A New Reign

by Bryan Gifford

  Isroc tossed his ore back into the pile. “There’s a reason the earth kept this from us. No man should wield that kind of power.”

  Silas took the stone from Moran’s hand and held it up to the sun. Brilliant cyan waves sparkled across his eyes. “This must be the power behind the Acedens. This would explain how so many men could be so well supplied, right?”

  Moran frowned. “Who would’ve bought it though? Few people have that kind of money, and what would they do with a hunk of useless metal? Besides, if they sold the cerebreum, then it would’ve revealed that some still exists.”

  Isroc nodded. “You have a point. Maybe Iscarius didn’t need money so much as he needed power, a means for control. Perhaps he used this to bribe men to fight for him, maybe leaders too. Even if none of them could sell it, the idea of possibly having that kind of money is tempting.” Isroc snatched the cerebreum from Silas and cast it back with the rest of the ore.

  “Give me a hand, Silas.” Together, they lifted the startlingly light cart from the grass and onto the road.

  “What are you doing?” Moran asked.

  “What needs to be done.”

  “No, don’t!” he pleaded. “It’s cerebreum; think what we could do with this. Think what the world has been without all these years.”

  “Exactly.” Isroc pushed harder. Moran dove for the cart and threw his bulk in front of it. He grabbed the edges of the cart and tried to overturn it.

  At this, several of the newly released slaves jumped for Moran and fought to pry him away. He held himself upright by hanging on the cart, using a big hand to scoop out what ore he could before he was pulled away. Moran tossed the men off him and rushed for the cart.

  The two Warriors reached the end of the road and came to a cliff edge that overlooked the vast gorge. They tipped the cart onto its lip and pushed it over the cliff, sending it and its precious cargo plummeting into a dark abyss.

  The Warriors turned to see a stunned Moran. Behind him, hundreds of former slaves pushed cartloads of cerebreum toward them. From every road and tunnel they appeared, slowly bringing the carts toward their demise.

  Men and women, young and old, dashed toward the cliff edge with baskets and armloads of the ore. Carts tumbled and rocks cascaded, the labor of countless years and lives forfeited to the darkness.

  The Warriors stood on the edge of the cliff, hundreds of once enslaved Inveirans lining up on either side, torches in hand.

  Without a word, Isroc cast a torch into the quarry. The fires quickly ensnared a scaffold and swelled red-hot up the ramps and latticework.

  The former slaves followed suit and threw their torches into their old prison. Fires leapt from the belly of the blackness with a putrid smoke. Scaffolding, ladders, rails, ramps, and ropes burned in the spreading conflagration. Black smoke spewed from the mouth of the quarry and rolled over the onlookers. A smile spread across every face for a fleeting moment.

  A sudden uproar broke out and Isroc looked about for the source of the tumult. Hundreds of soldiers gathered around the edge of the mines, shouting and cheering with unanimous joy.

  In the middle of this, the Aceden that Isroc had captured dangled by his neck from the limb of a tree. He flailed, but in the hangman’s embrace, he danced death’s jig. Several of Moran’s men pulled on the other end of the rope while others spit at the dying man and beat his twitching body. The surrounding soldiers and freed slaves applauded.

  The Aceden’s thrashing stopped. With the fun now over, the soldiers gave a final yank on his legs and the man died with a loud snap.

  Isroc sighed, watching the body sway with the creaking of rope.

  Ethebriel walked with his guards down the market road of southern Morven, or rather, ducked and weaved his way.

  Thousands of soldiers and civilians alike covered every building and road of southern Morven. A sweaty, seething mass of bodies. Men and women hauled timber and bricks, mixed mortar, and patched buildings. Months of work, and the city still looked like a pile of discarded bricks. But this lump of stones was home to many, and they worked to defend it.

  This cramped and busy, no one could make way for a king as would’ve been expected. Ethebriel didn’t mind though, he didn’t want people groveling every time he walked into a room. And so, he walked like everyone else, right up to the outer wall.

  Even now, the damage done to the wall was impressive. Great gashes and scars marred the great silver and white stones. The walls were ancient, built long before Abaddon’s war, designed to withstand siege engines. That was fortunate, as the creatures that had attacked the city had used them. And that was strange, as the arzecs and andreds had never used siege engines before, instead preferring easier targets.

  There were many strange things about the world now. Ethebriel had been all over Tarsha, seen and done many things. So, he took note when he noticed something peculiar. Like why Abaddon had not attacked a second time. Morven was weak, broken. They had deterred the andred siege, but now their garrison was weakened, the walls battered, the gate a twisted wreck in the street. Why did Abaddon not attack? It made strategic sense—attack your enemy, bring them to their knees, and send them a left hook when they tried to get up. Abaddon was cruel certainly, but he also showed a sense of cool calculation, of a plan that always seemed to be steps ahead of everyone else.

  Few people seemed to see that.

  Ethebriel snaked through the workers and carts of tools and stone until he reached the stairs to the wall walk. He climbed onto the city wall and stopped as Armeth hailed him.

  “Did you talk to him?” Ethebriel asked.

  Armeth shook his graying head. “I did, but I fared no better than you did. It will take both of us to plead his council, and even then, I fear he still won’t listen.”

  The two marched along the wall walk, workers here bowing at the sight of the king. They passed under the sword of the destroyed statue that spanned like an archway over the wall walk.

  Ethebriel sighted the spotless silk cloak of the king through the press of bodies. “King Darius!”

  Darius and Cradoc turned to see the approaching men. The brothers pardoned their advisors and turned with a welcoming flourish.

  “Ah, my friends,” Darius bellowed, “have you come to see the latest repairs?” He waved his ringed hand at a pile of mighty stones just dropped into place by crane-operated scaffolding. “We’re working at a remarkable rate; we should be done with the repairs within the year.”

  “If I may, sire,” Armeth began, “we don’t have that kind of time.”

  “This drivel again? We defeated almost all of Abaddon’s forces. He certainly won’t attack. We can afford to repair Morven.”

  “He can, and will, raise a new army,” Armeth replied. “As I’ve said before, Morven is too broken. The enemy can easily slip through these walls if they choose to attack again.”

  “And who will attack us? These insignificant rebels in Inveira I’ve been hearing about? The Andred army that we have defeated and will defeat again? We have nothing to fear.”

  Armeth opened his mouth but Ethebriel stepped forward. The man hadn’t listened to any of their other arguments. Time to bring out his last card. “Yes, we do.” Darius looked to him searchingly. “You said the rebels in Inveira. So, you believe the rumors?”

  “That there is an uprising in Inveira? Anything is possible—but the hopeful whispers that Abaddon is dead? No, I do not believe that.”

  “I do.”

  Darius cackled. “Surely you aren’t serious. Listen to that, brother!” he turned and clapped Cradoc on the back.

  The King of Meres remained stolid. He lifted a hand to his limp arm. “I believe the rumors.”

  Darius’ eyes drew wide. He then turned to Ethebriel and laughed, but it felt forced, uneasy. “You actually think that Abaddon is dead?”

  “Anything is possible.”

  Darius shook his head. “No. I will not believe it. I refuse to believe it.”

  “Is that not what y
ou’ve fought for all these years, why we created this Alliance? To see an end to the bloodshed?”

  “With all of my heart. But I refuse to believe that a few rebels in Inveira have done what we could not.”

  “Either way, the rebels don’t seem to be going away anytime soon. In fact, it seems they are spreading in their influence.”

  “They are no threat. What harm could they do to us here?”

  “If they had the power to defeat Abaddon, then they are more than capable of doing what he could not—bring Tarsha to its knees.”

  “We haven’t warred with ourselves in four centuries. Why would they raise swords against us? A few opportunists perhaps, but an entire army? That’s just ridiculous.”

  Ethebriel pursed his lips. “I know no more than you, but we have to be cautious.”

  “And I will be. Right here with my people.”

  Armeth stepped forward. “I know that your loyalties lie with your people, but you must think about the welfare of Tarsha and the Alliance you helped birth. We are vulnerable here. Morven is broken. We must leave this place.”

  “No. This great city has never been defeated.” Darius faced the setting sun. “We’re safe here. My men will have the walls rebuilt soon. The Acedens will not attack us.”

  Ethebriel shook his head. “We’re not safe here, and deep down you know it. We have to move the Alliance somewhere safer.”

  “To Kaanos, I presume?” He turned with a glare.

  “You can’t call for an Alliance only when it benefits you.”

  “So you can control my army…”

  Ethebriel’s eyes grew dark. If there was one thing he’d learned after all these years on the throne, it was that sometimes it was necessary to show his emotions. Besides, he didn’t think he could keep a kingly façade had he tried. “I have no wish to take the Alliance for myself, Darius. I simply request you move some of your armies to Kaanos. Your country is badly battered; let Erias recover while we lure the enemy to battle on our ground. Perhaps we can mount an attack on Andred once we bolster our forces.

  “Send the Alliance to Kaanos, Darius. My country is rich with supplies and resources; you know as well as I do that Kaanos has been the least affected by the war these last few decades. Another hundred thousand men lie at my command there. We can gather our forces and mount a proper assault on the Acedens before they have the chance to attack.”

  Darius laughed.

  Ethebriel suppressed a sigh. Sometimes, he wished he could just shove that shiny crown up the man’s backside. “What?”

  “I am no fool, Ethebriel. I know what you plan to do. I’ve foreseen this for many years.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Darius scowled. “Do not toy with me! You’ve been planning to usurp me for years. Gathering Tarsha’s armies and calling it the New Alliance, naming me its head when you know damn well you created it! Bringing those so called ‘Warriors’ to your cause to win the people and name yourself the second Ivandar. This whole time you only gathered power so you could usurp me. You whisper, you plot, you scheme behind my back. You want Tarsha for yourself, you want the glory, and you want my throne. Well, I won’t let you have it!” He reached for his sword.

  Ethebriel was so taken aback by the sudden outburst that he failed to notice the saber flash from its jeweled scabbard.

  Cradoc leapt before his brother and pinned him against a stack of bricks. “Darius, be reasonable.” Palace Guards watched from nearby, fingering their spears in uncertainty.

  “That bastard is a scheming rat,” Darius croaked. “I will not sit idly by and watch as he steals my throne!”

  “Have you gone mad?”

  “Move aside, little brother.” Darius grabbed Cradoc’s good arm and shoved him away before aiming his longsword at Ethebriel. Several Palace Guards shot forward at this and formed a circle around Ethebriel and Armeth.

  “You’ve gone mad, Darius,” Ethebriel murmured. “Your paranoia has blinded you.”

  “I’ve simply seen the light. Now leave before I hang you in the gallows and leave you for the crows.”

  “You’re making a grave mistake,” Cradoc pleaded from behind.

  “Guards, escort my brother and his army to their ships. They’ve worn their welcome long enough.”

  “I’m your brother, Darius. You need me, you need my men. You cannot fight this war alone!”

  Darius sheathed his sword. “Watch me.” He turned his backs on them. “The Alliance is dead. It was dead the moment it started.”

  The Palace Guards jabbed their spears at the three men and pushed them back across the walkway.

  Ethebriel glanced over his shoulder to the fool king, watching him through the spears of the Guards. “I forgive you, Darius. But Tarsha will not.” He turned from his old friend and made for the stairway.

  Ethebriel, Armeth, and Cradoc clambered down the steps and shouted for their troops to prepare for the voyage ahead.

  “I’ll return to Izadon with my men,” Cradoc said as chaos erupted around them. “I’ll gather my army and meet you in Kaanos as quickly as I can. I may have to defend my country, forgive me if I cannot commit the troops I would like.”

  “I understand,” Ethebriel replied as they retreated down the market road. “Prepare to meet the Acedens. Their rebellion may very well spread.” Eriasan soldiers followed them, screaming at the Kaanosi and Meresi troops that gathered around the three men. Heated curses and shouts arose and swords and shields clipped as men pressed against each other, pushing and beating.

  The banished soldiers and their leaders made for the river and soon crossed over the docks. Ethebriel stopped as he reached the gangplank of one of their transports and looked to Cradoc again. “Morven will be the first point of attack for the enemy, whether it be Abaddon or Acedens. Erias will soon fall. King Darius has doomed us all.”

  Enslaved

  The Alliance and the survivors of Galenth marched through the wilderness. Blades of pink sunlight cut through the gray clouds and the trees around them rattled in the wind.

  Aren walked beside Cain at the head of the procession, solemn silence heavy on his heart, his steps determined.

  Of course Aren wanted to rescue Adriel. But what would it cost to save her? Chasing after her could take weeks, months even. They’d be putting the lives of so many soldiers and civilians at risk, not to mention the fate of Inveira itself. Was one life worth that of thousands? Adriel would likely want them to leave her and continue their duty to save Inveira.

  Was he a terrible person for thinking that? Should he be like Cain, willing to face death and worse to save his friend? He liked to think of himself as a rational man, and that meant making decisions that others didn’t always agree with.

  But, would he still think the same if it were Cain in her place?

  He nearly walked into his friend. Cain stared through the treetops, soldiers watching him curiously as they split around him. Aren gazed up into the trees, trying to see what Cain was looking at. Oh, he eventually realized. The sunset. Blood red.

  Aren placed a hand on Cain’s shoulder. “We have to keep moving. The shipyard is close.” Cain nodded and the two continued through the trees.

  The Alliance reached their destination as night fell. Aren and Cain entered the main building and traversed the rubble within. Torches flickered ahead.

  The regiment left to guard their ships cheered at their return with fresh troops and dropped the gangplanks.

  Valerik approached with a flourish. “Finally! We’ve been bored out of our minds here.”

  Aren shook the man’s hand. “You didn’t run into any trouble then?”

  “Nothing we couldn’t handle. A few Aceden ships spotted us as they passed, but we took care of them. Even added a few more to our fleet.”

  “What about the scouts we sent to Killu? Have they returned?”

  “Yes, Soren Half Helm was right. Killu is under Aceden control. The whole damned country is falling to them.”

>   “That’s troublesome,” Aren mused. “Surely there should be more enemy movement around here then; they’d need control of this river if they’re to take the country.”

  Valerik shrugged. “We had a few close calls with some larger fleets. They all just breezed by us though. They were all headed north.”

  Aren glanced at Cain. “They must be gathering at Alkanost then.”

  “Alkanost? I’ve heard of the place, but what’s that got to do with anything?”

  “I’ll brief you on the ship. Tell me, did you uncover any more spies?”

  Valerik sighed. “Four more. We hanged them over there.” Aren turned to see the spies suspended from the rafters of a building. Their bodies were half-picked clean by birds.

  “Two more ran away in the night,” Valerik continued. “Not sure if they were moles or just deserters. A seventh tried to cut my throat. I didn’t think to ask him if he was a spy before I gutted him.”

  “You believe that was the last of them then?”

  “I’m certain of it. Though with all the new boys you’ve brought I suppose I’ve got my work cut out for me again.”

  Aren clapped the captain on the shoulder. “We can always count on you, Valerik.”

  “Well, nothing to worry about then.” Valerik saluted and ran off shouting orders.

  Aren perked a brow. Was that sarcasm?

  He stepped beside Cain as they watched their men board the ships, greeting each other with embraces. “I said I’d come with you, but we need a plan first. We can’t go wandering all of Inveira looking for her; she could be—”

  Cain turned and glowered at him. Those eyes were piercing, wild. Like the eyes of a cornered animal. “She’s not dead.”

  “I was going to say anywhere. We don’t have anything to go off here, just the word of a dying man who was probably lying. All I know is that we only have enough provisions to last us to Brunein, let alone to wherever Alkanost is and back.”