“The tunnels beneath our city, beneath our homes, bequeathed to us the truth of all of what we sought. Much of our home remained beneath the sands that lined the bottom of our shores, so much so that our freedivers had no idea they existed. Yet, the true Tyrus lied beneath our very feet, and beneath those shores. The tunnels that our ancestors built to connect themselves to the mines still remain, and it was through that extensive network that we learned how Oremir and his men survived so long in the midst of the Dreadbird’s slaughtering. It was there that we saw what he had planned before the Republic intervened, and it was there that we found Eshmunezar, the demon in a mortal’s skin. If not for our descent into those tunnels, we would not be here. Our people would have burned alive and the city, as well as my dream, would have died there.”
“‘The History of Tyrus: The End of the Fourth Age’ Volume I, Written by King Ashur the ‘Wind Wyrm’”
Ashur found himself on the bridge that led to the Citadel, the sky was a blood red and the moon stood in the sun’s place, blotting out the sun. He witnessed soldiers guiding citizens in several different directions as a firestorm from the northern part of the city grew to reach where he was. Looking down to the bank, he looked on in horror as the lake bubbled and sizzled. Ashur could feel the heat himself, beads of sweat forming everywhere before running down his body. His clothes stuck to him, and he was forced to shut his eyes in a grunt as sweat entered his eyes with a stinging pain. The smell of smoke and burning corpses filled the air, and he tried to swallow but his throat had gone too dry. The screams that rang in the air were ones of panic, terror, and pain, making Ashur feel cold as he externally felt the burning sensation.
‘Voidic fuck’, Ashur thought as he tried to take a step with a great struggle. His movement froze as he felt the emotions of every individual within the city, trembling at the amount of fear he felt emanating from them. To the north, the Thundering Hills had descended the valley and began to move closer with an alarming speed. As Ashur watched it devour the Seven Barrows district, the flames pushed closer and closer to the bridge, close enough that Ashur caught the people trying to flee, becoming engulfed in the wildfire. ‘No’, he assured himself, ‘this is just a dream.’
From the burnt corpses littered across the city, Ashur saw tendrils of ash escape the bodies and flames, forming together and rushing toward him like a tidal wave before ceasing all movement and condensing itself into an orb. The orb then molded itself into a man, before the ash faded and his old master appeared from it.
“You’ve done well, apprentice,” Alysander said, “You have returned, and most importantly you have done so before the end of the month.”
Feeling more relaxed, Ashur scratched his chin before rasping, “What is this you are showing me? You said you could buy me time, time for what exactly?”
“The blood of the Seer courses through your veins, child. Premonition is not in my field of expertise,” Alysander looked around, seeming genuinely puzzled, “but this? This has even perplexed me. The Phantom Folk have been starving for an assault against humanity. I am merely trying to delay the inevitable until you are strong enough, for I believe that only you are capable of meeting this threat in combat.”
“So how are you trying to delay them? Are you actually venturing into their voids and meeting them in combat?”
“Aye,” said Alysander before shaking his head, “meeting them in slaughter is more like it. But there’s something just as concerning. The more of them I kill, the more of them show up. Like rats, they are breeding at an unbelievable rate in the darkness. I don’t know why, but I feel as if they are fooling me somehow. It’s like their network within the mountains is like a hive, and I have yet to reach their ‘queen’. I will continue to try though, and I will contact some of my followers in the hope that they will aid you.”
At that, Ashur laughed much to his master’s dismay, “Help? In this country? People are more akin to saving the skin of their own than to help a Tyrus native, even if it means the return of an ancient power,” Ashur’s face calmed as he ceased the laughing, and his face grew stern, “join me in combat when they prepare to attack us, master. We need a God by our side, not some human who has his own motivations!”
Ashur tunic was gripped at the collar by a thick hand as he was lifted up by his master, his face only inches from Alysander, “Naive, foolish boy!” Alysander screamed, “You don’t get it, do you? Their forces lie in the hundreds of thousands, and that’s only due to the fact that I continue my purge! If not for me, you could be facing them in even higher numbers! If I were to agree with your plan, even I wouldn’t be able to defeat them!”
Ashur’s own face began to redden in anger as he started, “If we just–”
“No!” interrupted Alysander, “I have seen your thoughts this past night, is this how you want to handle everything after someone gave their life for you? Remember, you are in this for the long run now. You didn’t just inherit a life-spark, you inherited that man’s dreams, his will dammit! Don’t just throw it away!”
Ashur felt the color leave his face as he mulled on this. In truth, what did he truly know? His master had been a part of this world since the Ashmedai first branched out and began conflict with one another. He’s still just a child, with no real experience in matters like these. He loved to think about how he outgrew his master’s teachings to the point where they could look at one another as equals, but he could only use his mother’s blade so much before he’s on death’s door.
I’m still… I’m still weak. I didn't outgrow his teachings, for I still have much to learn.
Ashur sank his head, cursing himself for being so childlike, especially in this moment. Deep down he wanted to curse his master as well, for not training him fully before giving him back to civilization, but he knew even that was a childish frustration, “Master, I apologize,” he whispered, “You are right, you always were. Release me, please.”
Alysander grunted before releasing his grip, dropping Ashur to the ground. As Ashur rose, Alysander released a sigh.
“I don’t care how you do it, child, but unite this city by any and all means necessary. I’ve kept an eye on your home for many centuries now, so I know that the knowledge of the tunnel system has faded. Find them, use them, bring them back to common knowledge. If this is done, perhaps your people stand a chance should we fail. On my end, I will continue what I’ve been doing: Cutting my way through the hive until I meet their ‘queen’. Phantom Folk breed quickly, but not as fast as what I am experiencing. Something is wrong, and I intend on finding out what.”
Ashur nodded, “It’s not a great plan, but it’s one we have to see through at this point. Very well, master, I will do what I can.”
As the darkness exploded from the top of one of the mountains, Ashur heard Alysander one last time, “Don’t do what you can, just get it done. There is no try here, Ashur, everything stands in the balance right now.”
Ashur awoke to the sun shining into his hut from a small window above his cot. He turned to his left to see Rhamiel kneeling beside him, her hand on his heart. Behind her was Mau, studying him as he sat upright on his own cot.
“See, I told you he was alright,” muttered Mau, “it’s about time he woke up though, our people are probably freaking out as we speak.”
Rhamiel ignored him as she spoke in a gentle voice, “how are you feeling? You’ve been convulsing in your sleep for hours.”
Ashur sat up and rubbed his face with his palms, groaning, “My master, he’s been invading my dreams for the past few days. Something’s happening at the Thundering Hills that’s concerning him. You two, you said Drake picked something up in the sewers?”
Rhamiel and Mau looked at one another before nodding, Mau shrugging as he spoke, “Aye, he pilfered a map of the tunnels beneath the city. They seemed to help us getting in and out of the Cit, why do you ask?”
Ashur was silent for a moment, putting on his tunic before saying, “We need to mention these tunnels to everyone that joins us at the Mellow Skunk. I don’t know where to go from there, but that’s where we’ll start.”
Enyalius entered the ancient barracks his forefathers built. The large stone building was the largest in all of Dayton, even greater than his own keep, it was able to house every high-ranking soldier in his host. Every group had their own room, from calvary, legionaries, auxiliaries lining the walls of the barracks, to the quaestors and even the military tribunes getting their own rooms lining the rooms outside of the command room in the middle. As he walked down the halls, he was receiving salutes from each and every one of his men, as well as their thanks for returning them to their families. Their gratefulness made Enyalius sick with each passing step, to the point where he was almost running to his room to hide from them.
Opening his door and entering the praetorium, he was greeted by his second: Mautar. The young man raised a perfect salute before being put at ease.
“Thank you, sir,” he said with a grin, his dirty blond hair trimmed and clean for the first time in years, “my family thanks you–”
Enyalius raised his hand to cut him off, and Mautar’s grin faded to a confused scowl as he fell silent. As much as the thanks stung, Enyalius began to think that cutting him off hurt even more. He felt a wave of guilt strike him like a blow with a mace, and he cleared his throat before he started to speak.
“I’m sorry my friend, but it is too early for thanks.”
“But we’re home–” Mautar started before trailing off, the truths behind Enyalius’ actions and words becoming clearer, “No… No, sir, we just got back!”
Enyalius walked toward his chair and slumped in it, “Aye, you are right sergeant. And yet, they want us back out in the field.”
Mautar leaned forward where he stood in front of Enyalius’ desk with both palms resting upon it., ignoring the chair behind him, “Well, where do they want us now sir? To the damned southlands to fight Ashok? We discussed it before, but I’m shocked that they want you out of Dayton so soon. Only a damned night of respite, damn them all to the fucking void.”
“It makes sense why they would want us moving so quickly, our forces are already mobilized, and tired as they are, they have grown hard as steel. However, it isn’t to face Ashok in the southlands. They want us back in that fucking city.”
Enyalius saw how those words hit harder than any physical blow to Mautar, as the man stumbled back as if he had just been stabbed. Mautar’s face paled as he fell back into the chair behind him, and he looked as if his mind drifted elsewhere before running his hands through his hair and sighing in frustration. It looked as if he were going to sob right there as his face welled with both sadness and rage.
If you saw this, Council, would you still force us to return? It’s far too soon.
It took a few moments for Mautar to calm himself down before he started to probe for answers to his questions. The color returning to his face, he asked, “So what’s the mission now? We already slaughtered the Opal Dragons, surely another gang didn’t rise underneath our noses to take over completely, right?”
Enyalius shook his head, “They want us to turn the whole damned city to rubble, but they don’t want everyone dead for some reason. They want us to capture as many citizens as we can and relocate them to the east. Seems like they want to end Tyrus’ status as a lawless city and give it to us as a reward.”
Mautar’s shoulders slumped in his seat, “So we’re returning to destroy and imprison? Fuck me, sir, I hate that city as much as the next soldier but that’s damned cruel. They’ve been through enough.”
“Aye, they have. But it’s what we’ve been ordered to do. We are to meet with a man who’s been undercover within the city for the Republic. The rest of our mission will be explained to all of us then. At least this time, the Republic offered reinforcements from Midland. Should we find ourselves in trouble like the last time, we merely need to hold out until Midland’s forces are mobilized completely.”
Mautar was silent for a few heartbeats before nodding and rising, “Alright sir, so what would you have me do?”
“Send word throughout the city. It’s going to sting the lot of them but direct their rage toward the Republic. Get them ready, we’ll leave in a few days. I received word that one of my children’s mothers entered the barracks today, what for?”
Mautar scratched at the stubble on his chin, “She merely wanted to see how we we’re all fairing, and asked us how much we enjoyed being back,” he was silent for a moment before continuing, “if she knew what you did, she was probably gauging all of our feelings before you would tell us.”
“And where is she now?”
Mautar shrugged, “Don’t know, didn’t think anything was up and it wasn’t my business sir.”
“Alright then,” grunted Enyalius as he rose from his seat, “Another thing sergeant, send a raven back to the Lunenmouth with the message that we accept this order and will begin our march south in a few days.”
Mautar saluted his general and took Enyalius’ seat at his desk, taking out a quill and a piece of parchment before writing the letter as Enyalius walked out the praetorium. As he exited, he saw the military tribune Duiker standing outside the door to the tribuni room across the hall from him. Duiker, a short, bald old man dressed in the traditional red robes of a tribune gave a salute as he started to speak.
“My lord,” he said, “I would like to discuss some of the military’s finances with you.”
“Do it while we walk, Duiker,” Enyalius grunted as he walked past Duiker, who hurriedly shuffled beside him and took out a piece of parchment from his robe.
“It was smart of us to take the amount of food we did from Tyrus, it saved us money as well as our own food from our own storages. But with the amount of men and armor we’ve lost, and us returning with no treasures, I don’t know how we can fund the trip to the southlands when the time comes. Taxes will have to be raised to be able to pay these men. I know those few soldiers we imprisoned weren’t much, but we could have used all the help we could have mustered.”
“Aye, you’re right about that. However, we have a new proposition. The sergeant will be releasing the news to the public soon, so I might as well tell you now: we are to leave home in a few days for Tyrus, again. This time, to establish our own dominion. Those in Dayton who are living in poverty and cannot afford such taxes will be allowed to move into the city, and I plan to search for any remaining opal mines in the hope of restarting them. Will we be able to afford another trip down there?”
The shock on the old man’s face took a while to fade, he shook the bemusement from his expression and started, “We’re going back so soon? We’ll have to bring in new soldiers, payment to the smithies are going to cost us a lot of coins–”
“We won’t need additional soldiers, I intend on going with only those we returned with. We’ve been guaranteed reinforcements, Duiker, and I intend to use them before any new green lads from here.”
Duiker mulled on this for a moment, before nodding in agreement, “Aye, my lord, that sounds well enough. Well, it should take us a day or two to restock our stores, and we won’t be spending any coins on armor for new lads… Yes, this will be more than affordable for us. The only problem will be morale for the veterans and their families, there will be some pushback from them–”
A sharp glare from Enyalius cut him off, and the old man began to stammer, “B-but, that is not my problem as of yet, sir. Yes, we can have all of the men garrisoned and ready within the next few days.”
Enyalius released a sigh before giving a nod to Duiker, “Good, see it done then, tribune. Meet with Mautar and help him with the logistics.”
The old man gave him a salute with trembling hands as Enyalius made for the barracks exit.
Now that this is done, where to now? I should probably head home and discuss this with my sons. Knowing Aineas, he’ll probably want to join me, and his brothers will follow suit.
Osferth led Aerith down a corridor to the great hall of his villa, every few paces leading up to that great door was a painting of the plains or a pelt from every type of animal that Aerith thought existed in this land.
Before entering, Osferth whispered, “Now, remember to only refer to my wife as ‘My Lady’,” he went to open the door before pausing and turning back toward Aerith, “Oh, and please try to be as courteous as possible.”
Aerith nodded to him, fixing her hair as it took only a nudge from Osferth’s hands for the door to swing open at an alarmingly fast speed. Four servants manned the door as if waiting for his push, and she was introduced to an immense room with five tables, one was a small round table that looked like it seated up to ten or fifteen people, and two large rectangular tables on each side that stretched from the door she had entered to what looked like an empty throne resting a few steps above everything on the opposite side of the room. Aerith saw two hearths, one resting on the walls to her right and left, as well as a large vent that had thin beams of sunlight leaking through them. On the wall behind the throne, there was a door to which she wondered where it led, and above that door laid a beautiful hand-sewn banner with the sigil of House Sevada, an emerald-colored background with a black stallion placed in its center in a galloping pose.
The servants were working hard to clean the other tables and bring the food out to the center table, but Aerith heard the snap of one’s fingers, and the servants hurriedly pressed for toward her and Osferth. They parted at the two, each servant bowing before going around them and exiting the hall. In less than twenty heartbeats, the hall was empty save for Aerith, Osferth, his wife, and a young man who Aerith thought looked much older than her. Aerith and Osferth walked toward the center table, and each step made Aerith feel even more tense as she could feel the horse lord’s wife study her with her beady eyes. She wanted to glare back at her, as if to show her that she can study people herself, but kept her eyes down to the floor until they had reached the table. The woman rose, standing incredibly tall for someone of her gender. Her dark hair was braided behind her ears and held above her head instead of falling below her shoulders, a stark contrast Aerith noticed to her own hairstyle which was straight and fell down both sides of her shoulders. The lady was wearing an ornate dress of black and green, with emerald brooches pinned all around her dress. Aerith gaped at the wondrous dress, wondering how even a lord can afford something like that in a place like this. She wasn’t thin but she wasn’t skinny, and while her bust wasn’t large, her stomach and legs seemed like they were. However, it was upon studying her face, that Aerith found herself even more perplexed than before. The woman had pale skin with freckles, thin lips, and creases around her eyes. Her face was etched in a venomous scowl as she raised her hand to her husband who held it gently in his and pressed his lips to the back part of it.
“My lady Nazli, we have returned successfully,” he said, leaning in to kiss her. As he did so, she never took her eyes off of Aerith, her light green eyes apathetic to her husband’s affection and delving into Aerith’s eyes.
“So I see,” she said, giving a slight bow to Aerith before holding her hand out for her to kiss as well, “The Goodhall girl, yes? Your uncle is held in very high esteem amongst the noble houses, let us hope that you can bring as much to our house as well.”
Aerith bowed in response but hesitated to kiss Nazli’s hand, fearing that it would make her look weak if she did and a target if she didn’t. Her eyes went to Osferth’s, who was giving her a pained expression, then to the young man, who sat forward in his seat with an amused look as he leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table, and clasped his hands together in front of his face to hide a smile. The man’s smile was enough to give her the confidence to refuse Nazli’s hand, smiling at the lady herself as she raised her own hand.
“It is an honor to meet you, my lady,” Aerith said, “I must say, you did raise an… Outstanding son. It is a privilege to be housed by you and your lord.”
At this, Nazli snapped her hand to her side, “An honor? A privilege? Empty words if you refuse to acknowledge your new mother!”
The mention of the word mother lit a spark of rage from under Aerith, but she managed to suppress it and use it well as she remarked, “Ah, but you aren’t as of yet. It is only upon marriage that I take my husband’s mother as my own.”
Nazli cocked her head at her husband in confusion, her eyes boiling in a rage, “Is she talking rubbish, Osferth? To think that you would bring someone so disrespectful into our home! She is to give unto us grandchildren that will become Kings! Kings and emperors, that was what the Seer said!”
Osferth had a look of pure discomfort on his face as he muttered, “She’s right, my dear. She will have to defer to you in a few years, for she invoked the betrothal contract instead of entering marriage.”
Aerith took a step back in surprise as Nazli spat on her own floor directly where Aerith once stood, “She’s playing us! That bastard of an uncle she’s got, he’s playing us as well!”
“Mother,” the young man said sternly from his seat, “Sit down and calm yourself, we will not have you making us out like this in front of our guests.”
“Shut your mouth, Willem!” Nazli rasped at her son, the young man’s face growing impatient as he brushed his shoulder length dark-brown hair out of his face and glared at her, his mother continued, “I am the Lady of Midland, I will not bow to this youngest daughter of a governor!”
“You will do whatever is needed of you,” Willem said, raising his voice, “And if you cannot show her the respect she deserves by being a member of House Goodfall, then you can leave!”
His mother snarled at him, raising her hand to strike him, but upon seeing his unflinching glare, she sighed and lowered it. She gave Aerith an glare so cold that Aerith could almost feel it freeze her own blood, before she snobbishly walked past them. Osferth looked at his son with a grimace, before forcing a grin and walking around to embrace the now standing Willem in a hug.
“That could have gone better,” Osferth grunted as he patted his son’s back.
Willem laughed as he gently pushed himself out of his father’s embrace, “Are you kidding? That couldn’t have gone any better,” his eyes trained over Aerith, studying her up and down before saying, “She’s got a set of balls on her, mother may not like it, but that’s just what Owin needs.”
He grabbed Aerith’s hand and kissed the back of it before smiling at her, “Don’t take anything she says seriously, she’s a real stick in the mud when it comes to her youngest. You’re from a higher house than ours, if you stepped below your station, she would have walked all over you,” he gestured to the table, “Please sit, you must be hungry and tired from your journey here.”
Shocked at how amiable he was, she choked over her own words and was only able to simply nod as she took her seat. He lifted a bottle of wine and stood over her as he poured into her goblet, the red wine looking a luscious velvet, “this is some of our summer wine from a few years ago,” upon completing the pour, he stood there excitedly waiting for her to taste it like a child awaiting his mother to open a gift he had gotten her. As the wine touched her lips, Aerith believed that she had never tasted a wine so sweet before. As sweet as it was, it still had a light kick to it, “sweet, yet a hinge of spice at the end,” she said after clearing her throat, “it’s delicious.”
His smile was ear to ear as he nodded and filled both his and his father’s goblets with wine before settling back into his seat. They spent a few moments sipping their wine, savoring its taste before Aerith resumed conversation.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Listen, I do not wish to be an enemy to Lady Nazli, what does she like?” asked Aerith.
Osferth at hearing this gulped down the last of his wine, following it up with an exasperated sigh, “she’s not one to really ‘become friends’ with someone. I’ve been her husband for almost thirty years, and the only things she’s ever really loved are Owin, the traditions of high nobility, and Igyn.”
“Igyn?” Aerith asked.
Willem nodded, “Our goddess, the nature goddess of animals and fertility.”
“Is there any reason why she loves her in particular?”
Osferth grunted, “She accepted him at first, but still clung to the beliefs of her own god. We had some trouble conceiving a third child, and upon much prayer she was finally blessed with another.”
“I remember when she wasn’t his follower. She was still a bitch, but she would smile at me and Adeus from time to time,” Willem muttered, his face dark as he stared at his goblet, “Since Owin was born, she grew even more cold toward us, as if we weren’t her actual sons.”
Aerith tapped her chin for a few moments, sitting in silence as she thought about how to win her over. She would try her hardest to conform to the noble traditions, but she was always a bit of a rule breaker. She knew that she had to perform her duty and at least try to love Owin, if not in reality than as a show. That might prove more difficult than it sounds, but it was worth a try. However, she could easily accept Igyn as her goddess. Gods and goddesses had no real value to her, since she wasn’t blessed like her uncle and sister. Aerith would just have to learn more about her as a goddess.
“Could you send me some books from a study about the goddess?” asked Aerith, “I love to read, so it would be something to keep me busy for a time.”
Willem looked to his father who squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, “I’m sorry Aerith, but the tomes of Igyn are kept in our family’s crypts. It is as such with every noble house in Tegon. Only the leader of the house and his heir can enter the crypts, such as the tradition passed down to me by my father, and his father before him.”
Aerith looked down at her goblet, still half-full, she twirled it around in clockwise motion watching the wine swirl, “I apologize Osferth, how foolish of me to forget.”
It seemed as though Osferth had enough for this day, since he sighed and rose from his chair. Placing a hand on Willem’s shoulder, he said, “When you two are finished, take her to her quarters. I’m going off to find your mother. She’s probably off tending to your brother’s wounded ego, which means she’ll be even more pissy at me than earlier. Wish me luck.”
“Aye, blessings be upon you father,” chuckled Willem.
Osferth rested a hand on Aerith’s shoulder, and he said his farewell to her as well before leaving the great hall through the entrance he had guided her through earlier, and with that the two were finally alone.
Within the crystalline colosseum, Oremir stood in front of roughly one hundred of the Ashmedai, all standing before him with their spears in hand. Very few of them had shields tied to their arms, but every shield and weapon within the riakosend-clad colosseum was shaped from the very same material.
Should you come to blows against the high noble houses, you would already strike fear in them with the amount of riakosend on each person.
“Who leads this war party?” shouted Valan, waiting for the first man to step up. After a few moments, one of the Ashmedai in the front looked around before stepping up out of the ranks and clanging his spear with his shield.
“And who is the second in command?” asked Oremir.
The Ashmedai shrugged his brolic shoulders, “whomever is the strongest.”
Oremir shook his head, “From now on, that will not be good enough. Strength is important, yes, but intelligence and experience on the battlefield, as well as strength of character are what will be most important should you come to battle anyone. Tell me, who are your sergeants?”
Both humans looked on with disappointment as the Ashmedai stared at one another in confusion.
“So you intend on fighting humans without even having ranks to your army?” Valan sighed.
“You will need to organize your massive force into a real army. I want you to pick out the five best leaders you have from this group, and then I want you to work with them to find five men for each of them. However large your army is in total, I want it restructured into that of a pyramid. Every group and type of soldiers must have someone to answer to, and that will go all the way up to you. From this force of one hundred, I will make leaders out of all of them, and you will go out to the rest of your army and instill this discipline upon them,” Oremir ordered the Ashmedai, who straightened and nodded.
“What is your name, soldier?” asked Oremir.
The Ashmedai’s green eyes were staring straight ahead, not making contact with Oremir or Valan as he answered, “Khamaung, sir. Eldest son of our chieftain.”
Oremir scratched his head while he thought for a moment. The eldest son held much power and control in human culture and civilization, being the heir. While they never turn out to be the best fighters of their siblings, they are expected to carry with them the leadership, experience, and wisdom that the younger siblings lack. If the culture of the Ashmedai was any similar, it is very good that the eldest is here and not on with the rest of the force. But that just introduced another question, why is he here and not with the rest of the army?
“Alright Khamaung,” Valan grunted after he counted the exact number of men, “I’ve counted one hundred and three men here, including yourself. Form them into lines of thirteen.”
Khamaung looked puzzled, “Why?”
Valan hissed at him, “Soldiers don’t question orders, especially ones as green as the lot of you. Do as you’re ordered, no questions asked to your superiors. That’s the first rule.”
Khamaung nodded and started shouting at the men in an unknown language that sounded so aggressive that it forced Oremir to shiver. In no time, the force had organized themselves into a shoddy phalanx, each man shoulder to shoulder and right on top of one another.
“Now,” Oremir ordered Khamaung, “Every man must be sure they have three paces of space between each man next to them, as well as be three paces in front or behind someone, this spacing is crucial for movement within this formation.”
“What is this called?” Khamaung asked.
“A phalanx, the standard military form for human armies on this continent. I’m sure even with this, whatever you are fighting in the void will have an even more frustrating and difficult time. Now, make sure all of these men are outfitted with shields and thrusting spears. When the frontline men block attacks, that gives the men behind chances to attack within the space with spear thrusts. The men on the ends need their shields up to protect the left side, and the strongest soldiers will be needed on the right side. Understand?”
“Should take us a day to outfit all these men with shields,” he muttered.
“Good, talk to your smithy, or whoever creates your weapons. I need to speak to the Chieftain, in the meantime I would like you to sort out your leaders and practice this formation. Valan and I will return soon to assess your progress.”
Khamaung nodded as the Oremir and Valan walked off.
Ashur was surprised to see so many had showed up to the Mellow Skunk that afternoon. Drake, Danel, and the rest of the militia stood waiting behind well over two hundred common citizens. So many of them had shown up that some were forced to wait outside the tavern, flooding the street. He had figured that the rescued citizens would have gone back to their daily lives, but they had gone against his expectations: even the women and children stood outside waiting for him.
Drake smiled and shouted, “He’s here, the breaker of chains!”
All heads snapped toward them and cheered, men and women ran to him in a horde to thank him, and the children were crying tears of joy. Ashur had no idea how to handle any of this, but his bemusement turned to a genuine smile of his own. Something about their sincerity in their gratefulness and joy touched him to his core, and before he knew it his grin was a reflection of their own. As he made his way toward the Mellow Skunk, the people blocking the entrance parted upon seeing him, giving him a relatively easy path to it. A boy maybe only a few years younger than himself ran up to Rhamiel, and began walking with her, a group of much younger children tagging along not too far behind. Ashur thought he recognized the boy from somewhere, and it took him a moment to remember that the same boy ran by them to talk to Rhamiel the night before, as he carried Vavut’s body out of the city after the raid on the Jade Knights.
Upon reaching the tavern, Mau guided them toward a booth to the left of the door, where Ashur and Danel entered one side, and Rhamiel and Mau entered another. Drake scowled for a moment before chuckling to himself and picking up two chairs from a nearby table for both himself and the boy.
“Ale,” grumbled Danel as he dumped a handful of the standard silver coins onto the table when the barkeep approached their booth, “One for each of us, and one for as many of the people that came here and waited as this can afford.”
The barkeep’s eyes widened as he collected the coins, “With this much silver, everyone outside will get themselves a drink and you’ll still have some change to spare,” he then laughed, “You’ll empty out my ale stores before night even starts!”
“Then use that money to get more ale,” Ashur said, feeling more drunk from all the people that shook his hand and smiled at him than any amount of ale could. He turned to Danel, “How did you get that type of money in this city anyway?”
Danel shrugged, “I looted what I could from the Citadel, turns out Eideard was sitting on a stockpile of silver. I was only able to grab a few handfuls and I’m not sure how much of it still remains down there following last night, but I do know that whatever they were doing was generating that much coin.”
“That leads us to our main topic today, what do we know of these tunnels? When dreaming, I learned that they are what we must investigate first, for whatever reason,” said Ashur.
Mau looked over to Drake, “We saw Eideard with an Ashmedai before he was ordered to the prisoners. Whatever they were doing to generate that coin was due to them, my guess is trafficking humans.”
Drake cleared his throat before starting, “Aye, and they were planning to meet somewhere within the tunnel system,” he pulled the map out from his coat and laid it out across the table, “This is a map we found in the sewers, within Valan’s secret quarters. I have no idea where to start, or who exactly we’re looking for. I’ve never seen an Ashmedai in these parts.”
Ashur rubbed at the stubble forming on his chin, wondering to himself if he had ever seen one himself. He reached the core of his memory in an attempt to try to remember if he had, for his mother had disappeared in a similar way to those of the people they had saved, without a trace of her showing up in the city following her vanishing. This subject weighed heavily on his mind, because he knew deep down that whoever was responsible might have an answer on what happened to his dear mother.
The boy cleared his throat, and all eyes in the booth trained to him, “Was this Ashmedai wearing a red robe? Bronze skin with hair braided?”
Drake’s face darkened as he looked to Mau and Rhamiel who both nodded, “Aye, you seen him?”
He nodded, “Aye, he came out of a barrow in The Fairs. I was feeding the children when he just showed up and flipped a gold coin our way. We were too busy gawking over it to see where he had gone next, but that’s where he exited the Cit I’m sure of it.”
The booth was silent as their eyes moved from Neirin to the map. It was a complex web of passageways with several different start-points and exits, multiple tunnels that seemingly led to nowhere, and tunnels highlighted in red ink for some reason. They had no idea where to start other than to scour all of the tunnels that had entrances in The Fairs.
“What is your name, young one?” asked Ashur.
The boy froze, Ashur studying his shiver as the boy absorbed his question, “Neirin, sir,” he stammered, “I–I lead a gang of small children in the Bonegate and Fairs districts.”
“Aye, I know you,” Drake said with enough venom in his tone to sound like a snarl, “Your boys have been trying to recruit my son and lead him away from his family.”
“If they did that, then I apologize,” Neirin quietly mumbled, “I don’t know why anyone would want to convince someone to leave their family. All of mine are orphans,” he said as his gaze turned toward Ashur.
Ashur pondered that glare that Neirin was giving him, wondering why is he deserving of this glare? Studying the features of this boy’s face, his hollow cheekbones and eyes, Ashur realized the purpose of his glare, but pushed it to the side for now, “Neirin, it is nice to meet you. I’ve seen how the other children tag at your heels, so you must be a good leader among them. I have a request for you: memorize these passageways along The Fairs and post scouts at a distance from them. If anyone enters or exits, we need to be the first to know.”
Neirin’s face paled, “B-but I don’t have enough for this, we’ll need scouts posted there for all hours of the day, right?”
“That’s where the other children come in,” Ashur pointedly answered, “We freed a lot of children last night. Go to them and find which of them were orphans and which were imprisoned with their parents. I'm sure any of the parents who were imprisoned alongside them will be more than happy to let their children join your ranks to help me. Are you joining me?”
Neirin looked to Rhamiel who smiled at him, swallowed and said, “If it means a safer place for all of us urchins, then yes, I’m with you.”
Ashur himself smiled and nodded, “Then you will lead my child scouts, anyone willing to join and accept you as their captain will be under your care. Don’t do anything that will put them at more risk than I previously stated,” he looked to the door, “Get to it, Captain, a lot rests on your shoulders now.”
Neirin rose, and Ashur could see the look of surprise on his face as Ashur stuck out his hand for the boy to shake. They shook hands, and Ashur couldn’t pinpoint whether Neirin was nervous or shaking with rage or sadness. He knew the reason behind it though. He gave the boy a look, not of guilt or his own sadness, but of understanding. Neirin released his grip when looking into Ashur’s piercing gray eyes and almost staggered out of the bar.
“Ha,” scoffed Danel, “Looks like the lad’s never drank liquor, his legs aren’t used to it.”
Ashur looked to Rhamiel who had a sullen look in her eyes, a look he hated seeing on her, but one he understood all too well. She knew his secret, so she had probably saved him before.
Aye, your father had the same facial features. The same cheeks, the same eyes, the same hair.
Enyalius entered his keep to see his whole family awaiting his arrival in the dining room. He felt sick at the smile on the faces of each of his boys as they ran up to him. Helzig and Alissa were rubbing their brows and sighing as Eleuia poured wine into four goblets, handing two of them to the other goblets.
“Father, we’re going to war again? Can you take us?” Aineas asked excitedly. When he spoke, Enyalius saw too much of himself in the boy. Only, the boy’s tone was too lighthearted to be his tone from his younger years. It was more akin to Brargo’s, although Brargo’s personality was unwavering even in the face of most dangers and terrors. Aineas he suspected was more brittle, and that lighthearted, carefree nature would be snuffed out in an instant from the horrors that war brings.
“Absolutely not,” Enyalius snapped to the dismay of his sons and the relief of his lovers, “I’d rather die a thousand deaths than take you to Tyrus for this mission!”
“But father,” Aineas said with frustration on his face, “I’m becoming a great duelist, and my tutors think I would do well on the battlef–”
“Dueling!” Enyalius scoffed, interrupting his son, “Dueling matters very little on a battlefield! Your tutors? Oh yes, they know much about warfare from their seats in this city! Now, let me tell you something: Nothing those tutors teach you can possibly prepare you for the wars of my lifetime! Now you tell me, what will you do when a host far exceeding yours descends upon you with a damned wyvern leading the helm? What will you do when the people of an enemy city refuse to give you the man you are hunting? Will you turn the whole city to ash and rubble, slaughtering the inhabitants who don’t speak in hopes that they send a message to the others? Could you find it in your heart to willingly make orphans, and be known across the continent as a cold butcher? Will you willingly become a tool of the very government that starved the people of this city?”
Aineas was taken aback, each question stabbing him in the heart as he sat down and realized that he did not have an answer for any of them. Enyalius watched his son tremble at the very thoughts of suffering that his father had visualized for him. He started to stammer, choking on the words he wanted to say before dropping his head down to the floor and staring at his feet in shame.
Good, Enyalius thought, you can’t do any of that, and I don’t blame you in the slightest for it. It means you are a good person at heart. War isn’t for good people, it twists those who are good into being who they need to be for that particular moment. I’d rather you stay at home, and while I’m sorry that I had to snap at you, I’m grateful for it.
“But all my friends are going,” Aineas whispered, “They’ve become of age, and they’re all bragging about what they’re going to do once they’re soldiers. Why did you accept Brargo as your ward, but not me? Aren’t I your heir?”
“Your friends will not be going,” snorted Enyalius, “We aren’t accepting new recruits, the only men who will go to Tyrus are the ones that have gone before. This won’t be a war, but an orgy of destruction. I need men who will be angry that they have to return, not green lads eager to make names of themselves by burning something down.”
“As for Brargo, I owed a debt to his father and I wanted to test what it was like to have a ward like that. A ward with a personality like yours. I learned many new things in the last war, one of them being that many men who started young and hopeful and full of joy like you were twisted into cold-hearted monsters because they needed to be. I would not want that to happen to you. Not to mention, you are my heir and the heir needs to lead the home while his Lord is away.”
No, I won’t tell you that Brargo is more unyielding than you. That would only break you, my son.
Aineas stood up from his seat, meeting his father’s soft gaze with a cold glare of his own before walking off to his room.
“Father,” Magnus mumbled, refusing to make eye contact with his father, “You can’t keep us caged here forever.”
“As your father, you are correct,” Enyalius snapped, “But as your lord? You must obey!”
Magnus motioned for his younger brother Torvald to join him as they walked out of the room as well. Enyalius released a sigh as he slumped into his chair and snatched a full goblet from the table.
These children will be the death of me, I swear.
“You’ll look after them, will you? Make sure they don’t sneak out and try to join the army in some vain attempt at achieving glory,” he muttered as he sipped.
“Aye,” Helzig grumbled, “These damned children, “Always praying for the chance to fight, why would one want that for themselves, a chance to die?”
“You weren’t much different when you were their age,” Alissa chuckled, “I remember how much you begged your father to allow you to leave for Lunenmouth all those years ago.”
“Aye, and that was the greatest mistake of my life,” Enyalius said, “Not a day goes by when I’m in that damned tent during a war and wonder what my life could’ve been.”
“Simply to play the void’s advocate,” Eleuia cut in, “But what if it’s what they need? If they see the horrors you’ve seen for themselves, maybe they’ll finally understand.”
All eyes glared over at his youngest lover, Enyalius could see that the other two were wondering what was going through her head, but he knew she had a point. Relatively solid in advocating for the children while also siding with him.
“That’s a good point my dear,” he proceeded to raise his hands at the shift of glares from Eleuia to him, “But to counter, it’s damn near impossible to just spectate in a war. To be in it is to actually be in it. To eat, sleep, drink, laugh, cry, and rage with the men beside you day in and day out, they become your brothers in the camp and in the field. Whether you actually like them or not, you trust your life in their hands, and vice versa. Once you enter the life of a soldier, you don’t leave it. Even when you retire as a soldier, your life is changed forever. I won’t have that for our boys, and I know the three of you won’t as well.”
Alissa and Helzig nodded, and Eleuia relented as well with a sigh and a sip of her wine. Rays of scarlet sunset drifted in through the window, signaling to Enyalius that it was time to retire. He finished his goblet, gulping down the rest of the wine.
“I’ve got to wake up early to make sure our preparations are ready. Never re-mobilized a host so quickly, so I need to be certain that it’s done right,” he said as he rose, “Goodnight my dears.”
After scouring half of the city, Oremir finally found the chieftain’s crystal hut. He had been searching for what felt like a full day, although it was probably only a few hours. The ‘city’ was enormous, and every hut looked the same, except for this one which taught Oremir that the tallest hut would be that of the chieftain’s. It looked like it could have held at least twenty of the normal sized huts within it, gawking at how large it was. He thought they were modest people, so he wondered why it was that large in the first place. Entering, he saw all of his men sitting inside, eating some game that they must have caught outside.
“Where did you go?” Oremir almost shouted more than asked.
“They don’t eat our food,” Sindri muttered with a mouthful of venison meat, “So they escorted us out of the mountain to hunt. We just got back not too long ago.”
Oremir sighed in relief.
Then those screams aren’t from them, so where did they come from?
Ereph the chieftain of Tiarmotae was seated in a chair at the head of Oremir’s men, eyeing all of them until he noticed their leader. Upon seeing Oremir, Ereph grinned his black smile, “Tutor of my people, how goes their training?”
Oremir smiled back at him, “They’re doing rather well. Your son is acquitting himself quite well in the phalanx, and is good at vetting out the men with the most leadership qualities.”
Ereph nodded, “To be a leader is the primary purpose of our people. We do everything together, and that includes teaching all how to be a leader in our community.”
“That’s wonderful,” Oremir replied, “I had some questions, and I was hoping you could answer some of them.”
Whether you lie, hide the truth, or deflect a question, it matters not. I will know.
“I’ve been hearing screams at all times of the day, they echo throughout the inside of this mountain. Explain that to me, chieftain.”
The old man grimaced, “Our population is vast, with many smaller cities spread within the inside of the mountain range. However, ours is the only one with enough riakosend to keep us concealed from the presence of the god that plagues us.”
“Alysander…” whispered Oremir.
Ereph nodded, “Yes, the god of war essentially lives alongside us from within the mountain for a fortnight now. Before, not as much, but he has sensed something. Either his premonition has been weakened, and he did not know until recently, or he displayed the apathy that most of the ascendants have shown for the events of this world. He has been slaughtering our people with his only respite being when even he himself grows tired of the bloodshed. If not for our fertility and fast birth rate, he would have slaughtered most of us. However, our one saving grace lies in Tiarmotae, the city built from the Godsbane.”
“Godsbane? What do you mean?” asked Oremir, his face darkening at that.
“They don’t have stories of it in your civilization? Riakosend is a most powerful mineral, one that negates much of the power of a God, as well as life-spark. Within the void of this mountain we learned that while the heat that comes from the heart is powerful, the cold is the opposite. He cannot sense us here, and the closer he gets to Tiarmotae, the weaker he will grow. A city built entirely of this material would indeed become a nightmare of his. Tell me, if riakosend can weaken him, what will happen if he steps into this city?”
Oremir’s eyes widened, “You intend to kill the god of war, to lure him here. You’ve been leading him on, retreating with every slaughter and bringing him closer and closer to your city. If he has sensed your coming emergence from these mountains, he’d do whatever it takes, right? To ensure your defeat?”
Ereph grinned, “Yes, very good. Your new battle tactics and structure should provide him with enough fear to quicken his lonely war against us. We will lead him to where he will be at his most vulnerable, his most mortal, and then he will die,” his grin faded, and he looked solemnly at Oremir and his men, “Many of our men were lost in their sacrifice, and many of our women and children too. Such a painful choice to make, but it had to be done. We must be rid of him.”
Oremir felt the chill of fear creep down his neck, and felt the urge to vomit. He did not realize how deep this was going. It extends more than just a hatred for humanity, it was a hatred for the god himself. What would happen if the god of war died? The wind goddess died, yet wind itself as well as storms still exist.”
“To kill a god entirely is like fighting quicksand,” Erephy grumbled, “Even when their bodies are killed, a fragment of them will continue to live on in whatever element or concept they lorded over.”
A faint shrill filled the air in the hut, piercing through the riakosend. It sounded like a whisper, but it rang in Oremir’s head. The god of war was once again on the move.
Willem walked with Aerith down the corridor to her quarters when they bumped into Owin. Her betrothed ignored her completely, focusing all the enmity in his scowl toward his eldest brother. Willem’s face was flat, his eyes dull as he stared blankly at his younger brother.
“It should be you taking your wife to her quarters for the night,” Willem growled at him, “Not me.”
“Well, I figured I’d give you something to do,” snorted Owin, “Mother tells me that Justin is left to travel the state in an effort to mobilize the army quickly,” he cocked his head in a mocking confusion and a sly smile on his face, “What about you, brother? You’re the eldest, why not you instead? So you plan on staying home while father and Justin go to battle?”
Aerith watched Willem’s hands ball up into fists and felt a sense of awkwardness strike her like a hand across her face, she shouldn’t be here for a sibling quarrel like this.
“The heir must lead the home while the lord goes off to fight,” hissed Willem, “Something father would never teach you.”
“Any reason you have will just sound like an excuse to the men you wish to l–”
“Want to know something else?” Willem whispered, cutting off his brother’s next barb, “Maybe if you knew how to look and play nice, Aerith would have accepted the marriage and not set up a damned betrothal contract. You little, fucking moron.”
Aerith couldn’t believe her eyes for what happened next as her betrothed spat in his brother’s face, snickering as Willem snarled and threw his hand up, clutching Owin’s throat as he was being pinned to the wall. A chill ran down her spine as she saw Owin’s devilish grin.
It’s like he invites this kind of discord between himself and his family. They’re far different from mine.
“Wait ‘till mother hears about this,” whispered Owin amidst his gasps for breath.
“And what will she do?” Willem said as he tightened his grip, “Wail over her dead son? Her youngest son? Aye, she may have a soft spot for you, but let that bitch try to disinherit me with no proof it was from me. Father might cast her off himself–”
“Young lord?” asked Aerith, gripping the back of his tunic and cutting in before anything got any more dire, “I’d really like to retire for the night, please escort me to my quarters. Spare my betrothed for now, please.”
He turned to her and grunted as he let go of his brother, dropping him to his hind quarters as he coughed and took deep breaths.
“You’re going to regret that, bastard. Mark my words,” he gasped.
“You should kiss the ground your betrothed walks on,” Willem growled before turning his back on Owin and waving a dismissive hand toward him, “otherwise you would have been watching everything from whatever afterlife you believe in.”
A few silent moments later, they made it to the door to her new room. Aerith stuck out her hand to Willem, not for him to kiss in a belittling manor but to shake as equals. He had an ashamed look on his face as he gently gripped her hand and shook it.
“I’m sorry you had to see that my lady,” he whispered, not being able to meet her gaze, “He’s always had a habit of getting under my skin. We must’ve made a horrid first impression today.”
“It’s alright,” she said with a smile before proceeding to lie, “My family was somewhat like that as well.”
Willem had a vague sense of relief etched across his face before he whispered to her, “You’ll need some things of interest to read, I’ll get you those books from the crypt if you wish.”
Aerith was surprised at this, her eyes widening in shock, “You would do that for me?”
“Aye, just keep your door locked and await my knock. I’ll knock five times in a row so you are sure to know it is me. I will be back soon.”
She nodded excitedly before saying her farewell to him and entering her room. It was a room of modest size, but most of it was too dark for her to see aside from that which was lit from the moonlight peering in through a large window to her right.
I wonder, what books will he bring me? What secrets will I learn from them?