Edits: I took Chaos Leader's corrections to heart + added a scene that I forgot to do.
Volume I: Blood Harvest
Chapter 1: Inevitable Consequences
"...Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;..."
Please rate and review, so I know how and where to improve if the quality is poor.
For the rest of the evening, they had prepared the Madame's body for burial; family members who lived on manor grounds prepared their homes for the mourning period. The servants had also prepared a room for the child, a small, quickly converted attic space at the top of the manor. Kirgios was still in his armor when he laid his child to sleep, stroking her head as gently as he could with the small wrap of blankets, all while still wearing gauntlets. Somehow in all the chaotic motions, he was able to rock her to sleep.
When he had laid her head down on the makeshift crib, he noticed the grime of battle staining the side of her face.
How foolish of me!
He took the nearest white linen and dabbed her face to remove the dirt and blood, and then slowly dimmed the lamp so that the tan earthen colored walls were painted dark red and opened the window so that the cool summer air gently blew through. Outside, the moons shone through the blinds, crickets sang in the evening, followed by the whispers of the wind.
Kirgios watched her for a bit, sobbing softly into his arm, taking care not to wake her in his time of sorrow. He knelt there for some time, on the side of the crib, weeping.
Unfortunately, tomorrow, he would have to ride back to war. His thoughts were no longer on his country and his duty as they should be, but his concern for family. If he was to become one of the dead, leaving Krystal without a father, perhaps the maids would do a good job of her upbringing. Her diplomatic skills however, would have to develop from experience, not teachings. He would not be able to shape the future of his child. He was horrified by an improper upbringing, what if she was to be taught improperly?
What was he thinking! He was the Lord General in the entire province of Illisia, death was not a concern: it was an honor. Honor was a value he would want to instill in her mind before her coming of age. He did not like it, but honor is not an easy value to teach. Honor, duty, and his calling to the kingdom were the essence and inspiration of every man. He, of course, knew the ways of teaching a man. But the teachings of a child were new to him.
Perhaps example was the best way. Courage and honor is best demonstrated in the field of battle. An example set in the greatest sacrifice.
These things, however, would come in time, if he would be alive tomorrow or not.
When he left the attic room, there was the head maid, Sida. He had trusted her throughout his appointed office and marriage.
When he approached, she bowed, slightly.
"I was told that you were leaving at sunrise. The Madame has been taken into the city for preparation into the afterlife."
"Thank you Sida." He paused; even the sound of his daughter's name had brought up memories of her mother. God, how I wish you could have met her. "I do not know when I will be back; it may be as late as the harvest season. But if I do not return, I leave Krystal and her future in your hands."
10 years later
She had ridden somewhere to the east, among the golden waves of wheat and barley plants. Harvest was coming soon, and Sida had gone into town to start hiring workers again. Krystal had grown bored and began wandering the property on beast, exploring some places she had not seen before.
The wind was picking up a bit out of the east, stirring up the seeds and the smell of fresh wheat in the baking late summer sun. Just above the horizon, the moons were aligning with the Sister, a larger moon that rose and fell with the seasons. As the Sister peaked, winter came, and likewise, she fell with the summer.
Maybe Sida had come back from town and was already looking for her, but just one more sprint with the best beast. This time, though, she would sprint home. It was getting late, and news from the war had not come in three months. Her father was still out and everyone at the estate was still concerned. She galloped a bit, giving the beast a gentle kick, and rode farther east.
The beast was tiring out, she could sense it.
"Come on old girl, just one more push" she whispered, it seemed to pick up some speed, but they would need to return home soon.
Krystal and her father always had a competition: who could make it from a tree only three or four kilometers out from the house in the best time, and she was starting to catch her father. It took a while to walk to the tree itself, but she entertained herself in thought when she did.
Her father had always treated her like the world, even though he was always away at war for half the year. He stopped in when the rebels and the imperialists called the sacred armistice during the harvest season and the planting seasons. Stories of the wondrous lands beyond the district of Syrika like the mountains to the western front after the Dark Hills behind their mansion, the coastal regions to the east with rocky coastlines and the glorious battles there. The badlands and Pine's ridge to the south, supposedly the last resting place of the old ones and haunted by their spirits. Mages always took a pilgrimage to the badlands, saying that there was a presence there unlike any other. Recently, he had told her about the mountains and the tundra to the north and the last stronghold for the rebels and his own pilgrimage to the blade-master's monastery. He had brought back two of the finest Ed'rusian curved blades that anyone this far south of Geyoulbourne would find.
She had made it a point to visit these places at one time or another during her life. When Krystal told her father of this, he often laughed and told her to become a diplomat or a representative like her mother.
Krystal however, did not find these occupations as pleasing as her father liked. She wanted to be one of the legendary warriors from the stories that Sida told her. Traveling the lands of Illisia, preforming heroic deeds and saving the province from total destruction or making a brave rescue of a member of the royal family, in turn, becoming governor of a province, much like her father.
But that was only a wish, a someday on the horizon that would never be fulfilled.
There in front of her, not a few meters away was the tree. She had been totally lost in thought, forgetting to keep her wits about her. Chuckling a bit, she rounded the tree and began to focus. There was silence, for the exception of the wheat whispering, had filled the air as she prepared to make the jump from a standstill to a fast gallop, but lost the concentration when there was another noise.
Behind her, a strong galloping, three, no, four beasts, approaching from the north east.
A visitor, perhaps, of her fathers, she would inform them that he was not home and send them off on their way. But when she looked back, there they were, four beasts, all lined side by side, and all four riders she recognized.
As soon as she saw her father and the glow of his armor, she had not dismounted, but jumped from the saddle and ran.
Her father had dismounted with a shake of the earth as he landed on the ground, and then opened for an embrace.
Laughing, she embraced her father, holding back tears of joy and avoiding being pinched by his breastplate.
"Krystal! How was your summer?"
"Wonderful," she said, releasing the embrace, "Sida began sending me to the school, but I don't exactly enjoy it, my masters are strict and boring."
The four gave out a grand laugh. Krystal herself was slightly embarrassed. Her clothing was not fit for such an introduction, only wearing a pair of riding pants, a brown shirt and tunic.
"Perhaps if there was more swordplay, then it would interest you?" Asked Gian, her father's first man, Krystal quickly nodded in glee as her father picked her up and held her in her arms, another laugh was had.
"I would think that your daughter, Lord General, is a born fighter. Not a diplomat of any type," began Tulas, the top sergeant, "Takes after her father more so than her mother."
"Krystal," He smiled, sighed, then with a hint of frustration, "you know your mother wouldn't have enjoyed that comment, but perhaps we can spark some interest somehow. I do have many stories to tell you about Geyoulbourne and the northern realm."
"Father, are they staying with us?" She asked.
"Of course! But we have great news, but I'll have to share it in front of Sida, the townsfolk, and when the Generals arrive."
The square in the town of Syrika was a simple stone and mortar plaza with a statue of Lyrikos III, thrusting the sword given to him by the Emperor into the sky. Lord General Kirgios had this sword in his possession as a sign of his governance, but only displayed it during the fall festival.
Surrounding that was a fountain where the townspeople gathered to collect water and small gardens. All around the plaza were arches of stone, built of mortar, and topped with clay tile roofs. The sun was barely setting over the western horizon and to the east, a dark purple evening came to embrace the world. This evening was especially busy, as the harvest was to begin soon. People entered the plaza in a whirlpool, hiring workers and searching for foremen to work the Lord General's fields. Historically, Syrika was a peaceful and farm-orientated country, the residents known for their finest wheat in all of Illisia.
Krystal rode back with her father and the three of his top officials to the town just west of the estate. They passed through the front gates and a silence, followed immediately by a cheer introduced them. A grand welcome from the citizens and the harvest workers, but was quickly quelled by the Lord General with news of the generals' visit. A visit by every major general in all of Illisia was the most honorable event such a small district could have. When Lord General spoke, Krystal noticed, there was an uplifting quality of it all that was not there before. A joy had entered his mind and moral, and that of his people. They were happy with his rule, if anything, they were proud to stand behind the Syrikan banners.
"But," he interrupted before sending them off to work, he was still mounted and voice booming throughout the plaza, "You are the first people to know of this. And because you have helped me during these bitter times of civil war, I thank you. The army of Syrika is already at the doorstep of the rebel's fortress in the Matashina Mountains to the north. Our victory is closing in ever quickly towards our grasp."
So this was the cause of joy! A cheerful roar entered the crowd, one of celebration and festivities and a chant grew: Hail! Lord General! Hail, Illisia! Hail, Kisre!
The town square began to fill with hundreds more citizens, some even climbing the statue to get a view of the five riders.
"However," he interrupted, "This means that the harvest is cut short. Tomorrow even before sunrise, I will need you to be at your freshest and ready to display to me the work efficiency and determination that Syrika is so well known for. For I enter a critical time in this war, we cannot think to lose another second to the clock. If you do complete the harvest in three days, I will grant you a harvest festival fit for the very emperor of Illisia himself!"
Three days? Even Krystal knew that completing a harvest in three days' time was edging on the realm of impossible. It would take a week or more to even cut down the fields. Even more so, it meant a blood harvest was on its way…
A blood harvest was forbidden by the doctrine of The Way. Kisre strictly prohibited it. Any blood spilt during the Harvest was blood spilt by all and to be paid with offerings or blood of the guilty, contingent upon the severity of the sins.
A murmur entered the crowd, and then one of the elders spoke up.
"Does this not mean that we would initiate a blood harvest?"
"Yes," the lord general said speaking in a somber tone and dropping his tail. Murmurs arose among the people, "Dear Kisre help us, but the rebels have no crops that yield in the Matashinas. That only leaves them time to attack us. Unfortunately, a blood harvest will be upon someone. We cannot risk these men to grow their forces, only for our imperial army to be attacked in a harsher Mykozuman winter. Our war is almost over, and an era of prosperity is about to begin. But sacrifices must be made if we are to see the end of this travesty in our lifetime."
If there was any a colder moment on this hellish earth, you would have to be in the deepest pits of hell to find it.
Forsaken Tumas, stood outside of the gates and breathed. The cold, bitter air of Mykozuma filled his nostrils, burning as it entered. His ears felt no warmer, even hidden under his brown cloak he could feel the wind rushing in beneath the hood as it nipped at the edges: the first signs of fall.
A great magister once wrote that warfare is an era of abnormalities. The common man would not survive, however, the one who would think on his toes and adapt to the situation at hand would be the lone survivor. This of course, told true of current events.
Blood Harvest.
He never thought he would feel more welcome in that word before. What's a cornered prey to do? Wait while the predator attempts its business elsewhere required by religion? Perhaps, but attack was a necessity that either side couldn't sacrifice. Wait until the lethal Mykozumain winter to send our troops to their end? He was not some dumb Dodieric trapper filth that felt an obligation to Kisre. Kisre had blessed his righteous cause in the beginning, but when the Imperial army grew and the end was just on the horizon, Kisre had betrayed him.
He no longer needed Kisre.
It was indeed a great honor, a great deed to rebel. The unrightfully crowned, bastard Emperor had paid for his sins, and when they march upon this stronghold, they will pay dearly once more. He himself was once the court magistrate for the true Emperor. But when the assassin drove a blade through the Emperors gullet, then hell unleashed its true form upon earth.
The Emperor himself claimed no successor, many came forward, but the magistrate would use alchemic spells to truly see who the true man among the facsimiles was.
The blood of the emperors truly does show. A certain flower combined with the powdered bones of a night-gale and crushed together and it would turn a deep hue of blue. While he was in charge of testing, one pauper came forward claiming to be a bastard of the Emperor. This forsaken woodsman filth came from the southern forests of Galrog. He claimed that his mother was ravished one evening while the Emperor was on a hunting expedition. Although there were doubts, when he produced an Amulet of the Dark ritual of Kings (only five are known to exist, very powerful and dangerous things indeed) and claimed that the Emperor gave it to his mother, all doubts were removed. The other magistrates and even the chamberlain-in-charge backed his word and testing was omitted.
But one evening, Tumas snuck into the room of this pauper and collected the blood needed by cutting a bit on his hand.
When he had performed the test, it was only off by a hair (a negative in his eyes), which even then, was considered good enough by the other magistrates to crown the bastard Emperor and to make Tumas the Forsaken Tumas, to be ever exiled to the northern wastes for his treachery of truth. Yes, for seeking truth he was exiled and stripped of his rights and dignity.
And thus, he found himself here, cornered again and fighting against the world. Perhaps Kisre will be more merciful of his death.
Somewhere behind him, the second commander Rykovik had come behind him.
"My grandfather always had a name for weather such as this," he said, "The Reapers Scythe, the calm before the storm that is! But then again, the crazy old man had drivin' himself mad with knowledge; that he did!"
"Tell me," Tumas asked, "Did your grandfather die in war or in peace?"
"In war, of course, when the Westerners invaded through the Matashimas he led a brilliant last stand. I guess it's a good omen, that I'd die here, close to his final resting place as well."
"Well, perhaps we need not worry of death. I know a few good men, still in the employment of the empire who would help us escape to the East, across the oceans."
"Eh, I wouldn't do that. Illisia is my home, I was born here, lived here, and I will die here; even if it's by my kinsman."
"My friend, I respect you for that," Tumas replied, putting a hand on Rykovik's shoulder, "My sense of honor isn't so defined. Perhaps I haven't found my peace yet."
"Peace," Rykovik said slowly, "only comes when you've found your calling. Perhaps we shall die on this battlefield. My friend, I feel as if you have no fewer honors than I do. I would be proud to proclaim that we died side by side."
"As would I"