“The Smoldering of Agossross in the year 898 of the Fourth Age was a catalyst for all that would lead humanity into the Fifth Age. The Republic had faced and annihilated several different revolts in the past, but Ashok and his love had ignited a revolution that would shake the continent to its core. The Ashmedai that lived in Wemnoth were innocent and unwilling to give unto them the ancient secrets left behind from the Age of Gods and Men. The Republic had fed into the various theories that the Ashmedai tribes were the main causes of the collapse of the Opal Kingdom and the Sundering of Tyrus, but most of its citizens wanted nothing to do with them for they lived in peace and seclusion. The Republic never thought of the mentality of their soldiers as they ruthlessly tortured, enslaved, and slaughtered every Ashmedai man, woman, and child, placing them in camps to systematically eradicate them from Tegon. It was one of these soldiers, Ashok, who was the first to defy his government, and many followed in his stead. The Republic had received sensitive information in regard to the whereabouts of Ashok the Great, discovering the residence of his host in Agossross. This led them to salt the earth of Agossross lands to serve as both a message, as well as their first full-frontal offensive. Little did they know however, that Ashok had taken his host South to negotiate an alliance with the Southlands, and a child would be born that would doom and change the whole system of government. Killing Agossross did more than just that as well, uniting several states in their hatred and fear, and forcing The Republic to go against their own laws in an attempt to maintain control.”
– “Tomes of Tegonian History: Volume IV” The Year 15 of the Fifth Age”
Arshuc bore witness to an aerial view of The Republic’s capital city of Lunenmouth as Grandryt descended from the clouds. Lunenmouth, the city spared most from all of the centuries of battle and strife in this continent’s history, still possessed its towers that could be considered relics from the Age of Gods and Men. The towers reached higher than any others in Tegon, with the Council’s tower being the highest. Arshuc felt pride in his mount, for while the other members were delegated to either climbing the many flights of stairs or using the lift to get to the top, he merely landed his wyvern on the balcony platform. It was a sign of his power, ancient connection, and superiority to the rest of them, and whenever he arrived they would have no choice but to defer to him.
Grandryt roared as he approached the platform, the tower was so high that it made the other buildings look like a child’s toy castle. As he landed, Arshuc saw the other members of the Council walk outside in their thick royal robes and coats and glare at him with venomous eyes. Fugelrod, the Lord of House Hollogard and the governor of the capital of Lunenmouth was the only to greet him with a smile, albeit it was a smile that could not hide his disdain. Arshuc didn’t blame him, for he had forced Fugelrod to agree to sending an army out for his beloved bastard Oremir. The man outstretched his arms, his white and gold robes hanging from his arms.
“How did you fare on your journey home?” Fugelrod asked, struggling to maintain his grin.
“It went… well,” Arshuc ruminated as he walked past the other high Lords and Ladies and went indoors. Before him was a large rectangular table; the other Council members called it the round table, and he grimaced whenever they said that, because it clearly wasn’t. He sat at the head of the table and motioned them to sit down, “My niece will become betrothed to the Midland Lords, their men will serve us in the battles to come.”
“It serves us well that Enyalius completed his mission and executed the traitor,” said the Lady Helisent of House Estmont, of the Estmont state, Arshuc noticed Fugelrod’s face grow sullen.
“Now Enyalius can take his talents to the South,” Helisent continued, her spectacles reflecting the moonlight that peeked in through one of the stained glass windows in the tower, “His connection to Agossross should cause Ashok to react… rashly.”
Arnaud, Lord of House Grimway, of the Central Plain Domin shook his head, his cerulean blue robes rippling as he grunted, “That bastard will always remain calm and collected. He knows just as well as Enyalius the laws of war.”
“And besides,” Arshuc sighed, thinking on the best way to word his deceit, “Enyalius won’t do much if we keep ordering him without a reward. I say we reward him with Tyrus to govern. The city needs a firm hand, and we need someone in charge to aid Segared in our endeavors. With a joint effort from those two, we could triple our sales in slaves and acquire more dragonsteel.”
Silence filled the room as everyone at the table glared at the dragonsteel armor he donned. Fugelrod nodded, “Aye, that sounds well and good, but how could we triple it?” his face grew stern, “You didn’t tell the Midland lords of our plans, did you?”
Arshuc’s hazel eyes blazed with a fury that made the Lunenmouth lord fidget in his seat, “And incriminate us all? Don’t be stupid, Fugel. I asked for passage through the Southern end of his kingdom in exchange for my niece’s hand in marriage. We will give him a few dragonsteel ingots to keep it that way, and the slaves can now be passed over to Estmont with no delays. We can ship them in larger quantities, and more often.”
“And you think Enyalius will go along with this?” Halisent asked.
“Aye, I do. Because I already sent a raven. The contents that the Raven is carrying is an agreement, he will be accepted for the opportunity to join us at this table should he accept the deal, and if not I’ll simply give this offer to Osferth.”
Arnaud stroked his graying beard, “Well enough, what of Segared’s status?”
Arshuc nodded to him, “Yes, he was able to successfully evade Oremir’s manhunt and Enyalius’ culling. He made a deal with one of the minor gangs, and sprung them into action to conquer the other gangs. That gang will join Enyalius’ military upon his return, everything is going according to plan.”
For me, that is.
Arshuc rose from his chair, and in response the others had risen as well, “That will be all for today, we will convene again at a later date.”
The others nodded and walked out the door, all except for Fugelrod who scowled at him.
“Where’s the smile, Fugelrod? You should be on your knees thanking me, killing your bastard will now silence any wonders that he was once yours,” joked Arshuc, wearing a sinister grin.
The old man’s face twisted into one of rage, “I loved that boy. He hated us, but I loved him. We could have sent him to the East and fabricated a lie that he had perished, he didn’t have to be cornered and killed like a rat.”
“He was a rat, you bastard,” Arshuc snarled, “And placing a lie over another lie, over another lie? Your feelings betray you, and mark my words they will be your downfall one day. If he had been able to tame the city long enough to form an actual military, what then? You said it yourself, he hated us, so with the right power and circumstances, you think he wouldn’t just undermine our plans but seek to supplant us?”
Arshuc’s face was red with rage, he hated dealing with idiots, especially the emotional ones, “Don’t be an idiot, Fugel,” he muttered, “What’s done is done now, anyway. Enyalius will take it from here.”
“You don’t really intend on making him a member of this council?” Fugelrod shouted, “A man from such an insignificant house could never join our ranks!”
“Aye, I intend to dangle the carrot close enough to get him under my control,” Arshuc flatly stated, “His father was a fool that gave up his influence for the good of his people. The fucking idiot, so neck deep in his own shit that his own son will commit our atrocities for us in an attempt to atone.”
He sighed, “I wish he was my heir. Hardened by battle, driven by loyalty, fueled by his own ambition even in spite of its smallness in scale. Had he been a son of mine, he would have been honed to his fullest potential. His army is green but from what I’ve read and heard, he turned them into true soldiers by the time of the final battle.”
Fugelrod walked to the door and opened it, “You are an evil man, a truly evil man.” And with that, Arshuc was alone.
Arshuc sat back down, alone in the dark room. He started tapping his fingers upon the table as he visualized every possible step to his plan.
The crypts of his ancestors was a large black-stoned mausoleum, smelling old and feeling ice cold. No one besides him was able to enter, so the lone torch that Enyalius carried was the sole light in a pitch black graveyard. There were five floors beneath the floor he was on, containing more stone tombs. The last floor contained the ancient study which housed the possible answers to his questions. Before he entered the large spiral staircase at the end of this hall of dead rulers, he made sure to pass by his father’s tomb. When he was much younger, he would frequently enter the crypt to both learn what his forefathers knew of the world, and talk to the tomb of his father. The last time he did was after he returned from Agossross.
Thoughts of what he felt following that momentous night made him sad. Back then, Agossross gave him a feeling like he had committed an incredible sin, like all of his forefathers were scowling at him, like he didn’t deserve to come home or be buried amongst them. Enyalius swore that he had heard his father weep as he watched Enyaliius slay children from the heavens above. This was the reason he never took the family name of Thilgon. Thilgon, the adopted name of every ruler over Tyrus, was one he felt unworthy of, and so Enyalius became the lone leader who broke many millennia worth of tradition. It took him years to come to terms with what he had done, and find someone to pin the blame on. In the times since he had last visited the crypts, he had blamed his warleader Ulric Shadowhand for sending them into that mess, but the blame shifted upon his war with Oremir. It wasn’t the general that was to blame, but the government that ordered that general. The Republic should be the ones held accountable for that crime, for they were always the source of this continent’s problems.
He approached his fathers grave, a large stone tomb with his father’s likeness etched into it. The face looked peaceful, even chubby, which went against what his father actually looked like. His father was a gaunt and skinny man, weak and frail from all of those long days of starving. Enyalius could never forget how his father ate the bare minimum to survive in a land that was forced and locked into a famine from their loyalty to the Sun King those many centuries ago. Sure, someone or the other would travel to different cities and lands and return with food, but it would never be enough for everyone, and the wait between those leaving and returning was what starved them the most. The Republic wanted a Havenrock at the head of Dayton at all times, but they wanted them to suffer. Maybe someone sensed the type of person that Enyalius was, for he was the leader in a cruel time like his father, he would have warred against The Republic for that very slight. But alas, upon the time he had come of age to ward in Lunenmouth, the embargo had been lifted, his people had been fed, and he had been accepted to ward under Ulric in the capital.
Enyalius stood over his father, fishing a canister from his pocket and taking a sip. His throat burned from the whiskey, and he nearly gagged from its taste. This whiskey was his father’s favorite, he had said so himself. He poured a few drops onto the face carved in stone, and sat down beside the tomb.
“Father, something doesn’t feel right,” Enyalius started, “I am approaching the same age that you were when you passed away, and I have seen many things. More I’d say than even you saw. You traversed the North all the way to Wemnoth in your younger days, and traveled the western coast, but I’m different from you. You, an explorer, and your son, a soldier. I have been to the capital in the heart of the land, I have been to the west, I have been to the east, and there may come a time that I even journey south, Thilgon. As you know from the last time I was here, I have been to the Central City of Agossross as well. I heard your cries as I did what was ordered from me, but why don’t I hear your cries now? Why not in Tyrus, where what I did was arguably just as worse? Is it because no one cares what happens in the fallen city anymore?” He took a swig from the canister, coughing a bit. Clearing his throat, Enyalius continued, “Remember those dreams you used to have, father? You dreamed of a Golden Age, one where a king ruled these states, and every house was derived from their armies to form one large one. The people were able to choose their own destinies, able to put in the work necessary to earn their ways to more comfortable lives, the underworld was satisfied and hence weakened, and the global stage looked upon us with respect. I know that couldn’t have been the past, for Havenrock has had control over their own military since the house’s founding. So what was it father, a glimpse into the future? Is it possible in my lifetime, to see what you saw so long ago? I once thought it was my destiny to achieve what you dreamed, but I know now that I was the farthest from the truth. Maybe it could have been Oremir, if he was able to rebuild Tyrus, he might’ve been able to tame the rest of this cursed continent. But alas, I’m starting to believe it may lie in someone else. That boy who had the backing of the Gods behind him, Ashur was his name. He is still green, he was educated enough to hide his background, but I think I understand him. A lad that must’ve lost much in Tyrus, and so left it to grow stronger in the Thundering Hills. He–he carried this sword with him, Father. Gods, you would have loved the sight of it, but it wasn’t man-made in the slightest. It was as if it was forged by the Gods itself, for it looked and acted ancient,” He took another swig and paused for a moment, as if hesitating on what he was going to say, but then he remembered that he wasn’t talking to someone alive, someone who could spill his secrets, “I hope the lad made it to Tyrus safely, believe it or not, and I hope I meet him again. Alysander intervened, father. I need answers, but my main question is, will I find them here?”
Enyalius rose and stared at his father’s face which was etched in the stone, the torchlight creating shadows on every detailed crevice of the face, “This may be the last time I see you, father. It stings too much to be down here, and I will not be buried alongside you for I have not earned it. I squandered the opportunity to bear your name long ago, farewell.”
The spiral stairs that led to each floor of rulers descended into an unseeable darkness past his torchlight. As he descended into the heart of the crypt, he thought of how fitting it was that he would not be buried alongside his forefathers. The space for more Dayton rulers to be buried there is growing short, and ten or more generations from now, they would have to build above what he called his keep, and make the floors he lived in a part of the crypts. It brought him a modicum of comfort to know that he stalled that for a generation. The study at the very bottom of the staircase was the largest floor of the crypt, but it was only held one body. Thilgon the Great, one of the first recorded children of an Ashmedai and a Human. With the departure of the Gods in the Age of Gods and Men, Thilgon the Great was born, and had won the support of both the Dayonisan Ashmedai tribe and the humans living in their lands to build a kingdom where Enyalius stood. It was rare for an Ashmedai to fall in love with a human, which made him all the more special, and made the high houses all the more powerful in influence. Thilgon’s tomb lay at the very center of the immense room, with the knowledge of all that his forefathers found and wrote lining the walls around him. Bookshelves teeming with old scrolls hid the stone that these walls were built on, and there was one dust-covered desk seated next to Thilgon’s tomb. Enyalius inhaled a deep breath and then blew on the desk, the dust drifting off the desk and into the air around him, before floating out of his torchlight’s sight. Opening a drawer, he had found a bevy of candles that would aid him in his quest. Lighting one of them, he walked back to the entrance to where there was a sconce, and he placed his torch there.
Carrying the candle, he circled around the room, scouring through the title of every scroll and tome that was titled with “sword” and “ashmedai”. Enyalius approached a gilded bookcase, the collection of the greatest works that Thilgon I had accumulated in his one hundred and seventy years of life. Combing through the titles of all of these works, one caught his interest in particular, titled, “The Fallen Gods: A Human Study”. This gripped his attention immediately, for the boy he had fought was moving as light as the wind, and his blade had many properties based around it as well. However, in all his time on this earth, he had never seen anyone worship or even acknowledge the Wind God.
The book thumped onto the desk, dust shedding off of it as it landed like a dog in its shedding season. He peeled back the cover and spent most of his time engulfed in the tome’s contents. There was no index in texts from this time, and he didn’t want to miss anything that was covered. The book covered many Ashmedai tales told that were lost to time about the many Gods that had died before and during the final battle, as well as the few Gods that refused to remain in their realms and chose to take residence in the mortal realm. However, after what felt like many hours of reading, Enyalius found a passage about the wind goddess Nitya that gripped his attention with a chill.
The wind goddess Nitya in my time of pursuing knowledge on the Gods has posed one of the greatest enigmas. The members of my mother’s tribe shrugged me off by saying that their tales on her were still inaccurate, for not even the Gods truly know. They spoke of how she wielded a blade shaped out of a malignant crystal, unbreakable in the face of every being, and terrifying in the face of every mortal. Yet, she would never use it. Nitya was an elder god that helped create the very fabric of the realm we live in, and was peaceful and not truly built for the harsher philosophies of the many children of the Parent Gods. When the final battle arrived, Nitya and her eagles took to the skies and lost the fight, for the Void Gods buried beneath the earth forced eruptions that shot her companions out of the sky, and the great Draconic Gods of darkness sent her tumbling to the soil in a ball of scorching flame.
Following the wind goddess’ fall from the sky, the eruptions buried the land in ash, and she was never found. Her realm remains a mystery to this day, as is her state. Yet still, she has a minute sect of followers to the north, who follow not her, but what she represents. Her power lingers in the very air we breathe, and the followers who remain celebrate this.
Enyalius leaned back in his chair, the ancient wooden seat groaning and cricketing as he did so.
So his mother was truly one of these Ashmedai followers. Nitya wasn’t found, but her sword was. A relic that contains the power of a goddess in that boy’s hands. Ashur, the final son of the Ashmedai, their last chance. Was this why the Republic
Enyalius rubbed his temples as he sighed. The candle almost melted down completely, causing Enyalius to leave the tome where he left it, and head back toward the flight of stairs, where he lifted the torch from its sconce and left.
“Sister,” Aurora whispered in the dark night, “Are you still awake?”
Aerith hadn’t slept since the night before she departed her home. All she could see when she closed her eyes was the vision her sister had shown her, a premonition of the man who would really become her husband. It didn’t hurt that her bum and back hurt from the constantly uncomfortable bumping of the carriage they were in. She listened out for the clucking of hooves against the dirt road they were on, and was satisfied to hear them sound so distant. She looked over to her sister, “Yes, I’m still awake,” Aerith whispered back.
Aurora nodded, “We should be crossing the line into Midland tomorrow, you’ll get a good look at your new land.”
Aerith grimaced at those words, and whether it was her sister’s intuition on her feelings, or if Aerith's feelings betrayed herself, she could feel Aurora’s scowl and glare.
“Don’t worry, little sister,” She continued to whisper, “You may be homesick now, but I suspect you’ll get used to it as I did.”
“I’m not like you,” Aerith muttered, “I never was. Everything always just came easy to you, and I tried everything in my power to keep up with your pace.”
“But you have what I don’t,” She felt Aurora’s warm hand reach hers in the dark tent, “And because of that, I believe that you will go far.”
Ignoring her sister’s manipulative reassurances, Aerith changed the subject, “What do you think would happen to this country should he succeed—our uncle, I mean.”
“Our uncle is a clever beast,” stated Aurora, “as well as a mysterious one. No amount of life-spark has been able to tame a dragon, so at the very least we know that he has not grown rusty from his times as a soldier. We have everyone who was listed as a dragon mounter in the past, he’s not even alone in being able to do so on this planet, but Tegon?” She shook her head, “Not so much as a wyvern has been found on this continent since the Age of Gods and Men. He concerns me.”
“Do you truly believe he has a chance–” Aerith asked, cut off by the scream of the wind.
A ripple of wind interrupted her, breaching the carriage and sending chills down Aerith’s spine. She shivered, bundling herself up in the fur blanket she had over her, but Aurora almost stood up out of her seat, eyes staring off in the distance. Her mouth was agape as she whispered, “Oh… whoa…”
Aurora relaxed only slightly, “Do I think he will succeed? There’s a possibility, I see destiny but destiny is not always set in stone. Do you hear it?”
Aerith cocked her head, “See what?”
Her sister whispered, “The wind from the east, it's calling out a name. ‘Ashur, Ashur,’ it whispers. I have heard it’s call before, but never like this… Never like this…”
Ashur, Mau, and Dyserich were running down Bonegate’s main street when they started to see tens of guards standing at attention in the street. Their silver-plated armor, pilfered from the corpses of the Dreadbird’s fallen men, was gleaming in the torchlights that brightened the streets.
As they tried pushing through the soldiers, Ashur heard Mau grunt, “Vavut’s garrisoned the militia? What’s he planning?”
They pushed their way to the front, each guard they moved past gave them a glare, but staying silent and moving their eyes past them and straight ahead after a moment. Ashur acknowledged their discipline, whoever this Vavut was had trained them well enough. They were dialed into their mission, one that he was going to find out. When pushed to the front, he was shocked to see Rhamiel at the front facing the men with a scarred middle aged man at her side. The man looked like a veteran of many real wars, and not just the gang skirmishes contained within the city. The right side of his face had a bad burn, the scar tissue reaching all the way to a dull white, useless eye. His chin had a scar that stretched up to his left cheekbone, but his left eye looked fierce and focused. Ashur could feel that lone eye sizing the three of them up and down, before holding out a rugged hand, callus’ bulging out of his palms. Ashur hesitated, looking over to Rhamiel who nodded, before grabbing the hand. The man’s grip tightened, forcing Ashur to do the same unless his hand was broken, matching the man’s squeeze. He grinned at Ashur, a crooked smile that both softened his features and made him look even more grisly, Ashur uncomfortably grinned back in return.
“You’re the bastard Drake walked across the line with. Name’s Vavut, Rhamy here says you’re looking to save some of your men,” the man rasped as he lifted his hand to present his militia, “We already owe Rhamy, and we might owe her more if things go well tonight. I’ll just need you to do one thing.”
“And that is?” asked Ashur as he cocked his head.
“When you and your men free the captives, free all of them. Then, I need you to take them out from the inside. Take the Citadel right from under them. We can pin them in between the keep and our forces.”
Ashur shook his head, “My group of men are talented enough to free the captives and do this, so you will get your request. However, I wish to join you and your men at the frontlines.”
Vavut’s lone eye blinked a few times in astonishment, it studied him again before he spun to Rhamiel, “Are you fine with this, Rhamy? I don’t want his death to be on my hands if he’s someone close to you.”
Rhamiel nodded and smiled, “I love him and wish he took the safer route, but there’s no other man like him when he has a sword in his hand. He won’t die, and with him on the frontlines I have no doubt that we’ll return home victorious.”
Vavut sighed, and ordered the men to march. Ashur looked over to Mau, who had a longknife around the length of his forearm, strapped to his left hip. Mau looked back at him, and caught his gaze at the longknife before chuckling.
“Don’t worry, I’ve done some training myself while you were gone. I won’t be a liability, and you can trust me to keep Rhamy safe.” Mau said, lifting his hand. Ashur smiled, “You’ve kept her safe this long, I’m not about to doubt you. Just surprised.” With that, Ashur slapped Mau’s hand, the handshake they had been doing since his mother took him in, and they all walked down the street.
Drake, Moreling, and the two other green lads had camped across the Southbanks, a small lake just south of the Bellede Run, to scope out the Citadel. The tales of what it was before the Sundering was that it was just a city council building, but compared to the state of the rest of the city, it was like a castle, and it was a chokepoint for Opal Dragons until the near end of the Dreadbird’s occupation. The Dreadbird had fought tooth and nail for the hold to house his wounded, sort out his dead, and acquire a strategic advantage over Oremir when it came to defending his host. The massive building loomed over the city, its crystalline beauty dancing in the moonlight, and it cast a great shadow over the lake. Drake had never sized the building up in this fashion, but it had to have been at least one thousand paces wide, and had about four floors. The building was topped with three domes lined up next to one another, with the middle dome being the tallest, looking like it reached out to the very stars and heavens. However, the large black holes scattered around the domes hindered their beauty and made them look like relics of a lost time, held together by the fortitude and ingenuity of their creators. Citadel was surrounded by a large gate, which had been shoddily reinforced in the front when the Dreadbird’s Host crossed the lone bridge to get to the building and punched through the gate’s doors. Drake noticed that the Jade Knights had gathered the debris from the old gate, and attempted to refit it, using a sticky fishpaste called drem to hold it together. They also supplied a large number of soldiers at the front entrance in an attempt to deter any enemies, and had scouts lined up along the rest of the gate’s massive walls.
Drake held little thought as to how the Dreadbird and his men were able to conquer this fort, they simply punched through. However, he remembers how Oremir’s right-hand Valan escaped. Valan was once a good friend of his, having been the one to recruit Drake when he seeked refuge from his crimes in Yarven. Drake shook his head to get the thoughts of his past deeds out, reaching deep parts of his memory in order to try to remember what Valan had said to him.
There is a gap within the land that holds the building up, one that I built as an escape in case we needed to retreat. Many men died to keep them occupied once they broke down the wall, but my main subordinates took this route. My office was sequestered beneath the building, in the sewage system. I myself carved this tunnel out of the wall behind my bookcase, ha! There are tunnels all over this city. Tunnels lost to time that me and Oremir found as we ventured into the opal mines. They are indeed cursed, at least that is what we tell the people clever or foolish enough to ask. It’s funny isn’t it, the men who live here today are bent on the wars from above, and the invaders who come from foreign lands don’t care enough about our history, but us the victors and rulers, we understand that the victory in the true war lies beneath us. So many of the miners from the old days made them in their quest for more opal, did they figure that we would use them to make ourselves uncatchable?
Squinting, Drake could almost see the top of a black hole peeking over the still water of the lake. One would think it was a natural crevice, but he knew what it was, “I see our way to sneak in, can any of ya swim?”
Moreling rolled his eyes as he and the rest of the men nodded, “We’re a damn fishing city, Drake. Swimming is in our blood.”
“True enough,” Drake chuckled, “Moreling, I want you to check the main street again for Ashur and Dyserich. We need them to know we found a way in, and we need to come up with a plan.”
He saw Moreling nod again before running to the main street and stopping, Drake noticed Moreling’s jaw drop, and he was laughing as he sprinted back to Drake.
“Haha, Ashur did more than come through!” He was giggling like a child.
“What do you mean–” the words were stolen from Drake as his own jaw dropped. Ashur, Dyserich, the Mellow Skunk’s chess bastard, Rhamiel, and even Vavut and the militia approached the bridge.
No way in the voidic hell, was this Rhamy’s doing?
Vavut held the men at ease as they stood motionless before the bridge, before walking over to Drake with Ashur and Mau, “Ya found a way into the Cit, boy?”
“I ain’t no boy you ugly bastard,” snapped Drake.
Vavut replied with an ugly grin, “Don’t start now, did you forget that your family is still in my care? Answer, tell us ya found a way into the Cit.”
Drake blinked as his mind blanked out for a moment. His family, he had been home for nearly two days and he had completely forgotten about them.
Well, it's for the best, we haven’t been able to slow down since we got out of those cells, and if stopping the Jade Knights here prevents a conflict on our turf, then all the better. The time for a reunion will come.
He cleared his throat, “We found an entrance to a tunnel, temporarily submerged in the lake in the land beneath the building. It’ll take us to the old sewer system beneath the Cit, so we can have easy access up to the first floor. You can lead the team through it, Ashur, and we can enter when the militia gets the attention of the wall’s scouts.”
“You’ll lead that team, Drake,” Ashur said, “Rhamiel, Mau, and Dyserich will join you and the rest of our men, my duty is on the frontlines. I can get over the gate and open it from the other side, to open it up for you and the men you free to pincer them on the bridge.”
He wanted to object, but fought against it. Drake didn’t want to argue with the fight so close at hand, so he nodded, “Aye, sir, we’ll make the dive when you start your battle.”
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He saluted Ashur, much to the bemusement of Vavut, “You’ve led us this far, and you’ve surprised us at every turn. We trust you.”
Ashur saluted him to return, and as he turned back to walk to Moreling and the men, he felt the presence of Mau,Dyserich and Rhamiel flanking him on both sides.
“You two can swim, right?” He muttered over his shoulder, as he watched Moreling roll his eyes yet again at that question.
Vavut turned to Ashur as they watched Drake, Rhamiel, Dyserich, and Mau walk off, “You got that bastard to salute? He hasn’t shown me that much respect in… Well, ever.”
Ashur shrugged as he left tapped on the hilt of his iron sword, “A story for another time, sir. A story for when we win.”
He studied the enemy forces who had mobilized outside the gate upon seeing his forces. The bridge was able to hold twenty men if they were to stand side by side. He counted about five rows of twenty, up to one hundred Jade Knights standing in his path. He could only imagine how many there were inside, maybe two to three times the amount of men. The militia had about one hundred and fifty men, not a lot left standing after the war with the Dreadbird’s Host. Ashur clenched his muscles as he inhaled and held a deep breath, the wind provided a gentle whistle as it pushed at the backs of everyone on his side of the bridge.
His whole body tensed up, the wind grew from a whistle to a hiss that stretched out across the bridge. The wind increased its ferocity, blowing out the torchlights that lit the bridge and flinging the torches from their sconces. Even without the torchlights, Ashur could see the wind was biting the Jade Knights enough for them to raise their hands in front of their faces to shield them from it. He smiled as he closed his eyes, before relaxing his muscles and exhaling that deep breath he held. With his eyes closed, he saw a translucent silver flame explode from his own heart, engulfing his whole body in a shimmering silver aura. The wind hissed his name, Ashur, as a shockwave was sent in the direction of the gate. It had been a while since he had been able to freely use his aura. Nirvana was powerful in truth, more powerful than any blade he had ever wielded, but it limited his ability to be effective without draining his life-spark. Additionally, to have Nirvana feast on his aura meant that he was never able to use his emitted life-spark in tandem with the blade at its maximum potential.
This will be good training, he thought as he started a dash toward the first line of enemy soldiers.
Seeing this man wreathed in a flame barrel towards them made the first line of Jade Knights whimper in a brief panic before steeling themselves and raising their shields. The second line reinforced the first line of shields by resting spears in between each shield. Ashur, still running, pressed the balls of his right foot hard into the bridge’s ground, before kicking off of it and using the wind to sprint even faster, approaching them with a startlingly quick speed. He could hear the faint roar of the Bonegate militia at his back, and he leapt into the air with a running jump, and kicked the air to shoot up even higher. The shield men looked up, distracted by the sight they saw in the sky, and the spearmen looked up and pointed their weapons at the airborne Ashur. As he looked down, he saw the looks of astonishment and fear as he raised his hands to speed his descent, bringing his knees to his chest before unleashing a vicious kick toward the ground below. The kick shot a torrent of wind from his boots, crumpling the first three lines of Jade Knights before splitting their shield wall apart. He landed on one knee, his legs aching from the force of the kick and the amount of life-spark he had emitted, but it wasn’t something he couldn’t push himself through.
As the men who didn’t take the direct blow from his attack rose, he unsheathed his sword as they groggily raised the swords, shields, and spears. The Jade Knights who slowly rose had lost their focus, staring at Ashur too long to realize that the two remaining lines of men were screaming at them to look forward. They turned to get engulfed in the charging militia-men, who were swallowing the stragglers up in torrents of bloody violence. Ashur saw one of the men almost lose all sense, swinging his sword wildly as he got surrounded and gutted with spears by the militia at all sides.
Ashur heard a loud grunt behind him and was startled to turn around and see a man thrusting his longsword at him. Side stepping, the ribs under his right arm were grazed as he just narrowly avoided the stab. Grimacing, he threw his elbow down on the fulleris of the blade, knocking it out of the man’s hand as Ashur spun to wind a swing toward the man’s stomach. Seeing this, the Jade Knight attempted to backstep to avoid the range of the iron sword, but was too slow as Ashur slashed through the weak point of the pilfered armor. The man dropped to his knees, holding his stomach and groaning until Ashur sent a kick into the man’s face and sent him sprawled on his back. He watched the man writhe in pain as he bled out.
Seeing a shield wall charge him twenty paces away, Ashur leapt over them before kicking the air beneath him to flip over the high gate. Landing, he was met with the instant attacks of two soldiers manning the gate. One attempted to stab him, which he was able to side parry, while the other one attempted an overhead slash. Ashur managed to bring his sword up to parry the overhead and kicked the man away, before focusing on the thruster, bringing his sword from the overhead parry to a downward diagonal slash across the throat of the man who tried to stab him. Blood sprayed out of the soldier’s neck as he instantly fell, splattering Ashur’s face with the thick salty substance. The man that Ashur kicked hit the gate, and bounced off of it with a rebound, trying to tackle him. Ashur leapt over the low tackle and used all of his strength to slice the man’s spinal cord as he cut through his armor with a single hack, going completely limp in the process. Opening the lock, Ashur saw the large flight of stairs that led up to the entrance of the Citadel and its eight massive pillars looming over the battle. An innumerable number of men came rushing out, with a line of about ten spearmen charging him, followed by what looked to him like endless waves of swordsmen. Dropping his iron sword, Ashur ripped at Nirvana’s hilt from his back, yanking it out of its sheath and slashing straight down so its point faced the ground. As the gate opened and Vavut along with his soldiers charged through, a shockwave traveled in conjunction with his wind slash, holding its explosion until it made first contact with the charging spearmen, the cut split the charging spearman in two, his guts and strings of blood slumping out of his body before the shockwave threw them everywhere. The charging spearmen blasted off in every direction, severely injured with bones jutting either in their arms, legs, or both. Their flanking swordsmen weren’t so lucky, as Ashur saw many of them splat onto the pillars, the force so strong that fragments of their body parts clung to the opal columns.
The men who were saved from these grisly fates were launched back into the Citadel, numerous grunts and surprised screams echoed out of the building’s main floor. Ashur, still wielding Nirvana, pushed the charge even further, leaping over the stairs and breaching the door. Upon entering, Ashur saw that sixty paces away was a large staircase that led to the second floor. The main floor had no real ceiling in the entrance hall, and he saw archers perched atop the second floor ready to loose arrows. Hearing the hiss of simultaneous arrows shot in his direction, he tensed his muscles as he emitted yet again, the sword drinking it up and releasing another shockwave, the wind from the explosion redirecting the arrows shot at him from the arches perched atop the second floor. Acting quickly, he threw Nirvana back in its sheath. A dullness being felt in his legs and his arms feeling like they were about to fall off his bones, Ashur emitted a third time, squatting low before kicking off the ground with a fierce air stomp, launching himself in the direction of the closest archer on his right side. A sharp pain jolted through his left shoulder as he made contact with the archer, hearing the man gasp as the wind got knocked out of him before he got forcefully thrown into a pillar holding the third floor up. Ashur saw the bowman’s body crack against the pillar, his head following suit and smacking the pillar in a vicious whiplash, his brain contents splattering with so much force they stuck on the flat pillar before sliding down with the body.
In an effort to maintain his emission like what he did against the Dreadbird in their duel a few days prior, Ashur focused the emission into his eyes, the aura dissipating from his body as his eyes glowed to a silvery white. He thought that it was not only a great way to conserve life-spark, but to be able to avoid the arrows shot his way without needing to utilize Nirvana.
I made a promise that I won’t use that cursed weapon. At least not unless I actually need it.
Everything going on in front of him was moving in a slower motion, like he was able to see what the archers and everyone else was going to do before they did it, because he could. However, this slow motion effect affected him in a similar way, for he felt himself move slower as well. With the aura only in his eyes, his body couldn’t react as quickly as he wanted it to. The archer ten paces in front of him knocked an arrow, and as soon as it was loosed from his fingertips, Ashur sidestepped. Shutting his eyes sped everything back up, and he used that time to unsheath his iron sword as he opened his eyes again and drove it through the man’s chest. He saw another arrow being shot from the staircase at him, and he grabbed the collar of his slain foe and moved him into the way, watching in slow time as the arrow shot at him plunged itself through the corpse’s skull.
Another arrow appeared in his peripheral vision, and crouching low to dodge it, Ashur removed his blade from the corpse’s body and dashed toward the last archer on the right side of this floor. The man frantically fumbled for the knife in his sheath as he dropped his bow but was too late, as Ashur cleaved his ankles off before sticking his sword through the archer’s mouth as he fell. He saw the man’s eyes roll to the back of his skull, before the whole face collapsed into a mess of blood, teeth, and gore when he removed his sword. At this moment, the militia breached the Citadel’s entrance floor, and all of the soldiers and archers were distracted with them. The only archer who was focused on Ashur was the one on the staircase, knocking three arrows at once before loosing them all at Ashur as he charged the man. One of the arrows broke through his leather trousers as he attempted to dodge all three, and he felt a stinging pain in his thigh as he ran forward. Gritting his teeth, he screamed as he lept in the air and split the archer’s face down through to the collarbone. Blood squirted out of the crevice where his face used to be, and in a rage at the wound seeping warm blood in his pants, he used that injured leg to kick the man in the direction of the staircase, then proceeded to watch him ragdoll down the stairs until his limp body plopped onto the marble floor.
Feeling the strength in his left leg fade, as well as the ignorance of the Jade Knights to realize he had made it behind their lines, Ashur felt an urge to end this particular skirmish quickly and leapt back into the air with a kick off the ground with his good leg. He spun as he jumped, dropping the iron sword and unsheathing Nirvana. When he faced the Jade Knights, he sent a downward diagonal wind slash with the blade, watching it cut the back lines at the waist, the middle lines at their knees, and severing the ankles of the front lines before hitting the ground in front of the militia-men. On the next spin, he swung Nirvana as hard as he could, releasing a shockwave attached to the wind slash in the direction of the remaining archers. The slash tore through the balcony they were on, and the shockwave blew a hole into the second floor’s marble bottom, collapsing the balcony. The archers fell to the left side of the militia-men, who pounced on them like tigers and pierced multiple holes in each.
Placing Nirvana back in the sheath on his back, Ashur limped to the iron sword that had slid down the stairs. He had trouble gripping it, as both his hands and the whole of the sword was slippery with the amount of blood on it. Upon grabbing it, he walked back and sat on the stairs, watching the militia slaughter the crawling Jade Knights. The moonlight peaking through the hole in the dome above him showed the dirty white marble floor had been painted with slick, sticky blood. The smell of blood, feces, and piss filled the air, but he smelt something else as well. Ashur was on the verge of dozing off before the other smell alerted him back to being battle-ready. As it dawned on him, a chill ran down his neck as he watched all of Vavut’s men pass him on the staircase and patrol the floors for more Jade Knights.
Wait a minute, is that smell… Oh, fuck…
They dove into the still, murky lake the moment Ashur destroyed the shield wall formation on the bridge. Hearing the screams of men and fighting begin was the last thing Drake remembered hearing before the rush of water flooded his ears. The swim was one hundred paces, but it felt like three hundred. The water was calm until Ashur emitted, with his emission bringing the type of choppiness in the water that he saw from oceans, not a small lake like this. Each one of them fought the waves until Drake saw the gap in the land looked larger.
Ashur, you clever bastard. The waves are making this crevice more visible and easy to access. Again, you have my thanks.
Reaching the crevice, Drake waited for everyone else to catch up to him before being the first to swim through. While there was a small pocket of air at the entrance to the tunnel, the next fifty paces were completely submerged. His lungs were on the cusp of bursting until he reached the other air pocket. Again, he waited for everyone else to emerge from the murky depths, all of the youngsters coughing but otherwise looking alright. Swimming wasn’t a problem for Tyrus natives, for every child had at one point or another in this city had been forced to submerge themselves in the river or sea for long periods of time in attempts of catching fish or scrounging the seabeds for mollusks and crabs. Drake grabbed the roughly carved walls of the tunnel and began to climb. It was narrow enough where he was able to spread his legs to keep him from falling, and the others followed his lead and made it to the top. Ten more paces of crawling, and they reached a wooden door blocking the tunnel.
“This must be the entrance into the Citadel, let’s go,” Drake whispered before pushing the bookcase enough to squirm out. There, in Valan’s study, he saw numerous maps pinned to the walls, many of which were ancient and different layouts of the Thundering Hills, as well as a map of all the tunnels that remained in the city. He grabbed all of them in a satchel he found and wrapped it around his shoulder.
“You collected the maps, why?” asked Rhamiel in a whisper.
“Protection, just in case the Republic comes knocking one day,” Drake whispered back.
Walking up the stairs to the first floor, the group could hear the fighting going on in the entrance hall and above, as well as outside. At the top of the stairs, they heard a Jade Knight speaking to someone who sounded too educated and foreign to be from Tyrus.
“You’ve failed me, Eideard Jadehand,” The voice said with a tone mixed with disappointment and anger.
“Not yet, sir. We can still escape with the captives,” The man Drake assumed was Eideard retorted, “There’s still time.”
“Not for us to gain control of the city, Jadehand. The Republic is sending an army our way to support me, how will it look on my part if Tyrus is still warring with itself? I suggest you move to another gang and supplant it from the inside, or else our business together is done,” The voice reprimanded.
Drake cracked the door open a bit to see who was speaking. There he saw a bronze skinned man with a shaved head with the exception of the short black hair braided above his head. He wore dark red robes and had a gray glow in his eyes. Next to him was Eideard Jadehand, a man wearing blue dyed leather trousers and a black oak plate on his chest, his bald head dirty and spotted with birthmarks in the dim candlelight. He’d seen Eideard before when he did dealings as an Opal Dragon, a typical Tyrus rat bastard in Drake’s eyes. But, it was the man next to him that caught his attention the most.
“An Ashmedai,” Drake whispered so quietly it was like the words were caught in his mouth.
How–What is an Ashmedai doing in Tyrus? Forget that, what is an Ashmedai doing in the city with Republic support?!
It was too much to think about at the moment, his head started to ache as his mind ran through all the possible answers, but he couldn’t find one that even remotely fit.
What the fuck is happening?
“Put the whole place to the torch as planned, if we can’t dominate the competition we might as well purge it of everything,” the Ashmedai said as Drake heard him walk away, “I’m taking my leave now. Make sure you get the captives to our backup location, or I’ll find and slaughter you myself.”
To Drake’s complete surprise, he saw Eideard actually bow his head, “Yes, Torcall,” he whispered.
Bastard didn’t even bow to Oremir when he dominated the city, what in the voidic fuck?
“Drop the gas jugs. Save yourselves if you can, but provide as much a distraction as possible before you do, I need to get these captives out,” he ordered to one of his grunts.
They watched the grunt hurry off before Eideard walked down the hall, Drake opened the door and the group proceeded to tail him. The smell of gasoline filled the whole building, and when they looked to their left, maybe seven hundred paces from them, the entrance hall was in flames. They quickened their pace, watching the Jade Knight leader open a door to his right.
Drake opened the door to find a massive room filled with cages of men, women, and children. Among them were the four lads they were missing: Dory, Silva, Seumas, and Gael. In the room with the prisoners were about twenty guards, one for every ten chained prisoners. Led out of their cages, they were all chained together in a line, so none could fight or run away, and all that the guards would need to do would be to keep watch and beat them when they refused to move forward.
Drake and his companions unsheathed their blades and fanned out into the shadows of the room while Eideard and his men were preoccupied. Drake had Dyserich on his flank, and Moreling was flanking Mau. Each of their lead groups had a secondary group of the other four survivors of the race to Bonegate: Iomhair and Rob followed Drake’s group, and Brian and Pol followed Mau’s. Rhamiel walked out into the open catching the attention of the Jade Knights in the room.
“Eideard, this isn’t how I wanted to meet you,” She reprimanded, arms folded across her chest.
Eideard and his men snapped their heads to her, and Drake could see that her very presence was like a blow to him.
“Rhamiel,” he hissed as he grimaced at the sight of her, “Oh, what could you be doing in a place like this. I bet it was you who told those fools of a militia to do this.”
She shook her head, “Someone new came to town, and he pushed them to do this. I’m just here to heal all as I always am. I was granted safe passage into here by the militia to perform this.”
Jadehand swallowed, “Someone new? That would explain the reeling loss we’re suffering from. How many men does he possess?”
Rhamiel shook her head, “Just one man. A very gifted man.”
As she said this, each group took out a guard and dragged them into the shadows. No one but Rhamiel seemed to notice, but she was good at hiding where her eyes were looking.
Eideard's face paled before looking down after a moment, “I apologize, Healinghands. I apologize because you arrived too late, as if you can’t smell it the interior of the citadel is mere kindling. You’re welcome to join us and escape. I’m sure you can take this same way to return and heal those who need it if they can survive the flames.”
When he said this, Drake and Moreling crouch-walked to the cells and started slitting the throats of every guard they passed, speeding up the process with an urgency. Dyserich and Mau covered their mouths as they gurgled. Pol grabbed the keys from one of them and tossed it about twenty paces to Seumas, who was standing in the chained line with the rest of the two hundred captives. They had remained silent, watching the guards get picked off one by one. Now there were thirteen guards remaining, all with their eyes locked on Rhamiel, ignoring the prisoners freeing themselves of their bonds.
“I’m afraid I can’t come with you. I don’t trust you,” She said with a smile.
As Eideard and the guards started to encircle her and draw their swords, Seumas and Dory pounced on two guards, punching the back of their skulls until they went limp. Eideard and the other eleven guards spun around to see ten of the prisoners had been freed, and Drake and his groups emerging from the dark shadows of the room.
“Drake,” He rasped, “You will rue this day you idiot! You have no idea what you’re messing with!”
Mau dashed in front of Rhamiel, longknife in hand, “Rue this, you and your men are cornered. Drop your weapons, or you’ll be savagely annihilated.”
One of the guards charged Drake as Eideard charged Mau. Drake ducked under the guard’s wide swing and thrusted his weapon into the man’s neck, blood sprayed onto the floor as he toppled over. Mau clashed his knife with Eideard’s sword, stepping closer to the Jade Knight to force a range mismatch, before sliding the longknife down off of his sword and stabbing Eideard up through the right armpit, the blade jutting out and through his oak plate. He gasped as he collapsed, and at the sight of these massacres, all of the remaining guards dropped their weapons and dropped to their knees in accepted defeat. This didn’t stop the captives however, who had around fifty of themselves freed. The women and children attacked them, with the women clawing their faces as the children bit at their fingers and neck. Drake was repulsed at the brutality and the anguished screams of the guards, but he could empathize with them far too easily. He hadn’t known the abuses they faced at their hands, nor how long they were captured, but he did know the fear of what it was like to be in the position of a prisoner. He walked over to Eideard and slowed down his bleeding, pressing both hands on the wound.
“You have nothing to lose now, tell us who you were talking to. For old times sake, Eideard,” he said gently.
Eideard Jadehand coughed before making eye contact with Drake, “Alright, fuck him anyway, he ain’t one of us. Slaver… Going by the name Torcall… But I don’t think that’s his true name… Been slaving in this city for over a decade… Has big backers, coming to this city for a lot more than what I got right now… Has more in different locations…”
His eyes started to roll back as he lost consciousness, but a slap from Drake woke him up enough to finish, “Bastard… Griffmount… Going to… Griffmount…” With that, the Jade Knight leader died, head rolling back as he stared at the smoke leaking into the room.
Mau and Rhamiel looked at one another before Mau spoke, “A slaver… An Ashmedai slaver… Voidic fuck, Ashur is gonna want to hear this.”
The mention of Ashur’s name gave him an idea. If their gang were to get any stronger, now would be the chance. He stood up and faced the captives, leaving Eideard’s dead body bleeding on the floor, “All of you, we wouldn’t be here rescuing you if it weren’t for one man. He goes by the name of Ashur, and he saved me and many other men from a life of chains. He decided to do the same with all of you, so I ask that you be a part of what he wants for this city! Stand by the side of the Breaker of Chains!”
Seumas, Dory, Silva, and Gael were the first to kneel in Ashur’s name, “Ashur!” They shouted, “Loyalty unto death!”
Seeing this ignited the rest of the captives, all two hundred, into kneeling, “Ashur, the Breaker of Chains! Loyalty unto death!” Shouted the captives. With that, everyone in the room began to cough, for the smoke started to fill the room.
Drake sprinted toward the tunnel in that room, leading the way, “Follow me! To freedom!”
Ashur watched the whole interior of the Citadel catch fire in an instant. Giant pots hiding in the darkness of the domes dropped onto the ground, causing massive explosions of fire to spread at an incredibly quick rate. The whole entrance had been caught in the spreading wildfire, and the only options was to go right, left, or up the stairs, but even the above floors were wreathed in flame. Tens of the militia-men were flailing in the fire, to where he only managed to gather sixty of the men. He tried not to look at the burning men, their screams were an ugly song of agony in his head that would not go away, their flailing too genuine in their panic and pain, the charred remains of the dead a sad reminder that many of these men had families that would never be able to recognize them. What hurt him most of all was that he wouldn’t be able to return to them. By the time he escapes with the men he can save, the dead of the men he had tried so hard to protect throughout this battle will be naught but ash. The men he found started following him in ten lines of six as he searched for Vavut, for he was special to Rhamiel and he couldn’t leave without him.
Vavut was found with fifteen of his own men, urgently racing around the Citadel in search of an exit when he ran into Ashur. Vavut upon seeing the amount of men Ashur gathered cackled and placed a hand on his shoulders, “Ya done good, lad! Ya done good! We saved as much as we can, now it’s time to go!”
Ashur nodded and pointed toward the stairs, “If we can get to a window on the second floor, maybe we can jump out!”
At this, Vavut agreed with a motion of his hand to his men, “We’re following Ashur’s lead!” All of the men, who had spent the night following Ashur’s lead, and already believed he had won their respect, agreed with nods and followed him up the stairs. The flames on the second floor were behind the pillar where he killed the archer, the flame’s just licking the man who was dead on the ground. Ashur ran to the window to see that the window was already open, and when he looked down, he saw bodies slumped on the ground, motionless.
Voidic fuck! He thought as he hissed in frustration, They’ll die too if they jump!
The hope that was left in the eyes of the militia faded into despair. Ashur wanted to cry and wail alongside them, but the heat from the fires was drying his throat too much for a cry to leave his throat. This angered him, for he made a promise long ago that he wouldn’t give into despair.
“Follow me! I have another idea!” He shouted as he headed down the stairs and stopped in front of the largest flame blocking their path to the entrance. Ashur learned that wind can only make flames stronger, but he had no choice.
A God’s wind should be strong enough to negate this law, at least for a simple oil fire!
Ashur screamed as he emitted for a fourth and final time, drawing Nirvana and continuing to scream as he tensed his muscles and relaxed them. Waves of pain struck his arms and legs like lightning as the blade began to drink his life-spark.
I’m sorry Rhamiel, but I have no other choice.
Facing the flame in a sideways stance, with his left shoulder facing the entrance, he drew it back so that the tip of the blade was resting on his front shoulder. With a pained grunt, he thrusted the blade forward, unleashing a torrential blast of wind at the entrance. The flame was blasted outside, and the entire crystalline entrance crumbled to the ground. The pillars standing in front of the Citadel cracked and collapsed, and a thunderous groan was heard as the whole building began to slowly topple. Ashur was going to black out before the Vavut caught him and screamed at the others to make their escape.
In his daze, Ashur and Vavut barely made it out before the dome above the entrance hall collapsed, the shockwave from the drop forcing them to tumble down the massive amount of stairs. Ashur landed on his back, his skin kissing the cool grass, breathing the semi-fresh air of Tyrus and not the black smoke, he laughed as he closed his eyes.
I hope you made it out Rhamy. That’s all I can hope for in these last moments. I’m sorry… But I had to do it…
Vavut was coughing while his men were gasping for breath. In total, he and Ashur managed to save seventy five of his men, and he was grateful that they managed to get all of those lads out. He closed his lone eye as he rested on his bum, palms holding his back up as he laughed amidst the coughing.
“Sir!” One of the men screamed, “Ashur, he needs help! If we don’t get it he’s gonna die!”
The lone eye shot open and darted straight towards where the boy landed. The boy was on his back, eyes closed, and he wasn’t breathing. He felt a sting of pain and guilt.
No sign of Rhamy anywhere, we’ve got not no damn healer! Voidic fuck, this lad saved the lot of us and his reward’s death? The Gods are too cruel… Unless…
“It’s been decades since I last tried this,” Vavut muttered as he crawled to Ashur, “But if it works, my debt will be paid. I get one chance at this to save your life, or we both end up dying here; worth a damned shot.”
Vavut placed his mangled hand to his heart, and placed his good hand on Ashur’s chest. He closed his lone eye as he saw his own life-spark flow through his body. This wasn’t the only gift he was giving Ashur, but he would be the only one he could truly give Rhamiel, wherever she was. The soldier that brought up Ashur’s condition had his eyes almost bulge out of their sockets in fear and bewildered sadness.
“Sir, no! You can’t do this, whether you succeed or not, you’ll definitely die!” he roared, his whole shaved head covered in sweat, dust, blood, and soot.
“Listen men,” Vavut whispered, opening his eye again. “My final order… Follow this lad wherever he goes. You’ve all been loyal to me, so be loyal to him. He didn’t have to save us, but he did at the risk of his own life. It’s only right that I return that life back to him.”
All seventy five of the soldiers stood up and raised their heads to the sky, giving Vavut the dignity to do this without them looking, a sign of respect. He smiled a crooked smile, the only one he had been able to put on since Agossross, and then he closed his eye again and tried the process again. This time, he saw his life-spark transfer over to Ashur’s and watched it rekindle the spark in the lad’s heart. The outline of their connected bodies and spirits began to fade, and Vavut found himself alone in the darkness, before jumping into a world of light.
Ashur stood in a realm of heat and light, but the heat wasn’t aggressive like what was at the Capital. No, he had felt this heat before. The gentle kiss of a harmless flame touching his skin, he looked around to find Vavut, his face clean of the burns and scars that disfigured his face.
“Hey, you’re not a bad looking guy after all,” He grinned at the old general. The man smiled a beautiful smile, his two hazel eyes twinkling as he looked at him.
“So are we both dead and made it to the afterlife, or were you just hiding that you’re a more grisly version of Rhamiel?” Ashur asked.
“You’ll know if you’re dead or not if you actually wake up, ya bastard,” Vavut chuckled, “As for me, I’m definitely dead. I learned this technique from the Yarven Ashmedai in the days before the genocide, but ya see, I’m not an Ashmedai. That means no peering through memories, or conjoining the spirit like she does. Us normal humans don’t have the depth of flame like the Ashmedai have, so this is it for me. Lucky for the both of us that you might be around to live for me. Because you, my boy, are anything but a normal human. What you accomplished today will be spoken about by the men you saved for generations, should they make it that far.”
Ashur scowled, “Oh… I’m sorry sir, you shouldn’t have risked your life for me.”
Vavut cocked his head as he sighed, “Foolish boy, it looks like you have a great life ahead of you. Think I’m just gonna let you waste that saving an old man like me? No, if you didn’t want me to save you, just look at it as me settling my debt to Rhamiel. Now, do me a favor and wake up. It’s time, your people are waiting.”
“My… people?” Ashur asked.
“Yes,” Vavut whispered as he disappeared, the light fading out as the heat began to fade, “My men are yours now… Protect and use them well…. Son of the wind…”
Drake, his group, and the two hundred prisoners escaped out of the tunnel, falling to their knees and backs laughing at how they just grabbed freedom by the balls. Drake dropped to his knees for a moment to thank the Gods that they were able to free so many, and thank them for adding so much to this gang that Ashur’s started in one night. Now, he just needed to know if Ashur was alright.
That fire, it was brutal. I believe he got out, he’s special in ways I can’t put into words. If he managed to meet up with that old bastard, I’m sure they made it out.
He stood up to see where they were. They were in an alley off of the western edge of the Southbank. Through his assumptions, Drake figured it would be a ten minute walk to make it back to the bridge. The Citadel was on fire, he could see the black smoke rising from it in the night as it blotted out the moon, muffling its light. That was when he heard the boom.
He spun around to Rhamiel and Mau, the lad was holding Rhamiel as she had her face hidden in her hands, fiercely sobbing. She started to run around the lake, to where the bridge was.
“Ashur! I feel cold! He needs my help now!” She screamed as Drake and everyone else tried to catch up with her.
Rhamiel reached the bridge first, followed by Mau, Drake, Ashur’s gang, and the rescued captives. Mau felt a lump in his throat when he saw Rhamiel’s horrified expression, and he feared that his best friend may have died in that fire.
“He used it, he used it, he used it, he used it!” She was muttering to herself, “Why did he use it? I made him promise me not to.”
The sword his mother gifted him popped into his mind, the sword that he would use whenever in a bind.
Well, this surely looked like a damn bind. You had no choice brother, and if she’s too stricken by grief to see that, I’ll make her understand in time.
They all raced across the bridge, and abruptly stopped when Rhamiel shrieked. Following her gaze, she saw Ashur walking to meet them at the bridge with Vavut in his arms. The man had died, but he had a smile on his face. Ashur’s face was sullen, the usual brightness in his eyes and smile dull, not able to comprehend what was in front of him. Mau watched Rhamiel kiss his soot smeared face, watched her wipe the tears that stained his dirty face. It was then that Mau understood, studying the guilt that was so evident upon Ashur’s face.
The ugly bastard really did it, rekindling. And… He gave his life for Ashur.
Drake walked up to the captain of the militia, obviously confused. The captain was wiping the tears from his face like he was angry they were there.
“What happened here?” Drake asked.
“Oil trap,” the captain snapped, “None of us saw it coming. It was going so well too, we hadn’t so much as lost a man until then. Now? Over one hundred dead! One hundred, Drake! Voidic fuck, I can still feel the heat!”
The captain looked over to Ashur, “But when the fire started, he took charge. Hell, Vavut even deferred to him. Never seen that before. When it seemed like we’d just be another pile of ash on the floor, Ashur… He… He…” He looked over to Ashur hesitantly, as if waiting for Ashur to finish the sentence he started. When Ashur remained silent, choked in an embrace from Rhamiel, the captain continued, “Ashur used that crystalline sword he’s got, and blew out the whole fire blocking the entrance. Hell, he did more than that! The whole entrance crumbled, and the wind was so strong, he blasted one of the fucking columns down. The whole building collapsed behind us, Drake!”
Drake looked over to all the men, who nodded in their bemusement. The captain went on, “Then he collapsed, man. Thought he was dead myself, I didn't know how far you lot were. But Vavut… He did it, he rekindled.”
Mau looked down at his feet in guilt. If they hadn’t been so lackadaisical in their escape, maybe they would’ve been able to make it in time to save Ashur before a good man had to risk his life. But Mau thought, if there’s any way to go out, it’s by paving the way for the next generation like you did Vavut. There was no other way, and letting that lad die would’ve been even more soul-crushing than your death. Thank you.
“So what now?” Mau asked the captain.
“Now, we follow our leader. Wherever he goes, we go now. We owe our lives to him, and we made a promise.”
Neirin and his gang of children walked the streets of The Fairs, a relatively peaceful hood in the city. Much of this hood extended beyond the city lines, and was a byproduct of its success among the rest of the hoods. One of the country’s main roads, the Jaded Path, extended out of Tyrus and went southeast, cutting through the southern part of the Midland state. Merchants looking to sell their goods in the city would do so on the outskirts of The Fairs and Smugglers Lane, which made The Fairs stand out among the others. Within the city lines, gangs would barter and trade the goods from these merchants to the merchants that resided deep in the city. Everyone knew not to send raiding parties to assure that these merchants kept coming to supply their city, Neirin knew it as somewhat of an unspoken pact between the gangs and the foreigners.
Having made it to the bakery before the baker closed up shop for the night, he handed each of the children the leftovers from the day, meat buns that went unsold and stale loaves of bread were packed in a burlap sack and handed to Neirin, who made sure that all the children were fed. Walking back to their home in the Southbank, they were approaching the city lines of The Fairs when they began to pass a barrow. The barrow was a crypt that had been raided long ago, so it was considered useless aside from being a temporary shelter in the event of a storm. Him and the children sat around the outside of the barrow, and he handed out loaves of bread one by one.
Neirin fished out a meat bun for himself, biting through the tough bread to taste cold beef filling his mouth. The taste of food was always sweet, whether from a bakery or the garbage. He had learned to appreciate all manners of food, and was appreciative of any scrap or crum that he could get his gaunt hands on. The children, who usually complained about the type of food they found, learned eventually that whatever they grabbed would be good enough.
As they all tore at their tough meals, Neirin jumped at the sound of the barrow door opening. A man with bronze skin and red robes stepped out of the barrow, shutting the door behind him. He glared at the children as he loomed over them, making eye contact with Neirin before tossing him a gold coin and walking off into the night in the direction of Smugglers Lane. The children beamed at the gold coin, but not for long since what sounded like an earthquake shook the city. Neirin spun to where the sound came from to see that the large dome of the Citadel that had just a moment prior towered over the city was gone. He snapped his head back to the man who emerged from the barrow, but he was already gone.