“For thousands of years, we have long thought that the Ashmedai and the Phantom Folk were different species, similar genetically but the offspring of different Gods, with the Ashmedai tribes living in the plains and forests and the Phantom Folk residing within the many mountains of Tegon. However, the Wind Wyrm’s discovery in the Fortrulaskrian Mountains in 920 of the Fourth Age disproved most, if not, all of the texts from ages past on their history. We now know that all of the land was once connected into one large mass, and the shattering of the world by the hands of our ‘Gods’ that made our world what it is today. The Ashmedai that fled on the land bridge when they could, moved out to the Eastern lands where their existence all but delayed their inevitable collapse as a race. Few Ashmedai fled to the plains south of the battle, and many of them had fled to what we now know as Wemnoth. Despite this, many of the ones that had fought in the final battle and survived were forced to protect themselves within the underground tunnels that they had built throughout the millennia. This proved to be their downfall as their tunnels led to the depths of the mountains, not just to where the darkness was at its strongest, but to where they would be ultimately trapped by the toxic ash that filled the sky above for the next centuries.”
– "Tomes of Tegonian History: Volume IV” The Year 15 of the Fifth Age
Oremir and his Opal Dragons had walked deeper and deeper with the tribe of Black Ashmedai throughout the night, following the trail of ghostly emerald lights that lined the ceiling of this tunnel. As the bastard of Lunenmouth’s royal house, he had only heard tales from his nanny about these people and their homes, but those tales were told to children to make sure that they did as they were told, and that they would not get out of bed at night. He never discussed his past with anyone, nor did he wish to. His family line was among the most royal houses in the Council, rivaling House Goodfall and their access to the Eastern Sea, his home while landlocked, was the home of the Republic, their capital. Despite all of this, he never viewed his life as easy. His mother was the Lord of House Hollogard’s favorite whore, she used to brag to him that he was in her bed more times in a day than the times he had even seen his wife in that same day. But being a bastard meant that he could never be with the man who was so entranced with his mother in a public setting, and when doing so would be referred to someone other than who he was. His father tried his damned hardest, Oremir knew this and loved him for it, but it tore at his heart when he saw his father put on a face with his wife and her children. He would have to watch his father ride in his royal carriage through the streets of the city, waving at the legions of people who cheered and begged and threw flowers, while his half-brothers and sisters played under the watchful eye of a doting mother. He always thought that he should be up there with them, playing with them, waving at the crowds with them, hugging his father with them.
With his birth, his father began to periodically show up less and less. His mother spent most of her days drinking and whoring until she had gotten too sick and died when he entered his teenhood, after which his father stopped showing. Maybe it was from all the abortions she had after he was born, Oremir could still smell the blood as she would drink a sulfuric chemical that would force her to miscarry. Those experiences and being forced to bury the malformed siblings that she had thoughtlessly slaughtered had an impact on him, for after all of that he had refused to marry any woman. Oremir was alone for several months after that, living as a street urchin in the day, and curling up in his empty home at night. That need for companionship was what drove him to the underworld, where he worked for a man named Stilgar for five years. In his young eyes, Stilgar was his father, and his comrades his siblings. Under his time with Stilgar, he had watched the ganglord go from a petty street thug to the leader of Lunenmouth’s criminal underworld, and that meant overseeing most of the criminal enterprise that happened on the continent.
His life had changed when his father appeared one day on his eighteenth birthday, to adopt him as his ward. Oremir would later find out that it was a move to please the common folk and to keep his mistake close to his chest, but at that time it filled him with much uncertainty. He felt joyous, but anxious at how Stilgar’s Black Horde would see him. Was he still a brother to them, and a son to Stilgar? While his comrades looked at him in disgust, he could still remember Stilgar’s crooked smile at the revelation.
“My boy, this is a tremendous opportunity for the both of us!”
He had just wanted his acceptance, and so he had foolishly obeyed to expand the Black Horde while working in the shadows as the ward of a Council member. The Black Horde grew in strength as Oremir grew to know his blood father more, but the more he learned, the more disgusted he felt. In his childish ignorance, he had always seen his blood father as somewhat of a paragon. Someone who thought of the common folk and the people of this Republic before anything, but he was repulsed at the man and his family. His father was nothing but a pawn to the wills of the Arshuc and the Council, his wife a woman of bitter detest for him as she was able to deduce his origin, and his siblings the same, raised to hate him by that crooked woman. By his twenty fifth year, he had dreamt of the times before his father came to him that night, and the life he had given up. Agossross was the final straw, having seen up close the terrifying power of the Republic.
Something in him snapped that day, he hated being a pawn of the Council, and a pawn of Stilgar. He killed all of the Black Horde that he had promoted using his father’s name, and confessed it to the man later. He had expected his father, being the damned stool that he was, to hand him to the Council as a prisoner to be questioned and executed, but what happened next surprised him. He could not fathom the love his father had for him and his mother. Oremir could still feel his father’s grip on his plated armor, could still hear his anguished cries, and could still see his father’s tears running down his lined face. Oremir’s father had refused to hand him to the Arshuc and the Council knowing what would be done to him, instead banishing him from the life of royalty and back to his life in the underworld.
However, when he had returned to his old home and ways, he found there was no place for him. Stilgar, with disgust in his eyes, had blacklisted him from the criminal underworld, and had put hits out on him to be slayed. Fearing for his life, he found his way back into his father’s care, where he was sent to Tyrus under a false story to the Republic to tame the city for governorship. This was to be his life for the rest of his days, but even that went awry.
“Young Oremir,” The chieftain rasped, speaking as he walked in front of the Opal Dragon leader.
“Yes, sir?” ‘Young?’ Maybe to you and your people, but I am older than you realize. Us humans age much differently than you, Ashmedai.
“The bridge that leads into our city is narrow, you will have to order your men to file into lines of three, or they will fall to where the riakosend does not light. They will be gone to the great void.”
Riakosend? That is what lights our way? The word brought horrific memories of his time in both cities. Riakosend was the material that the Black Horde would slaughter for and would slaughter to keep it secret. If Oremir had a few ingots, it would have been enough to outfit his entire army with decent food and armor that would have been sturdier than the oak bark and leather they had used. Neros’ hell, the cost of outfitting his entire army with riakosend would have been enough to not just rebuild Tyrus but purchase the entire Northwestern lands. It explained why the Council had ordered him to personally aid in their efforts to kidnap and enslave the people that would become his own. A sour taste formed in his mouth as he remembered that their order was his final straw. He spit over the edge, watching the phlegm disappear out of sight and into the dark depths.
“How is there so much riakosend here?” He asked, still staring down the edge of the bridge, wondering how far down it goes, and what lurks down there.
“What do you know of these Thundering Hills? Of their origins?” the chieftain said as he continued to walk, “What do you know of the Age of Gods and Men?”
Valan, who nudged Oremir to keep walking and to snap his gaze from the darkness, answered for him, “All we truly know is that the final battle had happened here. That your ancestors were forced into the tunnels that led you here out of protection from the eruptions and floods.”
The two humans looked around to see all of the Black Ashmedai nodding as the chieftain grunted. The city was now in their sights, in the middle of a web of different bridges that all led to the same place. The city was carved out of riakosend, and was gleaming in its ghostly emerald spark. The Opal Dragons gaped in awe, for they had never seen anything like this in their times alive. The chieftain turned his head to them and smiled at their shock, his black teeth looking as if they formed a void in his mouth in the shadow of the pale green light. He placed his hand on his chest as he introduced himself.
“My name is Ereph, son of Ricnalus and Vedkres, chieftain of the Istimash Ashmedai. Welcome to our home, the great city hidden in the mountain: Tiarmotae.”
Tyrus was only a few thousand paces away from Drake, Dyserich, and the rest of the men as they trotted on the raiders’ horses down the valley. The dilapidated opal city and its shantytowns that remained were getting larger and larger as the morning fog began to dissipate as the sun beamed down upon them. Drake wiped some sweat from his brow with the rags that he wore as he glanced over at the still unconscious Ashur slumped across the edge of his horse. The rest of the men were chatting up a storm about how happy they were to finally be home, which was a shock for Drake because their home wasn’t all that great. Only Moreling, Dyserich, and himself were silent among all the optimistic banter. Moreling was leading one of the horses, seemingly despondent from the close call from last night. If he hadn’t stepped up to kill that raider when Drake was busy, Ashur would have died, any dream of rising through the mud of this damned city would have collapsed then and there. Moreling’s eyes met Drake’s and there was a silent understanding between the two as Drake gave him a nod. Dyserich was eyeing that opal sword that was strapped to Ashur’s waist, and Drake upon glancing at it, quickly looked back to the city. He was already somewhat getting used to Ashur’s abnormality, with the boy being the son of an Ashmedai follower of the Wind Goddess, but the rest made absolutely no sense to him. He had been told that the Wind Goddess had perished in the final battle, so didn’t that mean that her power dissipated too? And that still didn’t explain the sword.
How did he get that sword? Did he just find it in the Thundering Hills? Gods, it nearly drained the life right outta him.
He heard the movement of a horse speed up behind him as it caught up to his pace. Dyserich was staring at Ashur with a concerned look in his eyes, before moving his glare to Drake. He grimaced with each trot from his horse, and the young lad behind him was holding him up with a strained look on his face. The arrow that he was struck with was still lodged in his shoulder, and his ragged shirt was crusted with blood.
“We need to get us to a healer, and a good one at that,” Dyserich grunted, “I need bandages, this wound’s gonna rot soon. Any ideas on a healer?”
“Aye, we can get you patched up in Dogcrossing, but him,” Drake said as he swung his thumb over shoulder to Ashur, “He’s gonna need that woman from Bonegate. She healed my daughter back when she was dying from the plague in 911, if anyone can heal him it’s her.”
Dyserich gave a pained nod as they approached the ruined Aethel’s Gate. From there, they would cross the Seven Barrows into Dogcrossing. Drake saw that Aethel’s Gate was completely destroyed, the once giant gate that stretched all the way down to Griffmount and the Bellede Run was merely a long line of rubble now. Oremir had started reconstruction on it upon starting one of the city’s old mines again, and for once it seemed like the city would rebound from a lawless city of cutthroats and thieves to a city of law, order, and peace. The gate was symbolic of the city. Able to last throughout the ages, even mostly withstanding the four cataclysms following the Sun King’s Sundering, but remaining broken, a shadow of what it once was, and unable to reclaim its former glory. It saddened Drake just to look at it, so he moved his gaze deeper into the Tyrus.
All of the Seven Barrows was destroyed. The shantytowns were mounds of rubble and ash. The rotting corpses of the fallen were lined up in the streets, a rancid smell protruding from them to fill the air. The optimism that he heard from the lads behind him ceased, and he heard one of them vomit. The smell forced Drake to cough as the smell filled his nose, and as they continued to descend to the city’s heart, he scanned the rest of Tyrus to examine the damage dealt by the Dreadbird and his host. Wyverndock on the coast was in just as bad a shape, but it seemed like Dogcrossing was relatively spared. That and The Fairs were where the Dreadbird had stationed his men, so while many had died there, the dilapidated opal and wooden buildings were still intact. He breathed a sigh of relief seeing this, knowing that his family that resided in Bonegate was probably safe. Most of the fighting and insurgency had taken place in Smugglers Lane on the other side of the river, Seven Barrows, Griffmount to the East, and Wyverndock. Before he left, Drake took note that some destruction reached the Southbank, and the old Citadel had gotten scuffed a bit, but the bloodpits were still in good shape. What Drake knew that the Dreadbird didn’t, was that if the bloodpits weren’t destroyed, Tyrus would always be what it was.
The bloodpits were a sunken pit similar to the colosseums in the capital Lunenmouth, and the central city of Vingorodrad, and the dead city Agossross. Green lads and veteran gang lords alike would pit themselves as competitors, and fight whoever signed up in the thirty days leading up to the matches at the end of the month. There was never a low supply of young men willing to die to test their strength and make names for themselves, and old men willing to hone their strength and increase the notoriety of their legends in the city. It was considered the destination where legends were made, since the Sun King had fought there himself and started his legend there as well. He never visited there himself, having been a tested veteran before he ended up in Tyrus, but as his horse trotted through the remnants of the Seven Barrows, he knew that he would find himself there to watch the unconscious lad hanging off of his horse.
They entered the market street of Dogcrossing, where all of the stores remained untouched by the Dreadbird’s host. He was smart enough to keep them well paid and protected in order to keep his men fed. However, most of the street was empty save for a few. There were market streets in the other burroughs, so Drake assumed that the Dreadbird’s brutality in the burroughs he attacked scared all of the citizens into just avoiding the land North of the river entirely. Not only was it the poorest that Tyrus had to offer, but they were hit the hardest. Drake figured that people would start flooding back within this fortnight, since the overpopulation and crowding was getting severe when the men left, but then he remembered how many of his own people had died in that battle under the Thundering Hills. While the most insurgent citizens were north of the river, the soldiers were from Bonegate, Griffmount, and Smugglers Lane. Their homes were experiencing the worst of it from the scum that lived here.
As Dyserich nearly fell out of his horse in an attempt to dismount by the witchdoctor’s booth. He offered some coin that he had looted from a raider’s body the night before, and the doctor sighed as he walked around his booth to examine the arrow.
“Bite down on your rag, lad. I’m gonna have to move quickly to stop as much of the bleeding as I can. It passed through relatively clean, no permanent damage in your dominant shoulder. Prepare yourself.”
Drake watched Dyserich motion for Moreling to dismount as he unsheathed a sword and pointed the handle at Moreling. The short man braced his legs before dismounting off the horse, walked over and grabbed the sword’s handle before tearing off a piece of cloth from Dyserich’s shirt and handing it to him. Dyserich put it in his mouth, took a few deep breaths, and nodded to the witchdoctor. As soon as he started the nod, the arrow was already out, and Moreling had to catch him as the ferociously grunting Dyserich’s knees buckled. He nearly passed out from the pain, screaming with the rag in his mouth as his eyes rolled to the back of his skull for a heartbeat. The witchdoctor unveiled a vial of brown liquid of which Drake thought was a rough Tyrus rum and poured it into the hole in Dyserich’s shoulder. He screamed more muffled cries, before slowly calming down as the doctor wrapped him up with impressively quick speed.
“Hey Doctor, you did that with incredible quickness,” Drake noted, “How long were you taking care of the Dreadbird’s soldiers?”
The doctor looked down to his feet for a heartbeat, before meeting Drake’s gaze and shrugging, “I don’t want any trouble, I help who I can, for whoever may need me. It also ensured my safety, and the safety of your friend for I cleaned his wound before it started to fester.”
“I have no qualms on whether you did or did not help them, witchdoctor,” Drake then pointed to Ashur, “What about him? He needs more than just a bandage; I believe what ails him is spiritual.”
The doctor walked over to Drake’s horse, expecting the unconscious Ashur, “Has he been sick?”
Moreling shook his head, “Quite the opposite, he took out most of a raiding party by himself. He was glowing in this aura, but his sword was sucking it right out. Mid fight, he collapsed and nearly died had it not been for us.”
The doctor stroked his white beard, “Aye, since the Dreadbird’s Host left, gangs both new and old have been sending out all the raiding parties they can to scavenge more supplies. You’re all lucky you only faced one on your journey. Aura, you say. That is beyond my reach, but there is a woman in–”
“Bonegate? Is she still there?” Drake cut in with a grunt.
“Aye, she lives outside of the city, but she’s remained in Bonegate to take care of the sick and wounded. I would recommend you go there to try your luck; she is more of a…. Spiritual healer.”
“You have my thanks, doctor,” Dyserich said as Moreling helped him mount his horse, the young lad sitting behind him bracing him in a bear hug to help ease the pain of the horse’s movement.
“My pleasure young lad,” The doctor said in a cheerful tone, “You should meet with the young lady as well, her spiritual healing is more helpful than a bandage. Be careful though, crossing any of the bridges into the Southbank on horseback will bring the attention of the gangs that moved in. There’s a territorial war going on South of the river.”
“As I expected,” Drake grunted as he whipped the reins of his horse, “Move out, men!”
Aerith awoke the morning after she had spoken to Arshuc to the sound of Minny and the maidservants leisurely packing her luggage. Lucky for them, Aerith had already done most of her packing the night before when she had decided to run away, but it worked out in her favor now that she had decided not to run from her proposal.
“Ah, you’re awake!” Minny exclaimed as she stuffed a bag full of makeup and hair products. Aerith knew that she would need those, as she had read that the Midland woman looked rugged and dirty, with it being a more rural kingdom. The women worked the fields with the men, and everyone there stank of horse manure, or so she had learned.
She was going to miss the life of comfort she had in Balowardshore, the ocean to her right and green pastures to her left, the aroma of a seabreeze that blanketed the city in a vibe of complete sereneness. Now, she was going to be with a new family, in a land foreign to her. Aerith thought of all the work she would have to do from this point forward.
Minny had laid out a loose fitted dress made out of baudin hide, the beige-colored leather fabric feeling soft on her skin as she slipped into it. She was going to be sitting in a carriage with her sister for a fortnight, and Minny prepared the most comfortable dress that Aerith had in her repertoire.
Walking down the stairs, she saw two lines of soldiers at the foot of the staircase, with a look of distress. All of them felt loyal to her, and she could see the pain on their faces as she would leave them for good. As one of the guards opened the door, she gazed into her father’s eyes as he blinked away tears.
“Why? You’re safer here, with me.” Rainmere said, cupping her head in his hands.
A tear streamed down her cheek as she raised a hand to caress his cheek, “Don’t worry about me, father. I’ll be fine, this is my journey. I’ll make you proud.”
They embraced in a hug; Aerith was going to miss her father. The coldness she had experienced by her uncle had been countered by the warmth and emotion her father would give. She didn’t know where she would be without him at her side. He taught her had to care for the people under your care, and while her uncle changed a lot in how she thought and acted over his years of torment of her family, it was as if her father’s views had warred with that of his brother’s for her to be a better person than she thought she ever could be. Part of her wished she would be safer with her father, but that simply wasn’t the case. He wasn’t powerful enough to protect her from his brother, he wasn’t even powerful enough to stand above her. Arshuc thought too far ahead of him, and she was better off on her own than at home.
One hundred paces away, she could see her betrothed ready his horse with a scowl as his father was whispering to him. His father, looking visibly upset with him, made Aerith wonder what he had said to earn that lecture. She thought about the work she would have on her hands with that lad. From what she had learned about him, he was spoiled, arrogant, lustful, and good with a sword. Too good with a sword to only be sixteen years of age. The thought of him overestimating his abilities and perishing in some battle filled her with some comfort.
Her sister awaited her at the foot of the carriage, regal-looking as always, Aurora’s hair blazed in the sunlight, as if her hair emitted its own life-spark. Amongst all the lecturing, Aerith felt Owin’s eyes follow her as she walked over to her sister and bow slightly.
“Seer,” Aerith flatly said with her curtsy.
Aurora answered her with a bow of her own, “Lady Aerith. Come, we will have much to discuss in regard to your betrothal.”
The road down Dogcrossing’s main street was empty, but Drake knew it would not be for long. Knowing who they needed to meet and where they had to go, they made haste in traversing the city. The main street led to several different bridges, but they had decided on the Western-most bridge that crossed the Bellede Run. As they approached the murky waters of the river, they encountered resistance in crossing the bridge.
Drake halted his horse as he saw hordes of people flooding the streets across the bridge. Manning the bridge were two gangster bodyguards and their captain. Bearing the armor of fallen Dayton soldiers, the armor of the guards had smudges of blood smeared across their breastplates, a clear showing of shoddy cleaning and scavenging to Drake. To him it looked like they killed those men and donned their plates with barely a thought to clean it. He dismounted twenty paces away with his sword strapped to his waist after catching the men’s hungry gaze at the horses of his men.
“Evening, gents,” Drake bellowed as he approached them. Moreling dismounted from his horse as well as he lurked like a shadow behind Drake, “I’m trying to make it to my home in Bonegate, “Think you’ll let me pass?”
“Aye,” the captain said, “Give us yer horses, and we’ll let ya off scott-free. If you’re from here, then ya know how valuable horses are, and ya know nothing is given freely here.” Drake’s eyes darted to one of the guards, who held a horn tucked tight underneath his shoulder. He knew that that guard would have to be the first to be slain if they were to make it to Bonegate. If that horn was to go off, Drake and his men would have to fight and claw their way to his neighborhood. They would be safe if they could make it, if there was anyone left that he knew.
“I’m mulling it over,” Drake said as he raised his hand to his chin to stroke his beard, “But I need information first, which gang is yours and what is the state of Bonegate and the Southbank?”
“Why should I tell you anything,” the captain rasped, raising his hand for the guard to sound the alarm, “Bonegate you say? You citizens and followers of the Opal Dragons won’t make it through to die for your hood! We’ll kill ya and take yer horses anyway!”
Drake, awaiting that response, unsheathed his sword with a lightning quick speed and severed the captain’s raised hand. He fell to his knees screaming as blood gushed out of his wrist. The horn was blown, its loud wail ringing throughout the streets. Moreling appeared from behind Drake, dashing out and slashing the horn in half, cutting out most of its sound before burying his sword deep through the weak point of the guard’s armor right above the rib cages and under the armpit. The other guard, eyes bulging, turned to run but didn’t go far since Drake pounced on him like a hungry cat and decapitated him. The end of the bridge pooled with blood as Drake and Moreling saw the pace of the Southbank’s flow of citizens began to speed up. The horn was an alarm to all, and many people fought one another to get inside. Drake walked over to the handless captain and gripped him by his collarbone.
“What gang are you from?!” Drake shouted at him, “Tell me or your life ends now!”
“Jade Knights,” the man faintly whimpered, “We’re… We’re the Jade Knights.”
He followed those chilling words before passing out, with a grunt Drake shoved him back onto the cobblestone ground. The Jade Knights were a minor gang that had worked under the Opal Dragons for a time. Like a few of the other gangs, they had decided to stay behind in the city when Oremir and the Dreadbird raced for the Thundering Hills. He had seen this before, when a gang left, another tried to take its place. The Jade Knights, while a minor gang, were believed by most of the city to be the most dominant of the gangs conquered by Oremir, and they had managed a good hold on the city with no stability left to keep them in check. It was no surprise that they would immediately move on the territories south of the river, since it was the most valuable.
Drake and Moreling raced toward their horses and once mounted, screamed at the men to ride at their fastest, for the race against time had now begun. They didn’t care who they had trampled as they raced West through the streets, anyone unfortunate enough to get in their path were flattened by the frantic horsemen. Drake’s eyes drifted to the rooftops of the broken opal buildings, and he saw people spying, and blowing their own horns. They were being tracked by the Jade Knights, and all they could do was race forward.
“Spies up top, Drake!” Moreling shouted amongst the commotion, “Keep going, we have no choice!”
Not ten heartbeats later, and Drake heard the sound of arrows narrowly missing him and his horse. He continued to rush forward, and checking on Ashur’s status, saw that the boy’s eyes had only slightly opened. It seemed that slumber had given him at least enough energy to awaken. At the sound of pained neighs from the horses, his eyes moved up to see that some of the bowmen had hit their mark on two of the horses of his men behind Drake. He saw them fly off of their mounts and land on the ground, when another horn blew. Two lines of what looked like at least twenty soldiers in total had poured out from the alleyways on both sides, encircling the four men on the cobblestone ground.
“No…” Ashur wheezed as he reached his hand out to them, it stung Drake to watch the lad do this, but people died all the time in Tyrus and now they would have to be ignored until they got to safety. Moreling and Dyserich were flanking Drake, frantic looks on their faces as they swerved their horses diagonally in desperate attempts to avoid the raining arrows. They were close now, about one hundred paces before the unofficial lines of Bonegate. He could see a Bonegate guard patrolling the area, who had stopped upon seeing the men charging on their mounts and readied his horn.
“It is Drake of Yarven and I seek defensive aid!” Drake screamed at the top of his lungs, “I seek defensive aid!” and at the uttering of that last plea for help, an arrow drove through his mare’s face, and Ashur and Drake were flung to the cobblestone pavement as the sound of another horn rang through the air.
“Go!” Ashur groaned as he rolled on the ground, clawing at his left shoulder in pain. He had landed on it and the pain was as if the bone had jutted through his collarbone, webs of pain like lightning shooting through his torso. He gripped Nirvana with his right hand and unsheathed it before letting it shriek in an effort to protect the three horses that had yet to pass him. Six of his men, two on each horse, approached him as they attempted to race past him and through the Bonegate lines as he saw men on the Bonegate side racing toward them with swords, shields, and bowmen. The Jade Knights were closing in on them and would reach them before Bonegate’s men did. Ashur had no choice, he had to use Nirvana to save himself and Drake, even if it cost him his life, even if his dream were to fail before it began.
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His blade screamed and unleashed a muffled shockwave, Ashur pointed the tip of the blade at his pursuers and watched the shockwave knock the Jade Knights off their feet and roll them a few paces down the street like a child’s ball does to empty ale tankards. They had gotten up with a frustration, but they would not reach Ashur and Drake in time as the Bonegate men rushed past them and went on the offensive. Ashur spun to look at Drake, but realized he may have turned too quickly because he collapsed to his knees, dropping the sword. Drake had a dislocated shoulder from the fall, but looked wide eyed as Ashur croaked, “Help me, I need help.”
Drake gripped Ashur’s right hand and aided him in sheathing the blade. Upon doing so, Ashur slipped back into unconsciousness.
Drake watched in horror as the young lad that had done so much to save them numerous times was cold to the touch and vigorously convulsing on the cobblestone. He propped most of Ashur’s weight onto his good shoulder, and bellowed as he squatted upward, and limped into Bonegate. More citizens of Bonegate approached as they had gotten further and further from the unofficial line. Many of the children looked in fear at an injured Drake, for they had never in their lives seen him get so much as a scuff or scrape. Their mothers covered their mouths as they were agape at the two men struggling down the street. Their fathers raced forward to lift Ashur off of his shoulders, not too far away were the remainders of Ashur’s men: Dyserich, Moreling, and the lads who were on their backs.
“What do you want us to do with you all?” A middle-aged man with graying brown hair and dirty beige rags said in an urgent tone.
“The healer… Is she here? The one who saved little Alita? Please, he doesn’t have much time left” Drake gasped, eyes never leaving Ashur’s shaking body.\
“Aye… Aye, she’s still here. Come, not too far now.” He said, leading Drake and the survivors to her tent in a nearby alley. The tent, a blood red color sticking out amongst the white and gray buildings in a dirty alley, had three guards posted at the entrance, and a bunch of weeping children surrounding them outside the tent. Dyserich’s eyes widened in bemusement, “I’ve heard stories, but is she who she says she is? Gods, who is she to be able to even command guards, I heard she does not charge,” he turned to the man leading them, “Something seems off to me.”
“Choose your next words carefully,” the man hissed, “For we do not accept any slander upon this woman’s name. She is legitimate, and as of now she is the only one that will stand between this lad’s life and his death! Her very presence beyond our hood lines is the reason no outright conflict has happened in Bonegate.”
Four individuals laid on the cots Rhamiel had set up inside her tent, three of whom had already been taken care of the night before. This tent was her Doctor’s Booth, which gave her more flexibility than the other doctors in the city. They could not move freely through the city without the very possible threat of being robbed of their supplies and losing their lives. All she needed were some cots and the tent, and her name was quickly spreading through Tyrus as a miracle worker, because that was what she was.
She approached the final individual, a child who had come down with a fever and was incredibly gaunt. Rhamiel knew in an instant that this was all a cause of his immune system weakening due to malnutrition. She could repair his immune system and bring him back to consciousness, but if he did not find food quickly the lad would die and no amount of spark-blazing would be able to save him. Rhamiel had some provisions that Mau had fetched for her from the Southern Plains, but she had returned to the city around the time The Dreadbird’s Host had left, and she had not returned to her home west of Bonegate since. She would be able to feed him today, but she would not be able to feed him as consistently as he needed to be. Rhamiel could see his heart beat out of his protruding ribs, and it saddened her to see such a young lad suffer like this. She had a soft spot for the downtrodden children in this city, many of whom were orphans who only knew the fight for survival. The fact that this boy, in the range of twelve to fourteen years of age had lasted this long, was a testament to him. Rhamiel had considered herself lucky, having been found so shortly after her mother’s passing. She had never known her father, and the glimpses of a past she had forgotten had showed that her mother would weep whenever she would ask who or where he was.
Placing her hand on his slow beating heart, she brushed her long, dark brown hair out of her face with her other hand and placed it on her own chest, directly above her heart. Closing her eyes, in the darkness she saw the dim flicker of the lad’s life-spark. Rhamiel inhaled deeply, clenching her chest with a tightness that made her wince as she felt her life-spark blaze within her. Exhaling, she emitted the growing flame from her chest and felt it travel down her arm, and into the lad’s chest. His chest jerked upward, as if her hand was a large suction pad, and she was thrusted in a burst of light into the memories of this lad’s life.
He had been the son of one of the minor ganglords, Rhamiel saw from a window in the light a scene of the boy at around the age of four, giggling as he ran to his father. The man, donning a shoddily painted black crow sigil on his leather hide clothing, smiled with stained yellow teeth as he lifted the boy up and propped him on one knee. The memory shifted to a day that Rhamiel remembered well, the beginning of the end for the Black Crow gang. She saw in the window the boy watching from afar as his father had pinned two street urchins, one a boy and the other a girl both looking like they were entering adolescence, with both hands before another boy with long black hair raced towards him. The man shifted his position, so his knee was placed on the girl’s chest as he reached out to grip the charging lad with his free hand by the throat. The lad, around the same age, struggled to release himself from the man’s grip. Rhamiel gently rubbed her chest, remembering the pain she felt from that. Yes, this was before Ashur left, the last time I had to save him before he traveled to the Thundering Hills. This lad’s father… We’re the ones responsible for him being here in the first place. We killed his father and made him an orphan.
The young Ashur, blinking tears as he watched Mau scream in frantic anger and Rhamiel gasp for breath, unstrapped the opal longsword from his back and used both hands to rip it from its sheath. The blade, Nirvana, screamed a piercing shriek that made the watching Rhamiel cover her ears as the man released his grip from the two young teens and covered his own ears as he was blasted back. She saw the horror in the son of the man as he watched another boy leap into the air and close the distance that he had made between himself and his father. Ashur, with his blade pointed downward, shot down with incredible speed and disposed of the man with a stab through his abdomen. Rhamiel could fear the boy’s emotions as he watched his father’s death: pain, anger, hatred, and an intense sadness that brought herself to tears.
The last memory sent her to the present day, where the boy was scavenging for food in the waste buckets of taverns and market streets. He had his own gang of younger children but made them the priority as all of the food he was finding he was giving to them. She felt his emotions again; happiness as he spoke and laughed with the younger boys and girls, pride as he watched them eat, still the sadness of losing his father, and an additional sadness that his life would soon be coming to an end. The boy knew that he would starve and die at this rate, but the younger children needed to eat more than him if they were to survive. Rhamiel felt a sense of understanding within the boy, that his father died because that boy’s gang was threatened with death and if put in the same spot, he would have done the same, even if the enemy was his father. She saw the boy’s eyes zone out to the cobblestone pavement as he whispered to himself, “I get it, it’s clear to me. Father, did you hold anything against your killer? Or did you just chalk it up to the laws of life here in the city? Not just survive, but keep your people safe?”
Rhamiel was somewhat shocked to see the boy understand this at such a young age, but from experience she knew that no matter how green a Tyrus lad is, they probably matured quicker than any other child in the way this city raises them. She opened her eyes as she saw the boy, now awake, staring at her blinking away tears in his groggy state.
“It was you,” he whispered, “You were there… The reason my father died.”
She nodded, “You have grown much since that time, I saw it all,” Rhamiel placed a hand on the boy’s head to inspect his temperature to see that his fever was gone. She walked to her icebox and fetched some salted meat. She hand-fed the boy as she spoke, “Your young gang saved your life. You must treat them like your own siblings for them to take such an interest in your wellbeing.”
He swallowed his food, and looked away, “I just want them being safe. Is… Is my father’s killer still out there? Your ganglord?”
Rhamiel looked to the other men in her charge, noting their faint snoring as they rested before looking back to the boy, “Aye, he still is, but not in Tyrus. He left shortly after your father’s death, I think because killing him had an effect on the three of us. Do you seek revenge?”
The boy shook his head, “You know the answer. For any of my own, I would’ve done the same. And besides, grudges are a quick way to get killed in this city. I’ve seen enough to know at least that. I’d like to say that bringing me back from the brink is payment for that day.”
She smiled, “You are mature beyond your years.”
He shrugged as he sat up with a pained look, “My name is Neirin, what is yours? I would like to know my savior’s name.”
“Rhamiel, if you or your brothers ever need help or healing, you can find me in Bonegate or North of their westernmost farm. Listen, it is truly admirable that you starved yourself to ensure their survival, but how can you do that when you die? Heed my advice.” She lectured with a gentle smile.
Neirin hopped off of the cot and nodded before almost tackling her in a hug at her waist. Rhamiel felt her trousers dampen from tears from the lad, so she rested her hand upon his head and whispered, “You’ve been so strong, but they’ll need you to continue being strong. Neirin, I need you to be strong as well.”
“Thank you,” he whimpered in response, before stepping back and away the tears that began to stain his cheeks. She walked him outside, where she saw the faces of at least ten children cry with joy as they went and hugged Neirin.
“Listen, all of you. This was because he tried so desperately to feed you all over him. Do not be selfish, and remember that he needs to eat too, or else you might end up losing him for good. Share all that you have with one another, and make sure at least one of you is around to see him eat,” Rhamiel said with a smile. All the children gawked at her as if she were an angel, tears staining their little cheeks, and nodded in unison. Her soft eyes drifted off of the children and to the group of men staring at her down the alley. She saw a large man, his ragged shirt caked with sweat.
Who’s that with Vavut? I have seen that man before; he had brought his daughter to me some years ago…
She waved her hand to the hulking man, the children turned to where she was staring and scattered like rats behind Rhamiel and Neirin. Her eyes widened in horror and disbelief as she noticed the man he was holding in his arms.
“Do you remember me, doctor? My name is Drake–”
“The man from Yarvin, yes?” she remembered as she interrupted him, not taking her eyes off of Ashur, “Ashur… Where–where did you find him,” she stammered, lip quivering as she walked over and caressed his cheeks. His face had clammed up with sweat, and his cheeks were cold to the touch. She saw that cursed blade of his on his hip, then turned to Neirin. The young boy had a gaze like stone as he looked upon the unconscious slayer of his father. She had thought she saw an inkling of rage bubble up, but Neirin suppressed it with a deep breath and nodded to her.
“I’ll be taking my leave now, Rhamiel. Thank you for everything, I owe you more than you know.” He spun around to the kids behind him, “Let’s go back to The Fairs and look for some grub, I’m starving.” The children giggled and nodded, and they walked down the alley.
“Into the tent, quickly,” Rhamiel hurriedly said as she pushed Drake along through the crimson entrance, “How many times have you seen him use Nirvana?”
Drake laid the shivering Ashur across the cot, “Well he used it quite extensively in his duel against the Dreadbird now that I can think about it, used it quite a bit against the raiders on her way home as well. He was unconscious for most of the morning and into the afternoon but was forced to use it for a brief moment in order to get us here.”
“He fought the Dreadbird?” She asked with a bemused expression.
“Doctor, if he hadn’t used that blade… We all would’ve been either dead or prison slaves in Dayton. There was no other choice, he saved us all,” Drake reasoned.
“Leave the room please,” She ordered, “I need time alone with him.”
Drake nodded and stepped out of the tent. She stripped herself of her shirt and trousers to where she was in nothing but her undergarments. Rhamiel then proceeded to strip him of his clothes, seeing a bevy of scars some of which were not present the last time she had seen him.
“Oh, Ashur,” she muttered with a half-smile as she ran her fingers along the scars on his chest and ribs, “There you go again, getting yourself into more trouble. What would you do without me, huh?”
Rhamiel grabbed a blanket as she huddled up and embraced him on the cot and covered the two of them. She pressed her forehead to his and placed hands on both her heart as well as his. His heartbeat was even more faint and distant than that of Neirin’s earlier. Closing her eyes and emitting her life-spark again, she helped blaze his life-spark, and she found herself in another room of blinding light. Except unlike Neirin, she saw Ashur standing there awaiting her.
“Rhamiel?” He asked, looking at her incredulously, “Did we make it in time for a healer, or did I reach the afterlife?”
She embraced him in a hug and cried and returned the embrace as she felt him hiccup a few cries himself.
“My first time seeing you in five years, and you were on death’s door! Why is it that I always have to heal you?” Rhamiel wailed, beating her fists on his chest, “Why do you continue to use that sword, knowing what it does to you? It wasn’t meant for you!”
He smiled through the tears, “Is there any other way we’ve lived after all these years, with me doing something reckless and you always there to patch me up?” Ashur chuckled, “Maybe I just like being alone with you in this realm, how are you?”
She looked up at him, tearing up like those children she had just lectured, “Life’s been so much harder here without you, but it was for the best. So many sent to war to die, I’m happy you weren’t there to go along with them. Gods, does that make me selfish?”
“So, I still, have you? By my side?”
She cocked her head, “Why do you ask?”
He tried to push out of their hug for a moment, but she resisted. It had been too long, and she thought that if she let him go, he might never return to her embrace. Ashur, failing to break free, relented and looked away from her glare.
“I just… I thought you might’ve moved on. A lot’s happened in five years, and I see now that you’re more beautiful than ever. I-I thought you moved on, found someone that made you feel loved and moved on to a good and joy-filled life.”
She pinched his cheek, and he lifted his to hold it there. That surprised her, when they were kids, she would pinch his cheeks and he’d slap her hand away in anger. But it seemed to her that he truly missed her and all her little mannerisms. All those years away when she worried for his safety, and he worried she had moved on, felt like a fuzzy memory now. Together in the warmth of their skin touching one another in the realm within, with nothing to worry about but their thoughts of each other, she grinned, eyes twinkling with love and excitement. She pulled him in for a kiss, something she had wanted to do all those years ago when he announced he would depart, something she had wanted to do since he first saved her and brought her into his home.
“Mau has kept me safe and protected up until this point, but I refused to move on unless I knew you would never return. I love you more than all Ashur, that’s all you need to know.”
He kissed her again in reaction to her response, “The feeling is mutual, Rhamiel. It’s good to be back home, it wouldn't have been home at all without you. I can’t achieve this dream of mine without you by my side.”
Rhamiel’s eyes narrowed at that, however, moving her hand from his cheek to his heart, “Listen to me then, I don’t want you using that sword here in the city. Understand? It eats away at you too much, and you’ll be vulnerable if I’m not with you at the time.”
“B-But–” Ashur opened his mouth to speak before she pressed a finger over it to silence him, she wasn’t finished.
“And if you want the people of this city to follow you, you’ll have to do it with a regular sword. Show everyone your skill for what it is, and not with the aid of a God’s weapon. You want them to think of you as a true warrior and not one that needs to rely on a relic, right? Your opportunity is quickly approaching too, the bloodpits open up for the first time since the Dreadbird arrived at the end of the month.”
Ashur mulled about what she said for a few moments, before nodding in agreement, “Alright Rhamiel, so be it. I’m going to need to work to get stronger still, so this works out. We have a deal.”
She pressed her forehead with his as they basked in the warmth of the light. When she opened her eyes, she awakened in the tent, swathed in a blanket with Ashur on one of the cots. He kissed her again and smiled a toothy grin. And she smiled as she blushed, feeling the warmth run up into her cheeks.
“The real thing felt just as good, huh?” he asked her, running his hand up and down her side.
Rhamiel couldn’t help but giggle in agreement.
The arrival at Dayton was met by applause by citizens and soldiers alike, and it brought Enyalius an untold amount of joy and relief for this chapter in his story to finally end. The sky was pinkish yellow as the sun set behind the tall stone towers spread throughout the city, and the normally still water rippled at the response of the thunderous roar from the city. The green lads returned to their parents and siblings laughing as they embraced them, lovers who may or not have dallied in affairs crying tears of joy as they kissed their boyfriends and husbands. Mautar’s wife tackled him in an embrace as his now seven-year-old boy ran in between their legs and tried to split them apart in a desperate attempt to embrace Mautar on his own. Brargo was holding back the tears as his parents entered his outstretched arms for hugs and kisses, with his older brother and sister completing the encirclement around him as they ruffled his hair and hugged him from behind.
Dallerd was welcomed by his wife and grandmother, who wailed with joy as he grinned at them and kissed both on the cheek as they wept in his arms. Even Rodrick, the gruff man without any family, had two whores wrapped around his arms as he bellowed in a raspy laughter. Enyalius scanned the legion of citizens running to each of their loved ones, and finally spotted his own loved ones. The three mothers of his children, and his bastards, all peering out into the groups of people to try to find him. He shouted until his oldest son Aineas pointed him out and broke out into a sprint. Enyalius ran toward him as well, and they both skidded to a halt within two paces of one another. Aineas gave his father a salute, his looks reminding Enyalius of what he once looked like at the age of eighteen.
Enyalius saluted him in answer, before pulling Aineas in for a hug. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that while his other two boys followed Aineas’ lead, the mothers of his children were leisurely walking in unison and smiling as they talked to one another on their way to him. When everyone had gathered, and he hugged and kissed all of his children and their mothers, he sighed in happiness. For that moment, not a single soldier in that army, nor the citizens of Dayton, cared about how bad the war was or how it ended, or even how it impacted them. The return home was the true victory, and there wasn’t an ear-to-ear smile in sight.
Later that night, Enyalius laid in bed with one of the mothers of his children. She was fast asleep underneath the blankets on this cold autumn night. The fireplace was cold, and the room smelled of sex and sweat. Enyalius could not rest, for he thought of the answers he needed to get in his family’s catacombs. Within the mausoleum was a study that dated as far back as the second age. The enigma that was Ashur could only hide for so long. Enyalius sat up and got out of the bed and put on his clothes, a trouser, his boots, and an evening robe.
“Where are you going, love?” his child’s mother moaned as she stirred awake, her blonde head peeking out from over the thick blankets.
He knelt beside her and caressed her cheek, “To the crypts, Alissa.”
Alissa frowned, “What do you hope to find there? You already read up on everything about your forefathers.”
Enyalius nodded, “You’re right, I did. But I haven’t read everything there, and something has been troubling me.”
Alissa sat up, “What happened? We all tried to avoid asking this today, “But how was the war?”
He looked down and took a few deep breaths, mulling over whether or not he should spill everything to her. Even in the dark, he could feel her gaze peering into his soul, practically begging him to get all of his troubles off of his chest, but he couldn’t do it. Not yet.
“I’m sorry Alissa. Goodnight.” With that, Enyalius rose and walked out of the bedroom.
Ashur walked out of Rhamiel’s medical tent feeling exceptional and rejuvenated. He didn’t hear the voice in his head scolding him about how she had moved on anymore, now he just had to go find Mau and move forward. Rhamiel had told him on the cot that Mau was probably at home, or in a tavern on the outskirts of Bonegate called “The Mellow Skunk”. He was still familiar with that tavern, for it was a place the three of them frequented years ago.
It made sense for Mau to especially be there. He would bring his chess board and play against anyone who would dare to. It was a game he loved because it was all based on strategy, and he would create and test his own strategies on the poor saps he played against. As children, Ashur remembered how pissed the adults would be when they would lose, so much so that Ashur would end up taking the brunt of the punishments since they would want to fight. For all of that though, Ashur prayed that Mau still had an affinity for it, since the game’s strategies could work fairly well in combat.
Drake, Moreling, Dyserich, and the other three men remaining out of his squad of ten were sitting on the dusty pavement when he walked out. All six stood up, and Drake studied him up and down before giving a nod to Rhamiel as she exited the medical tent.
“Thank you, doctor,” He said, hesitating for a moment before asking, “It seemed like you knew Ashur from before?”
She nodded as she placed a hand on the small of Ashur’s back and gave it a gentle rub, “We grew up together, he’s… special to me.” She examined Dyserich’s bandaged shoulder and walked up to him. His wound had reopened on the ride there, and Ashur saw that blood had seeped through the dirty white bandage.
“Let me see that?” She asked as she walked up to him, placing a hand on her chest and the other to his. Dyserich blushed and quickly looked to Ashur who gave him a reassuring nod. Rhamiel closed her eyes, and within three heartbeats, she released her hand, and he stepped back with wide eyes and a gasp. He quickly ripped the bandage off to see a scar where the arrow had hit, and Dyserich looked at her in astonishment.
“H-How did you do that?” He stammered as he looked at her incredulously.
Rhamiel smiled as she peeped to see Moreling’s face agape, “Old Ashmedai talent, I learned it at a young age, and I’ve had my practice on Ashur when we were little.”
“Aye, she has quite the ability,” Drake grunted as he rubbed his shoulder. Ashur remembered seeing him land on it when their horse was shot, “Can you do me a favor, doctor? I landed on my shoulder pretty damn hard when we were racing over here, think–”
She interrupted him by doing the same thing she did to Dyserich to him, Drake’s scowling grimace instantly turning into a face of relaxation. He nodded to Ashur, before holding Rhamiel’s hand and thanking her. Moreling walked over to Ashur with a concerned look on his face, and Ashur assumed it was going to be about the men they had lost.
“Sir,” he said, “The men we lost, they were taken by Jade Knights. They’re not very talented, but they have numbers. Now, I don’t think they’d kill the four we lost, since they are always looking to recruit, but I don’t want to take that chance. What are we gonna do about it?”
Ashur gritted his teeth pondering how to get them back. He wanted to go and get Mau, but anyone captured by any gang within the city would be living a life shorter than they’d expect, time was against all of them. It brought back stinging memories of when his mother entered the city and never returned, so Ashur took it personally.
“We’ve gotta go get ‘em,” Drake chimed in, “They serve you, Ashur.”
Ashur gripped Nirvana in its hilt, and said, “Then we move, men.”
“Hold on just a minute,” Rhamiel interrupted, Ashur turned to see her with scolding eyes as it reminded him that it was Nirvana he was holding.
“Ah, you’re right Rhamiel, I need a sword.”
Her two guards looked at one another, before one of them entered the medical tent and came out with an iron sword.
“We usually keep spares just in case, and if you’re close with Rhamiel, we have no qualms with giving you this one,” the guard said as he handed Ashur the blade, “She saved our lives for free, and much of the money given to her against her pleas that she doesn’t use for supplies, she gives to us. For a job as easy as this, we’ll forever be in her debt.”
Ashur inspected the sword in his hands, holding it with each hand before testing its effectiveness with different forms, swinging it against the air. It was roughly forged, but it would do.
A bit heavier than I expected, but a small gripe in exchange for my life.
Ashur nodded to the guard and gave him a thumbs up. He unstrapped Nirvana’s sheath and fastened it tightly across his chest so that the opal blade rested on his back, then strapped his new sword’s sheath around his waist.
“Where is the Jade Knight hideout?” he asked.
“If they’re the dominant gang, they probably moved most of their base of operations from The Fairs to the Citadel,” Moreling grunted.
Ashur grimaced and Drake cursed under his breath. The Citadel was an old city council building that the Sun King had built. It was a monument in Tyrus and similar to Aethel’s Gate in that it was a testament to the resiliency of the city. Beaten and battered as it was, it was still stable and sturdy.
Like all of us.
“Alright, I want five of you to go on ahead and find out if they did in fact move there or if they’re still camped at The Fairs. Dyserich, you’re with me, I need to go to The Mellow Skunk.” Ashur ordered.
Dyserich cocked his head, “Sir? We’re going to a fucking tavern?”
“Aye, I need to get an old friend. One of the smartest strategists in this city,” Ashur chuckled, “He’s probably off playing chess or something.”
“Oh, he’s certainly playing chess right now. He usually waits for me to finish up here for the day before we head home together,” Rhamiel cut in.
“Are you done here?” Drake asked, stroking his chin.
“Aye, I’m going to wake the three sleeping in there and then I’m free for whatever this evening has in store,” Rhamiel said, her gray eyes sparkling, “Although it seems like you may need my help.”
“We will, don’t go anywhere once you’re finished. We’re gonna have to pass by here again so we’ll save you the journey,” said Ashur, resting a hand on her shoulder.
Rhamiel pouted, Ashur loved it when she did that, blushing as she did. She placed her hand upon his, “It’s been so long since the three of us were in that tavern, like the good old days.”
“I know, but we’ve got greater concerns right now than re-living the old days my love,” He kissed her, swimming in the fullness of her lips, as she was about to say something. She looked at him with longing eyes as he whispered, “When this is all over, aye?”
She pouted for a moment longer before wiping it away with a smile, the type of smile melted his heart and made him want to go back into the tent with her, “aye.”
The six of them split up, with Drake, Moreling, and the two lads going east. Ashur disliked that he didn’t know the names of every man, or more like he didn’t remember. He didn’t know the names of any of the men that he lost either, or he didn’t want to lose them before he learned. He turned west to where the sun was setting across the land, and motioned Dyserich to follow as they headed for The Mellow Skunk.
Mau sat at the same table in the tavern that he had been sitting in for almost a decade. The barkeep told him that even when he isn’t there, no one sits there, even with a full house. Everyone in Bonegate knows that to be his seat, the seat of the “Tyrus Chess Champion”. The bar’s candles lit the first floor just enough to provide the light to see all the pieces and the numbers on the board. The tavern smelt like any other bar, a mixture of ale, wine, and hints of vomit and piss. The sounds like any other as well, with different conversations at each table forming together as a sort of white noise for him, the occasional shouting and arguing making him feel warm inside. Mau came every day to play while his friend Rhamiel did her job in healing whoever needed it that day. He started playing for coins around the time his adoptive mother disappeared, in order to help support the family he made between him, Rhamiel, and his best friend Ashur. He also needed to play for coins now since Ashur had departed from their fellowship five years ago. With no one to protect him, he had to offer the barkeep a cut in order to make sure nothing happened to him until Rhamiel and her guards arrived. He normally wouldn’t leave the bar until then, since he knew that the poor saps that he pissed off were probably posted outside, waiting for him to walk outside so they could shank him and rob him of his coins. Not to mention, while Rhamiel was paid against her objections, it wouldn’t be enough to completely ensure the loyalty of her guards. He’s paying them under the table, just to be safe.
The barkeep walked over to his table, handing him a goblet of wine, “Aye there, boy! Relax a bit, no one’ll play ya if they don’t think yer too sober!” The man ruffled his short brown hair and gave him a tap on his hollow cheeks.
Mau nodded in agreement, “Aye, you have a point there,” He sipped his wine a little, “How’s it looking across the city? You hear everything that goes on here, any news?”
The barkeep took a seat opposite him, on the other side of the chess board, and released a sigh, “Aye, the Jade Knights aren’t fools. They did a temporary retreat when they caught word that ole Rham is at the border healing. They won’t do any outright attacks on our main street until she leaves. Healing any and everyone does damage to the city as a whole, but she’s serving as a deterrent for both sides right now.”
“Well, that’s good I guess,” Mau said as he rubbed his temples, “Let me know when the militia is gonna act, and I’ll find some way to talk her into stepping outta the way. At least I know she won’t be kidnapped and used as leverage, saving so many from the plague really bought us a lotta goodwill.”
The barkeep folded his arms and nodded as he cackled, “Aye, I will. And damn right it bought ya goodwill, she might be the most valuable commodity in the city. Void, I think if anyone were to capture her, the whole damned city would go war against whoever did it. That beauty’s legend is strong for someone who hasn’t died yet.”
Yeah, because all the legends in this city are found in a graveyard.
“Care to play me in a game to pass the time? I’ve got a new strategy I wanna try out,” Mau smirked. The barkeep’s hearty grin quickly turned into a scowl, and he stood up.
“Nah,” he spat, “I’m not tryna get angry today, and playing you just pisses me off.” and with that, he walked back to the bar.
Mau watched people walk in and out the bar until the sun had finally set, which wasn’t too long even though it felt like hours. He had started to grow concerned at how late it was getting for Rhamiel, for she would always be in the bar by the time the sun fell. His eyes nearly bulged out of his skull when he saw a man his age with long black hair and stubble on his chin enter the tavern. He was followed by a tall, spindly man who in a way reminded Mau of himself, except the lad’s thinner lips and fuller cheeks. He studied the young man’s waist, expecting an opal hilt on a sheath, but was disappointed to see it as iron.
Damn, I feel like I just saw a ghost. It’s just a normal iron s–
His mind went blank as his eyes traveled up to see an opal hilt on the man’s back, no way… Ashur?
The man looked around until he found Mau’s gaze and smiled, waving as he walked up to him. Mau stood up in utter disbelief.
“So, they call you Tyrus’ Chess Champion? It’s good to see you haven’t gotten rusty,” Ashur said with a wide smile and a golden laugh.
“Ashur,” Mau whispered as he grabbed his best friend, his brother, and hugged him and stammered, “We-we thought you were dead!”
“Cmon, like I’d die?” He laughed again, “It’s good to see you, my friend! It’s been too long.”
“I’ll say!” Mau said with a smile, eyeing him up and down, “I’ll assume the training went well, since you’re here.”
“Aye, it did! I can show you tonight if you come and join me.”
Mau’s face contorted to a face of disappointment, “Sorry brother, it seems like no one wants to play me today. You won’t be able to butt heads with anyone here.”
Ashur shook his head, “Not that, Mau. Something else,” His face grew a little darker, “I saved some friends from the Dreadbird’s Host on my way down here, but a few of them got kidnapped by the Jade Knights. My remaining men are posted up outside the Citadel.”
Mau nodded, “Yeah, that’s where their base is now. It’s been chaotic as the fucking Gods here since the Dreadbird left, every gang is clawing for power, and the Jade Knights and the Bonegate Militia have been the worst of it. Rhamiel… Wait a minute, I don’t think I can go. She usually comes to this tavern when she wraps up her healing work.”
“I know, she was the one that told me which tavern you frequent, although I probably could’ve figured that out myself,” Ashur said, grabbing Mau’s goblet from the table and taking a sip of wine. He pursed his lips together before sipping some more, “She’s awaiting us at the Bonegate line.”
Mau rubbed his temple as he stared at Ashur and Dyserich, “And this is?”
“Dyserich. Ashur, you’re friends with this guy? My brother lost a whole week’s earnings playing him,” Dyserich said with a scowl.
“We grew up together too,” Ashur said as he turned around to look at him. Turning back to Mau, he grinned again, “So, what’ll it be? Got a strategy to get me and my men in?”
Mau rubbed his hands together, “I’ve got a few, although I can guess which one you’ll go for already. Guess it’s back to causing trouble like the good old days, let’s go.”