“An astute observation, your Majesty.” Bertrand looked up at Asher, gleefully impressed.
“If I were in his place, I would be too distraught to be effective at delicate diplomacy,” said Bathos.
“And more prone to impulse,” Miles added.
“Exactly. If Emperor Robinson plays an important role in this armistice, I’d wager it less likely to succeed.” Asher fixed his gaze towards the exit. “Thank you for your counsel. You are dismissed.” As the three men nodded and stood up to leave, Asher said, “stay here, Bertrand.” Bertrand looked up at Asher mildly surprised, but nevertheless obeyed.
Asher waited for Miles and Bathos to exit the room before he spoke to Bertrand. The General proudly walked to the door while the Magister gallivanted semi-obnoxiously. The door closed behind them, then Asher and Bertrand faced each other.
“You need to clue me in on the Artifacts.” Asher glared at Bertrand, who expressed a small degree of fear. “If there is anything important about those things I do not currently know, you need to tell me right now.”
“Of course,” Bertrand exhaled and clasped his hands. “To be at your service, I must know what you experienced while under the Artifact’s influence.”
Asher walked over to the far comfier sofa and sat down. He closed his eyes and rubbed his head. “I had some type of vision.” He scratched his head and fidgeted in his seat. “I am still trying to make sense of it.” When Bertrand looked expectant, Asher continued, “It made me feel a raw desire. For, uh, unity, I think…”
“Making sense of the entire ordeal is quite difficult, I’m afraid,” Bertrand admitted.
“What can I do then?”
“Have patience. It will take a long time before you can begin to grasp it.” Bertrand lightly patted Asher on the shoulder. “Not even the Naturalists’ Guild truly understands these Artifacts.”
“What are they? Where do they come from?”
Bertrand stood up. “They are entities only a fool would underestimate.” He turned to look directly at Asher. “And they are not of our world.” Bertrand shambled towards the exit and quickly exited the room.
Asher stood up and walked up to the window to take in the view. The sun began to settle underneath the grassy hills on the horizon. As he noticed the blood-orange color of the evening sky, his mind was attacked by the images of death that persistently plagued him. Danny, Garret, and the villagers: their dead bodies were infused into his mind, and the bloodied landscape was as real as the sunset before him. He shook his head violently, attempting to force the images out from his mind. As the image of death grew more vivid, he screamed loudly and violently, throwing a nearby chair across the room. It crashed loudly into one of the wine racks housing the oldest reds his father had acquired. The door burst open and Damon came running in.
“Asher!” His eyes shifted rapidly between Asher and the red wine spilling onto the floor.
Asher walked up to the wine spill. “I… I, uh, I’m okay, Damon,” he lied. He saw the reflection of his panicked face in the puddle of wine, and he remembered his desire: a desire for unity.
CH 11 – Alexey III
Dozens of days had passed, and dozens of marches had begun and ended. Alexey got a firsthand look into the infamous attrition rate: thirty-two recruits had died of exhaustion. Their bodies were looted and then swiftly abandoned if they weren’t butchered for meat. Under normal circumstances, eating human meat would be out of the question, but moral hang-ups meant starvation. If recruits were caught fighting over the unorthodox food supply, the officers flogged them and divided the meat among the recruits themselves: never equally, however. Petrenko would distribute these rations to all the recruits in his squad except for Viktor, who was forced to watch his rations get eaten by Petrenko. Alexey always tried to slip him part of his own, even giving away the entire meal at times.
The recruits were not excited when they laid eyes on the greatest challenge in the Rite. The Frozen Forest was the coldest stretch of land in the Dawnlands: a man’s hand could be cut off and the fountains of blood would freeze, and the steel of a sword would lose its bite and shatter when swung through the air. Alexey was curious to see if the stories about the Forest his father had told him would end up being lies too.
“The Arch-Commander has declared that we’ll set up camp for the night,” Petrenko informed his recruits. “You are to undergo the Rite at first light in the morning.” He kicked his horse and started to trot away. “May the strong flourish,” he stared directly at Viktor, “and may the weak perish.”
Viktor could not disguise his disgust while glaring at Petrenko, and Alexey glanced at him pitifully. Alexey was angry at himself for failing to see through the perspective of others growing up: he thought back to the naïve child he once was, how he thought the Winterguard was so incredible. That naïve child had died and been replaced by a bitter and cynical young man.
“What an asshole,” Alexey muttered to Viktor.
Viktor smirked and looked behind him to Alexey. “Now do you understand what the hell we are saying?”
Alexey ignored Viktor and headed towards the Forest’s tree line. With each step the cold thickened, tightening its icy grip on his throat, hindering his breath. Anton and Viktor were not far behind.
One would be blameless for thinking the Frozen Forest had no trees if they saw it, as there was no green, but a stark gray. The trees themselves were completely encased in ice, appearing as massive clear statues. A closer look revealed a dreary black within the ice encasing the trunks and branches. Alexey looked around, and no one was in sight except Anton and Viktor. The other recruits must be in their tents. Only the Stars know where the officers are.
“It’s p—pretty fucking c—cold.” Anton struggled to speak as he shivered. He pulled out his dagger and touched the tree branch in front of him, and a small chunk of ice attached itself to the point. He pulled the dagger close to inspect it, and chuckled, then he started moving his bare hand towards it.
“Don’t touch that!” Alexey shouted. He slapped the blade out of Anton’s hand in a panic. It fell towards a nearby rock that protruded from the ground at ankle-height. The dagger landed blade-first and shattered into dozens of pieces on impact. Anton and Viktor were taken aback by the display.
“How the—” Viktor started, but no more words would come out.
“How did you—” Anton shuddered.
“The Frozen Forest is way too cold. Steel becomes incredibly brittle, and if you so much as touch it, it’ll rip off your flesh!” Alexey made known.
“Seriously? How’d you even know that?” Viktor asked.
“I read about it when I was a child.”
“Anton, you aren’t wearing your gloves? Idiot,” Viktor mocked.
“They make my hands itch,” said Anton.
“We should go back to the tent. The Forest will still be here tomorrow,” said Alexey.
They quickly scurried off to their tent. Alexey crawled inside, wrapping himself in a blanket to reclaim any warmth he could. Viktor lay flat on his back in the tent’s side and Anton sat upright. Anton retrieved a lantern from his bag, then placed his spare dagger and flintstone inside the canopy, bringing light to the tent. Anton and Viktor did not wrap themselves in their blankets as tightly as Alexey had, yet they appeared far more comfortable.
“Tell me, Viktor. Why’d you have to choke me out? You could’ve just told me not to interfere with the Arch-Commander,” said Alexey.
“You wouldn’t have listened,” said Viktor.
Alexey opened his mouth to reply, but he could not find the words. He laid his head back down on the rough ground, fidgeting to find a comfortable spot.
“Use your book,” Anton advised.
“I’ll never read that crap again.”
“As a pillow, not literature,” Anton clarified.
Anton sifted through Alexey’s bag, retrieved The Feats of the Winterguard and threw it beside him, then he placed it under his head. The leather binding was
tough, and did not make for a soft pillow, but the book’s height lifted Alexey’s head up enough to where he deemed it comfortable. He found the spot an ideal position to rest but did not close his eyes for sleep just yet.
“All my life, I’ve only been told how great the Winterguard is.” As Alexey spoke, Anton and Viktor perked their ears to listen. “So, I decide to join, only to find out that they’re only good for thievery.” Frustrated tears started to glimmer in his eyes.
“The Winterguard is a glorified gang, simple as that,” Viktor replied.
“How the hell am I the only person that didn’t know that? How come everybody else can just know the truth and still join up anyway?”
“All my life, I’ve seen firsthand how the Winterguard operates,” Anton disclosed. He shifted around, his discomfort apparent. “I grew up on a farm hundreds of miles west of here. Unfortunately for my family, we were a short ride from a Winterguard fort, and we had the best harvest for dozens of miles, which isn’t saying much, as far as the Winterlands go. Anyway, every week, dozens of Winterguardsmen forced my mother and father to relinquish extraordinary amounts of our crops, without compensation of course.” Alexey and Viktor were entranced by Anton’s story.
“One day, our harvest is especially weak, and our granary is near total depletion. The Winterguard comes gallivanting in on horseback and demands more tribute from my father. He told them that we just didn’t have enough,” Anton looked down while holding back his tears. “The officers beat my mother to death in front of us. They left me and my father to run the farm alone. He gave me all the food, so that I may live, and I watched him starve to death. I was ten years old.” He wiped the tears from his face and looked down.
“I don’t believe it…” Alexey muttered, sadness in his tone.
“My story is not that unique. It’s just what the Winterguard does.”
Alexey threw the blanket off his body and sat up with furious upset. “Everything I was told about the Winterguard is a lie!”
“Who told you these lies?” Viktor asked, puzzled.
Alexey cringed with anger. “My father.” He fell back to the ground, his body limp, and stared at the tent ceiling. He remembered the bedtime stories his father had told him growing up: The Northern Failure, the glory of the Rite, and the shining white-armored Warriors of Winter. Was it his young mind that believed them to be truth or did his father simply glorify the cheerful parts and downplay the horrible ones? I can’t believe I read that fucking Winterguard book. I got my wish, and here I am… He rolled over to his side and tried not to dwell on the past.
With seemingly perfect timing, Anton changed the subject. “What do you know of the Frozen Forest? I’m sure you know more than anyone else. You’ve read books about it, right?”
Alexey started to cheer up a bit. “I’ve read about the fatal mistakes we ought to avoid. Want to hear more?”
Anton nodded with great interest, and Viktor turned onto his side to listen.
“The ones that die inside are the ones that get careless with the seemingly unimportant details, or the ones that don’t work well with others.” Alexey had a child-like enthusiasm as he shared. “If we’re to survive, we can’t overlook anything. We need to make sure we have enough firewood, avoid toxic plants, and only set up camp inside the pockets of warmth throughout the Forest.”
“Pockets of warmth?” Viktor probed.
“There are certain safe zones, I suppose you could call them, that are warmer than most of the Forest. The Forest is cold enough to make breathing difficult, so these pockets of warmth are vital to survival. They are found near caves, or slightly isolated places. That comes with a problem, though. These pockets are where the wild animals all hang out. It’s vital that everyone always remains vigilant. That means posting guards at night and taking shifts and being ready to wake up at a moment’s notice if a pack of Abominations gets nosy.”
“I think I’ve heard of Abominations… They’re giant, with furry, and have claws the size of daggers, right?” Anton asked.
“Teeth the size of daggers,” Alexey corrected. “Their claws are as long as short swords.”
“I think I’d rather freeze to death than go where those things hang out,” Viktor pointed out.
Alexey chuckled. “If the recruits stick together and don’t trail off from the main group, they won’t touch us. They may sound and look menacing, but they’re quite fearful of people.”
“They must have met Petrenko,” Viktor joked, making everyone laugh.
“Don’t you mean Fershanko?” Anton said.
They were now howling with laughter. Their bodies curled inwards as they heaved, exhausting their stomachs. Alexey nearly fainted, so he threw his back to the ground and struggled for breath while Anton’s and Viktor’s laughs persisted. Alexey did not understand why they were laughing so hard, but he did not care. A few moments passed, and the laughter died down, but the three men’s smiles remained. Viktor glanced up at Alexey solemnly.
“I never properly thanked you for defying that cunt by giving me some of your food.”
“It was no big deal,” Alexey said humbly.
“Keeping me from being food for worms was no big deal?”
“You would’ve been food for us, more like.” Anton laughed quite loudly, but Viktor and Alexey were not quite so amused.
“I’ll never get over the fact that we ate people.” Alexey shuddered.
“Better we get to eat than the worms do, I suppose,” said Viktor.
“Alexey, I will speak for you, Viktor, and myself in saying we ought to avoid becoming worm food in the Forest.” He leaned over to Alexey and grabbed his shoulder. “How do you propose we go about that?”
Alexey sat up and looked at Anton and Viktor. The lantern light glowed over his face. “We need to have each other’s backs, no matter what happens. If one of us gets sluggish, we go back and drag him where we need to go. If an Abomination has its claws around one of us, the others need to go fight it off. That works?”
“I’ve got your back, if you both have mine,” Viktor offered.
“Aye,” Anton concurred.
“No matter what happens,” Alexey reiterated. Anton and Viktor nodded with absolute agreement.
A lot of the past and present seemed worthy of doubt in Alexey’s mind, but one thing was certain: Anton and Viktor were the best friends he had: wherever they would go, he wanted to go too.
CH 12 – Asher IV
Damon was successful in persuading Asher to spend time outside the main tower and walk the town of Steeltower. It was under Asher’s domain, after all.
“You need to remind them who you are. Remind them who Asher Miller is.”
Asher wanted to remain true to himself, but ever since the village massacre, he had forgotten who he was. Before witnessing the horror that the Artifacts were capable of, he was far happier, but much more naïve than he had come to be. His old challenges were trivial compared to what faced him now: he had gone from worrying about his hair and general appearance to being plagued by abjectly terrifying memories and preparing for a war that would surely kill him. Experiencing what the town in Steeltower had to offer would be a healthy distraction.
Asher decided that his ash-gray tunic and ruby-embroidered pants made up the appropriate outfit, one to make him stand out as the Emperor-Regent. He briefly remembered how the common people had treated him with love years past and knew him to be a charming and worthy leader. All the girls would smile at him and giggle as he passed while the boys gawked at him jealously. Will they ever view me like that again? he wondered. Asher understood that there would be no gawks or giggles, not since word of his enthrallment had spread throughout the town.
With Damon by his side, Asher descended from the tower, walked through the main exit, then set foot on the tower’s landing. There, I’m outside, he reflected as the noon sun gleamed off his face. By the nearest end of the bridge were two Emberland Guardsmen. When they saw Asher, they looked at him both curious
ly and cautiously.
“Your Majesty,” they both said to Asher as he approached them. They bowed to him humbly.
Asher recognized the two men. They were named Joseph and Armand. Joseph was Asher’s height and age and somewhat resembled him, but with brown eyes in place of green. Armand had a far more distinct look: dark brown skin and short jet-black hair. Armand had the skin tone for it, but the structure of his face did not indicate a Midland background.
“At ease Joseph, Armand.” Asher politely smiled at the two men. “I trust your duties are going well?”
“Quite well, your Majesty,” said Armand.
“How goes y—your recovery, your Majesty?” Joseph inquired.
“You can call me Asher when it’s just us, if you prefer.” Joseph and Armand nodded, then Asher continued, “and my recovery is going excellently. I am happy to report that I feel much better.” I shouldn’t lie to my men, Asher told himself, but then again, I shouldn’t burden them with my troubles either.
“That is good to hear, Asher,” said Joseph. Armand nodded in agreement.
“Thank you. You may carry on,” Asher smiled and nodded downwards as he walked across towards the first planks of the bridge.
“Once they see that the stories of the incident are no longer true and that you’re back to normal, you’ll earn back their trust,” Damon reassured him.
“That’s my hope, Damon.” You saw the wine I spilled, Damon. Did you think I was normal then?
The two guards posted by the gate saw Asher and Damon approach: Asher did not recognize these two.
“Dom! Barrick! Open the gates,” Damon called out. They quickly jumped off their miniature ramparts and hoisted the bar from the gate, allowing it to open outward.
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