"Many people quickly forget the times of kings which are overshadowed by the works of those who follow them. Worse so, some forget said kings even when they still remain alive. I am the first to admit that the rule of Philionel de Sailune has been nothing but beneficial for our realm. With him, we entered a time of unprecedented peace and prosperity, and he should be saluted for doing such a thing.
However, I ask you, who read these pages: should we condemn those who had made less popular decision because they loved our proud Kingdom of Sailune as much as our present, beloved Crown Prince?"
Sarak Gengkar, Sailune: Its Kings and its People
Chapter Eight
Another branch whipped across Marcus' face, and the sorcerer growled and pushed it back. He had never been a shirker or someone really inclined to complaining - he prided himself on getting through things steadily, without letting emotions such as discomfort, embarrassment and irritation get the better of him. However, travelling in a swampy part of a forest, with insects biting and buzzing all around, trudging through slimy terrain, all that didn't help his humor. When damp nights, cold food and the beginning of what could frightfully be a cold in his nose, his disposition quickly crossed from tired to downright sullen. Still, he continued to keep this to himself, as did all of companions.
Except one.
"Freaky, buzzy, bity, flimsy little flies everywhere! I could be having a good time at a cozy inn back in Sailune, having myself a sumptuous meal and a room with a soft, DRY bed, but where am I? I'm here on the worse rescue operation that I've ever seen, in the forest in the failing light, soggy, tired to the bone..."
The red-haired sorcerer sighed. Fezra had been muttering louder and louder in the last two days - not totally for no cause. He had sympathy for her, shared the feelings she had about her present situation. But the thing was, her griping was only making it all not only harder to bear, but undoubtedly more dangerous.
Nerves were on edge, fraying. And as she was the one making the most noise by far, she was the designated outlet when someone needed to unload.
In this case, it was Zashtla who blew first, the muscular swordswoman whirling on the smaller sorceress in a groan of leather and the slap of a sheathed blade. "What does it take for you to understand QUIET?!?" she hissed "Don't you realize that we're still near the front lines! I for one don't want to have to fight a scouting force because you can't keep your mouth shut!"
"What I do with my mouth, Zashtla," Fezra said swiftly, batting a fly away "Is my own business. And as for patrols, we evaded the two who saw us."
"Or rather HEARD us, thanks to you!"
"I think that your discussion isn't helping." Marcus finally interjected, on edge himself. "If someone WAS around, he'd have heard us a mile off by now! Now just go on walking before you bring who and whatever is in this Gods-forsaken woods to us."
He had made a mistake, he could see. He had learned long ago that the worst thing a man could do was rant in the middle of another rant going on between two women. He had seen that, in many case, the many who interrupted became the target for a concerted effort of the total wrath stored in both women. As they turned two burning pairs of eyes in his direction, he wondered if the voyage in the swampy forest hadn't addled his wits a bit badly to make him forget such a fact.
The attack, however, was cut off by another male voice that cut through the tension like a knife with the simple word "Quiet."
Normally Loerik Gabriev didn't have that kind of power in the group. In fact, it was often Fezra, Hallia, or he who took the decisions and controlled the companions, depending on the circumstances and with different means. However, Loerik was a veteran mercenary and an extremely formidable swordsman. When a fighter of that experience told his group to be quiet so close to battle lines, one listened very carefully.
They immediately did so, moving closer to the swordsman, who stood as if poised on the brink of either attacking or fleeing, his face unreadable in the failing light.
"Loerik, what is the-" Hallia began.
"Hush! Listen!" he whispered.
Marcus did. At first he heard nothing but the wet noises of a swamp and the buzz of mosquitoes. And then, his ears picked up something, at the edge of his hearing. Straining, he heard a sort of soft rumbling, and what appeared to be the neighing of a horse. It was faint, but then Loerik had proven himself a man of perfect hearing and vision.
Zasthla tsked with her thin lips. "A moving body. A heavy one. Certainly not a caravan in these parts."
Fezra nodded. "No merchant worth his salt would bring a caravan anywhere near these parts with the war close by."
"A military force?" Hallia said.
"I'd bet it's just that." Zasthla muttered "Moving south, so its either a Lumerian force returning, or an Elmekian force penetrating."
"Neither. The sound's too haphazard to be a regular army unit, but neater than what a militia would be. My money's on a mercenary force...about two to three hundred strong."
That wasn't good news. Mercenaries were less disciplined than regular soldiers and lacked the weaponry of heavy-mounted knights, but they had the savage experience of people who could fight more than their share. Magic could deter them, but even it might not really stop them if they ever went for blood. From the tightening in the poise of his companions, he saw that they all arrived at the same conclusion.
"That's it." Loerik said. "We can't risk attracting them to us. Besides, the light's really staring to fade fast. I say we find a drier spot to sleep and set up a watch to make sure we don't get any nasty surprises - like a raid.
No one was about to argue with that kind of argument, not even Fezra objected. Turning a bit parallel to the moving mercenary force, they eventually found a place where the ground wasn't all soggy, and where the bugs didn't sting too much.
"Almost an inn, if one disregards the scenery." he muttered, letting his pack go down from his shoulders. Gods, but he was so very tired! The damp had seemingly entered every fibre in his clothes, and he knew that there was no hope of a fire that night, nor the night after that. He longed to be out of this danger zone.
The others huddled nearby; Loerik and Hallia close as usual. Although the two could definitely couldn't be called a couple - yet - the two had seemingly grown closer ever since Fezra had plotted to force the swordsman to sleep in the same room at the inns they stayed. A disturbing concept to the tall man, who had seemingly been raised in the stiff and conservative ways of the elves. It had been an ocean of amusement for all involved, and Marcus had never missed a single opportunity to embarrass his muscular friend further. Alas, even those amusing thoughts couldn't keep the damp out of him.
"How long are we going to keep on this?" he groaned. "Cold meals, damp clothes, moods going down. I'm not a pessimist, but we can't keep up forever."
Loerik nodded. "My guess is we got two more days of forest then, and one more day outside. Then we should be clear of the front. According to a map I saw, there's a small village just one more day off. Its in a very remote region, so it should still be standing."
Marcus sneezed loudly while Hallia sighed. "I intended to return to my country one day. I never thought I'd have to sneak into it."
"Just be glad you get to see it before there's no country left for you." She looked back at them steadily in the gloom when they stared at her. "Don't look at me this way. It's harsh, but it's the truth. The kingdom's troops are exhausted. Its only a matter of time before the empire wins."
No one could say anything to that. Hallia swallowed, but kept her composure. Even Loerik didn't offer comfort, for it would only have been a lie. They all knew that victory would one day belong to the imperial army. Weren't they insuring that, after a fashion?
"Well, we might as well get a bit of sleep. Damp or not, I'm bushed." Fezra said, and at once she rummaged through her pack, unrolling her blankets. After a beat, the others followed suit, and Marcus saw Loerik put a gentle hand on Hallia's shoulder. Wordless sympathy. Right now, that was the best he could give. Maybe there was hope for the lunkhead after all!
He rolled himself into his blankets, shivering. Damn it was cold. He'd be lucky if he didn't catch something serious before the dreadful ordeal was through. It was starting to rile his sensibilities.
Grumbling, he wondered what Lionel, Phil and Narie were doing right at that moment. Probably feasting at the king's table in Sailune's Royal Castle.
Some people just didn't know their luck!
* * * * * * * * * *
"I wonder how the others are doing right now."
Probably having far more fun then I am right now, Philionel decided in his most grumpy mental voice. A good thing he didn't voice that out loud - not only was this certainly untrue, it wasn't the way a warrior of justice would be. One who followed such a way was always dignified, and didn't whine about such things like an overbearing father and the frightening prospect of marrying someone he neither knew not cared for.
Alright, so he was whining. But at least he wasn't showing it. Or was he?
Lionel answered the question Narie had idly asked in his methodical, patient way he had. "Probably having a far worse time than we did. We crossed this country by roads, and slept in inns. Had hot meals instead of cold one. And we're walking towards one of the greatest cities in the world, while they are probably dodging patrols left and right."
"You have a way of saying things, sir." she said, suddenly meek, idleness gone. Although he was ahead of them both, he could feel the apprentice's frown. She had acted distant and far too proper during their journey.
"I suppose I do at that. " he answered hesitantly. His tone then grew strong again. "And if our good Prince here could wipe the bitter mien off his expression, perhaps he could tell us if we are nearing our destination?"
Phil barely checked a double take. It seems his interior whining was showing after all. So much for looking like a proud defender of justice today.
"We're very near." he said at last "Up this hill and then we'll see The City of White Magic in all of its glory." He even managed to put some pride in that sentence.
Still, when they went up the hill, he couldn't even feel flattered by the frank admiration in Narie's gasp and in Lionel's humming.
"I've never seen a city like that before. Its...huge! And it's so beautiful! It makes even Lumeris look small." Narie exclaimed. Lionel nodded empathically, admiring the architecture he saw in the evening.
"Its indeed large. Long have I heard of the proud capital of Sailune, its tall walls, its magic and its temples." The one who had the distinct and rare honour to be the apprentice to one of the Five Wisemen of the Age gave a groan of appreciation. "This sight, however, is even better than I had imagined. It rivals Sairaag itself in its majesty!"
Normally the prince accepted the words as they were. After all, even living most of his days inside and around its walls, he saw the greatness of what would one day be HIS capital. The great walls forming a barrier against magic, rendering them impregnable to normal siege weapons. The lights winking increasingly as night started to overtake the day and the people retired to tavern and hearth with friends or loved ones. It was a safe city, a prosperous one, and he was proud of it.
But the only thing he felt right now was that he had a wife he was to meet soon.
Damn tradition! Damn his father! And damn whoever that girl was, for that matter. "Come." he sighed "They'll close the gates within the hour. We must make haste."
They did, briskly walking the last miles swiftly. They passed the gates as inconspicuously as possible, Phil hiding most of his face under the hood of his cloak, and walked the wide, clean paved street leading to the castle. His companions sometimes looked at a stall or a piece of architecture, and he was sure they found his lack of interest a bit rude and irritating. Well, as far as he was concerned, he had a right to be rude and irritated.
They eventually walked to the great, ancient gate leading to the royal castle, and were at once challenged by a pair of guards, who expertly grasped spears and pointed them at chest level. "Stop, and in the name of Sailune and King Fedoniel, present your name to us, or turn back!"
Getting past the elite royal guards, trained to handle anything from monsters to sorcerers, would be extremely tricky to anyone else, and dangerous to those with the wrong set of intentions. For him, however, it was a stunningly simple task. He swept back his hood, revealing his face, knowing it was recognizable by the torches held on the gate.
"Peace, my friends." he said "I am Crown Prince Philionel, and these are my guests. We are on our way to meet the King." The guards were on their knees almost before he had finished speaking, and he almost tore at his hair at this. "Please, please! You should know I hate this by now. One of you please go alert my father that his son has come home."
One of them went, and he turned to his companions. "Come with me. I extend my hospitality to you. In fact, I want you with me." he didn't find it in his heart to tell them why it was so important.
His father never met them outside the castle - of course not! It wouldn't be proper! - But his brother Christopher did, his young, well-dressed person shaking hands with him warmly before he had even entered the castle proper.
Once the brotherly effusions had passed, however, he warned Phil. "Be careful. Father is rather...miffed...at your latest escapade."
"Father has always been miffed about something I did, it seems." he answered, but his steps were slower as he made his way to the banquet hall, where he heard chatter and music drifting from minstrels, courtiers and nobles as they feasted with the King.
Silence came as the doors opened and all saw who was present. He could feel Lionel stiffen and Narie squirm behind him as all attention fixed on them. Murmurs ran through the vast hall as many of the nobles and sycophants recognized their vanished prince. Others gave calculating or surprised looks to the two behind him. He cared not for them. All he cared about were the people seated at the raised, most ornate table.
His father was there, giving Phil a look, which was a pleasant facade to an icy interior. But that was to be expected. After all, hadn't he gone off on what the older man would see as a deluded mission, even while tradition demanded he stayed? He certainly had personal cause to be angry. However, it had been a long time since Phil had stopped caring much about his father's opinions of him.
However, the person to his right, where Phil himself should have sat, captured all of his attention. Dressed in an expansive blue gown trimmed with silver and wearing more jewels than most common folk ever saw in a lifetime, she had an angular face and a pointed nose, which, somehow, gave her a very classical beauty. She wasn't displeasing to look at all. He locked his gaze with hers from afar as the silence lengthened. A gaze she broke with a faint smirk that managed to make him feel more humiliated than any tirade.
He knew that this was Valmatia Della Sar Elmekun, niece of the Emperor of Elmekia, and his future wife. He didn't have time to sift through his feelings or the impressions she gave him, however, as his father rose in the silence.
"Philionel my son. I am glad to see that you are safe." The eyes spoke of a different story. Certainly, he was probably relieved to know his son was safe - he knew his father wasn't devoid of feelings - but what spoke more loudly was the disappointment and the anger he saw beneath the surface.
"I am glad to be here, father. Sailune's lights are always a pleasant sight for my travel-weary eyes." A tacit way to acknowledge his pride over his travelling the countryside, and a subtle slight towards his father."
"Certainly. I am certain that the company of the common folk makes the fine life of a prince quite remarquable." The king subtly jibed back, then he motioned to a chair next to Valmatia. "Please, come and sit with us. I am certain you would apologize to Princess Valmatia for not being able to greet her at our arrival."
"Of course. However, I would like my two companions to dine beside me tonight. They have good standing, and soothe my feelings."
"That is easily arranged!" the king gave another frosted pleasant smile and snapped his finger. Chairs were whisked even as they walked to the table and talking and music hesitantly resumed. Lionel nudged him, and he nodded. He would have to talk to his father about the items stored in the sacred vaults. He would also have to apologize to his future bride. Many things which he didn't relish, and would put off for now. Tonight, despite his anxiety and doubts, he would enjoy being home.
* * * * * * * * * *
Kalarus spat the brew he had been drinking. The best ale in the house? The damn thing has been watered down - recently at that. That didn't improve his already foul move. He rose from his seat at the bar, and swiftly, grasped the tavern wench who'd served him. She gave a yelp of fright and pain at the sudden, painful pull. He cared not. Why, after all, should he care about a puny woman's whimpers?
"You gave me some bad ale, wench. I don't like that very much, I tell ya." he griped her arm more tightly "Might as well know, I'm thinkin' you did that on purpose cuz I'm an Elmekian merc and all. Isn't that the pothole o' things?"
"Please...I gave...you...our best...like you said." she gasped. The effrontery! Lying to his face like that! A shrew, nothing more. His anger mounted, cracking the tenuous control he had over it. He shifted his grasp to her neck, forcing her to her knees, the heads upward. He heard many other voices protesting, some angrily, some fearfully. He ignored them as he ignored the girl's whimpers. They were all beneath him, she most of all. With his fingers, he forced her mouth open, and lifted the pint of horrid ale he'd been given.
"Your best, is it? Not true here, I tell ya. But don't take m'word for it. Taste it yerself." he said, and poured the ale into her mouth.
He was doing it too quickly, he knew. Even if she'd been inclined to play along, she wouldn't have been able to take such swallows as to keep up with the flow. The fact that she wasn't feeling like playing the game only made matters worse. She choked almost immediately, the drink choking her throat, getting into her nose. Her hands grasped the arm holding her face in place with desperate energy, scratching him, beating him, in a flurry. It didn't stop him - his strength was far superior. He smiled down at her?
"Is that the best ale? Is it? IS IT, WENCH?!?" he growled, ignoring her gurgling pleas. His fun - for watching the woman struggle was quite an entertainment - was however cut short, as a blade clumsily slapped the pint out of his hand. His anger mounted anew at the interruption, and he turned to face a youth levelling a sword at her with basic expertise. He smirked darkly. "What are ye, pup? Some kind of hero wannabe?" he chuckled.
"I think you've done 'nought here. Now just let her go. You've had your fun." the young lad said, face set in stubborn defiance. Other patrons began edging away from the scene, including a very frightened bartender.
Kalarus grinned, his scarred face stretching in an amused manner. With swift movement, he slammed the gurgling wench into the thick table wood - she slumped like a doll on the floor, liquid flowing from her retching mouth. "There," he told the youth, rising. "Ye've got yer wish. Now how's about I get a little more fun? From ye, that is..." his hand grasped the hilt of his blade, and drew it before the pup could react.
"Have at you!" the young man said, his blade flashing upward for a strike. To most, it would have been a strong technique. But to Kalarus, it was full of holes. He caught the blade with his own at just the right angle, turning back upward and away from him, opening his adversary's body wide.
His masterfully crafted and balanced blade cut the youth's swordarm in two, slicing it cleanly, right below the elbow. Such was the shock of it the young pup only opened his guard further, his eyes widening as he stared at the bleeding stump where a forearm has been a mere moment before. He was almost pitiful to look at. Almost. He had looked for the fight, however. He had reaped his reward.
It took only one more strong, expert swipe to separate head from body. Nodding, satisfied, he turned an inviting gaze to the other patrons and maids. "Anyone want to play the hero? Take down the villain! C'mon, don't yet be gettin', cold feet, I tell ya." Still no one answered. All either looked at the unmoving serving wench or at the decapitated body. Feh. Farmers and shopkeepers. People who knew nothing of combat.
"Too bad. Well, I'll be expectin' payment for the bad ale. Anyone want to share with me?" Silver, copper and even two gold pieces spilled out from trembling hands. He grinned, scooping up the gold and silver, not bothering with the silver. "Much satisfied. The matter's closed and all. Have a nice day." He nonchalantly exited the tavern, right into the main street and walked off, ignoring the following commotion inside.
He had done what he wanted - scouting the town to see if it was worth raiding for the mercenaries he had managed to bring under his control since the day he had broken from his former band with a few trusted people. Nearly two hundred fierce fighters were now under his command, waiting to pillage where he willed, to kill where he willed. It brought him much satisfaction. Only one thing would bring him more fulfillment...no, he refused to think about that now.
The small town was hardly worth the time, he decided. Just a few dozen houses clumped together around a market place in the middle of ordinary-looking fields. A farmer's place. No real wealth like wine or silk or gemstones. Perhaps they could just mount a small raid to steal food, but other than that.
"Ceipheed, its so GOOD to be in a town again!"
He stopped, began turning. He knew that voice...
"Yeah, it sure beats the roads. I think we're entitled to using some of the gold we have to get ourselves a place to bathe, a place to eat and then a place to sleep, in that order!"
That voice too! He darted to the side as he turned, hiding in an alley, so that they passed not far from him without noticing him. It was those two! That damn stubborn woman Zastla, with two following in sorcerer's garments whom he didn't know. Then that priestess, the one who had attempted to attack him, disrupting his fun that night! And following right after her, in grimy armour but quite recognizable.
His sword was in his hand, and his hate and shame made him step forward towards the one who had humiliated him months before. Loerik! That damn lucky, arrogant PUP Loerik Gabriev was here, within his grasp! Reason, however, quickly reasserted itself. He was here, but not alone. And although he seemed tired somewhat, he knew his chances in a confrontation were nonexistent. He might be able to kill Gabriev if he took him by surprise, but he was certain the combined forces of the others would fell him.
And what was killing the sole man who had ever humiliated him so if he couldn't enjoy the feeling? No, he knew he had to contain his anger, at least for now. Using years of mercenary life, he decided to follow them, eventually moving just close enough to hear a part of their conversation.
"...wouldn't mind to get my teeth on some spiced beef with good ale myself." The hated swordsman was saying to the female of the two sorcerers, who reached up and patted him.
"You're speaking my language!" she exclaimed.
"And mine!" the male sorcerer added, pushing a lock of red hair out his eyes. "We made good time. I think we can rest two days here at least before starting off again. We can use the rest."
He smiled. Two days meant two nights. He decided he would organize a major raid after all... He returned to the present as the priestess turned her head in a direction...the tavern where he had just had some fun!!
"What's going on there?" she asked, and walked in that direction, the others following her. He decided not to follow. They would certainly ask questions. Zashtla and Loerik would recognize the work of a master swordsman. They would soon deduce his identity. And he would be outnumbered in a fight. After a last, hate-filled look at his rival and blood enemy, he walked back, towards the edge of the village, keeping to the shade of the buildings and then the trees.
Gabriev was there! His heart was filled with fierce anticipation. At last he would be able to regain his supremacy, to definitely quell the doubts within his soul! He would attack the town, use his men to draw off his friends, and then, his blood would be on his blade.
And he knew just how to circumvent the use of Loerik's accursed magical blade. A sure way!
He laughed as he walked now, out of town, into the fields. Life always had had a way of making things work out for him. Now he would prove that his defeat was fluke, and that no young pup could contest his supremacy in swordsmanship no matter how grand the name said youth wore.
And if he won, he could have a trophy worth more than a mountain of riches: the renowned, legendary Sword of Light!
* * * * * * * * * *
Ferlin Gredon Sar Elmekun the Second, Emperor of aggressive and powerful Elmekia, smiled benevolently at the man in front of him as he nudged a chess piece to the position he wanted. "Truly, ambassador, there is no need for concern. This simply the end of a three-centuries old territorial dispute. The empire does not wish to invade Zefielia."
The ambassador, a burly, thick-boned diplomat of over fifty winters, would not be assuaged so easily. "There have been talks in the Queen's court that there is extensive military build-up in your northern regions, some of them quite close to our borders. There is concern that such build-up might decide to use some of our territories as an - exercise point."
The emperor laughed out loud. "Ah, the things fops and courtiers would invent to interest the ears of the powerful." he chuckled. "Tell Queen Weada that she has my sympathy. I must endure such fools from time to time."
"Whether they are made by fools or not, you cannot deny the fact that over five thousand recruits are now arming close to our borders." the ambassador interjected, moving a rook.
The man who had worn the imperial medallion for over a decade looked at the chess game with intensity, although he'd already seen a fatal mistake his opponent has made - never be too hasty, always look for options a reversals. That was what had made him the winner in games and in the war, which was now waging far south of his capital. His charisma, added to that patience, made him an unstoppable force, and he knew it well.
"A necessary evil, I'm afraid." he said in what he knew was a perfectly saddened voice "The war rages on still. Although my troops now have the definite upper hand, I must protect my reserves in case the Lumerian Army should suddenly become more dangerous than it is right now.
"Which brings us to another question the Queen would want answered. Are the territorial rights clear? The imperial clerks have been less than helpful on the subject, and I have been denied access to the scrolls verifying the claims long ago."
A well-crafted, slightly indulgent smile, followed by a slight sigh. "An oversight, nothing more. If you so wish, I will have the documents sent to you for your examination."
"It would be an honour if you did, Highness."
The emperor nudged a black knight in front of the white king. "Checkmate, ambassador. A good game." he rose from his seat. "However, you will have to excuse me, for I most meet with certain advisors about matters of state."
The Zefielian ambassador accepted the polite dismissal with good grace - as Ferlin had known he would. Within moments he was gone from the emperor's private game room to the castle's ambassadorial wings. The emperor, however, simply stayed where he was. As soon as the great doors had closed behind the burly man, he turned his head to a luxurious tapestry representing knights battling dragons. "I trust you've heard everything, my brother?" he mused.
The tapestry parted in the middle, revealing an alcove from which Salemir, the Duke of the Westlands and his brother's most trusted advisor, had listened to everything. "I did." he said evenly "It sounded like a knight waving his sword and shouting battlecries in the dark."
The emperor paced a little, although he didn't feel any particular stress. What his brother said was true. The Queendom of Zefielia, despite its highly-trained - though small - army and its feared battle sorcerers, was in no shape to hope to sustain a long conflict of any kind, that particular realm still regrouping and recuperating from a financial crisis that Ferlin had subtly aided in worsening - his first unofficial action as Emperor. Although Elmekia wouldn't be able, to the contrary of what some feared, to invade the queendom, nor could it attack, forcing a status quo that had to be driving Weada mad.
The only way they could stage assault would be with Sailune's aid both militarily and financially. But he had taken care of that by giving old Fedoniel a very interesting bargain for his son's marriage.
"You're absolutely right." he said at last, stopping his pacing to stare at the paintings hung on the far wall. "However, we can't let ourselves become careless. Have half of the recruit remain on the Zefielian borders. Just in case Queen Weada has some - queer ideas."
Salemir nodded, then his face lost much of its blandness. "I heard that my daughter was ill-received by the Sailunean nobility." he intoned stiffly. There was some anger in his voice, but also some resignation. Ferlin had to admit that he sympathized. None of his four children had even half the intellect and strength Valamatia possessed. Perhaps the fifth would...
He shook his head. No time to think on that. "Her husband is an oaf, but the nobility likes her. Besides it all, the King treats her as his own. I have no worries she will manage this situation just fine. My present concern is the war. How long before we finally take Lumeris?"
It was clear his brother wanted to talk more about Sailune, but he wisely kept quiet about it. Instead he returned himself to a stiff, dependable mien. "From the reports, I'd say three weeks, a month at most. Their defences are crumbling. The forts protecting the capital are almost all taken or destroyed, they are short on money and manpower, and the people themselves are demoralized. It will not be long now."
"Excellent." he clapped his hands, once, loudly "Excellent. Finally the empire will once again be whole as it was meant to be!" He couldn't keep a slight choke on his voice. This had been the goal set by his grandfather, who had failed due to Sailune interfering, carried over by his father, who hadn't the strength to fulfill it, to him. He was momentarily overcome by emotion. "With Sailune unwilling to throw its weight against us, the other nations will have no choice but to accept our annexation, whether they like it or not. Even Zefielia."
"We will have to maintain a large army at key points in the conquered lands. It will cost us much gold and resources." his brother warned. The emperor laughed, raking a hand through hair that was greying.
"My dear brother. Once we have Lumeria, the army will have the resources it needs." he assured him. There was a knock on the wooden doors, and both men turned at the sound. "Enter." he commanded.
At once the door opened a crack, enough for a man to enter. Dressed in halfplate, with a red and brown cape, his stature and poise showed him as one of the emperor's highly trained personal guard. The muscular, hard-faced man bowed deeply.
"My Emperor, Lord Salemir. Forgive the impertinence of my appearing in your private moments, but a message has come for Lord Salemir, sealed in blue wax."
Salemir and Ferlin looked at each other. Blue wax meant matters of great urgency. It wasn't something one sent to someone as important and influential as the Duke of the Westlands without cause. "Give it to me at once, soldier. You have done well." the younger of the two Elmekuns said, extending his hand. The elite guard gave the letter, bowed to Ferlin and to Salemir, and left as precisely as a clock.
Neither liked surprises, and this, he felt, would probably be very displeasing to know. Still, he almost started pacing out of sheer impatience as his brother broke the seal and read the letter with eyes, which darkened progressively.
"Well?" he asked at last, not caring if he showed his mood.
Salemir's frown did not leave him as he handed him the letter. "Its from an unexpected source, but...I think its reliable. It appears some Lumerians are meddling with dangerous magic from the War of Resurrection."
"Hidden Lores?"
"Those very items, it would seem."
Ferlin read the parchment, squinting at some of the words, not having his brother's reading abilities. At last he understood it all, however, and a grim smile crossed his lips. "Well...my brother, I think we'll have to do something about the Lumerians' little plot, won't we?"
"Indeed. And I already know how to handle it."
"I never doubted it, Salemir."
* * * * * * * * * *
Loerik Gabriev let himself relax despite the stirring feelings in his guts. His intuition told him that there was trouble close at hand - feeling shared by Fezra and especially Zashtla, who was even more travelled than him - but his body demanded that he took his rest while he could. As he had learned to trust his instincts, he also knew that one should always heed the needs of the body. So he settled back on his bed, armour removed but close at hand, and compromised by thinking about the situation instead of moving.
It was pleasant to be in a town at last. Not an important target, probably not in the path of the invasion forces, the people there could expect nothing worse than a change of rulers. Although some who lived in the larger cities would find such reasoning treasonous, the swordsman had learned the truth long ago: the rulers lived far away from small villages, and so the people had no direct reason to feel an overwhelming sense of patriotism. They just went where the flows of fate took them. It gave the village a calm outlook despite fighting the heavy fighting between armies only days away.
But there was a problem even in this calm feel. The killing they had seen, the casual way it had been done, and the description of the man, all fitted together to give a picture of someone he had never liked at all, and whom he never wanted to meet ever again. He supposed there was a bit of fear in that need to stay away from one such a Kalarus. The man was, after all, a swordsman on par with Loerik himself. But it went deeper than that. In a way Kalarus personified all the bad choices he had made, all the things he had blinded himself to during his hollow years of mercenary work. He didn't want to face his old life just yet.
Of course, as Marcus had pointed out, it could always have been another skilled swordsman with a sick mind. But he didn't believe it. The way that kid had been cut up, the neat wounds, the precision of it. The joy of taking a life which he'd felt from the wounds. No. He hated it, but he couldn't hide from his damn intuition: it was Kalarus.
A man he had humiliated.
A man who didn't take to humiliation well.
A man who had never seemed stable to him.
A knock on the door mercifully brought him out of the disturbed train of thought he had found himself delving into. He raised himself on his elbows. "Come on in, I'm not sleeping or naked." he said, and then smirked at his own quip. Fezra was starting to really rub off on him.
The door opened, and Hallia stepped into the room slowly. He had half-expected it to be her - part of him, a bigger part then he'd overtly admit, had actually HOPED for her to show. As the days passed, as their talks grew in length and depth, he'd seen that this woman was, in many ways, much like him. Strong outwardly, doubting and confused inwardly, she had lost her mother to a plague and had given up the hope of ever seeing her father and brother alive after all her healing on the battlefields. He, on the other hand, still knew his family was alive and well, but perhaps forever out of his reach. He felt a connection with her that he never thought he'd have.
It exulted him. And it frightened him far more than any battle.
"Hello." she said awkwardly, her hands folded over her cleaned-up priestess garments. "I hope I'm not disturbing."
"NO!" he said. Too loud. She blinked, and he moderated his voice so he'd look less like a total idiot. "There's no problem. I was just resting a bit from our ordeal in that boggy forest." Ceipheed and all of the Dragon-Kings, his voice sounded so stifled! It had been this way ever since he had spent the night in the same room as she - a ploy offered by Fezra, of course!
Or perhaps it wasn't having spent the night nearby which scared him so much. Maybe it was something his mind had discovered that night, something which had grown in the days since then.
She took a step to the left, a step to the right, took a deep breath. She then opened her mouth to say something, and then seemed to think better of it and closed it. She fidgeted like this for a few moments before he decided to put a stop to it, for it was starting to worsen his nervousness.
"Its not the same here, is it?" he said at last. She stopped her movements and looked at him. He decided to blurt it all out. "In the forest, with the others, with all the discomfort, I could manage to act like nothing happened. But here..." he trailed off. His head bowed, but looked up sharply as she responded.
"Yes...yes I...I feel it too. You know, I thought that it would be fun, to get you to sleep in my room. You were so uptight about it, it was cute!" she grinned a moment as his face flushed in remembered embarrassment. It faded away quickly, however. "I...it didn't work the way I wanted, I didn't find it funny like I thought, and I just...I don't know. I don't know what I mean!" she threw her hands up into the air.
"That makes two of us."
"What?"
"I don't know how I feel either." he paused "But, as twisted as it is, its a good feeling." he rose "When I'm alone, with you...I feel...special. I feel...so good."
"Yes," she whispered, her eyes misting for a moment. "I feel the same way. I feel this longing. Its not...I don't know what to do with it. Priestess training didn't help us settle these things much."
"Hallia...do you...do you feel." he looked for words to say, adequate words, and found that he had risen and taken few steps towards her, that she had stepped towards him, and that he was on the verge of something. Something he'd never really experienced, something his life hadn't made him ready for.
But before either could walk the final step towards this experience, fate intervened as brutally as ever. Bells sounded frantically though the Town Square, and voices shouting in rising panic were heard, incoherent from above. The moment broken, Loerik went and flung the windows to his room open. He knew that signal. He looked beyond the town, squinted his eyes. And his elven blood allowed him to see what he wanted to see.
He went to his armour and started to put it on. "Help me Hallia, we only have a minute or two!" he said
She went to his side, her face now showing nothing of the turmoil, which had racked it instants before. "Is this what I fear it is?"
"You bet." he answered grimly. "Its a full-blown raid."
In moments his armour was on, the Sword of light buckled on and drawn, he raced down the steps, right into three men who happened to be raiders.
He took advantage of the fact the three hadn't been prepared, and lunged at the nearest fighter, dealing him a crippling belly wound before meeting the onslaught of the other two. A small beam hit one of the raiders, who slumped down, unconscious or dead. Alone, the third was child's play, and Hallia and he together defeated him easily. Nodding at Hallia, he hefted his ancient blade and ran with her into the town square.
A square that had been peaceful but was now little more than a battlefield. Mercenaries armed with swords and lances met a rag-tag people with hoes, sticks, scythes and pitchforks. The rag-tag defenders wore no armour, and obviously had less skill for battles. Although they outnumbered the raiders, there were many civilians moaning or still on the ground, and only a handful of the enemy.
A boom occurred, followed by a second, and two clumps of raiders were shattered, flying into the air, right in the midst of the defenders they were fighting. Loerik saw Marcus and Fezra, working back to back, chanting. Just a little farther, Zasthlas was giving two others quite a fight, and two already lay at her feet. He grinned. The battle wasn't lost just yet. He stepped in to take part in it.
"I've been waiting for a like that one, Gabriev, I tell ya." a frighteningly familiar voice said in a tone, which made the icy feel of his gut thicken. He turned, his sword raised for defensive action. He already knew whom he'd face.
Kalarus smiled at his, his own sword at the ready, his eyes twinkling with triumph. "Finally, Gabriev, we can settle the score." the smile became more feral. "And I'll prove no pup can defeat Kalarus!"
________________________
Falana of the Five Winds: The greatest sorceress who ever lived, whose only equal was Lei Magnus himself. Legends say that she was Magnus's lover, but fled his evil and joined the rising Triad Army, forming the First Knights with such as Oerlus the Silent, Gabriev and Sai Lune. She found true love with the elderly Oerlus, and following the war the two set about founding the first of the Magic Guilds. They had many children, the first of which, a daughter named Zefia, founded the Queendom of Zefielia.
The Inverses: A family in which magic runs very strongly, the Inverses are often seen as very intelligent but reckless, many of them also possessing a streak of greed. Supposed to have been descended from Dast the Contradictory, last child of Falana and Oerlus, many heroes have nonetheless risen through the centuries, although all of them were reported to be rather destructive heroes.
However, I ask you, who read these pages: should we condemn those who had made less popular decision because they loved our proud Kingdom of Sailune as much as our present, beloved Crown Prince?"
Sarak Gengkar, Sailune: Its Kings and its People
Chapter Eight
Another branch whipped across Marcus' face, and the sorcerer growled and pushed it back. He had never been a shirker or someone really inclined to complaining - he prided himself on getting through things steadily, without letting emotions such as discomfort, embarrassment and irritation get the better of him. However, travelling in a swampy part of a forest, with insects biting and buzzing all around, trudging through slimy terrain, all that didn't help his humor. When damp nights, cold food and the beginning of what could frightfully be a cold in his nose, his disposition quickly crossed from tired to downright sullen. Still, he continued to keep this to himself, as did all of companions.
Except one.
"Freaky, buzzy, bity, flimsy little flies everywhere! I could be having a good time at a cozy inn back in Sailune, having myself a sumptuous meal and a room with a soft, DRY bed, but where am I? I'm here on the worse rescue operation that I've ever seen, in the forest in the failing light, soggy, tired to the bone..."
The red-haired sorcerer sighed. Fezra had been muttering louder and louder in the last two days - not totally for no cause. He had sympathy for her, shared the feelings she had about her present situation. But the thing was, her griping was only making it all not only harder to bear, but undoubtedly more dangerous.
Nerves were on edge, fraying. And as she was the one making the most noise by far, she was the designated outlet when someone needed to unload.
In this case, it was Zashtla who blew first, the muscular swordswoman whirling on the smaller sorceress in a groan of leather and the slap of a sheathed blade. "What does it take for you to understand QUIET?!?" she hissed "Don't you realize that we're still near the front lines! I for one don't want to have to fight a scouting force because you can't keep your mouth shut!"
"What I do with my mouth, Zashtla," Fezra said swiftly, batting a fly away "Is my own business. And as for patrols, we evaded the two who saw us."
"Or rather HEARD us, thanks to you!"
"I think that your discussion isn't helping." Marcus finally interjected, on edge himself. "If someone WAS around, he'd have heard us a mile off by now! Now just go on walking before you bring who and whatever is in this Gods-forsaken woods to us."
He had made a mistake, he could see. He had learned long ago that the worst thing a man could do was rant in the middle of another rant going on between two women. He had seen that, in many case, the many who interrupted became the target for a concerted effort of the total wrath stored in both women. As they turned two burning pairs of eyes in his direction, he wondered if the voyage in the swampy forest hadn't addled his wits a bit badly to make him forget such a fact.
The attack, however, was cut off by another male voice that cut through the tension like a knife with the simple word "Quiet."
Normally Loerik Gabriev didn't have that kind of power in the group. In fact, it was often Fezra, Hallia, or he who took the decisions and controlled the companions, depending on the circumstances and with different means. However, Loerik was a veteran mercenary and an extremely formidable swordsman. When a fighter of that experience told his group to be quiet so close to battle lines, one listened very carefully.
They immediately did so, moving closer to the swordsman, who stood as if poised on the brink of either attacking or fleeing, his face unreadable in the failing light.
"Loerik, what is the-" Hallia began.
"Hush! Listen!" he whispered.
Marcus did. At first he heard nothing but the wet noises of a swamp and the buzz of mosquitoes. And then, his ears picked up something, at the edge of his hearing. Straining, he heard a sort of soft rumbling, and what appeared to be the neighing of a horse. It was faint, but then Loerik had proven himself a man of perfect hearing and vision.
Zasthla tsked with her thin lips. "A moving body. A heavy one. Certainly not a caravan in these parts."
Fezra nodded. "No merchant worth his salt would bring a caravan anywhere near these parts with the war close by."
"A military force?" Hallia said.
"I'd bet it's just that." Zasthla muttered "Moving south, so its either a Lumerian force returning, or an Elmekian force penetrating."
"Neither. The sound's too haphazard to be a regular army unit, but neater than what a militia would be. My money's on a mercenary force...about two to three hundred strong."
That wasn't good news. Mercenaries were less disciplined than regular soldiers and lacked the weaponry of heavy-mounted knights, but they had the savage experience of people who could fight more than their share. Magic could deter them, but even it might not really stop them if they ever went for blood. From the tightening in the poise of his companions, he saw that they all arrived at the same conclusion.
"That's it." Loerik said. "We can't risk attracting them to us. Besides, the light's really staring to fade fast. I say we find a drier spot to sleep and set up a watch to make sure we don't get any nasty surprises - like a raid.
No one was about to argue with that kind of argument, not even Fezra objected. Turning a bit parallel to the moving mercenary force, they eventually found a place where the ground wasn't all soggy, and where the bugs didn't sting too much.
"Almost an inn, if one disregards the scenery." he muttered, letting his pack go down from his shoulders. Gods, but he was so very tired! The damp had seemingly entered every fibre in his clothes, and he knew that there was no hope of a fire that night, nor the night after that. He longed to be out of this danger zone.
The others huddled nearby; Loerik and Hallia close as usual. Although the two could definitely couldn't be called a couple - yet - the two had seemingly grown closer ever since Fezra had plotted to force the swordsman to sleep in the same room at the inns they stayed. A disturbing concept to the tall man, who had seemingly been raised in the stiff and conservative ways of the elves. It had been an ocean of amusement for all involved, and Marcus had never missed a single opportunity to embarrass his muscular friend further. Alas, even those amusing thoughts couldn't keep the damp out of him.
"How long are we going to keep on this?" he groaned. "Cold meals, damp clothes, moods going down. I'm not a pessimist, but we can't keep up forever."
Loerik nodded. "My guess is we got two more days of forest then, and one more day outside. Then we should be clear of the front. According to a map I saw, there's a small village just one more day off. Its in a very remote region, so it should still be standing."
Marcus sneezed loudly while Hallia sighed. "I intended to return to my country one day. I never thought I'd have to sneak into it."
"Just be glad you get to see it before there's no country left for you." She looked back at them steadily in the gloom when they stared at her. "Don't look at me this way. It's harsh, but it's the truth. The kingdom's troops are exhausted. Its only a matter of time before the empire wins."
No one could say anything to that. Hallia swallowed, but kept her composure. Even Loerik didn't offer comfort, for it would only have been a lie. They all knew that victory would one day belong to the imperial army. Weren't they insuring that, after a fashion?
"Well, we might as well get a bit of sleep. Damp or not, I'm bushed." Fezra said, and at once she rummaged through her pack, unrolling her blankets. After a beat, the others followed suit, and Marcus saw Loerik put a gentle hand on Hallia's shoulder. Wordless sympathy. Right now, that was the best he could give. Maybe there was hope for the lunkhead after all!
He rolled himself into his blankets, shivering. Damn it was cold. He'd be lucky if he didn't catch something serious before the dreadful ordeal was through. It was starting to rile his sensibilities.
Grumbling, he wondered what Lionel, Phil and Narie were doing right at that moment. Probably feasting at the king's table in Sailune's Royal Castle.
Some people just didn't know their luck!
* * * * * * * * * *
"I wonder how the others are doing right now."
Probably having far more fun then I am right now, Philionel decided in his most grumpy mental voice. A good thing he didn't voice that out loud - not only was this certainly untrue, it wasn't the way a warrior of justice would be. One who followed such a way was always dignified, and didn't whine about such things like an overbearing father and the frightening prospect of marrying someone he neither knew not cared for.
Alright, so he was whining. But at least he wasn't showing it. Or was he?
Lionel answered the question Narie had idly asked in his methodical, patient way he had. "Probably having a far worse time than we did. We crossed this country by roads, and slept in inns. Had hot meals instead of cold one. And we're walking towards one of the greatest cities in the world, while they are probably dodging patrols left and right."
"You have a way of saying things, sir." she said, suddenly meek, idleness gone. Although he was ahead of them both, he could feel the apprentice's frown. She had acted distant and far too proper during their journey.
"I suppose I do at that. " he answered hesitantly. His tone then grew strong again. "And if our good Prince here could wipe the bitter mien off his expression, perhaps he could tell us if we are nearing our destination?"
Phil barely checked a double take. It seems his interior whining was showing after all. So much for looking like a proud defender of justice today.
"We're very near." he said at last "Up this hill and then we'll see The City of White Magic in all of its glory." He even managed to put some pride in that sentence.
Still, when they went up the hill, he couldn't even feel flattered by the frank admiration in Narie's gasp and in Lionel's humming.
"I've never seen a city like that before. Its...huge! And it's so beautiful! It makes even Lumeris look small." Narie exclaimed. Lionel nodded empathically, admiring the architecture he saw in the evening.
"Its indeed large. Long have I heard of the proud capital of Sailune, its tall walls, its magic and its temples." The one who had the distinct and rare honour to be the apprentice to one of the Five Wisemen of the Age gave a groan of appreciation. "This sight, however, is even better than I had imagined. It rivals Sairaag itself in its majesty!"
Normally the prince accepted the words as they were. After all, even living most of his days inside and around its walls, he saw the greatness of what would one day be HIS capital. The great walls forming a barrier against magic, rendering them impregnable to normal siege weapons. The lights winking increasingly as night started to overtake the day and the people retired to tavern and hearth with friends or loved ones. It was a safe city, a prosperous one, and he was proud of it.
But the only thing he felt right now was that he had a wife he was to meet soon.
Damn tradition! Damn his father! And damn whoever that girl was, for that matter. "Come." he sighed "They'll close the gates within the hour. We must make haste."
They did, briskly walking the last miles swiftly. They passed the gates as inconspicuously as possible, Phil hiding most of his face under the hood of his cloak, and walked the wide, clean paved street leading to the castle. His companions sometimes looked at a stall or a piece of architecture, and he was sure they found his lack of interest a bit rude and irritating. Well, as far as he was concerned, he had a right to be rude and irritated.
They eventually walked to the great, ancient gate leading to the royal castle, and were at once challenged by a pair of guards, who expertly grasped spears and pointed them at chest level. "Stop, and in the name of Sailune and King Fedoniel, present your name to us, or turn back!"
Getting past the elite royal guards, trained to handle anything from monsters to sorcerers, would be extremely tricky to anyone else, and dangerous to those with the wrong set of intentions. For him, however, it was a stunningly simple task. He swept back his hood, revealing his face, knowing it was recognizable by the torches held on the gate.
"Peace, my friends." he said "I am Crown Prince Philionel, and these are my guests. We are on our way to meet the King." The guards were on their knees almost before he had finished speaking, and he almost tore at his hair at this. "Please, please! You should know I hate this by now. One of you please go alert my father that his son has come home."
One of them went, and he turned to his companions. "Come with me. I extend my hospitality to you. In fact, I want you with me." he didn't find it in his heart to tell them why it was so important.
His father never met them outside the castle - of course not! It wouldn't be proper! - But his brother Christopher did, his young, well-dressed person shaking hands with him warmly before he had even entered the castle proper.
Once the brotherly effusions had passed, however, he warned Phil. "Be careful. Father is rather...miffed...at your latest escapade."
"Father has always been miffed about something I did, it seems." he answered, but his steps were slower as he made his way to the banquet hall, where he heard chatter and music drifting from minstrels, courtiers and nobles as they feasted with the King.
Silence came as the doors opened and all saw who was present. He could feel Lionel stiffen and Narie squirm behind him as all attention fixed on them. Murmurs ran through the vast hall as many of the nobles and sycophants recognized their vanished prince. Others gave calculating or surprised looks to the two behind him. He cared not for them. All he cared about were the people seated at the raised, most ornate table.
His father was there, giving Phil a look, which was a pleasant facade to an icy interior. But that was to be expected. After all, hadn't he gone off on what the older man would see as a deluded mission, even while tradition demanded he stayed? He certainly had personal cause to be angry. However, it had been a long time since Phil had stopped caring much about his father's opinions of him.
However, the person to his right, where Phil himself should have sat, captured all of his attention. Dressed in an expansive blue gown trimmed with silver and wearing more jewels than most common folk ever saw in a lifetime, she had an angular face and a pointed nose, which, somehow, gave her a very classical beauty. She wasn't displeasing to look at all. He locked his gaze with hers from afar as the silence lengthened. A gaze she broke with a faint smirk that managed to make him feel more humiliated than any tirade.
He knew that this was Valmatia Della Sar Elmekun, niece of the Emperor of Elmekia, and his future wife. He didn't have time to sift through his feelings or the impressions she gave him, however, as his father rose in the silence.
"Philionel my son. I am glad to see that you are safe." The eyes spoke of a different story. Certainly, he was probably relieved to know his son was safe - he knew his father wasn't devoid of feelings - but what spoke more loudly was the disappointment and the anger he saw beneath the surface.
"I am glad to be here, father. Sailune's lights are always a pleasant sight for my travel-weary eyes." A tacit way to acknowledge his pride over his travelling the countryside, and a subtle slight towards his father."
"Certainly. I am certain that the company of the common folk makes the fine life of a prince quite remarquable." The king subtly jibed back, then he motioned to a chair next to Valmatia. "Please, come and sit with us. I am certain you would apologize to Princess Valmatia for not being able to greet her at our arrival."
"Of course. However, I would like my two companions to dine beside me tonight. They have good standing, and soothe my feelings."
"That is easily arranged!" the king gave another frosted pleasant smile and snapped his finger. Chairs were whisked even as they walked to the table and talking and music hesitantly resumed. Lionel nudged him, and he nodded. He would have to talk to his father about the items stored in the sacred vaults. He would also have to apologize to his future bride. Many things which he didn't relish, and would put off for now. Tonight, despite his anxiety and doubts, he would enjoy being home.
* * * * * * * * * *
Kalarus spat the brew he had been drinking. The best ale in the house? The damn thing has been watered down - recently at that. That didn't improve his already foul move. He rose from his seat at the bar, and swiftly, grasped the tavern wench who'd served him. She gave a yelp of fright and pain at the sudden, painful pull. He cared not. Why, after all, should he care about a puny woman's whimpers?
"You gave me some bad ale, wench. I don't like that very much, I tell ya." he griped her arm more tightly "Might as well know, I'm thinkin' you did that on purpose cuz I'm an Elmekian merc and all. Isn't that the pothole o' things?"
"Please...I gave...you...our best...like you said." she gasped. The effrontery! Lying to his face like that! A shrew, nothing more. His anger mounted, cracking the tenuous control he had over it. He shifted his grasp to her neck, forcing her to her knees, the heads upward. He heard many other voices protesting, some angrily, some fearfully. He ignored them as he ignored the girl's whimpers. They were all beneath him, she most of all. With his fingers, he forced her mouth open, and lifted the pint of horrid ale he'd been given.
"Your best, is it? Not true here, I tell ya. But don't take m'word for it. Taste it yerself." he said, and poured the ale into her mouth.
He was doing it too quickly, he knew. Even if she'd been inclined to play along, she wouldn't have been able to take such swallows as to keep up with the flow. The fact that she wasn't feeling like playing the game only made matters worse. She choked almost immediately, the drink choking her throat, getting into her nose. Her hands grasped the arm holding her face in place with desperate energy, scratching him, beating him, in a flurry. It didn't stop him - his strength was far superior. He smiled down at her?
"Is that the best ale? Is it? IS IT, WENCH?!?" he growled, ignoring her gurgling pleas. His fun - for watching the woman struggle was quite an entertainment - was however cut short, as a blade clumsily slapped the pint out of his hand. His anger mounted anew at the interruption, and he turned to face a youth levelling a sword at her with basic expertise. He smirked darkly. "What are ye, pup? Some kind of hero wannabe?" he chuckled.
"I think you've done 'nought here. Now just let her go. You've had your fun." the young lad said, face set in stubborn defiance. Other patrons began edging away from the scene, including a very frightened bartender.
Kalarus grinned, his scarred face stretching in an amused manner. With swift movement, he slammed the gurgling wench into the thick table wood - she slumped like a doll on the floor, liquid flowing from her retching mouth. "There," he told the youth, rising. "Ye've got yer wish. Now how's about I get a little more fun? From ye, that is..." his hand grasped the hilt of his blade, and drew it before the pup could react.
"Have at you!" the young man said, his blade flashing upward for a strike. To most, it would have been a strong technique. But to Kalarus, it was full of holes. He caught the blade with his own at just the right angle, turning back upward and away from him, opening his adversary's body wide.
His masterfully crafted and balanced blade cut the youth's swordarm in two, slicing it cleanly, right below the elbow. Such was the shock of it the young pup only opened his guard further, his eyes widening as he stared at the bleeding stump where a forearm has been a mere moment before. He was almost pitiful to look at. Almost. He had looked for the fight, however. He had reaped his reward.
It took only one more strong, expert swipe to separate head from body. Nodding, satisfied, he turned an inviting gaze to the other patrons and maids. "Anyone want to play the hero? Take down the villain! C'mon, don't yet be gettin', cold feet, I tell ya." Still no one answered. All either looked at the unmoving serving wench or at the decapitated body. Feh. Farmers and shopkeepers. People who knew nothing of combat.
"Too bad. Well, I'll be expectin' payment for the bad ale. Anyone want to share with me?" Silver, copper and even two gold pieces spilled out from trembling hands. He grinned, scooping up the gold and silver, not bothering with the silver. "Much satisfied. The matter's closed and all. Have a nice day." He nonchalantly exited the tavern, right into the main street and walked off, ignoring the following commotion inside.
He had done what he wanted - scouting the town to see if it was worth raiding for the mercenaries he had managed to bring under his control since the day he had broken from his former band with a few trusted people. Nearly two hundred fierce fighters were now under his command, waiting to pillage where he willed, to kill where he willed. It brought him much satisfaction. Only one thing would bring him more fulfillment...no, he refused to think about that now.
The small town was hardly worth the time, he decided. Just a few dozen houses clumped together around a market place in the middle of ordinary-looking fields. A farmer's place. No real wealth like wine or silk or gemstones. Perhaps they could just mount a small raid to steal food, but other than that.
"Ceipheed, its so GOOD to be in a town again!"
He stopped, began turning. He knew that voice...
"Yeah, it sure beats the roads. I think we're entitled to using some of the gold we have to get ourselves a place to bathe, a place to eat and then a place to sleep, in that order!"
That voice too! He darted to the side as he turned, hiding in an alley, so that they passed not far from him without noticing him. It was those two! That damn stubborn woman Zastla, with two following in sorcerer's garments whom he didn't know. Then that priestess, the one who had attempted to attack him, disrupting his fun that night! And following right after her, in grimy armour but quite recognizable.
His sword was in his hand, and his hate and shame made him step forward towards the one who had humiliated him months before. Loerik! That damn lucky, arrogant PUP Loerik Gabriev was here, within his grasp! Reason, however, quickly reasserted itself. He was here, but not alone. And although he seemed tired somewhat, he knew his chances in a confrontation were nonexistent. He might be able to kill Gabriev if he took him by surprise, but he was certain the combined forces of the others would fell him.
And what was killing the sole man who had ever humiliated him so if he couldn't enjoy the feeling? No, he knew he had to contain his anger, at least for now. Using years of mercenary life, he decided to follow them, eventually moving just close enough to hear a part of their conversation.
"...wouldn't mind to get my teeth on some spiced beef with good ale myself." The hated swordsman was saying to the female of the two sorcerers, who reached up and patted him.
"You're speaking my language!" she exclaimed.
"And mine!" the male sorcerer added, pushing a lock of red hair out his eyes. "We made good time. I think we can rest two days here at least before starting off again. We can use the rest."
He smiled. Two days meant two nights. He decided he would organize a major raid after all... He returned to the present as the priestess turned her head in a direction...the tavern where he had just had some fun!!
"What's going on there?" she asked, and walked in that direction, the others following her. He decided not to follow. They would certainly ask questions. Zashtla and Loerik would recognize the work of a master swordsman. They would soon deduce his identity. And he would be outnumbered in a fight. After a last, hate-filled look at his rival and blood enemy, he walked back, towards the edge of the village, keeping to the shade of the buildings and then the trees.
Gabriev was there! His heart was filled with fierce anticipation. At last he would be able to regain his supremacy, to definitely quell the doubts within his soul! He would attack the town, use his men to draw off his friends, and then, his blood would be on his blade.
And he knew just how to circumvent the use of Loerik's accursed magical blade. A sure way!
He laughed as he walked now, out of town, into the fields. Life always had had a way of making things work out for him. Now he would prove that his defeat was fluke, and that no young pup could contest his supremacy in swordsmanship no matter how grand the name said youth wore.
And if he won, he could have a trophy worth more than a mountain of riches: the renowned, legendary Sword of Light!
* * * * * * * * * *
Ferlin Gredon Sar Elmekun the Second, Emperor of aggressive and powerful Elmekia, smiled benevolently at the man in front of him as he nudged a chess piece to the position he wanted. "Truly, ambassador, there is no need for concern. This simply the end of a three-centuries old territorial dispute. The empire does not wish to invade Zefielia."
The ambassador, a burly, thick-boned diplomat of over fifty winters, would not be assuaged so easily. "There have been talks in the Queen's court that there is extensive military build-up in your northern regions, some of them quite close to our borders. There is concern that such build-up might decide to use some of our territories as an - exercise point."
The emperor laughed out loud. "Ah, the things fops and courtiers would invent to interest the ears of the powerful." he chuckled. "Tell Queen Weada that she has my sympathy. I must endure such fools from time to time."
"Whether they are made by fools or not, you cannot deny the fact that over five thousand recruits are now arming close to our borders." the ambassador interjected, moving a rook.
The man who had worn the imperial medallion for over a decade looked at the chess game with intensity, although he'd already seen a fatal mistake his opponent has made - never be too hasty, always look for options a reversals. That was what had made him the winner in games and in the war, which was now waging far south of his capital. His charisma, added to that patience, made him an unstoppable force, and he knew it well.
"A necessary evil, I'm afraid." he said in what he knew was a perfectly saddened voice "The war rages on still. Although my troops now have the definite upper hand, I must protect my reserves in case the Lumerian Army should suddenly become more dangerous than it is right now.
"Which brings us to another question the Queen would want answered. Are the territorial rights clear? The imperial clerks have been less than helpful on the subject, and I have been denied access to the scrolls verifying the claims long ago."
A well-crafted, slightly indulgent smile, followed by a slight sigh. "An oversight, nothing more. If you so wish, I will have the documents sent to you for your examination."
"It would be an honour if you did, Highness."
The emperor nudged a black knight in front of the white king. "Checkmate, ambassador. A good game." he rose from his seat. "However, you will have to excuse me, for I most meet with certain advisors about matters of state."
The Zefielian ambassador accepted the polite dismissal with good grace - as Ferlin had known he would. Within moments he was gone from the emperor's private game room to the castle's ambassadorial wings. The emperor, however, simply stayed where he was. As soon as the great doors had closed behind the burly man, he turned his head to a luxurious tapestry representing knights battling dragons. "I trust you've heard everything, my brother?" he mused.
The tapestry parted in the middle, revealing an alcove from which Salemir, the Duke of the Westlands and his brother's most trusted advisor, had listened to everything. "I did." he said evenly "It sounded like a knight waving his sword and shouting battlecries in the dark."
The emperor paced a little, although he didn't feel any particular stress. What his brother said was true. The Queendom of Zefielia, despite its highly-trained - though small - army and its feared battle sorcerers, was in no shape to hope to sustain a long conflict of any kind, that particular realm still regrouping and recuperating from a financial crisis that Ferlin had subtly aided in worsening - his first unofficial action as Emperor. Although Elmekia wouldn't be able, to the contrary of what some feared, to invade the queendom, nor could it attack, forcing a status quo that had to be driving Weada mad.
The only way they could stage assault would be with Sailune's aid both militarily and financially. But he had taken care of that by giving old Fedoniel a very interesting bargain for his son's marriage.
"You're absolutely right." he said at last, stopping his pacing to stare at the paintings hung on the far wall. "However, we can't let ourselves become careless. Have half of the recruit remain on the Zefielian borders. Just in case Queen Weada has some - queer ideas."
Salemir nodded, then his face lost much of its blandness. "I heard that my daughter was ill-received by the Sailunean nobility." he intoned stiffly. There was some anger in his voice, but also some resignation. Ferlin had to admit that he sympathized. None of his four children had even half the intellect and strength Valamatia possessed. Perhaps the fifth would...
He shook his head. No time to think on that. "Her husband is an oaf, but the nobility likes her. Besides it all, the King treats her as his own. I have no worries she will manage this situation just fine. My present concern is the war. How long before we finally take Lumeris?"
It was clear his brother wanted to talk more about Sailune, but he wisely kept quiet about it. Instead he returned himself to a stiff, dependable mien. "From the reports, I'd say three weeks, a month at most. Their defences are crumbling. The forts protecting the capital are almost all taken or destroyed, they are short on money and manpower, and the people themselves are demoralized. It will not be long now."
"Excellent." he clapped his hands, once, loudly "Excellent. Finally the empire will once again be whole as it was meant to be!" He couldn't keep a slight choke on his voice. This had been the goal set by his grandfather, who had failed due to Sailune interfering, carried over by his father, who hadn't the strength to fulfill it, to him. He was momentarily overcome by emotion. "With Sailune unwilling to throw its weight against us, the other nations will have no choice but to accept our annexation, whether they like it or not. Even Zefielia."
"We will have to maintain a large army at key points in the conquered lands. It will cost us much gold and resources." his brother warned. The emperor laughed, raking a hand through hair that was greying.
"My dear brother. Once we have Lumeria, the army will have the resources it needs." he assured him. There was a knock on the wooden doors, and both men turned at the sound. "Enter." he commanded.
At once the door opened a crack, enough for a man to enter. Dressed in halfplate, with a red and brown cape, his stature and poise showed him as one of the emperor's highly trained personal guard. The muscular, hard-faced man bowed deeply.
"My Emperor, Lord Salemir. Forgive the impertinence of my appearing in your private moments, but a message has come for Lord Salemir, sealed in blue wax."
Salemir and Ferlin looked at each other. Blue wax meant matters of great urgency. It wasn't something one sent to someone as important and influential as the Duke of the Westlands without cause. "Give it to me at once, soldier. You have done well." the younger of the two Elmekuns said, extending his hand. The elite guard gave the letter, bowed to Ferlin and to Salemir, and left as precisely as a clock.
Neither liked surprises, and this, he felt, would probably be very displeasing to know. Still, he almost started pacing out of sheer impatience as his brother broke the seal and read the letter with eyes, which darkened progressively.
"Well?" he asked at last, not caring if he showed his mood.
Salemir's frown did not leave him as he handed him the letter. "Its from an unexpected source, but...I think its reliable. It appears some Lumerians are meddling with dangerous magic from the War of Resurrection."
"Hidden Lores?"
"Those very items, it would seem."
Ferlin read the parchment, squinting at some of the words, not having his brother's reading abilities. At last he understood it all, however, and a grim smile crossed his lips. "Well...my brother, I think we'll have to do something about the Lumerians' little plot, won't we?"
"Indeed. And I already know how to handle it."
"I never doubted it, Salemir."
* * * * * * * * * *
Loerik Gabriev let himself relax despite the stirring feelings in his guts. His intuition told him that there was trouble close at hand - feeling shared by Fezra and especially Zashtla, who was even more travelled than him - but his body demanded that he took his rest while he could. As he had learned to trust his instincts, he also knew that one should always heed the needs of the body. So he settled back on his bed, armour removed but close at hand, and compromised by thinking about the situation instead of moving.
It was pleasant to be in a town at last. Not an important target, probably not in the path of the invasion forces, the people there could expect nothing worse than a change of rulers. Although some who lived in the larger cities would find such reasoning treasonous, the swordsman had learned the truth long ago: the rulers lived far away from small villages, and so the people had no direct reason to feel an overwhelming sense of patriotism. They just went where the flows of fate took them. It gave the village a calm outlook despite fighting the heavy fighting between armies only days away.
But there was a problem even in this calm feel. The killing they had seen, the casual way it had been done, and the description of the man, all fitted together to give a picture of someone he had never liked at all, and whom he never wanted to meet ever again. He supposed there was a bit of fear in that need to stay away from one such a Kalarus. The man was, after all, a swordsman on par with Loerik himself. But it went deeper than that. In a way Kalarus personified all the bad choices he had made, all the things he had blinded himself to during his hollow years of mercenary work. He didn't want to face his old life just yet.
Of course, as Marcus had pointed out, it could always have been another skilled swordsman with a sick mind. But he didn't believe it. The way that kid had been cut up, the neat wounds, the precision of it. The joy of taking a life which he'd felt from the wounds. No. He hated it, but he couldn't hide from his damn intuition: it was Kalarus.
A man he had humiliated.
A man who didn't take to humiliation well.
A man who had never seemed stable to him.
A knock on the door mercifully brought him out of the disturbed train of thought he had found himself delving into. He raised himself on his elbows. "Come on in, I'm not sleeping or naked." he said, and then smirked at his own quip. Fezra was starting to really rub off on him.
The door opened, and Hallia stepped into the room slowly. He had half-expected it to be her - part of him, a bigger part then he'd overtly admit, had actually HOPED for her to show. As the days passed, as their talks grew in length and depth, he'd seen that this woman was, in many ways, much like him. Strong outwardly, doubting and confused inwardly, she had lost her mother to a plague and had given up the hope of ever seeing her father and brother alive after all her healing on the battlefields. He, on the other hand, still knew his family was alive and well, but perhaps forever out of his reach. He felt a connection with her that he never thought he'd have.
It exulted him. And it frightened him far more than any battle.
"Hello." she said awkwardly, her hands folded over her cleaned-up priestess garments. "I hope I'm not disturbing."
"NO!" he said. Too loud. She blinked, and he moderated his voice so he'd look less like a total idiot. "There's no problem. I was just resting a bit from our ordeal in that boggy forest." Ceipheed and all of the Dragon-Kings, his voice sounded so stifled! It had been this way ever since he had spent the night in the same room as she - a ploy offered by Fezra, of course!
Or perhaps it wasn't having spent the night nearby which scared him so much. Maybe it was something his mind had discovered that night, something which had grown in the days since then.
She took a step to the left, a step to the right, took a deep breath. She then opened her mouth to say something, and then seemed to think better of it and closed it. She fidgeted like this for a few moments before he decided to put a stop to it, for it was starting to worsen his nervousness.
"Its not the same here, is it?" he said at last. She stopped her movements and looked at him. He decided to blurt it all out. "In the forest, with the others, with all the discomfort, I could manage to act like nothing happened. But here..." he trailed off. His head bowed, but looked up sharply as she responded.
"Yes...yes I...I feel it too. You know, I thought that it would be fun, to get you to sleep in my room. You were so uptight about it, it was cute!" she grinned a moment as his face flushed in remembered embarrassment. It faded away quickly, however. "I...it didn't work the way I wanted, I didn't find it funny like I thought, and I just...I don't know. I don't know what I mean!" she threw her hands up into the air.
"That makes two of us."
"What?"
"I don't know how I feel either." he paused "But, as twisted as it is, its a good feeling." he rose "When I'm alone, with you...I feel...special. I feel...so good."
"Yes," she whispered, her eyes misting for a moment. "I feel the same way. I feel this longing. Its not...I don't know what to do with it. Priestess training didn't help us settle these things much."
"Hallia...do you...do you feel." he looked for words to say, adequate words, and found that he had risen and taken few steps towards her, that she had stepped towards him, and that he was on the verge of something. Something he'd never really experienced, something his life hadn't made him ready for.
But before either could walk the final step towards this experience, fate intervened as brutally as ever. Bells sounded frantically though the Town Square, and voices shouting in rising panic were heard, incoherent from above. The moment broken, Loerik went and flung the windows to his room open. He knew that signal. He looked beyond the town, squinted his eyes. And his elven blood allowed him to see what he wanted to see.
He went to his armour and started to put it on. "Help me Hallia, we only have a minute or two!" he said
She went to his side, her face now showing nothing of the turmoil, which had racked it instants before. "Is this what I fear it is?"
"You bet." he answered grimly. "Its a full-blown raid."
In moments his armour was on, the Sword of light buckled on and drawn, he raced down the steps, right into three men who happened to be raiders.
He took advantage of the fact the three hadn't been prepared, and lunged at the nearest fighter, dealing him a crippling belly wound before meeting the onslaught of the other two. A small beam hit one of the raiders, who slumped down, unconscious or dead. Alone, the third was child's play, and Hallia and he together defeated him easily. Nodding at Hallia, he hefted his ancient blade and ran with her into the town square.
A square that had been peaceful but was now little more than a battlefield. Mercenaries armed with swords and lances met a rag-tag people with hoes, sticks, scythes and pitchforks. The rag-tag defenders wore no armour, and obviously had less skill for battles. Although they outnumbered the raiders, there were many civilians moaning or still on the ground, and only a handful of the enemy.
A boom occurred, followed by a second, and two clumps of raiders were shattered, flying into the air, right in the midst of the defenders they were fighting. Loerik saw Marcus and Fezra, working back to back, chanting. Just a little farther, Zasthlas was giving two others quite a fight, and two already lay at her feet. He grinned. The battle wasn't lost just yet. He stepped in to take part in it.
"I've been waiting for a like that one, Gabriev, I tell ya." a frighteningly familiar voice said in a tone, which made the icy feel of his gut thicken. He turned, his sword raised for defensive action. He already knew whom he'd face.
Kalarus smiled at his, his own sword at the ready, his eyes twinkling with triumph. "Finally, Gabriev, we can settle the score." the smile became more feral. "And I'll prove no pup can defeat Kalarus!"
________________________
Falana of the Five Winds: The greatest sorceress who ever lived, whose only equal was Lei Magnus himself. Legends say that she was Magnus's lover, but fled his evil and joined the rising Triad Army, forming the First Knights with such as Oerlus the Silent, Gabriev and Sai Lune. She found true love with the elderly Oerlus, and following the war the two set about founding the first of the Magic Guilds. They had many children, the first of which, a daughter named Zefia, founded the Queendom of Zefielia.
The Inverses: A family in which magic runs very strongly, the Inverses are often seen as very intelligent but reckless, many of them also possessing a streak of greed. Supposed to have been descended from Dast the Contradictory, last child of Falana and Oerlus, many heroes have nonetheless risen through the centuries, although all of them were reported to be rather destructive heroes.