much time left,” she concluded, as she hung her head.
“Can you help? He told me you had special medicines that no one else had. That you helped him once,” said Shala.
“It may be too late…but I will try,” said Nelk as she examined his face and body, looking closely at details only she understood. “There is something else here…something more than just infection. What exactly is your connection to him?” Nelk asked.
Shala blushed and looked away. “I, uhh…help with the running of the garrison.”
“Oh…I see,” said Nelk as she revealed a cheeky smile.
“Trajan never told me the circumstances in which you helped him?” Shala said, returning the question.
“Did he ever tell you the story of how he gained his black plate armour and firebrand sword?”
“He hasn’t.”
“Ask him once this is over. It makes for a good story,” Nelk said as she opened up her leather bag.
Nelk took out a conical glass bottle with a cork stopper firmly driven into its opening. The liquid within was a deep purple that had shimmering specks of what seemed like metal, suspended throughout the bottle, reflecting warm candlelight.
