Aren stepped forward, pinching his nose to stave off the overwhelming miasma. He swatted away the birds and gasped in horror. The corpse was all bloody muscle, her skin plucked off.
Aren dropped to his knees as well, breath shaky. Adriel wrapped her arms around him as they knelt before the bodies.
Cain stood in stunned silence. He’d been a soldier for fifteen years, he’d seen the horrible acts arzecs committed. This though, this was far worse. It was the senseless and ruthless violence of men who weren’t afraid to butcher innocent people to send a message. He’d always known that men were capable of such barbary—the old stories gave plenty of examples, after all—but seeing it firsthand…
What was the world coming to when men slaughtered each other so readily? Was Abaddon really the only thing keeping humanity from ripping out their own throats? Had he been saving them from themselves?
“Justice will be done here.” Aren’s voice stirred him from his thoughts. “Iscarius and the Acedens will not get away with this.”
The three knelt at the base of the tree, ravens swirling overhead.
A blue light pricked the distant mountains to the east as the fleet of transports sailed down the Eraeos. Cain, Aren, and Adriel huddled at the bow of one of the ships, watching the sunrise. Their clothes were sweat-drenched and covered with ash. Sweat and dirt and tears muddied their faces, eyes red. They’d spent the night burying the slain. It had taken most of the night, finding and gathering the countless bodies and limbs. It was dirty, heartbreaking work.
The people they vowed to protect were dying day by day, butchered and left for crow fodder. Yet instead of protecting the innocent, the armies of Inveira fought for their own survival, leaving the people to protect themselves. The people were the victims of this new war, no different from the four hundred years of war before it.
Cain sifted a hand through his hair and sent dirt and ash showering. He’d finally turned aside his own selfish revenge. He finally fought for the right reasons; to defend the people of Tarsha. Yet, had he done anything to protect them? Had he even changed?
Even now he abandoned the people he swore to defend. Iscarius was out there, kidnapping and killing, and Cain simply followed the orders of a king who only cared for his own hide. Should he turn this fleet around and seek out those who were suffering? Or would defending Brunein be their best course for defeating Iscarius?
Cain didn’t know what to do anymore. Had he ever really known?
Aren spoke after a time. “This doesn’t add up. There weren’t enough people in that village to justify all those buildings. Iscarius isn’t killing everyone, he’s killing certain people and kidnapping others. Are those who die the ones that refuse to join him?”
“It doesn’t really matter,” Cain said. “What matters is that they’re dead.”
“It does matter. If we can find out what he wants, then maybe we can prevent more deaths.” Aren breathed, his words starting to cram together as he had a habit of doing when he thought on something. “If anything, this at least shows us that he’s on the offensive. He could already have attacked Brunein by now.”
Cain shook his head. “Like I said, Iscarius wants me, just like Abaddon. He’ll at least wait until I return to Brunein before attacking. He can take me out and the last of the resistance in one blow.”
“But why?” Adriel asked. “Why would he want to kill you? Why start a civil war? I must know who Iscarius is, why he’s doing this. How could anyone do those things to someone else? The Acedens are human, and yet they’re worse than…” She buried her head in her hands.
Aren crossed his arms, watching the sunrise. “I know, Adriel. There’s got to be a reason he’s attacking and kidnapping his own people.”
“I can’t think of any reasons why someone would do those horrible things.”
“It’s a scare tactic,” Aren replied. “They must kill those who refuse to join them, make examples out of them. They can win a few battles, but if they win our hearts to fear, then we’ve lost. And we’ve gone too far to lose now.”
Cain nodded. “We carry on and we fight. To whatever end.”
Adriel pulled her head from her hands and glared at him. “How can you be so callous? What good does our fighting do when we leave others to that fate?”
Cain returned her gaze. “Believe it or not, I do care, Adriel. You just grow accustomed to death, is all. A callus that never rubs raw. When you’ve been a soldier for as long as I have, death is all you come to know. Death is the only constant in life.”
“Is that all there is for us? To fight and die? I used to think life was about freedom, about finding happiness. What’s the point of anything if the only thing at the end is death? No. I don’t believe you, Cain. There’s a reason we’re here, there’s a reason to fight. There’s more to this life than death. There has to be…”
Reunion
The lights of Brunein shone in the distance.
Cain sighed with relief. The orange and yellow glows had only been from torches and smithies and lighthouses. He’d been right; Iscarius would hold off the assault until Cain fell into his hands. Well, he was here. It was time to fight.
The transports approached the docks and dropped their gangplanks. The soldiers formed a procession through the ravines, every man solemn. Determined.
The main gate opened to them and Cain turned to his men. “You have all done well. Now get your rest, you’ve earned it. These are difficult days ahead of us, but we will prevail.” His soldiers gave a tired salute and dispersed, most of them stumbling off toward the distant barracks.
Cain gestured for Valerik as he and his men remained behind. “Valerik, I thank you for your sword and for your heart. You are a true soldier.”
The man smiled and gave a proud Inveiran salute. “I thank you, Warrior.”
“I would ask you for a final charge. See to Galenth’s survivors. I want to make sure they’re safe and cared for. This will soon be no place for civilians.”
“It will be done.” Valerik saluted once more, spun on a heel, and led his men to the barracks.
Cain, Aren, and Adriel then moved up the winding streets. The fortress now swelled with thousands of soldiers. Most sat outside their barracks laughing and playing at dice. Laughter and merriment echoed in the streets, but everywhere the pounding of smithy hammers was a constant reminder of the battle to come.
“Cain, Aren,” Silas’ voice called from somewhere in the masses. Cain looked for his friend and spotted Silas weaving his way through the crowd toward them. The three friends embraced.
“Damn, it’s been forever,” Silas started. “Shit, I was ready to go save your ass again, mate.” He turned and waved a hand. “Isroc, get your ass over here. They’re back!”
Isroc stepped out of the crowd and beamed as he saw his friends. “It’s good to have you back,” he said as he shook their hands. “We were worried something might have happened. When those survivors from Galenth showed up we assumed the worst… we heard the reports, did you really attack an enemy fort?”
Cain nodded. “It needed to be done.”
A large mass of a man lumbered toward them. With hair curling from every inch of his fleshy body and bearing the hides of a dozen animals, he looked a savage beast towering over the heads of his fellows.
“General Regulus,” Isroc greeted. “These are the other Warriors: Aren Hayden, Adriel Ivanne, and Cain Taran,” he said as he gestured to each in turn.
The burly man shook each of their hands and gave a snaggletooth smile from behind his wild beard. “It’s a pleasure,” he boomed, “Silas and Isroc have spoken highly of the lot of you. I’m Moran Regulus, Seven Legs, the Bloody Beard, and General in the Inveiran Cavalry. Tarsha has placed her hopes on each of you. Especially you, Taran.” Cain blinked as the man took a swig of his horn.
“Seven Legs?” Aren pondered. “Is that some kind of title?”
The big man hooted with laughter and slapped his belly in response.
Isroc fr
owned. “We need to talk.” He looked about the surrounding soldiers shouting and singing in the streets. “Somewhere quiet, that is.”
The Warriors gathered in their empty barracks. A cluster of candles—each nearly melted to the handle—sat atop the table in the center of the room. Wooden trays and empty goblets littered the tabletop.
Cain and Aren stuffed their mouths with an assortment of breads, cheeses, and fats. They ate heartily and chased down the meal with a flood of watery ale. The others dotted the room, silent in their thoughts.
Isroc checked the adjacent rooms before returning. “This war is much more than we thought,” he started. “The last two months have given me much insight, and I’m sure the same goes for all of you. The Acedens are much more than a rebellion.”
Cain chewed on Isroc’s words. “I feared as much. Nothing is ever easy when we’re involved.” His friends gave a fretful laugh.
Isroc’s grave face drew darker. “We now know that the Acedens have been around for years, gathering resources, troops, and supplies for their uprising. They’ve taken over the East, from Val Idris to the Southern Malrim. They control much of the North as well, from the Viper’s Heads and even as far as the Iron Fjords, or so the scouts report.
“It seems that they’ve been waiting for something. Branim has long feared an attack on Brunein, and he may not be wrong. It’s the last real hold we have left. With so many men crammed inside these walls, and the Inveiran crown like a jewel on top, it’s too juicy of a target for the enemy to pass up.
“Already our scouts report more than usual sightings of black ships along the coast and companies of Acedens probing our flanks. They could have attacked any time, just as they did at Val Idris, Hesed, everywhere. But they’re waiting for something. Or were. Whatever the case may be, it appears that they’re on the move. We don’t have much time now.”
“Good,” Silas grunted. “Let them come to us, easier for me.” He tapped his fingers along his weapon’s blades.
“You may not be so quick to wish them a hasty voyage. The latest scout reports estimate their numbers at around two hundred thousand. We’re outnumbered four to one.”
“Two hundred thousand?” Cain gasped. “How is that possible? How could we not have noticed an army this large until now?”
“They’re traitorous bloody shits,” Moran spat, as if he’d eaten something sour. “Been right under our noses, breaking our bread, drinking our wine. I probably played at dice with some of the bastards.” He faded off with a string of creative curses.
Isroc turned from the general with a nod. “Most of them were soldiers in the Inveiran Army. They could even be in the Alliance Army too for all we know. By the damned Towers, they probably are. We have no idea how far this has spread, nor will continue to spread.”
Moran began to pace among the group, looking to each of them as he spoke. “My scouts report that the uprisings began about five months ago. Soldiers in numerous cities, villages, outposts, and keeps across Inveira turned against their leaders and comrades.
“Even civilians have joined the Aceden flag. Farmers, blacksmiths, merchants, tailors, chandlers, cobblers. Countless men, women, and children have been trained in secret for years. Many towns and villages have been destroyed to serve as examples and to punish those who wouldn’t join. We are fighting a well-trained, well-prepared, and dedicated foe.” Moran’s voice wavered, and he swung himself into a chair. He bowed his head as Isroc stepped forward.
“And the biggest end remains,” Isroc continued. “Iscarius is still out there somewhere, leading his ever-expanding army in his conquest of Inveira. But I don’t think he’ll stop there. If he’s gone this far to take Inveira…”
“They’re going to march for the rest of Tarsha,” Adriel spoke up.
The room fell all too quiet.
“We’re not sure how or when,” Cain said. “Or if they even will. But we think they will.”
Adriel turned to Cain. “After they kill you…”
Cain gave what he hoped didn’t look like a forced smile. “It seems everyone wants me dead.”
“Hard to imagine why,” Aren jested.
Silas snorted. “Inveira is one thing, taking Tarsha is another. And why would he want to do that anyway? None of it makes any sense.”
“None of this does.” Isroc stroked his graying beard. “Abaddon may be dead. Abaddon may be alive. Iscarius may be working for him or against him. All I know is that they’ve done horrible things and won’t stop until we’ve destroyed them.”
Aren looked at each of them. “The Acedens could already be across Tarsha by now. Iscarius spent years building this army, and only now attacks Inveira? He wouldn’t go through all that trouble to be content with a few mountains.” He glanced at Moran. “No offense. Tarsha will suffer the same fate as Inveira. We have to do something. We have to go home.”
Silas shook his head. “We never should have left.”
“How did you discover all of this?” Cain asked Isroc.
Isroc sighed. “We liberated a mining camp. It was supplied with slaves from the surrounding area—”
“Slaves?” Adriel asked, turning from the window.
“Yes, they—”
“And they were looking for cerebreum,” Silas finished for him.
“I was getting to that.”
“You talk too much. Get to the damn point already.”
“Cerebreum?” Aren asked. “The legends say there is none left.”
Isroc answered, “They also said that the Tombs of Ivandar could never be found. You can’t always believe the stories.”
Silas snorted. “Seriously, whoever writes all these legends really needs to get their shit together.”
Aren leaned across the table. “Did they find any? Cerebreum, that is.”
“There was enough cerebreum in one cart to rebuild Andaurel a thousand times over,” Silas said. The room fell quiet in awe.
“Unless Iscarius knew the exact locations, he’d have to have dozens, maybe even hundreds of mining camps across the Malrim,” Aren mused.
“Indeed,” said Isroc. “Iscarius must have somehow found out about these cerebreum deposits before the uprising. How else could he have gotten so many people to join his cause and supply so many troops for all these years?”
Aren thought on this for a moment. “Who would even buy the cerebreum, not to mention enough of it to supply an entire army. And besides, why would two hundred thousand people betray their country for some shiny rocks?”
Isroc scratched his beard. “I don’t know, I never really thought of it like that.”
“But that’s not even the worst part,” Silas informed them. “Every prisoner we talked to said that the Acedens have been around for decades.”
Cain frowned. “Decades? That’s impossible.”
“Why would they lie?”
“Still, decades of gathering resources and recruiting would have to take incredible foresight. And wouldn’t people on our side notice kidnapped relatives, wouldn’t the king notice mining camps and slaves and an army training under his nose? None of this is right.”
“And why now?” Aren asked. “They could’ve risen up at any time if they’ve really been around for so long.”
“Perhaps they were waiting for something,” Adriel said, glancing at Cain. “Or someone.”
Aren nodded. “I think I know why. The siege of Morven ends and all of Abaddon’s forces are nowhere to be found. Is anyone here foolish enough to assume that he would send his entire army to attack Morven? No. So, where are his armies?
“If the stories are true and Abaddon follows the will of the Forgotten, then he seeks to eradicate all of humankind. Why would he stop? The rumors must be true. Abaddon is dead.
“Iscarius must have done all of this to kill Abaddon. Four hundred years of war is finally over…”
The group looked to each other in stunned silence. Aren set his goblet down on the table, his fingers shaking. “And yet, I fear we’ve yet
to see the true face of war.”
Cain remembered her smile. Her laugh. How could he ever hope to deserve her? He opened his eyes, gazing at a blood red sky. How could the sky be red?
He remembered holding Eileen and his son only moments ago. He tried to move, but his body was frozen as if caught in some vice. He managed to raise his head and look around. A black, endless expanse of dirt. A red sun. Plate armor, dented and scarred, covered his body. When had he ever worn plate? How had he ended up here? He’d put aside the sword long ago!
He heard a strange noise to his left and slowly craned his neck. There, at his side, was Eileen.
A raven perched on her face, its talons curled in her dark hair. It turned and cawed at him with its red beak.
Cain shot up from his bed. These dreams, these nightmares, they were so real! He had held Eileen in his arms, smelled her familiar scents and felt her warmth. He tried so hard to accept her death, but how could he when he held her every night, only for her to be ripped away from him again? Must he be tortured every moment of his existence?
He forced his breath into a steady rhythm before rising from his wool and hay-stuffed mattress. He stretched and shook his clammy hands before looking around the barracks.
Dozens of soldiers filled the large barrack, their beds covering every inch of the drab stone floor. The faint glow of hearths flickered across the otherwise dark and silent room, nothing but the snores and murmurings of sleeping men.
Cain worked his way through the countless beds and stopped at the table. He picked up his goblet and gulped down the remainder of the wine.
“Are you alright?” a voice whispered from somewhere in the dark. Cain looked around and saw Aren kneeling before a nearby hearth. His friend nudged the embers until a small flame twinkled to life. He set the prod aside and took a sip of his goblet. After waiting for an answer neither of them knew would come, Aren stood. “I know that look in your eye. Let’s take a walk.”
Cain retrieved Ceerocai propped against a chair and slung it around his shoulder. He tightened the baldric’s familiar leather straps around his chest and followed his friend out the door and into the crisp night.
A New Reign Page 22