ONE MAN
by: Everett L. R. Asher
Despite her long involvement in the Spellguard Reavers she had never met the Emperor face-to-face. She heard tales of Emperor Vorkalth Rasch’s towering presence, and the mantle of imperious gold and scarlet he wore upon his shoulders. His hair that shined like a crown of silvery moonlight. But above all she heard of his eyes, beguiling amber orbs that could tempt the likes of any man or woman who dared to look into them.
The young Reaver felt chills run up her spine as she reminded herself of his cruelty. Mire did her fair share of bloodshed, she had to; she was familiar with the uncomfortable mantle of war. But, Vorkalth seemed to embody the bloodiest of those he surrounded himself with. His most cold-blooded act occured when he arrived at the town of Greyhal.
He ordered all the citizens to the square, then ordered all the mages to step forward. No one knew why, but the mages turned on one another. They started burning each other alive, freezing each other, casting malign spells upon each other. When one remained, Vorkalth said words Mire wished she never heard, “Look at the faces of your fellow citizens. It’s not sympathy that exudes from their eyes, it’s fear. Venom courses through your veins, it pollutes your actions and your mind. Look at them and know that your last memories of your friends and family were that of fear.”
Everyone watched as the mage aged before their eyes. The once young and ductile mage now shriveled into a desiccated corpse.
Despite his cruelty, she did not fear him with her whole heart. His actions brought a more unified people once the fighting of the Mage War stopped. He inspired her. He drove Mire to do better, to persevere beyond her peers.
The doors to the keep wailed open, she swirled her head to see who joined her side waiting for the Emperor to arrive.
Lord-Abjurer Anselme Barassac of Isleborg would join her outside to meet the Emperor. His ebony hair swept to the side. Not a speck or wrinkle dared to tarnish his black and red uniform. Not a detail out of place, except for the mar across his left eye. The hideous scar, like a river, flowed from the crown of his head down to his chin. She kept her words with the Lord-Abjurer to a minimum, his silver tongue insulted her sword arm.
Anselme was there for many reasons, but ultimately he oversaw that the latest prisoner found his cell with no complications. Mire and the wardens were handling the situation quite alright before he arrived.
The Lord-Abjurer joined her side, she heard his boots tapping across the paved stone of their battlements. She could hear his cape fluttering in the wind.
They both stood, at attention for their leader, enduring the time together.
The silence between them shattered as Anselme said, “I trust the preparations for the Emperor’s arrival have been taken care of?”
Frustration filled Mire’s veins at his question, but stifled how she felt and said, “Yes, Lord-Abjurer.”
She looked to the battalion as they trained in the courtyard of Butcher’s Cove Keep, Ravaria’s most guarded prison. Even from this distance she could hear their war cries and shouts. From their hearts, including Mire’s, came the motto of the Knights-Abjurer, ‘Fear is the only weapon’. Lustering in the midday sun, the towers of onyx steel plate clattered in their skirmish.
Mire could remember back to the time she bore the infantry colors, one of the rank and file in the Ravarian armies. Despite the many years that passed, she could still remember signing those conscription papers, when she walked the streets of the Jewel of the East, Vedring. All her orders carried less weight and did not come with the cost of so many lives. The battlefield promotions came to her so fast that she lost track of time before she got the rank of captain. Only after her promotion to captain did her company start enduring the brutality of war.
She lifted her gauntleted hand and saw her reflection in the obsidian plate. She wanted to see a woman of strength and nobility, her image never had those traits but bore their illusion. She looked into her own steel grey eyes to find any reservoir of inner strength. She still could not find it, she never could. A lucky dame, many called her. And she started to believe them, perhaps she was only that; lucky.
Her red hair, tied back into a ponytail, fluttered with her crimson cloak bearing a golden dragon across the field of fabric. She rested her hand back down unto the sheath of her sword, breathing in the cool air.
The gate opened, the iron wrought hinges shrieking as it raised. Mire drew her attention to it, tucking her memories as a soldier away.
The carriage matched the heraldry, gold hinges and filigree accented by a deep crimson and onyx black. The horses wore black leather barding. The yard fell silent, Mire could feel an undeniable weight in the air. Though fear hung in the air, dreaded anticipation ruled their hearts.
Routing around the fountain in the center, the carriage came to a stop before Mire and Anselme. Their cloaks fluttered in silence.
The door to the carriage swung open, releasing with it all the anticipation which boiled in the air around them. The Emperor bore a bemused look on his face.
The Emperor of Spellquard Reavers looked exactly like the statues made him out to be, as he stepped from the carriage unto the stones of Butcher Cove Keep. Criss-crossing scars danced over his right eye. Though he carried himself like an emperor, he did not wear the status of one. At first glance he wore a similar uniform to any of the other high ranking officers in the Ravaria. But his tight lidded amber colored eyes instilled enough fear to kill a lesser man, and remained one of Vorkalth’s prime weapons.
Vorkalth stepped down from his carriage, the Emperor drowned in bows and words of gratification. He walked with power bursting from his form, she could feel the air warp to his imposing nature. Mire felt her heart begin to race and pump her blood through her veins at breakneck speed. She bit her tongue to distract her from Vorkalth’s imposing presence.
He acknowledged them, Anselme bowed and said to the emperor gathering his attention, “Welcome to Butcher’s Cove Keep, your eminence. We are humbled and honoured to have you as our—“
“Spare me, Lord-Abjurer. Do not waste my time with niceties.”
“Forgive me, my emperor.”
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A retinue of honor guard joined Vorkalth at his sides, all battle worn and ready to die for their emperor.
The emperor motioned for them to go further into the keep, Mire joined in tow. While she might be only a company captain, she still held a reasonable standing within the fortifications of Butcher Cove Keep.
They made their way through the great hall and to the main cells. All the while, Mire absorbed the conversation between Anselme and Vorkalth.
Vorkalth said, “How is Butcher’s Cove in terms of resources?”
“Plenty to last through the winter.”
“Good, I assume the shipments arrived with little trouble.”
“Of course, lord emperor.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, lord emperor.” Mire added.
Vorkalth shifted his attention towards the company captain, his eyes raged with fire like intensity.
Lord Abjurer Anselme sneered at Mire and said, “I apologize, lord emperor. The captain-“
“No please, I am quite intrigued to hear what the captain has to say.” She could feel the air thrum with tyrannical power rolling off his statue-like demeanor. The knight-abjurer struggled to keep her wits together.
Ignoring Anselme, Mire said, “Pardon my interruption, but there have been quite a few shipments that have been late en route to Butcher Cove. Each one reported ‘Trouble with locals’. I believe it has something to do with the Sentinels of the Watchful Eye.”
“Oh come now.” Anselme stepped between the emperor and Mire. “That’s preposterous. All the Shepherds of Revendor were wiped out before the Mage War. Please do not waste the emperor’s time with such ridiculous notions!”
“What is your proof of the Sentinel’s involvement, Captain—“ He trailed off.
“Captain Mire Artorias, Second Division. Ravager Company.”
“Ravager Company. I remember your company holding the line until reinforcements arrived at the Battle of Durstro. You should be proud of your company, they fight with honor.”
“Thank you, lord emperor. You honor me.”
“Now, what is this proof of the Sentinels.”
Mire nodded, procuring a small pouch from her belt. She opened it, presenting its contents to Emperor Vorkalth.
As he sifted through it, Mire explained the contents, “These are Amaranthine badges. The Sentinels use them to track important shipments, high profile targets, and places of interest to them. It’s their primary method of gathering information.”
Vorkalth lifted one of the badges into the light, the golden glossed etchings shimmered in the star shaped brooch. Mire had to give it to them, the Sentinel's surveillance capabilities were quite impressive.
Vorkalth said, still eying the badge, “You seem to know quite a bit about these supposed Sentinels.”
“I have been tracking them for the last ten years. They are nothing if not discreet.”
Vorkalth lowered the badge back into the bag and directed his attention toward Anselme, “Hmm… How interesting. I want her to lead an investigation on these Sentinels of the Watchful Eye.”
Anselme shot a hateful glance at Mire and said, “Of course my emperor.”
“Now,” Emperor Vorkalth crossed the room to the hall of cells, “I am interested in a full report of the latest prisoner.”
“Your eminence, the prisoner has been safely secured and preparations have been made to siphon his power.”
“Excellent.” Emperor Vorkalth said. “Whatever number of guards you have to watch over our prisoner I want you to double it.”
“But my emperor, he's captured and has shown no signs of escape. I feel as though we have a sufficient number of guards. What can one man do?”
Vorkalth turned towards Anselme, his gaze burning into Anselme’s as he said, “Your opinion of our guards' strength means little to me. The prisoner beyond those bars is the Nine-Slayer and has killed beings far more powerful than I. I want you to double the guards.”
The silence echoed off the walls, Mire swallowed as dread permeated off of Vorkalth. She could feel the reserved rage and the imposing force of his will. Mire half expected the metal from the walls to bend and succumb to Vorkalth’s sheer willpower.
Vorkalth curled his lip in anger, turning towards one of the guards.
As Vorkalth strode towards the guard he said, “And perhaps you are right, Lord-Abjurer. What is one man capable of? What is the measure of one man’s ability to escape? How can we evaluate the aptitude of one’s capabilities? We can in fact calculate it to the finest number what a man is capable of by the deeds that they carry on their shoulders. For example: I have taken the seat of power in what used to be the Eternium and I have subjugated every last mage within the walls of my country.”
He paused, presenting himself to the unflinching faceless bronze plated guard. He drew a dagger so sharp the reflection of the blade felt as though it carved through Mire’s eyes.
She flinched and shook the blinding light from her eyes.
Returning her gaze, Vorkalth wheeled back around and like a wraith drifted towards Anselme as he said, “From such a pedigree, one might say I have accomplished much, yes? Now let us have a look at Silas’ pedigree: He killed nine demi-gods of his own god’s creation. He created an empire with which he has ruled for centuries. He stood face-to-face with one of the Lords of Chaos and lived. He has survived the nigh endless psychological torture of the Gravemind. And you dare have the hubris to think that he is not capable of ripping his freedom from our hands?”
Vorkalth plunged the dagger into Anselme. The dagger, pristine from its care, made no sound as it glided through Anselme’s light weight uniform. Anselme’s eyes grew wide, looking to the others in the room. His eyes begged them to help him, pleading for one of them to rush to his aid.
But no one rushed. No one dared move a muscle unless Vorkalth ordered. These new Reavers knew nothing of Vorkalth’s cruelty, they knew him as a savior from the tinders.
He collapsed to the ground, and said between clenched teeth, “My emperor I apologi-“
Vorkalth embedded his boot into Anselme’s side, without his wits to save him.
The emperor lowered his head, his tone as sharp as the knife he held in his hand as he said, “Look on. Witness what becomes of those that would dare defy my will.”
Vorkalth slammed his boot on Anselme’s exposed throat, Mire cringed at the crunch that echoed throughout the room.
As the silence of death hovered above them Vorkalth said, “Let this be a lesson. See what one man is capable of. One man has killed one of the Lord-Abjurers.”
Vorkalth dropped the dagger, clattering against the soft metallic floor.
The emperor eased his shoulders and said, “Captain Mire Artorias, please step forward.”
Mire obeyed her emperor and stepped forward, still battling the crushing weight of Vorkalth’s will.
She bowed and said, “Yes my emperor.”
“It occurs to me that a position amongst the Lord-Abjurers has opened up. I believe congratulations are in order on your behalf.”
“You honor me, my emperor. What might you have me do?”
Vorkalth placed his hands behind his back, his retinue rejoining at his sides. Vorkalth’s eyes never wavered from in front of him as he said, “I need you to double the guards that preside over Silas Naïlo’s cage and then report to your fellow Lord-Abjurers to inform them of Anselme’s untimely demise.”
Mire processed what happened. He killed one of his senior officers and compatriots. But she understood the emperor’s position. One of the Lord-Abjurers defied his will, she would have done something similar if she was in his position. But, to kill him felt extreme. There could have been use from him. It felt like a waste of skills.
But those amber eyes of hate and tyranny told the reasons for his actions. To prove what one man is capable of killing one of the highest standing servants of the Ravarian Empire.
Vorkalth spoke once more before he left, “And do uproot these Sentinels, their lot belong within the bars of Butcher Cove Keep.”
The emperor and his retinue left, leaving behind the embers of cruelty.
Amidst the shadows of the room, Mire said, “Yes my emperor.”