“Cain!” Aren cried after him. “You can’t just wander across Inveira to find a city not even on our map. You don’t even know if they took her there. Or if she’s even alive!”
“She is alive!” He rushed toward Aren and stopped inches before his face. “I’ve already lost two of my friends. I refuse to lose another one.”
“Think this through, Cain, please. I want to find her too, but we have an obligation to Branim, to these men. We must get these men back to Brunein. You’re a soldier just like the rest of us, you know as well as I do that an order is an order.”
“I don’t give a shit about kings, I don’t give a shit about orders. I’m not going to lose Adriel!”
Aren stepped forward. “Forget our orders then! Forget everything. You have ten thousand men depending on you. You’re their leader and they need you here. You must go back to Brunein; the enemy may attack any day.
“If you take these men from where they need to be, then you put their lives and the lives of all those at Brunein on your shoulders, not to mention Isroc and Silas.”
The two friends stared at the other. “I will find her, Aren. You heard the man,” Cain pointed at the bloody remains now befriended by vultures. “It’s a trap. They want me, not her. If I go to them, then Brunein will be safe. The attacks on Andaurel, Abraxas, Morven, they were all because of me. What makes Brunein any different? Where I go, the war goes. I will save Adriel. You will not stop me.” He turned and made down the road.
“Cain!” Aren called for him again. Cain spun to face his friend. “I’m coming with you.”
The Heart of Man
Isroc, Silas, and Moran rode at the head of their formation, guiding their chargers over the rocky embankments of a mountain. Thousands of Inveiran cavalry and infantry followed behind them.
Isroc squeezed his reins in a trembling hand. He had faced his father’s killer, and he’d utterly failed to find justice. Ada had escaped, and there was nothing he could do about it.
He’d always been a failure. He hadn’t been there to protect Mordicon, to keep people from dying. He’d failed to protect his daughter, Claire. His wife had left him so many years ago over his inability to show her his love. He’d lost good men over the years, made mistakes, rejected by his superiors and ordered to a life of cleaning up bodies. And now, he couldn’t even avenge his father when the time came.
That self-doubt, that terrible anger, threatened to drag him back into despair. He’d crawled from that pit, but only after he’d spent years cowering in its dark walls. His daughter’s death at the hands of the andreds had sent him into a blinding rage, only counterpoised by bouts of horrible depression and suicidal thoughts.
He balanced on his toes at the edge of that dark pit. Could he keep from falling in?
A voice stirred Isroc from his bleak thoughts. Moran rode alongside him, puffing on a short-stemmed pipe. He watched the two Warriors, his normally jovial face uneasy. Likely, he saw their expressions. “The Black Arrow…” he began cautiously. Isroc and Silas shot him heated glares. “His killings have been seemingly random for years. Only recently has his focus changed to leaders, to create chaos and disorder. Why the change?”
“What do you mean?” asked Isroc.
“I mean, why did he not attack leadership—kings, generals, officers—before? In small numbers, yes, but not like now.”
Isroc scowled. “He’s working for Iscarius now. He probably wasn’t before, or at least, had different motives. Iscarius wants to weaken your country, make it easier to conquer.”
“He wants our friend, Cain,” Silas said.
Moran coughed a puff of smoke and turned to them with wide eyes. “Cain Taran? The poor fool who found the sword of Abaddon? I thought that was just a stupid rumor.”
Isroc shook his head, trying to ban his previous thoughts. “Word spreads fast. We stumbled across it in the Tombs of Ivandar.”
“So, the rumors are true! One doesn’t simply stumble across the Lost Tombs of Ivandar unless fate wills it. You Warriors are destined to do great things.”
Isroc shook his head. “We’ll see about that.”
“This is a glorious gift. We can put an end to the war!”
“Not so loud,” Isroc hushed. “Don’t give these men false hope.”
“False hope? What do you mean?”
“It’s made of cerebreum. There is… no way to destroy it.”
Any trace of a smile left Moran’s face. “Ah, well that does complicate things.”
“Aye, you think?” Silas snorted.
“Cerebreum… surely there must be some way to destroy it?”
Isroc flicked his reins and guided his mare around a cluster of rocks. “Not that we know. Even so, Cain wields Ceerocai for now, at least until we figure out how to destroy it. But we could be fighting this war against Abaddon for another four hundred years for all the good finding that sword did.”
Moran stroked his beard. “So that’s why Iscarius and the Black Arrow want to find him, to reclaim Ceerocai for Abaddon?”
“We thought it was,” Isroc said, “but I don’t think so now. Apparently, Cain has something else Iscarius wants. Ada never mentioned what that was though.”
“What could that be?”
“Who knows with Cain,” Silas said. “He always seems to draw the short straw.”
Moran dumped the contents of his pipe before reaching into his cloak for his flask. “Cain Taran finds Ceerocai, Abaddon attacks Morven—and loses. Why not attack Andred while he’s weak? We have his sword, the source of his power. Or so the stories say.”
Isroc shook his head. “Believe me; I’ve proposed that from the beginning. But King Darius sent us here instead, to fight your civil war while he stalls for time.”
“That is… curious.”
“It’s bullshit is what it is,” Silas snapped.
Moran laughed. “So, let me get this straight. Darius sends summons for the other countries to join his New Alliance, and after his victory, sends his best fighters, the ones who rallied Tarsha to his cause in the first place, to aid us? Why would he do that?”
“Now you ask the real questions,” Silas answered. “Something about if we save Inveira from the andreds then King Branim will hold his half of the deal to send troops to Morven. That’s when Darius will apparently make a move. But it all just smells like bullshit to me.”
The general took a swig of his flask again. “Andreds? There haven’t been any andreds for months.”
Silas grunted. “That’s the point. Your king is hiding something.”
Moran jerked his reins, forcing his horse to a quick stop. “Watch your mouth you filthy cur.” He stabbed a fat finger out at Silas. “King Branim is a good man, and a greater warrior. He has led our country in our lone fight against the andreds for decades. I will not stand by and listen to your insults and accusations.”
The sound of hooves suddenly reached their ears, echoing in the rocks below. Moran raised a fist to halt his men, but most had already stopped at Moran’s sudden outburst. “We’ll go,” Isroc whispered to the general. He then dismounted and led Silas through the trees.
The two Warriors crossed the mountain’s slope and stopped as they came to a valley. The patter of hooves and the clamor of armor grew louder as they crawled toward the edge and peeked over. Fifty or so Acedens rode in a narrow, uniform column, briskly trotting through the rocks toward some unknown destination.
Isroc watched the patrol for a moment. Based on their polished armor and clean boots, they likely hadn’t traveled far. They were going somewhere, and it was probably close.
Isroc pulled the glaring Silas away. “Go alert Moran. Gather the cavalry and take them out from the rear. I’ll stay here and make sure they don’t turn around.”
Silas nodded and rushed off through the trees.
Isroc fished a biscuit from his saddlebag and tossed it over the enemy formation. The crusty treat clinked off an Aceden’s helmet. The Aceden cursed and looked around, eventual
ly spotting Isroc overhead. The man cried out to the head of the column and the horsemen drew their weapons.
Silas and Moran’s cavalry appeared. The Acedens tried to turn, but in the narrow valley they could do little more than watch in horror as the column of horses smashed into them. The Alliance drove through the rear flank, tossing men and trampling horses. The front half of the Acedens’ formation managed to turn, but not before the Alliance was upon them. The sounds of dying, panicked men echoed in the valley.
The rumbling of hooves stilled and the Alliance stopped, shouting in victory. Isroc returned to his horse and entered the valley.
“Good work men!” Moran boomed up ahead, raising his flask to lead another cheer.
Isroc spotted movement among the forest of horse legs. He leapt from his saddle and fell over an Aceden.
“Please, please don’t kill me!” the man spluttered. He gripped his leg, crushed and splintered.
Isroc rested his spear tip on the man’s forehead and looked down the shaft at him. “Then tell me where you were headed.”
“To a mining camp—it’s just down the road. Please, let me live!”
A mining camp? Who would willingly work for the Acedens? Isroc lowered his spear, struck with a moment of uncertainty.
“Thank you, thank you!” the soldier stammered in relief.
Isroc grabbed him by his collar. “My men will decide what to do with you.”
The Aceden wailed as the nearby soldiers grabbed him and bound him with ropes. They laughed and jested with each other as they took turns beating the helpless man. They threw him over the back of a saddle and remounted.
Moran grabbed Isroc’s arm as he moved to his horse. “What are you doing, man? We can’t just go in blind. We need to scout, form a plan.”
Isroc swung into his saddle. He couldn’t stand by and let the Acedens get away with this. “I’m going, with or without you.” He raised his spear overhead. “This isn’t over yet, men!”
Moran cursed as Isroc and Silas rode off. He boomed for his men to follow, and soon, the cavalry galloped through the valley after him.
The trees sped by as green blurs. Dirt flew from their horses’ hooves as the army tore through the forest. The valley led them around the side of a mountain and eventually dumped them out into an enormous, deforested expanse.
The field went on into the distance to butt up against a ridge of mountains. A great gorge cut into the rocky ground, forming a deep scar along the expanse’s right flank.
Hundreds of gray and black tents covered the field, flapping in the warm breeze. A sea of men and women roamed the camp, many carrying crates and barrels while others pulled cartloads of equipment.
The Acedens. They were caught unaware, helpless. Ready to be slaughtered.
Isroc’s cavalry already galloped toward the camp. Isroc himself readied his spear. Moran grabbed his arm and pulled it down with a shake of his head. He pointed to the camp, to the innocent men and women.
Isroc paused, eyes wide. Had his anger blinded him so badly that he would’ve killed those innocent people? Had his hate gone so deep?
In that moment of hesitation, Aceden guards called and soldiers gathered at the edge of the tents. Shields formed a wall to bar the Alliance. The workers noticed the incoming army and dropped their loads, screaming as they retreated through the camp.
Moran spurred his mount forward and followed his cavalry across the field. They closed the gap in an instant. The Acedens made a valiant stand, but the waves of horses crushed their defenses in seconds. The Alliance continued down the narrow paths between tents and hacked down every man in their way.
Isroc, Silas, and Moran followed their cavalry, shouting for them to stay their arms. Those within earshot obeyed, but not before dozens of innocent people were butchered. Isroc and the others rode over bodies, cook fires, scrapped meals, and abandoned carts, and came to the end of the camp.
Moran rounded up his soldiers with more than a few colorful curses. Bodies of the unarmed and helpless bloodied the rocks around them. The workers beat and shoved each other as they crammed into the narrow tunnel mouths cut into the mountainside ahead, hundreds of bodies jostling each other to reach safety. Those unfortunate enough to be caught outside turned to the cavalry in terror.
“Stay your blades, men!” Moran cried. “Get off your asses and aid these poor people. Form a perimeter and search for anything useful.”
The cavalry dismounted and approached with food and water. The workers cautiously accepted, though they ate and drank eagerly. Gradually, they left the tunnels and pressed around the Alliance, begging for more food.
Moran patted a man on the back as he offered him his water skin and a handful of salted pork. The withered man tossed his head back and gulped down the liquid, coughing as liquor poured down his face.
“That’s the best Kaanosi whisky, my friend,” Moran laughed. “I never cared much for water.” He remained silent as the man sat down on a crate and finished off the strong drink. “Now, tell me, what is this place?”
The man bit into his food, talking between bites and still shaking with nerves. “It’s a slave labor camp is what it is. I’m a farmer from Killu. Or was. A group of those Acedens swept through our city one night and took my family from me. They told me that if I ever wanted to see them again then I had to work for them in these mines.”
Slaves? That kind of thing hadn’t been seen in Tarsha for hundreds of years. How low was Iscarius willing to stoop?
Isroc shook his head and looked around the camp. The tents were little more than rags. The latrines were little more than tiny ditches. The people themselves were nearly lice-infested and emaciated, like walking skeletons in bags of skin. Some cheered or cried, but most simply relished their meals in silence. They likely had not seen so much food in ages. Aceden bodies lay here and there, strewn with the bodies of the innocent. Much of the cavalry did not distinguish, blinded by their bloodlust. The men and women ate and drank, thankful for their newfound freedom, all but ignoring the bodies at their feet.
Isroc buried his head in a hand. He had ordered the attack without thought and had led to the slaughter of innocent lives. He wasn’t near in control over his anger as he thought he was.
Moran cursed. “What of the others here?”
“A few are also from Killu. Most are from Val Idris. There are some from Elesan, Hidor, the Iron Fjords, but there are too many to name. Many of us are farmers or merchants but a few are captured soldiers. There were many more before us, but months and years of captivity have taken their toll.”
Isroc’s knuckles clutched white around his bloody spear. “Is there no end to this madness?”
“Wait,” Silas started. “Years? How is that possible if this uprising began only months ago?”
“Months?” the farmer looked at Silas questioningly. His ribs clattered against his skin as he managed a dry laugh. “The Acedens have been around for years, son.”
Moran growled. “I didn’t want to believe it.”
“Someone care to fill me in?” Silas asked.
Moran replied, “Thieves, spies, rebel fighters. They’ve harassed us for years. Most simply shrugged them off as bandits and outcasts—myself included—but there were rumors of them being something more organized. And more dangerous.”
The farmer nodded. “Mostly, they’d pop up now and then to buy food or supplies from the nearby villages, sometimes one of the local boys would run off with them wide-eyed and seeking glory. Everyone just thought they were military, so we just gave them what they wanted and didn’t ask questions. Most of them wore Inveiran armor, after all.
“Occasionally though, someone would slip up and say the wrong thing or ask the wrong questions and get dragged off. Probably to places like this. The Acedens never did anything else wrong though, they all seemed like good boys who had big hopes and talked about one day winning the war. That is, till they took me from my family.”
Silas turned to Isroc. “I don’t under
stand. This doesn’t make any sense.”
“It means there’s far more to this uprising than we thought,” Isroc explained. “That bullshit you said you smelled—well, you were right about that.”
“Either way,” Moran finished, “we need to attend to the matters at hand. We need to get you all to safety, to Brunein. There may soon be a siege. Can we count on you to fight?”
The farmer gave his best salute. “The Acedens must pay for what they’ve done, the bastards. We will fight. Those of us who still can, that is. And I will find my family.”
Moran smiled and clapped the man on the shoulder, nearly knocking him from the crate he sat on. “We will find your family. But first, tell me, what were you mining here, farmer?”
The man climbed back onto his seat, rubbing his arm. He pointed to one of the tunnels. “The Acedens have camps all over the Malrim from what I’ve been able to gather. This one’s apparently been here long before I ever got here; no one knows how long though. We’ve been excavating ore from deep inside the mountains.”
“What kind of ore?” Moran asked.
“No one’s sure what it is,” the man said. “There’s not much of it, that’s for sure. Anyways, there’s some over there.” The three men followed the imaginary line his finger made toward a group of carts near a tunnel’s entrance.
They stopped at the carts and threw off the canvas that covered their contents. Mounds of dirty rocks were piled inside them.
Isroc picked up a rock from a cart and turned it in his hand. It was just rock. Nondescript, boring even. He wiped some of the dirt away with his thumb and a red glow met his gaze.
“It’s cerebreum…”
Moran’s eyes flashed in disbelief and he nearly dove over the edge of the cart in his haste. “Are you sure? How can you be certain?”
“I’ve seen it before. Ceerocai.”
“I can’t believe this.” Moran sifted through the rocks until he found a small chunk of ore. Small veins of black shimmered at him from his callous hands. He then noticed a chunk of blue embedded in the clods of dirt. He picked it out and raised the tiny nugget before him. “This is incredible— it’s said cerebreum disappeared, that the earth had reclaimed her riches from the greed of man long ago. This one nugget could supply a man a lifetime of riches.”
A New Reign Page 16