A New Reign

by Bryan Gifford

  Cain blinked and pulled his gaze away from the town. Aren, Silas, and Joshua had reined up beside him, silently gazing out over Andaurel. The forty-odd Outriders with them strung out behind, exchanging curious glances with each other.

  “Aren, remind the men we’re only passing through. I don’t want anyone trying to sneak a drink or a game of cards while we’re here. Supplies, that’s what we’re here for.”

  Cain urged his mount down the road as Aren passed his orders. The west gate opened at their approach, and a cheering crowd gathered there. Cain and his Outriders formed rank and entered the town.

  Cain glanced to the faces smiling up at him, every one of them a stranger’s face. He called to a wide-eyed, wiry thing with a mop of mousy hair. “Boy. Tell me, where can I find your mayor?”

  The boy pointed down the road, his eyes glued to Cain. Cain turned to see a hoary-headed man approach, back slightly bent, but gait strong and eyes bright.

  “I am Grend Alinor, mayor of Andaurel. What can I do for you, Outriders?”

  Cain bowed his head. “I’m Cain Taran, captain of these fine soldiers. We seek additional supplies for our journey.”

  Grend outstretched his hands with a smile that tugged at his wrinkles. “Of course, we are a trade town, after all. We’ll have everything you seek and more. Come! Come! We will find you and your men good beds and a warm meal.”

  “We’re only passing through but thank you for the generosity.” Cain moved to dismount. He stopped, meeting the eyes of a raven perched atop a nearby roof.

  “You are letting me barter with these ones, Grend,” a woman said as she approached the mayor. “I may just be passing through, but my fare is as good as any of your peoples’. These men will need fodder for their horses, and you know mine is of the highest quality.”

  “You say you are ‘just passing through’ every time you stay here.” Grend stopped her reply with a raised finger. “Your father and sister have already made this place their home. I know you will too. Go easy on them, Eileen.”

  She turned to Cain. Her coy smile, the way the evening sun caught her olive eyes as she studied him. She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

  That was when he knew he wouldn’t just be passing through.

  Cain jolted from his bed. He exhaled and lay back down on the plush, down pillow. He rubbed at his eyes and looked around the calm quiet of his palace guest room. He ran a hand through his hair and climbed out of bed.

  A cold wind brushed against his bare chest as he walked across the room and closed the paned window. Throwing his tunic on, he lit several candles on the table and settled into a chair.

  He kicked his feet onto the tabletop and crossed his arms, squinting into the flickering candlelight.

  He had to get his mind off those dreams. Fortunately, his head was a mess. His thoughts kept returning to the battle, replaying again and again Alanis’ words in his head. “If only you knew what you could become, the things you could do.” Abaddon had destroyed Andaurel, killed his family and friends, all to try and get to Cain before he could use Ceerocai against him. It made him sick to think that so many people had died simply because they’d been between Abaddon and Cain. Simply because Cain was unaware of his connection with Ceerocai.

  And he still didn’t know his place in all of this. He had unleashed the weapon’s awesome might in battle, but what did it mean? Could he summon it again somehow? Would he even want to?

  What did that mean for him that he could harness Ceerocai’s power?

  What am I? Cain thought, looking down at his scarred hands.

  He sighed, knowing he’d find no answers just waiting for them. He bound from his chair and paced barefooted across the room’s supple rug, the candles slowly melting.

  Cain turned to Ceerocai, propped up on the edge of the bed.

  The sword was massive, extending up toward the bed’s canopy. The thin scarlet veins that laced its surface shimmered like blood in the soft yellow light. The great ruby in its blade seemed to glow with a harsh fire; alive, bestial. Cain stared into the heart of the flames. Everything about the weapon fascinated him; ancient, mysterious, and deadly.

  A sharp knock at the door tore him from his thoughts. He paused, realizing he’d been reaching for the sword. A visit at this hour could never be good. He strode across the room and opened the door. The sudden breath of air from the hallway blew out the candles that had nearly burned down to their bases.

  “Cain Taran,” a Palace Guard hailed.

  “What is it?”

  “The king wishes to speak with you.”

  Cain and his friends stood in Morven’s throne room; sleep still heavy on their eyes. The place was pitch dark save for a few torches flickering lazily. Dozens of men in decorative plate armor or fine silk robes filled the throne room, clearly all men of high standing. The room buzzed with their faint whispers.

  “Silence!” Darius, King of Erias, entered the room behind a retinue of Palace Guards. Every man bowed as their king approached his throne. He sat and scanned the crowd, causing men to cringe beneath his piercing gaze.

  “I called you all here for one reason. A messenger came to us at this late hour with a letter from King Branim of Inveira. It appears the rogue country is not as resilient as we thought.” The crowd broke into a frantic whisper.

  “A great host of andreds invaded Inveira while we were focused on defending our city. They raze village after village, killing and burning as they march across the country. Inveira is weak from their lonely fight. They will fall.”

  Isroc limped forward. “Forgive me, my king, but Inveira has fought the andreds alone this entire war; they refused any part in the Old Alliance and the New. They chose to fight this war alone. Let them die alone. Are they not our ancient enemy?” Murmurs of approval rose around him.

  “It is not your place to say what they deserve. Inveira has fought for its survival. Is that not what we fight for as well?

  “I’ve called you here because we must do something. We are all one in this fight. We may have our differences, but Inveira fights the same enemy as us, and I will not stand by and watch their slaughter.”

  Cain shook his head. “I don’t understand, Inveira has been Erias’ enemy for hundreds of years. Why would you want to help them?”

  Darius waved a large, official looking sheet of parchment. “King Branim promises to join our Alliance if we send him aid. He needs us as much as we need him. Tarsha will be united if Inveira joins our cause. Isn’t that what you’ve fought for this entire war, Cain Taran?”

  “No, it’s not. How can you trust their king?”

  Darius sprang from his throne. His silk robes swished in the uneasy quiet. “You test my patience, Warrior. I don’t trust him, but if we can set aside our past, then we can put an end to four centuries of war. It’s a risk I’m willing to take. We have no other option.”

  Cain pushed his way through the crowd. “We need all of our men just to defend Morven, let alone the rest of Tarsha. You would send brave men to their deaths in a disloyal country, to fight their battles for them? To risk the Alliance for blind hope? Tarsha’s fate will rest on the fidelity of Inveira; if their king does not send troops, then you’re putting the rest of the world in peril.” He fell quiet. Every eye in the room watched him anxiously. He’d known it was a foolish thing to say the moment he’d opened his mouth, but someone had to say it.

  Darius threw a hand toward Cain. Several Palace Guards dove for him, forcing his hands behind his back. One Guard punched Cain in the stomach and dropped him to his knees. They dragged him through the crowd to a stop beneath the throne.

  Darius swooped down the dais and clenched Cain’s chin with a firm hand. He glared down at him with those sharp blue eyes, penetrating, knowing. “You would dare speak to your king with such contempt? I could have you executed for that! You’re nothing but a tool!”

  Cain returned his stare with equal resolve. “What more use am I to you? Let me go to Andred, I can end
this war now. Let us be done with this.”

  “No, I’m sending you to Inveira. Branim calls for the aid of the Warriors and I sincerely grant his wish.” He leaned in closer. “You are a symbol, nothing more. If you die in the service of the Alliance, then you have done your part. I don’t need you alive… your death will serve just as well to bring my Alliance together.”

  The king flicked a hand. The Guards released Cain and he rose to his feet.

  Darius rapped his fingers along the ornate sword at his belt. “Whether under your own power or not, you and your Warriors will take some of my Alliance to Inveira. Assist them against the andreds and show them what unity can do for Tarsha.”

  He watched Cain for a moment. “You are the symbol of the Alliance, Cain Taran, the hope that keeps the world fighting. Through the Alliance, we are one in this fight. Go and bring peace to Tarsha.”

  “Your wish is my command, my king,” Cain said through clenched teeth.

  Cain fingered Darius’ letter to Branim. The rolled parchment bore his personal seal—a broken mountain ringed with wings. Several others lay stacked on the tabletop, one for each Warrior in case they were separated. No doubt they each said the same thing—a royal pledge of support in exchange for troops and supplies.

  This plan was foolish. They were turning their backs on the Alliance when it mattered the most, and for what? Sure, they could possibly sway Inveira to their ranks and finally unite the world, but how could they trust Inveira? They were ancient enemies of Erias, and even the rest of Tarsha knew them to be untrustworthy and dangerous.

  What good could possibly come from this?

  Cain turned his attention to Adriel and Armeth who pored over an ancient and weatherworn map of Tarsha. Armeth grabbed one of the candlesticks that covered the table and lowered it over the map.

  He pointed to Inveira due northwest of Erias. Inveira was much smaller than its sister country, yet its mass was overlooked beneath the jutting mountains that inked its surface. Lakes and rivers covered the wild land and a thick river of ink split the country through the middle.

  Armeth tapped his index finger on a large inkblot nestled in the heart of Inveira’s mountains. “This is the capital, Val Idris, where their king holds his seat. The andreds are likely moving for the capital, however, so by the time you reach it… well, things may very well have changed by then. To make matters worse, Inveira is very reclusive and suspicious of outsiders so we don’t really have a detailed map of the country, let alone its roads. You’ll likely have to find your own way once you’re inside their borders. We’d provide horses for your men, but Inveira’s mountains are treacherous at best, let alone in the snow.

  “Anyway, I’d suggest following Raeden’s Road from here, it’ll take you almost to Inveira. Avoid the Southern Malrim—great big mountains, you can’t miss them—and you should be alright.”

  Cain spared another glance for Ethebriel. The king of Kaanos stood by a window, re-reading Darius’ letter to Branim for what had to have been the tenth time. The man usually appeared haggard, weighed down with responsibility, but now he just seemed… sorrowful.

  “Forgive me, Ethebriel,” Cain started, “but may I ask what you think about Darius’ plan?”

  Ethebriel sighed and rolled up the letter. “Darius wants what is best for the Alliance. He believes we need King Branim’s support if we are to survive.”

  “I see where Adriel gets her conversational acrobatics from.”

  Adriel smacked him on the arm. Ethebriel merely chuckled. “Yes, well… I admit that his faith in Inveira and Branim is stretching a bit far for my liking, but Darius is doing what he believes right. If this works, then we can finally have a united Tarsha. A real Alliance. This is a risk we must take.”

  Cain crossed his arms. “Something about this just feels wrong. We should be marching for Abaddon, not turning our backs on him. Tell me, my king, do you trust Darius?”

  Ethebriel turned to the window where the first purple light of dawn trickled through. “I do. He may be a bit rash and prone to the occasional outburst, but his heart is with the Alliance.”

  Cain wasn’t as certain. The way the man seemed so ready to toss him away, the things he whispered only to Cain’s ear. Cain felt like he stood at the brink of a deep pit with nowhere to go but down.

  “Isn’t this just great?” Joshua’s voice boomed in the silent dome. Joshua, Silas, and Aren fumbled through the archway, burdened with several stuffed rucksacks. They crossed the room and tossed them to the floor, sighing with relief. “Just when I think we’re done trudging across the whole damned continent, we get dragged into more shit. I swear, this will be the death of me.”

  “Either way, we’re soldiers,” Aren explained. “We’ve always obeyed our orders, what makes this any different? Besides, we promised to protect all of Tarsha. That includes Inveira.”

  “You’re always such a kiss ass, mate,” Joshua replied with a thump on his friend’s back.

  “We all must play the part we are given, whether we like it or not,” Armeth said.

  “And what do you really think?” Cain leaned on the edge of the table and looked up from the map at him.

  The candlelight flickered in Armeth’s gray eyes as he met Cain’s gaze. “Part of me believes it is for the best, that we can save Inveira and its people. Together, we can finally unite the countries of Tarsha as one, and drive Abaddon back to the darkness.”

  “And the other part?”

  Armeth leaned in as well. “I fear Darius is making a grave mistake in sending you to Inveira. He’s putting too much trust in the Inveirans, and that trust may doom us all. The Alliance may not survive this; the world may not survive this.”

  The Warriors stood beside the Alar, its waters lazily flowing by. A chill spring wind cantered off the river’s surface to cut against their skin. The morning sun crawled from the dark of distant mountains, its golden rays soon swallowed in the gray clouds. These masses rolled and buckled across the sky, sunlight bursting through their every seam.

  Cain patted his horse with an idle hand, facing out over the north half of the city and the sea of barracks beyond his sight. He clenched a fist at his side, Darius’ sealed letter to Inveira’s king crumpled in his hand.

  Cain had spent the ride down from the palace playing out in his mind what happened in the throne room. He wanted to have the same faith as Ethebriel, but he couldn’t seem to shake Darius’ words, that wild look in his eyes. Did Darius really have the Alliance’s best interests in mind, or was he only in it for himself? It seemed like everything the Alliance had done so far had only helped Erias. The other countries were the ones that sacrificed, depleted precious troops and resources to defend Darius’ kingdom. Would he return the favor when the time came to truly test the Alliance, to support another kingdom in its struggles?

  Cain shook his head. Maybe he was being too hard on the king. They were going to Inveira to extend aid, after all. Wasn’t that what the Alliance was about, helping those who couldn’t help themselves? Then why did it feel like that wasn’t what they were doing?

  He stirred himself from his thoughts as the familiar sounds of an army reached his ears: boots stomping in time, the creaking of armor, the snapping of banners in the breeze.

  A great line appeared on the edge of his vision, men in shining steel. They marched with discipline and fervor. It was a testament to their training—likely every man felt as uncertain about this whole situation as Cain did—that they did not let their views affect them. They walked with sure feet and eyes fixed ahead. They were one army, an Alliance army. If a menagerie could be called an army. They were a blend of Eriasan, Meresi, and Kaanosi, various units made out by their colorful arrays of armors and emblems and standards.

  “Five thousand?” Silas muttered under his breath. “How in Brynden’s bloody beard are we going to fight an andred invasion with only five thousand men?”

  Aren studied the approaching array of men and banners. “We really need to come up
with a new banner if we’re going to do this Alliance thing right.”

  “Cain!” a voice called from the army. Several soldiers burst from the crowds, disturbing the decorum. “We thought we’d never see you again!” one of the soldiers cried.

  “Matthew!” Cain answered. “It’s been a while!” The four of Andaurel shook hands with their fellow Outriders.

  Matthew clapped Cain on the arm. “So, the Warriors? Who knew you four would end up as Tarsha’s last hope. It looks like we’re all shit out of luck!”

  Cain laughed. “You haven’t changed a bit, my old friend.”

  “Please, don’t try to be humble, you’re bad at it! You’re the hope of Tarsha, the builder of a New Alliance, now the bearer of Ceerocai.” A coy smile split his face as he eyed Abaddon’s sword at Cain’s back. “You have certainly been productive. When you were our captain, if I got my boots muddy, that was a good day!”

  “His boots would still be clean without us,” Joshua chuckled, nudging Cain and nearly sending him off his feet.

  “We’ve missed you, Cain,” one of the soldiers said. “We miss the days when you were our captain. We lost our homes, our families, everything. All we have left is each other.”

  The four of Andaurel bowed their heads. Cain spared a glance for the other Outriders. He left them for selfish reasons, to find retribution for the deaths of Eileen and his son. Was he fighting for the greater good now? He fought for Tarsha, or so he told himself.

  Then why did he still feel lost?

  Cain raised a fist. “I will not leave you again, my friends. I am your captain once more.” He saddled his horse and gazed out over the many heads.

  “Men of the Alliance,” he boomed, years of shouting orders on the battlefield helping to carry his voice. “Many of you know by now that Inveira faces trying times; alone, weak, the andreds seek to lay waste to them. King Darius has ordered we assist Inveira in exchange for their support of the Alliance.” He scanned the five thousand. “We march for Val Idris, the capital of Inveira!”