“If you don’t come out now, yer gonna have to start paying with blood instead. Or with yer daughters. I spied a pretty one before.” One of the companions sniggered. It was time.
She took out a hand axe and threw it at the one who had been talking. A sickening crunch was the confirmation her aim was true. The bandit next to him saw him collapse onto the ground. He quickly turned in the direction of the axe, drawing his sword.
She stood in the doorway of a house, her painted wooden shield’s umbo echoing as her axe banged against it. The remaining eleven saw her slowly walk outside in front of them all.
They all drew their weapons. They were all focussed on her, cautious, after seeing their leader receive an axe in his skull. But they were confident in that they had the numbers, eleven to one.
“You all die tonight,” she said, pointing her axe towards them.
“Heh. Someone will,” said the other who had ridden on one of the horses, “slowly.” They certainly weren’t giving her a reason to show mercy. Good. She wasn’t too familiar with the concept.
She whistled. An arrow found its way into the back of one of the soldiers behind. Another turned around at the sound and also received an arrow, this time in his neck. Levi raced forwards, her axe raised high. Now that she had given them a distraction they couldn’t afford to ignore, Black Wyke came out in the midst of them, cleaving one in two with the first swing of his great sword, and crunching a foot deep into the shoulder of another with his second. They were dead men who had only just started coming to terms with it. And Levi wasn’t going to let her pack have all the fun. She swung her axe down hard on the second leader, with him expectantly parrying her blow. She had made it clear where she would strike, after all. But he didn’t expect to be knocked on the floor with a bash from her shield. The second blow of her axe was not parried. It relished in the blood it thirsted for. Levi could nearly taste it. The remaining six had made a quick evaluation of their situation and decided the best chance for survival was to run now. But Seline wasn’t finished, firing another two arrows off, both finding their mark. Black Wyke stood in the way of the remaining four’s escape route and they decided they would have to at least try kill him. They failed. Levi was mesmerised by the expertise in which Black Wyke swung his great sword. He was so fluid, as though it was an extension of his arm itself, despite its size. One soldier hovered a foot off the ground as if by Magick, but she knew that it was just a trick, with the great sword lifting him up by protruding through his belly. Once back on the ground, Black Wyke kicked him off the sword and spun around, slicing shoulder to waist across their body.
“Capture the last two!” Levi commanded, as an afterthought. Perhaps they had some information regarding their actual mission. She ran over to her first victim, pulling the hand axe out of the skull. He wasn’t a pretty sight, even before the axe had done its work. She threw it at the closest one to her and it landed in his calf, throwing him forwards into the dirt, screaming in pain. She felt slightly pained. She had aimed for his arse. She didn’t miss much. She would have to practice.
The last of them kept running and found Seline standing in front of him, brandishing her own sword. Having seen eleven of his comrades cut down, it appeared he decided that continuing his path would result in death coming sooner, and so he dropped his weapon, and fell to his knees.
“Please, please, spare me.”
Black Wyke kneeled next to him and tugged on his hair so he could see the man’s face. “Would you have done the same, for us? For these villagers?”
“Please…I nev-”
Black Wyke knocked him out with a punch to his face with his steel fist.
“Come, let’s get them out of town. The children should not have to see this.” Black Wyke threw the unconscious bandit over his shoulder, while Levi ordered the other to hobble to one of the village’s overgrown fields. She grabbed a shovel leaning against the house and followed behind.
Once in the field she threw the shovel at Black Wyke’s captive who had just regained consciousness. “Start digging.”
It took them a couple of hours, but it needed to be done. Twelve graves were dug. She had worked up a sweat, as had the others, but it was the first time in a while she had had a good fight, and she enjoyed the exhaustion. But it was time to be a leader again. Black Wyke had bound their hands behind their backs and forced them to kneel upon her request.
“Listen up. You two are going to answer all my questions, or you will join your friends here.” She didn’t wait for confirmation. “Who do you work for?”
One of them spoke up, “The Khasari.” The other remained silent. She embedded a dagger into his thigh, much to his screams of protest.
“I said you will answer my questions. Silence is not an answer.” She would not have them play games with her.
“What do you do for the Khasari?” she said, pointing to the man with a dagger in his thigh.
“We do what the Khasari cannot,” deeply inhaling through gritted teeth, “We clear out rebels. Villages who refuse to submit… to Karzark… are rebels. Khasari can’t garrison every small shithole village they find but if left alone… they will aid the rebels. It’s war. We do not have Heran.”
“Next question. Do you know a man called Reilek?” They both replied with a no. “Unfortunate. You aren’t of use to me then.” She swung her axe and the man with a dagger in his thigh went to meet Yelia. The sole survivor’s trousers darkened, becoming wet.
“Throw him into the grave, or you’ll follow him.” He did as he was told.
“Do you know Reilek?”
“Yes…Yes I do.”
“What does he look like? Does he have a limp?”
“Yes, he does. He favours one side.”
“Where did you meet him?”
The man paused for a second, considering his answer. “Ulane. About a week ago.”
“Wrong.” She raised her axe.
“Please! Please! I’m sorry, I don’t know him! I swear to you I am telling the truth! Please, have mercy. I answered your questions.”
“Your answers were not helpful,” she said, swinging her axe down, “Besides, I do not have Heran.” One blow was enough.
After burying the bodies, she would sleep well tonight.
“Remind me to never get on your bad side, Levi.” Black Wyke, grabbed a shovel and began helping her bury the last of them. She just smiled.
“We should let the Sons know about the Khasari’s underhanded approach. As far as I know this is new. They should be alerted to the villages’ peril,” he added.
“First, let’s collect our end of the bargain.”
Upon the villagers’ return from hiding, they all gathered inside one of the more intact buildings of the village. Black Wyke stood vigil, just in case any search parties were sent their way. Levi offered all the possessions she had looted from the bandits to the villagers, which included a few coins, the jackets that weren’t torn to pieces that would help in the coming winter months, and some dried meat that they had left on their horses. They made a small fire and the aunt hung a large pot of soup over the flames.
“It’s not much, but it’s more than we would have if it weren’t for you lot.”
“It’s more than we have, and we are grateful for it,” said Seline. Soup and a roof over their heads in exchange for killing 12 bandits. It wasn’t the best deal, but her blood wrath had been satiated: the itch that needed to be scratched. The soup and roof wouldn't go unappreciated. The first snow had fallen and sleeping outside was unadvisable.
Once everyone had their fill and the hour grew late, the villagers slowly retreated to their abodes. When it was just the three of them, Seline offered to stand watch for an hour or so in case there were more bandits before also heading to bed herself. Black Wyke patted Seline on the shoulder as he passed her, before removing his armour neatly in a corner.
“How’d you get that armour? Do all Yukonians wear that?”
“Armour this good? Ha! If only
. We wouldn’t still be at war if we did.”
“So, how’d you get it?”
He looked into her eyes for a moment, as if he was contemplating keeping it a secret from her. “My father.”
Of course. He was from a rich family. The world was much easier with some coin. “Ah, you inherited it.”
“Yes.”
“Nice for some.”
“We didn’t have money, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Neither did I, but I didn’t inherit such fine armour. Nothing close. I guess we disagree on what we call rich.”
His face contorted, as though his mind desperately wanted to say something, but his mouth resisted. After an awkward silence, he said, “Goodnight Levi.” He turned to face the wall and remained with his back turned to her.
Rather than press the situation that Black Wyke seemed overly sensitive about any further, she went outside which, she loosely defined as the part with less roof, and found Seline sitting on a barrel.
“I don’t know much about the Black Wolves, but I do understand you went through a lot of conditioning,” Seline said, looking out into the distance.
“And?”
“And therefore, I won’t hold your occasional insensitivity against you.”
“I…” Seline was right. Being insensitive as a Black Wolf wasn’t a problem because it didn’t matter what people thought of you. But now she had her own pack and it was her problem. If they were Taer’lyn, the matter would be resolved in a straight-forward manner. But they weren’t, and so she had to try to relearn how to be a person.
“In Euphyria’s day, there was a single legion of black. They were marked so everyone could find them on the battlefield. They were exceptional soldiers. When the Khasari came, they met the Black Legion. Many of them were slain, unprepared for their tenacity…”
“So, your family are soldiers.”
“No.”
“Then ho-”
“Just listen.” Seline closed her eyes with faltering patience. “Eventually the Khasari broke the Black Legion. They fought to the last man just outside Lyreport, surrounded with no chance of retreat. The Khasari marched on, leaving the maimed to die on that now hallowed ground.”
“So-”
“Don’t interrupt, please, I’m explaining. The thing about the Black Legion that the Khasari did not know was how the famed black armour gets passed down. It is not, as you think, hereditary. Such was the legend of the Black Legion, that to enter its ranks required you to best and kill one to take their place. This of course was restricted to peacetime. But when the Karzark baggage train came and looted the field, my great grandfather and others who had joined the resistance found and attacked those pillagers. They killed those who claimed the armour for themselves.”
“That explains your great grandfather coming into possession of it. But Wyke…you said the armour is won…Is it a rite of passage in your family? Patricide?”
“No,” Seline said flatly as she jumped down off the barrel and started to head inside, “We’ve fought the Karzarkis for generations. He killed the man who killed our father.”
-------------------------------------
Mayswood has had an uneventful, peaceful life for much of its history. Unlike other towns of its size, it possesses no geographical importance such as Verni or Ulane boast, and is one reason why armies seem to politely ignore the necessity of garrisons. As Rulven was the first citadel to face the Karzarki armies, the neighbouring areas, including Mayswood were surrounded. Believing the war to end quickly, the Karzarki command saw no reason to attack Mayswood and risk future ill-well; they simply assumed it would capitulate after Rulven’s fall. This turned out to be the case, and Mayswood avoided sacking. As they have always done, the people of Mayswood live simple lives, being master carpenters, as well as providing food and a roof to travellers coming to and from Rulven.
General Rhollyn Darwal, Memoirs of the Fall
Rhen
Mayswood was warmer than sleeping out in the forest, which in turn was warmer than sleeping outside the forest. The Mayswood was old, and the giant trunks of oak amongst the conifers and elms insulated it from the elements, albeit the cold still managed to seep through. The first snow had begun to fall over the town where the canopy of the trees did not reach. An island of winter amidst the sea of trees. It was a particularly specific winter scene, one that the town could be famous for in Karzark one day, if it ever firmly nestled itself under the Karzark banner. The cold hardly mattered to Rhen though, as they were provided with accommodation in the Oaken Vine, and they were seated around the great hearth that was roaring as though life itself depended on it.
Reisch had been busy the past two days, running around town, meeting important people, finding out how the war was going. He’d heard enough to piece together a mental map in his mind. He had heard that Karzark control east of Mayswood lay somewhere between unstable and unenforceable, which meant despite what the townsfolk as near as Mhir believed, Karzark didn’t have much control in the northern territories currently. Rhen had learnt enough about the Sons to know that they were no match for the Khasari, but they preferred to offer no battle and instead choke off their supplies, and if the Khasari stayed too long in one location, they Sons would converge on them and attack under the cover of darkness or any other cover.
Regarding the latter point, Rhen had learnt during his short time in Mayswood that the Khasari knew their distance to Rulven was close enough that supplies would not be an issue, and therefore took it upon themselves to find a solution to their only potential weakness in being ambushed or picked off through other means of deception. Their solution was to double their patrol sizes during the day, and when night came they would all sleep in an easily defensible part of town with men posted at all times. The additional step they took was to take hostages into their sleeping quarters with them with the threat that they would be the first killed if anything were to happen. The hostages were treated kindly otherwise as a token of goodwill, Rhen had surmised through the much less favourable words the Sons had used to describe the situation.
The last interesting snippet of information Rhen had learnt was that Karzark was launching a massive offensive in the south, hoping to break the last organised remnant of Euphyria – Yukone.
Rhen knew little about the Yukonian Alliance, other than it had a functioning government and military. Reisch didn’t enlighten him either, but it wasn’t a case of distrust. Rhen was not of the Elsgard or of the Sons, and until recently, had no stake in the war at all. Reisch was a leader, and the Elsgard were a functioning arm of the Sons of the Phoenix, even if he didn’t really understand the relationship.
Reisch had left to meet with a captain named Tycene, and Rhen and Kiern found just themselves occupying the hearth, three mugs into the evening. It was the first time in a long time that he felt relaxed and in good-ish company.
“I remember, the first day we met, at the campfire, you came over to me to rub salt in my wounds. You said to me that everything I was told was wrong, down to the names of the four heroes.”
“I am not a liar,” Kiern said through a smirk, “I’ve never heard of anyone in Yalea being named Tulsa.”
“Ah yes,” he said as he took a sip, “remove yourself from the confines of your own logic and I guess you can see the world that way. Is Kalecenes a popular name in Yalea? Certainly isn’t in Karzark.”
Kiern let out a soft laugh. “Who knows, eh? Yelia herself moved the seas and mountains to cut us off from each other. I guess that’s the whole point of it, isn’t it? Did she do it out of anger? Did she do it for us to prove ourselves? Perhaps she even did it to protect ourselves from self-induced destruction.”
“You’re right, we don’t know. Maybe I’ve been told lies. Perhaps you have, and maybe we all have it wrong. Maybe Yelia is screaming at us, telling us that we have completely missed the point.”
“I get what you’re saying but look around you. Is there some large group of people in K
arzark running around the countryside saying, hang on, maybe we ought to reconsider a few points here?” As far as Rhen could remember, this was as philosophically lenient Kiern had allowed himself to become. Normally this kind of conversation ended as soon as his beliefs felt threatened.
“I don’t think you get what I’m saying, Kiern. That’s my point. We’re separated into our corners, where we are all certain that we are right, so that our lives make sense to us. People feel more confident because they don’t need to question every aspect of their life. Look at the Khasari, for example. Their discipline and their heran was something so solid in my mind – in all of Karzark’s mind – that I did not need to question whether our right to rule was just or not. Conquest was necessary to elevate all the people of Cerenea and receive Yelia’s grace. But look at what we’ve seen. Forsaken their oaths, harming civilians. That pillar of my world, that made my world whole, that made it make sense, it broke. And when it broke, it didn’t break in solitude; everything that it held up began to fall. Do we really have the divine right to rule? Is what we believe Yelia to have wanted misunderstood? If I was wrong about this, what else have I constructed in my mind that is false?”
Kiern seemed a bit overwhelmed by Rhen’s monologue, and it made Rhen think that it was for his own ears, rather than his Yalean company. He just needed to put his thoughts into words.
“Well, I’ve got nothing to counter that with. Not in my current state. But I will say this, Rhen. We all believe in different things, and we all lead different lives. The only thing that remains the same is our need to believe in something. Maybe without that, we fall. Perhaps we can only aspire to great things if we have certainty in others. And maybe I am wrong, and all of Yalea too. But I think I would choose the certainty of knowing I was right until the end. I think the alternative scares me to no end.”
“I don’t think you’re alone in that. But I don’t want to live my life content without searching for the truth.”
Rhen was starting to feel his drinks as his chair became more comfortable, but it was nice to talk freely and in comfort.
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