Yaren raised his eyebrows and waited for the answer, aware this was a rhetorical question.
“The Dawn Shield was a symbol of the Rhasphyre family. After Tarryn’s last battle, the Rhasphyre pretenders took the shield, as well as his body, and took them somewhere. The shield is symbolic. Until the right time comes along, it remains hidden.” Yaren opened his mouth to respond but Rhen continued, “And why do the Khasari so doggedly search after it? I don’t have an answer for that, yet, but I have a theory. If the rebels find it first, someone claiming lineage can rally behind them, the shield as proof. It would extend the rebellion several more years.”
He wanted to continue, but he considered that for Yaren, this might be the preferred outcome. Mercenaries weren’t suited to peace.
“But I’m probably wrong. What I do know is the Khasari are searching in the wrong place. I read it, Yaren. Firsthand. The stone’s inscription had faded over the years and I couldn’t make out some of the words, but I do know that it is extremely valuable. You’d never need to leave this tavern again with your share. And I have found – no, solved, the riddle of its resting place.”
Yaren opened his mouth, as if to speak, but then thought better of it. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and paused, his face never betraying what it was he was going to say.
“So, we’ve become a band of treasure hunters, have we? Then you best make it worth my while, boy.”
Rhen bristled at the title. Treasure hunters were not his ilk. They were different, they didn’t appreciate what it was they were looking for. Yaren picked up on his distaste of the word. “If you hate the term so much, then you best prove me otherwise. You make a man’s promise. A man’s promise is what you shall keep. All the gold I can carry and all of your debt tenfold. And not a penny less, Rhen. Let me make that clear after last time. I do not care one bit about how important it is, it’s historical worth or any other sentiment that you prattle on about. It better be its worth its weight in gold tenfold, boy. Otherwise you can take your chances finding some other mercenary around here that is not wont to cut your throat and run with your prize.”
Rhenias looked deep into his cup and downed it all. Perhaps this was a mistake after all. But he didn’t want to go back to the droll of working for his father’s business. Maybe it was better to take his chances making a crust at the stable. But the animals hated him so. No. Whether it was inebriation or the youthful thirst for adventure, it mattered little to him. Rhenias wiped the cheap tasting ale from his mouth. Since when had he liked ale?
“I meant what I said. You will have your gold, I swear. You will come home a rich man, and me with my head on my shoulders. You will see to that.”
Yaren sighed. He was a man whose body told a story of a dozen battles. His eyes had seen much, and yet little and less of peace.
“I’m nearing my forty-fifth name day, lad. I don’t care for your boyish call for adventure, dreams of days gone by. No, I seek gold to earn a meal, and gold I shall get. You are offering a contract to a sellsword, for an indefinite amount of time. This is no game. You ask me to pledge myself into your service, and so you had best honour your words, young Rhenias Tallesen, or you shall see your end by my sword.”
“Aye, I intend to honour it, Yaren. You have my word. And if it must come to it,” Rhenias reached over for Yaren’s ale, downing it at once, “my head.”
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Yelia was proud of her children. They ran around in the fields all day and chased the animals, catching them and presenting them to her. They learnt how to fish and would always offer her the biggest one they caught. They loved their mother, and she loved them back.
Gavyn of Taurig - Histories
Rhenias was up before dawn. He stumbled over to the basin and splashed some cold water on his face. He lent on the edge of the basin at the behest of his hangover but misjudged it and scraped his hand on the corner as his weight ensured a not-so-bloodless scrape on the follow-through down. He stumbled but caught himself before he made any more of an idiot of himself. He could only hope that Yaren was in worse shape than he was. His head was pounding. Never again, he thought to himself as he took a steadying breath, before roughly cutting his hair. It wouldn’t matter if it wasn’t even; it was probably better that it wasn’t. He then shaved his dishevelled beard, a monument to his exhausted spirit after the past few months of gruelsome travelling. His tanned face was noticeably lighter where his beard had been. Had it really been that long since he last shaved?
Rhen made his way to the wardrobe, where he chose a simple tunic. Tunics didn’t enjoy great popularity on the west side of the Desaris, but the local fashion had wriggled its way into the hearts of the Karzarki populace of the Euphyrian towns. It was simple, could be styled and embroided for the rich to flaunt, and was practical. Rhen even took a bit of pride in wearing them when life took him to the heartland. Not all shared his taste, of course, with some casting their long, snobbery gazes at a dressed-up provincial. But here, the elite of society peaked at the merchant houses. Few who enjoyed a higher status in society ventured east. There was nothing here in the backwater of civilisation for the privileged. Not in their eyes, anyway.
He chose the colour green from his limited wardrobe. Green was good. Inoffensive. It was unclaimed by Karzark or Euphyria, nor by any merchant house (not plain green, anyway) and as far as he knew, by any group or order that lived in the shadows of nations. East or west, he wouldn’t be affiliated with any particular organisation. He threw a leather jerkin over the top. Through years of observation Rhen had learned that so long as a leather jerkin remained comfortably between ornate and shabby, it made an excellent choice of wear for a traveller. It indicated neither wealth, nor defenceless prey. Any brigand or rebel would realise that it wasn’t worth risking a potential fight for an uncertain measly reward. Once he was further north, however, as he approached Tannis, he would need to acquire some warmer clothes. Were he to buy some now in the still-temperate climate of the south, he would only arouse suspicion.
Buckling up his boots, he left the room, as ready as he would ever be.
Even after loading his horse, having prepared ample rations and coin, he was still up well before Yaren. Partly due to his own keen desire to be on his way, and partly because he expected Yaren to be nursing a hangover at least twice as severe as his own.
It had taken him no more than ten minutes to ride through town at this time of morning. At the cusp of the new season, night extended its reign deeper and deeper into the day’s realm. Few well-to-dos were out this early, and so the Khasari guards patrolling the streets were the majority of the town’s morning faces. Their faces betrayed their low opinion of having to patrol the town this early, and there was little chatter amongst them. Their bronze shields stood not at attention, rather drooped from tired arms, quietly bumping against their legs as they moved through town. Their spears too were slung over their shoulder, an annoying hindrance that was never useful in Mhir. Their two short swords swung loosely at their as they walked on by.
Even though Rhen was Karzarki, he never felt at ease around a Khasari. One reason was that Khasari were only recruited in the heartland of Karzark and not the eastern territories. It was a security issue rather than discrimination against the locals. Rhen understood the rationale, but they were never in one place in the east long enough to see the progress that would have changed their disdain of the Karzark-controlled towns. Some viewed it as a punishment of sorts, and Rhen had heard from others that it sometimes was; a pissed off general could easily make a Khasari’s life miserable by having them cross the Desari.
But the main reason for his unease was their plumed, bronze helmets covering most of their face. It was hard to read them, or even see where they were looking. Perhaps it was that each helmet was identical to the next that unnerved him. Sometimes, it was hard to see them as a person with their own dreams and aspirations.
The sun would soon make its way through the streets, bringing
dawn to a new day, but for now darkness was still the undisputed ruler of the skies. If he was still travelling by himself, he would have appreciated the peaceful silence of a pre-dawn ride, but he was in civilisation now, with all it’s glorious heaving, stenches, hurled abuse and impending hangovers.
For an old Euphyrian town, however, Mhir wasn’t so bad. The Karzarki residents always commented that it was only slowly becoming civilised, and Rhen was truly in the minority for acknowledging that something Euphyrian could already be considered civilised. Karzark had no Citadels of its own, after all.
Mhir had seen its fair share of hardships, it was true, judging by the state of the buildings. But it was a bustling little town; the first real town on the east side of the Desari. It boasted a planned foundation – originally believed to be a Pyresian outpost. The entire town was a grid, which was much more than he could say of the more ‘civilised’ Karzarki towns to the west of the Desari.
But how it had changed since the first time he saw it as a boy. The distinct Karzarki roads now aesthetically lined the town, the smoothened stones replacing the padded dirt that came before. A canal had been dug from the Orynes River and had been connected to a new sewer system that remained uncompleted. But more than anything else, the thing that had changed the most since Rhen was a boy was the transformation from a military outpost to a trading town as the frontier pushed eastwards. While each new conquest brought Cerenea one step closer to unification and Karzark closer to Yelia, each push eastward brought more towns and cities into the fold where they could share in the prosperity that came with trade.
The market was opening its gates to such traders who had come from afar and had been sleeping outside overnight, bringing them belated joy. Mhir was the final destination for local traders – the neighbouring towns and as far as Braest, but it was merely a stopover for any trader who would cross the Desari to trade with the cities of Karzark’s interior. Of course, for the sake of peace and stability, only Karzarki merchant houses were granted the right to cross. At least until the rebels were finally brought to heel.
A woman opened her door mid-yawn. She was carrying a tray of kneaded bread that she placed carefully on the ground as she gave a quick glance to Rhen. At this time of morning it was probably best to make quick judgements about those out and about. The odds were not in favour of meeting a friendly passerby. But he seemed to not be of any threat to her, as she quickly returned to her business and gathered up some wood from her stock and started to light the oven outside her door. He would interpret that as a compliment, he decided.
Finally, Rhen arrived at the Gate of Mhira. It was once adorned by the eagle of Euphyria, proudly perched on top for all travellers to see. The proud bird now lay on the ground where it fell during the War of the Last King. Unfortunate that men clung to such symbols for hope and strength, Rhen mulled. Symbols that invite discord against fellow man, that encourage devotion to one’s own and hostility to difference, and lead men’s hearts down the path of traitorous transgressions. Well, the Euphyrians had paid the price. The eagle was slain, and many had died. But if that was not the nature of man, he mused, he would not be embarking on a quest to find the Dawn Shield that would make him immensely rich.
His thoughts were interrupted when a tired looking Yaren appeared besides him, along with a rough, younger looking man, though older than Rhen. A merchant quietly humming to himself carrying a basket of leafy vegetables suddenly went silent and veered off the road, giving them a wide berth in contrast to just before. Rhen didn’t blame the man. Yaren’s face all but assured his employment in his current career path. A quick glance over his shoulder was followed by the return of his humming.
“You are certainly eager, boy. Sun’s barely up,” he yawned, “Been this side thirty-four years and my bones still call for sun-soaked Eshem. S’got me thinking of retirement one of these days.”
“Retirement wouldn’t suit you. Look at you, a man in your prime. Besides, the holes in your pockets would never get you out of Mhir, let alone across the Desari.”
“Boy, it’s too early and the world hasn’t stopped spinning nearly enough to deal with merchant brats. Get off your horse and ram your face into my first or shut it.”
“I’d be surprised if your horse wasn’t drunk from the smell of you,” said Rhen, a little too bold, given Yaren’s mood. Another man who was walking beside his horse along the road stopped at Yaren who didn’t seem surprised. - Didn't you already introduce him as being with Yaren? “May I ask who this is with you?”
“This here is Reilek,” Yaren said as the shorter man climbed up on his horse, “A good man. Do not worry about him. I’ve known him for years. He won’t charge for his services. He is heading east to Braest and will ride with us until the crossroad. Besides,” Yaren added after Rhen gave him a look of unease, “three is safer than two.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” Rhen nodded in the direction of his new companion. Short, but stocky, Reilek appeared to be just as well-travelled as Yaren. Unlike Yaren however, he was cleanly shaven and wore clean black travelling robes. This one appeared to favour the bow as his weapon of choice.
Rhen didn’t appreciate Yaren inviting others even though he knew he hadn’t told them any details, but was glad they were only coming as far as Braest – even though Rhen realised that a hunter in their little band wouldn’t go amiss as safe towns became sparser the more they travelled east.
But specifically, Braest… well, that was a headache for another day. He turned back to Yaren. “The horses have been fed and groomed. I have packed ample supply of food and water. I have seen to our camp supplies, reread the maps of our route-”
“And weapons? Have you seen to them? Do we have ample coin? I don’t mean to make a fool of you, but if you are to seek adventure half as keenly as I presume, boy, you best tread cautiously and prepared, and not rush headlong like some child playing make-believe,” Yaren chided.
“-and checked weapons, if you would have let me finish. As for coin, I brought all that I have. I suppose it is best that I leave this to you,” Rhenias tossed the pouch containing the last of his coins to Yaren, “If I don’t deliver your reward, you’ll take that as recompense anyway.”
“You suppose correctly. And then some.” Yaren indicated what would happen to Rhen’s neck in such an event.
It was no small pouch, yet Reilek looked as disinterested as a priest in an alehouse.
“Shall we, then?” Rhenias offered, changing discourse. A disgruntled, hungover Yaren was not worth the hassle.
“After you.”
I will not give him reason to call me boy thought Rhen, as their horses began down the road.
Dawn greeted them with silence, save the birds singing amongst the trees. A peaceful ambiance, Rhen thought, that was as good an omen as any to begin a journey on - if any one of them were so spiritually inclined to believe. With nobody save the odd traveller on the roads at this time of day, it reminded him of his last few months, often with only the sounds of animals to keep him company.
The cool breeze was a stark contrast to the suffocating heat he endured the last time he set out on a journey. It was early autumn when he was in the Desari, and the sun had been unrelenting from the moment it rose to the moment it retired. Sure, it wasn’t as hot in the Karzarki interior – especially the southern coast that enjoyed equally mild summers – but the border between worlds was so vast and out of place that it was impossible to not associate the Karzark heartland with a harsh, arid climate. He did remember that the air was drier and the greenery of Euphyria was not so common near the great sand sea.
As they rode, his mind returned to Yaren’s friend. He’d never seen him before, and Yaren had never mentioned him. It was expected that Yaren knew quite a few people. He had plied his trade for longer than Rhen had walked the earth and had probably seen more of Cerenea than himself. Regardless, it irked Rhen that he was joining them on this particular journey, even if only for a short time.
If the part
y were to stop at Braest, somebody would recognise him there. He would need to work on his alibi for his absence the past couple of months, and another for when he leaves. He could tell his family he had found his religious side and gone to study with the priests in the mountains, and though his father would be unimpressed, his mother would be pleased. More importantly however, they would not press the matter further. But to leave a second time, after only stopping by for supplies, and in company with two (he was fairly certain of Reilek’s profession) sellswords no less…well, he would need to work on that.
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As Pares and Galaes grew and grew, they tamed the land. They nurtured the animals, they dug gardens, and they basked in their mother’s love. Every dusk and dawn, her children would tell her how much they loved her, before they went off to play or sleep. Yelia knew that her growing sons would one day need space of their own, to find their own way in the world. And she was happy.
Nalacata of Yulesia – End of an Era
The Yalean
He lay awake. It had been a gruelling day of travel and his legs were exhausted, yet sleep evaded him. The southern climate, he thought. The first snows had come months ago back home, yet the south was only just getting ready for the season. Even if he’d spent many years down in Euparyen, every time he travelled north towards the border he would acclimatise to the impatient winds and find himself agitated at the still air for weeks after returning southward. He sat up and scratched his shoulder. It was the first lodging they had had in weeks, and maybe that was why he was too restless to get a good night’s rest. Maybe his body was too used to sleeping out in the open, underneath the stars, with Yelia watching over him.
If he wasn’t sleeping anytime soon, he figured he would write a letter to send back to Ailse. He’d need a candle for that and…no, that would wake up the others and they’d never let him hear the end of it. Besides, there was no one who he could pass the letter off to. There was half a continent in the way. The simple romantic gesture had momentarily blocked all reason in his head. He would not bring that up again.
Reign of Phyre Page 2