by Bleys J. Maynard
Rhys II
"Enter," came Father Isaac's voice, and Rhys ducked into the Chaplain's tent.
"Ah, Rhys. I haven't heard from you in several days. What can I do for you?"
Father Isaac was the only one in the camp who seemed comfortable around Rhys, so Rhys came to him a lot, whenever he had any sort of problem.
"I'm having some problems with the orders we're getting, Father. I understand that the Provisional Government needs to demonstrate its strength, but this is nothing more than indiscriminate slaughter."
Father Isaac sighed. "I don't like it any better than you do, Rhys, but it is necessary. The Provisional Government is the legitimate law in Cardia, and the Church fully supports the rule of law. To do otherwise is to invite anarchy. We need to show strength to keep people from fighting against the rule of law."
"Those aren't soldiers we're killing, Father. They're feeble oldsters and children. I...I guess I just need some reassurance that what we're doing is the right thing."
Father Isaac smiled gently. "You're a good soldier, Rhys, and good soldiers need to trust their superiors, just as I must trust the High Priest. We're not the only ones fighting here, Rhys. The Church and the Provisional Government are trying to forge a future in which people can be happy and secure. Sometimes, though, there are people who will not see things as they truly are, and they rebel against those who try to build a brighter future for everybody. Have faith, Rhys. Faith will solve everything."
Rhys left the tent feeling no better than he had before. Faith had once seemed like a fine answer to him, but his faith had been twisted. Instead of God, he'd found himself bearing the power of a devil, and he'd slain the rightful King of Cardia, the one man who could have restored order to this country without waging the bloody war that Rhys was embroiled in now. Now, he lived to make good on his promise to Marya: To live, and make a positive difference in the world. Twelve years ago, he'd left his home and joined the Army, and for twelve years, he'd lived the hard life of a soldier. Now a sergeant-major, he started to wonder if he'd made the right choice after all. He'd seen oldsters with their heads smashed in at that last village, and every one of them had brought back nightmare visions of the rightful King of Cardia, lying in a pool of his own blood with Rhys's ten-year-old hand bringing the oldster's staff down again and again and again.
Rhys met his patrol partner, Corporal Mendegger, in the stables. "Yo, Rhys," called the rough-voiced soldier amiably. "Quite a warm day, it is, eh?" The man's breath stank of alcohol.
"You're drunk," growled Rhys.
"What of it, lad? A fellow's got to have a good time now an' again. It doesn't hurt no one if he does, I tell ya. All for the good, me lad. All for the good."
"Not on duty!" barked Rhys. "You're a soldier of the government of Cardia. You represent your nation!"
"A pretty good representation, I'd say, lad," said the Corporal, "The whole country's gone t' shit. The only way to stay alive these days is to be the strongest one around. Well, I'll tell you, I'm sick of it. A fellow's got t' get away from all the blood an' killin' and just unwind sometimes, you know?"
Rhys simply glared at the man. He spoke softly, voice filled with menace. "The only reason I'm not hauling you to the Colonel is that we've got to go out on patrol right now, and you'd better haul your weight. Tomorrow, you'll be up at dawn to do your laundry and mine. If you're late, even by one minute, we go to the Colonel. Understood?"
The insolent grin slid off of Mendegger's face, and he swallowed audibly. "If that's the way y' want t' be, lad..."
The two men mounted up and rode out of the camp. They were to ride north for twenty miles, and then loop back via the Mill Road, and arrest or slay any brigands they encountered. Mendegger clearly thought that it was useless busy-work. Rhys didn't believe that there would be any incidents, but it was his duty to keep a sharp lookout, and he did. For the first ten miles, there was no traffic on the road save Rhys and Mendegger, but then they met a lone woman travelling the other way. Rhys started to ride right past her, but Mendegger dismounted and seized the woman by the arm.
"What do we have here?" he sneered, his hand darting for an object in the belt of the woman's robe that glinted in the sunlight. He produced an ornate dagger. "Look at this, Rhys. Synmaar clan crest. I think we've caught us a spy."
Rhys shook his head as he dismounted. "No," he said quietly, "No, Mendegger. It's not against the law to carry a Synmaar dagger."
"The Synmaar clan is seditious! They always say the government should be dissolved as incompetent!"
"It's not illegal to disagree with the government, either."
"Can you offer any evidence she's not a spy?" spat Mendegger, "Maybe I should haul you before the Colonel as an enemy sympathizer!"
A dangerous light came into Rhys's eyes, but the woman spoke before Rhys could reply.
"Spy? How dare you accuse me! How d--" She cut off as she found the tip of her own dagger pressed up to her throat.
"Don't make me cut that pretty little throat of yours, dear," snarled Mendegger, "Just sit tight and be a good girl."
Ire flashed in the woman's eyes. "You miserable rodent," she growled.
Mendegger pressed the dagger into the woman's throat, right on the verge of drawing blood. "You don't want to make me unhappy, dear," he snarled.
"Enough, Mendegger," said Rhys, "That's quite enough."
"Enough out of you, Rhys!" barked Mendegger, "I'm placing an arrest here, and if you interfere, I can have you hauled before a magistrate. Just open your mouth once more and see if I won't!" Mendegger's eyes turned back towards the woman, whose eyes were now wide with fear. He drew a pair of wrist irons out of his belt and fastened them around the woman's wrists. "Now, dearie, why don't you tell me what you're doing on this lonely old road? The truth, of course, don't think I won't know if you're lying."
The woman spat in Mendegger's face. "You're a disgrace," she sneered, "It's people like you that turn the citizenry against the government!"
Mendegger grinned. "Now, now, dearie, you don't want to be too spirited. I might just have to get rough!" Mendegger reached out with one hand and gripped the collar of the woman's tunic. "I might enjoy it if I have to get rough," he said with a leer, "But I promise you, you won't."
Rhys put his hand on his sword. "Mendegger, that's--!"
He was cut off as a lone figure hurtled out of the woods at the roadside and crashed into Mendegger. The man drew his sword and decapitated Mendegger with one single motion. Rhys hardly blinked--It was horrifying to see someone you know get killed, but he knew all too well that if he allowed himself to pause in shock, his head would tumble to the ground, too. Rhys drew his sword and faced off against the man. He was good, Rhys could tell, but Rhys had never lost, not when he was carrying the Ryuugumi-made katana that Marya had given him on the day he left home. It had been Kagetsu's sword, she'd said. It was called dokubaraken, the Blade of the Poison Rose.
"Alec!" gasped the woman in recognition.
"Yo, Lorelei," called back Alec jovially, "Seems like I'm always just in the nick of time to pull you out of the fire, it does."
Rhys seized the moment of the man's distraction to make his attack. Moving like lightning, he lunged at Alec's midsection, bracing himself for the feel of his sword passing through flesh.
"Not bad," commented Alec. "Of course, perhaps I should have known by the weapon. Those Ryuugumian swords are pretty hard to master, even for an adept swordsman."
"I've never lost," replied Rhys smoothly. "Now, I've nothing against the Synmaar personally, but you slew an officer of the Federal Army. I have to put you under arrest."
"Oh," laughed Alec, "Is that so? Well, it appeared your friend was about to ravish this lovely young lady here--I couldn't very well permit that. I'm afraid I'm not willing to accept arrest."
"I didn't think you would be. We'll have to let the blades decide."
"I suppose we must. May I ask for my opponent's name? I'm--"
Rhys cut him off. "I don't want to know a dead man's name. As for me, I'm Lt. Rhys Lain of the Federal Army." Traditionally, it should have been followed by "son of Arnaud Lain," but Rhys preferred to forget who his father--and more importantly, his grandfather--had been.
The two men charged at once, each strike parried and each attack countered. For minutes, no blade tasted flesh, and the two combatants appeared locked in a dance as much as any battle. Finally, though, Rhys made first blood, with a long slash that slanted across Alec's face, narrowly missing his throat. Rhys relaxed for a bit. Even if he could only manage small victories at first, he'd wear out his opponent in time.
Alec advanced, grimfaced, and Rhys readied himself for the attack. He'd learned to predict what Alec was going to do from tell-tale movements that came a bare instant before the action--But even that bare instant would be enough, in time. Alec struck--and changed his attack in midstroke, sending Rhys's blade flying. Alec followed up with a solid kick that met Rhys's just above the point where the ribcage split. Rhys hit the ground with a crash, and found the other man's sword at his throat. It was over.
"As I was saying, Rhys Lain, I am called Alec Grandbell. You're a very good swordsman, but it seems you've not yet learned that no matter how good you are, there's always someone better."
"Alec, no," said Lorelei quietly. "This soldier stood up for me. He's not like the rest of the Feds."
"Is that so?" asked Alec, "Well, perhaps there must be men of honour, even in the Army. Farewell, Rhys Lain. If it's any consolation, for a time I thought that it was I who'd finally met someone who was better than I. I hope we meet again someday."
Rhys lay on the ground with his eyes shut until the last sounds of Alec and Lorelei's departure faded away.
"Come in, Rhys," called Father Isaac.
"You asked for me, Father?" replied Rhys.
"We need to talk, son. It seems to me as though you've lost your faith in God, ever since Mendegger was killed."
"Maybe I have. I should have been dead, too, except that Grandbell allowed me to live. Once, I thought I had a great destiny to do God's work, but now...if I'm part of God's design, why did He allow Grandbell to defeat me?" Of course, Rhys hadn't been in real danger--he could have used the power--but surely God wouldn't rely on the power of a monster.
"Perhaps he didn't. Perhaps it was a message from God that the way you've been thinking is mistaken."
"Mistaken?"
"You've always felt invincible, Rhys, and that's dangerous. Come the time for you to play your role in life, you may fail to take precautions because you feel they're unneeded. Maybe God wants to make sure you live to fulfil your destiny."
"By almost getting me killed?"
"Ah, Rhys, what mind can comprehend the will of God?"
The thunder of hooves on the ground brought Rhys's attention around. "What--? There should be no riders here!" He dashed out of the tent, hand on his sword.
"Rise and to swords!" shouted a grizzled old officer, "We're under attack!"
Rhys drew his sword and charged into the fray. He recognized the enemy's insigina--Scuns. The ancient nation of Scundia had declared its independence from Cardia earlier that year. But what were Scuns doing this far north? Scundia was on the southernmost coast of Cardia. They shouldn't have been able to travel so far north, not unless local anti-government milita were helping them. Rhys assessed the situation. It looked pretty grim. The Scuns outnumbered the army almost three to one. Rhys had already dropped five enemy, but he knew that not every member of the army could do that. Once, he would have charged ahead anyways, certain that God would grant victory to the army, but the words of Alec Grandbell danced through his head: no matter how good you are, there's always someone better. Were there any soldiers of Grandbell's caliber in here? Rhys didn't care to take the chance. He retreated back to Father Isaac's tent.
"Father," he said, "We're going to lose. We're outnumbered three to one, and almost surrounded. Scuns are polytheists, and don't hold much regard for the Church--We've got to get you out of here."
"Rhys," said Isaac uncertainly, "Your place is out there on the battlefield. I can make my way alone."
Rhys shook his head. "No. I can't risk it. One more sword out there on the battlefield won't make much difference--The Scuns will eventually win. My duty is to protect those unable to protect themselves. I have to give you a chance at life."
Father Isaac bowed. "Very well. And Rhys--thank-you."
Rhys simply nodded and escorted Isaac into the woods. There were horsemen here, but there weren't as many. Two helmeted Scun soldiers were conferring together in a clearing--They had just enough time to see Rhys come hurtling out of the shadows before their heads were parted from their bodies. Rhys boosted Father Isaac onto one of the soldiers' horses, and mounted the other himself. Pausing briefly so that father Isaac could say a quick prayer for the two dead scuns, they charged southward, towards safety. The forest ended abruptly and the two men found themselves on the banks of a river, with the midafternoon sun reflecting against the water, forcing Rhys to look away to shield his eyes from the glare. For one long, peaceful moment, there was silence, and then the sounds of pursuit could be heard in the distance. Rhys cursed inwardly. The river was blocking their escape.
"West seems safest," muttered Rhys, "but your guess is as good as mine. Do you know of any crossings nearby?"
Isaac shook his head. "I've never been this far north. We'll just have to take a chance."
Rhys nodded, and motioned for the priest to precede him. He unbound his horsebow from the saddle and nocked an arrow, ready to let fly as soon as the enemy came into sight. He hadn't long to wait. His first arrow dropped a horseman, but more were hot on his heels. The Scuns started firing, and an arrow struck Isaac's horse in the throat. Rhys leaped from his horse and snatched Isaac from the saddle, fearing that the horse's corpse would land atop the elderly priest.
"Thanks," panted Isaac.
Rhys looked around. There was no escape in sight. The Scuns weren't firing arrows anymore, but they had the two men surrounded.
"Father, can you swim?" he asked.
"A little, I suppose, but--"
"Then escape!" snarled Rhys, pushing the older man into the river in the hopes that the current would carry him to safety. Also in the hopes that the fall wouldn't kill the old man.
Isaac reacted instinctively, reaching out for anything to steady himself, and grabbed onto Rhys's shoulder. Surprised, Rhys was unable to brace himself for the sudden pull, and both men tumbled into the river below. Rhys struggled to place himself underneath Isaac in midair in the hopes of softening the elder man's fall with his own body.
Rhys felt the impact of his back against the water, and consciousness fled.