6 Days Left
Sveitha was stuck in a fucking nightmare. She rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands as the evening sun slid into the pavilion. She was at the center of their armies, gathered on top of a hill. They’d barely gotten their men out of the city, before Ragnar’d started amassing his own forces.
Already, they were drawing up into neat lines despite the lateness of the day.
“It’s a scare tactic,” Grimar reassured everyone at the table. “Running a charge this late in the day, even with the sun on your back is stupid. Even if he has enough light tethered to light the battlefield, it’s still going to become a slaughter on both sides.”
Huw, one of the two sadukarin mercenary captains from Inga’s army, scoffed. “Do you lack eyes, or is your skull too small for your mind?”
Arlo, the other captain, joined in with a snort, “There’s an entire academy behind him, of course he has enough light tethered to shine the battlefield a hundred times over.”
Grimar rolled his eyes. Sveitha knew the sadukarin’s had nearly had as many clashes with Serpent-Vein as they’d had with Ragnar’s men. There was little love lost between the two parties. The old warrior stood from his chair, “If you think he could be tapping into the students at his academy why don’t we all just surrender now? How many warp students do you propose he has? Do you even know the ratio between the various elements? The ankirians are there to make sure that the ones who lead the academy are capable of their job, to make sure they aren’t abusing the students. Wasting the United Alliance’s valuable resources would be more deadly than turning his back on us.”
The sadukarins scoffed but didn’t otherwise reply to Grimar. Despite the tethered’s generally unlikeable temperament he was more experienced and better trained than anyone else at the table.
Sveitha had some training in managing armed forces, but she was starting to realize she didn’t have nearly enough to manage this kind of a fight. Something Grimar, annoyingly enough, agreed with. If he hadn’t suggested they limit the options and draw out of the city, she wasn’t sure what she would’ve done, only that it wouldn’t have gotten far.
Sveitha tried to take a moment to center herself, but the camp around her kept forcing its way into her mind. The men yelling, or even screaming, the scuffle of boots on the ground and animals crying out, the sound of metal being sharpened were all just the least of her disturbances.
It smelled far far worse than any of the trips she’d ever gone with her dad. She didn’t know if it was just a function of the size of the army, or the proximity of the filthy sadukarins, but the stench had at more than one point almost turned her stomach.
Not to mention her uniform. The stiff collar stuck at her soft under-jaw whenever she turned her head, and the fabric chafed against her neck. The suit was more uncomfortable than even some of those newer dresses from Vargish. She adjusted the hem of her sleeve as she looked out over the council, feeling the red and inflamed spot where the embroidery scratched her skin.
This was a nightmare from end-to-end.
“Then how do you suggest we proceed?” Sveitha asked. “If we’re not fighting tonight, can we just wait until morning?”
Grimar nodded, “The wall closes off our flank and the sun’s going to rise behind us. In the morning, just before dawn we’re going to ready ourselves for the fight.”
“And charge?”
“That sounds mighty fine to me!” Huw exclaimed slamming a broad palm on the table. “A glorious charge to rundown our enemies!”
“Well said,” Arlo agreed raising his fist in salute.
Sveitha and Grimar glared at the two thick-bearded sadukarins. Sveitha with dislike, Grimar with disgust.
“Ragnar’s not just going to let us go charging. He knows what we’re planning to do, he can tell where the sun’s going to rise just like we can.”
“Well said,” A new voice chimed in.
Sveitha jumped out of her chair, her heart racing in her throat, “No one’s allowed in here!” she exclaimed turning in the direction of the voice. He was a smaller man with grizzled features, lines carved into his face as much from age as the wear and tear of the weather. The man limped into their tent with a cane in hand, behind him walked a tall, well-muscled, dark-skinned man, ankirian if Sveitha were to guess.
Sveitha worried at the sudden appearance of the two men and how they’d entered the heart of their camp, but it was nothing compared to Grimar’s reaction. The master tethered startled out of his chair toppling it as he leapt away from the two men.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
“Ragnar!” he exclaimed. Grimar didn’t reach for the sword at his side, but that didn’t mean much coming from him.
“Master Grimar,” Ragnar greeted, “Please you’re being rude to your guests,” even as he spoke he hobbled over to the table and started picking through the notes.
Sveitha stared in shock at the old man. This was the general they’d been fighting, the principal of the academy. And he walked right into the heart of their armies. The sadukarins had only barely started to react, jumping out of their seats. Arlo’s foot got caught on the leg and he stumbled. The man had to catch himself with his hands, causing his breast plate and shirt to ride up his gut.
“How did you get in here?” Sveitha demanded looking around for her men. They still stood stationed at the perimeter of the pavilion. “Grab him!” None of them reacted, instead, they just looked nervously at the old man “What are you doing?” she screamed at them, “Grab him!”
“Sweetheart,” Ragnar said with a smile as he pulled a map over to look at it. “I’m too scary. They’re normal soldiers, ones who’ve been at the front lines if I were to guess,” he turned to gaze at the men, “Soldiers who’ve seen what a tethered can do. Soldiers who’ve served under me.”
Sveitha looked around trying to figure out what to do, but she could feel the panic rising in her throat. As she scanned beyond the tent, she saw her mother and Asny standing at the edge of the clearing and looking in.
“It’s not that I’m against an old fashioned charge,” Ragnar said, dropping the map with a dismissive wave. “Sometimes what you need is a good run at each other to solve your problems. But I can solve this problem without such measures.”
“How did you get in here?” Sveitha demanded again.
Ragnar sighed and turned to her, “With the amount of spies I have in your army, I just walke—“ he stopped turning back to Grimar, “Mind your manners, you have a guest,” Ragnar pointed the man behind him. Grimar visibly paled as he registered something about him. He let out a startled grunt and fell to one knee before him.
“Now where was I,” Ragnar continued, lifting a finger to Sveitha, “I walked in. They basically open a path for me.”
On some hidden signal Sveitha couldn’t sense but made Grimar stiffen, a flare of light went up from Ragnar’s army. At first, Sveitha couldn’t tell what he’d done, then the screaming started.
She looked around and realized that chaos was breaking out all through their ranks. Her men were turning against each other slaughtering their neighbors. Horror dawned on her as she saw her mother and little Asny start running for the pavilion and the relative peace within.
“Is that young Asny?” Ragnar asked. Despite him continuing to speak in a casual tone of voice, Sveitha’s body still went rigid at his mention of her youngest sibling. “Grimar, I don’t think she needs to witness any of this do you?”
Sveitha watched her best general grit his teeth and walls of obsidian rose behind Asny and her mother. Her sister looked around in wonder as the stone walls not only blocked the sight of the men killing each other, but also much of the noise.
“Much better,” Ragnar smiled warmly at the little girl, her head on a swivel as she entered the tent. “Hey little girl, would you like to go see your brother, Dovar?”
“Dovar’s here?”
“Not here, but a short walk away,” Ragnar said.
“You’re not taking my sister,” Sveitha hissed crossing the distance to the gimp-legged man.
“You’re in no position to argue,” he leaned with a whisper, “traitor.”
Sveitha straightened and turned to look at Asny who was now standing confused just a few steps away from them.
“Why don’t you go with Grimar and Zubair?” Ragnar asked Asny, “They can take you to your brother, can’t they?”
“Certainly,” Zubair, the ankirian, had a faint accent, but he spoke elensk better than most foreigners Sveitha’d met.
“You can’t do this,” Sveitha hissed. “I have—“
“Tethered ready to attack the academy,” Ragnar smiled at her, “Luckily, I’ve foreseen your plan and have left enough forces behind to utterly destroy them if they try, but even then, how would you get word out to them? How would you signal them? Is the slaughter of your armies their signal? Think about this, Sveitha. Think. Then come quietly.”
----------------------------------------
Saleema strolled the dark shadows of the garden alone. She’d left the man, she closed her eyes trying to recall his name… Something with L, Loaf? She winced realizing that wasn’t right. Was that happening more often? Had it happened more often before? She worriedly scratched at her chin, shivering in the cold. Why is it so cold? I’m… not in Ankiria… she closed her eyes generating a thousand bursting bubbles of space, sensing how they reacted with the limits of the world. Too far north, Sadukar? No Elir, it must be.
Someone attacked her from behind, their hand closing on her shoulder. In an instant she’d ripped Jagged from its space-sheath and in a blur of rainbow she sheared him in half. Her father’s sword hummed with power for a moment as she searched her surroundings with a wave of excess space. He was alone.
She could feel the painful crackle in her eyes echoing throughout her tether-space as she withdrew her Disciplines back into her body. She was about to walk away when she noticed a corpse in the livery of Elir’s Queen. A bit of cloth stuck out from his breast pocket. The linen was dark in the shadows but it tickled at something in the back of her mind.
Carefully, she removed the sticky fabric from the pocket. She frowned looking at the cloth as it folded out. It had been cut nearly in half. She frowned looking at it closer. There was a party going on in the mansion behind her. The lights from it was cast into the garden. If she lifted it just right, she’d just catch the barest glimpse of light reflecting across it.
Cocking her head, she saw the shiny red cloth reflect in the light. It meant… something important. She dropped it and turned away running her hands through her hair as she tried to think.
Squeezing her eyes closed, she beat against her temple trying to make her brain work. Why. Knock. Was. Knock. It. Knock. So. Knock. Hard.
She hissed in breaths, feeling her eyes tear up as she tried to think through the haze that bogged her every waking fucking moment. She’d smeared something across her forehead, she wiped some onto her hand and brought it into the slice of light that reached her.
Red.
She looked down at the cloth again, at the man she’d killed it. She hissed in a breath, he must’ve been the messenger, or an assassin?. Maybe he was both, some part of her muttered and she nodded.
She looked from the red cloth to the party she could see through the windows. The boy, she’ll let me have the boy… Ranvir, a feverish light entered Saleema’s broken eyes as she walked towards party.