Tome Two: The Hunt for Lost Secrets
The dormant darkness awakens heart there is only confusion.
tear stained, tear stained to forever abolish a handwritten note on the table, a golden soul.
Detest the way it wars and devours,
Invading minds day and through the night,
Always dreaming about our darkest hours.
Let it be compared to a cold ember
It is more ancient and legendary
Than the ancient Gods of old, their stories dismembered
And the ancient Gods who lived and died, we should be weary.
Why should it be detested? Counted are the ways.
Hate their numbingly horrific cold, dusk and fangs.
Beware or become a shadow for the rest of your days.
Embracing them are the glory-less pangs.
The ones to shield us are those with an olden heart,
Remember these words whilst the age falls apart.
“I remember Eshmunezar well, the first great enemy of our people. Not only did he steal the lives of his victims, but of their friends and families. Husbands and wives were forced to revamp their lifestyles to make up for the gaps he left behind. Children entrapped in a vicious circle of violence and debauchery from the disappearances of their parents. Brothers and sisters, alone with none to play with, forced into the shadows of our civilization in failed attempts to seek what they had lost. Yes, even I was an indirect victim of his crimes. However, when the dust settled, and the fiend was caught, we grew stronger from it. Little did we know at the time of the hunt that the pawn had touched so many, nor did we expect his plot to extend as far as it did. Although through all the pain, upon exposure it was our collected hatred of him that united us from a fractioned, battered city to the kingdom we would become. It was the unity that the wake of his defeat would bring that rallied us before the Dreadbird’s host arrived, and after that the birthing of Asmodeous. He served as a wakeup call for us, that it was us against the world.”
– “‘The History of Tyrus: The End of the Fourth Age’ Volume I, Written by King Ashur the ‘Wind Wyrm’”
Neirin ran toward the Southbank to get a better view of the commotion, his band of children nipping at his heels. Hundreds of people crowded around the entire Southbank, some going as far as to leave the lake’s shore on the western edge to gawk at the figures walking across the bridge in waist-deep murky water. Not being able to get a good enough view, Neirin and the children pushed and wedged themselves through the crowds in an attempt to get to the other side of the bridge before the figures did.
For someone to destroy the Citadel and walk out alive, that was the Jade Knights’ new base, wasn’t it?
They made it to the foot of the bridge, and he couldn’t believe his eyes at the man leading the group across the bridge. Sixty paces away was the man who had killed his father, and behind him were over two hundred men, women, children, and soldiers. He saw Rhamiel sullen as they crossed the bridge. Every citizen who was standing there in awe parted ways to let him pass onto the main street that would take them to Bonegate.
Neirin and the children stepped into the open space and walked alongside Rhamiel, who raised her eyes in surprise when she noticed Neirin.
“You,” She whispered, then through all the pain inside her Neirin saw a smile, “From earlier today… Neirin, right?”
He nodded, “What happened to the Citadel? Who are all those people?”
Her smile faded, “The militia made their move against the Jade Knights,” She pointed to the swarm of people behind her, “The people, you see? They were civilians, taken from their homes and off the streets.”
“They were? And what are they now?” asked Neirin.
“They’re with me now,” said Ashur, limping as he had the mangled old man slung over his shoulder. His dull eyes and sullen gaze betrayed the passion in his voice. Neirin heard the fire of gratitude and ambition as Ashur said, “Apparently, they gave their loyalty to me.”
The words that Neirin wanted to say got caught in his throat as his mind froze, his father’s killer spoke to him directly and he probably didn’t even know that it was his father. He wanted to bring it up, but he knew that now wasn’t the right time.
“The Breaker of Chains,” Rhamiel whispered to herself. Ashur seemed to have heard, since he flinched at those words. She rested a hand on his back, whispering, “We’ll talk about all that later, and I’ll heal that leg wound of yours when we get home. For now, just focus. Focus and move forward.”
Neirin saw Ashur nod as they continued to walk. Rhamiel turned back to him, “We’ll be in the Mellow Skunk tomorrow, you and your friends should join us.”
Neirin hesitated, before relenting, “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
He stopped walking with them, watching them march down the main street to Bonegate before spinning around to the children behind him, “Alright you lot, it’s time for us to go home.”
As they passed Bonegate’s hood line, Ashur turned to his right and asked Mau, “How did you escape? I apologize if I seemed uncaring for how you and the rest ended up. I did worry about the lot of you, truly, but I… I was preoccupied.”
Mau shook his head, “You have nothing to apologize for, brother. You had your own problems, more than us if I’d say so myself. Eideard had a secret escape route through a tunnel all planned out, we simply took that route and made it safely. No deaths on our end, but we found something… Disturbing.”
Ashur cocked his head slightly in confusion, “Disturbing?”
Mau bit his lip in contemplation, something Ashur only saw him do when he was mulling over how to tell him something. Ashur felt grateful and relieved that his friends made it out of that hellpit safely, and even more grateful that Mau forgave him for his apathy when they met up. However, seeing him bite his lip frustrated Ashur to the point where he almost wanted to strangle his best friend. Not that he’d actually do it, he wasn’t insane, but having witnessed him do it countless times in his childhood, he just wanted Mau to speak plainly.
The man I’m carrying isn’t just any man. He became a comrade, and even more than that, a friend. I see the pity and grief hidden in your eyes brother, but do not shield me from the truths you found on your mission, please.
Maybe his face betrayed the look of patience he was trying to show, since Mau looked at him and instantly stopped biting his lip. He hesitated for a moment longer, before saying, “I think we found a lead. A lead on what happened to our mother.”
This small revelation made Ashur immediately empathize with Mau’s lip biting, as it shook him down to his bones. The chill running down his spine was so cold and hair-raising that he thought his life-spark would freeze, the strength in his legs nearly failed him as he limped, his knees feeling wobbly and shaky. Suddenly, the weight of the still warm corpse he was lugging on his back got heavier, and his eye began to twitch ever so slightly, enough that it felt like it had its own pulse. Ashur tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry, like he was in the middle of the Raging Frontier with not a drop of water. Mau looked at him with a worried expression, waiting to continue.
“Speak,” Ashur croaked, “I want all the information you can give me.”
“Do you want me to carry Vavut’s body?” he asked, “You look pale.”
“Did he have any wishes for his burial?” asked Ashur.
“None,” Mau scoffed, “Stubborn bastard never thought this day would come. Heh, thought he’d be able to outlive Ehbus and the rest of the pantheon.”
“How about we pick one of the barrows in Bonegate?” asked Ashur.
Mau shook his head, “No, with the influx of civilians that are sure to move into the empty residences, we’re bound to have someone raid the crypts. What if we honor him in the fashion of the old ways?”
Ashur pondered this for a moment. His mother had taught them of the old ways long ago, how the words and bonds of one were sacred, how duels and battles blessed by the Gods had an insurmountable value, and how the dead were to be mourned. Tyrus still followed some of the old ways, a byproduct of what seemed to be the Sun King’s everlasting impact on their culture, and how the dead were to be cremated before their ashes were spread and emptied from their urns into the seas.
Yes, Ashur thought, we will do that.
They approached a smithy, where they would take Vavut’s body to embrace the flame. The blacksmith was a hardy man who relented his fireplace for this occasion, giving Ashur, Mau, Rhamiel, Drake, and the militia captain privacy in exchange for Rhamiel’s word that nothing would be stolen. Ashur sat down for a moment and winced as Rhamiel tore the arrow jutting from his quad and healed it. Once he had seen it turn into a mere scar, he stood up and faced the militia captain.
“What’s your name, captain?” Ashur asked, “If you are to lead your men under my name, I would much like to have yours.”
“Danel, sir,” the captain whispered as Drake lifted the body off of Ashur’s shoulder and gently nudged it into the fire.
“Captain Danel, would you like to say any final words here? I will take his ashes on my own and do the honors,” Ashur stated.
Danel choked on his words for a moment as he eyed the fireplace doors slam shut, the fire blazing behind the fireplace window, the smell of burning flesh leaking out and filling the air.
“Gods, you were such a bastard, sir. Rude, arrogant, a drunkard, and stubborn to a fault. But deep down, you had a heart of gold,” he looked to Rhamiel, “I saw it when you looked and spoke to this young woman. You had a deep respect for those who did the good things without seeking anything in return. In the few times I saw you open up about your life before going to Tyrus, I remember you telling me of a daughter you had in Yarven, who died tragically in the great betrayal. I pray to the Gods that you are with her right now, and that you are happy. I’ve never seen you love anyone outright, I always assumed that the ability to show your love was stolen from you due to a painful past like many who share their origins elsewhere. But from the way you hid the care you had for each and every man, I saw the love you bore us all the soldiers in your care.”
He looked over to Mau, “Sir, you loved to tavern hop, going to a bar to drink and fight until you were kicked out only to move onto the next one. But you always went to the Mellow Skunk because of a boy who caught your attention as a burgeoning strategist. You would always talk to me about how you went to test him, and he aced all of your tests with flying colors. You really wanted him to be a part of your militia, I’m glad that he was able to be a part of it this one time, even if it was you who did most of the planning for this attack.”
He shifted his gaze to Drake, “Vavut, you protected our families. You made sure they were out of harm’s way when we were shipped out, or when we were forced to stay the night in another hood. When one of us died, you always made sure that our families were taken care of, and when you could, you would do the same for us what we’re doing right now. If there’s an afterlife out there, I know you’re doing your damndest to protect them from up there.”
Finally, he shifted his eyes to Ashur, “Although I know you’re still here with us sir,” he pressed his hand to Ashur’s heart. Ashur flinched for a heartbeat while Danel continued, “You’re still with us in there. Now that I think about it, you’re already doing it. Saving this boy, who was the reason any of us made it out of the Cit in the first place,” Ashur locked eyes with the glassy eyed captain, who spoke almost as if it was directly to Ashur himself, “And for that, I thank you sir. You were not without your faults, but your brazen personality merely hid the damned sweetling you truly were. Rest well, our general, our warleader, our governor, our father.”
By the time Danel had finished his speech, Vavut’s skin had already melted away from his body, leaving only a skeleton. Ashur saw that ugly, mangled face of his which showed a lifetime of agony, violence, and pain had burned away, the fires purifying a life of sin and suffering to show that he was just like any other man, and that one day himself and everyone he loves will end up the same. Danel rubbed away his tears with his gauntlets, stained and smeared with dried blood. Ashur watched him with a sullen gaze as he left the smithy, and Drake came close to him breathing heavily as if he was trying to hold back the storm of emotions, he was feeling at Danel’s eulogy.
“Sir,” he whispered, “It’s been a long time since I have seen my family. I think it’s time I go and reunite with them, it’s been far too long.”
Ashur raised his chin at the man who towered next to him and gave a gentle smile, “Go be with them, my friend. Send them my greetings and be sure to meet us at the Mellow Skunk in the daytime.”
Drake let out a large sigh of relief, then nodded, “I’ll tell the rest of the men the same, to go home to their families tonight before reconvening at the Mellow Skunk. All the men already know where that is.”
Ashur's smile widened, proud that he had these men by his side, “Aye, you go do that.”
There was still so much Ashur wanted to tell him. His gratitude and growing love for these men who could have left him for dead outside the city but brought him home safely, who could have left him to die when they raced toward Bonegate, who reunited him with his love, who not only succeeded in their mission of rescuing the others but earning the loyalty of so many people. Not a full day in the city and he was already the one so many looked to for their safety and security. They gifted him with even more responsibility, something he may not be completely prepared for, but willingly embraced, for the first step of accomplishing his dream was complete.
To lead a community…
“Drake,” Ashur spoke before the giant of a man was able to open the door to the smithy. Drake froze at the door, standing straight, “Thank you, Drake. For everything. I couldn’t have done any of this if it weren’t for you. I owe my life to you and the men, my friend.”
He saw Drake’s head bow as he faced the door, his shoulders trembling. Drake turned to him, and Ashur was touched to see that the man had tears brimming down his cheeks. He smiled at Ashur, who felt tears of his own welling up. It took all he had to keep the floodgates behind his eyes firm, and he forced a smile.
“Ashur,” sobbed Drake, “You owe us your life? No, it is quite the other way around. How many times have I brought this up, to both you and the others? You saved us from a life away from home, a life that would be forced upon us. You and your incredible abilities shielded us from the raiders who would’ve killed us for nothing. Voidic fuck man, it was you who drew the attention of the Jade Knights to give the lot of us an opening to rescue our own and many others who were stolen from their families. You saved Danel, Vavut, and the rest of their men, risking your own life in the process after you had already almost lost it earlier in the day to save us, to save me. Vavut did something no one thought capable of, saving your own life and leaving the rest to you. And now, you give us leave to join with our families, and you owe us? Ashur, we all owe you our lives ten times over, we owe you a debt that can never be repaid. Never forget that, and never tell us you owe us again.” Ashur felt his mouth dry as the tears came down. Drake grinned as he wiped his own tears on his dirty ragged sleeve, “Now sir, wipe those tears away. Leaders don’t show that they’ve cried in front of their men, it dampens morale.”
With that, he walked out the door. Rhamiel wiped the tears off for him while she had her own streaming down her cheek. Mau was grinning through it all, “He’s right you know. You have some time now to get your bearings back, but when we leave this smithy, it’ll be time to leave those emotions here. Remember why you left us, remember why you returned.”
Ashur clasped hands with him and gave Mau a firm smile. He knew that Mau was right, the time being a child, being a green lad had passed. Vavut would not be the first to die for this dream of his, and it would have to be something to get used to, no matter how hard it may be. It may be impossible, but he would have to toughen up if he is to battle in the bloodpits at the end of the month. With the last large gang gone, he would need to show brazenness, bloodlust, and compassion if he is to unite the lower gangs and the people under one banner. Ashur released his hand from Mau’s grip as he looked toward Vavut’s ashing skeleton.
“Gather a pot, we’ll place his ashes in there. Then, we are to head home.”
Rhamiel pecked him on the cheek with a kiss, and he turned his head to face hers. Her black hair and eyes caught the blaze of the fire, but Ashur thought that as the natural look in her eyes, always a fire behind them. Her bronze skin glowed in the orange light, and her full lips formed into a smile, showing an alignment of startlingly white teeth.
“Lead us then, my love.”
Drake walked down a road that branched off of Bonegate’s main street and led toward the West Docks. His house was within sight, only seventy paces away from holding his children in his arms and kissing his wife once more. However, despite only being gone a fortnight or two, he felt like a stranger walking down the street he’s walked so many times before. So much had changed for him, both outside Tyrus and within.
Everything’s going to be different from now on. Everything.
His mind ran through thoughts of his children. Drake the Younger, his firstborn, was eight years of age and growing more perceptive of the realities of life in Tyrus with every passing day. Oh, how he fought to hide the harsh truths of survival in this city, keeping him confined to only the West Docks and Bonegate. Vavut in Drake’s mind served as a twisted kind of uncle that would sit the lad on his lap and tell stories of the various crimes the thieves and gangs were committing, thinking in his own mangled mind that he was scaring the boy out of joining one. Younger’s friends resided in a small gang of urchins who latched themselves to an older boy by the name of Neirin. He had spotted the boy around the city, exiting out of Rhamiel’s tent and later that evening awaiting them at the Southbank bridge. Drake didn’t say much to the young teen at those times, he had more pressing matters at hand like saving his leader and mourning a friend, but he would find the boy later and question him.
He’s mulling the idea of joining us, Drake thought as his moccasins scrapped the mottled cobblestone streets. I wonder how Ashur would use those children, should they enter our ranks. I wonder how he’ll use the children who already pledged loyalty to him tonight in the Citadel.
While Younger hasn’t joined a gang, much less left Bonegate yet, Drake knew that his son was plagued by the growing fascination of it. He hoped that Younger had believed his father to be dead, so that when he returned the boy would recognize the fear that came with joining a gang and come to his senses. He was practically begging for this outcome. He would accept any of Younger’s dreams but one that involves wielding a sword, Drake worked too hard for Younger to end up like him and his father before him.
As for his daughter, Alita, she is to reach four years of age next month. That little girl had gone through so much in her short time on this earth, that Drake knew with the utmost confidence that she would grow to become a fearsome girl, one that will harden herself through every trial in her life and acclimate to the harshest of conditions that surround her. The plague of the year 912 was one that lasted two excruciatingly long years. It was mostly confined by the Opal Dragons and the Dreadbird’s Host to the worst, most populated areas of Tyrus, but its contagion was able to reach the people in the nicer areas like Bonegate, West Dock, and The Fairs. Little Alita had just turned two when she was afflicted with it, and it had taken so much life from her in the time that she had it. She had gotten a swollen tongue and throat, which made it impossible for her to eat solid food. Drake and his wife Birkanda, a brash woman but a loving mother, had no choice but to chew her food for her before feeding it to Alita. Her sickness was the reason he had to take up hunting in the forests west and south of Bonegate, needing to cook venison or ram stew in order to feed her the broth. However, everything that she ate and drank would ultimately be in vain, for she would either vomit or shit it out. He often wondered why she was the only one in the family to get cursed like this, or if it was merely a result of the gods cursing him for what happened in Yarven all those years ago; their payment in blood being from the life of his beloved little girl. But Valan had mentioned that a young girl was performing miracles in Smugglers Lane, walking into the quarantine zones of both the Dreadbird’s Host and the Opal Dragons and saving both with just mere touches. His daughter had become incredibly gaunt, but she still had the mental fortitude and strength to clutch her father’s neck as he traversed the city, following the Bellede Run all the way to Smugglers Lane where they found Rhamiel. The good doctor saw something in this girl, maybe she looked into her spirit and heart, but the kindness she showed toward Alita earned his goodwill, and the strength of his daughter to hold out showed him at such a young age the type of woman she would become.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He approached his home, a shoddy two floor shanty that was held up by stone and drem. He knocked on the door, a soft slab of rotting wood that he knew he would have to change out with some freshly chopped wood within the fortnight. The door was opened to an absolutely bewildered look on his wife’s face. She held her hands up to cover her mouth, and her eyes seemed to well up with tears for a few heartbeats before her face went red with rage.
“Where the voidic fuck were you,” she hissed, her face scowling so hard she resembled that of an enraged Tyrisian pit viper, “I thought you were dead–We all thought you were dead!”
“I might well have been, Birkanda,” Drake sighed, looking at her with honest eyes, “Oremir abandoned us on the battlefield. If I hadn’t spilled his whereabouts to the Dreadbird himself, I would’ve been slaughtered right there. Instead, he gave me the courtesy of making me a prisoner forced to do manual labor.”
Her gaze softened from rage to relief, then to sadness. Birkanda in the process of asking her something, when the children peeked into Drake’s view. Upon seeing his face, both Drake the Younger and Alita squealed with a glee that warmed his heart as they ran to him.
“Daddy! Daddy!” little Alita screamed, “You're home! Where did you go? We missed you!” She jumped at him, and he caught her in his arms and brought her up to his face so he could kiss her. She loved the bristle of his beard and nudged it with her cheeks as she nestled underneath his chin. The girl had only seen him once without the beard when she was infant, and from her enraged cries Birkanda forced him to never shave it all off again. Drake the Younger ran to his father and hugged his leg.
“I thought you had died in the war, father,” he muttered as he wept.
Drake rested a lone hand atop the lad’s head, “I was as good as dead my boy, and at best I would’ve lived to never see you three again. It’s all thanks to my new friend that I am here to tell the tale.”
“A tale you won’t be telling this boy tonight,” Birkanda snapped, “It’s way past your bedtime you two. Daddy will tuck you in, so you need to get to bed.”
Drake glared at Birkanda before turning his gaze over to Younger, “A story for another time then boy,” He gave Alita over to the boy, who gently set her down on her feet, “Off to bed you two, I’ll be up to say goodnight in a moment.”
Both children nodded their heads and ran up the stairs to their beds. Drake made sure to listen for their footsteps to ensure that they did in fact heed his command. To his delight, they did.
Gods, it’s so damned good to be home. What did I do to deserve a family such as this?
Once the footsteps upstairs had ceased, Birkanda pounced on him with an embrace that nearly choked the life out of him. She had grown rather plump since he first married her, what with her having kept the baby weight of their two children. However, this was far from a bad thing, he had found her more attractive with it than without as it was a testament to the journey their love has been.
“Come here, my love. You had me thinking I’d be living the rest of my days as a widow,” she took his breath away with a long kiss, and he felt the erection growing as she stuck her hand down his pants. He brushed her long brown hair back behind her shoulders as he unbuttoned her dirty white shirt and lifted her up from her luscious thighs. She wrapped her legs around his back as he rushed toward the desk, he had next to their dining table.
“We’ve got a few moments before your son comes down to ask what’s taking so long,” she breathed as she kissed his neck. She paused for a heartbeat, and Drake could sense that she had tasted the smoke from the Citadel. Regardless, she shrugged it off and continued with her lust filled pursuit, pushing him off of her as she removed her trousers on his desk. Responding to this, he went to unbutton his own trousers before realizing she had already done it. She grinned at him as he stared at her with an amused gaze and removed her shirt as well. Birkanda opened her legs as he ran into her, locking in a kiss as he grabbed a plump, sagging breast and began to thrust.
“A few moments are all we’ll need…. For now,” Drake whispered in her ear as she hid her moans behind biting her hand. As they made love, his mind thought about how much he loved her sexual hunger. Unlike the wives of many of his former comrades that had them, she was always eager to fulfill either his or her urges. Whether the kids were in the house or not, she would find a secluded space and either find or make the time for them. Having intercourse with him wasn’t just a womanly duty to her, it had become her hobby.
Thank the gods…
He didn’t pull out, reaching a climax as he began to suck on one of her breasts as she panted. Having children in this city was generally frowned upon by the women. They would tend to have one to please their husbands, but any more was looked at as just an extra mouth to feed, or another child to lose to the gangs.
Life will be different here from now on, I’m sure of it…
Ashur, Rhamiel, and Mau walked out of the city and to their home in silence. When they walked out of the smithy, the street was empty, the rescued captives returning to their homes under Captain Danel’s orders. Rhamiel and Mau were silent in thought, Ashur knew that they were thinking about him and how the news of the captives was affecting him. Frankly, he surprisingly hadn’t given it much thought. He was thinking of one thing at a time, and right now that one thing was seeing his old home and taking Vavut’s ashes to the cliffside. Ashur never liked thinking about one more than one thing at once. He would get heavily invested in whatever his current task was, and he didn’t want to lose that investment by thinking of anything else.
They approached the small stone house lined with drem that his mother had built. Opening the wooden door, he was greeted by the sight of four cots and a fireplace. A modest setting safe from the city, but he couldn’t stop staring at one of the cots.
One of these cots will remain empty. Mother, I’m sorry.
“Go to bed, you two. I’ll be off,” Ashur muttered, turning his back to the inside of the hut, and walking around the outside to the forest behind it. Past that empty forest would be the cliffside.
It didn’t take too long to reach the cliff, although the moon had started to set and was hidden beneath the forest behind him. The night sky was brightening ever slightly as a string of a light green and dark yellow color blended into it from the horizon across the sea, the dark blue color of the night fading into a sky blue as it met the yellow. He sat on the cliff, his legs dangling off as the pot of ashes sat atop his lap. Removing the pot’s lid, he set it aside to his left and opened his palm next to the open pot. He emitted his aura and tensed his hand, focusing all of his emitted aura into that one point. Channeling emission was something that he had learned through multiple instances of trial and error in combat training with Alysander, but focusing his aura into a point like his hand and controlling its intensity was another level of training that he had not yet reached. According to his master, he still hadn’t even reached the maximum amount of aura he can emit. The ashes began to crawl out of the pot in the form of a string as the whole pot was emptied and the ash spiraled above his hand. He began to sweat as he breathed hard, trying to maintain his level of concentration, before reaching his hand out with the palm up and facing the rising sun. The ashes swirled and fluttered away from his hand, dancing in the wind until it disappeared from his line of sight. Letting go of his concentration and releasing the aura, he closed his eyes.
“May the Goddess of Wind Nitya guide you on your path, for you will go wherever the wind takes you now my friend. From the ashes of the Age of Gods and Men, humanity emerged, and to ash we may return.” Ashur whispered, closing his eyes as the sun’s brightness shone across the horizon. The next day had arrived, and later he would have to move forward with what he accomplished the last night.
I’ll show you why you saved me, Ashur grinned as he placed his hand to his heart, mark my words, I’ll show you what you gave your life to protect!
Aerith awakened to Aurora sitting over her, nudging her head until her eyes shot wide open.
“What’s wrong?” she asked in a daze, “Have we made it?”
“Yes,” said Aurora, “We’ve made it to your new home.”
Opening the wood-screened window to their carriage, Aurora greeted her sister to the new land. The grogginess of her awakening departed as she was introduced to a far green country, stretching out as far south as they eye could see. The golden light of the sunrise reflected off of the grass, still wetted by the morning dew. She saw farmhouses in the distance, although Aerith noted that these ‘farmhouses’ were nothing like the ones in her homeland. The farmlands outside Balowardshire were smaller and more modest, while the ones here were like large complexes, villa-like in their architecture and size. Horses dashed across the land, and herds of cows and sheep grazed under the watchful eyes of their shepherds and shepherd-dogs in the front fields of the houses. To the left of each house, was a plot of land designated to crops, although there were no crops which signified that the season had passed, and the farmers had already harvested. Having read about it when she studied Midland, she discovered that the state was the country’s leader in olives, grapes, and grains, the breadbasket of the Republic.
“Uncle gets many things with this alliance,” Aerith muttered to herself.
“Aye, that he does,” Aurora quietly replied.
Peeking her head out the window to see where the carriage was heading, Aerith saw their final destination. She saw a modestly sized brown city bathing in the sunlight, soaking in the sunlight.
This is Loiyrith, their capital? She thought with a sigh of disappointment, for such a large state, their main city has much to be desired.
As if sensing her sister’s dismay as she pulled her head back inside the carriage and sat down, Aurora said, “Loiyrith, like this land, is far different from what we know. The people may follow different customs here as well, but at the end of the day you will find their common folk to not be so different from our own.”
As they approached, Aerith couldn’t help but feel a smidgen of depression and disgust for Midland. It’s not that the land wasn’t beautiful, for in its own right it was, but she was blinded to its beauty. She missed her home already; the people she knew, the smell, and the diverse geography around her. Instead of the seemingly shapeless grand city she had grown up in and explored, she would now reside in a smaller city that she had read was grid-like in its layout, instead of being able to see the sea from her window, she was landlocked by oceans of grass with the nearest body of water a mile away, instead of the smell of the ocean, there was the smell of horse shite and the faint smell of wet grass. The only person she genuinely knew was her sister, and even she would have to return to Wemnoth eventually.
The carriage passed through the city gates, and she saw that the homes were modestly built with wood and stone, with each one being one floor high. Aerith could hear the murmuring of the commoners as her betrothed started to speak, “Fine people of Midland, loyal citizens of Loiyrith, I return home triumphant for my betrothed lies in this here carriage! We have secured our alliance with House Goodhall of Balowardshire!”
At their silence, she smirked at her sister as she thought, He did nothing of the sort. Triumphant? You and your father both cowered before my family, yet you jest?
She heard Osferth groan, “Silence, you moron. We have received nothing of true value. Should you boast again, I might feel inclined to take your tongue!”
Owin hissed at his father but was otherwise silent for the remainder of the carriage ride to their villa. With the carriage coming to a stop after entering the villa’s gate, she peeked through the wooden shades and saw that Osferth was scowling at someone, probably his son, before putting on a smile and opening the door.
“Welcome my ladies, I hope that your journey was as comfortable as possible?” He asked, raising a hand to help them out of the carriage.
Aurora eyed Aerith as if silently telling her to be the first to accept his hand, and she did just that. She placed her small hand into his large one as he gently guided her out of the carriage. Her shoes clapped against the dirty cobblestone pavement as she landed, Aerith turned to her betrothed who was scowling at them as he dismounted from his horse. She smiled at him, and he grunted as he proceeded to take both his and Osferth’s horse to the stables in the corner of the complex around one hundred paces away. Her smile faded as she saw him walk away, but then returned once she turned back to Osferth, who was giving a scowl that was cold as ice at his son’s back until he turned back to her and gave a strained smile.
“It was a comfortable journey,” Aerith lied, her back and hind were incredibly sore on their bumpy journey, and her neck was stiff from all of the sleeping she had to do in that carriage, “I thank you for transporting me safely into your…” She looked around at the villa, very shoddily built but she wanted to be polite, “Humble and modest abode, sir.”
He nodded to her, “Please my lady, you may call me Osferth if you would like,” he hesitated for three heartbeats before apologizing, “I am sorry about my son’s greeting. He really only pushed this marriage for the bragging rights to the commoners, he is… Different.”
Aerith shook her head, “It is no matter, I grew up with brothers myself so I can understand his mood,” She had lied to him yet again, since her brothers were nothing like him. Even if they detested something, they never complained. They were true men when compared to Owin. At least his father seemed like a decent enough person, with enough class to know what decorum is right from wrong, “And Osferth, you can call me Aerith.”
“We should go inside then, Aerith. There are some people you must be introduced to,” He said as he helped Aurora down from the carriage, “And you, my lady, would you care to stay the night for supper? I’m sure you would like to rest as well in a normal bed, considering the fact that you have been sleeping in a carriage for the past few days.”
Aurora nodded, “Yes, I will accept your offer Osferth. My neck is stiff, and I am tired, so I might retire until supper is ready.”
He nodded in return, “Very well,” A servant wearing green robes scrambled to the three before stopping and standing straight as a sword. Osferth gestured toward him, before gesturing to the door that led inside, “Lady Seer, William here will take you to your quarters.”
William the servant bowed as she walked to him, “Follow me, Lady Seer.”
As they walked off, Osferth turned his attention back toward Aerith, “My Lady, prepare yourself for my wife,” he said with a sigh, “She loves to spoil the boy, and she is… Rather cold to those outside our family.”
She nodded, for she was no stranger to cold people, especially those within her family. However, she was feeling a shred of anxiety. Was she worried about what the woman might think of her? This was a new beginning for her, and she wasn’t going to mess it up on the first day.
Exude power, she thought as she steeled herself, exude it, so even if she hates you, she will be forced to respect you.
Enyalius emerged from the crypts to sunlight peeking through the windows of the cellar. He squinted at the rays of light as if unbelieving the fact that he had been down there all night. He could not imagine that it had taken him that long to read the tome, but alas a new day has started. He grabbed two bottles of wine and stared at the staircase that would lead him out for a few heartbeats, frozen in thought over what he had read. Answers, but not truly. Climbing the stairs to the first floor of his keep, he started to feel the drowsiness that he had put on hold. When he had opened the cellar door, he was blinded by the sunlight pouring in from the windows. Rubbing his eyes, he could feel the bags that lay there, frustrating him since he had not gotten a good night’s rest since before the final battle.
Save the rest of his sons and their mothers, who lived with him in the keep, it would have been completely empty. Enyalius, along with the mothers of his children truly believed that they had no need for servants. His forefathers had them, but as the generations continued after the Republic’s birth and the starvation of his people, they could not afford to feed or even really pay for them. Growing up without them, he felt he had no real use of them. If himself and his family could not keep their own home in order, what would that say to his people, who are not wealthy enough to have servants of their own?
He entered the kitchen and walked toward the sink. Washing his face in an attempt to rinse the crust that had begun to form around his eyes as well as to wake himself up. Dayton was known for being the first city with flowing irrigation, and they had shared that knowledge with the rest of the country. Only Tyrus did not have this, after its irrigation system was destroyed in the Sundering.
Enyalius felt two thin arms wrap around him from behind, the cool touch of two womanly hands gently touching his chest. Feeling the length of her nails on himself, Enyalius knew exactly who it was.
“You’re up early,” a voice chirped in his ear, as he felt a pair of lips kiss his shoulder.
“Aye, Eleuia. As I told Alissa last night, I needed to enter the crypts,” he said with a sigh.
“I know, she told me before she went out for a walk with Aineas,” she said, brushing her arms off of him.
This came as a shock to him, all three of his baby-mothers had despised one another before he went off for this war. He was close with each of them in their own ways, but he had never married for reasons. Women were only temporary retreats, and in his youth, he would find ways to retreat from his troubles into the arms of a variety of them. Enyalius thought he probably had more bastards out there, yet these three were the only ones to come to him. The other reason, upon realizing he had sired more than one bastard, he could not bring himself to delegitimize any of the three boys. This could result in problems in the case of his death, even with the fact that Aineas is his heir, however that would be a problem his house and Dayton would have to live with in the future. As for now, it seems like they formed a unity in their time away from him. Maybe it was the fact that the three of his boys had grown to become fierce friends and recognize one another as brothers. Aineas, his oldest and heir, is almost a spitting image of his father, but with the eyes and hair of his mother Alissa and the personality of Enyalius’ dear ward Brargo. From him, the other two follow without hesitation.
He spun to face Eleuia, her light brown hair tied up in a bun resting on top of her head as she leaned on the table five paces from him and poured herself a glass of wine, “She told you?”
“She told me and Helvig,” She yawned, her slim figure visible through her robes as she stretched.
“Ah, and where is Helvig?” Enyalius asked, “I haven’t seen her since dinner.”
“She’s off to the barracks in search of Mautar,” Eleuia said as she sipped from her goblet, “A raven came for you from Lunenmouth.”
His mouth went dry, “And did you three read it?”
She twirled the unopened letter in her hand, “No, but that’s the reason Alissa took Aineas outside for the morning. We know what a letter from that damned city means.”
“War? Impossible, they know how green my men are, and that we just returned after so many years,” He snapped, grabbing a knife to cut into the letter.
“None of us trust it my sweetling,” she whispered as he began to read, “They’ll run you dry.”
After reading it, Enyalius let out an anguished cry as he crumpled the paper into a ball with his hand, throwing it across the room and flipping a chair over, “Why?! Why won’t they let me rest!”
Eleuia jumped in startlement when he flipped the chair, some of the wine in her goblet spilling out onto the floor. It was very rare that he would lose his composure, especially with someone around. For her to see this meant that his rage was at its breaking point. She set the goblet aside and ran to pick up the ball of paper, unrolling its crumpling and flattening out the creases using the table before giving it a read. Her mouth was agape, and her pale freckled face reddened in rage. She clenched her hands into fists and slammed the table, “Those bastards! Every last one of them! Four long years you’ve been gone in that cursed city, and now they want you back?! And this time it’s to transport their people across the country?”
Enyalius sank to the ground, knees curled up into his chest as he sat on his hind and buried his face in his arms that rested atop his knees, “Half of that city is damn near rubble, Eleuia! From Aethel’s Gate and Seven Barrows down to Smugglers Lane, I destroyed them all,” he shuddered, “Now–now I have to do it again and take them to the east coast? It took us four years to root a single man out of Tyrus, how long will it take alone to destroy the rest? How long will it take us to go to Balowardshire and back?”
“At least they’re not sending you south,” She whispered, falling next to him and wrapping her arms around him. Eleuia was always trying to find the good in all things, even if herself was raging at them, “And look,” she said as she pointed to a line of words on the parchment, “They’re sending you reinforcements this time, an entire armed force from Midland is mobilizing should you need them to end it quickly. I know you’re tired, but should you get this done they’ll grant you a seat on the Council.”
Enyalius thought on this for a moment, thinking about the benefits that could come with being one of the highest-ranking members of the Council. His people would never have to go hungry again, they would never know the grim realities of war again, and they would all have chances at better lives just by being a member of his city. But then, the thoughts of one last slaughter flooded his mind, could I do that again? Could I return to Tyrus within a month’s time of leaving and turn the whole city into rubble? What of Ashur? Damn it all… Enyalius kissed Eleuia on the cheek before rising and heading toward the staircase that led to his bedroom.
“Where are you going?” She called out to him, holding the cheek he pecked a kiss on her with.
“Upstairs to get dressed,” he said, raising his voice as he got farther from her, “I need to go to the barracks and confide in some of my men. Gather Helvig, Alissa, Aineas, Magnus, and Torvald tonight, I will have made my decision by then.”
Oremir awoke with a start to the sound of faint screams in the not-so-distant void. Sitting up from his sheepskin bed, he turned to see Valan had done the same. Their rooms were made of pure riakosend crystal, lighting the room just enough that he could see his belongings on the floor beside his bed.
“Did you hear that?” asked Valan.
“Aye, I did… Again,” whispered Oremir, a cold sweat forming on his brow. The faded shrieks had been what awoke him every time he had gone to sleep, and even in the times when he was awake.
He learned that these Ashmedai were not vicious or vile in the slightest, for instead they were calm and composed and always seeked to help one another. Different from how it was in Lunenmouth and Tyrus, with Lunenmouth being a subtle battlefield for nobles searching for an edge on one another, and Tyrus being an overall lawless and untamable land. Oh, he had tried to tame it, but the Republic would rather burn to ashes than allow the Sun King’s home to shine once more.
The Ashmedai within the mountains were different than what he had thought in one regard however, for he never saw them eat. There were old legends that their life-spark was strong enough to sustain them for months on end without needing to hunt or gather. Maybe there was truth to this legend? He would have to spend more time around them to find out the truth, but it made him wonder what kind of a civilization would exist if humans did not need to feel hunger.
“Come,” Oremir said to Valan as he put on his armor, “Let us go to Ereph, it is high time I see the state of his soldiers.”
Leaving their crystalline hut, Oremir and Valan saw their street filled with an emptiness. He found it odd that a city filled with so many would not have so much as one Ashmedai walking its streets. The only sound he could hear was that of a chant in a language he could not speak that emanated from an incredibly large crystalline structure. Oremir felt a chill run down his spine as he heard the language, it sounded cold, dark, and ancient.
“Where are our men?” whispered Valan, his voice trying to hide the terrified look in his eyes.
“I do not know, they should have been waiting outside our hut,” Oremir replied, “Damn this dark city, being inside a mountain doesn’t really give us a good sense of time as I’m unsure if we’re early or late.”
The chants grew louder, deeper, and every crystalline structure Tiarmotae began to vibrate, humming as they whispered something of their own.
“Let’s go,” Oremir said as he shivered, “Chieftain Ereph must have answers for us.”
They entered the large pale green building to discover that it was a massive temple. It looked as if the temple housed most of the city as they saw what appeared to be thousands of Ashmedai on their knees with their heads pressing the cold hard ground. Ereph stood atop a pillar as he held his arms outstretched and was muttering in the strange language, his worshippers chanting his words loud enough to drown him out, so it only looked like he was mouthing the words to him. Ereph’s head was pointed toward the ceiling, in which the void stood above them, leading Oremir to realize that there was no ceiling at all.
Valan then gasped and tugged at the plate on Oremir’s shoulder as their attention was soon drawn toward the black, colorless tendrils sprouting from the empty ceiling and splitting off to face every one of the Ashmedai. Each one rose, lifting their heads from the ground but remaining on their knees as the tendrils seemed to whisper something akin to their names. They whispered back, and the tendrils shot into their chests. The immense room was filled by the sound of a collective gasp from the crowd of Ashmedai, and Oremir felt as if the breath from his own lungs had been stolen as well.
Ereph’s eyes drifted from the ceiling to glare at the two Opal Dragons, and a smile stretched across his withered face as he laughed.
“Our mealtime is complete my children, I must call this off now,” he cackled, “To our men, young Oremir will be your charge for the day. He will teach you the evolution of human battle strategy and how we can implement it ourselves.”
Every head spun to face the two men behind them, their long-braided hair seeming as if it was affected differently by time as it snapped to the opposite shoulders in a slower motion. In a few heartbeats, Oremir was facing down the eyes of at least two thousand depthless eyes that looked like they filled the void with their chill. All of the men rose as the women remained. Oremir hesitated, wanting to raise the question on what happened to the rest of his men, but he relented to the chieftain’s wishes with a nod.
I’ll get my answers, but not here. These people look like they’ll eat my eyes out if I even speak.
Oremir turned his back from them and hurriedly walked out of the temple. Valan approached beside him and whispered, “Sir, what are we doing? I thought you were gonna ask?”
“Would you have me do that with all of those black eyes in attendance? No, we ask him in a more private setting,” Oremir replied quietly, giving Valan a menacing glare of his own.
Valan swallowed while thinking about what he would have done, “I don’t like this sir, I don’t like this one bit.”
“You and me both, Valan.”
Oh yes, I will get my answers. In time.